#I sound like such a boomer saying put in the work

[idkmynameiskat]

You picked the wrong day, and the wrong bitch, dude. Ain’t no way I come back to Tumblr after a few days to see this 😒

Imagine calling someone privileged when you have ZERO clue about what they’ve done to get here. I have never felt the need to “explain myself” to anybody, especially on here, but calling me “privileged” when I am far from it is where I draw the line.

You do know I have been in the same veterinary medicine field since I was 16 years old, right? I’m sure you didn’t, and I’m sure you feel dumb already. Surely you would’ve look into someone’s career before calling them privileged in it, right? I am now almost 30, so I’ll do the math for you, and tell you I have been in the same field for almost 14 yrs. 14 years. That is 14 years of me learning, improving, going to school, getting a degree, passing the boards exam, and becoming a better veterinary technician. I have been working in vet clinics for 13 years, where you’re on your feet for 8-14hrs a day, I have worked at a highly respected university where I rode my bike a few miles to work everyday because I had no car, had to work overnight on call shifts at least once a month on top of my normal shift, where I taught 4th year DVM students to be the veterinarians they are today, and learned more than I ever thought I could from this place. I recently was able to work at a highly respected vet clinic with my own teachers from years ago, learning from them, bettering myself, fighting my mental illness to get through the 11 hour shifts. I applied to multiple different WFH jobs for months, watched videos on how to improve my resume for this type of job, how to improve my interview skills, got denied or no responses from multiple companies (and even the company I work for now), and then went through FIVE interviews within the same company before I got offered this job, which I took a large paycut for simply to be able to WFH.

So….. am I still privileged? Or just someone who simply has worked fucking hard in her field to finally be able to get a VERY rare WFH job?

Grow up, put in the work, and stop trying to make people feel “bad” for having a type of job you want when you literally have no idea what they even did to get there 😂

And if that was you trying to be funny or “edgy” or sarcastic or whatever, should probably have put a disclaimer you didn’t really mean it, bc it’s the internet and no one knows how you wanted it to come off, especially since I’ve never talked to you before.

[tellethia]

cranky because my body is sore from carrying heavy suitcases of equipment up and down stairs on Monday. and i’m gaining weight from a combination of bad metabolism with very uneven meal times + eating out a lot bc starving after work (we don’t get any breaks to eat or snack) and forgetting to bring something to eat in my car on the hour long drive home. [before u attack me this is a Me issue with My Own Personal perception of Myself and it does Not in any way reflect my perception or support of Anyone Else on earth in any way shape or form. leave me alone.]

also today in particular my coworker needed to leave early to see her son in the hospital and she communicated this to the school staff many times and continued to ask if she could leave her stuff there overnight (we’d be photographing there tomorrow too), but they decided to wait until right as she was about to leave to tell her she had to take everything down before she could go, because the preschoolers had to practice their “graduation ceremony” for making it through preschool, which i witnessed and it consisted of ~12 kids walking in a straight line down an area that was already bare beforehand, then leaving.

[haikyu-mp4]

A light in the dark

Fluffy workplace romance working at a funeral home with your crush Matsukawa, for my workplace romance event <3

requested by @haikyuuadict. word count; 706 – gn!reader

How did you end up as Mattsun’s regular work partner, you say? It’s because none of the other workers can stand your superior humour. Or everyone else found both of you annoying and decided to group you for every shift you had. From making inappropriate jokes in meetings to asking for second rounds of wine at church, you two were certified menaces to work with.

Jokes on them, you two love working together. To the extent that you developed an unspoken crush.

When the whole team was invited to a work party in October, hosted in the less morbid parts of the funeral home, you both looked at each other with wicked grins.

It’s October, surely this is a costume party.

So the two of you showed up with sheets over your heads and sunglasses on top to mark your faces, making spooky sounds with your arms raised when you entered.

The majority of your coworkers frowned in near disgust, shaking their heads and looking away. You couldn’t see that well, so you lifted your sheet discreetly and took a sharp breath at the sight.

“Matsukawa,” you whispered, slapping your hand on his arm. “No one else is wearing costumes.”

“What?” he whisper-yelled, copying your move of lifting the sheet, but a little less discreetly. Your eyes travelled down from his face to his formal shirt, unbuttoned at the top for a breather, probably thinking he would wear the costume all night.

“Couldn’t even throw on a tie?” you teased, ears red when his eyes travelled down your pretty blouse and suit pants in return.

“Well, not all ghosts got invited to fancy parties. Didn’t you literally wear that to work last week?” he teased back, and the two of you eventually just let the sheets rest on your shoulders like informal capes.

“Hey, our job requires formal attire. Didn’t know you took such great notice of my outfits, anyway.” You walked over to the buffet table, pulling Matsukawa along by the wrist.

The two of you ended up sitting across from each other on a table in an adjacent room, each with a paper plate filled with food and trying to stifle your laughter.

“You? I can’t imagine you were that terrifying on the court, Matsukawa,” you commented after he told you more about his volleyball career.

“I didn’t need to look scary. They all fell in love with me and refused to hit the ball past me.” Your laugh sounded more like a snort, a sound that made Mattsun smile. The kind of smile that suggested you were the brightest light source in the room.

“Understandable.”

“Hey, why do you still call me Matsukawa?” he questioned as your laughter died down.

“We’re coworkers,” you said, but it didn’t sound as confident as you wanted it to. “You call me by my last name, too.”

“What if we stopped doing that? It’s mostly just the two of us at work, I don’t think our other coworkers could dislike us any more than they already do.”

You pulled the sheet back over your head, trying not to laugh at the joke that brewed in your mind before you even got to say it. “They’re such boomers,” you said, putting a spooky voice effect around the word boo.

Mattsun wishes he had a plan for what he did next, but it surprised him just as much as it surprised you. He leaned forward, tilting his head and pressing his lips against yours over the ghost sheet.

Neither of you moved much, taking in the rough feeling of the cheap sheet before leaning away, only for you to throw the costume off to stare at him.

“Issei,” you whispered. And the smile you gave him next was one he swore could have woken the dead. You leaned forward with one hand between you on the table, the other taking hold of his shirt to pull him closer for another kiss.

This time you got to enjoy it, even letting your tongue have a taste of the poorly brewed coffee that lingered on his lips.

With such a depressing profession, he felt lucky you ended up in the same place, a light to hold his hand through the darkness.

masterlist

[daimyosprincess]

AN HONEST DAY'S WORK

—PAIRING: Contractor!Boba Fett x F!Reader

—SUMMARY: You have a very special project you want your parents’ contractor, Boba Fett, to work on.

—WORD COUNT: 9k

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—TAGS & WARNINGS: second person narration, no use of y/n, explicit sexual content, alternate universe, contractor!Boba, age gap relationship between an older man and younger woman (reader is an adult), reader described as having hair, Boba is a dirty old man and doesn’t mind saying so 😈, likely an excessive use of pet names by yours truly, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up irl), squirting, cum eating, soft Boba 🥹, mentions of a shitty ex

Please let me know if I missed anything!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you @baufraus for slapping a tool belt on that old man, you’re doing the lord’s work 😌 Enjoy besties 💖

Divider by the @saradika

Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist

What a pleasant thing to be woken up by your alarm, you think, stretching out in a luxurious full body stretch under your flowery covers. After a month and a half of what felt like constant construction right outside your window, waking to your buzzing alarm was a welcome relief from the jagged sounds of powertools and hard machinery. 

While you love your parents dearly, their desire to turn the backyard of your childhood home into a suburban oasis has been a less than pleasant experience for you. They certainly deserved to enjoy their retirement after putting you and your siblings through school, but the necessity of such renovations during your last year of your masters was dubious to you at best.

All in all though, you can’t complain. You live in their spacious, boomer-bought house rent-free and enjoy a home-cooked meal every night; you have your mom to dote on you when you get sick and your dad to defrost your car in the cold winter mornings. Even with the long hours of inescapable noise and constant stream of people in and around the house, you’re grateful to be there. And, if you’re completely honest, you’re also extremely grateful for the unexpected front row seat to watch the handsome contractor heading the whole operation. 

Boba Fett hasn’t left your thoughts since the day he arrived at your front door dressed in khaki cargo pants, a form fitting t-shirt, and a tool belt slung low across his hips. His perfect white smile and smoldering dark eyes left you speechless then and have continued to bedevil you ever since, winding your insides (and panties) into knots. The fact that he’s somehow a perfect gentleman to you while simultaneously being the most incorrigible flirt that ever lived hasn’t helped in the least. Between his sparkling winks, dazzling smile, and delicious voice calling you “princess” and “sweetheart,” you haven’t known a moment’s peace—even when the crew finally went home in the evenings.

It’s all enough to drive you totally insane.

Lucky for him, however, it hasn’t. Staring up at the familiar ceiling above you, you smile: today is the day you will finally have your revenge. The contractor had teased and poked at you for weeks and you’d been powerless to do anything more than glower and huff at him due to the constant company of your parents and his crew. But now you have him all to yourself for an entire day with the house to yourself and his workers off—and you have no intention of showing him any mercy.

It’s been nearly two years since you’ve had anything close to what one could consider “action.” Between school and your research fellowship, you haven’t had any time to go to parties or bars or wherever adults are supposed to meet people to do it with. No, for two long years, it has been you and your vibrator against the world. 

Boba Fett is going to fix that.

After a quick shower and a punched-up version of your morning routine, you’re almost ready to set your plan into motion. Flicking through your closet, you decide on your favorite floral sundress with a pair of cute sandals. Now dressed, you smooth your hands down the light fabric, smiling at your reflection in the mirror; you look sweet enough to eat. And lick. And suck. And-

Heat flares in your belly at the thought of Boba’s large, work-rough hands pulling up the hem of your dress to kiss up your soft thighs, his tongue spelling out all the dirty, awful things he wants to do to you in your parents’ own home… his lips wrapping around that desperate, aching spot between your legs and making that burning need finally go away in an explosion of pent-up pleasure.

Fuck. You bite down hard on your lip to stop from hopping back beneath your covers and touching yourself to the rest of that particular fantasy. The only thing that keeps you from sneaking in a quickie with your hand clamped over your mouth so his name doesn’t spill out is the chance to have him do all those things to you for real.

Taking a deep breath, you push away your lewd imaginings and check your phone. You have just enough time to grab your books and position yourself on the deck before Boba arrives to finish whatever project your parents told you about. Railings? Pool pump? Painting? Doesn’t matter. 

With one last check in the mirror, you hurry towards your bedroom door only to stop short a second later. Before you can think better of it, you snatch down your panties and toss them over your shoulder with a grin.

Chancing a glance over the top of your unread book, you spy Boba leaning across a board and marking it with a flat drafting pencil. The suggestive slant of his hips and the sheen of perspiration on his brow made a slew of very suggestive images flood your brain. Was it possible to be attracted to the way someone clenches their jaw?

Boba had to be showing off. There’s simply no explanation for why he needed to carry that much lumber on his shoulder or measure that many things high enough for his gray t-shirt to ride up and reveal a tempting peek at the dark trail of hair leading into his jeans. And since when did there need to be so much drilling? He is sorely beating you at your own game, and that simply would not do—not when you need him so bad you’re scheming and panty-less in your parents’ backyard. 

“See something you like, princess?”

Kark. Shaking your head, you blink your eyes like you’ve been caught deep into your reading. “Oh, sorry, did you say something?”

He straightens, arching a brow as he dusts himself off. As you follow his hands across his strong torso and thighs you realize too late that your eyes have wandered to his crotch. Smirking, Boba runs a palm over his face to wipe away the sweat there. “Never mind that,” he chuckles, “Could I interrupt your ‘study session’ for something to drink?”

The audacity of this man! Scoffing at your (admittedly weak) attempt at school work like he hasn’t been putting on a show himself for the past hour and a half.

You’re not going to let yourself be beat at your own game. Plastering on a big smile, you answer in a honey-sweet voice. “Actually, my mom made some sandwiches and lemonade since you had to come by on your day off. Why don’t you freshen up and take a seat over here,” you motion to the couch across from you, “and I’ll be out with lunch in a couple minutes.” 

Boba watches with an amused smile as you trot past him into the cool of the house, taking your unspoken invitation to stare at your ass as you do so. When you re-emerge a few minutes later with the promised food and drink, he’s spread out over the couch with a fresh shirt on and looking every bit as regal as a king on a throne. You suppose it’s only fitting that he calls you his princess when he thanks you for bringing out the meal.

Picking up a sandwich, Boba nods to your stack of readings on the side table. “Lot of books you got there, princess. What are you in school for?”

You’re ready to give him some giggly, flippant reply but the genuine look of interest on his face stops you. For a stricken second you’re tongue tied by the thought of your parents’ hot contractor being genuinely interested in you as a person. Shimmering, unbidden fantasies float through your mind of Boba pulling out your chair for you on a date, the two of you sitting around a bonfire with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, him kissing the top of your head as he leaves for work in the morning. The images curl through the heat of your desire for him, mixing with the safe warmth and happiness he brings you.

Maybe…

You quickly scramble to answer before your imagination can run rampant and put dangerous thoughts of something more with him into your head. 

“Speech-language pathology and therapy. Originally I was doing special education but then I really enjoyed my communicative disorders class, so my professor helped me apply to an internship program that convinced me to change my concentration. I even got into the fellowship program in the speech lab at St. Mary’s this semester and-” 

You look up to see Boba staring at you so fondly that it makes your chest ache and your words evaporate into flushed smoke. “Oh, u-um, sorry, you probably didn’t want to hear all that… basically, I’m studying ways to help people speak easier.” You take a long sip of lemonade to avoid saying anything else, mentally kicking yourself to get it together. You have a plan and you need to stick to it, no matter how tingly and fuzzy he makes your heart feel.

The couch creaks as Boba shifts forward to rest his forearms on his knees so he can meet your downcast eyes. “Hey… never apologize for your passion. Not many people have what you have, or the drive to go after it. That’s something to be proud of, sweetheart.”

That same warm, shimmery feeling from before returns and you smile at him. “Thanks,” you murmur, wondering if it’s normal for his tenderness to make you want to get in his pants even more. You don’t care either way. Clearing your throat, you roll back your shoulders and lean back against the plump cushions. “Well I don’t want to keep you if you’ve got any more, uh, “measuring” to do.” You wiggle your eyebrows at him and he winks.

“Right.” He nods to his cleared plate. “Thanks for lunch.”

“Of course,” you assure him, “gotta make sure you keep your strength up for any… activities you might get up to.”

Boba laughs rich and deep as he pushes up from the couch. “You really are too good to me, princess.”

If only he knew just how good I can be.

The following hour passes in pleasant, if sexually charged, silence as both of you vie to make the other crack first. When he lifts the bottom of his shirt up to wipe his face, revealing the thick wall of muscle and softer belly underneath, you finally decide enough is enough. If he’s playing dirty, you will too.

Reaching your arms above your head, you stretch and let out a suggestive groan that has Boba’s head snapping towards you. Of course, you pretend you don’t notice and continue your stretch, leisurely easing out your legs to their full length. With his eyes boring into you, you purposefully slide your knees up the couch cushions so the hem of your flowy dress rides dangerously high up your thighs. You can physically feel the tables turning in your favor, upper hand slipping from him to you in this one powerful, heady moment.

Tilting your head back to meet his burning gaze, you savor the feeling, watching through your lashes as his breath stutters in his chest. Then, taking your lip between your teeth, you slowly open your thighs, one, then the other, to reveal the glistening folds hidden between them.

For a brief second, it seems like he’s going to snap the board in his hands with the way his muscles strain against his shirt. When you moan a quiet little sound as you stretch again, he slams the wood down and stalks over you with his fists clenching.

Blinking up at him with siren eyes, you give him a sultry smile. “See something you like, handsome?” you mimic, reaching out to drag your fingers down his arm. 

He snatches up your hand in a tight grip. “Careful, princess,” Boba warns in a low, scraped voice. “Think very carefully about-”

Before you can chicken out, you flip the front of your dress above your waist with your free hand. “About this?” 

Boba sucks in a sharp breath and stares for a long second, the muscles in his jaw working in tight feathers before he yanks your dress back down over your legs. “Sweetheart, I’m serious,” he shuts his eyes and exhales heavily. “Think about what you’re offering.”

As if you haven’t thought about this very thing for weeks on end, writhing and panting to the thought of Boba Fett doing every dirty thing to you that you could come up with. No, if anything, you need to stop thinking and start feeling everything your wicked thoughts had conjured up about this man.

“Boba, please,” you whine, the feel of his hand on your skin making your voice desperate, “I’m sure, I’m so, so sure I swear.” His grip tightens and you can sense he’s waiting to hear for something more concrete. “I’ve thought about you every day, every night… I want you, Boba. Please.”

“Fuck, sweetheart…” His skin burns against yours and he curses again, dropping your wrist and coming to his knees in front of you. “Tell me then,” he grunts, bracing himself between your thighs, “tell me exactly what you want me to do to you.” 

Pure, molten want burns in his eyes, igniting the desperate tinder of your desire. What didn’t you want him to do? You’ve dreamed about him taking you every possible way in every possible place, groaning your name and screwing you senseless. What could you say when you want everything he’ll give you? 

Luckily, your tongue has the answer your brain does not. “Kiss me,” you gasp, “Please kriffing kiss me.” 

And like he’d been waiting his entire life to hear you say those very words, he’s on you, pushing you back against the pillows and crashing his perfect lips against yours in a scorching fury. Your body welcomes his intensity, instinctually shaping itself around his strong hips and wide shoulders as you claw at him to get closer. Fuck, you’re already greedy for him, your skin thirsting for his and your pussy soaking your dress beneath it.

“W-wait,” you gasp, hating the way he immediately recoils even as you appreciate his caution. You don’t want to give Boba any reason to stop but you don’t want to embarrass yourself in the heat of things either. “I’ve never, um, well… I’ve never had… never with someone else.” You wince; your words sound even worse than they did tripping through your head. Anxiety pricks your heated skin—you want to bury yourself into his shirt and hide there forever.

Why did you bring this up? You should’ve just gone with it like before.

When he speaks, Boba’s voice is the softest it’s ever been. “Princess, baby, look at me.” He rolls the both of you up to a sitting position, giving you just enough space to pull away if you needed to while still being close. Gently taking one of your clenched fists into his large hand, he smooths your fingers out, rubbing soothing circles into your palm with his thumb. 

You sneak a peek at him. Gone is the hot fervor of passion that previously colored his features; now he’s a softer shade that beckons you into his comfort. 

“There she is,” he smiles, rewarding you with his own when you force your face up to his. The urgent tear of worry in your chest eases and you melt into his side. “Now, how about you tell me what’s bothering you, hmm?” 

“Really, it’s nothing,” you try, knowing it won’t work as soon as you say it. All you want to do is go back to him kissing the air out of your lungs and to have his fingers brushing over your soaked slit, but Boba isn’t going to let you off the hook. 

Damn him and his honorable ways.

Boba sighs and presses a kiss to your forehead. “Nice try, sweetheart.” He lays his cheek on top of your head and wraps an arm around your shoulders, giving you a comforting squeeze. “Listen, if all this is happening too fast, if you want to stop here, we can. I won’t be mad, baby. Your first time should be with someone special, and if that’s not me then that’s alright.”

First time? Realization dawns on you a second later and you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up from your belly. Giggling, you arch up and give the confused man next to you a quick peck on the lips. “Thank you, Boba, really. But that’s not what I meant.” A new kind of nervousness pools in your gut now, one that swirls with hot anticipation rather than cold dread. 

Grabbing his free hand for support, you look into the warm depth of his eyes as his fingers curl around yours. “What I was trying to say was that… well, that no one else has ever made me come before. I’ve made myself come plenty of times but,” yikes, did you have to say that?, “I’ve only been with one other guy and he never made me… I mean, I got close one time but he never actually made me finish.”

The concerned look on Boba’s face melts into a glorious laugh that rumbles your chest. Before you know it, you’re both laughing and kissing in between delighted gasps for air. A bright sense of joy permeates every cell in your body and you tuck it safely inside your heart. If this was your first time, you know that you’d want it to be with him. Maybe you’ll pretend this is your first time.

“Oh, sweetheart, is that what you’re worried about?” he finally sighs, his warm breath tickling your neck. You nod against him.

In one quick motion, Boba scoops you up into his lap, wrapping his arms around you to grab your ass through your dress. “Are you worried that I won’t be able to make you scream and shake when I lick and stroke your perfect little pussy? Hmm?” He groans into your ear when you shiver against him. “Babygirl, don’t you worry one bit. I’m gonna take care of you, I’m gonna make you feel so amazing you’re not going to be able to sit out here ever again without remembering how I made you cry with how good it feels.”

This time, you’re the one who slams your lips against his, stealing whatever dark, sweet words he had left from his tongue. You mewl into his open mouth as he rocks your bare core over the thick denim straining over his erection. The seam of his jeans catches your clit perfectly and you would have cried out loud enough for the neighbors three houses down to hear if Boba hadn’t held your face against his.

“Easy there, beautiful,” Boba chuckles, “we don’t need everyone knowing what we’re up to, not till we’re done anyways, yeah?” You hum in agreement and bury your face into his shoulder, inhaling his clean smell and the surprisingly attractive scent of a day’s work clinging to his skin. “Now, tell me about this boy before, did he make you feel good? Make you want to flash your bare cunt to him and beg him to take you where anyone could walk around and see?”

Your crappy college boyfriend never made you want anything remotely like what Boba’s saying. The only thing he ever made you want was for him to hurry up so you could go in the bathroom and finish yourself off. He had been nice enough, but, nice enough didn’t make your eyes cross and pussy wet. “He never, shit, he never…” you gasp as Boba grinds you harder against himself, “I had to beg him to eat me out and even then he complained about it every time.”

“Complained? Kark, princess, tasting you is all I’ve been able to think about for a month. In fact,” Boba grins wickedly, “I’d like to solve that problem right now, with your permission, of course.” His tongue flicks out to wet his lips like he’s preparing to enjoy the best meal of his life.

You can’t give him your permission fast enough.

Reaching behind his back, Boba tosses one of the decorative pillows from the couch onto the deck and slides down to kneel on it in front of you. “Why don’t you hand me another one of those,” he flashes you a smile and a wink, “My knees aren’t what they used to be.” 

“They didn’t seem to be a problem when you were putting on a show for me earlier,” you snark back, rolling your eyes for extra effect. “I hardly got any reading done with your whole construction worker performance going on.”

Boba tosses his head back and laughs a deep belly laugh that makes you glow for being its source. Grabbing your hips, he yanks you to the edge of the couch, making you squeal. “Now I think we both know you never had any intention of studying when you planted your cute little ass on this couch.” He leans in, inching your dress up so he can brush his lips over the ticklish skin just above your knees.

“Wh-What are you talking about?” Your lashes flutter shut and you dig your nails into the cushions to keep your composure as Boba begins to pepper kisses up your thighs while his hands massaged what his mouth wasn’t on. “I h-have all my stuff out here, see?” 

Of course, your handsome contractor is exactly right but you’re not going to admit that.

Licking a stripe mere centimeters from where you want him most, Boba huffs a laugh into your damp skin. “All props, sweetheart. Your dress and flirty little smile gave it all away.” His hands travel to the back of your hips where he spreads them wide so you arch against him, bringing the top of your pelvic bone right to his mouth. “Though really, the fact you didn’t turn a single page the entire time you were out here would have clued me in regardless.”

Boba’s words feel like they’re coming through a wall of thick molasses, heavy and sweet as they are to your ears. All you can focus on is the heat of his breath whispering across the wetness he caused and how his lips feel ghosting against your soft flesh as he speaks. Kark, how are you supposed to think with him like this, kneeling for the very opportunity to put his mouth where you’ve dreamed it would be so many times? All that time trembling, aching, yearning for him and he was finally yours—at least for now—and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.

You bunch up the material of your dress in a fist and force your hazy eyes to focus on him. “Either way, it got me what I truly wanted,” you smile affectionately, “You.” 

An emotion flashes across Boba’s sun-bronzed face so quickly it feels like a secret to have seen it, something deep and tender, petal-soft and just as vulnerable. Something words couldn’t quite express and certainly not something he wanted to be seen. It made him feel so frighteningly human that you want to bury him in your chest and murmur all lovely things he makes you feel until he feels safe enough to let that emotion out of its closely guarded cage.

A second later, however, his usual cocksure expression is back in place. “Aw, you’re sweet to flatter an old man. Now how about you sit up on those knees so I can taste every inch of your pretty pussy?”

You couldn’t have refused his request even if it wasn’t the hottest thing you ever heard, not with the way you’re so agonizingly ready that you’re literally dripping with arousal. “Boba, please. Need your-ooohh!” A searing shock of pleasure ricochets up your spine as his tongue swipes through the web of slick pooled in your slit. 

Your intense reaction spurs Boba on and he immediately dives into your core, jamming his face between your legs and groaning loudly as he inhales your scent. “Sweet as fucking cherry pie, baby. Shit, come here,” he growls, yanking you down so nearly your full weight is on his face. “I want you down my damn throat, you’re so delicious. Better than anything I’ve ever had.”

You wish you could open your scrunched eyes to see the expression that matches his blissed out tone, but it’s impossible with the way his tongue is flicking through folds as he sucks up every drop of your slick like he needs it to live. Heat pumps through your veins, lighting you up until you’re sure you could replace the sun. In less than thirty seconds, Boba has made you feel more beautiful, more cherished than you ever felt in your entire life.

As your knees begin to buckle from the luscious intensity of his mouth, Boba tosses your right leg over his shoulder, balancing you across his face and giving him the perfect opportunity to flatten his tongue against your clit. You have to slap a hand across your mouth to keep from screaming when he starts a pace that has you riding his face with fervent abandon, your hand dropping your dress to clutch at the back of his skull for more pressure.

Boba moans and scrapes his teeth over your clit, making you squeal and jolt at the sharp sensation. “Fucking hell, girl, you really are dirty, aren’t you? I never should have waited to get my mouth on you. Lay down for me, I wanna feel that tight cunt squeezing my fingers while you make a mess on my face.”

As much as you don’t want to part with his mouth, the temptation to feel him stretching you out on his thick fingers, stroking all the places your own can’t reach, is too great to resist. Scrambling back onto the couch, you tuck yourself into the corner to give him the maximum amount of access to your trembling body. 

Boba grins up at you, his face up to his eyes shiny with your slick. “Howya feeling, sweetheart? Ready for me to make you see stars?”

In response, you just toss the fabric of your dress over your shoulder and roll your hips forward.

Boba was a man of his word, bringing you to the edge of orgasm once with mouth and hands then once more with his cock as took you from behind—you’re in actual tears with how good every single one of his movements feel. Every drag of his cock is pure pleasure, every touch of his hands delicious delight, and every kiss is incandescent bliss. You’re never going to be the same again.

“Oh, my filthy little girl,” he taunts, grabbing a handful of your tits as he watches you through heavy-lidded eyes, “what would your parents think, hmm? What would they do if they knew you let an old man bend you over the table they’ll eat off of? That you’re bouncing on his dick and begging him for more on their couch?”

“Oh, fuck! Boba!” A wave of liquid arousal floods your core, make the sound of him fucking into you even wetter. 

“Yeah? You like it when I talk like that, sweetheart? You like knowing that I’m going to own every part of you then send you back to them with a smile on my face and your cum leaking down my cock?”

Every single one of his sex-stained words sear into your skin, going straight to your throbbing clit. Every beat of your pounding heart brings you closer and closer to the bright brink of orgasm, every roll of his hips thrusting his length into that perfect spot inside you. Fuck he’s going to make me come if he keeps… fuck!

“Kark, baby, I can feel you squeezing me with that perfect tight cunt. Shit, you’re so-”

You can’t take it anymore. Falling forward onto his heaving chest, you dig your nails into the thick muscle there and start grinding your aching clit against him like some feral animal chasing their heat. 

Faster, harder, faster, fuck! Just like that, juuuust like that and you’ll feel that perfect fucking release, just a little more and…

Boba stills his bucking hips and halts your rocking.

You howl, clawing at his unmoving body. “No, please!” you sob, “I’m so close, please don’t stop now!”

Boba shushes you with the press of his mouth. “Shh, you’ll get what you want, baby, I promise you. But if I'm gonna be the first man to make you come, I’m gonna make it much more memorable than that was going to be.”

The thought of anything more than the building pleasure thrashing in core was unimaginable. How on earth could it be better than him balls deep inside you hitting your g-spot like it’s what he was made for? Never in your wildest dreams had you felt this good, even when you had hours alone to tease yourself before riding out the wave of your orgasm. If there was anything greater than this pleasure you’re not sure you would survive it—not with your mind intact, anyways.

Sliding his hands under your slicked thighs, Boba swings his legs off the couch and stands with a huff, keeping himself sheathed inside you. You grind into the fabric of his shirt until gives your ass a firm swat and you a stern warning to behave, which you’re too desperate to test. He walks the pair of you over to the large, oak table and plops you on top of it. The rich grain is supple and smooth on your bare skin, and Boba eases your back flat against it as he kisses and gropes across your body.

“Alright, princess,” he pulls away slightly to rest his damp forehead on yours, “I need you to do something for me, okay?”

Brushing your hands down his neck and shoulders, you’d promise him anything he asked. “O-okay, Boba.”

He peppers a few kisses on your tear-stained cheeks before continuing, letting his hips rut into you at an agonizingly slow pace. “When I tell you to, I want you to release all your muscles and completely let go. Don’t hold anything in, alright, babygirl?”

You’re not sure where he’s leading you but you have complete faith in the fact that it’s going to be mind blowing. You give him your affirmation and he presses a small kiss on your lips.

“Good. Now start playing with those perfect fucking tits, give me a good show.” 

You’re in such a hurry to comply that you get frustrated by the straps of your dress and bra, to which Boba chuckles and makes quick work of them, dragging the material down until your chest was bared for his mouth to claim. He curses when you press the soft flesh of your breasts together, moaning when your fingers brush over your pert nipples. For a minute he just watches you revel in the pleasure of your own hands, fucking yourself shallowly on him as you pluck and caress the sensitive skin beneath your fingers. 

Boba is a man entranced, his dark eyes glassy with want. Under his reverential gaze, you feel so desired, so utterly divine, like you’re his own personal goddess—he stares down at you as your most pious devotee who longs for nothing more than to feel the blessing of your body and the joy of your bliss.

“Boba…” you whisper duskily. He leans into your outstretched hand and you pull him into your arms with a crushing kiss.

As if he can read exactly what you need, he hikes your leg over his hip and begins a pace of snapping thrusts that has your entire body bouncing with their bruising force. “Pretty baby, precious girl, I’m going to make you feel so fucking good,” he pants into your neck, pressing his lips there to taste the salt of your skin, “Been dying to take care of you like this, sweetheart. Watching you work so hard, leaving early and coming back late… you’re such a good little girl, aren’t you?”

With the way he’s hitting every single sweet spot that makes you feel like a woman, all you can manage is a breathy affirmative and a few warbling words. “Y-yes, Boba, w-wanted you s-so bad. Thought-thought about you every n-night. Ohhhh fuck!”

 Boba lifts your hips and guides your legs to lock around him, giving him a mind-shattering angle as he drives into your wet heat. After swallowing down your cries of pleasure with a searing kiss, he wraps his large hand over your mouth to muffle your moans as he continues. 

“So loud, aren’t you, princess? No, I like that, I like hearing how good I make you feel, like knowing I’m the only one who has you making these sweet fucking sounds.” Leaning back, he trails his free hand up your calf, letting it follow the curve of your thigh and giving your ass a smack that makes your eyes roll back. “Because I’m the only one who makes you feel like this, the only one who can make this perfect pussy soak and come. You just needed a real man to give you what you needed, huh, sweetheart? Come on, answer me and I’ll make you scream.”

Every nerve in your body is lighting up, every neuron in your brain firing with blinding pleasure. The voice that claws its way from your throat is wrecked and ragged, gasping and begging for more, more, more. The heat and pressure building in your core is volcanic, and you absolutely need it to burn you alive. Only then could you shed the weight of everything that came before and become the beautiful thing Boba is crafting with every sinful word and scalding caress.

“That’s it, just like that, pretty baby,” Boba grunts in praise when you start chasing his thrusts with your own. “Take what you need, what you deserve. Use my cock… I’m all yours, all fucking yours, princess.”

You can’t see him behind your scrunched eyelids, but you can hear the sincerity laced through his words like a shining vein of shimmering gold. The images of him wrapping his arm around you at campfire, settling you into your chair on a date come flashing back, play across your mind with such visceral clarity you could almost reach out and touch them. There was so much warmth to this man, so much untapped softness and care underneath his rough-hewn exterior that you want so karking bad you can taste it hot on your tongue. You want him loving you, fucking you, caring for you every single day from now until forever. Most urgently, however, you want him to mark your very soul with his in an orgasm so intense you leave your body.

“B-boba, Boba, please! I’m so close, I-I want you so bad! Please!” you beg between his fingers over your mouth as your hands paw at his sweat-slicked skin. 

“I got you, babygirl, I got you. Come here.” Boba crushes his mouth against yours, licking your taste onto his tongue with a moan. When he finally breaks your kiss, his cheeks are flushed with carnal color and his eyes are glazed with devoted fervor. “Remember what I said before, sweetheart? About letting go, releasing all your muscles?” 

You bob your head, biting into your lip to keep your focus on his face. 

“Good. I’m going to count down from ten then I want you to do just that, okay? Can you do that for me? Let me hear you say you understand.”

As if you wouldn’t kiss the very ground he walks on with how good he’s making you feel. “I-I understand.”

He beams at you, a diamond drop of sweat rolling down his brow. “That’s my good girl. Now stuff your dress in your mouth because I’m going to make you scream loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear.”

Burning ecstasy explodes inside you, snapping your muscles taunt and clamping down on the thick length rocking into you. How can you possibly feel this good, this fucking amazing and you’re not even coming yet? You don’t even remember where you are at this point, only that Boba’s on top of you and his dick’s inside you.

Gagged and bleary-eyed with tears, you arch into his touch when his calloused fingertips find your pulsing clit.

“Ten. Nine. Eight.” Boba’s fingers slide back and forth across your sopping folds with delicious speed, the pressure of his hand singing the glorious feeling into your bones.

“Seven. Six. Five.” His angle changes just slightly so his thrusts aim up towards your belly. Tears run down your temples into your hair and you know you have to be screaming around your spit-soaked dress.

“Four… three…” 

Stars begin to explode in cataclysmic bursts of light as everything in your body tightens into a ball of pure energy. If you could think beyond the primal sensation you would worry that you might literally die with how hard your heart is thundering in your chest.

Boba presses a hand on your lower tummy and everything snaps into stark relief: you can feel every cell in your body, every atom of being as all the light inside you floods to core. 

“Two…” His voice is sabled sin, luscious smoke dripping onto your burning skin in hot, fat drops. “One. Let go, baby, let go of everything.” 

His thrusts, his fingers, his hand pressing into you, everything melts into one caldecent elixir that pours directly into your deepest parts and washes you down to your most tender parts. Then, just when you thought you couldn’t feel anything more, the final dam inside you breaks. Liquid heat washes through you, roaring through your body with all the force of every desire you’ve ever had being met in one singular, perfect moment.

 The waves crashing into you feel so real that it feels like you're soaking through your skin into a puddle of your own arousal.

“Oh, fuuuuck, princess, that’s it…” Boba’s voice strains through clenched teeth and torrid control, the last shreds clinging just barely to his skin. “Fuck yes, you’re f-fucking soaking me, I can’t-shit-I c-can’t… baby, princess, beautiful girl…” 

Your whole world is so soft and warm and full of him that you can’t think a mortal thought, but you know that you have to see the look on his face as he pants and karking whines as his thrusts dissolve into sloppy rutting. With the last of your remaining strength, you peel your wet lashes apart as you shakily tilt your head up. Everything is blurry and rose-hued, and… wet? You try to blink away the clouds in your vision but the bright sheen coating everything below your waist doesn’t disappear.

Seeing your confusion, Boba breaks out into a devilish grin that turns up his flushed cheeks. “See all this, s-sweetheart? See how much a real man c-can make you come?” he puffs out, breaking your gaze to drop his chin to chest. His brows knit together in concentration as if he’s hanging on the very last sliver of restraint. 

You can only watch in downey bliss as he scrapes his hand down your belly to swipe his fingers through the wet rivulets trailing down your thighs, transfixed as he brings them dripping to his swollen lips. When the first finger disappears into his mouth, his eyes roll back and his dick throbs inside your ruined pussy. Realization slams into you watching him lap your juice from his palm like sweet nectar, his arms and shirt damply glinting in the sunlight.

I did that, I made him… holy fucking shit did I-

“Fucking hell, babygirl, I want you to squirt all over me every single kriffing day until I die,” Boba hisses, his wrecked rasp one second away from cracking. “Look like a fucking queen, my queen, lying there s-soaked and gorgeous- aaaahh!”

The revelation that you came so hard on his thick, perfect cock that you blacked out a little and squirted to the point Boba was completely soaked, all on your parents’ dining table makes you sob in pleasure and bare down on him with another blinding orgasm. Your fingernails scrape across the wood grain as you flail mindlessly, your back arching up as your head slams back against the table. This climax isn’t as powerful as the first but it still slings you out into the stars, spinning and tumbling through an aurora of colors and light. 

The sudden emptiness of your cunt is replaced by hot ribbons slicing across your belly, pulling you out of the stars and back into your body. You’ve never had anyone come on you before—you had always insisted on a condom with your ex—and it feels impossibly erotic, almost degrading but in the best possible way; not like Boba didn’t care enough about you not to do it but that he was so out of his usually controlled mind with pleasure that he couldn’t help it. Pleasure that you brought him, pleasure he found in you.

You’re reaching for him, desperate to feel his skin, to know that all of this was real, that he wasn’t going to fade away into a dream. Boba leans forward catching himself on the edge of the table while he sucks in breath after shaky breath. He looks so beautiful fucked-out and soft, his usual sharp edges sanded down into a smooth sea glass that reveals a glimpse of his soul.

Eventually he stills and peeks up at you, watching you with adoring brown eyes. He whispers your name, warm and gentle, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. He straightens up and reaches back to pull his t-shirt over his head to mop up your stomach and the liquid pooled between your thighs. His shoulders work in glorious exertion, and you watch in awe at the way his skin ripples with his silent strength. 

Finished, he tucks the garment under his arm and eases your dress from your mouth and rearranges it back over your body, murmuring to wait right there. As if you would want to be anywhere other than here with him.

Boba isn’t gone for long, reappearing at your side with a flannel and a water bottle. He’s wearing a white tank top that fits snugly over his broad chest in such a way that it makes you consider seducing him for another around—if you only had the energy to do so. He coos over you, softly instructing you to lift your arms so he can remove your ruined dress. You happily float along, allowing him to undress you and curl you against his chest on the couch with his flannel laid over you for comfort. It smells of him, rich and warm, and he presses the water bottle to your lips. After several greedy gulps, you pull back and tuck your face into his neck, humming with satisfaction.

The two of you doze for a lazy hour, wrapped up in each other while the afternoon breeze pleasantly tinkles the windchimes on the deck.

Eventually, though, you have to break to clean and reclothe yourself. When you amble back outside, Boba has finished wiping down the table with cleaner and a rag from his truck.

“There she is,” he grins, “how’s my pretty princess feeling?”

“Amazing… a little wobbly,” you add truthfully. You’re not sure if your bones will ever fully resolidify after this. Boba opens his arm and you press yourself against him, relishing his touch while you still have it. You don’t want to think about him leaving. “What about you?”

It’s like he can sense your unease and he pulls you closer, placing a kiss into your hair. “Never been better, you were… kriff, you were amazing, baby. Filthy, perfect, wet… and soft, so so soft,” he groans, wrapping his arms around your waist, “like you were made just for me.” 

He leans in to kiss you but stops when he sees the sullen look on your face. Cocking a brow, he lifts up your chin on two fingers. “What’s that look for?”

You can’t look at him. This is the part where he says goodbye and things go back to normal, where you part ways and pretend like this never happened. He’d be back day after day to finish the backyard, a sore reminder of what you desperately want but will never have. Why couldn’t you just let this be a fun fuck and let it go? Why did your heart have to ache for his?

“I-” you swallow the warble in your voice. “I, um… I don’t want to hold you up if you have another job or something after this.” You’re a big girl, you don’t need him to stay and prolong the inevitable—better to rip it off quick like a band-aid. You toss your head towards the table. “Thanks for cleaning up.”

Boba studies you silently, a frown shadowing his handsome features. Every second that passes with you in his arms has your resolve weakening more and more; too much longer and you’ll shatter against his chest.

“I don’t have anything after this…” He pauses, mulling over his words for a tense moment before continuing. “Is something wrong? Did I hurt you? Please, sweetheart, talk to me, if there’s anything I can do to-”

“No!” You break free from his embrace, hot tears of frustration beading behind your eyes. The last thing you want to do is hurt him but the longer he stays the more it’s going to tear you apart later. Boba steps back, giving you space and your heart twinges in your chest. “You’ve done nothing wrong, really. It’s just…” 

Blowing out a quivering sigh, you force yourself to look him in the eye—he at least deserves that. “It’s just that I don’t like this part, especially with how amazing and wonderful you were. You are. I think it’s just better if we don’t draw this out.” Once again, your eyes drop with the weight of the fast-approaching future.

The following silence is almost unbearably thick, the air congealing to a sodden, soupy haze in your lungs. How could this hurt this much already?

Boba rubs his fingers over his lips thoughtfully, his tan forehead creasing. “Princess… it’s better if we don’t draw ‘what’ out?”

Maker, he is really going to make you say it. No, it wasn’t enough to have made you come so hard you literally soaked the both of you, you have to admit you’re falling for a man twice your age that you’ve known for a month, too. It would be easier to make yourself hate him for that but you can’t bring yourself to confess and do that in the same breath. 

Folding your arms over your chest, you force your focus back on his face. “Boba, I… I know this was just for fun and I’m sorry for making this weird but it would be easier for me if we didn’t pretend this isn’t a goodbye. Like I feel nothing for you. Like you won’t show up here tomorrow like you didn’t fuck me right into my soul in my parents’ backyard.” You squeeze your eyes shut, your fingers curling into tight fists. “Please, just go.”

You can hear Boba shift and you crack open an eye to see him looking at you with longing deep enough to drown in. Finally, he says your name in a voice streaked with a vulnerable emotion you’d never seen him display. “Babygirl, I want you to listen to me, okay? I don’t know how that boy treated you before, but this was never a one time thing to me. I’m far too old to lay down with a woman I don’t intend on having by my side the next day, and all the days after that.” 

Hope seizes your chest as his words settle into you. 

Slowly he moves in front of you, taking your hands in his and gently rubbing them loose like he did before. “Now I’m no poet, sweetheart, I’m just a simple man making his way through life. I can’t make this sound as beautiful as you deserve, but I need you to know that I would never ever do anything to hurt you. I know it’s only been a month but kark, baby, I want you. I want to wake up to you in the mornings and hear your voice when I call you at lunch. I want to bring you tea while you study and make sure you don’t work yourself too hard. Most of all, though, my beautiful girl, I want you to be mine… because I’m already yours.”

The entire world shifts beneath your feet and you collapse into Boba’s waiting arms. When you bury your face into his shoulder, you pinch your thigh to make sure this was all still real. “D-do you,” your voice shakes, your joy threatening to overwhelm you, “do you really mean it?”

He kisses the top of your head and gingerly tilts your face up, caressing the swell of your cheek. “I’ve never been more serious, princess,” he smiles tenderly, “I want to make you mine. If you’ll have me, of course.”

You can’t help the choked laugh that burst from your chest. Pulling him closer, you meet his lips and throw everything you want to say into your kiss, sealing your sentiment into him with the press of your mouth. As much as you want to get lost in his sweet embrace, though, you break to give him an actual answer. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” you giggle breathlessly into him between more kisses. “In fact, I want you to make me yours over and over and over…”

But before you can get too cheeky, he swats your ass with a smirk. “Dirty girl, aren’t you? I’m old enough to be your father, you know.” 

“Ah, well, the younger ones never did it for me anyways. I’ve always wanted a man with some… experience in getting me wet.” You bite your lip playfully and wiggle your brows at him. Now that the oppressive cloud of doubt has lifted from your mind, you feel positively giddy.

Boba smacks your ass again making you squeal in surprised delight. “Now I want you to go upstairs, pick up that cute little dress you ruined, and bring it to me.”

Your breath catches at his dark, delicious tone and you blink up at him, confused—and definitely turned on. “W-Why?”

Boba spins you around to face the house then wraps an arm around your middle to pull you back against his rising chest. “Because, princess,” he murmurs sinfully into your ear, nipping at the tender spot behind it, “I want something to remember you by tonight. Wanna smell that sweet little cunt while I tug on my cock and think about you coming in my mouth. And on my cock. And all over me.”

His salacious request goes straight to your still-swollen clit and you scurry to your room before you can lose your nerve. When you return, you find him leaning against the door frame, arms crossed and expression smug at your obedience. Where your desire to sass him might have been at such pompousness, however, is filled with warm bashfulness as you shuffle over to him. He stretches out the hand that had, until very recently, buried between your legs. Biting your lip, you suddenly can’t bring yourself to look at him as your cheeks burn with aroused embarrassment. 

“Ah ah ah, let me see those pretty eyes, sweetheart,” he tuts. “Let me see that sweet look on your face when you give me the dress I made you squirt all over.”

Heat scalds through you, your heart pumping hot desire into your veins as you drag your eyes to meet his dark ones. Boba takes the dress almost reverently from your hand then brings it up to face and inhales deeply, his eyelids fluttering shut. He groans into the material, desire scraping the sound raw. 

Fuck how are supposed to keep your hands off him long enough to get anything done ever again?

Before you have time to jump his bones, however, Boba’s phone rings loudly, making you jump. He huffs in annoyance and unhooks his phone from his toolbelt. “Sorry, princess, gotta take this.” 

He answers the call, but opens up his arm so you can lean against him. As he talks, his fingers trail up and down your hip, tracing absent-minded patterns that make you glow with affection. The way his body responds to yours, his subconscious little touches, they all confirm his declaration—you’re so happy you might float away if not for his hold on you. All your problems seem far away at the moment and you’re content to leave it that way, if just for now.

When Boba hangs up, he pulls you close to plant a kiss on your forehead. “That was another client of mine,” he explains with a sigh.

You pout. “So you have to go?” 

“Unfortunately.” Kissing you again, he swipes his thumbs over your cheeks. “I’m sorry, baby. I wouldn’t go if I didn’t have to, you know I’d much rather be with you. my pretty princess. Can I call you tonight?”

“Of course,” you smile. You enter your number into his phone and send yourself a text. “There. Now you’ll know it’s me.”

Looking down at the collection of suggestive emojis and hearts following your name, Boba lets out a hardy laugh. “As if I could ever forget you, sweetheart.” When he finally extricates himself from your feeble attempt to lock him in your arms, he tucks your dress into his belt with a wink. “For safekeeping,” he assures you.

Once he’s pulled away in his truck, you realize he left his flannel on the couch. Pulling it around your shoulders, you decide that if Boba could still put in an honest day’s work after fucking you senseless, then you could at least get some actual studying in. After all, your night is already booked.

[thecoolerliauditore]

your offhand mention of Scott maybe having autism made me think about his over-editing as a metaphor for masking. no other thoughts I just think it's neat

REAL ‼️‼️

I lovee you meta analysis I loveeee you. Him being autistic would also go very well with how he views romance and relationships e.g. him calling scar grian's husband out of the blue and being Like That about himself and Jimmy (I know that's usually attributed to him being aro but I feel like it works here too).

Lots of the more off the wall stuff he says could easily be seen as him trying to be funny or perform a role (mostly the boomer i hate my wife role) and coming off as rude or horrifying instead -- I think his interactions with Pearl in the first WL episode could be seen as him trying his best to bond with her for example and the sympathy isn't sympathy-ing so he doubles down not realising she isn't enjoying it. After all he did make it very clear in SL he thought they were over their problems and Pearl was like Yeah :) so he might take that as a cue that it's okay to joke about ++ he's still sore about it and not aware of just how passive aggressive he's being.

It's kind of making me sad cus part of me now wants to say that he's comfortable enough with Pearl and that's what's resulting in so many of his more socially not ideal traits popping up when he talks to her specifically but it could also be a consequence of him just not seeing her as a person I'm not ready to give him the benefit of the doubt on this one quite yet.

(not trying to make it sound as though Pearl is in the wrong here that Scott isn't able to read the room it's still Scott's responsibility to not be an ass but "I feel bad about the thing you did but I'm not going to admit that to myself or you" and "you haven't yelled at me to stop expressing my frustrations passive aggressively" is a crazy combo)

That line he said to Cleo at the end of her WL episode 2 about how he "doesn't hold grudges" and is "just petty" is also definitely. Something.

The whole. Scott makes himself less likeable by refusing to show vulnerability and only presenting himself as "good" to me also echoes the whole. Autistic kid who gets told their behaviour is bad so they change themselves to be "good" at every opportunity but "good"comes off instead as off-putting and insincere and they end up at square one with still being unlikeable.

There's also something here about the character's ableism like I don't think it's too controversial of me to say he talks in a very ableist way about both Jimmy (incapable) and Pearl (batshit crazy). Which very much To Me ties into his constant masking.

Sorry this got away from me ummmm

[lowkeyrobin]

heyy! can i request an mcyt preferences where they and the reader go to a pride parade?

hell yeah!!! ; also dont mind that it isn't pride month anymore (I got this July 3rd) but it's fine 🙏 gays will live forever ; but thank you for requesting! hope you enjoy!! ; also dont mind the queer artist plugs 😊

MCYT ; pride parade

includes ; tommyinnit, ranboo, badlinu, & maxggs

warnings ; language

masterlist

TOMMYINNIT

you pretend he's your bodyguard and he plays into the bit

then three seconds later he's giving a sad queer a hug cause they aren't accepted at home

literally just holding all your stuff for you

and buys literally anything that's funny or millennial core

he gets a sticker that says "sounds gay, sign me up!" and puts it on his reusable water bottle

and also gets a shirt with JFK's face on it with a progress flag behind him ??

"oh my god I love this song!!"

"i like it too, what's it called?"

"how do you not know kehlani..."

tons of new songs on his playlist by queer artists

RANBOO

just another rodeo

you guys find little rainbow gummies at a gas station before you go

munching on those all day

you guys get some new queer media recommendations to look into 🙏🙏

buys you both plushies of your fav animal holding a heart with your respective pride flags on it

"ranboo look, nonbinary lollipops!"

"we've had enough sugar"

"fuck"

"at this point call me a slur" after seeing a cringe millennial core shirt about gay stuff and hamilton

"faggot"

"not literally bruh"

FREDDIE BADLINU

guess who got hooked on kehlani, chappell roan, nina dioz, and kevin attawater? freddie did ❗️

"wtf is playing right now LMAO"

"my man dixon dallas"

"this slaps"

he dyed his hair pink, then wore a purple top and blue jorts

what a coordinated queer

he was there for the vibes (and rainbow sunglasses)

he got a pride flag too 🙏 finally some room decor for that bare ass work room

gets some pins and stickers to support small artists 🫶

was on his phone the whole time checking out new queer artists

literally anyone who was boosting their music got a new follower or at least one of their songs added to his playlist

MAXGGS

just another rodeo lol

got you into some new artists while you were there too

"how are you not cackling?"

"supportive boomers are funny, but appreciate it cause you know you don't have that in your life"

"fuck okay max"

he begggedddd the person in charge of the music to play at least one rina sawayama song

you created a mini dance party with your flags

he also helped you paint your pride flag on your cheeks cause 🫶🫶

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: Housing Threat Update

For those following the HOA saga, I talked them into letting me pay in three installments. We reached funding goals for the "Special Assessment" towards the end of November and I sent them the second installment. Paying them so close to the end of the month apparently messes eveything up. Did they take the monthly housing payment or not? My bank account says they did, but the e recient sounds like they didn't and the "portal" is useless for finding out as it pretends the special assessments aren't happening.

I am waiting for third installment money to transfere and hoping I don't have to come up with another $550 because they insist on the shitty non-standard hard to use portal instead of any other system and are not willing to just tell me how much I actually owe them.

Bonus: Over last weekend they sent an emergancy message saying they could not take the Special assessment installment unless I fixed something on the portal, even though my bank said they had the money. They sent no link or directions to finding the semi-mythical page as unlike a website with a drop down menu, there is no site map or any way to find pages not on the set of tabs they offer. It was not in the tab that seemed most likely, which I checked five or six times including a click through to the next page between trying all the other tabs etc.. The help and site search tab required a seperate log in which required figuring out which password I was usong. It took most of an hour to work out the page I needed was three pages in from the tag I started out with. You had do figure out the maze of text hyperlinks to get there because no drop down menus.

Jesus fuck!

…and this odyssey also lead to the discovery they are planning to auto-withdraw payments owing nom-concentually from everyone's bank accounts on the 17th. O.o Too bad of you don't have it. Now you owe bank overdraw fees and HOA late fees all accrueing daily and they are planning to sue and evict you. This is terrifying, and they are doing this because of an illegal special assessment we would have to have a class action lawsuit to stop, which we very likely need because the emergancy fund was suddenly drained at the same time the Boomers put up an inceredibly broken security theater gate that does not work in all the ways I told them it would not work in writing when they announced it after the indoor waterfalls happened so they knew that expense was coming which they did not consult anyone about and now they are re refusing to release any financial statements about how they spent their funds in 2024, leading us to have very many questions about finances… anyway. Sigh.

I really wish they'd just fucking give me some sort of total that says what I actually fucking owe according to them instead of me having to trust my note and dyscalculia math to work it out and hope they aren't screwing me because of the lack of proof I paid.

[cozymochi]

Mild vent. Idk. I promise it’s not as bad as last nights utter mental shattering.

I don’t know what it is.

Maybe it’s a U.S centric Gen X mindset, or a remnant Boomer one from that “pull up your bootstraps” individualism thing, and no shade to any of the ones who follow me, my only point of reference are my parents and other older adults in my immediately family, and some friends families who tend to echo the same stuff—

Maybe it’s because a lot of my older family members never got to fulfill any particular ambition of theirs and had no choice but to work in fields they hate, maybe they overestimate how things work these days, and maybe it’s just me being an outlier…

But it’s so hard to discuss jobs especially creative ones of any kind when I’m the kind of person who is just… content working beneath somebody else. Or at least within a group professionally.

I don’t really have the ambition to start any individual practice or “be my own boss” so to speak. I don’t even feel comfortable in positions where I’m in charge of myself.

I don’t disagree that if that were to happen I’d probably be competent. I just feel more at ease and in my element when I’m able to just be given a task or assignment in a group setting and just doing it. Then going home and not think about it.

And if I outwardly say that I’m just… fine in that position I’m looked at weird and getting lectured about it. It’s not like I don’t get it… and I’m sure they just want better out of me or have a positive outlook that I could “be my own boss” in a hypothetical and have my own little business and be successful. As much as I do doubt myself in most cases, I just don’t feel any connection to those proposals at all.

I legitimately do not that any desire to do those things. At least, not now nor ever in the last few years. It just doesn’t really appeal to me.

I’ve never even got my foot in the door in a normal way yet to even know if a leap like that would work or is something I want.

I just know I’m genuinely more content just being given a task, doing it well (regardless if it ever surfaces, most don’t), and moving onto the next thing. I’m usually at my best there.

It’s a weird spot when I’m told that I can allegedly do “anything”, but when I say I just want to remain low key and I’m fine working under someone else, that suddenly isn’t a viable thing to be okay with.

“Oh you don’t wanna do THAT-“ “why dont you do this instead??” “im sure you could do this that and third and have your own —“ meanwhile I know every single one of them wanted that self sufficient whatever for themselves but never got it.

And it’s not like I’m not blind enough to see how hard, insular, exploitative and under-appreciated creative fields can be (and downright abusive, even).

I just… don’t have an urge nor want to do the most “ideal” and individualistic thing ever. I know what they’re saying is out of this idealized positivity, I get it. It’s not like I was the happiest person on earth with my old non-creative 9-5 job, yeah I would rather have been putting my skills to use, but I also don’t have much interest in being some kind of independent art business owner. Whatever that would entail. (the homies were even talking con booths and junk, like, sure hypothetically it sounds neat and shoutout to those who do it, but it’s not for me…)

I’m just… fine not shooting that high, nor being that notable. But I also didn’t hate my old job setup either. I wasn’t always excited to go in (who even is), but I didn’t hate it. I was pretty fine just …working.

Not that it matters. I don’t have a foot in that door anyway.

I don’t know. I don’t remember my point at all.

I’ll be rid of this later.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

New Rule: Dear Chappell Roan... | Real Time with Bill Maher

And finally, New Rule: To mark the October 7th anniversary, we must launch a campaign to educate young Americans about the Middle East. And the way I'd like to begin that process is by addressing an open letter to Chappell Roan.

Now, to those viewers who aren't watching this while also looking at their phones, let me explain. Chappell Roan is not the name of one of Tru.mp's golf courses, she's actually a great new recording artist who, like a Hezbollah pager, is really blowing up. In just a few months, she went from a struggling artist to getting three billion plays on Spotify. Netting her almost 11 cents.

But here's what caught my eye. She seems like a Gen Zer who can be reached, because I saw her on TMZ say: "it's like, obviously, fuck the policies of the right. But also, fuck some of the policies on the left." That sounds like something I would say!

She also said, "I think it's important that people use critical thinking. I think it's important for me to… question myself… question my algorithm, question: is some person that tweeted something about someone else even true?" Preach, queer ally, preach.

But then we get to Israel, and Chappell, this is where we must put to the test your pledge to use critical thinking and to question whether what you're reading on social media is true. Because it isn't. There's a whole history of the Middle East that you and your fans aren't hearing about. So, why don't you let me be your spirit guide through this?

But before I do, let me tell you a little about myself, since you may have no idea who I am, considering that when this show went on the air you were barely old enough to be told you were in the wrong body. So, my name is Bill Maher, I'm 35. I've been to all of Diddy's freak-off parties, and I work at the same place as Euphoria. In fact, she's right down the hall. My TikTok handle is "B-Nasty" and I go live every Friday night with the anime filter on, and I once won a smoke-off against Willie Nelson, Woody Harelson and Snoop. Okay, that one's true.

But, no, look the truth be told, I'm a baby boomer, I remember phone-booths and cars with ashtrays and vaginal sex. And I didn't learn about the Middle East from TikTok, which is a Chinese company whose totalitarian government would just love to have America's youth hating America. That's some of that algorithm stuff you say you want to look into.

Now, first off, the fact that you don't know much history isn't your fault. You live in the United States where the schools stop doing that whole "teaching facts" thing a while ago. But getting all your history from TikTok is like getting all your calories from Hostess.

I know you're moved by what you see on there, we all are. The dead Palestinian bodies. But it's odd that your generation didn't seem nearly as moved by the Jewish bodies on October 7th. You killed at Coachella this year, but when Hamas kills at a music festival it's a whole other thing. Doesn't the sight of so many young women raped at a music festival make it a little personal? My guess is that Gen Z hearts are hardened by the propaganda you see on TikTok, which likes to call the Jews "colonizers." But colonizers are intruders who have no history in an area, like when Spain conquered the Mayans. Or when your mom took over Facebook.

When the Dutch took over South Africa, they had no history to the land, they just wanted it. But Israel is the Jews homeland. And Jews have always lived there, I cap you not. You can look it up. It's in this book called The Bible, which is horribly wrong about sex ed, slavery, science and cooking, but the archaeology checks out. It says the Jews built a temple with a really big wall seven centuries before Muhammad or Islam ever existed, and sure as shit, you can still go there and touch it. Calling Jews colonizers in Israel is like calling Native Americans colonizers here. It's ridiculous.

Chappell, did you know that for 2,000 years, Palestine was like an Uber driver with a three star rating? Nobody wanted it. And there was never any Arab country called "Palestine." It was an orphan province, and if you ask people what they thought about it back then, they'd say it gave them the ick.

But after World War II, and after the Jews were very nearly wiped out by an actual attempted genocide, they decided it was time for their historic homeland to be an actual country so that for once they could defend themselves.

And the UN - we like them, right? Yeah, they agreed, and voted a country for each of the indigenous peoples. One side agreed to that. But the Arabs had a slightly different proposal. They said, "how about we keep it all and wipe you out?"

Chappell, if you think it was repressive growing up queer in the midwest, try the Mid East. You're a female drag queen and you sing, "I fucked you in the bathroom when we went to dinner, your parents at the table." Yeah, that wouldn't fly in Gaza. Although you would, straight off a roof. The same goes for, "knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out." Yeah, my guess is the morality police would figure out that one's not about the drive-thru and kill your featherboa wearing ass. You know when you sing that LA is where "boys and girls can all be queens every single day"? You're welcome, but offer not good in the West Bank.

Chappell, you're not wrong that oppression is bad or that Palestinian and many other Muslim populations are oppressed and deserve to be freed. You just have it completely ass-backwards as to who is doing the oppressing. Hamas is a terrorist mafia that took over Gaza. The Revolutionary Guard is a terrorist mafia that took over Iran. ISIS is a terrorist mafia that took over Iraq. The Taliban is a terrorist mafia that took over Afghanistan. These are the oppressors and when you make it all about Israel, you take the pressure off of them. You enable them.

The Iranian regime has killed 600 protesters after a 22-year-old woman died in police custody following her arrest for the crime of wearing her head covering incorrectly. Just to be clear, that's your team. Iran is who sponsors Hamas and Hezbollah. Are you sure this is who you want to throw down with?

Meryl Streep spoke at the UN recently and said this about the Taliban, who are only slightly more conservative than your heroes in Hamas. She said, "today in Kabul a female cat has more freedoms than a woman. A cat may go sit on her front stoop and feel the sun on her face. She may chase a squirrel into the park. A squirrel has more rights than a girl in Afghanistan today… A bird may sing in Kabul, but a girl may not." You're a singer and you're advocating for a place and a culture you would never want to live under.

Gender may not be binary, but right and wrong kind of is.

==

https://www.nationsreportcard.gov/ushistory/results/achievement/

Baseline: NAEP Proficient

And this is just US History. Now consider proficiency in World History.

Having watched the full video, I've come to the conclusion that Chappell Roan is a window-licking weapons-grade ignorant moron. What's more concerning is that her fans will uncritically parrot her ignorant, ahistorical politics just because they like her music.

https://www.ancient-origins.net/history/black-sheep-empire-actors-actresses-ancient-rome-0010292

The ancient Greeks loved the theater and ancient Greek actors enjoyed a position of eminence and respect. In contrast, although entertainment and drama were similarly adored in Ancient Rome, theater performers were often demeaned by the upper-class society and also perceived as morally unclean.

We need to go back to this.

[marichive]

𝐓 𝐎 𝐗 𝐈 𝐂 𝐈 𝐓 𝐀

A compilation of things a muse of mine has said. Ranges from 100% seriousness to absolute chaos (but mostly chaos). Change pronouns / etc. when sending as needed.

tw for drinking/alcohol mentions, suggestive content, violence mentions, lots of swearing / insults, other non-PG shenanigans.

❝ Get the heart eyes away from me. ❞

❝ I can't help it, I'm just too hot. ❞

❝ Was I supposed to NOT be mean? ❞

❝ I am what the boomers like to call a "delinquent". ❞

❝ Just think before you say anything, "would I say this to [name] for fun", and if the answer is yes, do not say that shit to her. ❞

❝ Aw, did that hurt your little feelings? ❞

❝ Oh dear god, what torture are you going to put me through now? ❞

❝ Words cannot express how much I hate the words that I just read with my own two eyes. ❞

❝ Call me [nickname] again and I'll break your face. ❞

❝ If you turn that into a sex joke I swear to god — ❞

❝ Cursed. Horrible. Disappointing. ❞

❝ Adorable that you think you're worth the effort. ❞

❝ The only kink here is gonna be the one in your fucking spine. ❞

❝ One, I'm not your babe. Two, I will fucking strangle you. ❞

❝ Do you have a death wish or something? ❞

❝ Feel like doing something ridiculous? ❞

❝ I feel like this is what happens before someone walks into an intervention. ❞

❝ My entire support system is having a crisis right now. ❞

❝ I'm just not ready to deal with it right now. ❞

❝ I'm not gonna try to fix things and get myself in another fight as a consequence. ❞

❝ I fucked up and kinda shut down before I could. ❞

❝ I don't know how to make this right. ❞

❝ Maybe he's better off without me. ❞

❝ You went right back to blaming me for everything the first chance you got. ❞

❝ I imagine it's hard for you to feel sorry for anyone at all. ❞

❝ I can't catch a fucking break. ❞

❝ I actually liked the idea that we could maybe be friends and move past everything, but you're always going to think the worst of me. ❞

❝ I guess I did ruin everything, didn't I? ❞

❝ I needed to win to prove to myself that I could do it. ❞

❝ No no, this one is actually a good idea! ❞

❝ See, this is why you're perfect for each other. ❞

❝ Maybe he'll be more receptive to it if you're there. Or at least less hostile about it. ❞

❝ I think you're probably the only person who could get through to him on this. ❞

❝ I've had to do a lot of things I didn't want to do to try to get by. I get what that's like. ❞

❝ You're not a snack, you're a whole damn meal. Don't be humble. ❞

❝ Soooo I might have done something. ❞

❝ He's too much of a petty bitch for that. ❞

❝ I'm going to terrorize him. ❞

❝ Guess I better get the bullying out of my system before then. ❞

❝ Wow, that's like, third base. ❞

❝ Hold my [object] while I kick ass for you. ❞

❝ You're the cutest duck, though. ❞

❝ That's the option with the least violence. ❞

❝ You're probably the only person I trust that much. ❞

❝ Okay that was cute, you can have a kiss for that one. ❞

❝ Um, that's me. I'm the Precious here. ❞

❝ I'm a scam of a person. ❞

❝ Don't worry, I'm sure all her murder energy is focused on [name]. ❞

❝ Want me to make mean faces at them? ❞

❝ There is something and I need you for impulse control. Or you can enable me, that's cool too. ❞

❝ Yeah but like, we're little shits by choice. He's a little shit out of hatred or spite or whatever the fuck fuels him to act like this. ❞

❝ I'm pretty sure my brain stopped working several times. ❞

❝ It's scandalous! I mean we're just SO wholesome and innocent. ❞

❝ People might start to think we're in love or something. ❞

❝ Getting kicked out of [location] sounds fun. ❞

❝ They are looking at me with their EYES. ❞

❝ . . . I've never seen that. ❞

❝ The trauma is half the fun. I'm just melodramatic. ❞

❝ Don't tell me how to breathe, mouth breather. ❞

❝ Why were you listening you fucking creature !? ❞

❝ Dude go to fucking therapy, I'm not even kidding. ❞

❝ I need to bleach my brain. ❞

❝ It was for safety purposes you nasty bastard! ❞

❝ Dishonor on you, gambling satan! ❞

❝ I don't know how you're still alive. ❞

❝ You call me the antichrist and accuse me of being pregnant at least three times per month. He gives me hugs and pizza. ❞

❝ No you're right, I set my expectations too high. ❞

❝ Why did you bet on THIS of all things oh my fucking god??? ❞

❝ Everyone's always like "[name] you have daddy issues" but I have no dad to have issues with so??? ❞

❝ I will beat you to death with your own limbs. ❞

❝ You Gary Busey lookin' bitch. ❞

❝ We have to watch you guys make bedroom eyes at each other all the time, we just want it to stop. ❞

❝ You use my horny behavior against me, it's only fair I get to use yours against you. ❞

❝ I have no sense of self preservation. It's why I get into so many fights. ❞

❝ Glad to know you approve of horrendously spiteful revenge tactics. ❞

❝ I may talk shit but I do worry about you. ❞

❝ Oh, I'm completely vile. I'm well aware. ❞

❝ At least I don't look like I got hit by a school bus because the driver thought you were a threat to the children on board. ❞

❝ Why are you the way that you are? I hate so much about the things you choose to be. ❞

❝ Well maybe you should, I don't know, talk to him about his trauma before you give him sex advice? Seems a bit out of order. ❞

❝ [name], don't touch my baby boy! ❞

❝ Did he drop kick my son !? ❞

❝ You told me you dropped [name/object] down the stairs, I do not trust you. ❞

❝ Say sike right now !! ❞

❝ Is this actually happening?? Am I having an aneurysm???? ❞

❝ I feel like this was a big accomplishment, we came out of this with no attempted murder. So it's a win. ❞

❝ Maybe we DO have the power of god and anime on our side. ❞

❝ I don't know if I trust you two drinking around each other. ❞

❝ I said behave oh my fucking god. ❞

❝ Do it for Voltron! ❞

❝ You like [food/brand/name], you clearly have no taste. ❞

❝ No breaking of the sacred pinky oath! ❞

❝ That was so stupid, but thanks for the attempted save. ❞

❝ I'm gonna hit you in the dick with a car while listening to the Power Rangers theme song, and I'm gonna have so much fun doing it, dickhead. ❞

❝ The rules are reasonable. The problem is that I am unreasonable and I know I will break them. ❞

[naughtynanzhu]

idk how to complain about this without sounding like a piece of shit boomer or something (maybe by mentioning first that I worked overnight at a truck stop for minimum wage for ten years and we had extremely high and strict customer service standards so I Know) but if you work as a cashier or whatever... you need to try having some customer service skills lmao I don't mean kissing ass but just... acknowledging customers? answering questions without being rude? just being generally polite? (to the average reasonable customer) and not bc "they're the reason you have a job" or whatever but bc... they're people??

it feels like ass to be ignored when you're checking out. then people started texting while they're checking you out. and you won't believe this shit but tonight my cashier literally had her phone on the counter and was scrolling tiktok with the sound full blast the entire time and I couldn't believe it. that's insane.

like I said, I don't think customer service people should have to kiss ass bc I did that for a long time and it sucked, but how hard is it to say hi, tell someone their total, and thank them/say goodbye without looking at your phone or having a conversation with your coworker that you will be hanging out with for another six hours lmao depending on the store, that could be a minute or two. you can't put your phone down or put a pause on a convo for a minute or two so the person at your counter doesn't feel snubbed? insane.

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 24 (Waiting For Baby)

To prepare for her son's arrival, Heather pored over job applications at the clinic. Once her son was born, she wanted to spend as much time with him as she could, but she was confident leaving the place for Marcus alone would be a mistake.

Despite Marcus' endless flirtation with customers, the clinic had done well enough that Heather could hire another employee, and she found Kaori Hayashi enthusiastic and hard-working from the start. "I hope you'll be able to lead by example," Heather said when she hired her. "I won't be far away once my son's born, but I'll be happy to know the clinic's in good hands. I think you'll be a great help to Marcus while I'm away."

"I'll try, Doc Nesbitt. He told me this morning my butt looks great in these scrubs."

Heather sighed. "I'm sorry, I'll talk to him."

Kaori laughed. "No, it's okay. I told him thanks but his butt could look better, and now I think he's afraid of me."

"If fear motivates him better than I've managed, I guess that's a win. But if he tries anything again, please tell me."

"Will do, boss!"

Heather made friends easily with Brindleton’s many strays. The town had no mayor, but the locals' favourite stray was a tuxedo cat who wore a tiny donated top hat – to the town, he was their honourary “Mayor Whiskers.”

After her arrival in town, Mayor Whiskers took a particular interest in Heather and followed her everywhere. No one in Brindleton grew better catnip than Heather!

But soon, he was spending so much time at Heather’s home with her other two cats, speckled grey King Tut and fluffy white Boomer, she officially adopted him.

It had been a long time since she’d had to think about training bad habits from her well-behaved felines, but even with exhaustion and back pains in her third trimester, she was up to the task.

Mayor Whiskers had spent his life chasing birds as a stray. He didn't know what was wrong when Heather lectured him about eating trash or scratching furniture, but he loved his new home, and slowly changed his habits to please his new human.

Despite the summer heat, Heather worked hard at her clinic right up until delivery. She knew raising a child would be expensive, and she needed to make as much as she could from the clinic before giving birth. Marcus Flex, her perpetual work issue, even picked up some of the slack when she grew tired more easily.

"You shouldn't work so hard, boss."

"I enjoy working, Marcus."

"And you're really good at it! But it can't be easy carrying that thing around." He glanced casually at her bump.

"I wouldn't mind being able to work a little less, but royalties from my VetConnect app took a hit from Petcare's splashy new competitor in the app store, so the clinic is the only way I'll be able to care for my son."

"It was pretty uncool for Petcare to do that," agreed Marcus. "Why didn't they offer to buy your app if they wanted the same one."

Heather sighed. "I have a feeling they knew I wouldn't have sold it to them."

"Too bad, Doc. Selling apps can be good business. Maybe you should design another one! Maybe instead of a vet finder service, you could do a pet finder service! Like one stop, with breeder reviews, highlighting shelter pets."

"What? Like PetConnect?"

"Sounds good to me, boss. I'd download it in a heartbeat!"

Heather cocked her head at her vet tech as he exhibited a flash of brilliance she never saw coming. "It's a great idea, Marcus. If I ever put it together, I'll owe you credit."

With Petcare's app replacing hers on the market, she was even more grateful Malcolm kept his distance after his visit. Just as she’d hoped.

With Petcare and Landgraab Corp. actively working against her ability to care for their son, she wouldn’t have anything nice to say if she saw him again.

Heather was beginning to feel like she'd been pregnant for an entire year, and couldn't wait to meet her son. ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 1 Summary | Gen 1 Start

[hwaightme]

Your fan, San (part 2)

(part 1) (your fan ml)

💬 pairing: san x interpreter!reader 💬 genre: romance, fluff, mutual pining, drama 💬 summary: a bulletpoint-style wordstream of what it would be like if san was stanning you 💬 wordcount: 4.5k 💬 warnings/tags: language, conflict, two shy dorks, homie sabotage?, misunderstandings, love above all, touring, busy life, reader is a pro linguist, we stan simpteez, unedited oop- 💬 taglist: @acciocriativity, @doom-fics, @layzfeelit @jcngh0-hq @black--awsum @honey-lemon-goose @i-luvsang @jackinmyarea , @izuijin @justhere4kpop 💬 a/n: Hello there <3 here is PART 2 of YOUR FAN SAN!! Hopeless romantic? Check. Chaotic? Check... and the FINALE is coming soon??? ;~; P.S. that uni life do be getting wild so apologies if I'll be haphazardly uploading or if trains of thought are derailed~

'The Beauty of Falling in Love - a collection of short stories, poems and musings'

That was the title of the book you had to translate. And if you were not a (fully) sappy and sentimental mess before, you sure as hell were now. Because each little chapter, be it an anonymous recollection of favourite moments with a loved one, or a vignette dedicated to someone special, was some of the most heartwarming work you have ever read.

Each piece sounded so personal, so real, that you found yourself spending more time than usual on this commission. You had made an agreement with the client that they would be sending chapters out one by one, and prior to receiving one, you would send back a completed translation.

It was an easy enough arrangement, and was not too taxing when it came to your personal time. You could ruin your sleep schedule to your heart's content by watching dramas that you had missed whilst on tour, could make late night trips to the convenience store because you did not want to be caught in the businessperson rush, could catch up with people who you had inadvertently ghosted because of work and inability to find words when you wanted to.

Outside of your preferred mode of relaxation, you kept in touch with some of the members of ATEEZ, thanks to a group chat that San had created and 'simply had to add you' - at least that was how he had advertised it. The group chat consisted of him, you, Wooyoung, Yunho and Yeosang, who to you seemed like a random pick, since you did not interact with neither Yunho nor Yeosang as much.

But over a very short period of time this had changed for the better, and you had grown very comfortable, attached even, to the chaotic quartet. If anything this it was a top up vaccine for being able to keep up with the ATEEZ chaos - otherwise you would be familiarising yourself with it again for tour, as if it was the first day of work.

Little did you know, you were talking with the Operation ring leaders + Yeosang who was in it for the gossip, and to control the fire... in the way he wished. It was more or less a regular conversation, aside from San occasionally panicking and running up to one of the guys for advice.

"Yeo why did you write 'AMOGUS'?"

"Don't question me. This is art- ah see, Y/N sent the prayer hands emoji, she agrees." Yeosang responded, pointing at his phone screen.

"I feel like you guys are six parallel universes ahead of me and I don't like it."

"Make that ten, you boomer."

"This is an ancient meme you are quoting Yeo~" Wooyoung joined in, trying to poke fun at his friend.

"Say that again, the king of social boomers? Are you salty that I did not put hyung after AMOGUS because it's old?"

"What even is this chat-" Mingi, who was observing from his position lying across three dining chairs, threw the question out into the air.

"It is us trying to force San to dm Y/N by pushing them together like two dolls." Wooyoung, slightly irritated, explained.

"Man, you really are done." Mingi responded, chuckling

"I don't know, am I? San is breaking up with me so I am going through all stages of grief."

"Double u tee eff?" San raised an eyebrow and stared at Wooyoung, phone loose in his hands.

"How far along is she?"

"She isn't pregnant dude."

"Ugh you know what I mean."

"Like... a third of the way?"

"Damn you guys are slow as shit. We planned for this to take how long? You even have the confession already written up for the last chapter, this is kind of ridiculous. You know what, hold up."

Wooyoung tackled San, and thanks to the surprise nature of the attack, got the perfect opportunity to grab his friend's phone. After securing 'the bag', Wooyoung strode off to the other side of the room, clicking away, while San attempted to stand up, shouting.

Yunho seemed to have caught onto what the other was about to do, as he launched himself at the shorter man sat on the sofa and splayed himself right over like a blanket.

"No hard feelings bro this is necessary."

As San way trying to battle his way out, but was further restrained by Yeosang who had finally stopped taking photos, Wooyoung giggled deviously and locked the phone again, sauntering back with a devilish grin and handing it to San.

"It is done. You can thank me later."

"What did you do?"

"Something that you should have done like... a year ago."

"DID YOU TEXT HER?"

"Yeah. And don't worry, nothing Woo-style, you grilled me enough times for me to remember her preferences. Plus, I know how to text like you."

"And when did that come in handy?"

"Uh... I have to go water my fish BYEEE~" Wooyoung quickly departed from the living room sprinting back to the dorm, while San remained in shock, swiping at the screen to reveal the message that his friend had sent on his behalf.

Damn. It really was just like him.

The text came to you as a surprise. Though you have had some conversations over private message before, most of them had been in some way work related. Not San messaging you out of the blue to ask how you were and that you should catch up.

With the group chat all but abandoned, you happily launched into texting San. There was never any pressure for a phone call, which you greatly appreciated, and there was no specific guidelines that either of you enforced - without a care you double, triple, quadruple texted, abruptly disappeared only to reappear with a link or a photo... main things was that together, you kept your conversation alive and thriving.

You would have never, not in a million years, imagined yourself getting this close to San, or anyone with a celebrity status for that matter. Simply because you felt like they would need and deserve more than you could offer socially. You were all about human connection and uniting minds, but when it came to your own personal preferences, you would much rather write out your thoughts in astonishing detail and hit send, than say the same things out loud and to somebody in person.

And yet, contrary to your assumptions and what you could only say had been prejudice on your part, San was supportive of you and of your choices, saying he could 'imagine your voice well enough anyways'. He steered clear of pushing you to communicate in a style that was not yours; though you did enjoy hearing his voice, and would be lying if you said he was not a charmer, you could not bring yourself to reciprocate that approach. It was too overwhelming to do during the time that you had allocated for yourself as your regenerative state. And San made your heart melt by showing that he got that, without you having to tear yourself apart and explain.

To him it had been fairly easy to figure out that you were a text over call kind of person, and was something that he had advertised to the Operation Love Language squad. Given your notes app being packed, post it notes sometimes threatening to pour out of your bag, and him spotting you willingly sitting far away from any groups so you could watch something, earphones in, all pointed to that conclusion. And San found that he liked it more than he would have guessed.

Each text was like a memory, and an expression not only of something that they wanted to blurt out, but more often than not of a considered, weighed out opinion, even if it was onomatopoeia or a string of emojis. He would have never been able to get to know you like he did over text, and get so close to you that you were now happily discussing with him your own worries, and passions, and dreams, not just responding to his stream of musings and questions.

It was through one of these extensive texting sessions that you had revealed to San your endeavors as a freelance translator, and gushed about the commission you were working on.

This made San's thumbs freeze midway through typing. Carried away and impatient, he had tried to strike on all fronts, and now that he was in continuous communication with you, he regretted it. Deeply. Except he did not yet know just how risky the decision to parade as someone he was not could be.

After the first time you had mentioned your side work, he had begun to get progressively more quiet. Bit by bit. Until his responses to you turned almost into a conversation with a wall. You were unable to figure out just what had gotten into San, what had changed?

You turned to the work you were meant to translate as a distraction, expecting that the client would have shared the new chapter with you already... but no such thing.

Instead, there was an order cancellation, and a short apology.

What did you do wrong?

What happened?

Was there something that had not been quite right?

You looked over your already completed translations - you were searching for anything to suggest a reason for cancellation. The words appeared blurry, fading into one big mush. It was all terrible... wasn't it?

Who were you kidding you were probably rusty after not working with fiction for so long, and for not focusing hard enough. You had stopped paying attention to the craft. Who even were you? And interpreter, a translator, or a fraud?

You looked at the cancellation email again, knowing full well that it was pointless to try and reach the customer - they might have blocked you for all you knew. This hurt. This really hurt.

You saw that San had responded to your messages, again in a weirdly cheery tone, asking you how you are and what you have been up to? San would understand... right? San would listen to you...?

So you did something that you yourself did not expect, and pressed on the call button. He picked up on the first ring.

He sounded nervous, and almost tearful as you bared all and talked him through what had just happened. You needed him. He was the only one who had understood your language.

When you told him that you were probably over reacting and just humiliating yourself by being 'so deep in sad mode' over a whole lot of nothing, he instantly was there to catch you and call you out. He emphasised the importance of your work, of the beautiful job you had done so far... but then halted, unsure of how to proceed.

This left you confused. He then picked his words in a strangely careful manner, and almost beginning to side with the customer, saying how maybe it was for the better, and that now at least you could relax and find another project...

"San. This is really unlike you. What is up with that personality switch?"

"What do you mean Y/N? It's nothing-"

"I have an ear for speech, San, if there is anyone who could be a bullshit filter, it is me."

Silence.

More silence.

You were about to call out to him again, when you hear a muffled, barely there whisper:

"I'm sorry..."

You were sent reeling. What did he mean? Why was he sorry?

"I... it was me. Y/N. I am sorry. I really did not mean it to turn out that way I-"

"Okay first of all, why?"

"I..."

"Second of all, whilst I am grateful for your support and stuff, it does make me uncomfortable."

"I'm-"

"Thirdly, actually you know what focus on point number one."

When you did not hear an answer, you tried again: "Hello? I am waiting."

"I like you."

"...What?" you were left in shock.

You had suppressed your feelings for San in the deepest caverns of your soul out of the terror that it was bound to be unrequited, but here you were. Listening to that same man who had supported you from the beginning of your career to now (and exposing yet another ridiculous attempt at that), who had read your quirks and style and knew you better than most. Listening to him confess.

"I... how do I say this... it has been a while. A long while. I have been trying to approach you but... I was either too shy for it, or the attempts were just ridiculous. So we- so I came up with this idea, to try and tell you... this book right. The Beauty of Falling in Love. It is... it spoke to me. And I had planned to give it to you piece by piece until I could then reveal myself to you... but then we started talking outside of that and then I panicked and- yeah, I am... I am just so sorry, this is confusing as hell."

"Wait... wait wait... this is... so were you paying me to get me to like you? Was that what you were doing?"

"GOSH! NO! NO, DON'T MISUNDERSTAND!"

"Look. As much as I do like bringing joy to people through my work, this crosses a line. And it's not the fact that you ordered something from me - hell, support the artist right? It's the fact that you decided to be somebody else. You decided to conceal yourself to talk to me. Like you did not trust me. Even though you want me to like you.

I'll be returning the money to you shortly. M-kay? And... talk on stage, I guess."

Before San could respond, you ended the call sharply. No more phone calls. They were cursed, apparently.

With these thoughts, and a heavy heart, you departed for Japan.

---

"Maybe... just maybe if you had seen it through and not abandoned ship... your ship could have sailed?"

"Yunho just because it's your idea does not mean is good!" San retorted, having recounted the story to the members, gone into full crisis mode.

"Hello!? You agreed? I am just generating ideas here."

"I think we all blew this out of proportion and did not consider risks... at all." Mingi interjected, massaging his temples.

"You guys, I have an idea-" Wooyoung began, but was quickly cut off by San, who was already half way out of the door.

"You know what? I am done with the ideas. I will just do what I think is right."

---

You were conflicted. In a way, you had gotten what you wanted. A confession from your crush that you had been quietly keeping in the shadows. But at the same time, your anxiety spiked. Were you that unapproachable that San had to have twisted everything to get to you? Was your work more entertaining than you could ever be?

With these thoughts, and a heavy heart, you departed for Japan.

If your presence was not explicitly required at the venue, you would not go. Once an event ended, you would leave. If anything, you were acting just like any employee would.

You were trying to bury the conflicting feelings that you were experiencing. To an extent, you felt disrespected. Like you had been mistreated via the means of 'i am using your translation services so you should love me'. And it was one unpleasant thought.

So, you stuck to what you knew and were more or less confident in. Words that were not yours. ideas that were not yours. Feelings that were not yours.

In a matter of an hour after the first small event, however, you could not sulk in your room how you wanted, thanks to a random slip of paper being shoved under your door. You ran across the room and slammed it open in an attempt to catch the culprit, but there was no one in sight.

You gingerly picked up the papers, and read. It was unmistakable. It was the next chapter of the book, with an interesting translation on another sheet of paper, and an additional note.

"I am sorry, and I can only hope that you will read this and let me fight. <3 San"

As much as you were ready to forgive him then and there, you decided that you wanted to see just how far he was going to go.

The next morning - another letter had arrived. The next chapter, a translation, and another note.

During filming for a morning show, San had shot you numerous glances in an attempt to see whether you were even reading what he had been Amazon Priming to your room, but with a cheeky smile dancing on your lips, you let your fun continue.

Another package.

And another.

And another. Until, finally, the last chapter had arrived. At least that was what you thought right up until the evening of the same day. You had assumed that it was going to now be your turn to act, or at least to start talking again, but a loud knock jolted you out of your thoughts.

And another.

And another knock on the door. This man was an unstoppable force.

"I... I translated the last one. Well, tried to."

"But there were only eleven stories-"

"Nope, twelve. Here."

You saw a two pieces of paper appear from under the door, just like before. Except instead of the Korean page being a scan from the book, it was evidently a document that either San... or somebody else, had typed up, and then managed to print.

To be respectful, you attempted to read the Japanese, but soon enough gave up since the kanji somehow managed to look cursive, and instead took the Korean text in your hands.

You took a seat with your back against the door and knees almost flush against your chest, and began to read, your heart rate picking up pace as soon as you saw "Dear Y/N,".

It began as a little story. A re-telling of how both of you had met, and how you had come to own a little space in his heart, eventually leading to him simply giving it to you.

"Did you know that you look so beautiful in those moments when you don't think anyone is watching? The more I think about it, the more I feel like it has been what had drawn me in. How you typed and typed on your phone. If time allowed, I liked to try guessing whether you were going to switch the keyboard at some point or not. How you were and are in your element. And of course, how you are, simply, you."

He recalled the moments that you two had shared. The levels of pride and admiration he felt when he saw you being approached and congratulated by the fans, and when he could take a moment to just enjoy what you did.

San moved to explaining 'the plan' to you, and though you were ready to scold him then and there (especially since there was the door between you that made confrontation easier), you could not help but admit that the general notion (aside from making affection and crushing on someone a monetary exchange - better not put feels on Etsy) was heartwarming.

As it turned out, both of you were shy dorks who could not act on feelings. Admittedly, one of you was a LOUD shy dork and the other a 'language is life but still can't read between the lines' shy dork, but at least you made it here.

San was a nervous wreck, barely stopping himself from either pacing up and down the corridor or going into a meltdown and lying face down on the carpet. He already looked suspicious enough as is, just standing by a random hotel number like a vampire who had been refused entry.

Or perhaps more accurately, like a cat who had been shut out of the house and was now desperately trying to claw its way back in.

But that stress was quickly washed away when your form suddenly appeared before him, peeking out, drowning in an oversized hoodie. The papers were still clenched in your hand as you motioned for San to come in.

You waited until he was right in the middle of the room before closing the door. Part of you was afraid that he was going to nope out at any moment. You needed the reassurance. The confidence that was normally there when you were working. But every fiber of your being was screaming in protest, wanting simply to hide.

You observed him. He looked like he was barely breathing.

"I... really I am... so sorry... again... I know that it was so fooli-"

"私でもあなたのことが好きだ..." (I like you too)

"eXCUSEME?!"

"All this translating and you still can't process?" you joked, but began to pull on the drawstrings of your hoodie in an attempt to make your face disappear.

"ohHH NoONOOO I just want to hear you say it in every language that you know!!!" San exclaimed and in a matter of seconds was inches away, peeking at what was not yet concealed by the fluffy cotton.

As he leaned closer and closer, flustering you (and himself) in the process and took both of your hands in his, in the last leap of bravery you whispered:

"Well that, you'll have to earn, San. And I don't take traditional currency."

"You will never let that go."

"Never ever, Choi San, it's a core memory now."

"Well hey at least it means you are not letting go of me~"

"Oh the way you twist words..."

"Like you twist me around your finger, not to give you an ego trip or anything..."

"It's 'wrap'. The correct word is 'wrap' around a finger."

"Okay you know what how about I translate it to body language?" he puckered his lips, making you giggle.

"As long as I don't need to correct grammatical errors."

"Now now I'd say I'm fluent."

--

The habit of sliding notes under your door or passing them to you did not stop - it only got stronger and became an 'any location', Mission Impossible note transfer agreement.

It had become something of a game, muddling languages together and writing near-nonsense just to sit there almost crying, trying not to laugh.

Soon enough, the game spread to Wooyoung, who would on occasion intercept the messages and add in his own flair, and soon enough to a curious Yunho and Mingi, who then turned it into impromptu paper plane throwing tournaments.

Really, the only reason why Hongjoong did not intercept was because you managed to at least keep the messages under strict PG rating and had good aim - with a saving swoop you had managed to return one such airmail right into San's lap during a fan sign, leading ATINY to give you an additional "aimbot" title.

It did not matter what the schedule was, you left each other encouraging notes (and without the other knowing, stored them away in your luggage).

"Good luck being the first one to get hair and makeup done..."

"Good luck with the translation deal on the book <3" (after an entire evening of a pouting and pleading San, you had reached out to the editors of the romance book you had translated for him, and now were in very promising negotiations)

You raced ahead, in time with each other, creating your own language.

The extended time ATEEZ had spent in Japan was coming to an end, and in the blink of an eye, it was the final concert. The "closing remarks", the epilogue.

You were prepared to interpret in full, as always. One member down. Another... finally, it was only San left. The other members were looking at him expectantly, while some sent glances in your approximate direction.

You took Hongjoong's tranquility and him nudging San in the shoulder as a sign that no, you will not have to pretend he said something different and double speak it - whatever he was about to do was, apparently, captain certified.

At that moment, San pulled out a note from a pocket that you had no idea even existed. The action seemed to have the same effect on ATINY as they "oooohed" - Yunho fake whispered into the microphone that San was now a part-time magician, so these things were the norm.

You had your microphone at the ready. With bated breath, you waited for San to begin. And that, he did.

In Japanese.

Grammatically correct, coherent and well-delivered Japanese.

Even though some of the phrases were obviously not his style and word selection, leading you to imagine him poring over this text like he was writing the declaration of independence with the boys, it was him. It was his feeling. It was his message.

Your arm fell to your side with a thud, and you were grateful that your microphone had been turned off for the time being. You caught yourself gaping, and had to forcibly compose yourself to reveal only a soft smile, as you took the scene in.

San was not exactly trying to hide that he was paying special attention to a specific part of the arena, with his body turned almost completely in your direction and only a few glances off to the sides and at the note.

"...and I hope that we will always be together, as one, and share this world. sometimes there may be struggle, there may be darkness, but WE," he makes a grand gesture with his hand, as if highlighting the area in front of him, but really it was just to, again, symbolise that certain someone at the forefront of his mind, "will last, and be the light."

The crowd roared, and you could allow yourself to internally combust as you watched ATEEZ wave, bow and bid their farewells.

Some things did not need a translation to be understood, and some things were not up for interpretation.

Like how San sprinted to you as soon as he was out of public sight. How he swept you off your feet both literally and metaphorically.

How Jongho muttered 'get a room', but still smiled at both of you when he passed by.

How, upon your return to South Korea, he had practically made it his mission to dote on you, and any moment he got, show that you were together.

Matching plushies? Check.

Basically exposing you both on Late Night Dive (though there was not really anything to expose because the entire ordeal was almost a live streamed ATEEZ drama)? Check.

Happily chatting away with ATINY about love and about finding it, sending loving stares your way? Check.

This was the love language you shared. No hiding, no scheming. Two native speakers, who found each other in translation.

[sorryimananti-romantic]

Naurrr stop you got me giddy about Ateez!Hogwarts now 😭 How would you sort them? Like, not how Atiny usually do, but using Hogwarts values and such

ahh this is gonna be a challenge (disclaimer- it's really my own personal categorisation):

Hongjoong: Warm Slytherin/Warm Ravenclaw

While he could easily be a hufflepuff as well, i feel like his qualities are more inclined to warm slytherin in the sense that he feels like a born leader, he's confident about what he's good at and really, he is the captain of ateez even behind the scenes in so many ways. plus he's so charming 🤌 and he flaunts it.

i think he fits warm ravenclaw as well. he's not afraid to stand out, he's unique, and he's creative. he knows what he's doing and he's confident in that.

Seonghwa: Neutral Gryffindor

in hwa's case, i think his strongest or most attractive qualities are that he's passionate. and when he's passionate about something, he's so brave. you could put him in ravenclaw and he could fit there as a neutral, or you could call him a hufflepuff because initially that's the vibe he gives. but for me, i think his neutral gryffindor qualities stand out the most.

Yunho: Neutral Hufflepuff

sure, yunho has the bravery of a gryffindor or shows his slytherin side occasionally, but really, he's a neutral hufflepuff. he's a rock to so many people and that's what his strongest quality might be. he can be fun but responsible at the same time, and he knows what he is doing. i think nothing else fits our golden retriver more than neutral hufflepuff hehe

Yeosang: Warm Ravenclaw/Warm Hufflepuff

let's be real- he's smart. he's creative, and he likes living in his head. he's also not afraid to voice questions and be curious, which makes him a warm ravenclaw. however, he's also really friendly and so so kind. he's all of warm hufflepuff as well, but i think warm ravenclaw fits him better.

San: Cool Hufflepuff

this was an easy one- like seonghwa, he could be a neutral gryffindor as well, but i think his work dedication, honesty, determination and undying loyalty are his stronger qualities which makes him a cool hufflepuff through and through. he's got really strong morals which is such an appreciable quality and a lot might place him in neutral gryffindor for that.

Mingi: Neutral/Cool Ravenclaw

i'm kind of conflicted if he's cool or neutral. though cool ravenclaw might seem offputting at first, being cynical to a certain degree is not bad bc people really can't be trusted in this era (i sound like a boomer but it is what it is) and lowering your expectations of people helps with less disappointment. understanding that that is just how humans are... that could be who mingi is. accepting. i won't say he's condescending but he's all the good qualities of a cool ravenclaw def, which is so cool.

and then he could be a neutral ravenclaw too. i think 'accepting' is why im inclining to him being a neutral. he's really a mix of those two, i can't place him in one 😭

Wooyoung: Gryffindor.

i really don't need to say more-- when i read the warm, neutral and cool of gryffindor, i was like that's it. we've got wooyoung. he's easily got all the qualities a gryffindor can possess, and if that wasn't the case i might have searched for his slytherin qualities but really, he's a gryffindor through and through.

Jongho: Neutral Slytherin

i really don't think there's another category that could encapsulate his qualities perfectly other than neutral slytherin. there might be one of his qualities in gryffindor or hufflepuff, but neutral slytherin takes the cake. he's caring and clever. he's so resilient. and really, ateez needed a neutral slytherin as their maknae (on top!)

again, this is what i personally think! if you have other opinions about any members, i'd be happy to hear them :D

[jaxxsoxxn]

Wait, wait wait that one scene in cinderella3

When Prince charming jumped out the window to go save Cinderella when his father told him he wasn’t allowed to go down the stairs, so he jumped out of the window 

But imagine it it’s with flash and wonder woman and Superman 

Wonder, woman : flash I am not gonna let you rescue that villain. I forbid you to go down these stairs, 

Flash looking at wonder, woman, and Superman and the stairs and looked at the window : mm you know when the woman I never really understood why people jumped out the windows the same people they love, but I see now and now I understand why 

Wonder, woman and Superman : wait what ?

(Flash jumps out the window )

Wonder, woman and Superman : Barry !

I adore the fact that JLA n Rouges are trying their best to keep these two apparat (and failing to do so)

"Barry you know better than to date a villain"

"What about Batman and Catwoman?"

"...I said you know better not that he knows better."

Captain Cold learns that he agrees with any supes and goes absolutely 90 degrees in the other way, suddenly the biggest Boomerflash supporter. It lasts half of the week.

Golden glider talking to Wonder Woman like they're besties while actively being against Harley because, just like her brother, she thinks she took her place and is bitter.

Boomer doesn't want them to think that, especially since he didn't talk to them only because he forgot that he could finally.

Trickster Jr. And Wally have beef for no reason, Axel just says he's not funny, Wally rants about how fucking annoying the villain is or stays completely silent.

Weather Wizard says one time "just kiss already" after they fight near him and the scream they scrum made speedy run to them in fear. Mark doesn't care.

August who back stabbed the Rouges, coming back onto their good side by also being not a fan of Suicide Squad. Floyd said one snarky thing about anyone close to him, and he got into a mood.

"That's why all criminals should die" YOU'RE A MURDERER!! U KILLED PEOPLE!!!

Can you see who's my fave characters? Probably yeah.

Usually Flash wouldn't even let them stop him, especially since his lover was in danger, but Wonder Woman wasn't typically one to be out of her mind like today. "What do you mean by I shouldn't help him?!" he couldn't help and raised his voice, bitterness already growing in his chest. "Diana, I need you to move." "Barry, you need to understand - he's Wallers. Not only will that make problems for us, if she'll learn that you will save him, she'll throw him in more dangerous situations. It's better for both of you if you'll stay put." her tone sounded slightly concerned, her eyes jumping from him to other JLA members for support. "You're not even sure if he's not using your feelings here for a lift or something alike-" "He's bleeding out. I am wasting my important time and his blood is wasting on the floor because you believe that Floyd Lawton- Not even Digger, sent me a message by Hack because they needed a lift. Deadshot, the same man that would rather kill himself than let any supe help." his work tone was slowly sneaking it's way into his speech, not being able to stop it. "Wonder Woman, on everything you love, you'll move out of my way." A quick lip bite was all hesitation he got from her, before she stood in front of him with all her might, Superman slightly more undecided, but also standing next to her. "Flash, as a JLA member you know better. I will not let you take one more step down these stairs." her tone was clearly informing him of the truth of this statement. "You are forbidden from saving this rogue." Within seconds Barry relaxed, stretching his hands above his head, confusing people around them, above few who already shot him amused stares. Hal even showing a thumb up, changing it into some form of scratching his chin to remain unnoticed. "You're right- I won't take a step down these stairs." Barry finally said, his voice having that "costumer service polite" in it, making Wonder Woman just more suspicious. "It must be love pushing me to do stupid things." "Why do you say it like that-" The only other sound that accompanied his flight out of the window next to him was Jordan's loud laughter, which he couldn't hold in any longer. It wasn't the first or last time he was falling from surprising heights, so with ease he landed as trained and ran trough the city towards his home.

Get it, because Digger is his home-

No art today bc amma also write the Boomerflash hcs and hopefully end the Boomer centric ones! <3 Anywho, please ask about other rouges n their relationships with Boomer/Flash/their relationship/ JUST ANYTHING

(I will continue to baby Axel, he done nothing wrong ever [lie])

[charmwasjess]

Hope you’re having a great start to a holiday weekend!

I had to write you since I’m listening to old episodes of A More Civilized Age podcast, it’s not just a watch along show they analyze Star Wars from a socio-political lens. You know, try to work out George’s bizarre progressive Boomer ideas. What makes me want to tell you about it is they covered Dooku: Jedi Lost on their Patreon stream and they keep saying they have to take it from the paywall because they keep bringing it up afterwards, like it’s the turnkey that explains so much about the Prequels and beyond. Fans should really get hip to it! It really does answer or at least hint at so much of the wider world building.

Thanks, Geode! I am having a great holiday weekend, I'm actually running off to France for a bit!

First, I've never listened to it, but this podcast sounds like so much fun. It's amazing to me how overtly political Star Wars can be. There's so much wild stuff George put in (successfully and unsuccessfully both) and its greater context is really interesting. I STILL sometimes think about the about the significance of him including Palpatine's emergency powers while Bush was doing the real life Patriot Act and the invasion of Iraq.

Second, that's fascinating! I'm so glad the book is getting some love! It's amazing how much Dooku's feelings about Serenno parallel Padme's about Naboo. And, for a least a moment, we get to see Dooku as exactly how the Council characterizes him in AotC as "a political idealist" (who quickly becomes a murderer!) And it does set up quite a lot for the series. Dooku meets Palpatine, he leaves the Order and tells us... kind of... why, and we get backstory to understand both why Sifo-Dyas would trust him with the Clone order and how he even got back in secret contact with him to pull it off.

My favorite little detail about Dooku: Jedi Lost (and I've harped on a bit about it so forgive me if I'm repeating myself) is that it's dedicated to Christopher Lee, and on closer analysis, the entire format is set up to be an homage to his extensive autobiographical/memoir writing. There are so many subtle references to Lord of Misrule or Tall Dark and Gruesome, right down to Dooku not liking spiders.