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Did you ever work in customer service? You give off been-in-the-trenches-and-are-better-for-it vibes.
Hi, this is slightly unhinged, but thank you!!
Now you're going to get the story of how I was offered a job on the spot for the first ever position I ever interviewed for (which was, indeed, customer service).
Okay, so, I'm 15, my birthday is in two days, and HEB (Texas grocery store) is hiring baggers for $7 an hour and cashiers for a whole whopping $10 an hour. Cashiers have to have prior experience OR have to work as a bagger for a year first. But I am full of teenage verve and I want that cashier position. I want it now.
I show up on my motorcycle, so I'm in my "professional" outfit but carrying my helmet when I enter the hiring manager's office, which really sets the tone for how things proceed.
The interviewer is like, "how old are you?" and babyface mcgee me, five foot tall and all of 90lbs says, "Fifteen. But I'm sixteen in two days."
And he's like, "...we can't hire you if you're fifteen."
And I'm like, "bet, but you can get the paperwork started now, yeah?"
And he says, "wait, how did you drive a motorcycle here if you're 15?"
So the first 5 minutes of the interview turn into me showing him my license, explaining DMV rules re 15-yr-olds and permitted engine size for motorcycles and pointing out my bike in the parking lot.
"Okay," he says, clearly trying to rally. "So you have a method of transportation, that's great, but we can't consider you for the cashier job if you don't have experience. We can only consider you as a bagger."
I'm prepared for this. I lay out my most recent report card, as well as copies of the sports and academic awards I've achieved in the last year. I give my "I'm a fast learner, I'm a hard worker, and you'll benefit more from me working as a cashier, interacting with customers, than a bagger" speech. I've been buying groceries at this store my whole life, so I know that cashiers are ranked by how many 'Item of the Week' they manage to hawk at checkout (typically batteries or soda or chips). "I'll be top of the ranking for Item of the week, just you wait."
I think he is reluctantly charmed by my bull-headedness. "Okay,” he says, reaching for the can of coke on his desk. "Fine. Sell this to me, then. Right now."
This man is mid-forties. He has bad handmade artwork hung up on his office wall.
"Do you have kids?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
"Two," he says. "Boy and a girl. The girl is just a year younger than you, actually."
"Ah," I say, "is it getting harder and harder to connect with her? Monosyllabic answers? Spends all her time in her room."
"...yes," he says.
“I was the same,” I say somberly. “Until, one afternoon, my dad came into my room and handed me a Coke.”
I tap my fingers on the Coke in front of me.
“He told me to come share a drink with him while he grilled on the back porch and that once I’d finished my Coke I could crawl, hissing, back to my room, but he wanted company until then. And see, I did, actually, want to spend time with my dad. I just didn’t know how to initiate it, and my teenage hormones made it difficult for me to express that. So I took the Coke and stomped my way outside but once I was there, I drank it slowly. And I answered his questions about school and cheerleading and asked him about work and we planned a weekend father-daughter motorcycle trip into the hill country. And ever since then, every few days, he’ll come to my room and offer me a Coke, and I’ll spend half an hour drinking it in his company.”
I slide the coke across the desk to him. “Might be an approach to try with your daughter, what do you think?”
He catches the Coke automatically. He sighs.
"Yeah, alright," he says. "Cashier job is yours. Come back in two days when you're actually sixteen and we'll get your paperwork sorted out." I worked there for the rest of high school and I was, typically, top of the rankings for selling Items of the Week the entire duration.
Entirely unrelated, I hate coke. I don’t drink soda, and the only beverage my dad has ever shared with me on the back porch is a margarita. But he didn’t need to know that.
#Lol#Shout out to all the folks in the customer service trenches#Storytime#mylife#If I had nothing else I had the audacity
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jealous monster trio + law and ace x reader
a/n. not proofread!! i wrote this on my phone in the middle of watching a movie ong. idk why there aren't many dialogues in ace and law's part, but im lowkey pleased with how everything turned out
tags. fluffy fluff fluff, established relationship
crack tags. sanji gets a nosebleed (again), sanji tries to steal you away, sanji (that's it, that's the warning), marco bepo and robin are the best matchmakers, nami robs someone 😴
luffy wasn't the type to be overly possessive about the things he liked. growing up with two brothers, he had learned to share all mundane things in his life; his clothes, his blanket, even his toothbrush.
but not you.
luffy didn't understand the feeling that was developing in the pit of his stomach at the sight of you working out with zoro in the crow's nest. it was nice to stay healthy, right? that was what he had thought when he saw you reject his offer to play board games with him. he watched you walk away and up to the crow's nest where the swordsman practically lived, and sulkily climbed his special seat on the head of the sunny.
"oi, luffy! come down," usopp called out from the deck, and he glanced at the latter. "robin's telling us another story of the ancient civilizations of the west blue!"
"i'm not in the mood," luffy shouted back, still gazing wistfully at you.
he watched your face contort into one of pain when you moved to do the crunches, and zoro laughed at you before showing you how to breathe in the position as you lifted yourself back up.
"are you sure? i think you're just hungry!" usopp called again. "robin said we can have some of the special pancakes sanji made for her."
luffy stared back at his friend, his eyebrows furrowing as he thought hard. soon after, he yelled back, "i'll come down, give me one second!"
as you got back up from the crunch you were performing, you saw a long arm on the glass wall of the room and nearly screamed. luffy accidentally slammed his face into the wall, his cheeks comically enlarged as he spoke something incoherent to you. zoro rolled his eyes from beside you.
"i think he's saying break time is over. you've gotta go deal with him now."
.
zoro was rather secure in your relationship. he didn't mind it when other people commented about how nice you are, or about how pretty you look. he let it all slide, seeing as he knew all of the comments were true, and you deserved to know that. so he wasn't one to get mad when such things happened.
except when it came to the idiot cook.
it had been almost fifteen minutes past your usual time and you still hadn't shown up. zoro had gritted his teeth in the middle of a set and set out to find you. it didn't take him long, however, to figure out what was keeping you.
"my dear y/n, you must listened to this acoustic poem i have written in your name," the cook had one of your hands in his, blocking your way up to the crow's nest.
"i'm sure it's lovely, sanji, but i'm in a hurry right now--"
"ah, where, i wonder, must i look to find another beauty such as yourself--?"
"oi, cook! buzz off, will ya? no one wants you around," zoro's voice came from upstairs, and you turned to look at him.
the cook glared at him from behind you, but immediately pouted wistfully when you turned back at him. "don't say that, 'ro," you scolded, and the cook's face lit up at your words, eyes gleaming at the sight of zoro's annoyed look.
"i said what i said," zoro walked downstairs, twirling a strand of your hair around his fingers when he reached you. "buzz off, prince of the perverts."
.
sanji is a little bit of an idiot. insecurity runs in his veins, and thus so does jealousy. you would have felt bad for him too, had he not been making you feel the same way since day one.
his face streamed with tears as he followed you around the marketplace. a few minutes earlier, you had caught him shooting to the sky with a nosebleed because of some poor woman's smile. he had landed right at your feet, the sight momentarily disarming you before you kicked his frame out of the way to walk.
it had been about half a minute of you ignoring him and he was on his hands and knees, begging for you to spare a glance at him. you would have felt bad, had this not been the fiftieth time in a week. you instead chose to turn to usopp, who had grown to learn to ignore sanji and his antics around women ever since they first met at the baratie. sanji's ears turned a bright red at your movement, and he clinged even harder at you
the two of you silently agreed to not wait for nami while she was busy robbing civilized people in a restaurant, and sped up at the looks the passersby were giving sanji, who was practically hanging onto your waist right now.
"i'm sorry, i'm sorry, angel, i know that's not gonna cut it but i beg for your humble forgiveness, i will not ever-"
"how do you deal with this moron?" usopp whispered to you, and you whispered back an "i don't know".
sanji kept mumbling things into your hips and pressing soft kisses into your waist, until you gave in when chopper hurried up to where you were, polaroids of your smile hanging around his neck; your boyfriend was just in rehab!
.
ace didn't think you looked half as good with anyone else but him. that is another way to say, he couldn't stand anyone who was within a certain radius from you. he wouldn't talk about it at all, and whenever you would bring it up he would play dumb.
but he hated it; not in a you're-mine-and-belong-to-me way but more in a im-just-a-boy-who-needs-external-validation-to-exist kinda way.
so he didn't like the way you were the only 'daughter' in whitebeard's crew among all the 'sons' who spoke about you like you were a trophy. he didn't like how you were placed under marco's division and not his. he didn't like how both whitebeard and marco laughed at him whenever they caught him looking at you.
after a particularly rough mission, the first division was having a blast with all the treasure they had managed to get back. ace looked at you with a longing pout on his face, about ten feet away from you. you were laughing with thatch at the moment, and he was busy fantasizing about how you would react if he carried you into your shared room on his shoulder, kissed the back of your nape and sucked hickeys to spell his name on your neck--
marco slapped the back of his head and his face fell into his plate with a loud crash.
"thank me later," marco said, eyes unwavering as the man in front of him fell asleep face-first into a plate full of food.
he went away as ace woke up shortly after, his face covered in curry, with men laughing at and mimicking him, but among all of them, his ears only heard the sound of your laughter before you quickly got up to hand him tissues.
.
law did not care. or at least, he pretended not to. after all, it had taken multiple tantrums from bepo to get him to confess to you, and even then he had made it clear he was not a fan of whatever you might have thought to be an 'ideal, loving relationship'.
that was, until today, when you had learned just how far you had to push his buttons to transform him into a romantic man. you could feel law's gaze on you as you laughed at whatever dumb thing luffy had just said, but when you turned around, he was busy conversing with robin about who knows what. once again, you turned to luffy, felt weird, turned back and saw nothing. for every minute you talked to the straw hat about something, you could feel law breathing down your neck, albeit in a subtle manner that no one but you seemed to catch.
"law," you finally came up to him, and he looked up at you as if he hadn't for ages. "is something wrong?"
"what makes you think so?" he challenged, and you could feel robin chuckle next to him. after shooting her a perplexed look, you shrugged and walked back to where the group was having fun, staying a bit closer to chopper this time, for luffy's safety.
it wasn't until the two of you had retreated back to your shared room for the night that you had realised what you felt had not been a hoax. law was on you the moment you lay next to him on the bed, nuzzling up to you and pressing gentle kisses to your forehead and cheeks.
you were confused, to say the least, but you had a faint suspicion that this strange side of law was the idea of a certain archaeologist.
#op x you#op x reader#op fluff#op zoro#op luffy#op sanji#op ace#op law#one piece luffy#straw hat luffy#monkey d luffy#luffy#luffy fluff#one piece#zoro#roronoa zoro x reader#zoro x reader#roronoa zoro#one piece zoro#sanji x reader#one piece sanji#black leg sanji#sanji#sanji x y/n#sanji x you#ace x reader#portgas d ace x reader#law x reader#law fluff#one piece fluff
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hiii can you make something inspired by the video of tom protecting zendaya from the paparazzi
Worthy- Peter Parker
A/n: Peter being protective, ugh (give it to meeeeee). Btw, thank you for the request babe 🥰
Warnings: Mentions of death, swearing, mentions of vomit, anxiety attack symptoms and aggressive approach
Don’t forget to share, like, comment and leave your ideas here
Bellah’s Masterlist 🪻
It was no surprise to anyone that Peter Parker was dating Tony Stark's daughter, but it was the first time they had appeared publicly at an event together. After some catastrophes caused by the Avengers after their last mission in Berlin, in order to redeem the act of motivating violence towards young people, Stark decided to hold an event to fund social support groups.
Y/n was used to having the eyes of the media, mainly because of her beauty, but Peter hated the media. As well as distorting many of Spider-Man's actions, calling him irresponsible and selfish, there would always be people who would point out the slightest of his mistakes in order to get 'likes'. The girl, on the other hand, had several controversies involving her name, but she never let that get to her. Her father had taught her to always ignore people who spoke badly and pointed out mistakes, because if they were strong enough, they would talk in person rather than hide behind a screen in a dark room with a deplorable life.
“Aren't you nervous?” Peter asks, finishing lacing up his black shoes.
“No. I just didn't want anyone coming up to me asking me about my sexuality again because I said in an interview that I'd kiss Madison Beer.” Y/n says, looking at herself in the mirror as she finishes fixing the pair of earrings on her ear.
“What if they ask me something? What do I say?” The brunette gets up from the cream recliner at the end of the king-size bed in his girlfriend's room, heading towards her.
“Just be yourself, love.” The girl turns to her boyfriend, who places his warm hands on her waist, pulling her close in one smooth movement. The girl opens an affectionate smile, allowing her pink lips to meet Peter's. “And don't get involved in any controversy. It's not enough that people suspect you of being Spider-Man. My father will kill you if anything happens, especially during the party.”
“You look beautiful, you know that?” The older man commented, looking at the girl from head to toe with a sideways smile. The dress was tailored, with long sleeves that were almost transparent and her body shaped by the wine velvet until it dragged on the floor with a small neckline, but one that emphasized her breasts.
“I know it.” Y/n laughs, making Peter roll his eyes and walk away.
Two knocks on the white door are heard, drawing the attention of the young couple who head towards where the sound was coming from, then open the door. The image of Pepper in a black dress comes into view, apparently impatient with how long they were taking in the room. The blonde put both hands on her waist, saying:
“Really? 10 minutes to put on an earring and get your bag, Y/n?”
“We're ready.” Peter defends. “Come on, sweetheart.” The dark-haired man in the black suit and gray tie holds out his hand to the younger woman.
“But my bag.” Y/n turns her body to the side, looking out of the corner of her eye for her bag, which had mysteriously disappeared.
“This one?” Peter holds out his other hand with the handle of the white bag positioned on the tip of his index finger, drawing a surprised smile from the girl.
“Come on, you two.” Pepper warns, stepping into the middle of the couple and closing the door behind them.
(…)
“How many minutes until we arrive?” Y/n asks the driver, at the same time as his eyes are focused on his cell phone camera so that his gloss doesn't get smudged in the photos that will be taken later.
“Less than 5” he replies, looking at her through the rearview mirror.
“Do you want me to go out holding your hand or do we go out one at a time?” The brunette asks, swinging his legs as a way of relieving the anxiety trapped in his chest.
“Relax, Pete. Let me go out alone first. I know some of my followers will want to take pictures with me since I told them I'd be at the event.” Y/n says, closing the transparent gloss and putting it in her handbag. “I don't want the same thing to happen that happened in January.”
“You turned down photos because you had a viral infection and put your organs out in the back of the car in that KFC bowl” Peter reminds her, placing one of his free hands on the girl's back.
“And they still called me an unsympathetic diva,” Y/n mentions, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes to catalyze the feeling of discontent after remembering the hate the media threw at her.
“We're here, Miss Stark,” the driver warns, opening the automatic door and showing the group of fans and paparazzi who were waiting for the couple at the entrance to the event.
Peter got out of the vehicle, being called by several people and blinded by the flashes of the paparazzi who insisted on putting their cameras in his face. The men with their caps back and big cameras asked
“Are you really Spider-Man?”
“Does Stark approve of your relationship even though you're poor?”
“Is it true that Stark Enterprises is related to the death of your parents?”
Peter clenches his jaw, takes a deep breath to himself, and walks past the men with his face closed as he hears these questions. Y/n, on the other hand, got out of the car with a smile on her face like a princess. The girl put her hair back and got out of the car without the protection of the security guards who were at the door of the event. The group of followers who were waiting at the railing to take a picture with the youngest girl held out their cell phones so that she could take a picture with them. Y/n waved to the fans who were a little further back, allowing them to be noticed too. The girl took the cell phones, snapped the photos and thanked them with a smile, and this was the key to the paparazzi taking advantage of the situation to punch her with questions and photos that were too close.
“Are you dating Peter Parker out of pity?” One of the men asks.
“I'm not,” she replies, as she takes pictures with the people clinging to the low railing.
Peter stands in the doorway, watching from afar how his girlfriend will react. Thanks to his powers, he could hear Y/n's heart and sense when she was threatening to have an anxiety attack. Her mouth might lie with a smile, but her eyes would never lie about her being. The brunette turned on his heel as soon as he heard the first question, turning back the way he had come.
“Do you regret realizing that what happened in Berlin wasn't deliberate? The damage was done by your father's group. People died.” Another says.
The group of photographers was getting too close.
“I have no regrets. That's why my father is promoting the event. To help those who are hurt.” She replies, finishing taking the last photo.
As soon as she lowers her head so that she can go to meet Peter, she is cornered. Several white lights take over her vision, and she finds herself dazed by so much movement. Her frightened eyes searched for Peter, but she couldn't find him. Everything around her was getting too hot from the sweaty bodies that were increasingly trying to get in touch with the girl in the red dress.
“Your father killed innocent people.”
“We already knew she'd be just like her selfish father. She's just a good girl in disguise.”
“Did you cheat on your boyfriend with actor Drew Starkey at your best friend's party in Los Angeles last month?”
“She looks like she'd do that.”
Peter stepped into the middle of the paparazzi, pushing them hard with the sides of his body, throwing his cameras to the ground every time he saw one of them being placed in his girlfriend's face. The older man seemed to have fire in his eyes, even capable of burning someone with his fury. The girl's heart was racing, and then a strong hand found her, pulling her close and taking away the whirlwind of questions and comments spewed at her. Her chest was heaving, feeling her lungs regain air, and pressing her hands against her chest. Peter hugged her close, running his hands down her back and directing her towards the door of the event decorated with gold, white and red balloons
“She always does that. Leaves when she can't answer something we ask. Classic spoiled bitch.” One of the men picks up his camera from the floor, wiping the lens on his gray blouse.
At one moment, Y/n was standing next to Peter, and the other she was being abandoned again at the door of the large party building. With strong, hurried steps, Peter spins his body around to throw a powerful punch at the man who made the comment, causing him to fall against the other gossip channels who were on duty at the scene to capture any slip-ups. The photographer grumbled, putting his hand to his lip and realizing that blood was coming out. With a startled look on his face, he glares at the brunette
“Call my girlfriend a bitch one more time, and I'll make you swallow your fucking tongue.” He says through his teeth, stepping out of the crowd again and into the building with hurried steps.
Y/n had her hands over her mouth, stunned by what Peter had just done. Her heels tapped against the lobby floor as her boyfriend patted her shoulder, trying to comfort her from what she had just been through. Parker was followed by two security guards, who, only after seeing the situation, decided to protect Y/n.
“You irresponsible bastards. Stark will find out about this.” Peter says loudly to the two men in black, who were now following them to the elevator.
“My father!” Y/n says in astonishment. “Peter, my father's going to find out about the punch you threw at the guy outside! Fuck, we're fucked. He's going to kill you. Shit.”
“Don't worry, darling. Anything to protect you is worthy.” The brunette pressed the elevator's ‘up’ button, hugging his girlfriend tighter against his chest.
#tom holland#tom holland x fem#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker x fem!reader#peter parker#peter parker spiderman#peter parker x y/n#peter parker x reader#peter parker x you
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masks | harry styles x model!oc
summary: Carolina Saraiva, 20 year old supermodel, has fallen into the dark. looking into the mirror, she hardly recognizes herself. At Vanity Fair's new masquerade ball, she embarrasses herself in front of one of the most famous men of 2014---Harry Styles. Chaos ensues. For many, many years.
part 2 here! and part 3!
warnings: mentions of drugs, disordered eating, vomit, anxiety, claustrophobia, (eventually sexual content but be patient friends)
a/n: I have been writing fics for myself for ages and I had an idea for a little HS series the other night and felt the need to share. Wrote this in one go and did no editing. I never read OC fics. Why am I writing an OC fic?
word count: about 1.5k
Every camera flash seemed brighter and more obnoxious than the last. Lina thought she’d have been used to the visual assault, but she was wrong.
She’d been wrong a lot lately.
Vanity Fair’s first ever masquerade ball drummed up quite the ruckus in the few months since it was announced. Of course, her management was thrilled when she received an invitation. At just 20 years old, Carolina Saraiva was a modeling sensation. At 18, she opened the Victoria’s Secret show, walked for Dior and Prada, and graced the cover of British Vogue---soon to be American Vogue, if her team had anything to say about it. She blew up so quickly, it was as if she spawned into superstardom in a mere moment.
“The next Gisele,” her mother said wistfully after seeing her Vogue cover. “I have never been happier.”
Lina, however, had certainly been happier. In fact, she had never been further from happy. Joy was a limited resource in the modeling world; one that had been used up long before she took her first headshots. All that remained was coke, tequila, and passing out in the bathtub. Not that she partook in all those things exactly.
Only two.
She was sure the cameras would catch her exhaustion, blinding light illuminating her dark circles, hallowed cheeks, and heavy lids.
Is Carolina Saraiva Bringing Back Cocaine Couture?
Model Down: Fresh Face Carolina Saraiva Faceplants on the Way into Vanity Fair’s Latest Party
Coke-alina: Brazilian Bombshell is Strung Out at High Profile Event
She was sure the tabloids would have their think pieces on the health of supermodels and their drug usage by sunrise. She didn’t bother with the coke rumors anymore. It’s not like there wasn’t validity to them, really. Lina wasn’t doing coke, but she was one of the few.
“To your left, Carolina,” one photographer called out, stirring from her daydream. Lina whipped her head around, hair cascading down her back, and shot the man a wide, dimpled smile. More cheers erupted. For once, Lina was glad for them; they confirmed to her that her mask---the metaphorical one---had yet to slip on the outside. The real one, large and feathered, actually did seem to be sliding down her nose. She charmingly pushed it back up, eliciting laughs from the eager-to-please paps swarming her.
A strong hand made its way to her mid-back: Darren, her security. She leaned back into it, grateful for the support. He took her small handbag from her without even a glance. She smiled her first genuine smile in a long time. She was prone to losing every bag she carried. With a half-hearted wave behind her, she made her way through the large, iron wrought doors.
The opulence of celebrity events still floored her, even years into her career. There was a time, so distant in her memory, when she would have slashed, bitten, and crawled through fire to be in this position. Now, she would give anything to leave.
Where else would she go, then? There were times before that she missed the tranquility of her family’s ranch in Florida, or the warm mornings in their family home in Sao Paulo.
These days, Lina couldn’t think of anywhere she wanted to be.
Darren’s hand dropped from her back, causing her to stumble at the loss of support. She surveyed the scene, eager to find a back door or balcony for fresh air. That was one thing New York lacked.
Instead, her eyes caught a tall figure, adorned in pale pinks and gold jewels, with a dress whose hoop must’ve added at least two feet to her radius.
Behind that bejeweled mask, the woman’s eyes caught Linas.
“Oh, my goodness, you lady of the night!” Gigi exclaimed, shuffling as fast as she could through the crowd to grab Lina’s hands. They both looked down to examine her dress. The blackish blue, corseted, tulle ballgown was vintage and, for once, Lina couldn’t remember the designer. The silhouette was historical, remanent of Victorian style pieces. Alongside the dramatic, feathered mask, she was reminiscent of a ghost. She laughed to herself. How fitting.
Mustering up her most genuine smile, she said, “You look like a princess!” Gigi smiled at that. Lina really meant it. Gigi was always happy, it seemed. She was more human than any other girl she’d met in the industry.
They looked around the room, startled as the chandeliers shut off dramatically. A sort of eerie light filled the room from some other source. It was as if there was a nightclub in the 1800s.
“It feels like I left 2014 the moment I got here,” Gigi whispered. Lina was inclined to whisper, too, with the atmosphere changing so quickly.
Before she got the chance, deafening bass filled the room, shaking the floor. Gigi waved in apology as she was pulled by faceless hand back into the crowd. Lina could have thrown up right there. Her eyes set on the bar, she pushed her way through the crowd.
Sweat seemed to fog up the room, humidity surely ruining her freshly blown out hair. Each time she found a pathway through the gyrating bodies, an arm or leg or ass threw itself in her way. The room that seemed endless when she first walked in was no larger than a corridor now. Worse, a coffin. She was panting. Another woman stepped back into her path. Lina threw her hands out towards her, shoving her back into her dance partner who was clearly on another planet. She heard a distant ‘augh’ but could not find it within herself to care. She was having a hard time finding anything within herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she ate something.
The bar came into view, or really, the crowd the engulfed the bar came into view. She shoved into two men who leaned casually on the counter. A drink appeared in front of her, and she was inclined to take it.
Turning around to lean her back against the cold marble, Lina closed her eyes. She downed the drink and handed her empty glass to one of the men standing beside her, who slid his hand along her lower back. Saliva filled her mouth. Slapping a hand over pursed lips, she ran towards what looked like a bathroom.
She tried to slam the door open, but barely had the strength to push it open. Her steps were uneven. Her head was in the toilet bowl before she even realized she found a stall.
After retching for what felt like an hour, Lina attempted to stand, but her ankles gave out under her. Yelling out in frustration, she slapped her hands on the toilet bowl for leverage.
Hands washed, she leaned on the cool countertop, looking up at herself in the mirror.
Hair frizzed on top, lip gloss everywhere but her lips, darkness beneath her cheekbones that she knew was not from her hour-long stint in the makeup chair---Lina looked in to her eyes, hidden behind the mask, and cried.
The door shot open behind her, followed by a long sigh, followed again by a yelp.
Lina’s head shot back. There was a man behind her. Because she was in the men’s bathroom. She was sure she would vomit into the sink.
“Oh---oh my god. I’m so sorry, I could’ve sworn this was the men’s toilet, Niall that absolute fucking bastard.”
Lina’s head whipped back just before bile filled her mouth.
“Holy shit, are you alright?”
Lina took a deep breath. “I’m perfectly fine, thank you.” She had never sounded less fine in her goddamn life. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” her hand swiped around the counter for a handbag that wasn’t there.
Fucking Darren.
“No, no, why don’t I go, yeah?” the man said, coughing to cover his laugh. “I think you might need…to be here more than me.”
“Nope, nope, I’ll be going,” Lina whined.
“Actually, why don’t I just grab someone for you. You come here with anyone?”
Lina could not remember Darren’s name at the moment.
“How much have you had to drink? Or have you…done something else?”
“Are you asking me if I’ve done coke tonight, Harry Styles?”
Lina turned to look at him fully. He wore an all-black suit with satin flower details along the lapels. His mask was simple, matching the detailing of his jacket. Behind it, green eyes above pink-flushed cheeks looked her up and down, stepping back as if to avoid another onslaught of vomit.
“No. I mean, yeah, sure, if you have, but I don’t mean to assume anyth---”
“No. I have not. Why does everyone think I do coke?”
Harry looked at her once again.
“I mean---”
“I am not typically puking in men’s restrooms.”
A laugh. “Never said you were, Carolina.”
Oh.
“You know my name.”
“Hard not to. Can’t escape your face if I fucking tried.”
“You want to escape my face?”
“Never said that either, darling.”
Oh.
“I think maybe I should go.”
Harry’s teasing smile became a grimace of concern. “At least let me get you a cab.”
Lina shook her head, the room shaking with it. “No, no, if you leave, they won’t let you back in.”
“I’m Harry Styles. Sure, they will."
“How presumptuous.”
A shrug. “Just saying.”
Lina swipes, once again, for the handbag that isn’t there. Harry’s eyes widen slightly. “Go find whatever bastard you were moaning about earlier. I’ll be fine.”
“Come on---” But Lina had already pushed passed him. Back into the sea of people. Back into that coffin of a room.
a/n: please let me know if you want to see more of this!! I will write it anyway but I'm curious lol
part 2 here!!
#harry styles#harry styles x oc#harry styles x original character#harry styles fluff#harry styles imagine#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles one shot#harry styles series#harry styles au#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fic#harry edward styles#frat!harry styles#frat boy harry#masks series
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Joseph Woll fucking you from behind, pulling you to his chest by your hair, talking you through it. Praising you for how good you feel clenching around him
The room was dimly lit, filled with a warm, inviting glow that matched the heat building between you and Joseph. You were on your hands and knees on the bed, the sheets soft against your skin as you felt him position himself behind you. Anticipation surged through your body, your heart racing as you sensed him moving closer.
“Ready, babe?” Joseph asked, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. You nodded, breathless with desire, and he wasted no time. He thrust into you, filling you completely in one smooth motion. The pleasure took your breath away, and you moaned softly, arching your back.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned, his hands gripping your hips as he began to move. Each thrust was deep and deliberate, sending waves of pleasure coursing through you. You could feel him pulsing inside you, and it made you clench around him instinctively.
Joseph leaned over you, his chest pressed against your back as he tangled his fingers in your hair, pulling gently to bring your head back. “You’re so perfect, baby. Look at you, taking me so well.” His breath was hot against your ear, and you shivered at the sound of his praise.
He began to pick up the pace, his thrusts growing more passionate, each one making you gasp as pleasure coursed through you. “Just like that. You’re doing so good for me.” He released your hair, allowing you to turn your head just enough to catch a glimpse of his face—his brow furrowed in concentration, eyes dark with lust.
“Tell me how good it feels,” he urged, thrusting harder, his body moving in perfect rhythm with yours. You could only moan in response, the sensation overwhelming. “I need to hear you say it.”
“It feels amazing, Joseph!” you gasped, your voice filled with need. “You feel so good inside me!”
“Yeah?” he murmured, his voice thick with desire. “I love how you’re clenching around me. It drives me wild.” He picked up his pace even more, each thrust sending shockwaves of ecstasy through you. “Just let go, baby. Let me feel you.”
With every thrust, you could feel the coil within you tightening, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable point. “I’m so close!” you cried, your body responding to his every move.
“Good girl,” he praised, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulled you back against him. “I want you to come for me. Just let it all out.”
The sound of his voice, filled with raw hunger and encouragement, sent you spiraling over the edge. You cried out, the pleasure washing over you like a tidal wave as you let go completely, clenching around him as your body shuddered with release.
“Fuck,” Joseph groaned, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own pleasure, feeling you squeezing him tightly. “You’re incredible. Just incredible.”
With a few final thrusts, he buried himself deep inside you, his breath hot against your skin as he reached his peak. You both collapsed onto the bed, breathless and satisfied, the aftershocks of pleasure still coursing through your bodies.
He pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you as he pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “You make me crazy,” he murmured, a satisfied smile on his lips.
You smiled back, feeling cherished and adored in his embrace, knowing that this was just one of many passionate moments you would share together.
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🌲 Moonwood Mill Residents
Ferocious Rory leads the Wildfangs and inspires other werewolves to embrace their Fury, such as rascally Lou who's still getting used to his new claws. Clever and curious Celene acts as a mediator between the two packs and bartender to all. Professor Wilder is the town's historian and librarian while writing his never-ending book series. Though there are differences in ideologies between the werewolves, everyone ultimately wants the best for the community.
Vanilla makeover of the premade townies in Moonwood Mill with the bonus of Greg* in a separate household.
Includes one of each outfit, hand-picked preferences, skills, careers, and more. CC skin details used in the preview pics but sim downloads are CC-free. Available on the gallery at m0ckest or tray files below.
*To avoid losing certain townies' special roles when applying makeovers, I recommend using this method with MCCC.
⤷ residents simfileshare • greg simfileshare • patreon
Rory Oaklow
The fierce leader of the Wildfang pack, whose bullheadedness is both their biggest strength and weakness. After feeling like a sheep following a flock, Rory broke away from Kristopher's altruist mentorship to explore a more untamed approach to lycanthropy. While still exploring life's options for a young werewolf, they're comfortable in their alpha role and value spreading Fury-positive messages to werewolves around the world by handcrafting and distributing zines with their best friend Lou.
Lou Howell
A fairly new werewolf and rowdy mischief-maker who gets himself into more trouble than he intends to. He found himself in Moonwood Mill after pushing his luck too many times in Evergreen Harbor and quickly connected with Rory, though it wasn't until after he became a werewolf himself that he joined their pack. He doesn't care for drawing or poetry but frequently photographs "slice of werewolf life" moments around town that are shared in the zine, as well as portraits of the locals.
Celene López
A resourceful human bartender and casual assistant to Professor Wilder who grew up with romanticized werewolf tales that almost got her transformed herself. With Lily's guidance, she formulated an anti-werebies concoction that is now widely used. After deciding to stay away from danger, she lives vicariously through her werewolf patron's stories and descriptions of life transformed, including the misadventures of her ex-boyfriend-turned-friend Lou whose welfare she continues to look out for.
Wolfgang Wilder
A sentimental historian and famous fictional series author who preserves the history of werewolves in his office in the Co-Op's library with the help of Celene. Older than he appears and full of somber memories, he is driven by a desire to educate sims and normalize the acceptance of werewolves worldwide. He avoids exposing the community in his endeavors, choosing instead to write captivating novels and teach courses about werewolf "folk lore" in the hopes of both protecting and uplifting them.
Greg Lunvik
Greg (full name Greggorius) rose from modest means to become a prosperous (and ill-famed) investor in San Myshuno before his treasured wife's early passing turned his world red with Fury. He spent almost two centuries rampaging as feral before time allowed him to regain his composure. Though he's no longer driven purely by Fury, residents of Moonwood Mill still keep their distance from the cantankerous beast—which bothers the loner not in the slightest.
#sims 4#sims 4 townies#sims 4 vanilla#townie download#moonwood mill#rory oaklow#lou howell#celene lopez#wolfgang wilder#greg lunvik#m
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i remember the shift, when i went from being "some random kid online who likes to draw" to "popular fanartist within a small community". it was on the fan forum for a webcomic nearly a decade ago. i had been posting my art on tumblr for a couple years already, usually getting between 0 and 15 notes on each, with a couple exceptions here and there. as you can probably imagine, being an awkward queer and autistic teen had never made me feel particularly popular before. i wasn't really lonely, personally, though many of my peers are and were, but the idea of many people actively wanting to be my friend and thinking i was genuinely cool - that was incredibly novel.
i have always loved getting attention for my work and find people interested in what i have to say. like, who doesn't? it was a very fulfilling and inspiring experience when it started happening to me on a regular basis, to the point where i could expect it. i went from being constantly apologetic about how annoying i imagined myself to be to others, to feeling confident that at least some people were excited to have me around. absolutely revolutionary to realize that people weren't just pretending to like me, they liked me for realsies, and that putting myself out there and being sincere and genuine in my enthusiasm and interest was actually a positive trait many people valued. wild!!!!!!!!
when you come from a place like that, of course you try to be everyone's friend. that's the scarcity mindset. you have to hold on to every friendship ever offered to you because it's such a rare and precious thing and you don't know when or even if it might happen again. but if you get Popular, well, at some point you learn that you can only nurture so many friendships at once, and that you can't click with everyone. like, it only makes sense. but it sucks!! learning the necessity of rejecting people and letting them down is a harrowing journey, but one that must be made.
there's many deeply lonely people out there, especially online, a space of Connection. connections to other people are so good and necessary and being lonely is an awful thing to be. this means there's a lot of people who can't even imagine not wanting more friends, let alone not be constantly looking for some. it's always a bit of a tragedy when a Very Lonely Person tries to attach themselves to someone Socially Overencumbered, as that's highly unlikely to end satisfyingly for anyone involved.
anyway, i think capital f Fame is like that, but times a hundred thousand. it's deeply fascinating to me how Fame is treated as this deeply aspirational state when it's proven again and again to be a cruel and abusive mistress. like, i understand - don't we all want some attention, some validation, for someone to recognise us on the street with stars in their eyes, like OH you're the COOL PERSON who did the COOL THING and i want nothing more than a HUG and a SELFIE and also i made you this HAND MADE GIFT and PAINTED A PORTRAIT OF YOU... that's the dream, isn't it!! to be recognized for your skill, to be admired, desired! THAT'S WHAT EVERYONE WANTS, ISN'T IT.
but it isn't.
there's a limit to everything. there's a whole spectrum of Getting Attention and Validation between "literally everybody ignores you and everything you do" and "paparazzi follow you everywhere you go" - and i can promise that you can find a lot of fulfilment and joy on the lower end of that scale. it's difficult to explain sometimes, especially to people who get No Attention - it's like telling someone who is starving that the most expensive restaurant in town isn't really worth the hassle, a good affordable sandwich will make you so much happier, trust me. like maybe it's just personal preference and what i can personally tolerate! but i had merely a whiff, a crumb of what they serve at that place, and it's Not That Good. easy for me to say huh!!!!
i'm basically a nobody on the wider web, but i've still had my fair share of unpleasant stranger interactions both of the rude and overly familiar variations. i've been treated as a commodity rather than a person. i've been put on a pedestal and dragged through the mud by the same people. it kinda sucks!! and i don't want to tell people that they should never ever put themselves and their art out there because people might be cruel, because that shouldn't be the expectation! yet for some reason, it is!!!! people experiencing Fame have to deal with all kinds of inhumanely horrible things literally no human person is equipped to experience. many people say that's the price people pay for fame, but that's said by people who haven't experienced even a Fraction of the stochastic terrorism an Audience can do to you if they choose. not all attention is good attention.
i know none of this is a fresh new hot take. i know we all know stalking is unethical and traumatic. but i am still so fascinated by the divide between people who don't understand why anyone would reject any form of adoration and those who have to work very, very hard to keep their boundaries intact.
#too long for twitter#anyway i watched the new caelan conrad video about chappel roan. it's good#even if i wish i could have gone an entire lifetime without seeing the inane and horrible things people tweet at her or about her
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Kinktober Day 23: Somnophilia with Mingi
Trigger warnings: n/a
Content warnings: names (baby), oral (f receiving), somnophilia (well yeah)
Summary: Your boyfriend just can’t help himself when he comes home to you napping in nothing more than his oversized hoodie.
Word count: 1k
A/N: hi all 🥰 after much consideration, i’ve decided to repost my kinktober 2022 stories. i had a great time writing these a couple years ago and want to share them again now that it’s been a while and i’ve had time to fall in love with them again. i hope you all enjoy! and by all means, feel free to send a message or comment here if you’d like to be part of the new tag list!
Tags: @bahng-chrizz
Smut below the cut
You’d always found it endearing how much Mingi seemed to enjoy watching over you as you slept. He was big and warm and strong and you felt protected so you weren’t going to complain when you woke up to him looking at you with hearts in his eyes, telling you how pretty and peaceful you looked. You often woke up to soft touches as he fixed your hair or showered you with kisses.
He was embarrassed the first time you woke up and caught him staring but the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled up at him put his mind at ease. After that, he stopped trying to hide his fascination with your sleeping form, though he’d yet to admit it went beyond the desire to admire you. Something about you drove him mad and every time he saw you sleeping in those comfy little shorts you loved so much, he had to fight to keep his hands to himself.
He’d lose that battle this time though.
When you didn’t meet him at the door, your boyfriend figured you were taking a nap. If he had to guess your three favorite things, he would say naps, him, and fluffy blankets - in no particular order, of course. He was far from surprised to see you sprawled out on the couch, throw pillow clutched to your chest while one leg rested on the back of the couch. You'd be self conscious if you could see yourself but he found it endearing. No, what surprised him was what you were wearing.
He toed his shoes off and made his way across the room, half-hard almost instantly at the sight of you in your favorite hoodie of his and a light pink pair of panties and nothing more. He wasn’t sure if he could contain himself any longer. He’d thought far too many times about the things he could do to you while you slept. To him, your resting state was breathtaking and inherently erotic and he wanted to ruin you.
He carefully knelt between your legs and placed his large hands on your knees, sliding them up your thighs and giving a gentle squeeze. He watched your face as he began to knead the supple flesh of your thighs, warm hands against your cool skin causing chill bumps to raise across your entire body. You turned your head to face the back of the sofa and made a small sound as he disturbed your sleep but didn’t wake.
He let out a soft huff of laughter, his expression fond as he turned to press his lips to your calf that rested on the back of the couch. His lips trailed higher, peppering chaste kisses up the length of your leg until he was forced to settle in an awkward position so his face was level with your sex. He glanced back up at your face, making sure he wasn’t truly disturbing you, and placed a kiss on the front of your panties.
He began to plant kisses all over your clothed pussy, looking back up at your face after each one. He was always tender like that, treating you with great care even when you wanted him to ruin you. His eyelids fluttered as he leaned in and inhaled your scent, a low groan rumbling in his chest. His long, slender fingers tugged your panties to the side and his mouth watered at the sight. His teasing touches had worked you up in your sleep and your panties were moments away from being flooded with your arousal.
He wanted to dive right in but took a moment to run a finger along your slit, pausing when you whined and shifted. Your body instinctively chased after the stimulation and your hips wiggled slightly when the tip of his tongue ghosted over your clit. He continued teasing you like this despite how torturous it was to him, determined to have you writhing even in your slumber.
It didn’t take long for him to get his way. You couldn’t seem to hold still and eventually he had to pin you down so he could properly eat you out. His tongue worked wonders on you, occasionally plunging deep inside you and rhythmically flicking back and forth over your clit whenever he sucked on your pussy. You’d always loved his enthusiasm when going down on you and had even given him the playful title Certified Pussy Addict - a name he was very proud of despite knowing you weren’t actually going to call him that except in a mocking way.
Your face screwed up with pleasure as his perfect fingers slid into you and immediately curled, pressing against your g-spot. Had you been awake, you would’ve offered up a pathetic cry intended to be praise. Instead, you made another noise and turned your head to the side. You got louder as you got closer to the edge - and to regaining consciousness - until you could take no more and your back arched from the couch as your boyfriend roused you from your slumber.
The pillow slipped out of your grasp and toppled onto the floor as one hand flew to your mouth. “Mingi, what the fuck?” You whimpered, finally waking up as waves of liquid bliss crashed over you. You had no control over the way your muscles contracted and instinctively closed your legs around his head as he helped you ride out your orgasm.
He didn’t stop lapping at your dripping cunt until your legs relaxed around his head. When you did release him, he removed his fingers from you so excruciatingly slowly and teasingly that you found yourself wanting more despite having just come down from your high. He made a show of sucking his fingers clean of your sweet release and grinned up at you as he fixed your panties.
“I couldn’t help myself, baby. You looked so good, all relaxed and vulnerable in nothing but my hoodie.” He smirked, shrugging as he sat up between your legs. You couldn’t formulate a proper response and opted instead to pull him down for a desperate kiss, rocking your hips against his.
“So fuck me like this then.” You whispered, knowing he wouldn’t refuse. You both needed it after what you just woke up to and he was happy to give it to you.
“Gladly, baby.” He whispered back before attacking your neck with kisses.
#kpop smut#ateez#ateez smut#ateez mingi#mingi#mingi smut#ateez song mingi#song mingi#song mingi smut#kinktober#alura’s works
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After a whole night thinking about the end of Chayanne and Lullah’s canon stories, and also watching a ton of animatics for Philza’s s4 hardcore world, I’ve come to a conclusion.
If hardcore has taught me anything, it’s that all stories must come to an end eventually.
However, it will always be more worth it to engage with these grand stories than to never at all. They can’t last forever, but the memories and joy earned along the way are entirely worth it. They create something unforgettable to smile back on.
It’s something I’ve learned from watching Philza’s hc adventure and continuing to love Technoblade’s videos and character. I can’t help but smile and be filled with wonder every time I see a drawing or animation that ties all the small moments of past narratives together.
Especially with Philza’s journey through hardcore. Losing a world is fucking devastating, but it makes so many opportunities. Even though there is a genuine risk of losing his world every time he logs in, the cc still continues to create incredible structures and his character continues to explore.
Honestly, Lullah and Chay’s admins must understand this so much more than me for being able to let an adventure rest. The circumstances might not be the best, but I’m glad they were able to say goodbye. I’m so fucking glad that there were laughs and smiles and tears. The future is bright and there is so much room to build up from here because of the work they’ve done.
Yes, I might be a bit sad, but now I’m also filled with wonder about the future to come. The Death Family will always have a place in my heart, and I know that the fan content is only gonna pop off from here! A chapter closed but another opened.
So yeah, a thank you to two of the ultimate crows! Thanks for allowing the rest of us to tag along and enjoy something so wonderful <3
#gosh… this will have to do for now#I have so many words for all of the admins but this might be the most important for me rn#I was literally watching hardcore world animatics and I realized I had to make a post#I was just feeling a lot of feelings#many positive ones that I wanted to share#I suppose a more direct thank you to the characters Ama and Sun created will have to come later lol#qsmp#qsmp admins#qsmp chayanne#qsmp tallulah#qsmp philza#philza hardcore#philza#qsmp text post
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friend wanted to see my tumblr, and when i told him i can’t show it to him bc it’s basically my personal diary he went “oh so I can’t see it but a bunch of strangers on tumblr can??” he literally does not get me. no one will get me like the people in my phone get me
#It’s just so different#even though it’s public it still feels secret and safe. i feel comfy sharing a lot more on here than I do in my actual day to day life lol#in my head I’m also just speaking to myself 90% of the time which helps#if a friend off tumblr saw my thoughts I’d feel so weird ab it#esp bc they might get the vagueposting about certain situations and tell mutual friends#no thank u. this is for me. I’m not about to start censoring my thoughts bc someone I know knows my tumblr#u guys literally saw me have LIVE BREAKDOWNS#meanwhile I’ll have the worst fucking day in history and tell no one about it. I’m already cripplingly private but way more so in real life#this is basically a low stress journaling outlet for me. it’s so important for me to maintain the separation#like this is actually my diary & has been so handy for letting out emotions / articulating thoughts / staying on track !!#& I’ve met so many kind people on here who actually get me. which is so hard to find irl bc I’m surrounded by pre-med gunners/overachievers#who are by standard not very good w emotion & can be competitive/judgmental. or at least it’s hard for me to be vulnerable in front of them#and I’m part of that crowd so I reserve my emotions only to a handful of very close friends#it’s nice to hop on here and express negative emotions!! or positive emotions!! just whatever I want and it’s low stress and people get me#I don’t have to worry about judgment or competitiveness etc etc#like everyone on here is so kind & nice & understanding. & just a breath of fresh air from the types I run w. it’s just nice to have this#so idk that’s why I think I’ll always be strict about keeping the worlds separate. it just works#p
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'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.
I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.
About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'
-Casey Plett, Consciousness
#this quote always moves me almost to tears when i remember it#i'm not a trans woman and i don't share the author's specific experiences with transition#but it really moves me that she frame transition as joyfully giving yourself permission to approach your body#not as something that has to be disciplined and deprived and made small in all these various ways#but as a means for experiencing pleasure and joy and delight and for insisting that our feelings and desires are worth#valuing and exploring and treasuring#i always used to think of prioritizing those things for myself as selfish and irresponsible#but who does it harm to want to experience pleasure in your own body?#it's such a beautifully simple and powerful switch to have flip in your head#and equally why are we forced to deny our own pleasure in transition and anything else related to our bodies in the name of moral rectitude#this is why i get so confused and pissed off when other trans people are fatphobic for example#like why are you so invested in politics of shame and disgust that never had any purpose other than#violently disciplining people as if they've violated moral codes by existing in a body#to say nothing of white people being racist in gay and trans communities#like again this system of violence is foundational to homophobia and transphobia#so why are you acting like it has nothing to do with you#even if you are unmoved by the urgency of other people's suffering which btw you should be moved by#what do you hope to gain by acting a collaborator and handmaiden to those systems#Casey Plett#she really is one of my favorite authors i wish more non-canadians read her#this quote is from a series of columns she did ont transition and every single one is a banger#i love when she talks about the people-pleasing elements of dysphoria and transition denial#she's so sharp about noting how many of us deny our own dysphoria on the grounds that others like and validate our bodies#that's how i always felt during my cis conventionally feminine era#it pleased other people so much and also that reception felt so hollow and joyless to me because i hated it#i get less of that positive feedback but that feels so unimportant next to the joy and pleasure i get to experience#said with the understanding that i'm very privileged in being able to prioritize those things without fear. but it was a switch flip#personal nonsense
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calling harry a “can opener” was SUCH a good play for so many reasons i think about it every day.
in the context of his work, it makes him a tool. as many people have pointed out, including martin luiga, part of the hdb tragedy is that he simply cannot leave the force, and his superiors know that and are using it to their advantage. no matter what happens, even if harry hated every nanosecond of every bit of the work and wanted to leave, he can’t and won’t leave. they can leverage anything they want against him and then reel him back in with a facade of kindness when they “allow” him to keep his job, as long as he does what they want him to. the 41st knows he has this inexplicable talent with people and they use him for it. he’s a cop: that talent can be used in so many awful ways, to push so many different agendas. and they won’t even be his own. a can opener has no particular desire to open a can, aside from maybe the satisfaction of fulfilling a purpose. a can opener has no agency, it’s just a tool for someone else to use to get what they want. and he’s learned to be okay with being used as long as it means he gets to stay. his complacency with this system makes him guilty even if he’s also being harmed by it.
but in the context of his personal life you kind of... flip it. the people around him are going to be opened up whether they want to be or not, and it’s terrible for his relationships. it’s shown that the questions, the prying- the can-opening- it’s become inextricable from who he is as a person. it’s like he doesn’t know how else to communicate, except it’s hardly communication when you’re just ripping people open. he’s invasive as all hell, although whether he means to be is debatable. he’s the kind of person that wants to take things apart to see what makes them tick. he dissects people, but really that’s too delicate of a word for what he does; if he doesn’t get what he wants right up front, he’ll abandon all subtlety and go for brute force. if he can’t get your screws loose he’ll just smash you on the ground and pick through your pieces until he’s satisfied, and if what he did to you isn’t fixable? oh well, there are other cans to open.
and he’ll use it for personal gain: we already know he is (was?) manipulative. once he knows how you operate, he knows how to make you keep him. he can yell or he can cry; he can threaten you or he can threaten himself; he can be completely suffocating or he can withdraw completely; he can be an incorrigible liar or brutally honest; he can present himself as a threat or a joke or a talent. he’s a chimera- that’s why he’s got this inexplicable magnetism, even when people know they shouldn’t like or trust him. fidelity of character means nothing to him. he’ll be whatever he needs to be as long as it gets him what he wants. the can-opening is just his way in.
#disco elysium#harry du bois#and it works on us the audience as well!#look at how many different versions of harry there are out there. each tailored to our individual preferences#we exaggerate and minimize his traits according to what we want to see. he's can-opening us too!#it's just like. of course his job will frame the can opening as a positive thing#but it's honestly one of his worst traits. or at least it is when he doesn't keep it in check#there's nothing wrong with wanting to understand people but the way he goes about it is harmful to everyone including himself#he's doing it because he has ulterior motives like 99.999998% of the time#this is mostly about pre-martinaise harry but i have no doubts that post-martinaise harry can go right back to this btw#a lot of us prefer to think of harry as drastically improving after martinaise which is great and i'd like to hope he does but.#it's also good to consider the overwhelming possibility that he will go right back to being a total shithead#and that may be completely unintentionally! which almost makes it worse!#ALSO. this is part of why kim makes a very good foil#for the most part kim will stonewall anything he doesn't feel like sharing#harry needs to respect boundaries and by god does kim have a lot of those (affectionate)#HOWEVER kim is definitely susceptible to the can opening as well#wait okay i have another post idea.#anyway thanks for reading. as always feel free to add and share thoughts!#kiwipost#hdb meta
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Getting emotional reading my textbook which includes images of cadavers - people who likely donated their bodies in order for them to now educate me. It's about learning, it's about care, and it's about supporting each other. I hope that wherever they are, they know I am grateful to all of them. I don't know them, but they now have made such a profound and humbling impact on me
Maybe this is too macabre for some, but those images in my textbook were of my fellow people, and I think it's right to be grateful for their contribution to my education, to me, it is such a selfless and kind act, something I have trouble quantifying. It feels almost holy, something which I am almost unworthy of
#positivity#death positive#death tw#death mention tw#freaking it in the club sensitive style right now (sobbing over strangers' dead bodies)#it might be weird to some to find beauty in this but i just see this as wholly selfless for the people whose bodies were imaged#and i am sure it's more complex a process than what people (including me) think but still#my prof pointed at one of the images and told us the person likely had a stroke and. i don't know how to process that#i just want to share this because i feel so many things about this and i want to find something good in everything#and it's all complex and heart-wrenching and we find something in it all
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do you make enough money from selling prints in etsy to sustain your life? how are you able to afford this beautiful house and time to crochet and go on walks and all of that? i’m not asking for nosiness but because i’m trying to figure out what i would need to do in order to make my life financially sustainable… is art an option… etc
short answer i mooch off my bf <333333333333333
#long answer part 1: i make enough off my etsy to afford my stuff (and i really don't buy much) and help out w th food bills where i can etc#i hvnt been able to do much of that OR save anything for the past couple months bc i hvnt been selling much BUT . things are beginning#to pick up again and i hve new stock to add when i get back from holidays :3#i have a smallish job lined up from my agent which is exciting! but hopefully i will make enough w her doing picture books etc to be able#to pay my keep / save more etc! i hve been anxious abt money this past months but thats just more so money for me to spend on small stuff :#i also dont drive so . i dont rlly hve many outwards expenses . im very lucky to have him hes very kind and lovely !!#if i wasnt w him and he didnt hve a house i would still b living w my mama which i did since i left uni!#long answer part 2: i always make time for goofing off during my work day. always!!!#part of the joys of being a freelancer! i can do what i want!!#i can share my routine in more detail if u guys want but i dont start work until abt 2pm-ish most days bc i dont rlly work well in the#mornings. when i hve more work that might change!! i have enough on to keep me busy but im not rlly hvin 2 manage my time u kno#im very very lucky to be in such a comfortable position :3 i hope one day u can be as comfy !!#oh also. i think once the agency work kicks in i will b fine financially ! and also u can absolutely make a living off etsy when its good#its very good for me ! i was very comfy financially around xmas last year i made a lot#u can do it u can do it !! art will always sell !!
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sometimes i come onto the internet, a place such as tumblr or instagram or x dot com, and see a tag or comment, or two, or three, that make me take a very very deep breath and convince myself not to just give it up— it being art, or very recently now this silly figure skating AU that is meant to be fun for me, but the lack of tact and general disregard for etiquette people seem to have when leaving their thoughts behind on my work can make that very very hard
#i am already wrestling with so many of my own thoughts i don't need any more negative ones in here adding to the pile#it's to a point where i feel like i want to just dial back on posting any more about it#which absolutely sucks because i love sharing things and the majority of the feedback i get is positive#but then you get that one shitty comment or tag that just nestles into your brain and lives there and starts to eclipse everything else
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ramyatta roleswap au extracts
Pairing: Ramattra/Zenyatta word count: 1533 Notes: some extracts from a hypothetical fic of my ramyatta roleswap au, ramblings/explanation ab it here on twitter! Takes place in a time similar to current canon. Ramattra meeting Zenyatta for the first time since the latter left Shambali
There.
Hidden within the shadows of chaos and discord he noted the lone omnic. Such a beautifully simple model. Face plates serene, original purpose lost to the tides of time forever to remain a mystery.
It may have been decades since he had lived his first life as a Ravager beneath Anubis’ command, built and taught for war, but he had never truly gotten rid of the lessons he’d been bestowed from that time. Unable, and more privately, unwilling, to part with such valuable knowledge, regardless of the pain and grief they brought. to him.
Every part of him that had once been a general hummed in approval at the sheer brilliance displayed by Null Sector. After all, who could possibly suspect the ruthless and feared leader of Null Sector to be such a passive appearing garden variant omnic? A perfect disguise. Ingenious. One of the millions, doubtlessly unremarkable and unimposing to any fool who didn’t know better.
But Ramattra knew. Knowledge irreversibly and deeply etched into his code and his chassis. For a moment, he'd forgotten he lacked the lungs required to breathe, his air stolen by the mere sight of the other omnic. Wires and circuits long frayed sparking to life in answer to his awestruck state.
He stole, needed, a second longer to collect himself. Forcing himself to tear his optics away from the omnic and towards the sounds of gunfire and explosions, the rubble and ruin, just around the corner. A pointed reminder of his task at hand. Ulterior motives had to wait, he could not afford to dally when his allies and his people were in danger.
(Even as logic dictated his moves, he could not stop the sheer ache within his chest cavity. How long had it been since he'd last seen the omnic? He knew, of course, down to the last millisecond. How long he had waited for this moment, since their promise. Because it had been a promise, hadn't it?)
"I see that you've been quite busy since last we've met, Zennyatta," his voice kept carefully light as he walked into the omnic's line of sight, closing the distance between them with easy steps, his grip on his shepherd staff hiding the faint tremor that ran through his hands and discord raging within his core. He had no doubt that the other hadn't noticed him yet, that he had chosen to wait for Ramattra to make the first move and it ached.
It felt as though an eternity passed before Zenyatta turned his head towards him, looking up at him. Their kind had no faces for expressions, and though some had chosen modifications to mimic them, that applied to neither of them. Still, they had body language. They had their energy.
The relief and sheer delight in Zenyatta's form could have had him weeping, had he chosen to give himself that ability.
"Ramattra," Zenyatta murmured, and oh. How long it had been since Ramattra had last heard that voice utter his name. How dearly he had missed it.
"I don't suppose I could simply put a cease to this destruction so that we may talk in peace, could I?" wry amusement colored his tone, otherwise kept steady. For all the discord within him, he could never forget his place and his duty. He couldn't bring himself to bear the guilt of trying, as much temptation rang at his door. Years of biting his tongue, metaphorically, engrained deep. Still, he did not look away from Zenyatta, the one indulgence he could excuse. His optics carefully drinking in every inch of the other omnic, quietly, desperately.
Zenyatta laughed at his quip, painfully familiar and causing warmth to bloom in his system. He hadn't even realized how cold he'd felt moments before.
"It is good to see you, Ramattra."
"Likewise," he replied immediately, because it was. Undeniably, truly, was. But his voice quieted, a heavy sigh falling out, "I only wish we could have met again under better circumstances."
"I had noticed you were not there when Brother Mondatta condemned me."
Ramattra huffed, shifting where he stood as he glanced away, "You will find that I have held… uncertainties over some of Master Mondatta's opinions for far longer than you have."
"And yet," Zenyatta's gaze passive yet sharp, "It is only I who has decided to act upon our doubts."
"Do not be so emboldened as to assume me a fool, brother," oh, if only he could smile. Image of humans doing the same dancing at the corners of his mind, thin lipped and weary. The thought brought him to a slight pause. He'd been surrounded by far too many humans of late in search of Zenyatta, "Of course I have considered… alternative methods. Not all of my pilgrimages and ventures out of the monastery were particularly peaceful. You, of all people know that."
"So you must forgive me for failing to see why you would wish to stop me."
"There is nothing of you to forgive, for there is nothing I haven't already forgiven," his voice was quiet. A terribly foolish thing to admit, but he could not bring himself to lie to Zenyatta on his. He could lie to others and to himself, but not Zenyatta.
A foolish thing. But then again, he'd always been a bit of a fool around the other omnic. Perhaps it ought to be of relief to find that that much had not changed between them.
"You fight for our people, you fight for our lives," Ramattra continued, emboldened, "I know you take no joy in the violence, in the destruction. I know that you subjugate yourself and those innocent to it not out of sadism, not out of some corrupted coding, but out of desperation. Out of fear and care. You act out of love. Love and deep grief," he was certain, because he felt the same. It was so horribly easy to see them side by side in another life, sowing discord in vain hopes to bring order and peace, "How could I possibly resent you for loving our people?"
“I only fear that you will only find pain and failure upon this path,” Ramattra murmured, his head tilting to the side. His hand curling around his crook and small whir of a sigh, betraying his unease, “I should know, brother."
“Failure is acceptable, giving up is not,” Zenyatta countered, words spoken far too artificially for him to take any comfort from them, “If I am to give up now, then what message could possibly be imparted? That the will of omnics is flimsy? Breakable?”
“That we are not adverse to peace,” he replied evenly. The implication of frustration shown in the terseness of his chosen tone, the stiffness of his body, if only his exhaustion wasn't made much clearer, "We have fought for it for far too long to give it up. It is not right of us to undo the progress that Master Mondatta and the Shambali had worked for-"
"Master Mondatta left us before he could succeed," Zenyatta said quietly, so surely and it was the first time Ramattra could remember feeling anger towards the other omnic.
"Do not try to imply that change can die with one being," he snapped, harsher than he'd intended, but the images that'd been haunting him ever since he'd realized just exactly who was in charge of Null Sector burned bright and vivid in his processors. His anger held naught in comparison to the paralyzing fear he felt at the mere idea of Zenyatta's demise.
“I can't lose you!” Ramattra snapped, hands spasming in place, body frozen from overwhelming emotions before suddenly moving, lunging forward and grabbing onto Zenyatta's shoulders. His height had him towering over the other omnic, yet still, he felt as though he were on his knees, “There is only so much I can do, there is only so much I can handle. I am sorry, I am sorry and I can only beg for forgiveness for such weakness but please,” his voice module distorting as his composure, usually so proudly maintained and kept, turned to ash before them.
Foolish. Idiotic. Truly weak. Was there anyone he could save? He could not save Mondatta. He could not save their people. And now, he was failing to save Zenyatta. How pathetic could he be? How low could he fall?
“I cannot bear the weight of your loss,” desperation poured from each of his words, yet even then, his touch remained gentle. Far too gentle. Restrained and controlled, as he was taught and as he had learned, “Do not ask that of me, I will not be able to."
He could force Zenyatta to stop. He could physically restrain the more fragile omnic and take him far away. For his own good, for all of their good.
But Ramattra would not. No matter how part of him ached to demand. To take. To be. He could not. It had been so long since he was allowed to want for himself, he had forgotten how.
“Please, Zenyatta,” he pleaded, words barely recognizable past the static, because begging was all he had left, “I cannot lose you too.”
#ramyatta#ramattra#zenyatta#tekhartha zenyatta#fanfic#void writes#roleswap au#goes to make a tumblr. forgetting that i actually Did make a tumblr#going to slowly try n post the ficlets i've shared on twitter here bc ik the image format i use there can be hard to read o7#and also tumblr tags beloved i get to ramble more now#thinks ab this au.... mirrorverse has some of its own thoughts but thinks ab ramattra forced into the position... as a treat#v happy w/ the last part of this one ramattra is a lot ab desperation and yearning to me and i like to write it that way#thinking ab writing more for this au bc... thinks ab it.... but many things i want to write head in hands#we shall see....
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