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#i wish i had money i would commission the fuck out of y'all
immortalbumblebee · 2 months
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Chapter 17: Corrosion
I'M SORRY THIS TOOK LIKE 5 MONTHS!!! Tbh this was probably the hardest chapter I've had to write thus far and it was just not working with me. But honestly combined with the new Warwick trailer, and the amount of people flooding into my account and mass-reading my stuff lately??? Thank you so much for the motivation y'all, it really means a lot <3
So without further ago, have this 3k word chapter!
Masterlist
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It had taken nearly an hour just to settle the crowds once the officers had left. An entire mob of people, suddenly panicked and in need of a level head to tell them what to do and how to feel. So, by the time Benzo was actually able to walk into the backroom of the arena, the anger that coursed through his veins had (somewhat) been able to cool down, no longer quite boiling over. Now replaced by anxiety that fought with his typically cool-headed mind that was trying to remind him to be rational. The pain in his side wasn’t helping none, of course. His lungs were already shite, but that Enforcer slamming the butt of his gun into his ribs hurt like a bitch… He took a deep, calming breath, ignoring the burning protest of his lungs.
Emotions are never good for business.
“They’ve gone too far this time.” Silco spat, slamming the door as he entered the room behind Benzo. “I mean, storming in here like they own the place, waving their guns around? That’s a new low, even for them.”
“And Min?” Benzo asked, sliding a hand through his thin brown hair, urging his breathing to remain even. Silco nodded, waving his hand as if she were an additional afterthought. Benzo thought about Min getting arrested, the way they threw her to the ground like she was nothing, and suddenly he felt the need to slap Silco upside the head. Bigger fish, he reminded himself. “They’ve never made this much of a show for an arrest before. Grayson knows we’re important down here, and now she’s aiming to take us out of commission.”
“Min’s been arrested just as many times as the rest of us.” Silco argued. “She's strong, she can handle it. Standard protocol; get some bail money together, we run down to the station at first light-” “Are you seriously that petty?” Benzo stepped forward, facing Silco face-on. His tone was careful but carried a weight to it. “This was a godsdamn army, for what? Arresting one lass? This goes beyond your  fucking ‘protocol’!” 
Silco stepped up, meeting Benzo eye-to-eye. Benzo could see the anger in his eyes, flames of passion, he knew the look well amongst his fellow Zaunite revolutionaries. He only wished that he could believe that any of those flames burned for their missing sister-in-arms, but that would be expecting him to put his own anger aside for the good of the cause, for the good of others. And Benzo knew that wasn’t about to happen. 
Taking a deep, attempting-to-be-calming breath, Benzo disengages from Silco’s fury, centring back his focus to address both of them. Noting Vander was still silent, glaring the same hole into the ground.
For fuck’s sake, he thought to himself. 
“You two are the fucking leaders here, aye?” Benzo barked. “So where’s yer fucking plan of attack? What do we do? We’re gonna break her out, right?”
Silco’s the one to speak up, of course, shaking his head aggressively. “Are you kidding me? If we’re caught anywhere near top-side, we’re landing ourselves in a cell right next to her. We’re too conspicuous, too high-profile, and Grayson obviously has her eye on us.” Benzo made a move to fight against Silco, but Vander finally chooses to speak up.
“He’s right. We go running in after her, even all the cogs in the world won’t be able to pay her way out. Odds are, we get clinked too. Then what good are we?”
“Oh give your head a shake!” Benzo exclaims. “We could fucking try!”
Vander’s jaw tenses. “This isn’t a ‘run in half-cocked’ sort of deal.”  Bento scoffs, eyes practically rolling out of his head.
“So…what? We can do…nothing, then? Is that right?”
Vander takes a deep breath, closing his eyes as if he’s focussing on his breath. “Nope. But I think I know who can.”
***
It’s rather unfortunate that, out of all the things you could have inherited from your mother, the recurring habit of getting arrested was one of the more notable.
Also unfortunate that cops are capable of learning.
“Minerva!” Grayson’s voice, practically spitting out your name, had caught you off guard. Your eyes glazed over, looking off to the side. From your spot, seated on the ground with your captured hands sticking out awkwardly in front of you, most of her face hidden by shadows. All the light filtered in through the barred window on the door to your cell, a torch light. The cell was completely lightless, almost a pit of darkness. Dank, dark, and too quiet to be peaceful. But what you could make out from her appearance, you could see wrinkles formed between her eyebrows and a deep sneer. 
“Sorry Commander, I must have dozed off there for a moment.” You finally responded. “Welcome to my humble abode! I’d offer you a drink, but I’m a little…tied up, at the moment.” You lifted your hands, ignoring the cramped feelings in your muscles and joints. The thick metal that encased your hands wore you down, like holding a weight you had no consent in holding, and no ability to put down. 
She didn’t respond to your jest, simply continuing to stare down at you, face like stone but the underlying disgust ever-present. Tough crowd.
“The counsel has been sent the details of your case and are currently discussing further actions.” She explains. “But it’s customary that someone speak with you directly before any major decisions are made.”
“Gonna be a short conversation,” you note, “y’know, on account of the fact that I’ve done nothing wrong. But I suppose everytime something bad happens, us ‘fissure folk’ are to blame, huh?”
She moves on, as if she doesn’t even hear you. “Your nose looks like it hurts.” She notes. Her shoulders are less square than you’ve seen them before, she’s more comfortable here than when you’ve seen her in the Underground. Although you’ve seen her without her helmet before, notably at the apartment when she first introduced herself, seeing her whole face here felt…oddly personal. 
You twitch your nose, feeling the dull pain spike between your eyes. “Pretty, ain’t it?”
“Wanna tell me about the girl who did it? Looked to be a girl by the name of…” she looks down at a file you hadn’t realized she was holding. “Sevika, right?”
Your eyes glance down at the file. Just how many names did they have? “I don’t know, it’s all a little…fuzzy to me. Pretty sure it could have been one of your guys, you know, when they forced me onto the ground and locked up my hands without probable cause.” 
She looks back down at you, eyes cold and unamused. “Are we really going to do this?”
“Do what?” She closes the file and reaches into her pocket. Pulling something out, she shows it off to you with an extended arm. 
“Look familiar?” It’s hard to make out what she’s showing you at first, but slowly you work out the details. A piece of fabric, red cotton. It was wrinkled and stained beyond saving, but there was a darker, fresher stain around most of it that hadn’t been there last you had it. Of course it was familiar, you’d been wearing it-or ones like it-most of your time in the lanes. The bandana that used to be a staple of your wardrobe, now bloody and in the hands of the Chief of Enforcers. 
Your mind flashes to the job just a couple weeks ago, when you’d left the fabric tied around the thigh of that Enforcer you’d attacked. You can feel your heartbeat raise ever so slightly. There’s no way they could have actually linked you to the crime with just your bandana.
“Nope.”
“Really? Cause in all of your mugshots, you’re wearing one just like it in your hair.” She pockets the fabric again. “I notice you’re not wearing one now. Lose it recently?”
You shrug, tilting your head back. “Is changing hairstyles a crime now? I’ll have to let my salon know.”
“Can you account for your whereabouts from three nights ago?”
“You’ll have to ask your mother, I believe I was at her house.”
She rolls her eyes and takes a long, deep sigh. “Minerva,” her tone is calm, but irritable. Like she was scolding a small child. 
You mimic her, rolling your eyes as well, but significantly more dramatic. “Grayson.”
“I am aware that you and your…compatriots may be used to certain lax standards. But I can assure you that physically assaulting one of my officers is not something I intend to easily brush under the rug.” Your hands attempt to fidget within their constraints, your bones buzzing with the need to move them. “I know the man you hurt, he's a good officer. He has a family, a wife and child. Are you really going to allow your anger to blind you so much that you’re willing to take away a child’s father?”
You lean forward, the chains rattling with your movements. “Several of the people your officers pointed a gun at tonight have families too. Those ‘good officers’ you have, they attack and aim firearms at women and children on a daily basis.” Gone was your mocking tone, your light-hearted facade. “You attack our people in our streets, in our businesses, in our homes. But hey, it’s different right? We’re all just fissure-folk trash to you.”
“And that justifies you nearly killing one of my men?” 
You kill hundreds of ours.
Your jaw tightens, biting your tongue. She’s not going to goat you into a confession that easily.
“I didn’t touch ‘your man’.” You finally respond, sitting back against the wall. “And if all you brought me in for was some half-baked story built around a piece of red cloth…well, it’s good to see you’re just as incompetent as your predecessor.”
The room falls silent, both of you glaring daggers at each other. You swear the room grows colder, the cold stone walls looming over you more and more with every passing, silent moment. You tried so hard to focus on the woman in front of you. Maybe if you were more aware, better able to scan her and read her body language, you could find something on her. Find something that you could use against her. But all you could focus on was your bones burning with the urge to use your powers, fanned on by the anger that’s coursing through you. You needed to get out of these damn constraints!
The door to your cell opened again, and another officer poked his head in. This one was much younger, and clearly very nervous. Twitchy eyes looked over from you, to his superior, just as Grayson’s head snapped back to glare at him.
“I gave orders that we weren’t to be disturbed.” Grayson snarled, and you could see the officer practically jump out of his skin in fear.
“Um…I’m sorry Ma’am. But uhh, you see…there’s someone demanding your presence outside.”
“What?” She dug into her pocket, fishing out a silver pocket watch. “It’s not even dawn yet. The doors to the station don’t open for another hour.” 
“There were, um,” his eyes dart over to yours, and the obvious anxiety in his gaze makes you smirk. “Very insistent.”
They? God, please tell me the guys didn’t decide to come…
Grayson lets out a long, heavy sigh of frustration. Stuffing the pocket watch angrily back into her jacket and snapping her folder shut, she begins to storm off out of the room. Just as she grabs onto the heavy metal door, however, her head whips back to stare directly at you. Her eyes, furious.
“We’re not done here, you understand.” It wasn’t a question. 
Lifting your shackled hands to your forehead, you give a mocking-serious face and a curt nod. “Aye aye, cap’n.” 
The door slams behind her, and immediately your mind begins to spiral. The guys can’t have come here, they wouldn’t. Sure, it was basic protocol that all of them would immediately jump to bust the others out of prison whenever one of you got pinched, but this wasn’t your typical riot-crashing or pickpocketing charge. Closing your eyes, you try not to linger on the blurry images of the raid. The white hot shock of fear upon seeing a gun pointed at Narco, Skye, and little baby Vi. The way the frequency of the Enforcer’s guns seemed to scream at you in such large quantities. The fear, all but palpable within the arena as people either were pulled into the fight or ran for their lives. The thought of Benzo being clubbed down, Silco with a knife against his throat and hands raised in surrender, the rage in Vander’s face as they placed you in cuffs. 
This wasn’t like any other run-in with the cops that you’d experienced. This was a whole other level, and you knew that if the guys tried to fight you out or pay anyone off; they’d wind up in cells just like yours. 
You tried not to let your mind linger on that image for too long, either. 
Your throat started to burn with the tears you wouldn’t let yourself shed, your thoughts spinning in and out of control, and you pulled your legs up to your chest, resting your head on your knees. Trying ever so hard to calm your breathing. Please let it not be them out there…
Loud shouting filtered in through the cracks below your cell’s door. You couldn’t make it out, even if you tried, or even how many voices there were, but you could tell it was definitely heated. Were those the guys, fighting tooth-and-nail for your release, only to get shackles placed on them as well? Forced to the ground, kicking and screaming, and arrested in front of a huge crowd with your rage-filled family, forced to watch?
You could only anxiously listen in, your ears straining to hear the muffled sounds as you sat, uselessly, in your stupid little cell. This continues on for what felt like an eternity, but most likely what would have been only half an hour. Until, finally, the door to your cell swings open. On the other side, a very pissed-off Grayson. The flames of her rage practically emanated across the room, getting warmer and warmer as she stormed over to you, keys in hand.
“You got lucky again, Minerva.” She grunts out as she leans down, grabbing your shackles with probably more force than necessary. As she begins to unlock your restraints, your hands slowly begin to regain movement ability, you can feel the energy of your magic slowly flood back into your fingertips. The vibrations of all the metal around you, singing to you like a beautiful orchestra. You could only shut your eyes, the flood of emotions that came with your powers almost overwhelming to your already anxious body. You didn’t even realize that Grayson was still speaking. “-won’t be the last time you’ll be in one of my cells, I can promise you that.”
“What’s going on?” You couldn’t help but ask. You know you sounded pathetic, but this was honestly not how you pictured this going down.
Grayson laughed, but it sounded more like a scoff. “All you Underground folk, all you do is play dirty. Lying and cheating, it comes to you like breathing.”
That didn’t answer your question, but as Grayson slapped a normal pair of handcuffs on you, using them to force you up to your feet, you felt it was better not to ask followup questions. She dragged you by your arm out of your cell and into the all-too familiar main chamber of the Enforcer’s main station. On the other end, however, much to your surprised wasn’t the boys. Rather, two female figures. 
“Minerva!” Not even your mother’s cry was enough to shake you fully out of your shock as she surged forward, throwing her arms around you in a tight embrace. Out of habit, you tried to return your embrace, only to quickly remember your shackles. 
“Mom, what are you doing here?” You asked, quickly pulling away to look down at her with furrowed brows. “You shouldn’t-”
“The boys phoned me!” Her salt-and-pepper hair wasn’t in its usual braid, still down in flowing waves, showing that she had come straight here from bed. Her thick winter coat had been thrown on overtop of her wool nightgown, and her boots were unlaced. 
“They phoned both of us.” The second figure spoke up, Niya’s tone was stern, moreso than you think you’d ever heard from her. Her citrus-coloured hair was messier than how it had been at the arena, and there was a new cut along her lip that she must have gotten during the raid. She looked tired, but more than that, she looked mad. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine…” You looked back down at your mom. “But, why-”
“Your mother and Ms. Niya have negotiated for your release.” Grayson’s words were heavy, and she wasn’t doing a very good job at hiding her snarling face. With begrudging movements, she reached down, unlocking your handcuffs. “You’re free to go.”
Before you really even have a moment to wrap your head around what’s happening, your mother is pulling you away from the captain, all but dragging you towards the door. “Come on,” she whispers to you, “we need to get out of here.” But your eyes are still stuck on Grayson’s, the rage flowing off of her body in waves. 
“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you again soon, Minerva.” She spits.
With all the confusion swimming around in your mind, you try to think of something to say; one last quip to gain the extra hand. You’ve held your ground for so long here, and yet, the only thing you can really think to say is, “looking forward to it.”
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lesbiulmo · 3 years
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u know what.. i AM going to flesh out this sefardi gondor au and then some of you ARE going to see it and learn about it and make content for me. i am using a palantir. you are weak. you bend to my will. you create the content i wish to see.
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toshis-puppycat · 4 years
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Unfortunately, I Think I Love You Too Part Four
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A/n: So, uh angst happened last chapter lol I'm sorry about that. But y'all liked it so its okay. Some fluffyness will be coming soon! Also big thanks to @onyxiana-is-obsessed for letting me use a name in this!! You're the best for that truly. And I'm very sorry it took me a while to update things happened and I got stressed, but it should be all good now! Thank yall for being patient with me!
Summary: Hawks doesn't know what to do, you're semi avoiding him now and that's very difficult because you're literally trapped in the same house and you know for a fact you have no food available. Shopping with Hawks is okay at least. Too bad that gets interrupted. 
Part Four
You tried not to think about what he said. "If...if you ever need it. I'm here for you." 
It was awkward, uncomfortable. You didn't like it. Unfortunately, you noticed you had like, absolutely no real food to consume. You had to make a trip to the store. And you had to do it with Hawks.
"Hey, birdbrain. We need to go to the store." You said, walking into your living room. Ignore it. He shot you a look.
"Is that really safe to do right now?" He asked.
"You want food?" You ask, he nods in response. "Then get ready." He gives an apprehensive look, it's an odd on him. He's usually so confident and sure about his movements. You quickly got ready, and left the house together straight to the store. First, your assorted fruits, then your vegetables and now the protein and other assorted foods. First choice from Hawks was chicken, of any type (mainly asking you to make fried chicken the goddamn weird bird), apparently the discussion between you two earlier is finally being pushed aside for the time being. You hoped it'd never be brought up again. You didn't want to acknowledge it, you didn't want to remember the terror you'd feel every time you fell asleep. You shook the thoughts off, checking the assorted meats. You could make some tacos or something tonight, maybe some stew. You felt a hand at your lower back in that moment. Ah, Hawks finally came back-
"I do hope you don't think that having him nearby will keep you safe." They said, and you felt yourself stiffen, eyes widening in shock as you subtly tried looking around. Hawks wasn't near you at all and you knew this person. "It was quite easy to lead him away. Money gets people to do things, my dear." They continued.
"Toxin." You said, you tried your best not to move around. You remembered his quirk all too well.
"Awe the little one does remember." Toxin teased, you could practically feel his smile. "I'm sure you understand why we're doing this sweetheart." He purred. "Betraying us the way you did back then left a lot of scars for us. Me especially, you were my future y/n." 
"That was not a life for any child to experience. Being offered to you should have never been an option." You hissed.
He tisked at you, his arm wrapping around your waist and pulling you close. "Ah y/n. I wouldn't be so snappy if I were you. After all you are alone right now." He smirked, then kissed your temple. "It was nice to see you y/n, but I should be going now. That bird is coming back." He said, you didn't let yourself relax with him saying that though. He grabbed a strand of your hair, and lightly tugged it and sighed. "I'll be seeing you again soon though, sweetheart." And with that he left you, you couldn't move, your body felt numb and you couldn't breath. Then there were hands at your shoulders. Oh God were they back already? You couldn't do this you had to run-
"Kid!" Hawks exclaimed. "Take deep breaths, alright?" He pulled you into his arms at that. You snapped out of it at that point, gently shoving him away. You freaking out would have caught some attention, you couldn't just push him away.
"I'm fine. Let's just pay and get out of here." You said, you tried keeping your voice steady but he could hear the quiver, and basically feel your erratic heartbeat. You were right, you both had to leave. Him before a fan would try to ask him to sign something and you before you started to panic again. You quickly paid for your items and left. Your heartbeat didn't slow until the both of you were safely in your home. 
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He usually knew what to do in situations where civilians were scared. But there was a catch for this time. You weren't a civilian, you were… you were a hero. A hero whos childhood was somewhat shrouded in mystery for him. The commission didn't give him anything more pertaining to your case. The only information that they had was that you were saved, and then you didn't join any hero work at all. But that was a lie. He knew it at this point that you were are a hero. Something he didn't tell the hero commission because he knew it'd hurt you. It took months of bugging attempting to get to know you and be somewhat close enough to talk outside of your hero duties. Which didn't happen the way he wanted. You were intriguing, ever since he first met you at that charity event. You also weren't really known, any information was shrouded in mystery, nothing was confirmed about you. Well one part for him was confirmed now, you were gorgeous. He always had that theory after he met you and you were soft. He remembered when you had hugged him close when you were undercover with him, you felt right in his arms. He wanted to help you. But he had to understand you. So when you forced yourself to cook dinner, he didn't argue because you would shield yourself away. Even though he was feeling a tiny bit desperate to know, he kept it to himself. And when you finally turned in for the night he made a decision that would go past this assignment. He would protect you, no matter what. Starting with not calling you "sweetheart". It was a cute pet name to you but well, hearing that villain, Toxin, call you that just… it made your annoyed reactions make more sense. Especially when he had first done it. You were more neutral when you two first spoke, but the moment he uttered that pet name you ended up annoyed with him. That ended up becoming the relationship you two had now, you annoyed with him and him slightly desperate for your attention. But now, right now you were someone he had to protect more, a victim of a criminal organization. He looked over at your bedroom door, your home was soundproof, no one would be able to hear you inside, and considering what he heard earlier it made sense. He walked over to the door, not opening it just waiting, hearing you toss and turn attempting to get comfortable. He leaned against the wall nearby, he really wished you'd trust him. 
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Having Hawks stay at your home leaves mixed feelings for you. It made you relieved but at the same time on edge. Glad someone who knew about your hero life but also left you paralyzed with fear. Heros saved people, heros were strong. This… this was you being weak. You were acting like the scared child All Might saved. You were still terrified of them. Your childhood was a horror show. The amount of times you saw people killed just for existing, being there at the "wrong time" (which was all the time the damned liars), the fact that they would force you to watch them kill innocent people and laugh about you cowering away. It was no wonder you were grateful for All Might saving you, it was why you wanted to be a hero. Saving the people who weren't always seen. You pointed out Chisaki Kai to Nighteye, he looked more into it and decided it was a case he'd investigate with a few other agencies. That little girl with them, she needed to be saved. It was why you told him about what you'd noticed in the first place. You didn't want to be known however. Too many people were wary about those related to villains, all you wanted to save people. And you were. But now… now it was coming back. Now you had to rely on heros to protect you. You hated it. You didn't want to rely on anyone, you just wanted that chapter of your life closed. You felt a terrible headache coming on then heard something shuffle outside of your door. Did this… did this dumbass not see the spare bedroom? You sighed, and got up. Quickly moving to open your door as you saw something move in the corner of your eye outside of your bedroom window. You tensed, you forgot that they were watching you. God it was probably why Toxin fucking talked to you! You probably threw them in for a loop having Hawks at your home thankfully. You opened the door, finding Hawks leaning against the wall nearby, and quickly threw yourself into his arms and tucked your head under his chin, he froze at the sudden contact. "M'sorry I panicked like that earlier and pushed you away." You said, it was muffled. He was still kinda frozen but you felt his arms slowly wrap around your middle. 
"Ah, its okay kid. Are you feeling a little better?" He asked, this was so different from the Hawks you were used to, unsure of what to do almost shy like, you shook your head in response to his question before you forgot to.
"Not really, but I didn't wanna shut you out." You whispered, forcing yourself to relax in his arms. Liar. A voice whispered in your head. You're a liar and a coward. Its good they came back to get rid of you. You deserve it. 
"Hey come on kid, I'm not heartless. Why would I leave my little songbird alone when she needs me?" He said, and wow did those pet names stick out as a "long term" thing they thought you had. You felt yourself flush. He was almost being… cute. He kissed your temple and led you back to your living room. Sitting on the couch before pulling you into his lap, one hand moving to steady your waist as you attempted to get comfortable, both legs thrown over his. "I'm not going anywhere songbird." Thank god he seemed to have gotten the hint, you thought as you saw a single feather subtly fly behind him and under the front door. You two sat there for what seemed like forever, he was holding you, he moved the hand at your waist and threw it around both of your shoulders and the other cupping your cheek as you laid in his arms. It was… nice. It felt right, like nothing was wrong. All the negative thoughts that were swirling in your head a moment ago vanished the moment he properly held you, your body felt at ease for the first time in years, you were exhausted. You didn't notice the tension in his shoulders leaving as you found yourself relaxing in his arms, didn't hear the fast beating of his heart as your eyes started drooping, and finally you slumped against him. Damn, you didn't know you were that touch starved. You slightly turned your face into his neck and relaxed even more, one hand coming up to his shoulder and loosely gripping at the material of his coat, before settling again. It was like you completely forgot why you came out in the first place, which you did for sure. You never knew Hawks could be so comfortable to lay on.
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Hawks was relishing in the fact you relaxed against him so easily, but there was that twinge of worry. How long have you not been sleeping well if you went lax from the bare minimum of touches (affection?) from another person? You were a private person, he knew that. It was obvious from the way you kicked him out earlier that day, to when you immediately left for your room after you two ate. But here you were, basically cuddling with him. He'd take you back to you room, but when he got up you just clutched at his coat tighter and tensed. You didn't settle until he was just holding you again. Well fuck.
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elvensemi · 5 years
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Y'all know me. I work hard, I buy a BTS ticket, I go, I die. It’s my cycle. I had a great time at the MetLife concert (wish I had time to go to the second one, real glad I’m not putting my very patient friend Skylark thru that again), despite a few uuuh snafus. At the end of the day, BTS had a great time and that’s what matters.
And also I was like ten yards from superheroes and that is also what matters.
But first, let’s have an injury sound off! I’ve got sun poisoning (which I didn’t get in SF despite being there in September with no sunscreen), wickedly painful sun burn, a scraped knee and bruised knee cap, back pain that can only be described as legendary, and every single muscle in my body aches (including muscles in the front of my shin where I did not know I even had muscles). I currently walk like a disabled penguin. I also definitely caught something (or am allergic to something in Sky’s house) so I’m gonna be real careful on the plane tomorrow.
All in all, pretty good. My knee came out TWICE at the Oakland concert and we wound up having to get security golf cart driven to our pick up point. I was in better health for this one, and thank god.
So how, you may ask, did I manage to get sun poisoning? Well! That’s kind of the staff’s fault, or whoever planned the BTS studio’s fault. See, they had us waiting on black asphalt in direct sunlight for SEVEN HOURS, almost completely unmoving. Everyone standing near me wound up pretty sick and extremely burnt, dehydrated, and malnourished. At one point over 200 people (hence the problem, I suspect) were just flat out sitting and laying on the black top. You could practically hear us sizzling.
So the problem was definitely that they gave out WAY too many QR codes for the BTS studio. There was supposed to be enough time for all the QR codes and the first 200 people in line. A line which started when gates opened at 10am. But QR lines took priority, so we had hundreds and hundreds of people zooming past us while we sat almost completely unmoving for hours. They also just sort of kept letting people in because their friends were in line so the damn line probably went from 200 to about 250-300.)
Credit to the staff of the booth itself, who I believe were given way too many people to process in 7 hours. They did let us leave to pee and come back, which everyone used to go to the merch line instead (lol).  Despite how busy they were, they threw no one out and processed all of us even tho they were working right up to the wire to do so. And after about 5.5 hours of line, when multiple people were actively passing out a bit, they got frantic and figured out a way to move the remaining, shorter line into the back of the tent. It got us out of the sun and was honestly an indescribable relief. They also gave us cold mediheal face packs to put on our faces and cool off some.  
But despite that, I got all the merch I wanted, a picture with Jeon Jungkook: Hologram AU (a story which someone has probably written), and a concert seat so close that I made direct eye contact with Taehyung and survived. Other highlights include all the amazing people I met, especially the guy in the seat next to mine who let me use his portable phone charger; seeing 90% of Jimin's entire nude chest from about 20 yards away at direct eye level (I SAW HIS TATTOO IRL GUYS, THIS IS HOW CLOSE I WAS AND HOW MUCH SKIN WAS ON DISPLAY), at the end of the concert when Suga had us scream as loud as we could and just took his ear piece out and closed his eyes and basked in it and looked like he was having an absolute soul-changing experience (permanently seared in my mind, what I see when I close my eyes, hope it stays forever lol), Jin crying (how is he so BEAUTIFUL) and his emotional speech which RM kindly translated for us, briefly meeting the woman who designed the BTS light stick (holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck also she gave me a new one for free bc mine was defective), and also a million details I can't think of right now and would take too long to type anyway.
Tomorrow I'm hopping on a plane. I'll be gone until Friday! There will be a Curious update 5/25, a sneak peak posted that same day hopefully, and a KS chapter posted on 5/31.
Thanks to every single one of you who sent in commission money, it was because of you that I was able to do this and it was one of the best days of my life.
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cattstarr · 3 years
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I had to leave work early last week due to an old work related injury. It acts up a lot, and this time I went to an Express Clinic to get looked at. They couldn't really do much for me but I was given an ace bandage to wear for bad days. I was given a doctor's note to take the next day off. Well, I got points for the missed day. But, HR told me I wasn't allowed to work because I had the note. I would have come in if I were allowed to because these points means I'm fired. So we went back and forth for a while. We tried for a form to retroactively cancel some of my points because I'm mentally ill, but because I don't work enough hours, I didn't qualify. Even though I don't work these hours because I'm mentally ill. There's a few more options it sounded like, but we're waiting for the head HR office to figure out the next steps. I hope they're viable because if not... Well, I'm out of a job.
And to be honest, I don't know how I should feel. Should I be confident that I can keep my job? Should I be pounding the pavement and just give up? I don't know. I want to stay here because I can't really find anything better, so it's be basically the same line of work for less money since I have raises...
Flickie says I shouldn't panic. Not yet. I'm still being scheduled. Just go to all my shifts on time and stay there. No matter how much it hurts. Which yeah, I'm too scared not to. I just assumed because this was related to my work injury, they'd cut me some slack.
My ssi case is still in limbo, so it's a hard call if that will come through for me. If it did, I wouldn't be so high strung about losing my job. I mean yes, I'd want to keep it still, but I'd still have enough money to live on. But Flickie doesn't make enough on his own to keep the apartment. He needs the extra I bring home to stay afloat. I don't work much, but it helps.
If commissions were more reliable this wouldn't be so scary, but I'm not that well known, lol. I also don't stick to a niche, and frankly the niche I picked I fear would kinda piss off my friends- - vore. I could make an alt account for it, which I've considered. If y'all are cool with seeing it more often then I won't, but I will if it bothers you.
Mental illnesses suck man. I wish I could just be normal enough and handle a fucking job. I see my coworkers just doing their jobs, having fun with each other, making the best of it. And then there's me. Stuck. Feeling like I'm going to be there forever. Even though I work 4 to 5 hours a day for 4 days a week. So anxious by it I'm crying. Nothing happens. I'm just in tears because I need to go home. I'm doped up on gabapentin. I vape medical marijuana when I can (never before work) to cope with my issues. But nothing seems to really help.
And in these bitter moments, my brain gets belligerent on me and I feel suicidal. I make attempts at times, but I'm still here so obviously I'm too afraid to go through with it. But it is an act of belligerence. I don't know what else to do to stop the pain. Between bipolar rage, ptsd anxiety and adhd understanding of time... I'm just so tired of existing.
Oh, the bipolar thing. I get so angry and mundane shit. I overshare. Overspend. I get aggressive. I'm kinda manic now.
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thepunklounge-blog · 5 years
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Miracle Mile - A Short Story
It was the poorest I had ever been, or ever would be thereafter. I was still young, which was good. The imperviousness of youth protected me to some extent, from the cold, from hunger, from aggravation, from austerity. I found a job in the paper for a telemarketer position at the 5455 building on Wilshire Boulevard. I called the number listed and they hired me right over the phone, which should have been a red flag, but what can I say, I was desperate for any job. I had nothing. I was living above the stage of Al’s bar at the American Hotel. It was a small, single room, not much bigger than a jail cell. The bathrooms were down the hall, no closet space, no kitchen, no food for that matter. I slept on some folded up comforters on the floor, I had a desk, a telephone, a little ten inch TV-VCR combo that had a tape stuck in it, an electric typewriter, and a small refrigerator, which, aside from the block of ice building around the walls of the little freezer, was totally empty most of the time. I had to be at work at 8 am. I got up at 5:30, took a hot shower, got dressed and headed downstairs into the icy morning air with my allotted six dollars, for bus fare, there and back, and lunch. I’d catch the Dash bus down at the corner in front of Blooms General Store. It was a little bus that only cost a quarter, and took you to the hub of the city’s transit centers, connecting to just about any bus, train or express line heading out of downtown. I’d ride it to Wilshire and Grand, where Wilshire Boulevard begins. Then I’d wait on the corner for a Metro bus to take me west. It was winter and the air was frigid. I had an old tweed coat with a faux-fur collar that I bought in some second-hand shop, but the wind would blow right through it and down my neck. My fingers would be numb and I’d shove them down in my pockets to warm them. If the bus was too full, the drivers wouldn’t even stop and you’d have to wait for the next one, which was often the case. Hence, my reason for leaving my place at least two hours before my shift began. You never knew what kind of eventualities would arise. Some of the drivers didn’t care though. No matter how filled to capacity the bus might be, the driver would stop, open the doors and yell out, “Come on people, keeping a schedule here, climb on, there’s plenty of room!” But that was mad. They were mad, with their fingerless gloves, gripping at the giant steering wheel, their eyes red and crazy, waving passengers aboard and cramming them in like sardines. And as desperate, rushed, and out of options as we all were, we’d climb on, cramming and mashing against each other so tightly, your feet were almost lifted off the floor. You were nearly suspended in the mass of bodies, all coffee breath; body odor, farts, bloodshot eyes, scowling faces, faces of disappointment, of hopelessness. Some mornings I was lucky enough to get a seat, and I’d sit with my face buried in a book, trying to wish away all the ugliness of my surroundings. The Wilshire line was one of the angriest, most hostel lines in the city. People would fight for seats, or standing room or a rail to hold on to. Knives would come out of pockets, or broken bottles. Bums would kick the back door and scream at the top of their lungs, “LET ME THE FUCK OFF THIS MOTHER FUCKER OR I”LL FUCKING KILL YOU ALL!!!” Sometimes, instead of reading, I’d lay my weary head against the window and look out at the city passing by. We’d cross over the Harbor freeway out of downtown, into MacArthur Park. The homeless in the park would be bundled under blankets and stuffed into sleeping bags beside the lake, steam from their snoring mouths rising into the ghostly sunlight. Some of them were junkies. The lucky ones would be splayed out on the grass, soaking in the rising sun, with a nice fat shot of dope warming their bones, smiling and nodding off in morphine soaked dreams. Wilshire always seemed haunted to me. Not just one old building or storefront, but the whole thoroughfare. It has an ominous aura, the shadows are deeper, the trees are old, their trunks scarred with graffiti and smeared with grease. The buildings are granite and gray, art deco, built by masonic orders at the turn of the century. There were old department stores, synagogues, museums, cathedrals, and flophouses. We passed through Korea Town then, with its noodle houses, hostess bars, and massage parlors, then past The Ambassador Hotel, where Robert Kennedy was assassinated in the hotel kitchen. I’d get off on Wilshire and La Brea and rush into the elevator and ride it up to the top floor, and make it into the office, usually, just in the nick of time for my shift to begin. The building was a solid black fortress. I’d go right to the vending machine and buy a Snickers bar for breakfast, then over to the coffee maker and pour a cup. The coffee was always thick as mud and amphetamine strong. My co-workers were all black. I was the only white boy in the phone room. The room had no windows and was very small. There were about fifteen of us crammed in there in small cubicles. The boss was a black man. His name was Mr. Spencer. He was tall, about 6’5 and must have weighed about four hundred pounds. When he came running into the phone room the whole floor shook. He wore a suit and tie and had a loud, booming voice. “Who here is motivated to make some money today?” he’d exclaim, and would scotch tape a single dollar bill to the wall. Not a fiver, not a ten… a single. “Whoever gets the first lead today, gets that dollar!” he’d proclaim, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind him. We would roll our eyes at the supposed reward. The job didn’t pay very much, to begin with, a measly one hundred and twenty-six dollars a week, plus commission if we could manage a lead that went through to a sale. The job was a grim and difficult one. We were cold-calling homeowners to see if they were interested in refinancing their homes and taking the money, and reinvesting it into remodeling their kitchens, or bathrooms, or adding on an extra room, or installing a swimming pool. They would give us copies of numbers out of the white pages to call. This was before cell phones or even auto dialing. You had to read the tiny, blurry numbers and dial away. There was a script that we were told to adhere to, word for word, without variation. You had to say it so many times a day that you developed blisters in certain parts of your mouth from repeating it so often. It went like this… “Hi, this is Chris, I’m calling from Sunrise Realty and Finance. We’re offering a special rate on refinancing and we see here that you filled out an entry form to win cash prizes and rewards (which was total bullshit) We’re calling to follow up on your inquiry. How are you doing today?” But more often than not, you never got that far. It usually went a little more like this… “Hi, this is Chris from Sunrise Realty and…” then the voice on the other end would interrupt… “Who? Who the fuck is this? FUCK YOU, YOU FUCKIN FUCK!” slamming down the phone. Most of my co-workers had a hard time with the script. Many of them were strung out on crack or heroin. Some were very old, or not very articulate, not too good at reading off the page with ease and grace. Their words sounded scripted and clumsy, they would fumble the words and stammer, and struggle with them. One guy was from the Congo and his accent was so thick, it was nearly unintelligible. The people we were calling were in cities like El Segundo, Compton, Lynwood, and Carson. Working class neighborhoods, people barely getting by, if that. Most were struggling, even unemployed in most cases. Living in homes their parents bought and were paid off years ago when housing was more affordable. I, however, was able to figure something out the rest of my co-workers were too tired, too strung out, or too apathetic to notice. It was a numbers game. The more people you were able to reach out to, in the shortest amount of time, was what the game was all about. Yes, 99% of the time, you got screamed at and hung up on. But every once in a while you got some interest. The quickest way to do get to those interested was to get right to the point. Not fumbling through some long winded and obviously scripted pitch; people were so burned out on those, especially when poorly delivered. No, the best thing to do was hit them with why you were calling in the first three seconds of them picking up. I would simply say, “Home remodeling?” If they had no interest, they would simply hang up or tell you to go fuck yourself. Fine, but sometimes they would respond by saying, “Home remodeling? Well, what do you guys do?” That’s when you knew you had a chance. There was something worth going on about…there was hope. By doing this, I was able to get more leads per day. Making me the leading telemarketer in the office. When the others caught on about how I was doing this, they tried it themselves. But for some reason, they couldn’t make it work, no matter the pitch, or lack thereof, they couldn’t catch a break. The bosses, who couldn’t have been happier with however the hell I was getting them their leads, told the others, “Y’all stick to the script. Chris does what he does and that works for him. It don’t work for Y'all. Read the words in front of you and that’s it!” This created a bit of envy from my co-workers and often ugly, resentful glances were thrown my way. I wasn’t trying to outdo anyone. I was just trying to survive like everyone else. Using was left of my wits to make that happen. We had our lunch break at half past noon. We had thirty minutes to rush downstairs and grab something, then get back on the phones. Many of my co-workers wouldn’t even bother with food. Most of them went down to the alley behind the building to smoke a joint, or take a pull on the pipe, or to fix in the bathrooms to take the edge off. I would rush up the street to the Burger King, order a 99-cent Whopper, no cheese, who could afford cheese, after all, no fries, and a cup for water. I’d slam it down my throat and run back to the office with the damn thing stuck halfway down my neck. I’d grab a second cup of black coffee and start dialing. Most of my co-workers would meander back, ten or fifteen minutes late, high as a kite, wreaking of booze or weed, taking shit from the boss for being late, nodding, grinning, and bumbling through their lives. One afternoon, the boss came into the phone room and asked me into his office. He told me that I had more leads that led to sales than almost anyone if the history of the company. Which wasn’t saying a whole lot. It was a fly by night that had just been set up a couple of years prior to my arrival on the scene. He gave me my own little office with a desk facing out a huge window, looking out onto the Hollywood Hills. The pay was the same, however, and there were no other perks aside from the privacy and the lovely view. I’d stare out the window, high above the city, the whole of it filling my eyes, looking down on the streets, and the hills above them, the opulent homes along Mulholland, the clubs and restaurants along Sunset, the traffic, the jets soaring through the skies, the ghetto birds patrolling the freeways for car chases. The teeming masses, struggling, losing, aching, worrying, rushing, grasping for some small victories, a dollar taped to a wall, a fix, a bottle, some sex, a place to sit on the bus, some cheese on your Whopper…anything. At 6 o’clock the boss cut us loose. We’d drag our tired bones onto the elevator down to the lobby. A Mexican kid named Julio, who worked at a café on the corner, would be getting off at the same time as me, and we’d walk to the bus stop together. He was a nice kid, plump face, always smiling, always greeting me with a nice pipe full of weed to smoke on the way to the bus. The bus heading back downtown on Wilshire dropped you off back on Grand, and the Dash bus stopped running back into my neighborhood from there at that time of night, so I had to take a bus north on La Brea, up to Sunset, and transfer to the 1,2,3 or number 4 bus, down to Hill and 1st street. We’d stand huddled together under the bus stop overhang, shivering in the freezing cold wind, stoned, hungry and exhausted. We’d ride up to Sunset and La Brea, Id get off, Julio would continue up to Hollywood Boulevard. I’d thank him for the smoke and get off, and wait in the cold for my transfer. I’d get on the first bus that came along. Usually, the buses heading into downtown were much less crowded than the ones leaving it. I guess leaving downtown was much more desirable than going there. Sometimes it would only be me and two or three others on board. The bus driver was a white woman with a southern accent. She was morbidly obese and kept ranting, “Jesus is my lord, the Lord Jesus is with me! Jesus is my lord, the Lord Jesus is with me!” Over and over and over, the whole ride downtown. She wouldn’t stop for five seconds. It was maddening. I got off on Hill and 1st and walked east through Little Tokyo. The smells coming out of the ramen houses and sushi bars was intoxicating. I watched people from the cold street, through the windows, eating steaming bowls of teriyaki chicken and rice, and spicy tuna rolls, and drinking hot Sake. My stomach growled and my head would spin with hunger. I’d cross Alameda and down across an empty parking lot to the hotel. I’d unlock my door, light the pilot of the little radiator in the corner and warm up. I'd crack a can of tuna, mix it was some mayo, spread it on some wheat bread and scarf it down. I’d take a hot shower down the hall, come back to my room, lie on the floor, cover up, and fall fast asleep. Tomorrow was another day, another bus ride, another cold call, another strong cup of coffee…another chance at a miracle. ~Christiaan Pasquale To read more of my work, click on this link, thank you....http://psychoslander.wixsite.com/christiaan-pasquale Read the full article
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