paying the cost to be the boss

Klance AU where Lance and Keith first meet when Lance “borrows” Keith’s motor/hoverbike and consequently wrecks it.  Initially, Keith just starts hanging around Lance so Keith can remind him that he owes him a new bike, but slowly starts to fall for Lance the more he hangs around him.

Keith teases Lance about being a bad driver, which gets Lance riled and competitive - “Yeah, well I’m a better driver than you, Mullet-brain!”

Despite Lance’s unapologetic front (”It wasn’t my fault, that wall came out of nowhere!”), he secretly feels guilty.  Cue Lance subtly trying to make it up to Keith by “begrudgingly” giving Keith rides to school/work/etc, secretly taking on extra shifts to try and pay to fix Keith’s bike, and even bringing coffee when he picks Keith up in the mornings.

When Lance finally saves up enough money to fix Keith’s bike, they’re both secretly upset because they think it means the other has no reason to want to see them anymore.  It takes the combined efforts of Hunk, Pidge, Shiro, and Allura to knock some sense into the two of them.

Hunk is the one who actually fixes Keith’s bike, and takes pity on Lance, fixing it only for the cost of the parts.

Coran is Lance’s boss, and gives Lance the extra shifts he needs while trying to make sure he doesn’t overwork himself.

No Free Candy!

“No Free Candy! The money raised from the $0.25 per piece of candy sold goes to help us fund a charity that helps find missing/abducted children. Please, ‘NO’ FREE SAMPLES!”

Was typed on the bright colored sticker on the lucite clear box that had tabs on the very top to hold the charity organization’s card (rescuing missing/abducted kids, for ours), a lockable money hopper with a coin slot on top and “$0.25” on the lid with the slot (my boss even photocopied a quarter, cut out the image, and taped it next to the coin slot), and on the bottom was an open compartment stocked with Jolly Ranchers, Peppermint/Spearmint wheels, individually wrapped Starburst squares (taken from larger wrapper), individually wrapped Now & Laters, individually wrapped spherical candies that are either sour, very spicy hot, or change colors and shrink as you suck on them. We had Tootsie Rolls but nobody wanted those as much, so we quit stocking them.

I worked at a business and the candy box was up front, where I worked. I would politely remind anyone dipping into the candy for free that those cost $0.25 a piece, whenever I had the opportunity (i.e. not busy helping customers and other primary duties). My coworkers did the same thing, and so did my boss. Even a couple of customers called out these cheapskates, though they weren’t as polite about it, and made no bones about shaming these cheap thieving jerks.

But people still kept taking free candy from the honor box, without paying! How low can you get taking money away from an organization that helps kids!? My boss definitely gives the money from the sales to the organization (less the cost of candy). However, more and more people just took free candy or they underpaid by putting pennies, nickels, or dimes in there. One guy, God Bless him, put a $20 bill in there yet only took a couple of pieces of candy. But for every guy like him or even a person who put in $0.25 for a piece of candy, there were two dozen assholes who either took a freebie or simply underpaid.

The assholes who took freebies or underpaid drove really expensive cars, dressed really lavishly, didn’t spend much money in the business, were VERY rude and demanding, and yet take candy without paying from a charitable cause.

My boss had had enough and said “The 'Honors System’ doesn’t work when too many people have no honor!” So he paid, out of his own pocket, to replace the little “Honors System” candy box with a good quality gumball machine like, coin operated dispenser. He got it from a website from a company that has been making and selling these since the 1980s, in America.

The coin operated gumball machine is capable of being bolted down to the counter (my boss did that), it has barrel locking mechanisms on the top clear plexiglass compartment for the candy, a well designed hopper and dispense mechanism to effectively distribute one piece of candy per quarter (works brilliantly), and is set to take quarters only, and the money compartment is safely behind a locking metal door behind the coin drop and turn mechanism, easy to empty out. My boss taped the organization’s cars to the top part (square “globe” where the candy is filled), and the machine cannot be fooled by slugs, coins on strings, or lower denomination coins. You can’t even fool it with foreign currency (one jerk tried to use an Albanian coin to try to steal a piece of candy).

After that, the candy theft stopped, and my boss was able to properly raise the funds to aid this charity.

But seriously, fuck cheapskate customers who think it’s okay to take a piece of candy for free despite the fact it says you have to give $0.25 for each piece of candy in order to fund an organization meant to help kids (or anyone, for that matter), especially when they are driving high end cars and dressed to the nines. If you can afford fancy clothes and expensive cars you can spare $0.25 for a piece of candy.

An open letter to recast owners

I’ve been debating with myself wether or not to post this because I’ve been away from the hobby and this ‘discourse’ for some time doing my own thing and generally trying to get my shit together but then someone had the bright idea of posting that delightful list and attempting to brand myself and some 700 people as bullies and stalkers. Not cool bro, not cool at all.

So this is my open letter to the recast owning community, particularly those like the admins of the above blog. I always welcome discourse, if you want to discuss any of this or any of my points then I more than welcome you to my inbox, it’s always open.


Greetings fellow doll lover,
The thing I really, really want to emphasise above all else is that we get it. We really do.
Who wouldn’t want something they’ve been wanting forever and a day for cheaper than usual? It’s only natural and we’re a generation (or two) of people who’ve been brought up to search for a bargain every chance we can. So we understand the temptation. But the issue of recasts vs supporting artists goes much deeper than just the price tag and that seems to be where the disconnect is, at least from what I’ve observed the last few years.

Allow me to make an analogy;
Imagine, if you will, that you’ve got yourself a job cleaning floors, be it for a bit of money on the side or your sole source of income.
You’ve got yourself all set up, you’ve bought the brooms, the dustpan, the garbage can and bags. Not to mention you bought all those cleaning chemicals which weren’t cheap at all. So you’ve come up with how much you charge your clients based on the cost of your equipment and you manage to squeeze in a little on top to cover your labour and time. You come up with what you consider a very fair price considering the time, effort and cost involved in your work. Sounds fair right?
Now imagine you’re cleaning a floor, you’ve done a good job, you could eat off that floor. Some guy comes along, tells you what a good job you’ve done and even picks up a piece of rubbish for you but the second your boss appears to pay you what you’re owed this other guy, we’ll call him Mr R quickly shows him the garbage can, telling your boss at length what a wonderful job has been done and he’ll only charge half of what you where asking for.
Oh! Well your boss loves that idea, a perfect floor for half the price! Who wouldn’t jump on that deal! So MR R leaves with the money, having done a tiny amount of work compared to you. You’re left out of pocket and with nothing to show for all that time and effort your poured into your work.
How would that make you feel? Maybe you could let it slide if it happened just once but imagine that Mr R keeps coming back, he’s got the money now to follow you to your next job and the one after that and so on after all.

I’m hoping it’s obvious where I’m going with this… on a simplified level that’s exactly what recasters do. They make money off the hard work, skill and all that time an artist pours into making dolls and deny those same artists potential sales by poaching customers with an artists own work. I don’t know about you but I’d find that so incredibly beyond galling if it were me in the artists shoes. And if your work is constantly being sold out from under you, why bother to continue?

That is the crux of why recasts are so harmful to the BJD world. Creating a BJD from scratch takes skill (something which might have entailed formal education and the debts that go with it), a hell of a lot of time and development and a lot of money sunk into it along the way for equipment and materials. Why should anyone sink all that into making dolls when someone else is going to come along, make the minimum amount of effort and make money off that artists hard work?
And if artists decide they’ve had enough and it’s just not worth their time to make dolls anymore then we ALL loose out. Even recast owners. Because what’s there going to be to recast if dolls aren’t being made in the first place?

There’s been many good posts made about the costs of producing dolls and I encourage and implore you to go look for them. Do some research on what’s involved in producing the dolls we all enjoy and you’ll come away informed and hopefully with a good sense of what it’s like for the artists who’s work we all covet.


So much of the narrative being used by blogs like bjdrecastpositive and the people behind them relies upon is attempting to paint anyone who disagrees with them as bullies and stalkers.  I can’t speak for all 700 people singled out on that list they complied but I know that I’ve never stalked anyone in my life (who even has the time or energy for that?) and I certainly don’t bully anyone. Being vocal and disagreeing with something someone posts publically is not bullying.
And once again I implore you to use your own common sense and take that list and posts like it for what it is; an attempt to shift focus away from the real issues at hand.
There’s some very impressive mental gymnastics going on (which we’ve seen before) comparing recast owners and their side of the ‘debate’ to the struggles of the black community or the LGBTQA community among others, not to mention all that intersectionality but and I really must emphasise this as hard as it may be to hear it; recasts owners are not the victims, they are not being persecuted or discriminated against. That isn’t what being disagreed with in a debate is. That isn’t what having your decision to buy a fake doll called into question is.
And a decision is exactly what recast ownership is, with the exception of course of the poor people who get scammed, it is a conscious decision to put luxury wants above all else, regardless of whom it hurts. How ever someone wants to justify it to themselves on no level does deciding to buy a fake doll and having that called into question compare to being persecuted for your skin colour or sexuality. And I honestly cannot believe that’s even something I have to explain. The mind boggles.

Like I said at the beginning. I get it, I really do. None of us are pretending to be perfect or to have never made questionable decisions but the point is that we are all capable of looking back on our decisions, realising it was a mistake and doing the right thing. Be that by changing our ways or by making amends. Even some of the big name doll companies have made such journeys, Dollzone started out as a recast company, they decided to change their ways and they’ve since flourished into what they are today, likewise Fairyland fucked up pretty big by copying the designs for their steampunk weapons a year or two back but they realised they’d messed up and made it right. We are all constantly growing and learning. It’s part of life and learning from our mistakes is a fundamental thing we all share.

All I’m asking with this letter is to encourage recast owners and supporters to simply put themselves in someone else’s shoes, to think about the implications of buying fake dolls and to have a good hard look at their decision to do so. There are so many alternatives, be it layaways or this awesome list of dolls under $300 that @bluekitsune put together. The alternatives are there, you just need to look for them.

Lovesick Blues (Part 2)

Originally posted by ohhseby

A/N: I have decided there will not be drama on this fic because I am a nice and happy person who loves her followers.

You got a package, the package that Sebastian told you about. You also got the new phone and the tablet. You thought he would give you work essentials, maybe a calendar for your desk or something. Instead, in the box, you found: an apple watch with all the applications you would need, a digital pen for your tablet, a pair of Google glasses and a pair of keys. One key for your new SUV, one for your new apartment on the highest end building in New York.

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Try to pin me for illegal deductions? That's a paddlin'

This occurred about 3 years ago.

I shut down my framing company to pursue a job as a site supervisor for the development I had been building in.

Started with the builder after I had built the last house, and managed to get 3 out of 4 of my guys a job with the builder, so they wouldn’t be affected my decision. (the fourth guy was a piece of shit, who I never fired because his work ethic was awesome, but had a terrible attitude, bad habits, and was wildly hated by the rest of the crew. He was only there because he made me money. sorry)

First couple months go well, my three guys have settled into doing more than just framing, though they were not enthused about certain tasks, but who really likes working in a muddy hole, or highly physical labour tasks.

My guys were always dirty. Always wore “shitty clothes to work, as did I. Who wants to destroy I nice pair of jeans, or a new clean white t shirt, by getting them stained, or torn. So, our professional "look” left a little to be desired.

After awhile, the owner thought our mish-mash of a crew needed some cleaning up. Ive always subscribed to the analogy “gotta crack an egg to make an omelette”, so I wasn’t personally concerned about our outward appearances, our work should speak for itself.

I’d saved the builder 9$ per square foot, per house, and I could see he was happy about that, under my direction, the rest of the trades had increased the quality, without any incurred cost, and our houses just “looked” better than competitors, during construction.

I get called into a meeting, half way through the week, and the owner says “ I’m tired of you guys looking like no one owns you, your work attire should reflect the quality of homes we’re building, here’s a bunch of uniforms, enough so everyone has one to wear every day, and an extra in case you work Saturday’s.”

I say “ hey boss man! That’s a great idea! It’ll make my guys feel more included and happier! You’ve even embroidered their names on everything! That’s super cool!”

My guys were ecstatic. New shirts, pants, steel towed boots, and steel towed cold weather rubber boots, jackets, hard hats, hi-VI’s vests, you name it. All name brand, high quality stuff, Supplied by the company. It was Christmas in July.

Until they got their pay cheque.

Each guy including me, was deducted $1357.00 for “uniforms”

My lowest paid guy at $15 and hour, OWED the company money.

Next guy made $3.16.

Highest paid guy? A cool $57.

Me? Well I received a cheque less my “uniform” deduction for a little over $2500. I made more money building for him, than I did managing his site.

I was f*cking furious.

This is where the revenge comes in.

I paid my guys for their deducted wage, and then did some research.

Guess what?

Where I’m from, if you require an employee to wear a certain uniform, you cannot pass that cost off to the employee. It’s to be supplied free-of-charge to the worker.

This was also around the time I had been using my personal accounts at suppliers for odds and ends.

I called for a meeting, printed out the labour standards act, highlighting to pertinent areas, and explained to the boss, not only was it illegal, what they did almost cost my guys their homes, if I hadn’t stepped up, they would have been evicted, child support wouldn’t have been paid, and it could have been a lot worse.

My boss took this all in, and said “it’s not mandatory, that’s why you guys have to foot the bill.”

I said “okay boss man, my guys can’t afford to drop $1357 on work clothes, so I’ll have everything returned, most of it has never been worn, you can return what’s still new, I’ll pay the difference”

We all went back to work, wearing our torn jeans, ripped shirts, and stained jackets.

Problem solved right?

Nope.

I was fired two days later. Since they were “my guys”, that meant them too.

So rather than tell the guys what happened, I told them to roll up all my tools, and anything I had paid for, take Friday off, and I’ll let everyone know what’s going on over the weekend.

Started back up framing that Monday, for the competing builder.

But that’s not where it ends.

I filed a complaint with labour standards, filed a builders lien on the 15 properties I had been managing for unpaid expenses and waited.

When he refused to acknowledge any claim against him, I escalated to lien his personal home. I had done $25,000.00 worth of work to his home, which was to be paid after the sale, plus an extra 10% for waiting.

That really got his attention, as his house was “sold”, pending the closing of the buyers own property.

The lien made it so he can’t sell, without paying me out first.

I ignored all calls, except from his lawyer, and he essentially shut down business, and blames me for doing so.

Long story short?

I got my money, but to this day refuse his $25,000.00 for payment as it lacks the 10%, plus 3% per month late charge.

He could sell his house, but he refuses to pay me out. Owes me about $56,000.00

F*ck that guy.

Provide for You (Mitch Marner)

Anonymous said:

#79 with Mitch Marner pls 💕

#79: “Are you high?” - “I’m just so fucking tired.”

Word count: 1365

Author’s Note: Hi this gif is really cute okay that’s all hope you enjoy the story!

Originally posted by willynylanders


There were many perks to the job that you were currently working. Between the pay, your coworkers and the people that you got to meet, for the most part, you enjoyed your job. The only downside is the hours. While most people work an easy 9-5 and tally 40 hours a week, your normal was going straight to work after school and remaining there until the late hours. The work, when the hours start to pile up in addition to your schoolwork, becomes grueling for you, making sure that the only thing you want to do after work is sleep until your alarm goes off for school.

Your job was a sore subject for Mitch. While he also didn’t work an orthodox job or have a ‘normal’ daily life, he was never at the level of sleep deprivation that seemed to become a constant for you. Mitch was worried about you and thought that you needed to quit your job; the money that Mitch made could easily provide for the both of you, he insisted. You, as someone who was raised to be independent, did not like the idea of your boyfriend paying for you while you didn’t pull your weight. In the end, Mitch knew he couldn’t control you, and you were too stubborn to realize that he was right, so the toxic system continued.

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hunger - chapter 2

Hunger master post


The dog is still breathing when Stiles clambers out of the back of the SUV that hit it. The driver is in shock, and has been apologizing profusely ever since it happened. And Stiles knows it’s not the guy’s fault. The dog was going for the man who’d hurt Stiles in the alley, and ran out in front of the SUV. Which makes this Stiles’s fault, doesn’t it?

The animal clinic isn’t open, but there’s a light on inside and someone moving around, so Stiles bangs on the door. It’s opened by a dark-haired boy who looks no older than him.

“My dog,” is all Stiles manages to get out before he’s crying again.

The boy and the driver carry the dog inside on a picnic blanket from the back of the driver’s SUV, and into the examination room. Stiles curls his fingers through the dog’s ruff, and leans down close to his ear to whisper to him again how sorry he is.

The driver slips toward the door, and Stiles thinks about chasing after him for a second and demanding he pay the bill for whatever this is going to cost, but what if the guy refuses? Then the dark-haired boy will know Stiles has no money.

“It’s okay,” he whispers to the dog instead. “You’ll be okay.”

The dark-haired boy checks for a heartbeat. “His heart sounds good,” he says. He runs his hands though the dog’s fur. “I think maybe his leg is broken, and some ribs?” His forehead wrinkles with a frown as he carefully manipulates the dog’s hind leg. “Actually, maybe it’s not a break. I should really call my boss in. I just work here after school.”

“Vet school?” Stiles asks, still sniffling.

“High school,” the boy answers. He wrinkles his nose as he presses his knuckles gently against the dog’s ribcage. “I could have sworn I felt a break a second ago. He really needs an x-ray.”

Stiles nods, despite the jolt of worry that goes through him. He can’t afford that. He’s got three dollars and seventy cents in the pocket of his jeans. He’s got nothing. And, when the boy turns his worried gaze from the dog to Stiles, and rakes it down his body, he knows he can tell.

It doesn’t matter how clean Stiles tries to keep himself. It doesn’t matter if he washes his spare shirt under the faucet in the diner bathroom every few days. He’s still filthy. He can’t remember the last time he showered, or washed his hair. He can’t remember the last time he ate something that wasn’t greasy or half-rotten. He knows he looks like shit. He knows he probably stinks like shit too, and so does the dog.

The boy runs his fingers through the dog’s fur again. “Is this a wolf hybrid?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

The boy casts him a worried look. “You’re not supposed to own them in California.”

Stiles feels a sudden flash of panic. He moves forward and nudges the boy out of the way. “We’ll go. We’ll just go.”

The dog blinks his eyes open and fixes his gaze on Stiles.

“Dude,” the boy says, sounding reproachful and regretful all at once, “I’m not going to report you. Just, if anyone finds out, he might get seized and put down.”

The dog rumbles out a growl.

“He’s fine,” Stiles says, his voice catching. “He’s fine, right?”

 “Um… I guess?” The boy looks puzzled. “He looked pretty bad when you got him here though. I really should call my boss.”

“No!” Stiles tugs at the dog’s ruff. “Come on. Come on, boy. Please get up. Come on.”

The dog rumbles again.

The boy puts a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. “Dude, don’t freak out, okay? I won’t call my boss if you don’t want me to. I won’t…” He chews his bottom lip for a moment. “You’re homeless, right?”

Stiles feels stripped bare, cold and naked. His breath hitches, and he jerks his chin in a nod.

“Look,” the boy says, squaring his shoulders. “I’m gonna give your dog some fluids, no charge, because I can really use the practice, and my mom packed me some dinner that I haven’t eaten yet. You want some?”

Stiles blinks at him for a moment. “What?”

“Homemade tamales,” the boy says, and wrinkles his nose. “I’m Scott, by the way.”

“St-Stiles,” Stiles says, his heart thumping loudly.

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Today, I fucked up by saving a lobster.

I’ve been working at a sea food department in a supermarket for the last couple months and for the most part I’ve enjoyed my job. The customers treat me kindly and although the pay isn’t that great, I manage to make ends meet. My warm feelings towards my job changed when I met a lobster I would later name Lucifer. I’m in charge of bringing in the lobsters and changing the ties on their claws when the they first come on. My first encounter with Lucifer happened when I forgot to tie his claws. That lobster went on to murder two of his comrades and got me in trouble for overlooking procedure. Lobsters are expensive and this cost me some points with my boss. I took note of this particular lobsters features and made sure to send it to his doom when the chance arose.

Days went by and I started to pick up on signs of intelligence from Lucifer. It would stare at me deep in the eye when I poured food into the lobster tank and this somehow got to me. I became convinced of his sentience. I knew from boiling lobsters myself that the process of making them into food is cruel. I love eating meat but something about this lobster made me consider the ethics of killing another being for its food. I started researching lobsters and about how they might feel pain similarly to humans. At night I would have nightmares about boiling Lucifer and hearing it scream like a little girl. I knew the fucker has gotten under my skin so I started to care for him. When people asked for that big lobster, I told them that this one was already sold. It was in a way. Him and I were in on something. I was going to break him out.

I don’t make a lot of money so buying a lobster tank seemed like a stupid idea. So I started saving the money I would usually use on booze and women to get a basic aquarium with all the stuff he needs. I started to get worried about one of my co-workers selling it while I wasn’t there so I told them about my idea and they looked at me like I was retarded. But they sympathized and Lucifer, the double homicidal lobster remained safe. Until yesterday.

I was doing clerk stuff when this guy, a big confident type with an expensive looking watch and smile asked for a lobster. I directed him towards the best option, the recently caught and big as my head. But no. He wanted Lucifer. I told him it was taken. He started to argue and insisted on the lobster. My co-workers sensing a disagreement told me to just sell him the fucking lobster. At that moment something clicked and I realized there was nothing anyone could do to kill my friend. Nothing. So I proceeded to tell him he wasn’t for sale, offered am alternative, and while he called the manager I grabbed Lucifer, RAN to the cash register and overdrew my debit card to get him. My manager fired me but I don’t care, nobody was going to kill something I gave value to. I used my saved up money to get him a tank, clipped the ties off his claws (man, did that feel great!) and am currently researching where the best part of the ocean to drop him off would be. I’m a loser with no friends, no future, and no real idea of what makes him happy. But I’d be dammed if I let some fat fuck and his kids eat my only friend.

TIFU: Internet`s best fucked up stories are here.

Poor Unfortunate Soul (Paper Mario Edition)
Doops and Goombs
Poor Unfortunate Soul (Paper Mario Edition)

When Mario and Goombella see that in order to get the Crystal Star they need to get the champion’s belt from Rawk Hawk, they go to the only clubba that they think can help them. But they might be biting off more then they can chew when Grubba offers them a contract to sign…

Lyrics by myself and @askthegoombas. Additional vocals by @askthegoombas. Now pardon me, my throat needs a gallon of water.

Lyrics under the read more.

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So, our minimum wage here is $10.85 (keep in mind that’s Canadian funds and the cost of living is also super high here so our minimum is lower than it should be with that in mind) and most barns seem to pay around $11/hr for grunt work which is really low when you can make $10.85 at a restaurant as a hostess and also get tips on top of that for a much easier job. 

The minimum I’d personally ever accept for barn work is $13/hr, but if I was having to do lots of stalls and what not I’d want $15/hr. My boss STARTS her employees at $15/hr for stalls, grooming, bring in etc. I think that’s fair and that’s good business practice. 

I don’t get paid per hour, personally. I get paid per horse so it varies depending on how quickly I tack and what I’m doing with them that day but my average income is usually around $35/hr before taxes. My job is dangerous, so compensation is needed with that in mind, however, my boss has all of the forms and everything that’s needed to fill out injury reports if any of her employees get injured on the job.

TDLR; a good employer should pay you what’s fair for your level of work. If you can easily find a job with equal pay or more pay in the food or retail industry when you’d be doing safer and less physical work, then you’re getting under paid. 

using arbitrary numbers, lets say a boss hires me to make umbrellas, and the materials he procures for it cost $5 per umbrella. he pays me $10 for each umbrella I make, then sells each umbrella for 50$ 

That means while I’m earning 10$ for each umbrella I make, my boss is earning 35$ for each umbrella. For what? Nothing! 

Where did that extra $35 in profits come from? That is the value of my labor, that was stolen from me by my boss. But if he payed me the full 45$ value of labor for each umbrella, he wouldn’t make a profit at all.

In order to make as high a profit as possible, the boss will pay the worker as low a wage as he possibly can, thereby stealing the value of the worker’s labor for himself. This means that if there were no forces to stop him such as labor laws, he would pay me nothing if he could, and keep me as a slave.

This is marx’s theory of alienation of the worker from their product.

Camera lense rivarly

Pairing: Yuri x Reader

Genre: fluff

REQUEST: Yuri + tease for anonie

A/n: I would like to thank a friend of mine who was kind enough to help me with this; you know who you are. Anyways, hope you enjoy this scenario, this time with Yuri! Lots of love – G

*gif not mine unless stated*

Originally posted by kwonyuri

“Fancy seeing you here, Yuri. Any good pictures yet?” Sarcasm dripped from your tongue as you made your way over to Yuri, more than satisfied with what you got. You noticed her roll her eyes before turning back to her camera, looking through the pictures she had taken. 

“Wonderful.” You mumbled to yourself as you noticed a movement from the balcony you were standing on, working quickly to snap some photos before Yuri had the chance to do so. When she reacted it was already late and both politicians walked away, making Yuri groan in frustration. She pushed past you, almost knocking the camera out of your hand. You stared at her back before she disappeared behind the corner, shocked. Since Yuri was the one making the remarks most of the time, not you, her behavior surprised you greatly. And even if you were the one to comment on something, she always had something to say back to you. 

“Snap out of it, you´re here to take photos not worry about you rival.” Listening to your own advice you followed her, hoping that she found yet another great spot. Just as you hoped she did, and she didn´t look excited when she noticed you. Feeling a little frisky, you let another remark slip past your lips, making Yuri frown.

“Seems like we´re a bit unlucky today, aren´t we?” 

“Mind your own business.” And that was where your cat and mouse game began. Wherever she went, you did too. Clearly you were right about being unlucky, since everytime she checked the photos she had taken, an unsatisfied sigh would leave her mouth. You couldn´t say that about yourself, though. You were doing absolutely amazingly and you couldn´t complain one bit. The quality, angles and lighting were so on point it almost seemed as a proffesional photoshoot. 

The party was almost over and you moved down between the quests, ready to snap some final shots of all the politics together. Like a shadow, Yuri followed you with a scowl on her face. Even your final pics turned out perfectly, satisfaction filling you up to the brim. Everyone was pushing past you as you took one final look on your work, a victorious smile on your face. One of those people was Yuri, who seemed to be in a rush. Usually she would stop by and taint you with a smirk about anything and everything. Thats why you decided to chase after her, curious as of to what was going on.

“Yuri! Wait for me!”

“Leave me alone, will you?” She screamed back, running even faster. Finally those days in gym pay off, you thought as you sped up too. You caught up with her quicker than you expected and grabbed her by the shoulder, halting her.

“What´s wrong with you today?” You were genuinely worried about her and your concerns deepened even more when you saw her tear stained cheeks. Yuri looked away, refusing to answer you. She may have been annoying when she was her normal self, but you weren´t the one to ignore a clearly sad person. You pulled her by the hand towards a bench nearby, sitting down. 

“So? Speak up.”

“Why does it bother you? Do you want to make fun of me again?” She sniffled, wiping her cheeks with the sleeve of her sweater. You sighed and scooted closer to her, swinging an arm around her shoulder, surprising her.

“I promise I´m not that evil. There´s something bothering you and that bothers me. Now go on and tell me what happened. Who knows, maybe I´ll find the time to cheer you up.” 

“My boss, he gave me an ultimatum. Either I take some quality pictures or I get fired. I can´t be fired! I have bills to pay and if I don´t have a job I´ll get evicted. Look at me! I won´t survive on the streets!” Yuri cried, more tears spilling from her eyes. You bit your lip in deep thought, your hand rubbing soothing circles into Yuri´s back. Maybe what you were about to do would cost you your own job, but you couldn´t stand the thought of Yuri losing her job. After years you had gotten so used to her that you didn´t want anyone else to replace her. 

“Take this.”

“What?”

“I said here. Take my film and give me yours.” You were holding the film in your hands, waiting for her to take it. Yuri shook her head, pushing your hand away. 

“I can´t take your film. You worked hard a-”

“-and I want you to take it. Listen we´re not supposed to like each other but I kind of already do. You´re cute when you´re sad and let´s be honest, you kind of like me too.” The girl stared at you in disbelief, surely not expecting you to do something like that. Hesitantly, she took her own film out of her camera and gave it to you, taking yours in return.  After she did that you stood up, turning your back to her but not before saying:

“See ya later, rival.”

Today, I fucked up by saving a lobster

I’ve been working at a sea food department in a supermarket for the last couple months and for the most part I’ve enjoyed my job. The customers treat me kindly and although the pay isn’t that great, I manage to make ends meet. My warm feelings towards my job changed when I met a lobster I would later name Lucifer. I’m in charge of bringing in the lobsters and changing the ties on their claws when the they first come on. My first encounter with Lucifer happened when I forgot to tie his claws. That lobster went on to murder two of his comrades and got me in trouble for overlooking procedure. Lobsters are expensive and this cost me some points with my boss. I took note of this particular lobsters features and made sure to send it to his doom when the chance arose.

Days went by and I started to pick up on signs of intelligence from Lucifer. It would stare at me deep in the eye when I poured food into the lobster tank and this somehow got to me. I became convinced of his sentience. I knew from boiling lobsters myself that the process of making them into food is cruel. I love eating meat but something about this lobster made me consider the ethics of killing another being for its food. I started researching lobsters and about how they might feel pain similarly to humans. At night I would have nightmares about boiling Lucifer and hearing it scream like a little girl. I knew the fucker has gotten under my skin so I started to care for him. When people asked for that big lobster, I told them that this one was already sold. It was in a way. Him and I were in on something. I was going to break him out.

I don’t make a lot of money so buying a lobster tank seemed like a stupid idea. So I started saving the money I would usually use on booze and women to get a basic aquarium with all the stuff he needs. I started to get worried about one of my co-workers selling it while I wasn’t there so I told them about my idea and they looked at me like I was retarded. But they sympathized and Lucifer, the double homicidal lobster remained safe. Until yesterday.

I was doing clerk stuff when this guy, a big confident type with an expensive looking watch and smile asked for a lobster. I directed him towards the best option, the recently caught and big as my head. But no. He wanted Lucifer. I told him it was taken. He started to argue and insisted on the lobster. My co-workers sensing a disagreement told me to just sell him the fucking lobster. At that moment something clicked and I realized there was nothing anyone could do to kill my friend. Nothing. So I proceeded to tell him he wasn’t for sale, offered am alternative, and while he called the manager I grabbed Lucifer, RAN to the cash register and overdrew my debit card to get him. My manager fired me but I don’t care, nobody was going to kill something I gave value to. I used my saved up money to get him a tank, clipped the ties off his claws (man, did that feel great!) and am currently researching where the best part of the ocean to drop him off would be. I’m a loser with no friends, no future, and no real idea of what makes him happy. But I’d be dammed if I let some fat fuck and his kids eat my only friend.

TL;DR: lost my job to save a lobster I formed a connection with yet feel great about it because fuck people

Mistletoe Event- Hanzo

(So sorry this one was so late, but technically, it’s still on time~)

That year, you were of the unlucky few who had to spend Christmas Eve alone. Not only that, but you had to spend it working. Still, at least where you worked wasn’t terrible. It was a small bakery in Paris that stayed open for any last minute holiday orders. There were supposed to be a few other employees with you, but they all flaked and snuck off to spend the evening with family.

And that just left you, all alone in the small shop, falling asleep on the counter. Occasionally a car would drive past, making you wake up a bit, but after a while, you began to doze off. You were so tired that you didn’t even hear the bell by the door chime as a customer walked in. At first, they cleared their throat to get your attention. When that didn’t work, they gently shook your shoulder, rousing you from you lonesome dream.

“Mm…Wha…” you slurred as you picked yourself up from the counter.

When you saw the man standing before you, you suddenly snapped to attention and desperately tried to collect yourself.

“O-Oh, I’m sorry!” you gushed, trying to fix your hair and apron, “I didn’t mean to doze off like that!”

He chuckled and waved it off. Now that you had blinked the blurry sleepiness out of your eyes, you could see him clearly. He looked Asian with an undercut ponytail and a slight beard. The bridge of his nose and ears had subtle piercings to them and he wore a big leather jacket. Glancing down, you noticed a little boy by his side, staring hungrily at the cakes in the display case. The boy looked European, so they didn’t seem to be father and son.

“It’s no trouble,” he smiled, “I’m surprised to see a shop still open. Most have closed.”

“Yeah, well…” you laughed bitterly, “Someone’s gotta be alone on Christmas.”

He gave you a concerned look, but before he could pity you, you cut him off.

“So, what can I get for you?” you offered.

He paused for a moment before remembering, scanned the display case, and pointed to a strawberry and vanilla cake, asking for two slices.

“Here or to go?” you asked.

“Here is fine.”

“Mmk.” you grunted, taking the cake out of the case.

The man sent the boy off to grab a table as he waited patiently for his food.

“So you’re out with your nephew? Cousin? Brother?” you tried to make small talk as you cut the slices.

“No,” he looked back at him, “I found him alone on the street. He hasn’t told me much about his family or if he even has one, but for now…well, nobody should be alone on Christmas.”

As you placed the first slice down on the plate, you stifled a sob and nearly dropped the knife. He noticed and gave you a concerned look.

“Nothing, don’t worry,” you said quickly, “That’s very kind of you to help him.”

He was quiet for a few moments, watching as you finished up with the second slice, supposedly lost in thought.

Suddenly he spoke up, “It is strange that you are open tonight. Why are you still working?”

You let out an irritated sigh and tapped the counter impatiently. He just had to go and pry.

“Culinary school doesn’t pay itself,” you quipped, “And I’m practically a slave to my boss. I work until midnight.”

He watched as you punched the numbers into the register, “But you have family to go home to after?”

“Family’s back in [home country],” you answered bluntly, “I came to France for culinary school.”

You noticed the growing worry on his face as he pondered something. You finished tallying up the cost and rolled your eyes.

“But, hey, no need to worry about me,” you mumbled, “You’ve got your fair share of outcasts to look after.”

You put the cake back into the case, looked back at him, and shoved the plates closer to the edge of the counter, letting him know it was time to pay.

“He is not the only one,” he admitted, “If I hadn’t found that boy, I too would have spent the holidays alone. My…family doesn’t want me around anymore.”

Normally, you would have rolled your eyes at any customer who had a sob story. But maybe it was that it was Christmas, or that you were sleep deprived, or that you were sympathetic since your family didn’t seem too broken up when you couldn’t come home for December. Instead, you bit your lip and drew back from the counter a little.

“Oh. Sorry.” you breathed.

“Please, do not apologize,” he smiled, “Would you like to eat with us?”

You thought you’d spend the night moping over the counter, relentlessly trying to text friends to see if they wanted to pity you. But now somebody was offering to share Christmas Eve with you, and they barely even knew you! Whoever he was, he was the kindest person you had met that day.

“I would…Th-thank you,” you said eagerly.

You cut a slice for yourself and the man paid for the other two slices. Taking off your apron, you grabbed your plate and joined the two. The boy didn’t say much, but he looked very happy to have good food and company for the evening.

“My name is Hanzo, by the way.” the man finally introduced himself.

“[Name],” you introduced yourself, “So, you’re from Japan?”

“Indeed,” he said, and went on to explain his story.

Some parts were vague, like why he left home in the first place and why he was in France of all places. But it was neat to hear that cake was in fact a Japanese tradition on Christmas. You had thought it strange that someone walked in for cake at 10:30 pm at night, but now you knew. It was an odd tradition, but your culture had its fair share of superstitions.

You told him a bit about yourself and how you always wanted to be a famous pastry chef like the ones in the magazines. A few times you beat yourself up for leaving everything at home to come to Paris, but Hanzo seemed encouraging of it. He said it was brave of you to put your faith in yourself and carve your own path. Around 11:30, the boy next to Hanzo began to yawn.

“I should get him home. Tonight he’ll sleep in my apartment,” he said, “But tomorrow I’ll look for his guardians.”

“You’ve got a good heart, Hanzo,” you remarked suddenly.

That seemed to catch him off guard, making him look up at you with wide eyes. You couldn’t imagine why, though, he had just offered two strangers to spend Christmas Eve with him!

“Yeah, I’m not sure why your family wouldn’t want someone as kind as you,” you continued, “Have you ever thought of going back?”

That seemed to strike a nerve because his warm exterior began to freeze up to a sad, serious expression. Suddenly, you could feel the presence of a more troubled man before you.

“I-I mean–I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be saying things I don’t know anything about.” you sighed.

“It’s alright.” he tried to smile again, “But I could never go back.”

With that, he got up to leave, the little boy holding his hand as he made for the door. As he opened the door, you realized how amazing the whole experience had been. It was like heaven itself sent you your own charming angel to spend Christmas Eve with! An angel that you really seemed to connect with– one you didn’t want to miss out on.

“Uh, wait! Wait!” you shouted after him, running to the counter to grab something.

Hanzo stopped at the door, curiously looking back towards you. You came stumbling up to him, handing him a small scrap of paper.

“You forgot your receipt!” you said hurriedly.

Unfolding the paper, Hanzo saw that you had written your name and phone number down on the bottom. You blushed as he chuckled up at you.

“Urm, you don’t have to follow up on that.” you mumbled nervously.

“I’ll call you tomorrow. We can spend Christmas Day together as well.” he nodded.

You gave him a little smile and a wave, thinking that was it. But it was like heaven wanted that angel to stay a little longer. Hanzo just had to notice the mistletoe your slave-driving boss had hung above the bakery doorway. Most people didn’t notice it, but nothing escaped Hanzo’s trained eyes.

He glanced up at the mistletoe then back down at you with a hopeful look in his eye. You just blushed harder and giggled nervously.

“O-oh, yeah, u-uh…” you stammered trying to formulate some kind of sentence.

“It’s your tradition, no?” he shrugged, “You partook in my tradition of Christmas cake. It seems only fair I return the favor.”

“You don’t have to do that.” you said bashfully, trying to hide your scarlet face behind your hands.

But he carefully took your wrists and moved your hands from your face. He slowly moved in and placed his lips on yours. It was a light, skimming kiss that lasted less than a second, but it warmed you more than your campus apartment heating. When he pulled back, you were left staring awestruck at him.

A few moments passed until the boy went, “Blech! Gross…”

That got the two of you to laugh, breaking the awkward tension that had been building up. You said goodbye to the two, leaving you to finish your shift in a dream-like haze.

(Tomorrow is Widowmaker, and will be the last day in our Mistletoe Event!)

Jay Electronica - Road to Perdition

[Intro: Ronald Reagan]
“And they say if we’ll only avoid any direct confrontation with the enemy, he’ll forget his evil ways and learn to love us. All who oppose them are indicted as warmongers. They say we offer simple answers to complex problems. Well, perhaps there is a simple answer—not an easy answer—but simple”

[Intro: Jay Z]
I got these niggas, Breezy!
Don’t worry about it

[Verse 1]
I got that black on black skin tone, actual-fact syndrome
That’s why I dropped the jewel on every verse you heard me shit on
Okay, it’s a Slumdog opera
The tale of a king whose name wasn’t on the roster
My road to glory was Road To Perdition
And Act II: The Turn is just the memoirs with no omissions
We came a mighty long way from standing near the stove
In the cold, the greatest story ever told
The realest niggas see the pain in my story boards
The true believers say, “Wallahi, I support the boy”
My life feel like a highlight reel
This is lightning striking, feel how the Zeitgeist feel
Get a slight chill

[Bridge: Jay Z]
I got these niggas, Breezy!
Don’t worry about it

[Verse 2]
My swag is on 1.21 gigawatts, 10 trillion kilowatts
Hardcore Thriller pop, Michael Jackson, nigga rock
Google me, baby, understand where I’m coming from
My destiny’s to hit a grand slam when my number come
All hail the lyrical, Grand Wizard Imperial
Nigga signed the dotted line with Hov, that’s a miracle
And I ain’t leave the thugs alone
The humble and the meek will surely inherit the mud we on
And shoot up every club we clone
The flow is too atomic
The poetry’s too Qu'ran-ic, the young prophet Muhammad
And I could drop a verse to change the whole vibration
The whole Roc Nation, the whole Live Nation
So pour libation
Beware, but prepare for the polarization, it’s the globalization
Warn all the clergymen and notify Satan
I been waiting, this the notarization, I been patient

[Bridge: Jay Z]

[Verse 3]
A thousand kisses to the haters cause they made me greater
A thousand wishes from a million slaves could raise a savoir
A thousand disses to these dickheads at these major labels
From Big Daddy Kane to Big Daddy Cain and Abel
You pay a cost to be a boss, nigga, I paid the wager
Mastered both sides of the force and plus I made my saber
Yes sir, I’m a soldier of love
Drowning all my sorrows and woes in the club
My white boys say, “that shit you spit last year, bro
Was like a real fine Merlot and a cashmere throw”
Some black chicks say he ugly, white women they love me
My Asians and my mamis don’t put nothing above me
I call it as it happen, the art of quality rapping
One autobiographical chapter could start up the rapture
And even though I walk in the narrow valley of death
All I see is green pastures, bitches screaming from the rafters

Lyrics Via: Rap Genius 

Made with SoundCloud

The guy I am working for this summer is so wholesome and good that I think it is having a physical impact on me. My heart hurts? From growing? I am at least 45% less cynical than I was last week.

“No, we don’t promote the organization. That costs money that could be going to the artists.” (organization will be 20 next year)

“I have some extra in the budget, so I am going to pay the artists twice what I told them.”

“How can we claim to value the work people are doing if we don’t pay them for it?”

2

Imagine: Sam catching you on a bad day.

(Sam x Reader)

As far as bad days went, today landed high on the top ten. It started with a street sweeping ticket tucked mockingly under your windshield as you rushed to work late, then your boss “forgot” you had requested time off to go pay a speeding ticket at the courthouse. Your boss created a big ado flawlessly reassigning the blame to you. To top it off, the courthouse was a state mandated labyrinth of hallways, vague signs, and unnumbered doors. You accidentally knocked shoulders with a tall man while rushing down the stairs.

“Ah! Sorry, I’m sorry!” You called out still hurrying down the stairs.

The room was tucked in the corner of the building with a line fifty people long. You sighed queuing up hoping the line was the correct one. Thirty minutes passed and the battery on your phone was blinking red. You sighed tucking it away and study the ticket in your hand for the remaining time.

“Next please.” A man at the counter droned out. You placed the ticket on the counter attempting to offer your friendliest smile. He sighed pulling the paper towards him. He glanced over his glasses in a condescending manner. “This is a moving violation. Normally, you would go next door to take care of this.”

You felt frustration knotting in your chest. “O-oh. I thought this was the line for that.” You muttered lamely. “So, I have to take it over there?”

He rolled his eyes and you bit back an acrid comment. “I said, normally, yes. But I can take care of it for you today. Just remember for next time.”

Your shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you.”

He hummed a non-committal response typing on his keyboard. “That’ll be $360. Check or cash only.”

You wrote out the check nervously under his judgmental stare. He returned a receipt and you trudged past the line. The ticket had cost more than half your monthly paycheck. You had been speeding to work because you couldn’t be late or your boss would be upset. You couldn’t have left any earlier because surprise street light outages had made traffic unusually heavier. So, you had to take time off from work to pay a ticket, both losing out on the money you could have made and the money you had worked hard for. And life revolved around money whether you wanted it to or not. You tried to hold back budding tears.

“God, life is so hard sometimes.” You muttered under your breath.

“Hear that, Frank?” An older woman in line nudged her husband who blinked in response. “Kids these days are so entitled. They get a speeding ticket and think life’s against them when they broke the rules in the first place!”

Your face flushed. Tears brimmed on your eyelids and your knees shook. You adjusted your bag and ducked your head low walking off down the hall. You were trying to stop the onslaught of tears as you descended the staircase leading toward the first floor. You wiped your face with your sleeve. Your foot stepped too far, heel skimming the edge of the step. Your body lurched forward and in a terrifying second you were airborne. Resigned to the awfulness of the day, you tensed your body preparing for impact. Your body stopped. Surprised, you peeked open an eye. A warm sunny face peered into yours.

“Are you okay?” He asked, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

You glanced around. People passed watching the scene with wide eyes. Another man stood close by. You glanced back at the first man slowly realizing he had caught you in his arms. You ducked your head down in embarrassment. You nodded, belatedly responding to his question. He sighed with relief.

“Good, we seem to be running into each other quite a bit today.” He smiled softly and you gave him a confused glance.

“Yeah, you need to slow down. You’re going to hurt someone or yourself.” the second man chided earning a disapproving glance from the first.

“S-sorry,” You mumbled as the man helped to your feet. “I lost my footing.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” The first responded putting a hand on your shoulder. It was heavy and warm providing an odd source of comfort. “Be careful, okay?”

“It was lucky, Sam was here to catch you.” The second said.

You nodded in acquiescence. Sam peered into your face. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Jus’ a bad day.” You admitted. “And… thank you.”

“Of course.” He smiled again.

“C’mon.” The second man tugged on Sam’s arm before heading down the stairs.

“Hope to run into you again. Maybe next time, not so literally.”

Your face flushed and you offered him a small wave before he turned and walked away. The day had just gotten a little better after all.

The Guy in the Cubicle

A/N I have no idea what this is it’s so bad. I’m sorry I really love this prompt but I did terrible with it >.<

Prompt: I kinda have a prompt for you. Dan works at a boring desk job. The only reason why he doesn’t quit is because it pays the rent and has a huge crush on Phil, who is the boss/supervisor.

word count: 2.7k

warnings: basically like a bad porno, cliche shit, bad writing, very bad writing

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