#A lot of the people in my family work in corporate and what I’ve seen is TERRIFYING

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

Maybe I could switch careers and train to become a firefighter after… five years to a decade in education?

[yxngbxkkie]

street racing series masterlist

hello! so, i’ve seen the idea of min as a street racer on tik tok. and, recently, i had the idea to make mood boards of skz as street racers. which you can find that post here! i’ve now decided to write a mini series for this idea. i’m super excited about the ideas that i have, and i hope that you enjoy it as well <3

~

Secrets - Bang Chan

Lately, over the past month and a half, your best friend has been blowing you off. You know Chan isn’t normally like that, and being in love with him didn’t help the fact either. You tried asking his friends about it, but they wouldn’t tell you anything. The only thing they’d say is, “It’s not my secret to tell.” You decide to distance yourself from him, even though he’s already kind of doing that himself. After a month of not seeing or talking to Chan, he randomly shows up at your apartment one night. You try to get him to go home, telling him that you didn’t want to see him, but he wasn’t having any of it. He dragged you out of your apartment, reassuring you that he’ll explain why he kept blowing you off. And that’s how you end up in the passenger seat of Chan’s car, participating in a street race.

Rivals - Lee Know

Lee Minho, a rival of your boyfriend. The guy you’re dating warned you about him multiple times. From how he puts it, Minho is an asshole. And from what you’ve seen, you can agree. Unfortunately, your boyfriend has lost more races against him than won, and Minho’s not afraid to rub it in both of your faces when everything’s done for the night. The rivalry between your boyfriend and Minho becomes too toxic for you that you end up going to Minho to try and mend it. You slip into his vehicle before the race starts, not your best idea but it was the only idea you had at that moment in time, and it quickly turns into a bad idea when your boyfriend catches you in his car.

Change of Heart - Seo Changbin

You met Seo Changbin in a coffee shop. He’s loud, cocky, and sometimes he’s kind of a dick. You dread it every time he comes into the cozy place. Sometimes you wish you could quit your job there and work somewhere else, just to get away from him. After going out with a man you met through your job, you end up at an illegal street race. You quickly find yourself uncomfortable with this guy and when you ask him to bring you home, he ditches you. One thing you didn’t expect… Seo Changbin coming to your rescue.

Off Limits - Hwang Hyunjin

You’re the daughter of a big corporate boss. Your father despises the street races that go on almost every night near his company building. He’s warned you his whole life to stay away from those kinds of people. Sometimes street racers can be hard to spot. Who would’ve thought that the handsome man you met at an art exhibit would be one of the best street racers in the city?

Childhood Friends - Han Jisung

You moved away from Seoul when you were a teenager. You hated leaving. You didn’t want to leave. Especially after meeting Han Jisung. He and his family lived next door to yours since you were toddlers. After being away for ten years, you finally find yourself living in Seoul again. The first thing you attempt to do is get in contact with Jisung. The two of you kept in contact for a few years after you moved but as time went on, the messages slowly stopped coming. One night, you stumble upon a street race. You heard that they happen a lot but you’ve never seen them. And you never would’ve thought that your childhood friend would be a part of it. 

My Favorite Boy - Lee Felix

You meet Lee Felix through your best friend. She’s dating one of his friends and one night she asked you to go for a drive with her. With how busy you’ve been with work, you accepted her offer. Your whole night did a 180 when the two of you show up at a street race that her boyfriend is participating in. You’ve only seen street races in movies. Before the race starts, you find yourself aimlessly walking around the parked cars. That’s when you meet a beautiful man with cheeks littered with freckles and a personality that shines as bright as the sun.

Anything For You - Kim Seungmin

You knew that Seungmin was a street racer. He kept it a secret from you for half of your relationship. You understood why he did it. He wanted to keep you safe and he didn’t want you to worry about him. Recently, you’ve been hearing about how dangerous street racing has become. A few people have been holding grudges against the people they lost to. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t worried about Seungmin, even though the two of you broke up months beforehand.

Racing Gone Wrong - Yang Jeongin

Your roommate has been sneaking out of the apartment almost every night. You, being a curious person, decide to follow him one night and found out his biggest secret. Street racing. Never in a million years, you would think that your roommate, who’s an absolute angel, would be a street racer. You planned to tell him that you knew but a part of you thought he’d get angry, so you kept it to yourself. It didn’t stop you from going every night he went, disguising yourself with a hoodie he’s never seen you wear before. You did well to keep yourself hidden until one night when Jeongin gets into a big accident.

~

tagging: @thewxntersoldier @reddesert-healourblues @luckieleaf @stayconnecteed @tiaxa @yoonrimin @sunny-future @daysofskz-ateez @spacegirlstuff @foxinnie8 @moon0fthenight

[sashimiyas]

In the Wild Grass

Summary: Osamu arrives at your roadside flower stand in need of a bouquet for his upcoming date. You flirt with him to get his loyal patronage and it works, maybe a little too well. 

Content: roadside floral vendor reader; established entrepreneur Osamu; pining and poor timing; fluff; a reference to ATLA; a lot of references to Ghibli; even more wind imagery and references; Osamu’s love language is food; reader eats meat; reader has an aunt that they are very close to; discussion of death (metaphorically) by corporate means; a special appearance of mama miya in here because the miya family is everything.

Word count: 10.4k

A/n: this was originally inspired by roadside flowers by droeloe but got way too fluffy for the ambience. so we’ll do one summer’s day by sleepy tom which is like the lo-fi version of the ghibli one which is coincidental but still very fitting.

“I’m telling you, Auntie,” you catch the tablecloth every time you sway your foot, “the sales are at Taguchi, not West Food.”

The woman on the line gives a nasal hum, “no, I have the coupons right here! Weh-est food. That’s what it says.”

“Did you check the expiration date?”

“I did! It’s… oh…”

You stretch out your leg with a laugh that quickly stifles into a cough when the dirt you kicked up reaches the back of your throat.

She laughs into the phone that’s accompanied with the sound of crumpled paper. That’s what you’ve always admired about your Aunt. The woman never takes anything seriously, not even herself and you can only wish you can live life half as carefree as she.

“It’s okay.” You stop fiddling with the leaves of a bouquet in front of you once you hear her sing the words. Nothing good comes from Auntie singing and don’t ever, ever invite her to karaoke. With your back straightening, your fingers tighten around the phone the same time your eyes narrow. “Guess who is going to Taguchi to buy my corn dogs and umeboshi?”

“Not me!” you quickly say.

“Yes, you!”

“No.”

“It’s on your way home,” the final note hits sharp and forces you to pull the phone away from your ear.

“Yeah, but I’ll be tired. I’m working so hard–” she snorts at your statement, “–I am!”

“If you’re working hard, why are you talking to old lady me?”

“Because who else would…" you trail off.

He enters like the lead of a Ghibli movie.

A rickety truck announces his presence, but what captivates you is the image slowly revealed as he rolls down the window of his driver’s seat.

Your tongue hastens to lick your lips, “look at that.”

The wind billows through his hair as he pulls his truck over onto the gravel road. He makes a move to wave hi, charm lofty upon his cheekbones, but the breeze threatens to take his cap and he swiftly moves to tilt it back onto his head.

You vaguely hear Auntie whipping questions at you, but as the man swings out of his truck, all you can muster is a distracted hang on a sec before throwing your phone onto the table. He hustles to you as you stand up to greet him.

“Bless ya,” he says once he reaches you.

Now that he’s closer, you recognize the Ghibli charm is closer to human than magical. Handsome in all the right places and flawed in a perfectly relatable way. He’s got a stock face you swear you’ve seen on TV before but there are several stains on his shirt of various ages.

There’s a scar at his brow, a strike of land where hair doesn’t grow and you’re already picturing a backstory in your head. Did he grow up with a brother who he’d tussle and roughhouse with? Or was it a freak accident like his sweater getting caught in an escalator?

There are sparse patches of hair along his chin that imitate a rural map more than a suburban neighborhood but the way he speaks and the eye contact he holds is honest. With the trailing apron string hanging out from his front seat, you take it that working with people is what he does for a living.

“Are you in trouble?” a conspiratorial grin displays itself onto your lips.

He nods and it makes you chuckle, “yeah. I’ve got a date I’m running late for. Hoping this’ll help soften the blow.”

“With a face like that, no one could ever be mad at you.” He laughs instantly at your statement with a palm placed on his chest. His head bends backward as he closes his eyes and you cannot help but warm inside at the genuine reaction.

“Ya good at your job, ain’t ya?” He asks once he’s done. The observation surprises you, “flattering me so that if I get my heart broken, I’ll come back to ya so ya can raise my ego again.”

You grin, “I need to make money somehow.”

“Ya got me. Profit off my fuck ups, I’m begging.”

“Tell me the situation,” you say sagely.

He hesitates for a moment, picking up his hat to ruffle the hair underneath. He takes the back of his forearm to wipe the sweat that’s gathered at his temples and you witness a blessed second where his shirt ruches up to uncover a plump hip, soft and curving over the edges of his faded jeans like a perfectly formed roll of bread. It’s almost improper that you’re not biting into it.

“I’ve had to reschedule twice because things kept coming up,” he acknowledges your slight wince with a nod. At least he’s self aware. “Right? Hard to find someone with enough patience for me so I’m really hoping I don’t mess this up.”

You pick up a bouquet and hand it to him, “this should get them in your good graces.” He reaches for it but you pull back, eyeing him narrowly, “but the rest is up to you and that pretty face of yours. Make good use of it!”

“Ya really got to stop calling me pretty or ya won’t be able to get rid of me,” he mentions as the two of you exchange florals for currency.

Customer service toes the line with flirtation dangerously. A half true statement is far more enticing than blatant lies and calling this man pretty is the greatest half truth to exist because the word can hardly hold a candle to how attractive he really is. And usually, you’re better than this.

Usually.

“And what if I don’t want to be rid of you?”

He eyes you, mouth snapping shut as his gaze flutters from the bouquet in his hand and you.

“I need loyal customers like you to come back.”

You take one final look at him in all his Ghibli appeal. The wind kisses his hair once more, romance amplified by the swaying splotches of colors in his hand.

Then with a closed lip grin, he says, “like I said, ya got me.”

Your attention is rapt on him until he disappears with his truck into the distance. It takes a breath to still your heart and you bring your phone back to your ear.

All she says is, “who was that?”

He doesn’t come back. It’s unsurprising to say the least, though disappointing. Interactions are fickle and just because it was a good one doesn’t mean it has to happen again.

You’ve taken to daydreaming of sensible reasons why he hasn’t windswept his way back to your roadside stand. The date could have possibly failed but who could say no to a man like that? You’ve settled on a wild boar attack that’s neither life threatening or critical, but maybe has him houseridden for some time to heal. There’s that, a possible impromptu trip to the brother you’ve imagined him to have, or maybe he too has an aunt that has been piling her errands off to him.

“Which brand of corn dogs do you like?” Auntie has little patience for you. Being corndog-less and you deciding to procrastinate until the final day of sale has her quite irate over the phone.

“The one that’s on sale.”

“Yeah, there’s two brands.”

“I don’t know,” she’s probably throwing her hands up right about now, “the one that I eat.”

You purse your lips, staring intensely at the freezer section of Taguchi, willing one of the boxes to speak up and let themselves be known. The silence must unnerve Auntie because she gives in.

“I think it’s the red one.”

Neither of them are red and neither of you want to continue the conversation.

“Got it.” You open the door and play a small game of eenie meenie. It lands on one with purple packaging and you know little about color theory but you think it’s close enough. Purple is half red, isn’t it? You grab the box behind the first because it’s fresher and bid your aunt goodbye.

As you put your phone away, a familiar vision catches your eye. He registers you before you even recognize him.

“Fancy seeing ya here,” he greets all too familiarly with a cart full of items. You take a quick peek, notating the ungodly amount of mirin that clanks at the bottom of the trolley before picking your gaze back up at him. He’s handsome in fluorescent lighting too. Good for him, unfortunate for you.

“Hey, my most handsome customer,” you wince internally. What was that? You only hope it comes out in a doting kind of way like how the Aunties do instead of a creepy weirdo who spends their days stalking his socials.

(You have not stalked his socials. How could you when you don’t even know his name? What were you supposed to put? Hot guy in Hyogo with a black hat? Scrounge through recent Hyogo news until you find a recent wild boar attack? So yeah, you’ve not stalked the socials but would you if you had the resources? No comment.)

He shuffles in place, tongue riding the ridge of his upper lip as he picks up his hat and flips it backwards. Then he changes his mind a second later and turns the cap forward once more. Strands of hair escape from the circumference and it adds to the disheveled charm he’s got going on. 

You can scratch out the wild boar attack because he’s looking better than ever. Especially with the way he’s grinning at you, cheeks spread so wide it’s almost morbid.

“Okay, calm down big guy. You’re competing against a couple of my uncles and a few farmers whose stray cows ventured further than they expected.”

He shrugs, unaffected. “I know a farmer and he’s a real handsome guy.”

You go to bite your lip, rolling your eyes at the same time and doing your best not to look amused. He’s so funny and cute and dammit, why couldn’t he have been roughed up by a wild boar even just a little bit? This interaction would have been easier that way.

“How’d the date go?”

That sends him for a loop. He sucks in a breath between teeth and your expression morphs into pity, “yeah, not so well.”

“What’d you do?” the affronted look he gives you is combated with a pointed stare, “I know it wasn’t my flowers that scared them away.”

“Definitely not ya flowers,” he ascertains and after a heavy dose of eye contact, his gaze falls to the contents of his cart and he shrugs, “just didn’t go the way I planned.”

His statement leaves something to be desired but who are you to know when you’re just the stranger that sold him a bouquet less than a week ago?

“Is it because you made them mirin soup? Because I can assure you that does not sound appetizing.”

You get another belly laugh from him and now you’ve made a game. You’re certainly not funny, but how many times can you make this attractive man laugh anyways?

“I’m telling ya, I can just about make anything taste good.”

“Oh really?”

You reckon this is his usual character as you gaze at him and the natural confidence he adorns. There’s a proud simper on his lips, one that dares you to take the bait. You step forward and you plan on saying something to egg him on, coast this flirtatious edge that started out easy because he was your customer but now, without the barrier of your floral stand, you do so for your own personal gain.

The contents slide in your carry and the box of corn dogs slips. The man tries to reach out, catch it before it falls, but he only grabs the corner, flipping it mid-air for it to land so spritely on the ground. It rolls a few steps away and you’re reaching for it immediately from embarrassment.

He has the same idea because he’s bending down with you, though much more graceful than your own movements. The rest of your armheld contents fall, and here you now are, hunched over and flustered in the frozen aisle of Taguchi.

You scamper around and grab onto everything before he can even help, a go for independence to save yourself from embarrassment.

“I’ve got it,” you reach for the bound bundle of leftover florals you brought in with you but his wingspan is longer, there before you are. The pads of your fingers graze the back of his hand. You retract at the sensation, like swirling your fingers in a freshly poured bottle of soda. There’s a desire that fizzes, thrums, beneath your skin and you know nothing good could come from exploring this feeling.

He’s dating. Doesn’t even matter. He’s a customer and you’re his romance provider.

He’s too busy picking it up for you that he doesn’t notice you staring.

You watch him inspect the flowers before handing it back. His hands twirl the stems between his fingers. Thick as they are, one index finger is bandaged with a design of the Little Twin Stars from the Sanrio franchise. You would have said something about it if you weren’t so deliberately focused on leaving the conversation.

“These for someone special?”

“Yeah.” The fluster makes you answer quickly, ducking your eyes away from him and snatching back your belongings.

“They’re lucky.” He stands up and you nod your head.

Internally, you’re elsewhere. It’s already been a long day, but now you’re trying to digest what just happened. The sensation is still present at the tips of your fingers. It feels like the dull burn after touching a hot pan, a throb that aches for the source.

“Yeah, uhm,” you gesticulate as you avoid eye contact with the man, “well, my Auntie’s been really craving these corn dogs so bye.”

Whatever response he provides is behind you, and when you get home, you decide to have a corndog for yourself as consolation.

(And one for Auntie of course.)

Your fingers struggle with opening the packaging, disgruntled at the thick cardboard it’s boxed in as the layers peel at your prodding. Then the bag slips from your fingers, the corndog tossed a little too harshly it rolls off the plate and onto the dining table. You fumble even with the microwave which is ancient, as old as Auntie herself where there are grooves at the “1” button and start. Your fingers shake as you stand dumbly in front of the appliance. They tap against each other, and finally alone with your thoughts and the hypnotic hum, you realize beneath the pads of your fingers is a quiet bubble searching for heat again. 

Working a roadside floral stand is very tedious work. Auntie wouldn’t say so, but her word is worthless when you’re the one here and she isn’t. When you get in, you have to set up the table and if you don’t find paperweights made of large gravel within reach quickly enough, the tablecloth ends up flying off. The further it’s blown the more difficult it gets because you like to park on the edges of farmland. Cows consider cheap linen a premium option to grass it seems and you can’t sell bouquets without a cute little tablecloth. It may be a roadside stand, but it’s still a business. There are standards to uphold.

It takes precision, one that requires the use of your compass app on your phone to gauge the perfect spot among the beautiful wild grass, sweltering sun, and drying cow dung. Then with a snap of your chair and an open umbrella, you set your stand up lush with greenery and vibrance, from backyard to roadside.

The rest of the day is full of intermittent interactions, of school children with innocent crushes and lost tourists who buy flowers as payment. Your umbrella follows the rotation of the sun and when you get thirsty, you share a bit of your own water with your bouquets as well. 

It’s a modest life. A simple one. A stress-free one.

“Welcome back!” The reminder is worth it. Your greeting is breezy and light, just like the sway of leaves on your bouquets. “Need more flowers?”

What is it with this recent weather here in Hyogo? It has him constantly looking like the main character of a movie with the way the sun casts a golden glow on half of his frame and clothes billowing the other. Who has blessed him with this benefit? The wind goddess? Because if so, what had you done wrong because all it lands you is dust in your eyes and hair stuck to your lips.

In an effort to remain polite and cordial and to retain your valued proclamation of a family-friendly business, your eyes glance down at the bag in his hands. There’s a large character on the bag, one that you recognize matches the cap he wears. It’s pleated neatly as if someone had taken care to avoid wrinkling the edges, careful in its presentation.

“Ya ain’t going to call me pretty this time?”

He effectively gets your attention at his statement, a goading simper on his lips when you catch his eyes that pulls an entertained glimmer in your own. It’s easy to get caught up in his presence, a drawstring pulling you loose at his easy words and you wonder really, who is standing at the vendor side of the table.

You pucker your face, an exaggerated expression that prickles the corners of his lips. It’s earnest and you almost lose yourself in wanting to smile at him. Almost.

“It’s not cute when you have to ask for it.”

“Wasn’t trying to be cute,” he mutters to the side. The confidence is replaced with petulance. You have little time to admire the way his bottom lip protrudes, a shiny shimmer lining the plumpest part of his lip, because he shoves the contents in his hands onto yours. It’s like if he didn’t, you would have declined him. The takeout bag lands dumbly in your arms as you stare up at him. You think it’s the residual warmth of it, the heft of it, meaning the contents inside must be hearty and fulfilling that leaves you speechless.

“Hope I can win some points with this, then.”

“This.”

“Lunch. I didn’t see ya have any last time I came by.”

“Oh, I just…” You look back at your little van. The door is brandished open, revealing the inside of the vehicle. There’s the thrifted seat covers Aunty got, blue plaid that isn’t quite your style but very much her price, and the groovy little flower pot you have taped to your dashboard that bobs its head at every swerve of a pothole which is your addition, very much your style. The small little trash can is hidden near the foot of your passenger side that’s accumulated at least two week’s worth of jelly pouches and stray bags of snacks didn’t seem to need much mentioning. So you gesticulate, feeling quite clumsy at your stand for once.

“Figured as much,” is all the man says to you. Then he taps the bag twice, eyeing your purposely, “and I told ya I can make a mean meal. Looked like ya didn’t believe me so I had to prove ya wrong.”

You pinch the swell of your lip with a canine, “you’re doing this out of imaginary spite?”

“Honor,” he corrects.

Your hand thoughtlessly moves to cover your left eye.

Then in a deeper voice, straight from the chest, “I must find the Avatar and restore my honor.”

“Ya think I’m like Zuko?”

The shriek you emit startles him. He takes an exaggerated step back with a palm as the first line of defense but you’re unperturbed because in the midst of his shock, is an entertained quirk in his lips.

“You’ve watched Avatar?”

He drops the hand now, fully grinning, “who hasn’t?”

“Points! You have all the points, you pretty, beautiful man with the very good taste.”

And though he’s the one who asked for it, he gets uncharacteristically shy when you finally say it. You pause, taking in the way a finger rises to brush his cheek as his chin dips to his chest. The movement taunts your own, as if a string is drawn from his chin to your chest as it constricts with a want that shouldn’t be there.

It all comes back, that breezy feeling as the wind picks up his hair again. The man places a palm flat to your table as you hover all your plant babies. They brustle under your care and you have to close your eyes when the flapping of nylon behind picks up. He shuffles himself to the side which softens the wind’s blow as he grabs onto your awning to hold it down. The two of you stay there under the wind’s torment. If you had your eyes open, you would have noticed that the man’s gaze never left you.

You run your hands across your face, the breath of a deep sign finally withheld from your chest when it’s over. See, you mentally think, assessing the damage to your goods. They’re slightly ruffled, not as quite picturesque, but no losses. You might have to redo a couple of bows or sell some at a discount if anything. And Auntie tells you this isn’t hard work.

“Thanks,” you grin at the guy who helped you through the small blustery storm, but quickly, you’re disarmed at the racing in your chest from the vision of him. He has arms up as he pulls back down the nylon that had been displaced. The muscles in his back flex against his tight shirt leaving you in an enchanted stupor. Ridges form in the large expanse, an eruption of new land, and suddenly you’re ready to put a hat on and call yourself an archaeologist.

His Ghibli appeal has gone off the ratings. Or maybe your mind has.

You clear your throat. He looks at you, torturously attractive, and you can’t meet him back.

“Flowers, right?” You sound lame so you play with an arrangement that’s gone astray. A red camellia is askew, far from the rest of its friends. You pick it up and dust the sticky pollen that’s painted its petals before returning it back to its rightful spot. “What’s the occasion this time?”

“Oh.” He mutters it so softly that you can’t help but glance up. He’s surprised, as if the statement is shocking. You want to reach for the feeling that it lights up in you, but against all desire, you let it snuff out into the small squall that has sprung into your stand.

“You can’t have just come here to drop me off food from,” and you pick up the bag to read the character, “the shrine?”

“Onigiri Miya.”

“Miya. Why does that sound so familiar?”

“It’s the best restaurant around.”

“No, that’s not it,” you’re too busy thinking of where exactly you’d heard that name to notice the way his face wilts. “I feel like I know someone or something. I just can’t remember…”

“Miya Atsumu?”

You snap your fingers, “yes! the volleyball player for… for uhm–”

“MSBY.”

“Yes! That’s it! My deskmate was obsessed with him. Oh my god, do you know him?”

Your delighted mood stutters at the cross of his arms. It’s the first time he seems unwelcoming, miffed even. His eyes fall to the table now, chewing on his cheek, and you notice the way his nose slightly flares when he breathes in.

“Oh no. Is he a conceited asshole?”

“Ain’t even the start of it.” The response is quick, as if defensive. Or maybe instinctive? He seems to know him quite well.

“Oh, don’t tell me. My deskmate is going to be crushed. I mean, the whole hand-fist thing he does on court is one thing, but it’s kind of sexy how he commands a crowd, you know? But I could totally see it. He does give horrible boss vibes.”

“Ya think Tsumu’s my boss?”

Now the man before you looks absolutely crestfallen. It aches you with the urge to apologize even if you don’t know what for.

“Hey, I’m—” you quickly cut your breath because is saying sorry even the right thing to do?

He shakes his head and picks an arrangement closest to him. “No worries. I’ll take these.”

He’s out before you even have a chance to reach for change, but before he goes, he doesn’t fail to remind you.

“Make sure ya eat.”

So you’re lying. Maybe working a floral roadside stand isn’t hard work. Maybe it’s just a lot of sitting and waiting and scrolling through social media and searching up wild boar attacks and going on deep dives of a couple of Olympic athlete’s socials. And when you finally reach the end, photos from 2014 that have an unpolished finish and grainy texture untouched by a PR team, one that you have to zoom with two fingers and a withheld breath, wary you’d accidentally like it, do you just sigh.

Because that’s it. You’ve finally hit the bottom of the seemingly never ending void of the internet and the last public photo of him to exist is from his and his brother’s graduation date.

So you call your deskmate for more information because if there were any resource to trust, it’d be him.

It’s not even hard to coax the details out. One small mention of the joint calendar you two shared, a quick, wasn’t your favorite athlete on there? Who was it again? and you’ve created a spiraling madness of all things Miya Atsumu. 

“He’s a libra sun and he went to Inarizaki High where he was captain of the volleyball team in his final year. His official height according to the Olympic roster is 187 cm and his favorite food is fatty tuna.”

“Fatty tuna?” Your mouth waters instinctively at the bite you had snuck in while Auntie wasn’t looking. When the man had brought you lunch all those days ago, you don’t know who exactly he was trying to feed because the two of you had leftovers for at least two meals over. And that’s only because you had to beg Auntie to share.

“Yeah, specifically fatty tuna onigiri made by his brother.” A bubble of breath creates a blockade in your throat. You still at the mention of him. “His twin brother.”

“He has a twin?” you ask softly, so unconvincingly innocent but any reason for your deskmate to keep prattling on.

“Oh yeah, just as hot as Atsumu actually. He played volleyball too but decided he didn’t want to go pro. Atsumu talks about him in interviews all the time. He’s his favorite teammate…”

You want to listen, learn more about your customer that you’ve so frivolously flirted with, but your mind wanders to those hands. The ones with the sanrio bandaid idling behind the register at his shop as he looks at the readymade onigiri in the display case up front. Him in all his Ghibli grandeur, the tight  black shirt, the hat, and the small sheen of sweat that covers the short hairs on his nape.

His hair sways from the wind despite him being inside. (It’s your imagination and not everything has to be realistically sound.) You can imagine him with one arm crossed and the other bent with his chin between the crook of his thumb, pondering what flavors of onigiri he should give you before heaving a sigh and taking a towel to wipe at his neck.

Of course he gives you a couple original onigiri. Popular in its simplicity, it’s easy to taste talent in the meager ingredients. But for you to receive a fatty tuna one, it seems purposeful. There’s meaning to his choices and it forces your heart aflutter, even if you might be making this all up.

“…but the best part of Miya Atsumu is how endearingly clumsy he is. There’s all these videos of him tripping on court. I’ve got to send you some. Hold on. I’ve got some saved here.” You hear clicking on their end and then he laughs. “Oh my god, I have to send you this interview too. I have so many videos saved. Do you want them all?”

“Yeah, yeah.” The response is mindless as you continue tapping your foot, playing with your tablecloth in the process. You’ll take any crumbs you can get since you doubt he’d ever come back to your stand after you’d offended him.

Ugh. If not for the overwhelming guilt you’ve been sleeping with, you can’t even believe you’d said that.Goose flesh bubbles on your arms that you physically have to stave off as you remember how your last interaction happened. You called his own twin brother his boss, completely undermined all the hard work he’d probably put in to get his business out there, and basically demoted him.

It shouldn’t be that big of a deal, you know. He was just a customer. But no matter how many times you tell yourself that, it never becomes more convincing.

Maybe that’s how it started and maybe that’s what made the flirting so easy, but it was the shy look he’d get whenever you called him pretty. And it was when he’d brought you lunch of his brother’s favorite. And the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips. And–

“I’ve got to go.”

You throw your phone to the side as you stand up, rigid with your hands behind your back. Your hands throw themselves behind your back as you fidget in your spot. Fingers pinch between each other, twisting and turning this nervousness that you have no idea how to hold because he’s back. Devastatingly as beautiful as ever.

Your lips roll inward because there’s so much you want to say but you can’t quite parse what you’re trying to express. Apologize, of course, but you also want to say you miss him. How appropriate would that be?

The metal clank of his truck door slamming closed pulls you out of your reverie. He approaches, a more serious look on his face than ever before and for some reason, his gaze falls downward at the dirty clouds of dust every step of his makes. It’s as though he cannot even look you in the eye.

To be deprived of something you’d always had, it turns idle hands into fists.

“Welcome back, Miya-san.” You bow to show your earnestness. When his shadow doesn’t come, you look up to see him stalled mid-step.

He looks at you in bewilderment. The pause is intensified by the way the wind blows. It sways his bangs as his tongue peaks out to moisten his lips. The cellophane wrapped around your bouquets rustles. You hold his gaze, hands still jittering behind your back, fiddling with unspoken words you can’t bring yourself to say.

Miya Osamu. With a name and a background not formed from your imagination, and finally, his presence real and in front of you, the desire swells. It slips between your fingertips and forms into something far larger than you can manage. Like hanging a hand outside of a moving car.

“Miya-san?” he repeats back to you but there’s this contagious grin on his features that lightens you inside. You have to bring your hand to your chest, tamping your heart in before it leaps out.

“I had to look you up. I’m sorry about last time, for calling Miya-san, er, Miya Atsumu-san–”

“Call me Osamu. Or Samu. Ya can leave Miya-san for my shitty brother.”

You wring your t-shirt into a fist at the idea, introducing yourself to him. He nods brightly at you when you do. “Well thank you, Osamu, for lunch last time. My Auntie and I enjoyed it very much and she agrees. You own the number one restaurant around.”

The ecstasy on his face is infectious. You have to smile too, though you know that you’re probably fueling an ego that is large on its own. It’s fine, you think. What’s life without a little indulgence?

“Well ya tell her that she’s welcome to stop by any time.” Then he gives you a pointed look, “and tell her that she should bring ya along. It’s only right that ya visit me next time around.”

You bow, not out of gratitude but only to hide your elation. “Thank you for your loyalty.”

“Like I said, ya got me.” He brings his thumb to rub at his jaw. This time, you notice he’s shaved. “Ya had lunch yet?”

You shake your head and he tells you to wait right there. You ask him where else would you go. Then he runs to his car, rummages through his front seat, butt bent over for you to see, and he quickly scurries back with another pleated bag in his hands.

“Mind if I sit here?” He points to an upside down milk crate that you use to hold your vases and you simply urge him on, sitting with him. “Ya should start bringing ya own food. Didn’t ya listen to me when I said ya should eat? It’s basically dinner time and I won’t always be available to stop by.”

“I bring snacks. Besides, I thought you said I’ve got you,” you flutter your eyes, annoyingly teasing. He entertains you with a small chuckle.

“Ya do. Favorite roadside stand around.”

“I’m the only stand around.”

He bends his neck back to laugh, “ain’t that right. Bit of a drive to get out here.” Then he pulls out the contents of his packed lunch. “Which one ya want?”

“The one that’s your favorite.”

To your surprise, he hands you a fatty tuna onigiri. You take it, wide-eyed and enamored. “Tell me why this one is your favorite.”

He looks at the onigiri in your hand with a fond expression, affection oozing from just his gaze. But his answer is despite that.

“No big reason. Just my favorite to make.”

What a liar. What an endearing, little liar that has you hiding your cheesy grin behind your hands.

“What?” he asks innocently.

You shake your head, “nothing.”

He speculates, ponders you with a side glance, before letting it go. “Well, mind telling me how ya ended up in the roadside business? Pretty peculiar if ya ask me.”

“I don’t think anyone asked you,” you mention wryly as you unwrap the clingfilm around your onigiri. He snatches it from your palms with a chuffed grin.

“Brats don’t deserve my food.”

“Hey.”

“Don’t ya pout at me with them puppy dog eyes. It ain’t gonna work.”

You blink rapidly, jutting your bottom lip forward. He holds your gaze and it’s a valiant effort. The poker face would fool you. If only he could he hide the breadth of his chest and the way it heaves at every passing second.

Still, he does not budge. So you succumb with a nod. The loss is not so bad when you get to see his victorious face, a smugness that only amplifies his boyishness, the small scar on his brow pulling taut.

“Fine,” you say as he tosses you back your onigiri. “It usually does.”

“Grew up with a soppy ass brother. I’m desensitized as it is.”

There’s more you want him to divulge, but you don’t press. Not when you had prodded in the wrong way last time. If he’s going to share pieces of himself, you’ll let him do it on his own accord. (And then maybe you might sneakily stalk him on the internet but who doesn’t?)

You unwrap it and allow your hands to follow the grooves of rice beneath the seaweed. You nibble at the top, let the wrapping melt upon your tongue with a burst of salt and umami. Spurned by the taste, saliva pools in your mouth.

He nudges you with his shoulder, almost completely knocking you out of your chair. He scoffs at what he believes is probably an exaggerated reaction but does he even realize how big he is? A granule of rice pops from his mouth and onto his shirt. He sweeps it off without a hint of embarrassment.

“Go on now,” he says to you, “tell me ya story.”

You take a bite out of the onigiri. It’s preciously held between your hands, handling it with care just as you assume Osamu had done in every step before this. At first, you’d done it just to gather your thoughts because though it’s not much of a story. It feels like a whirlwind of a lifetime since the start of your stand, but Osamu grows antsy. He starts bouncing his foot beneath him in small little movements so as to not kick up dust. So you hold off just a little longer, relishing the undivided attention he provides you.

“There’s not much to tell,” you reminisce of a past life, one that’s more regimented, one that abided by the hour of the clock than the pattern of the sun. “I was a regular corporate peon working in those multi-storied buildings with the business clothes and everything.”

The man gives you a look, as if he couldn’t even imagine you in corporate clothing.

“I can clean up nicely if I wanted to.”

“If ya wanted to.” He repeats knowingly, as if he’s suddenly in on a secret you’re privy to. 

“If I wanted,” you reiterate. Osamu doesn’t threaten to taunt you any further so you continue. “I just did it because everyone does it. I respected my seniors, never turned down an invitation to drink after our shift, and when I was no longer the newbie, I extended the invite to the coworkers under me.”

The way you speak feels out of place, like you’re not telling your own story, but someone else’s. Which in reality, it’s true. That was a different person who lived that life and definitely not twho you are now.

“And as business cycles do, it lulled and I was laid off.” Osamu wants to say something, but can’t seem to find the words. So you save him by ignoring the silence and move along. “Working was my whole personality and I didn’t know what to do with myself afterwards. But is it weird? My boss told me the news and for some reason, the first feeling I had was relief. I was relieved I didn’t have to wake up at dawn again just to get ready. I could do whatever I wanted and wake up when I wanted and go wherever I wanted. But then the reality set in. This society is so structured that I had no idea what I even wanted with the freedom I had because everything is decided for you. You know what I mean?”

He only hums beside you, listening intently and allowing you the stage. It’s nice, you realize. Auntie, as supportive as she is, has a tendency to make you feel guilty even unintentionally. It’s hard to diverge from the paved path that society likes for everyone to follow and the journey has been rigorous. It may have led you to a backroad of wild grass and dust, but even then, you know you’d rather have that than the heavily trekked footpath of the soulless.

“You go to school and you take all these prep courses, go to club activities, and then you go to college. You’re expected to basically plan your life the moment you speak your first word and your parents and teachers all like to tell you you’re special when in reality, you’re just a number. I was a quota, not a name. I was defined by metrics and not really by who I was. It didn’t matter how many after work dinners I accepted or offered.

“I hated that. And I remember vividly the moment I realized it. It was the first time in a long time I ever felt strongly about something and the last time before that was watering flowers in my Auntie’s garden.”

“So ya Auntie got ya selling these flowers?”

You snort, remembering the fiery ire of your beloved maternal figure. You broke the news to her during a random session where she’d pulled out her karaoke kit to belt out an off-Broadway (off-off-Broadway. Like Broadway in a different country off) rendition of Let It Go from the famous children’s movie. You thought her good mood could compete over your complete disappointment and figured the sentimentality of it all would be convincing. It, unfortunately, had not been.

She had sung-yelled her lecture at you, feedback from the mic and all. Reminded you it was just a hobby and that hobbies do not make money. You did so anyways, worked like you had something to prove. You bought off her secondhand van that she had no use for anymore with a portion of your savings, roamed across cities, met and learned so many things, and eventually claimed your space here.

“Not really. She was so mad at me but she couldn’t say anything when she had more flowers than she could give out for free. I don’t have any talent growing them. Even arranging them required a lot of classes to get it just right. I’m still winging it most of the time, but I guess Auntie saw something in me that made her just accept it. Maybe like renewed vigor because even if it’s not her first choice, she’s still the one who leaves a basket out for me every day after her morning pickings.”

You look at the arrangements displayed before you and then at the onigiri in your hand, turning it over as you admire the handiwork he’d put in. “I never wanted to be a number ever again.”

“I get ya.” Osamu’s voice is pitched so soft you can’t help but look at him. His onigiri has been long devoured so he displays all his attention on you. You feel so seen, you almost feel just as shy as you would be if you were found naked in public.

“Everyone expected my brother and I to go pro. Volleyball.” He adds offhandedly, “and I think I wouldn’t have minded doing that if I had to. I could see a future doing it just because I’d already done it all my life. We started playing when we were young and I ain’t gonna lie, I was pretty good. Still am to be honest.”

“You’re very modest,” you note.

“Thank ya,” he supplies wryly. The two of you share a knowing look with tilted smiles though he’s far more beautiful when he does, wind charming his hair into a pretty tussle. “But I know I would have been doing it all for the wrong reasons. Tsumu’s in love with volleyball. I’m telling ya, he’d marry the sport if he could, and I love it, just not exactly like him. And we’d always been a set. They’d call us the twins of volleyball, but he was older and more obsessed. He was invited to this youth training camp while I just stayed at home and maybe I’m just like ya. I was tired of being a number but if I had to be, I wanted to be number one.”

Pride blossoms within you. It makes you grin at him. “The best restaurant in town.”

He gives a quiet, little chuckle. It’s very different from its predecessors. Small, contained, and fond. You hold your breath so you don’t stir it. “Yeah and mind ya, my brother hated the idea just like ya Auntie. We argued, made it everyone’s business because that’s just how we are, but eventually he came around. Not without a fight though.”

“Who won?”

Offense saturates his features, “course I did.”

“Maybe he was just being a nice, older brother and let you win.”

“Ya have no idea how Tsumu is and it shows.”

“Actually,” you point out, “my deskmate who’s obsessed with him says he’s clumsily endearing and that his favorite food,” you hold up the onigiri you’d been coddling with a satisfied smirk, “is fatty tuna. What a coincidence, right?”

Instead of being embarrassed, a single glimmer flecks his beautiful, slate eyes, “ya think ya so smart, don’t ya?”

“No, not at all. I’m actually very modest.”

You settle into a comfortable silence. His company is welcomed and he sits, eyeing the surroundings and your tablecloth and your awning, and he keens his neck to take a peek into the inside of your van while you chew on the onigiri he proffered.

You roll your final bite between your fingers before popping it into your mouth. “What else do you have planned today?”

The question has Osamu jumping up in his seat. It makes you almost tilt out of yours. He looks wide-eyed, like a fox who’d just heard a twig snap. Then eerily, he turns to look at you with that same helpless expression he’d first come with to your stand.

“I’ve got to make a dinner.”

“Oh.” The sentence is innocent, but the weight of it makes your stomach lurch. Its implication is obvious. He doesn’t say anything, only watches the way your expression changes so you do your best to school it back into something more controlled.

You had known this since meeting him from the very beginning. He was out dating and socializing and surely meeting very nice people that would be perfect life partners. You were never a contender, just the romantic means to a successful date.

“You better get going,” you urge by standing up. “You can’t be late for another date. Here, the flowers are on me this time.”

“Ya don’t need to do that.”

“It’s my treat,” you insist. “Which one would you like?”

He looks down to deliberate on his choices far longer than you expect. “I liked the ones that ya brought to the grocery store.”

It takes you a beat to even garner an inkling of what he’s talking about.

“Ya know, that one that ya brought for ya special someone?”

Special someone? Who in the world? It finally hits you that he’s talking about the corndog incident and the flowers you’d brought for Ito on behalf of your Auntie. She wanted to thank him for walking her to her car.

“Oh. You want something like that?” Those were more of an arrangement that spoke of gratitude, not romance.

He shrugs a single shoulder. “Something like that. They liked it, right?”

You nod and he shrugs again, pensive this time.

“Then yeah, something like that. Whatever ya recommend.”

It had been a decent day with only slim pickings left. You look at your display stand, mulling over your choices. Instinctively, you pluck an arrangement from the center and hand them to him. He looks it over. There’s a cute crinkle to the bridge of his nose when he dips his face near them.

“Ya sure I can have these?” he looks over to you with a cute quirk in his brow.

You nod and he gratuitously accepts. He walks away with color fluttering in his hands. What he doesn’t know is that he holds the hues of your heart.

They’re your favorite flowers.

There’s something ominous about the way Auntie holds onto the crook of your elbow. Her bony fingers dig in and the meat in your arms is not enough to soften her touch.

“Auntie,” you’re begging as your freehand tries to pry the grip of her fingers, “loosen up a little, geez.”

She only grasps harder, a click on her tongue as she provides you a stony glare, “you’re walking too slow.”

“It’s not going anywhere,” you remind her. “For someone with a bad hip, you sure are walking fast. Will you please calm down? You know I can’t lie to Dr. Sarada if she asks me if you’ve been overworking yourself. That woman is a saint.”

There’s no argument to be made because what you’ve just said is not a lie. The doctor is a walking patron, the embodiment of miracles and kindness. Auntie repays her by slowing down but with the small grumblings beneath her breath, you know she’s only doing this for her and not for you.

When the two of you arrive at the restaurant, it’s packed to the brim. There’s a small line out the door. Auntie starts complaining lowly again, saying if you’d walked faster then you would have avoided this. There’s hardly any true animosity beneath her tone, but you know she means her words even when you tell her that a few extra seconds saved would not have been enough.

You leave her on a bench nearby so she can rest her legs while you wait in line. Of course it makes sense for the best restaurant in town to have a line outside, and it’s not like you thought the claim was false, just maybe slightly exaggerated. The truth proves you wrong and after a half hour, you’re finally at the front of the line.

The hostess excuses herself for just a second so she can lead the group in front of you to a seat. She comes back to tell you that there should be another table ready in about ten minutes. Auntie won’t be happy, but once she finally satisfies her craving for Osamu’s food, it’ll be nothing but sweet hummings from her.

You busy yourself with a mindless game on your phone when you hear the call of your name. He’s even more devastatingly beautiful with the apron on. You wave shyly when you notice a woman at the end of the bar turn your direction. She smiles knowingly at you as Osamu beckons you in.

“Excuse me,” you mutter as you pass the hostess and stand awkwardly behind seated patrons. Osamu wears the same uniform, but this time with a towel around his neck. He moves to brush the tip of his lips, holding your gaze when he does. When he’s done, he reveals this delighted smile that has your heart shamefully stuttering.

This is no way to look at a taken man. 

“Gotta be honest, I’m surprised to see ya.”

“Of course. I had to visit my…” you pause, because there’s no way you can call him handsome now without it being an awfully truthful burden. He looks on, so you finish lamely, “customer.”

Your name is uttered again but not by Osamu this time. You look to your left and find a middle aged woman eyeing you up and down. It’s nerve wracking and you almost wish you didn’t make eye contact so you could just pretend you didn’t hear her.

“Is that ya name?”

“Yes.”

She smiles with a sly look on her face that seems so familiar and it all makes sense when you hear Osamu again.

“Ma,” it’s a strained warning, soft, scared. Embarrassed?

You look at her again in a renewed light. When the sun hits Osamu just right, their hair color matches. Her easy to read expression reminds you of the candor you’ve witnessed in all these videos of Miya Atsumu your deskmate had sent you but the way she carries herself is all Osamu.

Atsumu is intense and commanding. From all the videos you’ve watched, even the squeak of his sneakers has a distinctive sound that forces everyone’s attention. The two Miyas in front of you attract flock with mellow waters. It’s a calm draw, an easy thing to sink into.

“Osamu, baby, grab another chair.” She strikes the tabletop beside her. The sound is sharp. “Ya come over here and ya sit by me. Pack in like a tin of sardines, why don’t we?”

“I came here with my Aunt,” you try to divert.

“Well what are ya waiting for? Grab her!” The woman gets up so she can scooch her seat closer to the other patrons. “Osamu, two chairs!”

It seems you and Osamu are both under the rule of a domineering maternal figure. Auntie is happy to find out her wait is over and even happier to notice that her seat is at the bar where she can watch the magic happen.

“The corndogs you got me could never compare to this.” Your nose scrunches at her unfair comparison.

“Ya’ve had my son’s onigiri before?”

“Only a sample because I had to share with this one.”

It was a mistake to sit in the middle. Where’s Osamu to act as a buffer? Your eyes flick to the back of his restaurant only to find a controlled madness of people and food and plates. 

“I shared it with you.”

“Oh, don’t ya bicker now. I’m sure my baby will send ya home with a truckload if ya accepted.”

“Really?”

The polite laugh you emit hardly hides your true feelings. “Auntie, we don’t have enough fridge space.”

“Ya better fill up here then. I had Osamu start a special batch for the two of ya.” The Miya matron passes you a contraption that holds a multitude of small containers. “Ya need any sauces?”

You decline while Auntie graciously accepts. She busies herself with concocting her perfect complement to the food she’s about to eat while you settle in an uncomfortable silence. Osamu’s Ma won’t stop eyeing you with her knowing grin. You feel like a specimen underneath her gaze, finding things about you that you don’t even know yourself.

And because you’re searching for something to do, and not so much that you’re eager to impress the mother of a handsome man/stranger/customer/guy who brings you lunch every so often, you reach into your bag to pull out the small batch of florals you’d forgotten about.

The vision of your favorite flowers renews a sense of pride and confidence in you. You’re finally able to meet her in the eye and hand them to her in complete assurance.

“I brought these because Osamu always brings me something when he visits. To liven up the place but please accept this as gratitude. Thank you for sharing a meal with us.”

She twirls the flower by the stem with a honeyed expression. It’s wistful when she says, “ain’t ya a pretty thing.”

Something spurs on in your stomach because in the middle of her sentence, she decides to look at you. She breathes in deeply. The open end of her cardigan spreads as she does and then deliberately, with a low and slow tone, “ya know what. I’ve got to ask ya. What do ya think of my son over there?”

You flutter at her forwardness. Eyes follow her pointed finger to find Osamu’s back (the deliciously rippled back) turned to you, bent over something steaming. It seems your gaze must be telling because when you look back at the woman, she’s giving you a conspiratorial grin.

“He’s nice!” you deflect by naming an objective truth. Osamu is kind. He doesn’t have to continue his patronage, doesn’t have to bring along something for you to eat, but he always does. Every interaction you’ve had with him has been a good one.

“I think so too,” Mother Miya confirms. Then she props her head in her hands with an elbow bent on the table and provides you a lazy look. “Ya know he works too much.”

You look around. The restaurant is a blur of interaction. There’s a baby crying and two uncles gossiping over fish prices. It looks like there’s a group of students who’d meant to study but succumbed to easy conversation between each other. Employees weave through the crowds in practiced motions, quiet tables filled with the sound of indulgent chewing. It’s lively and so very human.

“It looks like it’s worth it.”

She smiles at your response, as if it was the correct reply to provide. “Ya really think that, don’t ya?”

“I do.” It’s impossible not to raise your inflection at her question. Of course you do. It’s not hard to see that this is where Osamu belongs. You try your best to imagine him in the same uniform that his brother dons, with a number and jersey on his back. It’s easy to slap his face on top of Miya Atsumu’s and change the hairstyle and color just a bit. With the way the athlete plays, you’re sure that Osamu could wear a similar presence on court.

But there’s something about the way he looks in apron and the way he fits behind a bar that’s beyond any Ghibli romance or appeal. He’s the reason, the source, the one who’d whisked everyone into his restaurant.

“Both of them are like that,” she takes a sip of her water before continuing. “I don’t know what I did but somehow I’ve raised two of the hardest working boys. Ya know he’s a twin, right? Ya want to see my other one?”

Osamu’s mother doesn’t even wait for your response, unlocking her phone to barrage you with an album full of her beloved children. You lean in closer to her shoulder so you can get a better look, eager to rid yourself of the attention she had on you.

Osamu was a very cute baby and a horribly awkward teen. He hardly smiled in pictures during high school so you’re happy to see the more recent ones where he is.

“This was us after Atsumu’s first pro game.” She zooms in on the picture, “that’s sweet Aran, their childhood friend.” Then swipes to the left so it’s only the twins on screen. They wear pride the same. That, you notice immediately. Then she zooms in closer onto Atsumu’s face, “doesn’t he look so happy?”

You hum. He does. The two of you admire his expression, but you spend more time trying to dissect the differences between the two. You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t even realize Osamu’s set plates in front of you.

“Alright, he ain’t that interesting to look at.” He plucks his mother’s phone out of her hands with a grumble. Then turning to her, “I leave ya for just a second and ya causing trouble already.”

“Now ya know exactly how it feels. Don’t feel good, do it?” She looks at you, a teasing hushed into your ear. “The two of them gave me hell when they were younger. Ya don’t even know the start of it.”

“Ma,” Osamu whines again.

“Oh and this one,” she stands up to pinch his cheek to the point it looks like it hurts. Osamu squirms under her grip, the large man looking so small next to his mother. “He’s sweeter than he looks, I promise ya.” She moves to cradle his chin into the crook of her thumb, squeezing hard. “Gets a little moody sometimes and likes to curl in on himself like a fox in a dry patch of sun whenever he’s upset, but I’m telling ya, he’s a good boy.”

He reddens immediately and you can’t help but feel secondhand embarrassment for him, “Ma!”

“What?” she looks at him innocently, “ya don’t know how it broke my heart every time I heard ya dates didn’t go well. And then I find out it’s because ya late or ya wasn’t listening and I know I didn’t raise ya to be like that. I was worried ya was going to go gray in this restaurant all by yourself. Ya out here buying all these flowers but they end up on my kitchen counter instead. Of course ya had me worried.”

“Ma, no!”

“Ma, no, what?” Then she looks over to you, “you’re single too, ain’t ya?”

For all her behaved silence, Auntie finally decides to speak up. “They wish they weren’t.”

“Auntie!” It looks like you’ve joined the one worded whining.

She ignores you, looking at Osamu’s mom instead. “You should look at our karaoke history. Full of love songs.”

“That is mostly you.”

“Ya don’t have a special someone?”

Osamu’s voice makes you look up at him. Hopefulness is ladened upon his features; it makes your heart pang.

“Does my stuffed animal count?”

He smiles widely at you. It’s so stunning you feel like it’s only the two of you in the room. He looks down real quick then snaps his eyes back at you. “Ya had lunch yet?”

You shake your head, pressing your lips into your teeth to hide your joy. He takes his apron off in response, yells a quick farewell to his team. Then he grabs you plate, his other hand grabbing your arm, and ushers you out of his restaurant.

“Is this okay?” You can’t help but look back, feeling guilty. His Ma only waves you along, another knowing grin on her features as she scoots closer to your aunt. 

Osamu looks at you completely chuffed. “Course it is. I’m the boss.”

Glass vases clink a chiming sound at every reverberation of your van. They’re heavy as you toss the crates in, the springs doing their best to compensate for the weight.

A bead of sweat falls down the corner of your eye, bending you forward at the minor sting. The wind picks up a cooling breeze and you know from the sound of crunching gravel, he’s arrived.

“You’re late,” you cast a teasing glare the moment you can open both eyes. The glare of the sun blinds your vision, but as he continues walking forward, he obstructs it.

Osamu shakes his head. “Think I’m right on time.” He picks up the last bouquet you hadn’t been able to sell. “These for sale?”

“50% off just for you.”

“Bless ya,” he smiles but still hands you full price, forcing the money into your grip when you try to decline. Osamu walks behind your empty table and begins swiping the foreign crumbs. You’d already taken off the tablecloth but the man brought his own. He lays out a beautiful Ghibli themed quilt he had tucked under his arm and places a picnic basket down.

“How are ya?” He continues to set the table without looking up. There’s cutlery and canned beverages and many, many tupperwares of food.

“Hungry,” you say as you pull out the second lawn chair you keep in your van now.

“Good because we’re just about to have dinner.”

He places the final touch, a vase of flowers he’d just bought right in the middle. 

[hyumjim]

Oh yeah I have been thinking about this for a while re: overzealous callouts typically targeting trans women. Basically I shudder to think what any of you people would do with even an ounce of institutional power. I have one of those jobs where I’m a mandated reporter of child abuse. And for my job I spend time in people’s homes. And I’ve been doing this job for seven years. If I have good reason to suspect that a child is being abused then I need to call child protective services. You know how many times I have done this over seven years? Twice. And both times it was because a child asked me directly to do it. And I sat with both kids and we called CPS together. In one case this resulted in the cops coming to their house and in the other case, nothing happened. In both cases I stayed with them for as long as I could.

Now, over the years of course I’ve heard a number of questionable things. I’ve thought, yeah, this person is probably hitting their kid. I mean, it happens a lot, and some degree of corporal punishment is still normalized in many homes. I don’t condone that, and I’ve had a lot of conversations with parents about it and suggested many alternatives. But the bottom line is that I cannot be trigger-happy when it comes to calling CPS. CPS is a deeply flawed system. Many of the people I work with are extremely used to having CPS called on them. Truancy from school on its own is enough to open a CPS case and criminalize parents. Abuse absolutely happens and needs to be addressed when it does, but so often, police involvement, system involvement is not the answer. Kids get removed from homes and placed with foster families who can be more abusive, less closely monitored, and don’t even have the relational bond that acts as a protective factor. Parents receive the message that they are unfit to care for their children, which makes them worse as parents, and the cycle continues, etc.

So whenever something that’s questionable comes up, I always speak to my supervisor about it and we discuss whether or not I need to take it to CPS. But the answer is almost always ‘no.’ It’s a last resort, only to be used when absolutely necessary. And even in cases where it’s absolutely a necessity, like the one I mentioned where the cops came? That call resulted in me being cut off from the young person entirely. Because his abusive mother knew that I made the report, and forbade me from ever speaking with him again. Which she can do, because he’s her child. For all I know, nothing came of the investigation and his parents retaliated against him more harshly than before. So do you think I made the right call?

Mind you, I’ve seen all sorts of really fucked-up family dynamics, all kind of patterns of emotional turmoil between families, a lot of parents saying terrible things that I think nobody should say to a child, and vice versa. It’s my job to sit with these things and try to help. Not to call someone to come and take away the problematic person.

The point is that I’ve had to sit and think deeply about when to report abuse, as part of my job, for years and years of my life now. And I see the ease and eagerness with which people on here will smear a trans woman as a pedophile with the flimsiest of evidence (i.e. agreed with another user who turned out to be an abuser; has kinks that are triggering to me personally; has innocuous sfw art on her blog of a teen anime character). And I think wow, if you guys had a job like mine you would be ruining people’s lives frequently. Just something to think about.

[heartlandians]

Exclusive Interview: Spencer Lord Discusses the Mystery Around His Character in Heartland, Teases Family Law Season 3, and More

Spencer Lord is one of the industry’s most exciting new voices. After leaving a career in the corporate world behind, Spencer dove headfirst into acting and has gone on to land coveted roles in projects, including Riverdale, The Good Doctor, and Family Law. It’s his vulnerability, subtlety, and emotional depth that have captured the hearts of audiences around the world.

Currently, Spencer can be seen starring in the latest installment of Heartland. In Season 17, Amy (Amber Marshall) and the rest of the Heartland family know better than most that while dreams can sometimes come true, more often life takes us in unexpected directions. Spencer shines as Nathan Pryce Jr., a mysterious character who rolls back into town and holds a special place in Amy’s heart.

Pop Culturalist was fortunate enough to speak with Spencer about Heartland, bringing the many facets of Nathan to life, the upcoming season of Family Law, and more.

PC: You graduated with a mechanical engineering degree and worked as a project manager. What ultimately led to the transition to your work as an actor? How challenging was that pivot? Spencer: I went to university because it was the next “logical step” and pursued a technical degree because I was always praised for my aptitude in science. When I entered the workforce, I think I started to be more honest with myself. I was unhappy, sometimes severely depressed, and eventually realized I needed a huge change if I was going to feel whole. That’s what I know now. At the time, it was just, “I hate this job, I want to love what I do.” So, I started going to scene study classes, got some work at a restaurant, and quit my desk job.

In some moments, I thought I might be an idiot, giving up a steady gig for something as fickle as a career in acting, but I never once second-guessed myself. And I immediately fell in love with it. I love venturing out and trying new things, not knowing what’s next—like wading through water in the dark. And I get bored easily, so the irregularity of this industry ironically soothes some of my deepest anxieties. In a lot of ways, the pivot from desk job to struggling actor was the easiest decision I’ve ever made.

PC: Who or what has had the biggest influence on your career? Spencer: I could bore the hell out of anyone reading this and write a ten-page essay about the people, places, and things that have influenced me along the way. But I think I can boil it down simply to community.

My sense of community has grown and flowered into one of the most beautiful aspects of my life. I’m so, so lucky to find myself among a group of friends who care deeply for one another and inspire each other in myriad ways.

PC: You’ve had a lot of success already in your young career. When you look back, is there a particular moment that stands out? Spencer: The first class, signing with the first agent, being dumped by the first agent, signing with the agent I should have been with all along, the first booking, being on set for the first time (and every time), working with some truly lovely people along the way… I could go on, but it’s all been a sort of fantastic magical mystery ride, and I’m always just doing my best to appreciate every moment of it all.

Most recently, I got to work in the foothills of the Rockies, riding horses around on vast swathes of ranch land in Alberta. That was pretty damn cool.

PC: You recently joined the cast of Heartland. What can fans expect from Nathan? What was it about this particular character and series that resonated with you? Spencer: Mystery is starting to become a theme here because that’s one word that I would use to describe Nathan. But the mystery is really born from a damaged sense of belonging that he feels coming back to a community he was forced to leave after his parents separated.

I was raised by my mother as well after my parents separated and my dad moved away. As a boy, I idolized my father. Later on, as a man, I realized that I hadn’t really discovered who I was because I had modeled myself after someone who simply wasn’t me. I think Nathan is experiencing something similar. Having to step into his father’s shoes with regard to the ranching business while retaining his unique personality and autonomy is his challenge, all while bearing his father’s name.

Shirking the expectations of our parents ain’t always easy, and Nathan feels that.

PC: Your character finds himself returning to a town that he left several years prior, and it isn’t well-received by all, a situation you’re bringing much depth and nuance to. As an actor, how did you create the space for yourself to tackle the journey that Nathan finds himself on and shedding those walls? Spencer: What a compliment. Thank you. I must say, I found the writing did most of the work over the course of the season. Mark Haroun, the showrunner, really wanted Nathan to have a real rawness to him. He did a beautiful job slowly revealing Nathan’s character in a way that felt natural. All I had to do was, as you say, create space and say the words.

That’s always our job as actors. We’re blessed with words on a page which, if we’re open to receiving them, inspire us to action. I’m always trying to be more open and create space for spontaneity, in my work and in my life. As for how I do that, I’m not sure. Self-discovery for sure. Curiosity. A lil’ dash of yearning for adventure. In the end, it’s all a big… you guessed it. Mystery.

PC: This series is built on the relationships among the characters. Which was your favorite to explore this season and why? Spencer: This might be the obvious answer, but Amy and Nathan’s interplay pulled me right in. I appreciated the chance to explore a friendship that grows through adversity, has highs and lows, and isn’t just a simple “I like you, you like me, let’s be best buds.”

Nathan is emotionally stunted by a tumultuous upbringing, reintegrating into a community he was forced to leave behind and taking control of his dad’s ranch. Amy’s family runs a competing ranch, and her father and grandfather don’t care for Nathan’s business tactics, but she shows Nathan kindness in spite of her family’s jaded opinions of him. To me, these are very interesting circumstances.

These are the nuances and complexities that bring the characters closer to life, and that is my jam.

PC: Season 3 of Family Law will be released on the CW on January 17, 2024. Congratulations, by the way! What are you most excited for fans to see with regard to Aiden? Spencer: Thank you! I think the fans will get to see a softer side of Aiden, and a little more of an idea about why he’s so attracted to Abby.

PC: Playing Aiden is the longest you’ve lived with a character. Has anything about the experience surprised you? What has been the biggest takeaway thus far? Spencer: I take things as they come, and so far with Aiden, that’s been a pretty great experience. I think the biggest takeaway so far has been to allow that to happen, taking things as they come. The world of TV can change so fast, and when you sometimes have very little time to digest the material, the most you can hope for is a story that is exciting and dynamic, and that flows through you with ease. Susin Nielsen, our showrunner, and her team of writers, thread that needle so wonderfully. I’m very grateful to work with them to bring Aiden to life.

To keep up with Spencer, follow him on Instagram.

Source

[argisthebulwark]

i want to share this with you, maybe you like it, maybe you dont but in my heart i’ve never stopped wanting to become a princess in the future, yknow? like fuck corporate jobs, i wanna be a princess. but im also like addicted to the whole princess becomes somewhat rogue outlaw?

okay so, bryn breaking in some rich peoples home (or maybe a castle) only to find the lass of his dreams. im picturing something like tangled, except this motherfucker would definitely kidnap someone. for shits n giggles

listen i haven't seen tangled in like a decade but the vibes are immaculate. i do not want to have a 'job' or 'responsibilities' i simply want to chill. and i DO like it so much im sorry this took forever lmao

Just imagine Brynjolf hearing that some wealthy family has bought land in the Rift and getting giddy with excitement. They've made it obvious that their intention is to clear away the crumbling remnants of an old castle and rebuild. He keeps an eye on the construction, impressed with the sheer magnitude of the structure they're building. He rarely sees the owners, only workers.

When the construction ends and they begin work on the interior his interest wanes. He knows that it takes months for wealthy people to decorate their homes. Besides, he'll see it soon enough. He merely needs to wait for them to fill it with enough valuables to keep the Guild afloat.

(nothing nsft - i just write a lot)

Every once in a while Brynjolf checks in. He watches workers laying floorboards and hanging chandeliers. Furniture and appliances are carted in. He has no clue how many people will live in the castle or why they need so much stuff. When the paintings and bookshelves are finally hung he knows that it must be almost complete.

Despite the completion of the castle he notices that it remains dark. Whispered rumors around Riften hint that the family is traveling from far away, possibly even making the long journey from Solstheim. Others claim that the family built it only to sell to another wealthy family. Brynjolf doesn't care enough for the lives of rich folk to investigate their personal lives.

Returning from an unpleasant job in Dawnstar, Brynjolf is exhausted. His feet dragging and pack too light he's dreading the hopeful eyes of those waiting in the Cistern. Just as he's formulating the speech to explain the situation something catches his eye - there, flickering in the distance. The castle's curtains are thrown open and candles cast shadows upon the manicured lawn below.

Before he realizes what he's doing Brynjolf is crouched in the shadows of the castle's hedges. He's eyeing the broad windows and watching overdressed bodies squeeze in and out of view. The owners must be celebrating their arrival with every member of Skyrim's upper class.

They hardly hired any guards around the place. Brynjolf spots a few well-dressed employees that seem more focused on checking invitations than watching for thieves. His heart's in his throat when he scoots into the silence of the back garden.

The castle is large and spindly but one tower stands a few feet above the rest. It has to be their vault. The windows on this tower are thrown open but the lights are low, as if not wanting to draw attention. Brynjolf is grateful to the sharp new stones as he clambers his way up the side of the tower.

Sweat beading on his brow, Brynjolf grasps one last ledge. Voices float up from the garden but he doesn't waste his time - if they'd spotted him their tone wouldn't be so relaxed. A balcony at the tower's peak blocks the pesky moonlight from illuminating his hurried hop into the tower.

The staircase winds upward into the darkness. Sconces along the walkway are unlit and his footsteps are silent on the polished steps. His heart races with every step and Brynjolf finds himself envisioning what awaits at the top - chests full of gems and coin, jewelry if he's lucky. He's calculating how much space is left in his pack when he comes across the final door.

It's firmly shut. No visible locks but it doesn't budge - must be locked from the inside. Had he missed another entrance? The staircase winding up to the peak makes it impossible for a ladder to be hidden somewhere and he doubts that any of the nobles laughing and eating in the main hall are able to scale the walls.

The rational part of his mind urges him to return to the Cistern emptyhanded and create a viable plan but morbid curiosity leads to a quiet knock on the door. He waits, shocked to hear locks sliding open one by one.

"I already told you, I'm not interested in your pathetic suitors!"

When the door is wrenched open, Brynjolf is stunned. The most beautiful woman he's ever seen is glaring at him with enough venom to kill. Her fingers tap impatiently on the door as if waiting for his explanation.

"Well?" She prompts, voice sharp. "Which one sent you?"

"What?" Did she think he was from the Dark Brotherhood?

"Was it my mother or father?"

"No one." He answers curtly, ignoring the way his heart races. Surely it's from the panic of getting caught and has nothing to do with the woman glowering at him. Brynjolf pointedly ignores the way her face softens when she eyes him, noticing his attire.

"I heard the Thieves Guild was based in the Rift." Her head tilts and Brynjolf's heart skips at her words. "I didn't think you'd be so quick considering the state of your group."

"You're wrong, lass." Brynjolf lies through his teeth, surprised when she finally smiles at him.

"Oh good." She steps aside as if welcoming him. "I think we could help one another."

"How?" Brynjolf is careful, never looking away from her in case she's a threat. It has absolutely nothing to do with the alluring way she spoke or her nimble fingers braiding hair out of her face.

"I've been trapped with my family for ages." She mutters, tossing her robe aside to reveal basic clothing unlike those downstairs. "Not literally, of course, but socially. I'm chaperoned and shown off to every unmarried man on the continent with enough coin to his name. If I hadn't locked myself up here they'd be parading me around to whoever owns land in the Rift."

A nasty, jealous feeling leaves Brynjolf unsettled. He doesn't even know her name but dislikes the thought of her being treated like some animal to be sold off. He already knows he's going to agree to whatever she proposes when she faces him again, eyes full of hope.

"How can we help each other?" His voice remains neutral despite the excited fluttering in his chest.

"My parents are terrified of the Thieves Guild. Scared enough that if their eldest daughter were kidnapped I'm sure they'd pay a handsome fee to get her back."

"Sounds more like the Brotherhood or even some of the bandits." His attraction to her battles against the instinct to protect the Guild's failing image. "Thieves don't generally kidnap, lass."

"Then teach me to be a thief." She grins at him and Brynjolf knows she's won. "I can't stay here and rot in this tower or be married off to someone I hardly know."

"I'll keep you around if you're helpful." Brynjolf grumbles and savors the way her arms fling around his neck, treating her kidnapper like a savior.

"Okay!" She bounces to her desk, digging around until she finds some parchment. "Would you like to write the ransom note or shall I?"

[unfortunate17]

Ooo so what fics have you been imagining exactly??

Right now, I’ve gone down the Wilmon/Young Royals hole when it comes to fics so that’s what I’ll talk about here. There are SO MANY things I want to write/read in this fandom, but some of the headcanons have been stronger than others and there’s too many for them all to be written. Anyway, without further ado:

1. I want to explore how Wilmon’s sexual dynamic changes after the video gets published. This fic would be canon compliant and take place after a lot of the events of the series have shaken out and Wilmon finally have the chance to just be. Except now they have so much time and sometimes, when you have a lot of time, things Simon’s been ignoring start to come out of the woodwork. Namely - everyone on the internet has seen him have sex. When the video first came out, while Wilhelm totally shut out the world, I want Simon to have watched it back over and over and over again, picking himself apart and drowning in the embarrassment and regret of it all. I want it so that he feels exposed now whenever he’s intimate, doesn’t want Wilhelm to get him off, doesn't want Wilhelm to even look at him, wants to be in control, and is deeply, deeply unhappy. I have this vision of the ending where Simon would finally relax again, allow himself to be vulnerable, and Wilhelm would take over with a kind of there you are, I’ve got you kind of vibe.

2. Another exploration of Simon’s arc as Wilhelm grows out of his anxiety with the support of therapy and age and friends/family. I have this line rattling around in my brain: Simon has always held a fundamental belief that Wilhelm’s hurt runs deeper than his own, that his pain is somehow more important than his own. Throughout the series, Simon takes great pride in being able to take care of or protect people, often to his own detriment. He likes being needed. And I don’t think he truly understands the difference between being needed and being wanted. As Wilhelm starts to stand on his own feet and rely less and less on Simon for emotional stability, I want Simon to feel the conflicted horror of realizing that he doesn’t want Wilhelm to get better - because what if he doesn’t need Simon anymore then? What purpose would he have in Wilhelm’s life? What if he is unwanted?

3. (I think I’m going to write this next maybe): Wilhelm is a student at Hillerska, a secretive, expensive boarding school for mutant teenagers, loosely based off of the X-Men comics. I want him to have Storm’s powers of controlling the weather/having the weather reflect his mood. While he’s at Hillerska, he meets Simon, who has seemingly no powers. Mutants are a secret to the rest of the world, and Simon says he’s basically only there because his sister is a mutant (she can talk to animals) and it would be safer for the sake of the secret and if they both boarded at Hillerska. Wille has never seen such an exception made, but he’s not about to question it because he fucking adores having Simon around. They fall for eachother slowly but surely, but Simon keeps pulling away, like he’s afraid. Long story short, Simon does have a power - a very rare one - hint hint, Rogue is my favorite character.

4. (Or maybe I’ll finish this one first instead of the super hero one) I want a fic mainly just for the dynamic of Simon getting a whiplash of Wille’s personality HAHA and I’ve never written an office romance before sooo. Wilhelm would be in some position of corporate power, a senior partner at some firm, a director somewhere etc. And he definitely only got this position because of his family connections. While he’s good at his job, he’s a little too young and a little too inexperienced to have actually worked his way up there. Simon joins in an entry-level position and he’s shocked to learn that his skip level leader is his age but when the CEO says that Wille is her son, it all starts to come together. It also doesn’t help that Wilhelm is a bit detached and uncaring as a people leader but Simon doesn’t have room to complain, he really needs to keep this job so he shuts his mouth and puts his head down. His manager, August, might potentially be worse than Simon - he keeps taking credit for other people’s work and while Simon often takes no shit, again he really needs this fucking job. Eventually, one day, Wilhelm comes over to speak to him and to Simon’s shock, he asks him out. All of Simon’s friends tell Simon not to go, that Wille is likely just using him, but Simon is too fucking curious for his own good and Wille’s easy on the eyes so he does - and it turns out that Wilhelm is actually the nicest person ever? LOL

5. (this is not going to be like, irl accurate but idc) A really angsty/melo-dramatic fic that’s summed up with: If this is their happily ever after, why aren’t they happy? I want Wilmon to be married, but for Wilhelm to remain Crown Prince. Simon absolutely loathes royal life, but he loves Wilhelm. And Wilhelm still feels a strong sense of guilt induced duty, especially now that he’s been allowed to keep Simon at his side. Still, some days he feels as though he can barely bear it. One day, they have a blow-up argument about something trivially silly and Simon goes back to his mom’s house for a few weeks to cool off. He tells Wille that he needs to reevaluate their relationship and their priorities and Wilhelm doesn’t think he’s ever been as cold as he is at that moment. The main problem is that the things that Simon hates about their life cannot be fixed - whether or not Wilhelm abdicates, he will be hounded for the rest of his life, he will never be allowed to live in a normal apartment, he will always need to have security, and the press will only become more invasive. Simon had once said that Wilhelm was worth it, but now Wilhelm’s not so sure that Simon means it anymore. Security follows Simon back to Bjarstad, where unbeknownst to Simon, they keep sending Wilhelm updates on his whereabouts and doings. Wilhelm wants them to stop, but he also misses Simon like a missing limb, so he doesn’t say anything even if he knows it's wrong. Pretty soon, Wille is looking at pictures of Simon laughing in restaurants and playing soccer out on the old field and volunteering at the local church. And despite all the benefits of Wilhelm’s wealth and power and privilege that they both have enjoyed over the years, the sentiment that Wilhelm has ruined Simon’s life has never felt more real.

[astrolaurical]

Hey

It's the same girl who asked about your opinion on my 10 year old cousin thinking Jungkook will marry her

I just wanted to ask

Is it normal that Every ARMY(some non-ARMYs too) around me thinks that someone from BTS gonna marry them? Or is it just people around me???

Everyone are delulu omg😭

I have too many stories about these girls

I (forcefully) checked what they were talking about and checked your Tumblr and I was so thankful someone was normal. I almost thought Everyone were like that

And Yes I told her to stay in School

I think everyone has a secret fantasy about marrying their favorite celebrity. That’s why celebrities and idols exist and why boy bands are so successful. I’m really showing my age but omg the frenzy in the 90s and early 2000s around NYSNC and The Backstreet Boys and Britney Spears?? Unparalleled. Then in the late 2000s we saw it again with Justin Bieber and One Direction. The Josie and Pussycats film (SLAY) makes fun of the entertainment industry the entire movie by even parodying boyband obsession, product placements, and the trend cycles. The movie went over so many peoples’ heads when it was released so it bombed at the box office but it’s a cult classic for a reason. Highly recommend to watch!!! Also aging myself again by admitting I had both the dvd AND soundtrack as kid bc the songs are bangers. Honestly the 90s-2000s in general just rocked. This is the only meme I have of the film but see the product placement and the mockery of boy bands? Genius.

The 1D documentary is a perfect example of the boy band frenzy that JATP film was mocking bc they even had a small scene where they had a neuroscientist or someone similar in that profession (I haven’t seen the movie in a few years so I’m not 100% sure but I was a hardcore 1d stan and have the dvd bc their live vocals honestly slap. Their concert cover of teenage dirtbag in the movie?? Still waiting for the actual recording bc chefs kiss). Anyway the neuroscientist was saying that corporations/ music companies have these formulas to create the perfect idol down to a t after studying the phenomenons of rabid Beatles and Elvis fans in the 50/60s. It has to do with the happiness chemicals in the brain. Combine those with good looks and music? You can’t help but fall in love. The entertainment industry then purposely directs their carefully molded artists to vulnerable audiences (preteens, teens, women) because they will buy more products. Casey Aonso (another fellow 1d stan wassup girl) YouTube video describes their XFactor era HILARIOUSLY. War flashbacks. The clips about HOW BAD each individual one direction members auditions were but you could see the $$$ in the judges eyes bc the boys were good looking and you could tel the judges were plotting how to sell the boys good looks. And they did.

And boy do we know that formula works. Hybe overprices bts products on Weverse shop and y’all eat it up and sell it out every time. $200 for a REPACKAGED cd. Weren’t they selling like a $1000 product recently? But even Jin had to be like “nah for my Astronaut comeback yall not gonna be selling hella expensive pajama pants like last time tho. We don’t price gouge in this house”. All hail jin.

I’ve talked a lot about parasocial relationships and media training, etc. While I think it’s fine to have a secret fantasy about marrying *insert celebrity crush name here*, I think it’s important to realize it’s a FANTASY. Fun to think about and daydream to, but NOT REALISTIC when trying to plan a future around or with. Go play the childhood game of MASH or make a SIMS family with Jungkook as your husband. That’s fine and normal. But don’t be going around telling people he’s your boyfriend. That’s delusion. I’ve included a perfect real life example of healthy young fangirling in the tags.

EDIT JUNE 11 2023:

I happened to come across this tik tok video yesterday that also explains delusion and obsession. I think it applies to “fangirling” especially well. TW for trauma.

[anchanted-one]

“Father”

This is a part of my new ‘Book of Heroes’ series, but I wanted to post it right away

It’s a story of Jace Malcom receiving an unexpected guest. It takes place days after SWTOR: Annihilation, and is a variant of the first scene I dreamed up for my OC Jasme

Jace was home at 1800 sharp today.  He had been giving himself some time lately, perhaps due to the recent revelation which had shaken his life. For over twenty-four years, he had been a workaholic. Satele had been the last person he had given his heart to. After her sudden radio silence, he had dived into his work with a near all-consuming abandon. The Supreme Commander Malcom would not have taken the risk of defending Duro a few months ago; but with the knowledge that he had a son, had been willing to gamble. To hope.

It had made him reflect on a lot of things that he had done over the years. The many hard decisions which Satele would have condemned as actions of the Dark Side. He wondered now, this late in his life, if they had been truly necessary.

The idea that he had family… softened him, somehow. Made him more alive than he had been in years; pulled him out of the hard, ruthless soldier he had decided he was.

He entered his apartment, returning his sentries’ salute, and immediately hit the shower.

He groaned as the hot stream began loosening his muscles, and cleansing his mind. When he got out, he saw that someone had been trying to reach him. Despite the mess of emotions he felt after the past month, he decided to call back, just in case it was something urgent.

“Good evening, Grand Master.”

Her eyes did not linger on his body, but she gave him the soft smile that had once driven him crazy. “Good evening, Supreme Commander. I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“No, not interrupting, but I need to ask if this is urgent.”

She tilted her head at the question, and Jace felt a little weary.

“Not ‘urgent’, exactly, but one of the Order’s brightest Archivists has asked to meet you. I was hoping you’d accept her request.”

“Didn’t think the Grand Master would have time to petition on behalf of a lowly Archivist.”

“Unfortunately, time is a luxury these days. But Jasme’s a special case.”

“Well, I’ll see what she has to say,” Jace grunted. “But I can’t promise her more than twenty minutes of my time.”

That more than merely amused her; he’d never seen her toss her head back and laugh so hard before. “I’d wager five hundred credits—and a date in the Grande—that you’ll give her more time than that. Have a good evening, Jace. Be nice to her.”

Jace felt disconcerted but sighed. He threw a standard physical training uniform, the sort he wore casually around the house, as well as the more casual of gatherings for soldiers. He was just about to notify his security about a guest, when he got another call, this one from Theron.

“What is it, Theron? I’m sorry to keep this brief, but I’m about to receive a guest.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was calling about,” His son gave him a rather happy smile. “I heard Jasme’s coming over.”

“You know her?”

“Quite well. I thought I’d give you the head’s-up. She’s one of the nicest people I’ve ever met; kind, thoughtful, and honest. In fact, the Jedi often say this about her; she’s the happiest drop of sunshine in the Galaxy. You don’t have to feel like this is some big news interview.”

“Got it. I’ll try not to make her cry.”

And now he was treated to a roar of laughter from his son. “That’s like, the last thing I’ll ever worry about! No one hurts Jasme. Enjoy the evening, Commander.”

Jace was really feeling stumped now. What the blazes was going on? Was he having some strange dream?

Corporal Gibson called in before he could recover. “Sir, you have a visitor from the Jedi Archives. One ‘Jasme’.”

“Send her in.”

He headed over to his bar and began pulling out glasses and plates. He heard the main door open, and spied the young woman as she entered the room.

“Come in,” he said politely. “Please, have a seat. Is there anything I can get you?”

“Whatever you prefer, Sir,” she gave a very gracious bow that he only half-caught. “I’m sorry to intrude on your personal time, but…”

“It’s alright. I have the greatest of respect for scholars and researchers,” he assured her. While it was not entirely true, he did respect the need for such people. They were the ones who would tell past generations how to do better; by telling them what mistakes to avoid, or what paths to follow in difficult situations. He himself had used knowledge presented from the Jedi Archives to plan particularly interesting but obscure manoeuvres. “I take it you’ve come to talk about the Battle of Duro?”

“Erm… only tangentially, Sir. There’s a more important matter I need to discuss with you. Allow me to properly introduce myself. My name is Jasme.” She paused as he put the bottles of Chandrillan blue and Corellian Nectar on the counter. “Jasme Shan.”

He wheeled around in surprise, looking at her head on for the first time. She gave him a sunny smile, then bowed again. “I am Jasme Shan, and I am Theron’s twin sister. Your daughter. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this.” She frowned slightly. “I can’t believe Theron found out before I did. I thought I had the advantage, being around Mom all the time! And I heard he wasn’t even looking!”

“Please, slow—slow down.” He staggered to a chair

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she apologized. “Bad habit. I ramble.”

“No, no! Don’t be!” His befuddled brain finally made sense of what Satele had said. There was no way he would be throwing this woman out. “Don’t be!”

He didn’t need proof, he could see it. Unlike his son, this girl was not a halfway between each parent. She had Satele’s figure and face, the same shape of her eyes, and nose. Her eye color though… it was the same brown as his. Her complexion was the same as well.

And she had his height too, she was one of the few human women he had met, who could look him straight in the eye.

“Here! I’ll get those drinks! Please, just sit down. I know it’s a lot to process.” She moved behind the bar and began mixing the drinks. He watched her as she poured them out, the daze fading at last.

She was wearing a form-fitting, long scarlet gown made of a bright scarlet fabric, and intricate golden embroidery. There was a holdout blaster belted to her slim waist, and knee-length black boots on her feet. She wore a bracelet on her wrist which had a lovely yellow crystal embedded in it, a crystal Jace was certain was used in Lightsabers.

She sat down beside him, carefully placing the drink in front of them. “So… has it started to sink in yet?”

“A little… why didn’t Theron…?”

“He was too stunned to mention it the first time you met him. And after… well, he called me as soon as he got his wits back. And I asked him if I could break the news myself, once the Ascendant Spear crisis had ended.”

“I see. Makes sense, I suppose.” He frowned at a sudden realization. “Wait! You knew about the Ascendant Spear? That was supposed to be top secret!”

“I helped Master Gnost prepare.”

“Ah, of course. He’s an archivist too.”

“The Master of the archives!” she smiled. “My boss.”

Jace chuckled, and took a sip of the cocktail. “So…”

She tilted her head. “Well… honestly, I’m at a loss too. I’ve dreamed of finding you for so long, but…”

“You said you had the upper hand over Theron, because you were with Satele all the time...”

“It wasn’t easy, but I wormed my way back into her life. By the time I appeared on her doorway, she had found her balance as a Jedi—there was no more a fear of Falling to the Dark Side. She accepted me back in, though she never stopped saying she didn’t deserve it. For what she did to us. But I forgave her, for my part.”

“I see…”

“She… hurts a lot behind her mask,” Jasme confided. “Always sad, always melancholy. I try to help where I can.”

“That’s… good. It’s good for people to have someone looking out for them.”

“But she—” Jasme shook her head. “I’m sorry, Sir. I came here to talk about you. And about us. If I may, I’d like to talk about her later.”

Jace felt his hope rise. “Does that mean…?”

She took a few deep breaths. “I want your permission to be your daughter,” she said firmly. “I’d like to meet you as often as I can. If you’re able to hear me call you ‘Dad’, that would be fantastic, but I can see how that would feel weird right off the bat.”

Jace swallowed a lump in his throat, but for the first time in years, he couldn’t contain his emotions. He wiped away moisture from his eyes that Jasme did not comment on, but when he opened his eyes, he saw her looking delighted.

“I… I would love that,” he informed her.

“Yes!!!” she did a charming little victory dance before looking at him again. “Um. Also if you don’t mind, I’m something of a hugger…”

“It’s not my style, but…” he laughed his first genuine laugh in years. “I’ll get used to it!”

He felt her arms lock around him the second he got the words out. He inhaled in shock as he returned the hug. This was really happening!

She held on tightly for a few seconds before chuckling. “You reacted exactly the way Mom and Theron did before they got used to this. Guess I’m the standout in this family! Not that that’s a bad thing.”

“Would you be okay if I let people know that you’re my daughter?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “That would be great! I don’t like sneaking around, giving people the wrong impression…”

“I take it the Jedi don’t know about your relationship to Satele.”

She chuckled ruefully. “We haven’t told many people about it. Not that that means much. I’m rather like her in some ways. And a lot of people know my connection to one ‘Theron Shan’. That should be enough to set tongues wagging.”

“I wanted to ask him why he kept her name,” Jace said. “He clearly… has issues with Satele.”

“He’d say it’s an act of defiance,” Jasme’s eyes shone with mirth. “I think it’s love. He tried so hard to get into the Academy, to be close to her. To understand her motives better. When he was denied… he was heartbroken.” Her humor vanished at that. “He cried for weeks before he disappeared. He’d send me messages every now and then, but it wasn’t until recently that I met him again. He can’t let go of her. Of his family. I’m certain Mister ‘I don’t talk about my feelings’ didn’t tell you this, but he was pleased when you found him. He'd given up on being a son, but soon after your talk…”

“Everything changed,” Jace finished. “I know the feeling.”

“He feels… more secure in the galaxy now. Calmer.”

“He thinks about more than just his job?”

She snorted. “Yeah. He came to meet me for the first time in years. He’s starting to feel wanted again, by more than just me. I’m glad.”

“Why aren’t you enough?”

“I… I’ve thought about it for years, and I still don’t have an answer. Maybe he wanted the right to feel angry? Maybe he found me annoying? I can be needy sometimes. Maybe he was ashamed. Maybe he needed someone who made him feel special; since I try to be everyone’s friend.”

“I don’t think it’s a ‘you’ problem. He… he called me before you came. He said you were the nicest person in the galaxy. Said no one hurts you.”

She laughed. “Not to my face, anyway. But I was a little hurt when he walked out on me. And a couple of other times in my life. We’ll get to those later.”

“Of course. I’d like to know everything there is about you.”

She thought for a moment, then gave him a slightly mischievous grin. “Are you absolutely sure you want to publicly accept me as your daughter?”

“Yes,” Jace smiled.

“Then you should know, I’m going to abuse that privilege,” her eyes sparkled again. “I’m going to introduce myself to some of your co-workers, and make them my collaborators.”

“Collaborators?”

“Yes. They’re going to be accessories in my plot to get you to live a healthier lifestyle. Get you to leave work at 1800, eat your meals on time, and so forth. Maybe even get their help fitting me into your schedule.”

“Ah,” he felt a mix of consternation and satisfaction. “You are making me nervous!”

“Good. I’d like to create a new comfort zone for you, one which allows me to drop in more often.”

“You will be welcome anytime,” Jace smiled.

She laughed again, and he realised that he felt a deep happiness whenever he heard that sound. A type of joy he’d long hoped to feel as a young adult, but had abandoned as time had passed.

He was… pleased. He had a son. And a daughter who already loved him, not half an hour after meeting him. Someone who made it clear she was going to fuss about his well-being in a way few did anymore.

The thought shattered some dam which had been standing in his chest for nearly thirty years, and a tidal wave of emotion burst forth which he had suppressed.

But Jasme held him as he wept, and for the first time in his life, he felt like he was home.

 *

[ooihcnoiwlerh]

Okay, so I wait tables and bartend for a living, and worked New Year’s Eve dinner for the second year at my first real non-corporate, independent neighborhood restaurant and bar.  The holiday season both last year and this year had shitshow experiences with things that we couldn’t control.  Last year, in mid-December, our coffee machine/hot water dispenser broke, meaning we couldn’t make our own coffee or iced tea and whenever people ordered hot tea, which was often, especially for hot toddies, whoever was bartending would have to heat up the water on a Bunsen burner.

This year, I come in at three.  It’s not too bad, except I don’t really know what the game plan is, when we switch to dinner.  We have a lot of covers considering that we’re, again, a pretty small restaurant and can only accommodate so many people at once.  We also have at most four servers on at a time and only one bartender to both take care of the bar guests and do service bartending, and at most one host.  So we have some disgruntled guests angry that we can’t accommodate them as much, especially given that for dinner we have a prix-fixe menu and can make exceptions only for a couple of dishes and for kid’s menu items.  The amount of covers increase to sixty-five as more people start panicking and making last-minute plans, and we start chanting “Four more!  Four more!  Four more!” and then a party of seven makes a reservation over the phone and we have to start playing Tetris with the three restaurant sections.  We correctly assume that the patio won’t be as popular.  I take the front section of the front room, fully prepared to be the closing server.  I will be.

The energy feels almost uncomfortable.  People are seething that we have too many reservations to have walk-ins, bar gets crowded, but it feels more uncomfortable than hectic.  But then it happens.  The shitshow.

Our water line breaks, which completely floods the bar with three inches of water, and floods the front room.  Our host has to abandon post to help clean it up, and the water keeps coming so I take over hosting duties in addition to looking after my section.  Our bar manager is MOD tonight, and he has a high threshold for bullshit but is the most stressed I’ve ever seen him.  He bought a nice new pair of shoes that are now ruined.  Our bartender nearly gets hurt a couple of times.  We have an on-call repairman named Bruce who comes in and stops the water, but clearly something’s wrong with how much water is on the floor.  I’m still waiting on and seating people, who are noticing the issue.  Our bar manager’s girlfriend and her family are one of my tables, and they’re thankfully pretty unfazed/sympathetic.  

My neighbors across the street come in and they probably notice how tense I am and that something’s wrong, and I admit that “there has been a minor technical issue” and I end up waiting on them.  By this point, no more water is seeping in and our host and repair guy, not to mention our bar manager, have helped soak up a fair amount of the flooding.  Our bartender, of course, has been a bit busy making a shit ton of drinks both for the bar and a fully packed restaurant.

It’s a nightmare but we get through it, because in the service industry the only way out of it is through it.  I can kind of see the humor in how we ended the year doing our best managing a crisis.  It’s a little cathartic, honestly.  We’re closed tomorrow and Monday, and on Monday I’m turning thirty, so this is not only our last shift of the year but my last shift there in my twenties.  My co-workers who are in their thirties assure me that things get better in your thirties, and I hope so.  Twenty-nine sucked.  I got a few creative things done but I also know eight people who died this year.  Our kitchen make us a nice family meal out of the extra items on our prix-fixe menu that included prime rib, porchetta, mashed potatoes, stewed cannellini beans, rapini, brussels sprouts, mushrooms, and au jus and we all, back and front of house, toast to a difficult shift we managed to get through and to a new year.  I’ve never had porchetta or prime rib before this, and both are great--I’ve worked at a lot of restaurants where the food is either overrated or just kind of mediocre, but where I work takes pride in their food and as shitty as the evening has been, it’s been a good bonding experience.  As we clean up and close down we all have prosecco and/or tequila and/or Jameson and talk for a bit before we lock up and head home, feeling palpable relief that we were able to get through the night and feeling tougher for it.

[ledenews]

Frangopoulos Accepts General Manager's Position at The Lube at The Highlands

The courtship only took 15 years. Fifteen very long years. The relationship, of course, always has been strong and consistent, but Michelle Izso Frangopoulos refused to take it to the next level. Until this month, that is. Frangopoulos is one of the original employees hired by Quaker Steak & Lube at The Highlands when the eatery opened in 2009, and so was her best friend, Christine McKnickle Thomas. Even though the two did not know each other very well at the time, the service manager and the marketing manager have teamed up to promote and present a number of special events that have placed The Lube on the “local” map. Hope for Hines. Dine to Donate. Feeding first responders on holidays. Name it and it’s likely it’s been done at The Lube. Frangopoulos has teamed up with Christine McKnickle Thomas to host a number of different special events and fundraisers at The Lube. “I believe Christine and I run a very good business, and we have a lot of regular events here that help our community because that’s very important to everyone that works here,” Frangopoulos explained. “I believe that’s what makes us special because we’re a corporate-run establishment, but at the same time, we’re a local place that reaches out to our community without being asked to do so. “Most of that work is all Christine, and then we all follow her lead so we can have the biggest impact possible,” she said. “I know the general manager’s position comes with a lot of hours and I know it involves everything under this roof instead of just one area like I had before, but I know my staff will be there to make this place even better than it’s been in the past.” Family, Frangopoulos has insisted, always has come first. “But now, taking this position, believe it or not, will give me some freedom, too, so I can attend my son’s (Aiden) soccer games in Pittsburgh or wherever they may be, and that’s going to be great because he’s a freshman at Wheeling Park now,” she explained. “So, he has games locally, but a lot of the bigger games are out of town. “Aiden may only be a freshman in high school, but he plays varsity for Park, and he’s been playing soccer since he was four years old,” she explained. “It means something to him, and he loves it, so he has my full support and I’m going to be there every chance I can.” Frangopoulos has been the service manager at The Lube for several years, and during her career, the eatery has employed 11 GMs. People, and More People The Highlands in Ohio County is home to more than 30 retail operations, 25 restaurants, seven hotels, nearly 30 service-oriented offices, two car dealerships, four light industrial outfits, AND The Highlands Sports Complex, so a plethora of people visit each and every week. Plus, the Federal Highways Administration says as many as 53,000 motorists travel along Interstate 70 in West Virginia on a daily basis. So, there are a thousands upon thousands of reasons why The Lube is open every single day of every year. “I accepted the position knowing all of that, but that’s because I’ve been here for 15 years and I think the way we go about it is honestly the best way for this eatery,” Frangopoulos insisted. “So, I decided to step up, take the position, and operate this Quaker Steak & Lube like the community restaurant it’s pretty much been since we opened. Of course, we get a lot of people from Interstate 70 because our food is terrific, but we also have our regulars and we’re known in the area as a restaurant you can count on when the community needs us. as the service manager at The Lube, Frangopoulos has needed to step in to help in all facets of the eatery's operation. “During those 15 years, we’ve seen general managers come and go, and I think we counted 11 GMs that we’ve had here, but this time I said yes because we know how to make this place successful,” she continued. “I’ve been asked to take the position before, but it wasn’t the right time to do it. Now it is, and we’re going to have a great summer.” The restaurant opens daily at 11 a.m. and is open at least 11 hours each day, and in two weeks the Quaker Steak & Lube corporation will celebrate 50 years in food service. The same week, The Lube at The Highlands will stage Biker Appreciation Day with free kickstand pads on Wednesday, May 1, “Thirsty Thursday” the next day with free glasses, a Patio Party on Friday with live entertainment, a special steak night on Saturday, and classic car Cruiser Appreciation Day on Sunday. “It’s going to be a lot of fun because we know we’ll see all of our friends from the community come to The Highlands,” Frangopoulos said. “We have had a few owners since I started here, but we’ve had the same great customers since the beginning. Plus, when we have bigger events like these will be, a lot of the people who have worked here come back to see us and that’s always a blast. “We’ve had a lot of college students here working, and after they’ve graduated, they’ve gone off to do what they went to school for, but they always come back to see us,” the new general manager said. “We have our bad days at work and this place is no different, but overall, we have a good time here and we make it fun for each other. And we’re a close-knit bunch here, and I hope that never changes.” Read the full article

[daisiesforkate]

College is a tool for class consciousness.

This is a conversation post. I want to have my mind changed on this.

Recently I’ve heard a lot of discourse about how college is a waste of money and doesn’t even matter and it has me truly baffled.

Personal background:

-My mom was a private school teacher so I was able to attend good boarding schools my whole life at almost no cost.

-I graduated college with a stem degree, which I was able to attend because my great grandmother paid some of my tuition before she died (I still had to take some loans and graduated with debt).

-I grew up in a liberal community that emphasized political activism and education.

-I am politically on the left, definitely the most left-leaning of my family and many of my friends, and consider myself to be pretty good about keeping up with sociopolitical goings-on.

ISSUE:

(I use “they” to refer to both the ruling and working classes here, so if it’s confusing anywhere just lmk)

The main arguments I hear are that A) college is too expensive and B) college is a waste of money because jobs don’t pay better if you have a degree.

A is totally fair, if you can’t afford it you can’t afford it. That’s not your fault and shouldn’t be held against you. I have no problem with this.

B is crazy to me. In a time when a mirror is being held up to society and the unique place that class holds as a socioeconomic marker is under examination, where is this mentality coming from? Like, the ruling class would LOVE for us to not be educated. They would kick their feet and giggle like schoolgirls if the working class decided to say “f school”. Like??? And people don’t want to be college-educated because jobs don’t pay that much more, but isn’t that also playing into the classist structure? Isn’t that the point? Yeah, they don’t pay more bc they don’t think a degree should be *for* you. It’s discouraging because it’s intended to be discouraging for anyone except other rich people. Like aren’t people who say B essentially saying “I have decided to make my life revolve around work and I do not care about furthering myself for anything unless it benefits the corporate world for me to do so”? Because, to me, they’re implying that if their job paid more to be more educated *then* they would go to college. I understand money is a big issue, but if for nothing else then is education for the sake of personal improvement not a good enough thing in the long run?

I wanted to go to the women’s march in DC in 2016, but I couldn’t because of school and my mom told me “education is our rebellion”, and I can’t wrap my head around why education of the working class is no longer seen as a tool for change or this great act of “sticking it to the man” and “getting up when they push you down” and whatnot. ESPECIALLY in a time when social activism is so prevalent and classism is being put under the microscope like this. Wouldn’t this be the exact period in history where we would expect to be seeing *more* education? It feels like we’re giving the ruling class exactly what they want since keeping people uneducated is a tool that they’ve used throughout history as a method of quelling social movements. And so often the same people who say college is a waste are also lamenting how politically/socially illiterate people have become, especially in regard to the news cycle. Higher education is how you combat that, is it not? Like a “using their own system against them” sorta thing. Shouldn’t we be saying “if you can’t afford it then don’t go, but if you **can** afford it then you should”? Shouldn’t there be a whole education-uprising or something?

If I heard more discussion about reorganizing the college structure or solutions that make college not “a waste of money” I would be totally down for those. But all I’m hearing is throwing the baby out with the bath water, it seems, and just giving up on the whole college system? I really don’t understand why.

This issue makes me feel like I’m misunderstanding something about classism and this is when I go and try to find out what it is I’m not getting. I feel like there is a gap in my understanding of the current social situation that I want to fill.

[ihavenothingtodo10220]

100% accurate with the way you said abt the therapist friend or the person whos always the extra earpiece. it feels like people want others in their lives but only for their own benefit bit like how people have kids even tho the world isnt really suitable for them so what do they do? have kids anyway and be like ehhh tell their gremlins to just suck it up as though older generations arent responsible for anything but then again no ones accountable so what does it matter anymore? ~ common sense anon.

Exactly. Like, the amount of times I was the third earpiece or the go between in basically everyone’s lives was exhausting as shit. And again I agree with your statement about having kids when the world isn’t suitable. Like, I get wanting to have a family and settle down and raise a kid, and if your situation means you can have one all the power to you, but people with those particular situations are growing to be less and less. And then I hate when people lord it over their kids heads like “Oh I gave birth to you.” That was a choice you made and something they have no control over. And I love what you said about ‘gremlins’ because honestly that’s what a majority Gen alpha is becoming. Not as if it’s their fault, but parents nowadays are shitty as fuck parents. I’m not saying my parents were perfect or parents in my generation were perfect, but at least the way they raised us was…Raising us, albeit with a lot of spankings which I’m not about to get into. But nowadays people don’t even want to raise their kids or have any punishments for them verbal or not. Like they just give them an iPad and let them walk all over them and do whatever they want. Again, this isn’t the kids fault and I’m not trying to be that person like “Oh kids nowadays are so disrespectful.” Like I have two baby cousins, sweetest kids ever, I love them to bits. Their father is a good dad, (albeit with corporal punishment which…Again we’re not getting into) and working long shifts so they’re with the mom most of the time, but their mom lets them do whatever the hell they want and run wild. Like I’ve seen them do crazy ass shit only for her to laugh it off or try and tell them not to only for them to walk all over her and for her to just let them. Like there’s a difference between gentle parenting and letting your kid run wild as a menace. When he’s around family and she isn’t he’s so sweet and articulate and well-behaved. He even listens well. But when she’s around? He runs wild and tears stuff up and my house and some furniture is STILL damaged from how much of a menace he was, albeit he’s mellowed out. He also tried to throw himself over the banister and she just wasn’t there because she left him unattended with me and the rest of his cousins who didn’t even really know we were supposed to be watching him. Also I just remembered this but he can’t go to daycare and stuff because he’s not potty trained. He’s about to be like six this year. And he still wears diapers. And lies about them being full and his mom just goes along with what he says even though we can smell it and see the sag.

All and all everything’s going to shit.

[m4tinnn]

Question 2

As a person who loves being creative and the world of creativity - This course that I’m in is the right place for me. I’m a person who loves digital to tactile and the various forms of art and design. From branding/marketing works and design communication to the art style of painting, Linocut, Screen print to even video formats and even sewing. I’ve been exposed to all various types of creativity and I have interest in all of them.

I do feel like I’m lucky to have this burning passion for being in the creative world as not many people love this space especially here in Singapore. Currently I'm taking my diploma in Design Communications and I’m left with 1 year and half in this course. I love it as the different modules shape me as a better designer but also someone who loves being creative. 

I would love to be an established designer in the upcoming years - Being in a design firm whether it being a corporate company just to start off to hopefully a design agency or a studio such as Practice.Theory - Foreign Policy Design or even go more of the tactile/illustration studio route such as Knuckles & Knotch any many more! 

Here are some of my current works! From school projects and also personal work!

Health Hub  - Mental Health Campaign 2022

This was a campaign by the Health Promotion Board in 2022. Their campaign was about raising awareness about the rise of Mental Health in Singapore. By having videos, social media ads to posters plastered all over Singapore, they got to raise the stigma of how important Mental Health is in this day and age of life.

The different stories in the posters are inspired by real stories that teenagers and the young generation faced in their lives in the modern age. How the different colours & characters represent the different stories and what they are about.

Personally I’ve seen the video ads and also saw the actual poster’s as seen from the picture I took. I’m glad that the government is finally realising how Mental Health is very important and how it’s a big issue in the modern day that we live in. I would say for the younger generation, this campaign definitely helps us a lot. It helps to be knowledgeable about the topic and what are the things we can do if we have friends/family facing these issues. However…

I do feel like this is still not enough for the older generation. There's still a big stigma about Mental Health and everything about this topic. Other than online & public awareness, There should be brochures around the country or be in the newspaper assuming the older generation still reads them.

Other ways could be organising a real life campaign doing different activities from talks to group counselling and such. Maybe having an annual event on the day of Mental Health day every 10th October making it free for all citizens to attend. Having this stigma more aware for the older generation.

Us as designers can communicate with the people around the basics by just having posters all over the island and raising awareness with the different social issues - Mental Health being one as I’ve shared. There's so many more campaigns held by the government so far such as the kindness campaign but there are also campaigns held by people having their own petition such as abolishing the death penalty any many more. 

580 Words

MLA Reference :

“Practice Theory.” Practice-Theory-2023, practicetheory.com.sg. Accessed 16 Nov. 2023.

Policy, Foreign. “Coming Soon | Foreign Policy.” Foreignpolicy.design, foreignpolicy.design.

Knuckles & Notch | Knuckles & Notch Is a Risograph Printing and Publishing Studio. We Provide Riso-Printing Service and Operates as a Retail Shop for Art-Books, Prints and Merchandizes.knucklesandnotch.com. Accessed 16 Nov. 2023.

“Seeking-Support.” Www.healthhub.sg, www.healthhub.sg/programmes/mindsg/seeking-support. Accessed 16 Nov. 2023.

[video-production-leeds]

Meet The Shot Blast Media Team: Our Favourite Movies

The Shot Blast Media team are a small, experienced and captivated team who are incredibly passionate about bringing creativity to the video production industry. In this blog , you will learn about the team’s favourite movies, why they enjoy working in the video production industry, and a little bit more about their career background! Lotty Wiltshaw , Director, formed Shot Blast Media in 2012 with one purpose in mind: to produce corporate videos that would go above and beyond a simple portrayal of what her clients do. Lotty specialises in creative storytelling by using a multitude of skills acquired over a career which spans many years in video creation & production. Lotty’s previous years of experience working across Television Production for the BBC has also helped push her creative production skills forward as Director at Shot Blast Media. When she’s not working, she loves adventures. Lotty is always looking for a new city or country to explore, taking in the scenery, enjoying the food and getting involved with the local arts and music, as well as spending quality time with her family. What is your favourite film? My favourite film is Shawshank Redemption. It’s a fantastic story. Very moving with compelling characters and sends out a message of hope. Well written, well acted and well filmed too. All round perfect movie in my eyes. What do you like about working in the video production industry? We get to tell lots of stories, our own and other peoples whilst getting behind the scenes of businesses and seeing things we don’t often get to see. That’s exciting! Steph Taylor , Sales & Business Development Manager, has more than 14 years of experience working across sales and business development in a variety of large corporations, such as Experian and Virgin Pulse. Steph joined Shot Blast Media in 2023, and works towards promoting our video production packages and other popular video services. What is your favourite film? My favourite film is Shawshank redemption because the story is gripping yet heartwarming. The main character alongside Morgan Freeman works so well and I love a happy ending. I do enjoy a good underdog story so my second favourite is Erin Brockovich. What do you like about working in the video production industry? Early days into my experience here at SBM, I enjoy supporting companies to bring their products and culture to life via video production. Video’s tell the story so well, bringing creativity and personality together. Short, snappy and engaging!! David Mead , Camera Operator and Editor, is an accomplished and innovative filmmaker with 20 years of experience, specialising in video editing, camera operating and directing. He has been working with Shot Blast Media for the past 6 years, bringing to life every client brief, from script to screen projects of all shapes and sizes. What is your favourite film? I hate this question! So lets put a spin on it, what’s the 1 desert island disc I would take… The Simpsons Season 5. The peak of the golden era! I’ve seen all these episodes countless times, the opening 5 episodes are all 10/10, it’s hard to find another 5 in a row this good. Homer’s Barbershop Quartet, Cape Feare, Homer Goes to College, Rosebud and the best, Treehouse of Horror IV, including the segment Terror at 5 and half feet, where a Gremlin attacks the school bus. This was the inspiration for a short film I made with a puppet and CGI Gremlin a few years ago called Turn Around When Possible, which had over 2 million views. Go check it out! This series also includes my favourite all time episode. Boy Scoutz ‘n the Hood. I could recite the entire script for you if you wanted. It’s just one hilarious gag after another. Homer is in fine form. GET ME 700 KRUSTY BURGERS! The Simpsons in general has always been one of my favourite things to watch (only season 3-9, that story is for a different day). Huge sense of nostalgia with every watch. Themes of family values mixed with a bit over the top mayhem with countless brilliant characters is just bliss. What do you like about working in the video production industry? Going to all sorts of places and meeting all sorts of people. Every week is different which keeps everyone on their toes. I’ve travelled to places far and wide across the UK, Europe and North America on projects. Places I would have never gone doing another job. Getting to use new equipment is always fun and finding ways to make each project better than the last. Maddy Goddard , Marketing Executive, works to bring creativity to Shot Blast Media’s social channels. She graduated from the University of Leeds in 2021 with a degree in Film, Photography and Media, and her years of experience in the marketing industry means she is ideally focused on brand awareness and lead generation for the business. Maddy previously worked in Marketing for various recruitment firms across Leeds, and was extremely excited to start her role within her dream industry; video production. What is your favourite film? I would have to say that Madagascar is my favourite film. Madagascar 2 is a pretty close second though… It’s my go-to film on my birthday and it never fails to make me laugh. I also cannot wait to watch the stage musical of Madagascar soon…. Some may say that this is a kids film, however these people would be WRONG. What do you like about working in the video production industry? I have wanted to work in the video industry since I was in school, so it’s fantastic that I’ve been able to fulfil that dream. I absolutely love working in this industry. There is something different happening every week and I’ve learnt a whole bunch of new filmmaking skills since working at Shot Blast Media. Byron Sheldon , Camera Operator and Editor, joined Shot Blast Media after finishing his Bachelor’s degree in Filmmaking from Leeds Beckett University in 2022. Byron focuses on working on the company’s monthly video subscription service, in which he films and edits unique and memorable videos for a range of businesses across Yorkshire. What is your favourite film? Hot Fuzz holds a special place in my heart, and it’s no surprise why. I’m a massive fan of the dynamic duo, Simon Pegg and Nick Frost. Their comedic brilliance and on-screen chemistry have never failed to put a smile on my face! And let’s not forget the icing on the cake – Edgar Wright, the genius director behind this cinematic gem. Here’s a fun tidbit about me: When I was younger, I dreamt of joining the police force! And that’s precisely why “Hot Fuzz” resonates so deeply with me. It’s a perfect blend of thrilling action and hilarious comedy, all within the context of law enforcement. Watching the film brings back memories of my childhood aspiration and sparks a sense of adventure every time! What do you like about working in the video production industry? One day, you might find us delving 100 metres underground, capturing breathtaking shots in unexpected locations. The next day, we could be perched on majestic mountaintops, filming electric trucks zooming by! This industry brings with it an exciting mix of challenges and endless possibilities, allowing me to bring my creative vision to life in ways they never imagined. Let us know what your favourite film is! Find out more about the Shot Blast Media team . Learn more about our video services .

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         Backpacking the Philippines 2019

After I lived in Studio City I was on my way to Singapore to visit a friend who grew up there. Haven’t seen him since we went to college in Manhattan. Then the plan was to go to Manila to meet my two friends who never met each other and backpack (a New Yorker and a Angelino). The only person I’ve ever known who really back packed was my dad who’s from Rahway, New Jersey. My dad was a backpacker for 3 years and did it at the age of 22-25. He never left Jersey and he decided to backpack Europe for 3 months in his early 20s. After Europe, he just kept going and going. He saw a lot of the world. All before cell phones, only used a map, worked place to place, and stayed in hostels, or better yet made friends and couch surfed. I learned traveling through my parents at a young age which made it less scary as I got older. This trip to the Philippines we backpacked Coron Palawan, Oslob Cebu, Bohol, and then back to Manila where my cousin was getting married the day I got there. When my friends left after the two weeks, I wanted to stay in Manila to spend time with family. Then it’s time to get ready for my move back to New York. My trip was a smart move. I planned it in half a year. Traveling is expensive and to make it affordable with a portion of my paycheck every week. I bought tickets, an Airbnb, or an excursion. Chatting with the girls to make plans. Every corporate job only allowed 2 weeks of vacation. So knowing that and not wanting to go from working 50 hours, quitting a job, and not having a break. Since moving cross country is stressful. You have to find a job, an apartment, and create a life again. My mother emphasized that the Philippines is where we come from and never forget that, no matter how far away we are. Or however long it’s been. So I decided to go home.

I got rid of all my stuff. Futons, so many clothes, a bed, all the things I accumulated in about 3 years in LA. What I was bringing back to New York was the big suitcase I moved with. I made sure my layover on my way to New York was LA, so I could see friends and get my luggage. Give the people I cared for most, a one last hug goodbye. 

    I travel light, even more so now. I’ve mastered it. I brought a hand carry and my ukulele on this month journey. I started in Singapore. I remember sitting next to an old couple from Florida.

    An elderly Singaporean woman and an elderly American man. When you talk to people on the airplane you connect quickly. Sometimes I find it’s easier to get into deep conversation with strangers. The mere fact is you’ll never see them again. I found out that they lived half the year in Florida and the other half in Singapore. Have children and retired from IBM. My grandfather worked for IBM so I was able to relate. An old computer company that gave employees great pensions.

  When we arrived at our destination, the elderly woman was so nice to offer me a ride to where I was staying. I declined and she persisted “Let us bring you home, we have a driver.” She didn’t take no for an answer which in traveling is a red flag. Why would an old couple want to take a 27 year old girl to her friend’s house? That they never met nor would get anything out of. So I didn’t trust it. What’s the benefit for them? This is how people get tricked and god knows what else. So, when we got through immigration I told the elderly woman that I have to go to the bathroom and lost her on purpose and got the Grab. The old people seemed harmless but being in a foreign country, it just felt like a perfect trap. Most important thing is as females traveling you have to prioritize safety.

Singapore 

    Seeing my friend in Singapore was like no time had passed and he was an amazing host. We went to Gardens by the Bay which is an indoor botanical garden. I never seen anything like it. It had tulips, man made waterfalls, and so many different plants. The malls have everything you can possibly imagine in them. Asia is known for malls and humidity. However, Singapore is known for the best of everything. Best malls, best gardens, best restaurants, and the best airport. I’ve been to a lot of airports. It’s crazy beautiful.    Singapore is clean, the cleanest, like Japan or Korea. It’s so refreshing. I went to Japan when I was 7 years old with my parents and I never seen any place so clean. Everyone speaks English. In Singapore, I heard if you drop your cigarette on the ground it’s 200 Sing as a fine. There are no homeless people. I also was able to meet all his friends who were from all over the world. My friend showed me his job and brought me to a work party that had a private room upstairs. It was a restaurant with amazing catered food, but it looked and felt like a home. Wooden tables, brick walls, a fire place, a balcony outside to smoke. They hosted private events in that space and their work has outings on the regular. We went to the Intercontinental Hotel for live jazz and cocktails, there was a gorgeous view on the roof, we went for tea and had a real tea party, got food at the Singaporean market, and saw wild trees and flowers you won’t ever see the States. I enjoyed seeing his life and having a true local experience.

From Singapore, I was headed to Manila. My friends were on the plane together who have never met each other. As soon as I got off the plane my brother was waiting for me. He brought us to get hot pot and we got vegetarian because my friends are vegetarian. Which is majorly difficult if you want to backpack the Philippines. We stayed at a Hotel that I got completely for free as an award for signing up mostly every customer as a member. With Kimpton every customer that wasn’t a member became a member. I received over 100,000 points for singing up every customer into the program and the reward was hotel rooms from the company IHG.

Coron Palawan

    We made sure our hotel was near the airport because our next flight was early in the morning to Coron, Palawan. My friend went months before us and gave us tips for an all inclusive package. We stayed in a guest house that gave us breakfast, as well as excursions. Took us on a boat where we found really great snorkeling, we were brought to private islands to get lunch, and the hiking was unlike anything I ever seen. 

     I spoke Tagalog a little, but it was more than I ever had to because I had the responsibility to guide and lead my friends. Tried to establish “Hey! I can understand you” (Nakakaintindi ko) I used it to find the bathroom, or where our guest house was, or to bargain prices. 

    Now that I’m an adult I wish I was better and am trying to be better. My vegetarian friends lived off rice, vegetables, and french fries. Drinks were cheap too. 

     We spent about 5 days in Palawan. My friend was scraped by coral and still has a mark. The spots we went swimming on the island were the most beautiful we ever seen. Clear water where you can see your feet and fish. It really was magical. Not in a corny way but in a real way where you believe in magic. 

Oslob Cebu

    We soon flew to Oslob, Cebu. Specifically to see whale sharks. We got there pretty late and my family arranged a driver to get us. He brought us to our hotel which wasn’t in Oslob it was in a place called Dalaguete. Maybe an hour away from Oslob. 

     At first we were upset. I booked the wrong hotel. When we woke up in the morning and went outside to go get breakfast. I kid you not we were in the most beautiful place with the most beautiful ocean that goes on for days. We were beyond thankful to have gotten to be there and have breakfast. The driver came back and brought us over to the real Oslob.

     When we arrived to this place it was supposed to be a treehouse that I booked on Airbnb and it was severely wrong. I knew $40 was too good to be true, I booked a tent. An actual tent. The tent had an air mattress, a fan, and a light. The place had food, drinks, out door showers, and down the steps was an ocean. With a bench and a deck to jump off of.

    There were shared bathrooms and showers. They spoke basaya and there were beautiful cats there. One of my friends was so excited to stay in a tent, the other not so much, I felt sorry for putting us through this but felt indifferent about staying. We couldn’t get anything better; everything was booked out for tourists that wanted to see whale sharks. But the one who didn’t want to stay; her being a cat lover. This beautiful pregnant cat won her over. 

    The host was there for a summer job which summer is in June. She was studying sustainable tourism and she was super nice to us. Perfect English and made us feel like home. She also brought us to see the whale sharks. 

    Now I didn’t expect the whale sharks to feel like Disney land, but it did. The line was long and we were brought out by boat to see them and were able to swim with them. We only got 30 mins with them as there’s animal rights now for them. At 6 AM they uncover the net and the whale sharks are able to chose to come get fish or not. The guys row the boats and feed them fish. We noticed only the baby whale sharks but they are huge. As big as the boat. I got a water proof case for my iphone so I could take videos and I still have them. 

    It was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I’m so happy I did it and with friends. When we were done we were talking to other hostel guests and one said to our host; “how often do you get to see WhaleSharks?” Her answer was “never gone, I’m working to pay for school.” It produced a feeling that I’m familiar with. Of being so close to something but never having the opportunity. I hope she does one day but I did understand that it wasn’t important to her. Paying for school and the summer job was important to her. 

    Surprisingly our favorite place was Oslob in a tent. It was wholesome. A feeling you can’t really fake. We enjoyed it and we were off in a boat to go to Bohol. 

To Be Continued …