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pinkrelish · 1 year

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 "𝐲𝐞𝐬" 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐲 | 𝐞𝐱𝐭𝐫𝐚

singledad!mechanic!eddie x fem!reader

✶A deleted scene from chapter twelve where receptionist!reader acts like a bimbo in front of Eddie just to rile him up. Written very tongue-in-cheek at the beginning.✶

NSFW — sexual themes, handjob, unresolved sexual tension, 18+

↳ start the story here to catch up!

[wc: 2.1k]

Heeding your checklist of chores, you idled at the workbench against the far corner of the wall. There were a few of the usual things you organized: placing nuts and bolts in drawers, facing products with their labels out, tidying small boxes, folding the end of the paper towel roll so it didn’t unfurl itself in the turbulent path of the oscillating fan. You bent over to toss cellophane wrappers into the waste paper bin, and took your time musing if the liner should be changed despite the little amount of balled up paper weighing down the bottom. Standing, you swept off the unsanded tabletop with your hands, and worked a crusty rag over an oil streak, making a mental note to call the laundry service to swing by a day early.

As you stepped away, you knocked a pencil to the floor. Its bright yellow body was impossible to miss, along with its excruciatingly long hexagonal roll carried by your elbow to the very edge, but you managed. You knelt to your hands and knees to retrieve the writing utensil, inspecting its broken tip. The graphite was missing completely, leaving behind an empty hole where it once was. An unfortunate accident. You rotated it a few times looking for other flaws—an honorable way to spend your time.

“You doin’ this on purpose?” gruffed out an annoyed voice behind you.

No need to check, you heard the amused twist at the corner of his lips. His left canine was probably on show, too. Not in a hurry to confirm, you gripped the pencil in your fist, and leaned forward, stretching in search of the missing lead before it was stomped into dust and potentially transferred from someone’s boot sole into a wealthy client’s car. You were thinking of them, really.

The floor was a rewarding oasis in the noonday sun baking through the warehouse windows. Your flat splayed hands and knuckles worked over the grit of dirt to inch your pursuit closer to the wall, drinking in the chill of the epoxy coated concrete cooling you down better than a 50 cent clear plastic cup of Kool Aid at a kid’s misspelled lemonaide stand. Though, the unforgiving flooring bit into your joints, and indented your knees with the netting of your pantyhose. But Eddie’s study did not sway to your shoe slipping off your heel. No, he was a gentleman. And as a gentleman, he praised the wealth of curves you put on display.

He used the heels of his heavy boots to drag himself from under a Mustang, thumping up beside you, wheels on the creeper rolling along the slick floor.

The lower you dipped your chest, the higher your skirt hem tickled the back of your thighs. In total innocence—truly giving your best effort to find the missing pencil tip—you tilted your hips to unimaginable degrees, presenting your ass to the point even your lower back side-eyed your act.

Smooth backs of fingers lifted the hem more. Eddie curled his index under your skirt, and assisted it to the crease of your cheek, following the change in nylon with his rough thumbprint as it wove denser around your thighs to hold you in. Tummy Control, it was advertised as. To a man who had seldom encounters with women, this meant very little to him, as did the change in texture. Though, curiously, he rubbed at it with interest.

“You’re something else, you know that?” But his voice was too playful to shame you, hardly traipsing through his throat to chastise. “I’m out here working my ass off, and you’re struttin’ around the garage in this lil’ piece.” The little piece in question was your corporate approved pencil skirt from a long forgotten temp job when your apartment lost two roommates in a breakup, and rent was past due.

Pandering to your audience of one, you shuffled two of the tiniest inches backwards, and steadied your hand on his outstretched leg. You bent at the hips, filling his large palm with a handful of your ass, and he admired you in a brush of fingertips near the innermost valley of your thigh, licking a divine chill up your spine. Playing along, you pretended to just notice him, assuming a sinless gasp, and following it with many airheaded inflections, “Oh! Didn’t see you there, handsome. Am I distracting you?”

The standing fan swung its head in your direction, sweeping Eddie’s bangs off his forehead in a brief burst.

You’d been on hundreds of dates, and not once had you been so deeply complimented by someone’s gaze.

Eddie dwelled in the distraction. He stroked his thumb over the fat, and traced his pinky along the hypersensitive crease before the swell which had your muscles tightening in a squirm. He was so close to the middle seam of the pantyhose. Perhaps he knew this as well, but didn’t care—he was just happy to be touching you. Laid out in the neon orange creeper, sun glancing off the packed garage, casting a glow across his puffy face. Sleepy eyes, messy hair, unbearably adorable grin—the type of candid expression showing how honored he was to look at you, so forthcoming and open. A trap, if there ever was one, luring you into picturing him twisted amongst your bedding on a late morning.

As he tracked his gaze over your backside, an aching reminder moseyed its way into his consciousness. Setting into a glare, he forced his way through any pleasantness lingering in his chest to tell you plainly, “Sweetheart, you’re fucking torturing me here.” You giggled, and he broke, falling victim to the squinch at his crow’s feet.

“You think I’m not torturing myself, too?”

“Dunno.” He craned his head back to check underneath the car for where each pair of boots were moving, and you peeped through the driver’s side window to keep tabs on the seated customers in the lobby. Once you both ensured there was no danger of being caught, he turned his attention to you fully. “You’re not wearing my favorite pair, so I couldn’t tell.” In case you weren’t sure, he wrung his hand around your leg, and drummed his fingers where there should be an easily accessible hole in your tights, where he could drag his fingers through your slick truth. His sorry features were tainted with remorse when your plush thighs weren't spilling out from the nylon; however, he drew his eyebrows in mock sympathy, and traced the area. “Could make these my new favorite pair, though.”

You about melted into a puddle of dumbstruck glee at his first foray into initiating dirty talk. “Yeah?” you stressed the word like he would—big smile and all. You raised the placement of your grip on his leg up, further, still going until the inside of your thumb threatened to assist what laid fat and heavy towards his hip. Car exhaust, pungent motor oil, and fumes swam in your head. Mind dizzy, you skimmed your nails over his heavy sack pressed tight against the seam of his coveralls. An implied line was drawn along your heat by his featherlight touch. You leaned over him, real close, chest over chest, knees spread because his hand encouraged you to do so. Mouth to mouth, considering kissing the dirt from his lips. “Wanna rip ‘em, and have me on top while you’re on this thing?”

Eddie moaned, and it wasn’t shy in the loud garage. “Want it so fucking bad, baby.”

A single ding from the bell atop your desk drew your attention.

Bodies paused, you both existed in the indecision of what to do. Eddie’s forehead wrinkled from his high brows driving his attention backwards, peering under the car again. The other employees of David’s Auto Repair shuffled around a Studebaker. There was no one inside to help the customer. What a shame.

Eddie lowered his chin in long clockticks, seeking you behind his heavy lashes and heavier gaze. His nose met the side of yours in an unrefined graze, dragging his chapped lips wherever he felt your smile. He kissed you hungry. Needy, desperate to fit the magnitude of his palm at the back of your head, and dirty your mouth with noses mashed together. He wanted you messy, he wanted you catching your balance on the creeper for the same reason his held sigh became your next breath, taking a pinch of your pantyhose over your pussy and twisting it around his fist to demonstrate his annoyance, as if the dull ache of your bottom lip against his teeth wasn’t illustrative enough. The peak of your whine and his approving hum tethered the snap of your tights and the squeeze he left on your thigh. Filthy warmth blanketed the top of your hand. Stifling hot, calluses running rough over your knuckles as he cupped your palm over his hard length, and curled your fingers around himself, kicking his hips up to really stretch the limits of your grip. Together, he guided you in a few teasing pumps along the base, ego growing at the pretty sound hitched in your throat.

“Hey, Ed!” Mr. Moore’s yell burst the bubble you two surrounded yourselves in. “C’mere, ‘nd look at this.”

It wasn’t an emergency. It could wait. There were enough mechanics on duty, they could figure out what they were gawking at, or admiring, or whatever it was they were doing. That was the justification behind your shared look with Eddie, and the tension holding you two apart faded within seconds. If anything it spurred you on. You raked your fingers through his hair, mussing the roots at the crown of his head, covering the side of his body with yours, stroking his cock. The consequences didn’t matter. He increased the pressure and showed you how he liked it when you looped your thumb and index around the edge of his fat tip and pumped him faster—

Ding, ding, ding.

The kiss slowed from the distraction, but you tried to keep going, staying in the moment with Eddie’s praise burning your cheeks. He was eager, he was close. He was whispering, “Feels fucking good when you—yeah—like that,” when you added the twist of your wrist to the end of motion.

“Ed!” Mr. Moore’s voice ruined the moment. “Where’d he… And wasn’t she at her desk a second ago?”

Ding, ding ding!

Your foreheads crashed together in a defeated groan.

Eddie sagged completely limp on the creeper. “Why do you do this to me?” He dropped his arms in a big shrug, kicking his legs out flat, throbbing hard in your palm. You curbed the urge to keep going and dragged your fingers away.

“Hey, you’re the one who started this,” you sniffed, sitting back to fan your face in effort to make yourself presentable while he considered rolling under the car for the next eternity to hide his blazing red cheeks.

“I was a good worker before you came along,” he argued, pointing at you with a nail outlined in grime. He did it with such vigor his shoulders curled off the creeper, sitting up to give you a real good talkin’ to. “I never did this sorta shit with anyone before you showed up. You’re bad for me. You drive me crazy.” Not an ounce of anger dared enter his tone, not even having strength to control his smile from going lopsided, dimpling, nose scrunching in a badly contained laugh. Never would he want you to think he was mad at you, even as a joke. He was soft like that.

Eddie broke first, and that’s all you needed to kiss him against the black Mustang door, thud on the metal deadened by his nervous hand coming up to brush his curls flat.

“You drive me crazy too,” you promised against his lips. “Now, try not to cum your pants when I bend over to get this trash, and have fun explaining to the guys why you can’t stand up for the next few minutes.” You cocked your head, and smacked your tongue in a hard, “‘Kay?”

He glared at your smugness. Glared at your backside, too. Scowled at his grip formed around the swollen length rising so obvious no matter how he fixed his legs, and surrendered to the humiliation of laying back on the creeper, summoning enough dignity to roll himself to the other side where a gaggle of boots scuffed the ground in search for him, and give some excuse that he was very busy fixing something and wouldn’t be available for the foreseeable future.

originally thursday's section in chapter twelve was split into three separate scenes. i was almost finished writing the first two when i took the section in a different direction and mashed all the important elements into the scene in the breakroom which did make the cut. truthfully i had only written to eddie's line of "wanting it so badly" and they would've gotten interrupted at that point (before any touching), but since this isn't exactly canon, i went ahead and had fun and made it a little spicier.

you might also recognize some imagery, lines of prose, or descriptions i salvaged from this piece and put into the final one!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie munson smut #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #the yes policy

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 11 months

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Same as it ever was 1

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as neglect, bullying, manipulation, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Between your home life and work, you just can't catch a break. Especially after you draw the ire of your boss.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen ft. Pete Brenner

Note: Hope yall like this one!

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Everyone knows to keep their head down when Mr. Hansen walks through the department. As often as he already has a gripe in his belly, he is just as likely to be looking for a victim to accost. You keep your head down as you sense him trawling the bullpen, his figure a speck at the corner of your eye.

You keep an ear pricked, call it paranoia, but you've witnessed the sort of suffering he can rain down on the unexpecting. You browse the spreadsheet, carefully inputting numbers cell by cell. You withhold a sigh, not wanting to give away any clue of your existence.

"Kendra," he leans on the blonde's desk, his other hand on his hip, "pretty name…"

She thanks him. The new girl is always his favourite novelty. It's these moments that make you even more thankful for the obscurity that comes with age. And more disgusted by the unchanging behaviour of creepy men.

"There's this conference next month, good experience for a temp," he offers, "what about it, sweetheart?"

If it was any other man, you might clear your throat to let him know you can hear him. To remind him of professionalism. Too dangerous. You feel a twinge of pain at letting the twentysomething flounder against his undeniable proposal.

"Far away so… we'd have to fly out," he continues and you shift in your chair unthinkingly. You can't help it, you've been there, you've had to smile and fawn, to pretend your skin isn't crawling. "...pack something pretty."

Your elbow hits your pen and it rolls off the edge of your desk. You wheel back to grab and dare a peek over at Mr. Hansen in his predatory posturing. His eyes are drawn to you and he squints as he rolls his tongue behind his lower lip. Shit.

You sit up quickly, repressing a groan at the pang in your lower back, and roll up to your desk. You cradle your face, hiding behind your hand as you scroll and pretend to be enraptured by your screen. You doubt you're enough to distract him from the beautiful blonde.

"They got room service up in Gaines," he continues, "think about it."

He taps two fingers on her desk as he pushes off. You expect him to strut back to his office but continues his walk of the floor. You shrink down and curl your shoulders, looking at your cold coffee in desperation. A good excuse to get away from your desk but you can already hear him rebuking you for getting up just for another cup.

You click to the next sheet in the file as he nears. You stiffen as he comes behind you, holding your breath as you wait for him to pass. You feel him pause and hear the subtle scuff of his sole. You nearly jump as he puts his hands on your shoulders.

He leans in, his overpriced cologne tickling at the migraine in the back of your brain. You select a cell and pull up a report for comparison. He watches you work without a word, hands firmly on your cardigan.

He shoves away suddenly and claps his hand as he twists on his heel.

"Alright team, back to work," he demands as if the whole floor must be rapt by his presence, "no fucking around."

You let out a breath of relief. You glance over at Kendra as she gives a cringe at his back. You want to commiserate but you'd hate to make her feel more awkward.

You wait until you're certain Hansen is in his office and take your half-finished coffee to the kitchen. You rinse it out and dry it before placing it on the tray of the machine. You put a pod in and select the size, standing back with crossed arms to watch it brew.

You hear someone behind you but don't look over. The shadow approaches the fridge and pulls it open, taking out a container seemingly at random. You turn your head and blanch at Mr. Hansen as he cracks the communal carton of milk meant for coffee and drinks directly from it. You try not to show your disgust.

"Morning," he swipes the back of his hand across his mustache, "want some?"

He offers the carton as you grab your mug and shake your head, "no, thank you, sir."

"On a diet? Keeping the dairy low?" He wonders before taking another gulp then looks at the label. "Ugh, who the fuck ordered skim?"

You muster an awkward smile. You've never been good at office politics, you don't pander, you just mind your business and so your work. A good day is when no one bothers you.

He puts the carton back without closing it. You retreat slowly, realising he's between you and the door. You try to sidle past as he reaches into the fridge again. He steps back, nearly into your path and examines the tupperware. You stop short as you recognise the worn teal lid; it's your leftovers from the night before, your name clearly labelled on the top.

"Huh," he peels back the lid and smells the chili, "smells delish…" he dips his fingers to your shock and sucks it off shamelessly, "hell of a cook." He says, a tinge of red in his mustache.

"Uh, thanks, I should–"

"You should?" He arches a brow, "you should… keep your nose out of my conversations and focus on your own work, right?"

"I don't know what you mean–"

"I saw you. Squirming like a caterpillar," he snaps the lid back into place and tosses the whole container on the bin beside the fridge, "look, I know at your age, there’s not much excitement but it doesn't mean you needa eavesdrop on matters that don't concern you."

"I didn't–"

"I get it, you're jealous, your ass blew up after the kids and your husband hasn't looked at you in years–"

"Sir," you say affronted but more stung by the accuracy, "please, I wasn't–"

"Oh, yes, you weren't listening because you have a deadline," he steps closer and wraps his hand around your mug. He wiggles it free of your grasp and you let him, "I moved the budget review to tomorrow morning so…" he pauses and swigs the coffee while snapping his fingers with his other hand, "snap, snap on those expense reports."

You stand, stunned and shamed. He spins nonchalantly and strides out, still sipping your fresh coffee. You let your head fall back and groan. Not only are you out the extra caffeine boost but you have to call the babysitter.

🗄️

You don't mourn your lunch as you likely wouldn't have the time to eat. You spend it outside, below the awning of the building as rain pours over the edge. You have your phone in hand and a needling in your skull. This sort of weather always gives you a headache.

On the fifth try, Pete picks up and you swallow a sigh, "hey," you say abruptly, checking your watch.

"Hey, what's up? I had to leave a meeting," he hisses low, out of breath.

"I'm sorry, I just need to know what time you're expecting to be home. The sitter can only stay until seven but I have to stay late–"

"Late? Honey, you know I can't guarantee I'll be there. I'm working my ass off tryna get this thing off the ground. Grinding–"

"I know, I know, but we could use the overtime and… I don't really have a choice."

"Can't you do tomorrow?"

"Pete, it's one night–"

"One night? It's a call I'm not making–"

"Please," you beg, "we need the money, you know we do."

He puffs and blows a raspberry, "shoulda told that sitter to stick around…" he grumbles.

"We can't even afford to pay her for the extra," you mutter.

"I fucking know–"

"Don't swear at me," you warn, "if you hadn't bought that damn corvette–"

"Not doing this again. I'll be home at seven. Happy?"

You roll your eyes, "yeah," you lie. Happy, no, that's not something you feel anymore.

"Pete," a female voice purrs and he hushes them.

"Got it, Anita," he clears his throat, "tell them I'm on my way back."

"Sorry to keep you," you chew your lip, "I'll let you go."

"Sure," he scoffs.

"See ya tonight," you soften your tone, "love ya."

Click. The call ends and you're left dangling. You pull your phone away and look at the screen. No point in using up the last of your break, you might as well just go back to your desk.

🗄️

Your vision glosses as you stare at the messily painted portrait of a house and tree. The sitter sent a picture of Simone's latest artwork and tugs on your impatience to get out of there. You wish you could be there to pick up your kids and hear all about their day.

Most times you spend the hours after work cooking, cleaning, and trying to rein them in. You're not fun like Emma, their sitter, you're always the voice of reason, the strict ruler of discipline. You send back a heart and black the screen.

Another person packs up for the day, once more tightening the chain that attaches you to your desk. You lean forward, your head pulsing as the brim of your vision blurs. The advil did nothing against your migraine.

You hold your forehead as you squint at the numbers. This is going to take forever. Pushing a budget meeting up one week surely is a personal attack. You need to work on your poker face, you can't do this again. You're too old and tired.

You yawn and fight to keep your eyes open. Maybe Pete can do bath time. You almost snort at that. Right, and hippos are bright pink and friendly.

You shake your head and lean back, trying to stretch out the kinks. You hear the elevator. Eventually you'll get there.

You look around, realising the desolation of your predicament. Not too many people left, at least not those without offices. You roll each ankle, arches achy just from your low heels.

Your phone buzzes and you ignore it. It's six-thirty. You let it go to voicemail and save your file for good measure.

You think of having another coffee but that will only make your head throb and your night sleepless. Well, more than usual.

Your cell starts to jitter again. You're agitated as you snatch it up. It's 7:03. Emma's number greets you in blaring white digits. Dammit, you already know what's going on.

You answer, saving again as you wheel the chair back and reach into the drawer to fish out your purse. You keep the phone to your ear as you say 'hi' and struggle to get your jacket on. Pete!

"Hi, um, I'm still waiting for someone to show up–"

"I'm so sorry, Em," you shut off the monitor without bothering to boot down, "Pete said he'd be there. I'm on my way now."

You step around your chair, nearly tripping over it and push it in behind you. You rush across the office in a clomping gait, half-running as you weigh coming in at 4am and convincing security to let you up early. You continue to apologise to Emma as you promise to be home as soon as you can.

You hang up and dial Pete. As you near the elevator, his voicemail plays and you sneer, hitting end and dialing out again. You poke the down button several times and wait for an answer.

"Pick up!" You growl to no one.

"All done for the night?" A lilting taunt brings you around to face Mr. Hansen as he runs a small comb through his mustache, "you work fast."

"Mr. Hansen, I… I have an emergency–"

"Ah, so you're not done," he tuts, "I figured you'd be used to working fast. I'm sure the old man only last about five seconds, huh?"

"Sir," you bite back your offence, "my kids–"

"Aw, mommy's running late for supper. Let me guess, the dead beat can't even boil water."

You want to shriek. Can this man not shut up? This day just won't end and it's really all his fault. You're welling up and about to explode.

"Please," you utter.

"Oh, come on, you got exactly what you wanted, didn't you? Kids, a husband, the whole nine yards," he tucks the comb into his front pocket, "didn't anyone ever tell you they stop fucking you once you pop at a couple watermelons?"

You gulp. What is happening? Your throat tightens up and your eyes glaze. It shouldn't bother you, he's a gross old pervert but what are you? A bitter and sad old woman.

"You're not going to cry, are you? A strong working lady like yourself? Nah, you can hold it in, for the kids. You got a daughter don't ya, you wouldn't want her to see you break–"

You take a step towards him and stop yourself, palm itching to smack him. You raise your chin and bat your lashes.

"I'll finish the reports at home. I need to go take care of me kids," you fight to keep your voice steady.

"That's the thing about you moms, always the martyr, always looking for special treatment cause you let a guy drop a load indoors," he sneers, "and you're just gonna raise a couple of brats to go off and live the same boring lives."

"Stop," you croak.

"If you're gonna cry, just do it," he goads, "huh, maybe it's menopause kicking in early? All that stress–"

"Good night, Mr. Hansen," you say curtly and face the elevator just as the doors slide apart, "I'll have the numbers done. I promise."

"Oh, I know you will," he snickers, "but you still owe me. For being such an understanding boss, you know?"

You turn around and grimace in confusion. Owe him? He winks and smirks back, "say hi to the kiddos for me."

The doors shut and you close your eyes, hanging your head in defeat. You're going to be up all night, less than ready for the review and certainly unprepared for Mr. Hansen. You can only hope by then he finds a new target.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #pete brenner #dark pete brenner #dark!pete brenner #lloyd hansen x reader #pete brenner x reader #the gray man #pain hustlers #au #boss au #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

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lou-struck · 9 months

Text

Locked Out

Eijirou Kirishima x reader

25 Days of Ficmas Day 8

W.C: 1.7k

Warnings: Reader accidently gets locked out in below freezing temps. Kiri feels bad, symptoms of being cold.

~After you were accidently locked out of the house in a snowstorm, your boyfriend tries to warm you up.

For as long as you have known him, Eijirou Kirishima's love language has been Acts of Service. This man just loves to do little things for you that you don't like doing for yourself. Whether it's moving your laundry into the dryer on busy mornings or watering your houseplants, Kiri will jump at the chance to help you out and make your life a bit easier.

At first, you weren't used to having someone there who wanted to help you, but now it is safe to say you are just a bit spoiled from the Pro Hero's doting behavior.

After a long day's work, you came home to darkened skies and your boyfriend shoveling the snow from your driveway- another necessary task that you really didn't want to do. A tall pile of snow rests in the grass, and you see the wet, salt-covered asphalt of your driveway for the first time in days.

You can hardly contain your joy as you turn off your car and run into the Red-headed hero's arms. You press your face into the plush of his padded winter jacket. The surface is cold and silky on your cheeks as he squeezes you tightly. The well-loved shovel clatters onto the ground with a scraping sound, but neither of you really seems to care.

"Did someone order a snow plow service?" he asks, his condensation filling the air as he pants softly from the exertion.

"Eijirou," you pout, tilting your head to take in his rosy cheeks and snowflake-covered lashes. "You texted me this morning that you picked up a patrol today. Did you really do all of this yourself to surprise me?"

He laughs and looks down at you with a big smile. "Course I did. You hate shoveling the driveway."

You would say something in your defense, but he is absolutely right. "Well thank you. Let's go inside and get you something to eat. You must be starving."

His stomach growls at the very mention of food, and he laughs merrily. "You know me too well. Let's eat."

It's amazing to see what a difference an hour inside and a simple meal can do to warm your spirits.

Your plates have been cleared, and you and Eirjioru have settled into your usual routine of washing and drying the dishes together. Kiri washes the dishes and hands them over to you to dry and put away.

He lost drying privileges after breaking one too many coffee cups, so this delicate task is all on you.

You place the last few glass plates into the cupboard, and you hear the water shut off.

"Is that it?" you ask as he unrolls his sleeves and steps away from the sink.

"It sure is, we have gotten good at this whole living together thing."

You laugh and loop your arms around his neck. "I think I like you around."

"You're not too bad yourself." he cheeses, his neck craning downwards to give you a long-awaited welcome home kiss. His slightly chapped lips meet yours tenderly and you feel at ease. Your shoulders slump, and the stress of the holidays seems to disappear momentarily.

He pulls away and says the most attractive sentence known to man.

"I'll take the recycling out, Baby."

You look over to the overflowing recycling bin in your corner. Crushed cans and boxes pile up past the counter top. He grabs the pile easily and shoves it into the bin, his skin hardens as he aids the process with his quirk.

As it shuts you realize that he may have missed a partially crushed can that fell off the overflowing pile and onto the floor when the bin used to sit. With a carefree shrug you crouch down to pick it up yourself and toss it into the bin outside.

As you do, so, you hear the creaky hinges of the back door fly open and the recycle bin frantically slamming onto the ground.

"Eiji?" you call with concern, "Is everything all right?"

"All good," he answers, his voice traveling down the hallway. "Just gotta take a pee."

You laugh as he steps into the bathroom and walk towards the door to take the can out yourself. A pair of fluffy slippers are by the door that you slip on quickly. You spot a few jackets on some hooks but decide to forgo the jacket since you'll only be out for a second.

AS soon as you step out the door your mostly bare feet land in a pile of snow. The cheap slippers do not protect your poor toes from the elements as you let out a yelp.

The night air hits you like a ton of bricks. Each step chills you more as you shiver and shake your way to the recycling bin and toss the can in.

Turning quickly, you run back to the house and reach for the metal door handle.

It doesn't budge.

Letting out an annoyed huff, you twist the knob again.

Still no movement

You push and pull and push some more as you come to a harrowing realization…

Eijirou Kirishima, your super sweet, heroic boyfriend. Has locked you outside in the cold.

You knock frantically on the door as your poor, underdressed body begins to cover itself in goosebumps. But no matter what you do, Eijirou doesn't seem to hear you.

Is he still in the bathroom?

What if he's doing a number 2?

You're running in place now trying to keep yourself warm. Your fuzzy slippers chilling your poor toes from the snow. You know that just waiting here is useless.

With a huff you begin to walk around to the front of the house so you can punch in the garage code and let yourself in that way. Halfway there, you turn, lose your footing, and fall into one of the many piles of snow on the lawn that Kiri had made from the snow on your driveway.

Now all of you is freezing.

You make it to the garage and try to punch in the code with shivering hands. But nothing happens. The panel dosent even light up.

The battery must be dead.

Shit.

You're so cold and miserable. Your wet jeans cling to your skin and begin to partially freeze against your legs. The new frost cracks slightly as you climb the front steps. Your lips tingle and you can hardly feel your face as you rapidly ring the doorbell with a trembling finger.

The dings and the dongs are so mashed together it creates a whole new sound. Your other hand bangs on the door and every bit of you begs to be let inside.

The door swings open in a flash, and Eijirou looks at you with a mix of shock and surprise in his features. You were only outside for about eight minutes or so, but to him, it seemed like a lifetime.

He takes in your frozen, unredressed appearance and you see his heart sink. "Oh my god, did I lock you out?"

"Y-yeah." you shiver as he pulls you inside. You filing off your now ruined slippers and they hit the wall with a splat. "W-was c-cold."

"I'm so sorry," he sputters. "After I went to the bathroom, I realized it was more of a Number 2 thing, and I went to grab my phone to scroll. You know how that is." He feels himself going off-topic and brings himself back to the issue. "Anyways, I saw the door wasn't locked, so I locked it on my way back in."

You know he is beating himself up over this, but if you weren't so damn cold you would laugh about this.

"If I knew you were out there I never would've locked you out in the cold."

"It's okay." you shiver as he leads you into the house to warm you up. He leaves you by the heating vent as he runs around like a chicken with his head cut off, frantically grabbing you new clothes, helping you out of your wet ones, and tossing them in the wash.

With you all dressed in clothes that are not covered in snow, he settles you on the couch. You try to keep your shivers to yourself but it takes more than new dry clothes to warm you up.

Your body betrays you, and your heart feels like a guilt-impacted stress ball every time you see the weariness on your ball of sunshine features.

"Come sit," Kiri gently directs you to the couch and takes the plaid checkered blanket draped aesthetically over it's back and wraps it around you. He tucks you into the cushions in your upright position, "How does that feel?"

"Better," you mumbled. It may have not been a lie, but you certainly could get warmer.

His crimson gaze bores into you and he runs a hand through his long hair. He sighs and walks off. "You need more."

And more you get. Eijirou tosses every blanket in sight over you and you feel yourself becoming one with the leather seats.

You can't stop him, not when you see how guilty he looks for unintentionally putting you in this situation in the first place. But his efforts are working. The shivering ceases and the biting cold outside feels like a distant memory.

After you can't think you can hold the weight of any more blankets he comes back into the room. He looks over you carefully and finally meets your gaze. "Do you need anything else?"

Wordlessly, you wiggle your arms out from under the mountain of blankets and hold them out to him. Your eyes are half-lidded as the exhaustion for the day hits you. As a silent invitation for cuddles that he never wants to reject.

He blinks in surprise, "Are you sure you want me in there with you."

He is too good, "Eiji," you say firmly, yet lovingly, "if you don't get under here I swear I'll lock you outside myself."

Your good-humored threat works wonders. The tone in the room shifts and he smiles for the first time since dinner. "Then let me just dive right in." he chuckles, slipping under the mountain so you can cling to him like the koala bear you are.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

#my hero academia #bnha #bnha x reader #bnha eijiro kirishima #x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #kirishima eijirou #kirishima #mha kirishima

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hidefdoritos · 7 months

Text

Today's Mending

I'd really hoped to be well enough to sit up at my sewing machine today and knock through a pile of mends that are waiting on the machine. No such luck; my temp went back up today. Two steps forward, one step back.

"I will no longer berate myself for resting," I said as I laid in bed for three hours after waking up. "I will no longer berate myself for resting," I chanted as I sewed while bending in strange positions on the floor. "I will no longer berate myself for resting," I promise myself, taking cough syrup and ibuprofen and lying down again.

So here's what's been done today. I enjoyed it. I don't need to punish myself for doing less than yesterday. Anything I get to take a needle to is a blessing and a joy.

First up is my brother's suitcoat. Yep, the brother with the 30" waist and the 40" hip. He asked me to take it in. I've never messed with tailoring coats, but I gave it a shot today. I basted the center back seam in sort of a diamond shape. So far I don't like it and it makes weird bubbles.

I watched a tutorial that takes the jacket in at both side seams primarily. I'll have Joe try it on first, once I'm well enough to be around people, and then see what I can do to the jacket.

I found two random little cuts in the hem of this hoodie. Can't imagine what did that, but there they were. I mended a tiny cut in this same hoodie's sleeve yesterday with blue thread, so I carried on with the blue mends.

So, I got some blue fabric from a free bin! The tag shows 4.67 yards for $4.67 and a purchase date in 2003. I also found two GORGEOUS pillowcase tops in that same bin. The yellow isn't usually my color, but since they're handmade, I just had to take them.

I like to think that these came from the same sewist. Maybe they never put the fabrics together--the yardage seems more fitting for a dress--but I hope they'd be happy to see their hard work being used. They're going to become my primary pillowcases.

Today I just cut out the backs. Some other day I'll sew all the seams.

I was out thrifting, on my way to the register, and this miniskirt jumped off the rack, bit me, and asked to become a tote bag. Well, not quite, but that's essentially what happened. I have serviceable sewing and crochet project bags, but I don't have one big enough for a swimsuit, towel, sunscreen, and change of clothes. This will be it!

I've thought of every way to add a bottom to the bag, and eventually I settled on sewing it shut. I have scads of heavy-duty cream-colored blue-striped canvas (from the same free bin! I'm saving it to make a corset), so I'm making the straps out of that. Today I just cut and pinned them. I'm finally coming around to the trend of stripes with flowers, I guess.

I cut out a couple more patches for these awesome summer shorts. Then I remembered that I'm sick and exhausted. And that somebody else has my iron right now. So, they can wait.

#cj sews #diy #sewing #solarpunk #mending #beginner sewing #it's not waste until you waste it #use it up wear it out make it do or do without #pillowcase rescue #miniskirt bag #solarpunk shorts

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thecontroll · 26 days

Text

⠀ა̸⠀𝐑ai Control Up⠀⠀ 【 TEMP:01CAP:01 】

Art by: Caroless. Write and created by: Control (me)

⠀ ✦⠀Synopsis -

It's been 4 years since the definitive defeat against the fearsome Dr. Eggman. The world seems to remain in peace after that, however, there is something big approaching while people are disappearing into the darkness.

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

The end of peace.

It was a busy morning, the typical comings and goings of any big city. Our old and beloved hero finds himself in a corner cafe - a typical downtown cafe, very cozy with an inviting atmosphere.

Sonic seemed to be waiting for someone, which was true, he was waiting for Miles "Tails" Prower, his best friend. It was taking a while to get to the agreed location. The runner had refused service to the waitress twice and became even more impatient with each second.

In the background you could hear the establishment's old television, broadcasting major, prominent broadcasters, which generated public interest. It's time for the big newspapers, with the hottest news of the moment, the hedgehog listened to the new report carefully, remaining discreet to his customers.

"- We have just had another case of disappearances. This is the twentieth reported in recent days, the fourth in the last 5 hours " the reporter says. "The victim was a young civilian, resident of the Sunset City. We give the floor to the detective, -------- listening?"

"- Positive Ms.--------. The question that intrigues us most at the moment is whether there is a relationship with the other cases of disappearances registered in recent weeks. What scares us and which were in various parts of the world . All the victims appear to be young people and the kidnapper seems to have attacked in the same way: at the best time, leaving no trace."

"[---]"

The reporter speaks again, instigating that old television panic: - Will we return to a time of constant attacks after years of peace? What if it's a plan from a new villain ready to bring the world to ruin? And where are our heroes in all this? "

- We're here - the blue one thinks out loud. It wasn't just his friend's delay that made Sonic restless. He's been like this for days, all these strange cases and with Dr. Eggman out of the game it was hard to think about who was responsible for the crimes.

The door bell rings, suggesting that a new customer has just entered, however, he was not there for coffee or dessert. The hedgehog becomes excited and then says:

- Wow Tails, this is taking so long! I was starting to want to run and look for clues.

The fox had finally arrived - much to Sonic's relief. He was holding a bunch of paperwork awkwardly, giving an idea of the delay. They were going to solve this case right then and there, and now!

- Sorry Sonic. It was a lifetime to catch all the bulletins - He justifies himself - listening to the report in the background, now from another sensationalist broadcaster - and speaking of the devil.

- Yup, that's right - Sonic makes a sarcastic expression - they're charging us again.

- Well, your charges will cease. We came here for a reason - Miles throws the files on the table and sits down.

Now they could analyze the piles of files and start the "detective talk".

- The journalism was right: it's the same kidnapper. If we can identify a pattern between the victims and how they are approached - The fox begins, searching through the information on the files. Everything was written down and it really must have been a real headache to get all the information.

- There's something about the civilians ?

- Maybe, let me see. It has all the personal data of the individuals. Name, gender, species and ethnicity, residence, marital status and blood type - Prower pauses for a moment to look at a paper - Sonic, pay attention to this last one.

- They all have the same blood - something catches your attention - type "C", Tails what is that? - The blue one says surprised.

- Blood type C is a blood type very similar to A. It is very difficult to discover because of this similarity - he pauses - I only know that they produce a supposed "miracle protein" but it is just a hypothesis created by Dr. Wire - *sigh* - You know, this blood is extremely rare and exotic. There is no very in-depth research on it, just theories and hypotheses.

- So if the targets are a select group of people, that helps a lot. But the fact that people with common sense know little about it scares me. .

- I'm worried too. Someone has probably discovered something revolutionary and is going to use that knowledge for something terrible, and that someone isn't Dr. Eggman. - The fox looks outside for a minute - Not knowing your enemy is worse than getting used to the atrocities he commits.

- Whoever it is, let's put an end to this - Sonic stands up determinedly, punching his fists and encouraging his friend - after all, we are still heroes, and people are in danger right now... we have to act!

- I don't want to let these people be used either! - the scientist says determinedly, then takes his trusty Miles Electric and begins to calibrate his precious device - Let's see... there must be a record of all individuals cataloged with type C somewhere . . .

The old hero sits back down and watches his faithful companion, all determined. Suddenly a cry of "eureka" is expressed by the fox, affirming his success in the search.

- Here are all registered so far, by counting the number of cases and attaching the names of the victims with the archived data we can make an estimate of the next target - Prower says.

- The criminal has only kidnapped young people so far, which means we can eliminate the older ones - Sonic concluded.

- There are 68 people in total. That number has just dropped to 30, counting recent cases - pause - the kidnapper has a tendency to hide any trace, it's not that hard to make ordinary civilians disappear. I don't believe he/she/it would bother to go after high-class or famous people.

- So we have 27. We need to identify another pattern. How about we take a look at the regions recorded in the investigation records?

- Good idea. Let's see... - Miles looks deeper - Apparently he or she is looking for their victims from North to South, going to West.

Now they just needed to make statistics of the missing regions. That part was left to the fox, a master of quick calculations. The old hero seemed a little more relieved. Seeing all those numbers going down eased the heroes' minds.

In the background, the TV stations continued their narrative of chaos, and the two were fed up with it. It was one of the reasons they had chosen a public place - Tails' idea. They didn't want to admit it, but the newspapers were right about one thing: "we have to put an end to the new threat."

Looking for more information about the cities and countries that suffered the attacks, young Prower seems to have found the answer he was looking for. He exclaims excitedly:

- Found it! Sonic we need to go!

Miles quickly flies off with his tails, collecting all the confidential paperwork. The hedgehog understands the message and follows him, making the coffee machine's dirty towels fly. The people around look surprised, already knowing about the two's presence, passing it off as a fresh suffering - they don't even bother anymore. Despite everything, most of them feel safe seeing the duo in action. .

With the Tornado ready to fly, Miles shouts the destination point:

- TO THE SMALL TOWN OF BLUE COPPER!! ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ •

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ •

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀•

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀.

*hmmn* *hmmm*

A grumble can be heard ...

A white-furred cat with purple spots has just woken up from an induced sleep. She was young, her clothes said she was a freshman. Her name was Rai, a Mainecoon cat. .

The girl opens her eyes, still sleepy, and it took her a while to notice the distorted green vision. She was trapped in a laboratory tube, submerged in a type of chemical saltpeter liquid. She could hear the wires in the compartment pulling the bubbles.

Waking up scared when she realized this unusual situation. Now she was awake and with an accelerated heart. In fear of losing her breath, looking in all directions with agitation.

Realizing that she wasn't drowning, she stops. "- What is this!!! Breathable water? W-where am I?!?" Rai thinks scared.

She tries to look more calmly, trying to focus her vision on specific points, escaping the "cloudiness" of the green liquid. She uses her fingers to feel the glass by touch. Her breathing was labored, heavy, still trying to stay calm.

Waking up in a completely different place is not a pleasant experience, especially when trapped in some kind of crazy capsule. Rai can visualize the place where she was. It was a large room, with low lighting and endless metal walls. She was not alone, but she had not noticed the dozens of people in the same situation as the cat - but still unconscious.

The girl began to despair. This was not a dream! Even if she tried to wake up, it was very authentic, this was real! "- Why . . . w-why me???" The feline questioned herself in despair.

She still had so much to live for! So many things to experience, learn, and be moved by. It seemed like he was living his own idealized purgatory.

It seemed like he was living a horror movie, but he wouldn't accept the fact that he was left there with the weight of doubt. It's time to act! No matter how, no matter the consequences! His thoughts were taken over by one feeling: panic, and by luck or bad luck, Rai will use them to his advantage in this traumatic moment.

The girl takes up some space in the small reservoir. Then she hits the glass with her fists. Without any result. Her breathing starts to get more labored, her irises completely retracted, "- crap, of course it wouldn't work. Well, in the end it's my only choice" Rai concludes desperately.

Then she continued to repeat the movement, even though her hands could not handle the pressure. The young woman also kicked hard to compensate for the weak punches from above. And finally, the glass began to show its cracks.

With more blows, kicks and panic and *trick*!! The floor was full of shards, dripping and spreading over it was the green liquid from the capsule. The cat finally managed to free herself.

Trembling, the girl remains in the position in which she fell: on her knees, with her hands tightly gripping the fabric of her pants, her legs scratched by the shrapnel. She looks up, paralyzed.

Rai laughed (a genuine laugh) although it didn't represent happiness. Was it relief? Maybe with a dry mix of fear. At least he had managed to get out, all that was left was to reach the outside.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ . . .

Oh . . . the outside. Now the feline comes to her senses and thinks: "- I have no idea where I am haha". Well, one step at a time.

With some effort, she stood up. Rai, who had surpassed herself in strength a few minutes ago, was exhausted from fatigue. So the next step would be to catch her breath.

The feline slowly tries to recover. The young woman looks down, trying to ignore the pain from the scratches. After a few minutes, the girl becomes active again. She needs to be quick and careful, a difficult task for someone who is in crisis.

Rai leans on one of the capsules in the room, looking slightly to all sides of the corridor. Everything was clear, with no sign of guards, robots or any other kind of bizarreness. Seeing that the coast was clear, the girl runs out - awkwardly given the circumstances.

Look! There's a door ahead: sturdy metal, automated. It seemed to be locked with some kind of technological panel, something Rai couldn't 100% understand.

This gave the feline a certain amount of clarity. In a way, the young woman knew this structure of subjects, articles and newspapers. Obviously, it would be more common for a hero, however, the cat was a simple civilian. She was sure: she was in one of Dr. Eggman's bases. But how? Hadn't the doctor been arrested a few years ago?

Rai felt a strong chill, anything bad could happen, and these thoughts and conclusions were making a hurricane in his head.

Did this mean the scientist could have returned? Or that someone else had taken his place? Was it a distant cousin taking over his Empire? Would someone rescue she? How long had he been there? Had anyone come to see him? This was running through the poor feline's brain, which was beginning to tear up. She was so overwhelmed that she had almost forgotten how to access the door.

Rai I wasn't good with technology, although she was sure that she would have difficulties even being an enthusiast, she was not the prodigy Prower after all! If that room was an incarceration area, security should certainly be reinforced.

The panel glowed red with several codes she didn't understand. Should she try to touch it? She was afraid that an alarm would go off, but nothing compared to her panic at being trapped in this horrible sector.

The feline freezes for a moment. She doesn't know what to do. She leans against the sealed door and slides down to the cold floor, tired and terrified. The girl puts her head between her shoulders and tries to control her distress. Her thoughts consume her in this moment of silence.

"- What am I going to do? I don't want to die"

"I don't want to die"

"Don't--"

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀"I-I won't go"

Rai raises his head in crisis.

- I refuse to die here!

She gets up and tries to break the control panel. She was furious, in the throes of a panic attack. She would go to hell to try to access the other side.

The device was no longer useful. The girl already had several wounds on her hands. Nothing seemed to have solved it.

And in the hour of despair, behold, the light appeared:

The sound of the huge metal door opening.

Your chance! Rai runs into the endless corridors in front of her. "Just run, even if your body can't handle it" was her thought, her need to live guiding her through this chaos.

The entire base goes on alert, Rai doesn't try to think about it. The lights flash in shades of red and the noise of the sirens is deafening. She just follows her path without looking back, without knowing what's right ahead.

But was that a bit strange, achieving what she wanted so much out of nowhere? Deep down the young woman knew that she was counting on luck, however, she reconsidered having someone else involved in this.

The feline continued at high speed, her body seemed to want to stop at any moment. The corridors seemed to have no end. She went from "here to there" but didn't get anywhere, even with the warning sign in effect.

Finally, Rai seemed to have reached some relevant point. She was in a huge hexagonal room, the glass window in front of the perimeter shone with a clear glow in shades of blue, barely illuminating that dark environment, the place had several counters with devices and buttons. There was no doubt, she was in a command center. The cat also came across a living figure, one she didn't want to see.

The girl stands still as she sees the giant in front of her, watching her with glowing red eyes, shining in the low lighting of the room. With an unmistakable appearance, purposely made to seem familiar, he was like the hero loved by all, but vile, evil and cold. The person staring at Rai is Neo Metal Sonic. Expressing that angry indifference on his metallic face, he shouts at the cat:

- What are you doing here?

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣￣

📌 Author's notes: I see you've reached the end of the chapter, thank you very much for your attention. Sorry if the writing seems a bit strange (maybe) I don't understand anything about American literature (I'm Brazilian). See you in the next one.

#sonic the hedgehog #sth #sonic #fanfic #sonic fanfiction #fanfiction #au #sonic au #alternate universe #sonic fandom #sonic fanbase #idw sonic #sonic art #fan character #sonic fancharacter

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fuck-customers · 5 months

Note

kitchen anon back with an ecstatic update!

J finally got fired :)

his hours had been severely cut and he was working more often at a different venue in our collection of businesses. after like a full pay period i finally worked a shift with him again. however, the two new folks in my section (EXCELLENT, by the way, i cannot sing their praises enough, both to the chef and to their faces) had both been scheduled that night. by the time J showed up that night we had already gotten almost everything done and really just needed to make ranch dressing.

so he starts roaming the kitchen, slouching, dragging his feet, hands in his pockets (all of which chef has told him not to do, for various reasons including he’s putting himself in everybody’s way and we don’t have that much space to move, and which chef later confessed to me he had already been considering writing him up/firing him for on its own) instead of like. finding some kind of busy work or something? wipe a counter, sweep a floor, stock something. idk. one way or another we had more hands on deck than were needed for the night and i had to be in early the next morning. however i did get very smug when the line lead told him to get back to “his section” and J got loud and bitchy about “it’s not MY section anymore, it’s [Anon]’s section,” because he’s fucking mad that i make him look bad for giving a fuck about the quality of the work i’m performing i guess lmfao

anyway given my official position as a floater, i asked chef if he wanted to put me anywhere else for dinner service, because we didn’t need four people in a section that two people can handle on a busy night when we’re well-prepared (like we have been since the two new folks showed up). he said no and sent me home, but little did i know he was planning to test J. i learn of this the next morning when one of the new folks greets me with “i need to tell you what happened last night”

the breakdown i got was that after i left, J wasn’t calling back orders, and chef was riding his ass for it all night. he’d call a dish on the fly, J wouldn’t call that he heard and just start working on it, and chef would lean through the expo window to snap at him. he continued to trudge around with his thumb up his ass between orders. later, towards the end of service but before they had stopped seating new customers, still actively preparing food and calling orders to each other, J’s got his earbuds in. line lead scolds him, snaps that “you know better than to have those in during service,” and chef happened to be rounding the corner at the time, and sent him home with like half an hour before service closed. chef made a comment about how he wanted to give him a chance because he’d initially hit it off and worked well with the new girl (who initially relayed these events), and J scoffed, with her standing right there and having to hold her tongue to stay uninvolved, but she revealed later how tempted she’d been to tell him off right there. after he left, chef pulled her aside and assured the section wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.

chef confirmed these events with me later when he confessed that he’d been considering firing already; he usually only pursues it as a last resort because people tend to look for other jobs at the first sign of trimmed hours in our already inconsistent open schedule, and he doesn’t like filling holes in the staff lineup with temp workers—he’d rather replace them before they leave. J hadn’t quit at our venue, but had been working at the other site; chef confessed to me that he didn’t suspect J would be working there much longer, especially full-time, because the chefs and shift leads in that industrial-scale kitchen over there are going to crack down much harder on those behaviors.

between me, the line lead, and the new folks all coming to chef about J’s attitude and behavior and failure to communicate or cooperate, after so long without him on site chef had hoped he’d take the opportunity to try and show he was willing to turn around. instead J gave him the perfect straw to break the camel’s back on a silver fucking platter, and i remember the way the sun kissed the green hills of the shire.

Posted by admin Rodney.

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cryingatships · 5 months

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help i'm being tortured by visions of JJ sucking Methas off under the executive desk in his office while Methas talks with an imp client/has a meeting with multiple ppl/while his secretary (a new and v flirty one) talks with him.

The only thing saving their asses is that Methas had the mind to buy a solid wood one with no fancy glasses, else everyone would see just how pretty JJ looks with his lips around a cock and saliva dripping down his chin every time he tries to suck Methas in deeper without making a sound.

So JJ was just visiting Methas in his office for a quick lunch because the man kept annoying his with spam texts in the morning about how busy their schedules have lately been, and how he has had a lunch break with JJ for a week, or even seen a face.

Which is a lie because he had coerced (begged) JJ jerked off with him last night on call together.

And since JJ had an afternoon off in his shift, he had come just to have that lunch and stop his annoying bf from sending him voice records of him crying or moaning or smt.

But then while in the elevator, or maybe when he was walking to Methas' office, he had heard the new secretary brag about how 'the boss' smiles at their every word, and bought him lunch last wekk, and 'the boss' had helped him carry stuff up the stairs last day, and how he was sure 'the boss' was def looking for smt new now, so what if he had a bf, doesn't every ceo enjoy having a little side piece on their arms? and how with any luck he will make 'the boss' his and kick the old bf out to be a side piece instead

JJ had not said anything, thoug the other ppl nearby had immediately shut down the secretary and smiled apologetically at him.

Now, JJ isn't a jealous man, but he's not fond of sharing his partner with a 'side piece', or being one himself, as the new secretary had said.

And what exactly was the deal about Methas smiling and buying lunch for others? Why should JJ come so far from work for lunch with the man, then?

(Now JJ knows that the secretary had probably misunderstood or was just bragging but... he still hates it. Mathas was his.)

So, instead of lunch, JJ proceeds to suck Maths off within an inch of his life. Methas is not allowed to cum however, for only good boys get to cum, and Methas has not been a good boy now, was he?

Halfway in through the lunchbreak there's a knock and Methas and JJ shuffle in (almost falling face down on the floor in the process) to the desk and JJ hides in the little nook inside, kneeling by Methas' feet. And ofc it's the secretary who comes in, with the top buttons of his shirt undone and voice sugary sweet, even though JJ had sent a do not disturb ping to all of Methas' secretaries from Methas' work phone.

JJ almost bites into Methas' dick, but he's not intent on damaging smt of his own, so he just settles for giving Methas the head of his life as the man tried to stutter and stumble through a very unimp convo with the secretary and tries not to appear suspiciously red.

Then the secretary leans over the desk because "oh nooo, Khun Methas you look soo red, are you ok? Do you have a fever? Let me check your temp, naa!~" and tries to touch Metha's forehead. Unable to move away, Methas lets him, but Mr. Secretary gets an eyeful of the boss's bf sucking him off in the middle of day right under his worktable.

JJ isn't the least bit shy (he'd regret it later and wish to strangle Methas, and not in the fun way), because this is HIS MAN thank you and back off!

Mr Secretary stutters smt and shuffles out of the room.

JJ knows the story will spread, atleast within the secretaries who work close to Methas, but he doesn't find himself caring.

He comes up and has Methas fuck him till he's cummed himself. Methas is allowed to cum once, only with his hands, because he was not a good boy and couldn't keep a secret. (Maths is a subby lil service top because I said so u.u)

JJ fixes his clothes, says goodbye with a lil peck, and walks out, limping a little, but smiling with satisfaction with his head held high. His brain's flooded with serotonin and stuff

Poor Methas has to go through the whole day after being left high and dry and starts to be much, much careful with his words.

He does get his reward when he raids JJ's condo later that night tho

#this love doesn't have long beans #this love doesn’t have long beans #methasjj #jjmethas #???#methas x jj #jj x methas #idk really i like both ¯\_(ツ)_/¯#ma fanfic #might write this later someday idk-#tldhlb hc

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zazter-den · 3 months

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I crushed my interview, and I'm so happy I could cry 🥹 It was supposed to be only be a a first group interview, and instead they took me aside, gave me a temp badge and brought me up to the main floor for a second interview.

Job comes with:

✦ All health/vision/dental premiums paid.

✦ Free large latte from the fancy lobby cafe every 'friday'.

✦ No dress code, outside of basic no hate/nudity. Half the office was alt/gamer/goth, and there was a stitched Zelda banner on the office wall??

✦ It's the easiest commute I've ever had, and the heavily AC-ed ride includes a mountain, a lake, and a bunch of places to grab food.

✦ They stagger their calls for employees. Majority of IT or Customer Service lines only have 1-2 seconds between the time one customer hangs up and the next person rings in. Sometimes you don't even have enough time to inhale.

✦ Over $21/hr.

The 3rd person I interviewed with said if it goes the way he expects- I should get a call from their company recruiter within 24 hrs! ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

#Lady Luck help me out here #It would be the dream job until I can move out of this area (or transfer)#I have other interviews lined up but I'm gonna be *sad* if I don't get this one #zaz speaks

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fredomotophoto · 11 days

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flickr

Sunset at Brignogan semaphore par Frédéric Poirier Via Flickr : In English bellow -Couché de soleil au sémaphore de Brignogan Surveillance terrestre, aérienne et maritime, les sémaphores forment une chaîne forte d'une cinquantaine d'établissements. Elle assure un ensemble de missions de service public : outre sa fonction militaire de veille, de régulation du trafic maritime et de surveillance territoriale, elle rentre aussi dans un dispositif de sécurité lors des sauvetages et fournit également des relevés météorologiques. Le réseau des sémaphores dépend de la Marine nationale. Dispersés le long de la côte française, ces établissements couvrent chacun un secteur maritime bien défini : « Le sémaphore de Brignogan a été construit en 1980, il a remplacé celui de l'aber Wrac'h qui avait un panorama de surveillance trop limité ». Sa situation permet à la tour de couvrir l'horizon de Portsall à l'île de Batz. La chambre de veille, située à 15 m de hauteur, offre une vue imprenable. « Il faut d'abord franchir les 83 marches d'un escalier en colimaçon qui permet l'accès aux cinq étages de la tour. » Cinq guetteurs se relayent pour une veille permanente à la pointe du Bilou. Les sémaphores, 2 000 ans d'histoire Du temps des Romains, près de 3 200 vigies protégeaient les côtes des invasions. Inspiré de ces tours de guet implantées par Jules César, ce système inspirera l'administration de Napoléon qui les transformera en sémaphores. En 1862, pour faire face aux mouvements maritimes anglais, la chaîne sémaphorique est modernisée grâce au système télégraphique. -Sunset at Brignogan semaphore Ground, air and maritime surveillance, the semaphores form a strong chain of about fifty establishments. It provides a set of public service missions: besides its military function of watch, regulation of the maritime traffic and territorial surveillance, it also enters a safety device during the rescues and also provides meteorological records. The semaphore network depends on the French Navy. Scattered along the French coast, these establishments each cover a well defined maritime sector: "The semaphore of Brignogan was built in 1980, it replaced that of the aber Wrac'h who had a surveillance panorama too limited". Its location allows the tower to cover the horizon from Portsall to the island of Batz. The sleeping room, located 15 m high, offers breathtaking views. "First you have to go through the 83 steps of a spiral staircase that gives access to the five floors of the tower. Five watchers take turns for a permanent watch at the tip of Bilou. Semaphores, 2,000 years of history In the time of the Romans, nearly 3,200 lookouts protected the coast from invasions. Inspired by these watchtowers implanted by Julius Caesar, this system will inspire the administration of Napoleon who will turn them into semaphores. In 1862, to cope with the English maritime movements, the semaphore chain was modernized thanks to the telegraphic system. Source : www.ouest-france.fr/bretagne/brignogan-plages-29890/senti...

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savage-rhi · 1 year

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Friends to Lovers prompt with who other than the Beloved Ardyn!

Sharing clothes in a friendly way.

If you Ardyn lovers say you haven't thought about stealing his coat and wearing it, you're lying. I have had so many people come to the same consensus. We all think about it, HA!

@sillylittlevulpine Okay...I indulged A LOT on this one (in my defense, I needed it as much as it was requested). Hope you like it!

Y/N had been staring at Ardyn’s long coat for what seemed like an eternity, debating with themself. The article should’ve been put up a while ago. Instead, the coat was laid out on the floor along with other garments that had been cleaned and mended.

Curiosity and resentment had built up in Y/N ever since they were assigned to this task. Folding and tidying up the Chancellors' wardrobe was not what they signed up for. Come to think of it, Y/N believed Ardyn didn’t make the request in the first place. From previous conversations, he seemed to pride himself on taking care of most of his personal items. The only time Y/N had encountered behavior to the contrary, was when Ardyn wanted to indulge in food and wine, especially when he wasn’t in the mood to make anything himself.

This had to be the Imperial Keepers' idea…Y/N thought bitterly to themself. It made sense the longer Y/N thought it through. If Y/N didn’t know better, the Imperial Keeper probably did it to add further insult to injury them, on account they had come down with a nasty cold during the week and had been slow with duties. There was also the spat that happened between Ardyn and the Keeper. The latter having been slighted, purposefully by Ardyn to prove a rather crude point to his colleagues. In all honesty, with the rotten attitude the Imperial Keeper had that day, Y/N thought he deserved it.

“The jerk weaponized me as a biohazard to the Chancellor,” Y/N muttered to themself, letting their conclusion sink in. It made sense. Why else send an obviously sick attendant to take care of a higher-ups personal items even though it was out of character for those services to be requested?

“I should leave. Have someone else do it. Screw points getting docked.” Y/N said aloud, but then they found themself back in the conundrum that had them stuck on Ardyn’s living room floor in the first place. The resentment had come and gone, now curiosity came flooding back.

Y/N’s tired eyes combed over the material of the jacket, admiring the stitchwork and the different textures complimenting each other. They recalled Ardyn telling them long ago that it was customized just for him. He certainly wasn’t lying. The tiny details here and there was evidence that whoever made it had very careful hands and machine-like focus.

The coat wasn’t the most expensive thing Y/N had come across while being in service to the empire, but the reputation it got from its owner was enough to make Y/N scared of ruining it by touch, even though the poor garment had seen better days. Y/N lost count of how many times Ardyn had to get the coat mended because he got into an altercation, or didn’t bother to take it off when going into hostile land. One would think he didn’t care much for it, but Y/N remembered Ardyn’s wrath when someone tried to pawn it off for gil after stealing it. He was stuck in his chambers for two whole days while people searched for the thief. It was quite the tantrum over a material good, however, Y/N figured it held some strong sentimental value. Plus, it looked warm and inviting. Something Y/N desperately needed at the moment.

Y/N’s body shuddered from the fever they had been enduring. They hated this. How one moment their body would feel boiling hot, then would feel so cold it was as if Shiva herself resurrected and brought another age of ice upon Eos. The goosebumps down their arms felt like tiny mosquito bites, and they coughed into their arm horribly as their temps began to cool off once more.

Ardyn and the rest of the Imperial Council were currently in session. Those meetings tended to last several hours. There were still two hours left before Y/N’s next assignment would be put in place by the Imperial Keeper, so they had plenty of downtime. Maybe…Y/N thought to themself. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt anything if they put it on for a bit, just to get warm again.

“Gods be damned,” Y/N sighed, closing their eyes and bitterly huffed before grabbing the coat.

Ardyn let out a deep breath when he approached the doors to his chambers, rubbing his eyes for a moment. After enduring a half hour of old men fighting over scraps when it came to the war budget, he promptly conjured a tall tale to get out of staying put. Somehow Aldercapt approved and he made a beeline for the doors.

“You are not leaving me alone with senile degenerates,” Verstael whispered with contention as Ardyn walked past his chair. The infighting was so loud, that no one paid the side conversation any mind.

“My dear friend, you're an old-timer among the flock yourself!” Ardyn mused, putting a hand on his peer’s shoulder, earning a raised brow from Verstael as he looked up to meet Ardyn’s mischievous grin. “You might as well be insulting the years of wisdom that show decadently upon your wrinkled face!”

“Hmpf,” Verstael narrowed his eyes, shaking his head and he slapped Ardyn’s hand away. His right eye twitched from the chuckle that escaped his colleague. “Funny you call me such a thing when you should be dust at this rate.”

“True as that may be,” Ardyn began. “Between the two of us old men, I’m the better-looking one.”

“You better leave before we not only have a mutiny among the council, but a homicide as well.”

“And I’m off!” Ardyn chuckled, giving a sarcastic wave with his right hand before departing.

The memory had Ardyn amused for a time in the present. It was enough to pull him out of his negative thoughts from before, now focusing on things that gave him pleasure. Taking a nap after nursing a bottle of wine was starting to become more enthralling by the second, and he wasted no time venturing into his abode.

Ardyn had done this so many times, that he didn’t initially know he wasn’t by himself. He started going through his routine; taking off his vest and discarding it followed by his red scarf. He hung them up on a hook nearby, then started thinking about his jacket; wondering if it had been returned from the cleaners yet. That’s when Ardyn stopped midway taking off his hat, hearing a noise coming from his television set in his living room. He put his hat back on, and cautiously began to tiptoe toward the noise, bracing himself for the possibility of a fight.

To Ardyn’s surprise and shock, he saw Y/N sitting on the couch, leaning forward toward the TV. His coat snugged around their body like an oversized blanket, as if he had never been its proper owner. To say he was speechless was an understatement. No one ever had the gall to get this comfortable in his personal quarters and he became greatly amused at the sight.

Ardyn decided to let the silence play out for a little while, making observations while he ventured close without making a sound up until he cleared his throat.

“I see you’ve made yourself at home.” Ardyn sarcastically stated, making his presence known upon arriving at the back of the couch.

“Shit!” Y/N exclaimed. They attempted to scramble off the couch, only to fall over themselves in a clumsy fashion, while quickly grabbing for the remote and turning the television off. Panting heavily, they quickly spun and looked up at Ardyn. Y/N watched him raise a brow, smiling like he caught someone red-handed while he crossed his arms.

“I--can explain this,” Y/N gestured at the coat. “I promise I wasn’t going to steal--”

“My attire looks rather fetching on you,” Ardyn interrupted. His eyes scanned Y/N over and his smile grew. “I’m almost jealous you’re outperforming me.”

“What?” Y/N flatly blurted and furrowed their brows. “You’re not upset?”

“Far from it,” Ardyn smirked. “Of all the things I could’ve come home to, I’d rather deal with an Imperial Help trying on my clothes for kicks than an assassin wanting to present my head to the King of Lucis. Although I’ve grown fond of our conversations, Y/N, I don’t recall requiring your services for the day. Come to think of it, I don’t believe we were to see one another until the weekend. Did you miss me that much?”

"You wish..." Y/N rolled their eyes playfully and sighed, feeling relief wash over them at the fact he wasn’t enraged. Had this been Verstael, or anyone else, the consequences would’ve been costly.

“The Imperial Keeper said you needed help with your laundry today. I figured he was lying, but I came out of obligation.” Y/N shrugged.

“How dutiful of you,” Ardyn quipped. He briefly glared, making a mental note to have a word with the Keeper at a later date. Ardyn focused suddenly on Y/N’s features, noting their color looked more dull than usual, followed by their body tremoring under his coat.

“What’s wrong?” Y/N asked, breaking Ardyn out of his observations.

“You’re unwell.”

“Am I that obvious?” Y/N teased, then sniffled and almost felt themself sneeze.

“You’d certainly give a fresh corpse a run for its gil.” Ardyn chuckled darkly, enjoying the brief glare Y/N shot at him before they began coughing, and instinctively he took a step forward. Ardyn only stopped when Y/N gestured with their free hand for him to halt.

“I don’t want to get you sick,” Y/N said in between fits. “I can take your coat to the cleaning center, and get it decontaminated.”

“There’s no need for such hysterics,” Ardyn waved them off and approached Y/N’s personal space. He didn’t give them any time to react before he felt their forehead and then checked their pulse. “I don’t get sick easily like most. However, I am curious as to why the Imperial Keeper would send someone of your ailment my way. Feeling hot and cold?”

“Uh huh,” Y/N nodded, recoiling a little from Ardyn’s touch due to sensitivity. “I think he wanted me to get you sick if I’m being honest. He didn't take too kindly to being thrown under a bus at the emperor's reception.”

“Well, he’s going to be in for a rude awakening,” Ardyn said as a matter of fact. His tone was bordering between sinister and playful. He took note of Y/N’s fear, and his expression softened after he finished assessing. “Do you have other obligations today?”

“I have a councilmen’s filing cabinet to clean out, and a few beds to make.” Y/N breathed. “Why do you ask?”

“I must implore you to stay and rest here.”

“Here?”

“Why not? You seemed to be getting on quite well making use of my home for your own enjoyment.” Ardyn said playfully with a shrug.

“The Imperial Keeper--”

“Can kiss both our asses for all I care,” Ardyn finished, leaving Y/N speechless at his bold proclamation. “I’m not sending you away when you clearly have a fever. That wouldn’t sit well on my conscience.”

“I thought you didn’t like people. You said so yourself a few days ago that company drains you.”

“That remains true as ever, alas,” Ardyn paused and he smiled while his right hand cupped Y/N’s face. His thumb carefully stroked over their cold skin and his eyes sadly glanced over their features. “You are in no such category.”

“Oh…”

Dumbfounded didn’t quite capture how Y/N felt at the moment, but it was close. The only thing Y/N could really focus on was how warm his touch was, and how their pulse seemed to skyrocket at the act. As soon as it began, Ardyn retreated his hand away and took a step back, and Y/N foolishly found themself missing the contact.

Their eyes focused on Ardyn as his right hand began rubbing at his chin. His gaze became scrutinizing as if he was judging a piece of art. Y/N didn’t know if they should’ve felt flattered or scared. Maybe both.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah, it’s nothing too drastic I assure you, but I am finding that although my coat suits you well, it’s missing something that ties it all together,” Ardyn said as a matter of fact. He wasted no effort in taking off his hat, and with care, he placed it on top of Y/N’s head.

“There we go! The wardrobe crisis has been averted!”

The hat sunk a little on Y/N initially, and they used their left thumb to prop it back up. They laughed, feeling their face turning red at Ardyn’s action. He too chortled, looking impressed with himself up until Y/N appeared to be frightened.

“You look as if the Gods will smite you at any second.” Ardyn pointed out.

“You're more open minded to classes mingling than others. I think we both know had this been any other councilmen or the emperor, I wouldn’t be standing. Especially if I was caught trying on their clothes.”

“True,” Ardyn nodded. “Yet here you are.”

“Here I am.”

A calm silence fell between Y/N and Ardyn as they fondly looked upon the other. It was only when Ardyn guided Y/N to the couch did both break away from the spell. He lay down and got comfortable, and calmly guided Y/N to lie against him. He could sense their apprehension and spoke up.

“I can run cold unlike most people,” Ardyn paused, reminding himself not to get too comfortable revealing his secrets. “Between the coat and myself, you’ll have an easier time resting.”

“Isn’t this overstepping several boundaries?” Y/N murmured against his chest. Sure enough, he was true to his word: it was as if on cue, Ardyn had gone from feeling like a warm furnace to a cold sheet that had been left to dry in the bitter wind. It was eerie, the whole thing, but their mind and body were too tired and miserable to think any deeper about it. The exhaustion from the long day, on top of the excitement from earlier, had Y/N feeling drowsy.

“Yes as a matter of fact,” Ardyn murmured and closed his eyes. “Alas, no one’s here to bear witness so it doesn’t matter. What happens in my chambers, stays in my chambers. However, if you’re uncomfortable, you can retreat to my room. I won’t disturb you while I remain here. I was planning to take a nap anyway.”

“I can’t hog your bed,” Y/N’s eyes fluttered open and closed. Their mind was being lulled to rest by how cool Ardyn felt, and how cozy his jacket felt against them. “What about the Imperial Keeper?”

“I’ll deal with it. You won’t receive consequence, I assure you.”

“What about--”

“Y/N,”

“Yes?”

“Be a dear and hush. You're not the only one who had a long and dreary day dealing with men who are vultures.” He commanded bluntly.

Y/N’s eyes finally gave into the weight and shut, all the while their lips smiled so big from his remark it began to hurt for a time. The last thing they could recall before drifting off into unconsciousness, was the rumbling of Ardyn’s chest when he laughed at their weak chuckle.

As soon as Ardyn felt Y/N fall asleep, he opened his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose. Frustration graced his amber hues while his right arm wrapped around Y/N’s body. This little friendship wasn’t supposed to get to this point. Ardyn had a feeling Y/N thought the same thing. He wondered how much longer it would be before someone in court caught onto the special treatment he freely gave to them. He also wondered how long it would be before Y/N would discover what he really was. That made Ardyn more uneasy than the former and his mind began to travel. All it would take is one slip-up, one mistake to undo his mask.

It became clear that Ardyn wouldn’t get that nap he yearned for after all, and he resided himself to his fate.

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justforbooks · 5 months

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Laurent Cantet

French film director who won the Palme D’Or at the Cannes film festival with his improvisatory education drama The Class

The social-realist boom in 1990s French cinema produced compelling new voices such as Jacques Audiard, Bruno Dumont and Érick Zonca. The most humane and rigorous of that group was Laurent Cantet, who has died aged 63 after suffering from cancer.

Cantet, who often worked in an improvisatory mode with non-professional actors, won the Cannes film festival’s top prize, the Palme d’Or, for his education drama The Class (Entre les Murs, 2008). Sean Penn, president of that year’s Cannes jury, called the film “a miracle, a perfect movie, just so exciting to see. We walked into the jury room afterward and it was like we had swept up the floor and our work was done.”

A kind of Parisian Prime of Miss Jean Brodie, it was arrived at by cross-pollinating drama and documentary to create what Cantet called “documented fiction”. François Bégaudeau, author of the autobiographical novel Entre les Murs (Between the Walls, 2006), on which the film is based, plays a version of himself: an enthusiastic inner-city teacher who inspires his adolescent pupils but also crosses swords with them.

In one scene, François is taken to task over his use of anglicised names in his mathematical exercises: Bill has 12 apples, Bob has three, but what about, say, Rachid or Aïssata? This playful scene plants the seed for one of the film’s main themes – the use of language to gain leverage, and to reshape the world.

The movie’s sharp-eyed visual style lends these semantic wrangles a strong cinematic dimension. Shooting on location with three high-definition cameras, Cantet achieved an omniscient documentary effect. “This gave us a lot of freedom, allowing us to improvise, to capture the energy of the pupils rather than interrupt them when we wanted a different angle,” he explained. The students and staff in the film, who were all drawn from Françoise Dolto junior high in the 20th arrondisement of Paris, generated many of the scenes in collaboration with Bégaudeau and Cantet.

The movie’s overall tone is one of bruised idealism. “It shows the richness of multiculturalism rather than its weaknesses,” said Cantet. “The film is utopian about the possibilities this kind of setting offers, but pessimistic about the school system in general.”

The Class received an Oscar nomination and became Cantet’s most successful film. But the three features that preceded it were more impressive, withholding even the smallest spoonful of sugar to help their messages go down.

He made his debut in 1999 with Human Resources (Ressources Humaines), in which a business-school graduate starts a management job at the factory where his father is a welder. The newcomer clashes with the union at first, then has a change of heart when he learns of planned redundancies.

That film, which the critic Ginette Vincendeau called “generous, sensitive and innovative”, addresses with Loachian fastidiousness the challenge of reconciling principles and productivity. Both Human Resources and Cantet’s 2001 follow-up, Time Out (L’emploi du Temps), explore how work defines us even in our most interior moments.

Time Out concerns the middle-aged, middle-class Vincent (Aurélien Recoing), who conceals his unemployment from his wife and children, and instead lets his days drip by in service stations and motel lobbies. To retain his role as breadwinner, he cheats cash out of gullible investors he meets on the road.

The film was inspired by the case of Jean-Claude Romand, who lied about his non-existent job, and finally slaughtered his family. Cantet and his regular co-writer and editor Robin Campillo (who later became a director in his own right) stopped short of such horror. “We wanted him to have a disconcerting banality,” Cantet said. “He’s just someone who slips and trips down a certain pathway.”

Some audiences found a note of hope in the final scene, in which Vincent attends a job interview. Cantet was quick to scotch that reading. “The notion of work is so full of wealth and worthiness that the prospect of Vincent finding employment again is obviously a winner,” he said. “But not having a job can be of a certain wealth, too. For people like him, work can only be slavery, so to see the last scene as a happy ending is a denial.”

Heading South (Vers le Sud, 2005) applied Cantet’s usual scrutiny to a different milieu, albeit one still steeped in exploitation and commodification. Charlotte Rampling and Karen Young play sex tourists at a Haitian beach resort in the late 1970s who find themselves competing for the same 18-year-old gigolo (Ménothy Cesar). Neither woman is interested in the young man’s plight under the corrupt regime of President “Baby Doc” Duvalier, though eventually the country’s political strife eclipses their feud. The film has a starkly Fassbinderesque view of the intersection between sex, money and power.

Cantet was born in Melle, a town in western France, and raised in nearby Niort. His parents were both teachers. He attended university in Marseilles, then studied at the Paris film school IDHEC (L’Institut des Hautes Études Cinématographiques), where he met Campillo. Their first full-length collaboration, Les Sanguinaires (1997), was made for French television as part of a project looking ahead to the new millennium. (Human Resources was also made for TV, but earned an international cinema release.) Asked about the 13-year gap between graduating and directing Les Sanguinaires, he said: “I spent a long time trying to discover what I wanted to say in a film.”

Reactions to the movies he made after The Class were mixed. An adaptation of Joyce Carol Oates’s 1950-set novel Foxfire: Confessions of a Girl Gang (2012) met with muted acclaim. Return to Ithaca (2014), about a reunion of five friends in Havana, made few waves. It was Cantet’s second project in the city: he was one of seven directors who contributed to the portmanteau project 7 Days in Havana (2012). It was part-funded by Havana Club rum, which features prominently on screen.

His 2017 drama The Workshop (L’Atelier), about the relationship between a female teacher at a summer writing school and a male teenage student radicalised by the far right, revived the simmering tensions of Heading South, and represented a real return to form, though in fact the film had been gestating for more than 15 years. Cantet’s final picture, Arthur Rambo (2021), was inspired by the real-life case of Mehdi Meklat, and follows a young writer from the banlieues whose career is wrecked by offensive social media posts that predate his fame. He was working on a new film, The Apprentice, at the time of his death.

“My characters are never heroes,” Cantet said in 2008. “They always have weaknesses. That’s what motivates me to write them. They are people looking for their place in society: a place which is much harder to find when you don’t march in step with the rest of society. It’s something I can recognise in myself: keeping the world at arm’s length. Perhaps making films is a way of making up that distance.”

🔔 Laurent Cantet, film director, born 11 April 1961; died 25 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

#just for books #Laurent Cantet #in memoriam

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flyingfishtailoutpost1 · 6 months

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The school tech and I were talking to our TA today about what she wants to do after graduation. She said she wanted to go into education, maybe ESE, so I mentioned that my alumni had a special program for education of the deaf and blind—“and the dorms have AC now and everything, so that’s awesome!”

They were like “…wut??”

So I had to give them the story of my College Dorm Adventure, which I knew was kind of bonkers but by their reactions I’m starting to wonder if maybe I’m underestimating it by, like, an order of magnitude.

Some highlights:

Most of the school is housed in a Victorian-era hotel that looks like fucking Hogwarts. The dining hall had three story vaulted ceilings and Tiffany stained glass. The food was shitty though. Eating extremely shitty cafeteria mac n cheese under gilded frescoes was a funny experience.

The wiring was so old that some of it may have been there since the place was built…in 1888.

So yeah, no AC and also if you ran a blow dryer and a tv at the same time you could blow out the lights for an entire floor.

There was central heat, because the temps would get down into the teens in winter, but all the heat rose to the top floors because the insulation was ancient and because of all the secret passages (hold on a sec) so the upper floor rooms would be sweltering. So we opened the windows in the hall, let it get to like 40 degrees, and ran back and forth to thermoregulate like garden lizards

Oh yeah, the place was riddled with secret passages, because the dorm rooms were in the old hotel rooms, and there were the remains of old staircases that led to nowhere and chutes between rooms so the ye olde servants could move around unobtrusively. Some were boarded up. Some were not. Some were still used by maintenance so occasionally you’d hear their voices echoing in the walls.

That didn’t help with the whole “this place is hella haunted” thing

Because it was hella haunted.

Every day we had people dressed as pirates walking crowds past our windows giving lectures about how haunted it was. Housing Services occassionally had to issue memos telling all the freshmen that they couldn’t ask to move rooms anymore just because some upperclassmen told them their room had a ghost in it. (One of my rooms had a ghost in it but I didn’t figure that out until way later.)

The design of the dining hall meant that there were acoustic pockets where people 150 feet away could hear what you were saying because the sound traveled along the arched ceilings. This could cause gossip-type trouble, and also convincing-the-freshmen-that-the-ghosts-were-everywhere type trouble

Possibly more frightening: the school was tiny and most of the classrooms were in the same structure as the dorms so if you skipped class too many times and you lived on the ground floor, you could wake up to your professor peering in the window at you like “HEY, YOU GOOD???”

(The town was also tiny. One graphic design professor was known for going out drinking with groups of his seniors and getting hammered at the bars across the street, then the whole lot of them would end up sleeping it off on his office floor because why not?)

Supposedly you couldn’t go up to the 3rd floor ballroom because Aleister Crowley did seances up there and summoned demons so the floor was cursed and rotted. Crowley had indeed been a guest at the hotel. The floor was just structurally unsound because they hadn’t gotten enough grant money for the restoration job.

There were creepy carved cherubs EVERYWHERE, they were inescapable. One weekend the dollar theater down the street ran The Haunting and everyone freaked out and people were sleeping in the hallways for a while because they couldn’t deal with being stared at all night.

My sophomore year a raccoon or some sort of something got into one of the passages in the walls or ceiling adjacent to my room and died. The room was filled with death smell and flies for two weeks. Maintenance just shrugged at us about it and were like “Yeah that happens sometimes, we have no clue what’s in those walls, really.” My roommate at the time moved into a friends room that smelled better and I was left pretty much alone with a dead raccoon(?) and a raging bad case of unmedicated anxiety disorder. Luckily that was not also the room What Had The Ghost In It.

I lived there all 4 years because my friends and I insta-bonded and we all ended up living next door to each other and going everywhere in a pack. Also we liked the weird. And the ghosts.

#college #ghosts #and dead raccoons #my ramblings #I miss that town

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