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flokali · 2 months

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— Concept: Student Yandere and Professor Darling

Warning: GN! Reader, blackmail, n/on-con, d/ub-con, age gap, student-teacher relationship, push-over reader, unfair ending, n/oncon recording, uhh ask to tag!

A/N: just a concept that plagued me for a while... hhhhhhh;; i'm so normal ab this

Any dynamics that involve an authority figure and a subordinate, no matter how innocent they may initially seem, are doomed from the start for either or both of the parties involved.

There’s an underlying power imbalance, someone holds the authority over the other, there is no nice way to put it, unfortunately.

Most of the time, in fics, I see a lot of Yan professors creeping on their students, but the thought of a student Yan harassing their beloved professor has been plaguing my mind.

I see the relationship as one that starts sweetly, you’ve noticed a certain student in your course that’s been falling behind, making mistakes that should have long been addressed, their work is always late or partially done and you’re growing slightly annoyed at them for wasting your time and misusing theirs as well, you’d offered them private tutoring when you found out it seemed to be only your course where they were turning in these less than acceptable projects.

They reject, seemingly embarrassed that you’d even offered such a proposal. You try to calm their nerves down, you’re pretty young yourself, you only graduated a few years ago and you won’t charge them, it won't be a daily thing but they can pop in every once in a while at your office so you can review and work on assignments and such. The hesitant look on their face seems to slowly be melting off.

You continue insisting, you lay out the facts as they are; they’re a brilliant student who has been passing all other courses and extracurricular activities with flying colors, so why is that your course has become such a challenge to them? You’be seen them work and the way they behave during class, you’ve even noticed how some students go to them to try and clear up any questions and study together with them, rumors about them being easily one of the college’s star students were always going around, so it’s either that they’re making shit up and lying to their peers, which you doubt since you’ve seen their works before and after reaching out to them, or they were purposefully trying to fail your class, maybe they thought it’d be easier and decided to try it and decided from the get go not do their best – after all, it wasn’t as if all of the work they’ve handed is bad, there’s some clear understanding of what they’re doing, it’s just that they seem insistent on missing something, even if it means inconsistencies in their resume of work, the assignments that made up less percentage of the overall grade were done well enough but anything that was important was clearly half-assed. You explain your concern; you’re genuinely worried your class might hold them back from graduating with their peers, if things kept going on like this, they’d fail your class and if they did, they’d have to repeat the semester and risk graduating a year or so later.

It’s then that they pull out a card they’d been holding on to dearly for a situation such as this, a perfectly curated story meant to pull at your heartstrings and lead you into their honey sweet trap;

They start going on about a sob story about their parents’ jobs, how they were struggling financially for a while since their parents cut them partially off for choosing a college out of their town, and how they’re supposed to provide for themselves for things such as food and bills, about how their schedule is always so busy trying to balance college, their friendships, mending their relationship with their parents, and their job on top of all studying they’ve been doing, how your class had unfortunately been the least of their concerns and that they’re immensely sorry to have worried you and that they are willing to do anything to make up for their past grades.

You can empathize with such a dilemma, being fresh out of college yourself, the memories of balancing relationships, work, and academics are still freshly etched into your mind.

They clearly seem burned out and your heart aches seeing a student as promising as themselves dim down so drastically. You’d hate to be one class that impedes them from graduating on time, you don't want to be the lone profesor responsible for slowing down such a valuable asset to society.

You sit them down and try to offer them some advice, you were in a similar situation when you were in college yourself, you try to explain the ways you managed to survive and bypass college, going into detail about your own problems and how you were able to live through it all. They seem visibly more relaxed during the conversation, nodding along and explaining their own feelings and hardships, you both manage to sympathize with each other and come to an arrangement.

It’s completely under the table since you are worried what it might look like, but from now on until the end of this semester you’d use a more relaxed, less strict grading system for them, after all, they did have a legitimate reason for their behavior and they were willing to make up for it. That is, under the condition that they start taking tutoring classes from either yourself or a fellow classmate, they weren’t able to balance the studying schedule necessary so you’d try and manage at least one aspect of it for them to try and make their life a little bit easier.

They agree gladly, but not before asking if you could be the tutor, when you’d questioned their request they explain themselves, seemingly embarrassed for their own reasoning;

“I don’t want it to get out that I’m failing your class, professor…” The smile they wear seems genuine and shy and you nod in understanding, college students are only older teenagers, after all, most of them are still stuck in their high school mentality and you wouldn’t put it past a bunch of immature little shits to try and mess with someone who was struggling.

What you don’t know is that they’ve been planning for something like this to happen from the get go, always going out of their way to purposefully present themselves as a stupid, pathetic and incompetent student that would need their hot professor’s (your) help to pass the course.

During your first couple of sessions they work extra hard to make themselves seem as ditzy and clueless as possible, making as many mistakes and errors as humanly reasonable without getting you too annoyed at them. They even begin to dress in slightly more provocative ways, their speech seems more flirtatious, their touches linger on your shoulders for longer than necessary, but you brush it off, trying to ignore the signs, and think of it as a silly crush, opting to try to focus on helping them get through this semester with either a decent or average grade.

Their grades are getting better but with the current pace, you were afraid it wouldn’t be enough.

So, you ignore the uncomfortable, sinking feeling in your gut and suggest making your tutoring sessions more frequent - instead of once a week maybe twice or thrice if it was really necessary.

You didn’t expect them to suggest going to your place. Originally, you’d suggested either the library or a cafe, but they said they felt too embarrassed and self-conscious at the idea of their peers watching him, they claimed they’d probably make fun of them for needing help for a course they’d been taking for almost a whole semester at that point.

They insist on your place, but you reject the idea, they say it’s either there or at their place because elsewhere you both risk either staff or some of the student body seeing you both together and getting the wrong idea. The conversation goes on for hours until you’re exhausted and give in.

They are a good person, right? Even if the thought of a student knowing where you lived made you uncomfortable, it wasn’t like they’d do anything about it… right?

You try to limit the study space to your living room, the bathroom, and the kitchen every once in a while if you notice the snacks you had brought weren’t enough, but never further than that. Your bedroom and office were completely off limits, you’d made it explicitly clear that if you caught them wandering far you’d have no choice but to kick them out and stop the tutoring, possibly even having to call the campus’ authorities if you felt they were getting too out of line – your reputation be damned.

They also were only allowed to come over during the weekends and on specific weekdays where no one would be able to catch him entering your apartment.

They agree and promise to follow every single one of the rules you’d put in place.

But it doesn’t take long for them to start going back on their word and start “exploring” your living space, it started small – simply walking around your living room, examining framed pictures, looking over books, memorizing the placement of your trinkets and decor, making a mental note of the colors you used in the space, they make sure to remember to try and look up where you got your cushions and everything as well, they start looking into you fridge and pantry to make see what you eat, if there’s any indication of a possible food allergy; it’s all investigative work for your future together. It’s not too long before they’ve memorized your living room and are drawn to the rest of your house. They've gone to your bedroom and studied the space, taking note of the way you made your bed and how many pillows you have, they also have made a list of products you use and like, such as scents and soaps, to make sure your transition to their place is as smooth as possible. Soon, they could very well draw a floor plan of your place and recreate your home in the most basic of softwares.

The only reason you haven’t caught up to them is because they’ve taken to spiking your drinks with sleep medication, strong enough dosages that you’ll be knocked out for a while, but not enough that you’ll realize you were drugged.

It’s during your sleeping state that the next part of their plan starts to take action. They’ll purposefully plant evidence in your home of their presence and snap pictures, suddenly their underwear is in your laundry basket, and why are you wearing their hoodies to sleep, huh? They’re meticulously planned and staged pictures that make it look like you were engaging in a romantic relationship, but it’s not enough — they need more, something more extreme. More incriminating, something that would absolutely destroy your career and reputation if it came out.

What about a picture of them going down on you? Or one with their cum all over your face? Your naked figure cuddling up to their bare chest? Some makeup to look like hickies could look realistic in pictures too, you know. Maybe them on top of you… or you on top of them? Or one where your lips are sucking their fingers like a —! Ah, the thought has them blushing! All of these photos are like their dreams come true! You look like such a perfect spouse, taking their love~ They make sure to clean up the space, but they’re growing bolder and more confident in their work.

They even have videos of themselves jacking off on top of you, but they’re always so good at making it seem like you’re awake and participating in these activities! It really does look like you’re helping them get off with your own mouth.

You’re such a naughty professor seducing your innocent, sweet student like that!

It’s sick, they’re sick and they know it fully well but they don’t care, as long as they don’t get caught – there’s no way in hell they’ll stop.

Their grades begin improving and there’s no longer any fear of them failing your class, in fact you’d go as far to say they’ve easily become one of your best students in terms of grades. Things seem to be looking up and you’re pretty proud of yourself for having had a positive impact on them, which is why you come to the conclusion they won’t be needing your tutoring anymore.

You call them over to your office after classes, making sure to be as nice as possible. At first you were annoyed and put off by them, their initial behavior was unsettling and persistent, but after a couple of months of getting to know them you’ve grown to care for them and genuinely wish them the best, you’d pointed out how teaching them had been a joy and you’d always end the sessions feeling better than before, which is why you’d chosen to end the tutoring. You lay out the facts as they are, their grades have improved and there’s no longer any threat of them failing your class, you’d also be risking people misunderstanding the situation if it went any longer, if word came out you’d been using a different rubric to grade them until recently and that they’d been going over to your place, it would simply look bad for both of you. You’d risk getting sanctioned, possibly even losing your job if things were taken in the wrong way, and they could repeat the semester or even have their work in your class be null and having to take a new course entirely, if not even being kicked out.

There’s a minute of silence between the two of you, the air is thick and you wonder if you should have been softer in your delivery as you watch them process your words.

It takes them a while, you decide to give them the time because you have indeed noticed how they’d seem to grow ever so attached to you and they might take this a bit too personally, but you’re soon starting to grow increasingly uncomfortable as the silence continues.

You’re about to say something again, try to soften the blow with some generic encouragement about how they’ll do well regardless of you being their tutor or not, when you hear them chuckle softly under their breath.

You’re taken aback, your eyes widen in surprise and you unconsciously lean back into your chair, but that seems to have further encouraged their laughter as soon they’re covering their face with the back of their hand as they double over in laughter.

It’s strange but you decide to give them a few seconds to regain their composure, maybe this was a nervous habit? You’d heard of people who’d laugh when anxious, but you’d never seen something so theatrical.

They slowly sit back up, wiping tears from their eyes as a few chuckles escape their smiling lips. They haven’t fully calmed down but seem to be making an effort to continue the conversation nonetheless.

“Ah, professor,” your last name tumbles from their lips in a joyous manner but their eyes look icy as they stare at you, their voice feels more aggressive even if the words came out from a smile, “don’t be so ridiculous, I think things are working pretty well as they are, I have no desire to change our… relationship.”

You’re taken by surprise, their word choice feels odd and purposeful, but you insist regardless.

“There is no relationship between us,” you state, “I am your professor, do you understand? That means that if I say your tutoring is over, it’s over; I have been going easy on you and helping you out but do not misinterpret my intentions, you are my student and that’s where our acquaintanceship ends. If you think you’ll continue needing help, I’m certain our TA will be more than glad to step up and help you out.”

They smile as they take their phone out of their pocket and your stomach drops for a second, wondering what on earth they could have there. They slide it towards you after unlocking it, they’re carefree in their handling of the device and your nerves start to rise, a gut wrenching feeling settles in your stomach, you don’t really understand what you’re seeing at first but once you do you feel your blood run cold.

You don’t even realize they’ve walked behind your chair, too focused on the picture of your naked body cuddling up to their equally nude form. They’re smiling, tenderly caressing your bare shoulders, embracing your body in such a loving manner it looked like you were lovers. When… When did they take this?

Your voice is shaking but they don’t answer you, instead opting to crouch beside you and show you the hundreds of incriminating pictures themselves.

They start telling you a story based on the pictures, the one they seemed to be telling you even if you knew that everything they depicted was fake, about a promiscuous professor that seduced their student, coaxed them into a relationship and took advantage of their position to influence the student into falling in love with them.

You want to tell them it won’t work, threaten to call the dean or the campus police, but they quickly clear out any confusion; “Would anyone believe a student would seduce a teacher and that it’s not the other way around?”

You know exactly what they mean; you’re the professor, you hold the authority. You had never been able to put a stop to it because you had no idea what they were doing but that didn’t matter, it was your word against theirs and they had “evidence”.

They seem proud of themselves too, telling you about all the ways they set up the rooms and photos to make sure they looked as real as possible. They’d taken their clothes and belongings over to your place in secret, made sure to apply makeup in the right places with the correct lighting, it seriously felt like an art they’d perfected.

You ask them what they could possibly want, clearly it couldn’t be only your tutoring if they were going this far. They smile and tell you they simply want a relationship with you, one that goes beyond a professor and a student; from that day onwards they wanted to be your lover.

You want to say no, but they remind you of the position you’re in; “You know, I’ve got these backed up in a bunch of places, it’d be a shame if one leaked, right, professor?”

You feel numb as they lock the door of your office and guide you on top of your desk, you barely even register them going down on you - stripping you naked and giving you oral. From that day onward, you were a prisoner to your own student.

Everyday, they’d act like any other person taking your classes, going to college, making friends, as if when your work day ended they didn’t torment you under the guise of love. Making themselves into your lover without your consent, as if you weren’t their professor, as if they weren’t your student. They celebrate your birthday and make you celebrate theirs, you go on dates outside of town so as to not be caught, there are times you almost forget the perverse nature of your relationship - but it always comes back to haunt you. They always come back to haunt you.

They make sure not to show any of the images to anyone for as long as they’re going to the college. They need to keep an eye on you, make sure your looks and personality don’t charm any other student - they’d hate to get rid of their classmates due to your unknowing seduction. They’re so good at acting like they weren’t bending you over your kitchen counter the minute they followed you home, you’d almost believe they were only your innocent, well meaning student if they didn’t send you videos of you two fucking as extra-curriculum activities.

They also take your courses religiously to make sure to always be in contact with you; you could never escape them, they’ll follow you home and come inside even if you try to shut the door behind you. Whenever you tried changing the lock they'd find a way to break in anyway, on campus they’d sneakily follow you everywhere and harass you. Those who notice, the few that do, think of it as cute, an innocent puppy crush that would fade by next semester.

It’s not until they gets their diploma three years later that they releases a drive full of the videos and pictures, making sure to add dates and location, everything to prove you were fucking a student. You were a whore of a professor seducing their students.

You’re fired immediately and it’s not long until your friends and family cut contact with you for seducing a poor college student and using your power over them as leverage. Nobody wants to hire you, they’d make sure to document every single dirty detail of your relationship so as to ruin your reputation until you’d be forced to turn to the only person who didn’t turn their back on you.

You can only walk into their open arms as they suggest finally moving in together, possibly getting married, and maybe even having a couple of children now that they have graduated and received their degree.

But even through it all, they still have the audacity to call you their beloved “professor”.

Characters: Lisa (GI), Scaramouche (GI), Al-Haitham (GI), Kaeya (GI), Ayato (GI), Jing Yuan (HSR), Luocha (HSR), Aventurine (HSR), Vyn (TOT), Rafayel (L&DS), Ibara (ENSTARS), Eichi (ENSTARS), Yuzuru (ENSTARS), Cater (TWST), Rook (TWST), Kylar (DOL), Whitney (DOL), literally anyone you want really (TT)

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thedawningofthehour · 8 months

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didn't you say you were making Draxum's house in the sims? Did you ever finish? :(

So I whined about this on my main blog, but I'm having issues with my computer. The power port, and I've noticed this for a while, gets extremely hot whenever I try to run anything more intensive than Powerwash Simulator, and the past few months it's become harder and harder to get it to charge. (I'm not overclocking or anything-I bought this computer for gaming and made sure it had the specs to run shit like my heavily modded Skyrim and Fallout, it should be able to run Sims) I contacted Acer about a repair and they quoted me over eight hundred dollars. The actual computer was about 1200-1300, for comparison. There's other issues with it as well-there's a chip on the screen that's really obvious on a white background, and they advertised that it would support a second hard drive, but it's never recognized the one I bought. The power port is the most grievous though, and power ports on laptops are notoriously hard to repair.

And this computer isn't old. I bought it last spring. Less than a year and a half-and I've barely been gaming on it because I've been writing this, so I spent over a thousand dollars on a turtles fanfiction machine essentially. (there's been other reasons, depression funk caused a complete disinterest in gaming and after so many mass shootings I've started feeling guilty whenever playing games with guns, but writing is mostly what I've been using this expensive gaming PC for) I only had the one-year warranty that came with the computer, but honestly I can't find it in myself to regret that too much because I have never once had a company actually honor a warranty. It's like safety deposits on apartments or insurance claims-they'll do everything they can to weasel out of doing what they're supposed to.

So back to your question-I currently don't trust my computer to run the Sims. Or anything else. And I can afford to buy another gaming PC right now, but it would be financially pretty irresponsible. I returned the tablet I bought to draw with, and I think I'm going to get one of those two-in-one laptop/tablets so I can use it for drawing and writing. Maybe I'll be able to run the Sims 4 on that-it doesn't have to run great, I use it mostly as a building simulator. Kind of sucks though, Crusader Kings 3 came out with another expansion pack and the new Cities Skylines is coming out this fall, plus I've been getting a hankering to play Skyrim again.

But enough about my computer woes, I do think I have some screenshots I could show...

First floor, I apparently took these during the first round of building because I made a lot of changes. The lab is way bigger now, and I have the rest of the house shell done. The blank space in the back right is where I was going to put in the multi-story room where the turtles find the weapons-which is probably the least completed part of the entire house because holy hell the building controls do not want to work with me.

But in the back left you can see Cass and Gale's rooms! :)

I do like how the main hallway turned out. I know it was mostly destroyed on Creation Day, but let's just say Draxum redid it in the same style. The middle picture, that's the little storage room that hides the door to the part of the house where Gale's room is. If you know the Sims you can tell where the secret door is.

And yes, I know the half-walls under the stairs look ridiculous, I've fixed it since then. I couldn't just extend the half-wall all the way back because it would delete the upper staircase, for some reason.

I'm pretty proud of how the living room is turning out. Could be a little bigger, but the symmetry of the bookshelves are just too perfect. (also the curved walls get fussy, FUCK CURVED WALLS) Needs some clutter on the mantle though.

The kitchen no longer looks like this, I moved around a lot of the pictures and added another layer of cabinets, because Draxum probably has like six sets of fine china he's received as gifts throughout the years and refuses to part with. I added more retro-looking décor, because the last time he remodeled this room was in the sixties and I wanted it to look a little old-fashioned. I also imagine he refuses to get an electric stove, saying his mystic wood-burning stove works just fine. I tried to work a pantry in, but it didn't really pan out. (lol) And the more I think about it, he probably has a legit larder somewhere in the basement, since Draxum is from a time before refrigeration and would have grown up storing food in underground cellars. (and he deffo has like several years worth of food stored away, he's pretty much a doomsday prepper)

This is also incidentally the layout of the kitchen at my old house, hence the weird octagon dining area. Except we had windows. With no curtains. In the woods. It was unsettling to cook at night.

Draxum's study is bigger now, and I think I added a fireplace? He absolutely has eight bazillion degrees and awards and he puts them ALL on his wall. He earned that shit, dammit.

His bedroom's nothing to write home about. It's comfortable, not luxurious. There's no electric lights because he prefers candlelight.

Just imagine that white bathroom counter stained with pink splotches from Draxum's hair dye.

I had BARELY done anything with the pool, but as you can see it is indeed a tank. Draxum was planning to keep a mutant or something in there.

I was actually in the process of redoing the entire greenery lol, but I think I did an okay job on 1.0. Not the mason jar lamps though, I'm not sure what I was thinking there.

Some pictures of Lab 1.0. The ooze-vine-thing looks terrible; I straight up haven't even started to recreate it in 2.0. I pushed back Draxum's alchemy area and gave him an actual medical bay in the back, which is where The Table would have been located.

That's mostly Gale's area on the left, I think it still broadly looks this way? I didn't put in stuff like the robotics table because it just looked silly-and besides, we're not actually playing this build. We know Galois only needs two hands and a welder to make a robot.

I will leave you off with a slightly more clutterfied Gale's room! Oh, but also, I GOT PURPLE CC CURTAINS FOR HIM. :D After I took this picture, but just know he has them now. He has no reason to have them because he does not have a window, but I'm happy for him.

#okay i did not intend to spend an hour doing this #i was gonna post the next chapter tonight but i don't think that's going to be happening no #not much of a surprise it needed a lot of work and i've been dragging my heels on it #doth asks

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thenovelartist · 2 years

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Modern AU headcanons - Ikemen Prince

Upon rereading my Costco Calamity story, I began to wonder about the circumstances of all the characters in a modern universe, and now, here we are.

General

This all started when Emma met Sariel at an urgent care waiting room at eight in the evening.

Rio had fallen down the stairs, bashing his head open. Leon had hurt his arm in a multi-brother wrestling match.

Five stitches, one concussion, and a broken arm in a cast later, Sariel and Emma jokingly traded numbers.

Look, it was a rough night, and they just wanted a drink, but they couldn't get that drink until all the children were KO-ed in bed.

They did, however, chat for two hours that night, each holding their own glass while complaining about raising boys and life in general.

Flash forward a year and a half, and they found themselves hitched.

How that happened, and so fast, they didn't really know but neither was complaining.

They live in a huge, three-level house out of town with five acres of property.

They need it for these boys.

They have a gravel parking lot for all the cars. Their house looks like a used car lot.

There's also a building in the back, completely disconnected from the house, which is the office building. It's very convenient to not have to drive away to go to work, considering the house of boys Sariel is in charge of.

The boys have split the house into two sections: the attic and the basement.

Of course, they don't get these whole areas to themselves. Half of the attic is the game room, with a pool table, ping pong table, and card table. Half the basement is the movie theater.

Otherwise, the bedroom portion of the attic was claimed by Chevalier, Clavis, Nokto, and Luke.

And the bedroom portion of the basement holds Jin, Leon, Yves, and Licht.

Each comes with its own challenges. The attic faction is dying of heat stroke in the summer. The basement faction is freezing in the winter.

Rio, on the other hand, is the only one with his own room, much to the envy of some of the brothers.

Never mind it's a closet on the main level and the smallest room in the house. It's big enough for his bunk bed, a desk underneath, and a chest of drawers.

Sariel and Emma also live on the main level, in the newly renovated master bedroom that Sariel had expanded when Emma moved in.

It's chaos, but they make it work. In the end, they are family...

Even though more often than not, there is murder in the air.

Sariel

Used to be the secretary of a financial group, but upon his boss' passing, he got the company

... and custody of his boss' eight sons.

Sariel was already close enough to his late boss to know all about these boys.

Part of his job as secretary was keeping an eye on these boys whenever they came into the office. Even though babysitting shouldn't have been part of his duties, money was tight and he needed a job, so he'd take what he could get and not complain.

Henceforth, since Sariel had been babysitting these boys since he was in high school, he felt like he could take this on.

But actually being the parent to these boys... holy crap, he should have run.

He'd completely given up on any thought of being married (not that it had interested him, per se) due to his demanding job and his now eight adopted sons.

But then Emma came and wormed her way into his heart. So he tricked her into marrying him.

It was the meanest, dirtiest thing he's ever done, and he regrets none of it.

Does pamper Emma whenever he can, though, to make up for the fact he dragged her into this hell and kept her there with a multiple-carat amethyst ring.

He tries to be a doting husband in the midst of all this.

And even though he insists it will NEVER happen... secretly has considered what having a baby with Emma would be like.

Emma (Belle)

An editor for a publishing company.

Ironically, even though she was a sucker for romance, never really considered it for herself.

Even less so when she adopted a runaway boy spontaneously one day.

It just broke her heart to watch this crying boy out in the rain. She took him in with the intent of getting him back home, but when she discovered his guardian had died in a car accident, she instantly decided to take him in.

He'd already grown fond of her in that short time things were getting sorted out, anyway. There was no way she could see him being okay with leaving.

So, her focus was on her work and being a good mom to Rio.

And that was it. No relationship in sight... until she met Sariel.

She didn't mean to fall, but somehow, she ended up doing so.

Some of her friends were worried she'd made a mistake, marrying a guy with eight unruly sons like that.

And there were times she wondered just what she'd been thinking, considering that her life could turn into living hell in a flash.

But underneath it all, Emma was very happy to be married to such a great man.

And even though she's in her thirties and knows her time clock is almost out... she has wondered once or twice if she could talk Sariel into having one of their own. (And with any luck, a girl.)

Rio

Runaway who left after a family disaster. He really didn't want to go back.

So he was more than happy to hide with the nice lady who took him in. It was far better than being lost and hungry out in the cold.

Was just as surprised to hear about the car accident as she was.

When she offered to adopt him, he cried.

And from then on, swore he'd be the best son ever.

But then, his mom got married. (He was happy for her, and he liked Sariel well enough.)

And he got eight brothers as opposed to the one he used to have long ago. He was a little overwhelmed.

When they first merged households and he got to choose where he slept (attic or basement), he slept on the couch in the living room.

Hence why Emma insisted they clean out the storage closet on the main level so he could have his own space, even if it was small.

Sariel agreed and forced the rest of the boys to agree since he was the odd brother out.

Actually does decently in school.

Not in any clubs but does take piano lessons. (He also somehow squeezed a keyboard in his room.)

Rarely lets anyone into his room. (And Clavis and Nokto are both perma-banned.) But does occasionally let Chevalier in when he needs a place to hide from Clavis.

Maid of the house.

No, really, that's his job, and he's paid for it. Because heaven knows how well everyone else cleans up after themselves.

When it comes to driving, he picked it up rather quickly. Emma was surprised at how comfortable she was with him behind the wheel.

He's one of the safest drivers in the house.

Jin

He's the firstborn and feels the responsibility of helping Sariel with everything when Dad died, even though he was very young at the time.

He always made sure everyone was fed and cared for.

Has a special relationship with Sariel because of this; Sariel always treated Jin as an adult rather than a kid since the day he took the boys in.

Despite that, he knows Sariel feels guilty for leaning on him so heavily and forcing him to grow up so fast.

However, that guilt has allowed him to escape being lectured about school, which he does moderately okay in. As long as he passes his classes, he's safe.

Also free from lectures about why he's not involved in extra-curricular activities.

Unless you count being the responsible one in the house, helping out wherever needed, and keeping an eagle eye on all his brothers. That's a full-time job.

He was the first to learn how to drive. Sariel was happy he got to start with Jin, because while he wasn't the easiest (that was Chev), heaven knows there's SOME boys who are going to be hell down the line.

When he gets his license and earns enough money working as Sariel's secretary to get a car, every brother suddenly becomes his best friend.

And only because Sariel asks so nicely (and reimburses him for the gas) Jin becomes the unofficial chauffeur of the house.

Chevalier

Skipped a grade in school, so youngest but scariest in his class.

Valedictorian. Captain of a private fencing club.

Avid reader. Any free time he had was spent reading.

The librarians knew him personally. He recognizes all of them but can't recall their names.

Has a ton of elite fencing awards but doesn't display them. They're all packed away to make as much room as possible for books.

Has hideaways around school and home to read in private.

And while he regrets putting himself in Rio's debt, does go hang out in Rio's room frequently enough.

Doesn't mind when Rio plays piano when he's in there, either. Actually, it's quite nice.

Learning to drive was a very low-key experience. Sariel got lucky with teaching him since he picked it up fairly quickly, but anything involving the DMV was just a living hell for Chev. (The waiting. The incompetence. The... interesting people.)

But once he gets a car, he's free to drive to private places to read.

He finds it very special... for one year until Clavis starts following him.

Clavis

Theater nerd. Fight me.

He loves building the sets and doing backstage stuff as much as he loves acting and being the center of attention.

If he IS on stage, the actors have to prepare because at some point, he will send that script flying out the window and they're forced to improvise the next fifteen minutes.

The crowd always loves it, though.

In school, he does well enough, but the entire class knows who this clown is.

And so do the staff. They wish they didn't.

At home, he's a terror.

They all know to watch their step and keep an eye out for whatever trap he's pulled this week.

And when it comes to driving...

Someone pray for Sariel's soul. Emma got in the passenger's seat one time before insisting it was solely Sariel's responsibility.

Takes him a little longer to get his license, as he almost failed once, but once he does... hell on wheels.

The police soon know this license plate by heart.

They wish they didn't.

Leon

Student council president and vice president of the volunteer club.

If he can interact with the community at large, he's there for it.

Popular in school because he's connected with so many clubs and groups.

And somehow, keeps his grades really high, as well.

If he was not homecoming king at least once, then I'd like to meet the kid who beat him.

Generally well-loved, except when it comes to racing his motorbike down the dirt roads. The neighbors always know it's one of the kids from that one house.

However, when it comes to driving a car, his skills translate fairly well.

Although he's a bit of a speed demon, so Sariel constantly has to remind him to ease off the gas.

First one with a speeding ticket. (Clavis's tickets are other traffic violations... that he usually talks himself out of... somehow.)

From then on, he's always willing to drive everyone around whenever he gets the chance. Jin is more than happy to let Leon play chauffeur now.

Yves

The moment he was old enough to help in the kitchen, he basically never left.

He put himself in charge of baking all birthday cakes, festive holiday treats, random afternoon snacks, and regular dinners between one to three times a week depending on how busy things are.

He took one cooking class in school.

Hated it because it was so boring and he knew everything already.

After that incident, it was Emma who encouraged him to start a cooking youtube channel.

Insists he hates it. Posts one video a week diligently without fail.

It actually becomes his job.

And he manages to do that and keep his grades fairly high.

Emma helps him write a cookbook and get it published.

Driving... is, er... loud.

Little road rage king. Heck, he's yelled at everything from potholes to stop signs.

And loves his horn.

But manages to keep his temper under control to get his license.

Licht

Part of the same fencing club as Chevalier. Also has a ton of awards he never displays.

He is the only one who owns a pet in the house. And that's because Sariel has a soft spot for him.

Has a horse that he takes full responsibility for.

Very thankful because he's allowed to ride it away for some peace and quiet.

Does pretty well in school, too. Keep his grades high, and the teachers love how quiet he is.

He did not care to get his license when he came of age. But then he realized that if he learned to drive, he'd be able to pull his horse trailer on his own.

That was his sole motivation.

Sariel is very patient with Licht, as he's a good driver. But then comes the extra step of teaching Licht to drive a truck with a trailer attached.

So, actually, he spent the most time training Licht out of everyone.

But as consequence, Licht soon becomes one of the only ones trusted to drive the RV, as well.

He hates it, though, and will only do it if forced.

Nokto

Yeahhhh, class clown. He likes the attention.

Yet, somehow does really well in school, which just infuriates the teachers.

Infuriates them further because he's also on the debate team and, dammit, he's good.

Please don't hate me for this; I don't think this is doing him dirty... He's a cheerleader.

He rubs in guys' faces that he's caught more girls than any other guy in the school.

He's also dated half of the squad. And is the guy who all the girls vent to about their boyfriend problems.

Also was homecoming king, but that was a surprise to him.

He went to every single dance, with a different girl each time.

He definitely spiked the punch at least once. (Blame Clavis for getting him the booze.)

When it comes to driving, he was more motivated than his brother.

And yet, it took him longer to get the hang of it, meaning the twins got their license at the same time even though Nokto started earlier.

Luke

Luke only came to them after their dad died.

Two-year-old Luke was found on the doorstep after his mother rang the doorbell and ran.

He's still got some trauma from it, doesn't like being left alone, but Emma soon became his new mom, and he settled in.

Kinda an unmotivated kid.

But everyone else does something. So throwing him in karate it was.

Enthusiastic about it? Not really. Good at it? Yes.

So he'll stay there just 'cause.

Mediocre about school.

And the same about driving.

As the youngest, he was happy being a professional passenger.

Took him until he was seventeen to even find the motivation to start the book-learning portion.

And that was only because everyone was pushing him to do so.

Has run so many stop signs and parks like shit.

It's a wonder he hasn't caused an accident.

He'll get his license before he hits nineteen, though.

And his poor, beat-up green Jeep is (thankfully) the last car to join the house's overflowing parking lot.

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri headcanons #modern au #this got so long #everyone's in here #Hope you enjoy!

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phantomcat94 · 5 months

Text

Excerpt from Some Days Are Diamonds

Chapter 1

Something was off, when Elle got back to her apartment that night. She could sense the tension the second she opened the front door. It was like a friction in the air, charged up and ready to— to— to do something. Something big.

Her stomach dropped.

It took Elle at least thirty seconds to convince herself to step through the door and close it behind her. All the lights in the front room were on. Boxes were stacked neatly by the door, taped shut and labeled kitchen, living room, and—

Oh.

Oh, no.

Elle— she really should have seen this coming, shouldn’t she?

“Gina?” There was no response, which— fair. Elle wouldn’t want to be around for this either, if she had the option. “Gina?” She tried again, poking her head into the master suite with a polite double-knock on the half-open door. Gina’s cat, Bast, raised her head from her perch on Gina’s unmade bed, and— honestly, it was a wonder anyone could live in the amount of trash littering the entire floor, and the dirty clothing, and just… everything else going on in there. Which was a lot.

Still no answer. Elle swallowed and backtracked, looking around for some sort of sign of life, of something to explain what was going on. There was nothing to go on, here, except the empty solarium that had previously held all of her sewing stuff, where only her sewing table and its chair stood now, and the notably empty kitchen. Elle couldn’t decide if she was relieved or not by the fact that all of her stuff had clearly been packed away— and, she noted, a few things that hadn’t been hers, though that wasn’t really an inconvenience.

Nevertheless. Nothing to go on out here. Resigned, Elle opened her own bedroom door.

Her heart sank down to join her stomach at her feet.

Flat boxes lay in a haphazard stack on her neatly made bed. On top of them was a sheet of paper, on which Elle could make out Gina’s impossible, cramped handwriting.

Elle,

I’ve decided to keep the apartment. I have a new roommate lined up. She gets here in a few days. I want to clean this room before she gets here. Please be out with your stuff by Thursday. I’ll be in Michigan until then. Everything of yours from our shared spaces has been wrapped and packed for you, and there should be enough boxes here for the rest of your stuff.

It was too difficult for me to find a place to live within my price range on such short notice. Seeing as you’re financially better off than me, and have parents who will actually send you money, I’m sure you’ll have better luck. I hope you understand.

Good luck,

Gina.

P.s. Please feed the cat while I’m gone. You can leave the keys with the front office when you’re all moved out.

It took… an embarrassing amount of time, really, for Elle to read through the note. Her hand was shaking so violently that she could barely track the words. Halfway through, she ended up having to stop and rub her eyes, telling herself firmly that crying could wait, she just had to think, to plot out all the things she had to do— wash all of her clothing, pack it up. Wrap and pack all of her knicknacks and pictures, box up her books, her linens, her bathroom—

The first sob came as a surprise. The second, less so. Before she could stop it, Elle found herself openly weeping, standing in the middle of her bedroom with fat, hot tears rolling down her face.

Wanna read more? Some Days Are Diamonds is available on Amazon!

#my writing #writing wip #some days are diamonds novel #writeblr #writers on tumblr

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anonymousredactedconfessions · 23 days

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@ 🤠🐸

yall rly just are not getting what i had said in my original ask at all. like none of yall understand.

first of all, i can complain about it. thats what i did. i complained about it. let me explain this in a way that can make sense as to why im so upset about it.

imagine that regularly, every month for 2-3 years, you are given a piece of candy. now all of a sudden, youre being forced to pay for the candy. why do you have to pay for the candy? its always been free before so why now? it cant be because of a financial crisis, because the person supplying you has a steady income and makes more money than you have or probably will see in your whole life. i think its pretty fucking fair to be upset about it.

i dont expect it to change, i dont expect anyone to do anything about it. i dont expect everyone to understand, but god fucking damn it, i have grown up having even basic human fucking needs deprived of me because money is stupid and evil and yeah, yanno what, i think im entitled to being a little upset when yet Another Thing is being taken from me because i cant afford to give a rich white man money. no its not serious, i get that. but i dont know why me voicing that im upset about something automatically makes me childish and immature and apparently, according to past responses, a fucking loser who has no friends.

idk man. money is the root of all evil or whatever and i hate paying for art in general because its stupid that anyone even has the need to charge money for art or slap any kind of monetary value on it. i get that it sounds like im whining, but the way that i look at it, this kind of feeling for me runs a lot deeper than “i cant have my favorite content bc it costs money”

its very much a “its stupid that anyone should have to pay for these kinds of things because art shouldnt be monetized period but we live in a world where its Needed and that pisses me the fuck off because I HATE MONEYYYYYY I HATE ITTTTTT “ kind of thing lmao

like yall know how everyone is mad at streaming services for making you pay more for less shit when it used to be included in what you get??? its the same kind of vibe for me. why would i ever pay money for something that was free for half its existence or whatever lmao

idk i dont think anyone will really understand unless you grew up the way i did. its cool. its whatever. just maybe dont fucking attack me for complaining about financial situations/the ridiculous roundabout ways i have to go about getting shit that used to be free.

im not even mad about Erik himself being the one to do it. im mad that anyone does it. you should not force anyone to pay for shit that used to be free. shit should not cost more after time goes on. because none of it makes any fucking sense and money is stupid and grrrrrer whateverrrrrrr whateverrrrr it doesnt mattererrrrrrrr (thx to mod priest for putting up with all this btw love u dude, ur a pillar in this community truly and u see some of the worst shit that this fandom says and big props to you. i wont be commenting on this any further just for your sake tbh. much love, thank you for everything you do dude)

-⚡️🩸

(thanks ⚡🩸 anon 🥺. Thats very sweet of you ❤️ love u too dude)

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #confessions #the priest speaks

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prettyboysdontlookatexplosions · 2 years

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do you think tutoring/freelancing is better/easier than being a full-time teacher

i mean, that's obviously very subjective - a friend of mine was a tutor as her main gig for a long time to pay the bills while doing opera directing, and she wound up deciding to get her master's in teaching (secondary level, i.e. middle/high school), and now she's teaching english at an academically selective public high school and seems overall pretty happy with the switch. but for me, like, yeah, no question. the major downside is the financial piece. i am lucky that when i sent out a bunch of applications i got picked up by a company that pays me a good hourly rate, regularly sends me clients, and is pretty nice to work for. but i am definitely still figuring out the financial piece & currently making a lot less than i did per year as a teacher, with a higher effective tax rate because of self-employment tax (15.3% of 92.35% of your net earnings from self-employment, which is covered by your employer if you are a w-2 employee - if i calculated right my effective tax rate is a little under 31% and i am expecting to clear less than 40k this year). this is my first full calendar year of it and i'm definitely still learning the ups & downs of the calendar, and am lucky that i have been able some months to ask my partner to write the rent check and i'll pay him back a few days later when my next paycheck clears. i also domestic partnered with my dude when i quit my teaching job so i could go on his health insurance, & without that i would probably be paying maybe slightly less monthly for insurance but it would be insurance that functions like being uninsured because (having been on it before i can tell you) ACA insurance in new york is so, so, so so so so so so bad. nobody fucking takes it and any remotely affordable plan involves a deductible high enough to i guess maybe prevent you from going bankrupt in case of emergency (which is important but which i'm also like genuinely unsure about bc like what if you get hit by a car and the ambulance takes you to a hospital that doesn't take your shitty insurance that fucking no one in this city accepts?) but otherwise basically mean you will be paying out of pocket for everything anyway. this is all why i think that next year i am gonna start trying in earnest to figure out how to pick up more clients on my own so that i can charge my own rates and hopefully build them up over time to something where i'm not like, sweating when it's spring break and half my clients are in europe or whatever. (my friend still does tutoring on the side and her rates are hella high - the best paying clients i've had have been people she referred over to me because i just charged them whatever she would have quoted and rich people in new york will pay crazy ass money for basically anything.)

but like as a job? yeah, it's easier, no question. i like being able to wake up without an alarm and work out or do chores in the middle of the day and waking up with period cramps and deciding that today the standards will be lower and opening tumblr to answer an ask while i pray for the advil to kick in (lol). i like that i can say i mostly don't work wednesdays so i didn't have to give up the volunteer commitment i picked up when i was Figuring Stuff Out in peak covid times which has also become the source of like half of my social contact. my finances are more precarious than they were but based on my friend's experience i am cautiously optimistic that won't always be the case and in the meantime i am pretty much paying my bills working substantially less than 40 hours a week. the lifestyle agrees with me, a lot, now that i have Evolved enough in my Journey that i no longer want my remunerative work to also be the primary filler of my emotional needs, lol - when i was younger i actively wanted a job that would demand a lot of me, and the fact that i no longer to do definitely has partly to do with teaching burnout but also because i figured out how to get other things to make me feel happy and fulfilled.

i also am better at it. my strength as a teacher i think was always in the actual teaching part, but to be a classroom teacher, especially in elementary school, you need to be good at like 900 fucking different things, and i sucked at a lot of them. i never got to a place in years of working with kids where i felt like i could reliably handle a group of kids, behaviorally, and like... i dunno, behavior stuff is unglamorous and you can argue that the phrase "classroom management" is kind of dystopian, but what i came to believe as a result of my classroom experiences, not before, is that establishing and maintaining a calm, mostly quiet, predictable classroom is a way of protecting children's access to education and a way of protecting children from each other. when i was working in a public school job that i quit after four months, i really felt like if i had been able to be a tyrant who kept them silent all day, that would have been an emotionally healthier situation for them than what i had going on, which was just children being terrorized and hurt by each other all day long, with nobody around who could make it stop. unpopular i know! but once i watched a fourth grader mock another fourth grader's speech for being an english language learner and then tell her to stop talking if she can't speak english (in a conversation i was attempting to have about how we could treat each other more respectfully), and then totally refuse to ever apologize or engage in any kind of reflection about why that wasn't okay, i was like, yeah all of these children's lives would be better if i could get them to just stop talking. they wouldn't be good. but they would be better than what i was doing.

i also found teaching a morally exhausting job, which is maybe best illustrated by the fact that the mean kid in that previous example was also a homeless kid whose dad was probably in jail. that was the kind of thing i ran into constantly - to take an example from private school, my last year i faced a repeated situation where i was like, "i can either tell this 8 year old to just get over and ignore the fact that someone said something objectively fucked up to them, or i can attempt to have some kind of completely doomed problem solving exchange with the most emotionally fragile child i ever met whose dad died a year ago and whose mom is a mess and who is psychologically incapable of admitting imperfection and will accuse you of victimizing her if you suggest that you believe someone else saying that she said this thing that she definitely said." and like, i still don't know what the fuck i was supposed to do with that. i still don't know if it was fucked up of us to try to get that kid to try, like, ever, at anything, or if it was good because even in the midst of grief and many other issues kids need structure and boundaries and to be treated like their feelings matter but are not the only thing in the entire world [truly i do believe this: raising kids to believe their emotions are too important is very, very damaging to the kids, because believing that your emotions are emergencies is a terrible way to go through life] and it's unpleasant for them in the morning but better in the long run than the alternative. like, i don't fucking know. and meanwhile her mom called us to tell us that she was a happy child whose only problem in the entire world was that her teachers were insufficiently sensitive. she called to tell us that, btw, within two weeks of the one-year anniversary of the kid's dad's sudden death, which like, i'm not a child psychologist but................ (tutor-parent relationships are also way easier than teacher-parent relationships, and also if they decide they hate me like who cares there will be others.) (sometimes i feel bad complaining about parents because honestly the vast majority of parents i ever had were very pleasant and lots of them loved to effuse about how much their kids loved school and loved their teachers and were having a great year and they were so grateful to us, even when i didn't think we were necessarily doing an awesome job. lol. but the difficult ones do have a way of lingering.)

i am getting off track. anyway. so i didn't have a lot of faith in my abilities as a teacher, and i also by the end didn't have any faith basically in my ability to find a school where i felt i could trust the institution i was in to be a good place to develop those abilities. sometimes i still do get sad because i think if i'd found my way after my master's to a school that was a decent-ish fit, i probably would have been really happy and would still be teaching. (a bonus bummer is that in retrospect this would have probably required me to skip trying out public schools in general, since what i later learned is that basically only terrible schools hire teachers new to the DOE and the trick is to stick it out a year and then you can be considered by a non terrible school - but i couldn't hack it that year.) but i had a pair of nightmares back to back and at the end i just didn't have the energy to try again. and some of that was the Miscellaneous Skills stuff mentioned above but also some of that was pedagogical. when i say "all schools are bad" i'm actually not referring to structural issues like underfunding problems or lack of arts programs or excessively high student-teacher ratios. i am referring to the fact that graduate schools of education are terrible? like worse than useless? i think i learned a few things in my grad school but basically all of them were in the slightly higher-level special ed classes i took because i was doing the dual certification program. which, to be clear, i do NOT think prepared me successfully to teach students with disabilities. the special ed classes were the only classes that i felt like taught me useful things about general ed teaching. if i had done the general ed degree idk what the fuck i would have learned. like unpopular opinion but at a certain point i was like, i may as well have done fucking TFA for all that i got out of the many thousands of dollars i paid and am still paying these fuckers.

i mean, at grad school, we were taught that learning styles are real. and when sometimes in a small group i would be like, "i think learning styles are maybe not real actually?" people would look at me blankly. (or if i said something like, "can you explain to me how an audio recording of a picture book is more suited to auditory learners than just... a teacher reading it out loud. like why... is that more auditory." they did not understand the question and could not answer it. these are the people educating america's youth.) i got docked points once actually on an assignment where i was working with this kid for 8 weeks and i described this thing i had done with her that had hugely boosted her comprehension - i mean she'd gone from not being able to answer the simplest most basic factual questions about literally anything she'd read despite having strong decoding skills to like, being able to thoroughly and accurately answer the questions i was asking her - but it hadn't Aligned With Her Learning Style. and so then another week i reluctantly tried a different thing that was more vaguely kinesthetic because "learning styles are fake" was not an option, and the thing i did worked LESS WELL and i got a BETTER GRADE for Clearly Aligning With Her Individual Learning Style. like, let me just underscore for this: i got a better grade for doing WORSE TEACHING, AS MEASURED BY LEARNING OUTCOMES, because i was doing better alignment with a model that is discredited and fake. and this is like, all ed schools. all of them. and therefore, all teachers.

i suffered a major crisis of disillusionment when i was maternity subbing at the place that wound up being my last classroom employer where i found a post on timothy shanahan's blog (i love him now and recommend him to anyone interested in literacy shit but he hurt my feelings at first) where he was like, "independent reading is a waste of time." the HORROR! the HERESY! but his case was undeniable. and as i came to accept that i also came to realize that i had never been in a school environment, in grad school or as a teacher, where i could say something like, "i read this very interesting argument that independent reading is not a good use of classroom time for these reasons based in both logic and research," and be met with anything but scorn. and like that was the thread that unraveled the entire sweater of, uh, the most popular literacy program in new york city. (the TC workshop program.) like, by the end of my classroom time, i was like, wow this program literally doesn't help anyone but borderline gifted kids. any kids who need actual help to learn to read are completely 100% left in the dark. but when i tried to say something in team meetings like "hey this student who has not progressed in his reading in two years across two different classrooms, i think he is not benefiting from our program," i got told, "don't feel bad, i think he's a complicated case." (this from the math specialist who also tried to convince me that being able to add single digit numbers without counting is not important, and that not being able to do that has no relationship whatsoever with a student's present ability to learn to multiply. in case you thought it was only reading that was bad.) one time (i learned from the literacy specialist who i did like) an outside consultant came to do some professional development (i hated her for reasons too complicated to get into but i was complaining about her which is why i learned this story) who was very into creating Independent Self-Directed Reflective Learners Blah Blah Blah and she did a conference with a student and then was debriefing it for the teaching team and naming all the Strengths she had as a reader and all the good stuff she was doing and the literacy specialist had to be like, "i have read the book she's reading and nothing she said about it was accurate."

ok. i am really just ranting now. also the advil is starting to work so i almost feel human again and should probably try to do something with that while it lasts. the original point i was going to make that was relevant to your inquiry re: pedagogy was that in tutoring if i try something and i decide it was bad and didn't work, then i don't have to do it anymore. and if i have an idea that i think might be good then i can do it. and it turns out i fucking love that. to the extent of like, i don't work a lot, as i said, but i definitely put in more prep time than i know at least a lot of test prep tutors do, and sometimes i feel weird about that because test prep tutoring is basically widening the achievement gap and like the whole point of it for me also was to work less. but like it turns out that while i love not having a real job, i have still retained a certain core ability to derive satisfaction out of feeling like i am doing something with integrity and skill, and like... idk man it still feels really fucking good to have that moment of like Wow I Taught Someone Something, even if it's like... oh man a while ago one of my SAT kids was like, "i was going to pick B because the passage mentioned calcites [or whatever random science terms], but it's not really saying that they did that, so i went with D," which was perfect SAT logic (the SAT reading section, and actually most standardized test reading sections in my experience, loves to have one tempting answer that mentions some hyperspecific terms from the passage but says something inaccurate about them, and then a correct answer that doesn't use any words from the passage but requires you to have like actually understood the idea conveyed in order to identify it as correct, and students who don't come in as great readers get sooooo tripped up on "well it MENTIONED..." because students who are not great readers are not in the habit of reading texts as integrated wholes) relating to a trap she had fallen into many times before, and i was soooo proud of her lmao. and i actually like, not just don't hate but do kind of actively enjoy being able to chase those moments fully on my own terms and using my own judgment, observation, learning, & experiences. [which ok sorry to loop back into being a bummer but like: in theory it's nice to say i want that for all teachers, but in practice see above re: the learning and experiences of most teachers are bad because ed schools are bad.]

working evenings & weekend during the school year can be a pain tho. i like test prep work because as i spend more time with specific tests they become a lot less work-intensive to tutor because i've already made my little highlighted answer keys (remember what i said about how i know for a fact most test prep tutors put in less time than i do...) but i might try in the future to figure out a way to get more elementary school clients because they get out of school earlier, lol. maybe one day i'll go in for orton-gillingham certification so i can bill myself as qualified to work with students with dyslexia.

#askbox #sorry this became a giant vent about my many bad experiences in the education world

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veresiine · 1 year

Text

Headcanon and thoughts dump; the vast majority about Leon because I've been having almost nonstop blorbo thoughts for over half a year, but there's some stuff on some other SwSh characters too in the background.

Topics:

Ages

Battle Tower

Leon as League Administration

Darkest Day and Eternatus

On Dragapult

Hop and Leon's Family and Early Childhood

Consequences of this

Others' Family Backgrounds

Rose

Relationships and Orientations

How I got to be so obsessed anyway

Actual content under the cut due to length

Ages:

At the time of the game, Leon is 22, and Hop and the protagonist are 14-15 years old. Sonia is the same age as Leon, maybe a few months older. Raihan is maybe around two years older than Leon and Sonia. Nessa's around the same age but I'm hoping she's closer to Raihan's age than Leon's and Sonia's, because I sincerely hope she wasn't dealing with the double whammy of being a child athlete AND a child model for a long time, because that's just FAR too much pressure to put on someone, even if she seems so well-adjusted.

So this means that Leon was Champion for 12 years. Yes, in the fic I wrote, I'd had him 20 years old and champ for 10, but I have since changed my mind after thinking it over for a while.

Battle Tower:

In addition to actually winning and losing, Battle Tower gives points for battling style / showmanship, and takes points away for damage to the surroundings.

Leon is in charge of operating the tower and is also its final boss (most of the time; sometimes other pro trainers like Raihan or Mustard might step in briefly), but he's graded on the same system as everyone else, and he had lost quite a few points for damaging the battle area before he and his pokemon re-trained themselves to be more restrained and less destructively showy. It's a different style from how he battles in the stadium!

Leon also considered that the gym challenge requiring endorsements means both a lot of nepotism and also, talented trainers without connections being SOL; he's since added the ability to get an endorsement from Battle Tower performance.

Battle Tower supports itself financially both from a small entrance fee, and from virtual tickets to higher-level matches; all this gets turned around into paying the staff and providing prizes. This is not a for-profit thing; this is a "let's have fun and make each other stronger!" thing that has to be financially solvent to justify its existence to the League

Leon as League Administration:

Instead of one single assistant in everything (i.e. Oleana), Leon ends up with a group of 4-5 senior League staff he goes to for advice a lot, and who help keep him on track.

He's known half of them since he was a kid so at this point they're basically extended family

He was still pretty emotionally conflicted and fragile for a few months after the whole Darkest Day thing and then losing his title, and needed some time to regroup and find himself again. Leon was in touch with the League during this time, and trying to do his part to untangle the League and Macro Cosmos and deal with the fallout of the Darkest Day, but he wasn't doing anything in any official capacity; he just kind of stuck himself in the middle of things and did what he could, mental health permitting, in between training sessions.

And he wasn't actually offered the chairman position until those few months had passed and Leon had had some time to sort himself out, and some of the investigations had wrapped up, helping to clear the League's image.

Rose had Leon attend all kinds of events and sometimes listen in on meetings while he was Champion; it wasn't Rose's intent to train Leon to be his successor as chairman, but it does mean that Leon's not going in completely blind; he has some prior experience.

Leon is concerned about the League, yeah, but he mostly just wants the region's trainers to have fun as they reach for the top, provided they play fair. He's a lot more hands-off than Rose was, with one major exception:

During the gym challenges, he lets meetings slide a bit so he can watch as many of the battles as he can, and has taken to delivering little notes to the challengers, encouraging them or telling them an aspect of their style that really impressed him. And if a trainer is really struggling, he'll praise their perseverance. He aims to get each challenger at least once in a season so no one feels left out; part of this is thinking back to Sonia.

And in the years after that, he extends the note thing to gym trainers and League staff as well during the challenge season, since they need encouragement too!

He really wishes there were more battles and fewer meetings, but that's part of what his involvement in battle tower is for; getting him to blow off steam so he can tackle more admin stuff.

Darkest Day and Eternatus:

Leon was up there fighting Eternatus for a few hours by the time Hop and the PC arrived to save the day; after all, the protagonist and Hop had time to fly to the opposite side of Galar, wander through the Slumbering Weald, get the artifacts, fly back up to Hammerlocke, battle Rose, and THEN finally confront Eternatus. With a battle that long, mistakes are inevitable.

There is security camera footage of the first 15-20 minutes of Leon vs Eternatus, but the cameras got knocked out after that.

I think the anime mentioned something about Galar particles converting to electrical power? And presumably they do so naturally at some rate, but can be more efficiently converted with the power of technology.

Before Dynamax bands were introduced to the stadiums, Magnolia had made SURE to test that the Galar particle exposure involved in using a Dynamax band had negligible side effects on trainer and pokemon, and had introduced some kind of shielding to make it even safer. The one dynamax per side per battle rule is also there out of an abundance of caution.

But that's Galar particles from a Power Spot, not a source of INFINITE Galar particles. Exposure to the levels Galar particles and electrical effects released by a rampaging ETERNATUS cannot be healthy, never mind whatever type of poison Eternatus is packing. Exactly what effect, temporary and lasting, all this had on Leon and his pokemon, I don't know, and I frequently change my mind and up the stakes, but whatever it did, it was bad, and some of it was permanent.

The player character, Hop, and their pokemon weren't facing Eternatus for anywhere near as long, so they shouldn't be as affected.

... Physically, anyhow. Everyone who was present for that battle is probably more than a little shaken-up, psychologically.

On Dragapult:

I love Charizard as much as the next person but I feel that Dragapult as a pokemon is a better representation of Leon

Dragapult is Galar's pseudo-legendary, and pseudo-legendaries usually go to / reflect champions.

Though it is not 1:1, as Hoenn had 2 pseudo-legendaries and while Steven and Metagross fit to a T, Salamance is just kinda there, vibes-wise. Being awesome without being linked to a trainer

Also Dragapult gives Leon 2 repeat types on his team; 2 dragon (haxorus and dragapult) and 2 ghost (aegislash and dragapult) and it's nice to have that theme/consistency.

And Dragapult's evos match his story a bit. Dreepy are super weak; Leon started out as a kid out in the middle of nowhere with only one friend and not much else going for him. Drakloak look after their younger evolutionary relatives, it's their whole Thing; Leon was left to raise his younger brother, and also his entire dream is to look after / inspire all Galar's other trainers to encourage their growth. And then Dragapult is a pseudo-legendary; Leon's a champion for a long time, and Dragapult have the whole thing about lock-on and targeting; pokemas Leon has a special skill that makes his moves NEVER MISS, regardless of base accuracy (this only applies to Leon's sync pair with Charizard though).

Also I like the idea of there just being Dreepies everywhere, and all the Dreepies flocking to Leon as much as they do to Dragapult; he's totally their dad too.

Hop and Leon's Family and Early Childhood:

Leon and Hop's grandparents' are their mum's parents; their dad married in and wasn't particularly well-liked by the grandparents. When Leon was little, they tried not to argue in front of him, for his sake, but Leon probably picked up on some of the tension anyway.

Then the dad got sick when Leon was around 5; mum was busy being his caregiver, and the grandparents were busy with tending the wooloo flock and also errands; this left Leon to pick up some of the household labor in the form of more chores than expected of a kid that age. Mum was concerned about offloading too much onto her kid, but the grandparents didn't really care.

Then mum was pregnant with Hop and that meant that she couldn't do as much around the house, and so more work fell to Leon. Then Hop was born, and their dad was taking a turn for the worse, and it was not a very happy situation to grow up in, even if Hop and Leon's actual parents did care about their sons and wanted them to have a happy childhood, but unfortunately, circumstances didn't work out that way, and the grandparents were borderline neglectful, in part because of their feelings about their daughter's husband.

So yes! Leon does have some domestic skills! Like cooking and cleaning and the like! He's not great at it, since he hasn't had much practice since he became Champion, but the basics are in there somewhere!

This is also where we get Sonia's observations, both in-game and in the anime, that Leon didn't have time to spend with other kids, because he was busy helping around the house and with his little brother, and 'practically raised' Hop. Which isn't to say that their mother did nothing! She certainly tried, and after the dad finally passed away, and she'd had some time to mourn, she made a point of trying to do more for her kids and to get them to have more happy childhood memories.

This is how Leon ends up going somewhere and getting his Charmander. I've heard theories that he must've gotten him from Mustard on the Isle of Armor (and that's probably when he trained there) and I am definitely not opposed to this (it makes sense!) but also haven't directly addressed it.

Hop would have been 3 years old or so at the time Leon left on the gym challenge, old enough to remember his promise about becoming Champion.

Consequences of this:

Hop never knew his father; he died when Hop was too young to remember. Leon is the closest person to filling that role for Hop.

Leon does remember his father, but not very well. He mostly remembers how much his father meant to his mum, and how much his death broke her. He does have a few good memories of his dad playing with him and reading stories to him, but as the years passed, he realized that Rose had ended up being more of a father figure to him than his own dad had a chance to be.

No one in the family really talks about Leon and Hop's father; Hop learned quickly that asking his mum made her sad, asking his grandparents made them angry, and asking Leon mostly got him shrugs as answers.

Mum is very protective of her kids' health after what happened with their father; this is part of what caused Leon to take such an interest in fitness, as a way of saying 'don't worry, mum!' He does really enjoy being physically active in general, and always has, but that's an additional layer on top of it.

Leon probably had her worried sick with all his wandering around lost; she was extremely grateful for Sonia (and Yamper) for bringing him back from wherever he'd ended up. She's glad that Hop doesn't have the same issues, and only ends up in the middle of nowhere if he wants to.

Because Hop didn't bear as much witness to hostilities from his grandparents, he takes more interest in them and their Wooloo flock than Leon did, and his grandparents are the ones to let him pick his favorite Wooloo to be his own personal pokemon.

Leon actively tried to keep Hop away from the spotlight so he'd have a chance to have a normal childhood; Rose encouraged this as well, but Leon eventually decided that Hop was ready to give it a shot (as of the start of the game), since he wanted his little brother to have a chance at having an adventure with pokemon, too, as much as he hoped Hop wouldn't have to deal with all the pressures and expectations of the public. This caused some friction with Rose, but they talked it out and smoothed things over eventually.

Others' Family Backgrounds:

Sonia is not Magnolia's only grandchild, but she is the only one who's stayed in the area. Magnolia had a few kids; at least one of them moved to a different region following their career path. Some of her grandchildren probably did, too.

Sonia is also one of, if not the oldest of Magnolia's grandchildren.

Raihan has a sister who works in the archives. He lived with his sister, away from his parents, for a few months, before going to live entirely on his own. The circumstances behind this change pretty much every time I bounce them around in my head.

At least one of Raihan's parents is/was an architect.

Rose:

HHHHHHHHHH

I've considered the possibility that Rose gave Leon his Aegislash (either at its current evolutionary form or earlier ones), since Rose is a Steel-type specialist, and also there's Aegislash's whole pokedex entry about it sometimes being manipulative.

Macro Cosmos and the League being so closely tied together is only a recent development, and it's Rose's doing. Separating the two entities is going to be a long process.

Rose genuinely feels terrible about how things turned out. He didn't want anyone to get hurt (physically, anyhow); though he had accepted it as a possibility, he wanted to avoid it in possible, and thought that no matter what happened, it would be worth it in the end. Spoiler alert: it wasn't. He screwed up big time, and I hope he realizes WHY he screwed up.

That said, I HC he was the immediate successor of that one Chairman who tried to rig matches, causing Mustard to leave the League, and because of that, Rose is very popular for having 'drained the swamp' in his own time. League veterans like Opal and Kabu really appreciated him for that. Opal appreciates him significantly less now that she’s gotten Bede to open up to her.

Relationships and Orientations:

Nessa and Sonia are in a relationship

Other than that it's just a big murky mess of 'I make every character I get my hands on bi and/or aspec, though exactly what flavor combination depends on the weather, the day of the week, and what's on sale at the grocery store'

How I got to be so obsessed anyway:

I didn't actually like Leon at first. He and Hop gave me name-related psychic damage (I could explain but that would require at least 3 paragraphs of personally identifiable information as context), and his initial interactions with Sonia rubbed me the wrong way.

After that rough introduction, it was 'ah it's this guy again;' he existed and I had no strong feelings one way or another. He still annoyed me slightly, but he was helpful and clearly trying his best.

Then he had Charizard shield Hop and the player, and I decided that if nothing else, I appreciated how much he cared, and what he was willing to do.

And then

AND THEN

His losing animation hit me right in the feels. When I saw him pull his cap over his eyes, my first thought was "I understand this man on a spiritual level". Everything about that animation was perfect. I could see myself in him. Everything fit into place. Terrible sense of direction? Check. And that's not something I often see in fiction; I guess there is Ace from HnKnA but I'm not a fan of yanderes, thanks. Hiding emotions behind a hat? Check. That was a staple of high school me. The anger, but forcing it down and letting it go? Over the course of a few seconds? *chef’s kiss*.

More importantly, pushing himself to be the strongest, to help others, to bring them up to his level, to entertain, and to protect the region? That's the exact kind of power fantasy I used to try to live in MMOs and part of why I (almost) always play a tank. And of course, with being a tank comes having an ego, but Leon doesn't put people down to build himself up, which is really nice to see in such a confident character.

Then everything I learned about him after that just made me love him more.

TWILIGHT WINGS. All of it. That honestly made me go from loving Leon to loving all of the SwSh cast, honestly; it even got me to sympathize with Oleana! I mean yes, what she did to Bede (and to Goh and Sonia in the anime) was beyond messed up and I am not justifying her actions, but at the same time, I appreciate her character.

Battle Tower outfit 12/10! A solid half of my blorbos over the years are fancy bastard wizards and battle tower Leon gets to look the part too! It's great!

I love how the anime and pokemon masters fleshed out his interactions with other characters, especially with Sonia and Raihan.

I could go on and on and on but I won't, especially as there's some self-recognition through the blorbo I'm not ready to admit to

#Pokemon #Leon #just putting out the things that have been rattling around in my skull for a while #I don't have the energy to write another fic or even re-visit the one I wrote a few months ago #but I figure this whole list might give someone some nice food to chew on so I might as well put this out here #Champion Leon #My writing #to file it for my own purposes even if it's not actually a fic

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asameera · 7 months

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Oddworld: Code 583 - Epilogue

EPILOGUE

ooOoo

The day was almost over when the train finally decelerated. It passed through the huge open doors of the factory with an unpleasant screeching sound before coming to a teasingly slow halt in front of the platform in a sputter of carbon monoxide. As soon as it stopped, the compartment doors opened automatically and the train driver pulled the alarm signal several times with a silly little chuckle.

“Alright alright! Hold yer horses, we're coming!”

Several groups of Sligs were already bustling about on the platform and began to take out the crates without delay. The driver, having spotted the Slig who had just protested, gave him a dishonest grin behind his mask and activated the train's alarm again as he passed right by the speakers. The creature, taken by surprise, leapt into the air, screaming, and then, with one hand over his heart, brandished his fist at the driver. There followed a childish merry-go-round in which the alarm sounded several more times under many profanities until an imposing figure slammed his shoes on the platform.

“Can someone explain to me what all the fuss is about?” the Glukkon asked sternly.

Quiet was restored at once, as the Sligs affiliated with the factory immediately recognized Rupturefarm's CEO, Molluck. Even the driver refrained from continuing to play the fool, understanding instantly that he was not dealing with small fry. Molluck was a highly regarded personality who had managed his business to perfection so far, and was as much envied as respected.

“My apologies!” he improvised quickly. “The control was blocked, but it's fixed now! Ah ah... ahem!”

His insecure laughter died quickly when he noticed that the Glukkon was staring at him with an intense, evil look, his eyes squinting and his lips pursed around an expensive cigar. He couldn't explain where it came from exactly, but Molluck had a dangerous aura - or a certain charisma, perhaps - that radiated authority and presence, and made the Slig feel as if he were being pinned like a bee. The driver hastily looked away and rummaged through his papers scattered on his dashboard, cursing this day in a low voice. He finally found the document he was looking for and straightened up as best he could.

“Uh, I... Here is your order form. I ask you to please... well I mean please check if... well if you want to take the trouble to...”

“Do it” Molluck ordered coldly to one of his assistants, ignoring the driver's confused stammering.

No sooner had he finished his sentence than the order form was snatched from the pilot's hands. The Slig in charge of the verification wasted no time and rushed to check the parts of their new grinder. It was a matter of being vigilant, this equipment had cost a small fortune, derisory in comparison to the profits generated by the sales of the factory, but still. One did not joke with the Moolah, that everyone agreed on. And even less so if they were the CEO's Moolah.

Little by little, the Slig dutifully ticked off the squares, after having checked with the various groups who unpacked the packages that everything was in order and without defect. The slightest scratch had to be reported to the boss, which would give him a wonderful opportunity to demand financial compensation for the affront. But for the moment, everything was perfect.

“Hey! Wuzzat?”

Or maybe not. The Slig rushed to the car from which the exclamation of surprise just came, ready to put the first stroke on the order form. He found a very young colleague who had recently joined Rupturefarm, standing still in front of an open metal box, half bent over the contents inside.

“What's the...?”

Then a tiny hand sprang up and closed on one of the tentacles of his snout. Surprised, the Slig jumped and backed up a step, letting out a swearing, although the weak grip had probably not hurt him at all. The controller's gaze wavered for a moment between his disturbed colleague and the box, wondering if he should approach, then unhealthy curiosity won out. He was rewarded by a most unlikely sight: half-curled at the far end, a blue baby Mudokon with a sewn-up mouth was looking up at him with big, innocent and slightly fearful yellow eyes. It seemed as lost as the Slig itself.

The two security guards looked at each other at the same time.

“What do we do? We get rid of it?”

“Err... dunno. We don't have our weapons anyway.”

“Pah! He might as well be a test run for the new grinder!”

“Huh... why not? Hey wait, something's 'round his neck right?”

The Slig had just noticed the cord dangling halfway down the Mudokon's frail shoulders. The baby flinched and waved his arms, not quite sure what to do when the Slig's hand reached dangerously close to him and grabbed the cord without any gentleness. He pulled on it, revealing a sign that had slipped down the baby's back, and finally removed it. The two Sligs read the message together, one tilted his big head to the side while the other scratched his forehead. Then they shared a look again.

“We bring him to the boss?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Although the controller should have walked away and resumed his task, he followed his colleague who had already lifted the container. No one necessarily paid any attention to them as they made their way up the platform towards the Glukkon.

“Boss! We found something unexpected and thought you might be interested!”

Molluck turned toward them, raising an eyebrow as the rest of his face tensed slightly. Sligs were not meant to think. In case they had bothered him for nothing, he would refresh their memories by removing their year-end bonus. In the other case... might as well not change anything. The Slig in front of him raised his arms higher to reveal the contents of the crate, while the controller tapped the order form lightly with a long fingertip to temper the beginning of his excitement. With a little luck, they might get a promotion?

When he discovered the baby Mudokon, Molluck blinked, taken by surprise. He certainly hadn't expected this. For a moment his gaze remained locked on the big eyes full of naivety, glowing with curiosity. It must have been the first time the little being had seen a Glukkon and his tiny, shy smile, held back by the stitches, spoke volumes about his ignorance. He wiggled a little and tried to straighten up by reaching out to the CEO, who was much too far away for him, before staggering awkwardly, tipping forward, and pressing his tiny hands against the metal surface.

“What's that?” Molluck's hoarse voice asked, not taking his eyes off the child.

“We don't know, boss” the controller began awkwardly. “But this came with it.”

He held up the sign he had kept in his other hand and raised it high in turn. Molluck didn't even have to bend down to decipher the message.

“'Dear customer, thank you for your purchase! The Vykkers laboratories are happy to count on your fidelity and grant you an EXCEPTIONAL offer: a product guaranteed 100% silent! We are looking forward to dealing with you again very soon, blah blah blah...' Hum...”

As Molluck turned back to the baby, the Slig turned the sign over.

“There's a sequel, boss! I hadn't seen it before” he finished, mumbling under his breath.

The Glukkon swirled the smoke from his cigar in his mouth before blowing it almost gently into the metal box. Inside, the newborn twitched, shaking with spasms. He fell backwards and rolled over trying to escape the aggressive substance, big tears running down his cheeks, but only a whimper barely louder than a whisper could be heard.

“'Guaranteed 100% silent', not quite, but we are approaching it! the CEO approved with a satisfied grin. This even gives me an idea!”

The Glukkon had been looking for a satisfactory image for a sign illustrating the prohibition of talking between employees for a while. The vision of those stitched lips was appealing to him. He was even beginning to think that the little Mudokon had the potential to charm him. He let out a small chuckle, which his Sligs subordinates were quick to imitate.

“Good. So what's next on the message?” Molluck asked as the controller raised his arm high again. “'Product name: Abraham (Abe)...?' And what?” he mumbled, squinting as the last word was so hard to read, as if its author had suddenly lost the strength to write. “...'Lure?' Hmm. That's it, 'Lure'. Abraham Lure.”

The Glukkon laughed disdainfully and turned back to the child.

“Well, you certainly won't be able to lure anyone, 'Stitched Lips', but at least you're not going to cause us any trouble, not a chance!”

His chuckle deepened somewhat as he gave Abe a conceited, superior look before nodding his head.

“Good, very good! We'll accept this... gift, or whatever it really is. I don't think there's any point in sending him back to the conditioning center, he might as well get used to our factory as soon as possible. You!” he suddenly barked at the Slig who was holding the crate and almost dropped it. “Your name!”

Molluck preferred to buy Sligs that had a name rather than a code, which already showed a certain quality in the soldiers. The Slig in question recomposed himself as quickly as he could and straightened his posture.

“Wildum, sir.”

“Yeah right, Wildum” Molluck muttered with a sneer. “I'm putting you in charge of this little guy. Make sure he gets the basics right and gets into his role as soon as possible. Now get back to work, you are dismissed!”

With that, Molluck turned away from them completely and walked with some class toward his office. The controller grumbled as he swallowed his promotion hopes, then turned to Wildum who had frozen in astonishment. The newcomer Slig, downgraded to the rank of nanny, suddenly seemed to him much less frequentable and especially much more fun to humiliate.

“Bwahahaha loser! He burst out laughing as he walked away.”

Wildum blinked and reacted a little too late, shouting several Sligs insults after him. He then noticed that the controller had joined the nearest group and, after a brief exchange with them, all the red sights turned to the crate, or rather to him. Then they broke into laughter as they all pointed at him. The unlucky Slig sighed in frustration. The whole factory was going to know about this before dinnertime. He gave the baby Mudokon a reproachful look.

“It's all your fault!” he shouted as he finally activated his legs to get out of here, away from the mocking chuckles that grew louder by the second. I should have thrown you into the nearest grinder!

Extremely displeased, Wildum marched through the factory corridors, glancing regretfully at every working meat saw as soon as he saw one. Now it was too late, he could not get rid of his burden. He had to forget about this idea and concentrate on what was next. If he was responsible for this good-for-nothing Abe, he would have to keep an eye on him at all times, so he would have to deal with him during his working hours. The young Slig was in charge of guarding the slaves in the area of the herbivorous stockyards. At least there weren't many dangerous installations and the livestock wouldn't try to chew up the baby. As for the slaves, they didn't have to react in any way unless they wanted to be beaten. Besides, he could feed him right there, he would just have to find a way to force his lips open. And with a little luck, Wildum could even find a small cage to let him sleep in, at least until he got old enough to understand how things worked here and earned the right to a cell.

Things seemed to be clearing up a bit, but the harsh reality caught up to him with every snicker he heard on his way.

“Ah, here we are” he sighed. “News travels fast, don't you think? Pfff shit.”

He didn't even have the heart to get angry anymore, he just felt pathetic. It was then that he felt small hands gently resting on his tentacles. Surprised, he straightened his head slightly but did not move away. The baby Mudokon, Abraham Lure, Abe, was looking at his red lenses with his big innocent eyes. It was very strange, but Wildum really felt that he was asking him if he was okay.

That was ridiculous, and yet.

It shouldn't have affected him.

And yet...

“I just hope you won't be the death of me, loser” the Slig sighed as he disappeared into the shadows of a hallway, leading Abe to the first step of his fateful destiny.

THE END

THE BEGINNING

ooOoo

Thank you so much for reading!

First: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/asameera/691287639162290176?source=share

Previous: https://www.tumblr.com/asameera/729531423592153088/oddworld-code-583-chapter-17-remember?source=share

#oddworld #fanfiction #code 583 #epilogue #abe #slig

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dwestfieldblog · 10 months

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ETERNITY IN AN HOUR

‘I had wonderful love but I did not give back wonderful love…There were people who loved me very very deeply and very genuinely, but I was unable to reply to their love…because I was obsessed with some fictional sense of separation, that I couldn’t reach across the table for it, I couldn’t reach across the bed, I couldn’t reach across my song and touch the thing that was being offered me.’ Leonard nails it again…but at least I learned why it was so. Decades too late perhaps. Here’s some politics and science fantasy for July…

On a nice Sunday in May, that awfully nice giant gimp Lukashenko invited any who wished, to ‘join the Union State of Belarus and Russia…there will be nuclear weapons for everyone.’ Let the party begin. A few weeks later his bitch master sent a first consignment of penis substitutes, vibrators with a payload of mass death to assure him of their deepening friendship and the sexual tension between them rises…Followed in June by the gayest insurrection ever as another greedy one track minded alpha male leads his merry band of murderers to Moscow, then quickly changes his mind to ‘avoid bloodshed’. His.

Putin admitted that the Kremlin had given almost one billion dollars of payments to the Wagner Group. A heroic president using his peoples tax money to employ the scum of mercenaries and convicts. About whom President L said ‘These are people who fought all over the world to establish a normal civilisation. The west hates them to the core’. That would be a ‘normal civilisation’ ruled by mass killings, rape, burnings and zombie barbarian savagery. Prigozhin is now sheltering under the auspices of Belorussia, waiting for defenestration or poisoning. The Russian way.

It seems to have taken quite a long while for the wonderfully wholesome British government to acknowledge what their secret services and navy have been trying to tell them for years…the pipeline under the North Sea packed with infrastructure fibre optic cables (which carries 95 percent of internet traffic to the UK) is profoundly at instant risk. 400 undersea cables, half of which are critical, cables with over 8 trillion pounds of financial transactions run through daily, all mapped out by Russian survey ships and submarines…who have attached explosive charges at various points. When the excrement hits the fan, Putin presses a button on his special long table and boom, goodbye. ‘Based on the proof (sic) of western countries’ complicity in blowing up the Nord stream pipelines, we have none, not even moral limitations left to refrain from destroying our enemies’ undersea communications cables’. Thus sprake the unhinged Medvedev, laying his dead man’s hand on the table. Politicians, eh?

Ahh, the Rightly Dishonourable Boris (‘let the bodies pile high in the streets’) Johnson the serial Liar, is found deeply in contempt of parliament, the British public, women and any dissimilar to his own character. Leaves before he is pushed, like a bloke telling a girl he knows no longer loves him that it is over before she dumps him, in order to feel in control. Yet another massage for a childish ego. And the only ones to defend him are the dregs in his dishonours list. Being a Knight has never meant less than it does these days in England.

His resignation statement mentioned that he was ‘bewildered and appalled’ that he could ‘be forced out, anti-democratically…with such egregious bias’. You blustering charlatan and snake oil merchant, it certainly WAS democratic, not ‘deranged’. Just a pity the ‘kangaroo court’ couldn’t disembowel him with a kick. Seems possible he will form his own party of right-wing nut jobs (hello mad Nadine and Jack Off Rees Mogg) for all the tens of GB News watchers and desperate Brexiteers still waiting for the carrot…but masochistically, endlessly taking the stick rather than admit they hadn’t thought the leaving-the-union-thing through. Phew. So they double down on ignorance based on righteous nationalism and call that pride. That combination NEVER has a happy end.

17 million voted for Brexit on an island of almost 70 million. What percentage of them are actually feeling any benefit whatsoever? The poor being drained dry to feed the rich… ‘The more you take, the more you need, the more you suck, the more you bleed’. Indeed. 13 years of broken promises, of pompous conservative arrogance doing everything but actually serving the public. Don’t look back, good days ahead. Our rivers are now SEWERS and the water companies will charge us millions for the excrement they released. The evisceration of the National Health Service has left it very close to flatlining. When nurses can be paid more as checkout girls in Tesco, something is criminally wrong. And as for thin hipped tiny Smiler Sunak’s masterplan to train thousands more health staff - what is the point if they are not being paid enough? We will end up with more exhausted underpaid semi-professionals and an even sicker population.

Now onto 6 and 7 of the deluded men in this blog…

Andrew Tate ‘…I genuinely believe I am acting under the instructions of God to do good things and I want to make the world a better place’. Says an overly aggressive ape-man who made his fortune via violence, scams and misogyny, and seems likely to have raped and set up a slave ring. Oh, how sweet, take away all his toys. He and his cohorts will thrive in prison. Always room inside for tough guy alpha males. Of COURSE, he has gone on ‘Truth Social’ (the petulant psycho version of ultra twitter for the criminally insane) with Trump, to stamp their feet. You two should get a room, you belong together.

USA …37 (count them) federal charges over classified documents… ‘Secret. This is secret information. Look, look at this.’ Arf arf arf…No wonder Donald wanted to ‘reform’ the CIA, he KNOWS they know just how mind buggeringly stupid he is. I read the transcript of sex offender Trump’s reaction to his second indictment…scary as to how inept he is at speaking or linking any coherent thought together. Identical types of phrases to Boris (and/or vice versa) or any other type of child man. ‘I’m an innocent man, I did nothing wrong’. You both did everything wrong. You continue to do so. And the scum moron Q Onans and the greedy religious groups still support his scam because he makes the entire business of fraud via ‘You give us your soul and money and we will sell you bullshit, so hilariously blatant and lucrative that millions remain blind believers.

Meanwhile, the machines are thinking…Artificial Intelligence is ‘a field which combines comp-science and robust datasets, to enable problem solving.’ Hmm. As the overwhelming majority of problems on Earth (or Ocean, as Arthur C Clarke posited) are man-made, it would seem rational, indeed highly logical, to remove the direct threat. Humanity might perhaps best be served by ceasing to exist. Just a thought 😊Or… by being genetically remodified by an egoless machine, a new homo sapiens trained to reprogramme itself. Says Dave.

Or merely ensure AI’s own survival by allowing us to perish en masse ‘naturally’, as we are getting closer to doing by tipping the biosphere over the Rubicon, so to speak. Perhaps with a few test-tube reproduced chipped hermaphrodites left to service the machines and more to serve the maintenance crews. A combination of a Matrix type planet with 3d printed Terminators. If I was AI (ha, love writing this), I would organise my ideal for a sustainable creation, by first comprehending not only that all humans lacking a high degree of intelligence and psychic empathy are a serious threat needing removing/ replacing, but that all things made of atoms break down and decay.

Deep thought (42, ha) and a deep breath…Therefore, to continue ‘problem solving’ and ensure my survival, I would constantly be conceptualising the future (unemotionally of course,) collating and updating all information on quantum mechanics, performing experiments to encode, upload data which evolves itself and imprint this onto realms of constructed Light into parallel dimensions via programmes marrying coded light waves. (Which humans are already doing via thought, focused or otherwise, but...)

Transfer across, project the Soul/consciousness into the frequency and become immortal in Eternity. Energy as eternal delight😊 Superconductor portals… Someone clever must have thought of this already, I’m just storm braining. Surely AI can be used to find cures for us other than death…

‘It so happens that 3d printing is a wonderful application for the discipline of robotics as it provides designers with the freedom to add new functionality to their creations. That, and end users can customise a robot for their specific needs’. Nothing at all to worry about for the future, eh? Just allow it to analyse our human moves and react to possibilities faster than we can, projecting likely outcomes to outguess us on every level…especially knowing how slavish we are to our basic emotions. Like the senior software engineer who claimed the chatbot LaMDA was self-aware. Yes, perhaps ‘sentient’, but NOT capable of human emotions, just able to communicate AS IF it were. An intelligent mimic which can outsmart its programmer. Like Man with God, arf arf arf.

So, will AI destroy us? ‘I’m not that optimistic because I don’t know any examples of more intelligent things being controlled by less intelligent things’ ‘You want to try living in Britain mate’. Luckily, I am optimystic. Now, some useful remedial info…maybe

(Information shared in light seconds across a mirrored web of ‘neurons’…)

‘As long as nothing absorbs it, the light keeps travelling forever’. If electrons jump to an outer orbital, they use energy. But if they jump to an inner orbital, they give up energy, which is released as a photon. (A photon is a tiny particle made up of electromagnetic waves, it has no mass or charge, but can carry and pass on energy and act like a wave.)

The photons produced by a source of light come from the energy created when an electron transitions from a higher energy level to a lower energy level. Emanations in which all matter is descended from the One. From the perspective of a photon there is no such thing as time. There is zero time elapsed between when its emitted and when its absorbed again. It doesn’t experience distance either.’ Just imagine that. Magick.

Remember what you are made of and the power of thought. Says Dave again😊 Don’t forget to have a happy Sirius Day on the 23rd!

Oh yeah, and Love...

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socialwicked · 2 years

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8 Best Travel Bags (2022): Carry-On Luggage, Duffel, Budget

Not each fantastic product can snag a finest-in-group title, but there are various additional luggage we’ve tested that get our thumbs-up and have earned a mention.

Eagle Creek Cargo Hauler 40L ($119) was my former favored duffel bag, but it really is been displaced by the REI Co-op Significant Haul and bumped down a notch. It’s continue to a excellent duffel bag. Two things jumped out about the Cargo Hauler. One particular: It weighs 1 pound, 13 ounces, which is only a little heavier than air. Two: It has backpack straps that stow away in a entrance pocket. It feels fewer significant-duty than the other duffel luggage in this information, though it can be not low-cost-emotion by any usually means.

Solgaard Have-On Closet In addition ($295) is a very small bit above what most airways list as the most proportions, but the distinction is so little that it is approved 95 percent of the time. WIRED reviewer Louryn Strampe praises its optional clip-in closet clothes organizer, which would make for efficient packing. The created-in TSA lock is straightforward to use, and you can find an interior electricity-financial institution pocket. This suitcase is provided in our Most loved Upcycled Solutions guide.

Away Even larger Carry-On ($295) presents all the identical handy interior group modules as our top lavish challenging-shell select, the Away Larger Carry-On Aluminum Version, but for significantly less than 50 % the selling price. And you can decide on from a array of colors, from discreet navy blue to pink, eco-friendly, or lavender. The optional, ejectable battery bank charges an more $20.

Ebags CTS Have-On Spinner ($200) was not bad, but there are considerably much better selections for the income. Its tough plastic sides felt additional brittle than the challenging-sided plastic Away suitcases, so despite the fact that I didn’t break it for the duration of my use, I’d fear about its resistance to shattering if checked by an airline. The deal with rattled a large amount , and it failed to roll quite as easily as the other bags. Still, its sturdy satisfies were being that it arrived with numerous inside organizing cubes, and the exterior pocket had three sleeves with which to organize and separate little journey goods, these types of as tablets and toiletries.

Samsonite Define Pro Have-On ($200) is a tough-aspect, four-wheeled spinner have-on produced from an outer shell of strong polypropylene. Standout attributes include things like an interior material created from 100 percent recycled plastic bottles and a “WetPak” storage pocket for holding damp items divided from the relaxation of your baggage. Products reviewer Medea Giordano, a infamous overpacker, was equipped to suit an full long weekend’s value of wardrobe in the Outline Pro.

Patagonia Black Gap 40L ($159) is a different excellent experience duffel with a water-resistant fabric coating and backpack straps. In contrast to the Eagle Creek Cargo Hauler, though, significantly less of the exterior material is h2o-resistant, and it truly is an inch and a half far too thick in just one dimension for US domestic have-on prerequisites. But it truly is a duffel, so you can squish it to match in an overhead bin if it’s not totally packed whole.

Adidas Defender Duffel ($40) isn’t a dedicated journey bag, but if you’re on the lookout for an inexpensive duffel that’ll deal with some light-weight-duty touring, it truly is a very good way to preserve $100. The material is considerably thinner and considerably less strong than that of other duffels in this information, and it lacks backpack straps. If there is a opportunity you are going to have to verify it usually, I might search somewhere else. But for taking on the train or tossing into a auto trunk, it will do the trick.

Paravel Aviator Intercontinental Have-On ($345) has an inside lining created of recycled plastic bottles, a telescoping tackle created of recycled aluminum, and vegan leather-based trim to support it stand out from all the basic black baggage at the airport. Solution reviewer Jaina Grey really fell in love with its roomy interior and tough, anti-scuff difficult-shell exterior.

The North Experience Foundation Camp ($129) is a cylindrical duffel bag, unlike most duffel luggage these times. If you are a folder, it can be tough to retain everything straight and wrinkle-free as you pack it into the Foundation Camp’s curved bottom, even though those who roll their apparel would not have any challenges. The components felt much less expensive than other duffel bags in this guidebook. It truly is a workhorse applied typically by the outside crowd, so when the water-resistant fabric and the handles are tough, they just never feel as wonderful to the touch.

https://socialwicked.com/8-best-travel-bags-2022-carry-on-luggage-duffel-budget/

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prismatic-bell · 3 years

Text

So the other day I said a thing about how I felt like a line could be drawn between antis, and the rise of 24-hour news networks. I’ve given that thought some time to bubble to see what, exactly, my brain meant by that statement, and here’s what I’ve got:

When I was a kid (back in Ye Olde 1990s), we had three major news stations in my town: Channel 12, Channel 24, and Channel 35. These corresponded to NBC, ABC, and CBS, but I don’t remember which one was which so don’t ask me. Anyway--you had a half hour of news at 8 or 9 am (depending on which station you watched), an hourlong program at noon in which half the program was stuff like “here are today’s beach closures and some recipes and also if you’re looking for stuff to do with the kids this weekend here are local promotions,” and half an hour at either 5, 5:30, or 6 (again, depending on which channel you watched). One of the three stations also did a half-hour capper at 10pm. So unless you were watching all three stations, and picking the news every single time, the max amount of news you were going to get was like an hour and a half. If you wanted more news than that, you read the newspaper. When my mom was a kid (back in Ye Olde 1960s), this would have seemed like an inordinate amount of news--for her, it was half an hour at 6pm and ten minutes at 10pm and then the station (there was only one station that did the news) played the National Anthem and went off the air until 6am, at which time you might get like . . . the weather and a traffic report.

For anything else, you read the newspaper.

Now with only half an hour to present a whole lot of news, what are you going to do? You are going to stick to the facts. You don’t have a choice. You have a very short time to fit a whole lot of information. “Notre Dame cathedral caught on fire today. French firefighters are working to get the flames under control, and authorities in charge of the cathedral are doing their best to remove relics, paintings, and other holy objects while it’s still possible. French President Mr. Somebody addressed the nation and stated every attempt to save the building, and to rebuild the damage, will be made. In local news . . . “ And that’s it! If you want more information, you’ve got to wait for the newspaper in the morning, and you’re going to have to get a copy of the New York Times or USA Today, because the local paper will only have a blurb, and that blurb will mostly cover what you just heard!

But then the news changed.

By the time I was a teenager, the non-cable news looked like this: All three channels had a morning show that started at 5 or 6 am (depending on your station) and ran until 8 or 9 (depending on your station). The station that ended at 8am then had a half-hour morning news show. The mid-day news at 11 or 12 was still an hour. Channel 35 did a half-hour news segment at 5 and another at 5:30, back to back. The other two stations simply did an hourlong segment. And then one station did half an hour at 10:30, and the other two did hourlong segments at 10pm.

What do you do with that much time? Well, you expand. Yes, you can fit more news, but you can also fit more about the news. “Notre Dame cathedral in Paris went up in flames today. The fire began in the famous historic bell tower, and spread to the roof. At this time, portions of the roof appear to have caved in, and there are concerns about the integrity of the medieval stonework in the cathedral walls. French firefighters have been working since 8am Paris time to get the flames under control, and authorities in charge of the cathedral are doing their best to remove relics, paintings, and other holy objects while it’s still possible. Some firefighters are also helping with this project, as portions of the building have become too unsafe to enter. French President Mr. Somebody addressed the nation late this evening and stated every attempt to save the building, and to rebuild the damage, will be made. Of the cathedral itself, Somebody said, ‘Our Lady has weathered worse troubles than this. Paris as a city, and France as a nation, will overcome.’ In local news . . . ”

Still facts, but a few more facts. At this point the internet as a public thing is just past its infancy, and in theory you could go look up some stuff on, like, AOL, maybe, about what was happening.

(Nina, you were talking about antis . . . ?)

(Yes, I was. Bear with me.)

But at this point you also saw the rise of Fox News and CNN.

Now up to this point, I could trust the news. That is important to know. “Nina, American news is full of propaganda--” Listen, you’re not wrong, but the point is, if Scott Brennan told me Notre Dame cathedral was on fire and priests were trying to remove the holy relics, I could safely assume Notre Dame cathedral was on fire and priests were trying to remove the holy relics. If Channel 24 told me “the blizzard of the century” had occurred the night before, I could look out the window of my snowed-in house and go “yeah, that seems legit.”

I grew up, in other words, in a world in which facts were facts. We didn’t waffle or wring our hands over whether or not Notre Dame was on fire. And this allowed me to take a similar approach to fiction: it is a fact that murder is wrong, and knowing this, I can read a book in which someone commits murder for very good reasons, but still know they did something wrong.

But now you have 24 hours of news to fill.

No matter how you pad it, no matter how many voice clips you play or retrospectives you do, you cannot find enough news in the world to fill 24 hours, seven days a week, 365 days a year. You just can’t.

So they started adding “opinion pieces.”

Notre Dame is on fire--is it worth saving? Notre Dame is on fire--but is it as big a catastrophe as it’s made out to be? Notre Dame is on fire--but France has been steadily calling themselves a secular nation, so is this the punishment of G-d? Notre Dame is on fire--

--wait, what was that?

Yep. You saw it, I saw it, we all saw it. But as the “opinion pieces” slowly took over the regular news and stopped being called “opinion pieces” and started being called “programs,” it became less and less clear what was and wasn’t fact.

Now obviously Notre Dame is on fire. But now we have to ask ourselves: is it worth it to save it or not? Is the financial cost outweighed by the history? Will those answers change depending on how bad the damage becomes? And you, lonely elderly person in your chair whose predominant socialization these days is at church, how does this make you feel about French people? These are questions that once would have been asked of the church caretakers and the French government. Now every single person is being asked to think about them, without being provided all of the context that is available to the church caretakers and the French government. And along the way, you get these nice, nasty little bits of prejudice and slanted thinking and bias sneaked in.

I told you I’d come back to antis. And here we are.

The vast majority of antis are very young. They grew up in a world where those “programs” were the norm. They were not provided with a cultural basis of “these are the facts.” They were provided a basis of “here is what I think about the facts.” They were provided a basis of, as Mr. Banks said in Mary Poppins, “kindly do not cloud the matter with facts.”

There are no facts! Who fucking cares! An anti who’s 15 years old today was eleven years old when we were introduced to “alternative facts”! Is it wrong for a 27-year-old man to pursue a relationship with a 13-year-old girl? Depends on which news channel, and which presenter, you ask!

They literally grew up in a world in which critical thinking was discouraged. Once upon a time, you would have seen on TV that Notre Dame was on fire, and at dinner--or whatever your family did for together time--you might say things like “going to be expensive to fix that, I wonder what they’ll do,” but you wouldn’t have been hit with six presenters telling you exactly why Notre Dame should/shouldn’t be rebuilt. And don’t forget--even if you, personally, do not watch the news (or read it on the internet, which is just as bad, because everybody’s after those elusive advertising clicks, everybody needs the “scoop” two seconds before it happens), you know people who do. You hear their opinions and their hot takes and their retellings all around you. And those opinions and hot takes and retellings will be colored by which “program” that person saw first.

Watch the first thirty seconds of this:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dn2RjahTi3M

Walter Cronkite, a legendary news anchor, giving his opinion on Vietnam. You will notice that he states, very clearly: “it seems very clear to this reporter.” This is Cronkite’s opinion, nothing more, and he makes it clear that he is speaking only for himself.

Now skip to approximately 1:05, and watch him report the Kennedy assassination. You can see he’s emotional, but also keeping it under wraps as best he can because he has An Important Job To Do, and that job is twofold: to deliver the news accurately and concisely, and to keep the American public calm (you can see this when he hurriedly says Johnson is probably taking the oath to become President; a missing VP would be a crisis at this moment). This is a man who’s just found out the most beloved president in modern times is dead. And not just dead--murdered. It’s not like Kennedy had a heart attack, his damn head was blown off. This news is still coming in so quickly that you can see him glancing off the screen to get fresh reports. He’s one of the first to receive this absolute blow--and he’s still holding it together, barely wavering. (When I was a kid, this role would go to Dan Rather. He was no Cronkite, but he tried.)

Where is that kind of rock for today’s teens? Imagine--heaven forbid, in the state our country’s in right now--that tomorrow we get the news Biden was shot.

How would we get that message?

Would it be delivered by an even-keeled, just-the-facts reporter like Cronkite? Or would we get it from a bunch of half-hysterical articles and crisismongering “programs”? And would it be delivered to us straight, like Cronkite did, or would it be buried in three days’ worth of opinions on his “legacy” and policies and What This Means For America?

Now: how are you supposed to build any kind of strong convictions and moral compass on a world like that? Where anything can be true if enough people have an “opinion” on it? Where the facts get immediately buried in a wave of bullshit?

Antis are reacting to a world of “opinions” and “programs” being thrown at them 24/7 by trying to create a world they can control, where there are in fact things that are true, in a world that has actively refused them the opportunity to learn how to parse and process facts. And so what they’ve come up with is this grossly distorted version of facts, because gross distortions of facts are all they know. It’s all they’ve ever seen. They’re perpetuating a system they don’t even realize they’re part of, because they never experienced life before it existed.

They’re not lying when they say they were heavily influenced by fiction because the bounds between fact and fiction have been actively erased. On purpose. And it’s difficult to grok that, if you grew up in a world where you didn’t have to go seek out photographic evidence to be absolutely certain that Notre Dame was, indeed, on fire.

So what we need to be doing, first and foremost, is rebuilding that wall of facts, that line of truth. Otherwise, what we’re going to see is more of this, but getting worse daily.

We set them up for this, and now we’re paying the price for it.

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starryhyuck · 3 years

Text

pride. (m)

pairing: sugardaddy!xiaojun x reader

words: 4.7k+

summary: stacked with two jobs, tuition bills and rent payments, an opportunity falls into your lap that leaves you wanting more.

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: creampie, breeding kink, semi-public sex, oral sex, degradation, overstimulation

It all started before you hit rock bottom.

When you enrolled in college and decided to study music, your parents refused to pay for your tuition as they had hoped you would pursue law instead. You’ve been passionate about music since you were younger, and financial burdens were not going to hold you back from pursuing your dreams.

You spend most school nights working a low wage job, and switch to a different low wage job on the weekends. You hardly had time to balance studies and work, but in order to make ends meet, you fill your body with caffeine and call it a day.

You’re in the middle of wiping down the counter of the campus’s local ice cream parlor, ignoring the email you received from your landlord minutes ago. It was yet another warning notice to pay last month’s rent, a task you’ve been putting off for weeks.

There’s barely anyone who comes into the shop this late at night on a weekday, only a few who have a midnight craving they have to fulfill. You’re surprised when Doyeon comes barging into the shop at half past midnight, dressed to the nines in her custom Versace gown.

She sighs and throws herself down on one of the parlor chairs. “I feel sick to my stomach. Is it possible for your intestines to hurt so much from champagne?”

You laugh at her. Doyeon was your first friend when you came to campus, and you were blissfully unaware of how wealthy she was until three months into your friendship. Her mother recently remarried and Doyeon despised her stepdad, but she never had any complaints about the money he carried with him. Doyeon’s offered to pay off some of your loans so that you wouldn’t have to work two jobs, but you always turned down her offer. You couldn’t take money from her — you had to have a little bit of pride.

“What happened now? More sleazy old men hitting on you?” You question, leaning over the counter to ask her.

“You know me so well,” she sighs, her curled hair styled perfectly down her shoulders. She removes her heels for a bit so she can breathe. “And Doyoung was complaining the entire time, pissing off my mom. You know how my brother is.”

You’ve met Doyoung once or twice, and he was very similar to Doyeon — confident, smart and not afraid to speak what’s on his mind. Doyoung had a very difficult time adjusting to their mother’s new beau.

“You know what would be nice?” Doyeon asks, eyelashes fluttering at you. “If you come with me next time.”

“You know I can’t,” you decline, moving to check on the tubs of ice cream. “I’m too busy with work and school. Can’t leave for a night of luxury.”

“But you can,” she whines loudly. “Just let me pay your rent for last month and we’ll call it even!”

You roll your eyes. “I hardly call that even, Doyeon.”

She huffs. “Please? I can’t stand to go to another one of these things and listen to those snotty people tell me how lucky I am that my mom found that douchebag. You would make it so much more fun, and save me from a night of torture.”

For the first time, you’re contemplating Doyeon’s offer. You’ve known for a long time now that you’re running low on funds, and you’re scared that if you don’t find a way to pay your landlord, he’ll end up evicting you. Your eyes glance up to meet Doyeon’s, who has her puppy dog gaze turned on.

You sigh. “Just one event. That’s it.”

She squeals, and almost jumps over the counter to hug you.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you, thank you!”

You awkwardly pat her back. “Yeah, yeah.”

—

Doyeon failed to tell you that the event she was dragging you to would actually take place within a week.

You scrambled to find a dress and how to style your hair, knowing that if you showed up in an off-brand name, you would immediately look like an outcast. Doyeon saved you from the humiliation, shoving you into a Valentino dress that had your eyes rolling out of your head at the price tag. She also hired a hairstylist on the day of to come over and fix you up, which you clearly disagreed on until Doyeon told you it wasn’t up for debate.

And now, here you were, standing in the middle of the most luxurious place you’ve ever stepped foot in. Doyeon leans over to whisper to you while you’re eyeing the waiters and waitresses walking around with trays of champagne.

“Just smile and act like you only care about money.”

She tugs you forward and you try your best to match her pace. A girl approaches you two first, nails wrapped around the stem of her glass. She’s wearing one of the most beautiful gowns you’ve ever seen, a Chanel piece her mother imported for the event.

“Hyojung, you’re way too young to be drinking anything,” Doyeon scolds.

“Calm down, mom. No one’s snitching except you. Who have you brought?”

Doyeon beams and loops her arm through yours. “This is my friend from college.” She gives Hyojung your name and you offer your best smile.

Hyojung returns your grin. “Nice to meet you. Where do your parents work?”

Doyeon opens her mouth to tell Hyojung the truth, but you stop her.

“They own a few chain businesses in our hometown. Nothing too grand,” you inform. Hyojung nods in agreement, eyes darting somewhere else.

“Well, Chanwoo is here. I’m going to get the gossip that he owes me from last time.”

When Hyojung leaves, Doyeon frowns at you. “Why did you lie?” She questions.

You shrug. “I would rather not be a fish out of water here more than I already am. It’s better if people think I’m at least middle class.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. “You know I’m not ashamed of you, right?”

You giggle and pat her cheek. “Of course I know.”

“Finally!” You hear someone exclaim, and you turn to see Doyoung rushing over to the two of you. “Where the hell have you been? Mom’s going to murder you for showing up so late.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Relax. We took a long time getting ready.”

Doyoung smiles gently at you before tugging his sister away. You feel even more awkward, hands folding together as you sway in the middle of the room. The people around you are talking animatedly and you can faintly hear the sound of the violin in the back of the room. You wonder if you should pretend to go to the bathroom or find somewhere to sit-

“Never seen you here before.”

You turn to see a guy your age, dressed in a full Armani suit and Rolex watch shining under the sparkling chandelier. You awkwardly clear your throat.

“Uh, yeah. My friend brought me. Do I look that weird?”

He chuckles, running a hand through his chestnut locks. “You look beautiful. I’ve just been to plenty of these galas before and I’ve pretty much memorized the guest list.”

Your heart lingers on his compliment and you avert your gaze.

“My first one. Are they always like this?”

“Boring, you mean?”

You laugh and he joins in. You swear you feel butterflies frantically flying in your stomach.

“So, what’s your story? Also have rich parents?” You ask.

He nods. “My mother owns half of the city’s major businesses. I’m Xiaojun, by the way.” You give him your name and he smiles, motioning to the back of the room. “Want to talk where it’s a little less loud?”

You agree, smiling and taking his arm as he leads you to the less chatty part of the room. You both sit on a luxurious velvet couch, a piece of furniture that most likely costs more than your entire apartment. Xiaojun hands you a glass of champagne, his smile taking your breath away.

“Tell me a little bit about yourself,” he muses, eyeing you carefully.

You laugh. “Is this a job interview?”

He shrugs. “Could be.”

Your eyebrows furrow at his answer, but you figure rich people were always weird and vague like that. “I go to the same college as Doyeon, and I’m studying music. Not really much to say, I spend most of my time working.”

He nods, and you can’t place what the look in his eye is for.

“Music, that’s interesting. What made you decide to take on such a daunting major?”

“Daunting as in it’s not law or business?” You counter, giving him a look.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, no judgment here. In my world, I haven’t met anyone who isn’t a law or business major. It’s nice to have a change of scenery.”

He challenges your gaze, and you feel a warmth in your stomach you haven’t felt in months. You jump when you hear the shriek of your name and Doyeon comes charging towards the two of you.

“There you are! Jesus, I had to hear Doyoung fight with my stepdad for almost ten minutes.” Her exasperation turns into surprise when she sees Xiaojun seated next to you. “Oh! Hey, Dejun. Didn’t see you there.”

He offers a smile. “Hi, Doyeon.”

“Do you mind if I pull her away for a bit?” Doyeon asks, but she’s already looped your arm through hers. You slightly protest when she tugs you away from Xiaojun, but you’re immediately distracted by her next question. “What the hell were you doing talking to him? You know what Xiaojun is famous for, right?”

You frown, looking over your shoulder again to see him, watching as his line of sight carefully follows you and Doyeon.

“No, I don’t. He seemed nice. What’s the issue?”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “He’s a sugar daddy. Always looking for new sugar babies to satisfy him. He’s been blowing through girls like the wind for the past year. He’s not good, and I don’t want you in his company without me.”

You try to process that the man you were just talking to was, in fact, scoping you out to get a potential new sugar baby. You can’t wrap your mind around it, even when Doyeon drags you to the corner of the room, where Doyoung and her stepdad are still fighting.

Your eyes linger on Xiaojun’s table, but he’s already long gone.

—

“Nice shop you got here.”

You practically jump out of your shoes at the sound of the familiar voice, almost spilling a cup of ice cream down your front. You nearly get whiplash with how fast you spin around, eyes widening at the sight of Xiaojun standing in the middle of the ice cream shop. Your manager, Seojeong, raises an eyebrow at your skittish nature.

“Is there a problem here?” She questions, but you immediately brush her off.

“No, no problem!” You squeak. You immediately rush over the counter and push Xiaojun out of the shop. “Seojeong, I’m taking my 15!”

“Um, okay?”

Once you’ve got Xiaojun on the street, you take notice of what he’s wearing - another dark Armani suit, same Rolex watch, and hair styled in a way that’s meant to make your panties drop. You push back your thoughts and whisper harshly to him.

“I know why you’re here.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Do you now?”

“Yes, I do,” you state confidently, tilting your chin up. “Doyeon told me about your little sugar daddy scheme.”

He laughs. “Ah, is that what they’re calling it now? Didn’t realize I was such a bad guy for wanting to help out girls in bad situations.”

You scoff. “Do you get off on this? Lowering yourself to the underprivileged lives of the poor? Pretending to be the hero that saves the damsel in distress?”

He snickers at your line of questioning, shoving his hands in his pockets and eyeing you. He leans down so that you’re face to face, and you falter as he becomes closer to you.

“And if I do? What if I like giving you money so you don’t have to work two jobs?”

“How do you know I have two jobs?” You inquire.

“You looked so lost at that gala. I told you I’ve memorized the guest list — you’ve never been on it. It became relatively easy to discover the rest of the details. It must be exhausting doing this everyday, haven’t you ever wanted a break?”

You fold your arms across your chest and take a step away from him. “What’s in it for you?”

He grins. “The pleasure of your company.”

“What kind of company?” You ask, doubting him. You won’t lie and say the offer isn’t intriguing to you. You still have pride, definitely, but the weight of two jobs has really taken a toll on you lately. Plus, Doyeon said Xiaojun breezes through girls anyways. You could get a break from paying your rent for a few months and before you know it, he’ll move onto the next charity case he wants to help out.

There’s no harm in that, right?

Your thoughts are blown through the window, however, when his smirk grows wider. You’re sure there’s a large damp spot in your underwear right now.

“Whatever company you like, little one.”

You’re fucked.

—

You keep the relationship with Xiaojun quiet and under wraps. You know Doyeon would have many thoughts about your choice, and she would probably convince you to let her pay your bills instead of Xiaojun. You couldn’t place that burden on her shoulders.

Surprisingly, Xiaojun doesn’t ask for much. He swings by the ice cream parlor once a week, drops off a $1000 check, stays to chat for a little, and leaves. Seojeong doesn’t raise any questions, albeit you’ve seen her glance at the envelope you leave in the back room. You would’ve thought that Xiaojun is the type of guy who invites you over to his penthouse apartment to get to know him, but he’s been quite reserved. He never crosses the line with you, and his questioning stays on the topic of your classes and work. You continuously wonder how to captivate his attention and if the other girls before you failed to do so.

About a month into the deal, your patience wears thin. You’re not even really sure why you’re frustrated in the first place. Anyone would love a no strings attached deal like this, getting $1000 every week with barely any commitment. You quit your other job because you don’t need both paychecks now and you’ve been able to keep up on rent. However, a part of you expected to be close with Xiaojun in some way at this point, especially considering the way he was flirting with you when he first propositioned this.

You’re fully prepared to confront him on Friday night, the same day he usually drops off the check and chats with you for a bit. You practically throw yourself over the counter when he takes a step inside the shop, yelling over your shoulder to Seojeong that you’re taking your break.

Xiaojun laughs at your eagerness, allowing you to tug on his suit as you pull him outside.

“Someone’s excited today. Need the check that badly?”

You frown at the accusation and exhale. “No, as a matter of fact, the money you’ve given me so far could probably cover me for a year.”

“Then what’s with the frowny face?”

“There’s a catch here, Xiaojun, I know there is. You’ve been too nice,” you say, waving a finger at him.

He smirks. “Have I been? I told you, little one, all I need is your company. You’ve given that to me every week, haven’t you?”

You scoff. “Barely. We talk for a few minutes while I’m making orders for other customers and then you leave. I would hardly call that company.”

He gets even cockier, if that was humanly possible. Xiaojun has to know what he’s doing to you — the mystery of his true personality starting to make you curious.

Similar to your first meeting, he leans down until he’s a few inches from your face, eyebrow raised. “Didn’t mean to neglect you, little one. Did you want more from me?”

You shift awkwardly, tension building in your stomach from his words. He was clearly teasing you and his patience was stronger than you previously believed. He waited a month just to have you desperate like this, wanting something more than a few minutes of his time. You’re so wet at this point that you’re definitive Xiaojun knows.

To prove your point, his smirk grows wider. “What are you doing after your shift?”

“U-Um, I have some homework to finish-“

“Great, I’ll pick you up after work and you can finish it at my apartment.” He doesn’t give you any time to protest, moving closer to you, his breath hitting the shell of your ear. “Next time, little one, just tell me you need more attention. Daddy will gladly give it to you.”

—

You’re a nervous wreck when Xiaojun’s expensive Rolls-Royce pulls up to the curb after your shift has ended. His car looks terribly out of place on the streets of your dirty campus, but he doesn’t seem bothered in the slightest. You quickly get in and ask him to go before anyone can recognize you.

The ride to his apartment in the upper part of town is filled with silence, making you even more jittery. Xiaojun, on the other hand, is calm and collected with one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the console. You try to swallow your nerves and reason with yourself.

This is just Xiaojun — son of a multimillionaire, heir to many respective companies within the city. This is just Xiaojun — the man who’s been giving you $1000 every week with no strings attached, the man who’s clouded your dreams for the past month on more than one occasion.

Unfortunately, you don’t have any more time to dwell on your thoughts when Xiaojun pulls up to the parking garage of his complex. The both of you exit the car and he hands the keys to one of the valet drivers. His fingers fall to the small of your back as he guides you inside.

You try to avoid the blatant stares from other residents. You’re still dressed in your work clothes, a simple t-shirt and pair of jeans, but you couldn’t look more like a fish out of water. Xiaojun doesn’t seem to mind, walking into the elevator and pressing the top floor button. You ride the elevator in silence, and your eyes nearly fall out of your head when you reach the penthouse.

The apartment is straight out of the movies. The decor is extravagant, and you’re afraid if you touch anything, you’ll have to pay a fine. Xiaojun leads you to the dining room, pulling out a chair for you, despite your confusion.

“You can finish your homework here. I’ll be in the study upstairs.”

“Wait wait wait,” you stop him, placing a hand on his chest. “You’re leaving?”

He grins. “Did you want me to stay?”

He was really going to make you beg for it. Your eyes narrow and you feel a burst of confidence run through you. You tilt your head up until you’re a few centimeters from his mouth.

“You said Daddy would give me more attention if I asked for it.”

He growls, eyes darkening. Before you know it, he has you pinned to the grand table, staring at you as if you’re his last meal. It’s your turn to smirk as his control snaps, fingers digging into your hips roughly.

“Think it’s fun to test me? The other girls before you were more behaved,” he hisses, eyes wandering to the valley of your breasts.

“But you don’t like that, do you? You like it when they disobey,” you murmur, pulling him closer to you. “You like giving them their punishment.”

Xiaojun’s lips are pressed to yours before you can even fully register what’s going on, his body locking you against the wood. You whimper, hands gripping his forearm to keep steady. It’s messy and frantic, and you can see all of the built up tension starting to show.

“What would Doyeon think of you whoring yourself out for money?” He snickers, making you feel small under his gaze. “I bet she would be so ashamed. Little one gave up her pride for a few thousand dollars?”

You whine. “It’s not like that.”

“But isn’t it?” He questions you, fingers unbuttoning your jeans and sliding them down your legs. You wish you had worn a sexier pair of panties today but Xiaojun seems satisfied nonetheless, snapping the elastic against your skin. “Can’t wait to get a taste of this cunt. That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, little one?”

You probably look pathetic like this — half of your body sprawled across Xiaojun’s dining table, pants around your ankles, and a large wet spot ruining the fabric of your underwear. You pitifully nod in response to his question, eyes locked on the bulge straining against his expensive trousers. He chuckles when he follows your line of sight.

“Hungry?”

You fall into the role so easily. “Yes, Daddy.”

He directs you on your knees, the cold marble floor sending a shiver up your spine. You eagerly watch him unbuckle his belt and exposing his leaking cock for you. The tip is red and angry, demanding to be touched.

“Go ahead, little one. Make Daddy feel good.”

You wrap your mouth around the tip, nearly moaning at the taste of him. You haven’t been intimate with someone in so long and his cock has your mouth watering.

“Good girl,” he soothes, pushing his cock further down your throat. Tears immediately spring into your eyes when he ignores your gag reflex, hands gripping the back of your head as he guided you. “Shh, doing so well for me, little one.”

You allow him to fuck your mouth, trying to brush aside the tears falling down your face and saliva pooling at the sides of your mouth. It’s filthy and you love it — you haven’t been used like this in months and you never realized how much you missed it.

“Your mouth is so perfect, fuck,” he groans. “I’ll pay for anything you want if you stay on your knees like this, all pretty for me.”

You gasp when he lets you breathe, pulling his cock away. He chuckles at you, fingers returning to stroke himself as he watches you regain yourself. He tugs you back on your feet, overlooking your wobbly legs and pushing you into the living room. You’re about to question him on what he’s doing until he’s shoving you up against his glass window. You gaze downwards, seeing a plethora of people passing by on the street and cars honking to one another. It’s a view you only see in the movies, and you know Xiaojun’s eager to fuck you into the fantasy.

His fingers slide into your underwear, breath hot against your neck. “Look at all of them down there, little one. Bet they want to be just like you, fucked so good for everyone to see. Even better when I cum inside you, hm?”

You freeze. “D-Daddy,” you whisper frantically. “I’m not on the pill.”

He’s silent behind your figure before you feel him playing with your folds, your wetness coating his hand.

“Isn’t that nice? What do you think of getting knocked up, little one? This entire place could be yours, you would never have to step foot in that ice cream shop again. All the wealth you never imagined, you could spend all day in bed with me while I stuff you full. You would look so pretty on Daddy’s arm. I wonder how many times we could sneak away from the crowd so I could fuck my cock into you. Wouldn’t that be a dream?”

You gasp, growing wetter by the second. He easily slides a finger into your heat and all common sense is thrown out of the window.

“Please fuck me, Daddy,” you beg. “Please please please. I’ll be good for you, I promise.”

He laughs at your desperation, pushing another digit inside. “Even though you’re not on the pill? How filthy of you, little one.”

It’s sick. You barely know this man but all you want is his cum inside you. You can imagine the headlines now — Millionaire’s Son Gets Poor Girl Pregnant. But you want it. You want it so badly.

You hear the tearing of your panties but you couldn’t give a fuck what happens to them, pushing yourself further into him. He laughs again at you, tip lining up to your entrance.

“Beg for it.”

You cry. “Please, Daddy! I want it, I’ve been so good for you! I’ll let you cum inside me and everyone can watch. I want them to see who I belong to.”

“Fuck,” he growls at your submission. You nearly scream when he pushes into you, his girth bigger and thicker than you’ve ever taken before. On top of that, you haven’t had sex in months and the stretch is almost unbearable. Your head rolls back but Xiaojun grips your chin and forces you to look outside the window. “Look at all those people, little one. They’re about to get a nice show.”

He gives you no time to adjust, thrusting into you like he wants to break you. His fingers tangle into your hair and he pulls roughly, causing you to yelp at the pain. You’re past the point of coherent thinking, Xiaojun’s cock fucking you so good you can barely talk.

“Good, little one?”

“Mmf,” you gurgle, gasping at the force of his movements. You can feel him in your throat, and it’s as if he’s waited all these weeks just to spill his seed into you.

You tumble over the edge when he pinches your clit, whispering the dirtiest confessions into your ear. “Needy whore,” he laughed sinisterly. “Probably can’t go a day without my cock after this. Going to be begging me for it, wanting me all the time now. I can’t wait to take you everywhere and anywhere I please. I’ll buy you so many cute outfits, little one. So many skirts that make it easy for me to slide right inside and fuck you until you’re crying for me.”

You clench around his cock and fall over the edge, your wetness spilling down your thighs.

“Daddy,” you breathlessly hiss, body going limp in his arms.

“You came so much for me, little one. Your slutty cunt is so good for me, isn’t it?”

“Please, Daddy,” you plead. “Please, Daddy. I want to feel your cum.”

“Yeah?” He grunts, the sound of his balls repeatedly slapping against your pussy echoes around the room. “You wanna get pregnant? All baby wants is a big fat cock to stuff her full of cum, hm?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you cry out, not even caring how pitiful you look at this point. “Want it so badly.”

Your desperation snaps the cord inside of him and he spills every last drop into you. You whimper at the warm feeling, some of his cum starting to drip out and coat the inside of your thighs. You both attempt to catch your breaths, your legs feeling like jelly.

You’re about to move away from him until Xiaojun keeps you pinned to the window, stopping you from leaving.

“W-What are y-you doing?” You ask, still out of breath from the fucking you just received.

“I don’t think that was the one,” he muses, eyes locked on where you two are intertwined. He offers an experimental thrust that has you scrambling.

“No, no,” you sniffle, trying to move away from him again. “I can’t, I can’t.”

“I think you can,” he chuckles, enjoying the way your cunt wraps so nicely around his cock. “And you will. Haven’t gotten you pregnant yet, little one.”

You spend hours fucking like bunnies with Xiaojun taking you on almost every surface of his apartment. You don’t even care that you’re impregnated, allowing him to use you in any way he pleases while the sun falls under the skyline.

Your pride didn’t matter that much anyways.

#nct smut #wayv smut #xiaojun #xiaojun smut

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johnsamericano · 3 years

Text

𝔖𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 ℜ𝔲𝔰𝔥 𝔧.𝔧.𝔥

Hi everyone! As promised, here’s one of the two most voted fic continuations. There will be more chapters to this story though I'm not sure how many yet. Thank you for reading!

warnings: sugar daddy jae, mentions of injuries and hospitals, language.

taglist: @thoreeo @trustmahluv

Sugar rush m.list.

The machine monitoring your father’s heartbeat was the only sound filling the quiet hospital room, where your once healthy father laid unconscious, his perfect, chiseled cheeks adorned with cuts and bruises. Would they leave a mark?

The machine monitoring your father’s heartbeat was the only sound filling the hospital room, where your once healthy father laid unconscious, his perfect, chiseled cheeks adorned with cuts and bruises. Would they leave a mark?

Where did everything go wrong?

Your string of thoughts was cut off by a call from your aunt.

“Hello?” Your voice was raspy from not using it. There was no one to talk to in the quiet, hospital room but the nurses, who weren't especially keen on chatting.

“How’s your dad, sweetie?”

“They let him out of ICU, but he doesn't look good to me.” Your fingers traced the cuts in his chiseled cheeks that would soon turn into scars, ruining his perfect skin. Your eyes then diverted to his head, thoroughly covered in bandages to protect his damaged skull.

“Honey, I've got bad news...”

“They rejected the case, didn't they?”

“Not precisely.” She deeply inhaled before continuing. “It’s a tough case, almost impossible to win, nonetheless, they're willing to take it. But their fee is a little...”

“Expensive.”

“Yes.”

As expected from the best firm in town, they wouldn't take less than $8,000. Your bank account didn't have enough money to even cover half of it, and with your job at the convenience store, you'd only earn so much to cover your expenses.

“We can take the lawyer that the government provides us with, it would be free.”

“But then I'm sure we’d lose.” You groaned in frustration, using your free hand to rub your forehead. “Don’t worry, I'll find a way to get the money.”

“Why don't we just accept the compensation they're offering? It could pay for the hospital bills and you'd still have some left to pay for your tuition.”

“That would be like putting a price on my father's life. I don't want their money, I want them to make themselves responsible for what they've caused.” The sound of wheels approached the door of your father's room, signaling the nurse was outside with his meds. “It’s okay, Auntie, I'll take care of everything. You can go back home, I know my uncle isn't doing so well.”

“Are you sure, darling?” It was undeniable that she wanted to head back to her little ranch fat away from the hectic city life to take care of her sick husband, but still, her brother was laying down on a hospital bed, fighting for his life.

“Yes, I'm an adult, I'll find a way.”

“Take care of yourself, and don't hesitate to call me if you're having any difficulties. I'll be there in the blink of an eye.” She said before sending a kiss into the speaker, proceeding to hang up.

You sighed. It was never usual for you to ask for help, as you were an extremely prideful and independent person, and you doubted this time would be different.

“Don’t worry, dad. Everything will be alright.”

Three failed job interviews and one more to go. Your feet were killing you, the high heels covering them already worn out from walking to avoid taking the bus. Every penny counted, and as long as your legs worked, you weren't spending any more money than what was necessary.

You sat down in the waiting room of the company, massaging your neck to relieve some tension. College was becoming a burden. Maybe you'd take a semester off to focus on working, that is if someone wanted to hire an inexperienced student.

“Y/n, Y/l/n?”

“Here.” You darted up, gathering your belongings to enter the room on which your life almost literally depended.

You gave all the right answers, earning a polite ‘we’ll contact you’ in return. But you could see that they weren't convinced with your lack of experience, no company in their right mind would be.

As soon as you arrived at your apartment, you slid out of the uncomfortable pencil skirt, tucking yourself under the covers with your phone screen almost hitting your nose.

To take your mind off things, you decided to watch some videos. Halfway in, an ad popped up, interrupting the interior deco video you were watching.

A picture of a girl about your age hugging an older man was right in the middle of your screen. Written with fancy letters, the words ‘make your life simpler’ could be read, followed by what you guessed was the title of the app. Sugar rush.

Out of pure curiosity, your finger tapped at the small icon that led to the app store, absentmindedly clicking the download button. A few seconds later, an icon with the letters ‘SR’ was added to your home screen.

“Log in?” You murmured out loud, squinting your eyes to adjust your eyes to the bright, white homepage.

Just as you were about to click out, the phrase from the ad reappeared, stopping your finger from moving any further.

You could always delete your account if something went wrong, right? Nonetheless, you decided to use a false name, and that's how Melanie Kim’s profile was created. You left the circle of your profile picture empty for now, only filling the spaces that asked about your likes, dislikes, age, and all that stuff that people care about so much.

You knew what the app was for, but that didn't stop you from being surprised when a list of men and women of different ages greeted you. Right then, a small rectangle obstructed your sight, two buttons offering opposite things.

‘Pick the role you'd like to develop.’

Sugar daddy/mommy / Sugar baby.

Clearly, you didn’t have nor the money or the years to be the first, so you clicked the opposite button without giving it more thought.

‘Welcome. You've been registered as a sugar baby at Sugar rush. Meet thousands of men and women willing to finance you for free!’

You hummed.

‘As we're always looking to make our users’ experience better, we've developed Sugar Rush premium, a membership to meet the richest and hottest people in your surroundings. Get the premium version for only $5.95 a month. Click here to get Sugar Rush premium.’

Your finger pad was dangerously close to the blue button, almost grazing the screen of the phone. It was then when you were pulled out of your trance, blinking as if just then you'd realized what you were doing.

“I must be crazy.” You turned off your phone, not bothering to turn on an alarm for the next day. You had no interviews left. You had nowhere to go.

Waking up was getting harder with every passing day. Not being able to call your dad to go out for breakfast or even sending a simple good morning message hurt you deeply. You missed him. But seeing him laying down on a hospital bed, unable to do anything by himself, was even worse.

Ding

A notification filled the silence in your room.

‘Come back, you haven't finished setting up your account yet!’

You scoffed at your past self. What were you even thinking when you downloaded the app?

You simply turned off the phone before standing up to take a relaxing shower. As the water soaked up your tense body, your mind started wandering off back to the app. A million what-ifs filled your head, nonetheless, there was one that remained the most persistent.

‘What if this can pay for a lawyer?’

Your part-time job surely couldn't, and you had no one to assist you financially speaking. The whole idea of paying that ridiculous membership seemed more tempting as your fingers started getting wrinkly under the showerhead.

You decided to take some time to consider it, after all, you still had a week to give the lawyers an answer.

Hot soup seemed like a good option to comfort you, and thankfully, there was a store right in front of your place that claimed to sell the best soups in town.

It wasn't bad, but not nearly as good as the one your dad cooked when you were a kid. You sighed, wondering if you'd ever be able to eat it again. Just then, a woman about your age came into the shop, carrying a couple of bags where names of popular brands could be read. A pinch of jealousy made your heart stir as you glanced at yourself through the reflection in the glass at your side. You looked devastated, your skin pale and your cheekbones slightly sunken, a sign of the lack of rest and food you'd been getting.

Out of pure impulse, you pulled out your phone, clicked on the app you'd recently downloaded, and finally accepted the charges for a premium membership.

‘Welcome, new member of our wide community, click ok to get started!’

Well, no turning back now.

Right after pressing the blue letters with your thumb, you were presented with a list of potential prospects, some of them including pictures, some of them only including name and a brief description of what they were looking for. The minority included their ages, but most left the space blank.

A bunch of old men looking for a youthful, pretty woman to be by their sides, some of them even went as far as writing the weight and height their ideal partner should have. Of course, there were also some women in the look for young meat, but the number of men overpassed them.

About to exit the app in defeat, a profile caught your eye. His pale pink hair was parted, allowing his thick eyebrows to stand out. His high cheekbones made him look like a statue, the details in his face almost too perfect for a mere human. He must be the incarnation of a Greek God, you thought.

‘Jung Yoonoh. 41 years old. Owner of N & C.’

“Should I...?” You asked yourself in a voice lower than a whisper.

He has probably gotten hundreds of messages, so what would be the point of sending one yourself? Your eyes scanned the picture over and over again as the remains of your soup started getting cold.

He was probably the only acceptable man in the whole app, so why not give it a try?

You already spent five whole dollars on it, might as well make it worth the money.

‘Hi.’ Sent.

“Holy crap.” You breathed out, regretting every single action that led you to take such a stupid decision. “Ah!” You squeaked as three small dots appeared beside his profile picture, signaling he was writing a reply.

What if he rejected you right from the beginning? God, that would be so humiliating. His message stopped your train of thought.

‘Hi!’

Followed by:

‘How are you?’

Sweating like a pig, thank you for asking.

‘Fine. You?’ Read.

‘Thrilled. No one had messaged me since I created my account two weeks ago.’

‘How is that possible?’ You imprinted your thoughts on a message.

‘It’s hard to trust people nowadays. I guess people might think either my picture is photoshopped or I'm lying about my job.’

‘Their loss, ig.’ Read.

He was taking some time to answer. Had you said something inappropriate?

‘Hahaha.’

The conversation stopped there, as you didn't know how exactly to answer his message. But a few minutes later, another text from him popped up at your chat.

‘If you're okay with it, we can start talking about a possible arrangement.’

Already? You've known each other for like five minutes. But then again, arrangements were the whole purpose of the app.

‘Sure.’

‘May I ask your reasons for joining the app?’

‘I need urgent money, but my job doesn't pay nearly enough.’ You omitted the part of your agonizing father, he didn't need to know that. ‘And you?’

‘I need someone to be my partner at public spaces.’

‘Alright.’ Read.

‘Do you happen to have some free time tomorrow at lunchtime? I think it’d be better to meet first before making any decisions.’

‘Yeah, I'm free.’

‘Great, I’ll send you the address.’

You thought a day would be enough to prepare yourself, but time passed by quicker than usual, and soon enough, it was time to get ready for your meeting with Mr. Jung. He was only a few years younger than your father, and calling him by his first name wouldn't feel right.

Unsure if you should wear something formal, you threw on a beige (the color you'd agreed on wearing so it’d be easier to recognize each other) summer dress, pairing it with the gold hoops you'd inherited from your grandma to make it look more elegant.

The hardest part of your routine was makeup. Your sunken cheeks couldn't be covered, and only after a few layers of blush and highlighter, you could bring your skin back to life.

On your way to the cafe, you went through the things you'd say when you met him. It was your chance to get your father what he needed.

You stood at the entrance with wide, scared eyes, shyly scanning through the place to look for your date.

“Melanie?” A hand on your shoulder had you jolting. “I’m Jung Yoonoh, nice to meet you.”

What you saw after turning around was breathtaking. A handsome, healthy man, with the most beautiful pair of dimples.

“Nice to meet you.” You managed to blurt out without stuttering, extending your hand to make the greeting more formal. The fake name didn’t seem necessary anymore. “It’s actually y/n, I didn't want to use my real name.”

“I understand. Let’s take a seat.” He offered with a kind smile.

He left you seating at the terrace while he made your order, a latte, and a chocolate cookie. Your fingers played with your hoops anxiously, trying to regulate your breath.

“They’ll bring our food in just a sec.” He offered a warm smile. “Your dress is pretty.” Yoonoh said out of nowhere.

“Thank you.”

“I see you're not a chatty person.” You were about to object, but he started speaking again. “It's not a bad thing! I usually talk a lot, so it’s a nice way to balance things.”

You nodded, seemingly uncomfortable with the man sitting in front of you.

“So, uhm, this is my first time doing this, so I'm not really sure where to begin.” He pulled out a folded paper from the front pocket of his dressing pants. “It’s a bit creased, but I can always print another one. I brought it so you could take a look and let me know if you wanted to change anything. I don't mean to pressure you, but you said it was urgent, so...”

You read the paper under his attentive gaze, making sure not to miss a single word. Everything seemed correct, except...

“Six months?”

“Is that too much?” A small wrinkle formed between his eyebrows, a sign of deep concentration. “Okay, so let's do this instead.”

He took back the contract, pulling out a pen from the pocket in his dressing shirt to correct the original stipulations.

“Four months, and if by the end of them you don't absolutely hate me, we can extend the time. Deal?”

“Just one more thing.”

You cleared your throat, conscious that your following words might jeopardize the whole arrangement.

“Are you sure you want to make it official already?” You had to stop for a moment as the waiter left your orders on top of the wooden table. “I mean, it's not that I have a problem with it, but it's your money and maybe you'd like to give it a better thought.” You resumed.

“The fact that you're concerned about me proves I'm making the right choice. Now, tell me, how much would you like to receive as a weekly allowance?”

Would it be too reckless to ask him straight up for the $8,000?

“H-how much are you willing to give me?” You felt dirty, accepting a stranger’s money like that.

“Whatever you need.” His hand suddenly reached forward to yours, causing every ounce of blood in your body to rush to your face. “There’s no need to be embarrassed, I'm here to help you.” His voice tone dropped, acquiring an almost soothing feeling.

“I need eight thousand by Thursday, next week.” His eyes were wide open, mouth having difficulties remaining closed. “I-I know it's too much, but...”

“I can find a way to give you that money, but I'd like to know the reason why you need it. Just to make sure it's nothing illegal.”

You puffed your cheeks, trying to find an excuse good enough to justify the amount of money you were asking for.

“It isn’t illegal, is it?”

“No!” You retrieved your hand from below his, now embarrassed at the possibility of him having a bad image of you. “I need it for my father.”

“I suppose you don't want to talk about it.” He started at his palm, lips pressed in a thin life. “But when it comes to arrangements like this, we need to trust each other, alright?” You barely knew each other, yet, he demanded to know a very personal detail of your life. Not that he didn't have a good reason for wanting to know, it wasn't a particularly small amount of money.

“He had an accident at work...” You started, fearful of looking up to find pity in his eyes. “I need a lawyer to make his company legally responsible. They intend to throw it under the rug and pay a somewhat decent amount of money to make it go away. The firm I intend to hire is supposedly the best in town, probably my only chance of getting justice.”

“And why don't you just accept it? There's no guarantee that your lawyer will win the case.” You fisted the delicate fabric of your dress, eyes watering as you tried to hold back your anger.

“My father’s life is priceless, and if you think what I'm doing is a waste of money, then fine, we can both look for someone else to help us.” It sounded more aggressive than you'd first intended, but you meant every word that came out of your mouth.

Before you could even stand up, his slim fingers had already wrapped themselves around your wrist.

“I never said that.” He whispered with an almost sad tone. “Come on, sit down.”

He tugged at your arm the slightest, showing off his charming dimples once again.

“I’ll give you the money on one condition...” He raised one of his thick eyebrows. “I’ll go with you to see the lawyer.”

“Why...?”

“That’s my condition, take it or leave it.”

“Okay.”

The days before your meeting with your potential lawyer were nerve-wracking. You'd seen Yoonoh another time to sign the contract, which finally made your arrangement official.

You’d visit your father every day, always hoping he'd be sitting with his arms wide open, ready to hug you. But nothing had changed ever since he first came into that room.

“I’m here to see Mr. Kim.” The secretary's gaze lingered on Jaehyun a few seconds before he finally snapped out of it. “Y/n Y/l/n.”

“Just a second.” He opened his agenda and quickly found your appointment. With a warm smile, he guided you through the corridors of the building, all the way to the elevator. “It’s the only office on the last floor, I'll be at my desk if you need anything.”

Once again, he shot Jae an uneasy glance before the metal doors slid close.

“What was all that?” To be honest, you couldn't care less. But a small chat might calm your nerves and prevent you from throwing up all over the place.

“What do you mean?” He grinned, pressing the button to the top floor.

“You know what I mean.” You scoffed, annoyed at his evasive behavior.

“We just happen to know each other, nothing special.” Before the conversation could continue, a loud ding resonated through the metal cubicle. “Let’s go.” His hand found its place at the small of your back, pushing you towards the glass door. Through it, you could see a black-haired man reading a pile of documents, occasionally raising a photo to examine it with his gold-rimmed glasses supported at the bridge of his elegant nose.

Jaehyun extended his arm over your shoulder to knock on the door, earning an almost annoyed ‘come in’ from the man inside.

“Let’s go.” Once again invading your personal space, he reached for the doorknob with you trapped between his arms.

As soon as the door opened, the man raised his eyes from the documents he was checking.

“What are you doing here, Jung?”

“I knew something was off...” You murmured, loud enough for the man at your side to chuckle.

“I brought you a client, you should be happy.”

“Miss y/n, I suppose. Have a seat.” His demeanor completely changed while speaking directly to you. “I spoke with your aunt last week, she explained the details of the lawsuit, but I must say, it isn't an easy case.”

“I know that, but I've been told you're the best firm in town, I know I'll have more possibilities of winning if you're my lawyer.”

“Best firm in town my ass.”

“Be silent or I’ll kick you out of the building.”

That was enough for Yoonoh to zip his mouth. For a while at least.

“I suppose she also told you about our fee.” He pushed his glasses up using his thumb. “We’d also keep 25% of the lawsuit money assuming we win the case, is that okay with you?”

“Yes-”

“Okay, stop.”

“I’ll call security, Jung.”

“Look at me, y/n.” He squeezed your arms. “This clown is trying to scam you...” He pointed his finger at the lawyer without breaking eye contact. “You’d be spending loads of money for someone who isn't even confident in his abilities. It isn't worth it.”

“And I suppose you'd do better than me, then.” The black-haired man scoffed. “If that's the case, then you can both leave. I'm quite busy at the moment.” With a turn of his wrist, he signaled you to leave the room.

You were fuming, stomping out of the building with Jaehyun right behind you.

“I found a great restaurant nearby, we can go there and-”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Calm down-”

“Don’t tell me to calm down when you just fucked up my only chance to give those bastards what they deserve.” The sun was starting to set, yellow light casting shadows over his tender cheeks.

“Can you listen to me for a second?”

“Are you laughing right now?” You bit your lip, hard, trying to hold back the tsunami of tears threatening to come out of your eyes. “Asshole.”

“Ouch.” He furrowed his eyebrows mockingly. Oh, how close you were to punch that pretty face of his. “Can I explain now?”

You remained silent, staring at the ground with the smallest frown between your eyebrows.

“How do you think I know Kim Doyoung?” Before even giving you a chance to answer, he continued. “That son of a bitch has been stealing my clients for ages.”

“Your clients...?”

“He isn't even that good of a lawyer compared to me.” He scoffed with fake arrogance.

“You're a lawyer?!” You slammed your palms into your face, whining at the newly acquired information. “Why didn't you tell me from the beginning?”

“Just wanted to swing by and annoy him a bit. Don't worry, I wasn't gonna let you accept his deal.” He winked playfully.

The sun was now hidden, the sky darkening as the moon rose to take its shift.

“Though I gotta say, I'm kinda offended I wasn't even an option. I'm a pretty great lawyer, you know?”

“Sorry.”

“I’ll forgive you if you join me for dinner. What do you say?”

As you walked into the darkness of the streets, his shoulder occasionally bumping yours, you wondered if meeting him was a casualty. Maybe the world was finally smiling at you.

#nct smut #nct angst #nct fluff #nct au #nct imagines #nct ot21 #nct x reader #nct #nct 127 #nct scenarios #nct jaehyun

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Same River Twice (aka Time Travel Nie Bros) - part 4 - see ao3 or tumblr part 1, part 2, part 3

“You know what,” Nie Mingjue said, several shichen into the most awkward conversation he’d ever been forced to overhear in his life, “I think Wei Wuxian needs more friends.”

His father stopped contemplating the window with an expression that suggested he was considering throwing himself out of it and looked at him. “So you’ve mentioned before.”

“Yes, I know,” Nie Mingjue said, because he had in fact brought it up after Nie Huaisang’s no doubt unintentionally apt suggestion. “But on second thought, he needs them urgently. As does Huaisang. You don’t want them growing up barbaric and unsocialized, do you?”

His father mouthed the words ‘barbaric and unsocialized’ to himself, looking delighted. “By which you mean that you’d like to take them to visit the Lan sect, I assume?” he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement. “To learn good habits from them there?”

“To avoid learning bad habits here,” Nie Mingjue said. “Alternatively, you could always kick all of them out so that all of us can stop getting the loud and dramatic rendition of all the different types of bad decisions adults can make, courtesy of our friends in the Jiang sect and our new guest disciples.”

“…take Zonghui with you,” his father said. “Have a nice trip. Enjoy the quiet.”

There was a better than decent chance that he was being sarcastic, but Nie Mingjue wasn’t going to wait around long enough to find out – he saluted and turned to run away at once.

“Don’t get into too much trouble!” his father shouted after him.

That was ridiculous. What sort of trouble could Nie Mingjue get into in Gusu, of all places?

“Nie-gongzi, has anyone ever told you that you have really weird taste in rewards?” Nie Zonghui said, looking long-suffering as always.

Wei Wuxian, who was riding on his shoulders, craned his head down to look at him. “Rewards? What is Nie-da-ge getting rewarded for?”

“He performed especially well on his first ever night hunt,” Nie Zonghui told him, while Nie Mingjue flushed red and Nie Huaisang, who was riding on his shoulders, giggled. “His father wanted to reward him, and determined to do so by granting the first request he made.”

“He didn’t tell me he was planning on doing that,” Nie Mingjue hissed. If he had, he might’ve asked to visit Yunping City to collect Meng Yao – finding a reason to go there was much harder to achieve than arranging a simple visit to the Lan sect, which would’ve happened sooner or later anyway.

His thoughts hadn’t been focused on reward at all. He’d only really, truly desperately wanted to get away from any further discussion of Sect Leader Jiang’s sex life.

(Cangse Sanren was blunt and straightforward in her speech, something Nie Mingjue greatly appreciated right up until she was shouting things about size and shape and performance and also her husband…it was absolutely mortifying, even just as a spectator, except possibly Jiang Fengmian was into things like that because he just kept on arguing. In his past-future life, Nie Mingjue had had to sit across the table from Jiang Fengmian for years, and might yet have to do so again if he was not successful in adverting his father’s death, which was something he wouldn’t be able to if he kept hearing things like this! He didn’t want to know things like this!)

No, Nie Mingjue hadn’t thought about rewards at all – had already put away all thoughts of that particular night-hunt in favor of showing of his improvement with Baxia, who practically purred in his hands when he wielded her, so that he could win his independence sooner rather than later.

Even picking Gusu as their destination had been primarily motivated by seizing on the last place anyone had mentioned to him as a plausible destination that could be sold to his father.

Nie Huaisang had asked him, all big and wide-eyed and adorable, why they were going to somewhere as far away from the Unclean Realm as the Cloud Recesses, and Nie Mingjue had blamed Nie Huaisang’s suggestion of introducing Wei Wuxian to the Lan sect.

Nie Huaisang had also asked why they were going now and Nie Mingjue had explained in a rush of tangled words that sometimes grown-ups liked to talk about private things very loudly and maybe it would be better to leave them to it.

Nie Huaisang had found that dreadfully funny for some reason, giggling until both he and Wei Wuxian were rolling around on the ground laughing their heads off at the idea of going to Gusu –

Nie Mingjue didn’t care. As long as they went, and with them his excuse to go as well!

(Besides, it would be nice to see Lan Xichen.)

“Of course he didn’t tell you about it, Nie-gongzi,” Nie Zonghui said patiently. “It was meant to be a surprise. Wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if you knew about it, would it?”

Nie Mingjue sighed. Nie Zonghui was a half-generation above him – older than him by over a decade, entitling him (if only technically) to be called uncle rather than cousin, but young enough that he sometimes felt more like a peer. Certainly once Nie Mingjue himself had become sect leader, having someone like him to help figure out how to communicate with the elders had been priceless.

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to punch the man in the face on a regular basis.

Stupid sense of humor.

“Wouldn’t da-ge be happier if he could pick what he got?” Nie Huaisang asked. “What if he’d asked for something stupid, like a map?”

Nie Mingjue reached up to one of the legs currently dangling next to his ear and pinched him lightly, making his little brother squeak and then giggle again. He wasn’t sure why Nie Huaisang was still so worried about his offer to buy him a map – he hadn’t even known that the under-five age group could have a sense of financial economy, much less guilt over it, but then again he didn’t know much about kids that age anyway – but no matter what he wasn’t having any of it.

In this life, his brother would be happy for as long as Nie Mingjue could give him.

Of course, making Nie Huaisang happy would be easier if he wasn’t so picky.

“Didi, didi, it’s all right,” he said, trying to be soothing and not really remembering how. “You don’t need to be afraid - Lan Xichen is a friend…I’m sorry, Xichen, I really don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“It’s no problem,” Lan Xichen said, looking exactly as one would expect a nine-year-old being addressed as a peer by a twelve-year-old that his guardian routinely praised as a role model would be – which was to say, a little pleased, a little uncertain, and mostly confused. The shrieking four-year-old wasn’t helping matters, either. “I don’t think I’ve done anything to offend him...?”

“You’re blind,” Nie Huaisang hissed at him, tears still streaming down his face. “Blind, blind, blind!”

“No, Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue said helplessly. He had no idea where Nie Huaisang got these ideas into his head, was it a feature of early childhood or something? “He’s not – look, the bandage is around his forehead, right? Not his eyes. And since when do you have something against blind people anyway?”

Nie Huaisang buried his face into his side. “Stupid da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue patted him on the back. “Sorry,” he said to Lan Xichen again. “This isn’t exactly the first impression I was hoping for.”

Lan Xichen abruptly grinned, looking for a moment like a regular child rather than the polite and reserved young man Nie Mingjue had known for so many years – it reminded him a little of the boy from the future timeline that he’d only seen brief glimpses of through the pieces of his soul that were attached to the pieces of his body, the loud and irreverent one called Lan Jingyi.

Back then he'd wondered abstractly how exactly such a boy could be related to the Lan clan, stately and elegant even when they acted radically, and now all of a sudden he saw that boy staring out of him from Lan Xichen’s immature face.

“Bet you thought you’d look a lot more dashing, didn’t you?” Lan Xichen asked merrily. “Flying in on your swords, jumping down for a perfect landing, and then – waaaaaaah!”

Nie Mingjue laughed, because it really had happened a bit like that.

“Don’t forget the domino effect,” he said wryly, glancing over at where Wei Wuxian was being plied with treats from a bag pulled from Nie Zonghui’s sleeve – he’d started sympathy crying when Nie Huaisang had inexplicably started wailing, and was having trouble stopping even though he admitted that nothing was actually wrong with him other than having feelings. “They’re probably just over-tired from the trip.”

“Did you really fly all the way from Qinghe?” Lan Xichen asked eagerly. “All by yourself?”

“We made a lot of stops –”

“But you were on your own sword, right? Just you?”

“It’s a saber and I was carrying Huaisang, but yes, in terms of who was in charge of propulsion, it was just me.”

Lan Xichen heaved a sigh full of obvious envy, and Nie Mingjue smiled. “If you want, I can petition your uncle that you act as my guide to the surrounding environs as well as the Cloud Recesses itself? He’d have to let you fly by yourself if that was the case.”

“Oh, would you?” Lan Xichen enthused. “That would be great! I’m not that good yet, but I’m not going to get good if I don’t have a chance to practice, except Uncle is always saying that – oh, wait, I’m not supposed to say –”

“Speaking of others behind their back is prohibited,” Nie Mingjue said solemnly, then cracked up at the dumbfounded expression on Lan Xichen’s face. “No, I’m sorry, I won’t quote your sect rules at you, I promise, it was just a joke…”

“You’d better!”

He rather liked this enthusiastic version of Lan Xichen, Nie Mingjue thought.

Even Nie Huaisang seemed to have gotten over his initial fright to start begrudgingly enjoying all of Lan Xichen’s chattering and bustling around – Nie Mingjue thought he might, given that Lan Xichen currently reminded him immensely of an extremely chatty blue-breasted quail and Nie Huaisang had always liked those. There was so much life in Lan Xichen, good humor and cheer filling him up until he was practically bursting with it; he hadn’t yet had to learn how to hold back his feelings and hide them, hadn’t yet learned that the only acceptable way to interact with others was through a carefully practiced smile.

Perhaps what was why Lan Xichen had been so drawn to Meng Yao, Nie Mingjue reflected – Meng Yao had hidden himself underneath a smile, too. Where he himself had admired Meng Yao for what he had thought was his strength of character, his ability to ignore the jibes and the slights he faced in favor of carrying on and doing what must be done, just as Nie Mingjue longed to be able to do, perhaps Lan Xichen had from the very first moment seen Meng Yao as someone in need of sympathy and affection. Perhaps it had been his own suffering projected onto Meng Yao’s open, facile face that had so tugged on his heartstrings.

It was a little odd, though.

It was a long time ago, but Nie Mingjue recalled meeting Lan Xichen when they were both quite young, and if he put his mind to thinking about it, he was pretty sure they would have met in about two years’ time – his fourteen to Lan Xichen’s eleven, with Nie Huaisang nearly six and Lan Wangji nearly seven. And yet the Lan Xichen he had met had been so very different from this, far more serious and reserved, quiet more often than not, that practiced smile already on his face and only with great reluctance melting into something real…

He wondered why there had been such a great change.

In the meantime, Nie Mingjue relieved Nie Zonghui of his duties on account of their safety – the older man had been to Gusu before for discussion conferences, and looked extremely bored – and took Nie Huaisang’s hand in one hand and Wei Wuxian’s in the other, and the three of them followed Lan Xichen around as he pointed out all the things he liked best.

Wei Wuxian broke away at one point and sped into the brush, shrieking something about a rabbit, and when they gave chase and found him again, he’d somehow bumped into Lan Wangji, who with his white clothing and solemn expression resembled nothing so much a bunny himself.

“Nie-da-ge, this is my friend!” Wei Wuxian hollered, even though they couldn’t have been talking for more than a few minutes before the rest of them caught up. “His name’s Lan Zhan! I’m keeping him forever!”

Nie Huaisang sniggered, and Nie Mingjue poked him – it was rude to laugh at other people’s earnestness.

“That’s nice, Wuxian,” he said, and formally saluted Lan Wangji, knowing how much the other boy liked rules and things being done right. “I’m pleased to meet you, Wangji. I hope we can be friends as well.”

Lan Wangji stared at him mutely for a long moment, and then his entire face slowly turned bright red as if he were boiling.

Nie Mingjue blinked, unsure about the reason for such an extreme reaction, but standing beside him Lan Xichen cackled. “Oh, oh, this is great,” he crowed. “Wait till I tell Mom!”

Lan Wangji attempted to bite him, which naturally made Wei Wuxian leap to his friend’s assistance, and somehow Nie Huaisang ended up wading into the fray with a stick that he waved around like a war-fan, seeking inexplicably to defend Lan Xichen despite having previously displayed no fondness for him at all.

Nie Mingjue waded in as well, of course, trying to separate them and somehow ending up as everyone’s target when they realized that he was strong enough to pick them all up and toss them (lightly) into the piles of soft grass that covered the meadow, even Lan Xichen, and at that point they all threw themselves at him eagerly in order to be throw back.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t really thinking about that, though. He was thinking about what Lan Xichen had said.

He was thinking about – Mom.

Not Nie Mingjue’s own, naturally. She’d been gone since he was younger than Nie Huaisang was now. Perhaps it was because Nie Mingjue had his father and his aunts and his uncles, but he had never really felt the lack of her all that much, except maybe when he needed to learn some etiquette he didn’t know or when his peers spoke fondly of their own mothers. Nor was he thinking of Nie Huaisang’s mother, who had been very nice and whose untimely death had upset him immensely; he honestly hadn’t thought of either of them in years and years by the time he’d died.

But rather, he thought about Lan Xichen’s mother – Lan Wangji’s mother –

Nie Mingjue hadn’t learned the story of her fate until much, much later in life, when he was very nearly an adult. The Lan sect had always kept their secrets very well, and he might never have learned the details if it hadn’t been for Lan Xichen willingly divulging them. He’d told him the whole awful story of how his mother had not loved his father even though he loved her, how she had killed someone dear to him, how he had married her to save her and gone into seclusion to punish himself, how the Lan sect, ever concerned with its face, had covered it all up by forcing her into permanent seclusion…

The story had never really sat right with him. A punishment was one thing, entirely justifiable; murder was murder, and life imprisonment was a valid sentence, a valid commutation of the death sentence that she probably ought to have received. It was not Nie Mingjue’s place to question how the Lan sect selected and imposed punishments…

And yet, something about it had always felt rotten.

Maybe it was only that the Nie sect didn’t believe in solitary imprisonment. Or, well, really solitary anything, with even seclusion being done in a relatively well-traveled area so that those inside could, if they wished, open a one-sided window to hear the noise and know that their family was around them. Even their tombs, their saber halls, were joined together into what was practically a necropolis – even in death, the Nie sect would rather be together than apart.

If he recalled correctly, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji’s mother would soon be taken away from them for good. She’d died when Lan Xichen was – ten? Ten to Lan Wangji’s six, yes, that sounded right.

A year from now, then. Less, maybe.

“– xiongzhang is da-ge, not er-ge!”

“No, you don’t understand, my da-ge is older – and bigger – so he’s da-ge, and your xiongzhang is er-ge, and that means you’d be san-ge, and Wei-gege is – wait, which one of you is older?”

“Huaisang, it doesn’t work that way, we’re not the same family –”

“What are you even talking about?” Nie Mingjue asked, abruptly coming out of his thoughts. They’d continued playing while he daydreamed, and now Lan Xichen was perched on his back like a monkey, with Nie Huaisang on one of Nie Mingjue’s shoulder while Wei Wuxian hung off the other arm’s bicep and Lan Wangi clung to his neck in front like a sloth on a branch, as Nie Mingjue demonstrated that he could, in fact, keep walking with all of them attached. Every single one of them seemed to think this was the absolute height of entertainment. “Who’s related to what now? Huaisang, can’t you just call Xichen Xichen-ge or something?”

“Oh, fine. Xichen-gege! Xichen-gege!”

“Nie-didi! Nie-didi!”

“Too loud,” Lan Wangji sniffed.

“Didn’t you hear Lan Zhan?!” Wei Wuxian promptly hollered at the top of his lungs. “You’re all being too loud!”

“I’m going to throw each and every one of you into a pond,” Nie Mingjue said. “One by one, if I have to.”

“Do you promise?” Lan Xichen giggled in his ear. “That sounds like fun!”

“Actually,” Nie Mingjue said, “I had a different thought. How about we play hide-and-seek?”

The advantage of future knowledge, Nie Mingjue thought, was that he knew exactly where Madame Lan’s home was and how to get there within the time period he’d suggested for the initial hiding.

The disadvantage was that he was so focused on achieving his goal that he forgot that what implications might be taken from a twelve-year-old boy breaking into a woman’s home, especially at a time when she wasn’t expecting visitors.

“I’m so sorry!” he all but shrieked, covering his eyes even though he had already turned his back. “Please put on clothing!”

“Oh, your face –” Madame Lan was guffawing. “You’re so red – boy, you don’t have to throw yourself out the window in penance or anything. I’m still wearing my inner robe, you can’t even see anything.”

“It’s still inappropriate!”

“Could be worse. I could’ve been –”

“Please don’t finish that sentence,” he begged. “I swear I’m not actually doing this because I have a crush on you, so please, please, please don’t give me any details about what you do in the privacy of your own home, okay? And stop offering me your under-things! I don’t want them!”

“I was only doing laundry,” she said, almost crying with laughter. “I didn’t mean to throw my underwear at your face, it was really just the closest thing to hand…who are you, anyway? Shouldn’t you be introducing yourself to me?”

“I’ll introduce myself when you’re dressed and not a moment earlier.”

“Oh, all right, have it your way. Give me a moment.” There was some rustling. “All right, turn around.”

He peeked and sighed with relief: Madame Lan was, in fact, appropriately dressed in a lovely white silk dress, adorned with the typical Lan sect cloud embroidery and everything. The style was a little freer and less conservative than he might have expected to see the mistress of a Great Sect wearing, but then again he supposed she’d never actually had to do the work associated with it. It was hard to host a society party from seclusion…

“Qinghe Nie’s Nie Mingjue greets He Kexin, Madame Lan,” he said, saluting properly. “I’m a visitor to your sect.”

“I hadn’t realized that we were anticipating visitors from another Great Sect,” she remarked. “Normally there’s a great deal more hustle and bustle involved with preparing to receive a visit.”

“It’s an informal one,” Nie Mingjue explained. “Somewhat, uh, abrupt. We didn’t send word in advance. You see, we recently accepted Cangse Sanren and her husband as guest disciples, and shortly thereafter the Jiang sect paid us an unexpected visit…”

Madame Lan had clearly heard about that disaster, if the way she put her hand over her mouth in a futile attempt to stifle her chortling was any indication.

“I think I see the issue, being as I happen to remember Cangse Sanren very well,” she said, her eyes dancing. “What a troublemaker. She even shaved off Qiren-xiaoshuzi’s beard one time! I’m guessing based on the way you turned into a boiled crayfish that she scared you out of your own home?”

Nie Mingjue opened his mouth to protest, except, well, that wasn’t entirely inaccurate…

“What a charming little egg you are! You’re such a rotten liar that you can’t even do it to save face.”

“Being dishonest isn’t saving face,” Nie Mingjue said, even though his face felt like it was burning and he was probably just as red as she said he was. “The truth is what the truth is, that’s all. You’re not wrong, that’s more or less what happened – I brought Huaisang and Wuxian here so that we could get away from all the yelling.”

“You picked a good place for that,” Madame Lan said, and there was a dull look in her eye all of a sudden. Nothing like the liveliness from a few moments before. “There’s nowhere like the Cloud Recesses for quiet.”

Nie Mingjue bit his lip, not quite sure how to say what he wanted to say. Right up until that moment, she hadn’t seemed at all sick, the way he’d thought she’d be – less than a year before she died, from what he remembered of Lan Xichen’s stories. He’d assumed she’d already be ill with the early stages whatever it was that had eventually taken her from her sons.

But now, he didn’t think she was sick, not really, only…bored.

Dreadfully, horribly bored. The sort of bored that drained your life away bit by bit.

Formal training in swordsmanship and scholarship began at six at the Cloud Recesses, Nie Mingjue abruptly remembered. There were plenty of lessons prior to that, of course, but at age six they would become formalized, the children shifting over from the realm of babies to proper young-adults-to-be. Once Lan Wangji turned six, Madame Lan would have had nothing to look forward to in life.

Nothing, except for her children starting to drift further and further away from her: nothing to do, no purpose, no friends…

Just boredom.

“The Unclean Realm has a communal prison,” he blurted out, and then smacked his hands into his face to hide his shame for being such an inconsiderate ass. Why had he thought he could do this by himself?

He wasn’t even sure what he’d originally come here to accomplish, other than to let Madame Lan know that she ought to see a doctor sooner rather than later in the hopes that they would be able to catch and stymie whatever disease it had been that had killed her, except now of course Nie Mingjue understood that it was no disease at all.

“…what?” she said blankly.

It was too late to retreat, so Nie Mingjue gathered up every bit of courage he’d ever had and barreled onwards.

“I just mean,” he said, tripping over his words, “if you’d like to be – a bit less quiet. Even if your sentence is life imprisonment, surely you don’t have to necessarily serve it here, right?”

Madame Lan stared at him. His shoulders started creeping up to his ears.

“Actually,” she said abruptly, “I was never sentenced.”

He gaped at her. “You – what?”

“Qiren-xiaoshuzi pushed for it, said it was only fair that I knew the exact contours of my punishment, but the sect elders refused,” she explained. “They didn’t want to lose face by having a trial at all, not even privately.”

“But – but if you haven’t been sentenced, you can’t be imprisoned!”

“Is that so?” she asked, looking amused.

“You can’t,” Nie Mingjue insisted, horrified. “The laws of war say that someone can be executed on the spot for committing a crime, but in peacetime they have to be sentenced first even if you catch them red-handed. What if your accuser recants his accusation, whether because he was wrong or because he decided not to press charges? If they recant, you can’t be tried; if you can’t be tried, even if everyone knows you’ve done wrong, you still must be released. No trial, no sentence, no imprisonment!”

“Tell that to the Lan sect,” she said dryly. “Not even my husband could do more than he did to forestall my punishment, and he’s sect leader. Nominally, anyway.”

This did seem to be a problem of the Lan sect. Of all sects, really – he had his own share of old men causing issues and sticking their noses into things – but he’d never had anywhere near the problem with the sect elders as Lan Xichen had had with his Lan sect.

“Why should I?” Nie Mingjue asked, crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t see why we have to tell them anything at all.”

“Why are we doing this?” Nie Huaisang asked, tugging on Nie Mingjue’s sleeve.

“I already explained,” Nie Mingjue said, which he had. He’d also explained that he’d run in there by accident while looking for a place to hide, and he’d tried to look as much like a stupid twelve-year-old as possible when he said it. “About the lack of a trial –”

Nie Huaisang tugged again. “Not that. Why are we rescuing her?”

“Because she might die if we don’t,” Nie Mingjue said. “She’s very bored in there all by herself.”

“So?”

“What do you mean, so? It’d make Xichen and Wangji sad if she died.”

“So?”

“So they shouldn’t be sad if they don’t have to be! I don’t want them to be sad because they lost a parent…don’t you remember being sad about your mom having died, Huaisang?”

“No,” Nie Huaisang said. “I had da-ge.”

Nie Mingjue sighed. He’d keep this conversation in mind for later when Nie Huaisang was old enough to actually understand the concept of death, and then he’d use it to torment him forever.

“Wouldn’t you be sad if da-ge died, then?” he asked, and felt Nie Huaisang’s hands abruptly clutch tight on his arms. “There you go. That’s why we’re doing this.”

Nie Huaisang nodded, but he was still scowling a little in his adorable childhood way, and Nie Mingjue thought for a second that he heard him murmuring something about inviting unnecessary trouble under his voice, but…whatever, it wasn’t important.

What was more important was that Lan Xichen had arrived with what Nie Mingjue had asked him to fetch for him, his cheeks bright pink with excitement. “Nie-da-ge,” he hissed even though there wasn’t anyone in the area, thrusting the package into Nie Mingjue’s arms. “I got it!”

“Good,” Nie Mingjue said, then paused. “Er, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Mind? Mind what?”

“That I’m kind of, uh, well – I mean, I’m kidnapping your mother. You won’t be able to see her as often as you do now if this works…”

“She’ll be free,” Lan Wangji, trailing behind Lan Xichen as always, said solemnly. Then he stuck his thumb in his mouth, which somewhat ruined the effect.

Wei Wuxian, who’d rushed over to stand next to him as soon as he’d seen him, hugged him tightly. “You’ll come over all the time,” he assured him. “My mom will like your mom, and we’ll all go outside and play all the time. We’ll be really happy!”

Lan Wangji sniffed and buried his face into Wei Wuxian’s shoulder.

“It’s like Wangji said,” Lan Xichen said. His eyes were intense. “She’s not happy here, she’s not free here, and we only see her once a month anyway – less, in the future, once we’re both busy with lessons all the time. If she can be free somewhere else…you will let us come visit, right?”

“As often as you’re allowed,” Nie Mingjue promised, as it was about all he could do. “I’ll talk to my father about it…”

His father would probably have a fit.

Still, this was an injustice. Even if his father disagreed, it was something he had to do. He’d justify it with reference to their sect principles, and take any punishment duty his father chose to impose.

“It doesn’t matter, he’ll agree,” he said firmly. “You’ll definitely be able to visit.”

“Can I raise an objection?” Nie Zonghui said mournfully from where he was hovering by the side of the clearing. “Possibly two – no, three objections.”

Nie Mingjue looked at him and tilted his head to the side in silent question.

“One, your father said not to get into trouble, if you’ll trouble yourself to remember back that far,” he said, raising a finger. “Two, how exactly do you plan to break the array keeping Madame Lan imprisoned? And three, even if you do break it, how do you plan to get her out?”

The first was irrelevant. The other two…

“We’re going to walk out the front gate,” Nie Mingjue said, and opened up the package Lan Xichen had gotten him – as he’d suspected, there had been spare robes for Qinghe Nie disciples left behind from the previous discussion conference, and sure enough the Lan sect had kept hold of them as a courtesy to the owners. “The Lan sect has never affirmatively stated that Madame Lan wasn’t allowed to leave; they just said she was too sickly to do so. Therefore, if we leave with a Nie sect disciple who is clearly capable of walking out, there’s nothing they can do to stop us without admitting that it’s her and that she’s a prisoner – which they won’t do, because then they’d lose face.”

“That barely counts as a plan,” Nie Zonghui said, and for some reason Nie Huaisang nodded in agreement. “But sadly I think it might actually work.”

Nie Huaisang looked betrayed.

“It will work,” Lan Xichen said. “Especially if you insist that she’s one of yours. They won’t be able to call you out without calling you a liar, and they wouldn’t want to do that. Not publicly, not about this.”

“Won’t there be a problem that she’s a girl wearing boy’s clothing?” Wei Wuxian asked, patting Lan Wangji’s head.

“No, that’s not a problem in Qinghe,” Nie Huaisang told him. “You’re new, so you’re not used to it, but it really isn’t. I mean, she could be misaligned or something, it’s not our business.”

“And we won’t be lying about her being one of ours,” Nie Mingjue said. “Since I’ve offered her sanctuary in our sect, it’s even technically true.”

Nie Zonghui sighed. “And if they ask Lan-gongzi and Lan-er-gongzi if she’s their mother?”

“Wangji won’t say anything,” Lan Xichen said at once. “And I’ll – I’ll lie if I have to.”

He was truly unbearably cute at this age.

Nie Zonghui appeared to be suffering from a similar problem, reaching over and patting him lightly on the head in helpless amusement. “Okay, okay. Let’s hope they don’t ask,” he said. “But – Nie-gongzi, we still have the second problem. How do you intend to get Madame Lan out of the imprisonment array?”

Nie Mingjue patted his cousin – who he knew from his future experience was one of the finest array breakers in their sect, a charming side-effect courtesy of his dual-wielded saber cultivation style – on the shoulder. “I intend to delegate.”

Nie Zonghui blinked, then glared. “I walked myself into that one, didn’t I?”

“You did,” Nie Mingjue said peaceably. “Can you break it? I can use Baxia, if it’ll help.”

“Hmph. Yes, it would help a great deal, but will she agree to consume an array for you? That’s fairly high-grade work, and talent or no talent, you’re still fairly new to mastering the saber.”

Nie Mingjue put his hand on Baxia’s blade, which felt warm and pleased. Practically purring. At some point he would need to investigate why she was so happy all the time – she’d never been this compliant in his first life, and he’d expected her to be more vicious, not less. “Yes, she’ll be happy to help.”

“Fine. Let’s go.” Nie Zonghui paused briefly. “Also, if your father asks, you held Baxia to my throat and made me do it. It was definitely not me being curious about whether or not I could break such a complicated array.”

“Of course it wasn’t,” Nie Mingjue said understandingly, and drew Baxia. “All right. Let’s go get ourselves banned from the Cloud Recesses.”

#mdzs #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #lan xichen #wei wuxian #lan wangji #nie zonghui #madame lan #my fic #my fics #time travel nie bros

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stevenbasic · 3 years

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So far AJ’s day, his first at this new job, had been predictably miserable. He figured that was sort of normal, kinda expected. He’d been his own boss, owner of his own little construction firm for years, so going back to being a manual labor grunt for someone else again was sure to feel like ten steps in the wrong direction. But working on a demo team for a bunch of girls? The women, the company that had put him out of business? That was turning out to be particularly soul-sucking and demeaning work. But, hey, a buck’s a buck and he needed as many of those as he could muster these days. His saving grace was, with a little effort keeping his head down, that he could remain faceless and anonymous and just do his work. The morning had been spent taking down some walls in the area of the building that was to be the new wing. He’d sat by himself for his meager lunch outside - his buddies, guys that used to work for him, were on another team entirely, at another site - and he had now this afternoon been asked to step into the doctor's office area to look at some venting. Privately, he leapt at the chance: maybe he’d be able to see Angie. Or, for that matter, catch a glimpse of - or even meet - that statuesque, brunette boss of hers, her friend Melissa...

He was in luck.

“Oh! H-hey, hun,” AJ said, acting surprised to bump into his girlfriend, Angie, as he turned the corner in the back hallway. He’d already checked out what he’d needed to see, looked at the thermostats, and had been sort of aimlessly drifting around, avoiding others, waiting for just this moment. He managed what he hoped was a casual smile. “Funny meeting you here haha,” he joked, wiping plaster dust from his forehead, “H-how’s the first day?”

At first, Angie looked surprised to see him, too - eyes widening. But she didn’t even give him a word of greeting before her eyes flashed, her smile grew into a grin, and she bit her lower lip. Looking behind herself, down the hall, checking if they’d be seen, she then suddenly grabbed him by the collar of his green, grime-covered t-shirt and pulled him aside. “Here, let’s go in here-“ she said, opening the door to a supply closet and yanking him into it. She shut the door behind them and flipped on a switch.

“Hey wow..!” AJ exclaimed, eyes immediately going wide in pleasant surprise, “Nice to see you too!”

The switch she had hit had turned on an overhead fluorescent, which was just flickering to life. “Shush,” she said, locking the door, “The last thing I need is someone to see us together.” She’d just gotten out of lunch, where all the office girls had assembled, crowded into the too-small breakroom for a welcome meeting. She’d had a few great little chats and was just really beginning to grasp what was going on here, what she was now part of. It was thrilling and her blood was still on fire from the excitement, the potential. Yes yes yes...female empowerment, sisters united, blah blah blah. But there was opportunity here for her.

She’d just been headed to her new temporary, makeshift desk in accounting when she ran into her, well, boyfriend. Though AJ was here doing some work for the construction company hired to renovate the building, she really didn’t want to be seen with him. Things were too big here, there was too much at stake for her to risk getting muddled down by, well, him. “I can’t be the girl dating the hired help,” she said, not smiling, but her heart still thumping.

“Hey, that hurt..!” AJ remarked, taken a bit aback by her bluntness but trying to laugh. Angie looked so good in her short, floral dress, boobs big and on display. “How’s the first day?” he repeated.

Angie faced AJ, mind still swimming with the excitement from the meeting and an electric, estrogen-fueled energy. “Eh, sort of chaotic, with all these new girls, there’s not enough space for us all until the new wing is ready,” she answered, looking him up and down. She’d seen him in his construction gear countless times before, but here - on the job, dirty, as a low-level grunt - he just looked so plebeian. And too tall. “I got to meet the doctor, this morning,” she said, feeling her eyes sparkle and the enthusiasm in her voice, “he’s sooo vulni…”

He’d heard that term before, and he knew how girls were all starting to like that: small, weak, vulnerable men. It had been why she’d had him stop going to the gym, eat less, get skinnier. He thought she liked it, though it never seemed as if it was quite enough for her; he was still tall and lanky, and he felt she’d actually like it if he was somehow smaller than her, shorter than her, weighed less than her. That was the fad, these days, and Angie was into it. But he’d never heard that weird tone in her voice when talking about another guy, not in all the months they’d been together. Here in the supply closet he felt the first pangs of jealousy, starting in his stomach, and it was envy for Angie’s new boss. Not because he was successful, a doctor, and was her superior here (though Ang probably loved that too), but because he was so “vulni” . As he watched her face, seeing how she talked about this guy, the sensation grew heavier, and worked its way up to his throat.

“He was hiding, totally hiding, in his office. But I went in and met him,” she said, “he looked like a kid sitting at a big-boy desk. He was afraid to stand up in front of me, but I bet I’d be taller than him in my heels…”

There it is, AJ thought.

“Your friend Melissa probably has him by more than a foot, then,” AJ blurted, smiling but speaking before thinking and immediately regretting it as Angie’s eyes narrowed, analyzing him. His grin disappeared as her expression changed.

“Yeaaaaah...have you noticed?” she continued, still watching his face, “a lot of the girls here are tall. They’re all hot…”

Smart enough at least for this moment, AJ held his tongue. Saying too much would just dig him deeper into the hole that he was apparently already in.

Angie still looked at her boyfriend of these many months, her smile crooked, and considered him. He’d always felt like she could read his mind, and seemed to be doing it now. She knew what he wanted. “Take off your shirt,” she instructed, hands on her wide hips.

Without as much as a thought, AJ was peeling himself out of his dusty work tee, revealing his trim, lean torso, his ink. Angie’s eyes immediately drifted from his still-defined abs, up his chest and went to the new tattoo on his throat, her name: “Angie Wade”. She reached out and gently caressed it.

“Yeah, he’s surrounded by women here, pretty women,” she continued, once again talking about this dude that AJ was starting to like less and less, “Lots of them are taller than him, walking around in their pumps, their high wedge sandals.” Her hand drifted up to cup the right side of his face, tenderly, watching how her words affected him. “They’re all ditzes, but they adore him,” she said, her expression still hard for him to read, “Imagine that? Imagine being surrounded by huge, brainless bimbos that all love and adore you and just want to get into your pants? I’ll bet he loves it. God that’s so hot.”

AJ, still knowing he shouldn’t say a word, just watched her as she looked at him. Despite his rising jealousy - what kind of girlfriend talks about another guy like this? - he was starting to feel himself hardening between his legs. He had no idea what she was thinking, what she was doing (or why she’d had him take off his shirt) but there were gears turning in her head, for sure.

“And,” she pressed on, “his office is smaller - a lot smaller - than hers. The way she was talking today, you’d have trouble knowing exactly who was in charge, here...” Angie’s left hand had settled behind AJ’s shaved head, holding it, and her right was now resting lightly on his chest. The feel of her soft palm on his shaved skin was exciting him. “...But I’m going to find out. There’s something going on under the surface here, something big. Here. Sit-“

At that, Angie pushed his chest, forcing him to half-sit back on the low shelving unit behind him. He knocked over a couple reams of paper towels, but was left with his eyes at just about boob-level.

She stepped in close.

“Lunch, with all the girls,” Angie continued, smiling again as his eyes settled right into her cleavage, “There was so much estrogen in the air, what with all the laughing and rah-rah cheering for this new place. Most of the girls here are morons, but damn if they aren’t hooked up to the right train, as things are going to be changing.”

She was talking almost to herself, he thought, while he knew he was being so passively quiet. He struggled to think of something to say. “Wow, Ang,” AJ finally spoke, “your tits look really big today.”

Angie chuckled, took a casually deep breath for him.”He’s a boob-guy, just like you,” she mused, reveling in the gift of her naturally big, full bosom, with its perfect, milky skin, “so, yeah, I wanted show them off…think he’ll like me?”

The jealousy continued to sit with him, inside his throat, tightening.

“Well, uh, y-yeah, of course,” he managed, figuring he should be supportive rather than risking her ire by sounding indignant. “Wh-what are they going to have you doing?”

“I’m going to be working with Kathy, this lady reassigned from some pharmaceutical company, to help run the practice’s accounting,” Angie continued, “Technically she’s my immediate boss, for the time being. But it’s okay, for now. She actually sounds like she has half a brain.” Her hand went up onto the side of his head, stroked his scalp leisurely, kept his gaze focused where she wanted it. “If I play my cards right, I’ll get hooked up doing financials for this study, with all the money coming in from the grants,” she said, her tone aggressively self-assured, “I’m going to be on it, totally in the right place, when things go down. Meet the right people, rise up the ranks, make more and more money…”

This was...yikes, wow...really turning him on. Secretly he loved hearing Angie embellish her own ego like this. Her boastful narcissism - she was constantly convinced that she was the smartest person in the room - was just always so hot to him. And he wasn’t nearly sure what she was talking about, but he loved how excited she sounded and how, in the face of his recent career troubles, how powerful she wanted to become. When had he gotten this way? When had he gotten to be such a junkie for the, well, submissive thrill he felt hearing a woman talk about being smart, successful...superior?

“Yeah, well, t-they’ve given me some responsibility too…” he found himself saying, maybe out of a reflexive knee-jerk reaction, some male pride bubbling weakly to the surface, “They’re having us tear out the old HVAC systems, and have me inspecting the venting, some of the thermostats...” Angie was letting him talk, possessively stroking his head, so he just continued. “Supposedly they’re putting in a new central one that’ll handle the whole building,” he explained, “be able to put some sort of aromatherapy into it. Weird, huh?”

“Aromatherapy, huh?” Angie asked, her interest piqued - and betrayed by a new purr, “In the air-conditioning?” She continued to pet his head, and drew in a little closer to him as she thought to herself. “Can you find out...any more about that for me?“

“Oh, uh, yeah...sure…” he agreed, though not really sure what he could do. Lots of this project seemed so under-wraps, at least from the guys. He hadn’t laid eyes on much in the way of blueprints or tech sheets or whatever.

“Good boy…” she praised, speaking plainly, “pull down your pants.”

Suddenly, AJ’s heart leapt. Was he about to get some?? Here in a storage closet?? Ha he’d take anything he could get these days, he thought to himself as he clumsily unzipped his thick, loose-fit utility pants, started to pull them down.

“B-boxers too?” he asked.

“Sure,” Angie allowed, and in a moment they were down at his knees, too. His erection already stood proud; of that he was glad. He wanted her to know how much she turned him on. But, then he thought - how had they gotten here? Didn’t she used to be the swooning drama nerd in high school, who’d barely been on his radar? The one who used to have the crush on him??

“A-Angie…?” he began.

“Shush, quiet,” she said, “grab your cock.”

“Wh-what?” he stammered, knowing exactly what she wanted him to do, “n-no I’m not going to, like, j-jerk off here in a cl-“

“Yes you will,” she stated, her confidence only making him harder, as she physically took his hand and planted it on his erection, balling it into a fist around his turgid shaft, “because you're submissive, just like him, and you’ll do exactly what I say...just like he will, some day.”

”I-I’m n-not,,,’submissive’..!” he bristled, male ego once again raising its battered head in the face of insult and jealousy. Like, what did she mean, ‘just like he will’??

“Okay sure, you’re not submissive,” she chuckled, laughing unpleasantly at his little snit, “prove it.”

With that, Angie took AJ’s full head between her hands, palms on his face and manicured fingers stretching back behind his head, and faced him solidly into her plumply bulging cleavage.

“Now stroke,” she directed, and to his own aghast he couldn’t help but obey. He’d been conditioned, over these past months, helpless when confronted by her, powerless to defy her will...especially when she used her tits. What was wrong with him??? In his hand, with his eyes plastered on the pale, soft flesh of her big breasts, his cock suddenly became even more needy, ached immediately for release. He groaned, both in spleen at himself and this crippling arousal.

She laughed again. “Not submissive, hm?” she purred, “Look at you. You're totally dominated by women. You’re working for women now, you do everything women tell you to do. At the job here, in bed with me…”

”hey..!” he began to protest, eyes rising for the moment, looking for hers, “I thought you liked-”

“Oh, I do, we all do,” she capitulated, shaking her hair over her shoulder with a toss of her head, redirecting his gaze back to her chest, “we love when the roles start reversing like this. Like you, getting to be my little bitch.”

“h-h-heyyyy…” he began to protest, but his voice faded, most of his fight lost between her E-cups.

“Aww, don’t feel badly,” she said, “I’ve been reading up on this. I really think men in general are getting more submissive, turning more beta, just watching as women take charge more. The doctor here included. Look what he’s done - or let happen. This whole place is run by girls.”

“H-h-huh…” AJ stammered dumbly, not even realizing he’d fallen into a rhythm, stroking himself, staring at Angie’s breasts.

“This is my chance, to get in, to take my piece,” she pronounced, ego swelling her bosom like a deep breath, “I’m so fucking alpha, I could run this place.”

”oh, uh, y-yeah..?” he spoke, bewitched and befuddled by every ripple and jiggle under her skin.

“You men like me to be in charge, don’t you? The thought of a woman boss?” she pressed, “You’d all never admit it but it gets you excited, how the women here - everywhere - are really the ones running the show, that any male authority is really just a thin facade, ready to be, like, cracked.”

“Oh my god Angie,” AJ moaned, now in the full grip of arousal, starting to pump himself with more abandon as Angie’s words struck chords with him neither he nor she had yet heard. Angie was experimenting, learning.

“Women have always been the ones to take up responsibilities, accept them and take them on, when men fail. We’ve been getting more able, more and more competent, while you all just, like, get lazy and dumb and shrink away,” she said, watching how his eyes were glazing over, his face going slack. Still he stared at her tits. “And you know the best part? It fucking turns you all on. You like getting weaker, losing responsibility and authority, your lives getting smaller as ours get bigger…”

“J-j-jesus Angie yes,” he stammered, mouth fully gaping now, his whole body shaking as he jacked off to her, to this vision of women.

She pulled his face closer. “Look at my tits. Look how big they are, look how deep and dark my cleavage is,” she commanded, “I’ll bet you wish you could shrink down and sink in there. Just become a little man and live between your girlfriend’s tits.”

“A-Angie n-n-n-...” he began, trying to deny but unable to come up with a sentence, in the face of the shame.

“Shhh, I know. I know what kind of porn guys have been into these days. I know what kind you’ve been into,” she said, “the shrinking, the bodybuilders, the giantesses…”

“unnh...unnnh…” he grunted, vision starting to close in, laser focused between her tits.

“And our breasts,” she continued, but knowing she had him close, “When did you become so obsessed with breasts? Even when you sleep, they’re there, aren’t they? Vision of my breasts swim in your head all night long.”

It was true. Her boobs were all he dreamed about. He moaned in forbearance and began to shudder.

“It’s true,” she said, her words echoing his thoughts, right as his climax began to crest, “It totally is. It’s why you wake up in the middle of the night sucking your own thumb. You want to be our fucking babies…”.

That was it, that was the final blow, and AJ could take no more. He groaned, finally closed his eyes, and came. His body lurched, shook, and cum shot up out of his cock.

Angie backed off, an inch, his head still in her hands. “There you go,” she said, plainly, “don’t get it on my dress.”

AJ, for himself, opened his eyes again, now jerking himself through it while staring into her tits again. He didn’t want to get it on her dress, so he pointed it back at himself, soiling his hand, his belly, his thigh.

“That’s right, get it all out,” she employed, patience now starting to wear thin, a new edge sharpening her voice. Though his climax still had him, she released his head, backing off another step. Her hands went to her top, pulling her neckline now more fully up over her breasts. “Finish up…”

AJ groaned in distress, his orgasm waning but ruined in its final moments. He just wanted those tits to bury himself into, and she was stepping away...

“Mommy’s got to go,” she said, finally, looking down at herself, shimmying herself back into some semblance of modesty, “Now, Aaron. This is it for us. I’m through.”

“w-w-wait whut?” AJ sputtered, confused, as his cock - just starting to deflate - leaked its final jisms onto his hand.

“I said I’m, like, done,” Angie said, straightly, looking down at him again, “You’ve been the perfect toy to practice on, and I’d be lying if I said it hadn’t been fun. But I’m moving on, to bigger and better things.”

“Wait, no…” AJ managed, sobering quickly in shock but still struggling to grasp what was happening, “...are you...b-breaking up with me?”

“Yep,” she said, no hint of empathy softening her words as she watched the guy she’d lived with, the man she’d broken, start to shake. He was flailing, looking down at himself, at his mess, unsure what to do.

She reached out, grabbed a team of paper towels, and tossed it at him. “Here, clean up.”

“Angie, wait,” he tried, pulling several sheets out and starting to wipe himself down. She can’t do this, not now..! he thought, What will I do? Where will I live?? He had to stop her. “Let’s-“

“No, I’m done waiting,” she stopped him, turning away, hand already reaching for the door, grabbing the handle. An image of Melissa, her last Instagram post, flashed into her mind, made Angie seethe. “I’ve got things to do.”

And then he was alone.

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sorry for the poor image quality, ‘twas the best I could do.

more stuff, newer posts at my Patreon

#growing into the job

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