#talk about that i’ve had it for 10 years. unnecessary) but the very first day i am in so much pain cramps wise and then nothing at all for

[cammie]

okay yes yes i’m glad that (usually) after the first day of excruciating back pain and some tylenol my period is nothing more than the mild inconvenience of having to change my tampon every few hours but i am soooo annoyed that lately my periods have been getting longer (today is the 6th day...) while my cycles stay the same length. wtf

#ever since i first got it i’ve had a 4 day period with a 20-25 day cycle but since august they were all 5 days. and in december it was 4. #but this month it’s 6.... i need at least a 30 day cycle if my body is doing this 6 day madness. miss reproductive organs you’re eating into #my monthly period-free time #also idk if this is strange or not i only have my own period for reference (when i first got it my mom wasn’t in my life and now we don’t #talk about that i’ve had it for 10 years. unnecessary) but the very first day i am in so much pain cramps wise and then nothing at all for #the rest of my period. erm. anyone else here odd like that #cammie.txt

[latenightgasstationwalk]

Similar story about the same old guy but once when I had first started at this job he casually brought up (in-front of all of our co-workers) that a customer that day had mistaken me for a girl because I had my hair down. I explained that I didn’t mind and it happens to me all the time, like since I was a little kid, because I’ve almost always had long hair. And he went on a rant about how everyone thinks I look like a girl because of my frame and that I’m too frail. He went on to say “Shit man when I was a teenager I had longer hair than yours. No one ever called me a girl.” All I said in reply was “yeah, because you’re frumpy”

Boy when I tell you I’ve never seen a macho man turn into a mascara tear faced teenaged girl so fast. He got so Fucking mad I called him frumpy I thought he was going to call our boss and tell on me. This is after like 10 straight minutes of calling me gay, misgendering me for fun, provoking me while I sit here and mind my own business lol

He literally went home. He went home because I called him frumpy, that’s how mad he got, at my ONE comment on his physical appearance that I only said in response to his 25-30 insanely rude comments. I don’t even say mean stuff to people just as a general rule so if anything he should be way better at saying mean stuff than me. He’s got a lot of experience. But I guess he makes up for non-existent defense with an overactive offense.

That’s what I mean when I talk about blue collar egos. When you’re the new guy they literally see you as lesser. They don’t just think they’re better / more important than you they Fucking manifest that feeling into a fabricated reality. And if you upset the balance of this pseudo-reality they thrash and scream and do anything they can to tune out the cognitive dissonance that’s gripping them like a shrunken turtle neck sweater. Because if I’m not better than the new guy, that means the years of hazing I underwent when I was the new guy was just…abuse :o

Which by association means that the 30+ years of hazing I did to all those other new guys was…unnecessary abuse :o

So they fight the truth of the matter which is that we are all technicians working a very shitty job of which almost no one sticks around for more than a month. We’re all equals apart from their precious seniority that they brandish every time some one asks them to pull their weight.

I promise I woke up in a spectacular mood and im getting along with everyone and I’m having a very good day actually, I guess I’m just comfortable actually talking about this now that some time has passed lol

Thank you for reading.

[pierreandaworldofhealthyhair]

Changes Is Good for the Soul (And the Hair)

Changes Hair Salon is located in a homey farmhouse in Latham New York. This roadside farmhouse was built in the 1990’s and has since been transformed into a wonderful creative space for hairstylists to thrive. They recently renovated a few years ago making the space appear brighter and more open. 

Changes Salon is decorated with pictures of hair that the stylists have previously done along with shelves where clients can purchase their hair products. The front of the salon is a small waiting room that is always decorated according to the season or holiday that we’re currently in. There were many seating options while I waited for my stylist to call me in  including a couch and two arm chairs by the fireplace and a well decorated table by the window. The table was decorated with a little bird's nest for Easter and Spring. When I was called back for my appointment, I passed through the sink station where three hairsinks are placed along with a bartop style table with stools to sit while my toner or bleach develops. After passing through the hair washing area, I was greeted by the main styling floor. This floor has about 10 stations with a different stylist working at each one. The walls are a nice bright white with huge windows that let in the best natural lighting. The mirrors are floor length and the chairs are the most comfortable salon chairs I've ever been in, which is helpful when you have a long day of bleaching ahead of you. 

My experience with Changes has always been delightful and my hair has always turned out wonderful. Their space is always extremely clean and every single person in there will greet you with a smile on their face as you walk in. I have been going to Changes for about three years and have been with the same stylist for all three of them. Alisha Pierre has been doing my hair since I was 10 years old and followed her to Changes from her previous salon, Headgames. It's safe to say Pierre really found herself and became happier when she came to Changes where she now works as an independent hairstylist. Getting my hair done with Pierre has always been incredible, the way she treats her clients and takes her time with the hair really stands out. Whether she's just doing a monthly trim or a crazy hair color transformation, she always makes sure the client is happy and clear about what they want before she starts. Pierre makes the client feel comfortable and sure in their decision and is very meticulous and precise during the service. 

My most recent service that I got done with Pierre was a haircut, and it was the easiest time I ever had at a salon. I was in and out in just a few minutes and my hair looked impeccable, and due to the fact that I'm a recurring client, the cut was completely free of charge to me. Along with haircuts, Pierre has also done many of my hair transformations. The most memorable one to me was when I decided to dye my hair bright purple for a play I was in at the time. She got my hair from a deep brown to a vibrant purple/magenta color in only one session. The transformation made my jaw drop, and what surprised me even more was how healthy my hair felt. After all of the bleach and dye that was put in my hair, I fully expected it to be dry or damaged, but it was almost in better condition than when I first came in. 

Though these experiences were quick and easy, there have been other times in the salon where the hair takes a little bit longer than expected. Sometimes conversations can get out of hand and the toner that was supposed to be washed out in 15 minutes ends up taking around 30 minutes. It's human nature to want to talk, especially if you have that sense of comfortability with your stylist, but sometimes the talking can get a little bit too much and add on a lot of unnecessary time in the chair. While I understand that I’ve been going to her for a long time and we have a lot to talk about, I feel like the talking can be done while also foiling and working on the hair as opposed to stopping the service while talking. 

There are many different services you can book at Changes including bridal events, prom/special events, color/corrective color, cuts, extensions, straightening, runway/editorial looks, and even hair loss solutions. Though their prices do range per hairstylist and per client, the average prices are reasonable and they even do bang trims and regular trims free of charge for returning clients. 

Overall the services are always fantastic aside from the time and the salon itself is always impeccable. With warm smiles greeting you as you walk in and the natural light pooling in from each big window, the space gives a homey and friendly atmosphere that makes getting your hair done a pleasant experience. If you're looking for a hair change up and you're in the Latham area, I highly suggest Changes Hair Salon.

[a-shared-experience]

People are always asking what is the cure for addiction, what is the answer, the solution….

I was asked this very question the other night when I met with medical students.

Compassion and dignity. I said.

They couldn’t seem to accept that answer.

When I first met the boy with the anchor tattoo he was dead. He was the first blue skinned person I’d ever seen and he was turning black. His body was laid out on the floor of a transit station and people were panicking all around. I had run down multiple flights , to the complete other side of the station and then up 6 flights and was out of breath myself.

We all were. We were shaking after we revived him and during our debrief we considered ways to better respond in future. He told me to fuck off when he came to.

It took a minute but now he’s my favourite client , I know , I know, I’m not supposed to have favourites but , I do!

The nurses told me they’d barely seen him and that when they did he had no health concerns. I saw him at the first stop and we smiled and hugged. “ you’re looking good my friend” I say and he replies , “ week and a half on methadone girl”.

I show him some of the sneakers and asked him to pick out Christmas shoes. I told him I’d meet him tomorrow at the library and make him some art. “ I’m so proud of you”

I give him the last of the cheat pack of cigarettes and go outside to vape and shoot the shit. He tells me that before he met me he was planning to throw himself in front of a train. He was hopeless. I’ve refused to let him believe he was unloved and have spoiled him and really taken the time to get to know him. We went from “ fuck off “to big bear hugs. He seems really level headed and tells me he’s planning to try and reconnect with family over the holidays, it’s the first time in a long time that he’s even felt the holiday spirit. He tells me he’s so excited to own a fresh pair of kicks instead of constant worn out sneakers that most would throw in the bin. I tell him to stay awhile with his family and enjoy the shoes because they’ll get jacked in the inner city. We talk about how healing it is to write and make art and music and I plan to find a journal for him.

How’s the leg? “ it’s fine”

How is it really ? I give him the look.

He rolls up his pant leg and the bandages are soiled- can we change them please. He agrees. I connect him with a social worker and he goes to get his birth certificate and id card . He hasn’t had a bank account in 10 years.

It’s so amazing to hear him talk about goals. It’s honestly a side of him I’ve never seen and I just keep smiling. I am broke but I dip into savings and buy him breakfast and a coffee. It’s the first time in a year he hasn’t needed harm reduction supplies and we part ways so he can go to the methadone clinic. We hug again, he whispers thank you in my ear.

By noon, I’ve decided it’s the very best day.

I catch one of the male nurses using the costar app and ask him what his sign is - he replies Cancer and I reach into my bag and take out a bandaid and place it on his chest- we all laugh.

Everyone asks where I’ve been so most of my day is spent talking endlessly. Everyone seems really eager to ask me questions about drugs, the streets and social justice and I oblige. I even chat with some peace officers for awhile and explain that their hatred for drugs is really a hatred for their own policies. It’s not really the drugs which cause the chaos per se , but mostly the sleep deprivation. It’s hard to sleep when we call that loitering. I can see the light go off inside of them. They agree that moving the encampments is a huge waste of money and unnecessary cruelty towards displaced, vulnerable people. They seem frustrated which catches me off guard because the government has said this is driven by EPS. I wonder if it is or if it’s just orders from higher up. I crave to know the everything about everything.

On the train there’s a man yelling about people coming after him and commuters seem terrified. “ gimme a snack “ I say to the nurse who hands me two granola bars.

“ heya , want something to eat” I ask the yelling stranger.

He turns to me and says yes and then asks if I’ve been sent to find him or if I’m chasing after him.

People are looking at me as if silently implying, “ fix this”

“ you’re ok, I work for outreach and we are on the lrt right now. You’re safe. My name is Britt. “

“ I’m scared , they are after me”

“ you’re ok, we are on the lrt , everything’s ok”

“ oh!” He seems fine with that response and starts to rip open the snacks.

Situation handled. I think the commuters don’t even know how to process that the yelling man isn’t a criminal drug addict , he isn’t violent, he’s just suffering from psychiatric illness.

It’s more frightening in his world, than his behaviour is in ours.

I find my usuals and one is in distress. She’s mad because she’s lost her dope and she just got out of detox and she’s screaming saying she begged them to call me for help and they didn’t know who I was.

I mean , of course they don’t know who I am, it’s hard for her to understand that because in this moment , she’s a small frightened child. When people are experiencing heightened emotions they can usually only comprehend 7% of what you’re telling them which is why arguments are usually never solution focused and cause more harm . You’re triggered and parts of your brain are disorganized and all you have to rely on is fight/flight/ freeze/ fawn - states which you can’t fully function in.

She’s flailing so I ask her to take a few breaths and ask if it’s ok if I look through her belongings for the dope. I stay calm the entire time and speak slowly and deliberately in short sentences. She’s freaking out and saying someone took her fentanyl and I ask if I can dig through a random bag of children’s clothes beside her. She says yes and I find the blue substance and various crumpled up foil and hand it to her. Immediately she calms down.

She doesn’t even do it and I understand the attachment , she just needs to know she has it. She’s afraid of her emotions.

The cops roll through and I quickly cover her bat and foil with a brochure and distract with talk of resources. Sorry officer, she needs medical attention. They leave and she thanks me.

She’s not chemically hooked , she’s emotionally hooked. It’s like abandonment of your only perceivable support system. She cries and says, “ I was in detox for 15 days and no one even talked to me. They just said things in passing like don’t give up but they didn’t talk to me. I was alone”

“ detox isn’t always the right path babe. It actually has the lowest success rate of any sort of treatment especially for opioid use and has the highest fatality following completion. Have you heard of OAT ?”

“ no one told me this, I’m fucking trying , I don’t want this.why isn’t it working”

She’s bawling and I reach into my pocket and grab some tissue for her.

“ detox is for the medical transition to avoid unsafe withdrawal but that doesn’t deal with why we use drugs right. Addiction is trauma, it’s pain, immense pain and we need to have a safe place to work through it, we need people who understand it and can help us process it. We need to be prepared for that journey and it won’t take 15 days. It might take years. Why don’t we look at safe supply and therapy and begin gradually”

At this point I’m sitting on the concrete with her and sharing my story without the gory details because I’m mindful of vicarious trauma and trauma bonding versus relatability and hope.

I don’t know her story. I just know that I once got in trouble for dressing her stab wound when there were no other options- legalities…

I know she’s a dealer who once was big and now isn’t the same version of flashy. It can be a thrilling life but it’s not sustainable. Eventually, it becomes a chaotic, painful life. I’ve not met the exception to that rule and I’ve met many dealers and many users. No one grows up thinking I want to be a drug dealer or an addict. We draw in a crowd of kids in gangs who sit down and share a little bit of there struggle and I remind them that if they can handle trauma, the streets, jail, etc , they really are a resilient powerful breed of human who can handle being stable and successful.

“ it’s not gonna happen overnight and that’s really frustrating but perspective on your situation is important. You can do one small thing today to try and change the dynamic and maybe that small thing will take a week or three weeks but if you do nothing then nothing changes forever. Do the thing, then do another. “

A couple security guards stop me and flirt and tell me they are artists and I talk to them a lot more confidently than I have in a long time. I’m not looking at my feet and acting tough. I’m just present with them and interested in what kinda art they make. Maybe this part of my journey is opening up and believing in the possibility that I could meet someone. Maybe that was my small step.

Time to make some art to go with the Christmas shoes.

Today was so amazing 🤩 I really love this work and the people I meet. I believe in you all.

Reminder tell the nurse to download the pattern, fuck costar

[chrysanthemumpink]

hey ashley this is awkward to say but i read the leoxpisces tag like when i get chances to and i remember the piece you wrote about maybe you’re staying just to stay

i sent it to my boyfriend and the next day we broke up and idk how you do it- finding someone who stays and i’m terrified that i won’t find someone who’ll just like, at least stay.

this is very impulsive and im sorry if it ruined moods and is probably unnecessary but yeah i’ve been alone for around 4 months while he is already out there with a new girl 10 days after we officially split

how do you keep going?

Honestly, I’ve been thinking about you and watching sister wives. Truth be told, I can’t keep going anymore. I feel like when we first met and Leo x Pisces began, we had to find reasons to be apart. And these days, I’m running out of reasons for us to be together.

He doesn’t actually like me. Yea sure, he’s occasionally infatuated, maybe on some level loved. Even the things he doesn’t like about me, he still craves and misses when it’s gone. It’s hard to explain but the things about us that shouldn’t work are the things that bind us together and what we can’t let go of. As a flame, I find water drowning but also cooling and free. As water, he finds flames warm and beautifully erratic. Mesmerizing, but impossible to touch and staring directly at the sun is blinding. And I’m kind of tired of being with someone who doesn’t actually like me, who doesn’t desire to put any effort into liking me, and whose to scared to say he doesn’t like me because he too scared to deal with any fallout

In real life, not in my bad analogies, it’s situations like now. He’s in a bad mood, but his bad mood lasts for weeks. That’s Pisces for you. But when he’s in a bad mood, he needs a break and silence. But a Pisces doesn’t tell you that. It comes off as being too afraid to hurt you but the truth is that they’re cowards too afraid of both their own emotions and mine.

Anyway, a Pisces doesn’t tell you about the mood, I just see it in how distant he talks and acts. He doesn’t say he needs silence, he just acts really mean. And when Pisces realizes that doesn’t really work on Leo’s, they cave. Withering away. They always come back though. Ngl, a single Instagram post is all it would take to remind him that I could do better.

But I haven’t done that. I haven’t done any of the things I normally do. No blocking, no passive aggressiveness, no excitement over apology begging.

I just can’t stay in something that always feels like an extreme or a passion. These days I want someone who likes me all the time. And I get that it isn’t easy but I feel as if Pisces thinks that love and friendship are a feeling. They just happen naturally and he’s just walking around waiting for an aha moment.

But I don’t think an aha moment will ever happen. I don’t think love and friendship come naturally, you have to try and make it work. I know I’m using star signs to talk about this but tangible relationships take tangible action. If the sun is being too bright, you put on a pair of shades. Not tell it to go away after being a butt for weeks.

Pisces finds me irresistible and I feel the same towards him. It’s a crazy concept but lately I’ve been wondering what it would be like if love to wasnt so compelled? What would it be like if someone actually chose to be around me? And not with me because of some intense force or emotion beyond their control? What if someone was fully in control of who and how they loved and we choose to do that together?

I don’t know if that makes sense OP and I don’t know if it answers your question. But his stuff is packed up. It’s weird because I’ve had this actual box for a while now. I’ve been thinking of doing this for so long and I’ve finally put the stuff in and taped it up. I’ve invited a platonic friend to take his spot on our thanksgiving boat trip. He doesn’t know yet, but we’re not doing thanksgiving this year. I promised his mom pies so I will send them now instead of during the holidays. But keep going? Im not.

It’s really really hard to let go but I mentioned sister wives. I feel like I’ve been mentally and spiritually ending things alone. Like yes he’s being distant now so I have no choice to do it alone. But this isn’t a new feeling and I’ve held it in my mind even when things were going good or even okay.

That being said, OP, exes are sometimes like that. They have a huge rebound period where they b don’t realize how much they miss you until you’re long gone. So maybe time is the answer. Maybe like my Pisces he’s a coward and is running away from the inevitable pain he feel. By then, you’ll be unreachable and it’ll be his turn to deal with it alone.

For now though, imagine he’s hanging over a bowl by a piece of string connected to you. And you cut the string, he falls, a weight Is lifted, and one day, maybe you’ll see him flopping around the bowl you dropped him and laugh because it looks funny

#leo x pisces

[feijoaaas]

okay i’m probably entirely too exhausted to be writing this rn and even more exhausted for the possible barrage of replies this is gonna get but whatever

my dash has been made aware of the air time of people with private jets and even though there’s ten listed people in the article nobody is mentioning anyone but taylor, and then the memes started as well

and i have not seen one post with critical thinking, i’ve only seen posts where taylor is called literally evil. as if? she jumped into her private jet with the knowledge of how much it pollutes and she went “heheh i’m gonna pollute so much right now more than anyone else but who cares, taking the car takes too long hehehe i’m so evil” ??? like really is this what you think happened?

and no i’m not defending private jet usage but it is seriously gross that she is receiving the blunt end of this. is it because she actually has an account on here, like y’all hope that if you make enough angry posts about it you’ll guilt trip her (in frankly a pretty gross way because like, we all know she uses tumblr but yet nobody had the guts to actually tag her in a post and write in a well mannered way, it’s like hearing the mean kids talk about you in school while you’re just on the other side of the door) into stopping?

and while we’re on the subject of flying, which we know pollutes terribly, why is one woman being singled out when there’s roughly 20 million flights a year worldwide which equals some 50,000 flights per day! and your average flight takes some 200 passengers at least.

that means there’s 10 million people in the air every day. you think all those people have valid reasons to be flying somewhere? aren’t most of all air travels for leisure? and those that are for business have already been proven by covid to be unnecessary for the most part since companies can do video meetings from different cities and there’s no need for a business suit to fly halfway cross a country just to sit in a meeting for a couple hours

why is taylor being the only person singled out??? where was all this rage when bezos, musk and branson competed against each other to be the first of them in space, and them building space ships for “space tourism” because rich people have too much money and they’ve run out of things to do on this planet

where was all this rage when the U.N. told elon musk how he could end world hunger with a 6 billion dollar donation, and he ghosted them? but then he made a 44 billion DOLLARS bid to buy twitter (and for no good reason? like because he was sick of the memes or as distraction from the news of how he and his co-worker were about to have a kid, just weeks apart from when his kids with grimes were due??) and yet nobody boycotted twitter or elon or tesla and amazon is still doing well financially even though we’ve known for ages it is garbage

like i just wanna know if you’re as quick to judge your friends and family who take the plane to go on vacations here and there and everywhere, or your friends who still shop from amazon or watch amazon prime or have just loaded up a new subscription to watch rings of power, or quick to judge your friends who immediately watch the new marvel content and movies even though disney has too much money and too much power and are obliterating independent studios

are you boycotting coca cola and pepsi and nestle and are you buying fair trade and are you buying your clothes second hand or making them yourself because the clothing industry is the biggest polluter of them all ? are ya?

this cancel culture quick to blame not a second for critical thought is really fucking tiresome

are private jets excessive and dumb? yeah.

is saying taylor swift is literally evil, very black and white and dumb? imo yeah. there’s plenty of far richer people out there making far worse pollution footprints. does that excuse her. no. but is she single-handedly destroying the planet as the article made it sound? doubtful.

oh and hey look, something that wasn’t in the article when it was making the rounds a couple days ago:

if i had money to bet, i would’ve bet that this wouldn’t be making half as big an impact on here if it were some random rich guy we’ve never heard of who was in the top 1 spot.

and that’s why i made this post.

#fucking black and white mentality i’m just so tired

[pale-silver-comb]

So I know absolutely nothing about Leverage except what I've been seeing you post lately and I have to admit you're making it look tempting to watch! Can I ask what are some of your favorite things about the show/reasons you would suggest people watch it? And is there really a poly relationship that is canon?

Okay. Okay, okay, okay, okay, okay. I am going to do my best not to just “asdfghkjl” at you and answer coherently.

In a nutshell, Leverage is about 5 people. 4 are criminals (Parker, Hardison, Eliot and Sophie) with different and unique skill-sets and 1 is an ex-insurance investigator (Nate) who, at one point or another in his career, has tracked down (or at least attempted to) the other 4. The whole show is essentially: man reluctantly reforms 4 criminals to use their criminal powers for good and 4 criminals move into man’s life and stubbornly refuse to leave because, goddammit, now they have morals. 

I’ve got a lot of favourite things about the show but the main ones are as follows:

1. Found family. And I’m not talking about loners who come together to fight crime and happen to co-exist to the point where they realise they happen to have found themselves a family. I mean, Nate and Sophie are the Drunk Uncle and Wine Aunt who somehow become Mom and Dad to 3 beautiful criminal children. Mom and Dad love their criminal babies and the kids love them (as well as each other, but we’ll come to that in a moment). You get amazing family moments such as: Mom and Dad packing the kids lunch before sending them out to kick corporate greed’s ass; Mom and Dad giving the kids ridiculously expensive and personal Christmas presents causing their most Grumpy Kid to go very very quiet and soft as he runs off to gleefully play with his new murder toy; the kids interrupting Mom and Dad’s big Movie Style Kiss to ask if they can please keep their new underground layer and huffing and puffing when Dad tells them no.

2. Found family: the OT3 edition. To answer your question, the OT3 is indeed canon, confirmed by the creator. Now, usually, “confirmed by the creator” infuriates me because most of the time it’s a way for a creator to be seen as “progressive” without doing anything to actually be progressive. That isn’t the case here. The OT3 are built up carefully and while it is obvious the creators didn’t originally intend for all 3 of them to become a relationship in the romantic sense, by mid-season 5 we are given a very clear picture of where Parker, Hardison and Eliot are heading in their relationship. There aren’t any kisses at the end to signal this but there are solid marriage vows in not only one but two episodes. (And by marriage vows I mean literal equivalents of marriage vows: “for better or worse” and “’til death do us part”. I’m not even exaggerating). The OT3 also doesn’t need explicit romantic narratives to convey how much they love each other. Their love is laced through the whole show, from the way they teach each other things to the way they respond to each other and work as a unit. The way they fiercely protect and admire each other. Like someone once said, if you need characters to kiss or say I love you to let the audience know they love each other, you are writing them wrong. 

Aside from that, each of the parings in the OT3 are just. Gah. They are so well done, with friendship being the solid basis for them all. The creators never expect the audience to assume anything about them or fill in the gaps. They give us their relationships on screen and reference many things off-screen to show us how these relationships continue to build in between episodes.

Hardison and Parker are a canon couple and date in the show: it’s approached slowly and they are so goddamned sweet. They are basically every fluffy slow-burn trope with a healthy dash of mutual pining in the mix. They are basically that quote “love is patient, love is kind”. (I would like to add their romance never becomes the focus of the show or overrides the importance of any other relationship they have with the other characters, especially Eliot.)

Hardison and Eliot are the Old Married Couple and from day one are already bickering and looking at each other/making comments that are found in every UST fic ever (not to mention Hardison has a very good knack for making Eliot grin like a little kid, when usually he’s basically an Angry Little Chef Man). They argue, they play, and love each other plain as day. 

Parker and Eliot are more subtle but every bit as wonderful. They have an unspoken connection and understand each other on a level no-one else can. Parker and Eliot are not good with giving themselves over to affection for different reasons (and Hardison plays a central role in helping them realise it’s okay to want it and have it- that boy has endless patience) but there is something so beautiful in the way the two of them come together on their own and develop their own special bond that works for them. Parker and Eliot are that trope where the characters don’t need to speak to understand each other perfectly. They just do. Their love language is a lot of the time non-verbal but speaks volumes. (Parker also likes to annoy the hell out of Eliot and Eliot....just.....lets...her. Because he’s soft. The softest, grumpiest boy.) 

I could go into so much depth for each pairing and their dynamics as a 3 but that's for another post.

3. Subverting stereotypes. There is the occasional hiccup in the show regarding stereotypes but ultimately, Leverage gets an A+ when it comes to writing characters and making them 3 dimensional people who are not defined by certain characteristics or events. Nate could so easily fall into the White Man Pain trope where he uses the trauma of losing his kid as a reason as to why he is entitled to act like a dick. Nate is a dick but he doesn’t use his pain to excuse it and I appreciate that. Hardison is a black man who is soft and nurturing. Easily the most empathetic and patient of the group. He’s nerdy, an actual genius, and has the biggest heart of all the characters. Nate is maybe the glue but Hardison is definitely the heart. Media’s usual aggressive, amongst other, racist stereotypes can fuck right off. Parker is canonically autistic (I am sure this was confirmed by one of the creators) and she is not defined by it. It’s not written as some kind of singular personality trait. It’s part of what makes up Parker but it’s only one facet of who she is and not once is her actions, thoughts or feelings treated like a joke. Sometimes people don’t understand why she does and says the things she does but it’s met with patience and fondness over the course of the show. Equally, it’s not met with over-caution. Parker is just Parker. No-one tries to change her. The other nice thing is Hardison, who always makes sure Parker knows she’s amazing because of who she is and not in spite of it. Finally, Sophie is in her 40s. She’s not treated like she’s past her prime. Ever. She’s sexy, smart and never is she pitted against or compared to Parker (who is younger) for anything. Sophie is amazing and there’s never even a conversation of “I may be older but I am still *insert adjective typically associated with younger women here*”. Sophie is possibly the first female character I’ve ever seen who isn’t just unapologetic about her age but has never had to apologise for her age. It’s a non-issue and that’s that. The women on the show are written so well, right down to secondary characters and it’s beyond refreshing.  

4.) It’s just fun. The show has a “monster of the week” type format. Except instead of a ghoul or a ghost, the monster is some corrupt wealthy and powerful individual or organisation. The show draws on real-life individuals to do this and therefore closely parallels real-life people and events. It addresses important political, economical, social and environmental issues while at the same time remaining fun and light-hearted. The characters constantly get the chance to play dress up and by GOD do they have fun with it. You get to watch Eliot beat up bad guys in the most delightful of ways, usually after a witty non-sequitur and with a weapon you’d never think could be a weapon. The dialogue and back and forth between the characters is everything. And finally - my favourite thing- the team can never resist striking a dramatic pose after they’ve taken down the bad guy, making sure the bad guy sees them. I mean, they COULD just walk away, satisfied they’ve taken the person down, but nope. They gotta be dramatic bitches 24/7 and pose like they are models for every single month of this year’s Criminal Calendar.  

5.) Competence Porn. So. Much. Competence Porn.  

Honestly, I could list a thousand reasons for why Leverage is amazing but to list them would to be spoiling so many amazing moments you’d get to discover for the first time on your own if you do choose to watch it. It’s the kind of show you can watch with an eagle-eye and sink your teeth into. But it’s also the kind of show if, you would prefer, put on in the background for something entertaining while you do something else. Each episode is about the job at hand but it’s made up of so many moments between the characters that show how much the creators and writers care about them. You’ll laugh, you’ll cry, you’ll do whatever it is you do when something Soft and Wonderful happens that makes your heart melt. I am so beyond grateful for Leverage. It’s everything I always wanted in a show. Nearly every show I’ve watched in the past 10 years has disappointed me in some way, usually either because the writers run out of steam or characters who I love are treated poorly or given some kind of unnecessary “shock value” arc. Leverage doesn’t do that. Leverage is what it says on the bottle. Fandom isn’t something I joined because I needed canon fix-its. Fandom only enhances and celebrates an already excellent canon. 

#leverage #leverage ot3 #parker #alec hardison #eliot spencer #sophie devereaux #nate ford #talk leverage to me

[heyjude19-writing]

hey jude! did you take any creative writing classes before you started to write RN? Do you have any recommendation of possible things you did to improve your writing enough to give you the courage to start writing the story that was in your head for 10 years?

Hey anon! I’m gonna write you a big, long thing because i fucking love talking about writing. Ready? Okay!

Without getting too specific, i do edit/write for my day job, so i’ve taken many a writing course throughout my education/life which helped me with the basics, but it’s been quite some time since ive taken any formal classes. As far as creative writing, that was always my hobby. Sitting down and writing RN after a damn decade was less about feeling like i had improved enough to get it out and more of a mental health thing. My anxiety said “god, just write it already, it’ll help” and then the pandemic said “god, just share it, not many people will read it and you’ll feel better” and here we are.

What’s helped me improve since and kept me going:

Writing more. I’m no longer holding myself back from writing down any and every idea that comes to mind, whether it be for fanfic or original writing. None of these ideas even have to go anywhere, i’ve just allowed myself to enjoy the act of writing and it’s helped me immensely. Sometimes I revisit these little pieces and read them again for fun, or add a bit more, or go incorporate them into something larger I’m working on. Not all writing has to be productive! But I firmly believe it does help you grow the more you do it. 

Challenging myself. I’ll stress that when i say this, i mean i am challenging myself in a fun way, not in a “let’s make this as frustrating as possible” way. Experimenting with story length is one thing I love as a writer. Drabbles and ficlets are wonderful ways to work on specific skills, because you are so limited by the word count. This type of quick-bite writing forced me to remove dialogue tags i’d normally use, delete most adverbs, get rid of unnecessary qualifiers like “very” and “just” to save space for the actual story. 

Genre experimentation. I recently wrote my first horror fic and i’m quite proud of it. It made me realize how much i enjoyed writing in that arena and might be something i look to do for original work. It forced me to take familiar characters i was so used to writing one way and draw out different facets of their personalities to make sense for a darker plot. If you are ever at all tempted to try a different story genre, just go for it. I learned a lot about my own craft while doing this. 

Read more. I’m sure you’ve seen this a lot as far as writing advice goes, but i promise it’s true. To use my horror example again, I was reading a novel where wings burst out of a character’s back and it was a real mindfuck moment as a reader and then my mind just spiraled with inspiration for my own stuff from there. You might come across a phrase or a style of prose that grabs you by the throat and then holds your brain hostage. There are so many ways to tell the same story, and reading more will expose you to all these differences. It lets you find out what’s not for you (ex. writing from a ton of different povs in one story is not for me) and what you’d want to try out for yourself (ex. Im itching to eventually write a first-person pov).

Another recommendation if we’re talking about longer form stories (and i feel like i give this advice a lot): find out what kind of outliner you are. I LOVE the outline process. It’s my chance to word-vomit all over a fresh word doc any and every idea that comes to mind for the plot, the characters, scenes, dialogue snippets, etc. I love to bullet point scenes, sketch out some important character moments. None of this involves finesse, or craft, it’s all the ideas phase and it’s when I feel my most creative. Once i’ve got a story fully outlined, I go back and actually write out all these scenes (not necessarily in order, i’m not one who needs to write chronologically). Other writers I know just start from their first sentence and go from there, not allowing themselves to jump ahead. Find out which way works for you, because you’re the one who will need to read all of it over and spend so much time with it. Outlining makes me EXCITED about stories and helps pump me up to write and share them.

Talking with other writers. It was hard when I first posted RN and didnt know anyone in the community. But by putting myself out there it led to conversations and friendships with other writers. It’s a resource i’m incredibly grateful for, to have people just as nerdy as i am about writing, trading tips or asking for advice/encouragement or just to double-check im not insane and actually did use the word “belie” correctly. It can be intimidating, but if you havent already and are comfortable, check out some online writing groups/discords. 

Don’t feel like you have to follow every “writing rule.” It’s so easy to get bogged down in “you’re supposed to write THIS way” and you find yourself looking at a paragraph of soulless words that while technically correct, don’t say very much at all. I personally find it intimidating to try and improve all the things at once and it makes me hate the process. I’ve found concentrating on one aspect for improvement makes me feel like im growing without overwhelming myself. For example, i made a conscious effort in a recent story to not rely on adverbs so much, and when a reader noticed this in a comment, I was fucking elated. 

Okay and now to get a little pollyanna for a second. It does take courage to share your work on a public platform and open it up for public consumption/opinion. Your writing won’t be for everyone, but it is yours. You will spend the most time with it (in your head and on paper/screen) so it helps if you like it. What really matters, i promise, is that you like your own writing. 

I hope you found this helpful and good luck with your writing! My ask box is always open 💕💕

#thoughts on writing #writing advice #fic writing #writing

[messwriting]

Written for The Smut Pile Collab: Mafia AU | MASTERLIST HERE.

POISON AND PLEASURE

Osamu Miya (Post-Time Skip) x Mob Boss! Female Reader

“Backed into a corner, Osamu makes a deal with the devil -- you.”

Rating: E for explicit | Don’t read this if under eighteen.

Warnings: oh boy. Dub-con (Osamu does consent, but it is coercion); MANIPULATION AND EXTORTION; slight gun play, lasts for a moment; Rough sex; Hate-fucking; Degradation/Humiliation; Spanking, also just for a moment; Oral sex, fingering; Orgasm Denial; Choking; Violence; Dash of corruption and prey/predator; Deep throat; Facial. Fucking in a kitchen/public place. Also, just in case, toxic relationship and money talk (lol). 

Word count: 9,889 (such a nice number)

A/N: Oh, this has been a ride. This is my contribution to The Smut Pile Collab, hosted by the lovelies @present-mel​, @pleasantanathema​ and @linestrider​. I’m very excited to participate, since it is my first collab and they are my (home) first server. Big, huge, gigantic thanks to Lauren (my wife) for reading this over and beta-ing for me. <3

Well, Osamu fuckers unite! :insert elmo fire: (i’ve been on discord too much)

Osamu gets up from his seat inside his small office, looking from the small window on his door inside the already closed restaurant lit only by the lights that come in through the windows, the time being well after closing. Shady deals are mostly done late at night, he thinks. Right as he’s leaving the office and closing the door behind him with a key, the movement outside catches his eye and Osamu turns just in time to watch as the black BMW sedan of the year quietly comes to a halt right in front of his store. He frowns, knowing who that means. He'd much rather deal with the soldier responsible for his loan initially than with you.

Two men emerge from the front doors of the car, one immediately heading for the passenger door while the driver checks the street; they exchange a small nod before the man on the side of the sidewalk opens the passenger door and when he does, he positions himself behind it and immediately out of the way. Osamu could be intrigued by the action if he didn't feel so represented by it - he, too, would prefer to always be out of your way.

There’s power in the way you move, ingrained in your body as you descend an expensive white heel onto the concrete beneath you on the sidewalk, the other following suit while you propel yourself out, holding the frame of the car for support. It’s late at night and the street is fairly dark, but your simple presence, clad in an impeccable white suit with a deep neckline showing immaculate skin, is enough to brighten the place. There’s an elegant, expensive-looking and equally unnecessary coat draped over your shoulders and your hair was flawlessly styled.

You draw attention as the color black absorbs light-- from all and everything. Maybe it is because of your soul, he muses.  

Once you were standing outside the car, your driver marched to the door of the onigiri restaurant, holding it open for you while you strode inside, heels clicking on the pavement, the sway of your hips something Osamu may think beautiful to watch if it weren’t you.

“Hello, Miya-san. Hope you have better news for me this week.” You state as cheerfully as you can, calmly entering the establishment in a glory of white. You shed your coat once you passed the door, the driver catching it while the second man seemed to survey the outside area a little more before entering.

"Hi." Osamu extends his hand with the brown envelope. But you go around him and walk to the counter, calmly sitting down on one of the high stools while absentmindedly looking around his small restaurant.

“I missed my lunch today, so I hope you don’t mind me grabbing a bite before I leave.” You don’t look at Osamu when he doesn’t move for his place behind the counter immediately.

“We’re closed.” He says and you turn around just momentarily, piercing eyes on his profile. One of your men is still by the door and the look he gives the twin is also very compelling. Osamu feels his teeth gritting against the pressure he makes to shut his tongue. "Sure."

One of the goons comes closer and takes the brown envelope from his hands, without you even looking back as the burly tattooed man sits in one of the booths and starts counting the money.

“So, how’s business? I’ve heard you had a hard time these last two months.” You try to make small talk while checking the menu over the counter, carefully done nails threading along the restaurant menu. You only press a long nail against what you want and slide it to him, the 18K diamonds on your small and discreet Cartier watch and matching trinity ring on your finger catching more of his attention than your watchful eyes. Your jewelry is discrete, tasteful, and still amounting enough to buy the whole building where the Onirigi’s shop is located. Osamu's throat moves around nothing in reflex.

"Isn’t it obvious?" He grumbles while working against the counter, starting once he cleans his hands on the sink. He’d like to say his eyes keep diverting to your neckline because of your shining jewelry.

"So rude, Miya." you chuckle. “And I’ve been nothing but nice to you. Didn’t you pay for your little plumbing problem with my money? Is it only dirty to you once I’m present?”

"I don’t like people like you." Osamu doesn’t beat around the bush. And once he’s done with this payment he’d be completely free of you anyway, he doesn’t feel the need to pretend.

“Like me? You mean kind? All I ever did was help you out in a time of need.”

Osamu’s snort is disrespectful. The big man by the door moves but a simple turn of your hand in the air has him standing back, carefully looking down on Osamu, but unmoving. The other’s still counting the money rather calmly, the booth he’s seated unseeable from the shop window.

“You see, disrespect won’t take you far.” You say offhand, your watchful eyes on Osamu’s every move but with no real worry. You don’t trust him, but you know he’s not stupid.

"I don’t plan on it." He answers you after a beat, finishing wrapping the Salmon onigiri, disposing it carefully on a plate, and depositing it in front of you, accompaniments arranged around. Osamu doesn't use the fact that he doesn't like you as an excuse for a half-ass job; he's not the type, which is refreshing. Is what you like about him.

“Get started on a few others. I trust your recommendations.”

Osamu chooses to work quietly, in silence. You, however, are happily chatting away at his high stool as if this is just another day of bullying patrons. Maybe, for you, it is.

“You work very diligently.” You observe, eyes trailing from his toned arms to his deft fingers diligently working on the rice ball. He’s fast and experienced, rolling the nori around the triangled shaped steamed rice after successfully filling it with whatever he chose. Osamu just grumbles out something, or tsk, even when the way you look at his fingers takes an unexpected appreciative turn. 

“Maybe I should have you working overtime more.” You muse when he finishes the new onigiris and carefully places them in front of you. Osamu eyes you nastily, clearly displeased at your comment, which makes your lips split in a bigger smile despite your teeth closing around the rice ball. Even so, you’re pleasantly surprised by their flavor. 

“See, this is why I like you, Osamu.” The man frowned at your loose use of his first name, the way it rolls off your tongue so nicely. “You always deliver good work.”

“It’s my job.” Osamu retorts, unamused. “I do it right even if it’s for…” He catches his tongue right in time, his eyes catching movement from the man seated down at one of the tables, almost biting his tongue in the process. “--people like you.” 

Osamu watches while the burly man with tattoos moves discreetly despite his size, bends down so his mouth can be on your ear level, and murmurs something to you that he doesn’t quite catch. Your steely eyes are momentarily looking down when they blink and fly back to his face, a deep, blank stare that makes Osamu’s brows furrow. His back becomes straighter, a gripping feeling in his gut that triggers his fight or flight. 

He presses the urge down - tells himself he doesn’t have anything to fear.

He’s looking down at you, but Osamu feels small under your steady glare. Which in reflex, after several years of being stupid in pair, makes him want to act up.

"Seems to me you forgot some money, Miya."

"What?" His shocked tone is harsh and his eyes dart between you to the two men behind you, looking as steady as his walls and just as broad. "I counted it twice, everythin’ I owe ya ‘s there." His accent comes out pretty hard when he’s agitated.

"You only have fifty thousand here."

“I owe ya fifty thousand.” Osamu deadpans, almost sneering. “What ’re ya sayin’?"

“No, Miya. Fifty thousand is what you owed me two weeks ago.”

"You gave me an extension." He argues, brows furrowed.

"Exactly. I never said anything about the interest.”

"What?"

"You forgot the interest." You talk to him as if he’s a child, lips turning upwards at his confusion. Osamu has the gut feeling you’re enjoying every second of this. Every little moment of his deep discomfort. “You were informed about them when you accepted the loan, you know how they work. If you don’t pay on the due date, 10 percent interest each extra week you remain in debt.”

"Are you telling me I'm missin’ over 10K in interest rates?

"Yes." You say, smiling while tilting your head sideways, analytical. "Because you are."

“I'm paying you back,” Osamu grits through his clenched teeth, almost as if he’s willing it to be true, “Everything I owed ya is there. ”

"Not quite. You’re paying me back about--” You smile and press your lips in thinking, eyebrows furrowing while you calculate on your head the exact number.  “-- 82 percent of what you owe me.”

Osamu’s fists close, veins bulging while his heart picks up with the adrenaline rush of a fit of rage. Aggression flows on his body to the point where his entire frame trembles. His teeth are clenched, tightly forced together by his pressed jaw. His brain cannot reason beyond the need to vent that outrage, and with every second he spends looking at your pretty-faced indifference sitting in front of him at the counter, his outrage slowly merges into fury. Osamu stares back at your emotionless eyes, turns, and walks two strides before burying his fist in the nearest plaster wall, the pain grounding him, soothing his nerves. 

Pain is familiar -- what Osamu doesn’t like is to feel so deranged.

"Fuck!" He exclaims loudly but still controlled, turns his broad back to you, breathes deeply a few times, and then settles. You watch in delighted silence as he moves to the freezer, grabs an iced pack of random food, and puts on his busted knuckles, his eyes on the hole he left on the wall; The twin sighs audibly, then walks back while coldly regarding you and your two watchdogs who look over to him carefully, almost startled.

You, however, didn’t even flinch.

"So how much do I still have to give you?"

“I think the better question is: Can you pay?”

“I’ll figure it out.” Osamu grumbles out, his clenched jaw working over grinding teeth.

“That’s not how this works, Miya.” You tell him, your spine regally straight on the high seat as if it is your throne. Your lips move around the next word with malice. “When.”

“I--” Osamu stops to think for a moment, coldly calculating his financial situation. He has no way to withdraw money from the main branch to try and cover the losses of this branch, that would be simply stupid. There is no way for him to borrow money from Atsumu, who doesn’t know the concept of savings; Kita can not help him with such a great amount and he can’t recur to his poor parents. He also doesn’t want to resort to a bank at all, which doesn’t leave him many options. A new extension raises interests and he doesn't think he can do it beyond the amount he would need to add. Osamu's chest slowly fills with dread - he knows what’ll come if he doesn’t pay and he refuses to let his business become a Mafia parlor.

You watch Osamu slowly and quite meticulously calculate his options while engrossed in reasoning his dreadful situation; it’s thrilling, you almost can’t hide the contentment blossoming in your chest at his desperate situation. 

His expression shifts and turns sour, before slowly building back his blank façade but it’s too late, you already know his conditions and capacities - it’s your job to know. And you pride yourself in never making bets, just assuming calculated risks, so Osamu is right where you wanted him to be.

You do suspect the black-haired male is the same, that disinterested stare in his handsome face nothing short of sharp, his aloof behavior making every second of rilling Osamu up to this manifestation of discomfort all the more delightful. His only problem is that the man plays by rules you don’t. And what you want, you take.  

“I’ll need an extension for the rest.” He finally says, so absolutely angered it’s almost a curse. Even the hostility in his tone makes a shiver run down your spine, all the hairs on your arms standing on edge while your insides slowly melt, fed by the images in your brain.

“Really?” You playfully answer, faked surprise not made to convince anyone. Osamu seethes in place, labored breathing making his chest move up and down. “See, now I can’t help you out. I told you disrespect would only take you so far.” 

You get up from your seat, a show of touching your expensive black plump Louboutin on the ground. “I can’t let you out like this, not when you did such a show of being… rude.”

“What do you want.” Osamu almost spits at you once you’re rounding his counter, entering his space, closing on him. But he holds himself in place by pressing his nails hardly against the inside of his palms.

“First, some respect.” You sultrily say at him, much as a viper luring its prey. It rolls off your scarlet lips while you look up at him from your long lashes and perfect face. It makes Osamu want to wreck it.

“I don’t respect you.” He says in undertone since you’re close, sounding much like a hiss. 

“Doesn’t seem like a smart thing to say to someone to whom you owe so much.” You purse your lips, fake pout. “And you seem like a smart man, Miya. Or am I wrong?”

Osamu blinks, brows furrowing while he looks down at you, his mind working.

“Where are you going with this?” He eyes you warily, his eyebrows furrowing, his mind trying to gauge the target of your wicked intentions. “You want something.”

 You smile, pretty red lips stretching to show a beautiful line of white teeth and he’s surprised that the poison isn’t dripping. 

“See, I knew you were smart.”

“I’m not giving you my business.” Osamu hisses, like a cornered animal, but his instance shows he’s more prone to fight than flee. 

“Don’t want it.” You’re quick to tell him, innocence so out of place that it makes even clearer that you’re being honest. “I may need… services, though.” 

Osamu’s spine shoots straight once again, his eyes sharp boring into your face with cold disdain.

“I’m not laundering your money.” 

“Money launder, Miya? That’s a federal felony.” You lean back, supporting yourself on your forearms against the balcony, vigilant eyes zooming on him. “Are you saying I’m a criminal?” 

Osamu stays silent for the first time. There’s a predatory glint in your eyes that he understands as a warning, but that doesn’t stop him from upturning his brow and tilting his head in a small challenge. Osamu is appalled at what your upturning lips do to his guts, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He must be wrong in the fucking head to feel anything else than disgust in your sight, but even so, there’s no denying the way there’s a devilish pull around you, like the temptation of a capital sin.

“What I mean is… I have a specific service for you, personally. So you could pay me in...” Your tongue snaps against the roof of your mouth with a small noise, lips turning up in vile intention, “Different goods, per se.”

Osamu refuses to accept his train of thought, eyes pressing into slits while he watches you. His tone enunciates every word of his question. 

“What do you mean?” 

Your answering smile is sordid.

“You know what I mean Miya, we’ve just established you’re not stupid.”

“I’m starting ta’ think you are, though.”

Your laugh is loud, cheerful even. It makes him look at you as if you’re insane.

“Maybe.” You chuckle, retreating your arms back and straightening your posture on the tool, your neck tilting to the side. “But when I want something, I want it. So why deny myself that? I find the whole point of self-control to be so… pedestrian.” There’s this contempt in your tone at the word, mixing into trivial once your shoulders shrug your consideration for a whole chunk of what living in a society means. “Why hold myself to it if I’m above?” Osamu chooses to ignore that question.

“And what if I say no?” 

“You’re free to do what you want, I don’t own you.” Yet, you think, smiling. “Then again you still owe me 10k in interests and with your measly weekly 5k profit and the increased interest percentage with the second extension, we know what’ll happen to you…  And I’d hate for that to happen to you.”

The silence is heavy and acidic, burning on him. And you let the seconds pass, relishing in the way he seems to grow aggravated, jaw overworking around nothing to bite, hands in fists by his side. 

Oh, you’re close to defiling the pristine white of your designer clothes, the feeling brewing inside you threatening to spill between your thighs. Osamu looks absolutely delicious while being so emotional. 

You can see the gears turning inside his pretty dark-haired head, his eyes looking around and back at you, threading down your face, to your neck to the plunging neckline of your suit - you elongate your body while he watches, pleased to have his eyes on you, especially when they're burning with unattended violence and aggression. 

Osamu’s always so detached from the events happening around him, so unshakable in that aura of apathetic tranquility that it has caused you to develop an almost macabre interest in making him desperate. And now you are continually enjoying the result, the awakening of the flames that you always knew existed inside the small business owner.

 A few minutes pass while you’re just content to watch, the knot in your stomach growing tighter as you appreciate the size of his shoulders, the strength hidden in the strong biceps, the broad, defined torso that you know exists under that simple black outfit simply by gut feeling alone. You are tempted to ask him to turn around so that you can also enjoy his backside.

“Ok.” He says in a breath that seems more like it was ripped out of his chest. Like a dead man last world. You like this analysis. But of course, he can’t have it so easy.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t hear. Did you say anything?”

Osamu purses his lips in discomfort, almost bites his tongue in the process of not telling you to go to hell.

 “I said,” he entones again, though his disdain is showing. “Ok”

“Ok, what?” You press. Oh, the way how his veins bulge on his forearms when his nails press on his palms have your hairs standing on end. You blink at him with a smile, all too pleased with yourself.

“Ok, I’ll do it.” Osamu squeezes out, brows furrowed in discovering your intentions. You’re leering with wicked prowess. 

“I don’t think that's how you say it, Miya.” Your brows go up in the tiniest indication of irritation. Your voice is calculated, though unable to hide the elation.

“Ok… Miss. I’ll do anything you want.” The words come out of his mouth sounding nothing like submission and much like he just cursed your whole generation, teeth grinding. Still, it makes you smile. You don’t want to break his spirit -- that’s why you chose him.

“That’s what I like to hear.” You say, pushing yourself out from the counter where you supported yourself. Coat long forgotten on top of it, you cross your arms in front of your breasts, knowing exactly how you look and very pleased at the way his eyes ever so slightly thread down your plunging neckline. “But not so fast. I didn’t tell you I’d accept it-”

“Ya just--” Osamu almost explodes, the arms he holded closed in front of him being thrown in the air as if he’d be ready to grab you. You just turn a hand up and reels at how he actually shuts up right after.

“I just told you, you could pay me in services.” You continue, one step closer to him in your expensive shoes, plump red lips dripping wicked intent. 

“But,” You start, closer to him enough that your breath is touching his heated skin and you can smell the sweat his aggression produced, your mouth salivating at the thought of tasting it on his skin. 

Your finger rests on his chest and you thread it up while speaking, looking him in the eyes, so pleased at finding so much life in his usual dead stare, “I don’t know if you’re good enough for the job yet.” 

Osamu stares back at you, hands in fists forcibly stuck next to his body, feeling the way your hot breath trails on his jaw and hating himself for what it brews in his insides. 

You stretch up in your heels, mouth dangerously close to his, which rests ajar to let his breathing out, enough that he can taste your mint breath on his tongue. 

“I think I may need a little…”  Your eyes thread down to his mouth and then back to his eyes while you speak your next words, “--taste, you know?”

Osamu flexes his fingers, swallows dry around his closed throat, stares at your face -- so close the downright devilish smile on your red lips seems to narrow his field-view -- and he blinks. 

The Miya thinks how he wants to wipe that smile off your sinful lips. How he wants to have you trembling, unattended, and disheveled. He thinks about you begging with his name on your tongue, for a release that he’ll keep denying at his disposition. Osamu thinks about leaving you sore and marked, thinks about wrapping his hands around your neck to watch as you struggle, turning purple, life evading you while he fucks you; consider this may be the only way he’d ever had the opportunity to get even close to a payback. 

Osamu wants you to experience mind-numbing pleasure you’d never before, uniquelly brought by him… and suffer through the rest of your fucking disgraceful life without being able to taste it again once he’s done paying his debt. Because Osamu swears on his fucking name and whole life, he’ll never give it to you again.

He can see your future already and in it you’re fucked - both by him and for him, while he’s the one who gets away. The twin wonders if you ever lost anything like this in your life, can feel himself growing hard at being the one to make you cry. 

“Sure.” Osamu smiles, lopsided, the devil himself being safer than him. “I’ll give ya the taste ya deserve.” 

Your eyes press slightly closer in mistrust, the wicked intention pouring from his body so close to yours impossible to miss. Either way, it's your win; that’s exactly what you’ve been bargaining for, despite your game being rigged from the start. 

You bring your face close to his as if you were going to kiss him and you are delighted when his eyes go down, although not completely closed, his pupils focusing on your lips. 

You smile and retreat, turning to your men still positioned exactly where you left them, behind the bench where you were sitting previously. They remain so observant and sharp as ever, despite looking more like gargoyles than men.

“I’ll need a moment.” You tell them in a serious tone, calm. They both look at you for a second and nod, their stances changing very little despite it. You turn back to him but walk inside his establishment as if you own the place, pushing through the doors that lead to the back and inside his small, equipped kitchen. Osamu follows in silence, briefly wondering if he’d be able to snatch a knife and bury it in your chest. 

There’s not much outside cooking paraphernalia, with two big counters and taller than normal table in the center. You stop right in front of it, your hand threading over it for a moment. 

“That’ll do.” You say while you turn around to look at him. You look so strikingly bright in the middle of his rather normal kitchen, clad in both lavish clothes and unblemished skin; he wants so much to be able to say your sight doesn’t thrill him -- but he can’t lie to himself. 

But then you pointedly eye him and then the ground in front of you, “Kneel.”

Osamu considers his previous thought about burying a knife deep in your chest but walks, stiff, to where you indicated. He kneels with even less disposition than when he walked towards you, the descent slow until the ground’s hard tile is registered against his knee. He makes a point of looking into your eyes as he lowers, hatred overflowing in waves that seem to give you a sick satisfaction, your eyes becoming slightly out of focus.

The Miya’s about to ask what you’d want him to do next, like pledge himself or some shit, when your hands move to the hidden zipper on the side of your impeccable white pants. 

It drops to the floor in one go, displaying the graceful planes of your hips, appeasing spanse of flesh, a small triangle of silk hiding your most private parts. Saliva pools in Osamu’s mouth at the sight, his teeth pressing against one another to avoid betrayal. He’s still unsure of what’s his next step until your heel digs on his shoulder painfully, using him as leverage to prop yourself up on the high table. 

His eyes snap to yours while he bite his tongue to not curse you out loud.  There’s a gun on top of his head that is a big warning for Osamu to behave -- not that he’d have the chance to escape with the watchdogs outside his only exit. If he had, you could be dead already. 

Your suit threads up when you move up and slide on the table, the white silk panties peeking in between your open thighs. You move your beretta calmly off his face and thread it slightly, almost fondly, over your naked thigh. 

You make a small show of removing your finger from the trigger and depositing it far on the table, enough to be out of his reach and almost yours too. You look back at him once you’re empty handed and just so open right there on the table for him. 

“Behave, Osamu. You know you wouldn’t make it very far.”

Osamu grits his teeth but nods, your heel still supported on his shoulder but not digging on his skin anymore. You lay slightly back against his tabletop, forearms resting on the surface carefully. Dressed in a white, stylish suit like the last trend, the skin in between so bright it feels like a taunt, the curves of your breasts so ripe he wants to taste, the closed lapels looking like his own pathway to sin. He can feel his blood boiling, aggression throbbing, and he wants to paint you in red.

“Well then,” You start, happily above him, spread like a meal, “Show me if you’re good enough to pay your debt. Consider this your warrant.”

“Don’t worry.” Osamu drawls out with dripping distaste, his hand slowly, almost bored, threading up from your ankle to your knees. “I’ll fuck ya like you want it. Within an inch of your life.”

His hands lock on the back of your knees and he parts them forcefully, while you leave a yelp followed by laughter, your head thrown back with glee. 

You smell of flowers and spice, so expensive he was surprised that you weren’t dripping fucking gold. His palms slide through the back of your thigh and the skin under his fingertips is soft and firm, all shapes of heaven despite being in sole service of the devil. 

Osamu starts slowly, the table leaving you open just at the height of his neck while he’s kneeled on the ground, at the perfect height. His thumb presses on your skin while he holds one of your legs up, brings his lips to your knee. There’s a welcoming stain on your panties, and he scoffs at you despite the way his cock responds on his trousers. 

“I haven’t even started and you’re already wet?” The way you smile at him is both infuriating and bewitching. 

“What? Didn’t you enjoy our little foreplay earlier?” You tease him, plump lips locked under a row of teeth with mirth. His skin feels prickling and Osamu decides he needs more room, roughly pushing on your thighs until he can fit between them with room to spare.

It’s not fair, how good you feel, the delicious smell of your skin, the way your taunt alights him with fire in his veins. 

Osamu knows it’s bait -- and he’s willingly falling for it.

When his lips start to thread on the inner part of your knee and up, the twin does it with the intention to mark; he sucks instead of kissing, licks instead of caressing, and bites once he finds the plush meat of your inner thighs.

It stings and you let the smallest of sounds, but Osamu feels it in his gut, brings his hot tongue to soothe over it, bask in the way you tremble under his fingertips just enough for him to sink his teeth and revel in the pain on your groan. 

His nose treads along the furthest expanse of the joining of your thighs, touches the silk of your expensive panties, senses the way you tense and watches while your pussy trembles, even while still covered by fabric.

He considers holding back his tongue, but Osamu has never been the type to be held back by the threat of punishment. And you’ve shown to clearly enjoy his fiery side.

“Such an eager pussy right here, isn't it?” He threads his nose against the wet patch in the silk, carefully breathes against the covered lips. Osamu lets one of his shoulders bear one leg and brings his thumb to pass over the growing wet patch. “Sticky.” He presses it from the wetness to the place where your clit should be, watches as you respond to his touch with aborted movement. “Such a slut.” It’s supposed to be degrading, but there’s a hint of appreciation in his words that isn’t lost on you. “Is this all it takes for my debt? It’ll be finished in a second then.”

Your mouth opens to retort but closes in time to withhold a moan before it falls through your lips. His thumb’s pressing against your clit in tight circles while the index of his other hand threads over your covered cunt. Turns out Osamu has moves to back up the big talk. 

He’s methodical, clearly good and deft with his fingers, controlled pressure applied in a way that has you writhing on the table despite your intention to make this hard on him. Your desire to make him work for it, apparently, is no match for his. 

Osamu presses the tips of his fingers on your clothed entrance, enough force that it barely breaks inside you but the teasing has you churning on the table for him, legs trying to part beyond limits, body arching where it’s been relegated. Your chest feels hot and heavy despite the little clothing. You’re hoping for the moment where he’ll tease the hard nipples pressing against the flimsy lace of your bralet and the inside of your suit with the same intensity he’s depositing on your cunt.

Osamu, on the other hand, has no rush. You did this, gave this opportunity for him to wreck you, and he plans on enjoying it to the bitter end. He’s fairly surprised at how responsive you are, how quickly you melt for him, how vocal you can be despite doing little more than grunts and sighs. A thought flashes through his mind when he feels a renewed wave of wetness blossom against the fabric where his fingers are pressing, his lips turning in a self-satisfied smirk.

“Have you been so desperate for a good cock you’ve resorted to blackmail?” Your eyes snap open at his voice, a warm wave of something that you refuse to believe in being embarrassment depositing in your cheekbones. Osamu’s fingers prod harder against your entrance, fingers spreading against the wet fabric to your outer lips while his thumb keeps drawing endless circles around your clit. “Tsk, what a dirty move from an even dirtier slut.” 

He slaps your clit once, then twice, his bulking frame preventing you from closing your legs against the sudden pain. Your body trembles on unsteady forearms. You choke on a breath and then release a moan, the sound outrageous to Osamu even as his cock throbs from it. 

“Maybe I’ll give ya what you want.” The Miya teases, his voice sounding even despite the turmoil inside him. You look up at him with such eyes he could fool himself into thinking he wanted this. 

His fingers teether on the edge of your underwear, rough fingertips just daring to cross into the emanating heat. Your hips twitch, the emptiness inside you accentuated by your muscles clenching around nothing, desire pouring out against the prodding fingertips. Osamu snorts, throws you a hard stare that is equal parts fire and contempt. 

“You’re so wet. Are you enjoying this that much?” It drips acidic from his tongue against your neck, after he bends himself over you. From so close, Osamu’s warm breath is the same as a caress, his tongue teasing you with the way it threads over his lips but doesn't extend the courtesy to your skin. “You’re rather easy to rile up, hah? Or is it that you enjoyed playin’ with me before?” His teeth flash white above your head and you swallow around the desire of having them plunging on your skin. “How was it ya said? Foreplay, hah?”

You feel weirdly wound up inside your own skin, as if there’s not enough space and still a growing void inside you waiting for him to fill. It’s insane, it’s delicious, and a loud moan breaches your throat when Osamu plunges two fingers inside you without warning. 

Your body arches in such a curve your breasts press against his chest, the relieving brush too shallow to register in your brain when you’re hyper fixated on the sensation brewing inside you. 

It doesn’t even sting, instead you feel like your hunger escalates, fed by such little push that your want becomes need and for the first time in forever you actually consider asking for something. 

Your mouth opens, and Osamu snickers. “What?” He presses his thumb over your clit fast, relinquishes in the way you groan, feels the way your insides beg him to keep going. 

Still not enough though. He wants it ruined for you. 

“Maybe I’ll just make you cum on my fingers right here.” He spreads, scissor and twists them inside you, enjoying the feeling of your tight walls clenching around him at his every move. Osamu’s skin feels on fire, body overheating, and the way your lips turn up to reveal a line of white teeth in glee has his gut twisting. 

“You have a pretty loose tongue for such a quiet guy.” You look at him with semi-closed eyes, the victorious smile of the cat who got the mouse. “Maybe you like me more than you thoug--ahhhhh!”

Osamu shoves and prods around your insides for that special place even demons like you have and his assault is nothing short of merciless. Your eyes snap open at the force of his ramming, eyebrows furrowing at the way your pleasure seems to have forgone climb to skyrocket instead. Osamu watches in begrudging enchantment while your lips fall open to suck air into your breathless lungs and your eyes grow unfocussed, shoulders falling against the table so your hands can come to hold his arms but for what he doubts even you know. 

He’s not stopping. Until he does. 

You let out a noise like a wounded animal, tethering on the edge of mind numbing pleasure he won’t give you and when your body trembles from exertion of a denied orgasm instead of bliss, Osamu’s chest swells in pride.

“Whydidyoustop?” You lament in one breath, eyes are blinking back into focus, sweat and - oh he hopes those are tears - droplets dripping from the corner of your eyes while you turn to press your face on the cold metal surface of the table. “I was so close!” This time you rage, nails pressing against his skin enough to hurt.

“Wadidya mean?” Osamu tilts his head sideways, patronizing. “You didn’t ask for it. I’m just doing what you told me: being respectful.”

You laugh, still breathless, and turn to him in disbelief. “Fucker.”

“Not yet,” He corrects you, nuzzling his hips on your thighs. “Maybe if you ask nicely enough.”

Osamu retreats while you regulate your breath, letting your useless legs fall limp while both of his hands come to help your panties down, marveling at the way they’re peeled off your wet pussy lips. His cock aches and demands, but he’s used to reining in his dick. And he’s just started, anyway.

The Miya pushes you forward on the table, opening your legs wide like a treat. Your pussy is glistening, rhythmically calling for something to fill it while you leak. He plunges a finger back inside to watch you tremble, stimulation enough to make your eyes fall closed, long black lashes against beautiful sweaty skin. 

“Look at this.” Osamu plunges a second finger inside, opening them wide enough to sting. “What a desperate whore.” 

Your mind is swirling in urge, but you refuse to spill the words on your tongue. It would give you what you want, but at what cost? Osamu looks positively ferocious above you, dark eyes focused on your every move; it sends shivers through your spine, your body trembling and blossoming for him once again. You’re in your personal heaven, in company of the devil himself.

Osamu kneels again in front of your open legs, hook one on his shoulder while he holds the other thigh forcefully up with a grip so hard your muscle aches under his fingers. But you don’t care, in fact  you sigh “more” for him right as his breath teases your folds.

“No.” He tells you, two fingers pumping at leisure. His tongue slurps at your inner thigh, teeth closing in a bite with nothing to sooth. 

“Fuck.” You breathe out in a groan and his smirk is pronounced against your skin. 

Osamu, as you’re learning, is a tease.

His moves are soft, lacking in everything but aim; his tongue moves along the sensitive parts of your body you’ve never really cared for, like the plush flesh of your thighs, underside of your ass, the juncture of your groin. He has yet to taste you but you feel wounded, body constricted under weak ministrations, feather-like teases. It sinks with a piercing revelation that you could cum like this -- in an unfulfilled manner with not-good-enough touches that somehow have made your body feel raw like an exposed nerve in which the minimum touch would be enough to warrant waves of pleasure.

When his tongue comes to thread along your slit slowly, nose caressing along his way, your body clenches and threatens to spasm around unmoving fingers. You’re so close, so close, your body is ready to burst, fraying at the seams of a control you’re not using, your hands flying to try and find your clit at the same time Osamu’s eyes flash and he holds it, presses it forcefully against your belly while his lips slurp at your folds, circle your clit, but it’s so soft, it’s fucking unfair.

“Goddammit, Osamu!” You scream, enraged at the way your second orgasm flies away from you as his fingers leave your quivering hole, his mouth doing nothing more than lap at your overflowing juices with no real worry, no urgency.

“Oh, look at that.” The Miya smirks, drawing back up to look at your disheveled state; flustered, sweating, dripping and unattended. “You wanted a taste.” His hand comes back to your cunt, fingers thread along puffy lips. “I’m giving it to you.”

“You bastard.” His fingers leave your heat just to plunge inside again, a loud gushing sound following it. “Shit.” You sigh while falling back, and Osamu feels his cock throb once more at how breathless you sound. 

Your mind works around the feeling of being spread so far you feel as if you’re paper thin. Your mind goes rushing in its last attempt at working. Osamu looks self-satisfied, almost content, so you know where to hit. You want it, so you find a way to have it. 

“Oh, poor Miya--” You coo at him with a hoarse voice in glazed eyes, but the condescending tone is clear as day. “Are you trying to hurt me?” You plant a hand on his black hair, pulling at it enough to hurt.  “‘Cause I like pain.”

Fire explodes in his eyes and you tighten around his fingers in response, but other than his frown, Osamu remains calm. 

He slams three fingers inside before you can mouth any new words, smirks down at you with mischief when you tremble and bite your lips to hold the noises in, eyes falling back closed to hide the way they turn inside your skull. His other hand is holding your thigh forcefully open once again and his palm presses with hurtful intention, fingertips buried in your flesh so hard his digitals may mark you for days.

“Let you cum on my fingers and nothing else, is that going to be enough for you?” Osamu snarls against your ear, hot breath tickling your jaw. His hips hold you open to his assault at your pussy and his hand abandons your thigh to glide over your body and close around your throat. 

Osamu squeezes hard.

“Then again I could ruin your orgasm for the third time.” He bends over you, his lips right in front of your sight; eyes looking down at you with such fire you almost wonder if they’re the cause for the burn in your lungs. “Leave you writhing on the table, empty, until you learn to have a little respect.” 

This. 

Your lips spread in a smile almost maniacal, goosebumps rising on your skin as if you’re electrified. This is what you’ve wanted all along -- passion, fearless assault of words, electrifying pleasure; and also, the detachment, the murderous intent, all merging together in one perfect Osamu Miya. Shit, you think to yourself, at this hate you may actually come from his teasing alone.

“You talk too much for someone who didn't make me cum yet.” You pour gasoline into his fire. 

Osamu pulls you up by the lapels of your suit, button flying open at the hastiness, your breasts protected by such a flimsy piece of lace you’re surprised it doesn’t turn to ash at his stare. Your hard nipples mark the white bralet, the air feeling cold at how hot they are. 

A hand covered in your juices closes on your cheeks, forcefully opening your lips at the threat of pain, his fingers with lingering heat from your insides.

“Such a big mouth, should I shut you up?” Osamu asks you, eyes boring on yours. The plea is on the point of your tongue as if he’d shoved his hand inside you to yank it himself, and it tips out when his dark eyes steal one single snippet of your smeared red lips open by his hands.

“Fuck me.” 

He nods negatively, presses hard enough that your teeth could cut your inner cheeks. He relents and your tongue grazes your lips, moistening them for his eyes.  

Osamu smiles, a tilt of his lips up but so earnestly you’re almost hopeful, then: “No.” 

Even if as he says it, it’s a lie. He knows he’ll fuck you, but right now he’s enjoying the build-up, toying with you as if you’re his plaything and not the opposite. You growl and curse, head falling back when he palms at your covered breasts, push the lace up, hears the way it strains and threatens to rip. 

It’s oddly relatable -- Osamu also feels taut, stretched around a fleeting control that he feels will slip with one dip inside you. His past sexual experiences involved partners who he cherished and few one-night stands which, for the small time his dick was inside them, he was mindful and cared for their pleasure. 

Right now, while he pinches and palm at your body, he has not a single worry about your pleasure and all the concern about his. This is for him. He bends his head over your bosom, sucks a nipple inside the hot cave of his mouth and bites. As his cock twitches and aches inside his trousers, he relishes in the pained noises you leave, even when they’re marked by breathless arousal.

“You sure are fucked up. Look how much you’re enjoying this.” His fingers force the howl of your cheeks, feeling your teeth nicking the insides of your mouth even through layers of flesh. There’s an infuriating elation in your expression, and Osamu retaliates by sucking harshly on your skin, teeth finding soft places to close on.

You moan loudly and his hand slides back onto your throat in the motion. Your hand shots up from the table to find his hard dick and your laugh makes his blood boil. “Clearly I’m not the only one.”

His heartbeat spikes at the words, even if Osamu knows it. The twin pulls the suit jacket half-down your arms and slams your body on the slight cold surface of the metal table, noise sounding thunderous but still no one comes after you. 

Your skin erupts in goosebumps at the aggression, blood flying so fast through your heart you feel lightheaded. You’re about to spit some more fire into Osamu when two of his fingers gag you, other hand descending on your ass with such force and so unexpectedly your legs give out, dangling from the table as if you’re a ragdoll.

Something remarkably close to a whine turning sob slides through your throat and dies at Osamu’s fingers, just as something big and hot surges over your ass cheeks. Something coils on your chest, the emotion makes your eyes water and for a moment you blink it away, thanking the new position doesn’t let Osamu catch that. 

Too soon. Osamu pulls your head back as his hand peels the globes of your ass apart and before you can breathe, the little air inside you is being knocked out with one thrust of Osamu’s hip.

He forces his dick inside you, tearing you open as your walls make way for his aggression, wetness dripping while Osamu fills you to the hilt, because yes, that's what you want. You want his hate, his passion, you want Osamu to tear you apart while you enjoy every second of it.

“‘Samu!” His name is on your lips as your eyes roll back, whole body tensing until you’re falling, just like that. 

Then he retreats. “Fuck! Fuck no!” This time it’s a wail, a sob as your third orgasm turns to ashes, your insides trembling with nothing to hold, empty and meager pleasure. 

“Wha--Cummin’ already? Nope.” The twin laughs above you, hands tilting your head painfully back. “So embarrassing.” Osamu mocks you and you swear you can feel a renewed wave of cream slide down your insides to greet the head of his cock, nudging along your swollen lips. Your tongue feels so heavy on your mouth, parched and breathless all at once, no way out but silence. 

“You are disgusting, you know that? Such a greedy fucking pussy doesn’t deserve to be this tight.” 

Your laugh turns into a deep moan when Osamu hits deep inside you. “God yes.” You twist one hand out of the suit’s sleeve just to pull him by the hem of his blouse, your nails digging against the skin of his neck, blooming red yelts. “Talk shit to me Osamu. I know you have better lines.”

“Fuck you.” The twin spits, his hips pistoning harder against yours until he just stops the motion, leaves you open and gapping for him to fill you again. “Of course a pig like ya has the hots for humiliation. Look at that, the slut’s pussy squeezing around my dick because she thinks I'm doing this for her pleasure.” His hand comes down on the other side of your ass, where he hasn't hit yet. It stings, but the way his palm massages and grabs at it before almost soothes the burn. “Disgusting sluts don’t get to say anything, not even begging will get you what you want. I decide what you get."

You look back from your shoulder to see his cock is standing proud and angry, swollen head shining red and dripping translucent white, as if he hadn't been wet from your juices before. Osamu’s big, especially thick and he presses inside you again without giving you time to adjust, unforgiving pace right from the start.

You curse at the way one of your hands keeps locked behind you by your suit, your nails digging on your own skin without anything else to find purchase on; the other tries to grab onto Osamu to no avail, falling on the table to help support yourself at the strength of his pounding.  Your mouth is open, divided between sucking breaths and puffs of air. Osamu’s hand has since found purchase in your neck, the way he forces it back painful, the pressure on your throat growing and ceasing as he wishes. 

Still, you can’t think. Your mind is lost in a sea of searing pleasure, your nipples pressed against the metal surface as Osamu finally fucks you as you’ve been dreaming. No, maybe even better. The past men you’ve fucked had all been afraid of hurting you, careful with retaliation. As Osamu fists your hair and forcefully presses you against the table; you think you may be having a religious experience. Your eyes water from the force of his manhandling, tears spilling while you left unbelievable noises fall from your lips. You want to scream and laugh, a hot sensation spreading from your fingertips to your core. 

The wave of the orgasm is forming quickly, your toes curling against the insides of your Louboutins enough to hurt, the incessant pounding of Osamu’s hips against your ass sounding downright pornographic. As the peak approaches, doubt gnaws at your chest for the first time in forever. 

The simple thought of Osamu robbing you of your orgasm this time is enough to make your whole body tremble and recoil, your mind too slow to catch on to his intentions. You consider biting your tongue to hold the plea in, but as you bolt into mind-blowing pleasure you’ve never even imagined before, the alternative feels like dying.

You’re tethering the edge and you feel Osamu pressing harder against you, and you break. “Please!” You cry out, “Pleasepleaseplease, don’t stop.” His movements slow down and halt, and the hand on your ass slides around you, a single finger taps repeatedly on your swollen clit. 

“Say it.” He all but howls at your ear, bites on it for good measure.

“Please, ‘samu, let me fucking cum!” You beg but you’re already falling over, whole body shuddering just from the way he nudges his hips against your ass and taps on your sensitive bundle of nerves. Panic surges in between your pleasure that he’ll ruin this one when he retreats from your quivering insides, but Osamu rams back inside you with such power that your head rattles, hips hurting from the impetus of his fucking. 

Sound rings in your ear while you drown in the thunderous waves of your pleasure for what feels like forever. It flows and flows and flows to a point you can’t tell if you’re seeing black or just closed your eyes. 

Osamu watches, enthralled, how you go completely boneless under him. Your insides have stopped squeezing him tight but his hard, aching cock still throbs inside your heat. It’s honestly unbelievable how tight you feel around him, how fantastic he feels buried balls deep inside your walls. He had to stop trying to fuck you through your orgasm in worry he’d may cum. Poison and pleasure curl in his chest at the thought. Osamu feels like spanking you, choking you, to punish you for this undeserving heaven you have between your thighs.  

But he’s not done yet.

Osamu retreats, the slide of his cock leaving your delicious walls -- cold air from outside so less welcoming -- and you sag on the table. He pulls you up on unsteady legs and smirks, proud. Your bare feet touch the ground and Osamu spins you around, swallowing on a tight throat after one look at your disheveled blissful state, but then he retreats and let’s you collapse to the ground.

The image of your legs sliding open on the cold tiled floor, unsteady hands finding purchase to hold your torso up while your head looks up at him in outrage is one he sears in his mind, a wicked satisfaction sliding over his spine at the sight alone. The wreck of you at his feet, by his hands, nothing short of perfect. 

His cock throbs and pulses in front of your eyes, dragging your attention and Osamu steps closer, poses one hand on the top of your head, ruins the rest of your styled hair by dragging fingertips in it. 

 You’re still lightheaded, shockwaves making you twitch on the cold floor and Osamu is elated at how wrecked you look, makeup smeared, hair disheveled, body holded up by unsteady arms. Your lips are open, between breathless pulls of air and heavy exhales, but Osamu doesn't care, hands forcefully tugging your hair back and angling your mouth at his swelled cockhead. He counts as a win that you don’t bite him, your tongue threading flat on the underside of his length as he buries himself on your throat. 

There’s resistance, so the Miya retreats, forcing it back a few other times until it finally slides a few inches more inside. While he maintains the force over your hair, his other hand engulfs your chin, thumb breaching your lips to hold your mouth open despite the fact you don’t make any move to close it. 

It feels his chest with acidic bitterness that you welcome his aggression, glazed, tearful eyes looking up at him as if the fact he’s using you as little more than a cocksleeve is the brightest part of your day. Still, Osamu’s skin feels close to tearing under the sheer amount of pleasure flooding his insides. His hairs are standing on end, heart beating so fast his lungs burn, every muscle on his body tensed at his mindless pursuit of his high. He buries his cock deep inside the tight space of your throat, your gurgles and groaning enhancing his sensation. It looks painful to you to hold him inside, tears ending your makeup, face turning red at the lack of air. He closes both hands behind your head, making you nuzzle his pelvis even as your nails close on his thighs threatening to break skin.

He retreats to let you breathe just as your eyes go unfocused, feels something squeezing inside as you cough and wheezes and his throat squeezes a large gulp of air when you look up at him, tongue hanging out with a wide-open mouth just offered for him.

Osamu feels like hurting you at how good you are, infuriatingly obedient and willing to be at the end of his aggression. So he buries himself back inside at one go, both hands holding your head for him. There’s too much chaos inside of him, so he decides to pour some out through words.

“You like being used like this, huh? Like little more than a fucking cocksleeve for me.”

“What is it? Does being in power make you this needy? Does being wrecked make you feel this good?” Your groan makes your throat tighter around him, your eyes rolling back from his fucking and degradation.

It’s unfair, infuriatingly so, that this might be the most unbelievable great sex he ever had. 

Osamu can’t hold back much longer, everything feeling just too good, his skin burning at the stretch of the tourbillion of emotions inside his chest, the captivating sight of tears dropping from your jaw and coating your long lashes as your face darkens by the lack of air, swollen lips stretched beyond capacity around his cock while you willingly let him go harder, faster, into your tight throat. There’s a warm sensation flowing from his limbs to his spine, melting his bones and weighing on his balls until it spreads over Osamu’s whole being.

He pulls back from your throat in time but presses his hands on your jaw and hair to keep you up and open as he coats your wrecked face with hot spurts of cum -- the final touch to the perfection of your wrecked image at his feet.

It lands haphazardly over your lips and even your eyelashes, tear-stained mess of a face marked by his essence. Osamu tells himself he could never feel anything towards you, but for a second there’s a hint of territorial pride at how you look -- and how it is all his doing. The twin is still swimming in searing pleasure as you lick over your lips, hands almost fondly landing over his as if you're assuring him that he can let go.

He does, trying to step back and slowly descending onto the ground when his knees give out. His eyes are glued to how his cum is dripping from your chin onto your chest, how you bring your fingers to sweep over it and end it by cleaning the digits with your tongue. If Osamu’s cock wasn’t so spent, he’s sure it’d swell right back up at the sight alone.

“Can’t say what’s better,” your hoarse voice is barely above a murmur, “the taste or the feeling.”

As you’re standing on unsteady legs and already fixing yourself while he sits on the floor questioning his life choices, Osamu feels as if he’d made a deal with the devil, and you’ll be coming back to collect his soul.

“Seems like the start of a nice partnership, doesn’t it?” 

-- 

#osamu miya smut #osamu miya #osamu miya hq #haikyuu smut #tw dubcon #thesmutpilecollab #hq fanfic #osamu miya x reader

[seokjinsonlyone]

Not My Type | 3

pairing: jungkook x female reader

summary: "She's a lot more than nice, so you need to be careful."

genre: friends to lovers

warnings: none; jimin here tho being flirty and stirring the pot <3333

rating: pg

wc: 1.7k

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

Jungkook’s newfound hobby was driving her crazy. One too many times had their little lunch rendezvous made its way into her mind in the past week. The way he sniffed her hair oddly enough was a recurring playback. She had a thing for weirdos and Jungkook could definitely be classified as that. And, that was exactly why she needed to shut this whole thing down.

Now, she considered herself a progressive individual. She didn’t mind change as long as it was for the better. She didn’t have a problem evolving her relationship with a friend. In fact, she preferred it. Always said that if she was gonna get into it, she wanted to be with a friend. But, this particular friendship wasn’t the one. It wouldn’t make sense. There was no way it could possibly be better.

They were like oil and water. They didn’t mix. Which was fine as a friendship, they could peacefully coexist. Anything more than that, however, would be an unnecessary burden. And, her life didn’t need to be anymore difficult than it already was. She wanted an easy love. It was this line of reasoning that carried her straight to her best friend’s house.

“You need to talk to your friend,” she announced, waltzing into Jimin’s home, throwing her purse on the couch before finding him sitting at the island eating cereal.

He looked up. “I’ve already told you should just ask Taemin out. He’ll most likely say yes. He thinks you’re hot. Stop trying to get me to create scenarios.”

“And, I’ve already told you I refuse to pursue a man. No matter how dreamy and evil he is,” she sighed.

In all honesty, she probably would’ve gone for it if it weren’t for the fact that she could tell he wasn’t really into her. Not in the way she would’ve liked for him to be into her. He flirted with her in person (and in her dms), held her in a way that made her stomach jump after a few drinks, but ultimately his goal was a few nights in the sheets. And, that just wasn’t her thing. She didn’t do casual. Didn’t like to invite people into her life that weren’t going to stay. So even though she thought they could be good together, she was deciding to let this one go. If he couldn’t see what was right in front of him that was on him.

“You’re gonna end up alone.”

“You must realize that I am my favorite person.” He rolled his eyes. “Anyway, I wasn’t talking about him. I was talking about Jungkook.”

“What he do?”

“He’s been acting weird ever since last week.”

“What happened last week?”

She sucked her teeth. “You know, when we were all here?”

He narrowed his eyes at her, pupils shifting from side to side, visibly racking his brain trying to recall what happened at his place last week. “Oh! Wednesday! I was so drunk, bro. What happened?”

“Ugh. You don’t remember asking me to rank all of y’all from most to least my type?” Typical Jimin. Cause trouble then dip.

“What’d you rank me?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I ain’t doing this again.”

He dropped his legs from the footrest of the barstool, tugging her closer and wrapping an arm around her waist. “Mmm. You couldn’t handle me either way.”

She’s not gonna lie, her heart skipped a beat. But, that’s the only reason he did it in the first place. He knew it flustered her on some level. So, she decided to play along for once, bringing her hand up to toy with the hair that rested at the back of his neck. “Baby boy, I could make you cry,” she whispered seductively.

He made a face, then pushed her away turning his attention back to his cereal. “You’re gross.”

“You started it,” she accused, laughter bubbling up at his reaction. He was CEO of “Do as I say, not as I do.” Always in the mood to dish it out, but hardly able to take it in return.

“So, what’s going on? Why do I need to talk to him?”

“Because I told him he wasn’t my type, and now he’s trying to convince me that he is.”

He choked. “What?”

“He literally showed up at my work the other day and brought me lunch.”

“That was more so directed at you saying Jungkook isn’t your type.”

“He’s not.” He raised his eyebrows, smirking conspiratorially. “He isn’t,” she insisted.

“So, you didn’t used to drool over him when you two first met?”

“See why you gotta go and bring up the past.” She wouldn’t say that she had a full blown crush on him, she didn’t know him and therefore couldn’t actually like him, but for a minute she was down bad. She wasn’t expecting to meet him when she did. Jimin had wanted to hang out and asked for a ride. He was with Jungkook when she picked him up and she was effectively caught off guard. Before she even realized what she was doing, she was out of the car and shaking hands with him in greeting. The next few weeks were spent trying her hardest to be in his presence. She never said more than two words to the boy, but yeah she was down bad. Once her hormones subsided, though, they eventually developed a friendship. A friendship that needed to stay a friendship. “Besides, I never said he wasn’t hot. I’m saying our personalities don’t match up. It wouldn’t work.”

“You aren’t that different from each other.”

“Yeah, but we’re wrong in just the right ways. It wouldn’t work.” He was right in saying that weren’t all that dissimilar, but it was because of that that she was sure starting any kind of relationship with romantic intent would go up in flames. The two were like parallel lines. Never meant to cross. Adjacent, but never intersecting. As they should.

“It sounds to me like you’re just afraid of what could happen.”

“Hold on there partner. I didn’t come here to be lectured or psychoanalyzed. I don’t even think he likes me for real, but he’s heading down a slippery slope. I just want you to talk to him before he goes and starts something that’s gonna get his feelings hurt, alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see what I can do.” One thing about Jimin was that he was nosy. Had absolutely zero qualms about getting all up in other people’s business. Knowledge equals power is what he always told himself. So, if she hadn’t come to him voluntarily offering up this information, he would’ve picked up on it sooner or later, inserting himself in the middle of it all. As it stands, he’s been giving explicit permission to do some digging. All he has to do is wait for the opportunity to arise.

The opportunity came a few days later. Jungkook was sitting on his couch, phone in hand, completely zoned out when Jimin pounced.

“So... Y/N?”

Jungkook startled at the mention of her name. It wasn’t like he was just thinking about her. He definitely wasn’t about to text her. He hadn’t spent the past minutes in a daze typing, deleting, and retyping messages to send. Nope. “Huh?”

“Y/N? What’s going on with you and her?” Jimin asked again.

“What do you mean? Nothing’s going on,” he feigned innocence, voice raising an octave. Even though, for all intents and purposes, there really wasn’t anything going on.

He looked him up and down, raising an eyebrow. “That’s not what she said.”

“What did she say?” She talked about him?

“You tell me.” He smirked sitting down, crossing one leg over the other like some kind of therapist.

“I don’t know. We had lunch,” he mumbled.

“Why?”

“Because I thought she might be hungry.”

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that she said you’re not her type?”

He blew raspberries into the air. He couldn’t lie to Jimin even if he tried. The man always managed to see right through him. A consequence of nearly ten years of friendship. “I’m just trying to get to know her better,” he insisted.

“Why?”

“Because she’s nice.” Which wasn’t the complete truth, but if he admitted that he thought she had stars in her eyes he’d never hear the end of it.

“She’s a lot more than nice, so you need to be careful.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that she’s one of the best people I know, but she’s stubborn and once she has an idea in her head it’s very hard for her to let go.”

“So you think I should stop?”

“I think you shouldn’t go into this blind, is all I’m saying. Whatever you’re doing, probably won’t be easy. And, I don’t want you to get hurt. Or hurt her. What do you plan on doing if you manage to make her like you? If you’re not serious then I think you should stop.” Jimin patted his shoulder, then got up leaving him to his thoughts.

Jungkook heard what he was saying. He did. And, he was right. He hadn’t been thinking too hard about what he was doing. Honestly, he was just following the skip in his heartbeat and so far that led him to her. There was a very real possibility of him getting his feelings hurt. She was very strong willed. Couldn’t budge her mind with a bulldozer. So, if she was dead set on being against this, there wasn’t much he could do anyway.

Still, this wasn’t something he could let go of easily. He had no intentions of hurting her. It wasn’t just some conquest for him. That much he was sure of. He would hate to get closer to her, have her catch feelings for him, then dip because he wasn’t feeling it. But, he seriously doubted that would happen. It’s not like they were complete strangers. He was just seeing her in a new light now. And as much as he didn’t want anyone to get hurt, at this point he didn’t know if this was something he should even avoid. It didn’t seem like it.

Truthfully, he didn’t feel this way often. This pull he now felt toward her. He was usually much too caught up in trying to be the best version of himself he could be to entertain thoughts of others. However, right now she had his attention and he didn’t want to look away. He opened his text thread with her typing and finally sending a message before he could overthink it.

[10:53pm] jk: lunch tomorrow?

#bts fic #bts fluff #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook drabble #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook drabble #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction

[sweeethinny]

Second son

Summary: ‘You ran away from home?’

‘When I was about sixteen,’ said Sirius. ‘I’d had enough.’

‘Where did you go?’ said Harry, staring at him.

‘Your dad’s place,’ said Sirius. ‘Your grandparents were really good about it; they sort of adopted me as a second son.’

or

Sirius runs away from home, and we see it through Euphemia Potter's eyes.

kind of inspired by @questions-forthe-marauders perfect art! HERE

AO3

-------

December 23, 1976 - 5:25PM

Euphemia did her best not to cry when Minerva's letter arrived at her house.

‘’Mia,

I know what I'm going to ask of you is totally irrational and you have every right to ignore my request and yell at me, but I don't see any other way out.

I've been noticing for a few weeks that Sirius has been acting weird and seems to be distant from everyone. A few days ago I noticed a bruise on the corner of his mouth, but I can't tell if it was a fight with his brother or someone else, you know how boys are at that age.

Anyway, I've noticed that it's been a few months since his detention has been signed by his parents anymore, and I've tried contacting them but Dumbledore keeps saying there's nothing to worry about - you know him, he's terrible at times.

I think there's something wrong with him, and I know Sirius comes to your house during the holidays because I always hear James talking about it, so I came through this letter asking that if you notice anything strange, please tell me. Or talk to Sirius to see if you can find anything.

I'm very worried.

Love, and I'm sorry to bother you with this,

Minerva.''

It hurt her heart more than she thought it would, noticing that the signs Minnie had said were all right there under her nose. James hadn't said anything about Sirius coming for Christmas, and he'd been there for two years now, even though she felt a little bad that he wasn't with his parents on that date. And James looked weird too; he was angrier than usual, and reluctant to talk to them and getting locked in his room.

When they were at the station, Mia noticed that Sirius had got off the train alone and looked guilty, not even looking in their direction as he walked over to where his parents were - who didn't look at all happy with his presence there.

He had already told Monty a few times that his parents didn't like him going to Gryffindor, and James had once told her that Sirius didn't get along with Regulus. But Euphemia always thought it was silly things that teenagers took too seriously, but now, she felt she should have given more importance to the signs.

“Sirius isn't coming?” she asked when she saw James coming down the stairs, an unusually sulky look.

"I don't know," was all he said, walking into the kitchen and leaving her alone in the living room. Her heart clenched, a bad feeling burning in her chest.

"Didn't he tell you anything?" James always liked to talk about everything with Euphemia, Monty said he was a big mama's boy, but she didn't mind at all. As long as he was going to look for her to get her opinion, Euphemia would be only too happy to help him.

"He just said he didn't know if he was coming." James walked out of the kitchen, a glass of milk and a cookie jar under his arm, but when he threatened to go back up to the bedroom, she stopped him.

"Come here." James didn't like being confronted, he'd inherited it from her, and he used to frown when someone demanded answers from him. But Euphemia had no choice but to do that, so he was going to need to spit it out. ‘’Is something going on? Did you guys fight?” she asked, folding the letter and placing it on the coffee table with Minnie's name down, not wanting James to know she already knew. This made it difficult for him to speak.

"No." He sat up, sullen as he always was when she did that. James didn't meet her eyes however, and that was a red light for her. He was one of those people who didn't mind looking anyone in the eye unless he was lying.

‘’You know you can talk to me, don't you? I care about you two.”

"We don't…" He sighed, closing his eyes and leaning back against the sofa cushions, the glass of milk and cookies forgotten on the coffee table. ''He was being an idiot the last few days, I don't know what got into him, but I was ignoring it because I don't know, he gets like that sometimes when he and Regulus fight, but then the christmas thing came up and I said if he continued in that mood he wouldn't be welcome here,'' James denied, pulling his hair angrily. ''I thought he'd know I was joking, of course he's welcome here, but then he got mad and told me he wasn't coming to bother me this year, and I yelled that it would be great so… I got mad, I wasn't thinking… so he got out of our wagon and went to Merlin knows where. I only saw him when we got off the train, and he was already going with his parents.'’

‘’Oh, son…’’

''I know I shouldn't have said that, but he was being an idiot, and now... I hope he doesn't hate me.'' Euphemia wanted to go to that hideous Black house to drag Sirius under her wing, force him and James to talk and make up, and bring him in with them. But Monty had already told her that this was illegal.

"He doesn't hate you, son." She opened her arms for James to hug her, stroking his hair and thinking about what she could do with the situation. "Did you say he and Regulus had a fight?"

"They...um," Of course James was too faithful to tell her about that. Too noble to betray his best friend. ‘’Kind of a fight.’’

“Does Sirius often fight with him a lot?” She remembered when they had once met Walburga and Orion at an event, and only Regulus was with them.

"Where's Sirius?" she had asked, because it didn't make sense to take just one child. And Sirius was what, twelve or thirteen at the time?

"He preferred to stay with my sister," Walburga said, smiling bitterly at Euphemia as if silently telling her not to meddle where she wasn't called.

She swallowed, thinking maybe she was seeing trouble where it didn't exist. Maybe he really wanted to stay with his aunt, she couldn't prove otherwise.

‘’Send him a letter later inviting him to our Christmas, okay? If you want,” she said, looking once more at Minnie's letter on the table.

"Fine."

December 24, 1976 - 10:54PM

It was snowing like never before outside, probably the coldest night this year so far, and the house was silent when she woke up to noises outside.

Monty jumped out of bed, wand in hand, just as she had, heart pounding in her chest and a motherly fear of protecting James at all costs from whatever was out there.

Ever since they declared support for muggleborns and as she and Fleamont began to increasingly advocate for minorities and help organizations of students who couldn't afford to buy supplies and clothing for the Hogwarts school years, they were marked as a target for the other traditional families, carrying a huge red flag where ''traitors'' was written in bold letters.

Euphemia couldn't care less about that, she was more than happy to be considered a traitor if it meant she was doing good.

“What was that?” James muttered, haunted brown eyes staring like he was going to war.

Her son didn't go to war, though, not when he couldn't even drink yet.

‘’Stay in the room, and get the portkey. Anything, use it!” She instructed him, but James seemed too stubborn to accept that. "James, enter your room now, and stay there."

“Three is better than two.” He continued to follow them, Monty further along and having already made a protective barrier between him and her and James.

‘’Not when one of them is fifteen. Now come in and stay there, me and your dad let's see what's going on.'

''Mom-''

"Don't make me need to use magic to get you to do what I want." She said authoritatively, and that caused James to fall back a few steps, looking at her startled. Euphemia mentally thanked him for that and walked downstairs, thinking that later she would apologize for talking to him like that, but that's because she wasn't risking her boy in that situation.

Monty raised his wand and opened the door, ready to attack whoever was there on the other side, but before he could, Sirius raised his arms and closed his eyes as if he too was waiting to be attacked. ‘’Sirius?!’’

‘’I'm sorry, I-’’

''What did we do on our last trip?'' Fleamont asked, and as much as Euphemia thought it was unnecessary - please just bring the boy inside he'll freeze! - she knew they were in the middle of a war.

''You tried to learn to surf with me and James, but you nearly broke your ankle when you fell.'' Sirius kept his arms raised, and she noticed that his lips were purple from the cold, and that jacket didn't seem to warm him. She didn't even wait for Monty to lower his wand and went over to him, pulling Sirius into their house and hugging him tightly, wanting more than anything to take away whatever inner pain seemed to haunt him.

He looked too terrified for a sixteen-year-old boy.

"What happened, Pads?" James ran up to them, looking worried about him too. ‘’You didn't even answer my letter and-’’

''I...I ran away from home.'' He shrugged and avoided looking her or Monty in the eye, Euphemia realized he had a backpack on his back. Her heart ached so much that she couldn't stop the tears. She pulled Sirius even tighter against her. "Mia, if I can't stay here, it's okay, it's just that I came walking-"

‘’Did you walk all the way here?! It's almost an hour and a half of walking, boy!” Monty yelled. "Someone could have tried something against you."

''It was okay, I,'' Sirius looked at James, and she knew he wasn't telling her all the details and he'd probably done something against the law to not die in the snow, but she didn't care about that now. "It was the first place I thought of coming."

‘’Of course, dear, of course. James, make him a hot bath, and Monty heat up dinner… are you hungry, Sirius?” He nodded, cheeks burning with embarrassment. ''Here, come sit in front of the fireplace… And of course you can stay here, please, I don't even want to think that you thought I wouldn't accept you.'' She sighed, walking with him to the sofa and taking off the wet jacket he wore, waving her wand so that the nearly extinguished fire began to crackle again, warming the room. "You can live with us Sirius, don't worry, you don't have to go back to those horrible people anymore." His gray eyes blinked with tears, and it was probably the first time she'd seen Sirius cry. ‘’Don't worry honey, you're fine now…’’

----

‘’Minnie,

I'm so glad you warned me about this, and I understand your concern.

Sirius ran away from home last night, he didn't want to tell us what happened and I think at some point I'll know, but the boy looks terrified now.

He's not okay, but he's going to be. And I've already sent a letter to Dumbledore telling him that now anything that happens to him is to call us.

I don't think Walburga or Orion will complain, they let their son run away in the middle of a blizzard and so far they haven't looked for him. But it's better this way, Monty would probably kill them if they showed up at our door.

You know that we always wanted to have one more child anyway.

With love,

Euphemia.’’

#james potter #marauders headcanon #marauders era #moony wormtail padfoot and prongs #sirius black #my fic #the marauders era

[yuzukult]

effortlessly, the epilogue (m) || jjk & reader

title: effortlessy, the epilogue pairing: jungkook x reader word count: 5.6k genre: the after high school :) + my infamous poorly written smut a/n: it’s shorter than intended but... it’s out guys! because someone asked me when I planned on posting this and I thought that I was the only one who cared about this epilogue. ;u; Thanks for mentioning it to me, because it motivated me to write it again. Enjoy! series masterlist can be found here

"I want to take care of the planet like Greta Thunberg!"

"Noooo, wouldn't you want to be something cooler? Like a soccer player? How about Lionel Messi?"

"Forget soccer! I want to do something even better... make computers like Steve Jobs!"

One of the children frowns, shoulders slouching in disappointment and frustration of his classmates. Leaning down, you brush away the bangs that cover his eyes, gently pinching his chubby cheeks full of love and care. "What's wrong, Jaemin?"

"I don't want to be like Greta Thunberg or Lion Messi or Steve Work!" He exclaims, arms thrown in the air. 

"It's Lionel Messi and Steve Jobs, Jaemin!"

"Okay, okay," You say soothingly, hands cupping and thumbs rubbing against the flesh of his cheeks delicately. "That's fine, Jaemin, you don't have to be like those people if you don't want to. You can choose whatever profession you want, and whomever you want it to be like." 

"I want to be a swimmer, like Jeon Jungkook!"

"Mm," You hum, tapping your finger against your chin as if you're pondering about Jaemin's idea. "You could, if you'd like. Have you ever met Jeon Jungkook before?"

"No," He pouts, his bottom lip jutting out in dismay. "But momma showed me videos of hyung online and he seems like a very kind person." Nodding, your hands fall into the ones of Jaemin's, swaying your arms together to calm his nerves. Children tend to be very emotional, you learn after the many years of experience with them, and Jaemin is no exception. Finding ways to tame their anxiousness was the true challenge. "Want to hear a secret?"

His eyes widen as large as the cartoons he watches on TV. "Yes! What's the secret?"

Pretending to glance out to confirm that the coast is clear and that the other children had walked away to find something more interesting to direct their attention to, you whisper into Jaemin's ear. "Jeon Jungkook was my best friend."

Jaemin gasps. "No way. Your friend? Are you just saying that to me so I can feel better?" Yes, is what you really wanted to tell him, but truth to be told, you weren't lying. Kids were incredibly smart for even noticing that adults would say things to water down the situation, but you weren't just saying anything. "Of course not. Jungkook and I go way back, way before he became a professional swimmer. I used to go to all his practices, hung out with him after them, and even attended classes with him... just like you're in one right now!"

"Do you think... Do you think you can ask Jungkook hyung to come visit us? Maybe? If you're still friends with him..." He drifts, the thought of not being able to see his hero weighing down on his shoulders again. "I'll see what I can do," Standing from where you've been crouching, you ruffle Jaemin's hair with a soft sigh escaping your lips. "Now go play with the other kids. Remember, you can be whoever you want, and everyone else can be whoever they want as well."

Right before the clock hits 3:00PM, you verify that all the little kids are geared up in their beanies, puffer jackets, shoes, and some with gloves, in preparation for their parents' arrival. When the doors open and the children line up, leaving one by one, their nose and cheeks tint pink at the harsh winds, shivering yet at the same time cheering in glee when they see their guardians pull up. 

Watching the smiles on their faces reminds you of the time that you hated the winter; brisk air smacking your cheeks in pain, freezing your face in position, fingers stiff from being exposed to the outside, and constant shaking just to warm yourself up in a clownery large winter coat. Yet, this time around, you find yourself fond of the weather, the thought of being able to spend time with your loved ones approaching and activities that could only be done during this specific season. 

"Ready to head out?" One of your co-workers asks, just as bundled up as you are, learning your lesson after leaving without a jacket that wasn't thick enough before a day ago. "Yeah, I am. Let me just get my purse first, Naeun."

It's a constant cycle everyday: swipe your transit pass onto the bus, get off, walk an obscene amount of distance, if it's a good day then you'd stop for coffee, get to school, and prep for the day before calling the students in to take attendance, then that's when the teaching starts. 

But something about today feels great, despite the snow falling from the sky that nearly has you slipping on the ice from lack of attention to anything in front of you. So, you grab something hot. After all, what's better than a cup of hot chocolate in the morning right before you're stuck in a classroom full of twenty first-graders?

Following your medium sized peppermint hot chocolate (you're rather quite enamored that you're able to find a peppermint flavor because it's your favorite), hopping out of the coffee shop with glee, you're ready to be on route to work again.

Then someone obnoxiously honks their horn.

You show no regard to this, mostly because it makes no sense to. Someone who's driving a flashy neon yellow Porsche is already gaining all the unnecessary attention in the first place, and you're not really in the mood to be categorized within that population. 

But the beeping doesn't stop.

Oddly enough, it actually feels like the car is following you. Sweating profusely, you're debating whether or not to glance to see who the driver is. Just then, your phone dings.

jeon jungkook [6:57AM]: i've been trying to get you to turn around for the past 10 minutes, could you please stop walking faster? at this rate you're going to be a runner?

Instantaneously, you stop in the midst of your steps, sharply twisting on your heel to see the owner of the flamboyant vehicle. There he was, with the driver's side window rolled down, exposing those pearly white teeth of his, paired with a grin that stretched from ear to ear.

Typical.

"Jeon Jungkook, fancy meeting you here."

"Not really fancy if I had to check your location services to see where you've been. It's not fun being ignored, love." He has his arm rested on the opening, watching as you purse your lips and bounce on the tips of your toes. "Mm, wonder why that is."

"Don't be like that," He frowns, chin sitting on his arm. "Come, I'll drive you to work. Maybe we can talk along the way."

"I'm not really in the mood to talk to you at seven in the morning, Jeon."

"Please?" He begs, pools of brown that match the liquid in your cup and the sweetness it entails. Just his voice alone was warm, shooting into your chest and you're trying to convince yourself that it's the drink, not him. "Fine." You respond through your gritted teeth, rounding the hood of the car to enter the passenger seat.

Jungkook looks so happy he could burst.

On the ride to work, you don't talk. He speaks casually, sharing stories about his adventures, ones that you don't really want to hear about or was it that his current attire that's causing your mind to get fuzzy? Baby blue dress shirt with just a couple of the buttons let loose, tucked into those dark grey slacks that hug his thighs so well, that you needed to avert your eyes or else he'd see you checking him out.

He does in fact, to the point that he needs to hide the smirk that dangles on his lips, but he refrains himself because getting you to forgive him is a difficult task alone, and teasing you wouldn't get him anywhere. 

"Pull up here," You demand when he's driving by the perimeter of the building. "You don't need to drive into the yard. I don't need the teachers thinking I'm hanging out with someone driving a construction safety yellow car."

Jungkook is admittingly disappointed, hoping that he gets more time with you but he did choose a work day to meet you. "Can I see you after this?" He's suddenly bashful after approaching you confidently earlier, no semblance of high school Jungkook hinted in his personality anymore. "I don't know. Maybe. We'll see." With that, you slip out the car, greeting the parents that you pass by, sharing that beaming smile that he was wishing was for him instead. You're prettiest when you're working—the way you're talking to your students as they begin to line up to enter class, tapping their noses with your drink in hand, drowning in your oversized coat. You seem at your happiest, suddenly regretting his recent absence from your life.

Reminiscing back to the time of when you didn't know what you wanted to do with your life, where you wanted to go, and who you wanted to be were questions that were constantly thrown up in the air. He recalls those nights where he'd hear your whimpers through the wall between the bedroom and the living room, sitting at the coffee table in frustration while he prepped for bed. Life had been a crazy journey for the both of you, especially when he had gotten invited to pursue in other work opportunities. 

You're thankful when you leave work that day and don't spot the rubber duck colored car anywhere near the schoolyard, yet at the same time, slightly despondent that he didn't return. "You look down," Naeun points out, nose peeking from her scarf with her hands dug deep into the pockets of her jacket. "Expecting someone?"

"Kind of, not really," You confess, letting out a heavy sigh with water vapor in the air. "But not surprised anyways."

"Does it have anything to do with a cheddar cheese looking car?"

Choking on your saliva, you attempt to clear your throat at her recognition. "How'd... you know it had to do with a yellow car?"

She leans over, gesturing in the direction behind you with her chin. "Other than the fact that it's hard to miss a car that bright in the morning, you coming out of it is also attention grabbing. Plus, he's over there, parked in the corner with a swarm of little kids around him."

Flinching, you look in her direction, the sight of Jungkook seated on the hood of his ridiculous vehicle, uncomfortably bending over to reach the height of the flock of little children with their parents, signing autographs and exchanging words with them.

You can't tell if it's cute or making your blood boil.

When you walk over to him with Naeun by your side, he looks up with that annoying smile on his face again. "Jeon Jungkook." 

"See, Jaemin? She does know me." Jungkook teases, messing up the little boy's hair. Jaemin has a look on his face that screams nothing but elation, spilling with happiness that couldn't be fulfilled until he met his idol, Jungkook, the Olympian swimmer. "You were right! He is your best friend!"

"I said was, but you get the point." Jungkook jerks up, quickly shuffling to dip his head in the window opening of his car, pulling out a drink, handing it to you. "Would someone who was your friend get you your favorite drink?"

In a medium Starbucks cup, there's an iced cold brew with cold foam sitting on top—a drink that you had grown attached and addicted to in your first year of University, ordering it so frequently on the daily that you had to wean yourself off it. "Cold brew," You clarify, taking the drink gleefully. "I guess you remembered."

Naeun extends her hand at Jungkook, requesting a shake. "Oh my god, Jeon Jungkook, I'm a big fan. I heard that you were recently sponsored by Nike—crazy! She—" She's referring to you with a glare "—never mentioned that she was friends with a professional swimmer!"

"Didn't think it was important," You add, swirling before taking a sip of the liquid gold. "Knowing someone who swam for your country's Olympic team isn't usually brought up in an everyday conversation."

She rolls her eyes as Jungkook gifts her a warm handshake, hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. He's dressed for comfort, this afternoon as opposed to this morning, and you're curious of his schedule yet you don't ask. "Kids, time to go home, don't leave your parents waiting." You dismiss the children who whine in reaction. "But we want to talk to Jungkook!"

"I'll be back tomorrow!" He confirms, and they run away in excitement, earning a groan from you. "Tomorrow? You're actually expecting to be back tomorrow?"

"Why? You don't want to see me?"

"Jungkook, why are you even back?" You exasperate, fingers running through your tangled locks. Jungkook is starting to frustrate you and all you want to do is go home and snuggle under the covers while watching a movie while possibly grading some papers. "What's the point of all this?"

He pouts, an arm snaking around your waist to pull your frame close. "I literally came to see my girlfriend and all she does is push me away. Isn't that crazy, Naeun? The girl of my dreams agreed to date me then she pretends that I don't even exist."

Jaw dropped, Naeun can't even formulate a sentence with the new information. "I know what you're going to say next, 'why didn't you—'"

"Why didn't you tell me you had a boyfriend this entire time? Why didn't you even mention that it was Jungkook! You just faked the entire time that you weren't with someone while I was tricking you into going on dates—"

"You set her up with guys?" Jungkook's brows furrowed at Naeun before looking down at you. "You let her set you up with guys?"

"I didn't go to any of those dates she organized," You mention, bringing the drink to your lips again, truly the only thing that calms your nerves despite the chaos unfolding in front of you. "I vaguely said I wasn't interested."

"You could've just said that you had a boyfriend!"

"Well, you weren't around to prove it, so did it really matter?" Shrugging your shoulders, you escape from his grasp to drag the zipper of your jacket up higher. "Anyways, I'm out. Get home safe, Naeun, let me know how it goes with that mechanic guy tonight." Tugging up your sleeve for a better view of your watch, you nod. "My bus is coming soon—"

"—I'm literally standing right here and you're still going to take the bus?"

"I'm going to take this as my cue to leave..." Naeun chimes in, quickly waving goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow then, Jungkook-ssi?" And he nods in return, watching as she walks away.

"I can't believe you would just waltz in here like you can do whatever you want." You hiss, nearly squeezing the cup in your hand but the cold brew inside is too valuable to let go to waste. "This is my workplace, not my house."

"I would go to your house if I knew where it was. You turned off your location yesterday."

"Maybe you shouldn't have outed yourself the first time, then you would've known." He moans, pushing his hair away from his face. The length has grown tremendously since the last time you saw him,  reaching his chin with the ends curling into the shapes of his eyes when he's gleaming with a grin. "Why are you making things so difficult for the both of us?"

"I'm not." You respond nonchalantly, blinking blankly at the man before you. 

Jungkook tugs on your arm. "Then let me take you home, to our home, really, since you decided that you wanted to move out without me here when the lease ended."

"I told you I didn't want to live where stalkers were standing outside my place."

"And I told you that you should call the bodyguard my company said they'd provide for you. Why didn't you call? Why didn't you tell me?"

Truthfully, you didn't want to go through the complications of the process of getting someone to consistently watch over you on a daily basis—it was easier to just up and leave, find somewhere else to reside instead of getting attacked by his fans. "It was too complex," allowing him to pull you in between his open legs as he rests on the hood of his car. "Plus, why would I want to ask help from a guy who wouldn't even come home for our anniversary? Easier to leave instead of being disappointed all the time."

The edges of his mouth drops. "Don't say it like that. I had to work, or else I would've taken the first flight back home. All the opportunities just so happen to be in the States."

"Go live there then, you don't need to come back. It's convenient for you to find a place there anyway."

"I'm not leaving you, idiot." He counters back, irritated that you're even making such suggestions. "I told you this every single time we meet again, every phone-call, every facetime. I won't move unless it's with you." The look in his eyes is hypnotizing mixed along with his words, swaying you into his direction unless you shake your head from the thoughts, stepping back. "Fine. Drive me home, whatever. Your stuff is still there anyways. I guess you still somewhat live with me."

Jungkook takes this as a victory.

In all honesty, he loves the idea of a domestic relationship. Jungkook loves having to wake up in the morning with you sleeping on the other side of the bed, corners of your eyes filled with dry boogers that'll probably hurt when you decide to get up, and brushing your teeth together, side by side, shoving each other just to be able to spit in the tiny little sink in the apartment. He argues that he could help pay for a better place, but you reject him regardless, wanting to stay in a more affordable place, one where you can go halfsies on.

He misses watching you hover over the stove, obnoxiously monitoring whatever it is you're cooking for dinner, only for him to call you out and take over instead. Or when you're doing work on the floor with your papers and laptop sprawled across the coffee table, leaning back when your shoulders get tired, resting in between his legs with your back against the body of the couch. 

So on the route of driving you home, that’s all he can think about as you sit in silence. 

This was definitely not the plan. 

Parked in the garage of your apartment complex, the fluorescent lights don’t do a good job of piercing through the tinted windows of Jungkook’s car, which you’re super thankful for despite the obnoxious primary color he chooses. The steam fills the glass, hand pressed against the armrest on the door as you’re panting heavily, an uneven match with Jungkook’s. He has a grip on both your ass and hips, guiding as you’re grinding yourself on him, wishing to be closer than you already were.

How he has you out of your jeans is unknown. Your jackets have already been throat into the some-what backseat, your dress shirt unbuttoned with your breasts spilling from your nude bra, and his shirt is hiked up just enough to catch a glimpse of his abs. Swimming requires him to keep his body in shape and there’s no complaint from you on that.

Mouth opened, he let out a groan, feeling your tightness around his cock that made a drop of sweat fall from his forehead. “Fuck,” He curses, the sight of you in front of him clenches his heart. Jungkook thinks you’re so pretty under this light— even prettier than when he knew you in high school, it’s like the longer he knows you, the more infatuated he is. When you gyrate your hips aggressively, he suddenly can’t take it anymore, hands trailing up your spine, pushing you down against his chest before he digs his feet into the carpeted floors, hips piston up into you. 

The new angle has your stomach in knots, a soft gasp falling from your lips that only encourages him to go harder. “Can you come like this?” 

“Touch me,” You respond, and it comes out nearly as a whine but you’re too busy being fogged up by pleasure to even care. “Jeon, please,” Begging at this point, he slips himself between the two of you, thumb rubbing against the bud as your grip on his shoulders clasp firms, lips against the flesh of his neck. 

“You’re going to come now, aren’t you?” 

The way he says it hints an arrogant smirk, one you’re bothered with but you’re in the middle of something currently. It’s rhetorical, to him, because your pussy is convulsing around his dick that he’s almost reaching his limit yet he waits for you patiently. “I’m gonna—”

“Let go, baby,” He manages to say through a heave, your eyes tightly shut closed before you reach your orgasm; a melodic moan finally releasing into his ears that he’s been expecting all night, one that you’ve been holding back to showcase that you’re still mad at him. Jungkook couldn’t care— well, just right now, since he has his dick in you, thrusting away until he hits his own orgasm, ropes of cum coating your swollen pink walls.

You’ve grown limp against his body, nose snuggled into the crook of his neck, breathing heavy but slowed from previously. He misses having you like this, bare and close to him, skin feeling light from post-sex. “I love you,” He hums, pressing a gentle kiss on your shoulder. “Let’s get you cleaned up?”

Nodding, you barely have the strength to push yourself off his body, but he doesn’t let go of the grip he has around your mid-frame anyways, sliding the back of the seat up to straighten yourselves. Leaning over to the glove compartment, he snatches a couple tissues before slipping his limp dick out of you, wiping away your mixed come. 

When he eventually has the both of you dressed, you lead him into the building, in the elevator and up to the floor of your apartment, cheeks still tinted rosy from the act in the car. Jungkook doesn’t mind it though, he thinks it’s cute that you’re embarrassed.

If this is what it’s going to be like forever— the warmth that you give, despite the words that come from your mouth, the affection and care that you distribute just for him, and the newfound confidence you’ve discovered during college that you’re not afraid of showing him... he wants it. Forever.

“Mm, so you’re telling me that you still fucked him even though you said that you were mad at him?” 

Yura is adorable with her little baker’s hat on, working endlessly in the kitchen of her new bakery that she decided to open in Seoul after graduating culinary school. Luckily for you, it’s close enough to your apartment that you found yourself stopping by to visit frequently, stealing the goods that don’t make it out to the display fridge.

“... Possibly. I don’t know. I couldn’t help it— I didn’t get dicked down in forever. And no, don’t talk about using the dildo you gave me last year, I haven’t even touched the thing.”

“What? Nothing in comparison to Jungkook’s meaty, girthy—“

“Oh my god, please don’t continue that sentence,” You wince, palm against your forehead. “It was good, alright? I mean, sure, I finished myself off when I’m alone but yesterday, in the car—”

“You hoe— you didn’t only give your vagina to him, but you gave it to him in the car? You couldn’t even wait, could you? And what now, is he living back at the apartment?”

“I mean... he said he didn’t get a hotel because he wanted to sleep in his own bed again...”

Yura laughs, clapping her hands in amusement as the powder hits her face. “You’re so funny, you know that? Why do you keep playing this charade when you could just... let him back in?”

You sigh, plopping your body down onto the stool by the counters, elbows against the floured tops. Truthfully, caving into all the mistakes Jungkook made was something too common from you, wishing that he wasn’t good with his words and affectionate whenever he’s around you. He missed an anniversary, a 6th year anniversary, and from what you read on the forums online, it’s one of those years where relationships start to get bumpy.

“I just— I don’t want to be easy, you know? I let him get away with everything, and it’s not fair that he’s all the way in the States, doing whatever it is he’s doing, while I’m here, watching twenty to thirty little kids everyday. And I can’t tell him to stop what he’s doing because well— it’s his dream, Yura, who am I to stop him?”

“You don’t,” She responds sharply, glaring at you through her floured lashes. “You should’ve gotten on a plane to the States. It’s your anniversary, as in both you and Jungkook. It’s not his designated job to come here when it’s an anniversary to celebrate the both of you.”

There she goes again, even 6 years later after high school, Yura exhibits the realities of a situation, especially the ones that you’re in. 

“I guess...” You say faintly, slowly reaching your surrender. 

“No guessing. Please leave and go look for him. Tell him that you’re sorry, that you’re not going to be a big baby anymore. You’ve been with him for six years, and no matter how mad you get at him, he’s always coming back for more and attempting to make it up to you. Also, it’s 6:30AM... shouldn’t you already be on your way to work?”

“Oh, right, fuck, okay, thanks, Yura!” Jolting out of the bakery, you’re practically running to the school when you halt in your route at the sight of the familiar neon yellow car that’s parked on the school yard, yet again.

“I’m Jeon Jungkook, and I’m on South Korea’s Men’s Swim Team. I’m training for 800M Freestyle Swim again, and possibly, maybe, planning to retire soon.”

Retire? The word that slips from Jungkook’s mouth is unfamiliar, mostly because he had never discussed this with you before, causing you to furrow your brows in perplexity at him as he stands in front of the black chalkboard in your classroom full of children. 

“I actually lived next door to your lovely teacher here, and we grew up together. She even coached me early in my years since I didn’t have anyone with credentials to show me. We both used to stare at the computer, day and night, renting videos from the library, and spending most of our time together just so that we could improve on my skills...” As Jungkook babbles on to the students, Naeun nudges you in the stomach.

“What?” You hiss in a whisper. Softly, she responds, “You never told me any of this! I thought we were friends! You’ve been hiding from me that you’re dating an Olympian and that you guys knew each other since you were little? What else haven’t you told me?”

“Mm,” You hum, arms crossed over your chest. “I got recruited to shadow coaches back in the university Jungkook and I attended. I rejected their offer and went undecided before coming to terms that I’d teach.”

Naeun is taken aback by all this information, stumbling back to the edge of your desk to regain her balance. “You were recruited to coach? And you rejected that offer? Why the hell would you do that?”

“Because swimming is Jungkook’s dream, not mine.”

During college, evidently enough, you had been struggling endlessly trying to figure out what you wanted to do with yourself. There were moments where you considered taking a gap year— a break from it all, go somewhere maybe to finally understand yourself and what you want to do. Jungkook’s eyes when you mentioned it to him grew wary, sad that he couldn’t be there to help you but just stare at your helpless expression through the screen of his phone. 

One thing you knew for sure, you didn’t want Jungkook to pity you. (Although, he never did. He was just too in love and couldn’t see the girl of his dreams sad.)

So you pushed harder. Met with people, asked about their experiences, requested for a mentor, and just researched. It was exactly like the time Jungkook told you he wanted to swim, so you obsessively tried to find any information on it so that you could teach him and show him things he could do in the water.

You learned that if you wanted something bad enough, you grew a drive for it.

It might’ve been when Jungkook realized that you were great at coaching. When he tried to sway you into coaching people because you were great and motivating people to do better, to try harder, and all of this without overworking them to the point of turning into dust. Despite everything, you didn’t want to coach swimming— and soon learning, you didn’t want to coach any sport. But the closest thing to it was teaching.

And a teacher was what you became.

There was already enough experience in teaching someone, or in this case, tutoring, because Jungkook sucked at it back in grade school. He always needed help, and that’s where you swooped in. Arms filled with notebooks, backpack dragging you full with textbooks while you stood at Jungkook’s front porch, ready to confuse him with letters and numbers that he learned he didn’t even need now.

“Did you know he was thinking about retirement?” Naeun sneaks in again. You shake your head, watching your boyfriend answer questions from the crowd. “No, I didn’t. He’s never even mentioned that word to me, ever.”

Just as Jungkook finishes, you holler out for the class to settle down, pushing him aside as he bumps back into the wall with a grin on his face. “Ok, class, since it’s 5 minutes before recess, I’m just going to let you guys go off. It is a Friday, so enjoy yourselves!”

Jungkook joins in when you’re zipping up the jackets and tying the shoes of the kids; they’re all too excited for an extra five minutes of recess time, saying something along the lines of, “we should ask hyung to come more often, he makes her happy enough to give us five extra minutes!” and Jungkook stifles a laugh.

Standing against the brick masonry of the building, Jungkook accompanies you. “You’re going to ask me about the whole retirement thing, aren’t you?”

“Was. But you didn’t seem like you cared enough to bring it up to me.”

He sighs, adjusting the beanie on his head. “I didn’t decide until yesterday. I’m going to be in the next Olympics then I’m retiring. I’ve made enough money from the sponsorships and I’m sure I’ll be able to keep my affiliation with Nike ‘til past that.”

Glancing over at him before looking back at the children playing in the yard, you snuggle your nose deeper into your scarf. “Why’s that? Isn’t swimming your dream?”

“It is,” He says, voice genuine and filled with honesty. “I might do some things here and there, maybe train some kid with potential. I just... I don’t know how much longer I can do this thing between us. I’m never going to give up on swimming, and there’s so many opportunities out there for me to do that includes it. But this whole... training for the Olympics thing— I’ve done it already. It’s great, I’ll do another year of it. But by the time the second time I enter, we’ll be hitting that age where it’s time to settle down.”

“We don’t need to have a set time to settle down—“

“I know that we don’t but I’m tired of this whole long distance thing. You’ve been so supportive of my dreams, and I’ve accomplished them already. It’s time that I’m here, by your side, supporting yours.”

There’s silence between the two of you, despite the constant screaming and laughing that’s coming from the playground. 

“I’m sorry,” You blurt and he only looks at you with bewilderment on his face. “I should’ve came to visit you on our anniversary instead of expecting you to come here. It was selfish of me.”

Jungkook laughs, beaming brightly with the sweetest smile upon his lips. “You used to be so timid and shy back in high school. You’ve developed into this woman who’s confident and fierce, sometimes scaring me because I never thought you could ever be like this.”

“Does it make you like me any less?”

“No,” He turns to you, tightening the scarf around your neck in prevention of slipping. “But... it makes me love you more. You’re also admitting things and apologizing. Very huge character development if you asked me. Say, how about we go home tonight and celebrate our anniversary, to make up for the one we miscommunicated about?”

“I’d... like that, very much.” You respond, chewing on your bottom lip bashfully. 

“Now,” He begins, pinching your frozen cheeks gently. “I told you I love you about... a million times since I came back. I’m still waiting for you to say it too.”

He’s still somewhat the same Jungkook from back then, hidden underneath the blanket of adulthood and experiences through college but nonetheless, just as much as he changed, you’ve loved him through every stage he’s gone through. He felt the same. “Love you too, Jeon.” And there it was, the smile that tugs on the edges of your lips that he’s been waiting for, dedicated just for him.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #bts #bts smut #gyukultfics #:)

[demi-queen]

Alright kids, sit down, buckle up, because I’ve got a story to tell!

So, I’m in college right? It’s this tiny private college in the middle of nowhere USA that you’ve probably never heard of. Anywho, so I have this class that is only on Tuesdays. The first “week” of the semester started on Wednesday, so I didn’t go to that class at all that week. The next week, Tuesday ended up being a snow day, so all our classes for that day were on zoom. The class I’m talking about is a creative writing class that really wouldn’t work over zoom, so we got an email saying that class was cancelled for that week as well. So the first two weeks of the semester and I still haven’t had this class, which is one I’ve really been looking forward to, both because I enjoy creative writing, and because of who the professor is. Needless to say, this third week comes around and it looks like nothing is going to get in the way of me going to this class, and I am super excited. The anticipation has been building up and I am ready to finally get to this class.

3:30 PM comes around and all of us are restless. The professor still isn’t hear, but it’s not unheard of for one to be a few minutes late. The clock keeps ticking by, and still no professor. Some of us check if we’ve missed an email saying it’s been cancelled. It hasn’t. We check that we have the right time. We do. Still, no professor. It’s been long enough that any other group of students probably would just up and leave, but we have all been looking forward to this class since we saw that we got it on our schedules, and we aren’t going to be leaving yet.

Still, there’s only so long you can wait before you start to get bored and restless. One of my classmates gets up and starts writing on the whiteboard. We all glance up from our various conversations to see what’s up, and he starts speaking.

“Alright, we need some controversy,” and we’re finally able to read what he wrote on the board:

Hogwarts is a bad school

Immediate agreement. I don’t think anyone disagreed, even us Harry Potter nerds, because lets face it, Hogwarts is a bad school. It breeds hatred and prejudice. The house system is bs, the year-long competition unnecessary and super stressful, there’s no unity. Anywho, no one disagreed, so he erased that and began writing something else.

“Okay, that didn’t get the response I expected so…” On the board it now said:

Himbos

Thus began the most bizarre class I have ever experienced in all my two semesters of college and schooling in general. Some people didn’t understand what a himbo was, so we wrote a list of basic characteristics:

1. Dumb

2. Beefy

3. Kind (which we elaborated as being someone who drinks their “respects women juice” or is a feminist)

This classmate then proceeded to go down a list of controversial himbos for us to decide whether they actually were one or not (we decided that anything that would take Kronk off the list was invalid)

Here’s a picture of our list:

This took at the very least a half hour of conversation. We only stopped because people had some places to be, mainly the guy who stood up and started the conversation in the first place.

Guys, I am now far more comfortable with these classmates and know them far better than some of the classmates that I have gone to school with since elementary.

Anywho, like I said, most people left after that first guy left. There was maybe about 10 minutes left of the class, technically (it ends at 4:45), and there were only four of us who opted to stay. I had another class at 7:30 and had nothing better to do until then, the other three had similar reasons. I made an off-handed comment about how it would be funny if the professor showed up the last 5 minutes of class; the others chuckled in that sort of way that meant they agreed that it would be funny if that did happen, but they didn’t really believe it would.

And you know what happened? You know what happened? He DID! Five minutes left and in walks Professor Orson Scott Card with a bag full of books and no care in the world.

It turns out that he had been told from our registrar office that the class started at 5 and he never bothered to double check, because why would they lie to him? He thought he was early. He was so proud of that until he thought the class was supposed to start and he was like, “there’s only four of you today? How odd…” and we were like, “Uh, no, technically class is over.” He was so embarrassed. We all felt so bad for him. We stayed for the next hour and a half listening to him ramble about poetry, the importance of research when writing historical fiction (He’s not a fan of The Scarlett Pimpernel), and basically whatever popped up in the conversation. Never give him a vampire book; he won’t read it. He’s not a huge fan of fantasy, because he feels like they’re all too British-lore centric and aren’t applying our modern experiences enough (he said it better but that was kind of the gist). He has a semi-morbid sense of humor.

It was fantastic. He’s funny, and he used words like “woke” and he used them correctly. Guys, he called Limericks the Dad Jokes of poetry (affectionate) when all of us said we’ve never written one before and he highly recommend we try to. He bashed critics. He talked about his kids and grandkids. He offered to read our poetry outside of class assignments and give peer feedback because he loves poetry and it’s his opinion that having a peer read your poetry is akin to giving them something to appreciate, not criticize. He thinks it makes much more sense to say “ain’t” instead of “aren’t” and calls “aren’t” old school-teacher propaganda. I’m so excited you guys, this is going to be fantastic. :)

#college #college life #popular fiction practicum #wrong time right place #the professor not us #awesome professors #i love college #we’re all nerds #himbos <3 #kronk is the ultimate himbo #fight me if you disagree #i am down to debate #creative writing #creative writing class #orson scott card #he’s my professor #isn’t that so cool? #asdfsdf #I’m so excited #I highly recommend the college experience #especially if you enjoy learning for the sake of learning #although if you can’t pay for it then I’m sorry #that sucks #scholarships exist but they can be hard to get #my college is very accommodating #private colleges #small colleges are the way to go #also i got two free books #not written by Orson Scott card #but they’re for the class

[klaineownsmysoul]

I just can't believe that there are people who still believe every single word a public figure/celebrity says, most of the time they LIE. Did C lie about some fans harassing his bf? I have no clue, but if someone was indeed harassing him, that is just not correct. There are crazy fans in every fandom. If people still believe every post or tweet is posted personally by the celebrity, they are just naive and gullible. I don't believe in CC, but that's just my opinion. I do believe D is closeted and just because he posts something or says something nice about someone doesn't mean he actually thinks that, it is most likely PR, just like the unnecessary refurbishment of RR's house. People should wake up and not believe everything they see on the internet. Side note: I couldn't even get mad at yesterday's show because everything is just so ridiculous and bad-acted that it's funny.

At this point, if you aren't side-eyeing basically everything that comes out of Hollywood, you are just willfully ignorant. Its all calculated to a specific end and they don't think twice about contradicting their past selves if it serves a current narrative. Case in point: C saying towards the end of glee that he had no idea who D was when he joined the show when there's a whole interview of him talking about seeing D in AVPM way back when. Like season 2 back when. That's just a blatantly obvious, easily disproved and stupid lie. With regards to this podcast mess - I haven't listened to it and I wasn't on tumblr for most of glee's run so I wasn't really privy to a lot of the goings on that happened bts. Can I believe that there were people who crossed the line of fandom and behaved like assholes? Yes, definitely because it still happens. That kind of behavior is not exclusive to the glee fandom. You will find people like that everywhere. Whether or not they did exactly what he said they did - only he knows that for sure. Its a weird thing to bring up now 6 years after the show has ended as it effectively (and unfairly) paints a bullseye on a specific group. I'm not sure what he was hoping to achieve with this. The CC people that I've interacted with here are lovely and would never in a million years even think of things that horrible. Keep your thoughts and opinions to your own little blog and you don't tag the person in your post - its as simple as that. Who are these nobodies who have that much power that they think they can get a complete stranger fired? If they did indeed behave this way, then that is appalling, completely batshit crazy, and unacceptable - they need professional help. Its not funny, its scary. There's no need for that ever. At the end of the day, its his life and what he does with it and who he spends it with is his business. There's a pretty simple solution if you don't like the person anymore or don't like what they are doing: you can simply stop following them. You don't need to engage in some sort of bizarre smear campaign that has real world implications. Remember all those toxic twitter teens who were ready to draw and quarter D a few months back over that nearly 10 year old pic of him or a comment just as old? The awful things they said about him, the nonstop tagging of him and the flooding of every one of his SM posts with their bullshit? The "you're dead to me if you choose to remain a fan of his" ultimatums? I do! That's the kind of stuff that drives celebs away from SM and ruins it for the rest of us that know how to behave. You're creating an issue where there wasn't one and that's sort of what C did here with his comments.

From my point of view, the issue with C and D's SOs isn't so much that they are with other people, but more to the kind of people they seem to be. I don't know much frankly about W. He's not shoved in my face 24 hours a day and a hovering annoying presence at everything C does. You'll find more pics of C solo or with AF than you will with W. That's why he bothers me less and why D takes more criticism on this. But from what I've heard about him, he's said and posted some pretty awful things in the past and if people choose to not like him because of that, that seems valid to me. As fans, we can only judge celebs by what they say and do and our perception of them - its all we have. My dislike of M is not because she's with D and I'm a super jealous old spinster. And its not because I'm a self hating misogynist. Its because of the way she clings to D and his career while doing nothing on her own, the way she uses him for her own selfish purposes, and the hypocritical way she claimed to not to want to be in the public eye but yet shadows D at every event he goes to because it means cameras and photos and recognition as his wife. That tacky awful commercialized wedding was the last straw for me because I haven't been able to hold my tongue since. And if you follow someone long enough, you can get a pretty good idea of when they're being genuine and when they're bullshitting you or in D's case, when its him posting something and when its a member of his team. For example: where he supposedly proposed. By lying about it - either then or now - you've created a mess that didn't previously exist. Its a fairly simple straightforward statement that most people get right the first time: where they asked their SO to marry them. D says Japan, RR says D called him saying he wanted to do it when he was outside a bathroom in Miami. So the answer is either a) D b) RR c) none of the above. I'm going to go with c, thanks. Unless RR is going to come back and say that D decided to ask her in Miami but then waited until they were physically in Japan to do the asking, I'm going to go with neither of you are right and the reason D blew off the question every time he was asked about it by saying he didn't want to bore us is that you hadn't come up with a good enough and believable story yet. Much like the engagement ring that hadn't been locked down until RR could find a designer willing to make a ring with a diamond big enough to soothe her ego and give off the pretense of being legit. He probably put more effort into that than anything in D's career in the last 5 years. Do I think that RR did help D at one point when he was starting out with gigs, jobs, things like that? Sure. No problem. And maybe they were friends and liked to hang out and jam together. But do I also think that D has outgrown him personally and professionally at this point? Hell fucking yes. He needs a grown up to take his career to the next level and RR is not that person. He completely failed to capitalize on all the awards and well deserved hype D got from ACS and for that alone, he should have been fired. He needs someone who wants to do the work because they understand the rare find they have in D and that their job is to promote him, not themselves. The IOU ep was nothing but a self serving hour of D trying to make RR look and sound like he's not a complete waste of space on top of getting a cut of his fee as his manager. If you look at D's page on the very sad H/yphenate website, you will see the 3 biggest roles D's had are not listed. No Blaine. No Hedwig. No ACS. But oddly enough, a mention of his record deal with Columbia, which I thought went kaput ages ago and his hosting of the Teen Choice Awards in 2013. You know - the big times. Why? I'm going to assume its because he got those roles without RR's help so he doesn't want them there and what does that tell you? It should tell you everything. This is why your manager should be your manager and your friends should be your friends. Its like a parent who wants to be their

child's friend instead of the authority figure they need.

Too much of D's SM has the look and feel of pr and useless ads and just flat out nonsense and that falls squarely under RR's domain. He's a 34 year old man with an established career, not a 21 year old newbie just starting out but his SM doesn't reflect that in any way, shape, or form. The sooner D can cut his losses and break free, the better off his career will be, the more adult he will sound, and the happier I will be.

[potteresque-ire]

hello, ily metas! thank you for taking the time for them. i hope you dont mind an ask with two follow up questions to your metas i'm curious about: 1) has mxtx rly been sentenced? i have seen others also share this news but other fans have quickly dismissed and gotten pissed at these reports for being fake news that are bad for mxtx, and as fearmongering. 2) for those who want to support yizhan but not the ccp, do you have advice how to navigate fan support and interaction with their media?

Hello! I apologise for the late reply!  You’ve brought up some interesting points, so please forgive me for responding with an essay.

First, about MXTX — This is a follow-up to this post.

Unfortunately, this is all we got—all everyone has got about MXTX’s current situation: on 2020/11/10, she was sentenced in Hangzhou Shang Cheng District’s People’s Court (杭州市上城區人民法院). No details were given on her verdict, due to “人民法院認為不宜在互聯網公布的其它情形”  (“The People’s Court decided it inappropriate to announce further details on the internet”). Here’s a link with the screenshot that showed all the information released about the case that day.

There are enough copies of similar screenshots to this one online, with the differences dependent on where the publisher pulled the information from the same website: 中國裁判文書網, an online archive of verdicts run by China Supreme People’s Court. There’re few reasons, therefore, to believe the information on the screenshot was fake. The link I used was Sina’s Financial News, which I believe is trustworthy enough for China’s standard.

It is also important to note, of course, that two scenarios may still render this screenshot irrelevant. 1) The verdict, which was not mentioned in the screenshot, was “not guilty” and 2) the name listed in the case, 袁依楣, was not MXTX at all.

Few have seemed to suspect 2) to be a possibility. Her real name might have been prior knowledge among some fans, or the combination of her surname and city of residence. 1) has been the where the concern / debate is.

I included China’s rate of conviction in the original post for this reason: acquittal is exceedingly rare (<0.1%) for the arrested in China. This short article discussed some reasons.

So, is it possible that MXTX is now a free woman? Yes. Is it likely? Not at all.

Still, since the probability that MXTX is imprisoned isn’t 100%, is spreading this news smearing her name? Fear-mongering?

I can only answer for myself, Anon, but my answer is no for both questions, which is why I’ve felt comfortable posting about her case. MXTX’s alleged “crimes” are things we already knew she did, or common practices among Chinese IP writers. We know she penned MDZS and other BL works; we know MDZS, in particular, has an 18+ element. She was said to have sold merch based on her works, but that wasn’t unusual at all for writers in Jinjiang, where she published her writing. Even those who don’t like her have seemed to agree that it was her writing that got her into trouble, not some other crimes she could’ve committed.

IMO, a guilty verdict doesn’t tell us as much about her as it does about the judicial system, the business practices of her country. It’s worth re-mentioning that media giants such as Tencent are closely tied to the government; Tencent’s WeChat, for example, is part of China’s Great Firewall and is used for surveillance, for censorship and removal of political dissidents. What MXTX’s case hints at is this: the government has (very likely) convicted her, while its close allies are continuing to use her works—works that got her into legal trouble in the first place—to make money. Some fans of MXTX have questioned if the courts have censored the details of the case to save the embarrassment of the rich and powerful, calling what has happened to MXTX 人血饅頭 (“human blood steamed buns”), an idiom used to describe the act of profiting out of someone elses’ life.

As for fear-mongering, here are my thoughts ~ it would’ve been fear-mongering if the public has access to the facts, and not years after they happen. Specifically, it would’ve been fear-mongering to leak the rumours of MXTX’s sentencing, when the judicial system is transparent and the case details will soon be published for all to see. Why? Because “fear” comes from the unknown, and “-monger” is the unnecessary promotion, stirring-up of this fear.

To promote, stir up anything, one needs a reference level. The reference level in this scenario is this: what is the level of fear if the facts about MXTX’s (and other BL writers’) situation are known? Of course, this knowledge doesn’t make MXTX’s experience any easier or more just; it doesn’t cause her less fear. However, she isn’t the target audience of this likely-to-be-true rumour. The target audience is the public and in particular, those who consume and/or generate BL material online.

What is the level of fear among this population if the facts about MXTX’s (and other BL writers’) situation are known? It’s the (relative) comfort in knowing the government’s stance on what they do: how the administration feels about BL, 18+ BL, and their distribution methods. The comfort comes from having the right information to decide how to act accordingly. For example, if I’m a BL writer based in China and I know the court has found MXTX guilty of bypassing publishing houses but not of writing M/M romance, then I’ll know to not produce paper versions of my writing, but I can keep writing.

This reference level of fear is unavailable here, however, since the government has decided to withhold all details about the case. Without this reference level, fear-mongering becomes a ... difficult to define concept.

Are these likely-to-be-true rumours agents of fear, or are they hints on how to survive in a country that lacks transparency?

Continuing with the example of I being a Chinese BL writer, since I cannot expect to hear more facts about MXTX, this rumour is all I’ve got in choosing what to do with my hobby, in deciding whether it is safe to continue. As I’m aware that a rumour isn’t a fact, I first research on the rumour’s likelihood of truth (similar to what I’ve done for MXTX’s case), and cross my fingers that I don’t get it wrong.

By doing so, I’m turning these rumours into my survival guide.

Is it risky? Yes. Is it exhausting? Absolutely. But this is the way of life for people who live under secretive, authoritarian governments—the authoritarian element making it impossible to demand more facts. It may take people outside such regimes some time to get used to—to the lifestyle, and to the idea that, in a place where news is often synonymous with propaganda, rumours are breadcrumbs of truth that should be sieved through with equal care as one would sieve through the news. Heeding, considering the probable truth of what the authority has deemed to be fear-mongering rumours can be a matter of literal life and death. 

Take...COVID. (I apologize for bringing up this unpleasant topic!)

I shall link to an article about the early spread of COVID in Wuhan here and ask: were Dr. Li Wenliang and the seven other doctors fear-mongering? Wuhanese chose to believe in the government, but at what cost to them? What would the world be like today if they took the early COVID rumours as true and masked up like Hong Kongers—Hong Kongers who weren’t any smarter or better, but had simply learned their painful lessons from the 2003 SARS epidemic? 

(Why hadn’t the Wuhanese learned? Because the government has long changed the narrative of SARS, taught their people that the illness originated in Hong Kong.) 

(How can one learn from past mistakes if one pretends those mistakes never existed?)

You must be wondering, Anon, why I’m talking about COVID when your next question is about YiZhan. The death of Dr Li Wenliang on February 7th, 2020, sparked a demand for freedom of speech rarely seen in internet-age China. Its fury, its ferocity forced the government to change its stance on Dr Li, again an unusual move. Since January 2020, Weibo had been censoring COVID news and opinion pieces that shedded a negative light to the central government; after the death of Dr Li, the censorship apparatus stepped up, making way for the propaganda machine to kick in later and change the narrative of the pandemic.

Here are some questions without definite answers, but may be food for thought for YiZhan fans:

1) While the Chinese government’s censorship apparatus (including Weibo) might have silenced the voices of dissent, of mourning on the surface, was it more likely to pacify, or fuel the anger of netizens, many of whom had lost loved ones, many of whom were still under quarantine?

2) Less than three weeks after the death of Dr Li, a group of fans demanded even *more* censorship from the government—the closing of an internet website that had been seen as a relatively free space to express oneself. How would these netizens react, even though they knew little about these fans or their idol?  

(It was, in the context of the massive silencing of COVID discussions in China, that I learned about the ban of AO3. There had been rumours that the government would censor more websites on 2020/03/01. When I read about AO3′s ban on 2/27, my thoughts were 1) Hmm. This came two days early. 2) AO3? Really?)

(I wouldn’t watch The Untamed or know who Gg was until several months later.)

Now, Anon, this is a good time to get to your CCP (Chinese Communist Party) question.

The very short answer is no. There’s no way to support YiZhan without, to a certain level, supporting the CCP. As mentioned above, the media companies are all part of China’s surveillance system. Weibo is where freedom of speech is curbed. Our two boys have been part of the propaganda machine; the BBC article linked above had a tiny picture of Gg on it, as he was a performer in the Hero in Harm’s Way (最美逆行者), a “real-life based” drama on COVID. DD just did a show glorying the Chinese police force (and here’s a video of the same force welding doors to lock in COVID-stricken residents).

Nonetheless, here’s my first advice: please do not beat yourself up for supporting YiZhan!

Gg and Dd are people who live within the system, inside the Great Firewall. They understand the world the way their government has taught them to—not only in school, but also in the news and media. Like most youths in every country, they’re patriotic—and to expect them to be otherwise, especially because of information they don’t have, is both unrealistic and unfair. Even if they do know about certain things impermissible within the Firewall, in China (as in many Communists countries), openly expressing / performing one’s proper political leanings (ie. loyalty towards CCP) is among the most important pre-requisites for any job. This has been especially true for c-ent in recent years .

They, like most of their countrymen, are doing what they have to do.

In this case, it comes to us, our decisions on how to interact with their works. How should we deal with them, their propaganda elements?

The answer, of course, varies from person to person. Personally, I’ve chosen the approaches of “immunisation” and “restriction”. By “immunisation”, I mean learning about as much historical and sociopolitical facts from non-CCP sponsored sources; this is understandably difficult for someone who doesn’t already have some familiarity with the culture and politics of the region, and/or cannot read the language. 

Restriction means limiting my consumption of media produced by China. I avoid shows (dramas, documentaries, variety etc) featuring topics that are likely to contain heavy propaganda, such as the military, the police, Hong Kong/Macao/Taiwan, and of course, anything pertaining to the CCP, from its rise to its governance of the country.

In general, I’m wary of all information presented about the post-monarchy years (post 1911), even though CCP wouldn’t begin its reign until after WWII (1949). Why so early? 1) Because CCP was formed in 1921 and so its glorification requires a change of narrative since then; 2) because the Nationalist Party (Kuomintang, KMT), which governed China between 1912 and 1949 (the so-called Republican Era 民國), would end up exiling to and setting up a new government in Taiwan.

How much propaganda should one expect in shows depicting the country post-1911? The current TV and webdrama directives (previously discussed in this post) offer some hints. Here are my translations of the relevant items:

D7) Dramas about the Republican era: Glorification of the Republican Era, the Beiyang Government, and Warlord Era requires strict control.

D10) Crime drama: crime drama is the focus of content auditing. The Ministry of Public Security (Pie note: in charge of law enforcement, ie, police) will be involved in the audit. The process of crime solving cannot be exposed; criminal psychology and motivations can however be depicted in detail. Undercover police cannot use drugs or kill, or damage the image of the police force. Criminals must be punished by law.

D12) Dramas featuring realistic topics: realistic topics must adhere to the correct world view, philosophy of life and moral values. They cannot place too strong an emphasis on social conflicts, must showcase the beautiful lives of the commoners. Regular folks should display larger-than-life sentiments and aspirations; they can pursue wealth, but must use proper means to do so; they cannot damage the public image of specific employment types, groups and social organisations. Do not preach negative or decadent world view, philosophy of life and moral values. Do not exaggerate, amplify social issues; do not over showcase, display the darker sides of society; do not preach affluence, avoid things that have no basis in real life.

D16) Dramas featuring the Revolution (Pie note: CCP’s coming to power): 2019 is the publicity period of the 70th Anniversary of the People’s Republic of China. Although the “Three Importances” (important revolution, important people, important events) are still encouraged, the  National Radio and Television Administration requires all departments, at all levels, to strengthen the control of content and the overall management of the industry, and focus on the auditing of content pertaining to the Sino-Japanese war and espionage dramas.

These directives (as those translated in the other post) are as vague as they are restrictive, and to err on the side of caution, production companies tend to “overachieve” to avoid going against headwinds at the censorship board. This means their products have a tendency to malign the Republican Era (D7). It means they will likely twist history in trying to depict the CCP as faultless heroes (D16). It means they'll probably present a utopian-like society and call it reality-based (D12), a society in which the good guys share the same values as the CCP and always win (D10).

Yes, my “restriction” means I skipped Hero in Harm’s Way. It means I’ve never listened to Gg’s version of 我和我的祖國 despite my absolute adoration of his voice. It means I just missed Dd’s performance in the law enforcement celebration event. It means I don’t plan on watching Being A Hero and Ace Troops.

So here’s where I’ve drawn the line, Anon, but it doesn’t mean that’s what anyone should do. Only you alone can decide where your own comfort zone is. I write these metas in the hopes that it can offer a … gateway for those who’d like to understand, with a more telescopic lens, Gg and Dd’s country—a country that holds a particularly strong hold over its citizens’ fate including, yes, their romantic fate. It’s not my wish to impose my opinions on anyone.

If I have other hopes… It’s this. Please, as long as it’s safe for you to talk, do not self-censor—especially about facts, especially on sites like Tumblr or Twitter that have long been banned by the Chinese government. I don’t mean one should go about and confront those who insist on a different version of reality. To undo opinions rooted in years of education, IMO, the process has to be voluntary, and the information is already at the fingertips of those who’re surfing these sites and wish to learn more. More importantly, open discussions of these topics may be risky for those who still have close ties to China, and keeping them safe should always be the top priority. 

What I mean is simply this ~ please do not feel obliged to agree with every perspective presented in YiZhan’s work just because you support the leads. Please do not feel you must remain silent about the CCP—its good, bad and ugly—just because your favourite stars happen to come from the country it’s ruling. And please remember: “Chinese”, as a term, has always included people who live outside CCP’s control, many of whom still fully embrace the culture, traditions and values of Historical China, a 5000-years long string of dynasties with shifting borders, ethnic makeup and customs. The Untamed is a mainland Chinese production, yes, but its genre, its manner of presenting certain traditions, wouldn’t have been developed, or flourished, without the diaspora. The CCP has only been the ruling party of one country, the People’s Republic of China, for 71 years, and as a party with foreign (soviet) roots and a record of destroying the pillar of the country’s tradition, Confucianism, it doesn’t own a monopolistic say on how every Chinese should think and act—no matter how much it insists it does—or how everyone should think and speak about China and its people.

It isn’t qualified.

#Anonymous #pie metas #pie answers #BJYX #yizhan

[fuck-customers]

i’ve been working at [NAME REDACTED] for about a month now. it’s my first “real” retail job and i knew before how bad retail is and how bad the customers are but you really can’t know until you’re in it. the store’s target demographic is karens (and they all look the same — if i get put on greeter i often struggle trying to tell if someone has been in here twice or not). a store full of average customers is bad enough but when they’re almost all karens? just awful. without further ado i will now complain about everything bad about working there.

-i consider myself lucky if a customer walks in wearing a mask properly

-the rest of them? under their noses, on their chins, or just none at all. it’s gotten to the point where the sight of an entire human face or even a nose gives me a physical reaction of disgust. i don’t know how i haven’t gotten covid yet

-customers coming to my register immediately when they see the customer before them leave, like motherfucker did you not hear all the cashiers calling the customers up when you were in line? i have to wipe down the counter for your nasty ass, give me time to do it

-the people who get pissy at me for advertising the rewards card. like sorry bruh if i don’t advertise it to you my manager will just get pissy at me instead. lose-lose. fuck the reward cards in general, i’m tired of trying to sell them just for management’s approval. also it’s very obviously a shit deal for the customer i don’t blame them for not wanting to sign up

-i am not allowed to go on break or clock out if there’s a line. sometimes there can be a line continuously for a looooong time. the other day i had to stay 30 minutes past when i was supposed to get off because the line didn’t die down. fuck customers get out of my store

-customers who come in with kids. i love kids and i think they’re adorable but i guess karen spawn are built different. they cry incessantly (not their fault, but goddamn if you as a parent don’t know how to get your baby to stop crying then you probably shouldn’t be a parent), they leave messes and spill shit everywhere, they don’t wear masks (even some of the older kids, like 10 year olds), they fuck up my display at the register, and also the baby clothes are a pain in the ass to bag because they’re always attached to the hangers and hangers don’t do well being bagged.

-customers who leave their carts in my line. the registers are all in one row along the back wall, if they leave a cart i have to walk all the way around the end to get it. and they always have to leave them when there’s a huge rush and i don’t have *time* to run and put it away.

-i’m actually not allowed to tell a customer to put on a mask, even though store policy says all customers have to wear one at all times (with the exception of people with medical conditions that necessitate not wearing a mask). the only thing i’m allowed to do is offer a mask, if they refuse i can’t tell them to put one on or else i’d get fired.

-starting pay is $10/hr and i probably will never get a raise

-seriously it is so disheartening to work an hour and only make ten dollars. actually less than that because of taxes

-there are no full-time entry level positions. the only people who get full time are management. i wanted a full time job originally but at my interview they told me that and i said “that’s fine as long as i can get around 30 hours a week” and they said “yeah you’ll probably get 25-30”. my average has been 20.

-i’m like 99% sure there are no full-time cashiers just so they don’t have to pay us benefits

-one of my supervisors is so overbearing and talks down to me and all the cashiers my age. she gets on my ass for taking too long to tidy up my register between customers, likes to just stand right behind me, is more strict about not letting me go on break when there’s a line, and is the one who gives me the most shit for not selling enough reward cards. when i do get a reward card she jumps in halfway through to “help” even though i don’t need it and then takes half the credit for my card that i sold. i mentioned it to another supervisor and she said “yeah i’ve been noticing that” but i know nothing is gonna change.

-customers who say “bless your heart”

-customers who need everything wrapped. it is so unnecessary, i can just bag the breakable stuff individually and you’ll be fine.

-relatedly, customers who need large bags for things. they’re on the bottom shelf of the counter and it takes more time to bend down, get however many bags, and open them all. the bags are harder to open than customers will ever know. you don’t need your lamp in a bag just carry it 50 feet to your car you lazy fuck

-markdown bitches (they always only get 10% off too, like did they really think they were gonna accomplish anything)

-i’m tired of walking by the security camera with a screen showing the feed and seeing how my entire body looks when i walk. not anybody’s fault but i just hate it

-being on greeter and having to wipe down everyone’s carts. i don’t hate the act itself of wiping the carts down but i do hate when customers touch and put back a cart that i just cleaned

-not something bad but i find it funny that since i’ve started working here, now whenever i’m the customer somewhere i do my customer service voice at whoever’s working

as much as everything sucks it could be much worse, i’ll probably work here for another several months. most of my coworkers are cool and make it bearable. working here has also made me feel bad whenever i enter a store and i always try to be a breath of fresh air for the people working there (in my experience it is so relieving to get a good customer and it’s usually people who also work in retail, i love being able to drop my customer service voice and talk to them like a normal person) but uhh yeah if anyone has any advice on how to be better when i’m the customer lmk

Submitted by @officialcooldyke edited because store name was too close to real name.

-Rodney

#embarrassing #happy ending #tw: #fuck co-workers #fuck managers #call center problems #trigger warning #fuck customers #cashier problems #retail justice #submissions #tw #fuck retail #server problems #fuck coworkers #retail law #submission #officialcooldyke