chains of office

rainbow valley

Summary: “As I’ve made very clear, Detective,” says Treville, strained, “I don’t make it a habit of getting involved in my employees’ love lives. But considering this precinct’s utterly abysmal and somewhat dangerous track record, you really cannot fault me for being concerned when you walk into work with a split lip that was not present the night prior.”

“Track record?” asks Constance weakly, and God, this really has just been the weirdest conversation.

“Athos’s wife is a wanted criminal in twenty-two states who only last week evaded arrest yet again, d’Artagnan’s spent the better part of the past year pining after you, and Aramis has gone and fallen in love with the very married wife of a European nobleman who has somehow gotten himself accidentally involved with the Spanish mob!” 

“At least Porthos is doing alright,” offers Constance lamely. 

“Yes,” says Treville, looking harried. “There is that.”

I wrote a shameless fic for @hansolosbutt‘s modern detective b99 au about the circumstances surrounding the day after constance leaves bonaciuex, which we decided were basically exactly like that one post where that personal trainer’s students all commiserated and went together without telling her to retrieve her things from her asshole ex boyfriends house. a good post, friends. a very good post. also, constance’s last name is baudin bc fleur, her niece (?) had that last name and i needed a maiden name for her. also also, trigger warnings for very brief mention of domestic violence. anyways, here’s this thing. this truly is like … my favorite au on the planet, right now,

Constance has always thought that Captain Treville’s office is somewhat spartan in decor. The desk is almost always immaculately clean, the commendations on the wall completely aligned and straight in their frames, and the clock above the doorway minimalist on charitable days. Aside from the small rainbow flag sitting among his pencils (all perfectly sharpened, all neatly arranged), fitted into his favorite fleur-de-lis-patterned mug at the edge of the desk, there really isn’t anything in the office that makes it particularly warm or welcoming or personable. Constance remembers only a few months before when the poor guy Deputy Commissioner Richelieu had sent down from human resources came to discuss Porthos and Aramis’s (convoluted, nonsensical, wildly work-inappropriate) email chain; he had entered Treville’s office looking apprehensive and left looking somewhat concerned. Constance, who had been privy to The Email Chain only once over Aramis’s shoulder, knew that it had somehow devolved from its benign origins of subject line: check out this guy’s suspicious-looking mustache to classic French literature-related memes. Quite frankly, unless one was particularly well-versed in the minds of Detectives d’Herblay and du Vallon, any poor fool tasked with reading through such an atrocity would likely as not emerge somewhat traumatized.

Joubert’s apprehension, however, had been surprisingly directed towards Treville himself; he had meekly suggested on his way out of the captain’s office, fiddling nervously with the bottom of his tie, that maybe he might consider putting a couch with earth-toned upholstery in the corner, just to make the place feel more welcoming?

Trevill had blinked at him, uncomprehending.

Aramis, who’d been trying to distract Athos from where he had his nose buried in case files by flinging paperclips at him across the room, had said, “Flower-patterned would make it even more welcoming, don’t you think Captain?”

Porthos had choked on his own laugh. Athos, engrossed in his case files, had tried to drink out of the communal bullpen pushpin mug and started spluttering in a most undignified manner.

D’Artagnan, bless him, had been the one to finally take pity on the aggrieved Joubert, leading him out of the bullpen and straight into the elevator with a comforting pat on his shoulder and a cheerful, “Come again soon!”

Constance remains standing in front of Treville’s desk, now, noticing that he never did take Joubert’s advice into consideration and get an earth-toned couch installed in the corner.

(There is, however, a small framed photo of the squad from last year’s Christmas party, the lot of them grinning like doofuses at the camera and more than one of them with their eyes half closed, perched neatly on the far right of Treville’s computer, and Constance feels a trickle of warmth expand in her chest despite everything.)

The door to the office clicks shut behind them and Treville comes to stand behind his desk in front of Constance, looking uncharacteristically apprehensive.

Keep reading

Elorcan Possessive Billionaire AU part 1

Summary: Elide wants out of Morath CO. Lorcan wants in.

  • rob·ber bar·on [noun]

a person who has become rich through ruthless and unscrupulous business practices (originally with reference to prominent US businessmen in the late 19th century)


Three Years Ago

Las Vegas, Nevada, United States

Elide hummed as she flipped through the stacks of paperwork, filing them into the respective cabinets. With brutal efficiency, she re-organized all of her uncle’s loose papers and re-wrote all of his scribbles of writing other business mergers deigned to look over.

“Elide! My coffee!” Her Uncle Vernon roared into the intercom, thick syllables rasping out. The machine’s blaring grated against her ear drums at it whirred off. Slamming the last cabinet shut, she locked up, and headed towards the kitchen. Not only was she the secretary, but the kitchen staff as well—and the event coordinator, personal relations specialist, and treasurer.  

Because she was Vernon’s only employee; everyone knew his ruthless practices:  With low wages, long business hours, and little respite, Morath Company frequented as the one of the business that still practiced brutal techniques, not only through the use of vertical and horizontal integration, but also through the filled corruption of scandals and feuds. No one dared to work for him save herself—ruined and crippled and chained to her Uncle.

Until she turned eighteen years old, she could not legally walk away from her guardian. When that long-awaited time came, she knew Vernon would have finally found a way to hold her permanently within his grasp. The wait drew anticipation within her, a source of murky hope. Unclear her future may be, but it had to be better than to slave away.

She hummed softly to herself, swaying on her feet as best as she could. By the time she had delicately carried the cup of steaming coffee into Vernon’s office, he had moved on into requesting an apple fritter, declaring he’d slash half of her pay for being too slow. Again.

Elide had merely bit her lip, and wobbled out of the office.

Maybe if he had hired more employees, Vernon Company would ruin more smoothly. Maybe if he had increased her pay, she would have more motivation to work harder. Maybe if he hadn’t chained her into his office when she first worked there, she wouldn’t move so slow.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Never affirmatives, always questioning.

Always dreaming for the future, always living in the nightmare.

Vernon had slapped a new assignment on her desk by the time she returned her little work room. Elide inhaled sharply through her nose as Vernon instructed her to organize his latest dealing with the EPA in convincing them to grant them permission to build an oil well near the Mississippi. She wanted to say no and protest the outright disgust that the risk of the oil spill and build up of a harmful infrastructure for the environment was not a potential investment—especially as a distributary channel.

But she had learned the hard way to keep her mouth shut. It was the only way to prolong the pain. To bite her tongue was to save skin, but drive her mind into pieces. What she could eat, wear, love—all aspects restricted to her Uncle, her last living family tie. Of all strung love, the sneers had snipped away the strings of bent loyalty. Only time remained as her closure.

Her fingers traced the outline of her calendar, nails tapping the date of her eighteenth birthday.

Soon.

Smoothing down her business skirt, she scheduled a phone conference with the EPA and placed that vapid smile onto her face. A blank face for the future clean slate.

She was Elide Lochan, and she would find a way out of this prison, coming in all shapes and sizes conjured by the metal at her ankle and bars in her mind.

Until then, she would play with Vernon.

Los Angeles, California

“Dammit!” Rowan cursed. “How did we lose this rutting business deal with the EPA? Our policies ally with their every move.” The desk splintered from impact with his fist.

Fenrhys threw his hands up in the air. “Why—how—are we losing our connections all to the horrid Morath Company?”

“Stop bloody shouting!” Gavriel shouted, pulling the roots of his hair. “We need this to work. So stick your nose back in the desk and breathe.”

Vaughan pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled his full cup of herb tea in one swallow. The others either paced around the room in hopes of releasing their anger while the others stormed out. The anger radiated within the room, a broken instrument victim of the feats of reckless runned reactions.

“Does it look like I give a flying fuck?” Lorcan snarled. “Maeve is blackmailing us again. If we don’t get this deal, she’ll rip apart our company for sure.” The duty to hang onto the shred of their independence hung volatile among them.

Fenrhys slammed his head against the desk rather violently, again and again, until the noise created a short cacophony. Gavriel grabbed his shirt’s collar and tossed him against the wall. “Stop acting like a child.”

“Obviously they have a mastermind in there,” Rowan said, ignoring his companions, and the rumblings of complaints. “Someone with the brains and words. The persuasion and the manipulation.”

“Someone with more hold than Maeve,” Lorcan mused.

“Impossible,” Gavriel snapped, ignoring Fenrhys’s sulking. “Maeve has been controlling us for the past damned ten years. You can’t get more powerful than that.”

Vaughan rolled his eyes. “You’re acting like we’re at the top of the hierarchy.”

Fenrhys narrowed his eyes at him, rubbing his jaw. “Who’s side are you on?”

“It doesn’t matter. We need to start searching through Morath’s database and narrow down the selection of employees and see who we’re going to kidnap. Use him to our advances. Bribe him to stay quiet. Then release him if his heart still beats.” Lorcan stalked towards the computers and flipped on all the switches, feeling the familiar humming of electricity under his fingertips. His dark eyes flickered to the lines of codes, full of simplicity past the facade of complexity.  

“Kidnap?” Gavriel demanded, rising from his worn seat.

Lorcan slowly turned towards his cadre, sparing them a feral glance. “Did I stutter?”

Rowan swore, and strode next to the whirring computer. “If Maeve finds out the prisoner we capture, she’ll wire him. Transform him. Manipulate him.”

“You’re going along with this?” Gavriel scowled. “Break a plethora of laws, so cross another?”

Lorcan tensed, his fingers flying across the keyboard, clacking away lines of code. Stiffness coated every inch of him, but he merely growled lowly in warning.

Vaughan shook his head, ignoring the amber-eyed male seething. “Maeve won’t find out. Not if she sees it as a conquest and nothing more. If one of us…show interest in him, then this scandal would not arouse suspicion.”

Fenrhys coughed. “You aren’t suggesting—”

“One of you will seduce CEO Vernon’s head informants,” Lorcan clipped out. “Whether male or female, I do not care. But you will make it happen.”

Fenrhys bristled as all heads turned towards him.

The Las Vegas Strip, Nevada

Work had drained her, ten hours of relentless scribbling and talking, full of sweet, empty words. If only the interviewed her insides and intentions, then would they see the black water running through her, flooding her lungs. Every breath tasted of the lies of liberty and poison of power.

The lust filled looks washing over her body was nothing new. Neither was hurrying through the less dense streets where lamp light rays flickered away into ceased existence.

The moment Elide walked down the alley, she knew something was wrong. The night was a calm tranquility harboring deeper secrets than the sun’s horizon, but never did it fade into utter silence.

Something was off.

She wormed through her bag until she palmed her pepper spray, and slowly inched up her skirt where her laid strapped against her thigh. No one, not even Vernon, knew that she carried weapons with her.

Except Manon. The cunning mafia leader had taught her how to survive on the streets when she’d save Elide from near assault after she was caught in the after-effects of a crossfire. Howls had filled the air, snarling and savagery whipping around her.

But this was a silent, sinister after thought. A rattling her bones left hollowness seeping through her.

Stone from the slanted roof clattered to the floor on her left, and Elide froze.

“Shit,” a male’s voice said.

“Shut up, Fen—”

The entire roof collapsed, and Elide let out a shriek as the stones hit the floor along with bodies.

Beautiful, male bodies. The most beautiful creatures she’d ever seen. Flesh did not scare as they rose from the ground, dark abominations with crooked halos. The closest—she assumed was Fen—held up his hands in protest.

“We come in peace,” he said, his voice a low melody.

But dark and dangerous.

Another dark-haired figure next to him snickered out, “Hey, props that she’s a girl.”

The shape of another male appeared from behind him, this one formed with broader shoulders and arms corded with sheer muscle. His fall had ripped apart his black-pressed shirt, a thin line of blood trickling across his chest. He snorted at his companion’s statement, rubbing his jaw with his large hands. A rough-hewn face met her own trembling posture, her bottom lip threatening to spill.

Yet—never had injuries looked so magnificent. Never had the darkness so called to her. Never had she tasted freedom.

Elide mentally slapped herself. Bit down on her tongue. Gripped the pepper spray tighter.

“What do you want?” She managed.

The male raised an eyebrow, his midnight black hair rippling with the night. “What I want to know, Elide Lochan, is why you’re the only person working for CEO Vernon.”

Elide Lochan trembled. No one knew that—no one. Vernon had even coded millions of nonexistent names with false identities into his computer to seem as if he had millions under his command as his last action of actual work. No one could re-route that direction and clear the coding and decipher the assortment of jargon.

Unless—

A mocking bow. “Expert hacker, Lorcan Salvaterre. And CEO of the Cadre Companies.”


Now

Jakarta, Indonesia

Elide wiped the back of her hand across her forehead, sighing as the beads of sweat continued to run down her forehead. California knew storming deserts and tepid springs, but Indonesia oozed humidity that had each of her pores leaking in response. 

Pressing her bag closer to hip and grasping the clasp tightly, she weaved through the bustling streets. Vendors leaned forward at her sides, nimble hands flashing forward, the town the perfect hole to pickpocket. Vibrant cloths and teeming displays glamoured the wiped-down fronts. Every smile and wave of a hand served as a distraction as the unsuspecting pockets or zippers opened, only for seconds later, curses to fill the air as victims realized their foolishness. 

Elide reasoned she would be the same victim to the games if she weren’t a werewolf. 

Her hands instinctively enclosed around a wrist, and squeezed.
A little boy fell out of a stall, his face beet red. A warm wind had his long locks of dark curls slapping across his face, coated with black streaks of grime and dust. 

As Elide gripped him, her eyes absorbed the thin scars painting his scrawny arms.“Who did this to you?” Elide murmured softly, her other hand firmly tightening its hold on her bag, ignoring the rest of the curious eyes peeking from behind the tapestry stall.

The boy shook his head, hitting some of the hanging threats of rainbow hues. “Can’t say.” His other hand flailed out and pantomimed zipping his lips. 

She slowly sniffed the air, narrowing down the scents. Of all the vendors in this street, this particular stall held the only one inhabited by werewolves—young ones, to be precise, which was odd considering the fact not one smelled rogue. Lest the laws forbid it, any pack forbid young wolves, prone to be subject as pawns or used as threats, wander alone.

“Where’s your alpha?” Elide asked, and slipped her fingers around a pendant in her bag. Yanking it out, and angling her body closer to the stall, she palmed the ruby.The boy’s eyes widened, his other hand reaching out.

Elide retracted the gem. “Alpha?” 

The boy loosed a small, defeated sigh. “Dunno. Probably killing or fucking.”

Her eyes widened. A sound escaped her throat. “Are you sure?”

The boy’s eyes turned dark. “Alpha killed mother. Alpha fucked sister. Alpha does same to others.”

Elide knew by the sweeping undercurrents of bitterness and acerbic taste in the tongue that the boy’s sister simply hadn’t been taken without strand of dignity or consent. It seemed she had come across one of the boundless alphas, spending wiles and wills on the wild mind rather than the collective security of duty. Her insides shuddered, her skin prickling in sorrow for the fate of the pack, for only the true chaotic cursed ruled in this new era. “What’s your name? I’m Elide.” She knew it was a risk to expose herself openly like that, but by the boy’s fragile state, he wouldn’t be able to fully mind-link his alpha that another werewolf not from his pack set on his claimed territory. By tomorrow, she’d completed her mission and be sailing back towards California.

It’d been too long before she had been in the eastern hemisphere, where two years ago, no alpha pack had deigned to rule over the torrid terrain and scorching soils of Jakarta. Only the ruined would dare claim the chance to tame the lands.

“I’m Nox.” The boy blushed. “Nox Owens.”

Elide released her grip and slid the ruby into the boy’s hand. Before he could disappear behind the fluttering, threaded colors of clarity and brightness, Elide leaned in, whispering, “Don’t grow bitter, Nox, but better.”

She set off for the streets, attempting to cover her scent with newfound vigor—her only supposed gift for her runted wolf side. Hiding in rabbit burrows did have advantages, but brought out whispers of disgust and pity to those who saw her other form. If she completed her unspoken task easily, then she’d be out of the ground quicker. Intruding on another’s territories had never been one to her liking, unlike Aelin’s boldness. Being the one of the several Alpha females must have had its perks, a craving Elide would never have fulfilled.

Hurrying up the steps into a small building with a slanted roof, she pushed past the wooden door, the blast of the cranked of air conditioner eliciting a satisfied sigh. Footsteps rounded from the corridor, and Elide grinned as she stared at the familiar white-haired acquaintance, dressed in the ever trademark dark clothes. 

“It’s good to see that Aelin hasn’t quite roughened you up yet,” said Manon, twirling her favorite blade in her fingers. “I’ve not got much on my end except for an Alpha Lycan settling here in the wastes.”

Elide unpacked her bag, pouring out the sparkling jewels for later bartering and bribing. “A Lycan?”

The more feral and wild kind of werewolves in the supernatural world, Lycans dominated over packs and reigned as royalty. Feared by most younger vampires and worshipped by regular werewolves, Lycans challenged the social order of the supernatural system. She’d met not just five three years ago, but one certain dark-eyed Lycan well enough to wish herself dead and nothing but dust in the earth; an encounter enough to drive her into a frenzied state of one she’d never envisioned herself, the simplicity rested in certainty.

“I saw a little pup today,” she murmured. “Alone in the streets.” The urge to protect the small one had rammed repeatedly in her head, ringing with resonance within every crevice. The lost, wide eyes reminded her of a younger version of herself, afraid and in awe of the wide world who offered terrors and tranquility. A desperation had flashed through him beyond that draped curtain of fear.

“This Lycan’s known to treat omegas poorly.” Manon rolled her shoulders. “He may not give a lick about what happens to those who toil in soil, but his warriors form a force of sheer strength.”

“Which is why your Thirteen still haven’t drive him away?” She had an inkling of feeling running through her veins, a snap of hopefulness thrumming through her. Manon’s silence was enough, and Elide rolled an amber stone across the table. The white-haired female easily caught it in her hands, rubbing the smooth surface. As a witch, her stance held hold over other supernatural creatures, only challenged by the ancient throng of individuals, including the older vampires who had seen the early revolutions of barred freedom and processed colonialism. 

“Which Lycan are we dealing with?” asked Elide, for the true forest bred creatures of the night called Lycans numbered to a few to be counted on hand’s fingers. Each reigned deadly in their own particular ways, each a foe to be reckoned with, each immortal and an aura of powerful. 

The leader of the primeval witch clan snapped her teeth—not at the fellow wolf who held youthful ebullience hidden within the shaded depths of dark orbs, a drawn and drab curtain across that flaring spark of cunning, restrained lore, but at the thought of the Lycan in her wasted lands. Manon crossed her arms. “This Lycan has dared to claim my territory as is, infiltrating my streets and my rings. I’m losing my contacts in a flushed drain.”

“What does this have to do with Aelin sending me here?” If gathering intel was all that was required, then she’d be heading back home to the sunny, albeit windy, shores of California within no time.

Manon gripped the stone tightly, the sharp noise of cracking piercing the air. “No,” the witch said slowly, opening her palm. Elide watched the cracks of the reddish brown hues fall listlessly to the floor, a distant reminder of the salted liquid running through her and scorching her mind. “You need to seduce Lycan Lorcan Salvaterre.”

A heartbeat of silence, then Elide coughed, clutching her chest. Pain sweltered through her, rivulets of rage racing across her vision, clear as the freshwater without a facade of fiction. Lorcan Salvaterre, the newest, most dangerous and wild Lycan that had appeared out of nowhere three years ago, the one who had shaken the very soils of her roots. The phantom bite at her neck flared at the name, her entire body shaking and trembling, the memories of the madness running amuck her mind.  

Time healed the blemished bruises and scrapes of scratches, but only bred the psychological damages burning and branding her insides. 

“Elide!” Manon called sharply, shaking her shoulders firmly, halting the flood of feelings. “Do you accept the deal?”

The figure of a rough-hewn face emerged through the fog of recollection, onyx eyes boring into her soul, warm hands skimming her skin, sending sparks through her. A dance of danger and dignity, her body a violin to his tune, unleashed and forbidden. The crescendo of emotions that had ruled her into the haunted female—werewolf—that she was today.

“Yes,” Elide managed to gut out, a sick smile spreading across her sunken eyes. Riled revenge spun, a chance of millions emerging through the unsolicited closure of three year’s time. She didn’t have to ask why the new type of mission when another vice wormed through her. “I accept your deal, Manon.”

It was time to return the forged game of unforgotten secrets and tempted betrayal—one in which no longer pawn reigned as herself, but the CEO of the Cadre Company, Lorcan Salvaterre, the robber baron of her heart. 

A retribution for what Lorcan Salvaterre had done to her three years ago.

10

This scene right here. It’s underrated. It shows what position these two are both in. In this job. In this time period. The both have an impairment. They are seen as the bottom of the food chain in the office, in the SSR. Daniel with his disability and Peggy with her gender. This scene shows that they both understand what it’s like for the other. They are taken for granted and all they can do is say “yes, sir, right away, I’ll do that.” And that’s how it is. They can relate to each other and that’s what I love about their relationship. What Hayley Atwell said in this article – “I think what makes it work is that she saw something in him that’s the same quality she found attractive in Skinny Steve (Chris Evans), which was a man with great morals dealing with very real physical hardships. In the workplace, her gender is considered a disability. Sousa has a disability from the war, and therefore has to deal with that limitation. Because he deals with it with such dignity in the way that Skinny Steve did, that’s what attracts her to people. I think it’s inevitable that they end up together. He’s not intimidated by her. He respects her and admires her, and supports how brilliant she is and how good she is at her job, and is not threatened by that. I think that’s a bloody hard thing for men in the 1940s to not be intimidated by. He’s pretty special in that regard.”

2

🔥 A Song of Ice and Fire projectA Gifset per every chapter

↪ A Game of Thrones, XLIII, Eddard XI

Grand Maester Pycelle rose ponderously from the council table, his chain of office clinking. “Ser Marq, with respect, you cannot know that this outlaw was Ser Gregor. There are many large men in the realm.”

“As large as the Mountain That Rides?” Ser Karyl said. “I have never met one.”

“Nor has any man here,” Ser Raymun added hotly. “Even his brother is a pup beside him. My lords, open your eyes. Do you need to see his seal on the corpses? It was Gregor.”

“Why should Ser Gregor turn brigand?” Pycelle asked. “By the grace of his liege lord, he holds a stout keep and lands of his own. The man is an anointed knight.”

“A false knight!” Ser Marq said. “Lord Tywin’s mad dog.”

A fuck-manager story

I work for a popular newsagents/bookshop chain and our head office double checks us on everything from TPC (till-point chocolate sales) to our news accuracy (whether or not we’re sending magazines back on time)

So, for context, we are given money back on magazines we send back to our news depot. If we miss the returns, we lose the money (it’s called shrink waste). As a store, our news accuracy isn’t very good - this due to a few different members of staff not complying with standards and checking the shelves properly.

My store manager went to his annual managers meeting last week and when questioned by our regional manager as to why our news is so bad, my manager offered up my name for sacrifice. Mr holier than thou of course didn’t want to take the blame for not training his staff properly or enforcing staff policies.

tl;dr I almost got fired by the regional director without being told because my manager didn’t want to take the blame

7/27 (deluxe edition) inspired plots — PART ONE

  • THAT’S MY GIRL     ❝ destiny said you gotta get up and get it, get mad independent and don’t you ever forget it. ❞   

muse a has always been very sports inclined, jumping from one to another just to try them all out. football, tennis, basketball, swimming. but none of them seemed to be it for her, none of them completed her nor did she feel like she belonged. until she started boxing. her parents didn’t really approve of her aiming to become a professional boxer, especially not with all the risks and severe injuries she could obtain if one of her rivals hit her with too much force in an specific place. but muse a was never want to quit so she persevered with her technique and skill as best as she could in her own and then moved to los angeles to begin a real career and find a manager. something that didn’t prove to be easy since training women wasn’t a business many would dive into. after many stumbles, muse a finds a new manager who starts getting her fights that she wins easily. as she starts gaining a reputation for her quick hits and ko’s, she meets muse b in one of the high ranking fights of the year. muse b is quite the experienced and skilled fighter which makes their match one of the most awaited. the general public pits them against one another, betting for who they think will win. but it’s after they talk that they realize they may have a lot more in common than just boxing.

  • WORK FROM HOME  —   ❝ let’s put it into motion, imma give you a promotion. i’ll make it feel like a vacay, turn the bed into an ocean.

muse a is a very well known ceo of a wealthy enterprise, also known to have an entire chain of smaller business and offices all around the country. authoritative and ruthless in business, she’s taken down rival companies by destroying others who defied her or her company before. never one to go down without a fight. add muse b, who has just started as an intern at her company and has been assigned as her new personal assistant after she fired the last one in a fit of rage. muse b quickly and efficiently gains what could be considered her respect since he always gets everything done in an instant. muse a has never really looked at any of her employees with anything other than despair, perhaps a smirk if they did their job right. but with the young man it’s different, he’s quite efficient and handsome, so it’s not a bother to have im around her at all times. he slowly gains her trust and one night working late, something happens that crosses the line and changes their dynamic completely. there’s tears from muse a, despair and ache in her expression and it’s something she hasn’t shown in a long time. muse b happens to be there, as he always is, and tries his best to offer a shoulder to cry on. as it turns out, they end up in quite a different method of making her feel better by sleeping together. they begin an affair of sorts, sneaking around with quick fucks in her office or meeting room. muse b gets a taste of her life, wealth and a penthouse amongst them. little does muse a know that muse b is in reality the heir to her company’s biggest rising rival and only started his intership as a means to infiltrate hers and bring her down.

  • THE LIFE  —   ❝ no stress, baby you can find us getting down on a beach in dubai. pool side, sipping on a mai tai. double up, run it back in my mind.

muse a and muse c were always very adept to music, always singing along to the most ridiculous songs and pretending to play the air guitar or air drums. as they got older, they spent their free time learning how to play different instruments. guitar, bass, drums, keyboard. they did their best in muse a’s old garage but they lacked singing ability so they decided to find a vocalist, they wouldnt be the first band to start off in a garage filming youtube covers to stardom. casting after casting they finally found muse b, who was amazing. their youtube channel started gaining popularity as they posted more and more covers of different genres. near the end of their senior year of high school, they received news from a label that wanted to see them play live for them in los angeles to sign them. and they did, getting a contract and beginning their journey as a real band. it started slow for them, playing here and there a few gigs. until they were up to open for a more known band on tour with them, which brought them new fans and recognition. along the way and in between tours, muse a and muse b started getting closer to each other from how much time they spent together. and, after a while, they became involved. it was all for fun, kisses here and there while laughing and enjoying themselves. however, becoming involved was a risk for the band as a whole because if they ended up in bad terms it would put everything in jeopardy. muse c was always worried, but making sure muse a didn’t end up with a broken heart. since muse b was high off the fame and the fans, previosuly involved with some of them. it was a rollercoaster of emotions. and muse c got fed up one day, telling muse b to knock it off and stop fucking with muse a. however, in the heat of their argument, they kissed and slept together. muse a and muse c had always been best friends, but muse a was in love with muse b who had just slept with muse c. it was all a mix to an epic shitstorm.  ( could be poly )

  • WRITE ON ME  —   ❝ write on me, give me some wings i’ll fly. love the way you tat me up, i’ll never change my mind. ❞

muse a recently went through a really bad break up, to the point she was really depressed and lonely holed up in her apartment. she lost her job, contact with her friends and her family was far away to know or support her at all. she fell into a pit of darkness that she didn’t know how to get out of. muse b was going to pick up their things from their ex’s place to move back into their new apartment, which happened to be the one in front of muse a’s. in the midst of moving in, muse b knocked on muse a’s door to ask one of their new neighbors a few simple questions about the building and if the water not working was just a problem in their new apartment or others too. at seeing muse a’s sad demeanor and the light in their eyes so dim, besides her obvious apparence of someone who doesn’t care anymore, muse b was concerned and offered to talk. at first, muse a refused, wanting to be alone and muse b relented. it wasn’t until a few weeks later that muse b had to ask muse a for help with something on their apartment that they didn’t start hanging out. it took a while for muse b to convince muse a to just chat. they began spending more time together, binge watching a ton of tv shows from both of their wishlists and eating their weight on junk food. slowly, muse a opened up to muse b and their friendship cherished from it. they became really good friends, helping them heal from their respective break ups and finding a safe place in each other.

  • I LIED  —   ❝ you’re the only one that’s showing me the thrill. you’re the only one that’s giving me these chills. no ex in the past could open up my eyes, thought i found the one every time. ❞

muse a was what you’d call your typical troublemaker, always being the talk of everyone in his old high school. breaking hearts, getting into trouble. that’s all he did, bad choices seemed to follow him everywhere. he was brilliant though, getting good grades even if he skipped most of his classes or earned detention more times than he’d admit. it was exactly in detention where he met most of his friends, danger and recklessness seemed to tie to one another and bring them all together. they were known to wreck havoc wherever they went. fast forward high school and muse a was working part time a bunch of jobs to make ends. his appearence still resembled what he used to be, tattooes covering his arms and back and a lip ring adorning his face. he was all rough edges and no bite, but still pretended he was. from his old friends, only a couple remained while the others were serving time in jail. or in another state. muse a himself did a couple of years for a really stupid thing they did when they were eighteen. muse a’s best friend had always been a bad influence on him but he didn’t really care. however, when his friend brought his new girlfriend over once and saw how badly he treated her that he seemed to snap on how toxic he really was. for him, there was no redeeeming. but the girl seemed to be a princess, daddy’s little girl who wanted to rebel. muse b, indeed being the spoiled princess she appeared to be no matter how much she wanted to mask it by wearing too much make up, combat boots and a leather jacket. muse a became protective for some reason, going as far as calling out his friend for his behavior with her. seeing that didn’t work, he went straight to muse b, telling her she should leave him and get out, still have a decent life. but she refused, instead kissing him and becoming involved behind muse a’s best friend’s back. it was dangerous and, after a while, muse a asked muse b to run away with him. but neither muse a’s friend nor muse b’s parents were okay with them together and wanted them as far as away as possible.

  • ALL IN MY HEAD (FLEX)  —   ❝ dimming the lights just so that they don’t blind us. so tongue in cheek when we’re laying on roses but you’re touching my skin and you’re leaving me hopeless .

muse a is tired of how repetitive and boring her life seems to have become when she used to be lively and expecting so much from the future. stuck in the same day job and routine once she gets to her apartment so during the summer she decides to go on a roadtrip. she was going to do one when she graduated but never happened, so why not do it now? she packs up the essentials in her car and sets destination to the other side of the country. in her journey, she meets muse b in the first state she makes a pitch stop at. muse b needs a ride to the same exact city muse a has set her destination at and after hitting it off so quickly after meeting each other muse a invites her to tag along. they travel through small towns and cities no one would have known the names of. attending festivals and parties as they go, enjoying themselves and the weather. it’s easy to get lost in the frenzy of their road trip, inhibitions gone and emotions on an all time high. they border the coast so they can enjoy the beach as well while working on their tans. somewhere down the line, with lots of booze and a cozy getaway on the beach they kiss. it feels like second nature for them to be involved but when their trip comes to an end , arriving finally at their destination comes their biggest issue yet. muse a lives all the way across the country while muse b’s supposed to stay in the city. which means, they’re bound to break up, or are they?

lifting from office stores

okay hoes, take a seat because i’m about to rock your lil worlds. 

okay, maybe not, but i worked in a big chain store (office depot) for over two years, and let me tell you - it it easy as hell to just fuck the entire store up.

  • first things first: every store is different. i worked in two different locations in two different cities, and there are major similarities and differences in each. SAME: cams on the ink and some tech. managers care more about ink more than their children. that shit is expensive as hell, and easy to lift depending on the policies in the store. if they are in the security boxes: you are out of luck my friend, unless you can get your hands on the spider or alpha key to unlock them. they are practically indestructible. my coworkers and i would throw them against the walls and they would just bounce. other than tech, cams throughout the store are bound to be few and far between, if there are any at all. seriously, find a blind spot and conceal in your purse, and you can get enough pens to last you until you graduate with your college degree. DIFFERENCES: obviously locations. it depends on the area that you’re in when you go inside, because it determines how you’ll dress and be viewed by the employees. watch your cams. they might not be just in tech. i’ve seen them in back corners and above the hallway to the restrooms before, but those aren’t common where i’m from. just be careful.
  • things that are easy to lift: pens. markers. sticky notes for days. phone cases that are not in security boxes, just pop those lil shits open and shove them in your pockets. phone chargers. desk accessories. if your bag is big enough, paper and notepads are a breeze. folders are a joke. do you even know how many pencil bags and things of lead for mechanical pencils i have? it’s insane. literally anything in the store that is not tagged or in a box, grab it.
  • things that are not so easy: i have mentioned before in a post or two the major things i’ve been able to lift. 
    • Printers: easy as pie. literally just grab the thing, box and all, and walk out. these are not tagged. they are easy to boost. they are light, depending on the model you grab. let me tell you how it is the easiest thing you’ll ever do: you ever see those SAs with the mobile phone lookin’ things? those things are a dream. we use them to check inventory in our store, other stores, but the most important thing is that we use them to check customers out in other places in the store other than the registers. This is key. You need to make sure that one of the associates that you talked with has one of these, or you see them, otherwise this approach will not work. If the store associates don’t carry them, the second phase of this “whole lift and carry out” plan will not work. When you grab the printer, you can either put it in a cart and walk around for a bit or walk right on out if there’s nothing else you have to grab. If you are stopped, which is more than likely, shoot them a sincere, nice, genuine smile and tell them this: “Oh, (insert associate’s name here) checked me out already on that phone thing.” These are basically the magic words. We are lazy fuckers. We do not care about double-checking. The son of a bitch behind the counter will wave you out and say have a nice day. Honestly, this method is best used if you’re super confident and have been doing this for a while. I DO NOT RECOMMEND YOU TRYING THIS IF YOU ARE NEW TO LIFTING. PLEASE DO NOT EXPECT THIS TO GO OVER SMOOTHLY. Like I said before, every store is different. If you have a bad feeling, do not go through with it. This method works best in a crowded store, or during a rush for back to school. BACK TO SCHOOL IS ONE OF THE MOST STRESSFUL TIMES OF THE YEAR FOR US. IT IS STRAIGHT BLACK FRIDAY FOR THREE MONTHS. I HATED IT. IT STARTS IN JULY AND GOES THROUGH SEPTEMBER. But use that to your advantage. I haven’t paid for my school supplies in years. YEARS.
    • Desk Chairs: tbh, you can use the printer walk out method with these as well. just bring a cart back to the furniture pad with you, pick out a chair, and walk out with the same line. 
    • Laptop: Okay, this is priceless. A lot of my friends asked me how I got it, but honestly it only works if you have a really, really good friend in the store. My coworker was really into lifting, and we talked about way to get a computer for each of us because our old ones were dying. Computers are held in the back of the store in a cage that is locked and only the managers have the keys. Not the tech guys you see walking around the floor, but the manager on duty.They are the most precious thing that the store has to protect, which is why only select people have access to them. We were a close knit family, my friend, my manager and I. My manager would leave us to close the doors when we closed, and lock everything up, since they were usually counting the money and didn’t want to be distracted. So we used that to our advantage. One night, I came in 5 minutes to close, my manager was already in the back counting the cash, and my friend was working the floor alone. It was a rare and beautiful thing. My friend borrowed the keys to “lock the side doors” and he ran to the cage in the back, unlocked it, grabbed the laptop I wanted, handed it off to me, walked me to the front, and locked the doors behind me. I was home free. It was honestly the biggest thrill of my life, but it’s helped me though homework and classes this semester, and I am so thankful. Now I have a 17″ beauty to blog on and it’s amazing.
    • INK IS ALWAYS TAGGED IN THE BOXES. THEY ADHERE TO THE SIDE OF THE INSIDE OF THE BOXES, AND WILL SET OFF THE ALARM. IF IT ISN’T IN A BOX, IT’S STILL TAGGED. These are usually off-brand or cheaper brands of inks, like Canon, and Epson. HP is always tagged and in a secure box, so those are lil bitches. For the cheaper ones, you can slip it into your purse, and walk out with a crowd or after a small purchase, and keep walking if/when it beeps. 

LIKE I HAVE SAID BEFORE. THERE IS A MINUSCULE CHANCE YOU WILL BE CHASED. LIKE, SO SMALL YOU CAN’T EVEN SEE IT. CASHIERS ARE LAZY FUCKS, I KNOW BECAUSE I WAS ONE. IF YOU BEEP, KEEP WALKING OR LOOK CONFUSED AND GET WAVED OUT BY THE WORKERS.


HAPPY LIFTING BABES, AND IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, FEEL FREE TO ASK ON TIPS AND POLICIES FOR RETURNS AND SUCH. I am here at your disposal, use me how you like. Literally ask me anything.

A Very Happy Birthday to the Fabulous abbythebear! I love you, my dear friend. Words cannot express how happy I am that I met you…uh, on the internet that is. Hope you have had a wonderful day filled with cake and smut…oh look, here’s some smut for you! :-)

WARNING: A smattering of swear words, and fluff that devolves into smut, sprinkled with a few bad puns. Unedited, so all mistakes are mine.

Katniss Everdeen is sick of her job at a large chain office supply store. The hours are crap. The pay isn’t worth the hassle. And the employees who work the logistics really get on her nerves. Especially their endlessly cheerful team lead.

Keep reading

the new royal spymaster
  • Corvo: It is my solemn duty as Royal Protector to announce the new Royal Spymaster and welcome him to the court. He is well-known by many of you and I trust you will aid him in his new duties as you have with me.
  • Corvo: *puts on the Spymaster's chain of office*
  • Corvo: It's me.
  • *everybody applauds*
  • Corvo: For my first official act as Royal Spymaster I will now drink eight bottles of King Street Brandy in three minutes
  • Emily: *hurriedly getting up from the throne and taking the first bottle of brandy out of Corvo's hands* Nope. No you won't. No you won't. Because if you do that...you'll die.
Not yet, but someday soon
my life will be rush hour traffic
and a mortgage I’m still not sure
how to pay
and I’m so worried I’m not doing enough
with these days.
I’m trying; skinny-dipping in the quarry,
bonfires at the sand dunes,
stargazing in the cabbage fields,
and skipping class to float the river.
There is a steady, sinking feeling
it’s all going to waste;
that tomorrow I’ll wake up
chained to an office chair
and bringing work home
for the weekend.
 
I’m trying to get lost;
the wild, burning sunlight
of youth and the mistakes
I’ll remember fondly.
I don’t know
how to do this better.
—  Schuyler Peck, 30/30, WHILE I WAS YOUNG


Was talking with @poorquentyn last night, and we started discussing the various supporters/teachers of Aegon aboard the Shy Maid. It struck me that there seemed to be one consistent theme among them all - exile. Each one is an exile, and each one’s story of exile is a microcosm of a larger cultural struggle.

For Duck, his is the classic story of Westerosi class conflict, of the smallfolk caught in a system where a lord’s pocket tyranny of his lands determines their fates. If Duck’s tale is not so violent as that of the Golden Company’s Franklyn Flowers (eventually himself Aegon’s ally), or as ending in criminal punishment as that of Dareon, all three stories are examples of Westeros’ absolute lordly privilege  (and how pleasant an irony that all three stories come out of the supposed heart of chivalry, the Reach). Not every lord exercises that privilege, of course (and some, like kind-hearted Edmure Tully, actively seek to protect their smallfolk) but for others, their noble blood gives them the right to take as they please - whether that be sexual pleasure, as Lord Fossoway’s son found with Franklyn’s mother, or a fine sword, as Lorent Caswell desired from Duck’s father - and know that they can never be gainsaid (who, for example, would question the word of the maiden Rowan daughter against a lowborn singer?). Young Lorent Caswell, doted-upon only son of Bitterbridge, had to be feted and honored beyond his actual capabilities, and if a peasant like Duck dared tell him no, he faced escape from the Reach and exile as his reward.

For Haldon, he seems to be an exile of the Citadel, driven out for some act of intellectual heresy before he could complete his chain of office. The name “Halfmaester” is mocking and on the verge of derogatory, and seems to me adopted by Haldon in the same way Tyrion told Jon to embrace his bastard identity - an open acknowledgement of his failure to gain true maesterly status. Moreover, his insistence on demonstrating his quick wit and clearly expansive (if occasionally erroneous) knowledge base tells me that Haldon was not a man who left the Citadel on his own terms; with his intelligence, there is no reason to suppose Haldon could not have completed all his links, unless he was expelled, so to speak,  by the Citadel’s administration. Perhaps it had been an interest in dragonlore - a subject about which the Citadel, at least according to Marwyn, has proven less than helpful about in the years since the beasts’ extinction - which had earned the ire of the Conclave, or perhaps it had been association with the troublingly unorthodox Marwyn (after all, Qyburn - who, granted, is definitely insane - had been stripped of his chain in part because of his close workings with the Mage) which resulted in Haldon’s end. Whatever the reason, Haldon found himself an exile: whatever family, grand or small, that had sent him to the Citadel in the first place would not take him back as a failure, and no other university or school of learning existed to take him instead.

Lemore is the odd one of the group, of course, because so little is known - and can be known - about her (and anyone who holds to that incredibly foolish idea that she is Serra Mopatis … well, I’ve made my views clear on that score). I tend to think she is well-born, a Seven-worshiping Westerosi woman in her 40s whom Jon Connington does not know personally and who has borne at least one child. In my mind, without delving too deep into what specific House she belongs/belonged to, I think her family went into exile possibly after Robert’s Rebellion; a Targaryen-loyalist family, perhaps, in an area ruled by one of the rebel lords, they might have found Essos and exile more hospitable than life under the new regime (or were driven out by similarly rebellious neighbors, eager to claim the lands of “traitorous” Houses). Perhaps, like one of Elys Waynwood’s daughters, Lemore in exile was seduced by and bore the short-lived child of a sellsword. At home she might have made an equal dynastic match, but like Orton Merryweather (who in exile married the beautiful but hardly illustrious by Westerosi standards Taena of Myr), there would have been few if any Westerosi lordlings to marry in Essosi exile. Now, driven from home and disgraced because of her bastard-born child, the woman called Lemore found herself doubly unable to fit back into Westerosi society even if she could return.

If Lemore is a presumable Westerosi political exile, though, Jon Connington is explicitly that. His is the consummate Westerosi political reversal story: the tale of a man who goes from great heights - Lord of the prominent Stormlands seat Griffin’s Roost, companion of the crown prince, Hand of the King - to great lows - merely another of the landless Westerosi forced to sell their swords in the free companies. But JonCon is so attached to his ancestral home - and, particularly, taking it back - that he literally incorporates his family sigil into his pseudonym. Indeed, JonCon attempts to make “The Griffin Reborn” into his grand triumphal return - the rightful lord, returned to his ancestral seat (even if that return is laced with melancholy and sad nostalgia). Even that homecoming, though, is reflective of the political reversals that forced JonCon away to begin with: Griffin’s Roost is not the splendid seat he found it before but merely the castle of a landed knight, in increasingly wild land.

As for Yandry and Ysilla, they are unique in that instead of being driven out, they voluntarily chose to leave home. Descendants of those followers of Nymeria who glumly boated the Greenblood in a poor attempt to remember their Rhoynish traditions, Yandry and Ysilla finally returned to Mother Rhoyne to live as their Rhoynar antecedents did a thousand years ago. As the Rhoynar had once fled to Dorne to escape extinction at the hands of the Valyrians, Yandry and Ysilla’s exile is actually a reversal of exile in the same act. There is no apparent sadness on their leaving behind presumably friends and family in Dorne, years of family memories; they are satisfied to exile themselves to their ancestral homeland, as their fellow Shy Maid denizens can only dream.

Editing this a bunch (thank you Lina!) so here we go:

  • The first gold-ish sash is a less formal reflection of his Lord Chancellor chain of office and they have very similar red and gold colors.
  • The second sash is a Narcisse family sash inherited from his father along with the sword (Luc also has a similar sword).  Stéphane’s house crest is on the little silver pin and you can read more about my headcanons for it here.
2

At the great Anniversary Tourney of 272 AC, held to commemorate Aerys’s tenth year upon the Iron Throne, Joanna Lannister brought her six-year-old twins Jaime and Cersei from Casterly Rock to present before the court. The king (very much in his cups) asked her if giving suck to them had “ruined your breasts, which were so high and proud.” The question greatly amused Lord Tywin’s rivals, who were always pleased to see the Hand slighted or made mock of, but Lady Joanna was humiliated. Tywin Lannister attempted to return his chain of office the next morning, but the king refused to accept his resignation.

for joannalannister