#boring stale old broke

[rainparadefromhell]

fuck your little joe x rhys ship i need all the women that joe goldberg hurt to gang up on him and beat him to death in s5. that's what i want <3

#ik it's just a silly little show but the amount of women he tortured and killed framed etc is insane #and it's so gross and nasty #we want revenge for the girlies ! #enough i can't watch women suffer anymore and all you people talk about is the uwu british man like #boring stale old broke #you #you season 4 #you netflix #joe goldberg #marienne bellamy #nadia farran #ellie alves #love quinn #guinevere beck #delilah alves

[joekeerysguitar]

erasing the lies

not friends/slight enemies to lovers <3

overview: you are an a+ student who is well rounded, very disciplined, and hard working gets asked to tutor the most obnoxious, lazy, and rude boy who ever stepped foot on this planet… steve harrington. unable to say no, you help him.. but what you uncover is something completely unexpected..

included: angst, fluff, mutual feelings, happy ending, cursing, relationships, use of y/n

authors note: heyy everyone! sorry about not uploading or writing anything in a longggg time. i’ve been super busy lately and just trying to enjoy the summer but i’m back! came up with this super cute idea and i hope you enjoy! thank you for all the love on the rest of my fics!! much love, nina <3

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“Mhm… yes.. she’ll be down shortly” The phone hits the receiver as your teacher spins around catching your eyes. “Y/N, the principal would like to see you.” She smiles her fake toothy grin as she resumes her lesson.

You feel the eyes on you as you quickly stuff your bag with your notebooks and pencils trying to get out of being the center of attention. You could hear the slight whispering of the class which feeds your inner thoughts.

“Oh shit, what did I do?”

“Am I in trouble?”

Quickly shutting the classroom door behind you, you exhale taking in the stale air of the empty hallway of Hawkins High School. You quickly walk down the hall as your heart beats wildly out of your chest. You can feel your stomach churn as you reach out for the door nob of the brown glass door that reads “Main Office.” The small bell at the top of the door rings alerting the secretary as you quickly step inside and shut the door gently. Taking a deep breath, you chase the butterflies away in your stomach as you loosen your shoulders and walk up to her forming a smile with your cherry lips.

“Uh hi, I was called down by the principal.” You mutter with a small smile.

“You must be Y/N?” She asks reading at a post it note on her desk. You nod trying to quickly get this interaction over with. “Have a seat dear.”

You walk over to the small sofa chair in the corner of the office. Bouncing your leg, you can feel the nervousness creep up from your core once again as the same questions float through your mind like clouds on a breezy day. You look around the room and notice old school yearbook photos, sports championship awards, and other boring memorabilia. Before you get a chance to read any, the door swings open to the person you did not want to see… the principal. He is older, with short small wisps of hair that adorn his mostly bald head. He is wearing a blue suit and you can see his beer belly slightly protrude from his attire.

“Come on in Y/N”

You quickly get out of the seat and follow him into the small crammed office. Your eyes immediate lock onto a very recognizable face here at Hawkins High. This face belongs to someone who’ve you have despised since elementary school. Someone who used to practically rule over the school, date every girl in the 5 mile radius, and keep his hair perfectly in place every single day. The King of Hawkins High was sitting right before your eyes.. the one and the only Steve Harrington. He just feverishly looks up at you before darting his eyes away and fiddles with his fingers embarrassingly. Your mind floods with endless questions as you take a seat next to him.

Steve Harrington is known for being the arrogant and snobby rich jock who’s only personality trait is hooking up with 50 girls a month. Rumors go around that his ex girlfriend Nancy Wheeler broke up with him because she cheated with Jonathan Byers and didn’t want to get risked getting caught. All you know is that you don’t want to mess with him or even talk to him. He fails all his classes, always goes to parties, and barely has his parents home.

Trouble.

The principal clears his throat, “I probably assume you two have never met. Let me introduce you two. Y/N this is Steve, Steve this is Y/N.”

Being polite you turn your head and put on a fake smile as he returns the favor before you both quickly look at the principal once again.

“Now I called you two down here not because you’re in trouble but I have an important question to ask.” He says flicking his eyes between you two.

Okay not in trouble.. that’s a good sign.

“Y/N, now I know you are in many advanced classes and receive very high grades.” You nod and smile agreeing with his statements. You feel Steve shift in his chair uncomfortably as you look over and see his face blush as red as a tomato. “Well, Steve here does not receive the best of grades. Right now, if he doesn’t pass his classes, he will be unable to qualify for graduation.” You nod you head as your head whirs with millions of thoughts…

“Pfft, no shit it’s Steve Harrington”

“Unable to graduate? I could never.”

“What does this even mean?”

“Well I was wondering if you would be interested in tutoring him? Either once or twice a week would suffice.” He says with a smile as he looks at you.

Your heart drops just like the roller coasters at amusement parks. Your stomach does a flip as you can feel your organs rearrange from inside. Your face starts to heat up as your palms begin to get sweaty. You’re bad at making decisions especially ones that require things you don’t like.

Tutor Steve Harrington? Shoot me now!

Looking over at Steve you notice him look up at you reading your face for any response. You just look at him and look at the principal as the thoughts zoom around your brain.

You don’t know what to do.

Should I be the better person? Should I help the douchebag? You decide to go with your gut, you can’t ever say no.

You look up at the principal. “Sure, why not.” You smile as you look over to Steve who just looks at you like his prayers got awnsered.

He knows your really smart. Really really smart. And pretty cute too. You know, maybe this whole tutoring thing would work out in his favor. He passes his classes and he gets a new chic.

“Perfect, thank you Y/N!” He smiles as he hands you Steve’s grade sheet. “He specifically needs to work on Physics and US History.”

You glance at his grade sheet as you read the grades.

Physics- D

English- C

US History- F

Geometry- B

Oh boy, these grades aren’t looking too hot.

The principal buds in again. “Tutoring could be 1-2 hours at either persons house. He must be fully prepared by the last month of school.” You nod your head placing his grade sheet in your bag.

“Steve why don’t you thank Y/N for helping you with your studies?” He demands looking at Steve.

“Thank you Y/N.” He says timidly looking up into your eyes for a split second.

His eyes were really pretty. Brown with a hazel undertone. They shined with the morning sun glimmering through the half drawn shades.

You just smile back at him and reply “You’re welcome. Does tomorrow night around 6:00 at my place work?” He nods as you exchange addresses.

You leave the office with a million thoughts in your head.

How are you supposed to tutor someone you hate. Out of all people it is goddamn Steve Harrington. The rich, snobby, and rude jock who knows nothing but of parties and alcohol. You’re not gonna enjoy these sessions, you already know it. Seeing him is bad enough, how you have to talk and teach him twice a week for the next several weeks. Might as well just dig your grave now.

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“He will be here any min- ding.. I’ll get it.” You yell through the house. Steve had just ringed your doorbell. Your blood pressure just rose off the charts. You quickly run over to the front door and open it. There is Mr. Pretty Boy himself with his books cradled in his hands. He is wearing a dark green polo shirt with his usual blue jeans. He flashes you a charming hello smile as you step to the side and let him in.

That smile. Oh boy, made you feel different.

“Hi, how are you?” You ask watching him look around the house.

I’m sure he’s definitely judging it. Rich boy isn’t used to small rooms…

“I’m fine, how are you?” He asks catching you in the eye as you find yourself get lost in them.

Shake it off.. you gotta hate him…

Steve knows that he has this horrible reputation and he knows that people who don’t know him see him as what he used to be. His goal is to change that, whatever way possible. He hasn’t had a ton of friends since the whole situation. Heck, he dropped Tommy and his silly girlfriend. He really had no one.

He had hope.

Maybe you could be his first actual friend…

If he could prove to you that he changed…

He could even prove to himself that he won’t make mistakes ever again..

“Follow me.” You say tucking your hair behind your ears as you guide him to your room.

Your room was small and quaint. White walls with white decor. The accent the room was baby pink as you had several pictures of flowers or beaches on the wall. It was your comfy spot. Made you feel safe.

As you enter the room you walk over and sit down on your bed swinging your legs as they dangle off the floor. Beside you are the books you set out to study and practice with. Steve just looked around with a curious gaze in his eyes before he set his stuff down on your desk and walked over to sit beside you.

“Let’s get started.” You say turning to face him while you grab the Physics book from off the pile.

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“What’s the awnser to Question #7?” You ask as you stare at his pondering complexion. You wait a few seconds. “Hello? Earth to Steve?” You ramble as you wave your hand in front of his face.

“What.. sorry.” He jumps back into reality looking bored.

“Are you okay?” You ask softly as he looks up into your eyes.

“Can we do something else?” He asks trying to read a reaction from your face.

“Yeah, Math or Social Studies?” You ask totally clueless.

“Not school Y/N.” He drags readjusting himself on your bed.

“Then what?” You ask a little harsher then expected. He looks surprised at your response.

“Jeez, you’re a little cranky.” He says sarcastically as he takes the book from your lap and places it on the ground. You watch as he fixes his hair after it gets into his face.

His hair is really nice. Dark thick hazelnut colored hair that is always perfectly styled and hair sprayed. They don’t call him “The Hair” for nothing.

You zoned out for a minute while studying his lucious locks and now he is taping your shoulder lightly to regain your attention.

“Sorry, just confused what you wanna do since the whole reason why you are here is to pass school.” You brush a piece of fallen hair from behind your ear.

Steve is not gonna lie to himself. You’re pretty cute, even when your cranky.

“Did I do something wrong?” He asks looking confused as he looks into your darting eyes.

You search your brain for a response. You question telling him a lie or telling him the truth. Taking a deep breath you spit out the truth.

“Not currently. I mean it’s just a weird situation. You know, you’re popular and a jock and every girl on the planet is obsessed with you. And I’m not popular, a nerd, and never has had a boyfriend. So yeah this is a little awkward. Plus considering the fact that I thought you absolutely 100% hated me prior to this.” You blurt out with a nervous chuckle as you examine your fingers.

“What did I do to make you think that I hated you?” He asks inquisitively while still looking at you as he sees the blush to your cheeks.

“I mean in elementary school you did push me into a muddy puddle.” You say looking back up at him and smiling a bit.

He chuckles and says jokingly, “That’s the reason why? I’m sorry I did that Y/N but… maybe you deserved it.” His voice turns serious. “But on a serious note, let’s just scratch this whole stereotype thing and start fresh, okay?” He asks looking right into your ocean blue eyes as he extends his hand forward.

“Deal.” You laugh as you shake his hand. “I’m Y/N, nice to meet you!”

“I’m Steve, nice to meet you too!” He smiles brightly.

Hard feelings vanished..

For the remainder of the night, you two talk small talk about what you two enjoy and things that are happening in your lives. To be honest, you don’t mind him. You enjoy his quick remarks, his flirty attitude, his humor, and most of all his company.

On the other hand, Steve never thought he would speak to you a day in his life. But here he is, talking about movies, people, etc with someone he just met 24 hours ago and hell he was enjoying it too! There was something about you, something that made him incredibly happy inside. Something that filled a void no one has even filled before.

By the time the night was over, you already exchanged phone numbers and planned your next session.

Steve nor you could not wait for the next time you saw eachother!

Something definitely changed with him over the years. You’ve learned so much from him and how he has grown to better himself. It feels like someone took a pink eraser and erased all the lies right off the paper. It was good as new!

Deep down you had a feeling though and Steve was definitely feeling it too..

Deep down you had a crush..

On Steve Harrington..

The person who you refused to even speak to about 24 hours ago..

And he had one on you too..

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It was three days later and you and Steve were in the exact same spot practicing questions. You could tell by his body language that he was getting tired and bored. He got up and started to wander around your room with his usual playful smirk tugging at his lips. Steve was bored of studying, you two have been studying flash cards for two hours and he was at his wits end. Steve loved the little breaks or stupid activities the two of you would do when you both were tired and needed a break. He loved spending time with you, either if it was teasing you or just having a simple friend to friend conversation. You guys have gotten closer over the time spent together and he clearly recognizes that. At first, you used to be shy and more reserved but the more time you’ve spent with him, the more you’ve come out of your shell. He loves your fiery remarks or playful teasing you always delivered right back to him after he said something to you. He loved watching you become pissed at him or become sarcastic and quick-witted with him after he would ask a stupid question or pull a dramatic stunt. So, per usual he decided this was the time to do yet another stunt he had brewing in his heavily hair-sprayed mind.

��Steve, what the hell are you doing?” You question as you watch his eyes glaze over your desk as he reaches his purple sleeved arm over towards a book on it. “Put that down.” You bark as you get up and race towards him. The smirk only growing bigger on his face as he hears your distress.

“What is this?” He asks with squinted eyes as he begins to open the pages but before he could get a good look, you reach for it. Using his height advantage, he stretches his arm towards the ceiling which now suspended the book over your head.

“Give it to me! It’s my diary, put it down!” You beg as you brush up against him as you try to grab and reach it. He laughs as he stands in his tippy toes to get it higher as you jump to try to reach it. You’re practically chest to chest as you can feel his chest bounce quickly with each sharp laugh. He is getting a kick out of you freaking out. Suddenly, you realize you two are really close, too close for comfort. He senses your body language switch and suddenly returns to a more calm and collected state. He can feel his laughter fade as a small smile sits on his lips. He can feel his heart pick up as he locks eyes with yours as he resists the urge to pull you closer or look at your lips. You look even more beautiful up close as he notices the faint freckles peppering your cheeks and nose.

You stop as you lock eyes for a minute. Steve is a few inches taller than you but you two are face to face. Inches away from eachother. You examine his face close up. His hair is slightly disheveled with strands hang in front of his eyes. He has moles freckling his face like stars on a clear night. Your eyes flit down to his lips as you notice how cheery red they look close up. Quickly you look at him again, fearful of getting caught staring. You could feel your cheeks slightly blush and turn warm as you just stare into Steve’s brown sparkly eyes. The more you try to pull away, the more they pull you in. Steve feels the same way as he feels nervousness creep up from his core as his lips curve into a slight smile. He pulls the book down as he continues to lock eyes with yours. He has no idea how long it’s been. His mind is mush as he finds himself darting from your eyes to your lips..

“Here.” He whispers breathlessly as he hands you the book slightly backing up but keeping the eye contact.

“Thanks.” You reply as you blush a little harder now as you walk to your desk to place the book down and then you both return to the spot on the bed and continue.

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In a matter of a two weeks, you two have gotten extremely close. You would if never imagined that you would be good friends with the most popular guy in school, the one all you’re friends tell you to stay away from.. yet he just draws you in. The endless amounts of nights where he calls you on the phone asking about homework as it suddenly turns into a three hour call where you two ramble about random topics. You’re falling faster than you thought you would.. crumbling as he created cute nicknames for you and knows everything that makes you tumble over in laughter. He’s a complete opposite of you and your morals, yet you two seem to attract like a magnet.

Steve has learned to know you like a book, using his charismatic and charming personality he knows exactly what makes you blush or makes you laugh. As the study sessions go on, he picks up on your body language and your habits. He enjoys listening to you ramble for hours on end about friends or your family. He’s never really felt such an instant connection with someone before especially only knowing them for a few weeks now.

Today marks the last study session before Steve’s test. The last time you’ll see him roll his eyes at a physics question, the last time he will tease you about your stupidly high grades and how smart you are, the last time you two don’t focus on the task and do other things. You feel sadness forming in your heart hoping that after this, he continues to want to talk on the phone or even hang out. You love seeing him wave and smile at you in school or meeting you at your locker to talk. But you’re scared, you’re scared that he’s gonna put on his cocky jock attitude and won’t speak to you again… completely cut you out. You’ve seen a different side to him that you’ve never seen before. He’s sweet, considerate, and gentle around you. Never fails to have you think about him endlessly once he leaves your house or you hang up on the phone…

Little do you know, he feels the same. The same feeling poking him in the gut, the feeling where you want to hold on and never let go.

You’re suprised when your doorbell rings earlier than usually. You glance at the small watch on your left wrist as it reads “4:00 pm.” But you two agreed on 7:00 pm the night prior. You quickly brush your hair behind your shoulders as you open the door.

“Hey Steve, you’re early.” You say with a smile as you notice him blushing a bit in embarrassment. His cheeks are a slight pink as he smiles at you.

“Uh hey Y/N, sorry I’m early.” He pauses for a second. “Are you busy? Am I interrupting anything?” He asks a little more concerned now as the blush intensifies on his cheeks.

You shake your head as you chuckle a bit. “No.. no.. you’re not interrupting anything.”

“Okay good, I was wondering if I could just come now.. I know it’s our last night so I wanted some extra practice before the test tomorrow morning.” He says reading your face for an answer.

Now if he was Pinocchio, his nose would grow larger.. because he is lying. His pants are on fire.

“Of course, come on in!” You say with an enthusiastic smile as you move to the side to let him in.

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“Okay last physics question, I promise.” You say with a teasing smile as he rolls his eyes. You ask him a pretty difficult question as you could see the gears practically turning in his head. He answers correctly as a beaming smile forms on your lips. You notice the pure excitement on his face at your reaction.

Steve cannot help but to feel his heart flutter to see the reaction you just gave him. A huge proud beaming smile.. one that makes him want to melt into a big puddle on your bed. He thinks your reaction is the cutest thing, you’re the cutest thing and he feels like it’s the right time to ask his question.

Once you two calm down a bit and all the books are put away, you’re staring Steve right in the face. He’s just smiling gently at you, his eyes dazzling in the soft light of your room. You feel the butterflies form in your stomach as you break the comfortable silence.

“How do you feel for tomorrow? Good? Bad?”

“I think I’ll be okay, pretty nervous” He says with a shrug as he smiles a bit hesitant at you, you notice how his demeanor has changed. He seems more nervous and quiet now.

“You’ll do great, trust me!” You say trying to lighten the mood as you earn a smile from him. You give him a comforting smile as you grab his hand and hold it in yours gently squeezing it.

Your touch practically sends Steve to the moon. He just feels so happy, he feels all the nerves and worries washing away as you gently hold his hand in comfort. He truly believes every word you’re saying.

He clears his throat before asking a bit nervously. He’s been thinking about this plan all night and all day. He wants to celebrate with you, regardless if he passes or not. He wants to treat you for volunteering your time to help him. And of course, he just wants to spend some time with you. You make his day with these sessions as you constantly giggle at his jokes making his heart soar or seeing you smile so beautifully. You’re like treasure to him, he wants to cherish you forever.

“Y/N, do you possibly want to go and get ice cream with me when it’s all done and over with… like a celebration type of thing?” He asks with a gentle smile as a hint of pink crowds his cheeks.

You let his statement settle in the air as you feel your heart pick up at the words. Without a second thought you reply, “I would love too, Steve!” You can feel the heat rise to your cheeks as you smile unstoppably at him. You see his eyes open wide in happiness in response as the smile grows bigger on his freckled cheeks.

Head over heels..

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Steve has refused to tell you the outcome of his test until you two were seated on the back trunk of his car indulging in your ice creams. His treat, of course.

“So Steve…” You say pausing to swallow. “What did you get?” You push the spoon around the sprinkled covered ice cream as you wait for him to respond.

Steve places his icecream down as you copy him looking at him more curious now. You watch the sides of his mouth curve into a grin. “I passed, everything!” He says excitedly. You can’t help but to squeal in surprise as you wrap your arms around him for a hug.

“I’m so proud of you!” You say muffled against his shoulder. You can feel his broad arms wrap around your lower back as he hugs you back. You can feel the sudden chill from the ice cream melt away.

You pull away as you look him dearly in the eyes with a sincere smile on your face. “See, I told you that you could do it!” You say smiling even wider. You’re so so so happy, this made your day.. your week even.

Steve has never seen you this happy for anything ever. Heck, Steve has never even had anyone this happy for him. He just feels this overwhelming sense of accomplishment and joy that fills his entire body.

You both are now just looking at each other with huge smiles, enjoying the comfortable silence. Steve feels like he should make a move, before he loses you. He’s afraid that after this, your friendship could disappear. You would go back to your friends and he would hang out with his. And he didn’t want that. He wanted to be with you.

“So what was the final sc-“ You’re interrupted mid sentence as he presses his lips delicately against yours. You gasp into his lips as your eyes dart shut. His hand gently caresses your cheek as your body freezes. He pulls apart smiling and blushing madly as he looks at you lovingly. You just stare like a dear in headlights at him. You’re shocked and can’t even process what just happened.

Steve Harrington just kissed you.

Your cheeks are a crimson color now as you smile shyly at him. Without a second thought, it’s your turn to confess how you feel. And by this, you press your lips against his once more. His lips are pillowy soft and taste sweet from the ice cream. One of your hands cups his cheek while the other rests gently on his shoulder. You can feel his hand come and press against your lower back as he pulls you closer to him as the other pulls hair behind your ear delicately. You pull apart with a smile as you become nervous and shy around him. You can feel the absence on your lips as butterflies course through your tummy.

Steve is genuinely surprised that you feel the same way. He would never think that you, a smart and determined girl would ever fall in love with a dumb, cocky jock. He’s only known you for about a month now but it feels like it’s been years. You two just instantly clicked. Maybe opposites do attract..

He just feels overwhelming happy as he just stares at you with the biggest gushy smile and sparking eyes as he wraps an arm around your shoulder and pulls you close to him. You rest your head on his shoulder as you two just watch the sun set behind the trees, feeling totally in love.

Maybe people aren’t as bad as they seem..

People can change, people can grow..

And all you know, is you love Steve for who he is and who he became..

Because the lies were erased clean off the page.

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thank you for reading!! <3 hope you enjoyed the fic!!

#joe keery #steve harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #fanfic #joe keery stranger things #steve harrington stranger things #steve harrington x y/n #fluff #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #enimes to lovers #school

[unrequitedloveletter]

I think I might have fallen in love- realization fics! Fics with this prompt can be the realization of anything--a characters imminent death, the moment wherein someone realizes they've been betrayed, or they can be super fluffy and detail the moment a character realizes they're in love, the moment where they realize they can see a future with the reader--perhaps one that entails settling down or one that involves leaving the past behind--, the moment where they realize that they want to marry them! Anything goes with this prompt, and I'll write 1-5k words using it!

OKAY- what about nikolai x reader. and it's where he realizes he wants to marry her. maybe r thinks of a solution to some matter of state and he watches in awe how she handles the questions and gets the other's attention. and he's just like "yep. i'm gonna make her my bride" or something like that :)

Motion- N.L x fem! reader

okay, hi! This came out a bit later than I meant for it to--I decided a few weeks ago to plan out a duology to try to complete during NaNoWriMo and that took up a lot of my headspace, where trying to make sure my mental health was on track and I was breathing in something other than stale apartment air took up the rest of it. However, I am so sorry for how late this is coming out regardless!

On another note, my requests close next friday! They close at 11:30 pm AST (which is around 7:30 PST) and hopefully, what remains of my requests will be done by that point. Fall event requests are open until the second and my holiday event will come out sometime between the 24th of November and the 1st of December.

Fic type- fluff

Warnings- none

You and Nikolai were sitting in a meeting, debating with the Grisha triumvirate and several other relevant court members who sat in on Ravkas ever growing list of issues. You'd thrummed your way from matters of inter-palace discontent through matters of civilian discontent and you were up to matters of state.

Nikolai was getting bored watching everyone bicker, each of them trying to stop one another from getting a word in, but you looked as though you'd just gotten started. Nikolai could've sworn you were smirking slightly as you watched Zoya snap at a general, ready to throw a gust of wind at him--one so powerful that it knocked him through the meeting room wall--and barely managing to restrain herself. You looked as though, despite the fact that you weren't Grisha, you were ready to do the same thing.

Genya looked ready to tailor someone into a very ugly version of themself and David simply looked as though he wanted to go back to his work, like he was mad at the fact of his obligations as a member of the triumvirate for pulling him away from it.

"And before you start, Novikov," you started. Nikolai turned his attention to you, smile on his face. "Let me talk my way through this, yeah? You start talking and you might find yourself unable to fill your britches because you simply don't know enough. It's not a matter of the people--it's a matter of the funds we're able to allocate to the cities. If we can allocate enough to cities both big and small then we're setting ourselves up for an economic boom that starts at the big cities, moves to the small ones. It moves to the towns, and from the towns it moves back to us."

"How do you expect Ravka of all places to be able to do such a thing?" Novikov asks, bushy eyebrows furrowed at your suggestion.

"We can get tourists in," you said. "Ravka is broke--that is absolutely not a surprise to anyone in this room. However, to appeal to those who can only afford to take one vacation a year we advertise the cities. The ones with good-quality but still cheap hotels, honest working parents and saintstales as old as the country itself."

"And what of the rich folks?" David asked. "I mean--we can't advertise Ravka for tourism without aiming somewhere that will actually make a difference one trip on, can we?"

"Palace tours," you said. "The Grand Palace--we can make it a tourist spot Friday through Monday, twelve hours, with options for individual touring, group touring, or guided versions of the same. I'll be a bloody guide if I need to, but I know that there are people somewhere who are passionate about Ravkas history to be willing to volunteer their time."

'And how long is this going to take to pay off our debts?" Novikov asked. "I mean--nobody will go for it if it takes us longer than a decade."

"If it takes us longer than a decade, the youngest of us in the room have a chance at seeing it in the last year or two before we hit forty," Genya said. "Nikolai is twenty-four at the current, which means it would take sixteen years if it were to be such a strenuous plan."

"It's not," You said. "Tours of the palace will take two hours going at a slow pace if my walks of the Grand Palace are to have proved anything. If we get six volunteers, then that's one to cover every tour everyday. Ticket prices can be set at 20 coin for a general admission, 10 for children and fifteen for seniors. Max the group allowance at groups of ten and that ranges from 100-200 coin just off the gate. Take that and multiply it by six, and we have 600-1200 coin going back into the coffers of those to whom Ravka is indebted. It'll be volunteer based because the saints know we cannot afford to pay the guides but I would do a twelve hour workday just to prove that my idea is the right move."

"And what benefits could we offer in place of wages?"

"A hot meal when shifts are done, a room at the Little Palace and food by an irrefutable line of direction. We could also put them on palace staffing lists officially so they'd at least be making the minimum wage, but I think that such would constitute as fraudulent somewhere."

Nikolai was deep in thought when you brought up that last point, but with one squeeze from your hand he was back to reality.

"If they would be willing to take a room in the Little Palace for the duration of time during which tours take place, then it wouldn't violate any laws--they'd be working within the palaces, allowing their placement onto the palace staff."

"What is your estimate on how long it would take?" Novikov asked. "On how long the combination of marketing the cities and the palace tours would take to pay off our debts and refill the war treasury?"

Nikolai had been looking at you how he always did--like you were the love of his life. As he watched you answer what both of you had hoped tto be Novikovs last question, he came to a realization.

"A minimum of five years," you said. "And that is with the tours going all year round. If we could have the tours going daily it would probably still be the same such estimate--we're more than one million kruge in debt with Kerch, double that with Novyi Zem, Novikov. The process for clearing Ravka of it's debts is not something that will be instantaneous unless you're willing to sell your home and give the funds to the cause? According to reports I've seen, your home could have us reasonably jumped forward if you sell it for it's maximum monetary value?"

Nikolai could see it right in front of him--two years from then, a ceremony. Watching you walk down the isle, a coronation where you were crowned as queen. A life as your husband, a life with you as his wife.

He glanced at the ring finger on his left hand--it was looking awfully bare, but if you said yes when Nikolai proposed, which he decided he would do right then, it would not look bare for the rest of his life.

"All in favor?" Nikolai asks, giving your hand a squeeze as the thought solidifies itself fully in his mind.

I am going to make her my bride.

Everyone, including a rather embarrassed Novikov, said "I" and you grinned victoriously.

Your plan was barely in motion, but it was starting to gain traction still. As Nikolai pressed a kiss to your cheekbone and the two of you moved to leave the meeting room, the same could be said of his.

#nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #shadow and bone #shadow and bone netflix

[denimbex1986]

'In its most recent episode, Doctor Who broke one of its oldest and most fundamental rules. On the one hand, it can be exciting when a long-running pop culture property breaks a rule it has set for itself; it means something interesting is about to happen. On the other hand, sometimes breaking a rule is boring and self-indulgent. I’m afraid that in Doctor Who’s case, we’re following the second scenario...

Here’s the trick that made Doctor Who run for 60 years since its first premiere in 1963 (plus or minus a decades-long hiatus and an ill-advised TV movie): The Doctor always changes.

Doctor Who is an institution of science fiction, but it has a deceptively simple premise. The titular Doctor is a member of an alien race known as the Time Lords. He has a time machine/spaceship called the Tardis. He likes to pick up a friend periodically — usually a human from the late 20th or early 21st century, frequently a young woman — and travel with them through time and space, having adventures.

Sometimes the Doctor and his companion go back in time and meet Sir Isaac Newton. Sometimes they go to the edge of the universe and explore a haunted spaceship. They can go anywhere, to any time or any place. And, crucially, the Doctor can be anyone.

Every time the Doctor dies, he regenerates into a new body, played by a new actor. The way he expresses his personality shifts: he goes from crotchety to fun-loving to aggressive to cold. He picks up a new signature outfit, a new signature catchphrase. He loses old companions and gains new ones. He redecorates the Tardis.

Yet the Doctor remains the same character with the same history. He always changes; he is always the same. This paradox is the heart of the show, and it’s why Doctor Who has managed not just to last so long but to also turn out good episodes on a fairly regular basis.

The premise of regeneration is flexible. It is practical. It can withstand cast shifts and actor disputes. It prevents stasis and staleness. Most importantly, it speaks to the truth of how identities work: Our personalities are not set; they flux and change and distort themselves in bizarre ways we can never fully understand. We change, we grow, we lose who we used to be.

All of which is why the Doctor’s most recent regeneration, which aired December 9, is so frustrating. Doctor Who broke its own rules. For the first time, the Doctor kept his past self.

The newest episode was the third and final of a mini-season’s worth of specials airing between seasons 14 and 15. The specials were highly anticipated, in part because they were all written by Russell T. Davies, who first resurrected Doctor Who from the dead in 2005 and departed in 2010. (The original run of the show aired on the BBC from 1963 to 1989.) The specials also starred David Tennant, whose iconic turn as the Tenth Doctor made a new generation of fans fall in love with Doctor Who. The whole thing was a fairly straightforward plea for old fans to come back after a few seasons of falling ratings.

Tennant’s return to the role was teased in October 2022 when Jodie Whittaker’s Thirteenth Doctor died. (Whittaker was the first woman to take on the role.) Officially, the Thirteenth Doctor was supposed to regenerate into a Fourteenth Doctor played by Ncuti Gatwa, the first Black actor to play the Doctor. Instead, in a surprise twist, Whittaker transformed into Tennant, now taking on the role of the Fourteenth Doctor.

“If you thought the appearance of David Tennant was a shock, we’ve got plenty more surprises on the way! The path to Ncuti’s Fifteenth Doctor is laden with mystery, horror, robots, puppets, danger and fun!” teased Davies in a statement shortly after the episode aired. “We’re giving you a year to speculate, and then all hell lets loose!”

The official plan was that Tennant would play the Fourteenth Doctor through the three 2023 specials and that, at the end, Tennant’s Fourteenth Doctor would transform into Gatwa’s Fifteenth Doctor. In the most recent episode, “The Giggle,” that’s not quite what happens.

Instead, when the Doctor regenerates, he splits into two people. One is played by Tennant. The other is played by Gatwa. Both, they assure everyone at once, are equally the Doctor. Fourteen and Fifteen are both alive together, at once.

Each of them even gets their own Tardis, the Doctor’s trademark spaceship/time machine. The pair agree that Gatwa’s Doctor will go off and have adventures, which presumably the show will go on to follow. Tennant’s Doctor, meanwhile, will rest with his old companion Donna Noble and heal from his PTSD — and, presumably, remain available for guest appearances whenever ratings are in danger of flagging.

“David [Tennant] is parked,” Davies explained in the companion show Doctor Who Unleashed. “For once, we’ve got a happy Doctor who is no longer saving the universe, but is parked with Donna (Catherine Tate) for a happy life, while the Doctor — which is always the next Doctor, and that’s always true of Doctor Who, the Doctor is the next Doctor — is out amongst the stars.”

The transition is a remarkable echo of the last time David Tennant’s Tenth Doctor regenerated, back in 2010. Back then, Tennant had a handy clone available who went off to live with his old companion Rose Tyler in an alternate universe, while the central Tenth Doctor reluctantly died and transformed into Matt Smith’s Eleventh Doctor. This time, the Fourteenth Doctor doesn’t have to die, or even so much as move to a different dimension. He simply retires to the suburbs.

This persistent desire to hang on to Tennant shows Doctor Who (and particularly Davies’s Doctor Who) talking out of both sides of its mouth. It’s as if the show is saying, “Yes, yes, on the one hand the Doctor always changes, but on the other hand he is also always David Tennant and he is also always living somewhere safely with your favorite companion, unless you are a Martha fan lmao.” Tennant gets treated as though he is somehow more the Doctor than any other incarnation.

On the official Doctor Who podcast, Davies teased the idea that the bigeneration of Fourteen and Fifteen may have caused the whole timeline to bigenerate, so that each past Doctor now is alive in a splinter timeline. “I think all of the Doctors came back to life with their individual Tardises … and they’re all out there traveling round in what I’m calling a Doctor verse,” Davies explained.

The attempt at a Marvel-style endlessly overlapping universe line is self-indulgent and sentimental in all the wrong ways. It is a betrayal of what makes regeneration such a durable and dramatically rich premise, which is that the Doctor can never fully regain his past self — and neither can the audience. Even if you are a Time Lord, the past is a foreign country, and your oRwn personal past especially so. We can never fully go back — until the BBC decides it’s time it got its own MCU. In that case, we go back again and again.'

#Doctor Who #60th Anniversary #Russell T. Davies #The Giggle #Bi-generation #Jodie Whittaker #David Tennant #Sir Issac Newton #Ncuti Gatwa #Catherine Tate #Donna Noble #Doctor Who: Unleashed #Rose Tyler #Billie Piper #Matt Smith

[choices-binglebonkus]

Saw your Choices books ranking tierlist, it got me wondering why HSS:CA is so low on the list (I'm not criticizing here, as I myself found HSS:CA to be disappointing wasted potential), and what are your personal opinions on the HSS trilogy and the HSS:CA trilogy? How would you compare the two to one another?

Given that I had played the original HSS app, seeing a lot of the old characters in the Choices version made the introduction to the main character and their friends a lot easier and more natural. I can’t quite put my finger on why I like it exactly, just that all the characters were relatable and down-to-earth and the books were good, wholesome fun. The MC themself was one of the better ones even though they were on the younger side: they weren’t stale or boring and they weren’t the qUiRkY cHaOtIc DuMbAsS that Pixelberry seems to love so much.

HSS:CA immediately throws the original cast away. This was a risk on PB’s part, and while I respect them taking that risk, it just didn’t work. Most of the cast in HSSCA was either bland or completely annoying to me. Rory and Ajay were the worst, IMO. Rory was a Mary Sue in every sense of the word. Everyone in-universe loved them and had crushes on them even though they were totally cookie cutter. And Ajay was a smarmy jerk. Did he ever apologize for thinking we broke OG MC’s foot? I don’t think he did, but that always annoyed me too.

So they introduced this cast at the cost of our beloved original cast. And…for what, exactly? The plot for all three books was totally lukewarm and book two, the only one to deviate even slightly from the other two, was the worst of them all. I didn’t care what happened to any of the characters, didn’t care about their interests, quirks, motives, backstories. I just didn’t care. The new cast PALED in comparison to our old one and my enjoyment of the book suffered as a result.

Even worse, they kept the original cast around but as background characters. And worse still, they hit us with a continuity error as the reason we stopped playing as the old MC with their friends. They were all about to graduate. This is all well and good, but in the original HSS where all the characters were sophomores (except Aiden and Maria, who were juniors), about one school year passes over the course of the three books, and the new MC joins the school the following fall, and all of a sudden all of the old gang are seniors. I remember a scene in HSSCA where they all talked about what they were going to do after graduation, but according to the wikia, they appear to have fixed their grade levels and made everyone juniors again. So basically, all of this was for nothing.

I don’t know. I just really couldn’t stand what they had done to the original cast in favor of the new, considerably more aggravating and less compelling cast.

#asks #anti class act #anti hssca #high school story

[popitdontdropitwrites]

"Stockholm" Medic/Sniper - Chapter 1

Summary: The Sniper uncovers a deeply disturbing experiment and becomes its unwilling test subject. In time, however, he becomes the Medic's most obedient, dutiful patient.

You can also read this fic on Ao3 here

CW: Blood, Injury

The unshakeable feeling of unease crawled all over Mundy’s skin, slithering all over him like cold slugs.

Though this place was in theory exactly the same as the base he was used to in both its layout in facilities, it felt uncanny, almost as if he were walking through a dream’s reproduction of it. He found himself checking behind every corner, searching for the countless eyes he felt upon him. No matter how tall he stood, or how calm he tried to sound, the stale air he breathed weighed him down, drenched in the heavy burden of despair, filling him with a subtle sense of wrongness that left him on edge.

The Scout, however, didn’t seem bothered by it at all as he showed him around. Or maybe, he had grown used to the vaguely perceptible feeling that something was off.  “I don’t know why I need to show you the kitchen, seeing as it’s the same as your old one but here it is in all of its shitty glory.”

Jeremy outstretched his arms out wide as they walked through the makeshift kitchen, showing off the grand arrangement of cracked plastic tables and chairs, which had been patched up with duct tape at one point or another, alongside the tired appliances sporting parts that didn’t quite match the rest. Mundy inspected a coffee machine that had been modified to hell and back. He was sure it would make a decent coffee, despite its monstrous appearance. Though this place was in a bad state, he smiled at it, finding an odd charm in its ruggedness. He wouldn’t be so charmed when it all broke down when he needed a hot cuppa, but still, he supposed it could be worse.

The Scout waited by the door, impatiently tapping his feet against the tiling. “Believe me, pally, you’re not gonna find anything mind-blowing in here. Hurry up, would ya?”

Mundy took the cue and followed the boy outside. A cool, fresh breeze met his face, relieving him from the depressive atmosphere of the building. The Scout grumbled under his breath as they walked, damning his luck for this boring session of show-and-tell.

Ahead, the dishevelled shower block slouched in the sun, exhausted from its near constant use. The stalls stood out in the open, exposed to the elements without even a sliver of privacy. Each one was fitted with a shower head, which by the looks of things, were barely functional, just like everything else. In one of the cubicles, a single bird splashed in a puddle of water, its creamy white feathers spotted with glimmering droplets. Their eyes met briefly, before he returned his attention to the whining Scout.

“And here’s where you’ll wish you never had eyes in the first place.” Jeremy cocked a thumb to the cubicles.

“It can’t be any worse than it was at BLU.” He replied, idly picking up a bar of creamy white soap and turning it over in his hand to inspect the RED logo embedded into it. He gave it a sniff, disappointed that it didn’t have much of a smell.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Jeremy remarked, the sarcasm in his tone as bitter as it was obvious.

“I’ve had worse jobs.” He said, remembering being holed up in the bush, waiting days upon days in the summer heat for the perfect chance to strike his target.

“You’ll change your tune when the water’s colder than a block of ice.” He muttered, wandering to the door, ready to leave yet again despite the fact they had only just gotten here. “You done smelling the soap?”

Mundy nodded and left with him, following him like an eager dog. They passed by a building that resembled a shed, with tin walls wearing a coat of amber rust. Its sun-bleached roof housed a small group of doves, their dark, unreadable eyes watching him. Metal clippings, screws and stray strands of wire littered the ground, as if a bomb had gone off in front of the place. From within, the whirrs, squeals and shrieks of machines accompanied the clank of tools. He took it that the Engineer was too absorbed in his work to come out and say g’day.

The Scout grew bored of walking in silence and struck up a conversation. “Did the higher ups tell you why they needed to swap you?”

“Nah,” He shrugged. “I was jus’ told that I needed to go to you lot. I didn’t think to ask questions.”

“Sounds like ‘em.” He let out a sigh. “We were hoping they’d send us another Pyro or Demo or something. A bag of bones like you isn’t gonna cut it.”

Mundy took the jab with a slight smile and reciprocated with a stab in kind. “I could say the same about you. You’re smaller than me, mate.” At that, the kid pouted, offended.

“C’mon, this is all gains.” He flexed a bicep to prove his point, which only disproved it.

“Sure, maybe that’s what your mum told ya to make ya feel better.” He chuckled at the way the kid’s face turned red with anger.

A large emblem of a red cross greeted him, the flickering light behind it catching his eye. The pale white, sterile building was strikingly unlike the rest, mostly because it appeared to be structurally sound without holes or cracks. Perhaps the most astonishing thing of all was the fact that it was clean, without a splatter of blood or even a single shell casing to be seen. The shining doors, polished windows and inviting paving rendered it like a beacon of hope in a miserable, dying place.

He pushed the doors open to peek inside, but the Scout grabbed him by the wrist so hard that it burned. “F-Fuck, Snipes, don’t go in there.” He stammered out quickly, his usual smugness gone from his tone.

“I jus’ wanted to have a bloody look.” He growled back, puzzled by his urgency.

“Yeah… yeah…” He breathed, fidgeting with the tags around his neck. “It’s just that the doc doesn’t like bein’ interrupted when he’s workin’. Gets his panties all twisted up, y’know?” He tugged Mundy away from the infirmary. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He insisted, pulling a little harder, though Mundy remained locked in place, curious.

With an especially rough tug, Mundy forced himself to keep walking, the crunch of gravel and dirt punctuating each step. Up ahead, a large, stark red condominium stood meekly, its small rooms closely packed together, sort of like an apartment complex. It was an ugly thing, like everything else in the base – designed purely for efficiency rather than looks, and of course, for minimising expenses. It consisted of dreary red bricks, with dirty windows and shoddy doors, some of which were barely on their hinges. The staircase to each level appeared more like a safety hazard than a proper way up, where one could end up speared on the broken railing or fall face first on the unsteady steps.

“Your room’s up there.” He gestured to the room with an open door.

He hadn’t even gone in yet and he could tell that he’d feel like a trapped rat in there. “As far as I’m concerned, that’s not mine.” He shook his head. “I’m sleepin’ in my van.”

“Great, I get to end this boring tour around base early.” He said, the smug smile returning to his face.

“Thanks for bitin’ the bullet and showin’ me around, I s’pose.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m just glad it’s over.” Jeremy nicked off before he could say anything more.

Mundy found himself alone again, just as he liked to be. But here, in this place that was familiar and simultaneously terrifyingly different, he couldn’t help but shudder. He fished his keys out from his pocket, striding towards his van, towards safety.

A pair of dark, beady eyes stopped him.

A dove had perched itself on the roof, its pure, snowy white feathers and pink feet contrasting against his beaten up, dusty van, as if a small angel had been waiting for him. It chirped pleasantly, bobbing its head like it wanted to hop over to him. Without thinking, he offered it his finger to sit on and it flew over, landing gracefully on his hand. It stared relentlessly, as if it wanted something from him. Not knowing what to do with such a cute bird, he whistled a tune to it, hoping to amuse it at the very least. It sung along for a time, but suddenly paused, its eyes widening and its head turning, listening for something. Without warning, it leapt off from his finger, flying off in a hurry. He watched it as it went, zipping over the base and landing on the sign in front of the infirmary, where still, it looked at him, beckoning him. He instinctually followed it out of sheer curiosity, but the hair on his neck prickled up, pleading with him not to go.

His instincts' pleas were silenced in seconds by the sudden blotting of the sun. He looked to the skies, pushing his sunnies up to see a sea of white feathers landing on the roof, completely covering it. Their eyes fixed upon him, blinking in near perfect unison and Mundy’s legs seemed to move on their own, compelled to come closer. He approached the shining haven without so much as another moment of hesitation. He made it to the entrance, where a peculiar, repetitive high-pitched squeal stopped him in place. He placed his ear to the door, the sound growing louder and so needy that his heart softened against the better judgement of his years at war. A distant memory washed over him, staining his eyes with its warm hues and long forgotten fondness.

He pushed the doors open and immediately froze up, stunned by just how pristine the infirmary was. It carried the strong aroma of cleaning alcohol with only the faintest whiff of blood underneath; the whispering remnants of countless operations. The furniture within was nothing like the company standard, with medical beds far more comfortable than even his own, a varnished wooden desk complete with stationery, books, and a seat more akin to a throne than a desk chair. The operating table sported high-tech mechanisms and the tray of equipment just beside it was brimming with tools of all shapes and sizes. The medical cabinet too, overflowed with various pills, balms, and salves, all neatly organised to fit. The tiling below him shone with how clean it was and if the walls would sparkle if they could. There were even more sizable rooms attached to the infirmary, with one assumedly being showers and facilities for patients.

He heard another shrill cry and remembered what he’d come in for. He followed the sound, eventually reaching a table far from the medical equipment. On it, rested a wooden box lined with a warm lamp attached. Inside, a clutch of pink, tiny birds thinly covered puffy downy feathers rested on a soft cloth. They wriggled around on oversized, awkward legs, tumbling around over one another. Like their fully grown counterparts, their beady, black eyes stared right through him. They grew noisy when they saw him, squeaking and squawking, demanding supper or who knows what. Mundy blinked rapidly, unsure of what to think. He carefully reached out with his index, gently petting one of their bald heads, overtaken by an instinct he’d forgotten he’d had. He smiled, revealing his crooked teeth as their unusual cuteness affected him.

He stroked the baby’s beak and it attempted to gobble up his finger. “Mate… Ya can’t eat that.” Mundy chuckled, petting its head. He breathed out a sigh of relief. It didn’t look to be in any sort of danger – it was merely hungry. In his trance, he barely heard the thump of jackboots from behind him. A hand landed on Mundy's shoulder, and he jumped in fright.

“I would say to make yourself at home, but it seems that you have already done that.” The Medic’s usual mania, though it was supposed to be friendly in this context, made his insides twist all the same, anticipating a saw through them. “Did I scare you?” He asked excitedly, coming around to face him.

“You had me shit scared for a second there, yeah.” He’d never really gotten to see the man up close – and during hand-to-hand combat, it’d never seemed important to study his face. Now, he was entranced by all the things he noticed, namely the distinct, almost dignifying signs of age: the crow’s feet by his eyes, the lines on his forehead and the grey streak in his hair.

“Forgive me, I could not help myself.” He explained, pulling out a chair, which made Mundy’s heart lurch. “I am quite happy that you barged in, actually. It saves me from having to drag you in here myself.” He said far too casually for his liking and again, that sense of wrongness nibbled at his senses, stirring his heart once again. “Come, take a seat. We have much to discuss.”

“Oh, nah, I’m not stayin’ long, I just wanted to make sure this little fella was alright.” He gestured to the still noisy bird. “Seein’ as he’s just hungry I may as well—”

“—Tell me, what is so important for a Sniper to do after hours that he cannot make time for a brief chat with his doctor?” The Medic opened a nearby cupboard, taking out a glass jar full of a yellowish powder and a needleless syringe. “Please, sit. I will not take up much of your time.” He insisted again, far more politely than he would have expected from a man who used to rip his guts out with his bare hands for fun.

“Alrighty then, mate, if that’s what you want.” He muttered under his breath, the torturous sense of entrapment encircling him, making him fidget.

“I understand that you are still settling in, but consider this a warm, formal welcoming to the RED team.” He took a spoonful of the powder, mixed it with water and filled the syringe with it as he talked, not spilling a drop. “I hope your new comrades have been treating you well.”

“I’ll admit that I haven’t gotten a lot of fanfare so far.” He said, failing to find a comfortable position in his seat.

“I would hate to think anyone holds a grudge towards you for simply doing your job.”

“I don’t think the problem is that I was shootin’ their brains out at some stage.” He said, folding one leg over the other, only to discover that wasn’t comfortable either. “I’ve heard that you lot wanted somethin’ a bit bulkier than a Sniper.”

Ludwig stood over the box, presenting the syringe to his brood of birds, who all craned their necks towards it, peeping loudly for a feed. “Quiet, bitte.” He said in a different, softer tone, as if he were speaking to children. Miraculously, they all quietened down. “Ah, don’t listen to them. I believe that they would have complained regardless of which class we ended up with. I for one, think that you will be an excellent addition to this team.”

“Why’s that? You’re sick of bein’ my target?”

“That, yes.” He admitted. “And, you are good at what you do. I know from experience.” He winked, tapping his temple. “On that note, I would like it if you would continue to be an excellent marksman. I have noticed a lack of recent updates in your file, and you are well overdue for a physical examination.”

Mundy nearly jumped out of his seat then and there. That was a lot more than a quick talk. “Is it really necessary?” He balked.

He clicked his tongue, considering it. “I would say so, considering the fact that you have been deliberately avoiding your appointments.”

“I… yeah.” Mundy swallowed a little too loudly. Thankfully, the Medic didn’t notice, or he merely pretended he didn’t. “It’s nothin’ personal against you or your other half, but I don’t like all the questions or bein’ prodded with tools.” His eyes darted to the clean, shining tools just nearby. “I don’t like gettin’ an earful of orders, either.”

The German chuckled, feeding the last of his fledgelings. “They are not orders. It is merely advice.” He said. “Whether you follow it or not is up to you.”

“Judgin’ by your tone, I don’t think there’s much of a choice.”

“It should come as a surprise that I prefer it if my patients listen to me.” Ludwig confessed light-heartedly, his perfected, bleached smile showing. “And I do have my methods of making them listen, if it comes to that.” He joked, letting out a hearty laugh.

“Fuckin’ hell, I hope you’re not plannin’ on usin’ these methods on me.” He said, rubbing at his neck.

The doctor walked over to his chair, removing his coat and hanging it on the back. Something about the fluidity of it drew his eyes. “It depends on how cooperative you are today, herr Sniper.” He said, his smile transforming into a full, playful grin. “If you can prove that you will not be a problem for me, there will be no need for such things.” His words stepped on the blurry line between jesting and frightening seriousness so well that Mundy wasn’t sure what to think. “Oh, gott, you need to relax, my friend.” He said, leaning forward. “I am joking with you.”

Mundy breathed out the tension in his chest. “It’s hard to tell with you.”

“Come now, it would be cruel even for me to subject you to an examination right away. I will at least do you the courtesy of buttering you up first.” He gave him a pat on the shoulder before reclining in his chair in a near regal manner. “Would you like tea? I boiled the kettle not too long ago.”

“Nah, I’m alright, cheers.” He waved him off. If he accepted tea, he’d be here all night.

“Coffee?” He insisted, giving him a sly look, knowing he couldn’t say no.

“Fine, you’ve got my weakness there.” Mundy conceded, figuring it was the polite thing to do.

“Wunderbar. Take a moment to ease those nerves of yours while I’m out, hm?” He teased, disappearing into another room to make him a cuppa.

In the silence, that same unease re-emerged from his pores, making his hair stand up on end. His eyes wandered around the room, taking in the sights all over again, getting the unnerving sense that something had changed while he wasn't looking. He kicked up his feet, taking in a deep breath, attempting to do what the Medic had said. He forced himself to sit still and listen to the hiss of the machine but that too, made him squirm. Mundy looked to the clock, and then the door deciding that if he could run if he so wanted. He had to wonder how long it would be before he was dragged back in, only this time strapped to the table.

He got up, trotting around the room, listening for any sign that the other man would be coming back. The door creaked, causing him to snap to attention, but nothing moved. Instead, he caught a voice bouncing back and forth with the Medic’s from the other room. Though he strained to listen, he was unable to make out the words. It seemed that the two would be chatting away for some time, judging by the underlying excitement bleeding into the conversation and Mundy thought to browse around while he had the opportunity to.

The Sniper popped his head into one of the additional rooms, discovering a walk-in refrigerator with biological samples, animal organs and just about anything and everything a mad scientist could need. He gently eased a door open in case it would squeal and discovered a bedroom. He nearly closed the door again, not wanting to rummage in a bloke’s bedroom – or worse, get caught prying – but he couldn’t look away from the mess of stray papers, open books, blueprints and near illegible scrawls. Unlike the rest of this cleansed, sterilised place, this room housed festering, uncontrollable madness. A lone halogen light flickered, casting a dim glow across the room, casting deep shadows, narrowly revealing the walls coated in a second skin of scraps of paper, drawings, and hastily scrawled phrases. Black eyes of graphite watched him now, shedding tears of swaying chain links, complete with dangling, ornate cages.

Mundy bent down and scooped up a discarded note page, scowling at his inability to read German. He did, however, understand the bulky, uneven letters sliding further and further down the predesignated lines – frustration, or perhaps, manic excitement.

He delved deeper into the den of insanity, examining the immensely detailed diagrams of a device beyond his comprehension. No matter how many different slips of paper he found, the same picture repeated itself, albeit with slight alterations and improvements. He skimmed through dozens of repetitions until he found a completely new image; a sketch of a dove, alongside an enlarged diagram of its brain and other organs, annotated in words he couldn’t read. But it was different to the last, in that there was a second page clinging on for dear life with a single staple. Mundy turned the page over and bared his teeth in disgust at the grotesque drawing of the human brain, mid-operation, though it had been artistically defaced by a network of metal chains running across and all over it, obscuring the partially erased remnants of—

The stomp of boots behind him announced his end. Mundy spun to face the doctor standing in the doorway, the cogs visibly spinning behind his eyes, running through several gruesome options in his head. The Sniper froze as their eyes locked, the paper crumpling at the force of his frightened hold. Steely blue eyes darted to them, then back to Mundy, requesting to drop them without a word.

One word broke their mutualistic stare. “Drei…” Ludwig stepped forward and the floorboards creaked under him, screaming in fear.

He instinctually stepped back, his heart thumping rapidly.

“Zwei,” He closed the distance between them and grabbed his chin, tilting his head up to force eye contact. He breathed deeply, the sound shuddering as if overflowing with fear, but Mundy knew better. The man before him was delighting in his fear, licking his lips with the thrill it gave him.

He could only let out a choked sound, bracing for whatever was to come next.

“Eins.” In one swift motion, he retrieved the bonesaw from his pocket and raised it. “Oh, Mundy… Mundy…” He crooned, taunting him as his gloved index ran along the teeth of the blade, not batting an eye when it cut him. “You’ve been a naughty boy, haven’t you?” He demeaned him, scolding him with an unwitting sultriness that did more to him than he realised in that moment. “I cannot blame you for being curious, but I would like you to know that this has crossed a very blatant line. Please, put that damn thing away and learn some manners.”

‘’Doc—‘’  He began.

‘’—Do not interrupt me!’’ He yelled in his face, his breath hot against his skin. He placed the blade to his throat and the teeth cut him, just enough to sting. “I will not ask again.” He growled, his accent thickening with anger.

He dropped the papers, returning them to the messy abyss they came from. His lips moved as if to speak, but he failed to let out a single sound.

The Medic smiled gently, the sudden shift in his demeanour startling Mundy almost as much as the yelling. “Tell me,” He whispered, leaning in close. “Are you satisfied?”

His answer crawled out from his tight throat with ease. “No,”

Ludwig grinned, amused by his answer. “You want to understand it, don't you?” The blade rubbed against his skin, digging into the fresh cut just a little more. He resisted the impulse to wince.

He nodded quickly.

“I can help you to understand.” He purred, his voice so full of breathy passion that he couldn’t help but be captivated by it. A beautiful glint of madness rested in his azure eyes, making the flecks of gold ensnared within his azure irises shimmer like the fur of a dingo in the sun. “You have suddenly become very interesting to me, Mundy.” He said, softly, cupping his chin and tenderly thumbing his cheek. “But… that only makes me want to cut you more.” He whispered it in his ear as if it were a dirty secret.

Mundy’s scream turned into a gurgle as his throat was cut in a single slice, causing violent spurts of blood to gush from him. Roaring laughter surrounded him, exploding into a gleeful, maddened cackle. His body weakened as he lost more and more blood, causing him to slump to his knees, the world blurring. He reached for the doctor, in the faint, foolish idea that he might help him. He tried to talk, but the words were lost in the cloudy haze of his faltering consciousness and the suffocating flow of blood. The world spun as if he was drunk and he hit the tiling, his vision drowning under the glare of the bright lights. A tall shadow blocked it out and lifted his limp body, placing him on a soft surface. He weakly raised his hands to fight off the being that had him captive, but a warmth enveloped his hands, holding him in place.

That same, peculiar warmth brushed up against his cheek. “Don’t fret,” Ludwig said gently, his voice in his ear. “I’m going to take very good care of you.”

Next Chapter

#tf2 #tf2 fanfiction #team fortress 2 #fanfiction #fic #tf2 fanfic #tf2 fic #tf2 sniper #tf2 medic #bushmedicine #medicsniper #bush medicine #medic x sniper #sniper x medic #snipermedic #mind control #brainwashing #brainwashed #dark #master/pet #stockholm #popitdontdropitwrites

[goongiveusnothing]

There is something to be said for the age gap. While it's a romantic notion that it doesn't matter, he is still very much in the high hear career phase of life, while she has kids and may be looking for a more settled existence. I think at first it was an intoxicating escape, and she clearly enjoyed being his rockstar girlfriend attending all the shows and jetting off every other week to see him play. But the reality set in and she isn't 28 anymore she's already had that young and happily irresponsible time in her life and she isn't there anymore. It feels like a classic mid life crisis (hate that term but you know what I mean), and it's run it's course because he's not looking for a family and she's remembered she's not 28 anymore.

i think he was the one who broke up with her.

it's weird though, because i do get old man vibes from harry so i can actually see why an older woman in a more stable part of her life would find him attractive. there is something very old and boring and stale about him. the way he talks is like a boomer. the things that interest him are boomer things.

i think she really doesn't get though that he would never settle down for her, and i suspect honestly she's going to keep that candle burning hoping they can make a go of it again in the future. i really do believe he is an addiction for her and likely thinks this is all temporary until he realizes he misses and loves her. i think this will be the midlife crisis of her life, she's gonna still be yearning for him at 50 possibly. i do think she understands she ruined her life for this man and i think she will always try and make that seem worth it to her.

#harry styles #olivia wilde #holivia

[motownfiction]

zephyr

Sam can’t believe it, but he’s starting to become that guy who turns the song on the radio because he doesn’t know it.

He never thought he would become that guy, not even if he lived to be a thousand years old. When he was in high school, he swore he’d always be up to date with whatever new music was coming out. That was tough for him then, since the new music that was coming out was stuff like “If This Is It” and “We’re Not Gonna Take It,” among other terrible songs. The 80s weren’t nearly as good for music as other people who grew up in the 80s seem to believe. But Sam listened to it, anyway. Every song was a time capsule; a memory he’d eventually unlock, whenever that may be. Even if the song was bad, he could have a good memory attached to it, like a keychain on a key for a place you’re not particularly fond of. And for so long, he was so great at keeping up with it.

It’s “The Zephyr Song” that breaks him.

The song isn’t overplayed, exactly, but it is one thing Sam didn’t think was true of any music, no matter how good or how bad: overrated. Yes, once upon a time, in his prime, Sam Doyle believed that overrated music was a myth, like Orpheus and Eurydice. But The Red Hot Chili Peppers fucking broke him. He’s never really liked The Red Hot Chili Peppers. He might have even said he hated them, and Sam never says he hates any music at all, even if it’s true. There’s just something insufferable about the way they all work together. Sam doesn’t get it, and he doesn’t want to.

College kids come into the store all the time asking for “The Zephyr Song.” It takes every fiber of Sam’s strength and being not to ask them to reconsider. The song is boring. It thinks it has passion, but it’s as gentle and toothless as the breeze from which it takes its name. That’s another thing about it. Sam’s pretty sure they just called it “The Zephyr Song” to impress people. Look at us, they probably said in the recording studio one day, we know a fancy word. Sam can’t be bothered with that. If there’s one thing he hates more than selling copies of “The Zephyr Song,” it’s people who use their vocabulary to show off; to make others feel small.

The song becomes the bane of his existence. The rivalry sneaks up on him like a shadow. It seems like everywhere he goes, it’s taunting him. He doesn’t even really know why. He’s disliked other songs. He’s even disliked other songs by The Red Hot Chili Peppers. But “Californication” never haunted him. He could escape “Give It Away.” God help him, but he even kind of likes “Can’t Stop.” None of them breathe down his neck. None of them make him want to hide CDs and prevent the clientele from purchasing them.

Is it because he’s thirty-five now? Is that the magic number? The magic age when innocuous pop music begins to sound like torture? Is it that he’ll never be young enough to understand music the way he did when he was really and truly young; when everything sounded new to him? He’s thirty-five years old. He’s got so much life left in him yet. How can his ears be growing tired? How can they be growing stale?

Then again, maybe “The Zephyr Song” just really sucks.

Sam’s pretty sure that could be it.

(part of @nosebleedclub march challenge -- day xxi! i’m behind again, but you wouldn’t believe all the wonderful progress i’m making on my dissertation work instead)

#drabble #writeblr #ch: sam doyle #year: 2002

[perfectlysunny02]

Chapter Two

(This was supposed to be one chapter but I split it up into two so it wouldn’t be so long. Oops😅 Hope you like chapter three too))

Word Count: 1.5k

Steve met Eddie when he was fifteen years old. It was his freshman year before all of the King Steve bullshit and madness. He was a freshman, invisible, blending into the wall and the lockers behind him, completely ignored by the students around him trampling each other, he went unseen by everyone besides this sophomore. This sophomore with eyes that made Steve’s heart stutter in his chest, who tripped over Steve’s shoes and steadied himself with a laugh and flashed him a smile, a beautiful smile, a blinding beautiful smile that would be in Steve’s dreams for years to come. And then Eddie, Eddie leaned in and with his lips barely brushing Steve’s ear, whispered “Easy there big boy.”

And ever since that moment in the hallway, Eddie consumed his thoughts, all of them, for the better portion of his freshman year, even after he met Tommy, and Tommy told him all about Eddie Munson, son of the murderer, the devil worshiper, the town freak. But Steve, he didn’t care.

Eddie was beautiful, he was beautiful and while he may have had a different style than most of Hawkins, but most of Hawkins was boring anyway. Not Eddie, he was exciting and amazing. He was completely and utterly him, everything Steve wasn’t.

Then King Steve happened, and Tommy and Carol terrorized Eddie and his friends, and Steve just sat there and watched. He watched as Eddie began glaring at him whenever he saw him, his eyes, his beautiful big brown doey eyes, slowly filling up contempt and hatred. Steve could feel his glare from across the lunchroom, and it broke his heart.

And suddenly Eddie failed his senior year, and was repeating it with Steve. Perhaps now was the time Steve could fix everything, make Eddie not hate him, but no. Eddie failed again, and Steve went on to graduate, seemingly solidifying Eddie’s hatred for him.

Until Steve’s parents died, and Eddie Munson showed up on his front porch.

“I heard about your folks,” Eddie had said, as Steve stared dumbly at him. “And I um I’m sorry.”

Steve nodded and then, biting his lip before chickening out, blurts out

“I’m sorry for my friends,” Steve glanced at his shoes. “And I’m sorry for sitting there and letting them be dicks.”

Eddie smiled then, a small smile but a smile all the same.

“Ah it’s all in the past, Stevie. It’s alright big boy.”

About two months later they were dating.

He wasn’t sure who brought up the idea of marriage first, either him or Eddie, although there’s a great possibility of it being Uncle Wayne, but within days of the idea being brought up, Steve had a ring.

And because Steve could never catch a break, the moment he decides to propose, Eddie’s band Corroded Coffin gets discovered and signed. And that’s great, really, because if anyone deserved it, it was Eddie and his guys, they all worked so hard, and were all super talented. But Steve would be lying if he had said the idea hadn’t gave him some anxiety, if he didn’t feel the big lump of dread in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Eddie leaving, and those feelings lead to him almost crying out as he helped Eddie pack.

“Let’s get married,” Steve interrupted Eddie’s ramblings of Seattle.

“I-what-Stevie?”

“Let’s get married,” Steve said, again glancing up from where he was putting Eddie’s folded underwear in the suitcase. “Let’s go to the courthouse and get married. Before you leave.”

Eddie had stared at him, gaping, for so long that Steve was sure he was about to tell him he was crazy, that he was acting irrational, that there was no way in the world that beautiful rockstar Eddie Munson would marry broken horrible Steve Harrington.

“Alright,” Eddie said, with a slight laugh, surprising him. “Alright Stevie let’s go get married.”

And so they did, Wayne as their witness. They got married at Hawkins court house, in humid hot stale air because the air conditioner was broken, Eddie slipping on his finger a ring he hastily made from paper clips. That’s how they became the Munson-Harrington’s and Steve wouldn’t have it any other way.

A year later, Steve and Eddie started the process of having a child. They were using this brand new procedure where you could genetically modify a sperm cell to include both of their DNA. They were unbelievably lucky, their surrogate got pregnant on the first try, and within nine months, they held their little girl in arms, with a hair full of black hair just like Eddie and quite possibly Steve’s nose.

“She’s going to have your eyes,” Steve had murmured, his fingers lightly tracing her face. “And by the looks of it, your untamable mop of hair too.”

“Hey,” Eddie laughed. “Leave my hair alone. You love it.”

“I do, but besides the point.” Steve teases back, before they lapsed into comfortable silence.

“We don’t have a name picked out you know,” Eddie had said after a moment.

“No, you’re right, I suppose we don’t.”

“I was looking at a book of unique names, because it’s our kid and they deserve a pretty metal name.”

“Uh-huh?”

“Yeah and anyway I liked Evianna for the girl.”

“Evianna?”

“Yeah Evianna. We could call her Evi for short, you know? Just thought it was pretty metal.”

“Evianna. Evi. I like it,” Steve smiled. “It suits her.”

“Yeah but we still need a middle name.”

“Grace.”

“Huh? Grace?”

“Yeah, Grace. Because you and little Evi here, you’re my everything, you’re my saving Grace.”

And so that’s how their Evi Grace came into the world.

Steve could honestly say that these past five years with his girl had healed him in ways he didn’t even understand.

Evi was this smart sassy little ball of energy. She had inherited Eddie’s inability to sit down, and his sass, and the little serious nose scrunch Steve had when he was thinking about something super serious, although it was a lot cuter on the five year old.

She was their whole world, Steve and Eddie lived for being her parents. Eddie coming home from tour more often than not because she simply asked him too. Steve getting a work from home job just to be with her at all possible moment.

They hadn’t even wanted her to go to daycare, only reason they did was because she had to start preschool soon and they didn’t want to throw her in the deep end. They didn’t want her to be behind.

Although, that didn’t stop Eddie from looking for every possible reason to take her out.

They tucked their girl in with a princess story, and five kisses from the both of them, and her insisting that Eddie turns on her Tangled Lantern lamp, and Steve her plug in nightlight, and they did. Because their Evi Grace could ask for the moon and they would fine a way to get it for her.

Eddie quietly shut her door and turned to Steve, who still looked deep in thought.

“Hey, Sweetheart, Stevie, you alright?”

Steve let out a breath and shook his head as they walked down the hall to their room.

“She said another kid didn’t do it,” Steve said, sitting down on the edge of their bed. “And I believe her. So where the hell did she get that big ass bruise?”

“Stevie, she’s five,” Eddie said, going into their bathroom to brush his teeth. “She could’ve forgotten. She doesn’t have that big of an attention span, and she was exhausted today.”

“Exactly,” Steve snapped. “She was exhausted. Have you ever seen our girl that tired? Besides when has she ever forgotten that another kid hit her? No. Something’s wrong.”

“Alright,” Eddie says, coming out of the bathroom in his pajama pants to sit down beside him. “You’re right. She was exhausted. She might be coming down with a cold, her teacher did say she laid in that corner all day. So you’ll take her to the doctor in the morning, and I’ll call her teacher.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Yeah okay. We’ll do that.”

“Good. Now let’s go to bed,” Eddie said, leaning over to kiss him on the forehead. “Everything will be alright Stevie, you’ll see. You’re just worrying for no reason.”

Eddie wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince, himself or Steve, but his words seemed to have the desired effect on Steve, who relaxed and crawled under their comforter.

“You’re right. I’m probably just worrying for no reason.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said, hoping Steve didn’t hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Goodnight Stevie. I love you.”

“Night Eds. Love you.”

#stranger things fanfiction #stranger things #steddie has a child #steddie has a sick child #steddie fanfic #chapter two #darling dearest #evianna grace munson-harrington

[shammah8]

"Sing His praises in the assembly of the faithful."

Psalm 149:1b

THE PRIVILEGE OF CORPORATE WORSHIP

Our Open Doors colleague, Ron Boyd-MacMillan, shares the following insight from his teaching, “Why I Need to Encounter the Persecuted Church.”

 

It’s so easy to get fed up with church. For years I got very little out of church. The sermons were boring. The music was embarrassing. The fellowship was non-existent. The whole experience of worshipping with other people felt stale and pointless…Going to church in my country was an endurance test. Until I visited a persecuted church!

 

There were fifty of us squeezed into an upstairs room. The singing was hushed. The neighbours were hostile to the fellowship. Then a preacher stood up. An old man, with a wiry frame and wisps of hair springing from a mole on his chin. No sooner had he spoken a sentence than he broke down in tears. He kept saying, “I never thought I would have the privilege of preaching again.” Then he would laugh, then cry again, great wails and sobs. Soon everyone was weeping with him. Except me. This went on for about half an hour, and I began to get very fed up with it all. He kept speaking a line, and my translator kept saying, “It’s the same verse, it’s the same verse.” All this man did was repeat the same scripture phrase, burst into tears, laugh, and then speak the very same phrase again. I thought, “What kind of hopeless service is this.”

 

But afterwards I met the old man, and when I heard his story I repented of my attitude. He was a preacher, ordained in the late 1950’s in China. He pastored a church for only six months before it was closed down. He was jailed, spending twenty years in prison. After he got out, he was very ill for a long time, but finally, at age 77, had the strength to speak again. I had witnessed his first sermon in 31 years! No wonder he broke down. I tried to imagine what it must have been like, holding the Word of God inside for 31 years, not knowing whether you would ever again preach.

 

Then suddenly being allowed to do so. How do you preach a sermon after a silence of 31 years? No wonder he was overcome.

 

He said, “I never thought I would get the privilege of speaking the Word to a gathered group of Christians with their Bibles open ever again. Through the long years of prison I thought that experience would never return. And when it came, as you saw, all I could do was choke out the verse that kept me going: Sing his praises in the assembly of the faithful (Ps149:1b).

 

I returned home with a transformed attitude. I began to walk to church with my Bible, praising Him for the opportunity. I went to the church early, walking the aisles and praying, thanking God for the building and the freedom to hold our service. When the preacher spoke, I thanked God that he had no fear. When the Bible was read, I thanked God for the men who took grave risks in the past to print and distribute this word in my language. When we sang a hymn, I sang out loudly, thanking God that I did not have to whisper in hushed tones.

 

Truly, what a privilege is corporate worship. The persecuted Church rescued me from bitterness, and taught me to count my blessings I had taken for granted.

Response

Today I will thank God for the privilege and freedom of corporate worship in my church.

Prayer

Thank You Lord for the freedom and blessing of praising You in my faith community.

© 2013 Open Doors International. Used by permission.

[mdhwrites]

So, what is so awful about Starlight Glimmer that you refuse to try and finish up the remainder of the final 4 seasons of MLP Friendship is Magic? You finished up Owl House despite having loads of problems with that show, why not for MLP Friendship is Magic?

So A: I did not with TOH. Literally. I still have not seen about half the finale and like a third of Thanks to Them. I have watched what I have had to for blogs but that's it. I also only even considered not watching the rest once S2B ended because at the time, I didn't want to abandon it. I didn't want to lose it. However, I was explicit after King's Tide came out: If I didn't know for a fact so little TOH existed left, I would not even be considering watching S3.

B: There is SUCH a large difference between six more episodes of a show you liked and FOUR. SEASONS. of a show you'd been fading on for two seasons.

C: Starlight was a final nail in the coffin, not the first sin. I'd literally done an entire month of blogs on fimfic for S4 (or maybe five?) where I forced myself to be a bit more positive with that season because I'd been really harsh on it when it first came out and wanted to try and reconnect but even then, I'd found the season to be mostly boring. S5 didn't do any better and continued the trend of characters not just making mistakes but being outright assholes, at least in my opinion. Like if things weren't boring, they were miserable and I didn't like either setting for the show.

But what were my issues with Starlight? Well, she was an okay villain when she first appeared who gave up way too quick and thus lost all that was interesting about her, then literally killed an entire world potentially dozens of times when having never had proper training in magic and was then hugged and accepted as a new main cast member with less of a redemption and effort than Discord and then... Then she joined and felt like one of the writer's super cool OCs and please see how much better they are than the rest.

Now these memories are OLD at this point so I can't bring up as many details as I'd like. One of the big ones was others slipping backwards just to make Starlight look better, like the dinner with Celestia thing where Starlight invites Trixie and Twilight ENTIRELY LOSES IT like it is literally four seasons ago with Lesson Zero. I also believe the episode that kind of broke me was the Hearthswarming Special because it was downright the worst version of a Christmas Carol I'd ever seen where Starlight acted like she was literally above the story itself. Hell, I'm pretty sure my response to that episode was "How do you not understand the base structure of A CHRISTMAS CAROL!?"

And again, a lot of this was genuinely just indicative to me of how I just wasn't enjoying the show anymore. I didn't like the characters, I didn't like what they were doing and it all felt stale. I was right there with a lot of the fandom by being hyped during S4 by thinking that the Harmony Box was going to lead to an entire new cast of main characters because it did feel like a shake up was needed at that point for most of them or that most in S4 were getting their dreams to prepare them for a send off and the like. And then... They didn't. Our only new cast member came in the worst of the Twilight clones of smart magic horses and the plots seemed to double down on the fact that she was in fact MUCH worse than Twilight. Not because she behaved worse but because they had to try so hard to sell her to the audience.

But I want to make it clear that I gave S6 a few episodes still. I tried to still be on its side despite having been kind of miserable throughout S5 (going to the home of the griffins is still one of the worst episodes of anything I've ever watched). I wanted to still be a fan, especially since I was still writing for it.

You know, like TOH. And like TOH, it disappointed on all fronts with wanting to continue that commitment. So yeah, I'm not returning to MLP FiM for quite literally over an entire DAY'S worth of time just to be able to comment on the Friendship School. Why the hell would I when I have SO MANY better things to do with my time?

#mlp fim #Starlight Glimmer

[wandering-star65]

A couple years back, i made a decision that I still uphold to this very day.

Nobody will ever get close to me again, to take everything away from me, and leave me with nothing.

We can be cool, we can be romantic, we can fuck, we can be friends. But I will never uproot my life, my individuality, my independence, or my heart for anyone ever again.

Ya'll women be playing with dudes until they no longer serve you and your immediate needs. Until the shit slows down and the magic that lit your ass on fire became "stale" or "boring" in your perspective. Or until something new and shiny caught your attention.

When all he needed was peace, your company, and something solid to hold onto, to be truly happy and fulfilled in this life. He was solid.

How long do you expect a man to keep solid, when the waves of disrespect or indifference become a shaky foundation to what he called his Home.

Ya'll kept playing "Grass is greener on the other side" until there was no more grass and you hit a desert. A cold, lonely desert.

The smarter people who found themselves in the desert, took that time to meditate on thier lives. To make amends to the unhealed parts of themselves. To take accountability for where they put themselves and what they put others through. They found water and grew new grass and moved forward as better person.

Blessed, enlightened people.

The others ran backwards. No reflection. No evolution, no accountability, pointing fingers, and clawing desperately at anything green that they could find. Repeating cycles. Opening old wounds on people who spent years nurturing to heal. Hoping to find a way back to a place they discarded so carelessly.

He doesn't want those anymore. He's not open. He's closed off. You will never get deeper than surface level with him ever again.

This has become MY male experience in the current generation, and the experience of MANY good men. We would rather die alone, than part with another shard of our souls, again.

"Where are all the good men?"

We're still here. We're the broke and penniless. We're the single fathers. We're the dudes breaking ourselves at work to keep the lights on and the bellies fed. We're the ones riding the bus. We're the ones who don't meet the "Standards" of a few. So we keep to ourselves. We cultivate and protect fiercely, our peace.

You want inside that man's heart? You're gonna have to work twice as hard and twice as long. Why? Because he's learned a lesson taught to him by someone careless.Someone who listened to their single, party-girl friends; "Oh he ain't shit", "Upgrade Queen", "Get that money." And they've never experienced a healthy relationship in their life.

You listened to the snakes in the grass and they led you into the desert along with them.

So leave that man alone. He's seen the warning signs. He ain't fuckin with you anymore. Or leave that man alone if you don't have the emotional maturity to grow alongside him.

And I'm not talking about Fuckboys, Abusers, or the narcissists. All of them can get wrecked. They're also snakes. And they're pulling the same shit.

You know the type of man I'm talking about. You know the person who this is for.

I see you. We deserve to be seen.

#personal #me #menshealth #mens mental health #perspective #relationship #male relationship #where are all the good men? #ladies #thoughts #2023 dating #dating #dating 2023 #rant post #personal rant #mini rant #relationship rant #peace

[destructive-rose]

Prompt: "Write a short story about a magician who loses their powers."

Beaufort Buxley's Magical Menagerie

Hot lights, smell of stale tobacco, and the particular mustiness of moth eaten curtains and old wood. This was the climate inside the small Thrice Penny Theatre, located on the corner of 1st and Sadie Avenue, and it was an environment Beaufort Buxley was all too familiar with— save for the sharp silence permeating the air.

Dust particles and smoke rose towards the ceiling. Buxley dabbed his forehead with one of the numerous multi-colored handkerchiefs he had just pulled out of his breast pocket. His little trick elicited not a single laugh or gasp from his audience, a stark contrast to his fonder memories.

Only a month ago, he had the crowd in an uproar about his ability to dodge "magic bullets" and swallow "flaming swords". In fact, over his illustrious 6 month career, he had attempted amazing feats of wonder and escapes. The rumors flew. He was a supernatural creature of inhuman strength and speed, he was a Satan worshiper with an unholy power, or he was an angel sent to work miracles, depending on who you asked.

In truth, Beaufort was a simple magician and slight of hand master, no better than the greatest thieves and pickpockets of yesteryear. One might even go so far to say he was a fraud, if they knew the secrets behind his many tricks. But even without that knowledge, the audience had grown weary of his performance.

They were unamused, uninterested, and unhappy that they had wasted their precious 50— formerly 3— cents to watch an utterly washed out hack job play his little games with the audience, all of which were entirely predictable. But the show must go on, even for the tragic clown.

"Er," Beaufort mumbled, fumbling with the handkerchiefs, "and now for my next trick, I'll need a member of the audience, please!" He looked around expectantly. "How about you, sir? Madam?"

The unlucky couple brushed him off. They didn't want to be caught dead sharing a stage with Beaufort Buxley.

"Er…. Anyone? Anyone?" Beaufort pleaded, traipsing around the edge of the stage.

Unfortunately, he was spending too much time on finding a good sport.

"Get on with it!" someone at the back shouted.

"Do I have a volunteer, perhaps?' Beaufort asked hopefully.

No reply. He straightened up and called for his assistant, Jessica, who wasn't due to go on for at least another 15 minutes. The buxom redhead came out in her shimmering flapper dress and full face make-up, forgetting her feather headband in the rush to accommodate a change in schedule.

Beaufort greeted her warmly with a deck of playing cards. "Jessica, my dear, please pick a card."

"Any card?" she asked.

"Any card!"

The assistant did as she was told. Buxley showed the card to the audience without looking at it and covertly slipped the card into his sleeve.

"Okay, now, watch as I shuffle the deck…." Buxley legitimately shuffled the cards around. Then, with a flourish, he produced the card from within his sleeve. "Presto! Was this your card?"

As expected, Jessica bounced up and down, clapping her hands a bit too much. She'd seen the trick done many times but didn't know the secret behind it.

"Oh yes, Mr. Buxley!" she crowed. "The queen of hearts, just like I picked! Wow!"

Less than a beat passed until they were heckled.

"Oh like we're supposed to believe it hasn't been planned?" someone shouted.

Murmurs broke out across the auditorium. The crowd was growing restless by the second. These outrageous accusations must not be allowed to circulate!

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Beaufort asked, stamping his foot for added emphasis.

"Your little card trick! The assistant is obviously in on it!"

"No! That's not true!" Beaufort insisted, but it was no use.

The audience had already been riled up by one baseless claim, and insulting a performer was infinitely more enjoyable than watching a boring act. They wanted their money's worth, and by God they were going to get it, one way or another.

"You're a fraud!"

"Get off the stage!"

"Yeah! Boo!"

Beaufort was really in the thick of it now. The words, although harmless, hurt his pride as an entertainer. Never before had he come across this level of hostility. He motioned to Jessica, who was equally appalled, to seek refuge backstage. The moment she left, someone chucked a wad of napkins at him, and then a full ashtray, and then came a volley of crumpled up playbills designed exclusively for Beaufort Buxley's Magical Menagerie.

Buxley ducked and dashed, dodged and weaved, all the way to the curtain, where he was finally safe from the merciless assault. Jessica was waiting for him. She was twiddling her fingers, not quite sure what to do with herself.

All she could say was, "Gee… tough crowd, huh Mr. Buxley?"

Tough crowd?! That was a severe understatement! They treated him like an animal. There was no nice way of putting it. Jessica meant well, but Beaufort couldn't reply, he was so distraught by this blatant disrespect.

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I thought the card trick was neat," Jessica said before retreating into her dressing room, no doubt to clean herself up for the night.

He'd call her to discuss the future of their professional relationship later. It was out of the question to even consider closing up shop and ending his career prematurely, but if he wasn't tempted to do it right this instant! Feeling lousier than a wet mop, Beaufort went into his dressing room and closed the door behind him.

He had performed in some questionable locales before, but to lose the audience's faith and trust was the lowest point he'd ever reached. What he needed now was time. Time to think, time to process, and time to grieve. Beaufort sat down at the vanity and buried his face in his hands.

Only two words came to mind: "I'm ruined."

*****

After what seemed a mere 10 minutes but was more likely an hour, a sharp rap rattled the door. It was Richard, better known as Ricky. An assistant of a more physical nature, Ricky was in charge of hauling and setting up Buxley's personal stage equipment.

"Mr. Buxley, sir, are you still in there? The manager says we gotta vacate," Ricky warned. "She says she's givin' us 10 minutes 'til she calls the cops."

It was perhaps a rather crude way of putting it, but at least Ricky got straight to the point.

"Alright, I'll be out in just a second!" Buxley replied and rubbed his tear stained eyes with the palms of his gloved hands.

Then he stood up, brushed off his lapels, put on his top hat, and began to gather his various personal effects. If the manager wanted them to vacate, he wasn't taking any chances. He placed all of his stage makeup, various articles of stage clothing, and smaller props in their respective places. He'd have Ricky haul the chest out, but the suitcase could be carried on his person.

Upon opening the door, Ricky was standing stock still behind it.

Somewhat quietly, as quietly as a juggernaut could be, he asked, "You alright, boss?"

"I believe so, but I would prefer not to accept my new title of 'village idiot' just yet." Beaufort gave a half nod towards the dressing room. "And, Richard, if you wouldn't mind...?"

"Sure, Mr. Buxley." After returning with the massive trunk, he asked, "You didn't get hurt, did'ja boss?"

"Aside from whatever's left of my pride, I can assure you I got out completely unscathed."

"D'aww, those guys wouldn't know a good trick if it hit 'em between the eyes." Ricky clenched his big fists tighter around the chest handles. If he were born any stronger, he might bend the metal. "I always like watchin' your show! Jessica does too!"

The sentiment was appreciated, but Beaufort didn't have the heart to tell him this might be their last performance. Tonight's events already spelled certain doom for their lineup at the Thrice Penny Theatre. They'd have to skip town, change their names, and start fresh elsewhere, if such a thing were even possible. He couldn't ask that of Jessica and Richard. It was simply too much to expect from an assistant and a stagehand.

"Yes, well, you'll find your check in the mail," Beaufort said. "And I'll call you before the end of the week, as usual."

"It's been real fun workin' with you, boss." Again, he didn't have a way with words, but at least he was honest.

Beaufort patted the oversized man on the forearm, giving him a light squeeze. "Thank you, Richard. Now, if you'll please put that chest in my car…?"

Ricky did as he was told without question. He hauled the chest out the rear exit, hefted it through the alley, and placed it in the backseat of Buxley's Cadillac. Beaufort followed him, languidly chugging along. He was being ripped away from his place at the Thrice Penny, forcibly uprooted before his time. He'd have to be 6 feet under for it not to hurt as badly as it did.

It was only his stagehand that garnered his attention.

"Uh… boss, what's that sound?" Ricky asked.

Beaufort quickened his pace, hurrying to the driver's seat. "I don't hear anything. I don't know what you're talking about."

Ricky didn't seem so sure. "No, boss, I swear I hear somethin'." He turned around and around, trying to locate the source. "It kinda sounds like… a baby cryin'."

A baby crying in an alleyway behind the Thrice Penny Theatre? Of all the ridiculous things for them to experience in one night, an abandoned child was beyond imagination! Beaufort dismissed the idea entirely, but before he could open the car door, he stopped to listen and realized: the behemoth was right!

Barely audible over the noise of the busy street and whatever wretched performance was now going on in the Thrice Penny Theatre, the weak cries of an infant erupted from across the alley.

"Good God!" he gasped, pointing towards a set of dumpsters. "It's coming from over there! You don't think…!?"

Ricky didn't say anything. Instead, he made a beeline in search of the child. He pried open each dumpster and trash bin he could get his meaty hands on. And then the whirlwind frenzy was over. Ricky had stopped.

"Well?" Beaufort hissed, growing impatient.

No reply. Silence, tormenting silence. Beaufort couldn't take the suspense. He crept closer, glancing from side to side, hoping and praying that no one was watching them rummage through the theater's garbage in some twisted act of lunacy. He had half a mind to set fire to each trash can in this detestable alleyway!

To hell with the rest of these despicable thespians, these— these charlatans! Damn the owner and her threats of eviction! And damn the miserable audience for— for not being good sports about the whole thing! That's what the spirit of magic was, wasn't it? Knowing each bloody trick is fake, but still choosing to believe, in spite of it all!?

But no sooner had his revenge fantasy died had Ricky drawn his attention once more.

Gazing down into a trash can, the stagehand said, "Uh… boss? I think you might wanna take a look at this..." He was smiling rather foolishly, especially for someone who had just found what could be an orphan.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake…" Beaufort grumbled, finally joining the ten ton giant. He peered into the bin and let out a low groan.

There, laying underneath a folded newspaper, on top of a half crushed cereal box, lay a baby. She was no more than a few months old, perhaps. Aghast and dismayed, Beaufort's imagination wasn't getting the best of him. Oh how he wished this was all just some terrible dream. Any minute now, he would wake up and this horrible day would be over with.

Ricky kept smiling like some halfwit. "What'dya think she's doing here?" he asked.

"Why don't you ask? I'm sure she would be happy to tell you all about how her mother abandoned her!" Beaufort snapped. He was beginning to panic. "We must remain calm! This is no time to lose our heads!"

Ricky didn't quite know how to respond. Buxley handled stage pressure with relative ease. Anything else, however, was out of the question. He had seen his boss give into dramatics before. The man was an entertainer, through and through. So he figured it was best to nod and agree.

"Uh… Whatever you say, boss. Maybe we should go back inside and call the cops!" Ricky scooped up the tiny infant. "Here, boss, you can hold her for a while!"

Beaufort opened his mouth to speak but the words died before they could make it out. Ricky had shoved the little tyke into Beaufort's arms. He could do nothing to protest. The baby was filthy and smelled of rotting fruit and excrement… but she was also malnourished, freezing, and most likely in need of medical attention.

Beaufort's heart sank. She was helpless, welcomed into this world by someone who would only discard her later. Thrown into the trash heap, like yesterday's leftovers, not worth even a paltry 50¢... Yes, he knew a thing or two about that. Thank goodness they had been in the right place at the right time.

"Call the authorities, Richard. I shall stay here and keep our young audience entertained."

"Yes sir, Mr. Buxley, sir!"

The men went their separate ways. Beaufort resigned himself to the hardest task: sitting in the car and waiting. The baby had grown rather quiet, probably too exhausted to cry any longer, but she was awake and alert so he wasn't too worried. He stared at the baby, and she stared back.

Her eyes reminded him of a cow's— not all together lifeless, but empty, full of wonder, and devoid of any sense of self. He caught himself thinking she'd probably get a kick out of anything. He glanced at the chest in the backseat, and a strange thought occurred to him.

"Would you like to see a magic trick?"

The baby, of course, could not reply.

"Well, it just so happens you're in the right place, my dear. I am the esteemed Beaufort Buxley, and this is my Magical Menagerie! Watch and be astounded by feats so impossible, so extraordinary, you'll beg to see them again!" Beaufort announced.

From inside the trunk, he produced a metal spoon and a deck of cards. The baby didn't know what she'd signed up for, but the funny man with the big hat was doing something interesting, something she couldn't comprehend. She stared at him with her wide eyes as he held the shiny spoon.

"Behold, as I prepare to bend this spoon! This cannot be done by just anyone, but know that I am no ordinary man!"

By moving the spoon in a particular angle, he created the illusion that he had bent metal with the squeeze of his hand. A beginner's trick, one he spent hours in the mirror practicing to produce the desired effect.

"Thank you, you're too kind," he said, pretending to hear the applause of one so small, she barely had the strength to hold her own head up.

Proud of himself, he brought out the playing cards. Aside from the purported "dangerous" escape attempts, card tricks were among his favorites to perform.

He held the deck out to her and said, "Madam, I am going to ask you to pick a card, any card!"

To his surprise, the baby wiggled her fingers at the deck. She clenched and unclenched her fist, trying desperately to grab one of the cards.

"A keen eye!" Beaufort said, handing it to her. It was the Queen of Hearts, and he allowed her to keep it. "Now, I can assure you that this is an ordinary deck!" He thumbed through the deck to show her, going through the act with all his usual vigor. "I bet you one silver dollar that I can make the other queen appear!"

He shuffled the deck and then showed her the bottom. "Ah! The other queen, as I've said! But I wonder…" he trailed off and pulled the top card. "Another queen of hearts? Fascinating. There are only two in each deck, you know! But, perhaps…" Turning over the cards in their entirety revealed a full deck containing only the queen of hearts.

"Oh my! How can this be? I think you'd better give me that one back, and we'll settle this matter once and for all!" He took the card back from the baby and showed it to her. "I thought you'd drawn the queen of hearts, but it seems you've somehow gotten the ace of spades. I think you may have a career as a magician someday! Now, let's see…"

He inserted the ace of spades into the middle of the deck. Suddenly, it started rising from the center, as if an unseen force were pushing it out.

"Uh oh, it seems this deck won't accept your ace. Where, oh where, has that pesky queen gone?" He pretended to check his pockets, really hamming it up. "You don't see her anywhere, do you?"

The baby continued to watch, incredulous but absolutely enraptured by the spectacle playing out before her.

"Oh, there she is!" Beaufort smiled and reached behind the baby's ear. He slipped the original queen out from his sleeve and said, "I've found her! We'd best put her back. She must be furious by now, missing out on all this fun!"

The queen of hearts went willingly into the deck. Beaufort turned it over once more to reveal that everything had gone back to normal. The deck was no longer flooded with queens, and everything was in order. He gave a little bow.

"Thank you, thank you. Oh no, please, you really are too kind! I couldn't have done it without your help!" he guffawed.

The baby reached out, now grabbing at him. She was smiling a toothless smile, reaching as far as her arms would allow, trying to grab Beaufort's gloved hand.

"Oh, really, I shouldn't…" Beaufort teased. "You've placed my heart in quite the predicament… I don't have any children, you know, nor a wife of my own… My career may even be over before it's really gotten started." He laid his hand down out of habit.

The child followed suit, latching her tiny fingers around his thumb.

"You liked my tricks, didn't you?" Beaufort said softly. "I'm very happy I could provide some amusement, even if it was only for a little while. Maybe, after all this is over, I can start fresh, go someplace nice. Perhaps I'll join the circus! That could be fun!" He shifted, admiring the vice-like grip the infant had on him. "Children always appreciate magic more than adults do, anyway. All the adults I met today seem to have lost their sense of imagination, and I surely could use the change of pace…"

A traveling circus might do the trick at reviving his dying career. It wasn't merely a pipedream, and if he wanted, he could find a way to take Jessica and Ricky with him. The whole gang could travel together, doing shows, living life on the road. No more of this Thrice Penny nonsense! They'd see the world together, and eventually… Well, who knows? Perhaps they'd sell out the Majestic someday!

Beaufort tried not to let himself get too excited. There was much to consider, much to do to make this work. And of course, there was still the matter of the baby. Thankfully, in the rearview mirror, he could see Ricky approaching alongside a police officer. The baby cooed, making a soft gurgling noise as she continued to hold onto Beaufort's thumb.

He smiled fondly at the notion that they were both getting a second chance at life.

"Thank you, my dear, for changing my mind," he said. "You've no idea what you've done, yet I'm already in your debt. How can I ever return the favor?"

But Beaufort knew exactly how he'd repay his youngest patron. He got out of the car and greeted the police officer.

"Good evening, officer."

"Good evening, sir. This man here called about a baby?"

"The orphan is just in there, on the passenger side." Beaufort stood a bit taller. "We found her in a nearby dumpster."

"I heard. Poor kid." The man ducked down into the passenger side. He rose back up less than a minute later, cradling the bundle of joy in his arms. "It's a miracle you gents found her. I've seen a lot of things on the force in my time, but she's in good hands now. We'll get her to a doctor, find a temporary home, and make sure she's taken care of. She's young, so it's likely she'll be adopted quickly."

"Yes, I certainly hope so. She seems to have an acquired taste for magic tricks."

"Magic, eh?" The officer chuckled. Then he stared at Buxley for two seconds too long. "Say, aren't you that famous magician? The one with all the odd rumors? Gosh, what was his name, again? Beaufort?"

The magician gave a slight bow. "Beaufort Buxley at your service, proprietor of a Magical Menagerie of sorts."

"Wow! You're a local legend!"

"I'm flattered you recognize me, officer. However, I believe my chapter at the Thrice Penny has come to a close."

"Oh, is that so? I would've liked to seen your show. My son's crazy for magic. Y'know, Harry Houdini and the like."

"And you still might, at a place you might not expect. Not to worry, I have some other plans." Beaufort winked at Ricky, who was left thoroughly confused.

"Well, good luck to you. I've gotta get this precious cargo over to the precinct. Thanks again for your help in watching over her, and thank you, sir, for calling it in."

Ricky blushed. "I was just doin' my civic duty, officer."

The police officer nodded to both the men and went back into the Thrice Penny Theatre. It was a bittersweet moment. Even Ricky, who spent the least amount of time with the baby, felt emotional about her sudden departure.

Beaufort stared at the building's back entrance, whispering, "Until we meet again, my dear. Farewell." Then he turned to his trusty stagehand and said, "Richard, may I ask for your opinion?"

"Of course, boss."

"What do you think of the circus?"

Ricky thought for a moment. "Well, gee, boss. I think the circus is kinda nice."

"As do I, my friend, as do I…"

#short story #writing #writeblr #mine: creative writing #creative writing #fiction

[carolap53]

THE PRIVILEGE OF CORPORATE WORSHIP Sing his praises in the assembly of the faithful. Psalm 149:1b

Our Open Doors colleague, Ron Boyd-MacMillan, shares the following insight from his teaching, “Why I Need to Encounter the persecuted church.”

It’s so easy to get fed up with church. For years I got very little out of church. The sermons were boring. The music was embarrassing. The fellowship was non-existent. The whole experience of worshipping with other people felt stale and pointless…Going to church in my country was an endurance test. Until I visited a persecuted church!

There were fifty of us squeezed into an upstairs room. The singing was hushed. The neighbors were hostile to the fellowship. Then a preacher stood up. An old man, with a wiry frame and wisps of hair springing from a mole on his chin. No sooner had he spoken a sentence than he broke down in tears. He kept saying, “I never thought I would have the privilege of preaching again.” Then he would laugh, and then cry again, great wails and sobs. Soon everyone was weeping with him. Except me. This went on for about half an hour, and I began to get very fed up with it all. He kept speaking a line, and my translator kept saying, “It’s the same verse, it’s the same verse.” All this man did was repeat the same scripture phrase, burst into tears, laugh, and then speak the very same phrase again. I thought, “What kind of hopeless service is this.”

But afterwards I met the old man, and when I heard his story I repented of my attitude. He was a preacher, ordained in the late 1950’s in China. He pastored a church for only six months before it was closed down. He was jailed, spending twenty years in prison. After he got out, he was very ill for a long time, but finally, at age 77, had the strength to speak again. I had witnessed his first sermon in 31 years! No wonder he broke down. I tried to imagine what it must have been like, holding the Word of God inside for 31 years, not knowing whether you would ever again preach. Then suddenly being allowed to do so. How do you preach a sermon after a silence of 31 years? No wonder he was overcome.

He said, “I never thought I would get the privilege of speaking the Word to a gathered group of Christians with their Bibles open ever again. Through the long years of prison I thought that experience would never return. And when it came, as you saw, all I could do was choke out the verse that kept me going: Sing his praises in the assembly of the faithful (Ps149:1b).

I returned home with a transformed attitude. I began to walk to church with my Bible, praising Him for the opportunity. I went to the church early, walking the aisles and praying, thanking God for the building and the freedom to hold our service. When the preacher spoke, I thanked God that he had no fear. When the Bible was read, I thanked God for the men who took grave risks in the past to print and distribute this word in my language. When we sang a hymn, I sang out loudly, thanking God that I did not have to whisper in hushed tones.

Truly, what a privilege is corporate worship. The persecuted church rescued me from bitterness, and taught me to count my blessings I had taken for granted.

RESPONSE: Today I will thank God for the privilege and freedom of corporate worship in my church.

PRAYER: Thank You Lord for the freedom and blessing of praising You in my faith community.

Open Doors Ministry

[gretavandutchy]

a kind stranger | four

{josh kiszka x fem!reader} fake it til you make it collection: phase one!

summary: a stranger in a bar comes to your rescue by pretending to be your boyfriend, but the ruse quickly takes on a life of its own.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: language, idiots in love, smut 18+ ONLY! MINORS DNI (for i am a whore who thrives on smut) explicit warnings below divide

warnings: protected sex (don't be silly wrap ur willy), oral (f receiving)

It would have been nice to say that life went on after Josh had walked out of it. But, you would have been lying. That wasn't to say you couldn't function without the man who'd swept in and out of your life so quickly, so carelessly, because you could. You kept your head up, and you kept working, and you did your best to move on.

It just really fucking sucked. If you had to put it into words, it was quite like a B.C.E and C.E. scenario. Except, it would have been Before Josh and After Josh.

He came into your life so suddenly and left just as fast. If you were honest, it was almost hard to remember what you'd done with yourself before he came around. You'd devoted so much time and energy to him, and now you were left with all of this empty space.

Your boss was happy, at the very least. No longer were you showing up late--though you did call in the following day after your fight with Josh. Could you really call it a fight? It wasn't much of an argument, really, it was more of a sudden loss.

Your old routine was hard to fall back into. You woke up to your alarm each day at six o'clock on the dot, got ready for work on autopilot, drove to work with the bare minimum of consciousness, and dragged ass until you got off at five o'clock. Afterward, you drove home with the same level of attention to detail, ate dinner, and then laid in bed until the early hours of the morning when you finally succumbed to exhaustion.

It was so boring. Your mind had gotten so accustomed to the constant stimulation that came with having Josh Kiszka in your life. While you used to constantly be conversing with him in some way or another, nowadays your days were quite... stale.

Marjorie and Beth tried their hardest to be there for you, but at the end of the day, they were still in the dark as to what really happened. When you'd let them know the following morning that things had ended suddenly with Josh, they'd been blindsided. Beth had even broken her token stoicism to voice her astonishment, quite passionately, and Marjorie had been her usual self--loud, over the top, and emotional.

Maybe it was wrong, or pathetic even, for you to keep up the lies. You were embarrassed, though, and couldn't bring yourself to tell them the truth. The thought of admitting that there'd never even been a relationship at all sent chills down your spine, your belly twisting up in anxious knots.

So, you lied and said he broke up with you out of the blue. Considering Josh had all but declared the friendship to be over, you'd been a little petty, too. You'd thrown his desires for an amicable separation out the window, instead being honest that it was not a mutual decision in the slightest.

All that being said, you really missed him. You missed the days that he would randomly show up to your office shortly before your lunch break, coffee in hand. You missed the late-night conversations that most often lacked any sense of direction or sense in general. You missed his voice, his laugh, his touch. Most of all, though, you missed his presence.

As much as you wanted to believe there would come a time that you'd forget all about him, and the hurt of losing him, you were pretty sure you wouldn't. Josh just had this aura, this pervasive sense of home, and comfort, and love that radiated from him. You'd never met anyone before who put you at ease so easily, without even trying, and you were nearly certain you'd never find that in another person.

Whoever won his heart, for real, would be a lucky person.

"Are you sure you don't want one of us to stay?" Beth asked, eyes following you wearily as you lingered on the doorstep of your apartment complex. "It's okay to not want to be alone, you know. We're here for you."

Marjorie hiccuped, nodding lethargically as she leaned heavily onto Beth. You raised a brow, looking pointedly from Beth to the very intoxicated woman relying on her to remain standing, and she cringed. "I'll be fine. I think she needs supervision a little more than me, mom." you joked, "It's been two weeks, Beth. Really, I'll be okay."

"Grief isn't linear--"

You scoffed, laughing as convincingly as you could despite the bitter twinge in your chest, "Beth, come on! You make it sound like someone died!"

She grimaced as Marjorie belched, and you were momentarily thankful for the distraction. The more they prodded you over things with Josh, the more bitter you became. Each comment drove you fractionally closer to spilling the beans in a fit of misplaced rage.

They meant well, you knew it, but it was getting frustrating. You just wanted to forget about it, forget about him, and move on. Sighing, Beth relented, "I've just never seen you so happy with someone before, okay? Not even with Joseph. I know you're putting on a brave face because you don't want to be a burden, or whatever, and I just want you to know that you don't have to do that. You don't have to do it alone, (Y/N)."

"I'm just trying to move on, okay?" you groaned, ignoring the look of disdain that flickered across her features. "It was a month and a half long relationship. Not exactly earth-shattering or world-ending."

Marjorie belched again, this time retching slightly. "I don't--I don't feel so good." she panted.

Gesturing to the woman who was quickly turning green, you took the chance to escape, "She needs you more than I do. Let me know when you get her home, okay?"

Thankfully, Beth didn't argue anymore. She nodded with a slight frown, but acquiesced, "Okay. I'll call you in the morning, and we can get breakfast or something."

You were quick to escape into the building, turning once the door closed behind you to be sure they continued on down the road. Once they disappeared from your line of sight, you finally relaxed. Your shoulders sagged, your poker face melted away, and you let the weight of all your heavy feelings wash over you again.

It felt icky to lean so heavily on your friends when you were lying to them all along. Beth had always been able to see right through you, which was why she was so persistent on making sure you were okay--and seemingly so in tune with the fact that you obviously were not. Still, you pushed the attention away.

You'd gotten yourself into this mess, and you were determined to make it through it on your own as best as you could.

Trudging up the stairs toward your apartment, you stopped short at the end of the hall. There, slumped on the floor next to your door, was Josh Kiszka. For a moment, a fraction of a second, you truly considered turning and chasing down Beth and Marjorie.

Surely, in Marjorie's state, they hadn't made it very far.

You didn't get the chance, though. As the heavy stairwell door slammed shut behind you, Josh's head turned and his eyes widened at the sight of you. He scrambled off of the floor in a flurry of wildly moving limbs, and you barely had a second to react before he was pleading, "Can we talk? Please?"

It took far too long for your brain to catch up and piece together the fact that he'd spoken. Talk? What was there to talk about?

And, yet, you let him in.

Josh followed you into your apartment, watching silently as you slipped off your jacket and your shoes. He followed you all through the small space, hands twisting anxiously before himself, and his eyes trailing over your abode. He followed so closely that he bumped into you when you stopped abruptly outside your bedroom, cheeks tinting pink as he mumbled an awkward apology and retreated to your living room.

Inside your room, you sat on your bed and stared at your phone. Beth's text had come through mere seconds prior, letting you know they'd made it to Marjorie's apartment safely, and you pondered how to respond. Did you tell her that Josh was there? Did you respond like everything was okay, not telling her?

It all came down to one real question: did you want to talk to him? Did you want your mother-bear friend to come barrelling in and save you from further potential heartache? No, you resolved, you were going to do this yourself.

He wouldn't have come if he was only going to hurt you further... right?

After you changed into comfier clothes, you dragged your feet back toward your sofa. Part of you felt a bitter sense of deja-vu, expecting to find him gearing up to race out on you again. He wasn't, though.

Josh was sitting on the edge of your sofa, twisting the long strand of beads around his neck around and around. He dropped them as soon as the floor creaked, alerting him to your presence, and you waited anxiously for him to explain himself. He seemed to struggle, though, his mouth opening and closing as he scratched at his chin in thought.

"I'm sorry." he finally stated, and you blinked.

He was sorry. Sorry for what? "You came all the way here to tell me you're sorry?" you urged, and his hands went right back to twisting the beads around his neck. "That's it?"

"No." he huffed, "I just... I really, okay, I really don't know what to say."

Your hands came to rest on your hips, your posture stiffening as you stared at him expectantly. "An explanation would be nice, for starters." you retorted, and he winced.

"Would you believe me if I said I don't have one?" he asked, and the hopeful look on his face was almost enough to get you to cave. Keyword, though: almost.

"No."

He laughed, and it was probably the first time you'd heard him laugh out of something other than humor. You finally gave in and sat down on the sofa, and the motion seemed to relax him if only slightly. The silence continued, though, only the faint clicking of his beads rubbing against one another echoing through the room.

If there was one thing you'd learned about Josh, it was that the man could not stand the quiet. If you left it up to him to speak, eventually he would, if only to release the rapidly overflowing dam of thoughts in his head. And this, this was no different.

"I never should have pushed you into this mess." he started, and once the dam broke--there was no stopping the rapid flow of words. "It's just, well, I really fucking liked you. I was so infatuated with you after that first night, and the more we talked the more I felt for you."

His hands were moving a mile a minute, fingers pinching the air like he was physically plucking his thoughts from around him as they escaped his mind, "And so, I guess, I took advantage of the situation. Your friends thought I was your boyfriend, and I was so eager to just have that little piece of you, I didn't even think of the consequences."

"And then you just... never stopped me. It kept going, and I kept falling in love with you every time we fooled around, and then it just got so hard." he rambled, and you were on the edge of your seat, "It got too hard to let go when the act, or whatever, was over. It was getting too hard to remember that it wasn't real, and having to remind myself that you didn't feel the same got so overwhelming."

"Josh--"

He kept talking, barely pausing to even breathe, "And then I almost kissed you, and you looked so fucking terrified, and I panicked. I didn't think I could keep being your friend with how much I felt for you, but these past two weeks have been... awful."

"Josh, I--"

"I don't remember how to be me without you, anymore. And, I don't know, today I kept seeing things that made me think of you, and I'd pull my phone out to tell you about it, and then remember that I couldn't. It fucking sucked, and I thought--why am I doing this?" he took a gasping breath, cheeks turning a deep crimson color as he poured his heart out, "Why am I pretending that I can go back to a life without you in it? I can't, and I realized that being friends with you is enough. It's more than enough to just have you in my life, even if you don't feel the same--"

You gave up on trying to get him to listen to you. He was barely coming up for air, let alone listening to you at all, and so you took matters into your own hands. Snatching his flailing arms from the air, you stilled his movements and pressed your lips to his.

It was like an overfilled balloon finally burst. Josh sagged into you, his entire body relaxing into you as he sighed through his nose and just felt you. Pulling away, your forehead dropped against his as you breathed out, "I wasn't scared, you idiot. I was excited."

The laugh that escaped him was familiar, the boisterous burst of emotion you'd grown so fond of, and the sound filled you to the brim with butterflies. "Could have fooled me," he groaned playfully, "I thought you were going to hit me."

"I wanted to when you didn't just do it." you ribbed, grinning as he bumped his nose against your own and wrapped his arms around you to pull you into his lap. "Still might, if you don't do it again."

Josh beamed at you, smiling so hard you wondered if it hurt, but you didn't get much time to ponder the thought. He licked his lips, and the mischievous twinkle in his eye sparkled as he whispered, "Whatever you want, mama."

The chill that ran down your spine sent tingles rippling across your entire body, and your voice came out a low whisper as you replied, "I just want you."

He did, in fact, taste like honey.

Kissing Josh was like an addiction. The moment he pushed back into you, you were desperate for more. Your hands swept across his chest, brushing under the beads that hung from his neck and relishing in the softness of his shirt. His tongue brushed across your lower lip, testing the boundaries, and you were eager to part your lips for him.

He tasted so sweet, and the little sigh of contentment he exhaled into you made you shudder. Your hands continued to roam, feeling every part of him you'd longed to caress before you finally settled for twisting your fingers through the curls at the base of his skull. He hummed, squeezing you tighter into him, and you tugged instinctually as he dragged you roughly over his hips.

"Fuck," he rasped, lips gliding over your own with every syllable he spoke, "keep that up and I won't be able to stop."

Your eyes met his, and you couldn't have hidden the desire that filled you up even if you had tried to. "Consider this blanket permission to never stop." you urged, and he dropped his head back with a loud groan.

The opportunity for revenge presented itself, really. Josh's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thickly, your nails scratching at his scalp slowly, and the unhindered view of his throat got you thinking. Your mind drifted back to that night at the bar when he'd kissed across your neck like it was second nature, and you just couldn't resist.

The first kiss was chaste, a sweet and soft peck right at the peak of his adam's apple. He inhaled sharply, tensing beneath you, and you upped the ante. Your next kiss was slow, your lips parting to breathe hotly against his skin, and he cursed under his breath.

His fingers curled into your hips, nails digging into the fabric of your leggings, and the moment your teeth nipped at the tender flesh at the base of his throat he rutted up into you. One hand flew from your hip to curl around the back of your neck, dragging your mouth away from his skin so that he could return the favor.

Josh wasn't as slow as you were. He dove right in with open-mouthed kisses, his lips dragging lasciviously over your skin before latching onto the sensitive spot beneath your ear. He sucked, hard, and you couldn't hold back the loud whine that ripped from your chest as he bit into your skin roughly.

Your hips began rolling of their own volition, your back arching as you rocked into the steadily growing bulge beneath your core. The friction wasn't nearly enough with the layers of fabric separating the two of you, but it was something and you were needy. He kept up his assault, teeth tugging at your skin for each rut of your hips, and you were certain the bruises wouldn't fade for weeks.

"Tell me what you want, baby." he pleaded, dragging your face back to his so that he could look into your eyes. You were both breathing heavily now, your lips parted as quiet pants escaped them, and your eyes rolled back as he caught your lower lip between his in a sloppy kiss. He never stopped aiding your hips, dragging you down onto him harder with every rocking motion, and you were on the verge of falling apart already.

He pulled away slowly, dragging your lip with his teeth before releasing it with a frenzied look in his eye, and you begged, "Josh, please."

If the flutter of his eyelids told you anything, it was that he really liked hearing you say his name. His eyes were dilated as they opened again, blown wide with lust, and he repeated, "What do you want? Tell me what you want, mama."

"You," you heaved, pulling at his hair as you rocked down onto him harder, "I want you, Josh."

You weren't sure if it was the utter desperation in your voice or the way your words had broken off into a feeble cry of his name, but something drove him away from his restraint. He all but threw you off of his lap, shoving you back onto the couch until you were sprawled before him, and his hands were forceful as they dragged down your body.

He started at your face, cupping your cheeks tenderly as he pressed one more kiss to your lips that left you craving for more. Slowly, they dragged down your neck before sliding down your chest. He paused for a moment to appreciate the peak of your nipples beneath your t-shirt, thumbs brushing over them just softly enough to have you hissing.

Your fingers were clawing at the fabric of the sofa when he finally gripped the hem of your shirt, dragging the material up to your neck to expose you to him. He hesitated then, and your heart thumped in your chest like a drum as that look flashed in his eyes again. It was the same expression of awestruck wonder that had taken over his face when he'd almost kissed you, and a bashful smile tugged at your lips as he looked up to you with wide eyes.

"You are so fucking beautiful," he gushed, and you melted into a puddle, "I can't believe it. Are you even real?"

You reached out to him, and he sweetly moved his head until your hands cradled his face. "I've been asking myself that since the moment I met you," you murmured, "I swear you're an angel."

"I love you." he blurted, eyes widening for a brief moment, but as he took in your grin he relaxed into your touch once more. "Maybe it's too soon, but I do. I love you."

Shaking your head, you pulled him down until you could press a kiss to his lips. "It's not too soon, because I love you too."

He giggled like a little kid, eliciting a laugh of your own, and pecked your lips repeatedly. You only got to bask in the sweet moment for a short while, though, because after a few more pecks he pressed into you deeper and muttered, "Now let me show you exactly why I'm not an angel."

One second you were staring into his eyes in awe, and the next your head was craning back as his lips wrapped around your nipple. His fingers tugged at the other, thumb rolling over the stiffening peak in time with his tongue. You gasped when he nipped at you, your entire body spasming in shock, but then you were sinking back into the sofa as he alternated his attention to the other.

As much as you were enjoying it, you were glad when he moved on from your chest. He trailed a line of wet, sloppy kisses down your stomach until he reached the waistband of your leggings. You were struggling to keep up as he curled his fingers around the elastic, barely giving you a chance to raise your hips before he was yanking them and your underwear off of you in one swift motion.

Josh didn't give you a chance to clam up or feel nervous. The moment your feet were free of the fabric, he was shoving your knees into your chest and diving right in. "Fuck, Josh!" you cried out, throwing your arms out desperately to brace yourself as he dragged his tongue across your core greedily.

You wanted to bury your fingers in his curls, but with your legs tucked into your chest, you couldn't reach. Instead, you brought your hands to the armrest behind your head and latched on, desperate to keep your hips right there. Each time he pushed his mouth against you, your hands pushed back against the support to grind yourself harder into him.

His tongue swirled around your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. Just as you were growing familiar with the sensation, your muscles relaxing into the pleasure, his lips curled around it and he sucked, and you moaned. He sucked harder, humming in response to your noises, and there was no restraining the violent jump of your hips off of the sofa.

Josh just chuckled, both arms coming to rest on the backs of your thighs as he pushed you back into the sofa. "Relax, baby," he teased, and you were beyond glad he couldn't see your face so you could scowl freely, "I got you."

He blew cool air over you, causing your back to arch, but he held firm against your thighs as you tried desperately to seek him out with your hips. "Josh," you whined, "please don't tease--"

You didn't have to tell him twice. His tongue swept through your folds, teasing your clit for only a moment before he was moving down to your entrance. The muscle teased your slit with a few broad strokes, just enough to have you begging for more before he breached your entrance and you keened.

He worked his tongue into you over and over, humming little sounds in response to all of your pleas for more, and you were desperate. The muscles in your belly were contracting steadily, your entire body coiling up into a knot as you fought eagerly to burst the bubble. He was holding your thighs so firmly it was starting to hurt, but you didn't care about the pain.

All you could focus on was the way he sounded as he called back to you with wordless sounds, and the feeling of his hands squeezing at the supple flesh of your thighs each time you fought against him. He licked up to your clit again, suckling the bundle of nerves until you preened a high-pitched wail, "Josh, I'm gonna--"

You never got to finish your sentence, your voice giving out as you choked on air. His thumb replaced his tongue to work your clit as you began to shake, your muscles spasming as the coil in your belly finally snapped and white-hot pleasure rippled through your entire body. He pushed your calves back toward the armrest until he could see your face, grinning proudly as you cried out.

"That's it," he cooed, slowly swirling his thumb around your sensitive clit until you were seeing stars, "that's my girl."

Panting, you breathed a sigh of relief when he stopped working your over-stimulated bud and finally allowed you to relax your legs. He let them fall across his lap, leaning back pridefully as he watched you struggle to catch your breath. There was something entirely too sexy about the way he didn't bother to wipe his face, smirking down at you with your release coating his mouth without a care.

You also were still trying to get over him calling you his girl, but that was beside the point. Breathlessly, you spoke, "There are condoms in my bedside table."

"Do you want--"

Looking him in the eye, you huffed, "Josh, if you don't fuck me I will hit you."

He laughed, finally wiping the back of his hand over his mouth and chin as he relented, "Whatever you want." You bit back a laugh as he waddled off toward your bedroom, one hand straining to adjust the bulge straining against his pants, and the other still wiping you off of his face.

Josh stumbled back into the room quickly, already stripped down to his underwear with the entire box of condoms cradled in his hands. "And what if I wanted to undress you?" you pouted playfully, giggling when he smirked.

"There's always next time," he teased, "I was told if I don't fuck you I'm getting socked in the face, so I'm just doing as you asked."

You bit down on your lower lip as he tossed the box onto the coffee table, your eyelids growing heavy as he pushed his boxers off his hips and let them fall to the floor. He had no qualms as his hand wrapped around his length, pumping slowly as he stared at your naked and sweaty form on the sofa. As his eyes dragged across every inch of your skin, you spread your legs, sliding your hand down your body until your fingers dipped into the slick mess he'd left behind.

His eyes darkened at the sight, and you stifled your laugh as he rushed to dig a condom out of the box and ripped it open. It wasn't a laughing matter, though, when he rolled the latex down his length and crawled over you with a look in his eye you could never get tired of. It was a darkened pool of love and desire, his brown eyes boring heavily into yours as he lined himself up with your entrance.

"Are you ready?" he breathed, and you nodded with a muffled whimper. His forearms caged your head in, his body sinking into yours as his hips slowly rolled into you, your jaw falling open at the feeling of him steadily filling you up.

He cursed under his breath, steadying against you as he bottomed out, and you arched your back when his nose buried into the crook of your shoulder. "Please, fuck me," you pleaded, eyes falling shut as his lips began teasing your skin, "I need you, Josh."

The first thrust was slow and cautious, a steady drawback followed by a tender drive back into you that had you sighing. One hand tangled into his curls, and the other gripped his bicep as you embraced the feeling. The next was earnest.

Josh pulled back slowly yet again, your hips lifting to chase after him, only to be driven forcefully back into the cushion as he snapped his hips into you roughly. You gasped, yanking at his hair in shock as your nails dug into the skin of his bicep. The cocky chuckle he let out was orgasmic in and of itself.

He built up a steady rhythm, the pace slow but forceful enough to rattle your skull, and you were clinging to him for dear life. Your legs wrapped around him to keep him from slipping away, and you were pretty sure you were on the verge of drawing blood with how hard you were clawing at his shoulder and arm. Josh seemed to like it, though, as he let out a loud moan as you dug into him particularly hard.

You pulled at his hair until you could see his face, pleased with the utterly fucked out expression he wore as he looked down at you hungrily. His lips were parted, tongue darting out to wet them in a motion that was far too seductive, and his eyelids hung low as he stared back at you just as greedily. You probably looked worse for wear, having already experienced a groundbreaking orgasm, but you didn't care.

You were far too enamored with the way his curls clung to his face, both of you growing slick with sweat, and the taste of honey on his lips was masked with something salty and a little tangy, a combination of sweat and your own essence. He kissed you lazily, his lips working against yours messily as you licked into his mouth and moaned at the way he consumed you. You could feel him everywhere.

"I'm close," he panted, nose brushing against your own as he pulled back just enough to speak, "I wanna feel you."

You mewled, abandoning his bicep to shove your hand between your bodies. "You feel so good, Josh." you gasped, and he groaned in time with your little gasp as you found your clit with your fingers.

"Fuck, keep talking." he begged, and as you felt his hips begin to falter you were quick to comply.

You cried out his name on repeat, babbling incoherent praises each time he drove into you just right, and before you knew it you were clenching around him. The feral groan that escaped him at the sensation drove you entirely over the edge, your fingers cramping up against your clit as you arched almost entirely off of the sofa. He pushed through, his hips driving into you erratically as your walls pulsed around him and fought to keep him within.

As your back finally collapsed back onto the cushions, Josh stilled, his face burying into your neck as he cried out with his release. You breathed heavily as you helped him come down, your fingers toying with his curls delicately with one hand while the other stroked gentle figures across the damp skin of his back. It was a little hard to breathe as he collapsed onto you completely, but you didn't mind. It felt like peace.

He eventually lifted his head, grinning down at you lazily as he goaded, "I'm gonna go throw this away, but you better get ready. If I counted right, we have eight more rounds to go."

Sputtering, you laughed loudly, "Let's see if you can keep up after two, honey."

"Fifty bucks says you tap out first, mama."

TAGLIST! @theweightofstardust @alltimekp @sing-against-the-sky @sammykiszkasunusedshoes @myownparadise96 @tripthelight-fanfic @imdepressedaf1996 @caravelstan @gvfvanfleet @vulture-withafile @godblessmarywanna if you would like to be tagged, send an ask!

#josh kiszka #josh kiszka imagine #josh kiszka series #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka x reader #josh kiszka au #josh kiszka fluff #josh kiszka angst #josh kiszka smut

[silv3rswirls]

Rockstar

No one requested this I just really want bad boy Jungkook to ruin my life.

Lord save me I love the whole vibe of this Jungkook.

Summary: At a time like this, the last place you expected to be was some seedy bar downtown, but here you were drinking shitty beer and making eyes with the live band’s drummer. 

Warnings: Female reader, dirty talk/degradation, public sex (y’all fuck in an alleyway), alcohol, smoking/marijuana use, unprotected sex, slight strength kink, hair pulling, slight breeding kink? (not sure if this can qualify as that)

Word count: 4k

When you and your boyfriend broke up, you had imagined yourself laying around at home and drowning your sorrows in take-out and sappy romance movies. That’s what you had planned at least, but your friends had other plans. They had come to your apartment with plans to go to some little bar downtown. A small underground place that had been the talk all around campus lately. They had cheap drinks, live music, and seemed to be the perfect party setting lately. You decided to go after they pestered you enough, encouraging that this is what you needed after the breakup.

It wasn’t that you hated going out to these kinds of things, you just weren’t much of a partier. Sure, you drank at times, but never really let yourself go like a lot of students did. You had never seen anything wrong with this, but apparently, your boyfriend had. He broke up with you and cited his biggest reason as being that you were just too boring to date. And he did it over text no less. This guy had been your high school boyfriend and the relationship had carried on into your college years, you really hadn’t thought you would break up at this point. You thought, maybe it was for the best. He seemed way more interested in spending his college years partying and hooking up anyways, but it didn’t stop the hurt you felt over the breakup.

You knew he was a bit of an asshole and maybe that’s what you had liked so much about him, but besides that, the two of you had been together for so long. He had been your first boyfriend and kiss, he had taken your virginity, the whole shebang. He had been your only boyfriend as well, so your experience with anyone else was next to nothing, and in a way it made you feel a bit nervous about getting back out there. 

But, your friends usually didn’t steer you the wrong way so you thought why not? Maybe going out would be fun like they said. You would be going to a bar single for the first time, exciting right?

Honestly, it wasn’t.

You were currently sitting at the bar alone while your friends had found others to distract them. You didn’t mind, just wished you weren’t the weirdo sitting alone like this. You were taking a break from dancing as your feet were beginning to hurt and the crowd left you a bit lightheaded. The bar hadn’t been what you envisioned when everyone told you about it. It was a small place, some kind of obscure dive bar or something. The walls were packed with signs and posters, neon lights illuminated them in color. The stage was towards the other end of the place, relatively small with lights shining onto the crowded- they were currently red, bathing the whole place in its hue. A few tables and chairs had been pushed more to the side, but a few people sat and talked, played cards, or snacked on the stale chips left out. Fans spun lazily above you, doing nothing in the way of cooling the stuffy place off. Smoke moved around the dance floor fluidly, mingled with the stench of alcohol and sweat as people danced and crowded at the stage in excitement. There was laughter and smiles all around the bar, some intoxicated and others conversing with vigor. There was a wall of muted bottles glittering behind the counter, stacked with dozens of things you hadn’t even heard of before. Some looked intriguing, but you were content with the admittedly watered-down and cheap beer. 

The bar may have been a little rundown, but it soaked in the ambiance of a night of rock music and mistakes. 

You held your head, nursing the small headache coming from the dozens of conversations being had over the bass of the live band- some group you had never heard of and couldn’t even remember their name. It was good music though, not necessarily what you thought you would be partying to tonight. They dominated the atmosphere as the young crowd, made mostly of university students like yourself you assumed. You took a bitter sip of your drink, not quite drunk, but feeling it enough to slip into your feelings. You wondered if your ex would find this boring or not. Maybe the fact that you were sitting alone instead of enjoying yourself was enough to prove you weren’t exactly the life of a party. If only your friends would come back, you thought before finishing your drink and hoping down from the bar. 

“Hey, come dance with us!”

A group of girls around your age called you to follow as they made their way back into the crowd. You thought for a moment, before smiling and tailing after them. One held your hand as you pushed your way through the crowd, muttering sorries you knew no one could hear as you bumped and pushed. They took you to the front of the crowd, laughing and giggling as they accepted you into their group without a thought. You couldn’t help but smile as well, looking up at the band as they played. It felt a little unreal to be so close to them, the music pounding in your ears and the lights blinding you and staining your whole being in a red hue. Music filled the air so easily, the sound reaching everyone in the bar. Some let go and listen while others continue chatting, but it speaks out to them all in some way. You didn’t know the words but sing anyway. You yelled, so loud and raw as you got lost in the feeling; the anger and upset you felt over your ex fueling your desire to let go and have fun. It felt right, that moment. Intense and freeing as the vibration of their playing made your head tingle and your body want to jump up and down with everyone else. 

As you let yourself get lost in the atmosphere your eyes drifted across the young men playing before you and you catch one of their eyes lingering on you and between the brief breaks between songs you spare him looks that are barely glances and it feels like he’s doing the same. By the time their set ends you feel some accidental bond lingering between your shared glances and disappointment drowns you when you realize it’s time he leaves. 

“I can’t believe this'' You mutter as you step outside into the cool night air. You couldn’t find a single sign of your friends, so you assume they left you behind. Maybe it was your fault spending your time at the front with a new group of girls, they probably hadn’t been able to find you. Checking your phone you found a few missed texts from them and sighed. They had been your ride back home, but it looked like you would be calling an uber instead. Pulling at the hem of your dress as the cold breeze nipped at your thighs, you walked down the street a bit in search of a bench or something you could sit at since the bar had kicked the remaining customers out.

You jumped slightly at the sudden flick of headlights turning on as you walked past the alleyway between the bar and some closed-down restaurant next to it. Squinting a bit you spotted the guys from the band loading the equipment up. “Looking for an autograph?” You mustered a nervous smile as one of them looked over at you, his eyes locking on yours as you had with the drummer on stage. You hadn’t gotten the best look at the drummer while he was performing, the lights had been blinding and you weren’t able to make any specific details out on him. But he looked similar enough.

“I mean, If you're offering one?” He matched your smile waltzing up to you with a Sharpie in hand. He scanned you up and down quickly before telling you to give him your arm, so you did and shuddered at the feeling of the sharpie dragging across your skin. You inspected the autograph, just two letters scribbled fancily on your forearm. “JK?” you asked.

“Jungkook actually, and you are?”

“Y/n” you replied, looking up from his writing.

“So Y/n, how does it feel to have such a famous rockstar’s autograph?” You laughed, “you don’t seem all that famous just yet.”

Jungkook simply smiled and went on, “you know, I saw you making eyes at me from the crowd.”

“Oh really?” You breathed, feeling a bit nervous as he brought it up.

He hummed, “It was hard to make out, but with how hard you were staring I could tell.” He teased.

“Lucky for you then.” You shivered as another cool wind blew through the alley attacked your exposed skin. Jungkook seemed to notice because he turned to look at his bandmates before offering to let you come inside with him. You chewed the inside of your cheek, normally you would never even of gotten so far into a conversation with a guy like this. Maybe it was the shitty beer or the high of the show, but you felt a bit daring and accepted. You and Jungkook sat down on the old, scratched-up leather sofa found in the back of the bar. It seemed the other members badly packed up most of their belongings, as one of them ran around the room grabbing what was left. “Shouldn’t you help?” You wondered aloud and Jungkook only shrugged as he handed you a beer.

“They’re fine, right Jimin?” The member looked over at you two, taking in your presence for a second before smiling.

“Of course, we’re done here. See you later Jungkook.” He threw a wink in your direction before grabbing the last bag and hurrying out. 

“Isn’t that your ride home?” You fiddled with your beer bottle as Jungkook opened his up and moved to take yours and do the same. 

“I have my own. Don’t worry so much Y/n.” You nodded and looked around the small back room. Pressed on the other side of the room were some boxes and storage space, a rack with some old clothing, and a small television set up on a counter that ran along the wall. There was a table riddled with empty and half drank bottles and glasses, from the band you presumed. The back door was cracked open with a brick, so the cold draft still hit you. The place smelled old and dusty, liquor lingering in the air as you listened to the shuffle of staff cleaning up in the front. You and Jungkook talked for a bit, mainly about the show and his band and you told him a little about yourself. How you were in university across town and were just trying to get out with some friends who ended up leaving you behind. At first, you hadn’t been sure how hanging out with him would go, unsure if you had enough in common to talk, but it turned out to be easy. Jungkook, despite all the tattoos and strong build, seemed pretty nice. Of course, deep down you kept yourself aware of why you were here. You were pretty positive that Jungkook hadn’t asked you to stay behind with him just to talk, there had to be other intentions. Hoping for a hookup you assumed and while you weren’t sure what exactly you were doing here, it felt oddly right.

“So, your boyfriend didn’t care that you came to such a shitty bar alone?” You watched Jungkook as he stood up and walked to the door. He kicked the brick out of place and opened it all the way, sitting down in the doorframe.

“I don’t have a boyfriend to be mad at me” you sighed, “broke up like a month ago.” 

“Seriously?” He looked back at you, brushing his dark locks away. “What dumbass would break up with you?” You laughed and got up to join him in the doorway, watching as he fiddled with something in his hands as you sat down. He pulled a lighter out and lit the blunt in hand, looking over at you before offering. “Want a hit?”

You stared at him for a second before smiling, “you first.” He complied, bringing it to his lips and inhaling. He glanced at you as he did so, holding it out for you next. You held his wrist to keep him from shaking against the cold and leaned to take a hit for yourself.

“You’ve never done this” he laughed, watching you sputter and cough, your face scrunching up at the unfamiliarity. 

“Kind of?” You laughed, swatting at him as he blew smoke into your face.

“So tell me about him.”

“What?” “Your ex, tell me about him. He break your heart?” You scoffed, looked up at the building that towered above the two of you and to the night sky. Jungkook kept up smoking beside you, following your gaze lazily as he waited for your response. The truth was; you weren’t sure if you were heartbroken or not. The two of you had been distant for a while before breaking up, but there was still a certain sadness that sat within you. He was your first love and maybe if he had ended things sooner you’d be more upset. You were upset, but you felt more anger towards him than anything. 

“He, uh- he broke up with me because he thought I was too boring.” You laughed. “He was always more of a party animal, you know? I don’t even know how he managed to make me fall for him way back when...you know he did it over text?” 

“Shit, over text?” He raised his brows at you, a small grin curving his lips. “You must’ve been pissed.” He coughed through another hit. “So he thinks you’re boring? You don’t seem it. You should’ve seen yourself out there earlier, I thought you were wasted or something” he joked.

“Well, I don’t normally do this kind of thing. It was a last-minute decision to come.” You explained, taking a sip of your beer.

“I’m glad you did” Jungkook grabbed your hand to bring the bottle to his lips for a long swig. “You’re pretty cool.” You smiled, a bit taken back by the compliment. Jungkook held eye contact with you for a moment before his eyes drifted down to your lips and you can tell that he’s thinking about moving in closer, so you take the initiative and do it yourself. He’s just centimeters away from kissing you, his breath hitting your face, a mix of cologne, alcohol, and smoke hitting you. Before you know it his lips are on yours, cold and a bit rough upon touch. You can feel a swarm of butterflies eat at your stomach as you try to relax in his hold. His kiss is not at all the same as the ones you shared with your ex, it wasn’t inspired or felt like a chore; it was hot and a bit sloppily and sparks a new feeling of passion inside you.

Jungkook’s arm found its way around your waist, tugging your body closer to his while the other held the side of your face. His tongue finds its way inside your mouth and you feel a hand wander down to your thigh, resting a bit under the bottom of your dress as his chilled hands groped and pinched your flesh. Soon things begin to get more heated and you find yourself pulled into his lap while he kisses and sucks at your neck. You jump a little when you feel his hand slide down your waist and grab your ass. He smiles into your neck, breaking away to look at you. Your lips were shiny and red from the make out, your neck in a similar fashion as fresh hickies were making their mark. He looks at you intently, a desire behind his eyes that felt like had been forever since you experienced it. He’s practically undressing you with his eyes when he asks, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you nod immediately, living off the rush of hooking up with him- with anyone in so long. Jungkook grins and stands the both of you up, backing you against the wall and trapping you in another heated make-out session as his hands begin to wander over your body. Your back arches as he brushes over your chest, shuddering as he cups your breasts and squeezes firmly. His leg slips between your thighs, pressing against your pussy and rubbing the tiniest bit. You shifted under him, your face flushed as you felt yourself growing more and more worked up.

It felt like forever Jungkook continued playing and teasing you, but soon you felt his fingertips brush under your dress, fingers hooking around your panties and pulling them down. You reached to bunch your dress up farther for him, shivering as the cold air hit your sensitive skin. He squeezed your plush thighs, one hand slipping between your legs to touch you. “Cold?” He asked, amused as you squirmed under his touch, his fingers dragging up and down your slit a few times as he looked down at you, his eyes locked on yours as you merely shuddered and wiggled under him. His breath was hot against your skin as he went back to kiss at your neck, an air of neediness around the both of you as you moved your hips against his hand’s movements, hoping for some more attention rather than teasing. Jungkook’s forehead rested against your shoulder as he looked down at you, his face starting to flush in excitement as hard-on pressed against his jeans. Slowly he let two fingers dip into your pussy, taking in the feeling of you squirming and tensing slightly around him. You grabbed at his arm, panting and whimpering as he attacked your clit, rolling the bud between his fingers and pushing you to cum.

Feeling a bit impatient, Jungkook pulls away and ignores your whiny complaints. “Want me to fuck you?” He asks, not waiting for your answer as he works his jeans undone. “Turn around” he urges and you do so, your skin pressed against the rough of the bricks, leaving you to wince slightly, but ignore it as you feel his hands on your hips, pulling you closer to him. You glance back at him, anticipation clear on your face until you feel the head of his dick press against your thigh before he adjusts himself to press into you. You gasp, a small groan hanging in your throat as he slowly pushes in. He takes in the sight of you bent over for him, your thighs shaking and muscles tensing under his touch. “Fuck, that’s it,” Jungkook’s voice comes from behind you, teasing as the edges of his lips ghost over the shell of your ear. You can feel his body over yours big and strong as he grips your hips tight, effortless moving you to meet his thrusts.

“J-Jungkook” You moan, writhing in pleasure and slight disbelief you were actually fucking a guy you just met. Your head turned at the sound of people walking by on the street. Suddenly struck with panic and the realization you were letting him fuck you in an alleyway. “There’s people-”

“Shh” Jungkook smirked, “better be quiet unless you want someone to hear you getting fucked.” 

“But-” you gasped as he thrust into you again, snapping his hips rough and picking the pace up. You bit your bottom lip, trying to hold in the moans threatening to spill out of you. 

“Don’t want anyone to see what a needy slut you are?” You dropped your head with a shake, whimpering as he reached to find your clit again, rubbing circles around your hardened nub. “You’re not doing a very good job” he commented

“Jungkook,” you whisper, your voice shaking before you let out a sudden, loud moan. It is almost hard for you to recognize yourself due to the desperation laced in your tone, need clouding your mind as you ate up the pleasure he was giving you. It felt like it had been months since the last time you really got off and despite the somewhat unorthodox situation, you were reveling in just how much it turned you on. “Only w-want you to see how much of a slut I am-” Your words fell off towards the end, drowned in your whines.

Jungkook eats up your words, grunting and groaning quietly to himself as he fucked into you. “Quiet, baby.” he mocks with a tease in his voice. You buried your face into your arms, clenching around Jungkook as you came, your stomach tensing up and moans muffled. “You’re so hot” Jungkook groaned, his hand running up your back and into your hair, fingers lacing themselves in your locks before tugging your face up so you were looking up. You squealed as he kept thrusting into you, shaking at how sensitive you felt. “I didn’t think you’d be so easy,” he commented, “but look at you, bent over all pretty for me.” Jungkooks voice was growing shaky, nearing his orgasm as he let go of your hair. “Where should I cum baby?”

“You can inside if you want” you breathed, breathless as you felt another orgasm nearing. 

“Shit, really?” You could hear the grin in his tone as he pounded into you.

“I’m on the pill.” You moaned,  a shaky please falling from your lips.

“Don’t worry baby,” he grunts “gonna fill you up.” You let out one last moan as Jungkook’s grip tightens on your hips and he stills his movements, shooting his load into you as he closes his eyes with a soft moan. You pant, taking in the feeling of his cum inside you, leaving you a dripping mess when he pulls out. He stands over you for a moment, catching his breath and admiring his work. “Fuck, so pretty,” you hear him murmur.

Eventually, the two of you find your way back inside, finding the restroom to clean up and come down from the romp you just had. Jungkook thought quiet helps you clean up and fix your dress. You take a few minutes to sit down and relax, you were feeling tired from the long night you had and you were sure Jungkook must’ve been as well since he had performed on stage as well. “Let me give you a ride home?” He turns to you as you gulp down some water.

“Well, it’s the least you can do, right?” You tease and Jungkook just smiles and leads you back outside. “Of course you have a motorcycle” you snorted, laughing in slight disbelief as he joined you.

“What else?” He asked, waiting for you to get the situation and wrap your arms around him. It was cold, but you closed your eyes as he drove, taking in the chill of fresh air and the soft rustle of the city around you. He took you home, dropping you off in front of your complex. He stopped you before you could leave, pulling out the sharpie and handing it to you. “Give me your number” he urged, letting you scribble it down on his hand.

“Call me sometime?”

He merely grinned with a lazy shrug, “Maybe.”

You watched him ride off from inside the lobby, chewing your lip as you went over the events of the night. “Whose boring now?” You laughed to yourself, the sadness your ex had left long forgotten. 

You weren’t sure if Jungkook would call, but sure hoped he would.

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