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bittersweetmelxdy · 4 years

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Can I request Victor where MC asks something of him that he finds stupid/annoying/bothersome/whatever, and he's really mean when telling her no. Plus when they makeup.

hi hi hi, thanks for your patience, hope you like it x

Title: to break and to mend Pairing: Victor x MC Words: 1,940

The morning seemed to both crawl and speed past you, as you and your team sat in the boardroom rifling through the various proposals littered across the table, the basic outline was done but the actress chosen was causing all sorts of problems. The brand you were working with had told you their vision and you had met the brand ambassador when she had come to sign the contract with the brand a couple weeks ago. Anna had come with you and both of you had thought that the actress was a tad standoffish with you, and her manager was short with you especially when she noted your young age. But overall, you had both naively thought that she seemed to be professional and the shoot should go smoothly, looking back you grimaced at how wrong you were. Ever since the proposal outline had been approved by the brand, the actress and her manager were being extremely uncooperative. No one else but the actress and the manager had problems with the shoot, from the colour of the dress “not optimising the actress’ complexion” to the shoot being “in conditions that could cause harm to the actress’ health”. You, the director and the entirety of the staff felt you were at your wit’s end with the amount of complaints you were receiving.

Whenever you or your team tried to mitigate the situation, the manager and the actress took a snobby attitude, after they finally left the director sighed.

“If she wasn’t the brand ambassador, I’d have told you to replace her by now, kid.” the director involved in the shoot was well-recognised and had worked with all kinds of people, and he had told you that this actress, was among the worst kinds he had worked with.

“I don’t know what their problem is...” you sighed, propping your elbows on the desk and burying your head in your hands.

“They’re obviously looking down on you, Boss.” Kiki fumed; Minor nodding just as furious beside her.

“I hate to say it but it’s true...” the director said, “Well good luck kid, I’ll hope for good news at the next meeting. Maybe she’ll even apologise at the next meeting.” you appreciated the director (who was a family friend of yours) trying to cheer you up, and he patted your shoulder before leaving.

Once everyone was gone, you slumped in your chair, biting your lip in frustration, the entirety of your team of employees letting loose as well, sighing and huffing and muttering words of disgust. You looked at each of them, feeling sorry for the amount of effort you were all putting in and you were barely getting anything back.

“Alright, let’s leave it here for today.” you smiled tightly, picking up your things and standing up, “I’m off.”

“You still have to drop the report at LFG?” Willow pouted, sad that although you were sending everyone else home, you still had work to do.

“I can give you a lift there.” Anna offered, and you agreed but told her could get your own lift back, the whole drive there the two of you ran through the presentation, adjusting slight details so you wouldn’t slip up in front of Victor if he asks any questions during your report.

“What are you going to do if he asks why the recent shoot has been delayed, as it’s in our quarter report?” Anna asked, glancing at you from the driver’s seat.

You sighed propping your head against the door and staring out of the window, “I’ll just tell him, maybe he’ll even give me some advice on how to handle it.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he’ll help you out.” Anna smirked, stressing the ‘you’ part, and catching her eye in the rearview mirror, the two of you began to laugh, as she came to a stop in front of LFG.

You dismounted, waving farewell as Anna drove away, and after checking in with the front desk, you made your way up to the office of the CEO. Reaching the door, you stopped and took a deep breath, exhaling with your eyes closed to expel the nervousness from your system, and raised your hand to knock on the solid wood. Shuffling from foot to foot, you waited for the familiar tone of the CEO to call a stern “Come in.” and then you walked in.

Standing 6ft from Victor’s desk, you gave your report keeping your voice level and steady, no matter how many times you came to do this, you always felt nervous whenever you stood in front of Victor. Victor like always never kept his eye upon you for too long, scribbling on various papers, checking documents, but you knew that he was hearing every word you spoke. When you finished the report, you clasped your hands behind your back awaiting Victor’s probing, and you didn’t have to wait long.

“Why did you delay the shoot?” Victor asked drily, “According to your schedule, it should have been shot by now.”

You bit your lip in frustration, ‘Victor really never pulls any punches, does he?’ you thought before deciding to ask him for help, “Umm, I actually wanted to ask for some advice, if an actress is causing problems, and you need to delay the shoot-”

“Are you telling me you can’t control your staff?” Victor interrupted, and a sharp pain gripped at your heart.

“No, but I-”

“If you’re just going to make excuses then just leave. Let me remind you LFG does not waste time on incompetent producers.” Victor stared you down, and you felt your face become hot and tears swam in your eyes.

However, instead of biting back, you just hung your head in shame, balling your hands into fists, and gave Victor a quiet barely audible response of “I’m sorry for taking up your time.” before you turned sharply and basically fled his office, trying to hide your tears as you quickly made your way home.

It had been a week since you had given your report at LFG, and Victor had the sneaking suspicion that you were avoiding him. He couldn’t say it for definite, but you seemed to refuse to step foot into LFG when he was there, and whenever he spotted you in the hallways you heard notice him, turn around and basically flee. Whenever he tried to chase you down, widening his strides to catch up with you, you would quickly turn a corner and by the time he had turned the same corner you had seemingly vanished into thin air.

Sitting in his office, Victor’s grip tightened around the pen in his grasp when a light knock resounded on his door. He lifted his head in hope calling for the person to enter, and he hoped it was you, hopes that were quickly dashed when Goldman appeared looking a little grieved.

“Sir, there’s umm...” Goldman trailed off.

“Who is it, Goldman?” Victor tried to hurry him up.

“There’s an actress and her manager outside, requesting to speak to you.” at Victor confused look, Goldman sighed and added quietly and slowly, “They were involved in Y/N’s last shoot.” recognition flashed through Victor’s eyes as the manager and the actress walked in a sat down with a flourish.

“May I help you?” Victor asked politely.

“CEO Li, thank you for making time to see us today,” the manager began, “we wanted to talk to you about a company we know you invest in.” the manager then named your company and Victor scrunched his brow in curiosity.

Victor didn’t know what he expected when these two walked in, but what he heard what not it. The manager and actress spent the next 15 minutes berating you, they insulted everything from the location choice to the clothing choice, the incompetency of the staff, and finally when they moved onto you, Victor could hear no more. He stood up quickly, cutting them off completely, and spoke quite tensely to them.

“I would advise you not to think of yourselves so highly that you can pry into LFG’s affairs.” Victor spoke through a clenched jaw.

“CEO Li you must understand-”

“I understand that the companies LFG chooses to invest in are of impeccable quality, and you and your talent were lucky to have even worked with them. Now would you please leave.” Victor turned around staring out of the window, not even watching them leave. He frowned and massaged his brow, now realising that was what you wanted to talk about last week, and guilt flooded him system.

He gathered his coat and pushed his things into his briefcase and left his office in a rush calling to Goldman over his shoulder, “Goldman cancel all my appointments for the rest of the day.”

“Yes sir!” Goldman replied but it fell on deaf ears as Victor was already in the elevator heading to the lobby.

Victor drove quickly towards your company, hands gripping the steering wheel with a white-knuckle grip, and clenching his jaw, berating himself the whole way there. Once he had parked his car, he made his way up into your office, brushing past your employees and asking one of them who he recognised (Anna) where you were.

Anna had noticed your downcast mood after your last report to LFG, and knowing that Victor was probably hear to cheer you up, she smiled and told him you were in your office and you were free for the rest of the afternoon. Victor thanked her quickly and then entered your office, closing it and turning the lock before you had realised he was there. You quickly stood and Victor held his hand up to stop whatever you were about to yell at him.

“Please, let me explain why I am here first.” Victor pleaded, and you tried to keep up your cold persona by remaining silent and sitting back down gesturing for Victor to continue.

“Listen I know you’re angry-” you scoffed at that and Victor cleared his throat, “I know you’re far more than angry, but I just want to say, I’m sorry, and you have right to be angry with me. I told you to look for me if you ever needed help and I let you down... and I hope you can forgive me.” Victor kept his eyes trained on the floor and only raised them when he heard your soft sniffles.

You wiped your eyes with your fingers when suddenly your face was cradled in Victor’s much larger and warm hands. His hands cradled your face, and his thumbs brushed away your tears, before drawing you into a light embrace, your sobs being muffled in his shirt.

“I- I- I-I felt useless, and that I was bothering you, and you thought I was too much of a bother.” you started to hiccup through your emotional rambling.

Victor simply hushed you gently, caressing your hair soothingly, “No, no, no, you’re not a bother to me. Don’t ever think that.” he continued to offer gentle words as your sobs subsided after a few minutes.

“Victor?” you drew back, your red rimmed eyes causing him pain.

“I’m here.” he smiled gently.

“Do you really think I’m incompetent?” you whispered.

Victor shook his head, “I should never have said that to you, you’re more than competent to me.”

You breathed out, a shaky smile blossoming on your lips, “Promise?” you held your pinky out to him.

Victor huffed a laugh at your childish behaviour but reached up and hooked his pinky with yours, “Promise, Dummy.” the term of endearment more of a balm to your frazzled nerves than anything else could be.

#mlqc scenarios #mlqc #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc zen #mr love queen's choice #mr love victor #mr love li zeyan #mr love zen #mldd #love and producer #evol x love #koi to producer

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messwriting · 3 years

Text

agonizing delight.

this is settled inside Poison and Pleasure universe; inspired by this ask (thanks nonnie <3)

warnings: toxic relationship; smut, fingering in a car; lowkey exhibitionism; mentions of ownership along prostitution lines; lowkey fem-dom? writer being a tease.

Osamu’s eyes on you feel like burning coils, sharp darkness surrounded by cracked fire. It rolls off him in waves even as he stays quietly leaning against the wall in the hotel room, dressed in comfortable sweats and a dark t-shirt, black hair sleek back after a shower.

It does wonders for you that his eyes rack over your body even then, as you’re clad in nothing but lace, stockings and heels, your party gown ready by the mirror, a sparkling but somehow discreet Elle Saab of-the-shoulder with v-neckline and a charming front slit you plan on using later.

“Yer crazy.” He tells you with a even tone, bulging arms crossed over toned, broad chest. His posture is a good imitation of a laid back one, but you can easily pinpoint the stiffness in his shoulders, the tenseness in his legs and the strain on his neck to avoid looking at your form in underwear. “I’ve never agreed to anythin’ like this.”

“So?” Your smile curves on one side, perfectly traced red lips challenging as you look at over your shoulder, a perfectly arched eyebrow and even better looking face daring him to test you. In front of you, laid over the bed still inside the plastic protection is a expensive suit, if the Armani on it’s cover is anything to go by. “Your point being?”

You chuckle, amused, as his lips turn sour and his hands close into fists; his distaste always breaks through the collected exterior he likes to portray in front of you.

“I’m not your little doll for you to dress me as ya want.” His tone doesn’t go up, instead it turns deeper and what the angered answer does to your insides is a proof of how many devilish things he has groaned to you using that same voice.

You pick the suit from the bed with a careful curled finger, sharp manicured nail bright red tonight; then you walk over him with nothing but wicked intentions travelling from your eyes to your hips, nude Jimmy Choos sandals on your feet tonight.

You stop in front of him, your neck bending to pierce his black eyes with your dark ones. There’s a urge settling in your gut at how he looks down at you, restless and vibrating with aggression, that makes your eyes slide carefully to his lips and quickly climb back to his stare. You lick your lips to make a point.

“First off, that’s exactly what you are: mine to do as I want.”

It never ceases to delight you as that makes Osamu darken, sneer almost making it way to his pretty stoic face as a shadow crosses his expression. Fuck. You can only imagine how good he’d fuck you now, maybe even bend you over his knee for a little spanking before burying his cock in your cunt. It’s a pity you have other plans for tonight. “And secondly, this is just a precaution. You’ll be accompanying me to this event and I’m sure you don’t have a suit-”

“I have a fucking’ suit.” Osamu spits your way and you feel your blood rushing thick in your veins, your chest growing heavy as your lips spread in a smirk.

You give a pointed look at his clothes. “Not one good enough to accompany me with.”

“Fuck ya.”

“Maybe later.” You dismiss him with a wave of your hand as you hang the suit off his thick arm. “Now go change so I can see if it needs tailoring. I do think I got a nice hang of your sizes, but who knows, I can be wrong.”

The way you say is teasingly, as if you doubt that’d be the case and you shoo him from the room as you walk over to your own gown, a discreet but sparkly, beautiful thing with slit up front. Osamu hates that he enjoys the image his brain produces of you in it.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Osamu is distressed about the fact the suit is a perfect fit, if only a bit too snug on his arms and shoulders. He supposes it’s still a incredible job done when no one took his measurements. His hair is slicked back and he’s refusing to add the rich cuffs that were atop the bathroom sink, but his whole brain stills to a halt as he lays eyes on you.

It’s ridiculous, infuriating, and disgusting that his blood picks up, rolling thicker at the sight of you in that expensive dress, clearly designed for you to wear. Osamu’s mouth waters with the prospect of picking you up and tearing it all apart, laying marks on your skin that’ll stay for days, destroying that beautiful make-up and hair you have on to leave you in nothing but tears, spit and sweat.

Now he’s hard.

Fuck.

You pointedly look at his now tight slacks but doesn’t comment besides a snarky smile that already says too much for his taste. When you two walk outside the Hotel, there’s already a car waiting and Osamu expends the time pondering just how the fuck he ended up in such a fucking mess. He did his work, he planned, organized, invested- for what? To still end up your lap dog somehow?

Fuck him.

Osamu isn’t ready when the car rolls to a stop in front of the Japan’s Society Annual Charitable Ball and he stays unprepared when the night ends and he’s back at the same place he started, with nothing but a weird sense of dread sparkled by how nice the night went.

He did absolutely nothing besides enjoying good music and splendid food, with free booze and no interaction. At the VIP table you two sat you chatted away with old money and politics and CEOs alike, but besides the occasional greeting, people where perfectly content with letting Osamu sulk in his corner. Incredible.

“So, what did you think?” You ask him with a annoyingly knowing smile, sitting in front of him in the small limousine. Osamu rolls his eyes and snort.

“Why ask if ya’ know?”

“Just thought you could be a good boy and say the truth for once.” You smile his way and Osamu feels the hairs on his nape stand on end like a omen of bad luck. You look way too good and Osamu hates it. Hates even more that he can’t help but fantasize about when you’re disheveled and panting. “You had a good time.”

“Sure,” He drags out as his eyes travel from your perfect face to your sparkly dress, then over the painfully well-placed high slit. “Only because of the food.”

He’s not joking. The food was such a highlight he could barely remember anything else; even the fact two fancy pants tried to tease him over his accent was already shoved to the back of his mind, but maybe it had to do with the swift way you shut their traps with one clearly polished jab. After that Osamu indulged his palate in the Michelin stars menu, almost vibrating in his seat at each new plate.

“Good. I thought you’d enjoy that.” It’s the first time he sees that smile on your lips and it makes your features glow under the streets lights. The back of the limo seems to fade into darkness as your frame becomes his sole focus: your eyes trailing over buildings outside, mouth quirked up and body clad in regal looks.

Osamu feels distressed inside his own head, his chest constricting in a weird way at how you say those words. As if you’d thought about it. As if you stopped, considered, and concluded that he’d like this, so you brought him along. The Miya don’t want to consider the meaning behind this, doesn’t want to ponder over it’s existence and even worse, it’s significance. So he does what he’s used to, and he starts by what he knows best.

Osamu brings his shoes to slide between your own and kicks your legs open, a surprised gasp falling from your lips as your legs separate to show him smooth skin and lace, exactly what he knew that awaited him and even so his heart speeds up at the sight.

He inclines himself on the seat, the short distance perfect to allow one of his hands to fall on the inside of your thighs, gliding up as the other skims over your waist and chest and closed on your neck. Soft, at first, then tighter as his fingers reach your underwear.

Your eyes stay on his, drinking the aggression from him as if it fuels your pleasure, his fingers working expertly on your folds and finding them already moist.

“You sure love this, don’t ya.” Osamu murmurs against your face, close but still far away. “What is it, exactly- the power or the stimulation?”

Your mouth splits in that mischievous grin that makes his body burn brighter, his fingers trailing with measured pressure over your entrance, then over your labia to draw circles on your pretty clit.

“Why are those my only options?” You breathe out with a soft moan as he aims his circles sharply over the sensitive nerve. “Maybe I just like the company.” You say in teasing and Osamu snorts, feels his shoulders growing taut in annoyance and merciless split you open on two thick fingers.

“Let’s see how much ya like the company once I’m done with ya.” Osamu groans but your smile just turn wider, wicker as you hold the challenge in your eyes. Your pussy so wet the noises of his fingers in and out of you - scissoring and pressing, thumb rolling over your clit - become embarrassingly loud.

You throw a look over his shoulder, sharp and hungry. “Driver, roll up the partition, please. We’ll tell you when to stop driving.”

Osamu’s face burns in shame at the realization of just what he’s been doing with an audience, but then your nails are dragging over his scalp and curving on the back of his neck and he can’t think about consequences when his dick throbs like that.

Fuck, maybe that’s his problem to begin with. His brain clearly ceases functioning when his blood is all locked in his fucking dick. Your juices are dripping enough that his third finger slide inside your walls nice and easy and Osamu thinks that’s more than you deserve already.

He sits back at the cushioned seats, smirks at the indignant stare you throw his way at the loss of a approaching high and unbuttons his slack to allow his throbbing, hard cock to spring free. There’s a acid feeling curling in his chest along with desire and Osamu glares at you for making him this fucked up, to make his skin feels on fire and his heart beat on his cock and his brain shut down as his whole being is overwhelmed with his want to end you.

“Better make good use of this.” His hand curls around his thick shaft, pumps lazily at it as if it would falter without the stimulation and not as if the lack of it was torture for him. “You’re paying good money for it, right?”

“Own,” You coo, hands clawing on the seat to help you up and then over him, clumsy legs falling open on each side of his knees as you arch yourself over him. “Is my little whore feeling down?” You hold yourself up on your knees enough to line your pussy over the head of his cock, sharp intake of breath and delighted laugh at how he bites at your breasts in rebellion.

“There, let me sit on my cock then.”

You sink on him, inch by delicious inch, and Osamu growls at the agonizing delight cursing through him. That’s it. He’s the bearer of his own self-destruction and you’re the instrument. He’s doomed.

#p and p #leetle presents #osamu miya smut #osamu miya x reader #tw toxic relationship

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namjoonfluff · 3 years

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The Florist

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

summary: you own a flower shop in London and get to meet lots of interesting customers but none as interesting as Jungkook.

genre: this is pretty fluffy at the moment - tempted to make it a series if people like it and we might get smut or angst!

word count: 1,900 notes: i haven’t edit yet so if things don’t make sense, feel free to come for me in my asks

When you opened up Buds & Blooms last spring, it was partly because of your love of flowers but also your love of people too. You see, you were surrounded by the same beautiful blossoms every day. However, the individuals who entered the shop were exactly that - individuals. Each one completely unique from the others; with different lives, different problems and different reasons for buying flowers.

You had Mrs Norris who popped in every Monday to check out the latest bouquets. Her visits were never about purchasing a bunch but indeed, she was lonely. You would often see her leaving her terraced house, waving goodbye to her dog and shuffling across the street to the shop. Your eyes followed her every move; head bowed to the ground as she manoeuvred the cobbled street. The bell would ring to signal her entrance and you acted as if you hadn’t been expecting her arrival for five minutes now. “Hello, dear,” She would whisper softly across the rows and rows of roses and camellias.

You glanced up from your ribbons and smiled. She didn’t like to start a conversation straight away. Instead, Mrs Norris took a very slow lap around the store before settling upon a bouquet of sunflowers. Her fingers ran across the sunshine petals as she fell into a deep thought.

“Patrick used to buy me these,” Mrs Norris said to herself, looking sadly at the bright bouquet which sat waiting for her. You would never tell her this but you placed them there purposely. Before Mrs Norris’ husband passed away, he paid you to create her a bouquet every week. Even beyond the grave, he was finding a way to keep their love strong. It was enough to make you believe in soulmates!

Soon after, Mr James rushed into the store like usual. No matter what day of the week, it was always just before lunchtime when he threw the door open in a hurry. As his face flushed pink and chest heaved, he briskly walked to find the biggest bouquet he could possibly find. Lucky for him, you always had one prepared for his visits. “What is it this time?” You grinned from behind the counter.

“Forgot-” He said breathlessly. “Forgot the pickles and now I’m getting a bollocking!”

You couldn’t help but giggle at the panic on his face. Anytime Mr James and his wife had a slight disagreement, he would rush out to buy her flowers. It was because of him that the flower shop stayed afloat! He must have purchased about fifty bouquets since his wife got pregnant. He was seriously the best husband though.

Plenty more customers popped their heads into the store throughout the day. There was Miss Dean - a teacher from the local school who always needed a fresh arrangement for her classroom. You were also visited by Danny Jones, your next door, shop neighbour. He was always dropping by to offer you some of his luxury coffee. It was disgusting though; the bitter type of coffee that just sat in the back of your throat the whole day! With his cup of hell, he also brought an uncomfortable attempt at flirting. “So, do you ever leave this place?” Danny said, leaning up against the counter. Your eyes twitched as you watched him squash the head of a pink rose from one of your wedding displays. It was a shame you had to be polite in front of customers because you could have slapped him so hard in that moment.

“Well, you know what it’s like running a small business,” You shrugged. “I just wanna keep this place afloat!” He sipped his sludge while raking his eyes up and down your body. It would maybe make sense if you were wearing some kind of body-con, booby dress with heels. Yet, here you were in your favourite pair of mom-jeans and a baggy jumper. “That’s why I have my father involved,” Danny smirks from beyond the cup. “He pays the bills, I just make sure nothing goes wrong!”

You subtly roll your eyes from behind the vase you were plucking flowers from. How could someone get through life like this? You wondered. But you didn’t really have to think for long. He was lucky enough to have his daddy’s investment. Need more beans imported from Dubai? Get Father on the phone! Someone broke the coffee machine again? Well, looks like Daddy’s going to need the call. You were jealous really! After all, you had saved up the money to buy the shop, scrimped and scraped so you could afford the latest till. You had even dipped into your life savings to buy a new sign for the shop. That’s how much you cared about this place! It frustrated you to see someone have it so easy.

“Anyway, do you fancy getting a drink with me?” Danny asked.

“Not if it’s any of that coffee,” You whispered.

“Huh?” He looked up from the flower he had de-petalled just a second ago. You were this close from kicking him out the store!

“I’m okay,” You said shyly. How are you supposed to reject someone nicely? Someone who always gets their own way?

“Are you sure?” Danny’s annoying voice peaked again. “Do you really want to be single and selling flowers all your life?” Actually, yes. That sounded like an absolute dream plan right now! No annoying men trying to make you drink their horrible coffee. Maybe you could have a dog like Mrs Norris. Yes, a dog sounded like a great idea - plus, they are much quieter than men anyway!

“Honestly,” He huffed, bringing you out of the daydream where you’re walking your adorable dachshund around Hyde Park. Fucking idiot! How dare he interrupt you as you and Herbert settle on a park bench for a picnic. “You women confuse me beyond belief,” “You talk about marriage and babies but when a decent guy comes along, you reject him!”

Afraid he was going to start lecturing you on the benefits of marrying into his family, you made sure to place a pot down on the counter - loudly! That should wake him from his own daydream which probably involved an image of you being his trophy wife, feeding him his exuberant coffee beans. “Sorry, Danny,” You said, looking up at the clock. “I’m closing now!”

“No worries! Want me to do the tills for you?” He pointed at your cash register. “You want to make sure you’ve counted all your takings correctly!”

How could someone be so unbearable to be around!

“No,” You said firmly - or as firm as you could make it sound. “I’m okay!”

Despite his resistance, Danny finally left the shop five minutes before closing, leaving behind his stupid cardboard cup. In frustration, you lobbed it at the wall, hitting the space just below the chalkboard which advertises your prices. That was going to leave a mark but you would deal with it tomorrow. The only thing you need right now is to stick your head in a bunch of peonies! Thankfully, you were the owner of a flower shop and so a bouquet of peonies wasn't far away.

Sticking your head into the fresh flowers, you inhale their sweet, earthy scent. They act as a reset button, helping you to remember exactly why you love this job. It was your philosophy that flowers could fix anything. Whether it was a petty argument or full-on heartbreak, buying someone flowers was like putting a metaphorical bandaid on their heart. It wouldn’t fix them, of course! However, it helped the healing process feel a little easier. It was just nice to know someone cared enough to send you flowers. It takes the sting out of any sour experiences. It helps to forget just a little! And as a florist, you were so happy to be a part of making people’s lives better. Even if the shop didn’t make you any money, you would still get up every day at five o’clock and create bouquets and arrangements. This was your biggest passion after all!

“Hello?” A voice enters your ear from across the quiet shop. Shit!

You quickly whip your head around to see a man standing in your door, half smirking and half wondering ‘what the fuck is this girl doing motorboating some flowers!’ Well, at least, you think that must be what’s going through his head. How often do you walk into a shop to see someone with their face buried in flowers. “Sorry, I was just-” You start to explain but you wonder how you’re supposed to explain this to a stranger. Apologies, I just stuck my head in some flowers because this annoying guy keeps hitting on me. It’s not exactly normal person behaviour - the type a complete stranger would understand. “It’s okay,” The man spoke in a soft and calming voice. “I am looking for flowers.” “Well, you have come to the right place,” You gestured to all the flowers around you, which you had yet to stick your face in. “I promise I don’t do that with all the flowers!”

The stranger just laughed and began walking around the shop, admiring all of the flowers you had available at the moment. Completely embarrassed by what just happened, you rushed to the backroom to compose yourself. Oh god, what is my life! Did I really just embarrass myself like in front of some random guy? What must he be thinking right now! Maybe he’s already run out of the store and called the police. Amidst your thoughts, you hear a voice call out saying: “Excuse me!” With the heat from your cheeks slowly dissipating and breath starting to still, you walked back to the front of the shop with confidence. You see the man standing by the bucket of Ranunculus stems, staring down at them intently.

“How can I help?” You smiled, catching the man’s vibrant smile back at you. Now that you’re in touching distance of the stranger, you realise quite how handsome he was. His warm skin was actually glowing - like he was sweating but it was a beautiful kind of sheen that wasn’t gross at all. As if you had made a complete fool of yourself in front of someone as beautiful as him. What an idiot!

“Can you tell me about these?” He said softly and you nodded.

“These flowers are called…” As you explained the history of the flower and its meaning, his deep-brown eyes watched you intently. It was almost hard to keep eye contact with him because every time you looked in his direction, his eyes were staring right at you; full of wonder and intrigue. No one had ever looked at you like that. He even smiled and laughed at your little jokes, which definitely no one ever did! Nobody cared about flowers as much as you do to even understand your jokes. “So, these are perfect in bouquet, wreaths and things like table settings,” You finished with a smile as always. However, it didn’t feel forced like it did with other customers.

“Could I get them in a bouquet to collect tomorrow, please?” The man said quietly. “A mixture of colours, please?”

You nodded. “Of course, can I take a name for my book?”

“It’s Jungkook!” The man smiled as he told you his name. To be honest, you didn’t need to know his name. How could you forget his handsome face after all! You just wanted to know more about him; it was an interesting name - one you definitely would never forget.

#jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook fic #jungkook au #jungkook fluff #jeon jungkook #jungkook smut #bts fic #bts fanfic #btsfanfic #bts smut #jungkookfic #bts #bts fanfiction #jungkook fanfiction #theflorist

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umbraja · 4 years

Text

Body Hair Positivity: Good or Gross?

It’s been a trend lately to embrace a more diverse image of beauty. Freckles and muffin tops, dark skin and curly hair, scars, tattoos, unusual proportions, crooked teeth, pretty much anything is supposed to be accepted under the banner of Body Positivity.

But what about body hair?

And I’m not just talking about armpits or legs. I also mean unusual body hair. The kind people don’t talk about. The kind women aren’t “supposed” to have: chest hair, happy trails, beards, back hair. The kind that doctors call hirsutism and is often associated with hormonal imbalances from things like Polycystic Ovary Syndrome, Cushing Syndrome, medication side effects, menopause, or even just genetics. It affects somewhere between 5%-10% of women depending on the region surveyed but may be higher as it can often go undiagnosed.

It’s not like we’re taught how healthy body hair should look.

Humans have been removing body hair since before recorded history. Archaeologists have found evidence of early humans using clam shells and shark teeth to remove body hair. Ancient Egyptians are well known for their full body waxes. Ancient Greeks considered it “uncivilized” for a woman to have pubic hair. Roman boys celebrated their entry into manhood with a mandatory first shave. And medieval European Ladies plucked daily to remove all hair from their brows, temples, and neck - some even plucked their eyelashes. The “New World” was no stranger to body hair removal either. Thomas Jefferson, and many others, wrote of some Native Americans’ depilatory obsession.

“With [Native Americans] it is disgraceful to be hairy on the body. They say it likens them to hogs. They therefore pluck the hair as fast as it appears.” - Thomas Jefferson, Notes on the State of Virginia

In the non-native US, body hair removal wasn’t really a big thing until the 20th century when we did a complete 180 on the subject. Before that Puritan values made sure that most body hair was covered by clothing so few bothered to remove it since no one was gonna see what was under all that cloth. Now recent studies say that 93 to 99 percent of American women regularly remove their body hair, making it one of our most widely practiced beauty norms. Girls as young as 10 are pressured into shaving, waxing, plucking, threading, anything to remove errant hairs as soon as they start to sprout. Refusal to do so leaves us open to bullying, both on the playground and in the office. Visible body hair can cost a woman jobs, promotions, and relationships so most of us remove it, no matter the cost. Which one study worked out to be more than $10,000 over the course of her life for the average American woman who shaves. If she waxes instead the bill goes over $23,000.

So what happened?

“Where eighteenth-century naturalists and explorers considered hair-free skin to be the strange obsession of indigenous peoples, Cold War-era commentators blithely described visible body hair on women as evidence of a filthy, ‘foreign’ lack of hygiene.” - Rebecca Herzig, Plucked, a History of Hair Removal

The driving forces behind hair removal in America are the same three that cause most of the nation’s problems: greed, sexism, and racism. Let’s go in chronological order.

As the “Age of Enlightenment” began to secularize European politics, Imperialists needed a new excuse to justify their expansion into non-European territory. Naturalists like the still famous Charles Darwin handed them pseudoscience. It’s debatable whether or not these naturalists intended their work to be used as the foundation for white supremacist ideology that still plagues us today but there’s no question about how racists interpreted it. They saw evolution as a line that went from ape through colored people and ends at Aryan. Real science tells us that’s not at all correct and if anyone is closer to cave man it’s white people who often have Neanderthal in their DNA. But they didn’t have genetic sequencers back then so they used physical traits to “prove” it instead. Part of this was a gross mischaracterization that body hair could be used to determine a person’s place within the line of human evolution. They claimed people with coarse, dark hair were closer to apes and those with thin, light hair were more evolved. Guess who picked up on that concept in the 20th century.

Darwin further complicated matters in his attempt to explain why some white people were hairier than some indigenous populations by associating hairiness with evolutionary backsliding and mental illness.

“[Hairiness in Europeans] is due to partial reversion; for characters which have been at some former period long inherited are always apt to return. We have seen that idiots are often very hairy, and they are apt to revert in other characters to a lower animal type.” - Charles Darwin, The Descent of Man

Other scientists and even medical experts of the time ran with this idea and before long the educated elite considered hairiness (along with other non-Aryan traits) to be a symptom of disease, insanity, and criminal violence. The uneducated masses were more familiar with freak show displays of unusually hairy people as “missing links” to our primate ancestors. Both cases considered having body hair to be a very bad thing. They’re also very bad science and not at all true.

Despite these very strong, racist feelings about body hair, it still wasn’t common for American women to remove it beyond the upper lip, neck, jaw, or between the eyebrows. Most women don’t have much hair there and those that did rarely had time or money to invest in removing it. Also they wouldn’t be caught dead admitting they had to so historical records might not be accurate about how many women actually plucked. For the first half of American history peach fuzz and other light hair was seen as normal and clothes covered the rest. But the 20th century not only saw women wearing less cloth and showing more skin it also saw them calling for gender equality. Critics of women’s liberation often accused suffragettes of sexual inversion - aka acting too much like men, which they saw as an abhorrent threat. To really drive this point home they often depicted women’s rights activists as being hairy, thus politicizing our pits. Pair this with the “hygiene” movement’s embrace of already mentioned racist views on body hair and you have a recipe for weaponized shame.

“Self-consciousness brings timidity, restrained action and awkwardness. The use of Del-a-tone relieves the mind from anxious watchfulness of movement.” - 1919 Del-a-tone depilatory advertisement

Enter Capitalism. Producers of hair removal products wanted to up sales so they did the exact same thing that was done with every other beauty product on the market - shame women into buying their stuff. It’s debatable if this was motivated purely by greed, in an attempt to reach an untapped market, or if the resulting gender oppression was intentional but men were spared of this aggressive shaming (until recently at least). Women, on the other hand, were flooded with advertisements for body hair removal products. From the first “razor for women” in 1915 to 21st century laser hair removal ads, women are constantly being reminded of our body hair. It doesn’t take a genius seeing ads that call smooth skin “attractive” or “sanitary” to extrapolate the opposite - that body hair is ugly, and dirty. A series of ads for Del-a-tone depilatory products even called it “necessary” for sleeveless fashion and suggests that not using their product will lead to social anxiety. Pair that with only ever using shaved models in all of fashion advertising and you send a pretty clear message: female body hair is something to be ashamed of. Advertising works. Now most American women actually feel gross if they’ve missed a shave, despite body hair being perfectly natural and not at all dirty. This disgust is so strong it has even bled over into an aversion toward male body hair which has seen a sharp decline in popularity since the shaggy chested disco days. Now men are being inundated with “manscaping” advertisements and expectations of manicured if not completely removed body hair.

So that’s the background but where’s this going?

While female body hair removal is firmly ingrained in western beauty standards, a new generation of women are rebelling against those ideals - body hair included. Recent studies have shown a shift in body hair trends among young women. Only 77% percent of women 16 to 24 reported regularly shaving their pits in 2016 and 85% shaved their legs, down from 95% and 92% respectively just two years prior. Since then we’ve started to see models, celebrities, and everyday women with unshaven pits and hairy legs. Body positivity campaigns have even gotten a few advertisers to include body hair in their ads. Now you can see razors actually shaving hair from women’s bodies instead of inexplicably running over baby smooth skin.

Women have always told ourselves that hair removal is a choice but we’ve never before been encouraged to choose not doing it. Instead we’ve been brainwashed to think it’s dirty and disgusting and that no one will accept us for being hairy. Today’s young woman is actually presented with a choice, “to shave or not to shave” and a lot of them are choosing not to. Which is great news for people like me who have hirsutism and are sick of being shamed for how nature made us.

But we’ve still got a very long way to go before I can be confident that my neck beard won’t hold me back both socially and professionally. A lot of the women who have publicly displayed body hair in recent years have come under attack by people calling them various shades of “gross” and some have even been sent death threats. It’s one thing for a rich and famous Hollywood movie star to take that kind of risk but for an autistic office worker living in a conservative backwater that’s a whole different game.

Whatever your thoughts and feelings on body hair, America still hasn’t escaped the shame of the last hundred years. Women are still very much judged for being hairy. A lot of people still think it’s gross. I’m not one of them but I’m full of unpopular opinions.

#body hair #body posititivity #history

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skippyv20 · 4 years

Text

Submission to Skippy, because each time I blog I'm told there's an 'unexpected error' and my post disappears!!

Dear Skippy, THIS IS WHY I BELIEVE WHAT YOU SAY ( OMG, my posts are being sabotaged. They won't 'send', then they disappear!!!!)

Meg's goal is to destroy the BRF. Oh My.... She was given orders..... REMOVE the lustre, gloss, sheen and magic that attaches to the Royals as a glittering aura......make their sparkle DISAPPEAR , ERADICATE their dazzle........ RELEGATE THE BRF to 'junk status' ( financial term for something not worthy of investment) MAKE THEM REDUNDANT

BECAUSE... you have to admit that

If MM simply wanted to be a Princess in a fairytale, she could have acted like one and therefore never put her title at risk. The crazy thing is that she MANAGED TO BECOME ONE ( well, almost...... Duchess is pretty close) She married a real Prince. She wore a tiara of sorts. She rode in a Royal carriage. She received the title, YOUR ROYAL HIGHNESS, Her "impossible 'dream came true", people became obliged to curtsy to her, she had unlimited wealth at her disposal, access to future state visits and world events. She was home and dry....... our DUCHESS OF SUSSEX.........

Yet having acquired her dream, and a lifetime of opulence and ease. SHE PROCEEDED TO....

INTENTIONALLY and DELIBERATELY shoot herself in the foot........ which also left PH with bullet wounnds. She decided to commit harakiri......leave Cinderella at the ball and morph into an ugly sister. WHY? Why didn't she just conform, follow protocol, show respect to senior Royals, defer to PH as Kate does to PW, stand behind the Queen, wear pantihose, use nude nail polish, stay out of politics wear decent clothing, don pretty hats........ WHY NOT?????

BECAUSE HER BACKERS GROOMED HER FOR SOMETHING MUCH MORE IMPORTANT.

So MM was instructed to grab every possible opportunity to mock, taunt, insult and shame this 'family she never had'

Instead of trying to fit in, she went all out to be controversial, to court public attention, (and that changed from positive to negative pretty much overnight.) . To show that the SUSSEX focus was on SELF- interest, SELF- promotion, SELF- enrichment.

With each smug look, each sneer, every mocking glance, a chain of insulting behavior, slutty outfits, appalling hair - days, she began alienating herself from the Royal Family, distorting their reality, creating havoc, causing them deep humiliation, potent anger......

And incurring the wrath of the public....... and while MM WAS THE HATED ONE, the wrath inevitably began to shift to include the BRF, as was always the planned intention.

This was the plan. It could have been very different. MM could have been clever, acted charming. As obnoxious, abhorrent and disgusting as MM is, she's no fool. Street-wise...... Street-smart...

.. MM knows the meaning of HUSTLE. When the gloves were off and she was just another average D- LIST actress auditioning for a small role in SUITS - she came out on top. She can role play ( pun intended) when required....

Were the situation such that, YES, PH HADN'T developed a backbone, and carried EMOTIONAL SCARS , and sadly was searching for a re-incarnated PRINCESS DIANA, therefore rendered UNfit for and UNSUITED to ROYAL LIFE, a hustler like MM could easily have kept his inadequacies hidden ( MO PH = NO DUCHESS MEGHAN)

Instead we've seen personal revelation after personal revelation, all of which have demeaned PH, all of which were disparaging, all of which maligned PH, and by association, diminished his family in the public's eye.

BUT. if No PH equates to NO DUCHESS MEGHAN, then, WHAT WAS IT WITH THE RIDICULE, Megs? . Why portray him as an unfit Prince, your lackey, your chauffer, your personal assistant. Why trash his image and portray him as a fool, a clown, why allow him to become the butt of jokes...........because keeping on being a Duchess most definitely depends on PH remaining a Duke..... Yes?

OF COURSE YES. SO, why would you not fight to protect YOUR OWN royal title, even if THE DUKE WAS FALLING Apart. As a domineering alpha wife it would have been easy to cover up for him, made him still appear dignified and respected...

I mean, while we know you were never a fashion icon, surely you knew that a transparent dress with the thigh high split wouldn't really do........ that you really looked ugly in the shaki SA tent worn to a mosque......... that it will always be too risqué to deliberately unbutton a top to create a bra reveal.........and you knew that the loose V necked sweater that exposed your cleavage would shock most people ..........

STRANGE....So very strange.... because a street - smart hustler would know that Royalty must be ROYAL. A royal couple can't comprise a slutty hag wife and a p*ssy- whipped husband....... that isn't what the loyal British taxpayer signed up for.......... such a parody of Royalty doesn't go down well.

Yet you've persisted, and still persist, in being as common as muck. You're such a thorn in the side of the British public, so hated, "MORE VILIFIED THAN HITLER EVER WAS......." and by association, so too now, is PH.....

By many........ NOT ALL...

So contrary to choosing to fight for your dream PRINCESS life, you've chosen the role of divider, destroyer of public affection, imposter, fraud.

And HMTQ has been criticized, mocked, taunted, for not disciplining you and PH......... people are being urged to question whether Royalty can justify the millions and millions of pounds spent to maintain their homes, their lifestyle..........

AND IT'S YOU MM that's the root problem.

People are starting to perceive the Monarchy as weak, to wonder if HMTQ is still 'Queen' material. You've singlehandedly brought about the start of a shift in public perceptions. You're single - handedly trying to destroy THE HOUSE OF WINDSOR, the vehicle which facilitated your fairytale ending????? Yet it was within your reach to protect, to circle the wagons? It's nonsensical and absurd that a person whose lifelong ambition was to be a Princess, would deliberately work against the institution that made Princesses.........

So, NO. I don't believe the "CRAZY PH and INEFECCTUAL BRF theory.......

I go with Skippy.......

We'll very shortly know the truth, because for HMTQ not to take action, to continue down this road and not see fit to punish you, may very well see the end of Monarchy as we know it....

I think you served your backers to the best of your ability MM...

But they'll be thwarted. HMTQ had the measure of you way back when..........

I await the tolling of the bells

Thank you...great post....much appreciated....😊❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

#Ask Skippy #submission

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rainkandysux · 4 years

Text

Lost Siblings

Paring: Dabi X FemReader

Rating: E

Word Count: 2,039

Summary: Siblings can only hold a family together if they’re there.

Warnings: 17+ explicit content, death

You watched your younger sister play with another girl close in age. The white and red highlighted hair of her playmate contrasted your sister’s onyx curls. You sigh as you check the time: 05:03PM. You two were overdue at getting back to the house you shared with several other orphans trying to stay out of the streets. Before you could reach your sister, a tallish, lanky redhead with two more of his siblings approached the thirteen-year-old girls.

“Let’s go, Fuyumi. Say bye to your new friend,” the boy requested politely despite his bored tone.

“I’m not her new friend. We play here every Friday,” your sister tartly replied.

The boy’s eyes squinted in irritation. That was when you noticed their brilliant shade of turquoise, catching your breath as they turned to your direction. The stunning color wasn’t the only thing you noticed though. Bandages peeked from underneath his collar and long sleeves.

“Oh, um, sorry about her attitude...” you trailed in discomfort.

“I told you to hurry up, Touya!” A large man yelled towards the group of kids.

The boy in question sighed in disgust before returning his attention to you. He studied your odd reaction to Endeavor. Most people's faces would brighten at seeing the Number Two Hero out of uniform and posing as a domesticated father, but your face appeared drained of color.

“Come on, sis, we really need to go,” you mumbled as you snatched your sister’s hand to lead her away. You were too late though. The beast of a hero had already spotted your retreating form.

“Hey, wait you little brat! Weren’t you the one I caught stealing from the market downtown?” Enji Todoroki shouted, his orange flames already cloaking him.

She was stealing from a market? Was she taking food? Touya thought as he finally took note of your shaggy appearance as you ran away.

You and your sister managed to get out of Endeavor’s reach before he made it to where his children stood by in uncertainty.

“Fuyumi, you need to learn to stay away from garbage. Those girls are nothing more than trash. I wouldn’t be surprised if they get caught up in worse than the petty thieving they’ve been doing recently. The oldest one has a quirk that lets her powerup for short bursts of time. That’s how she was able to get away from your old man,” Endeavor laughed as he packed his kids into the family car.

“Powerup? Like getting stronger and faster? Does she get bigger when she does that?” Shouto asked solemnly as he watched his sister cry. The girl she was playing with didn’t look like a bad guy. Neither did her older sister that his father criminalized.

“Her body glows like a lantern and the next thing you know, she’s able to break free from any type of restraint,” his dad elaborated for him.

“So, what was it that she stole? What did she take that required you to be forceful?” Touya voiced, the grit in his tone made his questions sound as harsh as he intended them to.

“...the um, store owner said she had taken some instant meals...”

“Way to go dad. I wonder what they ate for supper last night,” Natsuo added, taking Touya’s side.

TEN YEARS LATER

Your younger sister died exactly one year ago, and you weren’t accepting it very well. A drug deal had gone wrong and you weren’t there to protect her. You still waited on the balcony of your apartment for her to twinkle her fingertip lights to let you know that her mission was a success, not the failure it had been.

One whole year you did this, waiting for her to shine her starlight beams to let you know that you weren’t alone. Every night you had perched there, desperately begging for her beautiful glow to brighten the blackness around you.

You knew that wasn’t going to happen though. You remembered how cold she felt as her firefly soul burned away from her when you found her. You remembered, but you didn’t want to accept it.

Now, you had only yourself to provide for. It was financially easier. Physically easier? No. Emotionally? Absolutely not. You had gotten sloppy after your sister’s death. As a result, you had gotten caught one too many times and now heroes were on your trail. You even had to relocate to a slummier place which was where you found yourself now, balancing on the balcony of the cheapest place you could find.

No one recognized you here and if they did, you knew their own criminal records exceeded your own. Since you botched too many thefts, you now got money investing in drugs and worse— prostitution. Neither was something you were proud of, but at least you were surviving.

Tonight was one of the sleezy ones. Usually, you’d find some businesspeople in their late fifties to mess around with. They always seemed to like how cute you were compared to the other options in the area. Just because you fucked your way through life didn’t mean that you didn’t take care of your looks. You wanted to be presentable in case you ever got a second chance at living a normal life.

You were in your mid-twenties, so that dream of working as a schoolteacher was pretty much null. Still, you had aged gracefully. You could pull off as a ripe eighteen-year-old fresh out of high school if you ever decided to form a new identity.

Your youthfulness is what helped you land some wealthy clients too. The uppity men liked your babyface. You sighed as you made your way out of your apartment and towards the now booming club down the street.

Your eyes picked through the line outside the club in search of your next plaything. You were about to settle for a grey-haired man in a black suit when a lean figure slouching on a box in the back alley caught your attention.

His startling blue eyes glanced over you as he lit the cigarette balancing between his scarred lips. You knew those eyes even if they were on a face hidden behind purple flesh and dyed, black hair. What had happened to him? What had happened to Endeavor’s son?

Before you even knew what you were doing, you were already slouching on a box opposite of him.

“How much?” He asked, cyan eyes never leaving the cleavage you had poking free from your low-cut top.

“Oh...I...really don’t need much...” you trailed, embarrassed that he had figured out your current profession. You weren’t planning on doing anything other than question him about why he was here and obviously damaged. You hoped he didn’t recognize you.

He shrugged before he hopped down to lead you away. Soon, you were in his room that held a single bed, a nightstand, and an open suitcase.

You were used to all types of sexual positions and appetites. Still, you weren’t prepared for this man’s roughness. Maybe it was the fact that you had known him when you were young teenagers and expected him to behave as one would.

However, he wasn’t fifteen anymore. He was a decade older just like you. If his scarring was anything to go by, those ten years had been just as bad for him as it had been for you.

Dabi knew what you wanted. He knew you came to him, seeing his youth as a nice break from the old creeps you were used to. He knew you assumed that he wouldn’t ask for your body, but you were stupid and naïve to think he wouldn’t. You were an idiot if you thought he would be gentle just because your little sisters had been friends.

You were foolish if you thought you were going to get any form of intimacy from this interaction. He wanted to punish you for proving his father right. You were trash that had gotten involved in more than ‘petty thieving’ as his old man had phrased it. How you could do that? How you could prove that bastard right?

Touya was dead and so was his compassion. He burned your clothes off your shivering body and roughly bent you over facedown on the bed. He wouldn’t be able to punish you properly if your beautiful eyes looked at him.

He took your hair into his fist and held your head down so that you couldn’t look back at him. You gasped into the mattress he smothered you in. His free hand didn’t even stimulate you before you felt his hardened cock force its way into your unprepared slit.

He hoped his lack of care prevented you from getting off, that his unprecedented harshness left you bruised and unsatisfied. What he did not plan for was for you to twitch in pleasure and groan his fucking name out so casually.

“Mmm, Touya,” you accidentally muttered as you felt your walls clench around his thrusting dick. You didn’t even know why you said it.

He pulled out irritably to stop your orgasm. The hand that was tangled in your hair jerked your head to his cock. Your eyes widened at the size, unsure if you would be able to handle it without gagging. You weren’t ready, but he popped open your mouth with the tip of it as pre-cum dripped from it. Minutes later, he exploded and you felt the cum slide down your throat as you swallowed.

You quickly pulled free, wiping your mouth. You pushed him away as the shame you felt filled you up fuller than his seed. You were in his bathroom now, examining the mascara that sloppily ran down your face thanks to the tears you were not able to hold back trickled down your cheeks.

You washed your face, tied your hair up into a messy bun, and put on V-neck t-shirt and sweatpants you found on the floor. You waited a few minutes to gather whatever remained of your dignity before you reopened the door to his room.

Fortunately, he wasn’t there. A wad of cash waited on the bed for you. Despite your wish to simply leave it there, you didn’t feel like going hungry that weekend.

You took it and all but ran from the building, hoping to never see those ocean eyes again. Dabi watched your retreating form in slight regret. He had been touch-deprived for a long time and he knew you would have shown him the affection his broken soul craved. He didn’t have time be soft, though, and neither did you if you were going to make it in this crooked hero society.

Still, he felt guilty for being so cruel, so he followed you. He watched your previously pouting face light up as you counted the amount he gave you. He had given you enough to pay rent and get enough food to last you a week. This meant that you could stay off your back (and knees and stomach for god’s sake) for a while!

You wished your sister was here to celebrate the haul with you. You decided to splurge and buy her favorite type of strawberry cake. Little did you know that the man that had given you more than you expected was shadowing you as you talked to your deceased sister.

Soon, you were back on your balcony and sitting in silent solitude. You lit the single candle to symbolize the one year she was gone as you stuffed it into the cake.

“It’s been a miserable fucking year, sis. I hope you’re flying high. I hope you’re happier now that you don’t have to hurt anymore. I love and miss you,” you choked as you finally accepted her death. Tears fell freely as you pulled your knees up to your chest.

Touya watched as you mourned your sister’s death. He thought of his own siblings and how he wished he could have been stronger for them. He wished he could forget who he was. Maybe he should have been kinder to you. He knew your routes, your dealers. He couldn’t fix his family, but he could try to undo the damage he inflicted on you. Yes, he’d be much kinder next time.

#dabi x reader #dabi #bnha fanfiction #touya todoroki #dabi is a todoroki #fuyumi todoroki

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sam-not-samantha · 4 years

Photo

The Blackwoods & the Rheiders

“A train wreck dynasty of cash stacks and funny farms.”

#sltask02

[Photos embedded, but not all characters have a faceclaim.]

The Blackwoods (Immediate)

Andrew Blackwood | Father | June 21, 1969-April 30, 2017 “Paycheck giver. Businessman. Quiet and kind, yet so apathetic.” Eliza Blackwood (née Rheider) | Mother | October 28, 1971-April 30, 2017 “Whiny bitch. Passive-aggressive. Judgmental. Tasteless. Fucking DEAD.” Samantha “Sam” Blackwood | Self | February 5, 1995 “Best fucking person you’ll ever meet.”

The Extended (And not-so-distant)

Jodi Rheider | Maternal aunt | July 1, 1975 “Anti-vaxer. Vegan. Cunt. Used to get cocktails with Kris Jenner.” Jenna Rheider | Maternal cousin | April 14, 1994 “Brainless twit. And a narc; ratted me out for doing coke only for her mom to do the rest.” Connor Rheider | Maternal cousin | November 2, 1999 “Quirky. Genius. Loves drones. Probably in charge of WikiLeaks.”

Luke Rheider | Maternal uncle | May 4, 1966 “Pretentious. Thinks old money is anything over a year. Football fan. Moron.” Charli Diamond | Maternal aunt-in-law | October 31, 1982 “Second wife. Thinks Luke’s gonna die soon, but she deserves gold. Refused the name.” Bastien Rheider | Maternal cousin | January 28, 1988 “One of the two actually cool people in this family. Sarcastic. Sick. Sweet.” Evie Rheider | Maternal first cousin, once removed | September 12, 2008 “Started sweet, is now fully demonic.”

Paul Blackwood | Paternal uncle | October 6, 1965 “Loudly republican. Loudly terrible. Horrible suits. Still calls me ‘Squirt’.” Charlotte Blackwood (née Gilfrey) | Paternal aunt-in-law | May 10, 1967 “If Ann Coulter was slightly younger and somehow slightly worse.” Kim Blackwood | Paternal cousin | August 1, 1987 “Couture PotteryBarn expert. Insufferable. Screechy. Trend-chaser.” George White | Cousin-in-law-to-be | November 7, 1980 “The manifestation of Kim’s daddy issues. Wedding date is permanently TBD.” Lisa Blackwood | Paternal cousin | April 9, 1989 “Mini-Eliza. Clothing terrorist. Should’ve been aborted.” Salvatore Stracci | Cousin-in-law-to-be | October 22, 1976 “Tall, Italian and scary. Also in a state of perpetual engagement and dissatisfaction.” Alessandro Blackwood | Paternal first cousin, once removed | May 31, 2010 “Had to hold him at a party once. He spat on me.”

Michael Blackwood | Patnernal uncle | May 1, 1967 “I legitimately don’t know if he and Paul are different people.” Natalie Blackwood (née Gainsbourg) | Paternal aunt-in-law | July 1, 1968 “Quiet, but clearly judgmental. Alopecia. Clings to Michael desperately.” Heather Blackwood | Paternal cousin | March 14, 1990 “The only sane woman. Editor at Harper’s Bazaar with Natalie. Goddess. Soul sister.”

Matthew Blackwood | Paternal uncle | Stillborn August 8, 1970

Dances– The Blackwoods | A Personal Essay (Written pre-parental death).

It was a dance.

It always was, no matter what. No, there was never any music. No stage. No choreography. But conversations with my mother were always an intricate samba on a tightrope.

It could begin at any moment, about anything. Simple small talk about where I went for brunch yesterday morning could turn into a bitchfest about my weight– as if being 110 was something to be ashamed of. The mere presence of an unopened, monthly bank statement could turn into a lecture about financial responsibility– as if she wasn’t surrounded by new, shiny things and maxed out AMEX cards. And, far more recently, a quick, innocent glance at the alcohol cabinet would have me sat down with some professional life coach while she watched, a vodkatini in hand.

Eliza Blackwood (born Eliza Rheider in 1971) was a bitch. An absolute bitch. A wretched, spoiled, high-strung, narcissistic, classist, borderline-anorexic, Valium-addicted, Shalimar-drenched, Kris Jenner-wannabe bitch. She was lucky she came from money, because if she wasn’t, I don’t think she’d be alive right now. I mean, I’m lucky, too, but I’m grateful for what I have.

Her parents were corporate assholes– her dad worked for Goldman Sachs, and his wife was a vapid, shrill, useless little brat not unlike her daughter. And, of course, that unloveable little bitch went and married someone who could satisfy her financial needs and not embarrass the family name– Andrew Blackwood, a New York politician from a family of Wall Street types (Some of whom also worked at Goldman Sachs, which is how the two met). On paper, they were a match made in heaven. A wealthy politician and his obnoxious jetsetter wife.

But, fortunately for me, even though I hadn’t been born quite yet, Andrew was a good, caring man. While Eliza was (and still is) ruthless, selfish and absolutely disgustingly horrible, Andrew had a heart. He cared about people. And things. Which was why he went into politics. He wanted to make a change. While his family was a bunch of wealthy Republicans, he was entirely Democratic, a fact that nearly alienated from them entirely (if only it had actually managed to keep his family out of my life) which is why I’m still in awe that he wound up with a pathetic Paris Hilton knockoff. A politician with a heart of gold wound up with a blue blood twat who measures her love in karats.

But back to her dances.

I’m not entirely sure where they come from. I mean, no matter how much you analyze someone and their family and upbringing and everything, you can’t pin point their personality traits and their behaviors. That said, I think I have a fair amount of clues as to where Eliza’s horrid personality came from.

While her relationship with her mother is mostly concealed to me, their lifestyle was no secret. Eliza always went on about how well she lived as a kid, how luxurious her house was, how high the thread count in the sheets of her crib was, and how she washed her face with caviar or something. But how she got along with her mother was never fully described. I’ve seen hints here and there– a glare across a table at a gala or whispers on the phone. But I don’t know too much. As far as I know, Eliza’s mother– Mrs. Karen Rheider– didn’t even bother to raise any of her three children. I wouldn’t have been surprised had they all been raised by a nanny while Karen went went on living as a trophy wife. But I assume that the two of them, when they did interact, got along the same way Eliza and I do– and that would make it safe to assume Eliza picked up her bitchy words, malicious intentions and passive-aggressive, condescending demeanor from her mother. The family bitchiness is hereditary.

Passive-aggressiveness is definitely a running trait in my family. I see it to an extent on my dad’s side– his brothers and him bicker endlessly, and they seem to show some slight disapproval for his opposing political stance, as if world views are trivial dinner conversation. But it pales in comparison to the Rheider family’s guilt. Aside from me, and my mother, I see it in the rest of the family.

My aunt Jodi, mother of two, is another disgusting person. Like Jenny McCarthy, she refused to vaccinate her kids because she believed it would make them autistic. Her son, Connor, has caught the flu every single year since he was six. The three (including her daughter Jenna) currently reside together at a nudist resort, where the kids were homeschooled… because they lack their immunizations. But that’s kind of besides the point– any time Jodi decides to dress up and sneak out into the world of normalcy, she misses no opportunity to make slick comments that everyone else in the family is living incorrectly. Thankfully, everyone else has mastered the art of clapback.

Eliza’s brother, Luke, and his wife, Charli (a full 16 years younger than him) are an obnoxiously pretentious couple who are all too proud of their FormDecor relationship and all too ashamed of everyone else’s. Luke has a son, Bastien, who he had with his first wife, that’s only 6 years younger than Charli. However, Bastien’s one of the few people on my mother’s side of the family that I actually enjoy. We share similar morals, and gratefulness for what we’ve been given, and spend every single family function together ripping the family apart. It’s a shame they never hear us.

Even the family elders have the same disapproving, condescending disdain for everything that my mom displays. But they’re far too silent around me to reveal anything noteworthy. The most words I’ve ever heard from my great grandmother Dorothy Cross (my mother’s mother’s mother), was scolding Jodi for her nudist colony being racially integrated, so it’s safe to say not much good was going to come from that generation. Fortunately, most of them are dead– Dorothy passed in 2011 (though her husband is still living off of a diamond-encrusted life support machine), and Eliza’s father’s parent’s are both long gone. Three out of Andrew’s four parents are deceased, his mother’s mother Clarissa Pullock (or something like that) is still alive, though I’ve never met her and probably never will– our first interaction will probably be at her funeral where I’m forced to pretend to mourn.

While Eliza’s family is dominated by a vile matriarchy, Andrew’s family has been dominated by powerful men with miniature dicks who made the Blackwood name known very much for investment banking until bank holding companies began to reign supreme, after which the family figured they would be better off in electoral politics. Andrew’s grandfather, Adam Blackwood, worked up a networth of slightly over $1 billion, and while his successors haven’t exactly been slacking, I don’t think any of them are ever going to do as well as him (but at the end of the day, if Andrew decided to have a bonfire using $100 bills as kindling, we’d recover before the fire even went out). Adam had two sons– Matthew and Bernard, and both received their jobs at Wall Street after him in a clear sign of nepotism. Bernard married a real estate agent named Elaine or Elle or something like that and had a million kids– most of which were boys. I don’t know much about them, and I don’t really care to. Matthew married some Janet something and had four kids– Paul (1965), Michael (1967), Andrew (1969), and Matthew Jr. (stillborn in 1970).

Unfortunately for this generation of men, who, unsurprisingly, continued the trend of nepotism and began work at the same place as their ancestors (save for Andrew who stayed in school, exploring his interests), none of them were able to produce any boys to continue the line. Paul was the first to reproduce– shooting out Kim and Lisa in 1987 and 1989, and as soon as the Kardashian sisters came around, they tried their hardest to be them but soon settled with just being their very close friends (and it’s safe to say I can’t stand any of them). Michael had Heather in 1990, and somehow, amidst a family of putrid, selfish monsters, she wound up a tasteful and snarky angel of hope. Like Bastien, we spend our family events together, an unholy trio of stylish black sheep.

And then finally, February 5, 1995, I came around. Eliza and Andrew had been married for about three years, and finally had me. Adam was still alive at the time and was praying for a great grandson– only to be disappointed for the fourth time. Almost as a sign of flippancy towards him, they named me Sam (well, Samantha, but I’ve grown accustomed to Sam and refuse to be called by my full first name unless I’m being charged with something). My mother made my middle name Elizabeth– because she hoped that I would follow in her footsteps. She once said naming me after her was “the biggest mistake” she ever made, which I don’t think is entirely unfair because taking after her is the last thing I ever want to do. And I’ve spent the last twenty-one years learning all of this.

People always say that blood is thicker than water, or whatever. That we’re supposed to stick with our families (over friends, or, well, anything). There’s been some mindset that family comes before all, that you honor your last name above anything and everything. I don’t believe that for one second. As if who happened to bang should determine everything about you. I despise almost all of that. And I won’t claim any of the ones that I don’t like for one second. I’ll take a tango any day. Fuck blood. And fuck the Blackwoods.

#sltask #sltask02

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fireflyeggs · 4 years

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First off, do not 5150 me. Please and thank you. PM me if you want but I’m okay right now. I’m hoping to take a nap.

This is literally the longest post i’ve ever made oops

I am once again in the lovely position I have been in before. I should be hospitalized but I cannot be due to my choice in education.

I am in nursing school. 3rd year. If I go to a hospital now, I will be (politely) kicked out of school. Even if I’m not kicked out, it will cause my future license to be suspended until I can meet the state board and convince them I’m mentally sound to practice.

I know people will hit me with “your mental health comes first” but honestly fuck off. I have spent tons of money and the most effort I have ever put in to anything on this degree. I’m not tossing it out because my brain is a flaming heap of trash right now.

On that note, this is why I’m considering just yeeting myself out of the world:

-see above situation

-the dean of my school has barred me from entering a class because the class is overfilled. I need it as a prerequisite next year. Best case scenario they let me take it in fall or summer. Worst case scenario I am forced to temporarily drop out and wait 6-12 months to re enter the nursing school and take the stupid class. Note: other people in my cohort had no issue getting in. I’m just getting weirdly fucked over for no reason. Note: this will render me bankrupt as well.

- due to the lovely SARS-CoV2 situation, my mental health is SHIT. It’s TERRIBLE. I stay up every night until like 2-4 AM crying. And of course I like try to reach out for help but my friends are overwhelmed by me and my therapist/psychiatrist are not readily available. And likely if I was honest with them, I would be hospitalized. See above dilemma.

-I have been laid off (like everyone else in the world). I have been offered a job as a nurse aide but it’s full time and I would probably be putting myself in isolation for the next year if I accept that. Note: I live alone.

-I have re-developed all of my bad habits which I worked hard in therapy to overcome. I’m self harming, drinking, drugging, starving, bingeing, smoking, and fucking my way through life just to get by. And mostly quietly because I get so damn shamed if I say anything. My normal healthy coping skill of going out for coffee or a walk has been killed due to rona.

-I am quickly running out of money and I do not qualify for the stimulus.

-I have been getting moderately bullied by random people to the point of considering deleting my social media (I didn’t even take an opinion, people just praying for my downfall lmao)

-I have, and I am not exaggerating, 8-12 hours of homework daily. Our teachers are pushing us to do even more because of state requirements.

-my friends (bless them) are probably sick of my whining and are overwhelmed because I am, in short, extremely mentally ill. I cannot reach out to any extended family without being told “suck it up, there are people dying” (which is true but makes me feel worse)

-I stopped talking to my ex after a year and I’m still like attached and messed up and damaged over the whole situation.

-I’m currently dating a very nice guy but he does not understand my mental illnesses and I can’t really turn to him for solace because of that. He said he would leave me if I don’t chill. So whatever I guess. Not gonna be getting this puss if I die, pal. To be fair I think his ex emotionally manipulated him with mental illness so that’s why he’s got no chill about it.

-my house is absolutely a disgusting mess and I cannot clean due to my copious amounts of homework. That sounds like an excuse but it’s legitimate

-this doesn’t particularly matter to me but I’m the most thicc I have been and pretty much everyone tells me I look bad and I’m unhealthy and gonna die so whatever. Joys of existence.

-I have like chronic health issues that are being ignored because my doctors office is closed and my issues, while SOMEWHAT serious, are not ER worthy in a pandemic.

-generally people misinterpret my actions and blame me for all of the above because I guess I’m just the literal worst person ever. Well I survived this, you’re over dramatic, you’re trying to manipulate me to feel bad (I’m not I’m just expressing my emotions as a bipolar person with no outlets), you can’t say that, you can’t like that because that one person said that 7 years ago as a joke, you can’t exist....

I’m trying to not die for numerous reasons. My family does not deserve it, my friends do not deserve it. It would be bad. Obviously. I haven’t figured out exactly what to do. My tentative plan was to finish up the semester, clean extensively, and get a cat. I’m still kind of planning on that.

The issue is that like in my current state at currently 3:16 AM, I am not very well coordinated. I am sad. I am anxious. I’m itchy (thanks lamotrigine 200). I have nothing to do and no one that I want to bother. I have already time traveled 3 days in AC. I am tired but cannot sleep (seroquel withdrawal courtesy of me, and bipolar I. Medically approved). I just want to be dead. I’m not TRYING to be dead. I just want this to end. And whatever kind of situation lies beyond my current state gets more appealing the more things that happen to me. I swear I’m cursed. Like, legitimately.

I need to emphasize. I am not trying anything. I am not acting on this. I am passively thinking about it every day. I am actively trying to do better against circumstances that seemingly want me to fail in every regard. It’s like I built a whole ass car only to be plowed over by a semi truck. Repeatidly. In every part of my life. And at this point it would be easier to just give in.

I do not know why I exist primarily to suffer. Of course there are moments of joy. It’s just like a majority of my life has been hardship. And I thought it would stop, but it doesn’t. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to cope. Sexual abuse, bullying, manipulation, depression, medications, repeated rape, unhealthy relationship in which I invest all my love, terrible jobs, illness, bipolar I, stupid college academic advising problems, lovers who screw me over, car accident, physical abuse, addictions, a fucking pandemic. And I’ve been told with most of that it’s my fault. And that which wasn’t my fault was somehow bestowed by the universe because I made myself slightly susceptible in some way.

And mark my words, someone will say that others have it worse. Which is true! But it does not diminish my pain. Nothing does. I just hope I can get a cat and/or whatever else before I drunkenly try to OD at 4 AM on a Tuesday. Or whatever.

As I said. I’m not trying. But with my illness? I never know what’s up next. I hope I don’t. I really hope I don’t.

Friendly reminder: I’m fine right now. Leave me be. If it gets worse, you would know, I can’t keep secrets.

Thanks for reading my novel lmao

#long post #extremely long post #tw suicide #im FINE okay #im just a whiny little bitch

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mantra4ia · 5 years

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OG Roswell vs Roswell New Mexico

I just finished rewatching Roswell (concluded/three seasons/streaming on Hulu) circa my youth from late 90s/early 2000s in order to compare it with Roswell New Mexico (new/ongoing/CW), and I have made the following conclusions so far:

Pros-

CW definitely picked the right actors for Max Evans and Liz (formerly Parker) Orcheto. I love Nathan Parsons - he has the soft-spoken, essense of puppy dog look that Jason Behr had in the role- and the chemistry between them is great.

That said, I think the original series did it better. Nothing beats the casting Shiri Appleby and Jason Behr and their goofball mariachi scenes, biology lab shenanigans, and alien 👽 ears. Sidenote about RNM: for as much as I love the unexpected twist of Alex and Michael together in RNM, nothing beats the casting of Majandra Delfino and Brendan Behr either. Their fantastic "at the same time I want to hug you, I want to wrap my hands around your neck" Michael-Maria dynamic is unbreakable, which I think the CW is trying to replicate with Alex but not with the same bantering charm.

RNM definitely comes out swinging with the political commentary/humor, and it makes the show feel of-the-times in the same vein as classic Roswell's "George Bush is an alien" t-shirt and the other references of the era to various 90s pop culture and music artists. The revival doesn't always stick the landing with the laugh, but the effort is there.

So on the subject of humor, levity in the original series is beyond compare. Yes it's corny, yes they pull out all the stops on hokie. But that's also what makes it so endearing. Seeing the main characters' relationships with their parents is also an unfortunate missing piece that RNM, by the mechanics of the "all grown up" plot, misses out on. Mrs. DeLuca, Mr. Evans, and the sheriff, had their fair share of laughs in Roswell and I miss that.

Alien special effects have far improved over the course of nearly 20 years. No more silver paint handprints, woooooohoo.

That said, nobody does 90s music transitions between scenes like Roswell. Nor jump cuts and cutaways.

I like Roswell New Mexico's homages to the OG show (the CrashDown, the waitress uniforms complete with antenna, and the ketchup are still priceless). More than anything, I like the fact that RNM paid attention to where Max's character left off in the original series, a little lost in purpose but wanting to help people, and so they made grown up Max a deputy, and likewise Liz became a scientist. And of course, the throwback mentions of Liz and Max in bio lab, Liz wiping hot sauce from his face...

But why have an homage when you can have the original hot sauce? Or, for that matter, half broken Jeep, fully DoA Jetta, and peach Snapple?

I'm thankful that so far there is no sight of the Tess character in RNM (I say, despite my love of Emilie de Ravin), and that they've seemed to pass along her mind warp power to Isabelle.

Cons-

How dare RNM backseat Maria DeLuca's character?! She was the beating heart and soul of terrestrial Roswell, her friendship with Liz is vital to the show in a way that the revival is not pulling off so far.

Roswell New Mexico has one advantage over Roswell for which I am grateful, and that's the fact that Maria, Max, Liz and crew are grown up and not keeping diaries anymore (thankfully I think TVD used up that plot device and the well has gone dry for the foreseeable future), which leads to fewer face-eating awkward make-out scenes in high school back rooms. Yet somehow the post-teenage angst is still front and center, go figure.

I like Michael Trevino. He's a welcome addition to any ensemble. But the CW plug to the Vampire Diaries/Julie Plec by putting a VD book on the shelf in Rosa's room is so cringy I can't take it. I am trying to black out the fact that Plec is EP on RNM and they make it impossible.

Roswell was kind of episodically self-contained with very few true cliffhangers, whereas Roswell New Mexico seems to stretch out the plot arcs a bit more. I can appreciate that added bit of complexity.

However, RNM also takes itself way too seriously. And I'm not just talking about the balance of drama and humor, for which the revival leans into the dramatic side heavily. I'm talking about the fact that the original Roswell, while it fully embraced the science fiction, was also self-effacing at times, like it was in on the joke that everything was just a little bit ridiculous. It embraced the cornball element. Dare I say it loved the cornball, and I think that's part of the reason why it's so rewatchable and bingeworthy years later. Roswell New Mexico has none of that.

I never understood the need for royal hierarchy conflict, love triangles, babies, and exiled aliens fighting a nearly unseen foe - Kivar - in Roswell (because more often than not the plots double back on themselves and come up half empty), so I'm glad Roswell New Mexico took a more worldly approach to the problems the protagonists are facing.

Sadly Michael Guerin and Isabelle, like Maria DeLuca, fall flat in the new series so far. In part I think it's because the story hasn't done a lot of relationship building between them and Max (it spends so/too much time building the drama and tension around Liz's sister's 'murder' plot that I'm not yet invested in) to highlight the sibling connection that made the first iteration charming. And that's a shame.

Lastly, who's disgusting idea was it to swap hot sauce for acetone polish remover? Never. No. NO.

Overall, I still much prefer the original Roswell vs. the Roswell New Mexico revival. It has a rewatchability and heart that the new series has yet to capture for me. I could give it time at least until I see the episode that Shiri Appleby directs, but I think that the new tone of the show is something else entirely and I'm not the biggest fan.

#og roswell #roswell #roswell new mexico #compare and contrast #max evans #liz parker #maria deluca #michael guerin #valenti #shiri appleby #jason behr #brendan fehr #majandra delfino #emilie de ravin #nathan parsons #crashdown cafe #hot sauce on everything #first impressions #roswell reaction'd

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ikesenhell · 6 years

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Paper Battles

This is the Hostile Takeover series: Part Six. For all other parts and additional IkeSen works by me, see here.

Note: APPARENTLY this series has decided it is going to be highly NSFW as a whole… which is ironic, cause a lot of it is about work… Be warned.

The conference was scheduled for two days from then. Reporters swarmed eagerly outside of Chatelaine Bank, braving the rain for a chance at a juicy story.

“God,” the Director sighed, staring out the window. “That’s a lot of people.”

Nobunaga didn’t answer that. He instead set the tiny box in front of her on the table. She arched her brow at it.

“What’s that?”

“What do you think?” He half-laughed.

“You...” Her voice faltered. “You didn’t have to do that. That’s a lot of money to spend.”

“You don’t know how much I spent,” he answered smoothly. “And if the money concerns you, think of it as a long-term investment in Chatelaine Bank. You can return it to me afterwards.”

She cracked the box lid and stared at him from under her brows. “You spent a lot of money on this.”

Nobunaga frowned at her. “First of all, I’ll not have anyone believing that I’d give someone I wished to marry anything less. Secondly, I wasn’t about to be cheap about this. If you’re going to be wearing it for a few months, it should at least be suitable.”

With a deep, long sigh, she slipped it onto her finger. The three diamonds sparkled bright in the light, rubies around the rest of the band. “I feel ridiculous doing this.”

“It’s for your business.”

“Mr. Akechi got the rest of what he needed to pull this off, correct?” She asked, suddenly worried. It was all over her face. “If he didn’t--”

He held up his hand. “Mitsuhide is an expert. He’ll handle it beautifully. Shall we?”

They walked as a unit down the steps and into the front lobby, where Sasuke and Mitsuhide met them in crisp suits.

“Ready?” Sasuke asked.

“No.” She laughed. “Let’s do this.”

As soon as the front doors opened, cameras sparked and flashed. Mitsuhide took the stand in front of a bevy of microphones, clearing his throat.

“Thank you for attending,” he announced smoothly. “I’m going to be sharing a joint statement from Azuchi and Chatelaine Banks on the recent headlines. As you all have reported, there was a photo that placed the CEOs of our respective banks together in what appeared to be a compromising position.”

“Oh, god,” the Princess mumbled, her veneer still solid.

“As their privacy has been breached,” Mitsuhide continued, cameras flashing, “they would like me to formally announce that they have been engaged for roughly four months.”

A collective gasp rolled through the crowd. Sasuke stepped up beside Mitsuhide, spreading out his own sheets. “For those with Chatelaine Bank, you need not be concerned. We hold to our standards of transparency and honesty, and even through the courtship, we have continued to keep our policies and business models entirely separate from Azuchi Bank. There are no plans for a merger, nor is that on the table, or even under consideration.”

“Additionally,” Mitsuhide added, a grin spreading on his lips, “We should take a moment to call out those that saw to breach the privacy of our CEOs. I’ve been in contact with the reporters who first broke this story, and I would like to state publicly: it is a shame on the Uesugi-Takeda Bank that they would seek to so smear the names of two happy people for financial gain.”

A hand shot up. “Do you have proof to the assertion that U-T Bank is behind the breach of the story?”

“I do.” Mitsuhide looked almost smug, but it was only a hint. “We’ll be passing out the formalized statement, as well as proof of the emails and attachments sent from Shingen Takeda’s personal secretary. I would like to formally admonish the Uesugi-Takeda Bank for inserting themselves into the private affairs of those they consider rivals.”

The Director turned her head, cocking a brow at Nobunaga. “Very cutthroat of him.”

“It’s the best way to throw out the smokescreen,” Nobunaga whispered back to her. “The scandal isn’t on you anymore. It’s on why Takeda feels it’s necessary to spread gossip about you.”

“Mm.” She apparently hadn’t decided how she felt about that, so she turned her head away and smiled politely at a reporter.

Azuchi Bank’s phones were ringing off the hook.

“It’s Kenshin Uesugi,” the secretary advised Nobunaga. “He wants to talk to you.”

“Tell him I’m in a meeting,” Nobunaga answered, picking through his lunch.

“Yes, sir.”

“What would he want?” Hideyoshi asked, befuddled.

“Don’t know. He’s always been an odd one.” Nobunaga turned on his computer and sorted through the news results, smiling at what he saw. “It looks like this has bounced back nicely onto U-T.”

“Yes. Shingen Takeda was forced to make a formal address on his part in the news release and basically own to releasing the photos.”

Buzz. Buzz. He flicked on his phone screen and checked the text. It was from the Princess, just a single photo of her television, news conference with Shingen on, and a single finger raised at the screen in defiance. He snorted. “Somehow I don’t think that will placate her.”

“So...” Hideyoshi eyed Nobunaga. “What’s the timeline on keeping this ‘engagement’ going?”

“Until it dies down.” He texted back a simple He’s having to eat quite a bit of his own words and shoved the phone back into his desk. “The current plan is that we can say that the stress and high-profile nature of being thrust into the public and shamed caused the dissolution of the engagement, though we maintain a fondness for each other. This could be a five month to two year plan, depending on the level of media interest.”

“Sounds fair.” But his vice-president paused. “You do realize that the policies you’re having us put through do mirror many of those of Chatelaine Bank.”

“Of course I know that.” He frowned right back. “Why?”

“I just was asking. I think some of our stock holders are growing nervous. They think that we might be changing our bottom line to a smaller profit threshold, and I don’t think they’re fond of that.”

“Azuchi Bank will always be its own entity,” he scoffed. “They’ll stop quailing soon enough. Never let it be said I turned down a good idea in the name of quelling fears.”

They started lunch dates in the name of appearances. He would drive to her office, more often than not, but she didn’t want to ride in his car. They would walk down the street instead, arm in arm, and settle in at a humble Mom-and-Pop bistro that served surprisingly good sandwiches.

“Never would have thought to come here,” he admitted, peeling open his chips bag. She fixed him with an amused, steely stare until he had to roll his eyes. “You don’t have to say it.”

“Don’t I?” She asked, the teasing lilt in her voice. “We’re not going to talk about your bougie tendencies?”

“No.” He chomped down on a chip, and she laughed.

“Are you pouting?”

“Not at all. If you choose to believe that, that’s for you to wrestle with.”

He shared an umbrella with her on the walk back, rain scattering around their shoes and drenching his pant hem. He didn’t mind so much. Lunch was at least interesting now. It felt like some of the magic from the Innovator’s Conference had followed her home, wrapped itself in the cuticles of those manicured fingernails and the swoop of her neck, and he was nothing if not interested in seeing where else it lay. He didn’t have to escort her back to her office door--it wasn’t necessary, after all--but he felt like it, so they walked through her office and talked about interest rates and upcoming legislation.

“Miss Director?” Her secretary interrupted them, peeking her head in the office. “You have a visitor.”

“Oh?” She glanced at Nobunaga. “Well, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Alright.” He turned on his heel to leave, but--oh. A familiar blonde man emerged in the doorway, mismatched eyes surveying the cozy office, and suddenly Nobunaga was loathe to leave. “Ah. Kenshin.”

“Nobunaga.” Mr. Uesugi looked only slightly surprised. “Congratulations on your upcoming nuptials.”

“Thank you.”

“Mr. Uesugi?” The Princess paused, then fixed on her professional smile. “Hello. We’ve never met.”

“No, we haven’t.” He answered shortly. His voice was rich and thick, but he was also notoriously brusque and harsh. “I understand my associates got you into a bit of trouble.”

There it was; that sharp, daggerlike glint in her eyes. Nobunaga nearly laughed himself hoarse. Who would win in a fight: the iron maiden Director, or the God of Corporate Warfare himself? “You might say Mr. Takeda caused me a bit of distress, yes.”

“I came here to formally apologize.” He produced a bottle of sake, setting it on her desk with little ceremony. Nobunaga wondered just how humiliated Kenshin was to go this far. “His tactics were disgusting and reprehensible, and the distress and resulting dishonor he caused all of us in no way is endorsed by me. You have my utter sympathies.”

“Well, that’s very kind of you.” She examined the bottle, looking a little confused. “You needn’t apologize for something another person did.”

“But I do. He did it in the name of Uesugi-Takeda Bank, and therefore, it’s my problem as well.”

“Well, that’s appreciated.” She smiled at him. “Thank you very much. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Not at present. Simply wished to grant you that.” And with a nod to both of them, he turned on his heel and left again.

“Well.” Nobunaga stared after the other man. “Now that was downright nice of him.”

“Definitely not what I’d expected after hearing so many stories.” She uncorked the sake and sniffed it. “Ooh. This is good stuff. I’ll have to share it for an event or something.”

“Maybe your engagement party?” Nobunaga laughed. She picked up a piece of paper, crumpled it, and flung it at his head. He swatted it away. “Come now. You don’t want to start a war with me in here. I’ll win.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

“Don’t test me.” He lunged for the printer paper and she laughed, snatching up a few sheets of her own and diving behind the desk. Nobunaga spun a chair around and used it as his own barricade.

“This is war!” He shouted, lobbing paper balls over the edge. Her laughter spilled from under the desk.

“Oh my god, you’re gonna ruin my office!”

“You shouldn’t have started this!”

A paper ball smacked him square on top of the head and he cackled. “I will get you for that!”

“Bring it!”

Two could play at that. Nobunaga charged from around the chair and behind her desk; she screamed in surprise as he snatched her up and flung her over his shoulder.

“Put me down! You ass!” She beat at his back, laughing. He swept her onto her back on her couch. “Ah! Jesus!”

Planting a knee onto the edge of her couch cushions, he grinned mercilessly down at her. She was smiling still, her hair messed and undone, cardigan askew and skirt hiked up a little too far to be professional. “Admit defeat.”

“Never.” She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Bah. There’s no way for me to escalate against that kind of treachery in your office.”

They both fell silent, the unspoken next step surging between them. Oh. It felt as if a magnet were linked between their bodies, only just now activated and attracting, and--

“I should go.” Nobunaga straightened up.

“Right.” She fixed herself. “Um, have a good day.”

“Thank you. You as well.” And he turned on his heel to walk out the door, ignoring the terrible, growing desire in his stomach to stay and make good on what he wanted to do.

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totalconway · 4 years

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The Right Kinda Fat Shit

A bit of water went under the bridge between acting in ‘The Unsung Docker’ and my next acting job. In that time I got to open for some big name comedians including Steve-O from Jackass, Doug Stanhope, and Donell Rawlings from Chapelle show.

In that same time I was awarded the ‘Fuck off to Melbourne Award’ at the annual Doustie Awards (The Perth Comedy Scene Awards) but I had already set my sights on a move to Sydney to pursue my comedy dream a little less then 2 years into starting stand up.

So after I packed my things and left my job I headed for the big city lights of Sydney. I had only been to Sydney a handful of times prior to moving there, once to see Danny Green vs Anthony Mundine, the second was to see Jay and Silent Bob Live after their Perth show sold out and the third time was to perform at the Sydney Comedy Store to perform at their Christmas show. It was a huge honour for me so early in my comedy career to be invited to perform at the Sydney Comedy Store as it is arguably the best comedy club in Australia. It felt like I was being presented with a black belt for an art form I was still wrapping my head around. My decision to move to Sydney was made easier by the fact that one of my best mates was heading over as well and we agreed to rent together in the inner west suburb of Petersham.

After working for 10 years on the Docks, manual labor jobs was something I was trying to avoid at all costs so I applied for some weird jobs. Some jobs I didn’t even realise were a thing including a job making sales commission on selling Paralympic Pins. After sitting in the interview and listening to the lady explain in a thousand different ways but never actually saying “You will sell Pins for a commission” I politely declined and hauled my unemployed ass back to Petersham.

After the success of ‘The Unsung Docker’ I was keen to dip my toe in the acting pool again, if only to fill in my days of unemployment creatively. I went searching through the website ‘StarNow’, which is essentially the Craiglists of media work and applied for numerous gigs. Along with the short films and University projects I applied for I also applied to be represented by an acting agent so they could make the job search easier for me. After a few days I received a call about my application and they were super keen to have me on their books which was weird because the only film credit I had was ‘The Unsung Docker’. I’ve always been skeptical of people who are too excited to offer me something because 99.9% of the time its something you don’t want.

I reluctantly agreed to sign with them, I figured if this was a scam they wouldn’t be able to get any money out of me because I’m fucking broke but sure enough a week later true to their word they sent me out for my first audition. The gig was paying $2000 for a days work playing a delivery man for a Tatts Lotto commercial. Being $2000 for a days work I wasn’t exactly confident because I felt you needed to have some serious acting chops to make $2000 a day. In my mind that’s like ‘Home and Away’ money. But sure enough, I went to the audition and for the first of many times in my acting career I was the right kinda fat shit.

I don’t remember much of the commercial, it never made it to air. All I remember was pushing an empty refrigerator box and pretending it was full. My experience in manual labour had given me the skills to be able to look like I work harder than I do so I was able to nail the performance. The only other thing I remember from the shoot was that the little girl in the scene was a spoilt little rich kid and was as annoying as fuck for the whole day. She kinda reminded me of Veruca from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory only she didn’t die chasing golden duck eggs.

When the shoot was done I had to wait a few weeks to get paid and after union fees and my agents cut I ended up only making about $1100 which is less Home and Away money and more regular Delivery Man money.

In between acting jobs I was still hitting up ‘StarNow’ to find independent projects to cut my teeth on. Only two stood out, one was playing a a security guard ( I think my character died in it but I don’t remember) the other was me in a suit watching a chick dance in front of me with a red light filling the room. The scene felt like a cross between a David Lynch film and a soft core porno. I have yet to see either of these films but I’m sure I nailed the fat guy character they were looking for.

During this time, I finally buckled on avoiding manual labour work and got a job at the Airport working for REX Airline which is a small regional airline. One of the most brain numbing jobs I ever experienced, so much so I started regretting not taking that sweet sweet Paralympic Pin money. The REX job was to purely help me pay the bills and it barely did that. My excitement for living in the big city lights of Sydney was starting to dimmer.

During one particular shift I got a call from my agent saying that I had been offered another gig. I didn’t even have to audition I just had to meet the director and see if we “vibed”. I asked my agent why I didn’t have to audition for this film and she blew so much smoke up my ass I felt like I was sitting on top of a volcano. She said “I was the best actor on their books”, “how incredibly talented I was”, and “how I have a big future in acting”. Pretty much saying I was the next Heath Ledger and for a millisecond I actually believed it until I read the character description “Fat, Balding, pale, poor skin etc etc”. The gig was for an anti obesity health campaign and I was like, Fuck that! two seconds ago you were describing me as the next Heath Ledger and now you want me to do a role that is me just being a fatty fat boombardy FUCK THAT. Then she said it was paying $5000 so I agreed to do it.

We didn’t really need an excuse to party in Petersham so being offered $5000 for an acting job is as good as any. We also had friends over from Perth and what better way to celebrate my thriving acting career than getting drunk with the Perth crew. Partying was not the best decision because I ended sleeping in and had to race to the meet and greet with the director stinking of piss (alcohol and my own) looking super haggard and feeling paranoid I may have flushed $5000 down the toilet. I managed to get to the meeting in time by spending my last few bucks on an Uber, walked into the meeting looking disgusting and smelling like an alley way. I walked in to meet the Director gingerly and feeling a bit embarrassed about the state I was in. Too my surprise though, my night on the piss had helped me become the living embodiment of their ‘Fat piece of shit character’ they wanted for the commercial. So I left the meeting on a high but with no more money, I ended up spending the next 3 hours getting home for round 2 of Partying Perth style.

It actually paid about $10,000 because every year it aired I would get paid another $5000 in roll over cost.

The shoot ended up being 3 days and it was pretty chilled, I literally had one scene with no dialogue. I pretty much just had to sit there and be fat and sad which was surprisingly hard considering the guy directing the commercial was mostly known for working on comedies so we had a lot of banter in those 3 days. The third day of the shoot was my time to shine, I had to sit there and be told how my fat is killing me etc etc. It was the most important shot of the commercial because this is where they drive home the point that Fat is Bad.

There was some tension on this day because the big honchos of NSW Health who were paying for the commercial wanted to sit in and watch and make sure the scene was delivering their Fat is Bad message. So my first thought was what better way to show off my comedy skills in front of the director than to crack a joke during this pivotal scene. When the Doctor said to me “All that toxic fat can lead to blah blah... its not looking good” I turned to my wife in the scene and said in the saddest voice I could “I better lay off the meat pies then”, This popped the tension in the room and got the whole crew laughing. Its not the best joke but it was good enough to send the crew into a giggle fit after a hard couple of days. Everyone was laughing except the producer who came marching down yelling and screaming about having a bit of respect for NSW Health who were there and are taking this very seriously (Fuck off cunt). NSW Health have been paying to fat shame me for 3 fucking days, they can go fuck themselves if they can’t handle one Meat Pie joke. Getting told off made the crew laugh even harder. They struggled like school children being told off at an assembly but once everyone got their composure back we shot the scene and it was a wrap.

youtube

After the fat commercial I felt I was done with acting. Don’t get me wrong acting is a lot of fun but it kinda loses its magic when you’re whole role is sitting their looking fat.

One of the ways I tried reigniting the spark to do acting was when I came across a ‘Kickstarter’ campaign for Troma’s new film Return to Nuke em High Vol 2. Troma was a big part of my childhood with the toy line Toxic Crusaders which was inspired by the animated series and not the incredibly gory live action movies. With ‘Kickstarter’ campaigns they have rewards depending on the amount of money you donate and for $3500 you could have the legendary Lloyd Kauffman direct a 5 minute short film that I would write. I jumped at the opportunity to buy this reward not only would I be following in the same steps as actors like Kevin Costner, Samuel L Jackson, James Gunn who got their start doing Troma films, but it was a great excuse to head over to New York.

I purchased this reward which was $3500USD, it was not only all the money I made working on the fat commercial but it was also all of my pay from REX Airline for that fortnight after.( I didn’t take into consideration the exchange rate). I made my investment in 2015 and I finally received the DVD copy and posters at the end of 2019. It was a slow process but definitely looking forward to heading over once this COVID-19 shit is over and done with. I don’t think I’ll use the original script I wrote in 2015 called Love/Life about a guy who develops a relationship with the girl who catfished him, she also happens to be a Banshee.

A few months later I got sent for another audition this time it was a paid short film called The Spa. What was the role? Well Fat delivery man of course! but this one was different, it was an amazing script and I actually had dialogue which is always great.

I ended up scoring the role of Moose and part of the job requirement was having to do table reads with the other cast members. Still being naive I thought this was a bit of over kill for a short film but if I’m getting paid and it gets me out of a days work so I’m happy to do all the table reads you want. I’m glad they did the table reads because when I went in for the rehearsal I was star struck by the cast.

After the Fat Commercial I had bitch and moaned to the universe to give me a role that would show I could hold my own against the best of the best and not just a guy whose there for being the right kinda fat. In return the universe slapped me into check when I walked in for the first table read and saw the cast that included Chris Haywood, Jay Laga'aia who have pretty much starred in every great piece of Australian cinema and Peter Moalaeua who I had seen on a bunch of TV commercials. They say be careful what you wish for and I was definitely worried I had bitten off more than I could chew. It was a dream come true to work with the likes of these actors and also a huge motivator to make sure I could hold my own against these acting beast.

The shoot for The Spa was absolutely amazing, working with some of the most talented actors and crew in the country. Watching Chris Haywood and Jay Laga’aia on set was one of the greatest experiences. Observing them walk around just nailing every take and then joking and laughing with the rest of the crew and doing so with absolutely zero ego.

This reminds me, after the shoot Jay Laga’aia drove me as close as he could to my flat in Petersham and then gave me his $50 Taxi gift voucher to help me get the rest of the way home. It was a crazy experience driving home with Jay because we’re talking about comedy and what not and I’m sitting there like Jay Laga’aia is giving me a lift home, this dude was in fucking Star Wars.

Working on The Spa was an amazing experience and it is incredibly humbling to sit back and watch the success it has had. Being showcased at film festivals all around the world and picking up numerous awards.

Acting is a weird industry. I’ve loved all the opportunities I’ve gotten, even the shit ones because sometimes you have to work through the Fat Shit Roles to get the skills to be the Fat Shit you’ve always dreamed of. The right kinda fat shit.

vimeo

#acting #perth #fat #fatshaming #movies #commercial #tv #comedy #performing #blog

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taehyung-the-baehyung · 7 years

Text

COMPANY || five.

◦ pairing: reader x hyungsik

◦ rating: m

◦ word count: 4.5k

table of contents | one | two | three | four | five | six |

m a s t e r l i s t

I could always feel the hungry eyes on me: mentally stripping me of the dress that pressed against my body, imagining me bent under their will. It was normal for me, for any of the women here, really. I was just an accessory, with no assumed function separate from simply standing with my arm in Hyungsik’s, smiling, and looking good. Dinners like these were a raunchy chaos of wandering eyes and disgusting passes from higher ups to women in positions lower than them– all hidden behind the dignity of fancy attire and business cards. It was better to be at a college party when it was all obvious, and out in the open, and at least then there was no consequence to “accidentally” spilling a drink on someone whose attention you didn’t want. These spoiled CEO brats of these investment companies were given the power and the privilege to do as they pleased for most of their lives, and women had become a perk to that lifestyle of luxury. We were theirs to stare at, to order around, to belong to.

The man before me now had lingering eyes that dragged along my hips and chest for far too long. By now I knew to simply smile politely and pretend that they were looking at my eyes and not my breasts. I was used to Hyungsik’s fingers pressing a little harder around my waist, pulling me closer to his body, and he would stroke my hip with his thumb. My chest would always thud to an uneven rhythm at Hyungsik’s firm hold on my side, claiming me as his to everyone here. I was used to the secret signs, the brushes of my ass as he passed, the smirk on his lips when he left a new silk scarf on my desk to cover up the gardens of purple that he left on my skin. These networking dinners like were always different, though; he wanted everyone here to know I was his.

But tonight, I was alone.

I shuddered out of my thoughts, realizing just how often he had been on my mind as of late. It had been a couple days since I had heard from him. Had he landed? Was he checked into his hotel? Was he even at a hotel? What was he doing? Who was he meeting? All the questions just whirred through my mind, I could hardly focus on work when he wasn’t by my side. I was starting to wonder if it was him who needed me or me who needed him.

“Where’s your boss, sweetheart?” The man took a step closer to me as I waited for the bartender to pour my drink. The way the corners of his lips turned upwards made my blood curl with disgust, but I forced yet another polite smile, a mere accessory of the business world, I had learned.

“Out of the country,” I responded curtly to the man. “Something came up.” A certain dread started to stir in my stomach the more I thought about it. Hyungsik hadn’t told me anything further about his trip to Europe.

My phone vibrated in my purse and my stomach lurched, hoping it was Hyungsik. Did he finally remember I was here? I cursed myself for thinking it. He didn’t get to drop off the face of the planet after a confusingly affectionate night and then keep me wrapped around his finger. I couldn’t give him that power. I was supposed to hate him, and now I just sounded like a dramatic teenager who just started dating someone. He had gone and left me in the wake of my own ruin.

Part of me thought that he must be busy with his not-business-related-business in Europe, but the other part of me knew better. He was surely embarrassed or regretful of the other night. He probably said things he didn’t mean when he was drunk. Though see, the thing was, I wasn’t even sure if he was drunk to begin with. I certainly was, that was no question. I had taken shot after shot in celebration, but he only sipped on his whiskey. I had been raking through my foggy memory to find details that maybe he was also drunk that night, but I could only remember my own frenzy.

“Oh, that’s a shame. I had an offer for him,” the man frowned. He stepped closer to me, his eyes rising to meet mine. “Though perhaps I can convince you to pass it on.”

The woman behind the bar cleared her throat and handed me a long frame of glass, encasing a bubbling yellowish liquid inside. I sighed in relief as I held the cool glass in my hands, sending my gratitude through our exchanged glance.

“That’s quite alright, sir. I’ll let him know when he returns. He’ll surely be in touch. You have a good night.”

I rolled my eyes, taking a quick gulp of the champagne as I let the burn settle in my throat. The nerve of some of the men here, I could never shake it. They were all the same. Honestly, I never realized just how bearable Hyungsik made these dinners. Some nights we would simply sit at our table and bad mouth the older men here ogling at the women. I took another swig of champagne, frustrated at myself for not being able to untangle Hyungsik from my thoughts.

He had seemed to enjoy the elevator sex. In fact, the deposit had been the biggest one yet. Surely with some more surprises here and there, I could make enough to help my brother through college without disrupting my life. I loathed myself for using him like this. Truthfully, I had been the one being used since the beginning, but it was only for company. It was an adventurous, sexual relationship, to say the least, but I get it. It had been clear from the start that Hyungsik simply didn’t have time to meet women, and he was settling for me as his own. It was more than understandable. I had never lived alone before coming to the city. Park Hyungsik was the only person I had. And now, I was in it for money. It felt dirty. It wasn’t like me at all.

The knot in the base of my stomach tightened as my phone vibrated again. I told myself I wouldn’t check it. There was no way in hell that I was going to run to my phone at any sign of him so eagerly. I’d let him wait. After all, he left me hanging like this; it would serve him right.

With the third swig of champagne, I felt my body finally relax. Though, the same could not be said for my mind. God, when did I give him the power to make me feel like this?

I scanned the room, searching for some escape. No one here was worth networking with, and I had already made my rounds amongst those I knew. The commotion in the room suddenly seemed like too much, what with all the phony conversations, pretending to be oh so impressed with the latest financial innovation, and flimsy promises of meeting at the tennis club or the golf course.

I stepped out onto the balcony, tracing the rim of the glass in my hand. It was quiet out tonight. The night was warm, still cloaked with the humidity of the day’s rain. Droplets of water clung to my skin as I rested my arms on the edge of the glass barriers. Looking out over the city, with my mind cluttered, I was beginning to understand why Hyungsik loved a view. Fiery rivers of headlights whizzing over roads flowed in a stream, lit windows of every building scattered the landscape like stars– it was all more beautiful than nature itself. I closed my eyes, taking a picture in my mind. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to shield the night air from prancing over my bare arms.

A deep voice broke through my daze, just as my thoughts were being quieted. "Cold?" he asked, his voice quiet and gentle. I shook my head no, eyes still closed. I felt him move closer, the scent of his sweet cologne teasing my nose. He smelled good. Curious, I opened my eyes, another breeze washing over my bare shoulders with a shiver. “Liar,” he smiled.

His smile was gentle and warm. Long smile lines making a charming appearance in the depths of his cheeks. He ran his fingers over his hair, slicked over to the side. I straightened up, turning to face him. He was tall, just a little bit taller than Hyungsik. He seemed to have a genuine feel, one that was almost familiar, friendly even– very unlike a CEO. I was intrigued.

“I’ve seen you before,” he mused. “Haven’t I?”

“I’m not usually here alone,” I smiled politely. “So you probably only paid attention to the man beside me.”

His eyes widened with an entertained smile as he brought a hand to his chest. He chuckled, and I laughed at that. He had a nice laugh. “Okay, tell me then,” he started, turning to face me with one elbow resting on the glass railing. “What does a beautiful woman such as yourself get out of playing call-girl to Hyungsik?”

I tensed at his words, frozen as shame and anger and confusion swam through my blood. “E-excuse me?”

His mouth formed an ‘o’ and his eyes widened as he shook his head. “Sorry, sorry, not like that.” He spoke quickly amidst a nervous chuckle. “I just mean, why are you his assistant when you seem perfectly qualified to be his equal?”

“I take it you do know me then.” I raised an eyebrow at him.

His face scrunched up, his eyes squeezed shut for a moment, his lips pursed. “Okay, confession,” he chuckled. “I know exactly who you are. I just needed a reason to come talk to you.”

I turned to face him fully, startled. He had a familiarity to him, though I was sure I had never met him. I would have remembered such an attractive face. My eyebrows knit together as I racked my brain for some semblance of an answer. How did he know me?

“We haven’t met, don’t worry. You’re not forgetting me.” He chuckled, raking his hand through his hair again. His eyes shrunk into small slivers as he watched me in amusement. His peachy complexion seemed to glow, and I wondered how old he was. Surely not that much older than me.

“Oh,” I nodded. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting from him, but if he called Hyungsik by his first name, perhaps he was a friend, or an old client. I tried to remind myself that I was here for work, after all. “Well, if you have a message for Mr. Park, I can pass it along.”

He smiled, shaking his head. His smile lines seemed to grow on top of each other each time he flashed a grin. His teeth were almost blindingly white, I couldn’t stop admiring his smile. I was truly enchanted by this man –whoever he was. He was confident, but not an arrogant kind of confident, and charming, in a homey, boy-next-door way.

“Confession two,” He took a step closer, looking around. The balcony was empty. It was just us. “I didn’t come over to have you deliver a message like a mailman. I just wanted to talk to you.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but closed it promptly. I didn’t know how to respond to that. Truth be told, I hadn’t ever been hit on so openly before Hyungsik. Even with him, I could hardly call it ‘flirting’. Flustered, I finished off my champagne, and turned to face the view. This guy was definitely not your average businessman. He seemed gentle, and welcoming. Silently, he turned beside me to look out as well, our arms almost touching as we stood side by side. We stood like that for a while before I broke the silence. “I can’t say I’m impressed with your flirting.”

“Who said I was flirting?”

I laughed nervously, feeling heat rise to my cheeks when he smiled my way. “Oh.”

“Besides, I thought I was doing pretty well. You’re blushing, and we’ve only been talking for about four minutes.” He shrugged with a hidden smirk, taking a sip of his own drink: wine. He was a wine guy. Noted. My mind felt frantic, juggling thoughts of Hyungsik with my impression of this man. I found myself drawn to him, but comfortable in his presence. He was calming.

I faced forward once more, letting the magic of the cityscape continue to ease me. “Well, you’ve neither asked for my name, nor given me yours.” I didn’t dare turn to face him this time. His smile was dangerously weakening. I cursed the champagne I drank all too quickly for being so brazen with someone I had met at a networking dinner.

He turned his head, pursing his lips in thought, nodding silently. A muffled hum sounded from his pocket as his phone vibrated. I clutched my purse tighter in my hand, reminded of the messages waiting to be read. This man had made me forget all about Hyungsik, all about my job. I squeezed my eyes shut, mentally scolding myself for acting like this. The entire professional persona I had came crumbling down with just a glass of champagne.

He glanced at his phone, before straightening up quickly, startling me from my drifting mind. “Tell you what,” he said, reaching into his breast pocket. “Here’s my card.” He gently held out the card out towards me. It was a simple, white thing. The name PARK SEO JOON was centered in bold, black font. “Save the number. I’ll be in touch.”

“For what?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” He winked with a look of absolute delight drawn across his face. With that, he turned and walked swiftly back into the room, his phone pressed to his ear.

I had left the dinner soon after Seo Joon did. His card was tucked in my purse, right up against my phone, kissing the dark screen. I wanted to hold on to it, but honestly, I didn’t know what I would do with it– or when.

Coming home to an empty apartment was always disheartening, and the same terrifying loneliness that had consumed me the first night I was in the city settled all too comfortably into every atom of my body. I remembered lying on top of my bare mattress, surrounded by boxes and no one to help unpack them. I had stared out my bedroom window for hours, hoping that the chaos of the city wouldn’t consume me, and less than a week later, I was nodding at a man I didn’t even know when he told he’d need my “company”.

I carefully slipped out of my heels and placed them neatly at the bottom of my closet. My chest welled, feeling heavy as I realized that I was alone tonight. Usually, I would see Hyungsik at least every other day or so. Even if I didn’t go to his place, or he didn’t come to mine, even if we didn’t fuck in his office, we nearly always spent the night together. It was the first time in a long time that I had been without him, without anyone, actually.

Before I moved here, I lived with my mother and my brother in a quaint house in the suburbs. We lived quietly, and happily, even without that much money. So, when I moved to the city, I hardly slept a wink and the anxiety of having to do things alone was less than exciting.

It was why I never walked away from Hyungsik on the very first day. Lil’ ole’ country girl me went in there with starry eyes, looking at a high-paying job that I never thought I’d get. All I saw was a better life for my family; I didn’t even think about me. And then, Park Hyungsik, CEO, and my boss, an entirely attractive and perfectly educated man was asking to sleep with me. I was struck with incredulity and found my body reacting before my brain. The pattern hadn’t changed when it came to him.

I tossed my purse to my bed and shuffled out of my tight dress. The mirror reflected my utterly tired frame, littered with bruises and hickeys, and it only made me miss Hyungsik more. I hated to admit it, but I really did miss him. Maybe it wasn’t even him, more than it was his presence. Just the fact that I had someone to work with, someone to celebrate with, someone to take me home after a night of one too many drinks. I carded my hand through my hair, squeezing my eyes shut, trying to shake him from my thoughts. But, I was hooked– on him, or just the idea of a relationship, who knows. I certainly didn’t.

I pulled my bra off, tossing it into my laundry basket and immediately slouching, ridding myself of the uptight business posture I had been trapped in all night. Too lazy to bother with clothes, I threw myself onto my bed and dug my phone from my purse, Seo Joon’s card dropping to the floor.

Just then, my phone vibrated in my hand, sending my stomach in knots with nausea. I answered the call, holding it close to my face, tightening my fingers around the cellphone. I didn’t know what to expect.

“Hey,” his voice was husky and worn as he spoke. “You didn’t answer my messages.”

I gulped, his tone sounding painfully similar to when he was whispering in my ear, his head tucked in the dip between my shoulder and neck. Goosebumps flooded over my skin as I struggled to find the words to respond. “S-sorry.”

For a moment, I only heard his soft breaths against the speaker. “I should have called earlier.”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “I mean, I wish you had.” I cleared my throat, my voice still shaking. God, just the sound of his voice had me trembling. A cold shiver swam through my spine as I slid my panties down my legs, kicking them off.

“I can’t stop thinking about you.” His words were clear, his tone completely free of his usual pretentiousness. My stomach dropped at his words, not knowing what to think.

I looked down at the covers, fiddling with the hem nervously. What was I supposed to say to that? “Me either.” I admitted finally.

“Really?”

I didn’t respond.

“Fuck, I just–” he huffed, the exasperation tangoing with his voice. I heard shifting on the other end of the line, and I could tell he was in bed.

“What were you thinking about?” I whispered, biting my lip as my thumb found my nipple, now erect as my mind flooded with godforsaken thoughts.

“I miss the smell of that stupid perfume you always have on,” he sighed. “It’s like coconut or peach or something.” Hyungsik spoke fast, adding on the little detail uselessly, but I smiled at that. I could imagine him running his hands through his hair like he always did when he was frustrated.

“I didn’t know you liked that smell,” I mused. I was the type to spray random body sprays over myself, just praying the scents would last until the end of the day. I rarely had any regard for the specifics of the scents, but Hyungsik had taken notice. I pinched my nipple between my fingers, squirming to lie flat on my bed, the phone still in hand.

“What did you think about?” His voice dropped lower, mischief riddled in his tone.

“Well, I’m in bed now,” I whispered. “And I can’t stop thinking about your goddamn hands.” My words came out breathy as I wrapped my hand around my breast, holding back soft whimpers. Quickly putting the phone on speaker, I placed it beside my head and sunk into a more comfortable position, spreading my legs.

“I bet you’re wet for me already. You always are, Princess,” he sighed. I heard him place the phone down on a table nearby wherever he was.

My clit was already slick and swollen with arousal. “I am,” I grinned at the nickname as I slid my fingertips over my body, imagining they were his, so rough and diligent.

“Fuck, I wish I was there,” Hyungsik groaned. The sound of his breathing was all I could hear, and then the metal clang of his belt unbuckling.

“What would you do if you were?”

“I’d pin your hands over your head and suck your breasts.” He answered shamelessly, and without hesitation. “You love when I do that.”

I mewled as I circled my entrance with two fingers. My digits were hardly as good as his, but it would have to do for now. I closed my eyes, concentrating on Hyungsik’s voice and his heavy breathing.

“I hope you’re not touching yourself, Princess.” He chuckled, and I could picture the dark smirk staining his lips.

“Sir?” My eyes flew open and my body grew stiff.

“No Sir,” he said in one quick breath before continuing. “I want you to suck your fingers.” Just the way he said it drowned me in submission. “Get them real wet for me.”

The heat rushed through my body as I brought my hand up to my mouth, slipping my index and middle finger in. With the other hand, I moved the phone closer, and moaned, letting Hyungsik hear my saliva slick over my fingers.

His lowly growl in response made me want to explode right then. I wanted him here so bad. The desperation I had for him was almost unbelievable. I just wanted him to hear how much I needed him, wanting to turn him on with my every moan and whimper.

I heard his hand move along his length, the wet slopping sound stirring my entire body. It sounded like he had run a marathon by his panting, his raspy breaths crackling over the speaker. “Now,” his words caught in his throat as he rushed to keep up. “Put them right where you want me to be, baby,” he groaned, tripping over his words. The way he said ‘baby’ earned a soft whine from me as I popped my fingers out of my mouth. The change of nickname was certainly not lost on me.

“Don’t go in,” he practically choked, and I could hear his hand move faster. “Just circle there, like I do.”

I did just as he asked, imaging his teasing strokes from my clit to my entrance. My hips moved of their own accord, squirming to his every word, my body feeling absolutely on fire. A chortled moan slipped from my throat as I heard him. “I want you to fuck me so bad. I want you here. I want you.” I couldn’t think straight; all I could think about was him.

“Me too, me too,” he struggled to speak over his moans. “You’re always so tight and so good for me. I’ve never had it better,” he grunted as he spoke.

“Fuck, I can’t take it, Hyungsik,” I whined, my back arching and my eyes squeezing shut as I slipped my fingers into my entrance, quickly moving in and out with no build up.

“You can’t wait for my cock, can you? For me to stretch you out just the way you like, like no one else can,” he spoke fast, his voice dripping with impatience himself. Soft grunts broke his sentences apart as his hand moved over his length, and I couldn’t even bear to dream up how he looked right now. He probably had his head tipped back, resting on the bed he was in, his chest rising and falling so fast, his hair all messy and sweat forming at his temples. The image made me moan in plea.

“Hyungsik, please,” I was nearly sobbing now. I hung on to his every word, every order, as though he were right in the room. “Babe, please, let me cum,” I whined, my back arched to the ceiling, my wrist on fire as my thighs pressed tightly over it.

“Agh–” Hyungsik let out a grunt, one of those soft ones that I loved so much.

I was breathing so heavily I was starting to feel dizzy. I bucked my hips to meet my hand, pushing my fingers in deep. I could feel my ridged g-spot with every thrust. “Oh my god, oh my god!” I cried. I pushed my fingers against my sweet spot, feeling the cum drip down to my thighs. “Fuck, I’m so wet.”

“Shit dammit, you’re so hot,” his strangled moans left his lips quickly, flooding my ears with pleasure. “I wish I was there to cum all over you and watch you take it so well.”

Hyungsik’s groan was enough to send me into a fit of incoherent screams. “Yes, yes, yes, you make me cum so much every time.”

“I’m cumming, baby, fuck!” I heard the long moan that fell from his mouth.

“Hyungsik!” My whole body jerked as I came, my walls clenching tight over my fingers. My back arched up to the ceiling before my body fell limp against the mattress.

I listened to the sound of his breathing for a while before I sat up straight on my bed, taking the phone off speaker and putting it to my ear. “Can’t say I’ve done that before,” I said softly as I heard his steady breaths relax.

“That makes two of us,” he chuckled. It was silent again, and I couldn’t think of what to say. It felt like the first couple times all over again. I was rendered completely speechless, and utterly flustered. “I really am sorry I didn’t call earlier.” I could hear the regret in his voice; it was something I hadn’t quite heard before. He was gentle and and warm when he said it and I had to squeeze my eyes shut to keep my head on straight.

“It’s okay, you don’t owe me anything.” I gulped. Was he really going to do a 180 on me? What was I supposed to do with all of this? “Baby”? It echoed around in my head, and I felt lightweight. “I should go to bed. I have to be in the office tomorrow.” I mumbled.

“Yeah, sure.” I heard him clear his throat. “Good night, _____.” With that, he hung up.

I screamed with frustration, chucking my phone to floor harder than I had intended. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, trying to figure out what in the hell was happening with my life. It was all too much. I was in too deep to leave the job now, but God, I needed to. Rolling over, I went to grab my phone from the ground, and the small, white card I had forgotten about earlier was lying right next to it.

Picking up the card, I brushed my thumb over the raised letters of his name. When I met him out on the balcony tonight, I was hung up over Hyungsik, but everything was only growing more unclear. “Seo Joon,” I whispered his name to myself, toying with the feel of his name on my tongue, and I couldn’t quite explain it, but it felt good. Or at least, it didn’t feel as bad as “Sir”.

#park hyungsik #hyungsik #hyungsik smut #hyungsik fanfic #park hyungsik fanfic #park hyungsik smut #strong woman do bong soon #hwarang #high society #kdrama #ze:a #kpop #smut #fanfic

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ultralifehackerguru-blog · 5 years

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New Post has been published on http://lifehacker.guru/if-you-only-read-a-few-books-in-2019-read-these/

If You Only Read a Few Books in 2019, Read These

A reading list for becoming a better citizen and person

If you’d like to be jerked around less, provoked less, and more productiveand inwardly focused, where should you start in 2019?

To me, the answer is obvious: by turning to wisdom. That means turning away from the news, turning away from whatever trend or controversy is boiling nearby, and looking instead to books—really great books that have stood, or will stand, the test of time.

Books are medicine for the soul, and investments in yourself: novels, nonfiction, how-to, poetry, classics, biographies. Below is a list of 15 books that will help lead you to a better, stronger, happier 2019.

‘Digital Minimalism’ by Cal Newport

The unassuming Georgetown computer science professor has become one of this generation’s leading voices on how we can all work more wisely and more deeply. With media consumption continuing to go way up (which, for most of us, means happiness and productivity continue to go way down) and the world becoming noisier every day, this book is an urgent call to action for anyone serious about being in command of their own life. The minimalism movement successfully led millions to opt out of the many possessions we’re told we’re supposed to crave and focus instead on the small number of things that bring the most meaning and value to our lives. The same ideology applies to our online lives. Digital clutter is stressful. We don’t need the constant connectivity, the pages and pages of apps, the incessant scrolling and clicking. New technologies can improve our lives if we know how to best leverage them. This book already helped me break my Facebook addiction—and the first month of the year has been a big improvement for me because of that.

‘Montaigne’ by Stefan Zweig and ‘How to Live’ by Sarah Bakewell

If you’ve been struggling with the onslaught of negative news and political turmoil, start with Montaigne. It’s the biography of a man who retreated from the chaos of 16th century France to study himself, written by a man fleeing the chaos of 20th century Europe. It’s hard to be a thinking person and not see alarming warning signs about today’s world while reading this book. Yet it also gives us a solution: Turn inward. Master yourself. Montaigne is one of humanity’s greatest treasures—a wise and insightful thinker who never takes himself too seriously. If you’ve not read any of his essays, start with Sarah Bakewell’s magnificent book, How To Live. It’s a readable introduction to all things Montaigne.

‘The Moviegoer’ by Walker Percy

The Moviegoer is almost truer now for the millennial (or generational) experience than it was in the 1960s when it was published. Any reader will relate to the rather ageless angst of the next generation trying to find its meaning and purpose in the world. It is exactly the novel that every young kid stuck in their own head needs to read. The main character, on what he calls “the search,” is so in love with the artificiality of movies that he has trouble living his actual life in the real world.

‘The Laws of Human Nature’ by Robert Greene

For decades, Robert Greene has been observing, studying, and writing about people and power. He has produced a canon of bestselling books that explain why people do what they do, how these patterns affect and shape the world, and of course, how we can develop strategies to protect ourselves and thrive in this often irrational world. All of that work has culminated in The Laws of Human Nature, the masterwork from the master of human behavior. “If I had to say what the primary law of human nature is,” Greene has said, “the primary law of human nature is to deny that we have human nature, to deny that we are subject to these forces.” The reality is, humans do have aggressive, violent, contradictory, emotional, irrational impulses. And we have to understand them if we want to rise about them. Greene’s recent pieces on internet trolls, on passive aggressive arguers, and on identity politics are good previews of lessons that we’d all be better for understanding this year.

‘Leisure: The Basis of Culture’ by Josef Pieper

Pieper wrote this book in Germany right after WWII—arguably the most important and deadly event of the 20th century, if not all of history—and it is even more crucial today than when it first appeared more than 70 years ago. In our purpose-oriented, productivity-obsessed culture full of noise and distraction, we’ve become terrified of leisure: emptiness, stillness, nothing. We constantly feel like we are supposed to be doing and doing and doing, but sometimes, you’re supposed to just be. We think that action is the end-all be-all, so we often end up doing action just for the sake of doing action. But leisure and stillness is where great insights come from. This is where happiness comes from. It’s hard to be happy and appreciative and feel gratitude when you’re moving all the time. Pieper shows that “Leisure has been, and always will be, the first foundation of any culture.” Try to be instead of do. Try doing nothing at all. See what happens. You might be surprised.

‘So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed’ by Jon Ronson

This book has only become more important and more true in the few years since it came out. Ronson’s interviews with and focus on people who have screwed up and found themselves in the midst of massive online controversies—“shame storms,” a recent article calls them—are equally provocative and insightful. He writes with such sensitivity, empathy, humor, and insight about all that’s wrong with the rage and glee of tearing down other people—often people who were never public figures to begin with. It reveals what human nature and digital tools can do to a crowd. It creates a mob. And it makes a select handful of media and technology entrepreneurs wealthy while their goons feel important and at liberty to pretend they don’t have their own flaws. This is not how we solve things. It’s not how the world is improved. The world requires more forgiveness and empathy from all of us—and this book is a good place to start.

‘The Greatest Empire: A Life of Seneca’ by Emily Wilson

Perhaps there is no historical figure more appropriate for today’s times than Seneca. In the ancient world, as is true today, navigating political chaos was a pressing dilemma. Philosophers were forced to decide whether to participate in, resist, or simply endure the political rulers of their time. Seneca’s political life mirrors much of the chaos of the Trump administration. He was a philosopher drawn into politics; he wanted to make a difference in the real world and then found himself in the court of Nero, trying to contain a wildly insecure, inexperienced leader who some thought was deranged and others thought was brilliant (sound familiar?). Seneca loved nothing more than quiet, reflective time alone… yet he also needed and wanted fame, fortune, and impact. And it was these competing desires—the wrenching conflict between power and principle—that created an incredible life and an incredible set of lessons captured in Emily Wilson’s biography. Her translations of Seneca are excellent and her insights are provocative. It’s a must-read for any student of history or philosophy.

‘Lincoln’s Virtues’ by William Lee Miller

Our generation needs to remember that over 100 years before us, people stood right where we were and felt similar things, struggling with the same issues. Abraham Lincoln’s life was defined by enduring and transcending great difficulty. This book is a heart-wrenching and amazing story of Lincoln’s uniquely moral rise to power. We bend over backward to deny or pretend that Lincoln wasn’t a politician (as though that profession somehow corrupts him), which is really counterproductive. Lincoln was a career politician—and when he wasn’t a politician, he was a lawyer. Those were his jobs. He just also happened to be an ethical human being who believed in what he believed in. If you want some reassurance amid today’s tumultuous political climate, this book is it. Politics doesn’t have to be dirty and disgusting and awful. In fact, pragmatism and purpose can coalesce with each other and it’s exceptions like Lincoln that should urge all of us to a higher standard.

‘Tyrant: Shakespeare on Politics’ by Stephen Greenblatt

It’s hard to do much better than John Lithgow’s blurb from this book’s back cover: “Tyrant is a striking literary feat. At the outset, the book notes how Shakespeare craftily commented on his own times by telling tales of tyrants from centuries before. In an act of scholarly daring, Greenblatt then proceeds to do exactly the same thing.” Tyrant, like all of Greenblatt’s books, is an excellent introduction to the classics and indisputable proof that the best way to understand what’s happening in the world is not reading or watching the news, but studying great writing from the past. (You might also enjoy this interview I did with Greenblatt, which dives into how he works and what inspires him).

‘Tiger Woods’ by Jeff Benedict and Armen Keteyian

According to this book, Tiger Woods’ parents trained him to be an assassin. To feel nothing. To regret nothing. To stop at nothing. That winning was all that mattered. Combine that upbringing with his personal habits and you have one of the most complicated, misunderstood figures, certainly of our time, maybe even in all of sports. This is not to excuse the cheating (on his wife or allegedly in the game of golf), but it does explain it and humanize it. It explains what happens to people who are skilled but are or become spiritually and ethically bankrupt. Lot of good cautionary lessons here.

‘Clementine: The Life of Mrs. Winston Churchill’ by Sonia Purnell

For all the productivity and success advice out there, I’ve never really seen someone come out and say: “Find yourself a spouse who complements and supports you and makes you better.” The myth today is of the lone creative entrepreneur battling the world without an ally in sight. A defiant combination of Atlas and Sisyphus and David, wrestling a Goliath-sized mass of doubters and demons. Churchill is often portrayed in that way. But Churchill said the best decision he ever made in his life was marrying Clementine, and Sonia Purnell’s examination of Winston’s better half was truly revelatory of just how many times she saved his ass.

‘Blue Ocean Strategy’ and ‘Blue Ocean Shift’ by W. Chan Kim and Renée Mauborgne

Too many people gravitate toward competition, pointlessly entering contests where the outcome is dependent on forces beyond their control. They want to be better than other people, richer than somebody else, sell more copies than some record-breaking predecessor. Even if they are incredibly talented or brilliant, this is a loseable contest. The question we must ask ourselves when we are setting out on some new endeavor—building a business, producing a creative project—is whether we’re pursuing something that delivers value in a way no one else can. Instead of battling numerous competitors in a contested “red ocean,” it’s far better to to seek fresh, uncontested “blue” water. If Blue Ocean Strategy is the what behind the theory of creating new markets rather than competing in crowded ones, then Blue Ocean Shift is the how and the mindset required to do so. Lots of good examples in this book, including a bunch that are not from business (“blue ocean” thinking also applies to government, NGOs, leadership, etc.).

‘Anne Frank: The Diary of a Young Girl’ by Anne Frank and ‘Anne Frank: The Biography’ by Melissa Müller

In Anne Frank’s diary, we hear of the timeless plight of the refugee, we are reminded of the humanity of every individual (and how societies lose sight of this), and we are inspired—even shamed—to see the cheerful perseverance of a child amidst circumstances far worse than any of us could ever know. Paired with Melissa Müller’s biography and our chaotic international world, the wisdom, the tragedy, and the profound inspiration of Anne Frank will penetrate fully and deeply. The concluding note from Miep Gies in Müller’s biography reminds us that Anne Frank is not the representative of the millions of people who died in the Holocaust; she is one of the millions of people—all of whom had their own hopes, dreams, and lives snuffed out by the cruelty of man, surviving to us only on paper, and in some cases, not even there. “Paper is more patient than people,” Anne Frank wrote. It is also far less cruel than our world, which unlike the diary, snuffed out the life of this young prodigy. (You might also like this short essay about Anne Frank and the obligation we have to stand up to evil.)

‘Memoirs of Hadrian’ by Marguerite Yourcenar

There’s the great line from Bismarck: “Any fool can learn from experience. It’s better to learn from the experience of others.” This book may be the closest thing to a literal representation of that. Written from the (fictional) perspective of Hadrian—one of the great rulers of the ancient world—the book takes the form of a long letter of advice to a young Marcus Aurelius, who would eventually succeed him as emperor. It’s somber, but practical, filled with beautiful and moving passages from a man nearing death and looking back to share everything he’s learned to prepare someone for one of the most difficult jobs in the world.

‘How to Be Free’ by Epictetus

Epictetus was born a slave. Quite literally, his name means, in Greek, “acquired.” Ultimately, he came to be the property of a man named Epaphroditus, who kept Epictetus chained up long enough that he became disabled from it and walked with a limp for the rest of his life. But Epictetus retained freedom in one important sense: People could do whatever they wanted to his body, but his mind always remained his to control. It was this, A.A. Long writes in his short new edition of How to Be Free, that is really the core of what Epictetus’s teachings would later revolve around: “You can be externally free and internally a slave… conversely you could be externally obstructed or even in literal bondage but internally free from frustration and disharmony.” It’s really a remarkable insight and one we must think of always. Yes, every person is entitled to physical freedom. And yet plenty of us are not truly free, not nearly as free as Epictetus was when he was still in chains.

‘Essentialism’ by Greg McKeown

To me, practical philosophy has always been about knowing what to—and what not to—expend your time and energy on. Happiness and success come from cultivating indifference to things that don’t matter. Be careful, as Marcus Aurelius warned, not to give the little things more time and thought than they deserve. This book focuses you and makes you question many of the projects and commitments and assumptions you’ve said yes to over the years, to finally cut out the crap, focus on the truly important thing (or couple things). Though the book is about applying design-style thinking to your life, it is really just a solid book of philosophy, stories, and anecdotes that make you reconsider your priorities. If looking back reveals how much effort you’ve frittered away worrying about the trivial, let yourself begin to only devote energy to things that truly matter—get the important things right by ignoring the insignificant.

‘Up From Slavery’ by Booker T. Washington

Not every conversation about race has to be terrible. Booker T. Washington, like all great people, sought common ground, solutions, and love over distrust and anger. “Great men cultivate love,” he wrote, “only little men cherish a spirit of hatred.” And this from a man who had been born in the final days of slavery, who faced incredible racism and adversity. A man who walked nearly 500 miles to apply for college, and when he wasn’t accepted, quietly cleaned the waiting room of the admissions office until they let him in. A man who instead of talking about the needs for better schools and opportunities went out and created the Tuskegee Institute, helping change the lives of generations of African Americans (and, by extension, millions of others). In other words, a man who proved two principles: character is fate and deeds not words. He also happens to be a font of wisdom — on personal responsibility, on hard work, on race, on fairness, on advancing an agenda, on building an institution, and on working with other people.

‘Them: Why We Hate Each Other—and How to Heal’ by Ben Sasse

It wouldn’t surprise Robert Greene that tribalism still tempts us. In Them, Sen. Ben Sasse talks about how the massive technological and sociological changes we are going through on this planet encourage toxic impulses. We feel threatened, we feel insecure, so we retreat into (or descend into) tribalism. We want to blame other people for our problems, we want to create enemies, we want to focus on what they are doing wrong and not the urgent (and resolvable) issues in our own lives. And, of course, what this blame-shifting tribalism keeps us ignorant of is how much we all have in common, how 99 percent of us are just doing the best we can, and how, in the end, most everyone wants the same things. To the Stoics, the idea of “sympatheia” was a bulwark against this temptation to make someone an other. Forget tribes, Marcus Aurelius said, “We are citizens of the world. We were made for each other and to serve a common good.” The idea of “they” or “them” is driven by fear. Not reason. It’s not rational. It’s emotional, and it’s destructive. Each of us needs to work on rising above it. For the sake of ourselves, our countries, and our world.

All these books will serve you well. But if I had one final recommendation for reading this year, it would be this: Pick three or four books you’ve already read, that had a big impact on you, and read them again. We all spend too much time chasing what’s new and not enough time really digesting those heady, important, mind-blowing books we’ve already read. Reread To Kill A Mockingbird. Give The Odyssey another chance. Sit with a few chapters from Good to Great. See how these books have stood the test of time and see how you’ve changed since you’ve read them last.

It can be some of the best time you spend with a book this year. Happy reading!

(C)

#books #citizen books #Lifestyle #reed

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becauseimagirl-blog1 · 7 years

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Why we need feminism.

Yes, I’m a feminist and I believe in having equal rights. No I’m not another man-hating female. I’m only here to speak for injustice done to women. Usually people misunderstand the meaning of it because there are some ladies who literally want equal rights but then use the ‘lady card’ for their comfort zone but those are women who grew up in a privileged society or those who doesn’t know a thing or two about it.

1.) Having an equal pay. Many females face this situation where their male co-workers are paid more than them because they think females are weak, unorganized and not as intelligent as males. Otherwise I’d love to know the reason why women don’t have an equal pay.

2.) Aspiring young girls to marriage. Of course we’re always told marriage is everything from the start but there’s much more in life than just that. Many women who didn’t marry were happy with their lives, they travelled, they learned and lived life to the fullest. Most women are considered helpless and weak when they aren’t married. Marriage is a choice not a necessity, people should stop forcing girls to marry because they’ve got absolutely NO RIGHT on them and their lives.

3.) Killing girls right when they’re born. Yes this still happens in a lot of places because sons are mostly favoured. This usually occurs in villages or even cities! Also in countries the modern practice of sex-selective abortion is often discussed as a closely related issue. Female infanticide is a major cause of concern in several nations such as China, India, Pakistan and Afghanistan. Who can afford to have a girl who’ll just do the house work till we marry her to some guy. Right?

4.) Education. This is usually one of the most important issue we face in countries. Many girls don’t have the access to education because of their genders or because parents can’t afford it but yet educate their sons somehow. A son’s education is more important cause they’ll earn for their families and themselves while girls will be married at a certain age. Equal education, besides being a basic human right, is an essential tool for achieving social change, improved health and decision-making. In addition, investing in formal education yields high social and economic return, increasing economic growth and sustainable development in less progressive nations. Not many girls are grown up in a privellaged society. In countries like India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Nepal, Haiti, Cambodia and Egypt over 60% of the women don’t get educated.

5.) Not allowed to have an opinion. A women should be quiet when men are having a conversation, the ones who do speak are considered ill-mannered because nobody likes a women who talks too much and is argumentative. Female politicians/debaters etc are always interrupted in the middle of their speech or when making a point, yet people are surprised when a women interrupts a man. It’s always expected of a women to be all shy and quiet most of the time.

6.) Considering women only for cooking, cleaning and all the other house work. Oh c'mon this one’s way too common or at least for me because of where I live. Girls are taught to clean and cook since a young age instead of teaching boys these basic needs too. Obviously, it’s always less expected from a man to do all these cause they never had that kind of mindset from the start. She’ll have to do all this work when she marries otherwise who’ll ever marry her?

7.) Blaming rape victims/sexual assaults for their clothing. The idea that clothing could have importance in a conversation about sexual assault/rape may sound familiar to you. Statements like “She was asking for it” in relation to someone’s clothing and their rape have been swirling around for years, along with rape survivors being asked things like "Well, what were you wearing?“ It is the go-to scapegoat and that sort of language has led to the unfortunate truth that most people find some fault with the woman who herself was assaulted. Clothing is blamed for sexual assault rather than well, the obvious, the person who decided to rape. Even women who are fully covered get raped or even if they weren’t what right did anyone ever had to touch someone without their permission? Disgusting.

8.) Early marriages. In some places girls are married right when they reach puberty instead of marrying them when they’re ready and with their choice. Each year over 15 million girls are married before the age of 18. In many communities where child marriage is practised, girls are not valued as much as boys – they are seen as a burden on their family. Marrying your daughter at a young age can be viewed as a way to ease economic hardship by transferring this ‘burden’ to her husband’s family. Child marriage is also driven by patriarchal values and the desire to control female sexuality, for instance, how a girl should behave, how she should dress, who she should be allowed to see, to marry, etc. Families closely guard their daughters’ sexuality and virginity in order to protect the family honour. Girls who have relationships or become pregnant outside of marriage are shamed for bringing dishonour on their family. families and sometimes girls themselves believe that marriage will be a solution to secure their future. Giving a daughter in marriage allows parents to reduce family expenses by ensuring they have one less person to feed, clothe and educate. Families may also see investing in their son’s education as more worthwhile investment. In some cases marriage of a daughter is a way to repay debts, manage disputes, or settle social, economic and political alliances.

9.) Men usually take credits for their work. This happened a lot of times, here are some of women who had changed the world with science but unfortunately men took all the credit. Cecilia Payne: discovered what the sun was made of. Was told not to publish her work by a reviewer, Henry Norris Russel. Four years later he repeated her work, published it and was given all the credit. Jocelyn Bell Burnell: discovered the first pulsar. Her senior, Anthony Hewish put himself on the paper. Got all the credit and the Nobel prize. Lise Meitner: co-discovered the nuclear fission. Her colleagues intentionally published the paper without her name. They went on to win the Nobel prize. She went on to be forgotten. Nettie Stevens: discovered sex was determined by chromosomes. Sent her work to Thomas Morgan. In public he dismissed her and called her “just a technician.” He published his book on sex determination and took all the credit.

10.) Always told to act like a girl. I’m sure pretty much all of us have heard the phrase “you’re a girl so act like one.” Well no, I’m going to act however I want. We’re always told to be all ‘girlish’ We’re supposed to like the colour pink, do the house work, sit properly, not be sporty, dress appropriately, be sensitive, speak softly, have the most perfect body and glowing skin. Women don't age without people constantly bombarding them about grey hairs, wrinkles and weight gain. How dare a women's body do what it's supposed to do. Omg. Women are only useful at 18-30 after that they expire right? And oh how can I forget "guys don’t like girls who’re fat, have a smart mouth, doesn’t have the perfect skin and colour."

Feminism isn’t a man-hating movement, no, I believe that every men and women should feel free to be sensitive. Every men and women should feel free to be strong. To do whatever they like, to become whatever they desire. Although it specifically focuses on pushing women up to equal status with men. Thinking about it in another way, the Black Lives Matter movement is not called the All Lives Matter movement because white lives obviously are treated as though they matter anyways. Of course everyone’s lives and rights matter, but the people fighting for equal rights are the ones who create the movement and the name. Feminism is so stigmatized because even women are internalizing the logically flawed bullshit that idiots on the internet are posting. Pink shouldn’t be a 'girl’s’ colour, boys CAN play with dolls, boys CAN dance in heels, boys CAN wear makeup/dress up as girls, boys AREN’T there to protect women. “Women are more likely to be attracted to personality and men are more likely to be attracted to physical appearance.” Maybe that’s because we teach women to see men as people and teach men to see women as objects. - 1 in 4 women are still raped. - 5 million women STILL starve themselves to look 'beautiful.’ - Women’s health, freedom, safety and reproductive rights are STILL threatened around the world. People say we shouldn’t have feminism, I think WE DO. Every movement has it’s extreme, there are always people who make it hateful and disgusting. Which is the reason why people are misguided. Feminism isn't bullshit or cancer because you can clearly see somethings definitely need a change in our societies. No matter our race, religion or beliefs, we're all human, we breathe the same air and each and everyone of us deserves equal rights.

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