#the only good corporation is a bankrupt corporation

[doobea]

YOU'RE A MEAN ONE, MISTER GOJO ─ SATORU G.

synopsis: satoru gojo is spoiled and arrogant. he's also the next in line to inherit his family's fortune. his father sends him far away in a small town for a week in hopes that he'll 'change' for the better. instead of the usual five-starred hilton hotels, he stays at a local inn and starts to befriend the owner's daughter.

tropes: small town romance, christmas au, golden retriever x black cat

MILESTONE EVENT || MILESTONE MASTERLIST

contents: fem!reader, spoiled rich boy!gojo, acts like an ass to everyone but hopelessly falls in love with you at first sight, feels like a really bad hallmark movie, mentions of wealth class differences, reader isn't a tsundere - she's just indifferent for the most part and introverted word count: 7.5K (idk i will uh make the fics shorter in the future) a/n: thank you anon for requesting this!! idk if this is what you wanted but hopefully you like it!! :3 everyone also give a round of applause to @popponn for beta reading this big mess LMAO

Satoru Gojo has a lot of expectations, but this certainly isn’t one of them.

He isn’t particularly excited about spending a week away from his big city penthouse to be rotting in a small town motel in the middle of nowhere but, his father, CEO of Gojo Corporations, heavily insisted that he ‘needs this’ and that ‘it’ll be good for the company’ — whatever that means. Satoru is confident that his father thinks he’s incapable of running the family business after last month’s run with the paparazzi and his third fling of the month. It wasn’t his fault that they got caught doing drugs at one of Zenin's parties, everyone else was doing the same thing, it just so happened that the cameras were only focusing on him. 

Well, that’s what he gets for signing up to be the son of one of the richest men on Earth.

“You need to start taking this seriously,” he recalls his father slamming his fist down at the desk before throwing a bottle of Henessy at the wall. “I don’t want this company to go bankrupt just because I have a son who only thinks with his dick.”

Ouch… but he’s not wrong about that.

So now Satoru finds himself driving up a winding road somewhere very deep in the mountains. Exactly five hours away from the city. And, for the past three hours, all he’s been seeing are miles and miles of pine trees, sheets of snow, and — he had recently learned this from Suguru — sugar shacks. Apparently when you’re out over a hundred miles into wilderness territory these sap houses are littered everywhere.  The fact that Satoru is beginning to count more shacks than designer cars on the road is really starting to get to him. 

“This whole thing is so fucking stupid,” Satoru has also been talking to himself throughout the journey in order to not lose his mind. “He could’ve just sent me door to door caroling instead of whatever this is.” Satoru doesn’t know how to sing well, but he does know all the lyrics to ‘Baby It’s Cold Outside’ and that usually gets him all the tips. He wonders if he can manage to make a small side hustle when he starts wasting his week here.

He takes a sharp turn up around the hill before finally recognizing a big red sign with the name ‘Mistle Town’ as seen on the postcard his dad left him before leaving. It takes him another five minutes of driving through said small town, which is quite literally something out of one of those really bad holiday movies that his mom would force him to watch when he was little, before arriving at the inn. Upon arriving, Satoru is noticeably disappointed at the lack of valet assistance and, the size and design of the inn, is rather lackluster. 

First, it just looks like a regular white farmhouse. Maybe having a max of ten rooms, none of them being penthouse sized, Satoru assumes. There are a couple of flowerbeds out front, all covered in a couple of inches of snow, and there’s subtle signs of holiday decor slowly bleeding its way outside. He sees someone dressed in an oversized puffer by the entrance, arms occupied with red tinsel and large white ornaments, and figures that the first nice thing he’ll do is to help out a random stranger — just to prove something to his dad.

Satoru parks his Rolls Royce in a spot furthest away from everyone else in the parking lot and sends a ‘im alive and well’ text to Suguru, because he’s very much so going to be in frequent contact with him for the remainder of the trip, before heading up.

“Need a hand?” He points out the obvious but still manages to throw a smile as if he’s already fixed the situation unfolding in front of him.

Satoru’s presence seems to pull you from your busy trance. You wiped your body around, nearly smacking the damn tinsel in his face, and made a small surprised noise.

“I’ve got it,” you muffle out and he looks entirely unconvinced but, whatever, he tried anyway.

Satoru gives you a few encouraging pats on the back before heading inside, failing to realize his strength and causing you to lose your balance, making a few ornaments tumble to the ground. Thank god they’re all plastic though.

He pretends to not hear you yelling after him as he enters the double doors, immediately greeted by the scent of roasted coffee beans and leather. It’s the precious hour in the morning where nobody comes by, right after the cleaning staff had just finished vacuuming, when he struts in. He immediately spots someone vaguely familiar by the front desk. Long black hair, a red poofy bow tie in the back, and a distinctive scar across her face. The woman isn’t working alone, a man with another facial marking is next to her, brewing two cups of coffee by the espresso machine. 

Satoru looks at the woman again and outwardly smiles. “What are you doing here?”

“Ugh,” Utahime’s composure immediately falters at the sound of his voice, not that it’s a big shock. “Helping the family business, what else?” she throws back with a certain sharpness to her tone, and waves off the casual talk. “Have you even mentally prepared yourself for what you’re getting into?”

Satoru simply shrugs and saunters over to a nearby seat by the counter. “Nah, honestly just planning to fuck around till I get back.”

Utahime flushes a little, though it’s mainly from frustration. “Satoru Gojo, you really are—”

“Utahime,” the man next to her speaks, handing her a cup of coffee, and slides Satoru a freshly brewed one, too. “I can explain the details to him, if you would like?”

The older female rubs the bridge of her nose and exhales a long, overdue sigh. “Please do, Choso.”

“Yeah,” Satoru leans into the counter, lips pointed down at this new face. “Please, do tell.”

“You’re basically our little Santa helper.” A new voice rings out from behind him. It spooks Satoru from his seat and he whips his head around to be met with your narrow eyes.

“Huh?”

“Also think of this as an unpaid internship.” You start laughing when he gags on his own saliva at your statement. “Okay, you don’t have to be so dramatic about it.”

Satoru swallows. “U-Unpaid…?”

Now it’s Utahime’s turn to speak, she huffs and tosses a couple of stockings into his arms. “Your father sent us a lengthy email a few days prior regarding your bratty behavior. So, of course, we came prepared.” 

“Prepared…?” He feels the fabric in his hands and whines at the grainy texture. This is so not 100% real wool.

If Satoru thought he had any chance of actually taking over his father’s company, because he knows the difference between supply and demand, he’s wrong.

Customer service is not his forte. He’s always thrown emails and sponsorship paperwork at his many assistants, and Satoru doesn’t even know his own email log-in password. So, when you walked up to him first thing the next morning with a brown apron, the inn’s logo large and embroidered in the center, telling him how to function all these coffee machines that he’s seen behind hundreds of counters, it invoked some fear into his already wrecked nerves. Plus, no one dared to warn him about the clientele during a holiday rush.

“I want a venti peppermint frappe with two pumps of chocolate, three pumps of hazelnut, replace it with almond milk, one shot of espresso, and top it off with a drizzle of caramel on top.”

He slumps against the counter. “You sure you want all of that?”

“Can I please get a half dozen sfogliatella and a cannoli?

He starts picking at his cuticles and sneers. “Sorry, I don’t speak Italian.” 

“My change is supposed to be five dollars, you only gave me three back?”

Satoru groans. “You’re trying to scam me, aren’t you?”

By the end of his four hour shift, Satoru feels like he’s just done more charity work than he’s ever done in his life — actually, maybe this could also be comparable to the time where he did the ribbon cutting ceremony at Chanel; gotta support small businesses, right?

“Gojo.” You’re seated across from him behind the counter, arms crossed and pursed lips.

He barely spares you a glance as he idly plays whatever shitty mobile game that’s number one on the app store. “Mhm? What is it?” He clearly knows you’re upset, your voice practically screams ‘I will end you’ in the most monotonous way possible. But can you blame him? Of all places, Satoru does not want to spend his winter break here.

You jerk your head to the side, fingers rhythmically tapping away on the counter, clearly unimpressed. “It hasn’t even been a full day and you’ve managed to piss off every single customer.”

Satoru expression shifts, brow creasing, and sighs, grabbing a handful of mint chocolate from the freebie candy jar by the register. “Don’t be dramatic,” he rolls his eyes and shoves three pieces in his mouth before jabbing a finger at a young man. “I didn’t piss him off!”

You glower, cheeks slightly puffed out. “That’s Yuuji and he’s practically a family friend and Choso’s little brother, so he doesn’t count,” you explain before adding, “Plus, he’s literally nice to everyone. You’re not special.”

And for a second, Satoru considered arguing that fact. Having been born into wealth, granted whatever wish he wanted, his butlers and maids are always on speed dial, that’s the lifestyle he’s used to. Placed on this tiny rock called Earth just to take over it one day, is what his father used to always say to him. But how can he, Satoru Gojo, take over when he’s stuck working a minimum — scratch that, unpaid — wage job as punishment? 

Instead of fighting, Satoru slumps against the counter and pouts, like a little kid who just got their toy taken away. You and your sister Utahime have a clear advantage over him, by somehow being close, yet distant, friends to his family. Maybe karma is real. 

“I’m putting you on ski lessons later.”

Satoru’s ears perk at this. “Oh, so I get some employee benefits, right?”

You roll your eyes, digging deep in your pockets to pull out a sheet with his name next to a list of others. “Wrong. You’re in charge of teaching five year olds how to ski.” 

“Huh?”

Somehow that sounds even worse than being a barista. Kinda. 

By the end of his first day of unemployment, Satoru tries to convince himself that a full change of scenery is nice. Well, he has to convince himself, otherwise he’s stuck dreading each coming day for the rest of the week. 

“Tired yet, Gojo?”

You flop down on a spare armchair in his room, squishing his Canada Goose jacket underneath. He’s too tired to yell at you to get off and tumbles onto his bed, feet dangling off the edge, letting out a loud groan when his face immediately makes contact with the rough wooly blanket. Surprisingly to him, everything just feels so comfortable that the quality of the products doesn’t even cross his mind.

Sure, the air in the room is a bit musty, and he can feel his cheeks flaring up from the sudden change in temperature and the dull aching nag in his legs from demonstrating ski tricks to toddlers, but there’s an odd sense of fulfillment swelling in his chest just about now. He almost suggests taking over Choso’s lesson but, according to the hotel pamphlet, there’s going to be an ice fishing tournament tomorrow and he kinda wants to check that out, too.

“Exhausted,” he mumbles into the sheets, eyes squeezed shut. Satoru wiggles his body around for a few moments before slipping out of his snow boots and stares out the window, noticing flickering green and purple lights in the night sky. “Woah, are those…?”

He hears you laugh beside him. “Yeah, northern lights. We see them all the time during the winter.”

“Only seen them bitches in ‘Polar Express’.” Satoru finds himself saying whatever’s on his mind right now, his brain too whipped out to control his mouth. “You guys are lucky to see this every night.”

“I know you’re all pooped out from today but,” he feels the mattress dip by the edge and your fingers poking at his thighs. “Did you wanna head up to the balcony and watch them for a bit?” you say this experimentally, waiting for his reaction. 

Satoru might be a stranger to most natural phenomenons, having to zone out all the time whenever he did go on family vacations to a fancy national park when he was younger. Though, during the short time of spending his time here, it makes him think about packing up and leaving behind the fast paced city life for a bit of natural beauty and brightness.

“Carry me?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re like a giant.” 

He manages to gather some energy to sit up on his elbows. “You should at least have some form of hospitality to a family friend, you know?”

You eye him for a long moment, and then finally huff, breaking the contact to kick your feet into the festive carpeted floor. “Alright, just don’t lean your whole body weight on me.”

“Wouldn’t count on that.”

Both of you end up tumbling onto the balcony rails around one in the morning. As expected, Satoru couldn’t keep to his promise, throwing his ridiculously long arms around your shoulders, and whining the whole way up the stairs. It’s not his fault that the inn didn’t have an elevator installed. In all, it’s not a bad day — a bad night, even. 

You straighten him against the railing before throwing a blanket over him. The fabric is thick and heavy, and Satoru forgets the ache in his limbs as he watches the way your eyes focus, eyebrows knitted, when you’re making sure he stays bundled up against the winter air. Once upon a time, Satoru never would’ve thought he would actually enjoy being in the company of someone who’s actively trying to teach him a lesson.

“Okay,” you say suddenly, almost like a reminder that you need to breathe, and pull away from him once he’s wrapped tightly like a swaddled baby. 

You both sit in silence for a moment, and Satoru feels the urge to fill all that silence. He supposes maybe that’s why most people find him so annoying. He never really shuts up, always wants to add the last comment to everything. Though, with the help of Suguru by his side, it’s gotten slightly easier and bearable for others but, when his head is big and full of loud thoughts, it’s so hard trying to calm the buzzing noise in his head and —

“Gojo, look,” your pointer finger darts at the illuminated skyline in the distance and he snaps his head, following the trail, before gasping.

He feels your other hand tugging at the blanket when he finally makes out two faint bright lights in the distance. You squirm slightly next to him, to the point where your shoulders touch, and Satoru finally breathes, because suddenly, there’s heat rushing in. The loud, rough winds around him seem to die down and he’s aware of the slightly gazed expression on your face as you look into the far distance.

“Did you make a wish?” he finds himself whispering.

You grin. “Yeah, gonna make you work here for eternity,” you reply back in good natured spirit.

Something stirs inside Satoru. Something important. Well, Satoru-level important, so in the grand scheme of things, not very — but still. He unravels parts of his blanket and throws it over your head, making sure that it messes up your hair, and laughs when you throw him another pout. 

“Did you make a wish?” you adjust the blanket so it covers your shoulders, moving a little closer to him, avoiding the cool breeze.

Satoru nods but presses a finger to his lips. “Not telling, though. Might not come true if I do.”

“Oh, shoot. Maybe I should’ve kept mine a secret then.”

He rolls his eyes and nudges your waist with an elbow. “You will definitely not see me here again.”

Satoru realizes, very fast, that his life has become very different, very quickly. And it might not be the bad kind of different. 

Over the course of the next few days, he’s practically glued to your side as you’re showing him all things related to hospitality that his father tried to drill into him when he was a pre-teen. Obviously, it didn’t work at the time. Satoru’s known for being defiant just because he wanted to, and eventually his father stopped with the after school etiquette lessons. You, on the other hand, unfortunately have him tied around your fingers.

“You need to tidy up the edges more, Gojo.”

“There’s barely a wrinkle in these sheets!” He points at the bed sheet on the mattress, the one that he’d been working on for the last ten minutes in vain while you stood next to him with slightly concerned eyes. It’s a room service type of lesson today and, even though Satoru has never made his own bed before, he’s positive that he didn’t leave behind any smudges that might catch anyone’s eye.

“Did you check tuck in the sides? Or are you trying to get off easy for today?” You say, there’s a mild accusation in your tone when you speak, smiling as you step aside. 

And, despite the warm smile, Satoru frowns a little, because guess who forgot to tuck in the sides? 

When Satoru ducks his head around the mattress and sees a good loose chunk of the sheets hanging off and groans when you’re right. “It’s not my fault that they’ve made them so big for no reason,” he replies, somewhat embarrassed, rubbing the back of his head and messing up his already ruffled hair.

You roll your eyes and stick a tongue out. “You’re getting the hang of it though, maybe even faster than Yuuji when he first offered to help.”

He flushes at the unexpected praise and quickly fixes the sheets, turning his whole entire body away from your sight. “Better than Yuuji, right?”

“Oh? So, you only work better with compliments, Gojo?” You sound amused, as if a lightbulb just popped on top of your head.  

Satoru flattens out the bed once more, strangely now feeling satisfied with the final outcome before turning around, sticking out a tongue of his own. “Only if it’s from you,” he answers, honestly. 

You laugh, and hopefully it’s not at him. “I thought you would be more annoying to deal with.”

“So, I’m just regular amounts of annoying?” He points out, with a fake frown, his fingers fiddling with the edges of the sheet.

You turn your gaze, seemingly in deep thought, before responding with a small shrug and grin. “Possibly a perfect amount of annoying.”

Satoru feels the blood rushing to his cheeks, again. “Well, of course, it’s the perfect amount because I’m perfect,” he replies, instantly, but suddenly he’s shy and feels the need to go to the next room to fix their stupid sheets before he combusts in front of you.

“Gojo,” you say, almost hesitantly. 

He swallows and rubs the back of his neck, wiping off evidence of his sweaty palms. “Yeah?”

“You missed a spot,” and your pointer fingers direct at the far right corner of the bed frame. He must’ve pulled the sides too hard and it caused the other side to flip over. Ugh, he’s not cut out for this at all.

“I’m… uh, still better than Yuuji, right?”

“Mhm, getting there, Gojo.”

By day four, Satoru has surprisingly adjusted to the rules and responsibilities. He’s not entirely sure what’s gotten him mildly well behaved, Suguru is a bit surprised by the daily updates being less… aggressive and whiny. What started as long vent paragraphs about the lack of heated flooring and needy customers, soon turned into photo albums of kids face planting into the snow and unconsented selfies with you in the background. Satoru absolutely makes sure you end up looking the worst out of the two because he’s gotta let his best friend know who’s the prettiest and he’s definitely racking up a blackmail album of all of your worst moments in case anything happens in the future. 

It’s closing time and he just got back from the reindeer shed out in the back, covered head to toe in all things hay and snow. First things first, and no one bothered to tell him, but reindeers smell bad. Like, really bad. Especially at the end of the day, where their pens are covered in shit and countless carrots and apple bits from the little kids overfeeding them. Satoru is vaguely aware of the fact that he smells, just like he’s vaguely aware that the hotel lobby is oddly quiet from the usual banter between you and the usual workers.

Utahime and Choso are sitting by the cafe bar, seemingly deep in conversation about ordering more supplies for next week. Satoru thinks about interrupting their session with probably an unrelated dumb question, but the idea dies when Utahime notices his presence and motions him to come over. 

“You stink,” Satoru casts a half-glare at Utahime and begins picking out some of the scattered hay pieces stuck to his sweater. 

“For the record, I became good friends with Rudolph and Vixen today,” he grumbles back and Choso throws him a pat on the back.

“Hey, I don’t mind your stink, by the way. Smells kinda nice,” Choso offers up, but Satoru only shoots him a very unhappy look.

“If you think I smell nice then I’m really worried about what you think smells bad,” then he turns over to Utahime again, who’s engrossed in whatever is on her clipboard right now. “So, what did you need from me?”

“My sister,” she starts and taps away at the clipboard before handing it over to him. It’s pages upon pages of invoices from the past month. “Could you hand this to her? She should be in the back.”

“You treating me like an errand boy?”

Utahime scoffs. “What? Don’t wanna see her?”

“No, I do,” he responds, a bit too fast for his own liking, and straightens out. “Uh, is that all?” Satoru hopes his face doesn’t betray how much he’s a bit excited to interact with you, given that today was a full day out in the trenches, and he absolutely needs to hear you say his name at least twice a day in order to have a good night’s sleep.

Choso is trying really hard not to laugh, and Satoru takes it as a sign that he currently has a cheesy smile on his face — go figure. “One of the corner rooms upstairs requested a weighted blanket, mind also doing that too?”

There’s a certain relief that floods through Satoru and he thinks maybe he can take on a few more tasks for the night if that means spending a little more time with you, even if his body is screaming that he needs to take a two hour long shower. 

“Hey,” he starts to say when he rounds the corner, “Where’d you put those weighted blankets again?”

Satoru expected to walk in on you neck-deep in paperwork. You’ve mentioned earlier in the week that this year would be the busiest and there’s a bunch of stuff due. Something about end of the year tax returns and inventory counts, it all goes out his ear but he remembers something similar that his father told him in a prior conversation. He thinks he could probably help you figure out some of it, but that might be a bit much.

What he walks in on, thought, is you sitting in your little makeshift office. You’re on your laptop, the screen’s tilted just right enough that he gets a glimpse of what you’re looking at. You’re looking at flights and hotels, even got a whole spreadsheet on the second monitor. From what he’s seen of you so far, you didn’t come off as the type to talk about your future that much.

His voice catches you by surprise and your expression flickers from something vaguely focused to embarrassment real quick. You hastily close out the tabs and go back to the hotel’s homepage.

“What is it, Gojo?” And there’s this awkward, oddly frantic moment of you fumbling around with the keyboard and mouse, like a teenage boy who’s just got caught looking at porn.

“Ah,” Satoru thinks seeing your flustered side is rather adorable, to say the least. “You tryin’ to plan a vacation or something?” He struts over to your desk, placing a firm hand onto the back of the chair, and there’s this smile on his face that just screams ‘gotcha’.

Your face scrunches up but it’s not out of annoyance. “Kinda?”

Even with a grumpy look, it’s a good look on you. Makes you kinda dark, brooding, and beautiful, and it turns your eyes into dark storm clouds, or some other weird, waxy poetic shit that Satoru can’t figure out the words to. Either way, Satoru thinks you look cute and can’t stop noticing your little facial movements. You’re more expressive than you would probably imagine.

“Ooh, where to?”

You sigh and start playing with your thumbs. “Malaysia. My friend told me great things about it and I’ve been meaning to go for a while now but time and money are always iffy.”

“Makes sense, I can imagine that being an inn assistant doesn’t pay all the bills.”

That was probably the wrong thing to say. You huff and glare, an icy-death glare, at him. If looks could kill, Satoru is sure that he’ll be six feet underground by now. 

“Weighted blankets are on the second floor closet by the laundry room,” you answer his initial question curtly before shutting the laptop. “Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“It was just a question,” he mumbles slowly, and maybe even a little dangerously. “If money’s an issue—”

“Gojo.” Your voice is fixed and rigid, one that leaves absolutely no room for debate. “Your dad was right about you; you always just fall back to your fame and wealth.”

As you’re busy staring, Satoru realizes that you’re kinda being a total ass to him right now.

“That’s not fair,” his voice is rising and can’t seem to put a stop to the words spilling out. “Don’t bring my dad into this conversation.”

“Or what? You can go back to your privileged life anytime you want. This is just a field trip for you while others actually have to try hard and make a living.” You spit out. 

“No one forced you to become an inn worker, you know? If you’re so worried about money then you could’ve just found another high paying job.” Satoru wrinkles his nose and his volume continues to rise. 

You immediately offer him a dark glare and it comes off in a cut-throat way that shuts Satoru up mid thought. The rest of his counters die in his throat when you start making hand gestures at the office exit and he gets the hint: ‘leave before I lose my shit’ is the calling he sees.

And it works, because he finds his tone shifting a little, awkwardly kicking the floor and backing off. “Whatever…”

That was last night and, by now, Satoru is realizing that he’s kind of a giant asshole and the guilt is slowly eating away at him. Was he always like this? It couldn’t have been — he’s only met you a few days ago, and this is only meant to be a quick, ‘vacational’, getaway. Sure he might be a bit selfish and a dick, but he had been able to function perfectly fine before all of this, hadn’t he? 

Satoru’s not really sure.

It’s noon, and he’s lying in bed. Choso had asked him to cover his shift at the cafe, and he’d agreed, readily, even though it’s supposed to be his day off, because you’re working. Choso had texted him, though, saying that you had simply said you’d work the entire shift by yourself.

Of course. It’s absolutely not funny anymore.

Satoru sighs. He’s going to apologize, that’s for sure. It wounds some of his pride, yeah, but whatever, this tension between you guys, though, isn’t worth it. He finds himself wasting his entire morning away rotting in bed. There are things that he could be doing, that he looks forward to, like feeding the reindeers or demonstrating basic ski moves to little kids. Choso and Yuuji totally got him addicted to yelling out ‘pizza’ and ‘french fry’ at every chance he gets. They also got him addicted to a shitty relationship forum they both browse, but somehow the idea of reading other people’s relationship drama, when he’s facing drama of his own, is kinda mentally exhausting.

On second thought, maybe he should post on that forum, actually.

It might not be such a bad idea.

Or maybe he could reach out to Suguru and ask how to apologize? 

His best friend is a bit more grounded and attuned with other people���s feelings compared to him, afterall. Satoru’s not good at this stuff and he’s always just cut others off whenever they do argue, but this feels different. And, well, for the first time in forever, Satoru is desperate. 

“I fucked up big time and I need to apologize, help me out here?”

Suguru scoffs over the line. “Wow, what happened to saying ‘hello’ or ‘how are you’?”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “Hi, hello. How are you? How do I make a sincere apology?”

“I’m good, thank you. Now, for your request, depends on how big the fuck up is.”

He bites his tongue, finding the right words to essentially not sound like a huge dick but, no matter how he wants to rephrase it, the outcome is the same. “I might’ve implied that she’s poor and needs someone to take care of her?” It sounds so stupid, so mean, and so degrading now that he’s saying it out loud. 

He hears Suguru sucking in his teeth and sighs. After a couple of pauses, his best friend finally speaks. “That’s pretty fucked up.”

Satoru frowns. “Okay, yeah, it is,” and he sits up in his bed when a snowball makes an impact against the window. It’s Utahime. And, currently, she’s throwing him the nastiest glare that a woman has ever given him in his life. “Um, I’ll call you back, buddy…”

“What? I haven’t given you—”

“Don’t have time for unwarranted advice right now.”

“You called me!”

“Bye!” Satoru ends the call before shuffling towards the window, swallowing a hard lump, and inches the glass panel just small enough for him to hear coherently and not big enough for her to punt him across the face. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”

But Utahime is in an obvious shitty mood and Satoru’s lack of charming antics aren’t going to work this time. “I’m going to apologize, I promise,” he tries to insist.

“This is all your fault,” she immediately gets to the point and it makes him shrink back just a tiny bit. He’s starting to see that the bluntness runs in the family. “Just get your ass to work.”

“But my shift doesn’t start till—”

“Doesn’t matter,” Utahime starts to form an even bigger snowball and raises it to the window panel. “Ass out of bed, now.”

Okay, so as much as Satoru had tried to tell himself that this week wouldn’t be bad, it’s really starting to get fucking awful.

Everyone’s in a shit mood. Yuuji tries to crack some jokes but the usual crowd isn’t having it. You’ve been throwing Satoru dirty looks while working behind the cafe counter together and he’s been put on drink duty — which is his worst nightmare — while you’re attending to the customers because you’re young and cute enough for them to be nice to you. Satoru has spilled hot coffee and chocolate on himself like four times so far, and the shift just started. He’s terrified that the rest of this week is going to be like this.

“Can we talk?” Satoru whisper shouts over the espresso machine.

He sees your shoulders tensing up but immediately relaxes them afterwards. “Did you hear something, Yuuji?”

The boy looks up from the bar counter, it’s his day off and he’s catching up on some homework, but the seemingly growing tension that’s unfolding in front of him is making it painfully hard for him to focus on anything engineering related. Yuuji scratches the back of his neck before darting his eyes back and forth between the two of you. Normally, he would be the voice of reason, but Satoru doesn’t blame him when he shakes his head.

“N-Nah, must’ve been the wind or something...” 

Great, he’s been reduced to an air draft.

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” you agree without missing a beat. As the next customer in line spends an eternity holding everyone up, debating whether to get the seasonal muffin or french toast to go with their drink, you continue, “Thought I heard a rotten brat for a second.”

He absolutely doesn’t expect the harsh insult. Satoru widens his eyes at the outburst and there’s a small pause, the silence ticking in between everyone, and he’s sure that you’re glaring him down somewhere in a small reflection on the counter. 

Satoru debates whether to call out your name and shake some sense into you, but Yuuji quickly swallows and makes a motion with his hands to his throat, a universal signal saying — ‘I wouldn’t test the waters, if I were you’.

And, after the customer finally decides that they didn’t want any pastries with their coffee order, you finish the transaction before announcing that you’re going on a small fifteen minute break to “stretch”. Though, anyone could see that you’re planning to cool off before you manage to actually blow up in Satoru’s face.

“How the hell am I going to talk to her?” he groans to Yuuji once you’re finally away. He’s managing the cash register and, surprisingly, finishes taking the remaining orders quite smoothly compared to his first day. At least he can pat himself on the back for this. 

“You’ve really pissed her off, dude,” Yuuji replies and Satoru just rolls his eyes because that’s all he’s been hearing from everyone else all day today. “You should talk to her when she’s not… charged up.”

“Way to point out the obvious.” Sometimes he forgets that Yuuji is a bit oblivious. How is he doing so well as a mechanical engineering major? 

Yuuji makes an audible ‘pop’ and whistles. “What did you even say to her?”

Satoru groans into his hands. “Did she not tell you?”

“Well, she wasn’t exactly in a chippy mood to talk about anything this morning — outside of work, that is.”

“Here’s a little TLDR version: might’ve said something classist.”

“Might’ve?”

“Okay, definitely said something classist.”

“Then…” Yuuji drums his fingers against the counter, deep in thought. “Y’know, whenever me and Megumi fight, I always invite him out to the movies to try and cheer him up. Might not be applicable to you but…”

Satoru blinks. “Are you suggesting a date would help?”

“Maybe not a date—”

“No, I’m sorry for calling you dumb, you’re so right—a nice date might work!”

“You never called me dumb, though?”

“Yeah, okay, whatever you say, kiddo.”

Satoru unravels the ribbon on his apron and throws it in Yuuji’s general direction, not caring if he tossed the stained uniform directly in his face. He hops the counter and pats the younger male on the shoulder, flashing him a genuine smile because, hey, maybe Yuuji actually is smarter than he looks.

“Gonna totally invite you to the wedding.”

It’s no secret that Satoru Gojo hasn’t been on a proper date in a pathetically long time.

He has swiped right on a number of highly influential celebrities and figures on dating apps before. Matched with nearly all of them. Gone on…maybe a lot of first dates with not a lot of second dates coming right after. Who cares though, everyone’s just there for the photos and followers anyway. Satoru knows that he’s attractive and that he personally loves big, lavish dates but, at this point, he knows you enough to understand you absolutely hate big gestures. 

After a short winded conversation with Suguru and Utahime, separately, Satoru has concluded on not buying you first class tickets to Malaysia. 

“Are you trying to get her to hate your guts?” Was the general consensus of the conversation with said people. 

So, what’s the next best option if he can’t fly you out to Malaysia? The answer is pretty simple — bring Malaysia to Mistle Town. And no, he’s not going to be relying on his black card for anything, even though the back of his mind is telling him otherwise. 

Choso blinks several times at Satoru’s printed out proposal. The colorful letters and Google image photos of beaches and coconuts slapped poorly onto the document screams back at Choso and Yuuji, bright and early on Christmas Eve. 

It’s unusual for Satoru to be bouncing excitedly in place for someone other than himself. So this catches everyone off guard. 

Yuuji whispers something intangible to Choso, but Satoru is able to make it out as, “Do we even have coconuts here?”

To which Choso replies, “It’s winter, so I don’t think so.”

And Yuuji moves onto the next question in queue, “What should we do about the lack of palm trees?”

A patient sigh from Choso, “We could always trim the pine trees outside?” He lamely suggests. 

“It’s a good idea, no?” Satoru jumps right back in, completely missing the flat vibe from the brothers. He frowns. “Why are you guys giving me that look?” 

And, like his best friend and your sister, the brothers throw him a confused head tilt. 

“Well,” Yuuji weakly starts, “Your plan ‘Project: Bring Malaysia here in hopes of Y/N falling in love with me’ doesn’t really sound that great… even on paper.”

Satoru grins, fully expecting that to be the response. “I’ll order the things, don’t worry about it. I just need to borrow your lungs for this project.”

Yuuji scratches his cheek in confusion, laughing nervously again. “Our lungs…?” he echos. 

“How long do I have to keep this dumb blindfold on, Choso?”

“U-Um,” Choso shoots Satoru a brow as he carefully guides you through the hotel lobby. 

It’s currently decked out from head to toe in all things yellow, green, and pink beach themed inflatables. Choso and Yuuji reminded Satoru last night that maybe two flamingos would’ve been enough to get the message across, but seeing that he ordered a whole colony? Yeah, he’s sending the rich boy prayers as he reels you in further, avoiding collision with the colorful balloons and seven-foot tall palm trees, too.

“Choso?”

He squeezes your shoulders when Satoru shoots him a thumbs up. “Ten seconds.”

Satoru quietly walks over to both of you, tip toeing so the sounds of his loafers are minimized against the flooring. Once he’s inches away, Choso retreats off into a different room, mouthing to him words of final encouragement, which Satoru gladly took. 

You appear restless under the blindfold. “I swear to god, if I take it off and there’s a giant pile of reindeer shit in the middle of the lobby I will actually kill somebody—”

And Satoru quietly debates whether or not he wants to keep you like this for a little while before revealing the big surprise. Seeing you flustered and confused is a very cute look on you, after all. But, he’s gotten you this far and it would absolutely kill him to leave you on such a bad notice. It’s now early evening, and the sun’s just starting to set enough that the golden rays illuminate your features from this angle. It takes Satoru back to his first private meeting with you on the balcony and he remembers why he’s even doing this in the first place.

Carefully and slowly, he slips down the blindfold and softly calls out your name. “Hey, take a look around you.”

Your eyes are blown wide when you see his face. Anger and frustration dissipate from your face when you soon realize that Satoru carries a soft expression. He watches as the emotions wash off as quickly as they came. Then, you finally take a look around your surroundings and gasp. “You—You did all of this for me?”

Satoru tenses a little, a bit on the edge. “You want the short or long answer?”

You don’t notice because you’re too preoccupied with the numerous fake flamingos around you. “On second thought, maybe no answer would also work.”

He laughs at this, slightly, before turning shy again. He feels silly, ashamed, and it makes his cheeks flush. “I wanted to say sorry again for what I said earlier.”

“You finally want to talk about it?”

He looks at your idle hands and then back to your face. When he sees that you don't move them away as he inches closer, he takes both of them into his palms, giving them a tight squeeze. “Yeah, I was a big idiot and I thought I was trying to help in the beginning but I just sounded—no, I am—a giant ass.” Satoru concludes. 

The atmosphere grows quiet and heavy again. The air humid and thick despite the opened windows and you’re looking at him. Then, there are tiny little smiles that break out on your face, like freckles and stars in the sky. 

“You’re such a pillow princess,” and he outright blushes ten shades darker at the nickname, “you’re lucky you’re cute.” Coming from you, that’s as good as a love confession.

I like you, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. He really likes you and doesn’t want to fuck this up.

But, everyone knows that Satoru Gojo is a child at heart. 

Satoru doesn’t know who gives in first; realistically, it might’ve been one of those stupid, rare, impossible moments where it’s completely shared. Suddenly the gaudy blow up palm trees and inflatable pool blur from his vision and he feels the world roaring around him when your palms rest on his cheeks. He ducks his head down but you’re the one who closes the distance between. 

You taste like strawberries and lavender, smell like warm cocoa, and feel softer than any sherpa blanket he’s had. Satoru closes his eyes and his vision goes white, his hands shakily snake around your waist, pressing you hard against his chest as if you might disappear at any moment. Satoru sighs into the kiss, it feels pleasantly warm, that throb in his chest, it’s a slow, steady thrum of simmering desire and comfort. He’s pretty sure he’s adding way too much tongue, the drool and saliva that comes dripping between you two will be uncomfortable soon, but for now, it adds to the blissed out, satisfaction you’re both basking in.

Finally, you pull away, shortening yourself a good several inches from planting the rest of your feet on the ground. Your eyes are glossed over, watery and looking at him without vexation. “You’re something else.” You say, but there’s no bite.

Satoru doesn’t speak for a moment. He’s too focused on the feeling of your warm fingers sprawled all over his heating face. Too focused on the dull pulse of both nervousness and infatuation slowly spreading through his body because you’re giving him that look. This all feels romantic and stupid, he thinks.

“I’m sorry, again.” The words are quiet, hesitant, and Satoru almost regrets them the moment he speaks.

You shift around a little, now dancing on the balls of your feet, but the grasp you have on his cheeks is still relatively firm, even applying a bit of more pressure as if it’s your way of showing reassurance. You tip your head; your eyes are so vivid and bright, it sends a shiver down Satoru’s spine. In this moment, he remembers every single thing between them in shocking detail — the awkwardness, the tension, the frustration, the dumb banters, and suddenly he’s overwhelmed.

“I’ll forgive you if you give me a private city tour,” you laugh. “And come back to work with us again next year.”

Satoru offers a small smile. “Unpaid?”

“Will you say no if it is?”

He hugs you tighter, a chuckle bubbles in his throat. “I don’t think I can say no because it’s you.”

Though, while some might think that Satoru is the real loser here for being whipped so hard over a small town girl, you know that deep down the real loser is you. Because you managed to have the son of a CEO wrapped around your fingers and now you will never know peace again. But you’re not really complaining; instead, you’re working even harder to save just enough to eventually see your dream destination while Satoru whines and sends an ungodly amount of selfies everyday when he’s back home. And you won’t allow yourself to get snappy because, well, you’re very much head over heels for him, too.

© 2023 DOOBEA. do not copy any of my writing and translate/repost.

#event: i got my eyes on youೄྀ࿐ˊˎ #doobea writing #gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #gojo x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #satoru gojo fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen x female reader

[rboooks]

The bakery is a front!...right? Part 3

Danny carefully finished the last details on a special order cake done by his newest and likely most crucial customer should the man like his pastries.

Bruce Wayne's butler was to arrive in twenty minutes for his youngest son's birthday cake. It was a staking tower and three smaller stacks, each depicting a cow on a farm, and a cat sleeping with a dog in the middle of a leap. Damian had asked for a cake that showed all his pets but was vegan.

It was an honestly fun order even if he didn't quite understand the special instructions.

"Damian's school friends mention a fun new "suger energy" coming from this bakery. I want him not to be seen as someone out of touch, so please make sure to add that in," Bruce Wayne said over the phone to a shocked Danny a week prior. If he got Wayne's attention, then soon his bakery would be the newest hot spot in Gotham!

It would be the perfect cover for bringing over more funds from his Ghost Vault and expanding. He could help many more people with employment without bringing the pesky IRS on his head for having unexplainable cash.

Sometimes doing everything by the book was a headache and a half, but if there was one thing Fentons knew how to do, was make their business significantly legal. How else would his parents file taxes for "ghost hunting?"

Handsome possible mate is near. Phantom purred in his mind while Danny spun the cake one last time to ensure everything was in order.

Sure enough Alvin appears at the kitchen door, not quite within the room, staring

. Danny has no problems with who is in his kitchen, but Andres insisted only kitchen staff needed to be back here. Apparently, they didn't have enough legroom to add more people, taking up unnecessary space.

And Andres had a strange urge to keep all their recipes a secret. It was not uncommon in Gotham for big corporations to send in spies and cause small businesses to go bankrupt when selling their secerts.

Danny, knows he's a good baker, has since he was a child. Even before his move, he could convince other ghosts Rogues to stop mid-fight for a snack break because his creations were tasty. While his original recipes falling into the hands of greedy rich men made him squirm, it was primarily due to someone taking credit for his work rather than any funds lost to them.

So after a while, he agreed to Andres' demands and promoted him to store manager. It was easier to have someone from Gotham run a Gotham shop. It left Danny with more time to bake and keep a eye on the community's recovery.

He was so happy to see that overdoses had gone down by nearly sixty percent since he opened. The homeless population had decreased by forty percent, and overall crime in his area had been a good twenty percent.

It was good to see how he was protecting his haunt.

"Danny" Alvin called after a moment. "Do you need help?"

Now, Alvin is a great guy, cute too but he couldn't decorate a cupcake to save his life. His bother was a better hand in the kitchen.

Bring him to our nessssstttt Phantom urged with a shocking wave of want, almost having Danny tumble over. Ugh, his mating season is getting out of hand.

He had seen Frostbite last week about it, but the yeti told him it was perfectly natural for ecto-beings. He would start to stabilize soon, and hopefully, Phantom would no longer be tripping over its tail to get a significant other and start a family.

His nesting problem only grew recently. Now Danny owned every building on the block- primarily due to the facilities being old businesses that went bankrupt years ago and made it super cheap after sitting there for years collecting dust. He had realized that kids didn't feel safe with adults, so a new building went up for homeless adults on his other side. Then he realized that they could benefit from a laundry place which happened to be one of the businesses that went under.

He got that remodeled and threw more goons into it. Scarecrow's old goons had gotten the word out that Danny paid well, gave excellent benefits, and working for him had the less likely chance of getting their face smashed in. Then a homeless kid asked Danny if he could borrow his bathroom because the temporary ones in the side buildings were small and cold, and the kid really missed splashing around in a tub instead of a shower. He realized he also needed to offer that. So one of the buildings was turned into a bathhouse, with rentable personal spa rooms for regular citizens. Now a community laundromat and bathhouse were open at all hours, helping stop the spread of diseases with good hygiene.

Of course, Danny had to make it seem like the money for all of this came from somewhere. He contacted Vlad, whose status as a billionaire made it easy to wire him the funds. When asked, Vlad would only mention trying to get into his step-kids good side.

He still had plenty of street kids doing bakery deliveries for him, but now he had more space to give them a actually apartment. He of course never ask for commitment and they never gave it to him.

He had a few families approach him to rest out the other buildings for business and he was excited to see different restaurants and cafes blooming to life around him. This whole street, once a dead sad thing, was becoming colorful because of him.

'I'm fine thank you Alvin" Danny says shooting the younger man a grin. Alvin face heats up and Phantom is practically beating its head against a wall. Screaming, crying as Alvin plays with bit of his hair at the bottom of his neck.

Danny swallows down the urge run his fingers through it, focusing on his human side as hard as he could.

"Is that the cake with the special ingredient? The one you send the street kids on deliverieswith?" Alvin asks after a moment pause.

"Sure is. Hopefully, we can get the Wayne's hooked on it. It'll be great for business." Danny smiles. There is a split second where Alvin's face tightens around the mouth like he's angry before it's gone.

"Yeah, I bet. Though with the help of Masters, we won't have to worry about funds for a while, right?"

Putting his tools in the sink to soak, the baker shrugs. "Vlad will help but only after he sees potential in something. The set up I have going got his attention cause of our special ingredient. He's dabbled with it before, you know? That's how he got rich"

Alvin jerks his head in his direction. "So he's an expert?"

"More than an expert. He's the main reason we have so much of this stuff to push. I wouldn't be able to get it on my own without his help," Danny says, absent minded. He's busy trying to beat Phantom back with a stick as his ghost side whines for a child of their own.

He's not going to date any of his employees. That's a weird power imbalance that Jazz would never approve of.

Maybe he should take some time away from the bakery for a while. Danny couldn't find true love if he was always working. He'll ask Tucker and Sam to come to some clubs or something. It could be fun.

I want a baby! Phantom sneered outrage that his demands have been ignored.

Soon Danny promised I'd eat two whole bagels later in the meantime.

"Masters is our leading supplier, and he just lets us manage his goods without instruction? Isn't that a bit unorthodox?

Danny blinks " I guess? Vlad's always done some unorthodox deals. His giving me complete control will likely keep him out of the picture once someone catches on. Gosh, sometimes I wish I got out of the family business as my sisters did, but one of us had done this, or our parents would be unbearable."

Alvin Draper looks sadden "Your parents pushed you into this life?"

"Raised me in it," Danny corrects "My dad and I made his special Fruge for the first time when I was three. Been hooked ever since."

Just then Peter is there looking horror stuck "Your old man got you hooked at age three?"

"Yeah?"

"Why do you keep doing it then?"

"The baking? Well, it's ugh part of me now. I'll die of I stop- er die completely. "

Alvin snatched his hand to tug him close, and wow, he was stronger than he looked for a nineteen-year-old. Phantom woofs as the man practically lefts him off the floor to set him on the counter and stare into his eyes. "You don't have to live like this anymore. Let me help you. Let me protect you"

Both Danny and Phantom chock on their shared spit at the best flirting method anyone could use against a protective spirit.

The promise of protection was like someone whispering sweet nothings in his ear during love making.

"I got to go!" He screams jumping away from the brothers to run out of his own bakery in a panic.

Goodness. I need a vacation. Maybe my sisters would be down for some ectoplasm collecting in the Ghost Zone?

(Jason and Tim take the cake for Damian back to the cave, swearing when the test come back as a regular vegan cake. Had Tim stepped in too early and stop Danny from adding the drug?

Jason was angry that Danny was just another kid the adult around him failed. But now Danny was one of those adults, and it's killed him to admit it, but he would still shoot Danny in order to stop the cycle.

Bruce, after confirming the cake was delicate, shared a slice with his youngest, who adored the flavor. It was the best cake he's ever had. Such a waste of talent on crime.

At least the Bats had a new lead. Vlad Masters and his mysterious rise to wealth. They would get him and Danny off the streets.

Danny is miles away, fanning his blushing face as his sister demands more information of the cute baker boy that knew how to flirt with protection ghosts. )

( Part 1) (Part 2), (Part 4)

#dc x dp crossover #the bakery is a front!...right? #part 3 #Danny just digging himself a bigger hole #he thinks everyone made fudge with thier dads and ectoplasim is a special ingredient #Tim just made himself super hot to both human abd ghost Danny

[prettycottonmouthlamia]

"What's the issue, it's just an ad?" Oh how you've become dull. Where is your anger? Where is your rage?

I get on the most basic of basic of levels why we've become like this. Advertising has literally been a part of our lives for as long as I've been alive, and honestly let's just put "the Reagan era" as a convenient turning point because if there is anything unnatural and unholy that's a part of our society at this point it comes from that demonic spawn.

I cannot personally tell you how much I am sick of all of it. I am so sick and fucking tired of having every minute of every day being a constant battle against the endless cavalcade of advertisements. You couldn't escape it on TV, you couldn't escape it in magazines, you couldn't go to the store without having things shoved in your fucking face by billboards and fliers and signage. But even that, on some fucking level, was bearable. How little we knew as we grumbled about how magazines were becoming 65% ads by volume how much worse it would get.

Advertisement on the modern internet has become a sprawling web of massive privacy violations as every bit of your online existence is wrapped up, bundled, and sold to some morally bankrupt corporation so that the CEO of Google can fucking jack off in a bathtub made of whatever ephemeral tech fratboy abomination has come out of Silicon Valley this week. You cannot escape the targeted ads, you cannot escape the ads that fucking jumpscare you, you cannot escape the ads that are 15 minutes long because they're designed to ambush people who are too busy to quickly skip the ad, you cannot avoid the constant deluge of sponsorships and paid promotions. Everyone is trying to fucking sell you something, whether its a shitty product or a shitty subscription service or a nightmare mental health service designed in the cenobite dimension or even worse than all of that, Prager fucking U.

The fact that adblocks exist is the only saving grace of the internet period. Adblocks literally keep the internet from falling apart in the same way TV and magazines did. They are the only way the average person can survived being seen as an endless fucking consumer, because having the ability to say "No, you cannot beam advertisements into my fucking brain 24/7" is basically our one big act of resistance at this point. So when Google tries to give me shit for it, when Amazon throws a hissyfit because you don't want ads interrupting a stream for two and a half minutes at a time, when websites guilt you over having an ad blocker? When they tell you that you should just accept being a good little shit?

Yeah that just inspires a lot of fucking rage in me. I hope one day we all collectively decide this is inhumane and abhorrent and fucking rip the tendons out of the knees of the advertising industry.

[probablyasocialecologist]

In daily life, the contradictions between what corporations proclaim and the subtending reality workers observe produce a disjuncture, a sense of cognitive dissonance between what one ethically holds to be right, and the reality of one’s own complicities of contributing labor to a banal and morally bankrupt project of private wealth accumulation and mass oppression. Caught between being complicit with furthering oppression and holding an ethical commitment for the greater good is not a matter of personal choice; it is the structure of capitalist society that compels one to sell one’s labor, and skills, to the capitalist class in order to survive. The more tech workers engage in production on behalf of the capitalist class on capital’s terms, the more the objects of their labor appear as a force that confronts the humanity of the person. The result is alienation from one’s own sense of self, from others, from the product of one’s work and from the broader environment. This drives not only social anomie and a lack of personal fulfillment, but a crisis around depression and anxiety that permeates all levels of the industry.

The Cost of Free Shipping: Amazon in the Global Economy

#amazon #alienation

[workersolidarity]

I want to remind people of some of the self-destructive behavior we see conducted by giant corporations.

Today's giant US and Multinational Corporations do not exist to produce goods and services people need or want.

Instead, these giant corporations act as passthroughs to funnel money directly into the pockets of shareholders. Corporations will often engage in self-destructive or self-harming policies that bankrupt their companies, but manage to funnel ENORMOUS funds into shareholder pockets in the meantime. Then, we quickly see the govt swoop in and use tax-payer dollars to back the losses of those shareholders, making it so they've privatized the gains and socialized the losses.

These companies's behavior can often seem completely inexplicable when looked at outside the context of dividend payments and dividend recapitalization.

Dividend recapitalization itself is one the greatest examples of ruinous behavior by a corporation that benefits shareholders at the expense of employees and customers both.

A Dividend Recapitalization occurs when a company decides to go into debt with the express purpose of using that debt to pay dividends to shareholders and nothing else. None of the borrowed money is reinvested in the company or its employees.

This can easily result in a company's bankruptcy if it falls onto hard times immediately following a Dividend Recapitalization.

For example, in April 2002, KB Toys went deeply into debt to perform a Dividend Recapitalization, paying tens of millions of dollars in dividends to its shareholders and investors. By January 2004, KB Toys had filed Chapter 11 Bankruptcy, citing its Dividend Recapitalization process as the reason for its bankruptcy.

And you can find endless examples of this throughout recent history. It is unquestionable that Dividend Recapitalization is harmful, not just to the companies in question, but to the millions of tax payers who take a hit every time something like this happens.

The logical answer would be to ban Dividend Recapitalization completely, but our corrupt Neoliberal Govt is only interested in serving the desires of the Ruling Class. They could care less that Dividend Recapitalization often comes at a price for Taxpayers.

It is undoubtable that we need to have democratic control over the economy. At the moment, we barely have any democratic control over any other part of our society, let alone the economy.

It is well past time the Working Class of the US rise up in rebellion against the Capitalist Class and all their various tools of control that allow them to manipulate elections and retain control over the political machinery of the United States.

Dystopia is here and it's not going anywhere until the people take back what's ours.

#corporate greed #corporate control #neoliberalism #economics #us politics #politics #dividend recapitalization #economic hardship #working class #working class news #socialism #communism #marxism leninism #socialist politics #socialist news #socialist worker #socialist #communist #marxism #marxist leninist #progressive politics #workersolidarity #worker solidarity #us news #capitalist dystopia #dystopia

[thefangirlofhp]

31. what if: croissants and paintings (a short what-if version of apaixonar)

“The toys, too, Winnie.”

“Really?”

“You haven’t ever touched some of these. They’re going in the pile.”

The five year old twists her mouth, dropping the t-shirt she’d been making a sorry job of folding in order to huff and puff her way across the crowded mattress and climb off. Azriel doesn’t comment on her undoing some of the folded piles as she approaches the open closet, and assesses the chaos of remaining clothes, toys and little girl accessories that Azriel never imagined would end up being what bankrupts him but after embarking on this little discovering adventure in his daughter’s room, he’s realized most of his wallet’s emptied itself right here.

“Is this cause I didn’t tidy up?” Winnie cranes her neck as she looks back up at him. He sets down a folded red shirt that she’s probably worn once as a two-year-old and tilts her head back up.

“Will you keep it clean if I say yes?”

Her eyes glimmer. “Maybe.”

It’s only through the grueling and gruesome process of being a single-father every consecutive day for nearly five years now that Azriel manages to steel his facial expression. Of course, prior to this permanent occupation, he’d been just as capable of doing so—for different reasons. Poker games, lies, and the general detachment of society that comes from introversion, but he’s had to learn to keep a particularly tight lock on his reactions in-front this mini-human copying and pasting every behavior of his into her own system.

He’s not sure how happy he’d be if after all this toiling and hardwork, his daughter would follow in her uncle’s footsteps and end up a corporate lawyer. Oh God, he’s terrified of the shark-like gleam in her eyes turning its attention from animal species towards corporate law and finance.

Winnie grins at the flat expression he gives her. At least he still has the I Raised You card in his arsenal.

“I pwomise to keep it clean. Don’t throw away all my things. Petty please?”

Azriel slides a dress off its hanger, tosses the plastic away into the growing pile on the floor and flaps it out. “I’m not punishing you. We’re donating what we don’t need to people who’ll need them. And Aunt Feyre is going to need some of your baby clothes for their baby.”

“Cause of the baby in her tummy?”

“Uhu.”

Winnie steps into the closet, larger than any child’s closet reasonably need be, and crouches before the shelves. “Why won’t they buy?”

“There’s no need, if your clothes are hardly worn. It’s a gesture, and Feyre said she’d love to take some.”

“Gesture?”

Azriel’s eyes flutter for a second as he breathes in. It’s really therapeutic, possibly—maybe. A chore he can turn his mind off whilst doing, to busy his hands without having to think about anything. Until the chatterbox decided she was done with her coloring, and that shadowing him around the flat was much more entertaining.

“Yep,” he rubs his face, assessing the carnage that is his little girl’s room. On a good day, it is akin to a battlefield. A time like this, where she’s taken it as free reign to open everything that had a lid or door or drawer and throw the contents of everything everywhere? He imagines an escape room is simpler.

But if he’s honest with himself, which Azriel likes to think he is, her presence is something that had made him nearly sigh with relief. If he can’t hear himself think, then he won’t think, and then this will just be a trivial cleaning out of a room that is long overdue such treatment. The clothes in his hands are items to fold up, with no sentiment, and put in boxes for donation. They are not Winnie’s first dress, or the outfit she’d worn to her first visit to the lake. They are not one-month old and two-month old clothes that Ellie had cried over, somehow moved by rampant hormones to find such small items tear-jerking.

“Are we gonna give away my drawings?” Winnie suddenly asks fearfully, shooting to her feet after coming across a container of old art-supplies.

“No, no,” he instantly reassures her before her hair can turn grey. “Who’d we give them to?”

Winnie stares intensely at him. “People want ‘em.”

He holds back his mouth from twitching. “Do they?”

It’s eerie, how her eyes get so large and round and earnest. “Right?!”

“O-Of course, yeah. Definitely.”

“Aunnie Fey-Fey said they’re art. And-and people want art, right? We gonna give ‘em away?”

“Well do you want to give them away?”

“NO!”

“We’re not, then. Calm down, Picasso.”

She lets out a comically exaggerated sigh of relief. “Thank goodness. I was worried there for a second!”

“Sure thing, Bunny.”

It’s probably a sad thing, spending his Saturday clearing out his daughter’s room and his own wardrobe for the donation Feyre’s asked him to contribute to, but what is probably sadder is that he’s relieved and very much content with staying in, cleaning and doing chores. Cassian has such an opinion.

“I can’t tell what’s sadder,” his friend remarks on the phone as Azriel loads the washing machine, boxes all taped and labelled and Winnie’s room unrealistically clean. He’d forgotten the color of her carpet was such a beautiful tone after he vacuumed it. “This being the highlight of your day, or the poor kid locked up in there with you.”

“Rhys is going to take her and Felix out in an hour,” Azriel turns the machine on. “They’re having a sleepover.”

“Sweet! Let’s get together and have a drink, then. Come on, night out.”

“Nah, man, I have assignments to mark and an exam to write.”

And isn’t he ecstatic about it. He’s been looking forward to this particular day since such sleepover’s been arranged, and he realized that all his chores and tasks neatly lined up to clear this day for catching up on his job and staying in. Maybe he’ll watch trashy reality television, or an even shittier crime show without having to worry about the Eavesdropper Supreme absorbing everything like a fucking sponge.

The possibilities excite him.

“Every word coming out of you is just sadder than the one before,” Cassian sighs, as if he heard Azriel’s thoughts.

“Give your liver a fucking break,” Azriel snaps, defensive over the impossible breach of his private thoughts. “You’re getting married in two fucking weeks and you’ve drunk more alcohol than your fiancé has in her entire alcoholic years.”

“Hey.”

Azriel takes the call off speakers and puts the phone to his ears as he walks out the room. “Speaking of, have you spoken to the resort?”

“That’s why I called. I did, and they’d be more than happy to keep you lot for a few more days. I think dropping some names did the trick.”

“Whatever gets you there,” he replies, entering the living room and immediately feeling his eye twitch at the sight that greets him. “Oi, Winnie, Rebel, off the iPad. Now. Read a book or something.”

Both girls turn their guilty eyes to him, as Winnie slides the device away underneath a cushion as if she wasn’t just caught red-handed. “Sorry, Daddy.”

He throws himself onto the couch next to them with a rush of breath whooshing out of him. “Are you happy with everything? No-one’s being a menace? Cake’s fine? Venue fine? No hurdles?”

“It’s going perfect,” Cassian answers, with the smile audible in his raspy voice. “Don’t want to jinx it, but there’s nothing to complain about. I really got to thank you properly for that wedding planner—she’s a gift from God.”

“Yeah, she’s pretty good.”

“Didn’t she do your wedding?”

“Mhm.”

Ellie’s best friend, Cressida. It’s Azriel’s genius gift to the couple; instead of having to worry his over-worried mind over a meaningful gift, he got Cressida to plan their wedding from A to Z. Nesta got uncharacteristically quietly when he let them know the famous planner had taken them on—he cannot take entire credit for the idea, even though he knows Cressida to be one of the top sharks in her industry; he’d overheard Nesta and Feyre after the engagement announcement discussing it and, well, for what it's worth he’d always meant to call his late wife’s best-friend.

Azriel breathes in, reaches out a scarred hand that fusses with Winnie’s fine hair as she flops across his lap, listening in on his conversation.

“She did a great job on yours.”

“Mhm.”

He focuses on Winnie’s tresses.

“You all-right?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“You’re just sounding a little mono-syllabled.”

“Nah… I’m…Just a little busy. Hey, Bunny, don’t fall asleep. Uncle Rhys will be here any moment.”

“Sure,” Cassian replies smoothly, in a way that says roger that to whatever he’s interpreted in his tone with his freakishly peaked emotional insight. Sometimes Azriel wishes Cassian would spare him some, but then tells himself that what little sensitivity he possesses provides him with enough grief. “Anyway, the resort will have you for the week, same rooms. How’s that sound?”

“Brilliant,” Azriel replies, looking forward to the week following Cassian’s wedding, already feeling himself relax a little at the prospect of napping under the sun at the beach, getting to subtly pass Winnie on to his brother and sister-in-law, finally getting to read that interesting-looking book one of his students left behind in his class that was never collected. Fresh drinks, shorts, loose white shirts and permanently hiding behind a hat and sunglasses to nap all day without being severely judged, everyday. Not having to worry about cooking, washing, or tidying up. He does appreciate some time off, and with the semester he’s had, he’s more than looking forward to it.

___

“What d’you mean you’re closed?”

“We’re very sorry, Mr. Bougainvillea, but some of the kids got sick and it’s protocol to stay home for a few days to prevent it spreading to other children and the staff.”

Azriel can’t believe his ears, or the preschool teacher’s sweet voice. “They’re kids, they’re supposed to have their faces sneezed on.”

“We’re very sorry, Mr. Bougainvillea. After the pandemic, we’ve had to reinforce some stricter protocols.”

He blinks at the fridge covered in magnets holding up drawings, grocery lists and some photographs. Winnie stares at him, unblinking, as she chews on a sliced apple half-heartedly. He turns to his daughter, as the preschool hangs up, and it’s all he can do to not hysterically laugh at his misfortune like a madman.

“Imma stay home?” Winnie hopefully asks.

“Dream on, Bunny,” he mutters, dialing Feyre’s number.

“Hello?”

“Please tell me you can have Winnie for the day. Her preschool’s running a self-imposed quarantine because a kid coughed yesterday.”

“Told you not to put her in a pretentious fancy school like Velaris Stars.”

“Well?”

“I’m sorry, I really can’t; I have meetings with clients and I need to finish a commission before noon.”

Fucking hell.

“Why don’t I call Felix’s school, see if they’ll take her for the day? The principal loves me.”

“Would you, please?” he glances at his wrist-watch, and realizes he’s already cutting it close. “I owe you.”

“No problem.”

He slides his phone into his pocket, gulps down a bitter mouthful of yesterday’s cold coffee and clicks his fingers at his daughter simultaneously while dumping the remaining coffee in the sink. “C’mon. Shoes.”

“I really don’t think we should leave Rebel alone,” Winnie protests as she skips out the kitchen. “She’s sad all alone, maybe I’ll stay with her?”

Azriel snatches his suit jacket off the back of the couch, grabs Winnie’s yellow and green backpack and her lunchbox as he follows her to the front door of the penthouse. “Rebel’s being left alone unsupervised all day in an entire flat, Winnie. I think she’d be sad at you joining her.”

Winnie humphs, taking her sweet time in stomping her feet into her Velcro shoes. “But what if—where am I gonna be all day?”

“Let me worry about that, Bunny, all-right?” he opens the door, and locks it shut behind them quickly. Feyre brings no good news, as Felix’s school has a strict policy against such things and Azriel really wants to write a memo for all preschools and primary schools to remind them not to take such a big fucking piss of themselves—strict policies and protocols, his ass. He wouldn’t bat an eye if a random person sat in on one of his lectures. Back in his day, he wasn’t even in preschool. Preschool was Mom’s shitty two-bedroom apartment and their shitty neighborhood block. And back then, school was an even shittier public school full of kids that no-one noticed if one was missing.

“Hey, heard you’re in a bit of a pickle,” Rhys pipes on the phone, while Azriel and Winnie sit out their options in a quaint familiar coffee shop in the city while Azriel plots his escape. “Preschool bailed on you?”

“Mhm,” Azriel monitors the trickling bleary-eyed morning crowd out in the street, mouth smudged in the palm of his hand. “I’m waiting on Cassian to see if he can help me out. Wait, hold on.”

His friend’s voice trickles in through the second line. “Sorry, man. Schedule booked the entire day, and we don’t have any kid activities before 2pm.”

“Thanks anyway, Cass, sorry to bother you this early, I’ve got Rhys on the other line. I’ll get back to you. Yeah, Rhys, it’s no good with Cassian either.”

His brother-in-law tuts. “Why not take her with you to work? Would your Dean mind?”

“Looks like I’m going to,” Azriel realizes, loathe to let his daughter tag along to his classes which are nowhere near suitable for her to listen in on.

But surely he is overestimating Winnie’s mental capacity to understand university-level criminology classes when his own students struggle on good days to wrap their heads around what he’s teaching? Azriel fucking wishes. The kid soaks up everything she sees, hears and touches, with whatever degree of understanding she’s reconciled it with—he’s terrified what she’ll make of his material. “It’s not the Dean I’m afraid of, Rhys. But having her tag along…”

“Yeah…leave her in your office?”

“I freaked out about leaving her asleep in her crib the first years of her life, you want me to leave her in my office at the university for five hours?” 

“Put on a movie, headphones, give her a coloring book and she’s all set for the entire day. Trust me.”

Azriel lets loose a whistling breath, slumping back in his seat and threading his fingers into his hair. “Sure.”

“Hey, you can always bail on your classes.”

“I kind of used all my excuses when she got sick last month and it’s revision week today. The only time these kids actually show up to class.”

“I don’t know what to say, you’re in the deep end, mate.”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, I’ll call you later.”

“Say hi to her from me.”

“Bunny, Uncle Rhys says hi.”

“Hi, Uncle Rhys,” Winnie grins. “I miss our sleepover already!”

Rhys laughs. “Me too, kid. We’ll do it again sometime soon.”

Azriel lets his phone clatter on the small table, and rubs his face roughly before standing up abruptly. “C’mon, let’s order.”

Winnie trails after him dutifully, reaching out to grab hold of his scarred hand as they wait in line at the counter and study the glass display in the meantime.

“Daddy, am I a bourbon?” she asks, as her eyes roam over all sorts of muffins and pastries.

“Come again?”

“A bourbon,” she repeats, looking up. He frowns. She raises her eyebrows. “You know, like-like a problem.”

“Oh, you mean burden.”

She stares up at him. “That’s what I say.”

“No, no, you’re not,” he stops himself from smiling. “Why’d you think so?”

“Cause I’m giving you a headache.”

He lets his smile loose. “Your socks are a problem. But Daddy’s just cursed with constant cluster headaches, so don’t take it personally.”

“You look kinda mad,” she points out. “And sad.”

“I didn’t get enough sleep, that’s all,” he turns to the barista taking orders and gives her a smile. “Morning, Cer.”

“Morning, Az,” Cerridwen smiles, and leans over to give Winnie one. “And good morning to you too, Winnie. How’re you?”

“I’m good today,” Winnie nods seriously, thumbs hooked into the straps of her backpack as she assesses the pastries. “But Daddy stayed up all night watching bad movies and didn’t get sleep so now I’m his bourbon.”

Cerridwen’s dark glimmering eyes turn to him, begging for an explanation as she holds back a full-blown grin.

He shrugs. “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

“Well, Winnie, what would you like today?”

His kid tilts her head. “Not sure. What do you condom, Cer?”

“Recommend,” Azriel hisses immediately, feeling himself flush hot and red, and pointedly ignores the stare from the old lady waiting behind them.

Cerridwen, to her credit, only softly giggles. “I like the lemon tarts.”

Winnie’s eyes widen. “Uncle Rhys says that’s a bad word!”

“Oh that he told you not to say?” Azriel grits his teeth. “Black coffee for me, Cer, and a chocolate croissant. Bunny?”

“I wanna cold milk and that one.”

“Coming up.”

Azriel promptly steers his kid back to their table after paying and collecting their order, and plops her straight in her chair without a word. Winnie swings her legs back and forth patiently while he cuts up her puff pastry into manageable pieces, looking around her. All of a sudden, she gasps, and points at the front door. “Daddy, look!”

He looks over, instinctively, to see her pointing at two women walking into the café and he’s about to tell her not to point or stare, but somehow the words slip his mind. His everything slips his mind, as he watches Nuala stride in through a door held open by —quite frankly—the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on.

Father and daughter ogle as the pair walk up to the counter, chatting animatedly together, and greeting Nuala’s twin cheerfully—a sin some would say, as no dignified person is allowed to be so cheerful, even on a bright and sunny morning such as this. The other woman’s taller than average, with a couple of inches on Nuala, her golden-brown hair tumbling in gentle waves from a ponytail down her back. Azriel doesn’t know when his mouth eased open, but he promptly snaps it shut and turns his attention back to the task at hand, while Winnie continues to openly stare.

He blinks the remnant image from his eyes, shakes the snug black leather jacket and skinny blue jeans out his mind and tells himself he’s just sleep-deprived.

Then, Winnie beams and does the worst thing a child can do in a public space. Calls out.

“Nain!”

Azriel freezes, and looks over his shoulder again to find that the woman had turned at the call, and that her brown eyes were fixed on them. His stomach flips on itself at the smile that blooms on her lips, before she briefly squeezes Nuala’s elbow with a word and comes over.

Comes over.

“Hi,” Elain Archeron, Feyre’s sister, greets with a soft sweet voice. She hasn’t got any makeup on that Azriel can see, and he thinks that it’s surely witchcraft how good she looks. “How are you doing, Winnie?”

“I’m good today,” his daughter reports seriously. “But Daddy—“

“Is pleased to see you again, Elain,” Azriel quickly cuts in, standing up abruptly, discovering that Elain’s taller-than-average height still means she’s quite shorter than him. “Uh, Azriel, Winnie’s dad. We ran into each other a few times.”

“Oh I remember you,” she pleasantly says, shaking the hand he absent-mindedly stretched out. “Wow, it’s been, how many years since I last saw you? I think Felix’s second birthday party?”

“Yeah,” he agrees, nodding. Probably too much. He stops his head. “This one was just a baby.”

Elain’s eyes soften, glancing at his daughter. “Time really flies. You should have seen my shock when I ran into her at Feyre’s place the other night. They were having a sleepover.”

“We colored dinos!” Winnie excitedly says. “Nain said I’m an artist, Daddy.”

“That you are, Bunny. So, uh, what-what brings you to town?”

Elain’s brows furrow in confusion for a brief second. “I work here. The precinct down the street?”

He blinks. Right. Criminal investigator—Nuala’s co-worker. “Right, sorry. It’s been a day.”

Her eyes dart to the clock on the wall. “It’s not 7:40 yet,” her lips faintly smile. 

“And I’m ready to call it quits,” he nods. “So, uh, Nesta’s wedding—are you a… bridesmaid? Cassian mentioned something about the rehearsal—are you my bridesmaid?”

Elain tucks her lower lip between her teeth and slowly tugs on it, her face sobering slowly. “Ah…No, I’m not. Nesta didn’t ask me.”

He’s just going to have a quick lie-down in this grave he’s dug for himself.

“Oh,” why the fuck did he even ask? He didn’t give two shits about the groomsmen and bridesmaid pairing. He didn’t give a shit, point blank, about anything beyond his friend’s happiness. “Sorry, I don’t even give a shit about the wedding.”

Winnie gasps. “Bad word!”

“Put it on the tab,” he absent-mindedly tells her, followed by Winnie’s rustling through her bag for a little notebook into which she draws a new shaky strike. “Uhm, it was lovely to run into you, Elain. I don’t want to keep you.”

Elain sticks her hands into the pockets of her skinny jeans and shrugs her shoulders. “Nu and I are actually bailing on the morning briefing. Shouldn’t you be taking her to school?”

“They cancelled,” Winnie answers, tucking her little flip notebook back into her bag. “Cause someone coughed.”

Elain blinks. “That seems…precautious.”

“Paranoid,” Azriel sighs.

“Where are you putting her then? You’re a lecturer at VU, right?”

He nods. “I’m taking her with me.”

Elain glances at his daughter, warily. “Don’t you teach criminology and penology?”

He grimly smiles. “Yeah. It’s…not ideal. I’ll ask one of the staff to keep an eye on her during my classes.”

Elain tilts her head then blinks. “I could do it for you.”

He freezes.

Winnie’s head snaps up, eyes wide as full-moons. “Oh yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes. Pretty, pretty, prettiest please, Daddy?!”

“Sorry?”

Elain’s eyes widen. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intervene. I was just offering to help out. I could watch her for you on campus. I’ve been meaning to check out some books from the library there, anyway.”

Is this what angels look like?

“I…aren’t you busy?”

“Honestly, it’s been a little slow, not to jinx it. And I was the detective on call last night, so I’ve got no intentions of hanging around for Helion to assign me any new cases.”

“You know, not to sound desperate or anything, but you could ask for my liver right now and I’d hand it over, no questions asked.”

Elain grins, something gorgeous and wide, and one that makes Azriel’s heart thump erratically against his will and he feels physically ill. “How ‘bout a coffee, instead?”

________________________________

the end. October 2023

#apaixonar what if #see this was meant to come out months ago but I forgot about it #:D #and with this we conclude fictober 2023 lads #flufftober 2023 #fictober23 #elriel fic #winnie archeron #rhysand #cassian #elriel #azriel #apaixonar #goodbye

[willturnergender]

Watching a video about forest fair village mall (aka Cincinnati Mills) and it truly is an amazing example of the period of design directly following y2k. It was last refurbished in 2004 and it REALLY looks like it, it’s so colorful and unique. I wonder if we’ll have a similar period of design in the next few years, when everyone gets tired of minimalism. I kind of doubt it, though, since our stage of capitalism demands versatility, which this kind of design doesn’t really allow for. It makes me so sad to think about how perfectly good stores were stripped of all their unique features about 10 years ago to make way for bland, “sleek” design. We all know that’s just code for “when we go out of business, the next business won’t have to update the space before moving in”. It’s so sad how corporate greed and distrust of the general public turns beautiful spaces into lifeless nothingness.

I’ll link the video, but here’s a few details I liked:

-there was a media play store!! When it went out of business I’m 2006, the mall really went downhill

-the banners with line drawings of women (who really look like the mid-2000s online version of Barbie) are pixelated and obviously drawn on a small screen and blown up

-when the mills corporation took over the mall in 2004, they banned groups of more than 3… idk what they were thinking there. Obviously you need more customers when your mall has been bankrupt since the year after it opened (1988). But sure… cut down on those annoying teens (the only ppl buying shit)

Anyway, that’s a quick peek into my fascination with this mall and dead malls in general.

Here’s a link to the video: https://youtu.be/W-lYxKhErMo?si=wc0OO0dLMR1ZMpfi

#malls #dead malls #forest fair village #Cincinnati mills #Youtube

[thetravelingmaster]

Consequences of Corporate Spying

Female’s Point of View - Conditioning - Technology

“Welcome home!” I said as I posed in my new maid outfit. “Come in, come in! I’m dying to know if this get up qualifies as a, and I quote, sexy maid costume.” He walked in and hooked his keys on their usual hook as he took in my outfit. He didn’t say a word and I couldn’t tell what was going through his mind. Hopefully, I didn’t fuck up my given task and disappoint him with my choice. “It does.” he said with a smile. “Although, I’m surprised you didn’t go for a more lingerie inspired one instead of the shiny latex.” “To be honest, I almost did.” I said, trying to hide my relief. “But the requirements were ‘costume’ and not ‘bedroom wear’. So... I figured this was more appropriate.” He blinked twice in obvious puzzlement before he chuckled. “I guess that’s true, but regardless... It looks stunning on you. ” he said as he walked up to me. “Then again, anything you decide to wear looks stunning on you.” His proximity made my heart skip a beat. “I won’t argue there.” I said as I felt a lovely clench down between my legs. “But... Where I might argue with you is the choice of said outfit. I know you are still mad about the night we met and all... But don’t you think a sexy maid uniform is pushing my righteous humiliation a bit far? It’s SO cliché and pretty degrading to wear you know.” He smiled. “No, I don’t think it’s pushing things too far.” he said as he caressed my cheek. “You completely humiliated me. You got me drunk... Seduced me so I would bring you home and fuck you... I thought I had met the perfect woman. Brilliant and beautiful all in one exquisite package. I figured you came onto me for me, but that’s not why at all, now was it?” I blushed as I thought back to that fateful night. “No...” I said, looking to the ground. “Try to imagine how I felt when I woke up alone in bed.” he said as he lifted my chin so he could look at me.“ Heck.. If it had been only that, I would have let it slide as a fun night with a beautiful woman. But it wasn’t. Was it?” “No...” I said as I looked away from his gaze. “Can you even imagine how much money we would have lost if I hadn’t decided to double check my home security cameras?” he said. “Can you even fathom the depths of my humiliation if word got out that all that research had been stolen because I had been seduced by a pretty face?” “I can ball park it in my head...” I said as I forced myself to look back into his eyes. “Probably millions...” “If not more... “ he said. “What you did almost tanked my whole career, not to mention my professional reputation. If I hadn’t managed to contact you in time with proof of your theft, the company itself would have been bankrupted.” “I know...” I said as I fought the raging despair of his obvious disappointment. “But... You did catch me and none of that happened.” “I really SHOULD have gone to the police...” he said as he released my chin. I smiled. “But you didn’t.” I said as I placed my hand on his chest. “And I’m forever grateful to you for that. I’m grateful that you decided to take justice into your own hands and offer me a path to redemption that avoids jail!” “Corporate espionage charges can be tricky.” he said. “Your current employer would have probably been able to get you a deal so you don’t spend a lifetime in jail, but your career as a corporate spy would have been over for sure.” “That would have been a shame...” I said with a smile. “Because I clearly excel at it!” He chuckled and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I wouldn’t say excel...” he said. “You DID get caught after all.” “I did.” I said, biting my lower lip. “But then again, I managed to get caught by a man that was ready to offer me a different form of penance so I could continue to do what I’m good at.” “Caught or not, it’s true that your skills are impressive.” he said. “I’m glad you decided to accept my offer because if I had turned you in, our companies would have surely done everything to keep the scandal quiet, but word always gets out when that much money is involved. So for me, turning you in would have been almost as bad as letting you get away. And knowing the higher ups, I would have been pushed out pretty quick.” “That’s very true...” I said. “Loyalty is so hard to come by in our corporate world.” “If loyalty were more commonplace, your job as a spy would be a lot more difficult!” he said. “But it would be nice if everyone in our company could be as loyal as you are to me.“ “They can be.” I said as I lifted my other arm and twirled my feather duster over my head. “Case in point!” He chuckled.

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#Full body story #Consequences of Corporate Spying

[cherrylorn]

𝐈. I will turn myself into a gun, because it’s all I have, because I’m hungry and hollow and just want something to call my own.

𓏲 * ( lalisa manoban, cis woman, she/her ) ⸺ pictures of suwa chakrii, the twenty-eight year old high tech heiress, have been showing up all over my feed, and considering the last time they were #trending, it was due to the global launch of phis̄m, her matchmaking app — i’m not likely to unfollow anytime soon. with their signature leather jacket and cherry red nails, they’ve managed to garner a reputation for being more passionate than controversial. their critics say that they’re more selfish than intelligent when they aren’t too busy focusing on their louboutin collection, popping bottles of champagne, meaningless flings and expensive, lavish yacht parties. reputation.com has taken to calling them cherry bomb in order to avoid a lawsuit ( again ). ── nyx, 28, brt, she/they, none.

you are the only and favorite child. they say you inherited your mother's eyes and your father's brain, but when she left him for a work affair, you resented her. you resented how beautiful she was ⸺ and how much you resembled her, too.

the scandal was not easy to your family's already scarred reputation. you see, your grandparents had fallen from grace after a bankrupt scandal in thailand that nearly drove your father to death. when he decided to rebuild the company and start from scratch, you were right there, with eager eyes following his every move. he liked to think of himself as an inventor, a da vinci of sorts. to you, he was the best dad to set foot on this wretched earth.

whereas your father gave you his idealism, his love for gadgets and the never-ending thirst to look for more, your mother gave you her viciousness, her cruelty. you were never popular not loved among your peers, but you were feared. that sharp tongue of yours did not go by unnoticed.

you have to be a shark to survive a shark industry, after all. not a rookie to the corporate world, you are a faithful solider and confidant to your father. business above all. he is the only one you could be loyal to ⸺ lovers and friends alike wound up on the exit door, almost as quickly as they slip into your good graces, they fall from it. it's not their fault, you know the problem when you look into the mirror.

life in the public eye, you adore it. you want to be a genius, a billionaire extravaganza with the world at your fingertips. still, you cannot help it they still call you a cherry bomb. a pretty little thing, waiting to explode. beautiful, violent, nearly vulgar.

#wealth.intro #i'll drop her stats later xoxo #here's my evil bisexual

[robotonthemoon]

Beginning of Learning

I've been meaning to write this for a while. As I have previously mentioned here, I am told that market socialism would be a pretty good fit for me. Learning has been a journey that has taken me from some pretty deeply modern republican and libertarian views. I just wanted to share a bit of that journey. I'll put a break here because this will be long.

I am going to be completely honest here: the rise of Trump and his cult of personality has been a major force in driving me away from the party. I cannot stand the man and have never voted for him, even when he was unopposed in the 2020 primary. I just can't fathom how people can hitch their wagon to a guy who has been bankrupt that many times and couldn't sell alcohol, red meat, and gambling to Americans; as though he were some kind of business genius.

But this isn't about him. My journey started before his rise. And it didn't come from leftists telling me "hey, you should believe XYZ" even if I have since learned a lot from left leaning folks. No, my education really started from examining historical figures from the republican party.

"Labor is prior to and independent of capital. Capital is only the fruit of labor, and could never have existed if labor had not first existed. Labor is the superior of capital, and deserves much the higher consideration."

Sounds like something a modern union organiser would say, doesn't it? And yet that was President Abraham Lincoln in his First Annual Address (December 3rd, 1861). Now Abe does go on to state that capital is deserving of its own protections, but he started with and emphasised the greater value and importance of labour.

"It is better for the Government to help a poor man to make a living for his family than to help a rich man make more profit for his company."

And this is from President Theodore Roosevelt (brace for it because I will be mentioning him again). These sentiments really helped push me away from notions of corporate superiority. I fully endorse labour rights and unions now, and can certainly understand where the argument for workers owning the means of production would come from.

Not much of a segue here, but I wanted to mention that if it weren't for health problems (and to a degree concerns about being outed as queer back in the late 90s and early 2000s) I would have considered military service. Probably the Coast Guard. I have a lot of respect for the good work the coasties do, especially the rescue services. Repelling out of a helicopter in the middle of a storm to pull someone out of the ocean is just... heroic.

That said, while I think we need to take better care of our service people, my attitude toward the role of capitalism in respects to the military were very much changed when I read President Dwight Eisenhower's Chance for Peace speech (April 16th, 1953).

"Every gun that is made, every warship launched, every rocket fired signifies, in the final sense, a theft from those who hunger and are not fed, those who are cold and are not clothed. This world in arms is not spending money alone. It is spending the sweat of its laborers, the genius of its scientists, the hopes of its children. The cost of one modern heavy bomber is this: a modern brick school in more than 30 cities. It is two electric power plants, each serving a town of 60,000 population. It is two fine, fully equipped hospitals. It is some fifty miles of concrete pavement. We pay for a single fighter with a half-million bushels of wheat. We pay for a single destroyer with new homes that could have housed more than 8,000 people. . . . This is not a way of life at all, in any true sense. Under the cloud of threatening war, it is humanity hanging from a cross of iron."

This famous section in particular really struck me. He warns us about the military industrial complex. How our priority cannot be military might at the cost of the citizenry. Then I considered this in light of the Bush/Cheney administration findings (at the time, the current value may be different) that the Supplemental Nutritional Assistance Program (SNAP, aka foodstamps) created something like $1.63 in economic stimulus for every dollar spent. A 63% gain on investment is excellent, in addition to helping people! Frankly, I feel like that means we'd do well to just eliminate means testing and give benefits to anyone who asks for it. Reduces bureaucratic overhead and waste while providing more economic benefits. Win win. And on the argument of taxes being put to this purpose:

"Taxes are what we pay for civilized society" Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. (supreme court justice, republican)

My father is a bit of a hippie. He raised me with a lot of talk about saving the environment. Some of that sank in, but I must admit to having periods in my life where I thought along the lines of "screw it, just pave everything". Not anymore. I am strongly in support of environmental protections and restrictions on industry to protect nature. Here's where Teddy Roosevelt comes back in.

“We have become great because of the lavish use of our resources. But the time has come to inquire seriously what will happen when our forests are gone, when the coal, the iron, the oil, and the gas are exhausted, when the soils have still further impoverished and washed into the streams, polluting the rivers, denuding the fields and obstructing navigation.”

Now, Teddy was saying this is the very early 1900s, more than a century ago. I wish we had listened more aptly.

“Defenders of the short-sighted men who in their greed and selfishness will, if permitted, rob our country of half its charm by their reckless extermination of all useful and beautiful wild things sometimes seek to champion them by saying the ‘the game belongs to the people.’ So it does; and not merely to the people now alive, but to the unborn people. The ‘greatest good for the greatest number’ applies to the number within the womb of time, compared to which those now alive form but an insignificant fraction. Our duty to the whole, including the unborn generations, bids us restrain an unprincipled present-day minority from wasting the heritage of these unborn generations. The movement for the conservation of wild life and the larger movement for the conservation of all our natural resources are essentially democratic in spirit, purpose, and method.”

How could I not be moved by this? There are many other quotes by Roosevelt that I could share on the subject of conservation, and I encourage people to look into them, but I will refrain from posting them here because I've already gone on at length.

"This country will not permanently be a good place for any of us to live in unless we make it a reasonably good place for all of us to live in."

One more good Teddy Roosevelt quote to end this with. I hope I have succeeded at least a bit in explaining what started me on the road I'm on now. I'm still learning, and I'm sure I have a ways to go still. I will state, because this is the internet and I know the arguments that could come from this, that I am not claiming these men were perfect. In fact I am quite certain they did plenty of terrible things. I acknowledge that. But that doesn't mean I can't also respect the good they did.

I still consider myself something of a conservative, but my understanding of what that means has changed greatly. Perhaps I am completely mistaken, and I am far more a leftist than I recognise. I believe in slow but steady economic growth and long term outlooks. In building a solid economic base by prioritising workers. In caring for people, rather than judging and discarding those who cannot work. In protecting the environment (the EPA was even started by Nixon) rather than ruining it for next quarter's financial gain.

Not the modern neoliberalism, anti-regulation, profit first thinking that pervades the current right wing. I wonder if Ike is spinning in his grave to see the sort of fascy candidates the party puts forth nowadays, given he commanded forces against their ilk in WW2.

If you have read this far, I thank you for your patience. I know this may draw some people's ire. If you are on the right and feel the need to shout at me, I ask that you learn and consider more of our past. And if you are on the left, I ask you to remember that an imperfect ally is not the same as an enemy.

Have a wonderful day, genuinely. Thank you for your time.

#socialism #wildlife conservation #labor unions #learning #progressive politics #politics

[1-up-chump]

I am just sad that mortal kombat is going away from a good story to souless corporate trash and ed boon's power fantasy from stealing credit from john tobias and everyone else who helped create mortal kombat and its lore and character.

And people won't even care. I only see a few people care about how mortal kombat 12 seems like a bad step in the wrong direction. Ppl only see "haha cool fighting game ooo sexy character" and then nothing else. It will be forgotten until another souless cash grab comes out. The best scenario is ed boon retires or nrs goes bankrupt eventually from poor sales if ppl have half a brain to go "hey wait this is just greedy business practices and a sham to art"

But alas, life is often disappointing. It'll sell decent and we'll still get bland trash and nothing with improve.

But hey, at least we have some fans that care about the true mortal kombat

#rant #vent

[snugglyporos]

[[Personally, I hardly care about AI art discourse, despite being an artist. In fact, I find it helpful at times, when I want to prototype several ideas - it's much faster than drawing tons of thumbnails and then I still draw my own thing in the end. And LLMs are helpful in a ton of ways as well. My only problem is people looking at AI generated content as a complete product, which it is not.]] @poisonflowrs

// Oh, 100%. I do not understand why people are trying to implement this stuff like it's ready for rollout when we're like, 5 years from being at the adoption stage. Like just using it, you can know this immediately. It is very much not ready for prime time.

But I think what bugs me is how people don't care when you don't call it 'ai' because at this point, that term is meaningless.

Oh, Photoshop has a 'generative fill tool?' Artists love it! Guess what that is?

Oh, Google Pixel comes out with a 'magic eraser?' People love it? Guess what that is?

I get the worry that it will replace things, but that is the way of the world. Demanding Kodak not make digital cameras doesn't mean people won't use digital cameras, it just means your business goes bankrupt.

And I get the idea that there's a lot more garbage. When we invented the printing press, the downside was that anyone could print books, and that meant you didn't have scribes doing it. That meant you got a lot of bad books.

A more recent example is steam; ask yourself this. Would you rather have 1 Undertale if it meant having 50 Bad Rats? Or would you rather lose Undertale if it meant not having the 50 Bad Rats? Would you like 1 Shovel Knight or Pentiment or Dwarf Fortress or whatever your favorite game is, if it means having 50 Hunt Down the Freemans?

Because the downside of making things accessible is that more people are going to use them. You have to ask if you're okay with getting the good if it means the bad.

And the thing about 'stolen content' is a mirage; you can train a model entirely with public domain work. Google, for example, could train one and is with all their streetview photos. Adobe? Training with all their stock photos, which they own. The same is true of Shutterstock. Because by using those services, they own your work.

Reality is that the question is not 'will AI modes exist' but 'who will own the models?'

And that means you can either move towards a more corporate internet, where companies own all the content, or you can move towards a more open internet, at the expense of people being better able to use your work how they want. Because things like fair use don't just apply to Disney, they apply to you as well.

But more to the point, we've been here before. We were here when authors sued fanfic writers for writing. We were here when companies sued fanart creators. Hell, we've been here with animated gifs, where people have claimed, rightly, that it's basically just stolen content, because it is, and yet we all accept it, because we say 'oh, it's those companies, not us!'

At the end of the day, there's only two ways to go. We either create the open internet people talk a lot about but don't seem to want, where ownership is not particularly concrete, or we move to a corporate internet filled with nfts where jpegs have records of ownership and screenshotting things is a crime akin to burning a cd.

The world, sadly, is not a place where the best can be had for everyone. There are always trade offs. There will always be scarcity, and there will always be someone who suffers and foots the bill. We just have to ask what tradeoffs we're willing to accept.

#ooc

[youmissedone]

“I remember you. You were part of them. You were the monsters.”

Carlos had heard the rumors going around the Hive's dorms and training facilities about what the Umbrella Corporation was really up to with its medical research, but he just didn't believe them. Or maybe he hadn't wanted to believe them. Kaplan had tried to tell him, but he'd just laughed off the nervous man's suspicions. Kaplan always had been a little neurotic, worrying about this and that, always afraid something bad was going to happen. Carlos wished he could apologize to him now. He'd been right about everything.

It wasn't until Carlos was transferred to a research base in Sokovia to work security detail for one of Umbrella's high-paying partners, Hydra, that he realized just how morally bankrupt the Umbrella Corporation really was. As they noticed the hesitation of some of the Umbrella soldiers, Hydra scientists and generals reassured them by saying all of the test subjects were volunteers. Carlos wasn't sure that was true, not for everyone there. And even if it was, he doubted they'd been fully aware of what they'd been signing up for.

The treatment of the test subjects was barbaric. Food and clothing was limited, sleep was constantly interrupted, they were worked around the clock, and invasive, painful tests were performed on them. Sometimes... he would have to escort the subjects to and from their tests, as they looked scared and uncertain. Carlos thought it was all very inhumane, and his conscience was eating him alive.

It's just a job, he tried to tell himself, but that was bullshit. It was't right, nor was he okay with being a part of it, but at this point he had little choice. Umbrella only had one retirement plan for defectors, and it was called a bullet to the head. The way he alleviated some of his crisis of conscience was to be kind to the subjects whenever he could. He snuck them extra food and water, gave them extra blankets, and talked to them to help them stay calm. He knew it didn't make up for what was being done to them, but... it was better than nothing.

When the base was attacked by the Avengers, Carlos surrendered fairly quickly. Not because he was a coward, but because he wasn't willing to fight for a place he'd come to despise. To do that, was to champion what had gone on at that facility, and that, he felt, was wrong. He was arrested and passed around to a few different governments and agencies before he was given to SHIELD for evaluation. Having no reason to be deceptive, Carlos told them whatever they'd wanted to know, no longer caring about the nondisclosure agreement Umbrella had made him sign.

After a long interrogation process, a background check, and an intensive psychological evaluation, Carlos was told his weapons and leadership skills as a soldier, vehicle technician, and explosives specialist could be put to good use. Keying in on the fact that his defection from Umbrella had to do with him having moral objections to his orders and duties, they asked him if he had any objection to helping to keep people safe at a facility where they were actually there voluntarily. His response was that it would be nice... if it was true.

That was how he found himself at the end of a few months of being questioned and evaluated from every angle, on his first day of his new job: commander of a newly installed security team at the Avengers training compound in upstate New York. Carlos had ample experience with managing a team of soldiers before, this new job at a remote, brand new, high-tech, quiet facility promised to a cake walk.

And then he ran into Wanda while making his rounds, and it was like karma had no only slapped him in he face but kicked him square in the nuts too. He'd tried to be kind to Wanda and her brother back in Sokovia, but he could tell she had never fully trusted him. He didn't blame her for that, but that ache in his heart from his struggling conscience was back again the moment she accused him of being a monster.

What was he supposed to say? That he wasn't a monster? t was understandable that she would feel differently. That he hadn't known what the mission would entail because Umbrella hadn't informed him? That was just excuses. That he was sorry? That was too little, too late to offer her now, really. Carlos sighed, his eyes falling for a moment. "And I didn't want to be, so I turned myself in," he said. "All I can do is try to do better from now on." Had SHIELD known that he and Wanda had been acquainted before? If so, this was kindof a dirty trick to place him near someone who probably hated him, but he could work with it.

"Shouldn't they be treating you better in this place?" he wondered. "You still look thin. And exhausted." He said it out of concern, not to criticize. He hoped he hadn't been lied to by yet another employee. "Are you okay?" he asked, wondering if she would take his inquiries well or curse him out. Despite knowing the thin ice he must be on with her, Carlos wouldn't help his protective personality, and Wanda had been through enough the way he saw it. If people were mistreating her here too, he wasn't going to keep quiet about it.

#illbringthechaosmagic #carlos rp #{ so what’s your story? } ᶜʳᵒˢˢᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵛᵉʳˢᵉ

[taiwantalk]

I’ve repeatedly said on twitter and on tumblr and to friends that this pandemic really settled many of life’s bogus debates and revealed that the truth had been ignored, covered up, or falsely presented.

we the humanity knew and lived the truth instinctively with no help from faith and in many cases obstructed by faith.

it’s up to us all everywhere in the world to keep things that we like and make reasonable adjustments.

ok, with the above preamble, below are some of the truths revealed by none other than purely by people collectively worldwide during pandemic. I invite anyone to add more:

1) healthcare can be provided to everyone.

2) healthcare has to be provided to everyone.

3) the working class with lower income is the economy.

4) people who are overly religious adversely affected & obstructed humanity during pandemic.

5) govt could always subsidize lower income population more than commonly believed and would not bankrupt the country.

6) remote working is doable.

7) remote working proved that workers saved the corporations and the management and executives are overcompensated because on zoom, they have no additional superficial authority to restrict employee at centralized workplace. the bottom line is productivity.

8) living is so much more valuable outside of work and commute than the few extra hours of pay or sacrifices of personal time.

9) restaurant services are overpriced and had underpaid service workers and so we all collectively are willing to pay delivery fees and not dine in or work more for the same pay as skeleton crew because restaurants mgmt want to recover lost revenues.

10) workers all over the world essentially unionized organically by a contagious disease.

11) I propose that the whole world commemorate & designate the first day of wuhan lockdown, 1/23, as the world labor union day.

12) socialism is not only good but will save capitalism and civilization when capitalism is the worst during pandemic. for example price gouging toilet paper, mask, and gas.

13) elevating religious freedom during pandemic only led to greater desire to destroy social order, to believe that the needs of society do not apply to them. they exhibited the most selfish behaviors. refusal to wear mask, get vaccinated, keep social distance, over utilized medical resources that had no proof of effectiveness against covid19, for example hydroxychloroquine.

to be continued…

Editorial addition: “10) workers all over the world essentially unionized organically by a contagious disease.” remember that madonna said that the coronavirus is the great equalizer? she’s correct. rich don’t die better than the poor. so coronavirus is also the greatest communist. but because our society is built on capitalism and so the poor is more adversely affected by pandemic because more are essential workers who could not just hide in million dollar mansions. however, now the working class is reshaping economy to be more equitable.

#taiwantalk #pandemic #covid19 #truth revealed by humanity #labor union #Wuhan lockdown

[mk-wizard]

It's all true. The making of AI generated images is just a fad. Not a new way of making art and it will never ever stick. Not even for good intention. And every argument I have ever heard of people trying to defend is actually just an argument against it.

If you truly are an artist, you LOVE drawing and even the most grueling parts leave you with a sense of fulfillment and pride when you do them. It took me two long months to finish doing Psychoborg Chapter 2 and I'm not sorry it took that long. I'm glad I used my time. It's one of the most important chapters in my story. It could only have turned out as great as it did thanks to my hand. No AI could do what I do or what any artist can do. If my next very important chapter takes me longer, so be it.

In other words, AI art was doomed to fade away just as soon as it came because it doesn't turn everyone into artists anymore than a microwaved TV dinner turns everyone into a chef. Like the TV dinner, it may stick around, but it will never replace genuine effort and even corporations will go back to choosing paid quality over free rubbish. And those that are foolish enough to choose AIs over real artists will wind up bankrupt just like the restaurants who choose microwave users over real chefs to run their kitchens.

In short, we the artists won before the fight even started. Yay us :)

#say no to ai art #art #artwork #artists on tumblr #real art #support artists #Youtube

[i-gwarth]

one of the greatest losses imparted upon civilized discourse by the wretches of the right wing is their appropriation of the term "virtue signalling"

Today in 2022, if you use that term, there's a whole bunch of qualifying your statements you need to do to "prove" you aren't an alt-righter, gamergater, republican or terf. After all, only *those* kinds of people use that term, right.

The above description is also a fairly good example, in itself, of virtue signalling, i.e. superfluous statements of values and beliefs that contribute nothing to the discussion being had but serve only to demonstrate one's belonging to a certain political alignment.

Another example: it feels like most critical discussions of media from *certain corporations* always needs to incorporate some denunciation of said corporation. That's all fine and good until the denunciations begin to take the place of actual critical discussion. Then it stops being a discussion criticizing media and it becomes criticism of the company publishing it.

Everything is political. Media is messaging, marketing is propaganda. This is known. At least on tumblr, most people seem to agree that corporations are artistically bankrupt parasites. I don't think one needs to start every discussion of media with "fuck corporate" if one wants to talk about [corporate's product].

#just my little opinion #when I speak please understand that #fuck disney #nationalize amazon #nationalize google #are IMPLICIT #I don't want to spend breath qualifying every statement and am starting to see such qualifiers as obvious #unless one says otherwise and declares their love of corporate in which case I just don't continue the discussion #I might just be getting old