#the delivery of “because i like trains :]]” has been on loop in my brain since i heard it UDSJHFJ | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeojaa · 4 years

Text

❪ TO THE MOON AND BACK! ❫

You use your one brain cell for love. It doesn’t always end well.

pairing. kth x named f!reader. jjk x named f!reader.

genre + rating. non-idol!au. fluff, a bit of angst. general.

tags / warnings. none! this chapter is pretty sad but also pretty happy? “balanced, as all things should be.” - thanos, and also me.

wc. 3.9k

chapter 11.

“Are you ever going to do anything with them?”

You’re so focused on the melody that you don’t recognize the words immediately, his voice playing somewhere beyond your recognition. It takes a long few moments of staring at Yoongi’s face, his moving lips, for you to realize he’s speaking to you.

Headphones are tugged off your head and carefully returned to the stand at your elbow.

“Sorry?”

“I said ‘are you ever going to do anything with them?’”

It feels like you’re missing an integral part of the conversation. Forehead furrows, following the lead of your mouth as it purses, little indent forming between your brows. “With what?”

“The songs.” He doesn’t have to say much more.

“Oh.” Your lack of answer doesn’t seem to deter him, his expression politely interested, if not a little tired. You feel a pang of guilt for the fact that you’ve had such long nights lately - sessions passing the stroke of midnight more often than not.

While it wasn’t your fault, you saw the toll it took on him - found evidence of it in the bags beneath his eyes, heavy enough to incur an additional charge at the airport counter.

He refocuses your attention: “Yes? No?”

“I… don’t know.” You hadn’t considered it, honestly. The songs had originally been written to give your misery an outlet. You’d never considered what would happen to them once they were fully formed.

You’re also not sure why he’s asking. It’s been at least four months since you’d even thought about them. Now they sat in the back of your mind, tucked away in a dusty box labelled JUNGKOOK along with a hundred other memories you weren’t sure you were ready to face yet.

“Can I use one then?”

That certainly isn’t what you’d expected.

“What?” It catches off your teeth, shattering over your tongue. You wonder how you look - if the surprise is glaring beneath your skin like neon light.

Yoongi grins, low and slow and full of gums. He must mistake your emotion for something else - excitement, maybe? - because he’s joining you in front of the computer, the imprint of his body still worn into the soft leather cushions he’s just vacated.

The same instant he drops into the seat beside you, he takes over the mouse, flicking through file folders with purpose. “I’m working on a new mixtape. I thought one of your songs might work well on it so I took the liberty of recording some vocals and mixing it to see.”

In any other situation, you’d be preening from the praise. Now, it only settles discomfort in your stomach.

“I don’t know,” you repeat, finally, after what seems like forever. He’s already pulled up the audio file and the beginning notes fill the enclosed space, sinking into your ears. It sounds amazing, of course. Everything he touches turns to gold. His voice is distinct, the delivery of lyrics so masterful you still don’t really know how he does it.

You listen in silence, admiring the way he’s managed to lay your original refrain with his effortless rap. It thrums in a low bass - utterly brilliant - and then your voice starts.

It hits you like a ton of bricks then, two thousand pounds of weight dropping your heart into the pit of your stomach. You don’t expect the reaction to be so polarizing. You hardly realize you’re locked into place, gaze trained on some freckle in the wood grain of the desk, until you’re physically pulled from it.

A hand settles on your shoulder, hesitant yet unyielding. It frames the bone and squeezes once, twice. Yoongi’s voice follows, softer than you anticipate. “Are you okay?”

The question repeats on a feedback loop. It turns over and over and over until there’s nothing left but a distortion of your own voice in your head. Were you okay? You’d thought so. Now, you weren’t so sure. Hearing the familiar melody is like reliving those eight excruciating months all over again.

“It sounds great,” you answer earnestly, in a voice that wobbles with emotion - a trapeze artist barely hanging on. You’re not lying; you wish your voice wasn’t so feeble.

“You’d get full credit, obviously.” Yoongi’s trying to soothe the ache he can’t quite understand. Not that he hasn’t tried. After all, he’d helped you bring all of this to life. He’d already done more than enough.

“Oh, thanks.” It’s a little watery and a little weak but you’re laughing and that stretches an almost triumphant grin across the producer’s face. It splits the casual indifference he normally wears, throwing the roundness of his cheeks into stark relief.

You can’t help but smile yourself, however small.

Still, it’s enough for him. You’re past the one-two sucker punch and he’s nearly all business again, studying the screen now that he knows you aren’t about to start bawling. You have to hand it to him - he’s a professional through and through.

“Did you mind if I took a look at your notes? I’m thinking we might want to do some ad libbing but I wasn’t sure if you’d considered that.”

You don’t think twice about it, handing your worn notebook over. The edges are tattered and it’s nearing the end, only half a dozen blank pages remaining. All the rest are filled with nonsense: half-formed lyrics, melodies stuck in your head, and—

“Are these about Jungkook?”

The question quite literally knocks the breath from your lungs. It takes you what feels like ages to regain control of your own anatomy, your jaw falling and rising in tandem with the drawn out beat of your heart. It feels strange - like you’re moving in slow motion.

Laid out before you - before him - are pages you’d poured your heart into over half a year ago. You recognize them because of the dogeared edges and the almost concerning pen strokes decorating the margins. Half the time you’d been writing about nothing at all, just putting your jumbled thoughts onto paper. The lyrics had only come after that, once you’d word vomited as much as you could.

You know what he’s reading now - not the verses you’d brought to life, but the heartbreak.

“No?” You’re not a great liar. It’s never been an issue until now.

He doesn’t do the disservice of belittling you or questioning you on it further. Instead, Yoongi remains decidedly silent; the quiet isn’t quite like any other. It’s careful and considerate, formed by unspoken questions and curiosity he holds close. Almost as if he’s giving you time, he flips through the pages with the strangest expression on his face.

Even when he’s done, he says nothing - meeting your horrified stare with something close to compassion. (Or pity, but that feels a whole lot worse.)

He waits for you to speak first. You don’t.

Finally, because it’s almost suffocating now, he hands your notebook back to you. Two hands - deeply respectful. You accept in the same fashion and try to ignore the tremor that runs the length of your fingers, slotting the journal back into your bag.

“Does he know?” There’s no judgment, no expectation.

You have to hand it to him - he’s handling this spectacularly well. Far better than you would be if you’d found out one of your best friend’s girlfriends had history with another of your best friends.

“Sort of.”

It’s the first reaction he gives that feels like it isn’t restrained, carefully packaged and offered only after it’s been perfected. “Sort of?” It rolls incredulously off his tongue.

“It’s a long story.” You don’t mean how defensive you sound. It’s just hard not to when the wound has been festering for so long and you’ve let it turn to rot, weeds sprouting around the Jungkook-shaped sadness you’ve tried to cover with a sheet.

“I have time.” He doesn’t mean it in any way but comforting. It still doesn’t feel right.

You begin with fiddling hands and eyes that won’t quite meet his, bouncing around the room like you’ll find solace in the muted light or the KAWS figurines that line the side wall. “We met in school - second year. He asked if the seat beside me was empty.” You’re proud of the way your voice doesn’t break - how it steels itself through the acid that boils in your veins.

“We… were friends.” The word has never quite matched what you’ve felt for him, even now. But then? It didn’t hold a candle to the torch you’d carried. “He honestly became my best friend, or something like that.” You try not to get too lost in the memory, holding tight to the present with white-knuckled fists. “We did everything together. We visited our families. We went to Disneyland.”

Surprise fits itself into the sea of his stare, recognition flickering like a lighthouse. You wonder how much he knows - if the nameless girl in Jungkook’s stories finally has a face.

“We were inseparable.” The smile you offer is mostly playful, though it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I guess, except for when he was with you guys. But at some point, the friendship changed. For me, at least.” You fiddle with the long end of your belt, scraping indigo nails over the glossy fabric. “I never acted on it, though. I knew I couldn’t. I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

“Then how…” It trails off but the question lingers, hanging in the spaces between you.

“You know how hard he works.” Yoongi nods - of course he does. “Our last semester was… a lot. I don’t think I’d ever seen him so stressed out. We kind of let loose once we submitted our final projects.”

The little puzzle pieces you’re offering are slowly taking shape. A part of you - the part that hates picking at the poorly healed wound - wishes you could take it all back. You’re so close to the climax of the story and yet, you know it’ll be lacklustre. It’ll fall miles short of the cinematic masterpiece you’re sure Yoongi’s expecting.

There will be no grandiose declarations of affection and no heartbreaking rejections.

“I made the mistake of asking him to spend the night.” Heat eats up every surface of your skin, starting at the apples and ascending up over your temples. “And then… I left in the morning.”

Seated not two feet from you, Yoongi’s quiet breath is far louder than he means. It puffs out of his cheeks in surprise. “What do you mean you left?”

Whether the warmth is embarrassment or shame now, you’re not quite sure. It all feels the same, red hot and humiliating. “I left a note on my pillow.” You won’t meet his stare even as you can feel it digging into your skin.

“What did the note say?” By the way he speaks, you think he has an idea.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“No, the note. It said sorry.”

If looks could kill, you’d likely be six feet under. You’ve never seen so much exasperation - not even on your professor’s face when you’d beg for an extension literally seconds before a project was due. “And what else?”

“Nothing?” You say it like a question despite the fact you know the answer.

He’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. You’re practically gnawing a hole through your cheek.

“Then what happened?”

“We didn’t talk.”

“At all?” Watching him grow incrementally more frustrated is like observing an overworked stay-at-home mom losing her cool at the supermarket. It feels bad, discouraging, but you can’t look away. Not even when he stares at you like you’re the dumbest person he’s ever met.

“I mean…”

His expression begs you to spit it out.

“He tried once or twice, a few weeks later. But I still felt so bad so I didn’t say anything back. And then he stopped trying.” You know you’d let the silence go on too long, allowing the awkward tension to mutate into something worse. You’re not stupid.

The longest sigh greets your ears. “You guys slept together and then you ghosted him.”

When he puts it like that, it sounds infinitely worse. You frown deeply, shaking your head. It wasn’t like that. It was different - necessary.

“I didn’t ghost him!”

“You left a sticky note!”

“Because I didn’t want him to regret it! I didn’t want him to feel weird.”

“You honestly thought leaving your so-called best friend a note was better than talking to them?” The way he utters the title makes you squirm in your seat. You shouldn’t be surprised, though. If you’ve learned anything over the last ten months, it’s that Min Yoongi does not mince words. Not when it’s important.

“I was scared.” It’s not an excuse; it sounds like one.

“Things are scary. You get over it.” He has a point.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Unfortunately, so do you.

“I guess not.”

FLASHBACK Friday, June 21, 2019. 12 PM.

When he wakes up, it’s like the end of the world - except not with a whimper, but with a bang.

The evil monkey that comes out of hiding after he’s had too much to drink is loud and unbothered, clanging its stupid gold cymbals hard enough to rattle his teeth in his skull. The sound bounces around in his ears, digging past his usual post-drinking haze to directly assault his senses.

Rolling over doesn’t help. In fact, it somehow makes it worse, the sudden motion bringing about a tidal wave of nausea.

The feeling rises and crests, threatening to swallow him whole when he rolls onto his front and yanks his legs up beneath him. Face pressed into the warm topside of the pillow, he curls his arms around the underside and takes three deep breaths, trying his best to alleviate the discomfort in his chest.

It works albeit poorly, like the second wave is coming, creeping up just beyond the horizon.

“Fuck.” It’s grumbled into the soft cloth he’s presently trying to suffocate himself with. Jungkook whines another sound - not as loud as the clattering in his head or even very clear - and presses deeper into the pillow, inhaling deeply.

God, he feels awful. You were right - he definitely shouldn’t have had so much to drink.

You.

The same you who had tried to go shot for shot with him over dinner, only to tap out when he wrenched another glossy green bottle open. The same you who had held his hand on the way back to your side of campus and laughed when he’d crowded you in the elevator, pressing sloppy kisses all over your neck and shoulders. The same you who had moaned his name so prettily he can feel it even now, stirring something in the pit of his stomach that feels a helluva lot better than the liquor-induced ache.

The you that should be at his side - and yet isn’t.

He blinks owlishly against the straining morning light, how it fades in through your half-drawn blinds and spills over your side of the empty bed. A hand reaches - slow, because he’s still not in full control of his motor functions - and slips over the cotton.

It’s cold.

Another blink, another pat of his hand.

He’s definitely in your dorm. There are photos strung up across the walls - taken by you or of you - and your familiar leather jacket is hung over the back of your desk chair. Your too-many coffee cups sit beside your keyboard but your familiar canvas backpack is nowhere to be seen.

“Jiyeon-ah?” It’s more gravel and sleep than anything remotely coherent. He tries again.

Silence settles in the enclosed space and he wishes it’d do the same in his head. Where were you?

The flat of his palm roves across your sheets, fingers seeking out the cold hard surface of his phone. Maybe he’d left it in his pants? That seems probable but they’re also not on his person, likely left in a pile at the foot of the bed - along with his underwear and socks - and well, he’s terribly lazy.

Lazy and still way too hungover.

So Jungkook lays there and waits, comfortable in the bed he’s been in more than once, more than twice, more times than he can count on both hands. He tosses and he turns, not quite patient but also not ready to face the day. He figures you’ll be back soon.

Truthfully, he doesn’t mind. Your dorm’s like a second home to him, somewhere he’s crashed a few too many times after you’d both trudged back in the dead of night after losing track of time across town. He knows the sweet spot on your shower - where he needs to get it right before the water turns from mild to scalding - and the fact that you hide your favourite coffee in a crate under your bed. It’s nearly as much his as it is yours, though he’s sure you’d disagree.

Either way, he could very, very easily fall back asleep. He almost does.

The nausea settles and while moving too fast stirs it uncomfortably, he’s doing a lot better than he normally does. It’s just this-side of relaxing, with time that doesn’t pass in screeches and lulls, rather simply sliding by in the transition of red numbers on your bedside clock.

It’s only when he realizes that it’s been nearly two hours that he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he should get up.

With an exaggerated grunt, he pushes himself to his elbows, entire body groaning with the effort. While he might’ve felt fine mentally, his poor aching limbs were doing decidedly less well. It’s almost like he’d been hit by a fourteen-wheeler loaded with booze.

He sways with the force of it, nearly faceplanting back down on your pillows when he sees it.

A little neon yellow square with your messy, rounded Hangul scrawled in black Sharpie. Three characters, one word, one broken heart.

Mianhae.

It comes when you least expect it, straight out of the blue. Your eyes are trained on the same colour that spills across the sky, the hazy clouds drifting in and out of focus; the sun is playing hide and seek, splashing rays of warmth whenever you pass between tall grey buildings.

“I love you.” Three words. That’s all.

They roll off Taehyung’s tongue as easily as a breath from his lungs, filling the spacious interior of his German-built sports car. There’s nowhere for the proclamation to go, caught between four walls and two bodies and your wide-eyed stare. Not that he can even turn to admire the way your eyebrows have shot into your hairline, how your mouth gapes open like a fish out of water. He’d still probably call you cute. You know him.

“What?” You’ve found yourself repeating this same word a lot lately. With Jungkook, with Yoongi, and now, with your boyfriend, who seems terribly smug and not at all bothered.

He’s staring straight ahead, focused on the road in a way that you know isn’t wholly natural. You’ve spent enough time in this car with him, with his hand gripping yours, to know that driving is second nature and he does it like he does everything else - effortlessly.

“I love you.” It comes without missing a beat. The edge of his mouth curls, revealing his perfectly straight white teeth, and you can’t miss the mischief. You’d feel wary if you didn’t recognize it so well, how it lights up his insides and spills out brighter than the sun above your heads.

You ask because it’s funny and not because you care. “Are you pranking me, Kim Taehyung?”

He levels you with a look then, one just from his periphery. You can hardly make it out amongst the dark of his lashes, the velvet that brushes over his eyes because it’s just a little too long now. The hand on your knee squeezes experimentally, the cold metal of his rings digging into the soft of your thigh.

“Is my love a joke to you?”

“Maybe.” It’s a challenge - a playful, proverbial pat on the cheek.

The sound he makes is a mix between a growl and a laugh and 100% adorable, sweeping affection across your face in stretches, apples of your cheeks pulling wide. “You’re lucky - I still love you anyway.”

Every time he says it, it’s a little less jarring.

“You love me.” You repeat it not for the sake of doing so but to taste it on your tongue, to feel its weight. It’s much lighter than you’d anticipated, spun fairy floss and strawberry-scented bubbles rather than a newfound burden. It fills you without expectation, fitting itself in the little cracks and crevices without demanding more. Still, you want to give in return. It feels right. “I love you, too.”

Just like you love the smile that spreads like wildfire, boxy and distinctly him. It’s so endearing you swear you feel your heart trip in your chest, lovesick and enamoured.

He says it more to make you laugh than anything. “I know.”

You roll your eyes and meet him over the centre console, grateful that he’s found his familiar spot right down the street from his parents’ expansive home. You appreciate the little moments kept just for the two of you; you cherish them more than you can say, tucking them neatly into your pockets and behind your ears.

He presses forward for a kiss. You smell like citrus and floral - Sicilian lemons and just-bloomed lilacs - a scent he thinks he’ll never forget. When he rearranges himself in his seat, turning enough to drag you just that bit closer, he’s greeted with the sticky sweet musk - tonka beans and neroli - hidden beneath the curtain of your dark hair.

It doesn’t matter that you’ve got dinner in ten minutes or you’re sitting in the brightly lit street like two nervous high school students after a first date.

This time is for him and for you - a celebration of sorts.

So he kisses you again, though it’s not quite kissing. It’s more like worshipping and he takes his time doing it, wordless devotion roving over every inch he can possibly reach. He treats you like a god or a deity, treasuring you like you might grant him his heart’s greatest wish or that maybe you already have. It’s nice to imagine that.

“I love your bedhead.” Which is where he starts, right at your temple. They’re the softest presses - barely there trails of his dry, slightly chapped lips. He inhales that familiar lemony scent as he deposits sweetness in its wake - over your eyelids and down.

The line of his nose meets the contour of your cheekbone and he’s littering tender kisses along the rounded edge, all the way up to your ear. There’s a beat of hesitation - a will he, won’t he - before he drops his head further, nosing past the sensitive spot where neck and shoulder meet to brush over the column of your throat. It’s almost innocent until enamel catches, not nearly hard enough to blossom any colour but enough to draw forth the quietest sigh.

“And I love the way you sound.” The lecherous grin he offers is far too handsome. It doesn’t pull disgust and reproach as it should, especially not paired with the dainty kiss to your wrist. He lingers there, over blue veins that jump beneath his touch, and only moves onto the back of your hand once you huff an almost imperceptible sigh of impatience.

You receive five more kisses - one to each of your fingertips.

“I just love you.”

author note. three more chapters to go. ty for reading, as always! xo

68 notes · View notes

emeraldtawny · 6 years

Text

Edgar x OC: Masquerade (Pt. 1/5)

Okay...attempting something a little different this time around.

So, I’ve never made an OC for Ikemen before but then this lil idea popped into my head and I wanted to write it....but I didn’t want to put Alice through the torture and angst I have planned, so I made a character to fit the prompt~! If OCs ain't your thing, all good. Just for this story (which should be around 4 fics long depending on if my brain has another sudden epiphany), I will be using this OC who I have drafted out already, name and all but shhhhh, it’s a surprise ;3

The angst build-up begins hehehe >:3

The Bright Family business. It isn’t anything glamorous - and hardly something to brag about - yet, to the man behind the closeted affairs, it’s all he knows and all he will ever know if history is to remain the unchanging mistress she is. He learned quickly never to ask “why?”; questions like that would be answered insufficiently, always leaving a bitter taste in his mouth and still does to this day. He’s a natural at this point, being the flawless Jack of All Trades that he is. Emotions are repugnant and make the jobs he does unsavoury, questions never help anyone and the best option is to remain silent and commit to the job at hand. As long as he remains the good puppet that he is, there won’t be any problems - as long as the blood-soaked hands of a sinner are never exposed to the light.

Tonight is a tame job, a simple infiltration into a coveted party for the elites of Cradle. He is to find evidence of possible espionage and, if any spies exist to conspire against the Red Army, to eliminate them without a commotion. He enters the mansion without incident, his clear emerald eyes brightly contrasting against the black masquerade mask he wears, a party theme he can’t help but smile at how perfect it is for him. Edgar keeps his carefully trained smile on his face, flowing through the throngs of people as his eyes scan the crowds and his ears eavesdrop each conversation with pinpoint accuracy.

The sound of a body hitting a table and glassware clinking loudly against other glasses pulls people’s attention to the scene unfolding, Edgar’s included. An older gentleman has a woman pushed against a table, his arms on either side of her enclosing her in. Her face hardly seems phased by the man’s incredibly aggressive actions, yet she attempts to free herself by grabbing his arm. He shoves her rather forcefully back, her hips hitting the table with a thud clearly resonating pain, yet still, the woman remains impassive.

(How very intriguing.)

Despite his priorities lying with his family duties, his gentlemanly upbringing - as well as his interest in this enigmatic woman - pulls him towards the discourse. As he gets closer, the man’s rushed, semi-slurred words become clearer.

“You woman are all the same. All you want is money and expensive jewellery, so why the hell are you turning my offer of everything you could ever want down?!”

(Ah, a man trying to save his fall from grace by shifting the blame. How boring.)

The woman’s response, however, makes him have to repress the sly quirk of his lips. “Because that would require me being within metres of you for long durations. No amount of money is worth that torture.”

Her delivery in the most aloof tone causes the man’s rage to peak. “Why you--!”

“Pardon me, sir.”

It is now that Edgar intervenes, the two sets of eyes moving from each other to focus on him. Edgar assesses the woman, her lavender eyes piercingly bright beneath her jet black mask, the edges adorned with golden feathers. The man seems flustered to have been interrupted but maintains a haughty demeanour against Edgar.

“What do you want? Can’t you see I’m busy reprimanding this lady’s unsavoury manners?”

Edgar’s eyes move to the man now, his calculated smile constructed perfectly to give no hint of weakness away, “I was just going to thank you for entertaining my date. I was running late and couldn’t notify her in time, but I appreciate you keeping her company before I arrived.”

While the man seems taken aback and confused, the woman’s eyes remained locked on Edgar in a gaze that could only be described as analytical.

(Let’s see if my hunch about you is correct, shall we?)

Edgar’s lips curl into a more dazzling smile, holding his hand out to her. “Shall we be off then, my darling?”

Her eyes move to his outstretched gloved hand then back to his eyes, hues of green and purple conversing silently through vision alone. Then, as naturally as one could imagine, she takes his hand and moves to stand beside him, her free arm looping around his in a way reminiscent of couples, love one would dare say. The man baulks, completely stunned as the two saunter off as if nothing ever occurred.

Out of earshot, Edgar grins as he guides the mysterious woman adorning his arm through the ballroom. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. You don’t need to feign sympathy for me. I appreciate the help though, so thank you.”

He chuckles in response. “That’s an awfully bold assumption you’re making of someone you’ve only just met.”

She meets his gaze, an almost apathetic look in her eyes, “I consider myself quite good at reading people, as I’m sure you think so of yourself.”

(Well, well...she is just as I thought. Curiouser and curiouser.)

Allowing himself this slight diversion to his goals at hand, he guides her into the middle of the ballroom where couples move and sway to boringly dull orchestral music. Sensing his intentions, she releases his arm and Edgar takes the opportunity to pull her towards him, his hand resting reservedly on the curve of her waist as they stand in a ballroom dancing position. They meld perfectly into the crowd as they dance, becoming nothing more than two more faces in a nameless crowd; a perfect opportunity for discussions.

“You’re a curious girl. At a distinguished party for Cradle’s finest, and you’re here alone and already causing an uproar. Just what are you planning?”

She remains silent, simply keeping her eyes locked on his own as they move perfectly in sync with each other and the music, anyone watching their dance enraptured by the precision and perfection of their almost fluid-like movements. After a twirl, she leans in close as if having lost her balance, whispering discreetly, “Why would I tell the Jack of Hearts my reasoning for being here?”

Any other soldier would pale at their mission being uncovered, but Edgar simply chuckles, the sound almost delightful in a bone-chilling way. He wraps his arm tighter around her waist, holding her close enough for his hair to brush against and tickle her cheekbone as he whispers back, “So I know for sure what your objective is, and if it conflicts with my own.”

Edgar was expecting her lithe body to tense in his grip, her breathing to catch or at least shorten. Yet here she is, her eyes as calm and as emotionless as….as his own. It’s her turn to lean closer, to let the strands of hair that hang free from her partial updo brush against his skin, to hear her lips part to take in a breath before she whispers, her tone still calm despite the clear implications in her actions.

“White suit, red tie. In the far right corner. He’s who you’re after.”

“What--?”

Before he can even formulate a question, she pushes against his chest to free herself from his grip. He thinks to grab her and demand an answer to her cryptic clues, but thinks better of it; he’s already given himself more leeway on this mission than is necessary so any lead to reach his goal is one he will take advantage of. The woman, nameless and enigmatic, turns and walks back through the crowd, Edgar’s eyes lingering on her as she’s swept into the mass of people.

His eyes move to the corner of the room, a man in a pristine white suit and a blood red tie, his demeanour obvious to Edgar of his hushed whispers and failed attempts of being discreet.

(Got you.)

…

As Edgar leaves the building, his gloves removed and carefully disposed of, he can’t help but think back on the odd night that has occurred. Espionage was in play and he quelled any chance of it rearing its ugly head, enough of a reason to be satisfied, albeit in an empty, hardly fulfilling way. However, his way of obtaining the information he needed still sticks out in his mind.

Coming and going as quick as the wind, breathing a message to steer him towards his goal before leaving without a trace. Once again, she becomes just another faceless human in this hardly unique world. But for that brief moment, her individuality shone through, and Edgar couldn’t help but reflect on it.

(She knew who I was and what I was doing. If she was just guessing of my title as the Jack of Hearts, then I would have been liable to believe her...but she also knew who I was looking for.)

His delicate eyebrows furrow as his face is set in a hard frown, infuriatingly unable to reach a conclusion that makes any sense. Resigning himself to reaching no end to his stream of unanswerable questions, he sets off back to the Red Army headquarters, an odd feeling of relatability flickering softly in his chest.

For just a moment when that woman didn’t back down from his clear threat, when she just stood there and stared at him without an inkling of fear, he was reminded of himself; Edgar saw himself in her, this feeling of connecting with someone whose name he doesn’t even know foreign to the man who has been trained since birth to keep everyone at arm’s length. The thought makes him laugh, the sound melancholic and far from the feelings a laugh usually elicits.

(I’m not even worth the ground I walk on. My hands have caused so much strife that Hell likely has a seat reserved just for me.)

He smiles once again, the masquerade mask not the only concealment of the Jack’s true face. One final thought crosses his mind as he drifts off into the night.

(I’ll find you somehow, and then you’re going to tell me everything.)

#ikerev #ikerev fanfic #edgar bright #original character #masquerade #fun fact: the curiouser and curiouser line is from the actual Alice In Wonderland book #fun little tidbit of info for ya ;3

41 notes · View notes

orangcy-blog · 5 years

Text

A Personal Matter

An OC AU drabble with my OC Leo and a friend’s OC Izumi. A Teacher x Single Parent (who I guess is a rockstar) AU. I didn’t expect to write out this much...

Slightly NSFWish but hardly noticeable

Knuckles braced hard on the phone as an overwhelming wave of shame collided onto him. Leo's heart dropping to the bottom of his stomach deeply anticipating a response. He heard the ringer go off...once...twice...three times. Was it normal to be hot and cold at the same time? He wondered. What about the dirty coffee pot in the sink? He was sure he left something in the oven, plus all the work he had to grade. This was a terrible time to approach this! All these things he had to do it was decided he'll confront this lat---

“Hello?”

“Oh u-um”

Surprised he was greeted with a tired voice on the other end, unlike what he heard on his day to day. Leo tighten his grip on the phone and took a deep breath. His nerves were scattered about and his thoughts were clouded despite having a plan only moments ago. Leo leaned forward his arm resting on his knee continuing to stare at the blank white walls that filled his home.

“M-Mr.Shimatsu my apologies for calling you up so early”

“O-oh! It's you Mr.Davis, did Hotaru do something wrong?”

Leo swallowed hoping his throat would become moist again. He overheard sounds of rustling on the end assuming that was his “acquaintance” on the line just getting out of bed. His eyes shot a glance over at his analog clock that read 8:50 exactly.

“Mr.Davis?”

“Sorry, no Hotaru didn't do anything wrong. This call is about a much more personal matter”

He remembered their exchange like it was yesterday. A boring night at a bar with little to no desire to converse with anyone. He'd only stick around for the music and to be around adults other than his coworkers. This was his self care every so often if he found the strength to make the trip. Other nights he'd lounge around in his home watching fantasy films in till he falls asleep.

He took a sip of cider and looked around at all the people surrounding him. He attention diverted when he heard someone enter through the door. That was when their eyes met one another. Normally, in this instance he's suppose to be smitten...head over heels...heart running a thousand miles. However he went into a panic and swiftly turned his head back to the bar acting as if nothing has happened.

“Mr.Davis?”

Shit

“Oh! What a pleasant coincidence seeing you here Mr.Shimatsu”

A nervous laugh soon came after. He noticed the other man taking a seat next to him. Leo felt every muscle tensing up, feeling every single nerve spike up in his body. This evening was suppose to be a night away from work! Not be confronted with it! He didn't want rumors spreading around that he was here.

“Pleasant indeed...I'd never expect to see you here”

“I'm not the bar scene type of guy I'm sure this is more of your territory”

A soft chuckle came out of the other man's lips. Leo tensed more throwing back the small glass to ease his nerves. He was trapped here by obligation now, instead, he might as well calm himself. Perhaps he can sweeten the other just enough to keep this exchange between the two of them.

“Guessing you're saying that because of the way I look,huh? I get it a lot”

“You're not the most average parent I've met in my years of teaching Mr.Shimatsu”

“Is that so?”

“Mhmmmmm”

Frankly he wasn't courageous enough to look over at Mr.Shimatsu. If he were to assume anything he'd guess the other looked amused by his actions. Having the same smile on his face he'd usually have when they had brief conversations at school. Despite the grungey get up he did have a nice smile, and a pair of beautiful blue eyes. Not that Leo noticed or anything rather he'd overhear some of the women in the PTA gush about Mr.Shimatsu.

His train of thought stopped once he noticed a song change. He can only hear it muffled over all the chatter but it put him a little more at ease when he started to hum along. It prompted the other to look at him quizzically.

“I never knew you were a rock fan”

“Always have been and always will be”

Leo wasn't sure how it happened but it prompted the two of them to have a long conversation about music they liked. He could've sworn mixed in there somewhere were a few flirty smiles, but who could really tell? He continued ordering and on liquor that his mind wasn't all there anymore. Buzzed and snickering at every corny joke Mr.Shimatsu tried to impress him with.

“Don't quit your day job Mr.Shimatsu”

“I don't anticipate to and please you can call me Izumi…”

Izumi. Somehow it was a fitting name for him. It rolled off the tongue well. Leo's cheeks darken from the delivery of that sentence and the meaning behind it. He shouldn't indulge himself in this game,but rather go home. However, it was the other's smile that left him sitting there. Such a warm and enticing gaze that only landed on him. In such a manner he felt almost special like he was the only person in the room. Mixed with how buzzed he was currently he didn't mind this attention at all.

“Alright Izumi I'm Leo” he said sending a smile back.

“Do you have a ride back home?”

“I don't live too fa---” he paused for a moment, “No, I don't have a ride back home. If only someone could do me the honor”

Izumi laughed in response getting up and paying for the both of them. Which was a bit of a surprise to Leo seeing as he was fully willing to pay for himself. He got up from his chair feeling himself lose a bit of balance, but hardly anything noticeable.

The car ride was brief though the two were laughing at one another and complaining about work. Honestly this was the most relaxed Leo has ever felt in such long time. The most he'd ever unwind with is a few friends he'd see once in awhile, or if he popped by to see his cousin down a few blocks. Though...this experience felt different than with his friends or family. Leo hardly had this type of attention in a long time.

Then and only then did he take the very few last of his functioning brain cells to reflect on his current situation. The two slowly reached the front of Leo's house standing right beside one another. The only thing illuminating was the dim porch light.

“Listen I wanted to say I had a really nice time” Izumi said with a smile. “If...it isn't too much to ask for maybe we could do something like this again sometime”

“Mmm maybe” Leo said. He was rather impartial on the decision. He couldn't go back to work knowing he was dating one of his student's parents. Especially someone as well known around as Izumi, he'd never hear the end of it.

Though he was single from rumors that floated around. He had the most charming smile, and beautiful set of blue eyes. His voice was smooth, but almost dorky in a way he found adorable. He tried to be this big mysterious rock sensation but in reality he was such a big nerd. His outer appearance and personality were polar opposites.

His body fell on autopilot and impulse. Leo grabbed both sides of Izumi's dress shirt collar and yanked him down so he was on level. He was greeted with a very surprised look on Izumi's face.

“W-what are you doing?”

“I want a kiss” Leo said in a deadpan expression.

“I--”

“C'moooonnn just one kiss plllleeaaasseeee?” Leo whined hoping it'd attract the other to his offer.

Leo may have his dumb moments but he wasn't stupid. He saw the way the other looked at him when they spoke.During their talks he noticed Izumi gently biting at his lip or glancing over at his own. Their first two meetings Izumi stammered hard and his cheeks went red. Even when shaking hands Izumi forgot to pull away. Leo knew Izumi was attracted to him, but he tried pushing it away for the sake of his reputation.

Now it was the two of them alone under a dimly lit light with not a single person in sight.

“Fine” Izumi sighed putting both of his hands on Leo's hips and pulling him in. Of course Izumi leaned in slowly, but Leo had other plans.

Leo quickly pushed the back of Izumi's head with his hand causing their lips to abruptly collide. He hasn't kissed anyone in so long he felt a little out of the loop on the know hows but he went with it. By no means was this inherently romantic within seconds the two were exchanging tongue tasting the alcohol they consumed only minutes ago. In the meantime their hands were moving across every single curvature of each others bodies. Somehow Leo managed to be firmly pressed right up against the wall.

They pulled away having a loss of breath. It was then Izumi let go of the other and took a step back. Leo was disappointed but understood why this happened. He didn't feel right going this far when he's buzzed and only been on one outing with the guy. That didn't mean he couldn't be disappointed. He hasn't been kissed or touched in years and his body has been longing for that need to be met.

Leo was greeted with a small kiss on his cheek soon after from Izumi. It tickled in a strange way that it caused him to smile and touch his cheek. He returned the favor but instead he had to get on the tips of his toes to reach Izumi's cheek.

“Goodnight Leo…” Izumi said in a soft almost angelic voice.

“Goodnight Izumi…” Leo said in return waving him off.

Afterwards he rummaged around in his pocket for his keys and planted himself face first into his uncomfortable sofa, reeking of alcohol, and with a small “problem” in his pants only one person could satisfy.

It was the worst sleep he had in awhile…

Ever since then seeing Hotaru in school felt awkward, and he tried actively avoiding after school yard duty calls so he could avoid every instance of seeing Izumi. That was in till now. He couldn't remember for the life of him how Izumi's cell phone number got into his phone, but he had to address this once and for all.

“Do you remember that outing we had a week ago?” Leo said very slowly making sure Izumi heard clearly on the end of the line.

“Yeah why?” the other spoke in concern

“Do you mind keeping it our little secret?”

#we ain't uSING TAGS BC THIS IS TOP TIER SECRET MATERIAL #by that i mean i have 0 confidence in my own writing ability

1 note · View note

weightloss18-blog1 · 6 years

Text

Hemp (CBD) Oil + Ultimate Detox System for Anxiety, Acne, Hormonal Imbalances & More

New Post has been published on https://designweightloss.com/hemp-cbd-oil-ultimate-detox-system-for-anxiety-acne-hormonal-imbalances-more/

Hemp (CBD) Oil + Ultimate Detox System for Anxiety, Acne, Hormonal Imbalances & More

Hello, CNC friends!

I’ve been experimenting with something new these days, and I can’t wait to tell you guys all about it. Have you heard of or tried Hemp (CBD) oil? It’s all the rage right now, especially since it’s become legal in all 50 U.S. states.

So, what is Hemp/CBD oil, exactly? CBD is one of the compounds found in the cannabis plant, and no, it’s not the same thing as marijuana. Basically, where they differ is that marijuana contains both THC (psychoactive – affects the mind) and CBD (non-psychoactive).

When we think about the traditional term of getting “high,” that’s referring to THC. CBD does not alter state of mind, but it does have some positive impacts on the body.

Kristen from Thrive by Food recommended CBD oil to me for two reasons: It could positively impact both digestive issues and my anxiety. So I thought, what do I have to lose? Turns out, she was totally right, and I’ve seen so many positive impacts! But more on that later – let’s get into the nitty-gritty science for those of you who like to geek out like I do!

Latest Videos

It all starts with the endocannabinoid system (I didn’t even know this even existed – derp). Our bodies have cannabinoid receptors that bind to neurotransmitters – which then express themselves in so many ways, from pain modulation, our moods, to even fertility. These neurotransmitters are able to penetrate the blood-brain barrier – meaning they not only impact our brains, but our bodies as well.

Cannabinoids have been shown to impact our immune systems and the part of the brain that regulates stress – and as someone who suffers from both anxiety and an autoimmune disorder, I was all about this. What’s even cooler is that cannabinoids play a positive role in our ability to “rest and digest” – key for IBD sufferers! CBD oil aids our internal endocannabinoid system to function properly because it helps us switch from being go,go,go to calming down and chilling out. I’m super Type A and a worrier in general, and while I’ve come a long way in my anxiety battle, sometimes I need a little extra help.

So what benefits have I noticed since I started using CBD oil?

I’m definitely much calmer and less anxious. I’m less irritable and snappy, and I’m even surprised by my response to situations – like, wow, I’m weirdly chill about what’s happening right now. Haha! My sleep has also really improved. I used to toss and turn a bit during the night, but now I sleep like a LOG. The sleep is definitely the most noticeable change I have experienced. I wake up feeling really well-rested too. During the shift from ovulation into the luteal phase, a time when I get notoriously moody, even Mal has noticed how much more predictable my moods are. I also think being less anxious and stressed has probably helped my hormone issues – more on this below! Overall, my outlook has really improved, and I’m far more positive. Needless to say, I’m a believer!

Interested in trying it yourself? If you google CBD or Hemp oil, you will literally come across hundreds of products and brands, making it difficult to distinguish what’s legitimate (and worth your money) and what’s not. I’m currently using PrimeMyBody Nanoenhanced Hemp Oil, and I’ve been loving it. If you’re perusing options, here are a few things to look out for.

Ingredient Quality

Make sure you choose a brand that discloses where all of their ingredients come from because some won’t and its far better to know what’s in your product then to be left wondering. That’s why I love PMB – they do source from the best places, and go the extra mile when it comes to bacteria testing. Stuff like e.coli and mold can show up in CBD oil (gross), so it’s worth your time and money to find a product that’s made with extra care.

Delivery Mechanism

You want to find a product that promises a proper delivery system, meaning that most of the oil finds its way into your bloodstream, and not, well, into your toilet. PMB offers liposomal delivery, meaning that the oil broken down into the smallest particles so that it can be easily absorbed by your body. If you’re going to spend money on an oil, you want to make sure it at least gets where it’s supposed to be going, right?

Cost

Hemp/CBD oil is not cheap. And that’s why you want to make sure the above two components (ingredient quality and delivery mechanism) are spot on. One of the reasons I decided to try PMB was the the oil is made with phosphatidylcholine (basically sunflower oil) to stabilize the droplets rather than something like xanthan gum, which definitely would not be as effective as an emulsifier. This particular ingredient is a tad bit pricey, but well worth it in my eyes for a higher quality product that i know is going to deliver as promised.

There’s a lot of info and options out there on the internet when it comes to choosing a CBD or Hemp product – but what it really comes down to is quality, quality, quality! If you’re interested in trying CBD oil out for yourself, definitely check out PMB as an option! So far, so good, and I’m super glad to have found an all-natural way to deal with my anxiety!

In addition to CBD oil, Kristin also recommend that I use The Ultimate Detox System (pictured above), which is from the same company. If you follow me on Instagram Stories, you might have heard me talk a little about the detox system that I recently started using – this is it! I’ve used it for a little over 2 months now, and I’m blown away by what it’s done for my hormonal issues.

You guys probably remember how much I struggled with hormone issues since Quinn was born more than 4 years ago. I dealt with acne, anxiety, eczema, weight gain, mood swings, sore breasts, painful cramps, heavy periods, breakthrough bleeding, night sweats, and more. It was definitely a rollercoaster. My symptoms have gotten SO MUCH better overall, but I still struggled at certain times of the month. I’d feel mostly fine during the first couple of weeks of my cycle, but then all of those terrible symptoms would hit from mid-cycle until the first or second day of my period. It was so annoying because I’d feel like myself and then feel awful every.single.month, and I couldn’t figure out how to fix it.

I’ve worked with Kristin since the beginning of the year, and so when she suggested the DUTCH test to figure out what was going on with my hormones, I was all about it. My results said that my hormones (surprise!) are totally fine, but my body has trouble detoxing them. And if your body can’t rid itself of extra hormones, you are going to feel like crap and experience all of the not-so-fun related symptoms. She recommended The Ultimate Detox System from PrimeMyBody, and I’ve had the BEST results. The past two months have been amazing!

First of all, ovulation was a dream. It didn’t have all of those annoying symptoms, and my skin (*knock on wood*) has been phenomenal. Acne can also be caused from detox issues, and coupled with hormones, it can really be a disaster on your skin. Since starting the detox system, I literally haven’t had one pimple. It’s incredible – and, hopefully, I didn’t jinx myself by saying that! I’ve really enjoyed having clear skin since I’ve struggle with acne on and off since I was a teenager.

I just threw a lot of information at you, so feel free to ask me any questions you might have. If I can’t answer them, I’m sure Kristin can, and I’ll reach out to her. I’m really happy with my experience using both of these products and can’t recommend them enough. They’re not cheap, but definitely worth it for the results.

Speaking of which, today through the end of September, you can save $30 OFF the Ultimate Detox System. If you’re interested in becoming an Affiliate (just let me know if you want the details – lots of discounts), you can save an additional 10%.

Question of the Day

Have you tried Hemp/CBD oil?

P.S. Not quite ready to jump on the CBD (Hemp) oil train yet? Totally okay! Stay in the loop by signing up for my CBD oil interest newsletter!

What I’m Loving Lately 121

Dairy Free Carrot Cake Smoothie + What I Ate in a Day

0 notes

trendingnewsb · 6 years

Text

How Violent Video Games Might Be Screwing With Your Brain

I’ve been committing war crimes in video games since the goddamned Carter era. In a game last night, I used a combination of a flamethrower and a trained bear to kill a man who I think was just trying to change a tire on his car. I’m typing this on a solid gold computer I bought with money made from distributing violent media. I’m not here to take anyone’s fun away.

But, to boil my point down to Tweet length:

I don’t think violent video games make kids do violence in real life. The evidence for that is weak to nonexistent. I do think violent video games can make some people into raging, intolerant jerks via a process that is rarely talked about. I think that assertion is supported by both data and common sense. Let’s see if you agree!

Moral Crusaders Get It Wrong

The always-weird experiments that “prove” a connection between violent video games and aggression seem to all involve having some kids kill shit on a screen, then testing them to see if they’ll harm somebody in real life, like playing a loud noise to punish another kid. Sure enough, the ones playing violent games were (immediately after) harsher on their peers.

Even if you’re not a trained Mad Scientist, you know why that’s a weak-ass connection. At best, that seems to happen for the same reason pro athletes get into shoving matches after a play, even though they wouldn’t do the same while, say, in line at a breakfast buffet. They’re keyed up, on edge. Let them calm down, and they’re fine.

Now, in the above-linked study, the scientists seemed surprised to find that they got the same reaction from cartoonish games and more “realistic” ones (I put the sarcasm quotes there because Street Fighter was one of their “realistic” games). Sure enough, a later study found no change in subjects based on how realistic a game’s violence was.

That right there is crucial to my theory: Games simulating violence don’t translate to real-world violence because they’re not actually simulating that at all. The sensations of real-world violence — genuine physical fear, shaking, cold sweat — just aren’t there. Games train you for that about as well as watching IT trains you fight sewer clowns.

I think lots of you would prefer to just stop reading here. Games are healthy and harmless and that’s that, goddammit. But …

Game Defenders Get It Wrong Too

The knee-jerk response to critics has always been, “Of course games don’t train you to be violent, or sexist, or anything else. It’s just a game, it’s imaginary!” But those exact same people will applaud articles about how games teach kids problem-solving, improve hand-eye coordination, and even help them learn social skills. Which makes sense. If you spend several hours a day doing something, it’s going to change you. Your brain is built to adapt to whatever it’s repeatedly asked to do — “They’re just games” is therefore a nonsense defense.

And obviously software can train you to do things in the real world — that’s how we teach pilots how to fly (at first). And we know that storytelling media can change your attitudes and worldview. You learned in elementary school about how Uncle Tom’s Cabin took the abolitionist movement mainstream, and how The Jungle caused such widespread outrage that the public demanded companies put fewer severed human fingers in their hamburgers.

Movies, shows, and songs invent catchphrases and fashion trends, and set beauty standards. They also make us think we understand subjects we don’t. To this day, parents teach kids to be terrified of strangers when it’s friends, family, and acquaintances who are most likely to harm them because on TV, the danger is always some predator snatching them off the street. And as I pointed out years ago, the Jaws franchise had horrific consequences for real sharks.

In fact, if somebody else wants to argue that war-based games make players more willing to support war in an abstract way (more willing to vote for it, root for it on TV, whatever), they’re free to make that case. If they want to point out that these games feed our weird gun fetish and make assault rifles seem like super cool toys, others have already made that point in a very eloquent way. But I’m talking about something different …

They Don’t Teach Violence — They Teach Us That Obstacles Should Be Easy To Eliminate

One key finding in studies is that video games (violent or otherwise) reduce impulse control in some kids, and lower their ability to tolerate frustration. You can read more about that here, or here, or here, or in any number of other articles if you just Google those terms. It seems to be worse for kids who play tons of games, and it may be worse when those games are violent. Please note that it’s really hard to study this — a human life is full of variables.

Since I am not a professional scienceman, I am going to use my own experiences as a lifelong gamer and rage monster to explain what I think is going on. The addictive loop that makes video games so appealing — and so much more appealing to people with a certain personality type — can be summed up thusly:

A) Here is a thing that is blocking your progress

B) Click a series of buttons to make it disappear

C) Here is a satisfying animation to celebrate your success

Over and over again, for hours at a time, across days, months and years. Hundreds of thousands of repetitions etched into the brain. Problems, button presses, solutions. This is training the brain, altering it. It has to be. It would be weird if it wasn’t.

So if “violent” video games are worse for us, it isn’t because of the violence. It’s because they’re all based around that incredibly satisfying mechanic of quickly eliminating obstacles, one after another (as opposed to games based around complex puzzle-solving, teamwork, memorization, etc). It’s not about tapping into our natural urge to kill; it’s about tapping into our natural urge to fix problems by eliminating them.

It’s a power fantasy, but not in the way moral crusaders insist. It doesn’t train us to want to slit the throat of anyone opposing us. It trains us to want and expect anything opposing us to vanish if we simply apply enough effort to the task. That’s what happened to me, anyway.

The Real World Does Not Work That Way

My patience with shitty people is so thin that it can no longer be considered to exist in three dimensions. My world is full of people expressing horrible, wrong opinions on various social media channels I apparently can’t quit, customer service workers who seem annoyed that I’m doing business with them, fellow drivers who seem to worship some kind of dark god of chaos, and voters who apparently just want to see the world burn. I do not handle it well.

When something doesn’t function — whether it’s a system, a human being, or my air conditioner — I lose my shit. I want the obstacles to go away. I don’t want to shoot them with a railgun or attack them with my Far Cry 5 bear. I haven’t been in a fight since I was eight — real violence would make me sick. I just want them gone. Not managed, not ameliorated, but gone. And I want to be told what simple sequence of actions I need to take to make that happen.

My ability to remain calm and analyze problems, or to patiently wait for long-term solutions to take their course, is dogshit. If those circuits even exist in me, they’re fried. The stress of unresolved problems is unbearable. It doesn’t make me violent, but it does make me irritable, rash, and impulsive. When I’m in those moods, that’s when I want most to retreat into games — a world in which nothing can oppose me for long. I think it’s been like that for as long as I’ve been playing.

“But wait,” you say, “why would this translate from the game world to the real world if violence doesn’t? Ha! I have defeated your entire point by noticing this inconsistency, even though you wrote this question and put it into the mouth of an imaginary interlocutor.”

Thanks for asking. The reason is …

Everyday Interaction Has Been Gamified

The entire appeal of social media is that it turns interaction with your social circle into a game. Your baby photos get a score in the form of likes, and the restaurant that screws up your order can get hit with a bad Yelp review, lowering their score. People who piss you off can be blocked, vanishing from your field of view as neatly as the victims of my Far Cry murder bear (his name is Cheeseburger, and he’s diabetic). When I order something on Amazon, I can watch the delivery progress on a little graphic meter, observing them failing me one step at a time. If I’m unhappy with the product, the one-star review feels as good as a headshot.