#any other important stuff comes through calls first. texts second. emails third as a last resort if at all

[jpegjade]

Missing - Spencer

Requests: 

Hey! I just thought of an idea where Spencer and the reader are dating but no one on the team knows, but when the reader goes missing or gets hurt or something they all figure it out?? 

Hi! I have a request 🥰 Could you write something where the reader gets captured by an unsub and spence/the team save her just in time??

Warnings: Aight yall, we’ve got some unsub angst. Light talk about the case and really angsty shit. Kidnapping. If you feel like you’re not able to handle it at any point while you’re reading, stop reading! Mental health first!

_______________

“SON OF A BITCH.” Reid yelled for the third time this morning. 

He was panicking and no one on the team could figure out why this was affecting him so badly. They knew you guys were close friends but you were close with everyone on the team. You were the second resident  tech genius in the building but you were out in the field, on the trips, as a way to get another handle on things. They thought this would affect Penelope more than it would affect anyone else but Spencer wouldn’t calm down.

It had been 12 hours since you had gone missing. It wasn’t like you to stop answering his calls, ignore his texts, or leave the house. You were happy, overjoyed just to be with him. You wouldn’t take off like this. This wasn’t like you. 

“Reid, calm down.” Hotch said for the third time. . 

“She isn’t the type to just run off or go anywhere without letting me know. She’s a little paranoid considering the last time she stopped contacting us was because she was kidnapped. And now this.” Reid was pacing and he wouldn’t stop moving. 

“We need to look at the victimology. Treat this like we would treat any other case, no matter how closely it hits to home for all of us.” Hotch said, pulling up the file. 

There wasn’t much to find. Penelope went through your emails, nothing strange. Just a lot of fanfiction about bands, movie characters, tv shows. You even wrote some occasionally. 

Morgan and Reid checked your apartment for any clues. Nothing out of the ordinary, no signs of struggle. There was nothing to suggest that you were anything but normally living there. 

JJ and Hotch looked at any recent kidnappings in the area that might have been similar to yours. Of course, they put out an APB with local police but there was nothing to suggest that you were in distress. 

Your mom didn’t know where you were and you didn’t have the best relationship with your dad in the past but recently, you were trying to reconcile. That was odd to him but he admitted that he liked it. None of your immediate family could tell Spencer a thing about you and he wondered how in the world they could call themselves your family when they knew almost nothing about you. You had mentioned you weren’t close to anyone anymore but he didn’t think it was this bad…

Sitting in the parked car, Derek looked over at Spencer. “I hate to say it, I really do, but maybe she just took off. Maybe she went on a last minute vacation and-”

“She wouldn’t do that. Not to me.” Spencer said, realizing he was making it really personal. “We’re her family. She wouldn’t just run from us. We have to find her.” 

“What’s up baby girl? Tell us something good.” Derek said, answering the phone. 

“I would love to go back and forth with you but you’re three blocks away from y/n’s cell phone. It’s moving so wherever it is, that’s where she is. Sending you a location stream now.” Garcia hung up and Derek saw exactly where the phone was. 

He drove like hell to get to you. Spencer’s heart raced so fast that he could barely believe it. This came out of nowhere. When Garcia tried to find your phone earlier, it was turned off so there was no signal. Thank god your phone came back on but there was something nagging at him. Why did your phone come back on when whoever took you was so careful to make sure you couldn’t be found. Maybe they wanted you to be found. 

The address led to a parking garage. As painful as it was, Morgan had to climb slowly up the garage to see everything. For the most part, it was empty because it was getting late. The sun was setting and in this part of town, everything closed early on Fridays. Each level seemed like it took forever to climb up until they reached the top of the garage, where you were standing near the ledge. THere was someone with you, a hooded figure. 

“FBI, step away from the girl.” Morgan said, hopping out of the car with his gun raised. Spencer raised his as well, already expecting this to go south. 

You were calm, quiet. You turned around slowly and gave Spencer a knowing smile. Spencer’s heart sank. He knew that smile. You were scared but doing your best not to show it. You wanted to show him that whatever happened, you would be okay with it. Everything was going to be okay. 

“How nice of you to show up.” The hooded figure stepped behind you, using you as a shield. You felt something solid press against your back and you froze. Your smile faltered and Spencer saw it. You were terrified and trying hard to not spur the unsub on, not communicate to Spencer. 

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen.” Spencer said, slowly stepping forward, gun trained on the unsub. “What you’re going to do is step away from my girlfriend and come with us where we will take you in and get you the help you need. All you need is a little help.” 

The unsub took the gun from being pressed to your back and pointed it at your head, resting on your temple. Your breath hitched in your throat as you tried to focus on Spencer. You had to keep your focus on Spencer or you wouldn’t make it. Tears streamed down your face, steady and unrelenting, but you tried your best to keep your breathing steady. 

“You think I forgot. You think you could move on from me. You thought I wasn’t going to track you down and ruin your life, didn’t you, Spencer Reid?” It finally clicked for Spencer and his blood ran cold. 

There was a girl he broke up with a few years prior. She was absolutely crazy about him and he was crazy about her until the relationship started going sour. It became something that Spencer didn’t recognize and when she started getting into this really dark stuff, Spencer ended things. Gently, of course, but she was devastated. 

“I wanted so damn long for this. I’ve been watching you, watching her. Watching you look at her the way you looked at me. I’ve been planning this for years and you didn’t even notice. You were so consumed with this piece of trash that you didn’t realize what was happening.” The unsub pressed the gun harder to your head, the cold metal on your skin. 

“Spence, baby. It’s okay.” You said, smiling a sad smile. You knew what was going to happen to you next and you weren’t scared. You were at peace with everything. The man you adored and loved was there for you the whole time. He never stopped looking. You didn’t have to die alone. 

“Baby. You make me sick.” The unsub said, making a gagging sound. 

It pissed Spencer off how it sounded like a game to the unsub. Leah. Her name was Leah. And he remembered every moment with her, good and bad. But you know what else he remembered? Maeve. He remembered trying to reason with the unreasonable and Leah was definitely unreasonable. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again. 

He tapped the right side of his gun twice. He watched your eyes widen in recognition. 

“I love you, baby.” You said, smiling a sad smile. You knew he was going to try to save you but if it didn’t work, then he needed to know how you felt. 

“This is going to be fun. Taking her away from you is-” That was the last thing Leah said before a loud pop sounded and her body dropped to the ground. Head shot. 

You crumpled to the ground, body wracked in sobs you had been holding in all day. You were inconsolable and terrified, even though the worst was over. Morgan looked at Spencer as he ran over to you, bringing you into his arms. 

“I’m right here. I’m right here.” He kept repeating as you continued to sob. Loud and heavy, you were in shock and just kept crying. 

Soon enough, an ambulance came. You guessed Morgan called for one. The EMTs put you on a stretcher and gave you a shot of some cocktail to help you get some rest. Spencer rode with you to the hospital, holding your hand the whole time. Even sedated, all you could think about was how good Spencer looked in his bulletproof vest. Damn, the boy filled out. 

“You’re mine…” You said before blacking out. 

At the hospital, once you were situated in a room, Spencer went out to meet the team in the waiting room. Everyone looked relieved when he told them you were sedated but were going to physically be okay. Spencer left out that you weren’t going to be mentally okay for a while because that part was implied. 

“So, Morgan tells me you’ve been keeping a secret from us.” Hotch said, crossing his arms. 

“I fell in love with her.” Spencer said, looking down at his converse. 

“Well, next time you have important information to disclose, such as a relationship to the victim in one way or another, be upfront about it.” Hotch said. 

“Aww,” JJ and Garcia said as soon as Hotch was done. 

“I’m looking for Mr. Reid.” A nurse came by the waiting room said. “Your wife is awake.” 

“Oh she’s…” The nurse turned around and started walking Spencer to your room. Spencer assumed you told them the two of you were married so he could come back and see you past visiting hours.

“Hey wifey,” Spencer said, giving you a kiss on the forehead. 

“Yeah, she was going to kick you out if you weren’t married to me or related. We look nothing alike so I went with the latter. And I really need my husband right now…” You said, a fresh tear rolling down your face. 

Spencer wiped it away with his thumb and climbed into bed with you. The only sound coming from the tv. You were about to say something when he started getting sleepy again. Before you or Spencer could talk about everything that happened, you were asleep again. Peacefully asleep and safe in his arms.

______________

Tags: 

@winchestertardis

@ancailinaerach

[idunnowatimdoin]

There Are Only Three Steps I Care About and Love Isn't One of Them || Chapter 1 (Snippet)

So I started writing a medical school AU of our two favorite bois. Here’s a small preview of what I’ve got so far. Lmk what y’all think!!

“You’re joking.” The acerbic tone of his voice would make weaker men cower in fear – has done so on many occasions in fact! 

It doesn’t even phase Qui-Gon’s serene smile. “Of course not, my young padawan. Why would I joke about something as important as this?”

“I told you to stop calling me that. We’re not in a fucking movie, Qui. And this is serious!” Obi-Wan growls, slamming his hands down on the table where Qui-Gon sits calmly and flipping the folder he’s holding open and around so the other can see. “When I told you I wanted a non-traditional student as a Little, what in the ever loving fuck possessed you to think that this is what I meant?”

Qui-Gon glances down at the folder as though he doesn’t know exactly what’s inside it – as though he isn’t the (former) president of the Big-Little Club mentorship program and in charge of setting up all the first year medical students with their second year mentors. The bright beaming smile of one Anakin Skywalker shines up at him. The older man takes a few long moments of silence to skim over the file before looking up at the other, fuming, man with an arched brow. “I don’t see what the issue is.”

“The issue,” Obi-Wan snarls, “is that I was looking to get someone more like us non-traditional: older, coming into medicine as a second profession, struggling to get back into the swing of studying after years away from academia. Instead you gave me a twenty-two year old, fresh from college, pretty boy. He skipped grades because he was that smart, Qui. He didn’t even take a gap year! He’s as traditional as you get!”

If anything, Qui-Gon’s brow arches ever higher. Obi-Wan gives serious thought to shaving it off while the man sleeps. “Perhaps if you looked closer, you’d have seen why I picked this one for you. I assure you, my young apprentice, he is far from traditional.”

Groaning, Obi-Wan makes sure to drag his chair back with a loud screech against the tile of the floor just for the satisfaction of watching Qui-Gon’s involuntary wince. Good. He slips into the chair opposite from him and spins the folder back so he can look at it, eyes scanning over the document with new intent. If Qui-Gon says there’s something there, there has to be. The guy may be a right git, but he’s not an outright liar. Most of the time. 

Anakin Skywalker. Age: 22. Hometown: Tatooine, Arizona. Undergraduate Degree: Mechanical Engineering, B.S. from Cal Poly Pomona. Hobbies: Taking things apart and putting them back together again, fixing things, building things, cars, racing ♡♡♡, baking Interesting Fact About You: I built my first robot at the age of nine. He was really dumb, but Mom loved him. His name was C3PO and he shorted out any time you tried to get him to do anything, but Mom kept him around anyways. Why Did You Go Into Medicine: While I was away at college, our house got broken into. Some thugs beat up my mom and stole everything we owned. I barely made it to the hospital before she died. I remember standing against the wall while she coded, feeling absolutely helpless as the crash team tried to resuscitate her. I never want to feel that helpless again. What Do You Want Out of This Program?: To learn how the fuck to study medicine. I have an engineer brain so I feel like all this stuff is a foreign language to me? Like I’m running Python but everyone else is over here using C++. Poor analogy because that’s more c-sci than engineering, but whatever. Basically I need help. Please. The academic advisors didn’t do shit and the teachers and office hours aren’t useful at all. So… You’re my only hope. 

And on second reading it seems less infuriating and more… endearing? Maybe. It might just be because he’s gotten the chance to rage at Qui-Gon out of his system so he can look at the application with clarity and see just how non-traditional this Anakin Skywalker really is. 

For one thing, he’s young. Younger than most applicants. He had to have skipped at least two grades to be here at twenty-two. And he’s an engineering major. That’s about as non-traditional as Obi-Wan’s philosophy major, as Qui-Gon’s MBA. The rest of it builds on his overall image of “non-traditional student,” but it’s the last question that really gets Obi-Wan, that seals his fate. Qui-Gon fucking knew it would, too, the asshole. It’s probably why he picked Anakin to be Obi-Wan’s Little, because he knows Obi-Wan’s weaknesses too well after a year acting as his Big. That bit about learning how to study? And it feeling like everyone else was speaking a foreign language? Feeling completely lost and helpless because all the other resources that were supposed to help you just weren’t panning out and this mentorship program was your last hope? Obi-Wan had been there last year. So he knows what Anakin’s feeling, what he’s going through. And it’s why Qui-Gon knows he’s going to accept, going to take Anakin on. 

He sighs, pinching his nose in frustration before looking back down at the smiling face of one Anakin Skywalker. “Did you really have to pick someone so attractive?” he finally sighs, looking up at Qui-Gon in resignation. 

Qui-Gon – the bastard – just chuckles. “If you’re going to spend the next year mentoring him, he might as well be someone you enjoy looking at. It’s part of why I picked you.” Then he has the gall to wink. 

The poor crowd of first years eating their lunch in the common area really have no idea how to react when Obi-Wan upends the table and launches himself at the third year student, Qui-Gon laughing the whole time. 

-

In the end, it takes Obi-Wan two days to actually reach out to Anakin. Not because he’s scared or anything because he’s not. It’s because Dr. Che’s GI anatomy review lecture had reminded Obi-Wan just how much he didn’t remember from first year anatomy-physiology lab and he’d deep dived back into his old anatomy notes and panic-blacked out midway through flipping through his Thieme “Atlas of Anatomy” textbook, only surfacing back up when Bant literally tugged him by the ear away from the dorm study space back to his room. So two days later, his under eyes are a bit darker than normal (but that’s pretty much a given in med school and no one even spares him a second glance) when he shoots Anakin a text.

[Message: To: Anakin Skywalker] Hello, this is Obi-Wan Kenobi. We were paired as part of the Big-Little program. I am reaching out to ask when you would be available to meet so that we could discuss further what you would like to get from this program and how best I could assist you to succeed in medical school. Please let me know at your earliest convenience.

Message sent, Obi-Wan tucks his phone away and makes his way to his locker so that he can grab his other notebook for Professor Koon’s physiology lecture. The man tends to like more… hands on demonstrations and Obi-Wan has taken to storing all his belongings except the essentials in his locker for the duration of Professor Koon’s lectures just in case. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, cutting off a second later to start buzzing anew. This continues again and again before he finally pulls it out and flicks it to life. 

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] Omg!!

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] I didn’t think you were ever going to text me

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] Hi!!

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] Wow your text sounds so formal like an email

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] Are you free for lunch today??

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] Sorry for the rush but like

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] We have a quiz Friday and

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] I have no idea how to study for it

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] So if you could help me that would be 

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] AMAZING

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] Help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi

[Message: From: Anakin Skywalker] You’re my only hope!!

Obi-Wan stares for a moment at the veritable wall of texts that completely blocks out his original message. He feels a migraine coming on. This is looking like it’s going to be a very, very painful year indeed.

[pug-bitch]

That’s not why I’m going (28)

Be cool

Book: The Royal Romance

Pairing: Drake Walker x Amara Suarez

Rating: some foul language, some extremely suggestive, and a VERY steamy scene. This is absolutely NOT appropriate for people under 18.

Word count: 4,350 (let me know if the ‘keep reading’ cutoff isn’t working well!)

Notes: This picks up basically where we left off, during the last night in the cabin, starting with Amara’s POV. This chapter is a little slow, but it sets up several things that will be important for what will happen next!

*****

Amara had gone back to the kitchen for the umpteenth time to make more margaritas. And to think she’d made fun of Drake for buying so much booze.

Dinner had been amazing, Drake truly hadn’t lied about his grilling skills. Even Hana, who was always poised and polite, had asked for thirds, and downed one burger and two hot dogs. Olivia had begrudgingly agreed that the mushrooms and leeks on top of the burgers were a nice touch.

Armed with two pitchers of margarita and her pineapple and coconut cake on a tray, Amara made her triumphant entrance in the backyard. As everyone cheered for her to fill up their glasses, she caught herself worrying for their livers, but promptly remembered that, if everything goes to shit tomorrow at Penelope’s estate, this may be their last fun night, so cirrhosis be damned.

‘Amara! This cake is heavenly,’ Hana gasps.

‘Oh, honey, you don’t have to say that,’ Amara responds. ‘I’m not the best cook--’

‘Shut up, Suarez, and give me another slice,’ Olivia cut her off.

‘Guys,’ Max says, his mouth full of cake, ‘let’s continue, it was Liv’s turn to dig into the bowl.’

They had started a game of Truth or Truth, for which they had written deep questions for one another on little pieces of paper, and mixed them in a bowl. Olivia rolls her eyes but picks up a paper.

‘When was the last time you were in love,’ she reads.

‘Oh, that’s my question!’ Hana beams.

‘Kid, you know we all have to answer, right?’ Olivia says. ‘You included.’

Hana blushes. ‘Oh, I didn’t realize that.’

‘I’ll go!’ Max says enthusiastically. ‘Drake, you remember Gianni, right?’

Drake nods, ‘I fucking loved that guy. He was hilarious.’

‘Yeah,’ Max says wistfully. ‘I thought we were more serious than he did. He ended up going back to Italy and breaking my heart.’

‘Max, I’m sorry, that sucks,’ Amara says as she reaches to hug him.

‘Your turn, Suarez,’ Olivia interrupts.

Amara blushes. She feels like a schoolgirl playing Spin the bottle. Are they really gonna make her say it in front of everyone? ‘Guys… you know.’

‘Ooooooh,’ Max teases, ‘no we don’t!’

Amara throws her hands up. ‘Well, obviously it’s Drake. Last time I was in love is now, with Drake. Happy?’

Drake reaches for her cheek and brings her face to his. Their mouths crash together in a sweet, yet urgent kiss.

‘Same answer for me, bitches,’ Drake slurs. ‘My last time is also now, with Amara.’

She knows he’s drunk. When else has he called anyone ‘bitches’ as a term of endearment? But then again, she’s drunk too, and so blissfully happy that she couldn’t care any less.

‘Alright, you guys are fucking gross,’ Liv says, waving her hands at them as if to shoo them. ‘Lee, your turn.’

Hana blushes again, and takes a big sip of her margarita. ‘Damn, Amara, these drinks are good. Thank you for making them strong. Well, you guys remember the infamous photo, right?’ Everyone nods, and she continues. ‘I told some of you that this woman, Caroline, was kinda...the one who got away. We were together at Oxford. After graduating, I had to go back to China, or, to be more exact, I didn’t have the guts to stay in the UK and defy my parents. So, I broke up with her, said I wasn’t ready, right before our third anniversary. She had booked us a trip to New York as a surprise, which I found out after, through a mutual friend. In any case, I didn’t break up with her for lack of love. More like...for lack of courage.’

Max holds out his arms and Hana pulls him into a hug. ‘Hana, babe, there’s nothing harder than coming out to tough parents. You didn’t lack courage, it was simply not the right time!’

‘Exactly,’ Amara chimes in, ‘look at how brave you were in front of the whole court the other day. A fucking champ! Because now is your time.’

‘You think?’ Hana sniffles. ‘I mean, I basically didn’t have a choice…’

‘Yes you did,’ Amara continues. ‘You could have denied it, said that it was a fake picture, or said it was a joke among friends. But you took the high road, and we’re so proud of you.’

‘Ok, this game took a turn,’ Liv sighs. ‘I didn’t think it would end in a group hug.’

‘Well then,’ Max replies, ‘you go ahead, Liv, answer the question.’

Olivia quickly glances at Amara, who gives her an encouraging smile. For a split second, Amara thinks she’s gonna be truthful and open up about her feelings. But, after a brief pause, she says ‘Nope. No heart, remember? Icy Nevrakis bitch here. Nothing to see. Next!’

*****

‘Babe, we’ll clean up in the morning,’ Drake whispers in her ears, his arms draped around her waist as she does some dishes.

‘I want to help,’ she says, leaning into his embrace, ‘I know you have to get up early, to go to the grocery store and get ready for Liam and Bertrand coming over.’

He kisses her neck. ‘I don’t mind. I like it. Besides, you made all of the drinks all night long, which was by far the biggest job of all, given this crowd.’

She chuckles. The sound of her laugh makes his heart full. He hates to admit it, but the glowing heart imagery from Jane the Virgin is spot on.

She says, ‘I know you like entertaining, but I don’t mind doing a few dishes. It’s not even that late. Please, let me help.’

He takes a kitchen rag. ‘Alright, then I’m gonna do the drying. Team work, right?’

*****

Olivia turned on her phone for the first time for a few hours. After what happened with it, the mere thought of sending a text filled her with dread, but she had to check her email at least, in case something was needed from her at Lythikos.

She plops down on the bed, and unzips her dress while her phone turns on. It’s strange to be here, at the Walker cabin, but especially in Savannah’s room. Maxwell and Hana had called the Master bedroom, which had a king bed. They had rightfully assumed that Liv would rather cut off her own arm than share her bed with either of them. But still, in here, she feels like she is sharing it with Little Savannah Walker, whose spirit is all around.

She wonders if she had contributed, even minimally, to sending her away. She’d never been very nice to her, never welcoming. But then again, it’s not her job to hang out with the Kingsguard’s offspring. She had enough on her hands as a child, after all.

Her phone buzzes, pulling her out of her daydream.

I had a good time yesterday. I decided to come to Portavira after all, so I’ll see you tomorrow?

Rashad. Damn, she hates how her heart jumped like an idiot as she read his name on the screen. Why? It’s stupid. He’s just being nice.

She takes off her dress and gets into a tank top and shorts, before heading to the bathroom.

She’s not answering that text.

*****

‘Wow, you look hot,’ Drake whispers as he sees Amara come out of the bathroom in her new, emerald green nightie.

‘Oh, this old thing?’ she smirks. ‘Just kidding, it’s brand new. I got it at the lingerie store the other day with Hana.’

Drake pulls her into bed with him, and kisses her urgently. ‘How come I’ve never seen it?’

‘Well, Walker, as I recall, you didn’t exactly give me time to wear anything last night.’

He chuckles as he plants a trail of kisses from her lips down to her collarbone. ‘Heh. I guess you’re right. What can I say, I can’t resist you, Suarez.’

‘Mmmm, ditto. Don’t stop.’

He has no intention to stop. His mouth runs all over her chest, until he’s kissed every inch. He pays special attention to her nipples, which get harder and harder under his tongue. Soon enough, off comes the sexy nightie, to make more space for Drake to kiss her all over. On his way down, he kisses her stomach, until he reaches between her legs, where he’s been aching to go, all night long. Amara moans in anticipation as Drake pauses before putting his lips on her core. He teases her with his tongue, softly at first, then more deeply.

Her moans get louder and louder until she catches herself and remembers they are no longer alone in the house. Somehow, her muffled grunts turn him on even more. His only mission tonight is to make her come, and judging from her increasingly intense breathing, it becomes obvious that he’s on the right track.

As Amara orgasms, she lets out a barely muffled low groan, which Drake is pretty sure everyone in the house heard. But he doesn’t give a shit. Amara catches her breath, and whispers, ‘Wow, Walker...you got game.’

He smirks, ‘I fucking love taking care of you.’

She pulls him into a kiss, and he shivers as his hard cock touches her naked body. She reaches down and starts stroking it slowly, drawing groans from Drake. ‘Fuck me, Walker,’ she whispers in his ear.

*****

Amara opens her eyes, awakened by Drake’s soft kisses on her forehead. ‘H--hey,’ she mumbles.

‘Oh baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’

She smiles and kisses him. ‘It’s ok. I need to take a shower and move my stuff anyways.’

Drake nods, stroking her hair. ‘Wanna join me in the shower?’

She acquiesces enthusiastically.

After showering, she stands in a towel in front of the mirror, brushing her rebellious curls and spraying rose water on her face. Drake gets into his jeans as quickly as he can and kisses her lips. ‘I’m gonna run to the supermarket to buy lunch before everyone else wakes up. I’ll see you later? I’ll bring croissants back for you guys, so don’t make anything, ok?’

‘You’re the best, thank you!’

He really is. Amara hopes that things don’t change too much from the bliss that she’s been feeling for the past two days, but she doubts her wish will come true. She already feels stressed out about Liam’s upcoming visit, and it’s not even an official courtly one. She’s already scanning the cabin in her head, to make sure nothing incriminating lies anywhere.

Once dressed in a casual outfit --light-wash skinny jeans and a yellow blouse--, Amara goes downstairs and puts the coffee pot on. Hana is already in the backyard, reading a novel.

‘Hi Amara!’ she waves.

‘Hey hun, I’m making coffee. Want some?’

‘Sure,’ Hana replies enthusiastically. ‘I saw Drake leave a while ago, he’ll be back with breakfast.’

Amara waits until the coffee has brewed and pours two cups, with a dash of milk.

‘Thanks,’ Hana says. ‘Did you pack? You should put your stuff in the master, we’ll say you slept with me, and Max on the couch.’

Amara nods. She loves that Hana has thought of everything. ‘Thank you. I was gonna ask if you mind lying a little…’

‘Of course not. We don’t want to raise suspicions, not now.’

Amara takes a big sip, pauses a bit, and says, ‘Hana, do you think we’re fooling ourselves? Liv is right, Liam will be furious however we announce it.’

Hana gives her a reassuring smile, and somehow, Amara already feels soothed. ‘Liv is hurting right now, she’s lost and she sees everything in a negative light. I think you and Drake are doing what you can. If the timing is right, if you wait until Liam has proposed to someone, and has moved on, you could always fudge the details and say you guys fell in love after the Decision Ball.’

‘You’re right. But...what if we don’t pull it off? What if someone rats us out before that?’

‘I understand the fear, believe me. Given everything that’s happened, it’s legitimate. But you can’t live in fear, honey. You’ve already lived the past two years punishing yourself for something you didn’t cause. You need to let yourself be happy.’

Amara swallows hard. She and Hana had many heart-to-hearts in the past few weeks, ever since she’d told her all about Sergio. Hana had been an excellent listener, and an even better hugger, but had never expressed any judgment or given her opinion on Amara’s past. This was the first time she had said something like that. ‘Funny,’ Amara smiles, ‘you’re not the only one who’s been telling me this, lately. My dad, Drake, Max, even Liv…’

Hana smirks, ‘Well maybe we’re all onto something. Obviously, you can’t announce your relationship to everyone right now. Liam and Drake’s friendship would not survive. But even in secret, for now, maybe you could find a way to stop feeling guilty. To stop fearing.’

‘Good Lord, woman,’ Amara whispers, ‘you’re so wise. It’s exhausting, really.’

Hana laughs heartily. ‘Oh well, I try, but I can only apply my wisdom to other people’s problems.’

Amara grabs her friend’s hand. ‘I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday, about Caroline. You should reach out to her. Explain to her what you said to us, about timing, about being ready. Maybe she’ll understand. It’s worth a shot, right?’

Hana smiles wistfully. ‘It definitely is.’

‘Morning my little blossoms!’ Maxwell kisses Hana’s and Amara’s cheeks. ‘How did you sleep?’

‘Great,’ Amara says. ‘Help yourself to coffee, Max, there’s plenty. Has anyone seen Olivia?’

Max shakes his head, all the while pouring himself a cup, to which he adds about four spoonfuls of sugar. ‘No, not yet. Hope she’s alright.’

As if on cue, Olivia comes down the stairs, looking more relaxed than the day before. ‘Morning guys,’ she says softly.

‘Hey Liv, how did you sleep?’ Max asks.

‘I um…’ she scratches her head and grabs a cup of coffee. ‘I actually slept really well. I’m sure it was Suarez’s margaritas.’

‘Or it could be the peace and quiet,’ Amara chimes in.

‘Yeah yeah, nature is fucking adorable,’ Liv replies.

*****

All five of them are still sitting outside, enjoying their coffee and croissants, in the sun. Drake bought something easy for lunch, he will just have to assemble the salad, and grill the steaks at the last minute. They will have ice cream for dessert.

The croissants he brought back were a hit, although he wishes he had had more time to make them himself. On second thought, he is glad he spent that time in bed and in the shower with Amara instead.

There is a knock on the door, and when Drake looks at his watch, he sees that it’s only eleven. Could it be Liam already? ‘I’ll get it,’ he says before getting up.

‘Good morning, Drake,’ Bertrand says, an awkward smile on his face.

‘Hi Bertrand, welcome!’ Drake responds, opening his arms for a hug.

Bertrand, visibly taken aback by the gesture, hesitates before walking into Drake’s hug. ‘Thank you for having me. I hope I’m not too early, I just, um…’

‘No, not at all, come have a coffee with us, we’re outside.’

He walks in, and Drake notices that he is wearing a black shirt, and a vest with little embroidered horses on it. Drake has to fight a smile. Bertrand probably thought that coming to the countryside warranted a horse-themed outfit. Thankfully, he didn’t break out the riding boots, just some boat shoes.

‘Hello everyone,’ Bertrand says awkwardly. It occurs to Drake that he had never really been included in any of their private get-togethers, besides the Beaumont Bashes. Drake feels bad. Although he doesn’t know it yet, this man is the father of his nephew, they should be closer.

‘Hi Bertrand, good to see you!’ Amara says, as she gets up and gives him a hug.

‘Oh, um, hello, yes, um, good to see you too, Amara,’ he mumbles, patting her back like he’s trying to burp her.

‘Do you take milk or sugar?’ Hana asks.

‘Um, no, I take it black, thank you, Hana, you’re very kind.’ He takes the cup. ‘Before we sit down, I wanted to make sure that everything is in order. I mean um, Amara, did you think of removing all evidence that um… that you were staying…’ He rubs his neck, obviously unsure of how to say what he wants to say in an appropriate manner.

Amara sees his struggle and interrupts. ‘Yes, thank you for thinking of this, Bertrand. I removed my belongings from Drake’s room and transferred them to Hana’s. Also, I wanted to apologize. For keeping you in the dark.’

He waves her off. ‘Please. There was a clear conflict of interest. You couldn’t possibly tell me, when I was so eager to push you on Prince Liam. But um… for what it’s worth, I am happy for you both. Love is precious and should not be apologized for.’

Drake’s eyes widen. Did Bertrand just say something adorable? Well fuck. ‘Thanks, man, we appreciate it. We heard you had our backs yesterday, thank you for that too.’

‘Oh,’ Bertrand mumbles again, ‘it was nothing.’

*****

Liam looks at his watch. He’ll be right on time for lunch at Drake’s. He decided to drive himself, to clear his head. Bastien had begged him not to, but he needed to be alone on this drive. He needed to feel normal.

Nothing feels normal. His best friend is acting weird and distant --although he hopes that today’s lunch will reinstate things. Olivia is banging her bodyguard and refusing to talk to him. Amara, the woman he’d been dreaming of, has made it clear she does not want him. Madeleine keeps pushing and pushing.

He thinks back of their encounter, just this morning, in the gardens. He was taking a stroll, coffee in hand, before leaving for Portavira, and she was obviously looking for him. After they exchanged pleasantries, she squeezed his arm, and lingered for a little too long. Then, like clockwork, his father called him into his study and asked him to give Madeleine a chance. He can bet that Madeleine went crying to her aunt Regina as soon as Liam was dismissive of her. According to Constantine, she is the best contender and Liam has not even considered her.  

His eyes on the road, his hands firmly on the steering wheel, Liam tries to clear his head. It feels good to drive himself. But really, he can’t relax, not properly anyways. All he can think of is how weak his father looked, this morning, in his study. So small in his chair. Liam wonders how much weight he’s lost. How much time he has left.

He can’t stop thinking about what his father told him. Consider the good of Cordonia. Don’t give the kingdom to a stranger, or to a hotheaded woman who fornicates with the help. The kingdom needs stability, and Madeleine is stable.

Is she, though? What she pulled the other night in his study was definitely a little crazy. Leo has warned him that she is way more harmful than she looks.

What are his options? Olivia is shutting him out and banging other people. Amara says she doesn’t love him, but maybe she could learn to? Or, maybe she could just be his companion, and… No, she won’t accept. He’s pretty sure she wouldn’t accept.

But then what, at the end of the week he chooses someone, and he never sees Amara again? That’s no good either. There has to be a solution.

‘Shit,’ he swerves, almost hitting a hedgehog trying to cross the road. Damn, he thinks. He really is distracted.

There’s still Kiara and Penelope. Are they contenders? Not sure if Penelope has it in her to be queen. Kiara, he sees her as more of a noblewoman doubled as a diplomat. He would definitely get her to be a part of his council, but marry her? No. His father is not a fan either, he doesn’t think she’s a leader.

‘This is a clusterfuck,’ he mumbles to himself. In five days, the Decision Ball will be upon him, and he is very far from having made a decision.

He turns onto the small road leading up to the cabin. He hasn’t been here in a while. Last time was months ago, when he needed to unplug after his brother abdicated. Drake had offered to have a weekend at the cabin together, just them guys. Max had joined for one evening. That was probably Liam’s last memory of normalcy.

Here he is, pulling up to the cabin. He parks near Bertrand’s car and lets himself out of his own. From the backseat, he grabs the apple pie and white wine bottle that he brought despite Drake’s request not to bring anything.

He knocks, weirdly anxious.

‘Hey,’ Drake says, opening the door. ‘I told you not to bring anything.’

He wraps him in a bear hug, and Liam lets out an imperceptible sigh of relief. ‘You knew I would.’

‘Heh, I did. Come on in. Everyone’s here already.’

And here they are. The Beaumonts, Hana, Liv, and Amara, all out in the backyard, joking around and having coffee.

‘Liam!’ Hana notices him. ‘So good to see you!’

She approaches him and gives him a warm hug. Liam is grateful for the enthusiasm. Everyone else greets him, Bertrand with a handshake, Max with a huge hug, and Amara with a quick one. Upon touching her skin, Liam’s heart flutters. He’ll have to shut it down really quickly if he doesn’t want to make everything awkward.

Only Liv has not gotten up from her chair outside. ‘Liv, hi, how are you?’ Liam risks.

‘Liam. I’m good, how are you?’

Her tone is cold as ice. Still no improvement from their last interaction. She’s not even meeting his eye. Is she embarrassed about the bodyguard? Is she angry with him for not standing up for her more? He has no idea. What he sees is resentment, and he has never seen that from her before.

‘Alright,’ Drake says, ‘let’s have some food!’

*****

Amara is pleasantly surprised with the free-flowing conversation. She thought Liam’s arrival would put a damper on things, and it has, to some extent, but his company is pleasant today, he’s not being weird, except for when she hugged him hello and he lingered. But if that’s her only problem, she’ll be fine.

She has to watch herself, though. Be cool, Suarez, she thinks. She made a point to sit farther from Drake than she usually does. She is between Hana and Maxwell, which feels natural, but also prevents her from reflexively taking Drake’s hand for everyone to see.

They try not to interact too much, but still let themselves joke around with each other in reaction to Max’s antics, or Liv’s badassery. It feels restrained, but natural nonetheless. Liam knows they’re ‘friends,’ he probably even thinks they’re close, especially since Drake defended her against Tariq and stood up for her when Liam was inappropriate.

‘Oh, so you were all here last night?’ Liam asks, when Drake makes a reference to last night’s dinner.

‘Yeah,’ Max quickly responds, ‘except for Bertrand who had business to conduct. But I took Hana, Amara and Liv here. It seemed like a good opportunity to blow off steam and hang out!’

Amara holds her breath. She can see on Liam’s face that he has FOMO. Before he arrived, they agreed that they wouldn’t hide that they’d all spent the night, especially since they’d have to take their luggage back and bring it to Penelope’s estate. But still, his reaction was somewhat worrying.

Drake’s eyes meet hers, and he chimes in. ‘It was a spur of the moment kinda thing. I know you had meetings. But next time--’

Liam waves him off. ‘Of course! I wish I could have been there, but I could barely free up these few hours this morning, can you imagine the uproar if I’d left court last night?’

He plasters on the fake smile that Amara hates so much. She knows she has to change the subject. ‘So how are things at court? Is everyone behaving without us?’

Liam drops the façade and takes a deep breath. Shit, Amara thinks. Maybe it wasn’t the right way to divert the conversation. ‘Well,’ Liam begins, ‘it’s definitely been quiet. Kiara and Penelope spend most of their time together, although I had a very pleasant one-on-one with Kiara. But um…’ He pauses and scans everyone’s faces. ‘Madeleine is acting a bit...suspicious. Can I be blunt?’

Drake nods. ‘Go ahead. We’re steel traps.’

‘She showed up in my study the other night, clearly trying to seduce me, and when I rejected her, I could tell that she was really pissed off. I’m convinced that she’s involved in the...pictures.’ Liv looks away, and Liam continues. ‘I’m waiting on some more reports from security. Bastien is on the case, looking for clues.’

Amara turns to Drake, and they make brief eye contact. They both know that putting Bastien on the case will do nothing. And yet, they both have zero interest in speaking up about him, because he’s the only reason why no one has found out about their relationship yet.

Hana senses the tension and chimes in. ‘I think there’s nothing more you can do, Liam. Amara has tried to investigate. The phone used to send out my picture was a burner, linked to no one. The envelopes are untraceable for now. There’s just not enough to go off of. All you can do now is keep being a reassuring presence.’

Liam nods. ‘You’re right. I just want this madness to stop. If Madeleine is involved…’ he interrupts himself and glances at Amara. She knows what he wants to say. But he stops in his tracks, probably not wanting to offend her or freak her out.

So, Amara says what they’re all thinking. ‘If she’s involved, I’ll be the next target.’

*****

Taglist:

​ @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria @jovialyouthmusic @andy-loves-corgis @mariahschoices @drakesensworld @thequeenofcronuts @notoriouscs @drakewalkerisreal @nikkis1983 @simsvetements @alesana45 @iplaydrake @emceesynonymroll @lily1999love @drakewalkerwhipped @drakxwalker @drakewalkerrosenberg @drakelover78 @silviasutton1989 @dcbbw @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @hollygirl1269 @sirbeepsalot

Thank you for your encouragements, everyone! Let me know if you want to be added to the taglist :)

[slushrottweiler]

Not Safe for W*rk - Prompto x Ignisx x Reader

Lime Promnis x reader fic.

Ignis is stuck in meetings all day. Prompto and Reader decide they need to torment him...

So they spam his phone with sexy photos until he loses it. Smutty phone calls ensue.

Ao3

Full fic below

The phone buzzed softly in Ignis’ pocket as he listened to another minister detail their latest trade agreement with Altissia. Ever the dutiful advisor, he resisted the urge to peek down at the screen, and instead focused harder on the meeting before him. Someone had to; and judging by the far away look in Noctis’ eyes, Ignis was certain his king’s attention had long ago wandered off. His phone buzzed a second time, then a third in quick succession. Ignis couldn’t help but smile. The King had important meetings and cabinet sessions all day today, which meant that Ignis was also in for a long one; much to his partners’ dismay. You had pouted adorably last night at his announcement, complaining aloud that ‘Noct will never learn if you keep babying him’. Ever the sunshine in your lives, Prompto had sprung onto the cushions beside you, wrapping you in a snuggle and proclaiming he would take you a whirlwind adventure the likes of which the kingdom of Lucis had never seen. Your faux-sulking had evaporated instantly, grinning madly as you and Prompto planned your date. Prompto had promised to send Iggy photos throughout the day, but Ignis had simply shaken his head at his ridiculous lovers. That hadn’t stopped Prom however, from damn near spamming his phone with picture after picture of their shenanigans. He had received at least seven pictures before noon, and more had kept pouring in as the day progressed. Not that Ignis was really complaining. Even if the photos weren’t of the two people he loved most in the world, Prompto truly had a gift, and each picture was better than the last. He’d already saved his few favourites, and knew he was going to have to do a culling soon as more and more of his phone’s memory was taken up by Prom’s pictures. As the meeting drew to a close, Ignis collected his notes as Noctis awoke from his stupor to thank the ministers for their reports. Only once he had everything organised did he pull his cell from his pocket and swipe to unlock the screen. Sure enough, there were three new picture messages – all from Prom. A small smile spread over Ignis’ face as he tapped the first file. A stunning landscape filled the screen, a gleaming waterfall surrounded by lush emerald foliage. Prom had used just the right angle to catch the light, throwing a mist of rainbows over the spray at the waterfall’s end. The whole thing looked stunning and bright, very much like the photographer himself. As he thumbed across to the next image, Noctis appeared beside him and peered over his shoulder at the phone.

“More pics from Prom? Oh… that one’s good.” the young king said and Ignis couldn’t help but agree. You were standing hip deep in the water, still in your street clothes and completely soaked. Ignis wouldn’t have put it past you to have jumped in without a care, and likely pressuring your boyfriend to join you with a coy smile and a wink. Prompto had caught you just as you were emerging from the water, so droplets trailed down your exposed skin and caught the light. Your eyes were closed as you pushed back your damp hair, turned two shades darker than its normal h/c. The waterfall roared in the background, just out of focus, and leant you a powerful air. Ignis could almost feel the spray of the water on his face, the sun’s heat on his skin.

“Prom has talent. But I think I like this one better.” Ignis murmured as he flicked to the next picture. Both you and Prom grinned back at him, frozen in the sun. Prom had obviously been trying to take a selfie, his hair still wet and falling in his face, but it appeared you had snuck up behind him and glomped onto his shoulders. The shutter had snapped just as a startled Prompto turned to grin at you, the framing slightly off-tilter so only your faces were in stark focus. You peered right at the camera, laughter making your eyes sparkle. It didn’t have the polish of the previous pictures, nothing fancy or special in the composition; but Ignis immediately knew he’d be saving this one. “The three of you are gross.” Noct groaned and shoved lightly at his friend. “I hate that sappy stuff.” Ignis just chuckled as he slid his phone away. “I shall make a note to tell your wife that, next time she wants to sneak off with you for some alone time.” Ignis kept his face neutral as the King of Lucis shot him a petulant glare.

“Tch. You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn't I?” Ignis quirked an eyebrow.

“ Y/N is a bad influence on you.” Noctis grumbled, earning a snort from his advisor as Ignis led him to his next meeting. More photos rolled in as the day progressed, interspersed with the occasional text message. Pictures of his lovers hanging from trees, posing ridiculously around the marketplace, and generally running wild. Dramatic scenic photos were coupled with casual snaps of you eating a snow cone or browsing through stores. Ignis nearly laughed out loud when he chanced a peek at his phone while walking the dignitaries from Duscae to the meeting hall. A giddy Prompto had a blush-pink chocobo chick sitting atop his head, fluffed up and fast asleep. The expression of awe and excitement on the blonde’s face was priceless, and Ignis switched Prom's caller ID image to that pic as soon as he was able. It was much later that evening and Ignis' work was barely winding down. He sat beside Noctis in his fourth council meeting of the day, and even he was wearing though his attention span. The councillor before him spoke about grain harvests and the rising costs of fertiliser like it was the most exciting thing since sliced bread. And though food resources was obviously important, Ignis couldn’t match the woman’s enthusiasm. Sighing quietly, Ignis adjusted his glasses as he attempted to subtly stretch his legs under the table. His phone had buzzed three or four times since the meeting had begun, and he felt the damned thing go off a fifth time as he settled back into his seat. The last photo he had replied to had been a couple of hours ago, just as the sun was setting. You and Prompto had finished their meanderings and had returned home, apparently to watch movies and eat snacks for dinner. Ignis clearly remembered the enormous bowl of popcorn he had seen in your lap as you had curled up beside your younger boyfriend, afternoon light and the glow from the television throwing a myriad of colours over you both.

Prompto had taken the selfie from a high angle to fit you both in. Sprawled across Ignis’ couch, you had both ditched your shoes and changed into more comfortable clothes. Prompto’s hair was fluffy and unstyled, like he’d just come from a shower, and the purple in his eyes seemed more vivid as he grinned cheekily up at the camera. You had been caught unaware, with your legs thrown over the arm of the couch and popcorn halfway to your lips. You had scrunched up your nose, sticking your tongue out at the shutterbug’s antics. Knowing his lovers as well as he did, Ignis hadn’t expected any more messages that evening. He had assumed you would both be glued to whatever show you had put on, and not likely to emerge until he arrived home to shuffle you both to bed. So why was his phone still going off?

Even on silent, Noct could hear the phone vibrating against the cushioned chair. He raised one regal eyebrow at Ignis, shooting him a look that said  trouble back home ? Giving a subtle shake of his head, Ignis tried to turn back to the meeting, only for another buzz to sound.

Noct rested his hand in his chin. Smug eyes flicked down to his pocket and back.  Gonna answer that Specs?

Exhaling slowly through his nose, Ignis adjusted his glasses as he attempted to casually slip his phone from his pocket and check the screen under the table. After a quick scan to check that all the other councillors were distracted; Ignis tapped the home button and a dim blue light blinked on in his lap. The default blue lock screen was filled with notifications, and he flicked off the calendar notes and a work email to see he had received eight SMS’ from Prompto, a further three picture messages and one picture message from you.

That made his eyebrows knit together in confusion. You rarely sent picture messages when you knew Prompto was on a binge, knowing he’d have received all of the blonde’s favourites already. To make things quick, he flicked open Prompto’s text thread. There were two new pictures of you watching TV. Your rapped attention was glued to the screen, one showing a shocked face and another with a giggly grin splitting your face. A few messages followed, all written in Prompto’s usual rapid fire texting style.

  Isn’t our GF pretty? Look at her little nose

  Y/N says your silence better be agreement…

  I’m telling Y/N you don’t think she’s pretty. She’s gonna be so heartbroken </3 My Perdy GF Now!

There is a break of about an hour or so, before the texts had started reappearing. The following messages had only been sent about half an hour ago.

  Come on! Work must be over by now

  Iggy

  Iggy

  Iggy

  IGNISSSS!

  IGGGGGGGGGYYYYYY PAY ATTENTION TO US!

The last few messages made Ignis feel that you had joined in on the texting, the two tossing the phone back and forth as you sent rapid fire messages over the next few minutes. Underneath was a picture of the two of you pouting melodramatically. Prompto was tracing a fake tear down his cheek. But it was the messages below that made him nervous.

  Oh no, you must be so busy Ig. Guess we’ll just have to entertain ourselves. Whatever shall we do with this big, empty, soundproofed apartment.

Ignis looked up from his phone, trying to push down the feeling of curiousity and anticipation as he carefully navigated to your message. He was still trying to maintain the impression that he was paying attention to this meeting, so he nodded along before glancing down quickly at the image his girlfriend had sent.

And slamming his phone against his own thigh, eyes growing wide in shock. His gaze flicked over to Noctis who was throwing a quizzical look between him and his concealed phone. Carefully, Ignis swapped his phone to his other side, away from Noct and his potentially bored sight. Once he was sure none of the other people in the office could accidently see his screen, he pried his screen away from his thigh to see the photo he had been sent. And the sight sent tingles down his spine.

You was laying across the couch, completely naked but for Prompto’s dark studded vest. Her arms were arranged languidly around your head, all smooth skin tangled up in your mussed up hair. Prom’s vest was carefully draped to conceal just the every edge of your nipples, tantalising. Your eyes challenged him to look; dared him to follow the line of your throat down, down along the valley between the curve of your breasts and the dip of your belly button and lower still. Those mile long legs were arranged just right to hide your sex from his gaze, and Ignis could almost feel the creamy softness of your skin beneath his palms. Only a side lamp and the television lit the shot, casting cheeky shadows to match the devilish smirk on your lips. Prompto had obviously taken the photo, and Ignis could see his bare knee causing the couch cushion to dip on the very edge of the frame.

Underneath was the simple caption.

  Do we have your attention now?

By the Six, yes they had his attention. Ignis wasn’t sure how long he had been staring at his phone. Shaking his head to clear it, Ignis tried to tune back into his surroundings, sending back one short message to his partners before pointedly placing the cell screen up on the table before him.

  Behave you two

Not even a minute later, his phone buzzed with the response. He didn’t need to open the message. The notification lit his screen for a brief moment, and being hyper-aware of it now, Ignis had read it as it flashed up.

  Fine

He could hear the pout. Gods, if he was honest he could still see that photo; all of your bare skin and sly smile, the implication of Prompto hovering over you. That vest of his revealing more than it was hiding, the wearing of it just a little possessive. Like they had marked each other in his absence. Like they were inviting him to add his own claim…

“Advisor Scientia?” a voice broke through his distraction and Ignis jolted in his seat. Clearing his throat, Ignis adjusted his glasses to give himself a moment to regain his composure before turning back to the minister. From the shuffling and looks on the surrounding attendants, his King included, they were likely waiting for him to call the meeting to an end.

Ignis brought the council session to a close with a few short words and a polite bow. He got a few odd looks from his colleagues as they slowly trickled from the room and he took a moment to painstakingly collate his notes and take a sip from his water glass. When his phone buzzed again, he froze.

The screen flashed, Prompto (1) Media Message.

Carefully, as though his phone may erupt in his grip, Ignis picked up the device and opened the message. And promptly choked on his own breath.

“Is Prom still teasing you with photos?” Noct asked playfully. Ignis whipped around just in time to see his king and close friend reaching out to take a peek at the phone in his hand. He instantly jerked the cell back, pressing the screen to his chest as his eyes grew wide. Noctis withdrew his hand, confused at his advisor’s reaction. A beat passed between them. Then a second.

A knowing smile spread over Noctis’ face, as the young ruler of Lucis parted his mouth to tease his advisor.

“There is a short break before our last item of the day. I must collect some papers from my office, if you’ll excuse me Your Majesty.” Ignis interrupted as he scooped up his things and hurried from the room.

“Say hi to Prom and Y/N for me.” Noctis chuckled response followed him out.

Once he turned the corner to a mostly empty hallway, Ignis chanced a look at his phone again, and had to bite his tongue to silence the groan that attempted to crawl up his throat.

Prompto has sent another photo of you laying on the couch, but this one was … more.

It was mostly a close up of their girlfriend’s face, shot from the side from waist up. Only the blue-pink light from the television lit your body, shadows thrown across your torso as your back bowed into a long arch, head thrown back as you moaned. Your eyes were shut, lips parted as though caught in a cry of agonised pleasure.

Ignis could clearly see Prompto’s arm laid along the line of your chest with his palm pressed to your sternum, holding you down… holding you in place as you writhed. How Prom had managed to take the photo, Ignis could only guess. Some delayed shutter function or something. Regardless, it was obvious from the angle of his arm and the debauched tension painted across your face what Prompto was doing just out of frame. He had written a message to go with the photo, just in case there was any doubt.

  She tastes so good Iggy

Ignis swore viciously under his breath. He needed to get to his office. Now.

It was a good twenty minutes before he managed it however. Getting caught by Cor just outside his office had led to the older Kingsguard firing a million questions at him, and in his distracted state, Ignis could not think of an adequate reason to skirt past the man and rush on. He was itching to shoot past the man for the privacy of his own office, the tension only rising as he felt him phone receive more messages. Once he had finally managed to extract himself from that conversation, Ignis tried to remain outwardly calm as he slipped into his office and shut the door. Leaning back against the wood, he pulled out his phone.

Three (3) new messages

With more patience than he honestly felt, Ignis placed his papers on his desk and unlocked his phone.

  Red or Blue?

  Too Late! I chose Blue

The tables had apparently turned at home and Ignis didn’t bother to stifle his groan at the latest photos his lovers had sent. You had taken this photo. It didn’t have the polish of Prompto’s photography, but that did nothing to damage the utter sin captured in the image.

Prompto was on his knees in their bedroom, his golden blonde hair a mess from your fist as you pressed his mouth further onto your blue strap-on. The gunslinger looked like sex personified, his face utterly blissed out as he deepthroated the toy you wore. His lips glistened with saliva, kiss swollen and bruised pink as he pressed his nose into the curls of your sex. Tears leaked from the corners of his eyes, those intense violet eyes blown wide with need.

“Fuck,” Ignis hissed through his teeth as he hit call. Leaning heavily on his desk, he pressed the phone to his ear as he removed his glasses with precise actions, placing the lenses unfolded on his desk. The cool wood beneath his palm grounded him until his call was finally answered.

“Hey handsome, still at work?” came the crooned greeting through the speaker, and his grip tightened around the phone.

“You two will be the death of me Kitten.”

You laughed, this breathy sound that caught Ignis by the throat. He heard a muffled whimper through the line as he lowered himself into his chair. A shuffling of sheets and a sharp gasp followed and he groaned again.

“Is that Iggy?” Prompto’s voice was distant and rough in a way it only got when he’d had his mouth fucked. More muffled shifting sounded and he heard you murmur softly to your partner.

“Yeah sunshine. I think we got him all worked up…” your voice trailed off, and the wet sound of kissing made Ignis snarl. It lasted a beat or two, and ended with Prompto’s whine seeming closer than before. You must be holding the phone close to your joined lips.

“Do you want another pic handsome?” the teasing lilt to your question seemed directed as much at Prompto than at Ignis.

“I’m lucky to have a job. Anyone could have seen.” Ignis growled into the microphone as he loosened his tie, undoing the top button of his shirt

“You like it when we tease.” you retorted. “Sunshine here liked it too. Don’t you Prom?” He heard a stuttered moan, and Prompto quietly ask for “ Faster, please I need more.”

“No.” The order snapped out of him before Ignis could stop it. He heard you laugh again, and from the distance of Prompto’s whine, Ignis could guess that you had sat back up away from him.

You hummed, and a shocked gasp turned strangled. “Hear that Prom, Iggy wont let me. He wants to call the shots.”

“Fuck that!” he heard Prompto cry out. “He’s not even here. Fuck baby, ride me harder.”

“No.” Ignis repeated, and he swore his words alone caused you to moan.

“What should I do to him then handsome?” you asked and Ignis felt his cock twitch within his slacks. He leaned forward to rest his elbow on his desk, shutting his eyes as he listened to his lovers through the phone. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped lower with lust.

“Describe it to me first.” he ordered.

Another moan and a strangled gasp. “Prom’s all spread out on your bed, god his skin looks good against your sheets. He’s on his back and that sweet blush of his is spreading down his throat the more I talk. God our boy is so hot. So pretty and needy all spread out beneath me. He likes knowing I’m talking to you, likes knowing you know how hot he is. Are you jerking off to us handsome?” you broke off with a gasp, your voice trembled slightly as you picked back up again. “Fuck his cock just twitched inside me. He loved the idea of you getting off to me riding his hard cock.”

Ignis groaned in time with Prompto, and he palmed his own cock through his slacks. A quick glance at his desk clock showed he still had time before his next meeting, and the door was still closed and the hall quiet. Wet kisses echoed from his lovers through the phone.

“Put me on speaker.” he grunted as he freed his cock. All their teasing and tension had Ignis rock hard as he gently freed himself. Carefully he wrapped his fist around the heat of his shaft, smearing a bead of precum as he went.

“Baby please!” Prompto whined. Their voices sounded different, a bit tinnier now that they were on speaker. But they were both clearer, and he heard fabric shift as he imagined Prompto clutched desperately at the sheets and your thighs.

“Ride him real slow kitten.” Ignis ordered, “rock your hips back and forward, just go nice and slow.”

You hummed again, pleased. Prompto’s whimpers were growing louder, closer to a snarl now.

“Fuck you Iggy! Oh holy fucking Six Y/N!” Words tumbled out of Prompto in a near constant stream, curses mixed in with moans and pleas as Ignis guided you to slowly ride his cock. He could hear the gunslinger's breath catch when you  bottomed out, and those little hitches in your breath when you ground against him just right. When he let you speed up slightly, he began pumping his cock faster, in time with the soft slap of flesh he could hear.

“We can hear you touching yourself handsome. Can you hear him Prom? Hear how much you turn him on?” Pleasure dripped of your voice and both men groaned at your words. Ignis leaned back in his chair, head tipped back as he added a slight twist to his movements. His own moan of pleasure blended with his lovers.

“Speed up.” he groaned and the sounded of flesh slapping against damp flesh grew louder. Your gasps were all but drowned out by Prompto’s babble.

“Yes! Holy shit yes yes! Love you, love you both. Holy Fuck!” Prompto’s words grew more unintelligible, and Ignis’ hand clenched tighter on his own cock as he swallowed hard. You was moaning too now, your sharp little gasps of pleasure a heady staccato.

Ignis chuckled at his lover’s words. “Does she feel good sunshine? Is she wet and tight around you?” he murmured down the phone, just to hear Prompto whine.

“God yes, she feels so good. You feel so good baby.” Prompto rambled.

“Touch your breasts kitten. Sit up and pinch your nipples as you ride our sunshine.”

Your moan was like a drug; and it pumped through his blood and made him dizzy with it. Ignis growled, hips jerking up to meet his hand’s movements. His lover’s voices and the sound of their sex was heady, and he could hear them getting lost in the act. When your voice rose an octave, Ignis could tell what Prompto was doing.

“Stop rubbing her clit or I’ll make her slow down.” he growled the order and both his lover’s whimpered.

“I’m… I’m too,” Prompto gasped, “ gonna…”

A wicked grin spread over Ignis’ face, alone in his office. As his toes curled within his shoes, he gripped his cock tightly at the base, taking deep breaths through his nose to calm himself as he said. “Y/N, slow down. Don’t let him cum.”

A bark of breathless laughter sounded, along with a pleading wail.

“No, no baby don’t Oh Fuck!”

“Nuhuhuh, you heard him sunshine.” you teased, obviously enjoying yourself. Prompto’s pleas trailed off into moans and Ignis chuckled darkly.

“It was your idea to send those pictures, wasn’t it sunshine?” Ignis crooned low and smooth. Prompto’s lack of reply was answer enough, and Ignis chuckled darkly as he began to slowly stroke his cock again. “I should have Y/N leave you like this. Since you like to tease.”

“Don’t god, Y/N please fuck I need you.”

“I don’t know sunshine,” she replied, mischief making your voice light. Ignis heard messy, open-mouthed kisses trail up Prompto’s body, growing louder as they reached his head and the phone. “Maybe if you ask Iggy nicely.”

“Please!” Prompto begging was easily one of Ignis’ favourite sounded, and his pulse leapt as he began to stroke himself again. “God please Iggy, let her ride me, please please please…” his words trailed off, mixed in amongst the sound of smacking lips and gasps for breath. He was on the edge, Ignis could see it as clearly as if it were laid out before him. Prompto’s freckles standing out starkly against his blush, lips parted and eyes screwed shut, you pinning his arms above his head with that sly smile.

“... no.” Ignis growled.

And he heard Prompto snap.

The line crackled with movement, and you yelled. For a second Ignis was worried, scared he’d pushed too far or that either of them were hurt. But then he heard your gasp turned to a long, low moan. Sounds of fast, angry sex echoed through the phone to Ignis and without his explicit consent, his own hand sped up to match them.  

“Mine turn now baby…” Prompto’s voice was deeper and more dominant that it had been moments ago. A dark laugh sounded when you damn near shrieked in pleasure, and a tumble of curses fell from your lips.

“Like that baby? Like it when I fuck you good and hard?” Ignis could barely make out the words Prompto was saying. He knew that, when their lover got dominant like this, he would press himself as close as possible, body flush with theirs and his head buried in their neck, or forehead pressed hard against theirs. The image alone made Ignis pump himself harder.

“Six she’s so pretty Iggy. She takes my cock so good.” Ignis was surprised to hear Prompto even address him. A tingle ran through him at the acknowledgement.

“I can hear you fucking your own fist Iggy. Are you imagining its you deep inside our girl? Or do you want me to fuck you while you fuck her?” you gasped at that, and Prompto growled. Ignis had clenched his eyes so tight he was seeing stars behind his eyelids. His phone was warm and sticky pressed against his ear, but Ignis didn't  care as he listened on.

“I want to watch… watch you fuck him while I ride his face.” The words from you were a shock. You usually wasn’t as verbal when things got this far, and your words were clipped as Prompto drove the air from your lungs. Ignis clenched his jaw to stop the loud moan that almost escaped him.

Less words came through the line as his lovers grew close. Prompto’s rambling made less sense, strings of yes and various curses were interspersed with both of their names. Your gasps of pleasure grew louder and needier, and Ignis wasn’t far behind. Ignis tried to string the garbled phrases together as he pumped his cock hard, desperate to join his lovers in their bliss.

A broken cry of “close” came from you, and Ignis growled back. “Same.”

Prompto simply chuckled at them both and the sounds of sex sped up. Ignis could hear his own heartbeat pounding in his head, a rising pulse that matched Prompto and you as you all both neared your climax.

When he heard Prompto’s breath catch, Ignis managed one last command. “Cum for me my loves.”

It was the sound of their joint orgasm, your higher keen and Prompto’s choked moan that drove Ignis over the edge. With his own shocked gasp, he came hard into his own hand, the names of his lovers on his lips.

For a long minute there was nothing but their collective heavy breathing. Sheets shifted and the quiet smack of a kiss dropped on a shoulder brought a smile to Ignis’ lips. Carefully, he plucked some tissues from the box in his desk drawers and cleaned himself up.

“Are you both ok?” he asked once he felt he could speak again.

At first he only got a low hum of affirmation from his lovers. He could hear them murmuring, likely asking each other the same question. After a few more beats, Prompto’s sex-roughened voice crackled through the speaker.

“Remind me to tease you more often Ig. That was… wow.” You snorted out a laugh in the background. Smiling to himself, Ignis held his cell against his ear with his shoulder as he righted his clothes.

“Please don’t. My career won’t survive.” Ignis couldn’t make himself sound stern, his body too relaxed from his orgasm.

“Noct would never fire you. Perks of being friends with the boss-man.” You chimed in.

“Lets not test that, shall we.”

You simply hummed in reply. Ignis understood how you felt. He wanted nothing more than to curl up beside those two and drift away. A knock on his office door make him jump, breaking the sleepy haze that was settling over him. He was at work damn it. He must have made some kind of noise, because Prompto giggled on the other end of the line.

“I have to go love.” he explained.

“Duty calls.” Prompto chuckled. “We love you Iggy.” You made a soft sound of agreement.

Just as he was going to respond, Noctis poked his head in. Seeing his advisor on the phone, the king simply raised an eyebrow and tapped at his wrist with a smirk. Time's up.

“Love you too.” Ignis replied before reluctantly ending the call. Without preamble, he skirted around his desk; collecting his coat and glasses as he went. Noctis gave him a rueful look.

“So, no budget meeting this evening?” Noctis stepped aside as Ignis moved to join him in the hallway.

“I think it can wait until tomorrow. I think we both have people waiting for us.” Ignis replied. Noct bid him goodnight and hurried off to his private ward, likely to join his wife for the evening. As Ignis watched him go, his phone buzzed in his grip. He opened the message as he made his way out of the castle and headed home.

His partners were curled up in his bed, both looking debauched and satisfied. Hickeys and love bites littered their throats and shoulders, as you lay with your head resting on Prompto’s chest. Your hair was a disaster, sprawled out over his shoulder and the pillows beneath them. Prom had fared no better, sweat making his blonde locks stick to his forehead. Your eyes were closed, though you had a knowing smile on your face. Prompto’s free arm wrapped securely around your shoulder, and he gazed out of the camera with a lazy grin. Beneath was a small caption.

  We love you babe.

Without thinking, Ignis quickly tapped out his reply and hit send.

  Be home soon. Love you both

[nickhembery]

trigger warning: shit gets dark

I've been thinking about writing this for a while. It's going to be a long one, because it's going to tell a story of a long period in my life. It's going to get into a lot of banality of office work, and its going to go to some dark places, because it's also the story of depression. My depression. My sink into some pretty dark thoughts and the path out of them.

The story starts in 2007. I was a year out of university with a degree barely worth the paper it's printed on, so was struggling to find a job. A task made a lot harder because I still didn't have any idea what I wanted to do for a career. So I was going from short temp job to short temp job, feeling kind of down. When one day I get a text from an agency that had given me a few jobs. "Want to be working Monday?" I think it said. I replied in the affirmative. I was given an address and told to be there at 8.30am on Monday. I said I would be there.

The company I had just agreed to work at was at the time a freshly independent arm of Zurich bank. It operated in a very niche area of financial services. When you want to get a mortgage, insurance, or some other financial thing, you can go to a bank. Or you could pay someone else to go to the banks and find the best deal for you. These people are called financial advisers, they go and talk to random people and convince them to act as intermediaries to the bank, and doing this they earn commission. This commission can vary, unless they are part of a large group, not quite a union, of similar advisers that can collectively bargain better commission rates for the advisers. That's what this company was, an intermediary for an intermediary, a company that only dealt with other companies and to the public at large is invisible.

My job at the company was quite simple. When the financial advisers sell things, they earn commission, that commission comes from the bank, goes through the company, and on to the adviser, except when the computer system failed to process it. My task was to look at these system failures, figure out why they failed, get them working again and the money passed on to the adviser. It sounds quite slick when you say it like that, except it was monotonous, easy and boring. There were only actually about six reasons that a payment failed to process automatically, and quite quickly you got good at spotting what the cause was with just a glance at the data. From there, it was simply a case of following the steps and pushing buttons in the right order to get things moving again. After that, you moved onto the next payment in your list of payments to deal with. Because there was always more.

That, in a nutshell, was my job. The digital equivalent of the old-timey footage of the factory worker doing the same thing over and over. I was there to correct a failure in an automatic process, and at any time could be made redundant when they figure out how to stop it happening. But this is where things take a dark turn. I was never made redundant. In all the time I was at the company, no one ever changed the system in an effort to effect the automatic processing. It was easier for the company to employ me, and a lot of other people, to push the buttons in the correct order, than it was to get someone to actually fix the system. That's a heavy thing to carry with you. You're not worth enough to be a saving if you're made redundant. So you sit there, working your tools on the conveyor line.

Let's talk about the tools for a minute. Those didn't change much in my tenure either. The thing the advisers used to send us information about the things they sold changed twice. It started they were using paper. Then a digital system was built over a few years by many, many contractors. But it basically didn't work, so was scrapped and replaced in about two years after launch. There was one particular time when £10,000 had been spent on a button that would stop some errors happening. It didn't work, so we saw no difference. The thing that all our records of payments were stored on was excel spreadsheets. Thousands upon thousands of records per sheet, switched out monthly. We were using it like a database table. Information was constantly being entered and changed, by multiple people at once. So it broke a lot. You'd try to save changes and you'd get an error message. The source file was corrupted, or deleted. When that happened there was a twenty-minute procedure to fix things and get back on track. It happened at least once a month. IT apparently spent a long time trying to solve it. One time they announced they had solved the problem, and while they had, they also caused an even worse problem, so I demanded we be rolled back immediately. We were rolled back after the second instance. The last tool we had was the main database and payments system. Every record on the spreadsheet already existed on the payments system, but there was no way to retrieve records in the filtered form we needed on the fly. So we went between the spreadsheet and the payments system, sorting things out and amending data. The payments system in a word, sucked. It crashed four times a day and you had to reset it on your computer. Once a month it went down for the whole company for about an hour. Imagine you're typing an email, you hit send and you get an error message. You restart your email client and it doesn't want to open. You ask the person next to you to check their email, theirs is broke too. You ask around, no email for anyone. Then someone has to call IT and report that email is down. Then you wait, and no one can do anything without email. Every month, the tools we relied one would break down and we had to wait for them to be fixed. And neither of those was changed.

One more thing to talk about in the structure of the job. Crunch time. You ever have a big deadline, where a lot of work needs to be done in a short space of time so everyone has to put in extra hours? And it's really important so everyone is expected to come in and help out, because you have to hit that target? How often does that happen for you? In this job, there was one every single month. I mentioned the spreadsheets were swapped out monthly. That's because our cycle of work was on a monthly pay run cycle. Everything that came in during the month was processed in the same month. Well, mostly. 99% was the average. And you'd think okay, so you see what you get at the start, figure out how many then work to the speed so you're done at the end, right? Wrong. Stuff keeps coming in throughout the month, and all of it has to be done. This includes the mammoth file that comes in three to five days before the deadline, and is equivalent in size to half of all of what you've done in the month to that point. Three days to process thousands more payments. And this was routine. Every month, the file lands and everyone gets to work on it. The spreadsheet and system crashes frequently happened during these periods. One time the bosses did trial offsetting the mammoth file to the following month so there wouldn't be crunch for us. But the bosses upstairs didn't like it, so it was put back. A crunch period. Every single month. It's worth pointing out that this was my first proper job, so I didn't actually know this was abnormal. So I just got on with it.

So this is all pretty sad. The work is easy to the point of mind-numbing boredom. The tools break frequently. Nothing is being done to make things better. Periods of high stress all the time. What do you do? You try to leave. Except. I was hired as a temp in July 2007. Made permanent in late 2008. Then the financial crises happened. No one was getting out. Every job advertised was crap or worse. It was a while before it was worth job hunting seriously again. And that didn't go well. At one point I talked to a career's adviser because as I put it "the phone doesn't ring", no one was interested in me. I was overqualified for the crap and underqualified for everything else. Trapped. Doing the same crap, over and over, in a monthly cycle, over and over. I had already identified and openly talked about how I disliked the job. I described myself as a professional button pusher. Or, bored office worker by day, insane video gamer by night. Or, everything positive in my life is outside of work.

The positive things. They were there. I had met a group of friends that are still with me today. My family were and still are incredibly supportive of me. I travelled, going to various events and seeing strange sights. And I found the thing I wanted to really do for a career. In 2011 I was a founding member of a writing group in which we all read and critiqued each other's work. And while I could be cutting in my comments, I was honest and very good at it. And I enjoyed it. Pursuing that, I looked into how to do it for a job. It's very tough when you're not ten years younger than I was, doing or done an English degree at a better university than I went to, or just had decent connections in the industry (that I didn't have). So, freelance work. What a mess that is. Various websites offer connecting freelancers to customers, but those are fiercely competitive, to the point that it's a race to the bottom, working virtually for free, if you find work at all. The freelance market is a full-time job to find part-time work. Not fun. Something I started doing was seeking out courses on proofreading in order to boost my profile. And this is when things get very, very dark.

In 2014 I received the results of my third (I think, it might have been second) attempt at one of these courses, and I didn't make the cut. Feeling sad and not having anything else to do that day, I went out to the gym. Driving along a dual carriageway, I noticed that there wasn't a barrier in the grass verge between the opposing lanes. I thought about veering across and causing a head-on collision. What stopped me was the thought "no, that's really rude to the other driver". The thing about low-burning anxiety is that you're constantly afraid of strangers. What if they attack me? What if he tries to mug me? What if that bus jumps the curb and hits me? All of these things are imagined external threats. This thought of veering my car was the first time it would be me causing the damage, so it flagged immediately as something that shouldn't be there. In a bit of a daze I continued to the gym, worked out for a bit then went home. When I arrived I switched my computer on and googled "depression test". I found seven online tests on various sites, and did all of them. The results across the board, were that I was seriously depressed. I sat back, and thought about this for a moment. Then I thought that the suicidal thought incident probably triggers a thing in them for maximum safety. Anyone that thinks of killing themselves is automatically told to seek help. So I did all the tests again, and this time I left out the suicidal thought bit and lied a little for good measure, saying I wasn't as bad as I really felt. The results were the same. Heavy depression. Get help.

I quickly arranged an appointment with a doctor, got a prescription for anti-depressants and various reading material. At the time I was struggling to read for long periods, my attention wasn't holding, so I got a couple of audiobooks on depression and low self-esteem. I figured there was a lot of overlap. I also met with a therapist, and attended a seminar series to talk about my issues. The cause of this sadness was immediately obvious. The job. But, I couldn't quit. When I had met with the career's adviser a few years previous, the same one that I had told "the phone doesn't ring", I had asked about quitting so that I could become 'immediately available' as some ads requested. He advised me against it, stating that those currently in work were 40% more likely to find new work. The logic is there, you're proving that someone wants to hire you, so the new people should too. Though I sometimes wonder on the accuracy of the figure. But what to do when the job gives you depression and you can't quit? I decided to give myself six months to learn about my condition and let the medication kick in, then start job searching with a seriousness hitherto unseen. I have no idea if I just used 'hitherto' correctly. Anyway, learning.

How does depression work, and how do you cope with it? In reading (listening) and talking, I learned about various coping mechanisms, and that somehow I'd done everything right. It was part of how the job was so identifiable as the cause. I didn't do anything other than the job that didn't give me happiness, reward or satisfaction. Like going to the gym. That started because I was feeling pains in my arms and shoulders from lack of exercise, so I joined up to make that go away. Exercising is highly recommended to depressives because of all the endorphins. Another was staying up late. Lying awake in bed is classic bad thoughts time, so I avoided it as much as possible. I would stay up on the computer until the early hours, then I would climb into bed and play a different game, keeping going with that until I was almost passed out from exhaustion. Only then would I switch everything off and go to sleep. It wasn't healthy, but it kept the bad thoughts at bay. Living with other people also helped greatly. They could keep an eye on you, make meals so that you actually ate, and be someone to pretend to be normal for. One time I was alone in the house for a while, and it took me three hours to get out of bed, wash and dress. Wouldn't have got away with that if anyone else had been home and needed to use the toilet. But the most important mechanism by far, was the first one.

Most people when they work listen to music. A radio is the classic. These days it’s youtube or spotify. But I didn't listen to music, because it wasn't enough of a distraction. I could do my job, listen to music and daydream at the same time. And they weren't good daydreams. So I listened to podcasts and audiobooks. Thousands upon thousands of hours, I heard quiz shows, tech news, movie reviews, historic stories, short stories, random rants and books and books and books. I didn't talk to my colleagues much. I would arrive, switch on my PC, plug in my headphones, and be silent for most of the day. I didn't like saying good morning to people, I can't recall why, and I thought it would be horrible if all I said to people was goodbye, so I didn't engage them unless absolutely necessary. Sometime people ask how I could work and listen to spoken word at the same time. I always equated it to driving and listening to the radio. I was looking at shapes (numbers) and hearing words. I kept the two separate in my head and kept going. If I had to write an email I would pause the audio. Needless to say, with all the silence, I wasn't popular. I didn't care. I really didn't want to be there, so I did my best to pretend I wasn't.

Slight tangent, how often does the phone ring at your work? Once a day? Once a week? Several times a day? Well, when I started at the job the phone would ring a lot. Because as well as being the correction mechanism for the automatic system, we were also the second line support for the contact centre. A payment would go wrong, an adviser would call up, the person they reach wouldn't know anything about it, so they would call us. Again and again. And these were important calls, our customers the advisers couldn't just be ignored, no. So there always had to be someone to answer the phone, which meant everyone couldn't be on lunch at the same time, which in turn meant that everyone had a set period when they went to lunch. From twelve till one or one till two. The team was split down the middle. You left on the dot and you were back on the dot. Annoying, but also strangely fortuitous. Because it gave me a set period every day of non work. Where I could leave and partake of another activity. Some people went for walks, or read a book. Me, I wrote. Many thousands of words. Then I edited. Then other stuff, I'll get back to that later. The 'wrong' part about this rigidness was that unlike my job, things changed for the contact centre. What was once six people and no clue was grown to twenty who were well trained and knew their stuff. My phone stopped ringing. They didn't need us anymore, but the rigid lunch times stayed. I wonder why. Anyway, the writing I did in my lunch breaks was a great coping mechanism, gave me a massive sense of accomplishment. "What did you do at work today?" "I wrote 1000 words" In my lunch break.

That was all stuff I was doing by accident when I was diagnosed. After the six month to learn and let the meds kick in, I really got going. It was here that I started my annual goal setting, which has featured heavily in the blog before. "In the coming year I will X, Y and Z". I wrote many drafts of books. I learned to touch type. I learned how to animate. I tried several times to learn how to code. I tried and failed and tried some more. But the big thing was that I put on the list was to get a new job. And here is why it took so long to come off anti-depressants and declare myself well: job searching is hard. You write a CV, you search for jobs in your area, you put in applications for every one you think you could get, and you wait. Every day, searching, writing, applying. I also signed on with almost every job agency in the area. For the most part the experience was the same, you go in, fill out forms, sign up, lots of smiles and handshakes, you leave, you never hear from the agency again. Attempts to contact them are ignored or brushed off. There's a couple specific stories to tell here. One agency approached me and asked me to sign up, I happened to have a day when I could come in as I was also going to the dentist. I told them what time I would drop by and to let me know if that wasn't good. The day came, I drove over, got buzzed through the door, sat in the reception area, and waited. For an hour. I went back outside, got on the intercom again and was buzzed inside again. This time someone turned up and told me politely that she couldn't help me as she oversaw a different area, the person I was there to see was busy, and they also don't take walk ins, so please leave. I left. At half past four that afternoon I got an email from the contact saying sorry but they don't have time that day, is there another time I'm available. I did not reply. Another story. One time after applying I got a call, it was from the agency that listed the ad. They had me on file, I had signed on with them two years previous, but could I please come in and sign on again. I replied that none of my information had changed, and I had never actually left the agency's rolls, so why did I need to sign on again? She agreed and ended the call. I never heard from them again. To this day I am confused as to what people who work in job agencies actually do.

Back to my search. Every day I checked a few different websites and applied for whatever I had a shot at. When you do this everyday, you're effectively staying current in the market, seeing stuff the same day it's posted and you can skip the things you've seen before. The upside of this is that you're not wasting time on old listings that already have lots of applications. The downside is you see how few jobs are being posted day to day. But still, you apply, and you actually get results. People call you and invite you in to interview. Things get more frustrating than when dealing with agencies. You get a date, time and location. You make arrangements, put on your suit, show up. You smile, you shake hands, you answer their questions. They say thank you and goodbye. It's some time until you hear from them, or from a representative. The answer is always no. The reason for why it's no is rarely there. Occasionally you get told that one of the other candidates was better in some way, which is understandable. The rest of the time, nothing to tell you why. One time I got the call that I hadn't been selected, and when I asked why they said "client suitability". I asked what that meant, they replied that I didn't tick all the boxes that they wanted. I asked which boxes were lacking. We went round and round a little until I backed them into a corner, and they admitted that they didn't know why I wasn't chosen. I just about held back from asking why the fuck they bothered to call. Just.

After about two years of searching, applications, rare interviews, no feedback, I decided to do something about it. I got in touch with careers advisers again and they forwarded me to a local office where I could be given a mock interview. I wanted to know why I was being told no all the time, and I was determined to get an answer. The nice group sent me a list of questions ahead of time to make prepared answers for, which was good. On the day I suited up, went along and we sat down. The questions were all generic, as they couldn't do an interview for a specific job. It was all about my skills, what I could bring to the table, my goals. I answered everything as best I could. The mock interview ended and I asked what I'm doing wrong. I was told "that was great, I'd hire you on the spot". I think that's the worst bit of feedback I've ever received. No advice or ideas on why I wasn't being selected. The best they could offer me was to flat out ask how I did on the day to get immediate feedback.

We're into the final stretch now. The last year at the bad job. I didn't know it yet of course, I was still getting rejected all the time and had days when I felt I could lie down on the floor of the office and go to sleep in the middle of the day. It's worth noting this period because things got a little better, and they also got worse. What to go over first. How about promotions? The entire time I worked at the company, I was not promoted. I was the same grade the day I left as the day I was made permanent staff. The way to get promoted and the raise that goes with it was to make your boss like you. That's a bit difficult when you're unsociable, depressed, and your immediate superior is an idiot you refuse to talk to. Really, on paper she was my manager and was responsible for my annual assessments. In practice, her boss handled those for me and I refused to go back. So no promotion for me. It was promised by the CEO in that last year that the company would formalise the way to get promoted. You don't need to be liked if you're good at what you do, I think. That method was yet to be published when I left, likely because there was so many people that could rightly kick up a fuss at being passed over in the past. So there's that. Next, bonuses. The company, when it was formed, was an offshoot of Zurich as I said. Being a limited company, there were shares available that could only be held by certain people, including employees. These shares were allocated out to the staff as bonuses each year on the reason that one day the company would be sold and everyone would get a big payout. Well, in my last year with the company, it was announced that these shares actually had an expiry date. Ten years after allocation, if the company wasn't sold then the shares were void. All that promise of a payout evaporated. The company wasn't going to sell, the plan was to go public. But, bonuses for the staff. What to do instead? Well, they instituted a "long term incentive plan", where on four-year cycles staff would be given a moderate payout by the company. The first cycle would start the following year, and as a reward to all the staff that had been with company for a decade already, they would be getting *slightly* more than people who had joined yesterday. No one cheered. Related to bonuses, annual raises. Inflation is real, you need to keep pay going with it. But how much? That is what the annual appraisal determines. For a long time you were given a score out of 150. Most people got 85-95. Reasonable. It got you a modest bump in pay. In the last year, the system was changed to grading out out of five. Not five hundred, five. The lowest you could get was a one. Things got a bit more black and white. And, I was given a two. Not because I had actually done badly, but because I wasn't fulfilling my potential, apparently. No, I don't know what that could look like. So a few months later (after the boss' boss had changed) when everyone was getting letters about how much they were getting extra, I didn't get a letter. That two cost me all possibility of a raise. That grates. What grates more is that also in that last year a new guy was hired to the team who had no more responsibility than me, but was hired to a the upper grade (with the extra money). Similar to the money situation, was the wellbeing situation. Every year the company ran a survey to see how the staff felt things were going. Every year I filled it out and told them how miserable I was. In the last year, it turned out that everyone in my team had filled out the survey to similar effect. 40 people who all worked together weren't happy with their lot. So one day we were excused from normal duties (button pushing) and taken next door to a hotel to sit in a conference room and talk. We were shown graphics of our survey results and asked what could be done to improve those scores. What weren't we happy about? What could be changed? Being someone who had given this a lot of thought, I was able to answer. I spoke of all the problems, the unmoving, the boredom, the being ignored. And after that day, nothing changed. I sometimes wonder if anything ever did. By far, the strangest story of that last year is when I was asked to train a new hire. I didn't want to, but the bosses insisted. What's strange about this is that the person exposed a flaw in the hiring system. They were a simpleton. I taught them the basics of how spreadsheets worked, once answered a question with "you asked me that yesterday and wrote down what I told you", and I corrected their work again and again. It would be called amazing if it wasn't tragic. The job that was so easy and boring it gave me depression, was too hard for this person. Eventually, an excuse was found to fire them. And new hires after that described tests they took before being taken on.

The incredible thing about this entire journey, is that I don't remember the most important part. The day I applied for my current job. I can't remember seeing the ad, or filling out a form, or writing an email. That single, critical moment that would see my life change is missing from my memory. It was the job hunt of course. Searching every day, the phone ringing occasionally, always being told no, what's the point of remembering a single application? So I didn't. And it was a surprise when the phone rang to invite me for an interview. Naturally, I suited up and went along. I remember the clock on the wall over the interviewers' shoulders. I remember finding a fleck of white in the glass of water I had been given and looking up to see if the paint was peeling off the ceiling. I can't really remember the questions. I can remember when my car stopped on the drive home. The battery had died, I had to get a jump start to get home then order a replacement. Aside from the car trouble, it was just another interview. So it was a greater surprise when I got the call about the second interview. When I went along, one of the people I had met the first time remembered me and said hi. I was shocked, I also didn't remember them. I met the people that are now my bosses and spoke to them. I recall near the end I asked the 'how did I do?' question, and expected to get a non-answer. I was told that so long as I did well on the test then I had it in the bag. Okay then, more pressure please. They had told me about the test beforehand, and I brought along my own pens for it. One day, I hope to interview an assistant or replacement proofreader, and I'll ask to see what pens they brought. By far, the biggest shock was when I got that phone call, and was told I had the job. I can't recall exactly what I said, but I doubted that it was real, wanted to know if they were sure, something like that. After that call, I had to collect my thoughts and hold back from bursting into tears. I went back to my desk and immediately handed in my notice. It was within two days either way of eleven years after I had started at 8.30am on a Monday.

The month of my notice was an epilogue. Word spread that I was leaving. I smiled more than I ever had. People asked how I'd gotten the job, I told them about the journey. No one asked me if I was sure, I was the guy that said "I would love to be made redundant". But there was the meeting. In the larger team of 40, I was in a pod of eight. We all worked on the same stuff. This pod included the guy who was hired to be above me, and the idiot boss. A few days before the meeting, she asked me if there was anything I did that I thought other people would need to take care of when I wasn't there. I had a list. I wrote it down, and this list was put onto the agenda for the meeting. They were going to hear about all the busywork I did when there was nothing else to do that was actually really productive. On the day, we stood and left our desks to go to the meeting, the boss turns to me and asked me to take the minutes of the meeting. I told her that as I was doing the explaining and handover, I was going to be doing a lot of talking. She said, and I kid you not, "But last time you did the minutes it was really funny". I put my foot down and refused. In the meeting, no one quite believed what I was doing when they weren't watching me. The small things that kept everything moving. Keeping a spreadsheet updated. Pushing a button off and on each day. Checking for data entry errors. The majority of this work went to the grade-above guy. Finally, the day came. I left on a Friday. The following Monday I did my new commute to the new office, with new people and new work. I try not to look back, to get angry. But things keep bubbling up, so I thought I would write it all down here.

I have to recognise through all of this how lucky I was. Friends and family were there to support me. I had the resources to maintain my coping mechanisms. I caught the problem before it became an issue big enough to interfere with my work. I live in a time of the Internet that I could search for a phrase like "depression test" and find free resources. I live in a country with free healthcare, so saw doctors, pharmacists and therapists for no cost. That same country has subsidised medicine, so for the same cost (less then £9) as any other prescription, I got custom-made bottles with enough liquid to last a month. I was given a medication that gave me no ill effects on the first try. Said medication didn't become ineffective while I was taking it. I had the support and energy to keep working and job hunt at the same time. Four and a half years of living in a house of cards where anything could have brought it all crashing down. And then where would I be? Maybe back on the dual carriageway, looking at the gap in the barrier. But I was lucky, and now I'm here.

I stopped taking the antidepressants six months into the new job. Aside from a little lightheadedness of withdrawal, nothing happened. No exhaustion. No sadness. No lack of appetite or inability to sleep. It was over. I don't like saying 'cured', and I can't say 'free', because in a sense I'll never be free. This happened to me. All of it. And I can't just forget it, pretend it didn't happen. For starters it's eleven years of my life, I can't sweep that under the rug. I guess what I can do is learn from it, and keep it as a warning. Know the red flags in case it happens again.

If you've read all of the above, thanks I guess. It's definitely the longest blog I've written to date, and will likely be the longest I ever write. It took several days to pull it all together. While the events are true to the best of my recollection, it is possible that I'm misremembering them, putting things in the wrong time or attributing to the wrong person. If you or someone you know is experiencing depression, and don't have a good societal infrastructure to go to for help, I recommend talking to friends, family or colleagues. There's the cliche of the person that attempts suicide and survives, then the self harm being labelled 'a cry for help'. Don't let it get that far. Be open with your feelings, and encourage others to do likewise. In the end, it's okay to admit that you're not okay.

[foreverbeingthunderbuddy]

Darling, Don’t Stop [b.b.]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: sexual attraction, um mention of nsfw

Prompt: “Who knew that this would be such a turn on?”

Summary: Bucky hires the law firm you work for to defend and represent him, though you’re just an intern and have to serve him during the meeting. You wouldn’t have come to work that day though, if you had known you would see him again later that week. In a strip club.

A/N: This is my submission for @hollandroos’ 12k writing challenge. Word count around 7,5k.

Masterlist | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Okay here’s the thing. Life is good.

You’re not exactly rich or wealthy, there isn’t a day where you don’t stuff money into the little jar in your kitchen shelf to save for worse days and there isn’t a day where you don’t stop at the little pizza shop down the street for lunch instead of going to a real restaurant that has heavy menu cards and fancy, washable napkins.

But you’re happy. You don’t feel like you’re missing out too much. You have your own little apartment, your own bed, kitchen, bathroom and you never have to beg anyone for money. It’s not much but it’s yours.

You went to law school. Yeah, you know, it sounds fancy but it wasn’t. It was tough, draining and painful and made you want to quit every week but you went through with it. You graduated and felt good about yourself, especially when your family came together to celebrate your success. Saying you’re not proud of what you achieved, would be a lie. Who wouldn’t be?

But how it usually goes when one comes fresh from law school and moves to New York, there are no jobs. None. It’s like there are two sides of the world of work. First, you get told the world needs you, wants you, you get told you will have a bright future – “You ARE the future!” how your college’s president proudly announced down to you from his podium during the welcome ceremony, all puffy-chested and full of himself.

You believed him because that’s what people do when they have never seen anything other than high-school.

And then there’s the world of work’s second side, the one you encounter after you graduate and send out your first applications. The one that pushes you into the very unpleasant, self-doubt infusing territory called reality. In short: You have yet to get a job in the field that you studied for.

It’s sad. It’s heart-breaking. But that’s the way it is.

How are you paying your rent then, one might ask now. Well. In the daytime you work in a law firm as an intern. The direction Law Firm is great, the title Intern … not so much. You’ve been working for them for two years now. Can you believe? Two years as an intern?

Your contract ran out and because you did a good job, they asked if you wanted to extent it and seeing as they refused to give you a legit job where you could use your degree and there are no other jobs in sight, you said Okay. What else could you have done? You would have ended up on the street. And there is no way you’d be going back to your little home town and move in with your parents.

No way.

So the internship during the daytime. And at night you work as a waitress. Not a bad thing, one would think now and it isn’t. It’s the place you are waiting tables at though, that isn’t necessarily good for your resume.

It’s a strip club. Short and simple. A strip club. You don’t strip of course, you just run around and serve drinks. Maybe flirt a little, not that you want to do it but it usually pays off in the end. Literally. No other place would get you tips good enough to pay New Yorkian rent. And there is a lot of it to pay, that’s for sure.

So. Now that we have that cleared, let’s fast forward to today. Daytime. Internship.

You push a cart down the hallway, knocking on doors and handing over letters or files that need to get delivered. Yeah, you have to play postman in a fancy, marble-floor law firm. See what the problem with this internship is? You didn’t study years and years, just to do the dirty work. It’s boring, insulting and embarrassing to say the least.

Of course, you don’t let it show. You can’t risk losing this job, it may be shitty but it makes up half of your rent. So, Y/N, clench your teeth and smile and don’t forget to say “Have a nice day, sir!” or Mr. Nothing-works-without-me or whatever his name is will get annoyed with you and then you have to help move furniture again.

Anything but that. Last time, you bent down and tried to lift a table and the pressure made the backside of your admittedly too tight dress pants tear up. They were expensive ones, of course they were, you’re not allowed to wear plain jeans here. It pained you to say your farewells to them. They were some good ass dress pants.

Speaking of fancy clothing, today is a very extravagant day for your closet. Your supervisor sent an email around, making sure everyone knows today is not for the usual work attire (meaning pants and blazer). Your head lawyers have a meeting scheduled with a very well-known, very influential, wealthy client and you and the other female interns and assistants are required to wear your best skirts and blouses.

Or dresses. Your outfit just has to scream I’m unmistakingly female and hate gender neutral clothing, also may this bold outfit convince you to leave a nice review on our website and you should be fine.

Seeing as the general, daily dress code is set at Fancy, you find it ridiculous to dress up even more for a client, even if he is none other than Bucky Barnes aka the Winter Soldier himself, surely a bright entry on your law firm’s resume and, let’s be honest, fantastic press. You understand why he chose this particular company to represent and defend his public persona, your bosses have a pristine white reputation and a success rate over 90 percent.

How Andy Malton, one of two company owners, in his mid-forties, honest-to-goodness asshole, landed the job is beyond you though. His work partner and co-owner Benjamin Taylor is much more genuine and respected by his staff and the world of law. He should have gotten the Avengers as his client. Why did Bucky choose Andy?

Who knows. Anyway.

You walk down the hallway in your black pencil skirt and white and black-striped blouse – dear reader, you don’t even want to know how expensive this outfit was, R.I.P. my bank account – and park the cart near the elevators, so one of the delivery boys can take it down later. And then you quickly go to the nearest bathroom.

It’s 9:40, Mr. Barnes and his companion should arrive in twenty minutes and you are in charge of bringing drinks and snacks. Boring, humiliating internsh- ah, forget it. No need or time to get all worked up again, not now anyway. You would be extra annoyed if this was any other ordinary client that you would have to serve but this is Bucky Barnes.

You would lie if you said you didn’t have kind of a thing for him. Your wildly beating heart and your sweating hands would give you away anyway. Serving drinks and food may be pretty shitty but today it’s your only chance to meet the man you have been adoring since he appeared in Stark’s rows. You’re a fan. And you are actually about to meet the Winter Soldier.

No time to freak out.

You leave the bathroom and try not to look like you’re rushing as you walk to the elevators and see the catering cart already standing in the hallway. Someone from the kitchen brought it up here, so now all you have to do is push it to the conference room Andy The Asshole has chosen and prepare everything for Mr. Barnes’ arrival.

You reach two colleagues who stand by an open office door and immediately stop chatting when you near and out of the corner of your eye, you see their heads following you as you pass them but you pretend not to notice. Everyone knows about today’s special guest and who is assigned to assist. You. These people may be top of their game but they’re also very talented gossipers. And jealous.

You walk around the corner, knowing they will immediately start yapping as soon as you disappear from their eyeshot, and halt in front of the conference room of destiny. You know it’s still going to be empty but you’re nervous nonetheless. You take a breath and knock, just for good measure.

Silence.

Without further hesitation, you open the door and step in. As fast as possible you put everything on the right side of the long conference table, cups, plates, glasses, water, lemonade, biscuits, cookies, some crackers, apples, sugar, honey ... Andy really decided to go big today it seems. What an ass kisser.

When the table is set, you throw a quick glance at your watch – 9:55. Shit. You shouldn’t be here when they arrive. You check one last time that everything looks perfect and then you quickly leave the room and run as fast as your high heels allow it to your little office you share with another intern. You close the door behind you and press one ear against the door to hear if something’s already happening.

Complete silence. And then, “Hrhrm.”

Someone just cleared their throat behind you and you jump at the sound.

“You okay?” Alissa, said other intern, asks and raises her perfectly plucked eyebrows at you.

She is sitting at her desk opposite yours and from what you can see of her computer screen, it looks like she is not spending her time dutifully doing some kind of task for your company but browsing through her ex-boyfriend’s Instagram. You sigh. Alissa and her ex are two of the most emotionally confusing individuals you have ever met.

Broken up after a bad, bad fight, made up for three days, broke off contact and now started talking again, still insult each other through text messages but regularly stalk each other’s social media accounts to gush over one another. Or at least she gushes over him, you don’t know what he’s doing in his private time, all you know is, he follows and un-follows her in predictable intervals and “accidentally” likes every third picture.

Too confusing. You have long stopped asking.

Anyway! More important things to do now. Stalking the hallway, for example.

Remembering your newly-found, most important task for today, you turn back around and slam your face into the door to get a better ear on said area.

“Yup. I’m fine. Just … getting ready to do my job” You answer Alissa’s question and squint your eyes to get a better focus. Didn’t you read somewhere that losing one of your senses improves another one? Lack of eyesight for better hearing, that’s the plan.

You don’t hear anything out in the hallway, what you do hear though is a very unwomanly snort behind you.

“Sure. Getting ready to do your job. Didn’t know spying on famous clients is one of your tasks for Taylor & Malton. Is that part of your contract?”

“Ha ha. Hilarious. Would you stop talking please, I’m trying to hear” You retort and press yourself further into the cold, frosted glass.

Frosted glass! As if you were stung by a bee, you recoil and step back. Another snort from your colleague.

“I was wondering when you would realize that the door isn’t non-transparent. It would have been too funny if someone had seen you from the hallway, a poor shadow pressed against the door in a desperate attempt to stalk her celebrity crush. Bucky would have bolted before Andy could have even tried to crawl up his ass. Bethany and Brithany would have had two weeks’ worth of gossip.”

Bethany and Brithany are the lovely ladies you encountered while bringing the food cart to the conference room. They have solid jobs at this law firm which is naturally why they think they are the queens to your peasants. Of course their real names aren’t actually Bethany and Brithany but that’s what Alissa and you named them after they started a terrible rumour about Alissa involving her ex.

“I’d rather die than give Bethany and Brithany a reason to talk about me, even though I think they already are. You should have seen the look on their faces when I walked past them with the food for Mr. Barnes’ meeting. Jealousy doesn’t even come close, those snakes looked like they were about to combust” You tell her and can’t stop the devious smile on your face as you sit down at your own desk.

Alissa gives a short, witch-like laugh and goes back to clicking through her very bad, no-good ex-trash’s pictures.

“I bet. You should have taken a picture, I need a new desktop background for my computer.”

Before you can reply something to that, you hear a knock on the door and jump to your feet. Due to the biggest source of light coming from a window in this office, you can’t make out an actual silhouette at the door but you know who this is. You take a quick breath and open it.

Andy’s assistant Emily, very tight grey skirt and dark-red blouse showing more cleavage than covering it, stands before you and writes something down on her clipboard. Her eyes cut to your face, taking in your make-up then swiftly scanning your outfit. She doesn’t seem to find anything to nag about – thanks to your unusual efforts to look as flawless today as possible – so she returns to her notes as if she didn’t just check you out like the treacherous bitch she is.

And you’re normally all about girls supporting girls but if there’s one person to throw anyone under the bus if it helps her stand in a good light in front of her boss, then it’s her. Especially the women. If things went after her lead, there would be no women employed at his company at all because they could totally steal her job if Andy happened to take a liking to one of them more than her. Right?

“Mr. Barnes just arrived. Time to take coffee orders” Emily clips and turns on her heels to sashay to the conference room. Those heels look painful.

Time to take coffee orders. Bitch.

You throw a last glance at Alissa who watched the whole thing and who looks exactly how you feel.

“Just ignore her, Y/N, if they gave you the job you actually deserve, Emily would stand below you and she doesn’t like that. Who cares what she and her ostrich legs think” She exclaims and follows up her petty remarks with a sigh and a determined nod.

Those ostrich legs look more like she could model with them but you’re not getting into that right now – also why would you defend Emily? She deserves every animal comparison she gets. Except for the elegant cat analogies some of the advocates for environmental law one floor beneath yours have given her. Those seem a little too positive for your taste.

You give Alissa a thumbs up, brush over your skirt to make all non-existent wrinkles disappear and leave your office. You walk around a corner and see the conference door stand ajar. Muffled male voices can be heard from the inside. Your heart is beating in your throat, that’s how nervous you are.

Okay, Y/N, you can do this! Be professional! Smile, be friendly, don’t empty the coffee pot over Emily’s head! Make a good impression. Oh god.

Before you can turn around, run screaming to the elevators and buy a one-way ticket to Argentina, you open the door further and step into the room.

There are six people here, all gathered around the side of the table you prepared for them. Andy, Emily and a man you don’t know are sitting with their backs to the window front, facing you. You can see a gleeful smile on her face the moment you appear in the doorway. You decide to ignore that and think of a good way to take revenge after this is over.

The other three people have their backs to you, two men and a woman. Your heart jumps as you recognize Bucky’s dark, chin-length hair immediately, he sits in the middle chair and seems to be occupied with one of the water bottles. From what you can see, he wears a suit jacket (!) and you try not to stare at his metal hand twisting the screw cap back onto the opening.

This is absolutely surreal and you think you’re about to pass out.

The woman has long, red-blonde hair in a ponytail and you’re sure that must be Pepper Potts. You didn’t know she would be here, too, and it certainly doesn’t help your stress level to face not one but two of Tony Stark’s people. If the dark-haired guy on the left turns out to be Stark himself, you are one hundred percent certain someone will have to call an ambulance.

“Ah, Miss Y/L/N, come on in, don’t be shy” Andy suddenly addresses you and your heart stops a second at the unexpected sound and all heads swing around to you but because you don’t want to look like a shy wissy, you step forward and walk to the end of the table. Now you stand there like a kid on her birthday, looking down the board table at her friends, Andy The Asshole & co. to your right, Bucky “I’m Hot” Barnes and his companion to your left.

“Hello, nice to meet you” You say to Pepper and not to appear rude your gaze flickers to Bucky and the unknown man (not Tony Stark thank god) to include them. All you can make out from the millisecond your eyes rest on Bucky’s face are his piercing blue eyes looking at you. Your skin starts to tingle. His expression is unreadable though.

Pepper shows a smile that looks ten times more professional than yours. “Nice to meet you, too.”

You didn’t think you would ever hear that voice in person but here you are. Just don’t freak out, Y/N.

“Can I bring you something to drink? Coffee or tea?” You ask, suddenly remembering why you are here and glad about getting back at least some of your own professionalism. Your eyes cut back to Bucky and his are still on your face. Of course they are, you’re talking to them and taking orders, why would he ignore you?

He doesn’t smile but he looks attentive and you can see his gaze roam over your features. Can he stop please? It’s making you nervous. Oh please don’t stop.

“I’ll have a Rooibos tea. Thank you” Pepper says and pulls your attention back to her. You smile and nod. No, thank you.

“Latte Macchiato” The other guy exclaims and adds a vague gesture of his hand. You nod again and now that you have a full excuse to look at Bucky, you put on a smile that hopefully doesn’t look too needy.

“And what can I get you, Mr. Barnes?” You ask and anxiously wait for his answer. His eyes are currently resting on a spot around the area where your blouse is tucked into the waistband of your skirt. At your question he looks up.

“Nothing, thanks. Water will do” He answers and with that he turns away from you, shifts his attention to Andy in front of him and says as if that would explain everything, “Already had coffee this morning.” Andy nods wildly like that comment makes sense at 10 am.

While you try not to melt due to his voice, you swallow down your disappointment at his response and sudden lack of interest. The get-together you planned with your friends as soon as they found out Bucky Barnes would come to your company and made you promise you tell them every little detail afterwards is kind of ruined now.

The stories you wanted to tell. Original work title: That one day when I made Bucky Barnes coffee and he loved it. Now: That one day Bucky Barnes checked me out and immediately lost interest.

Welp.

You try to maintain your smile and nod, Of course Mr. Barnes, one coffee is more than enough for a day, and look at Andy.

“I’ll have a Caffè crema” He orders without looking up from his notes and is quickly followed by a sweet-as-sugar voice saying “Nothing for me, thanks. I try to drink less caffeine, it’s healthier and I already had my dose today.”

Emily never drinks coffee because she thinks it’s tragic for her teeth and it matches her diet plan. But of course she had to adjust her answer to Bucky’s. Of course. You see Andy eye her for a second, he knows she doesn’t drink coffee but before he can say something asshole-ish, the other man you don’t know orders a black coffee. Dammit.

Pepper starts talking and all six of them immediately go into business-mode, hence you cease to exist. Not once has Bucky looked at you again - tragic.

Okay. Time to go.

You turn away and leave the conference room, quietly closing the door behind you.

“Oh my god” You mouth silently and hectically wave your hands in the air before you get yourself together and toddle on your heels to the floors kitchen. You may not be a lawyer (cry…) but you won’t let them wait for their coffee and tea, that’s for sure. Great standards by the way.

To get to the kitchen you have to pass your own office and you see the door slightly open. You smile. Alissa may have acted like she didn’t really care about today’s events but she still won’t refrain from lurking. You rush past the door, mumble “Oh fucking god!” to yourself but loud enough that she will hear it and keep walking without looking behind you but you know she can’t resist and will follow you.

The “little” kitchen is actually a big open space with the fanciest counters and kitchenware you have ever seen, only separated from the outside by a room divider with stylish glass elements. On the counter stand two very expensive looking coffee makers and an espresso machine, accompanied by several silver kettles and some other paraphernalia that you haven’t figured out yet.

You fill water into one of the kettles and switch it on. You barely grabbed a coffee cup from one of the shelves when you hear footsteps directly behind you.

“Spill! I have five minutes before Taron comes checking in on the excel table I’m making for him” Alissa proclaims and appears on your right side at the counter. Without hesitation, you hand her two coffee cups and grab another and one of those big, fancy tea cups for Pepper.

“You know how to use Excel?” You ask and walk over to the drink machines of wealth. Honestly, you have seen the prices of these things and the only way that those numbers are justified is if someone glued a thousand bucks to the underside of each one. Atrocious.

“No, I googled it. So? How is he? What did he say? Did he check you out? Did Emily hit on him like the subtle excavator that she is?”

“Caffè crema for Andy, black coffee for Whatever His Name Is, Latte Macchiato for Not Tony Stark and Rooibos tea for Pepper fucking Potts” You say instead of answering her questions and she starts pushing buttons on the coffee machine in front of her. At Pepper’s name you see her hand halt its movements.

A moment of silence.

“You are kidding.”

“Nope. Bucky Barnes brought Pepper Potts as assistance to his meeting. Can you believe? Isn’t she CEO of Stark Industries now?” You open a different shelf and dig out the Rooibos tea packs.

“Oh wow. That’s so extra, I love it. Can we please trade lives? Can I bring them their coffee?”

“Nope” You declare and laugh, “I deserve this.”

“And? Is Bucky as pretty in real life as he is on screen and magazines?” She asks, being the nosy friend you need right now. There’s no way you hold all of this excitement inside yourself for the rest of the day.

“He is the most beautiful person I’ve ever met in my life, and I’m not being dramatic. I thought I would pass out when he looked at me and-“

“Those eyes! Am I right? Did he sell his soul for those or what? I bet they’re like … super blue in person.”

You snort.

“Super blue. Alissa, I didn’t know you could be so poetic. Must be the hormones” You joke and stare down at the tea cup turning a serious blood orange as you pour boiled water onto the dried plant material in the tea bag. Thank god, the kettle is high quality and only takes a couple of seconds to boil the little amount of water you filled it with.

“Hormones, might be. After you disappeared in that conference room, I walked out into the hallway and I swear to God, I could feel him. He walked down that exact corridor and I could still feel him minutes later.”

Both of you burst out laughing and you turn around to see if anyone is in sight but you’re alone. Bethany and Brithany would have a blast.

“That’s how manly he is” She ends her plea and changes cups to fill the second one. Meanwhile your own is finished now, too, and the tea will need another two minutes.

“Normally, I’d say you’re exaggerating but I’ve been in that room and talked to him and girl. You’re right.” Alissa makes a half-jealous half-satisfied noise and you take out a little silver tray and saucers and place the filled cups on it.

“Did he check you out?” She repeats her previous question and lets her eyes wander down your appearance seductively. You roll your eyes at her and put a hand on the counter.

“Yeah, I think so. For about five seconds and then he decided he isn’t interested and that’s when I became invisible, so... So much about that.”

“He checked you out for five seconds which is better than four and besides, what do you expect? It’s a business meeting and Pepper is present. She is his boss’s fiancée, it’s not like he can hit on you blatantly. Even though that’d be hot.”

You nod. It would. Both of you stay silent for a couple of seconds.

“It would make him look super unprofessional in front of his asshole lawyer and you don’t want Andy breathing down your neck, do you? He would never let you assist in the Barnes case ever again” Alissa says and puts a hand to her hip.

“True. God forbid there is someone who steals the show. I still can’t believe Bucky chose Andy to represent him and not Benjamin” You retort and give her a look. She raises her eyebrows.

“You don’t know Bucky, Y/N. He could be an asshole and you would still think he is the biggest sweetheart. Maybe he and Andy just clicked and that’s why. Although, I hope that’s not the case because if Bucky turns out to be an asshole, I’ll need a new object for my daydreams.”

You eye her questioningly and feel the corners of your mouth twitch.

“Strict no-assholes policy” She answers your unspoken question. You almost mention her very-asshole boyfriend that she is still running after. Almost. But you don’t. Instead you turn your head and watch the last droplets fall into the coffee cup.

“Ugh. Time to go. Pray for me that I won’t trip and slam the tray into Emily’s take-me-right-now face.”

“Actually, I pray that you do trip and slam the tray into her take-me-right-now face. Christmas and Easter in one.”

You laugh. “Shut up.”

You both leave the kitchen area, you balancing the tray in your hands, and walk to the conference room. You feel yourself growing nervous again. Also, was it always this hard to walk in high heels or did they change their form since you started making coffee?

Alissa doesn’t stop at your office but you don’t dare to look at her out of fear you could trip.

“I’m walking you to the room to make sure you don’t get lost” She explains and you supress a giggle. To make sure you don’t get lost, my ass. She wants to have an exclusive look at the current object of her daydreams. Who could blame her, though?

Pretending to be a gentleman ca. 1850, she lays one hand behind her back and opens the door for you, bowing as you pass her. You stop yourself from rolling your eyes at her just in time.

“Ah, Miss Y/L/N, finally. I could feel myself dry out” Andy comments your coming back and you walk to the spot from where you took their orders. Don’t look at Bucky or you’re definitely gonna trip.

“Oh, was that- I think I saw Miss Marr at the door, or was that-“

“No, probably just someone passing by” You quickly interrupt him and hand him his Caffè Crema which he takes looking facilitated. He doesn’t usually drink fancy stuff like that but you guess he wanted to make an impression on his guests.

“Took a while” Emily remarks like an angel and you ignore her. You were gone for five minutes. Maximum. Bitch.

“Here’s your tea, Miss Potts” You say and smile at Pepper as you put it down in front of her, “It will need to steep for another minute.”

“Thank you very much.”

You give Whatever His Name Is his black coffee and do the same on the other side, bending forward a little and reach out with Not Tony Stark’s Latte Macchiato in your hand.

And that’s when you feel Bucky’s eyes burn into you and you see the blue out of the corner of your eye. This position brings you closer to him than before and you’re relieved when the man takes the cup from you and you can lean back.

Your heart is beating in your chest excitedly.

“Can I bring you anything else?” You ask to cover up how flustered you are. For a moment you think you’ll get a No from them but then you see Bucky nod.

“Yes, I changed my mind. I’d like a black coffee as well” He says with his deep voice and meets your eyes and … did he really sell his soul for those? You would believe it. Trying not to collapse, you smile like a horse and turn to leave. You feel his gaze on you the entire time.

“Of course, Mr. Barnes.”

The door closes behind you and like a mad woman you totter back to your office, jump into the doorway, hiss “Kitchen! Now!” and rush down the hallway, hearing the same ungraceful sounds of high heels running behind you.

You throw open a shelf and grab a coffee cup.

“Please tell me he asked for your phone number!” Alissa exclaims and materializes next to you.

“No but he ordered a black coffee from me while holding intense eye contact.”

Silence.

“With every other guy I would have pushed you into the fridge for making me run in heels just to hear he ordered coffee but with Bucky … Tell me exactly what his words were and how he looked while saying them.”

You tell her everything and simultaneously realize you sound like a teenager who has never had a boyfriend but this is Bucky mutherfucking Barnes. Every twitch of a muscle in his jaw must mean something!

“You know what you should do? Write your phone number on the cup and see if he’s interested” Alissa says and wiggles her eyebrows at you. You scowl.

“What? No! I’m not gonna write my phone number on the cup, how obvious is that?”

“Yes. That’s the plan.”

She opens a drawer and digs out a fucking Edding permanent pen. If you write your number with that, it will go all around the whole cup and it will be very visible.

“Oh, definitely not gonna do that.”

“Yes!”

“No! Everyone will see it.”

“Imagine Emily’s face when she sees Bucky take a sip from a cup with your fat number on it. How funny would that be?”

Alissa means well but she often oversteps the mark.

“Very unfunny. Especially because I would get fired.”

You and her argue until Bucky’s coffee is ready and you put it on the tray.

Same procedure like previously, both of you walk to the conference room and she opens the door for you. You forgot to tell her about hiding better – Andy saw her last time – and now it’s too late.

Your eyes are glued to the back of Bucky’s head instantly and you step behind him.

“Here’s your coffee, Mr. Barnes” You say and place it next to his hand. He turns his head and looks up to you which puts your faces dangerously close to each other. You know you should retreat but you hesitate and for a moment you think you are getting lost in his eyes. How cheesy is that?

“Thank you very much, Miss Y/L/N” He says, saying your name for the first time, making your knees weak and that’s when you see a smile on his face. Beautiful.

You quickly step back before you get yourself into trouble and hold the tray in front of you.

“You’re welcome” You retort and leave the room.

****

You wait until you hear a knock on your office door and open it.

“Meeting is finished. Time to clean up” Emily says without looking at you and walks away.

Time to clean up. God, what a bitch. You’re a lawyer for goodness sake.

“Is it just me or does she seem grumpier than usual?” Alissa asks from her desk.

“Yeah.”

“Probably unhappy about the fact you got a mind-dazzling smile for bringing him coffee and she didn’t, even though she didn’t leave anything to the imagination when it came to her cleavage today.”

Alissa, the never stopping exaggerator.

You step into the now empty conference room and start cleaning up. You select plates, cups and glasses and everything else. When you reach Bucky’s seat, you see the empty coffee cup, a half-empty glass of water and a plate with a couple of cookie crumbles on it. He ate cookies during his probably very serious lawyer meeting. Cute.

If you were Alissa, you would lick his plate and take a sip from his water but you’re not, so you simply pick them up and put them on the food cart. There’s only so much creepiness you can handle.

Suddenly, you notice a small piece of paper laying on the table exactly where his plate was and you feel yourself get excited. With giddy fingers you grab it and see the scrawly handwriting.

My friend Tony usually gets quite indignant when he sees someone who undersells themselves and I wish I had more time to talk some sense into you. You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?

And beneath that he wrote:

P.S. The coffee was great though.

Holy shit.

****

Bucky thinks you sell yourself under value and he’s right. The thing is, New York isn’t really offering you any good jobs, so you’re kind of forced to keep this shitty internship for now. Alone the fact that he thinks you are worth more makes you heart beat faster than is healthy. You think the note is a good reason to freak out. Alissa agrees.

So, what does a girl do after being told she is worth more than serving people drinks and snacks? Correct. She puts on a hell of a lot of make-up and her usual night time uniform and goes to start her shift as a waitress in a strip club. It’s a matter of interpretation.

The meeting with Bucky Barnes at your company happened five days ago and you’re still not over it. He hasn’t come in since but you know he will and you’re looking forward to it.

You greet the bouncer at the door and enter a small hallway that leads to where the action is. You can already hear the notorious music coming through the speakers and the many conversations melting into one big babble of voices. The room is well-filled, of course, it’s a Saturday night. A lot of work men, groups and – and that’s curse and blessing at the same time – quite a number of bachelor parties.

They are the ones who give the best tips but they’re also the ones with the worst manners. They always make you nervous but you know you’re safe. Carl, the owner of this club, has his men everywhere to make sure the waitresses won’t get harassed. Making you wear higher than high-heels, a tight black top and a skirt that’s way too short for your usual liking isn’t really helping the matter, though.

You walk over to the bar, put away your stuff and get ready for your shift. Suddenly, there’s a hand on your shoulder.

“Hey, Y/N, you lucky bitch!”

Sarah. One of the waitresses. Black eyes, dark skin, eyebrows to die for and the same slutty uniform you are wearing.

“Hi, Sarah” You greet her and continue to put a small bag around your waist, almost like a fanny pack, where you store money and especially the tips.

“God, you’re so lucky, do you know that? One of your tables is a bachelor party and it’s not just anyone bu-“

“AY! I’m not paying you for standing around and gossiping! Get to work!” Carl shouts at you from behind the bar and points at the customers. How did a man that big manage to appear without you noticing?

“Sorry, Sarah, gotta go” You say and make your way over to your area of tables.

“At least share the tips with us later!” She calls out after you and you don’t bother responding. Now why would you share your tips with them? Are your customers that wealthy?

You pull out your little notepad and step to the big table with said bachelor party and without looking up, you ask “Can I bring you guys anything?”

“Yes, a round of shots please, same as before” A voice says next to you and you look up to meet a pair of dark brown eyes.

Those dark brown eyes are accompanied by full eyelashes, dark eyebrows and a significant beard that looks like a combination of an anchor beard and a disconnected moustache. Perfectly trimmed. You know exactly who that is. You would recognize that roguish smile anywhere.

“How many?” You ask and begin counting Tony Stark’s men, recognizing each and every one of them. You feel your hands get sweaty and shit, these heels are the worst to stand in when having weak knees. And then you see the person you have wished not to see since you caught sight of Tony Stark in your strip club.

Bucky Barnes sits in front of you behind the table, wearing jeans, black boots and a black shirt that doesn’t hide his metal arm at all and you think you have never seen anything sexier in your life. His hair is tugged behind his ears and his eyes sparkle even in the dim light of this establishment while they wander down your body, unashamedly taking in the uniform and there’s nothing you could do about it.

You see the shit-eating grin spread on his face when his gaze cuts up to meet your eyes and he realizes you’re watching his reaction. Correction: That is the sexiest thing you have ever seen in your life.

“Seven” Tony suddenly says, snapping you out of your trance. He looks amused.

“Okay” You say, force a smile on your face and turn on your heels to get the hell away from them.

God, that was embarrassing. You were about to jump Bucky in front of his friends and everyone could see it. This is definitely not a good start to your shift. Also, Bucky was the person to write you a note about being capable of more than serving drinks and now five days later you meet him again while serving drinks in a titty bar. Someone shoot me please.

You walk to the bar to get their drinks ready when you feel a presence behind you.

“I feel like you didn’t find the note I wrote you” The voice out of your dreams says and you slowly turn around to face him. He looks down at you. There’s something in his eyes that indicates danger but not the kind that would get you hurt …

“No, I found it. Thank you” You admit and watch as the corners of his mouth tug into yet another beautiful smile. Seeing it up-close makes you feel a little dizzy, not gonna lie.

“Hm. Then I think you didn’t really understand what I tried to tell you, darling.”

Darling. Say that again please.

“I did. I understand what you said and I agree” You say and maybe you’re imagining things but you think his blue eyes grow a little darker.

“Is that why you wait tables in a strip club?”

You squirm and avoid his gaze. Welp. He steps a little closer and now he’s all up in your personal space and you don’t even mind. Like he doesn’t have a single care in the world, he raises his metal arm and lays it on the counter next to you. It looks strong and dangerous and … you want to touch it.

“No. I wait tables because there is no other job to pay my rent with. I tried to get a job as a lawyer but it’s like everyone else was faster than me. Every law firm I sent my application to offered me an internship. You don’t know how hard it is to find a good job in this city.”

“That’s true. I just didn’t consider you the type of woman to work in a place like this. Though, I’m not complaining” He says lowly and flickers his eyes down to your outfit for a second before coming up to your face again. You feel heat crawl up your neck and a serious belly flutter in your stomach. God, get yourself together, Y/N!

“I bet you didn’t expect to see me tonight, hm?” You ask, feeling very bolt all of a sudden and immediately regret saying that. Now he thinks you are flirting. Which you are. But … ugh. You can’t think clearly with him being so close.

“I didn’t. When I saw you, my first thought was She deserves better. And you do. You should sit in one of those fancy conference rooms and talk to your clients and order coffee or maybe tea. But now as I stand here before you, getting a better look at your lovely outfit, seeing your eyes not leaving my mouth while I talk, I think Who knew that this would be such a turn on?”

You need a second to comprehend what he said and when you do, your eyes grow wide. Never in a million years did you think you would hear Bucky Barnes say these words to you – you have dreamed about it for sure but that’s all it was. A dream. And now he is right in front of you, face only inches away and says he’s turned on.

Can someone pinch you please?

“I, um … I, this, you do, I… um.” Peak intelligence, truly, good job, Y/N.

You see his smile turn into a grin and there’s that sparkle in his eyes again that does things to you and brings thoughts into your head that you would never admit out loud. And then you realize you stopped breathing and that’s probably why you feel so dizzy, so you take a deep breath and smell his cologne and oops – there goes your composure.

“I’ll let you go back to work now. Maybe I’ll have a word with your boss about this work attire. You don’t look comfortable and to be honest I know there are at least ten men staring at you when you walk past and I don’t like it. Don’t ask me why. I just don’t” He says and for a second his eyes wander down to your mouth and you realize you bit your bottom lip.

He meets yours again, gives you one last cocky grin and then he turns and walks back to his Avenger friends. Of course, you watch him go. And of course you see all his friends’ eyes on you and every single one of them looks amused. Shit.

****

Forever Tag List: @izzy-the-teawitch @wowpeterparker @brightcolorsoffendme  @strangequakson @rosegoldquintis @thirdwheelchurchill  @hazel-eyed-bi @goldenkillmonger @yourwonderbelle @hawaiiantozier @irondadandspidersoncute @thirtiethnovember @fancyfangirl-style @appalo0 @lionheo04 @vivideley @mae-shower 

[melodramaticfanatic-blog]

Finish what we started - Henry Cavill x Reader

Pairing: Henry Cavill x reader

Warnings: smut…eventually. Minor anxiety and mentions of being overweight/losing weight

Summary: Y/N is a brand new actress who’s first project involves a long time interest of hers, Henry Cavill. Everything is going as planned until one day, while filming an intimate scene, there’s a minor malfunction.

A/N: first fan fiction. Not sure how many parts this might turn out to be. Also Tumblr is trying to kill me and deleted half my draft!!!

Completely based on this quote - “[on getting an erection while filming a sex scene] A girl had to be on top of me, she had spectacular breasts, and I hadn’t rearranged my “stuff” into a harmless position. She’s basically rubbing herself all over me and, um, it got a bit hard. It’s not great when you’re in a professional acting environment and somebody gets a boner, is it? I had to apologize profusely afterward.“

For years Y/N had dreamed of being an actress. She loved everything about movies and had even gone to college for film and television production. The only problem was her confidence. Y/N had been overweight for much of her life and tended to hide herself because of it. She had been in a few relationships but never anything serious or long term. Truthfully, she didn’t think she was worthy of much love and she had never felt beautiful. The idea that a casting director would want her was just as terrifying as the idea of opening herself up to the rejection of an audition process. 

It wasn’t until she turned 29 years old that her life started to change. Y/N’s older sister had asked Y/N to spend the summer babysitting Cara and Penelope, Y/N’s twin nieces, and chasing after the rambunctious girls had started to change her figure. After realizing that she was starting to see results without much effort, Y/N decided to take a chance. She signed up for local Zumba classes, began to swim with her nieces and changed her eating habits of 28 years, no longer devouring peanut butter and jelly sandwiches while standing in her kitchen. It didn’t happen overnight, but slowly, Y/N felt her confidence start to grow. She wasn’t skinny, her curves were still pronounced and womanly, but there was less excess to her and she was healthier and more toned. 

Please tell me that you know about this!!

The text message alert blared across the phone screen, breaking Y/N’s concentration, which moments before had been solely focused on her morning run.

You’re gonna have to be a little more specific sister from the same mister

If I could roll my eyes through text message I absolutely would

Y/N chuckled at her sister’s exasperation and then clicked on the link that was attached to the last text message. A short article appeared on the phone screen; it was an informational piece about an open casting call for a new film project, a project that just happened to be based on Y/N’s favorite book. 

They’re having trouble casting the role of Deanna….you know, your favorite female character of all time? The character that you relate to the most and that people tell you reminds them of you? Any thoughts on who might be able to take on that role?

Y/N slowed to a stop staring at the phone screen. It was true that fans of the book series who knew her often compared her to that character. According to the description given in the novels, Y/N even looked something like Deanna was supposed to but still…this was a major motion picture. There was no way that they would be interested in someone who had never even been on film before…right?

I can’t just be in a movie

There was a longer pause between messages this time, the three dots bouncing around to indicate that her sister was typing a long response.

Of course you can! You’ve always wanted to be in a movie and you’re a great actress. Besides, even if that isn’t how things turn out, don’t you think you owe it to yourself to try? This is Deanna. This is your favorite character in your favorite book. If you are sitting in a movie theater a year from now watching some other actress butcher this part, aren’t you going to regret not trying? All you have to do is film yourself doing a small monologue and send it into the casting directors. It’s easy. I’ll even help you. Besides, you know that Cara and Penny would love to cheer you on. So, what do you say? Time to be brave?

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Time to be brave. How had such small words landed Y/N’s life into such chaos? When her sister had suggested the idea of auditioning for the movie, it had sounded ridiculous. It had taken weeks of prodding from friends and family before Y/N had even begun to consider it. Eventually, she had put herself on film, partly for fun, partly to shut everyone up and partly because…well, because she knew they were right and this was something she should try. Still bravery did not come naturally to Y/N and the very last thing she had expected was to receive a phone call from a casting director asking her to fly to Atlanta, GA for a call back audition and screen test! Yet that was exactly what had happened.

Y/N sat in the cold, crisp air of the production offices trying to breathe evenly and remember the lines of the scene that had been emailed to her. The waiting room was bright, white and too clean; it looked almost medical, which did nothing to help with her nerves. Fidgeting with the hemline of her dress, Y/N tried to fight the feeling that she stuck out like a sore thumb. Having never been in this situation before, she wasn’t sure how to dress so she had gone for a mix of traditional and edgy, just like her. A classical floral a-line dress flattered her figure, nude pumps elongated her legs making her smaller frame appear as long as possible and a worn in leather jacket wrapped closely around her torso, hinting at the dichotomy inherent in her personality. She had left her hair down letting it brush gently against her shoulders and left her makeup natural, hoping that everything would read well to the casting directors and cameras.

“Y/N? Y/N Y/L/N?” A lovely young woman opened a door in the corner of the room and looked at her with a curious but friendly smile.

Taking a deep breath and trying to steady her hands Y/N smiled and nodded.

“I’m Emily. They’re ready for you now if you’ll just follow me.”

Y/N stood up carefully, smoothing her hands over her dress and walking towards the doorway. She followed Emily down the hallway barely hearing the friendly chatter of the smaller woman until they reached a different door and Emily stopped with another warm smile.

“Don’t be nervous. I’ve seen the tape you sent in. Nothing to worry about beyond these doors.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile genuinely at that. “Thank you Emily, that’s too kind.”

A deep breath and a nod to Emily later, Y/N stepped through the door. The room she had just entered was small and simple. Beige walls provided a clean backdrop for screen tests. There was a long table on one side of the room with 3 chairs and a tripod behind it. One of the chairs was occupied by an older woman with a large binder, the second held a man who looked very relaxed behind his thick rimmed sun glasses. The third chair stood empty and Y/N assumed it was for the youngest in the room, a man who was adjusting the camera sitting on the tripod.

“Ah, Miss Y/L/N, so nice to finally meet you.” The woman behind the table stood up and came around to greet her. She was in her mid-50’s, clean cut and matronly with soft brown hair and kind eyes. “I’m Lisa, the casting director for this project. We spoke on the phone.”

“It’s nice to put a face to the voice,” Y/N said with a gentle smile.

Lisa returned the smile and gestured over her shoulder. “That’s our director, Guy Ritchie.” The director removed his sun glasses and shot Y/N a wink.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ritchie, I’m a fan of your work,” Y/N said almost reverently. It was true; the man in front of her was responsible for some of her favorite films of all time. 

“Really now?” The man chuckled and rubbed his strawberry blonde beard absentmindedly. “In a little while I may be telling you the same thing if this goes well.”

Y/N felt her face flush and had to look down at her shoes to gather herself. Lisa reached out to grasp her hand reassuringly.

“Come stand right here on this mark. This will be very simple. We’re going to start the camera, chat for just a bit and then we’ll have you state your name and age and read the scene with Theo there.” The young guy behind the camera looked up and nodded. “Any questions?”

“No, that sounds fine to me,” Y/N replied breathlessly. She looked down at the floor to make sure she was on her mark and then looked back towards the table where Lisa had returned to her seat.

With a quick nod from Theo, Guy looked at Y/N and asked, “So why did you decide to enter the open casting call?”

“Well…” Y/N huffed out a breath, “honestly, this project has the potential to be very important to me. I wasn’t lying to flatter you when I said I’m a fan of your work; your films have been very influential on me and the possibility of working with you is thrilling. More than that however, this is based off of a piece of literature that has shaped my life. These are the books that I can read and reread and always find something new in. Deanna is a character that has changed how I think about myself and the choices I make.“ For the first time since Y/N had received the phone call about the audition, she felt herself begin to relax. She knew this material like the back of her hand, it practically made up part of her soul.

The change wasn’t lost on Lisa and Guy. Y/N had been beautiful to them when she first entered the room with her Y/H/C hair gently framing her face and her Y/E/C eyes flashing with intelligence and kindness. As she began to speak with such passion though, she almost began to glow. Her voice became fuller, more confident and it filled the room as she stood straighter, her curvaceous shape on full display.

“Tell me about something you love besides the source material,” Guy stated as soon as Y/N had wrapped up her response to why she had applied.

“My nieces,” Y/N replied with no hesitation, a beatific smile breaking out on her face. “I have twin nieces, Cara and Penny, who are the greatest thing on Earth. They’re little monsters of course, all girls are at some point, but they can make me laugh no matter what kind of trouble they’ve gotten into.”

Guy was struck again by how stunning Y/N was. The more she talked, the more she let him in to see the real her, the more interested he became. It was a natural part of her; he could see that Theo was just as enthralled as he was. Y/N was charming, charismatic, beautiful and a natural actress he knew from her tape. As long as the reading went well and his leading man approved, he had found his Deanna. Audiences wouldn’t be able to resist falling in love with her.

“Well, I think that is a good start. Why don’t we have you read the scene with Theo now.”

Y/N smiled and nodded. Talking about Cara and Penny had given her the grounded feeling she had been searching for. Reading the scene was easy. It felt as though it had been written for her and by her. She didn’t hesitate once and never forgot a line. By the end of the scene both Lisa and Guy were beaming at her. 

“Two things,” Guy said seriously and for a moment Y/N felt her heart sink. What if she had misread the situation? “First, I am definitely a fan of your work.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh in relief.

“Secondly, I’m sold. You’re my Deanna…and you’ve been Lisa’s Deanna since she saw your tape. I think if I had tried to cast someone else I may have woken up with a horse head in my bed or something,” Guy chuckled and nudged the woman on his left. “I just need you to meet our leading man and do a small chemistry reading with him. I’m sure it won’t be a problem; this man could have chemistry with a rock…and you are certainly not a rock,” he said with a wry smile. “He should be around the lot somewhere now actually. I wonder if we can get him over here.”

At that moment, Emily poked her head in the door. “Sorry to interrupt but you-know-who just stopped by to see how auditions were going. Did you want me to bring him in?”

“Your timing could not be more perfect. Neither could his, but don’t tell him that; he’s perfect enough as it is,” Guy added the last in a snarky aside making Y/N giggle quietly. “Send him on in.”

Emily moved out of the door and gestured to someone down the hall. The sound of men’s dress shoes reached Y/N’s ears as the man walked down the corridor. Moments later the doorframe was filled with the large and, Guy was right, perfect body of someone Y/N knew well. If the body was perfect (and oh, god! was the body perfect) than the face was nothing short of godly. The crisp brown locks curling softly around the chiseled face, the blue eyes only made more perfect by the patch of brown that interrupted the cerulean circle of the left eye and the gentle stubble that adorned the sharp jaw was enough to make the breath catch in Y/N’s throat. She may have actually gasped but she couldn’t be sure as Guy had taken that moment to say “Henry! Come and meet Y/N. Y/N, this is Henry Cavill.”

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Henry smiled easily down at the woman in front of him. Next to his imposing 6'1” frame she looked positively tiny. He was immediately struck by the odd combination of clothes she wore, a leather jacket over a dress that would have made sense for a stepford wife…yet it suited her in a way he couldn’t quite explain. “Hello Y/N. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Y/N’s face flushed red as she held out her hand and watched it being enveloped by Henry’s much larger one. “The pleasure is all mine; I’m a fan of your work.”

“Don’t get excited Cavill,” Guy quipped quickly, “she says that to all the men!”

Both Y/N and Henry laughed at that, his deep bass reverberating through the room and making Y/N feel strangely comfortable.

“It’s true,” Y/N said with a wry smile, “I was going to say that to whoever walked through that door. If it was Pauly Shore I was prepared to exclaim how much I loved ‘Encino Man’!” With a sudden burst of confidence Y/N winked cheekily at Henry.

Another belt of laughter burst from his chest. This woman was something else; Henry couldn’t help but like and admire her almost immediately. She was obviously bright and witty but she was also beautiful and reserved. He was already looking forward to unraveling the contradictions that made her…well, her. The fact that Henry couldn’t peel his eyes away from her curves wasn’t a problem either.

“How has everything gone so far?” Henry asked as he walked farther into the room, seating himself in the empty chair.

“Brilliantly and don’t get comfortable,” Guy responded quickly. “ I need to get you two on camera together reading this scene.”

Almost instantly, and with a grace that shocked Y/N, Henry’s large form was on his feet and next to her. “It would be my absolute pleasure,” he stated, his warm, deep voice seeming to caress Y/N as he spoke. He gently cleared his throat and fell into a flawless American accent as he began to recite the lines.

Y/N kept up flawlessly. It was a great scene, full of comedy and yet hinting at deeper emotions underneath. Working the scene with Henry was different than reciting the lines with Theo. Suddenly, there was a physicality to the scene; Y/N couldn’t help but playfully slap at Henry’s impressive biceps as her character chided his. He responded happily, his blue eyes twinkling mischievously at her as he caught her around the waist and pulled her to him. Without either of them realizing it, Y/N and Henry had created a sexual tension that left the room charged with an almost palpable energy as their bodies pressed against each other, his large arms circling her waist while her smaller hands pressed to his chest. As the scene drew to a close, she said her last few lines, laughing and nuzzling her face to his chest in a gesture that was so perfectly appropriate Guy was shocked the direction wasn’t written into the script. As she did, Henry felt his breath catch slightly. Y/N felt amazing in his arms; he loved how he was able to wrap himself around her and fit perfectly against her hourglass shape. She was the perfect height as well, her face resting against his chest and allowing him to inhale the delicate scent of her hair. He could stay wrapped around her as long as he needed to he realized. With that realization came another, slightly more embarrassing one…he wanted her wrapped around him in a much more intimate way than she was now. He couldn’t help but gulp at the thought and he took a careful step backwards while smiling down at her.

“That was perfect!” Guy was overjoyed. His long search was over. Henry and Y/N would have the audience turning into puddles in their seats. “Let’s get a deal signed for Y/N and start preproduction as soon as possible.”

Henry smiled down at Y/N and leaned in to kiss her cheek softly. “I can’t wait to work with you,” he whispered in her ear, his lightly accented voice dripping like honey and causing shivers to shoot up her spine. “I’ll see everyone soon,” Henry called over his shoulder as he left the room with a wave. It was time for him to go and see about getting himself a cold shower to dispel these thoughts about his new costar.

More to come! Please let me know what you think!

Next

[jerihco-blog1]

howdy, y’all ! my name’s billy and this is my boy adrian jay woods, or as you may know him from dc comics: joseph “jericho” william wilson. below the cut you’re going to find a ton of information about my guy here and if you have any other questions, you are free to ask. if you’d like to PLOT please LIKE THIS or MESSAGE ME a.s.a.p. so we can start going through the motions. he was kind of important to the deathstroke comics & teen titans comics in the 80′s and 90′s, but he’s been there through other times more recently too, given the rebirth and all the new comics.

WARNING: 

there are some assumptions due to stuff from canon, if the characters are applied for i’ll hit them up. if i mess up otherwise, hit me up!

WARNING: 

also there are undescriptive mentions of violence, killing, death, depression, addiction, and jumping off the ledge. it also has a lot of spoilers. so if you are uncomfortable with these mentions, please skip to the third part of the bio where i talk about him modern day or hit me up if you haven’t heard of jericho before. 

DISCLAIMER:

so i totally forgot to mention that there are some things i won’t rp here because i’m a confusing person. i’m not comfortable rping: anything with any food (drinks and like fruit have always been find, but eating and like hotdogs and stuff make me feel gross), or nsfw (mainly nudity, sex, etc).

APPLICATION & PERSONALITY

№ — ( BRANDON FLYNN, HE/HIM & CISMALE, DC ) ┊ did you hear about JERICHO? i heard that they also go by JOSEPH WILSON - wait no ! they go by ADRIAN WOODS now - and are aged 23. they literally turned into dust for a hot second, so i don’t know how they’re doing, in all honesty. ( billy / 18 / est / he/him & they/them )

so honestly i wanna say i’ve read the rebirth comics and some of the 80′s, but otherwise i’m still working on all of the ones with jericho in it. i’ve just not had the time or patience for all the craziness there is in the comics. that being said, his portrayal is solely based on a mix of the comics and not from the movie or his tv show appearances. if arrow is adding jericho, i’m also ignoring that.

as both adrian and himself, his personality is pretty much the same. he’s a really big sweetheart who tries his best to be his best. he doesn’t like to fight, but when there really isn’t another option he knows how to hold himself up. while he places people on pedestals, he sees their flaws and chooses to ignore them. he can stand up for himself, but he’s just not that guy. he doesn’t let things go very easily and often times his negative thoughts become so within himself that it gets to be too much and it just comes out in a series of mistakes. he’s also got a clever sense of humor.

also he’s the child of slade wilson and adeline kane.

and he cannot speak due to a childhood incident, so to communicate he will use ASL or possession or his phone. there’s also some gloves that have been in the works for decades now so i think that when he was joseph he’d use that when in costume after he got his new suit to make battles easier for communication without it being completely just magic pill solution. sometimes the gloves don’t work or get hit so he also has a text to speech thing on him.

BEFORE THE SNAP - ( STATISTICS )

before the infinity war and the infamous snap and so much more, joseph was just your everyday kid. sure, his father and mother were dysfunctional at best and his older brother wanted nothing more than to run away from the family, but it wasn’t anything too abnormal. he went to parties when invited, got good grades, and had a fairly wide friend group.

his father and his children had a strained relationship, but in his own way he did show his children he loved them. he supported them when grant went towards having similar interests as himself, and he supported them when joseph started finding his passion in the arts.

one day his parents were fighting and his older brother, grant wilson, finally decided to run away for real. when he left, joey never got a chance to see him again until he heard he had been killed trying to kill the teen titans for a terrorist organization called h.i.v.e. many years later.

that day grant ran away though, was the day his father was contracted to kill a man who employed a villain named “jackal”. that death resulted in joseph’s kidnapping by said villain and in him getting his throat sliced - both taking his ability to speak and giving him his father’s blood in his system and triggering his mutant genes.

after joey healed in the hospital, his parents seperated and his mother ran away to new york with most of her things. his mother now resented slade and joey wouldn’t really see him again until much later.

so it was just his mother and him in the big apple and things were pretty relaxed. while he had to be a support rock for his mother, there were no more deaths and things due to slade being slade. life started to look up.

until the pair got mugged one day while shopping and joey found out he had the power to posess someone. after they were held at gunpoint, the boy’s eyes turned black and his irises a bright green and the next thing he knows, he’s in the guys body.

after this ability surfaced around his 11th birthday, joey wanted to be a superhero. he’s seen them on tv and he had this idea in his head he could save the world and bad things would stop happening. when he told his mother, she started training him to fight and got one of her old military friends to help create a bulletproof suit that would grow for him that looks like one of his 2nd comic ones HERE.

his crime “fighting” (he rarely went physical) mostly pertained to the area near the family home, stopping small crimes. he eventually was offered the name jericho by the creator of his original costume and it stuck. around this time his mother also started both her actual company “core policy group” and a side venture “searcher’s inc.”

when he was about 17, his mother had found out that his father was close to going through on the contract that her son, grant, had died trying to do; it was the one to kill the teen titans. so adeline started to watch and found a way to help when most of them were taken. she had told the remaining member about slade and what he did with them.

the catch was that joey had to come if she’d give exacts.

which he did go and after fighting his father, he was made an honorary member of the titans.

he started going on some missions with them and he even lived in the tower so that he could stay close by. 

while living there he started to grow closer to the group and it began to become easier to communicate with everyone. he wanted nothing more than to help and to be their friends so after a year or so they made him an actual member. especially after being hospitalized from trying to posess raven when trigon finally got to her.

(okay from this point forward i’ve changed two things from his actual comic appearences: he doesn’t turn genuinely evil, and he doesn’t date david isherwood. he is bisexual and i will never erase that, but the second of those two things was creepy because david watched joey grow up and the first thing just wasn’t in line with what his personality has always been. he was always the lawful good of slade’s children and i ain’t doing that.)

after he got initiated into the teen titans he almost betrayed their trust. his mother was kidnapped and because the government was trying to find both of them, her for possible treason and him for questioning, some of the group distrusted him when he fled after cheshire took her. he went after her and after they all got home he explained everything. it would take a while to regain their trust.

and when he did AGAIN something happened. a year later, when he was around 19 years old, his morality started to change. he started to do things out of character and it would be argued he turned evil. it turns out he was starting to be taken over by the trigon-corrupted souls of azarath as they couldn’t enter raven. he started this whole event where he tried to take over the world but when his real self finally came through he found he was surrounded by friends and his father. his last words were asking his father to kill him, and so he did.

or that’s what joseph thought. when he woke up in a hospital (again) he found himself back to normal. but, he still didn’t trust himself to join the titans again. he went evil and he didn’t want to again. especially in front of his friends. so when he finally could, he emailed them telling them he quit and deleted the account. then changing his phone number and moving to a flat that his mother “technically” bought.

then his mother wanted to help him in the real world and offered him a major place at her job, which he accepted with open arms. there he got a assistant/interpreter and they kind of hit it off.

she helped him learn more about the business world and while they spent so much time together they developed feelings for eachother. they were about the same age and it was a perfect life. Sure, he had the itch to go and be a hero again, but he stayed for his life and even started college.

it was perfect until it wasn’t. he was 22 then and he had decided to get engaged and tell his family. he told his mother, who was conflicted, his half sister who had been in his life on and off, and then an old family friend: david isherwood. david had a suit that could fly from wherever he was, so joey invited him over to meet étienne so he could get to know her. when they got to talking up on the roof in private on his final night in new york, david didn’t approve and started to threaten to tell her about his past alter ego.

honestly, joey was scared because he wanted to keep that part of his life in the past and while this boy wouldn’t hurt a single bone in someone else’s body, he impulsively did something that he regretted the moment it happened; he took over david’s body and then jumped off the building. he made eye contact at the last second with a passerby and then he cried.

over the course of the night he wound up taking his ikon suit (look HERE for more) to hide david’s identity (later to be used as his own personal suit) and, after realizing he was alive, taking him to a hospital as the passerby. when he went back to the rooftop he took back over his body and he had to convince the woman not to call the police. 

following the possible death of a role model, he started to have migraines and after seeing a doctor about it and them telling him to think about seeing a therapist, he ignored them and kept taking pain medication (eventually moving up to oxycodon when his perscription ended) that he should need. he eventually grew dependent on them and afterwards it started to affect his life. he hid his problems and around this time he also took on the stress of being an independent hero again. he told his fiance all about his past so that they can look for the future.

so three days before his wedding date, three things happen: 1. he finds out that his fiance is cheating on him with his father and working with the government to spy on slade, 2. he brings back david isherwood from the dead, 3. he has a major fight with his fiance and she decides to stay in the hotel until their wedding day.

on their wedding day she sort of died... murdered on the chapel stairs... so basically that started an episode. he started by mourning and then gave further into his addiction, resulting in him attacking his father and then shattering his sister’s skull when she tried to stop him. he genuinely thought his father was responsible when in reality it was his sister (but not).

while dealing with his loss, he also had to deal with his father’s insanity again when he tried to make things better in his life by stealing the flash’s superspeed and saving grant wilson from dying. this is the first time he sees the titans again and he decides to stay in david’s suit HERE to keep them from recognizing him.

after stopping his father he finally goes get help with a “narcotics anonymous” group. during this time he can heal more when david tells him he forgives joey.

this past year he has joined a group his mother started and - arguably - slade wilson leads called “project defiance”. it’s a good guy group and the only reason he joined was for his mother and to find out a definitive answer on who killed his fiance.

on this team he also starts dating romantically again instead of the short and sweet relationships he started to go through.

sometime down this line his father actually gets “kidnapped” by the, mutated, david isherwood. joseph helps him for a hot minute out but in the process his suit is turned off mid-flight. he ends up in the hospital yet again and he refuses to take pain medication because he’s really sticking through with recovery.

about a month before the infinity war, he decided to quit project defiance when there was nothing to really benefit from but the team disbanded when a team member, karen starr, looked to be dead.

after he left the project, he decided to keep on the heroing and keep up with all his career things too. he was finally in a better place, despite having to worry about his family and his boyfriend’s more mundane problems, and he was finally getting the therapy he needed.

then word of thanos reached him. he decided that despite the ikon suit being useless, he had to help. maybe he can get in him and figure out his motives or something- so he left to join the war.

when he finally got there he was rendered useless mere minutes after looking into thanos’ eyes through the ones of one of the other enemys. his astral body was inside thanos for a second before he was sent out by thanos; the shock was like when he was cast out from raven. he was paralyzed, but back in his own body on the battlefield. this time there was no time to take him to heal somewhere and when thanos finally had all the stones, he was with the unfortunate half of the universe.

SIX MONTHS LATER - ( STATISTICS )

well maybe unfortunate wasn’t that true. when adrian came to be, there wasn’t a forced smile or even weight on his shoulders. he was at peace.

when joseph woke up as adrian he had woken up on the streets of new york, guitar case on his back and a tune in his head. he already had his life story- well the parts that he could remember. he knew that he was on his way to the crowded apartment he called home just for a moment: long enough to grab his sketchpad and charcoal pencil.

adrian’s past is something of mystery. the first thing he remembers in life was his 13 year old self in a white room and lights. apparently, his father and him were in an accident, him being the survivor, and he didn’t have a mother to remember. he didn’t have permanent injuries besides him losing his voice, but that didn’t hurt him.

whatever happened didn’t concern him (you can’t grieve what you can’t remember), a mysterious aunt and cousin (who he’d come to know as the younger, but headstrong, alessandra “alex” lo - formerly known as rose wilson) came into his life to take care of the young woods kid and soon everything was okay.

adrian lived a happy life in a small town near nyc. he was a popular kid; he played guitar for the jazz band, he knew just about everyone, he was the sweetest little thing, he painted the town square mural, and there was just something in him people felt drawn to. he and his cousin were inseperable and genuinely life seemed pretty grand.

so when he graduated and decided to try his music career in the big apple, the town told him to visit and just about everyone sent him a little gift in the mail. it was a really sweet gesture.

when he got to the city, things were pretty good. he bumped into problems due to his voice, but he still managed things and generally the vibes were something that just worked for him. 

day one he had actually found roomates by accident and rolled with it and the next year he started making his money through the arts. he painted portraits in central park (despite his art being personal, he felt like painting for others made it so much easier to connect and he just loved features) and then one day he had his guitar and started playing while he was waiting for the next person.

next thing he knows he has an actual job in a bar in town and he’s doing that too: playing guitar on their makeshift stage.

now he’s still doing that and he’s just content. one day he’ll get a big break, but does he even want that anymore? he’s never been this content with himself, even if he’s starting to question what happened to him.

he’s content, but sometimes depression hits him but that’s just life. he just feels like some of this is funny and sometimes he just wonders if this is what he deserves or was supposed to do. he’ll have episodes every once and a while and they can last as long as he’s thinking. and he thinks a lot.

obviously i don’t have as much detail here, but basically if you knew joseph and met adrian you’d be so much happier for him. i kind of imagine that his mother, for example, plays into the lie?? once she found out her son was alive of course. because just his life was just turning around but he was constantly waiting for something bad to happen and here he’s just like “am i supposed to be feeling this content, i feel awful for it” up and down. but it’s like he’s better off being the fake him.

basically this is what his life could have been like without the family he had.

also his powers are still triggered because they were from his father’s blood on the blade in his past life but he doesn’t know that yet. i imagine he’ll find out by accident but someone come and attack him please. or put him in a situation.

[callmenateybird]

Depression Never Drove Me To Attempt Suicide; Being Bullied While Depressed Did

I don’t wanna relive my bullying hellscape today but I can’t shake the feeling that people still just continue to blame the brains of suicidal people for any and all suicidal acts.

I’ve experienced depression for a long time. I was lucky that depression alone never led me to a suicide attempt. Being bullied along with being depressed, however, did. I need to use my own experience as an example to get through to people about this today.

Spring 2016: I dated a person I met on The List App (just what it sounds like - a list-making app created by BJ Novak). I went out to CA to be with her for 2 months. She felt it was moving too fast, but didn’t tell me for awhile. Eventually she did, we broke up, I was crushed, I went back to OH to be with family. I whined, I pitied myself, I spoke about the breakup on List.

Eventually, friends of my ex decided this was too much & brought my ex & others into a FB group chat, where they shit talked & mused that I had been manipulative & that I’d threatened self harm.

This was the first in two instances now of upping the ante of false accusation. First, from whining & taking a breakup hard -> manipulation & threats of self harm, then, a year ago right around this time, upping the ante again to “abuser.” More on that in a bit.

Back to 2016 — August, as the group chat began. I had been listing about the upcoming 2 year anniversary of my dad’s passing — Aug 10. On the night of the 9th, my ex’s close friend did what I guess was an accidental like of an old list of mine. At the time, it seemed odd because she wasn’t following me and we’d had conflict with each other on Twitter about a week before.

The next day, it made sense why she’d been far back in my old lists. As I listed about the anniversary of my dad’s passing, parody accounts began to go public.

The first was called Predator. My screen shots here were taken later (I was too upset to screenshot anything the day it all happened) after the name was changed to “Chris, Kay?” to target one List guy these people hated. The original name on the account was “Chrislie K. Veshester” — a mashup of the names of 3 of us from List.

In the second and third screenshots, you’ll see parts of a list. This list has direct excerpts from lists the 3 of us guys had previously posted (gathering lines from old lists the night before…yes, bullies go to great efforts to bully). The writing and recording line, the bravery line, the baggage line, the body is your friend line, the quote of Coyote Hours (an album about the death of my father) — all from me & gleefully twisted into being somehow creepy or wrong.

The line “I try to get others to take care of me” didn’t seem to come from any of us, but seems more to be a line from my ex’s friend’s imagination that reflects how those people saw me in the wake of that breakup.

Also launched that day, in tandem, was the Flounce account (to flounce means to announce that you’re leaving a community, which I had done the night before my dad anniversary, because of what I was going through at the time). I later was told this was created by Jack Waz, an employee of List. The first few followers on the account — my bullies, “Jo-Ann Fabrics” (another parody account by Jack), & even List creator BJ Novak.

Also popping up that day was this dormant “imacreep” account where luckily no new vitriol was added — but you can see, based on the few lists that account had “liked,” that it came from the same group of people.

You can also see, from the few likes on the predator account, that it came from the same group of people.

On Aug 10, I had a nervous breakdown after seeing all of this. The passing of a parent is a deep trauma and, only 2 years out, was obviously very fresh for me. It is an event that is almost sacred in a way, & part of the unhealable scarring of my bullying experience is that this sacred date was snatched away from me, and tainted by this awful social media experience. I now forever associate the day my dad died with being bullied.

On September 1st, an older guy from the group chat sent me an unsolicited harassing email, after being given my contact info by my ex. I had just called her to ask if she would be completing some album artwork she’d promised to do for me around the time of our breakup. I hadn’t heard from her in ages (this was before I knew she was involved in the group chat), so I took one last chance at reaching out about it. In the email from this guy, I was summarily smacked down for “not respecting her boundaries” and told very cruelly by him that she didn’t want to do my art, or hear from me ever again.

In mid September 2016, a former friend told me everything about the group chat. She had been brought into it and pressured/intimidated (by, among others, men in their late 30s — she was in her early 20s, as were a few other women in the group chat) to “provide receipts” of me talking about my breakup. She was forced to “denounce” me and swear she’d never talk to me again.

She named names to me in September and let me know who was involved. I learned that my ex — who had been silent through all the stuff in August — was in the group chat, participated, and watched it all go down. A couple days later, I began a suicide attempt.

The ordeal led to both myself and my mom being hospitalized (she has a heart condition). Thankfully, we both came out of the ordeal ok.

Plenty more vitriol was unleashed on List after August 10th. I was lucky that much of it didn’t involve me (another guy from List got it worse than I did). One older guy from the group chat did a particularly nasty “sublist” and a few other remarks came out here and there, but it seemed to be dying down finally.

Through the fall, I began to find balance again. I returned to List with a new account, and took small steps in standing up for myself.

In November, I confronted my ex about what I knew, in an attempt to make peace. She expressed some regret, but never really apologized in a way that felt adequate to me, nor would she concede that her friends had bullied me and that she had condoned it.

In December, I returned to CA to resume the life I’d begun building when I was dating my ex. I had been dreaming of living in Southern California since the trip to scatter my dad’s ashes there in fall of 2014, and I was using the last chunk of inheritance money I’d gotten to get myself re-established in Orange County.

In January of 2017, I finally realized that my ex was never going to apologize to me for everything, so I launched a text tirade of criticisms her way and stopped speaking to her.

But in the next few months, I faltered in that commitment and sent her three harassing emails. Since the previous fall, I had begun an agonizing habit of digital cutting (creeping on social media that you know is bad for your mental health) and snooped on her accounts, plus those of her friends and family. It is a habit that I have yet to fully shake, even all this time later. The three emails I sent all involved seeing things she’d liked on social media and being angry or jealous about them. I finally stooped to the level of the people who harassed me, and I harassed her. After the final of those three emails, in April of 2017, she wrote back and said she’d file a harassment order if I contacted her again, and I never contacted her again.

But I continued to grow more and more emboldened in standing up for myself publicly, and over the course of 2017 it became a huge part of my social media (especially on Twitter) to speak openly about my experience being bullied, harassed, and ganged up on.

In June of 2017, I was walking in a park in my ex’s town and saw her. A few days later, many of the ladies from List were tagged in a massive Twitter thread. For some reason, a few of us guys from the app were tagged as well. Later that day, my ex’s friend from the group chat - the one who had made the “Predator” account - subtweeted that these List ladies in the mass tagging had “an abuser among [them].” The ante of false accusation had been upped again, from whining and self pity and taking a breakup hard -> manipulation and threats of self harm -> abuse.

This subtweet alone, which I’d only discovered because of my continuing struggle with digital cutting (creeping online), sent me reeling on the verge of another breakdown. I knew that things were heating up culturally, that the imperative to believe women was more important than ever. And now, for the first time, I had to face that dissenting argument from the trolls who don’t like the prioritization of believing women no matter what — “what if somebody falsely accuses someone just to fuck up their life?” But even then, I brought myself back from the brink (with much help from my therapy sessions, my support system of family and friends, my writing, and the good-for-the-soul environment of southern California).

I even had a phone call later that summer with the friend who’d told me about the group chat, where I explained to her that I still acknowledged the importance of believing women, even if I was experiencing a false accusation. I told her that I was trying to hold onto the understanding that the cultural prioritization of listening to and believing women was bigger than me, more important than me.

But I also continued to speak openly about being bullied, and now included the mention of being implied to be an emotional abuser, all through 2017 until finally standing up for myself on social media impacted my real life once more. A few days before Christmas, after a really good period of no digital cutting for the entire month of December so far, I had a weak moment one evening and looked at the social media of my ex and her family. On her mom’s Instagram, I saw a repost from my ex’s private account where she’d said she had gone to the police station to file a report about “a year and a half of harassment, stalking, and general creepiness.” (A year and a half would be going back to right when we broke up - we were still on good terms then - and six months before our friendly if flawed semi-clearing of the air in late 2016). In her mom’s repost, she said “if we see this guy in our neighborhood again, we are coming after him!” I saw this — and hope you will understand my seeing it this way — as a threat of physical harm. If “our neighborhood” meant seeing me on their street, well that was never going to happen. But if it meant seeing me in their whole entire town — like I’d seen her in a park last June — well, what was I supposed to do about being seen in an entire town??

I was terrified, and made a hasty decision two days later (Christmas Eve) to leave my Orange County long term Airbnb about two months before the end of my lease. I struggled for about a month to stay afloat in LA, looking for a new space. But my savings was too low to handle the temporary added expenses of new Airbnbs and hotels, and by early February of 2018 I decided I had to throw in the towel and go back to Ohio to regroup with family until I could afford to be out west again.

And that is my ordeal, to date.

I took a breakup badly, and cried and cried and said “I can’t take it anymore” (the closest I came to “threats of self harm,” as were the initial accusations from the group chat). And all because of taking a breakup badly —

I was ganged up on, parodied, mocked, and bullied on the two year anniversary of the death of my father.

The actual creators/employees of the app where I was bullied - including BJ Novak himself - celebrated and *participated in* bullying me.

I suffered a nervous breakdown.

I attempted suicide.

My mom was sent into the hospital with a heart scare, from watching what I was going through and reacting emotionally as most mothers would.

I drained thousands of dollars from my savings for additional therapy, spiritual counseling, and cross country travel (twice).

I literally left my home because I felt unwelcome and physically unsafe in Orange County, after being threatened with violence by my ex’s mother. 

And now I exist in this particular moment on social media, where the valiant and important efforts of the #metoo movement are still sometimes misrepresented by cold statements like “don’t ever fucking tell me that a false accusation ruins a man’s life.”

Even if you set aside my experience of being ganged up on and bullied, of being called a creep for being friends with women who were younger than me in a social media community, of being accused of manipulation and emotional abuse, it should be understandable as a general isolated statement — When we talk about someone’s life being ruined, we have to look at more than just their external life. We have to also look at their internal life.

And rest assured — beyond all the external stuff I just listed, my internal life has been forever impacted by being bullied and by being called “abuser.”

I can no longer say I have never attempted suicide. After years of living with depression and being proud of myself for never giving into the darkest of places, I now have experienced a suicide attempt. I now have experienced being called an abuser. And who knows what else I may experience as repercussions for posting this essay with screenshots and names, since the past two years of interacting with bullies has shown me very clearly that bullies always — ALWAYS — win.

We now live in an age where bullies are empowered by important cultural movements. They sneak in through weak spots, they use amped up language and terms that they know will attract attention. They are stronger than ever.

But the part of the narrative that my bullies and threateners will always leave out of their callouts - their own screenshot exposés of past and possibly future - is the part where they bullied and harassed first. My own instances of email harassment of my ex, my own flawed and self destructive habit of creeping online — these are personal flaws that arose AFTER being bullied. That part of their narrative will always be conveniently scrapped from the record. Bullying proves the age old saying — hurt people hurt people.

And so now, two years after my ordeal began, I try to be mindful that angry statements can verge on harassment, I do less and less digital cutting, I try to be a good person and to value the people who value me.

But when famous people are lost to suicide, and the conversation zeroes in squarely on mental illness and mental health, I just cannot abide the ignoring of so many other cultural factors that lead people to no longer want to live on this planet.

Whether the factors are due to marginalization, systemic oppression, economic hopelessness, ageism, a broken health care system, disease and physical pain, or a bullying ordeal like mine — there are an endless number of external environmental forces that drive people to suicide besides their own pure brain chemistry. And remember, environmental doesn’t just mean places and things — it means people. Many of those external forces that drive people to suicide involve how the people are treated by the others in their environment.

I have experienced depression for much of my life. But it was only being bullied that finally pushed me to the brink. This screenshot below shows the folks from the group chat. Some of them were silent bystanders, but they all watched it go down and did nothing to stop it. They are all complicit.

These are my bullies.

And if I have to live forever with being bullied the day my dad died, with having attempted suicide, with watching my mom go into the hospital, with being called an abuser and whatever else I’ll be called between two years ago and the end of my life, then they will have to live with being called bullies. And even if this post is removed, even if this account is suspended or deleted, I will continue to speak up and speak out when I am bullied or when I see others being bullied. I will not stand for it ever again.

Because all the things those people took away from me left a gaping hole inside me. And, so far, I have only found a couple things with which to sufficiently fill that hole — the understanding of my very loving and supportive family and friends, and love and respect for myself. Standing up for myself is just one of the ways I have learned to love and respect myself, ever since the ordeal that scarred my life forever.

June 12: I decided to add an afterword to this essay, a sort of “FAQ” to address a question I’ve been asked a few times in one form or another. 

The question: Do you talk about your bullying experience so much because you want your bullies to feel bullied?

No.

First, "bullying bullies" isn't a thing much like how reverse racism isn't a thing. To be a broken record - to continually expose the bullying act & “Scarlet Letter” the perpetrators - is the only power a bullying victim has, since the act of bullying unfortunately isn't treated like a punishable crime, especially when it’s done online (even though being bullied has robbed me financially and wounded me - and my family - both physically and emotionally).

Second, I talk about this as much as I do because I want the people who bullied me to feel haunted by the consequences of their actions (and inactions, in the case of those who watched and condoned) - actions they probably felt, at the time, were not a big deal. To have spoken about it publicly for almost three years is an effort at making them feel so haunted by their behavior that they not only never bully another person again, but that they *themselves* become dedicated anti-bullying crusaders. It sounds almost laughable - and certainly would to them, as cynical as they are - but I am trying to make a difference in these few peoples’ lives. You can label it crudely as “badgering,” which I feel does a disservice to me by downplaying the severity of what happened to me, but whatever you call my continued persistence in talking about this experience - it is persistence that aims to make a few people more decent and mindful of their past and future behavior.

[anchorsandadderall]

Save Net Neutrality or the Vampires Win

February 2nd, 2018

Time: 1:30 PM

Stiles swears fitfully and slams his hand down on his desk. He’s hit the computer one time too many already, and one more good one will probably kill the monitor. It also doesn’t make the stupid thing run any faster. He grabs his phone while the hourglass turns endlessly on a half-loaded webpage with a black background and white text. One of the old Geocities pages, and it looks promising. A lot of good information got dumped onto the web, hidden behind the shitty programming and the glut of amateur content all coming online at the same time. But the midi music and the little animated bat that replaces the cursor are killing what little internet speed he had these days.

Stiles grabs his phone and dials Scott, wiggling the mouse around so maybe the page won’t crash while it’s loading. The little bat shivers in one spot and then follows his mouse in a jerky, broken line.

“Yeah?” Scott asks, picking up on the third ring.

“Scotty! No time for questions. I need you to get on the internet and check something for me,” he says, grabbing a notepad. “I’ll tell you exactly what to put in Google.”

“Uh… I’m on Verizon, so I have to use Yahoo! to search,” Scott says, keys tapping on the other end.

Stiles tightens his fist. Goddamn it, FCC. “Okay. Well, this was on page 33 on Google, so you’re gonna have to skip ahead as quick as you can. Put in ‘Vampirism cure, obsidian rune circle, foxglove syrup recipe.’”

“Wait… what?”

Stiles groans. “Scott!”

“Stiles! You can’t just have me searching something like that and not tell me why!” Scott protests. Stiles can hear him typing again and reminds himself that yeah, that probably sounds really fucking scary coming out of nowhere. Although it’s also really fucking scary no matter what.

“So Isaac got bitten by a vampire. We have him chained up right now, but we only have until sundown to either cure him or feed him or he starves to death. Deaton said to check for rituals that use obsidian as a grounding agent, so-”

“Isaac got bi… what?? Stiles, what? Derek said vampires are bullshit!”

“Scotty, focus. Start scrolling through the search pages. Go to page 30 and start looking for a Geocities site called Penny the Pretty Pagan.” Stiles slams down on the F5 key as the page gives him a loading error. The screen blanks and gives him back the hourglass.

“Stiles. I thought-”

“Yeah, Derek thought vampires were bullshit. Apparently they’re not. Or there’s some other creature that infects people by biting them and sucking their blood.” And if there was, Stiles’ internet was way too slow right now for him to try and research a distinction.  He shakes his mouse in frustration at the scant two inches of black page that have loaded.

“I’m gonna call you back. Keep searching. Penny the Pretty Pagan.” Stiles hangs up and dials Lydia. Her voicemail picks up, so he hangs up and dials again, bracing himself for the onslaught.

“Stiles! I was in class!” she hisses into the phone when she picks it up, making Stiles wince a little. He owes her huge for stepping out of a class she found important enough to attend.

“I know, but it’s an emergency. I need obsidian and foxglove. Go to the library and find out where I can get some. Today, in Beacon Hills. Nothing on etsy.”

“Obsidian?”

“Vampire cure,” Stiles says, checking his phone as it buzzes. “Scott is calling. Let me know what you find.” Stiles drops Lydia’s call and takes Scott’s. “What are the ingredients in the syrup?”

“I dunno, I can’t access the website,” Scott says sheepishly. “It’s not included in my internet package.”

“How is a Geocities page not included?”

“I dunno, man! It was super expensive, so we cut back to the Netflix and email packages.” Stiles can almost hear the helpless shrug because he knows what Scott sounds like when he does that helpless shrug. “I don’t know how they pick what counts. Want me to call Verizon?”

Stiles checks the time. 2:12. “No time for that. Um… okay, see if you can Google florists and crystal shops in Beacon Hills. Call them and see who has obsidian and foxglove.”

“I have to use Ya-”

 “Yeah, Yahoo. Just search it. If you can’t open the page, use the phone book and just start calling places.” Stiles hangs up and immediately dials Lydia.

“I want you to know I’m getting super dirty looks for commandeering a computer for this,” Lydia whispers into her phone. “Seriously, everyone has to use the library computers for everything now. I had to pull rank on someone to get their computer.”

“There are ranks at MIT?” Stiles asks, then shakes his head. He’s gonna ask about that later. Right now… focus. “Never mind. Scott is looking for the stuff. His internet package sucks for research. I need you to find a Geocities site..”

 ~~

 February 2nd, 2018

Time: 4:00 PM

Stiles has a paper bag full of wine-red foxglove flowers in the backseat. He has half-written, half drawn directions to a new age shop just outside of town. The paper crinkles under his fist as he steers the Jeep with one hand and dials a number he hates dialing with the other.

Peter picks up halfway through the first ring, like he knows Stiles doesn’t actually want to talk to him. “Stiles. What a surprise.”

“I’ve got a recipe I need you to translate out of Latin,” Stiles says, in lieu of a greeting. Greetings are for when time isn’t almost gone. And for people he likes.

“How old is the Latin that you need me to translate it?” Peter asks, doing that thing where he’s interested and trying to sound really uninterested. “Some lost page of the Bestiary?”

“Newer than that. My internet is being stupid. I called my provider and they said my searches were flagged as suspicious and now the pages won’t…” Stiles eases his grip on the steering wheel when his fingers begin to lock up from gripping the wheel too tightly. Calm. Calm, Stiles. “Look. I’m sending you two pictures. The ingredients were in English but the instructions are in Latin. Just tell me what they say. It’s for Isaac.” Not that that means anything to Peter except that Derek will owe him if he helps his Beta, and Peter likes it when people owe him. Stiles sends the photos at the next red light and sends Derek a short text, apologizing for indebting him to his psycho uncle. Derek doesn’t answer because he’s trying to contain a half-formed werewolf/vampire hybrid.

It takes Peter less than two minutes to call him back. “I hope you don’t need this tonight.”

Stiles feels his heart sink down into his stomach. “Uh… I need it in about an hour, actually. I got the flowers, it won’t take that long to boil them down, right?”

“The syrup has to be brewed when Mercury is in retrograde.” Peter pauses like that means anything in the world to Stiles. After a few seconds, he sighs. “When Mercury is in retrograde, it’s a period that’s astrologically sound for making preparations on-”

“Okay, but when does it go into retrograde?” Stiles asks, but he kind of expects the answer isn’t ‘in the next twenty minutes.’”

“March 22nd.”

Stiles lets out a long string of curses that have built up over the last four hours. “Okay… so we have until sunset to find another cure for vampirism. What internet package do you have?”

“Just Facebook. What else does one need?”

Stiles pulls over and rests his forehead against the steering wheel. His brain hurts. It feels like he turned it inside out and wrung it dry. Come on, Stiles. Just… think.

“Have you considered robbing a blood bank?” Peter asks cheerily on the other end, sounding like this is all quite enjoyable for him.

Stiles gives his brain one last thorough scraping, then turns his head just enough to see the dashboard clock. 4:21. 90 minutes to cure a condition he’s still kind of surprised exists. 90 minutes for a Hail Mary miracle pass. Just one little miracle.

 ~~

February 2nd, 2018

Time: 5:25 PM

The sun is just beginning to dip below the horizon. In the bowels of the abandoned train station, Derek can’t actually see the sun, but he can tell. The wet, base snarls Isaac has been making from where he’s chained in the rail car (the trick proved to be chains and piling debris on him, then adding more debris and more chains when he begins to pry free) are changing to something that sounds more painful. Derek flexes his fingers anxiously, claws flicking in and out. He checks his phone again.

[Where are you? -DH] -sent 5:10 PM

[Stiles. Answer me. -DH] -sent 5:18 PM

[What’s going on? Where are you? -DH] -sent 5:20 PM

Still no answer. He looks at the time and forces in a deep breath to tamp down the panic. There’s still… time. A little time. But there’s still…

“Derek!” Stiles half runs and half trips down the stairs into the crumbling lair and brandishes a blue lunch cooler at him like a trophy. “Here!”

“Is this that syrup you were talking about?” He pushes open the cooler and snorts harshly, turning his head at the rushing smell of copper from inside. “…blood bags?”

“If we can’t cure him, we have to feed him, right?”

Derek frowns, instantly disliking the idea, but… the sounds Isaac is making are turning from enraged pain into something weaker. More piteous. “What about the ritual you found?”

“Didn’t work out.” Stiles pulls out a bag. “Can he drink it cold? It’s probably gross either way, but he sounds hungry enough not to care, right?”

“I saw in an episode of Buffy once that crumbling crackers into it makes the texture nicer,” Peter says, using the stairs far more effectively, carrying another cooler in each hand.

“So… the backup plan is that we keep Isaac as a vampire?”

“Werepire,” Peter offers helpfully.

Stiles scowls and shoves the bag into Derek’s chest. “Like you can talk. You said vampires were fake and you don’t even have internet anymore.”

“I didn’t understand the-”

“Yeah, I know!” Stiles snaps, grabbing Derek’s shoulder’s and turning him towards the train car. “The internet sucks now. Make your angry call to the FCC after you get Isaac turned into a werepire. And make sure he won’t kill us all.”

 -End

[stone-man-warrior]

December 15, 2020: 6:49 pm:

I’ll do read of this email from VKA came today, it’s gets complicated, I really don‘t want to do the reading, I have no letter n on my keyboard, it’s a hassle, have to copy & paste them when I need a letter n, and Tumblr, Centurylink and Google are forever making everything I do more difficult to do in ohhhh soooo many ways.

Besides that, I am under physical attack as write this stuff that you read here, for the moment, there are some new people are staged at 598 Jackpine, Manning MedDems terror cell, at Monroe where most of the surveillance is done, at Strong’s SAG House terror cell at 3747 Russell Road, and the newguydeadmotherfuckerwaitingtohappen at 520 Jackpine, all are in place, ready, waiting for some kind of opportunity to attack.

Last night included heads rolling around in my driveway, some asshole with a cross-bow shooting at me, and the idiot who does cover by yelling at me when I walk back to the house after the sword fight in the driveway,

But I’ll go ahead and do a reading on this, because it’s about kidnapped people. Ones who are held captive, forced surgical changes are made to them, some are kept as pets by SAG leadership, others become custom tailored human being terror soldiers.

This ad from Vintage King Audio. That is the entire ad.

What I am going to limit this to is the top part, the studio monitors. So, scroll through to the bottom and we’ll go to the VKA webpage where the commands are at.

=========

https://vintageking.com/blog/2020/12/best-selling-studio-monitors-of-2020?contact_eid=8a004f44-00b5-4f2f-a7d7-ed4ee437263f&utm_source=bm23&utm_medium=email&utm_term=Best+Selling+Studio+Monitors+of+2020&utm_content=Best+Selling+Studio+Monitors+Of+2020+%26+New+Gear+At+Vintage+King&utm_campaign=12/15+-+Best+Selling+Monitors+/+Monitor+Accessories+/+New+at+VK&_bta_tid=36503235655476441792080716297593071303336131127068855201312387289707171585649977234898293757498695018758

They tossed that “accept” footer there to foul me up at the last minute.

That is where the Studio Monitor ad leads to when you click it.

Some text you can read if you want, there is probably something that can be said about it, I am going this other way, to show just some basics.

That above is the introductory important message, tells what the page is about just with use of that photo. The Barefoot Speakers are placeholder for people. Usually kidnapped surgical subjects, so, that is what the page is about, people, different kinds of people.

Down below is the contents of the terror comm page:

You can notice a few things about those selected models. The first thing I see, is that there are two Three-Way models, the rest are Two-Way, with one Bass unit at the bottom. That is important for “Trinity” considerations. Terror soldiers look all the place for Trinity indications for their marching orders. So, those two Three-Way models are what I am interested in showing, but there is more than that in here.

=============

I guess I do need to show what that says. It says that VKA is interested in professional audio engineers. That sums it up.

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

I know what you are thinking... “That’s what they are supposed to do... you even said so yourself... the place is for professional audio engineers.”

So I tell you that when the terror takes over, they need to cover what they are doing, so, these guys are not likely to hide somewhere that is any different than the kind of specialized killing they do... they need to stay with what they know in order to fish for who they want. You don’t go fishing in Arizona desert, everyone will be noticing that you are fishing out of water, so, they fish where the fish will come to them. Same is true with other terror cells. These guys need a supply of captured audio professionals in order to make the time-warp terror videos, there is also going to be the same kind of fishing for video professionals at places where those people go for equipment.

When they want to fish for children, then school supply is a place where the parents bring the fish to the fishermen. There are not a lot of children going to the nightclubs, so, they fish for young men & women at those places instead.

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

Looks like it refers to Trump to me.... from where the VKA terror orders are coming from for this installment of that page, which has been presented many times before, slightly different text explanations in the past.

This is one of the Three-Way models. All of that text there tells about people. The kind of people that VKA is after, audio professionals.

I see that as a kind of place holder, a Grey Area for containing some thoughts to carry somewhere else.

I carry my Three-Way thoughts over here to these Focal Trio6 models.

Look at the text:

“...Switch to FOCUS mode to remove the subwoofer from the circuit for a more focused sound. With a neutral frequency response, ...”

Some explanation and some history is necessary to help convey the idea that they are targeting the people I pointed out above from the text on the page about audio professionals, as follows:

First, see that the speaker selection is all new-fangled modern configurations, except for those Red Sided Ones. Those are reminiscent of times gone by. From a time when US navy was stationed at Okinawa, saw that the audio equipment was dirt cheap. Audio-Techinica, Marantz, Sherwood, Kenwood, Pioneer... other popular audio manufacturer name brand was available in Okinawa for a song. The US navy sailors snapped that stuff up, shipped lots of it to their friends and family members from duty-free base, no shipping costs.

now, all of those people who recognized that about the audio equipment are older men & women who are audio enthusiasts, so, that time was a time that you can see in the speaker design of that model, has that 1970′s goodness to it, is familiar, not too new foreign looking. You could say other stuff about that, but, there are so many other US navy themes going on lately, that is the direction I went easy... the Big Fog Horn in the sky brought me to Okinawa, 1970′s electronics, and US navy shipping it home.

I don’t have a conclusion yet.

===========

Have to have a look back at these, more closely. the Barefoot models are very spendy. They are bait. They are like Tesla cars are, there are some around, they made some, you can see them occasionally on the road. these Barefoot (William Barr for the Trump Twitter connection) can be seen at selected places where terror guidance is done, either as a contact to comrades, or as a set-up to help a fool part with his money.

Look closer, at other models:

https://vintageking.com/barefoot-sound

Above is the one that is “Jesus Face Toast” model. Costs a lot of money, “Jesus!”

That’s nothin‘... wait to get a load of these:

That above is the “Partner, Tennessee Tuxedo Model”

Those are the representation for the kidnapped surgical subjects I started out with explaining was part of that email from VKA... locations in Hollywood, and Nashville Tennessee.

A “Tennessee Tuxedo” might be a lot different things to a lot of different people. Those are the Deluxe Custom Fit Model Tennessee Tuxedo, the worst kind.

Look at the price, think Tesla, not really available, but they did make some of those speakers, I honestly don‘t believe there are people who would pay that for those. Some other thing is going on.

The ones above are the “Pet Partner Person” model. SAG members can custom order a Partner, takes a long time to fill the order, many years passes for the multiple transforming surgeries, the healing, physical therapy-like treatments, more surgery, more healing, more therapy, repeat. Long time.

SAG members need to be specially prepared to accept delivery of the Partners they order. The preparation is physical with ways to conceal and house the US Citizen Victim pet persons who look more like a Afghan Hound than a human, and, they need to be emotionally and mentally prepared to have a pet person who has suffered so greatly.

Let’s say nancy Pelosi ordered a Partner. There came a time in about five years when the transformation was complete. The powers that be, test nancy to see if she can handle the news that her partner is ready for pick-up, and hand her a Gavel on live TV while saying that her Partner is ready.

Then, you get nancy Jesus Toast Face, like she had that day.

Maybe she is not ready to have a Partner. Maybe she is, I don‘t know.

That model above has more stuff attached.

Let’s say nancy Pelosi is not quite ready, emotionally prepared to accept her specially ordered to specification of arm length, leg amputation location, location of re-attached hands, or, “flippers” as they are called after the transformation, other special details that nancy wrote down on a order sheet one day a few years before that Gavel was presented.

In that case, there are a number of people who could say nancy is not ready, or she could refuse delivery, have to send the Partner back.

Then, those non-acceptable Partners get dressed for special services with Church Warfare HQ somewhere. They may be subject to additional surgeries to accommodate special soldier needs.

They could also just serve as more practice for more experimental surgeries.

The thing that makes this entry worse than it already is, is that those SAG members who order a partner are sort of used as a Grey Area. The real reason for all of that horror, is that that the master plan of the Global Domination by the Vatican, includes the all of the world’s population will one day all become custom tailored slaves, ergonomically designed to perform specific tasks, with use of special apparatus that the people will be fitted into, machinery that becomes an extension of the custom made special order slave populations.

This is a horrible subject to explain, I have made the explanations before, don‘t want to have to say it again just to please some pompous asshole at nsa who won‘t do their job, and just wants to make sure the information was written correctly the first, second, third..... tenth fucking time.

That’s my read, it’s incomplete, same as the US Citizen Victims that no one will protect, incomplete.

=====================

9:45 pm:

Personal experience at Vintage King Audio, 2004-ish:

I go to Southern California, need to pick-up a camper-trailer that I did not ask for, did not really need it, could not really afford to go or pay the tax and licensing for this thing i was told I had won in contest drawing.

Somethings made me interested in swing by a VKA, also went to Fultone in Santa Monica while in CA... other places too, saw some old friends, went to look at musical equipment while there.

Outside of VKA on Hollywood Blvd is a woman w/old style baby carriage, is walking with it, notices that the baby is not in the stroller. She freaks out screaming, looking all over the place, inside of cars, inside of the stores there in that part of The Barrio in Hollywood.

I can‘t help her. I go inside at VKA, it’s much smaller than I thought, is for professional sound engineers, I thought it was more like Guitar Center or something. There is nothing in there i can afford. Small patch cable costs like $50 there.

I hear noises and screaming again, can see there is a room at VKA has glass separating from the rest of the store, inside there is a man beating the living daylight out of a small infant size baby... I leave quick, drive away, call 911, say what happened, all they want to know is where I am at. I was somewhere in Hollywood, that is where I was at.

Later, there is a lot of traffic stopped on Hollywood Blvd in Pacific Palisades area, maybe was Sunset Blvd.., police directing traffic so that Kobi Bryant could come out of the neighborhood with a lot of other celebrities in black limousines, they all turned the corner, and traffic resumed.

That’s what happened.

==================================

You might be thinking as I do that this kind of terror take-over I make eye-witness reports about should have already been stopped, seen, some people should be talking about it, there should be news reports on TV, or newspaper or something,,, why is there no information about it?

Good question, why?

The TV & newspaper part is easy to answer, they are the terror leadership, that is where the commands come from, so they are not going to be making any kind of reporting about the terror take-over of USA... won‘t happen.

Certainly there are eye-witnesses, where are they?

The terror eye-witness makes a phone call, to 911 Emergency, that is the only approved means for getting help, everyone is brainwashed. have to call 911 to say what happened, say what they saw. Ok, sounds good, but there are too many ways that is taken advantage of, people are discounted simply by saying what they saw.

“Yeah... hi... uh... I just saw a man in Gumby suit on roller skates at the Walmart... he had a sword, skating... he was cutting people with the sword as he skated through the Walmart... please send help...”

That... makes problems for the eye-witness who saw a Gumby cutting heads off people at the Walmart.., it’s not that it did not happen, it’s that it”s not believable, is discounted, swept under the rug and forgotten about.

The terror has been taking 3% of the population at gatherings such as music concerts and carnivals, county fairs, the mall on Black Friday... for fifty years. Every time someone makes a report, they learn more ways that they can make cover for it, in that way, the Mother Russian Hoax keeps getting bigger, more details are added...the story started about a place called Russia, a lie, it’s not there, more lies were told to cover that it’s not there. “They are communists, that’s why no one can go there, we can‘t get any information, the place is wrapped with an Iron Curtain, they have intercontinental Ballistic missals there, but it’s a Cold War, no information is available... would you like screwdriver cocktail? We have Russian Vodka for that, but no information... cold war (Means Canada) Rooskies Communists. Secret Gnosis variety knowledge is that everything north of 45th Meridian is fucking cold, so that means everything north of around Portland Oregon is too cold, farther north then the more unpleasant things become. That makes California a Sales Pitch to would-be Canadian Rush Fan terror soldiers who are too cold, and Oregon is a place with Four Seasons, is good.

Same thing with terror eye-witness reports. They are studied by the Royal Canadian State Police who are planted in with real police. There are SAG actors who can smoooze the reports from police to have a look at what was reported, a cover story is made to work ahead of time, before the terror attacks are done, the cover for them is done, in advance, based on all of the ways that eye-witness has seen and reported something in the past.

Stingray surveillance in the hands of the terror cells makes it impossible to get help. they have thought of everything simply because they have gained so much experience without being detected by those who have power to stop them. All of the other regular people are just tracked down and killed, replaced to solve the eye-witness report problem. The Russian Mother Hoax started with just two lies. “There are Russians”

“They are bad people with missals.”

Everything else is more lies basically from those two to cover them.

So it’s not that there are no witnesses to the terror mass murder take-over of Global Domination, it’s that the terror became so big, for so long, that they created systems within the social fabric of the democracy that favor the advance of the domination, witnesses who make reports simply have no outlet to say what they saw, 911 Emergency Phone is part of the terror take over, witnesses don‘t live very long enough to explain to anyone who could help stop the big terror machine. 911 Emergency is like calling to cancel a SAG card, won‘t go over very well, it’s a the kind of club you can never leave alive.

==========================

11:55 pm:

Some memory of fighting last night:

The newguy at 520 really took all of my thoughts away when he came out and started yelling at me to get away from his fence.. there was verbal altercation in the darkness to someone I could only hear, could not see, after ambush fight at my driveway with swords that were brought by two or three terror soldiers, and all I could see is one hand of one of them, and the handle of the sword in it’s scabbard worn by one of them.

I saw a net.., a web looking thing draped at the end of my driveway, and walked towards that. Cross-Bow assassin took a shot at me while on approach to the net looking thing, I turned when I heard the sound of the bow from the woods, that is when the ambush happened. I heard more than I saw, it was dusk, almost dark. I walked to the mailbox, one piece of mail in there, someone was making noise in the woods there, so, I walked to where the trash cans are, saw that they were bassackwards and saw that illusion of special Christmas lights arrangement at 560 Myers terror cell, then, that is when I decided to go find cross-bow assassin to deal with that more personally, then, that newguy started shouting from the other side of the fence at 520 for me to stop creeping around his fence. I walked home through the woods rather than back down the driveway. Then I wrote about the credit card, while wondering why my eyes hurt with big chunks of something in them. I forgot about the fighting completely for a few hours after that, started to remember today as the day progressed.

I heard some words spoken:

“He saw us”

“There is someone standing on the driveway”

“Use glass”

Maybe I heard “Manning” and “Rick” spoken softly. Either “Sandy” or “Tammy” also spoken softly at some point last night at that event at the end of the driveway.

“I’m run through” was heard after I defended. “He took her head off” was also spoken in the darkness there after very brief encounter with terror soldiers with a net.

The net I determined is a net that is usually covering that small pond I talk about here sometimes, it’s at the Monroe’s along the side of the fence line near my driveway. That net was taken off of the pond this past week, it was put there a couple years ago when blue heron great big bird kept going into the pond, I guess it was eating their pond fish, so, the net was put there, been there a long time. Last night the net was draped across my driveway when I went to go get the mail. There was that credit card in the mail I reported about.

That’s all I remember, I grabbed the handle to the sword that was in the scabbard of one of the terror soldiers, and used that to defend with, did not use my fingernail clipper as I usually do.

They put glass dust into my eyes again though, it’s making my eyes hurt already, and vision is poor right now.

[henmonarch]

9 Ways to improve virtual team communication

As our new world of working continues to reveal itself, virtual teamworking is fast becoming a standard in many organisations. With more teams working fully virtually and others at least working partly on a virtual basis, there is a growing need for virtual teams not used to working in this way to get some tips on how to get the best from themselves and their members in the new normal. In today’s blog, I want to give you some tips on how to improve communication in a team, specifically in a virtual context, right now.

My name’s Dr Paul Brewerton, the strengths guy, genetically wired to bring you evidence-based tips on how to get the most from yourself and from your work colleagues; and even from your outside of work life, each week on a Monday morning as you prepare yourself for the week ahead.

  Why is good team communication important?

First, something on the importance of team communication – why is communication important in a team? Good communication underpins so many characteristics of high performing teams according to study after study.

First, effective team communication enables the free flow of ideas and information which allows high quality decision making based on good data.

Second, good communication in terms of listening, questioning and challenging provides a solid basis for team innovation and creativity in terms of problem-solving and solution-finding.

Third, when teams communicate well, there is a greater chance of them developing a climate of trust and a culture of belonging and inclusion, in itself creating a team that feels cohesive and ‘as one’, which drives up team engagement.

Finally, respectful, open collaboration with other team members provides a forum for diverse views to be heard and acted upon and that knocks on to increased innovation and creative problem-solving.

And what about virtual team communication?

Virtual team communication challenges, magnified in the new world of work, are what I want to focus in on now. So here are my 9 top tips on how to improve virtual team communication, harvested just for you from our collective new world of work team experiences at Strengthscope.

I present these in no particular order, they’re all designed to address virtual communication challenges. Please take whatever you wish from the following smorgasbord to consider, and potentially apply, in your own day to day team experience:

1. Create virtual watercooler moments

So these days you, and/or other team members, might be missing the watercooler chats, the few words by the coffee machine, the over the back of the chair quick check-ins. And probably you’ve tried building in small talk to virtual meetings (which I’ll come on to as that in itself is important). But it just doesn’t feel like you’re connecting with your colleagues like you used to. So here’s tip no 1, for maximum connection potential and to improve that understanding between you that good team communication is based on, actually put informal catchups in your diary with your colleagues, just for you to chill and chat and have some time together. It will pay dividends.

2. Pick the right mode of communication

This is an age-old challenge that’s been amplified by virtual teamworking because there are more methods for team communication than ever before. So if you prefer to receive tasks via email (so you can file them and tick them off), instant messaging for quick Q&A, and video for more tricky or emotional conversations, then know your preferences and be honest about them with other team members. Your colleagues won’t necessarily know until you tell them. And if they don’t get it the first time, communicate it again until you’re getting closer to the kind of communication that works for you.

Which communication mode is the most efficient?

Also, there are some modes of communication that are just more efficient than others – firstly, when you can see a text chat turning into something where wires are getting crossed or there’s something that you need to quickly align with a colleague on, make a call and talk it through because, sometimes, a 2 minute call will save a 10 minute text exchange.

Secondly, emotional content is better not on email. Chat is better because you can use emojis. Video or voice are best because that way you have more information from the other person coming from their body language, their face and their tone of voice. If you’re not sure then, try and default to the best likely communication mode depending on what you want to communicate.

3. When in doubt, overcommunicate

I mentioned earlier the need to communicate often more than twice. People miss stuff first, second, third time round. Email it, and put it in the calendar invite, and email again, and remind on chat, and finally, don’t assume people will have read what you want them to have read. Instead, assume they haven’t, and come prepared with a quick summary of the salient points rather than a pointy finger and an eyeroll.

4. Make time for human connection with other team members

As well as building in virtual watercooler moments, I’m talking here about the kind of ‘small talk’ that you have at start of in-person meetings where you’re just finding out what’s happened with a colleague’s house move, or plumbing leak, or kid’s school application, or tray bake, whatever’s important right now.

Make time for checking in and out, either formally (like everyone ‘check in’: ‘how are you feeling right now?’ And at the end ‘check out’: ‘in one word, how are you feeling, leaving the meeting?’). Or you can just do it by asking people their latest news. But all of these micro-behaviours demonstrate thoughtfulness and care. That builds effective team communication through connection, cohesion, and this will get oxytocin involved. Oxytocin is the connection hormone, which evokes a strong sense of belonging, and ultimately well-being.

Bring your strengths to meetings

At Strengthscope, as well as checking in, we also ask at the start of most meetings – ‘what strengths are you bringing to this meeting and why?’ And at the end, we check on whether each person has brought their intended strength and how it helped. Last thing is in meetings, make it ok to check-in on people in the moment. If anyone’s looking disconnected or perhaps upset or you sense a change in tone in a discussion, honestly checking in on the person or people involved is a powerful thing to do to build a climate of trust, support and belonging. And that promotes good communication, particularly in the context of virtual teams .

5. Be kind to yourself with your diary management

Give yourself 10-15 minute breaks between meetings whenever you can. The reason is for you to be able to decompress between meetings, including getting a cuppa or taking a toilet break. Also, during your day, do put full breaks in – for a walk, for lunch, for relaxation time. Same reason: state change – when you decompress, reset and feel more in control, when you feel that you’ve got a better chance of capturing your essential actions (maybe even doing a couple) before running headlong into the next meeting, you’re going to be better able to communicate because you’ll have less running around your head.

6. WFH doesn’t mean AWA

Acronym jargonbuster here = Working from home doesn’t mean Always available. Make sure you are respectful of people’s time and how they have organised their day. Don’t assume they’ll always be able to give you a ‘quick 5 minutes’, just because they’re WFH. They’re still working, and you don’t know what they’re actually doing, but best to assume it’s important and that if they can spare a couple of minutes, maybe see that as a bonus, not an expectation.

Also, be realistic about how much time you need from them and about how important your ‘really important thing’ actually is. That way, you give other virtual team members the best chance of prioritising effectively. That respect for each other is a fundamental building block of effective communication.

7. Be respectful of meetings, inside and out

So inside the virtual meeting – be present, show your hands, raise a hand, listen well, be conscious of where you’re looking. This has become much harder on virtual meetings than in real life. I personally also find it harder in a group meetings than in 121s (where I seem to automatically stay present) but it’s equally important to stay engaged. So, know when you’re going to get distracted and call it out or squash it.

Outside of meetings, don’t be texting people in the meetings and expecting an immediate response, because the tech is telling you that they’re in a meeting! You wouldn’t be running up to the meeting room door in person and demanding an immediate response unless there was a genuine emergency like there was a fire in the building. Don’t be the distraction for your work colleagues – let them stay focused, engaged and attentive.

8. Reduce distractions but be okay with being human

This is another two-parter and it relates to you being present so that you can communicate well and show that you’re communicating well in a team environment. First off, I mean clear around your working space so that you’re not too distracted by mess and things to do and various eye-catching materials. Desk clear downs I find to be a useful periodic activity coz it seems no matter how well I clear my desk (like into the bin in one sweep, or more likely into a cupboard), the stuff has a habit of spreading again when I don’t deal with it immediately. The being human part is that when you’re working from home, or in a shared space of any kind, stuff will happen. Other people you live with, and also the not people you live with – cats, dogs, other pet life – will happen into video shot and that’s ok. This may be distracting for other people on a call but if you see it as a moment to chill and change state, it can be a useful distraction. Plus it’s just gonna happen anyway so be kind to yourself and step into being more of you when working in the new normal. It’s all part of building those genuine human connections and a climate of trust on which to base better, more open and honest team communication.

9. If you’re a manager, role model it

All the things I’ve said so far are super-amplified in importance when you’re a manager. If you want to see your team being present in meetings, listening respectfully, raising hands, not expecting immediate responses from people on chat, then you need to set the bar through your own behaviour. If you’re not communicating well in your team environment and you know where you need to get better, take those tips of mine and put them into action so that you can be a better role model for the behaviour you’re looking for.

And that is it, you have been listening to nine top tips for working well as a virtual team, focusing in on the importance of team communication. As I say, take your pick, perhaps just pick one or two, no more, to do really well in your team. This new working norm is here to stay, I would say, so give your virtual team communication a chance and give it a go.

Till next time, stay strong. And for more, have a listen to my back catalogue for more on team communication and virtual team working.

 This podcast is available on all major podcast platforms. Find it on Apple podcasts, Spotify, Google podcasts, Stitcher, ACast, TuneIn,  Breaker and Soundcloud. Make sure to subscribe to get them at the start of the working week!

Related posts:

4 Key tips for engaging employees

How to set expectations at work (and everywhere)

Getting the best from virtual teamworking

Via https://www.strengthscope.com/9-ways-to-improve-virtual-team-communication/

source https://thasma.weebly.com/blog/9-ways-to-improve-virtual-team-communication

[lapietadi]

9 Ways to improve virtual team communication

As our new world of working continues to reveal itself, virtual teamworking is fast becoming a standard in many organisations. With more teams working fully virtually and others at least working partly on a virtual basis, there is a growing need for virtual teams not used to working in this way to get some tips on how to get the best from themselves and their members in the new normal. In today’s blog, I want to give you some tips on how to improve communication in a team, specifically in a virtual context, right now.

My name’s Dr Paul Brewerton, the strengths guy, genetically wired to bring you evidence-based tips on how to get the most from yourself and from your work colleagues; and even from your outside of work life, each week on a Monday morning as you prepare yourself for the week ahead.

    Why is good team communication important?

First, something on the importance of team communication – why is communication important in a team? Good communication underpins so many characteristics of high performing teams according to study after study.

First, effective team communication enables the free flow of ideas and information which allows high quality decision making based on good data.

Second, good communication in terms of listening, questioning and challenging provides a solid basis for team innovation and creativity in terms of problem-solving and solution-finding.

Third, when teams communicate well, there is a greater chance of them developing a climate of trust and a culture of belonging and inclusion, in itself creating a team that feels cohesive and ‘as one’, which drives up team engagement.

Finally, respectful, open collaboration with other team members provides a forum for diverse views to be heard and acted upon and that knocks on to increased innovation and creative problem-solving.

And what about virtual team communication?

Virtual team communication challenges, magnified in the new world of work, are what I want to focus in on now. So here are my 9 top tips on how to improve virtual team communication, harvested just for you from our collective new world of work team experiences at Strengthscope.

I present these in no particular order, they’re all designed to address virtual communication challenges. Please take whatever you wish from the following smorgasbord to consider, and potentially apply, in your own day to day team experience:

1. Create virtual watercooler moments

So these days you, and/or other team members, might be missing the watercooler chats, the few words by the coffee machine, the over the back of the chair quick check-ins. And probably you’ve tried building in small talk to virtual meetings (which I’ll come on to as that in itself is important). But it just doesn’t feel like you’re connecting with your colleagues like you used to. So here’s tip no 1, for maximum connection potential and to improve that understanding between you that good team communication is based on, actually put informal catchups in your diary with your colleagues, just for you to chill and chat and have some time together. It will pay dividends.

2. Pick the right mode of communication

This is an age-old challenge that’s been amplified by virtual teamworking because there are more methods for team communication than ever before. So if you prefer to receive tasks via email (so you can file them and tick them off), instant messaging for quick Q&A, and video for more tricky or emotional conversations, then know your preferences and be honest about them with other team members. Your colleagues won’t necessarily know until you tell them. And if they don’t get it the first time, communicate it again until you’re getting closer to the kind of communication that works for you.

Which communication mode is the most efficient?

Also, there are some modes of communication that are just more efficient than others – firstly, when you can see a text chat turning into something where wires are getting crossed or there’s something that you need to quickly align with a colleague on, make a call and talk it through because, sometimes, a 2 minute call will save a 10 minute text exchange.

Secondly, emotional content is better not on email. Chat is better because you can use emojis. Video or voice are best because that way you have more information from the other person coming from their body language, their face and their tone of voice. If you’re not sure then, try and default to the best likely communication mode depending on what you want to communicate.

3. When in doubt, overcommunicate

I mentioned earlier the need to communicate often more than twice. People miss stuff first, second, third time round. Email it, and put it in the calendar invite, and email again, and remind on chat, and finally, don’t assume people will have read what you want them to have read. Instead, assume they haven’t, and come prepared with a quick summary of the salient points rather than a pointy finger and an eyeroll.

4. Make time for human connection with other team members

As well as building in virtual watercooler moments, I’m talking here about the kind of ‘small talk’ that you have at start of in-person meetings where you’re just finding out what’s happened with a colleague’s house move, or plumbing leak, or kid’s school application, or tray bake, whatever’s important right now.

Make time for checking in and out, either formally (like everyone ‘check in’: ‘how are you feeling right now?’ And at the end ‘check out’: ‘in one word, how are you feeling, leaving the meeting?’). Or you can just do it by asking people their latest news. But all of these micro-behaviours demonstrate thoughtfulness and care. That builds effective team communication through connection, cohesion, and this will get oxytocin involved. Oxytocin is the connection hormone, which evokes a strong sense of belonging, and ultimately well-being.

Bring your strengths to meetings

At Strengthscope, as well as checking in, we also ask at the start of most meetings – ‘what strengths are you bringing to this meeting and why?’ And at the end, we check on whether each person has brought their intended strength and how it helped. Last thing is in meetings, make it ok to check-in on people in the moment. If anyone’s looking disconnected or perhaps upset or you sense a change in tone in a discussion, honestly checking in on the person or people involved is a powerful thing to do to build a climate of trust, support and belonging. And that promotes good communication, particularly in the context of virtual teams .

5. Be kind to yourself with your diary management

Give yourself 10-15 minute breaks between meetings whenever you can. The reason is for you to be able to decompress between meetings, including getting a cuppa or taking a toilet break. Also, during your day, do put full breaks in – for a walk, for lunch, for relaxation time. Same reason: state change – when you decompress, reset and feel more in control, when you feel that you’ve got a better chance of capturing your essential actions (maybe even doing a couple) before running headlong into the next meeting, you’re going to be better able to communicate because you’ll have less running around your head.

6. WFH doesn’t mean AWA

Acronym jargonbuster here = Working from home doesn’t mean Always available. Make sure you are respectful of people’s time and how they have organised their day. Don’t assume they’ll always be able to give you a ‘quick 5 minutes’, just because they’re WFH. They’re still working, and you don’t know what they’re actually doing, but best to assume it’s important and that if they can spare a couple of minutes, maybe see that as a bonus, not an expectation.

Also, be realistic about how much time you need from them and about how important your ‘really important thing’ actually is. That way, you give other virtual team members the best chance of prioritising effectively. That respect for each other is a fundamental building block of effective communication.

7. Be respectful of meetings, inside and out

So inside the virtual meeting – be present, show your hands, raise a hand, listen well, be conscious of where you’re looking. This has become much harder on virtual meetings than in real life. I personally also find it harder in a group meetings than in 121s (where I seem to automatically stay present) but it’s equally important to stay engaged. So, know when you’re going to get distracted and call it out or squash it.

Outside of meetings, don’t be texting people in the meetings and expecting an immediate response, because the tech is telling you that they’re in a meeting! You wouldn’t be running up to the meeting room door in person and demanding an immediate response unless there was a genuine emergency like there was a fire in the building. Don’t be the distraction for your work colleagues – let them stay focused, engaged and attentive.

8. Reduce distractions but be okay with being human

This is another two-parter and it relates to you being present so that you can communicate well and show that you’re communicating well in a team environment. First off, I mean clear around your working space so that you’re not too distracted by mess and things to do and various eye-catching materials. Desk clear downs I find to be a useful periodic activity coz it seems no matter how well I clear my desk (like into the bin in one sweep, or more likely into a cupboard), the stuff has a habit of spreading again when I don’t deal with it immediately. The being human part is that when you’re working from home, or in a shared space of any kind, stuff will happen. Other people you live with, and also the not people you live with – cats, dogs, other pet life – will happen into video shot and that’s ok. This may be distracting for other people on a call but if you see it as a moment to chill and change state, it can be a useful distraction. Plus it’s just gonna happen anyway so be kind to yourself and step into being more of you when working in the new normal. It’s all part of building those genuine human connections and a climate of trust on which to base better, more open and honest team communication.

9. If you’re a manager, role model it

All the things I’ve said so far are super-amplified in importance when you’re a manager. If you want to see your team being present in meetings, listening respectfully, raising hands, not expecting immediate responses from people on chat, then you need to set the bar through your own behaviour. If you’re not communicating well in your team environment and you know where you need to get better, take those tips of mine and put them into action so that you can be a better role model for the behaviour you’re looking for.

And that is it, you have been listening to nine top tips for working well as a virtual team, focusing in on the importance of team communication. As I say, take your pick, perhaps just pick one or two, no more, to do really well in your team. This new working norm is here to stay, I would say, so give your virtual team communication a chance and give it a go.

Till next time, stay strong. And for more, have a listen to my back catalogue for more on team communication and virtual team working.

  This podcast is available on all major podcast platforms. Find it on Apple podcasts, Spotify, Google podcasts, Stitcher, ACast, TuneIn,  Breaker and Soundcloud. Make sure to subscribe to get them at the start of the working week!

Related posts:

4 Key tips for engaging employees

How to set expectations at work (and everywhere)

Getting the best from virtual teamworking

source https://www.strengthscope.com/9-ways-to-improve-virtual-team-communication/

[scarecrowandmrking]

Scarecrow and Mr. King

  "I'll always be here for you."

  Jenny Anderson replayed the scene in her mind as she worked to clear the table at the little cafe where she was a waitress after school. Her father's funeral had been a miserable day in every sense of the word. The sky had been overcast and threatening to unleash a hellish downpour upon the small gathering in Grand Hills Cemetery. Lonny Anderson, a mild mannered TV show writer, hadn't exactly been the life of the party. Truth be told, most of his nights had been spent going over endless loops of scenes taken from the various shows he worked on.

Jenny, sitting on her father's lap, watched everything that her father had helped make with a deep sense of pride. That's where she'd first seen him. The man who had held her tight at her father's funeral. The one she thought of now, holding her in a different way and saying those same words.

  "Hey, space cadet," a voice spoke from over Jenny's shoulder, nearly making her drop the tray of eggs and bacon she was suppose to bring to the elderly couple at table seven.

"Don't call me that!" Jenny hissed at her best friend, and often partner in crime, Donna Masters. The two had worked together for the past two years. But they'd been friends since high school. The short, plump brunette, being the exact opposite of Jenny - a tall, lithe blonde with hard to comb through curls.

  "Yeah, whatever," Donna gazed past her friend to eye the occupant of a booth in the back of the cafe. "Don't look now, but your husband is here."

  Jenny spun around, nearly dropping her tray on the floor. "He's not my husband," She snapped.

  Donna took the tray away from her. Deftly, she snuck an order into the other woman's hand before she realized what was happening.  

  "Well, he's your customer now. I'm taking a fucking smoke break."

  It took a moment for Jenny to process that she'd just been duped into waiting table for the man who'd starred in most over her nightly fantasies since she was a kid. Sure, she'd seen him almost every day since they lived in the same apartment building. They hung out together and watched movies all the time at her place. But these days she'd taken to anonymously fighting with him online about his various political views. It was a way to vent her frustrations at him for everything she felt but couldn't say. But the vehemence of the back and forth between them had seeped into real life. And she never knew if she wanted to kiss him or punch him in the throat.

  Mark was busy typing away on his laptop when Jenny came over. He had his glasses on, something that she never failed to find kind of adorable, reminding her of the character he had played on The Closer.  His short blond hair looked tousled, as if he had been working so hard on whatever he was into he hadn't combed it yet.  His eyes were slightly narrowed, a rather wolfish looking smirk on his face. And Jenny knew that someone, somewhere was at that moment being accused of being a socialist. Or worse, a strawman.

  "Can I maybe get you something, Han Solo, or are you not done with the rebellion yet?"

  Mark's head shot up in an instant, piercing blue eyes boring into Jenny's own. His eyes never failed to enthrall or intimidate, a feature she was sure he could turn on and off like a switch. They gazed at her now with a mix of haughty anger and pleasant surprise. His smirk widened a tad. But not a true smile, Jenny noticed. He was in fight mode today- like usual.

  "You just don't know how important this stuff is. To all of us. Did you ever read the stuff i sent-"

  "Nope." Which was a lie.

  "I don't see how you can be so happy not knowing what's going on in the world. Have a little curiosity."

"Maybe we can start on with what you want for breakfast. Then we'll talk about the political beliefs of old dead white guys later." She smiled at the inside joke, knowing that later on that night they would.

  "The usual," Mark said curtly. He had wanted to enjoy a stimulating conversation with one of his favorite people. Words had always enthralled him. A way of either hugging or shoving people away. And he felt very much at that moment like he had dived for a hug and been cock punched.

"Are we still on for tonight? Been wanting to see the new Jurassic Park for a while now.” Mark had gone back to his laptop, ignoring Jenny's question so long she was afraid he wouldn't answer it.  

"Not tonight. I've got a lot going on,” Jenny heaved a sigh and spun on her heel to stomp off towards the kitchen. She didn't notice how Mark's eyes shot up the second her back was to him. No one looking at the actor would have been able to tell what he was thinking or feeling as his eyes trailed the young woman from his table to the back of the cafe. It was an ability nobody had taught him in acting class. He'd developed it naturally, having to hide his true self in a hard home life. Beneath it all, he wanted to take those defenses down. But the world could be a tough and cruel place.  That was the reason he wanted to change it so much. So it wouldn't be so cruel anymore. Like it was for the young. Like it had been for him.

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

   "Oh, no you don't, you bastard," Jenny raged at her laptop screen. She wanted to throw the damn thing across her bedroom and into the wall. She'd been sitting upright on her bed, a glass of wine on her nightstand, tapping away on the keyboard for at least the past two hours. She had lured Mark out like usual with a vague question about the state of political affairs. And, like usual, he had come running. Quick with literature references and torrents on the evils of government regulation. He was being particularly grouchy tonight, though. Shooting back with one sentence and one word answers. Which he knew full well would piss her off to distraction.

  "There you go talking about my strawman again."

  Jenny bit her knuckle and howled with rage as she read Mark's latest missive, usually uttered after she had crafted a perfectly good argument. But, though she was loathe to admit it, she felt herself getting wet too. Mark had always been gentle, almost fatherly towards her. This was a different Mark. One that could be equal parts cunning, condescending when smarted off to and, when need be, harsh and cruel. He was far more exciting than every day easy going Mark. And she loved it.

  "Are we back to that again?" Jenny said as she typed away. "Am I the scarecrow and you're the tin man? Or maybe the wizard?"

   Mark promptly left the conversation. Jenny sighed. Pop culture references are usually what drove him off. Show biz was his other life and he HATED it when pretend things were brought into political debates. Which is why Jenny used them when she wanted to get off in a hurry.

  With a sigh, she drained the last of her wine and lay back in bed. Her mind went back to seeing Mark in the cafe that day. How much she loved his tousled hair and wolfish grin. And how much she wished he was here now. Tucking her in like her father use to do. But then things would change in the fantasy. He would lean in and place a kiss on her forehead. And she would tilt her head up and catch his lips in a chaste kiss. Which he would deepen, quietly whispering her name.

   The innocent fantasies soon gave way to the darker ones. Where Jenny got on top of him and rode him until she climaxed against his heaving chest. He would pinch her nipples and bite her neck, driving her orgasm deeper and deeper. Sometimes she would call him daddy and he would call her little girl. It didn't even bother her anymore. It felt natural to call him that. A name of love and protection. And that's what he made her feel. She needed that. Almost as much as she needed him.

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

    Jenny didn't see Mark again until a week after his visit to the cafe. Something seemed to be up with him. She was sure of it. He hadn't texted or called as much as he usually did. And for a while she had feared that he might have fallen in love with someone. Then, out of the blue, he had asked her out to Smokey's, a neat little mom and pop establishment he knew that she loved.  She got out of school an hour early to meet up with him. As she waited for him, she played with her laptop, going over the conversation they had had the night before. Jenny smiled, crafting new arguments in her head. New ways to make Mark flabbergasted and miserable.

   "Am I interrupting something?"

  Jenny let out a muffled scream, painfully twisting her head to catch Mark gazing over her shoulder at what was onscreen. The moment realization dawned of what he was looking at was a terrible sight to behold. At first his mouth gaped open a tad, as if he was looking at something so absurd it couldn't be real. Then his eyes narrowed and the cold glint in them was as cold as any look Lucifer had given anybody on Supernatural. This was the third side of Mark. The one Jenny didn't really like and was slightly afraid of. The coldly intelligent Mark that could out think and outmaneuver you in a split second. The one who felt no remorse for doing so.

  "Mark, please"

  It was all she got out before he turned and stormed from the restaurant, nearly knocking over a waitress in his wake. She hung her face in her hands. Without knowing she was even doing it, a soft sob of pain and regret left her lips as she cried.

   Later that night, Jenny showed up at Mark's apartment door. She couldn't sleep. Not without telling him how she felt and why she had deceived him.  She'd emailed, called, texted, and tweeted him with no results. And it hurt like hell.

  "Mark. Mark. Just listen to me. I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe me."

  The door swept open. He gazed down at her with what she was sure he assumed was an unreadable expression. But, to her surprise, there was a wetness to Mark's eyes she had only seen at her fathers funeral. He had been crying for her? The realization made her feel another layer of self hate and shame. She moved past him into the apartment. He didn't try to stop her.

  "Just...Tell me why," he said, closing the door.

   She noticed his voice was a little unsteady, too. "I wanted to be closer to you. I like you. For so long." Jenny regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. They sounded so high school. Lame. And they didn't go nearly far enough in explaining just what she felt for him. Had felt for him for a long time.

  Mark was equal parts shocked and disgusted by this. "We're not close? Everything I've done with you? For you? Tell me how it’s not enough. I want to know how I'm not enough. How this isn't enough."

  Without warning, he pulled her up tight against him. She wasn't sure why he had done it. Out of a passionate feeling for her or just to frighten her with his closeness. To intimidate her with his height and physical power. She wasn't even sure he knew. He was gazing down at her, wild eyed. His breath catching in his throat. His arms pinching her at the waist. Her breasts tingled at being up against him like this. Every part of her lighting up at being as close to him as she had imagined many times as shed reached a fevered climax in her bedroom. Thinking of him.

  "You know why," She said through gritted teeth. He was pissing her off again. Treating her like she was some sort of child who needed protection. She hated that feeling most of all. And, deep in her belly, the urge arose to smack the shit out of him.

  So she did.

  Mark pulled back from the blow so that it barely grazed his cheek. But the effect was immediate. In an instant, his mouth came down hard upon hers. His teeth bit at her lips and his tongue slid into her mouth, making her gasp. It wasn't a loving kiss. It was something dark and primal. A powerful force begging for release. She let her hands roam over his body, loving how powerful his body felt beneath her hands.  She wanted more. Needed more. Needed him inside of her like she had never needed anything in her life. Her body hurt with the feel of it.  Softly, she started whispering his name against his lips.

   Mark grabbed her by the hair, roughly pulling her head back to look her in the eyes. "What am I supposed to do with you? Just tell me. Tell me what you want. I'm tired of these fucking games you play."

  Jenny's hands trailed down the front of his pants, rubbing his swollen manhood through the fabric. He closed his eyes and sucked in his breath, instinctively bucking his hips against her. Jenny planted kisses down his chest, making her way down to kneel at his feet. She took his cock out and licked along his length, enjoying the look of rapture on his face.  Expertly, she worked up to near climax multiple times, never letting him go over. Even though he occasionally grabbed her by the head and forced his way deeper into her throat.

  With a growl, Mark lifted her up and threw her against the wall. His eyes bored holes into hers as he tore her panties off from underneath her short blue dress. "Tell me you want this," he begged. "Tell me it’s okay. I need to hear you say it."

  "Fuck me, daddy." Jenny crushed her mouth against his, writhing her wet center against his length. Mark pulled away from her, an actual grin on his face. The sight of it both amused and infuriated her. As horny as she was, she wasn't in any mood for his jokes.

  Mark cocked his head. "What did you call me?"

  "You heard me. Want me to repeat it?"

  "So, you're into that stuff?"

  Jenny moved down onto his cock, taking his whole cock into her in one thrust. "Shut up, Mark," she growled, starting a furious pace for them both. He sank into her, his face nuzzling and biting on her shoulder. His hips moving in rhythm to her own.

  "Are you my good little girl?" He asked a moment later. Jenny smiled into his shoulder, partly aroused and sort of laughing about being called a little girl at the ripe old age of twenty. But there was no denying she liked it. She could tell he knew she did, because her pussy grew wetter and clenched around him. She sank her teeth into his neck, eliciting a shocked moan from him. Making him fuck her even harder.

  "You take care of me so damn good. Ill always be your little girl."

  Again, Mark snickered at the word play. But this time it was more like the delight of someone unwrapping a present at Christmas. "I could learn to get use to this, kid."

  Jenny's reply was cut off by the sudden rush of climax cutting off any and all snappy replies. Her fingers clenched in his hair. A howl left her lips as she went over the edge, taking Mark with her. He came long and hard inside of her, the feel of it deliciously hot in her pussy. He pulled out, leaving a trail of cum running down her leg. His body held hers up against the wall. Both breathing hard into each other's necks.

  "Jenny, I have to ask you..." Mark whispered in her ear.

  "Yes?" she was all ears. She'd just fucked the man she'd been in love with for forever.  Whatever he wanted from her, Jenny was sure she could oblige.

"When are you going to read those articles I sent you about strawman?"

  Jenny narrowed her eyes, the old stubbornness and rage making her pussy hot again. "On the other side of never. Fuck you, Mark."

  He picked her up in his arms then, carrying her away to the bedroom.

  "I'm pretty sure you just did," he told her. "and don't think I'm going to be letting you off easy. You know? Someone's been a very bad girl."

[vanchlo]

the assistant / chapter eighteen, “down”

hey there!!!!! woah it’s been so long, i am so so sorry!!! it’s so good to be typing all this up and making this post haha and its kinda weird trying to get back into it too, i missed picking the gif and little sneak peeks out for the post on here lol. i hope you’ve all been well and had great holidays!! well i came back to this chapter that was sitting around for awhile and i wrapped up the end of it, and so i figured i would post it. hopefully it isn’t utter trash haha. i really don’t know when the next chapter will be up or if i’m back with this story just to be honest with you, but i thought i would give it another try and my bf like really wanted me to try again for awhile lol hes pretty great, so you have him to thank lmao. i really wanted to say a big thank you to those of you who have sent me lovely messages about the story (im sorry if some got lost :( or i never replied to) and who have been so patient, it means the world and im so excited to share this new one with you because of your continued love and support for this story, because i know youre all so excited. it still amazes me honestly, you guys are the best. but yes i hope you like this, plz plz let me know what you think! i enjoy!!!! :-) 

p.s. - i can’t remember for the fricken life of me how i formatted their texts so be easy on me lol theres not a lot to work with or do, i hope theyre easy to understand :) ugh if only you could change the color of the font on here it would be so much easier sigh 

old chapterzzzzzz!

i know that i probably shouldn’t, and honestly i really don’t know if harry would give a shit, but i thumb at the corner of the file by the label. the fact of being in his hall and not knowing if i should do this or not makes it a little worse.

i take a breath before i stop in front of his closed door. rapping my fist against the door, i wait like any other time. and after harry told me the other day to just come on in if he doesn’t answer by the second time, to just let myself in if it’s something important, i do just that ever so nervously. and with the suspicious as shit file weighing heavily in my arms, i wrap my fingers around the cold tingy metal and twist. the creepy neck feeling and the hot nervous one like i did something wrong floods back to me in a tsunamic like wave when i spot the graying man standing by harry’s desk. 

with a gulp that becomes harder when his dark brown eyes cast over to me along with the weak dimples peeking out of his cheeks aged with lines, suddenly i feel not so great. 

it feels like everybody’s eyes are on the back of my neck when i eventually walk out of the bathroom and back to my desk. when i turn around, there’s nobody watching or staring or prying. just my messed up conscious and paranoid mind, because that’s nice. i discreetly run a finger under my eyes as i pull out the wheely chair and sit back down, lifting the top of my macbook to open it up. holding down the power button, the white apple logo soon appears on my screen. with a sniffle, i pull at the tight waist of these black dress pants before typing my password in.

the plain mountain background loads quickly, and a second later a soft chime sounds. and then there’s another. dragging my eyes to the top right corner of the shiny screen, i see the name i dread maybe the most.

(H in italics and B in bold-italics :-))

12:05pm

please try to be nice with

the costume, pretty

please with a cherry on top?

12:10pm

you’re making me nervous,

becks.

and a new chime just as this message comes in, all fresh and new.

12:23pm

you there, love?

yeah sorry. got busy.

it’s ok.

instead of replying, i venture to chrome and open my email to find too much freaking shit. the third or fourth email is from him, time stamped from around eight am. he probably finished the list up and sent it from home last night, which isn’t too weird for him. sometimes it comes the night before, if he’s feeling generous or something like that.

12:29pm

what’s this file you want?

what?

on the list. it just says ‘find the

heartwood file for me asap and bring

it to me’. you need to learn to be more

specific you know, i thought we talked

about this.

12:30pm

oh yeah. that. sorryyyyyy,  i

know we spoke about

it. yeah, i need the

criminal file on bertie

heartwood. it’s not on the

online database as a digital file, so

you’ll have to go down

to the basement where

they keep all of the real paper ones.

you’ve been down there

the one time right? it

wasn’t too bad, huh?

yeah it was a jolly old time, i loved the

creepy old geezer sitting in the door shoving his face with a twinkie who couldn’t help me for shit. i almost had

an asthma attack from all of the dust

and i don’t have asthma!

damn you’re hilarious,

becks.

shutup, i’m being serious.

:) 

don’t send me a fucking smiley face.

first i have to do all of that awful filing

and now i have to go down to the

basement to the papers room where who knows

how many rats live with the creepy old

guy staring at my bum and boobs. watch, i probably

will never even get back up here to

17 because the elevator will have

stopped working, or the weirdo shanked me and i bled out. and god, don’t even

get me fucking started on the

cobwebs down there.

language! and would you chill out? there

are no bloody rats in my

law firm

i heard something the last time i was

down there trying and failing to find

that witman file for you, and i turned

around and i swear to god i saw a

tail, harry.

stop it, you did not see

a bleeding rat down there.

and i keep my firm

blooming spotless, so hush.

you still need to find a new clerk guy

down there who isn’t a 80 year old

who probably has an arrest or two

having to do with pedophilia and porn.

i bet you fifty pounds if you had the

techies look at his computer you’d find pornhub.com in his web history.

bloody hell becks. he

does not. jerry’s background

is spotless. ya really think

i’d take a bet on somebody

like that?

well all he does is basically just guard

about fifty dusty shelves of files, so

yeah maybee.

fuck you, you little shit.

uh no, i only get to call you that.

sure you do.

shutup.

can i pleaseeeeee not go down there?

i was considering it, but

not after all that lousy stuff

you said about the papers

room and nice old jerry.

he is not nice, harry! he’s so rude.

doesn’t even help me when i have a

question, scouts honor.

no way, you were a girl scout?

ya sell all those yummy boxes

of biscuits, too?

shut up.

ya better be nice, or i just

might make you come to

that ball with me after all,

you little shit.

stop calling me that, that’s my line.

would you rather i come down

and give you another nice

tour? i don’t really want to,

because i’m supposed to be

doing this skype call with

somebody from ny, and

hell thats why i asked you

to do it.

god, don’t be too honest there.

i’m sorry, just not looking forward

to this skype call. and amber

won’t stop blowing up my phone,

she’s in a real mood today.

what’s new with that?

be nice, becks.

i’m just stating the truth, that’s all.

his reply is lagged, and i tap my fingers against my thigh as i wait for the word ‘read’ to show up under my message. and more so for the little bubble to show up. i don’t know if i’m thankful or what when the t-rex rings and i drag my hand over with a huff to pick it up.

“styles and lawson, this is becky,” i answer the most mock cheerfully that i can do on a monday.

“hi, i was wondering who i could talk to about how i could go about setting up a consultation with mr. styles?” a chipper voice replies.

“i’m mr. styles’ assistant, so i can gladly answer that question for you,” i reply.

ten unnecessary minutes later, i finally set the phone down. and when i turn to wake up my computer, there’s a red bubble stuck to my little messages icon. with a shake of my head, i click on it and find harry’s texts. but i hardly get a chance to read them, when his name pops up in the corner of my screen again, but this time he’s calling me.

sticking my hand into my drawer, i pull my buzzing phone out and swipe my thumb across the screen.

“god, what do you want now?” i reply fake annoyed.

“ya betta watch it, becks. actually ‘m surprised ya answered, ya weren’t replying t’ me texts.”

“i’m sorry, i had to explain to some old lady on the phone that just because you’re such a greaaaat lawyer, that you don’t take all cases that come at you, and she wasn’t that happy because of that and because she doesn’t really know how to work email to send me a consult. actually i don’t think she even has one.”

“oh, i see. well sorry i blew up yer mac, but was hopin’ ya’d go an’ get that file fer me soon. pleeeease, becks?” he says, apology heavy in his tone, before it switches to something sickeningly sweet. what a little shit.

“can’t like, you call down there and just have them send it up somehow?”

“this isn’ a bloody post office, becks. ’s jus’ one li’l file, tha’s actually real important. an’ i need it, i wouldn’ ask ya t’ go get it if i didn’ need it.”

“suuuuure,” i sigh, browsing through this week’s list quickly, but it’s not much use because this isn’t the final length. it’ll just keep getting added to as the week carries on. the usual.

“come on, becks. i won’ make ya go down there fer awhile afta this, ok?”

“weak proposition, mr. lawyer,” i reply sassily, pushing my hair behind my ear as i open another email reading a consult from a possible client.

“‘m not gonn’ bribe you.”

“why not?”

“you cheeky li’l thing you, jus’ go get tha bloody file before i come out there.”

“wow, you’re soooo scary,” i tease, hearing his fed up huff.

“jus’ go get tha damn file, you bloody li’l shit,” he chuckles softly. “now i really hafta go, tha bloke’s s’posed t’ be callin’ any mo’ now.”

“no, wait!”

“whaaaat?” he groans.

“i forgot where i look down there, because you know there’s like fifty shelves with boxes of files on them.”

“bloody hell, becks, just ask jerry.”

“i am not talking to that creeper ever again in my life,” i whisper, lowering my voice when somebody walks by. “and he is soooo a creeper, harry! the last time i was down there, i was looking through a box of files that was on the bottom shelf, and when i looked up the bloke’s eyes were glued to my cleavage!”

what comes next is a little explosion of giggles from his side, and i have to resist rolling my eyes because it’s not as good when he can’t see it. since we’re on the phone, even though he’s like . . well right over there.

“becks, yer too damn funny fer yer own good, darlin’,” he gets out in a long titter, and i deal him back a sigh. “ok don’ botha with jerry then, but ’s organized by tha alphabet if i rememba right from tha last time i was down there. but yeah ’s just by last name, so it shouldn’ be too hard t’ find, love.”

“wow, thanks for calling me dumb.”

“‘m not callin’ you dumb, becks!” he laughs, and when i hear the familiar ringing sound faintly i know it’s his skype. “hey sorry, that bastard’s ringin’ me, so i gott’ go. but if ya ‘ave any troubles, jus’ text me an’ ‘ll try t’ get back t’ ya fairly quick.”

“ok, don’t get too bored,” i joke, hearing his sweet giggle for only a second.

“thanks, babe, don’ die down there,” he replies, and i only get a scoff in before he says a quick goodbye.

+

with a dreaded touch and an exaggerated groan, i stab the lit up plastic button labeled ‘bmt’ and take a few steps and turn to lean against the back wall of the elevator i’m alone in. with a soft hum, the doors squeeze back together and it starts to move down as i stare ahead at my blurry reflection in the shiny doors.

12:50pm

this really fricken sucks,

like a lot.

i stab my thumb at the ‘send’ button and let out a huff after pressing the lock button waiting to arrive in the moldy scary basement. the red led number above the doors falls one by one, sticking at ‘9’ before it drops again.

buzz buzz.

12:54pm

hush, don’t start being a

whine baby on me now.

i told you i won’t make you

go down there for awhile

after this.

you better not.

oh stop being so dramatic.

i think i got that from you.

you’re just hilarious.

why thank you.

now get off your phone and

go get that file.

i’m on the elevator as we

speak, god chill!

you chill, and stop taking the

lord’s name.

since when do you care?

doesn’t matter, now i gotta go.

this bloke is almost back from

whatever the hell he had to do,

and i gotta pay attention, this call

is important.

ok, sorry for bothering you.

don’t, you’re not bothering me.

why do ya always think you’re a

bother becks? but

text me if you need me for any

help with finding the file, and i’ll

try my best, i just might take a

bit to reply.

thank you, harry. you know

you’re probably the best, right?

:)

thanks, sweetheart :) you’re

pretty darn great yourself.

you’re welcome, and thanks :)

i wait for a quick witted reply, and after a little bit i think he should have replied by now with how quick his replies were coming. and so i stuff my phone away in my pocket, and look up to find the doors peeling apart. i take in a deep breath and step off the elevator, pulling my long gray sweater around me at the change of temperature. fuckkkkkk, i do not need this too.

with shivering shoulders and chattering teeth, i tiptoe down the hall - because well there’s not a fucking soul around and i feel like it’s too quiet and shit is going to echo - and soon spot the little sign that reads ‘file room’. but ever since i stepped my first foot into this form, it’s always been called ‘the papers room’ for a reason i don’t know, and that i should probably ask harry one day. or asher.

sure enough, wrinkly and graying and not to mention balding jerry whitter is sat at his black desk scrolling away on his silver desktop. probably looking at girl on girl action, or something really weird, i just have a weird feeling. it takes him too long to look up and when he does, i savor the look on his face because fuck i know he was looking at porn. that git.

with a forced smile stretching across his stubbly chubby cheeks, his thin lips you could hardly discern from his gray mustache part, “oh hullo, love. come down to find another file. ya need any help finding anything?” he says ever so cheerily, but i know it’s fake.

“uh no thanks, i think i got it,” i reply, trying a smile that he returns, but it’s last about a second. with a shiver and my arms pulled around myself, i walk past the wimpy coworker of mine dressed in a long sleeved gray button down and slacks. i don’t even want to think about those slacks and any other part of his body for that matter.

that thought gives me another shiver as i pass the tall gray metal shelves of cardboard box heavy with ancient files. all i know is that most of the files that harry and the other lawyers used and need these days are online digitally, and that somebody who’s not fucking jerry is in the process of scanning all of these to get them online. but i can imagine there’s a point where it’s just been enough, and what’s the point if you don’t need them? at least that’s what i think.

clearing my throat and trying to do the same with my mind, i bow my head and lift my hand to find the hot pink post it i scribbled down the info on, knowing i’ll most likely forget.

bertie heartwood

criminal files

1989

with a huff, i stuff it back away in the pocket of my sweater, pulling the front tighter across my chest. glancing a hasty look over my shoulder back at jerry, all i know is that i’m glad he’s not looking me up, and i don’t bother to see what he’s staring at on his computer. bad idea, becky, bad idea. and so i cross my arms over my chest, wincing at my annoying ass bra digging into my side as i look at the little sign on the very left of the shelf by the aisle. ‘a-f’ it reads. i try to hold back the groan as i walk down the long ass aisle, and turn to peek in the next one. like the other side, the very last shelf has another little sign reading ‘g-m’ and i drag my feet down to the beginning. first i go too far and i’m stuck in the g’s, and then when i veer to the right of the aisle i’m in the fucking j’s, because god. ughhhh.

i almost jump out of my fucking flats when my hip buzzes, and i look down to find the screen of my phone lit up. the smile is hard to push down at the sight of his words, and what they are.

12:55pm

it going alright? you get lost

down there, bub?

no, not yet. but apparently

finding the h’s in this aisle for

g-m is harder than it looks.

the screen goes dark as i stare at it waiting for his response, but it doesn’t come right away, and so i assume he’s caught up with his skype call. i don’t even know why he bothered anyways, especially since he joked somewhat about me leaving him alone. i turn my attention and eyes back to the boxes upon boxes of files waiting in front of me. after awhile, i finally get a little warmer and find the h’s. you’d think it wouldn’t be too hard to find ‘he-‘ especially when there shouldn’t be that big of a variety of files here, but yeah no. first there’s habergram. haberly. habittle. hack. hackney. hackman. like i’ve never seen so many ‘ha-’s in my entire life. what the fuck, harry?

my phone says it’s a few ticks away from quarter after one when i finally locate the ‘he-’s and then it’s not too bad then, considering ‘hea-‘ is right in the beginning, or so i hope. but after a minute or two, i finally finally the little label reading ‘heartwood, bertie’ and pull out the frayed dusty black file.

“ya find all that you need?” jerry questions when i walk up to his desk, much to my dismay.

“yep, thanks,” i answer, plucking a clicky pen from his coffee mug full of them. hmm so maybe the coffee mug of pens is a thing here, huh?

dreadfully so, i lean down and press the pen to the clipboard, but this time i remember to hold the file to my chest so the perv can’t look down my shirt. fucking gross. first i scribble down the date, time of 1:34pm, the name of the file as well as the handy dandy code on the lip of the file i have to locate first and then make it out and yada yada it’s too much work really, and finally i put down my autograph at the end.

jerry and i exchange small ‘thanks’ and he mutters a ‘bye’ i fully ignore, before i peel out of there and get back on the elevator afraid to be down there another minute more.

1:35pm

you still on the phone?

a dictionary sized ‘delivered’ pops up under my message after a moment, but no read receipt before i check my notifications and a few other things as the elevator brings me up. i’m happy when it sounds a long ding and the doors open, letting me breath again as i step out onto seventeen. the keys are clicking and the phones are a ringing as i walk back to my desk, veering for people in slacks and skirts rushing with their cups of tea and stacks of paper before i swing down harry’s hall. i know that i probably shouldn’t, and honestly i really don’t know if harry would give a shit, but i thumb at the corner of the file by the label. the fact of being in his hall and not knowing if i should do this or not makes it a little worse, so all i get is a glance of a wacky mugshot of a weird looking guy before i let it fall closed only a few steps away from harry’s door.

doing a once over for anybody busting me, even though i know it’s not going to happen or so i hope, i take a breath before i stop in front of his closed door. rapping my fist against the door, i wait like any other time. and after harry told me the other day to just come on in if he doesn’t answer by the second time, to just let myself in if it’s something important, i do just that ever so nervously. and with the suspicious as shit file weighing heavily in my arms, i wrap my fingers around the cold tingy metal and twist.

the creepy neck feeling and the hot nervous one like i did something wrong floods back to me in a tsunamic like wave when i spot the graying man standing by harry’s desk. with a gulp that becomes harder when his dark brown eyes cast over to me along with the weak dimples peeking out of his cheeks aged with lines, suddenly i feel not so great.

“u-uh can i help you with something, sir? i’m sorry, but nobody’s allowed in here without harry already-,” i begin, looking over his combed back thinning hair and broad-set frame.

“i got it, becks,” a voice says quickly, and when i turn my head, harry’s slipping into the room with his hard eyes set on the stranger standing in front of the both of us.

his emerald’s a different body of water from the man’s before us fall to me and i see something in his face that i don’t like. “are you sure?” i say quietly to him.

he nods his head and gives me a small smile, but i don’t know how much i believe it. “‘m sure, love, jus’ gimme a mo’ with him, alright?” he replies, patting my arm with his hand, and i don’t know why or how or what, but i catch his hand when it falls from me. it’s almost awkward and i don’t know what i’m doing or what my little half hatched plan is, but i hold it for a moment along with his gaze and last ditch murmur of his name. “’s fine, becks, promise. why dontcha go take yer break now, yeah?” he continues, giving me another reassuring smile that i don’t know if i can handle or accept, or whatever.

“ok,” i say, dropping his hand but not before i give it a little squeeze, one that he returns warmly. “let me know if you need anything.”

“will do,” he replies, before i turn away and head for the door, holding the image of his off smile and his whole off look in my mind. and the other thing sitting on his face that i don’t think i’ve ever seen before. nerves.

the door opens swiftly with a click, and as my back is to harry and the odd old guy, i hear the beginning of his brash voice. the voice of the other harry. “what, ya not know how t’ work a phone or sumthin’, can ya not gimme a quick ring befo’ ya jus’ swing by wheneva ya bloody like? i have a job ya know - people i represent an’ stuff i gott’ do, meetings i hafta go t’ an-“

“i bleedin’ built this place, ya not rememba that or sumthin’ . .” the stranger booms back in the same accent identical to harry’s, giving me a jump and making this whole thing even weirder. and with that, making me even more confused.

i blink hard before opening my eyes as the last bit of harry’s cold words spat at the stranger melt away from my ears with the distance i put between us, but i catch deep shouts and a raspy one in return. one i know all too well. and it hits me in the gut. because for some odd fucking reason, i want to spin around and stomp back over to his door and do i don’t know, something to get it to stop. to get the man to go away, a man i have a bad feeling about i know that already, and so i can wipe that scared nervous feeling from harry and make it all better.

but i know i shouldn’t and all of things, i know that i can’t. it’s not like that, and with a sad thought, i think it probably will never be like that. with another click, i step inside the break room and pop open the fridge, wishing the can of soda was something else. something still fizzy, but heavy to the taste and not sweet. something a happy medium like my favorite wine coolers, which only sends me into another dark thought about the man i just left. the man i care too fricken much about. fucking shit.

+

i knock the back of my middle knuckle against the screen of the kiosk, tapping hard at my numbers before pushing open the door to get back to work. i drop the black file i never actually put in harry’s hand on the last rack of the new little black file rack on my desk. i plop back down onto my chair, hearing a squeak i roll my eyes at. but my ass hardly hits the stiff chair when i hear shouting from far away and then a door slam, and when i think i recognize one of the voices, i fly out of that seat.

almost running, i bolt over to harry’s hallway in time to have the burly pissed old guy nearly charging past me. he gives me a dirty look that immediately reminds me too much of harry’s for some odd reason, before he rounds the corner and stomps away. with a gulp, my feet move again from being still and i carefully tread down to harry’s door. for what feels like the hundredth time, i hesitate when i reach my hand out to wrap around the door, but this time a feeling burns in my gut that i should and that i need to do this.

and with that, i turn the handle slowly even though an urgency pricks at my skin to turn it faster and harder, and everything else. i spot him almost instantaneously. back to me. shoulders taut and then shaking. little sad sounds carrying across the room from him.

i don’t know what to do. my body is rigid, every single fricken part of it. and so when i try to move my legs- hell just a muscle, i can’t. the fear immobilizes me. it restricts me as the pained sounds of what can only be his crying pricks at my ears, like the sharp end of little pins poking your skin, one by one, getting worse and worse. a breath is stuck in my lungs, not going anywhere along with the rest of me. and it only makes this worse, when i didn’t think that was an option.

all of a sudden the sniffles and the hoarse throaty sounds cease altogether, and i see his shoulders twitch. then a hand run through his impeccable curls that were messy for only a second, if that. all of a sudden he turns around and as if the sight of his red rimmed glassy eyes devoid of a care but riddled with emotion weren’t enough to send my mental self crashing to the ground, the look on his face when he sees me standing there with a foot out the door and the other in kills me altogether.

a syllable begins on his tongue i see. maybe my name. it pains me to even think it, but maybe another cry. or something possibly worse if that could happen: the beginning of a yell. the second one returns with a kick as i watch his eyes fill with tears again before he looks away with a knuckle to his eyes.

“i-i’m sorry, i don’t mean to barge in-,” i begin, but it all comes out wrong, and nothing right. it’s a mess, just like me. and well him, too. i don’t know what he’s thinking or doing, as his head is bent down looking at something on his desk, probably just finding something to do to occupy the embarrassment and the awkwardness that is all me. all fucking me. but i can’t blame him. because hell, i wouldn’t know what to do if he found me crying, well again. “harry,” is all that feels right and as i watch him poke his finger at a mini yellow legal pad with his gorgeous scrawling on it, a sob stutters in his throat. and i’m fucking gone.

within a blink or two, i’m standing in front of him. unsure of what to do. reach out, or go away. his adam’s apple bobs with a gulp before he lifts his chin slowly to look at me, and kill me with that defeated drowned look that makes me feel all sorts of horrible. for him. all for him. and because of what the fuck can i do?

but it’s more like what can’t i when i tug on his sleeve to bring him over to me until he’s close enough to wrap my arms around. that’s too late though, because his are already going around me and by the time i get mine around him, his face is bent into my neck with his hot tears melting into it. as he melts into me with throaty sobs leaving his lips.

i don’t know what to do, or what to say for that matter. i don’t even realize i’m doing it, or hell that i’m doing anything when i find my fingers lost in his hair combing through the end of his crazy curls, and drifting down to the long expanse of his back i rub in circles. through the easy silk of his shirt, i feel his taut strong back as it shakes with each hoarse cry and rises with a rattly breath that tickles against my now damp neck. we stand there for the next ten minutes, his head glued to my shoulder and my arms surrounding him and not moving an inch no matter how tired they get. but i hold onto him tight, my neck slick with tears and his breaths loud and hiccupy.

with every hiccupy cry that falls from his lips, my arms wrap around him a little tighter and my hands rub a little harder.

[andersannabel95]

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How To Get Back At A Cheating Ex Boyfriend

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Ex Girlfriend Comes Back Years Later