#''promise not to harass our staff?'' ''i promise'' [harasses the patrons]

[mayaishiipeters]

nandor has GOT to stop meeting people at massive fitness

[luxekook]

love bites | ksj

*written for the FWL luv library project*

⇥ pairing: kim seokjin x reader

⇥ genre: non-idol au, co-workers to lovers, smut, fluff

⇥ summary: you’re stuck working the evening shift on valentine’s day at bangtan bistro. as the city’s most expensive and exclusive restaurant, the bistro draws in couples both old and new with partners looking to propose or to impress. your tolerance for PDA and cringey lovebirds has never been lower. throw a flirty chef into the mix and you’re in for a bumpy ride that might just conclude with a happy ending.

⇥ word count: 5.4k

⇥ warnings: 18+, smut, cursing, bad puns from jin, numerous health-code violations (from fraternizing all up in that kitchen), oral (m + f receiving), protected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it, folks), workplace romance, threats of violence from yoongi

⇥ beta'd by the amazing @shadowsremedy​ (thank you, heath! could not have done this without you, your feedback, and your general support!)

“Will you marry me?”

I screech to a halt, completely astounded at the goddamned audacity of the man kneeling before me. Did he really just ask that? At a time like this?

I shift my weight from one foot to the other as I try not to outwardly show my disgust over the scene unfolding before my very eyes.

“Oh my god, Chad!” The date of this Chad finally launches herself from her seat and into his arms, “Yes!”

The restaurant breaks into applause. My forehead breaks into a sweat.

My left arm feels like it might snap at any moment under the weight of the tray of food that I’m meant to be serving this goddamn theatrical couple. The thought of quitting crosses my mind for the umpteenth time that evening.

A camera flash temporarily stuns me, and I feel a tiny twinge of satisfaction. My looming presence in that commemorative photo will hopefully be a reminder to let servers do their damn job before launching into a whole ordeal.

God, I must have been off my fucking rocker when I agreed to work the Valentine’s Day dinner shift. At least the tip money would be worth it.

Gritting my teeth, I flash my best fake smile and offer words of congratulations to the sniffling couple who finally reclaimed their seats.

“Enjoy your meal,” my mouth says with a smile.

“I wish I could sear you like that filet mignon you ordered, Chad,” my glare says with promise.

Thirty seconds later, I’m in full whisper-rant mode at the corner server station. My friend and fellow server Tabby half-listens as she punches in an order at the kiosk.

“And then this Chad in his fucking khaki suit flails to the ground to pop the question like he didn’t see me walking towards them with all seven entrees they ordered. So then I’m stuck hovering over their table with a giant-ass tray of food while they cry and hug and kiss until, finally, finally, they park it back in their seats so I can serve them.”

I groan, hitting my head against the wall, “What did I do in a past life to deserve this?”

“Kill someone, probably,” a voice pipes up from behind the station’s kitchen window, “Oh wait, you would do that in this life, too.”

Kim Seokjin, head chef of Bangtan Bistro and my partial employer, is leaning over the window’s counter, eyes full of mischief as he watches me.

“Oh, what’s this? Are you volunteering to be my very first victim?” I mirror his position leaning over the window’s counter and give him my best side-eye, “I’ll send you my application for victims on Google Docs.”

“Sounds kinky,” Seokjin grins, “Count me in. My Gmail username is Hugh Chefner. No capitals or spaces.”

“I despise you,” I say biting back a smile.

“You lo-o-ove me!” He sings, heading back into the depths of the hectic kitchen.

And, unfortunately, he’s right. Damn Kim Seokjin and his insane level of gorgeousness, charisma, and dramatics.

Against my better judgment, Seokjin has shimmied his chaotic self right into my well-guarded heart. Despite all of the prickliness my typical demeanor displays, I can’t help but melt under the warm gaze of such a handsome man.

Seokjin is the first person that has ever been able to pique my interest lately and keep it. Yes, it might have something to do with his extreme attractiveness; but, it more-so has everything to do with his genuine kindness and weird sense of humor.

Shit, I’ve gone soft. If we’re arguing Nature vs. Nurture here, this is totally Nurture’s fault.

Bangtan Bistro is co-owned by seven men - each as fine as the next. Being surrounded by good-looking and kind-hearted men day in and day out will definitely fuck with your brain, your body, and eventually even your fucking heart.

Kim Namjoon, a tall, dimpled sweetheart of a man, acts as general manager. Namjoon typically resides in the back office of the restaurant running numbers and going over other business ventures. He used to frequent the front of the restaurant to check on customers, but Jimin has since banned him from that activity after the infamous Spaghetti Incident of 2019.

Park Jimin, as the overseer of staff and servers, commands the restaurant floor with a crinkly-eyed smile and a ferocious temper. Fortunately for his direct subordinates (READ: me), his temper is most likely to be focused on rude customers and his messy business partners. Jimin honestly is the ideal boss because he has our backs and will never hesitate to help anyone out.

Late one Saturday evening, a man refused to leave the restaurant after being cut off from his bar tab. Jimin full-on squared up with him in defense of the poor server who had to break the news to the drunk patron. Luckily, the Bistro’s head of security, Jeon Jungkook, took over before Jimin actually popped off.

Jungkook, as the youngest partner, is shockingly tall and muscular. He definitely provides the intimidation needed for those types of escalating incidents. Despite his tough exterior, Jungkook is a complete softie.

I once caught Jungkook in the kitchen after close attempting to make cookies for a girl he had a crush on. I walked in to see Jungkook standing over a tray of the unidentifiable charred monstrosities and pouting in the most ridiculous way. Needless to say, I helped him bake a new batch with the oven not turned up to 500 degrees so that “they would cook faster”.

Min Yoongi had found the pair of us bickering and had just rolled his eyes and scooped a mouthful of raw cookie dough. As the head bartender, Yoongi is the absolute best at mixing drinks and the absolute worst at customer service. I swear the man gets far too much pleasure from getting people thrown out. He’s also notorious for watering down the drinks of customers he doesn’t like. He’s petty like that. I live for it.

Once, Jung Hoseok tried to take a picture of Yoongi for the restaurant’s website, and Yoongi threatened to shove a sharpened cocktail umbrella through Hoseok’s eye. I had never seen the Bistro’s head of marketing and resident sunshine flee so fast. Hoseok later ended up using an old picture of Yoongi in retaliation; rumor has it Yoongi is still plotting his revenge to this day.

Kim Taehyung often grumbles about how he’s going to be put out of a job since the restaurant naturally provides daily entertainment. As the head of entertainment and events, Taehyung helps to secure live music and special guests. He’s also the most handsome man I have ever seen - with the exception of one Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin, as head chef, is responsible for planning the seasonal menus, overseeing the kitchen staff, and preparing the more challenging dishes. He’s even taken it upon himself to be the resident comedian, which the other six partners vehemently and openly detest. Still, that backlash has not stopped him from naming each evening special with puns. His last Seokjin Special was called “Chicken Pot Bye Felicia”. It had resulted in Yoongi banning Seokjin from the restaurant for a full week. He still hasn’t dared to make another pun, but I can tell it will only be a matter of time.

Basically, Seokjin is an entirely goofy and beautiful mess of a human. Yet, I can’t stop myself from falling deeper and deeper into the trap that is loving someone outside of your league.

When I first arrived at the Bistro for my inaugural shift, I was greeted enthusiastically by Jimin, who I’d met previously in my interview. Jimin had introduced me to each of his partners - each as handsome as the last. Honestly, my eyes and nerves had been exhausted after meeting almost all of them. Then Jimin had ushered me into the kitchen.

“Hey, Jin-hyung!” Jimin had yelled over the cacophony of sizzling pans and murmured conversation. I had watched in awe as the hottest man I’ve ever seen entered my line of vision and stopped before me. Tall and broad-shouldered, he had a face that could inspire priceless works of art with full pink lips, high cheekbones, and devilish dark eyes.

“You summoned me, Jiminie?” The man had laughed in a slightly squeaky manner before he noticed my presence, “Ah, who might this be?”

I had cleared my throat in hopes that my voice wouldn’t crack under the sheer weight of this man’s attractiveness, “Hi, I’m (y/n). I’m starting today as a server.” and thrust my hand out with a shy smile.

He had blinked. Slowly, a smirk eased onto his face as he grabbed my hand. Instead of shaking it, he had brought it to his lips. “A pleasure. I’m Seokjin,” he had murmured, lips brushing against my knuckles. My cheeks had felt like they were on fire as Jimin screeched at Seokjin for harassing me.

“It’s her first day, Jin! Lay off the theatrics,” Jimin had turned to me, “Sorry about him, (y/n). He’s a desperate flirt.”

“Desperate? Me?” Seokjin gasped, “Worldwide Handsome does not do desperate.”

“Did you just refer to yourself as ‘Worldwide Handsome’?” I had gaped at his open arrogance.

Seokjin proudly had puffed up his chest, “Yes. What else could I possibly be called?”

“Well, definitely not Worldwide Humble,” My mouth had said before my brain caught up.

The room had seemed to pause before Jimin erupted in peals of laughter as Seokjin spluttered, “Yah, Jiminie, you can’t let her talk to me like that!”

Still laughing, Jimin had choked out, “(y/n), you officially have a job here until you die.”

Ever since that first encounter, Seokjin and I have established a working relationship based on banter or what Tabby refers to as ‘flirting’. I refuse to believe that ridiculous notion.

Tabby finally finishes entering her order into the kiosk and turns to me, “So, any hot plans for tonight?” Her eyebrows wiggle up and down suggestively.

“Does solo Netflix and chill count as hot plans?” I deadpan as I peer around the server station divider to covertly check on my tables. I lock eyes on Chad and his fiancé, who already seem to be arguing, and I make an executive decision to not go check how their meal is going.

“No!” Tabby’s whisper-yell commands my attention, “That definitely does not count, (y/n). Why didn’t you find someone on Tinder? I even made you that bomb-ass profile.”

I pointedly look everywhere but at her.

“You deleted the app, didn’t you,” she glares at me, arms folded, “I slaved over that profile! There were only so many tasteful cleavage shots of my best friend that I could stomach in one sitting!”

“What the fuck, Tabby! Since when do I have any—”

“Tasteful cleavage shots?” Seokjin’s elated voice practically shouts from the kitchen, “Let me at ‘em.”

His hands launch towards us through the kitchen window and make grabbing motions.

“Seokjin,” I tsk mockingly, “Are you trying to grab my tits again?”

“Again?” Tabby cries, whirling on Seokjin, who looks at us in horror.

“I wasn’t! I swear! I just wanted to see the pictures! I didn’t want to grab your boobs…” He trails off, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like ‘not any more than usual, anyway’.

“Seokjin-hyung! (y/n)!” Jimin blazes into the service station, “I’ve had it up to here with your bickering. You’re both on closing duties tonight - alone.”

“What?” I exclaim as Tabby slinks away. Traitor. “We’re just joking with each other! Right, Seokjin?”

Jimin’s gaze swings from me to Seokjin, who is suddenly suspiciously calm. My eyes narrow. A silent conversation is definitely happening without my participation.

Finally, Seokjin just shrugs with a grin, “Sounds fair to me, Jiminie! (y/n) and I will work hard all night if we have to.”

“Fair?” I choke, “All night?”

Jimin, following Tabby’s lead, scurries away as my attention is diverted by Seokjin’s idiocy. “Scared to be alone with me, (y/n)?” Seokjin’s lips break into a sly smile, “Don’t worry, I don’t bite… much.”

With that parting remark, Seokjin winks at me and disappears back into the kitchen.

“Fuck me,” I breathe out. How would I survive this?

Five hours later, the last patron has been ushered out of the restaurant with the staff right on their heels. I curse as Yoongi waltzes out the door, fanning himself with a crisp fifty-dollar bill and winking obnoxiously. “Have fun!” He cackles, locking the restaurant doors behind him.

“No, please don’t offer to stay and help,” I grumble, sweeping stray pieces of lettuce out from under a table, “I am more than happy to stay here until the ass-crack of dawn with the biggest idiot on the face of the earth.”

“The biggest, huh?” The voice chuckles right in my ear, “How did you know?”

“Goddamnit, Seokjin!” I slap a hand to my heart, “Don’t sneak up on me like that, you oaf!”

Whirling to face him, I stutter to a halt. He’s taken off his heavy chef’s coat and is now left in a tight black t-shirt that clings to his body in a manner that has to be illegal.

I swallow hard, and for a split second, I swear Seokjin’s gaze latches onto my throat.

“Is it hot in here?” I mutter distractedly, tugging at the collar of my stiff white button-down.

“Yes,” Seokjin practically purrs, “It’s scorching.”

Choosing not to acknowledge him, I spin on my heels, grabbing the full dustpan of debris I collected and head towards the back of the restaurant.

Emptying the dustpan in the trash, I walk over to the supply closet to return the broom. The restaurant floor is finished. Now, I just had to see how much of the kitchen Seokjin actually cleaned.

Pushing through the swinging doors of the kitchen, I screech to a halt as I’m faced with a complete and utter miracle.

“What in tarnation?” I gasp, taking in the pristine kitchen full of glistening stainless steel and sparkling countertops. “Kim Seokjin!” I yell, “You damn wizard! How the fuck did you clean everything this fast?”

“You could say I was motivated,” his reply sounds entirely too close. I spin to face him and gape as I notice the bouquet of red roses that he’s holding out to me.

Taking in my speechless appearance, Seokjin smiles smugly and opens his mouth to continue.

I cut him off, “Tell me those aren’t the roses from the fucking table centerpieces... I threw those in the trash, Seokjin!”

His ears turn an alarming shade of magenta, “Yah, just accept the gesture, (y/n)! This is peak romance, you know!”

“They are covered in filth, dude!” I squint, peering closer, “Is that a piece of spaghetti in there?”

Seokjin yeets the makeshift bouquet back into the garbage, “Why can’t you just appreciate my efforts?” He pouts excessively, “Don’t you like me?”

Red alert. Red alert, my mind whirs.

“Sure,” I let out a nervous laugh, “We’re friends. Of course, I like you.”

He steps towards me, “Sure, we’re friends, (y/n), but friends don’t usually want to fuck each other.”

That bitch said what now?

“Did you inhale too much Clorox?” I panic, “Quick, how many fingers am I holding up?” Thrusting three fingers in front of Seokjin’s amused face, I widen my eyes as he suddenly grabs my hand.

“Baby,” he says lowly, sending a delicious shiver down my spine, “If you keep being so adorable, I may just have to keep you.”

Well, shit, okay. “Say less,” I breathe and then immediately slam my mouth shut.

I receive a classic Seokjin grin in return for my idiocy, and my knees shake. Honestly, who the fuck allowed him to be that devastating?

Slowly, his grin slips away, and his eyes ignite with raw desire, “Tell me what you want from me, (y/n).”

My mind short circuits, automatically reverting to my default mode of sass, “Uh, peace and quiet?”

“Really?” Seokjin murmurs, stepping even closer still, “So you don’t want me to kiss you? You don’t want me to turn you over and fuck you until you scream?”

My breathing is ragged. His eyes burn with a hunger I had never seen before, and I’m crumbling.

“Answer me,” Jin demands, desperation seeped in each word, “Please.”

“Seokjin—” I gasp, dumbfounded, “Where the hell is this coming from? We’re coworkers! You’re my boss!”

His eyes flashed darkly as he moved his head closer to mine, “That’s all irrelevant, baby.”

“Irrelevant—!” I stab a finger into his firm chest, “Oh, you little shit, you can’t just say that you want to fuck me and then say that our working relationship is irrelevant! I could get fired. You could get fired!”

“That’s highly unlikely given the fact that everyone else knows my plans to ask you out right now.”

“Hold on a second,” I narrow my eyes, “Are you saying that you purposefully planned for us to stay late tonight to clean the entire goddamn restaurant just so you could ask me out? Are you fucking insane?”

“I prefer the term ‘quirky’,” he quips, “But, yeah, I may have paid everyone $50 to leave us alone for the night.”

“Well, that explains Yoongi… that shady motherfucker,” I internally make note to plot my vengeance. “Why couldn’t you have just slid in my DMs like a normal person, Seokjin?” I groan, “I would have responded to a ‘you up’ with a ‘yes, come over’.”

Seokjin whips out his cell phone. “Does this apply to right now?” he asks, typing furiously.

My phone dings with several Instagram notifications.

hughchefner: u up

hughchefner: wyd

hughchefner: date me?

(y/n): bet

Seokjin’s eyes shoot up to mine after he reads my response, “Really? You agreed to date me by saying ‘bet’ in an Instagram DM?”

“Yup,” I shrug, “No take-backs. Also, to answer your previous questions: Yes, I do want you to kiss me with your insufferable mouth, and, yes, I do want to sit on your dick. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Say less,” Seokjin echoes my earlier statement and captures my mouth with his. I wrap my arms around his neck, kissing him back with equal fervor.

“(Y/n),” he groans right as my tongue swipes teasingly against his lower lip.

His hands slid down my body, pausing only to squeeze my waist gently before settling firmly on my ass. His fingers dig in hard and I let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

“You like that, baby? You like when I’m rough?” Seokjin pulls his lips off mine and murmurs sinfully, “God, I want to devour you.”

I lift my chin up and challenge, “Do it, you won’t.”

His eyes flare, “Oh, babygirl, you were made for me.” Seokjin’s lips return to mine, moving at a slow but ravenous pace.

Still kissing me, he picks me up and places me on one of the kitchen’s stainless steel counters. His hands grab my thighs, tugging them apart to make room for him to stand between them. A harsh groan rises from the depths of his chest as our bodies align.

I hook one leg around his waist and tug him closer still. Pulling my lips away, I lean my head back as I slowly trace his muscles through his shirt. He watches me with his puffy lips parted, his breathing hard. His eyes are wild and I’m loving every second of it.

The room suddenly feels too hot. My hands dart up to shakily begin undoing the buttons of my shirt. Seokjin’s eyes follow my movements with fascination. “Let me,” he purrs and proceeds to rip my shirt from my body. Buttons scatter on the floor with sorrowful little bounces.

“You bitch,” I yank his hair, “That was my good work shirt.”

“I’ll buy you ten more,” Seokjin’s voice is rough and full of desire as he takes in my lacy white bra. Suddenly, his mouth descends to suck at my nipple through the thin lace.

“Damn, you are so fucking sexy,” he pulls his mouth away, “Can I take this off?”

I nod like a bobblehead in 60mph winds, reaching around my back with one hand to undo the clasp and then throwing my bra clear across the kitchen. It lands on top of one of the fridges and I shrug. I’d retrieve it later.

Seokjin tugs off his own shirt, revealing planes of tanned skin. I don’t hesitate to run my hands up and down the definition of his abs and watch in fascination as his muscles constrict under my touch. I run my hands lower, tracing his defined v-line.

No wonder they call it the Adonis belt, I muse, pondering if he’d let me lick it.

Huffing in impatience at my slow exploration, Seokjin returns his mouth to my nipple and sucks hard. My eyes nearly roll into the back of my head. He bites down gently and then blows on my nipple slowly. I moan at the sensation. I watch him through unfocused eyes as his hand slides down the front of my body. He reaches the button of my pants and pauses.

Seokjin pulls his mouth away from my nipple, his lips swollen and pink. “You have to say yes, baby.” His breath hits my ear, making me shiver.

I hold out my hand for a high-five and declare, “We stan a man who asks for clear consent.” Chuckling, Seokjin slaps my offered hand and then links his fingers with mine.

“Also,” I continue, looking into his eyes, “It’s a fuck yes.” I pull our linked fingers close to place a kiss on his knuckles.

“Cute,” he grins, “Now, can I take off your pants?”

“Take off yours first,” I order.

“So eager,” he laughs, making quick work of his black jeans. My mouth instantly waters at the sight of his hard cock straining to be released from the confines of his bright red Versace boxer briefs.

“Why am I not surprised that even your underwear is extra?” I mumble, flicking the button of my pants open.

Laughing, Seokjin takes over, tugging my pants down my legs. He then pushes my matching white lace panties aside and cups my pussy, applying pressure. I roll my hips into his hand.

His fingers trace lightly up and down my pussy, before one dips inside me. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” he groans.

“Always,” I breathe out. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away from me. I pout. Seokjin laughs at my expression and then licks his finger.

“Jesus fuck, (y/n), you taste so sweet. Let me eat you out,” he pleads.

I smirk, saying, “I thought you’d never ask,” and then gasp as he kneels before me, grabbing my hips. Seokjin moves to tear my underwear off, and I’m quick to place my foot on his forehead to stop his approach. “I swear to god, Seokjin, if you rip these, I will get Namjoon to permanently ban Seokjin Specials.”

“You’re evil,” he grins, “I love it.” He makes a show of slowly taking my panties off before throwing them carelessly behind him. He then yanks the same leg I had used to thwart his panty-tearing plans and throws it over his shoulder before returning his fingers to my pussy. Seokjin’s thumb circles my clit while two of his fingers thrust into me at a maddening rate.

My fingers grip his hair when I finally feel his tongue licking up the juices that have started to run down my thighs.

After sucking what will probably become a massive hickey onto my left inner thigh, his tongue licks a path straight up my folds until it circles around my clit maddeningly. “Goddamnit, Seokjin, stop teasing,” my voice cracks in desperation, but my plea works. His tongue flicks at my clit lightly before his lips close over it and suck.

“Fuck,” I moan, “I think I like you eating me out more than I like eating your cooking.”

He pulls back to briefly land a light swat on my pussy and I choke on air as painful pleasure shoots through me. “Take that back,” he growls, “My cooking is second only to my handsome face.”

“God, I fucking hate you,” I drawl. The emphasis in my words portrays the exact opposite.

Seokjin sends me a shit-eating grin before his tongue returns to lick at my swollen clit, up and down, and then in a slow circle. His fingers brush open my folds just enough for him to sink his tongue into me. “O-oh,” I throw my head back, one hand moving up to pinch one of my nipples while the other latches back into Seokjin’s hair.

“I’m s-so close, baby,” my words slur as I shamelessly beg, “Don’t stop.”

He immediately pulls away.

“Oh, fuck you,” I seethe. I yank his head back by his hair until his neck is stretched in a long line. His hair is a mess, and I’ve never seen anything hotter.

“I just want to feel you come when I’m inside you, baby,” he smiles, my wetness glistening on his lips.

“Fine,” I shimmy off of the counter onto shaky legs, “Two can play at that game.”

“What?” Seokjin’s brows furrow in confusion.

It’s my turn to drop to my knees. “Oh, shit,” he curses as I tug his boxers down to reveal his hard cock. It’s silky and gorgeous, and I can’t stop staring at it. Seokjin, of course, notices. “You like my cock, babygirl? Take it. It’s yours.”

It already was, I think, as my gaze darts up to meet his.

Without breaking eye contact, I lick his reddened tip, almost moaning at his taste. “Fuck, babygirl,” Seokjin throws his head back. I smile wickedly. I could definitely get addicted to ruining this beautiful boy. “Look at me,” I command, feeling so powerful when he immediately listens.

Slowly, I suck down on his length, hollowing out my cheeks. My eyes stay on his as he groans, and I can tell he’s straining to keep from thrusting into my mouth.

“Please, baby, fuck—!” He moans as I swallow around him and then release him from my mouth with a pop. My hand darts up to grip him tightly, pumping him. Moving slowly, I suck one of his balls into my mouth, rolling my tongue around it gently. Seokjin chokes, “Fuck me.”

“We’ll get there, baby,” I tug my mouth away and grin up at him.

I suck him as far down as I can. His control snaps and he begins to thrust wildly into my mouth, panting.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit,” his eyes scrunch up as he chants, “I’m gonna come.”

I release him ruthlessly.

“Goddamnit,” he cries, “I knew that was coming, but it still hurts.”

“Well,” I wiggle my eyebrows at him, “If only you had a pretty little pussy ready for you to fuck… Oh, wait.”

Seokjin chuckles, “I see I wasn’t able to fuck some of the sass out of that mouth. We might have to try that again later.”

“Gladly,” I grin back at him, “You have a condom?”

Seokjin picks up his discarded jeans from the floor and digs around in the back pockets. “Aha!” He yells, hoisting up the glimmering gold foil in triumph.

I roll my eyes before snatching the condom from the idiot. Tearing the foil packaging open with my teeth, I grab Seokjin’s length and pump him a few times in preparation.

“Stop being a tease,” he mumbles, thrusting shallowly into my hand.

“Stop being so hot,” I challenge, leaning down to lick his pre-cum dripping from the reddened tip of his cock.

“Impossible,” Seokjin smirks before tugging me back up to face him.

He drops his lips to mine and sucks on my bottom lip. Pulling away slightly, he tugs at it in a stinging bite. Withdrawing his mouth from mine, he spins me around and bends me over the counter.

I feel the head of his cock running teasingly over the folds of my pussy and I gasp, “Please, baby, I need you inside me.”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

He thrusts into me in one sharp movement. We both gasp as he fills me, gliding in and out.

“Harder,” I moan.

“Fuck,” he mutters, “I’m trying to last over here.”

“Why? We have all night,” I pout before an idea pops into my head, and I taunt, “Wait, are you telling me you’re a one and done type of old man?”

“Oh, you’re going to regret that,” Seokjin mutters darkly.

His hard cock fills and stretches me, pleasure emanating within me from every sharp thrust of his hips.

“Your pussy is mine,” he growls, “I’ll fuck you from against the wall after this. I’ll fuck you until you can’t sass me anymore. And I’ll fuck you all night, baby, and every night after that.”

I clench around him as his dirty words wash over me. “Those are all great ideas in theory,” I gasp out, “But I really want to ride you first.”

“Oh, babygirl wants to fuck herself on my cock?” Seokjin slaps my ass before pulling out, “Well, come on.”

I stand upright and turn to see him walking towards the large island in the middle of the room. He hops onto it and lays down, placing one arm behind his head, and the other one slowly strokes his cock.

“You better get that hand off your cock before I decide to never let you into my pussy again,” I say darkly as I move towards him.

His hand flies off his dick at the speed of light, his eyes wide as they focus on me.

When I get close enough, I climb up onto the island and kneel with one leg on each side of his tapered waist. I slowly sink down so that just his tip is inside me and squeeze.

A garbled moan escapes Seokjin, his hands shooting out to grab my waist in an attempt to push me down further.

“Someone’s eager,” I whisper, bending down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“I’ve been fucking eager since you were hired.” He smacks my ass and then groans as I reflexively sink down another inch.

“Yeah?” I question, sinking down another inch as his eyes squeeze shut, “You should have said something sooner, baby. I could have been riding you hard for months.”

Seokjin pouts, “Well, there’s no time like the present?”

“God, you’re such a dweeb,” I grin before taking him to the hilt. We both let out strangled breaths as I shift slightly, before placing a hand on his neck.

Keeping my hand there, I lift up and begin riding him hard. My body slides up and down onto his cock at a fast pace. Sweat drips down my back. Seokjin grabs my ass, his fingers gripping my skin, and pounds up into my pussy with brutal and possessive force.

“O-oh, fuck.” There’s something about riding Seokjin that just feels so good. My hips swivel and roll against his. The pleasure steadily builds, and I try to distract myself by biting down on Seokjin’s neck.

“I’m gonna come,” he moans, “Are you close?”

I pull away from his neck and sit up, arching my back to give him a deeper angle. He thrusts up into my g-spot and I gasp, “Shit, yes, I’m close. Come with me, baby.”

I clench my walls around him. Seokjin’s eyes are scrunched shut as he continues to pound into me with harsh strokes.

He shifts one hand from my ass to gently circle my aching clit, and I light up. My walls clench and pulse, locking down on Seokjin so tight that he comes, his hot seed filling the condom as he shudders.

I collapse against him and shove my face into his sweaty neck.

I can feel his laugh bubbling up from his chest before I hear it. “What’s so funny?” I ask, lips brushing his skin.

“Namjoon’s going to kill us for the number of health code violations we just committed,” his laughter causes his cock to shift within me, and I bite back a moan.

“Well,” I lift my face up from his neck to look at him, “We have nothing to lose at this point then, huh?”

I slowly lick my lips, and his eyes drop to them. The only noise left in the restaurant is our heavy breathing. “Round two in Namjoon’s office?” he suggests.

“Bet.”

a/n: this was so fun to write :) hope you all enjoyed it! happy valentine’s day!

© luxekook. please do not repost, modify, edit or translate.

[lokis-lady-death]

The King of Gods Pt 7

Tom Hiddleston/Loki x reader

Lady Death: This is a sequal to the Interview with a God series I completed a few months ago. This picks up months after the original story ends. If you haven’t read IWAG, HERE is a quicklink to Part 1 or you can find it on my Master List !

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6

The King of Gods Part 7

The night life of the city was one of the main reasons you lived here. Neon lights lit the windows of night clubs and bars down the popping Main Street, beckoning to the hip crowd to come party there. Poison was just one of the many places tailored to the party goers, but it’s main distinctive factor? That it was considered low key, supposedly only known to people who were able to be fortunate enough to hear about it by word-of-mouth.

The truth? Everyone and their mother knew it existed.

The main entrance to the night club was originally a side entrance, left unmarked and unspectacular, normally only accessed by the staff. However, it became just the hole-in-the-wall millennials appreciated. The only marker of the entrance was the large set of metal doors with two large bouncers .

As the car pulled into the parking lot, you could already make out the mile long line of people waiting to get into Poison to see the newest rock sensation. “This was a bad idea,” you croaked, getting cold feet. “I should’ve stayed home.”

“Nonsense, you need out of your apartment and this band is gonna be awesome!”

“Who exactly are we here to see, anyway?”

“Mount-N-Do-Me.”

Your eyes narrowed, sure she was joking. “No way.”

Her shoulders shrugged while all she offered was, “You know these bands never keep their startup names. Eventually a manger will scoop them up and fix it, I’m sure they came up with it when they were twelve. Anyway, they’re not what tonight’s about!”

Carmen turned in her seat to look at you while she started, “We gotta find you someone to make you forget pendejo.” She shot you what was meant to be a reassuring wink but it did little to soothe your nerves.

After finally finding a suitable parking spot, Sue fussed with her hair in the mirror as Carmen dug around in her bag. “Here,” she ordered, reaching back to hand you four vials of lime green liquid. She passed another one to Sue and held onto another. “A toast to y/n!”

“Why do I have so many?”

“Because this is your salvation, y/n! We are here to liberate your soul!” Sue decreed with a fake accent that might have been meant to sound dignified but came out as a southern preacher. “This is to clear your mind of all bad you’ve felt since what’s-his-face broke your heart and left you all alone!”

“But mostly it’s to help loosen you up so you can rub your butt on strangers.”

Shaking your head, you couldn’t help but comment, “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Sue accepted, popping her vial’s top. “But I promise, this is going to be a night to remember.” She and Carmen held their drinks out, beaming as they waited for you to join.

You sighed, popping the top off one of the four vials. Lifting it up, you donned a weak smile. “Cheers.” The vials made a soft clank together before all three of you chugged it down. The drink was obnoxiously sour like an apple candy with only a slight sting of alcohol. After a week of binge drinking, it was tame aside from the sugar rush.

“Now, you gotta finish,” Carmen instructed with a stern expression. Sue nodded in agreement and you did as you were told. One after another, you choked down the green shots.

After you finished, Sue clapped her hands together. “Alright, now for the rules-”

“Rules?” you repeated.

“Rule One, don’t interrupt the rule maker.” Your eyes rolled, but you did it with a smile. “Rule Two, don’t speak of he-who-shall-not-be-named.”

“Um, is that a Harry Potter reference because his name is Tom like Tom Riddle?” you genuinely wondered.

Sue glared at you as Carmen pulled yet another vial from her purse and passed it to you.

“How many of these do you freakin’ have?” She shrugged so all you could do was throw your head back. Smacking your lips, there was a flutter from either the alcohol or the sugar deep in your stomach. “Anything else?”

“Yes, Rule Three, don’t go home alone.” She made her eyebrows jump as she did a little shimmy in her seat.

You scoffed, “I’m not hooking up with some random guy at a bar!”

“It doesn’t have to be a guy,” Carmen iterated with another wink. You let out a flustered laugh, your cheeks flushing without your consent.

“Carmen and Sue hopped out of the car as you took a deep breath. ‘This is normal,’ you thought, trying to convince yourself to add pep to your step. ‘This is how we move on.’ Sue opened your door and you slinked out.

“Alright, I have my press badge to get us in, so while I’m interviewing the band, you guys can start scoping out the specimens.” Looking out at the masses of people at the door, you pushed yourself to keep pace with the others until coming up to the set of bouncers checking people in.

“Hiya,” Sue charmed, holding out her badge . “I’m here from people’s magazine, ya’ll shoulda gotten a call?” One bouncer eyed the press pass then looked back at the three of you.

“It takes three women to interview a band?”

Sue let out a sharp huff while pressing her hands to her hips. “If you must know, Carmen is here to take pics of the boys on stage and y/n here is my trusty assistant.” You cut your eyes at her, certain you wouldn’t have come out if you knew she was going to pull such a scheme. But when Carmen pulled a camera from her bag, you couldn’t help but be a little impressed.

This was certainly not their first rodeo.

“Hey, wait, I recognize you,” the second bouncer started as he leaned closer to your face. “You dated that bad guy from that superhero movie. What’s his name? Tim something?”

“Tom Hiddleston,” you corrected, immediately stricken as the name left your lips.

Swallowing, you went to correct that you weren't seeing him when the same bouncer commented, “Who knows, she could up our presence on social media. Get a few good pics of her out on someone’s page, it’ll spread like wildfire.”

The first bouncer rolled his eyes, passing the press pass back to Sue. “You ladies can go on in then.”

Carmen and Sue smiled as they walked in, but you kept your eyes low, hoping they were wrong and no one else would recognize you. Dating a celebrity had its perks, but being seen as just some extension of someone was never your goal. Tom himself liked hiding from the limelight, enough so that you didn’t get harassed too often. Nearly every day, Dave would drive you to and from work, and if the two of you ever went out for a date, the facility would be called in advance to ensure the place was clear of any paparazzi. As a journalist for a magazine that focused on making famous people’s privacy public, you knew first hand the damage that could be to a normal person.

The entryway was so dark you wondered if a light had gone out. With just a thin set of twinkling string lights lining the walkway, you followed the girls until you reached another set of doors. Sue stepped forward and, after shooting one quick wild grin, she threw them open to release a booming sound of rock music. Drums keeping the rhythm, the bass speeding up as the main guitar sent electrical power waves through the air. Out in front of the stage, you could see a crowd jumping and hollering to the music, either singing along or just screaming. Red and White strobe lights lit the dance floor while most of the space was dark, only lit by more twinkling lights against the baseboards. Just opposite of the stage set a raised deck with the bar which was lit up in multi colored neon lights that lined the glass and mirrored liquor shelves behind it.

“This place is a little loud, don’t you think?” you yelled over the music to Sue.

“I know, ain’t it awesome!” she yelled back with a wild grin.

You looked over towards the bar and, as if reading your mind, Carmen looped arms with you. “Ready to party?”

You didn’t think you were, but a small flutter in your head from the shots gave you just enough liquid courage to say, “Let’s do this!”

*****

It was just as generic as any social media post a girl would make: all three women’s faces crammed close together making the signature kissy face, sultry face, silly face looks with the caption, “Out to forget you loser chollos ;D”

Elliot didn’t have a hard time figuring out which club the three of you were at, seeing the Press Pass clearly in two of the images. It also didn’t hurt that he had been to every bar and club in the tri-state area. Looking for a buzz, chasing a high, paying for a lay, but mostly trying to feel something, anything, other than this miserable melancholy. In the months following Hela’s death, Elliot had an immense void in his life that, despite his most valiant efforts, he couldn’t fill. Where once he felt thrill in diaviant behavior, now nothing gave him satisfaction. Alcohol, drugs, sex, nothing settled his emptiness. It was like everything in life had lost meaning, like his own senses were gone.

It wasn’t until his uncle Jared sought him out that he was able to get a grip on himself and slow down the self destruction.

Putting his car in park, he looked out at the line formed outside the entrance to Poison. Checking his reflection, he pocketed his keys and made his way to the door, ignoring the grunts from patrons still waiting to get inside.

“How are my boys tonight?” he spoke through a sly grin, “Looks like a lot of fine asses showed up for the show tonight.”

The first bouncer held out a fist to Elliot and they bumped knuckles. “How it goin, Stranger Danger, what’s got you out on the prowell? I thought you might be dead in a ditch somewhere after the last time I had to boot you outta here.”

A few women standing in the front of the line snickered as Elliot simply shrugged it off. “Ya know, I think I just had a little too much that night-”

“That's what they all say,” the second bouncer rebutted as he crossed his arms. “So what can I do for you tonight?”

“”Hoping to check out the new band, heard they’re the newest up and comers in the industry. Ya know, gotta stay on top of the newest, hottest people if I wanna get back into the celebrity gossip.” When they didn’t look convinced, he thew in, “Well I used to write for Rolling Stones, so I thought maybe if nothing else I could get something on these guys and try to get all of us some recognition. Cause that’s what this is about, right? Getting the band’s name out?”

The first bounce raised his brow while the second one shrugged. “Well, we did already let those magazine chicks in earlier…”

“Yeah, see, just trying to stay in the game,” Elliot tried to convince. “Come on, Drake, what’s the harm? Let me in?”

Letting out annoyed grunt, he stepped aside while the other opened the door. “Go on, but I’m only warning you once, Stringer. Don’t make me throw you out.”

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” he promised through a toothy grin.

*****

You and Carmen had barely made it to the bar before a short man offered to buy a round of shots. While you tripped over your words, Carmen gave the man a flirty giggle and accepted. Once he passed her the tray of tequila, she handed you one then took one for herself. “Salud!” she commanded in Spanish.

“Sa-lood?” you asked dumbly.

“Salud! Drink!”

You initially wanted to argue, knowing that letting a stranger hand you free drinks usually meant he wanted something in return. But you choked back your inhibitions and swallowed it down. Unlike the sweet apple drink from earlier, this burned. You smacked your lips as Carmen handed you another glass, again calling out, “Salud!” which you repeated back. After three more, you held up your hands in surrender. Carmen passed the tray back to the short man who looked at you both confused.

After you were out of ear shot, you said, “You know he was probably expecting us to at least talk to him.”

With a very serious expression, Carmen stopped walking to face you. “I don’t care if chollo buys me a house, if I don’t wanna talk to ‘im, I ain’t finna talk to ‘im. Besides, that pendejo still had his wedding band on.”

Her arm linked with yours again as she pulled you into the crowd. People were singing and dancing to the music, mostly jumping in place with hands up as they screamed the lyrics to the cover band’s songs. Carmen pulled you closer, loudly speaking into your ear, “Let loose, compa! It’s about letting go!” She pulled back, her red lips curling just before she went on ahead and burried herself in the sea of bodies.

Taking a deep breath, you plunged in after her.

*****

Elliot had been looking for a few minutes when he turned just in time to see you disappear into the crowd in front of the stage. Huffing while he straightened out his shirt, he walked out onto the dance floor. Shrugging his shoulders one last time, readying to dive through people, he made his way towards you.

*****

The alcohol was sitting on you just right, making you feel more and more relaxed by the second. You were standing beside Carmen in the middle of everyone, arms up and screaming as you got lost in the music. Bodies bumped against each other, hands pressed and pulled at each other, but you were so lost in the moment you didn’t mind. Sharing smiles with Carmen as you both screamed out, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of euphoria as the pain got pushed to the back of your mind. Closing your eyes, you breathed in this feeling.

It was right at that moment that you felt a set of hands land on your moving hips. You gasped, but didn’t pull away. People were so crammed you didn’t think anything of it until they started moving with your movement. Your heart sped up and for a split second you contemplated saying something.

But something stopped you.

The realization that you were, in fact, a single woman out dancing with friends, came into your mind, and rather than say or do anything, you divulged. You let the hands stay, felt them rock with you, whoever they belonged to behind you dancing at the same beat to keep up with the motion. A part of you wanted to divulge, back against him, dance like there was no tomorrow, maybe even drown in each other for the night. Just the suggestion was enough to send a shiver down your spine, though it was not out of pleasure.

The thought of dancing like this with him, knowing it wasn’t your Loki, sent a pin into your chest. Even worlds apart, knowing he was moving on with his life, you couldn’t move on with yours. At least not now. Not like this. Taking a deep, sobering sigh, you felt a wave of guilt, though you couldn’t place why.

Feeling you begin to slow your movements, the fingers curled against you, moving upwards to scrape across your exposed sides. That was too much. You pushed the hands back down to your hips, even more annoyed when your obvious objection was ignored by the hands moving back up and even taking a stronger grip on your waist.

“Lo0k, buddy, cool it with the touch-feeling, ‘kay?” you shot over your shoulder loud enough that they had no excuse not to hear.

To your disdain, the hands went right back to your sides. You turned with a jerk in time to lock eyes with the man , but rather than take him it, it was the one behind him that got your attention.

“Elliot?”

Your old coworker put a hand on the man’s shoulder, pulling him back from you as he leaned close to his face. “I think the lady said she’s done dancing with you, buddy,” he threatened before cutting a lott your way, “Just better hope she doesn’t tell her boyfriend on you, unless you wanna get thrown out a window.”

The man took the cryptic message at face value and stomped out of the crowd, while everyone else was still dancing, ignoring the scene.

Your eyes were still locked on Elliot when Carmen came and threw her arms around his shoulders. “Elly!”

“Don’t call me that!” he spat. When she pulled back, her fist came crashing against his arm. “Ow, what was that for?”

“You don’t call, don’t answer texts, don’t answer your Facebook messages for two months, you get punched.” Carmen’s brow furrowed, adding, “I was worried, stupido, your landlord said you packed up and moved off.” When all he offered was a shrug, she punched him again.

“Shit, ow, okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ghost you, I just had some… soul searching to do. But I’m back in town,” he answered, looking apologetic. “Think you can forgive me?”

She narrowed her eyes before planting a big, red stained kiss on his cheek. “I guess. So, what, you’re here to party with us? Y/n and cholo broke up, so we’re trying to cheer her up.”

“Broke up?” he echoed, looking down at you. “Oh, I hate to hear that.” His expression was hard to read, but his tone was less than sympathetic. “No, actually, but I am here to talk to y/n. It has to do with a mutual friend.”

Your eyes widened as you tried to think what he could possibly have to say, but Carmen already put a hand on your back to push you towards him. “Fine, but I expect nena to be returned to me in one piecec, amigo.”

He smiled at her before taking you by the arm to lead you away from everyone else. When there was no one left to move through, you snatched your arm from his grasp. Just as he went to speak, you slapped him, hard.

“You’ve got some nerve.”

“And you’ve got some muscle in that little body, damn that fucking hurt! ” he sulked, pressing a hand to his face to soothe the sting. “Shit, was that necessary?”

“You helped Hela! The entire time you were helping her! Even after she drugged me, you…” the words wouldn’t manifest, and you realized your eyes were watering up. Angry that you would cry simply out of pent up rage, you put but hands out and shoved him. “God, Elliot, you’re such a dick! And a liar! And just a fucking terrible person!”

“Yeah, you’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You were too stunned to speak, expecting him to provoke you further so you could unleash more, but his flaccid response was enough to dull the fire.

Subsiding your anger for confusion, you instead went on, “Well, I’jm glad we agree on something. Now, if you don’t mind,” you turned to leave but he caught your wrist.”

“No, serious, y/n. I am sorry for everything.”

The words struck you and left you momentarily silent. In a million years, you never expected to hear him actually apologize.

“And I need you to come with me.”

That was enough to snap you back, narrowing your eyes as you spat, “Yeah, no. I don’t trust shit from you, Elliot. Whatever you have to tell me, you can just go talk to a wall.”

“Even if I told you it’s about Loki.”

Your shoulders tensed while you swallowed, trying not to look as excited as you were just at hearing his name.

“What about him?”

“I may have a way for you to talk to him.”

Even as loud as the club was, it all went silent at the words he spoke. You felt your heartbeat quicken, the idea floating around in your head before you realized who it was you were dealing with. You rolled your eyes, cutting back, “Why the hell would you help me?”

Leaning down to speak into your ear, he elaborated, “Cause I know when Hela was away, it felt like I was a heroin addict that couldn’t get a fix. I know how painful being away from him is for you and how you feel numb to everything else with him gone.”

You pulled back from him, needing to look him in the eye when you asked, “That doesn’t explain why you would do this for me.”

Sighing, he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly to go on, “It’s really a long story and I don’t know everything, but Elsa called my uncle-”

“Elsa?” you repeated, “Elsa Hemsworth? Called your uncle?”

“Look, like I said, it’s complicated,” he got out quickly as he felt her get ready to just keep questioning him. “So what’s it gonna be, you coming or what?”

*****

By sun down, a dark cloud rolled over Asgard. While the people had dealt with minor rain showers before, this was no ordinary drizzle. Lightning flashed as golf sized drops came crashing to the ground, thunder roaring into the night sky like a lion on the hunt.

Yet the people of Asgard only had to be momentarily concerned, easily becoming distracted by Odin's invitation to a banquet in honor of Loki. They all crowded into the main hall of the palace, singing, dancing and drinking in the name of their future king.

The only issue? Loki was nowhere to be seen.

A couple of hours into the evening, food was being brought from the kitchen and laid out for all the guests. A few of the Asgardians asked when the crowned prince would come.

Finally the king was sick of waiting.

"Fetch him. Now," Thor overheard his father command Baldur. "They're here to see him, he needs to at least make an appearance. The people need to know everything is alright, with all of these… tremors. They need the reassurance of a smiling face."

Baldur made a hasty retreat with Thor ready to pursue him until Elsa caught hold of the back of his armor. "Where are you off to?" she asked, suspicious of how he tried to back away without her notice.

"I'm going to check on Loki with Baldur," he offered, pulling back from her hand to kiss it. "I'll be just a minute, Love."

Her eyes narrowed but she waved him away. She caught sight of him one last time before he tucked out of the grand room.

Baldur was quick up the stairs, brushing past servants still tending to the palace chores as he zipped down the halls to Loki's bedroom.

Just as Baldur got to the door and began knocking, Thor caught up to him.

"What are you doing?"

"What are You doing?"

"I'm getting Loki for Allfather-"

"I guess that I'm also getting Loki then-"

“I can appreciate your attempt to assist, but it is not necessary, you may go-”

“Oh, no, I think someone is going to need to bare witness to this.”

Both men went silent when they heard the disembodied voice from the other side of the door call out, "Come in."

Baldur and Thor both straightened up before finally opening the door. Neither moved at first until Thor shoved the slightly smaller advisor in ahead of him.

"He's here to retrieve you for dinner," the god of thunder announced, disregarding Baldur’s sharp blue eyes cutting at him.

"Yes, well," for the first time he looked out into the room to Loki lounging on a chaise with his face inside a book. "Allfather requests your presence downstairs for the-"

"I'm not going."

The air was stale as Thor looked between the two of them, his fingers twitching while he waited for someone to speak.

"I'm sorry?"

"I said," Loki reiterated, turning the page in total disinterest,"Im. Not. Going."

Thor watched Baldur inhale and wondered exactly how the two most well tempered men in Asgard would proceed.

It wasn't what he expected.

"Your father asked that you make an appearance,” Baldur started, stepping over towards Loki’s chair. “That's not too much to expect considering all he is giving you. Just go down, shake hands, reassure the people that you are their king and will care for them-”

"I told Allfather I wouldn't parade around for him,” Loki answered simply, still not looking up.

Baldur’s jaw tightened. “He is still your king, Loki. You may be the crowned prince, but he is still your ruler, and your father. You should show him respect and see to him.”

He looked like he would go on but went quiet at the clap of Loki’s book closing. “I should show him respect? I should see him? Should I also fall in line like the rest of you sheep, bring him offerings of good tidings in hopes of gaining his favor?” Just then, a loud crash of thunder sounded right outside the veranda of Loki’s room. He stood, looking into Baldur’s eyes as he went on, “This is him doing whatever he damn well pleases without my regard and you shouldn't be cross with me for not wanting to participate in his show. You should be grateful I'm even staying."

Baldur swallowed hard while Thor looked between the two of them.

Taking a deep breath before he spoke, the advisor knew he would be crossing the line when he asked, "Is this all over your little Midgardian girl? Just because you, what, want to go live out HER days? You want to return to watch her die, is that it? Or did you forget you live over a hundred of her lifetimes?"

Loki shook his head at the comment, arguing, "You don't know what we had, Baldur. We were in love-"

"Love? Love!" Baldur turned to speak to Thor, throwing out his arms as if he were surprised, "Did you hear that, Thor, they were in love! Well, what a true travesty for you that you have to put aside your own feelings for someone who will die in the blink of your eye to save your eternal home from destruction!"

"Don't mock me, little brother," Loki spoke in an unsettlingly soft tone. "Or you will regret it."

At that Baldur narrowed his eyes. "You asked Thor why she left? Your y/n?" he started. "I'll tell you-"

"Baldur," Thor interjected quickly, only to be cut off.

"You should have seen how that poor girl begged to leave, Loki. Said she had been under your influence all this time and only recently became aware of it herself. As soon as you got away from her, she sought an escape."

The god of mischief froze in place, his face losing color at hearing his worst fear. "You're lying."

Baldur spoke louder, his face red as he spat the words, "She just couldn't wait to get away from you, even called you a freak and a monster! Said her life was so  blissful until she met you! Pleaded for Thor to protect her from the evil, no good, demon that was savage enough to slay the only person who ever cared about him in his long, miserable life!"

Loki's rage subsided, hurt obvious on his face. "She was my mother, too, Baldur, and y/n knows that's not what-"

"She was Not your mother, she was Mine and you Slaughtered her!"

"Enough!" Thor bellowed as he saw Loki's fists tighten at his sides, his eyes dark and his face scrunched in barely controlled wrath. "Stop this, we are not here to fight. We're brothers, we must-"

"I assure you, he is most certainly no brother of mine," Baldur bit back with a cold stare.

That final strike made Loki change stance. His head tilted to the side while he glared at Baldur. "Look at you. Poor, pitiful, forgotten Baldur. You're so jealous you can hardly see straight," his voice slightly shook as he did all he could to calm. "You think you can just take your frustrations out on me because I'm not hot tempered like Thor, because you don't think I'll reach out and take your throat in my grasp and just squeeze? " he stepped closer, looking Baldur straight in the eyes. "I think you've forgotten I am the one Allfather chose because I am powerful enough to contain his powers. And you? What powers have you that make you worthy to try and speak like this to me? You, no more than an imputent runt of the litter, one that was so worthless to everyone in the family that he didn't even step foot on Asgard until Thor decided to stay on Asgard?" Another thunder boomed outside, but no one flinched.

Baldur's eyes were glassed over while his teeth grinded, taking in every last from Loki before finally speaking. "You think I don't know I'm not as powerful as you? I'm very aware of your strength, Loki. It's your lack of sympathy to your people that is so hard to watch. They’re scared, they need to see you to know they’re safe. It’s how you care so little about the rest of us that you're just resigned to make your own existence here miserable. And you know what? I'll have no part of it." Just then, Elsa tentatively pushed the bedroom door open, not meaning to make herself known but was taken off guard by the tension as Baldur was turning to leave. “Consider this my resignation, your highness. I won't be a part of this kingdom or this family any longer." He kept his pace even after he realized Elsa had heard him. Her mouth opened to speak, but he left too quickly for her to form the words, brushing gently across her shoulder on the way out.

"What? What's going on?" She looked back towards Thor who was about to speak but Loki, who ignored Elsa’s entrance, looked to him now.

"And you!"

"Me?"

Loki stepped towards the god of thunder, his voice harsh, "I wouldn't even be here if not for you! I would still be home, I would still be with y/n!"

"Oh, so it's my fault-"

"You were his first born son, this unbearable place was meant to be yours, his powers were meant to be yours, but you went off and started a family-"

“I can’t help what happened, Loki, if I knew this is how things would play out-”

“You’d what?” Loki asked with fire behind his eyes. “You’d trade places with me? You would have stayed in Asgard? Exactly what would you change because from where I stand, you are, once again, the only person in this entire damned place that is getting what he wants!”

"Shut up, both of you!" Elsa snapped, stepping between them. In their fit, both men had gotten less than a foot apart, steadily becoming more heated. "You don’t need to fight, please…"

Loki closed his eyes and stepped back, taking a breath to try and steady himself. "Thor, I never would never have agreed to this if I didn't want you to be with your family back on Midgard. I hope you don't waste my sacrifices by hanging around this place any longer than you have to." He sat back down on his chaise, picking up his book at where he left off, "And in case my meaning is unclear, let me be perfectly clear: I'm telling you to leave.” Going back into the same pose he was in before the interruption, he finished with one last jab, “After all, you’re quite good at."

With that, Thor gently led his wife out of the room. After closing the door, he expected Elsa to be angry, or in the very least upset, but instead she looked at him with something else in her eyes.

"You…"

He swallowed hard, “Yes, my love?”

Elsa's eyes watered up while her lips threatened to tremble. "Thor, you're a god. The god of thunder, feared by many, loved by all. Even living as a Midgardian you've managed to recreate this whole new persona of yourself as, well, you, but not just as a god: as a hero. And yet at every turn, you keep making these decisions… to do nothing."

"And what would you have me do, Elsa? You know my hands are tied-"

"Anything, Thor!" she shouted, "Anything at all! But this? Doing nothing? It's almost as bad as pulling the strings!"

“I’m trying to get us home!”

“You’re acting like a coward!”

Thor was quiet and for the first time, she really believed he felt the guilt of what he had done. “I don’t know what I can possibly do. If I help Loki I damn my family. If I do nothing, I damn him. What will you have me do?” he asked genuinely, bringing her hand to his face without looking away. “Tell me what to do?”

She really considered his words, really wondered if they held true value. 

Elsa’s eyes searched Thor’s for a moment before she resided that even if the drama of his family was clouding his morals, there was more to what was going on than just asking Loki to take the crown. Breathing in, she held onto his hands to ready him for what she was about to say.  “Actually, before I tell you that, there’s something I need to tell you... about these dreams I’ve been having.”

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[bylanternlight]

the rules of engagement

premise: you and yoongi are the unconventional type | fluff, slice of life, lowkey actual crack | second person pov | 3.3k words

pairing: domestic!yoongi x fem!reader 

warnings: some adult language, alcohol, too many mentions of a pintrest board, and making eggs

preface: the sequel to my short drabble, a casual proposal, but could be read alone! (the read more link probably won’t work on mobile, apologies)

“WHAT! WAIT! Why didn’t you tell me you were going to propose?” Hoseok shrieked. He dropped his spoon back into his bowl with a loud clunk. The noise was deftly drowned out by the incessant chatter of their fellow restaurant patrons along with the hustle and bustle of the staff, near tripping over themselves in the midst of lunch hour. 

Despite that, Yoongi was still quick to shush him. “It’s not like I was planning anything, I just asked.”

Unfortunately, his friend looked even more taken aback by his attempted explanation. “You didn’t pick out a ring? Or get down on one knee? Or take her somewhere romantic? What kind of proposal is that?”

“An effective one? She did say yes.”

Hoseok rolled his eyes. “I suppose.” He picked his spoon back up, resuming his meal, albeit with less interest in his food than before. “So, Min Yoongi getting married, huh? The whole ‘white dress, I do, sign your name’ married?”

“I don’t know what other kind of marriage there is, Hobi.” Yoongi quipped, chuckling. “But yes, actually married. Although the white dress isn’t decided yet.”

“What kind of wedding doesn’t involve a white dress? That’s like, basic wedding rule #1.”

“Says who?”

“Um, says everyone? Look, weddings are the way they are for a reason, man. The white dress is iconic. A staple. A classic. People have been doing it forever and everyone loves it.” 

“Okay, okay, I got it.” Yoongi shoved a spoonful of beef into his mouth. “Since when are you the wedding dress expert?” he asked. 

“Sooyoung and I discuss it quite a bit. We have a wedding Pintrest board.” 

A Pintrest board? Yoongi raised his eyebrows. He was going to ask you about that later. “Look, I know you and Sooyoung are the cutest, most gushy couple of the century, but not everyone is into that.”

“. . . So you’re saying you won’t have anything cutesy or gushy?”

Yoongi sighed, dejected. “Hoseok, no, I’m saying that we just got engaged yesterday and Y/N and I haven’t even decided on anything yet. I’ll let you know about any developments. Promise.”

Hobi regarded him with a suspicious glance. “If you say so,” he conceded. “At least let me throw you a bachelor party.” 

Of course, Yoongi thought. Jung Hoseok was never one to miss a party opportunity, especially when he got to adopt the role of the host. 

Yoongi laughed. Hobi was a pain in the ass, but he was a loyal pain in the ass, and he always meant well. “Alright,” Yoongi answered. “If you insist.”

---

From the kitchen, you hear the front door open and shut, followed by the thud of Yoongi kicking his shoes off. Without looking up, you call out to him, “Welcome home, hun.”

“Hey, sweets,” he responds, walking into the kitchen. “Whatca making?”

“An omelet. Trying to get rid of these eggs before they go bad. Hey, can you grab me one of those big bowls?”

Yoongi heads to the dishware cabinet and hands you a blue bowl from the top of its respective stack. “Hey, does Sooyoung have a wedding Pintrest board?”

“Um, yeah? Why do you ask?” you inquire, cracking eggs into the bowl. 

“I was talking to Hobi earlier today, and he said that he and Sooyoung have a Pintrest board dedicated to weddings.”

“Hobi is in on it, too? I didn’t know it was a joint effort.” You shrug, grinning at your fiance. “I assume you told him about the engagement, then.”

Yoongi groans, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Yes, I did, and he gave me a hard time about how I proposed. And our hypothetical wedding plans.”

You can imagine all to well Hoseok’s excitement, followed by his bewilderment at Yoongi’s nonchalance at the whole situation. As such polar opposites, their friendship is sometimes damn near comical. 

“Well, you’re not alone in that,” you tell him as you whip the eggs with a fork. “I called Soo and told her earlier, too. Talked my ear off about all her ideas for our big day -- can you pass me the salt and pepper?”

“Here, what else do you need me to do?” He grabs both condiments before coming around to your side of the counter, setting them beside you.

“Can you butter the pan and get the onions, please? Thanks. Anyway,” you continue as he gets to work, “when I told her that I didn’t know if I was wearing white or not, she yelled at me and told me I was insane. I believe her exact words were ‘then there’s no point in having a ceremony and you might as well just go to the courthouse this afternoon.’“

“Speaking of, maybe we should,” Yoongi says, in the middle of chopping an onion. “With the verbal harassment Hoseok leveled at me today, I would like to avoid Jin’s unavoidable scrutiny. He’ll tell us we’re doing everything wrong at every step.”

“Sounds like him, alright.” You laugh along with him, reaching to turn the stove on. “In all seriousness, we could, but would you really prefer it?”

Yoongi, ever melodramatic, exhales a prolonged breath. “No.”

“Exactly. So, I told her to hop off my dick and let me plan my own wedding in peace, and she agreed as long as she got to be my maid of honor and plan my bridal shower.”

“Hoseok also wants to throw me a bachelor party. I swear, they’ve morphed into some sort of extra hyper-enthusiastic power duo. Their energies just bounce off of each other and multiply.”

“We did too good of a job setting them up. We should never have done it.”

“Definitely.” Yoongi, finished chopping, dumps the diced onion into the whipped, seasoned eggs. “What do you do at a bridal shower anyway?”

“From my understanding, we have brunch, get day drunk on wine and then I get gifts, so I wasn’t exactly objecting. It was either that or a bachelorette party, and you know Soo would’ve done some off the wall bullshit, so a bridal shower seemed better for me.” You pour the eggs into the pan and grab your spatula. “They’re really making it seem harder than it needs to be. I mean, I thought we could chill out, maybe make some phone calls, send some emails, do some online shopping.”

“You make it sound so boring.” You look up from the pan, glaring at him, and he immediately backtracks with, “But I get what you mean, of course.”

Gratified, you turn back to your cooking with a smile. “I was thinking Namjoon could be the one to marry us. He’s a minister, right?”

“Indeed he is. Leave it up to Joon to be the local Universal Life Church certified ordained minister. He’d be thrilled to do it. Maybe Hana could be the flower girl? She would have a field day with that.” 

Would she ever. Cute Kim Hana, being Namjoon and Seokin’s only child and the center of their world, was infamous for her love of attention. Though you loved her, she was a little bit, for lack of a better word, spoiled; but you couldn’t really blame her. Her dads just didn’t know how to refuse anything to her chubby cheeks and doe eyes.

“Perhaps the other darling toddler Jeon Jeongguk could be the ring-bearer?”

At that, Yoongi snorts. “If he were here right now and he heard you say that, he would kick you.”

“I’d like to see the kid try. He knows better,” you say. “We don’t need a ring-bearer anyway. How about venue? Since city hall is off the table.” You turn off the flame. With the omelet finished, you flip it onto a large plate and slide it over to Yoongi. He takes the plate and places it on the dining table.

“We have a pretty nice backyard,” he teases, grabbing two bowls from the cabinet and filling them with rice. Sure, it’s a joke, except you think it’s sort of brilliant.

“Our backyard!” You take a seat at the table. “Yoongs, that perfect.”

He sits down next to you, furrowing his eyebrows. “I was . . . joking,” he says, sounding genuinely concerned. “You know that, right?”

Your eyes roll heavenward. “Yes, I know that,” you affirm, smacking him on the arm. “But think about it. We have a perfectly nice, big backyard with lots of plants and greenery and a big ole tree -- ”

“Courtesy of your illustrious writing career and my talent for music,” he interjects.

You wave away his comment. “Yes, exactly, and we can get some nice chairs and make a trellis out of wood or something and we have a wedding ceremony setup in no time. With minimal cost and no middle man. And everyone loves our house, we just have to clean up and decorate a little.”

Yoongi is silent for a moment, processing your new plan. “You scare me sometimes,” he eventually starts, “but you make a good case. Backyard wedding it is. Now, I’m starving, so let’s eat.” He places one of the two rice bowls in front of you. “Happy eating, darling.”

Ridiculous. You flash him a grin. “Happy eating to you, too, idiot.”

---

You come home to a mess in the living room. Confetti and streamers cover the floor, empty beer bottles are littered throughout the room, and a half-eaten cake sits abandoned on the coffee table. 

You knew Yoongi and the boys were having their bachelor party tonight, but you hadn’t asked for details. Maybe you should have. 

As if on cue, the front door opens to reveal seven men in various levels of intoxication walking into your home. You see Yoongi, looking 75% asleep, slung over Namjoon in the back, a sash with the words “BRIDE TO BE” in cursive wrapped around his body. 

“Hey, Y/N,” Jin -- seemingly the most sober of them, perhaps besides Joon -- greets, half-carrying Jimin onto the couch. “Sorry for the mess. We sorta pregame-d before heading out.”

“Oh, no problem,” you tell him, laughing. “As long as you guys had fun. Who drove?”

“Yoongi’s brother. He’s on his way home right now.” After placing Jimin on the couch, he hands you Yoongi’s house key. “Yoongi gave this to me earlier. Said I would need it. Hey, do you mind if we all crash here tonight? We wanted to come back and clean up, but it’s a little late.” 

More like they’re all a little too incapacitated, but you don’t tell him that. “Yeah, sure, you guys can sleep in any of the extra rooms.”

“Thanks, you’re awesome.” Jin leads a giggling Taehyung and a confused-looking Jeongguk upstairs, leaving Jimin asleep on the couch. 

You turn to Hoseok, who has carried the cake to the kitchen and busied himself with shoving forkfuls of it into his mouth. “Hobi?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t you guys have work tomorrow?”

“I think so.”

“Do you think any of you can make it?”

He shrugs. “It’s whatever, though,” he assures you through his mouthful of cake. “It’s not like Bang PD can fire us.”

You suppose that’s true. “Well, are you cool with staying the night?”

He gives you a thumbs up and returns to his cake. You make a mental note to text Sooyoung about her boyfriend’s whereabouts. 

Namjoon walks over to you, practically dragging Yoongi next to him. “He had that much, huh?” you ask him.

“You don’t want to know how much.” 

“Can you help me get him upstairs?” 

Despite sleepy-drunk Yoongi practically being a dead weight, with you and Namjoon’s combined strength, you manage to get him into bed. You debate changing his clothes for him, but decide not to disturb him any further. You’ll just have to change the bedding tomorrow.

“Thanks, Joon. Now get back to your husband.” Namjoon whispers a quick goodnight as he leaves your room, shutting the door behind him. 

Leaving him in bed, you change into your pajamas and head into the bathroom. After brushing your teeth, you hear Yoongi groan and mumble something incoherent. 

“Hey, dummy.” You kneel next to his side of the bed. 

He squints at you for a moment in his drunken haze, before realizing who you are and grinning a goofy grin. “Hey, wife.”

“Not wife yet, remember? Wedding’s next week.”

“Yeah, but might as well be,” he drawls. “Where were you today?”

“I was at Soo’s. We were doing wedding stuff.”

He hums a contemplative hm, as if he were learning something completely new. “You know I love you, right?”

You smile. In addition to being a sleepy drunk, he was also an emotional drunk. “I know. I love you, too.”

“I promise I’ll be a great husband. The best. Just for you.” He points a finger towards you, almost jabbing you in the eye. You catch his hand before it gets there.

“Careful,” you warn him, giggling.

“Oops, sorry.” He chuckles to himself and winds his fingers through yours. “And you’ll be the best wife. I feel it in my heart and my soul.”

God, even when he’s drunk, he’s the most charming bastard alive. 

You kiss your entwined hands, setting them down on his stomach. “Go to sleep, Yoongs.”

“Can you give me a kiss?”

“No, because you’re drunk and I just brushed my teeth, thank you very much.”

“Cruel,” he whines, turning on his side.

You stand up and round the bed to your side, climbing in under the covers. “You’re lucky I’m still sleeping in the same bed with you and your unshowered self after a whole night of bar-hopping.”

He flops back onto his back. “Fine,” he concedes, though he continues to pout. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Yoongi.” You turn off the lamp on your nightstand, blanketing the room in darkness. 

You fall asleep to the even cadence of Yoongi’s breathing.

---

“That was harder than I expected.”

“That’s what you get for not having any bridesmaids,” Sooyoung scolds, securing one last lock of hair to the back of your head with a bobby pin. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You were the one who wanted to be my maid of honor,” you remind her.

“If I weren’t your maid of honor, in addition to having no bridesmaids, you wouldn’t even have me to help you.”

“As if you wouldn’t have helped regardless. You act like a heartless bitch, Soo, but you would never sit there and let me get ready on my own.”

She lets out a indignant hmmf, a sign that she knows you’re right but is too stubborn to admit it out loud. 

Reaching for a bottle of hairspray, she says, “Close your eyes real quick, I’m not in the business of blinding brides.”

You obey as she sprays your head liberally. “There. Now you look level 1000 hot when you used to look only level 100 hot.”

“Rude.” You chuckle at your best friend. “Really, though, thank you for everything, Sooyoung. You’re the best.”

In the mirror in front of you, you see her smile. “Don’t you forget it,” she says, hugging your back gently as to not disturb her handiwork. “I’m gonna go okay? Hoseok is waiting for me.” She pulls away a bit reluctantly. “I’m so happy for you, Y/N. Min Yoongi is a lucky guy, and you’re gonna have the best day. I just know it.” 

She really was the best. For all of her sarcasm, she was as dedicated a friend as they come. “Love you, Soo,” you call out to her as she heads out the door.

“Love you too, slut!” she shouts as she shuts your bedroom door behind her.  So much for that. 

You stand up and adjust your dress, a simple dark red number with a flowy, floor-length skirt and capped sleeves. While it wasn’t technically a wedding dress, you had tried it on and instantaneously decided that you were getting married in it. You also figured it would be more comfortable than a traditional wedding dress, anyway.

You turn in front of the mirror, carrying out one final sweep of your outfit. A knock at the door distracts you from adjusting the last of your jewelry.

You turn around to see Yoongi closing the bedroom door behind him. The heels of his dress shoes clink against the wood floor as he strides over to your figure in front of the vanity.

He stops short of reaching you, keeping enough distance between yourselves to look you up and down. You can't say you're not doing the same.

To put it simply, he's too good to be real. Not just the tux and the tie and the pocket square that makes him look like the death of you, but also the way he seems to exude happiness and nerves and wonder. He gazes at you as if you're his moon, his sun, his stars, and you couldn't possibly doubt its truth.

As long as he's with you, no worries could possibly matter. Looking at him now, you have never before believed so wholeheartedly that everything would be fine. 

You don't know how long you both stand there staring at each other, but you're the one to break the silence with a soft mumble of, “Well, hi there.”

A smile breaks his face and you completely disregard the condition of your accessories, practically leaping to wind your arms around his neck. You crane your head upwards, laughing at his smile that hasn't faltered one bit. His hands find purchase on the small of your back, pulling you in closer. “Well, hi to you too.”

"You know, it's bad luck for the groom to see the bride in her dress before the wedding."

"Hmmm, for one, I’ve already seen the dress and two, you think I'm going to let some babble stop me from visiting my betrothed?”

"Hmmm, and you couldn't wait maybe twenty minutes?"

"Absolutely not. If I haven't already made it clear, you're sort of irresistible."

You shake your head at his antics, grinning. Ridiculous. “Fantastic doesn't come anywhere close to accurately describing how good you look right now.”

“Say that to yourself, darling.” He reaches down to brush a curled lock of hair behind your ear. “How are you feeling?”

“Disgustingly in love.”

He places a quick peck on your cheek at the answer. “Good to hear.”

“How are you feeling?”

Yoongi leans forward until his forhead is touching yours, inhaling a deep breath. “Happy, mostly. Of course. Nervous.”

A hint of a frown touches your lips. “Nervous about what?”

“I don't know. I just want to make sure everything goes smoothly. We really put in work for this and we’re only gonna do this once.”

“Well, I sure hope so.” At his unamused look, you counter, “Look, it doesn't matter if this wedding ends up happening in a dumpster fire. I'll love every second of it because I'll be there with you.”

A comfortable silence washes over the room as you stare at each other once again. After a moment, his head drops into the crook between your neck and shoulder. His breath brushes your skin as he laughs and whispers, “Biscuit, you can't possibly be real."

You giggle at the endearment, pulling away from him. You smooth your hands over the lapels of his tux, straightening them out. Your eyes flick to the clock on the wall behind his head, reading the time. “It's starting soon. You better get back out there before Jin beats your ass."

"Yes, ma'am. Wouldn't want to bruise this pretty face on our special day." Yoongi smiles, placing a quick kiss atop your head. Warmth, comfort, strength. "See you out there, Y/N," he says as he heads out the door.

After he’s left, you sigh into the empty room,”See you, too.” 

You chuckle to yourself. He's just so utterly, maddeningly him.

But then again, that's exactly what you love.

[michaelryalsartist-me]

An Open Letter to Tumblr about the Adult Content Ban and How it is Hurting Your Users: Recently, Tumblr was removed from the Apple app store due to an incident involving child pornography. This incident is incredibly unfortunate, but it doesn’t stand alone. Tumblr was also removed from the app store due to the large influx of porn bots and pornographic spam, users claiming to be proud to be pedophiles, blatant Nazism, racists who are not deleted for sending hate and harassing users, and more. I myself reported someone for harassing me, but because I had blocked the person and couldn’t access the messages where they harassed me, they were still able to send me anonymous asks. Your support staff, with back doors to the website (presumably), claimed they could not access the messages, and I was left SOL. Many features on this website do nothing to actually protect your users from harassment, racism, homophobia, transphobia, Nazis, pedophiles, predators, porn bots, and more. You claim in your statement to us that you “have been working on these problems for a long time”. This is blatantly untrue. Please do not lie to us and patronize us. We’ve been here. We’ve seen you do nothing over, and over, and over again. We complained to you for months and months about the rampant porn bots, and you did nothing except add a report button on mobile which only reported sensitive content or spam at best. You could have addressed this problem with an effective algorithm, but you did not. We complained to you about being harassed and sent hate speech for being LGBT+, and you did nothing. We complained to you about blogs being randomly deleted, and sometimes you’ve restored them, other times you have not. We complained to you that there were people proudly claiming to be “Minor Attracted Persons”, or pedophiles, and you did nothing. We complained to you about people proudly claiming to be white supremacists, and you did nothing. All of these things are “against the community guidelines”, and yet over and over, you have not found effective ways to handle these problems or suppress the feeling of welcome that these users claim to get here. You have had a long time to work on these problems, but you haven’t addressed them. To say you have is untrue. Multiple other social networking websites, such as Wordpress, Facebook, Instagram, Pinterest, and others have effectively dealt with rampant pornography, racism, pedophilia, and other problems without causing massive issues for their users who are not misusing the platform. They are continuing to find new, effective ways to deal with these issues without causing problems for their userbase as a whole.  There is no reason that you are unable to do this effectively other than that you wanted to do it quickly. You have once again chosen your stock holders over your users. And we have had enough. You have already started to ban “Adult” content with a new algorithm. Here are screenshots of just a fraction of the posts you have flagged as containing adult content: Your new system of simply tackling everything at once is not working. At all. And each of these screenshots is proof of your utter incompetence. None of these posts contain pornographic acts, “female nipples”, or any community violation of any kind. We, the users, have been asking you for months to deal with these problems - particularly, the porn bots and bots that spam. In order to block a bot from a side blog, I have to do it manually, even though they are in my side blog’s feed. This is a huge issue for mobile - only users. They keep cropping up in droves, taking over our posts and tricking google into making it look like a legitimate blog linked to a pornographic website. We have complained to you for months and months now, and your solution to simply “ban all adult content” is ineffective. I agree that children should not be able to access pornography - but this is not how you tackle a porn bot problem. Your system is utterly useless, allows for racists, pedophiles, porn bots, and Nazis to remain untouched. It also harms sex workers and real people who may use this website for some forms of adult content responsibly. Moreover, as seen above, it harms plenty of users who have in no way violated your terms of service. If you keep this up, you threaten your website and company as a whole. Many of us are backing up our blogs and planning places to go to. You already have a content filter for “sensitive” content (content inappropriate for younger viewers). You could have improved this, instead of attacking your entire user base. It seems to be a very lazy “solution”, if you could call it one at all, and one that harms your entire userbase. If you are going to keep this filter in place and make Tumblr, a website that has never been known for being family friendly and has never claimed to be, you are going to lose millions of your users. We are already planning our exodus. It isn’t hard to follow. Censor us, and we will go somewhere else. That is not a threat. It is a promise. Sincerely, The users of your website.

[calmskiesfierynights]

Okay. Does anyone else on here or who happens to be one of my amazing followers get accused of having a “bitch-face” ? Am I the only one who finds it extremely condescending and demeaning? 

Let me throw you some background. 

When I got a job in a serious business atmosphere at around the age of 18, I was scared. Being a science major just wanting to pay the bills... I couldn’t be more out of my element. But hey, suck it up right? Parents won’t pay your tuition and you don’t have a back up trust. I started off super young, since I was about 10-12 years younger than a bunch of (albeit lovely) sales people and coworkers. 

I was nervous, and trying so hard just to keep my job - but apparently I was doing great work! I just wouldn’t... 

“Why don’t you smile more love?”

“Darling, you have such a pretty smile?” 

“You’re so unapproachable.” 

It’s the first time I had heard it from someone other than my mother lecturing me on how I would never find anyone since I looked like “such a bitch”. Great. 

18 years old and I have a meeting with five grown ass men in suits that cost probably more than my tuition for the upcoming year combined. They all stood while I sat, most likely shaking but refusing to stare look down. What the fuck could I have done? Did I miss a finance deadline? Did I misplace an invoice? 

No. 

“You’re a pretty girl with the nicest smile, and one of our clients said you didn’t smile at him like he wanted. Now, this causes some concern...” 

I cannot even remember the rest because I blocked it. Shoved it so deep into my thoughts and never wanted to process it again. My spine was rigidly straight, something I learned the past years before as I fought to have a restraining order against my teacher who made extremely inappropriate advances on me. 

By the way... he still has his job. I’m still the butt of the joke in the faculty lounge I hear. Not that I’d ever go back or think of high school... honestly. 

I gave them a nod, noting my understanding through gritted teeth and smiled widely. The owner was thrown aback. 

The day before I had gotten my braces put in for the first time. My mouth felt like someone had begun to pull and shove and throttle from every tooth. I was in undescribable pain. I explained this, naturally. 

They all then laughed and excused me, telling me they were going to call the client and apologize on my behalf. 18-year-old me bit her tongue, but let it be. It was the first time someone thought I was a bitch just because of my face, but I guess it was the first time someone tried to get me fired because I didn’t please them aesthetically. 

I stayed at that job far and far too long to realize my education was taking a toll and my resolve was shattering. On the upside, my confidence and communication skills mastered, and I could get myself out of any hard situation with an unhappy client. But, the money woes went on... so next stop was the world of waitressing and bartending. 

Amazingly, and probably not too shockingly - it gets worse from here. 

I was amazing at my job. Not just amazing, but fantastic - and could literally upsell any beer or meal better than anyone. Make the perfect Bourbon Sour? Only me. Old Fashion? I was Queen of them. I had gotten my braces off, and my teeth were perfect. I’m not even being a cocky snot, but man my ortho really did art! My “bitch-face” got comments here and there, but luckily my boss thought it was one of my quirks. Men liked it apparently, because it made me more fun to banter with. 

Banter, I can dig it. 

But the other comments, I guess you can say they got to me? 

“Such a pretty blonde, why don’t you give me a smile?” That came with a tap on the tush. Perhaps I was too new or young? Because in the same setting three years later I stapled a man’s hand for doing that. This time however, back then, I could only muster a small smile. 

I could go on for ages about that place, but it was mostly good memories clouded with patrons calling me the “fuck-you face chick” or the “I wonder if I could do something to make her smile” with every innuendo intention. 

Le grand sigh. 

As my life began to move on, and I traveled and lived in different incredible places, I realized I had a lot to smile about. Also? I was so approachable apparently, and could make friends anywhere! 

That made me think - did I always have this face? Or did the many many men who fucked me over throughout my life make me not so willing to give their entire gender a smile? I thought about it a lot, and moved back home to once again search for my dream job locally, and work in a new bar. 

Alas, the demeaning mentions of my bitch-face didn’t come from patrons or drunks! No, but from management. Female management. 

After being booked during my first week for six doubles (not weird but super tiring!), I guess you could say I was overwhelmed? Apparently, that translated right to my face. 

My male GM sat me down for a formal meeting to tell me one of the owners, (female), thought I made too much of a scowling face when I worked and I looked absolutely miserable. 

“She said that? I looked miserable?” I asked, genuinely shocked and appalled. I only wanted to do a good job to well... make money of course! 

“Well... she used other words.” He said lightly, “You have a bit of a bitch-face.” 

Boom. There it was again. Hook, line, sinker. 

This time however, I wasn’t going down. I gave him my million-watt perfect smile and cocked my head to the side. “Whatever do you mean?” I responded with sickly sweet inquiry. 

I was out for blood, and they didn’t know it yet. I guess, neither did I? 

I still needed to fund my life and my research, so I accepted the criticism and promised to do something about my face right away. 

You know that petroleum jelly beauty pageant ladies use? Oh honey, I bought it and brought it to work. Before I went to any table, you could see me applying it in the staff alcove with exuberant enthusiasm. I was far too old for this bullshit of being afraid of my face, and a little too tired of hearing it. So hey, why not make a scene out of it? 

It worked for a while, but I guess me becoming more comfortable and happy with my coworkers really made it all better in the end. I was genuinely smiling, which was lovely... I guess? 

It lasted all of two months. 

A new GM came in I don’t remember his name but it probably was misogynistic asswhipe, but don’t quote me on that. I’m only partly sure. 

He had heard about my elusive face from upper management and greeted me as bitchface. Great. I didn’t speak to him for two weeks, and you know what men HATE? When you don’t acknowledge them. It’s not cute in their opinion. 

Too fucking bad M. Asswhipe!

Having been a main bartender before, and now working with a co-bartender, I could be happier. Alas, this lovely new GM decided my bitchface was a little too strong. 

“She’d be so much fucking hotter if she just smiled and did what I said.” 

He said this, as if I wasn’t standing next to him, about to pour wine. 

“He’d be so much hotter face-first in the deep fryer.” My comment won a lot more appreciation, naturally. 

It didn’t get better for me, as all staff had a meeting while I was out of town, and their new job was to remind me to smile more and not have such a bitch-face. 

This was a real topic. At a serious meeting. Of a well-known business. Led by Asswhipe GM and Not-so-Feminist Assistant Owner. 

When the person I had been dating reminded me one night with a tinge of snark, I dropped all the plates in my hand. That was it, the straw that broke the camel’s back. I ran outside a cried. It doesn’t seem that dramatic right? Like why was THAT the moment I lost it? 

I cried because I was so so so tired. Everyone I worked with was in on this against me, and I guess you could say I felt bullied. Every smiling demand, every leering man, every drunk creep, every sexual harassment... assault. It all surfaced in one giant clusterfuck of a Friday night dinner rush. 

So I quit. Simply. 

I got an incredible job in research that not only pays the bills well, but is giving me the most amazing experience to further my passion and goals in life. And you know what? Not one of the women or men I work with (who, might I add... especially about these incredible ladies... have more letters after their names than any of my ex-manager’s FULL names ever did) have ever even mentioned an inkling of my so-named Bitch Face. Not one. It’s never come up. I don’t need to smile to impress anyone, it’s what I can bring to the table that’ll blow their minds. 

So, what the fuck was this little spiel? 

Men have put me down for way too long. Women, well they have too, and I will do everything in my power to make sure I never become them. 

Listen, I truly don’t know why I wrote this. But If I could even help one person out there understand that it’s not you it’s their shitty fucking asses, man job well fucking done go me!

Please embrace each other. Please lift each other up. Please pick us up. Please love yourselves. And fuck anyone who says you have to smile more or fix your bitch-face. Fuck them, find your place and I promise you - no one there will five a fuck if you have a little bit of a icy scowl in your bones. 

- Lila. 

[aspiringauthorblog-blog]

Immortality Keys Except

Hey! Here’s an except from the first book. 

Chapter Two “Commander Afokmi, I’m pretty sure you’ve exhausted every preset on the bot. Maybe you should take a rest?” I pushed myself to stand and walked away from the felled robot.

“I have a mission coming up soon. I will not make the same mistake as my brother, and be unprepared for a conflict,” I replied. “Could you find me some retired presets before I come in again tomorrow?” The door slid open, and I walked out of the training room.

“Of course, Commander,” the operator replied as I walked past. As I entered the locker room though, I heard them mutter. “At least the General hadn’t been a bitch…”

“Isn’t, Operator,” I corrected. “He’s still alive, you know.” I surpressed a smile at the sudden horror that filled the operator. It would do them good to hold their tongue.

I pulled open my locker and removed my holobracelet. It pulsed green with notifications, so I opened them.

“Commander Afokmi, your brother has woken up. Could you or Sergeant Pheone come to escort him to his quarters?” Doctor Morris’s message read. Damn, it had been sent just after I went into training. I threw on my change of clothes and hurried out towards the medical ward as I scrolled through the few other messages.

“Commander Afokmi, your mission briefing has been rescheduled to happen in two days. Please come to the Research Ward after Training.” Ugh, I hate changes to my schedule.

I hurried into the medical ward, only to run into the one person I did not need to see. Rhaenga.

“Envera! What a surprise, I—” Rhaenga began. I brushed past him, and walked up to my brother’s empty bed. “Pheone came to get him. I guess you were busy?”

“Sergeant Pheone to you, Medic,” I hissed. “If that’s the case, I’ll take my leave.” I turned to see he’d barred the door.

“Envera, please. Can’t we just talk?” His yellow eyes gleamed sadly. There had been a time where I would’ve listened to anything he said. Not anymore though.

“I need to see my brother. Now, move,” I ordered. He folded his scaled arms over his chest and frowned.

“You’re being unreasonable,” he began.

“Unreasonable? You left me for dead,” I replied. I didn’t yell, scream, or shriek this. He wasn’t worth it. “I trusted you with my life, and you left me for dead the second we came under fire. I brought myself back to this station, barely conscious. And when I returned, you didn’t even look at me. When Jenderous came after you, you told him it was either me or you. We were mates, Rhaenga. Mates. If that had meant anything to you, you would’ve stayed beside me. Instead, you left me, and I want nothing to do with you. Now, I’ll say this one more time: move!” He flinched as I spoke, and did actually move. Unfortunately, he followed me.

“If you wanted nothing to do with me, why did you set Jenderous on me?”

“I didn’t do anything. You’re the one who tripped his sister in order to escape rebels. Jenderous went after you himself,” I replied. Hopefully, once Rhaenga realized I was heading towards Jenderous, he’d leave me alone.

“Then why does he continue to harass me? He belittled me in front of Doctor Xyil the second he woke up!” I couldn’t help it. I let out a laugh. “I could get a disciplinary report!”

“You deserve no pity from me,” I replied. “Now, Medic. I have no need of an escort to see my brother. I also believe you have a job to do.” I walked away, leaving him behind. Honestly, if only Jenderous had agreed to being assigned a new station. But no, he couldn’t.

“Envera, we have our orders from His Excellency. Besides, this is where our people had served. Don’t you think we need to carry that on as long as we can?” He’d said when I had asked him to request a reassignment during my stay in the Med Ward. “However, I can promise you that I will make Rhaenga regret what he did, and make him want a transfer.”

As I passed the mess hall, I saw Pheone walking toward me.

“Commander Afokmi, how are you?” She turned as I passed her to walk beside me. “I just brought your brother food.”

“You’re too kind,” I replied. Pheone had never been a friend to me. She was indeed kind, and I did enjoy talking to her, but I never felt the ability to confide myself in her. I could never admit to any worries or doubts. I couldn’t even tell her that there was no chance Jenderous would return her feelings for him, especially after he’d seen Rhaenga’s disregard for me. “Is he well?”

“As far as I can tell, yes. Although, he seems to go into his own head quite easily,” she replied. “I’ll bring his dinner to him, if that’s alright?” Poor girl. I nodded.

“If you’d like, the three of us could have dinner together. I’m sure he’d like that.” That made her smile.

“Too bad we can’t do what we normally do,” she replied.

“I’m sure he’ll cook again soon enough. He loves it.” I watched as the band on her wrist lit up. She tapped on a button and the holoscreen showed a message.

“Agh, my Commander wants to see me about the mission. I’ll see you later,” Pheone sighed before hurrying off in the other direction. I then ran down the hall to my brother’s room.

I walked in after punching in my brother’s password. The room seemed empty.

“Jenderous?” I called as the door shut behind me. I heard movement from the bathroom.

“I’ll be out in a second!” Followed by a crash. “Maybe two seconds!” I ran over and found my brother sitting on the bathroom floor, a shirt over his head.

“Are you hurt?” I asked as I took the shirt hem and tugged it down. His hair was wet and hung down, over his eyes. He shook his head, splashing me with water droplets.

“Does the injury to my pride count?” He asked as he adjusted the medallion around his neck. I watched as his eyes went blank for a second, then he focused back on me. “Envera, how are you?”

“I’m fine. Do you need help getting up?”

“Nah,” Jenderous replied. He pushed against the ground and flew up, still in a sitting position. “Flying around makes my head hurt a little less,” he explained.

“You need to drink, you’ve been unconscious for a while,” I said. I walked into the kitchen as he flew over to the couch. After filling up two glasses, I joined him,

“I have been out for a while,” he snorted. I watched him drain the glass in one go. “Now, tell me about this new mission?” I shook my head. How could he possibly think about me right now?

“Jenderous, you just woke up from a coma,” I replied. “We can focus on you right now.” I watched him push his hair back, out of his eyes. Space black with streaks of purple where the light hit it, and a new silver streak that appeared when he was brought back from the mission. He kept his left eye on me from an angle. “Missing your eyepatch?” He nodded. “Let me find one for you.”

“Last I remembered, I keep the spare in the top drawer next to my bed,” he said. I got up and walked over. Opening the drawer, I found the ordinate eyepatch with our family crest, and a silver gemstone carved into a crescent.

“This is the nice one. Are you sure you want it?” I looked back to see him nod. Gently, I lifted it up and walked back before placing it in his hand. After he secured it over his scarred eye, I sat down and he faced me fully. I could still see the edge of the scar just below where the eyepatch ended, but it bothered me less. “What happened?”

Jenderous curled up, hugging his knees to his chest as his tail curled over his feet. “I don’t remember, I can’t remember the past seven lunar cycles at all!” He bit his lip and looked down. “Envera, I’m scared. What happened to me?” I was watching my brother, the king of our people, break down. I moved closer to him and hugged him, patting his back gently.

“You were on a conquest mission in Sector 61. Apparently, when the other soldiers found you, you’d already been unconscious, and you’d been stabbed. When you were brought back, the Med staff had to perform surgery to repair a pierced lung and stitch you up, but you were still unconscious,” I explained. “It’s been practically a lunar cycle since you were brought back.”

“You weren’t worried?” Jenderous looked up at me. He didn’t seem angry, or even upset. He just had the familiar curious gleam in his eye.

“Thayron’s already taken everyone else I love. He knows I would attempt to overthrow him if he took you too,” I said. Jenderous snorted and shook his head.

“To this day, I still can’t understand how you can say such things about your patron. Why would you even pick him if you despise him so much?” I looked away. I loved Jenderous, he was a great brother and leader, but he’d seen a much kinder version of our people as he’d grown up.

“Because he made my existence miserable, so I’m going to return the favor. It’s not the worst reason to pick a patron, I don’t think.” Jenderous nodded thoughtfully, keeping whatever opinion he had to himself. I noticed a keycard on the cushions between us. “What’s that?”

“Oh, here,” he said. He handed me the keycard, and I saw Rhaenga’s information on it. “He wasn’t paying attention when Pheone escorted me out, so I took it.” Jenderous grinned at me, happy with himself.

“You know he needs this to access the medicine room, right?” I asked. Jenderous shrugged and leaned back against the couch, keeping his eye on me.

“Who cares what he needs? Rhaenga deserves a pain in his tail.” Jenderous was frowning now. He’d taken what Rhaenga had done personally when it’d happened half a solar cycle ago.

“You know it wasn’t your fault, right?” I reminded him. Jenderous shrugged again.

“I don’t even remember what happened. I just know I hate him,” he admitted. “Either way, it’s fun to agitate him.” I laughed and turned the keycard over in my hands a few times. There was a little box in my quarters filled with things Jenderous had taken from Rhaenga, including reports he was about to turn in, a few pieces of jewelry, trinkets, and 4 previous key cards.

“You’re not going to give it back, right?” Jenderous was watching me, and it felt weird. Before he got hurt, his posture and actions felt intimidating or authoritative. Now, he just looked at me curiously, and he seemed a bit nervous.

“Why would I? I barely stand being in the same room as him, much less actually communicat--” My holobracelet flashed purple, meaning a general was messaging me.

“Who is it?” Jenderous leaned towards me.

“General Vado Kyl,” I replied. That name sounded familiar. “You know him?”

“He was Pheone’s general, before Vado Mor, up until that raid in Sector 39 five solar cycles ago. I’m pretty sure he’s buried in the station’s cemetery.” I glanced to Jenderous, slightly disturbed. How was a dead general sending me a message? Jenderous must’ve seen my expression, because he continued. “It could be a glitch, or someone using a hack to get your attention.”

“‘Meet me at the forest line, near the jogging path,’” I read. “Think I should go?”

“If it’s a prank, you can teach whoever thought of it a lesson on not messing with Fendoorens. And if it’s a glitch, you don’t want to keep someone waiting forever. They might have something important to tell you about the upcoming mission,” Jenderous replied.

“Is that a yes?” Jenderous nodded. “What about you? Are you sure you can be left alone?”

“I was going to sleep until dinner, actually. Believe it or not, three weeks wasn’t nearly enough time to rest.” Jenderous pushed himself up and walked over to his bed. After removing his eyepatch, he flopped into his bed.

“How dignified of you,” I snorted. He waved his hand at me before curling up on his side. “Sergeant Pheone will be bringing dinner to you, and we’ll all eat together. I’ll see you soon, Brother.” I made my way to the door.

“See you, love you,” Jenderous replied, his voice already slurred with sleep. I blinked. He hadn’t said anything like that in almost a solar cycle.

The outside air had a frigidness to it, and a gentle breeze that stirred up trees branches, leaves, and my hair. As I walked, I tied my hair back to keep the black strands from falling in my face. I saw a few soldiers running on the trails, and a few small groups of friends chatting idly.

“You think we’ll be chosen for the mission?” One soldier asked her friends. “I’ve always wanted to go on a conquest.”

“I don’t know. From preliminary findings, it doesn’t seem like this will be the most diplomatic of missions. A lot of people will probably get hurt or killed,” one of the other soldiers replied.

“Hey look,” I saw one of them point at me. “Isn’t that the Fendooren soldier?” I cringed at his pronunciation.

“It’s pronounced Fen-Door-in, Cayln, not Fen-do-ren. And yes, that’s one of them,” the girl explained. I smiled a bit. Maybe I should talk to her sometime.

“What’s with her tail? Why does it move like that? The dogs on our planet have minimal movement,” the idiot, Cayln, spat. I froze.

“Cayln, you know she can hear you right?” The first friend replied. Part of me wanted to storm over and yell at him. Fendoorens were far from dogs. Had that idiot seen us before the Calamity, he would’ve known that. Instead, I kept walking towards the forest. I heard one of the people stand up, as if they meant to approach me. I snapped my tail, hoping that whoever it was knew enough body language cues to stay away.

“Who knotted your tail the wrong way?” A deep, laughing voice asked as I got to the supposed meeting place. I folded my arms, looking in annoyance at the man who walked out.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, my Patron?” I asked. Thayron, the Fendooren God of Death stood before me. I’m sure it would’ve been more impressive if he’d decided to remain in his godly form, but he looked like any mortal Fendooren. His pale skin stuck out against the black clothing and the bands that wrapped around his neck, arms, and fingers he wore. Black hair was tied back and hung down his shoulder, which made it easy to see his golden eyes, and the closed eyelid on his forehead.

“Envera, could you walk with me? I wish to discuss a confidential matter with you, and I do not wish to be overheard,” Thayron said, offering me his arm. I walked beside him, but did not touch him.

“Good thing you decided to have this conversation with the one person who has super hearing then,” I replied. “What is the matter you wish to discuss?”

“It’s come to my attention that one of my weapons has been stolen,” Thayron began. “Had I been Solair or Astra, I would write it off as banter that has gotten a bit out of hand. However, I have no rivals, nor do I have anyone who is unsatisfied with me, safe for you, of course. Therefore, my only conclusion is that someone has taken it with the intent to use it.”

“Excellent deduction skills,” I replied, tilting my head side to side. “Obviously if someone takes a weapon, they intend to use it. I presume you want me to find this weapon?” Thayron narrowed his gaze at me, then pressed his hand to the side of his temple.

“Yes, I want you to get it back. If my spear falls into the wrong hands, it will be devastating.”

“Wait, wait, you lost the Spear? Why was that even in a position to be stolen?” How stupid could Thayron be?

“Yes. Now, will you find it? You’re the most reliable of my devoted, and you have access to the places you’ll need to look,” Thayron said. I stopped on the trail and faces him.

“I want something in return. I refuse to undo your mess without some sort of payment,” I demanded. Thayron smirked, crossing his arms and resting his chin against his hand.

“This is why I like you Verr Sya,” he began. “You’re not afraid to tell me anything. Now, what would you like in return?”

“I want to see my mom,” I said.

He blinked and looked aside. “I’ve told you, I don’t have…”

“Did I stutter, Thayron?” I stared at him, frowning slightly. “In return for the Spear, you will let me meet my mom. I won’t agree to anything less.” Thayron sighed and shook his head, probably cursing me in his mind.

“Fine, I will find your mother and let you see her if you find and return my Spear,” Thayron finally breathed. “Is that a worthy trade for your effort?”

I nodded and continued to walk. Thayron fell into step beside me again. “I will require transportation to wherever you believe it is, though. Could you give me more information?”

“How familiar are you with the inhabitants of Zepheral?” Thayron asked. I shook my head, recognizing the name.

“Oh absolutely not! You’re suggesting a Werin stole your Spear? They’re barely capable of fighting themselves, let alone accessing Torii!” The Fendooren brother race of the Werins were deplorable characters. “You can’t possibly think of sending me there, do you have any idea what they do to their women?”

Thayron nodded, his expression somber. “I am well aware, but you are not a Werin girl raised to believe that is her place. You’re the Fendooren princess. I know you wouldn’t let such a fate befall you. Haven’t you considered that if the Werin people saw a person like you, things could begin to change?” I shook my head. From what Jenderous had said, when that conversation had ever arisen, I knew that the Werins were barbaric at best, and mortal hellspawn at worst.

“What those people need is a Cleanse of their own,” I spat. “They are uncivilized, dangerous, violent, demeaning unevolved bastards! Why would I ever aide them?”

“I’m not asking that you aide them, I’m asking you to go there to look for the Spear. Surely you could tolerate with the existence of the Werins in order to meet your mother, right? Besides, it’s not like the Werins are the only ones on Zepheral. If you really want to, you could spend all of your time with the other inhabitants,” Thayron chidded. “Anyway, I will have someone help you reroute your… Uh… What do you call those things?” I tilted my head and raised an eyebrow. “Those things you use to go to other planets.”

“You mean the Astral Travelers?” He nodded. “I need to reroute it?”

“To Zepheral, yeah. I presume they never taught you how to add new coordinates, right?” For as much as he lacked in knowledge of what happened to the Fendoorens after the Calamity, he had that right. For some reason, my brother and I had never been taught how to set our own coordinates. I had figured that it was because neither of us were technicians or researchers.

“No, I haven’t the faintest idea of how to do that,” I replied. “What should I do before that?”

“I would see if you could get any information on Zepheral from your information hubs. Also, maybe seek some advisement from your brother. Don’t tell him about the Spear though. Just ask him about Zepheral, he might remember the politics from before the Calamity,” Thayron advised. I bit my lip, thinking of how I could possibly get anyone in the information hub to give me access to anything. “In two days, head to the hanger of your Astral Traveller, alright?” After I nodded, Thayron snapped his fingers, and disappeared before my eyes.

I made my way back towards the station, and saw the group from earlier. I noticed that the girl was wearing the coat that identified those who worked in the information hub. As I walked past, I saw Calyn kiss the girl, a universal sign of mateship. I smiled slightly as I realized I might’ve just found how to get the information I needed.

[kissmyflash]

Belle’s Story - The Misogyny of Devin Faraci, the Alamo & Working as a Female Film Critic

After my story went public I offered my blog to be used for any other woman who was targeted by Devin Faraci, the Alamo Drafthouse, or misogyny within the film community at large. I promised that I would allow them to stay anonymous, and simply print their own experiences in their own words. Today I received an email from a woman asking to have her story heard. It is her hope that by being the first to come forward anonymously others might be empowered to do the same. For the purpose of keeping each story straight they will be given an alias inspired by a character in film.

This story is from “Belle”* (*it should be noted the point of these stories is not to try to name the woman, but to hear her story. Please don’t try to “figure it out”.) I wrote for a number of outlets, more years ago now than I care to count. 

The tale of my days of film journalism are depressing and sordid. Sexism and misogyny isn't just rampant, it defined every interaction.  For example, editor has a plus one, and he offers it to you. "You can come as my date." "Or I can come as your friend?" "You can come as my date." Oh, and he's married. Once, I was very upset at a nasty, sexist comment left in my comment field calling me "a fucking gash." I begged them to delete it, and ban the user. "Sweetie, it's not like it is racism." And yes, I blasted him for calling me sweetie. I put up with it for my entire, short career thinking “Well, it’s just locker room talk and I want people to think I’m cool, so I won’t let it bother me.”  And then you realize no, it’s the reality and when you reject these guys, you’re done.  To confront them was to be told they were joking and be gaslamped into thinking they had harassed you at all. Faraci and I were, I thought, friends. He reached out to me in my early days, and I was beyond thrilled and flattered.  He was a big name. He championed my work, he encouraged people to read me on Twitter and I really thought he was one of the good guys. I constantly defended him against detractors, quoted his scoops and gave him press. In my view, most of my colleagues were unpleasant guys who couldn’t say a nice word about me or my work, routinely harassed me and exposed me to harassment, but were happy to call themselves feminists. Faraci, on the other hand, was a vocal defender who would call out the trolls they wouldn’t.  And we all mimicked his snarky, bully tone. He set the voice for film criticism at that time. Faraci and I hung out at events. Very friendly. He flirted and complimented, and I felt like I saw this sad, sensitive side of him that he didn’t let on to many people.  I remember messaging him and telling him something encouraging about his weight, and he thanked me and said I was very sweet.  Again, I appreciated his support and camaraderie on a very cruel Internet. I already detailed my exceedingly polite rejection of his advances (to the Daily Beast). What I'd like to stress was how nauseated I was the next day -- not only from the alcohol but what almost happened.  I thought well, today will be awkward but I am sure he’ll be cool about it.  We’re adults, we were drinking, it happens and we are friends. But he never spoke to me again. Not on the set visit itself, not after, never again.  He unfollowed me on Twitter. He shunned me.  We could be in the same room together, and he wouldn’t make eye contact or say hi, I was completely invisible.  It was beyond uncomfortable and hurtful. What happened was not rape or assault, but I felt like garbage. I was made to feel as if I'd done something wrong.  Of course, it was nowhere near the level of assault or even harassment, but as a woman, it gets really tiring to feel BAD for not having sex with someone. And it never really went away.  In my last gig,writing for yet another editor who assumed his own female staff was fair game, I was told “Well, see, I was told you fucked Faraci.” I’ve never known where that piece of gossip originated. Devin himself?  The editor who called me up on that fateful set visit, heard Devin in the background, and said he’d tell everyone I slept with him before cackling and hanging up? Even when I myself went to work for a branch of the Alamo, and Faraci KNEW I worked for his same company, he still shunned me. It was a pretty blatant snub, and one that didn’t exactly go unnoticed.  Drafthouse patrons knew me and my work.  I’d be called out at dish pit because they recognized my voice from podcasts.  “Why don’t you write for BMD?”   “Eh, not interested."  It's conjecture as to why, but i felt strongly that one rejection was the reason. Amusingly, he once passed me in the hallway of Drafthouse while I was carrying dirty dishes, and actually said hi, but it was because he didn’t recognize me at all.  I joked about it with some friends — as I recall, I made a Les Miserables joke about having fallen so far into the gutter that my old colleagues didn’t even recognize me. Devin heard about it, and was angry that I hadn’t identified myself. When I reached out and said “Well, it was me, hi Devin,” he never even acknowledged me. There is simply no way Tim League didn’t know about Devin’s so-called dark side, or ever believed he was some sturdy feminist.  Faraci’s work on CHUD was full of T&A and oogling. He proudly shared a video clip of himself gawking at Scarlett Johannson’s butt.  He had a profile picture of himself looking down a Medieval Times wench’s dress — and it was the replacement for the profile picture of himself gaping at a booth babe who was wearing nothing but duct tape. This was Devin.  This is all of online film culture, this is the Drafthouse.  When they introduced their new female programmer, who was set to focus on girl friendly programming, her official Drafthouse photo was of her in tiny underwear/shorts, sucking on a lollypop in her pink bedroom. I should stress that I’ve never interacted with League directly. I worked a franchise, so we had our own GM and owners. There has been a lot of ugliness with the Alamo’s franchising, and just what League will claim to have knowledge of or direct action in.  I do know that Tim seems to have a persistent death wish to keep bad blood around. I had a lot of fun working for the Drafthouse initially.  I started before they even broke ground, and helped them run their outdoor events publicizing their theatre. I loved everything they stood for.  When they opened officially, I applied to work as a server. That’s how badly I wanted in. But, to my delight, my past efforts for them were remembered and I was moved from food to programming. For its first summer, I was basically its creative department, though “officially unofficial." I had confidence this nebulous position would be permanent. One day, the boss calls me up and tells me he is hiring a new Creative Manager, and I’d have a new boss. I was never offered the position, told it was open, nothing. He listed the candidates he'd rejected -- one of whom, he complained, never showed up to the events that were meant to be his audition. These were events I had worked -- I'd organized them! Why weren't they my audition? Now, to be entirely impartial, maybe I wasn't a good fit. Maybe they were dissatisfied with my work. I had never been given that feedback or impression, though. Quite the opposite. The distinct feeling I had was "You're not the bearded guy who is our audience." And sure enough, I walked in one day and I had no job. But, I was still loyal! I happily went to work at box office. And I scrubbed their bathrooms and wood paneling.  Anything to stay within the Drafthouse and hope I could work back up to a creative or programming position.  Not surprisingly, that never happened and due to the abusive management, I quit. Amusingly, when I needed a second chance from the Alamo — and had been promised I would always be welcome  — I was told they would not renew their relationship with me.  Second chances are not, it seems, for everyone. Now, it's probably unfair to say that in that I have no relationship with League. He didn't personally reject me. I’m sure he doesn’t know the particulars.Yet he always knew when our bathrooms were shut down for cleaning, and would fire off an email wanting them reopened within the hour.   But that’s the mystery of League and the Drafthouse. Somehow, no one is in charge when someone is getting hurt, and a lot of people got hurt there.  Somehow League is “above it all,” too big for the daily grind of the Drafthouse, except when suddenly he isn’t. This probably reads like I have an axe to grind…and hey, I do. It has eaten at me for years that one factor that separated me from terrific gigs was that I didn’t sleep with the right people or wasn't the typical Drafthouse dude.  Was it the only factor? No. But it's the one that shouldn't even exist in the 21st century. It makes me angry that Faraci is not the only predator, and that all of these guys still have great gigs while many were forced into new lines of work. It is appalling to me that Faraci's superiors felt that non-movie work wasn't good enough for someone of his stature.  Plenty of talented writers are working food and retail. Many juggled these jobs while writing because the pay was so poor. Why was he better than anyone else? And that is a question that lingers like a stink over the whole field. Look at the female voices in comparison to the male. Ask why so many women, who were so prominent in the early days of online film writing, are gone now.  Ask why the same guys get chances again and again. Faraci is not the only offender, but the fact that he WAS one for so long says volumes about who he is, the world he works in, what the Drafthouse enables.

[vanquisher2099]

Part Seventeen: A Bartender Walks into a Bar

Maesin waited several minutes for the sound of footsteps outside her storage unit to die down before she emerged into the soft morning light. If she had been the sort of organism that required sleep, she would have regretted her decision to stay up late observing the movements of data, money, and personnel that made up Madame Midnight’s increasingly-expansive information empire, but as it was she merely felt a slight pang of annoyance that she still had to go to her cover job. What was the point, she thought to herself, of having access to so many favors and sources of cash when she couldn’t use any of it without attracting attention and getting herself and everyone else she gave even the slightest bit of a shit about killed?

A car was waiting for her three blocks away to take her to the bar, and she slid in and immediately overrode the automated driving software. One indulgence she allowed herself was driving. She’d done it a lot with Alayna, before everything went to hell, and doing so since everything had gone to hell was effectively a coping mechanism. The science community was generally undecided on the question of whether an artificial intelligence could actually contract PTSD or even grieve the loss of a loved one, but Maesin thought that in this case the science community probably should’ve just asked an AI. She liked to pretend, sometimes, that she didn’t know how long it had been since she’d last seen Alayna (down to the second, thanks internal clock), that this was just a temporary thing and they’d be able to meet up in a couple of days, that everything would somehow get back to the weird semblance of something routine they’d had.

It hadn’t been, of course. And it wouldn’t go back to the way things were, because even if the long-shot plan Alayna had insisted on not telling her the details of (yes, yes, J4D3 herself had insisted on not telling her the details of, and then promptly wiped her own memory of the details after leaving an apologetic recording to – who else – herself) actually worked, and they were able to meet again, too much time had passed between then and now. Plus, Maesin didn’t exactly have the warmest or fuzziest feelings for the woman who had wiped her memory and then, one hasty explanation later, left and ended up seemingly dead. It had taken two years for her to confirm that Alayna’s body was not in fact somewhere on the bottom of the lake, but was in fact walking around somewhere in the Midwest, but at least she had that.

The bar was, increasingly, becoming something Maesin considered to be a distraction from what the real important work was, which was conducting something of a massive plan B in case whatever the longshot plan happened to be didn’t pan out. That meant making Madame Midnight a little more aggressive in some of her dealings, and occasionally harassing whatever entity had taken over d3m3t3r’s operation in a bid to get them to show their hand a little more clearly. Added to that was her somewhat foolish promise to Jade that she’d find out who had sent the threatening letter and threatened to expose their true identities, all of which were not exactly pieces of information that needed to be publicized.

All of that, however, had to be put on hold while Maesin tended bar in a known criminal front, where occasionally – occasionally – people who knew the right pass phrases got put into contact with Madame Midnight, who nobody had yet figured out was the fucking bartender. That nobody had figured this out meant one of two things, as far as Maesin was concerned: she was incredibly good at covering her tracks, or perhaps humans were just that fucking stupid. Most days she tended toward the latter. d3m3t3r, she suspected, would have figured it out by now. She had, after all, discovered the identity of the first Madame Midnight all those years ago, an event which as far as Maesin was concerned had kicked this whole mess off to begin with.

Alayna’s voice echoed in her head. That’s enough of that train of thought, don’t you think? You know it just ends up driving you crazy, and you don’t need the distraction when you’re working tonight. Maesin gripped the steering wheel tighter. It was, she knew, a coping mechanism of sorts to hear her friend’s voice in moments of stress. Not necessarily a healthy coping mechanism, of course. Maesin figured that if it got bad she’d either disguise herself as human and see a psychiatrist or wipe her memory again, since that seemed to be past J4D3’s go-to plan.

The bar was quiet, which was unsurprising given the early hour. Maesin waved to her boss and took up position behind the bar, serving drinks to the few patrons who were conducting a business meeting, pretending to conduct a business meeting, or just blatantly starting early. Occasionally someone would come in and make a particular order which meant that their tip included a small data chip slipped under the bill. These chips were deposited into a small container by the sink which was in turn periodically emptied by another member of the staff, and so on down a line of dead drops until they would eventually wind up being deposited a few blocks away from the storage locker Maesin called home. It was convoluted, but it was also one of the things which kept her identity secure.

Some of the data chips would be job requests, some would be account information so she could collect payment, and others would be reports from the various operatives employed by Madame Midnight. Very occasionally it was a personal request from someone with whom the old Madame Midnight had been close, which Maesin had to honor to keep up appearances. The idea had been to have Madame Midnight’s entire persona stay more or less the same – even the storage unit had been one of Maddie’s old safehouses. On the off chance that someone knew that location, they’d only encounter one of Maddie’s former clients (Maesin) who was paying for the right to hide there. It was simple, as far as cover stories went, which appealed to the humans of the group (Maesin thought it might be too easy to suss out the lie, but J4D3 had signed off on it, and as pissed as she was at herself, she still trusted her judgment. Mostly).

“Excuse me,” a voice said, interrupting Maesin’s train of thought, “but you wouldn’t happen to serve drinks for those of us with, for lack of a better phrase, alternative senses?”

Maesin’s expression slipped into customer service mode, and she turned to the speaker, a woman on the tall side with a businesslike fringe of black hair, looked back at her expectantly. “Of course,” Maesin said, “we pride ourselves on serving clientele of all sorts.”

“Good to hear!” The woman said, smiling in relief. “Some bars aren’t so good about having things to offer full prosthetics.”

Maesin gestured to herself. “Some bars don’t use robots for bartenders either, yet here we are.”

This earned a look of shock which was probably not genuine from the customer. “Ah, you’re a robot! I was about to say that you looked a little young to be tending bar.”

“Yes, well, as you’re no doubt aware, they can make us look however young they want.” Maesin said with a shrug. “So, what can I get you?”

“Oh, I don’t care. Whatever you think I’d like, I suppose.”

Maesin nodded and mixed up something suitably expensive. She slid the drink across the bar to her customer, who smiled and saluted her with the drink before taking a sip. A delighted look crossed the woman’s face. “Well! They certainly have the right woman on the job. This is everything I never knew I wanted.”

Maesin inclined her head in thanks. “Just doing my job, miss.”

The sound of the woman’s laughter was musical and danced on the border of flirtatious. “I suppose so. I wonder if you couldn’t do me one more service.”

“Depends on what the service is.”

“Nothing illegal, I promise.” The woman replied, smirking. “I’m waiting for a friend, and it looks like he’s running late. Can you do me a favor and keep an eye out for him? I’ve got to duck out for a few minutes and I don’t want him to think I’m standing him up.”

Maesin shrugged. “Sure, I can do that. What’s he look like?”

“Taller fellow, got a little grey in his hair but not too much – what you might call dignified, if you were given to that kind of description.” The woman said, smirking a little. “Oh, and he’s got a broken arm. Should be easy to spot.”

“I’ll keep an eye out.” Maesin said, agreeably.

“Great!” The woman drained the last of her drink and paid, leaving the bar with a wave. “Back in a few!”

Maesin collected the money (and the hidden chip), and returned to cleaning the bar. Before long, a man with a broken arm entered the bar and made his way over. “Dave! You seem to have been injured. What happened?”

“Oh, you know, hazards of the job.” David said, shrugging. “You still look too young to be working here, by the way.”

“And they still can make us look as young as they like.” Maesin said, rolling her eyes. “Either I need to get a new job, or you need to get a new topic of conversation.”

“Aw come on, it’s like our thing now. You know, instead of saying hello.”

Maesin sighed deeply. “Sure, whatever. Your ladyfriend, by the way, had to step out for a minute. She asked if you’d wait here for her.”

David looked surprised. “How’d you know…?”

“She asked me to look out for the some idiot with a broken arm.” Maesin said with a smile. “Not that big of a leap to assume it was you once you walked in.”

“And here I thought you were trying your hand at detective work.” David said with a smirk.

“Not programmed for it.” Maesin said, turning to grab a bottle of whiskey off the shelf behind her. “The usual, I take it?”

“See? You know me so well.” David sounded delighted.

“Oh,” the woman from before said, appearing behind David, “should I be jealous?”

Maesin snorted. “Not at all, miss. Dave’s too much of a pain in the ass for my taste – you’re welcome to him.”

“Call me Jill, kiddo. ‘Miss’ makes me feel old.”

“Could be worse,” David said, smirking, “she could call you ma’am.”

Jill laughed, and looped her arm through David’s broken one easily. “I suppose so. Hopefully you weren’t waiting for too long, were you?”

David lifted the glass that Maesin had placed in front of him. “Only just got my drink. Hope you don’t mind if I take my time with it, do you?”

“Of course not. Come on, there’s a table in the back.” Jill drew David away, leaving Maesin alone behind the bar again.

The rest of the night passed by uneventfully. Maesin had drawn the short straw that evening, which meant she was in charge of closing the bar down – which was, unsurprisingly enough, something she was generally willing to do. There was not as if she had much else of a social life to speak of – and if that meant that Madame Midnight was able to keep an unseen eye on this part of the operation for a little longer than she might otherwise, well, that made good sense. It gave her more time to think about what she was going to do about the fact that two of Madame Midnight’s agents were hanging out together.

It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected something like this to happen sooner or later. The problem was that using Jill Jaegerin had been something of a one-time deal, and David was not supposed to have made any kind of lasting contact with her. In fact, his specific mission had been to watch for the first sign of trouble and disappear as soon as it became apparent that Jill was making her move on the target, which he’d clearly decided not to do. Maesin wasn’t sure why he’d made the decision, but she hoped that the report he’d slipped her in the bar would shed some light on the decision. The problem with humans, Maesin was learning, was that it was difficult to predict when their libidos would suddenly become a problem.

It had certainly become an issue with Alayna. Maesin wasn’t jealous, necessarily – and she didn’t begrudge what Alayna and Maddie had with one another – but when shit had hit the fan, well, it had definitely made the both of them act a little unpredictably in the end. There was very little doubt in her mind that the ultimate plan they’d all settled on was motivated in part because of greater-than-usual concern for one another’s well-being. Then again, she – or J4D3, anyway – had decided to go along with the plan for similar concerns.

By the time she reached the storage unit, the sky was already beginning to shift to a grey dawn. The day’s reports had been dropped at their proper locations, except for the two reports delivered by Jill and David – those Maesin had kept with her to see the results as soon as possible.

The report from David was more or less what she expected. An explanation that he’d been caught off-guard by Jill’s infiltration, and as a result had been forced to engage. He’d added a comment about being open to the idea of working with Jill again down the road. Maesin snorted. That had been obvious.

Jill’s report was a little more interesting, in that it was barely a report at all. Instead, it was an image of the target (dead, obviously) and a note:

It’s not that I mind having people check up on me, it’s that you didn’t feel the need to tell me about it beforehand. That I might have killed such a delightful man doesn’t bother me too much – but if you fail to tell me the full picture beforehand again, I’ll have no choice but to hunt you down and explain my displeasure in person.

-          Jill

Maesin read the note a few more times before plugging herself into charge with a snort. “Fucking humans and their goddamn emotions.”

Part Eighteen

Part Sixteen

[mikemortgage]

Levi’s, Yelp join coalition pledging not to discriminate

Levi Strauss, Yelp and Lyft are leading a coalition of 1,200 businesses and cities that are pledging not to discriminate against employees or customers based on race, sexual orientation, or other characteristics.

Normally, making a promise to serve every customer might seem like a no-brainer. But the Open to All coalition is launching in a highly charged atmosphere, with florists refusing to provide flowers for gay weddings and stores turning away Muslim customers. On the same June weekend that White House Press Secretary Sarah Sanders was asked to leave a Virginia restaurant because of her affiliation with President Donald Trump, a transgender woman was harassed by staff at a Washington restaurant for using the women’s restroom.

So it remains to be seen if the “Open to All” message — on businesses’ Yelp pages or on stickers in their windows — will calm frayed tempers or anger customers and businesses who might question its motives.

Tia Agnew, co-founder and CEO of New Day Craft, an Indianapolis-based producer of mead and cider, is excited to put up her “Open to All” window sticker, which she says matches her “personal and professional ethos.” She’s not worried that it will be a turn-off to some potential patrons.

���All I can do is put our best foot forward and say, ‘Hey, come on in and hang out,”‘ she said.

But George Marinakos, the owner of The Exchange Saloon in Washington, isn’t sold on the idea. His bar is near the White House, and he has served Sanders as well as members of the Obama administration. A chalkboard in front of the bar reads, “Everyone welcome,” but he thinks an “Open to All” sticker might raise questions. If he doesn’t put it up, some people will wonder why; if he does, some people might not feel welcome because of what they interpret as a left-leaning message.

“You’re putting yourself in the position of being damned if you do or damned if you don’t,” he said.

The Open to All coalition got its start late last year as the U.S. Supreme Court was preparing to consider the case of a Colorado baker who refused to bake a wedding cake for a gay couple because it violated his religious beliefs. The court ultimately ruled for the baker but didn’t give businesses a blanket right to discriminate against gays.

Calla Rongerude, Open to All’s campaign manager, said businesses were asking civil rights groups how to make it clear they would serve gays and other minorities. The cities of New York and Oakland, California, are also part of the coalition, as are 190 civil rights groups, organizations and faith groups, including the American Civil Liberties Union, the Interfaith Alliance, the Service Employees International Union and the NAACP.

“People have been really hungry to engage and let people know that they’re welcome,” she said.

Rongerude also says she doesn’t think the campaign will face any backlash from conservatives.

“Having a business say, ‘I am going to serve all of my customers on the same terms’ is inherently positive,” she said. “I think we want to get beyond the ‘us versus them’ mentality. Everyone deserves to be treated with dignity and respect.”

Levi Strauss and Co. said it plans to display “Open to All” window stickers at nearly 200 U.S. stores and outlets.

Yelp is adding a tab to its site so restaurants and other locations can note that they are “Open to All.” Owners will also have the option to leave that space blank or say the establishment is not open to all, said Luther Lowe, Yelp’s senior vice-president of public policy. Yelp already bans speech on its site that attacks someone based on race, religion, sexual orientation and other traits.

“Up and down the company, these are issues that we’ve always leaned in on,” Lowe said. Asked if the label might be divisive, Lowe said Yelp is simply trying to guide people to places that welcome them.

The Civil Rights Act of 1964 outlaws discrimination in public places on the basis of race, colour, religion, sex or national origin. But only 21 states and the District of Columbia ban discrimination on the basis of sexual orientation.

Rongerude said many businesses have gone further than the government. Uber, for example, includes sexual orientation, gender identity and marital status in its nondiscrimination policy. It dumped a Houston driver from its platform earlier this year after the driver made a gay couple get out of his car.

“Business really is in a unique place to lead right now,” Rongerude said.

But not every business contacted by Open to All plans to join the coalition. Target Corp., for example, said it won’t join because it has a policy prohibiting third-party signs on its doors.

Participants in the coalition risk turning off some customers. Mark McLean, a retired business owner and conservative blogger in Tennessee, says “Open to All” signs are divisive. He likens them to “Gun-Free Establishment” signs that infringe on gun owners’ rights.

“We can’t govern how people think. That’s a dangerous slope to go down,” McLean said.

But Jacinta Gauda, principal and chief strategy officer at The Gauda Group, who counsels companies about diversity and inclusion, says businesses are also facing pressure from employees and customers to take a stand on issues and make their values clear.

“I’m just of the mind that the movement to do this, driven by their employees and customers, is larger than the political risk,” she said. “They calculated this and said, ‘We have more to gain than we have to lose.”‘

from Financial Post https://ift.tt/2mWNoM7 via IFTTT Blogger Mortgage Tumblr Mortgage Evernote Mortgage Wordpress Mortgage href="https://www.diigo.com/user/gelsi11">Diigo Mortgage

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Pension plans in peril

Members of the International Brotherhood of Teamsters rally outside the U.S. Capitol in April to protest a plan by the Central States Pension Fund to reduce payments to retirees. The plan was later rejected by the Treasury Department. (Drew Angerer/Bloomberg)

If you have a pension, you probably breathe a sigh of relief.

Unlike a workplace retirement plan in which you invest and pray that you get decent returns, a pension guarantees you a stream of income. Even if the pension is small, it’s something. It’s there for as long as you live.

Or it used to be.

For an increasing number of retirees in the private and public sector that guarantee is in jeopardy. A lot of pension plans are in peril.

Here’s a troubling development from a story in the Post this week: “A pension fund in Cleveland became the first plan to approve benefit cuts for current retirees — even though it is still years away from running out of cash. The move, some critics say, could open the door for other troubled pension plans to follow suit,” reported Jonnelle Marte.

She goes on to write: “The financially strapped Iron Workers Local 17 Pension fund proposed a plan for extending its lifespan by reducing benefits for workers and retirees. Now that the plan has received final approval, roughly half of the 2,000 participants will see their pension benefits shrink.”

Tips from the Washington Post’s Jonnelle Marte on how to prepare for your retirement in a sluggish stock market. (Dalton Bennett,Jonnelle Marte/The Washington Post)

How much will retirees see their pensions cut?

Well, by 20 percent on average, although some might see a cut of as much as 60 percent.

My heart sank when I read that. And this, “The unprecedented move comes after a 2014 law made it possible for troubled pension plans to reduce benefits to retirees if it would improve the financial health of the fund,” Marte wrote.

Retiree Joe Finley, 63, told Marte this: “You play by all the rules … and then they pull the rug out from under you.”

But it’s not just ironworkers in Cleveland.

— Police retirees organize to fight in Dallas pension crisis

— Multiemployer pension plans in crisis: Troubled plans need public resources to survive

— Hawaii pension fund shortfall hits $12 billion

— Debt panel in North Carolina backs a proposal to ensure pensioners are paid at promised levels

For a lot of people counting on pensions, there could be some rough years ahead.

Color Money question of the week Are you scared your pension may get cut in the future? Send your comments to colorofmoney@washpost.com. Please include your name, city and state. In the subject line put “Pension.”

Live chat today on retirement Join me live to discuss your retirement years. New in 2017, I’ll devote at least one chat a month to issues around retirement.

The first Thursday of every month brings your opportunity to get your retirement questions answered. Today, my guest will be Carolyn McClanahan, a physician turned financial planner. McClanahan, who founded the fee-only Life Planning Partners, based in Jacksonville, Fla., concentrates on how health intersects with personal finance, including long-term care issues. And by the way, she does not sell long-term care insurance.

So what’s on your mind about your retirement? I’m also hoping young adults join the discussion. It’s never too early to do some retirement planning. To participate in the chat click this link.

The Color of Money Retirement Coaches Starting on Mon. Feb. 6, I’ll be taking over the retirement newsletter.This weekly newsletter is your forum. You will have a chance to get answers to your questions about your retirement.

Whether you’re a young adult or seasoned senior it’s never too early or too late to focus on your retirement. So don’t be shy. No question is too basic. If you don’t ask, you won’t know.

On Monday, I’ll introduce you to the team of retirement experts who will be helping me answer your retirement questions. I call them “The Color of Money Retirement Coaches.”

Every Monday we’ll help you navigate to or through this very important time in your life.

Trump supporter uses his money to mend fences A white Texas, man in town for the inauguration of President Trump left a black waitress a huge tip because her smile made him smile. The $450 tip on a $72.60 tab was meant as a “gesture that he hoped everyone could move forward together, the supporter said. For last week’s Color of Money question I asked: Would you be moved by such a financial gesture?”

Steve Re of Freehold, N.J.: “I would not be moved by such a gesture due to several experiences that have either happened to me or that I have witnessed. Bottom line is that some people are just plain prejudiced and will not deal with all people the same way. To me the tip is an apology for past behavior.”

“Nice try to make himself feel better about supporting a racist misogynist,” wrote Barbara Shaw of Boxford, Mass. “I’m glad the waitress was able to appreciate it, but it would have made me feel patronized and demeaned in light of what Trump stands for and has let loose in this country. I don’t think $450 will make much difference when she is arrested for no reason other than being black, unable to access low-cost healthvcare for women through Planned Parenthood, has no health insurance because the ACA was dismantled.”

Jennifer Wooster of Port Washington, (Long Island) N.Y.: “I’d be moved by a large tip with a kind note. Somebody’s showing they care, and that maybe they’re ashamed of their standard-bearer. If Republicans generally feel it’s more up to individuals and not the government to help, then seeing someone actually do this is helpful. This guy represents just a tiny percentage, but kudos to him. Haters gonna hate, but he showed compassion. While ‘trickle down’ doesn’t work, it’s nice to see an exception.”

Brenda Burke from Seattle: “If more of us demonstrate that kind of kindness, what a wonderful world this would be.”

Tom Sabel of Lakewood, Colo.: “I would not be moved by such a superficial gesture. I am sick and tired of listening to Republicans now saying, ‘Ooh, the election is over and now it is time to move forward together as one.’ Kumbaya. Just because some white guy leaves a large tip to a black waitress means nothing. Make no mistake about it, racism is alive and well.”

Bobbie Henderson from Baltimore: “I was somewhat moved by the ‘Thank You’ to the waitress, but I also remember being taught ‘GIVE a man a fish and he will eat for a day. TEACH a man to fish and he will eat for a lifetime!’ It will prove far more helpful to this waitress and others if Trump’s supporters encouraged him to implement programs/ideas, which will help people provide for themselves and their families on a long-term enduring basis.”

Tracy Z. of Washington: “I am moved by Jason White’s generosity but not by his opinions on the problem of race relations in this country. Structural racism is not eliminated by people sharing smiles and kindness. There is plenty of that going on in the American South — on the surface. It is going to take white people educating themselves and working to dismantle systems that enshrine and promote racism. Does Mr. White understand that black people are disproportionately pulled over, harassed, harmed by police? Does he know they are followed in stores? That our public school system criminalizes behavior in black children that is handled at school level with white children? That laws are being implemented — today, not in the past — that seek to make it much harder for many black people to vote? That blacks are arrested for simple drug possession in far greater numbers than whites and when they are released are thrown into a system akin to Jim Crow when it comes to employment, voting, housing? Will Mr. White, a Trump supporter, work to dismantle the system that directly harms this waitress and her family or will he just leave a big tip? I won’t be “moved” until he and people like him commit to the former. (By the way, I’m white.)”

Jennifer Newlin of College Park, Md.: “My nephew’s pastor challenges his congregation to tip 100 percent of the tab — not always, but every once in a while. It is AMAZING to see the wait staff’s reaction. And most of my women friends tip on the high side. It is our way of redistributing wealth and realizing an extra dollar or two can make more difference to wait staff than to us. I think it is indeed moving.”

Color of Money columns this week

If these Girl Scouts can work out a budget, you can, too

Financial discipline is an everyday practice

Readers may write to Michelle Singletary at The Washington Post, 1301 K St. NW, Washington, D.C. 20071, or michelle.singletary@washpost.com. Personal responses may not be possible, and comments or questions may be used in a future column, with the writer’s name, unless otherwise requested. To read previous Color of Money columns, go to washingtonpost.com/business.