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autisticlancemcclain · 9 months

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Lance knows he talks way too fucking much.

He started talking at seven months old. He never stopped. It was his older brother Marco, he thinks, who first called him Motormouth, but honestly he doesn’t remember. He’s been called that and Lancito Lorito longer than he can remember.

He loved the nickname, when he was little. His brothers or sisters or cousins or parents would groan, playfully, when they saw the look in his eyes, but always indulged his constant lectures and ideas and rambling. Motormouth meant you talk a lot but I like to listen. Motormouth meant I know you enough to have a trait I associate with you. Motormouth meant fondness and teasing and care. He loved that name.

When he was seven years old, one of his friends tugged her older sister over to where Lance was colouring with sidewalk chalk on the pavement.

“Look,” she’d said, gesturing to Lance but not talking to him. Lance had looked up from his chalk and smiled at her, opening his mouth to say hello but was interrupted by the subtle elbow she’s jammed into her sister’s side, and her muttered, “Watch this.”

“Hey, Motormouth,” she’d said, and Lance grinned, feeling something warm bloom in his stomach at her use of the nickname, oblivious to the choked-back laughter of the sister. “What was that thing you were talking about earlier? About the comet?”

If at all possible, Lance had brightened further, dropping the chalk and dusting off his hands as he’d launched into an explanation about the comet he’d been tracking with his dad. It was supposed to be visible for the first time in thousands of years that month, and he’d been buzzing with excitement about it. He talked about it to everyone who even appeared like they were maybe going to ask him about it. He’s rambled about it to the cashier at the grocery store the evening before.

“Just look at him,” his friend’s sister had said, something almost like awe in her voice, but not quite. Lance faltered, trailing off mid-sentence. “You were right. He’s like a wind-up toy.”

“Mo-tor-mouth,” his friend had said, in a distinct, sing-songy voice. “I told you I could make him do it on command.”

The girls burst into giggles. Lance had looked around, hesitantly, and found a number of his classmates giggling to themselves, at him or not he didn’t know, but he did know that he felt, distinctly, like he was in a zoo, and his friend was not his friend but a keeper who’d brought spectators to observe him and his freakish oddness.

Motormouth had felt, for the first time, like the insult he didn’t know it had always been. He felt trapped.

He’s grown since then. He’s no longer seven years old and oblivious to the fact that some people are quietly cruel. He knows the warning signs, now, of when someone is mocking him, of when he’s being treated like a pet, like an amusing little weirdo to cart around and show off. He knows the difference now between amusement and endearment.

But that feeling, that realization. The brick-to-the-face understanding that he was wrong about how other people cared about him the whole time he loved them.

He has never been able to un-know that.

———

He and Keith have a system. Lance starts work earlier, and is home earlier too, so he makes dinner for them. Keith cleans up after, crawling into bed next to a half-asleep Lance if they eat late enough. Sometimes, though, Keith gets home early, finished a repair faster than he’d anticipated, and decides he wants to make them supper for a change. Today Lance sits on the counter, kicking his legs and eating half the vegetables Keith has cut, grinning every time Keith lets him get away with it.

“…And there was this one woman who came on the trails today, babe, I swear to God, she’s the same nightmare lady you had to deal with a couple months ago. You remember that?”

Keith hums, hiking up one shoulder.

“The cooking oil lady. Who threw her baby’s rattle at your head because you told her you couldn’t put canola oil in her engine to make things cheaper.”

Keith snorts. “Oh, that nightmare.”

“Yeah!” Lance says, muffled by the four slices of bell pepper he’s shoved in his mouth at once. Keith stares flatly at him and smacks his hand, but the corner of his mouth twitches, and he walks over to the fridge to grab a new pepper without a word of admonishment. Loser.

Lance doesn’t say anything for a moment, following a new, bell-pepper related thought, and startled slightly when Keith clears his throat slightly and prompts, “You met cooking oil lady?”

“Oh yeah! On the trails today. We had to shut down one of them because Selena — remember the red wolf I told you about? The one who sings the loudest in her pack and has the reddest fur? I named her Selena after the singer, yeah, you remember — had her cubs the other day! So she’s super duper extra protective of the whole area, basically, and so is the rest of the pack, so humans going near their area is going to freak them out and that’s not fair to anybody. Hey, did you know red wolves are monogamous? Most wolf species are but red wolves especially show a really strong family unit. It’s really cute, actually, Selena her mate always go on wolf dates and stuff and terrorize the park-goers —”

“Trail,” Keith redirects gently, turning off the burner and scooping their food into two plates. He grabs them both, flicking Lance’s hand away, and sets them at the kitchen island, arranging the plates so they’re sat next to each other instead of across.

“Right, trail,” Lance says. As soon as he sits down and starts to eat, one of Keith’s hands comes to rest on his thigh, palm curving around the inner flesh and fingertips resting gently on the ankle tucked under it. He moves his thumb back and forth slowly, not to instigate, just to touch. Lance leans against him without even thinking about it.

“So. Trial closed. Not even that busy of a trail, honestly. One of the least popular ones. But this lady shows up, stroller in camo and packed to the nines like a fuckin, tactical mom, or something, and starts just hauling ass down the trail, breezing past the closed sign. And I’m like.” He points his fork in Keith’s direction, so he can Get The Vibe. His boyfriend smiles into his stir fry. “I mean, I didn’t want to be the one to handle her. But no one else did, either, and let me tell you she was hauling fucking ass down that trail, and I didn’t want her to actually disturb Selena or anything, so I had be like ma’am. Please. The sign very clearly says closed. And she ignored me, so I just stopped in front of her, and then she started screaming at me! All about how she has been to this trail all the time and she’s a loyal park-goer and it’s a public park, as if that means anything. I seriously thought she was never going to stop.”

He hears the irony as soon as he says it. I thought she was never going to stop. He’s like a wind-up toy. He manages to stop himself from tensing, barely, diverting into something like a twitch. He’s aware suddenly that he has been talking nonstop from essentially the second he walked in the front door and was delighted to find Keith’s boots already at the door, hear the quiet clanking of him in the kitchen. He can’t even remember if he’d bothered saying hello, or if he’d just launched right into whatever word salad was on his mind. God, did he even start with a full sentence? He does that sometimes, he just starts from the middle of his own thoughts like anyone would have any idea what he’s talking about, he’s honestly just kind of obsessed with the sound of his own voice, he thinks, he must be, because he just never stops, does he —

“I hope I die first.”

Lance blinks. He looks over at his boyfriend, wondering if he spaced out long enough that his brain just made something the fuck up to get him back on track (wouldn’t be the first time).

“…Pardon?”

Keith continues to eat, unbothered, casual. He’s not even feigning casualness, either — he tends to half-lid his eyes when he’s pretending something doesn’t bother him. He’s completely at ease, right now, hand still warm and heavy on Lance’s thigh.

“Sometimes I just think about how there’s a possibility that you’ll die before me, I guess.” He turns to Lance, finally, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. That was emo. I just…you go silent, sometimes, and I’m worried I’ll have to miss every time you spoke.”

Lance doesn’t know what to say. For once, his revving engines are completely silent. He sits there, frozen, staring almost blankly at his plate. Keith is humming quietly to himself, something ridiculous and made-up. They’re still in each other’s spaces, the two of them, and so Lance knows Keith feels it when he shudders, slightly, as a lump grows in his throat, as he desperately blinks away the tears in his eyes.

Keith turns his head slightly to press a kiss to Lance’s hair. He holds his face there, lips pressed to Lance’s skin, soft exhales blowing strands of Lance’s curls.

“What’s wrong, Motormouth?” Keith murmurs. The concern is evident in his voice, and maybe some panic, too, like he’s worried he’s the reason Lance is upset.

Lance smiles. A tear escapes from the corner of his eye an burns a trail down his cheek. He wipes it, quickly, swiping a hand across his face before resting it on the hand that Keith still holds on his leg. Keith flips his hand palm-side up so he can interlock their fingers together. If he feels the wetness of the wiped tears, he doesn’t say anything, only their squeezes their hands together three times in quick succession.

There is no mistaking the fondness bleeding from Keith’s voice. There is no mistaking amusement for endearment, here.

Lance can be annoying. He knows he can. And he no doubt has moments where he annoys Keith, even. But he’s not seven, anymore. He knows to watch for the signs. And for whatever he can’t catch — he’ll just have to trust.

“Nothing,” he whispers, turning his head to catch Keith’s mouth against his. “It’s just nice to…know, I guess, that you love me.”

Keith hums, kissing back, reaching his free hand up to curl around Lance’s cheek, holding him gently. “Good. Don’t forget.”

———

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toasteaa · 3 years

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#it's not even 8 am yet and I can feel my soul leaving my body #today is going to be utter shit because of how this schedule was set up #and it wasn't even my fault #how does a store manager go on vacation and fuck up the employees that are still here?#and then tell us that if we need help to get in contact with a manager from another store #whose number was never provided #and the other other manager that was supposed to be here from another store never showed up #and one of our managers is out sick #so it's just me and a still fairly new manager running the whole store #with almost NO cashiers or cut counter associates #I have no opening cashier and had no opening cut counter but was expected to still be able to do my job #why would you do this to your employees???#this is literally why im putting in my two weeks once my sm gets back because im not getting paid enough for this.#anyway #back to our daily scheduled Jojoposting

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kythed · 3 years

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“almost funny”

synopsis: suna rintarou thinks you’re out of his league, and you think he’s out of yours.

tagged: general dumbassery, fwb-to-lovers, some profanity, sexual references but nothing explicit.

commitment level: 5.6k words.

It’s almost funny, really. It’s funny how what started out as a purely physical transaction has now transformed into a one way ticket to Simpville with the name Suna Rintarou stamped on it in big red letters. Suna runs a hand through his hair in frustration as he stares down at your sleeping form, curled up in his SF Giants tee that fits you like an oversized nightgown. He loves how you look there, wearing his clothes, bed head resting on his pillows. It’s almost embarrassing how much he loves it. How much he might love you.

He doesn’t really remember when he started seeing you as more than a good fuck. Maybe it was that time you told him he looked pretty with your lipgloss smeared across his mouth.

“That’s a nice shade on you,” you’d laughed as he wiped his lips on the back of his hand. “You should wear it more often.”

Then, before he could respond, you’d yanked him back in by the collar, licking into his mouth, deep and dirty. He shivers now even just thinking about it, recalling the taste of that lipgloss. Strawberry lemonade, the sort that comes in little bottles at the dollar store. However “pretty” he might’ve looked in that moment, he’s sure you looked a hundred times better. You always do, and you don’t even have to try. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, even in your worst moments.

Or maybe it was the time you remembered his birthday when no one else did. January 25th; all his friends had taken off on their ski trips or tropical vacations, but you showed up to his apartment toting a cupcake and a single candle, belting a loud, out of tune rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ until he shut you up with an impulsive kiss on the lips. You’d been surprised, but not so surprised you couldn’t kiss him back. Suna’s pretty sure most friends-with-benefits don’t do that sort of thing. They don’t sit across from each other at the kitchen table, splitting a vanilla cupcake and laughing over matching frosting mustaches. They don’t hug each other goodbye after two hours of scrolling through YouTube and nothing else, content to linger in that air of tentative familiarity and pseudo-friendship.

Whatever the reason, whenever it happened, all Suna knows now is you’re more than just a fuck buddy. He doesn’t even want to associate the term with you — it feels disrespectful. He wishes he could just stop pretending. Stop pretending he doesn’t want you to be his.

“Hey.”

Suna grins at your low, throaty morning voice. It’s cute.

“Hey,” he responds, reaching forward to flick your shoulder. “You slept in.”

“Did I?” You blink the sleep from your eyes and squint at Suna’s bedside clock. 9:06. “Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit.”

You fly out of bed, wiggling into your jeans and tossing your hair into a careless ponytail before frantically scanning the room. “Have you seen my sweater anywhere?”

Suna exhales through his nose before getting up and walking over to his closet. “I hung it up last night so it wouldn’t be wrinkled.”

You freeze in your tracks, slowly turning with a teasing grin plastered on your face. “Oh? How considerate of you.”

Suna shrugs, avoiding your gaze. He feels a flush rise to cheeks and desperately hopes it doesn’t show. “Just being polite.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you had a little crush on me,” you crow before taking the sweater from the hanger and slipping it over your head.

“You wish,” he snorts, but all he can think is you’re absolutely right.

You ignore him and begin shoveling all your things into your purse: a compact mirror, lipstick, house keys. You glance at the clock again. “I’m gonna be so late to this lecture. Damn. Maybe I can text Aiko and ask her to record the first part for me.”

Suna raises an eyebrow. He remembers your friend Aiko from a party last year, before you and he began your… arrangement. She’s outgoing, friendly, and probably the flakiest person he’s ever met. “She’s not gonna do that. Just let me drive.”

“No, it’s fine,” you automatically brush him off, heading into the bathroom to splash your face with lukewarm water. “You probably have your own shit to take care of.”

Yeah, you, he thinks, but instead he says, “Not really. Plus, you’ll probably miss the whole thing if you try to bike to campus. Let me take you in the car. I’ll strap the bike onto the back.”

You give him a look. “Are you sure, Rin?”

“It’s really not a big deal,” he says, throwing on a shirt. “Outside in five, and I’ll have you there by 9:30, easy.”

After a few more weak protestations, you finally agree, and as he drives you to your university, he lets himself pretend you’re his girlfriend sitting there in the passenger seat. He turns on your favorite artist’s Spotify mix on the aux and smiles to himself when you hum along, watching the city fly past out the window. What he wouldn’t give for that reality, one where he can love you without all these restrictions, these tricky boundaries between friends and lovers. When you jump out of the car, calling a cheeky “I’ll text you!” over your shoulder, he pretends it’s an affectionate “I’ll see you for dinner tonight!” instead. He pretends that instead of rushing to get away from him and into the lecture hall, you kiss him on the forehead and squeeze his shoulder, reluctant to leave.

“Fuck me,” Suna says angrily before slamming his palm into the horn, scaring a few freshman walking to class. “And fuck you too!”

He’s not sure who “you” is. Maybe the universe.

No, Suna Rintarou doesn’t know why or how it happened, but he’s in too deep now. And he’s pretty damn sure you’ll never feel the same way.

You slide into your seat beside Aiko just as the guest lecturer pulls up his power point, breathing out a sigh of relief. Aiko shoots you a grin, waggling her eyebrows. Suna? she mouths, and you roll your eyes, nodding nonetheless. Aiko can hardly wait until after the lecture to start pestering you about it.

“So,” she says as you leave the auditorium together. “Did you tell him yet?”

“Tell him what?” You dig in your bag for your water bottle, groaning when you remember leaving it on the edge of Suna’s sink last night.

“Tell him that you’re in loooooove,” Aiko sings, nudging your shoulder.

You scoff. “Okay, first of all, I don’t love him.”

“But you like him,” Aiko persists, and you hold up a finger.

“And second of all, even if I did, I would never tell him.” You yawn, rubbing your eyes before realizing you hadn’t taken your makeup off and thus probably have awful raccoon eye bags. “He’s so out of my league it’s not even funny. It’s kind of pathetic for me to think he’d ever like me back.”

Aiko scoffs. “If anything, you’re out of his league. You could pull any guy you wanted to. And when I say any, I mean any. Like, I bet you could even get Jake Gyllenhaal.”

You laugh. “Why specifically Jake Gyllenhaal?”

Aiko shrugs. “Dunno. Just the first hot guy that came to mind. But forget him. My point is, Suna Rintarou is definitely yours for the taking. All you have to do is —”

“I know, I know,” you interrupt. “All I have to do is confess.”

“Exactly,” says Aiko. Before she can open her mouth again, you cut in.

“Okay, but listen, Aiko,” you say. “Suna’s the kind of guy who doesn’t let himself get attached. He fully admitted to me when we first hooked up that he’d never had a girlfriend. And that’s obviously not from lack of female interest. It’s because he doesn’t want one.”

“Or maybe it’s because he hasn’t found the right person yet.” Aiko starts heading towards the campus coffee shop, and you follow her.

“Sure,” you say, getting in line. The cafe is crowded with students getting in their daily caffeination, inhaling sugary lattes and bitter espressos just to stay awake through their next class. Ah… college. “Or maybe he just. Doesn’t. Want. One.”

Aiko keeps arguing all the way up until you reach the cash register, where you realize you haven’t even decided on what to order yet.

“Hey there,” says the cashier, smiling sunnily. “What can I get for ya?”

You blink. He’s attractive. Very attractive, actually. Bleach blonde, a crooked grin that screams trouble in the best sort of way. Miya, says the little name plate pinned to his shirt. “I, uhh…”

“Take your time,” he says leaning forward like he’s about to tell you a secret. “Between you and me, we have an excellent mocha latte. Not too sweet, y’know?”

You find your manners. “Oh, um, yeah. That sounds great, actually.”

“One mocha latte, then?” he asks, picking up a cup, and you nod. “And to whom do I owe the pleasure of serving today?”

When you tell him your name, he smiles to himself and scrawls it on the cup. “Pretty.”

You flush and pay, hands shaking a little when you slide your card down the side of the machine. The cashier notices and shoots you a knowing look. Five minutes later, when you pick up your drink from the other side of the counter, you see not only your name written on the lid, but a phone number, too, along with a tiny winking face.

“What’d I tell you?” exclaims Aiko shrily when you leave the shop. “Any. Guy. Period.”

You shake your head in exasperation, but you can’t help but throw a final glance over your shoulder, meeting the eyes of the cute cashier one more time. Maybe Aiko does have a point.

That weekend, Suna’s stretched out on his couch, dangling his feet over the armrest and staring up at the ceiling. It’s one of those lazy Saturday afternoons, and usually he’d be enjoying his alone time. Not today, though. Today there’s something — someone — on his mind, and that someone is spelled y-o-u. His phone pings, and he snatches it up with embarrassing speed, groaning when he sees it’s just Atsumu.

“Bastard,” he mutters, not even bothering to open the message. Probably just asking for the O-chem lab answers.

Suna rolls over onto his stomach, pulling up your contact name. What he really wants to do is see you, but how is he supposed to do that without sounding weirdly desperate? Hey, he types out. Wanna come over and watch a movie? He pauses for a moment before adding, Pizza’s on me.

He buries his face in his hands and deletes the text. That makes it sound like he’s asking you out. Well, that’s what he does want to do, but you can’t know that. He’s fairly certain if you knew how he felt about you, you’d freak out. Girls don’t like to be tied down, he reminds himself. Suna groans again, grabbing two fistfuls of hair in irritation.

“Why are women so complicated?” he says aloud, letting the words echo in his empty apartment. He takes a couple seconds to close his eyes, take a deep breath, and unlock his phone again, this time settling on a simple Come over. Short, sweet, and to the point. Well, not exactly. That makes it sound like all he wants to do is sleep together, when he’d really rather just… talk. Spend time with you.

“Oh, God,” he mutters. “I’m so done for.”

It takes what seems like forever for you to arrive, breathless from biking, hair slightly mussed. Suna grins, biting his lip. You’re so beautiful, he thinks, pulling you in for a hungry kiss. Even if all he can get is the sex, then he’s sure as hell going to appreciate it. You smell like lavender laundry detergent, he notices when you press yourself into him, fumbling to close the door behind you without breaking the kiss.

“Well, hello there,” you laugh when he finally breaks away and draws in a shaking breath. “Somebody’s eager.”

Suna rolls his eyes. “As if. You just took so long to get here.”

You cock an eyebrow. “You texted me like half an hour ago.”

“Yeah, and you’re half an hour too late.”

You snort and hurl a pillow from the sofa at him. He catches it and smiles, taking your wrist and drawing you in for another messy, open-mouthed kiss.

“Sorry that I don’t have the power of teleportation,” you quip, laughing when he pulls you into the bedroom. Suna resolves to take his time with you today, undressing you carefully, trailing his lips down your sternum and collarbones, grinning to himself whenever you gasp. He almost catches himself saying “I love you” at one point as you cling to him, mumbling his name, but he placates himself with kissing you extra hard at the end instead, pulling you into his chest and falling back into the pillows.

Usually, you’d take a few minutes to lay in silence, tracing shapes in his skin, and he’d lean back with closed eyes, imagining what it would be like to be loved by you. Slow early morning kisses, skin on skin, whispering and giggling and everything cheesy he used to hate but now wishes he could experience with you. Today, though, you peel yourself off of him and grab your phone as soon as it buzzes, fingers flying in response to whoever had texted you.

“New boy toy?” he jokes, almost choking when you don’t immediately say no. Oh, shit. “You’re kidding.”

“Just a guy I met the other day,” you say casually. Suna stares, slack jawed. “Works at the coffee shop near the quad.”

“Coffee shop?” He furrows his brow. Doesn’t he know someone who works there? He internally scowls, digging into the back of his brain. Aran? Osamu?

“Mm,” you say, suppressing a smile as the nameless suitor sends another text. “His name’s Atsumu Miya.”

Suna’s heart nearly falls right out of his chest and cracks at his feet. “No.”

You look up, raising an eyebrow. “No?”

“Not him,” Suna says, forgetting himself, forgetting the nature of your relationship.

“I didn’t realize you were in charge of who I can and cannot be interested in,” you say bitingly.

Suna sits up. “I’m not. It’s just, Atsumu… he’s not your type.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah,” Suna says, thinking back on his days observing the Miya twins’ antics. “He’s not your kind of guy, trust me.”

“Pray tell then,” you say. Oh, fuck. You’re irritated. “Who exactly is my kind of guy?”

Me, he thinks. I’m your kind of guy. “I don’t know. Just trust me though, okay? Atsumu… he’s difficult.”

“Thanks, Suna,” you say, tone tinged with sarcasm. Suna cringes. You only ever call him by his surname when you’re upset with him. “But I think I can go out with whoever I want to go out with.”

“Fine.” The word tumbles out more harshly than he’d meant it to.

You stare at him in disbelief. “What, are you mad at me or something?”

Suna exhales heavily. “No, I’m not mad. It’s not like we’re dating or anything. I just wanted to give you a little guidance. As your friend.”

“As my friend?” you repeat. “My friend?”

Now it’s Suna's turn to be confused. “Are we not friends?”

“I don’t know, Suna,” you say, swinging your legs over the side of the bed, pulling your clothes on. “You tell me.”

“I’m not sure what you want me to say here,” he says, watching as you struggle to pull your shorts back on. He knows what he wants to say. No, we’re not friends. We should be together. Isn’t it obvious?

You huff, grabbing your bag and the water bottle you’d left behind the other day. “You know, I don’t really know either. Forget I ever said anything. I guess I just thought…”

You trail off and shake your head, heading towards the door. Suna scrambles out of bed to follow you, pulling on his pants as he hops down the hall on one leg. “What’s that?”

“I said forget it,” you call over your shoulder, trying to slam the door, but Suna catches your wrist. As you stare up at him, he thinks he sees your lip quivering, eyes shining with half-formed tears. “Let me go.”

“I’m serious,” Suna says. “What did you think?”

You draw in a deep breath, and for a second, Suna thinks you’re about to say the words he’s always wanted you to say. Then you look away. “Let. Me. Go.”

Slowly, Suna releases you from his grasp, and you stumble backwards, wiping your eyes on your sleeve.

“Don’t call me.”

“Wait, no —”

“Don’t call me, Suna!” you say loudly, before turning on your heel and speed walking down the stairs.

Oh. Oh. Suna stares in shock at the place you were just standing on his doorstep. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

When he heads back inside, head empty but for the single thought, I’ve just lost the best thing that ever happened to me, he glances at his phone on the counter. In an instant, he’s opening up his messages, pulling up Atsumu’s.

Met a cute girl LOL. Gonna bring her to that party on Friday.

Then, in a separate bubble — Btw: chem answers?

“And then he called me his friend,” you say angrily, handing Aiko the box of Oreos. The two of you are sprawled on the floor of her dorm room. “Just like we were two bros who got together to play XBox every once in a while, instead of two people who had literally just banged.”

Aiko takes a cookie before handing them back to you. “Asshole.”

“I mean, I know technically we were ‘friends with benefits,’” you say, stuffing an Oreo in your mouth. “But I guess I thought we could be something more. I thought there was no way he could kiss me like that, look at me like that without feeling something. Guess I was wrong.”

“Screw him,” Aiko says. “You’ve got boys lined up around the block, and he thinks he can treat you like rubbish? Absolute bullshit.”

“I don’t have boys ‘lined up around the block,’” you remind her, smiling regardless. “Just one.”

“And that one is hella cute!” Aiko says. “You’re way too cool to pine over some guy who thinks you’ll just answer his every beck and call without even committing to a relationship.”

You sigh. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s just… ack. I don’t know. Am I jumping to conclusions? He seemed like he wanted to talk to me more, but I kind of stormed off without saying anything.”

“Seems like he was pretty clear,” Aiko says with a shrug. “Your call, though. If I were you, I’d forget about him. Plus, you have Atsumu now. That’s a promising route.”

You smile down at the Oreos, thinking about the cheery bottle blonde. “Yeah… he invited me to a party this coming Friday.”

Aiko gives you a look and nudges your knee with her own. “You’d better wear that black dress.”

“You think?” you laugh, momentarily forgetting about Suna.

“Oh, definitely. Gotta look your best on the first date.”

“Right, and then after that I can just dress like a bum,” you joke. You purse your lips. “Rin might be there. Apparently he and Atsumu are pretty close.”

“Even better,” insists Aiko. “Make him suffer a little bit. He won’t like seeing you all dolled up on Atsumu Miya’s arm.”

“I’m not gonna try to make him jealous, Aiko,” you say, and Aiko shakes her head.

“No, I just think he needs to understand what he lost,” she says. “You don’t even have to pay attention to him at all, though. You should try and get to know Atsumu a little better.”

“Yeah, okay,” you say, before reaching down for another cookie. “Oh. We’re out.”

“Gas station run?”

“Gas station run.”

When Friday rolls around, you’ve successfully managed to avoid thinking about Suna the entire day. You have a calculus exam in the morning, and then a club meeting in the afternoon, and by the time you get done with everything it’s already time to get ready to leave for the party. It’s across town at someone’s loft apartment, so Atsumu offers to give you a ride, rolling up in a shiny Lexus, a sharp contrast from Suna’s old Chevy.

“Hey,” he says, getting out to open the door for you. “You look great.”

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” you say. “Although, I might prefer the work uniform.”

“Oh, please,” Atsumu says with a grin. “That apron does nothing to flatter my figure.”

“Mhm.” The ride there is a slightly awkward one, but that’s normal, you tell yourself. You’ve gotten so used to the easy, teasing camaraderie you and Suna have that you’re rusty in regards to flirting. Atsumu has a different sense of humor, too, nothing like the dry sarcasm Suna’s such an expert in. You shake your head. Stop thinking about him.

Even sitting next to a new guy, you can’t help but run last weekend’s drama over in your head. The past few months have been a jumble of mixed signals, and last Saturday was no different. How he tenderly brushed your hair from your face as he hovered over you, how he pulled you into his arms afterwards … how he seemed almost jealous when you mentioned Atsumu. Was it really jealousy? Exactly how much does Suna Rintarou care for you? You roll the numbers inside your head, trying to quantify the soft touches and lingering stares. He’s not easy to read; trying to understand Suna is like trying to decipher Greek without ever taking a single class.

Even trying to get a measure on how much you care for him is difficult. You definitely like him as more than a friend. The only reason you agreed to the whole friends-with-benefits thing in the first place was because of a little crush that grew, that fed on that intimacy… but you’re not so sure now.

“Here we are,” says Atsumu, jolting you from your contemplation as he pulls up alongside the curb. When you climb out of the car, he takes you by the hand, flashing you a quick smile. Your heart trips over itself, and you smile back. “Let’s do this.”

Suna doesn’t show up to the party. He spends most of Friday busying himself at home, paying off a couple electricity bills, cleaning out the fridge. He even does a load of laundry. That’s how bored he is. By the time the clock strikes eight, he feels as though he’s Swiffered every single kitchen tile, folded every shirt, and wiped down every counter in the entire apartment, all to avoid stewing over you and him and all the ways he keeps messing up. But after doing everything on his to-do list and watching a movie and cooking his own dinner (unheard of!) he finds himself pacing around the living room, biting at his nails and thinking about you. More specifically, you and Atsumu. He hopes you’re not wearing that little dress you wore to the club with him a couple months ago. Not that you don’t look great in it — you do, and that’s the issue. The better you look, the more likely Suna will never get a chance to be with you again.

To be fair, he’s not entirely sure how much of a chance he’s ever had with you. You’re incredible, plain and simple. Gorgeous, intelligent, the best player two on every video game he’s ever played with you. You’re not especially adept at the games themselves; no, there’s just something about you. There’s always just been something about you he can’t seem to find anywhere else.

“Damn it,” Suna grunts aloud, flopping down on the couch. It’s nearing half past eleven now. He wonders what you’re doing. Dancing to some shitty music in some crowded living room. Sipping a can of cheap liquor. Letting Atsumu touch your waist, his hand dipping lower and lower until —

Suna buries his face in the couch cushion. He’s usually not one to let his imagination run away with him, but tonight seems to be one of many recent exceptions. If only there was a way to know where he stands with you, or at least where you stand with Atsumu…

Well, there is a way, actually. Almost of its own accord, his hand inches towards his phone, sliding it open and somehow finding its way into his Snapchat. Fingers shaking, Suna clicks on Osamu’s story. It’s dimly lit, a mass of bodies, loud, drunk guys and scantily clad girls. The music is too loud, even through the phone. Suna squints at the screen — there’s Aran, even Kita’s there, quietly sitting in the corner, but no sight of — Suna’s eyes nearly pop out of his head. Because there you are, and you’re not alone. You’re sitting on Atsumu’s lap, but he can’t see your expression because Atsumu is kissing you sloppily, and — oh, God — it looks like you’re kissing him back.

And you’re wearing the fucking dress.

“Damn,” Osamu says in the background. “Looks like he’s getting some tonight.”

Suna throws his phone across the room like it’s a grenade, staring down at his empty hands in disbelief. This can’t be happening. Not to him. Not to you.

For the first time, Suna Rintarou thinks he understands what it really means to want someone. Not in a sexual way, but in the deepest sense of the word. Want. He wants you, and he’s pretty sure he’s never wanted anyone or anything quite so much in his life.

All of a sudden, before his brain even has a chance to catch up, Suna finds himself shrugging on a jacket and snatching his keys from the table, dashing out the door like he’s being chased. If he leaves now, he thinks, starting the car and nearly slamming the door on his foot, he can get to the party before you leave. And then, well, then he’s not quite sure what he’ll do, but he’ll do something.

Again, though, it seems as if the universe might be against him, because there’s an accident on the highway and it takes twice as long to get across town as it should. Suna cusses loudly over the incessant honking and chews on the inside of his cheek until it bleeds. When the traffic lets up and he finally pulls up to the apartment complex, parallel parking in a spot that’s probably illegal, he races up the stairs and into the loft, grabbing the first partygoer he sees. The poor kid’s plastered beyond belief and stares at Suna like he’s an extraterrestrial, eyes glassy.

“You see a girl leave here? ‘Bout this tall, probably left with some douchey looking blonde dude?”

The kid blinks, hard and slow, before nodding. “Yeah, man, you just missed her. That your chick or somethin’? Because she was sucking face with —”

Suna spins on his heel before the kid gets a chance to finish his sentence. He’s lucky Suna doesn’t deck him the head, he’s so irritated.

“Sucking face,” he mumbles, climbing back into the car. He has the route to your house memorized (although he’s not sure how), and he’s pretty sure he breaks about twenty traffic laws trying to get there, so it takes significantly less time to arrive, but to Suna, it feels like an eternity. How did he ever sleep soundly at night knowing other guys had a shot at you before this? He doesn’t know, and he hopes he never has to worry about it again. Not after tonight.

He gets there just as Atsumu’s pulling out of the driveway. Suna flashes him a mental middle finger and resolves to kick his ass later. No time for that right now. You’re still standing on the front porch, and when Suna stumbles out of the car, you turn towards him, mouth agape.

“Rin? What are you—”

“Give me a chance.” He’s breathless, eyes wide and hair whipping around his face in the cool breeze. His heartbeat pounds in his ears like it’s about to burst blood vessels.

“Huh?”

“Give me a chance,” he repeats, reaching forward to take your hand. Your palm is cold against his. “I can do so much better, I promise.”

You furrow your brows. “What in the world are you talking about, Rin?”

The dam breaks. The dam breaks, and everything — the longing, the frustration, everything — comes pouring out in a waterfall of rushing words he doesn’t even have time to think over before they splash at your feet.

“I can do so much better than Atsumu. He doesn’t know you. I know you, and I, well, I’ve liked you since forever, okay? I know your favorite color and your birthday and which Chinese place you like to get takeout from on Saturday nights.” Suna clears his throat. “I know that you like to be hugged from behind and that you hate it when people see you cry. I know so many things about you, and I want to know more.”

“Rin—”

He holds up a hand. “Just listen. I know we’re just fuck buddies, or friends with benefits, or whatever the hell you want to call it, but I want to change that. You mean so much more to me than the sex. God, even if we never slept together again, I would still love you.”

You stare at him. “Love?”

Suna swallows hard. “Yeah, fuck it. Love. I love you. Whatever that means to you, it means to me. I love your stupid jokes and your stupid laugh. To be honest, I’m so in love it feels like I’ll never love anyone else.”

He stops to take a deep breath and a shaky laugh. “Pathetic, right? I know it is. I can’t help it. I’m well aware that Atsumu is way more charming and outgoing, and I was probably wrong when I said he wasn’t your type… but I just need to know if I have even the smallest chance of winning you over.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then another one. You’re gazing at him, head cocked, and the seconds tick by. He still has your hand in his, growing warmer via body heat. Suna feels himself grow increasingly nervous at your expression, curious and almost apathetic — until a wide smile breaks across your face. You laugh, and he thinks it must be the best sound he’s ever heard.

“You weren’t wrong.”

“What?”

“He’s not my type,” you say. “We didn’t click.”

“But — I saw, uh — Osamu’s story,” Suna stammers. “Sucking face.”

“Sucking face?” You squint in confusion before chuckling again. “Ah. Yeah, I kissed him. It was part of some stupid game. He’s kind of bad at it.”

“Atsumu’s a bad kisser?”

“Well,” you say, drawing the word out. “I wouldn’t say bad. It’s just… you’re better.”

Suna’s silent for a second, letting the words ricochet around his brain. He’s better. He’s a better kisser. It was just a game. You’re not into Atsumu. “So… does that mean…?”

“I love you, too.” You smile, and it’s not like your usual cocky grin. It’s sweet and almost… shy.

“You love me, too?” Suna repeats in utter shock. He hadn’t expected to get this far.

“That’s what I just said,” you say. “What are you, a parrot? Speaking of which, though, I think that whole speech was the most I’ve ever heard you talk.”

Suna doesn’t respond. Instead, he takes a step closer and pulls you in for a hug. A real hug, not like the hesitant embrace you’d given him on his birthday, or the side hug he gave you after running into you at the grocery market a few weeks ago. No, this is a true, bona fide hug, and he translates everything he’s ever wanted to tell you but couldn’t into his arms wrapping around your waist.

“So… wanna come in and watch a movie?”

A little while later, Suna’s stretched out on your mattress with you between his legs, chin resting on the top of your head. You’ve changed out of your dress and wiped the makeup from your face, and Suna catches you yawning in the corner of his eye. There’s a trashy romcom droning on your laptop at the foot of the bed. To any outside onlooker, the scene is mundane, just a typical couple enjoying each other’s company. To Suna, though, this is paradise.

It’s almost funny. It’s funny how, a week ago, Suna was a boy pining for a girl he thought he had no chance with. He looked at you and saw something unattainable, someone who would only ever want him temporarily. (And, unbeknownst to him, you felt the same way.) He experienced an overwhelming amount of want, heart knotting in on itself and twisting and turning until it pushed him over the edge, forcing him to confront his own desires. His own inadequacies.

It’s funny how love is what everyone longs for, but it’s also the hardest reward to earn. It’s the most uncomfortable, heart-wrenching, nerve-wracking, anxiety-inducing pathway to happiness Suna’s ever seen. But still… he’d do it all over again if he had to. The months of headaches, the overthinking. It’s worth it. You’re worth it.

Oh, well. What can he say? Suna leans down and presses a featherlight kiss to your temples, and you tilt your head up to smile at him. Love’s a funny thing.

Fortunately, Suna’s always down for a good joke.

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kumeko · 3 years

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Prompt: Iskander/Waver, slice of life, domestic

A/N: For the @fateverse-exchange for @t1mco! I love these two and hope you like the fic!

…

There were certain communal standards in life. Despite not being a very social person, even Waver understood that much. He got up when an old lady got on the bus, he held the door for whoever came after him, and if there was a line, he stood at the back of it like any other decently raised human being.

“Why would we wait?” Iskander asked, his thick brow furrowing with confusion as they stood near the back of the game store building.

Unfortunately, Waver wasn’t dealing with a decently raised human, he was dealing with a Servant. A Servant who never obeyed like a servant, but instead ruled over his master and everyone else like he was still King, like they were in Macedonia and he was still conquering the world. As usual, he was wearing a ridiculous, utterly trashy game t-shirt. They had too many freebies like that these days; once Iskander had discovered the world of pre-orders, Waver started counting his savings by whatever spare coins he happened to have.

Rubbing his forehead, Waver gestured at the line that wound around the corner ahead of them. “We have to wait for our turn.”

“Our turn is now.” Iskander snorted, amused. He always sounded like that whenever Waver mentioned a rule, as though it meant nothing to him. Maybe it didn’t—he was a Servant, after all. Anything he did would just end up as Waver’s problem. It always did.

“It isn’t.” Waver could just feel a headache coming. No matter how he pressed his fingers into his skull, the dull ache only grew. The sun didn’t help; it was an utterly hot day and sweat beaded on his skin. “The person at the front of the line can go in. They waited all night for this.”

“And I waited all week.” Iskander laughed, patting Waver on the back. It was a sign something terrible was about to happen.

“You didn’t wait out here all week,” Waver replied as patiently as he could. “You just learned about the game last week.”

Iskander wasn’t listening already. “We just need to stand at the front of the line.”

He nodded. “Yes—no!”

It was too late. Iskander, in all his ridiculously tall height, left their spot, walked around the corner, and disappeared. Waver groaned before jogging after him. He should be surprised by now. It happened every time.

He was just never ready for it, somehow.

As he turned the corner, Waver spotted Iskander stepping in front of the head of a line, an exhausted teen who was blearily looking at his phone.

“You can’t do that,” he protested, looking up. The bags under his eyes were almost black and Waver hoped that was only from this one-night wait and not doing this every day.

“I can’t?” Iskander raised a brow.

The teen squeaked, finally realizing just who stood in front of him. As a foreigner, Iskander already had an imposing air with his fiery red hair and chiseled face. Add in his overly bulky frame and his monstrous height? There was no one in Japan who could face him without cowering.

Well, maybe the military or some hotshot punks. Waver secretly prayed that they didn’t have to deal with that before the war ended; there was no way he could handle that type of stress on top of everything else.

Terrified, the teen shrank back, shaking his head. “It’s…fine…” he mumbled. “Go ahead.”

“Good lad.” Iskander patted him on his back. Each hit sounded like a cannon going off. Noticing Waver still watching, he gestured impatiently. “Come on!”

The line looked at him. Waver ducked his head slightly as he quickly hurried to Iskander’s side. Maybe he should start wearing disguises when they went out together. “That’s not how lines work.”

As usual, Iskander didn’t listen. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Waver’s back, forcing him forward and into the building. He didn’t know how waiting worked either. Waver groaned; he could never return to this place again.

“There is the game!” Iskander grinned as he made a beeline to the new arrivals display. Sitting on it was Admirable Tactics Five: The Hope of Fight Pilot Sophia. The case looked silly in his big hands, but he was oddly gentle. “And there are so many of it!”

“That’s how companies make their money.” Waver tried not to laugh at his shocked expression. Sometimes it was easy to forget that he’d come from the past, what with all the knowledge the grail gave him. Yet, at times like these, it was all too obvious that this wasn’t his home. “They sell as many copies as possible.”

“Even our libraries could not produce so many tomes.” Iskander glanced around, noticing the shelves of different games now. “Are these all games?”

“Yes…” Waver trailed off, immediately guessing just where this was heading. In many ways, Iskander was like a child: extremely straightforward and honest about his desires. “We’re only here for Admirable Tactics.”

Humming to himself, Iskander shifted through the shelves, picking up every genre from rpgs to first person shooters. Either he hadn’t heard Waver or he didn’t care. The end result would be the same.

“Fine but limit yourself to like three.” Hunching over slightly, Waver followed, looking idly at the latest releases. There was a new Tales of, though it was still in pre-orders only. Next to it was the latest Fire Emblem. And beside it—

Waver looked down and groaned. Just when had he grabbed all of those cases? It was supposed to be just one, maybe two, and now he had like twenty in his arms. There was absolutely no way he could buy that many, let alone even have time to play them all.

Maybe he shouldn’t have chided Iskander earlier. Clearly, his self-control was just as bad or worse. Discretely, he dumped the pile into a basket and scurried away before an angry employee noticed just how much work he’d left them. Looking up, he scanned the rows for his Servant. “Iskander?”

Luckily, it was impossible for Iskander to hide his big frame. Even when he bent over, he was still a head above the racks. “Waver! We will also get this!”

“What did you pick?” Coming closer, Waver swiped the game out of his hands. “Steamy hotsprings—”

Immediately, he flushed a bright red and dropped the case like it was cursed. “What—that—what are you trying to play, you idiot?” he screeched.

Iskander furrowed his brow, staring at the fallen case. “A game.” Clicking his tongue, he picked up another one. “Try not to drop this one.”

Waver stepped back, refusing to touch the thing. The clerk was looking at them funny and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Do you know what that game is?”

“Of course.” Iskander looked at him pityingly. Pointing at the cover (graced with several busty women that Waver was certain couldn’t be anatomically correct), he explained slowly, “This is game where you conquer people! What better game is there for a king?” He guffawed. “Truly, there is a game for everything!”

“Conquering…people…” Waver tried not to stumble back. “You’re not wrong…but you’re not right either…” What if any of his associates found out he had bought that game? What if they found the case in his things in a few months? At least with the other games he could claim he was practicing tactics or something, but a harem game?

A hentai harem game?

“No, we’re not buying it.” Waver stomped his foot. He probably looked as intimidating as a rabbit, but he glared at Iskander. “We’re not getting that or any like that.”

“Hmm?” Iskander cocked his head in one direction, then the other. After stroking his chin a few times, he grinned, and Waver knew that whatever inane idea had entered his mind was utterly wrong. Chuckling, he reached forward and ruffled Waver’s short hair. “There is no need to feel jealous.”

“Jealous?” he squawked, his arms hanging limply at his side as his hair started to resemble a porcupine from all the rubbing.

“I am only conquering them.” Iskander winked. “You are more than a trophy.”

“I—that’s…” Waver clawed the air, unable to find the words to explain exactly how un-jealous he was, how fine he was with the whole thing, and what did Iskander even mean by trophy?

Iskander added, smirking, “Our bond is deeper than that.”

From the corner of his eyes, Waver spotted the curious cashiers leaning closer, trying to listen in on the conversation. If he let this last longer than it already had, the entire town would know. If they didn’t already know. Iskander was loud and unashamed and Waver wouldn’t be surprised to hear he had told every person he’d met.

“Fine!” Waver growled, swiping the stupid case and marching to the counter. “We’ll get that and nothing else.”

“I knew you’d like it!” Iskander patted him on the back again.

“I do not—” Forcing himself to take a deep breath, he cut himself off. There was no point in arguing with Iskander. He had learned that already. Slamming the case on the counter, he barked, “I’ll buy these two.”

A middle-aged woman, she blinked in surprise before nodding. “Would you like—”

“No!” He scowled, daring her to ask another question.

Fortunately, she picked up his irritation. “Okay, no insurance then, no points card—”

“That…” Sheepishly, he slid his points card on the counter. “I have that.”

She gave him a look before accepting it. “Alright then.”

When she picked up the harem game, she didn’t react. Perhaps because she worked here, selling it in the first place. That didn’t stop him from flushing either way, his neck and ears warm as he imagined what she was thinking. Fortunately, the transaction was quick. He slid the money over while his dignity was still somewhat intact.

Handing over the bag, she bowed. “Have a good day.”

“You too,” he mumbled, clutching the bag to his chest as he slowly inched away. The plastic felt thick. Maybe no one would notice what was inside. His head bumped into Iskander’s chest and he froze.

“You make a cute couple,” she added as she waved.

“Couple?!” Waver jerked his head up, not sure if he heard right.

“A handsome couple,” Iskander corrected, wrapping an arm around Waver and pulling him close.

Part of him was pleased. A bigger part of him flushed a bright red and he cried, “But we’ve only started dating!”

“And?” Iskander looked down, confused.

“It’s…it’s too soon…” Waver flushed before sprinting out. Between this and the stupid game, he couldn’t handle anymore of this.

#iskander #fate zero #waver velvet #lord el melloi ii #rider x waver #fanfic #does this have a ship name?

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dream-of-kpop · 4 years

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Ateez Works at Walmart [2/2]

[the saga ends...well for now]

San:

*customer speaks to San in Spanish asking if he can speak Spanish*

San's response: "...Un poco." *trembles*

Just started working there and is scared he's gonna get fired

He has the most fun pulling carts around and yelling to his friends from a distance

San: "YUNHO HIIIII!!!!"

Yunho: *waves then finishes bagging a customer's groceries*

Races pulling carts with his co-worker

Eats nothing but Pop Tarts on his lunch break

At 2pm, the associates have to organize the merch on the shelves

San takes his time to make sure everything looks neat

*Someone throws a random item onto his shelves*

San: "You lazy ass-"

Makes simple objectives way harder than they need to be

Accidentally knocked a glass off the shelf and watched it smash into smithereens

Oh right, his actual job is moving packages from the back room to the departments so he wasn't even supposed to be over there

And by over there, I mean Hongjoong's department

Hongjoong got in trouble that day

Stood on a cart to see if it would hold his weight; it almost flipped

San is really trying ok-

San: *empty box falls on him* "Thank god nobody saw that."

San: *falls on pallet* "Thank god nobody saw that either."

While working freight, they often bop to some loud ass music

San: *throws box then milly rocks*

Puts packages in the wrong departments all the time

Got a paper cut and couldn't find any bandaids

Like I said, San is trying-

Yeosang:

15 minute breaks suddenly turn into 30 minute ones

Wooyoung would do the same but he's highkey scared he'll get caught

Yeosang is only one that listens to music, brave enough to break the rules

Hasn't gotten caught yet

*3 weeks later, he did get caught*

*Ok, he grew his hair out so he could hide his Airpods*

He started a revolution; now other co-workers wear their airpods too

One night, a manager asked him to clean up the shoe department; somehow the woman's side was worse than the men's

Yeosang: *sees hair on sandals* "Ew...dirty ass..."

Runs into old classmates all the time

Unlike with Seonghwa, when people stare at him he feels very pissed off

Yeosang: *inside his head* "Don't come in my aisle, don't come in my aisle, don- DAMMIT."

Mingi: "Heyyyyyy, I'm bored asf."

90% of the time he does pickup and delivery for customers

The other 10%, he stands outside making sure people have their masks on

You would be surprised how angry people get because of it

Yeosang: "We can't let you in without a mask."

Karen: "THIS IS STUPID, I'M CALLING MY BOSS ABOUT THIS-"

Karen: *comes back 2 minutes later* "Um, nevermind."

Yeosang was once told that he looked high when he wasn't

He's just mentally exhausted like the rest of us

When his feet hurt he turns into a sad bitch

Yeosang: "4 more hours of this shit..." *a tear drop slides down his cheek*

It's hard for him to be on his phone, Seonghwa is EVERYWHERE

*Yeosang stands in an empty aisle by himself*

Seonghwa: "GET OFF OF YOUR PHONE YEOSANG-"

Yunho:

Yunho: "Excuse me." *plows through Yeosang's pile of boxes with his cart*

Yeosang was in the way that's why

There's one attractive person that works there, he doesn't have a crush, they're just eye candy honestly

Yunho: *looks around* "WHERE ARE THEY??? Oh shit I see them-"

They never notice him *sad cowboy face*

He's a cashier and occasionally works in customer service

So he has to deal with many...many...aggravating customers

Imagine how high his blood pressure must be

*watches 2 customers argue*

Customer: "I'M FROM THE BRONX, WE CAN TAKE THIS OUTSIDE!"

Asked a co-worker if they know where the book, "The Art of Not Giving a Fuck" is and they looked at him weirdly

Deals with "Karens" on a day to day basis

There's always that one customer that's trying to get a deal

Lady: "I saw this in the clearance section. Can I get it any cheaper?"

Yunho: *scans item* "It's 50 cents tho."

He's still waiting on his discount card but it hasn't been 90 days yet

He wants to quit but what options does he have?

Refuses to use the hand sanitizer; it smells so fucking bad

Yunho: *puts on hand sanitizer* *sniffs* "...OH-"

Good news, they switched it out

Raps to rap songs out loud when he feels sad

A guy tried to promote his mixtape to him

Yunho said he would listen to it but hasn't yet

Slightly brags to everyone about how much money he's making

Yunho: "My checks look like $700 a week soOoOO, I'm making hella cash."

Ateez: "Ok."

His co-worker got Covid and now he's paranoid

Wooyoung:

*box says "BTS" written on it*

*his heart races with excitement, but...it's just a box of plain notebooks*

Wooyoung: "Oh, 'BTS' stands for 'Back to School'..."

Customers find him adorable so it's rare when they get upset/impatient with him

Heard a mom yelling at her kid and wasn't sure if he should intervene or not

Has a soft spot for other fellow Walmart employees he meets

Wooyoung: "I now understand the bullshit that you go through."

The store is all over the place but he wants to give them the benefit of the doubt...don't

Works the jewlery counter; he can't even enjoy an hour of lunch without hearing, "ASSISTANCE AT THE JEWLERY COUNTER" 10 times

Wooyoung: *takes a bite of his sandwich* "Guys I gotta go."

Yunho: "Alright. See you later then."

*Wooyoung leaves in a hurry*

Junho: "You wanna split his sandwich?"

Wooyoung's patience is wearing very thin *gEt it?*

Wooyoung: "I'm sorry, but who gets jewelry at Walmart?"

*Junho slides hand off of the display case*

Wooyoung: "I can still see your rings and bracelets through the glass dude."

Mingi: "For $12.98 the watches do be looking kinda right ngl."

Was happy to work there, but not anymore

Constantly gets his name mispronounced

Manager: "Wooyin."

Wooyoung: "It's Wooyoung-"

Manager: "Wooyun, can you do aisle A2 and A3?"

It makes him hate the job even more when customers will cut him off in the middle of talking

Wooyoung: "This necklace is-"

Man: "What about these earrings???"

Wooyoung: "They are-"

Man: "Oooo my wife is gonna love these."

Rants to San about his troubles

San had his Airpods in his ears the whole time and Wooyoung didn't notice

As soon as his shift ends, his ass is jetting out the exit

hyungwonthefraud

*another cart runs over my foot*

pt.1

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thecorteztwins · 4 years

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Choosing A Job For Your Character

This is something I see people have a lot of difficulty with. They often can’t think of something that their character can do, or they feel that certain options (server, barista) are “overused” and want to do something different, but aren’t sure of what the other options would be or how to begin finding/choosing them. So I wrote up this guide of tips and tricks that hopefully you might find useful! Under a cut because I can’t make anything short, I guess, sorry!

- Google what kind of jobs you can get with your character’s education level, such as “jobs that don’t need a degree” or “jobs you can get with a two year degree” or “under the table jobs” or “jobs with a BA in chemistry”. Or their interests, such as “jobs for people who like animals” or “jobs related to art”. If you haven’t yet figured out these things about your character, but you know where they live, considering Googling job listings for that place--whether it’s specific like “job listings for Manhattan” or vague like “jobs in the desert” or “jobs in a small town/big city/beach town/etc” and see what you get! If you see something you like, look into the qualifications for it, and you can flesh out your character’s background (education level, degree, etc) from that! - If you don’t know what kinds of jobs would be offered in certain a field or a setting, it’s pretty easy to Google something like “jobs in a hospital” or “jobs in geology” or “jobs at the beach” and so on. You can also adjust for your character’s level of education and training, such as “entry-level jobs in forensics” - Look on Reddit for threads like “what is your job” and browse the answers, some jobs will be very mundane, others very outrageous! I also recommend “how you got your job” AskReddit threads. - Look at your surroundings. For instance, go to a grocery store. You can see various people in various positions there---the cashiers, the people stocking shelves, the baggers, the bakery workers, the meat counter butchers---but also look at the products and think about all the jobs that went into those behind the scenes. For instance, someone drove the truck that delivered the fruit. Or, someone designed the packaging for this bag. If something exists, someone had to create it or grow it, and someone had to deliver it, including the cash registers, plastic bags, electricity that lights the store, etc. And that means there’s a job for it! - Google can also help with narrowing down general ideas to specifics. For instance, let’s say I have a character called Stan. I want Stan’s job to be that he’s a businessman. Okay, what kind of business? I google “top 100 industries in the US” because Stan lives in the US and I want him to be in a moderately successful industry; something that’s doing well, but not truly booming. I don’t find a Top 100, but I do find A LIST of industries doing very well in the US at the moment. I decide to pick “Utilities” which is #15 on the list. I google “Utilities Company” to get a better idea of what that would be, and I get results for companies that supply things like water, electricity, and sewage services. I decide he works at an electrical company. So, what role do I want Stan to have in the company? My idea was a “businessman” so he’s probably not the guy actually working directly with the electricity, but more likely the business side of things. So what would his job title be? Well, I imagine him as being high up enough in the company that he’s not doing any manual work, I imagine him wearing a suit and attending board meetings, but he’s still answering to people in higher positions than himself. So probably something in upper middle management. I google “upper middle management” and get some results that explain different management levels and types. I find a site with A CHART depicting the different levels from the top down. I see that something called a “DSM” seems to be right in the middle. I look up what it is ON WIKIPEDIA but it’s not what I had in mind for Stan. I look again at the chart and what’s above DSM, something called “VP Global Communications and Investor Relations”. I google “VP Global Communications” and I get a lot of results that say “Vice President, Marketing” so I decide that’s what Stan does---he’s the vice president of the marketing department for an electrical power company! This didn’t take long, either, a little less than 15 minutes. It’s really not hard at all! - Almost every kind of business, no matter what it is, requires some kind of clerical work, someone to handle files and records, that kind of thing. They’ll also always need a janitor. And any business that sells anything will have an advertising department, and making any kind of ads will almost always involve some kind of art. Making logos for a shoe company or designing a billboard for a plumber may not be the dream job for most young artists, but it’s a good way to pay the bills so they can keep working on the art that REALLY matters to them. Another thing that every business will need, even a one-person one, is someone to do the taxes. If someone isn’t doing their own, they’re hiring someone else for it. Again, not glamorous, but it’s a living. If you haven’t worked out what your character is good at it or what kind of qualifications they have, these are all options. And if you want to get your character into a certain place but they don’t “fit” these can be a good excuse---for instance, your character isn’t a tech person or business person, but you want them to work at Stark Tower? They could fall into any of these categories! - If you want your character to work in a certain place, but they wouldn’t have the qualifications or you don’t want them to be in the job MOST associated with that setting for whatever reason (ex: the vet at the vet’s office), consider other jobs that would be in the same place. For instance, if you want your character to work in a hospital setting but not be medical staff, they could also be receptionists, medical records clerks, janitors, hospital cafeteria staff, night security, or hospital-employed counselors. If you want your character to work at a police station but not be an officer, they could also be a receptionist or janitor or clerk, as well as a tech guy or lab guy of some sort, a sketch artist, a dispatcher, a police psychologist, evidence technician, victim advocate, or police dog trainer. Someone who works in a restaurant but isn’t a server or a chef could be the manager, the host who greets and seats customers, the bookkeeper/accountant (remember what I said about taxes!), the cashier, the busboy, the dishwasher, or someone who doesn’t work at one specific restaurant but still has a job related to them, such as a decorator who specializes in diners. Pick any kind of job setting, and there will be MANY jobs related to it besides the most obvious option! - If you wish for your character to have some kind of high-level, high-paying, or glamorous/dangerous occupation, take into account the realistic qualifications they would need for it and weigh it against the realism of your setting. For instance, in real life, being a bounty hunter requires a license and there are certain criteria that must be met for that license. If your character doesn’t meet that criteria and tries to operate as one anyway, they will find themselves facing charges after bringing in their first guy. At least, they will in a realistic setting, especially crime/legal dramas like Law & Order. However, in many media settings, being a bounty hunter is presented as something that basically anyone can do as a whim, so if you’re writing your character in one of those settings, you need not worry too much about accuracy (though it also might not hurt either) - If you are writing in a very realistic setting, keep in mind that the training, education, skills, and job experience needed for many high-profile, high-paying, well-respected jobs often takes many years. For instance, becoming a medical doctor in the US typically consists of a 4-year undergraduate degree program, another 4 years in medical school, and then 3-7 years of residency training. So if someone starts all this at 18, they will probably be 30 by the time they’re finished. Even if they’re a prodigy, licensing laws will still require them to put in the same amount of hours and training as everyone else. So if your character is a 20-something or in their late teens, and you really want them to have a job like this, considering either making them still in-training, or aging them up. Many people balk at writing anyone even close to 30, let alone older, especially a woman, but if you’ve never done it before, this is a great reason to start! In less realistic settings, you probably can get away with much younger people in super advanced positions (Marvel Comics has these galore, such as preteen super-scientists and CEOs) but you should still be prepared to justify it at least a little (and there’s still nothing wrong with the option of aging them up either!) - Keep in mind your character’s education, training, skills, and interests when selecting a job, since they would probably seek out a job that catered to those things (and would be more likely to be hired for them), but also don’t feel compelled to make sure they have a job that “fits” them. Many people do not, especially people in the service industry, retail, or office workers. A lot of us aren’t in a career we’re passionate about and great at, but it gets us by. Some of us will hate it, some of us don’t. My current job has nothing to do with my talents, education, or interests, but I’m good at it, the pay is good, the hours are good, and the environment is good, so I’ve been at it the last five years and I hope to stay with the it as long as I can. - Consider your character’s temperament, personality, and limitations, and if they would actually be suited for the job they’re in. Sometimes, it’s not just about whether you’re smart enough or strong enough for a job, or whether you’re qualified on paper, it’s about having the psychological requirements. For instance, I love animals, and I know a lot about them. As a child, I wanted to be a vet, and I think a lot of people expected that I would be. But in middle school, I took a career exploration course for being a vet, and I knew after the first day that it wasn’t for me. They showed us stuffed animals that had been mutilated in various ways to show us the different injuries that an animal might come in with, and how to fix them, such as their eyes popped out or fake intestines coming out of their ripped-open bellies. It was gruesome, but for a good reason---it immediately showed me that this was something I could not handle. I wasn’t going to be able to deal with seeing animals every day who were sick, injured, and in pain, so I dropped the course. After college, when I was looking for a job, I spent two years volunteering near-daily at the animal shelter. Yet I never applied for an actual job there, because I knew that all the animal control officers had to deal with euthanizing animals that we didn’t have room for, couldn’t be adopted, or had just run out of time. There was absolutely no way that I could do that. Instead, I worked for a professional pet-sitting company for a year to supplement my income. I got to care for dogs and cats, but never had to deal with the emotional damaging aspects of being a vet or working at a shelter. So, if your character has certain sensitivities, hang-ups, or anything like that, some jobs simply won’t be an option for them. Of course, some people are in a position where they have to take what they can get---there are doubtlessly countless people in retail, fast food, survival sex work, and other jobs that are probably mentally horrible for them--- but when it comes to a career that takes time, money, and active pursuit (you have to TRY to become a vet, and it takes a long time) it becomes pretty questionable how a person would wind up in a career that they obviously find distressing. Though many jobs do inevitably come with a buildup of stress over time too, such as mental health professionals and police officers, it’s probably unlikely that a lazy person who hates hard work and strict schedules is ever going to wind up a prima ballerina, no matter how naturally talented she is. - Consider the lifestyle and income level you want your character to have. My cousin is a field biologist who spends months tracking sage grouse. He’s pretty much just camping out in the wilderness for a whole season. If I wanted to give a character his job, but also a hard-partying lifestyle, it would pretty difficult to merge the two. After all, it’d be very expensive and inconvenient for him to drive miles every night to party in the city. Likewise, if your character is single and travels a LOT for their work, they probably can’t keep a lot of pets. If your character has a huge income, they probably have to have a reason for it, and if they’re not living off a trust/inheritance/their parents/etc., their job is going to have to justify it. - Consider the conflicts they might have between work and the rest of their life. For instance, if your character is a vigilante who listens to police scanners, it’s going to be hard for them leave work every time they hear a crime is in progress. It’s going to be even more difficult if they have a job like an ER nurse, where people may literally DIE if they leave their post. If you want to set up conflict like this, then it’s GREAT, but if you don’t want to ever bother with these kinds of dilemmas, then avoid creating them and pick some other job. - Once you’ve picked a job for your character and it fits them perfectly, read at least a little about it. You don’t need to be an expert or even really understand it, just be able to more or less explain what it is and what they do. For instance, I don’t understand business in the slightest, but I can say that my dad is the regional sales manager for the east coast at the bearing company he works for, and that this means he oversees all the sales that go on in his territory, and that suffices pretty well. If your character is going to talk a lot about their job, or their job is very relevant to the story, then you may need to do a bit more research to “sell it” to the readers (for example, Michael Crichton probably needed to do quite a bit of research into paleontology to write Alan Grant in Jurassic Park!) Again, you don’t need to become an expert, just enough to fake however much you need for your character and story.

#writing advice #advice #rp stuff #jobs #character jobs #out of cortez

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mysticalday6 · 5 years

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Hated | YDW

"Oof okay but angs-fluff is GOOD

So if you like, I'd love to request some Dowoon angst fluff with like ?? people/fansites/knetz whateved being annoying af about his s/o?? Like them thinking that the s/o isn't good enough for him, bc they are older of taller or foreign or shorter or anything at all. Make that as angsty as you like!

And then pls a cute fluff ending bc we all need Dowoon comforting us tbh"

Ask and you shall recieve, Love!

Pairing: Idol!Dowoon x Fan!Reader

Gender-Neutral

Warning(s): Mentions of depression and insomnia from sasaeng/disrespectful fans.

Requested by Anon

Angst-Fluff

[10:07PM] "Why is he even with them?"

"He could do so much better."

"They doesn't deserve him."

These comments were never a huge thing for you in the past. When you and Dowoon first confirmed your relationship, it seemed as if you were the lucky couple who got more support than hate.

However, the media started to hate you as the relationship aged.

You two were seen as the picture-perfect idol-fan relationship of the Korean rock industry. You were constantly on ALLKPOP, Soompi, and Dispatch for simply breathing near each other. Fans simply adored you two together.

Now, however, there was no way that would ever come back.

The media sees you as a threat now. Jealous fans see you as an obstacle. Sasaengs see you as someone trying to steal Dowoon away from everyone else. It was as if they did a complete 180 and backstabbed you.

And you could not take it anymore.

"Oh look, it's them. Without Dowoon."

"Oh, thank God for that. He must be embarrased being seen with them all the time."

"Can they seriously just stop associating with Day6? It's clear the boys don't like them."

Hearing this talk was normal now. Whenever you went out of your house, there was at least one person giving you snide remarks.

Especially when you went clothes shopping; what you were doing now.

"It's clear they don't care about beauty standards. Who wears hoodies that baggy?"

"They're just covering their insecurities because they know Dowoon doesn't like them."

You drummed your fingernails against the counter, hanging your head down to avoid looking anyone in the eyes. They would see you weak, and that would give them something to poke fun at. Your eyes were already glossy with tears from earlier, and now those suppressed tears were returning.

Quickly taking the bag from the cashier once she finished everything, you stormed out of the small store to your apartment.

Of course, the crowd who noticed you followed you all the way to the lobby of your apartment building. As the intense hatred from fans grew, the security in your apartment building tended to notice the strange people who would try to follow you back into your apartment, and would post camp by the elevator and require ID to be shown to use it. Which kept fans away from you as you hid from the world.

"There they are! You live in this dingy place?"

"You'd expect someone dating Dowoon to live somewhere decent."

"This place is decent for everyone but them."

Of course, they attacked anything small they could. First it was your clothes, then your piercings, and now your apartment building.

Retreating through the halls to your apartment after a long elevator ride, you felt your chest tighten after punching in your code. Who knew what would await you once you opened the door. Some days, you were greeted by your kitten Merlin hissing for food. Other days, you noticed a completely littered floor, as the depression you had developed prevented you from having any energy to clean.

You were greeted with hissing.

Sighing in relief, you bent down to scoop Merlin in you arms. His pale ginger fur rubbed against you, and his paws tapped your cheeks slightly. Closing the door behind you and kicking your shoes off, you returned Merlin to his cat tower.

"It's okay, Merlin. Mommy's here to feed you."

You placed the bag down on the coffee table, heading inside the kitchen to make Merlin a bowl of food. You heard the distant ring of your phone coming from inside your bag.

"Why now?"

Tiredly, you set Merlin's food bowl on the floor, causing the ginger cat to jump off the cat tower and practically run into the kitchen at Sonic speed, almost tripping you in the process. You trudged your way towards the bag, fishing your phone out and accepting the call.

"Why did you never tell me the hate got this bad?" Dowoon asked.

Silence consumed you.

"You're home, right?" He asked. "If you are, please stay there and don't move. I'm on my way. If you aren't there, please get home quickly-"

"What are you talking about?" You asked him.

"Your Twitter is blowing up with nasty replies from fans. I could also sense something was wrong. I'm almost there, Love-"

Distant screaming was heard over the line, causing you to pull the phone away from your ear as the line cut out. MyDays. You knew where he was.

However, your mind was not processing anything. So when the door to your apartment opened, and you stood completely still, Dowoon knew something was wrong.

"Lovebug, are you alright?" Dowoon called out, reaching out to cup your cheek with his hand.

Your lack of movement scared him. He slowly used his hand to move your face towards his. He noticed the lack of emotion in your eyes, the glossiness that covered the true colour of your eyes, the way your skin was cold, and the bags under your eyes. He spotted a grey hair among your otherwise coloured locks.

"Just what happens when I'm not around?" He asked, brushing his thumb under your bottom eyelid.

You wanted to respond, you really did, but the lack of sleep was catching up to you. You wanted to fall alseep badly now that he was back, and once he could fasten a grip around your waist, you blacked out into slumber.

"I can't believe you're being treated like this by people who adored you." He sighed, lifting your legs up to carry you to your bed. "What would cause someone to hate someone they loved?"

He laid you down on your bed, tucking the duvet over your sleeping figure, noticing how quickly your head adjusted into the pillow. He laid down next to you, placing himself underneath the covers and wrapping his arms around your torso.

"I want you to be safe. And by all means, I will keep you safe. Maybe it's time we get you and Merlin out of here."

He pulled you closer to him, watching as sleep consumed your features. It was times like these that made Dowoon want to run away with you and Merlin and never come back. He wanted to keep you safe, happy, and healthy. He needed to keep you safe. If something ever happened to you, he would never forgive himself.

"Maybe it's time I ask you to move in with me."

#day6 #day6 angst #day6 dowoon #yoon dowoon #dowoon #dowoon day6 #dowoon angst #requested #sorry if this is bad #i wasn't sure how to add in any majour fluff i'm so sorry

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dondake · 5 years

Text

[fugonara] delinquent

rating: t summary: HS!AU where Narancia asks, what are we? AO3 Link

[=]

Narancia liked fucking at Fugo’s house; Fugo’s bed was soft, his sheets always felt nice against his skin, and there was always food in the fridge to take after they finished. The lube Fugo had at his house was also better, unscented but didn’t leave a strange sticky residue afterwards. Narancia had concluded before they’d started sleeping with each other that teenagers were just always going to be crap at screwing and would only get better with age; but maybe there was a hint of truth to the thought that being rich solved a couple more problems. He watched Fugo pull a shirt over his head, while he was shamelessly still naked and curled up in Fugo’s bed. Fugo was younger, practically a baby with a year’s difference, so he still had some growing to do but his shoulders were already starting to settle into a broad, formidable frame. The expanse of back between them was something Narancia liked to run his hands over. “Hey,” he said. “What are we?”

“Friends,” Fugo said. “Wanna go get some food?”

They went to get food at a quick service place. Afterwards, Fugo walked Narancia to the bus stop. “I’ll call you,” Fugo said.

“So you’re really just interested in having sex with me, huh?” Narancia said.

“What?” Fugo frowned. “What are you talking about?” The two girls in uniforms, sensing an argument, shifted toward the other side of the bus shelter. “What’s this suddenly about?”

“I asked you earlier about what we are. You said we’re just friends. Friends don’t fuck each other, Fugo. Maybe you don’t have enough to know, but I’ve got a lot and we don’t go around sticking it in each other for fun.”

Fugo glanced at the girls, who were pointedly minding their own businesses. He was not getting out of a fight any time soon. “So, what are you mad about? You don’t want us to sleep together anymore?”

“No, I do. But I want to do other things too, like going out to eat and seeing shows and, I don’t know, just walk around together and…” He paused, noticing Fugo’s frown. “I mean, I know we do those things already, but...it’s not the same.” Unlike Fugo, and Giorno and Trish, who all went to an elite prep school and learned how to speak eloquently like politicians on television, Narancia could only say how he felt in the words he knew.

“Okay...then, you answer the question. What are we?”

“I don’t know! Obviously, or else I wouldn’t be asking you, would I?” Narancia threw his hands up. “And you say I’m the stupid one.”

“What’s wrong with not knowing? We’re doing the things you say you want to do, so I don’t see what the issue is.”

“No, you idiot, it’s not that I don’t know what we are…” Narancia’s frustration was manifesting itself into fidgeting as he started gesturing more, speaking with his hands. “I just...I don’t know...maybe I want to be in a relationship like Bruno and Trish.” The bus came, and the girls quickly clamoured on. Narancia made no movement to board. After letting off a man with a stack of magazines, who gave them one look and went on his way, the bus drove off. “Say something, asshole. I just said I want to be in a relationship with you.”

“I don’t have anything to say to that.”

Narancia’s swings were dampened somewhat by the fact that he still had a bag on his back, throwing off his center of gravity and balance, but Fugo still parried to keep from getting knocked around in the narrow bus shelter. They were now getting worried looks from people walking by and from across the street, so he pulled Narancia into a nearby parking lot where the cars around them and the people coming to and from them stopped Narancia from flying into a rage in public. “Mista was right. You really are a good-for-nothing trash baby. I am wasted on you. Have a nice life. Hope you die somewhere alone.”

“Whoa,” Trish said the next day. “You’re looking way darker and broodier than ever, Fugo. What happened? Purple Haze finally bite you on the dick?”

“Purple Haze would never bite me,” Fugo countered. “He doesn’t bite unless I tell him to.”

Trish exchanged a look with Giorno, who had the misfortune of being seated in front of Fugo and was now very used to hearing his seat neighbor’s gripes. “Uh, I don’t know if you’re selectively blind, but the last time we came over to study, your dog almost ripped my arm off and was about to go off on Giorno’s bag like it was a plucked chicken.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. He’s a little feral, but he’s not that bad. He doesn’t bite--” Fugo cut himself off.

“What? He doesn’t bite Narancia? Well, like owner like dog, as they say. You both have a soft spot for that boy.” Trish raised her eyebrows as Fugo glowered even harder. “Ooh, I see...you had a spat with Narancia.”

“That isn’t unusual,” Giorno offered. “I’d say it’s how you two actually communicate.”

“He told me he hopes I go die somewhere alone.”

“Oh! Fugo, please, spare us the gory, flirty details!”

“No,” Fugo said. “It was different this time.” Giorno and Trish were still looking at him blankly. For a second, Fugo felt like he understood, vaguely, what Narancia had meant now. “He was asking what we were--”

Trish’s jaw dropped. “You are full of surprises today! Why are you so upset, though? You’re coupled up!”

“Trish,” Giorno reminded, “Narancia told Fugo to die alone, remember?”

“Oh, yeah.” Trish, the keen and ever-so-observant, suddenly turned on Fugo with a look of pure disdain. “You told him you weren’t interested.” Now even Giorno was looking at him with apprehension; Giorno liked Mista, who liked Narancia, so by association, Giorno liked Narancia; it helped that Narancia was plucky and did not shy away even when Giorno fell into one of his navelgazing analysis modes.

“Well...no. I said we were friends--”

“Fugo, you absolute airhead! What kind of friend sleeps with their friend? There has to be some kind of attraction there, but even if we give you the benefit of the doubt that you could fool around with someone just for fun - Narancia’s been a starry-eyed idiot who actually listens to you talk for a while now and you, an irritable grump, give him the patience of a saint who lapses occasionally. Seriously?”

They continued the conversation at lunch. Trish, the daughter of a prominent pharmacist, had a neat, little spread of meat and cheeses. Giorno had a salad - “I like the texture. You can get a lot of different crunches by changing up the leaves and then there’s so many combinations of things to add to it that can change the flavor altogether.” - which was a lush green with pops of color here and there. “What’s your problem,” Trish began, apropos of nothing as she picked up the train of thought right where she had left it. “Are you really not interested in being in a committed relationship with Narancia at all?”

“We are committed right now.”

“Really? I mean, as it is...you could have sex with anyone else right now and it would be okay.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Okay, but Narancia could have sex with anyone else too.”

Fugo scoffed. “He isn’t. Who would want to get together with someone like him?”

Trish groaned, clearly giving up on the topic, but Giorno put down his fork. “Fugo, you said you’re a man of good taste. That’s what you believe, isn’t it? So if you have good taste, wouldn’t you think that someone else with good taste might want to approach Narancia, especially if he isn’t just seeing one person right now?”

The thought of someone else putting up with Narancia always thinking he was right, or tolerating when Narancia tried every excuse in the book to talk himself out of doing work or convince someone he was right when he was very much wrong - it seemed impossible for Fugo to imagine. Though, hadn’t he also been captivated by the way Narancia smiled like he had a secret he wanted to tell, and by the way he threw himself headlong into trouble if it was for the sake of someone he cared about? He’d kissed Narancia after months of pining and attempts at redirecting his attention elsewhere, but there were certainly people who did not spend hours psychoanalyzing themselves and might properly and successfully pursue someone without worrying about the consequences.

“I’m skipping fifth period,” Fugo said.

Narancia had a habit of skipping his double study halls, because unlike Mista who could entertain himself quietly and Bruno who would actually study, he was incapable of sitting still for long periods of time. Fugo found him two blocks away from the public high school, sitting out of the line of sight for the cashier inside the convenience store. He was reading a magazine about racing motorcycles and drinking a nicked carton of cafeteria orange juice. “What?” he said, without looking up.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brushed off what you wanted to talk about. I’m not seeing anyone else right now.”

Narancia closed the magazine. “Fugo, do you like me?”

“Yeah. I like you.”

“Why don’t you want to be in a relationship?”

“It’s not that I don’t...it’s a label with a lot of expectations. It’s not fair to the other person to just take it on without considering everything.” His parents were married, but he didn’t think they loved each other. His father’s parents were pressuring him and his mother wanted to escape her family’s business. Now that they’d come into money, it was more pronounced, holding gatherings for socialites and minding how they appeared in public. Gossip could ruin a whole foundation. “Not that I don’t think you’re not serious...but I don’t know. And I know we’re just kids, so it doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re entering some kind of legal contract or anything, and…”

“Alright, alright. I get it.” Narancia stood up, brushing himself off. “Fine. We don’t need to put labels on us. I just never heard you say that you like me in particular. I didn’t know that you weren’t hooking up with anyone else.”

Fugo stared at him. “I never told you?”

“No. You’re good looking and you can take girls out to fancy places, so how was I supposed to know I wasn’t competing with all the rich girls at your school? I’m not going to ask Trish something embarrassing like that.” Narancia grinned smugly. “But it’s cool to know I’m liked, and I’m the only one you like. I should have known it was just you overthinking everything again. I bet when we first made out, you looked up how to do it first--”

“Narancia,” Fugo said, with all seriousness, “will you go out with me?”

The cashier came outside to break up the fight in the front parking lot, but before she could get the names of the high schoolers brawling, they ran off, leaving a half-empty carton of orange juice. She hadn’t thought that a student from the prep school, judging by the uniform, would cut class right in the middle of the day. Narancia had parked his bike nearby, pulling it out from behind the dumpsters. Before taking off, before Fugo would need to keep a death grip on Narancia’s shoulder to survive the ride of pure speed and shakiness, Narancia pressed a fast kiss to the corner of Fugo’s mouth. They weren’t going back for sixth period.

#fugonara #pannacotta fugo #narancia ghirga #jojo no kimyou na bouken #vento aureo #canadino fic

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throughtheglassdarkly · 5 years

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Missing Pieces, part 5

Welcome back. When last you were here, Yova was being a gentleman and Day became a damsel in distress. Onward.

So of course the first thing you’re probably wondering is “How did Day get nabbed by the Knights of the Widow’s Walk?” I didn’t end up learning the whole story until much later, so this is all secondhand, but here’s the story as it was related to me. Rewinding to a few days before all this happened, Day had a pretty weird feeling that something was off. He couldn’t put his finger on it at first, but he confirmed it when he was out buying a six pack at his corner bodega and he saw a blue Subaru sitting out front. There wasn’t anybody in the car, but he was almost certain he’d seen that same car parked outside another stop he’d made a few days earlier.

Checking out the car, Day saw it had New York State plates and a large dent on the driver’s side door near the bottom, which was how he figured it was the same car. He also spotted a person wearing a puffy jacket and knit cap near the end of the block, leaning up against a street lamp and looking in his direction. He started heading after that figure, but when the dude saw him, he darted off. Day followed, but when he got around the corner, he saw that the figure had vanished into thin air. He did, however, see a paper fluttering in the wind with part of a red wax seal on it. Sound familiar?

Day took the paper back to his office and kept working on some of the paperwork for his PI license. None of us had heard from him much in a couple of days; he’d kept telling us he was really busy. Nothing much happened to him the rest of the day, but when he woke up the next morning, his window was open. He’d definitely remembered shutting it the night before, so he was super freaked out, grabbed his gun, and started going through the apartment. He didn’t see anyone, but did clearly see that a lot of his things were looked through: papers were askew, books and newspapers ruffled through, drawers slightly ajar. He told me later that he considered calling one of us, but then decided against it. After a minute, he saw something that got his attention: a picture that was taken of him while he was out with the rest of us. It was a picture from behind, mostly of him and Bella.

Day desperately needed to cool off, so he walked back to the bodega he was at the day before for a breakfast sandwich. As the cashier was ringing him up, he told Day, “Oh, speak of the devil. Someone was just asking about you.” Day looked around quickly but didn’t see anybody, so he asked, “Who?” “Oh, some tall guy came through, said he saw you come in the other day and said he’d seen you around a few places, asked if you were a regular here,” the kid said. “What’d he look like?” Day asked. “Uh, tall, kind of pale – no, pale’s not right-”

At this point, Day lost all pretense of patience, so he reached across the counter, grabbed the kid by the scruff of the neck and dragged him over the counter, saying, “I’m not asking you to describe a Mr. Potato Head, I’m asking you to describe him! What. Did. He. Look. Like?!” The kid was practically in tears and stammered out a description and Day let him go. The kid rang Day out as fast as he could, told him the guy was heading in the direction of Broadway, then ducked behind the counter to wet himself in privacy.

Day started stalking toward Broadway, eating his sandwich and steaming. He was looking around everywhere, trying to figure out where this tall guy in a knit hat and Mets jacket (that’s how you know he’s evil) might be hiding. He ended up passing a big collection of trash bins near one of the side streets and was so distracted looking down the nearby alley that he didn’t even see the guy come up behind him. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to look. The guy was tall, ashen, with a pig-like nose and one hand in his jacket pocket.

The dude told Day, “If you don’t want to see what I have in this pocket, and trust me, you don’t, we’re going to take a walk.” Day snapped back, “If your face is any indication, I don’t want to see anything you got under those clothes.” He steered day into the alley and told him they were going somewhere Day wouldn’t be a problem. “Somehow I don’t think you mean Tahiti,” Day said. “I could put a sign on it that says Tahiti if you’d like,” the man retorted. “Don’t do me any favors, bitch,” Day said. As he was saying this, he heard a burst of air come from his side and felt something really sharp hit his upper arm. He looked down and saw a dart and then his vision began to swim. The last thing he saw before passing out was the guy pulling a pair of handcuffs out of his jacket, wearing a thick leather glove as he did so.

So that takes care of one bit of backstory. But before I get into how we rescued Day, I think it’s only fair to share with you what happened on Yova’s date, which I also had to learn about secondhand. She’d scouted the bistro out a few days in advance and was already there when Marigold came running up, completely out of breath and apologizing for missing her bus. Now, Yova says she spotted the three of us, but decided to let it slide so as to not make a scene (personally, I think she’s saving face, but we’ll give this to her, we’ll give it to her).

After getting their drink orders in (Marigold, it turns out, is a Pepsi girl), they started having small talk, with Marigold super excited about what we learned about the Shepherd of Lonely Roads. She was talking a mile a minute about research and how thrilling it was, with Yova being Cool Hand Luke, letting her run her yap. After Marigold finished pumping Yova for information about the Shepherd, Yova turned the conversation back to Marigold, asking how long she’d been in the Autumn Court (two years), how she felt about the Court (she was the newest recruit prior to me and didn’t really care to get involved with the running of the Court) and the current relations of the Courts (she gave an analogy that Summer and Winter built the house, but Autumn and Spring were the ones keeping the walls up and safe). It was around this time that Yova noticed we were gone.

After they ate their meals, Yova suggested they grab some coffee at a nearby coffeeshop and take a walk around the neighborhood, which Marigold was entirely up for. Yova paid the bill and offered Marigold an arm, escorting her out of the restaurant. The line at the coffeeshop was a bit lengthy, but it allowed them more chances to be schmoopy with each other. Yova learned that once Marigold started talking, she could talk for a very, very long time.

So that’ll get you caught up to where my last chapter ended. As soon as Pam, Bella, and I finished staring in horror at the picture of Day and I got my senses back, I grabbed the photo and started entering the coordinates into Google Maps. What popped up was an old auto parts store a few towns over from Albany (a suburb of a suburb) that was closed permanently. The building, however, was still standing. I told Bella and Pam this and Bella grimly said there wasn’t much difference in her being there instead of Day. I think she was envisioning that she’d have to offer herself up in exchange for Day. I told her, “Look, after what we went through in Arcadia, I don’t want any of us being stuck somewhere again and forced to do anything. I don’t – I can’t let that happen. We’re going to get him out of there without having to trade anybody.”

Pam suggested at this point that we go get Yova. Her date had been over for hours now, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t busy. We looked up her schedule on her website and saw that she was doing accompanist work for a local high school production of My Fair Lady. We all grabbed our bags, I gave Paisley a couple crickets, and we made our way over. When we got in the auditorium just before intermission, I saw Yova with the tightest smile I’ve ever seen on her face. I couldn’t blame her: all the kids sounded like they’d been taking accent classes from Dick van Dyke in Mary Poppins.

At intermission, she came to join us and was clearly about to start a soliloquy, but I handed her the photo of Day to cut that off at the pass. As soon as she saw it, she got a look of pure murder on her face. She excused herself to talk with the production manager and inform him that a family emergency had come up and we all left the school. Yova was about to light up a cigarette when Pam cleared her throat and pointed to the “No Tobacco Products Within 250 Feet of School Grounds” sign. Yova, clearly bested by the full force of the Parent-Teacher Association, slunk away in shame.

When we got back to her crappy pickup and all piled in, we explained the situation. She said that we would need to speak with someone from the Summer Court, since one of their pledged courtiers was missing. We hotfooted it back over to my apartment and Yova reluctantly took out her phone to call Dania Sprint. Dania was the Runnerswift who was giving her dirty looks at the B&B, the one in desperate need of an “Oh, honey.” Unfortunately, she’s more or less the secretary of the Summer Court, so if anything needed to be relayed, she was the one to relay it.

Yova called Dania and explained the situation to her. Dania was about as sympathetic as a rabid musk ox and put her on hold. I put Paisley on Yova’s lap to get her to quell her murderous rage. After a few minutes of teeth-gritting hold, Yova finally got Cahir the Unyielding on the line. For once, he was all business as Yova explained the situation to him. He asked her for the address of where Day was being held and promised to send in some backup in case things went south. He told us that the recruits were only going to come in if things went really bad: he wasn’t going to risk any of their lives. He did tell us, “I don’t care what you have to do to get him out, just get him out.” He also insisted that if we learned anything else, we should call back and he would personally be the one manning the phone. After this conversation ended, I retrieved Paisley, Yova got her brass knuckles, and we all headed out.

While we were doing this, Day was finishing up a thoroughly miserable 48 hours as his body worked to purge itself of whatever drug had been pumped into him. His wrists were burning with a worse pain than anything he’d ever felt before and he couldn’t stay asleep. He was groggy and in pain, but at least he was awake. He realized he was in a small broom closet with a light flickering overhead. He tried kicking the door a few times and the same ashen-skinned man opened it, smoking a cigarette and looking like he’d rather be anywhere other than where he was.

“Oh, thank God, I’ve been calling the front desk for hours. This room simply won’t do,” he snarked. “Suck it up, my God, you’re so loud!” the pig-nosed guy griped. He told Day that he expected his friends to show up and do something stupid, but that he’d be able to go before too long. Day scoffed that we didn’t think he’s our friend (that one actually hurt when he told me it later). He asked for a cigarette and the other guy shrugged, put it in his mouth, and lit it. As soon as he did, Day took a puff and shot it out at the guy’s eye, nailing his eyelid. The guy freaked out, slammed the door, and stomped off.

Around this time, the rest of us pulled up in front of the auto parts store. It was a run-down area and we were feeling dangerously isolated. Bella was really quiet the whole time over and I wanted to check in with her and make sure she was doing all right. She shrugged in response and Yova told Bella that we weren’t going to let anybody take her. Bella was blaming herself, saying that she should have checked in with Day earlier than she did. It took most of us to get her to pull herself out of her funk, telling her that we all could have checked in with Day, but that he’d been super busy and none of us thought it was strange we didn’t hear from him for a couple of days. Bella squared her shoulders and grabbed a rock from the parking lot, getting ready to let it fly.

Yova decided to activate a contract that would prevent violence from taking place. And in entirely Yova style, she launched into Lady Hotspur’s speech from Henry IV. Day couldn’t hear any of that from inside, but he did hear his captor saying, “Hey, looks like you have friends after all, asshole!” Yova was about halfway through her monologue when the door cracked open and the ashen man leaned against the doorframe, saying, “So, uh, you certainly know how to make an entrance. Not sure I get the Shakespeare, but…” and he shrugged. Yova asked him to return Day and he said, “You want your friend back, you’re gonna have to come inside and talk terms.” They started bickering about where they were going to discuss the details and eventually came to a compromise of us standing outside and him standing inside. At this point, Day managed to kick the door open and we were able to see him from outside.

Yova introduced herself and asked the ashen man’s name, which turned out to be Hutch. She asked why his group was convinced Bella was a loyalist and Hutch said he couldn’t say, as it wasn’t his call, but that he knew some of his superiors had been cracking down as of late on fae elements in the area. They’d grabbed a few fetches and got some information, which is when the order to grab Bella went out. Yova tried to sweet-talk him and ask him about how they could come to an accord. He didn’t seem inclined to do any such thing, saying that if he let Day go and things went south, it would be his ass on the line. Bella got angry and asked him if he wanted to see the cut string on her neck. “I made sure I got myself cut before I even left out of that place, so whoever your little fetch is, they’re giving you wrong information and it’s putting innocent people at risk of getting hurt because of that,” she told him.

Hutch looked down at Bella’s neck and he saw the frayed thread. He got a – maybe guilty? – look on his face after that and said he understood what she was saying. He steadied himself and said, “I’m sorry if someone made the wrong call, but I still have to report back. So here’s what I think we can do, is if you guys can actually bring me the person responsible, if you guys can find who actually might be – I mean, if anybody in this freehold is loyal to those fuckwads back in Arcadia, if you can bring them to me, I’ll consider that as good a proof of innocence as anything. Even better if you can find out who’s trying to put the blame on you guys specifically.”

Bella preempted Pam in asking for his manager’s number. He told us there was a drop box where we could leave a message with any comments or complaints. I think he actually was serious.

Eventually, we managed to convince Hutch that turning Day over to us was in his best interest, since Day was the best investigator that we had. He went over and told Day that he was going to let him loose and that Day was going to have to walk over to us right away. As soon as the iron manacles were off, Day said he felt almost euphoric, like he wanted to cry from relief. As he left, he faked a punch at Hutch before he rejoined us outside. Hutch gave us one other clue before he slammed the door, saying that there was a beer garden in Schenectady where they learned some stuff. It was as good a place to start as any, so we decided that should be our next stop the following day.

Yova pulled out a cigarette and lit one for Day as well. He was looking grouchy and told us that we could let him have it for getting grabbed. Bella just glomped onto him and hugged him tightly, muttering something about being glad he was okay. He was completely taken aback by that and seemed to think we were just going to let him sit there. Bella said that she needed somebody to go to Hooters with and eat chicken wings (Yova and I both turned a little green at that, but for different reasons) and Yova said she needed Day to help her get stuff upstairs (so that’s her secret…). Day looked maybe a little uncomfortable at all the attention and said that he wasn’t used to having people care about him. “Well, you’re family now,” Pam said, and he looked sheepish.

Yova called Cahir and told him about the success of our mission. He was impressed and said, “You know, Miss Yova, I know you haven’t pledged loyalty to any particular Court yet, but given your extensive… talents, I think there would be quite a good place for you in Summer.” Yova surprised us all when she told him that she had been considering this very thing and unofficially pledged her loyalty to Summer over the phone. Cahir asked to talk to Day, asked if Day was okay, and told him it was good to have him back.

Now at this point, I actually wasn’t around. When Yova made her phone call, I slipped away and made my way down to the nearby 7-Eleven, in search of something in particular. When I got inside, I saw that the clerk who was working the graveyard shift was hiiiiiigh out of her mind. She looked at me and said, “Hey… you like donuts?” “I do like donuts!” I told her. “Great. We got some Krispy Kremes, here you go,” she said, handing me a couple boxes from behind the counter. I promised to tell her manager that she deserved a raise and she resumed watching a daddy long legs build a web on the wall. I got back to the group, donuts in tow, and made sure Day got the custard ones. I remembered him saying in Arcadia that they were his favorite.

And then Pam suggested we all get something to eat, so we made our way to Denny’s.

That’s a pretty good spot to stop it for here, so when next we get back, I’ll take you through our adventure at the beer garden and what we learned there. Until then, may all your high school drama students actually get in the ballpark of being on key.

#Changeling: The Lost #changeling #ctl #recap #ic #I laughed I cried it was better than Cats

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minhyukslaugh · 6 years

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Sweetheart

Pairing: Wonho x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Word Count: 1100

Warnings: None

A/n: Wonho coffee shop AU that’s just really soft

The coffee shop you frequented was a cute, quaint little hole in the wall, never quite bustling at an obnoxious rate, but busy enough to give the little space character and life. The modern white walls were covered in the most beautiful paintings for each of the seasons. The newer wooden floors a darker color to offset the white walls and pastel colors of each of the paintings. It was even accompanied with an adorable menu, with all the drink names relating to something about the season they were meant to be associated with. Your favorite was an iced coffee sweetened with the tiniest bit of sweetened condensed milk, under the cheesy name of Tulip, off of their “spring” menu. The entire spring menu was named after all kinds of flowers. There was a snapdragon, a rose, a lily, a carnation, and so many more. You just so happened to fancy the tulip.

Which is why you were here once again this morning, getting your medium Tulip and a blueberry muffin, enjoying the visual you got every morning when you came. Watching the cute barista that always makes your drink. His name tag read Wonho and he was the sweetest person you’d probably ever met.

He wasn’t anything special to most people, if you were being honest, but the way his black polo uniform shirt hugged his muscular frame had you weak some mornings; and his toothy grin that didn’t seem like it would fit his face was so special to see. Not to mention his soothing voice that you loved listening to. He would sing when he made customer’s order in the mornings, and on particularly early mornings, you felt yourself getting lost in his voice. He memorized who you were too; your order, your name, all the little things you both talked about every morning. You smiled to yourself fondly as you thought about all the special little things that made Wonho...beautiful.

“Y/n,” You heard a familiar voice call, snapping you out of your favorite daydream. “You zoned out for a bit, is everything ok?” Wonho asked. Your heart skipped a beat at the concerned look on his face. He really was a sweetheart, proven time and time again.

“No. Yeah,” You stumbled over your words, gently taking your coffee from his hands, “I’m fine, just a little day dreaming,” you confirmed, smiling sweetly at him and watching as his dorky smile spread across his face, his nose scrunching just the slightest bit in the cutest way.

He asked you how your day was going and even took time to tease you about showing up a little later than usual. He was curious and always listened to every word that spilled from your lips like it was the most precious gold in the world. You felt your heart swell and butterflies jumble around in your stomach as you talked about reports and paperwork that needed to be done, all trivial and dull information, but Wonho’s attentive and gentle gaze made it all spill out.

You were both snapped out of your little world with the sound of the cashier, Kihyun you think his name was, yelling at Wonho to focus and make the orders that are stacking up quicker than he was typically ok with. You couldn’t help but snicker at the pout that fell across his features as begrudgingly agreed to work. Kihyun started nagging at him similarly to how a mom would and the scene made you snicker again. You took a sip from your coffee as you smiled, taking a second to linger around a little longer before finally bidding Wonho a farewell and a promise to see him tomorrow morning as well.

He jumped at your words, almost as if he’d gotten an electric shock. You offered him a confused look as he bolted over to where you were by and asked you to stay for a minute or two longer. Your curiosity and adoration for the man persuaded you to say yes and wait patiently as he knocked out drinks left and right. You were caught up in the cute way his eyebrows furrowed as he concentrated that you didn’t even catch the smirk he sent you as he caught you staring.

Soon enough he stepped out from behind the counter, his welcoming smile once again on show for the world to see. It was endearing, how he smiled for you and was always so gentle despite his domineering appearance.

“So, um,” he started to stumble through his sentence, almost as if he’d lost the words that formed on his tongue. “You come in every morning and I love our conversations and I think you’re beautiful and…” He trailed off once again, his embarrassment getting the best of him in that moment.

“I just wanted to know If you would like to go out to lunch this week?” He asked finally and your heart started thudding in your chest.

Your cheeks flushed a shade of pink and you stood there dumbfounded. Wonho started to look almost crestfallen when you didn’t answer right away, but you just started at him with a look of awe plastered on your face.

“I mean, you don’t have to..I just thought-” You cut him off with a quick word of protest, feeling a surge of panic as he started to retract his offer.

“No! No, I mean yes! I’d love to go on a date with you!” You said quickly, clutching your coffee a little tighter.

A smile broke out on Wonho’s face for the nth time that morning, and you were absorbed in it, relaxing as soon as you saw the familiar look of happiness. He looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself and you felt the same way. You were both giddy for a date that hadn’t been set yet.

He patted his pockets for a marker and asked for your cup for a minute. You dumbly handed it over, watching him scribble something on the cardboard sleeve before handing it back and running back behind the counter before Kihyun could mother him again.

“Text me and we’ll pick a place!” He said excitedly, waving as you agreed before leaving the little hole in the wall you came to every morning.

You walked to your job without paying attention to anything in particular, just going through the motions with a permanent smile plastered on your face. You clutched your coffee like your life depended it, looking forward to your time with the cute barista who stole your heart.

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efreshhsoftware · 4 years

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What is Cloud-based POS Systems and Things to Consider before implementing Cloud-based POS Systems?

Cloud-based point of sale (cloud-based POS) is a kind of point-of-sale system where data for transaction processing comes from a remote cloud service. In common, POS refers to the point where buying happens, for example, at a cashier’s kiosk or at a hostess desk (or side table) at a restaurant.

One reason that cloud-based point of sale (POS) is getting such an influence in retail surroundings is that numerous firms are recognizing the comfort and advantages of utilizing mobile devices as modern cash registers. This is driving a huge transformation in retail and, in numerous cases, to the obsolescence of legacy systems that include specific cash register machines at the POS. In an expanding number of business conditions, these are being replaced by the usage of a smartphone or a mobile device running modern POS software.

The POS software on mobile devices is usually composed of cloud-based POS solutions. Cloud computing providers allow Web-delivered retail financial services for POS systems, where the information is adequately backed up in remote vendor servers. For numerous corporations, the overall advantages of cloud-based POS are evident — security, data storage, and many other features of the software development can be outsourced to vendors. However, it is necessary to check the service level agreement to refine uptime and other service provisions.

Many investigators demand cloud-based POS to proceed to proliferate in various different industries. Replacing old cash registers with mobile devices operating cloud-based POS can make a batch of sense because it streamlines the asset claims for retail business — in different words, instead of purchasing registers, the business can utilize personally owned or otherwise combined mobile devices in the store during business hours as required.

Things to consider before implementing a cloud-based POS system

Matched with the traditional POS system that has been approximated since the 1970s, the cloud POS system is a new class of technology that, despite being almost young, has shown dramatic growth over the past few years. According to Research and Markets, the global cloud POS market size is projected to rise from USD 1.34 billion in 2018 to USD 3.73 billion by 2023, at a combined annual growth rate (CAGR) of 22.7%.

A cloud-based POS system has brought about various positive developments to businesses, simplifying multiple methods, providing excellent flexibility, and performing a broad, helpful range of functions that traditional systems could not adequately accomplish. Whether you’re a businessperson planning to obtain a cloud POS system for your personal retail store, or just completely needing to completely understand this kind of technology, this article is just for you. By the end of this article, you’ll discover the solution to the question of what to consider before implementing a cloud-based POS system.

I. Costs of cloud-based POS system

As a matter of truth, the first cost of a cloud POS is cheaper than that of a traditional POS. Instead of spending hefty fees for setup, licensing, and maintenance, which is the case of traditional POS, traders opting for cloud POS only require to spend a monthly subscription for access to the software. This offers cloud POS a practical choice for small, newly-established companies.

However, just like any buying decisions to be performed when operating a business, there are a number of factors that a business owner should keep in mind. First, see for the plans allowed by the POS merchants that stay within your budget. A cloud POS can cost you any expense between $20 and $200 per month. After you have narrowed below your choices, search the features that occur with your preferred plans in more detail. You’d require to learn if the merchants charge more for add-ons such as loyalty functionality, 24/7 customer service, or attaching third-party services. Another point to examine is whether to sign a long-term service contract with the merchant, as the amount can be decreased for committed consumers.

Business owners also require credit card processing payment selections. With various processors come various prices and benefits. Make sure to pick the best fit for your company which gives you open credit card processing charges, dependable customer support, and no demand for long-term contracts.

II. Functionality and features

However pleased you are with the convenient price you’ve accomplished to trade with the merchant, or with the highest customer service, if the system can’t work as you assumed, then your investment would mean zero. Functionality and features are positive of the key factors before buying a cloud POS system, yet it’s nearly too simple to overlook these essential factors. Below are some general questions to address:

1. Is an open application programming interface (API) blended into the cloud POS?

Open APIs provide a bond between all the programs that customers require to drive their business. They help with many business assistance taking place throughout the POS, such as accounts, inventory, sales, orders, loyalty, tracking, tables, mobile, or online ordering/payment and delivery. As the business grows, business owners can streamline a special method by developing specific apps using open APIs.

2. Which advanced integration is available?

Modern technology has created it possible for traders to combine an amount of advanced business and marketing functions into their cloud-based POS systems. For instance, any consumer can make a fee from anyplace within a business premise and not just at the head counter as they’d have to do including a traditional POS system, and then get receipts via their cell phone. External accounting, digital loyalty programs, and premia systems can also be combined into the cloud POS.

3. In which language is the software written?

For the system to work accurately and to assure ease of integration with third-party merchants, look for providers who give software written in a modern, cloud-native language and steer clear of those utilizing the no-longer maintained legacy code.

4. Is it possible to upgrade existing systems or do I have to entirely replace them?

Numerous merchants are not accurately willing to obtain rid of their current devices which have priced them thousands of dollars. Therefore, instead of driving them away, vender can investigate cost-effective upgrading selections to improve the current systems to advanced cloud POS systems.

5. How much offline functionality do I retain if network connectivity is unavailable?

Cloud POS is mostly internet-based systems, and as connectivity problems occur from time to time, your cloud-based software will also be affected. Therefore it’s essential to have your merchant explain what will happen in case of a disrupted Internet connection. Ask the merchant if you’ll yet be capable to access data, make sales or achieve other business duties; when and how will the knowledge be backed up or synced, and if additional fees are needed for offline solutions.

III. Data security risks

Getting your POS to the cloud indicates having to convey your data to a remote server, and to several business owners, this doesn’t sound very appealing. The company’s information is among the most important assets and it’s important to keep data security a prime superiority. You’ll be required to recognize how your data will be conveyed, what risks are associated, and what answers the merchants have to assure the safety of your data.

IV. Customer service after executing the system

Although cloud POS systems make a batch of a business method much easier, that does not surely mean that working this system will forever be plain sailing. Difficulties might occur along the process, and this is where consumer service comes in. Make assured that you’re operating with a reliable vendor who is able to provide you powerful and timely assistance. Study their maintenance options, learning if they allow a written user guide, live chat assistance, or how much time it needs for an answer, etc. Don’t believe the provider’s self-advertised, impeccable consumer service right away. Sometimes you require to check reviews or even test out the consumer service before electing to sign a contract.

Though relatively modern compared with traditional POS systems, cloud-based POS has attained important market penetration and will proceed to grow exponentially, giving superior answers that support companies streamline methods, operate with higher performance, and ultimately yield a greater profit. The Cloud POS system appears to be a classic choice, notably for small business owners. However, before you choose to use your POS to the cloud, it’s only fair to fully realize the benefits and gauge all the perils that come with cloud technology.

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Read More: Why are most People Attracted to IT Outsourcing?

Original Content Source: What is Cloud-based Pos Systems and Things to Consider before implementing Cloud-based Pos Systems?

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renaroo · 7 years

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Day 8 Campfire: The Phoenix and the Wolf

Disclaimer: X-Men and associated characters are the creative property of Marvel Comics Warnings: Canon-typical violence & language Pairings: JeanxLaura Rating: T Synopsis: Laura and Jean spend some time together. Or, rather, Laura was needing some alone time and Jean couldn’t keep herself from following. An awkward camping experience ensued. JeanxLaura. Sapphic September: Campfire

A/N: This one is very late but I loved writing it because this lowkey ship of mine is something I feel SO STRONGLY in my own bones. I just love everything about Laura and Young Jean and I super super wish we got this instead of every other romance decision made for the two of them by Marvel.

She was the best at what she did, and what she did… Well, it wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t pretty at all. And more often than not, it drove away those closest to her, the people who probably should have known better than to get too close to start with.

And Laura tried to not be surprised when it happened, when she drove a wedge between herself and every person she came to care for. But at the end of the day that was a lesson Logan could never teach her and that Sarah struggled to keep. Both or neither were her fault, and she never could figure out which side of the fence it was on.

When she bit the bullet and tore out her own heart so Warren wouldn’t have to that time, Laura realized for the first time just why it was important for the Wolverine to take a walk, to step away from towns and cities and cabins, and just find herself in the beautiful nothingness of the wilderness. Run wild, feel the freezing snow against bare skin.

In order to do that, however, Laura first needed to do something about the one person in the world she could not bear to drive a wedge between. The one person in the world who wouldn’t let her if she tried. And the one family that Laura was determined to never show the self-destructiveness that ran through their bitter veins.

“I can’t believe you signed me up for a summer camp,” Gabby said, glaring at the campus of the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning from the entrance gates. Her book bag was full and her arms even fuller with Jonathan the Wolverine. “You signed me up for a mutant summer camp which is basically school.”

“Which is basically training,” Laura said solidly, adjusting her sunglasses. “If you’re determined to make Wolverine and Wolverine a thing, I need you to train with other mutants, learn how to psychically defend yourself, and be exposed to all the types of threats that we’ll come across while we’re doing our job.”

“Couldn’t we do that by just sneaking inside and using the danger room?” Gabby tried to argue.

“No,” Laura replied simply.

“Why?” Gabby begged.

“Because you also need to learn math and history and science—“

“Oh my god! This isn’t a camp! It’s summer school!” Gabby cried out, mortified. “I know all those things better than you already, too!”

“You’re proving my point,” Laura said, glancing over the brim of her glasses at her little sister. “I didn’t go to school like I was supposed to.”

“But I’m Wolverine,” Gabby groaned. “School is too lame if you’re Wolverine!”

“Nah, you have to go to school if you’re Wolverine, Gabs,” Laura assured her. “That’s where every Wolverine earns their street credit among other mutants.”

That, at least, sparked Gabby’s attention. She hummed to herself, sizing up the competition around the school grounds. “Okay… but what are you doing for a month? If you’re doing something dangerous without me and I find out—“

“It’s not dangerous,” Laura assured her. “I don’t even have my costume. It’s just something I have to do alone — and, no, not in the alone but Gabby adventures along anyway. I have to do this alone because…”

“Because you’re mad at yourself for breaking up with Warren?” Gabby suggested.

“No, because I’m not mad at myself for breaking up with Warren,” Laura said simply. “Look, Gabby… I’m not just doing this for me. Think of it… Well, remember how Logan — my Logan — he… he died. And I immediately became Wolverine and joined the new X-Men?”

Looking sincerely empathetic, Gabby shook her head. “No, Laura. I don’t. I wasn’t around yet.”

“Well, that’s how I handled it,” Laura continued. “I didn’t handle it. I left some loose ends. I’d like to tie them up before they grow any looser, and before I forget why I miss the old son of a bitch so much.”

While still looking apprehensive, Gabby conceded and nodded. “Okay. I can suffer for a month of school for that,” she declared.

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Both Laura and Gabby looked up just as none other than Jean Grey herself floated down from the sky to meet them, landing only feet away with a soft smile on her face. She had cut her hair, she had changed a lot of things, and Laura was certain that looking less and less like the Jean Grey of the statue in the middle of the courtyard had something to do with that.

As the new Wolverine herself, Laura sympathized.

“Hello, Laura, thank you for finally bringing Gabrielle here,” Jean said comfortably.

“Jean,” Laura greeted her back.

“Hi! I bet you’re Jean Grey,” Gabby said, shifting Jonathan so that she could offer the psychic a hand to shake. “I’m Gabrielle. But you already know that. I love your hair. And that jacket. Hope that’s not weird.”

“Not weird at all,” Jean assured her, accepting the handshake. Her eyes then glanced toward Laura, a voice in Laura’s head uninvited speaking, I asked Professor Kitty to let me show Gabrielle around. You should come with us instead of planning to leave already. It would help Gabby feel more at home. She’s very worried about you.

Lowering her glasses so that Jean could see the seriousness of her eyes, Laura squinted at her. Out of my head, Jean.

“Is it awkward knowing future you has a school named after her but current you isn’t going to be future you anymore so there’s a chance that all of reality is going to collapse?” Gabby then asked Jean with positively no tact.

Jean’s mouth opened slightly and then she looked back to Laura as if to ask for help.

“Have fun, Gabs!” Laura called as she waved a hand and walked toward her motorcycle. “I’ll be back in a month.”

Gabby turned and ran straight for Laura, throwing herself into a hug around Laura’s waist. “You better be back in a month exactly, or I’ll never forgive you and we’ll both be sad about it forever and you know you would be,” she demanded, face buried against Laura’s hip.

Laura wasn’t entirely sure what to do in response, but she let instincts take over. She lifted both of her hands and ran them through Gabby’s hair. First like petting Jonathan, then, just holding the family she loved more than anything close, and safely.

“I can never let you down, Gabby. You know that,” Laura assured her.

The tension fled Gabby’s body almost immediately, but she kept the hug. Laura then looked up to Jean, watching her concerned expression.

I know you’re still in here, Laura warned. Don’t bother. I mean what I say. I don’t lie to Gabby. Ever. I’ll be back in a month for her. Take care of her until then. Or tell whoever’s in charge to.

Jean only nodded in response.

Breaking the moment with Gabby, Laura patted her head again then got onto the motorcycle.

She needed the month. She needed the time. She told herself that one and over again, no matter how much it hurt to feel the scathing disappointment she was leaving behind in her selfish needs’ wake.

The forests in Nunavut were, at the very least, expansive. The looks of disbelief and concern from locals as she checked her gear through the lenses of sunglasses and poked around the local bait and trap shop for more supplies were well deserved.

“Do you need a map?” the shopkeeper asked worriedly.

“My old man’s place is burned into my memory,” Laura answered, throwing a few bags of cold hotdog wieners onto the counter and pulling her wallet out from her back pocket. “I could get to it blindfolded.”

The cashier seemed hesitant but the fifty pound note Laura held up to pay seemed to calm some nerves about the situation. Still, she looked warily at Laura. “There aren’t any cabins for miles in these woods.”

“You have to know where to look,” she responded cryptically before packing the freshly bought meat into her bag and heading out the store’s door. It was the best she could do under the circumstances. After all, no one was likely to take the true answer being that Laura had every intention of living the next few weeks exactly the way Logan had.

Mobile. Unsettled. Nothing but what she packed and what she found and what she built, fire included.

It honed instincts, it kept that bit of herself that would always be feral alive deep inside.

It…

She needed to feel close to Logan again. Her Logan. Her father. The one she lost before Gabby or Warren or —

The wind was cold even in the summer, and the way it whistled through trees that lived to see hundreds if not thousands of years was foreboding and terrifying to those who were not expecting it. But Laura expected it.

Just like she expected the chill to her bones and the hollowness of moving through the trees without a real direction — Laura expected the wilderness to fill her with the same kind of dread and disappointment that every home, every four walls which once housed the man whose legacy she wore as her own filled her with.

For other campers and hikers, the night was full of darkness and horrors, but for Laura they promised only a small and subtle change as predictably unpredictable as the winds. She kept her head down and walked further through her self-made trail. It was the sort of thing she was certain that Logan did when he took his long solo travels.

By the time she found some water to drink from and refill her canteen, Laura was looking at the other side of morning and slowing down.

Sitting by the stream’s edge, Laura cupped her hands and washed her face of the sweat and dirt and grime that her trip had earned her thus far. Then she leaned down and stuck her head into the water enough to take a deep drink.

The water was so cold and so pure, she couldn’t help but close her eyes in order to savor it. But as a result, when she opened her eyes, she was met with something unexpected in her reflection.

Red hair.

Laura swung out first with her sweeping right leg, toe claw out for attack. but fortunately for Jean, she was quick to end it quickly. Her claws were still drawn and her eyes narrowed, but Laura wasn’t about to attack Jean Grey the younger.

“Whoa, easy!” Jean said, hands up as if that was supposed to calm Laura after receiving such a shock.

“If I wasn’t taking it easy, you’d be on the wrong end of a boot, Jean,” Laura hissed. All the same, she rose to her feet and sheathed her claws, looking down in disappointment at her new hiking books. Her eyes then sharply turned back toward Jean. “You owe me new boots.”

“That’s fair,” Jean agreed, glancing over Laura with a frown. “I think it’s also fair for me to be pointing out that for someone who’s on vacation, you look pretty legitimately terrible.”

“I don’t remember asking you,” Laura said, turning around to gather her stuff by the stream. “Why are you here and what do I have to do to send you back to civilization and my little sister?”

“I followed you because… Well, psychically you were fuming with distress when you dropped Gabrielle off at the school,” Jean explained reluctantly, rubbing her shoulder. “You… Or your brain was crying out in pain. And I couldn’t ignore it. That’s the reason I was… invading your mind. I didn’t do it maliciously. I was worried.”

“Because I was in pain?” Laura asked critically.

“Of course,” Jean answered.

“Did it occur to you that I’m out here because I want to address that pain?” Laura demanded. “My only goal here is to get closer to my father. To feel like I’m with him one last time… that we could get together like we never managed when he was alive. That I was finally making him proud by being able to do something he never could — by raising a family and putting away the killer in me as much as I feasibly could.” She then met Jean’s bright, begging eyes at last. “I’m here to mourn him. Because he died. And now I’m trying to be Wolverine without him.”

“And you think doing that alone is the only way you can?” Jean asked lowly.

“This isn’t like Madripoor and the trigger scent,” Laura snapped. “You can’t reach in my brain and unlock my problems like there’s some key. I’m allowed to mourn my old man as much as anyone else, Jean.”

“Everyone misses Logan,” Jean assured her. “If you explained to Professor Ororo or Professor Kurt—“

“Everyone misses him but you and the rest of the time displaced kids of the atom,” Laura accused. “God, I can’t even imagine what pain it’d cause him to know that Jean freaking Grey wasn’t mourning him because she couldn’t so much as remember the time they had together.”

“I remember,” Jean said softly. “I have looked into the memories of my… expired self. I know what happened between them.”

“Remembering isn’t experiencing,” Laura said firmly. “And you’re not his Jean Grey.”

“You’re right,” Jean replied, actually breathing a sigh of relief. She then looked seriously toward Laura. “But I am your Jean Grey, Laura. I’m your friend. I’m… I’m here for you. And when I felt you were in pain, I knew in that moment that I was going to make it my job, my responsibility to help you. Because feeling you in such pain brings me that heartache. And I can’t stand the idea of not being there for you when you needed me most.”

Laura looked at Jean in disbelief for a long moment before glancing off, tucking hair behind her ears. “Wow. That’s… Huh.” She looked back to Jean, brows furrowed. “I didn’t even get a speech that good when I was dating dudes.”

Jean offered a gentle but still coy smile. “What good are dudes for, anyway?”

“I can never remember once I move past ‘em,” Laura answered with a small laugh.

Jean’s eyes widened for a moment and she glanced off, face blushed. “Sorry. I… um. Sometimes I’m still trying to not get residual emotions off people without permission and… when I let my guard down I sense things… I didn’t mean to…”

Laura ran her hands through her hair. “C’mon, Red, surely even in the past they knew how to pick up on someone flirting.”

If possible, Jean’s face grew redder. She looked up to Laura reluctantly. “Laura… I…. I’m not the Phoenix. If I play my cards right, I never will be. I’ll be… just Jean.”

“It’d be weird if you tried to be the older you,” Laura agreed. “I wasn’t exactly hitting on the older you. I was just hitting on, well, you. Unless you think just because I share a tacky fashion sense that I’m somehow becoming Logan. Like I said, I’m trying to be the Wolverine he’d be proud of. And Logan was a lot of things, but he wasn’t always proud of what those things made him.”

Jean seemed hesitant still, but she stepped closer to Laura. “You still look exhausted. We should make camp. Then figure out what we’re doing until that month is up.”

“Only if you light the fire and show me how you masked yourself from me for two thousand miles,” Laura offered.

Jean’s eyes sparked with something playful. “It’s a deal.”

The wilderness was still expansive, and there was still a chill through Laura’s bones that reminded her of the life her father had lived.

But at that time, by a campfire with Jean leaning against her side as the wood crackled and burned, Laura didn’t feel the pain of her grief as acutely as she felt the pride of his gaze on her.

He never wanted his life for her, he wanted something better. Something warmer. The proof that the lone wolf can still survive with a new pack.

Jean was warm and Jean was good. And Laura’s life was not Logan’s, just like the warm new emotion burning between her and Jean was entirely their own.

Even in a world that thought it knew the old story of the phoenix and the wolf.

#SaphSep2017 #marvel fic #X Fic #Laura Kinney #Jean Grey #X 23 #Laura x Jean #Young Jean Grey #Gabby Kinney

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disabiliboy · 4 years

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Accessibility Explorations 1

this post was originally posted here on my blog

NOTE: parts of this were written quickly on my phone while exploring, others were written post-trip as a consideration of the whole thing. Different tenses are used in the piece because of that. Editing has been done for clarity but not to remove the feelings associated with being in the moment.

This post was written far before the COVID19 situation.

Today I start a series where I explore accessibility in places around my town. I went to a little shopping center called the Landings. Its very modern and there are quite a few wellness and mommy stores. I try to look for places with mommy stores, because where strollers go (sometimes) wheelchairs can too!

Joining me today is a Model H wheelchair, a hybrid manual-power chair. My experiences with this chair have been rocky to say the least, but at least it’s better than my Drive Rebel.

I started my day parking at one end of the center, on the bottom level, and entered the I Love Juice juice bar. I signed up for rewards and learned that this franchise allows you to fully customize any of their juices. Last time I was a bit disappointed that they had basil in a lot of things, turns out if I had asked they’d have remade my drink without the basil free of charge! Entering the building was a snap. The curb cut was gentle enough where I could easily navigate up. The accessibility aisle was clear. There was only one accessible spot for the store and the massage parlor beside it. Surprisingly, a woman leaving the store ASKED if I needed her to open the door, and when I said “no thank you” she politely said okay and continued upon her day. A+ civilian! Inside the building there was a room to the side with extra seating and no door leading into that space, a wide entryway, and a central room with all the seating to a side, leaving the area in front of the cashier free.

There was a “Juice Peep” free who I asked about options and offered me a paper menu. Their wall menu has good sized text but is a bit low, due to the height of the ceilings and the length of the menu. The whole bottom is cut off to people in chairs or people who are short.

End rating: 9.5/10, with only points deducted for small and handle able things, like high countertops and small staff size.

Making my way to my next destination wasn’t simple. I had to pass all the way to the closest sidewalk to the road to find a crosswalk, and I had to go into the road to get on it. No curb cuts on the sidewalk itself. I then had to navigate by applebees, where the sidewalk was very slanted and hard to go up. My motor despaired, but we made it! Upon getting where I wanted to go next, I noticed no curb cuts between the parking area and the stores, save a single crosswalk one. If I had parked here I’d have had problems getting to and from the car, having to go to the same spot over and over.

Next I traveled to the center of the bottom half of the Landings for some chicken salad! I love Chicken Salad Chick. My option of choice? The Barbie-Q. All their salads have southern women’s names, like Olivia’s Old South or Miss Tamara’s Tarragon Dijon. I ordered The Chick, which is their version of a meal. One scoop, one side, or one soup. Choose two. They also offer a version where you can choose all three! The meal comes with a pickle spear, lots of crackers (6 packages of “Wheat Twins!) and my favorite, a small buttercream frosted cookie. Yum!

CSC gets a little tougher when you look at the accessibility side of things, though. To get to the counters, there’s a high wall leading you around the side of the building. I could not see over this while seated. PTSD issue. The aisles in the seating area are technically ADA compliant…when no one is sitting in their chairs. Being a mommy-attracting store, there were two groups with small kids, and diaper bags plus people sitting in chairs made passage impossible until those nice parents showed how absolutely delightful they are and one stood, moved her diaper bag, and helped me get through. Seating is also a little tight. I found a table for four that I could sit at without blocking aisles, but this was the only place I could see where I wouldn’t be in the way, and I’m taking up a large table. I have no idea from this part how I’ll get out of the store without breaking something, since the doorways are obscured by staggered tables.

Picking back up after my lunch, I was pretty hot and extremely tired, so it was time to head back for my car. I considered a longer route back, but I wasn’t in the mood to stay out in the Georgia heat much longer. So I hooked back the way I came. Getting out of Chicken Salad Chick wasn’t easy, I had to weave between tables and over a spilled drink. The building is carpeted almost completely throughout the dining area, so this is a mildew hazard as well as making it hard to navigate. The door leading outside was heavy and there were no accessibility buttons. A nice pedestrian opened the door for me and didn’t stand directly in the way of me getting out the door.

NOTE: if you’re helping someone in a wheelchair or using a mobility device by holding the door, ask first HOW you can help. Don’t assume your help will be useful and act based on what makes sense to you. My chair is a few inches thinner than the average doorway, so if you’re standing towards the inside of the door I can’t squeeze through without stepping on your toes.

Ending the day one more thing of note happened: I made a man angry.

It wasn’t on purpose, but it was intentional in a way. I’m a staunch proponent of doing things myself when I can, of being independent as possible. I sometimes burn myself out or hurt myself trying to do things all myself, never asking for help. Part of it is I’m stubborn. Part of it, though, is the hopeless, helpless feeling of having people truly believe in their hearts that if you’re in a wheelchair you can’t do anything for yourself, that you’re not going to be able to contribute to society, that you’re going to be a burden your whole life.

So, I’m ambulatory. I can walk if I have to. Doing it, though, takes a huge toll on my body. So I usually transfer from my chair to the edge of the trunk of my car and then pull my chair in behind me. Of course this isn’t super safe as I should lift more with my back, but those rules can’t apply easily to disabled life.

Here I am, then, pulling my chair into my car, and a guy rips into the parking lot, pulls into a spot super quick, and runs over to help me. I hold up a hand and holler “I’m okay!” but he continues approaching, my PTSD rumbling a little. He asks briefly how he can help, and I say I’d prefer to do it myself. He finally agrees after some arguing, though he’s definitely not happy, and I finish up, secure my chair, hobble to the car, and drive away. Still, his face of disbelief that a disabled person, especially a small, female-bodied one, can handle a heavy chair? It haunts and invigorates me; haunting – because I am seen as so little, invigorating – because I am so very much.

#accessibility #exploration #accessibility exploration #accessibility tour #wheelchair #wheelchair user #chair user #ableism

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sa21-group4-selfinperspecti-blog · 6 years

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Bukal na Loob: An Outward Movement of the Self [Cabahug NSTP Paper]

“Magis literally means more it’s the call to do, to be, and to love more in response to God’s call and the needs of others” - Associate Dean for Academic Affairs Eduardo Calasanz, The Guidon, 2008

When we think about the concept of magis at least in the context of today, we think about things like getting good grades, the very much revered “quattro-kid” with a 4.0 QPI and is an active member of many of his school organizations. In the 1980’s, according to The Guidon article, the idea of magis was actually translated to those who went to rallies, studied well, and were also articulate in expressing their political views. With the qualitative nature of magis being reduced to the quantitative, particularly because “it’s easier to talk about,” according to Father Calasanz, it may be about time that understanding of the true meaning of magis, be brought back in order, in the context of Fr. Alejo’s concept of the loob in “Loob ng Tao” and my NSTP-JEEP experience.

Having been enlisted in a special-pilot course to be known in the next year as “SocSci I” brought with it a newness that is something I think all things of new innovation start off with. Initially, with our older friends and upperclassmen orienting us on what NSTP was during INTACT classes, and having seen students clad in blue on campus every Saturday and learning we were to be doing something different was a surprise, and the experimentality of things made it confusing. The thrust however, was very clear—to embody the understanding of the self, in relation to otherselves through exposure.

After the orientation processes for the Shopwise group of companies, their strict grooming and attendance policies, I was actually intimidated on the amount of work that need be done, thinking it would be more work than interaction. The group I’d been lumped together with, was assigned to the Rustan’s Katipunan branch for area engagements, for the one to five pm shift every Saturday. Like clock-work, we’d meet with our deputy for the day, who would bring us to the area and whom we’d walk back to Ateneo with after our shift was over. Though this process seemed to be mandatory for all us, the juniors doing their area engagements didn’t need to be proctored as much.

Hairnet-clad, in white polos, black slacks and black shoes, we were dispered according to our assignments for the day—mine being customer service for my first shift. Entering the booth, I was greeted with a stack of flyers, grocery promotion stickers, barcode checking guns and ofcourse, the prized intercom that I’d been hoping to be able to use at least once throughout the entire process. Determined to milk the experience to the full, I took to asking the assigned cashier, ate Katrina what I could help with, and what their daily customer service experience looked like. Conversations on standard procedure, which employees usually take their break when, and how long she’d been working with Rustan’s ensued, and thinking to understand the actual person behind the employee, I began to ask her questions about life, on her family, what it was like back home and if she had kids. What I found, when prodded, was not the dramatic overplayed stories we find on MMK, but true down to earth narratives of a hard-working, honest and earnest Filipino.

With the next area engagement having me assigned to the fish section, what I found was more of the same reality, that took the form of a witty jokester and an older employee who was more reserved. Interestingly enough, I found that the hardest section to be working in is the fish section, not because the fish were slimy or smelly, but because of the rigor that was required when at the fish section, whose floors needed to be mopped, counters wiped down and trash thrown out almost every 40 minutes. Getting with the grind, amidst weighing Pampano, Tilapia and wrapping up prime cuts of salmon, I was able to talk to one of the employees assigned to the area, who was very interactive and chatty, and wasn’t remiss in articulating what he thought of the value of education and how we should never take it for granted. The conversation wasn’t a shaming on privilege, but at least to me, seemed more like a reverence and a recognition of it, tinged with a longing for it as well. Though almost an awkward conversation to have, whilst being put on the spot, I think I handled the situation well enough by agreeing, and acknowledging the importance of a driven and work-minded ethic that he has as well.

Alejo gives context to the loob or the “self” in the Filipino context, “Kung nais mong maunawaan ang loob, hindi sapat ang sumilip mula sa labas,” (If you want to understand the inner self, it is not enough to peer from the outside) calling to us to be wholly immersive in our search for the self, beyond aesthetics or public perception. The impulse to reflect on this concept of “loob,” as suggested in Loob ng Tao, may come in the in-betweens of exhaustion and rest, crammed in the spaces between active involvement and quiet mediation. Though the required number of hours in the shifts we were assigned to do, once a week, for four Saturdays did not hold a candle to the numbers of hours the Rustan’s Katipunan empIoyees put in, day-in and day-out, and even on holidays, I found most of my thoughts and realizations did come after hour five hour shifts, in the few minutes that we did have on the way back to Ateneo, and on the way back to privilege.

On the level of “pakikisama” and “pakikisangkot,” in true ethnographic fashion, the exposure experience did not have the thrust for us students to serve as “saviors” to come down to the life of employees for four Saturdays, but was a truly humbling experience merely to be in the presence of, and to understand the lives of people we may never cross paths with beyond the lines of customer and employee. Our exposure Saturdays, I feel, are a way in which we truly live the idea of magis—the process, being one which is indicative of “’sang pagpapahayag ng kanilang pagnanasa hindi lamang upang manatiling tao, kundi upang higit pang magpakatao” (a message of desire not to just remain as people, but to be more than, to go beyond and become human). It is these guidelines by which I conclude a semester of JEEP-NSTP, and have now, as a takeaway what it means to to do, to be and to love more—a great more than I thought I would going into the experience.

Bibliography

Alejo, Albert. In Press. Ang Loob ng Tao. Social Transformations: Journal of the Global South.

Magis misunderstood. (2008, October 31). Retrieved December 1, 2017, from http://www.theguidon.com/1112/main/2008/10/magis-misunderstood/

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