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predestinatos · 10 months

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too cold | MV1 ⋆꙳❅ ‧*❆ ₊⋆

pairing: max verstappen x female!reader

summary: stormy weather leads to stormy thoughts about a years long friendship.

tags: best friends to lovers, soo cheesy, fluff, giddy max, super whipped for reader!!, wearing his sweater, just so much softness!

author's note: i dreamt about max for some reason and he's been living in my head rent free so... i had to let this out!! hope you like it. it's a short cute thing so..!

word count: 3.5k

warnings: -

It was cold and stormy that day. You had expected it, the forecasts all telling you the same thing, your hair completely tangled in itself as soon as you stepped out of the house into the car.

You planned it all, including getting there earlier, so you could spend as much time with Max as possible – you never skipped the pleasant silence of his presence at least once a week. What you hadn’t planned was for you two to get carried away with taking buzzfeed quizzes and personality tests to the point where it was dark outside, the storm more aggressive, more threatening, and more dangerous.

“Shit,” you muttered when the wind outside made the windows tremble with extreme force, their sound almost like a warning voice in the night. “How am I going home like this?” you asked yourself out loud, desperate and scared, as Max completed yet another ‘What’s Your Mental Age Based on Your Choice of Cutlery’ quiz. He glanced outside nonchalantly, almost carelessly, as if the question was ridiculously easy to answer, close to ironic.

Before going back to the seriousness of the questions at hand, he shrugged, shoulders going up and down in explicit tranquility. “You can stay over” he stated, his finger hovering over a weirdly shaped spoon that said ‘shit stirrer’ on its surface. You let out a breath that indicated his joke was funny yet not useful in the slightest given your current dilemma, to which he looked at you and laughed back, assuming you were amused at the choice of teaspoon he had just made. “Max, I’m serious” you voiced your urgency and fear with those words. “Me too” he continued, eyes glued on the screen, yet slightly confused at your own comment.

At your audible sigh and attempt to get up from his bed, where you comfortably laid scrolling through your phone for options, he turned around from his chair which was facing the screen. “You’re not leaving” he said, in a concerned tone of a friend who refused to let you be consumed by the rapidly increasing rain. “I don’t understand what the matter is” he continued as he saw you searching through his room for your things, messily scattered on the floor, reminiscent of childhood times spent together.

You merely looked at him in response, the answer obvious to you but seemingly not to him, only hitting him hard in the face as a joke he couldn’t help but laugh at seconds later. “You always slept here” he said, astonished at your reluctance and apparent timidness. “Yeah, Max. When we were 11” you protested, tucking some hair behind your ear as you looked for your charger. “Plus, I don’t have a pajama, or spare underwear” your arms now crossed across your chest, mimicking his own, a baffled smile on his lips.

“You can wear one of my sweaters. And like, my boxers, or something” this made your mouth drop in ridiculous surprise, a fear in your eyes which he didn’t understand. “I’m serious! It’s better than you going out with this storm!” his arm pointed towards the window, the view outside a paid actor because a lightning appeared violently before both of you. With a winning grin, he finished his argument with a “C’mon I’ll let you choose the outfit.”

Opening the drawers, you let yourself take a look at the collection of multicolored sweaters organized neatly. Your eyes landed on a grey one, which looked a bit worn out but comfortable at the same time, its marks of usage being a testament to its quality. You grabbed it and noticed that it smelled like Max, like the years of friendship you two shared. “The boxers are in the other drawer” Max interrupted your thoughts, yet his indifferent air made you less awkward about this situation, almost like it was normal that this was happening, like you were both 10 again, popcorn being prepared in the small kitchen next door.

You let yourself randomly choose some of his underwear, trying your best not to look too much at it, knowing little to nothing about how to even begin choosing such a thing for yourself. The strong wind whistled outside, and Max’s fingers hit the keyboard, creating a soothing lullaby.

“I’m- uh-… going then” you said, making your way towards the bathroom as he happily nodded, the familiarity of the house being a known fact for both of you.

The truth was, Max missed you. A lot. He missed hanging out with you all night, watching really bad films and playing silly videogames, drinking some beers and enjoying yourselves. Lately, he hadn’t had the time to do all these things, let alone doing them with you, and even though he did not plan this storm in the slightest, he was glad for it. The rain came as a reminder that you two had a year long friendship you could still enjoy, the sound blending with the one coming from the bathroom as you turned on the shower.

Sleeping over only got weird given the fact that Max was a boy and you were a girl, but it shouldn’t have been like that. In his mind, nothing changed, and nothing should have to change – he still wanted you as close as he did when you two watched scary video compilations on youtube and spent all night hiding under the covers and whispering in an attempt to not ‘awake the big monster’.

He still wanted to spend time with you when you were 16 and started talking about how cute his friends were, asking him if they were single or not as you put a lollipop in your mouth and painted your nails in colorful amusement.

He still wanted you to sleep over even when his girlfriends told him they didn’t quite like the fact that he was so close with you, that he seemed to want to be with you more than with them, that he dropped everything as soon as you texted him a slightly unusual text.

And it was normal, and alright, because you were best friends, because you knew each other better than your own selves, because you’d recognize his laugh in the middle of a crowd even with noise cancelling headphones, and he would recognize the smile you made when you were flustered even if he was blindfolded.

It was also normal for him to smile to himself and feel the happiest he has felt in a while, because he missed you, and you were staying over and nothing would have felt better than knowing he had a night full of your presence.

Meanwhile, you stood in his all-too familiar shower, accepting the fact that he had no conditioner, and a shampoo would have to do for the night. Simultaneously, this made you reflect on the clear fact that he had probably had no stable, consistent, female presence in his life in a while. As the liquid dropped in your hand and you brought your hands to your hair, thoughts about previous relationships of his flooded your mind.

They never ended well, and the guilt you felt because of it was ever present. Max was the best friend you could’ve asked for, because he always picked you, no matter what. In fact, he gave it no thought nor justification, not to you or his previous relationships. He accepted the fact that you were his priority as a given, something so natural as breathing, as blood pumping through his veins. You couldn’t deny you did the same. Previous partners of yours weren’t too fond of his constant need to assess and approve of them, of how he was your emergency contact whenever anything happened, how you made sure you spent time with him at least once a week.

Feeling the foam forming on your scalp, you remembered the times where you two bathed together, the innocence of gone times flying through your head with fondness. Of course, you two grew, and while you never broke the bond that formed between you, it was also harder to continue certain traditions you maintained.

Your teenage years were filled with angst and some bickering over how uncomfortable he made your dates, or how all he did was talk about girls when you two were together. You used each other as diaries and confidantes, keeping secrets in a closed vault made of memories. Nothing really had changed besides your ages, and none of you were dating, or at least it did not seem like it.

As you washed your body with lavender scented soap, you realized this is what you were missing – the comfortability of being the most like yourself you could possibly be, alongside him.

Max stared at the “You Are 14 Years Old!” result on his computer, reading the in depth description on how that one fork gave his age away, when he heard your shout for his name coming from the now foggy bathroom, the place now looking more like Silent Hill or a liminal space. Removing one side of his headphones off, his voice echoed throughout the apartment “Yes?”, filled with softness and worry, a completely unknown care for you which wasn’t displayed by anyone else but him. Smiling to yourself, you replied, “do you seriously only own one bath towel?”

Removing both of his headphones off now, with realization hitting him and he jumped from his seat, he ran towards the drawer that possessed all the other towels he stored in organized fashion. “Shit! No! Sorry! I’m on my way!” he said urgently, grabbing one as he ran towards the bathroom, opening its door and popping only one arm in, his eyes facing the wall but also closed with affirming need to reassure you that he wasn’t looking, refused to look, would never even consider to do such a thing.

You pulled the fabric off his hand as you thanked him with a soft giggle, his previous nonchalant attitude vanishing upon the thought of seeing you naked – which you weren’t, and he would’ve realized this had he considered the fact that the bathroom possessed ONE towel, currently wrapped around your now wet body. Shivering with cold, you got yourself dry as fast as you could, while Max sat back down in his chair, cursing to himself at his clumsiness and lack of thought.

Examining yourself in the mirror as dried your hair off (after several minutes of looking for the hairdryer, not wanting to put Max through the whole ordeal of performing the biggest demonstration of respect towards one’s privacy ever witnessed) you noticed something you hadn’t before. This simple, yet incriminating item put into question your previous thoughts about Max’s lack of companionship in his home, your eyebrows furrowed and your mouth turning downwards at the thought that he was hiding something from you.

On the tiny little cup sitting on the sink, there were two toothbrushes. They were carefully put together in a magical arrangement of colors that indicated that one had to be able to tell them apart, like each had its own owner. Suddenly, the whole idea of sleeping over – hell, of wearing Max’s clothes – seemed ridiculously selfish. You had done it before, but you were adults now, and with adulthood came a sense of responsibility and respect that hit you in the face like a slap, the simple idea of an innocent sleepover with your best friend sounding absolutely childish and ridiculous.

“Max?” you called out again, a deep breath escaping your lungs as you sat down on the toilet seat, hair still slightly damp, towel still wrapped around your body upon your refusal to put his clothes on. “Yes?” he replied once again, a feeling of déjà vu invading your thoughts, a repetition of mere seconds before yet with rose tinted glasses off.

“I think it’s best if I just go home,” you muttered, even though you hadn’t moved. Realistically, the idea of going out there terrified you, but perhaps not as much as staying over, given the current situation. Putting your underwear back on after showering felt dirty, but perhaps wearing his clean one after noticing another one’s presence in his room, his life, his thoughts, made you feel even dirtier.

“Come on, I bet your outfit looks amazing” he said jokingly, assuming you were embarrassed about your current look, trying to lighten up the mood with teasing reassurance. Getting up once again, he stood near the bathroom door, head close to it as if trying to listen to the fabric against your skin, some hint of your own amused presence. All he heard was silence, one so unbelievably loud he felt something off, something wrong. “Can I come in?” he asked, his voice now more careful, more tender, and more concerned.

You only murmured in allowance, and noticed the doorknob turn as he stepped inside. “What’s up?” he asked, his eyes revealing deep concern with slight embarrassment over the painting you two were probably creating. Him, pajama pants and hoodie on, glasses now slightly foggy; you, with droplets falling down your hair as you looked down, hugging the towel tightly against your body. “I don’t want to cause any trouble” you said as you unconsciously looked back at the toothbrushes which now seemed to stare at you both accusingly, judgingly.

“Why would you- Oh,” he interrupted himself, his gaze following yours towards the same spot, his look going from confused to serious to utterly humored. “This?” he asked again, grabbing the small toothbrush from the cup, its cable a pretty yellow shade. “What’s your favorite color again?” he continued, waving the object in front of your face as you stared at it in confusion.

Looking up, you replied simply “yellow- oh,” it was your turn to interrupt yourself, now realizing how you had almost forgotten your childhood promise, yet surprised as well at the fact that he had kept it after all these years, the innocence of the act causing your heart to hurt slightly.

“It’s always been here. I mean, not the same one, obviously, but… a spare toothbrush” he explained, even though he did not have to, his hand playfully messing your hair before he headed bac towards the door. “Get dressed, silly. We have films to watch” his warm voice instructed you with tenderness before he closed the door behind him.

Stepping out of the bathroom, finally dry and dressed, you forced Max to close his eyes before looking at you. “Don’t make fun of me or I’ll leave” you threatened jokingly, as his eyes remained tightly shut with his hands in front of them dramatically. “I won’t I promise!” he claimed, yet he was already laughing, the sound of it reminding you of the years of togetherness you both shared.

“Okay, you can look” you finally gave your permission, as he took his hands off his face and blinked fast, the lights suddenly blinding him. At first, he just stared at you, expression absolutely unreadable. Then, he burst into laughter, apologizing as his giggles filled the bedroom. “I look ridiculous” you complained, the long sleeves covering your hands and flopping lazily as you did so. “No you look adorable!” he tried to protest, laughter insistent on making its way through his lips, his eyes shining with happy tears. “Adorably ridiculous” you continued, rolling your eyes and throwing yourself on the bed defeatedly, your head buried in his pillow, filled with the scent of him.

Knowing your mood would change soon, Max merely smiled to himself as he started putting a film on, the choice being the Twilight saga – easy to watch, entertaining, fun, and he could tease you about it constantly, pretending he didn’t enjoy it himself. Bags of jellybeans hit your head as he threw them towards you, in an attempt to wake you from your moody attitude. “C’mon grumpy I have beer” he poked you as he sat on the bed as well, pressing play and opening a bag which he waved in front of your face as you got up lazily.

“’I know what you are’ ‘Say it. Out loud. Say it!’ ‘Vampire’” you said the lines along with the film, echoing each and every intonation and expression. Popping a bear shaped jellybean in his mouth as he took another sip of his beer, Max interrupted your acting session by saying “can you imagine how awkward it would be if it was something else entirely and he would just be like… ‘uh no’” and laughing to himself. Your arm flew to his as you punched it angrily, despite the fact that you were giggling to yourself.

Something about getting you slightly on your nerves while also making you smile made Max feel almost at home, in a safe space without comparison, only available to him when you were around. He felt himself in a constant state of meditation whenever he was around you, his breathing naturally adjusting itself to match yours.

Instinctively, and not out of the ordinary for any of you, he grabbed your hand and played with it softly, his fingers feeling the soft texture of your skin and pinching it with playful tenderness. You never questioned it, and neither did he, this need you two had to display affection more than most friends did, the need to always be in some sort of contact with each other, to feel each other’s warmth and presence closely. Without taking his eyes off of the film, seemingly very intensely focused on Edward’s skin of a killer, he spoke up. “You don’t look ridiculous,” he said, as you held your gaze on the film, yet laughing at his comment, expecting a joke to be made about how what’s on the screen is way more embarrassing than you in his underwear. Yet he said something completely different. “You always look pretty. Very pretty” his voice was soft as he now looked at you, and you felt his gaze on your skin, your cheeks, your eyelashes, yet refused to look at him and face whatever was happening in that night.

The windows rattled once again, breaking the momentary spell that hovered in the room, hypnotizing both of you with the haze of uncertain feelings. You heard his breathing as well, heavy and nervous now, his heart racing and yours matching his, maybe because you were so deeply connected or maybe because your feelings and his were now the same shade of complexity.

You wondered if this is why you had stopped sleep overs together. Perhaps it was the fear of facing the fact that things were not as simple and easy to brush off when the clock hit 3am and his hand was on his and your head on his shoulder and you had no intention of moving. And he shared these same thoughts, realizing how that letting go of you right now would probably be the worst thing that could happen, the scariest thought that could possibly cross his mind.

All this happened in fractions of second, too short for any of you to truly acknowledge what was happening, his voice interrupting both of your thoughts as he spoke once again, “obviously not as pretty as Edward Cullen but-“ to which you rolled your eyes and laughed. “I bet he’d look better in your sweatshirt” you said, another sip of beer falling on your lips.

“Impossible” he replied, a smile on his lips, his eyes finally meeting yours and then taking your whole appearance in, your cheeks blushing shyly at how attentively he looked at you, at how his gaze seemed so tender and soft. A sudden urgency to feel his lips on yours filled your thoughts with sheer intensity that terrified you. You hadn’t seen Max that way, hadn’t considered it nor question it before, not even when your dates and boyfriends accused you of things, not when your friends commented on how you looked at him. Yet in that exact moment, something shifted completely, perhaps stirred by the storm outside, perhaps because it simply felt right in that moment to feel wrong.

“Can I kiss you?” he suddenly asked. The innocence of the question made you giggle, the contrast between his soft and careful voice and his adult look with a week old stubble making you giddy and timid as you nodded.

His lips touched yours with caution, yet with undeniable fondness that made you question why this hadn’t happened before. You felt his smile in between the kiss, the satisfaction of finally breaking this unknown wall that had existed between you for so long, and which you remained so unaware about.

Pulling away, Max’s eyes stared into yours before moving to the screen, a satisfied smile on his now slightly redder than usual lips, your own face mimicking his. “Edward Cullen could never kiss as well as you” he whispered, earning himself another soft punch, followed by 3 more films worth of kissing.

#max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fanfic #formula 1 #f1 fic #f1 fluff #f1 fandom #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 #formula one #f1blr

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artanis-draws · 11 months

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EDIT: I have to add this! You HAVE to read this fanfic, cause there is a chapter that fits almost perfectly to this drawing! At least in my opinion.... but besides that, this story is so so great! I highly recommend!!: Look for the Light - Chapter 1 - Feral_Cinnamon_Roll - Star Wars - All Media Types [Archive of Our Own] I just loove the idea of Din comforting Luke, when he finally opens up to him and talks about all the things he’s been through ❤️ And of course the rain is a paid actor to „hide“ Luke‘s tears. Btw I am very proud of this kriffin’ raindrops on that beskar 😅🫣

While painting, I listened to this song on a continuous loop to really capture the mood and regularly break my heart thinking about the scene.

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harmonictechnicality · 2 years

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model!steve and voice actor!Eddie (part 2)

part 1 here | ao3 link here | the temp is up on this one so like... dni if under 18 pls

Steve spends a lot of his spare time at the gym. Comes with the territory of modeling or whatever. Gotta keep himself strong, without developing bulging muscles. Gotta keep himself toned, without becoming too lean. Somewhat of a balancing act to this media fuckery circus.

Times are changing, yeah maybe. But not for puffy-lipped preps with killer bone structure. Steve still falls under the category of stereotypical Pretty Boy, and he’s chill with that. Fucking owns it.

Most days…

He’s currently cooling down on the treadmill - brisk walk, almost a jog. It’s a good pace for multitasking some adult shit that he needs to get done. Staying hydrated, keeping his photoshoot calendar up-to-date, answering a few emails. Yada yada.

Steve takes a swig of his seaweed (more like arsenic) smoothie. Opens the top email that reads:

The Fallen King - Final Commercial Cut

Right. Steve almost forgot about this particular shoot. Well, tried to repress the thoughts of that mega-douche director who kept referring to Steve’s ass as ‘prime real estate.’ Fucking creep.

He scrolls down to the attached file and slides his headphones back over his ears.

The ad opens with a wide shot of Steve draped over the throne, fog swelling around the bottom of the screen. The music is an eerie cello solo, set to a heavy bassline.

Just another oversexualized cologne campaign, he thinks. Probably will barely feature the product because they paid big money for Steve’s body. Gotta get their fill of it (ha, they fucking wish Steve would fill them up).

But then the narration rolls into his ears and the room does a somersault. Practically inverts it’s axis at the sound dripping in Steve’s ears:

‘The mighty will fall from grace…’

“Oh shit.” Steve almost wipes out on the treadmill, has to catch his fall on the side bars. His knees are tingling, calves molten and shaky. Already half hard, which is definitely going to be a problem in these flimsy, mesh gym shorts.

‘Forbidden love and public slander…’

But that voice. That tone. That sinful register set in the minor key of Holy Fuck.

‘Will bring them to their knees.’

Alright, that fucking does it. Steve pauses the video before he’s fully tenting-out in a goddamn fitness center. Packs up his shit, chucks the sludge smoothie in the trash, and finds an empty stall. Emphatically locks it.

“Agh, damnit!” Steve's thumb slips over the screen and exits out of the video. It scrolls back to the top of the email - a new message has been added to the chain.

Seriously, what obnoxious fucker does ‘Reply All’ these days?

The new message reads:

Great work, team. (Sorry for being such a vocal slut.)

(… Not that sorry though.) - Eddie Munson

That’s right - the voice artist. Almost didn’t recognize the voice, but the repressed memory of that day comes flying to the surface when Steve sees the name.

He recalls the guy being objectively cute too. Not in the California ‘sun-kissed skin’ kind of way. More in the Seattle ‘rain forces me to be a pale homebody’ kind of way. His eyes were something else though. They reminded Steve of the sepia tone filters he used in his early modeling portfolio. No way in hell Steve could ever forget knockout eyes like that.

The locker room is empty. Steve reopens the video, raises the volume high enough to mute out the thin hum from the air conditioning unit. Only wants to hear Eddie’s voice. That’s it.

He’s already touching himself when the first phrase falls out of the headphones. Can’t even help it now that he’s alone. It’s all too good. Works himself up all stuffy and sensitive by the time the new part comes up:

‘Drenched in their guilt. Soaked in their shame.’

Fucking christ.

‘Choking on worthless confessions…’

Nope. Nope. Absolutely not. Choking? Worthless? What is this, a sado hotline? Steve feels the heat spreading on his neck, flushed over in a non-exercise way. There’s a thump in his dick, has to squeeze his fingers around it. Like his body needs a reminder to calm the fuck down.

‘Until all that is left of them is desolate darkness.’

Pretty sure the raspy exhale after every phrase is going to do Steve in, saturate his last ounce of dignity with want. Eddie’s breathing is taking Steve’s breath away, and that’s an outright mindfuck. Earfuck.

Something is getting fucked, and somehow, Steve still needs more.

While the song sustains, Steve strokes himself to the percussive rhythm.

‘The Fallen King. The scent of secrets.’

The hiss on the last syllable fades into the music till everything fizzles out, going dead silent.

Well, everything goes silent except for Steve, who is utterly rattled. Can hear his dense breath and it’s way too noisy for a public space. The pulse in his neck is irregular, hitched the fuck up. His smartwatch is buzzing, alerting him that his heart rate is elevated, which duh. His whole body feels like it underwent some sexual awakening in the middle of a fitness center.

And, sure. That’s a common place for people to realize how gay and desperate they are, but not like this. Not with zero visuals of sweaty bodies.

Before he starts the video over to… finish the job, a phone call lights up his screen. Because of course it does.

He reads the name and swipes it open. “What’s up, Buckley?”

“I need coffee.” Robin whines, already pouting into the phone speaker no doubt.

“You always need coffee.”

“Yeah but like… it tastes better when you buy me coffee.”

“Oh, so you want to mooch off of your own client?” Steve teases because he can. They can annoy the shit out of each other and write it off as endearment. “Pretty unprofessional of you, Ms. Manager.”

Robin groans. Makes it a long one too - probably to show off both her annoyance and lung capacity. “Fuck all the way off, you were my friend first. Always friends first.”

“Always friends first.” Steve agrees. She’s right, usually is about most things. Robin has been his manager since his last agency went bankrupt from pouring their funds into promoting Fyre Fest. And everyone knows that turned out to be an entire fuckshow.

Honestly, it’s easier this way - Robin being his manager. They get to hang out more, he has more input on gigs that he’s interested in…

Interested in. Huh. The metaphorical lightbulb flicks on in Steve’s voice-drunk brain. Having his best friend as his manager is also convenient when Steve needs the phone number of a certain co-worker.

“Alright, fine.” Steve has a sly grin on as he talks. “I’ll bring over some coffee.”

“Thank god.”

“If!”

“Ugh.”

He huffs out a laugh. “If you can send me the cast and crew contact sheet from the Fallen King commercial.”

“Ew, why?” Robin asks, sounds totally repulsed. Valid, that shoot was Objectification Station.

But truly, Steve’s not in the mood to make up an excuse. He’s sore and sweaty and half-hard. So he just gets to the damn point. “Look, do you want coffee or not?”

“Okay okay.” That’s one way to speed up the process. Caffeine threats - works every time. “Dropping the file to you now.”

“You’re the best.” Steve sings.

“I know, I know.” And the line clicks dead.

Okay. This is not a booty call, it’s not.

Steve is just texting a semi-stranger to tell him that his voice is potentially the hottest thing he’s ever heard. Okay, he’ll definitely phrase it better than that, maybe throw a few emojis in there to normalize the tone. Soften it up to sound very un-stalkery.

Yeah. Not a booty call. And if Eddie happens to send an audio message, and Steve happens to jerk off to it… still not a booty call, right?

Pathetic, maybe. But not basic, thank fuck.

He types, then re-types the message out way too many times before settling on this:

Steve: Great work on the commercial voiceover! Got ur number from the call sheet. hope that’s cool.

Steve hits send before realizing he didn’t have the goddamn common sense to introduce himself. He’s not even a rookie at hookups, why is he suddenly so frazzled by this guy?

“This is Steve by the way…” he mumbles into an audio message. Hits send, then quickly makes another:

“The… model guy.”

The model guy? What in the flustered hell is going on with him?

A chime notification goes off maybe two minutes after Steve sends the last message. Which is like… hot. Shameless fast texters are a millennial turn-on, for sure.

It’s a voice text, so Steve takes thirty seconds to calm down whatever involuntary throb just happened in his sweatpants. He sucks in some air and presses play:

“Pretty sure all the kids these days just send a ‘u up’ message to people they wanna dick down at midnight.”

Damn. Eddie’s voice sounds totally different, but just as sexy. Like amateur porn sexy. Is amateur audio porn a thing? It should be.

Steve quickly saves the audio file and types back.

Steve: Ok pls don’t mention ‘kids’ while I’m trying to flirt with u

Eddie: Waitwaitwait So we're definitely flirting right now? I actually interpreted that correctly?

Steve: Like u said It’s midnight So… *shrug emoji*

And a phone call comes through. Eddie’s contact name flashing in a harsh light, too blinding and too unexpected. Steve’s heart is hammering at his rib cage, suddenly so fucking nervous. He waits until the last ring to answer, buys himself some time cause god knows, he needs it.

Steve takes a breath and swallows. “He-”

“Okay, so you do realize this is the sewer rat voice actor guy from the commercial shoot, right?” Eddie interrupts, sounds out of breath. “And not like… a fellow model or Timothee Chalamet’s cousin or something?”

That earns a hearty laugh and eye-roll from Steve. “He is so not my type.”

“Thought he was everyone’s type.”

“Nah.” Steve rolls onto his belly, very giddy and disarmed by the ease of the exchange. His nerves are set aside, replaced with his usual confidence. “More into sewer rat voice actor guys.”

“That… is some very specific criteria.” Eddie coughs or maybe it's just a dry laugh. He sounds pleased as hell, so laugh seems more likely. “Holy shit, I’m flirting with a model!”

“You’re cute." Steve should not be so charmed right now, but the impulsive honesty is really doing it for him. "Dorky, but cute.”

Eddie mumbles something incoherent, then clears his throat. Speaks quieter this time. “So why’d you text?”

“So why’d you call?”

“Just, uh… needed confirmation that this is real life.”

Steve lets out a ‘hmm,’ thinks of a proper response to that. “If I was there, I could pinch you. Ya know... so you’d know it’s real.” Okay. Maybe not proper, but whatever. It’s late. His brain is half scrambled from hormones and exhaustion, cut him some slack.

“Would do a lot more than pinch you if you were actually here.” And sure, Eddie might have mumbled that, but Steve clearly heard it. He heard exactly what Eddie just suggested.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Fuck, we’re doing this?” Eddie whispers.

Steve turns onto his back again, lets his hand wander down. “If you’re into that. Like hearing your voice, Eddie.”

“Like hearing you say my name like that.” And Eddie sounds like he means it. His tone is smoothing over, the same way it did in the narration. “You sound so worked up already.”

Steve moans, chest falling hard enough that the phone slips. Has to reposition it to get all that good vocal seduction back in his ear.

“God, wish I could see what you look like right now.” Eddie exhales, getting that nice rasp that Steve likes so much. It’s sultry and rich. Breathless at just the right moments. “Bet you’re lying down, aren’t you? Phone wedged between your neck and ear cause your hands are too busy to hold it properly. Am I right?”

“Yeah.” Steve pushes past the waistband of his sweatpants, then his boxers.

Eddie hums. Growls. “The things I’d do to you like that. Lying down, looking so eager to please. Saw how good you are at taking direction that day of the shoot. Does that apply in the bedroom too, baby?”

“It… fuck.” Steve strokes himself slowly. Can barely get the words out cause it feels like he's chewing on Eddie's voice. Swallowing every syllable. “Yeah, it does.”

“See - that’s the problem, isn’t it?”

“Problem?”

“That I don’t know what you’re into. How you like it.”

“Pretty open to… trying things.” Steve reassures, eyes closing to soak in every sensation. “Just keep talking.”

And thank all that is holy, Eddie does just that. He keeps talking. “Can’t stop thinking about that pretty neck of yours. How I’d kiss it, suck on it till your skin goes tender and soft under my lips. Till your head rolls back like it did in that video.”

Eddie's words are syrup. Heavy and tempting. “I’d let you rest it on my shoulder while I get my hands all over you. See what sweet spots drive you wild, get you to squirm for me.”

Steve's grip tightens, pumping at a pace that’s close to getting fucked. A pace that makes it easier to pretend that it’s Eddie’s hand wrapped around him, making his vision blurred and spotty - even with his eyes screwed shut.

“Eddie, you’re… oh my god.” Steve whines, knows it must be pretty fucking loud with the speaker smushed against his cheek. “You’re so good at this.”

Eddie shushes him, sounds like he’s snickering a bit. “I’d tease you like that until your thighs start to tremble. Until you beg me to go further. End the torture.”

“Fucking christ…please.” Guess Steve really is that good at taking direction. Or maybe he’s extra easy for guys that turn his brain into liquor. Too busy begging to know which one it might be. “Keep going.”

Eddie’s laugh is dark and rough. “Sounds nice hearing you beg like that. Like sin.”

Feels like sin too.

Steve’s fingers are slicked nicely with precome. The friction of his palm is making everything warmer, better. And stirring all of those feelings up with Eddie’s voice? Fucking hell, Steve is close. He’s so damn- “Okay, okay. If we don’t stop, I’m gonna-”

“I know.” Eddie purrs, sweetly mean. “Thought that was the point.”

“Cannot believe I'm about to say this, but maybe…” Steve has to dig his hand out from his boxers to complete the sentence. Knocks his head against the wall because his behavior is totally batshit right now. “Maybe I want to see you again first? Is that weird?”

His skin sort of tingles from going this long without finishing. Never solved the blue-balling issue back at the gym either, so Steve’s on the verge of climax insanity right now. Didn’t think he’d discover an edging kink at the ripe age of twenty-five, but eureka. Here it is.

“Not weird.” Eddie’s voice returns back to a calmer one. The one that doesn’t make Steve want to bend over and get fucked so hard that his organs shift around. “I mean, I’m weird, sure. But wanting to complete this in person is not weird. Very un-weird, in fact.”

“You talk a lot.”

“Yeah well… voice actor.” Eddie says, sort of deadpan. “You couldn’t see that, but I just did ‘razzle dazzle’ hands.”

Shit, Steve really likes this guy. He just used the phrase ‘razzle dazzle hands,’ and Steve is still horny for him. Wow.

“Is tomorrow too soon?” Steve manages to say before overthinking it.

“Tomorrow-tomorrow, or like today-tomorrow?” Eddie asks. “Cause it’s past midnight.”

Right. Booty call time moves at an entirely different pace than normal time does. “Today-tomorrow. If you’re free.”

“Free as a dead composer’s anthology of music.” Eddie answers happily.

Steve opens his mouth to respond, then shuts it because what? What does that even mean? Is that a yes or a no? Goddamnit, his head hurts. Too many questions, not enough orgasms.

“Most classical music is royalty-free.” Eddie clears his throat, sounds like he’s tapping on something. “… So yeah. I’m free.”

“Right.” Steve chuckles, hard to believe he’s unapologetically gushing. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow, Eddie.”

“Great. See you today, Steve.” Eddie is still snorting at his own joke while the call ends.

They haven’t sorted out any of the details yet, but it doesn’t matter. It’s happening. It’s real.

So real, that he wants an actual date with Eddie before steamy phone sex. He wants to make Eddie laugh before making him come. That's like... unheard of for Steve. Uncharted.

Damn.

Today-tomorrow can’t come soon enough.

#steddie #steddie fic #this is inspired by the unhinged ao3 tag generator #one more part after this #hope that you like it xx

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planetkiimchi · 3 months

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the first drops of rain | k.mg

summary — mingyu's your first love. your first date with him could be described as fairytale like, at least until it begins raining. even then, maybe the rain is a paid actor, teaching you to slow down in your fast-paced student life.

featuring: mingyu x gn!reader, highschool au

word count: 2729 words

a/n: first seventeen work! kinda thought my first svt work would be seokmin or minghao but HAHA we’re here instead with a mingyu work. it’s based off a very precious memory of mine, and i felt like mingyu’s personality was the most similar to the guy i went out with <3

mingyu: we’re meeting at the start of the trail at 9, right?

You react to his message with a thumbs up, pulling up your shoes and glancing outside. The start of the trail is only a few hundred metres away from your house, so you’re not in a rush.

Mingyu asked you out on this date a few months ago, but you were overseas during the winter break, and weren’t able to go out with him. After a few months of discussing where to go, you finally settled on going cycling with him.

The sun rose quite a while ago, and the temperature is rather warm, but you figure that it’ll all be fine.

You check the time again and head downstairs, cycling over to the subway station to meet Mingyu.

You’re a few minutes late, so you expect to see Mingyu waiting there when you arrive, an apology already on the tip of your tongue, but you’re surprised when he’s not.

In fact, you have to wait another ten minutes before he finally arrives, a little out of breath and completely lost, without a bicycle. He smiles sheepishly at you, tucking his hands into his pockets.

He mumbles a “sorry”, curly hair falling in his eyes as he looks earnestly at you, shoulders raised in his nervousness.

Your annoyance at his tardiness dissipates once you see him in this state, genuinely apologetic and well-meaning. You let a soft sigh escape your lips. It’s okay.

Mingyu raises his phone and hesitantly says he needs to pick up his bike.

You’re about to reply when an old lady comes up to you, one hand clutching her grocery stroller. She politely asks if you know where the Flower Market is?

You nod. It’s right next to your apartment block, and you often go there to buy groceries yourself. You point the lady in the direction of the market, turning back to Mingyu.

Once again, before you can speak, Mingyu jerks his head at the stairs that the old lady has to climb up to get out of the subway station and onto the pavement. She lifts up the grocery stroller, and you rush to help her with it.

She smiles at you. Thank you.

You smile back. No problem.

Tilting your head towards the stairs, you beckon Mingyu to follow. The bicycles are located at the lowest level of the apartment block directly opposite yours, so you’re heading in the same direction as the lady anyway.

Once you’ve helped the old lady get her stroller up to the top of the stairs, you wave goodbye to her, prepared to head back down the flight of stairs to get your bicycle.

Fortunately for you, you don’t have to. Mingyu holds your bicycle in his hands, setting it down at the top of the stairs, and your heart warms, just a little.

It takes a longer time to figure out how the bike sharing system works than you thought it would. Mingyu scans the QR code on the back of the bicycle, frowning as he navigates the app, trying to figure out how the payment works. You stand to the side, holding on to your bicycle’s handlebars, watching his eyebrows knit themselves into a knot, before the wrinkles in his forehead slowly iron out when he finally gets the app to work.

All set? you ask.

Mingyu nods. All set.

You climb onto your bicycle, eager to head off, and Mingyu follows behind.

With the sun beating down on your backs, the two of you start off on the trail, figuring out a pace that works for both of you. You haven’t cycled in a long time, and you can’t go too slow, or you’ll be too unsteady for both of you to ride side-by-side on the narrow path.

The greenery on both sides of the trail helps to keep the temperature down, and you’re grateful for the shade it provides in the heat of summer. Next to you, Mingyu asks how school has been. You reply with one of those blasé “school is good” type of answers, but he doesn’t accept that.

Mingyu keeps prodding.

And, with your feet pedalling hard underneath you and the glare of the blue sky overhead, you find yourself opening up.

It’s started drizzling slightly when you reach the bicycle racks, so you chain your bicycles up and head to the nearby subway station to seek shelter. While you’re standing there, you ask Mingyu where he wants to go.

Originally, you wanted to go to watch a movie, but since the date was so impromptu, you didn’t check the movie timings out beforehand, so now you realise that none of the timings are convenient for you.

It’s fine, Mingyu insists. He’ll figure something out.

It doesn’t take long before he’s dragging you down another path you didn’t notice earlier, one that leads to a train station that’s no longer in use. Two carriages of the trains are left on the tracks as a memorial to the old train station, and despite the red tape covering the doors, Mingyu climbs up into the carriage.

You’re standing on the edges of the train tracks, watching him grin at you from inside. He leaps from the seat with a yelp, almost knocking his head, and he quickly exits the carriage.

What’s wrong? you ask.

He lifts his hand to show you that the seat was wet.

You laugh whole-heartedly and he pouts, but the joy in his eyes betrays him. His poorly-concealed excitement only grows when he looks ahead to see a bridge, breaking out into a run towards it.

You attempt to follow him, still balancing on the edges of the train tracks, quickly giving up when he doesn’t show any signs of waiting for you.

He turns around at the start of the bridge, and you grin at him as you step up onto the train tracks. He steps onto the edge next to yours, your feet moving in sync along those parallel metal lines drawn across the wooden tiles, his arms waving wildly as he fails to keep his balance.

Mingyu shakes his head out when he’s fallen three times, running his hand through his hair, glancing at you with the widest smile you’ve ever seen.

Your sunshine. That’s what he is, walking alongside you as you tread across the train tracks, hands carefully tucked into his pockets, watching your every step.

He speeds up when you hop off the tracks, and you follow him into a neighbourhood with two-story houses. Plants line the sidewalks, with overgrown creepers crawling up the walls and trees overhead shading you from the sun.

He points at the sign and tells you he came here once before, after his mother scolded him. It’s dangerously close to his home, a place that contains memories you can’t be a part of, a place you’re not sure you’re ready to intrude into.

You do anyway.

Mingyu leads you to the playground he’s only been to once before, when he was running away from his mother, and you pass by the empty basketball court.

You love basketball, you tell him, your steps slowing down. He whirls on his heel, looking up at the hoops, shading his eyes from the sun with his hand. Really?

Really, you say. You tell him how you used to play basketball during your half-hour long recess in elementary school instead of eating. Even though you were really bad and only played with a group of 5-6 other friends, it was still fun.

He understands.

You teach him how to climb onto the roof of the playground, your hands and feet making holds out of the railings and slides. You show him a view of the world that you loved as a kid, a view that makes you feel like you’re on top of the world. Like you’re unbeatable, invincible, and that the moment will last forever.

Slithering off the roof, you discreetly pull out your phone, but Mingyu spots you quickly enough. Don't film me, he pouts, eyebrows in a knot as his foot staggers around for a foothold.

You laugh and keep your camera pointed at him.

He hops down—ungracefully, you’d like to add; you think you were pretty graceful when jumping down yourself—and beckons you over with his hand.

Mingyu leads you to a sheltered area where the playground floor and gravel gives way to grass and soil, the trees overhead casting so much shade you get the impression that you’re in a rainforest. You can barely see past the crowns of the trees to the sky, which you’re sure is a shade of blue-grey. You can tell that it’s not raining, or the playground would be getting wet, but it isn’t quite sunny yet either.

The creak of a red swing brings your attention back to Mingyu. He smiles at you in warm invitation, and you take it, stepping up onto the swing. Your legs are on the left of his, your knees a fist’s width away from his. Opposite you, Mingyu lifts his eyes to yours and begins to speak.

How’s school, how’s life, how’s that toxic friend group in your dance club? he asks.

Stressful, interesting, shitty as ever, you reply.

He asks things like why, tell me more, is that leadership position working out for you?

You reply with much longer answers than you thought you would. The words flow from you like air leaking from a balloon with a hole. There’s so much pent-up frustration, bottled-up confusion, anxiety, envy, and even sadness you didn’t notice you were suppressing. They find their way out of your mouth in words you're surprised are coherent enough for him to understand, but somehow he manages it.

You’re not the only one telling stories, though. You ask Mingyu questions too, stuff like how’s being drama club president, do you like your juniors, what do you want to do at university?

And he, too, replies with amazing, I love them, I don't know but I’d like to be a counsellor someday.

And you learn.

From his smiles and nervous fidgeting and “um”s, you learn that he’s nervous. From the way he leans forward to talk to you and nods when you speak, you learn that his interest in you is genuine. From the tone of his voice and the smile in his eyes, you learn about his habits of joy and excitement. You pick apart his every move to learn something from it, absorbing a little more knowledge about him each time.

An hour or two passes. As it starts to drizzle again and lunch hour approaches, Mingyu gets up from the swing, not forgetting to hold it while you step off, and goes to the bench to get his tote bag before his things are drenched in the rain.

With a hand above your heads shielding you from the drizzle, the two of you half run-half walk to the mall nearby for lunch, raucous laughter echoing in your ears.

Mingyu offers to pay for your lunch thrice, and you refuse each time, reluctant to let him take money out of his allowance to pay for your meal. He insists you should let him pay for it, telling you that his father will give him more money. Still, you decline.

When he goes to visit the restroom, you quickly take your chance to buy your food before he gets back.

You take a seat successfully and wait for him to return, and he does—not without him trying to slide the bill into your bag first. After a while, he finally gives in, and the two of you settle down for lunch.

Lunch ends at around the same time the sky clears, and the two of you are rushing to climb onto your bicycles and leave before the rain starts up again. The weather has been unpredictable that morning, and you’re unwilling to take your chances. Instead of lingering around the mall, you’re unlocking your bicycle, fiddling with the stubborn lock, and Mingyu waits patiently beside you.

All set? he asks for the second time that day.

You reply the same way, All set.

Then you’re off, legs pedalling furiously, your balance miles better when you’re moving fast. In the morning, you had to keep swerving to avoid knocking into Mingyu at the slow pace you were going, but now you’re just trying to get home before it rains again. Your curfew is pretty early, and if you dally any longer, you’re definitely going to get an earful when you’re home.

Mingyu easily keeps pace with you, following your lead. From time to time, he’ll catch up and ride beside you for a stretch, and then you’ll pedal faster and he’ll fall behind again.

You feel the drizzle beginning when you ring your bell, bypassing yet another jogger on the trail. Cursing, you pick up speed, and Mingyu doesn’t question you as he follows behind.

The rain grows heavier more quickly than you’d expected, and soon there’s a steady stream of water raining down. You wipe futilely at your forehead from time to time, glasses sprayed with raindrops, and Mingyu calls out after you, laughing.

I’m not supposed to cycle in the rain, you tell him. My mum is going to kill me!

He seems to get it, but when you seek shelter under an overhead bridge to wipe your face with the remaining dry part of your T-shirt, he’s laughing at you.

You roll your eyes and point out the bits of water on his face, but he shrugs. You’re going to be cycling through the rain again anyway, so he doesn’t see the need to dry his face.

You clench your jaw, resolved to get home as soon as possible. The two of you climb back onto the bicycle, and start cycling home.

As if trying to deliberately annoy you, the downpour only gets heavier on your way home. It keeps coming down, and you fight to keep your balance and not skid on the watery path. You’re forced to slow down a little, your legs no longer pedalling as fast.

Your anxious heart begins to slow, and Mingyu's calm, sure voice carries over to you, despite the rain falling steadily around you. The sun is still high in the sky, and you wonder if there'll be a rainbow. That would be befitting for Mingyu, you think.

The whole way back, your mind is occupied by Mingyu's questions, his curiosity warming your heart. He genuinely cares about you, and this care distracts you from your fear of reaching home late. All thoughts of what your mother will say go out the window, until he's returned his bicycle and you've parked yours near the subway station, heading to the toilet to change into a new, dry shirt.

Mingyu didn't think to bring change, so he waits for you outside. He offers to help carry your bag, but you insist you can do it yourself. Just the thought that he's there, waiting outside, comforts you.

The two of you walk alongside each other on the way back to your home. You won't stop him from walking you home, especially not when you enjoy his company so much. He mentions something about his future family and you stiffen, afraid that he's jumping the gun. Your commitment issues start to resurface, your mind whirring as your heart jumps into panic mode, but you force yourself to take a few deep breaths and laugh.

He seems too happy to notice how forced your laugh is. Instead, he's asking for your mother's name, repeating it the whole way to make sure he's got it right.

Mrs? he asks.

Aunty, you correct.

Aunty, he repeats, and you nod your head. He asks for your father's, too, and he's still mumbling their names when you come up to the door. You ring the doorbell, and your mother comes to open the door, greeting Mingyu with a warm smile and a hearty welcome.

Come on in, she says. Mingyu shakes his head bashfully.

I've got to be going, he says. See you, Aunty.

You step into the house and wave at him until he's out of sight, your mother watching his retreating figure with you.

He seems like a nice boy, she says.

Oh, he is.

#k-labels #🪁 — my works #seventeen #mingyu #highschool au #mingyu x gn!reader #mingyu highschool au #mingyu x reader #mingyu x yn #mingyu x y/n

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srldesigns6277 · 17 days

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The rain truly was a paid actor at SuperBloom

📸 snapsbyfran

#louis tomlinson #he was a punk #superbloom #superbloom festival

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mostlysignssomeportents · 11 months

Text

Bad King Richard got rich by exploiting workers at King’s Faire

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

King Richard's Faire is the largest renfaire in New England, and its owner, Dick Shapiro, extracts a reported $400k/day – a sum that is only possible thanks to systematic and likely illegal worker misclassification, which lets him pay performers sub-minimum wages and deny them benefits:

https://www.reddit.com/r/boston/comments/172267v/kings_faire_inc_aim%C3%A9e_bonnie_shapiro_nets_over/

Many of the performers at KRF are absolutely unpaid – these are the "villagers" – who mill about looking picturesque in exchange for free admission. They even have to buy their own turkey legs.

When the faire is rained out, all workers – "volunteers" and paid workers – are sent home without any compensation. Attendees are also sent home with rain-checks, many of which go unused (there's no refunds in the land of King Richard).

Staff work from 8am to 730pm and are paid a day-rate that works out to $6/hour. After heavy weather events, staff are ordered to show up early to do cleanup, but are not paid for their time. Staff don't get health benefits – instead, local community groups like the Elks put on fundraisers to cover the health-care costs of the performers.

Now, King Richard's worker mistreatment is not an outlier in the medieval reenactment industry. Think of how the knights at Medieval Times – who put on nightly, potentially lethal performances to generate profit for their employer – unionized in the face of exploitative labor relations. To add insult to injury, Medieval Times sued the union, arguing that its name – "Medieval Times Performers United" – was a trademark infringement:

https://www.huffpost.com/entry/medieval-times-sues-union-trademark_n_63485fa5e4b0b7f89f54546b

This trademark wheeze is the latest desperate tactic to be deployed by the ruling class in the face of a surging labor movement with broad public support. Starbucks – one of the world's most notorious unionbusters – is doing the same thing to its union, Starbucks Workers United:

https://seattle.eater.com/23923490/starbucks-workers-united-union-lawsuits-copyright-trademark-israel-hamas-palestine-social-media

These moves are wildly out of step with the current of public opinion, which has swung hard for union rights in a manner not seen in generations. The outpourings of public support for striking entertainment industry workers were handwaved away as exceptions driven by the public's love of actors and writers. But that doesn't explain the strong, ongoing support for the UAW in their strike against all of the Big Three automakers:

https://pro.morningconsult.com/instant-intel/uaw-strike-public-opinion-october-2023

Bosses have always tried to smash worker power by dividing workers – by race, gender, or "skill" – but workers are workers and solidarity is the source of worker power. That's why the whole labor movement backed Equity Stripper NoHo, the first strippers' union in a generation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/14/prop-22-never-again/#norms-code-laws-markets

Creative workers are part of a class of workers who suffer from "vocational awe," the sense that because your job is satisfying and/or worthy, you don't deserve to get paid for it:

https://www.inthelibrarywiththeleadpipe.org/2018/vocational-awe/

(Think of joke about the father who finds his runaway son at the circus shoveling elephant shit: "Son, come home!" "What, and quit show-business?")

Creative workers have long been encouraged to see themselves as "independent businesspeople" – LLCs with MFAs – and this mind-zap is augmented with our bosses' repeated insistence that the unions are for big burly blue-collar workers, not ethereal dreamers and pencil-pushers. Our bosses tell this story because it discourages us from forming unions and demanding fair pay and good working conditions (obviously).

Think of J Edward Keyes, the cartoon villain who serves as editorial director of Bandcamp. When the workers Keyes managed formed the Bandcamp United union, Keyes called them "white-collar tech workers…appropriating the language of the legitimately oppressed," adding "Fuuuuuck Bandcamp United":

https://www.404media.co/bandcamp-editorial-director-fuuuuuck-bandcamp-united/

Keyes's contempt notwithstanding, it's clear why Bandcamp workers need a union – after the company was flipped twice in rapid succession, its new owners, Epic Games and Songtradr, fired all its unionized workers. Keyes responded to coverage of this mass firing by calling the Pitchfork reporters who wrote about it "absloute amateur journalists."

The attempt to divide-and-rule "knowledge workers" from "industrial workers" is a transparent bid to shatter solidarity and make it easier to abuse and exploit all workers. Thankfully, workers are wise to that gambit, and understand that when all kinds of workers struggle together, they win.

Take the UAW strikes: for many years, the UAW was an objectively bad union, ruled over by a dirty-tricking clique who sold out the membership. It's normal to blame workers for bad leaders, but the UAW old guard had rigged union elections, making sure that they would stay in charge. It's not workers that like corrupt unions – it's bosses.

Before the UAW could fight back against their bosses, they had to fight back their bosses' minions in the upper ranks of their own union. That's where the the Harvard Grad Students' Union comes in. After years of worsening exploitation and working conditions, the Harvard Grad Students organized under the UAW, then joined forces with reformers in the union to oust the corrupt leadership.

During the leadership struggle, Harvard Grad Students helped their comrades from the auto-sector master the union's baroque constitution, so when the old guard tried to prevent motions from reaching the floor, the grad students were able to cite chapter and verse back at them. In the end, grad students and auto-workers together won the victory that paved the way for the strikes:

https://theintercept.com/2023/04/07/deconstructed-union-dhl-teamsters-uaw/

A strong, unified labor movement is necessary if America is to save itself from inequality, racism, the climate emergency – the whole polycrisis. The idea that creative workers aren't workers is bullshit – and so is the lie that all workers are uncreative. The "Worker As Futurist" project recruits Amazon drivers and warehouse writers to write science fiction about a future without Amazon:

https://jacobin.com/2023/09/amazon-workers-sci-fi-writing-bezos-imagination-speculative-future

They call this a "belief that rank-and-file workers, whose bodies and minds are exploited by capital, might have access to some knowledge about capitalism that is beyond even the most brilliant theorist or analyst of capitalism."

All workers can and should tell their own story. Doing so isn't just a way to change the narrative – it's also a way to change policy. The new merger guidelines from the FTC and DOJ Antitrust Division explicitly incorporate labor-market effects into antitrust policy. As Brian Callaci and Sandeep Vaheesan write for The Sling, the testimony of workers and unions can help produce the evidentiary basis for blocking the mergers that lead to monopolies:

https://www.thesling.org/workers-are-an-untapped-resource-for-antitrust-enforcers/

The rising labor movement is a force for profound change in every part of our economy and politics. Workers can be our knights in shining armor.

https://www.thesling.org/workers-are-an-untapped-resource-for-antitrust-enforcers/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/25/huzzah/#bad-king-richard

#pluralistic #renfaires #labor class war #king richard #charter of the forest #harvard #teamsters #uaw #worker as futurist #bandcamp #bandcamp united #j edward keyes #medieval times #kings faire #kings faire inc

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tangredont · 2 months

Text

The rain was a paid actor

#olympics opening ceremony #paris olympics #olympics #absolutely mADE the dancing

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clownprincehoeshi · 8 months

Text

Parallel Hearts - Chapter 3

Synopsis: Never in your wildest dreams you imagined that you’ll meet your ult bias. Maybe you finally have your shot at love and happiness. Or not.

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Angst

Pairing: fem reader x idol Jungkook fem reader x idol Mingyu fem reader x idol Hoshi

Warnings: Kissing-Nudity-Sex 18+-Harrassment-Stalking-Death mentions-Cheating

Word count: 4276

youtube

Ok, time to get back to writing and continue Y/N's love story. Chapter 4 very soon.

Previous chapter - Next chapter

Masterlist

After your birthday, you and Jungkook started dating. Little dates here and there, but most of them happened indoors because, well, he’s a celebrity and unfortunately for idols, dating is frowned upon in the Korean public eye. You don’t really mind that almost all your dates have to be at your place or his, because you’re a homebody. You had 7 dates so far and you think they were all perfect. You both love to watch movies, cook, enjoy a good meal, listen to music and relax. He loves listening you talk about your hobbies and you love watching him be himself and sing all day. You relate so much to his personality and it helps you open up to him more about how you are. You don’t think you ever opened this much about your true self in front of any guy in the past. You both love your little moments of silence where you just sit on your balcony and look at the sky, with some music in the background.

It doesn’t feel forced, you don’t feel forced to speak, to keep him entertained. You don’t feel like a clown who needs to entertain his partner. And you never question his little silly quirks, you love them, you’re curious about how his mind works in those moments. You have spent a few nights together, sleeping in the same bed, cuddling, but nothing more. You talked about this when you were on your first date. You both agreed that you will try to take it slow and do things step by step, so both of you feel ready for whatever the next step is.

First two nights were really hard, because you were afraid that he won’t like to sleep with you, that you will snore, move too much, or who knows. Then, these fears slowly dissipated, but next nights were even harder. Why? Because you felt horny like shit. You forgot how long it’s been since your last sexual encounter. Months. Many months. You just knew that when it will finally happen, you will cum hard in the first 3 seconds. Hell, maybe even faster. You knew yourself, knew your body very well and mostly, you knew you were in love. You were only in love once in your life, few years back, and it was a one-sided love. But now it was reciprocated and you thought your heart will just implode if he even kisses you.

Your first kiss happened on your 8th date, after you had dinner with the group. Hana dropped both of you at your building complex. It was raining cats and dogs and by the time you got inside the building, you were both soaking wet. You hurried into the elevator, giggling and pushing each other. As you waited to reach to your floor, a heat wave got over you. You wanted to kiss him so bad. Right then and there. But you didn’t dare, you wanted to wait for him to be as ready as you were. So you just stand there, leaning on the elevator wall. He saw you looking at him and he closed the distance between you. He was a few inches away, his nose almost touching yours. You couldn’t say anything, you just watched as little drops of water were running down his face. The rain was a paid actor that day.

The came even closer, his body touching yours. You never liked the feeling of wet clothes on you, but now you didn’t mind. You could feel him breathe over your lips. You started breathing faster and heavier, afraid that you will moan out of nowhere, without even being touched. His presence alone was doing that to you. Will he kiss you right now? You felt like your head was spinning. But he didn’t do it, he was teasing you, checking to see who will cave in first. None of you, apparently. Ugh, damn you, Jeon Jungkook!

But then you reached inside your apartment and it was an entire different story there. You both entered your home and he closed the door behind you. Then you felt a hand gripping your wrist and pulling you back. He had you right next to him, bodies touching, wet from rain and hot from the closeness and the teasing. He did the same thing he did in the elevator, got closer and closer until your faces almost touched. But now you wanted to play this game too, so when he got a little closer, you took a little step back. You kept doing that until you reached the back of the couch and you were now trapped. He trapped you, and there was no more room for you to run. It was still raining you could hear it.

The atmosphere felt so charged, so tensed. His face close to yours, he grabbed both your hands gently, then he moved his up your arms. He reached your shoulders, then your neck, tracing the tips of his fingers on your skin, almost getting a moan out of you. Then they reached your face and he grabbed it gently from both sides. He rubbed slowly your cheeks with his thumbs, your lips. You grabbed his waist and pulled him into you, feeling how hard he was. He was driving you crazy. You kept pushing your body into his, begging him with your eyes to kiss you.

Jungkook: I want to kiss you so bad right now.

He whispered into your mouth in a really low tone.

You were gone completely at this point. You wondered how you will survive this night. You couldn’t wait anymore, you knew he was ready to kiss you too, so he probably was waiting for a green light from you. So you did it, you put your lips on his and oohh.

They were so soft, so sweet, and it was so gentle. He was so gentle. You moaned immediately as he gave into the kiss. Fuck, your head..your heart..you were wrecked. His lips were moving slowly and deliciously over yours, then his soft tongue started licking your lips and meeting your own tongue. You were never kissed this way and you felt like crying. You couldn’t stop moaning into his mouth and you could hear little moans from him too.

Jungkook: I love making you moan, but I haven’t even touched you properly, baby.

Now his hands moving to the back of your head, into your hair, and yours going up his abs, to his chest, loving how his t shirt was sticking to his body.

Y/N: Then touch me Jungkook-ah.

He started deepening the kiss, becoming more passionate. You just knew if your panties weren’t soaked from rain, they would still be soaked because of what he’s doing to you. He went down to your shirt and lifted it slowly, taking it off of you, tracing his hands from your neck, over your bra, cupping your boobs.

Jungkook: We need to take out soaked clothes off.

He took your bra off to, cupping your now bare chest gently. His thumbs slowly going over your hard sensitive nipples. You moaned again. Then you wanted to see him naked too, so you put your hands under his t shirt and just lifted it and took it off, throwing it on the floor. You went to his heck, kissing it, kicking it, tasting his skin. You left his cock twitch inside his pants. Oh, you wanted to feel him inside you so bad, but suddenly he stopped you.

Jungkook: Babe, let’s take a hot shower, ok. I don’t want you to catch a cold. Let’s warm up.

You were a bit disappointed, because you hoped he will warm you with his cock, but you enjoy this tease and this foreplay too. He leads the way, turns the shower on and checks to see when the water warms up, then comes to you, takes the rest of the clothes off, from both of you, then takes your hand and walks you under the shower. He takes the shampoo and tell you to turn around so he can wash your hair.

Well this is new. No man ever helped you in the shower. And he was so gentle about it. Then he cleansed it and put on hair mask. While you let the mask do its thing, you wanted to take care oh him now, so you washed his hair, conditioned it, rinsed it with water, then poured shower gel on his body and you both washed each other. He excused himself for being hard while showering, but you said it was fine. It was pretty like him and perfect. You got close to him and kissed him. Since you were so close, you worked one hand down his abs, to his cock and started touching it slowly. He moaned and groaned into your mouth as he reached your ass and squeezed it with his big hands.

Y/N: Ok, time to rinse everything and go to bed!

You grinned, giving him a look ok “two can play the teasing game”. So you got out of the shower, dried off your hair, put on some clean pj’s and went to bed. You cuddled, gave him a little kiss on the lips and said good night. He did not expect you to be this strong after what just happened, he thought you will be all over him in bed. But knowing you like teasing and playing with him, he started to move even closer into you while he was cuddling you from behind.

His mouth was breathing into your neck and it was not enough, so he started kissing it and giving kitten licks over your neck and ear. The hand that was over you, holding you close to his body, was not traveling all over, and suddenly it went under your t shirt, going up your tummy to your tits. He started massaging them gently, playing with your nipples that seemed to be hard by now. You tried not to give away the fact that you loved this and that you wanted more. His hand that was under your head was now around your neck, keeping you in place and chocking you slightly.

You thought your pants were soaked now, you loved every single thing he was doing to you. After he was done playing under your shirt, his hand started moving down and down, until it reached your pants. And it went under. You had no underwear on and it made him groan. Reaching your pussy, he cupped it and you felt it clench around nothing. He started running his fingers from your clit to your entrance and as he felt the wetness he moaned into your ear.

Jungkook: Oh fuck, baby! You really want to sleep right now? Your pussy says something else.

You didn’t say anything, but your body was giving you away. You started moving against his body slowly, rubbing your ass on his hard cock. When his fingers rubbed your clit you turned your face to him and a passionate kiss enveloped you both. You felt like screaming, you couldn’t take this any longer. Your pussy was getting more wet from his unrelentless movements on your poor clit. So you spoke. You begged. What else could you have done in that moment? It felt too good and you needed more.

Y/N: Baby, please!

Your voice was so low and breathy, almost like a moan.

Jungkook: What is it, pretty girl? What do you need?

Y/N: I….I need… you.

Jungkook: I am here.

Y/N: I…need….to feel you….inside me….please!

He didn’t wait, he turned you over to face him, took his clothes off, then yours, and he pulled you close. Pulled your leg over his hip as you were laying sideways, facing each other. You kept kissing and it felt so intimate, deep and sloppy kisses. You couldn’t get enough. You felt his cock rubbing on your entrance and your stomach was shrinking again, butterflies all over, wanting to escape. You felt him pushing slow inside and pleasure took over you. Your orgasm started and there was nothing to stop it now. The pleasure kept on coming in waves and it would not stop. He went deeper and deeper and it felt fucking good. He moved so slow and deliciously inside you that you couldn’t make any sound. You wanted to look at him, but your eyes kept closing off from the pleasure. You grabbed his pretty face and looked into his eyes, telling him how good it felt.

Y/N: You feel so good, baby! Making me cum so hard…shit!!! Ahhhh

Jungkook: You’re driving me crazy. You look so beautiful like this, writhing on my cock.

Y/N: Don’t stop, please, Jungkook-ahhh!

Jungkook: You’re mine, Y/N. All mine. Fuck!!

You’re both a mess by now, sweaty, ruined, fucked. You don’t remember how many orgasms you had and you really want to feel him cum too, want to watch his beautiful face filled with pleasure.

Y/N: Baby, please cum, I need to feel you. Cum inside me, I want that so bad!

You didn’t need to tell him much, he came in seconds, releasing deep and hard inside you. Moaning and calling your name. It felt so intense and it made you cum once more, holding him impossibly tight and kissing him passionately.

When you finally stopped, you felt so happy and peaceful. You laid like that for a couple minutes, still kissing and panting. You brushed strands of his long hair off his sweaty face, kissing his eyes, his nose, cheeks, forehead.

Y/N: I can’t stop kissing you.

Jungkook: Then don’t.

Y/N: We’ll need another shower after this.

He looked sweetly into your eyes, cupped your face and told you something you haven’t heard in a long long time.

Jungkook: I love you, Y/N!

You whispered in his ear “And I love you, my Jungkookie!”.

You had sex again in the shower, because you just couldn’t keep your hands off each other now. And that’s how it’s going to be from now on, you were two horny humans.

Your relationship evolved, you got to meet his members, his brother. You were really scared about meeting his parents, because you were not Korean and usually parents don’t like you, because you are quiet. So you both talked about this and decided to wait. Also, your hangouts with the 97 crew were not as many as they used to and you feel sad about it. He tells you that he just wants to spend his little free time with his girlfriend, instead of going out.

You keep seeing your bestie, Hana, of course, and one day she tells you she’ll meet the gang for dinner. These days, Jungkook is in the US with work and he’ll be there for a few more days, so you decide to join Hana and the rest. When your boyfriend is out of the country, you don’t bother him with many texts and calls, you know he’s busy, that’s why it’s not something usual for you to give him every little detail about your day.

The guys are happy to see you. You find out that Eunwoo broke up with his gf and he’s trying out the single life right now. Mingyu is too quiet for his own good. He’s not that friendly and loud as he used to be. But who knows, maybe he’s having a hard time. You won’t be nosy about it, not your style.

Mingyu: Oh, Jungkook texted me just now.

Jaehyun: What’s he saying? Tell him I miss him.

Mingyu: Oh, just stuff about doing a dance challenge when he gets back, and I told him we’re all out for dinner.

Y/N: So what’s new with everyone? I haven’t seen you in weeks.

Hana: Well yeah, your boyfriend keeps you real busy.

She says, moving her eyebrows up and down like a crazy person. You push her shoulder, blushing. You know what she’s trying to say.

Eunwoo: I am so happy for you two. It was about time for my guy to get a gf. But how is it for you, with this hiding around and keeping it a secret? You think it’s too much of a challenge for a relationship? I am curious, because, well, mine didn’t work, so..

Y/N: Umm, it is a bit of a challenge, of course, because you can’t go on dates, you can’t go on vacation together. But we both enjoy staying at home, and we never get bored, we always find something to do or talk about, and even if it’s silence, we don’t mind. We’re very much alike.

Mingyu choked a bit on his drink and he raised his hands to say he’s ok. Then he excused himself and went outside. You wonder what’s with him.

As you arrive home that night, you take a bath, then hop in your bed and you feel like texting your boyfriend. You know it’s daytime where he is, and you think it’s fine. So you text him that you miss him a lot, that things are good with you and asked if he’s taking care of himself, eating enough and sleeping. Then you turned your lights off and went to sleep.

The next morning you checked your phone first thing, thinking that you will find texts from him, but there were none. You worried a bit, but your thought he must be really busy and he’ll reply when he can. You had a pretty normal and quiet day at work, had lunch with Hana and a couple of coworkers, then stopped for some grocery shopping on your way home, because you felt like cooking. And still no reply from him. You sent another text.

Y/N: I hope you’re ok. Tell me if anything happens, ok? I love you!

He replies after one hour, with a “All good, don’t worry”

You try not to overthink why he was so blunt. You try not to overthink the fact that he didn’t contact you the next few days before coming back to Seoul. But you felt like something was going on. So after he got back from the US, he texted if he can come over that night. You were happy to see him, but also worried. When he arrived, he was pretty quiet, he hugged you, gave you a kiss on the cheeks and he sat down on the couch. You sat next to him.

Y/N: What’s wrong?

Jungkook: It’s…nothing much, just my stupid brain that is overthinking sometimes and makes up scenarios.

Y/N: But did I do anything?

Jungkook: Noo no no, I’m sorry. I just needed to have a few days alone, to think, and I’m good now.

You get up to sit on his lap and you cup his face, kissing his forehead.

Y/N: You’ll tell me if you need me, right? I will always be here for you, with anything you want to talk about. I am good at listening.

And he hugs you tight.

Y/N: Want to eat, are you hungry?

Jungkook: Yeah, let’s order something bad but delicious and eat while we watch some Netflix.

Y/N: Ahhh, what a perfect boyfriend!!!

And you shower him with kisses all over his face, making him giggle. Maybe one day he’ll tell you what made him sad.

It’s November. You like fall for it’s colors. You love nature, you often find yourself just starring at trees and plants or at the sky. Your phone gallery is filled with sky pictures, mostly sunsets and pretty clouds. As you take a walk alone from work to your apartment complex, your mind goes to your boyfriend. You can’t help but wonder why he’s been pretty distant lately, why he’s not telling you what upsets him. You feel like it’s messing with your relationship, and he’s been like this ever since he came back from the US. You make a mental note to send him a sexy photo later, to cheer him up.

I wonder how December it’s going to be this year. Your Decembers were never happy, somehow, something shitty happened every year in December, close to Christmas. But now you have Jungkook, you have everything you ever wanted. Someone who loves you back and you really feel loved. You keep having your little dates at your house, rarely at his. He always had stalkers around his apartment building, and you didn’t want to become suspicious. Also, you never read any articles about him, you were disgusted anyway about the lies and the hate all the members were getting.

But one day while you were in the office, Hana comes to you with a really sad face and a pout.

Y/N: What’s with the face? Still upset Mingi didn’t look at you at the concert?

Hana: Yes. But no. It’s about your boyfriend.

Y/N: Ugh, if it’s gossip, I don’t wanna hear it.

Hana: Not gossip, all Korea knows this, it was announced today, officially.

You look her in the eye and you can tell she’s dead serious. Oh…

Y/N: What? Are they not getting back together?

Hana: They are going to enlist in a few days.

Y/N: Who?

Hana: All of them.

Heat takes over your head. You can’t think, can’t move. You knew he will go at some point, but you had no idea it will be like..right now. And he didn’t tell you. He didn’t say anything about going away for a year and a half. Why did he do this? You feel like you’re the only one invested in this relationship. Now you think he never actually loved you, been in love with you. Maybe it was just desire for him.

Hana looks at you concerned.

Hana: I know he didn’t tell you about this, but why? This is so mean.

Y/N: I don’t want to talk about this right now, I need to focus on work and we talk tomorrow, ok?

Hana: Ok, lovely! Just call me if you need me and I will be right there.

And she leans in to give you a hug and a kiss on the head. Of course you can barely concentrate on work after that, but you try your best. You also try not to cry. What hurts the most is that he didn’t tell you. Because if he did say something about it, you would wait for him to come back, no matter how long it takes. It’s not even a question if you would wait for him. But you feel worthless now.

As you arrive home, you sit on the couch and look at your phone. Should I text, should I call? What if he won’t respond? What the fuck do I do now? You’re afraid to tall, because he might not pick up. So you try a text.

Y/N: You didn’t tell me. Why?

You keep starring at the screen. Oh. He just read it. You see the blue dots on and off but nothing it coming on the screen. Is he typing some long as text about how this ends here? Ugghhhh!!! The blue dots keep on jumping up and down for a good 8 minutes, but still nothing. You call him. No response. You hate this feeling, it reminds you of your past relationships. You swore to yourself you will never feel this ever again, never let a boy hurt you like this again.

Feeling stupid and hurt, you call Hana to come over and spend the night. When she arrives, you are a mess. Your eyes red and swollen, you’re still in your work clothes.

Hana: Oh, no no! Come here, I’m here!

You cry on her shoulder for a while and she’s caressing your hair slowly to calm you.

Y/N: He won’t even reply, won’t even answer my calls. And I keep hoping it’s all in my head.

Hana: I talked to Jaehyun and asked what the hell in going on with JK and he said he has no idea. He knew he will enlist, but he thought you knew also.

Y/N: I need to get myself together, can’t cry all night. I shouldn’t have had much expectations, even from him. It’s my fault.

Hana: The fuck is your fault. How? You did everything you could, he chose to be a dick. And yes, you will get yourself together and you will be ok even if you won’t be together anymore. If you could pull Jeon fucking Jungkook, you can pull anyone, fuck!

Y/N: I don’t wanna see any man anymore! It’s always the same, I’m just tired.

Hana helped you take a hot bath, made you hot cocoa and put you to bed. She slept next to you, cuddling you, and you felt grateful to have such a good friend.

There were no texts from Jungkook the next few days and you didn’t try to contact him again, you would look stupid. He even did a live on weverse to say goodbye to his fans and he couldn’t even send you a fucking text back. What a coward, you thought. Then the enlistment day came and while you were at home, talking with your bestie no 1 on the phone, your phone vibrated and you checked to see what it was.

11:35 PM

Jungkook: I’m sorry

This is it? Wow, JK, you deserve an award for saying you’re sorry. You fucking idiot!!! You don’t know if you should reply anything, but in the end you don’t. you decide he doesn’t deserve it. So that’s that, I guess. You tell to yourself, with a big sight.

50 notes · View notes

bp-zb1fics · 1 year

Text

No, it’s not lasik

pairing: matthew x foreign student reader

genre: university au on crack (same verse as a little crazy and sunbaenim), fluff, comedy

tw/tags: teen movie makeover matt ver., pls just google lasik, mattbin unfounded allegaytions, zb1/bp side characters for comedy, a lot of banter, matt not curing a lot is canon but reader does and it's contagious, yes i love descriptions, cha woongki iconic queen, yaebin another iconic queen, the rain is a paid actor, wet tshirts, kinda stripping, kissing, making out, matt's still a loser but we love him, hanbin bday fic spoiler lowkey

wc: 2200

summary: matthew decided to give himself a makeover during your summer break.

a/n this is dedicated to @seok02, she loves matt and uni aus so here's a bit of both, i did my best, hope you like it nina~

Check my pinned for more fics~

It’s not on purpose. You just can’t stop staring. And before you can think, he’s staring back and you blurt it out.

“You’re blond.”

Matthew pauses as if he doesn’t know how to respond to that. You don’t blame him.

“Yes I am?”

You have no idea how to respond to this either.

When you and Matthew met as freshmen, he had a mop of brown hair that somewhat resembled a halfway bowl cut, chunky glasses that often slipped off his nose and a penchant for outfits that were at least 2 sizes bigger than his body. And you found him absolutely adorable. You also thought he was dating Sung Hanbin from the way he and the older boy seemed practically attached at the hip and their whole childhood friendship arc.

It was only towards the end of that year when you found out that he and Hanbin, in fact, did not like each other that way. And also Hanbin was someone else’s slightly manic boyfriend with his subtle psycho tendencies that you’ve had the absolute displeasure of witnessing. In your defence, he also got like that with Matthew sometimes so it’s not like your assumption was entirely baseless.

Now back to the situation at hand.

“So did you finally get lasik?”

“Uh, contacts? And I still have glasses, you know, just in case.”

You goggle at the trendy, wire-rimmed frames he’s holding in place of the thick, hipster ones he used to sport. Also, since when did Seok Matthew show his biceps and have they always been this large? Did someone burn his closet and replace all those oversized shirts and pants for muscle tees and straight jeans?

Maybe it’s just you but you feel the beginning of a headache trying to digest all…this. You narrow your eyes and let your exact thoughts at the moment run its course.

“Who the fuck are you and what have you done to Seok Matthew?

He sputters. Before he can answer, the door opens and Zhang Hao walks in. The senior stares at Matthew for a good ten seconds before producing a perfectly pleasant expression and saying.

“Oh Matthew, new haircut?”

Well, at least you’re not the only one. Now Matthew just looks sheepish.

“Something like that hyung.”

Chen Kuanjui follows shortly after Hao. Apparently his response to opening the door and getting jumpscared by Matthew’s new look is to freeze, eyes growing two sizes, spine arched, sort of like a cat who isn’t sure whether they’re actually in danger or it’s a prank. Several other members of the foreign student society arrive with varying degrees of reactions.

By the time Kamden slouches in, you’re almost expecting something other than his usual expression.

“Good morning,” he says to the whole group in general, eyes lazily wandering around the room before settling on Matthew. Like Hao, he takes a few good seconds to process. Then, he says.

“Matthew-ah, I don’t know what kind of drugs you were on when you decided to bleach your hair, get lasik and get dressed by some Kpop stylist but I want some of that.”

He sits down. Jay laughs. Nobody else does, probably because the only English speakers present at the moment are the four of you. Matthew sinks deeper into his seat, thoroughly flustered and bright red from all the unexpected comments.

“It’s contacts, not lasik” He mumbles, probably to Kamden. You decide now is the best time to avoid eye contact with everyone else in the room. Also, you don’t want to get caught staring at Matthew’s biceps as he flails frantically after nearly falling off his chair.

At least whatever the fuck happened over the summer didn’t come with an attitude change.

__________________________________________

“Soo, who talked you into this? Yaebin? She’s been wanting to burn your homeless clothes for ages.”

“Shut up,” Matthew passes you a spoon. “And they aren’t homeless clothes.”

After the foreign student society meeting finished up, you had a sudden craving for patbingsu and like the good friend he is, he offered to split with you.

“Mhmm, sure whatever helps you sleep at night.” You start digging into the shaved ice. Matthew snatches one of the rice cakes you were eyeing.

“Bitch, I wanted that.” You give him the most offended expression you can muster.

“Sucks to be you, I guess.” He still passes you another one. You eat it before he gets any sneaky ideas.

Later, he’s the one who’s looking at you betrayed.

“You went to Japan and you didn’t tell me?? Fake friend, what the fuck.”

“Excuse me, I said my family went to Japan while I was in Australia. I didn’t go with them, thank fuck, I needed some me time.”

“But still,” Great, now he’s pouting. “There’s like a ton of limited edition figures that I would like die to have.”

You swear your eyes are rolling to the back of your head. This absolute dork.

“Then you go to Japan, damn, sue me I guess.”

“Uhuh, with whose money though?”

“I mean now that you’re hot and everything, I heard models get to travel for shoots and stuff.”

“Wah, you think I’m hot?”

Dammit, you’ve been caught. Retreat. Retreat.

“I was joking, forgot that models were supposed to be tall.”

“...shut up.”

“He isn’t going to deny it, I guess.”

“I will eat all of these rice cakes.”

“Bitch, don’t you dare.”

__________________________________________

Once you’ve gotten over yourself and realised that Matthew is the same nerdy, disgustingly nice person that you know and love (and still kinda have a crush on, not like you’re planning to admit that anytime soon), it’s easy to fall back into your usual routines. Unfortunately, the rest of campus has not gotten over themselves like you have. It’s (really) annoying.

“Omo, is that Seok Matthew or did you finally get a hot boyfriend to walk you to class?”

You sigh. Cha Woongki was a delight to sit with most of the time but he can be a shade bit dramatic. He isn’t the only one. You’ve definitely spotted a bunch of the girls (and even a few guys) whispering and throwing glances when Matthew drops you off at your lecture room. It’s one of those little things the two of you do after figuring out which classes you have for the semester.

“It’s just Matthew.”

“Lock him up, omg. You need to stake your claim on those biceps before some other person gets their claws into him.”

“Please, I can't just do that.”

“Like it’s hard? He’s like halfway in love with you, honestly, all you have to do is put a hand on those muscles, bat your pretty little eyes and tell him these babies are yours and he’ll give them to you.”

Maybe you’d take this more seriously if Woongki hadn't just given a live demo of what he wanted you to do on the unfortunate person that decided to sit on his other side. Lee Jeonghyeon eyes you both nervously before shifting so there’s at least three seats between him and Woongki.

“He’s not in love with me.”

“And I don’t want to kiss Jeonghyeonie, go figure.”

Jeonghyeon stands up and moves to a different row. You sigh again.

When class ends, Matthew’s already waiting for you outside, shifting nervously as a group of girls linger nearby, giggling and glancing over at him

“How was class?”

“Kinda chill, seongsaengnim was more on doing practical work today so I didn’t lose as many brain cells, you?”

“I think my head might explode.”

“Yikes, that bad?”

“Yeah. Oh, by the way, we’re gonna drive out somewhere on the weekend, wanna come?”

“...You can’t drive though.”

“Sorry, I mean Hanbin-hyung is going to drive us, some kind of day trip thing, they’re still figuring out if we can do an overnight, maybe some camping, it’ll be fun.”

“Hmmm”

“You should go.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Eyyy, go already, come onnn.”

“.....”

“I’ll pay for food?”

“..Okay fine.”

“Nice! It’s going to be fun, I promise.”

Well, if Matthew looks that excited, you’re pretty sure it’s going to be fun. Honestly, you didn’t need that much convincing but you can’t keep caving every time he uses his sunshine smile like that. (you still do, though).

__________________________________________

Because Matthew agreed to pay for your food, you’re doing groceries together the day before the trip. By together, you mean Matthew pushes the cart and you pick out the goods and very occasionally you argue over the merits of a certain snack or whether you really need to bring that much alcohol for a potentially overnight trip. (you do)

Any good relationship friendship is all about compromise.

“You’re seriously making me broke this early in the sem?” He tells you once you get to check-out.

“You offered, no take backs.”

He pays for it anyway and insists on carrying most of the bags. No, you are not looking at the way his biceps are straining especially when his clumsy ass nearly faceplants as you walk out.

Of course that’s when it starts raining like hell froze over and decided to come at you. Both of you start laughing and swearing like absolute idiots and you make the cardinal mistake of looking Matthew in the eye.

Apparently getting hot over the summer means that he looks devastatingly Kdrama male lead attractive in the rain. His hair manages to maintain that wet look that happens to be showing forehead. Droplets of water dripping down his face and neck like the rain decided to be a paid actor when it made contact with his body. And his eyes crinkle and he’s smiling and you feel your heart drop into your ass and then levitate out of your body like it sprouted wings. Seriously, how can he look at you like that when you probably look like a drowned rat?

You’re tracking puddles as you reach his dorm room, shoving the wet plastic grocery bags to the side and grabbing towels.

“We gotta change.” Matthew notes. And with absolutely no warning, he begins to take off his shirt. You’re in hell.

First of all, today, of all days was when Matthew decided to wear a white shirt. Which means you are treated to a nearly transparent and downright illegal view of wet fabric plastered to the ripped muscles of his back, shoulder muscles moving as he tries to peel the shirt off. And you can’t even get started on his arms, they’ve been the bane of your existence for days. And because he’s an idiot, he’s actually struggling to get his shirt off, seconds dragging out your agony. He turns and you catch sight of his bare abs and your brain-to-mouth filter decides to unalive itself.

“Okayy, damn, I didn’t ask for a strip show.”

Matthew looks up and you’re suddenly struck by the horrible feeling that both of you know you’re checking him out. Maybe the rain got into his brain too because he proceeds to walk up to you, open his mouth and say the most unSeok Matthew thing you’ve ever heard in your life.

“You know you like it.”

Dead silence. Maybe you’ve actually died because you can’t believe he just said that. Also you’re so sure you’re blushing because you’re being treated to a front-row view of how his wet shirt plasters against the outline of his abs and pecs. It’s kinda, really fucking unfair. Finally, you look up at him and muster the most unimpressed look you can because that line was so bad and he’s such a fucking dork but also you might as well shoot your shot.

“...Bitch, just kiss me already.”

Matthew kisses you already. It’s great. He somehow manages to be warm against you even though you’re both absolutely soaked. There’s a lot of free real estate to grab onto so you’ve finally got your hands on his biceps, squeezing them as he catches your bottom lip between his. He tastes faintly of mint and also those fruit popsicles you had earlier. His hands slide down to your sides, rolling up your wet shirt a little so he can thumb over your bare skin. Something hot explodes in your stomach as his lips press warm against your neck.

It’s really fucking hot except you’re both still wet and gross from the rain and Matthew nearly slips and gives both of you concussions. You burst out laughing as he apologises sheepishly.

“For the record,” You tell him later once you’re showered and dry and on his couch wearing his hoodie with your legs on his lap. “I liked you with those nerdy glasses even if you dressed like Seo Taji and Boys decided to make a comeback.”

“Yaebin said the same thing.” He pouted. “But you were all over that acting major last year and I thought he was your type.”

You choke. “Bak Doha? I went on like two dates with him and one of them was because Woongki dared me too. Second one was because he was actually a nice guy and I felt bad so I treated him out for chicken.”

“Eyyy, next time only treat me out for chicken.”

“...be glad I still find you cute.”

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euphreana · 2 months

Text

The Shape of Truth - Chapter 8: Puttin On The Blitz

Masterpost

Ambrosius and Nimona had almost two hours before their meeting with Meredith. In the rain. Nimona suggested they wait it out at the library. It was almost noon, and the study rooms would be filling up soon - they couldn’t risk not having one available. Ambrosius could think of a million things he’d rather do than wait at a library, but Nimona had a point. The library it was.

The cloak Ambrosius had brought was meant for style, not for keeping dry. He looked like a soaked rat by the time he pushed through the library’s massive front doors. As a fluffy dog, Nimona hadn’t fared any better. At least she could trot over to the women’s bathroom and shapeshift the water off.

“You going to dry yourself off, boss?” she asked, returning to the foyer in teen form.

Ambrosius looked down at his soggy attire.

“I don’t think I have that option.”

“Uh, hand dryers?” She pointed a finger towards the mens bathroom. “I’ll go reserve a study room.”

The hand dryers did precious little for Ambrosius’s clothes. He’d just have to deal with everything sticking to him for a while. At least his copy of the invoice and the packet of ash in his pocket hadn’t fallen apart.

Ambrosius sighed as he regarded himself in the mirror. Most of the styling product had been washed out of his hair, leaving it flat and limp. He combed it back with his fingers. Then he glanced at the hand dryer next to him. What if…

~ ~ ~

Nimona tried hard not to laugh when he got to the study room.

“So fluffy!”

“I know.” Ambrosius muttered and tried to brush his hair back more with his hand. It had probably looked better wet. “I got tea.” he said, holding out one of the two paper cups in the cardboard tray he was carrying. “You liked the stuff this morning, right? Earl Grey with milk and sugar.”

Nimona accepted the cup and took a long slurp.

“Yeah. Good stuff.”

Ambrosius smiled faintly. Ballister would have been happy someone else liked his favorite drink.

Ambrosius sat down at the study room table and pulled his phone out. Nimona snatched it away.

“Not today!” she exclaimed, pushing a holographic computer screen in front of him. “We’re not gonna wait around like cadets on exam day - we’re gonna get you cultured!” She clicked play on the video she’d pulled up.

“What—”

“SHH. This is a good one.”

The ‘culture’ Nimona wanted Ambrosius to experience was one of those subversive movies that The Institute had banned from wide release. Ambrosius got even more tense the moment he realized it. He would have told Nimona to turn it off... but once he noticed no one could see them through the patterned glass wall, his curiosity got the better of him and he let it play.

He could see why the movie had been forbidden at The Institute - the story was about a man who’d been falsely imprisoned, and it painted the knights guarding the prison as cruel and the prison itself as squalid. Ambrosius tried to point out the unrealism, only to get a ‘how would you know’ and ‘sh, this is a good part’ from Nimona.

It… was a good movie though. The music was ominous, the camera work was smart, and Ambrosius was surprised to see the actor had actually shaved his head and starved himself to fit the story. And the tension - you could cut it with a knife! Ambrosius watched as the prisoner began to set his escape plan into motion, and…

Loud, jarring music beat through the room’s speakers as waves of bright color splashed across the screen. Ambrosius jumped, startled. Nimona glared at the screen.

“Grrr… I HATE mid-movie ads!”

Ambrosius blinked. This felt familiar…

“Luscious locks! For the luscious you!” Golden hair filled the screen, then zoomed out to reveal the Ambrosius of several years prior holding a shampoo bottle.

“NO NO NO! SKIP! SKIP IT!”

“I can’t! It’s an unskippable ad!”

Ambrosius groaned as he watched himself proclaim the merits of whatever shampoo company had paid him that time. His hair had been longer then - long enough to pull back into a bun and stay within academy regulations.

“Aww, you looked good with long hair!” Nimona said, “Why’d you ever cut it?”

“Ugh. The Institute wanted a more ‘disciplined’ look for my graduation year.”

“You call that disciplined?”

“Hey I’m lucky they let me keep this!”

Nimona snorted.

“Well now that you’ve graduated, you gonna do something else with it?”

“I don’t know. Depends on what The Institute wants.”

Nimona crossed her arms.

“Well if you could have your hair any way you wanted, what would you pick?”

Ambrosius had to think for a moment.

“I don’t know… I did like it long.”

“Still blond?”

Ambrosius laughed.

“It’s been so long, I don’t think I can picture myself with dark hair.”

“Yeah? How about this then?”

In a flurry of pink sparkles, Nimona transformed into… him. Ambrosius blinked. It was like looking into a mirror. There he was; his mother’s eyes, his father’s build, and dark, silky hair pulled back into a ponytail.

Nimona cocked an eyebrow.

“So? How do you look?”

Ambrosius stared.

“… Real.”

It was at that moment the study room door opened and Meredith Blitzmeyer arrived. She stopped when she saw two Ambrosiuses. Nimona gave a grin and shifted back to her teen form. Meredith opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. Then she held her hands up.

“I saw nothing.”

Nimona paused the movie screen and pushed it away as Meredith set her laptop on the table. The laptop screen flickered on.

“You have my storage key, right?” Meredith asked cautiously.

Ambrosius reached into his pocket and set the key on the table in front of him.

“The emails first.”

“Right. Emails…” It only took a moment for her to pull up the subject of their meeting. “The first email came several weeks ago - a special order for a power source that could fit into a narrow space and release all of its energy at once. A controlled explosive for deep mining, it’d said.”

Ambrosius’s eyes skimmed over the email. It was from a ‘Fodere’ of ‘Mansley Mining’ - a self-described startup company.

Meredith continued, “I’ve engineered mining equipment before, so I didn’t think it unusual. They paid my asking price too, no negotiating. It all seemed legitimate.” She clicked to the next email, showing the schematics of the blaster. “I completed a final version for approval. Then they sent the sword to the lab, saying to install the power source inside, for ‘ceremonial’ use in their new mine. I thought it was suspicious, and then one of my assistants recognized the sword.” She scrolled down further, showing the final emails. “I tried asking Fodere followup questions before I reported it to Security. I- I thought it would be helpful to the case. I didn’t think…” Meredith paused and rubbed a hand under her glasses.

Ambrosius scanned the exchange. This ‘Fodere’ hadn’t given any additional information, just requests to finish quickly, and that they couldn’t postpone opening the mine.

Nimona leaned over Ambrosius’s shoulder.

“Who uses ‘prithee’ in an email?” she asked, reading alongside. “That’s like, archaic.”

“High-upper-class people do.” Ambrosius mused, “I’ve even heard The Director say it a few times.” It wasn’t a word Ballister would have used. “Whoever wrote these emails doesn’t mingle with commoners.”

It made sense - the vocabulary, the money involved - the perpetrator had to be a noble. Not that it narrowed things down much, but it at least ruled out a terrorist uprising. There would be a possible motive for framing Ballister then too - not wanting a commoner among the pure-blood ranks.

“When was the lab fire again?”

“The day before the knighting.”

“So this ‘Fodere’ got impatient, since he needed the sword the next day.”

Meredith buried her face in her hands.

“I should have just done it. The queen died anyway. My assistants didn’t need to die too.”

There was an awkward silence. Ambrosius tried to move on.

“Why the fire though? He could have just stolen the sword and blaster and put them together himself.”

Meredith raised her head slightly.

“No he couldn’t have. The power source was delicate. The officials said the fire was caused by one of the prototypes spontaneously discharging and setting off the others, but I had too many safety features to keep that from happening inside the lab - someone had to have done it on purpose.” Meredith looked up at him. “He made my assistants install the power source, and then set off the prototype to burn them alive. I’m only here because I was sick that day.”

There was a long silence. Meredith looked away.

“Can I have my storage key now?”

Ambrosius slid the key across the table.

“Forward me those emails.” he told Meredith, “And let me get a video of you saying what you just told me.”

Nimona leaned between them.

“Um, privacy much?”

“What?”

“Come on, are you trying to get her killed? The perp is a noble - that’s like, half of The Institute! How do you know whoever you show the video to isn’t in on the plot?”

“That’s exactly what the video is for - if something happens to her, it’ll be a backup.”

Meredith was looking uneasy.

“If something happens—”

Ambrosius held a hand up.

“It’ll be fine.”

“Come on man, this lady’s too valuable.” Nimona threw a friendly arm over Meredith’s shoulder. Meredith still looked uncomfortable.

Ambrosius crossed his arms.

“As a knight, it is my duty to defend against threats to The Kingdom at all costs. If there’s a traitor inside The Institute, they need to be found and dealt with. For the greater good.”

“That ‘protect the greater good at all costs’ mantra is exactly what got your buddy killed.”

Ambrosius’s jaw locked for a moment. Then he found his voice again.

“Well what else is there to do?!”

“We could post the evidence for all the Kingdom to see.”

“Posting it would cause unneeded public tension.”

“That’s a good thing though! Once the common people realize the ones at the top killed both their beloved queen and then one of their own for daring to rise above his station, they’ll demand justice!” Nimona jumped onto the table, “Then when the nobles claim special privilege and get pardoned, the people will revolt! Tables will turn! Buildings will burn! And we can throw off the shackles of the system and rise from the ashes in freedom!” she threw her hands out for dramatic effect.

Ambrosius looked at her blankly. He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Part of him wanted to report her for apostasy, and the other part was sure she was joking and he just wasn’t getting the joke.

Meredith closed her laptop quickly.

“I think I should go.”

“Wait—” Ambrosius tried to reach for the storage key, but once again Meredith was quicker than he was.

“I don’t want to be involved with revolutionaries,” she stated, “I just want to be left alone.”

“We aren’t planning a revolution! No one’s going to revolt over this! Nimona’s just…” Ambrosius shot Nimona a look, “… jumping to conclusions.”

Nimona put her hands on her hips.

“How is connecting the dots ‘jumping to conclusions’? This could be the spark that dismantles the establishment!”

“Not if we keep this quiet.”

“Keep this quiet? I thought you wanted everyone to know your buddy was innocent!”

“Not if the peace of The Kingdom is at stake!”

“You mean your cushy job?”

Ambrosius's eye twitched.

“I mean we can turn the guilty party in to the Justice Department, and they can do whatever they see fit.”

Nimona looked like she had a witty response to that, but she was cut off by the sound of the study room door closing. Meredith was gone.

Ambrosius and Nimona looked at each other, then sprinted through the door. It was lunch hour and the library was full. No sign of their only witness. Nimona gave a long groan.

“So much for that...”

Ambrosius scanned the crowd, determined to not lose his only lead in proving Ballister’s innocence.

“We can find her again. I- I can find out where she lives. Then-”

“If she’s smart, she won’t be at home by the time we get there.”

Ambrosius gritted his teeth.

“Then we’ll stalk her storage unit or something. We can’t just let her escape!”

“Then what?”

“Then we find out who did this! You want to know too, don’t you?!”

Several library patrons shot Ambrosius glares for raising his voice.

Nimona crossed her arms.

“I wanted to know back when I thought there were other heretics involved. But this is just turning into some high-class drama without results since you’re so concerned about your high and mighty job. I’m out.”

She began to storm away.

“Wait, Nimona—”

But it was too late - she too had disappeared, probably shape-shifted into some other person in the crowd. Ambrosius stood in the study room doorway in silence. He’d just lost everyone he could have considered a friend. Again.

Next chapter

#goshdarnit I can't say anything in these tags without giving the chapter away #but...#*cracks knuckles*#one of my favorite parts is coming up #next chapter next week!#nimona #nimona fanfic #the shape of truth #meredith blitzmeyer

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