#Employee attendance device

[milf-murdock]

The Accident

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader (Established Relationship)

Summary: Simon gets the call that you’ve been in an accident and are in the hospital.  Warnings: Health scare, mention of hospitals, accident (non graphic), brief mention of injuries (non graphic), hurt/comfort, Soft Simon  A/N: This piece is dedicated to a very sweet anon who has been through a lot. Anon, I hope this brings you some comfort <3 I’ve also decided to submit it to @glitterypirateduck's May Writing Challenge! This is one of my favorite tropes, so I hope you all enjoy! Special thank you to @sim0nril3y for taking a look and for all the support

The knife glides effortlessly through the tomato, the metal utensil familiar in Simon’s grip. He makes quick work of the produce, fingers moving rapidly and precisely. “Knife skills aren’t just for the field,” he chuckles to himself as he adds the chopped remains to a bowl before turning his blade on a shallot. 

Just as he slices into the root, the clattering vibration of his phone against the countertop interrupts. Simon frowns at the unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. Not many people had this number; he wasn’t one to get stray phone calls, which is exactly how he likes it. He has half a mind to send it to voicemail, but something tugs at his edges. At the last second he swipes across the screen and raises the phone to his ear. The line is empty for a moment. 

“Simon?” The sound of your hoarse voice has Simon’s spine straightening, instantly on high alert. 

“What’s happened.” The sharp words come out more like a statement than a question. Simon’s heartbeat quickens. 

“I’m okay,” you start, but your wobbly voice betrays you. "But there was an accident—" Simon is in motion. Dinner is forgotten on the counter as he heads for the door, stepping into his boots on the way. 

“Where are you?” There’s a commotion in the background, some kind of beeping that Simon can’t make out. He catches your hesitation as you wait to reply. 

“Love. Where. Are. You.” His words are clipped, and for a split second he fears the phone might actually splinter in his hands given how hard he’s clenching the device. 

“I’m in A&E. I—the ambulance just brought me here.” 

Simon’s world tilts before him, and he squeezes his eyes shut, breathing in deep. One single stabilizing breath is all he allows himself before opening his eyes, resolute determination clear on his face as a decade of training takes over. 

“I’m on my way.” The phone clicks off as he grabs the keys off the hook by the door and rushes to the car.

The drive is a blur; he doesn’t pay attention to how fast he’s going, or what color the stoplights may be. Traffic laws are relative—he’s a man on a mission. His sole focus is getting to you. His heart pounds in his chest as he navigates the final turn, the hospital finally coming into view. 

The car barely comes to a full and complete stop at the entryway before Simon’s door flies open. 

“Sir, you can’t park here!” A disgruntled attendant calls out to him as he exits the vehicle, but Simon doesn’t even slow down, stepping around the irritated employee before barreling through the hospital entrance. 

Only to be brought to a halt at the open lobby before him. 

Shit. He hadn’t even thought to ask what room you were in. The frustration intertwines with the panic, and Simon has to force it down. 

He’s here. He’ll find you. 

And so Simon finds himself at the mercy of the kind, elderly receptionist, who seems to be taking her sweet time locating your information. 

Simon tries not to crack the counter beneath his grip, foot tapping against the ground in irritation. You could be in surgery, you could be bleeding out, any number of things could be happening right this moment, and there is nothing he can do. Simon silences these thoughts, keeping the panic at bay. “Keep it together, lieutenant,” he reminds himself silently. 

The receptionist, Shelley, her name tag reads, is unfazed by his erratic state, eyes squinting as she adjusts her glasses and leans back from the screen. Simon runs a hand down his face, using every ounce of self control he has to keep up a semblance of propriety. 

“Ahh,” Shelley announces triumphantly. “Here they are! I found them.” She turns her gaze to the hulking man in front of her, taking in his large form and tentatively eyeing the tattoos along his forearm. “Sorry, what was your relation to the patient again?” She asks, a note of uncertainty laces her tone. 

“I’m—” he hesitates. No words come to the tip of his tongue. He’s not a boyfriend for christ’s sake. Not your husband, though he wished more than ever he could use that word right now. 

“Spouse? Partner?” Shelley raises an eyebrow, trying to help fill in the blanks here.

Simon swallowed hard. “Yeah, partner. Just, can you tell me where they are? Please.”  

He’s not sure what comes over him as he tacks on that final plea. The desperation is clear in his words, but he couldn’t care less. Fuck it, he is desperate. Desperate to see you. Desperate to know you are okay—see it with his own eyes, feel your hands in his. 

Shelley’s pointed gaze turns to one of sympathy. “Room 315, dear. The lift is to the right.” 

The words are barely out of her mouth before Simon’s in motion once more. No time for the lift, he thinks to himself as he heads to the stairwell, taking the stairs two at a time up to your floor. Brown eyes frantically scan every room number as he searches for yours before finally finding the correct digits outside the room furthest down the hall. The metal of the door handle is cool beneath his touch as he pushes open the door, charging into the room.

He comes to a stop at the foot of the bed, eyes frantically scanning your body, taking stock of each and every visible injury. He can hardly control the wave of emotions that threaten to pull him down as he takes in your bruised and bandaged appearance. 

They’ve already set your arm in a sling, and there’s a large bulk encompassing your entire right leg, the bulk of it obvious even under the thin hospital blanket. An array of cuts and scrapes mar your perfect face, and the sudden onset of pure, unadulterated rage threatens to swallow him whole. 

‘I’m going to kill them,’ the words echo in his mind–a dozen violent deaths planned out for whoever did this to you. 

“Simon,” your hoarse voice calls out to him, but he can’t hear you over the sound of the roaring in his head. 

‘I’m going to hunt them down. And I’m going to fucking kill them for this.’

“Simon,” you say his name louder, firmer, and attempt to sit yourself up. Pain radiates through your body, piercing through the haze of pain meds, and you can’t help the cry of pain that escapes your lips. 

That is what pulls Simon out. On instinct, his feet move towards your bed, hand reaching out to clasp around your free hand. 

Your lower lip trembles. “Simon.” The word is pitiful on your lips–a plea, a prayer, a cry for help. 

It’s enough to pull Simon from the depths of this rage–revenge can wait. 

“I’m here.” Simon’s voice wraps around you like a warm blanket, and the dam breaks, tears flowing fast and freely. “It was awful,” you gasp out between sobs. Simon makes soothing shushing sounds as he holds your hand tight in his own, his other hand reaching up to gently brush the tears away, taking care to avoid the scrapes that litter your skin as you recount what details you can remember of the accident. 

“Shh, love, it’s okay,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. “‘M sorry I wasn’t there, babe.” Bile threatens to rise in the back of his throat as the guilt settles in.

“Should’ve been there, should’ve never left your fucking side.” He stares at the layers of gauze wrapped around your leg, hidden beneath the thin blanket. 

“Simon. Look at me,” you insist, waiting for those brown eyes to turn back to you. “Don’t go down that road, Si. There was nothing you could have done to stop this.” 

“You don’t know that,” he bites back. Simon immediately regrets the harshness of his note. “You don’t know that,” he tries again, softer this time. “Should’ve been there.” He runs a hand over his face, the adrenaline is fading, causing the events of the past hour to finally catch up to him. He exhales sharply and looks back up at you, eyes determined. 

“But ‘m here now. It’s over. I’m here.” He gives your hand a gentle squeeze. “And I’m not going anywhere, love.”

True to his word, Simon stays by your bedside the entire three day stay in the hospital. He denies your pleas to go home and sleep in his own bed, insisting on sleeping in the rough, uncomfortable hospital recliner. Not only was the furniture laughably small for a man of his stature, but after the first night, Simon is convinced it was designed as some kind of long-term-torture device. Not once does he complain though, dismissing your worries with a casual wave of his hand. “Slept in worse conditions in the field, love. This beats a forest floor.” Though by night two, Simon isn’t so sure. 

He’s always struggled with nightmares, but those nights in the hospital, his dreams turn to something worse: losing you in a car accident. The scene replays over and over in his mind’s eye until he’s woken up with a start, covered in sweat, and gasping for air. His eyes instantly lock on to the vital signs monitor above you, watching the thin green line of your heartbeat bounce up and down in a steady rhythm. He slows his own breathing down to match pace with yours, staring down at you as you sleep soundly. He watches the subtle rise and fall of your chest, further confirmation that you’re alive. 

When he finally gets to bring you home, he acts as though you’re made of fine china, driving ten under the speed limit. He carefully guides you into the house, hands ready to catch you as you struggle with the metal crutches. 

“Fuck,” you spit in frustration. “They made it look so easy in the hospital.” 

After the second time you almost trip over them, Simon’s exasperation gets the best of him. 

“Easy, swee’heart,” he implores, a note of desperation in his voice. “Just got you back, yeah? Can’t have you goin’ right back to A&E.” 

He wishes more than anything he could just scoop you up into his arms and carry you straight to the bedroom, but with your leg in its current state, he has to settle for just hovering, perpetually at the ready to catch and support you. He swears the walk from the car to getting you settled in bed takes an entire year off his life. 

That first night back at home together, Simon lays awake, watching you sleep. The combination of finally being back in the comfort of your own bed, along with the lack of obnoxiously loud machines beeping and being encumbered by wires, means you fall asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow. Simon lays beside you, as close as he dares to get, still so weary of your injuries. He leans over to press a gentle kiss to your temple, just above where a deep cut runs down your face. His finger hovers just above your skin as he traces the shape. “‘M sorry, love. I promise, I’ll take care of ya. This won’t happen again.” His words are barely above a whisper, drowned out by the soft snores of your breathing. He presses one more gentle kiss to you before turning out the light. 

[onesidedradiostatic]

Vox winning just reminds me of that one post with like 50K+ notes that's like "the best quality a fictional man can have is being deeply, pathetically, wretchedly in love with someone" glad we can all clearly agree on that

yeah. yeah. you know at this point vox and lucifer should just have a pathetic-off instead of a "who's hotter" showdown

POINTS FOR AND AGAINST:

Lucifer

FOR

debuts making stupid ducks alone while not talking to his daughter

and is thus pathetic from the get-go

his wife left him

first words to his daughter for the first time she called HIM in years was "HEY BITCH"

almost managed to lose custody of his daughter to someone who only knew her for less than half a year

can't get his daughter's girlfriend's name right

AGAINST

he pulled lilith

possibly pulled eve too

he's literally the all-powerful king of hell and could probably beat your ass

actually managed to mend his relationship with his daughter

Vox

FOR

lost his own diss track against his rival

sings an entire number about not giving a fuck about his rival's return while being the only person TO give a fuck

tried to physically block a radio, an AUDIO output device as if it'd stop anything, failed at doing even that

his screen calls out the reason for his crashes and he seemingly can't control it

causes a city-wide blackout because his rival announced to everyone he rejected him

there is a non-zero possibility he was/is in love with said rival but said rival will never love him back

purposely avoided going to an overlords meeting and called his co-worker up at the very last minute to attend for him

the guy he appointed as a spy ended up being the very person to prove a sinner can be redeemed

episode 8

AGAINST

he is capable in literally any context outside of alastor

debuts actually acting cunning

capable of coming up with something on the spot without hesitation (voxtek angelic security)

feared by his employees

able to use manipulative language to stop val from going after the hotel

able to interpret val's "put something inside them" comment as appointing a spy

[octuscle]

Old

When you're skinny and weak, it's no fun being young. Richard wasn't even particularly clever or funny or charismatic. Richhard was just a lop! No longer being 18. No longer being mistaken for 16. No longer being bullied… Richard wanted nothing more! Regularly attending a gym seemed the logical consequence. Train hard. That must lead to muscles. And tougher facial features. And more respect from others…. But the first few visits to the gym were more than demoralizing. The other guys here were so much bigger than him. He looked ridiculous in his cheap clothes from school sports. Richard moved his work outs to the early mornings or late evenings when he was almost alone. At some point he was asked if he would like to earn a few extra dollars. Soon, when he trained in the evening, Richard would lock up the gym after his workout, clean up, mop the floor and get everything ready for the next morning. This had many advantages. He had money for better clothes and even got an employee discount at the gym store. And he could train completely alone and undisturbed after the official end of business.

That had an effect. Slowly. Far too slowly. After six months, perhaps no one was laughing at Richrad anymore. But no one showed him any respect from the members or colleagues who occasionally crossed his path despite his training and working hours.

Richard had already heard about this Chronivac. It was used to support particularly solvent customers with their transformations. The device had to be in the managing director's office. But it was always locked there. There was no chance of getting to the device. Until this one evening. The evening when Richard walked through the corridors with the mop. And the door to the office was open. Wide open. And this device was lying on the desk. Obviously on. The display bathed the office in a very faint blue light.

"Scanning the client" was written on the display… It looked like a normal smartphone app. Richard pressed "okay" and a monitor appeared. Richard held the device in front of his face. There was no button like on a camera. But after a few moments there was an acoustic signal and the message "Number of virtual training units" appeared on the display. Damn, what was that supposed to mean? Was the device simulating training sessions? Richard trained three times a week. 12 times a month. 144 times a year. It would be cool to be four years older. 22 years old. A college jock who had been training hard for four years. Richard did a quick mental calculation. That was about… He heard footsteps. Shit! 500 had to be about right. He typed in 600 and pressed enter. And carefully put the device back on the desk. Hopefully that had worked. He took the mop and ran to the showers. And while he was mopping the floor, Nick, the manager, came in. He greeted Richard and asked if everything was OK. It was already late and Richard should leave. All right, Richard replied. The message "Transformation started. Perform 500 monthly training cycles. Transformation within the next eight hours."

As he has done for almost 42 years, Rick was one of the first to enter the gym. He had been a member longer than any other guy pumping here. Longer than anyone who worked here. Rick was simply part of the inventory. He was the janitor, the manager, the go-to guy here. And a role model for every man who trained here. Yes, Rick had never become one of the musclemen who also trained here. But he had also always been clean. Never cheated. And a body that still worked like a well-oiled machine despite his almost 60 years of life was his thanks. Yes, his beard and hair were gray. But he still had the body of a 30-year-old athlete. And with that, he had honestly earned the respect of everyone here.

Inspiration by @workinprogress1986

[princess--af]

Nesting - Prequel - Changbin and Felix

: ̗̀➛  Meeting and working with your boss is fun, and brings along a few new interesting friends.

: ̗̀➛  warnings: smut (masturbation), mentions of corporate life (gross), Felix is a flirt

tags: @y9nabae1 @justayoungandwisefangirl @obeythemasters @julciaqwerty @3rachasninja @bmnyy @licklix @iadorethemskz

Nesting: Part 1 | Nesting Part 2

You had nothing to be scared of.

That was the mantra you had been repeating all morning as you worked through the mountain of emails you always had on a Monday morning. You were used to the “Why didn’t you get this done?” emails, and the “New work came through over the weekend.” ones that always greeted you. What you weren’t used to was an email from the CEOs PA, requesting your presence on the top floor for an important meeting. There wasn’t much more information other than it was just going to be you and the CEO.

You had never really met the elusive Seo Changbin; you had only ever seen him at the one work event you subjected yourself too. He had seemed in such a rush, or maybe it was just his normal speed to only offer brief nods to the various Directors, thank everyone for coming, and hightail it out of there. To be fair, you couldn’t really blame him. You hated large events and only went because your Director had not-so-subtly warned that non-attendance would look negative come annual reviews.

Your only impression of Changbin was that he was handsome and clearly took care of himself well. You hadn’t been aware that he even knew who you were among the hundreds of employees at your office, but apparently you were more well-known that you thought if you had a private meeting with him.

You had only really managed to get through half of what you normally would have by this time in the day, mind too busy on concocting various theories as to why you were meeting with him.

Had you seriously fucked up on a proposal?

Had you accidentally swore in an email to an important client?

Had people complained to HR about your outfits? In your opinion, there was nothing wrong with them. It wasn’t your fault you were blessed with curvy genetics and a penchant for flattering pants.

Before you could spiral further into a pit of worry, the alarm you had set on your phone rang out, jolting you up from your desk in surprise. You didn’t know if you should pocket the device; surely it was normal for anyone in your age range to be carrying their phone, even if it was just into a meeting. You didn’t dwell on it too much, sliding it into your pocket and making the anxious trek upstairs, avoiding the curious looks from your coworkers as you stepped into the elevator. It wasn’t normal for you to be leaving at this time; you were usually chained to your desk until at least 1pm when you’d begrudgingly answer your growling stomach and go find something to eat.

You tried to quell the anxious tapping of your hands against your legs, on the short but seemingly endless trip up to level 26, not wanting to metaphorically get caught with your pants down. You couldn’t go into this meeting expecting the worst. And you certainly couldn’t let anyone push you around for something as stupid as tight pants; you were sure it was going to come up.

The elevator door opened into a quiet lobby, and you could only faintly hear mumbling and keyboards tapping away somewhere in the distance. There mustn’t be many people that work up here. Inching out into the open, you looked around, clearly lost.

“Can I help you?” A monotonous, almost condescending voice, broke the quiet, clearly directed at you. You somewhat recognised the person behind the voice, but couldn’t quite place where you would know them from.

“I’m here to see Mr Seo?” You phrased it like a question, still unsure about the whole situation. It was still so fucking weird. When the man simply raised an eyebrow, you continued. “My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I... have a meeting at 11.”

You clasped your hands together in front of you, shrinking minutely when the corners of the mans mouth twitched, clearly amused at the sight of you.

“Right. He’s down here.” He gestured down one of the many halls that branched off from the main lobby, already walking down it like he owned the place, not even bothering to look back to see if you were following him. You scampered after him quickly, realised that made you look like an idiot, and slowed to a semi-respectable pace, still keeping your distance as you followed him down the hall until he stopped abruptly in front of two heavy looking doors.

The man briefly turned to look at you, giving you a once over, clearly not enjoying what he saw, before turning back to the doors and knocking.

“Y/N for you, Mr Seo,” the man yelled out, making you jump slightly as it echoed through the empty hallway.

You didn’t hear a response, but clearly the guy did, since he gestured for you to open the doors, turning away and hightailing it back towards the lobby.

You did one last round of tapping your thighs; mostly to get rid of the clammy feeling that had persistently been there since you had first seen the invite; before pulling open the door, stumbling a little at how heavy it was. What was the purpose of doors that weighed as much as the average human?

You got it halfway open before you slipped inside, letting it fall shut behind you with a loud thump.

“Oh, sorry. It’s stupidly heavy, I know.”

Mr Seo was sat on a cozy looking love-seat, reading over some absurdly large document. Without looking up, he gestured for you to sit in the armchair closest to him. You followed his direction, perching on the edge of the chair awkwardly, your hands wringing nervously on your lap. You tried not to peek at him or whatever he was so focused on, but couldn’t help the brief look at the document, making out “Contract for Sale” in bold letters along the top; the rest of the writing too small for you to be able to read normally, let alone upside down. Of course he would just be sitting here signing off on some new property; it was probably a weekly occurrence for him.

You didn’t notice he had stopped looking over the document until he cleared his throat, making you jump in surprise, wrenching your gaze away from the document to instead look at his face. He looked amused as he threw the document onto the cushion next to him.

“It’s my sisters,” he offered you after a beat of awkward silence. “I don’t just buy properties in my spare time.”

Well fuck. Could he read minds?

“Of course not,” you whispered in reply.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together in front, levelling you with a friendly gaze. “Please don’t be nervous, you’re not getting fired.” Changbin gestured to the coffee table in front of you both, and it was only then that you noticed another document, albeit way less thick and imposing, facing you so you could actually read it this time. “Your director has moved into another role, and he recommended you to fill his shoes.”

“He... What?” You snatched up the document, not really believing what you were seeing and hearing. “He recommended me? For a director role? But I’ve only been here a short time... Surely there are people more qualified for the role...” Despite what you were saying, you couldn’t help yourself and started flicking through the new employment contract, choking a little when you saw the remuneration section. You looked back up at Changbin’s face in disbelief, trying not to be offended when he giggled at the horrified look on your face. You had never seen so many zeros at the end of a salary offer.

“I didn’t want to pry too much, but I had a look over some of your work and spoke to some other directors that you’ve worked with, just to be certain you were the right woman for the job. I don’t think he could’ve made a better recommendation.” Changbin shifted in his seat, opting to lean back against the back of the loveseat, stretching his legs out in front of him. If you weren’t still in a state of shock, you probably would’ve marveled more over how his suit pants were stretching over his thick thighs, outlining deep rivets of muscle that he obviously worked hard for. “I know it’s a little short notice, but we planned to move Mr Kim into the new role in a few weeks, and ideally we’d like you to shadow him for at least a week to get a feel for the role. It would be great if you could have an answer for me by end of week? I can try to answer any questions you might have, and Mr Kim has made himself available to you as well if you’d prefer to speak to him.”

Letting out a shaky breath, you nodded, looking back down at the contract. God, you’d have to call your parents; they would know what to do.

“Now obviously, you can see we have someone new with us. This is Y/N, she is taking over the director role from Mr Kim. Please make her feel welcome.”

You inwardly cursed at the awkward smile you were giving everyone, mostly likely more of a grimace, nodding your head politely when they all turned to look at you. Most of them nodded back, a few offered you soft ‘welcomes’, before everyone turned back to Changbin.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your time; we just need to go over policies surrounding the interns and graduates that will be starting next week.”

You tuned out, already having spoken about this earlier in the week; you were quite familiar with the policies since you were the one normally taking care of the interns and grads. Instead, you opted to survey everyone in the room, trying to put names to faces to titles and figure out who you’d potentially be working with closely.

In the middle of glaring at a spot on the table as you tried to remember the woman’s name that sat across from you, you felt a soft nudge to your arm, and a notepad being subtly turned in your direction.

Choi Sooyoung. Christmas party. （＾ω＾）

Right. That’s where you knew her from. Apparently the company encourage friendly competition between the staff at parties, and it usually centred around entertainment. Your memory was hazy from the night, but you remember her singing. You scribbled back on the corner of the page;

Thank you ´･ᴗ･`

“Everyone should come up and introduce themselves at some point. Honestly, you’ll probably get tired of us always being at your door.”

Chan had been sat next to you during the meeting, and had waited patiently for you to pack your things up. You had heard of him; you knew he was one of the top producers at the company, and that loads of interns aspired to work in his team, both because he was talented and a great mentor, and also because he was very attractive, and there was nothing wrong with a little eye candy as your worked. You had never seen him before in person, but could see where they were all coming from.

“I really appreciate you helping me. It would’ve bugged me all day, honestly,” you laughed, following him down the hall and towards Changbin’s office; he had asked if you would like to go out for celebratory drinks and dinner after work, and Chan claimed he ‘needed the walk after sitting on his ass all day’. Chan didn’t bother knocking on the office door, opting to push it open, using just one hand and barely any force mind you, gesturing for you to enter first.

“I don’t remember inviting you.”

Changbin was sat on the same couch where you had first met him, but he was joined by a petite blonde boy leaning heavily against his side. The boy offered Chan a sweet and familial smile, before his big eyes flicked to you, looking a little unsure.

“Hey Lixie.” Chan stepped around your frozen body, collapsing into the vacant spot next to the boy, ruffling his blonde hair until it was fluffed up and the boy was whining at him. “This is Y/N.”

A look a recognition flashed over the boys face, shooting you a blinding smile. “Oh, right. I’m Felix! It’s nice to meet you!” He threw himself over Changbin’s lap, holding out a hand for you to shake. You shook it gingerly, a little shocked at how small his hands were. “Are you guys going out? Can I join? I won’t make a peep, I promise!” Felix was practically lying on Changbin now, and had rolled over in his lap to shoot his, boyfriend(?) the sweetest puppy eyes that you had ever seen. “Please Binnie?”

You knew Changbin was nice, but he was usually sporting furrowed brows and looks of pure concentration, and you had rarely ever seen him crack a smile, let alone be sporting a look a pure adoration, eyes and smile soft as he looked down at Felix in his lap. God, what you would give for someone to look at you like that. “Sure baby, you can come. You staying Chan?”

Chan shrugged, kicking his feet up on the coffee table in front of him and slouching further into the comfortable couch. “Won’t ever say no to free food.”

"Why don't I come out with you guys more often?" Felix was about half a bottle of soju deep, and was already resting his chin on his propped up hand, smiling dreamily at everyone sat around the table. "This is great. Free drinks, free food. Free eye candy," he wiggled his brows in what he probably thought was a seductive manner, but actually just made you giggle at the ludicrous expression he was making. "That includes you, Y/N. Not just these stinky boys."

Felix, you had learnt, was incredibly flirty and not at all shy about showing how much he appreciated the 'eye candy' he was blessed with. He had warmed up to you instantly, pushing you into the backseat of Changbin's ridiculously expensive and clean car, holding your hand the entire ride to the restaurant as he talked your ear off about what he had gotten up to that day. He had cuddled up next to you in the booth at the restaurant, sticking his tongue out at Changbin when the man pouted about not getting to sit next to his 'lovely kitty cat'; whatever that meant. When the boys had finished grilling the first plate of meat, Felix had pouted at you until you made him a ssam and hand fed him, periodically opening his mouth for more whenever he had stopped chattering and flirting. It would have made you nervous, your bosses boyfriend flirting so openly, if it weren't for the fondly exasperated look on Changbin's face every time Felix said something particularly dangerous.

"Yah, we're not stinky!" Changbin glared playfully across the table, snapping the BBQ tongs threateningly. "Take that back, you little minx!"

Felix turned his nose up petulantly, moving to wrap one arm around your waist, the other resting just above your knee, sharply tugging until you were practically sitting in his lap. "Never. Y/N is why I'm here. Learn to live with it, hyung."

You felt a hot flush creeping along your cheeks and down your neck, trying to wiggle out of the strong hold Felix had you in, letting out a high pitched shriek when he pinched your leg in retaliation.

"Felix," you warned, not really knowing what you were threatening, but willing to do almost anything to get out of his tight hold. You looked at Chan for help, grumbling when he just offered you a shrug, a cheeky smile, turning back to the grill. You couldn't quite brave looking to your boss for help; how fucking awkward. "Felix, honey, if you let me go, I can feed you more."

The hold he had on you loosened for a second, before tightening back up, the hand on your leg curling around your thigh and tugging your leg up until it was resting on his legs, your sides practically glued together now. "You only need one hand to use chopsticks, Y/N. Don't try to trick me."

The boys across from you laughed, depositing a few pieces of meat and grilled mushroom into your bowl. Traitors.

Felix let out a soft 'aaaahh' sound, chittering happily when you blew on a piece for him to cool it down before feeding it to him. He squeezed your thigh appreciatively with every mouthful, and if he wasn't holding it so tightly and glued to your side, you would've been tempted to awkwardly rub them together. Screw it; you had a hot guy glued to your side, practically moaning in your ear, holding you in places that had always been sensitive erogenous zones for you, you had been drinking and you couldn’t even remember the last time you had been intimate with anyone. You weren’t going to act on anything anyway.

You listened to the boys talk, feeding yourself and Felix every time more food was deposited into your bowl, mostly focused on how Felix’s fingers were mindlessly stroking the inside of your thigh. It was kind of ticklish, but mostly it was fuelling the annoying thrum in between your legs, making you wiggle a bit to see if the feeling would go down.

It didn't.

If anything, it kicked into high gear since Felix felt like he had to tighten his hold on you, effectively pining you down in your spot, small hands tightening to the point that would probably leave faint bruises the following day. For such a petite guy, he surely was strong.

You glared down at the empty bowl in front of you, hoping to god no one noticed the red flush finding its way back to your cheeks. Why couldn't you keep it together. Why couldn't you just enjoy a dinner paid for by your lovely boss like a normal person? Why couldn't you just stop clenching down on nothing like the desperate single woman you were? Why was Felix giggling? What was so funny about your misery that had the boy rubbing his face into your shoulder?

"You're so cute, Y/N," Felix purred, blinking up at you with those big eyes. You startled slightly when you noticed they almost started to narrow into slits, blinking quickly, assuming you just had too much to drink or that the lighting was so horrible that you were seeing things. "I could just eat you up."

"I'm sorry about him."

Chan was helping a giggling Felix back into the backseat of the car. He had launched himself out after you when Changbin had dropped you off at your apartment, pouting and clinging to you like a child not wanting to leave his mother. He had whined at you until you pressed a soft his to his cheek, promising you could have lunch together the next time he came into the office.

Changbin had stepped out at that point, flicking the younger boy lightly across the forehead and herding him back towards the idling car.

"It's okay. He's really sweet." You watched fondling as Felix breathed on the inside of the rolled up window, drawing a heart and winking at you.

"He doesn't actually normally take this well to strangers. I think it's the cat in him that makes him extra cautious," Changbin mumbled, almost nonchalant in the way he had just dropped a bomb on you. "Well, you should get in-Y/N? Are you okay?" You were probably gaping like a fish, but how else were you supposed to react to that.

"Cat? He's a hybrid?"

Changbin blinked at you slowly, very cat-like and probably a habit he had picked up unknowingly from Felix. "Yes... Sorry, I thought everyone knew. It's common knowledge around the office. Is... Is that a problem?" He was asking nicely, but there was an edge to his voice. A "we're going to have a problem if you say yes".

"N-no, of course not. I just... I didn't realise. He... He doesn't display the physical traits? I'm sorry, I'm not very knowledgeable about hybrids," you blurted out, wringing you hands in front of your stomach nervously. This was it. This was the moment you'd get fired. You barely even lasted a month.

"Oh, yeah they don't usually. I'm a little surprised they stayed dormant with how much he was drinking." Changbin had visibly deflated at your words, coming back from his fight or flight response. He went to continue but was interrupted by loud knocking. Felix was knocking on the window, and you could hear his whining even though it was closed and parking on the curb, a good 10 metres away. "Sorry, I better get him home. I'll see you on Monday."

Changbin started walking backwards, gesturing for you to get inside your building, not turning around until you were inside and the security door was safely locked behind you. What a gentleman.

It had been a good hour and a half since you had been dropped home. You had showered, taken a preventative headache tablet, drank two whole cups of water, brushed your teeth, and been lying in the dark for at least 30 minutes. Sleep was not coming to you. Your brain couldn't switch off from the absolute weird way your night had turned.

You expected a few drinks and some food with Changbin, and a relatively early night. Not to be shamelessly flirted with by your bosses hybrid(!), turning you on to the point where not even the blast of cold water in the shower had helped.

"I need therapy," you sighed, reaching blindly into your nightstand drawer for the familiar silicone toy kept there. One orgasm couldn't hurt. You wouldn't even think of Felix. You'd think of one of the male protagonists in a film you had watched recently, or of the weird porn film your university friends had watched on a drunken night meant for studying.

Shucking your shorts off, you slid further under the covers; you lived alone but still felt embarrassed by the loud noises your toys tended to make, feeling like your neighbours couldn't probably hear you and would come knocking at god awful times to tell you off.

Letting out a shaky breath, you switched the toy on, flinching at the soft buzzing noise that filled the previously silent room. Pressing it softly to your clit, you shuddered at the feeling, already a little too turned on for teasing. It had been a LONG time.

You circled your clit lightly, closing your eyes and trying to conjure up an image that would help; anything that wasn't the soft blonde locks and pretty freckles and small hands that were gripping your thigh so tightly just hours before. You let out a groan at the pulse that went through your core at the image, feeling insanely guilty for getting off to the thought of the sweet hybrid. It's okay. He doesn't have to know. No one does. One night, and you'll be over it.

You brought the toy down to your hole, already wet and creating obscene slick noises when you ran the toy through your folds to collect some of the wetness to make the slide easier.

Breathing out deeply, you pushed the toy in, a little ashamed at how easily it slid in, but immediately relieved when you had something to fill you up; you really needed to get laid more.

Shifting into a better position, you angled the toy a little forward, thrusting it in experimentally, the vibrations making your tummy clench and your legs shake as you searched for the spot that would make the guilt end quicker.

You couldn't stop thinking about how Felix had pinned you down so easily, gripping your soft fleshy parts, hiking your leg up onto his lap so you were almost splayed out inappropriately; in public too. You wondered if sex with a hybrid was different than sex with a human; did they let themselves go? Did they embrace their animalistic side more freely? Felix seemed like he would be good and submissive when you had first met him, but the way he had looked at you and wrangled you to his liking make you think he had a wild side that he didn't get to show too much.

So deep in your thoughts, you didn't realise the toy had slid out of your grip slightly, but ended up rubbing directly against the spongey spot inside of you, making you squeal out in delight, turning to bite your pillow to muffle the noise. Getting a better grip on the toy, you rolled onto your side slightly, bending your leg and thrusting the toy inside with a renewed vigour, hitting the soft spot with every thrust.

"Oh god, fuck I wanna cum." You didn't know who you were talking to, you were alone, but you could picture Felix in front of you, keeping his hands to himself as he watch you get off, letting out little moans of his own to goad you on.

It was a little awkward, but you brought your free hand down to your clit to rough tight circles on it, nearly howling with how good it felt. The knot in your stomach was so close to snapping, your orgasm was right there, but you just couldn't go over the edge. You needed something. You needed Felix. You needed him to grip your leg tight, tight enough to leave dark bruises, to push his face into your neck and leave soft kisses there; his lips looked so soft, you just knew they would feel heavenly on you.

"I need you to cum for me Y/N. Pretty please. Then I can fuck you and make you cum again on my cock. Please Y/N. Please cum for me."

You could practically hear him saying it, and it surely set you over the edge. Turning your face completely into your pillow to muffle the loud groans that left you, you kept thrusting the toy inside, clenching and pulsing down on it and making it slightly difficult to push and pull, but you weren't too keen on being empty just yet. The fingers on your clit at stopped, gripping tightly at the sheets under you instead as you shivered your way through one of the best orgasm you had had in a while, legs shaking and chest heaving with the effort it took to keep you awake.

Yep. You definitely needed therapy.

[froot-batty]

Part 1 <- Part 2 <- Part 3

Ed's time attending college was a short one. College had a lot more freedom than the schools back at home, which he did enjoy, but between accidentally biting off far more than he could chew class-wise and having trouble adjusting to being in such a populated environment, he decided to drop out after a year (with plans to return once he settled in Gotham - which never ended up happening).

Instead, he took a job at a relatively small electronics store, which might've been a good transition point from small town to big city if he hadn't utterly hated his job. Not only did he have to deal with customer service (loathsome), but it was dealing with idiots who didn't even know the simplest thing about their own electronics! Though he put in the effort to attempt to be cordial, his short temper and inability to not be sarcastic oftentimes got him in full-blown arguments with customers.

This as well as their age and general obvious neurodivergency didn't make them a popular employee in their boss' eyes. Their boss not only thought Ed was too useless for most tasks, but would occasionally berate them or send them off to do menial tasks alone for hours at a time. Their coworkers (all but two) tended to avoid them, too, as to not be pestered with riddles or other fun facts. But Eddie needed the money, so they bit their tongue and tried not to get fired.

Until he thought of a way to start getting back at at least one part of his terrible job. When doing big repair jobs on things such as laptops or phones, he'd often be left alone with the device until it was all fixed. This meant he got a loooot of time to do whatever he wanted to it without anyone knowing. So whenever he'd get a particularly rude customer, he started messing with their devices. Just little inconvenient things in the beginning, but eventually progressing into downloading malware or making it so that they had to answer a riddle every time they wanted to log into their device.

And, eventually, they'd figure out a way to short devices remotely. They wouldn't do this too often in the fear of being caught, but they saved it especially for their boss, who's computer they'd messed with without his knowledge. The resulting fire from the short would end up seriously injuring Ed's boss, so much so that he needed to be hospitalized. Getting away with that crime would only fuel Ed's desire to see what else they could do.

They would start hacking into places. Changing the digital billboards around Gotham, or getting people's personal information to get themselves some extra cash; just general mischief that would eventually attract the attention of Batman, due the fact Ed would start leaving clues or riddles behind after they were done.

A little bit after that is when he would perform his first crime to really get the attention of Bats. For a while now he had been messing around with making puzzle boxes and other traps, and he decided to put them together to make an escape-room sort of activity that he could drop someone into and force them to solve. The first victim of this was someone Ed nabbed because it was convenient, and the beginner nature of the escape room meant that Bats discovered it and rescued the victim relatively quickly. But when Eddie discovered how much he loved the attention from Bats, he'd begin fine-tuning his escapes, personalizing them for the victim and making them more challenging for Batman. All the while, Ed stayed completely anonymous behind the moniker of "The Riddler".

It was this insatiable desire to keep the Batman's (and the public's) attention on him that would eventually lead to the event which would reveal who he was to the world and land him in Arkham for the first time.

[myconetted]

more tumblr meta in response to @alliered's post here

be warned: i am inarticulate yet verbose

on volunteer work

Tumblr has around 200 full-time employees. As of 2019, it looks like it had 16 million monthly active users. Two hundred people is just not a lot of people to run a social media site, which has to follow regulatory requirements and do moderation and all that shit. Volunteer work is going to happen and you can't really get around it. That's how scrappy teams operate.

Is tumblr chaotic? Yes. Could it stand to be more organized? ...Maybe? I remember the glassdoor reviews saying it was total cowboy culture and you were mostly left to your own devices. @jv (who works at tumblr) has also commented in late 2022 that tumblr is still very decentralized and you're encouraged to ask forgiveness rather than permission.

I don't work at tumblr so I have no idea how much of a problem this is, but it's worth remembering the point I made earlier: you can reduce chaos and thrash by adding process at the cost of making everything slightly slower. For tumblr specifically, since it's a remote team distributed across timezones, requiring people to come to meetings to make decisions can make things a lot slower because there will only be a few hours in the day that everyone can attend a meeting and limited overlapping waking hours. You're in the US and you wanted to ask your manage in the UK about whether you need to work on X or Y? Hopefully you asked in the morning, because your 2pm is their 10pm!

When you have a small enough team where everyone is very senior, it can actually be a huge productivity boost to do things in a pretty ad-hoc way. I personally have witnessed the transition from a ~70 person org to a 150-200 person org, and at 70 people we didn't need internal newsletters or super-fancy ticketing systems or dedicated project managers. Everyone knows everyone and can just ping each other directly. At 150-200 people, that starts to break down, and you get into situations where two teams might be working on very similar things without knowing.

Maybe that's something tumblr could do better, but it's also the type of thing that requires a shitload of concerted effort to get right: the worst thing you could do is introduce a bunch of middle management who end up wasting more time than they save because they don't have enough background information or technical expertise.

new features

also for bug fixing and new features.... the thing is that many users speak more on NOT wanting so much time spent on what seem like weightless updates when we want more focus in issues that have existed for weeks, months, and even years.

I think this point is really important for understanding a lot of the recent changes around tumblr that have occurred basically ever since it got acquired by automattic. Here's the bottom line: tumblr is not profitable and never has been. That means everything tumblr has been doing until now is not enough.

Tumblr needs more users and it needs to get more money from those users, or it dies. That's it.

The easiest and most reliable way to make money is to serve ads, serve a ton of them, and let advertisers pay more to target specific user demographics with their ads. In 2022, 90% of twitter's revenue was from ads. But tumblr's owners and staff don't want to do that, so they're exploring other options.

Which is why you've been seeing new features you didn't ask for: tumblr needs users, tumblr needs money; if the current features aren't cutting it, then they need to find some new features that will. Some features like the "live" thing are an attempt to get more users and/or engagement, to lure people in from other platforms like tiktok and instagram who are into that kind of thing. Other features, like the checkmarks and badges and merch, are more directly about getting money.

You may not like non-chronological timelines, but users coming from other platforms haven't had to curate their own feeds for like a decade now and just have no idea how to do that--tumblr offers recommendation-based feeds because it's empirically successful and helps you retain users. So you can see they're trying a lot of different things right now.

You might be wondering why this has only started happening within the last two or so years even though automattic acquired tumblr in late 2019. If public statements are worth anything, it's because they spent the first couple years rebuilding a shitload of backend infrastructure, probably paying down a ridiculous amount of technical debt, in order to make the platform stable and flexible enough for staff to work on a bunch of new features at once without worrying about extreme jank or bringing the whole platform down because someone removed a load-bearing print statement.

spam bots

Matt, CEO of automattic and the guy who's currently running tumblr as his highest priority, said last year that tumblr would need 2 million users to buy ad-free browsing in order to offset tumblr's running costs. At $40/yr, that's $80m annually to keep the lights on for tumblr.

EDIT: Here's a post from another staff member who breaks this down in a lot more detail and explains the motivation for the Live feature.

Fighting spam is just a notoriously difficult problem that no one has solved. The current situation mainly boils down to: get rid of all the spambots, or avoid accidentally banning real users. Pick one. That's it! To put this into perspective, neither Facebook nor Twitter have figured it out either. And they're both huge compared to tumblr, not just in terms of headcount but also in terms of the engineers they attract: we're talking about the combined efforts of hundreds of smart engineers who have tons of resources to tackle this problem. They haven't figured it out. In 2019 when tumblr was acquired by automattic, it had a total of 200 employees, whereas twitter had 4,900 and facebook/meta had 45,000. All things considered, I think tumblr's doing a pretty good job both in their automatic detection and their reporting system.

This is also one of those areas where people will be very tight-lipped about the specific things they're doing to fight spam, and for good reason. Fighting spam is a constant battle where each side is updating their strategies and trying new things. I don't know if you've noticed, but these spambots come in waves (at least that's how I've experienced it). The influx of spambots come in, tumblr figures out how to prevent and ban them, the spammers figure something else out, a new wave comes in, rinse and repeat. Making public posts about how the spambot detection works is a great way to tell spammers how to evade detection.

would finding a way to make the sign up process more difficult for spam bots be able to clear up resources elsewhere?

Yes, making sign-ups harder can make it more difficult for spammers to make accounts. But it also makes it harder for people to sign up. And again, tumblr can't really afford to add friction to the sign-up flow, because friction means losing potential users, and tumblr needs users. Also you would be surprised how easily spammers are able to circumvent these kinds of things so you end up in a state where you have fewer user sign-ups but the bots are still everywhere.

user feedback (tickets)

I mostly ran out of energy at this point but with respect to whether or not staff knows about things users want and how they're keeping track: that's what the ticketing system is for! That's why cyle keeps telling people to make tickets! The support tickets are how tumblr staff keep track of problems users are having and feature requests. Those tickets are connected to a ticket tracker where they can keep track of spikes in user requests and bugs and spam bots. I know it sounds stupid and it sounds like they're just telling you to put your suggestions directly into the trash, but that's actually the for-real tracking system they use for monitoring bugs and feedback. Everything else, like the various official and personal blogs, are because they're passionate about making some of this stuff visible to users.

So yeah they could maybe make portions of their internal tracker more public so users can see what tumblr is prioritizing, but that introduces its own problems, up to and including making the tracker less useful to staff. (I don't know if you've ever seen the chromium tracker. It's a nightmare.)

---

anyways tldr:

money hard without ads

tumbler need money and probably has to get this money without a significant headcount increase (not sure how much runway automattic has, but it's probably less than in 2019 because of the pandemic and the econony and all)

maybe tumblr could benefit from more internal process and organization but it's really hard to say as an outsider

otherwise i think it's kinda hard to ask staff to do more than what they're already doing cause they're doing a lot rn

don't let that stop you from giving them feedback, because even when you feel like all your feedback is going into a black hole whenever you open a support ticket, that's actually how they track these things. nothing screams user feedback like 300 new tickets in the queue about the same thing and they actually have to close those things out

i really didn't appreciate that last bullet point until i started working at a company with a product. users would ping individual engineers about things being busted and it's always like DUDE you're supposed to email support so it actually gets seen!! otherwise it's just hanging around in someone's inbox!

[labyrinthofsphinx]

Statistical Outliers

Part 4 and 4.5 of drabble. Couldn't really figure out how I should chop it up so, extra long one this time. Still working on something else in the meantime.

“Voxtek is proud to present the newest innovation in headset technology. Gone are the days when the screams of the damned or your annoying mother-in-law ruin your gaming experience! The sound cancellation on them is guaranteed to see you through even the noisiest situation!”

As if to accent the point, Vox, while wearing them, stood in front of comically large speakers. The sound cut out just as the speakers activated, the force of the sound enough to send his employees flying. Vox, himself, couldn’t hear anything. A quick press of a button to the side activated a secondary feature, sound filtering.

“And if that wasn’t enough, they can also filter out any sound you want, save for your voice. Again, perfect for the unfortunates still stuck in their mother’s basement! Not only are they connectable to any and all of your Voxtek devices, but the wireless communications can hook up straight to your speaker function. You can take your call and enjoy walking through a scream park without a problem! The perfect gift for a busybody like myself!”

On cue, Velvette slid into frame, sporting a brand new, very modernized outfit. On top her head was the special one she requested, the one with ears. The lights dimmed ever so slightly, and Velvette’s outfit jumped to life, including glowing eye shadow and, of course, the frames of the ears. Again, not sure why it was such a necessity but he’s rolling with it.

“And right now, we’ve got a specialty line of them, working in collaboration with Velvette Designs! You might’ve seen them on the web lately! These items are limited release, so get them while their hot!”

Then, of course, the finale.

“Here at Voxtek, we strive for innovation! So Trust Us and take a look at our newest product!”

Before the commercial even finished, the limited release items sold which, at least informed Vox, that Velvette had once again been right. Apparently, people were fighting each other tooth and nail outside of stores for a set. Muggings and an odd black market popped up almost immediately. And that also meant the knock offs were starting up too, things that only ever made his products look even better by comparison. People wanted these things so badly that they were willing to risk getting ripped off. And these were people that hadn’t been hypnotized. Odd.

He might’ve felt compelled to thank her, but the kid was reward enough. Speaking of…

He watched him sitting there in her studio like a glorified trophy. Velvette was working on some designs that Val came up with for his models, things that looked trashy and were made even trashier. Naturally, that just wouldn’t do for their brand. While Vox didn’t usually care about this sort of thing, especially since none of Val’s workers ever wear clothes long enough for it to ever be noticeable, he will admit that it looked better on the poster if Angel wasn’t wearing cheap stockings and fake leather.

Anyways, the rest of the studio was treating the kid like a set piece, something to look at, coo at even, and then quickly return to work. He wasn’t speaking, but he was sunken into the couch like a boy dragged out to go shopping. Just sit, smile, and pretend everything everyone puts on looks lovely. Velvette had him in an oversized sweater which only made him look even punier. Looked good in pictures though, he noted as he scrolled through her recent posts.

He waved the footage away. He had other matters to attend to.

Like, for example, filming that segment about the horrors and potential health hazards of a specific frequency of radiowaves.

…

Just a few more hours. Then, he’d turn in for the night. Just had to go over the stock list again, product numbers, sales, and finally the new pitches his lesser technicians came up with. Only a few more things to do…

His sharks started to swim agitatedly, circling more, and then disappearing from his peripheral. Oh, great. He had a guest. Three guesses who.

“Val, I don’t have time for this right now! I’ve got-”

The smell of coffee caught him off guard. Val didn’t bring him coffee. He brought coffee to Val sometimes, but the only person who brought him coffee he threw off the building the other day. He didn’t expect him back to work so quickly either. Huh. Employee loyalty was a heck of a drug.

“Ah, great timing, and here I thought I’d have to go grab one myself-”

When he spun the chair around, he was greeted to the kid. He had a tray in his hand. Sitting atop it was a coffee, apparently handmade, and a muffin, chocolate chip from the looks of it.

“What’s this?”

The kid opened his mouth, then promptly shut it without uttering a peep. Vox rolled his eyes.

“You can answer when I ask you a question. What is this?”

“Black coffee, only a sip of cream. And a chocolate chip muffin.”

He peered at them, eyes narrowing.

“I’m not fucking blind. I know what they are but what,” He gestured. “is all this?”

“You…you’ve been in here all day.” His ears folded behind him, granting him an odd insight into just torn up he seemed to be. “I notice you haven’t eaten anything for hours…and I thought, well, you know.”

“…where’d you get the coffee?”

“The coffee bar.”

“How’d you know what I liked?”

His ears perked up almost immediately, and a thin smile crept up on him.

“So I was right?”

Well that remains to be seen. He snatched up the cup, the need for caffeine just overriding caution. Sure, it might be poisoned, but the deadliest kind around here was Val’s kind, and Vox regularly makes out with the man. If it was going to kill him, it should’ve done so already. Now, that didn’t mean he didn’t do a secondary analysis, testing the coffee as he chugged it down. The results came quick, almost as quickly as the warm liquid hitting his stomach.

It was…coffee. Black, with just a sip of cream. Actually, this was better than the ones his assistant made for him on the regular. That’s…not what he expected.

How exactly had the kid figured out his order?

Not that he’d admit that he liked it, of course.

He made a sour face, looking at it like it had been poison.

“Disgusting.” He tossed his hand up before the kid made a move to take it back though. “But better than nothing I guess.”

He snatched up the muffin this time and took a bite. Okay, it was actually good. Warm still, the chocolate was melted slightly into the muffin. Their kitchenette wasn’t fully stocked, so he had to assume the kid used the ingredients from his cooking kitchen. A quick double check at least told him that the kid cleaned up after himself so…not so bad. Certain things were out of place and would need fixing before his next kitchen segment, but it wasn’t a bad price to pay, sort to speak.

“God, kid. Where’d you learn to bake? You should get your money back.” He snarked.

But, as he chanced a glance, the kid’s delicate smile grew slightly. His ears weren’t pulled back anymore. In fact, they flicked up with excitement. It was annoying.

“What?”

The kid’s attention flickered between the coffee cup and the remains of the muffin. There was pride drawing on his cheeks, almost turning them flush. He had to pull back the urge to shock some sense back into him.

“Well, why don’t you run along now? You’ve handed over your revolting-”

“But you’re eating them.”

He blinked. Did this kid just interrupt him? Him?

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing.” He quickly added. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t look sorry. In fact, he looked almost gleeful. Had he been among friends, Vox imagines he’d be bouncing off the walls. Even his tail was wagging like a dog.

And there was only so much disrespect Vox could take in one turn. Especially to his face. And despite the coffee and snack.

“Get. Out.” He sneered through his teeth.

That wiped the smile off the kid’s face. His ears tugged down again, and his tail pulled at the bottom of his legs. His eyes drooped as he nodded, bowing out. His head lifted only for a moment, peering at the aquarium. Vox couldn’t see it directly, but the mirrored image of him in the glass seemed to wag a friendly finger towards his man-eating friends. He didn’t stop walking though. The door hissed shut as he left, giving Vox back his space.

The coffee was warm on his hands. The warmth seeped into the very soles of his shoes as he took another sip. You’d think he’d be used to the cold now, since he often kept this room colder than others to save his monitor’s the extra workload of having to cool. But heat was something he craved, just like moths crave the moon.

He bit into the muffin again. When was the last time he had a chocolate muffin? He can’t remember. He should look back into the security footage, steal the recipe for his next dessert special. At the very least, he needed to write it down so that when his assistant does finally reform, he can have it whenever he wants.

Work called back to him again, even as he polished off the muffin. The coffee made the extra time bearable, as usual. Not great, but better.

The news was the usual assortment of dramas. Another turf war has broken out, pitting southeastern kingpins against each other in a violent exchange that encircled the block. Fifty eight dead so far, but who counts death that aren’t permanent anyways? His new headsets were doing wonderfully, and the fakes were proving themselves to be both a disappointment and, as Velvette keeps tabs on such things, akin to social suicide. It was Voxtek or nothing.

And not to worry, they should have new shipments coming soon! It’ll only cost an arm, a leg, or a soul.

The bitterness of the coffee held back the sweetness leftover from the snack.

Alastor was asking around now, about the kid. He caught him disappearing to the cannibal part of town, old stomping grounds to him. There were less cameras there, but he didn’t need them to know that he’d be visiting his old gal pal. Rosy, for all else that she was, knew a lot of gossip. Gossip that, ironically, really wouldn’t help here. Alastor should know that. The kid wasn’t even close to there when Vox’s men picked him up. Was he dragging his feet? He seemed less enthusiastic about the kid’s safety than Vox would’ve expected. They had seemed close. Well, as close as any of those deadbeats seemed to be. Alastor wasn’t the type to purposefully turn his back on a friend…or potential ally. Then, he considered how similarly he was treated once upon a time. Close enough to seem close, but never enough to truly care. For a moment, he wished the coffee was more bitter.

Finally, after a few hours slipped into a few too many, Vox was done with today. The rest had to wait for tomorrow. What was the point of being an Overlord if he couldn’t draw the line where he wanted? Oh, wait, no. That project needs to be reviewed and-

He caught an odd alert. Someone was looking something up on his T.V., something not in the library.

Sitting there on the couch, the newest waste of time sighed to himself as his search yielded no results. Vox tapped into the camera just in time to hear him complain.

“Oh, come on! He has to have it here somewhere. It was his show.”

A show of his? He brought up the search.

Well…it was one of his, one of his first ones. Back when he was still fresh off the hooves of the mortal realm fads. It was a sitcom of sorts, featuring characters dealing with life in a POW camp during the war. It was so old; it was still filmed in black and white. Half the actors in it had died to exterminations. One had drained his career down the bottle and drugs. Another had faded into obscurity when he refused to sign on for a different project, an insult Vox treated kinder back then.

It had been fun though, at the time. One of his first big breakout shows. People ate it up. Until times changed and tastes changed and no one wanted to hear about that war anymore. Vox got with the program. He wasn’t about to let an opportunity slip.

Unfortunately, that was the end of his first experiment. He gave it one last episode, ending like any other, before moving to the next thing. It’s too bad too. He’d been hoping the end of that show would showcase the actual end of the war, but…well…as he said, times had changed.

So, what was the kid doing looking it up? He hadn’t the slightest clue.

The kid kept digging, trying to find it on his streaming, his internet, even digging through the cabinet looking for DVDs. He wasn’t going to find anything. Once everything went to digital, that was the end of the DVDs.

He had half a mind to call Velvette up and tell her to watch her pets. In fact, he was going to but…his fingers curled around the warm mug.

Ugh, fine. Whatever.

A ping noise popped over the T.V., making the kid jump to attention. Look at that! All eight seasons of the show just got downloaded onto the platform! Aren’t you lucky?

He’d not seen so much joy in someone down here in a long time. Like, childhood giddiness. He was smiling like it was Christmas and the first present he opened was the one he wanted all along. It was odd, to say the least.

“Yes!” The giddiness spread to his legs now, and he could barely keep from leaping off the couch as he turned it on.

The intro song played. It was a chipper tune, playing along the lines of the old marching songs but lighter toned for general audience viewing. The kid knew every beat of it, and he twitched his head to the drum. Personally, it’d always been an earworm for him. That’s one of the reasons he went with it. Anything that could stay inside your head all day was something you’d give another watch later.

But, again, it’s been a while since any of this aired. It made sense that he’d still remember the beat. He invented it. The kid had no reason to know it, not this well. Maybe he heard about the show from some old sinner lurking about, that he could kinda understand even if he didn’t get the fascination with it. But knowing the song?

The more he watched, the more he realized that the kid wasn’t just excited to see the show, he was a fan of it. He knew the characters, knew the catchphrases, knew the twists. Hell, he seemed to know most of the episodes in general, from guest stars to side plots.

By the time he’d finished with work, the series was up to its last season. It’s this one the kid fell asleep watching. Vox wasn’t even sure the kid ate anything this whole time. Vel and Val were still out partying or whatever at this ungodly hour of the night. Given how he hasn’t moved at all, he can only imagine that Velvette abandoned her little toy or, worse, expected Vox to make sure he was still alive by the end of the day.

Speaking of food, he’d need some himself. The coffee was gone hours ago, and the muffin felt like a lifetime away to his stomach. He could make himself something. Hey, those cooking shows weren’t just an act. But that would require so much more work than he felt capable of right now.

He dragged himself away from his monitor room, his pet sharks darting about for one last look at their owner before the doors slammed shut again.

Was the meatloaf he made the other day still there? Probably not. Anytime Val smokes too much, he devours any leftovers that managed to make it the day. The bar had some snacks stocked in it, some for Velvette and some for bar prep, namely lemons, limes, and small accompaniments. At this point, he’d eat a whole fucking tree of lemons if he had to.

When he got to the longue, episode eighteen of the last season was playing. He remembers filming that one, where the POWs snuck out dressed in drag to pretend to be army nurses for the other side. At the time, even in hell, the drag caught people off guard, mostly because Vox made sure it damn well looked convincing. He snickered to himself as the lieutenant asked if the outfit complemented his figure. That was an adlib. The actor actually asked to keep the costume afterwards. Vox obliged.

Okay, now, bar.

He found some of the spread snacks lying about: crackers, chips, and different cheeses. He also found the whiskey, which he needed after a day like today. He grabbed them all and sat at the coffee table, just as the characters flirted past the guards to get to the secret plans hidden in the hospital. Ordinarily, they try not to eat here, on account of the expensive furniture and because Vox himself has made a habit of standing on the furniture when he got too excited. But with both of them gone, he didn’t care.

As for the kid, well, he was too small to take up much space on the couch as it was. That, and he was curling up as much as possible, so he hardly took over much more than elbow space. He sat down beside him, eyes unfocused and starting to drift.

In the world’s worst excuse for a sandwich, he smushed a piece of cheese, the kind didn’t matter, between two crackers. He downed about twenty of them before he reached for his whiskey. Yeah, there definitely wasn’t enough of that for tonight. He finished the bottle way too fast. Great. Well, better get back to the crackers. Otherwise he was gonna have a massive migraine later. And that just wouldn’t do with the morning news!

God, he needed another drink-

“Do they get out, in the end?”

He almost spit the crackers and cheese out like a rocket. Thankfully he didn’t. Velvette would throw a fit if she sat down and ruined an outfit on spit out, half chewed crackers.

“Where you just sitting here the whole time awake-?”

“Because the last episode doesn’t say if they got out.” As the kid pouted and, before he could even come up with an intelligent response, noticed the empty bottle and snack food. “…is that your dinner?”

If he wasn’t so tired and, admittedly a little tipsy, he might’ve snapped at the kid for talking over him, then not even giving him the second to think. As it was, the alcohol, the sleep deprivation, and growling of his stomach was making his mind a little too fuzzy to answer like he normally would.

“I dunno, kid. Didn’t think too much on it.”

“…regarding the show or dinner?”

He blinked slowly. It didn’t make the world stop spinning.

“Both. I think both.”

The kid went silent for a moment, just enough time for him to sit up a little bit more. Geez, was he always that small? Was it just his stupidly big ears that made him look bigger?

“I can only make muffins.” The kid announced randomly.

He swears his processors were lying to him. He did not just say that.

“…What?”

“Lucifer taught me how to make muffins, but I haven’t figured out pancakes yet. Do you want PB and J?”

“The fuck are you on about, kid?”

“Everybody says hangovers suck, and that it’s worse if you don’t eat anything. You want crust or no crust?”

The alcohol was swimming in his brain too much. The kid had a point. He’s drunk too much and ate too little. What would the viewers say tomorrow if Vox, the Vox, looked like he drank himself stupid the day before? Logically, his numbers automatically fed back to him, he should eat something.

But his mouth wasn’t running by his logistics, unfortunately.

“What do you mean, ‘everybody says’? What, you’ve never been hungover?”

The kid’s face pursed like he ate a lemon, or a girl with kooties tried to kiss him. Revolt, the kind that only kids had for stupid things like love, baths, and vegetables, tugged on his face.

“I make it a point not to drink anything I could run a car on.”

A deep throated laugh burst from him. He’s not even sure where it came from. It kinda just puked right out his mouth and filled the room.

“That was funny.” He managed between filling his lungs. “Where you always funny, or am I way too drunk?”

He doesn’t think he should’ve said that last part out loud now that he thinks about it. Thankfully the kid didn’t answer the stupid question with a stupid answer. Instead, a small grin peeked under his muzzle.

“So, PB and J?”

He put the bottle down, the empty clang of it echoing in the room. He forgot how quiet it was when everyone else was gone. He was so used to this being their space, their collective space, that any time spent alone felt…odd. The kid wasn’t much. Even drunk off his ass, he couldn’t really compare to having one of the other Vees here.

But, you know, he was funny. A bit.

And he offered peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Even the other Vees never offered as much when he was drunk, not that he remembers anyways.

“Yeah, kid. Go make me a fucking sandwich.”

“Okay, but don’t watch the last episode without me!” He leapt up and over towards the cooking set. Again, he needed to chase his staff over and clean that up later, for tomorrow’s lesson. He was going to go over a filet mignon with red wine reduction sauce. That was the plan. Now, for some reason, he was wondering if he was better off showing how to make muffins.

The intro song played again. It was the last episode of the series. Nothing special, he didn’t get to have the grand finale he’d once envisioned. It was still as good as any other episode though. And no, he didn’t feel like waiting either.

The kid came back with the sandwiches about a fourth of the way through. He had removed the crust and sliced it down the middle to make two even triangles. It was a fucking lunch his mother could’ve packed him for school. He was eating school lunch. He didn’t feel drunk enough to be eating school lunch, though he was just hungry enough to cave.

It was good, obviously. Hard to mess up PB and J, especially with his own ingredients.

“I told you not to watch without me.”

The kid huffed as he bit into a different sandwich, also peanut butter and jelly.

“Did I ever say I agreed to that?” He mentioned back.

“…you’re kinda a jerk.”

Of all the insults he’s taken: the curses, the lengthy speeches, the loudmouth screeching of a certain radio, he’s not sure he’s ever been called a ‘jerk’. It was so wildly immature, but not in the ‘I’m spouting whatever curse comes to mind’ kind of way. But, probably because he was drunk and because it wasn’t the usual cursing white noise it hit harder than expected. Like, he laughed, but there was a bitter edge to it.

“A ‘jerk’? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?” His toothy grin might remind one of a shark, though it probably looked less intimidating with peanut butter all over his teeth.

The kid shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just seemed to be the word that fit best, I guess.”

Somehow, that was even more insulting.

“…shut up.”

He did as he was told, staying quiet for a good couple of minutes, but Vox didn’t really talk much either. He usually loved talking in the middle of movies or shows, partly to annoy but partly to entertain when the watchability wasn’t there.

“Do you still have the sets from the show? I know sometimes people in Hollywood would reuse sets.” The kid asked, interrupting the silence. And giving Vox plenty to talk about.

“From this show? Nah. We used some of it for other programs at the time, but a lot of it was scrapped when we branched out into Sci-fi shows. The space race was a hell of a time for TV.” Notably, the kid seemed genuinely upset to hear that, though something about the sag of his shoulders told Vox that he expected that answer.

And, okay, he was still drunk and not thinking right.

“I’ve got the captain’s hat in my closet.”

The kid’s jaw snapped open.

“Really?”

Wow, he just wore his emotions on his sleeve, huh?

“Yeah, it’s got all the pins on it still too.” Why had he kept it? Even he didn’t really know the answer. There’s been a few times where he’d thought about throwing it away, like the rest of the old, outdated junk but…well, then there were moments like these. When drunk, he liked thinking about those stupid passion projects. It was better than focusing on more recent events, usually.

“That’s so cool!”

Well, that might be going a step too far.

“It’s just an old hat, kid.”

“From a classic show!” He argued. “It just sucks that Hell doesn’t have museums or something.”

His show as a dusted up old display in a museum? Even drunk, that sounded suspiciously like an insult.

“That’s because Hell is the museum, kid.” He flashed his teeth again. “Too many old bastards long past their time hanging around and dragging their fucking heels. It’s all a museum and a fucking zoo down here.”

To that, the kid didn’t seem to have an argument. He gave up a little sigh.

“You’d think people with knowledge from, like, thousands of years ago would be really cool.”

“Fossils.” Vox, now hitting a little too close to his chest, stopped smiling. “Just a bunch of fucking fossils who are pissed off that the world didn’t fucking stop turning when they died. Bunch of narcissistic assholes who think everything should revolve around them.”

The kid stopped mid-bite and just looked at him. After a moment, it started being pretty funny.

“Hey, the world actually does revolve around me!” He stated. The kid raised a brow and gave a slow blink of his eyes. “It’s true! If it wasn’t for me, nothing would’ve ever changed down here. Trust me, before I got to Hell, you would’ve thought we were in the dark ages.”

The episode’s outro played, a reprised version of the intro song. As the last episode though, it seemed a little slower pitched than he remembered, as if it wanted to go on just a little bit longer. It was an absurd thought, especially since all episodes fitted nicely into the exact TV slot allotted to them, with commercials. None of them were any longer than others. But this? It seemed longer. Did he do that on purpose? He doesn’t remember doing that on purpose.

He snatched the remote before the kid could. His eyes were dipping a bit from the need for sleep, and the cocktail of PB and J and whiskey settling in his stomach. So, rather than take a chance on the remote, he flicked the signal between his fingers, telling the TV to put on a game show. Guess he still had old crap on the brain because the one that popped up was one of the ancient, prerecorded ones. That was back when TV was on more of a schedule, meaning that at some point in the night the broadcasts would stop.

It was a non-creative project, something he’d ripped off from a show he’d used to watch, except instead of trying to figure out someone’s job, you’d typically be figuring out how they died. Vox had found some pretty amusing ones over the years. One of his favorites was the guy who’d been reporting the weather and died when a fish leapt out of the water and smacked him in the face. Poor bastard wasn’t even sure if it was the impact of the fish that killed him or if it was falling off the dock and getting run over by a boat.

Some of the best ones resulted in sinners that looked really fucking weird, because, apparently, part of being in hell was remembering, forever, how and what killed you. He remembered a guy that looked like his face was squashed by an old cartoony hammer because he’d actually died to a piano being dropped on his head.

Vox, of course, had been the host. Some other demons filled in the guessers’ positions, people who’ve long faded into the background of his mind. In this one, a demon resembling a polar bear wrote his name down and sat beside Vox as the questioning began.

“He got sliced by a hockey skate, didn’t he?”

Okay, color Vox surprised.

“How’d you figure that?”

“’Cause his fur looks like a hockey jersey and he keeps trying to hide his neck.”

Huh. He supposed that was true. Maybe he’d seen the episode before though. Maybe he was just lying. Well, there was one quick way to test it.

“Not bad. Alright, here’s a tougher one. How did I die?” He challenged. He better not say he got crushed by a TV. He’s heard that one way too many times, and he was sick and tried of people assuming he got knocked off like a looney tunes character-

“My guess would be a power surge.”

“…huh?”

“Well, I mean, you don’t look like you’ve got any scars on you, but you’re a kind of dark blue everywhere. And you short circuit the city when you get mad. So, my guess would be you got electrocuted or something.”

That was a first. Obviously, his death was a little more graphic and detailed than some random electrocution. Here, come watch the death of your favorite TV star! Live for one night only. Or alive for one last night only. And there were still people out there that thought the chair was merciful. Merciful, my ass. That shit had hurt.

“Couldn’t be further from the truth, kid. You really suck at this.” He teased. “But since we’re on the subject…”

There honestly wasn’t much to go on for the kid. He was used to having these answers behind an info card, rather than having to guess himself. Sure, constant practice showed some consistent things. He’s not sure how the fox part of his appearance played into things, but he could spot the pattern of his ears and arms well enough. The slight glint of his freckles reminded him more of taillights than of actual freckles. Also, he was a kid. What was the most obvious thought there?

“What? You go chasing after your ball and get hit by a car?”

The kid suddenly found interest in his feet, kicking them around like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Oh, he could picture it now. A stupid little kid on his way to school, playing in the street when all of a sudden-

“I got run over by an eighteen-wheeler.”

A What?

“Come again?”

“I was driving my car, took my eyes off the road for a second. An eighteen-wheeler had come barreling down the road going the wrong way.”

What the fuck?

“Like, run over though? Not just crashed into the car?”

He nodded.

“I think that’s why I’ve got treads on my arms, legs, and ears. If you get my meaning.”

Holy shit. Like karma was a bitch and, yeah, obviously the kid was down here for…something but-

“Was it quick at least?”

The kid bit his lip, and his body curled closer to him.

“I…I just remember the headlights.”

He was lying. Vox knew that. Oh, fuck, that’s a hard way to go. Plus, he’s a kid. He felt like his brain was running too many programs at once, never a smart thing to do while intoxicated.

“How old are you?”

“Um…twelve, I think. Maybe thirteen. I…I don’t really remember. Time’s so weird down here.”

Twelve? They threw a twelve year old down here with the likes of serial killers, sex offenders, and power hungry dictators? What the fuck did he do? Did he accidently bring a super psycho into the Vee tower?

“Where you murdering other children behind the school cafeteria or something? How does a twelve year old get into hell? You’re not even alive long enough to do anything. Or big enough. Or have a functioning brain.”

“Can we talk about something else?”

“No, we are clearing this up right fucking now. Why are you down here?”

He was not going to let this go. The last thing he needed was for a deranged little twerp like Alastor’s girl running around stabbing things. Sure, he hasn’t shown any of that yet and he did check into that loser’s hotel but he’s learned better than to trust that. If the kid wasn’t going to spill, he’d just make him, with a quick suggestion of course.

“I…I mean.” The kid shuddered, and he seemed to gulp down air. “I-I went for a drive. It was dark, and it was raining. I-I honestly d-didn’t mean to hit him! He just walked out from the woods somewhere a-and I-I-I didn’t see him.”

Oh. Well, that made more sense then. But damning a twelve year or thirteen year old for an accident? Seemed excessive, even to Vox. Usually he punished people for, you know, actual mistakes. There was the occasional fuck up that couldn’t be ignored obviously, but he’d think kids would get a special pass, at least.

“So, what? You bury his body in the middle of nowhere?”

He shook his head.

“I just…I just panicked. I drove off…I…I didn’t even try to help.”

“…okay, then what? You lie to everyone and get someone else convicted?”

There had to be another reason…right?

“No. I only drove another few miles before the truck happened.”

Wait. Wait.

“You mean to tell me that you got damned to hell because of an accident? You? A kid?”

“…I…I think’s it more because I ran instead of helping-”

He said more but Vox toned him out because what the actual fuck. No wonder hell was overpopulated. An accident? An accident was all it took to send an otherwise innocent soul to shack up with the murderers, rapists, and tyrants of the world?

You knew something was wrong when he thought that heaven or whoever was in charge of this nonsense went too far.

“I am not drunk enough to process this.”

“You’ve had two bottles already.”

He had? Huh. Where’d the second bottle come from? A quick look revealed that he was holding a bottle, a different one from the one on the table. Though, from his spot on the couch, it’s started to look like four bottles rather than two. Again, not a good sign.

A quick check of his internal clock told he needed to be in bed like two hours ago if he’d planned on getting up without issue in the morning. He went to stand, putting just the barest amount of weight on his legs when he felt them buckle. Okay, too drunk and too weak to walk. Brilliant.

“See that blanket over there?” He gestured to the same one the kid found yesterday, labeled with their logo in that warm flannel knit. It was on Val’s couch which meant it might not exactly be clean, but if he’d been scared away by that about Val, they wouldn’t be in their stupid little back and forth all the time. “Go get it.”

He did as he was told. Being sober granted him the ability to at least check it before bringing it over. In that time, Vox pushed around pillows, making a small wall that he planned to use as a rest for his screen. The kid held the throw out, and he wasted no time in tossing it over himself. He always had to make sure it didn’t accidentally cover his fans, least he overheats and really needs a tune up in the morning. Almost as soon as he laid down right, everything in his body seemed to be losing power. Feedbacks were starting to fail. Limbs started turning to jelly.

“Do I have to sleep on the floor again? It’s cold on the floor.”

“Kid, could you just shut up? I’ve had too long of a day to deal with this.”

“…is that a no?”

Sparks started flying about his face, some getting dangerously close to the blanket. By now, most of the casual fabrics lounging around their inner sanctum up here have been made fireproof. Live and learn and all that. That doesn’t mean he hasn’t been known not to melt a few of them when in a particularly bad mood, anger he tries to keep tight on a leash.

Except when he’s drunk. Like now. Which is a bit of a problem.

Calm down. You don’t want to set the tower on fire now, do you? No, you don’t. That’d be bad for the reputation, the brand’s reputation, and especially your reputation. You don’t want him to win again, do you?

Plus, you’d have to deal with pissed off Val and Vel.

He steeled his nerves and opened his eyes a bit.

“Clean this shit up and I’ll think about it.” He wouldn’t. He’d be passed out long before clean up would be finished.

“…pinkie promise?”

Were pinkie promises deals? He didn’t think so. Nothing in his database said they were.

“Yeah, sure.”

Despite the dark circles on his eyes, the kid was surprisingly springy. And trusting, because he seemed to just take Vox’s word on the matter. He caught him bounding around the table like a jack rabbit in his fading peripheral vision, his red fur blending in with the maroon hues of the cushions around. Right before everything went offline, he had an odd moment of clarity.

He was unarmed, drunk, passed out on the couch at the disposal of someone who would literally only gain from his death. It wasn’t like he was under contract. His guards wouldn’t be so stupid as to let the kid leave, but it’s not like any of them could reach him in time if, say, the kid poured the whisky into his outlet.

This is a bad idea, he concluded. Then he knocked out.

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3/ Part 4/ Part 5/ Part 6/ Part 7/ Part 8/ Part 9/ Part 10

[republicansaredomesticterrorists]

This bill was written by the Koch and Walton employees at the American Legislative Exchange Council (ALEC). This organization matches up current and prospective Republikkkan politicians with right-wing oligarchs and conservative corporations. ALEC is probably the most heinous right-wing think tank, certainly the most overt, in the nation. They write the legislation that Republikkkans pass in Congress and in red state legislatures. They write the anti-abortion laws, the anti-trans laws, the pro-gun laws, and all the other things that you protest. Yet you still shop at Walmart.

A boycott of Walmart would bring big changes very fast. When they were briefly boycotted during the big years they went into panic mode and temporarily suspended many of their right-wing activities. They also scrubbed the internet of many of their right-wing connections. Today the Walton family keeps their continued support of right-wing policy organizations under cover. Koch is so diversified that they are practically bulletproof. As such they openly brag about their involvement in buying Republikkkan politicians. Koch spent over a billion out of pocket to back Trump and every single Republikkkan running for state and federal office in 2016. Walton spent just under a billion to do the same.

They are shaping our society. They are crafting our policies. They are controlling what nearly half the country believes. ALEC has been trying to create a parents bill of rights for public schools for years and it’s been on their website. They are behind all the school board protests and disruptions across the nation. They issue a steady stream of propaganda and detailed instructions on how to carry it out. First it is distributed to county level MAGA coordinators who then disseminate it to ward captains in each school district. They bring together groups of irate crisis actors (and easily duped parents) and attend school committee and PTO meetings where they loudly read from scripts written by ALEC.

This isn’t a conspiracy theory and you don’t have to be James Bond to learn about this. The people at the local level are morons with big mouths so you can infiltrate them without much subterfuge. In fact all you have to do is get on Republican mailing lists and they’ll email it directly to your device. I once had a former in-law who was a RNC county level official and I used to see some really disturbing snail mail and emails. This whole top to bottom hierarchy was created by Karl Rove to create the illusion of grass-roots movements. It’s how they started the Tea Party.

[zipzapzopzoop]

There's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow

Chapter 16: I Spy

One of the biggest challenges working in a laboratory was the fact that it was active at all hours, day or night. There were no off hours. No holidays. No closing shift. 

And no chance of not being seen.

Well, Cornelius preferred to look at the bright side of things. A bigger facility with more employees means more to keep track of. He only wondered how long it would take the chief scientific officers to notice he borrowed some supplies to make a few “toys.”

Cornelius kept his hands in the pockets of his lab coat as he hurried through the corridor and to one of the deeper sections of this building that felt more like a labyrinth than a laboratory. He may never be alone in the building, but he sure as hell can take advantage of the slower hours.

He softened his footsteps as he reached the main security office. Cornelius put his ear to the door… He could hear a mouse clicking. A man coughed and cleared his throat. It’s most likely the same person, considering it was almost four in the morning.

‘Can never be too cautious, though,’ the inventor muttered to himself as he pulled a small device from his coat sleeve. It had legs, a flat, round body, and a little head, like that of a ladybug. It blinked up at him with tiny blue eyes and raised its antennae awaiting orders. Carefully, he slid the little thing under the crack of the door, and just like that, it went to work.

Up the wall it crawled, settling itself above the wall speaker. Its wings opened up to reveal a speaker underneath. Just as programmed, it mimicked the familiar chime of the intercom.

Bwip Bwip!

“All personnel on floor 6B are required in the auditorium on ground 2C for an emergency announcement. Attendance is mandatory. Repeat. All personnel…”

Cornelius rounded a corner and watched three employees leave the room, chatting amongst themselves about some topic he didn’t quite catch. 

As soon as he heard the ding of the elevator door shut, he left his hiding spot and went to the security office door. He swiped the stolen lanyard and strolled into the dark room, holding his hand up to catch the ladyb0t. “Well done,” he whispered, rewarding it with a smile and a pet (with only one finger due to the ladyb0t’s itty bitty size). It gave a happy whirr and tucked its legs and head away until its next use.

Cornelius tucked the little thing in his pocket and locked the door.

The single computer screen provided the only light in the room. Cornelius got to work on the computer. If he could find out where the others were, or better yet, find out how the facility is finding them so fast, he could lead their eyes away while his family escapes.

The screen showed only surveillance of the laboratory, as well as the surrounding property and parking garage. Cornelius was confused. Surely there’s a way they could see some other spots around the city if they were catching the others so quickly. There must be. 

With sweaty hands he typed, trying to get it before the other employees got to the auditorium and realized something was amiss. An option at the bottom of the screen caught his eye. 

VIEW ALL SURVEILLANCE 

Cornelius’s mouse hovered… then he clicked on it.

One by one, screens around the room began to light up in the darkness, displaying security footage from cameras around the entire city. The Father of the Future stood to his feet in disbelief as screen after screen after screen lit up, showing him the city he grew up in. The grocery stores, the parks, the banks, the hotels, every business chain or small mom and pop restaurant. The orphanage. The observatory. It was all there. All of it.

---

Check out the story on my Archive!

[varpusvaras]

Case Number: 8889-BA-8889-7

Date: 02.07. 3388

Reporting Officer: Imarab Onnah

Incident Type: Break-in, theft, murder, destruction of public property

Description of Report: A full incident report regarding the chase and arrest of Yokonni Oret, after a break-in to the Metropolitan Museum of Coruscant

Full Report: See Below

At 03:45, 02.07., the Security Forces received an alert from the Metropolitan Museum of Coruscant. A nearby patrol arrived to the location at 03:51. The break-in was still ongoing when the patrol arrived, and quickly located the suspect at the second floor storage room. On arrival, the patrol noted that one museum employee had been killed (Pictures of the scene attached; see attachment 4A), presumably by the suspect. The suspect fled as the patrol approached them, not complying with orders to surrender. They appeared to have taken something from the storage room (For more information, see attachment 6C). They escaped through an opening on the wall, which is believed to be the reason the alarm system of the museum was triggered.

The patrol commenced a chase, and alerted other nearby patrols of a runaway suspect. The facial scans done by probe droids used by the patrol identified the suspect as Yokonni Oret (Male, 31, Tholothian; for more information, see attachment 8A). The suspect refused to comply with the orders given by the officers during the chase, continuing to flee.

The suspect was succesfully surrounded by the initial patrol and patrol 90913 at 04:21. The suspect turned hostile, and aimed a small thermal detonator towards few of the officers surrounding him. Officer Toma Geleni opened fire towards the suspect, hitting him once to upper left arm, and once to the detonator suspect was holding in their left hand. The detonator exploded from the force of the direct hit, and the subsequent explosion injured the suspect and three officers, who received mostly superficial injuries. The suspect suffered extensive burns to their head and to the shoulder area and to the left hand and arm. The suspect was detained at 04:27. Medical transportation was ordered to the scene by the reporting officer for both the suspect and for the injured officers (For more information, see attachment 11C). Medical transportation from the Lamoramora Medcenter arrived at the scene at 04:38. Reporting officer accompanied the suspect in the transportation vehicle, with four (4) medical officers attending to the suspect (For more information, see attachment 11E). The transportation arrived at the Lamoramora Medcenter at 04:59. The suspect was brought in for treatment that lasted until 07:15, after which he was contained to a private room 7765 at the Medcenter, with officers Rev'en and Thass remaining at the Medcenter.

The suspect was deemed too injured to be able to be questioned at the time, due to their extensive injuries preventing them from communication properly. The reporting officer returned to the Medcenter at 12:35, 06.07., to receive a statement from the suspect.

When the reporting officer asked for Yokonni Oret, the medic present requested a warrant, despite Oret being currently under arrest. When informed about this, the medic present claimed that Oret was admitted as a regular patient, and not by the Security Forces. After being presented the medic present with details from the case and the facial scans done by the probe droid, the reporting officer was brought into the room occupied by the suspect. Notably, the suspect had been transferred from the private room to a shared room with other patients, against the orders of the Security Forces.

The suspect still displayed heavy injuries on his head, and the questioning was executed by using an alternative communication device provided by the Security Forces. During questioning, the suspect refused to answer any questions given by the reporting officer, instead using the device provided to send other messages, that were irrelevant pertaining to the ongoing questioning (For more information, see attachment 18E). It was deemed that the suspect was not capable of answering to the questions done by the reporting officer, due to the severity of their injuries. It was decided that proper questioning would be done at a later date.

The reporting officer questioned the medical staff at the Lamoramora Medcenter for the reasons they had failed to comply with the orders given by the Security Forces regarding the suspect. The staff denied any failing to do so, and claimed that the suspect had not been brought in by the Security Forces at the date of the commited crime. The reporting officer received the logging infromation regarding the suspect; according to the Medcenter's system, the patient by the name Yokonni Oret was brought to the Medcenter at 02:01, 01.07., after a heavy assault.

When inquired about the suspect brought in at 02.07., the staff informed that the patient had been released by one of the Senior staff at 19.27 at 03.07. When asked to see the Senior staff member, the Medcenter informed that they had not returned back to work since (For more information, see attachment 20A).

Oret was detained, and moved into another private room, with officers stationed directly outside the room for the remaining time the suspect spent under medical treatment. They were transported to the Central Coruscant Detention Center at 13.11, at 15.07.

For other reports related to the case, see: The case number above.

-

(Attachment number: 18E

I.O.: I am officer Imarab Onnah, from the Coruscant Security Forces. Are you Yokonni Oret?

Y.O.: YES.

I.O.: You are suspected of commiting a break-in to the Metropolitan Museum of Coruscant

Y.O.: NO.

I.O.: You were identified by a probe droid used by the Security Forces at the scene of the crime. You have just confirmed with an officer present to your identity being Yokonni Oret

Y.O.: NO. NO.

I.O.: The staff here at the Medcenter have identified you as Yokonni Oret. You match to the description, and to your previous medical reports. Are you Yokonni Oret?

Y.O.: YES.

I.O.: You were brought in by the Coruscant Security Forces after you broke into the Metropolitan Museum of Coruscant

Y.O.: NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

I.O.: You were identified by

Y.O.: NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.

I.O.: You were identified at the crime scene. You are being charged with break-in, theft, and the murder of one of the museum staff during said break-in

Y.O.: NO. NO. NO. NO. NOT ME. MY FACE.

I.O.: I'm requesting that you only use the device to communicate when answering to questions

Y.O.: MY FACE. MY FACE. MY FACE. MY FACE.

I.O.: Sir, I am not asking you again. Please only use the the device when answering to questions

Y.O.: MY FACE. MY FACE. MY FACE. MY FACE. MY FACE.

I.O.: Are you capable of answering to my questions?

Y.O.: MY FACE. MY FACE. MY FACE.

Y.O.: NOT ME. NOT ME.

Y.O.: MY FACE.)

[onesidedradiostatic]

PATHETIC SHOWDOWN 2: ELECTRIC BOOGALOO

made a pathetic poll before, vox absolutely SWEPT against lucifer last time, pondered on it and thought hey out of all the people who could possibly evenly match up to vox in patheticness, ADAM might have a chance. SO

POINTS (feel free to come up with your own I am grasping at straws here):

Adam

FOR

got cucked by lucifer TWICE

what's more pathetic than getting left by your wife? getting left by BOTH your wives

an actual dudebro

dumb as bricks

just look at him

"HES UGLY" "PUT THE MASK BACK ON"

actually fucking dies

and not even by lucifer by fucking niffty

AGAINST

is actually a really powerful angel who could destroy alastor's shield with one punch and almost killed alastor

mentions that he does in fact fuck in episode 1

could possibly be argued to still have bitches with lute

Vox

some of these may just be copy and pasted from the last one. against will have new points to juxtapose adam though

if you've been around my space long enough you know these well

FOR

lost his own diss track against his rival

sings an entire number about not giving a fuck about his rival's return while being the only person TO give a fuck

tried to physically block a radio, an AUDIO output device as if it'd stop anything, failed at doing even that

his screen calls out the reason for his crashes and he seemingly can't control it

causes a city-wide blackout because his rival announced to everyone he rejected him

there is a non-zero possibility he was/is in love with said rival but said rival will never love him back

purposely avoided going to an overlords meeting and called his co-worker up at the very last minute to attend for him

the guy he appointed as a spy ended up being the very person to prove a sinner can be redeemed

coward who constantly hides behind screens

episode 8

AGAINST

he is capable in literally any context outside of alastor

debuts actually acting cunning

capable of coming up with something on the spot without hesitation (voxtek angelic security)

actually smart (able to interpret val's "put something inside them" comment as appointing a spy)

feared by his employees

well he didn't get left by anyone in an EXISTING relationship... he just got rejected in one that never started

he has bitches (yeah it's valentino but bitches are bitches okay!!)

is in fact not dead

[beardedmrbean]

A "dangerous object" found outside the Israeli embassy in Stockholm has been destroyed, Swedish police say.

The incident - labelled an "attempted attack" by the Israeli ambassador - saw officers cordon off a wide area nearby.

Police told the BBC it was too early to give further details on the object. They said no-one had been injured.

A spokesman later told the AFP news agency that staff had found a "live" device and alerted officers at about 13:10 local time (12:10 GMT).

The object was assessed by the national bomb squad, who chose to destroy it, the spokesman added.

A reporter for TV4 heard a "bang" at the site.

Meanwhile, national broadcaster SVT said armed police attended the scene and brought sandbags with them, reportedly to use during the disposal of the object.

The Israeli ambassador to Sweden said there had been an "attempted attack" on the embassy and its employees.

"We will not be intimidated by terror," Ziv Nevo Kulman posted on X. He thanked the Swedish authorities for their "swift action".

In her own post, Sweden's Deputy Prime Minister Ebba Busch said she was "shaken", adding: "The hatred against Israel is frightening. Violent extremism must be stopped."

Police say they are investigating, and have not said who might have planted the suspicious device.

The embassy is located by the waterside in the affluent Ostermalm area of Stockholm's city centre.

[shifahospitaltvl]

Acute Pancreatitis in Tirunelveli

Gallstones related acute pancreatitis is an inflammation of the pancreas which is involved in digestion and regulation of blood glucose levels and it occurs suddenly. This condition presents with acute severe pain in the abdomen, and therefore, needs proper medical intervention.

Etiologies and manifestations of AP

Causes: Gallstones and alcohol are widely recognized as causes of acute pancreatitis in up to 80% of cases. Others are some medicines, high levels of triglyceride and injury in the belly.

Symptoms: Acute pancreatitis has a typical complaint of severe constant upper abdominal pain which may be referred to the back. Some of such signs are vomiting, nausea, fever, rapid pulse, and so on. This is a low back pain that is usually made worse when the patient is engaged in a meal.

Treatment Process

Initial Diagnosis: However, upon admission to the hospital, the physician will examine the patient physically and perform some investigations which may include blood tests, sonography, computed tomography among others to establish the diagnosis of acute pancreatitis and the severity.

Hospitalization and Supportive Care: The majority of the cases entail admission. The initial management involves allow the pancreas to rest where the patient is required to refrain from eating in order to allow the pancreas to rest, administration of fluids through an intravenous drip in an effort to avoid dehydration, as well as medication to control pain which the patient is likely to be experiencing.

Addressing Underlying Causes: If gallstones are the reason, laparoscopic operations that remove them, like endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography (ERCP), might be done. In regard to alcohol, patients can be given psychosocial interventions that is they can be advised on how to minimize alcohol intake.

Monitoring and Recovery: There are always various issues during the surgery that may include postoperative infection or formation of fluid collections around the pancreas, hence, patients are closely observed in hospital. A program of feeding is then started after inflammation has subsided; the patient being fed initially on fluids only and then progressing to solids.

Long-Term Management

In order to avoid recurrent hospitalization, modification of certain risk factors is needed; cessation of alcohol consumption, weight loss to achieve a healthy BMI, and surveillance of gallstones if they were implicated.

Attending Shifa Hospital can avail first-class treatment for acute pancreatitis if you are in Tirunelveli. Dr. Kanthasami, a former consultant gastroenterologist at the University of Malaya Medical Centre and Dr. Shafique have successfully localized their care plans for patients suffering from gastroenterology problems at Shifa Hospital.

Based on the professional background of the doctors and other employees of Shifa International Hospitals, together with upgrades of devices and tools in the facility, the hospital provides optimal care to patients with acute pancreatitis and facilitates their recovery.

[eruditehacker]

Sunset Circuit was a fascinating place. Although he, personally, would have no nostalgia for such things, he could appreciate the similarities to the nostalgia evoked by Penacony, even for those who did not share the selfsame experiences.

And yet there was something far more real in the removed on this island. "Down to earth" one may say, familiar, grounded.

Although none of these applied to him.

The record store was a point of interest, and he held the vinyl delicately in gloved hands as he removed it from the warped player.

"Question: has the player itself skipped previously? If so, that would narrow down the mechanical concerns." Bemusement coated the voice of the expressionless face, with a mechanical organism as advanced as himself being asked to fix a record player.

Acknowledging the ringing of the bell signaling a new customer, he regards the brunette with a nod before turning back to the employee. "Affirmation: attend to your guest."

"Perhaps he can select a record of his choosing to test whether it is the device or record that is warped?"

@kleinstar