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[hoshifighting]

rockstar!reader x church boy & bestfriend!joshua

— Synopsis: Joshua and you had this contrast, you too embedded in the electric guitars, the polemic rock band shirts, and Joshua deeply focused on taking care of the church activities. He has no idea of the after-parties of your concerts, but after so much insistence of him, you bring Joshua to meet your wildest side, the side you never let him meet before. — Genre: Best friends to Lovers — WC: 11.05k — WARNINGS: smut, fluff, slight angst, groupies showing tits references, alcohol, smoking and drug references, religious imagery—mention of a cross necklace, faith-based inner conflict. penetrative sex, rough sex, public make out, fingering, nipple play—reader have nipple piercings, face-slapping, mentions of boy fluids; cum/precum, cock riding, clit stimulation, dirty talk, post-sex care.

The neighborhood kids were a patchwork of personalities—there were the loud ones, the shy ones, the troublemakers, the saints. And then, there was you and Joshua. From the outside, it made no sense. You, the devil-may-care rebel with ripped jeans, always two seconds away from an argument with someone who couldn’t handle your attitude.

And Joshua, with his pristine shirts buttoned all the way up, soft-spoken voice, and the kind of calm that came from growing up in a house where every wall had a cross and every Sunday had a sermon. He was the kid who never missed a single morning of church, and you were the kid who never missed a single rehearsal with your rock band, banging out chords in your parents’ garage so loud the neighbors had to invest in better windows.

But here’s the thing: despite everything that set you apart, you were inseparable. You’d been friends since you were both knee-high, back when you didn’t even care about music or God or any of the other big things that defined you later. Joshua was the kid you trusted with everything. The one who’d patch up your scraped knees when you wiped out on your bike, even if you yelled at him for fussing too much. The one who never let you feel alone, even when the world felt like it was coming down around you.

You’d look at him sometimes—like now, when you two were sitting on the curb outside your house, him in one of those stiff, white shirts with the collar high enough to strangle someone, and you in your old, faded Black Sabbath tee—and wonder how the hell this worked.

“I don’t get why you always button that thing up like that,” you mutter, side-eyeing him as you light a cigarette.

Joshua looks over, raising a brow. “You sound like my mom,” he says, smirking. “Besides, it’s comfortable.”

“No way. You look like you’re ready to choke.”

“Yeah, well, you look like you’re ready to summon a demon or something in that shirt,” he fires back, glancing at the witch printed on the front of your tee. “You couldn’t find something uglier?”

You snort, blowing out a puff of smoke. “You’re just mad ‘cause you know Sabbath’s better than that crap you play.”

Joshua rolls his eyes. “Hey, I like Coldplay, alright? Not everything’s gotta be power chords and screaming.”

“I don’t scream,” you retort, half grinning.

“Yeah, you do.”

“Do not.”

“You screamed at the last gig.”

“That was—” You pause. “That was for effect.”

Joshua chuckles, shaking his head. “Sure. For ‘effect.’”

The thing is, Joshua could have roasted you to dust if he wanted to. But he never did. He’d always laugh it off, always find a way to turn the conversation into something lighter. And no matter how different you were, there was this unspoken respect between you. Like how he showed up to your gigs in high school wearing one of your band’s shirts, plastering flyers in the school hallways and sneaking some into the church bulletin board when no one was looking. 

And how you showed up at his baptism, cross necklace and all, standing there in the back, quiet but present. You never took the necklace off after that. The church boy who wouldn’t dare wear anything less than holy had given you a symbol of his faith, and you’d worn it ever since. You believed but weren't dedicated to it like Joshua, you used it because it was from him.

Joshua notices it now, the silver cross resting against your chest, slightly crooked. He reaches out, straightening it with a soft smile. “You still wear this?”

“Never took it off,” you admit, taking a long drag of your cigarette. “Doesn’t mean I’m converting, though.”

“I wasn’t gonna say anything,” he replies, leaning back on his palms. “I like that you wear it.”

You glance at him, a little surprised by the sincerity in his voice. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Joshua says, turning his gaze toward the sunset dipping below the houses. “It’s…nice, y’know? Like, no matter how far apart we get, we’re still connected.”

“Connected, huh?” you murmur, tapping the cigarette ash onto the ground. “You’re getting sappy again, dude.”

He laughs, nudging your shoulder with his. “Shut up. You like it.”

“Yeah, but your world’s so boring, Josh. All hymns and Jesus. You should come to the dark side more often.”

“Pass,” he says with a smirk, but there’s warmth behind it. “I’d rather keep watching you make it big as a rockstar. Somebody’s gotta pray for you when you’re out there corrupting the youth.”

Maybe that’s the thing about you and Joshua—no matter how much you rag on each other, how different your lives look on the surface, there’s a connection you can’t explain. You’re fire and he’s ice, but somehow, you keep each other balanced.

“Hey,” you say, suddenly serious, eyes fixed on the street ahead. “Thanks for, y’know…showing up. For all of it. I know I’m not the easiest person to be around.”

Joshua’s voice softens. “You don’t have to thank me. You’ve always been there for me too.”

You glance at him, your heart doing this weird flip in your chest. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” you tease, though the words come out gentler than you intended.

Joshua grins, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Too late.”

You take another drag, the two of you falling into a comfortable silence, the kind only years of friendship can create. 

You weren’t trying to change him, and he wasn’t trying to save you.

The gossipy aunts on the block could speculate all they wanted—Joshua didn’t convert you, and no, you didn’t lead Joshua down some reckless path. You two were just… you. 

He’d brought you to church bazaars, where the smell of fried dough and barbecue sauce clung to your clothes long after you’d left, but he’d never pushed you to step foot into one of the more serious services. The ones where the hymns stretched on forever and people lost themselves in prayer. You didn’t do that, and he never asked you to.

And you? Well, you dragged Joshua to your gigs. He always stood at the front, close enough to feel the vibrations from the speakers, his clean-cut figure looking hilariously out of place in the sea of ripped jeans, leather jackets, and band tees.

But no matter how much he begged—and he did beg—you never brought him to the after-parties. The kind of chaos that erupted once the amps were off and the guitars were packed up. You’d drive him home, drop him off with a playful slap on the back, and head to the wildness he’d never see.

He didn’t need to know about the after-parties. He didn’t need to see you in your shortest leather mini skirt, the one that barely passed as clothing, as you downed beer after beer straight from the bottle, while the groupies flashed their tits at the band.

Joshua didn’t need to witness the wild shit that happened when everyone was too drunk or high to care about who was screwing who in the corner or the endless river of alcohol. That wasn’t his world, and you didn’t want him to see you like that. It was one thing for him to come to your shows, but seeing you let loose in a way that would make even your bandmates blush? No. He didn’t belong there.

Except… now Joshua was sitting with you in your garage, tuning your guitar like he always did before a big show, and he’d overheard you talking about the after-party.

“It’s the ten-year gig, huh?” he said casually, fingers sliding over the strings, adjusting them with that stupid focus he always had. “Big deal.”

“Yeah,” you replied, not thinking much of it. “It’s gonna be insane.”

Joshua’s head tilted, his lips pursing slightly. You recognized that look. It was the one he got when he was curious about something, when he was too polite to ask outright but dying to know more. He glanced at you. “You doing anything after? Like, after the gig?”

You paused. Shit. You hadn’t expected him to actually ask about that part. “Uh… yeah. There’s an after-party,” you said slowly, not looking at him. You fiddled with one of the tuning pegs on your bass, trying to look busy. “Same old stuff. You know.”

“I don’t know,” he said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You’ve never let me go to one.”

You glanced up at him, already feeling your cheeks heat up. “That’s ‘cause it’s not your scene, Josh.”

“I want to see it,” he said, leaning forward a little. His voice was soft, but there was a determination there you weren’t used to. He wasn’t backing down from this one. “I’ve seen you perform. Why not let me see the rest?”

You let out a nervous laugh, shaking your head. “Trust me, you don’t wanna see the rest.”

Joshua raised an eyebrow, studying you. “Why not?”

Why not? Why not? How were you supposed to explain this without getting even more flustered? You could feel your palms sweating just thinking about it. The thought of Joshua witnessing that version of you—messy, no filter—made your stomach twist in a way that wasn’t entirely comfortable.

“It’s just… different, okay?” you muttered, rubbing the back of your neck. “Like, the crowd’s wilder. Things get… crazy. I’m not the same up there as I am here.”

Joshua narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. “I’ve known you since we were in diapers, and you think I can’t handle ‘crazy’?”

“You’re not getting it,” you insisted, your voice a little sharper than you meant it to be. “This isn’t just a few beers and hanging out. People get wild, Josh. There’s stuff that happens that you probably don’t want to see. Hell, I don’t want you to see it.”

He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down. “Maybe I do.”

You stared at him, dumbfounded. Was he serious right now? Joshua, the guy who got anxious if someone said a cuss word too loud around him, was asking to see the madness that was your after-party?

“Why the hell would you want to see that?” you finally asked, genuinely confused.

“Because,” he said simply, leaning forward on his knees, “I’ve always seen one side of you. The side you let me see. I wanna see the whole picture. I want to know who you are when you’re up there, when you’re with your band, when you’re… being yourself.”

You felt your heart thud hard against your chest. Shit. This wasn’t just about the party, was it? He wanted to understand you. All of you.

“I don’t know, man…” You trailed off, looking anywhere but at him. 

“I can handle it,” Joshua said, voice gentle. “I’m not a kid. I know what goes on. Just because I don’t live like that doesn’t mean I can’t handle seeing it.”

You bit your lip, hesitating. He was stubborn, and you knew he wouldn’t let this go easily.

“Alright,” you finally said, sighing. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Joshua smiled, wide and a little too innocent. “I’ll take my chances.”

[...]

The van sat parked in front of your house, baking in the morning sun, loaded with amps, guitars, and a drum kit that had seen better days. You were supervising the guys hauling the last of the equipment into the back, hair still wrapped in rollers, trying not to sweat through your shirt before you even made it to the venue.

And then, you saw him.

Joshua was walking up the driveway, and for a split second, you didn’t recognize him. The button-up shirt, the clean-cut image you were so used to—it was all gone. Instead, he was wearing one of your shirts, and not just any shirt. 

It was from your solo album outside the band, the one with the wild, scrawling letters across the chest and the cover art below. The cover art that featured your bust, as your tits were covered by an electric guitar. Skin covered in smeared kiss marks, lips of all colors pressed against your skin in a way that had been raunchy enough to make your bandmates whistle when you first showed them.

The album cover had been controversial, to say the least, but it sold like hotcakes. And Joshua—Joshua—was strutting around in it like it was no big deal.

You almost choked on your own spit.

He had black jeans on, hugging his legs in a way you didn’t expect, and he’d thrown on a couple of leather bracelets that looked suspiciously like the ones you’d worn on stage a few times. And the sunglasses perched on his head? Definitely not his usual vibe. He looked like someone who belonged backstage, maybe even on stage, and not at some church picnic. Worse—he looked like the kind of guy you could moan just from looking at.

Your brain short-circuited. You could already imagine the girls from your staff catching sight of him and drooling. Hell, you were almost drooling.

But then you caught sight of that shirt again, and all you could think was, out of all the merch I’ve got, why the fuck did he pick that one?

“Josh…” you called out, your voice full of disbelief as he approached. You gestured at the shirt. “Did… did your parents see you before you left?”

Joshua burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Are you kidding? No way. My mom would’ve had a heart attack. I snuck out before they were even awake.”

You groaned, clapping your forehead. “Oh my God. You realize you’re walking around with a picture of my tits on your chest, right?”

He grinned, glancing down at the shirt like it hadn’t even occurred to him. “Yeah, I noticed. It’s bold, right?”

“Bold?” you repeated, eyes wide. “It’s fucking obscene! You wearing that is obscene. Jesus, I can already hear the aunties in the neighborhood clutching their pearls.”

Joshua shrugged, completely unfazed. “Relax. No one from church is gonna be at the venue. I’m good.”

You gave him a hard look, still half in disbelief. “I’m not worried about church people, I’m worried about all the other people.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What, you don’t think I can pull it off?”

You blinked. Was he pulling it off? The more you stared at him, the more your brain started to fry. You didn’t know how to process this new Joshua—the one standing in front of you like he’d been born to wear that shirt. Born to make you lose your goddamn mind.

Joshua noticed your silence and raised an eyebrow. “What? You embarrassed?”

“I—no!” you shot back, though your cheeks were burning. “It’s just… fuck, you couldn’t pick a more normal one?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked, flashing a grin that was a little too cocky for your liking.

“I can already see the crew girls drooling over you.”

Joshua shrugged, completely unfazed. “Let ‘em drool.”

You had to laugh at that.

“You know what? Never mind,” you muttered, waving him off. “Let’s just get to the venue before I lose it.”

Joshua chuckled and followed you to the van, casually tossing his sunglasses onto the dashboard as he climbed into the passenger seat. You took one last glance at him before slamming the door shut. He was leaning back, arms crossed, looking totally at ease in a way that was both infuriating and… kind of hot. Shit.

You could feel Joshua’s presence next to you, his knee brushing yours whenever you hit a bump. It was distracting as hell, but you did your best to focus on the road, on the gig, on anything that wasn’t Joshua in that damn shirt.

The ride was filled with the usual chaos—your drummer tapping out beats on the seat in front of him, your guitarist tweaking pedal settings on the floor, and the bass player scrolling through social media, barely paying attention. Joshua sat next to you, quiet, but you could tell he was absorbing everything. The energy, the vibe. This was the part of your life he’d never seen before.

When you finally pulled up to the venue, you felt the familiar buzz of expectation in your chest. The stage crew was already setting up, speakers being wired in, lights being tested. You hopped out of the van, gesturing to the others to get moving.

Joshua followed close behind, his eyes wide as he took in the scene. The venue was bigger than the high school stages he was used to seeing you on. It was packed with people running back and forth, instruments being tuned, sound checks echoing in the air.

“Damn,” he muttered under his breath, eyes scanning the stage. “This is...bigger than I expected.”

“Told ‘ya,” you said, grinning as you grabbed your bass and slung it over your shoulder. “Welcome to the real deal.”

Joshua nodded, clearly impressed. You could see the awe in his face, and a part of you felt proud that he was seeing this side of your world. The chaos, the noise, the energy. It was all part of the life you lived—the one he’d never been fully exposed to.

As the band started running through sound check, Joshua found a spot near the back, watching quietly, tapping his foot along with the beat. Every once in a while, you’d glance back at him, half-expecting to see him overwhelmed, but he wasn’t. He was nodding along, sunglasses now perched on his nose, looking like he fit right in.

You could hear the low murmur of the crowd outside, getting louder as more people settled into their seats. Joshua was still talking with Rob, your drummer, which gave you just enough time to pull the rollers out of your hair and finish your makeup in front of the cracked mirror in the dressing room. You rushed through it, swiping on your signature dark lipstick, when the door creaked open, and in walked Joshua.

Of course.

He stopped mid-stride, eyes darting around the room, then finally landing on you—and your outfit. You were wearing a black, lacy top that was just sheer enough to leave little to the imagination, especially when it came to the piercing you knew he had seen before. You’d never made a big deal out of it, but every time Joshua caught a glimpse, he’d get that uncomfortable look on his face, like he wasn’t supposed to be seeing something so private.

“Eyes, Joshua. Eyes,” you could almost hear him coaching himself. His gaze flickered up to your face, but it was too late—you’d caught the quick dip to your chest, to the black leather pants hugging your hips like a second skin.

“Uh, hey,” he muttered, scratching the back of his neck, clearly trying to act casual, but his voice came out rougher than usual. “I was, uh… just letting you know I should probably get to my seat. The crowd’s filling in.”

You smirked, finishing the last swipe of lipstick and tossing the tube onto the makeup table. “Don’t worry about it,” you said, standing up and adjusting the top slightly. “You’re not sitting in the crowd anyway.”

“What?” His brows furrowed in confusion, still trying hard to maintain eye contact, which was almost comical at this point.

“You coming up for the encore,” you explained, crossing your arms. “VIP section, side-stage. Didn’t I tell you?”

Joshua blinked. “No. You didn’t mention that.”

You grinned, seeing how flustered he was, and it only made you want to push him further. “Guess I forgot.” You winked, loving the way his mouth opened slightly, the words stuck in his throat. “Go get settled. We’ll call you up when it’s time.”

He mumbled something under his breath and awkwardly nodded, backing out of the room with a half-hearted wave. As soon as the door clicked shut, you let out a breath, grinning to yourself. Good luck keeping your eyes up there, church boy.

[...]

By the time you hit the stage, the crowd was electric. You could feel the vibration in your bones, the pulse of the drums and bass weaving through your body. The lights were blinding, sweat already starting to drip down your back within the first few songs. You scanned the crowd, catching sight of Joshua standing where you told him, off to the side, eyes glued to you like he’d never seen you before.

Maybe he hadn’t.

You weren’t just some girl with a guitar tonight. You were in it, the music flowing through your veins, your hands sliding over the neck of the guitar like they were made for it. The band was tight, every note hitting harder than the last, and you felt alive in a way you couldn’t describe. The crowd roared, hands reaching out as your bandmates, already stripped of their shirts, threw them into the audience like trophies.

Joshua’s eyes were wide, watching the sweat drip down your arms as your muscles flexed with every chord change. You were lost in it, mouth slightly open during one of your solos, head thrown back as you pulled the guitar into your body like it was an extension of you. You could feel his gaze, heavy and unblinking, and it only pushed you harder. You let your voice growl into the mic, letting out the kind of raw, strong energy that got you here in the first place.

His mind must’ve been racing. He’d seen you play before, but never like this. Never with this much heat, this much intensity. You weren’t just a rockstar tonight—you were a sex symbol, and every single person in that venue, including Joshua, could feel it.

It hit him then—this was why you didn’t want him to come to the after-parties. It wasn’t just about the chaos or the booze. It was because, in this space, on stage, with the lights and the music and the crowd screaming your name—you were untouchable. And so, so fucking hot.

He’d always known you were beautiful, but this? This was something else. Watching your body move in rhythm with the music, the way your fingers slid across the strings, the sweat glistening on your skin—fuck. Joshua couldn’t take his eyes off you. Every part of you was dripping with confidence, sexuality.

The crowd erupted as you launched into the final solo, the room swelling with the sound of your guitar. Joshua’s gaze lingered on your body, on the way your leather pants clung to every curve, on the sway of your hips as you moved, and on your lips, slightly parted as you leaned into the mic. He swallowed hard, heat rushing to his face as he watched your muscles tense and release, every move planned, every note flawless.

His thoughts ran wild, and as you finished the set, throwing your head back in a final roar of victory, he couldn’t help but think, So this is what she didn’t want me to see.

The show ended in a blur of cheers and flashing lights, the energy still pulsing in your veins as you stumbled off stage, half-drunk on adrenaline. When you spotted Joshua at the back of the room, standing there with that wide-eyed look of disbelief, you couldn't help but laugh.

You walked over to him, sweat still glistening on your skin, a tired but satisfied grin on your face. “Well?” you asked, chest heaving. “What’d you think?”

Joshua blinked, forcing his gaze up from the floor to meet yours. He swallowed thickly, that guilty knot tightening in his throat. “It was… amazing,” he admitted, his voice a little hoarse. “You were—fuck, you’re incredible up there.”

His compliment was genuine, but there was something else in his eyes. Something conflicted, like he wasn’t sure how to feel about what he’d just seen. His best friend—the girl he’d known since forever—looked like this. Played like that. He felt sick about it. Sick because his heart was pounding for all the wrong reasons. Sick because seeing you like that—half-wild, sweaty, powerful—it wasn’t just admiration anymore.

You grinned, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. “Told you it was a rush.”

Before he could respond, the two of you heard the unmistakable sound of feet pounding the floor. Fans. A whole wave of them was running toward the back, hoping to catch a glimpse of the band before they left. You didn’t even think, just grabbed Joshua’s hand and yanked him with you, sprinting toward the van parked outside.

You were laughing as you ran, your grip tight around his wrist, and Joshua couldn’t help the way his heart raced—whether from running or from being so close to you, he didn’t know. He could hear you breathing hard, could see the wildness in your eyes. And for the first time, he got it. The thrill. The chaos. The rush that came with living your life like this.

By the time you both reached the van and slammed the door behind you, you collapsed onto the seat, letting out a long, relieved moan. Joshua just stood there for a moment, chest heaving, eyes wide. He felt it now—the thrill, the electric hum in his blood. But also something else, something that made his stomach twist.

When you caught his eye and smiled that lazy, satisfied smile, he felt like he was losing his grip. You looked like a sexy mess, hair tousled, lipstick smeared, eyes sparkling. He could still feel the warmth of your hand in his, and it was doing things to him—dangerous things.

“The after-party’s at a club,” you said, glancing at him as the van roared to life. “Private for tonight. Just the band and our friends.”

Joshua nodded, his mouth dry. He had no idea what to expect.

[...]

The club was another world entirely.

The moment you stepped inside, Joshua was hit with the smell of sweat, alcohol, and something that might’ve been smoke, but wasn’t just cigarettes. The bass was pounding, vibrating through the floor, and there were bodies everywhere.

The first thing he noticed was your bandmates already surrounded by a small crowd of girls—half-naked, some practically sitting in their laps. One of them was making out with the guitarist, her hand slipping under his shirt while the others just laughed, already drunk and messy.

Joshua’s throat tightened, his eyes wide as he took it all in. It was chaos. Absolute chaos. People were drinking, smoking, making out in dark corners, hands wandering under clothes with zero shame.

And then there was you.

You didn’t miss a beat, grabbing a drink from the bar and downing it like it was water. When you turned to face him, leaning back against the bar with your leather pants clinging to your body and your shirt barely covering anything, you were a vision. A sexy, disheveled vision, your hair a mess, lips wet from the drink, and eyes hazy from the adrenaline of the show.

You were the kind of person that people wrote songs about—the kind of person that people lost themselves over.

“You good?” you asked, voice low, almost drowned out by the music.

Joshua blinked, swallowing hard. “Yeah… yeah, I’m good.” But he wasn’t. He could barely keep his head straight with everything going on around him.

You grinned, holding out your drink. “Here. This’ll help.”

He hesitated for a second, but then grabbed the glass, taking a long gulp. The burn of alcohol felt good, grounding him for a moment. But it wasn’t enough to block out the heat in his chest, the strange attraction, the strange guilt swirling inside him.

You chuckled, watching him down half the drink. “Easy there.”

Joshua wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, exhaling hard. He shook his head, swallowing again, trying to focus. But then you were close—too close—and he could smell the combination of your perfume and sweat, and suddenly it was all he could think about. You were so casual about it, so relaxed in this wild mess, like you were born for it.

Joshua stared at you, watching the way your body moved with the music, the way your hips swayed slightly, your hair falling in your face. And he couldn’t help it—he wanted you. Wanted to pull you close, to taste the sweat on your skin, to feel the heat of you pressed against him.

But he couldn’t. You were his best friend. You’d been through everything together. But right now, in this moment, you weren’t just his friend. You were a fucking rockstar. And that terrified him as much as it thrilled him.

Joshua took another long drink, trying to drown the feelings that were bubbling up inside him. You watched him, a slow, knowing smile creeping onto your lips as you leaned in closer, eyes gleaming in the dim light.

“You feelin’ it now, aren’t you?” you whispered, voice just loud enough for him to hear.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Because yeah, he was feeling it. The rush, the heat, the want. And it was all because of you.

Someone in the crowd—a guy with a half-buttoned shirt and lazy grin—held out a blunt to Joshua, smirking. “Want a hit, man?”

Joshua froze. His mind blanked for a second. “Nah, he doesn’t smoke. Leave him alone.” The air suddenly felt too heavy, the idea of it too real. Before he could even answer, you were at his side, grabbing the guy’s hand and pushing it back with a casual laugh. “He’s too saintly for that.”

Joshua froze, the word saintly cutting through the noise. You were teasing, of course, but that single word twisted in his gut. He didn’t need you looking at him like that—like he was too pure, too clean for this world you thrived in. He hated it. Hated that you saw him like some untouched, pristine version of himself that didn’t even exist. That look you gave him, all amused and lighthearted, made his skin crawl because it only reminded him of how distant he felt from you in that moment.

You grinned at him, eyes gleaming. “Come on, Josh. You’re way too neat for this shit. Leave the bad habits to me.”

He clenched his jaw, hands in his pockets, trying to keep his cool. The thing was—you had no idea. You saw him as the same old Joshua, the one you grew up with, the guy who kept his hands clean while you dived headfirst into the chaos. But fuck, that wasn’t him. Not really. Not anymore. You thought he was some perfect church boy who’d never done anything wild, who probably still had his V-card, for God’s sake.

If only you knew.

The way you laughed about it, as if the thought of him doing anything wild—anything sinful—was so absurd it was hilarious. And that burned. More than it should’ve.

Joshua swallowed, trying to keep his cool, but your words dug in deep. Saintly. Neat. Like you didn’t know. Like you couldn’t even imagine him doing anything like that. He wasn’t a fucking saint. He wasn’t clean like you thought. He’d done things—felt things—that would wipe that smirk off your face. But you… you never saw him that way. Not Joshua.

 “You’re lucky, y’know? Not everyone can pull off that whole saintly thing,” you teased, brushing a hand through your messy hair.

He clenched his jaw. “I’m not a fucking saint,” he muttered under his breath. But you didn’t hear him—or maybe you didn’t care.

Joshua felt his pulse quicken, the alcohol buzzing in his system, loosening up the tension in his limbs but doing nothing to calm his mind. He hated how you looked at him. Like he was too clean, too good for this world you lived in. He hated how you never saw him as anything more than “good ol’ Joshua.” The guy who had never gone off the rails, the guy who probably never even had his dick wet before.

That’s what you thought, wasn’t it?

And fuck, he couldn’t stand it. The truth gnawed at him, because you had no idea who he was outside of your little bubble. You didn’t know about the times he’d stayed up too late, desperate to cum, the fantasies he’d let himself get lost in—half of them about you, goddammit. You didn’t know about the nights he’d spent grinding against someone, hands buried in their hair, feeling the warmth of their body pressed against his, the messy nights where he lost himself entirely.

You looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh yeah? Prove it.”

His breath caught. You were joking—you had to be—but something in the way you said it, so casual, so sure that he wouldn’t… it broke something in him. The club around him blurred as he focused on you, standing there all relaxed, your lips still slightly parted, that familiar teasing glint in your eyes.

He couldn’t stop himself. “You really think I’m that fucking innocent, huh?” His voice was sharper than he intended, the words cutting through the thrum of the music.

You blinked, pulling back slightly, surprised by the edge in his tone. “What? No, I just—”

“You think I’ve never been with anyone? Never had my fuckin’ cock wet before?” He didn’t care how crude it sounded. Didn’t care that it was probably the first time you’d ever heard him talk like that. He was sick of it. Sick of the version of himself you’d created in your mind.

You feel the heat rise in your chest, a compound of anger and something else you don’t even want to admit. The way he said it—rough, out of character—like he was someone else entirely. Part of you wants to slap him for it, for breaking the image of the Joshua you knew. The good one. The clean-cut guy who’d never even raise his voice, let alone tell you he wasn’t so fucking innocent. But the other part of you… it liked it. The tension, the bite in his words, the way he stood there, all riled up.

You narrow your eyes, smirking just a little.

His jaw clenches. His nostrils flare. For the first time, you see his eyes darken—none of that usual light. No soft Joshua anymore. His face shifts into something harder, almost dangerous. It catches you off guard, and suddenly you’re not sure if you’re playing a game you can win.

“Don’t push it,” he warns. It sends a cold lick from the beginning of your spine to the end, but you tilt your head, still smirking, testing him.

“What? Gonna do something about it?” You lean in closer, just inches from his face now, daring him. “C’mon, Joshua. Show me.”

And then it happens.

He’s on you so fast, you don’t even have time to process it. His hands grab your waist, fingers digging into your hips, pulling you flush against him, and you feel it—the hard line of his cock pressing into your belly. Your breath catches in your throat, but you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in, testing the waters, your body instinctively reacting to the sudden heat between you two.

His mouth crashes onto yours, rough, almost desperate, all that pent-up tension is spilling out at once. His lips are soft but demanding, like they’re asking for something, but also taking it without permission. You kiss him back just as fiercely, a messy clash of teeth and tongues, the taste of alcohol on both your breaths mixing as you struggle for control.

His hands slide down your back, grabbing your ass with a roughness that makes you gasp, and he pulls you tighter against him, grinding into you just enough to let you know exactly how turned on he is. “Fuck,” he mutters into your mouth, barely pulling away to speak. You can feel the frustration, the years of him being the good one, bubbling up in every kiss, every touch.

You’re not sure if it’s the alcohol, but you grab onto his shoulders, pulling him even closer, your nails digging into his skin through his shirt. It’s messy, frantic, and the sound of it—the heavy breathing, the low growls coming from him, the way your lips smack together—fills the small space between you like the only thing that matters is how fast and hard you can make this happen.

And god, it’s wrong. So fucking wrong. You can feel it in the back of your mind, the thought lingering, telling you this isn’t who Joshua is. Not the guy you grew up with. But right now, he doesn’t feel like the Joshua you knew. He feels like someone who’s been hiding this side of himself for too long, someone who’s finally letting the mask slip.

And the worst part? You like it. Maybe too much.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his eyes—fuck, his eyes are almost black with craving, his chest heaving as he stares at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. You can see it on his face—how much he wants this, how much he needs to prove to you that he’s not as clean as you think he is.

“You sure you wanna keep pushing?” His voice is raspy, breathless, and his grip on your hips tightens. “’Cause I don’t think you can handle what happens if you do.”

Your breath hitches, but you don’t back down. “Try me,” you whisper, barely able to keep your voice steady.

And just like that, he’s on you again. This time, rougher. His mouth moves down to your neck, teeth scraping against your skin as he kisses you there, biting just hard enough to make you gasp. Your hands tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, and you feel the hard press of his cock grinding into your stomach as his hands roam over your body, touching, grabbing, pulling. He’s all over you.

You’re backed into the wall of the van now, his body trapping you there, and for a second, you think about the others. Your bandmates. The people who know Joshua—the real Joshua. You can almost feel their judgment, the silent “what the fuck” looks they’d give you if they saw this. If they saw how you’re fucking with his head, breaking him down until he’s someone else entirely.

But right now, none of that matters. Not when he’s kissing you like this, touching you like this. Not when his hand slips under your shirt, fingers grazing over your bare skin, making you shiver. Not when he’s showing you this side of himself that you never even thought existed.

And fuck, you realize. You’ve been wrong about Joshua. So, so wrong.

And he’s not done showing you just how wrong you’ve been.

Joshua’s hands slide under your top, squeezing your waist, his thumbs teasing your skin, brushing against the underside of your boobs until they find your nipples, flicking at the piercings. The sensation makes you gasp, your body betraying you as you fold under his touch. You clutch his arm, your breath heavy against his neck, before you moan right into his ear. You feel him twitch, nearly stumbling in front of you, his control unraveling.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking it back to force his eyes on you. His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and you can see the hunger there, the intensity, the rawness of it. “We need to stop,” you breathe, trying to sound firm, but even to your own ears, it’s weak.

Joshua’s mouth presses back against your neck, and he mutters between kisses, each one punctuating his words. “No. You don’t. Want. To. Stop. Do. You?” His breath is hot against your skin, each word hitting you harder than the last, unraveling your willpower.

“I’m serious,” you insist, but it’s pathetic, because the way he’s touching you—like he’s memorizing every inch of your body, like he’s known this moment was coming—makes it impossible to think straight.

He pulls back for a moment, eyes searching yours, checking if you really want to stop. His expression softens, as if he’s giving you an out. 

“We need to stop, or we’re gonna end up fucking right here in front of everyone.”

For a second, you both pause, glancing around. The crowd is still buzzing, everyone too lost in their own world to notice what’s happening between the two of you. You could, technically. You could fuck right here, and no one would bat an eye, but that last shred of morality keeps you in check, pulling you back from the edge. Barely.

Joshua was imagining just how much worse things could get. But honestly, he liked every single one of these thoughts. 

He grabs your hand, pulling you toward the club’s parking lot, and rushing toward the van.

The heavy door of the van slides shut behind you, and Joshua locks it with a rough click, sealing the two of you inside. The second the door’s closed, it’s like the floodgates open. His hands are everywhere—grabbing, pulling, needy. He kisses you harder now, more frantic, his body pushing you against the side of the van, and your back hits the first seat with a thud.

You stumble, the both of you crashing into a pile of boxed-up instruments. Your knee hits a guitar case, his ass bump on the drum box, but neither of you care. Joshua’s hand slides down to your ass, squeezing hard as he pulls you into him, making sure you feel every inch of him pressed against your thigh. You’re practically panting, the need between you both building, burning.

You push him back toward the last row of seats, hands fumbling at his belt as you go, your teeth grazing his jaw, his neck, tasting the sweat and the heat from the show earlier.

He moans down in his throat, a sound that rumbles through his chest and straight into yours, and you swear it’s the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever heard. His fingers dig into your hips as he backs into the seat, pulling you down on top of him, your legs straddling his lap, the hard press of his cock straining against his jeans beneath you.

“Fuck,” you gasp, grinding against him, and his head falls back against the seat, eyes rolling shut for a second as you move. You take advantage of it, your lips finding his neck, your teeth scraping his skin just enough to make him hiss.

The leather of your pants is sticking to your skin, but you barely register it as Joshua leans down, kissing you again, his hands slipping under your top and pulling it up, exposing you. His mouth moves lower, trailing down your neck, across your collarbone, and then lower, until his lips are at your chest. He doesn’t hesitate—his mouth finds your nipple, and he flicks his tongue over the piercing, making you arch your back, a strangled moan escaping your lips.

The leather pants cling to you, slick with sweat, and you can feel every inch of them suffocating your skin. You groan in frustration, hands fumbling to yank them off. In your hurry, you knock your elbow hard against a nearby box, hissing in pain. Joshua’s hands are on you immediately, steadying you as you finally peel the damn pants down, tossing them aside like they personally offended you. He takes the opportunity to shove his own pants down to his knees, and as you glance up, he's yanking his shirt over his head.

You’re back on his lap before he even realizes what’s happening, grinding down on him through the thin fabric of your underwear and his boxers. It’s a hell of a lot better than the rough leather, and you feel the instant response—his hands grip your thighs so hard it’s like he’s holding on for dear life, his head falling back with this breathless, whiny moan.

His fingers slide down the front of your panties, finding you soaked, and he’s instantly wrecked. “Fuck, you’re dripping,” he growls, his voice ragged, eyes dark and hungry as they lock onto yours. “You’re so fucking wet for me.”

The dirty words coming from him feel so wrong, so foreign, but god, it’s making your head spin, red flags of danger flickering in your mind, and you can’t stop.

“No shit, Sherlock,” you mumble, still grinding against his hand, but then he pushes a finger inside you, and your whole body jolts. A hand flies up, palm slamming against the fogged window for balance, leaving a print there as you rock forward, riding his thick, calloused finger.

His finger feels huge, and the stretch of it makes you dizzy. You’re thankful for the seat behind you, giving you the support you need because you’re practically sprawled back on it, grinding on his hand like your life depends on it. 

He’s watching you, eyes locked on every twitch of your face, every moan spilling from your lips, and then he slides another finger in. The stretch makes you gasp, thighs trembling as he moves them inside you, fingers curling and hitting that spot that makes your vision go blurry.

“Talk dirty to me,” he suddenly demands, voice low and gruff. 

“You… don’t like it when I curse,” you manage, barely coherent as his fingers keep moving inside you.

“Fuck that,” he growls, fingers curling deeper, making you whimper. “Call me whatever the fuck you want. Call me a motherfucker, I don’t care. Just talk to me, let me hear it.”

Your body’s trembling, eyes rolling back as you grind harder against his hand, desperate for more.

You moan, feeling his fingers pumping inside you as his thumb brushes your clit. You’re teetering on the edge, and words are spilling out before you can stop them. “God, Joshua… Always acting so pure. I bet no one would believe how fucking hard you are for me right now, huh?”

His breath stutters at your words, his fingers thrusting harder inside you. “Keep going.”

“Is this what you’ve wanted?” you gasp, rocking your hips against him, feeling that coil tightening in your belly. “You want me to ride your fingers like a fucking slut, huh?”

He groans, low and deep. "Fuck, yes”

Your body’s trembling, every thrust of his fingers pushing you closer to the brink. “You’re such a motherfucker,” you whisper against his lips, your voice breaking. "You feel that? Feel how close I am? You're gonna make me—shit!—cum all over your fingers.”

Your head falls back against the seat, eyes fluttering closed as his rough, calloused fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes your entire body tense. You're whimpering, struggling to keep the dirty talk going, but it's hard to form words when every nerve in your body is on fire. "God, Joshua, your fingers... they’re so fucking big," you manage to choke out, voice shaky.

He smirks, eyes dark, watching the way your body responds to him. “If you think my fingers are big,” he breathes, thrusting them deeper, faster, “imagine how you’re gonna feel when it’s my cock inside you.”

The thought sends another wave of heat pooling between your legs, and you grip his forearm, nails digging into his skin as he moves his fingers faster, relentless, pressing into your sweet spot over and over. Your walls clamp down around him, and a broken cry escapes your lips, your body trembling as the tension snaps, pleasure ripping through you in a rush.

"Fuck—Joshua!" you moan, your voice high and desperate as your orgasm hits you hard, your pussy squeezing his fingers so tight you can barely think. Your slick coats his hand, and he watches you fall apart, eyes locked on the way your body writhes against his, chest heaving, face twisted in pleasure.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down, and you can feel him watching you, his expression mirroring your own without even meaning to. His lips part in a quiet curse, like he’s just as lost in it as you are, completely captivated by the way you cum on his fingers, riding the digits until you curl up on him.

His fingers slip out of you, slick and shiny, leaving you empty. Your breath catches in your throat when his hand dips down to his own cock, still hard and straining under the thin fabric of his boxers. He grunts softly, shifting, and you catch a glimpse of the outline of it through the fabric—big, thick. Your mouth goes dry at the sight.

He’s moving fast, lips already on you again, his mouth latching onto your nipple. You gasp as his teeth graze the sensitive bud, his tongue swirling over the metal of your piercing like he’s obsessed—after all, besides seeing it through your blouses, now he has them in his mouth. His grip tightens around your waist, pulling you closer, almost like he’s trying to devour you.

“Fuck, Joshua,” you rasp out, voice shaky, still buzzing from the orgasm he pulled from you with just his fingers. “Where the hell did you learn how to do that?”

He pauses for a second, teeth scraping your skin as his mouth moves up to nip at your collarbone, smirking. “What, you think just 'cause I look all neat and clean, I don’t know how to make a girl cum?” he leaves a wet hickey on your chest. “Trust me, babe, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

You arch into him, head tilting back as his tongue flicks against your other nipple, but this time, he looks inside your eyes. “Could’ve fooled me… always acting like a saint.”

His hand tightens on your thigh, sliding up between your legs again, brushing against your soaked panties. He smirks against your skin. “You’re the one who’s been driving me fucking crazy. Always teasing me. You know how hard it’s been to keep my hands off you?”

You’re about to reply, but his fingers are pulling at the waistband of your panties, dragging them to the side. The next thing you know, he’s pushing his boxers down, freeing his cock. Your eyes widen slightly at the sight of it—he’s big, thicker than you expected, the tip already slick with precum. And for a moment, you can’t help but wonder how many girls have seen this side of him, but then he’s guiding you back onto his lap, hands firm on your hips, lining himself up with your entrance.

“Shit,” you whisper, feeling the thick head of his cock brushing against your folds. The feel makes you hold your breath, the heat from his body and the sheer wrongness of it making your pulse race.

His eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a brief second, there’s conflict there—like he’s torn between the best friend who used to crash on your couch, and the guy who's about to fuck you. He’s barely holding himself together.

He guides himself inside you slowly, inch by inch, and you can feel every stretch, every pulse of his cock as it fills you up. You gasp, fingers digging into his shoulders as you sink down onto him, his size making your head spin. "Jesus, Joshua..." you groan, head falling forward, overwhelmed by how full you feel.

His cock feels impossibly big, filling you up completely, and for a moment, you wonder how the hell you’re even taking him.

His hands tremble slightly on your waist as he pushes the rest of the way in, a throaty moan slipping from his lips. “Fuck, this is so wrong,” he mutters, voice shaky, eyes squeezing shut. “You’re my fucking best friend, I shouldn’t be doing this—” His voice breaks off into another moan as you start to move, your hips rolling against him.

You watch him, grinning at the conflict flickering in his eyes, the way his face contorts with each movement of your hips. His best friend—the girl he’s never even crossed boundaries with—now stretched out, tight around his cock. It's almost too much for him, his mind clearly buzzing with how wrong it is, but his body craves more, needing the way you feel wrapped around him.

His moans meld with yours, louder now, whiny. "You're making me fucking lose my mind."

You lean in close, lips brushing his ear as you whisper, “Then lose it. Let me fuck you like no one else ever has.”

He growls low in his throat, his control slipping completely. He thrusts up into you, harder, deeper, and you moan, head falling back as your body rocks against his. His hands slide down to your ass, squeezing roughly as he pulls you down onto him again and again, his cock hitting deeper with each thrust.

You press both hands to his chest, halting his frantic thrusts, pinning him back against the seat. “Whoa, slow down,” you say, eyes locked on his as you adjust yourself, shifting until you find the angle that makes you gasp. His cock twitches inside you, and you bite back a smirk. You know you’ve got him right where you want him now.

You flick your hair to one side, leaning back a bit, and start riding him slow, dragging it out, making sure he feels every inch. His mouth opens to say something, but you change the motion, circling your hips instead, and whatever he was going to say dies in his throat. You scoff, half laughing, half moaning. “What? Why so quiet now?”

His hands fly to the armrests, knuckles turning white as he grips the leather for dear life. You know exactly what he’s doing—trying to stop himself from grabbing you too rough, like you can’t handle it. Like you don’t want him to. But you take one of his hands and place it on the side of your face, his palm practically engulfing your head. You lean into his touch, biting your lip before saying it. “Slap me.”

His eyes go wide. “What?”

“Come on,” you grind down on him again, slower, teasing. “You’ve never slapped anyone before? Right on my face. Do it.”

He looks torn, breath hitching as you ride him harder. You can tell he’s struggling to even think straight, his stomach clenching, his abs flexing under your hands as the pleasure hits him hard. But it’s your pace that’s driving him insane, the way you bounce on his cock, taking him deep, then slowing down just enough to drag it out. He’s barely hanging on.

His voice is rough when he finally speaks, “Fuck… I don’t—” He gasps when you clench around him on purpose, his hips flinching up into you, reflexive. His hand tightens on your jaw before he lets go, shaking his head. “I don’t think I can—”

“Shut up,” you whisper, eyes burning with challenge. “Slap me.” The way you’re looking at him, daring him, makes his heart pound in his chest. He hesitates for half a second, but when you grind down on him again, harder, his control snaps.

He slaps you, hard. Harder than he intended.

The sound of it rings out, followed by his shocked gasp. But you’re already moaning, your pussy clenching so tight around him that he almost loses it. He watches in disbelief as you react, the slap turning you on even more, your walls fluttering around his cock, soaking him.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, staring at you, wide-eyed, as you keep riding him like nothing just happened—no, like it made everything better.

Your body jerks with each bounce, the slap leaving a burning sting on your cheek, but all it does is fuel the fire between your legs. “See?” you taunt. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He groans, the sound low and desperate. “Fuck… you’re fucking insane.” His hands find your waist again, but this time he doesn’t try to hold back. He grips you tight, fingers digging into your skin as you grind against him, circling your hips just to watch his head fall back, lips parted, eyes squeezed shut.

Every time you clench down on him on purpose, his whole body flinches, like he’s trying so hard not to lose control. “Jesus Christ, you’re so fucking tight,” he growls, voice ragged. “I can feel… fuck, I can feel you squeezing me like you want me to fucking break.”

You bite your lip, eyes half-lidded as you meet his gaze. “Maybe I do.”

Joshua's thumb strokes the still-hot skin of your cheek where he slapped you. You bounce hard on his cock, the slap only making the tension between you snap tighter. His thumb lingers, gently caressing the mark like he’s making up for what he did, but you grin, biting your lip through the pleasure and ask for more;

“Slap me again.”

It’s the same voice you used when you asked him to push you harder on a swing—excited, impatient, full of that rush of adrenaline. He sucks in a breath, brows furrowed like he’s torn, but the way your pussy tightens around him makes his decision for him. His hand raises again, and this time, it lands with purpose.

Your face turns to the side from the force, cheek burning red-hot, and fuck, it burns even better than the last one. 

Your pussy tightens around him instantly, and Joshua groans. He can feel the way your body responds, how you pulse around him every time he does it. You moan, “Fuck… I think I’m gonna cum again.” The whine at the end of your sentence makes his cock twitch, and it sparks something animalistic in him.

Joshua grabs your hips, lifting you just enough to pin you down on his lap, grinding his pelvis into you so deep that your vision goes hazy for a second. You roll your eyes, barely hanging on. Before you can catch your breath, he’s flipping you onto the seat, his cock never leaving you as he lays you down, spreading your legs up and grabbing the backs of your knees.

The new angle has you arching your back immediately, hands scrambling for purchase on the seat. He starts thrusting, and it’s so hard and deep you swear your body is melting into the seat. Each snap of his hips sends a sharp lock of bliss through you, his pelvis slamming into yours, and you know anyone outside can hear the van rocking, but you don’t fucking care.

You don’t care about anything except him, the way his thumb circles your clit just as he slips it down, thumb circling the base of his cock, spreading your slickness over the throbbing nerve. Your body jerks, an involuntary sob escaping your throat.

Joshua’s never seen you like this—ruined, makeup streaking down your face, thick tears rolling down your cheeks. His grin is huge, his breath ragged as he stares down at you, fucking relentless in his pace. “Aw, look at you. You’re crying on my cock,” he coos, his voice laced with sweet mockery. He presses harder on your clit, making you squirm, and he chuckles low, shaking his head. “Such a good girl, crying for me like that. You can’t even handle it, can you?”

You let out a strangled gasp, your body writhing under him as you feel the heat pooling low in your stomach, everything inside you winding so tight. “Fuck,” you choke out, “Josh, I’m gonna—”

“I know, baby,” he growls, leaning down, his mouth right by your ear now. “You’re gonna cum all over my cock, gonna make a mess of me?”

You’re too far gone to answer, your head tipped back as your body reaches its breaking point. His thumb circles your clit faster, his cock hitting that spot inside you over and over, and your whole body shakes uncontrollably. You feel the coil snap inside you so hard that you almost black out, your pussy clenching around him like a vice as you cum, the orgasm ripping through you with inhuman intensity. 

You scream his name, tears streaming down your face as you sob through it, your body trembling violently as your release floods out of you, soaking his cock and thighs.

Joshua watches, mesmerized by how fucking ruined you are beneath him, and he leans down, whispering against your lips, “That’s right. Cry for me more, baby. Show me how good it feels. Look at you… soaking me like that, dripping all over me.”

Joshua's hips stutter, and you feel the unmistakable swell of his cock inside you, growing thicker, pulsing as he teeters on the edge. He pulls out suddenly, leaving you breathless as he grips his cock, jerking it against your slick stomach. His hand is tight, desperate, moving fast as his chest rises and falls in ragged breaths.

His moans are a mess—whiny, high-pitched, slipping from his throat like he can’t control them. He bites his bottom lip hard, but the sly little whimpers escape him anyway, each sound more desperate than the last. His abs tense, his whole body trembling above you, muscles tight as a cord about to snap. His eyes flutter shut, head falling back slightly as he loses himself in the feeling.

“Fuck—” he gasps, his voice breaking as his orgasm hits him like a freight train. His grip falters for a split second, and then his cock jerks hard in his hand, spilling hot ropes of cum. It spurts in thick, messy streams, splattering across your belly, sliding up toward your chest, even reaching your chin. His knees buckle slightly, and he has to grab the back of the seat in front of him to keep from collapsing, his whole body shuddering through the force of it.

He’s panting, still jerking himself through the aftershocks, and his cum keeps dripping from the tip, mixing with the sweat that’s already covering both of you. Your legs tremble uncontrollably, falling to the side as your body finally gives out, utterly spent. The van feels suffocating, the air thick and humid, making it hard to breathe as the windows fog up completely now.

Joshua’s hand is still braced on the seat for support, knuckles white, his chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. His eyes flicker open, and when he looks down at you—covered in him, eyes heavy, body limp—you can see the disbelief, the satisfaction, and maybe even a little guilt.

But neither of you moves, too wrecked to do anything but exist in the humid silence of the van, your breaths slowly returning to something like normal.

Joshua settles into the seat next to you, staring down at you like he’s trying to make sense of everything. You both stay silent, like the weight of what just happened hasn’t fully hit yet. Neither of you moves; it's as if you need this stillness to process, to figure out what the fuck this was and where it might lead. Was it the alcohol? The adrenaline? Or maybe the tension between you two, the one you both never admitted but always felt.

He suddenly stands up, his voice breaking the silence. “Where’s your necessaire?” You barely register the question, too lost in thought, so you just point lazily toward the front of the van, your limbs too tired to follow his movements.

You hear the zipper open, the soft rustle of him digging through your things. Your legs ache from the awkward position they’re in, but before you can shift, Joshua is back beside you. Without a word, he gently lifts your legs, folding them in a more comfortable position, almost cradling you. You catch his eyes as he pulls out makeup remover wipes.

He starts with your face, wiping away the tear-streaked makeup, his touch as soft as it’s ever been. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs, brushing your cheek tenderly—the same cheek he slapped earlier, his movements extra gentle now, like he’s trying to undo any mark he left.

You close your eyes, feeling his hands glide across your skin. “You’re lucky I know how to clean this up,” he teases lightly, the sound of his voice strangely comforting. “You always were a mess after shows.”

You hum, half-laughing. “You should see me after the after-parties.” The humor doesn’t land quite like it usually does; there’s something too real now, something too intimate that makes the joke feel heavy.

He uses a fresh wipe to clean the cum from your body, starting at your chin and working his way down your belly. His touch lingers, but it’s not lustful—more like he’s making sure every part of you is taken care of, like you’re something precious. “Lift your arm for me,” he says softly, and you comply, feeling the coolness of the wipe brush under your arm and along your ribs.

When he finishes, his hand slips to your necklace, the little cross with the rhinestones—one you wear mostly because of him. His fingers fiddle with it for a second, the small gesture almost grounding, like it’s pulling him back to reality. 

“You good?” he asks finally, eyes scanning your face, like he’s not sure if he went too far, if maybe you’re more hurt than you’re letting on.

“Yeah,” you breathe, and even though you’re wrecked, there’s something warm in your chest. “I’m good.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, his touch featherlight. “You sure? You need anything else?”

You smirk a little, exhausted but still yourself. “Yeah, I need a nap.”

Joshua chuckles under his breath, still holding your necklace. “Alright, you take that nap. I’ll watch over you.” There’s something sweet in his tone, a promise hidden in the words, something you know he means more than he’s letting on.

And as you start to drift, you can’t help but think that despite everything—despite the wild shit that just happened—Joshua is still Joshua. Sweet, caring, a little too good for this world, and somehow, still your person.

[...]

The nap you took wasn’t just any nap—it was wild, like the kind where time feels like it disappears. When you finally blink your eyes open, groggy and confused, the van’s already moving, and you hear muffled voices. Your crew is in the van now, going about their business like nothing happened. Instinctively, your hands fly to your chest, covering yourself, but you’re already dressed—the same clothes from the show.

Relief floods through you, though you’re not sure why. Then you realize where your head is resting—not on the uncomfortable seat like before, but on Joshua’s lap. His thick thighs beneath you are surprisingly comfortable, his body warm against yours.

You feel him stir beneath you, his body shifting as he wakes up too. His hand brushes against your arm, and you glance up, meeting his eyes. His hair’s a bit messy, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but there’s this soft smile on his face, one that makes you feel like everything’s okay.

“Mornin’,” he murmurs, voice rough from sleep, his hand absentmindedly stroking your arm.

“Mornin’,” you echo back, your own voice low and hoarse.

There’s a moment of quiet between you, the rest of the van oblivious to the weight of everything that passed between you two last night. You shift a little, feeling his thighs under you, and the memories flash through your head—the heat, the sex, the things you said and did. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too.

“You slept through everything,” he teases, his smile widening, though there’s a hint of something unspoken behind it.

You chuckle, adjusting slightly but still keeping your head on his lap. “Guess I was tired, hm?”

“Tired? You passed out,” he grins, his hand moving to gently fix your hair. “Had to dress you. Can’t have the crew thinking… well, y’know.”

Your face flushes a bit, imagining him trying to carefully dress you without waking you up. “Thanks for that.”

“No problem,” he says, his tone playful but gentle. There’s a pause, the kind that stretches just long enough to make you wonder what’s next, what happens after this.

You glance around at the others in the van, but it’s like they’re in their own worlds. No one’s paying attention, no one’s noticed how close the two of you are, how your head’s still in his lap, how his fingers are still brushing through your hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You can get used to it, can't you?

[orcboxer]

It's kind of interesting how activism online has been rebranded as an individualist thing, as if it's about your personal moral character. "Post about X and signal boost Y or you don't really care!!" Anything fun or good that happens is a Distraction, the real focus always needs to be on all the bad things happening, you need to always be angry and afraid.

Like of course all these issues matter, but activism only really works when it's an organized group effort. Awareness campaigns are planned and funded, somebody has to print out all the flyers, somebody has to find a strategic place to distribute the flyers, and so forth. Not everyone does every part of the work, and nobody is on call 24/7. Posting more political content on your personal social media accounts is generally not one of the tactics used, because it's not really effective? Like at all?

In fact one of the biggest red flags for clickbait is when someone is trying to make you angry or afraid. People with basic social media literacy know this, and will distrust posts that resemble clickbait. This is why guilt trip additions to posts are largely seen as post-ruiners. You done poisoned the well.

This isn't all to say that posting about politics is bad, but keep in mind how much energy you're spending on it, and allow yourself time to not be political, because like, okay imagine the most popular tumblr blog. How much impact does that blog actually have on politics irl? Virtually none. So if you're stressing yourself to the point of fatigue over posting politics, maybe consider more effective forms of activism. Volunteer locally, join a union, attend protests, vote, etc. All of those are vastly more efficient uses of your energy. Post politics if you want to, but just don't tire yourself out over it. It'll work better as an organized group effort.

[ultimac]

CLİPART - DRAGON+ (6)

For individuals looking to add a touch of creativity to their kitchen-themed projects, kitchen clipart provides a wide range of options to choose from. With over 42,100 kitchen clipart stock illustrations and vector graphics available royalty-free, individuals can explore a plethora of designs to enhance their cooking-related materials. Whether it's for recipe cards, cooking blogs, or culinary presentations, kitchen clipart offers a diverse selection of high-quality images and graphics to elevate the visual appeal of various projects. Additionally, kitchen clipart is available in various formats, including transparent PNG files with a resolution of 300 DPI, making it easy to incorporate into different digital and print designs.

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[thecommandertable]

Keystone Commanders and How to Avoid Them

I think most Commander players realize that there are some decks that just fold in upon themselves when they can't keep their commander on the battlefield. I like to call these kinds of commanders "keystone commanders".

A keystone is that large, wedge-shaped central stone at the top of an arch. The idea is that if you remove that one piece, the whole thing collapses. If you've studied ecology or conservation, you're probably familiar with the term "keystone species"; a species that plays an integral role in sustaining an ecosystem. Likewise, a keystone commander has an integral role in a deck's strategy; without it, that deck won't be able to execute its gameplan.

Keystone commanders are often very powerful! I have an Arcades, the Strategist deck, all about attacking people with defender creatures.

Arcades draws a bunch of cards and lets me attack with an ever-growing squad of large-toughness creatures like Shield Sphere, Wall of Shards, and The Pride of Hull Clan. Take Arcades off the battlefield, though, and I'm left with a bunch of creatures that can't attack. Savvy opponents will just kill and counter Arcades until I can't cast him anymore due to commander tax, or use something like Darksteel Mutation or Kenrith's Transformation to turn off his abilities. Powerful keystone commanders tend to make for these hot-and-cold strategies. Either your commander sticks and you win handily or it doesn't and your deck does next to nothing. That might not be a big deal if you've got a wide variety of decks, but if you've only got a handful and most of them fit this mold, the polarizing gameplay can get tiresome. It can happen pretty easily, too; keystone commanders are enticing to build around for less experienced deckbuilders, as their designs tend to provide a clear roadmap to how to build the deck. It doesn't take a veteran Commander player to look at Arcades and realize that the deck should be chock-full of defender creatures, but it does take experience to foresee the consequences of building a deck that's so reliant on its commander.

Well, what to do?

Sometimes the solution is swapping in a different Commander. One of my earliest Commander decks was a White/Blue flyers & blink deck with Isperia, Supreme Judge at the helm, but when Brago, King Eternal was printed a couple years later, I eagerly swapped him in over Isperia: his ability was on-theme, after all, and he was on the whole a much more powerful commander. I added Strionic Resonator, which can go infinite with Brago's ability and some mana rocks. As I kept playing with Brago, it became more and more obvious to me and my friends that whether I won or not depended entirely on whether I could keep Brago on the board long enough to start attacking with him. Classic keystone commander.

I cut value flying creatures for more counterspells to protect Brago and more mana rocks to ensure that I would be able to combo with Strionic Resonator. At one point it stopped being about flying creatures altogether—it was just about Brago. And after a decade of Brago's despotic ghostly grip on the deck, I decided to depose him. I replaced him with Yorion, Sky Nomad. Yorion still gives me good value even if an opponent kills it right away, its ability doesn't threaten an infinite combo, and the cards it works well with, creatures with enters effects and flicker spells like Ephemerate, also work well with each other in case Yorion's not on the battlefield.

Other commanders provide a little more flexibility in how you build around them, and the degree to which they are keystone commanders can vary. For instance, many players who build Feather, the Redeemed will build her as a Voltron deck.

Voltron Feather recurs spells like Titan's Strength and Psychotic Fury to grow Feather and crack in for big chunks of damage. As you might imagine, any deck looking to kill people with commander damage is going to have a keystone commander regardless of what it is. Voltron Feather, though hard to kill due to repeatable protection spells like Loran's Escape and Boon of Safety, like any keystone commander, will leave the deck in the lurch if she can't do her thing. Fortunately, there are lots of different directions you can take a Feather the Redeemed deck. My personal build mixes a creature token theme with a devotion-to-white subtheme and has lots of ways to recur small creatures. I use Feather primarily as a card draw engine—letting me reuse cantrips like Bandage and Crimson Wisps—and the deck as a whole is a lot more powerful when she's in play. But if she gets killed in the mid-to-late game, assuming I still control my other creatures, I can still get over the finish line without her. You can consider many commander deckbuilding decisions in this light. Not every card choice will make the difference between making your commander keystone or not, but they'll shift the needle a little bit. For example, putting background cards in the 99, such as Guild Artisan, will push that needle towards keystone-ness; or at least make your commander a juicier target for opponents' removal. Same goes for Lieutenant creatures like Skyhunter Strike Force.

In general, you'll want to be careful about cards that require your commander to be on the battlefield to function at all; say Well of Lost Dreams in a Dragonlord Dromoka deck that doesn't have many ways to gain life outside of Dromoka's lifelink: it might be a decent way to draw cards, but it's also further incentivizing opponents to aim their removal spells at Dromoka. If you're looking to build a new commander deck and want to get away from keystone commanders, here are some criteria to look for:

Low mana-value commanders that you can play early for value, either by ramping you or drawing cards: Ruby, Daring Tracker; Azusa, Lost but Seeking; Jori En, Ruin Diver

Commanders with "enter" effects, like Gonti, Lord of Luxury; Sharuum the Hegemon; Prime Speaker Zegana

Commanders whose abilities have a lot of redundancies among their 99: Sythis, Harvest's Hand; Nekusar, the Mindrazer

Alternately, as you're building a new deck, ask yourself these questions:

Can my deck win without its commander on the battlefield?

If I were playing against this deck, how highly would I prioritize killing its commander?

Hopefully this will help you diversify your commander portfolio a little bit. I want to reiterate that having the occasional keystone commander isn't a bad thing, it's only that it's very easy to fall into the habit of exclusively building around powerful keystone commanders—and when your playgroup gets in the mindset that your commander always needs to die, well, they tend to kill your commander a lot.

[tittyinfinity]

One thing we can do to help slow down the spread of imperialism is to combat army recruiters in high schools – they hand out information about all the "benefits" of joining the military and persuade teenagers into thinking it will give them financial stability.

Make flyers debunking what they say. Tell them about how it will affect their mental health and the suicide rate of veterans. Tell them about how people who were/are in the military are still financially struggling. Show them the stories of ex-military members who say a lot of military jobs require you to protect oil rigs. Show them the effects of the US military being in other countries. Show them how large of a percentage of people killed were children.

Hang them up/pass them out wherever you can. You might not be able to stand directly outside of a school to hand them out (idk how army recruiters get the permission to do that) but you can place them in areas around the schools, gas stations, Walmart, wherever.

As soon as I have the spoons, I plan on creating some flyer templates that anyone can save and print off. I'm disabled and can't get out of the house consistently, so this is where I'll need y'alls help.

Make your own, too, if you can.

The American military is really what's standing in our way of a revolution.

So that's one of the places we need to hit hardest first.

[woman-for-women]

hello w4w! i love your blog, thank you for all that you do. i was wondering how you make your stickers? i would love to make some feminist stickers with my own designs! thank you/have a good day!

Hi, and thank you! I think this is a good chance to write up:

How you (yes, you!) can make your own feminist stickers (a comprehensive guide from cheapest to most expensive)

Method 1 - Label Sticker Roll and Markers

This is the easiest and cheapest method. ANYONE can do this! (Seriously, this is your sign.)

You can use regular permanent markers, multicolored markers, or jumbo markers (seen above) for your desired effect. You can also buy label stickers in smaller packs if $10 for 500 is out of your budget. Permanent markers also last a long time and stay visible for ages. However, the label stickers will deteriorate over time, since they're primarily paper-based and not water proof. I use a glossy paper for my stickers, which has held up decently in heavy rain conditions.

Method 2 - Label Sticker Roll and Stamps

You can use a customized rubber stamp, a customized self-inking stamp, or a self-inking stamp that you customize yourself with the provided tray of rubber stamping letters that you place on the stamp tray (seen above). This option is great because you can quickly make tons of stickers. The downside is that stamp ink is a little less weather resistant than permanent marker, and the labels are still not water-proof.

Method 3 - Printing Stickers without a Sticker Printer

These label sticker sheets come in a ton of styles! Since it's just a special 8.5 x 11 in paper, it works in most regular printers! You can format your text or artwork to print on each sticker in Word, Canva, or Adobe Illustrator, then print it at home, at a print shop, or at a local library. Again, these aren't waterproof since they're primarily paper-based, but they stick pretty well and can help you make stickers quickly.

Method 4 - Outsource your Printing

printplace.com does vinyl stickers for super cheap. You just upload your artwork and you can get stickers for around $0.05/sticker. The downside is you have to buy in bulk, meaning prices start around $50, but the upside is the stickers are high quality, waterproof and weather resistant, don't require tons of manual labor from you to produce, and are ready to go once they arrive on your doorstep!

Method 5 - Thermal Label Printer

This is the method I use to make my stickers! The two printers below are the ones I have, and the refills are the tape refills I use. Since they're thermal printers, they don't use ink. Although the printers are a bit pricey, you get a lot of stickers for your money per sticker tape refill order.

Both printers use a phone app to print and design stickers. They work via Bluetooth and connect to your phone to do all the printing. Both printers print black text/designs only. The Vixic label printer app is a lot more limited. You can only use different fonts and text, small emojis/icons, and different borders for your sticker design. The NIIMBOT printer allows for QR codes and uploaded images in addition to different fonts/text. The stickers are also larger. The NIIMBOT printer is compatible with several different sticker sizes. The NIIMBOT stickers are primarily paper-based, so they're not completely waterproof. If you want your NIIMBOT stickers to be waterproof, you can buy their clear stickers! Both printers support clear and different-colored tape refills for more colorful stickers. You can also color on your NIIMBOT stickers with Sharpies to add color.

Between the two I would recommend the NIIMBOT. The refills are a much better value for your money and the stickers are larger and more versatile.

For further resources, I would recommend checking out my w4w how to tag, linked here! It explains how I make my artwork for infographics, posts, (and stickers) in Canva!

You can also order FREE Radical Feminist stickers and dowload FREE ARTWORK for your own stickering/flyering endeavors from my store here!

Because my store blew up overnight a few days ago, I'm introducing limited-inventory drops (hence the X left banner on each item), where every few weeks I will package and add more stickers. That way when someone orders, it's guaranteed their stickers are packaged and all I have to do is address an envelope to them and ship it.

In order to keep up with demand and keep this project afloat, the stickers will remain free/pay-what-you-can, but I'm charging less than $2 for shipping to keep this project funded and make sure I can make and distribute as many stickers. It's also a pretty cheap option for stickers, which is the whole point of my sticker project!

The good news is I'm mailing discount codes on the back of my business cards to customers so they can get a discount on any return orders! I encourage people to order again :)

You can also download 20+ sticker designs, completely for free, in the link above. You can use it to make your own stickers, flyers, whatever you want!

Happy stickering!

[tieflingkisser]

A Jewish Harvard student hung Yom Kippur protest posters. Campus Hillel called the cops.

Emotions are high in the wake of the Oct. 7th anniversary. But will this create a chilling effect on young Jews looking to engage?

On Monday, October 7, 2024, a student affiliated with JStreet U, the university arm of the liberal pro-Israel Jewish nonprofit JStreet, allegedly used the printing resources of the campus Hillel to produce copies of posters without permission. The student was later identified in a self-published statement as Meredith W. B. Zielonka.

The printable posters were produced by Halachic Left, a grassroots Jewish organization. They featured a variety of images depicting death and suffering in Gaza over the past year juxtaposed with Hebrew and English translations of the “Al Chet,” a list and confession of sins recited throughout Yom Kippur services.

These posters were hung outside the campus Hillel center and discovered by staffers early Tuesday morning. The staffers then called the Cambridge Police Department because, according to a statement, “the flyers contained graphic content they felt was meant to be intimidating.”

The Crimson, Harvard’s student newspaper, reported Tuesday that Harvard Hillel “temporarily suspended” JStreet U because of their actions, though it remains unclear from what they were suspended and what authority Hillel has over JStreet U.

I reached out to JStreet’s national organization Wednesday, who informed me the following day that they no longer have an official chapter at Harvard and that a student—now identified as Zielonka—who had been affiliated with them in the past was the one who printed the posters. They said she “engaged in activity that was in violation of both Hillel's affiliate agreement and J Street U's own standards for our campus chapters.” I asked JStreet for specifics as to how Zielonka violated their standards, but they declined to comment further.

JStreet also shared with me a letter their president and directors sent to Rabbi Rubenstein profusely apologizing for Zielonka’s actions. “We are committed to developing genuine J Street U leadership on campus that represents our values and mission, specifically providing a safe space for students to hold nuanced views without compromising their pro-Israel values,” they wrote.

Thursday evening Rubenstein published his letter in response to the situation. He likened the posters to antisemitic propaganda—both historic and recent—that depicts Jews as dangerous vermin who should be met with violence. In his view, the posters “stigmatize” a type of Jew (IDF soldiers enacting violence in Gaza) and even if they’re not necessarily an attack, create “the potential to engender conflict between different elements of our community”. He wrote: “The saturation of public spaces, and the minds of an increasing number of Americans, with images of Jews as heinous, is real, and dangerous, and requires - just like testing and masking during COVID - that we curtail some public freedoms to protect one another.”

[...]

“Jewish institutions have a tremendous amount of power, and it hurts my heart that they so often use it to gate-keep and exclude rather than enfranchise,” Rabbi and author Danya Ruttenberg, who publishes the newsletter Life is a Sacred Text, told me. “That Harvard Hillel decided to engage law enforcement on a matter of...postering (never mind that they were posters with...our sacred liturgy? Inviting us to collective moral reflection?) speaks to just how profoundly some corners of our institutional life have lost the thread here.” A Jewish Harvard student I spoke with Friday morning, whose name I’m not sharing to protect their privacy, pointed out that the situation could have turned out even worse had the JStreet U-affiliated student been a person of color. They felt that involving the cops rapidly escalated the situation, when it could have easily been an opportunity for community building handled privately between groups.  And, as Ruttenberg pointed out, there was no actual crime was committed.

[graphypixllc]

𝐇𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐏𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 | 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐅𝐥𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞

One of the most thrilling and joyous occasions is Halloween, which is celebrated for its lively gatherings, imaginative costumes, and eerie ambiance. Whether you’re throwing a Halloween party, a haunted house, or a themed event, marketing your event requires an attractive Halloween Night Party flyer design. An attractive flyer may draw attention, create the right atmosphere for the party, and persuade people to come. This post will cover all the information you require to create an effective Halloween Night Party flyer template, including design advice, necessary components, and ideas for making your flyer stand out.

Why a Flyer is Essential for Halloween Party Promotion

In the era of digital marketing and social media, one could easily assume that flyers are obsolete. They are still, nevertheless, among the best strategies for drawing interest and encouraging interaction, both online and offline. A flyer builds anticipation for your Halloween event by acting as a visual teaser. Flyers are an essential part of your Halloween party promotion for the following reasons:

Grabs Immediate Attention: A well-designed flyer is visually appealing and can instantly capture the attention of your target audience, making them curious about your event.

Sets the Mood and Theme: A Halloween flyer template designed with eerie graphics, spooky fonts, and dark color schemes sets the tone for what guests can expect. It visually communicates the atmosphere, from haunted houses to costume parties.

Offers Key Information: Flyers are perfect for delivering essential information like the date, time, location, and any special instructions for the Halloween party. They serve as a quick guide for potential attendees.

Shareable and Easy to Distribute: Whether you’re printing them out to display around town or sharing them digitally via social media, flyers are versatile and can be easily shared with a wide audience.

Key Elements of a Successful Halloween Night Party Flyer Template

There are a few things you must include in your flyer design in order to successfully advertise your Halloween party. The essential elements that any Halloween flyer template should include are listed below:

1. Captivating Title

The title is the first thing that people will notice, so it needs to be bold, engaging, and spooky. The title should clearly communicate what the event is about, such as “Halloween Night Party,” “Haunted House Bash,” or “Spooky Costume Ball.” Choose a font that aligns with the Halloween theme — think creepy, distressed, or gothic styles.

2. Striking Visuals

The visuals on your flyer are just as important as the text. They should instantly convey the Halloween theme. Consider using spooky imagery like haunted houses, pumpkins, skeletons, witches, and bats. Using high-quality, eye-catching graphics will give your flyer a professional look and make it stand out. You can also incorporate elements of mystery and darkness with foggy backdrops, full moons, or eerie forests.

3. Halloween-Themed Color Scheme

Color plays a significant role in setting the mood for your Halloween party. For a Halloween Night Party flyer, traditional Halloween colors like black, orange, purple, and green are often used to evoke a spooky atmosphere. Black and orange are the go-to combination, with black symbolizing mystery and fear, while orange represents excitement and energy. Experiment with contrasting colors to make the details on your flyer pop.

4. Event Details

Once the visuals and title have grabbed attention, the next crucial aspect is providing clear, concise information about your event. Your flyer must include the following details:

Date: Make sure the date is prominent so attendees know when the event is happening.

Time: Include the start and end time of the party, especially if it’s a late-night event.

Location: Clearly mention the venue with the full address, and consider adding a map or directions if the location is hard to find.

Admission/Entry Fees: If there is a cost to attend the event, make sure to include it on the flyer.

Special Instructions: If your party has a specific dress code, such as “costume required” or “come dressed as your favorite horror character,” be sure to mention that on the flyer.

5. Call to Action (CTA)

A strong call to action encourages people to attend your event. CTAs can include phrases like “RSVP Now!”, “Get Your Tickets Today”, “Join Us for a Night of Fun!”, or “Don’t Miss Out on the Scariest Night of the Year!” This motivates potential attendees to take action and make plans to attend.

6. Contact Information

Include a way for people to contact you if they have questions about the event. This can be a phone number, email address, or social media handle. You could also add a QR code that leads directly to your event’s website or social media page, making it easier for guests to RSVP or get more details.

Tips for Designing an Eye-Catching Halloween Night Party Flyer

Now that we’ve covered the essential elements, let’s dive into some creative tips and tricks for designing an eye-catching Halloween flyer template:

1. Choose a Theme

Decide on a specific theme for your party and reflect that theme in your flyer. Whether it’s a “Vampire Masquerade,” “Zombie Apocalypse,” or “Witches’ Ball,” your flyer should communicate that theme through its design elements, colors, and text. This not only makes the flyer more cohesive but also attracts the right audience who is excited about that theme.

2. Use High-Quality Images

Poor-quality images can make your flyer look unprofessional. Use high-resolution photos and graphics that are visually appealing and free from pixelation. Consider using stock images or illustrations that align with your Halloween theme.

3. Play with Typography

Typography plays a crucial role in setting the tone of your flyer. Choose Halloween-themed fonts that are creepy, bold, or playful, depending on your theme. For example, a haunted house party may benefit from gothic or cracked fonts, while a children’s Halloween event could use playful, whimsical typography.

Make sure your text is legible and easy to read from a distance, especially if the flyer is being printed. Use a combination of large, bold headlines and smaller, detailed text to create a hierarchy that guides the reader through the flyer.

4. Add Fun Animations for Digital Flyers

If you’re sharing your flyer online, consider adding subtle animations or motion graphics. Small details like glowing pumpkins, moving bats, or flickering lights can bring your Halloween flyer to life and make it more engaging on digital platforms.

5. Use Contrast to Highlight Important Information

Make sure the key details of your event, such as the date, time, and venue, stand out by using contrasting colors or bold fonts. This ensures that even when someone quickly glances at the flyer, they can easily pick out the most important information.

6. Incorporate Halloween Icons and Symbols

Enhance the Halloween theme by incorporating symbols associated with the holiday. Pumpkins, witches’ hats, cobwebs, black cats, and skulls are all iconic Halloween symbols that will instantly signal the event’s spooky nature. Use them creatively within your flyer to add flair without overwhelming the design.

7. Leave Some White Space

Even though it’s tempting to fill the flyer with all sorts of Halloween visuals and text, less is often more. Leaving enough white space around your elements helps the flyer look clean, professional, and easy to read. It also draws more attention to the important details like the event title, date, and call to action.

Benefits of Using a Halloween Flyer Template

Using a pre-designed flyer template has its advantages, especially if you’re short on time or design expertise. Below are some benefits of opting for a Halloween flyer template:

Saves Time: Templates come with pre-set layouts, fonts, and graphics, which means you can create a professional-looking flyer in minutes. Just customize the text and images, and you’re ready to go.

Consistency: Templates ensure that your flyer has a cohesive design, with elements that work well together. This creates a polished and professional appearance.

Flexibility: Most flyer templates are customizable, allowing you to modify the colors, fonts, and images to match your event’s theme and branding.

Affordable: Many templates are free or inexpensive, making them a budget-friendly option for promoting your Halloween party.

How to Distribute Your Halloween Party Flyer

Once your flyer is ready, it’s time to share it with the world. There are various methods for distributing your Halloween Night Party flyer to maximize its reach:

Print Flyers for Local Distribution: Print physical copies of your flyer and distribute them in high-traffic areas such as coffee shops, community centers, schools, and local businesses. You can also post them on bulletin boards or hand them out at related events.

Social Media: Share your flyer on platforms like Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, and TikTok. Create a digital version optimized for social sharing and consider using hashtags like #HalloweenParty, #SpookyEvent, or #HalloweenFlyer to increase visibility.

Email Marketing: Send your flyer to your mailing list to directly reach your audience. Include a personalized message to encourage RSVPs and excitement about the event.

Event Websites: Post your flyer on event listing sites such as Eventbrite, Meetup, or local community forums to reach people who are actively searching for events to attend.

QR Codes: Add QR codes to your flyer that direct people to your event’s website or social media page for easy RSVP and additional information.

Conclusion

A well-designed Halloween Night Party flyer template can make all the difference in promoting your event and ensuring its success. By including essential elements like a captivating title, striking visuals, and clear event details, your flyer will grab attention and entice people to attend. Follow the tips mentioned above, and you.

[pseudo-ersatz]

Another Gods & Monsters screen print poster, three colors, with a few tricks with 'trapping' that miiiiight be able to see with the blue halo effect on the darker lines. This art was also used to promote the event ... after which I was told we might need to tone it down to hang flyers around town. ... I mean, they're not wrong. But, I wish I didn't live in a world with so many 'hang-ups' <:j

...and some views on the entire process - minus the digital application and so on. You can see I only inked maybe 70% of the original design, and added the rest using pieces/parts from older art I had no real further use for.

[docdesign]

This is an event flyer for Chappell Roan's Midwest Princess tour. The color scheme of this document is very cohesive, where the creator chose one hue and worked with tones rather than choosing a handful of different colors. The use of different fonts, the size of the text, and the use of color add an effective contrast to the focal points of the flyer, and the secondary contact information uses smaller print and is located near the bottom of the document.

[mrnicekisser]

[Street Gacha] Chapter 5

Written by 木野誠太郎

Hayate: Ahh. That's pretty good.

Runa: Haa, huh... That's a disgrace, isn't it?

If you lose to the "ally of justice", you'll become the great villain.

Hayate: By the way, you said you were looking for new owners. Do you think you might be able to find one?

Runa: No. I guess it's not easy to find a good person who will take in a cat that you don't know where it came from. It's a bit strange to call a cat "a horse bone" though.

If I were to look for one, I'd look for a place where people gather, like a busy downtown area on holidays.

I plan my strategy every day, but it turns out that it's difficult to find someone just by handing out posters and flyers.

I think it's legal to just post a notice on a utility pole, but getting permission is a pain. I don't really like public authority, you know?

Mizuki: If there are people who can attract a lot of customers with their street performances, they can also advertise for you. But you don't see that kind of thing often in downtown areas, do you?

Hayate: Surely. Maybe it's because there's an amusement park nearby, so the comedians and people in costumes go there instead of downtown. Downtown areas have an image of being for shoppers.

If you want to appeal to shoppers, hmm?

Of course, it would be rude to put up a sign in front of a pet shop, but it would be even worse to stop people from coming to other stores.

Hey, wait...I think I have a clever idea.

Runa: What is it?

Hayate: All you need to do is attract attention from people in the downtown area, right?

Then there's someone suitable for the job. Kuromori-senpai from the light music club.

I met her not so while ago, and it looked like she was on her way to the clothing store. I think she's still in the downtown area, so if you look for her, she'll be able to help.

Mizuki: I see...Certainly, that girl who had gained enthusiastic support as a "fallen angel" might be able to attract attention.

Runa: If we decide to do that, why don't we start searching for Kuromori-senpai? I think it would be much more effective than trying to attract customers ourselves.

"Fallen Angel" Kuromori Suzu's skills are on display. ♪

Hayate: ..That's why. Could you please help me, Kuromori-senpai?

Suzu: Eh, I don't like that idea.

Hayate: I-Is that an immediate answer!? You have mercy, right?

Suzu: No. I'd like to help if I can. Unfortunately, I don't have any instruments or stage costumes with me now.

Even if i did, the song is a blasphemous and noisy.

I am very different from the kind of good people who pick up abandoned cats. I will probably be avoided.

in addition, if you put on an extreme performance and get arrested by a police officer, it would be a "thing".

I was suspended from school at the beginning of this year for something I did in the Dark Culture Festival. If I cause further trouble in public, I could be expelled rather than suspended.

If you look at us, we're not the type of people who would take care of an abandoned cat, right? But contrary to appearances, we do take care of them. 

In other words, there's nothing strange about someone who likes rock music and also likes cats!

Even if the police spots you, you can just run away. Kuromori-senpai in "Fallen Angels" runs away in the face of power, is that a joke?

Hayate: No, no. I don't think I would let my senior, who is graduating in six months, cross this dangerous bridge. I guess I have no choice but to start by handing out flyers.

Mizuki: But printing flyers is expensive enough. I used up all my pocket money on feeding the cat.

Hayate: I wonder if I can do it by hand, or if it would take a lot of time to make handwritten flyers. What should I do?

Suzu: Hmm. If we keep quiet, they can say what they want... Do you not care about our opinions? No matter how much the light music club seeks chaos, they are nothing more than puppets.

If Ruka has something to say, feel free to do it. What do you think about this situation with kittens?

Ruka: Ah, yes, sorry! It was so fun to play with kittens, I got distracted...

Hehehe. This one is so affectionate and cute...

It's outrageous that we would abandon such babies. But at the same time, I think it's a good opportunity.

Suzu: ...A good opportunity?

Ruku: Yes. Um, well... If you can't play the noisy songs, I thought maybe you should play songs that aren't noisy so you won't get in trouble.

Suzu-senpai might not like it though. Hey, sometimes she composes ballad-like songs.

There's a song that I wrote but haven't released since because it doesn't fit the image of a "Fallen Angel". If you don't mind, I'd like you to sing it.

However, if you need an instrument, I'll buy a guitar for practice, so I'm sure you'll be fine using that! I think casual clothes will suit you better, as it will match your usual melody...

Suzu: ...

Suzu: Well. I can't sing songs that aren't rock. I couldn't sing even if you'll ask me to.

Ruka: Sigh...

Hayate: Hey, hey. Are you more concerned about your image than about stray kittens?

Suzu: Listen to the end, "ally of Justice." You don't like it when your advances are ignored, do you?

Suzu: I am a fallen angel. I am an eccentric person who was saved by rock-and-roll, which is like a snoring sound to the gods of heaven, and who found salvation in such songs.

Even if such a person were to sing a ballad, it would not resonate with the souls of the onlookers because it would not come from the heart.

However, if Ruka will sing, it would be a different story. It hasn't been long since she has been a member of the light music club.

Although she is a fallen angel (Lucifer) with broken wings, she should be able to sing songs that resonate with people as a life-sized girl.

So...I'll take it a little lightly when you sing a love song in front of me. I help Ruka play the song, and Ruka makes her singing voice resonate. How about it?

Ruka: Y-you want me to... sing?

[burnwater13]

Well, Greef Karga was good to his word and sent a crew over to pick up all the set pieces, flats, and other decorations Grogu and the Mandalorian had made over the last day or two. Grogu had been amazed to see how much of it there was. It was almost as if they were recreating that whole laboratory place from the destroyed Imp base. 

Grogu had only wanted a few pieces to give off the creepy vibe that place still had. He certainly hadn’t intended to build a replica of the cloning console or a whole cloning chamber. He didn’t even remember asking R5 to get him the Spaarti cylinders. But when he reviewed his list, they were right there with a little green check mark next to them. 

Grogu wondered how many other things he had designed and built without knowing about it. Probably more than one. He checked the list while his dad was packing some things up for them so they could supervise the installation at the civic office complex. He was glad that his dad had thought of that. He was still so discombobulated after discovering that he’d done a bunch of work he didn’t remember, he didn’t trust himself to do anything more complex then review the list. 

Apparently, Grogu had really wanted people to remember how awful the Empire had been, once he looked over the list. He’d found the descriptions for the Emperor’s Throne Room, the high security prisoner’s cells you’d find on any Imperial Star Destroyer or Dreadnaught, the diorama for the energy shield shaft used on the Second Sun, and finally, a scene that was just lava flows as part of an industrial background. Grogu had no idea why that scene was so creepy, but it was. 

Those scenes were going to look very different from the ones he remembered designing and painting. Those had been more mundane, like the playing fields at the Jedi Temple, or krill ponds on Sorgan, or even the entrance to the Krayt dragon nest on Tatooine. They were all outside areas where you could pretend that something was sneaking up on you, or where wild critters would be, or where it would rain and rain and rain. 

He had found sound effects for all of those things and thought that would be fun for his dad, because the Mandalorian had spent so much of his life cooped up on a ship and/or in his armor. He’d thought as long as he was telling stories about scary things that hadn’t happened, it would a story about his dad getting stung by a bee at an amusements park, or tripping and falling into water where the fish would catch you and bring you to the leader of the fish who would make you eat vegetables instead of good food. 

Grogu had to admit that story was more scary to him than it would likely be to the Mandalorian, but he had wanted to tell it, none the less. Now, having seen all the scenes from Imperial spaces, it seemed like Grogu wanted to terrify people with real history and not stormy night stories of things that had never happened. That gave him the shivers and his dad commented that maybe he needed to buy Grogu a jacket, since it had been getting cooler in the evenings. 

They reached Nevarro City after a short ride on the speeder bike and Grogu was relieved to see that the High Magistrate’s protocol droid had already started putting up flyers for the event. That was nice. It was printed out in bright colors like orange, purple and green. It didn’t look particularly scary, and honestly, Grogu was pretty happy about that. He was scared enough as it was and that was just because he couldn’t remember doing so much. 

“Come one, come all! Listen to the terrifying tales of “A Dark and Stormy Night’ as performed by Clan Mudhorn. Feel the chills. Feel the thrills. As Din Grogu and Din Djarin tell you how they thwarted Moff Gideon!” 

Grogu’s dad sighed as he read the copy from one of the posters. Grogu didn’t remember writing that but it did sound like something he would write. He was proud of how he and his dad and the other Mandalorian kicked the Imps off Mandalore and stopped that Imp remnant from threatening folks. 

“Buddy, tonight you’re sleeping in my room. I don’t want you waking up and sneaking off to do more stuff like this. You’ll wear yourself out.” 

Grogu nodded his head and coo’d at his dad. He didn’t want to wear himself out either. Now people were expecting an exciting show of storytelling and he wasn’t sure if the stories he’d been working on would do the trick. He didn’t even know what stories his dad was working on because they hadn’t had a chance to talk about it. 

What if Din Djarin regaled the fine citizens of Nevarro City with the story of the horror of running out of armor polish on a day the shops were closed to celebrate the beginning of spring? Or worse, what if he explained in great detail how he helped Grogu deal with an ingrown hair in the middle of his back?! That thing had itched like crazy, but Grogu didn’t think that was a good basis for a scary story. 

As they walked into the civic offices, Grogu groaned in embarrassment. He didn’t remember painting a flat that showed him with the Mandalorian. He wasn’t embarrassed by the artwork, far from it. It looked great. But he’d never worn a black, hooded cloak, and his hands were green, not blue and white like Force lightning and his eyes definitely weren’t red! Uff. The Mandalorian’s figure looked fine. At least to Grogu.

“Buddy, my visor doesn’t glow green and purple. Not even if I wanted it to.”

Grogu shook his head, then heard a voice whisper in his ear, “But it could. It could!” And then he heard cackling and the sound of thunder crashing. 

Oh, no! Not again!

[aminagfx00]

Elevate Your Brand with Expert Graphic Design: Amina Rehmat’s Creative Touch

Welcome to my blog! I’m Amina Rehmat, a seasoned Graphic Designer with over three years of experience specializing in various aspects of graphic design. My work encompasses branding, logo design, print design, and packaging design, all tailored to elevate your brand's visual identity.

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Logo Design: My logo designs are unique and memorable, providing your brand with a professional and recognizable mark.

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Explore My Portfolio:

Take a look at my work to see how I can help transform your brand’s visual presence. Visit my portfolio on Behance to view a curated selection of my design projects.

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Email: aminarehmat.gfx@gmail.com

Phone: 03419862750

Feel free to reach out to discuss your design needs or to get a quote. I look forward to helping you bring your vision to life!

[voteoakes]

task 001 ! *// 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐚 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢'𝐦 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞

dominic has never been particularly decisive about (anything?) the places he lives. he lived in a dorm at a boarding school long before he had opinions about the matter, his random-lottery roommate assignment just so happened to be dipped in gold, and his apartment is paid for, the final say belonging to, his parents. no place has ever, truly belonged to him, but this two-bedroom with @saxifraged comes close.

⋆ the bedroom was simple to arrange. aileen and his mother came to a tidy conclusion: the sports memorabilia she wanted out of her house would have a place in italy, as long as it was kept in frames, on shelves, and with pennants cleanly pressed. on move-in day, dom simply held the hammer while the women he loved most instructed and directed, upholding a silent agreement as they put together the image of their shared interest - dom. the gallery wall they arranged consists of shadow boxes of the lanyards worn by season-pass holders to the capitals, too nostalgic to toss; printed photos of his high-school rowing team; and the map of his first marathon run, accented with the assorted medal or two draped precisely to toe the line between juvenile and prideful. ⋆ his desk sees the most use, often strewn with sticky-notes in a dozen shades and notes on the whiteboard calendar above, tacked with polaroid pictures, movie tickets, flyers. he doesn't keep much, too accustomed to a divided life, but paper trash that previously lived in his wallet now has a properly devoted shrine. while chan could never help in this particular arena, dom is a great studier, and by effect, probably spends most of his time here. ⋆ the rest of the apartment, as far as he's concerned, is emilia's to dictate. if she texted him an amazon link, he bought it. bookcase, art print, tv stand - no questions asked. she knew better than him, this was doubtless, but he also considers it his attempt at making theirs a fair trade. they cook together, but em always leaves him leftovers. they share chores, but em always cleans up before they have the club over. em dusts in places dom didn't know could gather dust, keeps the frames straight, chills his drinking glasses after class, and charges his watch when he accidentally abandons it on the kitchen counters. the least he can do in return is take up a very minimal space in the shower organizer. if, one day, there is a way to return the good fortune he received with emilia medina from batesville, indiana, he will.

[magicwithclass]

Storm Spirit is one of very few three color cards on the reserved list. This card shows that the color pie was an absolute mess during the first 5 years of the game. I wish the color pie had been firmly established in alpha but even today the color pie has too much flux. Just recently, blue gained vigilance as an evergreen keyword after over 30 years. So what does this card actually do? Well, it is a 3/3 flyer for 6 mana. That is very under the curve especially since you are paying for three different colors. Next, it taps to do 2 damage to any creature. I don't know how you combine blue, green, and white and get a direct damage effect. What were they thinking? Dealing damage to a creature is primary in red and secondary in black. Usually when black deals damage to a creature you also gain that much life so it is more of a drain but black sometimes gets direct damage. Most colors can deal damage to a creature but in its own unique way. White can deal damage to a creature equal to the number of creatures you control or it can deal damage to attacking or blocking creatures. Green can deal damage to flyers or artifact creatures. Blue cannot deal damage at all. I guess they wanted you to get an off color effect as a reward for dipping into three colors but this card would never be printed today. If you must play this card, I would reccomend you put it in a deck based around untapping your creatures. Bant is actually the best color combination for untap shenanigans but there are so many more synergistic cards to use. You can also just throw this card in an elemental or spirit typal deck.