#Economics Formulas | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

xshadowdelta · 2 months ago

Text

DESFILABA EN MILÁN

Yoo Jimin (Karina) x Male Reader (6K Length)

Being the son of the president and owner of one of the most famous multinational companies in the entire world had an infinite number of advantages, but one stood out above the rest. The economic power you wielded was practically inexhaustible, which led you to a life of luxuries and whims, since you won the race against the rest of the sperm.

Living in a mansion, having a driver and bodyguard, attending private schools, and one of the best universities in the world, having a huge guaranteed job, and rubbing shoulders with some of the most important people on the planet. Although the latter was sometimes more of a drawback than an advantage, depending on how tedious the matter at hand was.

And that was what had brought you here, to Milan, Italy, in what was known as Milan Fashion Week, a show whose date was marked on the calendar of everyone who was interested in this whole panorama.

It's not that it was your first time attending an event of this caliber, but it was your first time dealing with something related to fashion, a topic that you hardly knew anything about and that didn't interest you too much, to be honest.

Why were you here then? Simple, because of one of your father's contacts. The world of business was not simply about making money with your company, offering a quality product, managing your employees and going home to sleep every night, no, it went much further.

Everyone should start from the bottom, and once you have managed to reach the top, the difficulty lies in staying up there, which is something that experts always say. And to achieve this objective, alliances are needed, partners if you prefer, in order to build a powerful and, at the same time, faithful network of contacts.

One of the most powerful designers at the show belonged to your father's network of contacts, and therefore also to yours and your company's. Attending this parade was nothing more than a business commitment to strengthen the relationship between you two.

However, the CEO of the company, that is, your father, was closing a deal with a new investor in the USA, and his busy schedule prevented him from traveling to Europe precisely at that time. And there is where you came in, your position as heir, your father's current right-hand man, and future president meant that these tasks fell on you.

You had to admit that you were a little nervous. The crowd of celebrities didn't surprise you, you had been to places like this before, but the fashion world used to bring together a lot of, no offense, snobs.

Since your childhood, you have dealt with thousands of these types of people. You were seasoned in a thousand battles against posh children of rich parents who believe they are the center of the universe, just because the guy they called dad once fucked their mother without wearing a condom in a gas station bathroom, and he ended up having success with some banal bullshit. Luckily, you hadn't turned out that stupid.

You witnessed the parade from the guest area between a young actor who was beginning to emerge in Hollywood and a Formula 1 driver. Experiencing this type of event from the inside perhaps would eliminate your prejudices and change your way of seeing them, nothing could be further from reality.

You still couldn't understand how there were people willing to not only wear such extravagant outfits and clothing, but also pay for them, a negligible sum of money for you, obviously, but it wasn't for 99% of the population.

Hours passed and the moon, along with a blanket of stars, beautifully illuminated the sky of the city, in accordance with the end of the event and the subsequent celebration, one of those famous after-parties that the great figures used to chat, get to know each other, and, of course, do some business.

However, that night, it wasn’t among your tasks to sign any new contracts with anyone there. Luckily for you, your father was lenient in this matter. Attending the event, interacting a little bit with acquaintances, and having the freedom to leave after completing said mission.

“I can’t believe my eyes. Look who is here, it's my good friend's little boy!” You caught a glimpse of a quirky guy, approaching you with his arms open.

There was the culprit of this little trip through the Italian country, your father's old partner, a man with long gray hair, about 60 years old, extremely thin and whose body was surrounded by who knows how many animal skins are in danger of extinction.

“It is a pleasure to see you again, sir.” You lied as he hugged you, patting your back. “I thank you for the invitation on behalf of my father, I am sure he would have loved to be able to attend.”

“Ah, that old father of yours, he continues to work too much, it's time for you to take over.”

“It is difficult, sir, we also want him to rest, but you know how stubborn he is.” At that moment, one of the waiters approached you with a tray full of champagne glasses, which you both took.

You continued talking for a while, mostly about your impressions of the show and the work you were involved in lately, taking advantage of the moment to introduce you to other designers and moguls and even some of the models who had paraded on the scenario.

“The last time I saw you, what were you, 16 years old? But look at you now, you are already a man, and you will carry on your shoulders the weight of a huge brand, it is a weight that is not inconsiderable at all. Have you not thought about having a good woman to help you?”

“I think I'm still young for that, sir, but it's certainly something I haven't considered at the moment.”

“There are countless women here and each one stands out in something: power, beauty, intelligence…I could introduce you to whoever you wanted.”

You were beginning to feel uncomfortable because of the direction the conversation was taking. Although it is true that your father gave you freedom on that topic, from time to time he had dropped a comment about it. Without a girlfriend and a large fortune, you were a good catch, of course, but also the perfect target for fortune hunters. However, that didn't stop you from having fun sometimes.

You scanned the place with your gaze, doing a quick sweep of the people that came into your visual range. You then stopped at a girl who stood out above the rest in your perception.

She had Asian features, a bright dark hair and was wearing a very elegant black dress that was tight to her body. Her face was simply beautiful, somewhat pale, but certainly beautiful, as if she were the human representation of a goddess, and her body had perfect proportions, highlighted perfectly by that small dress. She was chatting cheerfully with one of the models at the show, and her smile left you speechless.

The old man next to you also observed the girl since your gaze had been lost in her, and they didn’t have a plan to return to their initial position. He gave you a playful smile and placed a hand on your shoulder. That touch was enough to make you come back to earth.

“Be careful, kid, you know what they say, the devil wears Prada.”

The designer left you there confused with those words while he went to greet another of his guests, but your eyes were still focused on that young girl. You took a long drink of your champagne, finishing it instantly and leaving the glass on one of the nearby tables to begin walking determinedly in the direction of the girl.

Sadly for you, a third person blocked your way by putting an arm around your shoulders. You tried to free yourself from that grip until you realized who it was, one of your old university classmates, the son of a great businessman in the automotive world.

He spoke to you animatedly for a few minutes in which you didn’t pay him a single second of attention while your eyes tried not to lose sight of the figure of that girl, now hidden behind the body of your friend.

You wanted to interrupt him and say something, but you also didn't want to be disrespectful. That was your mistake, was what you thought when he dragged you from there to introduce you to another group of people while you watched how you were moving away from your goal.

Suddenly you found yourself caught up in a loop that lasted about a couple of hours, about meeting new personalities, stupid conversations about business that you would have participated in another time, but not right now when your head was in somewhere else.

You managed to get out of that group with the typical excuse of having to use the bathroom, and you dove into another amount of people trying to escape. You walked through the huge room where the party was taking place while your eyes moved restlessly from side to side.

After a few long minutes, your search was unsuccessful, and you sighed in defeat, thinking that perhaps that girl had already left the party. Your left hand grabbed a strand of hair from your bangs, twisting it angrily, while your right hand held the elbow of your other hand. If you had been alone, you would have let out a frustration yell.

It was then when you noticed how a hand gently touched your back, making you turn on your feet, coming face to face with the owner of your thoughts. You relaxed the expression on your face that could not hide its surprise at seeing her standing there looking at you with a smile, as if a halo of light illuminated only her, dazzling.

“I've been waiting for you all night.” She said this, making a small pout with her mouth. That completely unnerved you. The unknown girl made the first contact. Was she waiting for you?

"How is…"

“I noticed how you looked at me.” Shit, you had been so freaking obvious. Your cheeks flushed red with embarrassment, thereby increasing the volume of her giggle.

“Yoo Jimin, but you can call me Karina.” She offered one of her hands to you, you shook it in greeting, indicating your name back.

Both of you started talking at that moment. You learned that she came from South Korea and that she was dedicated to music and entertainment, specifically being a K-pop idol in a group known as Aespa along with three other girls. You knew little about the subject, but if she was part of it, it was definitely something interesting to investigate in the future.

She told you that she assisted this event as an ambassador for the Prada brand, you smiled then remembering the old man's words, but you still had to decipher the second part.

“And will you stay for a long time in Italy?” You asked.

You were supposed to fly back home tomorrow, but your private plane could wait as long as necessary.

“Oh, well, the truth is that tomorrow I'm going back to Seoul.” It made you sad to know that, and it seems that she noticed it because she got a little closer to you to whisper something in your ear.

“But that doesn't stop us to make this night indelible.” The sensual tone of her voice combined with her perverted smile gave you the clue you needed, there was the devil.

The journey from the place of celebration to the place where you were staying seemed eternal. During the trip, you couldn't help but ogle Karina, you were so obvious that she could only laugh and say “cute”.

You gave her way to your suite, walking around it in amazement, as if she hadn't been in hundreds like that before. On one of the occasions when she turned around and faced you, you grabbed her hips, pulling her towards your body to kiss her passionately, something she responded immediately with the same intensity.

“You don't waste time, I like it.” She said playfully, giving you another kiss.

“It's not like I have much.” You replied by lowering your hands to her butt, massaging it a bit, making her sigh against your lips.

“We have the whole night, tiger, we are going to have a great time.” She commented, letting out a moan when she felt your lips attacking her neck. You gave her buttocks a squeeze, appreciating that you agreed with her statement.

You grabbed the hem of her dress and lifted it up pulling it over her head and leaving her in just underwear, and her hand quickly went to the bulge in your crotch caressing it over your pants.

“God, it looks so big, I can't wait to have it in my mouth.” A shiver ran through your body, forcing you to undress as fast as you were allowed, making Karina laugh loudly.

Now with both of you covered only by your underwear, her hands traveled to your chest, caressing it as she reached up to kiss your lips again. In response, your hands distributed slow and gentle caresses along her bare back, taking advantage of the situation to unhook her lace bra. Your torsos were separated enough for the garment to fall to the floor due to gravity.

She took your hand and led you to the bed, where you took her by the waist, causing you both to fall gently lying on the bed, with her under you, still enjoying your kisses.

One of your hands went up her body to her voluptuous breasts, grabbing and kneading one of them at the same time as your tongues surrounded each other inside your mouths.

You moved away from her lips, eager to taste her tits, introducing one into your mouth, savoring it for a long time while your hand caressed her other mound, even going so far as to lightly pinch her nipple.

“Beautiful…” You whispered, offering the same treatment to her other boob.

“Are you saying it to me or my tits?” She asked, pressing your head against her breasts even more.

"Both." She smiled at your answer and shifted on the bed, moving freely, walking on four over the sheets, watching you with a feline gaze that made you rev up the speed.

She completely surrounded your body, being you now the one lying face up on the bed, opening your legs to allowing her to stand in the middle. She lay on top of you, with her face pressed against your crotch, raising her butt giving you an unbeatable view.

She stuck out her tongue to lick the huge bulge that was pushing the fabric of your boxers toward the ceiling, threatening to tear it if it wasn't quickly released. She continued kissing your abdomen, leaving a trail of kisses gradually rising to your chest at the same time that her hands were playing with your member, still inside its lair.

She was playing with you, it was obvious, and you needed her as soon as possible, impatient and anxious, but you refused to show weakness, if Karina wanted to play this game then you would both play.

She went back down to your bulge, there was a part of your gray boxers that had turned into a darker color as some drops of pre-cum had escaped from your tip as a result of Karina's constant teasing. Realizing this she smiled widely with malice knowing that she had won this first round.

She bit with her teeth the elastic of your boxers, pulling them down, lowering them until your hard and throbbing penis was finally free. Karina looked at your naked cock in amazement, bringing her face closer, beginning to spread small kisses along your length.

She rested her elbow on your thigh, measuring your penis with the length of her arm. “Holy fuck, it's so much bigger than I thought. I have never faced one like this” She admitted without stopping kissing it, sticking out her tongue to lick the entire surface, making it wet.

“Come on, I'm sure you could have any boy you wanted…” “You’re not wrong, that's why I have you.” She responded, winking at you.

Meanwhile, your brain was beginning to malfunction due to the pleasure that her lips and tongue were giving you down there. “In that case, be careful and don’t choke yourself.”

Your comment was clearly a joke, but Karina, who was now moving her closed hand around your penis up and down masturbating you, stared at you with a planning in her head.

“There is nothing I want more right now than to choke on this damn cock.” She said in a very hot tone increasing the pace of the handjob making you moan louder.

You swallowed, getting even more excited. You had been with other women before, but Karina gave you an unknown vibe until this moment. She was beautiful, she was sexy, and she was aware of it, and there is no animal more feared by men than a confident and self-assured woman.

A spit came out of the woman's mouth directly onto your cock, which was already completely wet and the movement of the female hand on it was beginning to cause watery sounds.

“I can't wait any longer.” Karina whispered to herself, leaning over your cock, surrounding your tip with her lips and putting as much as she could into her mouth.

She stayed like that for a few seconds adjusting to the size of your penis and proceeded to lower her head a little more until she managed to put the entirety of your dick in her mouth.

You clung tightly to the sheets when shocks of pleasure ran through your body as you noticed how you reached her throat in one go. “God, Karina, you're crazy.”

She would have answered you if her nose wasn't brushing against your lower abdomen at that moment. She was too busy cupping her cheeks to grant you as much pleasure as possible inside her mouth.

After a few seconds of holding her breath she released your member, completely covered in saliva now. Karina coughed a few times but quickly went back to engulfing your cock.

You could see how Karina's head went up and down on your cock in a frantic manner, driving you crazy. Your member did not stop throbbing in the intimacy of her mouth and several strings of saliva were coming out of the girl's mouth meanwhile she was sucking you, starting to make a mess on your lower zone.

You had enough time as spectator and decided to join the action by taking Karina's head in your hands, helping her swallow your cock deep in her throat, causing her to dig her nails into your thighs. You held her hair in one of your fists while she continued to sink again and again on your crotch without any type of modesty.

You removed your hands, and she got separated from you, breathing heavily, but instead of leaning back and walking away, she buried her head between your balls to lick and suck on them, taking them into her mouth.

Karina continued giving love to your balls while now her both hands were masturbating your long member at high speed with enveloping movements, twisting your penis with pleasure.

She switched from your balls to your cock again, sucking you harder than before, swallowing your penis as much as she could and moving her head more desperately, producing erotic sounds from the depths of her throat.

She let out a large stream of saliva from her mouth against the lower part of your abdomen and your thighs, kneeling on the bed and taking her own tits in her hands, making them swing before your attentive gaze, some of the saliva falling on her breasts.

You sat up a little until you reached her and grabbed her breasts, with a movement of your hips you introduced your penis between them, bouncing your hips and masturbating yourself by using her tits.

This surprised her at first, but she quickly changed her expression to a one much more lustful, staring at you, biting her lower lip, and watching as you enjoyed the massage between her breasts.

Your cock covered on saliva was leaving her tits all sticky and messy, but favoring the sliding of your penis between them.

“Please don't cum yet, I need so much more from you.” Karina moaned, squeezing the sides of her breasts with her knuckles, thus imprisoning your cock, which made you moan.

You lowered your head to kiss her lips, and you placed your hands on her shoulders, starting to move your hips faster. In response, she stuck her tongue out to lick and caress the tip of your cock each time you passed through her breasts.

She held her tits tightly and moved them without mercy or compassion, now they were no longer two huge pieces of meat that shook roughly on your manhood as if they meant nothing more than that, with the only mission of offering you pleasure. “FUCK Karina! Stop or I’m going to explode!” You screamed in ecstasy of lust, doing your best to retain the liquid that was pooling at your tip and threatening to overflow.

She didn't let go of you immediately, no, that would have been too compassionate of her, she slowly reduced the pace making the last caresses feel excitingly deadly. Even so, the damage done to you was remarkable, because the tip of your penis covered in a whitish color was irrefutable proof. With a playful smile Karina bent down to lick your tip and with it those small drops of semen that were peeking out, licking her lips noticeably.

“It tastes so delicious, I can't wait to get the full load.”

You had managed to stabilize your breathing and your emotion just when she threw herself at you again, kissing your lips like a beast and your hands explored each other's body with total freedom, directing one of your hands to her panties to which she began to curve her body rubbing her crotch against your hand.

“I'm so wet.” She made a fake moan, trying to provoke you. “I'm pretty sure you could sink that whole cock into my pussy so easily right now.” Her eyes, her mouth and her entire body were breathing fire, and you weren't afraid of getting burned.

“And what are you supposed to be waiting for?” You played along, murmuring close to her ear as you pulled down her panties and she kicked in the air until she sent them flying away from the bed. “Help yourself.” You gave her another effusive kiss while holding your hard, erect member, offering her a clear sign.

Karina then sat on you, a few inches from your penis, in fact, it was now held upwards, resting on the girl's stomach, and you couldn't have a better view of her at that moment.

She licked the palm of her hand, then running it over your tip, rubbing it insistently in circular motions. One of your eyes closed trying to resist, you were trying to avoid having to beg her at all costs. You were lucky that she was madly horny and couldn't stay playing with you much longer.

She rose just enough to be able to insert the tip of your penis into the entrance to her pussy, slowly descending, allowing you full access to her interior in one go.

A long sigh left her mouth once her butt made contact with your thighs, staying still for a few seconds staring at the ceiling with her eyes closed and a smile on her face. Your hands caressed her thighs, going up to her hips and abdomen, leaving one of your hands lightly pressed against her stomach.

She looked down to make direct eye contact with you while still smiling. Her hands handled yours on her stomach, moving it gently over it.

“I can feel you perfectly…you're so fucking big inside me.” She moaned, beginning to rock back and forth in small movements, without breaking your skin-to-skin contact.

Each time the distance was greater, leaning back and returning forward until it collided with the palm of your hand, a sensation so wonderful that you couldn't describe it in words.

“You're so tight, I could cum at any moment.”

At that moment, Karina's hips began to rise and fall on your cock, riding you and giving you the vision of how your cock entered and left her pussy, each time more abruptly.

“Sorry darling, I would love to have a creampie from you, but sadly today it will be impossible.” She said between moans as she continued bouncing over your dick.

You had to be careful then, you thought internally, letting yourself be carried away more and more by the pleasure, grabbing and squeezing Karina's tits in your hands that were bouncing in the air with ferocious movements.

She rode you harder and faster with each ride. Now placing her feet on the bed and squatting over you, your hands traveled to her ass, pushing yourself even further, making your cock enter even deeper inside her, stirring her insides and making her scream with pleasure.

She continued like this for a few more minutes until suddenly she opened her eyes and mouth wide, suppressing a moan, and made eye contact with you again, completely clouded by pleasure.

“I'm cumming.” She announced riding your cock now in a crazy way and as if those words had turned on a switch in you, you also responded, giving the best you had.

“Fuck yes, just like that make me cum please, please, please…” The way she begged you, her face twisted with pleasure, her body trembling on yours. If there was a paradise after death, it must be something like this.

“Shit shit shit shit!” She screamed, standing on the bed and making your penis come out of her pussy, rubbing her hand frantically against the folds of her pussy, letting out a powerful jet of fluids over the sheets and over part of your crotch and abdomen. You couldn't believe what you had just experienced, Karina had squirted directly on you.

She fell to her knees on the bed, exhausted, trembling, with her legs closed as well as her eyes, breathing heavily, trying to recover from that intense orgasm.

You approached her from behind, surrounding her body in a hug and placing a kiss on her shoulder. She turned to you, smiling with a tired expression.

“That was…”

“The hottest thing I've ever seen in my life.” You interrupted her. “We can rest if you need it.”

Karina glanced at you over her shoulder before leaning over the bed, resting her palms and knees on the sheets, bringing her butt closer to rub against your cock.

“You said it yourself before…we don't have much time.”

You automatically groped her buttocks, and in response, she moved her ass at a faster pace, as if it were a dance. You grabbed your cock and lined it up with her entrance, penetrating her again, making you both moan again.

Karina's twerking didn't stop, not even when your hands gripped her waist, turning your thrusts into much more carnal movements, and causing your own hips to crash hard against her ass every time you buried your cock deep inside her.

The movement of the girl's ass was simply hypnotic, it seemed that her entire body was a sensual spectacle, made by and for the enjoyment of the sexual act.

Her moans of pure pleasure and her desperate pleas asking you for more and more did nothing but heat up the atmosphere even more, and increase your body temperature along with your lust.

You raised one of your hands and let it fall on Karina's buttock in a loud spank to her ass. She let out a small squeal and turned her head to look at you, with lasciviousness in her eyes that you had never seen before.

“Use my body all you want, tonight I'm yours.”

Without a shred of self-control to stop you or make you think at all, you grabbed a handful of her hair in your hand, pulling it back, making her moan. Karina's body sat up until her back was pressed against your torso. With your other arm you totally surrounded her stomach while your hips did not reduce the pace of the thrusts.

One of her arms wrapped around your head as you began to kiss and lick her neck. Your hand let go of her hair and held one of her breasts tightly, pressing her closer to you to prevent her from falling forward but taking advantage of the moment to squeeze it between your fingers.

After a few minutes you released her from your grip, returning to the initial position, not lasting too long there as you immediately pressed one of your hands on her back, forcing her to lie completely face down on the bed.

Your hands tightly gripped the sheet on each side of her head, your thrusts were deeper, burying the entirety of your cock inside Karina, who for some time could not stop moaning uncontrollably.

She tried to silence her moans by biting the sheet, but you instantly leaned gently on her to bring your mouth to her ear and whisper.

“Don't even think about it.” You said, putting a hand on her neck and making her turn her head to remove the sheet from her mouth. “I want to hear you scream.” You whispered in her ear, giving her another spank on her ass.

Karina left that position and turned around on her back, opening her legs for you, while you looked at her with some confusion in your expression. You could see how some tears welled up in her eyes.

“Do you want me to scream?” With the help of her hands, she opened the folds of her pussy, showing you how it was completely wet and dripping. “Then fuck me properly!”

She did not show anger, but her voice and expression were completely authoritative. You smiled when you saw her in that state and bent down to reinsert your member into her pussy.

Despite all your attacks on her tonight, her pussy was still fucking tight, squeezing your hard cock to the point of satiety. That didn't stop you from continuing to pound into her as if it were the last thing you were going to do in this life.

You continued attacking her mercilessly, lowering your head to lick her breasts and then going up to kiss her lips, while your fingers pinched her nipples.

You grabbed the back of her neck as your cock ceaselessly disappeared inside her body, and she rolled her eyes due to the pleasure she was receiving.

“Fuck me please, fuck me please, FUCK ME!” She desperately demanded while you felt the walls of her pussy contract.

You came out of her, replacing your cock with your fingers, rubbing her folds in the same way she had done some time ago, achieving the same result, another huge jet of fluids straight from her pussy.

You didn't give her time to rest this time, as you grabbed her legs, pulling her to the edge of the bed, holding her body in your arms to lift her up and make her hug your body with you standing.

It seems that despite being tired, she anticipated your idea and surrounded your waist with her legs and your neck with her arms, also lifting her butt, allowing you to insert your penis into her more comfortably.

You grabbed her ass and started rocking her body upwards, making her bounce on your cock incredibly. Your moans were silenced by your lips, devouring each other without mercy.

After a while you noticed how your legs were wobbly, your hands were clinging tightly to her butt and once again your penis seemed ready to unload everything you had inside.

“You're going to cum for me, right? I want your cum all over me” Karina smiled mockingly on your lips, caressing your hair and your cheeks, you could only nod your head.

“I need to make a mess in that pretty face you have.” She smiled widely.

You separated her from your body, being careful not to fall, and she quickly knelt in front of you, leaving her head at the height of your penis, which you were stroking violently while Karina waited for you on the floor, sticking out her tongue.

You finally released yourself and large streams of semen fell onto Karina's beautiful face, covering it almost entirely in a matter of seconds until you were completely empty.

“Fuck, you came so much.” Karina exclaimed, trying to clean the mess you had caused on her face with her hands, taking the opportunity to lick her fingers in the process.

On the other hand, you were exhausted, panting heavily trying to recover from the tremendous effort you had just made. Even so, you noticed some pressure on your member again, you looked down to discover Karina grabbing it with one hand.

“Let me help you.” She whispered, putting it back into her mouth and making movements with his tongue trying to collect as much of the fluid remains as possible, cleaning it.

“I'll be right back.” She said, standing up and walking past you towards the bathroom, earning a spank on her ass as a tip and turning to give you a satisfied smile before disappearing out the door.

You fell onto the bed, emitting a tired sigh, closing your eyes for a few moments, and seeking to rest your body. After a while you felt the bed move next to you, you opened your eyes and turned your head to the side, seeing how Karina, also now lying next to you, was looking at you penetratingly.

She smiled at you and came close to your body. You put an arm around her shoulder, allowing her to lie on your chest, which she caressed with the palm of her hand. With your free hand, you lifted her chin towards your face to kiss her sweetly.

Karina circled your neck and settled into her position, making the kiss increasingly passionate and needy, to the point where she was practically lying on top of you again. You broke apart, panting and smiling at each other.

“Can't we stop the time?” You asked, making her giggle. She approached your lips again, this time kissing you very slowly.

“Thank you for tonight, I really needed something like that.” She let her head fall between the crook of your head and your shoulder, and you hugged her, pressing her body against yours.

“I guess it all ends here, right?” You asked, caressing her hair, and she turned to you, planting a soft kiss on your cheek.

“I'm sorry…but let's do this.” She said, getting out of bed and walking over to grab something from her bag, a cell phone, and walked back to you. “Give me your number, let's stay in touch, you know, in case we meet again.” She said, winking at you and handing you the device.

"I'd love to." A huge smile formed on your lips as you recorded your contact on Karina's agenda. Once you finished, she snatched the phone from you, throwing it somewhere nearby on the bed, and climbed on top of you, kissing you again desperately.

“There are still a couple of hours until my flight departure, I have to be at my hotel before my staff wakes up, or I will be in trouble.”

“It's more than enough for me.” You whispered before returning to devour each other with renewed energy, it seems that your dreamy night still had another chapter to be written.

#kpop smut #male reader #smut #aespa smut #karina smut #karina x reader #aespa x reader

2K notes · View notes

fans4wga · 1 year ago

Text

26 July update from WGA's Chris Keyser

youtube

From the WGA: With SAG-AFTRA now on strike and new levels of solidarity across all Hollywood unions, we are witnessing the spectacular failure of the AMPTP’s negotiating strategy. In this video, WGA Negotiating Committee Co-Chair Chris Keyser lays out what this moment means and how we move forward. To learn more about the WGA strike, visit https://www.wgastrike.org.

FULL TRANSCRIPT:

Fellow members of the WGA East and West. It's been a while since our last video and quite a bit has happened in the meantime. So on behalf of the negotiating committee and leadership, I wanted to give you an update on where we are and what the near future at least is likely to bring.

We've been walking side by side on picket lines in New York and Los Angeles for a little over 12 weeks now. Only now we're joined by thousands upon thousands of members of SAG-AFTRA who, like us, have finally had enough.

This is the endpoint and the fruit of the AMPTP’s game plan. For 11 weeks, they negotiated with everyone but us. They claimed it was just practicality, that they could only do one thing at a time, which is not normally a point of pride. But events have made clear what we knew from the start: that not only was it a strategy, it was their only strategy. Negotiate a deal with a single guild and impose that deal on every other guild and union in Hollywood, whether it addresses the needs of those unions or not, all with the implicit threat: if you want more, strike for it.

Wow. It’s their 2007-8 playbook applied to 2023 as if nothing has changed, as if the accumulation of economic insults and injuries inflicted on us over the past decade would be borne in perpetual silence, as if the giant of labor had not awakened. But it has. And you only need to look as far as the front gates of every studio in LA and New York to see the evidence.

Two unions on strike willing to exercise their power, despite the pain, to ensure their members get the contract they deserve. For us, that means addressing the relentless mistreatment of screenwriters, which has only been exacerbated by the move to streaming; the continued denial of full MBA protection to comedy variety and other appendix A writers when they work in streaming; and the self-destructive unsustainable dismantling of the process by which episodic television is made and episodic television writers are paid.

It means addressing the existential threat of AI and the insufficiency of streaming residual formulas, including the need for transparency and a success-based component. All of these will need to be addressed for there to be a deal because in this strike it is our power and not their pattern that matters, not their strategy. Their strategy has failed them. Now they're in the midst of a streaming war with each other, an admittedly difficult transition. And as they face the future, their interests and business models could not be more different from Disney to Sony to Netflix to Amazon.

We root for their success, all of them. They root for each other's failure. We are the creative ammunition through which they will succeed. They are each other's apex predators. And yet, in a singular shared dedication to denying labor, they have shackled themselves together in what increasingly seems like a mutual suicide pact, as the 2023-24 broadcast season and the 2024-25 movie schedule and its streaming shows disappear, melt away week by week.

So what does this mean? What does it mean going forward? How do you play chess against an opponent who insists on screaming checkmate at every move regardless of how the board looks and the game is going?

You stay firm, you stay resolved, because our cause is no less existential than when we started and our leverage is increasing every day. Alone we withheld our labor with the support of our union siblings and the Teamsters and IATSE and the Crafts, we were able to delay the vast majority of production. Now with SAG-AFTRA on strike, those few studio projects that remained have also shut down. And it's not just the obvious delays. If this strike drags on, it's the actors with conflicting obligations and the directors and the double-booked studio facilities and release date chaos that the companies must now also contend with. Some of their most valuable product could well be delayed for years.

Add to that, no promotion of movies or television shows and famous faces on the picket lines and social media speaking directly to their customers. For the tech companies and the mega corporations, that should be their nightmare scenario: WGA and SAG-AFTRA side by side. Our bargaining agenda may not be identical, but our cause is the same. Our army of labor, defending labor has increased 17-fold in the past two weeks alone.

Even so, even with all this wind at our backs this negotiation won't happen overnight. It's not because the negotiations themselves are so complex. Once the companies fully engage, it could go very quickly, but because their strategy of many decades has just fallen apart and they didn't see it coming, and it's going to take them a minute to regroup, 'cause the companies have things to work out internally, and saying no to labor in unison is a lot easier than saying yes. So either together or separately, as their divergent interests might suggest, they will come back to us, despite their understandable concern about how they've navigated this transition to streaming, which is on their heads and not ours; and their worries about costs and their worries about Wall Street; despite this being a season of doom and gloom, none of them are walking away from the riches of this business, and certainly not over the equitable minimum compensation to writers.

They didn't get the deal they wanted; that's fine, it happens all the time. They're not taking their ball and going home over it. And since we know they come from union families themselves, and since they've denied that “even-in-Hollywood-you-have-got-to-be-kidding-me” ugliness of threatening to starve us out and leave us homeless (which we assume they understand also means making our children homeless,) they will come back to us. Although I will say they took a long time to deny that statement, longer than I would have had it been ascribed to me.

But what does it matter? You can starve a labor force slowly or quickly. The effect is the same. It's not like day rates for comedy variety writers and endless free drafts for screenwriters in exchange for a single paid one in four-week mini-rooms isn't cruelty. It's just cruelty written in contract language instead of a press quote.

So what can we expect from the companies as all of this plays itself out? They will try to convince Wall Street that taking a strike, prolonging it unnecessarily, losing their content stream in the process—that all of that is just smart business and no reason for investor concern. We will be talking to Wall Street too, and reminding them that for all these companies, all of 'em including Netflix, the bill, the price for making nothing, will eventually come due. And Wall Street is listening already. Here's Michael Pachter, managing director of equity research at Wedbush on Yahoo Finance the other day: “I think the studios are completely wrong on this one. Content is their lifeblood. They're feeling really foolish about this."

Wall Street isn't the only one listening. We've been talking to union pension funds too about the risks the companies are taking. We talked to CalPERS, the largest public pension plan in the country, talked about the loss of programming and the cost to the industry, and we heard strong support from its board for our struggle and the promise that the companies will be hearing from them, from CalPERS, and demanding answers on behalf of its 2 million members.

To us, of course, they will continue to plead temporary poverty, but we know the drill. These companies support billions into the streaming wars and taken short-term losses these past three years, because they know that to the winner will go the spoils. We're patient, will they share that with us when the time comes? What are the chances?

Since 2017, the last time the studios negotiated with us outside of COVID, the big six companies alone have made $150 billion in profits off our work, while they slashed our pay and degraded our working conditions. Maybe if they had shared a tiny piece of that then, made $1 billion or so less, this year wouldn't seem so costly. As it is, there is no iron law that these companies are entitled to record profits every year, and it isn't some great travesty if their shareholders or their CEOs get a slightly smaller slice of the massive profits we helped create if some balance is restored.

Look, no one denies that corporations exist to make a profit and no one wants our employers to be profitable more than we do, but the singular pursuit of corporate profits to the exclusion of their social and human cost is a real problem in this country—it’s a real problem. A corporation's bottom line is not the same as the world’s, and there is nothing in our studio's bottom lines today that accounts for the quality of our lives or for our dignity, for the comfort of our retirement or the security of our families. Their numbers have no conscience, but the people who report them as victories ought to.

In their refusal to recognize that, these companies have also extracted an awful price, which is laid at their feet and for which they are responsible. Losses to the economies of New York and Los Angeles and everywhere that film and television are made, terrible losses that mount every day, thousands of people out of work; not just us, all the crews, the crafts, the janitors, the drivers, the businesses that thrive when Hollywood thrives, the restaurants, the stores—for what? For nothing. So they could avoid coming to the table to negotiate the deal they will one day give us. Measured today that is the painfully mixed legacy of our employers, weighed against every beautiful piece of work we have made with them.

And if history is a guide, they have only temporary stewardship over a kind of national trust, which is Hollywood. Our story, our sometimes conscience, our public conversation, our diversion of the worst and best of times, our greatest export, the repository of our imagination. They have some obligation to more than just their shareholders to behave accordingly.

Unfortunately, it seems big tech, mega corporations, and some of the people who run them, as the saying goes know the price of everything and the value of nothing. So they have built a business model that no longer works for human beings who cannot be paid minimum for 10 to 20 weeks a year and make a career out of that, be paid for one draft of a screenplay that demands a year of labor, be paid a few episodic fees for a show about which to take years to decide be paid a daily rate.

And now we have a first glimpse of what they offered our actor colleagues. We are not 170,000 Willy Lomans to be used and then discarded. We know what the companies believe they have the power to do. We know what they think machines can do and do without any of us. Oh yeah, we've seen the writing on the wall and it's plagiarized.

The thing is this: the difference between what you CAN do and what you SHOULD do is the greatest single difference in the world. Knowing that is the only real protection we have against a dystopian future. And if the companies sometimes forget that, writers will do it for them.

I can't know exactly how long it will take this revolutionary moment, and you've heard again and again what is happening today has not happened in 63 years, but I know that's not always how it feels, revolutionary and defining, even though we celebrate that on picket lines together, which is the right thing to do. That's not always how it feels when you go home at night. I know how tough this is: to strike, to hold the line. I know it gets tougher every day even with SAG-AFTRA marching beside us, how hard it is to face the uncertainty of when it will end, when we'll get back to work, how we'll pay the bills. I know it's hardest for those who've just gotten started, for those for whom the world opens doors more reluctantly, battled their whole life just to get here; but hard too for those struggling to maintain their long careers, who find work tougher and tougher to come by, or those with families with children or parents to take care of.

These companies understand the cruelty of what they're doing. It's their plan to starve us just a little, to exact as much pain as they can so that we wish more for the pain to end than for the better life we dreamed up. That we're more afraid of the uncertainty of the present than the certain devastation of the future. It's societally acceptable economic torture inflicted by management on labor every day, then blamed on labor for daring to fight back, for refusing to be complicit in its own mistreatment.

Here's how I know that's not going to work. Not with us, not with the writers, because we haven't come all this way, fought to have these careers in the first place, all the adversity, and marched together for all these months, only to let it slip away on our watch—because there is no point in rushing back to jobs that may not be there in a year or two anyway. Because the business, as the companies have twisted it, is now untenable, unsurvivable for so many of us, because even success is not enough to keep going, because this guild is younger than it's ever been and more diverse. And this young diverse membership knows from hard personal experience the system is broken and that it will not be fixed unless they fix it. And those of us who came before them will not let them down, because we and the writer's guild are the beneficiaries of all those who came before us who gave up everything for us.

Like the writers of 1960, the year I was born, who struck for 22 weeks and who gave away all the TV residuals for all the movies they had ever written so that we could have a health insurance and pension plan and residuals from that date forward. $15 billion flowed to writers and their benefit plans because of that sacrifice. Because writers are brave, because now it's our turn.

So what's our job? Even as we welcome SAG-AFTRA to our side, we are still responsible for our own deal, and so we must remain focused and diligent. We must continue to march, picket signs in hand. But we should also remember this and with pride, that before there was SAG-AFTRA, before even the Teamsters and IATSE and the laborers and the electrical workers and the musicians and the plasterers came to our side, there was the writers. Alone then, we looked at the blank page and began to imagine the future. With no net but each other we typed the words, what if?

And then we took a step into the darkness and found that it was light. And then we were joined by the crews and the drivers and the actors. The actors got a bit more fanfare when they showed up, but that's okay, we wrote the script. The WGA, still small, not alone anymore after all these decades. Hollywood labor has finally linked arms and found its voice, and that voice says enough. There is no road to longterm prosperity that burns a path through your own workforce. We are not your enemies. We are not merely a cost to be borne. We are your partners and your greatest asset. And we are, as you acknowledge yourselves, irreplaceable, but by accident or design and it doesn't really matter anymore, the business you are running no longer works for those who work for you.

What is the point in continuing to deny that? Why deny it when everyone else in the business to a person tells you it's true? Do you think it's a coincidence that two unions are on strike against you for the first time since Eisenhower was president? You can't exactly accuse us of being quick on the trigger. The effect has a cause, it has a cause. And there is no profit in insisting on the answers to the past for the questions of the future.

But if you want instead to invest in something that will reap you fortunes, I have a tip. And if you are visionaries, envision a solution, not a stalemate. Because this isn't a war we're in, it's a negotiation, it's just a negotiation. There is no face-saving here for either side, because there is no winner or loser. It's just a deal. And when you come to remember that again we will be here as we have been here all along.

And at this point with 170,000 writers and actors aligned against your intransigence, that is as generous as I can be, as close to an olive branch as I can offer. But if you insist instead on the same threatening rhetoric, on saying you would rather starve us than pay us, I would remind you of this: You are fighting for a dollar, we are fighting for survival. We are fighting for our home: writing is where we live, and we will defend that home with a bravery and stamina and ferocity that you will come to understand someday, which is why you cannot break us. You cannot outlast us, you cannot.

And not just because we have the will, because we have power. Nothing in this business happens until we start to write. And we will not start to write until we are paid.

Union now. Union forever.

#sag-aftra strike #sag strike #actors strike #union solidarity #i stand with the wga #wga strong #wga solidarity #fans4wga #Youtube #wga strike #writers strike

3K notes · View notes

milkteabinniechan · 2 months ago

Text

♡Lessons Learned - Hyunjin

MINORS DNI 18+ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: tutor! Hyunjin x fem! reader

summary: if you fail this midterm, you're screwed. Thankfully, your counselor set you up with a tutor who's willing to help you out and he has a very interesting way of rewarding you whenever you answer a question right.

warnings: public sex, fingering, dom/sub dynamic, oral sex (f.rec)

Come on, Ace. You can do it.

You signed up for an introduction to economics class thinking it would be simple. It wasn't what you wanted to do, but you still needed the credit to graduate. You found the number of a tutor on the bulletin board in your common room and decided to give it a call.

“Yeah?” The voice on the other end sounded groggy and irritated.

“Hi! I saw your number and thought that maybe you could tut-”

“What time?” His voice spat at your ear.

“Oh! Uh, I'm free tomorrow afternoon. Does that work? Or we could-”

You were cut off again. He told you to meet him at the University library late afternoon tomorrow. Hwang Hyunjin. What a tool.

The next day you arrived at the library early. You wanted a table by the window and knew how coveted the seating could get. You placed your books around the table and tapped your pencil impatiently against your thigh. Hyunjin showed up exactly when he said he would. He wore glasses and a loose-fitting sweater vest over a short sleeved polo. His hair was messy and unkempt but you couldn't help but notice how incredible he smelled. Like vanilla and fresh cut cedarwood

The two of you met like that for days; with you showing up early and Hyunjin trying to explain the basics of economics. But you couldn't seem to grasp the concept. It was difficult to concentrate when he would lean in close to you, his breath tickling your ear as he spoke.

Come on, Ace. You can do it.

You would bite the eraser of your pencil anxiously. He has to know how gorgeous he was. He has to have girls chasing him all over campus. Sometimes when he would explain a formula or application, you could just stare at his mouth. You would watch his touch flick and bounce as he enunciated his words. Your thighs would squeeze together involuntarily at the thought of his touch moving and twisting around your mouth or your hardened sensitive nipples.

Come on, Ace. You can do it.

Every once and a while you would catch him staring at your breasts. Or he would catch you staring at his hands. More and more tension was building between the two of you without you getting any closer to understanding the assignments.

One day, Hyunjin leaned back in his seat, crossing one leg over the other.

"Well, let's do something a bit... different, shall we? How about we use a more practical application?”

You perked up in your chair and tilted your head curiously.

“What did you have in mind?”

Hyunjin grinned mischievously.

“How about we focus on the concept of supply and demand?” Hyunjin leaned in closer, lowering his voice.

"For instance, if I were to... touch you in places you wouldn't expect, how would you react? Would you push me away, or…?”

Your heart clenched in your chest and your hands gripped the edge of the table.

“I…I guess I don't know what I'd do.” You lied.

“Exactly, you don't know. And that's what makes it so interesting." Hyunjin reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Let's conduct a little experiment. I'll demonstrate the concept of supply and demand, and you can observe and react accordingly.”

Before you could answer him, Hyunjin stood up and walked over to your side of the table, kneeling down in front of you.

"Alright, let's start with the supply side of things.” He placed his hands on your knees and slowly started to push them apart.

"As the supply increases, the demand often increases as well.

You held your breath; quickly looking around the library to see if anyone else had noticed Hyunjin's new position in front of you. Hyunjin grinned wickedly as he continued to push your legs apart, moving his body between them.

"You're blushing. Your breathing is getting faster. See how the demand is rising?” He leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours.

You nod your head slowly, your entire body completely entranced with the feeling of his hands on your thighs. Hyunjin's grin grew wider, his hands continuing their exploration.

"Mmm, the demand is high, isn't it?" His hand slid up further, tracing the edge of your underwear.

"And what if I were to... slip my hand inside? Would you push me away or pull me closer?”

“Closer…” you whispered meekly.

Hyunjin’s hand slipped inside your underwear and his fingers made quick work of gently caressing your most intimate area. He let out a low, satisfied groan as he felt the slick excitement that was already leaking out of you. Hyunjin looked up at you, his grin wicked.

"Look at you... taking it so well. You're a natural, Ace." His fingers continued their rhythm, his pace quickening slightly.

"And now, what if I were to... curve my fingers just…”

He slowly slid his fingers in and out, his thumb gently rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves as his middle finger curved and curled. Your walls clenched around his slender finger, your hand now clasped like a vice over your mouth.

Hyunjin smirked at your reaction.

"Found your sweet spot, haven't I?" His fingers continued to stroke that spot, his thumb still rubbing your swollen clit.

"And now, if I were to... lean down and lick you while my fingers are inside you…”

Your head shot up and you glared down at him, your face turning redder by the second.

“Here?! Now?!” You growled. You loved how he was making you feel but you had never done anything so public before.

"Yes, here." Hyunjin said firmly, his eyes locked onto yours.

"I'm going to lick your perfect pussy while I finger you, and you're going to let me, aren't you?"

Hyunjin leaned down, his mouth hovering over your clothed folds before pulling your underwear to the side and licking you in one long, sweeping motion.

You moaned softly into your hand. Your body was feeling like it was on fire. Every nerve ending has been activated and needed stimulation. You tried your best to stay still, to make it look like nothing was happening. To convey the facade that this gorgeous man wasn't absolutely devouring you inside a library. The silence around you was glaringly apparent as Hyunjin gently coaxed your clit into his mouth and gently sucked on it. His fingers continued to curl and stroke your needy insides, his other hand still holding your leg in place. He looked up at you, his eyes shining with desire as sucked and pulled hungrily at your slick folds.

"Look at you... so pretty…”

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star

399 notes · View notes

johnbrand · 4 months ago

Text

Screen Froze

Podcasting had become inescapable in recent years. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on...well everything. Politics, world sports, cooking, an obscure movie from 1978 only released in a now-extinct language. If it could be covered, it would be. And one could find this content anywhere across the internet. Youtube, social media, even streaming services promoted their podcasters. Everyone was watching everyone talking.

Of course, with so many different podcasters flying about, it was difficult to actually spot out talent. And from a sociologically micro perspective, it was even harder for individuals to find podcasters discussing the content they actually wanted to hear about. The more unique the niche, the less people one could happen upon to be talking about it during their recorded stream of consciousness. It was a simple formula, but it forced individuals to browse for hours or even days to find what they were searching for.

Sometimes though, people could not hold such patience. They would not wait for their new hero, a disciple preaching their values and morals to audiences around the globe. They would skip past one livestream discussing the economics of green villages in Switzerland to the next debating the potential existence between a minor character in two separate fandom universes. They could even perhaps land into a podcast like Sean’s.

“Most people just don’t understand the Soviet Union’s impact on architecture,” the measly, pale nerd innocently commented. A little shy in front of the camera, he was only able to relax a bit when discussing his favorite topics. Sean dressed in theme too, wearing a brutalist-like business casual outfit, a trait his small but dedicated fanbase adored.

“There were a lot of architects that really shaped this movement from all around the world,” Sean continued. “But today, we are just going to focus on those from the USSR.”

So what happened when one’s patience dried up? Well, everything was brought to a halt.

DragonHeart49: anyone else’s screen freeze? superduperloverboy: mine too <3bitsandmore: sean, I think ur glitching out

With the screen frozen, our impatient soul could now get to work. If one could not find the podcast they were looking for, then why not just create their own? Obviously, this did not mean constructing a podcast themselves, but rather alter the fabric of reality and completely realign another’s being to their preferred state. That was much easier.

Physical modifications were made first. A much larger body was necessary, something that demanded confidence and respect from others. Juicy pecs, rippling abs, sturdy legs. There was always something unreasonably fun in bloating the podcaster’s feet up a few sizes. An imposing frame to be craved by others, even when hidden underneath clothes, was priority. And speaking of clothes, those were quickly stripped down to less formal articles. Expensive branded tee, athletic shorts so small that boxer-briefs were visible, classic white Nike socks, all of it much more respectable than a button-up and tie.

This was not the impatient soul’s first time altering a podcaster to their liking, nor would it be their last. Physically at least, each of the end products were a little different. All alpha males, but just enough variation to not warrant any unnecessary rumors. This particular podcaster had his pre-American heritage redirected from France to India, the features in the screenshot tanning accordingly as a dark stubble acquainted itself along the sharper jawline. Of course, the bulge was accurately enlarged for geographical standards too.

Mentally however, all the podcasters could be considered copies. They each spoke of the same rhetoric, theories, and ideologies that our impatient soul wanted to hear. No matter how “backwards” or “hateful” their discussions were deemed as, nearly anything could be said by hulking bodies with undeniable charisma.

“These homos have no idea what they’re talking about!” Sanjay raged as the podcast restarted, his deep voice cocky and assertive. "Sure bro, I was just thinkin’ about a girl’s rack I saw earlier today but there's more to a girl than big tits. There's a tight pussy too!”

The chat section lit off with encouragement, their fates too having been altered.

MassiveFART69: you tell them fags bro! LOL XD crassmassschlongnator: we want to BREED THEM TOO!!!! <3TITSGALORE: JUST TALKIN ABOUT IT ALREADY GOT SANJAY GRABBIN HIMSELF AGAIN

Sanjay vacantly looked down, finding himself already subconsciously scratching at the thick bush within his shorts. He let out a hot protein fart followed by a laugh, his scratching slowly extending into groping his fat 8 inch babymaker.

“God, that was WET bros!” Sanjay applauded himself, his free massive hand swallowing the mic. “Anyway, I’ll catch you on the flip side dudes, gotta go hit the gym. Bros for life!”

There was a reason the traditional masculine movement was becoming stronger. Maybe it was because men were slowly aspiring to become the alphas’ equals, or because fags were beginning to submit to their nature. Or possibly, it could have been because each time a screen froze, reality was altered one click closer to traditional, normal masculinity.

#gay to straight #male tf #male transformation #dumbification #jock tf #breeder tf #indianization #fratification

335 notes · View notes

my-darling-boy · 4 months ago

Text

It’s horrible how my design course has killed my enjoyment in creativity because all they want is finished pieces founded in nothing but a spontaneous mark just to hang at some concrete art gallery or to sell to some “join our revolution” comfy business-casual company with a prison cell wellness room. I’m not saying that it’s “not art” —cos that’s a different post altogether— it’s that the ethos behind this particular formula for art education is ruining the way we think about creation.

Design courses (and other art courses I’ve heard?) are no longer teaching artists or designers techniques, drawing skills, art fundamentals and allowing them to find their own voice so much as they are only instructing how to tic boxes alongside pushing corporate and classist motivated style/methodology bias aimed at producing workers, not creatives, not to mention providing Adobe with endless funds for their despicable scam programs. That’s it. My creativity is only a means to money for them, and if they can extract the process of creation from me without the complex creative intimacy involved in it, they know they can churn out products and services faster and it’s concerning some lecturers don’t seem to be aware this is what they’re teaching? Like they’re buying into industry propaganda?

And the whole time it’s sold to you like you can be some trailblazer when the irony is they’re usually either prepping you for cubicle work or for some misguided high horse creative team pumping out design solutions completely divorced from the reality. I’m tired of all the talks about sustainability in a vacuum with no conversation about nuanced designs that factor in broader social and economic perspectives which lack thereof is leading to sustainable products being sold at a price only able to be afforded by wealthier people who are causing said economic and social problems and contributing to the rapid obsoletion of trades and crafts. Lecturers and speakers don’t seem to think that’s any of our concern and should just worry about producing the design for the hypothetical Bluetooth powered organic hairbrush or using the twigs to make the pattern for the £85 fabric square.

Like? Can I please make something that actually resonates with people outside the circle jerk of egotistical creatives and corporations? Something charming and maybe idk something that doesn’t make me want to tear my miserable portfolio in half with my teeth? And they’re like Mm nope sorry it has to be an extreme close up of a mark making abstract leaf you made from a recycled trash bag inspired by a stalled urban space which we will force you to price at £100 during your exhibition 5 people will bother to attend and no you’re not allowed any other style cos this isn’t the Dark Ages :///

I think the worst thing my lecturer ever said was, while looking around the room of our class work reduced down to a series of cubes and splatters and abstract typography, “Wow, I love how you can’t tell what anyone’s [main artist discipline] is!” Like awww conformity at the expense of a person’s individuality to make pieces for airport hallways and rich people’s living rooms wow so cool heehee like girl that’s not good?? Why on Earth are you complimenting us for that? Like I get it, I thought this course would boost skillset as an illustrator (as we were told), turns out the degree is really not for me, fair enough to anyone thinking that, but forcing students to produce modern abstract art because you think it’s the ONLY Logical Pathway for the future of design, judging them intensely for doing a different style, and thinking producing financially inaccessible art + design is the solution to things like climate change and community severance is an objectively bad take.

#needed to get that off my chest it’s been sitting in my drafts and it’s still true #genuinely hate just about everything I’ve produced on this course #like illustration as a course was fine #this one is just depressing #had to almost completely reinvent my art after first year cos this Forced Style threw me off so bad #I am Scared for the future of creativity in academia #wrote a 10000 word essay (for fun) about why the corporate bullshit is contributing to the downfall of art #so needless to say I have my dissertation for my honours already #ok to rb #illustration #design

154 notes · View notes

estebanbicon · 4 days ago

Text

The F1 driver who takes every opening he sees

A mechanic’s son, Esteban Ocon took an unlikely path to an F1 driver’s seat. Now he’s fighting to keep it.

MONTE CARLO, Monaco — The mechanic’s son walks past women in bright dresses and men in fine suits, many of them sipping champagne. He breathes in the salty air of the Mediterranean, its shoreline neither rocks nor sand but dozens of mega-yachts.

The Monaco Grand Prix, held each May, is the global peak of sports opulence, less street race than picture postcard from high society: A-listers and royals toasting the good life in the richest place on Earth. Several Formula One drivers live here, their plain-sight hideaway amid a Netflix-fueled fascination with their sport. Among them are Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton — champions, multimillionaires and household names in a sport Hamilton has called a “billionaire boys club.”

Esteban Ocon, though, is not of this world. When Ocon was a karting wunderkind, other drivers would sneer at him and scoff, whispering that the only child of a dumpster-diving mechanic doesn’t belong. That the Frenchman, now 28, will forever be a [wanderer] playing dress-up in a place such as Monaco. Even after eight years on the grid, he remains an outsider.

Then again, an impressive finish here would change minds. It might even change Ocon’s, convincing him it’s possible to be born into one end of the economic spectrum and, with enough talent and moxie, reach the other.

He changes out of his jeans and into an Alpine race suit. He stretches the muscles on his thin frame and climbs into a $15 million super machine. The green flag drops. Ocon accelerates, 0 to 100 mph in 2½ seconds, trying to position himself and his team for an early chance at points. Over the years, he has proved himself as a skilled and fearless driver, aggressive sometimes to the point of recklessness.

With Monaco’s narrow streets and hairpin turns, passing is dangerous. Three-time world champion Nelson Piquet once compared it to riding a bicycle in your living room. And trying to pass a teammate? It simply isn’t done.

Before the race, in fact, Alpine instructed its drivers to avoid each other. Whoever is ahead after the first lap should stay there; the driver behind him is to protect his blind side.

Midway through the first lap, the cars are clustered. Pierre Gasly, Alpine’s other driver, is immediately in front of Ocon. On the eighth turn, just before the circuit’s famed tunnel, Gasly eases off the accelerator. Ocon sees his teammate drift left, allowing space between Gasly and the wall, creating an opening.

FIVE HUNDRED MILES NORTH, there’s a small French village built into the lush countryside. People in Évreux raise chickens, recycle batteries, mow their own grass. And the locals tell of a man north of town who could bring back the dead, so long as the corpse had four wheels.

One of those locals, Marc Guillouet, still remembers the sound of Laurent Ocon’s air compressor bellowing at all hours as Ocon performed reconstructive surgery on another broken-down used car that had been towed through his gate. Then, hours later, another sound: the engine humming back to life.

“The way he refurbished it,” Guillouet says, “it was like new.”

Laurent was a self-taught mechanic who built his shop onto the back of the Ocons’ home, a single-car garage jutting out in yellow stucco. It was in the house’s rear, but it acted as the family’s entrance. Before school some mornings, young Esteban would see his father, grease up to his elbows, still trying to solve the previous night’s puzzle. When Esteban returned in the afternoon, he would watch Dad beamas he turned the key, listened and … there it was, that beautiful music.

“We live for that,” Esteban says now. “He wants to win, like me.”

Laurent’s passion was reviving machines. His son’s was maneuvering them. Esteban says he was 4 the first time he got behind the wheel of a go-kart, gliding around the track at an amusement park, through cones and around other karts as if it were second nature. His friend who came along drove straight into the wall.

Esteban kept driving, testing himself in bigger, faster, more complex machines. The families of some other 8-year-olds hired engineers, barked into radios and traveled with professional mechanics. But Laurent and wife Sabrina had no money for that. If Esteban’s carburetor failed or his torsion bar broke, it was Laurent who mounted a new one. Then they would return to Évreux from Ambourville or Rouen, often with Esteban cradling another trophy.

“We tried to protect Esteban from pressure as much as possible,” Laurent says, answering questions emailed by The Washington Post. “But unfortunately, the only solution is to perform.”

After one of Esteban’s races, a representative from a management company approached. The boy had the talent to make racing his career, the man said, but it wouldn’t be easy. Or cheap.

Thousands of European kids grow up dreaming of the Formula One life, waiting to pilot a rocket at circuits such as Monza and Silverstone and Monaco. Most never make it, and even those who only come close do so after millions have been spent on equipment, travel and engineering.

The families of many drivers commit hundreds of thousands before their child becomes a teenager, largely to get noticed by top feeder programs and driver academies. Among the hopefuls are the kids of billionaires and oligarchs, able to bankroll the pursuit of a nine-figure dream. A few even pay their way onto the F1 grid, with cash-strapped teams agreeing because it transfers the financial responsibility.

Most, though, spend years working their way up.

“Even if you are talented,” Esteban says, “if you don’t have the right people, you don’t manage.”

But all he had were his parents.

“If he really wants to do it,” Esteban remembers hearing Laurent say years ago, “we’ll give him everything we can.”

LAURENT AND SABRINA SOLD THEIR HOUSE and the family business, leaving behind anything that didn’t fit in a 21-foot motor home. They stuffed Esteban’s mini-kart into the rear of a van, surrounded it with tools and Esteban’s toys, then hitched the motor home to the van’s rear.

“Prepping,” Esteban’s parents told him, “for the rest of your life.”

With Évreux in the rearview, home now was a parking lot in Lyon or a roadside in Le Mans. Ten-year-old Esteban had his bicycle and the family border collie to keep him company. Sabrina outfitted the motor home with a fake fireplace and told friends it was their mobile chateau. Le Palais des Ocons had a living room and shared sleeping quarters, with views that were a mountain some days, a vineyard others.

Sabrina and Laurent convinced their son that each day was an adventure, each morning a chance for Esteban to open the door so he and their dog, Viper, could breathe in a dramatic new backdrop. He and Laurent sometimes went on long bicycle rides, where they talked about engines, racing, the future. Then the convoy headed to a nearby track, where the soft-spoken Esteban slid on a helmet, climbed into his kart and transformed into an assassin. There wasn’t an opening he wouldn’t hit, a pass he wouldn’t attempt, a throat he wouldn’t cut. Esteban wanted to win races, yes, but victory was about more than bragging rights.

In his 9-year-old mind, he says, it was the only way to repay his parents.

“I had weight on my shoulders very early,” he says. “There was never a Plan B in my head.”

In 2006, Esteban, then 10, won the regional mini-kart championship, which qualified him for a spot in the French Cup’s “Minime” division. He reached the final heat, and he and another young star, Charles Leclerc, angled for positioning on the last lap. Esteban went inside, trying to overtake Leclerc, and their tires touched. Leclerc spun out and hit the wall; Esteban recovered but finished outside the top five. The two boys spent the rest of the day crying.

The family returned to Évreux each winter, staying with family so Esteban could attend a few months of school before the new season. Otherwise, they kept moving, rarely in the same place for more than a few days.

Esteban won the French Cup in 2007, the “Cadet” title a year later, the junior championship in 2010. With every promotion came longer trips and more expensive gear. An entry-level “baby” kart costs about $3,000, not including registration fees and fuel, and a used mini-kart engine and chassis can be twice that.

By 2011, with a promotion to Winning Series Karting, the chateau was crossing borders so Esteban could race in Spain, Italy and Portugal. Entry fees alone were upward of $5,000 per race, with fuel and spare parts pushing the cost higher. All youth sports have their own unique cultures, and in this one, there is an established taboo: Kids don’t talk about their parents’ wealth.

But chatter happens anyway. Jos Verstappen, father of 14-year-old Max, used to drive in Formula One and spent $1 million bankrolling his son’s career. Leclerc grew up among the yachts and Ferraris of Monaco, and Lance Stroll’s dad, Lawrence, was a fashion billionaire.

Esteban’s folks?

Homeless, the other boys murmured. Sometimes, they said, they even saw his dad lurking near the circuit, waiting to pull other drivers’ used tires out of the trash.

IN 2014, OCON, THEN 18, won nine races and finished in the top three in 21 of 33 races to claim Europe’s Formula Three championship. But it was 17-year-old Verstappen, who had finished third, who was promoted seven months later and became the youngest driver ever to appear on the F1 grid.

“My dad always said it’s not going to be easy,” Ocon says now. “I didn’t really know what my future would be.”

He spent the 2015 season with Mercedes and Lotus — discussed alongside Verstappen, George Russell and Gasly as the sport’s next generation of starsbut still toiling in its minor leagues.

The next season, another young driver, Indonesia’s Rio Haryanto, won a spot with Manor Racing, a fledgling F1 team from Britain. F1 teams today operate under an annual maximum budget. Back then, though,the annual cost for a two-car team could reach nearly $200 million per year. Some teams have lucrative sponsorship agreements and investments from engine manufacturers, but others rely only on prize money and the potential share of a year-end financial pie that is distributed to the teams that finish in the top 10 in points.

Haryanto started the first 12 races that year before Manor dropped him — and not just because he never finished better than 15th. It was because Haryanto, initially backed by a $16.65 million investment from an Indonesian oil and gas company, ran out of money.

Manor’s own survival depended on performance, so in August 2016, it contacted the most talented driver available and told 19-year-old Esteban to get to Belgium. A management company had agreed to underwrite Ocon’s career, so with the motor home now retired, the family traveled by plane.

“A lot of emotions and relief,” Laurent recalls. “The culmination of 16 years.”

FOUR MONTHS AFTER ESTEBAN’S F1 DEBUT, with the sport itself at a crossroads, Manor Racing announced it was broke.

It was January 2017, and this was the first of several dominos to tumble.

The next was that Force India, a well-funded team and a new contender, offered Esteban a multiyear contract after its No. 2 driver, Nico Hülkenberg, defected for Renault. With an elite car, Esteban finished seventh in Russia, fifth in Barcelona, sixth in Montreal — valuable points for his team and proof he belonged.

Then, in Azerbaijan, Ocon saw an opening. He tried to pass Sergio Perez, his Force India teammate, before their wheels touched. A moment later, he went for it again, contacting Perez’s car and damaging both vehicles.

“What did Esteban do, guys?” Perez said on his headset radio. He later called Ocon’s behavior “unacceptable.”

Three races later, Ocon again collided with Perez in Hungary, and a week later in Belgium, Ocon tried to pass his teammate on the inside. The cars made contact, Perez’s front wing flew off, and the veteran driver’s anger exploded.

“Honestly, what the f--- is this guy doing?” Perez said. “F---ing idiot.”

High drama — which, considering the sport’s new ownership, was undoubtably welcome.

Long owned by a European private equity fund, Formula One had recently been purchased by Liberty Media, an American entertainment titan that parlayed its ownership of struggling assets, from satellite radio to the Discovery Channel and QVC, into ownership of the Atlanta Braves. It wasalready planning the all-access Netflix docuseries that would debut in 2019 — less than a year before the pandemic. When the sports calendar ground to a halt, “Drive to Survive” became a massive hit that sent each team’s value soaring.

Sponsors and investors were fighting for a piece of a sports gold rush. Not everyone could keep up, though. Force India’s owner, Vijay Mallya, defaulted on more than $1 billion in loans after his airline failed, before numerous banks accused him of fraud. (Mallya has called these accusations “rubbish” but, after fleeing India for England, is still considered a fugitive.) He sold his team to a group of investors led by Canadian billionaire Lawrence Stroll, who had made his fortune on the threads of Tommy Hilfiger and Michael Kors. And who happened to have a son, Lance, who drove, if not very well, for Williams Mercedes.

Just like that, it was Ocon being bumped, his dream blown to pieces by his own team. When the 2019 season started, he was out of a job. He blamed “politics.”

He joined Mercedes as a reserve driver, and during race weekends, he says, he would climb into a racing simulator and go through scenario after scenario until 4 a.m. On no sleep, he would go to the airport and travel to wherever F1 was because that’s also where Ocon could meet with potential investors, sponsors and engineers. Then, a week later, he would do it all again.

“I didn’t care because I said, ‘Let’s give it a full go,’ show the people how hungry I am,” he says. Failure, he told himself, would mean that his parents’ sacrifices had been in vain.

“I didn’t do all that just to sit on the side,” he continues. “Teams saw how much I was willing to give, how much I was willing to suffer. I wanted to show everyone that I’m willing to go further than anyone else. No sleep for three straight days, simulator day and night, I’m going to do it. And, yes, I’ve lost four kilos in that year and got sick seven or eight times, and the reality is, yes, I’ve suffered and it was tough. And I don’t want to be suffering forever.”

In late summer 2019, with the first season of “Drive to Survive” being filmed, Ocon’s phone rang. Renault was parting ways with Hülkenberg. The French team wanted the kid from Évreux to come home.

“A crazy moment,” Ocon says. “This was it. The tough times are over now.”

LAST YEAR IN MONACO, something happened that was highly disruptive: Ocon finished third. It was his third appearance on the podium and his best result since he won the Hungarian Grand Prix in 2021. In one of Europe’s nightclub capitals, the 27-year-old celebrated. Hard.

Fatigued, dehydrated and emotionally drained, Ocon again got sick. He was nonetheless due back on the grid in Barcelona four days later. He finished eighth in each of his next two races, then 14th, then didn’t finish the two after that.

Nobody weeps for the motorsports rock star, but a life spent in constant motion does take a toll. A year after signing with Renault, which rebranded as Alpine, Ocon was reportedly paid $5 million per year. He put Laurent and Sabrina on the payroll of “Team Esteban,” he says, assigning his mother administrative tasks and his father responsibilities such as renovating Esteban’s house. He could also hire a performance coach to keep his body and mind sharp — or as sharp as possible in a sport whose schedule features two dozen stops around the globe.

Now, years after Laurent and Sabrina tried shielding their son from many of racing’s pressures, it is Tom Clark’s job to act as Ocon’s conscience. To tell him it’s okay to sleep in on weekends, to grab a nap after practice, to avoid media and fans because more interactions mean more exposure to pathogens.To urge him to eat more lean protein and complex carbohydrates, stay ahead of time zones by wearing sunglasses to simulate darkness, use a light therapy lamp or glasses that emit a bright glow above the eyes. To encourage him to take it easy sometimes, especially when it comes to challenging teammates, and maybe to even think about gearing things down a tad.

“Let’s really just put a bubble around you,” Clark says he tells Ocon.

The problem is this is in conflict with the instincts that got Ocon here. Without deprivation and exhaustion, would he have ever left Évreux? If not for aggressive racing and a ruthless competitive drive, could he have even reached the grid? Especially when it comes to challenging teammates, can’t he gear things down a tad?

ON THE FIRST LAP at this year’s Monaco Grand Prix, there’s Gasly in 10th place. Ocon is 11th. Points are awarded to only the top-10 finishers.

The Alpine drivers have known each other since childhood, their hometowns just 20 minutes apart, friends scratching and clawing for better footing. When they were 12, both were in the same championship race. Gasly overtook Ocon on the last lap to win. “I kicked his ass,” Gasly told the Netflix documentary crew, “and he didn’t like it.”

Not long after, the French racing federation had an opening at its sports academy in Le Mans, a kind of Hogwarts for kid racers. It was Gasly who got the invitation, not the mechanic’s son. The friendship crumbled, just one more thing Ocon left behind as he boarded the motor home once more, looking to win races, yes, but also in search of acceptance.

“But look where I am now,” he says. “That has helped me to get through a lot of steps in my life. That’s what made me so competitive, I guess, from so early on.”

Ocon and Gasly hadcollided in 2023, too, in Australia, with both cars taking race-ending damage. After that, tension between the teammates boiled over when Gasly accused Alpine of coddling Ocon. Before Monaco, the team told the pair to cool it.

And they did, for all of 40 seconds. Now, seeing that narrow opening, Ocon goes for it.

His rear tire connects with Gasly’s front wheel once, then a second time, sending a bitter cloud of burned rubber into the sea air. Ocon’s car goes airborne before turning sideways, and though it lands on its wheels, the impact causes catastrophic damage.

“What did he do?” Gasly says into his radio.

Pieces of carbon fiber fly off Ocon’s car. The tire is punctured, the gearbox fried, the suspension arm broken.

“That’s it, guys,” Ocon tells his team. His Grand Prix is finished.

Needing repairs that will cost tens of thousands and with Ocon’s car due in Montreal in 10 days, Bruno Famin, Alpine’s team principal, publicly admonishes Ocon and vows “consequences.” F1’s governing body, the Federation Internationale de l’Automobile, penalizes Ocon after ruling he initiated the collision.

A week after Monaco, Alpine announces that, in 2025, it will replace one of its drivers. Neither had gotten a podium, and only Ocon had won a point for Alpine. But the team chooses to keep Gasly, meaning Ocon again will be set adrift, the [wanderer] seemingly destined to forever roam.

A FEW MONTHS AGO, Esteban and Laurent went for a long bike ride. The old man still lives near Évreux, operating a shop his son bought him. He still likes to work on cars and make music, albeit as more hobby than job, andprefers to traverse the countryside on an e-bike.

Even against his dad, Esteban can’t help himself.

“I still pull away,” he says.

First, though,during a quieter moment on a recent ride, Laurent told his son a story.

There was once another boy with talent and ambition, the story went, hoping to someday become a professional cyclist. He was as skilled as anyone, but the other kids had access to training and coaches that this boy’sfamily couldn’t afford. So lying in bed one night when he was 16, he succumbed to these economic realities and abandoned his dream, diverting his attention and passion into becoming a mechanic.

So, he went on, when that boy became a man and a husband and a dad, he and his wife agreed to do everything possible to position their son for success. To tell him about possibility, not limitation, and raise him in an environment that would eliminate regret.

“He had never told that story,” Esteban says. “That moment, basically, when he was lying on the bed like that, probably changed my life. They clearly gave more than what they could, and without them I wouldn’t be here.”

Esteban says he occasionally fantasizes about what it would be like to stay in one place: to stop moving, inhale, feel settled. Maybe someday, he says, but not just yet. In July, after Ocon was two months adrift, Kevin Magnussen announced he would be leaving Haas.

Haas, as it happens, is run by Ayao Komatsu, a former F1 engineer who had met and encouraged Esteban when he was just a teenager. A decade later, Komatsu came through. Haas offered Ocon not only a seat for 2025 but acceptance for all the things he is and is not.

“Esteban, he needs an environment that he knows the team is behind him, supporting him, listening to him,” Komatsu says. “No politics. I believe we can provide that.”

But what about the suggestion that Ocon doesn’t play well with others? That you can never take the Évreux fully out of the kid?

“If I was worried about that,” Komatsu says, “I wouldn’t sign him.”

After their bikeride, Laurent and Esteban turned around but kept talking over the wind. Farmland and hills blurred past, same as they did years ago, and a favorite memory of Esteban’s sprung to mind. It was morning, and the 12-year-old awoke in the motor home again with no idea where he was. So he opened the door to see blue sky, the slopes of great mountains, the shoreline of the Mediterranean.

Laurent had parked the van and motor home in Monaco, where yachts are moored and the best drivers live. Esteban remembers the feeling of that moment, the possibility, and his dad stepped out and said there was nothing to stop his son from racing here someday. Whatever came next would be determined by Esteban.

“There was no guarantee,” Esteban recalls his dad saying. But the boy had a chance to prove he belonged. Picturing the momentyears later, he inhaled, kept pedaling and let Laurent catch up as the two of them headed home.

#used a site to remove the paywall #so here is the whole article for those interested! <3 #esteban ocon #f1 #btw the things i put in brackets is bc the author used the g slur and while i get the implication #of este always being on the move in the caravan and now as adult as well #i still think it is a bit in poor taste #also be aware that this author has zero wheel knowledge bc he mentions incidents that were simply not este's fault #and feed into the dumb bad teammate narrative

82 notes · View notes