#edit: the owner has been in contact :D | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

searidings · 3 years

Note

Lena's wardrobe planning must be a nightmare. Every day she has to account for the fact that this might finally be the day she and Kara fuck in a semi-public space

*EDIT: now on ao3 for your thirsty convenience*

“Tell me again what this article’s about?”

She asks it innocently, as if she genuinely can’t remember. As if she hadn’t spent an extra 40 minutes this morning dripping in a towel in the middle of her walk-in closet, determined to select the perfect outfit for this very conversation.

The way Kara’s eyes are glued to the exposed lines of her clavicle as she sits down tells her the extra deliberation was entirely worth it.

“It’s just a puff piece,” Kara says offhandedly, taking a seat on the far side of Lena’s desk. Or at least, she tries to take a seat but misses the chair entirely, pitching forward and almost taking half the contents of Lena’s desk with her. It’s only her superspeed that saves Lena’s water jug from its collision course with the ground and Kara rights it with sweaty fingers that leave faint smudges on the glass, blushing.

“Are you alright, darling?” Lena asks gently, biting her lip to keep from smirking as Kara, redder than a fire hydrant, finally takes her seat.

“Fine,” the blonde manages, only a little strangled. “Sorry. Just— misjudged the, you know. Chair.”

“Distracted?” Lena asks coyly, voice dipping a smooth half-octave lower as she arches an eyebrow.

She watches in barely restrained delight as Kara’s throat works. “No,” the blonde manages after a moment. “Just— busy. Articles, deadlines. You know how it is.” She seems to have regained her footing now, smoothing her hands over her slacks before reaching into her purse for a pad and pen. “The article’s another clickbait piece, basically. Dress for success: the wardrobes of women in power. Andrea’s making me write it.”

Kara’s voice drips with so much disgust that Lena purses her lips in sympathy. “I’m sorry, Kara. If there’s anything I can do—”

“Don’t be silly,” Kara says instantly, face breaking into a shy smile. “It means I get to spend the afternoon with you. And your wardrobe has always been very—” she breaks off, hand gesturing in the air between them as though she might be able to pluck the right word out of the ether. “—impressive,” she finishes with a small swallow, eyes delicately averted from the expanse of creamy skin on display before her.

“You think so?”

“Of course,” Kara says quickly. Her still floundering hand drifts back and forth in the air as if to encompass Lena’s general existence. “I’d ask if you dressed up specially for this interview, but honestly you always look like that.”

“Like that?” Lena repeats, a teasing lilt to her tone. She leans back in her office chair, smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her dress. This piece, a deep red off-the-shoulder dress with a V-shaped neckline plunging just enough to be borderline workplace inappropriate, had cost more than a small car and been custom-made and shipped to her from an upscale boutique in Paris. Looking now at Kara’s wide eyes and pink cheeks, every last cent of import tax feels absolutely worth it. “Like what, exactly?”

Kara’s jaw snaps shut with an audible click and she stares down at the pad in her hands with such intensity that Lena absently wonders if the offending paper is about to be laser-visioned.

“Shall we start with the questions, then?” Kara says quickly, clicking her ballpoint pen with enough force that it shatters the entire casing. She stares forlornly down at the plastic shards in her palm until Lena clears her throat, passing another pen to the blonde with a wordless smile.

Kara removes the lid from the offered pen with the delicacy and focus of someone disarming a bomb. “I hope you don’t find this insulting,” she says as she turns to a fresh page, finally meeting Lena’s eyes again. “I mean, you’re one of the greatest minds in the country and I’m here to ask you about your clothes.”

“Not at all. Wardrobe planning is an extremely involved affair,” Lena deadpans, tilting her head to one side and relishing the way Kara’s eyes skate the cut of her jaw. “Quantum mechanics is nothing compared to the challenge of pairing the right shirt with the right jacket.”

“Right,” Kara says absently, her gaze fixed on the regal column of Lena’s bare throat. She’d foregone a necklace this morning and pulled her still-curly hair up into a soft bun for this exact purpose; knowing that her natural waves were Kara’s favourite, but knowing too that a dress like this deserved to be unencumbered by loose hair or jewellery to really reach its full potential.

“So, um,” Kara starts before swallowing hard, reaching for the glass of water waiting for her on the desk and downing its contents in one swift gulp. “What’s your, um, selection process? How would you describe your wardrobe requirements?”

One corner of Lena’s mouth tugs upwards. “As a woman in a male-dominated world, I’ve learned to use my wardrobe as a tool. My clothing has to be professional without appearing intimidating, project confidence without audacity. Visual impressions precede all other business dealings; I can tailor my wardrobe to my audience the way I would tailor a speech or a press release. When done correctly, it helps me get what I want.”

Kara is staring at her in rapt attention, eyes flicking rhythmically between Lena’s eyes and mouth. She hasn’t written a single thing on the pad in her lap.

“And of course, I have to be careful in the lab,” Lena continues, leaning forward to fold her hands together on the desk in front of her and squeezing her arms ever so slightly against the sides of her chest. It’s always prudent to take advantage of one’s strengths, and the plunging neckline of this particular outfit leaves no doubt in Lena’s mind as to which of her assets she should be emphasising right now. “I can’t wear anything that could prove dangerous.”

“Do you do that often?” Kara asks a little dazedly, gaze now focused a solid foot below Lena’s face. “Wear things that are d-dangerous?”

Lena smirks. Kara’s eyes are locked on Lena’s chest, following its gentle rise and fall with a tangible hunger. It lights a fire in Lena. “You tell me.”

The office falls utterly silent, the air between them leaden with tension. Kara’s eyes linger at the juncture where pale skin gives way to deep red fabric for one more aching moment before beginning a torturously slow crawl up Lena’s chest and neck to meet her gaze once more.

The blue eyes that lock back onto hers are dark and greedy, pupils blown wide. The sight sets Lena’s heart thud-thudding in her chest and damn the superhearing that has surely picked up on it, damn the owner of said superhearing whose lips quirk up in a barely-there smirk.

“You know,” Kara starts, pausing as her tongue darts out to wet her lips. Lena can’t stop her own eyes from dropping heavy to take in the sight and the blonde’s smirk grows another degree. “I think if I’m going to do this piece justice, I really need to see the full picture.”

Lena can do little more than stare in silent confusion until Kara stands, dropping her pad carelessly onto the chair and rounding the desk to where Lena sits. “Stand up?” she asks in a low voice, holding out a hand. “That looks like a dress that deserves to be properly admired.”

Lena swallows hard against her suddenly dry throat, taking the proffered hand mutely and rising a little unsteadily to her feet. Kara steps closer until they’re toe to toe and Lena’s not even breathing as a tanned hand reaches up and gently releases her hair from its bun, letting dark curls fall freely across her bare shoulders.

But Kara’s hand doesn’t return to her side once it accomplishes its mission. It tugs through the curls now tickling Lena’s neck, the backs of her knuckles dragging lightly against Lena’s throat until she can’t restrain a shiver. It continues its wandering, sliding up the back of Lena’s neck to bury itself fully in her hair, thumb extended to rub at the hinge of Lena’s jaw.

“Is it?” Kara asks quietly, and Lena barely represses an honest-to-god whine at the sensation of the blonde’s breath hitting her lips.

“What?” she whispers, feeling Kara’s thumb shift against her skin.

“Is this outfit helping you get what you want?”

Lena swallows hard, the movement causing Kara’s thumb to slip down her neck until it trips to a stop directly over her thundering pulse. Lena takes a deep, decidedly un-calming breath, and tries with her last shred of rational thought to claw back the control of the situation she had at some point so thoroughly surrendered. “You tell m—”

She doesn’t even get the last word out before Kara’s lips are on hers, hot and insistent and perfect and fucking finally, and Lena just. Gives up. Gives up access to her mouth as soon as Kara’s tongue hits the seam of her lips, gives up trying to hold back her moans when Kara licks in warm and wet, starts sucking on her tongue.

Gives in to the desire, years in the making, to smooth her hands over Kara’s biceps, her broad muscular shoulders. Gives in to the urge to crush their bodies together, to finally feel the delicious press of the toned planes of Kara’s frame against every one of her own curves.

The hand not still buried in Lena’s hair begins charting an exploratory path up Lena’s side, across her ribs, and Lena is grateful for the sheerness of the skin-tight fabric that does nothing to dull the burning trail Kara’s palm is blazing against her skin.

Three things happen then in quick succession: Kara’s wandering fingers reach the underside of Lena’s breast and the sudden contact causes her other hand to tighten its grip in Lena’s hair, tugging sharply. Lena gasps, head falling backwards as a low groan rips from her throat at the slight sting. Kara’s mouth drops hot and wet to Lena’s neck, lips and teeth sucking and scraping over her rocketing pulse until Lena’s writhing against her.

“How long have you wanted this?” Kara pants, trailing kisses across Lena’s jaw and down the curve of her throat. “How long could I have been doing this?”

Lena’s eyelids flutter shut, fingers digging tight into firm shoulders as Kara sucks another mark into the skin above her collarbone. She lingers long enough that Lena knows it will bruise and in this dress, with this amount of skin on display and no way to cover it up, the thought sends a thrill through her that has her arching up into the heat of Kara’s mouth. “Oh, I don’t know,” she answers breathily, tugging Kara closer still. “How long have I been dressing like this?”

It’s Kara who moans then, reaching down to hook her hands under Lena’s thighs and lifting her onto the desk, pressing herself tight between Lena’s spread legs. In the back of her mind, Lena registers an inordinate rush of gratitude toward her past self for booking out three hours for this interview and issuing strict do not disturb instructions to her assistant.

“Gorgeous as this dress is, it’s kind of in the way,” Kara pants, one hand sliding under the hem of the offending material to skim up Lena’s bare thigh. “But it looks expensive, I don’t want to rip it—”

“Rip it,” Lena gasps immediately, tugging Kara’s mouth desperately back to her own. Preserving an item of clothing has never been further from her mind than in this exact moment. And as she’d said to Kara, her wardrobe had always functioned primarily as means to an end.

And what an end this was turning out to be.

#well this got a little away from me #thank you anon and also today's gifset of lena in that low-cut red top for inspiring this #and for helping me get over crippling writer's block #sc #minific #asks #anonymous #dings dot txt

1K notes · View notes

tsotc · 1 year

Note

hi from anon who asked about amnuai (maybe i should pick an emoji to sign off with from here on.) i like amnuai even more now, how cer values life is beautiful. can i keep asking about your ocs? i want to hear more about facade, and by silly rabbit... does cer have someone special or an actual rabbit? - 🩰

yes of course :D i love talking about ocs. If it's not obvious, these are RP alts to an extent and uh. well. smiling serenly.

The silly rabbit in question is called Absinthe! He's my boyfriend's oc and he has every memory disorder known to man.

Amnuai and Absinthe aren't dating but they're also not not dating. Absinthe follows cer around whilst ce does jobs and Amnuai keeps him from Fucking Dying. They keep each other company. Absinthe is incredibly touch friendly and shows affection via physical contact, Amnuai has been alone for so long that touch is a very new sensation. it's cute i think. Amnuai is real fucking bad at showing cer emotion outside of cer convictions with life and death and whenever ce gets really flustered it's just like (looking away)(looking away). miles edgeworth but pinker. and a lizard. i think.

btw facade is a joint venture between a character of mine (Udomwit, who runs the bar and is the main owner, believes herself to be a vampire) and a character of daniel's (boyfriend)(Petrichor, runs a counselling service upstairs, literally the only normal person in the entire building). Amnuai is a regular who ended up venturing cer services to Udomwit and became close friends with people there.

There are like. a few other regulars like uh. anurak (insane girl swag unlimited, halonic devotee but the twist is that he's Really Psychotic (projection lmao) about halone and believes her to be speaking to him directly), jerome (heretic, he and anurak lunge at each other in the streets, self reliant and very very gumbly. love that dude a lot, one of daniel's ocs), lumimi (formerly an old sharlayan botanist, currently helps provide produce, refused to leave idyllshire during the evacuation so just fucks about and finds out. speaks goblin. another daniel oc) and estmund (one of my guys, a chef friend of Udomwit's (They cook together) who is in his 50s but is a Face Four Midlander and looks 25 in canon because of his patrick bateman style skincare routine. Haggard old man trapped in the body of a really really average gay man).

[gesturing] they're all incredibly insane in their own way and i adore them. i want a slice of life style show with them one day. the fact that amnuai routinely comes in covered in blood and is still one of the more well adjusted people in there is such a charm point i think.

(profiles pulled from the carrd we're working on. not completely done)

this has cer old horns :( sorry. fun fact: i have done fucking everything on this lizard now since doing the new horns (minus tbse base and the asym faces, tysm fellow modders <3) bc i ported the hair, did the colourset edits on the glasses, did the horns and make up and also did the mashup ce wears :D

(jerome's section isn't done but have this picture of him anyway. he's very dashing i think. his surname is laframboise and i'm told it's bc he used to make raspberry jam with his parents before they died from being french slash jay)

#🩰anon #ask #oc tag #ffxiv

0 notes

ameliterature · 3 years

Text

Writer's Block Cont. (AnderPerry ficlet)

Continuation of Writer's Block

It was a breezy evening downtown and Todd hasn't been at the Coffee Shop since he'd kissed Neil. For obvious reasons, this made the coffee shop barista extremely worried.

"Why the long face?" Charlie asked. He propped himself by the counter beside his brooding friend. Charlie was one of Neil's best friends and the actual manager/owner of the coffee shop (this way he could play his saxophone every Friday night without any objections).

"Todd... He hasn't been here in three days, Charlie, and he's almost always here." Neil buried his face more onto the linoleum counter.

"Oh Todd, ah yes, your big time author-crush-person." Charlie recalls Neil always gushing about him during his break time. He always insisted making all of Todd's orders too. "I mean, today could just be another busy day for him. I'm sure he doesn't necessarily have a reason not to go here." He chuckled.

Neil fell silent.

"... Neiiiilll? What did you do?" Charlie glares at his direction. "Why do you think Todd Anderson wouldn't go here for three days straight?"

Neil fiddled with his thumbs. "I-- I may have... maybe- uh... k-kissed him last weekend."

"YOU WHAT?!" Charlie blurted out, alarming some of the customers and their other barista, Meeks. Unlike Charlie, Meeks was already aware of this situation but he didn't exactly want to stop making his latte art at the moment.

"SHHHH, pipe it down, Charlie- I... Okay, so the other day uh..." Neil huffed before pulling Charlie into the back office to talk more privately-- naturally leaving Meeks in charge.

"Details, Perry, I. NEED. DETAILS." Charlie shook Neil by his shoulders.

"Okay, okay! I'm getting to it-" Neil rattled Charlie off of him. "So- The other day when I was closing up shop for you, Todd was the only one left and- well, long story short- He needed kissing experience for his book and I gave it to him and now I think it was a mistake and he is most likely avoiding me." Neil buried his face into his hands this time. He whined as Charlie comforts him with a pat on his slouched back.

"Neil- Come on! I'm sure he's just shy and all. Hey maybe you gave him the wrong phone number- remember that time when you sent me the wrong one-"

"OH MY GOD-- THAT'S IT-" Neil face-palmed.

"What?"

"I FORGOT TO GIVE HIM MY NUMBER--" Neil sounded both relieved and hysterical. "Of course he wouldn't just come back here- He couldn't just... talk to me in person after what I did- and- and..." Neil sunk to the floor.

Charlie looked down at his distraught friend. "Who am I kidding, Charlie... I ruined it... The one time I got to meet my favorite author and I blew it by kissing him."

"You sure that's blowing it? I'd say it was the best thing you could possibly get from any famous-person-interaction." Charlie smiled, trying to pick up Neil from the ground.

"Just let me die in peace." Neil says to the cold floor. "That kiss might've been the first and last time I ever got to know Todd Anderson in person and I didn't even ask about his other books. He probably thinks I'm just a floozy."

Just as Charlie was about to complain about Neil's focus on Todd's writing than Todd's kiss, someone knocks on the door.

Meeks opens the door to see Neil lifting his head from the floor with tears in his eyes while Charlie is grabbing his arm.

"Uh.. Neil, there's a guy looking for you. He said his name's Todd Ander-"

Neil instantly perks up and immediately bolts to the counter.

When Neil arrives by the cash register, he sees the same dark-blonde author he kissed mere days ago. Todd had eye bags yet his expression was one of breathless excitement. Still beautiful to Neil's eyes.

"T-Todd..." Neil greeted him.

"Neil... When... When do you get off work?" Todd asked fervently yet it was polite to Neil's eyes. "I... I need to talk to you about something."

Just as Neil was about to say 'Around 10pm' Charlie appears from behind him.

"Thank you for your work, Mr. Perry! I see you're done with your shift for the day! I'll see you tomorrow!" Charlie beamed, making quick eye contact with both Neil and Todd. Neil picked up on what Charlie implied and immediately took off his apron.

After a short while, Todd guided Neil to his car parked right outside the coffee shop. "D-Do you mind going with me to my apartment?"

It was a non-question for Neil. As much as he wanted to scream from the rooftops and YAWP in excitement, he kept his composure and followed Todd. "Sure, I'd love to."

The drive to Todd's apartment was silent and short. Todd lived incredibly close to the coffee shop and this fact made Neil grow even more fanboy-y. Oh my god Oh my god Oh my god.

He wanted to respect Todd's privacy so he purposefully didn't take note of the floor number or the apartment number before he entered Todd's home. (In turn, he kept his eyes on Todd the whole time).

As they entered the apartment, Neil could only stare at how neat Todd's living space was. It wasn't exactly neat as it was mostly barren. The most "decoration" you could find was Todd's various bookshelves. A good portion of the area was his own books while the rest were a plethora of Classics and collections of multiple pieces of literature. Todd was a well-read author after all.

"D-did you want anything to drink? Unfortunately the coffee I have here isn't as good as the ones you make so-"

"Wait, Todd... I'm- I'm sorry for what I did... If I made you feel uncomfortable. I- I was worried the past few days-"

"Huh, What- You're sorry?" Todd, bewildered by Neil's apology, let out a chuckle. "Neil, if anything, you helped me, remember?"

Neil looked at him with an intrigued look.

Just then, Todd took Neil's hand and led him to his office. Unlike his perfectly neat living room and kitchen area, Todd's office was a chaotic room full of papers and notebooks. In the back part facing away from the windows was a desk with a computer, multiple stacks of papers (and paper balls), and emptied out paper cups marked on the inside with coffee stains.

"Our little uh- field research actually got me out of my writer's block and I've been writing my book like crazy for the past three days." Todd confessed. "I'm basically almost done with it."

"Wait- Three days?" Neil wheezed. He didn't think Todd could get even more impressive than he already was. "My kiss got you to finish your newest book in three days?!"

"Well... yeah-" Todd scratched the back of his head in humility. "Can't say I've ever done that before. It'll need a shitload of editing and proof reading perhaps, but it's mostly done. Thanks to you."

Neil didn't know how to respond to Todd's words. Neil's favorite author, the person he's been following for several years now, was inspired by his kiss, and finished an entire book in THREE DAYS.

"Todd- I... F-from my kiss?"

"Yes. Well of course it was also the caffeine, but yeah mostly your kiss. I just wanted to personally thank you for getting me through one of my toughest works yet." Todd sat by his desk, pulling up some of the papers he already printed.

Neil walked up to his side, staring at the tentative manuscript- one Todd's editor has yet to even see. (Cameron was not gonna have an easy time).

"Did you want to read it?" Todd asked, instantly making Neil swoon.

"Todd, you're gonna kill me- OF COURSE I'D LOVE TO READ IT-" Neil gushed, looking at both the papers and a blushing Todd.

Neil held the loosely bound papers in his hands, then back at Todd who looked incredibly proud of himself and yet still very reserved.

Neil couldn't tell if he was looking at Todd as an author anymore by how close he was this time. Their arms were brushing against each other, the sound and smell of papers filled the room, Todd was so close.

Neil carefully places the manuscript down by the table. "Before I read it... do you mind if... If I asked you something?"

Todd blinked a couple of times before nodding. "S-sure."

"Do... Do you think it's weird that I... kissed you? I know I said I was helping you for research but... I think a part of me did it because I really liked you. And I'm not sure if it's because I really admire you for your work or if I think you were as beautiful that night as you are now."

Todd looked at him, flustered and speechless. "Y-you sure do know exactly what you want to say..."

"Yeah- I'm sorry."

"And I'm envious of that." Todd responded. Not that Neil needed another reason to gush, but Todd being envious of him is another strike for Neil's humility.

"Usually, when I write my books-- the surrealist ones, they're usually the ones so weird and detached from reality, I usually didn't need to put myself into the protagonists' shoes. But with this book, a book where it's a journey of romance and discovery, I didn't think I'd ever find the right words to describe how the character felt, let alone myself."

"So my kiss gave you existential clarity?" Neil chuckled softly.

"For a short while, yes. I'm all out of it, currently. It's been a draining past few days." Todd leaned back by his office chair.

Neil smirked at him with allurement. "I mean, I'm here. I wouldn't mind giving you a refresher."

Todd raised his eyes at him, blushing even more. "I-"

"I'm just kidding- relax. I'll only kiss you when you want me to. If you ever need anymore field research, that is. I wouldn't mind being your primary source."

Todd bit his lip, gazing upon Neil as he sat over his desk nonchalantly.

"W-what if... say, I wanted a kiss for other reasons?" Todd's voice was like a mumble.

"Excuse me?" Neil felt like he was playing the most intense game of chess with their interaction.

"Like, what if- I thought you looked really handsome right now and I wanted to kiss you, is that a good enough reason to ask for a kiss?"

Neil was enthralled by this interaction. Was it Todd being forward? Or was it his lack of sleep making him this way.

"I... Yes... That's a great reason, actually."

"So... to answer your question earlier: I didn't think it's weird that you kissed me because, right now, another kiss wouldn't seem to bad. And this time, I won't need it for a book."

Todd stood up to meet Neil at eye level, catching him by surprise.

"You're still gonna have to credit me for that book- do you know about royalties-" Neil joked before Todd planted a kiss on him.

Their second kiss was full of small bits of laughter before it turned into something more. It was no longer about Todd's lack of experience or motivation to write, nor was it Neil's admiration as a fan anymore. It was in their second kiss they realized the person they were kissing would be someone to rid them of their woes and inspire them for the rest of their lives.

Aside from that, Todd's career as an author had a new component to it, the skill to garner inspiration in the form of kisses from Neil Perry.

#anderperry #coffee shop au #anderperry fic #anderperry perry two shot?#anderperry fanfics #dead poets society fanfic #dps fanfic #dps fic #dps #dead poets society fic #neil perry #todd anderson

66 notes · View notes

csscreenshots · 2 years

Text

Hyros and Bloomskies/Kashigore

By Kashigore’s request here is a document of him addressing all of the concerns in the post below:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/12RXOXwGLsqu4XQlLPSShob4K8912yYgNOjnG2CNU1nk/edit

All information posted is for the explicit purpose of documentation within closed species. This post will go over the initial journal made by Kashigore, and then his messages to me along with @csventbutfaster and @csmean (perhaps others but those are the ones I know of) to not post screenshots given to all of us regarding Kashigore’s past history. It will close with Kashigore’s most recent journal that is in response to the above, as well as better clarification from his first journal.

On Janurary 26th 2022, Bloomskies revealed himself to be Kashigore: https://web.archive.org/web/20220201201345/https://www.deviantart.com/bloomskies/journal/Why-it-s-Time-to-Move-on-from-CS-905118375

In the journal Kashigore mentions his past history but does not clarify what that past history contained other than wanting to move on from it. Kashigore has lied about his age and identity for personal reasons due to this past history, as well as initially to not connect Hyros to his name. Further information will be in the readmore below.

Kashigore’s previous usernames: -Kashigore -Suruntahiti -NeonPsychosis -Retrokiier -LewdyLucifer -Kiingsley

Proof of being Suruntahiti: https://web.archive.org/web/20220128191817/https://www.deviantart.com/kashigore/art/them-big-ol-blue-eyes-839674425 / https://64.media.tumblr.com/480fdaf66c25b681a6e7a0e673be5e99/4c6a769df30d3234-d2/s640x960/b769cf3cd6efb248f2781064a807dd807db08917.png (this drawing is featured in Kashigore’s gallery but uses the Suruntahiti name as a watermark, indicating he used to go by that name)

Proof of being retrokiiier : https://www.deviantart.com/retrokiiier (the link goes to Kashigore’s account, which only happens when a user changes their username but so the initial links to not become defunct)

Proof of previous usernames tying to retrokiiier, Kingsley, and NeonPsychosis: https://closedspeciesdrama.tumblr.com/post/179836076013/handycats-i-belive-they-are-joke-species-made-by

The Handycat species group is still up: https://www.deviantart.com/handycats You can find adopts made by baramonsters (Kashigore’s partner) and in the About Us page it shows Kashigore as the owner.

Past History

Past history of Kashigore as Kingsley is documented from this blog: https://closedspeciesdrama.tumblr.com/search/kiingsley

The most substantial and damning information is Kashigore’s comments in a server that condones euthanasia for undesirables (specifically mentally ill people) or people who are not found ‘useful’ to the greater good of society. For note this is in 2017 when Kashigore is around 16-17 (highschool). Kashigore is currently 20 and turning 21 this year.

Gallery: https://imgur.com/a/pCF1A

I am repeating that Kashigore was 16 when he made these comments and is now 20, a 4 year difference from a teenager in highschool to a legal adult.

As well there is mention of Kashigore having made a species that was also considered a Grem knock-off with a co-founder. Kashigore in the direct messages below says that he was contacted by the Grem staff and they worked together to separate both species from resembling each other too much and is not considered a rip-off by Grem staff.

Edit: It has been retrieved.

Kashigore messages

Next will be Kashigore, currently, who has messaged several blogs about not posting the above screenshots as he believes it is done in bad faith to besmirch his reputation. The other two decided to not post it since it is indeed old news and these beliefs are not held by Kashigore anymore in the least. I am posting them though for anyone curious to what that past history is, with the knowledge it no longer relevant to Kashigore as a person.

Kashigore’s message to @csventbutfaster https://csventbutfaster.tumblr.com/post/674673495217668097/hurosapparently-whatever-bloom-was-known-for

Kashigore’s message to @csmean https://csmean.tumblr.com/post/674678882222374912/mod-please-post-the-stuff-about-kashigorebloom

Kashigore’s message to @csscreenshots

As well as messaging the various blogs he also came to my discord server to request the information to not be shared. I am posting it all with Kashigore’s permission, along with all messages made by him in the server.

(the screenshot sent from above)

Kashigore also made posts in the server’s general channel.

To add here are messages from the person who contacted me and gave me all of the links above. I am not posting the username

Kashigore Journal

Finally, Kashigore’s most recent journal: https://web.archive.org/web/20220201202904/https://www.deviantart.com/bloomskies/journal/Vythrosa-s-Future-An-Open-Forum-905510836

https://www.deviantart.com/bloomskies/journal/Vythrosa-s-Future-An-Open-Forum-905510836

This journal replies to various user worries, such as how the Hyros species will be handled and future plans for its community.

Whether or not you believe Kashigore has changed as a person or your personal opinion on how he is handling Hyros, do NOT send death threats or hateful messages to him. I do not condone it in the slightest.

Form your own opinion from the information, look into it yourself with the links provided, and then decide whether you wish to personally engage with Kashigore or the Hyros community from here on out.

As of right now Kashigore is still in the server and if he messages me with anything else I will add to this post.

#hyros #individual #kashigore #bloomskies

8 notes · View notes

an-exotic-writer · 4 years

Text

jimin: sidewalk sugar (m)

[unedited - reupload - will edit soon!] ❝ you met your sugardaddy on the sidewalk? - jeon jungkook 2k16 ► 9955 words // scenario, sugardaddy!jimin ❣ one of my absolute favorites! ;w;

There are days where you love life to the end of time. Everything seemed to be a domino effect of pleasant things going your way; planned itinerary finishing on time, unexpected good news, maybe even a raise in your salary but that’s highly doubtful but a person can hope, no? It’s all the possible good emotions bottled up into a day, the span of twenty-four hours oozing with nothing but smiles and giggles. Those days are what you aim for the most, or at least, try.

Today was not one of those days.

Today was really not one of those fucking days.

Getting up late for work even though you set two alarm clocks? Yeah, those tiny pieces of shit decided to spell out fuck you in numeric because you got up an hour later. The regular bus you took seemed to be late and there was no way in hell you would make it in time for your first class. That would resort to your second class but hey, look who decided to trip you and spill coffee all over your notes? Ah, this is also a giant middle finger shown from God when a random passerby decided to help you and fuck me man, he’s gorgeous.

It’s already bad enough that the notes you’ve spent so hard had brown splotches and even if you wiggled them out, it’s going to take a ton of writing to make up for the loss. You try not to cry, simply because you get emotional when things get tough and hey you’re human, it’s normal. But when so many things are falling out of your way in just the beginning of the day, might as well set yourself on fire. The stranger that bumped into you hadn’t even had the guts to apologize just as he tries to scurry himself up and make a dash for it.

You would’ve let him go, because if you saw his face, you’d remember his face structure and made sure you’d add a little extra in his drink if he ever walked into the coffee shop you worked at. But another voice seemed to caught him down for you.

“Hey. I believe you owe this lady an apology,” At the authoritative tone, you down your guts about to throw up, tilting your chin up to see a man clad in a suit, tailored to perfection wrapped around his slim figure was the owner of that sweet, honeyed voice that sounded so powerful as each word fell from his mouth. You gape, aware of the stares you’re getting because this is a bloody sidewalk where at this time it’s the most packed that you naturally reach out to tug on the hem of this… stranger’s pants. You’re trying not to stain his attire because it looks too expensive for your ass to cover that but you give your best, “D-Don’t, it’s fine…”

The handsome stranger lets the other stranger go, growling a beat it before he lets him scramble off while you’ve gone back to gathering your notes. When you see that another set of hands help you out in picking up the sheets of hand-written notes, you realize you’re not alone. As you reach for the last one, he does the same and your hands brush against each other. He gasps and stops, only for you to snatch it before mumbling a soft thanks. He gets up, offering you help as well and where in the name of God did he come from?

He carefully hands you back your notes and smiles at you in apology despite this not being his fault, or his business to begin with. His black hair mused as if someone had just ran their hands through them, dark, round eyes disappearing when he smiles, lips soft and pink as they radiate warmth to seep in your veins, it’s difficult to keep eye contact when remembering your current state.

Your white blouse is now half brown, black pencil skirt coated with a thin layer of the remnants on the pavement and let’s not even begin with the marks on your kneecaps. But none of that is compared to the look on your face as you bite down on your lip, staring at your hours of hard work now flushed in the drain. In other words, a large cup of black Americano from an asshole.

“Hey…” His voice is still sweet, this time dropping to lukewarm as his hand graces over to your shoulder, trying to comfort you when the tears well up in your eyes, “A-Are you okay…?”

Managing to look at him in the eye, you nod and smile despite the single tear straying down your cheek. As his eyes look painfully immersed in the emotions of your own, of how he frowns and the lines crease his forehead, he intends to say something about you lying. But you soon correct yourself with the shaking of your head, hanging your head low, “No,”

Even saying a word with one syllable was hard and it makes him sick to his stomach.

He brings things to his own hands, moving the one from your shoulder to use two fingers to tip your chin up so he can look at you properly, his smile appearing once more, “Is there any way I can help you?”

With an intake of air, it fills up your lungs and your mind of what you should do but what you really do instead as you wipe the remaining tears that fall from your eyes. He acts quick, fishing out an ironed and nicely folded handkerchief that carefully swipes your tears away. He quietly tugs you to the side, to avoid walking traffic and when you’re at a safe distance by the wall, you lean against it and he doesn’t like how you look like one of those nice people who just gets shitty things happening to them.

“Really, let me help you. Whatever it is, I’ll try,”

Initially your plan was to comeback with a snarky comment like why the fuck do you care but upon meeting his eyes and seeing how genuine they are in helping, you can’t. He looks like he donates half of his earnings to charity and with that, you’re not about to treat someone else like shit because your day got started off the wrong way.

“Unless you can miraculously make my notes clean or my clothes, I don’t think so,” Shaking your head at his incredible hospitality, you gently put his hand away from your cheek, “But on the other hand, I appreciate it. Thank you,” You give his hand a light pat as it falls to his side and gather every ounce of selfesteem left in you to turn on your heels to start walking away. Not even halfway through this coffeeshop to your right, his voice that you seem to recognize calls for you with—“Wait!”

You do stop but you’re not expecting much until he jogs around you, reappearing before you again. He catches his breath and then says past a heavy exhale, “I can help. Well, only half of that but… do you trust me?”

If he’s thinking this is one of those movies where you’d just gladly accept his hand and run away to the sunsets, man he has another thing coming. Raising a brow at him, you take a step back, to which it deflates his confidence but he doesn’t let it show.

“I… I just met you. And I don’t even know your name,”

He laughs, and the way he laughs completely strikes your heart to the heaven’s at how beautiful it sounds. His head tips back because apparently, you’re a comedian and yes hi hello, you’re hilarious as fuck but no. He leans forward, stretching his arm and hand to you once the laughter dies down. He’s smiling once more, not offended or affected by your response but he is rather impressed. Many your age would be smitten by looks and grabbed by the hook but apparently, there’s still hope left in society.

“I’m Jimin. Park Jimin,” From his eyes filled with sincerity to his smile curved to kindness, you relent and manage your things in one arm, extending the other to place your hand in his. Automatically he curls his fingers around yours, feeling the grip of warmth clutching onto you as you shake his hand lightly, “Y/N. Just Y/N,”

“There, now you know me,” He lets your hand go, to which you go back to clutching onto your notes as he smiles at you widely, “Now, do you trust me?”

Oh what the hell.

With a small smile, you nod, bringing a wider one to Jimin’s lips, “Yeah.”

“Um… where are we going?” You only ask now, after seated in his car (which is a fucking Mercedes Benz, one of the limited editions in jet black) as he drives you downtown and once seeing high rises and luxurious lots, you’re certain this part town is none of your favor. “Just somewhere I’m regular at,” He answers with a hint of amusement, taking a side glance to notice how your eyes are glued to what’s outside of the window. The gape you have as your eyes ogle at the sight, he’s certain you’ve never been to this side before. Or you have but never gotten the chance to linger around.

He takes it as you’re done when you close your mouth at the stop he pulls in front of a boutique. Stained glass just for class, the clothes they present out by the line of the sidewalk, it scares you how expensive it must be to even stand in there to breathe. Jimin makes himself known when he opens the door for you, not knowing how to function properly until he offers a hand for you to step out. Once on your feet, you rely on him to lead you into the shop with his hand in yours.

The bells ding upon arrival, stepping in and automatically, there’s a man clad in a striped suit, similar to Jimin’s, the pattern only distinctively different from his. He’s taller, of silver hair combed back and a dimpled smile shining your way when he walks around the counter, “Ah, Min. Brought a lady back, I see,”

Jimin only chuckles, grip loosening on your hand as he steps forward to offer whoever this is a hug and—“I’m Namjoon, Kim Namjoon.”

“Y/N,” You manage softly, reaching to shake his hand and everything else that happens after leaves you in a daze. With the snapping of his fingers, there’s a lady coming out—high waisted skirt, pretty peach blouse with her hair in a nice bun with a few allowed strands by the side of her face, she takes your measurement. There are no words exchanged as you stand there, like a doll for her to dress up. As she steps away with a measuring board, she clicks away back into the curtains.

Gulping, you turn to look at Jimin, who’s seated on one of the black leather sofas and he smiles at you, motioning you with a hand to follow her. You’re about to protest, something like I can’t afford this but when he looks so confident, as if he knows what you’re thinking, you relent and stalk behind her. Past the curtains there’s already a row of clothes by the side, a mirrored wall that puts emphasis that this room might be bigger than you thought. The lady earlier smiles at you and picks out something that might match your taste and true enough, it does.

It’s a nice white dress shirt with sleeves that curl around your wrists with lace. The buttons are of gold with white thread and the pencil skirt she picks out almost looks like the one she has on but this is in your size, fitting right above your knees. She gives you privacy to change and just as you slip on the skirt, she steps around your discarded clothes to reach behind you, zipping you up before you can do it yourself. With a grateful smile, you look at her over your shoulder, “T-Thank you,”

“You’re welcome, love,” She winks, picking up what you should be and before you can take it back, she frowns at you, “Um… I don’t think this is worth saving. Even with the quality of cleaning products we have, it might not work,”

She notices how you’re attached to it because that’s my favorite… but you’re quick to shake your head, brushing it off with a small smile, “I-It’s okay, then…”

“Are you sure?” She wants to confirm she has your green light and when you nod once more, she disappears and goodbye, half a month’s worth of paycheck. You come to realize there’s no time to sulk when a voice startles you from the other end and in this case, it’s not Jimin. Smoothening your hands down on your clothes, it feels so foreign, a little too expensive but you like it. Turning around, you nudge the curtains aside and come face to face with Namjoon, who grins, “Looks great,”

Grinning back, you step out to follow him, “Thanks,”

As he leads you to the counter he stood behind not too long ago, filling out a card for you to take. “If you need any other assistance in the future, bring this back,” It has your measurements and whatever it is to tailor to your needs and you blink at it before taking it carefully, “Thank you but… I don’t think I’ll be coming back,”

Noticing it came off wrong, you shake your head and almost crush the card out of nervousness, “N-Not because the selection here is bad! Because, um… I don’t have the money…”

“Well, with Jimin, it’s off the house,” Namjoon says smoothly, folding his arms and leaning forward to eye you with curiosity that has you growing conscious with how you look, “By any chance are you younger?”

“Than Jimin?” Namjoon nods. “I guess? I’m not too sure—“

“Is he your sugar daddy or something?”

Gawking at his assumptions, you now know Namjoon’s not one to sugar coat his words. Finding your words, they fly out filter before you can hold yourself back, “I wish he was,”

“Wish who was your sugar daddy?” A voice pops up from behind and you watch as amusement fills Namjoon’s eyes, belittling you as he smirks and stalks off to the side, gone as he walks past the blinds. Gulping, you turn around carefully and offer him a crooked smile, hands behind your back, “Um…”

He steps forward, closer and closer until he’s in the personal of your space. His hand reaches up, putting strands of your hair behind your ear as he hums for an answer, “Hm?”

“You. But we were just kidding and—“

“Shame, I’d actually take it up,” He coos, finding that you’re not all as you seem and he likes it. Jimin likes it a lot. With his hand, he carefully strokes your cheek and then puts his hands back into his pockets, shrugging at you, “And, you look beautiful,”

“Thank you—thank you but, Jimin, how much is this? I don’t know how long I’d need to take but I’ll pay you back and—“

“No no, it’s my treat, don’t even talk about it.” He shakes his head, tutting at you in the process as he reaches down and holds his palm up. You quietly place your hand after a hushed thank you and Jimin doesn’t think he’s heard anything more sincere in his years of living. Once you have your hand in his, he holds onto it and leads you back out to his car. Neither of you say a word until closes the door of his side of the door and the both of you are inside the vehicle. Anxious, you don’t say anything, keeping your lips shut and only answering him when he asks where do you need to be?

After giving him the name of the university you go to, he seems to be interested, questioning as soon as you strap your seatbelt and he revs the engine, “Final year?”

“How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” He snorts, and after that, the rest of the drive is quiet. (but really, he managed to see one of your notes with the hint there)

When he reaches just a few blocks away, you manage to place a hand on his shoulder, gaining his full attention, “J-Jimin, you can stop here. I’ll get off,” You take your seat belt off, only to let Jimin hold you back when he does pull over but he keeps the door locked. Unable to open, you look over your shoulder to frown at him, “Jimin…”

“Why not at the front?” He questions, only to have you sighing as you shake your head, “I… I don’t want people to get the wrong idea. I’m sure, for a person like you to be driving a car like this, you’re in no position to be associated with me and just—“

“I don’t care,” He cuts you off, causing you to suck in a breath when he leans over dangerously close and you swallow the lump trapped in your throat, preventing any words from slipping past, “J-Jimin…”

“I’ll drop you off in the front, yeah? Take it as part of the ways you’re repaying me,”

“P-Parts?” You squeak, and Jimin doesn’t answer just yet, chuckling with that beautiful voice of his as he takes advantage at the green light, getting his car back onto the main road as he drives past the remaining blocks. Once reaching the front gates of your university, he doesn’t let you get off just yet.

“How about some dinner tomorrow night? Down at The Grand Marlin at seven?”

Trying to remain calm, you see if you’re on the same page as he is, “A-Are you serious about the whole sugar daddy thing…?”

He raises his brows and lowers them down, an act of teasing you as his voice spells out—“I am if you are,”

Biting back a smile, letting out a shy one, Jimin unlocks the door for you to open the door, in which you get out of the car without a word. He doesn’t know if it’s a good sign or a bad sign but he does know he appreciates the way you rake your hands through your hair, sparing him a grin as you murmur just for him, “See you at seven.”

The rest of your day had been better than you had expected. You pass the presentation with a grade that your lecturer seems to be pleased with, lunch was paid for by your friends and tonight your boss called in saying that your shift was taken over by a co-worker, so you need not come in. But this is where everything starts to sink in at the thought of Jimin when you’re reaching a friend’s dorm. Considering you live just next door, you decide to pop up because you need help.

“Wow, who the hell did you rob to get that?” Taehyung’s eyes grow wide, simply because he’s one of the few who knows of your dealings to earn money and there was no way you’d spend for another attire like that when it’s your last year in this hellhole. You laugh and step in, giving him a quick hug before you reach the sofa. He doesn’t let up on it, taking the seat beside you, looking at you dead in the eye, “I’m serious, Y/N. Who did you kill?”

“I’m about to tell you, alright? Jeez, let me breathe,”

He waits until you take three inhales and two exhales and that’s when he shakes you, “Tell me!”

“I don’t think you’re going to believe me,” Your voice is shaky, the same time you drop your bag to the side and he scoffs a laugh, rolling his eyes along the way. He brushes his brown hair back and leans against the arm of the sofa, grabbing onto a pillow to hug and tossing you one, “Please. I think after what happened with Jungkook, I believe everything is possible now. Try me,”

“I… got myself a sugar daddy. Or at least, I think so…?”

“Woah, okay, okay,” Taehyung takes in your words, the new information digesting in his system before he—“I was not expecting that. The closest I thought you would get is friends with benefits but a sugar daddy? Who the fuck begged on their knees to get fucked this time?”

Before you can answer, the hollering down from the hall has the both of you flinching, “Who got a sugar daddy?!”

Taehyung groans and tosses his head back, glaring at the face popping out and now seated by your other side, looking over your shoulder in excitement.

“Fuck off, Jungkook. She was just about to tell me!”

“Us,” He corrects, “Now proceed,”

“His name is Jimin and I met him earlier today by the sidewalk and—“

“You met your sugar daddy on the sidewalk?”

“Yes, Jungkook I met him on the sidewalk where the fuck do you think I was supposed to meet him? A five star hotel?”

“That would’ve been more believable,” Taehyung muses and Jungkook snorts, “I know, right?”

“Anyway,” Your voice is loud enough to get them to shut up and luckily, they do. “We’re going out for dinner tomorrow night and I don’t know what I should do,” Letting out a sigh, you look at the both of them, back and forth, “Help me?”

The both of them decide not to poke fun on this too much, Taehyung thinking of something to say, something not stupid but Jungkook’s faster, being the quick thinker. He places a hand on your shoulder, making you face him and Taehyung raises a brow to what he might propose, “Set rules of what you want. Like, what you’d do and what you wouldn’t do.”

“Ah, make sure he’s clean, too! Get tested. Together. Or not, up to you,”

“Make sure he signs it, too. Keep it valid and—“

“If you don’t enjoy it, call it off. The rules are there to validate what you’ve agreed to. If anything, we’re on your speed dials and—“

“Could you please the ever loving fuck stop cutting me off?” Taehyung hisses, to how how manages to smack his boyfriend over your shoulder and you bark with a laugh, leaning back on the sofa with your arm clutched onto the pillow, pressed to your stomach, “Oh my god,”

“I’m trying to make sure her sugar daddy doesn’t take her for granted! Most assholes are like that nowadays!”

“We don’t even know who he is!”

“Exactly! That’s why we need to be careful!”

“Oh, Y/N, I know just what you should wear,”

“Fuck me, why are we dating?” Jungkook groans, leaning back and giving up on saying anything while Taehyung hops off the sofa, patting your head and sparing a kick to Jungkook’s shin, “Shut the fuck up. You were the one who turned gay for me,”

As Taehyung scurries off to retrieve what he has in mind for your date, you only laugh at Jungkook’s reddening cheeks and snarky words, “Bitch! I’d turn gay for myself!”

There are perks when it came to having friends who are in the fashion designing course. They’d make lovely clothes with such detail that makes your eyes double over at what Taehyung had to offer you. It was one of his final projects, to which he had you model in a year ago and now, it seems like it paid off. What took him a month of planning and two weeks of execution (Jungkook almost getting a black eye for spilling soda on the fabric and him needing to reorder another roll of silk), now it fits like a glove.

You make an effort to do your make up, your hair and picking out one of your favorable shoes that wouldn’t be death to walk in. Heels are the way to go so you chose the ones you liked most. As you reach the place he’s talked off, you’re sure this is it. And boy oh boy, it’s as grand as the name itself. You’re not too sure if you know who you’re dealing with but now you most certainly do. As if yesterday wasn’t enough, this is ten times more.

The waiter smiles at you just as his co-worker opens the door for you to step through. He smiles at you and flips open his book, pen in his hand, “Hello there, miss…?”

“Y/N,” You answer, trying not to stammer and before you can mention the name you’re here for, he already gets it, “Ah, wait here. We’ll have someone show you the way,”

You try to process what’s going on, blinking at him, “I-I’m sorry?”

“This way, please,” Another voice calls for you and you try to keep up, earnestly not tripping over your heels as you walk, purse by your side (Jungkook got it during some trip, one for you, one for Taehyung). He brings you away from the big crowd, heading straight for what seems to be a private room and your heart stops when he opens the door, revealing Jimin inside looking like a fucking model that stepped out of a magazine.

He decided to drop down on his usual clothes, more for comfort but stylish nevertheless. In contrast to his black dress shirt and white coat, it’s replaced with just a white dress shirt, buttoned up to his chest, revealing enough skin and all the way down, jeans does justice to the curves of his bottom when he stands up to greet you. The waiter leaves the pair of you alone, closing the door and you step in, making your way towards him with your best not to fall over.

You reach him in time before you can make a fool out of yourself and his smile is so wide, his eyes are gone. As he puts an arm around you for a quick hug, you settle down first when he pulls the chair for you, then in as you lean forward. After a soft thank you, he’s in front of you now, on the opposite end with his eyes never leaving yours.

It’s like he’s full of surprises, much like you as a mirror and he’s not afraid to show he’s in awe with the way you look tonight. The white dress compliments your skin, the way it hangs on your shoulders and exposes a part of your back when you look around, a preview of what you have on and he knows you know when you smile back at him.

Before anything else can go on, he pulls out the menu and smiles, again, “Shall we order first?”

Taking the menu you have in front of you, this is the first time you’ve been here and you’re not too sure what to order. Blinking at the words you’ve never quite called out before, you look up to Jimin with a nervous look, “H-Hey, um… I’m not too sure what to order…”

“What do you like?” He questions, tipping his chin up, only to hear your answer of, “I like a lot of things,”

He laughs, but tries to get an answer, a narrowed scope of what he should suggest, “Any allergies?”

“No beef, no peanuts,”

“Seafood?”

“Surprise me.”

Jimin decides to do exactly that when he calls for the waiter with just a bell by the side of the table. On cue, a man walks through the door, the one that guided you here and he stands by Jimin’s side when he motions him over. Jimin orders the serving for two of lobsters, a side of oysters and what seems to be the special on the appettizer platter. He sums it all up with a nice bottle of white wine, in his favor of the year he specifies. When the door opens and closes once more, you’re left to folding your elbows on the table, keeping your eyes glued on him. He seems to take interest to do the same, raising a brow, “Yes?”

“How old are you?” The question slips out before you can stop yourself but Jimin doesn’t seem fazed. He chuckles and shakes his head, fringe brushing over his eyes as he answers, “I’m four years older than you. And you, for someone who’s quite hesitant to enter the boutique yesterday… you have quite the taste in clothes,”

Leaning back in your seat, you cross your legs and put your purse beside you, “My friend’s in the fashion design course. Considering I helped to be his model, this was something I could fit in to borrow,”

He rests his chin in his palm, finding the time to be cheeky, “With a face like yours, I would believe that you’re a model,”

“Dropping compliments now, are we?” You tilt your head at him and he shrugs, sighing, “What can I say? It’s in my nature,”

“Oh really? What do you do for a living?”

“Straight to the point, aren’t you, baby girl?” He coos, much to the pink blushing your cheeks and he chuckles as you clear your throat. “I work at a logistics company that belongs to my father—inherited and now running under my own hands. I juggle with that along with being a model sometimes, if Namjoon’s that desperate,” Squinting your eyes at him out of being playful, you tease, “Aren’t you a little successful?”

He snorts and moves his hands, resting them on his knees as he tries to remain humble, “One of the top young business leaders to enter the scene but it’s nothing, really,”

“Interesting,” You nod slowly, a smile playing on your lips and it’s his turn to flip the coin, eyeing you with certain curiosity that fills his cup, “What about you?”

“What about me…” You repeat his question, finding the easiest way to answer his question as you look up to him, “I’m currently in my final year. Scholarship on one of my two majors. Balancing two part time jobs and one side job while trying not to die halfway of finishing what I need to do to get my education,” Jimin’s mouth opens to say something, but you beat him to it, “Which reminds me,” He falls silent at the zipping of your purse and when you pull out a piece of folded paper, he only unfolds it after you slide it over and get him to read it.

It’s a typed out set of rules he has to agree with and he’s not going to lie, he’s impressed. Even with the whole ‘should I not abide by, any legal action should and would be taken upon’ and continuing on to what could happen and the consequences along with his spot to sign. He reads diligently and that’s when you know he is serious and he’s careful with everything he’s putting his signature on. Initially, there should be no flaw. But when he hands you back the paper, you notice the correction he adds in.

Frowning, you look up to him, “J-Jimin, no. I don’t need—“

“Either that or not at all. You decide,”

Seventh: Personal tutor… and gifts.

“What if I don’t want gifts?”

“What if you do?”

He sees that you’re not budging and that’s when he brings up to—“How about we leave that to be negotiable? The tutor thing, I agree.”

Biting his bait, you nod, taking out a pen to sign your name down, “Fine.”

Jimin does the same, with a smile and a fountain pen, “Great.”

Then there’s that—it’s done.

Well, and dinner is served.

Once full and sweetly taken in the dessert Jimin calls for after knowing your liking for ice cream, that’s when the bottle of wine comes down to nothing, empty as it clinks on the table and Jimin’s looking at you like you’re the first woman he ever saw. You refuse to let go of eye contact, a little hazy with the alcohol infused in your veins but it’s not too much where you miss the hint of arousal pooling in his eyes.

“Shall we head back to my apartment?” His voice is husky as each word grates past his throat and whether it’s him making you feel hot and bothered right now or the wine, you don’t know. You don’t care. “Yes, god, yes.”

During the ride back to his place, he does the little things that make your heart race even if you think it wouldn’t. He has a hand on your thigh, soft and gentle as he rubs his palm over the silky material of your dress. The low rumbling from the radio does nothing to calm your erratic heartbeat but when Jimin ever so casually spares you a glance every now and then, it seems to have an effect on you to calm down. He smiles at you and if that wasn’t enough to set your heart to a flight mode straight to the sky, you don’t know what is.

You hadn’t realize you’ve reached the destination until Jimin makes a move to give you a squeeze with the remaining hand on you. Flinching, you turn your cheek to come eye to eye with him. Since when did he lean in so close? His breath hitches but he doesn’t make a move. Instead, he gives a nudge with a light line over the tip of your nose with his own, his voice coming out in a soft whisper of air, “We’re here,”

Gulping, you regain composure and place your hand on his, giving it a nudge to have his palm slipping away and he catches the hint of skin that shows as the hem of your dress slides up. He’s certain he knows what you’re doing to him when you sway your hips with an extra twist as you stand up. His brows perk up but before he can savour the tinge of tease you’re seasoning him with, he gets a grip on himself, scoffing a laugh as he watches you get out from the car with minimal effort; standing in heels before you toss your hair over your shoulder as you look over it with a cheeky grin, as well as making his heart thrash from left to right with hard beats.

He’s following your cue to get out and he wraps his hand in yours naturally that it makes your head spin, dizzy from how tonight is filled with circles connecting one another to complete perfection. It’s more than you can ever ask for and for a brief moment, walking with him into the building with his smile curved up to please, you almost forget the initial reason why you’re here. But you can pretend for a while, right?

To be frank, you were rather nervous. Despite guidance from Taehyung (a hint of sass from Jungkook) and the preparations taken with the rules sealed down, it was hard to keep calm. Sure, you’ve had sex before. Getting paid and offering your body in return after? That was something new. Still, you keep to your youth and your will to show him you’re one hell of a surprise to begin with. And it seems like he’s on the same page without words when the both of you step into the confinement of his apartment.

From the dark walls with the pure white leather sofas lined up, your jaw drops. The chandelier hangs beautiful in the middle, dazzling lights twinkling as the moonlight glistens around the diamond carvings. The choice of white tiles is perfect with the slick, black marble tables of his choice—a square coffee table directly below said chandelier, lightbulbs hanging through the column of the corridor down to where you exactly think it leads to.

You had braced yourself for his place to look expensive, extravagant even but not to this extent as the splashes of gold compliments the black almost every corner you turn to, which is pretty much really. Jimin lets out a soft chuckle as he stares at your reaction. After putting your heels aside and closing the door, he thought you would’ve gotten used to it. But as he stands beside you, mischief eyes and a smirk, not yet, as it seems.

“I’ll take it as you like it?” He muses, velvet voice singing into your ears and it sends chills down to your spine, keeping you upright as you turn to look at him, “Please excuse my language but holy fuck this place is gorgeous,” You’re back to being in awe, much to Jimin’s laugh that echoes and bounces off the walls, into your ears that you repeat once more as your fingertips brush over the cold stone of a beautifully sculpted dragon beside you, “Fucking amazing…”

Jimin gives you a couple more seconds before he decides it’s time for you to have the stars in your eyes for something else rather than his furnishing and the interior of his apartment. He silently steps behind you, taking you by surprise when his arm is strong against your waist, yet with a certain delicacy that offers you a leeway to take charge. His fingers strum up to your hip, his other casually slipped into his pocket as he murmurs into your ear, “Let’s not get carried away now, shall we?”

You feel his chest tightening when you snicker, but he’s relaxing in an instant when you lean back, making sure the curve your back and all the way down touches somewhere Jimin’s confined for far too long since dinner. He gasps as you press yourself to him, voice breathy as you look over your shoulder, spelling them out on his lips and Jimin only wonders if he’s ever felt this hot and heavy before during his youthful years, “Bedroom.”

“Fuck me,” Jimin grunts, unable to resist the urge to twist you around, pressing his lips to yours with such urgency it’s making your stomach churn, toes curling with excitement. His arm remains against the lower of your back, right above your waist to lever you down as he parts his lips and drawls his tongue out on the seam of your lips. He feels your grin before you grant him permission to kiss you deeper and with the leg that trails up his ankle, over his calf, up to his thigh as your legs hug him closer, he stutters and his teeth clicks with yours. Chuckling, you sling your arms around his neck, tugging his collar down, revealing enough so you can attach your lips to his skin. He gasps, an arm keeping you near, his other hand raking through your hair as you start to suck and nibble on his flesh; the mix of purple and red threatening to form as you murmur in between, “C’mon, handsome. This is your apartment,”

Growling, Jimin gives a tug on your hair enough to make your stomach clench. A mewl drawn from your lips as he pins you with eyes filled with lust and need you can’t resist. “Jump,” He orders, hands already flicking your dress up, enough for your legs to move freely. His arms come around to steady you as you do as you’re told. Legs wrapped around his figure, steady hands balancing you carefully as if you’re a fine piece of china he can’t bear to break, he’s the one trying not to break as he makes his way to his bedroom. For a moment, he goes blank and forgets how to coordinate his body when you’re doing things that makes his head suffocate in the haze of pleasure. Your tongue licks a stripe on the skin of his neck, hips rutting in his that gets him to stop walking. The slam against the cement of the wall has you whimpering, despite the material of the dress softening the impact, the exposed part of your back regrets being out in the open.

“Keep doing that and we’re going to play dirty, baby girl,” He grits past his teeth, hot and heavy breath after breath and his half-lidded eyes drives you insane. Much similar to your bruised lips and teary eyes from the pleasure, yet, fearless like your age as you lean forward to coax him out with your lips on his. He groans, pulling you off the wall, resuming his pace towards his bedroom and he signals the arrival when a door clicks shut behind the you.

Again, if he had assumed this was going down the way he wanted like in the movies, he had another thing coming.

As he settles down on the bed, seated, your hips encasing his the way it should be, his eyes snap open as your lips detach from his and you’re on your feet. His hands move faster than his mind, grasping onto your hips, “H-Hey—“

“I’m not going anywhere,” You assure him, in a voice that’s thick as honey, smothering down his lips and over his jaw before he looks at you with a panting chest. Easing your hands on his shoulders, you give him a short massage to get him to relax, in which he does when his breathing regulates and his eyes are dark as the night as he stares at your every move. When you have him where you want him, which is now, beneath you and staring up to you for mercy, it’s where it starts; the point of beginning and there’s no going back.

One of your hand trails up to his black locks, running your fingers through them and the other snaking down to his chest; voice of pure sin as it slithers into Jimin’s ears, spelling out the meaning of eurphoria with light, taunting touches.

“So, do you remember what the rules are or am I going to have to repeat them for you… Jiminie?”

He gapes at you taking charge, daring to call him with a nickname out of nowhere despite him being older and just getting comfortable. Either way, he doesn’t seem to mind, legs propping open wider, head tipped up to match yours lingering down as he voices out what he thinks. “I believe I’ve got everything in check…” His hands trail up to your bottom, gripping onto your cheeks firmly as he smirks at your moan, head falling back. “…but a reminder couldn’t hurt,”

Oh, it’s going to hurt. You smirk, keeping your thoughts discrete with your plan as you’re quick to reincorporate with his gameplay. Balancing one hand on his shoulder, you reach back for one of his, drawing it up to reach the zipper of your dress. His breath hitches as you make him drag it down in a tantalizing pace, yet, your voice filling in the spaces between when it’s starting to get quiet. That’s the last thing that’s going to happen tonight.

“First off,” Jimin reaches the end as the words roll off your tongue and he can’t help but stare as you force his hands to follow yours, peeling the clothing off starting with the straps from your shoulders. You hadn’t notice how cold his fingertips are but they’re easily heating up when they graze over your skin, scraped off like wildfire when the lines slide off and they hang around your waist, revealing the lacy lingerie you had put on for him. He’s shameless as he stares at what you have to offer; white wrapped around the crevices and Jimin licks his lips in anticipation. He’s about to touch but just as he does, your hand grabs his chin, directing them up to your eyes as your voice is apprehensive, his dick kicking at the bass of your tone, “You fuck me and only me,”

He resumes what he has in mind, taking over briefly as he drifts his hand down, squeezing your breasts generously and it hikes up a whine of his name. “Second,” He rasps, swallowing any doubts and he’s swift with his clothes, completely removing his dress shirt; unbuttoning one and pulling it off his head when he’s gotten that out of the way. He takes pride in his body, smirking at the way your hands nimbly brush over the expanse of his chest, down to his abdomen and then to the line of his jeans. When your eyes wander a bit too far where he want you to, it’s his turn to cup your chin, nudging it back up as he lines his eyes straight to yours with a look so intense, you feel your knees buckling, “You fuck me and only me,”

The feeling is mutual when you’re nodding, dropping to your knees and guiding him to get his jeans out of the way. When he’s flicked his belt open, he straps it off and tosses it to the side, the clink hitting the floor reminding you of what’s left undone that you continue speaking. “Third,” You rise up to your feet when he shimmies his jeans off, with your guide to tug them off and to the side where it’s out of your reach. You’re about to finish your sentence but he decides to stand, maneuvering you around to push you down onto the bed and you’re having quite the view as he drags his underwear down and off, his hard length smacked to his stomach almost instantaneously after. He’s thick and with a length you know you’ll enjoy, the licking of your lips has him chuckling as he strokes your cheek with his hand, gazing into your eyes lovingly as if he’s not bare and hard for you, “You were saying?”

“G-Getting tested. Together,” Your words are barely audible but he catches the words as he hums, stalking off to the drawers and pulling out what you assume is a condom. When he returns, he drops the packet at the sight of you with your lingerie in your hands, following where the condom lies when your fingers release the lacy material. He gapes, eyes widening at your bare body glowed with the moonlight. Your eyes point at the shiny silver packet on the floor and he picks it up hastily, stumbling back to you and tackling down on the bed with his lips desperate to kiss you.

He moans when you rake your nails down his back, his lips kissing you everywhere possible when he travels down your body, worshipping almost every part as he goes. He stops at the spot where you want him but he doesn’t give it to you until you continue speaking, “Fourth,” Your breath almost gets stuck in your throat when he hums, sliding a finger into your wet heat and you’re going delirious. Jimin seems to adore the way your back arches, voice hoarse and your hand coming down to his head for support, “F-Fuck, Jimin—four…“ Your voice trails of a bit, out of track before you gain some senses to continue speaking.

“Fourth,” You repeat, just as he’s adding another finger, pumping in with ease and you cry out when his fingers glide in with minimal effort. He rises up to your body, fingers hooked inside of you as he kisses your cheek, his other hand pinning you down by the waist as he continues to prep you, sliding his fingers in and out as he murmurs, “Go on, I’m listening,”

You clutch onto his wrist, forbidding his hand from continuing just to get out in a rushed breath, past your heavily blushing cheeks and sweaty skin, “Aftercare is essential,”

“Of course,” His words are promising, actions even more when your grip loosens and he shoves in three fingers to stretch you nicely, voice pitching up through the cry of his name as you grab onto his shoulders. He circles an arm around your waist to hold you there, his fingers never stopping to get you wetter and his movements are languid, pace kicking up in speed to have you whining in his neck, thighs trembling. He slows down to let you breathe, your chest expanding as he leans to press his forehead on yours to say, “Fifth—kinks are talked of before proceeding. Consent is needed,”

Mustering a cracked okay past your sore throat, you kiss him and he gladly obliges, removing his fingers and you feel him searching around your lower region with moist fingers. You’re about to question him, or in this case, maybe state out another rule but then he touches you right there and your body surges through with pleasure. He grins when he manages to find your clit, using two fingers, the lubrication of your arousal to press tight circles and it’s making your jaw grow slack, “J-Jimin!”

“Sixth,” He ignores your pleas, the desperate clutching on his shoulders as he gets you to speak, “What’s the sixth one, baby girl?”

Your eyes clench shut when he rests his thumb on your clit, three fingers used earlier to dive in past your folds and you’re in the verge of tears as you choke on your own voice. He shows you a bit of mercy, easing his thumb movements to slow rubs and his fingers stilling from inside, allowing you to think straight. Past your blinked tears and stained cheeks, you look up to him to murmur, “A-Any day is fine, except—“

“Thursdays,” He finishes for you, maybe to showcase that he truly cares and listens but you don’t question too much on it, until he adds in, “Double shifts, I know,”

In the midst of heavy breathing and reddened skin, you manage to smile at him, the same time he does to you as if his fingers isn’t in the middle of fucking you ready, “You remember,”

His brows does that thing—raising a little out of cockiness, remaining the humble side of him when he doesn’t overdo it. He reminds you of the current situation and that’s when your hands fall to grasp onto the sheets instead (whatever this is made of, you’ll apologize for being too rough on it later). His thumb harshly digs into your clit and his fingers curl where his fingertips brush upon a spot that has your voice ragged, in contrast to his smoothly filling your ears, “I take this very seriously, don’t you know that?” He puts emphasis as he gives you thrusts with the flick of his wrists.

“Oh God,” Your hand snatches onto his, away from your folds as you look up to him, “I do know I’m gonna come if you keep doing that,”

“And what’s wrong with that?” He cocks an eyebrow, only to have it falter when you smirk because he’s not the only one with confidence to dirty talk, “Wouldn’t you want me to with your cock?”

“Fucking—“Jimin doesn’t even finish his sentence, moving around to grab onto the condom where he rips the packet apart without hesitation, the foil coming off and the latex rolling on as you taunt him by dragging your fingers on his thighs, which they flex under your touch and you gasp. He turns back to you with a gaze so lustful, your lungs contract at the lack of air, mouth agape as you grab his neck and lure him down to kiss you, supply the air you need to breathe. He steadies himself with a grip on the headboard, his other lining himself up and just as he slides in, he presses his palm down on your stomach the same time you press your lips up to his.

Moans are exchanged, tongues mingle with one another as your hands slide up his thighs to his waist, holding him there as he reaches all the way in, deep in you, lips no different as he kisses you fervently. Your hands move back up, one resting on the spot on his shoulder, the other raking up through his hair and then tugging him back so you can speak, “Seven,” You exhale deeply, trying to adjust to his size, making it seem like him being balls deep in you isn’t anything sinful at all as you try to get the words out right. His eyes widen, dilating with the need to listen when this isn’t part of the rules.

“No gifts. I just want a personal tutor,”

His hold on the headboard releases, so he has a hand to brush the hair away from your face, his hovering above yours as he says, “We didn’t exactly agree on that. What if I want to get you a tutor and buy you gifts?”

“Doesn’t work that way, old man,” You grunt, legs wrapped around his figure, using the heel of your foot to knead into his bottom to get him growling, “I’m only four years older,”

“Still older,” You poke your tongue past your lips, that like a switch completely loses humor when he tests what he’s up for with the rolling of his hips, a little reminder that he’s in you. You whimper when he pulls out, clenching around nothing but air until he slides back in, grasping onto your chin and tilting it down so he can kiss you again. Again and again as he thrusts harder and faster, to the point where you’re about to forget everything and anything, tossed into the oblivion except for the letters of his name when they fall out from your lips like a symphony.

He holds down your wrists by the sides of your head and that slowly transitions to his hands slipping into yours, fingers coming between as you rock your body up to his, meeting each thrust halfway that drags Jimin’s jaw down to moan your name into the air clouded with sex and heat. You can tell past your half-opened eyes when he pulls away, thumping his forehead on yours, his pace relentless as he chases for your orgasm, that he wants to speak. But when you’re clenching your walls down on him, moaning his name in a voice that cracks his train of thought, he’s losing it.

But he’ll make sure you’re losing it first.

His hands pry away from yours, sweat trickling down your temples and he wipes them away before he glides his hand down between your bodies. You’re holding onto him, hands clutched onto his shoulders that escalates to nails down his back then arms around his neck as he reaches for your clit once more. You cry out when he has the nerve to lazily nudge his thumb on your clit, cursing into his shoulder, biting his flesh before you payback with a harsh clench that gets him riled up to the edge.

He picks it up, rough thrusts and rigidly grinding his thumb harder until you feel nothing but his touch, his cock thrusting in and out and him, him, him. “J-Jimin—I’m gonna—oh fuck!” Jimin seems to understand what’s about to happen; the telltales of you coming as your thighs quake, the grip around him contracting and the erratic clenches of your muscles as Jimin fucks you through to pleasure. You spill and coat him with your release and Jimin doesn’t think he’ll ever get a better sight of you thrashing beneath him, moaning his name out and the syllables travel straight to his cock as he pulsates inside of you. He stutters on his thrusts and that’s when you find the strength to flip him over despite how strong he is and from his protest, it snaps into a sharp cry when you sink down on him and get him to lose control.

With a few precise rolling of your hips, he comes with a loud moan when you punctuate your words: come for me, Jiminie, each syllable milking his release until Jimin’s letting out a string of profanities in various versions that has you chuckling as you ride out your highs. His room gathers the sound of heavy breaths and slick movements of skin upon skin that slide with the ease of sweat. Even with that, neither of you move, Jimin growing soft and a mess of residue left on his bed but he doesn’t mind.

He takes his cue to roll over on his bed, slipping out from you as he bends down to kiss you. It brings a smile to your face, lethargically kissing him back as your hands come up to frame his face with such delicacy in contrast to how you were gripping and scratching him a moment ago—and in this case, Jimin likes both. A smile forms as he pulls away, locking eyes with you and it’s hard to keep up but you do when he spares you one more kiss on your lips.

You realize he’s speaking once he gets up from his bed, removing the used condom into the bin and returning with a damp cloth after. Still, he notices how you don’t decipher his words even after he chuckles, so he decides not to speak about it just yet. He gets you clean, warm and purring out of delight. He pulls you to the spot on the bed that’s slightly cleaner and tucks you in his arms after. The blanket comes of your naked bodies and Jimin rests his chin on your shoulder, firm chest pressed up to your back as your limbs tangle together. Your hands slide over his forearms and you look over your shoulder, finally processing his voice as he repeats what he said not too long ago.

“Eight, I’m paying whatever that’s left for your tuition fees,”

Eyes growing into confusion, lips curling to a frown, you lick your lips and turn around in Jimin’s hold, to which he still keeps his arms around you, “J-Jimin, no. No, I can’t accept that—“

“Either that or gifts. Which one would you prefer?” You forget that you’re dealing with someone who’s mighty good in persuasion and that you can’t quite argue with him even if you wanted to. Although he’s given you reasons not to reject, it’s hard. Money doesn’t fall from the sky and you’re certain Jimin’s taken quite a while to gathered up the amount he has now. Doesn’t matter if he has a mountain or a swimming pool filled with checks, you can’t.

“Jimin… I really, really can’t… The tutor was our agreement,”

“So was the gifts,” He pins you with a look, one that you pout at with hands gingerly playing behind his neck, “But the tutor was practical… gifts are not…”

“They are to me,” He speaks up, nudging you closer and planting a tender kiss to your forehead that you can’t differentiate if he did that out of affection or if he wants to make you feel better. Either way, you’re not complaining. “So here’s what. I’ll pay for your fees, limit to getting you gifts once a month and you can pay the tutor on your own. Sound fair?”

Grinning, your eyes curl up to something Jimin thinks is one of the most endearing things ever; the way they disappear when you smile too hard, your arms slipped around him tight as you lean into his shoulder. He gladly welcomes you in and kisses the side of your head. He strokes your hip with his fingers, then smoothening over your skin on your back all over as you take in deep breaths, fanning his neck. He leans back and the last thing he sees before he closes his eyes is the beauty of your smile playing on your lips.

#network bangtan #bts scenarios #bangtan bookclub #jimin scenarios #park jimin #jimin #sugardaddy!jimin #this still makes me happy #after 4 years who would've thought i'd reupload this #i'll edit this later but for now i'll leave this here because my goodness #oh mY

106 notes · View notes

kk095 · 4 years

Text

Late Night Holdup

***here's my latest story. It may need some additional editing, but I hope everyone enjoys!***

Grace was a 32 year old single mother of 2. She was a pleasantly plump white woman who stood at 5'5 with straight brown hair, blue eyes, and had a small tattoo on top of her left foot. Since money was a little tight and the kid's father wasn’t in the picture, she worked 2 jobs: 1 as a housekeeping manager at a local hotel, and a 2nd part time job as an overnight cashier at a gas station convenience store.

Typically, the overnight shift at the gas station wasn’t a big deal. The crowds were pretty light, and she’d be able to be home with her kids during the day. The store owner was pretty laid back as well; he didn’t mind if Grace listened to music or played games on her phone when nobody was in the store.

The night in question started off like many others she’s worked before. It was a Thursday night into Friday morning, and weeknights like this were usually slow. She was set to work from 11pm to 7am that night, and arrived at approximately 10:50pm to start her shift.

There were a small handful of customers between 11 and 1am, but the store became a ghost town after that. To kill the silence and boredom, Grace played some games on her phone for the next little while.

Around 1:45am, a man arrived on foot and walked into the convenience store. He was a tall, thin white man who was around 6’2 or 6’3. He was wearing a gray zip up hoodie with the hood up with baggy, worn out jeans, and a pair of red Nike shoes. His complexion was rather pasty and some of his facial features appeared to be sunken in rather than chiseled, giving him the appearance of someone who partakes in hard drug use. The man browsed up and down the aisles of the store, grabbing a butterfinger and a small bottle of pepsi. When he approached the register, he put the 2 items down and asked grace for a pack of Newport red shorts. While Grace walked over to the area where cigarettes were kept, the man pulled out a short barreled Smith&Wesson 357 magnum revolver from his waistband.

When Grace turned back around, she dropped the pack of cigarettes, taken aback by the sight of a gun being pointed in her direction. “gimme what’s in the register and what’s in the safe.” The robber demanded. Grace stood still like a deer in headlights with her hands up. “listen bitch, I don’t wanna hurt you! Now get me the fuckin cash!” the robber yelled, quickly growing impatient. “um… uh… I can’t do the safe. The store owner has the key…” Grace replied, absolutely terrified. “well figure it out! Let’s hurry this shit up!” the criminal shouted. Grace fought back tears, handing the man what was in the register. She was then escorted at gunpoint to the back room where the storm’s safe was. “I… I can’t do the safe, I swear!” A teary eyed Grace said, trying to plead with the man. “Oh come on! Can’t you call the manager or some shit?!” the gunman asked impatiently. “um... I…” Grace lost her train of thought, looking at the barrel of the loaded pistol once again. The robber started to grow impatient and began screaming and berating Grace. Grace was now in tears. “Please… don’t hurt me… I have 2 kids…” grace cried, trying to appeal the man’s emotions a bit, but it was no use.

While the gunman continued to yell and berate Grace about the safe, a 2nd customer walked in. “Hello? Anyone here?” a male voice asked. The voice caught the robber off guard. He jumped a little bit and accidentally squeezed the trigger, firing off 1 shot. Initially, Grace thought the shot missed her. But when she looked down, she saw a small, circular blood stain on her shirt in her left chest. “oh my God… did I get shot?!” she blurted out, surprised at the turn of events. The customer who just entered the store heard the gun shot and made a beeline for the exit. The man had enough common sense to pull out their phone and call 911. The call was the following:

911 operator: 911, what is your emergency?

Man: I was at the gas station and I heard a gunshot. I think there’s a robbery going on in there!

911 operator: alright sir, what is the location of your emergency?

Man: uhhh… I’m at the shell gas station on 3rd Avenue south.

911 operator: alright sir, police and EMS have been dispatched. Can you tell me if you or anyone else is hurt?

Man: I’m fine, but I don’t know what’s going on in there. I wasn’t gonna stick around!

There’s a pause in the call for a few moment. The robber sprints out of a side exit and the 911 caller witnesses this.

Man: I see a man running out of the building with a gun!

911 operator: can you tell me what he looks like?

Man: um.. tall white dude, gray hoodie. He’s got a revolver! He’s running full speed towards kings highway! Hurry!

Over the following few minutes, the 911 operator instructs the witness to remain on the line and stay a safe distance away from the convenience store as a safety precaution and so the crime scene wouldn’t be contaminated.

In the following minutes, an ambulance and what seemed like an army of police cars flooded the scene with sirens and lights on full blast. Once a police presence was established at the scene, multiple cops entered the building with guns drawn. “Lee County sheriff’s! Put your hands up and drop your weapons!” the head officer yelled out with conviction. The sheriffs received no response, so they advanced further into the store. They scanned each aisle and behind the register counter and found nobody. When they got into the back room, the found Grace laying up against the wall. She was crying and covering up her own wound with her hands. “we’ve got 1 down back here! Get EMS in here!” one of the cops ordered.

EMS entered the building with a police escort. They were taken to the back room where the sage was and began examining Grace. The paramedics snipped off her shirt and bra, revealing her large d cup breasts. “entry wound left chest, nasty exit wound left shoulderblade. Might be a hollow point bullet.” One of the medics called out. The medics then set up 2 large bore IVs (1 in each arm) and hung a bag of ringer’ lactate to begin fluid resuscitation. Pain medications and a round of valium were given for pain management and calming. A portable heart monitor with 5 lead ECG was then set up on Grace. On scene, her vital signs were: BP 78/46, Pulse 128, pulse ox 96%. The entry and exit wounds were then bandaged up with some gauze pads, and Grace was placed on a gurney. A blanket was thrown over her top half and she was whisked out of the building and into an ambulance which waited nearby.

While Grace was loaded into the ambulance, the sheriff’s department began their investigation. They took a statement from the 911 caller, and ended up finding a Smith&Wesson 357 magnum revolver with 1 missing bullet in the storm’s dumpster. The next step was to contact the store owner to notify them of the incident and to gain access to the store's security cameras to see if there’s any incriminating evidence on video and to see if the shooter can be positively identified.

During transport, EMS removed the rest of Grace’s clothes along with her socks and shoes to assess her full body for additional gunshot wounds. The medics only noticed the 1 entry and exit wound in Grace’s thorax. Grace remained hypotensive and tachycardic during the ambulance ride, and began crying hysterically. “it’s gonna be ok! You’ve got 2 kids you’ve gotta live for!” the medic told Grace in an attempt to calm her down.

It too about 10 minutes to arrive at the ER, and time wasn’t exactly on Grace’s side in this instance. She was still awake and alert upon arrival, but her complexion was fading and she had a cool, clammy skin. “Am I gonna die?!” Grace cried out, asking the ER staff as she was being wheeled into a trauma bay.

Once in the trauma room, Grace was transferred onto the table and the blanket came off. She laid nude in a room full of strangers. The trauma team quickly began barking orders to one another in regards to Grace’s treatment. 4 units of unmatched O-negative blood, 2 units of platelets, and 2 units of FFP were on standby from the blood bank since the massive transfusion protocol was suggested by EMS when the called into the ED. A chest x-ray done, showing a left sided tension pneumothorax with mediastinal shift and a slight tracheal deviation to the right side. Essentially, the loss of normal air pressure in the chest cavity shifted everything in the opposite direction. The treatment for this is a chest tube insertion on the injured side in order to re-inflate the injured lung, and get rid of air and blood trapped in the thoracic cage. While a chest tube tray was being prepped, a FAST scan was performed. The chest portion of the scan showed pericardial effusion with pericardial laceration on the anterior side. The abdominal and pelvic areas came back clean, to nobody’s surprise.

Grace was in and out of consciousness during the FAST scan and chest tube tray preparation. “stay with us miss!” a nurse said, doing a sternal rub on Grace, to which she groaned in response. Next, the left ribcage was sterilized. A 1 inch incision was made with an 11 blade scalpel in between Grace’s ribs. Grace moaned, feeling the scalpel’s every move during the quick cut. Once the underlying muscle and fatty tissue were cut through, a long, flexible tube was placed into the small incision site. Grace moaned loudly in tremendous pain, feeling the large tube being shoved into the side of her chest while she was still conscious. Air came from the tube at first, making a sound similar to a fart. After the air exited, approximately 700ML of blood shot from the tube and onto one of the doctor’s yellow trauma gowns and onto the floor below. The injuries inside of Grace’s chest appeared to be worse than originally anticipated, so more blood products were ordered and a round of vasopressors were pushed in order to maintain blood pressure. However, the sudden loss of that much blood caused Grace to pass out. The trauma team did a sternal rub on Grace, but she didn’t respond. Since she became unconscious and had unstable vitals, airway management became an immediate concern. The trauma team decided to perform rapid sequence intubation at that point. A 7.0 ET tube was navigated into the woman’s airway. Once it was in the correct place, it was held in place with a blue tube holder, and an ambu bag was attached.

Grace continued to lose blood at a faster rate than it could be replaced, so she began to deteriorate rapidly. Shortly after intubation, Grace’s BP began to take a nosedive. Since pericardial effusion was noticed on the FAST scan, the trauma team decided to perform a parasternal pericardiocentesis in an attempt to buy the young woman a few minutes to make it to the OR for emergency surgery.

As large, fine spinal needle was picked up and a small catheter drain was attached to the back of it. The needle was placed in the 6th intercostal space at the left sternal border. The needle was sent further into the chest, being navigated by the cardiac notch of the left lung, and into the lining of the heart itself. The plunger of the needle was pulled back, and the body of the needle and the attached catheter filled up with clotted blood. Her vital signs didn’t improve, so the catheter was swapped out with a new one and the procedure was repeated. This time, fresh blood filled the needle’s body rather quickly. After the needle was withdrawn, a repeat echo was performed.

While this repeat echocardiogram was being performed, Grace lost a pulse. Deep, violent chest compressions were immediately started on the woman. Her large, natural breasts bounced rhythmically while her flabby belly bounced outwards. The heart monitors showed pulseless electrical activity, so epinephrine and atropine were injected into an IV site.

The medication didn’t have an immediate effect, so chest compressions continued. Grace’s chest caved in and a few of her ribs popped, causing some bruising and redness in between her breasts. The ET tube became clogged up with blood, so suction had to be applied in order to re-establish her airway. A small, flexible plastic tube was placed into the breathing tube. A slurping sound was heard as blood was being suctioned out. Afterwards, the ambu bag was reattached and artificial respiration was restored.

At the 3 minute mark of the code, the next dose of drugs were pushed intravenously since PEA was still being displayed. After a few cycles of harsh compressions, a shockable rhythm was obtained. The defibrillator paddles were gelled and charged to 200j. Once everyone backed away, the paddles were pressed up against Grace’s bare chest, and the shock was delivered. A thunk was heard as the dose of electricity was sent into her lifeless body. With no change resulting from the first shock, a cycle of compressions were performed and the defibrillator paddles were recharged to 300j. Shock #2 caused Grace’s body to jolt abruptly on the table, with her arms flailing a bit. But once again, Grace remained in v-fib. Chest compressions were resumed and the defibs were charged to 360j. The third shock made Grace’s feet kick up into the air just above the table before crashing back down, showing off the thick, meaty wrinkles in the soles of her size 8 feet. The monitors showed no change whatsoever, so the same cycle of CPR and defibrillation was repeated to no avail.

Following that 4th shock, the trauma team decided to perform a left anterolateral thoracotomy in a desperate attempt to manage bleeding/injuries, and restart her heart. Betadine was splashed all over the left side of Grace’s bare chest. With CPR ongoing just a few inches away, an incision was made in the 5th intercostal space. The cut began at the sternal border, across the chest, underneath the left breast, and ending a few inches shy of the left armpit. With the first cut out of the way, the underlying tissue had to be snipped away. After the underlying tissue was dealt with, the rib spreader was placed into the fresh, crude looking cut in Grace’s chest. A popping and cracking sound filled the room as her ribs were forcefully pushed apart.

A significant amount of blood was present upon entrance to the chest cavity. The blood pooled onto Grace’s flabby torso, on the table, and on the floor below. Suction was applied to the area and surgical sponges were placed in the incision area, but that failed to ameliorate the problem. Since blood was blocking the team’s line of sight, the decided to place a 2nd chest tube for additional blood drainage. The 2nd tube was quickly placed, evacuating an additional 1200ML of blood. More blood products were hung, but Grace was as white as a ghost. The 2nd chest tube drained a sufficient amount of blood, and clamps were subsequently placed on the descending aorta and left pulmonary hilum.

The pericardium was incised, relieving tamponade to some extent, and delivering the heart. A small bullet hole was discovered in the anterior pericardium and subsequently plugged up, but the other damaged structures were yet to be identified. In the meantime, internal massage was started while the internal paddles were being readied. A wet, squishing sound was heard while Grace’s fibrillating heart was manually pumped. Her heart began to feel firm, but light from the excessive blood loss.

After a cycle of internal compressions, the internal paddles were ready for use. The large, spoon shaped paddles were lowered into the patient’s chest around her fidgeting heart. Once everyone backed away, a 20j shock was delivered directly into Grace’s heart. Her torso jolted quickly from the small dose of electricity, but her heart continued to fibrillate. Since there was no change, internal massage was resumed and the internal paddles were recharged to 30j. A dull, wet thump was heard after the next shock. The shock failed to convert Grace from v-fib, so internal compressions were resumed. Epinephrine and atropine were pushed once again, along with the first dose of bicarb in an attempt to ameliorate the situation. The internal paddles were once again ready to go, and they were lowered back into the exposed chest cavity, around her twitching heart. The 40j shock was delivered, causing Grace’s toes to curl slightly, again wrinkling the soles of her feet. Post shock, her toes relax and the code goes on.

Grace received 3 more internal defibrillator shocks, several rounds of internal compressions, and 2 more rounds of drugs, but her heart just wouldn’t restart and her pupils were fixed and dilated. Unfortunately, time of death was called on Grace at 2:29am while she was still in v-fib.

The ambu bag was detached and the chirping monitors were switched off. The EKG electrodes were plucked off and additional equipment was removed while her heart fired off its last few frantic, useless signals. Her body was covered up and a toe tag was placed before being sent off to the hospital morgue.

Her autopsy revealed she died from left atrial rupture and partial detachment of the pulmonary veins. The pulmonary veins became partially dislodged from the left atrium, bleeding out into the pericardium and chest cavity.

10 days after Grace’s tragic death, her killer was apprehended by local police. The shooter was identified as 28 year old Jason “JJ” Walton. Walton is a known drug user and has prior convictions for narcotics possession and burglary. Walton was convicted of 2nd degree murder, armed robbery, unlawful possession of a firearm, discharging a firearm on public, and a probation violation for a prior arrest. He was subsequently sentenced to 55 years in state prison for his crimes.

56 notes · View notes

wolfpawn · 4 years

Text

I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 145

Chapter Summary - Tom and Danielle play online Scrabble as Tom confesses his thoughts on Danielle's answer, prompting Ben to call in Sophie to aid them, though Sophie is less the comforting ear and more the forward talking and admittedly selfish friend.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

Apparently, Tom is a self-professed Scrabble lover and is apparently (again, according to him) quite good at it. I used this because I was playing it the other night and was able to use batata, much to the annoyance of my competition ;D I thought it a cute addition for Tom and Elle.

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1 @black-ninja-blade

Tom chuckled at his phone screen.

'Dare I ask?' He turned his head slightly to see Ben beside him. The men waiting boredly for the next part of their press tour to start.

'Elle sent me a link yesterday, we are playing Scrabble between work since.'

'Tom, I say this as a friend and with great caring for you, but you two have to be the biggest pair of nerds I have ever met.' Ben grinned playfully. Tom gave him a bemused glare. 'So, who's winning?'

'I am.'

'I take it she is not taking such lying down?'

'That goes without saying.'

'What is she doing now?'

'If I knew that, I could predict the game and guarantee victory.'

'I meant workwise, Smartass.'

'She is just back from a meeting in LA. She has two days of office work, then she has to go to France for five days of on-set work.'

'She's a busy woman.' Ben smiled. 'Is she coming to the London premiere, Sophie is.'

'I asked her, I have her space reserved, Luke is preparing as though she is, but we'll see.'

'You don't sound overly confident.'

'I was talking to Luke this morning, who is also liaising with her regarding it all and he believes the same as I do, that she is incredibly overwhelmed with the idea. He thinks she sounds terrified. I think she will refuse to go.'

'Do you want me to ask Sophie to talk to her about it?' Ben offered, knowing that his wife would gladly do so.

'No...I don't think she would like that. She may perceive it as me trying to pressure her into going. I want her to want to be there.'

'I'll tell her specifically not to make it seem like an attempt to do that, but just to talk to her in general, face to face, as two women in the same situation.'

Tom thought about it for a moment. 'Please stipulate that the goal is not to make an attempt to force her to go, that's not fair to her. It may mean she will never want to go to an event again. Just ask her to see if she is interested or not and to see if it is something simple she is fretting over or if it is more complex.'

'We are home for two days because of this anyway, so that gives you two days to talk things over with her when you're there, but until then, Sophie can lend an understanding ear.'

'Thank you, Ben.' Tom smiled before looking at his phone. 'I'm just worried about.....Batata?'

'Excuse me?' Ben looked at him with a look of utter confusion on his face.

'That can't be a regulation word, can it?'

'What are you on about?'

'Batata, that's surely not a word.'

Finally realising Tom was referring to a word that Danielle had used in their game, Ben shrugged. 'I have no idea.' He confessed. 'I certainly never heard of it.'

'It's another word for sweet potatoes, apparently.' Both men looked at Tom Holland, who was looking at his phone having Googled the word. 'And yeah, it's recognised in Scrabble, all editions.'

'Damn, she's good.' Tom growled in annoyance as he looked at the extra points he accumulated from her word going over particular squares.

'Do they do this often?' Tom Holland asked Ben, who was chuckling to himself as he sat down closer the younger Brit.

'Well, online Scrabble is new, but generally, this is par for the course with them.' Ben answered.

'So...what's their deal?'

'How do you mean?'

'Well, he doesn't really talk about her to anyone but you, so...are they not going out long or something?'

'He has been seeing Danielle for over a year and a half, they live together, have pets together and are very serious. She doesn't like the limelight so she doesn't like to be referenced too often and Sophie and I know her and see her a lot so of course, he would talk about her with me. I think she met Hemsworth too, but other than that, I don't think she knows anyone on this.'

'Is she an actress?'

'No, not her scene.'

'Where's she from?'

'Ireland.'

'Hey, my mum's from there.'

'You can tell her that next week.' Ben smiled.

'What does she do?'

'Cheat at Scrabble with made-up words.' Tom growled, his attention still on his phone.

Ben shook his head at Tom's comment. 'She is a partner in a Set Safety Management firm, she's a safety officer.' He informed Holland.

'Cool.' With his curiosity sated, the younger Tom went back to the chat he had been involved in with his phone.

Shaking his head slightly took out his own phone and contacted his wife.

Danielle looked suspiciously at her phone, wondering why Sophie was so adamant on them meeting. She agreed and started to tidy her office for the end of the day and ready to meet the other woman. When she entered the house and walked into the kitchen, she looked around. 'Where's Kit?'

'Ben's parents have him. Sadly someone was feeling terribly clingy today and didn't want to go.'

'Well, of course, Mam's are great fun and when they have people around it's even more fun.' Danielle smiled playfully at Hal who gurgled happily.

'Where are your "babies"?' Sophie asked, knowing that Danielle deplored dogs being referred to as children.

'My dogs are in Kennels. I was away and with being so busy today and tomorrow and going then again the day after, I thought they'd be best to stay there. They love it there.'

'So are you back in time for the premiere then?'

'Yeah.' Danielle answered cautiously.

'Are you going to go?'

'I said I would consider it.' Danielle watched Sophie for her reaction.

'You should, it will be interesting, especially when the cast were all doing the photos and autographs, I have no idea who is going though.'

'Tom, Ben, Tom Holland, Sebastian Stan, Paul Bethany, Letitia Wright, Elizabeth Olsen, the Russo's.' Danielle listed, thinking through the names as she said the.

'How do you know that?'

'Tom told me, they're all being swapped around to do different things with other members of the cast so of course they know where they are personally going so they were talking about who would be in London.'

'So, come.' Sophie pleaded.

'Has Tom put you up to this?'

'No, I was specifically told not to badger you about it in any manner, merely to see if you seemed interested or not.'

'Yet, here we are and you are very much pressuring me.' Danielle pointed out.

'Yep, are you coming?'

'So why are you badgering me?'

'Because I want you there.' Danielle laughed at her honesty. 'So what is worrying you about it all?'

'It's terrifying. I mean, Early Man was almost a casual affair, this is one of the most anticipated films of all time.'

'Yes.'

'Being involved in such an event is something I am not entirely sure I want to be part of.'

'But Tom...'

'Tom has to be there, yes. But that's because it's his job to be there, not mine.'

'But you have chosen to be with him, and this is what that entails from time to time.'

'I tend to not do most of the public stuff, you were by Ben's side from the start, a year and a half in and I've only done Early Man.'

'Elle, no one would ever force you to do something like this, especially Tom, but I think he and Ben are very similar in a lot of ways. And I find, with Ben, that if he asks specifically about me going to an event with him, then he genuinely wants me there, for whatever reason he has personally, be it as support or just because. If he asks specifically and not just s general statement, it matters to him if I go or not.'

Danielle bit her lips together and thought about what Sophie said, knowing that Tom was incredibly similar to Ben in that manner.

#i hate you i love you #chapter 145 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

15 notes · View notes

comradekatara · 5 years

Note

What’s the gaang in college like

this is SUCH a good question. thank you!!! i’m going to answer this in terms of what i think they’d be like if they did go to college, even though i’m quite sure not all of them would or should. this is almost 3k words btw because i have a disease :) thanks :)

aang: aang loves school, but he forgets to go? it’s just that he’s always either a) volunteering at the children’s hospital; b) helping a friend with a flat tire; c) taking his dog appa on long runs; d) giving heartfelt advice to a total stranger who looked sad; e) getting stopped on the street by an environmental canvasser when he doesn’t have his wallet on him and then devoting the rest of his afternoon to helping that canvasser get more donations and signatures from people who DO have their wallets, which is, frankly, a little overwhelming for the canvasser; f) happily embarking on an impromptu coffee date with a total stranger because she has multiple peace sign stickers on her backpack; g) defrosting tofu; h) reading exactly two pages of a book sokka recommended to him before getting bored and simply texting sokka for the highlights; i) painting, for fun; j) subbing in for the school mascot at some suspiciously aggressive sporting event, which aang normally wouldn’t advocate for, except someone asked him to do it as a favor and how could he say no; k) trying to start a vegetable co-op on campus and protesting heartily when his proposal is rejected due to lack of space; l) writing polite but firm letters to textbook publishers asking them to extract their biases from the next edition; m) generously attending parties as a “designated pedestrian escort,” since he neither drinks nor drives; n) making jewelry; o) making friends at the farmers’ market; or p) re-shaving his head. so how is he possibly supposed to make time to go to class??? he tries to do some of his assigned readings, and he always has strong opinions on them. but he doesn’t always make it to class and he’s very sorry about that. he still passes every class though. who’s gonna flunk a kid who missed his final exam because he was helping deliver a baby in the parking lot?

katara: katara is bad at college. she hates her major (because, as sokka wails to everyone who will listen, she chose the wrong major!). she hates her classes and she hates her professors and she hates studying. she hates the library and thinks anyone who goes there for any reason is “pretending to work” despite very compelling evidence to the contrary. she hates that campus buildings are named after dead slave-owners and colonizers, and she consistently gets arrested for trying to vandalize their nameplates. she is always able to find things to occupy her on campus–for instance, underpaid dining hall workers to advocate for, or a new college republicans group to protest, or an updated round of enrollment stats reminding her that higher education remains racist, classist and colonialist and upholds existing biases in society. she is constantly threatening to drop out and start an organization encouraging young activists not to go to college. however, she also finds her ongoing tangles with the dean too invigorating to ever stop: because of her anger and intensity and many unscheduled appearances at his office and sometimes even his houes, the dean is scared of her. katara is having a very traditional college experience in her own way, discovering new causes and coming into her own as an activist. she is just not, unfortunately, passing english 101.

mai: for mai, the main difference between high school and college is that in college she finds things to care about, and oh does it feel good. a frustrating experience registering for classes winds up being a happy accident when she begrudgingly signs up for a class examining perspective in literature. the class is electrifying. she gets really into creative writing after that, and writes a batch of her own short stories; in all of them, she uses perspective to give interiority to unlikely narrators. when she’s not writing, she spends a lot of time at art museums and foreign film screenings. while strangers might still think she’s aloof, people she’s shared classes with know better. she is passionate, engaged and argumentative. she is the frustratingly cultured friend in the friend group who will matter-of-factly correct someone else’s references without looking up from her phone, when no one even realized she was listening. and the other thing that’s different as compared to high school is that she doesn’t just hang around azula anymore. she has all these pockets of friends who share her interests, art friends and writing friends and film friends and friends from her computer science classes (yeah, she’s a computer science major because she’s just practical; it’s a thing). the gaang isn’t even at the top of her list of the people she’s closest to; in fact, when she leaves for study abroad, she forgets to let them know beforehand. but she does send back half-melted chocolates.

azula: hot on the heels of being the fastest runner and toughest boxer at her high school gym, azula gets to college and finds herself… no longer the best. the first five months of her freshman year go like this: she is running at the gym one day when she notices another young woman who is noticeably faster than she is and barely breaking a sweat. azula becomes obsessed with her, and starts showing up at the gym at the same time every day just so she can see her again, always claiming the elliptical directly behind this modern marvel just so she can watch her in action. one day, azula catches a glimpse of the woman’s student ID when she swipes in at the front door, and then goes home and creates a facebook account for the very first time just to find her profile and learn more about her. the girl quickly becomes aware she’s being watched (it’s not hard–all she has to do is look at the mirrored wall in order to catch azula creepily staring at her and mouthing aggressive self-motivation. she asks azula what her problem is. azula’s like, “excuse me? how dare you?????” before she finds she has nothing else to say. she storms off back to her dorm and screams at the top of her lungs for a little while. the next day, she goes back to the gym and works out even harder. but she promptly passes out. she has to take a week off to recover. by the time she can go back to the gym, she is too embarrassed to follow this woman around anymore. however, this same pattern repeats itself periodically whenever azula comes into contact with anyone even a little bit better than her. eventually, the stress of competing with every talented person in sight (whether in the realm of athletics, academics, or the board game club that really, really wants to kick her out) starts to take its toll, and azula proceeds to live in the walls for a little while while she thinks things through. while she’s in the walls, she misses her psychology midterm and has to repeat the class.

sokka: sokka loves college. college is almost exactly what sokka wanted it to be, although if he were to name one complaint, it would be that there aren’t enough places to hook up outside. he makes do, though. sokka is one of those brilliantly charming kids who befriend almost everyone, except the douchebags. he gets invited to every house party and every sorority formal and every rich-kid ski trip he couldn’t possibly afford and every late-night philosophical debate in a dorm common room. (he can’t even count the number of times he’s been getting ready for bed at 2am and his phone has buzzed with a text from some acquaintance he took a class with a year ago, asking for him to swing by their apartment and weigh in on a dispute. believe it or not, he usually goes.) sokka takes classes in as many departments as he possibly can: there’s some comp sci and some comp lit, some performance studies and some gender studies, some radio/tv/film, some environmental engineering, a fair amount of electrical engineering, no shortage of poli sci, and intro language courses in as many languages as possible. his adviser is like, “are you even human????” and sokka’s like “wym? i’m on scholarship.” in the end, there isn’t a major that sums up sokka’s focus of study, so he creates one; the unifying thread between all his courses is that he’s studying the future. like, of the world. they let him put the name of his made-up major on his degree, and although it’s in poor taste to frame your undergraduate diploma, he does it anyway, because he likes explaining to people that yes, he made his major up, and yes it was exactly as bullshit as it sounds. he’s very proud.

suki: does suki like college? sure, she likes it fine. she drives for saferide and organizes with campus feminists. she organizes self-defense trainings and also advocates for revising the mandatory new-student training in consent that all students have to take so that it’s oriented towards deterring would-be assailants, rather than putting all the onus on would-be victims. on a lighter note, she also participates in the campus drag show every year, and a number of formerly-straight-identified attendees gush to a reporter for the student paper that they are now questioning their sexuality thanks to “kyoshi’s” performance. also, suki does roller derby, and you would not believe the dyke drama surrounding her and her various exes from the team. it is not to be believed. but as for classes, suki could pretty much take or leave them. she likes art and math. she tries to show up sometimes. often she does not, because she is busy getting high in her truck or having sex outside. sokka doesn’t understand how she doesn’t care about her mediocre grades. suki doesn’t bother trying to explain it.

zuko: naturally, zuko is a literature major. he takes every single shakespeare course the school offers. then he takes a class on milton, a class on dante, a class on female poets of the twenty-first century, and a handful of gender studies classes too; all of these classes change his life. after his first gender studies class, he cuts off his ponytail, determined to unravel the patriarchy in one snip. so it goes without saying that, emboldened by his distance from his father, zuko takes it upon himself to Seize The Day in a way he couldn’t in high school. sure, it’s cliche, but the siren song of that fountain in the quad is impossibly to ignore; he simply must go read poetry under its shadow. he forces himself to go to parties most weekends, always irrationally hoping that this time he might like parties and have a good time, but it takes him until his senior year to realize that he will never like parties. until then, he spends a lot of time mostly hugging the wall for safety and avoiding the eyes of the couples who are making out on the couches. when guys try to flirt with him, he spills his drink on purpose so he has an excuse to flee the scene, and the guys can always tell. he auditions for theater productions and is summarily rejected from almost every acting role; the one role he gets, he butchers, and he can even see on sokka’s face when sokka brings him flowers after the show that sokka knows the flowers were too much. when acting roles don’t pan out, he tries working on a show’s crew, but ultimately it’s not until mai gently suggests he try reviewing the theater productions on campus that he finds his niche. sure, few students read the student newspaper for its theater criticism, but zuko’s reviews are good. they get a prominent place of honor above the fold, and a number of drama professors are willing to admit amongst themselves that they wait for zuko’s reviews before shelling out for tickets. although he does write under a pen name so his father won’t find them. that’s just common sense.

toph: toph is smarter than most of her teachers and knows it, which means she derails class after class with smart questions, counterarguments, and passionate rebuttals. her older friends help her identify classes to take with professors who are welcoming of that sort of thing and willing to have a spirited back-and-forth. that’s how she ends up taking some higher-level philosophy classes as a freshman. (by the way, big mistake, but she gets what she came for.) her class schedule is an eclectic mix of electives cobbled together with little thought for how she’s eventually going to graduate; in the end, it takes her an extra year, and she’s totally fine with that. she has lots of friends and supporters and she also has a lot of enemies; the head of the psychology department memorably calls her a rude little troll girl. she studies abroad more than once, and though she has no reason to work an on-campus job, she has a volunteer gig mentoring high school students. sometimes her fourteen-year-old disciples will follow her around, wide-eyed, from social gathering to social gathering, and they’ll get to fully immerse themselves in toph’s particular college experience. it’s a lot of sniping and also a lot of smoking weed in other people’s apartments. also, she plays football in the park with suki every saturday rain or shine, and though there have been some close calls, neurologically speaking, she has thankfully avoided any concussions. (suki, unfortunately, cannot say the same, and toph is very sorry.)

ty lee: everyone has taken at least one class where ty lee came in late and sat in the back, but no one is clear on her major. what makes matters more confusing is that when people ask her what she’s studying, she’ll say just one of her three majors, which leads people to believe that she is lying. ty lee is studying physics, communications and theology, and while her class attendance is far from spotless, she can always get the notes from one of her admirers. apparently she studies hard, because she’s an honor student in all three departments. outside of class, ty lee is a sorority girl, natch. she freely invites her greek-life-avoidant friends to her fundraisers and formals because she doesn’t understand what they have against the super-fun greek system of which she is proud to be a part! also, she’s not shy about cheerfully reminding her friends that if she doesn’t have enough friends show up, she’ll be fined, with the unspoken reminder that she really can’t afford that shit. this generally motivates people to come through for her. it is anyone’s guess how ty lee manages her active sorority participation, her insane class schedule, athletics (volleyball) and her work-study job (calling alumni for donations–she’s disturbingly good at it, by the way). more than one amazed admirer has posed the theory that she might be a witch. when she hears that, ty lee just giggles and smiles.

#the gaang and #sokka #suki #ty lee #mai #azula #katara #aang #toph #zuko #sinxaschwarz #asks

200 notes · View notes