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angellesword · 3 years

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MAGIC SHOP | JJK (07)

Description: You and Jungkook were best friends who were in love with each other. What would happen when Soojin, your half sister who you’re trying to impress, told you she’s in love with Jungkook too?

Alternatively:

“Would you believe me if I said that I was scared of everything too?”

Genre: childhood best friends to lovers, family drama, angst, fluff, idiots to lovers, pining, slice of life au.

Pairing: Architect!Jungkook x Architect!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: homophobia (Tae’s family is insisting he can’t be gay)

SERIES: CHAPTER 6 | CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER’S OST: Fix You covered by BTS

When you try your best, but you don't succeed

You closed your eyes the moment you heard the first line of the song.

When you get what you want but not what you need

Your heart was thumping, unable to bottle up the emotions that had been eating you for months now.

One year and seven months, to be exact.

You left Seoul, your hometown, nineteen months ago.

"Why can't we just eat at home?" Taehyung groaned, clearly not happy with how things were going right now.

You shrugged because you also didn't know why Yoongi and Jimin decided to have dinner at Per Se, a fine dining restaurant, tonight.

Did they forget that you and your brother were broke? The both of you couldn't live life like you once did in Korea.

Life in the city that never sleeps was different. You still had a job, but you were no longer an architect, deciding that it was best to pursue graphic designing instead.

You worked from eight to five pm in an office now. Gone were the days you visited construction sites. What you created at your current job were images, logos and even diagrams.

When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep

You loved your job, unfortunately your compensation was not enough to keep you going, making you feel like you were:

Stuck in reverse

Your salary was barely enough to cover your rent and utilities expenses. Jimin, your roommate, knew this so he lent you his car, the same car Taehyung was driving at this moment.

You didn't want to borrow your roommate's car at first, but Jimin insisted, saying that he had a new car and that he didn't know what to do with the old one.

Jimin didn't want to sell it. He was a very sentimental person and the car was actually a gift from his parents.

So he let you use it. You were special to Jimin. He wouldn't mind that you and your brother were using something that he loved.

"Fuck it. I'm going home," Taehyung announced, suddenly turning right.

Your eyes widened, ready to scold him.

But you didn't. Now when—

And the tears come streaming down your face

—he was crying.

You gasped, but you quickly pursed your lips into a thin line. You also looked outside the window of the car, refusing to look at your brother.

You didn't want him to feel like you were prying or that you felt bad for him. No. Taehyung didn't appreciate empathy. For him, it was just the kinder version of pity.

He didn't need you or anyone to feel bad for him as it would only make him feel like his decision was wrong.

When you lose something, you can't replace

When Taehyung moved back here in New York, he lost something that he could never replace: his family in Seoul.

You remembered why your brother lost contact with the Kims. It happened almost two years ago.

"I'll just change," was your excuse so that you could get out of the dining area and also because you knew Jungkook would follow you.

You had to talk to him.

You had to remind him again not to tell anyone in your family that you and him were dating.

You thought it would only be for the meantime; however, you changed your mind after your father explained why he wanted Soojin and Jungkook to get married.

It was for Castle, the company your mother, Taemin, and Jong-in all built together.

How could you let the empire fall?

Apart from this, you saw how Soojin looked at your boyfriend. She loved him. Maybe more than you could ever love Jungkook.

When you love someone, but it goes to waste

You didn't want Jungkook's love to go to waste. You didn't deserve him. He deserved Soojin, someone who could love him dearly.

"Jungkook, as we are saying—" Sin-ae tried to open the conversation again the moment you disappeared from the scene.

Your best friend cut Sin-ae off though. You were right. Jungkook was going to follow you.

"W-Wait! Jungkook! Where are you going?" Sin-ae panicked, getting up so she could follow Jungkook.

Sin-ae could tell that this situation was starting to upset her daughter. Soojin was gritting her teeth, tears filled her eyes.

"Mom. Let Jungkook be." Taehyung said, stopping Sin-ae from running after your best friend. He just knew Jungkook's going to go to you. You and him clearly needed some time alone.

"No. I still have something to say to that boy!"

"It can wait." Taehyung clenched his fist. "I have something to say to you too. It can't wait."

"What is it?"

Taehyung had the undivided attention of his mother now. Admittedly, every member of his family was focused on him, waiting.

Taehyung gulped.

It was now or never.

"I'm gay."

Could it be worse?

Was telling his family about his sexual orientation the worst thing that could happen tonight?

Maybe.

It was the worst because he didn't think this through. It just happened. It was the only way he could think of to stop them from meddling with your relationship with Jungkook.

"You're what?" Taemin's jaw ticked, eyes turning dark as he turned to his third born son.

Lights will guide you home

Taehyung's heart skipped a beat. He was nervous but he didn't regret anything. He was certain that the truth would guide him towards light.

And ignite your bones

He would be free after this night.

"Taehyung..." Sin-ae held onto the head of the chair, grasping for support. She felt like she was going to faint.

This night was stressing her out so much.

"A-Are you sure? I-I..." Sin-ae swallowed hard. She was shaking. Soojin caressed her mother's hand.

"What if you're just confused? Have you dated women before—"

"Yes. I dated seven women. All didn't work out."

"B-But..." Sin-ae tried speaking again, however she trailed off.

Taehyung shrugged upon seeing her mother's expression. He continued eating his food as if nothing happened.

"Sorry it came out of blue. I didn't want to shock you, but seeing how this dinner turned out, I didn't really have a choice but to tell you."

"What do you mean by that?" Namjoon creased his forehead, he obviously didn't like what his younger brother was implying.

"Well, it seems to me that you all know about the engagement party, but you still didn't budge even when it's clear that Jungkook doesn't want to marry Soojin."

Taehyung shrugged before speaking again.

"I don't want to go through the same thing, I guess? I don't want you all to suddenly force me to marry some rich girl. But! If it's a rich guy, I might just agree—"

"Kim Taehyung!" Taemin's voice was like a thunder when he cut off what his third born son was saying.

And I will try to fix you

"Stop your nonsense right now!" Taemin shouted, as if it was going to fix something, as if shouting would suddenly change Taehyung's preference.

"Ouch, dad!" Taehyung pouted, clutching his chest. "Don't be mean. This is not nonsense. This is me telling you the truth about myself..."

The third born son was trying to joke around, thinking that it would at least calm his family.

"I like boys, dad. I let them do me—"

Taemin abruptly stood up. He was holding a table knife, ready to attack Taehyung.

"I said shut up!"

"Yeobo!" Sin-ae hugged her husband.

Seokjin and Namjoon stepped up too, protecting their brother.

"Father, you are overreacting." Seokjin said, hiding Taehyung behind him.

"My son tells me he's a faggot and you're telling me to calm down, huh, Kim Seokjin!?"

"There is nothing wrong with being gay, father. What's wrong is harming people just because of their sexuality." Namjoon said this, touching the hinge of his eyeglasses to stop it from slipping down his nose.

Taehyung's brothers never defied their father, but they would never stand still if Taemin did something to hurt any member of their family, except you. Seokjin and Namjoon didn't care about you.

"It's okay, hyung. You don't have to defend me." Taehyung smiled at his brothers before switching his gaze at Taemin.

"Tell me, father. If I don't 'stop this ‘nonsense,' what would you do to me?"

"I will disown you." Taemin snarled, pushing Sin-ae away from him. "You won't receive anything from me."

"Ah, you will disinherit me. I see..." Taehyung smiled, though his heart was breaking apart. "Okay, then. I will make things easier for you."

"Yah! Kim Taehyung, what are you talking about?" Soojin glared at her brother. She wanted to slap him. He was being stubborn!

"Well, father can't disinherit me, his legitimate heir, just because he wants to. But like what I've said, I'm gonna make it easy for him." Taehyung slightly raised his shoulders. "I'm disclaiming my inheritance. I'd rather be broke than have a homophobic father."

Taemin was about to attack Taehyung, but Sin-ae hugged him once more.

The corner of Taehyung's mouth quirked up as he placed his car keys and card on the table, a proof that he would not take anything from his father anymore.

"Don't worry. I will also pay back everything you spent on me since I was a child." Taehyung bowed down. "Thank you for everything. Goodbye."

And high up above or down below

You blinked back to reality after remembering the reason why Taehyung left his family. The way he told you that story made you feel like you were there when it happened.

But you weren't.

You were busy breaking your own heart.

When you're too in love to let it go

You went straight out of the mansion after mumbling an excuse to your family.

"Hey..." Jungkook followed you, grabbing your wrist.

"I told you not to tell them." You twisted your hand, a not so subtle way of asking him to let you go. His palm was hot, but it was causing you to shiver. You didn't want to be touched by him.

"I didn't—"

"You almost did." You snarled, becoming more frustrated as time passed. "You broke your promise to me."

"Tiger..." Jungkook called softly, trying to hold your hand again.

You walked away, as if you were too scared to stand closer to him. You were. You didn't trust yourself when you were around him. It was like you wanted to just bury your face in his neck. You knew Jungkook felt that way too, but he shouldn't. You shouldn't.

You were in the territory of the Kims. All of them wanted Jungkook to marry Soojin. They would most likely scowl if they saw you being intimate with your 'best friend.'

"I'm sorry..." He said, still following you.

You were headed to the garden of the mansion. No one really went here at night. There were just too many mosquitoes here.

"I won't break my promise again." He said softly. Jungkook was trying to catch your gaze.

You avoided it.

You couldn't look at him as you said "of course it won't happen again. You can't say something that isn't true anymore."

"What do you mean?"

But if you never try, you'll never know

"I'm breaking up with you, Jungkook."

"What?" He was breathless. Your cruel words knocked out the air out of him.

"You heard me." You said simply, still avoiding his gaze. Do not look at him or you'd break, you reminded yourself.

"Y-You're kidding, right?" And he still couldn't believe what was happening.

No. This couldn't be true. He just had you. He was just starting to show you how much he loved you. Why were you pushing him away again?

This wasn't fair.

"You're engaged, Jungkook. To my sister." You gritted your teeth, looking down at your feet. You could see a mosquito sucking your blood there. It hurt.

"You know I don't joke around when my sister's happiness is at stake—"

"What about your happiness?" Jungkook cut you off. And mine?

"I'm happy when Soojin is happy, when my family is happy."

"What about me?" His voice was so small when he asked this, like he was ashamed and hurt. "Am I not your family too?"

Your stomach churned. Your tears fell, you saw your teardrop hitting the mosquito sucking at your foot.

Your foot hurt. Your foot itches.

You were focusing on the wrong things. You complained about the wrong things.

Your heart hurt. But you didn't care.

Your foot. It itched.

Just what you're worth

"You are." You blurted out after a few moments of silence. Would it feel good to scratch your foot?

"That's why I'm ending this. I don't want to hurt you any further..."

You're not hurting me Jungkook was about to say this. You didn't give him a chance to speak though.

"I can't love you, Kook..."

Lights will guide you home

They said lights would guide someone home. Lights helped people see. It helped them so that they wouldn't stumble in the darkness, into something they couldn't possibly fight.

For the longest time, Jungkook believed this. He thought you were his light, guiding him—leading him towards home.

Home was supposed to be safe and it should bring comfort—this was what Jungkook longed. A home.

And ignite your bones

A home full of love, laughter—just things that would ignite his bones, that would make him thank the Maker for giving him life.

"Why not?" Jungkook managed to ask even though he was breaking inside.

All he could think about was your cruel words.

I can't love you, Kook...

It meant he was hard to love, right? He was hard to love despite the fact that he was trying his best. He was good. So good—too good, but it wasn't enough.

There was no home to come to.

Your foot still itches.

"Because I'm broken." You were stupid to think that you could fill his heart with love.

Love didn't work like that.

Jungkook shook his head violently. He knew you didn't want him to touch you, but he did.

He couldn't stop himself.

He took your face into his hands, feeling your skin. He was touching you like he was making sure you were real.

"And you can't love someone when you're broken."

His response was instant.

"Then let me try to fix you." He said this as if it was easy.

You cackled. This was better than sobbing.

"Too bad..." You finally had the courage to meet his gaze. You looked at him dead in the eyes, saying this: "Because I don't want to be fixed."

Jungkook was right.

You were his light.

You were his light, but you weren't going to guide him home.

You were the light that was going to blind him.

"Goodbye, Jungkook." You smiled.

And then you walked away.

This time Jungkook didn't follow you, but aside from this nothing else changed—well except that you weren't looking down anymore.

You looked up, remembering that when you kissed Jungkook for the first time, the moon and the stars were there to witness it.

The moon and the stars were still here.

This time they witnessed how you broke Jungkook's heart.

Damn. Your foot still itches.

#jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #ficswithluv #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #armywriterssupport #jungkook x you #bts fic

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hermit-pistol · 3 years

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Leone Abbacchio Fluff Alphabet:

And with that, the 600 follower special is concluded! I know that they took me forever to finish but I hope that you enjoyed reading them! Please like and reblog to show love, and read some Abbacchio fluff under the cut:

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Abbacchio enjoys the simplicity of doing nothing and going nowhere. Honestly, some of his favorite activities that you do together take place in the courtesy of your own home. Don't get it twisted though, he still will take you out for the occasional meal and show you a good time!

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

He admires your ability to stay calm. Other people he has known in the past would tend to annoy him with how high strung they were. He much rather prefers a partner that he can sit in comfortable silence with, and can just go with the flow of everything.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Abbacchio, to be fair, has had his own fair share of emotional baggage, so he knows what you're experiencing all too well. Thankfully, he also knows how to overcome the situation when these feelings grow to be too much. He'll whisper words and phrases of affirmation, assuring them that everything will be okay and that he will always be there for them.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

His vision of the future is very uncertain, and in all fairness, he couldn't even believe that he'd made it this far in his life. His previous career as an officer and currently being in the mafia were certainly not considered "safe" jobs. He does want a future with you though, no matter how risky the job. He just won't think too far ahead.

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

Abbacchio is very passive aggressive. He'll be very lenient when it comes to making decisions in the relationship but can obviously step it up if needed. Most of the decision making will be in the hands of his partner for sure.

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

He bottles things up until they explode at the surface. He'll yell and most likely something will come out harsher than intended, this ends up with him being in a position where he has some serious explaining to do. Things will work out eventually, but things might be rough for a while.

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

He loves you for showing him that living wasn't all that bad to begin with. Life hasn't been very kind to him and you know that. When he's having very low moments, you remind him of his team and you who both love him very much. You are one of the only reasons that he keeps on going.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Getting Abbacchio to open up and speak about the things that he's experienced in this lifetime will take a lot of coaxing and convincing. In time, he'll tell you when he's ready, but for a good while he'll be very selective with what he wants to share with you. Only when the time comes and he feels that you're worthy of knowing will he come clean. Be ready.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

He has a hard time seeing the positives of a situation, and before he met you, he was truly unhappy with his life. It took him so many years to learn that seeing things from a different, more optimistic point of view really made a huge difference. He thanks you for opening him up to new experiences.

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Abbacchio does not mess around when it comes to you getting attention from other people. He may appear passive at first, but he’s had an eye on the two of you this whole time, don’t worry. If things get out of hand, he’ll just drag you out of there so fast you won’t even have time to process what just happened.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Abbacchio is a very rough kisser, to the point where you have to remind him not to leave marks on your lips. There's a time and a place for everything, but it takes some reminders to let him know that a simple showing of affection shouldn't result in your face being all but ripped off. Other than that, he's got quite the natural talent.

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

The funny thing that sets Abbacchio apart from the others is that he won't outright tell you that he loves you. He very much so believes in the concept of tough love, and even though he can be unbearable at some points, it's very rarely that he verbally expresses that he loves you. It's rather expressed in the actions that he does.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He's going to wait for ages until he pops the question, so long in fact that you had thought about proposing to him just to get it over with. He'll ask for the help of his team to put the wedding together since he doesn't have much to work with in terms of family. When it's all said and done, he'll totally have to fight the urge to break down into tears when he sees you walking down the aisle. You just look so beautiful!

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Abbaccchio really doesn't need nicknames, unless you ask him to call you something specific. If not, he's content with referring to you by your name. After all, it is the most sincere form of flattery as they say.😳

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Only a few people can tell that something is up with Abbacchio (mainly, Bruno and Fugo) and once they figure out what's going on with their teammate they can't help but smile. They'll leave teasing out of it because they know that the others might go too far, but whenever you enter a room they share a knowing glance as they watch him clam up on the spot.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

He's not very fond of showing his affection in public, and sometimes this really gets on your nerves. There are times where he doesn't even feel comfortable holding hands with you, but you try to respect his wishes. You know that he's just a little awkward and shy when it comes to these things and that his actions in the outside world are completely different compared to when you share alone time.

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

(I know this might be one you guys have heard of before but it can't leave my brain so-) Abbacchio can sing, and he can sing quite well. But he will never do so in front of people, and even in front of you. The only times that you can hear him is when he thinks that you have left for the store and sneaks into the bathroom. One time you had your ear pressed against the door so hard that it accidentally opened. He was holding a hairbrush like a microphone and was less than pleased that you had found him.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

It may not seem like it, but Abbacchio can be quite romantic. When the two of you are alone he might offer to give you a massage or might shower you in kisses of his own accord. Both of those might end up leading to something else, of course ;)

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

He will always make sure to make sure that you have complete confidence in whatever you decide to pursue. If you succeed, then he will be the proudest man you've ever seen. Even if you experience some shortcomings he'll encourage you to keep trying and re-adjust your goals so they can be more attainable.

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Abbacchio doesn't really come across as the type of person that's spontaneous. While he doesn't like surprises, whenever he does have a nice gesture planned he wants to make sure that you're prepared for (possibly) one of the best days of your life. He hypes it up in subtle ways like "Pack your bags" and "Make sure to bring your swimsuit". 😉

U nderstanding - How well do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

Don't let his emotional unavailability at times fool you, for he can understand your emotions quite well. He'll pay attention to details that could decipher your moods, like the slam of a door or heavy sighs as you shuffle your feet into the living room. Of course, he'll ask you how to make you feel better, but he secretly prides himself on his awareness when it comes to you.

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Abbacchio isn't the best at maintaining relationships with people, unless they're very special to him. You are easily one of the best things that's ever happened to him, and if you weren't in his life he'd be extra grumpy and then some. You are his rock, and he cherishes you every single day the two of you are together.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

When the two of you aren't busy, you insist on having a "couple's night" which consists of watching a movie together. He’s a bit of a “fun killer” when it comes to having a movie night, turning down almost every idea and suggestion that you have. You eventually decide on a basic horror movie, with Abbacchio grumbling through it the whole time. He does enjoy when you cling to him during the scary parts, though.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Abbacchio can be affectionate when he wants to be (only when you’re ALONE). There are times when he doesn't want to be in the same room as you, and then others when he's clinging to you no matter how hard you try to escape. Catch him in a good mood and he'll even nuzzle his head into the crook of your neck.

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Whenever you've been away for a bit, Abbacchio will seemingly be unfazed by your lack of presence, almost to the point where it bothers you. Your man really doesn't show that many emotions, huh. When you walk through the door; however, he'll be there in the doorway ready to greet you and wrap you in a giant hug. You smile, knowing that he secretly missed you after all.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

He's not the type of guy to give gifts or do anything extravagant outside of special occasions. If you're having a bad day he will bring you dinner and listen to you vent. If you're the one, he's willing to go the extra mile in maintaining the relationship and wanting to keep you as happy as possible.

#I FINISHED IT #FINALLY #about damn time #enjoy!!#leone abbacchio #abbacchio #jojos bizarre adventure #jojos bizzare adventure x reader #jojo headcanons #jjba headcanons #fluff alphabet #600 Follower Special #abbacchio x reader

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ka-za-ri · 4 years

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Personal Assistant pt. 1

Hi. I’m in complete and utter Obey Me! Hell Enjoy some Lucifer x MC smut shamelessly put into a modern day CEO!Lucifer AU. Many parts to come. I’m completely covered in filth and thirst. Unbeta’d because we die like heroes here. Let me go back to being a gremlin now.

Paring: Lucifer x MC Wordcount: 5,000 ish Genre: Shameless, filthy smut Tags: Multiple Orgasms, sex on a desk, Finger fucking, overstimulation

Part 2: here Part 3: here Part 4: here Part 5: Here Part 6: Here Part 7: Here Also found on Ao3: Here

Lucifer has been sent to the human realm to study them and acclimate to and learn about their behaviors. By some miracle, you landed a job interview with his illustrious company as his personal assistant. A lot of extra work not listed on the job posting is required of you, to say the least.

Part 1: Interview

Adapting to the human world wasn’t hard. Humans were after all, predictable little things, easily swayed by their desires, it didn't take much effort at all to make them bend to his will. Lucifer’s time thus far ‘learning’ about the human realm had netted him a sizable company under his control. It wasn’t long before he became bored of that. Being a CEO of Akuzon meant many things. One being that he was always busy and needed some help around his office. Previous attempts at having a personal assistant failed him as they never satisfied his needs and kept up with the workload.

Somehow, you found yourself looking at the ad in the paper and hastily applying to the job It seemed too good to be true. It paid well, was for a reputable company, was close to home, and you fit the criteria listed. It was a shot in the dark, you knew there must be hundreds of others clamoring for the position as well. However, much to your surprise only a couple of weeks passed when you received an email requesting your presence for an interview.

The office building was massive, fitting right in with the many sky scrapers of the city. After putting on the best interview clothes you had and making your makeup was on point, you had thought you were ready for anything. Seeing the building and stepping inside it’s grand spaces had you faltering for a moment, a shiver of nervousness running down your spine. Almost everyone in the vicinity stopped what they were doing to see who it was at their front door. The nervousness increased as their gazes bored down into you, making you think you had gotten the wrong building.

“Are you here for an interview?” A young lady at the front desk asked cheerfully, noticing how lost you seemed.

“Ah! Yes! I am! For the position of Lucifer’s secretary.” You explained, relieved that there were some helpful people there.

The lady raised an eyebrow, surprised that someone so green would be chosen for such a high ranking position, but didn’t press the issue any further. Dialing a few numbers into the phone at her desk, she made a quick call. “Yes, she’s here… I’ll bring her right up.” She looked up at you, a sweet smile on her face and got up to guide you to the elevators on the other side of the floor. “He’ll be ready to see you once you get to his floor.”

“His floor?”

“Yes. His office is one of the top floors of the building. As his secretary, you’ll be responsible for taking care of it as well as any other duties he asks of you.” She explained. “You’re so lucky… I applied for that position ages ago, but couldn’t pass the interview phase. I hope you fare better than me.”

“I hope so too…” You agreed, hoping to hide the shaking in your voice.

The trip to the top floor seemed to stretch forever. The light music in the background did little to soothe your anxiety as you watched the numbers climb higher and higher until they stopped at 60 and the doors slid smoothly open after a soft chime.

“Well, this is where I leave you. He’s right beyond those doors.” The lady gave you a small reassuring push forward and before you could have any second thoughts, the doors closed and you were left alone, facing tall frosted glass doors. Taking one last stuttering breath, you took the steps forward to push open the doors. They were much heavier than expected and after a bit of a struggle, you finally managed to open it.

Before you sat the most impeccable man you had ever seen. The very image of power in a young and handsome man. The name plate placed at the very edge confirmed to you that he was indeed to be the man who was going to be conducting the interview. It was difficult to get your mind past how handsome he was. His perfectly parted hair framed his face and its long, delicate features. He wore a black fitted suit, one that probably cost more than any number you could imagine. Each stitch in its place to accentuate the lines of his body and to cut an imposing figure, even when seated. Everything about him oozed control and power. You had every right to be nervous.

He sat behind a massive desk; the only documents in front of him were what you expected to be your files. Most everything else, save for his nameplate, had been cleared off. If he had done this to intimidate you, he was doing an exceptionally good job without even saying a damn thing. “Come in. Have a seat. I’ve been expecting you.” He beckoned and gestured at the seat in front of him, his eyes raking up and down your figure, assessing everything about you. All the while, you were powerless to deny his request. His voice was soothing, low and lulled you into a strange sense of security.

Sinking into the seat in front of the desk, you sat just at the edge, reminding yourself to keep your posture proper and to keep your appearance as professional as possible. You needed to employ every trick in the book in order to succeed in the interview; and Lucifer knew that. His expression was unreadable as he waited for you to settle in, his hands idly flipping through your resume. “So, tell me, what do you think you can bring to this company working for me?”

Ah, there it was, the interview questions. You had prepared for this and the answer you rehearsed fell easily from your lips. “I have a lot of experience in working as an office manager. I understand that my duties may extend past what was listed in the job posting. However, I am willing to take in the extra hours and to work whatever job is given to me to ensure that your position and your reputation remains as impeccable as it has always been since the start. I will bring a new level of efficiency in your workflow and I will be a great asset to your company as such.”

He hummed, seeming uninterested in what you had to say. You began to sweat a bit at the back of your neck. Perhaps he had expected something more unique? Once again, he flipped through the pages of your resume, not really reading anything, just looking at the information you had put down. “I see… And how do you deal with pressure or stressful situations?”

Again, another question you had prepared for. “The easiest way to diffuse stressful stressful situations or overwhelming workloads is to make extensive lists. I like to break things down into their basic components so that large tasks are much more manageable in a timely manner.

He hums again, a vague sound of approval this time, nodding only slightly before making a mark on the papers in front of him. “Very good. Final question. How do you like to be managed?” His eyes flick up to you and there’s something in the way he gazes in your direction that makes your heart beat faster. There was something in the way his eyes trailed up and down your body that had you sitting up straighter than before.

“As long as I have clear direction, I will be able to work independently or as a team as needed.”

Much to your surprise, Lucifer smiles at the answer, circling something on the paper before getting up and sauntering over to you. “That’s very good to hear.” he said quietly, turning to look out the floor to ceiling windows to the cityscape his office overlooked. “There will be a lot of times where I can be demanding and ask you to stay later than usual hours. Will your priority still be this job if I ask this of you?”

You swallowed, not sure how you felt about the question, his tone had an undercurrent of electric energy that had you heating up and shivering at the same time. “Y-yes.” You stated after a brief pause, entranced by the curve of his spine and how well his pants fit his ass. “I can do that. I plan on making this position more than a job. I am looking for a career here.”

Lucifer nodded again, still not making any eye contact with you, which gave you plenty more time to ogle at how his posture and his stance against the window struck such a formal and imposing figure. At this point, he could tell you to work three twenty hour shifts in a row and you wouldn’t complain. The prospect of a hot boss, great pay and a job that was close to home was too tempting to you.

“If you accept this position, you will be placed on a probation period, as is customary for this company.” He explained and your heart started to beat faster. Did this mean you landed the job? You couldn’t tell if he was psyching you up for potential disappointment or if he was genuinely starting to offer you the job. “Once I’ve gone over your performance during your probationary period, your salary will increase. Additional raises and bonuses will be offered as I see fit for… exceptional work.” You couldn’t see it, but rather, you felt him smirking at his reflection in his reflection. “Does that sound acceptable to you?”

“Yes…” You breathed, mouth watering at the aspect of being able to make so much money. It was more than any other job you worked for paid.

Humans were such easy little playthings to control.

Lucifer walked back to you, standing in front of his desk and leaning against the heavy wood. “Your job will be of course to do what I request, many times without question. There will be many sensitive documents that you will handle and that requires your utmost confidentiality.”

“I understand.” You said bluntly, trying to calm your heart and your breathing to no avail.

“You understand that this position also may also involve some after hours activities which I will ask for you to partake in. They are not written on the job description, but they are paramount to this position. Don’t worry… I’ll be sure you receive clear and concise directions on exactly what to do as my personal assistant.”

You blinked. The way he worded the phrase seemed off, but you couldn’t put your finger on what. It was odd, he had always referred to the job as ‘this position’ until just now. It was the first time the actual job title until he tugged at the cuffs of his suit, undoing the buttons. “Oh…” You breathed, eyes wide, cheeks blushing brightly when you realized what he meant, the bulge in his pants was all the proof you needed for there to be absolutely no miscommunication. From the looks of it, you could only surmise that he was barely half mast in that state. Fuck, what kind of monster is he hiding in there?

“Before we sign the papers and you accept the job, I would like to do a test run to make sure you’re a good fit for the company.”

“Yes… of course.” You were practically panting, eyes blown wide and cheeks flushed. You pressed your legs together trying to hide the arousal that started pooling there after the realization that you would be servicing your future boss in rather intimate ways. That fact alone had you ready to sign whatever contract he produced in a heartbeat.

“We’ll begin by seeing how good you are at following directions. Stand up, please.” He flicked his fingers upward, eyes traveling up and down your body, knowing exactly the kind of reaction he was pulling out of you.

You were upon your feet in an instant, hands at your side, back straight as a board and your legs together. You barely dared to breathe as he left his spot on his desk to circle you. You could feel his gaze taking in every detail. He was close enough for you to smell the cologne he wore waft past you as he passed your side and you suppressed a shiver.

“What kind of posture is this?” He chided, pressing the spot between your shoulder blades gently, pushing your shoulders back. “Just because you’re standing up straight does not mean you’re doing it properly.” Lucifer tsked, shaking his head slightly. “How do you expect to represent me and this company if you look like a cardboard cut out.” His hands left a trail of goosebumps across your skin as he adjusted your body as he saw fit. Your hands folded neatly in front of you, your legs now just shoulder width apart and your shoulders back, he took another circle around you to reassess your stance. “Much better.” He murmured. “It will do you well to remember how this feels. I won’t be so lenient if I see you looking so foolishly in front of a client.”

You nodded, memorizing just how he had posed your body, reminding yourself to practice in the mirror. You didn’t dare speak unless he gave you permission to, just something about how he stalked around you made it impossible to raise any objections.

“Stay still unless I say otherwise.” Lucifer commanded next. “It’s important that you are at attention no matter what the circumstances. When I ask for your… special services, you will refer to me as Sir.” His finger traced the hem of your pencil skirt, pulling it up just a bit and you fought back the urge to flinch. “But of course, I should say that right now, you have the power to stop this at any time. Understood?”

“Yes…”

“Yes who?” Lucifer’s tone was sharp and the hand playing at the hem of your skirt moved to place a firm spank on your ass. The pain coursing down your leg, you jumped a bit, but remembered his command to stay still.

“Yes… Sir…”

“Good.” He nearly purred, leaning in to kiss the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin and his hand once again traveled to the hem of your skirt, playing with the fabric and pulling it up until he got a good view of the lacy lucky panties you decided to wear that day. “Very good.” he praises, tracing his fingers across the flimsy fabric. Your breath hitches as he brushes light touches across your bare skin. You stay still, demanding that your body stop trembling, though Lucifer can clearly tell just how nervous you are, shaking like a little lamb at his behest. In a show of dominance, he lets your skirt fall back down, cupping your face to pull you into a heated kiss.

Your mind is practically blank at this point, hands still clasped in front of you, gripping each other like your life depended on it while he claimed your lips and took your breath away. At some point you had reciprocated, kissing him back and earning a low growl from the back of his throat as a reward. He pulled away, your lipstick smeared across his face and his eyes glittering in lust as he looked at your disheveled form in perfect posture. “Hmm… yes… I think you’ll fit right into my needs.” He appraised, rubbing his chin and smirking. The expression sends a shiver down your spine but you didn’t dare move.

His hand guides you two steps forward towards his desk. “Bend over.” He commands and you oblige, your chest laying on the surface of the mahogany desk. Your hips flush against the edge of it while your hands stretched out to grasp at what it could to stay still as he asked. He readjusts you again, spreading your legs further, straining the fabric of your skirt. With a tsk of frustration, he pulled the offending piece of clothing up to your waist, letting the cool AC hit the back of your thighs and allowing him to spread your legs even further. In your heels, you could feel your calves tremble as you struggled to keep the position he had set for you. Thankful for the desk to cling onto, you used it to ground yourself as your ass is exposed to him. Your legs spread to the point where you were bent sharply, completely level with the desk and your hot core could feel the air conditioning blow past your heated nether lips. “You look good spread across my desk like this. I’ll be sure to make use of this position often.” He commented, rubbing your ass gently, teasing you through the fabric of your panties. His fingers brush across the wet spot on your panties and you can feel the it mold against your wet heat. Embarrassed, you stifled the whine that formed at the back of your throat. Even if the two of you were on a separate floor from others, you didn’t know if there were others right outside those heavy glass doors.

His teasing seemed to last forever and you could just see how much he was enjoying it whenever you dared to glance up and see your lewd reflection in the mirror with that salacious grin on his face as he fingered you oh so gently and left you on the edge of wanting more. Every time you glanced up even briefly, he always made sure to make eye contact with you in the reflection, knowing just how much you were affected by his basic touches.

Of course, he wasn’t getting out of the exchange with nothing. The slight bulge in his pants earlier had strained into an impressive tent seeing his new assistant splayed out before him, eager to please. Humans were such predictable creatures. Predictable, yet so much fun to toy with. He couldn’t get enough of the soft sighs that came from your lips as you held back your noises. It only made him want to see break for him even more. His slender, manicured fingers finally gave you a little relief, pressing against the wet spot in your panties and following the curves of your pussy lips that had molded themselves there due to your slick. At that, your hips bucked back, urging him to give him more but a firm hand on your lower back stopped any further movements. “I did not say you could move.”

You whined, clutching onto the edge of the desk, your fingers sore and locking up from how hard you were holding on. You weren’t sure how you were going to handle this sort of treatment on the regular when the trial run was already driving you mad with need. As if he could sense your impatience, he finally pulled down your panties, allowing your legs a brief reprieve as he took them off and tossed them to the side before making you resume the position you had held for who knew how long.

“For a trial run, you’re doing very well.” He cooed, smirking as he saw your glistening folds. “I should remind you that there are people still working in the building. We may have a floor to ourselves, but please keep that in mind and don’t scream too loudly now.” He chuckled darkly, tracing the curve of your ass and finally sinking a finger into your heat. Just the feeling of being penetrated by something had you keening and you struggled to keep yourself from screaming. “Ooh, that’s a pretty noise you make… Please make more of those.” he encouraged, slowly sliding his finger in and out of you.

“Y-yes sir.” You panted, your legs ached, but the pain was absolutely nothing compared to the pleasure that was building up in your abdomen just from feeling a finger slowly fuck you. You had come in for an interview and your soon to be boss was unraveling you in ways you had only fantasized about. All the while, Lucifer remained the very image of composure, if it weren’t for his very obvious hard on being pressed against the back of your thigh, you would have thought he was impervious to the scene he had orchestrated. Every time his finger dragged itself out of you, you let out an appreciative mewl, mind reeling as he pressed every button he needed for you to submit completely to him.

You lost track of time and how many times he left you wanting more with how his finger moved in and out of you. At some point, he had added a second, then a third, deliciously stretching you out. You were so wet and ready for him, you could feel your essence drip down your thighs as your legs struggled to keep you upright. Lucifer was patient, he had lived several millennia already, edging you until you were a begging mess on top of his desk for a few hours was absolutely nothing to him.

In a show of surprising restaurant, he pressed hot kisses against the back of your neck, nipping at your skin whenever you let out a particularly breathy sigh. The scent of sex and his cologne enveloped you and you were practically dizzy with need. “Sir…” You whined after he had curled his fingers in you, making you see stars and your walls trembled, clenching around his fingers. “Please… I need more…”

“Oh?” He asked, raising an eyebrow and removing his fingers, much to your dismay. He watched in amusement as your pussy twitched, clenching around air now that his fingers were no longer filling you. Glancing at the clock on the wall, he was surprised how long you had held out before you were begging for him. His erection had pressed against his impeccably tailored pants for so long, it was almost painful, yet, he couldn’t let you have your way just yet. Even if it was a trial, he still wanted to see just how far he could push you. “You think you really deserve more? You haven’t even gotten this job yet.”

His fingers were back on your wet, sopping cunt, sliding up and down your labia, rubbing slow, firm circles around your clit. You wailed, bucking your hips and forgetting the command to stay still until his other hand reminded you by spanking your ass cheek. “No moving.” He growled and you struggled to obey, stilling your body even though every part of you screamed to squirm and beg for him. “You will get more when I decide you get more.”

You could only nod in reply, letting him use your body as he saw fit. “For your next test. You will cum when I tell you to.” he breathed, pressing his finger against your clit, making you choke back a sob of pleasure. “After that, I promise you, you’ll be at the last part of the interview.”

“Yes, Sir. I’ll do what you want, Sir. Whatever you say, Sir.” You babbled mindlessly, your body aching for relief and release. The torture and pleasure he could pull out of you with just his fingers had your mind jumping to the future to what other things he could elicit out of you.

“Good girl.” He praised, patting your hair in a surprisingly soft gesture. He followed the gentleness with a chaste kiss on your lips before going right back to being the commanding figure you had met him as. He plunged his fingers into you again, knuckle deep and pumping in and out of you furiously, loving the way your walls fluttered and clenched as you held off on your orgasm until he permitted it. “You are so obedient… just what I like.” He praised breathlessly, working you closer and closer to the point of no return.

You couldn’t think straight, you didn’t care if others heard the lewd sounds coming from your lips as you whined, begging for release. You were so close, you wanted to cum so badly, but your determination to pass his test outweighed your desire and you held out until his silky voice whispered the blissful word into your ear. “Cum…” He purred and you gratefully crumbled, your body spasming around his fingers, milking it like it was his cock. Soft whines escaped your lips and tears of gratitude streaked down your face.

“Thank you, Sir.” You panted, blissed out and feeling weightless after such a powerful orgasm. Your vision blurred as you stared blankly at the wall, wondering if this was the end of the interview. Lucifer’s fingers leaving your sore pussy sure seemed to signal that things had reached a conclusion. Glancing up at the reflection in the windows, you flushed bright red when you saw Lucifer lewdly cleaning his fingers off with his tongue.

“Hmm… I think you would do well.” He said once his fingers no longer shone with your essence. He sauntered over to the other side of the desk where you clung onto for dear life. Sinking into his chair, he casually opened up one of the drawers, pulling out a contract and placing it in front of you. “If you believe you can keep up with my demands, then all you have to do is sign on the dotted line at the bottom. He slid you an ornate fountain pen into your hand.

Your trembling digits could barely hold onto the pen and you moved to start reading the contract, going over the terms and conditions of your new position. Most of it was the basic business jargon seen in every typical job. There were a few things that seemed out of place, but in your just fucked state of mind, it was very difficult to focus on what about them seemed wrong. Unable to really think straight about what you were getting yourself into, you placed the pen onto the paper, eager to start your new job.

Just as you the pen started to move, you heard the sound of a zipper being undone and the hard erection you had felt earlier on the back of your thigh now pressed up against your sore pussy. You gasped, eyes going wide at the feeling of being stretched out once again. “Well? Will you sign?” He asked casually, sinking into you inch by inch as you struggled to breath and think, let alone sign a contract.

“Yes… Yes, Sir…” you whined, starting to shakily write your name as he bottomed out inside of you. He hissed, taking a hold of your hips and roughly slamming them back into him to get as much contact as he could. You yelped, unable to write your name at all. Your hips banged against the edge of the desk with every one of his rough thrusts. No doubt, there would be dark bruises there the next day reminding you exactly what you did to get the job you were signing for now.

With each pass, Lucifer lets a little more of himself go, grunting in effort as he relished in the feeling of your hot walls surrounding him. He hadn’t found such an obedient human in a long time. It would be such a fun time for him to push your limits every day you were in his office. What he offered now was only a glimpse of what he had planned for you. Every time your hand stuttered in the middle of signing your name, his grin widened. The closer you were to sealing the contract with him, the closer he was to his own release that he had been holding back for hours now.

“Just a little more…” he urged, slowing down his thrusts so you had at least some time to get a few more letters of your name out. Just as you finished, he let out a primal growl, slamming his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping against skin echoed in the room as he fucked you without abandon. The fountain pen fell from your fingers and you were back to clutching onto the edge of the desk as yet another explosive orgasm started to build in you.

Glancing up into the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of what Lucifer looked like while he was coming undone inside of you, you were surprised at the image you saw. It was only for a brief moment, but you swore you saw horns on him, and dark, feathery wings framing his body. The sound of the pen you dropped falling to the floor broke the illusion and the image of the prim and proper business man with an utterly feral look was all you saw.

He knew he wouldn’t last long once he entered you and so, he chased his release inside of you. As soon as the contract was signed, he was done for. His hand snaked around your abused waist to reach for your clit, bringing you to climax in time with his own. With a grateful groan, he released all the pent up tension in him, spilling his hot seed deep inside of you while your walls spasmed around him, milking every inch of him and accepting what he had given you. “Very good…” he cooed, his eyelids fluttering as he relished in the rush that came after such an explosive climax.

You whined, your body bruised and beaten, but also feeling absolutely boneless and euphoric. You hadn’t experienced anything like that before and it was all rather mindblowing to say the least. The contract in front of you with your shaky signature, ink blots from when you lost control of the pen and a fair amount of your tears stared back at you. This was your future. This would be a regular part of your life going forward; and you didn’t feel a shred of regret from it. You zoned out for a moment, hardly believing that it was all real.

Lucifer’s cock slipping out of you and the feeling of his cum dripping out of you snapped you back to reality. “Very good job. I’ll say you passed all the tests with flying colors.” He said, fixing his suit and continuing on as if he hadn’t just fucked the living daylights out of you. “I expect you to come in on Monday ready to work. I have a lot of filing for you to catch up with.”

He smirked, taking the signed contract and slipping it back into his desk. He cupped your chin in his hand and planted soft kisses on your lips, once again leaving you dizzy and breathless. “You are free to move now.” He said and you gratefully worked on closing your sore legs, wondering how you were going to make it out the office in the state that you were in. You weren’t sure you were able to walk, let alone get all the way home with how weak you were. Lucifer chuckled, dialing a few numbers into his cellphone. “I’ll arrange for a ride home for you.” He offered. “As a thank you for such a lovely interview.”

You breathed a sigh of relief, knowing you had a way to get back without catching too many unwanted stares at your disheveled state. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Lucifer.” He corrected briskly.

“Thank you, Lucifer. I’ll be sure to arrive on time Monday.” You sank into the chair to gather your wits about you, staring at your trembling hands.

“Good.” He said coolly and looking up at him, you gasped when you saw him casually twirling your panties on one finger as he looked down at you. “Your ride should be here shortly, please make sure you’re presentable, you do not want to dishonor me.”

“Yes. Of course, Lucifer.” you hastily combed your hand through your hair, hoping to take care of the worst of the flyaways. You glanced nervously at the panties in his hand, figuring they were a lost cause at this point and simply accepted the fact that you’d be taking this arranged ride with your boss’ cum dripping down your thigh. Carefully standing up, you remembered to assume the proper posture he had shown you earlier and he smiled in approval.

“Very good.” He gestured to the heavy glass doors, opening them as if with magic with a press of a button. “I’ll see you Monday.”

“Yes,Lucifer.” You replied obediently, taking the first shaky steps out.

“Oh, and one more thing.” he called out to your retreating form. You turned, blinking and wondering what else he could want from you. “Wear the same lipstick, will you? I’d love to see what that color looks like smeared all over my cock.”

“Yes, of course. As you wish.” You replied, blushing a deep red and rushing out of the office now, high off of getting the coveted position of Lucifer’s personal assistant and the prospect of what else he could ask you to do for him.

Watching you slip into the elevator, Lucifer smiled to himself. He reached into his desk and pulled out the contract, skimming the terms and conditions you had agreed to.

Humans were terribly predictable. Yet, they were also infinitely entertaining.

#Obey me #lucifer x mc #smut #obey me smut #my writing #i'm trash you're trash we're all trash #shameless smut

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voiceless-terror · 4 years

Note

Hey!! For your prompts, would you mind doing one from a while ago (the questions one) where it says "do you ever stop talking?" with Jon?? Thanks!!!

Hello there anon! Here is your fic- I let this one sit for a bit, but I’m certainly liking the finished product. Hope you enjoy!

“Do you ever stop talking?”

Jon has been asked this multiple times, though the phrasing and methods always differ. His grandmother used to tell him to keep his thoughts to himself, which wasn’t necessarily meant to be rude but was privately devastating coming from his sole caregiver. He stopped talking at dinner shortly after that. They got on better.

The second was from his teachers, at basically any age. If he knew the answer to a question he had to share it, especially when someone else was getting it wrong. This earned him the title of “know it all” from his classmates, and his teachers often wrote the same sentiment in his progress reports, though in kinder words. He began to write all of his answers on paper instead. This brought on another host of issues- he wasn’t paying enough attention in class, his papers were overly-long and wordy.

So Jon often hovered between silence and overwhelming chatter. It swung more towards silence as the years went on.

But then he met Georgie, and his second year they got an apartment off campus. He’d been in therapy, finally gotten on medication that helped him. Though taking it was another matter. His mind was often scattered, as was his schoolwork, and he knew how grating he was when he didn’t have his shit together.

One night he was surrounded by notes and books, deep in his latest research project for history. He was petting the Admiral and chattering excitedly to Georgie- finally something he was interested in, even had a professor who wanted to hear his opinions. This paper had to be excellent, top-notch, and then maybe he could ask him for a letter of recommendation for graduate work and have someone in his corner-

“Christ, Jon! Can you please shut up?”

Georgie apologized of course, though it wasn’t necessary. Jon’s prattling could get intense and rather annoying, he knew that. It’s just that Georgie never seemed to mind. Or maybe she did, and never said anything.

Jon never did get that paper done. Couldn’t summon up the motivation after all. Just another failed attempt at excellence to add to the pile.

He’d been in an odd place when he accepted the job at the Magnus Institute. Fresh off a break up, recently moved, completely and utterly broke, not going to any sort of therapy. And yet his application was pushed through speedily, quick enough that he found himself at an interview with Elias Bouchard just a week after applying. The man was intimidating, that’s for sure. But he looked at Jon like he was something, like he was excited to hire him. He nodded in all the right places, listened when he went off on a tangent and shook his hand at the end. He was to start the following Monday.

Sasha James trained him. He’d felt comfortable with her from the start- she had organized binders of easily-laid out instructions that were simple to follow. Jon liked having a to-do list. She made a special copy for him when he asked and didn’t mind his inane questions. She smiled at him in the morning. Traded theories with him well into the night. And helped him with the more difficult researchers, ones that admired his thoroughness and dedication but did not like the rest of the package. That had earned her the nickname of ‘Jon-Whisperer’ which both embarrassed and pleased him. Embarrassing that he needed the help in the first place, but pleasing that someone cared enough to help him succeed. There aren’t a lot of Sashas in the world.

Tim arrived two years after him, fresh from the publishing industry with an easy smile and a boundless charm, but Jon could sense an intensity and purpose thrumming under his skin. Jon has that same drive as well. Tim recognized him as a kindred spirit, and the two struck up an unlikely friendship. They work well together, despite their friction over Tim’s more...creative methods. They work even better with Sasha, and the three of them are soon the busiest researchers in the institute. Jon felt more at ease than ever and he let his guard down, contributing more to conversations and getting lost in the easy camaraderie.

One day he makes a breakthrough on a particularly difficult case. He doesn’t realize he’s flapping his hands until he accidentally flicks a pen off his desk. Shit. He hopes no one is around to witness his behavior, but no such luck. Tim ducks down to fetch it and Jon grabs it out of his hand with a mumbled thanks. But Tim doesn’t tease or laugh. He just smiles.

“I’m more of a tapper myself,” he drums his fingers on the table in a quick example. “Just tell me if it bothers you.”

It does irritate Jon on more than one occasion.

He never says anything though.

When he gets promoted he is instantly overwhelmed. He’s that child in the classroom again, writing down his thoughts and filtering them as best he can. He agonizes over what should go on the tapes and what shouldn’t. He finds himself re-recording the bits he doesn’t like, where he stutters or his voice goes too high or he pauses for too long. The parts where he needs to catch his breath after talking too quickly. It can’t get back to Elias how panicked he is.

It’s Martin's birthday. Jon is reluctantly dragged out for ice cream he neither has the patience nor the appetite for. He picks some random flavor and instantly regrets it, choosing instead to nervously inform the rest of the table about emulsifiers. It takes him five minutes to realize he’s been speaking for far too long and his speech begins to trail off, his gaze turning down at the melted ice cream in his cup. Yes, this is exactly how Martin wants to spend his birthday. Listening to your inane drivel. Stupid, he chides himself.

“And?”

Jon looks up to see Martin gazing at him quizzically. “Sorry?”

“Why did you stop?” he asks. Jon blinks. “It’s just- well, you weren’t done. I’m not a big fan of cliffhangers, to be honest.” He inexplicably blushes and looks down at his lap, fingers fidgeting.

Jon scoffs but feels a warmth bloom in his chest. “Ah- okay, alright-” and off he goes, Martin nodding and smiling in encouragement. It turns out to be a nice outing after all, Tim and Sasha exiting the shop a bit sooner, giving some excuse about a deadline. Jon doesn’t recall giving them any pressing deadlines, but that probably speaks more to his forgetfulness.

Martin is up at the counter again, looking down at the ice cream. He gestures for Jon to come over.

“Do you want some more?” Jon asks. He’s not going to fault the man for another round. It is his birthday after all.

“No,” Martin shakes his head. “But I think you should. You didn’t really want rum raisin, did you?”

“H-How could you tell?” Jon stammers, embarrassed at being caught. He’d choked down at least a few bites.

“Nobody likes rum raisin, Jon,” he says with a chuckle. It takes a few more nudges, but Jon ends up picking a scoop of cotton candy. It is childish and overly sweet and delicious. He gets a cone and Martin uses that excuse for a walk in the park.

They arrive at work over a half-hour later than planned. Tim and Sasha begin to tease and Jon immediately barricades himself in his office. He’s got so much work to do, after all. But he thinks he’ll leave on time tonight.

He deserves one good day, right?

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26584141

Next in Series:

What Makes a Home

My Dearest

The Weight of Love

#prompts #my writing #tma #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #jonmartin #jon's canon info-dumping!!#Anonymous #adhd jon au

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yuzusorbet · 4 years

Photo

Continuing Kikuchi-sensei's book 'Strongly, beautifully,....'

If you have not read the earlier parts, please read them first. See my previous posts on tumblr or the master post on FB.

[Partial translation, some sentences are summarised or left out.]

Chapter 3: Work techniques of a personal trainer

3.1. Detecting 'something off' that the athlete does not realise

Going along for competitions as a trainer, I will get a mail from Yuzuru that says "please take XX flight on this date and this time"; and a few days before the competition, I will arrive at that place about the same time as Yuzuru travelling from Canada. When the competition is over, Yuzuru returns to Toronto for training. I return to Sendai and do my usual work at my clinic.

I feel it is not necessary that the athlete and trainer must be together all the time. Precisely because of meeting only once in a while, tiny changes are noticed.

When Yuzuru's condition is good, his jumps go straight up. But when his condition is not good, he jumps and rotates in a slant. Just a very slight difference in the angle of the ankle when entering the jump, will have a great effect (of course it is not only this).

And that angle is affected by many things, like the physical condition and the mood on that day. Not only when the condition is bad, even when the condition is too good, the angle can waver. Probably due to putting out too much strength. Of course when there is trouble in some part of the body, or when there is a difference in the feel of the skate boots or the ice, or when the body's central axis is slightly off, it will cause the angle to deviate.

Whether these slight deviations can be fixed, it depends on the skater himself. But, getting to the bottom of the deviations, to me, is an important job of the trainer.

3.2. Taping by millimetre units

Before going to the competition venue, I always go to Yuzuru's hotel room to wrap the tape for him. Taping cannot be done thoughtlessly. If it is too tight, it would affect the range of movement of the legs. If too loose, then stability would be lacking.

Firstly, when I enter the room and say "good morning”, I will observe Yuzuru.

As usual, he will say with a smile, "Good morning, sensei, and thank you as always." But sometimes, the same words are said with a lower tone of voice.

"I wonder if something happened," I am thinking to myself as I do the taping for him. And usually, at these times, there are more requests to "please wrap a bit stronger".

"A bit higher please," he also says sometimes. But this "higher" is only 1 or 2 millimetres higher. His senses are so well sharpened.

"Is this ok?" I adjust the tape by millimetre units and keep adjusting it to find the point of "That's good."

In Yuzuru's case, because he trains to that extent, it is not possible for his body to be always in perfect condition. There are times when there is pain in some part or a discomfort somewhere. Even in that state, to maintain Yuzuru's usual feeling---. In other words, to do the taping in order to get as close as possible to the feeling that he wishes to have.

At Sochi Olympics, with each wrap of the tape, "Yuzuru, how is this?" I asked. If he said "A bit higher please", I would adjust it. If he said "Uhn, it's this feeling", I would go "It's ok? Great!" It was like this, back and forth, all the time.

Gradually, from his expression and our conversation, I started to know the difference in his body's condition and senses on that day; "for his condition today, wrapping should be about this strong," I would be thinking as I did the taping for him.

Yuzuru's senses grew sharper day by day. If the taping was out of position by millimetres, he could feel it. I also tried to be more sensitive. To get as close as possible to the ideal feeling for him that could not be expressed in words..... That was my aim.

At 2018 PyeongChang Olympics, every morning I went to his hotel room and I could do the taping perfectly at first try.

At Sochi Olympics, I seemed to be inconsistent with my strength and had to re-do the taping many times. Thinking back now, Yuzuru must have been nervous too. No matter how tightly I did the taping, he said "It's still loose. Please make it tighter." Until I even wondered if such an abnormally tight way of taping was alright. I guess both of us were mentally at our limits.

At PyeongChang, however, when I did the taping, each time I asked "Is this alright?", Yuzuru replied "OK" immediately.

During the press conference, Yuzuru said, "I know the Olympics." I certainly felt that too. The difference between a person who has experienced the Olympic stage and one who has not. Even I as a trainer could remain mentally composed this time and give my support calmly.

3.3 Warming up by seconds

The warm-up was also worked on and refined. To that child, what is indispensable, is not just to succeed in technique, but also to train a body that can do fluid movements that captivate people.

The basic warm-up schedule is planned but small adjustments are made depending on how Yuzuru looks and feels on that day.

For example, on the shuttle bus from our accommodation to the rink, when he is in good condition, he will be looking out the window, listening to music, his body moving with the rhythm. But there are times when he is just silently looking downwards. "Something on his mind?" I wonder.

Based on his physical condition and mood that day, with information from his expression, words, behaviour, breathing and such, I will make small changes to the warm-up.

To put it simply, if one feels nervous, to prevent the body from becoming stiff, make the jogging time longer. If too fired up and the shoulders start to tense up, put more time into stretching in order to calm down. To get the person in the best form for competition, no matter what state he is in that day.

In Yuzuru's case, it is necessary to think of adjustments in terms of seconds. That is why, during his warm-up, I am always having a staring contest with the stopwatch. If he took more time to do the short jumps, then jogging time will be shortened by 30 seconds. If I think he has accumulated some fatigue, I will extend resting time by 30 seconds. All this is measured by the stopwatch.

But Yuzuru places great care on pre-competition routine. Every time, when approaching a competition, from morning until he enters the competing area, following a fixed procedure is very important to him. Because when you follow a routine, it becomes easy to detect what is different from your usual self.

Once the warm-up schedule is decided, if the sequence and timing is not followed accordingly, he will not be at ease. Even if it's just a small change, he really hates it. The amazing thing about him is, if the jogging or stretching time is changed just a little, he will know very quickly.

For example, if I extend the jogging time 1 minute more than usual, at about 20 seconds over the usual time, he will ask, "Sensei, isn't it longer than usual?"

It is good that he is too far to see the time display. I deliberately hold up the stopwatch and say, "No such thing. It's same as always. Look."

"That's strange...." he says, continuing to jog, with a face that's not quite convinced.

In a way, this is athlete and trainer "deceiving each other". Yuzuru probably knows that I adjusted the warm-up time, but because he trusts me, he allowed himself to be deceived.

There was once I said to him, "Being your trainer, have to count in seconds!" And that child laughed.

It is quite tiring to be constantly on high alert, paying close attention to his every move and word. But it is also something that I do happily, working as a trainer, I feel there is nothing more meaningful and satisfying than this.

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Translated by me from this Japanese book by Akira Kikuchi: https://www.amazon.co.jp (please consider buying it, if you can, to give some support.)

(pics: searched from the internet)

#Yuzuru Hanyu #Akira Kikuchi

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jamielea81 · 4 years

Text

When We Were Young

Chapter 1

Description: Leaving the only home your daughter had ever known wasn’t part of the grand plan. But then again, sometimes taking chances can change your whole life. And you should know that, you��ve been doing that since the start.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Slight angst, maybe a curse word or two.

Word Count: 2,271

A/N: Super nervous about this one. As always, this is strictly for fun as I know nothing about the personal life of Chris Evans. This series takes place in 2018.

*Italics are internal thoughts*

This is it. This…is…it. Okay, deep breath. Plaster on that smile.

“We’re almost there,” you sing-songed.

“Mom…” your daughter Ellie groaned.

Turning your head to the side, your co-pilot was currently nose deep in a book.

Better than her phone.

She’s a great kid and you really couldn’t complain. At fifteen you were pulling away from your parents as were most of your friends. It had been the two of you for so long that you were closer than ever. She didn’t keep secrets from you and you didn’t keep any from her. That had been your deal for years.

“I’m hoping we beat the moving truck there. Would hate to pay them to sit around,” you said eyeing the clock on the dash.

“It’s a moving truck and you don’t exactly have a light foot,” she replied, tucking in a bookmark and setting her book on her lap.

“What are you implying Ellington?” Smirk ever-present in your voice.

“It’s just that you tend to speed mother dear. When we were on the open roads in North Carolina that was one thing, but I don’t think you’ll get away with that in Boston.”

“Just wait until you start driving. You’re going to be worse than me!” you laughed. “But your probably right.”

“Don’t forget to sign me up for classes. You promised after the move you’d enroll me.”

“I know and I will. Let’s just get the school tour and the first few days of classes settled first. One step at a time,” you replied, giving her a soft smile.

Where did the time go?

“And are you ready?” she questioned.

“Ready for what?” you asked, small frown appearing on your lips.

“You’re new job. The new house. It’s an entirely different part of the country. It’s a lot,” Ellie sighed out. “Even I know that and I’m the one that wanted this change.” She placed her hand over your right hand that held the steering wheel.

“I’m ready.” You nodded your head because you really were. “This is for you, baby. But a little part of this is for me too. Change is good,” you said shrugging your shoulders. “That’s what they say right?” You gave her a questioning look which she chuckled at.

“Absolutely, mom,” Ellie agreed.

Despite your concern, the two of you made it to the townhome before the movers. The car was unloaded and food ordered before they even pulled up.

All of your furniture had survived the move, but now that you had it in the house, the beach vibe really wasn’t matching with the old brick row home. If your savings weren’t mostly depleted, you’d consider purchasing a new living room and dining room set. Only one box of miscellaneous knickknacks was damaged beyond repair from the move up the coast. According to your daughter, it was just an excuse to go shopping.

Ellie was tucked away in her new room organizing her clothes, promising she’d actually go to sleep in the next thirty minutes. It was a big day for her and you as she would tour her new school. The school specializing in engineering was the reason you were here. While Ellie didn’t inherit the social awkwardness you experienced in junior high and most of high school, she was also incredible smart. How your beautiful daughter turned out so well rounded only being raised by you was a bit of a mystery, but you thanked your lucky stars every night.

When Ellie came to you ten months ago with a glittery pink folder filled with the school’s brochure, a list of courses she planned to take, a breakdown of tuition cost, nearby neighborhoods, and a recommendation for one of her teachers, you knew she was serious. She had been talking about Harvard since she was nine years old when her school had a special speaker that had mentioned graduating from the esteemed university. She reminded you that when she did start her college career there, because she knew she’d get in, it would be a lot easier on you if you lived locally. Sometimes she was too smart for her own good.

Reaching out to a of couple old NYU classmate who lived in Boston was the easy part. Getting your small two-bedroom bungalow solid was the tough part. The house sat on the market for two months without so much as a nibble. The two of you got to work painting every room, replacing light fixtures, baseboards, and outlets. It paid off in the end as your house was in escrow a month later.

While you liked having a detached home, it wasn’t in the budget in Boston or in any of the surrounding suburbs. Your old classmate Hillary, who was happy to reconnect really steered you toward a row home. After searching Google for months, you found a rental in the town of Belmont that was conveniently located near Ellie’s high school. And just like that, you were saying goodbye to the only town she had ever known.

Wine. You needed wine if you were going to stop worrying and get some sleep yourself. If only you could find a wine glass. Digging through the one of three boxes labeled “dishes”, you gave up your search when you came up empty after the first box.

“A coffee cup will do.”

Filling the mug three quarters of the way full, you headed back to the couch, resting your feet up on the cushions and thought about how your lives were going to change. Ellie was excited for a new city and school, but you were sure she also held onto some anxiety on the inside as she tended to do.

When you were three months pregnant, you moved to Wilmington North Carolina with your college classmate Peter who was nice enough to offer you a place to stay. You certainly couldn’t go home to Kentucky. Not when you were pregnant and single. Not that you wanted to anyway. Wilmington is where you built your life for the last sixteen years and you missed it already.

You grew up in a very structured home. Middle child to wealthy parents who weren’t shy about how much they had. They had goals for you and for the most part, you obeyed. Piano lessons, cello lessons, dance, although, that one ended shortly after you started. Private schools, tutors, math camp, really anything that would help you succeed. You did well in school because you worked hard. Not that you had a choice really. College and then back home to work for your father’s company. No doubt they had a short list of potential husbands handpicked for you by your sixteenth birthday. You’d be engaged by twenty four, married, by twenty five, first child by twenty seven. It wasn’t what you wanted. You wanted to plan out the rest of your life, not have it planned out for you. Having a child on your own terms was very much a part of your plans.

Leaving work early after only two weeks at Hayward Financial was not on your calendar for the day. Two appointments with new clients had to be canceled with new ones set up for the following week. Receiving a call from Middlebury Engineering Academy that your daughter missed third and fourth period was most certainly not a call you expected to get. She loved school. Always had perfect attendance except for that one year where she got very sick with the flu and had to miss three days. Missing class was more painful to Ellie than the illness itself. Maybe you missed something. Maybe she wasn’t as happy as she seemed. She already had a small group of friends but maybe they weren’t good kids. You slammed your hands on the steering wheel.

“Where are you Ellington Rae?”

You had already called her cellphone three times and texted her twice as much but she wasn’t responding. Home was your first stop but she wasn’t there. The coffee shop was next. It was a favorite for the two of you, stopping there at least four days a week. Unfortunately, they hadn’t seen her. The pizza place, sandwich shop, frozen yogurt kiosk, library, that clothing boutique she had been begging you to take her to since her friend Carmen had mentioned it, all turned up empty. On the verge of tears, you pulled back into your driveway for the second time that day and called your best friend who not only felt a thousand miles away but actually was a thousand miles away in Wilmington. This was the hard part about moving somewhere new. You hadn’t met the neighbors, hadn’t introduced yourself to the parents of Ellie’s friends, barely knew her teachers. You had never felt more alone than you did at that moment.

“Gwen…” you said, voice barely holding on.

“What’s wrong? Shit. Give me a second, I’m going to step outside,” she said.

You got out of the car, walking up the stairs with the phone attached to your ear and your bag in your other hand. You pushed your shoulder up to hold the phone in place while you dug for the keys.

“Okay, tell me what’s going on.

“It was a mistake coming here,” you sobbed, dropping the keys on the kitchen island. “I miss Wilmington.”

“Oh babe. You love it there. You already told me you do,” she sighed.

“Not anymore. We’re coming home. I just need, um I just need to get out of my lease. We can stay with you right?”

“Always. But that’s not going to happen. Now tell me what’s bringing this panic on.”

“I can do this. Just act like you know what you’re doing,” Ellie said to herself, taking a big breath, straightening her shoulders, and walking out the door.

Leaving campus after second period was a lot easier than she thought it would be. Between the hustle and bustle of the hallway, watching the exits apparently wasn’t a thing teachers did. She walked three blocks from campus and ordered an Uber. The app was already on her phone from when her mom’s car got a flat and they decided to get lunch rather than sit around the repair shop. Her mom would be mad at her, but this was worth it and she would apologize for it later.

Her driver dropped her off in front of the booming convention center. She’d always wanted to go to one of these things, just never figured she’d be ditching school to do it. The building was massive with an impressive architectural roof. The engineer in her was beaming, but she wasn’t here for that. No, she was on a schedule. This was her one chance and she wasn’t going to blow it standing outside. Walking past the dozen or so smokers, she made her way inside the convention center, making a stop at the registration table to grab her credentials. While most attendees lined up early to be let in as soon as the doors were open, Ellie was not the average attendee.

Checking her phone for the time, she saw the dozen or so missed calls and texts. She was going to be in so much trouble when she got home and she honestly hated herself for making her mom worry. Ellie had an hour before she could line up for the one photograph she purchased months ago. Deciding to kill time in the vendor room seemed like the best option. Maybe she could buy something for you to make up for giving you wrinkles at an early age.

After browsing for some time, Ellie settled on two matching beaded bracelets in your favorite color for each of you. Maybe when you finally forgave her, you’d wear them and go to brunch like the two of you enjoyed doing back in Wilmington.

Combing her fingers through her hair for the fourth time, Ellie leaned to the side to check the length of the line once more. There were maybe twenty to twenty five people ahead of her, so she knew it would go fast. But if she had to hear how hot Chris Evans was one more time, she was going to scream. Ellie had rehearsed what she was going to say a million times in her head, but she wasn’t sure if she’d be able verbalize the words. An opportunity like this wouldn’t happen again, at least not one this easily.

She was led into a room with two other girls not much older than herself. They were here together and couldn’t stop giggling. Chris said hello and both said hello in unison causing Ellie to sigh.

“How do you want to pose for the photo?” Chris asked.

“Could we both hug you?” one of the girls asked.

“Yeah, that would be okay,” Chris replied, giving them each a smile which only caused them to giggle more and Ellie to roll her eyes.

After the girls said goodbye, two more people were ushered in the room behind Ellie. The assistant urged her forward to a smiling Chris.

“Hi sweetheart. How would you like to pose for our photo?” Ellie gulped in reply. “Don’t be nervous. How about I just give you a side hug?”

Ellie nodded her head as Chris wrapped his arm around her waist. She turned her head to face him, seeing that he wasn’t looking at her, but at the camera.

“You’re my dad,” she exclaimed.

Chris whipped his head to the side to face her. “What?” he whispered.

“You’re my father.”

Chapter 2

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#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans x single mother reader #chris evans x you #chris evans reader insert #chris evans fan fic #chris evans fanfic #chris evans imagine #chris evans fanfiction

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tarithenurse · 3 years

Text

Nightingale - 21

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: Some...niceness? Oh, that’s gotta be a mistake! Curious Naruto (that’s a warning all on its own). A/N: Work is fucked (not so noticeable during night shifts, though, and I (+ many colleagues) feel horrible about it all (we’re supposed to do rehabilitation but it’s bare basic care)...and so I’ve got a job interview tomorrow and I’m freaking OUT because I didn’t expect to be taken into consideration! ARGH! As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag!

Ch. 21

Kakashi had refused to leave the woman behind at first. It wasn’t until the Hokage had stepped over and threatened with constant missions abroad that the blue nightingale finally snapped out of her stupor, glared at her protector, and told him not to be a bloody idiot that he accepted leaving her behind – and even then, his thoughts constantly sought her out.

He had not had the motivation to think of something for Team 7 to do as training, but he also knew he needed the distraction.

“Perhaps,” he had contemplated, “you could do better in the bell-test this time?”

Of course, Naruto had complained: “Why’s it always you get the easy part of holding on to things? It’s not fair!”

“You rather be the one defending the bells?” An idea had formed then. “Fine, you three will have to protect three bells from me...if you succeed saving just one, then there might be a prize -”

“Yipeee!”

“...if you fail twice, though...” he had let the threat hang in the air, knowing that would be plenty of motivation.

...

Dirty, tired, but happy. The three students’ chatter surrounds Kakashi, bringing an unseen smile to his face. Naruto’s recount of his apparently more amazing moves than anyone had witnessed is a high-speed noise compared to the more dignified analysis of the other two. Gotta remember this exercise, the sensei promises himself as he picks a stick from his unruly hair.

“Must admit...the first round was over so quickly, I thought you hadn’t even learned anything from it,” he teases, earning groans and contradictions in return.

“But we did it! I never give up!”

Sakura sighs. “We know, Naruto, now quit yelling!”

“Butbutbut! What do we win?!”

That stops all three students who look to their leader.

“Ah, right. I did promise something, didn’t I?” Oops, shouldn’t have let my attention slip at the end. “Well then, how does a stop at Ichiraku’s sound?”

Apparently, that sounds good to more than just Naruto who always can eat, and they set off towards the best ramen-bar in town.

He hears the angry voice before the student do, and though the distance still is too great to pick out the individual words it's clear from the tone that most must be threats of sorts. As a jōnin, it may not be his explicit task to investigate the matter – there's the local police corps for civilian crimes and misdemeanours – but the presence of a shinobi such as him tends to have a calming effect on any hotheads.

Skidding around the corner with the kids hot on his heels, the scenery in front of a bakery unfolds with theatrical clarity: the matron, standing on the stoop to her shop with a broom in hand and both arms and hair flying wild on the rage she's spewing; the crowd, a mix of customers from the bakery and passers by, simultaneously intrigued and appalled as they take in the drama; and finally the demure figure with the hands clasped before her and the cascade of blue hair obscuring the face that's lowered towards the sandy ground. No one, to stop the verbal abuse from the shop owner – although Kakashi doubts the newcomer has been allowed to walk around the Village without a shadow.

"Hai, what seems to be the issue here?" he interrupts gently, placing himself between the two women.

The baker smiles coldly. "About time," she fumes, "this...this girl has the audacity of asking for continuous employment even after the ANBU came this morning to ransack the room she was renting!"

"I believe there has been a verbal agreement between the two of you that part of the rent was payed in labour?" Glancing at Uguisu, it worries the jōnin that she's not raising her voice to speak up for herself.

"If I'd known she was a criminal then I'd ne-"

Kakashi fully turns to the woman. "Criminal?" His disapproval is palpable in the air. "If she was a criminal, then she wouldn’t be allowed to walk around freely anymore."

Tugging away a few of the errand strands which leaves white flour smeared across black hair, the baker glances at the surrounding people who do nothing to help her out. "Well...she's been lying to me about her identity...even disguising herself! If I'd had any idea then I wouldn't have rented the room to her!"

"Not everyone has the luxury to freely announce their presence wherever they go." He ignores the halfhearted attempt at a protest from behind him. "Now, for the rent...I believe you are owed?"

"Yes."

"Perhaps we can reach an arrangement...I'll be willing to supervise until the remainder of the debt has been payed off in the form of cleaning. Would that be acceptable?" Hesitantly, sure, but Kakashi wins the acceptance and only a slight huff when the baker finally returns to her business. "Alright. Nothing left to see here, people!"

The onlookers scatter slowly, muttering as they go but not daring to be too obvious in their curiosity while there still is a ninja present.

"You didn't have to do that," Uguisu points out softly.

Maybe not. "Where will you be staying now?" he deflects.

"A room at the dorms."

The trio of kids have edged closer, one of them cowering under a death glare from Sakura, proving that she at least has some tact and managed to stop the usual flow of obnoxious questions. Sasuke has stuffed the fists deep into his pockets and pretends a pebble is much more interesting, but their teacher is well aware that the kid is soaking up any and all information.

"We were headed to Ichiraku’s for a celebratory ramen dinner...want to come along?" Regret is plastered across her face, a shrug growing into a shake of the head, but Kakashi has made a decision. "My treat, of course, can't expect you to stick it out with the number one knucklehead there otherwise."

Her crooked smile alone would be enough for the man to live for.

Introductions are quickly managed on the way to Ichiraku, and though Uguisu dishes out an impressive amount of non-answers the kids stop pushing for information as soon as they get their food. Blue hair pushed to one side, the former mystery has laid claim to a seat at the end, allowing her to sit at an angle that grants a better view while her back is protected and Kakashi sits as a buffer between her and the kids.

"Celebration?" Mr. Ichiraku, the patron of the eatery, looks between the guests.

"Hai!" Somehow, Naruto manages to be talk and eat at the same time. "We beat Kakashi at his own game!"

It earns a smile from the chef who gladly engages with the kid.

The teacher glances to the added guest only to find her attention glued on Sakura. "Haruno-sama," Uguisu begins, "would it be possible for me to borrow your Academy books from before the Genin exam?"

The question silences everyone, underlining the sudden hectic stuttering from the girl in answer.

"Why do you need them, hey, lady?" Naruto demands, voicing the question everyone else is thinking.

Before satisfying their curiosity, the woman takes a sip of water, her brows wrinkling slightly as if she’s thinking of the best way to say whatever is on her mind. “Sarutobi Hokage has decided the best way to ensure my past training is by having me sit in with the Academy Recruits -”

“Whaaat?!”

“Shut up, Naruto!”

“- meanwhile my warden will plan an alternate chunin exam.” She bites softly into the bottom lip, momentarily lost in thought. “I suppose that’s for the best.”

To Naruto’s credit, he really has been trying to hold back for several seconds, but now the scratchy laughter escapes him in a sputter that makes his comrades cringe visibly. “Hahaaa! You’re gonna be learning with the kiddies! Eheheheeee-”

He’s efficiently silenced by Sakura once more. This time probably for longer as he’ll have to nurse an oncoming lump on his head.

Looking past Kakashi, the girl attempts a placating smile. “Hai, you can borrow them. And please excuse Naruto who’s a moron.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Let me get them right away!” The rose-haired girl rushes off before Uguisu can stop her, leaving three guests and a cook behind with a dazed boy.

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lgcjungah · 3 years

Text

hiii, everyone!! i’d like to introduce to you choi jungah, a twenty-two year old aspiring entertainer from busan who has ... way too many layers to her personality. will get more in depth about it underneath the cut, or you can read up about her right here ( still wip,,, ). please give this post a like if i can slide into your ims for plotting! twitter or discord are also available. looking forward to writing with you andddd necessary info on jungah + plot ideas ( until i set up a proper plot page ) can be found under the read more cut!

a bit about her bio

she’s from busan, younger twin by 2 minutes to @lgcxjongsuk.

grew up being dotted on by her older brother and was very close to her mother. never had a good bond with her father, however (because he was stricter and she didn’t like his attitude. even less when she discovered he initially got with her mother for the sake of the mom’s fame).

[ TW BULLYING MENTION !! ] as a child she was nowhere near as outgoing and bubbly as she is today. rather withdrawn and shy, easily overlooked at school or bullied for preferring to stick to herself. she saw her mother as her only female friend and her twin brother as the only best friend in her life. [ END TW BULLYING MENTION !! ]

[ TW DEATH MENTION !! ] at age 12, the twins lost their mother due to illness. their father took up on a better paid job in seoul and they moved to the capital. [ END TW DEATH MENTION !! ]

adjusting wasn’t easy. the people in seoul appeared even more uptight and strict than back home in busan and jungah always left like the odd one out with her accent. life really didn’t seem to be too blooming for the girl.

until jongsuk signed her up for a national talent show that was broadcasted on tv. jungah managed to score first place, won the prize money and suddenly gained the affection and fondness of those around her. her classmates took interest in who she was, made attempts to befriend the new transfer. this was ... a brand new experience, but nothing jungah actually seemed to mind. suspicious about their motives at first, the girl soon grew to love the attention she got. she’s never had that before, after all.

throughout the end of middle school and all of her high school time, her personality underwent a huge change. once shut in, preferring books over human company, she did her best to appeal to her peers and stay the focus of attention, the girl they all adored and liked. she was coddled by her twin, still berated by her father, but life was great.

it became even greater when she took the chance of an audition after being dragged there by her classmates. a part of her knew that, mayhaps, all of these people claiming to root for her were only awaiting to see her fail and not get accepted. but much to their dismay, and jungah’s happiness, she passed and signed under legacy on january 2018.

her goal is to become an entertainer and she doesn’t stop at anything to achieve it.

personality !! most of it is covered on her about page, but here’s a summary

she’s ... really something. has multiple masks she wears daily, depending on each situation and company she’s in

they’re not bad, and never mean. maybe not very genuine at times, but she does whatever it takes to be liked by literally everyone around her. she’s very attentive, borderline cunning, notices little details about people and uses them to her advantage to make herself look nice and friendly.

your muse likes anime and mentions it briefly? next thing you know you have jungah approach them about having an anime marathon together when time allows for it to.

she is friendly, outgoing, helpful, can be pretty flirty, likes to talk a lot and likes to make jokes. she appears as the bubbly girl, everybody’s darling, but really? she has no idea what or who she actually is.

the deeper thinking surfaces when she’s mostly alone or in the company of someone she really trusts.

that’s not to say she’s always an angel. she has outbursts of pouting or sulking when something doesn’t go her way, and can display “diva” behavior, namely when she’s required to pay something and simply finds ways to make everyone else pay for her.

honestly, she just wants to succeed and make her dream of being an entertainer come true. she doesn’t react well to the past, especially the death of her mother or the way she used to be as a child. pro tip: just don’t mention these things around her, ever.

plot ideas !! these can be fleshed out more

people/friends/acquaintances from busan who knew her back when she was still very much an introvert. totally different from the way she is now. maybe they kept in contact, or reunited at lgc after years and the chance has been shocking

a penpal friend she’s had since she was a teen, and you two realize now, years later, that you are attending the same company.

ex-boyfriend/girlfriend, she had two relationships. how they ended can be discussed in detail! must be around her age and no younger than 99er.

best friends. whether it’s genuine friendship or not can be plotted out, but basically the people whom she feels most comfortable with, or whom she has no problem sharing her quiet, thoughtful moments. moments in which she’s not that bubbly girl trying to make everyone happy.

anything antagonistic. she’s loud and she makes herself present no matter where she is. your muse happens to not like this kind of behavior at all, maybe even questions whether or not her personality is actually real or if she’s just setting this up for attention and fondness. i’d love to see her being called out on it tbh

fellow anime lovers. she’s a huuuuuuge anime geek and it’d be great if she had someone to be geeky with together, be it by flailing over ships or bonding by binge watching stuff, anything is possible!

someone she tutors in english. she’s never been the best in p.e. but languages? she loves them. she’s been self-teaching herself english aside of the mandatory english classes in school and has reached a pretty advanced level. your muse needs help and she gladly provides them with just that. of course she demands something in return - icecream, maybe? <:

hookups. sef-explanatory. though this is limited to two muses.

i’m pretty sure i’ll come up with more but !!

#lgc:intro #⁽ ⠀ ♡ ⠀ ⁾ ⠀ ⠀ ooc ⠀ / ⠀ * ⠀ intro.#i think i did decently on an intro. for once.

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bigbrotherlouis · 3 years

Note

for director’s cut: the raleigh/airport scene in ‘i can’t find nothin’...’ if you would like to!!!!

ANGELA you’re gonna make me talk about sex scenes on main?! let’s DO IT

(director’s cut meme)

andrei understands, on some level, why they have to fly commercial, (i’m always going to make players fly commercial in fic if i can. direct action.) even with a job like theirs, but in practicality, when he’s wandering around the raleigh airport at six am after their flight out is delayed, he doesn’t.

marty’s laughing at him in the way that means he’s trying to be subtle about it, but andrei’s too grumpy to care. (this was for la.) it’s too fucking early and the line for coffee is too fucking long.

“it’s too early,” he whines. marty flips over the book in his hands to read the back cover.

“boo fuckin’ hoo, bud.”

“i’m tired.” and again, in russian, “я устал.”

“не— не— i don’t care,” (i couldn’t remember how to phrase this properly and i didn’t want to look it up, plus it’s funny) marty snaps back. “it’s your own fault for watching tv until one in the morning.”

“it was gossip girl,” he mutters. “important american culture.” (in one of my transition workshops where we learned to handle moving countries, we watched mean girls as an example of american culture. true story.)

“uh huh, and degrassi is exactly how canadian high school was like.” (didn’t like the flow on this sentence but i couldn’t figure out how else to phrase it. oh well.)

andrei is, like, ninety percent sure marty didn’t finish high school in canada, but he’s not willing to take the chance that he’s wrong and get teased about it. “please, can we go to starbucks now? давай, давай.” [let’s go, let’s go] (translation is always a struggle, and even more so when it’s a different alphabet like russian. i decided to include translations when context isn’t immediately clear for the reader’s comfort. also, this is something my family does-- use a different language when we want to stress something, like svechy stressing that he wants to leave)

“talking in russian won’t get me to go any faster, svechy,” marty says, placid for the early morning, and shoves a book into andrei’s hands. “here. read this and distract yourself.”

“i don’t read until i awake.” (svechy’s syntax was hard for me to write, because i want it to be clear, true to character, and respectful all at once which is hard to balance. it’s why svech’s grammar can sometimes seem a little inconsistent-- sometimes, i chose respect and readability over true to characterization. also, transliteration of accents can make people seem childish or dumb which is absolutely not what i want!)

“sucks to suck.”

andrei grumbles under his breath, a mixture of russian and english and some of sebastian’s favourite swedish (this should be finnish. oops.) curses thrown in there too, absently drumming his fingers on the cover of the book he’s still holding. marty is paying him no attention, which almost bothers him as much as the lack of caffeine does.

he’s cocking his head to read the spines of the books in the airport store when he feels the heat of someone step behind him, too close for politeness, and he’s whirling before he can even really think about it. (there really aren’t a lot of places spies can meet up by accident without getting too repetitive, especially in something that’s supposed to be silly and short, but an airport felt plausible.)

“whoa,” says joel, stepping back out of andrei’s elbows. “easy there.”

“joel?”

“in the flesh,” he says with a grin, and andrei’s thinking about how twice is a coincidence but three times is a pattern when (this is me lampshading their constant meetups because i didn’t feel like expounding on it LOL)— “is that twilight?”

“i— what?”

“the book you’re reading.”

andrei looks down at his hands and then scowls in the general direction of the shelves. fucking marty. (this is the whole reason they’re in the bookstore. for me to make this joke about svech holding twilight.)

joel tips his head to the side and grins wider. “didn’t peg (haha peg) you for a vampire guy, but i can see it. wait, fuck, are you from transylvania?” (apologies to americans but this is a little jab at your general geography abilities)

“no, not in in russia,” he says absently. “siberia, yes. transylvania, no. why you here?”

“well, i just like to lurk around airports for fun. you see interesting people like this.”

“really.”

joel snorts. “no, i have a flight, dumbass. i’m a business bitch.” (my rule of thumb for writing joel’s dialogue is to think of the most ridiculous thing i can imagine a person saying in any given circumstance and then assigning him that line.)

“a business bitch?”

“yeah, dude. makin’ money moves n’shit.”

“you’re not following me?” andrei asks, aiming for teasing, pretending it’s not a real question. (more lampshading. i was lazy.) joel makes his eyes go wide and innocent, and mostly doesn’t succeed.

“andrew,” he says, outraged. “are you accusing me of being a stalker?”

“yes.”

“oh, so you’re definitely team edward. (this joke fell into my lap) i see how it is. can’t a bro say hi to his bro in an airport, especially after getting a decent brojob the last time they saw each other?”

andrei mouths the word brojob (i crack up every time this term is used and joel would absolutely say it) and then shakes his head. “no.”

“tough crowd. what are you doing here, buddy?”

“waiting for marty to finish so we can go to starbucks. too early and he is too slow.”

“yeah?” joel looks over at where marty is now examining the overpriced souvenirs with a very careful air, taking them off the shelves and putting them gently back. (i was very into this image) “wanna go stand in line with me?” (high romance there, bee)

strictly speaking, marty and andrei are supposed to be together when travelling, just in case someone gets snatched. it’s happened before, but andrei really, really wants something to drink before they fly out to fucking vancouver, or wherever they’re going. he can’t even remember. besides, if joel was going to snatch him, he would’ve done it earlier, in the hotel when andrei was fucked out and happy. he shrugs. (listen. i didn’t want to do any worldbuilding because it was a fun au so i did the bare minimum.)

“sure. marty, i go to stand in line,” he yells and marty waves a hand without looking up. the line stretches down the hallway, too many people patiently waiting for a rush. (i’m so familiar with this and it makes me sad just writing about it) andrei can’t fault them; he’s tired too, which is why he doesn’t realise that joel’s pulling him towards the bathrooms instead of the coffee shop, pushing him into the family stall and shoving the door closed. (i’m gonna be honest: i have absolutely no idea why i made this a sex scene. like none. i remember being halfway through and being like “....i’m writing?? airport sex??” but i don’t remember why i decided it was a good idea.)

for a second, andrei thinks this is when he gets kidnapped and killed, a rival taking him out in the crowded airport where no one can see. the bulgarian maneuver would’ve been a lot less conspicuous, but oh well. (this is referring to the bulgarian assassins who killed a journalist in the 80s? i think? with a poison-tipped umbrella and i’m just now realising that’s probably not common knowledge)

instead, joel clicks the lock in place and presses up close, plastered to the front of andrei.

“wha—” says andrei, but it’s swallowed up in joel’s mouth, swallowed up in the kiss that joel gives him. he kisses back, of course he does, because it’s a fucking good kiss. joel hums, coaxing his mouth open for a minute and then biting on his lower lip before pulling away. he doesn’t go far, hands skimming down andrei’s body until he drops to his knees on the dirty bathroom floor.

“we are in a toilet,” andrei hisses. “in an airport.” (svech has the practical response)

joel shrugs, giving him the biggest shit-eating grin as he undoes his belt. (joel is never not going to be smug) “guess you have to be fast, then. besides, i owe you one.”

technically, he still got off last time, even if it was pretty basic, it’s not like andrei’s going to say no, not when joel is looking so eager and mischievous.

“don’t make too much noise,” instructs joel, (i realised after i posted the fic that both blowjobs start with someone giving instructions and i’m gonna say it’s because it’s a literary parallel and not because i don’t know how to transition into sexual acts) and then he’s got his mouth on andrei’s dick and andrei can’t think of anything else to say. he bangs his head against the door and clamps a hand over his mouth, digging his fingers of his other hand into the wood behind him.

joel is good enough that andrei’s not going to last long, not like this, getting off on the secrecy of it all. (read: i just didn’t want to write a lot. but also i think svechy has an exhibitionist streak in him and joel definitely does) it’s a tiny bit shameful in the way that makes him groan into his palm, makes him rock his hips into joel’s hot mouth. joel just hums around andrei’s dick and that’s— okay, that’s a lot. andrei’s gonna get a splinter under his nails from digging so hard, or maybe he’s gonna die on the spot, or like something because joel pulls off to just go right back in again and fuck. (fun fact! i’ve never had sex i don’t know what i’m writing)

“fuck,” he hisses through the meat of his hand. “fuck!”

it’s too loud, probably, and joel’s eyes flick up to his with a warning.

“sorry,” andrei breathes. joel pinches his thigh, sharp enough to sting, and embarrassingly, that’s what makes him come with a noise between a breath and a whine.

“baller,” (joel pick something less sexy to say i dare you) joel says smugly when andrei comes back to earth, enough of a douche move that andrei can’t help but roll his eyes. he flicks joel on the cheek.

“you suck.”

he grins. “well, yeah. obviously.” (low hanging fruit but he’d say it so i wrote it)

“idiot,” andrei mutters and then tugs on joel’s shoulders until he stands up, pulls him in until he can nudge at joel’s jaw with his nose. “i help you?”

joel shakes his head, his hair tickling the side of andrei’s cheek. “nah, i like it when you owe me. hey, does it count as being part of the mile high club if we’re still on the ground?” (i was literally in the middle of posting this fic to ao3 before i realised i had not made a mile high joke which was unacceptable. typed it right into the text box)

“no?”

“damn. it’s on my bucket list.”

“you so weird,” andrei tells him, not managing to keep the fondness out of his voice, and then yawns so hard his jaw cracks. “i’ll pay you back with a drink.”

“oh my god,” says joel and then pinches andrei in the side so he twitches. “i just gave you the best airport blowjob—”

“only airport blowjob.”

“the best fucking airport blowjob of your life, and you’re thinking about drinks? fuckin’ ridiculous, andrew.”

“not andrew, yo-el.” (this is svech getting back at joel as best he can. trying to give it as good as he gets it. establishing banter!!)

“sure, bro,” joel mumbles and andrei shoves at him so he can get his pants back on, fumbling with the door. “next time better be fuckin’ phenomenal. you owe me big time.”

“excuse me, you said it was payback. we equal.”

“maybe i changed my mind,” joel says with a grin, bumping him with his hip.

“maybe i disappear forever,” he replies, halfway between teasing and halfway to serious. joel reaches up to fix his snapback (this is also for la.) and shrugs.

“nah, you’re too sweet to do that.”

“i’m not sweet.”

“uh huh, bro. keep tellin’ yourself that shit.”

the line’s gone down, incredibly, and they’re close enough to the counter that andrei has to start thinking about what to order. he should probably get something for marty, or risk getting whined at all flight.

“yo,” says joel when they’re two people away from the barista. “you got digits?”

andrei hesitates and then holds up his hands, wriggling his fingers. “uh. yes?” (it’s probably more in character for real life joel to ask for instagram instead but this joke made me laugh so much that i couldn’t bear to leave it out. also it’s a little fun second language moment)

joel blinks at him for a long second and then breaks out into a wide smile, shaking his head. “nah, not those. i mean, like, a phone number.”

“i don’t have a phone,” he mutters and then pulls one out of his pocket. (YES this is a tumblr post ripoff but svech wasn’t just going to give it up so easily so in it went) “okay, give.”

he dutifully types out the sequence joel rattles off and then sends a smiley face to the number when joel makes him text.

“cool. now we can text instead of ambushing each other in public.”

“that not me,” andrei tells him. “all you.”

“you’re jumpy and it’s cute.”

“i’ll delete your number. block it.” he warns and joel waves a hand.

“yeah, yeah,” he says cheerfully and then leans over to tell the barista what he wants to drink. it’s the most ridiculous sugary concoction, hardly any coffee, and andrei stares at him in horror. (this is projection for my horror at some of the things i’ve seen in american coffee shops. that’s just. so much sugar. also prime chirping opportunity to show their personalities and dynamic a little)

“you gonna drink that?” he asks and joel frowns a little. “is just sugar. candy.”

“yeah, so? it tastes so good.”

“you not gonna have teeth.” he orders two cold brews and pays. “you gonna die early from sugar.”

“somehow,” joel says with a sparkle in his eye, “i don’t think it’s gonna be the sugar that’ll nerf me in the end.” (minor foreshadowing here! also lmao @ the thought of joel saying nerf)

he gets his vanilla bean java chip unicorn whatever frappuccino— literally, what the fuck— and takes a satisfied sip.

“disgusting,” says andrei. “no more kissing for you.”

“aw, bud, how am i gonna practice? you said i needed it.” (it’s not stated in the fic but joel learned how to flirt from watching tk and patty and i think it shows)

“lost cause,” he tells him airily. he’s about to suggest something— he’s not even sure what— when someone appears over joel’s shoulder.

“farabee,” the guy says. he looks stern, but that might be the impressive beard. or the death glare he’s levelling andrei’s way. “where the fuck have you been?”

joel brandishes his drink. “caffeinating it up, g. stayin’ alert and awake.” (real life joel has said this at least once to claude, and i will stand by that statement)

g’s frown gets deeper. “we’re going to miss our flight.”

“nah, we’ve got time— oh, shit. yeah, we gotta bounce, bruh, but i’ll catch you later? text me.” (inelegant departure but my goal was to not overthink things in this fic, like i’m prone to do, so i left it) he almost literally get pulled away by his elbow, towed by his ginger friend through the airport so he can enthusiastically wave his goodbye.

“well,” marty says out of nowhere, reaching for his cold brew and making andrei jump. “there’s good news and bad news.”

“okay.”

“the good news is that he’s cute and somehow into your stupid face.” he takes a long drink, conscious that andrei is about to hit him for making him wait and enjoying it very much. (he’s dramatic and also i wanted to draw out the surprise a little) andrei needs new teammates.

“the bad news?” he prompts.

“the bad news,” repeats marty, grimacing. “the bad news is that he’s definitely in the same line of work as us.”([john mulaney voice] the other shoe just dropped.)

everything in andrei’s head grinds to a stop. “uh. what?”

“i recognize his handler. giroux, french canadian division.” (i’m gonna work g into fic when i can bc i love him)

“joel’s american,” he says absently and marty takes another drink, shrugging.

“so philly’s an international cooperation team. (this was my way of making the international aspect of the spy teams make sense, and also to not have this be enemies-to-lovers, as much as i love that trope) can’t imagine that ever happening.” he gives svech a look which, yes, andrei knows they work together because of a treaty or whatever, but still. he wants marty to be wrong about joel, for so many reasons.

mainly because he doesn’t like feeling like he’s been conned, not when he’s so good at doing the conning, and this is a big one. (it’s not my fic if there’s not at least a little angst!)

“fuck,” he says glumly. marty pats him on the shoulder.

“well,” he says. “at least he’s cute.” (marty’s trying to show his support for svech here! he just wants good things for his friend :)))

that was so fun to do, thank you so much for asking! ily!! <3 <3 <3

#personal issues #fic talk #hockey fic #hockey #hockey bros #my fic #long post #selkiefinalist

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thissimplefeelingzine · 3 years

Note

regarding your inexperienced w zines mod team- do u at least have somebody handling finances that has experience w a completed zine? that’s SUPER important, especially now, and I would urge you to reach out if not and find somebody to handle that positon. looking forward to this zine!

Hello anon,

I am Mod Dogfeathers*, and while posting directly to our socials is somewhat rare for me, I am This Simple Feeling's current Finance Mod, and so I thought it very important that I address your concerns directly, myself. I am very shy, I am neurodivergent, and I have severe social anxiety, and so most of the work I've done for This Simple Feeling thusfar has been infrastructural and supportive, somewhat away from wider visibility. However, I am extremely aware of the awesome responsibility that falls squarely on my shoulders as finance mod, and that the community around our zine– from my fellow mods and our potential contributors to the fans who will be cheering us on and reading issue 6 next year– must be able to depend on me to manage our finances through every stage of This Simple Feeling's production. The success of our project requires the community's collective confidence in me, and I am extremely keen to build that trust.

So, first, I want to apologize for the length of time that you've had to wait for this reply, and assure you we've been taking your concerns very seriously. Much of this time has been spent in deliberative reflection as to whether or not I should remain in this role. I love this project, and I have invested a prodigious amount of time and effort and affection into it since Head Mod @menecio approached me in early November 2020; I desperately want it to succeed. I have never wavered that I want to remain in this role, and my fellow staff have not wavered in their conviction that I should remain here, too. That said, I am aware that the success of our zine does not particularly care about what I want or what feels good, and so I took some time to seriously assess my own capabilities, to strenuously question my resolve, and to seek advice from people with zine experience who I trust. We have determined that I shall remain Finance Mod, but I want to stress that this was neither an easy nor an immediate decision– I did not let it be an easy or immediate decision, because what has always mattered to me is what's best for the zine. In the end, that determination was made based on the work that I've already done and the trust that my team has in my abilities.

Nevertheless, we want to emphasize that we continue to take your concerns seriously; we recognize that my lack of zine experience is both significant and reasonable cause for concern. We are taking additional measures to address that lack, beyond those that I insisted upon when I accepted this role. I will shortly lay out some of my relevant experience, but in recognition that it is limited and that it may not be sufficient to assuage your concerns, I want to make clear one of the additional measures that I requested during this period of consideration.

My husband and my partner of ten years, Tom, is a trained accountant, and he will now be supervising my work for this project directly. He had already agreed to assist me informally, and had– with supreme patience– already conducted a few intense, 6 hour long sessions to explain the ways that double-entry bookkeeping and Microsoft Access can be used to manage a project of this nature. He will continue to do that, but he will also be keeping an eye on my work and checking up that work periodically. I will still be managing our accounts, my name will still be on our books, and this will still be my job, but Tom will be actively present to confirm that I am doing this correctly. He does not have zine experience, he is not involved in fandom, and he does not have fandom-relevant socials– he has no specific pull towards fandom participation, the way I do– but he has worked for several years as one of two accountants for the library of one of the USA's top 40 public research universities, managing the extremely complex and surprisingly variable needs of such a massive nonprofit, and has been responsible for controlling several million dollars of public acquisitions spending in that capacity. (His way of describing this: "Each year we spent about the same amount as the budget for 10 Things I Hate About You, and I was in charge of a little over half of it.")

As part of this supervisory role, Tom is also going to maintain a presence in our server. He is not a mod and plays no part in decision making beyond occasionally giving us financial advice when asked, but he has appropriate server roles to provide direct access to mod discussions, so that he can be present to pay attention when I bring financial data to the team, and to answer our collective financial questions, should any arise that are beyond my personal capacity. When his schedule permits, he is also available to our contributors and mods to answer their questions directly in server.

What follows is a non-comprehensive, but hopefully thorough, summary of my relevant experience.

By training and professionally, I am a studio artist with an MFA, the terminal degree in my field. I manage my own studio practice. This is a complicated, variable job that requires a great deal of flexibility, responsiveness, and skill– most of which does not actually involve the hand-skills necessary to create the literal artwork the studio practice ostensibly produces. As an artist, I am a sole proprietor, and my studio is my business, but with very specific needs not necessarily found in other businesses, and I run it without assistants. I maintain my inventory and my supplies, I purchase and manage equipment necessary to create work, I manage my work through various states of creation and exhibition and– sometimes– publication, I take on clients for commission, I apply to shows (for which there is always a fee), I work with gallerists and curators, I research and make connections with different platforms and specialist logistics businesses (PayPal/money handlers, banks, streaming platforms, printers, data storage). All of those affect my studio's finances, and so they must be managed carefully, in addition to sales of prints and original artwork (thusfar handled privately, as is fairly normal– we are often encouraged not to maintain digital storefronts, because it can dissuade potential gallerists from representing us; I am in the process of threading that needle.) In this capacity, I have no employer: I am responsible for taxes– both knowing what they are and paying them– and fees, I am responsible for my costs, and I am responsible to my business partners. There is no external buffer– if I fail any of this, I am the only party responsible for making it right.

Because I believe in the transformative power of art (and, for that matter, fandom), I try to work with local arts organizations and nonprofits when possible, particularly when it comes to showing my work and engaging in community arts efforts. I prefer to support group projects that elevate multiple artists, and/or organizations that serve diverse communities. Prior to COVID, I was doing a volunteer-intensive residency with local community arts nonprofit whose mission is to bring art and heritage craft skills to communities that would not otherwise be able to access such training; COVID has necessitated a change in my ability to serve them, but I do still work for them in a more limited capacity, usually grantwriting.

Though I prioritize nonprofits, I have also worked as an assistant/intern for urban galleries using for-profit and co-op funding structures, which involved both basic work associated with gallery assistantship (manning desks, running errands, calling support businesses, promotion, show installation, etc), and sometimes work on specific projects that required knowledge of the institution's fiscal state and available funds (from contacting local businesses about the replacement of a gallery's floor and helping to plan the launching of a new residency, to more routine tasks, such as contacting local bakeries about catering or hosting satellite shows, and ordering promotional material from printers.) All galleries run on extremely tight budgets, and having been exposed to a variety different gallery funding structures (with concomitantly different priorities and audiences) gives me an awareness of the work and the precision required to achieve ambitious goals with extremely limited finances. They are why I price things out on three levels: the ideal, the nearly-ideal, and the most affordable that still meets our high bar for quality.

I have experience writing grants, both for myself and (more notably) for the nonprofit at which I am an AIR (artist in residence). The most ambitious of these grants has reached the second stage of consideration, which is notable both because the granting organization is not arts specific, the deciding board is composed mostly of bankers with deep fiscal expertise, and we were asking for funds significantly in excess of what that grant usually offers. That decision is expected in June of next year. Grant-writing is less of an abstraction on the skills necessary for a zine than it might initially seem: both involve my operation as an agent representing the organization for which I requesting money; art grants are usually for very specific projects with very specific constraints; they usually require that our funding comes from multiple sources that are then pooled to enact the project; the projects have a specific lifespan and a schedule on which key stages must be completed; they require extremely precise budgeting; we are directly accountable for both the project and the precise management and tracking of said funding; and we must be ready to provide statements and proof of the project's progress and funding at every stage of the project's active lifespan, as well as a summary report at the end.

I have curatorial experience with local and regional art shows, usually organized by a small independent team working closely with a local, preferably-nonprofit gallery who is lending us their space; those roles are very analogous to the XO/logistical role I am currently fulfilling for This Simple Feeling. Though we worked with local galleries, and could sometimes make use of some of their equipment (such as hammers and nails and– if we were very lucky– leftover paint), we were responsible for every aspect of the actual hosting of the show and associated costs. This included equipment rental, installation costs, costs to repair & repaint to walls from the normal damage of installation, catering, sometimes utilities and space rental, etc. All of those costs were additional to the cost of recruiting artists, hosting calls, managing the artists and their work, managing sales of the work throughout the duration of the show, managing the sales of any prints the artists or merch the artists wanted to offer alongside the work, and organizing any publications or promotional materials released for the shows. Each show had different financial needs, but they all required budgets prior to their beginning, modified when necessary as the project came closer to realization and new constraints presented themselves. The businesses we solicited quotes from and our cost-reduction strategies varied from show to show, but all of the teams I worked with were semi-formal groups of friends and collaborators, similar to the teams that design zines, and so we did not have a pool of institutional capital to use for funding– we had to generate or barter for all of that ourselves. We did it because we loved it and we believed in it, not because it was potentially lucrative (community art shows almost never are, even less than zines; the point is celebration of our community.)

And that, honestly, is one of the most relevant bits of experience I've accumulated to date, tangential but applicable to a project like this: the awareness that this kind of project is done for love, not money. Issue 6 is being produced for charity, but even wildly successful for-profit zines will almost never be able to make enough profit to adequately compensate the cost of the staff's time, which would be upwards of $20k, if you paid them $10/hr, which is below the cost of living in most parts of my country. The cost to hire freelance writers is, at minimum, $.10 a word. The artwork in zines would cost in the hundreds– and, more realistically, thousands– of dollars, in a professional illustrative or fine art context. The writers and artists who contribute to zines absolutely make work that reaches (and exceeds) the professional standards required to participate in those industries. Our contributors have trained for years to hone their skills, and they put those skills towards making work for us, for free; our staff similarly donate their time to accomplish very complex tasks to support that creative work; that time could be spent producing work for those professional contexts, but instead they give it to us, and they do that because they believe in us and our community, and they want to celebrate a fandom and a ship– Star Trek and K/S– that have brought us together, and (with Trek and K/S specifically) have supported fandom engagement for over five decades. They give that work to us, and the only thing they ask is for us to make a zine out of it. I am an artist and a writer, I have formal training in both disciplines, and I understand these costs: I cannot express how seriously I take the gift of their time and energy, and how profoundly I am humbled to be trusted with it.

If I sound zealous, it's because I am, and because I am excruciatingly aware that from the moment our staff begins working on this project and our contributors start making their works, the financial responsibility for taking all that gifted energy and skill and effort becomes solely my own. If I fail as finance mod, I do not fail only myself, as would be the case in my studio practice– I also fail my fellow mods and every single one of my contributors, and I fail the community responsible for the generation of work that has provided me solace for decades. If I fuck up as finance mod, it is solely my responsibility to make it right.

As I said before, your concerns are absolutely reasonable– I share many of them– and all of this experience is tangential, and zines are different projects to those that I've worked on before, with different constraints and needs. I have thus taken action and structured my own work as a mod to assuage these concerns in myself, in ways that I hope will concomitantly assuage some of your concerns as well. I am paying attention to my own inexperience, I am preventing myself from functioning on auto-pilot, I am taking nothing for granted, and I am being actively vigilant for the inevitable gaps in my own expertise.

That's easy to say, but what does it look like? Thusfar, it takes the form of huge amounts of research, and the connection to a extant network of experienced zinesters, both of which are repositories of information with which I am trying to plug some of my gaps. I know well, as an academic who also practices disciplines (art and writing) that are precarious by their nature, that there is a big difference between external research and experience– but if everyone starts somewhere, then I have gone to great lengths to map out the place where I'm starting as thoroughly as possible. I have read (and often annotated) literally every resource on the production and staffing of fandom zines that I could find. When I have a question, I check these sources and I also look for examples of whatever I'm curious about 'in the wild'. To determine the likely price of our zine, for example, I looked through seven pages of tags on popular hub/promotion blogs on Tumblr, and generated a comprehensive Excel sheet from one such session that allowed me to compare prices against the number of pages and the kinds of merch offered alongside the zines in question. To balance the holes in that mode of data collection, I have also sought contacts and tried to build a relationship with communities around zine production: i have close friends who work on zines (and who initially got me interested in this kind of project– you know who you are, and my thanks is infinite for your patience and your willingness to act as resource), and I regularly make a pest of myself by asking strange questions to folks in Discord servers dedicated to the topic (I am also grateful to these communities, in similar terms). When possible, or if the question is specific enough, I try to go directly to the source: when I was uncertain what, specifically, could be used to verify a PayPal account, and found conflicting answers in their documentation, I spent three days talking to various help desk personnel until I found a solid answer on which to proceed. All of this is basic, and deserves no accolades.

If I am anything in my personal art practice, it is a colorist, and so I already had fairly deep knowledge of color theory prior to my involvement here– however, because color accuracy is so important to printed artwork, and depends so much on printer technology, the capacity and setup of individual print shops, and digital color spaces, I have spent time researching this too. I have requested printing samples from 7 different printers, and I have peppered the ones that meet the zine's standards with esoteric questions about what kind of printing presses they use and what ICC profiles their digital presses are set up to handle. I have done this because when it comes time (very shortly) for our Art Mod (@i-drive-a-nii-san) and myself to make some final determinations on which printers we want to use, it is important to me personally that we have the most comprehensive data available with which to make that decision. The zine that we publish needs to be pragmatically affordable– but within the scope of that pragmatism, I want the best quality possible, so as to do justice to the contributions that will live on its pages.

I am aware that all of my experience is tangential, and that the direct relevance that it has on this situation is limited. I am aware that there are gaps in my knowledge. I am aware of the awesome responsibilities I have as finance mod, and that I am a potential bottleneck upon which this project either breaks and fails or through which it passes and succeeds. I am aware of the gift inherent in every work we receive and every moment of staff working time, and the legacies at play with K/S specifically. I am aware that all the book-learning in the world has limited bearing on the actual experience of doing something on the ground. I find my experience lacking, and for that reason, I very seriously considered stepping down. I am humbled by the responsibility required by this position; I decided to stay because the trust my team expressed in me was also humbling.

My experience may be tangential, but there is a final element that I strongly suspect is applicable to my role as finance mod (and mod generally): in a project like a zine, done for love and for community, there are a myriad ways in which trust matters, small enough to overlook but overwhelming in their accumulation. The trust of the external fandom/zinester community matters, and for that reason I am being as honest as possible, and almost ceded my position to someone with greater experience; the trust of one's fellow staff and collaborators also matters in significant ways. An administrative team that trusts each other– that has confidence in each others' abilities and convictions, that understands each others' outlooks and that communicates well, and that deeply believes that that they will mutually have each other's backs– that kind of administrative team is an awesome thing, and their confidence is often perceptible to the contributors in very real ways, who then trust the administrative team to have their backs and to support them as necessary. Collaborators and administrators who have established that trust with each other tend to work together more effectively, and produce stronger work as a result, especially in a creative capacity. Good work requires creative risk-taking, which in turn requires the certainty that administration can support the necessary risk-taking and facilitate its success. The establishment of such trust is not automatic– we must work for it, actively– but the team involved in issue 6 of This Simple Feeling has that trust in each other, and the willingness to build it with both our collaborators and the wider community around our zine.

My confidence in the rest of my team is unshakeable. They have, in turn, expressed their confidence in me, that I am able to do the tasks and handle the responsibility involved with being finance mod on a project as specific and complex as a fandom zine for charity; I will trust them, and I will continue to work to earn their trust. I will also trust the broad community of zinesters around me, and solicit their expertise to help me navigate unfamiliar waters, and I will trust the professional expertise of my partner, who I have asked to donate his time. I will not lie, and so I make no promise that I won't fuck up in this role– but I will absolutely promise that if I do, I will make it right, and I will do everything in my power to prevent such fuckups from occurring in the first place.

I encourage you or anyone else to contact me if you have further questions; I can be reached through the contact forms on my personal Carrds– both linked on This Simple Feeling's staff bio on the Carrd– or alternatively you can request my Discord handle via DM on This Simple Feeling’s Tumblr or Twitter.

- Mod Dogfeathers/42/booleanWildcard/NAB

* I write fanfiction under the name booleanWildcard, and I am known socially as 42 or */asterisk. I post drawings as Dogmachine. I sign my visual work as NAB, my initials.

* We are using Microsoft Access instead of Excel, because Access is more flexible and comprehensive with its ability to cross-reference multiple fields. We will use it to generate reports for release, including possibly ones that can be plugged into Excel/Google Sheets

#tsfzine #ask #mod team

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calvinmaxfield · 3 years

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( booboo stewart. twenty-four. he/him. ) i think i just saw CALVIN MAXFIELD ride by on a golf cart . at least i think it was them . after all , STRAIGHT TO HELL BY THE CLASH was blasting on the transistor radio . maybe they were on their way to work , i hear they’re a LINE COOK . but they totally could have been on their way to STEAL SHOOTERS FROM THE BEVERAGE CART . guess we’ll never know . you’ll definitely know its them when you see PATCHES ON A WORN JEAN JACKET , CIGARETTES FORGOTTEN IN THE WASHING MACHINE , & AN UNUSED MUSICAL THEATRE DEGREE around the country club . let’s just hope they stay off the green after hours or else they sprinklers will get them ! ( haley. twenty-two. est. she/her. )

𝑓𝑢𝑙𝑙 𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒 : calvin antonio maxfield . 𝑛𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑛𝑎𝑚𝑒(𝑠) : cal , maxxie . 𝑎𝑔𝑒 : twenty - five . 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ : march 4th , 1996 . 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑐ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑡 : pisces sun , virgo moon , capricorn rising . ℎ𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑡𝑜𝑤𝑛 : north caldwell , new jersey . 𝑠𝑒𝑥𝑢𝑎𝑙 𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 : bisexual . 𝑜𝑐𝑐𝑢𝑝𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 : line cook begrudgingly . has bigger aspirations for himself but settles for an easy job over one he has to work for . aspiring in everything film whether it be acting , screenwriting , direction or anything in between . has also entertained stand-up comedy but had never taken the steps towards achieving that goal either .

ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑐𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑠 : self proclaimed narcissist but is super self aware about his insecurities , is a whore lol , seems like he’d be the least judgmental person but is secretly super judgmental , will risk it all for a sexual connection possibly resulting in a romantic one , hasn’t cried in years , female manipulator music , thinks being called a theatre kid is a slur but was super well known for getting every lead role in high school and college , wants to be a stand up comedian or actor , could kill for a woman to braid his hair , will do anything for attention , noncommittal , the loudest person in a room but is insecure about his volume , the class clown , could be your friend for a lifetime and you still wouldn’t be sure if he likes you or not .

𝑓𝑎𝑐𝑒𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑖𝑚 : booboo stewart . ℎ𝑎𝑖𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑟 : black . 𝑒𝑦𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑙𝑜𝑟 : brown . ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 : 5 ft 8 “ . 𝑡𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑜𝑠 : to be determined but a littered , jumbled sleeve of meaningless drunk tattoos mostly . 𝑐𝑙𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠𝑡𝑦𝑙𝑒 : heavy punk rock . jean jackets plastered with patches , heavy boots , flannels tied at the waist line . heavy rings on slender fingers . a hair tie on each wrist . jeans or chef pants , no in between . fucks with an occasional open button down tee .

𝑚𝑦𝑒𝑟 - 𝑏𝑟𝑖𝑔𝑔𝑠 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑡𝑦𝑝𝑒 : the debater , entp . 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑎𝑙 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑔𝑛𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 : chaotic good . 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑠 : black cold brew with a cigarette , mindlessly rewatching taxi driver for comfort , quoting the sopranos , being right , comfortable silence , busy environments , making others smile . 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒𝑠 : gossip , commitment , the transition from autumn to winter , cats , folding laundry , hungover anxiety.

𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 : ( drug tw , child neglect tw ) .

the class clown , the smart ass . these are just two of the labels that have been placed on calvin maxfield his whole life . he’s not even sure if he likes being called them , to know he’s being perceived by others is to know he’s truly alive . that he is seen . on one hand , he’d only ever wanted a disappearing act . one where he slips into the background with anyone truly noticing . a universe where he’s not putting on a face of clown make up to entertain . but on the other hand , he’s good at it . he’s good at entertaining and he likes seeing people smile . so why does calvin have so many qualms with being well liked ? it’s the expectations . an expectation to always be happy . no bad days , no turning off the constant sunshine smile . even if his mind is a storm far greater than he can conquer .

there’s nothing more freudian than blaming your short comings on your childhood . at least that’s what calvin will tell you anyways . but deep down , he knows it’s a mask . that his childhood fucked him up more than he has even begun to process . his therapist pries but he pays her no mind , wishing to be considered more of a strong silent type than one who speaks with loose lips . but his tendencies to make others happy lie within his greatest coping mechanism with is humor . one he developed during his childhood watching movies far too mature for his underdeveloped mind . robert dinero , al pacino , so many tough men who taught him how to be strong in the face of adversities . movie stars were his role models because dad was always too high to entertain the thought of his son , shooting up the day’s dose in front of him while the bills piled high on the kitchen table . calvin’s mother wondered if she’d ever see a day where the world wasn’t so bleak , where she could protect her son from the horrors of the world . but she couldn’t even protect him from the one inside her very home . not to mention it was hard to supervise when working more jobs than seemed possible .

but calvin grew up with thick skin and a cut throat attitude . he slept soundly knowing that his mother loved him and one day his father would see him succeed and kick himself in the ass for mistreating him . but calvin’s brilliance was never a revenge thing . he owed it to himself to be good at something . that something just so happened to be theatre . it was clear to the teachers that had maxxie the class clown sitting in their back row that he liked to perform so his drama teacher came an pursued him . at first hesitant , he remembered some of the greats . al , robert , and suddenly he was in . though he insisted on not being musically inclined , calvin quickly blossomed in the musicals and found his voice through his high school’s productions . he was finally receiving the validation he was deprived of his entire childhood . standing ovations , applause , genuine eye contact that came with compliments , loving hugs . he couldn’t get enough . so it only made sense that he pursued musical theatre in college .

college was when things took a turn for the worst . a slacker , calvin could no long get away with thing solely because his teachers liked him and enjoyed his performances . now everyone was just like him . a talented class clown who thrived on applause and validation from others . bad habits crept their way into his life at this time seeing as he was drinking and experimenting with drugs pretty heavily . what was a career for everyone else was quickly turning into a hobby for him as his poor coping mechanisms and social life hopped in the driver’s seat . this life in his life was all about self sabotage . missing classes to drink , going to acting workshops hungover , sleeping with friend’s girlfriends , doing things just because he could . it was mind blowing that he ever received a degree . but with college coming to an end , he addressed that his period of time with substance abuse were some of the worst years of his life and he wanted to tone back . focus on himself . but old habits die hard .

calvin doesn’t really know how he ended up in the highlands . maybe it was his lack of drive or washed up attitude , but it hard to give his life any real thought from behind the line in the kitchen. all he knows is he needs to get the fuck out .

--------------

wanted connection:

ride or die ( f ) : ever since i created calvin as a muse i’ve wanted to him to have a girl best friend who literally completes him. calls him out on his bullshit , tell him when he’s being a dick but also helps him navigate through his life and feelings . bonus points if they’re a polar opposite of him like super feminine .

ex ( m/f/nb ) : calvin is toxic af so i’m down for plotting whatever honestly i just want him to have an ex

fwb ( m/f/nb ) : again , calvin is a bisexual and toxic whore so bring him all your muses to casually fuck

roommate ( m/f/nb )

coworkers

enemies ?? frenemies ?? frenemies with benefits ???

#highlandsintro #about #here's calvin :)

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