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the-cat-at-the-theatre-door · 2 years

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I'm new to the CATS fandom and I'm confused? Why isn't anyone allowed to like the Broadway revival? Is it problematic?

Hi anon, welcome to the fandom.

I'm going to gently correct your use of "allowed" here, because I don't want you to get the wrong idea. You are "allowed" to like/enjoy/connect to whatever production of CATS you want (there are literally dozens to choose from). There is no rule indicating that you can't like the Broadway revival; there are a lot of people who *love* the Broadway revival and proceeding tours. Some people were even introduced to CATS through the revival. And that's great! This isn't a place to judge based on which CATS production you happen to like (nor would I ever do that).

For me personally, and I can only speak for myself and have spoken about this many times before, the Broadway revival is a series of poorly thought out, uneven and last minute rush decisions cobbled together with masking tape, and a further push towards the uniformity and "sanitization" (in the sense of making it, as Jacob Brent put it, less dangerous in terms of it being explicitly weird and out of the box - not in rightfully changing things that were offensive and/or outdated) of CATS that it didn't need. It's a production that was weighed down by a *very* hefty legacy (regardless of what anyone says or any critical opinion, CATS literally changed Broadway and musical theatre forever - that joke about CATS having walked so Phantom and Hamilton could run? Not an exaggeration.), that tried to be so different from its predecessor to alleviate some of that pressure, and in turn shove so much....*stuff* into it's runtime that it shot itself in the foot. It eliminated a lot of that organic improv and difference that CATS is known for and instead opted to choreograph every moment, leaving no room for its performers to breathe or characterize themselves. And the production team is at fault for this.

Common complaints lie in that it was, for the most part, change for the sake of change. A very "If it ain't broke, don't fix it" type of situation. And I’m not going to stand here and say that change or “freshening up” isn’t good - but I will say that when changes are being made, we need to ask *why* they are being made and whether or not that why actually constitutes changing something. It completely scrapped Broadway's different, detailed and grungier designs for dramatically simplified and watered down London designs instead, with a massive fear of non-human eyebrows for some reason (and bringing some of that good old “Why cat woman not sexy though? Not sexy with stripes and blush and dots on face - only lipstick” back from across the pond). Why? Just because (also I'm guessing something to do with Candace Carell but I'm not knowledgeable enough about that to speculate - it's also cheaper across the board to standardize replicas and take shortcuts with costumes, and you know RUG and co. will take any and all opportunity to maximize profit).

The cast were insanely talented people, but the production team didn't exactly do them any favors. Makeup application training was drastically shortened. The usual cat and improv school was drastically shortened. Rehearsal time was drastically shortened and disorganized. Numbers were being scrapped and re-re-done and pushed off and put in and taken out and put in again, literally right up until opening week. Not for a fledgling production mind you- for a show that had been running continuously *without a hitch* all over the world for 35 years.

From a purely petty perspective, the revival also last minute screwed Gillian Lynne out of something she created from scratch. And I'm not saying Lynne's choreo is sacred, nor should it never be changed. I'm saying they pushed her out of something they promised her after the London revival (where she had already made choreo changes herself) and gave it to Hamilton's choreographer purely because Hamilton was popular at the time and they could slap his name on it to drum up publicity. That's literally it. While Blankenbuehler is talented, he didn’t really have any experience with full dance productions of this caliber prior to CATS and, honestly, it shows. I would go so far as to venture that he would not have been hired were Hamilton not such a huge hit. And honestly I *understand* Lynne having been hurt by that, and while her approach to the press was a little shady, they did cut her out of something that she poured literally her whole heart into for publicity’s sake. That leaves a very sour taste in my mouth.

It also kept a racist line after making a big deal out of removing Growltiger because of its racism, and played it off as an "only old people are racist" joke. Which is, apologies, absolutely inane. I cannot even begin to fathom who thought that was a good idea and for what reason.

Does the revival have it’s good points? Yes absolutely. Was the cast talented? Yes. Are a lot of the changes they made completely unnecessary and come at the detriment of the show’s experience? Yes. Do I think the show suffered under its own legacy and their desperate attempts to differentiate? Yes. Does this bleed into the new US Tour? Yes even more so - Troika took the streamline and streamlined it even further, as they are wont to do to save money. Does any of this mean you shouldn’t like the revival? No, absolutely not. I honestly think there was no going about the revival in a way that would satisfy everyone - the point of a revival is to attract old fans while also coaxing new fans into purchasing tickets to maximize attendance. There was always going to be something about the show that was alienating to one or the other group. I think there are things we can appreciate about the revival, and things that perhaps we can improve on.

All in all, the Broadway Revival is a matter of personal preference. If you like it, fantastic. If you don’t, that’s fine, too. We can like things and be open to fair critique of them, and we can dislike things without raining on other people’s parades. Simple as that.

#i am not one of those people who would ever judge anyone based on their preferred cats production of choice #trust me #jellicles ask because jellicles dare #anonymous #Speaking of micro racism though they also were utilizing Kryolan paint sticks for their makeup #One of Kryolan’s yellow/browns is bluntly called “Chinese” and it was being used for several of the cats’ faces #which like...yikes #they changed the makeup - they did not need to get the performers to use this colour #Aaron Albano showed him tossing it in the garbage on his Instagram. Make of that what you will.

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naejigo · 2 years

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PLEASE REBLOG. PLEASE READ. PLEASE CONSIDER TO HELP.

I've been desperate before but phew, I sure hope you can help me through reblogging and more.

I was diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder (apparently the worst type of depression) and Anxiety disorder alongside ADHD. I went to my local public hospital for a cheaper price. I went secretly without my parents' knowledge because of a very offensive and ableist response the first time I reached out to them about it. I was a minor then but this year I turned 18 and could authorize for myself with the hospital's authorization.

The secret sessions were getting dangerous for fear my parents might find out. And being 18 in a conservative country where Adult ADHD is a myth, the treatments I was getting was borderline neglecting my needs because of how strong the stereotype about hyperactivity is despite ADHD being predominantly inattentive. So I stopped going.

I enrolled into the cheapest pre-university program a few months ago so I am not struggling with school money. Exam fee is quite expensive but my parents are covering that.

However the real problem is obviously my mental health. Here's the thing. My ADHD is severe. I need medication and proper treatments, I've reached out to a few other government hospitals and clinics but the results have been disappointing and some treatments were ableist and very troublesome. I also decided to tell my father about my diagnosis, he was the safer option than my mom. It was bad. He spoke to me as if I'm delusional. He said no genetic of his has ever had a mental illness. Told me to forget about it, but promised not to tell my mom, who 2 years ago reacted to me reaching out to see a therapist for anxiety by telling me I'm just distant from God. It's bad.

I'm only 18, and I can't get a part-time job, because 1) I've tried but my mom didn't allow me to 2) my pre-uni is a 1 ½ duration program with 5-6 special assignment that takes up all one entire semester, I have 3 semesters and 2 of it will be fitted with those assignments 3) my father wants me to help him full time with cabinets making, the thing is I can't do it often cuz of my chronic back pain so I can't get a job cuz of that too.

So. Phew. I'm fighting everyone to go to a private hospital instead to get treatments. However, my allowance can't cover even half the payment. I receive my allowance for about 50MYR a month, supposedly, although it's very indecisively given nowadays, maybe once every 2-3 months. I avoid eating in school to save up as much money as I could. I don't generally spend much for myself, mostly for my digital arts (new tablet, pencils, case, and keypad, simultaneously for school assignments too) because I'm investing to earn money through my arts.

To conclude, I am openly accepting as many commissions as I can get for the next three months until my 1st-semester finish before focusing on the special assignments and national exams.

I need around 400$-600$ (USD) to be able to get proper treatments, at least until I can self-organize my own medicine intake. And around 100$ to pay for a separate Language Exam that I'd rather my parents don't cover for reasons. I have severe parental trauma, it's gotten worse with how my parents have been lately, I'd rather be able to afford to be half financially capable for a while.

If you are able and willingly want to commission me, do message me, I will send my Term of Services and we can discuss your order.

My pieces ranges from 15$-55$ ONLY. I am begging you to help reblog this and help me in other ways you can. 🙏

Here are my recent, improved arts for reference!

You can also tip me on Ko-fi! Thank you for helping in anyway, thank you for reblogging.

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tsukishimas-shortcake · 4 years

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That’s the point baby

↦ Character(s): (3rd year) Tsukishima Kei X fem!reader

↦ Warnings: dom!Tsukki, bratty!fem!reader, light overstimulation, creampie, a tiny tiny bit of degradation, oral (m. receiving), man handling, I don’t know what you would call it but there is a photo taken of the reader after sex, not proof read.

↦ Word Count: 2.8k

↦ Your Order: “hi momo, can i request a midnight special with tsukishima x fem!reader with overstimulation and creampie kink please 👉👈 and if it's not too much for you i wish u could make it fluff at the end 👉👈 thank you so much, i hope u always have an amazing day ��💕” - anon

↦ Your Momo’s Receipt: Of course, and I do apologize I completely forgot about the part where you asked for fluff at the end, I may write a part two or just post a Tsukki flavored fluffy cupcake if that’s okay with you lovely anon! Thank you so much for your order and I hope you enjoy your time here at Momo’s! If you feel like it leave comments for the chef and please come again!

You were in a tough spot, maybe you could call it between a rock and a hard place, since technically you were pushed against a wall and Tsukishima’s chest. Now, how did you get here? Well let’s go back.

The day began as normal, the morning was humid and fog muddled your sight, making it unable to enjoy the normal scenery you would pass on the way to your destinations around town. However, it was supposed to be extremely hot today, and hot and humid was probably the worst thing for you, especially having to wear a school uniform that required a white shirt.

This caused you to ditch the knee high socks you normally wore and decided to leave your blazer at home, making sure to wear your tie, if you were going to get in trouble for your uniform you wanted to make sure you didn’t get into too much trouble. On your way to school you would normally meet up with your boyfriend at the half way point and walk the remaining half mile or so, but sadly Kei was at school already for early morning practice.

By the time you got to school you had run into Yachi as she walked with some of the new managers-in training that would take over the volleyball activities coming graduation, when she saw you she immediately dismissed them to go finish errands and began walking to you, both of you walking to your class together while chatting.

“So, how was this morning?” You asked softly, playing with the handle of your bag, “um...” Yachi said and looked around, almost avoiding the answer to such a simple question making you a bit confused, “I heard Kei-kun is a bit... mad today... not mad but frustrated you know?” she said, rambling on trying to phrase it in a way that would seem nicer even though she wasn’t being rude. You just nodded and looked at her, “do you know why?” you inquired and she shook her head, apparently she hadn’t shown up until half way through morning practice and the ‘incident’ had happened before then.

The scenarios and memories of frustrated Kei was something you loved, as long as he wasn’t being rude to people too much you found it kind of fun to mess with him. Walking into your class Kei was sitting at his desk by the window, his headphones on as he scrolled through his phone. You sat down at your desk, which thankfully was the one next to his and leaned to try and make your self known.

“Kei~” you waved at him and he glanced at you, slowly scrolling a few more times before tapping his phone and taking his headphones off with a sigh as he pushed his glasses up and turned in his seat to look at you. “Morning.” He stated a bit harshly, causing you to pout at him ever so slightly, “you okay?” you asked him, trying to look at him with big cute eyes to see how easily he may be swayed, weighing your chances and how you should act around him today.

“Yeah, just fine.” He said before turning in his seat to face forward, keeping his head looking at you though, “how are you? was the walk to school okay?” he said, to which you answered quickly, telling him about how you go there quicker than normal because you walked faster but sadly were lonely. The teacher walked in and began class, causing everyone to get quiet.

Throughout the day your goal was now to annoy Kei to the point of him taking out his frustration in the way you hoped, on you. The hot weather paired with the humidity caused the windows of the classroom to be opened, causing the air to become thicker thanks to said humidity. Sadly for Tsukishima your white shirt was beginning to turn see through on your sides where your arms laid against your sides, showing your bra underneath.

The skirt you were wearing also repeatedly being pulled up higher as your legs kept getting hotter against the chair, making you want to get as much air to touch your skin as possible. This caused his eyes to fixate on your thighs, going between both your thighs and your chest his thoughts continued to transition from his academics to you, specifically to things he wants to do to you.

Of course most of this was done on purpose, you wore a darker colored bra today knowing it would be hot, obviously not planning to sweat this much but definitely knowing it would be a bit noticeable if you really focused on your shirt. Now in order to make your plan work you also continued to pull up the skirt higher than necessary, knowing it would catch his attention more than the shirt.

By the time school had ended Kei was unbearably frustrated, basically forgetting this morning’s situation, which you still had no real information about, but rather he was frustrated knowing you chose to distract him all day today. Lucky for you, since there was a morning practice afternoon practice was optional, and you knew frustrated Kei would definitely opt to take you home.

The bell rang throughout the building, people instantly running out while a few stayed and quietly packed their things. You packed your things slowly and normally Tsukki would’ve done the same, but instead you felt a hand on your arm and heard a ‘let’s go’, hands reaching around your desk and shoving your things haphazardly into your bag. You smirked as your stood, Kei grabbing both of your bags and grabbing your hand before he began taking long strides towards your route home.

“Kei slow down~” You whined but he didn’t even reply, just continued to walk, eventually you reached his front door and Kei groaned as he dropped his keys while trying to unlock it. “I got it!” you cheered, bending down to grab them, honestly forgetting you had ended up rolling your skirt up, your position was now showing a bit too much and as soon as you grabbed the keys Kei unlocked and then slammed the door open.

He kicked his shoes off and didn’t give you time to fully pull yours off before pulling you roughly towards his room. “Baby...” you said, feigning ignorance to what was causing him to be so rough, “are we going to study for our science test? we need our bags if we are.” you said with a smirk, “you know damn well we aren’t going to be studying.” he said in a low tone, closing his bedroom door behind you both.

He threw off his school jacket and put everything else down at his desk. “I’m not too sure what you mean.” You said, still unable to hide your smirk and your excitement of seeing him frustrated, his jaw clenched and his glare sharper than normal. “I’m not in the mood today y/n, don’t play around and tease me more than you already have.” he said as he looked at you and began to move closer to you, backing you against the wall, “hm~ tease you?” you said with a smirk that you know he can now see since he wasn’t turned away from you this time.

“Yes, tease me.” he said, moving one of his hands to run the tips of his fingers down the middle of your neck and down to the buttons of your shirt, too which his fingers began to open. “you know... I’m aware you know I was upset this morning, but the fact you decided to act like some dumb whore... that was a bit too much... how am I not supposed to voice that frustration when you purposely try to make me mad?” he said, his voice getting quieter as he leaned down until his voice was a whisper and his lips were almost touching your ear,

“Well, what are you going to do about it?” you said before moving so you can look up at him, his fingers now done unbuttoning your shirt and now reaching towards the zipper on your skirt, “fuck me?” you said a bit mockingly, his straight face slowly turned into a sinister smirk “yeah,” he said and looked you in the eye as he pulled the zipper so hard it would’ve ripped off if the material was any cheaper “that’s the plan baby.” he said and pushed your skirt down, it falling around your ankles.

This caused you to almost shudder in anticipation but you bottled it up, hoping that no reaction may cause him to be rougher. “then do it.” you said in a low tone, Kei grabbed your side roughly, pulling you from the wall so he can push your shirt off, it falling to the floor not even an inch away from your skirt. Since you weren’t moving Tsukki decided he would just lift you, killing two birds with one stone as he got the skirt off of your ankles and got you onto his bed in the same movement.

He set you on the edge of his bed before looking at you, not saying a word as he began to take off his own clothes, everything except his pants. “take care of it.” he stated bluntly, making you immediately get onto your knees in front of him. As you reached up to unbuckle his belt you looked up to meet his eyes.

The look in his eyes was a look that almost allowed you to read his mind, you took off the belt and quickly unzipped his pants and pulled them down. He kicked them off and you looked straight at his hard member through his briefs. His hand went to the back of your head as you kissed along his length over his briefs, the hand tangling in your hair and gripping a bit tighter as he began getting impatient.

“Stop teasing me if you know what’s good for you.” he said and you quickly looked up at him “yes sir.” you said obediently and began to pull his briefs off and then moving to take just his tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it before hollowing out your cheeks. After a few seconds you let it out of your mouth with a small pop.

As you take him down your throat, trying to only go half way, the pressure on the back of your head from his hand causes you to push even more of his length down. In your attempt not to gag you placed your hands on Tsukki’s thighs, lightly digging your thumbs into his skin. “Who said you could touch me with anything but that pretty mouth?” He mumbled, it partially coming out as a groan.

Before you could pull off of him to answer he pushes your head back down, holding you there until he felt you begin to gag and then pushing you back and pulling you from your knees to sit on the bed. You looked up at him as he stared you down, his hands moved inside your thighs and pulled them apart, your soaked panties now on full display.

A scoff from Tsukki caused heat to rush to your cheeks in embarrassment “you really get this wet from acting like a whore and making me mad?” he laughed softly, very lightly dragging his finger tip up your clothed slit before hooking his fingers around the middle and pulling your panties off while his other hand unclasped your bra.

“Mainly from making you mad.” You whispered in a slightly bratty tone, your voice wavering however due to your need, this caused Tsukki to smirk even more. “Well, then I guess I should give you what you want huh?” He said before basically throwing you onto your stomach, pulling your hips in order to make you sit on your knees with your elbows down on his mattress.

“Color?” He growled as he pumped his own length with one hand and groped your ass and thighs with the other. “Green.” you said, your voice muffled against the pillow in front of you. “Good.” He said as he slid his length between your folds, using your wetness as lubricant before suddenly slamming into your entrance.

What had originally started out as a whine due to what was previously him teasing your folds was now a full moan that was almost a scream due to the sudden pleasure that flooded over you when he began to thrust into you.

His kept one hand on your hip, his grasp slowly getting tighter as his thrusts got rougher. His other hand was moving between your chest and you hair, only pulling at your hair when you had leaned too far forward. The noise you made when he grabbed your hair and pulled you back into the original position was music to his ears.

After a few hard thrusts and his hips becoming sloppy he moved his hand down to your clit, knowing from the way your thighs were shaking from the strength you were exerting to hold yourself up he knew you were close. The rough pad of his fingers sent you over the edge, your orgasm washed over you as the heat in the pit of your stomach turned into pure pleasure, he smirked when he felt your walls clench around him repeatedly but continued to thrust.

Once you had seemingly calmed down from your first release he began his assault once again, speeding up, but this time he pushed down on the small of your back, causing you to lay flat against the bed and he moved to lay on top of you. His head above yours and his breath now against his ear, “how does it feel baby? Do you still enjoy making me mad?” He asked breathlessly and you nodded your head in agreement causing him to bite at the space between your neck and shoulder.

His voice began to come out of his mouth against your shoulder before he quickly stopped talking, his hands gripping you tighter and his nails digging into your skin slightly. As he continued to thrust you felt your self growing closer to your second orgasm thanks to not just to him continuing his assault so soon after your first orgasm but also the feeling of your clit being ground against the sheets you laid on.

“I’m gonna cum inside you okay sweetheart?” He questioned although it was more of a statement, you released for the second time from the feeling of his release shooting inside you. He continued to thrust into you, his own high seeming to not pass and your second already ending.

He groaned lightly before he bit at your shoulder “one more time.” he said before he started thrusting harder, trying to make sure his second orgasm wouldn’t run away from him too quickly, trying desperately to cum for the second time as soon as possible.

He slammed into your entrance a few more times, this time focusing more on the strength of his thrusts than the speed, the only thing on his mind being to get as deep inside you before releasing. Just as he came again you reached your third and hopefully final release, he ground his hips against yours, not pulling out but wanting to ride out his high.

After stilling completely he relaxed against you, his chest heavy against your back as he attempted to catch his breath. For the first time since he began fucking you he moved the hand that was on your hip, moving it up to fix his glasses before slowly pulling out of you.

He smirked as he moved back, his stare looking like he was enjoying a view, you went to sit up but you heard him let out a small “don’t” before moving closer and grabbing your ankles to spread your legs back out.

He grabbed his phone and took a photo before turning his phone around for you to see the photo, the scene of your entrance leaking his cum, his lips basically touching your ear as he whispered “I’m going to keep this as a reminder for you when you want to be bad again.” He said and smirked before turning off his phone and standing back up fully.

As he moved to grab a drink from his bed side table you began to sit up, he almost choked on his water from a laugh when he quickly took a few more gulps and set it to the side.

“I don’t know where you’re planning on going. Get back on your hands and knees.” He said with his signature smirk, causing you to whine.

“I’m not finished with you just yet baby.” He said as he moved back to the bed.

⸻

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vergess · 3 years

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@autismserenity said: Your tags are the most American thing I’ve ever read, we are truly so screwed here

May I interest you in a more complete, and more excruciating, explanation of what I spent the last 18 months doing?

It is, I need to emphasize, fucking nasty. Don’t feel obligated, especiallly if you’ve already had A Day(tm).

There’s a lot of disease, a lot of worker abuse including sexual and racial abuse, a fine portion of letting people die for not being white enough for real medical care, all leading to homelessness.

For NDA reasons, because my former employer was just as vile as any tech company has ever been, I cannot be super specific about who I worked for. However, I can say that we handled the records and patient contact for all COVID testing for several states, as well as 2 of the 5 largest metros in the US, and several dozen smaller ones ranging from the approximate population of San Francisco, down to little towns, as well as the testing for several public school systems and at least two government agencies that I am not at liberty to disclose.

I tell you this for a sense of scale. When I say shit like, “my boss was more than happy to let thousands or hundreds of thousands die” I am not exagerrating for effect. We handled hundreds of thousands of tests a week.

Again, I need to emphasize, government agencies. Ones you would know if I named them. Ones everyone in the country knows.

And we were in charge of getting their test results from the already over swamped labs back to the patients, who often were not allowed to quarantine while awaiting results.

The fastest we got our turnaround time to on any consistent basis was about 30 hours. Often it ballooned well into weeks.

There were a number of factors for this, but the big one was always understaffing.

The staff we did have were treated like trash. One of the big selling points of this company is how “trans friendly” it is to work there. That is a lie. Every trans employee on payroll had their dead name displayed to all other staff, and until I personally changed the system setup on my arrival, patient facing trans people’s dead names were displayed to patients.

Remember that thing about “hundreds of thousands of tests a week”?

I was able to change the way patient-facing names were displayed. I was not allowed or able to alter the way internal systems displayed trans people’s names. But I was assured that it’s fine, because once you get a legal name change, you’ll be given new system accounts with your new name!

Your old accounts with your dead name would still be displayed and associated with the new ones though.

This is the “trans friendly” working environment. We were allowed to be out of the closet, as long as we were willing to put up with that. And any attempts to get it altered were the result of those nasty little transgender ingrates not being thankful enough.

Meaning that by asking to use our own fucking names we were already in the disciplinary shitter.

Another big selling point is the ~racial diversity~. The CEO was a man of colour, and so were like four other people on staff!! Wow!!!!!!!

This, too, was laughable.

Once numbers started coming in about the care gap for COVID between English and Spanish speakers, and our Southwestern US service area began to have a separate and brutal backlog just of Spanish speaking patients, my employer encouraged me to interview potential hires who speak spanish.

Fair enough! We all wanted to do our part to help close the already massive mortality gap.

So, I found candidates, did interviews, hired them, trained them, etc. But I don’t speak Spanish. As a result, I appointed 2 assistant managers who do speak Spanish to assist me in managing, you know, like the job name.

So when my super contacted them directly, completely skipping me on the chain of command, and told them to stop all of our Spanish speakers from translating helpful simple messages to send to patients, and instead start translating medical and legal documents, they very reasonably assumed I was in the know and went ahead with it.

TO BE CLEAR, that could have ended my life, theirs, basically everyone involved. Everyone in the company would have been completely fucked. At that point, my subordinates, the people for whom I am wholly responsible, were doing everything from practicing medicine without licenses, to encouraging spanish speaking patients to enter contracts that no one on the fucking executive tier could even read.

The moment I found that out, I and the A.M.s immediately started trying to get actual medical translation services to do our documents. We collected them in a neat folder. We queried translation services. We got quotes. We contacted my super and the CEO, about this over and over again for months. In the late autumn, we received approval for one of the translation services.

The CEO decided at the last minute that having people with no medical or legal training draft medical and legal forms was fine and good actually, and refused to sign the contract or send the documents for translation.

The excuse I received was that the COVID emergency HIPAA relaxations would protect us.

That’s not how that works.

Throughout all of this, Spanish speaking employees were told to either keep doing medical and legal translation work, or lose their jobs.

Oh, did I mention everyone was working between 30 and 80 hours a week, and all of us were marked as “contractors” so the employer could tax evade? Don’t worry, we filed complaints with the labour bureau.

So the entire department was let go, and “rehired” as temps through a temp agency, which because it was a temp agency could keep them marked as contractors regardless of the facts.

This change was presented to all of us, myself included, as the company getting a new accountant to handle payroll.

So if you’re keeping score, we’ve covered racism, queerphobia, medical negligence, fraud, and a frankly uncountable number of deaths.

Let’s talk about the sheer negligence towards employees ourselves. If you’ve worked in near-death medical care before, or any number of emergency services really, you know that the standard benefit suite includes either a dedicated therapist for your staff, or access to peer support groups with other emergency and medical servants through your employer’s benefits program.

Do you know what our mental health benefits were for this company?

The CEO got on a fucking zoom call with us all one (1) time, and said that if we were feeling suicidal or traumatized by the work, to talk to him about it, and he would be our therapist.

Do you know how many people per fucking day we had to contact only to be told they had already died because our understaffing delays killed them? He doesn’t. He never listened when we told him.

But let me put the cherry on the “Oh baby, you can talk to me, oooh” sundae.

Anyone who “looked” or “sounded” female, regardless of actual or assigned gender, was subject to constant flirtations and slimy, overly personal compliments about our appearances. Fortunately, at 3 levels removed from the CEO (Executives > Department heads > Managers > Employees), most of the people under my management had relatively little contact with him.

I was not nearly so lucky.

The CEO of this company has a watersports (urination) fetish. I know this, because he told me so and attempted to get me to join him in it. I have no idea how many other people in the company he did this to. I mean, what the fuck was I supposed to do, risk losing my job to find out? I have a fucking family to support, people.

Not that it mattered.

Eventually, all of these abuses became too much for my subordinates. Productivity fell off a cliff. Delays were getting worse and worse. In a medical emergency like this, delays=deaths.

So, like a fucking idiot, when the department heads reached out to me to ask what they could do to improve productivity, I shot down their frankly insulting suggestion of raffling a $20 amazon gift card to patient facing employees, and instead suggested a very simple, “enroll us with a peer support group, every single person in this department has PTSD from working in this pandemic.”

They were confused by my assertion of PTSD. I was asked to compile a document of complaints, concerns, and weaknesses in our patient facing services.

I and the A.M.s did so. It was roughly 40 pages long, with each page given a known problem, the reasons why it was a problem, and some potential solutions that might inspire further solutions or be able to be implemented. We submitted it. There was no response.

A week passed.

I had been working 80 hour weeks for most of a year. I hadn’t even been able to take weekends. I took my first sick day, in a company with “unlimited vacation days.”

I received a call at 3PM.

I had been fired for “differences in communitcation.” If you’ve ever seen that “Problem Women of Color in the workplace” chart? Yeah.

So had most of my department, including every transgender member of the department, and several of our extremely limited in supply Spanish speakers, who were presumed to be “on my side.”

Some of them, I barely even knew beyond the formalities of the job, and they were punished anyway.

I lost my insurance, and as a result I lost access to my medications.

But the real problem? I lost my house. And not due to lack of payment.

I lost my house, because when I got the job we waited 6 months for stability’s sake, and then readied to move out of the area. I got a mortgage on the basis of my employer’s written guarantee to the bank that I would continue to be employed for the next year at a minimum.

With the mortgage approval in hand, we entered a sales contract on our existing home.

We got and accepted an offer just days before I was fired. To keep our house meant paying a 25,000 dollar broken contract fine. We didn’t have that. We had a 10% down payment for a modest fucking place in a cheaper area, which is less than half that.

But without a job, my mortgage approval was also voided, meaning we couldn’t buy a house either.

All of a sudden, we were homeless during the plague, because my employer wrote and signed a letter to a bank guaranteeing my future employ, and then changed his mind when too many people died due to his own negligence.

Oh yeah, one last thing: the job paid less than Pandemic unemployment Assistance.

...After that, well, it’s homelessness until just last month. I... if you’ve never been homeless it’s.

It blurs. Everything is happening constantly, except for all the ways in which you are endlessly, mind breakingly bored. Bored, overloaded, and always uncomfortable.

Obviously my health would have declined regardless. Malnutrition, stress, everything.

But I was also unmedicated.

It was hell. I was in hell. I don’t know if I can recover from it, to be honest.

I bounced back from being homeless as a child. Children are as resilient as they are stupid, and the monstrosity of homelessness was little more than a vaguely remembered loathing and a panicky fear that it would ever happen again.

A child who is dying is worthy of sympathy, even if it is meaningless coos from passers by. If they have family, they may be able to rely on them too.

An adult with the indignity to die homeless and crippled, according to the average passer by, is worthy only of disgust and perhaps even punishment for being such a worthless waste.

My reward for nearly killing myself in a desperate bid to help stem the tide of COVID was the destruction of not only my life, not only my entire family’s lives, but the lives of every single family of every single employee who worked with me.

And you know what’s worse?

Each one of us still did more to limit the lethal impact of COVID than the entire united states government.

It breaks something in you, going through that.

It makes you realize that hope is a fool’s game.

But, I have ever been a fool, and so, I continue to play.

25 notes · View notes

tojisveryown · 3 years

Text

𝙸𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 | 𝟶𝟻

𝙰𝚌: 𝚠𝚃𝟼𝙸𝙳𝟸𝚀𝟺𝙰𝙺𝚄𝟿𝚏𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚠𝚝

𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚘𝚕, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐 𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟸𝙺

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝙰𝚄, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚕𝚞𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚜. 𝙸 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚜𝚊𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚎𝚛 "𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝" 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛. (𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛 𝙸 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚐𝚗!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚕𝚎!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞.)

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟶𝟻 | 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

(𝚄𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍)

⋆ 💌 ⋆

The next morning you were greeted with a hangover thanks to everything you consumed. Your head was pounding and your body felt gross. The faint memory of waking up next to Gojo popped in your head. “Damn I wish I woke up to him everyday.”

“Woke up next to who everyday?” Utahime asked as she was in the middle of brushing her hair, “You know Y/N I never imagined you to be such a lightweight, it was so hard to bring you back here without you rambling about such nonsense.”

“Huh? Wasn’t I sober when I went to go look for you?” The memory of you waking up and giving Gojo a kiss on the cheek before looking for Utahime popped in your head, you and sworn you woke up sober.

“Yeah, barely.” She sat down at the edge of your bed giving you a stern look “Do you know how many times I had to keep you from falling over? You almost fell down the stairs, twice. You’re lucky Gojo was upstairs, without him you wouldn’t have made it out alive.”

Huh, so he helped you after ignoring you and treating you like an outcast? What a bastard. “You know Y/N you should really be careful. Next time make sure you watch over your drinks.”

“What are you talking about? Did I do something wrong?”

“Well no.. it’s just that someone spiked your drink. If Nanami hadn’t taken care of you someone probably would’ve taken advantage of you so please for the love of god watch what you drink, for me?” you gave her a smile, she was worried about you and you were glad you had someone like her by your side, it’s not everyday you’re blessed with a good roommate like Utahime.

⋆ 💌 ⋆

The up coming week was the last week before spring break came around, which meant you only had two months before the deadline for the project came to an end, that same project where you had shitty partner that abandoned you.

As the morning came around you were able to wake up in a pretty good mood. Today was the last day before break and you were glad to be getting some rest. Unlike the other students on campus you weren’t able to go back home due to the money it costs to get a ticket. You weren’t financially stable during your high school years which led you into the mindset that since you weren’t able to afford the newest items everyone was getting that you didn’t deserve to socialize. You were that weird kid who sat in the back drowning yourself in music or getting lost in a good book. You will never forget the first time you had an interaction with Gojo.

You were seated at the very back of the class, eyes darting from left and right as the book you were indulged in sat in front of you. The loud noises of the students coming into first period had no effect in the way you enjoyed the book. You were getting to the climax of the story, getting so lost into the plot that you didn’t even notice him come in.

“Hey, whatcha reading?” The tall white haired boy slipped the book out of your hand to take a look at it. “No Longer Human, huh?”

You wanted to die, you hated how you got his attention, you didn’t want it, you didn’t want the kids in your class analyzing you too much. You didn’t want them to find out you were struggling with money, they’d treat you different. They already do.

“Mmm mind if I keep this?” he stuck his face in your personal bubble, his sunglasses at the edge of his nose, eyes piercing yours as he awaited your answer.

“Um.. yes, please give it back.” a small voice escaped your lips.

“Why? It’s just some book you can buy again, is it because someone special gave it to you?” he was teasing you, the book was in your face as he began to sway it from side to side, leaving it in your reach and taking it out.

“No I’m just not done with it.”

“Mmm, too bad. ‘m keeping it.” Your face dropped and you allowed him to take your belonging. You watched as he sat down in his seat flipping through the pages of the book that once belonged to you.

Your mother struggled to earn the money needed for the textbooks your school wanted you to obtain, you hated seeing your mom bend herself backwards. You’ve always offered to get a job to financially support her but your mother wouldn’t allow it. She wanted you to have a normal childhood. You never saw her much but due to the amount of jobs she took on but you knew the love she held for you was greater than the father that left you.

You and your father weren’t the absolute closest ever since he decided to leave but he still tried to have somewhat of a bond with you, he’d send you books and your mother would write back to him saying how much you loved reading them, the book Gojo had taken from you was the last book your dad had sent your before staring another family with another woman.

The last thing he’s ever left you now lies in the hands of a stranger. Of course it didn’t bother you as much as it should but you couldn’t help but long for the moment of having the book back in your hands.

It was a fresh new semester and your mother couldn’t afford the textbooks that you needed. You knew that you had to drop out and attend a much cheaper school.

You awaited the day you’d talk to your councilor along with your head teacher, during that day you wished you could get that damn book back, it was just a book but part of you saw it as something more because it was gifted to you from your dad.

“Hello, good after noon Ms. Kalaber, Mr. Henderson.” you walked into the office and took a seat in one of the vacant chairs.

“Hello Y/N, are you hear to talk about your transfer?”

“Yes, I’m sorry to do so. I really enjoy coming here but it’s been hard on my mother and I to financially keep up and I think it’d be better for us if we made a switch.”

“Yes of course I understand..” The three of you spent the next few minutes talking about schools that would accept you in open arms, the meeting ended up earlier than expected and you were on your way out but a certain somebody bumped into you causing the transfer papers along with school recommendations to slip from your hands.

Your second interaction with him.

“Oh shit, I’m sorry I didn’t see you there.” Of course you couldn’t you’re 6′4. He crouched down helping you collect that papers, slowly noticing what the papers were. “Hey, you’re transferring?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.. why?” you stayed silent and began dusting off the papers from any dirt since they did fall on a school floor. “Ah, never mind you don’t have to answer that. Well see you, I guess?”

You and Gojo parted ways.

The next morning would be your last at the high school you spent almost four years at. Your heart felt heavy knowing no one would realize you left, after all you were just one of the kids that no one really paid any attention to.

In the middle of your first period you were summoned to the office, your mother was seated in the chair you sat in the pervious day. “Y/N, good morning. We have some news!” Long story short someone paid off the expenses for your textbooks and any financial contract you were under while attending the school.

You didn’t really care. It’s not like you were thrilled to stay, you weren’t exactly thrilled to attend a brand school either. You just accepted whatever was given to you. Even if you wanted to know who suddenly paid off the financial fees you couldn’t since they decided to remain anonymous. You were grateful however you couldn’t help but feel as if they looked down on you. Although their intentions were very different from what you thought.

Your senior year flashed before your eyes, the amount of days left before graduation were alarming to you, you knew what college you were going to, you applied for a scholarship and with the grades you had you were able to easily get it. After all you didn’t have any friends to hang out with so you mostly studied instead of getting yourself caught in things you knew weren’t good for you.

You’ve only had two encounters with the guy who stole your book, and yet you were hoping to see him again. To get the book back of course.

During the going away party for all the seniors a tall figure waited for you to show in hopes that he’d be able to return what was once yours. He wanted a chance to talk to you again. He wanted the message he left inside one of the pages to reach you, but it never did since you believed no one wanted you there.

You imprinted in your mind that everyone would judge you for having money struggles, you gave yourself the thought that they’d judge you for the kind of clothes you wore, or the kind of person you were.

You failed to realize that your first friend was never Utahime, but the boy who sought for your arrival

⋆ 💌 ⋆

During the last Friday of your first semester you had decided to be productive, you were in a great mood. You started the day off by going to the cafe to read a bit, you were reading a book that Nanami had recommended to you.

The two of you had slowly gotten closer over a short period of time, you were glad to have someone timid and reasonable by your side. He was also reliable. Unlike stupid Satoru Gojo.

Before class started you got yourself along with Nanami a cup of coffee, “This is what you like right?” He pulled his glasses down to sit at the tip of his nose. “What, is this not what you get?”

“No it is, thank you Y/N.” His hand reached out to grab the cup of black coffee in your hand, his fingertips brushed against yours, so warm. “I just didn’t expect you to get me one is all.”

“Mhm, why not? Didn’t I tell you that I owed you? I owe you even more after what you did at that stupid party.”

“Ah, that.” you watched as he took a sip of his coffee, “It’s nothing, I’d rather not let a girl like you be used.”

A girl like you, What the hell is that supposed to mean. “What do you mean a girl like me?” You couldn’t help but think negatively about what he said, would it have been better to not make friends and remain the quiet kid whose face was always buried in a book?

“Relax, I didn’t mean it like that. You’re a sweet girl is all, you shouldn’t have to go through anything more than what you’ve already gone through.”

“Like you know what I’ve gone through.”

“I know more than you think.”

“Shut up you sick asshole, who even drinks black coffee?”

“What does my coffee have to do with trauma?”

“Shut up Nanamin.”

Nanami smiled into his cup before taking a sip. “You’re a lot like him..” he whispered.

“Huh? What did you say?”

“Nothing.”

“’nami tell me.”

“Enough with the nicknames.”

“’nami.”

⋆ 💌 ⋆

The day was almost over, as you were exciting the main building you caught a glimpse of all the people leaving campus. “Must be nice to go home to your family..” you sighed and followed the staircase the led to the exit closest to your dorm

“What are you doing? Why are you making this so complicated?” Oh man a fight, this’ll be awkward. You prepared to take another step down the stairs until a very familiar voice spoke out.

“I don’t have a choice.” you stopped your tracks as the familiar voice rung through your ears, you wanted more than anything to leave but your body wouldn’t move.

“Bullshit. You did the same thing to me and Suguru.” another familiar voice rung in your ear, it was Utahime. “You can’t keep doing this Gojo.”

“I know but it’s just a little while longer and th-”

“She really is right you know, you really are a stupid Satoru.”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, you swore you were gonna leave as soon as your body was able to move but the next few things you heard made you freeze. If it was quiet enough you’d be able to hear the sound of your heart beating, you head felt light and your body felt limp but you knew that you had to get out of there.

You knew this wasn’t something you were supposed to know.

⋆ 💌 ⋆

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 | 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝚢𝚔 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚐𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚖𝚒 𝚏𝚒𝚌 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐! 𝚂𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚊 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚞𝚙𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚞𝚗𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚝. 𝙰𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌! 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚊 𝚏𝚊𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚖𝚐, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝'𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚘𝚗? 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚕. 𝙰𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝙸 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚄𝚝𝚊𝚑𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚠𝚎'𝚕𝚕 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢'𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚕. 𝚆𝚎'𝚛𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚆𝙾𝙾𝙾𝙾!! 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢'𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥

⋆ 💌 ⋆

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @peppytine @enesitamor @fairyblue-alchemist @diluczs @honouredsatoru @thankuary @sookyshima

𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚜. (𝟺/𝟸𝟿)

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joshslater · 3 years

Text

Quarantine & VR

5500-word story, so I used the Keep Reading feature for once. Similar stories and bonus material on my Patreon.

“Are you sure you’re OK with this?”

We were slowly driving through an eerily empty city center from my student flat next to campus on one side of town to Ethan’s flat on the other, with all my belongings stuffed in the back of the U-Haul. Not that I had so much stuff we needed one. I just moved into the state right before the semester started, but it was the cheapest rental we could get. No one is going anywhere with this lockdown in effect. We barely had time to read the syllabus before everything screeched to a halt. You thought we’d know by now how to handle pandemics, but nooo.

“I wouldn’t have helped you clear out your shit if I wasn’t. Bit late to ask now.” “Yeah, but it seemed like the polite thing to do.”

Ethan turned towards me and spoke with a more serious tone. “I’m really happy to have you stay at my place. I think I would go mad staying alone. Go mad or go home, and I don’t think being locked up with the parents would be better.”

He was about as new in the city as I was, but his aunt had moved out of an old apartment last year and his parents had decided to take over the lease. Apparently it was even cheaper than the student apartments and much larger, but further away from campus. Though where it was in the city didn’t really matter as long as this lockdown was going on.

“Someone else is out at least”, I said indicating out the window. Across the street, a police officer with a navy blue face mask followed our truck with his eyes. Or her eyes I guess. Hard to tell in uniform and mask. I don’t know why, but I found it a rather good look. I hate the flimsy paper masks, but these form-fitted ones kind of make you look more badass.

“Do you think he looks sexy like that?” he asked, as if he had the same thought. “It’s a bit dystopian sci-fi, but that’s not to say it doesn’t look good.” “Take next right. The one after is one way.”

The apartment had two bedrooms, a large living room, decent bathroom and kitchen. Ethan’s aunt had left some furniture, but overall there wasn’t that much stuff. Makes sense as he had barely been here a month. That’s how he had a sparsely furnished extra bedroom for me to use. This was only the second time I had been in the apartment. Ethan forced me to have a look in person before he allowed me to agree to stay with him. Now standing there with all my belongings in the truck outside and my student flat lease canceled, I realized we really didn’t know each other. I studied corporate finance and he medical computer science, whatever that meant. When I asked he tried to explain that almost everything in a hospital now has a computer in it, and a ton of work went into things like volumetric renderings of MRI scans and somewhere there I started to tune him out.

There really weren’t any overlapping circles between us, we studied completely different subjects, he was active in computer games and health, I was trying to get into the writing room of the student theatre company and looking to sign up in the cinema club. But both of us had the bright idea to start working in the student pub, and really hit it off during the start of school year party they threw for their workers. We decided to pick the same work schedule and found out we have the same taste in pop culture, music, books, movies.

And now I’m moving in with him.

He had the larger of the bedrooms with a queen-size bed in the middle, a desk with a few computers and screens set up, gaming computer chair, a reading chair. Basically his room was set up so he could live there except for visits to the kitchen and bathroom. My room didn’t have a desk, but a normal bed, an armchair that looked comfortable, and more wardrobe space than I would ever need. He told me that I could basically consider the living room as mine as well. It had two couches in front of a big flat screen. By the balcony door stood a workout bench and weights. Barbell, plates, dumbbells, and that kind of stuff. Apparently it wasn’t Ethan’s but his uncle’s, but that didn’t really make a difference here and now.

Moving my stuff only took a few runs up the stairs, so we were soon back in the truck, returning it to the rental place. Ethan really didn’t have to come with me, but he said that this would probably be the last adventure for a while, and decided to come along.

“You’re supposed to buy pizza and beer for everyone who helps you move, right? What do you fancy?” “I’d like… You know what? We’re not going to get out much, and you don’t look like someone on a strict diet. Oh, no offense!” “None taken.” “How about we both keep healthy macros and workout regimen while locked up. Instead of paying rent you can help me make sure I at least isn’t in worse shape when all this shit ends.” “Macros?” “Diet.” “Sure I can do that, if you show me what to do.” “It’s a deal then. I’d like one with Gorgonzola and ham.” “Come again?” “The pizza topping. I’m allowed one cheat day per pandemic.”

The pizza place was only a block away from the apartment. Just this one time it was great, as we walked back with one quattro formaggi and one bresaola. But it would be so much harder to eat whatever Ethan had in his plans knowing a real wood fire oven pizza was just four minutes walk away.

Unprompted Ethan started to tell his story over pizza. How his father was a successful businessman in Arkansas, but his hometown always felt too small for him. He talked about how he was making synth music in school. How that made him interested in computers. How, since it was such a small town, he had ended up on the football team without any desire or skill to actually play the game. How he had almost by accident found this education program and had looked forward to both leave Arkansas and to study. I too did a year be year recap of my life so far, up to how my girlfriend dumped me just before the summer. In a way that was lucky, because it made me feel free from obligations and actually do what I wanted.

It was 9:21 when I woke up from a knock on the door. I was a bit disoriented for a second until I remembered where I was. I was sleeping in the guest bed left by Ethan’s aunt. After the pizza we did continue to talk over beer all evening, but I didn’t feel any hangover. Just thirsty. It wasn’t that early in the morning anymore on the other hand. “Yep” I called out. “I’m making breakfast,” Ethan called out from the other side of the door. “Coming”.

It literally only took me seconds to get ready. Stand up. Sweatpants. T-shirt. Done. In the kitchen I saw Ethan had a similar fashion sense, but had gone for shorts instead. “Porridge is fine with you? It would be good if it is. Lots of fibers.” I couldn’t really recall if I liked porridge and told him as much. The porridge itself didn’t taste much, but with toppings I could get used to it. “With our schedule in our own hands I think it would be a good idea to start out with breakfast and work out. That way we can get it out of the way.” Sounded sensible enough.

I changed into shorts as well and made myself ready to do my part of becoming Ethan’s gym buddy. At a quick glance we didn’t look that different, Ethan and I. On one hand I never had that big of an appetite, but on the other I had never really done any sports, and had no gym experience, so I let Ethan guide me. He tested different motions and how many times I could do them with weights he selected and noted down the results in a notebook that would log my progress. It wasn’t at all as tiring as I thought it would be. “Oh, you’ll feel it tomorrow for sure.” We each took a shower, and I went back to my room to catch up on my reading.

A few hours later I was starting to think about lunch. More because I was getting tired of reading than actually being hungry, but I thought I should ask Ethan if he had a plan. The door to his room was open, but as I got closer it became apparent it was an oversight on his part. Splayed on the bed was Ethan, naked save for a pair of boxer shorts and a big VR goggles. His right hand was massaging his obviously erect dick through the fabric of his underwear. He must have followed his normal routine and forgotten I had moved in. I’m not a prude and do the occasional tug myself, like any student, so I was more embarrassed than shocked. As on autopilot, my mind decided to ignore Ethan and continue walking to the kitchen to assess the lunch situation, but another part of my brain decided to keep him in sight.

Walking without watching in an apartment I’ve been in for all of 18 hours predictably made me jam my toe into the door frame. In the corner of my eye I could see Ethan’s body spasm and ripping off his VR goggles as I yell out in pain and surprise. He stared right at me, eyes wide open and mouth ajar in an expression that was hard to read. Surprise for sure, but also something else in between horror and delight. Perhaps it was like the smiles and laughter after you have completely made a fool of yourself. My eyes were drawn to his, and I could feel my face twisted in pain. It was like time stood still, waiting for either of us to make the next move. Out of sheer momentum my mind continued ahead as if nothing had changed and blurted out “What’s your plan for lunch?” over whatever Ethan said at the same time.

“What?” and an awkward pause again. “I said would you like to try?” “I… What is it?”

Ethan put down the VR kit on the bed, quickly got up and stepped into his pair of shorts. His erection was still very much apparent. He pressed escape on one of the keyboards and the screen switched from one incomprehensible menu to another.

“It’s a virtual reality system. I’m using an open source environment system to render inputs from an interactive story engine controlled by a GAN AI system. I’ve been experimenting with regenerative NLP feedback loop plugins for it.” “I followed you all the way up to and including virtual reality system.” “It’s like a VR movie that is generated specifically for you. Here.”

He picked up the bulky goggles and held it out to me. It wasn’t just goggles, but a pair of headphones were built in, and there were a few additional sensors glued on. Hesitantly, and with a throbbing toe, I stepped forward and took the headset. It wasn’t as heavy as it looked. I put it on my head and as it settled into place a digital version of Ethan’s room wobbled into place as well. It was remarkably similar. The colors and patterns were all slightly wrong, but the layout of the room and placement of furniture was almost spot on. I assume he had measured everything at one point and put in the data somehow.

“Go lie on the bed.” Ethan told me. I very tentatively stepped towards the bed, and feeling my way there. It was somehow surprised to find a bed where the digital bed was, and although the visuals of the sheets didn’t quite line up with what I felt, if you just moved quick enough the illusion of actually being in the digital room felt very real.

“This is so weird.” “I’ll start a blank session for you.” “A what?”

Almost immediately a guy entered the room through the door frame. This must be some VR video recording or something because he looked completely real. About the same age as Ethan and I but more fit and, I’ll admit, better looking. He looked flush and sweaty, with his french crop unkempt as if he had just ruffled it. He wore a navy blue sweatshirt and sweatpant shorts. I couldn’t see further down from my position. “Fuck, that was so dope! I love getting pump like that, you know what I’m saying” He was stretching his arms in different ways. Then he zoned in on me, like he was actually looking me over. “Fuck, I love how you look, babe. Mind if I join?” I shake my head slowly. He breaks out in a big smile. I notice he has a bit of a sweatpants boner. Carefully he climbs into bed, next to me. There’s no vibrations of course, or heat or smell, but everything I see looks utterly convincing.

“Hey, are you OK?” “What the…”

I’m looking into Ethan’s face as he stands over me. Bewildered I pat my head.

“I removed it once the program stopped. Didn’t shake you from your sleep one bit. I guess it wasn’t that interesting for you.” “It was very convincing. I fell asleep?” “Perhaps moving stressed you more than you knew? Or it could just be, you know, how shit the world is right now.” “Fuck… I only wanted to ask about lunch.” “A bit late for that. It’s like four and something. Let’s wait an hour or two more and have dinner. Ok with you?” “Sounds dope.”

It was like neither of us wanted to talk about what had happened. I certainly had questions. Had I just fallen asleep like that? Perhaps he was right and I had been anxious about the move and how things would work out. And what was up with that program? It wasn’t gay, exactly, and it didn’t mean Ethan was gay, and if he was there wasn’t anything wrong with that. All of it was just so confusing. Perhaps Ethan was right to just pretend it didn’t happen. Poor guy. I walked in on him watching porn, and then I fell asleep when he tried to show his system. Watching the news on how ever more countries were shutting down was probably time better spent.

He had not joked about being sore in the morning. I woke earlier than in weeks feeling stiff as hell. I didn’t want to wake Ethan, but I couldn’t just lie there in agony, so I got up and did some bodyweight repetitions. Squats, push-ups, dips, and stuff like that just to get some blood flowing. It honestly felt great. Me doing morning gymnastics! Who would have guessed that a week ago? When I left my room I found out Ethan was already up, but didn’t want to wake me up.

“Dude, we need to sort that shit out. I’m ok with you making noise when you’re up. You live here.” “You live here too. What if whoever gets up first makes breakfast and wakes the other up.” “Yeah, dope. I’m down with that.”

We quickly worked out the kinks in our schedule. I would typically wake up first, do a quick workout routine in my room. Then set the breakfast and wake up Ethan. Then we would do workout together. We had different weights and number of reps, but we had very quickly settled on the same exercises, though Ethan was still adjusting my form ever so often. Ethan would then shower first while I did stretches. We then kept to ourselves until lunch. Ethan cooked for both of us. Depending on what we felt like and needed we would either go back to study or do something like shopping or that kind of stuff in the afternoon.

It was hard to keep track of time, but I think it was on a Sunday four weeks later when Ethan said during breakfast that he wanted to show me something he had worked on. He moved the workout bench and the barbell stuff to just outside his room and told me to lie down. The bar had no plates on it, and that’s how I’ve used it until two days ago when I started to add extra weight to it. Ethan emerged out of his room with the VR set in hand, and a trail of cables running in into one of his computers. “Here, give this a go.”

I was a bit surprised, given the last time, but I was also curious what he had to show. Once snugly fitted on my head I was transported into a real gym. It wasn’t a very large one, but a few people did their thing around me. He almost scared me, the guy with the french crop, when he called out “Hey, bro!” just to my left. He had the same navy blue sweatpant shorts as the last time, but his upper body was bare, glistening muscles. He took a step back and his eyes were scanning me up and down. “Dude, you look so fucking good! You’ve really been hitting the weights.” I smiled and immediately realized that I was smiling at an avatar that wasn’t actually there and couldn’t see me, but it’s amazing how good some positive reinforcement feels, even if it is from a program. Perhaps that was the surprise from Ethan.

“Here, show me what you got!”

He walked around me, through the couch I knew was there in the real room, and stood behind me. I leaned back fully on the bench and looked up. He stood over me, just behind my head, so all I saw was a navy blue bulge, some abs and pecs, and his face looking down on me. “Go on, I’ve got you.” I could somehow feel him standing over me. Was Ethan spotting me in the real world? Not that it matters with an empty bar. I grabbed it. It felt heavy. “Good. Give me 15.” He started counting as I lifted. “Slower on the way down. Keep control all the way. Ten more” As I was getting to fifteen he upped it a bit. “Come one! Five more!” As I sat the bar back I felt utterly exhausted. “Fucking awesome, dude!”

“You really went all out.” “What?”

I was lying on the workout bench but I wasn’t wearing any VR shit. I sat up and hit my head in the barbell.

“Fuck! Dude, what the hell!” “The idea was for it to be motivational, but you really took it to heart.” “It was fucking dope, bro. I’m so pumped. Guy was kind of cute too.” “You think?” “Fuck, yeah. I wish I had those pecs.” “You better start some supplements then, if you can’t even last a virtual session.” “What you mean, dude?” “It’s already lunch.” “Fuck dammit!”

I rubbed my head where I had hit it and looked around the room. It looked mostly like before, but the sun had clearly moved ahead. Fuck, I really felt pumped to get some reps in hard and really make a difference. Perhaps lunch, and then do my daily sets.

“You ok with shopping without me after lunch?” “Sure. You need anything?” “I… You said supplements.”

Fortunately for me I have a roommate that studies medicine, kind of. Well, he hasn’t actually gone to any of the classes yet, but he has the books, so he picked out some things for me to boost me. Some of it looked like medicine, in small plastic jars with scientific-sounding names that could just as well have been a frat house. Alpha-omega-manganese-BS-whatever. Some of it decidedly did not look like medicine. Enormous containers with lids that looked too fucking small, with names like amazing-gainz-ultra. He set up a regimen for me to follow, basically some stuff with every meal. I started right away that evening with something like a vanilla and chalk milkshake after dinner. I don’t know why, but something made me feel really good drinking it.

I slept fucking fantastic, and despite having done way more lifting the day before than ever I barely felt any soreness or anything. I probably woke up Ethan with my harder than normal pre-breakfast cardio. Lots of burpees and jumping jacks, so I almost felt guilty making breakfast while steaming sweaty, but whatever. Ethan had to remind me what supplements to take. I really should have written that shit down.

I had a strong deja vu while doing weights. It wasn’t until Ethan spotted barbell for me I realized that this was almost exactly what I had seen doing the VR shit. I looked up and saw Ethan standing over me similar to the guy, but Ethan was wearing grey sweatpant shorts and a red tank. I kind of wished he was topless as well, like the other guy.

“You ok down there?” “Fucking dope, bro”

I realized I must have zoned out a bit. What’s worse I could feel I rocked a hard erection out of nowhere. Rather than making a deal out of it, and run to the shower, I decided to pretend like everything is normal. Guys get boners all the times. He’s a guy, so he knows that. I even did a few extra exercises to really drive home that point. While Ethan took his shower I dared to lower my shorts and slowly stroke my dick. I haven’t cummed once since moving in with Ethan, which I realized was longer than I’ve gone in years. The days were blurring together. I hadn’t watched porn either since moving in. I’ve been too preoccupied with the move and everything else going on.

“All yours” Ethan said and closed the door to his room. I just froze. I was sitting on the workout bench, shorts by my ankles and dick in hand. He saw that. There is no way he didn’t see that. I could feel my face getting hot by embarrassment, yet I continued to sit there and stroke my dick. What the fuck is wrong with me. My mind flashed to Ethan, to the guy in the VR, to his bulge just above my eyes, to his abs to the barbell, to the free weights.

No. I got up and took a long shower, trying really hard to not think about anything. Just observing the tiles, the shampoo bottles, the soap. But there were the creeping thoughts that perhaps Ethan will find me a weird creep and kick me out. How would he do it? He’s been far too nice to be direct. Would he bring up this incident or would he just wait a week or something and over one lunch say something vague like we are not as good of a match as he hoped? Fuck. I needed to do something.

I couldn’t concentrate at all on the block on taxation I was supposed to read. Apart from the residual thoughts of unease I was beginning to see what a mistake it was to not cum in the shower. I was very close to surfing porn sites, but decided against it and ended up aimlessly browsing social media. I can’t really explain how, a hundred clicks that trended in that direction perhaps, but I got into the circles of fitness instagram people. Big arms, broad chests, and slinky stringers. Somehow I was hard again. Stealthily I walked back to the bathroom, locked the door, and started to jerk off in the shower. I’d been saving for a week and been hot all day, but somehow it took quite a while to shoot the load. My mind was a soup of barbells, Ethan, sweatpant shorts, vague old porn clips, and more recent instagram models. When I finally came it was like I’ve never orgasmed before in my life. Rope after rope shot out of me, the first few even hit the wall, and my hips involuntary thrust forward for each of them. I felt cleansed in a way, like a weight had been lifted from me. I couldn’t really understand why, though. Nothing had really changed.

I didn’t want to go back to my room and study. I rinsed the shower, got a pad and a pen, and went to the kitchen to get on top of the supplements. I decided to write down all the ingredients from the labels. I had just accepted Ethan’s plan uncritically. It’s probably fine, but I wanted to understand it. That’s where Ethan found me.

“Hey, dude. Already hungry?” “Yeah… No… I don’t know, bro.” “You don’t know?” “It’s like… Fuck. You saw, bro.” “Saw what? You jerking off?” He laughed and sat down. “You saw me doing it first.”

He was right, of course. I didn’t know how that could have slipped my mind.

“Was it porn?” I didn’t know why I asked that. I was curious, but it also felt a bit too personal of a question. “Yeah. Wanna see?”

Before I even had time to respond he continued “Let’s fill up your macros first and then I can show you. If past experiences are any indications you’ll take your time.” “Already jacked off today.” Why did I tell him that? “Even better”

Ethan had this ever changing dish where he would chop and fry vegetables like bell pepper, chili, garlic, ginger, onion, peas, and whatever else was around, pour in coconut milk and whatever spices you craved that day green curry or red curry for Thai, madras curry for Indian, Soy and miso for Japanese, anise and szechuan for Chinese, saffron and parmesan for Italian, and so on. Then serve it with pasta or grains or rice. I helped him prepare it, as I always do unless he started making it without telling me. This time however the air was different, filled with tension and awkward anticipation. He made it with chicken, lemon grass, and brown rice this time. We hardly spoke a word while cooking, and then continued to eat in silence. We both knew what was on my mind, and there wasn’t any question on the subject that wouldn’t be awkward. I was weirdly looking forward to trying out whatever it was he wanted me to try. I couldn’t explain why it felt so compelling to me. Just thinking about it made me hard. “You clean up here and I’ll go and set it up for you,” he said as soon as his plate was empty. “Yeah,” was all I could manage, and he left. I finished my plate as well, put the few things we’ve used in the dishwasher and went to his room.

His bed was made and on it was the VR headset and what I first though was a protein drink shaker. “Dude, is that a… fleshlight?” I asked him both with incredulity and genuine curiosity. Curiosity because a cable ran from it to one of the boxes on the floor that connected to his computers, and incredulity because I couldn’t believe he thought I would use one of his sex toys.

“Yes. No. Not exactly. It’s modified to connect into the haptic subsystem.” “Haptic?” “Force feedback” “It’s a vibrator, bro.” “Eh.. No. Well, not only. You’ll see.” “Why do you think I’d touch that, bro?” Though somewhere inside I knew I would. “It’s a brand new inset. You’ll be fine.”

I walked up to the bed and suddenly wasn’t sure what to do. I would need to at least lower my shorts and boxers to get the until-recently-fleshlight on my dick, but Ethan was still in the room. Not only in the room but almost studying me like a lab project.

“I’ll lie down?” “Got to strip first,” he said motioning towards my tenting shorts. He saw me hesitated and continued “Dude, I just saw you jerk off in the living room this morning”. I blushed and pulled down my shorts and boxers, and stepped out of them. “Shirt too,” he said. I removed that as well and stood naked in front of him. “Wow, you are making progress. Ok, on the bed and hook yourself up. Red dot up.” I climbed into the bed, as he told me, and grabbed the cyber-fleshlight and pushed it down on my hard dick with the red dot up towards my head. There was some sort of lubrication in it and it slid on with very little effort. It must have been heated as well, because the lubrication didn’t make it feel cold. I was given a nod from Ethan and put on the helmet over my eyes and ears.

The alternative version of Ethan’s bedroom was already there, waiting for me. I looked around and as far as I could tell everything looked like in the real world, except no Ethan of course. After half a minute, perhaps more, I was almost about to ask if he had started it when the French crop guy jumped in through the doorway, as if he was in a hurry. He was naked except for a pair of white, tight speedos that both highlighted his big package and created a reference point for his deep tan and made it look even deeper. There was a sheen over all his body, like he had been working out hard or oiled himself up, and he was breathing heavy. “Sorry, I’m late. I didn’t expect you so soon,” he panted. I didn’t know what to say. “You want me to help you with that?” he asked and nodded towards my dick. I looked down and saw a massive erection, easily twice my real size. “As an apology…” he continued.

“Yeah, sure bro.”

He made the cutest little jump of joy in response, and caught my smile. He composed himself and locked eyes with me. Then he started some sort of dance where all the movement was in his hips and abs. Then he added more of the upper body, still keeping eye contact. I thought I would hose him down with cum from my monster penis right there, so sexy was it. He smirked and moved closer. Still swaying he leaned forward and licked the head of my dick, which shot pleasure up my spine. He then started to circle the head with his tongue, before taking it into his mouth. The first few times were shallow, but then he stopped teasing and begun to really do down deep on the dick. In addition I could feel him alternate between stroking my hips, the insides of my thighs, and tugging my balls. Just as I was about to nut he stopped working on my dick and started to slowly run his tongue up my faint abs, circling my nipple. I was squirming in horny delight.

He was straddling me now, face to face. I couldn’t resist it any longer and reached to pull him towards me and kiss him on the mouth. There was a loud crack of plastic against plastic as our VR helmets collided. “Dude?” I was looking at the French crop guy who was moving his hands in front of his eyes. “Ethan?” I asked, suddenly realizing what was going on. The French crop guy looked bashful, did a little wave, and answered in not-Ethan’s voice “Yeah.”

“Did you just blow me?” “I wasn’t… No, it’s still the device.” I hesitated, considering briefly what this would mean. “Would you like to?”

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whumpingcrow · 3 years

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Ink Poisoning - Chapter 1

Introduction

Surprise! A new story, new characters, inspired by all the lovely authors of tumblr who do BBU or WRU writing :) enjoy!!

CW: BBU and everything in relation to that, drugs/alcohol, party themes/setting, plane mention, college setting, breakup mention, tattooing/tattoo shop mentions (let me know if I missed anything!)

Nicko and Salem had never really been too close. They lived a few houses away from each other in high school, had some of the same classes, and were tied in with the same friend groups. They were friends, as much as you could be friends with someone you only hang out with cause they’re close by, but not close by any means. Salem felt a certain way about Nicko, he always had, a way that told him to keep himself a safe distance from him. Maybe it was his recklessness, the way he did awful, often mean, things seemingly on impulse, just because it popped into his head and he wanted to follow through. He was unreasonably harsh and manipulative and just attractive and charismatic enough to not suffer the repercussions.

Because of this, Salem wasn’t really entirely sure how he had ended up living with the kid in his last two years of college. Both him and Nicko had gotten into the state college and were both art majors (Nicko was in visual arts and Salem in music), so they had been around each other since they both moved into the dorms as smooth faced freshmen. Nicko was on the football team for the first year and a half, then he got kicked from the team. At that point he hadn’t spoken to Salem for a while, so he never figured out the real reason why. He heard gossip, that Nicko was caught doing drugs, that he had slept with the coach’s daughter, that he’d been fighting, but it was impossible to know if it was the truth. On one hand, Salem wouldn’t exactly be surprised if it was something like that, but on the other hand he didn’t want to believe that he was that bad. After that, he focused on his studies. Salem saw him around campus working in sketch books or on a canvas, sometimes he would show up to a class covered in paint and tired, like he’d been working on something all night. He was also doing an internship at a tattoo shop, he got paid a lot to stab people with needles, and he genuinely enjoyed it. Plus, Salem had seen some of the stuff he’d made, and he certainly had talent, even though he was sort of a dick.

During that time, freshman and sophomore year, Salem was pretty preoccupied in his own respects, so these were the only things he really knew about Nicko. Those two years had been difficult, looking back on it he was surprised he was able to pass all of his classes with what he had going on. There was a messy relationship, horrible breakup, and he used it mostly to put into his music. He wrote some of his best pieces about it, so in a way he was thankful. He was better off now, anyway.

Now, he and Nicko lived together off-campus, along with three other art majors who neither of them knew too well, but rent was cheaper with more people and they were easy enough to get along with. School was almost over, it was their last stretch of their senior year, and things were good. Salem’s future was looking promising, he’d already been speaking to different producers and composers who he’d been set up with by his teachers, as soon as he graduated he would have enough saved up to buy his own place, closer to where he would work, on his own. Life was so simple, Salem was happy and hopeful and for once, things made sense. He just had to get through winter break, then the last few grueling months would crawl by, and then he would be free.

But then winter break came and went, Salem went back north to visit his parents, and when he got back things suddenly got...complicated.

Nicko would insist over and over again to Salem that they had “talked about this!” and he tried to persuade him by saying “you said it could be cool!” every time they talked about it afterwards. Salem told him that bringing it up as a concept while they were getting drunk after midterms was not talking about it.

What happened was someone had read an article somewhere, maybe it was from a click bait thing on Instagram or a frightening news article on facebook, and had brought it up while they were all throwing back beers before they went out to their own respective parties. It was about something Salem had only heard hushed whispers about online, he wasn’t even sure how legit it was because of how rarely he heard about it: boxies. The word made him cringe every time one of them threw it out drunkenly, like it was something cute. If what Salem had heard about it was true, they were essentially criminals who were brainwashed (or trained, as they liked to call it to sound more appealing) instead of taking another sentence. Box Boys, Box Babes, they had more gross marketing names, all involving a box. Supposedly it was because they were notoriously shipped to you conveniently in a box right to your front porch, as if they were an Amazon package. Yes, living human beings stuffed inside of a box and left on your porch, just waiting to be let out so they can start doing whatever it is they’ve been retrained to do. And somehow it was all completely legal, if you did it through certain companies.

So, that’s what they’d been talking about, when Salem looked back on it, all he remembered from the conversation was something like:

“Dude, how the fuck is owning a boxie legal at all? I was just reading this article and-”

"Those are like, those servant things you order online or whatever? I've heard about those, I think."

“That’s not the point, Nicko. I’m talking about how it’s fucking crazy this is allowed.”

“I think it’s cool. I mean if it were me I’d rather get to live in a house as like...a maid or whatever than go to jail. Jail sucks. I dunno, I think it’s cool. What about you, Cobain?”

Salem hated when Nicko called him that, he’d been doing it since freshman year, when one of Salem’s songs was suddenly being passed around the school in a youtube video he’d forgotten he’d posted. Nicko told him that it was edgy, that he sounded like Kurt Cobain. That would have been fine, Salem really wouldn’t have cared, if Nicko hadn’t personally told him before how much he hated Nirvana, how the music sucked. So every time he used the nickname it was patronizing, a little stab at him.

Still, Salem merely looked up from his laptop, he was probably checking back on his flight information for going back home, maybe checking to see if his test scores were posted yet, and scowled at him. “Yeah, Picasso, I think that owning a person is super cool.” He’d been sarcastic, obviously so, and Nicko knew that.

And still, here he was, telling Salem that he’d “agreed” to getting this boxie. Salem would disagree every time, and Nicko would just roll his eyes and shrug his shoulders and he would get away with it. He was always getting away with shit, it was really starting to piss Salem off.

The day Salem got back from break it had been snowing. The drive back from the airport was stressful, it was late, Salem just wanted to go home and sleep. Going back to the town he grew up in was draining, sometimes. It reminded him of complicated times and hopelessness. He wanted to forget all about those feelings, things were going good, he could be hopeful now, and going back home made those feelings a little...muted, for a while. So he figured he’d go home, get into bed, sleep it off, and get back to being hopeful in the morning.

Only he couldn’t do that, because of course Nicko was having a party. He usually called it “having people over”, because he was trying to be an adult now and that’s what adults usually said, but when it consisted of beer pong and body shots that didn’t seem like the right term. The lawn was covered in cars, so was the driveway, so were both sides of the street directly outside. Salem had to park halfway down the block, get his suitcase and guitar, and walk down the street. To his own house. He wanted to break Nicko’s face.

When he walked into the house, the air was thick with smoke and reeked of pot and sweat and booze. The living room was mostly empty, Salem could see from the front door that almost everyone was in the kitchen playing some sort of drinking game or outside. The house was a mess, almost all the lights were off so Salem couldn’t see the full damage yet, but he could tell that he wasn’t going to like it when he did. He shuffled into the house, kicking away cups and bottles as he walked past them. Part of him wanted to just turn around and get back in his car and drive far away, never come back and never see Nicko or this shitty house again. But he had to stick to his plan, he had to play it safe here.

“Salem!” He snapped his head up, in the direction of the voice, sighing when he saw it was Nicko’s girlfriend, Aurora. Or Rory, as most people called her. She had dyed her hair a bright, shocking blue since Salem had last seen her, if he remembered correctly she had it a pale pink before. Her makeup was dark and heavy, like it usually was, making her eyes look all that more intense and striking. Except for right then, because she was very obviously high, her eyes hooded and lazy. She was sitting on the couch, a boy who looked a lot younger than her on his knees right in between her legs. He looked even more fucked up than she did, glaring hard at the floor and swaying slightly as she raked her fingers through his messy, dark hair. As Salem approached them, the kid flinched away from him and snapped his eyes up to look at him. He didn’t pay too much attention to him, too distracted by his anger. Rory had to shout over the music just a little when she started talking again. “I was wondering when you were gonna be back! How was your tri-”

“Where the fuck is Nicko?” He interrupted. His hand was tight around the handle to his guitar case, he could feel his heartbeat in his closed fist.

Rory gawked at him, then her crimson painted lips turned up into a lazy smile and she laughed. “Wow, someone’s in a mood,” she teased, “why don’t you have a drink? Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down, Rory. Tell me where he fucking is!”

Rory turned her attention downwards, toward the rough looking boy on the floor in front of her. Salem followed her gaze, realizing that he was now shaking, pressing his thin frame against Rory’s leg like he couldn’t get close enough. He was looking at Salem’s shoes, his face twisted up in a nervous frown. Rory instantly leaned close to him, hands on his cheeks and lips against his jaw, saying something in a real low, soft voice. She was calming him down, soothing him, Salem noticed, because he had frightened him.

Salem realized, then, how angry he sounded, shouting and cursing, and he sighed to himself. He decided he’d be better off just going to bed, putting in earplugs and waiting until the morning to deal with the problem. It’s not like he’d really be able to fight Nicko anyway, he was so much taller and he’d been on the football team and honestly Salem just wasn’t equipped for fighting. So he turned away from both of them and made his way down the hallway, to his room. He locked his door and set his things down, then he promptly stripped down to his boxers and got into bed.

The next morning, Salem was surprised to wake up to a clean, quiet house. He walked down the hallway, expecting at any second to see all of the trash pushed into a corner somewhere, he didn’t think Nicko would have cleaned up himself, unprompted. But it was clean all the way through, and he was impressed when he walked into the living room and saw Nicko, decked out in all black clothes and black boots, relaxing on the couch with his keys clutched readily in his hands, like he was leaving. He was speechless, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he approached him.

“Morning, sleepy head,” Nicko teased, tilting his head back and looking him up and down, “how was your trip?”

“Uh...good.” Salem answered, voice still gruff from sleep.

“Morning, Salem!”

He turned to see Rory standing there in fishnets and an oversized hoodie, dramatically tall heels wrapped around her ankles, making Salem wonder how she was standing straight. One time, when Nicko was busy doing an art piece or working on school work, he couldn’t remember now, she and Salem had been in the kitchen alone and Rory told him that she liked to wear tall heels because Nicko likes when she’s short and it entertains her to bother him. She said the best part of her day sometimes is irritating Nicko.

Behind Rory, standing with his head dipped downwards and his shoulders slightly hunched, was the same scared looking kid from the night before. He was allowing Rory to pull him along by his wrist, focusing on his shiny black boots, ones that he looked rather unsteady in, like he wasn’t used to tall shoes. His thin, oversized black tee shirt hung off of one boney shoulder, showcasing a few tattoos up on his collar bone and neck. They looked fresh, like they were healing. After Salem scanned the rest of his body (why was he wearing shorts and a tee shirt!? It was snowing outside!), he had healing tattoos all over, scattered every few inches. Were they all new? Salem didn’t know much about tattooing, but he didn’t think that was safe.

Salem didn’t realize he’d been staring at him, silent, until Rory cleared her throat, redirecting his attention to her. “He’s cute, huh?” She smiled, smacking her gum at him. “Nicko picked out a good one.”

“I...What?” Salem muttered.

“Our boxie,” she explained, holding his limp arm up in the air and waving it a little, making the kid flinch hard, “You were looking at him. Isn’t he precious?”

Now, he was shrinking in on himself more, looking rather embarrassed and ashamed, his face hidden mostly by his floppy hair. Salem frowned at him, then at Rory, then at Nicko, who was smiling smugly.

“You didn’t.”

Nicko laughed at him, and thus began the famous “You said it would be cool” argument. Salem was so shocked in the moment he wasn’t able to form a proper argument, so Nicko took both Rory and the boxie out the door and into the snow with him.

So that’s when things got complicated. Well, not necessarily right away, but that was the thing that kickstarted it all. It was a total snowball effect, where one bad thing happens and it just gets worse and collects more velocity and severity the longer it goes on, until it’s huge and it can’t be stopped and it flattens a poor snowboarder or a small city. Salem had to finish school, he had to start living his life and building his career, he didn’t have time to worry about huge snowball problems. That could ruin everything, all of his hard work and pain would have been pointless. All because Nicko decided to get a fucking boxie.

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6knotty6thotty6 · 3 years

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So a couple of months ago, I saw a YouTube video that was an audio recording of season 5, episode 6 of Bojack Horseman, “Free Churro.” In the episode, the main character, Bojack Horseman, spends 20 minutes giving a eulogy at his mother’s funeral. There’s one big problem though, his mother was an abusive bitch. His eulogy is him trying to contemplate what she meant by her drying words, “I see you,” and whether or not she loved him. As someone who has a dead parent who was abusive, this is probably my favorite episode of any show ever for how much it helped me understand my feelings. The comments section is filled with people sharing their pain with their abusive families, but one comment stood out to me above all the others by how raw and relatable it was. This comment was by a YouTuber named Moonstruck. At the bottom of this post is a link to her channel. Please support her. After reading this, she deserves a million subscribers. Also please watch Bojack Horseman. (I corrected some of the grammatical errors to make it easier to read)

Disclaimer: Child abuse, bullying, trauma, and mental health:

Moonstruck:

This is a great monologue, but one part of it, in particular, really caught my attention was the 'grand gesture' bit.

When I was a kid, I read this book called "Chicken Soup for the Soul." There's a shitload of them. I don't remember which particular one it was. I hated the whole series because it's just someone profiting off a bunch of other people's stories rather than trying to write their own, in my opinion.

Anyway.

This one story that I remember, the ONLY one I remembered, was sent in by a little girl. She wrote about how her father never told her that he loved her. He never once, in her whole life, said the words "I love you." I don't remember her mom being mentioned, maybe she was dead; it doesn't matter. The point is her dad was basically an emotionless asshole. Well, one day, this girl gets sick. Really sick. Possibly on her deathbed sick. She wrote that one day she woke up to find a necklace sitting on her nightstand that had a pendant that looked like her dog. She said she held it to her heart and cried because that necklace said all the things her father never had.

I thought, "What a load of bullshit."

A cheap trinket doesn't make up for years and years of emotional neglect. Anyone can buy a thing and toss it your way. Hell, he didn't even hand it to her himself, just left it there for her to find if/when she woke up, then left her alone again to possibly die.

A lot of people say that actions speak louder than words, in cases like political protests and shit. While that's true, scenarios that this that girl are different. Gifts can never replace the words, "I love you."

When I was a kid, my father never told me he loved me. My mother didn't either, but she's a whole other kettle of fish. I would say 'my biological mother or father,' but I never got adopted ones, so who gives a shit. Anyway. My father was rarely around, and when he was, he just spent the entire time fighting with my mother and leaving again. He would do and say anything that could get him to spend less time in the house with her. With us. I can't blame him. If I could've left during those times, I would have. I tried more than once. I even earned the nickname 'runaway' from a family friend because of it.

I was told that I was worthless as early as I could understand words. I don't know what it is about me that set my mother off, but she HATED me. I was always told how expensive I was to keep alive and how I wasn't worth it. If I dared ask for anything, she would remind me how much she spent just to keep me from starving to death and that it was too much already. On the rare occasion I was given something, it was so she could use it as a threat. She was like, "Sure, you can have that toy horse since we got your sister a real one, but you better behave or we'll give it to her and let her break it." Or "Oh, fine, we can keep this dog as a FAMILY pet (NOT YOURS), but if you do something we don't like, we'll take it away and kill it."

Oh, yeah. I have a sister. She’s cut from the same cloth as our mother. I don't consider any of them family anymore. She was two years older than me. She was the "we should have stopped while we were ahead" kid. Anything she wanted, she got.

"Mom, can I have an award-winning horse and expensive dressage lessons?"

"Sure!"

"Mom, can I have a car?"

"No problem!"

"Mom, can you pay for my ballet lessons?"

"Absolutely!"

She was the golden child. The one that could do no wrong and wasn't a mistake. Even after she totaled her car, got arrested for an underage DUI, and got pregnant three times in high school, she was still the good one. I never even asked to go to school dances, parties, or go out with the one friend I had. My sister liked to see me in pain. She'd tell our mom that I did things just to get me in trouble. Whether it involved blaming me for things she did or fabricating stuff, she'd say whatever it took to get my mother to beat me while she watched and laughed. Oh, yeah, our mom was BIG on physical punishment. I've been whipped with everything from a riding crop, a wooden paddle, spoons, and especially belts. Anything that was close at hand when my mother got irritated, I've been hit with it.

At one point, my sister had three tall, beautiful show-worthy horses. I was allowed to keep a sickly old pony for all of a week before she was taken away, then I'd get called ungrateful for asking why we had to get rid of HER instead of one of the horses. Even though my mother said it cost too much to keep them all. With horses being obviously too rich for my blood, I asked for something cheaper, and for once, I got it. I was given a baby goat that one of our neighbors' goats had abandoned for being too weak, and they didn't have time to raise. I loved that goat. I bottle raised him, and named him Ben. He was my best friend for a while. When he grew up, he got so big that I was able to stand on his back to grab tree branches and pull them down so he could eat the leaves. I walked him on a leash like a dog every day. I loved him so much. My mother had me enter him in a show, and we won ninth place! I was thrilled to have something to show against my sister's collection of dressage show ribbons. I finally had proof that I could do something right! Sure, the prize money was taken away from me, but I still had Ben.

But Ben didn't come home with me after the show. It turns out he was sold to a slaughterhouse because that show was for meat goats. I didn't know until he was already gone. Of course, my mother punished me for being upset and even forced me to write a thank-you card to the people who bought his meat.

My mother was always like that. Anything I loved was used as a threat. I eventually accepted that loving anything was a waste of time. I learned to detach myself from my feelings, and I got really good at it. I can completely turn off my emotional reaction to anything. One time I had to put down one of the egg-laying hens at work that got too sick to save, and I felt nothing while bringing down the ax. When I lost out on a job that could have changed my life, I told myself how stupid it was to hope for anything good. Any positive emotion I felt got me punished, so I learned to feel nothing at all. To this day, I still have trouble feeling things, even when I want to. I'm taking pills now, and they help, sometimes.

I've had several suicide attempts. I keep a box of razor blades in my desk just to have them close. I got a tattoo of a heart with rainbows on my wrist. Partially for LGBT solidarity, but mostly to remind myself that there is still beauty in the world. I still struggle with wonder if I actually believe it or not.

I've tried so hard to be a good kid. I never partied, never drank, never smoked even when the chances were there, and I would have greatly loved anything to make the pain stop or even just dull it a little bit. I was in the gifted and talented program at school and was able to graduate at fifteen. For a while, I was sent to a children's home where I was passed around to many people I didn't know, including a clown who I may or may not have actually been related to, until I eventually wound up out here where I am now. It's all pretty hazy, and the details get scrambled.

It's been 10 years since I've had contact with my mother and sister. I can't even keep in touch with the one friend I had, even after I lived with her. She's tried to reach out to me, but I just… can't. I try, but I can't. Sometimes, I can almost pretend that my past wasn't real. It's just a hazy fog that isn't really there. I want to believe that if I don't allow something, or someone, who was part of that past, someone tangible and real, into my life again, then the fog will go away. This is why I can't do it. I know I'm a terrible friend. Ariel, if you're reading this, I'm sorry. You're better off without me in your life anyway.

I typed all of this out because sometimes, about fifty dollars or so shows up in my PayPal from my father's email address. I don't know if it's from him or from her using his email, but it doesn't matter either way. The point is I know my mother is the one sending the money.

I know my mother likes to think she's a good person. She went to church every Sunday, and probably still does. She organized a lot of church events and participated in every church function. I had to be an altar server for several years until I aged out of it and was in the choir. She kept going to that church even after the priest got drunk, called me many horrible names in front of everyone, and was revealed to be a pedophile that raped a little boy at gunpoint. She probably still goes to that same church and organizes things. She likes being in charge. She likes having people look at her and say, "That there is a good person."

But are you, though, Mom? Are you really a good person? Were you a good person when you hit me? When you lied to me? When you laughed with my sister about how much I got hurt for things I didn't do? Were you a good person every time you told me you'd kill my cat or leave my dog at the pound? Were you a good person when you sold Ben to be eaten, knowing that I loved him? Were you a good person when you made me read "A child called It" and told me that you'd start doing the things in that book to me if I didn't behave? Were you a good person every time you told my father I was a liar whenever I tried to tell him what you were doing to me? Were you a good person when you told me I wasn't worth the cost of being alive? Were you?

Fuck you, Mom! Keep your fucking money! A necklace on the nightstand isn't enough. A trinket can't heal years and years and years of abuse and hurt. You can't hide these scars under dollar bills. I hope you die alone. I know I probably will, but I don't even care anymore. I lost the ability to care thanks to you. You can't make up for the things you did and the things you didn't say now. Too little, too late!

#child abuse #abuse #domestic abuse #family #survivor #YouTube #bojack horseman #forgive #mom #mother #friend #friends #story #personal #chicken soup for the soul #free churro #monolouge #father #dad

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charismaandcashmere · 4 years

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In the modern world, it often seems like it’s harder than ever to accomplish your goals.

It seems like everyone has already done the thing you want to do — that your idea is already out there, that your niche is beyond saturated.

Want to start a blog? You’re up against a million rivals. Thinking about starting a podcast? So is everyone else and their mom. Hoping to write a book? With the advent of self-publishing, you’re not only up against authors approved by major publishing houses, but anyone, anywhere, with a laptop. Want to become a YouTube star? Better hope you get noticed next to the thousands of other folks uploading new videos every day.

There’s seemingly a million graphic designers, a million wannabe filmmakers, a million other, probably more qualified candidates gunning for the same job you want.

And that’s just in the marketplace. In your personal life, the competition can feel equally fierce. In the days of yore, you were just competing against people in your college or church to win the attention of a lady. Now you’re up against every Tom, Dick, and Harry on Tinder. The dating marketplace hypothetically stretches beyond your community to encompass your whole state, maybe even the whole country.

Yes, in both economic and personal spheres, demand seems high, and resources seem scarce. It’s enough to make you decide to give up and not try in the first place.

Yet this feeling of scarcity is just an illusion, a myth.

In truth, there’s never been a more opportune time to live. Not only because it’s never been cheaper and easier to write a book, share your art, or start a business, but because the average person’s ability to execute on the basics has never been in such short supply.

While opportunities to achieve your goals aren’t as scarce as you think, there are areas where true scarcity does exist: in common sense, in social skills, in manners, in reliability. There’s a dearth of people who know, or have the will, to do the stupidly easy stuff to be charming and successful.

Let me give you just one example. Both off the air and on, guests of my podcast will tell me, “I can tell you actually read my book before this interview and I really appreciate that. It’s so rare.” I don’t bring this up to toot my own horn, but rather to point out how ridiculous it is that this might even be something worthy of mention! An interviewer reading someone’s work before asking them questions about it would seem like the barest of bare minimum job requirements — a prerequisite rather than something above and beyond. And yet the majority of podcasters aren’t even taking care of this most basic of basics.

There are tons of people doing what you want to do, but how are they executing? In 90% of cases, not as well as they could be.

That’s your opening. And such openings are absolutely everywhere.

To take advantage of opportunities, people typically concentrate on stuff like building up their resume — going to the best school or getting the right internship. And certainly, these things can help.

But what’s missed is that it’s often doing stupidly easy stuff that’s going to allow you to make friends and land your dream job. It’s doing the stupidly easy stuff that almost no one else is doing that can most readily set you apart from the pack, and up for success.

What is some of that stupidly easy stuff? Below you’ll find a (non-exhaustive) list of the things it’s hard to believe people don’t do more often, and which have a huge ROI because most people can’t be bothered.

1. Send a thank you text when you get home from a nice party/date. In my opinion, this is the #1 easiest and best way to be a more charming texter. Yet almost no one does it. When someone has you over for dinner, or you take someone out on a date, once you part ways, they typically worry a bit as to whether or not you had a good time. And a party host wants to know their effort to throw the shindig was appreciated. So even if you thank your date/host in person at the end of the evening, once you get home, shoot them a confirming text saying, “Thanks again for the delicious dinner. We had such a good time!” Trust me on this, it’s stupidly, stupidly charming.

2. Write handwritten thank you notes, always and often. When an occasion was especially nice, instead of sending a text, write the person a handwritten thank you note and stick it in the mail. And send handwritten thank you notes for anything and everything else. Received a gift? Thank you note. Job interview? Thank you note. Someone helped you move? Thank you note. Someone went to bat for you at work? Thank you note.

Thank you note writing has become such a lost art, and receiving snail mail is so delightful, that sending handwritten appreciation has become one of the most effective ways to set yourself apart from the pack.

3. Edit your emails/texts before sending. No one ever catches all of the spelling and grammatical mistakes contained within their communications, but giving your texts and emails a couple reads before you hit send will tighten things up. These “clean” missives significantly contribute to making a winning digital impression.

4. Know how to make small talk. We spend so much time behind screens, that when we finally meet people face-to-face, our conversation can often be awkward and stilted. But being comfortable with small talk opens a tremendous amount of doors; sure, it starts out with the superficial, but it’s the on-ramp to deeper discussions — the pathway to relationships with potential lovers, new friends, and future employers. Fortunately, once you know the simple methodology that makes small talk flow, it’s easy to master.

5. Don’t be a conversational narcissist. Related to the above. The only kind of talk many people know how to make these days, is about themselves. Someone who knows how to listen and ask good questions comes off as stupidly charming.

6. Don’t look at your phone during a conversation. In an age of scattered attention, a person who can concentrate their attention on you, and fight the urge to look at their phone while you eat or talk — someone who can make you feel like the most important person in the room — is a charmer par excellence.

Can’t seem to pry yourself away? Check out our complete guide to breaking your smartphone habit.

7. Dress well for a job interview. You don’t have to show up to a job interview in a three-piece suit (unless the position calls for it); overdressing can make as poor a first impression as under-dressing. But showing up dressed just one notch above what current employees at the company wear will immediately set you apart from many other candidates. Well-shined shoes, a pressed shirt, and good hygiene will help too.

8. Come to a job interview prepared to ask questions of the interviewer. Whenever we post this article on “10 Questions to Ask in a Job Interview,” HR folks always weigh in with how “amazed” they are at the number of candidates who stare blankly when asked at the end of an interview, “Do you have any questions for us?” Know some questions to ask going in.

9. Take a woman on a real date. In a landscape of “What’s up”? texts and non-committal hang outs, taking a lady on a real date puts you head and shoulders above other suitors. What constitutes a real date? Watch this video and remember the 3 P’s: Planned, Paired Off, and Paid For.

10. Offer a sincere apology when you mess up. My generation seems to struggle with saying “I’m sorry” when they make a mistake. Numerous times I’ve had my order messed up at a restaurant, and when I bring it to the attention of the waiter or manager, they just shrug, say “Okay,” and fix it, without saying, “I’m sorry about that.” Then the other day an order of mine got messed up, and the manager took a totally different tack — comping my whole meal and bringing me a free dessert. That kind of treatment is so rare, it was unbelievably winning. I even found the manager after my meal to tell her so, and let her know I would specifically make an effort to return because of her gesture.

As it goes in the restaurant biz, so it goes with everything else. Most of your fellow employees will just say “Okay” when an error is brought to their attention. Offering a sincere apology that demonstrates you take responsibility and understand where you messed up and how it affects the company, will easily set you apart (so will immediately trying to make it right and preventing it from happening again).

And in your personal life, apologizing when you stumble is stupidly endearing. You’ll probably mess up again, and often with the same issue, but even when you can’t completely overcome your flaws, showing you’re at least completely aware of them goes a long, long way.

11. Follow through. I get a lot of emails from guys who want to do something with the Art of Manliness, like write a guest article or strike up a business partnership. They are excited! They are passionate! They are…MIA. They never follow-up or follow-through on their idea. I’ve often wondered what happens between their excited initial email, and their descent into silence. But whatever it is, it can easily be avoided by those committed to following through.

12. Be reliable. No quality today can more readily set you apart from your peers than reliability. Doing the follow-through just mentioned. Showing up on time (and just plain showing up). Meeting deadlines. Managing expectations and not overpromising. Promptly responding to emails. Keeping your word.

Are freelance graphic designers, artists, video/audio editors, app developers, programmers, contractors, etc. a dime a dozen? Surely. But a reliable creative professional or handyman? A pink unicorn. If you couple talent and skill with reliability, it’s stupidly easy to dominate your competition and your niche.

When you survey the economic and dating markets, they can seem incredibly oversaturated. Demand seems high and resources seem scarce. But when you take a closer look, you’ll find that while there are plenty of people all grasping after the same thing, there are only a few executing well on the attempt. Setting yourself apart isn’t complicated or hard; it often involves simply doing the stupidly easy stuff that everyone else overlooks.

Their obtusity is your gain; see through the myth of scarcity, take care of the basics, and the world is your oyster.

#my links #art of manliness #etiquette #the myth of scarcity

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greenygreenland · 4 years

Text

Liar: Lloyd Garmadon & Sister! Reader

-you're the elder sister of the one and only Lloyd Garmadon

-tell me if you want a pt 2

Summary:

You're Lloyd's sister and would do anything to keep an eye on him, even if it's sneaking into the darkest, most evilest school for boys.

(Y/n) heard terrible stories of the school down the lane. From teachers murdering their students if they weren't up to their expectations to students locking their teachers in their own classrooms and torturing them until they begged for mercy.

Kids were said to grow up to be the worst of the worst, but never would (Y/n) have guessed the people there to look so...normal. Some students dressed incredibly well with uniforms complete with suits and ties while others slipped on sweatshirts and sweatpants instead.

The school had the classic tiled roof of any old building in Ninjago complete with various sparkling windows, stories, and creaky doors. From the outside, the school actually looked peaceful.

The garden out front gave off a feeling of freshness as she passed by with the vibrantly coloured petals swaying in the gentle breeze. The grass tickled (Y/n)'s ankles as she heaved out a deep breath she didn't know she held.

It's not too late to turn back, she told herself.

"No." she interjected. "I have to take care of Lloyd." At the mere mention of taking care of her brother, memories bombarded her like an air strike from above.

The soft, caring smile of her mother. Her warm hands holding her tight. Her words of comfort in her ear.

"I'm so sorry my daughter."

(Y/n) imagined her mother's arms wrapped tightly around her.

"Lloyd has a destiny laid out before him I can't allow."

"What kind of destiny?"

All those years ago, her mother had smiled again with those sad eyes of hers.

"He is destined to be the Green Ninja. He will bring balance, peace. But in order to do so, he must fight and defeat your father."

(Y/n) recalled the feeling of helplessness settling in her gut that day. Her father may have been evil, but he loved (Y/n) and Lloyd more than anything in the world. They could have been a happy family, but he was banished to the Underworld.

"No. He--he can't. Not father, not Lloyd. They can't fight!"

Her mother had frowned with tears in her eyes.

"That is why I must leave."

"Why can't I come with you?"

"Because it's too dangerous. While I'm gone, all I ask of you is to take care of each other. Can you promise me that?"

"Yes, mum. I promise."

(Y/n) shook away the memories with a frown. She was only about eight at the time. Now, she was in her teens. She couldn't back down, not after she dyed her blonde hair black and cut it short like a boy's. Not after she promised her mother to take care of Lloyd, and not after she had done all the paperwork herself.

(Y/n) stared at the documents in her hand with a shake of her head. They were forged at the local library and looked rather professional, but how far would looks go? "This is never going to work." she grumbled to herself.

---

"I can't believe that worked." (Y/n) whispered as she closed the principal's office door. She stuffed her school schedule into her green hoodie and made her way into the first class. She paused when her fingers latched onto the doorknob.

If this were a school for bad boys, then wouldn't that mean she could do whatever the heck she wanted? She could skip class! She wouldn't have to do her homework! She could actually talk back to people!

No.

(Y/n) couldn't do that. She'd willingly brainwash herself into being the villain the staff wanted her and so many others to be. She'd be just as much of a sheep as the children around her.

Like Lloyd.

Her mother said keeping him here would protect him and help avert the prophecy, but (Y/n) didn't understand that. Darkley's was a terrible place to grow up in because of the competitive and dark environment. People weren't nice here (she could tell that much), and it effected even the nicest kids.

(Y/n) released the doorknob and made her way down the hall. When lunch came, he decided to skip and hang out in one of the quieter halls. She didn't have much of an appetite after seeing a group of kids throw bags of fire ants down each other's shirts.

"First Spinjitzu Master is this place insane." she grumbled. A familiar chuckle caught her ears and she jumped to her feet so fast that a book almost fell out of her open bag. A cloaked boy smirked at her as if he told the world's best joke. "Tell me about it." he admitted. "Say, you're the new kid right?"

(Y/n) inwardly smiled. What a wonderful coincidence. "What about it, kid?"

"You may be older, but you're new. You need someone to show you the ropes. What do you say we team up together?" (Y/n) crossed her arms and stared her baby brother down with a firm look. "What's the catch?"

"'Catch'? Uh..."

(Y/n) almost smiled. If Lloyd were one of the other kids, then he would have thought up something to benefit himself on the other end. But he wasn't. He was Lloyd Garmadon, the destined Green Ninja, so of course he wasn't as evil as the other kids. He was an angel in disguise.

"You don't sound so evil, kid." she suddenly said. The confidence on Lloyd's face simmered into a deep frown. "That's what everyone says. The teachers told me they're thinking of kicking me out soon...but I'll show them! I'm Lloyd Garmadon, bringer of evil and son of Lord Garmadon!" As if to prove his point, he let out an 'evil' laugh.

(Y/n) cringed a little. "Great," she said through her teeth, "that's wonderful Lloyd. Now, why don't you show me the 'ropes' of this place?"

"Sure, uh..."

"Jason." she replied. "Jason Le."

True to his word, he showed (Y/n) all the ins and outs of Darkley's, as well as the basics of being 'bad'. She skipped classes with him, ran through the halls, and pickpocketed coins out of her peers' pockets. But along the way, (Y/n)'s morals kicked in and she felt bad about all the stuff she did.

ONE MONTH LATER

The sun slowly sunk over the horizon, casting the empty classroom in a hue of oranges and reds. Lloyd laid flat on a set of desks, arms behind his head with a satisfied smirk. "You're not so bad at this Jason. Maybe one day, you'll be as good as me."

(Y/n) rolled her eyes. "I'm sure I will be, Lloyd." There was a moment of silence before he sat up on the desks. "You know, you remind me of someone." (Y/n) shifted in her chair with a nervous chuckle. "Is that so...?"

"Yeah. My sister. But she'd never do anything as evil as us. She couldn't pick up twenty dollars off the street even if it stared her in the face!" He sighed to himself. "Goody two shoes."

(Y/n) snorted. "What's your sister like?"

He shrugged. "She's a liar who pretends to be nice. We were supposed to meet at Buddy's Pizza, but I haven't heard a word from her in four weeks! What a snake." (Y/n) winced, but Lloyd didn't seem to notice.

"Not only that, but she's a total two-face!"

(Y/n) winced again.

"One second she's nice and the next she's gone like my parents! I thought she cared about me, but apparantly not."

Lloyd's words piecered (Y/n)'s heart like a knife.

Two-faced.

Liar.

Snake.

Was that really what her baby brother thought of her? After all she sacrificed for him? All the times she showed up to hang out with Lloyd, the day before she'd scrap by to earn enough money to buy him lunch. All the times she brought him to the arcade? She used all the allowance in her pockets.

There was a weird burning sensation in her chest. "What if," she quickly said, "your sister was just busy? What if your sister was going through something she didn't tell you?" Lloyd placed a hand on his chin. "I didn't really think about that."

"Maybe you should, because no family should leave each other behind." (Y/n) abruptly stood. "It's getting late, we should head to the dorms."

The walk to the dormitories was silent. Lloyd could tell just by the crinkle in (Y/n)'s brow that she was angry, or at least annoyed with him. He wasn't sure how he knew just by a single glance, but the tension was beginning to freak him out a little. "Did I...say something?" he muttered. (Y/n) frowned a little. "No."

"Then why do you look so..."

"So what?"

Lloyd shrugged. "I don't know...annoyed?"

(Y/n) froze in her steps, and it was so quiet that Lloyd heard every squeak her shoes made. The rays of sun shone on her pale face, illuminating her bright eyes and silky hair. From her hair part, Lloyd noticed a few golden strands peeking out.

Wait a minute.

Gold? Since when did Jason have golden hair?

Lloyd could have sworn this guy looked familiar. The almond-y round eyes, the sparkle that never seemed to dim, the hair like liquid gold that could only be possible if he were related to his grandfather. This wasn't a boy standing before him. No, no, it was....

"(Y/n)?"

The name slid off his tongue before he could stop himself. (Y/n) tiredly sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She knew he would have figured it out eventually, he was smart like that. "The dye must have been cheaper than I thought," she quietly mumbled.

"Dye?"

"I spent the last of my monthly salary on the cheapest hair dye I could find."

"You've been here the entire time and I didn't even notice?!" exclaimed Lloyd. (Y/n) nodded. "Yes, I have." Lloyd squinted at her tired eyes with an angry frown. "But--but why?"

(Y/n) laughed so coldly that Lloyd shivered. "Why else? You're my baby brother. You've been stuck at Darkley's, and I haven't been able to keep an eye on you. When I heard you might be kicked out, I wanted to make sure I wouldn't lose you for good."

Lloyd was speechless.

I spent the last of my monthly salary on the cheapest hair dye I could find.

He had just bad-mouthed his elder sister.

You're my baby brother.

How dishonourable of him.

I wanted to make sure I wouldn't lose you for good.

A wave of guilt hit Lloyd like a tsunami. He ran at (Y/n) like a bolt of lightning and jumped straight into her arms. How could he have thought such terrible things about her? She would never abandon him because she was the best person he had ever met in all of Ninjago even if he were too blind to see it.

She cared about him more than she cared for herself, and now Lloyd understood. All those times she showed up late to pick him up on the front lawn of Darkley's. All those times she let Lloyd eat whatever he wanted while she sat at the table with only a glass of water. All those times she snuck in to hide handmade cards or gifts under his pillows. That wasn't her pretending to act nice or being two-faced, that was her sacrificing all she could to be the best sister in all of Ninjago.

Lloyd almost cried then and there out of guilt. "I'm sorry I called you two-faced." he croaked out. "And I'm sorry for calling you a snake and saying you were fake to me. I didn't mean that, I promise. I just--I didn't know." (Y/n) wrapped her arms around Lloyd's tiny body with a sigh far beyond her years. "I know you're sorry, I forgive you." Lloyd let go of (Y/n) with a sad frown. "I really don't deserve you."

(Y/n) mimicked his sad frown. "Maybe...maybe it was destiny that knew you needed someone like me in your life. You need a guide to keep you on the right track, and that's what I am." Lloyd smiled a little. "You're more than that." He hugged (Y/n) again. "You're the best sister in the world."

#ninjago lloyd #ninjago masters of spinjitzu #ninjago #lego #lego ninjago #ninjago x reader #reader insert

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serendipitous-magic · 4 years

Text

Why Don’t We Read: An Impromptu Essay By Me Because I’m Mad

You know how everyone is always saying “oh, I was such a big reader when I was a kid but I just don’t read books anymore, I don’t know what happened”? And how old people are always griping about “This is called a BOOK, it has no commercials and no loading screens, hardy har har har snorf har”?

What if it’s because we just don’t have time anymore?

Think about it. More and more and more of our time on earth is eaten up at our jobs just trying to survive in an economy where “minimum wage” covers maybe 1/3 of bare minimum expenses. And not only that, but we’re expected to juggle more and more and more things every single day. Long, uninterrupted hours simply... do not exist anymore.

Every day you have to not only commute to work, and then work, and then commute back, plus all the little chores and mundanities that make up every day life, cooking food and then eating food and folding laundry and cleaning and putting gas in the car and don’t forget that dentist appointment and better call Mom and if you have a lawn you have to water it and weed it and you have to figure out if you have enough to pay rent this month and you still have to call FedEx about that missing package and now you have to cook again and now there’s more laundry and so many emails to respond to and it’s been months since you washed your sheets hasn’t it and

BUT THEN

You are expected to do and be and keep up with so many things.

You’re supposed to work out, or jog, or do yoga, and you’re supposed to meditate or do a breathing exercise daily because it’s good for you, and while you’re at it, make sure that your living space looks like a magazine or an Instagram post, you need X minutes of sunshine a day to be healthy and Y minutes of exercise and Z number of steps, and you need to be an environmentalist and make sure you’re doing your part to save the planet, and you need to be constantly self improving, you need to be learning a language on Duolingo and doing projects like crocheting or writing or antiquing, you have to be completely unproblematic and constantly monitor everything you do and say and post because one tiny little thing can have the internet jumping down your throat, you’re supposed to be a nutritionist and a fitness nut and an expert on everything you talk about because society has become so black and white that saying “I don’t know” or “I didn’t know that before” is looked on as unacceptable, you’re supposed to know what’s in your coffee and where it came from, you’re supposed to be a son a daughter a sibling a parent a student a mentor but also you’re supposed to be an interior designer, a small business owner (if you do any kind of Etsy or commission thing), a revolutionary (you’d better care about every overwhelming, exhausting injustice in the world and you’d better take action against it - see below), a curator (if only of your own blog), a rhetor (you’d better damn well know how to argue or you’re screwed in this society), a teacher (because school districts don’t teach anyone shit), a negotiation expert because it is car salesmen and insurance agencies’ job to fuck you over as hard as they possibly can.

Oh and don’t forget, you’re supposed to simplify your life and live in the moment. That one’s very important.

All of this is most likely while you’re already working anywhere from 20-40+ hours per week.

Keep up with your friends on Facebook, spend time to see what they’ve been up to, spend time posting your own pictures, catch up with your Instagram and Twitter and Tumblr feed, and for fuck’s sake you’d better make sure you’re reblogging all the right things about current social events, and you’d better also be caught up on the news, which all happens and changes so fast now that communication is instantaneous, keep up with all the politics, know every new outrage and be outraged about it, keep up with the politicians, the scientists begging us to listen, the latest news about the celebrity outed as a bigot, the latest shooting, the latest bombing, the latest protest, you’d better keep up with all of that and know what’s happening in the world, every minute of every day, and oh don’t worry about having to seek the news out, it comes to you. Every little ping on your phone is a new piece of news.

And you’d better care about it all. You’d better have enough energy in your body and mind to care about all the politics and all the injustice, and be rightly outraged every single day by the state of the world and every new horror, but you’d better also care about the dying planet and the burning rainforests, the oil spill, the glacial melt, you’d better be outraged about that too and you’d better be able to act on that outrage because those are all so important, and they are, but then you also have to care about insurance companies ruining people’s lives by making it impossible to afford healthcare, and you have to care about how agricultural companies have made cruel and byzantine webs of laws to drive farms out of business and make food, a basic necessity of life, a business, and one that’s designed not to feed and nurture people but to make money. And then while we’re on the topic of money you’d better care that the top 10 richest companies in the world create 70% of the world’s pollution, and you’d better care about how billionaires could fix most of the world’s biggest problems and they simply choose not to, and how Elon Musk and Jeff Bezos and everyone like them have an amount of money and resources that no single person could ever come close to earning, and how if that wealth was fairly redistributed and recirculated into the economy then maybe minimum wage would actually earn you a living and that’s not even to mention the other systems of brutality and cruelty and injustice in society, the racism, the homophobia, the ableism, the ageism, the sexism, the -ism -ism -ism on for infinity

So you’d better buy and use reusable straws and reusable coffee cups, you’d better cut down on your CO2 emissions, you’d better take shorter showers, you’d better recycle your plastics and spend time at the store thinking about how you can buy things with less plastic wrapping, while you’re also thinking about those big agriculture companies, oh and by the way your eggs? The chickens they came from live in cages, barely being allowed to move for their entire lives, and you’d better be outraged about that too. Where do you think that milk came from? What does that cow look like? How about those peas, were they picked by someone being paid $1 an hour? Every single item on the shelf has some deep horror woven into its backstory.

You’d better sign every petition you can and you’d better reblog the right things about taking action against injustice and you’d better be vocal about it, you’d better buy your soap and your clothes from small businesses instead of supporting the big evil ones that are much easier to access and much, much cheaper (because somebody suffered, somewhere along the line, to make it that cheap), you’d better remember to save your pasta water to water your plants with instead of wasting it, you’d better make your gifts by hand (if you have the time, which you don’t), and

And then there’s the beauty industry.

You cannot go a single day without seeing something about “lose weight fast!” or “The Skinny Girl Cookbook!” or “This Weird Thing Burns Belly Fat!”, and everyone you see on screen is twig-thin or muscled, and don’t forget that you’re supposed to take the time to love yourself and practice body positivity too, oh wait no it’s too late, now body neutrality is the right thing to say and think. Every part of your face and body has some malady and you can buy a cure! Spend this much to get rid of acne, spend this much to wax your legs, buy this for wrinkles and that for stretch marks, this cream smooths out your skin to look like an eggshell instead of human flesh, that cream “fixes” those bumps on your arms that apparently aren’t allowed to exist, a basic face of makeup is at least 5 products if not 10, there are countless tutorials on how to make yourself better, because you aren’t okay as you are and you never will be as long as somebody can sell you something to “fix” yourself.

Oh, and that’s more time spent, too. Take the time to shave, to moisturize, to do your 3-step skincare routine, to slather all different kinds of goops and goos on various parts of you, take the time to pluck your eyebrows and exfoliate your feet and

Everything wants your attention, every second of every day. Because attention is money. Netflix Hulu Youtube watch this ad look at this ad Twitter Disney+ Twitter again Facebook more ads look at this ad sign up for this subscription package watch this new season of this show, watch this new movie, watch this watch this watch this watch look at this this watch this watch this look at this look at this look at this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this look over here look at this look at this look over here watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this watch this look at this

And then at the end of the day you still have to reserve time for the people in your life that are important to you, and leave time for those long conversations with your sister or time to bond with your kid or time to go on dates with your S.O.

And then you’re supposed to take time for yourself. Self care. Like social media is always saying to do. Take a bath, drink some tea, relax. If you have time.

And all of that. ALL of that. Most likely happens in the small slivers of time before and after your work day, or on the weekend in the small sliver of time before or after you fold that laundry and cook dinner and attend to your personal matters and maybe hang out with a friend if you’re lucky.

And I just described a fairly privileged, not-on-the-brink-of-poverty, not-in-and-out-of-the-hospital, not-constantly-targeted-by-violence-or-oppression life. I just described a cushy life.

Is it any fucking wonder that we all feel shattered? Like our time, even on free days with absolutely nothing scheduled, is made up of tiny pieces? Is it any wonder that it seems like nobody can sit down with a book anymore?

I’m so fucking tired.

#impromptu essay because I'm goddamn mad #long rant #sorry this blocks off your whole dash #but I don't think this one should have a read more line tbh #modern society #books #compassion fatigue #lifestyle #we need to change society but i'm afraid the inertia is too much #and the people in power who WANT it this way #are too powerful to beat #i should not be this fucking exhausted at 22

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uwua3 · 4 years

Note

Hi! I love your writing! Can you do headcanons for childhood sweethearts with Misumi?

summary: misumi’s life was split into two acts—before and after his grandfather’s death

warnings: angst, family death, lying, memory loss, mentions of physical abuse, open–ended, running away, trespassing, unhealthy parental relationships

author’s note: this is somewhat childhood sweethearts but not the right time :) please enjoy this angst(?) and i hope to make you proud!

word count: 4,500

music: older brother’s theme (fall, then rise again) – shalfi

14.

🌻⚠️ ikaruga misumi

misumi couldn’t remember anything before he was 14 years old

it was as if his life was split into two acts: before his grandfather’s death versus now, after hakkaku tragically died

he knew his grandfather had to have a spare copy of his life’s script somewhere, perhaps hidden underneath his stacks of original works carefully stashed away in his office. was it folded into those paper airplanes he took the time to make? maybe, preserved within a dusty folder alphabetically organized within his filing cabinet

he just wanted to see one picture, of his grandfather’s smiling face towards the camera and hear all the fond stories about mankai and acting and what it meant to live your dream with your best friends. if he was lucky, maybe watch a clip of his favorite troupe acting while his grandfather wrote in the waiting lobby with scribbles on an old notepad

all misumi had to go was go back. was that too much to ask for?

but, he wasn’t allowed to come back, not anymore now that his parents were alive

misumi forgot who he was before hakkaku’s untimely death; he wasn’t anyone except his grandfather’s little boy and that was more than enough for him

now, he wasn’t anyone’s. just ikaruga misumi, the neglected son that didn’t exist to the public eye

misumi was 14 when he forgot what it was like to be happy

but, misumi was also 14 when he also stopped seeing you anymore

you were misumi’s childhood best friend who he met through his grandfather. you were the next door neighbor who didn’t judge him for his irregularities and soon enough, you two spent your years playing at hakkaku’s home after school

(“let’s get married, sumi!” you giggled, falling back onto the grass as the sun shined upon your happy faces. misumi didn’t think anything of it, taking your hand as he laid next to you and turned his head towards his best friend. “kay~ only if you make me onigiri!”)

(you paused to contemplate the deal before nodding, determined. “i’ll make you onigiri, let’s marry when we’re old then!” you were certain you could learn and misumi giddily cheered, kicking his legs with his sudden energy. “i’ll wait, then!”)

yet after his grandfather’s death, slowly but surely, misumi’s memory of you faded into nothing. days went by where misumi tried searching his brain after feeling like something was missing, but the process of grief took a toll on his mental state. he felt like there wasn’t any closure despite attending the funeral—what, or who, was missing?

after hakkaku passed, there was no one left to stop his parents from controlling every aspect of his life

from how he acted in public around other children to what he did every minute of the day outside of the house, any part of misumi’s rare freedom he treasured with his grandfather was taken away for the worse

this meant misumi wasn’t allowed to especially communicate with anyone outside of the pre–approved social circle (aka, no one)

it was a trap. all to gaslight misumi into believing his parents’ manipulative behavior came from how much they loved him

it wasn’t their fault, it couldn’t be. they wanted the best, even if it was at his own sacrifice. how could they, his parents, the people who were meant to love him, mean to do this?

they loved him, because if they didn’t, who else would?

misumi only knew one thing from his hazy past: hakkaku loved theatre. acting was his calling, it’s what made his grandfather smile the biggest even until his dying days

so misumi acted. he put on a smile everyday just like his hakkaku (he hoped his grandfather was looking down on him with that same smile)

misumi grew up to the family disgrace, no matter how hard he tried to fit in. he always stood out, wasn’t the same as the other perfect model students at the top of the class

other boys spoke when asked, had a polite tone constantly, rose their hand properly with the elegance of a crown prince. misumi could never sit still, was always called out for bouncing his leg or tapping his pen rapidly against the desk too much

everything misumi did was too loud; he drew attention to himself even if he desperately tried to look the part of a heir to a business legacy family

every time the rumors got a bit too much, he’d arrive home to both his parents sitting at the kitchen table and he knew what he had to do

they called it trainings, but it really felt like an excuse to punish him for not being like his younger brother, madoka

one day, it was a particularly hard session of training. misumi’s legs wobbled even as he ran as fast as he could, feeling the sting of his mother’s slap upon his cheek as tears threatened to fall. it was raining so loud, the droplets smacked against the ground and covered evidence of his leather shoes against the pavement

he was about 16 when he found himself at hakkaku’s house after all this time, at the entrance of the gate with his fists clenched and breath uneven as he skidded to a stop

misumi was about to scream at the top of his lungs, even if it meant risking being seen, before he noticed something in the midst of the haze

a drenched figure staring back at him with wide eyes

misumi paused, the ambush of the storm filling the space between you two as thunder sounded in the distance. you didn’t say a word, just at the bottom steps of the door past the gate

how did you make it in? did you jump it? misumi backed away to take in the full height of the gate and back at you, he nearly didn’t believe it until you sprinted full speed at the metal

“wait—!” misumi yelled over the rain, reaching his hand out to signal you to stop but you gripped the bars and propelled yourself with ease

he swore everything felt like it was in slow motion. the raindrops seemed to freeze midair when misumi’s eyes caught yours, even if it seemed like you were attempting to ignore his sharp gaze

that feeling of missing something came back again, but stronger than ever

time sped up quickly. you landed beside him with a thud even on the slippery mud. you didn’t spare him another glance, just moved to run. he didn’t stop you

misumi watched you leave after trespassing, standing in the rain as your shadow turned the corner

why didn’t he stop you? you were a stranger trespassing onto his dead grandfather’s property but why...

why did it feel like he knew you?

misumi stared after you, barely feeling the buzz of his phone in his back pocket as he pulled it out blankly, knowing it was his father

he picked up and didn’t even flinch at the sound of cursing anymore, just obediently said he’d come home without looking away

“i’m sorry father, it’s my fault, i know.”

misumi was 17 the next time he went to hakkaku’s home

there was no particular reason why. unlike last time where he arrived suddenly, it was like something was calling him this time. an instinct in his conscious was pulling him towards the abandoned house

this time, he was taller, a year older now, but still as outcasted as before. he skipped school just based on a gut feeling, his uniform not ironed like the other boys in his class

misumi sprinted faster, feeling the blood rush through his head as he barely managed to breathe from trying to release his energy. of course, he’d never be like the son his parents wanted so much

the long grass beneath his creased shoes indicated how long it had been since he had visited, the unmowed lawn extending into the road as misumi inhaled in the still atmostphere

the birds chirped in the background, the new day setting in as the calming blue sky passed by with distant clouds. the morning dew was still present and misumi knew his grandfather would’ve been reading the paper by now

misumi stopped by the gate again, closer this time as his fingers brushed the bars. he took in the way he used to pull the barricade open just to see his favorite man in the world, now it was locked and kept away from the public

a deep breath in and out. panting slightly, misumi closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the gate, embracing the cold chill of the metal upon his skin

misumi was about to turn away and hurry back to school to avoid a serious lecture again before he sensed something, or someone

a hesitant footstep in the grass confirmed his suspicions when he quickly whipped around and came face to face with a familiar figure

it was you! the person from last year!

misumi didn’t know how he knew because you looked different, too. you had on a school uniform as well, but a cheaper, less well–known one compared to his

(he didn’t recognize it, his parents didn’t let him interact with anyone outside of his private academy, anyways)

you were just as surprised, maybe even a bit scared this time, as you took a step back

misumi gripped the gate subconsciously, as he looked down at you. suddenly, he remembered who he was and what family he belonged (or wanted to belong) to. he automatically straightened his posture, standing tall like his parents taught him to

“who are you?” misumi asked, forcing his voice to come out colder than he intended. you winced at the question for some reason, turning your head to look at the wildflowers instead

you seemed to think before lifting your stare to the blue, clear horizon. your voice rang out and it felt like something misumi heard before

“a friend.”

silence. then, misumi sighed, his shoulders dropping and the tension bleeding out of his body when he realized you didn’t particularly care for the meticulous act he was meant to star in

you visibly relaxed when misumi let go of the gate, instead he slouched a bit as he put his hands in his pockets. you noticed how he rocked back and forth on the heels of his shoes despite the obvious price of them

putting his hand out for you to shake, he bit his tongue, automatically about to share his last name before refraining, knowing it wasn’t his to begin with

“my name’s misumi.”

you hesitated as well, but he didn’t know why. you appeared to already know his name as you carefully took his hand, seemingly debating something before sighing softly

you said a name that you’ve never gone by before, and before he could say anything, you smiled

“misumi... means triangle, right?”

misumi didn’t question a thing, just grinned genuinely for once and he looked much, much younger

there were some things left unsaid in this sudden and unusual friendship. misumi didn’t ask who you were to hakkaku, or why you were here in the first place, just accepted you had experience jumping over fences and trespassing

you didn’t ask misumi anything because you knew who he was. to the world, ikaruga misumi was a confusing teenager who didn’t belong to his prestigious family. to you, an acquaintance, misumi was the boy that was the reason you visited this home in the first place

it was something like a fever dream when you saw misumi again those years ago. you almost didn’t recognize his stylish trendy haircut you knew his parents forced him to have, the tight fitting uniform he must’ve hated for how constraining it was, or the polished dress shoes made of the finest imported leather

but you knew it was him when you noticed the loose tie with the triangle base prominent, the triangular–shaped handkerchief tucked into his breast pocket neatly with a creative pattern you knew he bought himself, the bright neon socks peeking out from underneath his classic straight leg pants

misumi grew up but he was still the little boy you played with at hakkaku’s residence, he just forgot about anything that made him happy before that

so when you ran away that day, you regretted it. you turned on your heel just to see an empty road where he used to stand, and the downpour was heavier by that hour. you were too late, you had missed him again

until when you were both 17. it was that day where you forged a new identity at the place that defined your childhood

you and misumi scheduled to meet at least every week, sometimes more if misumi’s family life was beginning to get to him (he didn’t have to say it, you already knew just based on his appearance alone)

you’d both hop the gate and rest together at the front porch regardless of weather, hiding from the rest of the world and forming a friendship again after years apart

to you, misumi wasn’t ikaruga heir to the family fortune and business with an eccentric flair and broken, fragmented past. he was the boy who really looked up to his grandfather, folded paper airplanes in a split second, and transformed himself into anything with a mold to please the people he loved

this meant he was willing to be anyone anybody needed at any time because he simply could, even at his own sacrifice

you were still 17 when misumi helped you over the gate even if you didn’t need it and decided to break in. it was sunny with the afternoon coming in, golden hour casting both your shadows across the landscape

“do you ever miss your grandfather?” you asked quietly, breaking the comfortable silence that always remained between you two. misumi helped you land on the ground, carefully releasing your hand and letting out a contemplative sound

he pushed his hands in his academy blazer pockets, almost pulling them out abruptly before remembering it was just you. despite the short time knowing you (or so he thought), he was oddly comforted by your presence and let himself slouch just slightly

“every day...” misumi started, his tone heavier than usual. you stopped walking beside him to listen and he followed suit, turning his body towards you but his gaze set on the warm silhouette of hakkaku’s home

“i hope gramps is watching me right now.” misumi mumbled, seemingly lost in thought before you ignored your own irregular heartbeat and smiled, tilting your head to catch his distant eyes

“do you want to go inside?” you carefully offered, unsure of his answer. misumi didn’t react, just continued staring at the moving shadow of the house before he nodded, as if unaware of his own subconscious decision

“i’m here for you, okay?” you said, holding your hand out for some reason. misumi took it without thinking and you fought back the surprised blush on your face, instead taking the lead and avoiding his considerate expression

“you feel... familiar?” misumi commented out of no where, and you laughed

“you too.”

misumi didn’t ask anything else, he knew his place. just helped you open the lock upon one of the windows he knew like the back of his hand (it was ingrained in his body, even if he didn’t exactly remember the fine details)

(when you came inside, you and misumi didn’t notice the framed picture hung by the entrance of you and misumi in hakkaku’s arms)

from that point on, you and misumi allowed yourselves to be surrounded by hakkaku’s creations as a way to cope with his inevitable death

at first, it was a silent way of mourning. you and misumi didn’t discuss your connections to hakkaku, the satisfaction of knowing you could share your pain was enough. but after gathering the courage to enter the home, you two became more open and honest with each other about how important misumi’s grandfather was

yet, you fabricated a web of lies in order to maintain your secrecy, pretending like all you did was live besides hakku or something else minor. misumi didn’t question it, he didn’t ask for much and was content with your company even if he rarely and silently questioned your truthfulness

during your time together, you’d take your time exploring each room over a span of months after overcoming the obstacle of invading a dead man’s privacy. it wasn’t much, just standing in the middle of rooms misumi barely remembered and running his fingers over the dusty surfaces

it was like he didn’t have it in him to find out who he was before his grandfather’s death anymore

you were both 18 when misumi decided to look through his grandfather’s office

“i’m ready!” misumi proudly exclaimed, his energy infectious and feet tapping against the hardwood floor. after a year, he had allowed himself to express his loud and odd personality without putting on an act of who his parents wanted him to be (living a double life was exhausting, but being himself with you was worth it)

(you understood, somewhat)

you smiled, giving him a big high five to return his energy but feeling your heart drop to your stomach. it was selfish, you know, but you almost didn’t want him to. if he found all those old scripts you and him wrote together, the awful calligraphy from your childhood years, the photo albums hakkaku liked having of his best kids—

you didn’t have the heart to tell him “no”. you trailed behind misumi as he took a moment to rest his hand upon the screen before pushing it aside, revealing the aged and undisturbed office that belonged to mankai’s first playwright

misumi took a step in and stopped, his breath hitching in his throat as his eyes darted from every corner of the room. you hesitated behind him, your shaking hand hovering over his shoulder before dropping it to your side. misumi spun around, a big grin on his face and you couldn’t help but smile, too

(even if reliving the memories he couldn’t remember hurt)

“i just know gramps must’ve worked here.” misumi mumbled in wonder, amazement even, as he let out a “wow” at the stacks of folders and cabinets with hundreds of bindings. you nodded, unable to find the voice to speak, treasuring the way his eyes shined just like before

“i wish we could’ve been here together with him.” misumi mentioned and you stifled a sound of regret in your throat. you wish you just told him who you really were, that you were his best friend of long ago, that you would always be his friend

but, you didn’t

you smiled, and nodded

“me too.”

from then on, you relived all those years acting out various scripts even though he was your only audience. growing up, you had the maturity to recognize how talented and powerful hakkaku’s writing was, and how every heroic role was created for misumi

(you particularly remembered a script hakkaku penned when he whispered to you that the bold, eccentric, one–of–a–kind protagonist was based on misumi. so when misumi found a copy, you told him the secret and you had never seen him happier)

piece by piece, misumi began unlocking parts of his childhood memory. blurred events became clearer with specific details of the rooms he explored—except one

a person? something, or someone, was constantly a blank figure at the back of his mind. every happy important memory he shared was with someone besides hakku, but he couldn’t remember who or why

sometimes, if you said a line a specific way, or struck a dramatic childish pose with a laugh, misumi’s eyes lit up in recognition. he’d take a second to look over you with a troubled furrow of his eyebrows, as if he was sure he knew you from somewhere

“are you sure we don’t know each other?”

“i’d never forget a boy like you, sumi!”

“you’re right! i’d never forget you, either!”

you were both trying your best to move on from the untimely death of your greatest mentor and parental figure. as long as you two had each other and hakkaku’s home, it would be okay

but, you and misumi were 18 when his parents found out about everything

it was the night after high school graduation. you and misumi laid on the mat floor of his grandfather’s work office, staring up at the open windows to the dark night sky. between you was an open bento box you packed for both of you, a favorite you were satisfied to discover hadn’t changed: onigiri

he was still wearing his satin robes and his cap was left abandoned by his side, the previously tight tie now barely looped around his neck and gel dried in his slicked back hair. with you, he let himself be the messier, less responsible version his parents reprimanded him for

(you seemed to like him regardless and he didn’t know it, but he liked you, too)

misumi bit into his onigiri, trying to compliment you with his mouth open as he giggled behind his hand. you never thought you’d be here again—sharing a homemade meal with a friend who came back into your life

you laid your arms behind your head, turning it to see misumi was already staring at you. you waited for him to continue rambling about his day, the rush of finally leaving his stifling academy, but misumi didn’t say anything

until, he smiled

“how did you know onigiri was my favorite?”

then, you felt a pang of guilt. it had been a few years of lying, even if everything else was true. somehow, that second name became a part of who you are, but you knew it was still wrong

the truth you wanted to confess was right at the tip of your tongue. the silence was eating away at you, and like always, misumi could tell if something was on your mind

“are you okay? here, have onigiri!” misumi smiled, holding out food without any care in the world. you paused, blinking

the moonlight illuminated his silver blue hair, making him glow even more as the amber hues of his eyes made your breath hitch. you could see the stars in his presence and before you knew it, you admitted your truth

“i‘ve loved you ever since we were 14.”

“what do you mean? we didn’t know each other before gramp’s death—”

misumi was cut off by a car door slam. when you heard the wheels stop, it’s like both of you knew

without wasting a moment, misumi grabbed your arm and pulled you to the dark corner of the room. your figures passed by the walls quickly as you pressed your back against his chest, trying to stifle your rapid breath in the shadows

you cursed under your breath, crouching behind the height of the desk as misumi’s arm around your waist held you back. you could hear their hushed voices around you; you thanked whoever was listening for misumi’s high athletic ability to launch both of you out of sight

“how do you think they found us?” you murmured, shutting your eyes with a gulp, trying to ignore the situation for as long as possible. misumi looked around, attempting to pinpoint the footsteps

“i... i don’t know.” misumi responded quietly, sounding defeated and solemn for once. you could physically feel him retracting back into his shell, putting on his mask to hide his true feelings

“misumi! you are coming home right now!” misumi’s mother shrieked, startling both of you to the core as misumi inhaled sharply. you knew what would happen if his parents found out. you started pushing him towards the window, muttering a “go, go!”

you knew if misumi was caught, he wouldn’t survive the brutality of his pathetic excuse of a family

“climb onto the roof.” you ordered, not giving him time to refuse. you knew he had the physical capability to do it and he knew it, too. as misumi pulled himself up with a flip into the roof shackles, you stood at the window anxiously as the footsteps got louder and louder

“come on, i got you.” misumi whispered, holding his hand out to you. you didn’t take it just yet, reaching into your pocket to place something in his palm, putting your other hand above his for a moment

(the gold of the triangular earring glinted in the moonlight. it was almost your way of fulfilling that marriage pact all those years ago, even if he didn’t remember)

“i love you, we’ll see each other again.” you promised even if there wasn’t nothing to guarantee it. before misumi could ask why, you let go at the sound of the screen door slamming open

you let yourself witness the moon for a last moment of peace, before turning around and confronting the parents you never thought you’d see again

they said your name and you winced, hearing a slight disturbance above you. you knew he knew, and sighed but remained standing your ground

“i’m sorry.” you whispered, much to the confusion of the ikaruga parents. but, you hoped he heard your overdue apology

“we thought we told you to stop seeing him.” his father said at the entrance, making you laugh with no humor whatsoever. you glanced at the half–eaten onigiri discarded on the floor, wishing you could go back to that time minutes ago

“he isn’t here.” you lied, knowing damn well the scuttle across the roof and noisier bristle of the trees was the last time you’d see him for a long time

hakkaku’s home became nothing more than sold property. not even a week later, the ikaruga family employed businesses to sort out the furniture and clear out the rooms. nothing was left that symbolized it was you and misumi’s safe space

but, misumi... it was like he was gone. if the ikaruga household was a professional family portrait, misumi’s figure would’ve faded into the background and disappeared for good. you knew he must’ve ran away, for the sake of himself and his disappointed family

(“i’ve always let my parents down... i’m not a good brother, he doesn’t like me.” misumi admitted one day after you found him in his grandfather’s office, curled up in the same chair hakkaku used to sit in. you simply folded a paper airplane with an encouraging message, throwing it towards his lap. the teary smile was worth the precise lines)

you didn’t see misumi anymore, and you couldn’t believe it. for some reason, you didn’t expect to lose him a second time

but when you reached up to your ear and knew that triangle earring was with him, you tried to move on. but, this time, alone

who knows? maybe, you’d see him again. you waited since you were both 14, you could wait again

#ikaruga misumi #misumi ikaruga #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #a3! headcanons #act! addict! actors! headcanons #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3! x reader #a3 x reader #misumi x reader #a3! misumi #a3 misumi

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quicksilversquared · 4 years

Text

The Wavering Peahen: Chapter 2

When Nathalie started feeling oddly ill again, both she and Gabriel were worried that the Peacock Miraculous might somehow (impossibly) be to blame again.

So naturally, they pick someone else to be the Peacock for a bit. You know, as a test subject. Except the new Peacock… doesn’t exactly know that.

links in the reblog

Knocks at her window well after dark and after her mom had gone to bed were rarely a good thing, particularly in a city with that had akumas popping up every other day whenever someone got upset.

Lila knew that she was sitting perched on top of a mountain of lies. If someone somehow found out and got mad, that could more than explain a knock at her window at night. Except...

Well, an akuma wouldn't knock, would they? Smashing through walls was much more their style.

A second knock sounded, clearly much more impatient. Ever-so-cautiously, Lila finally pushed herself off of her bed and approached her window, squinting into the dark outside. A large shape came into focus, and then Lila caught sight of a purple suit and a full-head silver mask.

Hawkmoth.

Grinning, Lila scrambled to open her window and let Hawkmoth in. Maybe most people in Paris would be screaming and running in the opposite direction, but they were weak. Hawkmoth offered power and opportunities, kinds that she would never get otherwise. Whatever he had come for- whatever new opportunity he was offering- she was going to grab onto it with both hands and not let go.

"Ms. Rossi," Hawkmoth greeted her coolly, slipping through the opening. He straightened, and- okay, he was tall. Lila straightened reflexively, hoping not to feel so small next to him, but it didn't do much to close the height gap. "I hope this evening finds you well?"

Lila nodded, trying to keep herself from looking too eager. "I'm doing all right. And you?"

"Well enough." Hawkmoth glanced around, his steely eyes catching on the door. Lila followed his gaze, then immediately picked up on his concern.

"My mom is asleep already," she assured him hastily, not wanting him to decide to leave and not tell her about whatever opportunity he had clearly decided to offer. "And she's the only other one who lives in this apartment. And she's a heavy sleeper, so she shouldn't wake up randomly."

Hawkmoth nodded sharply. "Good."

"So, uh, how can I help you?" Lila asked, wondering if it would be proper etiquette to offer a supervillain a chair. It would make him not tower so much, but she also suspected that he wasn't planning on lingering. It would be better to get straight to the point. It would show respect for his time, and that would help make a good impression. "Do you need an akuma with specific powers or something? I can do that!"

"Not at the moment, but I will keep that in mind for the future. No, what I have in mind is a little more responsibility than that." Hawkmoth reached into a pocket, pulling out a small drawstring bag. "Mayura is unable to come out and join me on the battlefield for a undetermined period of time. Normally, I would simply go back to just sending out akumas. But I don't want to give Ladybug and Chat Noir time to re-build their superhero team more than they already have."

Lila's eyes went wide and she started nodding at once, already putting together what Hawkmoth had come to her for. "Right. And you don't want to give their backup team more time to practice and get better."

"Precisely. So I need a temporary holder until Mayura can return." Hawkmoth stared at her, steely-eyed and intimidating. Lila gulped and straightened up again, trying her best to look reliable. This was an incredible opportunity, and she was not going to let it simply slip by. "So what I want to know is... can I trust you?"

Lila had to stop herself from nodding like a frantic bobblehead doll. She didn't want to come off as an overly-excitable teenager. It was just- well, this was the opportunity to help get back at Ladybug that she hadn't ever expected. She had thought that her only chances were going to be to occasional (or not-so-occasional) akumatizations, where she would maybe be allowed to have some influence in what powers she got. But now, to get a Miraculous- even if it was only for a short while, until whenever Mayura returned- that was amazing.

She would get to go after Ladybug during every fight. And she could dream up the perfect sentimonster to go against the annoying superhero, one that could maybe be the one to take Ladybug down once and for all. If she got to coordinate with Hawkmoth, then they could maybe do a sentimonster-akuma pairing that would be incredibly strong-

-she was getting ahead of herself. Lila had to be calm, and work on gaining Hawkmoth's trust before she started making suggestions. She would have to be more cautious than she was with her classmates, since Hawkmoth was an adult, and probably a proud and paranoid one at that. That meant that he wouldn't be so quick to completely trust her. Trying to maneuver to be a more important part of his team right away would probably just result in her opportunity being ripped away from her.

Besides, he could sense emotions, right? So that meant that she had to be way more careful than usual.

"Of course you can trust me," Lila assured him, refraining from pressing a sincere hand to her heart. It worked at school, but with the supervillain it would probably appear dramatic and over-the-top. And maybe he was probably a bit dramatic and over-the-top (definitely so, if the fact that he had akumas providing a soundtrack for him on Heroes Day was any indication), but something told her that he wouldn't appreciate that in a potential ally.

Besides, he knew that she liked lying and manipulating, and so steering away from those mannerisms during her interactions with him would probably go over better.

"Good." Hawkmoth nodded once, sharply, then passed the drawstring over to her. Lila's fingers trembled as she practically tore the strings open to pull out the pin inside. A blue bubble burst into being as soon as her fingers touched the pin, and then it popped and revealed a blue floating...thing. "This is Duusu. Take good care of him. Now... let's discuss specifics."

The next morning, Lila added a simple scarf to her outfit to cover the Peacock pin and give Duusu somewhere to hide. It felt a little odd to have a constant companion, but that was the price she had to pay for power.

She could not possibly look forward to the next akuma attack more. She just wanted to get out on the battlefield and kick Ladybug's butt. Lila had even found a generic keychain that she could put the amok in and tucked it in her pocket, so it would stay with her and Ladybug and Chat Noir would have to work harder to defeat the sentimonster.

"Ah, that's a nice scarf, Lila," Mrs. Rossi commented, setting Lila's breakfast down in front of her. "I don't recognize it- is it from one of your friends at school?"

"Oh, it's from Adrien," Lila claimed at once, running one hand down the scarf. It wasn't, of course- it was just something that she had stolen from one of her photoshoots- but since it was Gabriel brand, it was believable enough. "He said it went well with my hair."

"It really does. That's very sweet of him." Mrs. Rossi grabbed her own half-eaten plate from the counter, sitting down across the table to finish her breakfast. "Will you be out with your friends again today after school?"

"Yes, I've been invited to come along to a couple clubs this week and check them out," Lila lied. Or- well, it was a partial lie, at least. Several of her classmates had extended invitations for her to come check out the clubs at the school, but that had happened ages ago and besides, Lila just wasn't interested. It would be more adults that she had to interact with and make excuses to when she was 'on a trip', and while she had been on a roll with the number of adults who were just believing her without any questions it just wasn't worth the risk. "So I'll be busy."

Not that it made any difference to her mom, really. She would be at work regardless. It was just- well, it was good to keep up the illusion that she was always with her friends and 'boyfriend'. And if an akuma attacked and her mom tried to get in contact with her, then she would have an excuse for not picking up, since her mom would expect that she would be busy.

"Fantastic!" Mrs. Rossi smiled, then scraped up the last couple bites of bites on her plate and shoved them in her mouth, rising from the table and carrying her plate to the sink. "I have to get going to the embassy, since the ambassador has a whole pile of paperwork that he needs pulled together for his meeting this morning, but I made lunch for you. It's in the fridge. And if you have any menu requests, just text me during the day. I'm going to make a grocery run after work."

"Okay." Lila smiled at her mom, waiting for her to leave before rolling her eyes. She knew exactly what was in her packed lunch, and she would much rather go out to eat or have whatever was in the cafeteria. But she and her mom had argued about Lila getting lunch money instead of bringing a lunch only a few days ago and she hadn't won the argument- apparently it was cheaper to just bring a sandwich every day, as if that was important. If her mom was actually an ambassador and not just a secretary for the ambassador, then Lila would be able to afford to buy lunch every day.

She would use her earnings from the photoshoots, but she needed that money to buy new outfits. If she didn't stay in fashion and wear nice clothes, then her credibility would start slipping.

Daughters of the ambassadors and friends of celebrities simply didn't wear off-brand clothing after all. And while that maybe forced Lila into the same handful of outfits over and over, she had managed to explain that away by claiming it was for environmental awareness reasons.

Maybe she could claim that about her lunches, too. Except- well, it probably wasn't a good idea to use the same excuses too often. Maybe she could claim that she had decided to divert her lunch money to a charity for child hunger, since there were starving children across the world who could use it more than her. Yes, that sounded like a good excuse.

...it still wouldn't make her sandwich taste any better. Maybe she could at least persuade her mom to pack something better for her lunch if Lila stopped arguing about eating out every day.

With a couple more quick bites, Lila finished up her breakfast and stuck her plate in the sink. It didn't take her long to collect her school things- including her lunch, which was definitely a boring old sandwich- and then head down to the bus stop to ride over to school.

As she waited for the bus, Lila's mind went back to the night before. She was still super excited about the opportunity, even though- well, it came with some risks, Hawkmoth had made that clear. Risks, and also an ally that had made it very clear that he Did Not fully trust her, at least not yet.

There had definitely been some not-so-veiled threats against her mom for if Lila decided to 'take liberties' while she had the Peacock Miraculous. And while Lila was really more or less indifferent about her mom, if anything happened to her and Lila had to be placed with a foster family or something...

Well, that wouldn't be a good thing. But that was fine, because she wasn't planning on pulling anything stupid while she had the Miraculous, like trying to keep it after Mayura became available again or trying to manipulate him to do what she wanted, even if it conflicted with his goals. After all, their goals already lined up- she just wanted to take down Ladybug and get her revenge, even if Ladybug (unfortunately) now wouldn't know who was behind her defeat.

Lila supposed that it didn't really matter if Ladybug knew or not in the end. All that was important was taking her down.

Hopefully the superheroes' defeat would happen while Lila was still involved, before Mayura came back. Maybe the supervillain team's shake-up would be just what they needed to finally make the jump from always narrowly losing to actually winning. Lila could bring in new ideas, new plots, and a new pair of eyes. She didn't even necessarily have to convince Hawkmoth of all of them- some, she could just carry out on her own.

And no, he hadn't forbidden that. If he wanted her to follow his lead, she would. But she also had to be independent, able to fight on her own and act independently when Hawkmoth's focus had to be elsewhere in the battle. She could carry out her ideas then, and maybe they would turn out to be just what Hawkmoth needed. He would get the Miraculous for whatever he needed them for, and- well, he would reward her for her help, right? Maybe she would get another Miraculous to use, one she would get to keep permanently.

Which one would she want? Lila tilted her head, considering. Maybe the Ladybug Miraculous, to really rub it into Ladybug's face. It would be a trophy. And she would go out often, just to rub it in her nemesis' face. But maybe Hawkmoth would need to keep that one and she would have to choose another. Presumably he would be able to retrieve the box of Miraculous from Ladybug after she was defeated, so Lila would be able to take her pick. There would be a lot of choices, a lot of tempting offers.

Her first choice- after the Ladybug Miraculous, for gloating reasons- would be the Fox. Those powers were what she had used most often when she was akumatized, and they were familiar and useful. She could make illusions of herself with all sorts of famous people and take pictures and show them off to further discredit annoying little dissenters. She could make illusions of the aforementioned dissenters doing bad things, just to get them in trouble. It would be super useful, even if the actual Fox Miraculous was apparently a tad more limited in the amount of power it had compared to her akuma self.

Another choice would be the Horse, maybe. She could hop over to other countries and actually call in to her classes from there for added realism when she was off 'traveling'! She might even be able to meet some of the people she was always claiming connections to and actually start forming those connections- though that might be a bit of a stretch. She was smart enough to know that a few chance encounters would not automatically lead to songs written about her and promises to always drop everything to do things on her request. So maybe the Horse wouldn't be quite as useful.

Maybe there was a kwami of manipulation among the ones Ladybug held on to. That would be really useful, something she could use to force the famous people connections and make all of her dreams reality. It would make manipulating her peers easier, too- or at least more foolproof- and that would be really, really helpful. That would be the ideal Miraculous for her, if it even existed.

All she had to do was be the best sidekick Hawkmoth had ever had and defeat Ladybug. And once that was done, and she had her own source of power- an unconditional source, no threats to her (or, she supposed, to her mom's) general well-being- then, well, then would come rewards to her civilian self. And after that?

Well, the world would be open to her, and the possibilities were endless.

The bus pulled up and for once, Lila had a real smile on her face as she got on. Maybe for everyone else on the bus, it was just a normal day. But for her?

It was the start of a new era.

#Miraculous Ladybug #My writing #The Wavering Peahen

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

Text

Sheriff Stilinski’s Guide to Courting

pairing: sterek

word count: 3.3k

notes: written for an ao3 requested prompt of sheriff stilinski and his attempts at giving derek dating advice in regards to his son. i might’ve had too much fun with this.

John was pretty sure this shouldn’t be his problem.

He would rather not actively participate in his son’s love life, thank you very much. Especially when he was pretty sure his son’s ‘love life’ consisted of chaotic pining after the angry werewolf that the Sheriff had been working to put behind bars two years ago.

See, John was pretty sure said angry werewolf might be pining after his son too. Just not as chaotically. In fact, there was no chaos. Just longing looks and angsty glares that made even John want to groan.

He was pretty sure this wasn’t his problem. His time should never be spent actively participating in his son’s love life.

But then the Sheriff realized the only way he was ever getting any mental peace again would be when his son and Derek Hale were no longer dancing around each other. And so, with a sinking heart, the Sheriff realized he was going to have to take part in making sure that happened.

First of all, he would like to say he did not ask for this.

Second of all, it was hard.

It started when John walked past his son’s room one day, paused, and then quickly backtracked to see Derek sitting on his son’s bed.

Stiles was nowhere to be seen. The kid was still at lacrosse practice if John remembered right, and probably wouldn’t be home for another hour or so. But here Derek was, sitting. On Stiles’s bed. Alone in an empty room with his leather jacket sitting on his lap and his face always perpetually scowling. Until he saw the Sheriff staring, that was.

John blinked at him and Derek blinked back. The man had gone shock-still, looking like a deer caught in headlights, and his eyes were full-blown wide. Leaning against the bedroom door, John raised one eyebrow and sighed.

“Hello there, Derek.”

“Sir.”

“Do I want to ask what you’re doing here?”

The man shifted uncomfortably. “I’m waiting for Stiles.”

“He’s at the school.”

“I know.”

“And he won’t be back for a while still.”

“... I know.”

The Sheriff pressed his lips together and nodded. He really didn’t think he wanted to press, but he was pretty sure he couldn’t leave Derek sitting alone in his son’s bedroom either. Because that would be wrong, right? That would probably be wrong.

“Might I ask why you’re waiting for Stiles?”

For a long moment, he didn’t get an answer. Then Derek ducked his head and mumbled the word “Research” so quietly, John almost didn’t catch it. Because unlike Hale, he wasn’t a werewolf. He didn’t have super hearing, dammit.

John made a mental note not to remind himself it was a werewolf— not just a man— sitting in his son’s bedroom. Because he was pretty sure that would create a whole new list of problems.

“So, research,” he said, almost enjoying the look on Derek’s face. “That’s all?”

“Yes sir.”

“There’s nothing else going on here?”

Derek’s face turned bright red and he quickly shook his head. The Sheriff pressed his lips together and nodded. There were a lot more things he could say; a lot more things he should probably say. But John decided that was enough interference for the day. He’d have a conversation with Stiles when he got back from practice.

You know, about how werewolves probably shouldn’t be camping out in his room on a school day.

“Okay then,” John said, and Derek looked both shocked and relieved. “If you want a cup of coffee while you’re waiting, the kitchen’s wide open. And if you made Stiles a snack for when he gets home, I’m pretty sure he’ll be much more receptive to this… research.”

Derek stared at him with wide eyes before nodding. John chuckled and turned away, continuing back down the hall. He thought he’d handled that fairly well. Or… as well as possible, at least. How was he even supposed to address something like that?

John was pretty sure he didn’t want to get involved. He really didn’t want to get involved.

He just didn’t realize yet that he didn’t have a choice.

The next time John stumbled across things he didn’t mean to, he started to realize he either went along with it or moved to another town. Because Derek Hale was always there. And it seemed his son was too.

John liked when he got to do the grocery shopping because that meant he could buy the things he wanted to. Stiles never let him buy steak or frozen meals or anything actually edible when he tagged along, and when the boy went out by himself, he never came home with anything other than vegetables and whole wheat pasta. So John cherished the days when he could do the shopping himself.

The moment he entered the store, he made a beeline for the frozen meats section. But John didn’t expect to pass the ‘Personal Care Products’ aisle and see two figures standing there that he recognized very well.

Moving slowly back, John peered at Derek and his son, and then glanced at the different packages of bandages that Stiles was holding.

“These might be cheaper, Derek,” the boy said, waving one through the air. “But they also sop up less blood. When one of us is bleeding out, Sourwolf, which would you prefer? The bandages that last five seconds and then let you bleed to death, or the ones that basically hold you together?”

“I would rather not have either of us bleeding out at all,” Derek said flatly, and the Sheriff decided truer words had never been spoken. He’d never thought he’d be listening to his son talk about his possible injury and death, but no father should have to hear something like that. Ever.

He stepped forward, clearing his throat, and both Stiles and Derek whirled around.

Derek’s eyes went as wide as saucers. But Stiles only went shock-still for a moment before putting a bright smile on his face and straightening up.

“Pops, dad, father-mine! What a coincidence to see you here!”

“Coincidence indeed,” the Sheriff said, looking at the bandages and then back at his son. “Can I assume someone is not currently dying?”

“Not yet!”

“Not… yet.”

“Stiles,” Derek hissed, elbowing the boy in the ribs. Stiles made a protesting noise of pain and elbowed the man back, and the Sheriff resisted the urge to facepalm.

This was his son, ladies and gentleman. And the Alpha werewolf he had somehow come to tame.

“So,” John said. “This is what you do in your free time?”

“Only when necessary.”

“Do I want to know what that means?”

Stiles ran a hand through his hair and shrugged, a sheepish look replacing the one of amusement on his face. “Only when we run out of bandages.”

The meaning behind that was obvious. John really questioned everything sometimes; like maybe his decision to not lock Stiles in his room and make him study online until graduation. Then he could let him back out into the world and make sure he went to college somewhere far, far away from Beacon Hills.

The Sheriff really lingered on that fantasy sometimes. Even though he knew he’d never be able to tear Stiles away from the supernatural. Not today, not tomorrow. He hoped maybe one day the boy would finally get some peace, but that didn’t seem to be in the near future.

Derek’s face was scarily pale beside the boy. John only sighed.

“You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I will not,” Stiles said, dropping the more expensive bandages into the basket that Derek held and moving forward to snoop through the Sheriff’s cart. He wrinkled his nose and picked out a bag of chips, a container of cookies, and a loaf of white bread that the Sheriff had put in there earlier. “But these will. This is why you’re not allowed to go grocery shopping alone.”

“It warms my heart when my son tells me what to do.”

“Only because I care,” Stiles said with a grin, putting the items in Derek’s basket instead of back in the Sheriff’s cart. John was sad to see the cookies go. “Now you may go check out, pops. And don’t even think about making a pit stop in the frozen meats section.”

“I deserve steak,” the Sheriff mumbled. Stiles snorted.

“You deserve to live a nice long, full life without any heart problems.”

“You’re a heart problem.”

“See,” Stiles said, glancing toward Derek. “You think you have it rough dealing with me. When my dad gets hungry, he’s like a pouty teenager. Even though we all know he’s much too old to ever be considered a teenager again.”

“Okay,” the Sheriff said, grabbing his cart and starting past them. “And now I’ve had enough of my own son for the day.”

“I love you, pops!”

John only huffed. But before he moved fully by, he hesitated and grabbed a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, setting it in the basket next to the bandages. Derek’s face did fifty more things, finally resting on blank terror, and the Sheriff was quietly pleased that he could incur such fear in a man like Derek Hale.

Because Derek Hale was a werewolf. John was pretty sure that when he was shifted, even a bullet to the chest would take its time stopping him.

But clearly John’s mere presence made Derek tremble in his fancy leather jacket.

“Quick tip,” John said quietly, leaning closer so Stiles couldn’t hear. “If you buy him a packet of Reeses at checkout, he’ll be well behaved for the rest of the day.”

Derek’s eyes snapped to the Sheriff’s face and he just stared for a moment. Then, still pale, Derek nodded. The Sheriff smiled and moved back away. He didn’t glance back, but he could feel Derek watching at him the entire time he moved down the aisle.

John didn’t buy himself any steak, mourning that loss. But he did pick up a packet of Reeses for his own self at checkout. Because he was a simple man and chocolate was therapy.

And John had no doubts he was going to need a lot of chocolate before this was all over.

See, the Sheriff didn’t know why he was going along with all of this. He was pretty sure it would make his life easier in the end but with a son like Stiles, he couldn’t know that for sure.

It just seemed once the Sheriff started stumbling across things, apparently he couldn’t stop.

He tried to sneak into the diner and found Stiles laughing in a booth with Derek at his side. The man had looked like he was about to pass out when Stiles had gone to the bathroom and John had crossed over, offering a wide smile and pointing out that Stiles liked milkshakes, so Derek should attempt that.

Not a week later, Derek was arrested for standing outside the Stilinski house at night (not by John, of course. He’d gotten used to Hale and his strange habits by now) and the Sheriff had been the one to let him off, saying maybe he should consider talking to Stiles instead of silently lingering in the shadows.

One month passed and the Sheriff realized he was criss crossing paths with Derek and his son everywhere. At the movies (‘pack night’ without the pack), out in the preserve (‘stakeout’), and back in Stiles’s bedroom for a second time (except it was 2 am and Stiles was there too. John would believe ‘research’ when pigs started to fly).

And the thing was John was pretty sure this shouldn’t be his problem.

He hadn’t asked to be caught in the middle of his son chaotically pining after Derek Hale and Derek Hale aggressively but silently pining back. Nothing John had ever experienced had prepared him for this.

And in the end, he realized it came down to him. John didn’t think that was fair at all.

To his surprise though, he didn’t have to make the first move. John didn’t expect to hear his doorbell go off that day and he really didn’t expect to see Derek Hale on the other side when he opened the door. Because Hale never rang the doorbell. In fact, John had always thought he didn’t even know that was a thing.

Derek shifted from foot to foot with his hands stuffed in his pockets. John raised a brow.

“Good afternoon, Derek.”

“Sir.”

“Stiles isn’t here.”

It was so similar to their first conversation, the Sheriff didn’t know why they hadn’t just had it months ago. Derek’s face turned bright red and he ducked his head, nodding. “I know.”

“So is there anything I can help you with?”

If possible, Derek’s face turned even brighter red. He looked at the ground for a moment before raising his eyes. “I came here to talk to you, sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir, Derek.”

“... Sheriff?”

“John is fine, son.”

John didn’t know what he was expecting, but for Derek to look shocked and then terrified wasn’t it. For a moment, he truly thought the man would make a run for it. But then Derek cleared his throat and nodded, and John stepped aside, opening the door wider.

Derek stepped inside, glancing around. He shuffled his feet and John was pretty sure he had never seen the man look so nervous.

“So, Derek. You came to speak to me?”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, sir.”

The Sheriff blinked at him. That also wasn’t what he was expecting. “Sorry?”

“Stiles is… always around lately, sir,” Derek said quietly. “And I like him being around. But I’m… not good with that. Until you’ve helped me be good with that. But I don’t know why you’re helping me be good with that.”

Oh. Oh.

“I’m sorry,” Derek said quietly. “I can go and make sure he doesn’t come back to the loft again. I didn’t mean to—”

“Derek, what the hell are you talking about?”

Derek looked up and his expression could only be described as shocked confusion. The man glanced around the room, toward the door, and then back at John. “If you don’t want me around him. If that’s not what you meant to do. I can make sure it doesn’t happen again—”

“You will do no such thing.”

Derek’s mouth snapped closed and he just looked surprised. The Sheriff rubbed a hand over his face, sighing. “Derek, you like my son, don’t you?”

“... Sir.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Sheriff.”

“Derek.”

“John,” the man said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing.”

Derek looked like that’s the last thing he had been expecting. John resisted the urge to go to the kitchen and grab a beer. He thought he deserved one, but he didn’t think Derek deserved the terror that would probably follow such actions. So instead, he gestured to the couch and, as Derek slowly moved over and sat down, sank into the armchair opposite of him.

“The last thing I want for you to do is push Stiles away,” John said. Derek’s eyebrows shot up and John waved a hand through the air. “Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t excited about it at first. But he’s… happy. More than he has been in a while.”

Derek didn’t move. Didn’t say a word. John studied his face.

“Will you ever hurt my son, Derek?”

“Of course not.”

“Will you ever put him in danger or put yourself before him?”

“Never.”

“Then I don’t know what you want me to say, son,” the Sheriff said, tilting his head. “Do you want me to tell you not to see my son anymore?”

Derek actually looked like he was considering that for a moment. And suddenly, all John could see was the fifteen-year-old kid sitting in the Sheriff’s station, wrapped in a blanket, covered in ash, and staring blankly at the floor. The very image hurt him.

Finally, Derek shook his head. “No, sir.”

“John.”

“No… John.”

“Then let me get you a drink,” John said, pushing himself up and moving toward the kitchen. He stayed in there longer than was probably necessary, but he was still trying to figure out the man currently sitting on his couch. Derek Hale was… well, he was something.

When the Sheriff came back out, Derek looked like he’d been sitting stock-still the entire time. John passed him a beer and sighed.

“So what do you need?”

“Si— John?”

“What is it called when a werewolf courts a human, Derek? Do I even want to know?”

Derek’s face turned bright red. “It’s just dating, sir.”

“And are you planning on doing that?”

Derek stared at him; silent and blank faced. John sighed for what felt like the hundredth time, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Are you planning on dating my son, Derek?”

He might as well have threatened to shoot the man. Derek tensed up and glanced toward the door and once more, the Sheriff wondered if he’d genuinely make a run for it. He quickly raised his hands like he was trying to calm a startled animal.

“I asked the question, Derek, I’m not going to shoot you for answering.”

“I… I don’t know, sir. Sheriff. John.”

“Are you wanting to?”

Derek glared at his beer as if it had personally offended him. But he still nodded. The Sheriff wondered for a moment how he’d gotten into this position before remembering he’d basically let Hale into his house in the first place. Technically, this was his fault.

“Just get him curly fries before you ask, Derek. Curly fries put Stiles in a state of euphoria.”

Derek’s eyes snapped up. “What?”

“Curly fries, Derek.”

“You’re giving me permission to date your son?”

“If you hurt him in any way,” the Sheriff said, pointing a finger at the man. “I will personally stock up on wolfsbane bullets and make good use of them.”

Derek’s face whitened. He nodded silently.

“You’re a good kid, Derek,” John said, dropping his hand. “I don’t expect that’ll ever be necessary.”

“No, sir.”

“Though it might be if you continue calling me sir.”

“No, John.”

The Sheriff smiled at that. This was progress, he thought. Not that he’d ever seen himself giving ex fugitive and literal werewolf Derek Hale advice on how to court his son. He wondered if Claudia would be exasperated or proud of him.

Probably both.

“So,” the Sheriff said. “Anything else?”

Derek glanced from his bottle, to the Sheriff, and then toward the door. Shaking his head, he pushed himself up and set the bottle on the coffee table. He hadn’t even touched it. “No, John. Uh… thank you.”

“Please never mention this to Stiles.”

John could’ve sworn Derek nearly smiled. He hadn’t thought that was possible (did it come with being a werewolf or was that an eyebrow thing?) but John was pretty sure he knew what he saw. Derek Hale smiling. In his house. What a trip.

This entire visit was unexpected from one point to the next.

The Sheriff followed him to the door and Derek looked like he was going to say something else, but then he turned and quickly exited the house. John watched him all the way to his Camaro before shutting the door with a long, heavy sigh.

He would like to say first of all, he did not ask for this.

Second of all, it was hard.

And third of all? Well, the Sheriff needed some chocolate. Maybe a few steaks. But he also thought that could have been worse; and he was never doing it again.

His time should never be spent actively participating in his son’s love life.

Never again.

- -

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#sterek #teen wolf #stiles stilinski #derek hale #sheriff stilinski #all the fluff and humor #prompts #ao3 stuff

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