#metro airports need

[frecht]

craving the smell of an airplane

[pia55tri]

“I just moved to my new Monaco apartment, but the removal company refused to carry my mattress upstairs, you live in my building, can you help me?”

thank you, anon, for sending this prompt in and all the other prompts 🫶

It’s just the universe laughing at him, really, that he’s gone and knocked on the neighbour’s door and it opens to Carlos Sainz Jr.’s perfect fucking face. In Monaco.

Oscar doesn’t even know why he’s so surprised. It was Lando who recommended this building to him, a little away from the more busy centre of the little-big city of Monaco. He said he needed it to be subtle, he needed a little bit of air. And Lando, who thrives in the bustle and chaos of the metro, immediately went, Ah! I know the place for you, mate. Check it out? Oscar did and it was perfect. And of course, he should have known that the place was exactly to his standards and needs because Lando heard about it from Carlos, who Lando has always liked saying is very similar to Oscar in all the ways that matter but that Oscar refuses to acknowledge.

“Oscar,” Carlos says with a pleasant inflection that mollifies the brief spike in Oscar’s heart rate. “What a happy surprise. Are you living here, now?”

And Oscar just looks at him with wide eyes. Oscar is still in his crumpled airport clothes and smelling of the sun and desperate for a nap. Carlos is — His hair is a mess about his head. His cheeks are covered with scruff darker than Oscar is used to seeing. And he’s shirtless, flushed lines all over his skin like he was just in bed. And. He looks like he smells like… fresh sheets or pancakes. Luxury cologne.

“Erm. Yeah. Yes. I just moved in today, actually. Actually, I knocked because,” he cringes, “because I needed someone’s help and you were the neighbour…” And, really! He should be grateful his neighbour just so happened to be someone who actually spoke the one language he could speak  and not one of the many languages he didn’t. “The moving company left my mattress downstairs and I was thinking of getting maintenance to help bring it up, but they’re all busy right now. I just. I need help.”

(Somewhere in the city, Lando Norris is laughing at him.)

Carlos patiently listens throughout his long, winding plea, and then, finally, nods, and says, “Sure. Let me just put a shirt on.”

“Right,” Oscar says.

Carlos doesn’t even bother closing his door, so Oscar stands there and tries not to watch his muscles moving as he tugs on a shirt that pulls tight around his unfortunately well-shaped biceps.

“Stairs?” he asks.

They’re not anywhere near the ground floor. So, of course, Oscar can’t turn down a challenge like that, and he says, dumbly, “Sure.”

That is how Oscar finds himself not staring at Carlos’s broad shoulders as they make their winding way down too many flights of stairs.

Oscar doesn’t even know what they talk about as they go. All he can think about is how warm it is in the stairwell, and how it makes Carlos’s lilting accent bounce around and settle into the folds of his brains. It must be the jetlag. Or the Monégasque heat. Or the insanity his sisters have always sworn he had.

When they get to the lobby, his mattress is exactly where the moving company had left it, laid mortifyingly out in the open. Thankfully, it is the middle of the day and no other residents are walking about the place to bear witness to this entire thing. Together, they haul the mattress to where it miraculously fits inside the elevator and pick up a rather lovely conversation that Oscar isn’t used to having outside a long plane-ride or at one of someone or other’s parties. What he is used to is ignoring how Carlos’s biceps bulge every time he moves or how his plush lips fall open when he breathes.

When they manoeuvre the mattress around his, actually rather sparse, furniture and onto his bedframe, Oscar is so relieved and grateful that he doesn’t even blush about his underwear lying on the floor of his room.

“Thank you,” he says, kicking a pair of Calvin Kleins behind himself. He tries for a smile. “Really appreciate it, mate.”

“It’s nothing,” Carlos shrugs.

“No, it’s really not,” he insists, leading them to the kitchen. “Actually, do you want to stay for lunch? It’s really the least I could do.”

Carlos raises his brow. “So polite?”

Oscar is about to say something smart when he abruptly shuts his mouth and spins back around from the empty fridge to face Carlos. “I. Erm.”

Carlos looks amused, eyes crinkling at the corners. Oscar can feel the heat radiating off himself.

Carlos laughs easily. “I’ll pick a place and you pay, okay?”

And Oscar nods, calm and cool. “Sure.” He can do that. It’s absolutely normal.

“I’ll drive.”

Oscar keeps nodding. “Erm. Cool.” Very cool. A ride in Carlos’s Ferrari. Nice. Cool. Chill.

But then, Carlos winks and says, “It’s a date.”

And Oscar, helpless, charmed, does not swoon. Instead, he says, “Yeah.”

[pajarinwrites]

中秋节 | Wen Junhui x Reader

➳ fem!reader x jun

➳ wc: 6.1k

➳ TAGS: idol!au, established relationship

➳ WARNINGS: omg um, cunnilingus, jun is a SIMP, piv sex, unprotected sex (wrap it, my dudes), praise, just general adorable lovey dovey softness, but like medium rough sex? ig, not really rough?, i never know how to write warnings, just like i don't know how to write smut woops sorry

➳ AN: HAPPY MID AUTUMN FESTIVAL BITCHES and 女王们; this is only moderately edited bc i actually meant to publish smt for 中秋节 last year but i didn't finish it in time so here it is now (I’m sure it’s still autumn festival somewhere in the world…)! I LOVE WEN JUNHUI

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO WRITE SMUT I HATED THIS AHHHH i don't think i'll ever be able to write any smut in which the man isn't a simpering, whimpering, submissive, cowering, crawling, obsequious little simping piece of trash; it's just how i like my men, but i kinda wanna challenge myself some time, not this time though :P also i'm low-key proud of this smut? i used miraclewoozi as an inspiration bc their smut is literal art...

also, literally three pieces in one week??? WHO AM I??? this is more than in the entire year before combined, i fear lmao. sorry. i'm off to return to hibernate in my bog for another six months now thx bye, RIN OUT *drops mic

masterlist

Jun stepped out of the airport into the sweltering heat, but had to find that merely knowing the weather conditions was quite different from being prepared for them. Luckily, he had left enough space in his carry-on to take off the jacket and sweater that he had needed in chilly Seoul and during the flight – airplane ACs were notoriously unpredictable. Despite this, Hong Kong never seized to amaze him with its constant warmth. At least the eternal sunshine gave him a good excuse to wear a cap and sunglasses at all times.

He flagged down a cross-border cab because, frankly, he didn’t feel like taking the crowded metro all the way home. This way he saved himself from a lot of heat, hassle, and the potential of being recognised, even if it delayed him. As expected, the traffic in the city was a nightmare and he did make it home later than strictly necessary. He paid the fee, dodging the driver’s interested gaze, and mumbling a small “mh gōi” before dashing into his building.

When he was finally standing in front of his apartment door, Jun felt ready to just lock himself in his room for the rest of the night. That was, until the door opened to reveal his parents and little brother. Immediately, his frown softened and he dropped his bags to engulf them in one enormous hug.

“I missed you guys so much,” he exclaimed to groans from his little brother and a soft smile from his mother.

This was most likely going to be the last chance he got to spend more than a day or two with them. With their world tour and his busy filming schedule just around the corner, he wouldn’t have time for months.

Jun had spent years of Zhōngqiūjié apart from them. It wasn’t easy to watch most of his members be able to visit their homes and spend Chuseok with their loved ones. Some years it was only him, Minghao, and Joshua in the dorms. But he wasn’t going to dwell on that. Not when he could finally hold the people he loved the most in his arms. Well, most of them at any rate. He would never get used to having to choose between his biological and his chosen family.

His mother peeled herself away from him, squeezing his cheek and insisting that he had grown even more handsome over the last few weeks.  His step father clapped him on the shoulder and asked him about the flight; his brother asked if he had brought him anything cool. Unable to stop smiling for even a second, Jun assented to both questions. He was led to the living room by his mother to sit and relax after the ‘strenuous journey’, giving him a moment to fish the presents out of his luggage, handing one off to his little brother.

“Thanks, gē!” YangYang exclaimed and bounded off to his room to open it in peace. Their mother called after him, “Don’t forget to do your homework before playing! Dinner will be ready in an hour!” Jun smiled, handing his parents the other one.

“You shouldn’t have! I keep telling you we don’t need anything.”

“But I want to get you guys nice things, mā.”

She looked trapped half-way between smitten and resigned, but accepted the present gracefully. With a kiss on the top of his head she stated, “You can rest a little before I call you boys for dinner. I’m making your favourite.”

He thanked her, foregoing the idea of retiring to his room in favour of joining his mother in the kitchen. Most of the ingredients were already laid out on the counter, but when she bent down to pick up something from the bottom shelf, she gasped, “I can’t believe it! Where did all of our rice noodles go? I don’t think this is enough. And I also forgot to buy bamboo shoots earlier!”

She turned around, apologetically, and murmured about having to go to the market real quick to get some. Jun held out his hand to stop her in her tracks.

“Don’t worry, mā. I’ll go get the missing ingredients, and you can get started on the other dishes.”

“No let me go, Jun. You’ve just had a taxing flight and—“ His step-father tried to intervene.

“It’s absolutely no problem!” Jun insisted, not paying his parents’ protests any mind. He grabbed his sunglasses from the side table by the entrance and was out the door before either of them could stop him.

Jun had missed their shèqū, its homely atmosphere, the bustling of the people on the street, and hence didn’t mind the opportunity for a late-night stroll. The closest super market was just down the short road at the main square, and he stopped by quickly before continuing on his way to the live market.

There was a certain nostalgia in going to the market like this, just the way he used to with his mother when he was younger. The stalls didn’t even seem to have changed at all. There was the same group of old ladies dancing in the small park to the side, and a little further down the road, a small group of children was taking turns, performing on a gǔzhēng. Jun watched the windows of his old piano school pass by, still partially lit as students practiced inside. At the corner of the next street was the second-hand book store they had often visited, next to the pharmacy in which he used to sit on the kiddie rides for ages, singing along to jiātíng chēnghu or liǎng zhī lǎohǔ.

Still lost in nostalgia, he stopped by one of the vegetable vendors to acquire the bamboo shoots. Jun enjoyed strolling the aisles leisurely, taking a look at all the things that were being sold. As he rounded one of the displays, someone else was cutting the corner in the opposite direction. Jun barely managed to dance out of the trajectory of them, murmuring an immediate, “Sorry, are you okay?”

He pulled down his sunglasses and looked at the person in front of him in worry. They looked up, locked eyes with him and whisper-screamed, “Oh my god! Wen Junhui?”

Jun was taken aback for only a split second, which he spent worrying he had been recognised, before he could place your face. He hadn’t seen you properly in years, just another name on the long list of people he had to leave behind. The last time you had run into each other had been during Rock With You promotions, when Minghao and he had taken time for their own schedules in China. His eyes crinkled in the corners but he still didn’t dare to take off his mask.

“It’s been so long!” He said instead. You had pulled him into your arms within a second, just a quick squeeze before remembering where you were. You pulled away, pouting, “You didn’t tell me you’d be back.”

“Sorry, it slipped my mind. I also didn’t think I’d have enough time to meet you. Not properly…”

You wiggled your eyebrows, “What does that mean?” Jun blushed, making you laugh. “I’m kidding, A-Jun. But I’m glad we ran into each other. I mean, what are the odds!”

“I didn’t even know whether you still lived here,” he admitted, sheepishly. But Jun wished profoundly that you could feel how earnest he was being. You didn’t actually seem to mind his failure to alert you of his arrival, despite your history. Instead, you continued in your usual chirpy manner, “Yeah, I managed to find work close by so I could stay here. But I’m here here just for the holiday. Staying at my parents, you know.” Jun nodded, accompanying you to the register under more animated chatter.

“Do you have to get anything else?” You asked after you had stepped out the open market. He negated, returning the question.

“Me neither,” you replied, hesitating shortly before continuing, “I guess that means we’ll have to part ways again…”

The way your voice trailed off and your eyebrows knitted together made Jun reply before thinking better of it, “Actually, I think my mā can wait for these bamboo shoots a little longer…” You face lit up with such intensity and immediacy that Jun had to chuckle.

“In that case let’s take a stroll through the park. I’ve been keeping up with Seventeen obviously, but I want to hear from you, personally, how you’ve been doing.”

Falling into step beside you felt so easy. Together, you walked the same paths you did when you were teenagers, talking about everything and anything – back before he had to leave for Korea. He talked a lot about the shoots, dorm fights and misunderstandings, and how much he had missed his mother’s cooking. You winked, asking whether he hadn’t missed you at all, and he couldn’t string together a coherent sentence in reply. Instead he sputtered for a few seconds before you let him off the hook.

“It’s fine. I was joking, Jun. Oh, look!” Jun was glad for the distraction as he watched you hurry of to the pavilion down the path. If you hadn’t changed the subject he might’ve said something stupid. But when you spun around to face him under the colourful roof, with the small pond and the bamboo in the background, he wasn’t sure that he wouldn’t say something stupid yet.

He was sitting next to you, listening to you rant about your catty co-workers, absent boss, and the general annoyances of adulthood, unable to stop himself from grinning like an idiot at the familiarity, the ease of the whole situation. At some point he shot his mom a text to let her know that he ran into you and to eat without him. She simply replied that he should take his time, but he felt like she was secretly glad to have the two of you reconnect. Your conversations veered from family to old memories together until eventually, when the sun had set almost completely, you got up abruptly.

“I should get back. My mom wasn’t expecting me back immediately but at this point she’s probably wondering if I’ve gotten lost.” Jun nodded, getting up with you and stepping out of the pavilion. You threw one look back over your shoulder before smiling down at your shoes.

“I don’t know if you remember but… this is where you said goodbye…” Jun blinked slowly before the memory registered. He couldn’t believe that he hadn’t immediately thought of the day he went to Korea, the last day he spent with you, the day he missed his chance to say so many things he had wanted to say.

“Oh,” he breathes softly, “yeah, I remember. But it’s not a very fun memory.”

Jun decides to look anywhere but you, at the trees lining the road home to his apartment building, the birds flying overhead, the children playing across the street.

“I have to agree. But I’m glad to have you back now. Even if it’s just for an afternoon.”

“Actually, you should visit tomorrow! If you want, of course. I don’t think my family would mind seeing you again after such a long time, and…”

He stops in his tracks. The two of you have reached the intersection at which your ways part. Jun turned to face you. The words were still stuck in his throat, just like all those years ago, just like every time he’s seen you since. But this time, with your hopeful eyes looking up at him, he takes a deep breath. This time will be different. He takes the leap.

“… and I’d also love to spend more time with you.”

You smile in reply, and agree to visit tomorrow. To say goodbye, you hug him again, and he feels like he’s floating all the way home. Maybe tomorrow he’ll gain the courage to tell you everything that he’s been keeping in his heart.

Their dorms were quiet, the shared living areas swallowed in darkness as Jun excited his room. He had been talking to his family via video call for the past hour or two, catching up and trying their best to celebrate Zhōngqiūjié together, even when they were physically apart. You had initially planned on joining the call, but there had been last minute plans that had kept you from it. Even though Jun understood, he had been able to help feeling a little crestfallen when you had told him about it. The two of you had made it work since he confessed to you a year ago, talking almost weekly on the phone because both his and your commitments kept you from visiting all too often. And since this year he couldn’t visit home because of the impeding comeback, he would’ve at least enjoyed talking to you on the holiday proper, instead of just during one of your regularly scheduled calls. Especially with how long it had been since he’d last seen you in person in June. To him, an eternity.

Vernon, Dokyeom, and Chan had returned to their families for the evening to celebrate Chuseok together, leaving the dorm deserted, save Jun himself. They’d all met up for lunch as a celebration before most left to go home. It was an effort by the Korean members to ease the homesickness of those that wouldn’t be able to see their families over the holiday. Seungkwan had ended up accompanying Vernon, while Joshua and Minghao decided to simply celebrate with each other, even though they hadn’t been lacking in invitations either. Jun had made the same decision. They had let him know they’d be out until the night but that he could join them at their apartment later.

Especially Dokyeom had had a hard time simply leaving Jun behind, but the older man had insisted that he was going to be fine, and that it would give him a chance to call his family in China. But coming out of his room and being greeted with a cold, dark apartment, made Jun question his decision. He sighed, contemplating for a second whether he should simply return to his room instead of feeling the hollow emptiness of their shared dorm. But before he could make a decision, the doorbell rang.

He wasn’t expecting anyone, so the sudden shrill of the bell surprised him. Maybe it was one of the members, back early. Maybe Minghao and Joshua had decided to surprise him at the apartment. But when he looked at the screen of the camera system, he was greeted with a sight wholly unexpected. His breath hitched as he looked at you, your eyes staring straight at the camera, a warm smile on your face. Jun buzzed you in, jittery with nerves as he worried you might disappear or he might wake up. You had been talking about your crazy workload and extra assignments for the past few weeks, how on earth were you here?

This has to be a dream, he thought, standing in the open door and waiting for the tell-tale ping of the elevator. When he heard it, he couldn’t even wait for you to round the corner. In slippers, he sprinted down the hallway to the lift, coming face to face with you as you were trying to heave your luggage out. Jun cast it aside, picking you up and spinning you around. He buried his face in the side of your neck, breathing in the scent of your perfume and your skin.

“How are you here?” He whispered after a good few seconds of spinning and listening to your tinkling laugh.

“Well, you know, I bought a plane ticket, went to the airport in Hong Kong, I got on a plane—“ Jun interrupted you by picking you up again, proclaiming his happiness while you insisted that he finally put you down. If he had been a better man, he might’ve listened immediately. As it stood, it took the two of you several minutes to make it the short way from the elevator to his apartment door, Jun stopping every few seconds to give you another spin or a kiss.

Once you had finally made it safely inside, he brought your luggage to his room, before returning to the shared space and staring at you in fascination. There you were, right in front of him, leaning onto the counters of his dorm’s kitchen as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“How did you know I’d be home?” He asked and you giggled, presumably at his flabbergasted expression.

“I kind of asked the members for help…”

“What? Who?”

In hindsight, he thought he should’ve expected this. There had been a curious lack of invitations extended to him this year. Especially considering that Joshua and Minghao were still invited everywhere. And, thinking about it now, the fact that the two of them had insisted on spending the evening ‘outside’ without Jun had also been more than a little suspicious.

“Almost all of them helped coordinate it, actually. They all had to be in on it to some extent.”

“When did you start planning this?” He asked, making his way over to you. One last time, he picked you up, setting you down softly on the counter. This time you let him do as he pleased without protest, choosing to answer his question instead, “Like a month ago or so. When it started becoming clear that you’d have no chance to make it home this year.” Jun hummed in response, stepping closer to stand between your legs. His arms found their place around your waist.

“I’m so happy you’re here,” he murmured, resting his head on your shoulder and sighing deeply when he felt you wrap your arms around him. He wished you could stay like this forever, or at least for a very, very long time. You turned your head, whispering that you had brought yuèbǐng from Shenzhen with you and he nodded automatically. Mentally, he was still focused only on your presence, the fact that he got to hold you in his arms and use his thumbs to draw absentminded circles on your waist. If he hadn’t been so focused on your body, he would’ve missed the small hitch of your breath as he exhaled against the column of your throat. He smirked lightly, murmuring something along the lines of ‘we can eat them later’ before attaching his lips to the place where your shoulder and neck met. You gasped, more audibly this time as he sucked on the sensitive skin, following the line of your collarbone. You tugged at his t-shirt, whispering that you should move to his bedroom but Jun smirked against your skin, slowly pushing up your shirt. As he tossed it over your head, he whispered, “Don’t worry, we’ve got the apartment to ourselves all night.”

He smoothed his hands under your thighs, grabbing onto your plush flesh and cursing the layer of your pants for stopping him from feeling your skin. Jun pulled you closer, to the edge of the counter, so that he could finally feel you pressed to him again, making his hands wander back up. He placed them on your waist, gingerly at first, as if you were going to vanish into thin air if he didn’t handle you with enough care. He still wasn’t sure you weren’t a figment of his imagination how you were sitting in front of him, hair and clothes messy from your flight, but your eyes shining so brightly he thought you were the most ethereal being on this planet. But when you bucked your hips forward against his, all that restrain flew out the window. He slid his hands lower from your waist, relishing in every inch of skin he got to touch along the way, before he settled them on your ass, encouraging your motions even further. Your arms tightened around him, one hand finding its way into his hair, the other toying with the collar of his t-shirt before slipping downwards and below the fabric to caress his back. He groaned, moving one hand - albeit reluctantly – away from your hips to tilt your head to the side. He was overwhelmed with your nearness, the swell of your breasts pressed against him, the smell of your skin filling his senses, spreading through him, expanding into every corner of his consciousness until all he could perceive was your presence, your breath, your skin on his.

You kissed him with so much vigour that he felt light-headed, the sparkle of your eyes encapsulated him, as if he was floating in space, surrounded by innumerable stars, twinkling around him. In his weightlessness, your hands were caressing him, still. You dropped them to the hem of his t-shirt, tracing along the exposed skin there as the rhythm of your hips never faltered.

You broke away, Jun following your lips with a whine. He wasn’t yet ready to leave your cosmos, but you pressed a soft hand against his chest, tugging his shirt off. Jun, personally, would have preferred to resume kissing you breathless right away, but you had other plans. Your hands returned to his chest, covering the expanse of his pectorals, gliding over the ridge of his shoulder, caressing every centimetre of skin while tracing the muscles across his torso. Every touch left a tingling feeling, pulling him deeper and deeper into your gravitation. His head was thrown back in pleasure, his eyes screwed shut while he tried (and failed) to even out his breathing under your attentive ministrations. When your hands returned to his chest and you flicked against his nipples tentatively, his head dropped forward in defeat, colliding with your shoulder.

He was breathing more heavily than he’d like to admit, as if he really was slowly rising through the atmosphere, the air becoming thinner and thinner. His cock was painfully hard, you grinding against it deliciously with every roll of your hips. Separated by way too many layers, Jun thought dimly before tapping against your ass, signalling for you to lift your hips off the counter.

You complied easily, leaning back in a way that allowed him to strip you of your comfy leggings. He watched you shudder at the feeling of cool marble under your skin, goosebumps forming at the sensation. Reverently, he let his hands glide up and down your legs, watching you shiver again, just from his touch. He hadn’t even realised that he had lowered himself down until one of your hands grabbed for his hair and tilted his head back.

Ripped out of his reverie, Jun stared up at you, towering over him, backlit by the kitchen lights. If it hadn’t meant leaving your reach, Jun would have fallen to his knees right this second. In this light, you looked like a higher being, come to cast divine judgement on him, a final reckoning. Jun found he would have taken any verdict, as long as it meant preserving your attention. He would have obliged any command, taken any punishment with equanimity. He would have taken Prometheus’ place, if it meant he could bask in your presence for another moment. He would suffer any acrimony, any scorn, any tribulation, if it meant your gaze would continue to rest on him like this – zeroed in on his face, your expression soft with adoration. He didn’t have to fear any judgment. The only thing written on your face was love. It was mirroring his own, he was sure, from where he was pleading for you attention from between your legs. You wouldn’t let him out of your sight, your fingers tugging at his hair with purpose. He angled his head, a miniscule movement, just enough to allow him to breathe a kiss against the inside of your thigh, a fluttering promise of continuation. If you let him. You loosened your grip, and Jun took it as the invitation that it was. His path mapped over the fat of your thigh, spilling over his kitchen counters, up one leg, down the other. All the while, he didn’t break eye contact, watching your expression crackle and slip, pleasure and frustration mixing in even measures as you breathed a plea, “Qīn'ài de, you’re teasing.”

His breathing became uneven, for just a second, at the term of endearment. You didn’t need to spell out your request. He could see it in the rise and fall of your chest, the sounds sneaking their way past your lips, the shifting of your hips – almost involuntary. The vision of you before him blurred as he tried to hear the rest of your declaration over the rushing in his ears. Your legs twitched under his hands; he didn’t remember when he had moved them there. But now they were here, holding your legs apart, leaving imprints in your flesh where they pressed against you. Jun searched your face for any sign of hesitance, any doubt, but he found none. All he could find was a sense of desperation clawing its way up your throat, leaving a blooming blush in its wake.

He still continued holding your gaze when he pressed his mouth to your core, pushing his tongue against the wet spot on your underwear. You gasped a little, hands twisting in his hair, the slight pain grounding him in this moment. His hands continued kneading your flesh, wandering, in feverish haste, across every expanse of skin they could cover. Above him, you writhed and moaned, his name leaving your lips as if you were now the one praying. Your head had tilted back slightly, breaking eye contact. But Jun’s gaze never left your face, drinking in every expression as he pushed your panties to the side to gain proper access to your sopping core.

“OhmygodJun,” you breathed, head lolling to the side when his tongue swirled around your most sensitive spot. One hand moved from your ass to your core, probing at your entrance just to feel you clench around him, hear the sharp intake of your breath. You tipped backwards, resting on your elbows as his name continued to tumble off your lips into the still air of the apartment. Jun’s other hand moved upwards, taking no care in pushing your sports bra out the way to grab at your breasts, pinching your nipples intermittently. He watched your chest heave as he slipped two fingers past your entrance at once, his tongue lapping between them, desperate to taste as much of you as possible. Your hands kept pushing him closer and closer, until his every sense was filled with you. Your taste on his tongue, your panting breath in his ears, the plush feeling of your thighs around his head. He moaned against your core.

Jun felt your high approach, maybe knew it was coming before you yourself even did, the way he could read your body in this moment, with how every fibre of his being was honed in on you and your pleasure.

“Jun, bǎobèi, I’m…”

His hand slid down to your waist, squeezing reassuringly. Jun felt you constrict around his digits, your moans growing louder and more desperate. He kept pressing his fingers into that spot that had you squeeze around him, kept his mouth sucking on your clit, humming at the flavour of you, until you peaked. You came with a cry of his name that made his chest swell with pride. Your thighs shut around his head like a vice, your hand evidently torn between wanting to pull him away and push him closer. Jun remained pressed to your core, lazily lapping at your release until your legs relaxed and he gained enough freedom of movement to lean back and search for your gaze.

Even though he had spent minutes staring at the ethereal picture of you earlier, he was still taken aback by your beauty: your hair even messier, your face blushed, your eyes glazed over in the hazy afterglow. He pressed another kiss to the inside of your thigh.

“How are you feeling, my love?”

It took you a few moments to answer him, calming your breath. A moment of which he took advantage to return to his full height, leaving kisses up your body on his way there. Once he was face to face with you, he brushed your hair out of your face, looking at you with devotion. You smiled back, softly, your arms wrapping around his shoulders and immediately causing a warm shiver to run down the length of his body. There you were, in his arms, gazing at him with love, bestowing him with whatever divine favour slumbered in your presence.

You leaned in closer, letting your breath ghost over his skin for a second before whispering, “I need you.”

Jun was sure he was about to malfunction. The way his body reacted instantly, unbidden, must have been proof of your power. He couldn’t suppress the groan that rose to the surface, betraying his helplessness in the face of you. But you only smiled, sliding off the counter, tossing your bra to the side, and leaning into him.

“I know you need me too, baby,” you susurrated against the shell of his ear, your hand falling to his crotch, smoothing over the outline of his cock against his sweatpants. Jun gasped when you gave his balls a squeeze, trailing your fingers back up, pressing them into his slit, already oozing with precum and staining his pants. He felt like melting, like he was Icarus and you were the sun, with the notable exception that your radiance was warm and welcoming. It didn’t burn him, it only made him feel soft, welcome, malleable. He melted at your touch, moulded himself to the shape of you.

Although Jun felt it was very much stating the obvious, he conceded, “I want you so bad.”

You smiled, discarding your panties in a swift motion, before turning around and bending over the surface.

“Then come get me.”

He only stared, transfixed by the way your muscles moved under your skin, how the warm kitchen light of his home cascaded over you, the way your eyes sparkled with mischief when you turned around to smirk at him. Jun’s mind was still fighting with the fact that you were real, you were here, and you were his. You cocked an eyebrow, watching him like a cat watched its supper. When he still continued to stare, your eyes darkened, beckoning him with intensity. You wiggled your ass at him, pushing it back so it grazed his throbbing dick. As you threatened to pull away again, Jun’s hands flew to your hips. You yelped at the sudden strength with which he gripped you, pulling you back against him once more, grinding down against your ass with such verve that your head dropped forward. A long groan escaped you as Jun crowded you against the counter, pushing you down and leaning over your back.

“You need me, huh?”

You nodded your head enthusiastically while meeting his thrusts, moaning his name again and again, and growing more breathless by the second. Jun wanted to tease you, he really did. He wanted to ask you how bad you needed him. He wanted to force you to be more specific, to hear you say how you needed to feel his cock inside you, hitting that spot over and over again. He wanted to make your pretty lips form all those filthy words, say his name, beg for him. But it had been months since he had seen you in person, it felt like an eternity had passed since his skin was last allowed to touch yours, a lifetime since he heard you whimper and moan and pant for him like this. So, he forewent any more teasing. Instead, Jun simply shoved his sweatpants and underwear down his legs, freeing his cock.

You whined at the sound of it hitting his abs, wiggling your ass again and breathing out his name in that way he would never grow tired of. He grinned, sliding his dick through your slick, nipping its tip against your clit, once, twice, three times. So many times that you whimpered, an indistinguishable string of supplications, whines of baby, please please please leaving your lips. Your forehead was pressed against the counter now, as if the cold, hard surface helped ground you in reality while Jun had his way with you.

When, finally, he slipped into you, both of you sighed. You voices mixing in the air of the kitchen that seemed to have been growing thinner by the second. Jun’s breathing was growing ragged, and he could tell you weren’t faring much better than him. He started moving, slowly at first, testing the waters and, yes, possibly also to rile you up a little more. But when you clenched around him, any self-control was thrown out the window. His hands on your lower back were shoving you down against the ice-cold surface, making you hiss. His hips snapping against your ass as he searched for that spot that would make you drool over the marble countertops.

“Fuck… yes! Baby, right there,” you groaned when he found it.

Jun leaned back down over you, his front pressed against your back, his hot breath by your ear, whispered prayers of your name escaping him. He drove into that spot relentlessly, repeatedly until you lost all function of speech, reduced only to swears and his name. Jun mirrored your vocabulary, one hand sneaking around your body to find your clit again and rub punishing circles. With the added stimulation of his hand, the pressure of his weight, and the way his cock was hitting that spongy part inside you again and again, you felt your pleasure crest alarmingly fast.

“Junjunjunjunjun,” you breathed, but, again, he somehow had known before you what was coming. His groans surrounded you, your perception narrowed to just the feeling and sound of him.

“Hold on a little longer, baby,” he breathed, and you barely registered it. Just nodding for the sake of nodding, praying his own release would find him fast.

“Doing so well, baby. So good for me,” he continued, almost to himself, baiting your release even more.

A few agonising, timeless moments passed until, “That’s it, let go. Come for me, baby. Come with me.”

Immediately, you released a sound somewhere between a groan and a whimper, you head falling forward again as your whole body tensed up. Jun followed your example, his head dropping against your shoulder as he drove his cock into you, prolonging both of your releases as much as possible, until the sensitivity forced him to pull out. He remained folded over you, so close that he could feel his cum drip out of you, landing on the kitchen floor with a small splat. The air felt too thin for any movement, so he remained draped over you, his thumb drew circles on your lower back until you returned to him, mumbling his name.

“Are you alright, qīn'ài de?”

You nodded almost imperceptibly, your hair sticking to the nape of your neck. Jun brushed it to the side, leaving a small peck where it had been.

“Nooo,” you whined, “I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t care,” he replied, matter-of-factly, smoothing his hand down your back one last time before peeling himself off you to get some tissue. His heart tore a little at the weak whine you let out in response to his absence.

“Don’t worry, I’m just trying to take care of you.”

You only whined more when he wiped the rest of your combined release from between your legs before also cleaning the floor. He caught your eyes from over your shoulder, smiling softly, and leaving another kiss on your back. After getting rid of the tissue, he pulled you off the counter, wrapping you up in his arms.

“You were amazing. I love you.”

He could hear the smile in your voice when you replied, “So were you, bǎobèi.”

“I can’t believe you’re really here…”

“I missed you something fierce,” you said by way of explanation.

“Me too. I miss you every day. Every hour.”

To his confusion, you smiled warmly at his pout, one hand caressing along the side of his face until it came to rest on his collarbone. You leaned in, lips ghosting against his in a silent promise, “Then let’s make the most of right now.”

Jun grinned, bending down to pick you up, laughing at the surprised yelp you let out.

“What on earth are you doing, Wen Junhui!”

“I think it’s time for a bath.”

“That is not what I was trying to insinuate!”

He wiggled his eyebrows, feeling his heart sore at your scandalised expression. Resting his forehead against yours, his eyes searched for yours, holding their stare for a few moments. With a smile on his lips and in his voice he murmured, “I don’t care what exactly we do in the bath, as long as we do it together.”

[theineffablesociety-dc]

We have a venue!

After phone calls, emails, and chasing down sales managers over federal holiday weekends, we have finally locked down a meeting space and room block!

The Ineffable Society DC Meetup will be held at Courtyard New Carrollton-Landover on March 1, 2025 for Pay What You Can (including $0!). We have a room block with rooms priced at $123/night.

Booking link: https://www.marriott.com/event-reservations/reservation-link.mi?id=1737765175635&key=GRP&guestreslink2=true&app=resvlink

The hotel is located near the New Carrollton DC metro/Amtrak station, with a shuttle from the station to the hotel. The nearest airports are BWI (connection to Amtrak) and DCA and IAD (both on the metro). We'll also help arrange rides for people who need it. The room block pricing is available through February 7th.

If you plan to attend, we have an RSVP form we'd like you to fill out so we can get an approximate headcount for planning and make sure that any accommodations, ridesharing requests, etc all come through to where we can see them and help.

Finally: This is a free event, but it does cost money to put on. The meeting space fee, taxes, and service charge total $2,558, plus incidentals; our current estimate of how much this will cost us to put on is $2,700. If you would like to help us offset the costs, we will accept donations. Any extra funds raised over the cost of putting on the event will be donated to Alzheimer's Research UK in honor of Sir Terry.

tl;dr:

MARCH 1ST! COURTYARD NEW CARROLLTON!

[moviecritc]

dreamer ⋆ carlos sainz

pairing: carlos sainz x old friend!reader

summary: you leave the city searching a meaning to your life, founding an old friends instead

word count: 2K

warnings: carlos isn't a driver, just a really rich guy with hobbies

a/n: here's the first track of my bewitched department <33 i love reader and carlos so so much tbh

masterlist | wattpad | letterboxd

"I'm sick of all this, Natalie," Y/N declared, throwing her phone on the sofa. Her roommate diverted her gaze from the TV to her. "It's the fourth guy that ghosted me after I ask him out."

"Become a lesbian," said Natalie, turning her attention back to the movie.

Y/N let out a sigh. "I should. I'm tired of all men being assholes and manipulators."

She grimaced, thinking that maybe the problem wasn't men but her. She had studied Art History and had been the best in her class. Now, at 28, she was sharing an apartment and teaching preteens who called her 'ma'am.' Was she wasting her life?

"I need a change," she said to herself.

"The smell goes away with a shower, don't worry." Natalie looked at her, wrinkling her nose.

"No, damn it. A change in my routine," she explained. Nevertheless, she took a sniff at her armpit, regretting it. She'd shower later. "I need to get out of here."

She stood up, grabbed her phone, and headed to her room.

"Hey? And where are you going, if I may ask?" said Natalie, following her.

"Anywhere!" Y/N shrugged. She drank a glass of water and took out a couple of pieces of clothing. "I need to change the scenery as soon as possible, I'm stuck."

She pulled a small suitcase from her closet while her roommate rolled her eyes.

"Y/N, you can't just leave suddenly. Don't you have classes tomorrow?"

Y/N paused for a moment and then shrugged again. "I'll ask for the day off. The week, actually."

"The week!" exclaimed Natalie. Y/N was already looking at flights on her phone when Natalie covered her screen. "Y/N, you don't have the financial or mental stability for this!"

Y/N swatted Natalie's hand away to see her phone screen.

"Madrid is very cheap this time of year," she said, with a small smile.

"But you don't even speak Spanish!"

Y/N boarded a plane to Madrid with the idea of not talking to any men that week. This trip was for her, to reconnect with herself, the Y/N she had lost over the years.

She still didn't have a place to stay, but she would resolve that on the go. The journey from the airport to central Madrid was tedious; she didn't know how the metro worked and people ignored her like she was nothing. Frustrated, she sat in a café. She looked up things to do in Madrid on her phone, but soon the battery died, and she was sure she had forgotten her charger at the apartment.

She let out a long sigh and ran her hands over her face. As she opened her eyes, she heard a voice.

"Y/N?"

She looked up immediately, surprised that someone knew who she was in Madrid. When she met the gaze of the individual, she recognized him instantly.

"Carlos?"

She stood up immediately, greeting him. Was he a man? Yes but Carlos and she had gone to university together; they had been friends for several years. Probably best friends, though they never talked about it. He hadn't changed much; he looked older but in a positive way, with a more flattering haircut and surprisingly stronger.

"What are you doing here?" Carlos asked, leaning in for a short hug.

"On vacation," Y/N nodded. Running into him had instantly lifted her spirits.

"Damn, I haven't seen you in… six years?" Carlos tilted his head a bit.

"Since graduation, right?"

They both nodded; it had been quite a while. Long enough to realize they had lost contact too soon.

"I didn't expect to see you in Madrid," commented Carlos, with a smile.

"It was a last-minute decision," explained Y/N, wrinkling her nose a bit. She formed a smile. "I'm glad to see you, really. Do you want to sit for a bit?" she suggested, pointing to the empty chair.

"I'd love to," Carlos accepted the invitation immediately, sitting down.

A waiter approached, and Carlos ordered a coffee to accompany Y/N's.

"Well, tell me, what have you been up to all these years?" Carlos asked, crossing one leg.

Y/N told him a bit of everything, very sweetened. That she was teaching Geography and History at a public school, that her family was fine, and they reminisced about the time Carlos practically crashed her Christmas party because Carlos Sainz Senior was mad at him for his grades and that she was happy living in her city.

Carlos told her that he now worked at his father's company as an executive.

"Oh, I thought you’d be doing something related to what we studied," Y/N pressed her lips a bit, somewhat disappointed that Carlos hadn't continued doing what they both loved.

"I would have loved to… but there were very few job opportunities. And I didn't want to be a teacher, so I played it safe," admitted Carlos, shrugging a bit. For a moment, he thought Y/N would judge him for it, but her sweet and calm expression told him otherwise.

"Understandable not wanting to be a teacher," agreed Y/N, before sipping her coffee.

"Is it tough?" Carlos mimicked her, lifting his cup too.

Y/N shook her head a bit. "I'm sure there are worse things. But having a twelve-year-old try to cut your hair because his dad is bald is rather curious."

Carlos almost choked on his coffee from the sudden laughter. "Really?" He tried to stifle the laughter as best as he could, but Y/N was already glaring at him.

"No, no. It's not funny, it happens every damn day," she nodded vigorously. Carlos let out a laugh that ended up being contagious for Y/N too.

The conversation continued for the rest of the afternoon. It was like going back to university for a few hours, a time she missed a lot. When they decided to get up from the table, they had finished four coffees and at least one glass of wine. It was even starting to get cold outside.

"Shall I walk you to your hotel?" Carlos asked with a smirk.

Y/N grimaced, remembering she still hadn't sorted that out. She bit the inside of her cheek, embarrassed. "I haven't booked a hotel room yet."

"Oh," he pursed his lips and quickly said, "You can stay at my place, I have a spare room."

Y/N, hearing him speak, was already shaking her head. "No, no, no. I don't want to bother you."

Carlos clicked his tongue, looking away for a moment.

"How are you going to bother me? Come on, bring your suitcase. My car is parked nearby."

Y/N was intrigued by Carlos's initiative but kept shaking her head.

"Really, it's not necessary, Carlos," Y/N extended her arms a bit for Carlos to return her suitcase, but he even moved it away from her hands. "I'll manage."

She said that last part to ease him a bit, but it only sounded like she needed more help.

"Y/N, I'm not going to leave you out on the street," Carlos put his hands on his hips and she let out a sigh. "That's not very gentlemanly of me."

"You were never a gentleman, you idiot," noted Y/N. Carlos smiled, knowing that if Y/N started to insult you, she was about to agree with you. "Alright, but just for one night. Then I'll find a hotel."

"Whatever you say, cariño," Carlos smiled triumphantly, and Y/N tried to hide her smile while he put her suitcase in the trunk.

His apartment was huge, truly huge. A dream kitchen, a large living room, and definitely more than one spare room. As they entered, a beautiful brown and white dog greeted them, heading straight for Carlos's legs.

"And who is this?" said Y/N, petting his head a bit, enough for the animal to focus all its attention on her. He sniffed Y/N's shoes and licked the hems of her pants.

"His name is Piñón," said Carlos with a smile, surprised that Piñón hadn't started barking because of a stranger's presence. "I adopted him almost after we graduated."

Y/N crouched, petting Piñón's neck and behind his ears. "Hi, Piñón. You're so pretty."

"I'll show you the room," Carlos said.

Y/N got up, giving Piñon one last pet. "Thank you, really. I feel like an abandoned cat, but thank you."

They both chuckled softly.

"It's nothing," Carlos said as they went to the room.

Y/N left her suitcase in a corner and turned to Carlos. "Do you have a charger?"

She felt like she was taking advantage of him too much, even if it was just for a charger, she felt bad.

"Of course, here," Carlos handed her the charger, their hands touched for a millisecond. She tried so hard not to feel anything. He kept a flirty smile. "Are you hungry?"

"Well, yes," Y/N nodded. "But give me a few minutes and I'll help you cook."

Y/N took a couple of things out of her suitcase and went back to the kitchen to help Carlos. They quickly cooked some pasta with burrata. Y/N noticed how Carlos would get close to her or brush his hands against hers casually.

While cutting some tomatoes, the knife slipped from Carlos’s hand. "Shit!" Carlos looked at the cut and put his finger in his mouth, letting out several whimpers.

"Did you cut yourself?" Y/N went over to him, Carlos took his finger out of his mouth, showing her a small cut. Y/N pursed her lips, remembering how dramatic he could be. "It's nothing, Carlos. It's barely bleeding."

Y/N cradled his hand, gently caressing his fingers almost unconsciously. The room went silent, Carlos looked into her eyes, he adored that look. Y/N lifted her eyes, connecting them with Carlos’s. He leaned toward her, listening to her breathing and matching his to it.

"Can I kiss you?"

The question hung in the air. Y/N held her breath. This was the opposite of what she wanted. She blinked and slightly opened her mouth. To Carlos, it felt like an eternity.

"I'm sorry," Y/N said in a faint voice. She looked at him with pity and Carlos stepped back, feeling more embarrassed than ever. "It's just… it's not the right time. I'm in a bit of a strange phase and things aren't going well for me, I don't want to mess things up for you." Y/N fidgeted with her rings as she said it.

"I understand," Carlos said, nodding slowly. "I shouldn't have asked you that, it was out of place."

"No, I should have told you before," she contradicted, with a grimace.

"Don't worry," he said. "It's just that…," Carlos hesitated a bit. "In college I had a huge crush on you and seeing you again brought everything back."

Y/N blinked, absorbing those words. She had always wondered why Carlos barely dated any girls during their time in college, it never crossed her mind it could be because of her.

"You had a crush on me?"

"You didn't know?"

"No…"

"Damn, we spent so much time together,"

"Because we were friends! That's what friends do!"

They both laughed and Carlos leaned against the counter, crossing his arms.

"So, you're not having a good time?" he inquired, with a calm look.

Y/N lowered her gaze. "I'm trying to sort out my life."

"I understand," he bit the inside of his cheek. "Anyway, if once you sort out your life you feel like going on a date, I haven't changed my number."

That felt so good in Y/N's chest, as if her heart expanded a little. She laughed like a fool, taking a few steps back.

"I'm going to go to sleep,"

"You're not having dinner with me?" Carlos extended his arms, with a sad look.

"Maybe tomorrow," Y/N turned around and smiled over her shoulder before disappearing down the hallway.

taglist; @theseerbetweenus

[sheepispink]

୨✧୧˚ BUSINESS CLASS ˚୨✧୧

A/N: This is a seperate oneshot that link to my series ‘The Escort Protocol’, but it work as astand alone too! Technically this would take place after chapter 3ish.

✧ series masterlist ✧ resident evil masterlist

✧Summary: You’re Agent Kennedy’s escort, and despite his initial hatred for his job, he finds annoying you a good amusement. Meanwhile he’s the bane of your existence most days. But when it comes to the end of it, you know you have each others back, and besides, an escort always needs to stay beside their agent.

✧ cw: fluff, minor injuries

✧ WC: 2.8k

You may be flying in style but the trip there was far from it. Sat on the metro at 7pm, the soft whirr of the machinery is all you can hear as it takes you to the airport across the state. The flight is an overnight one, annoyingly, and you’ll be departing at 10:30 so you told Leon to be there at 7:30 latest. Luckily for him, he gets driven there in a fancy car whilst you're stuck on this grimey ride with a bunch of men who keep staring at you strangely. This is awful, maybe you shouldn’t have agreed to Leon’s insistence on you being his escort or maybe you should’ve just stolen his gun just for this ride. You’ve got all the documents at the ready in your folder, both passports, licenses and all this other yap.It makes no sense why they need all this but then again, you’re just a measly escort; it’s best you don't ask questions. The passengers look at you like you're crazy when you double check the documents for the 4th time this hour, your hands slipping into the folder over and over again. You know you couldn’t even go back if you forgot some but you like to be extra, extra prepared, or maybe you’re just very nervous of screwing your first proper job. Either way, you’ve got about 2 stops to go now which is good, seeing as you’re right on schedule. Your fingers play the edge of your formal trousers, you’d normally just wear a skirt but you figured it’d be more comfy on a plane and a little more classy. Plus you kind of like this look; it looks like you're his bodyguard if you get an earpiece to match.

Practically, dashing out the doors when it’s at your stop, you make your way up the stairs after scanning your metro card. Flagging down a cab was easier than you expected and you ended up at the airport much earlier too; this could even be a record time.Your phone buzzes as you pull your small suitcase behind you, a look of panic covering your face as you struggle to grab your phone with your hands full. Eventually you place down your folder of documents into the side pocket of your suitcase, something you had practically squealed at when you shopped online for it.

“Hey, you there yet?” Leon’s voice rings out from the phone as you hold it up to your ear.

“Yes, my cab got me here a little faster than expected. Are you close?”

“Uh.. there was an accident on the motorway, but i’ll be quick.”

“Mr Kennedy- I told you to let me book the cab earlier-“ You murmur, trying not to show your annoyance because this would’ve been solved if you handled it.

“Call me Leon and yeah- maybe the cab only came 10 minutes ago but i’ll be there asap. Dont even sweat.”

“But-“

“Oh no- my wifi-“ One of the most experienced agents in the DSO just made fake crackling noises in your ear before hanging up on you. Sometimes you question if your job is even real.

With a groan, you check the time for check in which is only and hour and ten minutes away, but knowing him he’d need a million things before the gate opened. You’d buy some snacks in the meantime but it doesn’t really seem professional to you, and to be honest, airport food is way out of your budget. The small vending machine looks tempting though.

His promise of being there soon turns from 10 minutes to 15 which switches to 20 until it’s growing closer to eight o clock and he’s still not here. You’re typing in his number aggressively at this point, even though you’d never actually raise your voice at him in the slightest. All of a sudden two hands land on your shoulder and you scream, immediately scrambling away with your first instinct to grab the documents and nothing else. You watch Leon burst out laughing at your reaction as your cheeks burn pink— thank god this was a relatively empty area.

“Sir-“ You begin, clenching your teeth as you walk over to put the documents back.

“-Leon, and that was the most entertaining thing i’ve seen all day. Why were you even that terrified?” He chuckles some more, taking a seat in front of the large glass windows that show the planes lined up outside .

“It doesn’t matter anymore. We have twenty minutes until check in and an hour and a half for the gates to open, so you should get anything you want now. Yknow, go toilet, get snacks..”

He crosses his legs and closed the handle on his suitcase, smirking up at you. “Or you could go get it for me.”

“Or I can go get them for you.” You mimic in a high pitched voice, a pissed look on your face now that you’re halfway across the airport as you wait in the fast food line. Of course he wanted a milkshake and chips right before the plane ride and of course he’d use the fact he paid for your ticket against you. For being in a fancy airport, the service sure isn’t good and you’re sure you’ll be the last to board at this point. Finally, you get the milkshake cup and fries, walking 10 minutes until you find him listening to music whilst watching the planes get prepared for departure. You gently poke his shoulder before placing the food on the armrest of the chair he’s sat in.

“One milkshake and one fries, sir.”

“Leon, and thanks.” He pops a fry into his mouth and then picks up another, smushing it against your lips with a smirk.

“Your payment, escort.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes and munch down the fry before taking a seat in the chair beside him. “It’s not escort- and thanks, i guess? Anyway, pass me your luggage i’ll go put it through.”

He hands you his luggage which weighs a ton for some reason, and you wheel it over to the conveyor belts. Whilst you scan it in you let out a long sigh, this was going to be a long trip with him like this. Yeah, he was as strong and productive as an actual agent now but it doesn’t mean he’s actually going to act like one. When you return, he’s already sending you off again to buy him something else and something else until you feel like a tourist at this point. Why does a man need this many snacks for a 6 hour flight??

You’re bringing him the last thing he asked for, a small gift for his friend Claire who he knows is in the area. A small smile rises on your lips as you look at the one you picked out; most of these brands would be disgusting but as a girl, you know exactly what any girl would want. Chocolates—the fanciest around of course. The happiest person alive is who you would be if someone got you this; you’re practically salivating at the thought as you spot him sitting in his lounge chair. Placing the box of chocolates down, he gives you another cheeky grin and you mentally groan, waiting for his next request.

“Throw this in the bin while you’re up?”

Internally, you’re fuming as you step towards the bin nearby until you hear the strange whirring, your head turning to the source of the noise. An out of control mobility chair slams straight into you, causing you to fall to the floor with a groan. You rub the back of your head which was thankfully intact even though you couldn’t say quite the same for your shattered glasses or the large cut on your hand from said glasses

Your teeth grit at the sudden pain, cutting into the flesh of your lips as you look down at yourself. Well shit. The boarding gates were opening in half an hour and you were sitting on the musty floor with his trash smeared on you.

“Hey—escort?”

He turns around from the loud crash sound, his expression filling with amusement until he realises you’re actually hurt and then he’s throwing his headphones off and quickly making his way over to you. He feels a wave of guilt in his stomach as he helps you up, one hand rubbing your shoulder while the other picks up your injured hand carefully. “You’re okay, I'll go buy you some bandages, okay? Sit down okay? I’ll be quick, promise.”

You hold the handkerchief he kept in his pocket to your hand whilst he practically runs for the nearest pharmacy, speechless and unable to respond. With your spare hand you rummage through your own small bag, looking for your spare glasses. You were thankful you had extra obviously, but you loved that old pair and unfortunately it was in the bin now. You had one job and you just had to go mess it up, didn’t you? Anyone would know to actually look around when they walk, and now you had a damn agent fetching things for you. Now you just felt like shit not to mention you looked like it too. Maybe you should’ve quit this job, you had barely the skills for it—

A warm coat settles on your shoulders before gentle hands take yours. He sits you on the benches there, taking a seat beside you before he rips the packet of bandages open with his teeth, his eyes filled with guilt and concern as he wraps the thick fabric over the cut.

“Your um, your outfit got a little messy from uh.. my trash.” He murmurs as he pulls the collar of the leather to hide your chest a little more before sitting back, looking unusual without his own signature one. The one that sits on your shoulders now.

“You really don't have to I-“

“Shut up, you got hurt, I’m a damn agent— I can throw out my own trash.” He looks like he had just run you over himself and even though you kind of want to just go home and hide under your covers, you can't help but smile just a little.

“It's not anyone's fault. It was just an accident, no one could have seen that.”

“Will you be okay without glasses by the way?”

“I have spares.”

You pull on your old glasses, a little nerdy but not the worst and he grins at the sight.

“You know, if you weren’t so organised I'd make sure you slapped me in payback.”

You give him a playful poke, and finally let a grin rise. “I can't do that anyway?”

Eventually you’re waiting beside Leon to enter the boarding gate. His eyebrows raise in amusement and he chuckles when he sees you watching in awe at how the pair of you skip the security line due to your status. Your eyes widen and you practically turn your whole body to watch all the other passengers get swatted down, something you’d be in if it weren’t for Leon. He likes watching your reactions, it’s very amusing to him. Especially your face when he bandaged up your hand; it was all sheepish and ready to be scolded for negligence or the like. He can't help but rest his arm on your head; the height difference is not that big, but he’d get a cramp in his arm if it meant seeing you hide the glare you want to give him behind a professional calm.

“Shocked? We’re allowed in first with no fuss; just DSO perks.” He winks at you and ruffles your hair before letting his arm down as the gate begins to let first class passengers through.

You take charge as his escort, showing the documents and getting both boarding tickets checked before leading him through onto the actual plane. You can practically feel his smirk as he watches you take in the sight of first class with awe. But you’re in business class today because you’re his escort and luckily this airline has those fancy business seats in the middle. You finally reach your area, taking his backpack off of him and placing it in the overhead luggage. You place your own handbag underneath the seat; there's a ton of things useful for every situation. With a quick glance, you peek around at the perks of business class with awe. It looks so clean and fancy, even if it's a little less secluded than first. You turn to see him already getting comfortable in his large seat, reclining a little before picking up the remote for the tv. After a quick rummage in your bag for headphones, you sink into the plush seat of the chair and try to hide the obvious excitement of it all. Though, you lock in quickly as you remember you still have lots of work to do and a schedule to finalise for him. Damn, sometimes you think you should be upgraded to an assistant.

It’s one thirty am when he pokes your shoulder, trying to get your attention whilst not disturbing anyone. He watches as you shift your headphones to rest on your neck before looking at him.

“What's wrong?” You whisper, the way you tilt your head is very amusing to his tired mind.

“Aren’t you going to sleep?” He asks, quite curious although he has a bunch of other questions like if that nasty cut on your hand is feeling better. But he’s not used to such blatant displays of care; he’d barely cared about himself up until you came along and forced him to.

“No. I can't really sleep on planes.” He hears you whisper, and for some reason there's a twinge of guilt in his gut at your words. You look exhausted from everything today. He barely lifted a finger whilst you handled the entire trip and, whilst it was fun and you’re being paid, he feels a little bad.

“Well, are you hungry?”

“…I.. No- no I'm fine.”

You slip on your headphones once he nods and turns back to the movie he watches, making sure to dim your screen as much as to not disturb others. But then again, this is business class, you doubt they can be bothered by you with their dividers up. You’re tapping away at some new things, reaching to sip your water only to unfortunately find that it’s empty. Though before you can mourn it, a familiar hand places a bottle, snacks and an energy drink onto the pull out table you had propped your laptop up on.

You glance up at him with surprise before mouthing a ‘Thank you’ with a small but bright smile. He just gives you a quick nod before turning away, back to his movie.

Soon enough, a soft snore rings out and you’re met by the sight of Leon’s cheek smushed against his hand as he dozes off. In fact, pretty much everyone is asleep apart from you. A small feeling inside you tells you that the flight attendants probably think you’re insane but you brush it off quickly as you reach into the complimentary bag they provide for business class. You pull out the soft blanket and drape it over him before reaching over to turn the bright screen of his tv off. One last glance at his drowsy form has you smiling as one would do with a cute animal, you’ve never seen someone who is usually cocky this… squishy. You almost try to poke them when you hear the steps of a flight attendant and quickly turn back to your laptop, a furious wave of embarrassment filling you. Maybe you should get some sleep too and it’s only a few hours now until you arrive.

You let out a long sigh, getting up to head to the bathroom, unaware that Leon’s eyes had peeked open when you got up. He had been half awake since you rustled the complimentary bag; he has always been a light sleeper. He peeks over at your laptop, tempted to snoop before he sees the small notes app you have pinned in the corner. It’s a bunch of random things, half of which he had no idea was relevant to your work or the DSO. But then again, when did he ever actually do his paperwork? A small text catches his eye though, the bottom line and typed in only 10 minutes ago.

‘Buy Leon a travel pillow.’

He can't help but grin at that, and the bunch of other random notes you have about the job including his coffee order. Don't get him wrong, he hates this job but that doesn’t mean he can't enjoy it from time to time.

[sanzaibian]

I turns off my phone angrily. I have barely touched down to Pudong International Airport, and now I have to call my Shanghai agent about how I’m going to be late, and that “China Eastern”, that company full of crooks, doesn’t even want to compensate my $4200 business class ticket for being 2 hours late.

“Allô ? C’est Julien, je suis enfin arrivé à Shanghai. (Hello ? It’s Julien, I’ve finally touched down at Shanghai.)” I say to my local correspondent, the one responsible for dragging me here.

- Enfin ! Ça fait une heure qu’on vous attend ! (Finally ! We’ve been waiting for you for a whole hour !)

- C’est pas ma faute ! Le vol a eu deux heures de retard à cause de soi-disants ‘vents forts’ vers la Mongolie… et ces escrocs ne veulent rien me rembourser… typique… (It’s not my fault ! The flight was two hours late due to so-called ‘powerful winds’ around Mongolia… and those crooks don’t want to reimburse me… typical…)” I answer, annoyed.

- Bon, de l’Aéroport de 浦東 (Pudong) jusqu’ici… pff… je vais devoir leur dire de revenir cet après-midi… (So, from 浦東 (Pudong) Airport to here… ugh… I need to ask them to come back this afternoon…)” He says, similarly annoyed, though seemingly flaunting his perfect pronunciation in Chinese.

- Ne râle pas sur moi, j’ai rien fait ! Je savais que j’aurais dû prendre Air France, ils n’auraient pas eu de retard comme ces asiates… (Don’t dump it on me, I did nothing ! I knew I should have gone for Air France, they wouldn’t be late like those chinks…)

- Roh… (Ugh…)” He sighs a while. “Je vais m’occuper de tout. Juste… viens aussi vite que possible. (I’ll manage. Just… come here as soon as you can.)”

I turn off the phone. As if I would waste a minute of my life… I’m Julien Blanc, and my time is money, just like the saying goes. As the heir of a multi-million dollars worth banking company, I have investments left right and center, and can’t let the next golden goose escape me.

Recently, a well-known investor, Pierre Zhang, let me know of a promising startup here in Shanghai. While at first I was understandingly skeptical, after all chinks are known for their plagiarism, I did check the project and found it to be unique, and even viable.

While I do know that Pierre Zhang is half one of them, so he does take their side much more than a regular person would, this time he saw a good opportunity. And it will be botched due to an incapable company that spouted nonsense about “strong winds” or something and was late as a result.

Angrily, I stomp in the giant airport halls, guiding myself thanks to my impeccable English – though, just don’t listen to the pronunciation. I’m stopped multiple times for security checks, and I do swear on them a couple of times, but they deserved it for wasting my time even more.

However, as I was striding in the main hall in order to find the metro station, seeing more and more of those chink hooligans, one of them shoves me to the side. He’s wearing a mask like the pussy he is, as well as a ridiculous oversized hoodie, some laughable jewelry and undistinguished sweatpants.

He’s left as soon as I turn around, meaning I can’t berate him. Youth these days are really insufferable. Where I grew up, on the Saint-Louis island in Paris, we weren’t even half as rude as today’s kids.

Scoffing, I continue rushing to the metro, though I kind of feel dizzy. Did he give me a disease or something ? When I reach the metro shoot, I see a barrier with policemen. Apparently they’re scanning for the coronavirus – they’re still doing that ? – by checking our temperature.

I go in the barrier, confident that I’ll pass the test, when suddenly, my path is blocked.

“Sorry, sir, please come with me.” Said a policewoman in her heavily accented English.

- What are you doing ! Let me go, I did nothing wrong !” I protest with a similarly accented English.

The policewoman doesn’t answer me and leads me to a small room in the airport. There, I see a bunch of other people with masks, waiting on seats. Showing me a mask, the policewoman explain :

“You may be sick. Take a mask and wait. - I’m going to be late ! Nothing’s wrong with me, just let me leave !” I say, though I don’t notice my accent shifting a little.

- Wear it or face consequences.” The policewoman insists, dangling the mask in front of my eyes. I sigh.

- Okay, but make it quick. I’ll wear 一只 (one).”

I squint my eyes. How did I say ‘one’ ? It feels incorrect, have I accidentally used French ‘un’ ?

I take the mask and wear it, still squinting. I still feel dizzy, so I guess the policewoman must have been right ? I take my phone out, wanting to send a quick message to Pierre about me being late, but something seems wrong.

When I look on my phone, there’s a weird app named 抖音 that has been installed. I don’t remember doing that. In fact, why is there even a Chinese app on my phone !

I click on it, and suddenly, videos start playing. I squint my eyes as I look at the videos of ch… Chinese people doing a variety of things. First it’s a video of a cat rubbing on someone, and that guy exclaimed “它真的是只饥渴死的猫啊！”, with then the woman filming answering, with a hurried tone “快摸它啊，你干嘛在那儿等呗？真冷啊。”. Even though I don’t understand a word that is said, I can guess that the woman is telling the guy to go rub the cat.

It’s funnier than I expected. Turns out the Chinese have more humor than I thought. Then, another video comes on, showing a guy, looking just like that punk from earlier, saying “穿这种衣服，我干嘛不会感丢人哎？(… these clothes… … lose face ?)”, and the camera pans out to a woman in a cockroach outfit. The punk continues “你已经三十岁了，为什么还在买这种衣服了？(… thirty years old, why still buy… ?)”, the woman answers “你现在我穿什么你都要管吗？(You... right now what I wear… your business ?)”. The punk then comes back into frame, with the woman on the left, asking “没有情侣版吗？哪只手我该牵啊？(There isn’t a couple’s version ? Which hand should I hold ?). Then, the woman shows a tendril, and they hold hands like that. I smile, finding it way funnier than it should.

I don’t really notice how I understand more and more what’s on 抖音 (Douyin), though I do let myself grow limp on the waiting room chair. I guess I don’t have much regards anymore for how I look, after all I’m waiting for a coronavirus test. Nobody’s going to comment on my posture !

The next video shows three guys running, with the caption 三人跑步时能干什么 (What can three people do while running together ?), and I see how their hair bop up and down. I’ve been shaving myself bald for quite a few years, ever since I was balding too much for me to bother with hair, but seeing these guys like that makes me a bit nostalgic of that time.

Seeing them doing stupider and stupider stuff, and smiling more and more as they show bungee jumping, doing pull-ups, playing games, stir-frying and even boxing, I feel a bit weird. Like I can kind of relate, in my youth I also did crazy things, and it would absolutely be something I would have done with my friends. I scratch my head, feeling it tingle, as I continue watching the next video, not even realizing my squinting is less and less strenuous.

The videos continue trickling in, every one more humorous than the last, and I catch myself chuckling out loud multiple times. By now, I understand everything very clearly, and when a doctor comes to do a coronavirus test, I don’t even blink when he addresses me in Chinese :

“少年，请跟我进走。(Young man, please enter with me.)

- Yes, 先生。(Yes, sir.)” I answer, mixing English and Chinese.

Everything is confused as he takes me to a machine, my thoughts mixing French, English and Chinese. Even my clothes feel… less tight than they used to. Almost as if they were melting and becoming glue.

I take place in the machine and he activates it. I feel as if things become clearer while I’m in. Like, for example, why was I stressed just now ? I don’t have anything important to do right now. And why languages are mixed ? I guess it’s because it’s cooler to mix in English…

The machine stops, and I leave it, scratching my straight hair. Had I ? … no, of course not, it’s my facial hair that I shave…

The doctor hands me my piercings.

“Euh, attendez, 先生，有什么不对了…… (Er, wait, sir, there’s something that’s not right.)” I ask, mixing French and Chinese. I really feel like something is not right.

- 什么发生过了？会跟我谈一谈。(What happened ? You can discuss it with me.)

- 我……有个奇怪的感受。Est-ce que 您找到了种疾病吗？(I… have a weird feeling. Did you find some kind of disease ?)

- 没有。但是您不舒服的话我肯定会给您扑热息痛。(I didn’t. However, if you don’t feel good, I can give you some paracetamol.)” He answers me, with a helpful look.

- 该好了。Merci. (It should be good. Thank you.)”

I take the pill he gives me, and put my piercings back on as I go back in the terminal. As I walk, I feel very comfy, as if everything was alright. I look down on my large oversized hoodie with its colorful prints. I feel like I’m in my youth once again… huh, it’s so weird to say that when I’m only... 23 years old !

Suddenly, I get a phone call from a weird contact I don’t remember having, someone named 张皮尔 (Zhang Pi’er/Pierre). I accept the call :

“喂。是谁？(Hello. Who’s there ?)” I ask, with a perfect accent.

- Julien ? Pourquoi tu parles chinois ? (Julien ? Why do you speak Chinese ?)” He groans, then switches to Chinese. “是我问您是谁。是您的电话吗？(I’m the one asking you who you are. Is it your phone ?)

- 当然是。我是个富二代，为啥要偷手机啊？(Of course. I have a trust fund, why would I steal a phone ?)” I slur, my speech becoming more and more relaxed.

- 嗯……那您是谁啊？您认不认识Julien Blanc ? (Ugh… So who are you ? Do you know Julien Blanc ?)

- 是白炬亮。那你到底是谁啊？(I’m Bai Juliang. And now can you tell me who you are ?)

- 是张皮尔……嗯……听我说一下。你有没有多钱会投资？我认为了Julien Blanc要投资新项目，但你还会投资一下。有没有兴趣？(I’m Pierre Zhang… ugh… Listen. Do you have a lot of money to invest ? I thought Julien Blanc would come and invest in a new project, but you can still invest. Are you interested ?)”

I think for a while. It could be great to have some money coming from another place than my parents’ company… plus, I don’t want to have to join it, or risk being cut off from my money…

However, there’s time, I’m still young, and there’s no rush right now… Plus, having work is, like, a lot of work, and I don’t want to work… But I have an idea.

“张先生，你想不想跟我投资？我给了你钱币，你给了我专业，收入分两半。感觉好吗？(Mr. Zhang, do you want to invest with me ? I give you the funds, you give me the expertise, and we divide the profits in half. Do you like that ?)”

After a while, he answers :

“感觉好了。(I think it’s good.)”

[lesbianashleywilliams]

So those of you who have been following me may have noticed that I all but disappeared for about three months...well, that's because I've been planning to go to Japanese language school, and the wheels have really begun to start turning!!!!!!

I have been given the opportunity of my lifetime to be able to attend a Japanese language course at the International Study Institute in Tokyo's Shinjuku Ward. The course runs for a year, with the opportunity to extend it to two years, if my grades and money are sound [insert sound of children cheering here].

Being able to study Japanese locally and long-term has been a life goal of mine since I was fourteen. Though I'll probably never be able to fulfill my teenage dream of being an interpreter/translator for expats, this feels like the next best thing. Due to suffering from several comorbid chronic conditions that have majorly altered my life, most notably the beast known as systemic lupus erythematosus, I will probably never be able to seize another chance like this ever again. I won't be going in as a total novice, as I was able to take a year's worth of 1000-level Japanese language courses in college…before I had to drop out…… Since then I've been self-studying and using language exchange apps for practice, but nothing will beat the experience of using it in the day-to-day.

At this point in time (January 2024), my first six months of tuition have already been paid for. I am currently in a quiet waiting period while I wait to get to the next steps of the Certificate of Eligibility/Student Visa process. Before that, though, I need to secure my flight and housing. For the sake of my health, safety, privacy and comfort, a sharehouse will not be an option; I will have to seek a private apartment. I am here today to request assistance with the aforementioned flight and initial housing costs. It's still too early to commit to either of those, but:

The average cost of flexible one-way flights from where I am to either of the two Tokyo metro airports (Haneda and Narita) is running around $1200

I am doing some preliminary apartment scouting and am hoping not to exceed $800 per month (I will be traveling with suitcases and will need to properly store them). The apartments I am looking at do not require a security deposit or key money, but will probably come with a guarantor fee.

Now because I'm not going over there through one of the more common avenues - through a university or a job - I have to do it myself. Real life has meant that I've had to dig into my bank balance a bit, and after paying for the first six months I'm a little under the 2 million yen (~$14k) threshold that Immigration likes to see for a year's study. I'm lucky enough in that I will at least have a regular source of (unearned) income, as well as a financial sponsor; it's just the bank balance, flight, and accommodation that are hanging me up. Right now I am setting the initial goal at $3000, but I expect to move those goalposts at least once. Any extra will go towards a flight home for the Christmas holidays in December. After that, it'll go towards paying down my credit cards as much as I can prior to leaving the United States.

I can provide my conditional letter of acceptance from ISI, as well as the school invoice and receipt of the bank transfer for the first six months of tuition upon request (identifying information redacted, of course).

Because there's still a couple of months until I'm set to fly out I put together a GoFundMe (now that's a name I haven't used in a while) to idly collect whatever help I can. At the very least I just need this post to circulate enough to eventually cast a wider net outside of Tungle.hell.

GoFundMe

If you can't use GFM, V3nmo and P4ypal are also options:

V3nmo: @/venus3palette

P4ypal: @/fantasytheater

Again: I'm not in that much of a hurry, and the situation isn't dire! Thank you for combing my wall of text!!!!

[gkutfdvnn]

Just like every year chaos had unfolded right before Christmas. Flights were delayed and cancelled, disgruntled passengers were screaming at the employees desperately making phone calls, while some others had decided to just lay down on the seats to sleep.

As soon as you heard that your flight back from Paris was cancelled due to bad weather, you had taken your leave from the International Airport. Right now you were waiting for the metro, drinking some bear you were given at the airport by a stranger, some french dude you couldn't understand. With it came a leaflet to some party tonight, the only thing you understood was that it was Christmas themed, everything else just was gibberish to you.

Finally the metro came, mostly empty given the hour, so you just sat down and closed your eyes thinking about the last few days in Paris. Honestly, you liked the city. It wasn't as glamorous as seen on TV, yes the folks could be rude, but it had some sort of rustic charm, and for every unfriendly guy you had met twice the amount of kind people. You were thinking about the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, both the good and bad food you had eaten, the crêpes and the gauffres, and the beautiful Christmas market. The "vin chaud", you chuckled as you thought about the word in French, was actually delicious and you had gotten quite tipsy of it, to the point at which your friends had to accompany you to your hotel.

Shit, you must have fallen asleep. The can you were holding had fallen out of your grip and spilled beer all over your clothes. The doors opened and you looked up to the board. You were now a few stops too far ! Grabbing everything you could you rushed out of the wagon just before the doors closed again, falling face down on the floor. Luckily no one was there to witness your embarrassing fall. You cursed aloud, the "putains" and "merdes" leaving your mouth as if you had spoken french since birth. Too caught up in the moment you failed to notice the growing hairs that had appeared on your cheeks and chins, covering your lower face in a dusting of dark black dots. You looked back at the now empty railroad, a new series of French curse words escaping your lips as you noticed most of your things missing. The jacket, your gloves, your backpack and your suitcase were gone with the tram, lost in the maze of Paris Metro, all you had taken with you were the can of beer, and the pamphlet. Worst of all your wet jeans were starting to cool.

It was best to get on the move before freezing to death. You made your way through the white-tiled walkways of the underground metro while rubbing your arms and shivering. The rubbing seemed to help though, your skin was getting warmer each time you caressed it with your hands, your fingers pushing through the softer muscle. It was strange feeling around your arms with your palms, they both felt bigger and a bit softer, like they had swollen just a little bit. Soon, you didn't even need to rub your arms anymore but you still continued to, your own touch felt amazing, the tingling provoked by the tips of your fingers felt pleasant, great even !

After the corridors came the stairs, at first you were taking two, even three steps at the time. Being tall surely helped in these kinds of situations. But soon you were even having issues keeping the speed up, your feet were hitting the steps and you almost tripped and fell down, gripping the handrail as you were about to fall. That was close ! You waited a moment as some sort of dizziness settled around your stomach, you were sure the steps must have gotten slightly bigger on your way up, although your clothes also seemed a bit looser on your frame. Even though the dizziness didn't fade completely, you began your ascent again. Your whole body felt weird and out of place, just like you were shrinking, step by step. It wasn't much, enough to be almost unnoticeable. Each step you took altered your body just a little bit more. Your arms continued to swell while getting shorter with the rest of your body. Your legs lost in length and your back grew shorter too as they swelled with muscle, eating your rat away. Soon even your shoes didn't fit you properly anymore, your feet having left a bit of width and length. Your thighs expand to a fit and healthy girth, soon followed by your calves. Your back strains and stretches to the side as the muscles grow and expand there too. On the last steps, just before the automatic gates, you took a break as you caught your reflection in a broken screen.

The changes had been slow and gone unnoticed by you until now, there in the reflection stood a person you couldn't recognise. You wouldn't describe what you felt in that moment as panic, it was more like.. dissociation? As if the person you were looking at didn't match the person that was inside. You rubbed your hand through your beard that was still a few shades darker as your hair, then you lifted your shirt quite hesitantly revealing a lean stomach and then.. two pierced nipples set on a pair of girthy pectorals. You rubbed the silver rings and bit your lips. That tingling you felt earlier was spreading through your body again but this time it was transforming into growing pleasure. With one hand you continued to rub one ring, with the other you took your shirt off and threw it away. You looked back at the screen and pressed your lips together, a soft moan escaping your lips as the boner grew in your underwear.

You looked just like some handsome and not so average Parisian dude. You pushed your pants down and kicked them off with your shoes, exploring your body from top to bottom, gliding your hands in every crevasse and on every curve. Your thighs and calves jingled slightly as you moved around in front of the screen.

The mental changes didn't come suddenly, but were slowly rewriting your thoughts and memories. It was really more like acceptance. Of course that handsome guy's reflection couldn't be anything else than french. In fact, every second you spent in front of that screen made you feel ever slightly more french. You weren't working as a cashier abroad, but studying hard for a master's degree in economics. Paris was of course your only choice since you had grown up in a small french village without much to do, it was quite a lonely place for a gay dude like you. Soon, even your basic thoughts were expressed in French, every trace of your mother tongue erased and left forever forgotten. New moans escaped your soft lips as your hair darkened to match with your beard, and a fine layer of black hairs covered the rest of your body. Finally, with a few strokes, you came, and with it the last remnants of your past life vanished, just a stain on the floor, nothing more. You were now Pierre, a Parisian student, living your best life in Paris.

Some of your cum had landed on the flyer to the gay Christmas party you were going, you looked around for your clothes, somehow you had scattered them all around you. But hey, you sure damn didn't need them, the party was just above the entry to the metro, and you always enjoyed coming of strong !

With one jump above the automatic gates you left your past behind, ready to enjoy the Parisian city life !

[gemsofgreece]

thoughts on the new thessaloniki metro?

Well, I will have to visit it and see it with my own eyes to form a proper opinion. The following are based on what I watched on TV and the Internet:

I watched a few videos and the most notable thing for me was the widespread excitement of the citizens of Thessaloniki, which was so pleasant and almost unprecedented for me to see, because you know how we are always so suspicious and reserved with everything that happens within the borders of our country. Even expats from Germany came to see it, even foreign people, for example from Georgia! This created a sentiment of generalised euphoria. I saw a few people - especially young Athenians - did not understand why the Thessalonians acted SO happy but I have lived a few years in Thessaloniki and people just don't have an idea how badly the city needed the subway. Not only it needed it badly, not only you entered the buses and weren't sure you will make it out alive due to how (almost fatally) overcrowded they were but the eternal metro construction works in process caused paralysing traffic issues downtown and a severe aesthetic deterioration of the streets. Thessaloniki needed the metro so much that the first plans for it were suggested 100 years ago! So no it's not because the Thessalonians are 500 years backwards... but because its creation after so many decades means so much to them. Besides, older Athenians confirmed the Attic Metro was also much smaller in its first years, serving only the center...

Funny reactions of Thessalonians when the first train arrived. I am laughing so much with the boy making his cross (I mean, he's not wrong):

I even made a gif of a moment... when the gates opened for the first time, the first one who enters is a very old dude and you can see from his gesture of triumph that he thought: "YES I LIVED TO SEE IT!!!". That was so hilarious!

Now, of course there are the drawbacks we could talk about again. It took 40 years (hence the enthusiasm of the old dude) and it is not even the whole thing yet. Really, the most pivotal extensions have not been created yet. The metro will be extended to Kalamaria next year but then it also has to extend to the west side (ie Evosmos, Sindos) where more than 250,000 people live. And of course it has to extend all the way to the airport, otherwise we 've done next to nothing. That's only when we will be able to talk about a fully functional metro. And I heard the airport extension will be ready... in 2040..... so once again let us hope we are going to be alive to see this one too!

Then it's also all the shady ways the antiquities were dealt with that have been condemned by most archaeologists. But after all, well, let's just not pretend there was an easy solution for it. It's not like they found an artefact here and there. They found the entire ancient city! So either if they changed entirely their route of the subway or what they actually did, literally pick up the ancient city and transfer it elsewhere temporarily and then put it back (for real, that's what they did!), it kinda makes sense that there were delays and fights and drama about it. I mean, sure, it should be ready much earlier but let's just not pretend it was an easy project. Another thing I noticed in the coverage of the inauguration that was so refreshing to me was that a lot of journalists interviewed actual workers from the subway and asked them about their struggles and feelings now that the metro was ready. Not the "minds"(...), they asked the "hands" of the project and I really liked that. People looked so eager and passionate to share their experience working there. Furthermore, amongst everyone who wanted to exploit the fruition of the project for their political benefit, I think there were even a few politicians who looked genuinely invested, most notably that old minister who was responsible for the project when the project first started 40 years ago and today gave a speech and then dissolved into tears. This was wholesome.

I guess, the general euphoria, even the positive internet comments (a most rare sight in Greek social media) indicates this is good for the city and the country and that strictly speaking the positives are more than the negatives.

Aesthetically, I think some statements in the likes of "best metro in Europe / the world" definitely are pushing it a lot but I also saw a Thessalonian saying in a video that photos and videos don't make it justice actually. In any case, I think it looks like a pleasant enough subway. Venizelou Station with the Decumanus Maximus, the discovered main road of the Roman period of Thessaloniki, called Μέση Οδός in Byzantine times (Middle Street), and all that part of the city that was unburied, plus other remains exhibited outside some other stations definitely give a uniqueness to the subway. They used to say that people will be able to walk on the ancient city and the politicians yesterday did exactly that

however maybe it won't be open to the visitors for walking after all, fearing a degradation of the archaeological site, and that makes sense. Okay I found out that the balconies surrounding the site have glass floors so you see the whole site like you are hovering above it. Then again there is also a huge projector showing stuff in the end of the road so I don't know how you'll get there without walking on it. Maybe it's going to be open for organized tours only? Idk just hypothesizing now

It's not just that though. There were 300,000 archeological finds during the making of the subway. I read that "only" 700 of those are exhibited in the various stations. For the rest they are going to build a Subway Museum near the Sintrivani station. They didn't say anything about that yesterday so it will probably take some more time. But when we have the addition of more trains, the stations to Kalamaria, the museum with all those artefacts that cover ALL eras of Thessaloniki from 315 BC to the modern period, and the future stations in the west part of the city and then to the airport, then yes we will be talking about a dang good subway.

Below I am adding videos and photos from the metro with some more commentary.

I think the following video gives the most accurate picture (obviously it's not going to be that crowded in normal days) :

And below is the station in Agia Sofia. What I liked particularly is how they presented the stratification of the history of the city as it is discovered archaeologically and geologically; the recent eras on top and the more ancient ones as you go deeper and deeper. This is how they presented all artefacts, in a continunation from top to bottom or rather an evolution from bottom to top. I found this very clever.

And this video is good for English speakers, it also stresses on something important I forgot to mention. This first line alone is expected to serve 300,000 people daily and decrease the presence of vehicles in the streets of Thessaloniki, with estimated 50,000 fewer cars! Now that's awesome on my list and I hope the predictions prove true:

The trains are automated and driver-less and the waiting time for each is 2.30 minutes.

Below some pics from the stations:

In conclusion, with all the drama and huge delay, I think it is fair to feel happy for Thessaloniki now and try to support the project as much as possible.

[octuscle]

Suitcase Alert! I've a Symposium in New York for tax law. Yes, it's really annoying and I'd like to do something more interesting than that in my life and career. The airport lost my suitcase. I really need it because my notes for my speech are in it. They promise to send it soon. Now I get one but that's not mine! I'll sue them!

Yeah, there's really little you can do with this suitcase. the owner pretty obviously doesn't work in a white-collar job. Fuck, this is really hard now. At least you got the hotel to clean your suit and shirt. Even if the laundry in the suitcase looks old, worn and cheap, at least it's obviously freshly laundered. No one will notice. At the most, there is a risk that someone will see the socks. You have to stand if possible, then no one will see it. What sucks is your lecture. You spend the night before the symposium in the hotel and reconstruct everything from memory. You can't do anything anyway. You sit in your dirty underwear in your hotel room and wait for your suit to come back from the cleaners.

The next morning everything looks perfect. You have finished your presentation and can probably deliver it quite freely now. Suit and shirt are cleaned and ironed. Underwear and deodorant are fortunately in the suitcase. Old Spice. Not quite your style. But it will do for today.

To the congress centre you take the metro - faster than a taxi. And more sustainable. After all, your lecture is about the fiscal valuation of carbon dioxide emission papers. You should be credible there. A quick glance at the clock. Yes, everything is running like clockwork. But your balls are itching like crazy. And crazy things are going through your head. Now keep a clear head, you're the opening speaker. Show what you've got.

"Ladies and gentlemen, esteemed colleagues, dear friends, sustainability is one of the most important issues facing our society today and in the foreseeable future…" You have to pause for a moment… "The stuff ya're doin' with fuckin taxes is like proper difficult." Breathe in, Breathe out. "it's just like on the farm, if ya screw up, ya havta clean it up. N' if someone else does it, the one who did the shit has to pay. N' if the guy who did the shit is like smart, he'll get the money 'ack from uncle sam." Something is not going right. Not right at all. Whispering in the auditorium. You look down at your feet for a moment. No one will see the socks that don't match your suit. Because your feet are in dirty cowboy boots. "Um, ladies n' gentlemen, when ya emit carbon shit like that, that is like, when ya bla that stuff out, that's shit. That's what the people in Washington say. I dinnit give a shit about that shit. Hav any of ya ever seen this like? let the Chinese n' the fuckin' Europeans take care of it. After all, us are the fuckin' world police for the louses ova ther. USA! USA! USA!" A lady from the congress organisation comes on stage, thanks you for your original views and pulls you off the lectern.

"Dudes, thank yawl very much an havuh great day ," you say as a farewell. The lady asks you if she should call a doctor. "Naw, ma'am, Ahm fahn" you reply. You pull a tin of chewing tobacco out of the back pocket of your jeans. "Can Ah go now, or do yawl still need help hare? Ah don't lahk thuh big city thet much. Hif it's okay, Ahl make mah way home ." The lady asks if you have anything left in the cloakroom. "Nah, it's all in mah pickup truck, ma'am ".

You breathe a sigh of relief as you drive out of the underground car park and even more so when you cross the bridge. Open the windows, turn up the radio. The big city is impressive. But you really feel at home working in the oil field and with your buddies in the workers' barracks.

[smidge-j]

Back on my train map making part three

I have previously designed hypothetical train maps for the Christchurch metro area, and the West Coast Regional Area, both in Aotearoa.

I'm back with a third hypothetical map, this time for the Queenstown Lakes Regional Area.

[A metro style map of the Queenstown Lakes Area and descriptions of each line.

A yellow line goes east from Queenstown to Frankton & Airport, Lake Hayes, then northeast to Arrowtown and Cardrona Ski Area, then north to terminate in Wānaka.

A red line goes east from Queenstown to Frankton & Airport, Lake Hayes, then east through the Kawarau Gorge to Cromwell. There is a split in the line, with one branch going south to Alexandra, and the other branch going north alongside Lake Dunstan to Luggate, then northwest to Albert Town, then west to terminate in Wānaka.

A brown line goes east from Queenstown to Frankton & Airport, then south to Jack's Point, then continues south alongside Lake Wakatipu to Kingston and Invercargill.

A purple line follows the edge of Lake Wakatipu west from Queenstown to Fernhill, then north to terminate in Glenorchy.

A green line goes west from Remarkables Ski Are to Jacks Point, then northwest to Kelvin Heights, then north across the Frankton Arm of Lake Wakatipu to Queenstown, then northeast to Arthurs Point, then east to Coronet Ski Area and terminating in Arrowtown.

A blue line goes south from Lake Hāwea to Albert Town, then west to Wānaka, then west alongside Lake Wānaka to terminate at Treblecone Ski Area.

End description of each line]

My thoughts

Although the region has a small permanent population, there are around 1.5 million tourists annually to the towns of Queenstown and Wānaka and the four ski areas. With so many tourists, I think a train system would work incredibly well, as most tourists fly in, and currently need to either rent a car or use the limited bus network to get around. A train system would be a good alternative.

I tried to think about the geography of the routes when designing this map, as the area is very mountainous. The only place that would need a major tunnel is the section between Arrowtown and the Cardrona Ski Area, as there is a full mountain range in between. The only other significantly challenging bit of terrain would be the Kawarau Gorge between Cromwell and Lake Hayes, and the track would have to have steep gradients and sharp curves to fit in the winding gorge.

Speaking of the Kawarau gorge, there could be additional stops through the gorge for the many tourist activities along the way, from the bungy jumping and white water rafting, to vineyards and LOTR filming locations. I haven't included those stops on the map, I've only included population areas and ski fields.

With the ski stations, I'm envisioning that the stations would be at the base of the mountains, with cable car, chairlift, or gondola access up to the actual ski fields.

The brown line south to Kingston could connect to the historical railway in Kingston, which could once again connect to Invercargill, and the rest of Southland. Similarly, the red branch line from Cromwell to Alexandra could connect with the historical rail there, and reconnect to Dunedin through Central Otago. (Did you know that Aotearoa used to have a fairly comprehensive rail network, and only a fraction of it remains today? Doesn't that just grind your gears? It certainly grinds my gears, but that's a separate post.)

The blue line could also extend north alongside Lake Wānaka all the way up to Makaroa, and then potentially across the Southern Alps to the West Coast, but that would be significantly more challenging geographically, with far less population

I don't like how empty the top left corner of the map looks, but there's nothing I could put there. The area turns into wilderness very quickly, forming part of Fiordland and Mount Aspiring National Parks. Maybe if this was an actual map of a real train system, that space could be used for a logo or a key, or something, but because this is a hypothetical map made by an amateur cartographer and train enthusiast I am going to leave it blank.

Anyway, this is all just a passion project, and as far as I know there are no official plans even remotely close to this, nor is it likely any time soon. I just enjoy trains and enjoy making maps for what could be, not what is.

[forsoobado137]

(CW for stalking)

France (and most nations in general) probably got a horrible history with stalkers. First, there's the whole mentality of "if you're a public figure, then I need to know everything about your life. And also we're besties even if you have no idea who I am."

But for nations, who are the very definition of a public figure, people probably feel like parasocial relationships don't apply. Because like a nation knows everyone! Also, they represent countries! That must mean it's an essential right to know all of their medical details, relationships, addresses, etc.

With France, I feel like he initially adores the attention he gets. He loves people fawning over him. He knows he looks good, and he wants people to appreciate him. He usually hypes up the fanfare and encourages people to show their love for him.

CW: harassment, sexual harassment/assault, stalking

But then, people start crossing his boundaries. They start touching him, kissing him, and sometimes groping him without consent. They follow him for hours through airports and cafés and the metro just to be near him. They start asking questions for "historical purposes" when they're actually just demanding he recount his past trauma in gory detail.

They send him disturbing letters talking about their depraved fantasies involving him. He gets emailed disturbing messages and photoshopped/ai pictures of himself.

Eventually, he started setting boundaries. The stalking has died down a bit, but a lot of people think he was "asking for it" because he's a sexual person.

[runwayrunway]

No. 54 - Ryanair

You are watching a video on a popular video sharing service. It is a full episode of a popular and long-running show, generously uploaded for free. It is narrated by a calm man with a BBC accent of the sort which belongs exclusively in documentaries.

The narrator names a date between 1903 and the current year. It is accompanied by a location - an airport. An airplane is on approach. It has a certain number of people on board, and it flies for some airline. There are pilots, most likely two of them. They make some sort of mistake, and maybe there's an issue with the weather, or the ILS is down, or the instruments are giving misleading information, or some other thing has gone tailcone over teakettle in an alarmingly short timespan and now their approach is tremendously unstable. They aren't on the glideslope. They're too fast or too slow. They really need to declare a missed approach, but for whatever reason they don't.

The plane lands, or 'lands' - finds itself on the ground, regardless - either on or short of the runway. It bounces, or flips over, or just pancakes into the ground. The fuselage cracks, or splits, or peels open, or horribly catches fire. There is an evacuation. It's all very stressful at minimum, and an unmitigated tragedy at worst.

You scroll down to the comments for some reason. "Average Ryanair landing," says one near the top.

Ryanair (not to be confused with Ryan Air, a real but unrelated airline) is Europe's largest air carrier. It has over 550 airplanes and serves over 200 destinations. It is difficult to imagine an airline with a worse reputation - their CEO is a literal troll, their customer service is legendarily poor, and their ultra-low-cost model is one in which you inevitably get what you pay for. They are memetically despised, and their rough landings are the stuff of legend.

And yet their livery is understated, with a certain head-held-high gravitas. It is difficult to describe the legitimate cognitive dissonance which arises from Ryanair's aerosartorial choices, an effect that seems to touch more people than just me. On another airline, I wouldn't find this livery particularly thought-provoking. Enough substance to write a post about, but not something which lurks in my mind and draws my attention. But on Ryanair, it's downright fascinating.

I've said what I've said, but I'm actually a defender of Ryanair. Look, it's like getting a ticket on a bus or the metro. It's cheap (at least in theory - they seem to be getting pricier lately) and it gets you where you need to go and it's probably not going to be that long of a flight anyway so, I mean, whatever. I've flown some pretty long flights before in-flight entertainment was standard, Ryanair is fine. I never even noticed the hard landings until I saw people talking about them, and to be perfectly honest I didn't notice them afterward either. Maybe I'm just not bothered by hard landings, the same way I'm not bothered by turbulence. Who really knows? My point is that I'm something of a Ryanair apologist. I live in the US, where you just don't get dirt cheap flights like that and getting anywhere outside of your home metropolitan area by train (and even sometimes bus) costs even more than flying. Ryanair could make me board the plane by abseiling up it myself to save money on airstairs and I'd be fine with it if the price was right. I'm not a millionaire. I haven't got the money to go jetsetting around Europe on a real airline. So I mean this when I say it: thank goodness for Ryanair.

I mean, I'm not saying this because Ryanair is good, don't get me wrong. They are the Big Bill Hell's of airlines. They are the closest thing we have to John Mulaney's version of Delta. Ryanair is not just no-frills, it's hot-glued fabric scraps in the vague shape of a garment. They are legitimately comical in their commitment to service so Kafkaesquely bad that you almost wish you'd travelled by trebuchet instead! And all this for the low, low price of...well, I mean, they do get pretty low.

When I released my first questionnaire I added a question about Ryanair specifically because of its reputation and my own feelings about the airline. Multiple people did agree with me - well, it's definitely not comfortable at all, you won't enjoy yourself, but it's so obscenely cheap that this isn't really objectionable. You are getting exactly what you pay for. And, well, if you do want some semblance of the full-service experience you can pay an extra fee. Or a lot of extra fees. That's how they get you. The ULCC model relies on stripping out everything possible and then charging you extra for it. That does mean that if you need things like printed boarding passes or the ability to pay by credit card that come standard with literally any other airline you could end up paying a decent amount for your miserable cramped flight, but if you truly want the bare minimum they will charge you appropriately, and that is so important to me, because I have too little money to insist on being comfortable.

I do feel...particularly sorry for one respondent.

It isn't bad press they are legitimately a nightmare. A attendant once lied to me and told me that type of plane just didn't have toilets (it did. There was a working toilet on board) then proceeded to lecture me about 'not planning ahead and going in the airport'

This is kind of hilarious in a sad way and I'm very sorry that this happened to you. Ryanair is infamous for its bad customer service but it's rare you'll hear about cabin crew behaving this poorly at any airline. While this particular incident was a one-off, you probably will have a pretty miserable time if you need to call the airline about literally anything.

One person just answered 'bitches'.

Well, that answers the question "what is Ryanair", but why is Ryanair?

The world is full of low-cost carriers. Wizz Air, EasyJet, airasia, Allegiant, Jetstar, FlySafair, Volaris, T'Way, Azul, Nok Air, Frontier, Lion Air, jetBlue, and SpiceJet are just some of the dozens which fill the skies. They are often colourful, frequently grumbled about, and essential.

Low-cost carriers, and especially ULCCs, are a relatively recent phenomenon. They only sprung into being after aviation stopped being by necessity a luxury product. It's generally agreed that PSA (Pacific Southwest Airlines), an intrastate carrier from California colloquially known as the Poor Sailor's Airline, was the first low-cost carrier. While the large interstate carriers of the time had a sort of detached gravitas to both their services and their prices, and were often prevented from lowering said prices anyway due to federal taxes that didn't apply to intrastate carriers like PSA, a ticket on "The World's Friendliest Airline" was cheap and the service was casual and personable. The low-cost model is built on being an option for a normal person. If you don't have the money to fly TWA, you can fly on an airline which is made for normal people and charges you accordingly.

The model didn't really catch on immediately, though. I couldn't exactly say why - it might have to do with the lack of demand for air travel that wasn't either commuter flights or long-haul. There was some activity in the market, with Loftleiðir (a precursor to Icelandair) offering cheap-as-dirt transatlantic flights in the 60s and Laker Airways having a three-year tenure in the late 70s serving a similar market from a Western European base. Even today the long-haul low-cost market they served is notoriously difficult to make anything work in.

What is generally thought to be the next major player in low-cost airlines, Southwest, emerged in 1971. David Neeleman further refined the model, first with innovations in cost-cutting at Morris Air and later by raising the bar for customer experience at jetBlue. David Neeleman, though, was active right at the turn of the millennium. Low-cost carriers only really began to emerge in real numbers in the 80s and 90s, with examples that are long-gone, like the infamous ValuJet, existing alongside ones US residents have probably seen at their local airport, like Spirit.

Spirit is different from jetBlue and Southwest. Spirit Airlines is not just a low-cost carrier but an ultra low-cost carrier. As the name suggests, the difference is one of scale. A low-cost carrier provides less comprehensive and less ritzy service than a full-service airline, but they do so in the tradition of PSA, trying to provide a comfortable experience that makes people want to choose their airline. The ULCC model, on the other hand, guts out literally every possible feature and then dangles it in front of you on a string, telling you to pay extra if you want it. These airlines do not provide a good experience. There will be no baggage allowances, no extra legroom, and no priority boarding. The base fare, however, is almost absurdly low relative to even low-cost carriers, and as air travel becomes a fact of life more and more the humble ULCC becomes a necessary part of the ecosystem as the only way many people can afford to travel.

Ryanair is technically 38 years old, but it's only been a low-cost carrier since 1990. This pivot is the brainchild of then-CFO, now CEO (and ouster of the eponymous Ryan) Michael O'Leary, one of the wealthiest and most unpleasant men in Ireland.

image: Associated Press Yes, this is actually a real image of the CEO of Ryanair. I imagine this may clear up a thing or two.

Why is Ryanair? Because Michael O'Leary, is the simple answer. Michael O'Leary is - and there is genuinely no better way to describe the man - a troll. If you take David Neeleman's image during his tenure at jetBlue, a sweet everyman trying to improve the experience by sitting in on flights and giving up his salary to employee medical funds, Michael O'Leary is the literal exact opposite of him on every point. A self-described "gobshite" and "obnoxious little bollocks" who has admitted to "not liking" aeroplanes, Michael O'Leary is a cruel, selfish, belligerent, publicity-seeking freakazoid on a mission to piss off everyone in Europe which has so far been largely successful.

I don't want anything I say about the man to come off as positive. Michael O'Leary is a wealthy ghoul (and, yes, he was born wealthy, no rags in his tale) who publicly berates, mistreats, and underpays his staff. He has expressed prejudice against racial and religious minorities, fat and disabled passengers, women, and just about anyone who expects to be treated with some measure of dignity. He has committed legitimate crimes, like impersonating journalists. He denies climate change and has accumulated his massive wealth by abusing the pilots and cabin crew who keep Ryanair adequate. In 2010 Ryanair was named one of the least ethical companies in the world. The fact that he is so absurd as to be hilarious isn't an endorsement or a defense of him.

That said, here is a short, curated list of Michael O'Leary's, and Ryanair's broadly (as their public image is really an extension of his and vice versa) most Ryanair shenanigans:

O'Leary installed a taxicab license plate on his luxury car and driving it in the bus lane to avoid traffic.

Advertisements have taken open and somewhat sneering shots at other major European airlines, like Lufthansa ('bye by Late-hansa'), British Airways ('expensive BAstards'), and the now-defunct Sabena (using a reference to the famous Manneken Pis statue). These have not been simple comparisons but outright name-calling.

One time they advertised sales to 'sunny' vacation destinations, like Norway.

Generally, their advertisements push so many boundaries that they were once found to have committed seven violations of advertising law in just two years, and I'm shocked they didn't begin an ad campaign centring around this dubious achievement.

They frequently misbrand airports way outside of major cities as being in that major city, with the most insane example being "Vienna Bratislava" - yes, Bratislava, the one in Slovakia.

Pilots are forced to pay for simulator checks while cabin crew are forced to pay for uniforms and training. Employees are even forbidden from charging their phones from office sockets, apparently.

Sometimes passengers are forced to carry their own luggage to the planes! Not carryons, luggage.

O'Leary, in a bold move, outright denied that the 2010 eruption of Eyjafjallajökull had created a massive cloud of volcanic ash hazardous to airplanes (it very obviously had).

He also said he would like for there to be a recession, since it would let Ryanair keep costs low. He said this in 2008.

One time he said travel agents ("fuckers") should be shot .

O'Leary claimed that Ryanair would begin offering business class, featuring "beds and blowjobs". I'm personally not sure I would want a Ryanair blowjob. That sounds really horrible.

Also, bold coming from an airline with no seatback pockets.

Apparently they tried to get planes delivered with no window shades (though they weren't able to because of regulations).

They've floated the idea of standing seats. I don't believe this will or indeed could ever happen but it definitely is truly dystopian.

Ryanair keeps trying to buy Aer Lingus. They keep failing, and they keep trying. Obviously, everyone in Ireland has a vested interest in making sure this does not happen.

Fundamentally, Ryanair doesn't care. They can and will essentially throw tantrums to get airports to charge them lower operating fees and if they can't get an airport to do this they just won't operate there. It's like negotiating with a seven-year-old. Except that seven-year-old is Europe's largest airline.

They wanted to buy the C919. This isn't, like, a bad thing, it's just really strange for a hardcore Boeing loyalist airline and I can't imagine how it would save them money.

image: Robot8A This is the interior of a Ryanair plane. Note the safety cards attached to the seatbacks due to the lack of pockets, plus additional adverts on the seatbacks and overhead bins like this is a sports match in a massive stadium. It's also just quite ugly.

Fundamentally, Ryanair is just perpetually doing Ryanair things. Why is Ryanair? Because Ryanair is one giant publicity stunt. A couple of people answered my question by referencing the CEO saying he'd like to charge people to use the toilet, and that's sort of true in the sense that he's said he'd like to do this, but he's always been pretty clear that it's a publicity stunt:

Short of committing murder, negative publicity sells more seats than positive publicity.

Like, it's a bit. He's doing a bit. He's 100% in on the joke. For every one of the more particularly insane claims, like charging to use the toilets, he's outright denied it. Even some claims that are pretty borderline are ones he's contradicted at other points. He's a legitimate bigot who's created one of the most nightmarish work environments out there and just wants to suck money out of people by any means necessary, and he's indefensible, but that's not really what people talk about when they talk about Ryanair. They talk about charging for toilets.

Charging for toilets continues to be the number one story that resurfaces in the press and it’s the gift that keeps on giving. We’ve never done it, but it keeps coming up on social networks every three or four months, the media picks up on it and then someone writes a story on it.

Which I think is misplaced effort when he's also, for instance, a climate change denier who forces disabled passengers to pay for wheelchairs. And I don't believe for a second his climate change denial is based on legitimate convictions - he just doesn't want to have to spend more money. He would absolutely knowingly feed the world into an incinerator if it lowered costs.

Anyway, here is a picture of him having his face violently introduced to a pie.

image: Olivier Hoslet

All of this said, there's no such thing as an ethical airline - he's just playing it up to the extreme for essentially business clickbait.

I feel like the best example of Ryanair's general...Ryanairness is their Twitter account, which I have a sneaking suspicion Michael O'Leary runs himself to save money. It's mostly composed of firing back at complaining customers, Formula 1 opinions, and jabs at everyone from Boris Johnson to the British Museum. (Heartbreaking: the worst person you know just made a great point.) Their description, 'we sell seats, not windows', references the frequent complaints about seat 11A, which does not have a window. (To be fair, their website does warn you about this.) Their weird window situation actually generated my all-time favourite Ryanair tweet.

Here are some other winners.

No, seriously, I think Michael O'Leary might be writing these. I also really don't know how to feel about the fact that it appears someone at the airline - potentially O'Leary himself - has made an edit of a yassified Ryanair plane.

But at the end of the day, it's Ryanair. O'Leary himself has described aeroplanes as "a bus with wings on". As one individual tweeted,

THANK YOU to [Ryanair], for letting me see Europe for Feck All

and that's why I do think I genuinely have primarily positive feelings about Ryanair as a product rather than a company - you truly do see Europe for Feck All. (O'Leary has claimed both that he would introduce $10 transatlantic tickets to the US, and that he would make tickets literally free and make all profits from ancillary fees - while neither has yet happened, it takes one hell of an airline to claim that it's on the table.)

Ryanair isn't affordable, it's dime store. It's an airline you bought from Wish.com. It's the free pen you stole from a cup of identical pens at the bank which stops working within days. You're not just in steerage, you're on a tramp steamer. You get exactly the misery you pay for, and you go from one place to a different place.

And it's worth noting that Ryanair has at least one positive feature - safety.

When I ran my first questionnaire I asked respondents what type of airline they thought was most dangerous. Other than what's shown there was also an option for mainline full service carriers; unsurprisingly, nobody chose this. There were 50 respondents but 5 declined to answer this particular question, so the sample size isn't really significant enough to draw any conclusions from, but it's what I have. (I kind of wish I could stop to re-run this with my current follower count, but this post is actually a request. No, not for my wonderful beloved followers - for my dentist. Not joking. Thank you for making my teeth not have holes in them.)

20% of respondents indicated that low-cost or ultra-low-cost airlines probably had the worst safety records and practices. It's completely understandable why someone would think this, but without going into the actual statistics of plane crashes this simply isn't true, and in fact they're the safest category on here. While it obviously depends on the specific airline, low-cost carriers as a category are no less safe than mainline carriers. This is despite the fact that they tend to fly shorter flights and thus they operate more takeoffs and landings, which are the points in a flight where the majority of crashes occur.

How does that make sense? Well, part of it is that the airline industry has gotten very close to eliminating accidental crashes via innovations in technology and an incredible safety culture built on years of hard lessons. The world has paid in blood for crew resource management and GPWS, but it has paid, and now the sorts of crashes that would have been unremarkable just 20 years ago are completely unthinkable. Actually, in the 2010s it's quite possible more people were killed by planes brought down deliberately than accidents. But beyond that, the costs low-cost airlines cut tend to be ones that aren't safety-critical. They tend to operate shiny new fleets (better fuel efficiency, purchased in bulk) with large maintenance teams (shorter turnaround and less planes grounded for long periods of time) at less congested airports (lower operating fees) and indeed when I think about famous accidents that involve massive cutting of corners it's nearly always full-service airlines, save for egregious examples of low-cost industry pariahs out of business within a few years. Focusing on eliminating operating costs by making the passenger experience cramped and miserable allows for pouring all your budget into running a smooth and well-oiled operation.

The axiom "if you think safety is expensive, try a crash" is often attributed to EasyJet founder Stelios Haji-Ioannou. And it's true. Beyond the cost of writing off a plane, of financial compensation to survivors and families, of lawyers and PR, of having to update your operation to make sure it never happens again...as O'Leary himself said, all press is good press...short of murder. A heinous, clearly negligent crash, on the other hand, can kill an airline as easily as it can kill people. It has done in the past and that threat will never stop being there. Airlines go out of business all the time for any number of mundane financial reasons. In many cases margins simply do not allow for something like a crash. Crashes have even ended the lives of deeply historic, beloved, well-established nationalized flag carriers, so this particular sword of Damocles could cut Ryanair's control cables just as easily. And they've managed to avoid this fate, with zero passenger fatalities and only one written-off airplane - the 2008 crash of flight 4102, caused by a birdstrike during landing.

And I'll be honest, "miserable and safe but a tenth the price of a train ticket from Boston to New York" (I am unfortunately not exaggerating) is a pretty appealing package to my non-millionaire self.

...so why do their planes look like this? I'm dead serious, it vexes me. I don't know what to make of this. Hey, did you remember I'm an airline livery review blog? Look, I can't help myself. Low-cost carriers as a topic, and how they're viewed, is probably the most interesting facet of the aviation industry to me. I feel like if I had infinite time and resources I might genuinely sit down, hit the databases and archives, run a few studies, and write a book about it - it's fascinating, and low-cost carriers are something that only economists and businesspeople seem to want to talk about. I think it's about time someone approached them through a lens of history and social psychology. There's not really academic value to what I do here, on Runway Runway, my tumblr blog where I call Lufthansa planes ugly, but if something doesn't exist I will create it even if my sample size is 50.

So how about how they're literally viewed - like, what their planes look like? Well, here are some low cost carriers I've reviewed. Notice something? They're bright and eye-catching. They don't take themselves too seriously. They're fun. The original low-cost carrier literally painted big smiles on their bright pink and orange planes.

Okay, yes, they don't all look like this. WestJet and IndiGo, for example, are fairly normal-looking. And there are full-service carriers like TAP Air Portugal (and condor. Absolutely condor.) that I would say have a pretty low-costy look to them. There is nothing wrong with that. Low-cost liveries are frequently colourful and exciting, with much more thought put into distinctiveness and charm instead of a passionless appeal to dignity. Indeed a lot of my most highly esteemed liveries, including all the ones pictured above, are low-cost airlines. GOL, for example, is a snappy, eye-catchy design in bright colours that's clearly not meant to look expensive. The same goes for Breeze Airways. There's even more examples out there I've yet to touch on, like EasyJet; ValuJet; Scoot; Spirit Airlines; Frontier Airlines; PLAY (and the late WOW air); Volotea; airasia, so on - to be dignified or clean is not the goal here. Even the names of low-cost carriers frequently are very hastily stapled together and generic, like EasyJet or Super Air Jet or Wings Air; JetSmart; SkyUp; Smartwings; FastJet; Sky Airline (just one!); MYAirlines; the classic ValuJet; flyadeal; and the legendary jet2.com, making no attempt at all to seem as if they have a legacy to fall back on. And there's even more out-there specimens, like Mango or even Nok Air. Many of them have specific themes, like Batik Air, Tigerair, or Buzz, which isn't something you see on full-service carriers, which brand themselves on national identity and the promise of luxury and good service - which is boring. Low-cost airlines, if they want to succeed, have to do something to make people remember they exist.

This is the fundamental shape taken by the low-cost product, which operates with few laurels to rest on and a mission of getting people to remember their website at any cost. Much like a can of Arizona iced "tea" guaranteed to cost ninety-nine cents, literally cheaper than a bottle of water, the package it comes in makes no attempt to look classy. And I am a heavy tea drinker who considers myself fairly discerning, whose favourite type of tea is gyokuro yamashiro (which is absurdly expensive), but you literally can't beat Arizona! It's potable and it's ninety-nine cents and it sort of resembles tea if you don't think too much about it and Massachusetts summers are surprisingly hot and the can is pretty and colourful. Sure, I'd rather have Ito En, but that costs normal money and Arizona costs 99 cents, and sometimes that's all I really have, and it gets the job done even if my teeth aren't enjoying the experience. A Wizz Air plane is a can of Arizona iced tea. It is ninety-nine cents and potable.

This isn't Arizona, this is a box of Darjeeling from Harrods. Ryanair outfits their fleet in handsome navy blue and gold. Their logo, an outline of a woman with harp-like wings taking flight, is simple yet elegant, and that feels so very wrong. I actually asked in my questionnaire what the colours of the Ryanair livery were, because I had seen people expressing casually that they weren't sure they could recognize so much as a Ryanair logo, and the results aren't worth showing in a chart because they're basically as good as random. I do want to specifically appreciate the person who answered "I don't remember but it must be whatever the cheapest colour of airplane paint is", though.

But the truth is that they have such a rich palette, and I do mean that in the sense of 'wealthy'. A deep royal blue paired with a saturated gold used as a sparing trim, these are the colours of an overstuffed plush armchair, not a budget airline. Aside from the name on the winglets and the giant billboard wordmark there is nothing, and I mean nothing, that is typical for a low-cost airline. This is not garish advertising, this is stately.

The layout itself is what I call "Deltalike". Delta certainly did not invent this style of livery but they are the carrier I associate most with it, likely due to the fact that I live right by one of their hubs. The Deltalike is a white plane with a painted tail unconnected to the main fuselage body, painted winglets, painted engines, and a painted underbelly large enough still be visible when viewed directly from the side. While a 'true' Deltalike uses a consistent palette for the engines, tail, and underbelly, there is significant variation. The detached tail is, in my opinion, the harbinger of the Deltalike, and I call liveries with an incomplete presentation of Deltalike features Deltalites.

This scheme is not as common as the Lufthansa Line variants but it is still very common, with its popularity probably peaking in the 2010s. Some examples of the true Deltalike include Air Canada, 2006 Icelandair, Azul, the old GOL livery, and jetBlue. Some colour-varied Deltalikes are the old Flair livery, the SAS red engine livery, and British Airways. An example Deltalite is the old Croatia Airlines scheme, which has a painted tail and belly and engines that are sort of painted. Sure, the engines are just grey and a bit of the tail extends onto the body, but it's got the colour concentrated in the right place and it has the painted belly, it's a Deltalite. A lot of liveries have painted engines and detached tails but no painted bellies, and I do consider these to be on the far end of the Deltalike spectrum, but they aren't what I mean when I refer to a Deltalike. They're what brown dwarves are to actual stars - related but not really the same.

Ryanair is a true Deltalike, but I would even call it an elevated Deltalike. The gold trim, like the cord adorning the hems a of a thick brocade smoking jacket, has an effortlessly shallow curve as it trims the rich blue underbelly, larger than that of a typical Deltalike and with a very deliberate shape to it which at the rearmost point covers half the fuselage by height but fades away to a sort of goatee at the front. This is not a plane which sat in a puddle of blue but an intentional cloak impeccably positioned, visible not just from the side but from the front. The engines, instead of being plain or just one colour with a website printed on, large and garish, are the same white and blue with yellow trim, the last traces of the setting sun melting into a glassy deep blue ocean below a stark white sky with which it inexplicably coexists. Sure, the detached tail still looks bad, it always does, but you can ignore it at most angles.

From below the dark blue creates that distinct cetacean effect, a certain brightness-inverted countershading effect, similar to what you see on airlines like KLM and other blue-side-up liveries. The underside doesn't have a huge, legible logo, visible even from the ground on final approach. One of the defining features of the low-cost livery, in my mind, is a large, prominent website. It's tacky and a little pointless (I mean, surely they can Google your airline's name if your wordmark is large enough) but it is downright ubiquitous. Even full-service carriers frequently heavily feature their website, but it's nowhere on a Ryanair plane. That's so, so incredibly weird.

Just...think about it. Their entire identity is outrage marketing. They are the xQc of airlines - bigoted, constantly in the news, and obnoxious. And nobody remembers what their livery looks like because it doesn't look obnoxious. This is like if MrBeast's thumbnails were lovingly curated aesthetically pleasing shots of scenery that could pass for screenshots from an actual film. It's not tacky and cheap and it's not generic and cheap, it's elegant and cheap. And of all airlines to look like this...Ryanair? Seriously? Ryanair?

image: Associated Press

The CEO.

The airplanes.

Do you see what I mean? Do you see why I find this deeply strange? This is not a clickbait plane. This plane is downright unclickable. It has never been clicked. I bet if I covered the name up and showed it to people (again, I wish I'd had the time to do this) I could fool people into thinking this is like United. Hell, I've learned from my other survey that the average person clearly knows less about liveries than I, the Joker of liveries, do, and can't identify basically any from memory. I could probably fool at least one or two people into thinking this is Singapore Airlines. I may try this on a few co-workers and then get back to you.

How did we get here? I have no clue. While Ryanair did start out as a charter carrier rather than a low-cost airline, and they always had blue and yellow as their colours, their very early liveries were just white planes with wordmarks.

This livery seems to have appeared very early in the history of low-cost Ryanair. Unfortunately, I can't date it precisely - the only thing I can say is that the earliest photograph I could find in this livery was from 1994. Based on the fact that their planes were photographed in different liveries right up to then, including this very brief TAM-like BAC 1-11 livery, I think 1994 is most likely the point they committed to it.

Oh, Adam Rowden, what a different world you lived in.

Even for 1994 this is a pretty conservative livery. Sure, this was before the real boom of bright and venomous flying billboards, but it's still strange. And Ryanair is no stranger to literal flying billboards in the form of logojets for such companies as Vodafone and Hertz, often sort of hideous ones, though I imagine these days nobody would ever want to associate with them like that.

And they never changed it, except that they did - to the modern, softer curve. This I can pinpoint with much more accuracy. It was changed in mid-2003 as new aircraft were delivered, while the older livery was phased out together with the secondhand airframes which wore it. I do not understand this at all. If any airline were to just make the decision to go full circus tent and be as garish as possible it should be Ryanair, right? Ryanair is a brand incapable of cowardly behavior. But they look far more sober than even the average modern flag carrier livery. I guess they don't think they need an eye-catching livery, but I just don't buy that as a full explanation. Imagine the news they'd make for introducing something truly heinous. I think their genuine best move would just be to put a huge picture of Michael O'Leary's face, blown up massively and poorly aligned with visible JPEG artefacts, all over their fuselages. All of Europe would be furious. So why? Why is this the situation?

So what's the verdict? This may be the hardest decision I've made so far. The options here range widely. I'll lay them out.

If I were rating this based on pure visual appeal, I would give it a B-. I am dead serious - this is a visually pleasing, well-balanced livery, simple yet elegant. The detached tail is my only major complaint. But I think Saudia's planes are quite pretty and I graded them low because I think they fail at representing their airline or having a distinct identity, so this cannot be my sole criterion.

I almost want to give them an F because of just how un-Ryanair they are, like how Copa's livery is literally not the Copa livery, but that feels wrong because that's still the Ryanair livery, it's not just a refusal to design a livery at all.

Do I marry these two into a tepid union destined for either divorce or a dramatic act of arson after a seeming eternity of languishing in mutual dysfunction in Tallahassee? I really don't want to do that, because attempting to balance these factors betrays the fact of their contradiction, the mental strain I've been afflicted with over this simple, pointless choice with zero consequences except maybe one of my followers disagreeing with me, which is fine. Unlike certain individuals I will not call you swear words and say you're an idiot.

The final option is maybe my least favourite of them all, because it's capitulation. It's admitting Ryanair is special, just the most annoying golf-ball-sized hailstone in the blizzard of absurd and comical frustrations which is the airline industry. But I just don't know what to make of this miserable little pest, this plague on the patience and knees of the traveling public.

Z. FUCK YOU IT'S RYANAIR.

It defies categories by being good, but being Ryanair. I hate that. I hate it, I hate their beastly little CEO, and I dislike that their planes are sleek, elegant, and could easily pass for an airline that doesn't instruct stewardesses to kick their passengers' shins as they walk down the aisles. If I am buying a ten-euro plane ticket I do not think the plane should look like this, teleologically speaking. At the end of the day I just have no better way to quantify my feelings.

Prick.

[milawritesstuff]

Pedri fluff: you guys are doing long distance and he picks you up from the airport and its all so cute and fluffy 🥹

A/N: ugh this one is so cute 😂

•••

Your plane would be landing in Barcelona in thirty minutes. It had been a year since you had been in the beautiful city you had fallen in love with. And this time your destination wasn’t the student housing but his house, your house, the house that would see the two of you create a life together.

You took a compact mirror out and looked at yourself. Fixed your hair and tried to apply some makeup. Hoping whatever he felt for you hadn’t died in the year he had waited. Hoping you weren’t too ugly for him now or he remembered you differently.

You sat back on the seat and closed your eyes as you awaited the plane to begin to descend. The memories of a year ago ran through your mind.

-I’m going to go return this swimsuit and you can head to the restaurant. I’ll be there as soon as I can.- said your friend before class. You had planned lunch at what had become both of your favorite restaurants. A beautiful two story restaurant nuzzled in one of the side streets of las ramblas that served delicious catalan food. After class you rushed to the metro towards the restaurant while your friend rushed towards the city center.

The waiter walked you to the second story where there was only another person sitting in a table close to yours. You assumed he was also waiting for someone. The minutes passed and the two of you waited. You looked up and your eyes met causing the both of you to smile. He turned back to his phone with a shy smirk.

-So should we order our food or are we going to keep on waiting for them?- His voice caught you off guard. You looked up. You could feel your cheeks burning up.

-My friend was supposed to just go exchange something and now she got sidetracked with all the sales.- You explained which caused him to giggle.

-My friend got stuck taking his dog for a walk. So I’m not sure which one is a better excuse.- You slightly chuckled as the waiter came by and took each of your orders.

The two of you began to talk, each in your own table still awaiting for your friends.

-I’m Pedro, by the way.- The Spanish man with beautiful brown eyes and black hair eventually introduced himself to you.

-Y/N.- You responded. You felt comfortable with him, a sense of having know him for years despite having met him just minutes ago.

Neither of your friends ever made it to the restaurant. Him sneakily paying for your food which caused you to blush. The two of you walking down the stairs and out onto the narrow street.

-Well, nice to meet you, Pedro.- He smiled and leaned in to give you a hug and a kiss on each cheek. -Tell your friend thanks for shopping the sales.- He said with a laugh.

-And I guess, thank your friend’s dog?- You answered which caused him to chuckle. His laugh the most endearing thing you had ever heard.

You exchanged numbers and the following day he invited you to his match. The two of you became inseparable while you were there, eventually causing friction when your time in Barcelona came to an end.

-Please stay.- He pleaded.

You promised to come back in a year, which was all you needed to finish your schooling. You were so close. He agreed. A year of video calls, messages, I miss you’s and your first I love you’s.

You grabbed your luggage and walked out of the plane. You nervously paced around as you waited for your check in bags when his message came in. -I’m here. I can’t wait to see you.-

You sneaked one more visit to the restroom to freshen up before finally coming out to greet him. You dropped your luggage and ran to his arms as soon as your eyes met.

-Mi Niña.- He whispered as he placed a soft kiss on your lips. He walked over to pick up your luggage.

-Ready to head home?- He asked. You smiled. Home. You liked the way it sounded coming from his mouth. You headed to his car. You have no idea how but he managed to fit all of the luggage in his green mini copper. He walked over to your side and grabbed your hand.

-I can’t believe you’re finally here.- He said pulling you in closer to him. -In a week you’ll want me gone.- You said jokingly. He frowned.

-If I know anything for certain in this life is that I want to spend the rest of it with you.-

You felt as his lips met yours. Full of desire and love. -You’re stuck with me, Pedrito.- He winked. -I wouldn’t have it any other way.-

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[copperbadge]

Austinite in fundraising who found your blog through the AO3 nonprofit answer -- I'm horrified that Salt Lick is being touted as THE metro Austin bbq, enough that I had to send this to you because god forbid that's what people think. If you ever come back avoid it. Check out Interstellar BBQ, Leroy and Lewis, KG BBQ (Beard award semi-finalist!), Terry Black's (not Black's, they are different), or Distant Relatives.

This is very validating actually because every list I've ever seen of Good Barbecue By State or even Good Texas Barbecue lists Salt Lick and like....I've never been to their freestanding restaurant but the shit they sling and call food in ABIA is truly disgusting. Not even bad barbecue, it's bad food. It's up there near the top of my Worst Meals I've Eaten, right after the Subway sandwich I had in the New Orleans airport that convinced me never to eat Subway again.

Thanks for the list, and I'm sharing it around! My folks are outside of Austin now so I don't actually get to do much in the city anymore, but it's nice to have a good solid list in my back pocket.

I'm considering going to Austin without telling my parents, so that I can actually experience the city. I've really never done much in the city itself because my folks always lived in the burbs and I don't like to drive, so getting into the city involved either going with my folks, who bitched the whole time about the "traffic" and the "crowds" and would decide we were done after about an hour, or a two-hour-three-bus ordeal. I could not give less of a shit about live music, but especially in summer there's other stuff Austin has to offer, and if I stayed downtown I wouldn't need as much transit.