#anyway time to do cringe job applications

[turquoisewaves07]

Listening to my dad's old crackly Fleetwood Mac tape while it's pouring down with rain outside...

[cinderebee]

i was GOING THROUGH IT so much during college app season that i began projecting onto pony and wrote a short fic abt him sending in his college apps LMAO

“Still writin’ that same application?”

Ponyboy flinches as Soda’s voice startles him out of his thoughts. “There’s a lot of questions to answer, y’know.”

“Just don’t forget about the deadline,” Darry calls out from the living room. “The schools want all the materials by January 1st, so we have to mail–”

“--it five days earlier. I remember, Darry,” Ponyboy snaps. He scowls at the paper in front of him as though a stare intense enough might make it write itself.

“Cool it, Pone.” Soda puts a hand on his shoulder. “You should take a break. That application ain’t gonna run away just ‘cause you leave it alone for a bit.”

“But my sanity sure will,” Ponyboy mutters under his breath. 

“Quit being so dramatic.”

“I can’t stop working now.” The sun is setting outside, flooding their dingy bedroom with an impermanent warmth. Already, Ponyboy is running out of time. “I haven’t written a thing even though I’ve been thinking for so long. I keep on tryna pretend that it’s just another theme for Mr. Syme’s class, but it’s not.” He swallows, shaking his head. It’s my only shot to prove to everyone this dirt road in Oklahoma ain’t all I’m gonna be for the rest of my life. That’s what makes this pressure so much worse.

“Your theme was damn good. Can’t you just submit that?”

“There’s a different word limit for every question. I can’t turn in a whole book,” Ponyboy grumbles. 

“These schools got too many requirements,” Soda frowns. He reaches down to pinch Ponyboy’s cheek, but Pony swiftly dodges his hand. His hand falls back to his side, slightly hurt. “Pony, you’re only torturin’ yourself sittin’ here all day. Put on your jacket, let’s go to Dairy Queen or somethin’.”

“Soda, I already said I can’t.”

“It wasn’t a request. Put on your jacket, Ponyboy Michael Curtis.” Soda’s voice deepens into an uncanny facsimile of Darry, and Ponyboy can’t help but crack a grin. “You haven’t eaten a proper meal in days, that’s why you can’t think of any ideas.”

Now that Soda mentions it, he is feeling a bit hungry. Maybe a burger won’t hurt. “Are you paying?”

Soda rolls his eyes and fishes his paycheck out of his pocket. “Unlike someone, I actually have a job.” 

“Hey, that’s not my fault.” Ponyboy sets his pencil down. “Darry won’t let me anywhere near a job posting.”

“I told you already, Ponyboy.” Darry shouts again. Soda and Pony both cringe–you’d think they’d remember the walls are paper-thin after living in this house their whole lives. “You can get a job in college!”

Pony stiffens instantly. Soda sighs; college this, college that, hell, he can’t remember the last time they had a single conversation without bringing up the c-word in four months. He swings an arm around Pony’s shoulder, pulling him to his feet.

“You wanna try drivin’ this time?”

-

“--he truck! Stop the truck!” Soda screams, trying and failing to wrangle the wheel out of Ponyboy’s hands. “Oh my God, you almost hit that kid!”

“Why did he run in front of us in the first place!” Pony screams back, foot still pressed tight against the brakes. It takes him a few seconds to catch his breath, the same amount of time before a car honks behind him. For the first time in his life, Pony understands why people get road rage. 

“It was a red light, Pony, you were supposed to stop.” Soda’s tone softens, now that the threat of imminent manslaughter has passed. “Didn’t you say Two taught you how to drive?”

“Just a couple times, in the lot,” Pony admits, pulling the truck up to the sidewalk. “And…it didn’t go so well.”

There’s a moment of dreadful silence where all Pony can do is hope Soda doesn’t connect two and two. Unfortunately, he shoots up with a gasp. “Dude, you made that dent in my truck? Two told me it was always there!”

“I didn’t ram into the pole that hard!” Pony interjects. “Your car already has too many dents to count, anyway.”

“And how many of those did you cause?”

“Just the one!”

Soda crosses his arms.

“…Alright, maybe a couple others.”

“A couple?” Soda collapses back into his seat, defeated. He traces the cracks spiderwebbed across the truck’s muddy side window, murmuring: “My poor baby, my Marianne, what have you gone through?” 

“You named your truck Marianne?” There’s a look halfway in between I’m-going-to-tell-Steve-all-about-this-so-you’ll-never-live-it-down and How-am-I-related-to-this-guy-again? on Pony’s face. “Isn’t that also the name of the girl that’s been visiting you everyday at the DX?”

The way Soda’s face turns tomato red would have Pony laughing till next Sunday if not for the all-encompassing relief that follows, overwhelming everything else. It’s been three years since Sandy, two since Soda claimed he’d gotten over it. Can’t bring myself to blame her anymore, he said. We were all just kids, and things were bad all ‘round. I hope she’s doing better, wherever she is. Call him immature, but Pony didn’t buy any of that forgive-and-forget bullshit. A spark had left Soda after Sandy, but now it’s finally, finally coming back. 

“What’s she like?” Pony asks quietly. They’re back on the road, Soda’s gaze chained to the truck accelerator. He wishes Pony would go a little slower, but he isn’t one to talk.

“Real sweet. Smart, too. I don’t get what she sees in me,” Soda snorts. 

“She ‘ought to see the whole world of you.” Pony says, always quick to defend Soda, even against himself. “Are you guys gonna go on a proper date soon? I mean, outside of the DX.”

Soda shakes his head resolutely. “I mean it when I say she’s smart, Pone. Top of her class and everythin’. She’s gonna get outta this place like you, and I can’t be draggin’ her down.” 

Pony falls quiet. You ain’t dragging anyone down, he wants to say. So go on that date, you wuss, and let me know how it goes. Just a few years ago, Pony would have said exactly that and without any hesitation. But now, even though the sky is the same shade of dark, Socs just as mean, and everything mostly the way it used to be, Pony can’t bring himself to say it. Because what has he been doing the last couple months aside from seeing everything in Tulsa as a burden, just as Soda said? If he’d been born anywhere else, Pony would think, these college essays would be easier to write. If he had any other story to tell besides being a hood and nothing more than a hood, shitty sentences from his half-baked first drafts wouldn’t echo in his ears every time he tried to sleep.

Nevertheless, if Soda were to stare at Pony dead in the eyes right now and ask him to stay, to not go to college…Pony would do it. Just for him. But Soda would never do that—wouldn’t even think to, because Soda is nothing if not damn selfless. 

An icy sickness burrows into Pony’s stomach. The whole world is moving on without Soda, he realizes. Pony is part of that world. So, too, is this Marianne. And Soda is just letting it all happen.

“A couple dates wouldn’t hurt, even if she has to go eventually,” Pony mumbles. 

“She deserves something that will last,” Soda responds. You deserve something that will last, Pony thinks, but that also goes unsaid.

The two spend the rest of the drive in silence, but it’s not the comfortable sort they used to be so familiar with. 

-

“Say, Two-Bit, what brings you joy?” Ponyboy’s breaths emerge as small puffs in the dawning dew, reminiscent of the cigarettes he can no longer smoke. Not after everything that happened. 

Unlike Pony, Two-Bit has no such qualms. A cancer stick is wedged firmly in between his index and middle fingers. “Jesus, take me out to dinner before asking deep questions like that.”

“I’m serious.” Pony says. “I need ideas for my essays.”

“It’s always you and that essay these days.”

“Essays, Two-Bit. There’s multiple.”

“Alright, let’s see…” He taps his chin in mock contemplation. “My family for sure, and the whole gang.”

“...I was thinking more like an action or hobby.”

“Oh, you shoulda’ said that sooner!” He perks up. “Shopliftin’, duh.”

“Why do I even bother asking?” Pony groans, standing up. It’s getting too cold out on the porch, and he’s been losing feeling in his toes.

“Hold your horses, horseboy! Don’t go abandonin’ me so soon,” Two-Bit says. “Shopliftin’  might be my only hobby, but you got plenty more than me, don’t cha?”

“If I did, I would already know what to write by now.”

“Oh, don’t be like that.” Two-Bit raises his hands, ticking a finger off for each thing he lists. “You like to read those books of yours, watch the sunset, and don’t you think I didn’t hear you hummin’ The Beatles when you were hangin’ up the laundry on Monday.”

Pony turns away, his face reddening. “Weren’t you supposed to be at work?”

“Nah, Rodney covered for me.” Two-Bit shrugs. “Couldn’t be missing out on the famous Ponyboy Curtis’s private concert now, could I?”

“Keep up your blabbering and I’m going to punch the livin’ daylights outta you,” Ponyboy threatens, but his words have no genuine heat. “Besides, none of those things are real hobbies. They’re just…”

“Things you like to do when you’re free? Man, that kinda sounds like a hobby to me.”

“But they’re still—still not unique! Anyone can read a book and, hell, you hum when you drive, too!” Pony’s fists clench and unclench, unclench and clench. “These colleges are searching for someone that stands out, but I’m just any darn chip off another boring block.”

“Maybe you really ‘ought to say shopliftin’, then,” Two-Bit jokes. He stands up, dusting bits of ash off his worn jeans.

“All those socs at school probably know exactly what to write,” Pony says, slumping down. His anger leaves as quickly as it came, but a worse, paralyzing exhaustion takes its place. “They’re gonna say they ride unicycles while baking cupcakes or play the flute in some renowned symphonic orchestra.”

“I bet no Soc can write about the sunset and Gone With the Wind and humming the same way as you, though.” He pats Pony’s head once, twice. He has to reach a little–Pony’s almost taller than him, at this point. “And trust me, I might hum, but I ain’t do it as bad as you.” 

“As..as bad as me?” Pony repeats slowly. He blinks even slower, as if the words were still processing in his head. “You better watch out, Mathews–” 

But Two-Bit is already scurrying back into the house, undoubtedly finding an older Curtis to hide behind.

[drlectertho]

Hello dearest Hannibal community,

Thanks to all the peeps who are still following me after like 10ish years of more or less complete inactivity on here.

I did have a lil‘ peak now and then, looked at old posts of mine and reblogged some that didn’t feel all too cringe. Also scrolled through my feed and hannibal tags and found that actually not all too much has changed in this fandom - same humour, same love for the show, same insanity, same kind of lovely people… heck, some of you veterans from back in the day are STILL active! I very much applaud your committment! 👏🏻

I‘m actually writing this post because I thought I‘d give an update on what‘s been going on in my life in hopes that some of you also comment a wee update about themselves or make a post and tag me (and others from the community) 🫶🏻

I‘ll try and make this not too long (Spoiler: it got longer than expected):

Basically, Hannibal (@nbchannibal) fundamentally influenced the trajectory of my life.

I went to med school because of that show and got my medical degree few years ago. Never in my life thought about becoming a medical doctor until I watched Hannibal, more specifally after watching Season 3.

I‘ve always been fascinated by sciences, human anatomy, forensics, horror, the dark and obscure. But also loved arts and creative work, and for the longest time I’d wanted to make that my profession. I was planning on studying Digital Animation right up until I finished my last year of high school. At this point, I didn‘t really have a portfolio for uni application and was doubting my creative skills/potential.

When Season 3 of Hannibal aired, I‘d watched it 2 times in a row and then rewatched Hannibal all together (since have rewatched the whole series again about 3 times). I realized that I didn’t solely love the show because of the (b)romances, its story and its goriness, but because of the psychological and medical aspects of it. Really, really loved the „sassy forensics team“ and their work (even though it was very fantastical at times and surely not the most realistic portayal of forensic medicine). Suddenly, I had the epiphany of becoming a forensic pathologist. Silly me didn‘t know that meant that I’d have to do 6 years of medical school, get a medical degree and then do another 6 years of residency in forensic medicine. But applied for medical school anyways, passed the „big“ entrance test and sure enough, I fell in love with medicine.

My dream of forensic medicine was pretty much crushed right away, since I was told that there were only few residency options in the city where lived (and wanted to continue to live) and hardly ever any open positions in this niche specialty. Also job market was rather saturated - and still is.

Did a pathology internship during uni and found it very intrigueing but couldn‘t really cope with the smells, even though seeing, touching and cutting (recently) deceased bodies was no trouble at all. I then thought, maybe forensics would‘nt have worked for me anyways and abandoned the idea completely.

Last year of medical school I did an internship in psychiatry, enjoyed it, apparently did well enough and was encourage by my attending to pursue a career in that feeld. Before that internship I had again recently rewatched Hannibal, and rather unknowingly paid closer attention to the psychiatrists and psychologists portrayed in that show. Hereby became more and more fascinated by the subject of mental health and mental disorders. I was aware, however, that most psychiatrists in Hannibal almost exclusively performed some form of psychotherapy and hardly any clinical/medical psychiatry was shown.

Ultimately, I got a job at the very same psychiatric clinic I did the internship at and am still doing my residency there. I like my specialty very much, love and care for my patients deeply, and my work definitely gives me some sense of purpose. Do I feel completely fulfilled? No. But who really is, am I right?

As of late, I‘ve been entertaining the idea of forensic medicine again and changing my current specialty. I guess, I have not been able to let it go completely after all…

Anyways, did Hannibal affect your life also in some or great way as it did mine? If so, I‘d be curious to hear your stories! :)

Thanks and best wishes to those who read the whole thing or even just a small part of it. ❤️

- M.

[rosesocietyy]

Brilliant people have said everything that needs to be said about this much much better and I don't got anything substantial to add but I just have to get this off my chest cause y'all I'm still in disbelief

like this is a grown ass person btw oh I simply have to laugh😭

this perfectly exemplifies literally everything cringe af and wrong with these "assigned welcomers". this is just my scapegoat but there are way worse I've seen

First of all, get a job. how, at your fossil age, do you have time to spend all day scrolling through every single iwtv related post and arguing with people who say anything even slightly damning about lestat (which mind you, is literally just objective facts about things he did). I'll dm you a McDonald's application hell I'll even put in a referral for you out of the goodness of my heart.

Second, Lestat is not a real person. he's fake, a made up character, the figment of someone's imagine, non-existent, people hating him will not affect your life in anyway shape or form. He didn't assign you as his PR agent I promise you'll live. "They'll never accept him" ok and?!?

Question, and I'm genuinely asking, is this their first time in a fandom? why is someone having a different opinion about a character they love enough to send them into hysterics like?? 13 year olds on anime twitter have a better grasp on reality that y'all do get a grip!

And like the above posts have talked extensively about, I most definitely noticed whose posts a specific bunch of them love to go under to share their dog shit "explanation" that nobody asked for. When a black person sees Louis being brutalized by his white lover what do you expect their reaction to be? oaur wow this white french slut is so pussy cunt slay period queen? "but louis is flawed too" do you hear yourself? do you listen to yourself when you speak? can you activate the barest hint of brain activity to understand why we would react differently to what we're watching than you would and that knowledge of the source material has nothing to do with it? Just because you read those shitty books and posses no empathy for black people in media doesn't mean you gain some higher understanding of "gothic romance ".

"No but the thing is you don't understand this is a gothic romance and they're supposed to be monsters and lestat has suffered saur much and he's also the real main character so you must love him" so now how exactly does that negate their point about him being an abuser? quickly! sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up when black people are sharing their thoughts on the show cause who the fuck are you fr and what convinced you that you have the right to argue with them about THEIR experiences. that tweet that said white people act like God left them in charge, yeah.

Funny enough, half the people that are so gung ho about him now didn't even fw him at all when they only read the first book. wow it's almost like you were allowed to sort out your feelings about him on your own without insects disguised as people in your mentions calling you slow for not licking his feet.

I despise so much in this fandom. From the bottom of my heart I really truly do. I don't know what I was expecting, I guess more common sense and maturity because the average age in the fandom is quite high compared to other fandoms I've been in but nah, just mfs screaming and crying bc ppl don't jump up and down and scream yipee! everytime their white fav commits abhorrent, disgusting crimes.

I was so caught up in the euphoria of an anne rice property finally being given to skilled creators who'll pick it apart and say something poignant with it that for a moment, I forgot I lived in a world where majority of its audience would sadly be the anne rice crowd.

[theconstitutionisgayculture]

Why do you care so much about AO3? The fanfics in that place, most of them, are just as bad written and cringe as the ones in Tumblr or Wattpad. Most fanfic writers aren good writers, they can't write anything of their own so they climb to IPs that aren't theirs, mischaraterize the characters and plot to the point of acting completely different.

And when they get a job as writers or directors in the intertaiment industry (like Nia DaCosta in Marvel), they do a terrible job.

Because I disagree completely with your assessment of fanfiction and fanfiction writers and I don't think art should be censored. I also lived through the FFnet days of having your favorite stories disappear overnight because of the obtuse, unevenly enforced, and constantly changing content restrictions on that site. A place like AO3, that was founded to be a place where all content is welcome and protected, is rare and important. Increasingly so as time goes on and the "art is literally harming me" crowd gets more and more influence.

Most fanfic writers aren good writers, they can't write anything of their own so they climb to IPs that aren't theirs, mischaraterize the characters and plot to the point of acting completely different.

So, they're so uncreative that they need to latch onto established IPs because they can't think up their own ideas, but then they change those characters and plots to be something completely different than what they read? Interesting. Anyway, all art is derivative in some way. Depending on which analyses you want to believe, there are only 6-9 story types. Every single story falls within one of these types. You can sprinkle in genre tropes, anti-tropes, subversion, modern inventions, etc to make your own story more unique, but nothing is wholly original. So I don't consider that a valid criticism at all.

And when they get a job as writers or directors in the intertaiment industry (like Nia DaCosta in Marvel), they do a terrible job.

Now this I do agree with, but I don't blame fanfiction, I blame producers and studio executives and DEI policies. If the best person who applied was hired for the job, it wouldn't matter how many fanfic writers and Booktokers tried to get mainstream writing jobs, none of them would be chosen because objectively better writers would be hired. But when the studio policy says "you must hire a woman for this" and all the talented women are unavailable, and the applicants you get are a bunch of no name, no resume, women, but one of them has a built in following from their fanfic days, an executive who only cares about filling in a name on a hire sheet so the project can move on is going to probably pick the one with a following and hope that translates to ticket sales in the future. The entertainment industry as a whole is going through a massive depression right now, and exactly none of that can be blamed on fanfiction or fanfiction writers.

Fanfiction is a blessing. It's thousand of novel length stories written by people who like the same things you like, delivered for free on an easily accessible and searchable site. It lets you experience new interpretations of your favorite characters and stories, or lets you continue those stories as they might have been continued by the original writers. The quality varies, wildly sometimes, but you can pretty much always find something you like unless you just hate the entire concept of fanfic as a whole. Which is, of course, perfectly fine. But let's not pretend that we need to find objective reasons to subjectively dislike something. We can all just dislike the things we dislike, and we don't need a reason other than "I don't like this thing".

[gearlic-personal]

My Borderlands Movie (2024) review

Right before the movie ended, I thought “is this how the movie ends?” and “no surely not, we’re only like 45 minutes in”, and then the movie ended. So little happened in the movie I couldn’t fathom the fact I absorbed nearly 2 hours of a film. And I say “absorbed” because my attention did not waver for a second, I was so hooked on how awful the writing was I just had to hear it to believe it. I feel the characters were written for a voice acted video game, not live action— it created an awkwardness when the tone of a video game is poorly translated to a performance that is acted out, especially when the actors themselves are notttt feeling the role at all. You know it’s bad when you can hear the actor cringing at their own lines. I’m gonna bring up the Fallout show because I feel they did a fantastic job at translating the quirky humor of the game into the live acted show: going into the show I felt the same hesitation as this movie, and it didn’t help when I noticed how 1-to-1 they make the set look to the game, the same goofy vault posters and outfits (albeit MUCH better designed and fitting for a screen, and not a cheap Amazon cosplay version they attempted in the Borderlands movie). What broke me out of the awkwardness of a goofy-video-game-to-live-action translation was the moment the lead used a Stimpak to heal herself, same as the game (AKA jabbing herself with a needle and instantly healing). It was funny, jarring, and more moments like this helped set the tone of the world WHILE STILL UTILIZING WELL-WRITTEN CHARACTERS AND PLOT to help us attach ourselves to the environment and take silly seriously. The Borderlands movie had no anchoring tone of the film unlike the Fallout show, despite being fairly similar in gamplay and environment in their games. Where the writers may have struggled is just how much of the humor of the Borderlands games…. may not have made it to 2024. The script holds onto a lot of the wrong jokes made in the original games (one’s where I’d suck air into my teeth and wince when returning to these games), and character dynamics that were annoying (such as the joke of a character being the annoying punching bag that everyone hates bc he’s annoying……………. hi claptrap ily). This is also why I believe they fed the BL games scripts to AI and had it poop generalized garbage 2010 gamer-talk for the movie. The application of humor in the Borderlands games WORKED though, even if they are dated they still hold up (except the ableism and fatphobia those did not . like why. hello) because of how unified the world and characters are. UNIFIED! The BL movie writing felt so clunky, and it’s not only because they obviously did not pay attention when dubbing voice lines that don’t make sense in the conversation (Claptrap: “is this your home?” Lilith: “I grew up here.” yes girl thats what a home is. Also I’m so sure Jack Black did another line intended that said “Do you recognize this place” or some shit that makes more sense. Anyway. This happened a lot. Especially Kriegs lines which were just pulled from the games i s2g). The writing felt clunky because not one damn soul working on that movie was 100%. On the list of soulless movies with no one working on it connecting deeply with the source material at all, this is right up there with Wonka. And I’m not saying you gotta be Tiny Tina #1 mega-fan but oh my god it was so hard to watch Ariana Greenblatt act out a character that was only ever explained to her once by a guy who had Tiny Tina explained to him by another guy who read off her fandom wiki page summary. Except thats what every single character in this movie felt like. Everyone but Marcus??? for whatever fucking reason, he read the assignment he took Cornell notes. too bad he had 15 minutes of screen time. I’m actually glad they didn’t include my all-time favorite character Mordecai for fear of how they’d butcher his character too. Sorry Brick and Mordecai the writers could not fathom your gay love for each other the way I would have. Put me in that writing room.

Script-doctoring is a lost cause for this movie. she doesn’t need a facelift she needs a multi-organ transplant. With just how rich the world is why did they not just go the Tell-Tale BL route and put their own OCs on Pandora.. instead they cherry-picked elements from all the games to combine into… a twisted version of the OG plot? Not even a new adventure for these characters, no, they take the existing plot of how they met and decided to butcher Tiny Tina’s story so she can be a main character? The only way they could have fixed this in the writing room was in the very beginning if someone said “no” to this idea (also I’m pretty sure Tiny Tina wasn’t even born yet bc her story is tied to Handsome Jack and Hyperion not Atlas… also RIP to not getting a Handsome Jack plot he wouldve been so fun on screen and probably have been a good unifier for the tone I talked about before… I would never let him in the hands of those writers though).

Oh my god I could also go on and on about how nasty the environments were UGHHHHH so fucking awful, no creativity not an ounce. The patchwork architecture in the games is so meticulous and clever, even if they just payed attention to the silhouettes in the movie they don’t have to go crazy with the designs but at least give us SOMETHING!! Caustic Caverns too…. oh my god. Probably my favorite map in all the games. It’s the most unique map, its got so much breathing room, it looks like it goes on forever but still makes you feel claustrophobic (as intended). The dynamic man-made structures made to look natural with decay as they blend seamlessly into the natural structures.. the unique enemies and dangers of the map. This is the only(?) map mentioned by name in the movie, I was preparing for what I’d see. And they gave me nothing. The characters walk into a sewer cellar with glowing green sewage, walk around it, then fight a bunch of psychos in the… sewer cellar. its. its a sewer cellar. thats it. then they continue walking through the normal sewer cellar. the only comparison is the green acid and the name. Anyway that made me most sad of all, there was so much they could have done.

Ultimately this was gonna be an inevitable flop coming out anytime after BL3 womp womp. Nothing could have saved the franchise after the circumstances surrounding that game (recasting key voice actors to avoid raising wages, almost completely new writing team that was not great, Epic games paying for exclusive platform for like a year?? idk ppl were mad abt that). Great gameplay though.

Rating: 3/10

Giving it 3 stars for thinking of trying something new with the characters..? Also the fight scenes were pretty solid ngl, one thing I like about playing the BL games is how satisfying the fighting is, the sound design adds so much weight that makes it more fun than other FPS games and I think the movie replicated that well.

[askbensolo]

Wow man, a novel?! Despite the sucky job that's still super cool. Any chance we could get an excerpt, or a premise? (I'm stuck writing job applications, so we're *both* bored as hell, please, I'd welcome the distraction!) Also I'm good, thanks for asking :)

Heh. Well. I'm a little hesitant to share a whole lot about it right now—both because it's kinda personal to me, and also...because I'm super terrified I'll never actually finish it.

But, it's an autobiographical narrative, and I'm kinda just writing it as I go. It's about me...but I'm still not too sure what it's really about.

...And whether I'm the hero. Or the villain.

Maybe both.

...Sorry. I've been, uh...kind of...in my own head, lately. That's been another function of this project, for me. Processing...things...

...Anyway.

It's, well—also about my girlfriend. We're visiting each other's families this month—you know, like—announcing officially that we're dating (!!!), now—

But...that part hasn't happened, yet, in real life. So...I started out just kinda...writing about how she and I met. And it's really funny, because, what we initially bonded over was not wanting to kiss people.

So—sure, I'll share an excerpt, haha. But...you gotta remember I'm still workin' on it. And it's a little rough around the edges. And it ain't all polished up nice and pretty, just yet.

Maybe...a little bit like me.

---

Most of Luke’s students were teenagers, then. You get a bunch of teens together—stuff happens, you know? And sometimes that “stuff” is weird kissing games. And so, it was a game of spin-the-saber that brought Fannie and I together—not because we were both in attendance, but rather, exactly the opposite. 

I told you: I was homeschooled. I didn’t know what that was. And when I found out, I ran away as fast as I could, and I saw there was a light on in Fannie’s hut, so I knocked on her door, and she let me in.

“My, you look a mess,” she said, looking me over, probably seeing all the trauma on my face. “Are you alright?”

“I…yeah, I just…” I gestured vaguely behind me. “The others were…”

A look of concern crossed Fannie’s face. “Were they being mean to you?”

I shook my head. “No. Not exactly. Kind of the opposite, to be honest. One might say things were getting a little too friendly back there.”

Fannie sighed, and rolled her eyes a little, and stood up on tiptoe and let her heels fall back down abruptly. “What was it this time? ‘Never have I ever?’ ‘Seven minutes in Force heaven?’ ‘Spin-the-saber?’”

“That one. The last one. I mean, I didn’t know what spin-the-saber was! I haven’t been able to practice with a saber all this time—I thought we’d be sparring, and doing cool spinny-tricks, or somethin’—”

Fannie giggled, then, and I looked at her, shuffling my feet a little. I was afraid she was laughing at me.

“You’re not like other boys, are you?” she asked with gentle amusement, her brown eyes sparkling a little.

I interpreted this remark offensively, of course, because I’m great at that. I shot her a nasty little look. “Well, I don’t see you over there.”

“Oh, that’s not what I meant; it’s not bad at all to be different,” Fannie assured me. “You’re right; I’m not over there. Why don’t you sit down? I can make us some tea.”

“Thanks. Um…I actually forgot your name.”

Fannie giggled. “I’m Fannie.”

“Oh. Right. Fannie. I’m Ben. Nice to meet you.”

And then I cringed because, well, we had already met, and she already knew my name, and oooooh owie I’m so awkward.

But she didn’t seem to mind.

“Yes, it’s nice to meet you,” she smiled.

The tea was made. The tea was drunk. A half-hour later I was sitting on her bed while she sat on the floor and knitted (Fannie loves knitting and crocheting and other forms of making stuff out of yarn and thread).

“I’ve never liked anyone before. Is that weird?”

“Perhaps you haven’t found the right person.”

“You sound like my mom,” I groaned. “No—it’s not that. It’s not that at all. I just don’t want to be with someone, like that.”

“Ah, I see,” Fannie said. “Well—there’s nothing wrong with that. The old Jedi used to take vows of celibacy. Did you know that?”

“Yeah…I knew that,” I said, tapping my fingers rapidly against the clay mug. “But…this isn’t something I chose. I’m just…like this. I’ve always been. I don’t know why.”

Fannie was quiet for a moment. And I began to worry again that she thought I was weird.

“…I sense that this has been difficult for you,” she said finally, her voice heavy with sympathy. “To feel like you’re different from other people.”

I looked up at her. She was gazing at me with such compassion. My heart kind of…filled up. With something warm, and sweet, and achy.

“…Yeah,” I said. “Yeah…exactly.”

“Hm.” Fannie took my empty mug and set it on the little table by the door. “Well…I can’t presume to know what you’ve experienced or what you’ve gone through, Ben. But, I’ve felt different from other people, too, so I know a little of how it feels. I’m sixteen and I’ve never dated anyone, or kissed, or been kissed.”

I didn’t really know what I was supposed to say. What normal people who weren’t me usually said. That’s okay? You’ll find someone? That’s too bad?

“…Well, I’m seventeen and I’ve never done any of those things, either,” I said finally. Then I grinned. “Maybe Uncle Luke should reinstitute the celibacy rule. Then, everyone would have to be just like you and me.”

Fannie giggled. “I wouldn’t like that. I do want to be married someday.”

“Oh. You do?”

She nodded, and then after a bit I nodded back.

“Yeah, I guess can see that. I s’pose you do kinda seem like you’d end up married someday.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrugged, embarrassed, wondering if I was about to say something offensive. “I dunno. You just seem—kind of—like a mom.” I paused. “I mean it in a good way, this time.”

Fannie beamed. “I have become rather known as the ‘mom friend’ around here.”

I looked at her, the knitting in her hands, the mugs on the table, the kindness in her smile.

“Yeah, I can see that, too.”

“Thank you.”

“Well…I’m glad you don’t like kissing, either,” I said. “I felt like I was the only one. I don’t know. It always seemed gross to me.”

Fannie was quiet.

“What? You don’t think so?” I asked.

“…I’d…I’d like to kiss someone someday,” Fannie admitted, turning a little pink. “But…not while playing spin-the-saber.”

“Really? Why?” I asked—because I was starting to feel comfortable with her, and I’d always wanted to ask, but never felt like I could. “I just—don’t get it. It’s like—your mouths—touching each other—and germs—and spit—”

“Well, when you phrase it that way, Ben Solo, of course it sounds revolting.”

“It is revolting,” I told her, “and I’m just saying it like it is! Well, okay. Okay, okay. Would you—would you do it with tongue and stuff? ‘Cause—that’s nasty.”

Fannie turned even redder.

“Oh, my Force. You’re about to say yes.”

“It…it might be nice,” she confessed. “If…if I liked him very much, and we were very close, and—if we were married.”

“Ewwww!” I threw a pillow at her, playfully—and then I realized we didn’t know each other that well, and I didn’t know if she and I were close enough for me to throw things at her—but she only laughed.

“Goodness, let’s talk about something else now,” she said, then. “My face is burning.”

“Oh my Force, yes. Team No Kissing?” I offered her a high-five.

“Team No Kissing,” she agreed, laughing.

We high-fived. And from that moment on, we were friends.

And—we still are. I don’t think it makes us not friends just because we’re also dating now.

In fact, she was such a good friend to me, that when the thing I call my “mental health crisis” began to spiral out of control, she was the first one I went to for help...

[formulatrash]

hi hazel! i hope you’re well. i totally understand if you don’t want to answer this since i’m sure you get a lot of Working In Motorsports questions. but basically i read your post about breaking into the industry and how you should never work for free…unfortunately i’m not that smart and do, in fact, Work For Free. i’m at the point now where getting paid would be quite nice actually, so i was wondering what your advice would be on taking the next step? tl;dr experience under my belt but seeking a paid role. where do you think are the best places to look? thank you! <33

hello,

honestly, understandable, it happens to a lot of people. god knows I have done a fair amount of work for free in the past year and I should surely know better.

anyway, where to look depends really on what you're looking for. if it's specifically motorsport journalism work then it's worth reaching out to people at publications* and saying "this is my experience, I appreciate you probably have a full roster at the minute but if you ever need someone to help out, I'm really looking to take the next step. include some links to your work, say what you're really interested in covering and what you can cover in a broader way and if you're available for travel.

be polite and keen and show that you understand the publication you are writing to, reference stories they already have that are the sort of thing you would like to write. if you don't hear back, email them again in a few months, persistence has weirdly paid off for a bunch of people I know; make sure you're bringing new ideas and talking about new things, saying "I know it wasn't last time but just wanted to say I'm still interested."

there are then broader industry publications where you might get commissions or where you can pitch motorsport stories. JournoResources does a newsletter every week which includes freelance pitching opportunities, all of which are paid.

if it's not journalism then start chatting to and getting in touch with people in the area you want to work. if it's social media then follow agency accounts, look out for chances where people are asking for people. speculatively getting in touch with individuals on their personal accounts isn't ccol but look out for the agencies and places like Pace Six Four, which is a huge agency, have a page to submit a speculative application in case you don't fit their roles at the moment but they might have something in future.

don't shoot over the sun by emailing Ferrari to ask if they've got any social jobs going - clearly, if they did, they'd advertise them - but it's worth asking eg: junior teams if they need any extra coverage during what's about to be a very frantic part of the season with every series racing simultaneously in Europe for weeks on end. showing you understand motorsport doesn't begin and end with F1 goes a long way.

LinkedIn is a hole and I have absolute no idea how Gen Z use it with a straight face (you guys, what the hell is this 'weekly update on my goals' business come on, millennials might be cringe but not that way) but it can be useful to follow team PRs and be able to pick up on opportunities. it's also worth following companies you want to work at, to get job alerts - check the parent companies of magazines or agencies and keep an eye out.

overall: good luck. it is incredibly rough out here at the moment and there is little to no work. I don't say that to discourage you, I say that cus if it's a struggle for you it's not because you're useless it's because everyone is struggling.

*By this I mean paying ones. of which there are astoundingly few. Autosport, Motorsport.com, Top Gear, CAR, Motor Sport Magazine and RaceFans are the only ones I can verify/vouch for are paying legal wages that are motorsport-specific in the UK - do not accept ultra-low-paid work, I've heard one publication pays £50 for a weekend of coverage which is about an eighth of minimum wage. £100 per day is still below minimum wage a lot of the time but a semi-depressing benchmark of where things are broadly at, unless you happen to have hit the big bucks (this is what I get paid). do not participate in having your labour abused, anyone doing that is not going to help you in your career.

in Europe, AutoHebdo and AmuS pay but I'm not sure much beyond that, in the US then Jalopnik, The Drive, ESPN, Road & Track, ARSTechnica etc all pay but have relatively few, if any, motorsport commissions because they tend to go to staff writers - if you can come with a unique or grassroots story though, they will pay attention. Motor1 has also just been sold so may start commissioning again soon but there's some flux going on there. I don't know if The Athletic accept motorsport pitches.

[phosphenemoth]

You're so right. It makes perfect sense. I learned something from u actually, that is OK to show your authentic self.

How was your day today anyway? Are u doing something this summer or just chilling and applying for jobs?

Why does everyone I meet say they learned something from me ? 😅

Today was alright I guess i don't remember much of it... I watched some anime and ate this morning, I can't remember anything else, I've kinda dissociated.

Man I'm not even applying for jobs because any time I try to do an application I get a horrible panic attack. Lmao.

This summer... I'm trying to focus on trying to *want* to be alive tbh... it has not been successful, especially with my living situation ( I don't want to get into that, really) and the heat. Though I can't give credit for not wanting to be alive to this summer, this year, my living situation, or anyone in particular. I can't remember ever willingly participating in life, in all honesty. Though there have been moments when I actually experienced genuine positive emotions... the past few months, thanks to my FP, ugh, it'll be cringe if they see that i said that... whatevs, it's true.

[azucar-skull]

I once wrote a Hamilton-FNAF crossover called Puppet back when I was 12 (7 years ago).

Unfortunately that was on my school account which has been deactivated so now I can't even show it 😭😭😭😭

I remember the main gist if the story:

Solely inspired by the FNAF2 "It's Been So Long" song. Fandom lore is fucked up and I just sorta made my own story. It's basically the fanon Hamilton characters in the FNAF world. Before MLTS and GEM, it was considered the darkest thing I've ever wrote. Granted, it was the first fanfic ever.

Alexander, Elizabeth, and just the first two kids Philip and Angelica, lived happily in 1980 something. Philip was having a birthday party at the pizzeria (specifically the one from FNAF 2) when a random security (purple) guy, George Eacker, lures him into parts and service where a bunch of other kids including Theodosia where trapped in. The pizzeria closed early as parents noticed their kids were missing but no one found them. Later that night, Eacker killed the kids.

Distraught, Eliza goes on a search by herself the next night cuz the police aren't doing their job. (Btw the chief is Washington). She sneaks into the pizzeria and finds her kid's body. She screams and mourns before Eacker kills her too cuz no witnesses lol.

Now Alexander is a single dad of Angelica and needs to find work to hold down the fort. All the while, Lafayette and Mulligan help Alexander out during the hard times with rent, chores, and taking care of Angelica. Burr stops by as well, showing solidarity cuz his daughter also went missing.

Meanwhile, Eliza becomes the Puppet. Philip is golden Freddy and (I think?) Theodosia is Bonnie. plus the other kids as the withered animatronics. The toys were regular robots. I forgot what the explanation was but that's what they are now. Anyways, Eliza is haunted by the trauma and as the Puppet, the music box keeps her sane. But then the music box stops as it's no longer wind up. So in a panic for sanity, she hastily kills the night guard (John Lawrence) for his tablet to rewind the music box. Now a job is opened up.

Back to Alexander, the police call him in as they found burnt bodies hidden in a sewer nearby the pizzeria and asked Alexander to confirm the pieces of evidence they found. The evidence being Philip's shoe and Eliza's ring. Alexander has a mental breakdown and runs home. Lafayette is there babysitting Angelica so he ushers her to her room before comforting Alexander.

The next morning, the newspaper shows a new job application as a security guard at the pizzeria. Alexander, left with no choice, takes the job.

He is now the new night guard and during his first shift, he finds Eliza and Philip but doesn't believe it's them and thinks that Eacker played a trick on him. So he grabs an axe and dismembers all the robots. Then the ghosts come out and Alexander runs into the safe room and hides in a spring lock suit like the genius he is. Then he gets spring locked and dies as his wife and son watch. Now he's one of them! :D

Meanwhile Angelica is left an orphan and has to move in with Lafayette and uhh...that's where the story left off. I honestly forgot what happens to her.

I do remember this one bit I wanted to add. The ghosts and Alexander find out that Jefferson is the owner of the pizzeria and is the mastermind behind all the murders and that Eacker was just a pawn. So Alexander and Eliza spy on him and while spying, Alexander is like "he kinda cute tho" and Eliza is like "I AM YOUR WIFE!" and Alexander looks at her for a moment before saying "Till death did us part." Didjdjdkskfjskskdidjsk

Is this cringe? Absolutely. I hate this story with my life. Honestly? The drama potential is there like...God damn. If I ever find the original work somehow, I will 100% post it on AO3. It's so fucking corny and stupid omg.

What’s the weirdest crossover au you’ve ever seen/read/written?

[margridarnauds]

To clarify how nervewracking being online can be when you’re in this kind of job: 

Like, we want to be enthusiastic about the texts we study! Great! I’d love to do nothing but write 100k words of fanfic about my favorite medieval Irish texts! ....but, especially with the less studied ones, that would tie it directly back to me because it isn’t like people wouldn’t be able to narrow it down. 

And then you have the thoughts of “If my colleagues find this, will they think less of me? Will I become a laughingstock? Will they be able to see the divide between me as a genuine fan of this material VS me as a scholar?” Academia actually IS aware of fanfiction these days, yes, to the point where we’ve had a couple of papers look at some of the texts from the angle of transformative work, and a few of my colleagues + professors even know I do write it, but there are limits. If I write a fanfic featuring a particular character as queer and then write a paper about a queer interpretation of them, will I be judged as just wanting to force my interpretation of that character onto them because....I have a ship? I take some amount of personal pleasure in it? I enjoy the medieval texts that I have to read multiple times as stories alongside whatever cultural or literary value they have and can talk about them on both levels? 

Every time I bring up that I’m writing a queer retelling, not a fanfic, a proper™ retelling™ of a medieval Irish text, people act like I’m writing gay porn. And there wouldn’t be anything wrong if I was! But that’s not what I’m writing. Now imagine that with the sometimes lurid connotations of fanfic. It’s fine for straight male scholars for decades to sexualize female characters or extensively analyze all the swords and spears that show up as phallic symbols, but god forbid you write content where there’s any hint of *enjoying* it if you aren’t a straight cis male. 

Alright, let’s say I don’t write fic about the field, it’s gone, it’s out the window, I give up on it. If someone is super dedicated, they can still figure it out. What about any E Rated fic I write at all? Will they think less of me for that? Will they read it purely to find something to pick apart? What about 5 years down the line when I’m dealing with the job market? Will they take one look at my application and, even if they’re aren’t homophobic, decide that I just Don’t Fit The Image They Want to Convey? What about 10 years from down the line when I have students? What about 30-40 years down the line when I’m (hopefully) a senior scholar, or at least....okay, an older scholar? Will what I write be the subject of grad students snickering at conferences? “Professor X, when they were a grad student, wrote slash fiction!” I’ve seen grad students making fun of each other’s social media, this is something that is a legitimate risk. And this is me talking about the generic term “slash fanfic” -- this is not going into things like A/B/O fanfiction that, while they’re wildly popular, are often associated very much with a level of fandom cringe. This is not talking about sexual expression, which, tbh, should be protected anyway. 

Plenty of people in my field adopt false names online for the sake of their privacy, as much as they can get, at least. Plenty of us hide or obscure our names. But the truth is that anything we do is a risk. And it shouldn’t be this way and of COURSE it’s biased against AFAB and queer academics (do you KNOW how many times I’ve been to a conference where the subject matter is just....Straight Male Writers™ writing poems or stories about medieval Irish texts that we then have to analyze because they’re Part of the Canon™ now? While I have to fear for my career for writing...oh wait, very comparatively mild queer content that generally acknowledges that women are people), it makes me furious every time I think of it because it is so *deeply* unfair to the point that I start to shake a little bit like a chihuahua whose rage has exceeded its body mass, but...I don’t believe any of us have delusions that these are the rules we’re playing by. 

...you go into this sort of thing because you’re passionate about it and then you find that you have very few ways to express that passion. 

[prettycutebunny]

Sugar, spice, and lies part 2

TW: noncon, violence, toxic relationship, power imbalance, cheating.

Heart beating like a drum in your ears, you walked straight into the police station trying to appear as confident as you can. The place was buzzing with movement even at such an early hour which made you nervously smooth invisible wrinkles on your shirt. First impressions are crucial and you have no idea who’s interviewing you. The position was a personal assistant to a captain without further details, being offered to be set up for this meeting by your parents friend. Marvin was like a sweet uncle to you so you were sure it’s for a good man. Swallowing your saliva anxiously while following the receptionist to the meeting room.

She gave you a symapathic  gaze before leaving which didn’t help your current state. Taking a deep breath to muster up all the confidence you have, you opened the meeting’s room door. The man sitting there stole all the air you breathed just now as you almost tripped over your steps. The man sitting on the chair like a king rests on his throne, sunglasses in his blue collar shirt pocket. The prettiest blue eyes scanned the paper at hand uninterestingly before going up to meet yours. 

Feeling blush creeping on your face as you tried so hard not to stumble again, you took the seat in front of him. His eyes scanned as a smirk formed on his gorgeous face. Everything about him was so attractive that you felt yourself return to being a teenage girl with a crush. His sleeves rolled up revealing muscled arms that you tried so hard not to imagine wrapped around you. The sound of a clicked pen wiped all of the scatters thought in your mind as you tried to pay attention. 

Who would’ve thought that your innocence and clumsiness would be exactly his type ? Your head hurts from the drinking you did last night as the dream of your first meeting put you in an instant horrible mood. Getting the shower was a hussl but you did so anyway ignoring the clear sign of someone sleeping next to last night. The cold water cleared your head and the hunger over it. You really didn’t want to be here right now but good things take time. 

Putting on comfortable clothes, you left the bedroom and snarled. He once again left the place a mess like a goddamned toddler. His shoes kicked out, jacket on the couch , dirty plates lay on the table , and cushions on the floor. When did he stop treating you like his housekeeper instead of his nanny ? Bitterness caused a painful sob to get stuck in your throat as you walked past the mess and headed outside. Job hunting was surprisingly a lot more successful when you’re looking for bare minimum pay. 

The phone call that followed your first attempt at getting one was a shock like nothing else. You recognized the voice on the line as Wesker, the man who did the interview. 

“I’m afraid your application has been rejected, dear”

This caused an instant bang of pain in your chest as you tried to calm your wavering voice.

“Can I ask why ? So I can work on it in the future.”

“You see, it is illegal for a boss to date his underlings. Are you free on Saturday little mouse ?”

Looking at the restaurant you’ll work at, you cringed and tried to hold the anger bubbling inside you. It was the place he took on your first date. A generic fancy place to woo the naive ‘little mouse’. Oh god how much you hate that stupid nickname. The way he used it to make you feel so stupid during any arguments you two had caused you to bite your lips and wipe the table harder. 

‘It’s a matter between grown ups, little mouse’

‘I’m afraid this sort of thing isn’t possible little mouse, you see I have work to do.’

‘That dress isn’t suitable for a little mouse.’

How could this man do all of this to you ? Why on earth did you let him abuse like that ? Simple, a young inexperienced woman stood no chance against a master manipulator like him. Showering you with a lot of love at the beginning, until you agreed to move in to his place and quit your job. Unspoken promises of marriage and starting a family kept you tied to him as the affection you received slowly disappeared. He’s too busy to date and will only take you when he wants you. 

Who’d know all it takes was a few weeks away to see how horrible all of this was ? Well it did take more than time. The thought brought a smile to your face as you took the customer's order. Not even the snootiest of Karens could take this away from you. 

The replay you got when you called him worried not only broke you, but it destroyed all of the self esteem you had in you. Feeling like a disobedient child that was scolded by his parents. The bar was almost empty as you walked in and sat wallowing in self pity. The tears wouldn’t stop as the shot burned through your throat. 

“Now, who on earth dared make such a beautiful lady like you cry ?”

The sudden voice of a man made you jump in your seat as he immediately started apologizing for startling. 

“Sorry ! I didn’t mean to scare you. My name’s Chris and I’d like to buy you a drink if you’ll let me.”

Looking at the soft features of the man next to you. He looked nothing like your Albert. Your Albert ? This caused a sad smile to appear on your face as you fought tears again. A gentle hand hestintaly rubbed your back as he gestures to the bartender for more drinks. 

“It’s alright, get it all out.”

Emotions were always met with a frown by your boyfriend. He hated any signs of sadness or tears as he glared at your depressed form instead of offering any comfort. Your friends are long gone as they I’ve slowly disappeared from your life, leaving him as your only companion. Uncle Marvin stopped talking to you after you refused to listen to his warning which you didn’t regret. You are in love after all, right ? 

Crying in the arms of Chris, the total stranger felt so liberating as all the pent up loneliness came to the surface. Everything you tried showing feelings got repressed, forcing you to build a wall around your heart. All you needed was being told ’it’s alright’ for the dam to break. The drinks kept coming as you drowned them as he spoke comforting words in your ears. 

At the end of the night, you were a drunken mess. He drove you back home, helped you take your shoes off, tucked you in, and left. The next day you were as grateful as you were embarrassed. His number was left on the nightstand next to a glass of water. Something in you refused to be tempted and went on to your usual chores. The old routine was brain numbingly boring but it’s your duty. That however, soon changed as emptiness settled in. You had no one but wesker who was in god knows where without any shoulder to lean on. 

Previously, you sucked it up and went shopping to distract yourself ;however today this time it was different. After getting a taste of what gentle company felt like, you wanted more. 

Fingers shaking as they pressed the buttons, you braced yourself for being directed to voicemail.

“Hello ?”

The same sweet tone reached your ear as you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

“Hi, it’s me”

The burger place you both went to was old and the food was greasy. That place led to the happiest you’ve felt in years. Chris was a great company with a sense of humor that didn’t involve sarcastic remarks or back handed compliments. Everything he said was sincere as he told a story from his line of work. An amused smile formed on your lips as he kept telling one heroic story after the other. He wanted to impress you so badly it was quite enduring. 

Before you both knew it, the lunch turned into dinner as you took the lead in telling your childhood stories. It’s been so long since you had an intensive listener that didn’t pick on each sentence you said. 

“I bet you were the cutest child”

You smacked him in the arms, feeling his bulging biceps.

“And I bet you say that to all the other girls.”

The arm you slapped sneakily made it way to your shoulder as he hugged your body closer. 

“Only my sister but I was lying to her. I promise !”

He said while raising his pinky finger, you let out another laugh before linking yours with his. Looking up into the chocolate colored eyes, the world slowly fades around you as everyone becomes background noise. He softly yanked your pinky, as you brought your body closer to him. 

His lips slowly touched yours, as you felt fireworks explode inside your brain. His hand that held your finger wrapped itself around your cheek bringing you closer. His tongue asked for permission that you granted instantly. The kiss was like nothing you’ve ever had with Albert. It was soft and warm, while everything you two had was hot and rough. You didn’t want it to end so you poured slightly when he pulled away. 

A small laugh left him as he cupped both of your cheeks in the palm of his hands. 

“If we don’t stop, I might have you for dessert.”

Your body jerked away as heat rose on your face, leading to another chuckle from the man next you. The pout turned into a smile that became full of laughter. 

Your morals screamed at you as he drove you back home while rubbing your knee. This is wrong and you know it ,but knowing and caring weee two different things. Being happy after so long left your eyes open to all the sadness you’ve been through. You never know you were in pain, until you know what it feels like to be free from it. Those who got used to being in the dark, refuse to return to it after tasting the light. 

His apartment looked like a tornado went through it, he rubbed his neck embarrassed so cutely. When you bent to pick up the trash, he grabbed it from your hand in a hurry. 

“I’m sorry ! This is my mess and I’ll clean it up. Here take a seat !”

He led you to the only semi clean chair as he rolled up his sleeves. 

“Come on, let me help.”

“No, I insist. If my sister knew I let my woman clean up after me, she’d beat me up and say ‘she’s not your mom Chris’”

He mimicked a woman's voice hoping to fish out more chuckles from you but you were lost in your own world. Who knew being called someone’s woman is the best feeling in the world ? Chris wasn’t just anyone either. You stood up suddenly causing him to pause and look at you nervously. Apologizes were on the tip of his tongue but they never came out as you stole his lips. Jumping Chris so suddenly as you wrapped your arms around him, the memory of Albert throwing you off him surfaced in your mind. 

‘That’s not a behavior of a lady, little mouse’

Your body tensed as you pulled away shamefully. Almost feeling your internal turmoil, he hugged you as his lips returned on your own. Struggling to get to the bedroom, you felt your body turning feverishly hot. He slowly undressed you as his hands traced every curve, scar, and dip your body offered. Kissing every spot he can while murmuring praises. 

Tears welled in your eyes as you hugged his body closer to you, wanting to live in his arms forever. He kissed your eyes as he slowly thrusted. Feeling so complete with him inside of you. His movements were gentle as he restrained himself just for you. Returning his kisses, you held onto his back tightly. 

“Please make it so I can’t think of anything but us, Chris”

The following week went on as a dream. You practically lived in his apartment, cozy and happy. He didn’t complain about your quirks, refused to let you do all the chores, and brought you small gifts. His love was like a warm fireplace that keeps you comfortable and content. On the other hand, wesker’s love was like a fire. Burning everything and leaving nothing but ashes. 

Speaking of, the voicemail you received of him announcing his return broke you out of the dream you were in. You felt left Chris’s bed in a hurry, trying not to startle him. Accidentally taking the clothes he was supposed to wear the next morning. Forcing him to go to work in the clothes that you two made love in while the TV played in the background. 

Taking a cab late at night might not be the smartest thing when you just drank your body weight but you had no chance. You needed all the liquid courage you’d need to face him again. Opening the door in a hurry, you ignore the mess around you as you walk to the bedroom. You got under the cover as your hazy mind drifted to sleep. 

He wasn’t supposed to return so early even if he was later than he said he’d be. You wanted enough time to receive your paycheck and be independent from anyone. Something that was long due. The apartments in Chris’s building were cheap and you felt safe with him living close to you. All you needed was more time but that wasn’t meant to be. 

The walk to the house felt so heavy as you dragged your legs along. You missed Chris terribly and really wanted nothing to do with Albert anymore. You opened the door to a sight you didn’t expect. The bedroom door was off one of its hinges as wesker stood in front of it. Slowly turning to face you, Chris’s shirt in hand. Everything about him exceeded violence. 

“Welcome back, whore”

Lock broken, slur spoken

He took threatening steps toward you as you held your ground. 

“What were you thinking little mouse ? Let me guess, you weren’t ? Like the usual ?”

Wound open, game token

He roughly dragged your arms inside, you screamed in pain as it felt like he’d yank it out. 

I didn't know you were keeping count

You’ve been here for five seconds and you already had enough. 

“Let me go you asshole !”

Rain soaking, blind hoping

He slowly turned toward you, holding himself back like a caged lion. 

“I fed you, clothed you, and you dare repay me that way ?”

You said I was freeloading, I didn't know you were keeping count

Normally you would have never been able to do it but his anger blinded him to anything around him. The slap resonated in the apartment as he stood shocked. 

“I cleaned up after you, went around to every party like atrophy , got dressed in everything, you being the perfect doll. You have no right to stand here and call me names. It’s not my fault you weren’t home and I had to stay at uncle Marvin’s. Did you even hear about the recent break ins ? I was terrified.” 

High infidelity

Put on your records and regret me

I bent the truth too far tonight

I was dancing around, dancing around it

High infidelity

Put on your headphones and burn my city

Your picket fence is sharp as knives

I was dancing around, dancing around i t

He glared you down, torn between killing you on the spot or trying to believe you. Something’s different and he didn’t like it. The woman in front of him wasn’t the woman he left home before his trip. It was quite an interesting change you had, the shirt was a generic shirt that every man he owned. He had no reason to doubt you, the girl he molded for years to stay under his heels no matter what. 

You screamed as his hands tore your clothes and pushed you to the ground. There was no pleasure, gentleness, words, or love in what he did to you. Pain caused tears to stream down your face as his hand clamped shut on your mouth. His groans added salty to energy as your body screamed in protest to his actions. 

Storm coming, good husband

Bad omen

Dragged my feet right down the aisle

At the house lonely, good money

I'd pay if you'd just know me

Seemed like the right thing at the time

Laying on the floor, you’ve never felt so dirty in your life. He left you there to sob as he walked out. Everything hurts and you scream in anger. ‘Why me ?’ Played inside your brain like a chant. 

You know there's many different ways that you can kill the one you love

The slowest way is never loving them enough

Chris' heart dropped in his stomach at the sight of you standing in front of his door bags in hand. Blue and purple covered your neck and wrists from what he can see. You turned to face him, your expression tore him apart, your lips shook as it called his name. 

Your body was freezing cold as he hugged you closer. The door was kicked open, he gently led you inside while letting out a soft ‘it’s alright’ over and over. Chris was a man of law and moral but it catches whomever did this to you, he’ll kill him with his bare hands. The rage inside him was forced down as he tried to keep you from any further trauma. 

After hours, you laid down on the couch sleepily. He bent over and kissed your forehead before heading to the kitchen. Two minutes later he turned with a first aid-kit in hand. Your bruises were nasty and needed to be treated before it caused any further pain. Even though it stung as he applied the medicine, you felt safe in his hands as you drifted to sleep. 

The next day, you made breakfast. Trying to keep things as normal as it was. You didn’t want to talk and he sensed that, so he never asked either. Your phone was lost in the laguge you packed in a hurry. You brought some of your clothes and every piece of jewelry you’ve ever received. Fuck working to be independent, you’ll sell his dirty gifts to escape him’ It’s only right. 

Chris was an angel and unpacked everything for you, including your phone and even charged it for you. 

Looking at the missed calls, you let out an angry growl. As his name flashed on your screen again, you pressed answer. 

“Do you really wanna know where I was April 29th?”

The silence that answered you was enough. You let out a bitter laugh. 

“Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?”

You hung up before he had the chance to answer and stepped on it over and over again. 

“WOW THERE, easy”

Chris’s voice broke you out of your angry stomping and you smiled instantly. 

“Sorry, I just wanted to start fresh. You and me.”

“Well, there’s nothing wrong with that”

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss on your nose. 

“I have to go, I got a call from the captain a few seconds ago. We have to investigate deaths near arkaly mountain.”

You hummed back as you kissed his chin in return. 

“Stay safe,…….. I love you.”

The last part came as a bashful whisper, his body froze before he stole your lips wne breath away

[jimothy-hopkins]

Meddling Kids. Part III.

WARNING! This work contains mentions of drug use, violence, and other things that may disturb or trigger some fields. If you cannot handle content like this, I ask that you just click away. Please read at your own risk, thank you.

This is apart of a Manhunt/Bully crossover series. Please enjoy and be aware that because of the nature of Manhunt that this may not be suitable for everyone. I hope you enjoy this part!

Edward sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he sat in the room, the three sophomores surrounding him.

“Ok, fine. I’ll help you. If you ever tell anyone, I’ll have all three of you in more debt than the whole continent combined.” He spat.

“Alright, got it,” Jimmy nodded.

“But how are we-” Pete started.

“You’re gonna do a drug deal tonight for us, Eddie boy,” Gary interrupted.

“What?” It’s already late,”

“Fun fact, I don’t give a shit! Cause someone’s probably dead, and you probably have a connection to the guy who did it,”

“Stop saying she’s dead. Alice is not dead,”

“Ok, that’s enough,” Jimmy said, “chill out. Ed, you’re gonna do what we say as we promised. You’re gonna text your guy, get your money, and let us follow you.”

“Fine,” The older student stood. Gary smirked.

“W-wait, I don’t know if I wanna do this. I could get in trouble,” Pete spoke.

“Then you sit here and make sure nobody comes in,” Gary said, “I’ll call if anything happens,”

“Oh, ok. Gary, uh, you guys be safe,” Pete called as they walked out.

Jimmy threw a peace sign as they walked out, entering the dark snowy night. Snow crunched under their feet as they allowed Edward to get a distance ahead of them. Gary noticeably shivered underneath his sleek jacket. Jimmy moved closer to be of some use for warmth and to make sure someone would jump at Gary.

The trio walked a long way to New Coventry. A sense of paranoia overtook Jimmy. He could sense that Gary felt it too. They were now shoulder to shoulder. Jimmy cringed from his aching ears and squinted his eyes to look ahead at Edward. They’d done a job of following so far. The police hadn’t even spotted than, and it had been a while since curfew started. They ducked behind cars, trash cans, and bike stands to evade detection. Edward had even jumped a few good times in surprise when they managed to dart into his field of vision on accident.

They darted into a back alley as Edward slowed his walk, crouching close to one another and peering out from the wall.

Gary looked ahead, watching as Ed stopped in front of a man dressed in dark clothing. He analyzed his face and noticed he was wearing skull makeup, like how he’d done on Jimmy for Halloween.

“You came late tonight, pretty boy,” The man greeted.

“Mhm, I know,” Ed replied softly.

“You’re lucky I wasn’t busy with my altar tonight. Otherwise, I’d leave you hangin’,”

“You have it, right?”

“Of course, of course, here,” He handed him the drug in exchange for the cash. “Anyways, what are you doing Friday?”

“Homework, college applications,” Edward answered.

“You really are takin’ the Ivy league seriously, huh?”

“It’s not my choice. It’s my parents,” Ed replied.

“You really do let em’ stomp on you, don’t you?” He asked, leaning closer to the teenager.

“It’s all or nothing. I want a future,” He stepped back.

“You can have a future, with us. You know us, you might as well be one of our own. You’ve already sinned, just embrace it, my friend. Your soul is tainted,” He leaned in, his hands gripping Edward’s hips. The man leans into the teenager’s face.

“Stop. I don’t fuck with you like that.” Edward demanded sharply as he pushed the man back.

“Fine, be that way. But you’re gonna meet me in the Devil’s Lounge Friday night pretty boy,” The shady man snarled.

“Ok, I’ll be there,” Edward sighed.

The man gave a nod as he walked off, disappearing behind a corner. Jimmy and Gary stood up to follow Edward as he sped past them. They wound through the icy streets, trying not to slip before they halted at the edge of new Coventry.

“Ed, you good?’ Jimmy asked, concerned.

“What’s the Devil’s Lounge?” Gary added.

“I’m fine Jimmy, and I’ll tell you guys tomorrow. I’m tired and don’t feel good,” Ed mumbled as he strayed away.

Jimmy and Gary watched the senior walk away, left with a million unanswered questions.

[southernbrainspiders]

Seven Years Later

Hey, y'all. So here's a final post for anyone who's still following this blog -- I expect that, over the past seven years, nearly everyone who used to follow it has left, but there might be a few still around, so I just wanted to put this here.

If you're trying to remember who this is, I used to blog about my experiences working the graveyard shift at a gas station in Mississippi. I was an angry 20-something misanthrope who had left my grad-school program due to various conflicts and was working at a gas station while I tried to figure out what to do next. I had a lot of complaints about the customers (because, you know, it was retail, and customers really are pretty terrible even when you're not bitter and misanthropic already). The blog kind of trailed off when I got a secondary-school teaching certification and landed a job teaching 11th/12th-grade English at a school in the next county over -- because, of course, it just wouldn't be right to talk about my students in a public forum.

Anyway, I’m kind of back, just not on this blog, so I thought I’d give anyone still around an update on the last seven years of my life and where you can find me now. Oh, and this probably goes without saying, but I will deny all knowledge of this blog. I look back on my younger self and cringe, as I think we all do, and would prefer to leave that here -- I've matured, I like to think, and all that angry misanthropy is much more contained now, rather than just flailing around undirected.

So I wasn't at the high school long before I left that too. The turnaround was actually extremely quick -- by October, I was filling out applications to return to grad school. There were a few reasons for this, which I'll enumerate, but it all really boils down to the fact that I wasn't a cultural fit. (This was originally basically an essay in itself, but I'm trimming it down to a bulleted list.)

This was a school that did not believe in education except as it pertained to test scores. My job was 50% babysitter, 40% prison guard, and 10% ACT Prep. There was a weird current of anti-intellectualism among the faculty, and that carried over to the students.

The prison guard thing isn't as much of an exaggeration as I would like -- my morning duty was helping keep the students kettled in the auditorium until the first bell rang, because the administration didn't trust them to be out in the halls. I had to accompany my class to the cafeteria to make sure they sat in their assigned seats and didn't make too much noise.

On a related note, several members of the faculty frequently bemoaned the fact that corporal punishment had been recently banned from the school system. (Our student rosters still had a column on them indicating which parents had given permission for the school to hit their kids.) They pretty casually talked about the fact that the parents still did that part at home, though, describing things that, where I grew up, would have been called child abuse.

One of my duties was to teach students to write for basically the first time ever -- a writing section had been added to one of the tests, so it had to be incorporated into the curriculum now. Because, of course, since it hadn't been on the tests before, the school had been just not teaching writing at all. Students were very against the concept of writing assignments.

This was a very conservative and very religious area. I'm neither of those things. A standard "getting to know you" question was "what church do you go to?" Faculty meetings started with a prayer session. I didn't try to hide my lack of religion, and even tried to use it as a teaching moment when students asked about it, breaking down the word "agnosticism" to its roots and affixes. A number of students decided I needed to be Saved and started trying to witness to me or whatever you call it.

Between the backlash to the writing assignments (seriously, the students hated those to a degree that shocked me) and my general status as a cultural outsider, a number of the students developed a severe dislike of me. And it was a small town, so they quickly found out where I lived. Within the first month, my home was egged thrice and my tires slashed once. This was when I started filling out grad-school applications.

It was an intensely stressful experience, is what I'm saying. I should have picked up on the red flag when I noticed I was one of... I think half a dozen? new teachers that year. (There were at least four, but I can't quite remember the number.) It was a small school; the turnover rate was just insane. Most of the others left before the year even ended -- in fact, one of my students told me that I was the first high school English teacher they'd had that lasted the whole year. The new math teacher just packed up her classroom and left one day, no notice or anything. The only new hire that stayed for the next year was actually an alumnus of the high school in question and thus was already part of the community & didn't have much adapting to do.

I stayed for the whole year because I needed the money; if I'd had a spouse's income to fall back on like most of the other new teachers did, I probably would have left mid-year too. It was hellish and I was basically in a constant state of mental breakdown. I'm not ashamed to admit I cried in school multiple times -- never in front of the students, thankfully, but once in front of the principal. I decided that even if I didn't get into another graduate program, I had to leave this place because it was turning me into a person I didn't like -- I was starting to yell at students for acting up, which is just intolerable.

Luckily, I did get accepted into a couple programs. One of them offered funding and a TA position, so I took it without a second thought even though it meant starting over as an MA student. (So now I have two Master's degrees, one in English Literature and one in English Language, which is extremely redundant.) I moved across the country to Indiana.

Turns out I'm actually a pretty good teacher at the college level. When I can focus on education rather than babysitting, I can genuinely thrive. Most of my students still weren't that interested in learning English -- I was teaching a freshman-year writing class -- because it's a STEM-focused university and the humanities are barely tolerated, but just the fact that they actually want to be at the school and have some motivation to learn makes all the difference. I got multiple awards from the department based on student evaluations.

My TA position expired at the end of last year, because I was supposed to finish my PhD and graduate, but my dissertation is still in progress. (My mental health is still pretty shaky, but that's just the baseline of who I am as a person, not the result of the environment I'm in this time... it leads to me not being as productive as I probably should be.) I was able to get a position working for the university library instead, though, so that's where I am now.

As a side project, I do a podcast, The Maniculum, where a friend and I read, discuss, and joke about medieval literature, then try to adapt it to TTRPG games. We have a small audience of a few hundred, but I think it's going quite well. I've been managing our Twitter presence, and as Twitter started looking like it might go down, I saw a lot of jokes about people fleeing back to Tumblr. This struck a chord of nostalgia within me, and yesterday I went & made us a Tumblr account. I haven't posted anything there yet -- I'm planning to do an introduction post later today -- but if anyone reading this wants to go follow it and see what happens, it's @maniculum.

And, for anyone who does go there to check it out, remember: if you knew me as Southern Brain Spiders, no you didn't.

[floralseokjin]

⤑ made-up love song drabbles 

First meeting: Seokjin’s POV

kim seokjin x reader warnings; none!  words; 2,443

↪︎ read the series here / and drabbles here 

Seokjin was having the worst morning. He was usually in work by now. An early start to the day was the only way to start the day, so maybe that’s why he was thrown for a loop right now. Everything that could go wrong had gone wrong. But he shouldn’t think like that, after all, he’d promised Arin he’d take her to school this morning. He was embarrassed to admit this, but Arin had been living with him officially for six weeks and he hadn’t once driven her here. It was unacceptable he knew that, but he was learning quickly that juggling a demanding job and being there for his daughter wasn’t easy. Perhaps Nana had a point… 

At the thought of his ex-wife, he grimaced, remembering the massive argument they’d had two months ago. The one that had triggered Arin’s move. When it came to Nana he often found himself harsh with his words. Not that she wasn’t with hers either. They had grown so used to lashing out at one another over the years it was hard to stop, even if their divorce was coming up to two years ago now. That’s what his therapist said anyway, and Seokjin just listened, knowing she was correct just unable to think of a way to change it, despite the countless advice Mrs. Shin had given him over the months, years. 

He and Nana both worked hectic and testing jobs. They were alike it that way, ambitious and driven. That’s what had attracted him to her in the first place, yet it was the thing that had ruined them soon enough. With age, especially after the birth of Arin, he found himself mellowing out. He was no longer in such a rush to get to the top, or to be the best. Maybe that was hypocritical of him, seeing as a few years ago he had become CEO, taking his father’s place. There was no higher. He had nothing more to chase. 

Nana continued to work long hours, motherhood not slowing her down in the slightest. Not that it should. Stereotypes weren’t his style, but it was beyond frustrating when all he wanted to do was spend time together as a family and Nana was too busy preoccupied elsewhere. She loved Arin, he had never doubted that and never would, but sometimes his exasperation outweighed his rationality. When Arin had come to live with him he was so determined to prove Nana wrong. He could easily do both – work and be a father. Of course, he wasn’t stupid, he had known he’d need help, and Misook was more than he could have ever asked for, but he had always been stubborn. 

The weekends were great. On his he would organise a bunch of things for he and Arin to do, and on Nana’s weekend he’d use the time to catch up on any work he had remaining from the week. Only, a fortnight ago Nana had cancelled the night before. Arin had been devastated obviously, there was video call of course, but it wasn’t the same for a six year old. He had been left to pick up the pieces, not to mention he had fallen behind on paperwork – and still hadn’t caught up.  Hopefully this weekend would be better, but he wasn’t holding his breath. 

He sighed to himself as he fiddled with the handsfree. Why wasn’t his cell phone connecting?! He knew he should have taken the other car. Weekdays were the most difficult. He just about saw Arin in the mornings and most evenings he came home past 6pm meaning he just had about enough time to eat dinner with her and catch up before it was time to get her ready for bed. It wasn’t fair on her, she deserved more of his time and he missed her terribly, but time was extremely difficult to find. That’s why he’d driven her to school today, he’d been promising for weeks, ever since she’d started at Primrose Hill actually. He didn’t want to be a let-down. 

He’d chosen today, a Thursday, because it was thankfully a quiet morning. Well, had supposed to be a quiet morning. Soobin’s call just before he’d left home had not been something he’d wanted to receive. The web conference with Mr. Lee wasn’t supposed to be until mid-morning but of course the impatient so-and-so had missed the memo – or just completely ignored it seemed more probable. 

Seokjin’s headache grew worse at the thought of today. He’d already popped two painkillers early this morning when Arin had woken him up prematurely by jumping up and down on his bed. She was excited, he understood that, but Christ was she loud at 5am. At least he knew she loved her new school, that was all that mattered. He’d been so worried in the beginning, taking his time to choose a smaller school so she wouldn’t be so overwhelmed. It worked out perfectly though. She adored Primrose Hill,  and her teacher actually, which he was thankful for. It was always Miss. Y/L/N this and Miss. Y/L/N that… Oh, that reminded him, there was that parent teacher meeting tomorrow afternoon. He couldn’t miss that, no matter what was happening at the office. He was glad he’d had a test run today actually. Shamefully he hadn’t been here in person yet, doing the entirety of the application process via phone call and the internet. The principal had understood, but that wasn’t the point. He needed to do better. He was trying to do better. 

This time he let out a yell of frustration as his phone told him yet again it had failed to connect via Bluetooth. He gave up, Mr. Lee would just have to wait until he was in the office to take his call. This was crazy, what on earth could the man want so early in the morning?! There was no emergency. He dropped his phone to his lap and started up the vehicle in haste, wasting no time in reversing out of the spot – Thump!

His car had collided with something. With his heart in his stomach he hit the brakes immediately, looking out the rear view mirror to see a white car. The something he’d hit. Shit. This day had just gone from bad to worse. Panicked, he drove forward, back into the space and turned the engine off quickly. He hopped out, acting on instinct, forgetting his phone was in his lap as it clattered to the floor. Thankfully the screen didn’t smash, and he didn’t stop, picking it up in a rush. No sooner had he come into view, the occupant of the white car was getting out of the driver’s seat too. 

“Are you okay?” He asked you immediately, the panic shrill in his voice. He was always such a competent driver. The only time he’d ever sped was when Arin was about to be born, rushing Nana to the hospital at two in the morning after her waters had broken. Now look at him. What a mess. 

He found himself babbling, not even giving you a chance to respond. “I am so sorry, Miss.” At that precise moment in time his phone started to ring again. “I really am. I was–” 

He had tried to ignore it, he really had, but the noise was just plain irritating and now he found himself quite mad. Stopping abruptly midsentence he let out a huff  and picked up. “Kim Seokjin, speaking. Please can I –”

“Mr. Kim, where are you? There’s something–” Mr. Lee tried interrupting, but Seokjin wasn’t having any of it. 

“I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to call you back. There’s been an emergency.” 

“An emergency? What kind? It better not be to do with –”

“Thank you for understanding. Goodbye.”  Seokjin hung up quickly. He’d deal with the consequences later. Not that he’d let that son of a bitch walk all over him. He never had. Immediately, his attention was back on you. There were pressing issues at hand here. “I’m just so sorry. Is there any damage?” 

He made his way over to the spot he’d hit, just above your back wheel and crouched down, inspecting the damage. “Oh god.” He grimaced slightly. The paint was scratched pretty deep but luckily there were no dents. Still, he’d been foolish. This was entirely his fault. 

“The bike rack,” he muttered to himself, looking behind him at the culprit. It had taken the paint clean off. Brushing a hand through his hair, he noticed you were beside him now, still not having said a word. He caught a hint of your perfume, unconsciously noting how pleasant it was. 

“What happened?” You asked him, your tone of voice taking him by surprise. You had every right to be angry of course, but couldn’t you see how sincere he was being? He looked up, composing himself hopefully. “I-I was distracted for a moment, I didn’t realise–” 

“Were you on your phone?”

“I’m sorry?” On cue the damn device started ringing again. Mr. Lee was on thin ice. He hit ignore straight away. “No, no. God, no.” He protested, realising what you meant as he shoved the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. He straightened up, standing directly opposite you now as you crossed your arms, waiting for his explanation it seemed. He couldn’t help but notice the way you strained as tall as you could get. As if you were trying to appear imposing. Not that you weren’t unnerving right now. It was just the action was pretty… No. He wasn’t even going to think it because he didn’t want to be at all condescending. 

“I was – I was trying to get the handsfree to work in this damn car and last time I checked there was no one there.” Seokjin cringed at himself. He so obviously sounded flustered. He just couldn’t help it. There was something about you that made him nervous, and it wasn’t just because you looked so livid right now.  “I wasn’t thinking, I just backed out –” He stopped himself, suddenly realising something. “Why… Why were you on stop directly behind me?” 

“Excuse me?” You instantly got defensive. “I wasn’t stopped, I was trying to find a space.” 

Seokjin tried his best not to smile. Now it was your turn to try and not get flustered. The way your hands waved about animatedly as you spoke was…charming. Was that appropriate to say? You were watching him again, a look on your face that made him uneasy. Maybe it was because, and he hated to think this yet again, but maybe it was because you were so pretty. God, he sounded like a little kid. You were very attractive, did that make it sound any better? Probably not. Here you were well within your right to be mad at him, and here he was thinking such inappropriate thoughts about you. Well, that sounded weird. He didn’t mean like that. He just thought you were really pretty. He was spiralling over nothing. 

“I’m sorry, but do you even work here?” 

Your question threw him. “Work here? No.” 

“Then why are you using the teacher’s parking lot?” 

He watched as you folded your arms again and his eyes widened in horror as he realised his mistake.  “Oh no. I didn’t realise…” This was just great. Now he looked like an idiot. That or just plain rude. 

“It’s signposted.” 

Yup, just plain rude it was. 

“It’s my first time dropping off my daughter at this school. I didn’t know where to go, and I was getting so many phone calls, I was just trying to…” He petered out, realising it was no good trying to explain himself. You probably didn’t care about his morning. “There’s no excuses for this. I’m truly sorry and I feel awful.” He apologised, lowering his head.   “Let me sort this out. Money is no object. I can call my mechanic straight away and–”

“There’s no need,” you interrupted almost instantly, sounding baffled. 

“It’s really no problem.” He insisted. “Come on, if we wait for our insurance companies to sort this out god knows how long it will take. No, I’ll phone the mechanic I use right now and they can come and pick your vehicle up. It’ll be fixed in no time. You won’t have to pay a thing.” He was only speaking the truth. Most insurance companies didn’t even want to know. 

“No, thank you.” You voice sounded tight, clipped. 

He could sense your irritation but couldn’t understand why. “No?” 

“I don’t need your help or your money.” You declared. 

Now, there was no need to be stubborn about it. He’d phrased it wrong, admittedly. He wasn’t flaunting his money around the place. At all. He was only trying to help. In fact, he needed to do this. It was his fault. “But I did this.”  

“It’s fine, just –” You stopped when his phone started ringing again, glancing at the chest. “You’re obviously very busy, just forget about it. It’s a few scratches.” 

Turning your back to him you glanced at your watch. “Wait,” he called out.

“Goodbye,” you called back, rounding the front of your car ready to dive back into the driver’s seat.  

Seokjin’s frustration was about to hit its limit. Why wouldn’t you listen to him, and why wouldn’t his cell phone just shut the hell up?! “But – Argh!” He let out a yell, the shrilling of his phone loud and he yanked it out of his pocket roughly. 

It was his assistant. Mr. Lee was probably hounding him too. He picked up. “Soobin, what is it?!” 

“Mr. Lee, he’s –”

“Yes, I already told him I’m –”

“He said it’s extremely important. His suppliers are being difficult.” 

“What? He said they were reliable.” Seokjin ran a hand through his hair, feeling defeat wash through him. Today had beaten him and it was only 8am. As Soobin’s voice carried through the speaker, Seokjin watched you slam your door shut and whizz into one of the only parking spots. 

It wouldn’t sit right on his conscience if he left things like this, he’d damaged your car. He needed to make things right. Immediately. Or almost immediately. He’d sort things out with Mr. Lee as fast as he could and then call Jimin. Yes, that sounded like a great idea. He actually found himself smiling a little as he watched you walk towards the school building, a determinedness in your stride that was indeed admirable. You’d certainly left an impression, that was for sure. 

The one he’d left on you, however, was embarrassing… 

Written 2020 - 2021. Please refrain from posting my work elsewhere. No translations allowed. © floralseokjin 2021

[tramontane-fire]

How [not] to write a job posting

1 Position title. Keep it simple and free of gimmicks and internal language. If you call your warehouse associates Warehouse Rockstars, just put associate in the title so people don't cringe. If you call your cashiers Team Members with Money Handling Responsibilities, nobody's going to know you're hiring cashiers. Use terms everybody else uses so applicants will know what job they're applying for.

2 Company description. Above all, keep this free of buzzwords. I know it's hard, but you can do it. Avoid phrases like "turn-key," "synergy," and "solutions." No one knows what they mean anyway. Give a brief sentence or two about what you do. If there's something about you that makes you less evil, like using ethically sourced materials, include that. If you're involved in a type of work not everyone in your industry does, include that. For example, I work in EMS, and not everybody does critical care. A company that does do crit care transports should put that in its description, in case applicants are interested in that side of things. And I'm sorry, nobody at entry-level really cares about your mission, so this is not the time to wax poetic. Save that for press conferences and fundraisers.

3 Job duties. The main course. You want to keep this practical and focused on what the person is actually going to be doing in the job. "Provides high-quality customer service with a smile!" = not helpful to an applicant because that's all public facing jobs. "Assists customers with application paperwork, ensuring all forms are filled out in compliance with state regulations" = helpful, because it tells applicants what they're actually going to be doing, and that it's going to involve both the public and red tape, things some people are great with and some people hate.

4 Compensation. First off, do not play games. Put the damn pay in the damn job ad. If it's a range, put the range. For a full-time position, you should be offering, at minimum, health insurance including dental and vision, and some kind of PTO package. By and large, workers don't care about little perks like snacks in the break room and getting to play video games on the clock. And it goes without saying that everybody should be getting some kind of sick leave. Put that in the ad too.

5 Instructions to apply. If possible, people should be able to apply through Indeed. If your company has a proprietary hiring system and that's not possible, link to it and do what you can to have that system be as non-user-unfriendly as possible. I. e. , if you are requiring a resume, it is pointless to also require an application where you fill out all your past jobs and education. That's what a resume is. I get, however, that the person writing the job ad probably doesn't design the application portal. However, the more effort it takes just to submit your application, the less likely people are to bother.

So there you have it. Straight from the applicant's mouth, that's what we're looking for on our endless Indeed scavenger hunts. If you're having trouble getting applications, rewrite your posting accordingly and then show it to a child between the ages of seven and ten. If the child cannot figure out what the job is for or what the company does, then rewrite the job posting again with fewer buzzwords. Once it is comprehensible to a school-age child, it's ready for the job boards.

Soon you will see that yes, people still do want to work. They just don't want to work for corporate stooges who only talk in buzzwords and don't know how to hire or treat their employees fairly.