#but it's not a massive commute

[disabled-dragoon]

My careers advisor keeps emphasising how rarely teaching apprenticeships in the local area crop up, so I feel pretty good about the fact that I've found and applied to two within the last month.

[icantalk710]

...The subway commute today oh my god 😩

[carebearcody]

not a fan of passive aggressiveness until someone isn’t walking with certainty during rush hour around tfl

[kicksnscribs]

Wow...

[deaniewithalittleweanie]

I AM GOING TO REVOKE MY GODDAMN DRIVERS LICENSE I CANT DO THIS SHIT ANYMORE

DRIVING IN ATL EVERY DAY FEELS LIKE PLAYING CHICKEN WITH GOD AND ONE DAY IM GONNA LOSE

[mybrainproblems]

It's extremely weird that this is our first snow storm of the year (it's so late!) and while I really don't like cold weather, I do choose to live here and have been freaked out by how warm/dry our winters have gotten in the past decade. Like going back just a decade, we used to have multiple storms like this every winter starting in December. It's like we got Snowpocalypse 2015 and then stopped getting the big snow storms we're supposed to get here.

[inkbotkowalski]

I really don't understand why car manufacturers and airplane companies in Germany still spend money on ads when Deutsche Bahn exists

[themainannoyance]

Nature Is Healing <3 (adding events to my Google Calendar again)

[arkaylarts]

I have come to the conclusion that a majority of recognized Stella AU designs for FP are based around Gentaro's planet introduction and character verse- a planet of jewels and sand, bandits that are cutthroat- which generally leans towards the Fantasy Arabia style designs.

I love those designs so much, and frankly, its the most descriptive the entire song gets regarding setting and style.

I would like to just put out there that any drawings of FP that aren't in their canon outfits, modern casual clothing, or traditional Japanese clothing are 99% probably chunks of my own Stella AU brainworms.

Especially if Ramuda has glasses and Dice has earrings.

[hollyseb]

A COLLISION OF FATE - CEO!BUCKY X ASSISTANT READER (one-shot)

warnings; swearing, minors dni

2.4k words

summary; As an assistant to the powerful CEO Bucky Barnes, you’ve always kept things strictly professional—maybe even a little distant. But when a chaotic morning commute turns your world upside down, you find yourself relying on your boss in unexpected ways.

authors note; this is my first fic in a while so please let me know what you think!

Fuck.

You couldn’t help but pull the bed sheets over your head as your alarm sounded. You’d slept terribly, anticipation stewing in your chest all night long. A huge day at work loomed ahead. Your boss trusted you with organising a client meeting for a massive company project, and despite your meticulous preparations, anxiety gnawed at you relentlessly.

This marks your fourth month as an assistant to Mr Barnes, CEO of Barnes Industries. Your boss embodies power and leadership, standing well over six feet. He has a presence that’s impossible to ignore, although you often find yourself trying to; avoiding his piercing gaze, shrinking away from his broad figure. He intimidated you.

You’d learned to anticipate his needs, not just to impress him but perhaps as an attempt to keep your conversations to a minimum. Although you had managed to settle into your role, growing accustomed to your boss’ high standards, you often felt a sense of apprehension. You were overwhelmed by how important he was. Mr Barnes wasn’t just your boss - he was a force of nature.

The two of you maintained a strictly professional relationship, even lingering towards slightly cold sometimes. You liked to do what he needed you to do, and then get out of his way. However, every now and then, you’d catch him watching you with a look that lingered a moment too long. You’d always assume there was something on your face, or a smudge on your shirt, anything that might explain why he was staring. But when you checked, there was never anything there.

For Bucky, it started with the little things. He noticed how you always made sure his coffee was exactly how he liked it, down to the last detail, even on the most hectic mornings. You remembered the smallest preferences he had, the things he rarely even thought about himself—like the way you would quietly replace the pens in his office with the specific brand he preferred, or how you always ensured there was a bottle of his favorite water in the conference room before every meeting. These weren’t just the actions of a diligent assistant; they were gestures that spoke of someone who genuinely cared, someone who paid attention to him in a way that no one else ever had.

Your snoozed alarm began to sound again, piercing your thoughts like a violent shriek. Just get through the meeting, you told yourself, before ultimately deciding to drag yourself out of bed. The thought repeated like a mantra. Is it normal to feel this worried about disappointing your boss? You thought, before swatting away the idea. You didn’t need to focus on that for now.

A hot shower did little to wash away the anxiety that clinged to you. Your movements were robotic as you went through your morning routine, driven by the pressure of the meeting.

With a sigh, you reached for your phone, the screen lighting up with a soft glow. 7:45 AM. It felt as though the numbers were taunting you. You ran a hand down your face, bracing yourself for the day.

Time to go.

After locking the door to your small, cozy apartment, you made your way down the narrow, communal staircase. The morning air hitting you with a welcomed bite as you stepped outside into the car park.

You slid into the drivers seat of your aging Mini, the familiar creak of the door and worn leather seat beneath you provided a familiar comfort. It wasn't much, but it was yours, the car you'd had since you were 17. You shifted into gear and gripped the steering wheel, the hum of the engine almost grounding you.

Just get through the meeting, you repeated, merging into the flow of morning traffic. You let your mind drift to the day's plans, mentally rehearsing the things you had to organise when you arrived at the office… calling the clients to confirm their attendance, setting up the meeting room, dropping the itinerary off at Mr Barnes’ desk.

As you approached a red light just a few blocks from the office, you felt a fleeting sense of calm. Your heartbeat, which had been a relentless drumbeat of anxiety, finally began to settle into a more regular rhythm. The office was so close, the meeting so imminent. All you had to do now was make it through the last stretch of traffic and face the day.

Without warning, a loud, violent crashing noise shattered the calm. The force of the impact threw you forward, your seatbelt straining against your body painfully. The contents of your bag spilling into the passenger seat footwell alongside the sound of crunching metal. Your mind was blank, struggling to catch up with what had just happened.

What the -?

Your heart raced, your breaths leaving in shallow and quick successions. The realisation hit you like a second wave of impact - you’d been rear-ended.

You gripped the steering wheel like a vice, catching sight of your pale face as movement caught your attention in the rear view mirror. the driver of the car behind you was already out of his vehicle, storming towards you.

Rather than waiting for you to get out the car, he began shouting at you through the closed window. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He shouted, his voice echoing violently.

He looked to be in his mid thirties, dressed in a wrinkled suit, face red with anger and eyes practically bulging out his head.

You took a deep breath, adrenaline surging through your veins. Stay calm, don’t escalate. You unbuckle your seatbelt, ignoring the dull pain of where it had dug into you, stepping out your beloved car.

“Do you even know how to fucking drive?” He yelled, arms flailing. “I’m going to be late for work because of you, stupid bitch”

You were taken aback by his blatant profanity. Humiliation rising in your body as bystanders gawked at the interaction.

You blinked, your nerves fraying under his aggression. “I was stopped at the light. You hit me,” you said, voice trembling.

”Bullshit!” He spat, inching towards your face. “You stopped like a fucking moron and now look at my fucking car!”, he pointed in the direction of his vehicle, a sleek black BMW, barely scratched.

The sight of your car, however, made your stomach turn. The bumper was shrewd across the concrete, the metal contorted dramatically. You’d come off much worse than him. You could feel tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“This is all your fault!”, he spat, voice dripping with venom. “You’re going to pay every cent for the damage you’ve caused.”

Before you could respond, he lunged closer, jabbing a finger in your face. “Do you even realise how fucking pathetic you look right now? Crying because you’ve ruined my car-“

The man was interrupted. A firm, authoritative voice cutting through his ramblings like steel.

“Is there a problem here?”

You looked up, your heart pounding, and there he was - Bucky Barnes. The sight of him hit you like a tidal wave. For a split second, you were frozen, breath catching in your throat.

Bucky’s sharp blue eyes were fixed on the angry driver, his expression a mask of controlled authority. Your eyes shifted between the two, noticing how Bucky towered over the man.

The man’s voice was quieter than before, his composure tense. “Who the hell are you?”

Bucky stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “I’m her boss,” he said, his tone calm but edged with a warning. “And I suggest you step back before you make this any worse.”

The anger in the man’s stance faltered, replaced by a grudging recognition that he was outmatched. With a final glare towards you, he stormed back to his car.

You exhaled, realising you’d been holding your breath. “Thank you,” you murmured, voice shaky from adrenaline.

Bucky’s gaze shifted to you, his eyes softening a fraction. “Are you okay?” He asked, his voice low and filled with a warmth which contrasted the icy authority he had shown moments before.

You watched the way his eyes trailed down your shaking body for any obvious signs of injury.

You nodded in response. “Y-yes, I’m okay. Just a bit shaken”, a forced smile pursing against your lips.

He leaned down slightly, lowering himself to your height, his face inches from yours. Placing a hand on each of your shoulders. “You don’t have to put a brave face on with me. Are you really okay?”

The depth of his concern was more than you expected, combined with the gentleness of his touch, you felt like your head was spinning.

”Thank you, Mr Barnes”, your voice barely more than a whisper, “I’m okay, I promise”.

Bucky’s expression softened even more. “Let me take you to the office. I’ll sort you out and make sure everything’s taken care of.” Bucky said, his voice low and earnest.

His words soothed you. He placed a firm but gentle hand on your mid-back, guiding you towards his car. The warmth of his touch was a comforting contrast to the cold air. You found solace in the protective way he guided you.

When you reached his car, Bucky opened the passenger door for you with a quiet, practiced grace. His movements were deliberate and careful, as if he wanted to ensure you felt as secure as possible.

Bucky closed the door gently and walked around to the driver’s side. As he settled into the driver’s seat, he adjusted the rear view mirror, his gaze flicking over to you. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Barnes, when it’s just us two. James will do.”

You met his gaze in the mirror, feeling a sudden rush of warmth. You faltered for a split second under the heat of his stare. “Okay, James”, you said quietly.

He gave a small, approving smile, his eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary. “That’s better,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s get you to the office.”

Your boss wouldn’t let you know, but the way you trembled when that man was yelling at you, the way his words reduced you to feeling small and insignificant, made Bucky’s blood boil. His usual calm and composed demeanor was barely holding back the fury simmering beneath the surface. The sight of you being treated so harshly, so unfairly, sparked something primal in him—something protective and fierce.

Arriving at the office, Bucky parked with a practised ease and opened your door, offering a supportive hand as you stepped out. Eyes glazing over you again to see if you were moving with any discomfort.

As you walked into the building, you were met with a flurry of activity. Bucky led you to your room, settling you into your office chair with a soft, reassuring hand on your back.

“Take a moment to breathe,” he instructed, his voice a mix of warmth and authority. “I’ll handle the meeting for now, okay? You’ve had a rough morning.”

You nodded gratefully, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders. Bucky made a few quick phone calls and sent some emails, managing the meeting logistics with the efficiency and competence that defined him.

Throughout the morning, Bucky periodically checked in on you. Each time, his concern was evident, his questions simple but genuine. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?” he would ask, always with that soft, protective tone.

By lunchtime, Bucky made sure you had something to eat. He watched with a mixture of satisfaction and relief as you ate, noting the gradual return of color to your cheeks.

As the workday wound down, you wrapped up your tasks and prepared to head home. Bucky had been a steadfast support throughout the day, ensuring that you felt taken care of and that everything went smoothly despite the morning’s chaos.

As you gathered your things, Bucky approached with a rare, genuine smile. “How are you holding up?”

“Much better, thanks to you,” you said, returning his smile. “I really appreciate everything today.”

”Well I would love to drive you home, but I still have a few more things to wrap up. One of my drivers will take you, okay?”, your boss said, leaning against the door frame of your office.

You opened your mouth to politely decline, feeling that he had already done enough for you today. However, you faltered when he raised an eyebrow, a playful challenge in his expression, you knew there was no point in arguing.

“Alright,” you agreed, feeling a warmth spread through you at his insistence. “Thank you.”

“Good,” he said, satisfied, a part of him wanted to grin at your obedience as he circled back to his office.

The ride home was quiet, the events of the day replaying in your mind. You were exhausted, but there was also a strange sense of anticipation that you couldn’t quite explain.

When the car pulled up outside your apartment, you thanked the driver and stepped out. The cool evening air was refreshing after the long day, and you were eager to wash the day away with a hot shower and a bottle of wine.

But as you approached your apartment building, something caught your eye. Parked in your usual spot was a familiar-looking Mini, only this one was brand new. The gleaming paint, the spotless interior—it was unmistakably the same make and model as your beloved old car, but this one was perfect in every way.

There’s no way, you thought.

Your heart pounded as you took a hesitant step closer, your mind racing to process what you were seeing. There was no mistaking it—this was a gift, one that had been carefully chosen to replace what you had lost earlier today.

A note was tucked under the windshield wiper. With trembling hands, you pulled it free and unfolded the paper. The handwriting was unmistakable.

You’ve had a rough day. I hope this makes it a little easier. – James

A rush of emotions overwhelmed you, and tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. You never expected something like this. Bucky hadn’t just replaced your car—he’d chosen something that he knew would mean something to you, something that was a perfect reflection of who you were.

As you stood there, staring at the car that now felt like a symbol of so much more, you couldn’t help but feel that the boundaries between you and Bucky had shifted in a way that couldn’t be undone.

A collision of fate.

————————————————————-

TAGLIST!

@sashaisready @matchat3a @writingpastmybedtime @melsunshine @lex-the-flex @himawariizephyr @jbbarnesgirl @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @sagebarness @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @selella @armystay89 @globetrotter28 @iwritewithpenandpaper @casa-boiardi @winterslove1917 @buckydarling09 @kandis-mom @scott-loki-barnes @mrsevans90

[kitashousewife]

my asks got deleted but this was a request!! sorry it’s taken so long but here you gooo

———————————————————————————

“go home already,” kuroo’s voice sounds closer than it is from his desk across the room.

“you first,” you type away, adding the last couple attachments to an email before you log off for the day. much later than you were scheduled, but your boss has no place to point this out.

cause he’s here too.

“c’mon, let’s go. the sun is going to be down by the time we leave the building,” he grabs his coat from the rack, slipping it on before grabbing yours as well.

“it wouldn’t be the first time,” you give him a smile when he holds out your coat, helping you put it on. “what kept you so late?”

he laughs, but not out of humor. the blue light of the monitors does nothing to hide the dark circles under his eyes. “lining up meetings, confirming a couple conferences, and i’ve been working on this report that they-“

“keep changing the due date on?” kuroo nods, and you roll your eyes. “yeah, me too.”

you log out of the computer, grab your things, and begin walking towards the exit. this isn’t the first, and absolutely will not be the last time the two of you leave the building late. together.

ever since you started, you’ve helped kuroo out. managing his schedule, keeping his meetings in line, calling people when he needs it; the little things. it helps him, while at the same time, helps you as well. you get a break from your regular work, friendly conversation, and someone to confide in.

his good looks are a plus as well.

those good looks tend to be more of a distraction than anything these days. missing notes during a meeting while you’ve been studying his facial expressions. catching bits and pieces of what he’s saying because you can’t keep staring at his lips. tripping over your words because of the way he looks at you, the list goes on.

“i think we’ll be okay, though. we just need the headcount for the next event,” you yawn, stepping out onto the sidewalk. “and that’s all.”

kuroo shrugs. “until they add another component, sure.” you give him a sad smile, knowing he’s probably right. “hey, don’t give me that.”

“give you what? you’re completely right,” the two of you are facing each other on the sidewalk, stepping to the side to allow a pair of fellow commuters to slip past. kuroo shakes his head and smiles. “i know. but we both know you’re working too late. just wait until your boss finds out,” he gives a faux wince.

“too bad my boss is a massive hypocrite. leading by example,” you pat his right arm playfully. his cheeks flush, just a bit.

and yours as well.

he clears his through and laughs dryly. “i know, im the worst.”

you stare at him with a grin. the conversation is ending, but neither of you want it to. the last attempts to continue it die on your tongue when he opens his mouth.

“want to get a drink?”

“yeah, i would.”

he smiles, grinning as he nods down the sidewalk.

“first person to bring up work pays,” he holds out his hand. you shake it, lingering a bit longer then necessary.

“deal.”

unfortunately, however on purpose, kuroo brings up work the second the two of you sit down. you laugh, shocked at how quickly he gave up. but, that was his plan all along.

he’s wanted to take you out for some time, now.

[horzagobuchul]

Hello everybody!

Big thanks to everyone who welcomed me back to tumblr after my latest hiatus!

I have a rather big announcement to make since last I posted.

The fact of the matter is that the reason I haven't posted as much in the last six months is that I have met a very special person. This person lives in a different country from me and I have spent a considerable amount of time just corresponding with, as well as commuting to see them. To this comes the massive endeavour of learning an entirely new language - one that is fundamentally different from my own mother tongue.

This has occupied most of my winter and spring this year.

And last week, we got married.

That is to say I'm officially an adult with a bit different priorities now. I'll still keep posting from time to time, and I have quite a backlog worked up, as well as a few finalized animations with different characters in a few outfits that I fancy. But I won't be posting as frequently as I used to be doing.

I ask for all of your understanding in this and I hope that no one feels too neglected. I'm continually working through my requests and my ambition is to respond to each and every one in time. For now I'll aim to upload one animation per week, but we'll see.

If you have any particular questions for me, feel free to send them to my inbox!

[heartsfromia]

critical inquiry — l. jihoon

pairing: non-idol! jihoon x reader

word count: 6,018

genre: fluff, workplace romance, reader isnt tech-savvy, jihoon kinda gives loser (endearing) energy

warnings: valorant (jk), profanities, proofreader? i hardly know her

author's notes: get me an IT guy like jihoon y'all, also idk i struggle when writing in mainly the guy's pov bro i cannot think like a man, can they be pathetic, yearning beings? idk bro

Lee Jihoon loved one thing about his job—working from home. With enough people in his team to cover tasks both from the office and at home, they're given the option to work either and Jihoon always picks home, time after time.

Until today, when Jihoon had received a message that his Work-From-Office buddy would be taking time off work for the next week because his grandfather fell ill, and he was asked to go back home for the time being.

“Only a week, Jihoon, and I swear you can go back to your PC set and slippers,” Wonwoo had reassured him, but it still wasn’t enough, “I’ll even help you rank up to Ascendant 3.”

So, that was how Jihoon found himself waking up at seven and taking public transportation to the office because his car was at his parent’s, and honestly, he wasn’t close with anyone to the point where he’d ask for a lift.

During the entire trip on his first day back to the office, he cursed the corporate slave routine. To think that before social distancing, that we would wake up at the crack of dawn to beat traffic or the commuter rush, go to a job that we’re not even sure we enjoy (spoiler: we don’t), and then have to go through that same rush and traffic when going home, only to sleep and reset the routine for the next day. As an IT support member, being in the office was the most useless and time-consuming thing. The Wi-Fi at his office is crap, the computers are old and laggy because the company doesn’t want to invest in better quality technology, and the team leaders are always breathing down your neck—but, hey, at least they compensate those that choose to come to the office.

One thing that Jihoon was grateful from the pandemic was the normalization of working from home. Having the option to attend the 10AM meeting, waking up at exactly 9:50 AM—clocking in—then joining the Zoom meeting without having to shower, change out of your pajamas, or even get out of the bed was something that was too good to be true. Alas, it happened, and he had been thriving and taking advantage of his Work From Anywhere policy in his company. Granted, he is only able to continuously work from home as long as there were two team members working from office, and luckily enough, that condition was met for the past six months

“This is new,” Hansol quipped when he spotted Jihoon signing at the entrance of the office. “Ah, Wonwoo is taking time off, right?”

“Yeah,” Jihoon muttered, most of his face hidden under a mask and cap, with his eyes peeking through the lenses of his glasses. “Do you think there’s coffee in the kitchen?”

“Obviously,” Hansol chuckles, finding the question obsurd. Can you blame Jihoon? The ceiling in the entrance of the building is almost falling apart from mold forming because of rain, and their computer to clock in was an old ASUS model from 2014 that can only function on a LAN cable—which is why its only purpose in this marketing agency was for signing in.

Sometimes Jihoon even wonders how the company can last for the past decade with its cheap ways.

He made his way to the second floor where the pantry, and overall kitchen was placed, making himself a cup of coffee before climbing the next step of stairs to the IT room—the main base for programmers and the support team. Another thing he hated about working from the office was the fact that the AC in his office just never seems to function. It’s the middle of summer, the city is going through a massive heatwave, and here, in his company placed in the smack middle of the city, they have a policy to not let the AC go anywhere under 23°C.

At least, when he is in the comforts of his own home, he can have the AC go as low as it can get, all while still in his pajamas, and could even multitask with Valorant opened in another tab.

“Oh, Jihoon, you’re switching with Wonwoo, right?” Jeonghan asked, turning in his chair and pushing his glasses up above his head.

“Yeah, I am, where does he usually sit?” Jeonghan taps the desk on his left, and watched as Jihoon got settled, a glint in his eyes that the younger one spotted. “What?”

“Did Wonwoo tell you anything?”

“Other than keeping my Google chat opened, nothing really,” he responded.

“You’ll be handling his division, too, right?” Jihoon nodded. “The Marketing team.” Rather than a question, Jeonghan confirmed the division, and once again, Jihoon nodded. A crease formed between his eyebrows, unsure of what his senior was referring to, and the latter noticed, chuckling at his puzzled expression. “You’ll see.”

It’s too early to understand what he means. Usually, he’d still be asleep right now if he were at home, especially since there aren’t any meetings he needs to attend today, he could’ve slept until three minutes before he required to clock in. He wasn’t use to having to be on work-mode even with ten minutes before his shift officially starts.

God, I miss working from home.

The first few hours into the shift was tedious. Since the company is a small PR agency, as a member of the in-house IT team, he’s required to wear multiple hats and take on various tasks. Unfortunately, since he is replacing Wonwoo for the time being, he’ll be taking on the task of Website management and ensuring that the Marketing team didn’t have any issues, as well as any technical issues the team might face, which is inevitable as their equipment is, as mentioned, crap quality. Every day Jihoon wonders why he claims to resign from the place but never does.

“Let’s grab lunch across the street,” Jeonghan invited Jihoon once the clock had struck twelve, signaling lunch time for all employees. Jihoon was about to agree and turn his computer to sleep mode when a ding! notified a message had come in. He rose a hand, indicating for his senior to wait a moment as he checked the message. He hadn’t received any complaints during the first half of the day from the team he was in charge of so this was a bit unusually for him.

It was a message from you.

Y/N: Afternoon, Jihoon. This is Y/N, and I’m new from Saerom’s team. Y/N: I was told by Wonwoo that he’s currently on PTA, and to message you instead. I have an issue with my Google Analytics account, I’m currently logged out and usually Wonwoo helps me with that because I haven’t been given my password (it’s been two weeks I’ve started 😅). Y/N: Can you help me with this?

“Who’s that?” Jeonghan ducked down, looking over Jihoon’s shoulder as he read the message, then a chuckle left his lips. “Ah… it’s Y/N, she’s a new, and struggles with a lot of the tech things—you’ll be meeting with her a lot.”

“She’s bad with tech and chose to be a social media specialist?”

“Ironic, huh?” Jeonghan laughs. “But she means well, even though she sucks with tech, she has good ideas and already has a viral TikTok video for one of our clients.”

“And she says she hasn’t been given her passwords? Aren’t we supposed to give it to them when they start?”

“Yeah, but usually they don’t ever log out, only she has that case,” he explains, the corner of his mouth lifting before he pats his junior’s shoulder reassuringly. “Just head on over there and help her, it doesn’t take more than ten minutes.”

Jihoon heaved a sigh, reluctant to help because of how tedious and unnecessary and easily avoidable this problem would’ve been if she’d had her hands on her account passwords.

Jihoon: Lee Saerom’s team? Y/N: Yes Jihoon: Alright, wait a minute Jihoon: On my way

“Are you dining in or taking away?” Jihoon asked Jeonghan, while he wrote down the password for your account on a sticky note.

“Dining in.”

“I’ll meet you there then.” With that, Jihoon tossed his cap off and trudged down to the second floor where Saerom’s team should be located. Since it was lunch time, most of the office space was empty, with only the office boy who was busy sweeping the floors from the aftermath of earlier today. He found the main room for the Marketing team fairly quickly, and didn’t have to look far for you as you were the only one in the room, seated in front of your computer, shoulders stiff and hands placed on your lap as if you were starting your first day.

Immediately upon hearing the creaking of the door, your eyes met above the desks and monitors, and for a brief second, Jihoon paused—almost shell-shocked as to finding someone like you working in a rundown company such as this.

“Y/N?” Jihoon called out, just making sure despite the obvious newbie aura that wafted around you.

“Yes… Are you Jihoon? The one covering for Wonwoo?” He nodded, and you were almost sure he’d say something to follow up to prevent an air of awkward silence from appearing between the two of you. He did not. Instead, he barely uttered anything as he approached your desk. You didn’t hesitate to push away with your chair to let him take the reigns and input your account. How you were able to stay logged out of the account and not have said anything earlier was unbeknown to him. You had been finishing up last week’s reports, but had only moved on to Google Analytics just twenty minutes ago. You’d usually have your account still logged in, always clicking the Remember me, however, to your surprise, you were logged out.

“This is your password.” Jihoon handed you the sticky note. “If you need any more help, you can just message me—Wonwoo is on leave for the next week.”

“A-alright.” Maybe it was the way he carried himself that intimidated you. Or the fact that he never made any attempt at small talk, thus, a tense and awkward air floated in the space between you two. Maybe it was his tone, lacking the usually bounce you’d usually hear from Wonwoo as he explained the mechanics of Hootsuite.

It is definitely his aura, it’s ice cold, you couldn’t help but think and maybe when he wasn’t looking, you’d shiver. “Thank you,” you uttered, and with a stiff smile, he nodded and left the room without anything further, leaving you to finish the last half of your report alone.

If you need any more help, you can just message me.

And that’s how it started, a back and forth of at least twice a day since that first exchange between you and Jihoon. At first, you had to introduce yourself again, despite the fact you were using Google Chats and your name was clearly displayed. After a brief introduction, you explained the problem at hand, then after a minute or two came Jihoon’s go-to reply.

Alright, wait a minute.

On my way.

The first couple of times, you almost thought it was an automated response he had somehow coded every time someone messaged him. Maybe he had set it so that after a couple of messages from the sender, it would trigger the short response from his end, however, you learnt that it was just purely him when your own messages grew shorter and shorter.

So, short to the point that this was your most recent exchange:

Y/N: Jihoon :( Jihoon: On my way

Thus, it became almost a routine for the two of you. Jihoon didn’t have any complaints, despite Jeonghan’s claims that the junior would usually complain from having to go back and forth, ascending and descending the same set of stairs more times than he should be. “Aren’t you tired?” Jeonghan had asked on Thursday after Jihoon had returned from helping you with the extension cord for the presentation you had scheduled the afternoon.

Jihoon merely shrugged. “I barely get to exercise with coming in.” Of course, as Jeonghan has been working with Jihoon since he started, he could tell the guy was bluffing, hiding whatever his true intention was behind his nonchalant facade, but he never said anything. Sooner or later the truth will come to light.

Jeonghan wasn’t the only that could tell that was a different air hanging around the avid-WFH-over-WFO tech employee, and whatever gossip that surrounded him managed to reach the ears of the guy he was covering for as the two got into a game of Valorant Thursday evening. As the two waited for a match to be found, Wonwoo informed him that his grandfather was feeling better and could be released from the hospital by Saturday morning.

“Oh, that’s good to hear, glad he’s doing alright,” Jihoon offered, although a bit half-hearted as he was eating his dinner by his desk at the same time.

“Yeah, and by Monday you can return to your world of working from anywhere,” Wonwoo said, a deep chuckle echoing on his end. “And by anywhere, I mean, literally just your room.”

“Nah, it’s fine, I can come in to the office next week,” Jihoon replied without thinking twice, then realized what he said and added, “you can make sure your granddad’s fine.” He internally sighed, believing he made a good save. However, a dead silence hung in the Discord call, even after the loud ‘Match found’ reverberated, breaking the silence for a second.

“What did you say?”

“What?” Jihoon tried to play dumb, then added, “I’m playing Gekko,” to change the subject.

“Did you just say you’re willing to leave the comforts of your own home to work from office?” Wonwoo asked again, clearly twisting Jihoon’s words causing him to roll his eyes. His colleague then added, in a faux tone of panic, “The end of the world is nearing, isn’t it?”

“Shut up and pick your damn agent.”

“Are you even Jihoon right now?”

Jihoon defended himself, “I can want to work from office from time-to-time, you know?” Wonwoo was exaggerating, wanting to work from office is tiring, but nothing is more boring than working alone with only a dumb FPS game there to entertain you every time you’re free. Admittedly, he found working while being surrounded with other people was enjoyable—he wasn’t a social butterfly, didn’t make an effort to start a conversation by the coffee machine either, but it was… nice being around others every now and then. Humans are meant to be social creatures, after all.

“You have been working from home ever since probation had ended, which was literally two years ago, Jihoon,” Wonwoo reiterated, “you have been working from home since.”

“That’s not true.” He frowned, the comment caught him off guard and he almost started the round with buying any abilities. “I worked three days last October.”

“Which was, what? Nine month ago?” He couldn’t rebuttal that. It’s common knowledge among his peers that he despises working from office—Jihoon knows that, too. It’s just that this week has changed his mind. People can change their mind. “I have to bribe you with Valorant just so you come to company dinners, and now you want to willingly cover me for another week? For free?”

An irritated groan shook his chest as his character died on screen. “Damn it—” He pushed to talk, “90 on Reyna.” He fell back into his chair with a sigh, annoyed that Wonwoo was ruining his focus on the game—it was supposed to be his rank up to Ascendant 3. “Okay, and what’s your point?”

Jihoon swears he could hear the guy smirk. “I know.”

“You’re being annoying, you’re distracting me.”

Wonwoo paid no mind to his complaints, hitting clean headshots on the enemy but the spike detonated causing them to lose the round. Despite that, Wonwoo kept his cool as he continued to taunt his colleague. “Vernon told me about your round trips to and from the Marketing team.” He was definitely grinning now. "The problem is, I know Saerom’s team don’t usually need any help from IT support—at least, not to the point to where you need to go there twice a day.”

Jihoon cursed under his breath as he, once again, misses his utility and gets killed barely ten seconds into the round. This time he doesn’t even bother to communicate with his team, in fear of his voice shaking in anticipation of Wonwoo’s suspicions. “Except for one person,” his peer begins, letting the silence drag between the two as he focused on the game, getting three kills in a row, winning the round for them. Then Wonwoo asks, Jihoon picturing a shit-eating grin on his damned face. “Y/N’s cute, isn’t she?”

“I’m forfeiting.” Jihoon presses slash then F, to which it was denied, their teammates sending in question marks in response. Wonwoo’s burst out laughing at Jihoon’s ‘missclicked sorry’ reply. “Focus on the game—if I derank, it’s on you.”

Wonwoo’s laughter only grew louder, letting himself have the last word. “Jihoon enjoying working from office wasn’t on my 2024 bingo.”

Neither was it on Jihoon’s because he never enjoys working from office. Whatever friendly and social air that was present the previous week wasn’t present now as he finds himself at the wrath of the Operation’s team manager.

“I was on a call with Miyoung and she told me she couldn’t access their website, Jihoon,” Eunkwang scolded, his greying brows forming deep crevices disguised as wrinkles between his eyebrows and across the length of his forehead. “You’re supposed to be on top of this—she couldn’t access it the whole weekend, Jihoon, what happened? We’ve never faced this problem before.” Yes they have, Jihoon recalled, it happens when you run an agency that barely gathers clients and doesn’t really care enough to provide quality platform options, either, but of course Eunkwang says the same argument. Talk about selective amnesia.

“I don’t care how long it takes for you to fix it—” Might take half an hour, could’ve dealt with it within the time you’re yelling at me but I’ll shut up, Jihoon bitterly thought but kept his lips pressed in a tight line. “I want it done until Miyoung calls to confirm.”

Once he was sure the old man was done projecting his anger, Jihoon bowed his head, uttering, “Understood.” He turned his body to climb up the stairs to the third floor, grumbling to himself how this wouldn’t have happened if he worked at home because he wouldn’t be tired from commuting and socializing during the weekends and could monitor the websites every now and then. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case because he was tired, and he is still tired, he hates working in the office, he doesn’t even know why he agree to go for another week, he could’ve been at home and in a Valorant Swiftplay by now—

“Jihoon?” He turned to find you, standing by the door of your team’s room, a timid look on your face. Something had happened, he could see it written all over your soft features as you eyed him wordlessly. Without saying anything, he followed you towards your desk, where you idly by your computer with pursed lips and furrowed brows.

The dreaded blue screen. It had only reached 15% and didn’t seem to budge even after three minutes of watching it.

“For God’s sake,” Jihoon cursed under his breath, however, it was loud enough for you to hear it and the unusual sharpness in his tone caused you to jump slightly, your heart beginning to race in your chest as his face contorted into frustration. “How did you manage to get stuck like this?”

“I-I don’t know.” God, you hated it when you started stuttering. It always made you look stupid and helpless. You inhaled a quick breath, hoping it would help calm the nerves that seemed to climb the more you avoided his intense gaze. “I was coming back from my break and turned it on, and it did this… I didn’t do anything, I swear…” If your lack of technological capabilities looked pitiful to Jihoon, your inability of forming a coherent and sensible answer was the cherry on top. “I’m really sorry.”

Upon seeing her stricken face, Jihoon inhaled a deep breath, letting his tensed shoulders fall. “No, Y/N, I should be sorry. I’m taking my anger out on you, you just needed help.” He glances back at your monitor, heaving another sigh. “Just leave it, it should be able to restart on its own, but if it doesn’t, just tell me.”

“Alright…” Would it be even more pathetic to say you were fighting away tears? You had to turn your head a bit, angling away from Jihoon so your hair fell to cover your face enough for him to not notice your obvious internal battle with letting your emotions take over. “I’m really sorry I keep bothering you with not being tech-savvy.”

An ache thumped in his chest hearing your apology, sounding defeated. “It’s fine, Y/N,” he tried to reassure you, but he knew damn well the damaged was done and whatever unspoken agreement to two of you had, had gone. Jihoon knew he was terrible with people, but he really messed up with ruining it with you—the one person that made coming into work, commuting back and forth, and facing nagging higher-ups, the least bit bearable.

It didn’t seem to register in him how bad the damage was until he got through the day without any messages from you. Even Jeonghan was surprised as the day was coming to a close. “Y/N didn’t come in?”

“She did,” Jihoon mumbled.

“And she didn’t need any help?” He only shrugged, trying to hide his own bewilderment. Did his words strike you that much? He decided to message you, just in case you were reluctant to ask him for help.

Jihoon: Y/N Jihoon: Everything alright?

He waited on the edge of his seat, his heart skipping a beat when you began typing back.

Y/N: Yes, everything’s fine ^__^

Everything was, in fact, not fine.

Not only did your computer take almost an hour to restart after the dreaded blue screen, whatever the computer had gone through during said hour had your accounts logged out, and you, being clumsy, misplaced the sticky note that Jihoon gave you, forcing you to borrow someone else’s computer to pull up the Instagram analytics. Fortunately, most of your inputted data was still available from before your break, it was still a hassle to transfer the data from your colleague’s computer to your own, and because, once again, you are tech-savvy, you didn’t know any shortcut. You had to turn to Google, open up YouTube tutorials on Excel shortcuts, consuming almost an hour of your day trying to learn everything from scratch.

But you promised yourself you wouldn’t bother him with any measly problems if Google already had a solution.

Even it meant running into the risk of never seeing him again.

Two days had passed. It was Wednesday and Jihoon was ready to pack up and head back to his old life of working from the comforts of his bedroom. Two days without his favourite snacks. Two days without his functioning PC that he paid hundreds, probably thousands of dollars to build. Two days without his fast Wi-Fi that was optimal for a quick ranked game.

And two days without the usual ping of his Google Chat, the room with you now collecting dust as the last message exchanged was his check-in on Monday.

Now Wednesday’s work day comes to an end without your plea for technological aid. You’re genuinely the only thing in this bleak, rundown, cheap company that makes the work worthwhile, Jihoon couldn’t help but think to himself on the train back home.

Was it pathetic of him to think of you as a reason to wake up in the morning, fight the morning rush and sit through eight hours of blank staring at a computer screen if it means he can get a glimpse of you every now and then when he goes down to get another fix of shitty coffee? The two of you only officially met last week after all, and yet, he has grown drawn to you, attached even, finding the brief sight of you as you sat by your desk, an ever-so-present clueless look to your face as you try to remember how to VLOOKUP the third time. He finds endearing, so endearing that his heart aches and his days grow grey when he hasn’t seen you yet.

Has he always been one to fall so quick for someone?

Would it be even more pathetic for him to fear that feeling? Mind you, he has never left the house unless bribed to, social interactions were scarce aside from the call outs to teammates in his ranked games, and even then, he never bothered to make small talk with the people he’d temporarily need to rank up. Was he a bit too deprived of social interactions that meeting you overwhelmed him to the point of creating a false sense of falling in l—

“Wonwoo, when are you coming back?” This time the two weren’t in a game of Valorant. Thank God, Wonwoo had thought when Jihoon asked to get on a Discord call. The latter had dinner prepared and was watching Big Bang Theory while on the call, but his head wasn’t focused on neither the ramen nor the TV show. “Can we switch back soon?”

“What happened to your willingness to go to the office?” Again, that damned smirk was noticeable in the way he spoke, but Jihoon needed to keep his cool.

“Changed my mind.”

“How come?”

“Sick and tired of being in the direct line of shot for Eunkwang’s spit when he yells at me,” he half-lied. He had to wash his face after that meeting, to the point he used the strawberry-scented hand soap to make sure he couldn’t feel the droplets on his skin.

“Oh yeah, Jeonghan told me.” A pause. “Sorry that happened to you, but it’s just Eunkwang, his ammunition is making you work overtime every now and then.”

“I just don’t want to deal with him every now and then, much rather read him yell in the group chats than in real life.”

There was a longer pause now, Jihoon’s eyes glanced at his second monitor just to make sure his friend didn’t disconnect. Then, Wonwoo spoke up, tone matter-of-factly and the shit-eating grin heard clearly. “Vernon tells me you haven’t been to the Marketing room in a bit.”

“Vernon you piece of shit snitch,” Jihoon cursed under his breath, but obviously his microphone caught it, Wonwoo throwing his head back in laughter.

“I’m guessing the Tech-Illiterate hasn’t been asking for your help?”

“Y/N,” Jihoon corrected, not liking the term used—even if it did fit you.

“Hey, there are a lot of tech-illiterate people in our company,” Wonwoo pointed out, then added, “so I guess you admit it then, you’re thinking of her.”

His eyes roll far back, he gets a mild ache in his temples. “Fine yeah,” he admits with a defeated sigh, “she doesn’t need any more help from me so why should I even bother to go to the office?”

“For work, Jihoon,” he says casually. “I mean, you get compensation to come to work. Extra money.”

“I’m already rich enough,” he responds, clearly dodging.

“Then why work?”

“I’m bored.”

“You piss me off.” Wonwoo’s comment successfully makes Jihoon chuckle. “I hope Y/N becomes so tech-savvy that she doesn’t need your help anymore, and you will never see her again.”

“Asshole,” he hisses and disconnects from the call immediately, Wonwoo’s words pushed to the back of his head as he finished his ramen and closed the TV show, opening Valorant for a quick game to relieve the stress built up for the day.

Unfortunately, once he laid on his bed, eyes stuck on the ceiling, his peers’ words returned tenfold, echoing a sickening mantra in his head. What if you do end up learning how to do your job with little to no help, technology-wise? It’s hard for the guy to admit (and a tad bit dramatic), but he truly did feel like his entire being has lighten since meeting you.

Maybe he is deprived of social interaction, and you were the fix he needed, but didn’t want it to be temporary. He wanted to know everything about you, the reason why you struggle with technology and remembering passwords and working different Google suites. He wanted to know why you chose this line of work, why this shitty company, and why hadn’t he met you before.

He wanted to know more about you, and he doesn’t want to ruin the chances of being able to do so.

Although it might be pathetic of him to feel so strongly over someone he only met the previous week, he knew this would be a missed opportunity to not get to know you better, that it would become his biggest regret and he didn’t want his leaving the comforts of his WFA routine be for nothing.

So, he had a plan. A bit of a cheesy, cliché of a plan, but a plan and he lost sleep wondering if it’ll work or not.

As he entered the office, his mind kept replaying what he needed to do. It was simple, he just needed to wait for you to reach out to him, ask for help with an issue and it should be smooth-sailing from there, all depends on your answer, of course, but that was something he could worry about later.

Phase one starts with you and your uncooperative computer.

Jihoon waited, eyes glancing between tabs where his Google Chat was opened, looking at the bottom right corner of his computer at the time, watching the time tick by and still no ping from you. But that was okay, it was only two hours into this gloomy Thursday, there was still a whole seven hours before he could truly panic.

So he waited more.

And more.

And more.

He waited until he couldn’t wait, and time was running out. Eyes shifted towards the clock: 16.39.

Less than thirty minutes until the work day, and tomorrow is Friday, and he needed to get this done today because if he didn’t then, it’ll mess up his plan for tomorrow (which depends on your answer, too, if you say ‘yes’ then there’s another plan for that, but if you say ‘no’ then Wonwoo was already back in the city so he could cover for Jihoon while the latter wallows).

“Fuck it,” Jihoon mutters as he pushes himself up out of his chair, causing everyone else in the room jumps and turns to his desk, only to see him already out the door and rushing down the stairs.

“Go get her, man,” Jeonghan utters, loud enough for everyone to chime along with him.

With long strides and quick steps down to your floor, everyone Jihoon seemed to past knew he was a man on a mission—a man on a mission for you. He tries to ignore the mild chills that rose up his spine at that thought. He might be pathetic sometimes, but he likes to believe he can be quite the cheesy romantic, despite what his friends might say.

As expected, since it had been a slow day, a lot of staff had clocked out early, their jobs for the day done and all ready to end the work week. However, you were still by your desk, focused on the task at hand, only two of your coworkers in the room with you, but even they were mindlessly playing with their Excel sheets, waiting for the clock to strike five.

When he stood close enough to you, he saw that you weren’t focused on a task, instead on a game of Minesweepers. He watched you win a game, pursing his lips and nodding, visibly impressed. Sensing a present, you turned around and jumped slightly. “Jihoon… Hi.”

“Hey, Y/N,” he greets back with a stiff smile. “Is everything alright?”

A brief look of confusion passed your face, glancing between him and your computer, before nodding, “Yeah, everything’s fine.” And it was. You got through your day just fine, nothing needed to be troubleshooted, or restarted. You didn’t panic, other than when you forget to send a file to Saerom, but everything—technology-wise—was fine.

“Really? I got a notification on my computer that there was something wrong with yours,” Jihoon lied through his teeth. He didn’t, but he needed you away from your computer so he has ample time to put his plan in motion. His statement caused your brows to furrow together, genuinely confused because you didn’t receive any notification from your own computer, shouldn’t that be the case? Unless you did, and you didn’t noticed because you were too focused on your Minesweeper game.

“Oh…”

“Yeah…” Jihoon rubbed a nonexistent itch at the back of his neck. “Are you done with your work? It might take a bit for me to check it.”

“Oh yeah, I’m done for the day,” you said, then to the clock above the door. “I didn’t realize it was almost five.”

If you could hear anything right now, it would be the pounding beat of his heart against his chest as he tries to formulate an excuse to get you off the computer. “It won’t take more than ten minutes, though, Y/N.”

“Alright, I’m just going to fill my water bottle and clean up while you deal with it.” With a stern nod, Jihoon watched as you stood and walked out the room. Once outside, he took his spot and started his plan.

Recalling the steps he saw on Google, opening Notepad as he pulled out the sticky note where he wrote the code beforehand, typing it in and inserting the necessary message. Once he had saved it, he tested it once, and almost yelled out in triumph when it worked, displaying a fake error message.

“What’s the problem, Jihoon?” You approached him, bottle filled to the top with water. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, you just…” He stood from his chair, gesturing for you to sit. He leaned down, keeping one hand on the back of your chair as the other guided you. “You just need to click that, it’s to install a… an update… Yeah, an update.”

“This one? The ‘Critical Inquiry’ one?” Jihoon hummed in response and watched with sweaty hands and a racing heart as you clicked it, an error message popping up on your screen.

Is this how IT guys flirt? The blood in your face travelled the distance to your cheeks, a bright pink beneath the glow of your skin as you tried suppressing your smile, Jihoon’s way of asking you out so unconventional, so out of the blue, so unique, that you couldn’t help but mentally applaud him, this was a new way you’d been asked out.

“What’s your option?” Jihoon asked, his voice so clearly on edge as he anticipated your answer, for a second even worried you’d decline then he’d be forced to return to his hermit habits and hide his embarrassment.

All that tension, no matter how hard he tried to hide it behind a nonchalant façade, was visible to you and gosh, he is so cute.

You sent him a smile, turning back to your computer wordlessly, letting your choice speak. Your cursor hovered towards the options, for a second too long it hovered over ‘No’, Jihoon’s breath hitching in his throat before his heart skipped a beat as the cursor moved and you clicked your mouse right on ‘Yes’.

The two of you stared at each other, a warmth in your eyes, and brightness in his, sharing a knowing smile before he uttered with the confidence he mustered between the panic.

“I’ll pick up at eight then, Y/N.”

[fatehbaz]

In just eight blocks of sidewalk in quiet neighborhood, walking through the not-quite-rain of a sunshower, today I encountered four missing shoe soles. Little pieces of plastic and rubber, detached from pedestrians' shoes, now lonely on the concrete, with the weeds.

No such thing, really, as a "weed", though. "Weed" is not a botanical term. Instead, describes perceived pests, at the discretion of the observer. At the discretion of the authority. Designated as weed by the one with power over that land. The agronomist, the rancher, the plantation manager. The weed wastes space that could otherwise be given to a monoculture cash crop, an "economically significant" plant. The weed interferes with the productivity of the plot of land. The weed interrupts the extraction. The weed diminishes the value. The weed doesn't belong in this place.

People are made to be weeds, too.

Some cities will designate you as a weed, and then they'll take action to pull you out. They'll uproot you. But it's not always explicit, like "we're outlawing loitering" or "we're outlawing taking a nap in the park" or "we're defunding the library". Sometimes it's quite clever, it's written into the physical landscape. Self-congratulatory "progressive" cities learn to co-opt language, to obscure the violence, to use and abuse space.

Thinking about things you might encounter, you might perceive, after you've been destitute, broken, lived at a homeless shelter, for years. Little signs of other peoples' misery. Indicators of desperation that some might overlook. And the way that environment shapes, and is shaped by, these miseries.

A friend asks "why is there always an unusual amount of scuffed detached missing shoe soles on this particular stretch of sidewalk? There are hardly any homes around here, it's all asphalt and empty lots, so where are all these be-shoed people coming from?" Because even though this is a wide expanse without either home residences or any kind of commercial or recreation space someone would want to visit, these blocks are the straight-line direct path between a low-income apartment complex and the cluster of corporate big box stores, and there's no bus line that runs between the two areas. "But don't the vast majority of customers of shopping malls and box stores drive vehicles, hence the obscenely massive parking lots?" Sure, customers drive, but guess who actually has to work at those places? An underclass of people living at that apartment complex with harsh restrictions and cheap amenities, who can't afford car insurance or who might be too physically disabled to bike. And so that apartment complex is a de facto "company town", the residents are essentially in confinement. It is written into that landscape. It can be read. "Why is there always debris, wrappers, coins, etc. in this particular quiet couple of blocks of the boulevard?" Because these blocks are between a thrift store and a same-day drop-in clinic, so many impoverished people will routinely be walking between these two locations. They attend their appointment, and then have forty-five minutes to kill before the bus comes back around, so why not check out the thrift store? The city and county collaborated and placed all the low-income assistance offices on the far side of town, which conveniently forces the poor and disabled to both stay away from the luxurious downtown district and also to waste their time making a four-hour commute, catching various connecting buses or else riding the bikepath, across the city just to attend a ten-minute-long appointment.

Then this spatial layout, this city's physical environment, will shape the physical body. This violence writes itself into the flesh. The way the denim is chafed and discolored on the left shoulder of someone's jacket from carrying a small backpack around by foot, day after day after day. The way someone's heart rate increases when they see a white and black vehicle in the periphery of their vision, subconsciously recollecting institutionalization and institutional abuse, or fearing what a ticket fee would mean for their budget (they might not be able to afford rent). The way someone develops a painful limp, maybe occasionally depends on a cane, because they had to walk great distances every day to get to work and their shoe sole fell off on the sidewalk, but they can't replace the shoes because their employer is underpaying them, and they're forced to stand all day at work anyway, and they already had some modest nerve damage in their foot because they've been rationing their insulin and can't afford their prescriptions, and federal medical insurance keeps denying them because their physical letters in the mail always show up too late or not at all, and groceries are too expensive so it's hard to get good nutrition to heal, but the diabetic nerve damage has by now damaged their digestive tract too so they have a strictly limited bland diet and can't enjoy the simple pleasure of a home-cooked meal (if they can even afford a home, at this point), and all those "little" miseries add up, and now they're hungry, and in pain, because they were forced to walk kinda funny for a long time over all those decaying sidewalks with all those other weeds.

[occamstfs]

Tailgating

Uptight Benji tries to force his way though rowdy tailgaters to get to work. How was he supposed to know the stupid game was such a big deal? Seems he’ll be learning in short order after having a beer or two to take the edge off.

Spin on one of my favorite older stories on here, also named Tailgating! Slightly shorter fratification, burps and personality changing sunglasses ahead! Also only a few days left to vote for the Talismen finale, there's a clear favorite but anything can happen! Enjoy this little ode to sweaty bodies and hoppy breath! -Occam

The roads around the campus library are closed for the big game, but Benjamin was still determined to host his Office hours. He knew there was some kind of football thing today but had no idea it was apparently the biggest of the year. Some bowl game or massive rivalry or something, He didn’t care- doesn’t and will never care, in fact . He’s done good work avoiding the jeering crowds of drunkards so far as he sneaks across campus. Nearing the home stretch however it’s clear there is no way around. He must somehow power through the horde.

Benji makes it a few good yards into the festivities unassailed, dodging elbows and spilled drinks like the best of them. Unfortunately the prudish academic takes time to grimace and sneer when one of the behemoths burps loud enough to make him flinch, pausing just long enough to become irrevocably caught in the chaos. 

Like an animal held by the scruff of its neck, Benjamin finds himself in the clutches of Bruiser, president of the school’s new Beta Delta Alpha chapter. “Yooo lil bro! What’s up? Looks like you’re not havin’ a good time?” Stuck in a meaty hand and between instincts of snide remarks and swift flight he opts for smarmy sarcasm, “Nono you bovine brute I’m having the time of my life on this commute.” Bruiser narrows his eyes, “hmmmm I dunno dude.”

Feeling the man’s sweaty, surely beer-covered palm soaking through his shirt he swats at it, “Ugh, the idea of work foreign to you hedonistic morons?” Bruiser’s lip twitches into a smile as he reaches to grab something with his free hand, “ohhh you’ve got work lil bro?” The hairs on the back of Benji’s neck stand on end as he feels something shift in the man’s expression and he tries to bolt away, Too Late.

Bruiser forces a massive mirrored visor onto Benji’s eyes and the prude freezes. His vision is shaded a dark burnt orange and his eyes scramble, the only remaining part he seems able to move himself. Bruiser releases his shoulder and pats his back, “Welcome to the party bro hahah!” Benji cannot see the man’s own eyes glimmering through his new visor, though as he leans in close all his senses are overwhelmed by how powerful the scent of beer is on his breath, “Here lil bro, let me help you chill out.” Despite disgust, despite fear, despite everything in him begging him to flee, the scent of beer on Bruiser’s thick breath fills him with an overwhelming thirst.

Benjamin doesn’t know how a tall boy ends up in his hand, but he can guess what is soon to happen when Bruiser turns to shout, “Yo bros! Lil Benj over here is gonna kill a tall boy in one gulp!” Through his tinted visor he sees the can raise to his lips, no one can see his eyes widen from fear as beer begins to pour into his mouth. Try as he might to slow the flow, to close his mouth, to not swallow he is totally unable to move. And then, his eyes lose focus for half as second, why would he want to stop drinking it?Did he like beer? As it continues to flow into his mouth he can’t imagine not liking it? ‘S pretty good. Despite his body willing itself through the can, in its paltry state he could never manage to drink this quickly. Rivulets of the swill spill out of his cheeks and down his jaw, staining the recently shaved upper lip and cheeks darker, a mustache never given the chance to thrive begins to sprout. Benji’s throat burns from the effort of racing to down the drink, through with each gasping swallow it becomes easier, more adept at performative drinking competitions, tight to the can his mouth widens into something cruder, made to be loud. And then he’s done

Tossing the can to the ground without a care Benjamin stands, swaying back slightly despite having only had the one drink. His hand pats his stomach and it jiggles slightly, the tall boy must be expanding in his stomach or something. He grimaces as it grumbles, his neck reflexively tenses as he feels a burp coming up. He can’t, no surely not- the glasses squeeze tighter on his head and he laughs once, wouldn’t it be funny though?

Bruiser watches with as smile as he sees the meek man’s torso begin to fill out as he fights the urge to burp. Beneath the visor his eyes surely go glassy as his midriff is exposed and soon enough covered by a treasure trail climbing up towards his chest. Buttons begin to pop from the beer-stained collar of his shirt as something a little less defined than pecs begin to hang on his chest. Impatient with the nerd’s hesitation, Bruiser steps in and pats the man on the back. 

With the slightest encouragement from his bro, er- from this frat bro, Benji lets loose. *BRGURRRP* It lasts a few seconds, it’s not alone *BUURRP* Immediately Benji’s mind returns and he again tries to take control of piloting the machine that is his body. His arms feel heavier as they hang limp from his shoulders, his neck falls back as from another back pat and the shouting of Bruiser he burps again, *BURRP* shorter, deeper. He feels his arms straining his sleeves and a gut that shouldn’t be there pushing against the buttons of his shirt.

Stains begin to make themselves clear in his pits as he grows sweaty from the effort of, drinking? Growing? Struggling to keep his mind? His declining mind accelerates as the smell of his own musk begins to assail his nose. He’s unable to fight the urge to laugh as a hand unfamiliar, clumsy and thick scratches into his pits. He has the clear memory of putting deodorant on his almost hairless pits this morning before leaving the house for, uh- surely not to come here right? 

No no, he had something to do. It’s Saturday. Usually on Saturdays he has work? “YO BENJ!” Bruiser shouts into his ear, “YOU WANT ANOTHER DRINK?” Benji nods wordlessly as whatever shred of himself is left in his mind tries to remember. Yeah he had work, it’s why he’s wearing this button up- He looks down to see a stained shirt, skin clearly peaking through a litany of tears through. He grumbles as his head hurts, he scratches at his itchy chest as it begins to pattern with hair. Suddenly his nose twitches as he smells something. 

Grimacing at the stink he moves to smell his own pits and laughs once more, unaware he’s caught himself in some perverse feedback loop. Man though, he would’ve sworn he sprayed some axe before heading out? He scratches his chin with his pit-sweat covered fingers as he remembers sniffing them at the house and flinching before spraying the forests with at least a few coats. Yeah he’d never leave for, uhh- looking down he sees the shirt has now completely shredded off, leaving him topless as his beer gut continues to fill out and shift 

His once waifish treasure trail spreads to cover his thickening waist as he grows a beer belly that makes it clear this is not his first rodeo. Looking down at his meatier torso his mouth falls open as his struggling mind grinds slower, he’s not- this isn’t him. His body rocks as Bruiser returns and throws an arm around him, “Sorry it took so long BJ- You know how it be huhuh! Had to show a couple bitches who was boss!” 

Benj reflexively raises a fist to bump his bro, discarding a bottle he can’t remember downing to do so, nor does he realize that he seems to be in control of his body once more. Scratching at his crotch he goes to grab the drink Bruiser brought him and he remembers he can always ask his main bro what’s up, “Yo uhhhh, Bruise? Did I have somethin’ tah do today?” Bruiser smirks as he hears the man’s plodding, clearly thoughtless voice, “Fuckin’ yeah bro! You had to show those fuckers who’s boss!”

BJ stares mouth ajar for a few seconds as his existence recontextualizes itself. Sure he’s a student but C’s get degrees huhuh, Bruise’ll have a job for him at his dad’s firm when he graduates anyway. The new tank’s mouth grows into a wide smirk as he remembers that the only thing college is about is having a blast. “YEAH DUDE!” All eyes turn as the man’s new voice tears through the tailgate party, “LET’S SHOW THOSE BITCHES WHAT A REAL FOOTBALL TEAM LOOKS LIKE!” Foam sloshes out of his cup as he raises it in the air, before pouring it on himself and shouting some more.

His resounding cheers are echoed by the crowd of people around him, many almost spitting images of himself and Bruiser. Burly beer soaked men guffawing and toned men only concerned with vanity muscles, all drowning themselves in jungle juice until the game starts. Most frats on campus have sororities over for the shindigs but not the ΒΔΑ guys, no their quarry is all those fuckers who think they’re too good to have a good time. BJ smirks as any prior desires are completely paved over by the idea of molding some pansy little fucker into a real man, just like him, just like his pres.

Indeed he and Bruiser go about the crowd like predators, hungrily seeking out people who were harangued to come to the game. Offering wallflowers drinks and watching as their hair bleaches platinum, pecs bursting through newly bought faux jersey’s. Giving frat-thirsty twinks a chance to become their quarry sweat stained sunglasses and delighting as they fill crop tops to bursting, new furry bellies and hairy below the belt bulges making their intentions clear for all.

 In no time at all Bruiser has a platoon of brother’s behind him, all suddenly excited for the game and otherwise finding the newly stubbled mouths of their fellow brothers. The president’s eyes scan the rowdy crowd around him with glee, excited to sample his new brothers after the game, but none is he more excited to ravish than his new number two, BJ.

When kick off nears he bumps his new brother on the shoulder, the same he clutched when the fucker thought his prissy little job was important. “Yo bro, game’s about to start- Let’s head on in-” BJ’s glassy eyes wrinkle with a smile as he begins to stumble alongside his bro, excited to watch his team stomp. Excited to just watch another game. “LET’S FUCKIN’ GO BRO!” His drunken voice dull and louder than he could dream to near before meeting Bruiser

Even as Brusier clutches his ass his mind stays focused on the upcoming game, though his cock bulges in his shorts either way. His own hand clutches at his bro’s defined waist. God it’s been like a decade since the last rivalry game, and to watch it right by his Bruiser. Man, BJ wouldn't miss this for the world.