#this is like. SO unprofessional so informal etc etc | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hellishjoel · 1 month ago

Text

ungodly and unprofessional

5.6k / pairing: linecook!frankie x waitress f!reader

Series Masterlist l Previous Chapter | Main Masterlist | Notifications Blog

summary: who said anything about falling in love? you're just co-workers. warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), smoking, descriptions of food and drink, reader is described to have hair (not descriptive of what color/length/etc.) and wears a waitress uniform, explicit smut, consensual somnophilia, swearing, pet names, allusions to bad parenting/parental abuse, descriptions of a parent abusing drugs and alcohol (please heed these warnings and do not read if you are concerned these may be triggers), lastly not beta'd (lmk if you're interested!) A/N: five or six months later, who really knows. believe it or not, I was never not working on this or thinking about it for all of those months... which is crazy. I completely wing these chapters which is probably why it takes so long but you guys don't mind, right? enjoy these cuties falling deeper <3 I almost forgot - shoutout to BistroHuddy on TikTok because one of their segments inspired something in here (but no spoilers!)

“To love someone is firstly to confess: I'm prepared to be devastated by you.” Billy-Ray Belcourt.

You have this silly poetry book someone gave you as a birthday present or holiday gift exchange a few years ago. You’ve never picked it up until now. You’re shocked to say all of these cheesy love quotes and poems make you think of one very specific person: a guy with dark curls, a scruffy beard, amber eyes, and the perfect smile. Francisco.

Falling for a man like Frankie feels like growing up— a sign of maturing compared to the ghosts of terrible boyfriend's past.

Come to find out, it’s easier to go for the wrong guys, easier on your heart in a way — you don’t feel like you are actually losing anything.

That’s why you would bet on losing dogs. Invest your emotions and need for romance in those who don’t reciprocate. The ones who despise commitment or lack emotional availability leave you in a state of disappointment.

Better that than full-blown heartache. Better than ripping yourself open at the seams for another, only to be the one to sew yourself back up again. But not better than winning.

The letter Frankie’s father sent him weeks ago had been burned into your brain. Every single word, each break of a new paragraph, lines of apologies, and convincing stories of ‘the good times’ they used to have.

Frankie appeared to be just as wary about the letter as you were, neither of you so easily trusting. Frankie didn’t trust his father, but you did trust Frankie—end of story.

You’ve never known Frankie to be so tightly closed about something that bothers him. He was the type of man who wears his heart on his sleeve, an open book.

Aside from allowing you to read the letter, you two have barely spoken about it. And not due to your lack of trying.

There wasn’t a need for you to bring clarity to the situation, it wasn’t up to you to encourage Frankie to allow his father back into his life. But there was still a lot of emotional trauma that he carried that he didn’t have to bear alone. You just wanted him to know that you support him in whatever avenue he decides is best.

To forgive or to forget.

Frankie releases a sigh from his parted lips, squeezing his eyes closed tighter as your alarm chimes from your phone on the bedside table. He hates the fucking morning shift.

The air is sticky and thick, and the fan on his bedroom ceiling is doing little to help. Late August is still taking its toll on Texas and its residents, but he’s reminded that this time last year, he sunk down on his knees in the back kitchen and tasted you on his tongue for the first time. Can’t believe it’s been a year since then. Plus all the events that have transpired since.

There’s no label between you two other than the fact you are exclusive— putting your focus on each other and not seeing other people. It was good, better than nothing with you.

His eyelashes finally flutter open, seeing you shift in the dark to turn off the alarm, only to dig your face deep into your pillow. He thinks you’re fucking adorable.

Frankie is by no means a morning person, but waking up beside you has changed his perspective. Your hair is a scattered mess, the ponytail having fallen loose in the tosses and turns of last night. The sunlight peaking through the blinds highlights the slope of your nose and Cupid’s bow. Arms tucked into your front, leg hiked up like a ballerina.

His mind starts to swirl at the conversation you shared recently, that you wanted to try something… new. To be surprised. To be taken by him in your sleep.

He was shocked to hear you say it, all shy and meek - it’s not a side of you he sees often. But it’s the vulnerability talking, advocating the trust you share together.

“I want to wake up with you inside me.”

Frankie had to blink a few times, his large hand cradling your jaw as you spoke in whispers between the sheets. “You— I didn’t know you’d be into that sort of thing.”

��We don’t have to if it’s not your thing. But there’s something about you moving me where you want me to be, being completely under your control, even a little helpless,” you pause, uncertain if your words would scare him off.

The exact opposite. Frankie was intrigued.

“The thrill of trying not to wake you up.” He continues, watching your glowing smile return, indicating that Frankie understands why this would feel good to you.

“My natural reaction, trusting you, knowing that you’ll be careful, knowing that you’re using me— it’s hot, Frankie. You have my consent, I wanna try.”

Frankie’s stomach churns with excitement, butterflies spreading through his abdomen and up to his chest, his heart thunking eagerly.

He was slow and methodical, not wanting you to stir from your sleepy state. Nipping at his lower lip, teeth piercing the skin, he works up the courage to touch you. A rough and calloused hand travels up your side, pushing up your sleep tee and watching goosebumps line the tips of his fingers.

Frankie presses slow kisses to the top of your shoulder, feeling his cock swell against the plump of your ass in all of the excitement. He whispers your name, soft and raspy with the morning hour. Other than a small twitch of your nose, you’re out cold.

“Shh, s’okay angel, m’gonna make you feel good.” The desire stirs in his stomach, urging him to please you in your sleep just like you asked.

With two crooked fingers, he curls them around the band of your panties and slowly drags them down your soft thighs. You let out a slow sigh between your parted lips, Frankie pausing to watch as you settle once more.

Slipping two skilled fingers between your legs, he slowly massages up and down your folds. He’s surprised to already feel the slick between your legs, a low groan of approval leaving the depths of his throat.

There’s a shift, your hips squirming for more of his touch. You’re so perfectly pliant for him, causing the embers low in his belly to grow with anticipation, the blood rushing to his cock as it hardens against the curve of your ass.

“Good girl,” he remarks as you let out a little whimper upon the pads of Frankie’s fingers finding your swollen clit. “Even asleep, you’re nice and wet for me, princess.”

Goddammit, he thinks, how does she have this much of an effect while perfectly asleep? He can’t stand the feeling of not touching her, the carnal need to take her was strong like a magnet, forcing their bodies together.

One yank and he was out of his briefs, chewing on his lower lip in concentration. He needed to move you, to perfectly fit in the nook of your body, you’d have to be good and yield to him.

Frankie hikes up your leg and fills in the spaces between your bodies, stroking over himself as he slowly lines his leaking tip along your entrance. Just as he notches his tip inside, a quiet and sleepy gasp leaves your perfect pillowy lips.

“Right there, baby, you just stay right there for me,” Frankie growls against your ear, his hips flush with yours as he slowly lets inch by inch of him be swallowed by your warm cunt.

After that, there wasn’t a lot of nicety to him. The level of control he carried was lost. He just wanted to take and take, feel and fuck. He wants to use you like his own personal toy; do whatever he pleases with no resistance. You were his to devour.

He’s still inside you, but he’s gotten this far, and you’re still out. Even in sleep, you’re pulsing around his cock, so fucking tight around him that it steals the air from his lungs. There’s a hint of discomfort in your face, a quiet gasp held within your expression.

“Fuck,” he grunts, the hand he holds firmly on your hip now moving under your sleep tee.

You were so fucking accessible to him, so beautiful, so peaceful being fucked raw.

He rolls your nipple between his thumb and index finger, getting the reaction he’s been waiting for all morning. A sweet, slow moan tumbles loose from your throat, your hips reeling back to grind against Frankie’s lap.

He’s somewhat pleased he knows you this well, knows what gets you worked up and gushing. The fact that even in your sleep, you have this reaction towards him makes the fire burning inside his abdomen grow. Maybe a deep part of him gets off on knowing you so well.

Frankie lets out a sigh at his own thoughts, lightly nipping the skin of your exposed shoulder as he slowly rolls his hips back and glides in again, feeling the drag of your tight pussy keeping him lubed up and warm.

If he weren’t so desperate to fuck you, he’d love to just sit inside you like this all goddamn day. It would probably give him the same comfort as the first cup of coffee.

He gives your breast one more firm squeeze before returning the attention back to your clit, all desperate and tingling with each eager circle he gives you.

“So fucking perfect,” he whispers against your ear, his hips continuing at a steady pace until he simply needs more. He hikes up your leg once again to allow himself more movement, smirking as your ass smacks against the front of his hips with each thrust that now jostles your body.

You’ll surely wake any moment, shocked and sleepy and startled at his cock so deep inside your perfectly spent cunt.

You whimper each time he fills you, your face digging into the pillow as you moan against the cover. Frankie’s efforts grow needy and demanding, fisting your hair out of his way as he sucks marks into your neck; teeth and tongue massaging the skin before leaving a bruise in its wake.

A sweet little sob exits your parted lips, Frankie groaning at the pretty little noises you make.

“Take me so well, princess. You want me to keep fuckin’ you, huh?” He snarls against your neck, smirking as you hiss at the sensations you’re feeling all throughout your body.

Suddenly, your eyes flutter open. They absorb the settings around you and it all clicks. A long, desperate moan crawls from the depths of your throat, your movements sluggish but your hand eventually clasps onto Frankie’s forearm, his fingers still swirling around your clit.

“Ohmy— Frankie, fuck,” you gasp as you feel the full force of his cock drilling deep inside your pussy. Your voice is still thick with sleep, eyes cloudy with lust, and skin-prickling sensations that you had never felt before; a million emotions, but the standout being desperation to come undone like this with a man you trust.

“This what you wanted, angel? Wake up with my cock stuffed between your legs?” Frankie smirks as he presses his lips against your cheek, jaw dropping against your own as you ride out the high together.

You cry out something wrecked, a garble of syllables as your spine arches against his front. You weren’t given the pleasure of feeling the orgasm build and build; you woke up at its high heat.

In an instant, your skin was clammy, hair sticking to your skin as desperate pants filled the room, along with broken moans of Frankie’s name.

It’s exactly what you wanted, maybe better. Yes, way better.

You’re so tight, literally clinging to every single inch he gives you as your slick drenches his cock. Your nails dig into his tan skin, feeling the muscles and tendons work to play with your clit.

A whimper leaves you as the warmth in your stomach boils over, turning your head over your shoulder to catch a glimpse of his face. His eyes are dark, cast over with lust as he stole you in your sleep. In an instant, he meets you with a messy kiss, your bodies and the bed still jolting with each rough thrust he gives you.

“Please,” you moan against his lips, nodding your head as you look into his eyes. “Come inside me, I wanna feel it, please, give it to me, Frankie,” your words turn into a whine as he begins to fuck you harder, deeper, his tip tickling your cervix as you damn near blackout from the pleasure.

The pleasure inside of you finally reaches the surface. The feeling was like a wave breaching over your rocky shores, washing over you both in pleasure as your cunt spasms around his thick cock.

Frankie spoils your clit as his hips snap against your ass, one, two, three more times before the feeling of you overcomes him. He braces you tightly in his arms, panting against your shoulder, eyes clenching closed as he lets out broken grunts of release. He paints your insides with his spend, both of you relaxing in one another’s hold as you slowly descend from heaven.

“Jesus Christ,” Frankie breathes, shaking his head with a tilted smirk. “You don’t know what you do to me.” He remarks as you look over your shoulder in a haze.

You whimper as you pull him in closer, fingers weaving into the curls at the back of his head and encouraging him to meet your parted lips.

The words are at the tip of your tongue, and you can feel them spread heat throughout your body. You can hear both of your hearts beating, thundering against the human flesh, and signaling the feeling of being alive.

Frankie waits for the words. The feeling of anticipation has been lingering for quite some time. Your touch of nervousness was welcome, expected even. A moment in time when your heart feels exposed but also overwhelmingly full. Only hoping that the other person feels the same way, yet uncertain of how they will respond. A game of chicken of who will say it first and who will have to respond. The leap of faith one will be forced to make and the right words the other will have to find.

Both roles are downright frightening.

You’re risking everything, the biggest gamble one can make without physical currency.

But he sees the panic behind your eyes, the nervewracking feeling of saying the sacred words to someone, maybe even for the first time. And he knows that they will be worth it to hear.

“I know,” he whispers against your lips, shaking his head in a way that tells you he knows what you’re thinking. “I know.”

You don’t attend church, so you have one question: why the fuck is God sending people to get brunch after Sunday’s service? Why is that their beck and call?

Every Sunday morning, like clockwork, a flock of people flood the diner with their church clothes and a hankering for waffles and Frankie’s house lumberjack skillet (you wanna know what’s in it, don’t you?)

Frankie’s Secret Ingredients:

Potatoes: 1/4 lb (about 4-5 small potatoes)

Olive Oil: 1/2 tablespoon

Breakfast Sausage Links: 3 oz (about 4 links)

Onion: 1/8 of a whole onion, chopped

Red Pepper: 1/4 of a whole red pepper, chopped

Jalapenos: 1/2 jalapeno, sliced (omit if person looks too old to handle)

Butter: 1 tablespoon

Hickory Maple Seasoning: 1/2 teaspoon

Eggs: 2 large eggs

Milk: 1 tablespoon

Cheddar Cheese: 2 tablespoons, shredded

Anyway, Tommy’s Diner is slammed by mid-morning, and you’re working up a sweat. You’re wiping at your neck and forehead every few minutes, and the sun filtering through the windows does little justice to cool your skin. Tina called out sick, which is code for hungover from Saturday. It’s overwhelming. Your brain feels like the scrambled eggs you just plated for that family of four.

“Enjoy,” you whisper a little breathlessly, tucking your notepad into the front of your apron, rubbing at your temple with the heel of your hand as you walk past the rest of your tables.

By the time you lift your head, you see a large potbelly man who is waving an arm up above his head, fingers already snapping incessantly. He looked like a chubby rat, with a large dark-haired mustache and a shirt that didn’t fully cover the beer gut he was sporting.

“Uhm, hello? Miss, can we get some service over here?”

Jesus fucking Christ. Your jaw tightens a few notches, pushing your hair out of your face and wrapping around to their table. You remember them; you took their table’s order a bit ago now - shit, did you forget their plates? No, you didn’t.

Stopping at the head of their table, you smile politely at the large family.

“Hi, can I get you something while you wait?”

The man scoffs and snaps, “Uh, yeah, our food.”

Taking a deep breath wasn’t enough; you were a ticking time bomb. “Sir, do you see how many people are in the diner? We’re at capacity with a line out the door. I understand you’ve been waiting, but our kitchen is backed up and-”

“Bull-honkey-bullcrap, little miss,” the man raises his voice, spitting violently with each syllable, “This is ridiculous! We’ve been sittin’ here for nearly an hour. How hard is it to make some eggs and Mickey Mouse pancakes, huh? You just that stupid? What the hell is goin’ on back there? Are you people completely incompetent, or are you just ignorin’ us?”

Worse things have been said to your face, but you’re at your breaking point. You can feel your face flush with warmth radiating throughout your body. Now, the entire diner is staring at you from all the commotion. Your lungs feel tight, a headache casting heavy behind your face. Tears line your eyes, but you don’t dare let them fall.

“Again, I’m really sorry, but like I said, the kitchen is backed up.” But apologizing isn’t enough. This guy just wanted someone to take his punches.

“Don’t even try to apologize. I don’t wanna hear your pathetic excuses. How hard is it to cook some damn eggs? This place is a joke. You must be the worst server I’ve ever dealt with. ‘Nd I swear, if I wanted this kind of useless service, I’d go to a fast food joint. Is this how you treat payin’ customers, or ya’ll just this lazy? Do your job, or I’ll make sure everyone knows how worthless you and this diner is.”

You clutch the empty coffee pot tightly, biting your tongue. Turning swiftly, you head straight for the back swinging door. You don't intend to contribute to the chaos or the bustling mess in the kitchen, but here, in the safety of the back section, you allow a few stray tears to escape.

Shoulder blades hitting the cold brick, you wish to blend into the wall. It feels like the air’s been knocked out of you, your chest heavy and tight. Every sound around you blurs as the man’s harsh words replay in your mind, louder and louder each time. Your hands shake just enough to want to hide them behind your back, feeling afraid to have eyes on you in such a vulnerable state. Exposed. You’ve absorbed the anger meant for something or someone else, so now, it sticks to you, something you can’t wash away.

Your name echoes once, twice.

“Hey,” A calm amongst the rushing waves - it’s Frankie. You blink him into focus, bleary tears slowly fading away. His red bandana is tied tight around his forehead to catch the sweat from his forehead and hair. His face is laced with concern. He wipes his hands off on his apron, gently capturing your face as he shields you from the rest of the kitchen.

And just like that, life returns to your body. You can feel the tips of your fingers, previously tingling, wiping under your eyes as you hiccup through your breaths. Frankie knows this high-traffic area will only make your anxiety worse.

“It’s okay, take a deep breath and tell me what happen.”

The eyes of the kitchen staff are slowly starting to turn to you, asking if you’re alright and why you’re upset. Shaking your head dismissively, you blink away your tears and look down at the grubby floor that probably hasn’t been mopped since the invention of flip phones.

“I’m fine. This customer just got pissed and yelled at me. He was upset that his food was running behind, and I tried to explain that the kitchen was backed up.” You part your lips to continue, but the jaw drops of the kitchen staff signal shock by your words.

They all start honking in unison like a flock of geese.

“He what?”

“Which fuckin’ table?”

“You okay, sweetheart? Fuck them.”

Frankie's back straightens stiff, having previously been craning to see your face, now strict with annoyance.

“Is that him?” Frankie asks as he walks to the window between the kitchen and the back counter, narrowing his eyes on the rat man and his family.

“Frankie, please don't,” you huff, already refilling your pots of coffee and hoping to just forget the whole thing ever happened. "It's okay, it happens."

But it’s not okay. Because this guy made you cry, and what the hell was it for? Some scrambled eggs and bacon on delay?

The rest of the line cooks have abandoned their food to gawk at the asshole who thinks he can get away with yelling at one of their own like that.

Frankie tightens his bandana and peels off his gloves, slapping them down in the trash.

His boots thunder across the linoleum, catching the attention of many of the patrons on his way to the booth by the window where the rat man has continued to reside angrily. Even worse, he chuckles at the sight of Frankie.

“Take a load of this guy," the rat man appears to mutter to his wife who looks between them both with startled eyes. "Okay, okay, just bring back the pretty waitress. I’ll tell her I’m sorry.” He sneers, shaking his head.

“No, you’re done with her. You’re dealin’ with me now.” Frankie snags an empty chair from a nearby table, turns it around, and straddles the seat as he gets in the burly man's face.

“I just feel terrible that we’re not meeting the quality of service you expected. So what exactly is the problem?” Frankie asks with a hint of venom lining his words.

“Well- we’ve been waitin’ here for half an hour and-”

“Right, and what did the pretty waitress say?”

The man scoffs lightly, feeling embarrassed with all the eyes on him not once but twice now. “Well, she said the kitchen was backed up.”

“That’s right, that’s right, well, I’m the fuckin’ kitchen. You wanna yell at someone? Well, I thought I’d give you the chance to yell at me since, hey, I'm in charge of the kitchen today. Please, tell me your honest review.”

The rat man stares blankly, looking from left to right in surprise, but his family all gawks at Frankie.

Frankie waits, eyes unblinking, face hardened as the man sputters up something weak in response.

“This is ungodly and unprofessional,” he gargles, shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“You’re absolutely right!” Frankie says, smacking the table with his closed fist before pointing at the rat man, the tip of his finger inches from his face. “I am unprofessional, but that’s because I don’t have the great customer service skills of our waitresses. That’s her job,” Frankie juts a thumb backward towards the kitchen in your direction. “So now, instead of cookin’ you and your ugly wife and kids some food, I gotta come out here and knock some sense into ya since you seemed to have lost your manners. So you gonna let her do her job so I can get back to mine?”

You can only watch from the window in shock, hand over mouth, unblinking eyes - but it’s like a car crash you can’t look away from. The man is shocked into an embarrassed silence.

“We’ll just… we’ll wait. There’s-uh-there’s a lotta people here.”

Frankie sighs and smiles with fake relief. He stands from the chair, looking around the quiet restaurant.

“Anybody else have somethin' they wanna say?”

They all seem too scared of Frankie to complain again to the psycho chef. Chants of ‘Everything’s great!’ or “Thank you!” echo through the dining room.

You smile warmly, forcing yourself to turn away from the scene and clean up your teary makeup in the bathroom. But all you can think about is Frankie. Francisco. Stupid Catfish. Stepping in like that to protect you, to make that jerk take accountability. It makes your heart flutter knowing how much he cares. And you feel the same way.

It’s about time you tell him.

Knuckles wrap against the bathroom door, and an echo of, “You okay?” follows.

He comes in without a response, somewhat relieved to find you adjusting your hair and wiping at the smeary makeup. Your eyes soften at the sight of him, watching in the reflection. He looks disheveled and annoyed, shaking his head as he starts ranting about rat man.

“I don’t get how people like that- the God-loving church people- come in here and act like they weren’t just told at a sermon to love thy neighbor or whatever bullshit.”

He continues, but all you do is stare.

A part of you thinks he defends others due to his childhood. No one picks on the people Frankie cares about. That letter riled him up, maybe more than either of you had realized. He’s thinking about those times of the past, the innocent hurt by the deviant.

“You didn’t deserve that, I’m sorry, he’s a fucking dick. You don’t have to take his food out, I’ll do it. Honey,” he breathes, hand resting on your shoulder as he gently turns you around to face him. “Are you mad at me? I know you told me not to go out there, but no one makes you cry if I can help it, y’know? I don’t want him to think he can get away with that.”

Once Frankie starts ranting, it’s really hard to get him to stop.

“Frankie,” you breathe out, resting your hand over the one he holds on your shoulder.

“I mean, does he really think that it’s smart to be rude to the staff? I’ll spit in his food, and it will feel really good because he’ll have no idea.”

“Frankie,”

“You’re a good fucking waitress! Doesn’t he see the entire breakfast bar and all the booths filled with guests? The line out the door wasn’t an indication of how busy it is? Get a fuckin’ brain, I mean-”

In an instant, you tilt your chin up, catching his gaze just long enough to see the shift in his eyes before your lips meet. Your hands slide around his neck, fingers weaving into the soft curls at the nape, gently tugging him down toward you. The kiss begins with an urgency, part playful, part to silence his words, but mostly, it's to thank him in a way that words never could.

Frankie’s initial surprise fades quickly as he melts into you, his breath hitching for a moment. His hands travel to your waist, sliding around until they lock just above your hips, anchoring you to him. He presses closer, his touch firm yet tender, and slows the kiss, savoring the warmth of your lips. You feel the way his body relaxes, how he leans in, letting the world around you both fall away as he holds you, close and unmoving, like he’s never letting go.

It takes every ounce of courage in your body to pull away, your lips lingering against his for a heartbeat longer than necessary, as if tethered by an invisible force. Slowly, you break the kiss, your breath shaky, heart racing. His forehead rests against yours for a moment, his eyes still half-closed, unaware of the words hanging on the edge of your lips.

You gently pull back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still laced in his hair, trembling slightly. His eyes search yours, soft and expectant, filled with something unspoken but unmistakable.

With a deep inhale, you let the words slip out, vulnerable and raw, barely louder than a whisper, but heavy with meaning.

“I love you.”

The world stands still as the words hang in the air, your heart pounding as you wait for the weight of what you’ve just said to settle between you.

And then he smiles like an idiot. And you’re joining him.

“Did you say what I think you said? Did you say that you love me?" His voice is soft, teasing, as he presses his forehead against yours, capturing your lips with a few playful, quick kisses between his words. “Come on, say it again.”

You feel your heart flutter, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment. Frankie’s eyes twinkle with amusement. “I heard you say it. Now you can’t take it back,” he adds with a grin, pulling you tighter, his arms leaving no space between you.

You giggle, your hands pushing lightly against his shoulders, though he doesn’t budge. “Stop, that was really hard,” you huff, breathless, as though the words had stolen all the air from your lungs.

Frankie just shakes his head, his smile fading into something softer, more real, as the weight of the moment catches up with him. “I’ve thought about better places or times to tell you this, I wanted to wait until you were ready,” he whispers, his voice hushed with disbelief, eyes locking onto yours, “but I love you more than you’ll ever know. More than you’ll ever understand or dream. I love you.”

His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, a gentle, affectionate touch that sends shivers down your spine. The intensity in his gaze mirrors your own, both of you lost in this shared vulnerability, your hearts speaking in unison.

“I love you, too,” you breathe, the words falling effortlessly this time, as if they’ve always been waiting for this moment.

So, yeah. You sort of love your co-worker Francisco Morales.

The sun is blinding—orange and yellow streams of light as it is forced to set along the horizon. It’s slow but noticeable, sinking into the land beyond what you can see.

The sun goes down in Texas once again.

Frankie raises his cigarette, its glowing tip mirroring the fiery hues of the sunset.

His neighborhood is tranquil, lined with single-story homes and tree-bordered streets where autumn's touch is just around the corner. Children ride bikes, joggers and dog walkers pass by, and new parents push their baby strollers—a picturesque scene that feels meticulously arranged yet somehow distant. Frankie, too, feels out of place here.

"You got pretty worked up today—more than usual," you say softly.

Frankie lets out a dry chuckle, cigarette between his lips as he leans back on his elbows, squinting at the fading sun. "Yeah, maybe. You think I’m off right now?" He tilts his head, genuinely curious, as if searching for what’s changed.

You shrug, glancing at him with a fond smile. "I think that letter from your dad has you more rattled than you realize. I found it in your sock drawer this morning."

Frankie’s gaze drops to his lap, a flicker of shame crossing his face.

"I thought you said you were gonna toss it?" you muse gently, watching as his mind churns, cigarette hovering at his lips before he sighs deeply.

"You’re too observant," he smirks. "I don’t know why I haven’t crumpled, burned, or shredded it into pieces by now. I have every right to."

You rest a comforting hand on his shoulder, squeezing the tension there. "But you didn’t. Why?"

Frankie bites his lower lip nervously, glancing your way. "At the end of the apology letter, he asked to take me out for my birthday. Put down the time, place—everything. Said he’d wait for me."

Your expression softens, letting him know you’re here, really listening. "And you’re thinking about it?"

"Yeah… I guess so. But I don’t even know what I’d say. I’ve only seen him once or twice since I moved out. It’s been years. And when I do see him, I’m thirteen all over again, just yelling at him, so angry. I see his face, and it’s like a switch flips. And that’s not me. You know that’s not me," Frankie stammers, panic flickering in his eyes.

"I know," you whisper, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. He pulls you closer, resting his head against yours as the weight of it all settles.

After a deep breath, Frankie gathers himself. "He used to bring out the worst in me. I don’t know if I still hate him as much. Time’s passed, maybe he’s changed. But I’m not holding my breath."

He’s an adult now, more guarded, wiser to the people who’ve hurt him. He’s fought through battles and traumas you don’t even know about. Yet, in his eyes, there’s a flicker of hope. Maybe his dad has turned a corner, maybe he’s cleaned up, seen his mistakes. But you know better than to trust in maybes.

And you’d protect him from being let down again.

"Do you want me to go with you?" you offer quietly.

Frankie’s eyes snap to yours, wide and searching.

"Okay," he says after a long pause. "Let’s do it."

#frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #fuck yeah frankie #francisco morales #catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal #frankie morales x f!reader #francisco morales smut

286 notes · View notes

whimsiwitchy · 4 months ago

Text

I hear the secrets that you keep (series)

chapter one: a new beginning

Pedro Pascal x F!reader

series masterlist

series summary: 24 year old y/n is an insecure and struggling actress in Los Angeles until she finally books a leading role in a big Hollywood movie next to her leading male, Pedro Pascal. A spark of friendship flickers between the two and it slowly begins to blossom into something more. As y/n is navigating a new found fame and a new found romance, she fears that a lie she has been sitting on might ruin everything.

Warnings: plus size reader (no specific description of reader, slight descriptions of weight: stomach fat, stretch marks, etc.), hefty age gap (24 years/14 years), female anatomy description, she/her pronouns, use of gendered terms (girl, girly, etc.), y/n used, descriptions of nudity, swearing, use of the word fat, warnings may change as the story progresses.

authors note: Hi everyone. This is my first time writing anything, so this might end up being pretty bad lmao. I kinda have an idea of where I want to take this and want to continue this even if no one reads it. Please let me know what you think! Thank you and enjoy. <3

chapter summary: Angie books y/n an audition opportunity and she is terrified. Y/n reflects on her insecurities and heads to the audition room.

╔══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╗

It was 9am and you’ve been staring at an email Angie had sent earlier in the morning. The subject read “AUDITION INFO BIATCH”. This would usually be deemed pretty unprofessional for an agent to send a client but Angie wasn’t just your agent, she was also your long time best friend. You both had big dreams of making it big in Los Angeles and made the move six years ago. While you continued to search for acting jobs, Angie decided to become an agent after years of no luck. You wished you could give up, maybe gain some happiness back instead of having constant disappointment running around your head like it was trying to win a goddamn gold medal at the olympics.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Good morning sunshine,

You have an audition scheduled for 3PM tomorrow! I attached all the details down below. If you need anything, give me a call babe!

Sincerely,

Angie Hawthorn (aka the best agent ever hehe)

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You read over the email and clicked on the files attached. One file was the original casting call information describing what they are looking for and a description of the project. The other was an audition offer explaining what you needed to prepare and where the audition would be held. You clicked on the casting call file and began to read it.

“Fleeting Productions presents Risky Disco directed by Samual James.”

You stared blankly at the first sentence. “That is such a stupid fucking move title..” you huffed under your breath. You shook your head and continued reading.

“Starring Pedro Pascal as Daniel Mendez. Daniel travels back in time to the 70s to live his dream of being a disco king. On his journey, he takes lovers every chance he gets and swears to himself that he won’t fall in love.”

You picked your phone and called Angie. When she answers the phone she greets you with excitement.

“Y/n! Oh my god are you excited?!? This can be your big break. Your first audition for a big production company!!” You stared blankly at the wall while she spoke. “You’re fucking with me right? Like you have to actually be fucking with me..” You said with exasperation. She was silent for a moment. “What do you mean? This is great y/n. I’m not sure-” You cut her off before she could continue. “Angie, I need you to be so fucking for real right now. Did you read that shit show of a description?” She didn’t answer for a moment. “What’s so bad about it?” “Ang…you’re telling me, you saw this casting call, and thought of me? You have known me for how long? What about me is screaming 70s lover girl to a disco maniac? First of all, I'm fat. You know F A T. Fat girls don’t exist in the 70s it’s like-” The line goes dead. “Hello? Ang I’m trying to rant to you over here, don’t you care?” You looked down and noticed she hung up on you. “That stupid bitch.” You say in aggravation. As you go to call her again, a text pops up.

“Call me when you’re done being a self shaming loser <3”

You sighed and sat your phone down. You know that what you say isn’t always nice and you also know that Angie can’t stand when you talk down on yourself. It’s become a bad habit you can’t seem to break. You grab your water bottle from your night stand, take a sip, and continue to read over the audition information.

“Our casting directors are looking for 12 women from the ages 35-40. All weights accepted. All skin tones accepted. One role will be filled as the leading lady alongside the leading male. The 11 other roles will be filled as lovers of the leading male. Each role may include sexual acts with a male actor as well as partial or full nudity. All actors will work closely with an intimacy coach before all scenes.”

Okay, you definitely owe Angie an apology since they're throwing a weight limit out the window on this film. This film has the potential to be very… wait what the fuck does that say? You pick up your phone to call Angie again.

“Are you done being a loser?”

“Angie, honey, darling, my love…Why does it say that the age requirements are 35-40? I’m trying to be very calm about this right now but I really need to know what you were thinking in that little pea brain of yours? Hm.. a 24 year old auditioning for a role that is for a middle aged woman, what was the thought process behind that one love?”

“Y/n I need you to keep that calm demeanor when I tell you this. Can you do that?” You think about your answer and sigh. “Yes I can do that. Spill the beans.” “Okay so, I might have sort of lied and said that you were 35…” You stood silent on the other end for a few seconds. “YOU DID WHAT???” “Y/n calm down it-” “HOW IN THE WORLD IS MY FRESH 24 YEAR OLD BABY FACE GOING TO PRETEND TO BE 35?? HUH ANGIE??” “Well you don’t have that much of a baby face, you can pull off 35.” “I’m gonna hang up now before I actually kick you in the head.” You hung up the phone and screamed into your pillow.

It can’t be that hard to pretend to be 35 right? You sat up and set your head in your hands and took some deep breaths.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

After your mini freak out yesterday you went to work and got home at 8pm. You showered, ate, did some rehearsing, and hit the hay. You woke up at 7am the next morning and began getting ready for your audition. You searched pinterest to look for an appropriate outfit for a 35 year old. As you descaled your closet, you began to feel hopeless. After settling for an outfit, you headed to the kitchen to eat some breakfast and do some warmups. As it got closer to audition time, you started to feel the nervous butterflies entering your tummy. You took your phone off the charger to send Angie a quick text.

“I’m sorry for freaking out on you yesterday, please forgive me my love. ♥ ️ Also OOTD, do I look 35? Oh and why the fuck are they casting that age for a disco movie… Love you!” You went to sit your phone down but immediately got a response from Angie.

“It’s okay, you don’t look a day under 40 babe <3. And girl idk. I think it’s because Pedro is pushing 50.”

“Okay fuck you. Who’s Pedro?”

“Ummmm… the leading male. Like the whole ass dude you're probably going to be getting down and dirty with if you get this part. Did you not look him up?”

“There ain’t no fucking way you lied about my age so I can bump and grind with a 50 year old man… I’m actually going to kill you.”

“Girl he’s hot as fuck, I’m doing you a favor. Who gives a shit if he's old, he can get it ANY day ;)”

“You’re fucking gross dude. I gotta head out soon to try to beat a little bit of the traffic. Wish me luck. Love you!!”

“Love you girly, break a leg!”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You turned into the studio lot and parked when you found the building the auditions were being held in. You’ve been to the studios more times than you can count, but this time felt different. This time felt real. You entered the building and walked up to a woman at a desk. “Hi, I’m here for an audition.” You smiled and she handed you a form to fill out. Once you were finished you handed it back to her and she instructed you to wait until your name was called. You looked around as you sat and waited. There were only 4 other women waiting in the room. As you looked at them, all of your insecurities started to pour out. This was not the time to be doubting yourself. You settled on looking down at your shoes instead. Each woman was called back one by one until you were the only one left.

“Y/n Y/l/n?” You got up and greeted the man that called your name. As you followed him to the back your heart began to pound. Once you got to the door, you shook out your nerves and plastered the most sincere smile you could muster.

You opened the door and walked up to a table in the back of the room. You shook everyone's hands and handed them your material. You stood in the center of the room and began your slate. After the prepared material was performed, they asked you various questions. You were answering with all honesty. Even flying by their questioning of your age. “Your paper states that you're 35. You look really young for that age.” You gulped “Just good genes I guess.” You gave them a laugh and a smile to which they returned. “We’re going to have to do a quick reading with some sides from the movie if that’s okay with you?” “Of course, that would be great!”.

You got into character as they handed you the slides. “You’ll actually be reading with the leading man himself. Pedro, whenever you’re ready go ahead and start.” You looked over to where the man looked when he spoke. Your breath caught in your throat as you looked at who they spoke to, Pedro you assumed. He smirked as you stared. How didn’t you notice him before? With a face that handsome, you’re thankful you somehow skipped over it. He for sure would have had you shaking with even more nerves.

“You ready to start sweetheart?” You could have melted into a puddle right then and there. After a few seconds of silence you collected yourself. “Yea, I’m ready.” He gave you a smile and looked into your eyes. The two of you flowed through the lines with ease. It was like butter melting perfectly on a warm piece of toast. The type of toast that is so perfect, you don’t need to add jelly at all. It’s golden and beautiful. The chemistry between you two was golden.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

4 hours later…

The reading with Pedro was intense. There are no other words to describe it. Everything felt so natural and it was electric. The whole room got 10 degrees warmer by the end. Once the reading was over, everyone thanked you for your time and you were dismissed. You thanked them and gave a quick bye. You tried to sneak one last glance at Pedro but he was already looking at you. These memories that happened just a few hours prior keep swimming in your head. No matter how hard you tried to think about something else, you couldn’t stop thinking about the handsome man and how he looked at you.

You’re yanked out of your thoughts when your phone starts ringing. It was Angie.

“Hey Ang, what’s up?”

“Bitch….you must have left one hell of an impression.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Y/n you got the lead!”

“Oh shit..”

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

Thank you for reading <3

chapter two

109 notes · View notes

mynameismckenziemae · 5 months ago

Text

All of Me

Part 14

(previous part here, next part here)

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x You

Summary: You hire a nurse and Jake takes you on a real date.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI! Smut, teasing, exhibitionism, handjob, oral sex, (m receiving), etc. This chapter also has discussion of domestic violence/abuse, please message me if you have any questions prior to reading.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

The next few days are busy for you and Jake both. Feeling like two ships passing in the night, with only having lunch once and a few texts here and there. But you’ve made plans to spend the weekend together again.

You smile as his name appears on your phone.

Jake: Our hop was rescheduled to this morning, lunch with me and Bradshaw today?

Reese: 👍🏻 I’m interviewing a nurse at 11:00, usually takes 30-45 minutes.

Jake: Perfect, we’ll grab lunch on the way to your office.

Jake: Do you have anything planned for tonight? Can I take you out?

You snort as you realize you two haven’t actually been on a date yet.

Reese: I’d like that. Maybe I’ll even put out if you’re good.

Jake: I’ll be on my best behavior.

Reese: Quit crossing your fingers.

Jake: I’m not.

Jake:…anymore.

Reese: 😐

Jake: Gotta go, we’re suiting up. See you in a bit.

Reese: 😘

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

“Hi, you must be Shae,” you smile as you shake the hand of your third interviewee. “I’m Reese, nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” she replies.

“Please,” you gesture to the chairs across your desk, “have a seat.”

The sunlight catches her pretty face as she sits, making your stomach turn as you notice the yellow under her eye of a healing bruise.

While she did a good job of concealing it, it’s all you can see as she hands you her impressive resume.

“I also have letters of recommendation from my nursing instructor and a few of the doctors I’ve worked with,” she hands them over too, cheeks flushing.

A quick overview of the information provided shows she’s an excellent nurse and her answers to your questions are well-spoken and appropriate.

Her calm, gentle demeanor is like a breath of fresh air in this often-hectic environment filled with loud, testosterone-fueled men.

“Well, I’ve seen enough,” you smile, “you can expect to from HR soon for the formal offer,” you continue. But your brow furrows slightly when you glance down again at her resume, “Oh, is this current?”

She pales as her hands begin to twist nervously in her lap, “Yes, it’s current.”

“It’s okay,” you reply softly, her anxiety palpable, “HR will ask why it has been 2 years since you worked last. What should I tell them?”

A haunted look crosses her face before she dissociates, looking out the window blankly. “My husb-I mean, ex-husband…he didn’t want me to work.”

You nod as you piece together where the black eye came from. “Shae?”

She flinches slightly as her eyes snap to yours.

“I’m just going to tell them it was due to family reasons,” you say, watching her sag in relief. “Are you safe though?”

“I am,” she replies hesitantly as she brushes the slight discoloration under her eye, “I am now. He’s…a few hours away, and I got a dog.”

“Okay,” you reply with a small smile as you reach for a pen and notepad.

You know it’s unprofessional, but a little voice in her mind tells you she needs someone in her corner as you write down your number and hand it to her.

“Here’s my number if that changes okay?”

“Okay,” she whispers, before meeting your eye. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, rising to your feet. “Hope to see you again soon.”

“I hope so too,” she smiles genuinely for the first time.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

“HR will be in touch soon,” you tell Shae as you escort her from your office, smiling at Jake and Bradley approaching down the hall. “Have a good weekend.”

“Thanks, you too,” she replies, following your eyes, blushing when Roo flashes her a grin before ducking her head and rushing off.

“Who was that?” Roo asks, nearly breaking his neck as he watches her walk away.

“Hopefully my new nurse, Shae,” you reply, stepping aside to let Jake in, who presses a kiss to your lips as he drops a package of peanut butter cups in your scrub pocket.

“Wow,” Roo says, smiling again when she glances back, “she’s…” he trails off, seemingly speechless for the first time since you’ve known him, “really fucking pretty. Is she single?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes at his choice of words as you follow him into your office.

“She is,” you reply, hesitating before you continue. The last thing you want to do is betray her trust, yet he needs to understand why pursuing her isn’t a good idea. “Newly though. Sounds like she’s recently divorced and I don’t think it was a good situation.”

“How so?” Jake asks, handing you your lunch.

“I asked about the gap in her employment history and she said he didn’t want her to work,” you answer, “but I think he didn’t allow her to.”

“Why not?” Bradley asks.

“I’m not sure,” you reply, “men like that are usually paranoid and want complete control.”

“Men like what?” Jake asks quietly.

“Men that beat up women,” you answer, watching as his eyes close at your words. “She covered it up well, but she’s healing from a black eye.”

“Fuck,” Bradley curses, shaking his head, “is she okay? Is he around still?”

“I think so,” you reply, looking at Jake who’s now white-knuckling his fork, “she said he lives a few hours away and has a dog. I gave her my number too, and told her to let me know if she needs anything.”

“Okay, good,” Bradley says, noticing Jake too. “Hey, you okay?”

Jake releases the breath he’s holding, opening his eyes as he sets down his fork. “There’s nothing I hate more than men that lay hands on women.”

You and Bradley both nod in agreement as you wait for him to go on.

“My dad…he used to beat up on my mom,” he continues, looking down at his lunch. “He was mean as hell so me and my little brother avoided him, and he was thankfully gone a lot for work. I was around Drew’s age when I started noticing she had a lot of bruises and split lips and it was always around the time he was home. Woke up one night to a crash in the living room, he had hit my ma so hard she fell into the glass end table.”

“Oh Jake,” you whisper, tears filling your eyes as you reach over, placing your hand on his while Bradley squeezes his shoulder.

“Her eye was already swollen shut and her hands were all cut up but she told me to go back to bed…and I just lost it. I don’t really remember, I think I launched myself at him, and he backhanded me so hard my ears rang. My ma always took the abuse so that was the first time he ever hit me and the last. We left the next morning. Never saw that fucker again.”

Now you know why Jake never talked about his dad, just his mom and younger brother, Matt.

“I’m so sorry man,” Bradley says while you nod.

“I’m okay now,” Jake sighs, finally looking up at you, “Mom made us go to therapy and it helped, but hearing about it still makes me so fucking angry.”

“I get it,” you say, “I hope she doesn’t need it, but she has my number now.”

“I’ll keep my distance too,” Bradley says, “well, I mean I’ll talk to her if she’s around 'cause that’d be dickish but I won’t like, flirt with her. Wait-should I? I don’t want her to think there’s something wrong with her because I’m not-“

You can’t help but smile; Roo has always been so cool and smooth with women so you’re enjoying the way he’s second-guessing himself.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

Bradley does a good job of lightening the mood and soon the lunch hour is over.

“I’ll be over around 6,” Jake murmurs before kissing your cheek, “should I pack a bag?”

“Yes, bring your laundry over too,” you reply, leaning in so Bradley doesn’t overhear, “I’m not letting you out of my sight this weekend.”

“Alright, alright. Get a room,” Bradley scoffs.

“I have one,” you tease, “you’re in it.”

“Ha-ha,” he rolls his eyes. “Come on, lover boy. We better go get our post-flight docs done.”

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

Jake rings the doorbell like he hasn’t already spent the night several times, handing you a bouquet of daffodils when you open the door.

He holds your hand in the comfortable silence of the drive and you light up when you see where he’s taking you.

“The drive-in movie theater? I’ve always wanted to go to one of these,” you smile as he parks.

“You’ve never been?” He asks, continuing when you shake your head, “Me either.”

You settle in while he gets popcorn and he’s back just as The Shining begins to play.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

The sun sets halfway through the movie and you snuggle into his shoulder after setting aside the half-eaten popcorn.

There are vehicles on both sides, but the darkness and the blanket draped over you two give the illusion of privacy to trail your fingers over his thigh.

His leg tenses under your touch but you pretend not to notice when he looks down to see what you’re up to.

Eventually, he relaxes, and his attention returns to the movie, you strike. You kiss his neck and he’s already hard as your fingers slide over his groin to undo the button then the zipper, giving him a slow stroke once you pull him out.

“Can you be quiet for me?” You murmur against his skin, just like he did to you when Bradley was asleep just steps away.

He nods his head once and you get to work, jerking him steadily. Precum eases the glide of your movements as you kiss up his neck to his ear.

“Tell me when you’re close,” you whisper, smiling at his soft, strangled groan. He thinks you’re going to stop.

Your hand begins to move faster on his cock; as you want to draw this out, the movie is nearing the end.

His hips start to thrust up into your strokes as he grits out, “Close-I’m close.”

“K, stay quiet,” you nip his jaw before ducking below the blanket to suck him into your mouth.

“Fuck!” He wheezes, jerking when you moan at the taste of his cum filling your mouth before swallowing it greedily.

His hand snakes below the blanket, and you squeak in surprise when he tugs you out by your hair to meet your lips in a deep, bruising kiss.

The way he groans from tasting himself on your tongue sends another pulse of heat between your already slick thighs.

“I need to touch you, taste you, be inside you,” he murmurs against your lips, “let’s go hom-back to your place.”

Even in the dark, his cheeks pinken with the Freudian slip.

“Let’s go,” you agree, smiling as you realize it’s felt more like home than ever since he’s been staying over.

•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>•<•>

A/N: this chapter was kind of all over the place…fun in the beginning, a little heart breaking when we meet Shae and then find out a little more about Jake, then an official date and a little smut ending with some sweetness.

I haven’t decided for sure, but I may end up tandem writing Bradley and Shae’s story while finishing up this one.

Also, Shae and Bradley’s story will be dedicated to my sister, who nearly lost her life in a domestic violence assault with her ex-husband.

As always, any interaction is appreciated but I love hearing what you think in the comments/reblogs!

Please let me know if you want to be added to (or removed from) my taglist!

@lexixstewart

@dizzybee03

@its-the-pilot

@hookslove1592

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@atarmychick007

@littlezee80

@buckysteveloki-me

@k-k0129

@phoenix-rising-starbird-one

@jessicab1991

@djs8891

@lonelysoul504

@mrsevans90

@landpiranha-blog

@bellaireland1981

@angelbabyyy99

@writtingrose

@shanimallina87

@mizzzpink

@dempy

@linkpk88

@hardballoonlove

@lynnevanss

@entertainmentgirl80

@coldmuffinbanditshoe

@midnightmagpiemama

@emma8895eb

@seitmai

@fandomology101

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@amiets2

#jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin x ofc #jake seresin x you #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x ofc #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun maverick #top gun smut

97 notes · View notes

drdemonprince · 5 months ago

Note

Anon who yearns after his boss here with a follow up.

First of all, thank you so much for taking the time and effort to form such a detailed reply and to include your followers, I really appreciate it!

I’d like to elaborate on what I meant when I said it would have no impact on my job. I do volunteer work, so I am not financially dependent on this job, and my boss unfortunately leaves the company in a month and I would probably wait until then to make any sort of move. So no matter how this plays out, it will pose no risk to my livelihood.

To answer your question, this is a pretty common dynamic for me. For some reason I have been in a lot of work/school/etc. settings where an attractive older man sees potential in me, I start working extra hard because of it and he starts giving me lots of attention and we fall into a really intense mentor/mentee relationship. This dynamic is so hot to me that I just end up in top of my class or employee of the month or whatever from being fueled by pure lust lol. Nothing compares. But I’ve never managed to take it to the next level because I either chicken out or play it too straight forward, which doesn't work like you said.

As for what you said about straight men looking for attention from queer men to fuel their ego, that is a very real possibility. He hides his insecurity well by being a jokester, but he's obviously a sensitive guy. It wouldn't surprise me if this is more about his ego than about attraction.

Him not viewing me as a guy is also a possibility, but I don't care too much. I get so horny that I lose any sense of self lol. He does treat me like a man though. I work at the furniture department of a second hand store and he never underestimates me to be able to lift something heavy or assemble something. He also compliments me all the time on getting stronger and handier, and all the progress I’m making.

Then on the other hand, he treats me with a certain gentleness and intimacy that I don't see him portray to my other male coworkers. We’re able to confide in eachother and get vulnerable. He tells me secrets no one else knows, like how he'll be leaving the company soon.

There's all these little moments throughout the day, like we'll be assembling a bed together and he jokes about how it has a certain eroticism to it, or how it turns him on when we work well together lol. When he sees me implement something he taught me, he's beaming at me with the biggest smile. We also have this running gag where I pretend to be his boss and tell him what to do, and he's always very obedient which is hot but also shows that he trusts me.

I love your idea about meeting up outside of work, because that's exactly what I was planning lol! He's really into photography and I asked him if he wanted to meet up sometime to show me the ropes, and he very enthusiastically agreed! So if I were to make any sort of move, it would be then.

Anyway, I’m really curious to see what you and your followers think now with all this extra information.

JESUS CHRIST ANON THIS CHANGES EVERYTHING

this is only a volunteer position?? he's leaving in a month?? he compliments you on getting stronger??? and says that assembling a bed together has a certain intimacy to it???

waht the fuck dog. my only concern now is that he's being weird and unprofessional af with volunteers. but no concern for you. you're clearly creaming your drawers for it. i say play ball.

you made this sound more forbidden than it actually was because that's exciting to you, you little minx. i see you. you've gotten us all involved in your erotic game, now you can go enjoy it.

let's re run the stats on this

58 notes · View notes

sweaterkittensahoy · 1 year ago

Text

As Long as I'm Thinking about Job Interview Stuff

Here's my general pattern for answering the "Tell us about time you failed / dealt with a bad co-worker / had to struggle to complete something /etc."

These questions are asked to suss out if you're an asshole. The reason there's more than one of them is to see if you have a shit talking problem that can take a little time to show itself. Basically, interviewers are trying to get a sense of if you're gonna be a fucking problem once you're comfortable at a new workplace.

I literally once watched myself lose a job because the managers asked, "How do you deal with people who might be temperamental at times?" It was a software company, so I figured they meant "At least one of our engineers is a huge asshole, but we think he's worth keeping around even if he yells at people." And so I said, "Look, we all have our moments, and I do my best to be understanding if someone's having a tough time. I think it's important to remember we're all working together and trying to make something succeed. That being said, if the problem is I'm getting yelled at because someone else is being unprofessional, I'm not going to stand there and allow that abuse. I will be talking to HR, at a minimum, and if that doesn't resolve it, I will take care of it myself."

And, let me be clear, the moment any positive vibes left the room was when I said, "I'm not gonna stand there and allow that abuse." Which told me EXACTLY how they were handling the situation currently.

Anyway, sorry for the recipe blog wander. Back to the point. Here's how I handle the questions where they want you to discuss something negative.

I take a moment to think. Yes, I know the question is coming and already have a few options picked for an answer, but taking a moment to think before answering means I'm not gonna stumble over my words when I start.

Start with the negative. If the question is, "Tell us about dealing with a difficult co-worker," Start at the problem. "Well, I remember once I worked with someone who really didn't like answering questions via email."

Explain why it made the job difficult. "Given that what I do is focused on getting things written down, I prefer sending questions via email whenever possible so I always have a clear starting point on the information I use, even if the information changes a lot through conversation."

Restate the problem as the beginning of the solution. "But, this person didn't like to answer questions in writing, so I started going over to his desk and asking him the questions."

Say something nice about the problem. "He was great face-to-face. Always happy to help."

Explain the solution. "And it turned out he was happy to read anything I would print out and hand him. So, I'd go ask him the questions, go back to my desk and do a first draft based on what he'd said, and then give him a physical copy to mark up."

Stamp a positive final remark on it. "Once I realized how to best communicate with him, he was very open to helping. If I walked over with a first draft, he'd just look at it right then so I could make updates as quickly as possible. And he started letting me know if there were any major design changes on the way and explaining it to me earlier in the process, which made it easier to make updates."

That's my technique. The biggest thing of it, I think, is to make sure your answer is sincere. Don't use a situation where you still want to shove someone into traffic. Pick a situation where you feel like it actually turned out well in the end.

#job interviews #job hunting #employment #interview questions #interview tactics

210 notes · View notes

mlarty · 9 months ago

Note

Hi! I love yalls art. I'm getting back into the groove of things and wanted to ask if there's any resources you guys would recommend to get better at anatomy and color? Thank you so much

Thank you!! 🖤 Well, tbh we're kinda like explorers. We have an array of resources, but nothing too specific. So our learning process is fairly chaotic and unprofessional: we don't have much special literature or anything like that behind us; in most cases, we're just like eager sponges soaking everything we can from the world and socials

But speaking of things we find useful, anatomical 3D models and photo references (from artstation, sketchfab, pinterest, etc) are definitely at the top of our list. We also often take our own photos to get a better understanding of poses/angle/muscles… it doesn't always work well, we're damn skinny creatures lmao, but you know you're your own biggest anatomical resource that's always with you

As for color, we have enough color theory and just practice, practice, practice… We believe in learning by doing and make mistakes to grow - reinvent the wheel??? - than to use useful information from others… Sometimes (!) a personal journey can give you more than anything else

But yeah, it's mostly just some random content like text, picture, video. Let everything around you become a source of inspiration and knowledge

#ask

36 notes · View notes

xerxeswitch · 10 months ago

Text

Red Flags in Witchcraft Books/"Information"

Take it with a grain of salt as usual. A read a good amount of them, own some, returned some... I'm not the master of what these books entails, but it's just about taking what resonates with you and your energy craft in general, and leaving out the rest. For beginner witches, there's no end all be all book. A lot of witchcraft books are going to be biased about something on what they believe and what they practice. However, there are SOME things that you do need to know by the book when it comes to topics like proper crystal/stone care, essential oils that are toxic to the animals in your home, what ingredients you should not smoke for health reasons... And even some ends on high magic where you need to do the ritual as read, drawing in the sigil as descripted to pull off something very traditional and ceremonial -- these I don't mess with. If they are of tradition to how some cultures/religions use them, they must be done by how they do it with respect and understanding. Just use practical common sense. .............. These are some of the practical things that made me put down a witchcraft/occult book and return it/throw it away: 1. Authors bragging they are masters of dragons/transmutations/faeries/demons/angels, etc. (So many of them...) While giving out beliefs as if they're absolute facts. Example: "Heaven and dragons are located in the center of the Bermuda Triangle. I know this because I'm a dragon master and they all listen to me because I was a high priestess. There's 14 clans and I'm in all of them. There are pink dragon clans, star dragon clans, warrior clan--" 2. Additionally to the first -- believing they're the ONLY ONES that can help people and they have no one else to turn to, or they are the only one who can truly have this ability. My way or the highway! (Seen a lot of these too) 3. Bringing in radical politics that has nothing to do with witchcraft. It's exceedingly annoying and unprofessional, especially when it has nothing to do with what I'm looking for. 4. -Extreme absolutes. 5. Initiation into a cult, and comparing everyone else outside of them as stupid, or even easy prey to manipulate. Personal experience: A "high priest cultist" once tried to initiate me and gave me his book. I won't say who it is, but he belongs to a cult where they saw themselves as superior beings, and humanity are just livestock to them. (They don't think they're humans) They promote rape/manipulation/child grooming because they believe it was their birthright to rule humanity. 6. More trivial whining, less information about the craft. 7. Claiming being something with how you're born with, makes you automatically better than the others. (Aka: Class A narcissism) Glorifying something that has no advantage of disadvantage, but only because it pertains to the author. These have nothing to do with witchcraft or being a better person. I immediately don't trust anyone who does this. One upping is never a good sign to get information from -- and they give off/bad vibes anyway off the bat. Examples: "Being bisexual makes you more likeable towards faeries than straight/gay people." "Being neurodivergent/normal makes you more psychic than normies/neurodivergent people."

"Being (insert race) makes you more psychic than (insert race)."

8. Replacing medical needs with witchcraft. 9. Treats spirits as if they're servants. ---- I'll add more or edit things when I get the time. I hope this helps.

#witchcraft #witch #witchblr #witch community #beginner witch #witches of tumblr #red flags

51 notes · View notes

ssa-jet · 2 years ago

Text

Everyone’s Replaceable👥

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Black!Fem!Reader (romantic to platonic), BAU x Reader

Category: angsty anti-reader

Summary: Reader wakes up from a 6-month coma and comes back to work, but what happens when she learns that she’s been replaced?

Content: mentions of medically-induced coma, being shot, blood, near-death, depression, suicidal thoughts

Reader Behavior: I usually don’t add descriptions but reader is a bitch in this story (rightfully so). She’s angry about the circumstances and will lash out at anyone (except Penelope). *adding this bc if you feel like that’s not how you would react in this situation, it might be hard to ignore her behavior.*

*reader has a job in the B.A.U. that I created specifically for this story called a case advisor. a case advisor is basically someone that takes the cases that JJ doesn’t deem a priority. they’ll provide advice and assistance to the police departments as to what step to take next, but they won’t fly out to every location to do so— they have an office where they provide assistance over the phone.*

I always had an outfit for every occasion. Dinner dates, girls nights, sleepovers, work, etc., but I never picked an outfit for coming back from the dead. The metaphorical dead, that is. I figured that something casual would work, since I didn’t expect to be thrust into a case on my first day back. After sifting through my somewhat extensive wardrobe, I settled on my F/C sweater and some jeans, before adding a cute pair of Converse to finalize the look.

My outfit was unprofessional, but since there wasn’t a Pinterest board for outfits fit for this specific occasion, I had to improvise. A little makeup and some jewelry topped off my less-than-acceptable outfit for the day, but it was too late to change, so I grabbed my keys and hurried out of my apartment.

I felt an oddly nostalgic feeling as I drove to the B.A.U. building, and I even took the long way to allow myself more time to get my thoughts together. I should’ve been happy to see my friends and my boyfriend again, but instead, all I could feel was the slow and steady anger bubble inside me. I had been in a medically-induced coma for the last six months after sustaining seven gunshot wounds, and four out of the six months I spent on life-support, I was alone in my hospital room, my only visitors being the endless number of nurses, doctors, and specialists coming to see me.

When I woke up, I was told that, in the first two months, my coworkers flooded my room in between every case they tackled, sitting at my bedside and discussing their favorite memories of me with one another. After the second month was over, my regular guests whittled down to one blonde woman with fun glasses and a kind smile— Garcia. My doctor also told me that she would send me one, large, vibrant bouquet of flowers in the months that she couldn’t come and see me. Of course, I appreciated the kind gesture, but what I couldn’t wrap my head around was why no one else— including my boyfriend of eight months— hadn’t come to see me.

At first, I chalked it up to busyness. “He’s busy,” I thought. “Maybe he tried to make time for me and got sidetracked.” Eventually, I realized that I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. Spencer clearly didn’t care enough about me to visit me while I was inches away from death. Once I came to this realization, I allowed myself to cry and wallow in my grief for a couple of months I even attempted to convince myself that I didn’t need him, but lying to myself would only make it worse.

Once my sorrow subsided, I was left with anger. I marched myself down to the hospital and asked for a copy for my medical documents, including my visitor logs and information on who paid for my life support. At first, the nurse was reluctant to hand over my medical information, but a quick flash of my F.B.I. credentials changed her mind. Of course I felt guilty, but I needed to see the logs. I needed to confirm that one of the most important people in my life was absent when it was hanging in the balance.

I exited the hospital that day with a tan file in my shaky hands, and I couldn’t wait until I got home to open the file and gingerly remove its contents. My eyes scanned the logs, and the name ‘Spencer Reid’ stopped showing up after two months, which meant that the doctor didn’t lie. I thought I was done wallowing, but I couldn’t stop the hot tears from sliding down my cheeks at the thought of laying half-dead in a hospital room without my boyfriend by my side.

My thoughts came to a halt when I pulled into the parking lot of the large building, and I could swear my heart audibly dropped into my shoes. A shaky breath rattled my lungs as I checked my hair and makeup one last time. Here goes nothing.

I pushed the glass doors of the B.A.U open and walked inside, my heart beating loudly in my ears. Part of me wanted to spin on my heel and walk back to my car, but my feet, having other plans, carried me forward. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for someone to spot me. Garcia gasped and dropped the stack of files she was holding and let out an ear-piercing scream. Without warning, she ran over to me and threw herself onto me, wrapping me in a tight hug. I quickly returned the favor, a sigh escaping my lips. “I’ve missed you,” she croaked. “I know, I’ve missed you, too,” I replied, holding her at arm’s length. We exchanged weak smiles before hugging again. While we hugged, something caught my eye. The nameplate outside of my office read ‘Samantha Bridges’ and not Y/N L/N. “Penelope,” I said, releasing her from our hug. “Yeah?” “Who’s Samantha Bridges?” I inquired, my gaze trained on the nameplate. “The new case advisor,” she mumbled. What?!

There’s a million things I could’ve said in that moment, but all I could manage was “What?!” Garcia nodded, looking down and away from me. “You’ve been replaced.” “Yeah, I can see that,” I snapped. I instantly regretted it but I couldn’t control myself. “Where is she?” I demand. “With Reid at his desk.” Now I knew why he didn’t come to visit me. He had moved onto my replacement. I have Garcia a short hug before telling her that I wasn’t angry at her. She nodded and watched as I stormed over to Spencer’s desk, where he was happily chatting with a girl that, surprisingly, resembled me. “What the hell?” I exclaimed, a look of disgust on my face. The two turned to me, faces painted with shock. “Y/N,” Spencer whispered. “I-I didn’t think y-you’d come back.” “Yeah, I can fucking see that,” I snapped again without an ounce of regret in my body. “Hi,” the girl said. “I’m Sa—” “I don’t give a fuck who you are,” I replied harshly, to which she dropped her hand and looked up at Spencer, who looked like a puppy that had been kicked too many times. The thought of him suffering the consequences of his own actions brought a genuine smile to my face.

“Y/N…” he started. “Why didn’t you visit me, huh?” I interject. “I… I got—” “Busy cheating on me with other girls,” I finished. “Spence, who’s this?” Samantha asked him. “You’re not talking to him, you’re talking to me,” I told her, causing her to turn her gaze towards mine. “I am— I was —his girlfriend.” If she could get pale, she would’ve. I turned my focus back to Spencer, who looked like he’d seen a ghost. “I take seven bullets for this team and land myself in a medically-induced coma for you to cheat on me with my clone from Wish.” “Y/N, please, can we talk somewhere else?” Spencer begged. “There’s nothing to talk about,” I replied harshly, watching the hopeful twinkle in his eye disappear. “You cheated on me while I was on life support. I thought boyfriends were supposed to visit their half-dead girlfriends in the hospital.” By then, JJ, Morgan, and Emily had gathered around us, and Garcia followed suit.

“If I knew that sacrificing myself for this team would cost me six months of my life, I would’ve never joined in the first place,” I told them, a single tear slipping down my cheek and causing my voice to tremble. “I-I can’t even comprehend this betrayal.” “Y/N…” Samantha whispered. “I don’t wanna hear shit from you,” I barked, causing her to shrink away from the anger that radiated off of my body as I spoke. “I got a copy of my visitation logs from when I was in my coma, and I saw how the visits from everyone that wasn’t named Penelope Garcia stopped after two months.” “In fact, she even delivered me a bouquet of flowers every time she couldn’t come see me, as well as paid for my life support.” I turned to look at her, my eyes filled with unshed tears threatening to spill if I didn’t finish my speech. “Penelope, I owe you my life,” I said, watching as she offered a small smile and nodded, her own tears in her eyes. “Anything that you need me to do, I’ll do it.” I looked back at the team, who’s eyes were all glassy with tears formed from the hatred that filmed my body. “As for you all,” I announced, watching as they hung on to every word in anticipation for what disheartening blow I would deliver next. “I thought family looked out for one another, but it seems like no one returned the favor. Waking up in a strange new world with no one to guide you through it is something I would never wish on anyone, even you guys.” “If I knew that my team would turn their backs on me and my boyfriend would cheat on me, I would’ve forced myself to live out my fantasy delusion I lived in when I was in the coma. A delusion where Spencer and I got married and had kids. That’s just what it is— a delusion. If I were to live it out, I would’ve flatlined, and who knows? Maybe it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing after all.”

“If I knew what was waiting for me when I arrived, I would’ve spared you all the pain of seeing your former teammate that you abandoned, and instead, written a resignation letter. Since I didn’t come prepared,” I grab a sticky note off of Morgan’s desk and took a pen, scribbling down a note and thrusting it into JJ’s hands. “Give this to Hotch,” I demanded. “What’s it say?” Emily asked quietly. “‘I quit.’” Everyone’s faces fell as they all looked at me with expressions full of pain. “You don’t have to do this,” Morgan said. “Yes, I do, Derek.” The harsh use of his first name caused him to hang his head in the shame felt by the entire team. “There’s nothing left for me here. I can see that you already have your Black female in power, and it’s clear as day that you don’t want another one.” “Y/N, I’m so sorry for what happened,” Emily whispered. “I really am.” “I believe you.” Three words caused their faces to change to looks of hope, and four words took them away. “But, it’s too late.” I turned around and walked over to Garcia, wrapping her in another hug. “You’re leaving?” she asked, her voice filled with pain that brought a fresh set of tears to my eyes. “Yeah. We’ll talk, okay?” “Okay,” she mumbled, pulling away to sniffle and wipe her tears. “There’s nothing I have to say to you guys,” I told the team. If it was possible to look even more defeated, they did. “But Samantha,” I said. She perks up and looks at me with her face all red and blotchy. I had no idea why she was crying, seeing as this would’ve been a good thing for her, as it meant that she wouldn’t lose her job. “Remember that everyone’s replaceable.” All Samantha did was sniffle and blink away the stray tears. “And Spencer,” I called. He feebly looked up at me, his eyes already a bright shade of red from the tears. “Go fuck yourself.” It hurt to say, but the pain lessened when I reminded myself that he deserved it. With nothing else to say, I spun around and marched out of the building for the last time.

#spencer reid #criminal minds angst #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x black!reader #black!fem!reader #criminal minds #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #derek morgan #angst

287 notes · View notes

crusherthedoctor · 5 months ago

Note

It's really sad how people keep going after your group just because you defend yourselves

Apparently, the statements "I'm generally content with the quality of my personal stories" and "I spot many issues with this comic" justify getting spammed with graphic death threats and ableist insults

Yet it's insisted that you're the ones who are too harsh? It's straight up unfair.

Who would have thought that a group of people might occasionally get upset after being crucified and ridiculed by countless strangers?

Funny how they NEVER have a justification beyond "well shut up no one wants to hear you"

Somehow, it's always YOUR fault that a part of the fandom goes rabid whenever someone doesn't conform to the current "right" opinion, and YOU'RE to blame for THEIR ungodly behavior. That doesn't make any sense, does it?

This fandom is vain and abhorrent to the nth degree and y'all deserve better. That's all I wanted to say.

Par for the course, innit. They'll lash out at us. They'll hand out death threats. They'll make disgusting ableist comments about my autism, and similarly terrible comments towards my friends. They'll threaten to bomb SEGA HQ and stick Iizuka's head on a pike, among other wild declarations of violence. But don't you dare make a goofy meme about Surge not living up to her hype. And whatever you do, don't even think about criticising the unprofessional antics of the IDW crew. What are you, a monster?

They dismiss us as insignificant one minute, then fearmonger so hard that they see fit to give us a boogeyman-esque moniker the next. I'd be surprised if they could walk in a straight line without contradicting themselves.

As for "You talk so much about your fics!" ...No shit. I'm a guy with a blog. This isn't a movie production with a budget, I don't have a team or advertisements backing me up. And unlike fanartists, I don't have my own art to catch people's attention. I kind of have to talk about my writing in order to get it out there and inform people of its existence, and while I try not to sound too much like an unskippable YouTube ad, what else am I supposed to do? Upload them silently and then never refer to them again? How is showing passion for my work any different from official creators showing passion for theirs? Just because fanfic tends to get less attention on here than fanart doesn't mean it's not worth sharing, do they want fandom to flourish or not?

When I compare my work to a certain comic, I do it to highlight the dissonance. If fanfic writers - plural, not just myself - can understand the importance of keeping the characters recognizable, and making the universe faithful despite any necessary differences, then what excuse do official writers who have been involved with the series for over a decade have? If someone who doesn't even love Sonic that much compared to other characters, finds him annoying and unfunny half the time (no, not just in the Pontaff games, in general), and even finds it a pain in the ass to write for him at times and has more fun writing other characters because of this, can still attempt to write what made him appeal to fans... why do writers who supposedly love him so much keep fumbling so hard with him?

I compare for the sake of highlighting why these off-kilter portrayals are so easy to spot. If Sonic Twitter only gets "He's just stroking his own dick" from all of that, then they haven't been paying attention.

The most ironic thing about it all is that they've only gotten more vitriolic as most of us have mostly moved on from the height of IDW discourse (cause the comic goes in circles at this point, and is very likely to be running on fumes due to IDW's financial troubles, so there's no point). Yeah, I'll still criticise it now and then, and make a meme on occasion, but I rarely make lengthy ted talks about it or participate in ongoing Lanolin Is A Bitch/Silver Is Uwu-ified/Whisper Is Trauma Bait/etc back and forths anymore, because it's just tiring now. And since most current Sonic stuff has been putting me off in general, combined with growing fatigue and frustration at not being able to criticise certain games without people waving the finger at me (especially SA2, since the Year of Shadow has made it the center of attention yet again...), I've took a step back from intense Sonic discussion to focus on Stellar, as well as other fandom projects, like my recent brainstorming for Paper Mario or: How I Learned To Insert Eggman and Love The Vivian™.

In no way can you say I've been up in their faces as of recent. Yet they continue to cry otherwise, because they want people like me gone completely.

#Crusher's Asks

9 notes · View notes

kimyoonmiauthor · 5 months ago

Text

How to tell when someone is fishing you for ideas.

So a while back I was pitching an idea but the editor kept trying to say the pitch wasn't good enough, but to resubmit the proposal. But it turned out that editor was fishing to try to make the existing article in their roster better WITHOUT CREDIT.

And I get that ideas are a dime a dozen to some people who don't spend months researching to come up with one, but I wanted to give a guide on how do you know an editor/writer is fishing so this sort of thing doesn't happen to you.

And I know some people will auto-call me a trouble maker, because ya know, Asian, etc. But I kinda feel like in light of this:

We need to talk about fishing, why it is wrong, (though it should be obvious, like WTF) and the signs that agents, editors and your fellow writers are fishing.

Asking for diversity when there are none on their roster/all of their clients are problematic.

Agent asks for PoC/queer authors CONSTANTLY. They are in your feed everywhere, but when you look up their client list it's filled with authors who do Nazi Romances, have problematic writing of PoCs/queers, or ar in a scandal. And you're like, OK, ummm... why?

If they are constantly going on about it, but will not clean up their client list to think about why their roster is say, all white and straight, it's a pretty good sign they are either really incompetent at understanding diversity OR they are fishing.

Don't be desperate.

2. They keep asking you to repitch and "give them more angles." and give them more information and/or all your sources.

Fuck that. If they don't like your pitch, move on. If they want another angles and "more information" then move on. I had an editor do this to me, and then they refused to publish me suddenly when I thought I was working with them, and then they gave it to an Asian man who had an article up and then that person edited their article with *my* information I hard won. Fuck them. (I asked fellow writers to blackball them).

Don't let people fish you for what should be in your article. They either like it or they don't make them give you a contract first so they have to pay you for your ideas.

3. They ask you for the whole article without payment.

Don't work for free. They should like the pitch first.

4. They send unprofessional notes to you in the interim when you don't have a contract.

"I have a ___ friend" or "I have a friend who is ___" No. That's a strike. Move on. Contract first, write article later.

5. They keep asking you more and more questions, asking you to give everything to them.

I fell for this once and gave a writer my outline when I asked them to help me with my story, they STOLE the outline, waited until I was gone and then published the story. Was I PISSED yes beyond belief.

Did I get revenge? Not really, but I think their agent now knows the kind of person they are. Because they flushed out all of my diversity out of my story. But I hope to write it the way I would have written it, with the diversity all intact rather than flushed down the drain becaue they were an asshole.

And if you're reading this, you Asshole, you know who you are and what that idea meant to me and why I wanted to own it because we TALKED about that and you still did it.

If it's not relevant to your question, do not answer those questions. I know there is trusting and friendly, but you do not have to share.

Vampires and leeches do not have to exist. They need to gain their own confidence.

BTW, most people who have taken my ideas never really developed them further. And I'm like WTF is wrong with you? If it's about execution, you suck.

And I know people are going to roll out the red carpet on things like, "But everything is in the execution."

But I'm telling you, every idea I've had taken from me, with or without consent, the majority of them, don't really seem to DEVELOP the idea further than they should and play off of it, pick up the theming and develop it more. I've had some writers that did GREAT in this area, where they put in the time and research, but sometimes they just didn't do anything with what was written and just stuck what I'd written on the page without any development.

Which is to say, if you like an idea, and want to steal it--without consent--don't. You aren't likely to develop it well because it doesn't mean anything to you as a person. It's better to wait for them to publish and then you to publish on top, and if you are an editor or agent, at least work with the person before canning them like this. Whisper networks are there for a reason.

This isn't to say you can't ask people for help, but understand the basics of consent.

#fishing #publishing industry #stealing ideas #don't be the asshole

8 notes · View notes

f0xgl0v3 · 1 year ago

Text

I need to rant about my favorite characters and how I’ve characterized them, and my Camp Jupiter/ PJO Romans are-Imagining-

*Correction; I just rant about Octavian from HoO the entire time; I’ll post an Luke one and a Jason one and some other characters maybe later. Along with those Camp Jupiter things.

Guys this is written stream of consciousness (I think); so sorry :[ (I also kind of project of these characters but that’s what happens with faves)

Octavian-

My boy- my darling little guy. I love this little deranged war criminal; uncle Rick did him dirty; he was used as the butt of the jokes (like many of the Romans, I’m doing an entire Camp Jupiter re-imagining that I’ll probably post here) but he was a plot device too- but I love my guy. He’s poorly written (in my unprofessional opinion) he doesn’t have any characterization other than “I don’t like the Greeks, they aren’t cool >:[“ and I’ll be honest; I like Rome better (I am biased) but after we get a character written like Luke Castellan (I know- I know we aren’t supposed to like him, but like- cmon, hear me out) where he’s written pretty well in my opinion, with a clear tragic story and motivation. Octavian feels like a very watered down more comedic Luke; in the worst way. But I; as someone who needs as much information on something as I can and I’m not satisfied with just that, have scanned through the wiki; looked at all of his scenes and giggled in his general direction, and this is my head-canons (and probably art too let’s be honest) on the little guy

Octavian Cesaer-

My boy is 100% mixed in my heart. In my brain his father is Black and his mother is white.

BIG family; my man’s is the 8th out of 9 children (Julia; THAT Julia is also his younger sister. I saw that head canon somewhere and snatched it)

He has a really good and close friendship with Michael Kahale; they are genuinely good friends, and Octavian enjoys his presence

(In my Camp Jupiter AU, re-imagining? Idk- but in the thing, I’m re-searching actual Roman legion structure and rankings, etc. because from characterization of the Romans they would not be up to change anything about the legion) but Octavian’s working to try and rise up to the most important role (Praetors aren’t the most important position in my brain for the re-imagined) and only supported Jason’s name change idea begrudgingly is because that would make him Primus Pilus; and he wanted the promotion. (This headcanon may change once I continue to fiddle with how I want to interpret C.J)

Cannot keep his hair legion-regulation, Octavian has a rough love-hate relationship with the hair. He *really* does not appreciate it at times. It’s overgrown and pushed to the left.

I like to think of my Octavian (Octavian 2: electric bogaloo) as being somewhere on the Autism spectrum. It’s another head-cannon I adopted somewhere and have just clung onto. It tickles the right part of my brain.

Knows everything about Rome; like actually. And Troy; he really liked the Aenead(?) when he was younger, if anyone asked his favorite Trojan was Hector (it was totally Andromache, he felt really bad for her. And sobbed during Hector’s farewell. Yes I am somewhat projecting).

His family pressured him a lot into his roles, he does genuinely like his Augur role.

This man lives and breathes the legion. Genuinely loves his home and wants to protect it; just ends up coming off as kind of paranoid.

He didn’t get much attention as a kid (with his 8 other siblings) so he tries really hard for his voice to be heard and over-explains and tries to be very clear when he’s wanting to get his message across. Most people interpret him (as said MANY times in the books) as kind of desperate to be listened to and a little whiny

Really takes his rules seriously and doesn’t like when people don’t follow him. There has been a many ‘but that’s not fair >:[‘ with my little guy.

Octavian is a REGULAR at the build-a-bear in Berkeley. He mostly uses them for Auguries when he needs something fresher. But he does sometimes keep them (he impulsive buys anytime they have a bird one, he also literally stayed up refreshing the website when he saw the, “Wolf Pup build-a-bear online exclusive” and was one of like the first people to buy it.

https://www.buildabear.com/wolf-pup/029368.html (the plush in question if anyone wants a visual)

He bleaches his hair. That’s it :] I’m un-equipped to try and talk about a hairstyle I think he has because I am not the person to talk about black hairstyles without making a fool of myself. Though he does really like Hair rings, he thinks their a cool way to have some nice casual looking added bling to his usual outfits

This man wears majority of Hand-me-downs. Those shirts SWAMP him because his older brothers just had to be good archers

On that note about Archery- Octavian sucks at archery but is pretty good with other long-ranged weapons. Any spear/javelin/pole arm and he’s got it (based off of him being able to spear Gwen, from what I think was a ways away) and I’d like to think if the situation is dire he can throw his dagger pretty well.

He’s currently got the strongest prophetic powers in his family; and his family (I think this is mentioned somewhere- I dunno it’s late) goes back to being related to Augustus Caesar (the guy)

Isn’t a good artist. He doesn’t like not being good at anything artistic when he has things he really does want to paint or draw that don’t come out how he wants them to.

Octavian has problems with anger, totally. Stabbing stuffed animals isn’t really a good method to let out anger

People don’t give him enough credit for his part on the raid of mount Tam; sure Jason did the whole ‘topple Kronos’s black throne’ (which is a genuine achievement that Jason deserves and I love him-) but he also led the first cohort to battle against majority of the monsters; the first cohort were the first ones to storm of course-

I love him he’s so silly and goofy <3 uhhhhh. He’s also a people pleaser

He has a disappointed-mother-resting face.

Does the thing with the nose bridge pinching way too much.

He tugs on his hair when frustrated or annoyed or anything.

That’s all for now :3, I just wanted to get some of that out there. If anyone does pay attention to this account my next posts are probably going to be either Octavian art, more Calliope design things, or more likely stuff on my Re-imaging of Camp Jupiter/New Rome as someone with Ancient Rome as a special interest I really want to make my version of Camp Jupiter

#camp jupiter #hoo octavian #pjo headcanon #hoo headcanon #pjo octavian #pjo hoo toa #stream of conscious writing #kind of bad writing

23 notes · View notes

moonystoes · 4 months ago

Note

I get that this is frustrating for you that Elisa doesn't share anything about politics, but there are many possible reasons why she doesn't do that.

1. There are nearly no posts that aren't football related on her account. It's her professional account and she seems to want to keep it about football as much as possible. She has like 4 posts a year at most that aren't her playing football.

2. She doesn't have to. It's not her job to inform others or educate others. That's the job of the news, which they do very well here. Everyone here knows what's happening and where I live there have been plenty of demonstrations. However, some Arab medias and especially Iran love to lie and twist what's happening here and produce hate against "the Western world" in general.

3. In France, it is totally normal not to say anything political as an athlete. It is mostly considered unprofessional.

4. She hasn't posted about any conflict. She hasn't posted anything about Ukraine, Sudan/South Sudan, Niger etc. or the elections in France. I know in the US, it's quite common that celebrities talk about who they support in public, but this is not the case in most European countries. Especially because most European countries have a wide range of political parties and you yourself have to decide who to vote for.

5. She's actually not that privileged. She's a masc woman, most likely lesbian and she has a migration background since she's French/Portuguese. France is not necessarily the most open-minded when it comes to celebs/public figures being part of the lgbt community. And while the combination French/Portuguese is not the most uncommon combination in France, I guarantee you that there will be people that do not consider her to be a 'real' French person. Portugal is poorer than France, which is why this combination of dual citizenship is not necessarily so well seen there. Yes, sure, she is most likely on the richer side, lives in or close to Paris (and grew up there) and is most likely catholic. For the US, she's white but that is not necessarily the case here. We don't necessarily put people in this kind of group, it is far more complex than "White, Black, Asian, Arabic". So e.g. Polish people are white, yet they are one of groups that had to endure the most in history. If you look at US history, you'll also notice why Italians and Irish in the US might not consider themselves white since they used to be considered as "not white". So, of course it isn't the exact same as Sakina for example but most people will still know that she's not just French and therefore not necessarily see her as a "fully/actually french". Even if she plays for France, was born and raised in France and as far as I remember never lived in Portugal.

6. The amount of hate she gets. She already gets a lot of hate for her being a masc woman, for her style of play, from the PSG fans and from the France fans on each and every single post that exists of her on Instagram and Tiktok. So, if she doesn't post or say anything, she'll most likely get called ignorant. If she does though, she'll get called performative and having "white savior syndrome".

This is in no way or shape meant to attack you or anyone else. I just wanted to explain her possible reasons since if I remember correctly you live in the US, are Arab, never lived in France or Europe in general and in a younger age group. This is just meant to show why she might not post anything since French/European culture and US culture actually do not have that much in common as many people believe. Again, it is not meant to attack or offend anyone and I'm not trying to start a fight or big discussion, I'm just trying to give possible explanations that Élisa might have.

Hey! Since your ask is a lot. I'd try to add my points and thoughts if I have some.

2. Iran isn't an Arab country, it's Persian but resides in the middle east. (Sorry I had to do it or I'll keep thinking about this all month 😭😭🙈). Secondly, Iran doesn't just make the west bad, they make every other country except their extremist dictatorship look bad. Iran has its own propaganda and disgusting government. But for Arabs (especially as one), it's not hard to 'demonize' the west when we get new news articles about one of us getting shot, harassed or basically disrespected. I wish I was joking but there was an Arab person that was just racially attacked this week in France, and I'm pretty sure Sakina reposted something about it in her story. I agree that some Arabs just follow stereotypes, but it's safer than just going there and becoming one of the victims too.

3. I understand that it isn't her job. But it also wasn't Sakina, kenza, le guilly, aissa's job to post about it either. But they still did. Obviously she doesn't have that big of a platform to actually change scores (THANK YOU KYLIAN MBAPPE AND KOUNDE).

5. I understand that obviously as a masc lesbian, things aren't going to be easy for her. But I think that previous anon was referring the Palestinian genocide, not the right-wing issue. The reason why so many Arabs speak so much about palestine is because our country had been affected somewhat and we feel a connected outside of culture too. For example I'm from yemen and it's in a war currently as I speak, I lived through some of it as a kid and I don't want anyone to experience these things. That's why it's so easy for me to sympathize with Palestinians (i want to clarify that what yemen is going through is NOTHING like palestine!!). Thats what the anon was referring to when she brought up Elisa being privileged. Now speaking about her being Portuguese, I'm not aware of the conditions in Portugal or how French people view them, so I feel like I have no right to speak about her life as a Portuguese/french person. And in no way do I agree that Elisa is 100% privileged, at the end of the day she's a queer woman.

6. I agree with you about her having too much attention right now, but that's exactly why we feel like it's best to use her large platform. But I respect her being private for everything, she rarely posts about anything even a selfie is a rare sight.

At the end of the day, this isn't a major issue. It's just something that bothered me and obviously other people based on the anons. I'm not gonna hate on her or stop my fan account (is this what I am now 🙂🙂), I just would've been very happy if she did make a comment about it. I mean....at least she didn't post any zionist info, I guess that's something to be happy about 😭.

#moonytoes anons

4 notes · View notes

drdemonprince · 9 months ago

Note

Do you worry about being so open about your sex life under the same name you use professionally? How did you settle on your current approach to talking about kink/fetishism publicly?

That's my question. Below is some background but feel free to ignore it.

I'm asking because, like many people, my kinks are integral to my sense of self and engaging in BDSM has been significant for my psychological wellbeing. I don't like keeping these important aspects of myself separate from the rest of my life and I'm jealous of the people I meet at munches who share openly kinky stuff on their regular Instagrams. But I also have relatives on all of my socials, including a few adult family members who take any opportunity to create drama or get on their high horses, and teenage cousins who obviously shouldn't be given information about my sex life.

I like using social media to connect with people, and it feels harder to do that when big parts of me are walled off. I'm so worried about sharing anything 'inappropriate' that I'm only presenting this bland, watered down version of myself and it makes me feel alienated. Making side accounts is one option, but it feels like compartmentalising and involves more 'personal brand' management than I care to juggle.

That's without even touching on in-person disclosures. How do I embrace these aspects of myself without acting like they're shameful, but also without being obnoxious or unfair on other people who might not want to know?

I know "authenticity" can be an unattainable ideal, especially on social media platforms that necessitate curation, but I do want to stop tying myself in so many knots over this (in the figurative, unsexy way).

Sorry for venting in your askbox.

Yeah, I have a lot of thoughts on this.

I don't worry about the potential of my speaking openly about my sex life ruining my professional life because I hate my professional life and professionalism in nearly all forms. I have nothing but contempt for the academy, social psychology, my employer, the publishing industry, 99% of the organizations that hire me to provide workshops, and a decent-sized subset of my readers who are of the more liberal end of things. Alienating myself from these institutions and people and making myself incompatible with their viewpoints feels as necessary to me as breathing air.

when I was very young I was concerned with making myself palatable to academia and shucking off everything that was unprofessional and hillbillyish and childish and weird about me, but then I learned what success within the academy really entailed. I heard faculty members shrug and say they "didn't really care" about the topics they were studying (topics like racism, sexism, transphobia, etc) and were just publishing work on these subjects to further their own careers. I was trained to use questionable research protocols that generated false positives and specious results. Nearly all the research that I worked on for three years of undergrad and five years of graduate school would eventually be discredited due to failure to replicate. And I realized that I was being taken advantage of all the while, mined for cheap labor on meaningless projects that meant nothing scientifically, making $14k a year in a field where there were no future job prospects.

by the time i finished my PhD I knew that I wanted to be nothing like the people that had trained me and taken advantage of me, and that I had useless skills in a dying field. I was plenty happy to cut the shit by then and be real about who I was, what I believed, and what was and wasn't a virtuous use of my time. This only became more pronounced after I was screwed over by even more employers as a part-time instructor, and then finally hired full-time in a department that was doing good work, but which was constantly getting undercut by those in higher up administrative positions.

My entire career I have essentially been daring people to fire me and they never seem to do it. No matter how much shit I talk about the university and my profession and no matter how much I bear about myself, I just keep getting rewarded for it and allowed to float along relatively unbothered. There's a power in having a lot of audacity. I am not ashamed of who I am and I don't worry about how my employer and colleagues see me because as a whole I have zero respect for any of them or their opinions. (I have some individual coworkers who are great! but they dont represent Psychology or Academia as a whole or its values. my coworker friends are supportive of my freaky trans kinky self).

It's much the same dynamic in my family. I have no respect for the majority of people in my family and I don't concern myself with how they might react to the things I have to say. When I first started writing openly about Autism some relatives found it deeply offensive and talked a lot of shit about me behind my back, saying that I was embarassing all of them by associating us with a disability they found shameful, but my mom communicated to those relatives in no uncertain terms that I was gonna just keep doing whatever the fuck I wanted and they'd have to find some way to deal with it.

My mom had already learned that about me firsthand. I complain about her sometimes but I do have immense gratitude to her for just accepting who I am, even if there are elements of it she can't understand and probably does not feel good about. She learned a long long time ago that I was on my own separate planet and that there was nothing she could do to stop me from running my mouth and living my life, and I'm thankful to her for that. My actions have set the tone with my family pretty clearly: i came out as trans publicly before I told them, I started hormones and changed my name/gender marker without consulting them and then told them it was a fact already and they'd need to get in line. I approach most things about myself that others might take issue with in the same way: it's a fact, it's fucking happening, and you can't tell me shit about it that is going to keep me from doing it. and if you're too much of a dick about it I might end up writing about you in a book or essay so watch out, I guess.

That sounds more vindicitive than how I actually feel most of the time, of course. I just don't think about the opinions of people I don't respect. I care about what my friends think of me, and the people I look up to, and I try to rise to a level that is worthy of them. And of course I do experience fear of ostacism and failure in those respects and have not always coped with it in a confident, principled way. But with my aunts and uncles or my boss? Fuck them. I have no desire to win their approval because I've seen what they approve of and it sucks.

All of this is possible because I am not financially reliant upon my family, of course, and because if I lose my job I would have a back-up plan. I've always done freelancing and side writing gigs, even back when I was a part-timer with really insecure teaching jobs, and so the loss of any one position has never felt that catastrophic to me. I was already released by my PhD program into economically shaky ground and I never had a prayer of having a successful tenure track academic "career", so I'm not afraid of losing that. that's already gone. I feel generally pretty confident in my ability to scratch by making a living doing this or that even if somebody fires me, and I won't have to ask relatives for money so it really does not matter if I alienate any of them. that is an IMMENSE PRIVILEGE and someone not in that position shouldn't compare themselves to me or expect themselves to have that same degree of confidence. sometimes you have to just keep your head down to survive and there's no shame in that either.

as for the question about "authenticity" as an idealized end state and how to reconcile it with social media, here are some of my thoughts: it's not authenticity if it is focused on how other people interpret you. authenticity is letting go of trying to manage what other people think about you. that means you dont ever have to broadcast everything about yourself to the public or on social media, you dont ever have to share something that you dont want to, the pursuit of being perfectly understood is one that will never be fulfilled and there is no need to make oneself unnecessarily vulnerable just for the sake of appealing to people who might not ever understand and accept you anyway. authenticity is more about an energy than about revealment. it's an energy of self acceptance, not necessarily self love, and it's not something that one broadcasts, it's something one cultivates by developing secure, supportive relationships, improving one's self knowledge, and by working through one's baggage.

92 notes · View notes