#Anyway my boss Really wants to make me committee chair | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr has been providing a Korean-language service since 2013.

#Anyway my boss Really wants to make me committee chair

jimilter · 1 year

Text

on the borderline — 02 | pjm.

Park Jimin has been your buoy, your anchor and the ship of sanity that guides you to shore amid storms of self-doubt, nearly all your life; as have you been his. That is not to say nothing has ever brewed beneath the surface of platonic friendship, or that the two of you have never been victims to mistiming. Regardless, you would never risk the friendship you have with him now for anything. Even if you have to hurt him – or even yourself – in the process.

pairing: jimin x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: humor | fluff | friends to lovers!au

word count: 7.7 k

— warnings: swearing + unresolved sexual tension + mentions of therapy + commitment phobia + innuendos in an office setting + really lame humor, again + some dark humor, again + sexual thoughts (pertaining to ass-grabbing, wet panties, choking, dick sucking) + jimin and yn being annoying bffs to each other + yn does not have a crush...on anyone...bec she's above crushes (but she's also a pathological liar so take that w a grain of salt) + a new (potential) love interest has entered the scene (:

— note: idfk why some bits of this fic are so hard to write??? but anyways, i took 3k words of unnecessary chatter and cleaned this part up. so much more satisfied w this than the mess it was yesterday, smh. anyyyyways, this is a burfday post - guess whose? hehe 🥺 hope y'all like the interesting turning of events in here and prepare yourself for the major twists coming w the next chapter! drop me a word~ 💜

ps. the rating, genre and warnings mentioned above pertain to this chapter, only.

main masterlist | taglist | feedback?

↪ series masterlist | ◃ prev ⁘ next ▹

𝐈𝐈 ⇢ 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ♪ you give to me, everything anything that i could dream

“That wraps up all the major delegations,” you announce to the organizing committee gathered around the table before switching to the last slide of your presentation which displays, in a large font – ‘The 2G-Spot’, “and brings us to the last discussion of this meeting – our keynote and our guest of honor.”

"Wait, we still don't have them finalized?" Jackie, the Senior Sales Executive, looks at you with confusion in her gaze. "What happened to the names Zac and I picked out last week?"

You gingerly pull yourself a chair and delicately sit down, eyeing the three anxious faces around you in trepidation. This is gonna cause an uproar. Clearing your throat, you quietly inform them: "Boss man rejected them all."

Three gasps echo around you

"What?" Zac, your Social Media Manager, cries out with more than a little drama, both his arms spread apart and face contorted in a grimace. “I picked out forty-three people and Jackie shortened the list to twenty-seven. How could he not like one profile?”

“None of them fit his criteria of hitting the 2G-Spot.” It feels weird even as you say it, and the three pairs of questioning eyes that oscillate between you and the characters on the screen in absolute bewilderment make you clear your throat in discomfort. “He needs a glam guest and a genius keynote. A g and another g. The 2G-Spot. It’s not—” You break off with a puffed out exhale. “Don’t make me talk about it, please.”

Lea, the final member of your meeting of four, and the company’s Sales Strategist pats your back in a comforting gesture. But her eyes look absolutely soulless when she meets yours. “I can't imagine how that meeting must've gone… My brain's dying a slow death, one braincell at a time, just reading this. Did he not see the euphemism? Or did he intend it?"

You just shake your head, honest to God clueless.

She blinks. "Not that it makes much sense otherwise either, because what the heck does glam even mean?”

“Does he want some model to sit in as our guest?” Jackie squints at the screen, tilting her head as if the words will present you all with an answer if you look at them hard enough. “Does our boss hate us, guys?”

"No other way to explain whatever…this is.",

“I don’t think he hates anybody, he just wants us to – learn. Through hits and misses. And grow.” Lea scrunches her nose up in an evident display of how much she believes her own words.

“Oh, I'm learning alright. Learning how many blood pressure spikes my body can handle everyday before I succumb to heart failure under duress. Is that what he wants, Lea, is it?” Zac definitely carries the most amount of dark humor in your team.

You just exhale, because this is pointless. This cribbing about your boss is helping no one.

So although you more or less agree with the sentiments being thrown around, you don't participate in it. As the Sales Manager, the mess that was last month's sales is partly your responsibility. Marketing and Advertising shoulder the blame, too, but you were also at the center of it.

This workshop, being organized as a result of that fib, thus, has to be perfect and exactly how your boss wants it to be.

“Guys, I know it looks unfair,” you begin consoling your disgruntled team, “but I’m sure Boss is just being careful. Remember how meticulous he was with the selection of all the experts for different sections of the workshop?”

A grunt, a sigh and an eye roll. Wow, enthusiasm is rife in your office today. This won’t do.

"Guy, guys. Stop.” You raise both your palms up and three long faces turn towards you, disappointment pulling them down. “We don't get to do this. Let’s not forget the reason why this workshop is even happening in the first place – we ventured a new product into a new market and it absolutely crashed.”

You clap your hands together, drawing attention to the seriousness of the topic.

“We couldn’t sleep properly for days when the numbers started coming in. Remember? We need to think about how much worse it must have been for Boss. He had to answer his investors and even the media because of how huge the launch event had been.”

Lea’s back straightens at that. Jackie’s pout turns into a frown. Zac finally stops scowling and presses his lips into a concerned line. Wow, are you a good leader or what?

“What we can do, here, is coordinate well with Marketing and Advertising for this event. Help make it a learning experience for all. Find our faults and correct them before the next product launch, so that we don’t even have to play the blame sharing game. How does that sound?"

A collective, uplifted sound of agreement echoes around the huge conference hall. You smile, proudly.

“That’s what I like to hear. So. Let's begin by breaking down the implication of the word glam.”

Zac turns his laptop towards you. “We could bring in our brand ambassadors? We've got an A-list model and a daily soap actor with us. They can be glam, right?”

You look at two pictures on the screen. Both your brand ambassadors are definitely glam. But you somehow don’t believe this is what your boss wants. Besides, what would they even say in their mandatory speech?

“Um, I was thinking more of a customer,” Lea butts in when you’ve been silent for too long. “It can be a fun activity to engage with our consumers. Select someone that has used our products for a long time and ask them to talk about their experience with the company at the workshop?”

“I feel like that’d be a bit too attention grabby,” Jackie points out before you can, and you nod because you were gonna say something along similar lines. “Not to mention, a complicated ordeal to execute less than two weeks before the event.”

"We can push the date back if we really need to," you remind them.

“Agreed with what Jackie said, and also, Lea?” Zac clicks his fingers in front of the girl's face. “We sell bulbs. And a guest that can talk about bulbs at an event cannot be called glam, by any means. At least in my dictionary.”

Chuckling, you slowly nod because they’re all correct on some level. Lea looks at you with a sigh. “I’m out of ideas, then.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be the strategist? Use your skills, dude,” Jackie prompts her, which has you standing up to turn off the projector.

“Alright, guys, listen up,” you call for their attention. “We have another hour before work begins, so how about we privately brainstorm some ideas and later discuss ’em?”

You’re just making your way back to your seat when a throat is cleared at the door to the conference room, followed by the sound of knuckles rapping against the glass doors. Your gaze flies up to catch the intruder because you weren’t expecting anyone – and freezes in surprise.

It’s Kim Seokjin. The CEO’s cousin. The gorgeous, model-esque guy who doesn’t work here and yet frequents these offices more than some of the employees. The only person in this building that is literally everyone’s favorite.

Well, more like everyone’s crush, to be honest.

Not you, though. You’re above crushes.

You prefer to be an objective admirer of the breadth of his shoulders, the plumpness of his lips and the symmetry of his facial features. It’s just an aimless appreciation of his looks that you expect nothing out of. You would have tried to sleep with him, though, if Jimin hadn’t yelled at you about it being a bad idea.

Seokjin's blindingly good looks, though, are not what has you gaping at the man like a fish. It's actually his presence here, right now, outside the conference hall which is the only occupied room in your office building right now, while the rest of it awaits the arrival of the company’s employees, an hour from now. You wonder who made a social media post about you all being here early. That is the only way Seokjin could have caught wind of your meeting.

But you especially wonder why he has decided to show up. You didn’t know he knew you existed. But now he’s looking straight at you, gaze expectant and lips smiling softly.

“Oh my God, is that Seokjin?” comes an astonished whisper from Jackie, which launches you into action.

Quickly blinking, you pull a grin upon your face and walk up to the door, letting the really tall and really broad man into the huge conference hall that he manages to somehow belittle by his form.

“Good morning, Mister Kim,” you wish pleasantly but with an undercurrent of confusion in your voice.

Wait, is this the first time you’re talking to him? Why do you feel like a fangirl, right now?

Didn’t you just establish you’re above crushes? Where’s your maturity and detachment at?! Wow, liar.

“Hey,” he says to you with a grin, waving his fingers in a butterfly wave as he walks in. “Your guy Zac posted an Instagram story about you being a hardass that made him wake up at six, so I decided to come in earlier and see what it’s all about.”

Your head snaps to shoot an icy glare at Zac, who just swallows and focuses his wide eyes upon the table.

Seokjin, meanwhile, takes a seat next to the guy. “Good morning, guys. Hope I’m not disrupting your meeting sesh.”

A cacophony of ‘not at all’ and ‘our pleasure’ bursts around you as you look on in surprise. While you make your way back to your chair, your team has filled Seokjin in on your dilemma of the moment, for some reason. You wonder if they have interacted with him better than you have.

"Would you look at that," Seokjin begins after they're done, looking towards you with a smile. His gaze is kinda piercing. It's kinda hot. "You guys encounter a problem and the solution walks right into your meeting!"

You're…confused. What problem does he think you're facing? Given the lost looks on your team members' faces, they don't seem to have any idea either.

"Uh, Mister Kim," Lea begins with a frown, "what…solution…?"

He gives a scoff, chuckling as if he finds Lea's joke very funny. Except, you don't believe she was joking. "Come on. Can there be a better fitted glam guest of honor for your event than yours truly?"

Your jaw slowly drops open, stuck in unsurety because you can't tell if he's being serious or just putting you through some impossible to understand test. But Zac is leaning away to eye Seokjin with a contemplative look on his face, already.

“You, um, you will have to say a few words about the company,” you finally speak up, lashes fluttering in unnecessary self-consciousness against Seokjin’s strong stare. “Some good things. And also about the failed product…a little…”

Seokjin shrugs. “Sounds simple enough, I can do that.”

He can?

Jackie suddenly excuses herself, before getting up and dragging you to the other side of the hall too. “This is a great idea, why are you hesitating?” she hisses at you. “There’s no way Boss will reject his own cousin, ma’am!”

That much is true. “But does he even really know what we do here at Sales?” you whisper your doubts back, which makes your sales executive roll her eyes.

“Of course, he does. He’s here all the time!” He is? When? Does the guy actively avoid you or something? “Come on,” Jackie goes on, “let’s give him his moment to shine. We have nothing to worry about even if he messes up – Boss will have to take charge. Not that he will mess up.” Jackie looks over her shoulder and grins at the other three. “Man loves to talk. He’ll be good as the guest.”

At the end of the day, you remind yourself, it’s just a company workshop. No outsiders, no one to impress but the CEO.

Seokjin is a workable idea.

You finally nod in agreement, which has Jackie clapping once and then joining the group at the table. Before you can join them as well, Seokjin’s call of your name has you stopping.

“You need a keynote, too, right?”

Tentatively, you move your head in a nod. “Uh, yeah… We’re – we’re looking for an industry expert from Marketing, Advertising or Sales itself.”

He squints at you. “Your friend that is here every other week… isn’t he Geisha Global’s Regional Director?”

Jimin?

This dude knows you’ve got a friend that you regularly meet up with after work – and what said friend does for a living? What? How? You’re beginning to wonder if Seokjin just doesn't loiter your hallways out of boredom but is in fact some sort of a detective working for your CEO.

Flustered, you try to formulate a response, “I, um, yeah, but—”

“Brilliant! He’s the director of an ad agency, he’ll make for a fantastic keynote for our little event!” Seokjin gets up and forwards a hand for you to shake.

And you obviously take it, because his fingers are so long, palms so huge, and—oh. His hands are warm, too. Before you can stop yourself, you’re envisioning them wrapped around your throat. And then grabbing your ass.

All that, while you still haven’t said a word about Jimin’s participation in your workshop that you’re more than certain he’ll refuse to, because your best friend despises public speaking.

What the heck is wrong with your horny brain, today?

Your team is looking at you with wide, shocked eyes. Damn, they didn’t know who your friendly, flirty, people pleaser friend is professionally. And now the questions will never stop.

“He’s generally a very busy guy, I hardly even get to see him lately.” Your last night’s clothes are still at his place. You're turning into a pathological liar. “But… I’ll try to catch him in a chat about this over the weekend. He might not have time on his schedule to be able to come, though, but…"

“In that case," Seokjin picks up your incomplete sentence, "maybe you should give him a heads up. You guys are friends, I'm sure he'll prioritize you asking for a favor if you give him enough time."

Is it just you, or is this conversation unbelievably weird?

It probably is just you, though, because everyone is looking at you with an expectant gaze again. Shit, the pressure is physically pressing down on your chest the longer they stare. It's as if they're reaching in to pull your intestines out, your stomach starts to churn so badly.

People's expectations ruin your life because you can't freaking say no.

Coughing, you discreetly press a fist against your collarbones and clear your throat. Yeah, people's expectations cause you breathing troubles. Your therapist deserves a fucking raise for dealing with you. But because you just had an appointment last week, you’re gonna have to dump your stress over Jimin, the second this meeting is over.

“I’ll – I’ll talk to him after work. Arrange for a meet-up whenever he has the time, explain everything about the workshop.”

You're lying again because you plan to meet him during lunch hour today, if he's available. You briefly wonder if you are the one with a lying problem and not Jimin, before nodding at the hopeful faces looking at you.

"I'll tell you guys how it goes. Although, next week might really be a short notice for him."

“Hey, didn’t you say Boss will allow us to push the workshop back if need be?” Lea squints at you and you resist the urge to smack a palm against your forehead. Why did you have to tell them that? “We’ll do that if Jimin wants us to. Oh, should I be saying his name like that?” She winces.

“Please do.” There’s a grimace on your face that you can’t turn into a smile despite your best efforts because what a mess. “Please do.”

"It'd be really cool to have Jimin at the event," Zac murmurs with a small smile, sparkling eyes looking at you hopefully. "He's always such a comforting presence…"

"Yeah, he really is," Katie adds with a nod, eyes similarly glittery.

And you nervously swallow. For all the bravado and the general badass energy you claim to walk around with, it's hilarious how you can never say no to people. No matter how wild the expectations, you're always willing to bend over backwards to accommodate everyone. Which is fucking crazy!

You wonder how you've survived corporate jobs and promotions without sucking any dick. Maybe you're lucky to not have faced truly lecherous people.

The point of the matter being, you feel like you're gonna have to drag your best friend to the workshop if these guys pin so much hope onto you.

Seokjin suddenly claps his hands together with a large smile on his face.

"That is wonderful!" he exclaims, as if he has anything to do with this workshop at all. This man would have been so freaking irritating if he wasn't so damn handsome. Sigh. "Please convince Jimin to join us next week?"

Oh God, now he has a shimmer in his eyes too? Why are these people doing this to you?

“I – I’ll talk to him… No promises, though, guys—”

“I’m sure he won’t say no to you,” Zac says to you with a sage smile that makes him look twice his age and makes no sense to you. “You guys are best friends.”

You awkwardly nod, unable to figure out a response. You fear noisy breathing sounds would come out of you if you opened your mouth. So you keep your lips sealed and stealthily reach into your bag to extract your phone.

Texting Jimin cannot wait till after the meeting, you're minutes away from hyperventilating.

Text Message to Min 🌟 ↳ SOS ↳ meet for lunch today?

The response comes within five seconds, and you’re so fucking thankful your phone was on silent. He’s generally very busy, yeah right.

Text Message from Min 🌟 At my office @ 1 Bring pizza From the eatery down my block Pls 👅 ** 🥺 I MEANT 🥺 I SWEAR

Why is your best friend a literal clown? You immediately lock your phone and slide it into your pant’s pocket, holding in the snort that threatens to escape. Well, at least his typo has caused you to breathe easier now.

"That officially concludes this meeting, I guess," you finally say, voice a little tight as you avoid everyone's excited gaze by looking at your laptop. You clear your throat with pursed lips. "We have twenty minutes before work starts, so grab a coffee or some breakfast if you skipped this morning."

Your team, along with Seokjin, bounds out of the conference hall like enthusiastic children, leaving you behind to slowly collect your stuff. You do so with a sigh, already dreading the conversation you will have to have with Jimin.

“I have been blindsided.” Your best friend is frowning at you, hands crossed against his chest petulantly as he leans back in his revolving chair. “This doesn’t sound SOS-y at all."

You exhale. “Jimin—”

“No, first of all, where’s my pizza? Second of all – why would you suggest my name for a public speaking stint when you know I don't like public speaking? Neither of these acts exhibit best friend behavior.”

“There was a mile long queue outside of your damn eatery, okay? And my break lasts thirty minutes, so—”

“Your company isn’t strict on lunch timing, don’t try to fool me.”

“—so, I ordered your pizza online and it’ll be here in the next five minutes.”

He shuts up that, lips curving up in an excited smile. “Hey now, why didn’t you lead with that? I would’ve been more understanding.”

Your eyebrows rise up in expectation.

“Which means I would’ve rejected you softly, instead of yelling at you.”

You deflate again.

“No, don’t get all pouty on me. You know about my weird introversion about public speaking.”

“It’s called stage fright, stop making up new shit.”

“Case in point – you know I don’t like it. Why didn't you say no on my behalf? You’re my best friend, you should be on my side, not your company’s.”

Keeping the way Jimin is dramatically making this a bigger deal than it really is aside, you’re getting irritated at his claims upon your friendship. You do know he doesn’t like it, which is why your immediate thought when Seokjin brought him up was that he won’t agree to do it. You tried to dissuade them so many times, citing Jimin's non-existent busy schedule. Where's your credit for that attempted resistance? Nowhere! Instead, the guy seems to think you had a hand in encouraging this.

"I didn't say no because no one would believe me if I told them a company's Regional Director isn't fond of public speaking." You eye him, askance.

"That feels oddly offensive…"

"Jimin. Be fucking for real. You speak at events, like, every week. What's one more added to the pile?"

"I do that because I'd be out of a job if I don't," he bemoans, eyes shut and face crumpled like a toddler's. "Public speaking as a favor is a completely different exercise that I do not wish to participate in, nuh-uh. Pass."

“What if I’m out of a job because I couldn’t persuade you to come?”

He gapes at you. “It cannot possibly be that serious, babe, it’s just an office workshop!”

“You know what my boss is like – every fucking thing is a huge fucking thing for him,” you grouse, shaking your head.

“Is there no one else you could think of, though?”

Okay, yeah, that’s enough. You’re gonna have to tell him it wasn’t your idea because this is getting irritating. Seokjin’s name gets you earfuls, so you will avoid mentioning he was the one who instigated this, but you can at least tell Jimin that it wasn’t you.

“I didn’t bring up your name as a prospect, Min,” you finally clarify upon an exhale, watching the way his eyebrows slowly start to furrow. "It was…suggested. Because you’re kind of famous, you know? And people at my office know you.”

He leans over the table, a crease in his brow. “You didn’t? Then who did?”

You wave a dismissive hand. “They’re not important.”

“They? Are you being ambiguous or is that their pronoun?” He squints into space, mumbling something to himself, and then shakes his head. “Nope, you don’t have a non-binary coworker in your department, you’re just being ambiguous. Which – a lack of representation. Ask your HR to look into it, okay?"

Scowling, you shake your head at him. "How can you possibly know that?”

“Babe. I know everyone in your department.” He gives you a flat stare. “By name. So, spill. Who was it?” His eyes suddenly widen, glee spreading over his face slowly. “Wait, is it Lea? Your sales strategist?”

Ugh, he’s really on a first-name basis with your entire department. It’ll take him minutes to go down the list and you'll have to lie to get out of this. Or just tell him the truth and face that lecture on why seducing Seokjin is a bad idea.

You shake your head with a resigned sigh.

“Given how she’d looked at me with really wide, shocked eyes, no." With an eye roll, you rest your face on a palm and lean on his desk. "I don't think she even knew what you do for a living… Much like the others.”

“No? Oh.” He slumps back in his seat, lips downturned. And then he sits up again with renewed joy. “Ooh, wait, is it your sales exec? Katlyn? Katie? She always says hi to me, right? Wow, she’s kinda hot…” He leans across the table with a wide grin. “Tell you what, I’ll agree for the keynote thing if you set me up with her.”

“What? No and no, Jimin! You can't date people from my office!” You scoff at the guy when he rolls his eyes. “I mean you can’t date, period, but you shouldn’t even hook up with people from my office."

Jimin gives a drawn out groan, ever the dramatic bitch. “Why?”

“Because.” You shut your eyes and massage your forehead. “Because it’ll make things weird for me.”

“Weird? Why?” He wiggles his eyebrows, a smirk on his lips. “Do your colleagues think we're a thing too?”

You read forth to flick at his forehead.

“Ow, what the hell?”

“Yeah, what the hell? No, they don’t, Jimin. And it’s not Katie, okay?”

“FIne, okay, so then who was it? Why’re you being so mysterious about it?”

He is looking at you through narrowed eyes now, peering into your very soul. And immediately, your brain rushes to compare his stare with that of Seokjin’s for no other reason but to ruin your already tiresome day.

Seokjin looked at you with pretty much the same intensity as Jimin, but there was a hint of a smile on his face. Whereas your best friend seems to be scrutinizing you as if you’ve been placed on a slide under a microscope. And yet, the alternating warm and cold currents that run through your nerve endings right now affect you worse than Seokjin’s flirtatious smiles did.

Oh God. The morning’s rush made you almost forget about your recent sexual awakening regarding your best friend. Ew, sounds gross even in your head.

But now that you have reminded your brain of the same – including the innuendo-infused face-off you two had in the bathroom and the wet dream that you had last night – it decides to conjure up all these scenarios where Jimin gives you this exact stare, but in an atmosphere with a dimmer, warmer lighting and few to no clothes on your bodies.

Oh. God.

Desperate to distract yourself from witnessing what is sure to be a very embarrassing x-rated video featuring you and Jimin in your head, you resort to initiating the one conversation you planned to avoid when you came here.

With clenched fists, you stare at the back of Jimin’s laptop, and exhale in a rush: “Okay, fine, it was Seokjin.”

Jimin draws away from the table, back flattening against his chair as if shoved by the force of your words. You just focus on your breathing while you wait for him to respond, strictly keeping your eyes away from his person and trying to fill your head with work-related, appropriate thoughts.

“Kim Seokjin?” Jimin finally mumbles, pulling your gaze to his frown. “Your boss’ cousin, Kim Seokjin?”

“Do you know any other Kim Seokjins?” you grumble, crossing your arms against your chest in irritation.

You’re being unfairly cranky because it’s not even Jimin’s fault at this point. You’re the one with a malfunctioning, horny brain which keeps making you feel like a teenager, Jimin’s just living his life.

So you exhale in resignation, and nod. “I mean, yeah. That’s the one.”

“Dude,” he begins in an accusatory tone, shaking his head at you, “you're totally trying to use me to impress him.”

Rolling your eyes, you resist the urge to groan in frustration. “Impress him? For what?”

“Didn't we establish that your crush on him was a bad idea because you shouldn't sleep with your boss’ cousin?”

This time you let the groan escape. “I am not crushing on him anymore, Min! I just…like to look at him from a distance, just some objective admiration…”

Jimin blinks at you. “That's what a crush is.”

“Absolutely not! I respect him and like how he looks, without any unrealistic expectations and imaginary scenarios.” You shrug your shoulders, trying to act nonchalant in the face of the imagery of Kim Seokjin’s gorgeous hands on your throat and/or your ass. “Just some friendly admiration, as – as I said.”

“No, you said objective admiration.” Jimin goes back to observing you like a specimen under a microscope. “And to me, that still sounds like you wanna sleep with him.”

“Untrue, it’s just—”

“Well, do you wanna date him, then?” He raises a brow, a weird eagerness spreading across his face as if he wants you to say yes.

Maybe he actually does, maybe this is him hopping onto the ‘I will convince you to get back in the dating game’ bandwagon again. God, he’s so annoyingly persistent.

“No, Jimin, no way in hell.” You glare at him. “Okay, you know what? Everyone else backed him up too, so I'm not tryna impress just him. The others in my department want you to be there, too. They even talked about pushing the date back to accommodate you.”

“Aha! So Katie does remember me!” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “See, soulmates.”

“You literally called her Katlyn twice…” You deadpan.

“Ah, that's a minor blip that I and Katlyn—Katie," he corrects with a wince. Then clearing his throat, he grins at you again. "I and Katie will work through it, don't you worry."

“Jimin. Please. Everyone will really love it if you’re there. Zac even said you’re a comforting presence…”

He frowns at you. “Zac? Ellis? Oh man, does he still think I was flirting with him that one time? Please clarify it to him that I’m straight, Y/N!”

“It was you that told him and Jiah that story about you hooking up with a guy in college, Min,” you remind him with a giggle, resting your chin on a fist to wiggle your eyebrows at him. “What did you expect to gain out of that, if not an admirer?”

Jimin seems to get a bit serious at that. “I… Well, they just looked kinda tired, sad and uncomfortable, you know? So I thought I’d cheer them up a bit with a fun anecdote…”

His response is so genuine and so wholly him, that your heart goes out for the guy. You reach forth with your free hand to pat the back of his own. “I get it, buddy. But you don’t have to always comfort everyone. You need to think about your own comfort and happiness at times, too. What you need, instead of always taking care of what others need from you.”

He looks at you with wide eyes and then slowly nods. “What I need, huh?” he mumbles, blinking with so much innocence in his gaze, it’s uncanny. “How about that pizza I asked for?”

You lift your fingers off his fist and bring them back down in a snap. Can never have a serious conversation with this for two seconds.

“Ow!”

Checking your phone for the ETA with a roll of your eyes, you hiss at him, “Will be here in less than three minutes. Asshole.”

He just giggles, entirely gleeful and not one bit sympathetic about your predicament. And then he surprises you by getting up and squeezing your shoulder. "I'll think about it, okay?

Eyes going wide and lips curving up, you jump out of the chair to hold him by his forearms. "You will?"

"I said think," he corrects you, but there's a resigned smile on his face which tells you he's gonna say yes.

"That's good enough," you hurriedly tell him before engulfing your best friend in a bear hug. "Thank you, thank you!"

"You are really not welcome to this again and it absolutely won't be my pleasure," he grumbles into your shoulder.

You wack him on the back, and relax in his grasp, silently asking to pull away. "That's enough emotion for a week, Min…"

He throws you away with a scowl, but there's no real heat to it. You laugh at his irritated face, settling down again to fill him in about the details of the workshop so that he can prepare his speech.

Barely into your discussion, the pizza arrives. You two share it while you discuss some points he wishes to make in his speech.

When you finally take your leave, his secretary is on the phone right outside his office doors. You wave at the girl you know is a sweetheart, and she absently smiles at you.

That is when her words register to you:

"...lunch with his girlfriend so we had rescheduled you for three o'clock, but he is available now, if you wish to meet-up?"

The girlfriend part gives you a pause but doesn't really shock you, because now you know what goes on at Jimin's office. What has you stopping completely in place and frowning – is the postponed meeting part. Did Jimin cancel a prior engagement to make room for you?

Whipping out your phone, you shoot him a text.

Text Message to Min 🌟 ↳ did u have a lunch meeting?

His response takes a while, only pinging your phone when you've exited the building and are getting into your car.

Text Message from Min 🌟 Uh 🧍🏻‍♂️ You JUST left my office??? And we had lunch together? So I'd say yeah

↳ no smartass ↳ i mean a scheduled one

Min 🌟 Well Kinda? But it's no issue, I got it pushed to 3

↳ it is an issue w ME! ↳ see this behavior is exactly why your office thinks we're dating ↳ why would u push back a meeting to have lunch w me???

Min 🌟 Because you literally told me it was an SOS situation!

↳ oh

Now you feel kinda dumb. You made the guy postpone a meeting because of a situation that was a lot less than an SOS, if you're being honest. But he should know you're prone to exaggeration.

↳ i'm sorry?

Min 🌟 Are you apologizing for having lunch with me? Because I will physically tackle you to the ground and make you take it back 😠

Your best friend is insufferable but also really fucking cute.

↳ apologizing for delaying your meeting ↳ and causing u to stay longer at the office potentially

Min 🌟 It'll be fine with me if you need to grab your stuff from my place and run home while I’m gone

↳ yeahhhh was kinda hoping I could do that 😬

Min 🌟 You never have to think so hard with me, grumpkim <3

Ew, what the hell is that?

↳ …tf? ↳ is this a new nickname you're trying?

Min 🌟 Yes!!! Isn't it adorable? Like pumpkin cause you’re cute but grumpy because that's your natural state of being :)

↳ okay one - i am NOT grumpy, just a lil short tempered ↳ which im working on rectifying ↳ and two - no cheesy nicknames bw us hello??? u yelled at me for calling u bestie once!!!!

There isn't a response for a while, so you start your car and drive back to your office. You're ten minutes past the lunch break ending, but just as Jimin said, one of the only redeeming qualities to your boss is that he isn't hard about lunch timings.

It's when you've settled into your cabin and have pulled your phone out to keep it on your desk that you notice Jimin's response.

Text Message from Min 🌟 You were friend-zoning me with the “bestie” tag How am I supposed to flirt with you if you do that?

You can’t help the snort that leaves you. This is so on-brand of him, it’s almost funny.

↳ soooo “grumpkin” is flirtatious?

His reply comes instantly:

Min 🌟 It can be if I want it to be ;)

You hate the way that stupid freaking winky face makes your cheeks warm.

This is your childhood best friend, for fuck’s sake! What the hell is wrong with your brain?

The longer you stare at the text, the warmer your face feels. And the warmer your face feels, the hotter your heads get.

At the end of a whole minute when you are beginning to feel how Bruce Banner must feel right before his transformation, you grab your phone and lock the screen, leaving your best friend on read. But that doesn’t feel quite enough, so you jerk a drawer of your desk open and toss the stupid device with your stupid best friend’s stupid text into it.

Just as you have shoved the drawer close, Jackie, passing your office by right that moment, stops to raise her eyebrows. “Need a mallet to deal with that?”

If you could take a mallet to your stupid brain and beat the stupid parts with the stupid thoughts about your stupid best friend out of it, you would take Jackie upon her stupid offer.

The next few days are normal, but…very strange, at the same time.

Normal on the front that work goes back to the usual. No unwanted, tiresome meetings await you at the office, your boss having been really satisfied with the final choices your team submitted for the guest of honor and keynote appearances at the workshop next Friday. Sane working hours leave you feeling productive and a lot energized.

The strange part comes in the form of one Kim Seokjin.

Guy’s been sort of hovering around you lately, and you don’t exactly hate the attention. You’ve decided you’re not gonna “fuck and chuck him” like Jimin has told you not to. Mostly because your best friend never butts into your love-life (read: the academic roll of people going through your bed, but anyways), while for this one guy he has been screaming at you to not do it, every chance he gets.

You’re gonna respect that. And also, you get what he means. Fooling around with your boss’ cousin with no intention of getting serious has the highly delicate risk of complicating things at your workplace a bit. Or more than a bit, depending upon how badly you deal with it – and you usually break your own records of how badly you’re dealing with an ex-lover.

So. You’re not gonna sleep with Seokjin.

But, you’re absolutely giving back your one-hundred percent into the dangerous smirks and heavy glances he sends you any time you meet his gaze, which you find yourself doing a lot of. You’re not breaking any rules if you present him with the hope of possibly pursuing something, right? And who knows? You might actually end up dating, too. Finally break the freaking fast!

It’s strange but also strangely fun doing this, if you’re being honest. And also, this whole back and forth is kinda helpful in keeping your mind somewhat off of the x-rated thoughts your brain has recently found out it loves conjuring up about your best friend. Like, seriously, you feel like you need a fucking mental intermission to get your brain to recover from the constant overdrive it has been riding around in for nearly a week now. It’s exhausting when you have to ward off a variation of the same repetitive thought twenty times in a single hour.

Your interactions with Seokjin have helped a bit in that regard, dwindling it down to five thoughts an hour, Which is a lot workable, so you call it definite progress.

But, despite all of that, this feels wrong to you.

You’re not necessarily betraying Seokjin, right? You don’t even know if he is as much into it as it seems! And who is to say that you aren’t? You could date him if you want. Jimin would be so proud! What the hell is your problem?

You wonder if this is just a psychological repulsion born out of your self-imposed ban on dating? In the way that you have gotten so used to steering clear of anything touching the themes of ‘romance’ that your mind now detects those thoughts as something negative?

In all honesty, you ought to be feeling negatively about all the way your imagination has been running wild about Jimin. Those are the kind of thoughts that stand to harm your deep and profound friendship of years.

But what do they do, instead?

Leave your panties wet.

It is when emotionally available, interested in you and not a childhood friend that you might lose forever Seokjin brushes past you with a meaningful smile that you get this sense of foreboding. As if you shouldn’t be allowing this to happen between you and a perfectly handsome, well-natured, intelligent and funny guy.

Why aren’t you scared of losing your best friend but wish to hide away from a guy you should be fantasizing climbing up?

It could be because you know Jimin is safe. As in, nothing will come out of having thoughts about him because you will never act upon him. But with Seokjin, things are tangible. If you give him signs, he might actually pursue you with a seriousness that might actually, really, factually lead to a romantic entanglement.

Wait… so this is basically your commitment phobia making your life difficult again?

Sure sounds like it.

Your ex should be burnt in fucking hell. And your therapist definitely deserves a raise, damn.

So aside from the whole whatever the fuck you’re doing with Seokjin, the days following Monday go by pretty normally – until, that is, things take a turn.

The first wave of change hits you on Friday.

Zac Ellis comes into work late and somehow catches your boss’ eye. Which leads to your boss unnecessarily giving you all an hour long lecture on the importance of punctuality. Which, in turn, makes you all stay an hour late to finish up the day’s tasks because it is the end of the week.

By the time you finally get to leave, ten minutes later than your team as is the curse of a Team Leader, you are dead on your feet. Dragging yourself out of your cabin, you yawn with your mouth thrown wide open and eyes squeezed shut, allowing them to water. You are dreaming of cuddling under some blankets with a heating pad between you and the cushions because your back hurts like a bitch.

Your colleagues don’t seem to share the sentiment, though, because the six pm clock out time gives them the idea of going out for dinner together.

“Guys… you should go on without me, I’m really tired,” you politely tell them, shaking your head when Lea pouts at you. “Seriously. I would if I could, but I just want to get into bed and sleep for ten hours today.”

“Ah, understandable.” It is Seokjin that speaks up, emerging from the group to smile at you. Yep, one of those secret smiles that seem to convey more than what is visible. “Some days ask ten hours of sleep out of you.”

You give him an awkward chuckle, unsure how to maintain a civil conversation with the guy with all the heavy gazing from the past three days. Especially in front of the entire Sales department.

“Yeah…” You lamely nod, watching as the crowd of people begins to shuffle away from you and towards the elevators.

Seokjin looks at you again, kinda smacking you in the face with his good looks with the way he gives you a lopsided smirk. One of his eyebrows arches up and it’s certain death to your brain, because the damn organ forgets to work your lungs and your oxygen supply just cuts off.

“I hope this wasn’t due to…” He trails off and steps closer. You just started breathing again but now you wish you hadn’t, because his cologne is delicious and makes you want to sniff him. Fuck. “Was it?”

You quickly shake your head to assure him. “No, no! Absolutely not, please trust me.” Forcing a smile upon your face, you thickly swallow and will yourself to not break eye contact. “I really am very tired.”

“I was looking forward to having dinner over some casual chat with you, but… I understand.” He smiles at you fully.

It doesn’t feel nice saying no to such a friendly, harmless invite. To a group gathering, too. But because you are sincerely not kidding about the kind of pain your body is in, you grimace at the man. “I am truly sorry, Seokjin. Raincheck?”

If he finds your sudden usage of his name odd – because you are pretty sure you have never said it out loud before; and it has been well-established that your brain is a dangerous place so whatever happens up there doesn’t count – he doesn’t show it. But your response makes his eyes glimmer a little, and his smile turns serene.

“That is quite okay,” he tells you with a wave of his hand. “How about tomorrow? Just us? That Korean BBQ place down the block?”

You blink, a bit taken aback by the sudden invite. “Uh…”

“My treat.” He smiles conspiratorially, and you wonder if he thinks that the prospect of free food is enticing to you.

Like, of course it is, but of course he shouldn’t know that.

You take a moment and then shrug. “Sounds good to me. What time?”

“I’ll text you.”

He waves as the two of you get into the elevators with the last of your floor’s members, and you wave back with a small smile that matches his own.

It is when you are pulling your car out of the building that it hits you.

Just us… My treat… And that smile? Dude just asked you out on a date!

i, he didn’t specify the word and it may as well actually be a friendly dinner, but… It is definitely going to be a dinner with benefits. Fuck.

And you said yes because you are the biggest dumbass of the century.

“He wasn’t thinking about free food, you absolute idiot!” you yell at yourself.

Your mind immediately goes to Jimin.

What would he say? What would he think? Theory says he will be over the moon, but also… this is Seokjin and the dinner could still be a dinner-with-benefits thing and not an actual, official situation, so.

You really don’t know what your best friend will say.

But you really care about what it will be.

God, you need to call him as soon as you get home, fuck your back!

“Ow!” a pang of pain runs across the small of your back as you accelerate away from an intersection.

Okay, no, not fuck your back. Nap first, Jimin immediately after.

links to be updated at a later date!

225 notes · View notes

lemurious · 2 years

Text

Tolkien Secret Santa 2021: In the Beginning

My @officialtolkiensecretsanta gift to... ???... to be revealed on December 24th!

Read on AO3 here.

Chapter 1: Notetaking Is Serious Business

Meeting #1 of the Valinorean Governance Committee for the Care and Stewardship of Arda and Aman.

Chair: Manwë of the Valar, Lord of Winds.

Deputy: Varda of the Valar, Star-kindler.

Notetaker: Mairon of the Maiar, Admirable in Penmanship and Other Important Qualities, to be Detailed Later. I’ll transcribe a clean version of the notes for them, and I doubt anyone will read them anyway. At least now I can have some fun while appearing to scribble most assiduously.

Also, has anyone noticed Manwë’s blatant favoritism? Making his own wife his deputy. I can practically hear Thuri hissing in rage from where she is stuck in the back of the room with the rest of the Maiar. Myself, I get to sit in the front row, in plain view of the Valar.

I’m glad I’m wearing all my jewelry, Olórin’s advice be damned. That prude. “You can’t pile on a golden necklace and arm rings, Mairon. The metal plates in the skirt are too much, Mairon. Fur collars are gauche, Mairon, at least do remove the ears and tail to make it a bit more stylish.”

Sorry, but this wolf pelt makes me look fierce. Especially after lining my eyelids with some coal from the brazier, and an hour with brushes, gels and sprays to achieve just the right kind of “I woke up like this” hairdo. And guess what, now I am the one who gets to introduce this uptight bunch of the Valar to the latest fashions. Seriously, Manwë, the feathers are so last year.

Speaking of which, I really need to tell Eönwë to stop imitating his boss. I know the poor dear is infatuated beyond all common sense, but Manwë has eyes only for his own wife. I guess I could take Eönwë out for drinks, commiserate on our permanent bachelorhood, gossip about the love lives of the less prudish Valar to take his mind off his predicament… (I am all but sure that Yavanna secretly lives in a threesome! Aulë and Nienna. Some Valar have all the luck). Anyway, that’s not going to be much of a chore, these new Dwarves of Aulë’s are excellent brewers.

Right! Back to notes.

Item 1. Of Light and Darkness. And, if I may add, of multiple stress injuries from hammering mithril into those tiny leaves and stems that form the lampposts.

Not that anyone will ever see them up close, the blasted Lamps would blind anyone except perhaps the hardiest Vala long before then. But, of course, Varda needs perfection, and whose job is it to make her wishes come true? Got it in one! That would be us, also known as dutiful forge-Maiar, generally forgotten by everyone else but Aulë, who, granted, at least works just as hard as we do.

Apparently, Varda has noticed that the Eastern Lamp is not quite a perfect mirror image of the Western Lamp, and desires the entire Eastern lamppost to be remade. Suggestion accepted by Aulë, though at least he has the sense to not look exactly delighted by it. As if Varda could even pretend to care that she has just put the entire forge to slog through another year without any properly creative work.

Hey, this is interesting! Melkor is asking, could we lift the Lamps high enough to shed light on Arda as well?

Everyone looks nonplussed, as if, why would they even care about Arda?

In response, Melkor is mentioning plants and animals, and apparently, something or someone called The Firstborn. Manwë is shushing him for speaking out of order, since The Firstborn seem to be listed farther along in the agenda.

Melkor’s voice is really most commanding, though his attire distinctly lacks jewelry. Though I agree that basic black is a good fallback in any situation.

A rolled-up piece of paper just hit my head.

You look like you’ve been whacked on the head with a hammer. May want to stare at Melkor with a bit more subtlety.

Thuri, of course. Who else. Love and desire don’t do anything for her, so she thinks she can torment her poor forgemate now. Also, I only briefly described his outfit. Surely that’s subtle enough. That voice though, makes one’s insides turn to liquid.

Oh no.

An objection from Yavanna officially recorded and a wolf pelt removed from the Notetaker’s shoulders, to be given a suitable burial. All Greater and Lesser Ainur reminded to avoid killing Yavanna’s creations. Official objections by Oromë and Tulkas recorded. Following, two hours of discussion of the difference between a hunt and a murder.

At least quarrelling has made them forget about me. Also, I swear that Melkor swallowed hard when he saw me removing the pelt, which left my pecs bare to the world. All that hammering of fancy lampshades was not for nothing! But, they seem to have reached a truce. Back to notes.

Chapter 2: Beings of Variable Intelligence

Item 2. Of Intelligent Beings.

Sometimes I hate my job. I know, I’ve only had this particular job since this morning, but I do hate it already. It just hurts. For whatever reason Manwë decided to go full Ilúvatar Mode on this item. Perfection of all aspects of body and mind (I am counting seconds until Thuri goes ballistic), all beings created and blessed by Eru Himself and none other…

I see Yavanna and Aulë are looking uneasily at each other after that proclamation, and Melkor is positively tossing lightning bolts out of his ears. They do look rather intriguing and give him a certain air of danger, zipping around his head like a crown.

Recording an interruption by Thuringwethil, a Maia of Manwë’s.

Truth be told, I hate to call her one of Manwë’s. He only remembers her when he feels like doling out some more punishments. Thuri spends all her time in the forges with us, and fortunately Aulë doesn’t give a broken nail about whom she officially responds to. Also, she, as a flightless, nearly voiceless Maia, has a few words to say every time she hears of the Divine Perfection. Usually, the kind of words that are not repeated in polite company.

Recording Thuringwethil’s removal from the premises.

At least Olórin followed Thuri when she was thrown out of the door. There may be something decent about him after all. I would have come, of course, but I am rather stuck taking these notes. I’ll have to talk to Thuri, she should just go and switch her allegiance to us, if that’s even doable. She’s wasted at Manwë’s.

Also, the whole sorry picture of them dragging her out was accompanied by most distracting zapping noises from Melkor’s lightning crown. Which really brought out the ice blue shade of his eyes.

Oh look, another message, inside a lovely origami frog this time. Manwë has no right to control our creativity. We need to stand up to injustice. I don’t even need a signature to tell that it’s Curumo’s, it only differs from his typical missives by not signing off with a call for general strike.

I don’t exactly disagree with the standing up part, either. I think we could count on at least a few Valar to support us, though this will be a matter of strategy and not of ideology. I hope Curumo can see it, and will let me take care of what I do best. Organizing.

Recording Manwë’s announcement of a new Kindred soon to be born, on the shore of Cuiviénen in the East of Arda. The first ones to awake with a mind of their own.

Aulë and Yavanna are looking at each other most suspiciously. Also, what do they mean first? We woke up a long time ago, the Dwarves were somewhat delayed, but they have a veritable underground network of mines and beer-halls by now, and I’d hazard to say, Oromë has his opinion about whether Nahar “has a mind of his own” too, despite being a (very bad tempered) horse.

Somehow, neither Aulë or Oromë seem particularly keen on voicing their concerns. Instead, here goes Melkor again, and I swear that Manwë is trying his hardest to avoid rolling his eyes. Brothers, I suppose.

He is calling for all of us to go down to greet those Firstborn and guide them, and again to raise the Lamps to shed some light on Arda, so that they would not have to wake up in the darkness. Very reasonable suggestions!

Predictably, Varda disagrees, saying that her starlight is quite sufficient, thank you, and the Firstborn (who will technically be called Elves) will worship her stars to the end of their days. Does she actually care about making those days a little more, well, livable?

Ooh, Melkor just asked exactly that. Seriously, he’s the only Vala with some sense. And, apparently, a strong enough opinion on not leaving the newly intelligent beings to fend for themselves, that he now is directly threatening to go right over to Cuiviénen, whether he is allowed to or not.

Recording Lord Melkor being unfairly removed from the premises.

Another paper frog has just hopped on my desk. It feels a little weird to unfold them, but that’s Curumo for you. He couldn’t care less about living (OK, I admit, paper) creatures. We should go find these Firstborn. They’ll call us kings! the message in the frog says.

I literally turn around and hiss at Curumo for about half a second. Not that I haven’t dreamed about being a king of my own realm, but pretending to be superior just because the other folks are, for all intents and purposes, a bunch of newborns, is no basis for kingship. I may have to talk to him about that more. Still, the suggestion is intriguing. I wonder if Melkor will be going there too…

Which as of right now is irrelevant. It is all completely irrelevant, because, oh, Void and Darkness, this is bad. Very, very bad.

Recording: Lord Manwë speaks with the Voice of Eru Ilúvatar to remind everyone that He alone has the power to create new intelligent kindreds on Arda or Aman, and demand that Aulë destroy his feeble mockeries of creation, the so-called Dwarves.

Destroy. I feel I cannot even make myself write this, but I am required to take notes. My chest is burning, I can’t see straight, it’s like I got a hot blast in the forge.

The feeble mockeries of creation. I just had a beer over at Durin and Sons yesterday, fine lads, settling very well under the local mountain.

Aulë doesn’t look much better than I feel, Nienna is sobbing already (though she generally is at this time of day), and Yavanna has just attempted to jump up to say something, but Aulë dragged her down and told her to keep quiet. Nobody has ever seen him go against her wishes, so this must be something major.

I suppose, Curumo would know. A new paper frog hops up as if right on cue.

Yavanna has her own Intelligent Beings, or whatever they’re called. They call themselves Ents. At least as smart as the Dwarves, and only drink water. Think we could blackmail Yavanna in return for some poison recipes?

I somehow manage to scribble the response straight onto the frog. No.

Because that would make us just like them.

That is all I can manage. Would Curumo, truly, tell Manwë about Yavanna’s Ents if he did not get his poisons? I feel I have never really known him. I wish he still called for strikes and uprisings. I could join one. Because Aulë, the same terrifyingly brilliant and unceasingly kind Aulë, my boss, is now offering to crush all his Dwarves if they do not please Ilúvatar, while tears are running down into his beard.

I find that I cannot look him in the face... I turn my eyes away, and focus on the notetaking.

Recording: the Dwarves are spared, though they will only be reawakened on Arda, and only after the Firstborn.

(I bet the Firstborn would be perfectly delighted not to be Firstborn, if that meant someone else was around who could take care of them during those early days, show them around a bit. Let them get used to the Arda life. But Manwë, for whatever reason, likes the name and wants to make the story fit.)

I don’t have heart for any more jokes, however feeble they might be. This is the verdict. Back to sleep for all our Dwarven pals. Almost, back to ground.

Recording: Lord Aulë and Lady Yavanna have left the premises. On their own accord.

I should come over, offer some comfort to the Dwarves. Perhaps even to Aulë, I know he’d expect me to. But I just… can’t. I know Aulë is suffering, I know he regrets everything he’s done, and I just can’t do it. Because he has done nothing wrong, and now, thanks to Manwë and Ilúvatar, he is so sure he has that it is tearing him apart.

Recording. End of Meeting, with the next meeting scheduled in four weeks precisely.

Chapter 3: Worlds To Be Explored

I walk past Curumo, past Olórin and Thuri huddled right outside the door, discussing some philosophical idea, and go to the forge before anyone else gets there. Methodically, without any trace of sentiment (as if, my mind insists, but I ignore it) I collect all my tools, put them in a bag, lug it all the way to my chambers. At that point, Valinor feels like it’s squeezing my chest, and I can hardly breathe. I know I am supposed to be magnanimous and understanding, and a true follower of Ilúvatar. But I can’t. Because Aulë would rather let the Dwarves die than challenge some arbitrary rule.

After a couple of days of languishing at home I go out for a walk, which turns into a trot, until I leave Tirion and go straight into the surrounding forest, not bothering with trails. This is Oromë’s realm, and judging from his face at the end of that last meeting of the Valar, he was not going to be paying attention to anything but his hunt for the next few days.

If I won’t be returning to the forge – but - I won’t be. I have made my choice – then I need to decide whether I want to remain in Valinor at all. Should I go ahead and steal a lamp to bring those poor Firstborn, whoever they might be, some light? But I hardly have strength for that… I hardly have strength for anything, even thinking, except the bitterness in my chest.

In the future I will probably describe my emotions as rage, righteous anger and a touch of rebellion. What I feel instead is betrayed. I thought I found a misfit family in the forge, both the other Maiar and the... the Dwarves. I tried to approach the Maiar, but Thuri shrieked that she was going back to Manwë’s (I will have to find her, soon, she can refuse to acknowledge how they treat her over there, but I know how much it hurts her), Olórin sashayed straight off to Nienna’s (to mourn over the Dwarves, I suppose?) and Curumo…

Well, Curumo decided to go look at Aulë’s notes while Aulë was away, putting his Dwarves to sleep under the rocks of Arda. That forgemate of mine is only too curious about forging another breathing, thinking being like a fancy trinket.

And when he asked me if I was interested too, I said yes. What was there to lose? I don’t know what either of us will do with what we have learned, but I, for one, am not going to forget the technique. Nor the punishment that it would bring.

Aren’t forests supposed to look peaceful? This one is all obnoxious crows and fir trees. And apparently, a random Ainu out for a stroll. I hope he won’t notice me, but my luck hasn’t exactly been the greatest recently, so, of course, he walks straight towards where I am trying to blend into a tree trunk.

“Would you like some company, or would you prefer not to be disturbed?” says the newcomer, and I, I would recognize that voice anywhere. The last time I heard it I was taking notes in the Valarin council until the voice’s owner was kicked out for disturbing the peace.

“Lord Melkor,” I say with respect, doing everything I can to smother an entirely inappropriate grin. I am supposed to be mourning my sad fate and disillusionment with Valinor in general and Aulë in particular! “You are welcome to join me. Plenty of space among the roots.”

“Are you hiding?” he asks me next, and all my joy evaporates.

“Yes,” I say, and, I don’t know where I get the courage, but I ask him next: “Are you?”

I don’t think Melkor is easily surprised, but he looks at me like he’s never thought of paying attention before.

“To an extent,” he agrees. “I don’t think I will stay around for much longer…”

“Where will you go?”

“Arda. Where else?”

“But... It’s all dark there?”

“And? There are no windows in your forge either, to let in Lamplight. Is it exactly dark there?”

“We have fire!”

“And Arda doesn’t,” he says confusingly.

“No?” I’m trying to figure out what he meant.

Oh. Oh right. I practically jump to show him that I understood the hint. “Not unless we bring it.”

“That’s a start,” Melkor grins, and I am a fool and a half, but I have to admit to myself, I am gone. I’ll go on whatever madcap adventure he’ll take me.

“One could… learn so much there,” he continues, and isn’t it entirely unfair how he already knows what I desire the most? Knowledge. Learning.

“And you can have a kingdom.” It is just as obvious to me what he truly wants.

“With what subjects?” Melkor asks morosely.

“I am sure we can manage…” I say, trying not to tell him outright what I have learned from Aulë’s notes.

“We,” doesn’t sound half bad, does it?” the Vala finishes and stretches out his hand to me. Judging from his shaky grip, I am not the only one turned to jelly by the fact that we are Having a Conversation.

“Not at all,” I agree. “I found a few notes on the creation of Dwarves. I think, as long as we could keep it secret…”

Melkor’s eyes are positively aflame now, brighter than the Lamps.

“We could meet the Firstborn once they come out, too. Perhaps we don’t need to make subjects of our own. The ones already there will suffice.”

“As long as we won’t demand perfection.”

I think of Thuri, and of all the misshapen creations that Yavanna had cast out of her gardens over time, all of her experiments, and I know that unless Melkor agrees with me I will not be going with him. Not even if he offered me all the jewels on Arda, and himself besides.

“Never.”

Good, we are of the same opinion here. “So, when do we start, and how do we get there?” I never believed in long conversations politely skirting the actual topic.

In response, Melkor takes my hand and launches into the air, straight through the treetops and up into the sky, until the air gets freezing cold and we are above the Lamplight.

For the first time since the Music began I see stars, spilling out in a path across the sky, arrayed in constellation beyond constellation, far deeper than my sight can reach, stars in the faintest shades of blue, white and red, just a hint of color. Stars singing to me in their glory and majesty and wonder, calling my heart to them.

Melkor’s arms are around me now, and I am not afraid to fall.

“There are worlds uncounted,” he whispers, and my heart skips a beat.

“Worlds to be explored,” I answer.

It sounds like flirting, but it is only the truth. For both of us. I know I will never be able to rest and be content under the lampshades while there are stars above. And judging from how he flies me over the forest and far away from the city, towards the ice-capped mountains looming in the distance, neither will he.

#tss2021 #tolkien secret santa #lemur writes #my fic #melkor #mairon #thuringwethil #valar #crack and angst #humor #angbang #valinor

29 notes · View notes

lovelyirony · 4 years

Note

sweeter than honey (redux)

Pepper Potts did not exactly mean to become a criminal. Really, she still doesn’t think she is.

But here are the facts:

1.) She has broken several laws in pursuit of funds that do not belong to her.

2.) The FBI would like to talk to her about several things and potentially put her under arrest.

3.) She can no longer go to her regular coffee shop because the barista snitched and told them her name, as well as her occupation.

Pepper broke several laws because the company she was working for (Stane International) was technically breaking laws, but laws that do not apply to corporations because corporations do this thing called “funding campaigns” and also sometimes “doing favors.”

She decided to do the same and suddenly she is a criminal. Not her fault she redistributed money back into the community, and now they can’t get any of it back.

It’s just how that worked out.

She’s been staying at a hotel that serves many questionable individuals each month, and it has an indoor pool and a three-star rating on the latest travel website.

It’s nondescript, not her style, and she’s currently in the bathroom having a crisis because she most likely needs to dye her hair.

She’s vain. Pepper knows she is, has known it since high school when she trimmed her hair and cried. Her hair, by all accounts, is gorgeous. It’s a shiny strawberry-blonde that makes her look like an ice queen in winter and a mysterious fairy queen in summer.

She does not want to dye it. But here she is with an eight dollar box of dye and thoughts in her head.

And then her hotel door opens.

Not supposed to do that, but that’s what happens when you’re in a three-star hotel.

She is also in old athletic shorts that have most definitely seen better days and a tank top that was a last-minute buy from the nearest store, and it does not suit her at all.

Facing her is a man with an odd beard, tinted sunglasses, and a graphic t-shirt over a blazer.

“So. You pissed off Stane Industries,” he drawls. “I’m impressed. Usually they just sweep their little problems under the rug.”

“I’ll sweep you under one if you’d like,” Pepper offers, wondering how quickly a blowdryer can knock someone out. She’s not sure how well-made the hotel one is. Probably not very.

“I’m not here to kill you,” the man says. He takes off his sunglasses. His eyes are a nice shade of brown, not that you’re supposed to notice that about a potential enemy. Pepper is just that skilled.

“Then what are you here to do? Make me move to Florida?”

“No, the opposite. We’re staying here. I’m offering you a job position of helping me take down Obadiah Stane and the company itself.”

“Who would I be working with?”

“Anthony Stark.”

Pepper stills.

She read the news when she was in college, same time as Tony Stark. Went missing in the car crash, no one found his body. Temperatures were freezing, he was wearing a tuxedo. The chances were that he froze to death somewhere that they didn’t find yet.

Chances were. What an odd little phrase.

“So, you made it out.”

“Not as hard as people say it seems to be, Virginia.”

“Call me Pepper, my first name disgusts me.”

“Gotcha, Pepper. Call me Tony. You in?”

“Obviously. What do I need to do?”

“Meet the team.”

There is Rhodey, who was Tony’s best friend and sobbed on national television for two weeks until they forgot all about him.

“He’ll cry at anything,” Tony says with a laugh as Rhodey sends him a dirty look. “Just made him think about neon shoes and he bawled like a baby.”

“I did not,” Rhodey hisses. “I was a good crier.”

“You looked like a seal,” Pepper intervenes. “But you played the part quite well. Nice to meet you.”

“Right back at you, Pepper.”

She meets Happy, a man who is all serious and grumpy and “did not want to break the law before forty” but he also gets to watch Downton Abbey whenever he wants, so he’s not doing too bad.

He runs security and also tells Rhodey and Tony when they’re banned from ordering pizza all the time, and Pepper is inducted into the Healthy Eating Committee.

There’s Bruce Banner, who enjoys taking over corporations for fun, and this is his second one. His first was some sort of health insurance scam, and apparently that was just to finish up his thesis for his third doctorate.

“He has seven degrees, he’s weird,” Tony says.

“Oh like you’re any better,” Bruce says with a snort. “You learned twelve languages for fun. Including French, which is useless.”

“French is not useless,” Tony says. “It got us free food in Canada.”

“We would’ve gotten it anyway if we’d done it my way.”

“Stealing?” Rhodey asks.

“Yes!”

Pepper laughs.

Their job is a bit easier than anticipated. They found out from Pepper that getting into the building is stupid easy because no one likes their job and will do anything when bribed.

Tony struts in with a badly-made-employee-ID and talks about a copying machine and coffee and seeing someone next month for dinner. Pepper just keeps her head down and pretends like she’s meeting someone for something. Like usual.

Obadiah Stane is out of the country on a meeting, and his secretary is scared to death of him, so they’re allowed to poke around the office and find some interesting information.

The problem comes when someone recognizes Bruce outside (government watchlists: the most pesky things on earth) and suddenly there’s this huge fuss.

Tony pushes Pepper into an office closet and then promptly asks her if anyone opens the door, if she’s alright with him kissing her.

“Why would you do that?”

“People don’t like watching kissing, too intimate. Also, you have a lovely face and you’re quite funny, and I think it’d be fun and delightful to kiss you.”

“How long have you thought about that?”

“Not going to talk about that, just want an answer. If you say no--and feel free to, there’s no obligation in physical contact right now--it does complicate plans A to D. I suppose we could play the divorced couple route, but I’m not a gigantic fan about that.”

“I mean, I guess? It wouldn’t be bad, and I’m not exactly opposed to it, Would it mean anything later?”

“Do you want it to?”

“Let’s figure that out after we do it.”

“If we need to do it.”

Door swings open.

Oh, there’s a need.

Tony is a particularly nice kisser, Pepper thinks. The thought runs through her head that she’s only kissed two people before Tony, and one was in high school so that doesn’t count, but the other was a secretary at an old company she used to work for.

But Tony is nice. Soft and warm and he grabs her waist and that’s nice.

“Oh my god, sorry,” the employee mutters. “I just, I thought--”

“Occupied!” Tony says, not even stopping as he kicks out his leg and practically stomps the poor other guy in the stomach.

They get out, run, and Pepper laughs as she sees a bit of pink lipstick on the side of Tony’s mouth.

“So, how’d I do?”

“Send me a survey,” Pepper remarks. “Or a ranking.”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Seven.”

“I was that bad?”

“How do you rank things? Do you put one as the best?”

“Obviously.”

“No, you’re an idiot. One is always the worst. You’re a nine. It would’ve been higher but we were in a corporate office and in a supply closet.”

“So what you’re saying is, I’ll have to try again?”

“Preferably over a couple glasses of wine and pizza. The good kind, though. Not the garbage Rhodey orders.”

They approach the car that Happy has, with Rhodey and Bruce already leading others on a goose chase.

“You two have too much fun,” Happy mutters. “Boss, you got lipstick on your side. Did you get the drives?”

“Transferred and set to release to every major news outlet tomorrow morning at six a.m.,” Tony says. “Interns are going to curse my name as they’re forced to rewrite articles.”

Pepper smiles.

That night, they have a couple of glasses of wine and Tony orders the good pizza, the kind that costs a little bit too much for what it is, but it’s all worth it in the end.

When Tony takes over the company after about six months of legal battles that would probably have drawn on for well over a decade if not for the fact that Tony is one of the most in-your-face-let’s-talk men she’s ever met, Pepper was kind of expecting things to slow down.

Of course not. That’s not her style nor is it Tony’s, although arguably a vacation or a nice spa day would have been nice beforehand.

“We have shit to do,” Tony says. “Rhodey, you need to help me revamp R&D. Pepper, I need to talk to you in the office.”

They’ve already hired a company to completely redesign the entire building and refocus the company’s outlook, starting with getting rid of the disgusting 1970s carpet and chairs. God, it’s ugly. Pepper cried when she saw the office chairs.

But she’s in Tony’s office, and she’s wondering if this is going to be directly related to workplace relationships or not. She’s already prepared an argument as to why she still wants a relationship and just how much professionalism she can exhibit in the face of hardship.

(That hardship being the fact that Tony looks quite good in suits but also has arms that are made for tank tops.)

“I have a problem with you,” Tony says. “And it’s that I want to make you CEO, but I don’t want people to think that you got it just because we’re dating. So we have an issue to cross.”

Pepper was not expecting this. She was expecting maybe head accountant, or head of the PR team. But CEO? That was something that was...wow. Pepper had had a fifteen year plan for working up from wherever it was that she would be at.

She also didn’t know they were dating.

“We’re dating?”

“Did I read the kiss wrong? Oh shit, was the seven secretly the bad seven?”

“No!” Pepper says. “You just never told me that we were dating, we didn’t have a communicative conversation about it.”

“Oh. Well, would you like to go on dates and things?”

“What’s ‘and things’?”

“You know. Sexy times. But I wanted to be a professional about it. But I am not that professional.”

“No, no you’re not. Which is why you offered me the CEO position and why I am accepting it. But I will also date you...and things.”

“Excellent. Have a dinner tonight while we discuss how to do Microsoft Excel?”

“I already know how to use it.”

“Pepper, you are the only woman for me in this lifetime and the next.”

“And the one after that?”

“I’m assuming you’ll get bored of me and marry someone who’s seven feet tall.”

“Seven feet tall? What, am I going to attend every NBA game for the next husband?”

“Maybe, I don’t know what you’ll do. I’ll probably be halfway into a grave over despair.”

Pepper chuckles, dropping a short kiss onto his temple.

“Well, I hope I don’t have to witness that. You want me to make some salad for tonight then?”

“Yes please! We also need to review the decor and see what chairs to order.”

Pepper nods.

“We need to ask Rhodey, he has opinions about design of those.”

“Of course he does, he hates standing too long. We’ll send him some of our options.”

She waves as she leaves the office.

What Tony misses:

Pepper pumps her fist as she leaves the office, nearly stumbles, and is quite glad that no security cameras were installed that day.

What Pepper misses:

Tony spins so hard in his office chair as a celebration that it topples over.

Yeah, they’re made for each other.

#pepperony #tony stark #pepper potts #love this one #i love writing pepper and i don't do enough of it #i really like it when it's clear that they both love each other #bc with a lot of fics it's like pepper being like 'well i guess :/' or she's cool about it #BUT I WANT PEPPER TO BE A NERD!#rhodey #lovelyirony writes

230 notes · View notes

thefactsofthematter · 4 years

Note

spravey office romance but like... they're not cops and theyre nice to each other

ask and you shall recieve!! (two months after you asked... oops)

here is some good ol spavey, vaguely inspired by the office, where they are in fact nice to each other!!! its like 2.8k, modern au, and fuck it disabled!spot rights he’s in a wheelchair because i said so. here you go anon!!

"David... Davey. My office, now. Get in here."

Davey can't roll his eyes quite hard enough to express just how annoyed he is in this moment. Race shoots him a sympathetic look from across the office.

"Coming, Mr. Wiesel!" He's thankful his desk faces away from his boss's office, so he has time to school his expression into something happier before he turns around. "Can I help you with something?"

Now... Mr. Wiesel isn't the worst boss in the world. He really isn't. But he most certainly isn't the best either, despite what his favourite mug (that he probably bought for himself) might tell you. He's nice enough most of the time, and he seems to try his best... but god is he ever incompetent.

Like right now, he's probably going to task Davey with something that could've been handled by literally anyone else. Davey has actual work to do— he's not sure what Wiesel even does all day in that office of his, because he seems to delegate everything off to his unfortunate employees. He's a regional manager, in charge of sales and finances for the Manhattan branch of a major New York City newspaper, and yet he seems to have the brain of an actual goldfish.

"Secret meeting," Wiesel says, as Davey walks in. "Close the door behind you and sit down."

"It's not exactly a secret, sir," Davey replies, though he does as he's told anyways, settling into a chair once the door is closed. "You yelled across the office to tell me about it."

Also, he's immediately going to disclose every detail of the meeting to Race and Jack as soon as they're done in here, but Wiesel doesn't need to know that.

"Details, shmetails," scoffs Wiesel. "I have an important job for you."

This can't possibly be good.

"I have a lot of other work to do," Davey sighs. He truly does— he's the head of accounting for their office, and they're in the middle of a company audit. "Jack didn't look that busy, I'm sure you could give him something to entertain himself with."

Jack works in sales— which basically just means he has to convince distributors that newspapers totally aren't a dying medium, and they should definitely keep buying their copies to sell. He's remarkably good at selling newspapers, but he's also easily distracted and seems to have far too much time to plan stupid office pranks.

"I don't trust Jack. Salesmen... they're too charming. You never know what they're up to."

Okay, so Wiesel is batshit fucking insane. This is, unfortunately, par for the course that is trying to hold any kind of conversation with him.

"What is it you need me to do, sir?" Davey is beyond exasperated. Why he of all people had to become Wiesel's favourite employee, he'll never understand. "Again, I'm already very busy."

"It won't take long, don't worry." Wiesel smiles wide. "I want you to be our official welcoming committee. We're getting a new employee."

Davey can't physically stop his eyebrows from shooting up, practically to his hairline. What?

"Look, boss, the audit isn't finished yet, but I can tell you that it makes absolutely no financial sense to hire someone new right now." He knows he's talking to a stubborn brick wall, but he continues anyways. "We're barely turning a profit, and some of our numbers don't make any sense. Why do we have two janitors?"

"I wanted to give my nephews a head start in the industry!"

"The... custodian industry?"

"Morris and Oscar are smart boys, they'll make something out of it." Wiesel shakes his head. "Anyways, we're just getting a transfer from the Brooklyn office. He won't even be on our payroll. Corporate is sending him in because they think our office is... unproductive."

It's like it physically pains him to say that last word, though Davey knows it to be true. He wouldn't be surprised if they get downsized in the near future.

"Okay..." Davey sighs. "You just want me to say hi to him, then?"

"More than that, David. Show him around. Give him the good ol' World Welcome."

"Is that a thing? Am I hazing him?"

"Oh my god, yeah—"

"No." Davey cuts him off before that idea can escalate, regretting that he even brought it up. "Okay, I'm going back to work. I'll say hi to him when he gets here."

Rather than go back to his own corner of the office, Davey makes a beeline for Race's desk.

"Did you know we're getting a new guy?"

Race, being the receptionist and all, generally keeps track of anyone who comes and goes from the office. However, he's either hungover or high a good fifty percent of the time, so he's not the most reliable source.

"I think I was probably supposed to know that," Race says, frowning at his computer. "I skip the emails that don't look important. Lemme go check."

"A new guy, huh?" Jack asks, sauntering over from his desk, which is only like ten feet away. "I need to start planning a welcome prank."

"No, you absolutely do not."

Before Jack can go off on some prank-related tangent, Race interrupts.

"Found it! Weasel emailed me this morning. He said: New guy is called Sean Conlon. Transferring in from Brooklyn for a week. I heard a rumour that he doesn't have legs."

The three of them share a moment of confused silence.

"Maybe he'll get along with Crutchie," Jack offers. "You know... since he only has one leg, and this guy has no legs. They could, like, bond."

Davey chokes on a laugh— he definitely feels like he shouldn't be laughing, but he can never help it when Jack says shit like that.

"Okay, I'm glad you got that out now. You know how badly Weasel handles sensitivity training, so let's avoid it if we can."

Their last round of sensitivity training was due to Wiesel's running gag of only speaking to Jack in broken Spanish. Jack is originally from New Mexico, he's Navajo, and he doesn't even speak Spanish. Jack thought it was hilarious (while ridiculously offensive), but it was making the entire office uncomfortable, so someone must have anonymously called it in to corporate.

"You mean we can spend a whole day listening to Weasel tell us he's not racist again? Sounds like a party." Jack laughs. "But yeah, I'm not stupid. I'm not gonna make fun of a guy with no legs."

"We don't even know that he doesn't have legs," Race interjects. "At this point I don't believe anything Weasel says, especially if he's willing to admit it's a rumour. Where did he even hear that?"

Davey shrugs.

"Who knows. Legs or not, we're gonna be nice to the new guy. Weasel made me the designated welcoming committee, so I'm officially adding you two to my team."

"Extra work?" asks Race. "Not happening."

"You've been playing the Sims all morning. You haven't been doing any work," Jack points out. "Can we go on a donut run at lunch and have a staff party for him?"

Davey can do nothing more than sigh. There's no reasoning with Jack when it comes to his obsession with throwing pointless staff parties.

"Sure. Whatever. No balloons, though."

And that's that— they head back to their own desks and wait for the new guy to show up.

The elevator dings about twenty minutes later.

The guy does, in fact, have legs— though he's using a wheelchair, so they must not work very well. That's probably where Wiesel got the rumour from. He's got a grumpy look on his face, like he's not particularly thrilled to be here, and a messenger bag on his lap. Above all, Davey notices, the new guy is really fucking hot.

He makes his way over to Race's desk to check in, and Davey decides to wait a moment before going over to introduce himself, so as to seem like he hasn't been obsessively watching the elevator for his arrival. He needs to compose himself— his tie is feeling a little too tight. Holy shit, that man is so beautiful.

Race, ever the professional, pulls out one AirPod to greet the new guy, and they have a short conversation that Davey can't quite overhear. It ends with Race shouting Davey, come here! because apparently no one in this office knows how to use the paging system built into the phones on everyone's desks.

"You called?" Davey sighs, as he approaches the reception desk. "I don't sit that far away, you really don't need to yell."

"Yelling gets things done," says Race with a shrug. He gestures to the new guy. "This is Sean, he's the assistant manager from the Brooklyn branch. Sean, this is Davey. He's the manager's assistant at our branch."

"I'm not Weasel's assistant," hisses Davey, glaring at Race. "I'm just bad at saying no to him." He turns to Sean and extends a hand to shake. "David Jacobs, head of accounting. Sorry about Anthony— I swear we're not all like this."

Race scoffs.

"Please, I'm hilarious and everyone loves me."

Davey and Sean both pointedly ignore him.

"It's nice to meet you," Sean says, with a handshake so firm that Davey nearly goes weak in the knees. "I'm looking forward to getting to know this location."

God, he's a sucker for a professional. This is either going to be the best or the worst week ever, and Davey has no clue which way it'll go.

He shows Sean to his desk, manages to stop Jack and Crutchie from setting off a party popper behind his head as a welcome prank, and then finally tries to get back to what's he's actually supposed to be doing.

It doesn't last long— he gets a text from Race just a few minutes after sitting down.

Racer: new guy is fiiiiine as hell ain't he Racer: i mean just look at that smoulder while he works

Davey: he's too old for you, don't even think about it.

Racer: heyyy i'm 19 now >:(

Davey: and he's gotta be at least 25 Davey: not happening, kiddo

Racer: look at me

Davey looks up from his phone, only to see Race flipping him off. Okay then.

Race somehow got hired here straight out of high school, while everyone else in the office has at least some college education— making him the baby of the bunch. While hilariously incompetent at his job, he is fun to be around, so Wiesel has kept him on. He's become Davey and Jack's pseudo-little-brother, much to his annoyance.

Anyways... back to the audit. Davey can hardly focus. Sean is sitting right across from him, and he feels like a stupid teenager with a crush on someone in his class because he just can't draw his eyes away. The morning goes smoothly, though, apart from Davey's heart fluttering a little every time he looks at Sean. In fact, it almost feels too good to be true... until Wiesel finally emerges from his office.

"A wheelchair!" is the first thing he shouts, which makes Davey want to smash his head through his computer screen and then throw himself out the window. So much for his hopes of avoiding sensitivity training. "Isn't that neat! You must be our new friend from Brooklyn."

Sean looks almost stunned, which is the most emotion he's shown since he got here.

"Sean Conlon," he says, slowly and confused, definitely offended, but still sticking out a hand to shake. "Um... I take it you're the branch manager. Is the wheelchair going to be a problem?"

"Oh, god no!" Wiesel replies, shaking Sean's hand far too enthusiastically. "We love disabled people here. I mean, hell, David over here is gay!"

Davey very nearly spontaneously combusts with the heat that immediately rises to his cheeks. He ducks his head a little to hide the blush and avoid eye contact with anyone. He's certainly not the only queer in the office, but he's somehow the only one Wiesel has picked up on, and he loves to make stupid comments about it. Davey is simply far too awkward to stand up for himself when it happens.

"That's... not a disability." When Davey looks up, Sean is staring Wiesel down with a look that screams you're getting fired if there's anything I can do about it. "Frankly, that's incredibly rude to both David and myself. Is this the standard of conduct you set for your employees?"

"Woah," Wiesel immediately starts to backpedal. "Calm down Mr. Professional! It's just a joke between friends."

Sean's expression doesn't change.

"Jokes are supposed to be funny."

From a few desks away, Jack and Crutchie burst into silent, muffled laughter, while Davey shoots them a desperate look. What the fuck does he say? The entire office has gone quiet, watching the standoff go down.

"Davey!" Wiesel says, frantically. "You thought it was funny, right?"

Davey swallows nervously.

"Actually, it's really hurtful when you say stuff like that." He's shaking a little— standing up for himself is not something he typically does. "My identity isn't a joke. It's part of who I am."

Wiesel doesn't seem to know what to say, and Davey can do nothing but wait for some kind of response. His face is burning and his palms are sweaty— it's humiliating.

"Period! You tell him, Davey!" Jack shouts, from his desk, which instantly breaks some of the tension. "Get his ass!"

"I think I'll be taking this up with HR," Sean says, once Wiesel has been quiet a little too long. He's so smooth with it that Davey's heart flutters a little. "I'm getting a sense that this is a running issue— I'd like them to have a look into your position here at the company. It was nice to meet you, though."

And then he turns back to his computer to work on whatever he was doing. Holy shit. There's a general rustling of papers and clicking of mouses around the room as everyone follows his lead, and Davey has to bite back a smile. It felt kind of good to stick it to Weasel.

The work day is pretty much over, Davey is packing up, and he really wants to figure out a way to make conversation with Sean.

He's so cool. He's so damn cool, and he's hot, and he's well-spoken and professional... Davey is desperate to at least be his friend. It's a Monday, not typically a night he'd go out for happy hour after work, but he's considering making plans anyways. He is the welcoming committee after all.

He shoots off a group text to Race, Jack and Crutchie, suggesting a little welcoming party at their usual bar down the block, and everyone drops a like on it within moments. Perfect.

"Hey," he leans over the little gap between their desks and can't stop himself from smiling. "A few of us are gonna go for drinks once we clock out, and you're more than welcome to join us."

Sean finally cracks a real smile, and Davey nearly passes out. He's gorgeous.

"Really?" He looks so happy just to be included. "That sounds fun, I'd love to."

"I'm really sorry about earlier."

Davey and Sean sit at a table, while Jack and Race play pool, and Crutchie tries his best to make a move on the bartender that he's been crushing on for ages. It never quite goes his way, but his commitment to the cause is admirable.

"What?" Davey asks. "Why? It was so nice of you to stick up for me!"

"I just feel bad that you got dragged into it," Sean sighs. "I mean, um... I'm gay too. So I kinda know how it feels when people say stuff like that, and sometimes it really is easier to brush it off. I didn't mean for you to get put on the spot like that."

Davey shrugs, trying to play off the way his heart has begun to flutter with the knowledge that he might have a chance— Sean is gay! This is too good to be true.

"It felt good to finally say something," Davey chuckles. "It was about time someone put him in his place. He's old and out-of-touch."

"And an asshole."

Davey laughs, loud and abruptly.

"Yeah, you're right. He's an asshole." He pauses, unable to stop smiling. "I'm gonna go grab another beer, can I buy you one?"

Sean, once again, looks surprised that Davey is being so nice to him, and his face breaks into that incredible grin from before.

"Sure, yeah! That'd be nice! Thank you so much."

And if the evening ends with a folded up napkin with a messily scribbled phone number and a note about the stupid nickname all my friends usually call me being casually slipped into Davey's back pocket... well, that's no one's business but Davey and Spot's.

#spavey #davey jacobs #spot conlon #racetrack higgins #jack kelly #newsies #newsies fic #my writing #my tag list hasn’t been updated in a very long time so i’m gonna scrap it and make a new one if there’s interest #let me know if you wanna be tagged in the future

71 notes · View notes

torn--and--frayed · 3 years

Text

Committee Amendments

“She’s a United States Senator, Josh, not a kindergartner.”

“After ten years in this town, you should know that’s a distinction without a difference.”

“I just want to say,” Josh says as he pushes open the door to Donna’s office, “I deserve some kind of a prize.”

“Josh.”

“I’m serious,” he continues, making his way to stand in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, “this must be a new record for me. Out of here by,” he pauses to check his watch, “seven o’clock.”

“7:13 but okay.”

He exhales dramatically, “This must be what it feels like to have a normal job.”

“Hardly. But Josh—"

“C’mon let’s go,” he hikes up his bag and beckons her towards the door. “I want to see what it feels like to leave this building while it’s still light out.”

“Josh.”

“What?” Josh turns to look at the desk where Donna is hunched at her computer screen and deflates instantly. “You’re still working.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Donna groans and buries her head in her hands, “Senator Stevens won’t take the amendments.”

“To 804?”

“Yes,” she mumbles, still hidden behind her palms.

“Isn’t that—”

“The First Lady’s first piece of legislation?” she questions, her head jerking up from behind her hands, “The legislation I have been frantically trying to keep from getting killed in Appropriations? Yes.”

“Well, what are the amendments?”

“We’re moving the program to a different chapter of the code," she grits, turning to glance at her computer screen. “And I’ve got the Education Committee consultants breathing down my neck telling me if we don’t take the amendments, the bill is dead. And I’m fine with the amendments, her Legislative Director is fine with the amendments, her Chief of Staff is fine with the amendments. So, I don’t understand why she just can’t be fine with the amendments!” she finishes harshly.

Donna lets her frustration stew for a moment, until she’s distracted by the sound of Josh clearing his throat, “What?”

“Nothing.” Josh shakes his head, trying, and failing, to hide his smirk.

“Seriously,” Donna eyes him critically, “why are you looking at me like that?”

“Nothing!” he laughs. “It’s just—I’m taking a mental picture of this moment.”

“A mental picture?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“To commemorate your first time getting jerked around by the U.S. Senate. It’s a rite of passage.”

“This isn’t funny.”

Josh tries to school his features, “Do you see me laughing?”

Donna groans again, this time sinking dejectedly into her office chair. “I hate Congress.”

“That’s the spirit,” Josh says brightly as he walks around her desk to stand behind her chair. “Just wait until someone double crosses you on a vote count.”

Donna stares up at him from her chair, “You know, I actually have whipped votes before, right? On account of the fact that I previously worked for you?”

“Ah,” Josh nods and begins to knead at the knots in Donna’s shoulders, “Yeah, but it’s different this time because you’re the boss.” He presses his lips to the crown of her head, “Am I wrong?”

“No,” she sighs.

“Now,” Josh pauses and rests his chin against the crook of her neck, “not that you asked, but can I offer you my professional opinion?”

“As long as it doesn’t involve a dead fish…”

“Don’t knock it until you try it,” he mumbles against her neck. “No, if I were you I would…”

“You would?” Donna prompts.

“Call her,” Josh shrugs.

“Call her?” Donna jerks away from him, the indignation evident in her voice. “That’s your advice? I’ve been on the phone with her five separate times today, Josh.”

“Hey!” Josh raises his hands in self-defense, “I’m telling you, as someone who has made a career out of wrangling members of Congress, all you need to do is call her.”

“I think you’re beginning to lose your edge.”

“Tell me,” Josh argues as he drops his bag and swings around her desk to sit in one of the visitor chairs, “on those five calls, how many times did her staff take the lead?”

“All of them.”

“Exactly,” he says leaning back in his chair triumphantly.

“Exactly, what?”

“She feels left out. It’s all moving fast, and she doesn’t understand her own bill. I’m telling you, that’s the problem.”

“She’s a United States Senator, Josh, not a kindergartner.”

If Josh was smug before, he was absolutely relishing it now. “After ten years in this town, you should know that’s a distinction without a difference.”

“She feels left out. Really?”

“Really,” he smiles, “Now, as your mentor, here’s what you’re going to do.” He points at the phone on her desk, “You’re going to get on the phone, no aides, no consultants, and you’re going to go through each finding, each section, each paragraph—”

“The bill is like a hundred pages long!”

“Each subparagraph,” Josh holds up his hand to stop her protests, “until she can’t possibly have any questions.”

“Fine,” she says, her frustration dissipating. She takes the phone from its receiver and instructs her assistant to connect her to the Hill. “This could take a while,” she sighs, “Meet you at home?”

“Nah,” Josh exhales, slapping his hands against his thighs while he stands, I’ll wait in my office. I’ve got some emails to send anyway.”

“You’ll miss the sunset, or whatever it is you were going on about.”

He brushes her off, picking up his backpack, “We’ll try again tomorrow. Come find me when you’re done?”

“Always,” she smiles as she watches him walk towards the door, “And Josh?” she calls, “Thanks.”

“Anytime. Now go get your amendments.”

#tww fic #josh x donna #my fic #I am so sick of the legislature I could vomit #tww #trying a different posting format with this one #I feel like my first couple fics performed really well for some unknown reason #I’ve reread them they are awful #and now I’m just working to recapture that glory

14 notes · View notes

kaepop-trash · 4 years

Text

AS: Agency

Rated: M for Smut, Angst.

Pairing: Jaehyun x Reader x Doyoung

Summary: The story of secrets, deceit and greed. Three characters with unlikely alliances and one common goal; power. Jaehyun is stuck between his own thirst for power and his need for the one thing that could take away everything. Yuta has ambition growing from an unlikely alliance and convinces himself to do anything to protect it. Between both of them is her, ambitious but with one weakness, she does all it takes for Jaehyun, even if it’s putting herself aside. But how long can she hold up her own fragile games?

(A/N): I’m very proud of this chapter, it really synthesizes two of my life’s greatest loves: politics and writing. This chapter also encapsulates my journey as a writer so far. I really want to thank people who stick by my blog so I’m motivated to better myself everyday and I want to thank all of you because I’ve grown as a writer thanks in part to you. I sincerely hope to get better and better. Also this is long lol, but most of you have nothing pressing I know it.

January, 2021

The insistent tapping of her heels on the marble floors echoed off the marble walls as she walked down the artificially lit up halls of the Senate office building. People standing around made way as she strutted down the floor with her eyes straight ahead and an envelope purchased between her thumb and index finger, eyes full of purpose and even more anger. When a familiar golden plaque came into view, she changed her direction right into the room she was in search of.

"Can I help you?" A young woman sitting at a desk in front of the office stood up anxiously.

"He's expecting me." The words left her lips thoughtlessly, as she opened the door into the office.

Her eyes met the feline ones of Kim Doyoung, while she was aware of the second surprised eyes on her. "We need to talk." Her voice was suppressing her anger and he gave her a look over of scrutiny before nodding.

"I'm not dealing with this." The third presence in the room spoke up with a defeated huff, she turned to the man who was looking at Kim Doyoung with an annoyed expression.

"Get out." Kim Doyoung spoke with his eyes still on (Y/N) thoughtfully. Her eyes went wide and she was about to voice her offense when he turned to the other person in the room.

"You, get out." He spoke to the guy authoritatively, earning a huff in response.

"Rude." The man responded, yet turned around to walk to the door where (Y/N) was still standing.

"I'm Lee Donghyuck, his Chief of Staff." He pointed at the chair Kim Doyoung was sitting in, before giving her a charming smile, "And you are?" He asked.

"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)." She informed him, choosing to eye his extended hand instead of taking it. He pulled his hand away from in front of her with a smirk that hid his embarrassment adeptly, putting the hand down by his side.

"The lawyer." He said with knowing nod, and with a sense of dread, she raised a questioning brow at his familiarity, what could he know about her? He gave her a smile that was pursed and unwelcoming, his eyes intelligent and calculating, before turning back to his boss, "I'm not dealing with this. I already have five thousand things on my plate." He almost pleaded, “Not another one of these.” He pointed at her like she was an inconvenience.

"Get out." Kim Doyoung spoke through gritted teeth. Lee Donghyuck huffed again, before leaving the room without another word. He closed the door behind him and (Y/N) moved further into the room.

"I'm sorry for my Chief of Staff, what he lacks in manners he makes up for in savvy." He explained, amused when he earned an incredulous look from her.

"I don't care." She walked up to his desk.

"I suppose not." He mumbled, almost to himself.

“You subpoenaed me!” She spoke over him, placing the envelope in her hand harshly on the desk. He winced watching her palm, wondering how much it would sting. He turned up to her with a shrug.

"I did not." He sat up on his seat, looking up to her with a small smile and no presence of guilt, "The Chairman did. He felt that the Democrats are weaponizing you. It was only justified that we pull up our defenses." He spoke the lines like they were rehearsed, sighing dismissively, "Between you and me, I stood against it. But the party is still old and therefore paranoid by disposition." He explained, raising his arm to gesture the chair across his desk effortlessly.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" She sat down without realising she obeyed his gesture, "That you stood in a room and said 'this person who is already speaking at the committee shouldn't be criminally served’, something that sounds like common sense to me. And your excuse is that the party is full of older men who enjoy ruining careers for sport, like that's not a problem?" She sat back, bewildered by the situation. Doyoung chewed on the inside of his cheeks as he tried to think of something to say. “For the record, I’m not being weaponized. The only person from the Senate who tried to have a say in this situation has been you— almost incessantly. This is an utter outrage and an attack on me personally to deter me. I have been insulted by your colleagues.”

"It’s a subpoena for a deposition, there isn’t an ounce of criminality involved.” His index finger stroked his chin thoughtfully, she must have been aware of that already.

“Do you think I’m blind to how this looks? I stood in court and debated the legality of abortions and now I’ve been served by the Senate? I already know the case won’t pass the supreme court with its current political bias, this is just a redundant blow to the cause, the knife you stabbed me with didn’t need to be rusted. It’s dirty and you know it!” There was an underlying desperation in her anger that Doyoung was sure had not been there before. There was a drawn-out silence after that moment, (Y/N) breathing was uneven and he sat back to let her pull in her own overwhelmed state. Doyoung took this silence to evaluate the situation.

“It’s also a kind of punishment.” He kept his careful scrutiny up, “For trying to influence a Senate vote.” His voice was graver. There was a sudden surprise in (Y/N)’s eyes, one that came with a momentary realisation of fear.

In life, Kim Doyoung had learned that it was much easier to fix conflicts if one knew the motivations of the person across the aisle from them. But motivations were exactly what was giving him a hard time with Miss (Y/L/N). He watched as her expression disappeared into it’s usual apathy; she spoke only a second after this shift.

“You seem very bothered by this entire procedure. Is this in any way personal for you?” Doyoung dared to ask the question that was on his mind ever since he learned of a set of cases all being pushed through different district courts by just one, apparently, competent lawyer. The look of further offense he earned made him internally sigh.

“Why? How is it that we’ve come to this place as people? Where we are capable of ignoring grave flaws in society because we are somehow not personally inconvenienced by it? Of course it’s personal Mr. Kim.” She sat up straighter on her chair, turning her posture to him in its entirety, “Knowing that I live in a time where grave injustice is being handed out by our lawmakers and courts and having even the smallest bit of the capacity to do something about it makes this a very personal issue for me. I don’t see why it’s not for you.” She tilted her head to the side, eyes mocking in its curiosity for a hypothetical question.

Doyoung’s jaw turned rigid at the sudden attack. He toyed with the corner of the envelope she placed on his table absentmindedly, “You and Jaehyun are very similar. When I first heard that Jung Jaehyun had a childhood friend, the idea was ludicrous to me. But the more I hear you, I get it.” There was a slip in his attention as Doyoung thought over that carefully, narrowing his gaze. The way her jaw flexed as she looked away from him at Jaehyun’s mention didn’t go beyond him either. There was a ghost of a smirk forcing its way up his cheek muscles: the motivation was all he needed, “I’m just curious about who influenced who.” His eyes sparked thoughtfully, an open smirk now adorning his face.

“What this has to do with the subpoena is lost on me.” She deflected the statement, her voice defensive. There was now a victorious smile that crept up Doyoung’s lips.

“It’s a subpoena for a legislative hearing, it’s virtually harmless. In fact, I’m almost certain that it’s always a badge of honour to be subpoenaed by the other party anyway. You’ll be fine Ms. (Y/L/N).” He toyed with the envelope, his eyes on her fidgeting fingers held up beside her face as she gave him her own scrutinous glance over— he gave her a small smile, amused when she looked away from it dismissively.

“Except I don’t work for either party, do I now Mr. Kim? I don’t even work in DC, where a subpoena for a legislative hearing means something different from an investigative or oversight hearing, do I?” There was a loaded subtext of sarcasm that was increasingly becoming more forthright in her tone and Doyoung enjoyed the abandonment of formalities from her side.

“Honestly (Y/N) that sounds like a problem that must be solved by you, not me. Seems to me like you already know the solution to your current pressing problems.” He got up from his chair, handing her the envelope back, “Also, next time you want to barge in without an appointment, try scheduling it for lunch. There might be leadership in this room and you don’t want to start off on the wrong foot, do you?" He gave her a knowing smile. "My assistant will show you out, I won’t question how you got into the building without pre-approval as a courtesy to whoever you asked.” He pointed at the door with his hand as he picked up the receiver to inform his assistant.

“I have a meeting.” She offered her excuse as the last thing she said to him, before turning away to leave before the assistant came to escort her out.

“I’ll take that you didn’t say farewell, not because you're cross, but because you intend on walking up to me sometime soon with further grievances?” There was a delay before he spoke, just as she crossed the threshold of his office.

“I wouldn’t hold my breath, Mr. Kim.” Her final reply left a lasting grin on his face.

When (Y/N) walked into Jaehyun’s office, she knew what the amused grin on his face was about.

“I don’t want to hear it.” Was her annoyed reply, earning a small victorious chuckle from him as he went back to the papers on his desk. "I didn't take that awfully claustrophobic subway ride to the other side of the street just to watch you gloat." She frowned. This time Jaehyun laughed. The loud, boisterous sound rang in her ears, she couldn't recall when she'd heard it last. Then she chastised herself for being distracted by the wrong things

"The subway takes some getting used to, I agree." He chuckled with a nod. His dimples poked into his cheeks and she found herself looking at them. When his lips turned flat and they disappeared, she looked away quickly. “I told you didn’t I, you weren’t getting anywhere with bribing anything Doyoung touches. You also trusted Jungkook to pull it off. When discretion is key.” He scoffed, looking up at her with pursed lips and a knowing look in his eyes, “You’re lucky he only slapped a subpoena on you and didn’t use it in the actual hearing.” His voice was heavy with warning. She was suddenly terrified and Jaehyun could see it.

“If he says anything during the deposition, this will be over.” Her voice came out small, Jaehyun hummed as he watched her. She sat down opposite him slowly, deep in thought. Jaehyun watched her as she swallowed a lump in her throat, her eyes shifted lower the way it did when she thought over something, her pupils moved to and fro rapidly as she thought. Jaehyun knew Doyoung wouldn’t do that, but he decided to keep that to himself, knowing well that (Y/N) was at her best when she thought she was being cornered. Jaehyun waited for her to speak, watching her with keen appreciation. "There is a way you can push back." She slowly looking up to lock her gaze with him.

"Me?" He raised a brow, a slow smile creeping up his lips.

"I was going to file another case after they strike the one I filed in December down, but it doesn't matter. Right now, time is key." She got up from the seat and walked across the desk to his computer, typing something into the search engine before bringing up a file, ignoring her proximity to Jaehyun and the memory of the last time she was on this side of the desk. She heard his rough exhale and knew he was thinking the same thing.

"This is an academic paper on the uses of two drugs, mifepristone and misoprostol and their use in self-managed abortions.”

"And what will I do with this?" He asked skeptically.

"There are two drug companies, one of them a client at my firm, who are ready to push for research and capital in this area. That means lobbies. Give Kim Doyoung the time he asked for, you can use that time to put this into your bill and push it."

"And why does it have to be through big pharma?" There was a tinge of anger in his voice that came from his liberal superiority.

"Because it would ensure that women can have safe and far more accessible abortions in this country Jaehyun, get off your high horse.” She bit her tongue at the condescending tone and went back to the other side of the desk, suppressing her frown and tried to change her tone from hostile to amiable. “Obviously the drugs won't be available in all pharmacies, but it can put in a few with the right provisions and if you read the article," She pointed her finger at the computer to emphasize, "You will see that it is absolutely safe to self administer. I've been talking to women's rights groups here in the city and safe abortion groups in some countries in South America and they all say that it's successful in the field and there are no studies that suggest any misuse.” There was a small sigh from her and just like that, Jaehyun could see the tired woman underneath all the ambition, a woman who hated to lose.

“I can’t just push a drug for a use beyond its intended purpose, it could–” He tried to mitigate her frustrations, she interrupted him.

“It’s FDA approved for the purpose of abortions, in 2016; works 95% of the time, doesn’t have any side-effects beyond the usual. There’s even a REMS to limit its sale. It’s almost too good to be true. But it’s real, it works and it can greatly improve the condition of women’s reproductive health in this country.” He calculated in his head the implication of this, more importantly how he would put this on the floor; she seemed to read his mind.

“Tell the Speaker. I want to watch the first woman Speaker of the House refuse this.” There was a glint in her eyes at that moment— one that he was sure mirrored his. They both hated to lose.

“Maybe we should make you run for office next.” There was an unsaid scoff in his words.

“Why? So I can sit on the Hill and look for reasons to not do something?” She raised a brow, earning a well deserved frown from Jaehyun. After a moment he cracked a smile.

“Touché.” He shrugged. They sunk into another silence, ubiquitous at this point. Jaehyun tapped his index finger on his table rhythmically as he considered the proposal, and he had to admit that it was a good one. When he looked up, the scrutiny in her eyes made him sigh, “Let me get a staffer on this, we need to gauge what the reaction for this could be.” He went over the details in his head.

“Elena Klien covers the House for the New York Times right?” She framed it like a hypothetical, Jaehyun nodded curiously, “Back when she was at Huffington Post, she did an extensive field piece on this. You should talk to her, she could help you draft a favourable press release.” She tapped her own nails on his table.

So far, (Y/N) hadn’t looked at any part of his office other than Jaehyun’s face— he guessed it was to avoid thinking about the last time she was here.

“I’ll call the press pit ahead, go talk to her.” His voice sounded adamant as he picked up his phone, looking away from her to talk to someone on the phone to give instructions.

“Why will I do it?” She asked with furrowed brows once he put the phone back in its receiver.

“Because it’s your idea, and I think you should write the press release,” He hesitated for a moment, “And also a draft speech for the floor.” There was a silent request in his voice.

“Why?” She repeated herself, making Jaehyun groan.

“Because you convinced me (Y/N)! And I want you to convince the country, it’s time we put your skills of persuasion into use don’t you think? Your petition will be struck down in court, it's only a matter of time; so focus on this. You’ll get your win if we play this right.” He sat back in his seat.

“By right you mean if we do this your way?” She countered.

“This is your idea.” He snapped uncharacteristically, biting down on his lip when she jumped back with a gasp, “I don’t know what you want from me (Y/N), we’re working on something that you wanted.” He softened his voice but didn’t lose its admonishment, “The whole country is about to be torn into an ideological battle because you came to me and I did everything I could. This will be good for you too in the long run, the public moves on with the news cycle but people in this city remember tenacity and talent. Don’t misguide your anger, you should be more self-aware than that.” His voice was stern. When she avoided his gaze, he tried to coax her, gentler this time, “I can’t go talk to a reporter about this, not yet, you know that. Why are you being obstinate?” He pushed disappointment to the foreground of his voice. She looked at him for a moment, with heavy eyes.

“Fine.” Her reply was curt but Jaehyun was pleased nonetheless.

“And what about Doyoung?” He asked cautiously.

“You keep calling him that. Like you know each other.” She interrupted his inquiry. Jaehyun straightened his back and cleared his throat, making her raise a brow at the gesture.

“We’re colleagues, close in age with exactly one place across the street to go to after work.” He pointed in a general direction.

“So you’re friends?” She asked with a sense of disbelief.

“Acquaintances.” He corrected.

“But he’s a Republican?” She asked, making Jaehyun furrow his brows.

“Are they not to be acquainted with?” He pointed out the flaw in her reasoning, she sat back with a shrug, having nothing more to add.

“He’s not a bad guy at all, just on the opposite side.” He seemed to remind her, she hummed distractedly, “What will you do about him?” He framed his question like an afterthought. She paused to think over it before shrugging.

“I’ll handle it.” She waved her hand at him dismissively.

It was almost an hour after sundown when (Y/N) had finally finished another long day. After talking to Elena Klein, she spent the rest of the day talking to a group of staffers who were assigned to draft the bill. At the moment she sat at the study table in her hotel room— the ones that were more cosmetic than they were resourceful— trying to go through an old district court case.

At first when her phone rang on her bed, she wanted to ignore it. By the time it rang twice, she got up with a dramatic huff that only she could witness in the solitary room. The number was unknown, but a local number— which is what prompted her to answer it.

“Do you know how many strings I had to pull to acquire this number, (Y/N)?” A familiar silvery yet tight voice spoke up from the other line, he kept using her first name suddenly.

“What have I done to merit such effort?” She asked with a soft voice, on the other end Doyoung scoffed.

“A reporter came by today, saying that an anonymous source claimed that the biggest threat to individual liberty currently, are Republican Senators from the Eastern Seaboard who come from elite families and think they’re superior enough from the mass to make decisions about their body. That’s in verbatim, apparently.” There didn’t seem to be any accusation in his voice, “I have to give you credit for revealing me so specifically without even saying my name, saved you a defamation suit?.” His tone was reserved but coy, she could hear the smile that edged in his tone. (Y/N) sat down at the edge of her bed, inspecting her fingers with a coy smile of her own.

“I’m a lawyer, words are my bread and butter.” She spoke with indifference.

“Then I suppose you wouldn’t be in need of the questions you’ll be asked tomorrow?” He spoke with cadence.

“You would give me the questions?” She filled her voice with skepticism and not hope.

“Consider it an olive branch, for having to subpoena you.” His voice was still airy, uncommitted. She ignored his emphasis on his unwillingness of the act.

“And what do I have to extend in exchange?” She questioned, almost surprised by a longer silence than she anticipated, a grin forming on her lips.

“Nothing.”

“I don’t believe that.” Her voice dropped to a serious tone, and her lips dropped to a frown.

“Then I suppose I’ll see you at the hearing tomorrow.” He sighed as if to emphasise the finality, yet didn’t hurry to end the conversation. She wanted to drag the silence to call his bluff, but she didn’t have the time or the upper hand.

“Wait.” She finally released her lower lip from between her teeth.

“Come to my place, I’m sending you the address.” He said before promptly hanging up. She sat on the bed with her eyes fixed on the clock on the wall— midnight; her back slowly sank down as she relaxed her muscles, trying to ignore her tired eyes.

The rain had caused a bit of traffic as she traveled across the city and once again she was faced with the realisation that absolutely no one in this small town ever slept. The taxi came to a pause in front of a tall building with warm light coming through the glass doors and illuminating the curb in the way that felt inviting. She opened the door of the car and braced herself for the sprint she would have to undertake.

“Have a nice night.” The driver nodded at her through the rear-view mirror. She wanted to laugh at the irony, but only broke into a small smile.

“Thanks, you too.” She took a deep breath and emerged into the frigid January rain.

The sudden hit of the warm air inside the lobby provided momentary relief once she entered, but soon enough the drops that landed on her head and trickled down her back made her pull her jacket closer. She approached the security at the desk in the corner of the large lobby, knowing well enough that she wouldn’t reach the elevator without a call in.

“I’m here to see Mr. Kim, could you please let him know?” She tapped on the marble top of the desk that was the same stone as the floor and walls. As she looked around she didn’t hear the sound of a call being made, making her turn to the guard who was eyeing her up suspiciously. When his gaze came back to her face, her expression said loud and clearly: ‘well?’ He coughed and picked up the phone.

“There is a new wom– of course, Sir.” He put the phone back on the receiver, raising his hand to point at the direction of what she assumed was the elevator.

“Thirty-fifth floor.” He informed her and she nodded like she didn’t know.

“Thank you.” She said without a smile and made her way.

As the elevator came to a halt with a ding it occurred to her that the security called her new, implying that there was, or were, older. Earlier in the day, Doyoung’s chief of staff also mentioned situations that needed to be dealt with. She let out a short laugh as she realised what it could be. Maybe the church boy had rendezvous he couldn’t confess about to his preacher. She supposed he was human first and a Christian conservative second, shifting the idea to the back of her mind with the amused smile on her face as the elevator dinged again to signal his floor.

“Is there any reason you couldn’t do this somewhere else?” That was the second thing Doyoung heard after a knock on the door, and the first thing after he saw when opened it was an unlikely sight of a rather frustrated frown and damp hair, he decided that between answering the pointless question and pointed out her state, the former was a better bet.

“Would you prefer I commit witness tampering in Public? Maybe my office?” He spoke as he swung the door open and walked into his apartment, letting her make her way in.

“I didn’t realise this was a federal crime.” She mumbled unfocused, a little skittish in the foreign space even if her voice didn’t waver. She took slow hesitant steps into the apartment. As if sensing it, Doyoung turned around— raising an eye at her.

“Are you coming? I’d like if we could move this along so we can both get some sleep before tomorrow.” He informed her assertively and she nodded quickly without making eye contact. She followed his footsteps till he went inside a room; hesitating again before shaking it off and entering what turned out to be an office, she let go of the breath she was holding, watching as he sat down at a desk in the corner of the room, against the window. She watched him read from a paper with his gaze squinted and lips pursed, using the other hand to ruffle his wet hair from what she assumed was a shower, at least they had that in common in the moment— wet hair; even if that hardly made up for her being dropped in an unfamiliar territory that was his comfort zone. The glasses that sat perched on his nose were rather bulky but they somehow worked for his slim face.

“Like what you see?” He asked without looking up, interrupting her thoughts.

“Yes, the view from your window is nice.” She kept her voice neutral despite her stomach dropping from being caught by him staring. The hint of a smile played on his lips that he tried to hold back, looking up and gesturing to the chair opposite his.

“Sit down, I don’t bite. Neither do these papers.” He spoke with an inflection and a spark in his eyes she chose to ignore. Suddenly she felt a strange air around Kim Doyoung, one that was less serious.

“I’m not sure that’s true.” She mumbled as she made her way to the table, if he wondered which part of his statement she was referring to, he didn’t point it out.

“While I’ve been tasked with asking the questions, I didn’t draft most of them. The ones that I have written are yours,” He raised a few papers in his towards her and she couldn’t help the look she gave them, “This is my way of saying that I’m not blindly partisan. I want to help you.” He pushed the papers further and she turned up to look at him.

“Why?” She asked, her hands still purchased close to her in her lap. There was a squint from Kim Doyoung that she didn’t miss, and a faint hesitation.

“I believe you’re right in your place, as I am in mine. Progress happens through healthy debate, not cheap tricks. You shouldn’t have tried bribing people, but the committee insists on hanging you from your ankles.” There was a ghost of lewd smirk that inched at his lips at the image, her stomach dropped again at the sight. “They think it’ll deter you but I have a feeling that’s not going to work. I prefer when intelligent and determined people are my allies.” His hand was still raised with the papers. She looked at his face longer, like somehow it would give away an ulterior motive. She raised her hand and took the paper for him, putting it on her lap and turning down to it, mostly to avoid his scrutiny.

She read through the questions that were his, printed on the paper. She also took note of the stray questions written by hand in empty spaces on the paper, with a few corresponding congressmen’s names attached to it— he scribbled down a few questions that were not his, but they would be one’s she would receive, the effort he put surprised her. She put the stapled set back on the table after she finished, she watched his eyes scan the screen of his computer, his elbow was propped on the table and rested under his chin, his index finger on his cheek. She coughed, her gesture mostly soft out of respect. He turned from the screen, his finger pressing on his lower lip now, and faced her.

“That works for you?” He pointed at the paper on the desk, “You understand I can’t seem sympathetic, that hurts you more than me.” He said thoughtfully.

“Yes I understand the politics of partisanship.” She said with slight annoyance, he smirked.

“Forgive me, you just keep giving me the impression that this mudpit isn’t your area of expertise.” He pushed with his tone.

“Just because I don’t enjoy it, doesn’t mean I don’t understand it.” She shrugged, he grinned a little wider, nodding.

She suddenly felt more out of her element, and almost a little exposed like he had caught her stealing a sweet and she was a child with a cavity. She decided she wanted to turn the table, even if it was brief.

“I was doing some reading on you.” She relaxed a little into the chair. Doyoung looked up in time to catch a glimpse of her biting a smile down.

“Should I be flattered?” He said as he organised the papers on his desk and placed them to the side, propping his elbows on the desk and placing his chin on top of his interlaced fingers, giving her his attention.

“Not if I was you.” She looked away like she was trying hard not to laugh. Doyoung tilted his head and narrowed his eyes— an otherwise intimidating glance that didn’t seem to hit the mark in the moment. She picked up her phone and scrolled through, till her eyes lit up with a fresh surge of amusement as she spoke with a voice on the edge of laughter, “The Times calls you the ‘Church Boy of the Senate’, HuffPo has an article headlined ‘Meet the moderate of the Christian Wing’,” She allowed a small giggle to slip past her lips, “Quite the flattery.” When she looked up at him, he was staring at her with no expression on his face, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean any offense, I just didn’t realise you were a virgin.” She bit down on her lip immediately, still tilted up at the edges but she did wish she could take the last part back. When Doyoung raised an eyebrow at her, she felt her smile fade a little hopefully. His eyes slipped to her lips.

“You think that just because my brother works for the church, I’m a saint?” His voice dropped to a low hoarse and it somehow made her nervous.

“I guess that’s a fair point. It’s always the ones you least expect.” She decided to drop the topic, not wanting to take it beyond that. She did feel a fleeting sense of satisfaction at dropping her observations on him, but he didn’t seem deterred.

“Would you like to know?” His voice was still smooth but it dropped lower.

“Know what?” She decided to play dumb, her gaze dropping to the floor. Her mouth felt dry and she could not decide if it was his sudden change in tone or the subsequent change in energy between them that made her palm cold with moisture, she rubbed her hands together reflexively and studied her red nail paint as it reflected the light on the ceiling.

He stood up from his chair, his looming figure obstructing the reflection of the light on her nails, and walked around to her. Without saying anything, he knelt on the floor beside her and watched her with an intensity that she caught even through the periphery of her vision. A few moments passed like that and a childish, stubborn part of her believed that if she just didn’t acknowledge it for long enough, this situation would go away.

After a few moments though, her discomfort stemmed it’s own curiosity and she found her voice speaking up, “Doyoung.” Her voice came out an afflicted quiver.

“Hmm?” His hum was gentle and intimate and it made the hair on her arm stand straight in attention. He put a hand on the arm rest of her chair, and while the heat radiating off it seemed to burn a hole in her arm, he made no move to touch her.

“What are you doing?” A smaller whisper this time.

“I want to kiss you.” His voice was soft, her stomach dropped, “Can I?” He tilted her head to see her face. When he was met with silence, he didn’t press; only waited. Her mind meanwhile worked a mile a minute: she wondered if he’d take her silence as confirmation or rejection and which of those she wanted she couldn’t decide. When she heard his legs shift her hand reached out to grab his sleeve. Only when she turned to face him did she realise that he had merely shifted his weight from one knee to kneeling on both, willing to wait longer, but the move was made. When she looked up at his eyes they were curious and perceptive and they watched her like her answer could make or break the world around them, in the background the rain still tapped against the window but gentler in its assault; she felt herself nodding at him slowly. His eyes went a little wide and she distantly realised with victory that she had finally managed to catch him off guard. The victory was short-lived when he spun the chair abruptly, making her sit back with a yelp. There was a soft chuckle from the depth of his throat as he stood and leaned in, slowly. She wanted to tell him to be quicker about it so she didn’t have time to regret it, somehow she knew he was stretching the moment to revel in the fact that she wasn’t going to.

Even before his lips touched hers, she was surrounded by his presence— his unfamiliar smell was interesting, a mix of citrus and warm spices. She didn’t realise she leaned into it till there was a glint of victory in his eyes, and before she could do anything about it, his lips were inches away from hers, still hovering. Instinctually she licked her lips, which were rather dry and edging on coarse much to her quickly fading disappointment.

His eyes flickered down to the movement, “That’s cheating.” He groaned out softly, his palm finding the back of her neck, and pulling her closer, finally connecting their lips. She let out a soft sigh and earned a second soft groan from him. She took the opportunity to explore his mouth before he slipped his tongue into her mouth, a silent declaration that if he believed this was going to be a one man show, he wasn’t paying attention. He tilted his head and almost eagerly allowed her access, as if challenging her to try her best. She laced her fingers through the hair on the back of his head, long enough to get a good grip— now both of them were pushing the other closer. Surprisingly their bodies were still apart and in the moment that she decided she would later dismiss as a lapse of judgement, she decided that was a problem. Words were not her way though, she wasn’t a whiney harlot. Instead she yanked his head back, purchasing her teeth in the flesh on his collar, nibbling softly as she inhaled the dichotomy of whatever fragrance was on him. Clearly he wasn’t here to lose either, after he let her have her way on his now assaulted patch of skin, he was quick to pull away.

“If I take you to my bed right now will you wake up detesting me?” His gaze was surprisingly intense. She didn’t know how to answer him and her brain was too fogged for her to make something up.

“I’m not sure.” She breathed out honestly, her chest rising and falling rapidly under his piercing gaze.

“Will you come anyway?” He was a sneaky one, she realised: his eyes wide and hopeful one second and narrow and intentional the next.

“Only if you get to the fucking point, Doyoung. I thought you wanted to sleep too.” She snapped, an attempt at dissipating the sudden intensity . He took it in stride, laughing and grabbing her protruding lower lip between his teeth, making her gasp. When he pushed back again, her breathing was far worse and his eyes were playful, wrinkled in the corners.

“I’ll make an exception this time.” He finally stood up, looking down at her patiently.

“I bet you say that to all the women who sit in this chair.” She scoffed, her own eyes teasing, “Saint Kim.” She grinned at her own joke.

“Don’t make me sound like a whore.” He gave her a well-meaning frown, groaning at her words and it made her laugh out loud. Yet again Doyoung’s eyes turned intense, grabbing her hand and leading her way.

“So virgin it is.” She teased again.

He turned around to her partially, “I’m going to make you regret saying that.” His warning licked at her lower abdomen, suddenly she felt unsolicited butterflies in her stomach. He turned back around and cranked open a door. The inside was dark but he had the advantage of knowing the room. He closed the door before her eyes could adjust.

“Is that a promise?” She tested his limits, the mixture of excitement and uncertainty making her head spin a little.

As a reward he swung her, she felt a moment of panic before landing on a soft mattress. She propped herself on her elbows as she blinked to adjust to the darkness.

“I’m an honourable man Miss (Y/L/N).” The way he said her last name felt like sin and she wasn’t sure she could ever hear her family name leave his lips ever again without thinking about this very moment. The mattress dipped and there was a knee between her legs, so close to her heat that it throbbed to the rhythm of her heart. She had her eyes screwed shut and she didn’t realise it till his lips were tracing feather light touches against her ears and her eyes shot open, he then kissed down her neck and up her throat. When he kissed her again, there was no hesitation and he didn’t give her any time to take the lead. His knee rubbed against her core and she moaned into his mouth, tilting her head up which he thoughtfully propped his arm behind.

“Tell me Miss (Y/L/N), what do you want me to do to you tonight?” He mumbled against her clavicle. She bit her bottom lip and tightened her hold on his hair. He clicked his tongue in disapproval, lifting his face back to hers. Their eyes met— her eyes had finally adjusted to the dark room.

There was a teasing smirk playing at the very edge of his lips. Her eyes watched him, lost and pleading. He dipped his lips closer to hers, kissing the corners of her lips, “As much as I enjoy kissing these lips of yours,” He dropped another peck to the corner, as if for emphasis, a frightfully intimate gesture. “I have to admit I thoroughly enjoy them more when you use your voice.” He pushed back further, pushing his knee further between her legs and watching her face as she moaned, eyes fluttering shut. “Come on (Y/N).” His voice came out closer to a whine and her eyes fluttered open, “I don’t bite. Unless you ask me to.” He raised his brow at her with a more playful smirk. She bit her own smile, rolling her eyes at him.

“You’re so demanding. What do you think I’m in your bed to do? Bake cookies? You’re making me impatient.” She scoffed and he laughed out loud.

“Do you bake cookies?” He asked with suspicion. She groaned, out of frustration this time mostly and made a gesture to get up.

“Want to try? We could make a whole batch right now. You can take them to work tomorrow.” She pushed impatiently, naturally he didn’t budge.

“I believe you.” He mumbled, a playful smile still on his lips before drifting into silence, “You really don’t budge, do you?” Intrigue was laced in his tone. She chewed on her lips when he only watched her, realising that he wanted something or he wouldn't give in.

“Can you please fuck me before I fall asleep disgracefully with your knee lodged between my legs, half way up my vagina? Is that what you want to hear? I didn’t realise you were so crass.” Her voice faded off as her cheeks tinted red at her own words. Doyoung’s eyes glinted with a new found excitement. “Doyoung?” She pressed impatiently. His index finger reached up and traced a circle on her cheek, before travelling down her neck, all the way till the edge of her chest, where her blouse clung to it.

“I’m going to enjoy this moment. Look at how red you are. Are you shy Miss (Y/L/N)?” He hummed and she dropped her head back, groaning. She felt so exposed in the moment. “You’re still not failing to amaze me.” He mumbled softer.

His cold fingers slipped under her blouse and she jumped at the unexpected assault of her senses; every follicle rising in attention as his fingers traced her sides. He suddenly sat back abruptly and she looked up at him, a quick panic crossing her features. But he just quickly discarded his shirt, smirking at her.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.” There was a rising sense of victory in his voice, pleasantly cocky. “Off.” He flicked his finger towards her chest, looking down his nose at her clothing like it was to be removed from existence, not just her skin. She sat up and obeyed, he smirked again, “Good girl.” She heard his voice through the silk of her blouse, obstructing her vision as she pushed it up her neck and threw it to the side. It would wrinkle, her mind chastised but she couldn’t begin to indulge that small voice. He pulled her by the ankle to the edge of the bed, looping his fingers into the elastic of her pants. “Who wears sweatpants with a silk blouse?” He observed, tilting his head to one side.

She propped herself up on her elbows, “Did you expect me to dress up for you? I was done for the day when you called.” She shot back, lifting her hips while he slid the pants off. He pointed his chin at the top of the bed and walked around to the dresser on the side and flicked the lamp that sat on it on. She did as he asked, watching him as he took off his glasses and placed them neatly on top of the dresser, before rummaging through the top drawer and picking out a foil packet.

“What would the bishop say?” She mocked with a click of her tongue, earning a frown from him that delighted her greatly. She curled her lips in to avoid the smile on them from being too overt he narrowed his eyes and her stomach flipped.

“There’s so many things I want to do to you. Most of all, put that mouth of yours to some good use.” He didn’t turn to her yet, lifting his hand to the lamp’s switch before retracting it, deciding to leave it on. Tearing the condom packet open with his nimble finger, “But I have to be up at seven so i’m going to settle for making you moan my name a few times.” He turned to her, eyebrows knitted in concentration, completely unaware of the effect his words had on her. He bent down and released his pants from his knees, each movement so deliberate and purposeful that she didn’t realise she was breathing hard and fast till she spoke.

“Do you prefer Mr. Kim or Doyoung?” She wanted to tease him, but the breathless sentence that left her lips didn’t back up her intention. He smirked again.

“I’ll make an exception for you." There was a glint in his eyes, "You can call me Doyoung.” He turned around and put an arm around her frame, placing it firmly on the mattress and connecting their eyes. She couldn’t tell if he was joking.

“Clock’s ticking.” She let her voice trail off.

“If I knew you were so impatient, I would have done this the first day I met you.” His voice was softer now, more intimate and it aroused her so much that her toes curled.

“You wouldn’t have gotten too far.” She stated and he hummed like he didn’t believe her, leaning down to connect their lips. Her eyes were closed, but she heard his pants drop to the floor.

Before she knew it, he was hovering over her again. He used his hands to lift up her chin and deepened the kiss. Before his lips travelled down her neck and her fingers were back in his hair. He looked up at her, and they held each other’s gaze till he entered her and her eyes fluttered shut. She held her breath and he bit his lips, but was adamant to watch her features: the way her eyebrows knit together and the way she bit the corner of her lower lips, eyes squeezed shut. When he was completely inside her she let out a sigh, arm scrambling up to grab his shoulder. He pulled out and entered her, more swift this time.

“Fuck.” She breathed out.

“Look at me (Y/N).” There was a stray hint of annoyance in his voice, he pulled out. Her eyes fluttered open. He pushed back into her, her nails dug into his shoulder blade.

“Faster Doyoung.” She whimpered so softly, that only the lack of distance made him hear it. He obeyed her this time, watching with furrowed brows as tears pooled at the outer corner of her eyes; not enough to trickle down, but just enough to reflect the soft warm light of the lamp. Whether it was pleasure, impatience or something else, Doyoung did not know.

He picked up pace as he got more wrapped in his own pleasure, his soft groans turning more urgent.

“Doyoung.” She whispered, a tear escaping one eye as she screwed them shut. He hummed in question, “Feels good.” She let out a choked, “Very good.” She reiterated, sighing again and wrapping her arm around his neck. He hummed again, eyes still focused on the glistening tear that slid down her cheek slowly, his brows knitting closer together and his feature screwing closer. He dropped a free hand between them, working her clit. She buried her face in his neck, leaving small kisses. He groaned at the sensation, the muscles in his back tightening more with every sloppy kiss and every lewd whimper that left her lips.

“I’m-” She let out a whisper, lifting one leg around his waist and digging her heel into the back of his knee, his breath stuttered out against her ear and the sound made her moan, his cock twitched at the sound. He picked up pace once again, both his fingers and his dick working in the same rhythm: eager to please. He left small kisses all across her cheek, behind her ear and at the corner of her mouth as she gasped and her legs started shaking around his waist. When she clenched around him he groaned into the pillow, feeling himself tethering close to his own abyss of pleasure as she came undone.

“How can you be naked, underneath me and moaning my name, and still be out of my reach.” He whispered soft, his lips on her ear, somehow afraid to look at her eyes. He thrusted in another few times before he became still. Instead of dropping his weight on her he got up from the bed, both of them wincing as he pulled out rather quickly and disappeared into what she assumed was the ensuite. She stayed still in bed, her eyes focused on the blank ceiling and for the first time in months (Y/N) had no swimming thoughts in her head, only a silent ringing. She heard the door open and footsteps that led up to her side of the bed. She turned her head and met her Doyoung’s kind eyes and a small smile. He dropped a shirt on her stomach, fully clothed himself.

“Stay.” He told her, before walking around the bed and dropping in the mattress face first.

She sat up at the same time, pointing at the door he had entered earlier, “Washroom?” She asked and he nodded, eyes careful: watching her from the bed. She gave him a small nod and got out of bed.

When she came back, his t-shirt hanging around her thighs, he was still lying on his stomach, his arm under the pillow below his head. He watched her as she came and lay down beside her.

“I’m not much of a talker, during or after sex.” She turned her head to him, “In fact, outside work related matters, I’m not much of a talker at all.” She offered to him an explanation she knew he didn’t ask for. He didn’t reply, the one eye that wasn’t dug into the pillow watched her. She honoured his gaze with her own.

The silence stretched for a moment, both of them just lying their with their eyes on the other and for a moment (Y/N) felt like she could have comfort like this, without any repercussions that always felt like ultimatums.

“Do you know why I’m religious?” His voice was hesitant, vulnerable. She didn’t respond, but shifted to lay at her side, putting her arm under her head and listening, “My brother fought in the Iraq War." His gaze faltered, "When he came back he had changed. I wanted to help him, all my family did. But I was so young I couldn't understand what was wrong, he'd get angry over little things and I'd get angry at him," He paused, taking a deep shaky breath. "My parents tried to talk to him, he went to therapy. They diagnosed him the same as most soldiers, survivor's guilt, PTSD. But knowing didn't help, it only made it worse. Nothing helped." He paused again, burying his face a little further in the pillow. Without realising she shifted closer to him, reaching her hand out. He laced his fingers with hers wordlessly squeezing tight, "Till my mom took him to church. I don't know what it was, but being told that God forgave him helped him. He helped the church a lot after that, volunteering and donating. My parents are–" he paused, a subtle hesitation as he looked for a word, "Affluent." He settled. "The church we went to was influential and my parents decided with them that it would be best for my brother to go to law school, and he did. And when he graduated he became their lawyer. The church saved his life and for that I'll always defend them. Because he's not the only person; I've seen the hungry they feed and the lost people they guide. I don’t believe in everything they have to say.” He raised a well-meaning brow at her and she smiled, understanding well enough what he was referring to. “But I understand why they exist. I want to rise up the ranks of the party enough that we can condemn the people who use the word of God for selfish and detrimental things though. That’s not Christian at all.” His eyebrows knit together.

“Neither is curbing rights, Doyoung.” She bit her lip, but found it impossible to not verbalise. He didn’t look angry, only sighed. He used their intertwined fingers as leverage and pulled her closer, letting her hand go to drop his over her waist. His hand slid up her back and it made her skin shiver.

“I know. I just can’t say that out loud. This is still politics.” He said and almost unwillingly she was yanked back to reality. He sighed after a moment, “I didn’t tell you about my past as an excuse, I want to be understood.” He spoke to the ceiling before he shook his head, turning back to face her. “I’m going to kiss you again.” Her heart fluttered. He shifted his arm up to her neck and drawing her close.

“Will you ask every time you do that?” She teased. He hummed affirmatively and kissed her, not slow or hesitant at all anymore. He broke the kiss after a moment, but his lips were still on hers— when she opened her eyes, his were still closed; dark black eyelashes fanning his pale cheeks at his eyes twitched, “I don’t tell people that.” His voice was small, like a vulnerable child and she could imagine a small Doyoung watching his suffering brother with the confusion of a young mind. The image tugged at her heart

“That’s okay,” She kissed his cheek, “I won’t tell. I’m good at keeping secrets, you can trust me on that.” She scoffed internally. He nodded and opened his eyes, pulling away.

“We should sleep.” His hand returned to her waist. She hummed, “I’ll get breakfast tomorrow.” He promised.

There was something about the peace she felt in the state between being asleep and almost lucid. She felt the soft touch of the summer sun— the way it touched her skin in the early morning; the relief of the cold sheets as you dove further into it; the security of arms around her, a wide chest to bury her face in like the world could be put on hold for just that moment: in the gentle summer sun. She felt her lips tug in the daze, the familiar mix of vanilla and smokey oak surrounding her senses as she inhaled. Jaehyun.

Her eyes flew open. She stared at the grey light filtering through the windows, the sun hiding behind the winter clouds. She turned in bed, her gaze meeting Doyoung’s back. She turned back to the window. In the scrutiny of the morning sun, on the other side of the intrigue that remained on the floor with last night’s discarded clothes, she had nowhere to hide. She racked her mind so hard that the sleep she had just woken from felt obsolete, exhaustion seeping into her being like the omnipresent companion it was.

There was something bitter at the tip of her tongue. She remembered the way Doyoung’s eyes sparkled with fluidity last night. She squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in the pillow, like it would somehow take away everything she now wanted removed. She felt like a fiend, like a monster from fairy tales who sucked out all it needed from someone: only taking, with nothing to give. Her back went stiff when she heard Doyoung shuffle behind her, he let out a gentle sigh and settled. She stayed frozen for many moments till she was sure he was in fact still asleep. She turned to him again, this time his face facing her. He looked peaceful in sleep. Jaehyun was right: he was a good guy; through and through he was good and kind and understanding. And she had nothing to give to him, whatever she had was already offered at a different altar and she could never take that back. She swallowed a heavy lump in her throat.

The thick duvet felt heavy on her all of a sudden, and she knew she had to go. She couldn’t face him after this, and she had to remind herself that he was still an obstruction in her path to justice. She slowly got out of bed and picked up her things, quiet as a mouse. She folded his shirt and left it at the foot of his bed, the smell of citrus and warm spices still lingering on her skin.

She was a fool. A selfish, hedonist who thought not of the consequences of squeezing the sentiments of others. He was kind and dutiful and she was a greedy fool.

She left his apartment in such a hurry that she had to wait in the lobby for her cab to arrive. She watched the rain, still pouring onto the streets with enough fervour to obstruct vision, thick sheets of water beating against the sidewalk; the loud persistence of it enough to muffle the thoughts in her head. Lately, everytime she found herself feeling small, feeling pathetic, she thought it could not get worse. Each time she was proved wrong, and each time she could only truly blame herself. Her phone vibrated in her hand and pulled her out of her self-pity, she looked out as a cab stopped at the curb. She got up to walk to the door but the security guard from last night called out, coming up to her with a large umbrella in his hand.

“You don’t have to, I don’t mind if these clothes get wet.” She waved her hand.

“It’s my job ma’am. And no guest of Mr. Kim’s should be left in the rain.” He said sheepishly.

“He has a lot of guests, does he?” She scoffed, before reiling her thoughts back in. She had no place to say that.

“Not my place to say. But most come and go in the night, so I wouldn’t want to lose my job.” He admitted guiltily. She felt a little taken aback, but nodded at him and he seemed to be relieved, “He’s kind to me, you see. I don’t mind a little rain.” He said with a sense of duty. She gave him a smile as he pushed the door open.

“What’s your name?”

“Arnold.” He answered.

“You have to stand under the umbrella with me, Arnold; otherwise I’ll feel too bad.” He seemed hesitant but nodded.

When she was back in her hotel room, she buried the clothes she was in deep in the corner of her suitcase— they still smelt like him and she didn’t want that around. She took a shower and washed herself with the soap the hotel gave her. The smell of her brewing coffee made her finally feel awake. She opened her phone and bit the inside of her cheek, there was a single missed call at 7:01, 10 minutes ago. She wondered if he thought she ignored it on purpose. She wondered if she would have ignored it or not if she had seen it. A part of her wanted to call him back, instead she slid the screen off and put her phone on charge— she had a long day ahead of her.

An hour after a short text she received before noon, she was sitting in a restaurant a block away from the Capitol.

You forgot your pass.

She read it again. Her ‘Oh’ received with another address in response— the restaurant she was sitting inside at the moment— and the time: 13 minutes since she had arrived, she noted when she looked at her watch. She sat quietly at a table for two as the place slowly filled in, as was customary for the lunch hour. She was going through news headlines, her thumb pausing at a The Hill report about her hearing today. She was debating reading it when the chair in front of her dragged against the floor. She placed her phone on the table and looked up as Doyoung sat down, his feline eyes guarded as he looked back at her. He wordlessly placed the Capitol ID issued to her.

“Your hearing will be inside the Capitol Building, so they won’t let you in without it.” His face was grim, but his eyes were searching hers. She nodded and looked away, picking it up and putting it into her bag and turning her gaze back to him. He looked like he was going to speak. If he was, the server interrupted him.

“The usual, Senator?” The server looked up with her best service industry smile. He slowly dragged his eyes away from (Y/N) and towards the server.

“No, I’ll have the steak today. With the asparagus.” He said without looking at a menu. When he turned his neck, she caught sight of a small bruise peeking through his collar.

“And the lady?” The server turned to her with the same smile. Doyoung turned to her, catching her staring at him. Against her better judgement, her eyes followed the mark, making Doyoung squint before he cleared his throat. A blush crept up her own neck when she remembered what it was, looking away with her own uncomfortable cough.

“Nothing for me, thank you.” She returned the polite smile of the server.

“You couldn’t have possibly had lunch yet.” Doyoung interrupted. She turned her head to be met with his furrowed brow.

“I don’t feel like eating.” She told him, perturbed.

“That doesn’t mean you won’t eat.” He spoke in a tone that wasn’t open to disagreement. When she opened her mouth, he further added: “I promised you breakfast, you should at least have lunch.” There was a momentary slip in the disinterested way he looked at her, it took her aback.

“Doyoung-” She faltered.

“I’m a man of my word Miss (Y/L/N).” The disinterest seeped back into his eyes and he picked up the specials card that stood in the centre of the table, “What are the specials for today, Angela?” His eyes scanned over the card, after which he turned back to the server.

“We have a risotto. It’s enoki mushroom season.” Angela spoke to her instead, suppressing a grin.

“Sure.” She replied, a little vexed by his blunt behaviour as she swallowed the way his reacquainted formality made her feel.

He must have sensed it. The moment the server was gone, before she could tell him, he spoke up, “You left me.” The way he framed the words left her mouth parted, unsure of what to say.

“I left because you said you had to be at work early.” She gave her previously rehearsed excuse.

“I asked you to stay.” He said like he didn't understand.

“I didn’t want to be an inconvenience.” She stood her ground.

There was silence after that, she could see his indignation in the way he flexed his jaw. “Sure.” He broke the silence, picking up the bottle between them to pour himself a glass of water.

“Doyoung–” She tried to reason with him.

“It’s quite alright, Miss (Y/L/N). You don’t have to apologise to me for not being on the same page as me. In fact, I’d appreciate if you spared me the humiliation. I have to sit in committee today and I'd like to do that without this weighing on my mind.” He didn’t meet her gaze. (Y/N) swallowed the dryness in her throat, nodding and looking away from him.

Humiliation. She had Humiliated him somehow and she could not understand why. She felt so selfish in that moment, realisation gaping back at her as Kim Doyoung avoided looking at her. She had used him, because she was wrapped in her own grievances. And she did not account for how that would make him feel. Humiliation seemed appropriate, and she felt a sick kick in her chest.

They fell into a disconcerting silence. There were moments when she wanted to speak just to fill the silence, other moments she wanted to have a conversation with him like they did only a few hours ago. She pushed down that thought the moment it surfaced, unable to suddenly bear the depths of her own self-centred disposition.

It wasn't that she was unaware of her nature, to her it was self preservation. As a quiet and deliberate person she was used to being mistrusted, even as a child— even by her parents. She had only learned, as she grew, to mirror it back. To simply treat a person with inherent distrust meant that her trust couldn't be violated, there was a power in that. An insulating anesthetic, her only weapon in the world. She wanted to preserve that weapon, but it seemed to her to be currently wielded in offense instead of defense.

"I have upset you." She realised, "That wasn't my intention." She looked at him to gauge his reaction, to find him watching her with a mix of disbelief and confusion.

"How did you think I would feel?" She was taken aback again, he was right. He had every right to be upset, she did not make her intentions clear, but neither did he.

"Like nothing. I didn't realise that it would matter to you." 'That I would matter to you', she wanted to say. He watched her for another moment."You asked me not to detest you, and truly I don't." His forehead creased with growing coundment and he let out a slow angry breath from his nose.

"No? And did you think I was just looking to have a good fuck?" He seemed to seethe. She looked at him carefully. In all truth, that is exactly what she believed. But she felt like telling him that would somehow hurt him.

"Maybe I misunderstood." She added quickly, realising how out of depth she was.

"So? You think I invite women into my bed, tell them about my family and ask them to stay." His voice gave way, before he sat up, "And have it not matter? What kind of a person do you think I am?" He laughed bitterly.

She looked at him a little dumbfounded. She realised she didn't. She didn't think about the kind of person he was, till now it didn't matter.

"Do you regret telling me those things?" She wanted to stop herself from speaking.

Doyoung let out another shaky breath from his nose, still angry. But his voice was soft, "No. I don't regret it, (Y/N). I'd do it again." He frowned like his own admission was unpleasant to him.

"Why?" She bit her lip

“Have I not made it abundantly clear that I’m interested in you?” He snapped at her, frowning with his whole face. His cheeks turned red and she could tell he was embarrassed at the admission. He ran a hand through his hair before sighing, "Because at the moment it felt right. I trust my judgement, it's my only tool. And to deny myself that is to deny myself the opportunity to learn from experiences." He pursued his lips, looking at her in a way that felt like he was looking through her. He wasn't— he couldn’t because then he’d understand— but the scrutiny made her uncomfortable anyway. His brows knit together again, "I think you're a good person (Y/N). I just don't understand why you don't believe I am too." He blinked his gaze away from her. His eyes were hurt, but somehow resolute. He went back to his meal, silence falling on them again.

“I do.” She mumbled.

She looked up at Doyoung, paying attention. There was something so delicate about everything he did. She saw it in the way he slowly cut small pieces of his steak and bought it to his lips, the poise of private school all over him. But there was something more than that. Kim Doyoung was a very careful person, and seeing him now was like seeing him for who he was. Doyoung was careful and deliberate in ways she was not. And he was also a far better person than she would ever be— the thought made her feel small. Kim Doyoung had trusted her, when there was no reason to. She understood him now because he had allowed it. It was strange to her. Vulnerability always seemed to disarm her. Yet Doyoung almost seemed empowered by his choice to trust her. And she could see why he chose to. It was an odd affair: to understand Kim Doyoung when there was no reason to; he was so fundamentally different from her. She realised in that moment the power of words; not as an agent of change or a strategic maneuver, but as a source of true understanding of another human being. She understood him because he told her what there was to understand.

She did think he was a good person. And she wanted to tell him that it made her heart flutter in a way that confused her to a maddening magnitude. But it wouldn't help him, it would make him think something else and she could not let that be. She wanted to make him understand that she would choose this— choose him; that she would stay for breakfast. If things were different. But they weren't. She looked back at Doyoung and she could almost believe it, he was kind and gentle in a way that would be easy; but easy wasn’t what the trajectory of her life ever granted her. She looked away from him with a sigh that deflated her back. It was never her choice to make: she could never give herself wholly to another person and wholly was what someone like Kim Doyoung would demand from her. She just turned to her plate and decided to let it go, let him go.

She had to shake her thoughts to the back of her mind as she left the restaurant. Whoever Kim Doyoung was, he was currently still going to be one of the people standing in the way of a fundamental shift for overall change, she reminded herself. The fact that he didn't even believe what he was fighting for— who he was fighting with, she told herself, made it all the more worse. Because it meant that he'd let politics and his own need to stay in his position ruin lives.

"We're all selfish." She mumbled to herself as she walked down Independence Avenue. This part of town was particularly windy owing to the open grounds that sprawled around her. The crowded city giving way to the might of the Capitol and Supreme buildings, surrounded by an expanse of open lawns. She took a detour, walking further till she stood in front of the man-made water body at the head of Capitol Hill. The Capitol Reflecting Pool, it was called. The absurdity of the name didn't fail to make her lips twitch, there was hardly much reflection that was done in this part of town. She watched the water ripple gently in the wind, the chatter of tourists around her mixed with the birds and a nearby tour guide, all blending into a mindless white noise that seemed to make her feel calm.

The freezing January wind nipped at her cheeks and it was still cloudy so there was no sun, but it helped to clear her head. She allowed herself to come to terms with her heart in that moment. She told herself that she wouldn't try ever again— to think she could even be touched by someone else, nonetheless be loved. Even if that meant she would be alone forever. She now knew that no matter how awful that felt, this was worse. The guilt she was trying to avoid acknowledging was clawing at her chest so persistently that she felt like her ribs would break from the pressure. She let out a shaky breath that wasn't caused by the cold. It was unfair, she confessed to herself, that this was how it turned out. The admittance gave her relief.

The only person she had ever truly loved in her entire existence was not hers, and he never truly would be. She looked up from the water, facing the Capitol building in front of her. Because above all else, he would always belong to this place first. She turned around and looked up, the sun overhead falling in her eye, making her squint as she looked at the Washington monument— towering over the rest of the city. In the distance, beyond that stood the White House, she pictured. She looked away as the sun almost blinded her, sighing deeply. She was small compared to these monuments, and standing here truly made her understand that. She accepted that she wouldn’t compete anymore. To make a mistake is human, she told herself, to repeat it is lunacy.

It was almost two in the afternoon by the time she made her way into the Capitol building. This was her first time inside it and she was rendered speechless by it's marvel. It was like the building had a personality, one that demanded utter respect and she was compliant in its wake. She handed her credentials and the card to the security and went through security dutifully before they let her in.

"The hearing room is straight down towards the back. It'll have the committee and agenda on the door." The security informed her with the monotone of routine. She nodded and went her way, passing more tourists standing in the rotunda. She briefly stopped as she saw people rushing to the House chambers, she wondered if she'd look for Jaehyun. She looked away immediately, and lifted her chin higher; she didn't need his reassurance and she knew it wouldn't make her less nervous, only make her feel more burdened. She also knew that there was a vote in the House today so he was probably busy.

Tourists watched her as she walked by, most of them young students who were just as taken with the beauty around them as her. They made way for her, looking at her with fascination and despite the crowd, she was at the hall with the hearing rooms earlier than scheduled. She didn't need to look for the room, because there was already one open, with Press standing around. She caught a single person's eye and soon enough cameras clicked busily as she walked over. Her mouth felt dry as she froze, blinking rapidly as the flashes blurred her vision and made her feel dizzy: she wasn’t used to such surveillance.

"Is it true that you've been subpoenaed because you filed a supreme court petition that was a conflict of interest?" A voice sounded from somewhere behind the ocean of cameras. She frowned— that question didn't even make sense.

Before she could answer another voice spoke, this time she could make out a face, "Are you planning on running for office, Miss (Y/L/N)? Is that the reason you've made it a point to gather so much attention on yourself?" She frowned deeper, she never wanted any attention on herself at all.

"No I don't. And I've tried to bring attention to the problem, not me." She smoothed her features out. She knew looking displeased made her look guilty. It just took her this long to comprehend that she was on some sort of public trial.

"How does it feel to know that you'll be responsible for countless murders across the country, Miss (Y/L/N)?" She blinked a few times at the question, staring the woman blankly in the face. She didn't have an answer to that, there was nothing she could say to the way the reporter framed her question. The rest of the voices lowered to a whisper and her mouth felt drier.

"Forgive me. I'm not used to being cornered by reporters." Her voice was soft but her words were sharp, "Next time I'll have better retorts. For now I have to go into the Chamber." She looked at the floor and walked away, her chest filling with pride at her sombre and dignified response.

Once inside, a clerk ushered her to her seat. "First time?" He asked her and she nodded absentmindedly.

"Welcome to the Mudpit." He chuckled as he placed a mic in front of her, giving her an encouraging smile and a nod. Her head turned at his words but she was quick to push down the memory of the word. People ushered in behind her, the clicking of the cameras back. She made a mental note to drown the sound out as the committee slowly walked and onto the podium. She kept her gaze fixed on the Chairman's seat as it was filed in by him. She turned to face the Ranking member, a Democrat, who gave her a reassuring nod and it would have eased her nerves, but she felt Kim Doyoung's gaze on her from the left side of the podium, from the corner of her vision she could see as much. She decided not to look.

The Chairman, the senator of South Carolina tapped on his microphone. The subsequent high pitched squeal from the object made a few people wince around the room. He mumbled an apology and began speaking, "We've gathered here today." His brittle twang already grated against her ears. "To bring light to what we as a nation choose to do about the rights of those citizens who are yet too vulnerable to make any claim," He drawled. "I will not take much of your time today, as I'm known to do." Soft chuckles echoed in the silent room at his empty laugh and she had to try her best to keep her face straight, "But I ask the country watching–" He looked away from her and above her: at a camera, no doubt. "Which side of history do we want to stand on? When we look back, do we choose to be seen as the people who murdered innocent children? Or do we wish to be seen as the ones who fought against that at all costs?" He let his words hang in the air for a second. She wondered what the country would have been like if the Senator had the same respect for history six years ago. "I yield to the Ranking member who had asked me prior to this that he wished to speak." He nodded at the camera once solemnly. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"Firstly, I'd like to thank Miss (Y/L/N) for making the time to come in front of the committee. I know you had to cut your holiday week short and fly down for this hearing and we are grateful for your willingness to serve your country." The Ranking Member spoke into his microphone. It took her a moment to register his words, before nodding at him dutifully. She wasn't expecting such praise before the committee, even from a Democrat. Looking at the friendliness in his eyes it occurred to her that it could only be Jaehyun, only he would think thoroughly enough to plant a good first impression for whoever was watching C-SPAN at 3 in the afternoon other than on mute in waiting rooms. Her heart fluttered and forced her to acknowledge how grateful she felt in the moment, knowing he had her back.

She leaned into the microphone in front of her, "It's my duty, Senator. One I'm glad to do at any time." There was a new rush of confidence in her voice. She leaned back, reminded herself to keep her back straight and her chin elevated the entire time she sat here.

The chairman leaned into his microphone again, "The Senator of New Hampshire has a few questions for you." The chairman turned across the dias, "I yield my remaining time and give you the time needed to ask your questions." He nodded at Doyoung encouragingly. She finally shifted her gaze to him and he quickly looked away, at his paper. He tapped on his microphone, clearing his throat and adjusting his glasses.

"Miss Y/N, you are here to answer some pressing questions this committee has on the legality of abortions in this country. Is that correct?" He asked routinely, as he looked down at her from the height of his seat. She leaned in to answer into the microphone, caught off guard by the static that made a small yelp leave her lips. She looked up at Doyoung with a nervous panic and he seemed to give her a smile that she chose to interpret as an encouraging one.

"That is correct Mr. Kim." She cleared her throat after speaking, sitting back in the chair promptly.

"And your qualifications are that you've been working actively at the state-level, specifically in the state of Pennsylvania, to push cases with a strong pro-choice rhetoric.” He looked up from the paper and towards her, “That is correct?" He continued, looking down at the piece of paper in his hand.

"I wouldn't say I'm the one pushing anything." Doyoung raised an eyebrow at her but she didn't faze. "I was given a pro-bono case by the firm I work at, it's standard procedure for firms to take on pro-bono cases and all lawyers on retainer are required to have a minimal amount of hours dedicated to it," She stated plainly. "I had a case that happened to make local news, after which I had some clients who wanted to hire me. I am not a litigator, so I passed them to certain activist groups and litigators I found to be reliable. If that is what you are implying by push." He assessed her words with a nod, with no discernible expression on his face, and turned back to the paper in his hand, coming back closer to the mic to speak.

"But the case you filed at the Supreme Court is under your name Miss (Y/L/N)? Which is why the panel has your name in mind and why you are sitting across from us on this afternoon." The panel chuckled lightly at Doyoung's words, "Is that not your idea of a push?" He sat back to take a drink of water and watched her.

"Mr. Kim, if you would take a look at the actual nature of the case I filed for, it's to bring to attention that state courts violate precedent when they refuse abortions.” She sat up a little straighter, with more focus, “Roe v. Wade still stands as a law, which makes this a violation of legal precedent, and as a lawyer I can't seem to accept the constitutional violation that implies. I would like to believe that goes beyond a pro-choice or pro-life debate.” Her eyes shifted over the panel before they centered back on Doyoung, “I see it as a constitutional crisis." Her heart was beating so fast that for a second it seemed like the corner of her vision blurred a little. Kim Doyoung was watching her carefully now, an eyebrow raised as he absorbed her politicized language carefully. As much as she desired some water for her dry throat, she was aware of the camera on her face and the implication of the said action. There were multiple eyes pointed at her, some more uninviting that others.

"And you believe that states exercising their rights is somehow unconstitutional? Do you also think Maine is unconstitutional for having the Moose as their state animal instead of the Bald Eagle?" A senator quipped from the side, laughing at his own joke. Her head shot to the source of the voice as the middle aged goblin smiled with sick satisfaction to himself. She was going to speak but Kim Doyoung beat her to it.

"The witness isn't here to answer hypotheticals, Senator.” Doyoung turned to him with an impassive voice but knitted brows, his tone was impatient, “She is entitled to any opinion she holds— under the first Amendment, and she has been asked here to share her educated opinion for the benefit of this country and the Senate. If you have any relevant questions, Senator, please wait till I yield my time." He spoke to the man with a hint of admonishment that the older Senator seemed to heed, sitting back as he quietly cleared his throat, his forehead turning red. Before Doyoung turned back to his microphone, she felt herself compelled to speak up.

"It's the American Bison." She turned back to the Senator, relishing his confused expression for a moment before clarifying, "The national animal is the American Bison. The bald eagle is a bird," She kept her voice level, "Senator." She added, sitting back as she pushed the pleasure she felt down, only keeping a small smile on her face. When she turned back to Doyoung, his smile was hidden behind his hand, they both seemed to recall simultaneously that there were cameras in the room. The crowd behind her chuckled slightly.

"Miss (Y/L/N), the committee would like to know, if it isn't too much to ask. What are your motivations for this? I understand that you're a woman and this is something you feel strongly about, the committee is merely asking if this is about lobbies and interest groups and not people." There seemed to be a murmur that spread across the mix of staffers and the dais in front of her and (Y/N) knew it was because the question wasn't on the printed set of questions already passed between them. He kept his unwavering gaze on her and she swallowed an angry breath.

"It shouldn't matter." She scanned her eyes across the panel for the first time, making a mental note before her eyes landed back on the person interrogating her, "How can we sit here debating my motivations when we should be debating yours." Kim Doyoung raised an eyebrow, provoked, but did not speak yet, "It should be a given.” She swallowed the anger rising up her throat with a huff, “Common sense! That one should have agency over their own bodies. I know it's not simple. But that's why we have so many rules; a whole bill, term limits, counseling, introduction to alternatives. Every step should be taken by the government that exists because we voted for it: to protect its citizens, to give them every option available; but it is not in their right to take away any of them." She paused, finally taking the sip of water she was so desperately craving.

"And what of the child?" He asked, after she placed the glass back down, simply and without emotion.

"No child should be subject to being raised without security either, Senator." There was a passing frigidity in her voice that seemed to hit it's intended target, "Just giving birth to a baby doesn't solve its problems; the mother has to raise the child as well. We do not provide any provision that makes raising that child easier: we do not have healthcare coverage for that baby, we do not provide for low income expectant and new mothers and our foster care system is in such ghastly shape that it feels like a crime to give a child away." She sat back, the frustration of the matter seeping into her jaw till she had to pause to loosen it, hearing the crack of resistance echo in her skull. "We don't even provide them free diapers." Her voice came out softer away from the mic, but still audible. She sat back up again, her voice coming back to full volume closer to the mic, and her eyes renewed with a sense of duty. She looked at the panel in front of her again, "Every single person on that dais is a man." She spoke into the mic matter of factly, there was a murmur behind her and she hoped it was because they noticed what she pointed out. "And somehow you are telling the only woman in this conversation that you don't trust her motivations enough to do the right thing?" After looking over, she came back to the one questioning her, "My personal life does not matter because I do not represent that at this moment. That is not why I was invited here."

Doyoung's brows were knit together as his thumb persistently scratched his lower lip, like he was waiting for her to finish. She got up from her chair, taking advantage of the long table she was seated at, pulling out a group of files from her bag.

She walked to as far left as she could to where the extra mics and television equipment were pushed to. One by one she placed the files in her hand in a neat line side by side, reaching the end of the table on the other side and still having two extra that she placed over another hastily. Quietly she sat back in her chair after that, clearing her throat and leaning back into the mic.

"I represent all these girls. And the many more I have in boxes in my office. I chose to come for this hearing so I could help many more girls than that." She made a display of the situation intricately.

"Are all those rape victims?" Another senator on the dais scoffed.

"Yes, as a matter of fact." She turned to him with an enraged menace that she could not control before it escaped, "Every single case on this table is a case of a rape causing a pregnancy that were in someway refused abortions." She stared the man down till he averted his gaze, "But all the cases I have are not." Before the man tried to speak up, she continued, "I interject that it does not matter. They're all scared. Irrespective of what happened. It is your duty to protect these people too. That's why we vote for you, not so you can debate over whether a fundamental right to agency is a matter of speculations and senate oversight." She looked away from the dais, unable to watch them any longer-- a spectacle in the name of legislation. Her frown was still prominent as she sat back in her seat.

"The committee would still like an answer Miss Y/N." The impatience in Doyoung’s voice struck a chord in her. She turned to look at him, looking in his eyes in a way that made sure she was the only thing in the room to them, she enjoyed the hesitation in his gaze in that moment, even though there was unabashed curiosity in them as well. She hesitated as well, considering her next actions. She knew that what she would say would have it's own consequences; but the way the eyes on the dais glared and gloated over the silence they assumed was her surrender, made her fingers itch and her jaw get more cramped with anger.

"Miss Y/N the hearing is still going on." The rather infamous Senator of South Carolina spoke up, his Southern drawl sharply unpleasant to her ears. "I'm sorry to Interrupt Mr. Kim, you're doing an excellent job." His voice dragged the same way it did on television, "But Miss Y/N might be under the presumption that she has a choice in answering these questions. And as you are aware Miss, you have been subpoenaed." She wasn't sure if the drawl on the last word was his accent or a deliberate emphasis.

"My mother didn't want me." She felt like her conscience was watching her body speak from outside it, "And even if no one in my family ever told me that, I always knew it." This time when she locked eyes with Doyoung, it was accidental. There was a sinking realisation that seemed to seep into his eyes and she looked away before he dared looking apologetic, "I grew up aware of how unwanted I was by my own mother. Every argument she had with my father, I just had to be in the same room to see the blame in her eyes. As a three year old I was aware of this. Do I appreciate being alive, Senator? I'm not sure." She turned to the Senator of South Carolina, taking a sort of perverse pleasure in seeing the discomfort in his posture from being confronted by her, "But I do know for sure that I wouldn't have cared in the womb. Also I would have preferred to have known that my parents actually wanted me when they raised me. That's why the choice matters. Raising children should be a choice. Can you blame a 16 year old rape victims? When they have to drop out of school and pick the first minimum wage job to raise a child they never wanted? I'm merely answering Mr. Kim's previous question. Of course the child matters, choice is healthy for both of them." She noticed the tears rolling down her cheeks after that, blinking rapidly in a frail attempt to stop anymore from slipping out.

There was a hushed silence that had spread across the room while she spoke, the only sound being small whispers behind her where a portion of the public sat to witness the spectacle. She raised her index finger to wipe the stray tear, looking down at the desk while she did so, her eyes on the files in front of her.

"I hope that answers your Question, Mr. Kim." She gave him a last glance over and he nodded looking away, with his eyes on the paper in his hand, avoiding her gaze.

It took another quarter of an hour before she was allowed to leave the hearing room. The Senators were occupied with paperwork and it gave her the time to sit with the weight of her actions. She was still too shocked to truly let the realisation sink in, of what she did, what she said.

She stood at the threshold of the rosewood doors that went up to the ceiling, large enough that you couldn't see the top unless you craned your neck. She tried to keep her chin up, behind her she heard a whisper or two— her name being taken with recognition and more whispers she couldn't hear, but they felt directed at her. Two men opened the door as were customary and as the old doors creaked far enough for her frame, she was out of the confined room. There was the kind of gentle breeze in the corridor that all old buildings made in this fashion seem to have: the ghost of a wind that seemed to come from nowhere and lead to nothing.

She knew that her shoes were echoing on the marble floor loudly, but they touched her ears like a muffled tap. She told herself that her day was almost over and once she left this building, she would feel better. She had made it to the end of the corridor putting one foot in front of another. When she turned the corner, her steps faltered. Jaehyun walked out from some side, like he materialised through the wall— a ghost of the place himself. There was this urgency in his eyes and without words she knew he was looking for her, and she knew that he had seen it. Like a wave of pure repulsion, her spine shivered from her skull to her lower back; she put her hand on the cold wall to steady. All at once the realisation of what had happened hit her. He saw her on television. Another wave shot up her body, this time from her stomach to her throat.

His eyes met hers.

He was a part of the building around him, the same marble as the floor and walls, only carved by delicate hands that etched each nook with care.

She felt bile rise up her throat. He came closer. His footsteps were not muffled as they approached her and she thrashed her head around, spotting the familiar sign on a door and she rushed inside in.

Jaehyun's eyes trailed her sprint into the washroom, after which he turned to the figure that was approaching from behind her. Doyoung and Jaehyun both came up to the door she had pushed through. Jaehyun put a cautionary hand on Doyoung's shoulder, "It's not your place." Jaehyun's voice was calm but intentional. Doyoung looked up at him, a myriad of emotions passing through his eyes. Jaehyun's gaze twitched with a subtle suspicion, but Doyoung took a step back; nodding begrudgingly, as he took a step back— as he let go. Jaehyun pushed into the ladies room.

He followed the sound of choked sobs and retching to a bathroom stall, coming up to the open door and trailing his gaze down to her form, hunched over the toilet seat as she threw up. Jaehyun sighed and took a few more steps closer, holding her hair back and gently patting her back. She made a muffled cry that sounded like a protest, he pushed his fingers through her hair soothingly. After a few moments, she only retched with discomfort as nothing else seemed to be left in her stomach to come back up, tears of discomfort streaming down the side of her face. With all the strength her weak state would allow her, she pushed him back; losing balance in the process and stumbling back and landing on the floor. She pushed her frame back with the help of her arms and rested her head on the door frame.

"Can you please just leave me alone." Her voice came out as a hoarse whisper. Wiping the corner of her mouth, feeling vulnerable, disheveled and unworthy. She saw Jaehyun's leather shoes walk up in front of her blurred vision.

He sat down opposite her, a look of surety on his face, "No." He rested his right leg flat on the floor, bending the other up to put his elbow on it.

"I'm serious Jaehyun, I want to be alone." She groaned, looked away from him, tears stinging in the corner of her eyes that she blinked away angrily. Her hair stuck to the sweat on her face.

"I know that you think that all relationships are transactional, I didn't understand why for a long time. But now–" He said it so brazenly, the fact that circumstances beyond her control shaped her actions so greatly. It made her angry. How he could just articulate so easily something that tormented her for an entire lifetime. “I’m sorry it had to be like this.” He sighed, like he pitied her. She felt such a fiery surge of indignation.

“I don’t dwell on my past Jung Jaehyun. Neither should you.” Her voice was icy, Jaehyun looked up at her with a faltering gaze, nodding.

"I slept with Kim Doyoung." She regretted the words the moment they left her lips, the same taste as the bile that still clung to her mouth. She felt like she would threw up again. She wanted to hurt him as easily as he did her: with words. But as his face cracked around the edges in front of her, she felt no victory. She bit her bottom lip so hard she felt her tongue taste metallic. “He would have kept pushing if I didn’t say it. People also like a sob story, a personal edge. I did what I had to.” She didn’t know which of them she was convincing, neither her nor him seemed any closer to being convinced.

"I know." He said, his voice so small it reminded her of a Jaehyun from a long time ago.

"It doesn't make you mad?" She felt like a stupid child. He shook his head, she had to blink back her tears.

"I'm not only here when I need you. And I hate that you slept with him,” His jaw flexed, “But I don’t hate you.” His eyes softened, “I understand it, and I’ll live with it. Just like how you live with all the things about me. I want to be there for it all, you have to let me." He took a deep breath and gave her a tortured smile, "I have nowhere else to go either, you know. You're all I have. You're all I love. You have to let me be there through it all." He took a shaky breath, she watched his shattering face.

She pushed her head back further and closed her eyes, no longer protesting. It was always this cross road she stood at, where she could never understand. She wanted to believe him though, she wanted his words to take her pain away. Because it was comforting, his words: knowing that in the entire universe, there could be someone who was willing to have you with your all. With every flaw and every falter. She wanted to believe him. After what felt like hours, she opened her eyes; her head no longer spinning.

He was still watching her, "Can you get up?" His voice was gentle, she nodded. He got up on his feet, extending a hand out to her instead of helping her get up like a child, she was grateful for that act of kindness, of understanding. She walked up to the closest closet wash basin, avoiding her reflection and washing her face instead. "I'm taking you home." She looked at him through the mirror, he put his hands into the pockets of his trousers, looking at her with furrowed brows and a worried gaze. She didn't say anything, only went back to cleaning herself off the immediate past.

A little later, she was seated in his car; the heating inside fogging up the very edges of glass windows as it rained for the second night. "She's never going to speak to me again." She whispered at the window, both of them knew whom she meant.

"That's because your mother is selfish and delusional." She turned to him, frowning at the words. "Sorry." He didn't seem to mean it. His eyes stayed on the road, his knuckles tight on the steering wheel. She turned back to look out the window.

"She's still my mother, Jaehyun." She mumbled, letting his sigh go unacknowledged.

After a shower that lasted longer than an hour, she was sitting at his kitchen counter in his t-shirt, and a pair of shorts that reached her knees. He kept moving around the kitchen, brave enough to only fold up the sleeves of his ivory white shirt, an apron the only form of protection. There was a small smile on his face, the kind he got when he was pleased with himself as he placed a plate of pasta in front of her.

"It's not much but the sauce is pre-made and they won't deliver in this weather." He said sheepishly. His neck tinting pink and reaching up to his ears. Her gaze didn't move from his face. He looked up at her, his face turning concerned as her eyes welled up, tears streaming down her face in waves. "What's wrong?" His forehead wrinkled as he tilted his head to look at her.

"I'm just so madly in love with you." Her voice broke towards the end into more audible sobs. There was no relief in the revelation, her voice only voiced a pathetic self-pity and regret. Jaehyun came and sat down beside her silently.

#jaehyun scenario #doyoung scenarios #nct scenarios #doyoung smut #political!au #ambition series #jaehyun #doyoung #nct #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #angst #smut #fanfiction

93 notes · View notes

perksofbeingalittletwat · 4 years

Text

Cherry Blossom Nights

future!fic Adam is chief of staff to a senator and Ronan lives at the barns farming and learning to cook. They make dinner together sweetly and then scare the absolute shit out of a senator together. Weird powerful Adam and intimidating Ronan power couple take on the normies.

“Your floor count is 47. The motion’s gonna fail, you’re gonna have to abandon it.” Adam repeated calmly over the phone. His boss, rising senator and current Senate Minority Whip Douglas Fairveiw (D), huffed on the other end.

“I know. But I’m telling you, it’s not worth it.”

“And when will it be worth it, Parrish?” The more refined Virginian accent asked.

Adam looked down at his desk. A spread of tarot cards looked back at him. He checked that his office door was tightly locked and checked them again. “We have to talk to Williamson, from Utah. She’s on the fence. If we can give her something she might come over to our side.” His thumb rubbed the Four of Swords, Williamson’s card in his mind. Fairview sighed, “Fine. Alright. Cancel the vote and send everyone home. I’m not going to risk my ass over this.”

Adam nodded and hung up the phone. A quick email later and a nearly audible sigh of relief passed through the Senate Office Building. It was late on a Friday night and everyone was anxious to get home, the only thing standing in their way had been Adam’s boss and the impending, and now doomed, vote. Adam sighed too, leaning back in his chair and loosening his tie. He was glad his weekend plans had been here in Washington instead of forcing him to drive back to Henrietta. It was only a few hours back to his hometown, but on weekends hours were precious. They were so often cut short that any week he could force his partner up to him instead of driving home was easier. Ronan didn’t mind Adam coming home late from an endless meeting on an amendment to an amendment to a motion to strike out a line from an appropriations bill. Fairview had promised his staff the whole weekend off, and the holiday as well, but Adam knew better than to believe it. He checked his watch anyways, Ronan should be here soon. He gathered up the cards spread on his desk, hid them deep in his desk drawer, and walked out into the lobby.

“I’m heading home, June. That’s a full lid. Bossman says we have the weekend off but keep your phone on you just in case.” Adam addressed the woman working the front desk of the office.

“Ron.. I mean your boy… Mr. Lynch is outside the building.” June faltered. People in Washington usually reacted like this to Ronan. It was a town of sharp suits and cultivated personalities and Ronan’s utter insistence on being himself at all times threw a wrench into the system. Adam smirked. “You can just say Ronan, June.”

Ronan was a dark shadow just out of eyesight of the door to the Senate Office Building.

“You’re allowed inside you know. You’re one of our constituents.” Adam called to the dusk.

“It’s much more fun to scare the suits from out here,” came the grinning response behind him. Adam softened as Ronan wrapped his arms around him from behind and kissed his neck gently. “The vote’s off. I’m all yours this weekend,” He whispered.

“Mark the time. I’ll believe it when I see it, Parrish.” Ronan sneered.

“Sometimes I get the whole weekend…”

“Sure. Tell me the last time you didn’t get a text from the suit all weekend.”

“March.”

“He sent you an email. Doesn’t count. You spent four hours researching soybean prices.”

“You said text.” Adam protested. He disentangled his body from Ronan’s and opted to just take his hand, leading him away from the SOB and up towards his apartment. He was lucky, he found a place only nine blocks from the office on I street. His salary wasn’t impressive but it was more than Adam had ever seen in his life. They cut through the Capitol grounds and towards the highway.

“You know what I meant you little shit,” Ronan threw back. “And you haven’t said anything about my skirt, I wore it just for you.”

Ronan was dressed as he always did, combat boots, black tank top, incomprehensible yet threatening tattoo peaking out, but he had switched out his usual ripped jeans for a mid length black skirt. Almost a kilt really, that somehow looked even better than the standard model.

“I like it. I didn’t want to call attention to it if you were just experimenting,” Adam said. The couple cut an unusual shape through the city. Adam blended in so perfectly, a lifetime of practice finally paying off, in a dark navy suit and red tie; Ronan a foreboding slash of darkest reality next to him. No small space had been written about them in the capitol gossip columns, the highest member of staff on the rising Democratic star senator’s team traipsing around town with a hooligan. Adam’s own reputation provided enough inches on its own. The ‘Wizard of C Street’, claimed one fanciful headline. It was believed far and wide in the city that Adam knew things he could not know before he could know them. What was stranger still was that it was true. His and Ronan’s connection with the legendary Gansey clan didn’t help either.

But this spring night was blissfully calm. The reporters were at home, the only people who acknowledged Adam and Ronan were the guards at the checkpoints to the Capitol itself. Adam greeted each by name and wished them a good weekend. Ronan ignored them.

“How’re the Barns?”

“Sprouting. Everything’s up and ready to grow. I accidentally created a new breed of apple the other night, here, try it.” Ronan fished an apple from his pocket and tossed it to Adam. Adam caught it and bit into it, a trickle of juice dripping down his chin. It didn’t have a taste as much as it had a feeling. The apple felt like home, tasted like summer, and smelled like a cool breeze off the mountains. It was a dream. Literally.

“Can you plant these? This is incredible.”

“No idea Parrish. I’ve never planted a dream before. It’s got seeds though, and I got it from a tree in the dream so it should. I dumped a few on the south pasture before I left. We’ll see what it looks like when I get back.”

After the short walk they arrived at Adam’s building, a stocky four apartment affair set back from the street with a yard. Upstairs the place was small, but Adam had used his salary to furnish it the way he wanted. Granite countertops, large tv, and plants everywhere. Ronan may be a farmer, but Adam worked with plants the way Ronan worked with dreams. Adam could barely close the door before Ronan shoved him against it with a kiss.

They kissed hungrily at first, then slowed as they sated the most desperate of their need. It devolved into a loose hug and lazy kisses off center.

“I don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be able to do this.” Adam whispered, the barest hint of his accent slipping back in now that they were safely in his apartment.

“Do what?”

“Not having you here every night.”

“We survived while you were at Harvard.”

“Just barely, c’mon. Move in with me.”

Ronan pulled back and turned his head away. Memories of nightwash and choking came back to him. It hadn’t happened in a couple of years now but he had been steadfastly living at the Barns near his leyline and dreaming every night. “I don’t know, Parrish. You know I want to but…”

Adam hung his head and nodded. “Yeah. I know.”

Ronan kissed him again, an apology as much as a promise, and took his hand. “Now come on, let me cook you something, I’m fucking starving.” Time at the Barns without Parrish had left Ronan with a lot of time on his hands. He had filled it with chores, dreaming, and the latest project: learning to cook. Adam hoisted himself onto the kitchen island and watched Ronan throw a towel over his shoulder and start rooting through the cabinets.

“You have no fucking food in here Parrish. When was the last time you went to the store?”

“I don’t remember. I’m a little busy keeping the country running.” “You call that running? This country’s running about as gracefully as a baby horse with two broken legs.”

“It would’ve been three if I wasn’t around, you should be grateful.”

Ronan banged around the kitchen. Adam just watched him quietly, Ronan was a tight little hurricane, knives flying and pots crashing and curses muttered under breath but the whole while a tiny, tiny smile played at the corner of his lips. It was the Ronan he had fallen in love with, but conscious, the destructive power that had driven him through his grief over his father had become an aspect of his personality, no longer the motivating force of it. Eventually, even though he had nothing in his kitchen, Ronan still coaxed a meal out of Adam’s apartment.

“It’d be better with the real stuff. But ta-da.” Ronan flicked a bowl to Adam. Inside was an instagram worthy nest of spaghetti carbonara. He looked at it for maybe a second before he began wolfing it down. Adam ate like he might never eat again, like he had burned all the calories he had last time and was a few minutes from starvation. “God this is good Ronan.”

Ronan ate in great chomping bites. “It’s fine. You need to buy something worth eating, this cheese is shit.”

Adam smiled, “Since when are you a cheese snob?”

“Since you only have this shitty powdered parmesan in your fridge. It’s not that expensive, Parrish. You can afford the decent stuff..”

Adam was about to defend himself when his phone rang. They looked at each other and Adam sighed. Ronan rolled his eyes, “I win again. Told you we wouldn’t get the weekend.”

“It’s going to be nothing. Something quick probably.” Adam looked embarrassed and sad. “Parrish. Yes… No, yeah. I’m fine I was just eating… Ronan made us something. Yeah it was really good… He WHAT? Are you serious? That fucking… Yeah I’ll go right over.” He hung up and threw his phone at the couch, “That bastard.”

“A new broken leg?”

“Hackfield’s screwing us. He’s pushing the vote through committee so we lose it. I’m so sorry, i have to go.” He started collecting his things again. Ronan followed him and steadied his shoulders and retied his tie, “It’s okay. You gotta go. I’ll be here when you get back.” He kissed Adam gently and brushed a stray hair out of his eye.

“Actually… Do you want to come scare a senator with me?”

The look on Ronan’s face was pure happiness.

***

Twenty minutes later, Ronan was dressed in the suit he kept at Adam’s apartment and was standing by the door of Senator Hackfield of Delaware (D)’s office. Adam was back in his navy suit in the chair across from the senator.

“I understand your boss’ position, Mr. Parrish, but I’m not changing my mind. My state needs this package and I’m not going to deny them the opportunity this is going to provide.” Hackfield leaned back in his chair and spread his arms wide like ‘what can I do?’ It was obvious he thought Adam was no threat. Ronan smiled to himself, this was going to be fun to watch.

Adam didn’t reply to the senator. He just looked at him.

“Mr. Parrish, tell your boss he can send whoever he wants but you and your little boyfriend aren’t going to scare me.” Ronan bristled in the background and crossed his arm. Hackfield chuckled, “Keep an eye out, Mr. Parrish, that one looks like he needs a leash.”

Adam cocked his head slightly to the left and held a pause. Then very quietly he asked, “Did you just refer to my partner like a dog?” Hackfield chuckled nervously.

“No, of course not, it’s just not very professional to bring your, uh, partner, excuse me, into a meetin-”

“It’s not very professional to turn your back on your party for personal gain.” Adam countered, again with incredible quiet. Ronan knew what was happening. He’d seen Adam when he was like this, unsettling, distant, calm in a way that no other human ever truly was. People were not comfortable with this Adam. Ronan loved it. Stuttering, Hackfield tried to defend hismelf, “I’m not turing my back on the party. I’m helping my constituents. That is a very… professional.. Mr. Parrish I don’t have to answer to you, you know. You’re not my boss. And I don’t appreciate a staffer from a different office coming into mine on a Friday night like this and pushing me around.”

Adam didn’t answer, he just kept staring. Ronan took a step towards him. Hackfield glanced back and forth between the two boys nervously.

“Look I… Maybe we can work out a deal. I’ll just put in an amendment to the-”

Adam cut him off with a quiet, “No. You’ll kill this in committee until we have the votes.”

“My constituents need this bill.”

“And they can have it when we have the votes. But this isn’t about them. This is about you. This is about you looking courageous without having to risk anything because you know this will fail. I don’t like grandstanding, Senator.”

Ronan took another step forward. Hackfield looked pale. “Grandstanding.. I’m not… How dare you…” The senator was stuttering. Adam knew he had won. He stood up and just said, “This is going to wait. Thank you for your time Senator Hackfield. Have a good weekend.”

And then he walked out the door. Ronan watched the senator for another second, squirming like a prey animal. “Call me a dog again and I’ll show you what my teeth can do.” he growled and then smiled a shit-eating grin and sauntered out of the office.

“That was awesome, Parrish. He was fucking wetting himself.” Ronan was grinning ear to ear but Adam still had an aura of cold around him. “I don’t like them talking about you like that.”

“Oh fuck him, who cares. I don’t mind being your little attack dog.” Wrapping an arm around his waist, Ronan made a little woof noise into Adam’s hearing ear. Finally, Adam let out a breath and laughed. “C’mon let’s go home. Maybe we can still salvage the weekend. It’s fucking hot when you scare people like that but if you ever look at me with those dead eyes in bed I’m going to dump you.”

Adam turned and looked right at Ronan, shifting effortlessly into his uncanny aloofness. Ronan pushed him away down the hall, “Fuck off Parrish. I’m not kidding.” But Adam laughed and reached back his hand for Ronan’s. They walked out of the building holding hands into the warm spring night.

#Ronan Lynch #Adam Parrish #Pynch #Future fic #trc #cdth #trb #bllb #i've never written them before hope you enjoy #I couldn't get this out of my head #the raven boys #the raven cycle #pynch fic #trk #tdt #the dream thieves

15 notes · View notes

bluerene · 5 years

Text

RobStar Week #1 - Wayne Manor

Hello friends. Please allow me to quickly and suddenly resurrect my online presence with a week of robstar goodness, followed by an onslaught of miscellaneous content + a loooot of fics that should’ve been published ages ago. The bitch is back! She is also about to board a plane and has not proofread this one bit, so please excuse the ugly errors.

As always, feedback is loved.

Enjoy!

Wayne Manor (ft. implied BatCat justice bc it’s what we deserved)

It had been twenty-two years in the making, but finally, the day had come.

Dick tugged at the collar of his suit and huffed, tilting his wrist upwards to check his watch. Two hours till takeoff.

That was how he had been thinking of it anyway. The whole event felt more like a formality than anything else; marriage was just the legal definition of what they already had. Often enough, he forgot they weren’t husband and wife.

He glanced around the room and smiled; Alfred had really outdone himself this time. Dick brushed his fingers along the row of lilies that lined the entryway, admiring the splash of pink roses that stood out amid the white flora. Their saccharine smell lingered in the air as he walked on through the room, studying the impressive set-up.

They had chosen to host their wedding at Wayne Manor, which was gorgeous and private and comfortable. With graceful vaults and arches that curved into a smooth dome and made the polished marble floors gleam in the glittering sunlight, the ballroom was easily the most elegant waste of space Dick had known in his house. And, it was finally being put to use the way it deserved.

Alfred had thrown himself into preparations the moment he’d heard. Even in his old age, he was a force to be reckoned with- he had florists ready, caterers selected, a decorating committee arranged, and invitations delivered within days. Thirty-six hours before the ceremony, he had marched in with an army of specialists and had set to work on the hall.

It had been divided up in such a way that the service, reception, and dinner would all be hosted within a few feet of each other. From the thick maple doors of the entryway, she would walk in, fiercely beautiful as ever. She would make her way past the rows of chairs towards a trellis made of fine gold, twisted with flowers and leaves. Posts would be in line with its sides, thin gossamer curtains tied with ribbons from wall to wall, effectively cutting off access to the space behind. After they kissed, the entire party would pass through the curtains and into the garden, where they could immediately enjoy the reception, while the bride and groom snuck off to change into clothes better suited to dinner and dancing. At the end of the night, they would bid their goodbyes and steal away into the night as they had for the past twenty-two years.

Dick had envisioned this moment for half of his life in different ways. The bride used to change, often switching between the various women in his life at the time- but as time went on, the vision became clearer and more obvious. It could only be her. She’d always been there, a shadow flitting in and out of the window, playing with fire fearlessly.

Something probed his arm gently, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Does it remind you of ours?”

He smiled and drew her hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to her palm.

“In the best ways. Al really pulled this one together brilliantly.”

His wife sighed, intertwining their fingers.

“It is worth it. Their happy ending is long overdue.”

“Yeah,” Dick agreed, “it’s about time. How’s the bride looking?”

“Like a million of the dollar bills,” Kori replied cheekily, “truly, you may never have eyes for me again.”

He laughed and cupped her cheek, taking in her appearance. His eyes lingered on her full lips, the glimmer of happiness in her electric eyes, the slight pink flush that ran from her cheeks to her collarbone. Her hair had been pinned up into an intricate bun, stray curls framing her face. She was a vision in the soft gold gown Selina had asked her to wear as one of the bridesmaids.

“I don’t think I could ever have eyes for anyone other than you, beautiful.”

Kori beamed and slid her free hand to his chest, gripping the lapel of his suit jacket to pull him into a sweet kiss. Her mouth moving achingly slow against his while he fought to remind himself they were in an unconcealed, public space.

She pulled away and giggled, smoothing out the fabric she had crumpled.

“Your restraint is impressive, my love.”

“It had better be,” a deep voice resounded from behind them, “as I recall, you two are already married, so I doubt there’s much more you can do at a wedding that you haven’t done before.”

“You’d be surprised, Dad,” Dick said cheerfully, “but I’m not looking to upstage your night, so let’s leave it at that.”

“Hello k’norfka Bruce,” Kori said eagerly, hurrying to press a kiss to her father-in-law’s cheek, “you look very handsome! How are you feeling?”

Bruce patted her shoulder affectionately, a rare smile lighting up his face, “like I should have done years ago. You look lovely, by the way.”

“I was just telling Richard to reserve judgment until after the bride has arrived. Selina is truly...indescribably wonderful.”

Dick didn’t miss the dreamy look that crossed his father’s face.

“And the flower girl? As radiant as her mother?”

He didn’t miss the way his wife blushed at those words either.

“Provided she does not ruin her dress again, Mar’i will look perfect,” she replied with a sigh, glancing at the doors, “in fact, I believe it is time for me to check in on her. Please excuse me, k’norfka Bruce. Richard, I will see you before the ceremony.”

Bruce shoved his hands into his pockets and watched her leave.

“How are you feeling, Dick?”

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? It’s your wedding, after all.”

“It’s about time, don’t you think,” Bruce replied with a grin, “I made her wait twenty-two years.”

“I’m still amazed by that, y’know. Star and I tied the knot...what, six years after we started dating. I can’t believe it took you guys this long.”

“Well we’re here now, aren’t we?”

“Only because Selina was boss enough to propose.”

“I would’ve proposed when the time came!” Bruce said indignantly.

Dick snorted, “Yeah, in 2068, when you’re too close to death to fear commitment.” He glanced around the room, gaze falling on a nearby satin pillow, “Is the ring-bearer going to show up today?”

“He’ll pitch a fit, but yes. The kid’s a fan of Selina. Plus, he misses you.”

“The devil? Inconceivable,” Dick muttered.

Bruce cuffed him on the back of the head, “He’s your brother.”

“So is Tim, but you don’t see him slicing me up in ‘training sessions’. Speaking of, where is he? Why am I the only one here?”

“Jason plans on popping in during the reception. Tim’s bringing Stephanie so he’s at her house. Alfred is with Damian.”

“That’s not what I mean. Why am I the only one here, now?”

Bruce shifted uncomfortably, and rubbed the back of his neck, ”You’re the first, you know. I’ve always held the others up to you, even when I shouldn’t have. You were a brat, but you were also my first son. I wanted you to be here for that.”

“Dad.”

“No jokes, I’m serious.”

“I am too.”

“Well...good.”

“Yeah.”

They stood in silence, eyes fixed on the rows of chairs and the trellis directly ahead.

“So…”

“Hit the bar? A couple of pre-wedding drinks?”

“Is that what Garfield and Victor did with you?”

Dick laughed as he lead his father out of the hall, “Are you kidding? They wouldn’t let me near the mini-bar. Said they would beat my ass if I was tipsy at my own wedding.”

“Clearly you’re not concerned about me.”

“Nah. First, Silena is more than capable of sobering you up with a single glance. Second, you’re Batman.”

“Ha ha, very funny. I’m pretty sure Kori would do the same if you’d stumbled down the aisle. That woman can pack a punch.”

“Do I detect a hint of fatherly pride there, Dad? Are you finally coming around to your daughter-in-law?”

Bruce rolled his eyes, nudging Dick with his elbow.

“Knock it off. You know I respect her and care about her. She’s a fine young woman. I couldn’t have chosen better for you if I’d tried.”

Dick softened, “I was kidding, but...thanks. It means a lot to hear you say that. She loves and admires you so much. And she tells Mar’i stories about you all the time. She won’t let me ruin your image even a little.”

“She gave you the home you needed, didn’t she?” Bruce said quietly, “Your relationship with me and this house and everything you had turned away from was different after she came into your life.”

“Yeah,” Dick agreed, clapping his hand on his father’s shoulder, “my home is wherever she goes. And she always seems to know what I need when I need it. That’s why she cares so much about this place.”

“I’m sorry for all the shit I gave you in the beginning, you know. I think it pushed you to be strong and decisive, but I am sorry if it hurt you.”

“Not gonna lie, I was pretty pissed for a while. But Star always understood. Always gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

“She’s a special girl.”

And Dick could have gone on about how perfect his wife was - how incomparably sweet and passionate and fiery she could be. How strongly she fought for their family. How lovingly she accepted everyone into her heart.

But he simply nodded and raised his watch to check the time, grinning at his father.

“How about that drink, old man? Push away some of those pre-wedding jitters?”

Bruce’s lips twitched in amusement, but Dick still caught the happy creases around his eyes.

“As long as Alfred doesn’t catch us, I’m game.”

“Afraid he’ll kick your ass?” Dick teased, swiftly dodging a well-aimed slap upside the head.

“It’s my wedding day, son. I get a free pass. I’m looking out for you.”

“Yeah, Dad,” Dick chuckled, “you always do.”

#its robstar week bitches #the tags vanished when i posted this idk #selina kyle #bruce way #dick grayson #koriandr #robstar #batcat #batman #catwoman #robin #starfire #blue writes #blue is exhausted

62 notes · View notes

damnit-samnit · 5 years

Note

preview please pinapplesan?

Sure! This isn’t edited so beware.

“Hey, uh, Maijima…”

Maijima?

A hidden brow lifted at hearing his actual name.

… Weird.

Power Loaded glanced up to where your desk was situated across the room – you had been the one to call him… that. You were doing your best to look obviously nonchalant, half seated on the surface of your station, thumb scrolling mindlessly through your phone even though you weren’t looking at it.

You were looking at him.

You wanted something.

He frowned and raised a hand before you could speak any further.

“No,” he said firmly. “No raises. You haven’t been here long enough.”

A blink of confusion was followed by a slow grin. When you started to laugh, his eyes narrowed.

Were you still trying to play him?

He watched as you pushed yourself to stand fully and tossed your phone back into your tote, meandering over to him with your hands clasped behind your head. You were shifting and lifting your bent arms, grunting quietly as you heard the joints of your wrists, shoulders and back pop and crack.

“I’m not looking for money, boss,” you said sweetly. “I just… have a question for you.”

He didn’t like questions.

Power Loader sighed and returned to what he had been carefully working on before your interruption.

He wasn’t in the best of moods to start with. A little to his left, collapsed in a mangled heap of crushed steel and broken bits, was all that remained of his once beautiful exoskeleton.

An arm had been snapped off entirely. A leg was barely attached, hanging on desperately via an emptied hydraulic fluid line. The cage had been split open and then violently crushed inward–

It was the end result of him stumbling across a villain with a metal-bending quirk. Obviously, he had gotten away without grievous bodily injury but it took a few other heroes stepping in to even give him a chance to cheat death.

And they didn’t even catch the guy…

“Well, what do you want, then?” he snapped.

You cleared your throat.

“I have hero friends that I’ve always done work for… A personal favor kind of deal, you know? Designs and repairs, nothing too big.” You picked up a small piece of scrap he had discarded, toying with it. “Back at my old place I had a nice little setup that I could use for my work but…”

“You want to use my lab for your personal projects,” Power Loader interrupted with a grunt, slashing a red mark on a metal pipe of where he would need to cut.

You chewed on your lip, glad he wasn’t looking at you.

“… Well… and your suppliers…”

At that addition, you were quick to speak up, especially when you saw the full-body scowl start to take hold of your employer. “I’ll keep track of what I buy and will completely reimburse you, of course. You won’t pay a dime, promise. But… if I can use the space and maybe some of your machines and your ordering accounts… I can pay you too! I don’t want you to think I’m a freeloader!”

“What about your work now? You gonna tell me you’re going to work on your stuff during business hours?”

“I wouldn’t even touch them until after hours,” you said. “Hell, I’d probably go home and come back later. There would be a clear divide…”

Hesitation.

“It’s not a lot, either, the work.” You weren’t looking at him anymore. “Just… one… uh, hero. Suit.” You winced, recalling the full scale of the order. “Well, an order for one person.”

A silence hung over the lab while Power Loader continued to mark up his work. Then, he titled his mask toward you.

“You do understand that under the table support work is…” He clicked his tongue. “Frowned upon .”

You were still turning the bit of metal around in your hands, thumb running along the sharpened edges.

… You had been hoping he wouldn’t draw attention to that.

“Everyone does it,” you grumbled.

“Yeah, alright. And if everyone goes and throws themselves into an incinerator, does that mean you’re going to as well?”

“No dad …” you scoffed. “And that’s not how the phrase goes at all. You’re supposed to say jump off a bridge or something.”

“Too many people survive when it comes to jumping off bridges. An incinerator is a lot more permanent.” He placed his marker on the table, resting his chin on his palm. “And I’m not your dad… I’m not that much older than you.”

“Hatsume told me you were in your forties?”

“What!? No! No, I’m not in my forties… I am forty.”

“That’s still a pretty fatherly age.”

He looked like he was going to snap at you but caught himself.

“Stop trying to distract me. We’re talking about you squatting at my lab.”

“Only for one friend’s order, that’s all… For now, ” you added under your breath as a just-in-case acknowledgment.

Power Loader snorted and leaned back on his chair, looking up to the ceiling. You honestly didn’t know what direction he was leading toward and that was making your nervous. Had his words been playful banter or was he actually annoyed by your request? Were you overstepping boundaries? Had the roles been reversed, you would have gladly let him use your lab…

At least, that’s what you were telling yourself.

“You’re not doing anything illegal, right?” He asked. You really had to keep yourself from looking too guilty. Carefully you raised your chin and smirked at him, brows dancing upward.

“Why, you want in on it, boss?”

“I just don’t want the police banging down my door in some kind of string. Or for my license to get revoked. As an employee, you’re a reflection of me, dumbass.”

“Does that apply to Hatsume too? She a reflection of you?”

Power Loader groaned and fussed with the tufts of ginger hair peeking out from beneath his mask. He was… torn on how he felt about the teenage prodigy representing him.

On one hand, she was a genius…

On the other hand…

“No one has a nuclear quirk, no one’s radioactive,” you said. “I’m not splitting atoms or creating containment fixtures – I’m not doing anything that’s dangerous. Honestly? I just need to sew up a couple of pairs of shirts and pants. And little… knick-knacks that go on his suit.”

The hero sighed.

It was long.

It was deep.

He wanted you to understand how… bothersome your request was.

Then he cracked his knuckles and nodded.

You released your own, softer, sigh of relief.

“Don’t screw me,” he said, lifting a finger as he looked at your sternly. Well, as sternly as he could with half his face obscured by a goofy helmet. “I take on some liability having you use my space and equipment.”

“You’re such a kind-hearted hero, boss. I promise you I’m going to write to a hero committee and nominate you for some kind of kindness award… They give out awards at the Hero Gala, don’t they?”

“Doubt I’d get a kindness one. A support one, maybe…”

“You’d have to weld yourself a new helmet because I can see your head growing at least fifteen times bigger at just the thought of an award.”

Power Loader grinned and turned in his seat, pointing to the wall directly across from him. “That’ll be my award wall.”

You squinted at it, tilting your head.

“It’s gonna look awfully sad with your one certificate.”

“You have no idea that junk I have stored upstairs. I got more than a certificate, I can tell you that. I could fill that wall.”

“Ah, I appreciate the fact that you’re humble.”

He gave you a sardonic smile that you returned. Several beats of silence passed before you sighed.

“Thanks again. For letting me use your lab.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” he said, waving away your thanks. “I let Hatsume use is already, anyway, and you’re a lot more responsible than she is.”

He didn’t catch the tightness that overtook your smile – he had already disengaged from the conversation, eager to return to the job that had taken his attention before your interruption.

That suit of his needed to be repaired – it was an extension of him. Something special. He didn’t have time to dilly-dally with you and chat.

You didn’t say anything more after that, returning quietly to your desk.

10 notes · View notes

magneticwave · 7 years

Text

LAB GIRL by hope jahren

I am (ha Ha surprising) currently deeply unmotivated to do lab work because dumb shit keeps happening like the idiot in the lab next door turns off the cooling system to a piece of equipment in the middle of my experiment and it's making me think of a scientist's memoir I recently read and 70% hated, LAB GIRL, which I only recommend for #treefacts and the opening stuff about the isolating experience of growing up in Minnesota. In LAB GIRL, a memoir about Science, the author describes a test she uses on prospective grad students where she has them complete a task and then throws away the results of this task and tells the student that they had made a mistake. If the student does anything other than immediately try a new approach to accomplish this task (including taking a break to collect themselves), they have failed. I was thinking about this memoir while eating a donut this afternoon, approximately ten minutes after I discovered my overheated samples floating in a water bath, determined that they were ruined, and screamed like a fucking pterodactyl in the soundproofed cold room as an instant cage of fury descended over me. The donut was a "don't quit grad school because one (1) post-doc ruined one (1) experiment" bribe to myself. If someone told me that I was being kicked out of my program for taking fifteen minutes to eat a donut, I would kill them. I know (I KNOW) that hating capitalism is a meme now that all the cool kids do, but it sucks in ways that move insidiously beyond the work force as we think of it and I can feel them constantly breathing on my neck, even as people I know who are not in grad school tell me that I'm really lucky to still be in school and not doing a "real job." Plenty of people who control my professional future think it's totally normal and in fact appropriate to demand 80 hours of work a week from their students, because their students are supposed to love this work so much that it's not work any more, it's a Passion. But I don't think that anything you need to do for 80 hours a week because otherwise you will be without healthcare or money for rent or a good reference letter can be a Passion. I think it burns the love out of you. After that, all you can do is write memoirs where you try to recapture that first love and then try (maybe successfully) to convince yourself that you still feel it and therefore all those hours were worth it, the ones you spent crying in the bathroom because you couldn't go home or else your boss would write mean things on your yearly progress report about how bad your work ethic is. The real love is gone. It was killed a little bit the first time a sleazy professor hit on you during a meeting and then a little bit more when he was assigned as the chair of your committee. You could have rescued it with donuts and friends and funny movies and weekends away but you didn't have the time for those things because you had to be in the lab. You always have to be in the lab. You don't deserve this cushy job serving the god of Science if you aren't willing to sacrifice absolutely everything to it, like that stupid Robin Williams movie about the anthropomorphic slime. Everything about being in grad school and academic science is designed to make you grateful and willing to be trampled in the pursuit of whatever fucking thing you want to understand. ANYWAY, don't read LAB GIRL. Buy yourself a fancy donut and take a fucking breather.

#ADVICE TO SELF #it turns out I'm still fucked up about my thesis advisor dying #which is #you know #..........a shock

17 notes · View notes

cksmart-world · 4 years

Text

The completely unnecessary news analysis

by Christopher Smart

January 14, 2020

COURT: INLAND PORT LAND GRAB IS COOL

& GOODBYE SHITHEADS HELLO VANCOUVER

It's like this, government closest to the people is best — except when it isn't. This is the unofficial mantra of the Utah Legislature, where conservative Republicans keep a close watch on freedom and other stuff they want. Last week, a state court ruled that when lawmakers took control of 16,000 acres from Salt Lake City and its elected officials, it was in accordance with the Utah Constitution, which is divinely inspired. The land grab, er uh legislative action, is for the so-called Inland Port, where trucks and trains from all over would bring freight to a sea of warehouses and then shipped elsewhere by more trucks and trains. It would add thousands of tons of pollutants to our already poisonous air and further clog our roadways with 18-wheelers — but that's not the point, stupid. A board of good ol' boys, er uh, administrators, would control development and taxes — while elected Salt Lake City officials suck their thumbs. And that's just fine, the judge said, because the Inland Port “is sufficiently infused with a state purpose.” That is, it will create lots of low-paying jobs. Coincidentally, this not-so-slight-of-hand sets the stage for power brokers, er uh, community leaders, to make bank thanks to their buddies, er uh, administrators on the board. The judge forgot to mention that. See, it's like this, the people's will matters, except when it doesn't.

MIKE LEE: I'M NO BENEDICT ARNOLD,

GINGER ROGERS MAYBE

Two words for Utah Sen. Mike Lee: “De Caf.” Holy smokes, Lee totally lost it after a classified administration briefing on the killing of Iranian Gen. Qasem Soleimani left him H-O-T. It's “probably the worst briefing I have seen in the nine years I’ve served in the United States Senate,” Lee said. That, of course, got President Trump's undies in a bunch and sent tremors through his PR team at Fox News Channel For Real Americans. Windbag Lou Dobbs compared Lee to Benedict Arnold — ouch, the only thing worse is being likened to Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez. Fox News host Bret Baier barked that Lee must be suffering from “Trump Derangement Syndrome” — an aberration usually reserved for idiot liberals. And Sen. Marco Rubio whined that he wouldn't share his milk with Mikey at lunch. Then before you could say, “Party at Mar-A-Lago,” Lee was praising the president and blaming his subordinates for force-feeding Donald bad advice. The senator was dancing backward faster than Ginger Rogers in Flying Down to Rio. “The president has made us look stronger through the restraint of power, not through the excessive abuse of it. And I applaud him for that,” Lee said. Tango, anyone? And don't forget to remember, Mike, to stay away from the 100 % Colombian coffee, you could splat out and get into big trouble with Fox & Friends.

SO LONG SHITHEADS, HELLO VANCOUVER

Want to get away? Meghan Markle, aka the Duchess of Sussex, couldn't bolt fast enough from Buckingham Palace — and it wasn't the bread pudding. The biracial American actress had enough of the churlish slights from the stiff Royals and the nasty British tabloids. So, it was off to Canada, where she will be treated like a Chinese panda. Meanwhile, everyone in Britain is in a frenzy. The Brits have been glued to the Royal soap opera because the Gang of Windsor is more important than Sir Elton John. (Sorry Wilson, maybe we should have said John Lennon.) Things are so ugly that statues of Meghan and Harry were ripped out of Madame Tussauds wax museum. That said, why would anyone in the good ol' USA give a rat's pajamas about the Royal family — Adele, at least, can sing. After some serious navel-gazing, the staff here at Smart Bomb came up with some prescient insights: Americans are titillated when Prince Charles or Prince Andrew screw up — we love to see Royal pain. And we smacked our lips when Harry brought Meghan home — it was a Guess-Who's-Coming-To-Dinner moment for a white dynasty that has wreaked havoc on people of color across the globe. Meghan Markle isn't exactly Mahatma Gandhi, but she did make the Queen spit up in her tea and hide the silver.

HILLARY MUST BE GUILTY OF SOMETHING

Well, dang it, that slippery Hillary Clinton escaped the hanging tree once again, despite general knowledge by Trumpers and Jason Chaffetz that she is a crooked, deceitful traitor who has cooked up all kinds of evil stuff from Benghazi to Whitewater. A two-year investigation by the Department of Justice and U.S. Attorney for Utah John Huber wrapped up last month but found “nothing of value” to prosecute. What? How could this be? Trump and Michael Flynn and Jon Voight and a host of great Americans led crowds chanting “Lock Her Up. Lock Her Up” — and now nothing? Even disgraced FBI boss James Comey investigated her emails a couple of times. And former chairman of the House Oversight Committee, Utah's own Jason Chaffetz investigated Hillary and Benghazi nine — count 'em, nine — times because he and his Republican comrades knew that then-Secretary of State Clinton was guilty of something, or everything. If not, at least they could make the public believe she was dishonest and dastardly. After all, you've got to give people someone to hate. It's a Republican truism. And it worked. It all worked brilliantly. Many uninformed Americans found it impossible to vote for Hillary because unlike her Republican opponent in the last presidential election, she is dishonest, lies all the time, screws people over at will, has delusions of grandeur and cheats on her taxes. Lock Her Up. Lock Her Up.

Post Script — That's it for another feel-good week here at Smart Bomb, where we keep track of Royal intrigue so you don't have to. Hold on to your hat, here's some really BIG news (It was on the front page of the Salt Lake Tribune, no less): Abby Huntsman is leaving the View — that's the TV talk show where Whoopi Goldberg and Meghan McCain scream at each other and throw chairs and stuff. The staff here at Smart Bomb doesn't know exactly why the daughter of Jon and Mary Kaye Huntsman is making a quick exit from such a great gig. Maybe it's because Jon is running for governor of Utah and doesn't want to be linked in anyway to communists, like Joy Behar and Whoopi Goldberg. Or maybe it's because Meghan McCain threw Perrier at Abby backstage and called her a baby lover. Anyway, her pops, Jon Huntsman, is in a tight contest, running against Lt. Gov. Spencer Cox, former Speaker of the House Greg Hughes, Salt Lake County Councilwoman Aimee Newton Winder, Businessman Jeff Burningham, some dude named Jason Christensen and one Democrat — Zachary Moss. Big secret: Whoever wins the Republican nomination will be the next governor. Sorry Moss, but you are a stranger in a strange land. Many Utahns vote for Republicans, like Donald Trump and Greg Hughes, because they could never vote for a Democrat. For one thing, Democrats are immoral baby killers who want to restrict guns in schools. They want to rob the defense budget and spend more money on education and health care. And worst of all, they believe in climate change. If global warming was real, glaciers in Greenland would be melting and Australia would be in flames.

OK, Wilson, wake up the band and take us out with a little something for everyone, who, like Meghan Markle and Abby Huntsman, has had enough:

When are you gonna come down? / When are you going to land? / I should have stayed on the farm / I should have listened to my old man... So goodbye yellow brick road / Where the dogs of society howl / You can't plant me in your penthouse / I'm going back to my plough...

0 notes

valenshawke · 7 years

Text

Me vs. My Boss - Part 89798427987

My relationship with my boss is interesting.

I spent so much time in school that I really never had a boss before, even when I was someone’s research assistant. With my mentor at undergrad, when I was his research assistant, I didn’t need to have a boss, I just worked hard because I totally appreciated the things he did for me. For those last two years in college and three years in Columbus, he fulfilled that father figure I hadn’t had since my dad died. And while we never really spoke about anything deeply personal (except my rejection letters for grad school), he did provide that professional/career/financial guidance I feel like my dad would have. It was his advice to me when I was on the job market (academic, public, and private sector) that I found the most reasonable.

“Whoever makes the best offer to you first, go with it. You’d be suffering upwards for 5-7 more years if you commit now to being a part-timer working 3 campuses.”

He was the only one that offered me any career advice after I defended my dissertation. Not even my advisor/dissertation chairperson could. But, admittedly, she and her husband (also on my committee) felt really bad about my situation when I graduated (in a more favorably market, I could have stayed 1-2 more years and gotten something). They also cop to not having done enough. But hey, I got a real job with benefits.They were ecstatic.

Which brings me to my actual factual boss.

Hooboy.

When I got to my job, he was still only one of my two group leaders. Group leaders occupy a weird position of not being managers but having some managerial authority as delegated by their (and my) Deputy Director, who is my actual manager/boss.

Nice guy.

Nice guys don’t always make for good managers. In fact, they make for pretty rotten managers.

In the boss/employee relationship, I don’t need to be friends with my manager. I really don’t give two shits. Can I be respectful? Yes. Can they be respectful? Yes. Can we be professional in dealing with problems? Yes. Is there a time to raise your voice in anger? Sure.

The problem with my boss is he’s been acting like the good cop since he was promoted. Now. there were some shady office politics (nothing illegal but between the people) going on in my office in the two years before I got there that set the stage here.

His allies among the employees for my first year here were, me and the two guys that I sat next two.

Those two guys left for jobs at HQ, which I understand.

This leaves me.

The next two years, become a harrowing experience.

He is not a good manager.

But on a personal level, I like him. He’s a guy you could go out and have a few drinks with, watch football, and have a good time.

As a manager...

I protected him twice.

How? I warned him on something because of something he had to one of my coworkers. He worded things so poorly even though I know his intent was, “Don’t be belligerent,” which my coworker was by refusing an assignment. Because my coworker literally HAD no assignments.

But he worded it in a way that could have been actionable. I literally told him to walk with me out of our building and I explained it to him.

He and our director continued to handle it poorly. But fine, that coworker ends up leaving to another department and out of our hair. Goodbye forever. [Side note: This same coworker actually asked for my number before I left. I responded with, “Why, you want me to do your work at another agency?”

After saying that we were friends, I responded with, “You are literally the worst person I have ever dealt with and I never want to see or hear from you again.”

I was literally in my 30 minutes of the day before I went on vacation and to San Diego Comic Con.

I stopped by my actual friend’s office and my soon-to-be former coworker was there, apparently crying not understanding why I hated them so. When I do 60% or more of your work, that’s why].

Which brings us to the last 10 months.

I can’t and won’t say much but I will say that part of how I operate at work is generally this: Keep your head down, don’t talk politics, don’t talk religion, and make no physical contact with people. That last part is unless I KNOW you really well or your someone I HAVE to shake hands with (big deal with at HQ), do not fucking touch me.

But I see a lot of things and hear a lot, having a large headset makes people think I tune out when I’m listening.

But you know what? The truth, as I saw it, made this thing I won’t say much about really a non-starter. But it’s still stressful.

I even literally try to console my boss who feels bad about us being called about it.

Now, that said, in the summer of 2015, some family problems rear their ugly head the weekend before I am supposed to run my first training school at this agency. There are some serious questions as to whether or not I can teach that Monday.

He set it up where if I can’t be there, my backup (who had actually done this project last year and knew the stuff) could do it.

I managed to run the school. Not well mind you, I know my standards.

He had my back.

I appreciated that.

I have his.

Until you start JERKING ME AROUND AND ASKING ME TO GROVEL.

On Fridays, I have the privilege to work at home. I earned it and in the two years I’ve been doing this, all the metrics show I actually do work and get more done at home cause I have almost no distractions.

I also have situational times due to mitigating circumstances. Remember the eclipse? There was going to be a protest downtown that day, right in front of the building and the building managers wanted us out.

Today, they’re putting in a door in some office space behind my work area. Building contractors want no one there for safety reasons.

My director has already indicated I could telework that day.

But communications breakdown.

I ask my boss Tuesday, what the deal was going to be.

He say he’d know tomorrow.

Tomorrow comes.

He knows I have to leave at 3 PM everyday since I maxed out on credit and they won’t give me comp.

I want an answer.

I actually go to his office like 4 times that day (which is normal).

He avoids that issue.

He wants me to ask and beg.

I am literally not having it.

2:45 comes and my group leader says he’s willing to ask. I tell him no and even point out he’s not in his office and hadn’t been for awhile.

2:55, still hiding. Even our Account Tech thinks I’m teleworking and is shocked when I tell her I don’t have an answer.

At this point, I just flip my shit.

I put myself on the leave calendar under sick leave (cause I have 4 people at the office wondering about my mental health at this point because I had been on edge for a two weeks). And, honestly, I was sick of being at my office and seeing people. As my friend at work said, “Yeah, sounds like you need a vacation.”

Sick leave doesn’t require any approval. I can use it without approval whenever. I don’t like using it but it’s handy sometimes.

3 PM, I leave not before telling my group leader to tell our boss to fuck off (”I cannot tell him to fuck off, Michael.”

“Just tell him I left pissed.”)

I come home.

And, well, situation here makes my day WORSE.

On my way back I get a text from my boss asking if I’m okay cause now I’m on the calendar on Sick Leave.

So, I actually GO BACK to my office. But I’m off the clock.

My group leader is rather shocked I’m back and I explain to him the thing at home. At this point, he just looks at me like, “Shit man, you’re hit at all sides today.”

I end up taking him, his wife (group leader on the other side of the office), and one of the account techs to dinner just to kill time before my work friend crashes dinner with us.

But that was about 1 hour of me being at the office before we go to dinner. My boss is still there.

I walk out of the my office (our layout is weird) to go the vending machine cause I need a soda and would use the can to fill up on water. My boss is walking over to my group leader’s office as I’m heading out to the hallway.

“Oh hey, I thought I heard your voice-”

I turn around

“YOU AND I DON’T NEED TO TALK TODAY!” And I give him that wide eyed smile like I really want to pick up the chair and fling it at him.

And I walk out to get my soda.

Now, I have to walk around the office a few times mostly to calm myself down and find someone to kill time with. I actually walk past my boss twice and he tries to say something but I ignore him.

So, we go to dinner. Have some BBQ chicken nachos and a couple of racks of ribs. My group leader is happy, it’s free beer.

Beer is disgusting.

Anyways, at dinner my group leader tells me that he actually stopped my boss from trying to talk to me because he didn’t want to get between us. I then tell him the incident where I almost got between my boss and another coworker cause I reasonably believed my coworker was gunna throw a punch at my boss.

Anyways, “Well, I was gunna tell him he could work from home tomorrow.”

It’s almost 6 PM when that conversation took place.

You wanted me to beg and grovel.

Nope.

Not today.

We don’t have enough work to let me work some comp? You guys can cover? Okay. Here’s two more days to my vacation.

#ValensHawke record of complete psychological breakdown

3 notes · View notes

falke-scribblings · 7 years

Link

I wrote a thing for the one-year anniversary of the film's U.S. release. Fair warning - it’s self-referential to the point of being obnoxious, and even mentions a thing or two I haven't gotten around to publishing yet.

Chronologically compliant. Might even be important later, who knows?

Nick had no idea what time it was when they came out of the studio, into the bright afternoon light of downtown.

It had gone quickly. Their interviewers had kept the discussion brisk, probably out of concern for their time slot. Nick and Judy were given just enough time to marshal their thoughts and answer the question, and it was on to the next one. Nick had liked the snappy pace, even if the content was safe-for-primetime softball. It reminded him of the hustling days.

Judy wasn't much better at on-camera work now, either - especially with the expectations that came with a taped segment. She hadn't been totally at ease with the tiny chair they'd give her to sit in. It was perfectly scaled - they'd just put it on a box, so she'd been at eye level with Nick.

But then she would rather be working, no matter the circumstances. Time out of their schedule, she'd frequently reminded him ahead of this show, was just going to put them behind on their cases.

Now that it was over, Nick watched her comb claws over her ears to reverse whatever the set assistants had done with their brushes, and check her phone. "One-thirty. We're not too deep in the hole, then."

"You know Bogo said we could take whatever time we needed. Want to grab lunch?"

"Whatever time they needed." Judy led the way down into the plaza. "And they're done with us."

Savanna Central was in full early-spring swing, with weather so temperate and warm that the transit authority had already broken out the open-air trolleys. They tagged onto the tail end of a nearly full car and sat in the rear-facing seats to watch the city go by.

It was just one stop back to precinct HQ, but there was a lot to see in that time: whole herds of mammals out for lunch or business or just to enjoy the weather, the lush greenery and fountains of the plaza, and the big afternoon train flickering behind the buildings in the historic quarter, on approach to Central Station.

Nick's nose twitched as they passed a food truck parked in the shade of one of the acacia trees. He could smell pretzels.

"Are you sure you're not hungry?" he asked.

"I am," Judy said. Her ears followed the truck, too, and she got a faint smile. "Just not hungry enough to stay late, if we can help it."

"Dinner it is," Nick said.

"No daydreaming." Her elbow jabbed him in the side. "I need your help with these scene reports."

"You'll get it, Carrots. You'll get it."

They made their way up the broad steps at headquarters and back to their desks. Judy leapt into her boosted chair with practiced ease, looking much more comfortable already.

They made good progress - half a binder, before Bogo came to check on them.

"They done prodding you for the day, Hopps?"

"Yes, Chief," Judy said. "We're almost caught up."

"City Hall had better stay happy for another year or so, then," Bogo said. "Unless they want to start filling in for you. If they keep bugging you, send them to me."

Now Nick hoped the obnoxious diversity committee reps would call back. "With perverse pleasure, boss."

He tossed his big horns in acknowledgement as he left. "And don't stay too late."

"If only it was just every year or so," Judy muttered. She had one paw on her chin, and she was bouncing her pen on top of the binder. "We've lost enough time to these retrospective pieces already."

"Not our problem anymore." Nick got to his feet. "I'm getting more coffee to power through this. Want some?"

"Half-caf. Thanks."

Nick couldn't remember exactly what the terms of their special interview had been - go here, answer this, it will play well with with the government's initiatives, yadda yadda. But now that Bogo had brought it up, he couldn't come up with a special reason for the timing. It would be published in a couple weeks, but the second anniversary of the Bellwether case was still about three months out. They hadn't said anything about his first year with the force, eventful as it had been.

There was one possibility, he realized, but he dismissed it almost immediately. Neither he nor Judy shared their personal lives. They didn't want to, and they had what was nearly a mandate from Bogo to leave it alone. Who you dated stayed home - especially in Nick and Judy's case. It had nearly bitten them more than once.

But it was about right, wasn't it? Now he wasn't sure.

To be fair to both of them, it had been a whirlwind, up and down, faster than any TV interview. They'd kept up. Their work had driven some of it by necessity, and when they'd both realized what was there and how important it was, they'd taken special care to strengthen it themselves. To find the time and boundaries and compromise and attention they both needed.

That was probably why it was hard to pin down, Nick decided, as he brought their coffee back. It was such a process.

But the more Nick thought about it, the more he realized they both deserved to figure it out. He stopped at the entrance to their cube, and watched his partner's ears shift their focus from paperwork to coffee. Judy looked up at him and smiled. He held her mug out.

"I know what we should do for dinner."

---

Judy caught on just before they stopped at the boardwalk, and spent the last bit of the trolley ride positively vibrating in anticipation.

"You didn't," she accused, when they debarked at the intricate garden pathways that led to Morgiano's restaurant.

Nick nodded. "I didn't. I did check, just in case, but the wait list is a mile long."

"Oh." She deflated, just a bit, and looked down at her pristine uniform. "We're not really dressed for it, either. TV interviews, sure, but not this."

"Maybe not for dining in, no," Nick said. He offered her his arm. "But I know a guy."

Stephane took time from his dining room duties anyway, to meet them in the kitchen itself, where a staff of tiny rodents scurried around an immaculate brick-and-brass space to make outsized portions of pasta.

He plied them with more spaghetti and house salad than they could possibly eat at once, in thick unmarked boxes. He was having fun with it, too.

"Not a word of this highly unusual behavior," the otter said. He could just barely lift the huge bag into Nick's paws. "We have a reputation to maintain, Officers."

"We're not on duty, Stephane," Nick said. He followed his grin over to where Morgiano himself was washing his paws in a tiny sink and shaking his head in amusement. He passed over the check. "You can count on our discretion."

Stephane waved the folio, and now he did look serious. "What have I told you about this, Wilde?"

"I cannot for my own life remember," Nick said. They started for the exit. "Keep it. For next time."

"Fine," Stephane called. "I'll hold you to it."

---

Nick saw how Judy was inspecting the food on their way to her apartment, and the way she kept looking back at him as they climbed the stairs to her floor. And she watched as he set the food down just inside her threshold to latch the door shut and slide the security chain home.

When Nick turned around she was pulling on his tie, making him thump to his knees. Her paws against his cheeks held him still so she could kiss him, hard, and then she nuzzled close with her chin over his snout. Nick closed his eyes.

"You felt it too, huh?"

"I figured something was up," Judy said. "Considering the last time we were there. What's the occasion?"

"I think it's us."

"You think."

"Ever since the interview it's been nagging at me. Bogo was talking about it today, too," Nick said. She let him get to his feet, so she could go find plates. "And I realized that we don't know how long it's been. Right? I haven't kept a calendar."

Her look made something warm start up in his belly. "Since our first time?"

"Since any of it." That night in particular was maybe the one he didn't have to worry about. It would be burned into his memory for the rest of time.

And everything else was just as vivid, even if he didn't have the dates down exactly. Shutting down Baird, and Boots before him. The rough encounters with larger predators, that still got him scared for her, even now. Lying half-naked together in bed, listening to her chat with her family. Standing half-naked in this very room not so long ago, when they'd first explored what they'd be getting into.

"I keep counting backwards," he summarized. "We went back to the farm that first time, what, six months ago?"

"Almost seven, I think."

"Right. And when we were settling in."

Judy had two big bowls in her paws. It was close enough. "There was Merc's concert, and all those nights before. The sky trams. And the garden."

Speaking of...

Nick found the cutting board, buried under a bunch of books on her desk, and rummaged in the crate by the microwave for the knife he'd gotten her. It was high-end ceramic - her sister Sharon's recommendation, when she heard how often they relied on fresh vegetables they grew themselves.

"Are there still carrots? Or cucumber?"

"We're going to have cucumber for months," Judy said. She went to the fridge. "More than we know what to do with. I need to call the food bank, or the farmer's market or something."

He accepted the one she held out and started chopping. It would go well in their salad. Judy sorted their food into bowls, and stowed the rest where it would keep in the fridge.

They sat against the front of the big green couch to eat. Judy had changed somewhere in there, into one of her favorite oversize shirts and apparently very little else.

"Definitely not dressed for the dining room, then."

"I think I like this better right now." She leaned against him. "You could join me."

"Do I even have clothes here? I thought I took all of them to wash."

There was that look again. "Even if you don't, it's not like I'm going to mind."

"I love you." Nick ducked his head, not to take a bite of his spaghetti, but to nuzzle her ears. "I'll get more comfortable after dinner."

So they ate, and Nick changed into the one pair of beaten duty grey pants he had on her clothes rack after all, and they curled up on his couch to quote the entirety of The Dusk Prowler at each other while they watched. The sun sank outside, and when the movie ended they stayed there to listen to the unmistakable rush and murmur of the city at night.

Judy had his tail hugged close. She squirmed on top of him, at his curious paws under her shirt. It was magnetic.

"Did you bring your muzzle?"

Oh. "No." He rested his chin between her ears. "This kind of came together as we went. Sorry, sweetheart."

Judy twisted around to look at him. Her claws prickled against his chest at his expression. "Something to plan for tomorrow, then. Quit it."

She was insistent that he stop being glum about it, too, even if it wasn't exactly helping matters. Judy pushed her chin and cheeks over him, until she had him chasing her around with his nose. He had to squeeze her tight to keep her still, and to keep his own paws from doing too much exploring.

"You're making me want to go get it right now, Carrots."

"I love you." Judy huffed against his throat. "And you know you're not going to need it forever."

Nick knew. And he was so happy for that. Everything they'd done together, every professional and personal problem they ever came up against - they always found a way to beat it. And who else could say that? That their relationship just got better and better? He hoped it never ended.

Judy did settle down after that, high up enough that she could hold his head in her paws and look him in the eye.

"Tomorrow," she murmured.

"First thing, if you like."

"And the day after tomorrow, and the day after that." Nick felt her nose tap against him. "I think that's how we should do this. That's how it happened. It was never just one night."

Leave it to Judy to turn uncertainty into something so perfect. Nick pulled her closer, to keep her wrapped up safe, to drift off as they watched the subtle glow of the city outside.

"It's a promise."

#Zootopia #zootopia fanfiction #wildehopps #nick x judy

19 notes · View notes

nicholerestrada · 5 years

Text

How to think about the China talks

Editor’s Note: This edition of Morning Money is published weekdays at 8 a.m. POLITICO Pro Financial Services subscribers hold exclusive early access to the newsletter each morning at 5:15 a.m. To learn more about POLITICO Pro’s comprehensive policy intelligence coverage, policy tools and services, click here.

HOW TO THINK ABOUT THE CHINA TALKS — There will be closer to 60 days to make a deal one we get through the Christmas and New Year’s holidays. And there likely won’t be any serious talks before that. Once we hit the new year, there are likely to be several rounds of talks including possible U.S. delegations to Beijing and Chinese visits to Washington, though as of Thursday there was no schedule set up yet.

Story Continued Below

That’s not much time for U.S. Trade Representative Robert Lighthizer to put together a meaningful accord that would include specific goals for the Chinese to meet on intellectual property rights, forced technology transfer and other key administration goals.

The document will also have to include timetables for compliance and a mechanism for verification. The Chinese are good at making vague promises and then not doing much of anything to comply with them. This is not true of buying U.S. products, which they are more than happy to do and doesn’t actually mean anything to their long-term goals.

There is almost no chance any of this can get done in sixty days. Which means there will have either have to be extensions or President Trump can accept a weak deal or push ahead with a trade war escalation.

Trump alone will make this call and he probably has little idea at this point which way he is going to go. His senior advisers certainly don’t know. A lot will depend on how markets are doing in late February, what the Fed has done on rates, what’s happening in the Mueller probe and what Trump’s mood is like.

The betting here is that Trump will care more about market reaction and not screwing up the economy heading toward re-election than he will about complaints from hardliners like Peter Navarro that he is not being tough enough with China. This makes the most likely outcome an extension past March 1 for more work or acceptance of modest promises and more Chines goods purchases.

CHIEF OF STAFF HUNT GOES ON — Our Rebecca Morin: “Trump said on Thursday that he’s narrowed his chief of staff search down to five candidates, but he refused to reveal who’s now on the short-list. During a meeting with governors-elect, the president teased out vague details of the search in reality-show style. ‘Five people. Really good ones. Terrific people. Mostly well known, but terrific people,’ Trump said. Trump did not name any of the candidates or say when a decision will be made.

“Trump has repeatedly insisted that it’s a highly coveted job, even as top White House aide Kellyanne Conway hinted that Kelly may stay on longer than the end of 2018. … Other contenders floated have included David Bossie, a former Trump campaign deputy manager; former New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie; U.S. Trade Representative Robert Lighthizer; and Republican fundraiser Wayne Berman.” Read more.

IS HE GOING TO JARED? — HuffPo’s S.V. Date: “Jared Kushner, the husband of Trump’s daughter Ivanka and already an official White House adviser, met with Trump Wednesday about the job, a top Republican close to the White House told HuffPost. He and two others close to Trump or the White House who confirmed Kushner’s interest in the position did so on condition of anonymity to discuss the president’s staffing considerations freely.

“Kushner has been pushing his own candidacy with Trump, citing his work on a criminal justice reform package and a claimed ability to work with Democrats, one person said.” Read more.

WP’s Josh Dawsey on Twitter: “A White House official says Jared Kushner is not under consideration for chief of staff and is not interviewing for the job. (The usual Trump White House caveats apply here.)”

MM SIDEBAR — We are told by one person close to the White House that Christie is unlikely due to frictions with Kushner, though Trump could overrule his son-in-law. We are also told that Mulvaney actually does want it (very badly) and could somehow wind up with it if no other candidate emerges, though wanting it is usually a very bad look with Trump. Blackstone’s Wayne Berman is again on some short lists but we are told he is not among the FINAL FIVE. Anyway, it’s a big, Trump Show mess.

BOSSIE THE BOSS? — Our Gabby Orr, Andrew Restuccia and Rebecca Morin: “Depending on who you ask … Bossie, a controversial Republican operative excluded from the president’s earliest batch of hires, is either a frontrunner or a nonstarter in … Trump’s chief of staff sweepstakes.

“Some White House allies say Bossie, formerly Trump’s deputy campaign manager, shot to the top of the list the minute Trump expressed an interest in having an effective political operator in the slot. … People close to the White House said the president has even discussed splitting the job into two separate positions: one person tasked with focusing on the day-to-day operations of the West Wing and another person charged with orchestrating a political strategy ahead of the 2020 election.” Read more.

CRAPO WEIGHS DEUTSCHE INVESTIGATION — Per our Zachary Warmbrodt: Senate Banking Chairman Mike Crapo says he’s taking a request by Sens. Chris Van Hollen and Elizabeth Warren to investigate Deutsche Bank “under advisement” but he’s hesitant to single out a specific company.

“The Banking Committee has not yet, and I don’t know that I’m ready to start, singling out and creating investigations on specific companies,” Crapo told POLITICO.

Crapo said the committee’s already been reviewing anti-money laundering rules and that “I’m very open to looking into the issues further.” Police raided Deutsche’s offices recently as part of a money laundering investigation.

The company’s problems could be a case study as part of a potential anti-money laundering overhaul but Crapo said the committee also has “a list as long as your arm of issues that we need to hold hearings on.”

Sen. Sherrod Brown, the top Democrat on the committee, says he’s in favor of the committee “looking into all of this kind of scandal, and Deutsche Bank is sort of first in line it seems on all things scandal.”

** A message from the American Council of Life Insurers: Americans work hard and deserve a secure retirement. Now is the time for Congress to act. The American Council of Life Insurers is joined by the Insured Retirement Institute, BPC Action, Church Alliance, and other leading voices in calling on Congress to pass retirement security legislation this year. Learn more. **

FED PREP — The central bank will almost certainly boost its target rate by a quarter point next week to a range of 2.25 to 2.50 percent. What happens after that is now a pretty open question.

We should get some signals from Fed Chair Jay Powell next week on whether three rate hikes are still likely for next year. He may well nudge expectations away from that and lean hard into the idea of data dependence and that any signs of a significant economic slowing could reduce the number to two, one, or even none.

RSM chief economist Joseph Brusuelas: “Recent Fed rhetoric implies there will be changes in the language around forward-looking guidance … which will deemphasize the dot plot forecast. We expect the committee to drop the phrase ‘further gradual increases’ in favor of something that points toward the evolution of high frequency data and risks around the outlook, which remain balanced.”

SPEAKING OF THE CHINESE BUYING STUFF — Our Megan Cassella: “China purchased 1.13 million metric tons of U.S. soybeans this week, offering a sign that the two countries are beginning to make progress in alleviating trade tensions. The Department of Agriculture on Thursday reported the purchase, which historical data show is the ninth-largest daily sale of U.S. soybeans ever. … The purchase, which is equal to about 41 million bushels, will make up only a fraction of the total soybeans typically sold to China in a normal year.

“Including the purchase, the U.S. has sold roughly 55 million bushels to China in this marketing year, which began Sept. 1. That represents a 91 percent drop from the more than 600 million bushels sold to China at the same point last year, said John Newton, chief economist at the American Farm Bureau Federation.” Read more.

SHOT — Trump to Fox News on the GM plant closings: “It doesn’t really matter because Ohio is, under my leadership from a national standpoint, Ohio’s going to replace those jobs like in two minutes.”

CHASER — American Bridge’s Andrew Bates emails: “Trump spent years promising the American people that he could prevent layoffs and outsourcing. But now that 11,000 American workers are losing their jobs on his watch – in part due to economic damage caused by his own trade policies – he says it ‘doesn’t really matter.’ Try telling that to the thousands of distressed families in Ohio, Michigan, and Maryland whose futures were just thrown into chaos right before the holidays.”

GOOD FRIDAY MORNING — Happy weekend, all. Email me at [email protected] and follow me on Twitter @morningmoneyben. Email Aubree Eliza Weaver at [email protected] and follow her on Twitter @AubreeEWeaver.

DRIVING THE DAY — Retail Sales at 8:30 a.m. expected to rise 0.1 percent … Industrial production at 9:15 a.m. … Industrial Production at 9:15 a.m. expected to rise 0.3 percent …

NO PLAN AS SHUTDOWN NEARS — Our Sarah Ferris, Burgess Everett, and Anthony Adragna: “Without … Trump to worry about, a bipartisan deal would likely sail through Congress to fund the government ahead of the holidays. But with Trump enjoying his border wall brinkmanship, everyone in the Capitol has basically stopped talking.

“The House and Senate left town Thursday with no strategy to avert a partial government shutdown next week, putting Congress on the brink of an intractable conflict that could drag out through New Year’s Day — furloughing hundreds of thousands of workers and costing taxpayers millions.” Read more.

INSIDE THE LAST DAYS OF LLOYD — Bloomberg’s Max Abelson and Sridhar Natarajan: “When Lloyd Blankfein told his colleagues at Goldman Sachs Group Inc. in July that he was going to retire from the bank’s top job, he said the timing just felt right. When things are going wrong, he wrote them in a memo, you can’t up and leave. Now in Blankfein’s final weeks as chairman of Wall Street’s most influential bank, things have gone wrong.

“Prosecutors are zeroing in on the firm’s work for a Malaysian investment fund that they say was raided in a historic plunder. Goldman’s role raising about $6.5 billion for 1MDB has become one of its ugliest scandals in a generation. In November, the U.S. Justice Department revealed that a former partner pleaded guilty to bribery charges, his deputy was arrested and the firm put a top Asia banking executive on leave. The stock is down more than 30 percent in 2018.” Read more.

MEET YOUR NEW BANKING COMMITTEE DEMOCRATS — Via Zach: Sen.-elect Kyrsten Sinema and Sen. Tina Smith are joining the Democratic side of the Senate Banking Committee, a pair that may effectively cancel each other out when it comes to certain regulatory issues.

The appointment of Sinema was great news for bank lobbyists. The Arizona Democrat has been one of the most industry-friendly members of her party in the House, and she supported the landmark bank deregulation bill that became law in May.

Smith opposed that legislation. Senate Banking ranking member Sherrod Brown, who led the charge against the bill, described the Minnesota Democrat as “pro-consumer” in an interview.

The committee lost two of its more “conservative members” — Sens. Heidi Heitkamp and Joe Donnelly — “and picked up a progressive and a conservative,” Brown told POLITICO.

“I don’t know Sinema,” he said. “I don’t talk to her. I’ve never seen her in action. I know that she’s not been exactly where I am politically but it’s a big country. I worked with Heidi and Joe.”

TRUMP PUSHES OPPORTUNITY ZONES — Our Brian Faler: “Trump … signed an executive order creating a new group of government officials charged with developing ways of improving the new Opportunity Zone program. The White House Opportunity and Revitalization Council will be led by Ben Carson, head of the Department of Housing and Urban Development, and staffed by aides from 13 agencies.

“It will be responsible for finding ways federal agencies can support the initiative, which is designed to funnel money into designated areas for economic development. … The effort has come under criticism, though, because many of the areas were already gentrifying before the initiative began. It would also personally benefit Ivanka Trump and Jared Kushner’s family, the Associated Press and Bloomberg News have reported.” Read more.

BUDGET DEFICIT UP TO $305B IN FY2019 — WSJ’s Kate “Coat Thief” Davidson: “The U.S. budget gap widened in the first two months of the fiscal year as tax collections lagged behind federal outlays, which included higher spending for the military and interest on the national debt. The government ran a $305 billion deficit in October and November, compared with $202 billion during the same period a year earlier, the Treasury Department said Thursday.

“Federal outlays climbed 18 percent the first two months of fiscal 2019, which began Oct. 1, and total receipts rose 3 percent. Much of the increase in the deficit was attributable to a shift in the timing of certain payments, the Treasury said. The first day of December fell on a Saturday this year, so payments that would have been made then were moved up to Nov. 30, boosting spending for the period.” Read more.

MNUCHIN “HAPPY,” BUT WILLING TO BE TRUMP’S CHIEF — Bloomberg’s Jennifer Jacobs and Erik Wasson: “Mnuchin indicated he’d serve as White House chief of staff if President Donald Trump wants but said he’s happy in his current job. ‘I’m happy where I am,’ Mnuchin said Thursday in a brief interview at the Capitol, but added: ‘Whatever the president wants.’

“Trump said earlier Thursday that he’s weighing five candidates to succeed retired General John Kelly as White House chief of staff, after eliminating Representative Mark Meadows, a North Carolina Republican, from consideration.” Read more.

BIGGEST THREAT IN 2019? STILL THE TRADE WAR. — WSJ’s Harriet Torry: “Most economists in a recent survey view a trade war between the U.S. and China as the biggest threat to the U.S. economy in 2019, a sign that forecasters view political uncertainty and the potential for new punitive tariff barriers as greater risks than macroeconomic or financial disruptions.

“Nearly half of economists who responded to a survey by The Wall Street Journal, 47.3 percent, said they viewed the U.S. dispute with Beijing as the No. 1 risk for 2019. Some 20 percent cited financial market disruptions and 12.7 percent pointed to a slowdown in business investment.” Read more.

ECONOMIST SCALE BACK PROJECTIONS ON FED HIKES — WSJ’s Kate Davidson: “Private economists tempered their expectations for the path of interest rates next year in a new Wall Street Journal survey, and many foresee the Federal Reserve cutting rates starting in 2020.

“All but one of the 60 economists polled expect the Fed to raise its benchmark federal-funds rate next week to a range between 2.25 percent and 2.5 percent. But they dialed back their median forecast for 2019, calling for two rate increases next year rather than the three they expected when surveyed last month.” Read more.

CAN CRYPTO SURVIVE GOVERNMENT REGULATION? — NYT’s Peter Henning: “The government has finally begun a crackdown on the market for cryptocurrencies and digital tokens. Does this spell the demise of digital currencies and the end of initial coin offerings? …

“But even before the government began its crackdown, there was a big sign that euphoria was evaporating from the market: the decline in cryptocurrency ‘mining’ that generates additional digital tokens. Giga Watt, a digital currency mining operation in Washington state, filed for bankruptcy recently due in large part to the collapse in Bitcoin’s price.” Read more.

** A message from the American Council of Life Insurers: Americans work hard and deserve a secure retirement. Now is the time for Congress to act.

The American Council of Life Insurers is joined by a broad coalition of advocates across industries in calling on Congress to pass comprehensive retirement security legislation this year. Legislation now before the House and Senate would help millions of Americans prepare for a financially secure future by expanding access to retirement plans and making it easier for employers to offer guaranteed lifetime income options. Enhancements to the retirement system are needed now more than ever—10,000 Americans turn age 65 every day, with many living 30 years or more in retirement.

Congress: Support workers, retirees, and business owners by passing retirement security legislation before year’s end. Learn more. **

Source link

Source: https://hashtaghighways.com/2018/12/17/how-to-think-about-the-china-talks/

from Garko Media https://garkomedia1.wordpress.com/2018/12/17/how-to-think-about-the-china-talks/

0 notes

michaeljtraylor · 5 years