Sorry - Blog Posts
hi very random but please, please do not spam-like or spam-reblog every single one of my posts. its not as fun as you think for me, thanks.
Okay so….
Um, on the 15th of October, last Friday, my dad passed away. He had gallbladder cancers nd it’s got so bad that the doctors weren’t sure what to do. So they put him in home hospice care. Less than a week later, he died at home. I watched him die. As such, I am currently in mourning. It gets easier every day but that doesn’t mean it’s not hard. I am 18 years old (haven’t started college cause I took a semester off to take care of him), I have a 21 year old brother and a 17 year old brother. My mom is now a widow at 52 with three kids who are barely grown. I have to find some way to help her and fanfiction does not make money.
I am not sure when or if I will update my fan fictions. Please do give me time as I am in passing. And as an 18 year old, I am still not sure how to deal with ANY of this. I will try to update my stories when I can even if it doesn’t fit in the season it should. It might not be up to the quality it had before. But thank you for reading my stories and waiting.
I promise to update soon.
Why am I literally good for nothing? I always mess up and disappoint the people around me, then when I think I’m doing good, something always comes along to rain on my parade. I just wish I wasn’t me all the time
kind of obsessed with whatever this pose is.
I put an imposter in a hamster ball
Dear online friends, to me you look like you profile pic. Sorry for my brain, but that’s what you look like.
I am aware that this isn’t probably what you’d thought you be getting when you came to my profile, but here is an Artemis Fowl fanfic crossover I’m writing. So go check that out.
P.S. Sorry for grammar and spelling didn’t really edit it.
Big puppy
Eepy
RAGATHA, TRY GIVING US VERBAL PERMISSION TO DESPAWN ENTITIES! PLEASEEEE
-ESCat anon
"This thing is loud!"
I don’t have a cool title for this, but I listened to this playlist on spotify while writing this! I’m also not usually a bottom Leon stan but it just felt right. I’m not confident in my smut writing so fr give me feedback pls. Enjoy!!
(if we want more parts lmk)
((sorry for any typos i wrote this at work))
Leon x Reader x Ada btw
“Am I gonna have to catch you here again yln?” Leon says, annoyance on his boyish face.
Officer Leon Kennedy has been in the force for about six months, you and an ally being his case for about four of those months. He always seemed to be right on your toes. Finding you in robberies, car jacking, unregistered firearms, you name it, he’s caught you.
And somehow, someway, you always found your way out. Leon can never find out why, the sheriff started to get on his ass for just how many times you haven’t been charged. The saw it to be fishy, interrogating Leon more times than you’ve been in cuffs.
You sit in the interrogation room, hair pulled back blowing your baby hairs out of your face. A small smirk on your face, Leon sighs. You know damn well Ada should be here by now, although seeing the blue-eyed police officer was the highlight of your day. His stare meets you head on, face void of emotion, minus a slight pink hue on his cheeks.
“I dunno Mr. Kennedy, don’t you have fun with our little chases? Cat and mouse play is not what I thought you were into.”
His pink cheeks become warmer, a small giggle leaving your lips as he scoffs, “Keep it clean yn.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Ada’s voice rings through the intercom. Your smile turns into a grin, while Leon’s face pales. He quickly turns to see the door opening.
Ada’s black body-con dress hugs her curves, her face softening making eye contact with you. Leon stands quickly, pulling his gun out and aiming directly at Ada. She smiles, placing her hands up in a surrendering motion.
“There’s no need Kennedy, we’ll just be on our way out.”
“Like hell you will!” He says, face hard.
“Oh c’mon Kennedy!” You whine, pouting. “Just let me go this once? I’ll be a good girl from here on out! I swear it!”
Leon’s face darkens with pink yet again, this guy can never catch a break from your flirting can he? Your smile turns into a smirk when he shakes his head, pointing his gun at you next.
“yn, this is the last time you’ll see her outside of prison bars. You’ve done way worse things than robbing a bank, and yet, thats why you’ll finally be put away. For good.”
Suddenly, Ada lunges at Leon. As they fight over the gun you easily make your way out of the cuffs. The bobby-pin in your pocket becoming a normal occurrence. Leon is pinned face down on the table, Ada close to his face. Your stomach warms, seeing him pinned down like this feels way more criminal than anything you’ve ever done.
“Don’t worry Leon, I’ll keep our baby out of trouble. Be a good boy and give us a head start at least, yeah?” Her voice low, making your stomach churn with lust.
“You go first babe!” You say happily, moving to hold Leon down. You press a kiss on Ada’s lips, making sure Leon sees.
His eyes burn with desire, whether or not he says it out loud it’s not hard for everyone to see. He attempts to wiggle out of your grasp.
“See you at home, behave this time. No more stolen cars.” She pushes hair out of your face.
“But-”
“No. Stolen. Cars.” Her voice is firm, eyebrow raised. You nod, pouting.
As she sways out of the room, Leon begins to struggle harder. He grunts as you push down harder. You lean close to his ear, hearing the subtle change in his breathing. Your stomach churns again. Desire fills your every thought.
“Please be good, I swear I can make it worth your while.” Leon stiffens, hitting his forehead against the table.
“My job is to catch criminals, not make deals with them.” He says through gritted teeth.
You smile softly, moving your forehead to rest against his shoulder. He stiffens more (if possible at this point.) Your hand grips his wrists harder, letting out a loud sigh.
“If you would give us one night, all of this could go away.”
You let go quickly, sprinting out of the door. Moving quickly out the door Ada left open, you hear Leon shouting something. He’s too close.
You make it out on the street, navigating quickly and smoothly through the traffic and people walking. You hear Leon shout your name, turning to face him.
His face is overcome with a glare, bright red cheeks. Your smile turning into a grin, pulling your hair down from your pony tail you bow dramatically and begin sprinting. You move through a familiar alley, hearing Leon close by. You hide in a doorway, waiting for his footsteps.
“Shit! What the fuck!” He shouts, covering his face with his hands. He reaches for his radio, but isn’t able to send out his message before you dive at him. Tackling him to the ground.
“Gotcha!” You move to pin his hands behind his back again, sitting on his back.
“See! Isn’t this fun?” You say cheerfully. His grunts become louder, more frustrated. “I’m sorry, for what I’m about to do. This is the only way I can get you to cooperate with me.”
You knock him out, his grunts and curses end abruptly. Ada appears from seemingly no where. Her face grim, she leans down and pushes hair out of Leon’s face. Staring you down with an angry look.
“What? This really is the only way we could do this and you know that.” You frown, she presses a kiss to your forehead.
“Let’s move quickly then yn, get him into the car.” She stands as you move to lift him. “Maybe this time, he’ll listen.
Leon wakes to an unfamiliar room. His hands are cuffed to the bed frame, mouth gagged with a cloth. You sit at the edge of the bed, staring off with tears in your eyes. He grunts as he tries to pull his hands away from the bed frame. Your head snaps to him, tears falling from your eyes. You move quickly to the side of the bed, petting his hair and removing the cloth.
“I’m sorry, please don’t be upset. You wouldn’t listen to us, please just give me a moment.”
He looks down at his chest and his heart drops at the sight of no clothing, just his underwear. He whips his head to you, growling.
“What did you do-?”
“No-no-no! Wait, we didn’t touch you! We don’t have air conditioning and it’s hot so- I took them off- you were sweating a lot!” You say, panicked.
“What am I doing here? Who the fuck is we?” He says, anger on his face. He’s breathing fast, Leon looks around attempting to gather his surroundings.
“It’s just us Leon.” Ada says. You stare at her with more tears falling out of your eyes. “She just thought it would be better for you, after I specifically told her it was a bad idea-”
“I just thought.. it-” you say, more tears welling in your eyes.
“Getting me naked was not the move yn.” Leon says. He doesn’t know why, but he feels inclined to cheer you up. He meets your eyes, his gaze dropping to your lips for a moment before looking into your eyes again. He hates that you’ve engrained a soft spot in his heart, although he’s never going to admit to that. You sniffle, moving to sit in front of Ada, your body facing Leon.
“It’s okay sweetheart,” Ada says, petting your hair. Her fingernails scratch softly at your scalp, you shiver.“Talk to him, this is what he’s here for.”
Leon watches closely and she drags a finger nail down your cheek, to your neck, then to your chest finally meeting your-
“Officer Kennedy,” You say, interrupting his thoughts he definitely shouldn’t be having. “I want you, we both do.”
Silence fills the air, he tilts his head in confusion.
“Uh-Okay? So why am I tied up? I still don’t get why I’m even here. What’s going on?”
Ada’s hand stops groping your breast, you both freeze. A good minute of silence later she snorts pulling her hands to her face. You blink rapidly, shaking your head. No, no way. He has to get it right? Is he fucking with the two of you?
“Kennedy, babe,” Ada speaks, her smile apparent in her voice. “She wants you to join us.”
“I’ll never become a criminal. Especially not at this rate.” He says without missing a beat.
Ada snorts again, your mouth drops open. Leon’s cheeks become a bright red. His head tilting again, still confused. You turn around to Ada, a question in your expression. Leon takes the both of you in as you talk quietly.
You have nothing but a tank top and underwear on, Ada is still fully covered in her dress from earlier. The soft candlelight makes it hard to see the two of you very well, but he can spot makeup on the both of you. There’s faux fur on the cuffs, and a vibrator on the bed-
“Oh.” Leon says suddenly, his face darkening with even more color.
You and Ada turn quickly to face him, a blush on your cheeks as well. Leon looks embarrassed, he feels stupid. His head drops and he sighs. When he regains his composer, he meets your eyes, rolling his in annoyance.
“All you had to do was quit fucking up my city’s crime rate and ask yn.”
Your face morphs to shock, even darker can be seen even in the subtle lighting. His eyes drift to your legs, you shift uncomfortably. Ada places a hand on your shoulder and you stop. His eyes meet Ada’s gaze.
“Are you in charge Ada?” He says, his voice an octave lower. Your stomach churns.
She places her hands on your shoulders. Pushing the thin straps down, slowly. Her hands are soft, she smells like vanilla. You whine when she removes her hands just shy of touching your breasts. She kneels next to your ear and whispers something Leon can’t hear. You begin to crawl towards him, settling on his lap. His breath hitches as you lean forward, pressing your lips to his softly.
This kiss feels too intimate, soft and unsure. He pushes forward, his hands grip the cuffs. You can feel him hardening beneath you. You press harder, and the kiss quickly becomes hungry. You pull back, placing your hands on his chest to keep him still.
“If I take off the cuffs, you won’t run?” You say, your face serious. You still sound unsure, still torn up by having to know the poor kid out to get him here.
He’s taken aback by the question, his hard on should’ve been enough proof he wouldn’t. He looks deep into your eyes. Not able to sense any sort of malice.
I guess they both really do just wanna do this.
He nods, eyes on yours. He shifts, a small noise leaving his lips. You smile happily, going to remove the cuffs. He sees Ada moving quickly behind you. Her hand covers yours, staring directly in Leon’s eyes.
“Not yet, keep going.” She says, her voice firm. Your head whips to her, a pout on your lips. She stares into your eyes, shaking her head. You frown harder and remove your hands.
You both lean towards him, your lips on his while Ada begins to suck on his neck. He lets out a breath. Leon gasps when you push your tongue into his mouth, at the same time Ada uses her teeth on his neck.
Your hands move to his underwear, running a finger down his member. He shivers and you pull away. Moving quickly to remove your shirt, his underwear quickly following. You sit on his thighs, using your hand to stroke him slowly.
“Is this okay Officer?” You say, looking at him through your eyelashes.
He moans softly, nodding quickly and bucking his hips. Just how wrong is this?
He pulls at the handcuffs again. Ada stops covering his neck with hickeys, and moves to slowly remove the cuffs. Leon pulls her into a heated kiss, you moan around his cock and Ada pulls away. Leon whines but moves to grope your breasts, another moan leaving the both of you. Ada hums, moving to sit with Leon between her legs. Her dress is hiked up past her thighs, Leon shivers at her warmth.
“Isn’t she gorgeous?” She says into his ear, a whine leaving your lips. Leon nods quickly. She pulls his hands away, the both of them watching you move quickly around him.
You move faster around his cock, Leon whimpers loudly. As you take him, Ada smiles kissing his neck again, she moves to push his hand into your hair. He grips hard, you move quickly up and down his cock, your head bobbing and tongue moving like clock-work.
“That’s my girl yn, just like that.” She says, both you and Leon whining.
“We practiced this,” she says, her voice level. “We used our toys and all she talked about was how much she wanted you. We loved teasing you Kennedy, it made her so wet.”
Leon gasps loudly, throwing his head back. He moans, before attempting to push you off. Your head rises with a pop.
“Please- I want- can I-”
“You wanna fuck her Kennedy?” Ada interrupts, her nails lightly scratching his stomach. He nods quickly.
“Yes- please? I’ll be so good please!” He begs, he almost sounds like he could cry. You’re breathing quickly, shifting your legs. Leon feels Ada nodding at you, and he moves to push you under him.
“C’mon baby, give him what he wants, you’re both being so good for me.”
You lay down, your head on Ada’s thighs. She runs her fingers through your hair. Leon kneels at your cunt, positioning his cock at your hole. You whine, feeling him press forward.
“I’ll go slow.” He says, eyes staring at himself entering you.
“No, she can take it. The whole thing, now.” Ada says, her voice commanding.
You whine as he presses all of himself into you. You moan and the same time, Leon’s infinitely louder. He’s breathing fast, head bowed, eyes closes. He looks at Ada before thrusting carefully, before speeding up.
“There you go,” She says, “Take him, you’re doing so good. My pretty babies.”
Your gasps, Leon’s moans, the slapping of skin fills the room. It’s music to Ada’s ears, motions for Leon to slow down. As you being to whine she removes herself to sit in the corner of the bed, vibrator in hand. She removes her clothing, you and Leon both watch her intently. His thrusts remain slow, the both of you still breathing erratically.
She places a hand on her breast, toying at her nipple. You whine, looking at her desperately. She nods at you letting out a breath. You follow her movement, moaning at your own hand on your nipple. The vibrator buzzes to life, and she places it on her clit. She nods, not looking away from Leon’s cock in your cunt.
His thrusts grow aggressive quickly, your head falling back on the bed. Ada moans, the buzzing making your whole clench. Leon gasps, his thrusts growing erratic.
“So fucking wet.” He says, voice sounding so whiny. So good.
“So good Leon.” You say, looking into his eyes. “Making me feel so good.”
You pull at your nipple harder, wrapping your legs around Leon’s waist. He moves even faster, crying out when you rub at your clit.
“‘M- I’m gonna-” His voice breaks into a whine, leaning forward to take your other nipple into his mouth. You moan loudly, your other hand moving faster, rubbing at your clit.
“Cum for me, both of you.” Ada says, sounding desperate herself.
“C’mon Leon, fill me up. I want it. Please? I’ve been so good.”
The thrusts grow sloppy, his hands gripping your waist hard enough to bruise. Leon finishes first, shooting himself into your hole. As you feel yourself being filled, you clench around his cock. Ada is the last to finish, moaning loudly, her legs twitching and her head falling back.
Ada is the first to move, cleaning the cum from your cunt. A soft smile on her lips as Leon falls next to you, pulling you into his arms. Ada lays on your other side, wrapping her arms around your waist. She kisses your shoulder, all three of your legs tangled in blankets.
Leon voice breaks the silence, “So… Does this mean you two will stop doing illegal shit?”
“I’ll think about it.” You say, giggling when he groans.
no no i think you should keep him
you two have a lot in common
hey heres your fuckass dog back
it bit me once and i think i have rabies
what
yeah he has rabies it's ok though
take him back
Corroded coffin, 80s and 90s metal legend band is seeing a wild resurgence of popularity due to a tik tok trend/ a song of theirs being in a movie/ etc.
This means young people are obsessed with Eddie again. Young people, his og fans. His name is trending on Twitter again. Steve is so happy for him.
One tweet, had 4 photos of Steve and Eddie. One old photo Steve had posted for their 35 year (who could believe that!) anniversary on Facebook of the two of them back in ‘86, one of them in ‘95 from the Grammys, one of them from ‘11 from their wedding, and one of them from a few weeks ago from robins Instagram which Eddie had shared to his story.
The caption reads “who was going to tell me that THIS is who EDDIE MUNSON is married to? He’s literally JUST SOME GUY oh my god this is hilarious this dude could be my English teacher how the fuck did these two even meet” and Eddie thinks it’s so funny, so he retweets it with the caption “high school sweethearts-ish. He’s a social worker BTW, close enough :)”
Pushing the button will cause you to almost always have perfect health.
Here's how it works: When you develop something that you consciously consider a health problem, the next time you sleep you will wake up next to your body. It is now dead. In a maximum of two hours a new body will form around you that is just how the previous one would have been without the problem. If you were sick, no longer sick. If you lost an arm, it's back. If you were born with one arm but want two, you have two now. If you decided that human bodies (or just yours) have a flawed design and have ideas for how it could be improved, you have the improvements. Yes, this can be things about your mind that you want to change. Etc. You can figure this out I think. Of course, you will need to do something about the corpses. And each time this happens, you look just slightly more uncanny.
professional obligations - osamu miya x reader
summary: attending your neighbourhood's annual business awards ceremony is not exactly your idea of an ideal night out. however, the owner of a shop a few doors down from your cafe makes an appearance and, to your surprise, you end up liking him quite a bit. timeskip osamu x reader.
cw: explicit sexual content, consumption of alcohol
NSFW, 18+ - MDNI - MINORS and AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT!
wc: 5.9k
“Champagne?”
The waiter holds out the silver tray with a polite smile and no judgment in his eyes, so you take two of the flutes without thinking twice about it. You’ll need some liquid courage if you have any hope of sticking this out to the end.
If you had any other place to be on this Saturday night then you likely wouldn’t be here right now, in a mid-range hotel ballroom, attending the 25th Annual Local Small Business & Restaurant Awards ceremony with absolutely no connections to help you break the ice, and without a date by your side to keep you company.
You knock back half a glass of champagne with a grimace, hoping the waiter isn’t offended; your expression has nothing to do with the refreshments.
The champagne is actually quite delightful.
Thankfully, he’s moved on to serve the table next to you and so he doesn’t notice. You spot him chatting with the co-owners of a successful flower shop located across the street from your café, congratulating them on their win. You seem to be the only person having difficulty with small-talk this evening.
Your table has mostly been cleared except for a few coats and handbags draped over the backs of empty chairs. You watch as the guests mingle on the ballroom floor, showing off their medals and trophies and certificates.
Your own award sits proudly next to your place card – a small golden trophy bearing the name of your coffee shop, with “INDEPENDENT CAFÉ OF THE YEAR” written in tiny but perfectly-engraved letters at the base.
It’s silly. Just a trivial little token. After tomorrow’s celebratory post on the café’s Instagram account, you’ll likely forget all about it.
It’s silly, meaningless, but you feel proud nonetheless. You smile to yourself, allowing a moment of indulgence as you reflect upon your journey.
Running your own business hasn’t been easy.
It all started five years ago when you were fresh out of university, burdened with student loans and with absolutely no plans for the future, and so you took up a job as a barista in a locally-run café to pay the bills. You had zero barista experience and could barely prepare toast successfully, let alone the intricate pastries that the café was known for, but the elderly owner took a liking to you and gave you a chance to learn from her. Her wisdom and experience were unmatched.
Surprisingly, you found yourself loving almost every part of the job - baking in the tiny kitchen, brewing the coffee, chatting to customers - and just one year after joining you were promoted to supervisor. Business was never better than with you in charge and so you climbed up the ranks quickly, and when the owner retired three years later, she offered you the right of first refusal in buying the place.
It seemed ridiculous at first. You were twenty-five, had no experience in the behind-the-scenes aspects of running a business, and still had most of your loans to pay off. Even though your heart soared at the idea of making the café your own, it just didn’t seem realistic.
However the owner, only wanting to earn enough from the sale to retire comfortably, set the asking price far lower than what was typical for this area. It was still a big commitment, but it was one that you couldn’t refuse. As a result, you were able to secure a small business loan from the bank and, with your mentor’s blessing, started a complete rebrand of the café the moment your signature was on the dotted line.
The café soon became remarkably popular. It went from being a hidden gem that people tended to stumble upon by accident to a bustling local hotspot, reviewed in countless travel guides and magazines.
Word-of-mouth did the rest of the publicity for you. You only use fresh, local ingredients in your baked goods and the finest coffee beans for your beverages, and the steady line of customers outside the café every morning shows how your efforts are appreciated.
The award helps, too.
Setting aside your awkward reluctance to mingle, you suppose this evening hasn’t been a total waste. You allow yourself this moment of pride in your achievement.
“Best café, huh?” a voice calls out from over your shoulder, and you turn to face the person speaking. “Not surprised, to be honest. I had ya pegged to win it from the beginning.”
Standing to your left-hand side is Osamu Miya.
Osamu Miya, the owner of what is soon-to-be a chain of beloved onigiri businesses, is shooting a lop-sided smile in your direction, making your face heat for reasons you don’t quite understand.
He’s wearing a shirt and tie - business formal, as the dress code stipulated - but his suit jacket is slung over his arm, the top button of his shirt is undone, and his dark hair is a bit more dishevelled than it was when delivering his acceptance speech onstage.
You just stare at him for a moment.
He’s standing here as if you were expecting to see him, praising you so earnestly and seemingly without any ulterior motives. You’re very confused as to why he’s doing this.
You’ve spoken to him all of twice in your life; the first of which was to place an order at his shop to see if it was worth the hype (it was), and the second time was when you knocked on his door to ask him to sign a petition for new parking regulations to be implemented in the neighbourhood. Both conversations were brief and civil and very unexciting.
You don’t know him at all. To be honest, the only thing you have in common is that your café is three doors down from his flagship store.
And to be even more honest, a tiny part of you has been quite jealous of him for a while now.
You wish you didn’t feel this way. No part of you wants to begrudge anyone’s success — it’s not that he doesn’t work hard, he really does, you’ve seen as much from the countless times you’ve passed his shop on the way to work — but he just manages it all so effortlessly. His shop has been open for only ten months now and he’s already expanded to two new locations. He gets more publicity and acclaim than you’ve seen from any other business at this event, and every afternoon you see how the queue for his place doubles that of yours.
He has been honoured with no less than four awards for Onigiri Miya - Best Casual Dining, Best Newcomer, Most Popular Promotional Campaign, and the coveted Small Business of the Year prize - and the only times you’ve spotted him over the course of the evening have been while he’s on stage collecting a trophy or when he’s surrounded by people congratulating him on his success.
He seems perfectly nice, but some dark part of your brain worries that he’s just here to rub it in. He’s received fawning praise from pretty much every other person here – maybe he wants you to do the same?
Worst of all, you know he doesn’t mean what he said about anticipating your win tonight. He’s never even been to your café.
This is especially hurtful considering you bought not one, not two, but three onigiris when you visited his shop, yet he hasn’t bothered to even try a shot of espresso.
How rude.
He must notice the way you tense up, your lips pulling together tight, but his smile doesn’t falter even for a moment.
“Is this seat taken?” he asks, gesturing to the one beside you. Up until twenty minutes ago, it was occupied by an overly-chatty local councilman who hogged all the red wine and kept making jokes at his opponents’ expense, but from the way he suddenly sprinted outside while on the phone with his campaign manager, you doubt he’ll be returning anytime soon.
You shake your head and watch as Osamu takes a seat by your side.
“Some event, huh?” he observes conversationally, as if you two have known each other for years. “I kinda figured it’d be boring as shit, but an open bar fixes all that, I guess.”
“Yeah, I guess,” you repeat back to him.
Your delivery isn’t exactly rude - even as jealousy rears its ugly head, the rational side of you knows that none of this is really his fault - but any observer could see that you’re not returning his enthusiasm at all. You’re barely smiling, nodding along just to be polite, clearly distracted.
Still, he perseveres.
“And hey, thanks for gettin’ that petition started, by the way,” he carries on, “I’m sure ya saw already, but it’s helped business on the street like nothin’ I ever saw before.”
Damn, he’s good at this. You feel your defences drop, the hostility evaporating from your system with every word that comes from his mouth.
Still, you don’t want to give in. He’s surely here just to pad his own ego, right? What other business would he have talking to someone who he barely knows?
“Yeah?” you prompt, testing his resolve. You look his way, trying to gauge his reaction – if he’s lying, you’ll surely catch him out now. “You think so?”
Osamu nods thoughtfully, the very picture of sincerity, and passes your test with flying colours.
“Hundred percent. It wouldn’t’ve gotten anywhere if ya hadn’t put the time in. I’m only sorry I didn’t get to help ya a bit more.”
Oh, shit. You’re smiling now. You didn’t do it consciously and you’re not even sure when it started, but it’s happening. You can’t seem to stop it.
“No problem. I’m glad it worked out,” you concede, taking another sip of the champagne – finishing the champagne, would be more accurate. You hadn’t realised how quickly you knocked back that last glass.
Osamu seems to have had a few glasses, too, judging by the pink blush that’s dusting his cheekbones.
It looks sort of nice, actually.
Both the blush and his … face, in general.
Woah. That development takes you by surprise.
Osamu leans back in the chair, looking at you in a way that makes you worry you’ve been found out, but his expression doesn’t betray anything other than a fond curiosity.
“Wanna go for another?” he asks, gesturing at the empty flute in your hand. “A drink, I mean?”
You glance around the room, trying to find the friendly waiter with the tray of champagne. You can’t see him, can’t see anyone offering glasses to the crowd – the crowd which has thinned out considerably since you last checked, leaving only half the attendees standing around. It must be later than you thought.
“I can’t see any servers … I don’t think they have any more champagne.”
Osamu flushes.
“I … uh, didn’t mean from here.”
He - what?
You set the glass back down on the table a bit too quickly, hoping the gesture doesn’t come across as hostile.
“I just meant … this place is gettin’ a little tired,” he explains, his delivery remarkably confident considering the blush has reached the tips of his ears. “There’s a bar just down the street if ya wanted to go fer a nightcap or somethin’?”
Your grin is back, and you blame the champagne for the words that slip out next.
“Getting tired of your adoring public?”
Osamu clutches his chest in mock offence. “You’re tellin’ me ya don’t adore me?”
It’s getting really difficult to pretend you have no interest in talking to this man. It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you flipped, how you want to say yes to his request right now. You want to go for a drink with him. You want to keep the conversation going, to maybe find out he’s not as cocky and self-assured as you originally assumed.
You bite the inside of your cheek, thinking things over.
“I might not adore you,” you begin, laughing when he pretends to slump down in his chair with despair, “yet, anyway,” and he sits up straighter, encouraged, “but I will go for a drink with you, if that helps things?”
“That’ll do fer now,” he agrees, holding out a hand to help you up after you’ve grabbed your award from the table and slipped it carefully into your handbag. “As long as we get out of here before the mayor’s staff try to corner us again.”
You cast him an amused glance. “I thought you said this was a good night?”
“Yeah, it was, when the bar tab was still open,” he scoffs. “I couldn’t subject ya to their lecture about fuckin’ urban sanitation without at least one drink in your hand.”
Once you’re on your feet, he lets go of your hand and turns to fetch his jacket and his own awards from his table, promising to be back in just a second.
You take a few moments during his absence to try and process this whole thing, willfully ignoring the pang of disappointment you feel at the loss of his touch.
This is … weird. Not ten minutes ago you were sitting alone, proud of your victory but still sulking a little, feeling an embarrassingly childish resentment for the star of tonight’s show, Osamu Miya.
But now he’s after ruining the whole thing by walking to your table, charming you out of your self-imposed isolation, and making you kind of … like him.
And you’re leaving this event to go for a drink with him. Just the two of you. Alone. Since that’s the perfect way to commemorate the third conversation you’ve shared together, apparently.
Your mind starts to race. Are you friends now? Is he going to start stopping by the café in the mornings? Will he expect you to do the same?
Maybe this is too much too fast. You start to have second thoughts, instinctually racking your brain for a decent excuse to bail out.
But then you see Osamu approach you again, his tie loose around his neck and smile still so infectious, and all those anxious thoughts disappear … only to be replaced by more exciting, more confusing ones.
Seeing him now, he’s taller than you remembered - broader, too, as shown by the way his shirt tightens against his chest as he moves - and his features more striking, with his grey eyes capturing your attention in a way you’d never noticed before.
Your integrity is taking a serious hit tonight.
Still … you’d be lying if you said you weren’t just a little bit curious as to how things will play out from here.
___
The bar that Osamu takes you to is surprisingly cosy. You’re not sure why, but you had expected something lavish - this is an expensive neighbourhood, after all - but this seems to be more of a family-run establishment, small and contained, with an open fireplace and candle-lit lamps providing most of the visibility.
The wall is lined with booths and cushioned seats, only a few of which are occupied, and the music is playing through an old vinyl player perched on the bar counter.
You much prefer this to one of the busier, fancier cocktail bars that have popped up on this street.
The bartender waves at you both as you walk inside, clearly recognising your companion as he gives him a friendly greeting. You take a seat in a booth by the corner as Osamu goes to place the drinks order.
Once he returns with two beers in hand you stop nervously fidgeting with a loose napkin on the table, instead choosing to lean back in the chair to appear more settled.
You smile, thanking him for the drink.
Osamu takes his seat but doesn’t even get to take a sip of his beer before his phone starts to ring.
“Shit, sorry,” he mutters, grabbing the phone and turning down the call. “I’ll mute it.”
“You sure?” you ask in a way that’s almost teasing, prompting a grin and a shake of his head. “It could be urgent – it could be about another award.”
“You’re tryin’ to embarrass me in my favourite bar?” he asks, as close to deadpan as you think he can get. “After I got my hopes up you were startin’ to adore me?”
You chuckle and shrug, trying the beer yourself. It’s nice – from a local brewery you hadn’t tried before. He has better taste than you’d thought.
“That was my brother callin’,” Osamu explains with a roll of his eyes as he says the word brother. “Dumbass is playin’ abroad right now - well, the game is over, so he’s technically celebratin’ - and he doesn’t have any concept of time or schedules.”
“I mean, you’re out drinking too,” you observe, prompting another dramatic eye roll.
“He doesn’t have to know that part!” Osamu objects, sliding his phone into his pocket and leaning back in his seat. Another heart-melting smile. “Plus, I’ve got company. That’s where I wanna keep my focus, not on whatever shitty drunken singalong ‘Tsumu’s gonna try an’ start again if I pick up his call.”
Your face heats. At this point, you’ve given up all attempts at staying resentful.
Which reminds you of something you’ve completely forgotten to tell him.
“Congratulations, by the way. I never said it earlier – four awards, very impressive,” you say, finding that against all odds, you actually mean it.
“Thanks,” he beams, running a hand through his hair. “But it shoulda just been three, to be honest.”
You frown, confused. Osamu was the frontrunner for every award he was nominated for tonight, and you hadn’t taken his modesty to be that extreme. “What do you mean?”
He catches your gaze, almost as if he hopes the point will come across through eye contact alone; when it doesn’t, he clarifies;
“You shoulda won Small Business of the Year.”
Your resulting laugh nearly makes you choke on your beer. It’s flattering - sweet, really - and now that you have more faith in his intentions, you can appreciate the gesture.
But you’re also a realist. That award was one you knew you weren’t walking away with tonight. “C’mon-”
“I mean it!” he objects.
“Miya, I know you’re being nice, but you opened two new shops this year alone. And hey, don’t get me wrong, I did fine. But I didn’t get nearly as much business as you did over the summer.”
“Firstly, call me Osamu,” he retorts, his expression showing that he’s clearly having a lot of fun with this. He pauses as he brings the glass of beer to his lips. “And secondly, I’m not just being nice – I voted for ya.”
You blink at him for a moment, heart fluttering in your chest as you process the admission.
It doesn’t seem like he’s lying. He doesn’t sound like he’s lying. Still, you’re baffled – there were dozens of businesses on the shortlist for the award, and you can’t imagine Osamu Miya putting your name above all the others.
Mostly because he’s never even set foot in your door.
“I - uh, thank you, Osamu.”
He laughs. “You look confused.”
“Well, I am a little,” you admit, not even sure of where to start. “I appreciate it, but I just … have you ever tried my coffee? I mean, it’s completely fine if you haven’t, I’ve just never seen you-”
“I get it every day.”
You freeze, expression shifting from confused to utterly taken aback. “What?”
“I put in a mobile order every day, around eleven in the morning. I’m usually busy in the kitchen at that point, so one of the sales assistants collects it and I give them the order number.”
Same order, same time every day …
“Shit!” you exclaim, suddenly putting it all together. You set your glass back down and clap your hands together, lifting them to your mouth as if you’ve just solved some complex mystery. “You’re the one who buys all my lemon cake!”
He shakes his head — no malice in the gesture, his grey eyes twinkling with amusement. “Is that a question or an accusation?”
“Definitely an accusation,” you answer, knowing without a shred of doubt that your assumption is correct. Of course, this also means that Osamu is telling the truth about his consistent ordering, but you’ll unpack that in a moment. “Every day I get an order around that time – the drinks change every now and then, but they always order a slice of lemon loaf cake. Always.”
“And yet, no loyalty programme for the cakes,” he sighs, “I get every seventh coffee free, but no stamps for the cake. Just heartbreakin’.”
“I’ll take your suggestion on board,” you acknowledge with a soft laugh, thinking back to how long those orders have been coming in and how many slices of cake that must equal - a lot, if your addition is anyway correct - and feel this pleasant, warm feeling flood your chest.
Guilt also starts to tug at you, but you can’t see the sense of dwelling on that emotion for too long.
Not when Osamu’s here, looking at you like that, professing his admiration for you not just as a business owner and an equal, but as a purveyor of baked goods as well.
The least you can do is buy the next round.
Two beers later and the conversation drifts back to the topic of work, but in a different way than before. This time, it’s more vulnerable; the struggles of getting started in the hospitality industry, the insecurities of your line of work, and how the ever-changing nature of the city landscape means your business plan might change overnight.
“I guess I, uh, kinda worry sometimes,” he admits quietly, looking down at the table and tracing circles on his glass with his thumb. “About this whole thing, runnin’ it by myself.”
“Worry about what?” you ask, hoping your question comes across as reassuring and not outright dismissive. “Your place is the busiest on the street from what I’ve seen. Definitely the most stable business at the event tonight.”
“Thanks,” he replies, eyes flickering up to yours again. His lips quirk upwards when you meet his gaze. “‘I ‘spose I just worry that it’s more from … name recognition, than anythin’ else. And I don’t like that.”
“Name recognition?” you inquire. “From your brother?”
He nods. “Tsumu’s - well, he’s not a celebrity, exactly, but he’s well-known around here, as much as it kills me to admit it,” he says with the ghost of a smile. “And I guess I just … don’t want people to be comin’ to my shop out of some sort of sympathy. Like they think I’m only runnin’ the place because I couldn’t make it in volleyball.”
Before you can think things through, before your brain can slow your muscles down and offer you the chance to think sensibly, you reach a hand over to rest on top of one of his. He doesn’t acknowledge it with words, but he lets go of his glass and rests the hand down on the table so you can properly clasp it.
He continues speaking before either of you has to address the impromptu hand-holding.
“And I know it’s stupid, right? Cos hey, as long as business is comin’ in, it makes no sense to complain. But yeah … that’s the worry, I guess.”
“I’ve never met anyone who thinks that about you, Osamu,” you say softly, ignoring the thrumming of your heart in your ribcage as you feel his fingers intertwine with yours. “And I certainly don’t, anyway. You’re just a talented guy who puts in a hell of a lot of hard work.”
He smiles again. “Is that why you’ve gone all mushy on me? Ya like my work ethic?”
“Shut up,” you scoff, a little petulantly, “being nice to you isn’t mushy.”
“I’m a fan of mushy,” he clarifies, tracing slow circles on the back of your hand, “if that helps things.”
It does, and you show him as much by tugging on his hand, tilting your head towards the door to show your intentions.
Osamu pays the bar tab while you collect your things. A taxi is called, goodbyes are said to the bar staff, and for the second time tonight, you leave together.
Though this time, you know exactly how it’s going to go.
___
Osamu’s hands on your waist are careful but firm, pushing you back against the door as soon as it closes behind you.
The ride to his place was only ten minutes long - all of which was spent making out like desperate teenagers in the back of the taxi - and now that you have some privacy and space to yourselves, you’re not sure how you can last even a second without touching him.
You can’t imagine a better kiss, and then he gives you a better one just moments later.
You arch into him, feeling him groan against your lips, looping your arms around his neck and pressing your chest against him to feel as close as possible.
The kiss goes from languid and passionate to heated and messy, and you let out a whimper when his tongue meets yours, licking into your mouth as you keen almost pathetically.
The varnished wood of the door feels cold against your shoulder blades and you shiver. Osamu notices, resting a hand on your nape to pull you towards him.
You fist your hands into the crisp fabric of his shirt. He smells incredible, clean and fresh, and you want to make his hair look even more dishevelled than it did after he ran his hand through it at the bar. What started as him trying to guide you away from the door has now turned into something that would be more accurately described as grinding — his hips are flush against yours, and you feel so desperately empty that you start to rock back and forth almost involuntarily.
“Do ya wanna-“ he mumbles into the shell of your ear once he pulls away, lips pink and kiss-swollen, voice torn and almost desperate, “- want to go to bed?”
You can think of nothing in the world you’d want more.
Your nod comes instantly, so enthusiastic that it should be embarrassing but it isn’t, and he takes your hand in his once again and leads you to his bedroom.
His surprisingly neat, very organised bedroom.
But you don’t have time to survey your surroundings too much because before you know it, Osamu is guiding you to lie down on his dark-grey bedspread, caging you in with his strong arms.
He leans over you, covering your body with his, peppering soft kisses to your jawline and whispering sweet praise into your ear.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted ta do this?” you hear him say, and you grin lazily as you finally run your fingers through his hair. “How long I’ve tried ta build up the courage ta ask you out? To have you like this underneath me, making those pretty lil’ sounds fer me?”
Warm, liquid heat starts to collect in your stomach, and you suddenly feel that you’re both wearing too many clothes.
You reach for the buttons of his shirt and feel his lips curl upwards against your neck. You undo his tie before starting to unbutton the rest, exposing more and more of the hard muscle of his chest. Not content to let you do all of the work, he paws at the back of your dress until he finds the zipper, lifting your back off the bed for a moment as he unties it.
Osamu sheds the rest of his clothes as you shrug the dress and your underwear down your legs and onto the floor. When he leans over you again, you notice he’s hard; you feel exactly how hard he is when his cock presses against your stomach. He grabs your tits, squeezing them and playing with your nipples as you moan more wantonly than you thought possible.
You’re not usually this vocal, but he seems to draw it out of you.
Things escalate quickly, or maybe they don’t — you can’t really tell how much time has passed. All you know is his broad frame engulfing you, the pretty words he’s whispering, and the feeling of his fingers as they dip into your underwear and run through your folds, your body growing warmer and warmer under his touch.
You gasp - gasp audibly, your voice weak and thready - as he circles your clit, feeling how wet you are and slipping two fingers inside you moments later.
Your entire body shakes, trembling as he starts to move his hand, and you can hear how he’s working you open. The thrusts are steady and careful, his fingers curling in a way that makes your words slur - a string of ‘Osamu, Osamu, right there, please, please, fuck’ on repeat until your mind stops working - and you feel yourself dripping down his wrist.
Osamu looks delighted. When he’s not kissing you or rutting gently against your thigh for some relieving friction, he’s propped up on his other arm and just looking at you, taking in every lip bite and flinch and the way your hips cant upwards when he switches to a new angle.
He looks like he’s having even more fun than you are, which seems impossible since you’re practically on fire, that ball of heat growing and burning and getting more intense until –
“Fuck, Osamu, I’m coming,” you gasp, rocking against his hand as he fucks you through it, feeling it ripple through you for what seems like hours.
Your eyes screw shut as you come but when you finally gather enough strength to open them again, you see him admiring you with blown-own pupils, his cock rock-hard and leaking against his stomach.
“Need you,” you just about choke out the words, your body feeling utterly weightless. You’re surprised at how soon you want to go again, still feeling the aftershocks pulsing from your core, but the way he’s looking at you now makes you want to lean over and take him in your mouth.
“Need me?” he mumbles, pulling his soaking fingers from your pussy with a lazy smile.
You want to laugh, smack him playfully and bite back with something like don’t let it get to your head, Miya, but your mind isn’t letting you get that far. Instead, all you can articulate is a broken-sounding;
“Need you inside me.”
Thankfully, Osamu doesn’t try and tease you any further. Your words ignite something in him; he pulls back on his haunches and grabs a condom from his bedside table before you can even blink, breathing out a low moan as you start to pump him slowly. He fucks into your fist, biting into his lower lip as he does so, hands resting on his muscular thighs.
He starts to leak into your palm and at that, he’s had enough of the touching, leaning back over you and kissing you in a way that knocks the breath from your chest.
He rolls the condom onto his length and positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock nudging your clit and making you whimper, and gives you one last look to make sure you’re ready for him – he’s not exactly small.
You nod, certain that if he’s not inside you soon, your core will start to physically ache.
He pushes inside you in one slow but fluid motion. It fills and stretches you in a way that you’ve never felt before and your thighs spread wider for him, needing to feel that sensation again and again. Once you’ve had time to adjust to his size, he starts to move, thrusts steady and firm.
It’s unbearably hot. Every movement, every touch, it all makes you feel as though you’re burning up underneath him. Judging from his expression, he feels the same.
If he seemed like he was enjoying himself before now, it pales in comparison to the look on his face at this moment; cheeks flushed, eyes fluttering shut as he swears under his breath, lips shining from having kissed you over and over.
He tells you exactly how good you’re making him feel: how your walls are squeezing him just right, how he’s imagined fucking you before but this is somehow better, how you’re so wet he wants to stay buried in your pussy forever. You want to reply but his thrusts are hitting too deep for you to form coherent sentences.
His hands are back on your waist, manoeuvring you easily since the pleasure has rendered you utterly boneless and pliant underneath him.
However, that all changes when you see him approach his peak - you can tell as much from the way his movements turn erratic, and the swears and praise start to flow out as if he has no control over it - and you decide to take charge. Wrapping your legs around his waist, you pull him into you, gripping his shoulders and leaving little crescent-moon indentations in his skin.
He groans into your shoulder and comes deep inside you. He keeps thrusting into you; even in his fucked-out state, he seems intent to bring you to the edge along with him.
It works – you come again without warning, the build-up from before now entirely absent as the orgasm burns through you. You cry out, the sound barely muffled against his shoulder as you spasm around his length, your quaking thighs struggling to stay wrapped around his hips.
Cliche as it may sound, it’s unlike anything you’ve felt before.
You take a ragged breath, feeling your chest move up and down, your nipples grazing against his chest. His lips are still at your pulse point, kissing you gently.
Slowly, very slowly, you start to untangle yourselves. Osamu pulls out with a soft hiss, still half-hard, and you let your legs fall back against his bed. You lift a hand to your forehead, feeling how your skin is damp and flushed, and let yourself come back to earth as Osamu disposes of the condom.
He returns a moment later, laying down next to you on the bed, giving you a smile that is surprisingly but achingly affectionate.
Your heart skips triumphantly. You’ve gone from resenting him to liking him to really liking him in the space of a single evening, and there’s no denying how much you want him to keep smiling at you like this for the foreseeable future.
He cups your face with one of his large hands, and you can easily predict what he’s about to ask you next.
“Wanna stay over?”
You hum, pretending to think it over even though, once again, you know what your answer will be.
“I mean, it’s sensible – we share a commute,” he points out, and you can’t argue with him on that one. “Plus, I heard ya make decent coffee.”
You let out a weary sigh, oozing fake annoyance. “So that’s why you brought me over?”
“Nah, it’s just yet another point in your favour.”
Before you can say anything else, he brings you in for a kiss - tender this time, soft and careful - and as strange as it sounds, you find yourself looking forward to the morning after. And maybe the morning after that, as well.
There are definite perks to working three doors down from Osamu Miya.
Idk how to reblog a reblog (pt 2 of me not understanding the internet sometimes)
@jazzy-anon, start posting your interesting spy agenda, let everyone know you rock the coolest kicks in school😎
Felt really shitty and gender dysphoria was being a real pain tonight so here’s a venting doodle I did to try and feel better,
While also introducing my human sona, Riptide! He’s who I what to look like in the future, just imagine a mix of a Goth surfer boy and you get them-
TW Self-harm, mentioning suicide. Manga spoilers too!
I’ve thought about the last idea a lot and Im gonna sAY SOME CAUSE I CANT HELP MYSELF!
One of my favourite Aizawa lines in the show has got to be when he outlines that there is a clear difference between self-sacrifice and suicide. The show already uses the two of them to outline differences and Aizawa’s already sacrificed so much so like chile-
SECONDLY! So we’re all in agreement that Hizashi is going through survivors guilt, even moreso considering the lack of injuries he sustained in the war arc. Going back to one of my HCs Hizashi starts to try to make up for the lack of pain he felt and put onto others. It just looks like he's become more reckless when he’s really just- harming himself on purpose while fighting but it doesn’t look suspicious to the outside cause he's a hero. It’s considered brave. The perfect outlet for him to keep his slipping mask of a persona on while he continues to shatter! And people are celebrating it, cause they don’t know, which only breaks him further. Course Aizawa notices but it’s the usual excuse after excuse after excuse after excuse
Absolute bangers and I’m in tears :D!
Things I might draw nebulous things for in the future but need to say out loud before I blow up
-shōta often has that air around hizashi where he’s like “god he’s loud. Wish he’d be more quiet” and hizashi just brushes it off. but after the whole recent fiasco, when shōta says those things, hizashi actually just stops talking for a while. And shōta is starting to get really worried about it.
-hizashi becoming much more protective to the point of it being self destructive. He slips into a “no more harm is going to come to the people I love no matter what” and you know I’m a sucker for “zashi gets seriously hurt trying to protect shō” content lol
when the relatable fictional character commits suicide
one thing about this man is his slutty waist
ARE YOU ANIMEBAKER101 IN TIKTOK, CUS IM REI THERE
OH MY GOD YES I AM!!! HI!!! I KNOW YOU!!!
AND IM SO SORRY FOR EVERYONE WHO HAS BEEN VICTIMIZED BY MY ATROCIOUS COMMENTS ON NOIR!!!
I clapped at the end of Avengers Infinity War
I clapped harder at the second ending though
Is it weird if I think it's quiet hot ?
New ‘American Horror Story’ Season 4 Teaser Shows More Freaks
If you’re not ready for things to get ridiculously freaky on “American Horror Story” Season 4, then we recommend you take a moment to prepare. Then watch the full teaser trailer here.
Maybe one day you'll understand why Everything you touch surely dies
um. I have nothing to say
guys i LOVEEEE PJO, but. if I see ONE MORE FIC of Annabeth & Percy calling each other “Wise Girl” & “Seaweed Brain” throughout the entire fic i’m going to commit myself to a mental hospital. PLEASE. THEY HAVE NAMES. USE THEM.
THIS IS A LIFE-OR-DEATH SITUATION! THEY DONT NEED CUTESY NICKNAMES ON THE FIELD.
I like big bots and I cannot lie...
Eyyyyyyy
this post was supposed to be a lighthearted post about aspec people by highlighting them in a joking way that still instills positivity and pride in the identity .
unfortunately too many people are too chronically online and media illiterate to realise that so let’s break down the post.
‘shout out to the people not having gay sex this pride month’
this was intentionally a worded to counter the ‘have lots of gay sex this pride month’ jokes and positivity that surround pride discussions. The wording directly associates with anti-queer activity and their frequent attempt to divert attention from queer people during the month of pride. it is worded intentionally. it is supposed to seem counter active to pride .
the humour is then seeing a pride flag. specifically the asexual flag- in which case this stands for an umbrella term across the aspec community which is more recognisable than the variety of aspec flags that i had seen whilst looking for a flag for this post . the grey line of the asexual flag stands for the spectrum between allosexual and asexual it represents the degrees of asexuality and in so, with the purple, stood for the aspec community in this post.
if the joke is still lost on you, the idea was to read a statement that counters the idea of queer pride and find it recontextualised to humorously represent an identity associated with the lack of sexual attraction; ergo no gay sex .
what this post is NOT, is a comment on varied asexual attraction. it us not a commentary on what makes a valid asexual person or whether or not you specifically will have sexual inter course this pride month . it is not saying asexuals are not allowed to have sex . this post is pushing any stereotype of asexuality . op is a sex having aspec person. i am demisexual . i have been with my partner for almost 2 years and engage in sexual activity .
what this post IS, is a joke. it’s a fucking joke i cant make it any clearer. not every single joke is going to relate to your own experiences and that’s ok. not every post about asexuality is going to relate to your own experiences that’s ok. you need to stop taking things at face value and actually engage in some media literacy to understand when something is a reductionist and stereotyping commentary which is inherently negative and when something uses a reductionist approach to convey humour because a lot of you really seem to be struggling with that one.
i fear a lot of you take yourselves too seriously and can’t find the humour in simple tumblr shitposts to the point where i’m having to actually explain what i thought was a very easy concept to grasp because it has upset a lot of people . stop taking everything so seriously .
if you are offended by the original post that is actually a you problem. that is something you have to work on where you cannot accept any form of lighthearted media that does not directly align with your own experiences . bc it’s not serious . it’s a joke x
also allo people can fuck off bc this is literally a post celebrating aspec ppl idc if your gf lives across the country or if you’re just a single loser this literally has nothing to do w u
yall make me want to kms for making me do this
I dunno have the book tata trend kaiser guys