#or are students from Clout's house

[kekewrites]

Tw. Bimbo reader, dark content, noncon, dubcon, corruption kink, coercion, creampie, size kink, magic sex toy/onahole/fleshlight, loss of virginity, not proof read

***

Thinking about being a childhood friend of a yandere duo.

You were just so friendly and cute, approaching them with candies in your tiny hands and offering it to them. So kind as you always play with them, and sometimes they would argue who'd be your husband when playing house. They often fought whenever they wanted to play with you but in the end, it always results to sharing you.

Middle school was a little different than Kindergarten. They get more protective when boys try to get close to you, painting them as insufferable brats that only want clout. Being neighbors with the wealthy kids, got you too much attention much to their liking, often getting bullied whenever you finally have some alone time, but this didn't get unnoticed as you wonder why that kid who pushed you on your locker, suddenly have bandage wrapped around his head and his reputation down.

Highschool is where the shift started. You wanted to explore more, finding new friends, and hanging out with other people, and they did not like that. You were just too dumb, they said. Too dumb to realize people manipulating you so that they can get close to them. Do you even realize that the girl from your class only talks to you about them? Dumb girl.

Safe to say, you never had a genuine friend in high school, not like you even had chance to form a deep level of friendship (by people who genuinely wanna be friends with you) by the way they hog all your attention and time.

College is where it gets difficult for them to spend time with you. Different schedules, classes, course. They even insisted you go to the same university as them. It's frustrating how little time you spend together, always with your stupid excuse of "working on an assignment".

Without you around, they definitely have a hard time relieving some tension. They couldn't just walt into your room and steal some panties scoot free without getting into trouble, even though they were star students and had plenty influence over the school. No, no, they won't put their reputation to ruin, they're your perfect best friends.

Despite them being a duo, they were quite different in terms of personality. One is patient and mature, thinking logical and more on the rational side. While the other is playful, outgoing and rash. Both have their charms that got everyone around their fingers. However, they wouldn't sleep with just anyone, no. It's hard to get their dick hard, always imagining your cute face whenever they try to fuck a desperate bitch to finally release some tension.

But your impatient friend had enough of some random girl, high pitch moans that's not yours annoying his ears. It's miserable to even hump his own hand, so hard and cold, different to what he imagine your tight warm cunt to be. This just won't cut it. He needs more, to finally feel your wet insides without you knowing.

So what's a good way to relieve tension?

Some good ol' fleshlight.

The moment it arrived at his doorstep, he straight up bolted to his door. Slamming the door close as he finally gets his hands on the toy after days of waiting. Fuck, he can't wait to use this thing.

It's like the half body sex toy he used to watch in porns. He was quite impressed by the details it had, he gotta give props for that, but that's not what he's after for. After reading the instructions, more like skimming and skipping most of the words. He use lubricant, using plenty of it and spreading it around the artificial pussy lips. Rubbing and feeling the flaps, like how he usually does. It's kinda weird that he's doing this for a toy, but he could just imagine it being your cunt, practicing his moves. After a few moments did he slide his thick finger inside the walls of the toy... How weird, the texture was oddly real, like it was alive. Well, that's probably some mechanic shit that the factory put there or something. This is his first time using a fleshlight and it cost a fortune through some sketchy website so it better be worth it.

***

You jolted in your sit in class, listening to your professor's discussion about physics until you suddenly feel something brushing on your thighs. Your head panning around the room before looking ahead, brushing it off. It was probably the wind.

You yelp when something began rubbing your cunt, earning a few concern looks for you and your professor glancing at you before going back to his discussion. You shrink in your sit, head hanging low as you pressed your lips together. Confused and scared by the phantom touch assaulting your nether region. Clutching your skirt, you try to maintain confused whimpers as the touches didn't stop.

You're scared.

The moment something pushed inside you, you stand up and excuse yourself, running to the nearest restroom. Your feet quick as you open a random stall and sit on the toilet. Your breathing heavy as you shakily lifts your skirt, looking at the wet patch on your panty.

What's happening? Why are you wet? How can something touching you there? You're not imagining this, right?

Your mind raced as you become more terrified. Is a ghost haunting you? Tears pool on your eyes, sniffling as the assault become more aggressive.

***

Fuck, this fleshlight was the best thing he ever bought. How was this even made? Whatever. He continues to pump his thick finger, inserting another one and he jump a bit as he felt the walls suck on his fingers. Damn, it can even do that? Just how realistic can this toy be? He's not complaining though.

He decided to touch the clit earning another tight squeeze. What a sensitive toy. He continues to play, eventually adding another finger. It was weird how the warm walls didn't run out of lube, if this were any normal toy it'd need to be lubricated after few minutes but this toy seems to produce it on its on.

He pulls out his fingers as he inspects the inside, it's undeniable that it's fake but the way it pulsates around nothing makes it a bit questionable on how it works.

Would your cunt also look like that? He could imagine your wrecked heaving face after fingering you. Poor little you never had something inside, let alone this thick fingers. He couldn't wait for the moment he'll ruin you.

***

You're straight up crying as an additional thick sensation pumped your insides. Squeezing your thighs shut, like it's gonna do something to stop the phantom. Everything inside you screams to remove the intrusion but you didn't know how. Opening your legs slightly, your shaky fingers removing your panty to see what's happening inside your cunt... but nothing was there. Only a gape.

Your fingers shifts towards the gape, gasping as the invincible touch was able to touch you yet you couldn't even see or feel it. Squirming uncomfortably, as you open your legs more to try and get "it" out with your fingers. Uselessly grabbing air, whimpering and sobbing as you fail to interrupt with its continuous pumping. Your stomach twisting and an unfamiliar coil was starting to unravel, your breath hitching and legs shaking.

But it's abruptly stop as the phantom pulled away.

Finally, relief and a little bit of disappointment fills your chest. Slumping on the toilet, panting like you run a marathon. You shift a bit as you sit upright, freezing as something thick pokes your entrance.

No way...

Your brain panics, your gaze staring at the way your hole widens and your legs subconsciously spreading more to prepare yourself for the inevitable. You clutch the wall of the stall, each hand gripping the surface. Tears streaming down your face and your cheeks getting hot.

This can't be happening.

You felt the thick thing stretch you open.

***

Something about fucking a fleshlight should embarrass him. But nah, with you in his mind there's nothing to be ashamed. This is just practice to him after all, he'll do this things eventually.

With his heavy cock around his fingers, he taps the opening of the fleshlight. His other hand grips the hip. Rubbing along the slit, he collects lube running on the head of his cock, catching the clit in the process. He lets out a breath, as he finally starts pushing his cock inside.

He's quite big, so he's a bit worried if he'll fit in some shady toy but he's sure he'll fit in you just right, even if he had to force himself in your tiny cunt.

But there's no need for consideration when it comes to a toy.

He sheath inside in one thrust.

Hissing at the way the walls clings to him, tightly wrapping around his cock and pulsating as if rejecting a foreign object. Shit, why does it feel like a virgin?

Warm, wet, and tight. The perfect toy pussy for him, this could even rival a real pussy if he were being honest. No time for adjusting as he starts to thrust. Pounding the onahole, roughly gripping the hips and fucking hard. Shit shit shit why does this feel so good? This stupid toy feels a whole lot better compare to a random slut.

His hips going hard and the way he feels the inside pulsating, sucking all his worth making him groan. Such a tight fake cunt.

He wonder if he can break the toy.

***

With a silent scream, your head jerk up as the big stretch was too sudden for your body to take. Legs wide open as you try to create space for the large object. You sob as quiet as possible, as the phantom starts pounding hard at your sensitive cunt. You want to scream but held back, tears blurring your vision as you pray for it to end.

Whimpering and sobbing was the only thing you can do. Waiting for the thrusting to stop, you teeth bite your lip to stop noise from escaping. It doesn't sound like you at all, it's weird, you're scared and confused.

Your mind tries to think of a distraction, to think of anything but the mysterious assault. How is this even happening? What did you do to deserve this? Why you?

Your breath hitched as you feel the tight coil in your stomach again. Moaning a little as you feel pleasure rising though you. Your hands clasp over your mouth, muffling your noise. You shake your head as the coil gets tighter and tighter, your legs shaking as you stutter words of apology to whoever's doing this.

And it snaps.

Your vision going white, body stiffening and eyes going into the back of your head.

Ah. You never felt this... good before.

It takes you a few minutes to recover. Your limbs feel like jelly, your chest rising up and down in a slow manner, and you greedily gulp air.

You were tired and exhausted but you were glad the assault has stop after that. You groggily starts to lift you panty's up however you felt something dripping down your hole.

... you wonder what it was.

***

After that day, the mysterious phantom would touch you at random times, when you're showering, classes, or even in bed late at night. It was torturous, you were becoming paranoid and it didn't go unnoticed by one of your best friend.

He's helping you study in the library as you'd ask him for his guidance in physics. You would've asked your other friend, but you can just imagine him play with your hair or something along of not really helping you study.

You're breathe hitch as you feel the phantom ghost rubbing your cunt. Shrinking on your sit, uncomfortably rubbing your legs.

"Something bothering you?" He ask, looking a bit concern of your shiftiness.

"O-oh, it's nothing. Just a little tired lately," You reassured, smiling as you pretend to be fine.

His sharp gaze examined your face before dropping the subject, deciding to just help you study.

"If you need something to talk to. I'm right here, ok?"

You smiled forcefully, "I-I will... Thank you."

***

You could never bring yourself to tell someone about it. No one would ever believe you.

You're laying in bed waiting for the phantom, already memorizing the way it'll touch you. You brace for the touch as you can't help but feel helpless. Are you going to live like this your entire life? You don't want to...

But would someone be willing to listen to you? To believe you? You don't wanna bother your best friend, you knew how busy he's gotten the recent days and you're doubtful that he'll even listen to your story when he's the rational one. That means...

Your thoughts were interrupted by the intrusion as you clutch your pillow and close your eyes. You're panting as the phantom starts its routine.

You're scared... You're scared that it's starting to feel good.

No. You don't want to be alone anymore on this.

You need help. Badly.

You shakily gets up from bed, putting some jacket on as you heads towards someone who can help you... At least you believe who will do.

***

"Oh? What's my little darling doing here at this late of night?" He grins as he opened the door with the sight of you.

You fidget with your jacket as you feel small under his gaze, "P-Please help me."

He raised his eyebrow, his grin replacing with a thin line. Yeah, he's playful but he'll never joke around when you're having a problem, "Come inside, we'll talk there, sweetie."

Sitting on his couch, you took a deep breath as you prepare to tell someone about this problem of yours. He won't make fun of you right? He won't be weirded out, right? He's a reliable person and your best friend.

He sits beside you, a serious and concerned expression on his face. It was rare to see him like this, which encourage you to finally tell him.

By the end, you were crying and hiccuping in your hands about the experiences you encounter with that phantom. Feeling his hand rub your back, cooing at you in comfort. He pulls your head to rest on his chest, telling you that everything's going to be fine.

You sob out a thank you, finding relief to finally get it out of your chest.

Unbeknownst to you, the man was smiling.

***

He didn't know if God was on his side. But, he didn't expect this would happen.

Who would've thought that the toy he was playing with was connected with cute lil you?

He didn't believe it at first but the way you described the timing was too much of a coincidence. Sweet little thing, don't worry you won't experience any scary thing from now on.

"Sweetie, do you want me to chase that scary invisible phantom away?" He cups your cheeks in his hands, locking gaze with you.

You sniffle before nodding, "Y-Yes, please..."

He gave you a toothy smile before gently pushing you down on his couch. His fingers swiping away your tears, "Listen to me, ok? I need you to trust me on this." His nose touching with yours as he leans close.

"O-ok... I trust you."

Dumb little girl.

You shouldn't have said that.

Now you've sealed your fate.

***

He wonders what was going on with you back when he helped you study in the library. Something was very off about you, and you were clearly uncomfortable to brought it up.

He thinks of you very often even when he's busy and swarmed with school works. Sometimes, getting frustrated to even continue and wants to just go to your place. He massages his aching temple, resting on his chair before a box caught his attention.

Oh yeah, that stupid guy gave him that a few weeks ago.

He recalls their conversation about it, saying that it'll help him release some stress. Well, he's plenty stressed now so why don't he test it out now?

He saunters to the box, sitting on the floor to unravel it. Only to be surprised by the object inside it.

An onahole...

If he was his usual self he would've flung this across the room and throw it to the garbage bin. But sometimes he needs to be relieve as well, plus he's a man too,

He's not that picky too.

This'll do for him.

A temporary replacement while thinking of your cunt.

[ribbonskiss]

THE LEANOVER → OP81

Part 2 of 2. Read Part 1 here.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x reader

Summary: You come home on uni break to find your brother’s best friend, Oscar, is visiting. You both fall back into old habits, but some things are not the same.

Tags: brother’s best friend, friends to lovers, slow burn, SMUT (18+), masturbation, Jack Doohan is from Melbourne in this one for logistical reasons, not proofread at all hah

A/N: finally!!! The end of The Leanover!!!! Sorry for the extended deadline, this one turned out chunkier than I expected and honestly I don’t know if I’m quite satisfied with it but it is what it is. Anyway, enjoy!

Oscar is a handsome boy. This is a fact you find to be so uncontroversial it may as well be accepted as a universal truth. There has never been a time where girls did not whisper amongst themselves when he would enter a room, where the mothers of his friends would not rave with great emphasis to his about how strong and handsome he’d become, where his presence at a function did not brighten up the place, because not only is he handsome, he is beautiful. Beautiful people are magnetic, you think; their beauty lies in their nature, their fundamental quality of supernatural grace, a gift bestowed by the forces that be towards the lucky few.

You recall his last year of high school. You were sixteen, still growing into your body and learning how to use a felt-tip eyeliner pen. Teenagers are fascistic about social hierarchy; they are greatly cognisant of their standings in the high school pecking order, intensely anal about preserving the rigidity of the structure, and thus you had long accepted your status as the forgotten sibling. Oscar and your brother were athletes, students with clout attached to their names; you were awkward, unaware of your own intensity, intimidating to a fault, but more than happy to lay low. Two individuals of such different standings in the social order should never interact—but for the first (and only) time you were now going to the same house parties and birthday bashes, and here was the greatest display of Oscar’s beauty. You can never forget that image: the figure of him standing on the other side of the room, so broad-shouldered and trim, freckles of sun damage littered over his skin all the way down his neck like constellations, his head turned away from you to reveal his chiselled jaw as he speaks to someone while holding a can of Reschs. And suddenly his eyes would meet yours, catching you in the act, and he’d give you a gentle smile.

You were always so grateful for this. So grateful he would look your way and beam so brightly, a glimpse of his inner calmness, his quiet gentle bliss. You were never under the impression you were the only one to be so blessed by his grace; you were just happy to be around him. Sometimes when he would come over, sprawl himself over your couch or lay on the floor, pissing himself laughing at your brother’s antics into the late hours of the night, you’d ask yourself whether you should feel guilty for being the only witness to this part of his life. This secret of his: that Oscar is so much more beautiful than most people will ever know. Not his fans, not his colleagues, not the majority of the world. This is between you and him.

And now you have him all to yourself. A bit greedy, isn’t it? The past week you’ve spent together has been nothing short of lovely. You find out that he’s strangely disciplined. Oscar’s a dutiful housemate, doing the chores you even forget about without the need to be prompted, unlike most guys his age. He likes to hum to himself when he’s got the vacuum going and he thinks you can’t hear him butcher the tune of “Uptown Girl” by Billy Joel. He’s a good cook who prefers careful measurement over eyeballing. He doesn’t read books like you do, but he’s happy to lie on the couch all day and watch a show with you on the telly. And he’s surprisingly touchy—he seems most pleased when you’re both on the couch, your legs crossed and stretched out, resting on top of his, his hand on your foot, thumb rubbing circles into your skin. You don’t speak during these moments. Nothing needs to be said; things just sort themselves out.

At some point in the afternoon you get tired, yawning to yourself, and without even needing to look at you Oscar reaches over, tugs at your arm to tell you wordlessly to turn around. You oblige; your head against his chest, his fingers trail up your forearm to your shoulders and, eventually, the back of your neck, smoothing over the soft, fine hairs that reside there. You’re too tired to mind the goosebumps the feeling of his fingertips on your skin gives you, or the increasing thump-thump-thump of his heartbeat underneath you. You shift in his arms, folding your legs up in a way that makes the hem of your shorts ride up, exposing the curve of your thighs all the way up towards the swell of your—well… It would be so uncouth for him to look there.

It never occurs to either of you that the hardest part of the process is done. The feeling returns: the feeling that arises in you when he looked at you from across the room at those parties all those years ago. The feeling of knowing that person so incredibly well. Of sharing a secret together, and letting that secret grow bigger and bigger until it takes on a life of its own. Of sharing that life together. These things do just sort themselves out, but you would never know until you speak of it.

You are growing increasingly needy. There’s no other way to put it. You’re fucking dying. The heat of the dry, punishing Australian summer is starting to get to you, even with how skimpy your attire has gotten, and having him around twenty-four seven is starting to feel more like divine punishment than intervention. You were wrong all along: Oscar is not an angel, but a demon sent to terrorise you all your life until you give in and the Devil can steal your soul for all of eternity.

He works out every other day. That’s at least three days where he’ll disappear into another room in the afternoon for hours, slips right out just to slip into the bathroom, and then waltz back into the living room as if nothing has happened. But something has happened.

Oscar has a very basic wardrobe at home. He likes his soft, mild colours—dark greys and soft whites, beige tones, navy and olives… It’s very on brand for him, yes. And here he is again, today, emerging from the bathroom, a cloud of steam following him out the door as he runs a hand through his slightly damp hair. He’s wearing a crisp heather grey t-shirt, fresh from the pile of laundry you’d folded yesterday. The sleeves can barely withstand the size of his biceps; he’s just gotten new dumbbells in. And god, the smell of his skin, the musk of him mixed with the soft clean scent of soap still radiating off of him. It’s like crisp hot white bedsheets, fresh out the dryer, already crumpling under the weight of two lovers, bodies sticky from tangling into each other; like soft detergent left out in the garden, where the grass is freshly cut, and the warm sun hits your skin.

This is as close to a primal urge as it will ever get for you. The first few times you could just tell yourself to look away, but now the smell of him is unavoidable, overwhelms your senses, and lights your entire body on fire. You stick your nose into your book the entire time and pray he goes away. Oscar retreats into the kitchen and wonders if your book is really so good that you’d be that engrossed by it. He’ll have to start reading again soon.

“The worst thing a woman can do,” you say, hand in the air with great feeling, “is be cut down in her prime by a man.”

Three beers in and you’re starting up your great tirade already. Oscar watches with an amused smile as he sits on the grass, green Peroni bottle in hand. “I know it sounds so pathetic and untrue, but it is true,” you continue, pacing back and forth with a giggle. “It’s true! I’m so much better off now. No offence, Osc, you’re one of the good ones.”

“I’m very flattered.”

“You should be,” you nod.

He reaches over and grabs a fresh beer from the esky, flicks the cap off with the belt he’s taken off, and hands it to you. You thank him; “just trying to stay in your good graces, missy,” he chuckles.

You sigh, taking a swig of it as you look up to the sky. “Frankly, I’m glad that part of my life is over already,” you say. “I’m not happy to admit it, but for a long time, I had just thought of myself as undesirable. Invisible.”

Oscar furrows his eyebrows with great concern, an ocean tide of emotion threatening to wash over him. “Impossible.”

“Possible,” you nod, with a bitter smile that’s less regretful than accepting of your past. “You know. Surely you remember.”

Of course he does. He remembers every little thing, because they’re not little to him. He remembers it all, how he’d scare off sleazy, drunken boys from approaching you at parties. Even after he graduated, the threat remained: you mess with her, you mess with Oscar Piastri, the F1 big shot. Boys never looked your way because of that; he used to hold you by the end of the party, sitting on the porch of whatever house you’re at, you latching onto him in your drunken half-slumber, both of you silently wallowing in your desires. Drowning, suffocating in each other’s warmth. Then he’d stay over at your house and wait until your brother fell asleep to press his ear against the wall, listening to your muffled sobbing. You were always too eager to suffer alone, to make a martyr of yourself and accept the cards you had been dealt.

But you stand tall now, a soft smile on your face suggesting a great deal of growth. It’s what he’s always found so beautiful in you. Beauty, he thinks, lies in the spirit, an ability to have infinite love and bliss in the face of the frustrations of one’s life. You are a complete soul, whole in ways he may never be, capable of learning to love over and over again and of light-heartedness in the face of turmoil. He knows he cannot truly achieve this because you are his Achilles’ heal. He cannot bear to think of you off on your own without him, doing things with other slimy ratty boys, going places he may never know of. Having a life without him in it. Oscar frowns; had he been too selfish in denying you all your opportunities? You had graduated high school without losing your virginity, without ever being in a relationship, and he wasn’t sure your first kiss would even count as a kiss. He can’t imagine how much that must’ve crushed you—and he was away, far away on his stupid little racing circuits instead of being at home, comforting you, as he should’ve been.

You wave it all off, as if you could hear his thoughts. “Well, I’ve done all of it now anyway, and I’m happy to report that it’s not for me.”

He cocks up an eyebrow. “And what exactly is ‘it,’ Tiny?”

“The hookup thing,” you shrug.

Oscar’s chest feels like it could explode; cold flashes wash all over him. “Oh?”

You playfully shush him. “Don’t tell my family, okay?” you chuckle. “But, yes. I tried it. It was good, until it wasn’t. Very quickly I realised I’m kinda, like, spiritually forty. I need to stretch in the mornings and tuck in by eleven.”

“And kick-ons aren’t until at least one,” he tuts. “You’re always been a sleepy girl.”

“That is true,” you nod, taking another sip of your Peroni. “Anyway, it was worth it, at the very least just to get it all out of my system. I’m very comfortably single now.”

The sky is darker than it should be. The sun has already tucked itself away, and it’s not even evening time yet. “You know, it’s so cliché,” you continue. “That Sally Rooney quote, it’s just like that. I went to uni and got pretty. And all of a sudden men saw me—I mean, I was pretty much invisible before. Before in school, when you and my brother were still around, guys used to do this stupid, horrible thing where they wouldn’t speak to me, they’d just speak to you instead. Even when the topic was about me. Well, no one knows I grew up with Oscar Piastri when I’m at ANU. I’m just me, and I’ve got a nice haircut and a decent rack of tits. And they see me, they see me now and I realise now that they’re all just sort of stupid. I’m very sorry, Oscar, but boys are stupid.”

“No need to apologise,” he snickers softly. It makes you smile a little wider. “But surely they were not all so bad?”

“No, I really don’t know how to pick ‘em. They really were all that bad,” you chuckle, eyes creasing as your cheeks push up in laughter. “Think the best one might’ve been the guy I lost my virginity to.”

Oscar’s eyes widen. He hums, pretends to be normal about it. “Tell me more,” he says.

You nod and oblige. “It was early in the school year. I went on four dates with him,” you start. “He seemed right on paper. Double major, worked for a diplomat, spoke two languages and was well-travelled. Maybe a bit pedestrian in his taste in music and films, but it didn’t bother me so much. We talked okay. He knew what to do, how to be courteous, held doors open and shit—I didn’t know what the whole dating thing was meant to be like, and I was easily impressed. He took me back to his after the fourth date and we listened to his vinyls: corny 70s Greatest Hit compilations and his favourite Kanye albums.”

You take a break, pulling out a thing of lip balm and unscrewing the cap before squeezing it out. “He told me he used to take ballroom lessons for some weird high school thing he did, and he twirled me in his arms, and it made me feel so light and small and girlish that I felt like I was floating.” Your finger spreads the balm over your lips, the feeling cool and tingly on your skin. “He told me I was funny. He kissed me, and his stubble was so sharp and gritty against my skin that it gave me traction acne the day after. He held my hand the whole time. He was an awful kisser. Just kept jamming his tongue in. But it was sweet enough. No one’s first time is good, anyway.”

Oscar tries to swallows down the lump stuck in his throat. His fingers and toes are tingling, chest tight and contracting still. You take another swig. “I’ve had too many of these,” you say.

“You’ve had three, Tiny.”

“That’s more than enough for me,” you shrug, yawning as you set the bottle down on the wooden table outside in your garden. “I think I’d better fuck off to bed now. Sleep tight, Osc.”

He doesn’t sleep in your brother’s bed that night. No, he takes out the spare mattress again and drapes the spare velvet blanket over himself, because he could never forgive himself if he jerked off in his best friend’s bed to the thought of his best friend’s sister. No, there would be no good excuse for that, but tonight is one of those nights where a man simply cannot hold himself back anymore. The alcohol is still burning in his stomach; when Oscar shuts his eyes, all he can see is these elaborate images crafted by his mind’s eye of you, placed in all the scenarios you’d described to him, only replacing that dirty fucker was him, being so gentle and delicate and loving, just how you deserve it. It should have been him there instead to do it all right; it is true that losing one’s virginity is often an awkward affair, his own experience was no less lousy, but if anyone were to have a perfect instance of it it should be you. Oscar can see it all now, how he’d go about it. Holding onto your soft curves as he pushes himself in slowly, the little gasps that would escape your honey-sweet mouth, so warm and wet on his lips. He would die happy, he thinks to himself, as his hand roughly palms his length, hair dampening from sweat in the blistering summer night heat. Cicadas sing outside his window; he heaves wildly, chest rising and falling dramatically as his hand gets slicker with each stroke. He had no idea he could even leak that much.

Thank god you’re sound asleep. He grips tightly onto the soft blanket, balling it in his fist as his eyes shut again tightly, the guttural noise he lets out much louder than he intended. Then Oscar collapses; his limbs go slack, heart beating out of his chest still as he lets out a long, drawn-out sigh, hand now sticky with his spent. The mattress is damp with his sweat. If he wasn’t before, he’s royally fucked now.

Your parents called; they’ll be home on Christmas Eve, but only in the afternoon, and they’re picking your brother up as well. Which means the two of you have some shopping to do; the house should be looking festive in time for their arrival. Oscar pushes the shopping cart, following you deep into the maze that is Kmart. He helps you haul the Christmas tree box in and out of his car. And he watches as you pull its branches down, giving it shape before littering it with baubles and tinsel. And when it comes time to finish the tree, you look him with bright eyes. He smiled at you, takes the Angel Gabriel out of your hands and places it on top of the tree carefully. You put on your silly little Santa hats and poorly bake gingerbread men.

You never end up throwing the rager Oscar jokingly suggested, but you do hold a small get-together after running into some old schoolmates at the shops. So it turns out that a few girls you used to do drama class with are in town, and of course anyone Oscar invites is going to show up—he’s Oscar fucking Piastri—so here you are, with a decent turnout of people currently congregated in the back garden and the living room. You’re thankful enough of them showed up on such short notice, with Christmas Eve only a few days away, and you’re thankful everyone seems to have gotten more civil and mature since you’ve left school.

The doorbell rings more than once, and you peel yourself off of the couch to go answer it, Balter tinnie in hand now that you’re all out of Peronis. Your eyes widen once you fling the door open, revealing a familiar face, standing with a smile on his face and a couple guys behind him.

“Surprise,” Jack chuckles.

“Doohan in the flesh,” you quip with a smile. “You cheeky boy. Since when were you in town?”

“Since yesterday,” he shrugs, and the guys behind him file past you into the house at the sight of some of their mates. “Heard you were throwing a thing with Big Shot Oscar. Hope you don’t mind that I’m crashing—I come bearing gifts.”

You shake your head. “Of course not, no, I’m glad to see you,” you say, though you sigh at the sight of the twelve-pack he’s got in his hands. “Mate, Strong Zero? It’s not that kind of party.”

“Some of us can handle our liquor,” Jack laughs, putting the pack in your arms before smoothing his hair back. “Don’t spoil the fun for the rest of us.”

You roll your eyes, turning your back to him as you walk down the hallway back to the kitchen. “Congratulations, by the way,” I say. “I’m glad to see two of our finest graduates succeeding.”

“I can tell. You’re beaming, clearly,” he jokes, following you in. “It was never in doubt for Oscar, anyway, so I think I deserve a bigger congratulations for making it, no?”

You peel apart the drink packaging, the tins of drink coming loose on the kitchen counter. “Let me get this straight: you want me to be more proud of you for being a worse driver than Oscar?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“I’m just repeating your words, Jack-Jack.”

“Never said I was a worse driver,” he snickers, shaking his head as he folds his arms over his chest. “You snuck that in yourself. But I always knew you were biased, so I won’t take offence to that, Tiny.”

You turn over your shoulder, glaring at him. Dramatically, he throws his hands up in a display of surrender, but your conversation is cut short.

“Well, well, well,” Oscar grins, strolling into the kitchen and approaching Jack with wide arms. “Fancy seeing you here, F1 driver.”

“Fancy seeing you here, F1 driver,” Doohan beams, dapping Oscar up before pulling him into a hug. “How you been, mate, good?”

“Nah, yeah,” Oscar chuckles, glancing back to you with a smile. “It’s been a splendid break for me. You been good? Didn’t realise you were back.”

“Yeah, just landed yesterday,” Jack nods, a hand on the back of his neck. “Heard you two were doing a thing, thought I’d be jet lagged out of my mind but nah. Wouldn’t miss this.”

You notice Jack’s a little taller than Oscar, who’s having to tilt his head up a little. “Appreciate you showing up, mate,” the older one says. “I’m gonna go catch up with some of your mates, but stick around, yeah?”

“Absolutely, man,” the younger one says with a smile. “Good seeing you again.”

Then Oscar leaves, fingers gliding over the skin of your cheek in passing, a gentle action of tenderness, as if to say goodbye wordlessly. Doohan wiggles his eyebrows. “What the fuck was that?”

“What was what?” you exclaim, eyes avoiding his gaze as you snatch a Strong Zero for yourself.

“That,” he presses on, finger extended now to point to where Oscar had put his hand on your cheek. “The little hand-cheek-look thing. The fuck? Do you have something to tell me, pal?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Please mate, just be normal—”

“Don’t gaslight me,” Jack says, as stern as he can be.

“He’s been living in my home!” you gasp. “Of course we’re a little close!”

“Living in your home—”

“Not by choice,” you roll your eyes. “Just—my family’s all out of town right now. He’s kind of all I have at the moment.”

“Agh!” Jack groans, smacking himself on the forehead. “Genius move. Fuck, I should’ve locked you two in a room myself years ago—”

You put the tin back onto the counter and slowly turn to face him. “Excuse me?”

He frowns. “Oh, man,” he pouts. “You don’t mean to tell me you two are still doing the thing?”

“What thing?” you furrow your eyebrows.

“You know, the thing,” he says, eyes innocent and wide as if it is the most obvious thing in the world. “The weird game you two play. I thought you guys would have gotten over it already.”

Your breath hitches in your chest, making you stammer and go red in the face as your confusion worsens. Jack notices this. “What, you really don’t know?”

“No, Jack, I do not,” you manage to breathe out. “Please, enlighten me.”

He shakes his head, lets out a strange chuckle as he leans back against the wall, having taken a tinnie off the counter. “This would be funny if it weren’t so tragic,” he starts, grimacing. “Oscar used to push guys on the soccer team around for talking about you. He’d go silent whenever you were around and get clammy in the hands. He got weird whenever he’d even hear your name. And I’m sure I don’t have to list out your incriminating actions.”

Needless to say you’re taken aback by this. Eyes wide and blank, you look at him with shock as your mind oscillates between delight and horror, hand resting on your chest as if your heart needs the help. Jack sighs, and after a moment of tense silence he speaks again. “I take it that’s enough proof for you.”

“Why didn’t you say?”

“We thought you knew,” he shrugs. “And it wouldn’t have been my place to meddle, and also, it was kind of amusing to watch.”

You scoff bitterly. “Amusing.”

“Well, not so much now,” Doohan nods.

Silence fills the kitchen again, the chatter outside quiet against the deafening quietness inside. “You do like him, don’t you?” he asks earnestly.

You don’t answer, but all he has to do is look at your solemn face and see the emotions threatening to spill out of you. He comes closer, puts a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Hey. Just take your time, mate.”

You nod, but you hear Oscar’s distinct timbre in the distance, speaking rapidly to someone. You turn your head and see him standing in the living room near the couch, and then—like magnets—he seems to feel your eyes raking over his figure, and meets your gaze as his head turns a little. Suddenly you’re sixteen again. He’s smiling at you like he used to, so fondly and sweetly, all the way from another room. Everything has changed but this feeling is the same. Oscar nods his head gently, as if to tell you ‘I’m doing okay over here, and I hope you are too,’ and you realise he’s dropped out of his conversation now just to look at you. He has always done this.

The hard part is over, but you didn’t know until it was spoken of.

You sweep the crushed cans off the table and into the garbage bag, back starting to hurt from all the cleanup you’ve had to do. Thank the lord they all left early; you haven’t been able to enjoy yourself fully since that talk with Doohan. Since then his words have just been eating away at you the whole night, but you can speak to Oscar just fine, you think. You’re trying your best, at least.

“Jesus, have the lights always been this bright?” he says, and by the way he’s stumbling onto the couch and slurring his words a little, he’s probably more tipsy than he’d like to admit.

You shake your head, turning around to face him. The cans inside the bag you’re holding clank against one another. “Fun night?”

“Not particularly,” he says, eyes shutting as he throws an arm over his face, lying down flat on the couch. “Just, those fucking Strong Zeroes, man.”

“I told Doohan he shouldn’t have!”

“He really shouldn’t have.” Oscar groans, eyes shutting tighter as he tries to push his face into the couch, and you chuckle before going back to cleaning up, moving towards the pile of cans on the kitchen island.

“Don’t leave,” you hear him say behind you.

You turn around, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “What?” you say. “I’m not. I’m just going into the kitch—”

“No,” he whines quietly, muffled by the fabric of the couch. “That’s too far. Stay.”

You stand still, still holding the bag in your hand, visibly confused.

“We should always be in the same room,” he continues. “I don’t want to be away from you.”

You flush at his words. You’re not sure if he quite grasps the implications of what he’s saying, but you chalk it all up to his current state—surely he’s just a clingy drunk. You put the garbage bag down against the wall, approaching the couch as he pulls his legs back to make room for you.

You sit down. “Are you feeling alright, Osc?”

“No,” he replies, too quickly for your liking. Oscar shuffles back onto his back, eyes still shut as his tone is reduced to grumbling. “I had this really awful thought the other day that we’re so far apart. I’m off doing my races and now you’re off at uni doing whatever.”

You cock your head to the side, clearly about to protest, but he starts up again. “I just want to know what you’re doing all the time,” he admits. “And how you’re feeling. I miss you all the time, and I wanna know you’re okay.”

“Oscar,” you frown, putting a hand on his arm tenderly. “If you want to stay in touch more, of course we can—”

“No,” he shakes his head. “I don’t want to stay in touch. I wanna be with you.”

You pull your arm back. He winces, missing your touch. “Tiny, this must sound so crazy.”

“No,” you assure him, though you’re struggling to comprehend his words. “I just don’t know what you me—”

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Your blood runs cold even as your stomach shatters and explodes into a million butterflies that feel hot like lava inside of your body. “I know it must sound so crazy,” Oscar chuckles bitterly. “I know it must be so crazy…”

“No,” you shake your head. “I don’t think it’s crazy. I just, I wonder how you’ll feel in the morning.”

“It’s not the alcohol.”

He opens his eyes only to look at you, pupils darting around slowly to find you, the only soothing sight when the lights are still killing him. Oscar smiles a little at your familiar face. “I spoke to Doohan,” he explains.

“Ah,” you mumble, flushing. Of course he did.

He pauses a bit, tries to find the courage to speak again. He finds it in how your eyes seem to shine a little brighter where you’re sitting, mesmerised by how beautiful you are tonight. “He’s right, you know. I feel a bit silly, or stupid rather, like I don’t know how to explain myself.”

“Well,” you chuckle timidly, looking down at your hands. “I would have some explaining to do myself, too.”

Oscar smiles to himself. He takes a moment to catch his breath; he didn’t even realise he’d been holding it in this whole time. “You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that.”

At his words, you look up to meet his eyes again, to see how he’s smiling now, and it makes your chest expand with warmth, heart pumping fast. “I’ll feel the same in the morning,” he says, sitting up clumsily now just to look at your face better. He doesn’t want to look away ever again. “I promise you that. I’ve felt this way since forever—I just didn’t know the word for it yet.”

Your eyes widen just a little more at his words; you don’t recognise the inexplicable feeling that’s captured your body, but you think this is what he means. The thing he didn’t know the word for. But you know the word for it now.

“I think I love you too,” you say.

Oscar lets out a quiet noise of relief. He finds your hand in your lap, takes it in his, and just holds it. You look at each other for a long while, taking in the details of one another’s faces. “You don’t look a day over seven,” you chuckle, and it makes him grin softly.

“That’s alright. Did you feel then how you feel about me now?” he asks.

“I think you sealed the deal when you helped me get up on my feet after falling off the slide,” you quip with a smile, and he squeezes your hand a little approvingly.

“You remember that.”

“The little things aren’t little to me, either,” you say, and his heart soars at your words. Oscar can’t resist it anymore; he tugs on your hand a little and pulls you into his arms, hands latching onto your waist as he holds you tightly. You fall into each other like magnets. It just feels right, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, but nothing in this world is truly given this way. You had been working for it your entire life, but you’re only knowing this now.

His lips hover over your cheek, and it makes you shiver, but it shouldn’t be like this. “I don’t want our first kiss to be when you’re drunk,” you tell him, pulling away from his flushed face. “It’s… You don’t know how long I’ve wanted this. It just has to be right.”

Oscar swallows dryly, but he nods. “You’re right,” he says, with a gentle smile that tells you he’s being sincere. “You’re right. Not like this.”

He pulls you in again, holding you even tighter this time. You feel his heart beating out of his chest against yours, his warm breath against your skin, the warm his arms keep contracting as if he’s afraid to let you go. A warm waft of air filters through the window, left ajar, and swirls around the two of you, bodies now entangled. Neither of you can find a reason to leave, so you don’t. You never end up cleaning the kitchen that night.

The sun’s starting to filter through your blinds now, and you know you have no excuse to stay in bed anymore, but you don’t have the heart to wake him up. Your brother’s bedroom is probably collecting dust already; ever since that night, Oscar’s been sleeping in your bed now, and you both sleep so much better with a cuddle buddy by your side. He likes to be big spoon, but he’s happy to hold you face to face as well, duh! Why would he upset with getting to see your face, eyes shut so peacefully in slumber? He likes to wake up before you because of this, just so he can catch a glimpse of you so soft and pliable in his arms, comfortably happily asleep, but today you’re the one who wakes up first, stirred awake by the birds chirping outside your window.

You try to slip out of his grasp, but he just tightens his arms around you, furrowing his eyebrows in his sleep. You try again and he does it again, this time with a grumbling noise that makes you chuckle.

“Oscar,” you smile, press a gentle kiss onto his forehead. “They come home today.”

“So?” he grumbles back, eyes still shut as he pulls you in, tucking your head under his chin. “What’s it got to do with us?”

“We’ve got to make them brekky, babe,” you chuckle. You press a kiss to his neck now, before deciding you can’t really resist littering them all over his skin. “They’ll be starving by the time they get here.”

Oscar makes a strange, hushed noise. “Well, doing that certainly won’t get me out of bed.”

You’re confused, but then you realise something’s been pressing up against your thigh, worsened by how he keeps pulling you back into his arms. “Oh my god, Osc,” you yelp. “Just from a few kisses?”

“And maybe a very good dream,” he mumbles back. If he were awake, he’d surely be laughing, pleased with himself.

“You dirty, dirty pervert,” you snicker, but you’re tutting at him in a way that sends a tingle down his spine, and your fingers inching down the trail on his stomach is making him shiver. “You’re shameless.”

“Yeah, but something tells me you like it,” he says, but he can barely finish the sentence before you tug at the waistband of his sweatpants, shimmying them down. His length springs free; your eyes beam a little too brightly at the sight of it, making him laugh.

“Someone’s eager.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been dreaming about riding you into the bed for actual years,” you chuckle, long fingers wrapping around him. “You look delicious in the morning, you know that? All sleepy and dishevelled. It’s very sexy, Osc.”

“Ah?” he says, a moan disguised as a word. Your hand starts to move and he can barely hold himself back. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Your mouth is hovering over his cock now, warm breath making him shiver before your tongue makes contact with his tip, swirling all around the head in a way that makes his eyes roll back. “Holy shit,” you hear him mutter to himself, and you smile as you drag your tongue all over the length of him.

“Babe, I love the teasing,” he breathes out. “But I don’t think I can quite take it this morning.”

You hum to yourself, biting back a cheeky smile as a thought pops up in your head. “You know, you’re right,” you say. “We’re running on a tight schedule. And we could use something that saves time, so… if you’re getting head, you could give it too, no?”

Oscar’s face lights up at your words. “You wanna sit on my face? Is that what you’re saying?”

“I mean, if you’re offering.”

“Fuckin’ hell, any day of the week, missy.”

With that, he puts his hands on your head and pulls you up for a kiss that deepens into a little more. His lips are soft, mouth hot and wet; you feel yourself dampen a little against the cotton of your panties, something he feels too as his hands travel all the way down to your ass, fingers reaching past the fabric of your shorts inside to find the wet patch growing at your cunt. Your fingers hook into the waistband of both layers, tugging them off eagerly as he steadies his hands on your hips again. You turn around, and now Oscar’s got your pussy hovering right over his face. He think he’s salivating at the sight of it. Is that too crude? Jesus christ, it’s just so much fucking better than he could have ever imagined, waking up with you by his side, having the girl of all of his dreams with him now, eating your pussy first thing in the morning.

“You’re not so tiny anymore, hey? You’re a big girl now.”

You flush at his words. “Just get to it, Piastri.”

He needs no further encouragement, hands on your hips pulling you down to his face, tongue flicking a long stripe all the way down your cunt. You cry out at the sudden contact, and you realise very soon that he is very good at what he is doing, soft wet tongue sliding between your folds carefully, lips wrapping gently around your sensitive clit, hands gripping onto the meat of your ass, an action that signifies a clinginess you’d never know from how soft-spoken he is. He eats you out like a hungry man, lapping up the wetness that soaked your panties before eagerly. When you wrap your lips around his cock, taking all of him in until he hits the back of your throat, it makes him groan against your pussy, and it feels so strangely good that you keep throating him just like that every once in a while, just to feel him shift underneath you and thrust into your mouth a little. He wants to be gentle with you so badly, and he is, but he just can’t resist it when you’re doing that.

“Fuck, babe,” Oscar gasps out, pulling away as his fingers continue to rub at your clit. “If you keep doing that thing, I won’t last very long.”

You can tell by his tone he’s slightly embarrassed about taking such little time to get there. “We’ll get there together, I promise,” you say. “Just—ah!—keep using your fingers.”

He smiles, happy to oblige. This time he dips a finger inside you, tongue now swirling around your clit as his finger curls, finding that cushiony spot inside you that makes your back arch a little. There it is. He slips another finger in, tongue flicking fast against you, fingers pumping at a steady pace as you suck his cock sloppily, drool pooling at the base, fingers still wrapped around his length, lazily moving up and down. It’s all too much for the both of you, both moaning and whimpering against one another as your bodies start to get more and more sensitive, responding to each motion with a little more volume. Your back arches, his hips thrust; you know you’re both getting to that climax.

“Babe, fuck—”

“I know,” you gasp, a long mewl drawing out of you as his fingers, soaked in your slick now, keep thrusting in and out of you. “I’m—hah—almost there, too.”

He nods his head eagerly and latches his wet mouth back onto you, eating you out desperately as his hips start to move on their own, filling your mouth and muffling your increasing cries of pleasure as your eyes shut and roll back.

“I can’t take it,” he moans loudly. “Babe, I—oh my god!”

Just as Oscar starts to flood your mouth, you collapse onto him as your orgasm washes over you, leaving you breathless, body slack and limp. “Jesus,” you heave out, flipping onto your back off of him, swallowing all of his load down your throat. The sight of it makes him whimper. You take a good look at him; he’s got your slick all over his face, glistening from his lips down to his chin.

“Christ, I made a mess of you,” you chuckle, embarrassed, but he seems proud of himself.

“A souvenir, yeah?” He jokes, and you push his chest, rolling your eyes, but he pulls you into his arms. “God, that was fuckin’ amazing. You’re fuckin’ amazing.”

You pull the duvet back up over the both of you as you lie down once again, resting your head on his chest now as you look up at him with a smile. You wipe at his mouth with your hand. “There.”

“Aw,” he frowns playfully. “I quite liked it.”

“You fuckin’ pervert,” you say, going to push his chest again but he catches your arm with his hand.

“Don’t get feisty,” Oscar chuckles, shaking his head before pecking you on the forehead. “Let’s just lay here for a bit. And you know, I’ve been thinking.”

Your finger traces shapes on the freckled skin of his bare chest. “About what?”

“About you, coming to see me,” he says. “You know… I was thinking, maybe you could schedule your classes with me in my mind? You know, money’s not an issue. Transport, accommodation, passes, I can take care of all of that. I just need to know you can see me. Not for every race, obviously. But some of them. It’d mean so much to me, Tiny.”

You look up at him now, smiling. “Of course I can,” you nod gently. “It’d mean everything to me too, Osc.”

His face blooms into a smile, eyes raking over the details of your face, savouring it as if he hasn’t a million times before. “Then it’s done,” he says, bringing your hand up to kiss it. “You can’t escape me now.”

“Like I’d ever want to,” you roll your eyes.

Before Oscar can counter with a snarky remark, the door flies open.

“Piastri—seriously? My fucking sister?”

That’s the end! Thoughts? Comments? Suggestions? Leave em all in my askbox, and again, thank you so much for reading!

[hb-writes]

Another Time, Another Place

Summary: Harvey's wife (Reader) gets stuck while working on a case and she requires his assistance to get unstuck.

Prompt: “What? Isn’t this the book you wanted?”

Pairing: Harvey Specter x Reader/OFC (3rd person, she/ her)

Content Warning: Nothing much, really. Implied spice, but no explicit spice.

She pulled her gaze from her laptop, rubbing at her eyes as she glanced around the room after sending an email. Most of the partners—both the senior and junior designees—stayed far away from the law firm’s library. They had little need for the space, what with being granted their own resplendent offices, complete with the comforts of their own design—furniture and decor and views that reflected their status and clout at the firm…

So it was rare to find department heads there, excepting for the odd instances when they deigned to stretch their legs, drifting down to the library to follow up with an associate or paralegal assigned to their case in person rather than sending an email, but she had always liked the library. She often preferred its special brand of quiet, the near-silence imbued with the tense buzz of people working on their own time-sensitive assignments, almost like the parallel play of toddlers. Almost like they were all still students studying for exams and writing papers. 

The room was empty now though, the hour too late for even the most diligent of associates, the most hungry of them, but it had always reminded her of her days back in school…her days as a novice associate. Even now, she sometimes preferred the space to her own office the same way she’d once preferred the space to her little cubicle in the bullpen. Back when she was an associate, there had been no hour too late, no hour that she wouldn’t spend in the library with a pile of books and her mind wound tightly throughout the intricacies of a case, trying to craft a win for herself. For her mentor. For her clients. 

It wasn’t often these days that she needed to keep such late hours. And somewhere along the line, she’d become the one mentoring novice attorneys. She’d sent her own associate home hours ago, preferring to work through this particularly rough bit of research on her own. Once in a while, she liked that sort of challenge. Liked revisiting the grueling all nighters she’d once lived on a daily basis. 

And she could feel she was close now, the puzzle pieces in her mind’s eye nearly falling into place. Nearly…but there was something she was missing. Something blocked that she couldn’t quite work through. In a library containing thousands of volumes and a whole internet of answers, she just couldn’t find what she needed. 

Or, more likely, she couldn’t access it, her mind not making the right connections. 

She probably just needed to get some sleep, to look at things with a fresh mind, but that wasn’t in the cards tonight, not with an impending deadline. 

A short break would have to do. She just needed an influx of energy, a slight bit of distraction to pull her mind away from the issue just enough to give perspective. 

Pushing back from her laptop, she turned the volume on her wireless headphones up, letting the club hits she used to dance to during undergrad house parties soothe some part of her soul, almost as if the familiar beats unlocked something in her, loosening muscles she hadn’t even realized were tense. Not that it was a surprise. She’d been hunched over the table for hours, not even bothering to stop for dinner, taking only a few obligatory bites of the sushi Harvey had ordered for her while her eyes remained glued to her computer. 

She let her focus slip away now though, slipping off her heels and closing her eyes as she sang along to the song in her headphones. She imagined she was in another time, another place—far away from the library and the case, the music easily carrying her away. 

She started, eyes flying open as she danced into something solid, the scent of a familiar cologne tickling her senses as she stumbled. Harvey’s hand closed around her back, steadying her as she pulled her headphones off, letting them hang around her neck. 

Harvey smirked at the noise still blaring through the silent library from the headphones, a song he knew just as well as she did, the sound of it dredging up at least half a dozen memories—images of his own college days, images of the two of them on road trips, images of her cleaning the apartment, images of their wedding, images of a handful of other times he’d come across her in the firm’s library late at night…

“Hey fruitcake, what are you doing?” 

She rolled her eyes at the reference as she turned down the volume, allowing the memories and the music to fall away, her mind temporarily focused on finding the right retort, her mind gratefully sifting through Dirty Harry quotes rather than case law research.

Harvey watched her, letting the quiet stretch between them, some part of him gratified at the sight of her slightly disheveled appearance. Harvey liked something about the juxtaposition, of seeing her just slightly less put together than she usually was in the hallowed halls of their law firm, her blazer discarded on a chair, her shirt sleeves rolled, her feet bare, bright red toenails stark against the dark carpets. 

Not that he wasn’t used to seeing her like that. She was the type of girl who was almost always in sweats just minutes after arriving home. She’d actually been dressed that way when they first met, years and years ago in a different law library, in a different set of hallowed halls. 

Sometimes, especially times like this, it felt like it was just yesterday.

Harvey pulled his eyes back to her face to find her studying him, a certain eagerness lighting her eyes. His lips formed a fond smile again. 

“I thought you were hard at work down here?” he taunted, eyebrows raising.

“Well…” she started, leaning a bit of weight onto the arm that still lay snaked around her back, “for the past three-quarters of an hour, I’ve been sitting on my ass waiting for you.” 

Harvey smirked. It was one of the things he loved about her: that she could go toe to toe with him with most things—movie references, the law, a few choice other things…

Nevermind the fact that she’d emailed him requesting his ‘assistance’ mere minutes ago…

Harvey gently massaged her lower back with the fingers he still had splayed there before shifting his arm away, abstaining from letting his hand drift down to the aforementioned ass, another thing he loved about her.

Her lips pursed at the sudden absence of Harvey’s touch and she pulled her arms up to fold over her chest.

“I brought that help you wanted.” 

She refrained from smiling as she read the title of the paperback he pushed into the space between them—Law for Dummies—even as he smirked, giddy as a school child. She had gifted the book to him upon his law school graduation, and it had occupied a shelf in his various cubicles and offices ever since. 

She doubted it had ever been much help, but it gave them a good laugh from time to time, something which was like a balm to the harshness of life sometimes, a healing salve for the seemingly chronic stress of their lives.

“Very clever, Harvey.” 

“What?” he asked, gaze drifting from her unimpressed face down to the black and yellow front cover. “Isn’t this the book you wanted?”

Harvey’s voice sounded so innocent—so sincere—that she almost laughed. Christ, he was good. If law hadn’t worked out, he could’ve given acting a shot. Comedy, maybe. 

“Did my email say anything about a book, Mr. Specter?” she asked, taking the tome from his hands and tossing it on a nearby table with a thump.

Harvey hummed. “Come to think of it, your email was a little…vague. Left a lot to the imagination.” 

“Mhmm…” She nodded. “The details of the specific type of assistance I require of you is something I suspect neither one of us would want in writing. Wouldn’t want it read aloud in a court of law…” Her eyes traveled Harvey’s face, clocking the light in his eyes and the tug of his smile. “Or by the IT department,” she added as an afterthought, the briefest bit of alarm washing over her features at the idea. 

“You think Benjamin is reading our email exchanges?” Harvey asked. “That’s kind of—”

She pushed at his chest before he could get the word out—kinky. 

“Harvey,” she groaned, not because she didn’t enjoy the childish side of him. She did. She loved it, actually, but she had asked him down here for a reason…

“Yes, Mrs. Specter?” 

To most of the world, both here at the office and in the eyes of the U.S. government, she went by her maiden name. She had kept her own name, both professionally and legally, for a multitude of reasons, not the least of which being that she was not a man’s property, not even if Harvey Specter was the man in question. But between the two of them, it still thrilled her when he called her that, made her feel so thoroughly his—and him so thoroughly hers—that her toes curled into the carpet, a movement that Harvey clocked as he stepped closer, one arm wrapping around her as he used the other to guide her face up to him with a hand under her chin.

“What specific type of assistance is it that you require of me?”

Whatever she asked for…whatever she needed…Harvey would readily give her the world if she wanted it. If it would make her happy. If she needed it. He’d do anything.

It was a truth they both knew. And it was reciprocal. She’d do the same for him.  

But all she wanted—all she needed—just now was him. 

This.

Well, this…and a way to win her case, but as she kissed her husband’s lips, allowing him to guide them both back towards the stacks, thoughts of the case fell away until all that existed in the world was two people alone in a library, each of them falling a bit further in love, as they had once done long ago in another time, another place.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

All the books I reviewed in 2023 (Graphic Novels)

Next Tuesday (December 5), I'm at Flyleaf Books in Chapel Hill, NC, with my new solarpunk novel The Lost Cause, which 350.org's Bill McKibben called "The first great YIMBY novel: perceptive, scientifically sound, and extraordinarily hopeful."

It's that time of year again, when I round up all the books I reviewed for my newsletter in the previous year. I posted 21 reviews last year, covering 31 books (there are two series in there!). I also published three books of my own last year (two novels and one nonfiction). A busy year in books!

Every year, these roundups remind me that I did actually manager to get a lot of reading done, even if the list of extremely good books that I didn't read is much longer than the list of books I did read. I read many of these books while doing physiotherapy for my chronic pain, specifically as audiobooks I listened to on my underwater MP3 player while doing my daily laps at the public pool across the street from my house.

After many years of using generic Chinese waterproof MP3s players – whose quality steadily declined over a decade – I gave up and bought a brand-name player, a Shokz Openswim. So far, I have no complaints. Thanks to reader Abbas Halai for recommending this!

https://shokz.com/products/openswim

I load up this gadget with audiobook MP3s bought from Libro.fm, a fantastic, DRM-free alternative to Audible, which is both a monopolist and a prolific wage-thief with a documented history of stealing from writers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/25/can-you-hear-me-now/#acx-ripoff

All right, enough with the process notes, on to the reviews!

GRAPHIC NOVELS

I. Shubiek Lubiek by Deena Mohamed

An intricate alternate history in which wishes are real, and must be refined from a kind of raw wish-stuff that has to be dug out of the earth. Naturally, this has been an important element of geopolitics and colonization, especially since the wish-stuff is concentrated in the global south, particularly Egypt, the setting for our tale. The framing device for the trilogy is the tale of three "first class" wishes: these are the most powerful wishes that civilians are allowed to use, the kind of thing you might use to cure cancer or reverse a crop-failure.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/11/your-wish/#is-my-command

II. Ducks by Kate Beaton

In 2005, Beaton was a newly minted art-school grad facing a crushing load of student debt, a debt she would never be able to manage in the crumbling, post-boom economy of Cape Breton, Nova Scotia. Like so many Maritimers, she left the home that meant everything for her to travel to Alberta, where the tar sands oil boom promised unmatched riches for anyone willing to take them. Beaton's memoir describes the following four years, as she works her way into a series of oil industry jobs in isolated company towns where men outnumber women 50:1 and where whole communities marinate in a literally toxic brew of carcinogens, misogyny, economic desperation and environmental degradation. The story that follows is – naturally – wrenching, but it is also subtle and ambivalent. Beaton finds camaraderie with – and empathy for – the people she works alongside, even amidst unimaginable, grinding workplace harassment that manifests in both obvious and glancing ways.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/14/hark-an-oilpatch/#kate-beaton

III. Justice Warriors by Matt Bors

Justice Warriors is what you'd get if you put Judge Dredd in a blender with Transmetropolitan and set it to chunky. The setup: the elites of a wasted, tormented world have retreated into Bubble City, beneath a hermetically sealed zone. Within Bubble City, everything is run according to the priorities of the descendants of the most internet-poisoned freaks of the modern internet, click- and clout-chasing mushminds full of corporate-washed platitudes about self-care, diversity and equity, wrapped around come-ons for sugary drinks and dubious dropshipper crapola. It's a cop buddy-story dreamed up by Very Online, very angry creators who live in a present-day world where reality is consistently stupider than satire.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/22/libras-assemble/#the-uz

IV. Roaming by Jillian Tamaki and Mariko Tamaki

The story of three young Canadian women meeting up for a getaway to New York City. Zoe and Dani are high-school best friends who haven't seen each other since they graduated and decamped for universities in different cities. Fiona is Dani's art-school classmate, a glamorous and cantankerous artist with an affected air of sophistication. It's a dizzying, beautifully wrought three-body problem as the three protagonists struggle with resentments and love, sex and insecurity. The relationships between Zoe, Dani and Fiona careen wildly from scene to scene and even panel to panel, propelled by sly graphic cues and fantastically understated dialog.

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/11/as-canadian-as/#possible-under-the-circumstances

Like I said, this has been a good year in books for me, and it included three books of my own:

I. Red Team Blues (novel, Tor Books US, Head of Zeus UK)

Martin Hench is 67 years old, single, and successful in a career stretching back to the beginnings of Silicon Valley. He lives and roams California in a very comfortable fully-furnished touring bus, The Unsalted Hash, that he bought years ago from a fading rock star. He knows his way around good food and fine drink. He likes intelligent women, and they like him back often enough. Martin is a—contain your excitement—self-employed forensic accountant, a veteran of the long guerilla war between people who want to hide money, and people who want to find it. He knows computer hardware and software alike, including the ins and outs of high-end databases and the kinds of spreadsheets that are designed to conceal rather than reveal. He’s as comfortable with social media as people a quarter his age, and he’s a world-level expert on the kind of international money-laundering and shell-company chicanery used by Fortune 500 companies, mid-divorce billionaires, and international drug gangs alike. He also knows the Valley like the back of his hand, all the secret histories of charismatic company founders and Sand Hill Road VCs. Because he was there at all the beginnings. Now he’s been roped into a job that’s more dangerous than anything he’s ever agreed to before—and it will take every ounce of his skill to get out alive.

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865847/red-team-blues

II. The Internet Con: How to Seize the Means of Computation (nonfiction, Verso)

We can – we must – dismantle the tech platforms. We must to seize the means of computation by forcing Silicon Valley to do the thing it fears most: interoperate. Interoperability will tear down the walls between technologies, allowing users to leave platforms, remix their media, and reconfigure their devices without corporate permission. Interoperability is the only route to the rapid and enduring annihilation of the platforms. The Internet Con is the disassembly manual we need to take back our internet.

https://www.versobooks.com/products/3035-the-internet-con

III. The Lost Cause (novel, Tor Books US, Head of Zeus UK)

For young Americans a generation from now, climate change isn't controversial. It's just an overwhelming fact of life. And so are the great efforts to contain and mitigate it. Entire cities are being moved inland from the rising seas. Vast clean-energy projects are springing up everywhere. Disaster relief, the mitigation of floods and superstorms, has become a skill for which tens of millions of people are trained every year. The effort is global. It employs everyone who wants to work. Even when national politics oscillates back to right-wing leaders, the momentum is too great; these vast programs cannot be stopped in their tracks.

But there are still those Americans, mostly elderly, who cling to their red baseball caps, their grievances, their huge vehicles, their anger. To their "alternative" news sources that reassure them that their resentment is right and pure and that "climate change" is just a giant scam. And they're your grandfather, your uncle, your great-aunt. And they're not going anywhere. And they’re armed to the teeth. The Lost Cause asks: What do we do about people who cling to the belief that their own children are the enemy? When, in fact, they're often the elders that we love?

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865939/the-lost-cause

I wrote nine books during lockdown, and there's plenty more to come. The next one is The Bezzle, a followup to Red Team Blues, which comes out in February:

https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250865878/thebezzle

While you're waiting for that one, I hope the reviews above will help you connect with some excellent books. If you want more of my reviews, here's my annual roundup from 2022:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/12/01/bookishness/#2022-in-review

Here's my book reviews from 2021:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/08/required-ish-reading/#bibliography

And here's my book reviews from 2020:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/12/08/required-reading/#recommended-reading

It's EFF's Power Up Your Donation Week: this week, donations to the Electronic Frontier Foundation are matched 1:1, meaning your money goes twice as far. I've worked with EFF for 22 years now and I have always been - and remain - a major donor, because I've seen firsthand how effective, responsible and brilliant this organization is. Please join me in helping EFF continue its work!

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/01/bookmaker/#2023-in-review

[princess-of-the-corner]

Honestly, one thing to bring up about canon: Adrien only gave his "high road" advice ONCE, when all Lila was doing was "lying about having disabilities" and Marinette seemingly got her Akumatized by obsessing over something that honestly wasn't a big deal, and he NEVER brings it up again after Lila starts targeting Marinette.

Also, the only reason he HELPS Lila is to basically try and negotiate to get her to leave Marinette alone. He does not bend over backwards to encourage her behavior.

Yet Salt Fics act like he lectures Marinette to "take the high road" every time Lila goes after her and was in fact doing whatever Lila asked of him from the moment she first showed up.

Which is just...

The exact opposite of what happens in canon?

Like, his advice makes PERFECT sense with the information he has access to. Eventually, if Lila really IS lying about her disabilities, she'd slip up and her entire house of cards would collapse around her. He doesn't know that Lila threatened Marinette, and Marinette didn't mention that when they talked about her after the fact.

Frankly, Marinette is lucky that nobody cut ties with her for apparently bullying a disabled kid over seating arrangements, because frankly, as someone who has been accused of faking PTSD for clout because the person I was arguing with REALLY wanted to win that argument we were having, Marinette was just looking like an ableist Karen.

Yeah no like.

I've discussed this extensively, but while lying is still 'bad'(especially lying about disabilities), as far as Adrien observed nothing that 'bad' is happening. The 'worst' thing that happened was the class rearranging to accommodate Lila's disability(which he has no proof is fake even if he doesn't believe the cause). It kinda sucks for Mari, but that's more on her for being last one to class so she couldn't pick her own seat. But that's a different conversation.

Adrien's advice isn't just 'take the high road and things will work out'. He says that her current actions are doing very little harm, so unless she starts causing harm, stay back and don't...... act like a madwoman scrutinizing someone's disability claims to the point she gets Akumatized.

Saltfics often went into ways that Lila's lies /could/ cause harm. Purposeful manipulation to turn them against Mari. Promising the class to get them all sorts of things with her 'connections'. Giving awful advice like that 'she tells Alya to toss her babysitting duties at Marinette' trope that was popular. And then these fics throw it in Adrien's face of 'see she is causing harm!!'

Completely ignoring that 1.) She hadn't been doing any of that before in Canon, and 2.) Adrien literally said 'if it gets worse then we do something' and that qualifies as 'worse' so he'd do something!

Swinging back to Mari:

Honestly though like. We the audience know Lila is probably lying about everything. But the class has little reason to doubt any of Lila's claims, especially the disability ones. And I actually applaud them for taking a disability claim at face value and helping with accommodations!

And yeah that's why the class is so mad at her in this episode. It's not 'how dare you question Lila!' it's 'girl you are foaming at the mouth trying to prove that the new student is faking a disability what the fuck is wrong with you'?

Especially because, thanks to Marinette's actions, the class fully believes this is about Adrien, not about Lila's hypothetical lies. Not just 'she sometimes goes nuts over Adrien' but her actions this very episode.

Remember the seating issue? Lila's new spot was next to Adrien. And when Marinette is raving about how Lila is faking and how she doesn't want to sit in the back, Adrien speaks up to try and help saying 'Okay, you can take my seat and I'll go sit in the back', prompting her to scream that no he has to stay there and Lila has to move.

So yeah she really made it seem to be all about Adrien without Lila even having to do shit.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Mike Damiano and Hilary Burns at Boston Globe:

Throughout the presidential campaign, Donald Trump and his allies have lambasted universities as “woke” indoctrination mills that radicalize youths against America and rip off students with inflated tuition.

Trump has said that, if elected, he will “reclaim” universities from the “Marxist maniacs and lunatics” who currently control them. His running mate, JD Vance, who once exhorted supporters to “attack the universities,” has praised the authoritarian leader of Hungary for seizing control of that country’s institutions of higher education. Such remarks could be dismissed as Trumpian bombast. But a Globe review of a year’s worth of campaign videos, policy statements, and recent remarks by top Republicans suggests something else: that behind his incendiary words lies a set of specific policies that a second Trump administration could pursue to exert wide-ranging influence over American universities. “There’s a lot of levers and tools that will get their attention day one,” Steve Scalise, the second-highest-ranking Republican in the House of Representatives, said at a meeting with a lobbying group early this month while discussing ways to punish universities for alleged civil rights violations.

Trump and his allies have said a second Trump administration would replace universities’ existing oversight agencies —which wield clout over funding and fair practices —with new ones that would defend “the American tradition and Western civilization.” Trump says he would ramp up civil rights investigations into antisemitism and racial discrimination, a term conservatives have inverted from familiar usage to refer to affirmative action and campus diversity initiatives. And, crucially, he would cut off federal funding to universities deemed to be in violation of federal rules.

The plans are aggressive but feasible, higher education experts said, because they call for using existing federal powers that are under the control of the president. If Trump wins the election, he could follow through on these and other proposals through regulation and executive actions even if the Republican Party does not control Congress. “You have a lot of jurisdiction as president with all of these different [executive branch] agencies,” Scalise said at the Washington meeting held by the American Israel Public Affairs Committee. The Guardian first published video of the remarks. To his campaign and its supporters, Trump’s promise to crack down on higher education represents an overdue reckoning for institutions that have become, in their view, excessively left-leaning and have strayed from their founding missions.

[...] But some critics hear Trump’s pronouncements about higher education as the rhetoric of a man who revels in executive power and wants to move against his political enemies and quash dissent. “This is what authoritarians do,” said Steven Levitsky, a Harvard government professor who studies democracy and authoritarianism. “Authoritarians of the left, of the center, of the right go after universities.” Trump himself has praised the authoritarian leaders of China, Russia, and Hungary. Vance said in a CBS interview reflecting on Viktor Orbán’s takeover of his country’s universities that the Hungarian president “has made some smart decisions there that we could learn from.”

In some ways, the Trump plans for federal higher education policy are an extension of Republican ideas that have already been implemented in some states. In recent years, Republican governors and state legislatures have banned diversity and inclusion offices, replaced public university leaders with ideological allies, and cut back on courses viewed as having a liberal slant. So far, those efforts have mostly been confined to red states, but higher education insiders fear that Trump could implement similar policies nationally. “We already see the way that state governments have been politicizing higher education, and to do that at a federal level would be devastating,” said Natasha Warikoo, a Tufts University sociology professor.

[...] The plan’s primary target is the federal funding — in the form of student financial aid and research grants — that most colleges and universities depend on to stay in business. In total, it amounts to tens of billions of dollars a year. To receive that crucial funding, institutions must be in compliance with federal rules, including civil rights laws. And to benefit from student financial aid they must have the stamp of approval of an accrediting agency recognized by the federal government.

[...] Another lever Trump and allies say they plan to use is federal civil rights law. “I will direct the Department of Justice to pursue federal civil rights cases against schools that continue to engage in racial discrimination and schools that persist in explicit unlawful discrimination under the guise of equity,” Trump said in the campaign video. [...]

In practice, the more typical outcome has been an agreement with the federal government in which the university promises to change its behavior or policies.

In addition to using the Justice Department, a second Trump administration could investigate alleged civil rights violations through the Department of Education. In the last year, the department has fielded dozens of official complaints alleging that universities are violating civil rights laws by allowing antisemitism, Islamophobia, and other forms of hate to fester. Republican congressional leaders have summoned university presidents to Washington for hearings on campus antisemitism, which contributed to the resignations of three Ivy League presidents, including Harvard’s Claudine Gay. “We’ve had the hearings. We’ve got it teed up,” Scalise said at the meeting held by the American Israel Public Affairs Committee. If Trump wins, it may be possible to withhold billions of dollars of federal funding from schools that the federal government decides are violating students’ civil rights, he said.

Coward, the free speech advocate, said there was nothing inherently concerning about vows to enforce civil rights laws. In the past year, since the outbreak of the Israel-Hamas war, there have been assaults on Jewish students and instances of protesters blocking students from accessing parts of college campuses, which could amount to civil rights violations, he said. But he also warned that civil rights enforcement can go too far, imperiling free expression. Even under the Biden administration, he said, the Department of Education has urged universities to clamp down on pro-Palestinian speech protected by the First Amendment. Some of the policies proposed by Trump and his allies could further increase the pressure on universities and lead to more suppression of speech, he said. “When the institutions are choosing between their students’ First Amendment rights or losing their federal funding, almost all of them are going to choose censorship over loss of federal funding,” Coward said.

Wood, the former Boston University administrator who is now the president of the right-leaning National Association of Scholars, said some of Trump’s plans struck him as reasonable, including the prospect of accreditation reform. He and other conservative critics of higher education say the accreditors have strayed from their original mission of merely ensuring that schools are financially sound and providing an adequate education. Now, Wood says, they are overtly political and push DEI priorities. But critics of Trump’s plans see a power grab that could undermine universities’ independence.

If Donald Trump gets re-elected, he will follow the Viktor Orbán model of suppressing higher education and remaking it in his image to a tool of fascism.

Vote for Kamala Harris to keep academic freedom in universities.

[deaniewagner]

FULL NAME: Gerladine "Deanie" Marie Wagner

GENDER: Cisfemale

PRONOUNS: She/her

AGE + BIRTHDAY: 28 + December 1st

TIME IN NEW YORK: Raised in Upper East Side, recently moved to Brooklyn

HOUSING: Carrol Gardens

OCCUPATION: Cataloguer at Southeby's

tw: this bio contains mentions of divorce, prescription drug abuse, rehab, and nervous breakdown

(@brooklynextras)

Geraldine Wagner was born into generational wealth on both sides of her family -- her mother's side in publishing and her father's side in television media.

If the rumors in Manhatten were true and the couple had Deanie (their third child) in a last-ditch effort to save their marriage it certainly didn't work -- her parents were divorced by the time she was six.

Deanie was always the most obedient of her siblings, constantly trying to temper any discord in her family and please both of her parents in secret hopes that if she was a good enough child her parents would get back together.

(Plan clearly didn't work. Her father remarried when she was fifteen.)

She found her solace in solitary activities -- ballet, piano, reading. But art was where she felt especially talented. Sketching, charcoal, and watercolor being her favorite mediums. She had hopes of skipping college to join an art fellowship until her father called her work 'uninspired and pedestrian'. She instead double majored in art history and museum sciences.

While she was getting her graduate degree she started dating an old family friend, Everett Reynolds. The relationship was highly favored, the couple constantly being called beautiful and successful, and it was no surprise when Everett proposed to her after three years of dating.

Since Everett was in the midst of a grueling surgical residency in Boston most of the wedding planning had fallen on Deanie -- and all the pressure that had gone along with it. Navigating the logistics and emotions had become more and more challenging for her and she had started to more and more progressively abuse her prescriptions in order to cope.

On the morning of her wedding, Deanie was nowhere to be found. The runaway bride was the biggest and juiciest mystery that the Upper East Side had seen in years. While her parents had stayed tight-lipped -- their story had been that she had gone to persue a PhD in France -- the truth was that Deanie had been in an inpatient rehab and mental healthy facility for the past nine months, recovering from a nervous breakdown.

Determined to stand on her own, Deanie is now in pursuit of a life where she can be more true to herself without being swept up for the good of others.

TRAITS

Positive– Curious, detailed, inviting

Negative – Obedient, cautious, analytical

Aesthetics: WATERCOLOR PAINTINGS IN GOLD FRAMES, MARY JANES AND TIGHTS, WHISTLING TEA KETTLE.

FUN FACTS

Personal heroes are Jane Austen, Lucille Ball, and Artemisia Gentileschi

Can play piano and violin

Speaks French and Italian

Favorite flavor of ice cream is black cherry

Cocktail of choice is a French 75

Favorite flower is tulips (orange specifically)

Has an etsy shop but has never had the courage to post anything on it

Season ticket holder to the Metropolitan Opera, The New York Ballet, and The New York Philharmonic

Current Connections:

Roommate of @milasingh

Almost sister in law (and one night stand) of @tyreynolds

Former student of @bitingironics

Best friend/former college roommate @4ftermidnights

Wanted Connetions:

Siblings and Step-Siblings -- Deanie has an older sister and brother and a two step-sisters and one step-brother. These connections would need to be heavily plotted.

College best friend -- someone who Deanie was paired with as a roommate freshman year at NYU and the two have been inseparable ever since.

New York society friends -- people who grew up with the same silver spoon

Ex friend -- A close friend (likely a bridesmaid in her wedding) who used Deanie's runaway bride story for clout on TikTok

[randomnameless]

I don't get on why people yap about "Hurdur toxic knighthood culture Faerghus deserves to be conquered" when the other unrecruited students from other Houses do the same thing in other routes.

Hilda and Hubert, along with the unrecruited students from the other houses fight for their liege til the end in the routes you face them, so why freak out over Dimitri's childhood friends following their buddy during the war.

Because the Kingdom is BaD.

It's the same "unilateral execution :(" argument, when Rhea kills people who tried to kill her, she BaD, but when Supreme Leader mows people who "oppose" her, or Clout puts to the axe randoms who want to ditch his Federation, suddenly we don't hear the same nonsense.

FE Fodlan thrives on double standard - Kingdom BaD for protecting their friends at the cost of their lives, but the other two aren't called BaD for doing the very same thing.

Maybe because whoever is attacking/defending against the other two (mainly against the Empire!) isn't the kind of person to piss on people sacrificing their lives to protect their loved ones - even if the game would have, imo, been more interesting if whenever Hubert or Ferdie said this, Barney or whoever asked them if they wouldn't be willing to do the same thing if their role were reversed, if it meant protecting Supreme Leader or people they care about.

As for the fandom, well, fans gotta fan, right? When some people are willing to villify playing with children (Dimitri BaD bcs in his FE16 ending scene he plays with children !), come up with the unfamous "not just kills, but murders" and with "she didn't spare their lives, she just, didn't kill them!", I'm half wondering if somewhere, in redshit's bowels or in a certain discord, someone didn't write 10k words to explain how BaD Dimitri is because his alternate hairstyle in FE16 is a ponytail.

[187days]

Day One Hundred Twenty-Seven

Whew, today was a long one. I just got home a few minutes ago because Eighth Grade Open House was tonight, so we were welcoming the Class of 2028 to our building for the first time. For my fellow ninth grade teachers and I, that meant giving room tours and answering questions, but the night actually started with a presentation by our admins down in the auditorium, some performances by our dance team, band, and drum line, and information from school counseling about how to sign up for courses. There was also an extracurricular activities fair in the gym, a photo wall, and other fun stuff. So it's a cool experience, and I'm glad we do it.

I am going to use my combined union rep and department head clout to argue that we should get paid for it. Right now, it's one of those non-mandatory things, but folks feel like they have to go (despite me saying otherwise) or else it looks bad.

But anyways.

Before open house, I had track practice (timed 40m repeats in the halls for the sprinters because it was wicked cold outside today). And before practice, of course, I was teaching my classes.

My APGOV students had a test today. It's a long one, so they're going to finish it tomorrow (which is an early release day for students, so the blocks are shorter than usual- it's going to be the perfect amount of time). They say it's "pretty chill," though, which I'm glad about. This particular group tests very well, albeit more slowly than past groups of students I've taught. It's interesting that they're so different, but, hey, not going to complain when they're doing well!

I had the students in my two "B" sections of Global Studies doing the same history lesson their peers did yesterday. It went fairly well in the first section, and extremely well in the second. For whatever reason, students were just locked in. They had no trouble understanding what to do, produced excellent work, and even finished ahead of schedule. So that was unexpectedly awesome!

[trapppland]

The Spectacle Symposium Review by Azurite

The Spectacle was a Symposium/ Public Speaking engagement that we attended for extra-credit after malice and discriminatory practices by a number of people. There are a few things at work in this showcase but the video explains it in-depth. We will use this post to attach the website and link with the ancestor that was shown at the event. We dont have anything positive to say about it after the Post-Op lead to us being illegally removed from the campus and our student housing. We were sent a fraudulent check by American Campus Communities supported by a very corrupt president of Student Affairs named Stephanie Coleman from Chicago,Illinois. The things that are going on at the Nevada State University campus is disgraceful and its time I reveal the parties responsible. The showcase was suppose to be some form of activism which didn't even happen, its obvious based on how little Christopher Harris PHD really cared as he was well aware of a on-going investigation regarding a student named Desean Brewer whom sexually assaulted me at another event. There is a woman on the Nevada State University campus whom is devotee of Ifa named Shartriyah Collier and uses it to control, manipulate, and seek harm to students and their mental health on the campus which is where the sexual violence took place. There is some very questionable physical and spiritual corrupt things happening in those mountains and the ancestors should do a lot more to see to its end happening ASAP.

The Black Elitist at Nevada State University whom wouldn't be there if it weren't for Christopher Harris himself, he is one of the longest Black full-time faculty at the institution which spiritually holds him responsible for their corrupt elite black secret society. With the privilege he (Chris) exploits isn't hard to believe. If you aren't willing to bend to the will and worship Christopher Harris like a God and allow your boundaries to be violated directly or by proxy of his minions you will be removed and placed in a very sticky web of bondage. If Christopher Harris was the ally he pretended to be none of the things I have experienced would still be happening today.

How do you have all these connections, yet are sitting back like a broken puppet watching my transcripts and rights to be violated ?

That is because Christopher Harris PHD was never our ally he was only a agent to extract information for the spirits of exploitation at Nevada State University previously known as Nevada State College to attempt to use to their advantage in absolute failure.

We have reached out to Christopher Harris numerous times since we have left the campus as the flattery didn't impress us anymore and as always his reputation and clout was more important than the success of the very students whom financial aid and money puts food on his table, clothes on his back, and power in his bloody hands. Christopher Harris PHD professor of the communications department at Nevada State University you pretended to be an ally, and a mentor to us and what all you ever truly were was a demonic entity in a aesthetically attractive meat body suit that played on the hearts of many vulnerable black leaders. You are what we call the root of failure amongst black liberation. You are a perfect example of the failure of Black Men in higher education the fuel of Black men degrading and humiliating the black woman in the media for the past 10 plus years you will never get a opportunity to steal our energy or power again. We bind you from harming us and that includes you, your work wives, flings, and all the minions in between .

We also take time to show tribute to a student that passed away upon the completion of these videos. The administrative assistant to the wicked and most clout-chasing of them all Derionne Pollard current president of Nevada State University and ringleader of the corruption with the most terrible energy, dont forget to look at her with a obsidian mirror as her aura is glowing from all the innocent souls she's collected from students through out her career in higher education.

The student in need of light and ancestral healing to escape the evil clutches of the people abusing the students at Nevada State name is

Emmanuel Ekigwe

The Second Video

[jaymovie3]

1. Marx Therory

Elon Musk, the richest man in the world, saw his wealth rise by $151 billion in 2022, while the wealth of the poorer half of humanity fell by 11%. The bourgeoisie; the well-off owners of the means of production, and the proletariat; the working class that does not own the means of production are the two classes that comprise society, according to Marx's theory of social class.Marx claims that the bourgeoisie exploits the proletariat by underpaying them for the goods and services they generate, which widens the wealth disparity between the two classes.

Source:

https://www.theguardian.com/business/2022/jan/04/elon-musk-worlds-richest-person-tesla-tesla-shares

2. Webers Theory

A bill to raise the federal minimum wage from $7.25 per hour to $15 per hour was approved by the U.S. House of Representatives in 2021. Republicans who opposed the bill argued that raising the minimum wage would damage small businesses and result in job losses. This tale serves as an example of Weber's social class theory, which contends that social stratification is based on three factors: class (based on an individual's wealth and income), status (based on an individual's reputation and social standing), and power (based on an individual's capacity to persuade others). According to Weber, people in positions of authority frequently use their clout to defend their riches and privilege, even if doing so harms others.

Source:  https://www.nbcnews.com/politics/congress/house-passes-15-minimum-wage-bill-again-faces-uphill-battle-n1268778

3. Bourdieu’s Theroy

Many colleges and universities use the optional essay portion of the SAT exam as part of their admissions process, but the College Board declared in 2022 that it would no longer be available. In response to complaints that the essay component favored students from privileged backgrounds who had access to pricey test preparation programs, the decision was made. This narrative exemplifies Bourdieu's thesis of social class, which holds that cultural capital; a person's knowledge, abilities, and cultural experiences; is the basis for social stratification. Bourdieu argues that those with high levels of cultural wealth; often obtained through expensive schooling and cultural experiences which shows they have an advantage in society because they have access to social networks and opportunities that those with lower levels of cultural capital do not.

Source: https://www.insidehighered.com/news/2022/03/18/college-board-discontinue-optional-essay-sat-exam

[0613magazine]

201112 WSJ Magazine

Why BTS Runs the World

The South Korean pop group has reached the top of the U.S. charts, united millions of fans around the world into a self-styled ARMY, shattered online viewing records and been part of a major IPO. Now BTS is preparing to release a new album.

It’s been a really long time since we had a face-to-face interview like this.” Rapper j-hope, 26, a member of the South Korean group BTS, jumps into conversation while waiting for his bandmates to settle in. The coronavirus pandemic put a hard stop to the group’s world tour, which would have taken them across 17 cities on three continents this year. But it hasn’t made them any less busy as they look ahead to the release of a new album.

In early September, all seven members of BTS—short for their Korean name Bangtan Sonyeondan, which they alter in English to “Beyond the Scene”—were camped out in Seoul’s artsy Yeonnam neighborhood, just weeks after their latest catchy hit, “Dynamite,” topped global charts and became the most downloaded song of 2020 in the United States. Decked in monochrome outfits, rappers RM, SUGA and j-hope and vocalists Jung Kook, Jin, V and Jimin—as they are known by their stage names—shuttled between interviews and the WSJ. photoshoot inside a house-turned–chic cafe. Clearing security to meet them involved surprisingly little hassle: a name check, temperature screening and Covid-19 health form followed by a short walk to the entrance where security personnel quickly glanced at name tags.

In July, BTS broke the Guinness World Record for staging the biggest virtually attended livestream music performance, which attracted fans from over 100 countries. They miss the real thing, though. “That feeling [of being onstage] is really the best thrill I probably get in life. Even if I leave one day, I think I’ll be back for this,” says Jin, 27, of being onstage in front of BTS��s devoted fans, officially dubbed ARMY. The name stands for “Adorable Representative M.C. for Youth,” though the demographics of the band’s fan base now extend well beyond that age group.

In part thanks to the ardor of the ARMY—which one count estimates as high as 48 million, based on online commentary by unique authors—the band is often called “the Beatles of the 21st century.” The group has exploded the familiar boy band recipe, taking the concept of fandom into new territory and developing the South Korean genre known as K-pop into a global force. A voluntary census conducted by fans between July and September gathered over 400,000 responses from surveys translated into 46 languages, according to University of Nevada, Las Vegas, graduate student Nicole Santero, who led the effort with two others under the Twitter handle @ResearchBTS. The data, which is still being analyzed, is pointing toward the demographic and geographic diversity of BTS fans.

BTS has topped Billboard’s song chart, released one of America’s bestselling albums of 2020 and performed at the Grammys with Lil Nas X. They sold out London’s Wembley Stadium in 2019, won four MTV Video Music Awards this year and smashed the record for the most views on YouTube in a 24-hour period (over 100 million)—all while singing almost entirely in Korean. They have also collaborated with musical stars such as Ed Sheeran, Sia, Nicki Minaj, Halsey, Charli XCX and Charlie Puth.

Their impact has extended beyond music. In June, the band donated $1 million to Black Lives Matter, a sum that was matched by fans across the world in just over a day. The group also used its clout to launch Connect, BTS, a public art project showcasing works this spring by the likes of Antony Gormley and Tomás Saraceno in New York, Berlin, London, Buenos Aires and Seoul. In October, the band’s management company, Big Hit Entertainment Co. , went public on the South Korean stock exchange. The company raised about $840 million through its initial public offering with a valuation of about $4 billion, which leapt to $7.6 billion by the end of trading on the first day, October 15, before sliding over the next few days to $5.9 billion. (By way of comparison, in early June, Warner Music’s IPO resulted in a $15 billion valuation, which has since dropped slightly to a $14.36 billion market cap.) Big Hit’s stock debut put the equity holdings of Bang Si-hyuk—the 48-year-old founder and co-CEO of Big Hit and the mastermind behind BTS who owns nearly 35 percent of the business—at a value of around $2.8 billion. BTS is Big Hit’s largest asset, and Bang has given each band member 68,385 of his personal shares, worth over $15 million to each on the day of the IPO. BTS’s global success has powered Big Hit, which is only 15 years old, to revenues high enough to bump one of South Korea’s traditionally entrenched “Big Three” entertainment companies from the top rankings.

“These guys have achieved gradual growth by putting their voices into music,” Bang said by email. “BTS’s music that sings of the emotions and experiences of youth first resonated among their peers. Then it resonated among the contemporary global citizens. And that sentiment transcended borders and reached to the peripheries of the world. That’s how the group got to receive so much love and support. This enables BTS to be connected to their fans wherever they are, and is what makes the seven boys special.”

The latest single, “Dynamite,” is their first group song recorded entirely in English, and their first track to truly break on American Top 40 radio. The track is their first song to get to No. 1 on the Billboard Hot 100. It was quickly followed by their second U.S. chart-topper, a remix of Jason Derulo and Jawsh 685’s TikTok hit “Savage Love (Laxed—Siren Beat).” Their fifth album, BE (Deluxe Edition), is out this month, and the members of BTS say they’re trying to keep their focus on their music. “We’re preparing our next album now, [and I] think it’d be great if all our songs make it into Billboard’s Hot 100,” says Jimin, 25. “Another performance at the Grammys would be great.” A few seats away, Suga, 27, teases, “Just say you’d like to receive the award.”

Who are BTS? And how did they get so famous? The questions have persisted even as the world has become mesmerized by BTS’s irresistible hooks, Technicolor production and high-flying choreography.

Boy bands have long been one of pop music’s most consistent and reliable constructs. Though we now look back at the Beatles fully aware of their world-changing musical and cultural innovations, when they appeared in the early ’60s, more attention was paid to their haircuts than to their songwriting. The Fab Four also established the blueprint of distilling members to one characteristic—The Quiet One or The Cute One—and having fans identify with a favorite.

These patterns reappeared a few years later with a couple of family groups with ear-candy hooks and elaborate dance moves: the Jackson 5 and the Osmonds. The structure became formalized in the ’80s—enhanced with a sprinkling of light hip-hop—with New Edition (a teen spin on R&B groups with multiple vocalists like the Temptations) and New Kids on the Block, who sold more than 70 million albums worldwide. Puerto Rico–based band Menudo reinforced the genre’s formulaic reputation by replacing members when they reached the age of 16.

Meanwhile, pop music in South Korea was also establishing a lane for groups of singing and dancing teenagers. As far back as 1962, a single released by a Korean girl group called the Kim Sisters even cracked the Top 10 of the U.S. Billboard charts. But contemporary K-pop is generally seen as starting with the ’90s trio Seo Taiji and Boys, who synthesized Korean music and style with gleaming highlights taken from Western pop and were propelled to stardom on a TV talent show. One of the Seo Taiji and Boys members, Yang Hyun-suk, then founded YG Entertainment in 1996; it is now one of Korea’s “Big Three” entertainment companies, and has spawned its own bands, including girl group Blackpink.

In the U.S., boy bands went nuclear at the turn of the century with the notorious manager Lou Pearlman’s Florida pop factory, which assembled both the Backstreet Boys and NSYNC, and dominated the charts for years. Pearlman tried to repeat history with O-Town and LFO, while other groups like 98 Degrees followed a similar model. At the same time, in the Asian music industry, groups such as the Taiwanese band F4 and the Japanese group Arashi were logging huge hits, with g.o.d. setting the pace in South Korea.

Inevitably, there was a backlash, and then inevitably—because there’s always a new generation of teenagers coming of age—about a decade later, the pendulum swung back. One Direction, constructed by British music producer Simon Cowell in 2010, mixed in some rock and EDM elements to the usual pop confection and became the biggest U.K. phenomenon since the Beatles. (Atypically, they spun off successful solo careers for all five members after the group began its extended hiatus in 2016.)

In South Korea, though, K-pop continued to become more popular and more formalized, as it became part of an international phenomenon called Hallyu, or “the Korean Wave.” BoA and Wonder Girls were among the acts who attempted to crack the Western market but stalled, while Psy’s 2012 hit “Gangnam Style” was the first YouTube video to reach a billion views. But it still came as a surprise to many when seven Korean guys married the simmering global appeal of K-pop and the resilience of the boy band—amplified by social media—and started storming the charts.

BTS debuted on June 13, 2013, but their first release, “No More Dream’’ (a rap-heavy song that begins with “Hey, what’s your dream?”), hardly made a dent in the K-pop scene, which was dominated by established acts and rising groups such as EXO and Apink at the time. From the start, Big Hit’s Bang was looking to create a hip-hop group that could produce their own songs with messages that would resonate with their audience. In a 2011 lecture at his alma mater, Seoul National University, Bang predicted the coming of “wholesome idols” who could “sing and dance, act for sure and even play instruments and compose.” By then, he was well underway crafting K-pop’s next-generation of superstars.

His first pick was RM (given name Kim Nam-jun, now 26), in 2010. At the time, RM was performing in South Korea’s underground hip-hop scene under the stage name Runch Randa. The next to join, that same year, was Suga (Min Yun-ki), who was performing and producing under the name Gloss, after he placed second in a rap audition organized by Big Hit. J-Hope (Jeong Ho-seok) was part of a dance crew called Neuron before signing on as a Big Hit trainee, as performers in an apprenticeship period with Korean entertainment companies are often called.

Jung Kook (Jeon Jeong-guk), now 23, joined as a trainee after participating in a local televised singing audition program. He received offers from multiple agencies but chose Big Hit after seeing RM. Jin (Kim Seok-jin) was a college student on his way to school when an official at Big Hit approached him to audition. V (Kim Tae-hyung), 24, was discovered at a closed-door audition held at a dance academy. Jimin (Park Ji-min) was the last to join. He was a dance student at the Busan High School of Arts when he auditioned for Big Hit at the suggestion of his teacher. The members have each carved out strong identities for themselves within the group—j-hope is considered the star dancer; RM is seen as the main spokesperson, especially in the U.S., as he speaks English; Jung Kook is the “golden maknae” (meaning the youngest in Korean)—but they have all contributed their songwriting and composing skills to hits such as “Boy With Luv,” “On,” “DNA,” “Run” and “Idol.” j-hope describes his approach as research-heavy. “I first study the topic and think about what story I need to tell and what kind of content it should encompass,” he says. “Sometimes the type of stories I’m dealing with are light, but sometimes they aren’t, so it’s important that I’m knowledgeable about what I’m working on.”

SUGA says he comes across ideas for his songs from the books he reads. “I tend to think a lot about the meaning behind words,” he says. “We deal a lot with emotions so I spend a lot of time thinking about how words can be construed differently.”

RM, who has credits on many of BTS’s biggest songs, will dwell on a line from a movie or a passing scene, sometimes for years, before starting to work it into his lyrics. “[Writing songs] takes a long time for me,” says RM. “So it hurts, body and soul, when I have to throw one away.”

In recent years, pop music—generally associated with bubblegum, upbeat dance songs—has been getting more serious and introspective. From the Weeknd to Selena Gomez, teen idols have increasingly been writing and singing about mental and emotional health, anxiety and loss. (A 2018 study at the University of California Irvine examined hundreds of thousands of English-language pop songs and confirmed that sadness was on the rise.) Though a casual glance at their intricate choreography may not make it obvious, BTS is celebrated by their fans for touching on psychological and social issues in their songs.

“I don’t like talking about my dark side,” says Jin. “I’m in the camp that believes idols should always show their bright and positive side.” Still, a conversation with Bang inspired Jin’s 2018 solo ballad “Epiphany,” which focuses on self-acceptance. V, who contributed to the neo-soul “Stigma”—which includes lines like “The pain is never soothed”—recently received a phone call from producer Bang on a song he was writing. “Could you tone down this a little?” Bang asked.

“How come he never says things like that to me?” SUGA jumps in.

RM responds. “Because that’s (your) personality.”

j-hope chimes in, laughing, “I’m a bit envious of [SUGA’s] expressions.”

“I’m the type that speaks out first, and then thinks about it,” SUGA explains.

Pdogg, Big Hit’s chief producer, who has provided musical direction for BTS’s albums from the start, says it’s the band members who decide on the message (like their album title Love Yourself) they want to send through their music. “The most important thing for BTS as a team is the message that members want to convey,” he says. Musically, the band’s initial heavy lean into hip-hop has become fused with genres like Brit rock, EDM and future house over the years.

The music “still has a footing in hip-hop sound, but when it comes to genre, we’re in the process of expanding the parameters to create a hybrid sound,” said Pdogg in late September, a few days after he had completed production for BTS’s upcoming album. “We’re in the process of perfecting BTS’s unique hue.”

For their new album, BTS members had made separate bids to feature melodies they had written as the album’s lead song. Jimin describes that process as “painstaking and tearful.” Jung Kook points out that the members weren’t just competing against each other, but against other composers who also submitted attempts to Bang. Jin alone sent him three different melodies. SUGA made it to the finals. RM, though, chose to sit this one out. “The competition was too fierce,” he says.

The seven members of BTS spent their childhoods in different parts of South Korea. Jung Kook and Jimin were born in Busan, a southern port city. Jung Kook grew up in a creative household, with an older brother who’s a talented illustrator and parents who like to sing. As a child, Jimin learned kendo (a Japanese martial art using bamboo swords) and thought of becoming a policeman but changed his mind after starting to dance in middle school. His father used to say he should become a prosecutor.

V wanted to be a singer since his childhood, possibly influenced by his father, who had dreamed of becoming a star himself. (“Tae-hyung’s father is super-talented,” Jin says, referring to V by his real name.) Jin grew up in an entrepreneurial household. “My family is all in business, so they’re all good speakers,” he says, and V jumps in to note, “You’ve got your mom’s way with words.”

j-hope was born in Gwangju and raised by his father, a literature teacher, and a “strong-willed” mother who once ran an internet cafe. “I used to wonder how I could dance,” he says, referring to how no one in his family danced or sang. (“His dad’s quite strict,” Jin adds.) SUGA was born in Daegu to a family that he describes as “far from having anything to do with the arts and entertainment,” though his mother picked up drawing in her 60s. As a kid, he thought of becoming a fireman, and at one point his father tried to persuade him to study journalism. He composed his first song when he was 13. He’s since lost the recording but says, “I remember it—I’ll use it one day.”

RM, who once considered studying journalism in college, wrote his first song in 2007. He describes it as a disaster but he held onto it anyway. “I can’t even tell if the lyrics are Korean,” he says.

Social media has overturned the rules of the music industry and elevated the power of the fan, with BTS’s ARMY leading the way. For years, the group has had the most social engagement of any act in the world. Many avid fans take it as their personal responsibility to stream new BTS songs and videos through as many devices as possible as many times as possible, helping to juice the band’s chart positions. The sense of intimacy provided by constant social media contact also leads to an intensity and identification with the BTS members that simply wouldn’t have been imaginable for previous bands. (ARMY is a tightly knit collective. Many fans declare “I’m ARMY,” or “I’m an ARMY,” when describing their devotion to the band.)

“BTS knows how to engage fans between their big video drops with a steady stream of content,” said Lyor Cohen, global head of YouTube Music, by email. When the band released their single “Dynamite” in September, they had also uploaded over a dozen additional clips related to the song, Cohen says, including individual videos of each member singing the song, a reaction video, footage from their choreography rehearsals and a “B-side” clip of their music video showing the band from different camera angles.

The efforts pay off. When “Dynamite” premiered on YouTube, it instantly drew three million viewers, according to Cohen. (At press time in early October, it had nearly 500 million views.) “They are truly a global act with a legion of loyal fans from around the world.” Over 90 percent of BTS clip views this year have come from outside South Korea, including the United States, Mexico, Brazil, Japan and India.

The group has several ongoing video series on YouTube, including Bangtan Bomb (short behind-the-scenes clips), with over 600 episodes and counting, and Episode (longer videos of BTS at photo or music-video shoots). There’s also Run BTS!, a near-weekly entertainment program showing the seven stars involved in games or other activities, which is released on South Korean livestreaming service V Live and on Weverse, Big Hit’s own online platform, which offers exclusive content as well as premium paid memberships. This is in addition to the usual music videos, vlogs, interview clips and reality TV shows in which the band appears.

Randy Suh, a K-pop critic in Canada, says BTS’s success has highlighted the importance and strength of new media in the music industry. From their early days, BTS used to put out three or four clips on YouTube every week and release mixtapes on blogs, she says. “That gave them an approachable image as singers, and it came at a time when people started preferring [social media] influencers who felt closer than some pop singer far away.”

The content empire that BTS produces is so vast that even fans can’t keep up. When “Dynamite” launched, Michelle Tack, 47, a cosmetics stores manager from Chicopee, Massachusetts, requested a day off work to stream the music video on YouTube. “I streamed all day,” Tack says. She made sure to watch other clips on the platform in between her streaming so that her views would count toward the grand total of views. (YouTube says it has systems in place to eliminate videos viewed by computer programs, which can skew the measure of a video’s overall popularity.)

“It feels like I’m part of this family that wants BTS to succeed, and we want to do everything we can do to help them,” says Tack. She says BTS has made her life “more fulfilled” and brought her closer to her two daughters, 12 and 14. The younger one introduced her to the band two years ago.

If feels like I’m part of this family that wants BTS to succeed, and we want to do everything we can do to help them.— Michelle Tack, BTS fan

Fifteen-year-old Abbey Hammond, who lives in Falmouth, Massachusetts, recalls her reaction when she first watched a BTS video in seventh grade. “Their vocals were amazing; they were rapping, dancing, plus they do a lot of acting in the videos—I just thought they were all-around talented, and then looking at the lyrics, they were really meaningful,” says Hammond. The language barrier was never an obstacle. “I don’t think you have to understand what they’re saying to understand what emotions they’re putting out there,” she says. “A lot of it comes from their performance. Words aren’t the only thing you need in order to get them.”

“The best K-pop utilizes storytelling in really innovative ways,” says Colette Balmain, 58, a senior lecturer in film and media and communications at London’s Kingston University, who organized a BTS academic conference in January 2020, at which 200 papers were submitted. She also examines “Bangtan Universe,” an ever-evolving narrative around BTS that is told through multiple mediums, including music videos, online blog posts and social media postings where Big Hit discloses clues or story pieces. The storyline of Bangtan Universe, in which the seven members adopt fictional personas, isn’t revealed in chronological order. Some avid fans take part by writing and changing the stories based on different clues dropped by Big Hit.

“We had albums that have themes in the West, but a story across albums is unusual,” says Balmain. “What Big Hit is doing with BTS is innovating not just the Korean entertainment business, but also the U.S. entertainment business.”

Lee Ji-young, a philosophy professor at Sejong University in Seoul, a self-proclaimed ARMY and author of BTS, Art Revolution, says BTS’s success in the American music industry holds historical significance. “This shouldn’t be seen as just a victory for South Korean singers, but a paradigm shift in America’s racial and linguistic hegemony.”

Lee says BTS’s innovations are also reflected in how ARMY is redefining pop group fan bases. “This is an extremely active community,” she says, pointing to a Twitter account operated by BTS fans to organize charity fundraising projects (@oneinanarmy), free tutoring services within the ARMY community and an academic journal, The Rhizomatic Revolution Review, for which she is an advisory board member. It publishes peer-reviewed papers on “the art, fandom, economic effects and sociocultural forces generated by BTS and ARMY.”

The band, which signed a new seven-year contract with Big Hit in 2018, has other hoops to jump through looking ahead, including starting mandatory military duties for roughly two years by age 28. That means enlisting next year for Jin, 27, the band’s eldest member. Calls for exempting the members from service (a legal option for high-performing athletes and award-winning classical musicians) have been on the rise, though no precedent exists for K-pop stars. So far Big Hit has been silent on the issue.

The stars of BTS say there are still more things yet to achieve. “In the past, we had clear goals and a thirst. We had to do well—we were desperate,” says Jung Kook. “I still have a similar mindset. It’s the achievements we’ve made every step of the way that are prompting me to want to challenge myself more.”

“Before, we were all just fixated on looking for the camera when the red light came on,” says Jimin. “Now we feel more relaxed.”

Source: WSJ

[unforth]

On the one hand, yes.

On the other hand, this is a true story as someone who HAD squirrels in their walls in the US.

See, we rented that house. We couldn't repair it ourselves. We were just broke college students, what did we know?

"Landlord, there are squirrels in the walls."

"Well, I checked the outside of the house and I can't find a hole. Are you sure there are squirrels in the walls?"

"YES! I'm sure! Except they might be cats or raccoons or some shit cause I can't see them but I can hear them THERE ARE DEFINITELY ANIMALS IN THE WALLS."

"Can't fix it. Sorry."

Flash forward a few months later...

"Landlord, there's a leak from the upstairs bathroom into the living room."

"I'll get right on that." And he does! He comes over, and he rips a hole in the living room ceiling, and he does a fix, and says, "test that and let me know if it still leaks."

He doesn't patch the hole, of course. Cause if the leak still leaks, he'd just have to rip out the patch.

And no, the first time doesn't fix the leak. Neither does the second or the third.

And meanwhile, I get home one day and the first thing I see is the tank where I keep my pet mice, and the bag of peanuts I keep behind it as a treat for them, AND A WHOLE ASS FUCKING SQUIRREL CHOWING DOWN ON THE PEANUTS. IN MY FUCKING HOUSE. because now theres a hole in the wall, AND a hole in the ceiling, and the squirrels were in the walls and apparently the ceiling too so now they just have the run of the place.

We got bats, too.

And we lived with that hole in the ceiling for OVER A YEAR.

And look. Now I'm 40. I look back and I say, why didn't we just fix the ceiling hole ourselves? I could do it now, easily. I do much more complicated repairs on current home. But I was broke and I was 19 and I'd lived in rentals my entire life and it was the landlords RESPONSIBILITY to fix this shit!

And the squirrels weren't so bad. It didn't happen often. It's not like we could afford to move, any other place we found would be either more expensive or have a worse landlord. Cause yes, our landlord was actually pretty chill. He came at 11 pm on Christmas Eve one year to help with our furnace. He let us get months behind on rent when we couldn't afford to pay and never started eviction proceedings. I mean, where else would he find a bunch of tenants willing to live with squirrels?

(The answer was, he couldn't. A few years after we moved - school was done, time to head elsewhere - the house was condemned. Last I checked it was still a vacant lot.)

I lived in that shithole for 4.5 years. And while some of the issues I could have fixed myself, if I had the right tools and know-how (I could have fixed the ceiling) others I couldn't have without help (how could I safely, alone, have checked all the walls and roof for the place where the squirrels got in? And then fixed it when I couldn't even afford to live some place that didn't suck?)

So as I said. I get it. I get why people outside America see us this way. And I get that there are people inside the US who are like this, who actually want the squirrel. And I get that what op wrote is a metaphor.

But my story isn't a metaphor. I'm not making this up. This literally fucking happened to me in an actual rust belt city in the actual US, when I was as liberal as you could want but I was also still a kid. I was barely 18 the first night I spent in that house. I'd never lived somewhere before that didn't have a competent grown up in charge. Even though at least some of these problems WERE actionable by me at the time, I had my own problems and struggles and I also just had no idea what I was and wasn't capable of at the time.

So I'm glad you chose this metaphor, op. Because yes, it's an apt one. But it also makes it extremely easy to demonstrate that actually some of us HATE having squirrels in our walls, but it's not something we have the time, equipment, money, clout, ability, skill, etc., to change ourselves.

And so we're just fucking stuck living with squirrels in the walls.

Imagine inviting someone to your home as a guest and you're settling in and they say "wow, your squirrels are so quiet!" and you have to pause and ask them what the fuck they mean. The squirrels in the walls. How do you keep them so quiet and out of the way? Still not quite comprehending what you're hearing, you ask them to repeat that. Why would they think you've got squirrels in your walls.

And your guest frowns in equal confusion, incredulous that you don't have squirrels in the walls. LIke, at all? Then something clicks together in their mind and they go "oh, you do the same thing as [mutual friend] does? Patching up the wall thing? So it actually works?" and it takes you a minute to process that they don't seem to actually believe that not having holes big enough for a squirrel to get in through actually leads to not having squirrels in your house.

You verify that yes. Everyone else has fixed the squirrel problem by patching the walls. Everyone else but they actually patches the walls, and nobody else but they keeps having the squirrel problem. They're the only one who does that instead of patching the wall. Your guest is insulted by your tone, insisting that it can't be that simple and that it's completely unrealistic to always keep your walls patched or to never have a squirrel in your house ever. Everyone has a squirrel in the house sometimes. You won't win this argument.

And that's what it's like to talk with americans on the internet.

[atleastidontfitin]

The Case for "New Jersey City"—A Bold Vision for the Future

I asked ChatGPT to write an op-ed arguing in favor of consolidating larger cities of Northern New Jersey—Newark, Jersey City, Hoboken, and neighboring municipalities—into a single large city called New Jersey City.

Op-Ed: The Case for "New Jersey City"—A Bold Vision for the Future

As the New York metropolitan area continues to grow, the pressures on our infrastructure, economy, and governance become ever more acute. It is time to consider a bold and innovative solution: the consolidation of Newark, Jersey City, Hoboken, and nearby municipalities into a single, unified city—“New Jersey City.” This new urban entity would not only streamline governance and boost economic power but also position itself as a major player on the national stage, rivaling the largest cities in the United States.

A New Powerhouse in the Northeast

Newark, Jersey City, and Hoboken are already significant cities in their own right, each with unique strengths and challenges. But as they stand, these cities are often overshadowed by their larger neighbor, New York City. Consolidating them, along with other nearby municipalities such as Bayonne, Elizabeth, Union City, and East Orange, into a single city of over 1.2 million people would immediately catapult “New Jersey City” into the top ten most populous cities in the United States. This would give it the political clout and economic power to compete on an equal footing with the likes of Houston, Philadelphia, and San Diego.

This new city would be more than just a collection of neighborhoods. By unifying these municipalities, we would create a diverse and dynamic urban center with a strong identity and a shared purpose. “New Jersey City” would be a place where the rich cultural heritage of Newark, the economic dynamism of Jersey City, and the vibrant community spirit of Hoboken and Union City come together to create something greater than the sum of its parts.

Efficiency and Governance

One of the most compelling arguments for the creation of “New Jersey City” is the potential for more efficient governance. New Jersey is known for its fragmented municipal structure, with over 500 municipalities, each with its own government, police force, and school district. This fragmentation leads to inefficiencies, duplication of services, and often, a lack of coordinated planning.

By consolidating these cities, we would be able to streamline services, reduce administrative costs, and provide better, more coordinated public services. A single, unified police force, fire department, and public works department could operate more efficiently and effectively, ensuring that all residents receive high-quality services. Similarly, a unified school district could focus on improving educational outcomes for all students, regardless of which neighborhood they live in.

Moreover, a consolidated city government would be better equipped to tackle the big challenges facing our region, from climate change and infrastructure needs to affordable housing and economic development. Instead of competing for resources and attention, the municipalities within “New Jersey City” would work together toward common goals.

Economic Power and Growth

“New Jersey City” would be an economic powerhouse, leveraging the strengths of its constituent municipalities to attract businesses, investment, and talent. Newark’s status as a transportation hub, with its international airport and major seaport, combined with Jersey City’s burgeoning financial sector, would provide a solid foundation for economic growth. Hoboken’s tech scene and the industrial and commercial assets of Elizabeth and Kearny would further diversify the city’s economy.

This economic might would not only benefit residents by creating jobs and generating tax revenue but would also allow “New Jersey City” to invest in critical infrastructure, public services, and cultural amenities. A unified city would have the scale and resources to undertake ambitious projects, from expanding public transportation to building new parks and public spaces, that would improve the quality of life for all residents.

A Vision for the Future

Critics may argue that merging these municipalities would erase local identities or create a bureaucratic behemoth. But history shows that cities that embrace change and innovation thrive, while those that cling to the status quo risk stagnation. “New Jersey City” would not be an erasure of local identities, but a celebration of them—a city where diverse communities come together to create something new and vibrant.

In a region as dynamic and fast-paced as the New York metropolitan area, we cannot afford to be complacent. The creation of “New Jersey City” is a forward-looking solution that would strengthen our economy, improve governance, and enhance the quality of life for millions of people. It’s time to embrace this bold vision for the future and build a city that can truly compete on the national stage.

[girlboss-enthusiast]

How can you tell someone is cosplaying or larping as a working class person? Lately i’ve noticed some things like the new hipsters are wearing carhart and dressing like they work in a car shop but i can’t tell if they’re actually working class or just dress it. I guess i could look at their teeth

I've been trying to answer this ask, but it honestly feels like bait. The phrasing here really bothers me. It reads as dismissive or offensive in the exact way a lot of middle class and wealthier people talk about the working class or people below the poverty line, especially so-called hicks. Like, the thing about teeth? Strikes me as very snide. I almost didn't post it.

But I'll assume you're asking in good faith since it's not like I've never been accidentally offensive while trying to learn. (And maybe I'm misreading it anyway. Sorry if I'm overly harsh.)

This got a little long so it's under a readmore.

I would say that class faking is not about clothing or presentation. It's about context and lived experience. I'll use myself as an example, since I don't want to invent one.

Right now, I'm pretty much broke. I have $12 in my bank account. No income because I'm too disabled to work. I'm on Medicaid. I couldn't afford rent on my own. On the surface, it would really seem like I'm struggling and could conceivably call myself poor, working class, however you want to phrase it.

But while all of that sucks, I also have the financial resources of my boyfriend* and my parents. It's not legally my money, I don't have disposable income, and I feel like shit because I can't contribute to the household, but I don't have to worry about housing, food, vet care, or most medical care. I still live a comfy middle class life. None of it impacts me in the way it would someone without that cushion.

So IMO, a class faker in my exact circumstances would leave out everything in the above paragraph and focus only on the downsides. This becomes an issue when they center themselves and their experiences in discussions about class, maybe to gain clout or alleviate their class guilt, maybe for other reasons. Either way, this muddies the conversation about class and class oppression, and can result in people who are experiencing poverty being talked over or distrusted (especially when it comes to crowdfunding).

An example I see frequently on tumblr is college students who claim class oppression because they have to work to have disposable income or to have a pet, when their parents are paying for their tuition and expenses. That's just not the same thing as having to work to feed yourself and keep the lights on. Capitalism oppresses everyone, but it's harder on some people than others.

tl;dr it's about a person's broader life experiences and living situation, not specific details like clothes

*please don't come at me for having a boyfriend or partially relying on his income. Believe me, if I could work I would do so! The discomfort I feel from not being independent is one of the reasons I hate the whole stay-at-home girlfriend thing so much.

[danielleverboskirealtor]

Danielle Verboski Realtor

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