#i'm never sure when it's the final boss update.. will there be another one

[servospawn]

Finally got SL Granger just about mirroring his TS4 self & PLEASE.. I am so relieved to have some semblance of consistency across platforms.

[glossdebut]

Take a Bite Ch. 1

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: social drinking, mechanical bull-related injuries lol

✧ WORDCOUNT: 2.7k so far

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi! i'm aqua and this is my first ever fic so please be nice!! i will be crossposting this work and all future works on my ao3 of the same name. i'm figuring out how this works as i go, so please be patient with me. tags are subject to change with every update. i won't have a posting schedule for this one, but i have the first few chapters pre-written, so expect an update sometime next week!

Chapter 1: Lay Your Cards Down, Down, Down, Down

Although this is the furthest thing from your scene, you can’t help but think to yourself that you should invest in some cowboy boots. You could make them work, you’re sure of it.

Even if you know you would never pull the trigger on purchasing any, too far out of the comfort zone of your normal style, the thought is the only thing keeping you sane—that, and the sound of Cowboy Carter blasting through the speakers of the bar, a welcome reprieve from the drawling, boring country anthems you’d been suffering through for the past hour or so. 

You pride yourself on seeing the merit in all genres of music, you do. You were always the type of person who puffed up her chest when you told people ‘I listen to everything,’ uncaring of how pretentious it may sound. You mean it. It’s an asset in your line of work, and as far as you’re concerned, a little bit of pretentiousness is a small price to pay for the, quite frankly, baller route your fledgling career is heading in. 

But a Western bar? Not the kind of place you’d spend a precious Friday night willingly. Another hazard of the job.

After months of skillfully avoiding the weekly Friday nights out with the other rookie reporters at the magazine, you’d run out of excuses not to join them. If four years studying communications taught you anything, it was that connections are everything in the journalism business. Even more so where the music industry is concerned.

So here you are, at your fourth stop of your night of bar hopping with your extroverted and extremely drunk coworkers, nursing warm beer and observing from the least populated corner you managed to scout upon entry. All things considered, you had been a good sport at the three previous stops. You just draw the line at square dancing with the people you work with. College may have beaten your fear of impromptu phone calls and talking to strangers out of you, but your social battery can only take so much. 

Your phone battery, too, you think bitterly as you stare down at the low battery warning on your screen. Okay, so you’ll finish your shitty beer (because you’re not quite successful enough yet to afford wasting alcohol that you’re paying for) and then use your phone’s remaining juice to catch an Uber home. No biggie.

You’re in the middle of turning off your phone with full intent to work out the kinks of your exit strategy when you realize, with irritation, that your chosen corner is about to be invaded.

Your eyes land on a pair of black Jordans ( in a Western bar? your mind supplies, as if you have any room to judge in your Docs) and travel up, past torn black jeans and a black shirt, and just when you’re sensing a theme with this guy, your eyes reach a head of (regrettably, very nice) black hair and a pair of the darkest eyes you’ve ever seen. Anish Kapoor would wail at the sight of these eyes, you think.

As if sensing your apprehension, your corner-thief raises his free hand (the other clutching a plastic cup of his own) palm out, as if to say ‘I come in peace’ and stops in his tracks.

“I can find another spot,” corner-thief says, the low rumbling of his voice barely audible above Texas Hold ‘Em. “I’m just waiting for one of my friends to get bored or injured so I can leave.”

“Injured,” you repeat, despite your better judgment to take him up on his offer and let him be on his way. But your phone is dead and you’re a little bit drunk, bored, and even for an unwanted partner in social evasion, this guy is nicer to look at than the frat guys playing beer pong you’ve been observing for the better part of an hour.

Corner-thief grins a stupidly charming gummy smile, leaning just the slightest bit closer to be heard better but still keeping a respectful distance. As if he’s still wary that you’ll lunge at him if he encroaches on your space any further. Good man.

“There’s a mechanical bull upstairs,” he says, using his index finger on the hand holding his cup to point at the ceiling above you both.

Of course there is. With your luck, you’ll also have to peel someone off of the floor later after going head-to-head with the bull.

“Not your thing?” you guess, glancing pointedly at his Jordans, and he shakes his head, huffing through his nose in what you can only guess is a laugh.

“No, I wouldn’t say so.” 

He pauses, shifting from foot to foot for a moment before speaking again. “So, will you share your wall? I can look around again but this place is more packed than I would’ve pegged it for.”

You nod and he smiles again thankfully, taking the spot on the wall next to you. That should be it. Two strangers who don’t want to be here standing in companiable silence next to each other while they wait for their friends–or coworkers, in your case–to put them out of their misery and let them go home.

But… You consider your options, your phone taking its dying breath in your pocket, and you sigh, turning to him.

“Y/N,” you say, holding out your hand for him to shake. 

He takes it with his free hand, giving you an amused look. “Yoongi.”

“What’s that look for?”

He laughs again, a little bit more this time, and your heart does a stupid, funny thing. “I don’t think I’ve ever been greeted by a pretty girl in a bar with a handshake,” he says, causing you to flush and pull your hand away as if it’d been burned, your shoulders tensing as you take a sip of your beer. 

A western bar certainly isn’t your scene, but admittedly, neither are bars or clubs in general. You got all of that out of your system in college where everyone was awkward as fuck or too drunk to care that you were, and ever since you got your degree you have lived and breathed your work. Your social skills were never quite up to par, but you didn’t realize you were this fucking embarrassing.

“I came out with coworkers right after we got off, so I think I’m still kind of in work mode,” you lie, and as if sensing that you feel slightly made fun of, Yoongi shakes his head.

“I didn’t mean it as a bad thing, swear,” he says, tilting his head at you. Dark eyes considering you. “Honestly, I’m thankful you’re putting up with me at all. I don’t think I’d be so kind if the roles were reversed. I know firsthand how hard it is to find a spot to breathe in places like this.”

You feel your shoulder muscles relax just the slightest bit. “I thought about sending you away, but I couldn’t help it. My heart aches when I see an introvert in need of a hiding spot,” you attempt to joke. 

“At least I’m out with friends,” he says sympathetically. “I’ve done the coworker thing before. It’s a drag.”

“It’s weird ,” you correct. “I mean, I sit in meetings with these people. I avoid answering their emails all day. Why is it considered rude to not want to see them piss drunk?”

Yoongi hums in agreement, nodding his head. “What do you do, anyway?”

“I work for Look Here Magazine,” you reply, straightening up a bit in pride when Yoongi’s eyes flash with recognition, his body turning so his shoulder is against the wall now. You turn as well, facing him. “I write for the music section.”

“No shit? I’ve probably read your stuff, then,” Yoongi says, grinning. 

He’s cute. Hot. You can’t help but notice, no matter how hard you’re trying not to. The way that he seems to carry himself in particular, you think, might end up driving you crazy if you’re exposed to it for too long. Maybe you’ve been living under a rock, but you’ve never met a fellow wallflower that still exuded such confidence. He wears it insanely well.

“Look Here covers a lot of big artists,” you hear him continue. “I’m a little surprised you’re hugging the wall, honestly. This place is nothing compared to music industry parties.”

“Ah, I only started a few months ago,” you admit, looking down into your cup. “Not a lot of bylines yet. I haven’t made it into a room with an artist that big yet.”

“But you want to,” Yoongi guesses, and you nod, looking up to meet his eyes. He looks impressed, impressed by you , and that… does something to you. Huh. “Shit, that’s… That’s really cool.”

“Thanks,” you say. You can feel your cheeks heating up again, and you’re suddenly very eager to turn the attention away from yourself. “What about you? What do you do?”

“Ah,” Yoongi says, fixing his eyes to his cup just as you had a moment ago. “I’m a music producer, actually.”

You perk up at that. So that’s why he reads Look Here, why he seemed so interested when you told him what you do. 

“Anything I’ve heard?” you ask, leaning in like he’s about to tell you a secret. Networking never stops.

He watches as you lean, his mouth turning up at the corners in a smirk. “Probably.” 

You wait for more, but it doesn’t come. Shithead. So much for that.

“You’ve gotta give me more than that,” you say, and god, you can hear the pout in your own voice. Are you that drunk? Flirting for a lead in a story?

“I don’t,” Yoongi says simply, his smirk in full force now. Mean and annoying and hot. He hasn’t leaned away from you yet. “I want to know more about you, actually. Journalism is hard work. I’m surprised you have time to go out like this.”

“Like I said, I was forced.”

“Still. Spending time with your friends or family or partner or whatever must take priority when it comes to your free time.”

Why is he so interested? You scrunch your nose, trying to figure out what he could be fishing for here. You don’t make it a habit to divulge the details of your sad excuse for a personal life to strangers, but the alcohol has loosened your lips. Maybe you need to talk about it. It’s not like you’ll ever see him again, anyway.

“My family is back home. My best friend is this insanely talented playwright. She’s constantly traveling. I see her when she can get some time to fly out.” You take a quick sip of your drink, ignoring the pang in your chest. Sometimes it sneaks up on you, how lonely you are. “Other than her, it’s just me, really. The dating thing… Nobody really seems to get how demanding my job can be, and it always ends in hurt feelings.”

There’s a long pause, and you’re worried you’ve shared too much. You’re enjoying talking to Yoongi. You know it doesn’t matter, that you’ll likely never see him again, but it would really, really suck if his permanent mental image of you ends up being ‘lonely weird drunk girl,’ even if that’s what you are. You force yourself to look up at him. The look in his eyes makes your heart flip stupidly again.

“I get that,” he says, and his voice is soft, barely audible over the music filling the space. You’re reading his lips more than anything, honestly, and you don’t let yourself look at them for too long. He may be pretty—unbearably so, you’re realizing—but he’s a stranger. A mean, annoying, hot, pretty stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. Every guy says he gets it. This needs to stay what it is, you think. Momentary companionship between introverts who would rather die than square dance.

You don’t get much time to agonize over it. Whatever is going on between you and Yoongi is intercepted quickly by his phone buzzing in his pocket and his responding grimace when he pulls it out to check it.

“Namjoon fell off of the mechanical bull,” he says, like he’s completely unsurprised by that news. He downs the rest of his drink and pockets his phone again, pushing off of the wall. “I’ve gotta deal with that.”

You nod, pulling what you hope is a sympathetic face. “Good luck.”

His bottom lip catches between his teeth, and you hold your breath. He looks like he wants to say something, torn between rushing upstairs to save his friend and staying, just for a moment.

You think you know what he wants to say, think foolishly that maybe he wants to ask for your number, and you honestly don’t know if you’d give it to him if he did. You’re so used to saying no.

He runs his fingers through his hair, opens his mouth to speak, and then he looks down like his phone is buzzing again. When he looks back up, it seems like he’s thought better of it.

“Thanks for sharing your wall,” he settles on, smiling congenially. You smile back, and then he’s heading towards the stairs.

Good, you think. You know better. If he really gets it, he does too.

★ ★ ★

You’re dragged out to one more bar before you finally make it home, your interaction with Yoongi having knocked you off-kilter enough to agree to a few more drinks.

It does wonders for your social status at work, you’re sure, but by the time you’re dropped off you’re dizzy-drunk, fighting to stay upright in the elevator of your apartment building.

You’re fumbling and failing at getting your key into the lock of your front door, tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration, when a voice calling your name a few feet to your right almost makes you jump out of your skin.

You yell, clutching your chest, and when you turn to face the owner of the voice that almost made you lose the contents of your stomach on your doormat, you’re greeted by none other than corner-thief-mean-annoying-hot-pretty Yoongi himself, leaning against the door to the apartment two doors down.

“What the fuck,” you blurt out dumbly, and he laughs. At you! How dare he stand there, lean there, all hot and annoying and in your apartment building for some fucking reason and laugh at you.

“I was going to ask if you needed help,” he says, and oh, fuck. You were safe from just how deep his voice was under the thrum of the music at the bar, but in the quiet of your apartment building this late, you can hear it just fine. Feel it, even. Feel it in places you do not want to humor right now. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you do.”

It’s obvious that Yoongi is faring much better than you are, although his night clearly didn’t end after the mechanical bull incident. Faster than you can react, he’s right in front of you, gently taking your key from your hands and turning it in the lock, like it’s easy.

“Gonna make it in okay?” he asks, looking down at you. You force your brain to make words.

“I’ll be okay,” you assure him, your tongue heavy in your mouth. “Are you stalking me?”

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “I think we’re neighbors.”

“Oh.” Oh. Okay. That’s fine. Just because he’s your neighbor doesn’t mean you have to do something stupid, like see him ever again.

“Give me your number,” he says softly. Oh.

You blink at him, and he grins. Gummy smile. You feel like you’re going to vomit all over his Jordans.

“In case you ever can’t use your keys again,” he clarifies. “I told you, those music industry parties are killer.”

And really, you’re powerless to resist. You give him your number, using all of your remaining brain power to remember the order of the digits. Seemingly satisfied, Yoongi pockets his phone and steps back, heading back to his front door.

“Goodnight, neighbor,” he says, unlocking his door with ease. “Sleep on your side.”

You swallow thickly and nod, slipping inside your own apartment as quickly as you can manage. 

Once you’re in, you sink onto the floor, your back pressed against the door behind you. Your cat, perched on your coffee pot, stares at you in your drunk, flustered state, unimpressed. Offended, even, judging by the way she licks her paw.

You’re so fucked.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

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[thezombieprostitute]

Tech Tuesday: Steve Rogers

Summary: It's only your first day on the job. That's way too soon to have an office crush. Right?

Warnings: Workplace stress and bullying. Please let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is female. No physical descriptors used.

Part 1

Tech Tuesdays Masterlist

Bucky sits across from Steve, a cocky smile on his face. Steve raises an eyebrow and Bucky says, "I gave her my number." Steve doesn't know that it wasn't about a date, but he doesn't have to know.

"You didn't."

"I did," Bucky smirks. "Which means, it's your turn."

"It's...it's not the same," Steve tries to argue. "You've known your Sweetie for months now, right? This girl is still a newbie. She's barely been here a month!"

"Deal's a deal, Punk," Bucky shakes his head. "One of us gives our number, the other one has to as well."

Steve's cheeks are incredibly pink from embarrassment. He's never been good at flirting, always stumbling over his words. Sure, his body attracts attention, but inside he's still the scrawny kid who always got laughed at when he tried to talk to a girl. Especially a girl as sweet and pretty as you.

The two of you had run into each other in one of the break rooms a few times. Every time Steve talked with you, he found himself getting lost in your eyes, but that led to him not knowing what you were saying. His face would turn red and he'd quickly run out of the room. Another time you'd complimented his art and he got scared you'd see one of the drawings he did of you so he quickly closed his book and you felt bad, like you had overstepped.

And now, thanks to Bucky, Steve needs to admit he'd like to spend more time with you. Admit that he thinks about you every day. Admit that he likes you. He can do this, right?

You were crying in the ladies room for the third time since you were hired. There was so much, so fast and your coworkers were already blaming you for things. Especially things you didn't even know were your responsibility. No one had told you or shown you how to do them but they still blamed you! It's not like you were entirely new to this kind of work, but the systems were very different and, most importantly, you didn't know what was and wasn't part of your job because they hadn't told you! When you finally calm down, you head to the sinks and wash your face, trying to hide the tears.

As you tiptoe back to your cubicle, trying not to draw attention to yourself, you end up literally running into Steve, the dreamy guy from the IT Department. He manages to catch you before you fall, bringing you in for an accidental hug. You find yourself instinctively hugging him back, squeezing him tight.

"Are...are you okay?" Steve isn't going to complain about being hugged by you, but he's worried you're not in your right mind.

"Oh, sh-shoot," you break the hug and jump away. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean...I'm just..." you fight a resurgence of tears and run to your cubicle. When you get there, Maggie, your least favorite new coworker, is glaring at you, arms crossed.

"Really, Newbie," she admonishes, "you've been here a month and you still don't know how to update the most basic fields in the database?"

"I...every person does it diff--"

"Enough!" she cuts you off. "Really, you should be able to do this. You're killing our metrics!"

"I'm...I'm sorry," you hang your head, trying to not cry again. "I keep getting told different things about how to do the updates."

"Empty apologies and excuses!" Maggie retorts. "I don't know why you got hired. You're bringing us---"

"Margaret," Steve interrupts her. You jump, not realizing he had followed you. "Tell me, Margaret, how do you think your boss would react if he knew you'd been spending half your day on Facebook?"

She fumes at both of you for a minute before going back to her own cubicle.

"I really wish you hadn't done that, Steve," you whisper. "I'm already on their sh-crap list. This is only going to make it worse."

Steve takes a breath, "you're right, I'm sorry. I just really hate bullies."

"Me too," you nod. "But right now I've gotta make these bullies happy, okay?"

"It's not okay," Steve shakes his head. "But I promise I'll be more careful."

"Thank you."

Tagging: @alicedopey; @darsynia; @delicatebarness; @ellethespaceunicorn; @icefrozendeadlyqueen;

@jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory; @late-to-the-party-81; @lokislady82; @ozwriterchick; @ronearoundblindly

[terra-sketches]

EXTREMELY LONG CHARACTER ANALYSIS OF GEN NARUMI (ft. his one-sided beef with Kafka Hibino)

(Spoilers for the Kaiju no. 8 manga!!)

Maybe I'm just missing smth but i can't for the LIFE of me gauge Narumi's feelings about Kafka.

Before Isao's absorption, Gen is irritated at the suggestion that the First Division needs help from a daikaiju. He insists that he can handle No. 9 on his own and would rather have Kafka turned into a suit. Harsh. He straight up just sees Kafka as another kaiju and doesn't give a single fuck about Kafka's personal reasons for joining the force.

After Isao gets absorbed, Gen backtracks and is like "never-mind, actually I could use your strength now that I know what we're up against" and that's nice and all but then he's also like "I don't care if you turn into a kaiju, I'll just kill you". So you know, two steps forward, three steps back. He still doesn't want to humanize Kafka and that's??? bizarre to me?? Like Kafka has NEVER wronged Gen or done anything to offend him and yet Gen refuses to acknowledge his humanity more than a simple "We really shouldn't let a solider keep fighting to their detriment.... but I'm gonna ask you to stay anyway"

Gen isn't a heartless asshole, we SEE how chill/informal he can be with Kikoru and the rest of the First Division at times, so wtf is his weirdness with Kafka about? His feelings are a little TOO cold when they realistically should be more on the neutral side (like how Isao felt, a very "nothing personal" vibe).

Then Kafka asks Gen to help with private training and Gen's expression is so unreadable??? Is he mad? Does he care? Wtf is going on? Why is he always glaring at Kafka? Is that just his "serious captain" face? Why'd he activate his kaiju eyes? GEN WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? DO YOU SEE KAFKA AS AN ALLY OR A FOE? AND WHY?

UPDATE: ok so I’ve thought about it while this sat in my drafts and I can answer my own musings.

I take back what I said about Kafka never upsetting Gen.

Yes he did lol, he TOTALLY did.

And Gen won’t get over it anytime soon but he’s making an effort post-Isao's death. To sum it up, they got off on the wrong foot and Gen is still huffy about it.

Gen’s first impression of Kafka amounts to “Dangerous Daikaiju! Almost killed Mr. Isao >:(“ and that negative sentiment bleeds into every future interaction with Kafka. That’s why he’s unusually hostile and apathetic toward Kafka.

I mean, put yourself in Gen’s shoes.

A 9.8 fortitude (highest fortitude recorded in history) daikaiju is discovered to have been living among the humans (huge red flag) at the third division and your mentor (whom you care about a whole lot) wants to poke at it to test its humanity. You would rather just neutralize the threat while it seems docile but noooooooo, everyone wants to see what it can do. So you’re on standby to watch it plead for it’s life to your mentor. First it's a little pathetic, pretty human actully, but then it goes fucking bonkers on your mentor. You’re waiting for the signal to jump in. But Isao won't give the signal even as he's getting his shit rocked. And you’re like, ‘holy shit am I about the watch this man die!? I gotta get tf out there!” Then No. 8 stabs itself in a freak display of "self-control"??? And finally you arrive ready to kill it but Isao tells you not to?? Like “ok, you’re the boss” but now what?? What are they even gonna do with this unpredictable freak?

Next thing you know, Isao wants you to WORK ALONGSIDE the thing that almost killed him? And you’re like “no wtf, I don’t need its help” bc hello?? You don't trust this unstable thing (and you're kinda prideful). However, Isao insists and you respect Isao enough to reluctantly go along with it. You make sure No. 8 knows its place though! If it makes one wrong move then it’s DEAD MEAT!! No. 8 tries to gives some sob story but you don’t care. It proved how dangerous it can be to humans and that makes it just like any other kaiju. It's past as a human doesn't matter anymore.

End scene---

I understand Gen now omg?? He’s just being cautious, protective even. He doesn’t want someone else to fight No. 8 and get themselves killed (also killing one of the strongest recorded daikiaju in history would be a massive ego boost). That’s why he makes it crystal clear that he’ll kill Kafka if anything happens and that's also why Kafka knows to go to Gen to train his kaiju form.

Gen really will just fucking kill him if things go wrong. And Kafka’s okay with that because he gets that he's a threat. (ouch)

Kikoru doesn’t share Gen feelings and that’s only because Kikoru knew Kafka before the Isao vs. No. 8 fight. Kafka saved her twice so she knows he’s a good man. (Even though he beat the shit out of her father LMAO)

[beauty-and-passion]

Did you see Thomas Sanders' YouTube community post about his plans for videos, including Sanders Sides?

... well, it looks like something happened in the SaSi fandom. Jeez, I cannot leave for a couple months to celebrate the Gravity Falls renaissance, that Mr. Sanders decides to pull up some stunts while I wasn't looking :P

Maybe he hoped I wouldn't notice. That I was gone. Well, unfortunately for him, I am always around - and if I lose something, there are always nice people ready to give me a heads-up. So here I am again, ready to give my unrequested two cents about the latest updates.

A lot of things happened since dear anon wrote me this ask, so I will not talk about one single post (also because I have no idea what post the anon was referring to :P) but I will briefly talk about the latest info taken straight from the ts_criticism tag, which is always the most updated place regarding SaSi.

No, Mr. Sanders' updates do not count, considering they're non-existent.

_____________

Season 2 finale: to watch or not to watch?

There was a survey going on in the criticism tag regarding the season 2 finale and whether people would watch it on YouTube, another platform, or just ignore it.

Now we can tell ourselves all the stories we want, but at the end of the day, we know everyone will watch it - no matter if on Thomas' YouTube page or somewhere else.

And even though we already know it will never be worth the years of waiting, I am sure everyone will still give it a chance. The view count will be high.

But if that's true for part one, who knows what will happen for all other parts? What if part 1 is not worth the wait? Will people still be willing to give a try to the other parts? Will they be willing to wait who knows how long for them?

_____________

The hilariously bad Brei Grace situation

Is it so surprising, that Thomas lost another person working for him? It's basically a constant, considering people keep being laid off, disappearing or not getting paid enough. By now, you would think this man learned something from the past but hey, it looks like I overestimated his intelligence.

What I find incredibly funny about this situation is not that Brei herself had to tell the truth to the public because Thomas, as always, refuses to be honest about anything. It's about this specific part of his post regarding Roleslaying with Roman:

Oh my god, this is so bad it's hilarious.

So Thomas laid his last writer off, but apparently he wasn't clever enough to find a proper replacement before doing it and he openly admitted in a post, to his fans (including his investors) that he has no writer to replace Brei and will have to keep following/begging her to get more of the script, because there's no one else who can develop the story in her place.

Do I really have to explain why everything about this is so stupid? Do I? Okay, then:

Thomas was apparently very quick at firing Brei, but not quick enough in finding another writer before doing it. That's not how any competent person works: when I left my last job, my boss asked me to stay for a couple more days, just enough to get a replacement. But hey, I suppose "finding a replacement" and "not leaving a vacant position" were too complex, too difficult thoughts for Mr. Sanders.

Mr. Sanders showed his investors he's so disorganized and impulsive, he fired someone with no backup plan and, as a result, had to put the series on hold. One of the series people are paying him to produce. If I were still paying him, I would stop immediately after this: if you're this unprofessional, you don't deserve money.

After laying Brei off, Thomas still wants to reach her for details regarding the story. The same story he fired her from. If he was so desperate for more of her work, he should've found a way to keep her around, not laid her off, then waste more time trying to find a way to get more of her.

If I were Brei, I would ignore Thomas forever and refuse to write even one more word regarding Roleslaying. But I'm a cold, heartless person, so I don't count. Still hope Brei will have some self-respect and refuse to share her work for free just because he's begging.

Or, at least, I hope she will ask for pre-payments first.

Thomas thought it was a great idea to show how unprofessional and disorganized he is via Twitter post. And refused to say the whole truth too. And no one was in the room to tell him: "Hey, what if you get a replacement first, so at least you won't have to admit you are dropping a series because you have no writer left?".

That's so stupid it doesn't even make me mad. It simply goes all the way around and becomes pure genius.

It also (involuntarily?) reconfirms a thought I had long ago, when Joan left. When I watched the goodbye video, I expected Thomas and/or Joan to tell us: "Hey, Joan is leaving, but here is the person who will replace them!".

But nope, no introduction of a new writer, no update post. Literally nothing. Joan left and no one came in. Only vague mentions of other people and names, but mostly Thomas confirming he was the main SaSi writer.

Thomas. Who is not a writer - let alone a competent one.

That's so stupid it's hilarious.

So, since now Thomas got rid of his last writer, what will he do? Learn how to become one? Considering his lack of progress in general, I suppose not.

So what? Will he hire another one of his friends? Will he think he can do anything and write RwR himself? Or will he keep trying on SaSi, a series that is so difficult to handle and with so many stakes, that even a competent writer would have problems with?

The incompetence has just reached a new level and I can't wait to see how deeper we can go.

_____________

The spoilers for the next SaSi episode

Thanks to @t-slanders, who appeared out of nowhere and decided to feed us something more than the absolute nothing Thomas gave us for years, we know what the next SaSi episode will be about.

And look, it's a plot in which:

The main topic of discussion is Thomas and Nico's relationship

Roman is ready to push things further

Janus and Virgil are not

Virgil is hiding he's on Janus' side

Wow. Wow. That's what Thomas came up with, this is what he's working on for 4+ years and hasn't finished writing yet.

Now, I'm not saying he should've created another plot: that's the only possible plot he could've developed. The only one that made sense, considering how WTIT ended and what was hinted during the 5 year anniversary special.

Why am I so sure of that? Because those are the exact same plot points for the season 2 finale - part 1 I came up with: in my version, Thomas was questioning if he was ready to have a relationship with Nico, Roman wanted to push things further, Janus wanted Thomas to be more cautious, Virgil was siding with Janus but refused to admit it.

Sure, some elements are different of course, but the plot points are the same. The biggest difference is that it took me a few months to develop them into a plot, not 4+ years.

And since those are the plot points, I already know how they will develop too. And not because I'm a genius but, again, they can only go in one direction: Thomas will eventually agree with Janus, it will become obvious Virgil is siding with him, Roman will feel betrayed and his arc will start in the next parts. It's already all written here, it can only go this way. The time travel idea is an "embellishment", but the plot can only go one way.

However, that doesn't mean the season finale will be automatically bad. A lot of stories I can predict end up being great anyway. So no, I won't judge it for its predictability. I will judge it for the production time and the characters' personalities.

And speaking of personalities...

_____________

The tweet video

I watched it at 2x speed, because didn't want to waste too much time on it.

It was... okay. Just okay. The characters' personalities are just okay. Everything is just okay.

Sigh. I'm tired of everything being "just okay".

And no, I cannot shake the feeling that Thomas pulled out this video in 0.2 seconds, only because he had a sponsorship to do.

One last thing I want to tell now, so consider it a warning: if the next episode and/or eventual season finale part 1 are "just okay", I will consider it negatively. From a canonical episode, I expect more than to feel "meh" while watching it.

_____________

And now?

We do the same thing we do every night, my dears: we wait forever for Mr. Sanders to finally decide to update us, to work on SaSi, or to do some stupid shit worthy of a discussion.

Of course, that doesn't mean we should burn him at the stake or cancel SaSi: we are all adults here, so we will simply highlight the shit Thomas does, because if you do stupid shit, you deserve to be criticized. That's not a personal attack, that's just being objective. I hope, one day, he will learn that too.

And maybe, who knows? He will also learn from his mistakes, hire someone competent, pay them properly and not lay them off without finding a replacement first.

Or, maybe, he will just find the perfect excuse to drop SaSi/put the finale on hold forever, so he will be finally free from the burden he clearly feels. When that day comes, I wish him to find a series he will be truly passionate enough, to keep it on until the end.

And sure, of course I will be around when the supposed next episode will supposedly come out: one part of me hopes it will be good, while the other part loves shooting a fish in a barrel. So... well, at least I will be satisfied either way ;P

[justrainandcoffee]

Never is too late (Tommy Shelby x male!oc) Part 2

Masterlist - Part 1.

Summary: Jared Walsh goes to Tommy's office to talk about business and inevitably Alfie's name appears in the conversation. || Jared's brother, James, goes to London. And the complicated universe around them, starts to align.

Warnings: Mentions of killing.

Words: 1k. || This story follows the events that happened here. || Ages later, but I'm updating.

"There's a man in your office," Lizzie said as soon as Tommy entered. "I told him, he couldn't get in but he did it anyway."

"Who's he?"

"I don't know. But he said 'I'll wait for him inside. That's what I do.' I think is Irish."

"Fuck me…"

Tommy lit a cigarette before entering his own office. For the last two weeks, Jared Walsh became a constant presence in his life. If something seemed to Tommy was that he was a very persistent man.

After their first meeting in the Garrison, Tommy found him in another five occasions. Six with this one.

The windows were wide open and among with the sun, a chill air filled the office usually closed and only illuminated by the lamps.

Jared was in his chair reading a book and looked at him over it when he heard the door open. He raised his eyes from the pages.

"You're late," he said and then looked at the book again.

"I'm the boss, I can arrive at the time I want or never leave."

"That last option seems more reasonable for someone like you."

"You don't know me," Tommy stated.

"I know you enough to know that you're addicted to work. You're a controller and want to be in charge all the time. You trust your family but not enough when it's about business that means you consider yourself smarter than them but probably you also feel envious that they have a family and time for themselves and you don't. Behind that mask of someone who pretends to be a cold man there's a person craving love. Although you're scared of the consequences of it because in the past didn't work. Am I wrong, Mr. Shelby?"

"I want my chair back, Mr. Walsh."

"Sure."

Jared stood up and went to the opposite side of the desk, while Tommy finally sat on his chair.

"I thought my secretary told you not to enter here."

"Did she?"

"What do you want, Mr. Walsh?"

"Finish our business. You called me, I came and here we are, exactly where we start."

"Business take time. How can I do business with someone I don't trust?"

"You don't? You have nothing that I would want. At this point, mostly I'm doing things because I'm having fun. So, I'm not going to betray you."

Tommy stood up again and walked to his bar "whiskey?"

"Is it from Dublin? Irish at least?"

"From London."

"Londoner? Rubbish. No, thanks. One day you'll understand that when it's about whiskey, we Irish, we make it better and not just whiskey." Jared said and winked.

Tommy opted for not responding. "Your legal business is producing beer," he said returning to his seat. "But you sell liquor to the Americans."

"My legal business is more than that. After I killed my father-" Jared said and stopped talking to for a second to look at Tommy but he just lit another cigarette "I demolished several whorehouses he had and I transformed them into pubs where we sell our own Irish beer. The money never leaves our circle. And as for the liquor… yes. The Americans. A lot of Irishmen migrated to the States and those we remain here we act like connection between them and us. Family comes first."

"And yet you killed your father."

"I shot him like if he was duck. I hunt for fun and food. But he was even less than that, at least ducks provide us with feathers for pillows and meat for meals. He was not a family, Mr. Shelby. Never was. He spilled his seed in my mother and had three sons, three pretty fucked up boys. So, you tell me."

"I wish I would have killed mine" was all Tommy said.

For a moment both men remained in silence. Jared stared at him. If he could describe Tommy Shelby in one word it'd be melancholic. He was the leader of a group of gangsters, he was smart, well dressed, cunning but above everything he was a sad man. Solitaire, even. Surrounded by people who claimed to understand him but that they didn't.

Except one.

"I thought you were doing business with Solomons, from London," Jared said. "He's involved in sending illegal whiskey and rum to America."

"I'm not doing business with him anymore. Not for now at least."

"May I ask why?"

"No."

Jared nodded. "Fine, then let me think about it. Last thing I need is a war against the jews for a bottle of rum and a pair of pants. We'll see again, Mr. Shelby."

The Irishman stood up and offered him his hand to him. Tommy shook it.

"My book, Mr Walsh."

"This one?" Jared smirked putting it under his arm. "I'll read it. If you want it back, then come and get it, Mr. Shelby."

Jared started to walked towards the door he never turned around to see Tommy. "Hotel Grand Birmingham. Suite 2. The book will be waiting for you, any night."

Lizzie was the only one who saw him smirking as Jared crossed the office to go back to his suite.

.

"Tell me you're not fucking Shelby."

The voice on the phone belonged to his middle brother, James. He was only a year younger than Jared, the closest to him and also his right hand.

Even before Jared killed their father, James changed his surname and started to use his mother's maiden name. So he was James Thorne, instead of Walsh. And Jared sr could have beaten him up if it wasn't because even when he was 16, James was already taller and stronger than him.

Jared trusted his brother as he was himself. James probably was a murderer as he was, but he was also loyal and never betrayed him.

"I'm not fucking Shelby. Not yet, at least. But I need you here in England, Jamie."

"Why do you need me in that shit hole, Jared? Why the fuck I'm going to leave Ireland to go there?"

"Oh, please, isn't that bad. Because I need you in London, brother. Keep an eye in Solomons."

"The Jew?"

"Yes."

"Is this because of business or because of Shelby's dick?"

"Both."

Jared heard his brother grunting but after few seconds he also exhaled breath "Fine."

"Thanks, James. One more thing, James, keep an eye on Solomons' wife as well, will you?"

"You owe me a big one, Jared. I'll do it. I'll call you again as soon as I'm there."

Jared ended the call and went to the big window to see the view. He wasn't really interested in making business with Thomas Shelby but he wanted to spend time with him. He was different from other men. And it had anything to do with the fact that he was handsome, although that helped. But Tommy himself was a quiz for Jared and one he was determined to decipher.

But Jared knew he'd never have him completely until Alfie Solomons was really a part of Tommy's past. He didn't need to tell him a word but Jared knew. Maybe he didn't knew exactly what was going on, or how it happened, but Jared was smart and a man who knew men and their brains. And Tommy was still attached to Solomons and probably the Jew to him. So if Jared wanted a chance, first needed to break that attachment.

That's why he sent his brother James to London.

The same James Thorne that in a modern timeline was Rose's first love. But of course, there was no way, Jared could have known that.

Next

[amazingdeadfish]

Got any other fav ships besides shadowpuppets? Not that I don't like them.. I was just wondering, cus there are ~other~ toxic co worker pairings 👀👀

Hmmm... I'm not that much of a multi shipper but I do find some ships 'interesting'!

Toxicinsanity (Mayor X Syntax) is always a fun one. I love the art and the angst that goes with it. I mean, Mayor literally kills Syntax so anything healthy coming out from it is a bit of a far stretch. I talked about it in another ask recently but yeah this ship is good lol.

But the idea of a healthy relationship being a far stretch is the same with shadowpeach (Wukong x Macaque) for me. I mean, I kind of like it? I see the appeal (I won't pass up their gay monkey content). But with the way the characters have been established as of right now (pre season five) I cannot see Wukong and Macaque fully reconciling with each other and making full amends for their wrong doings against each other. Even if the idea of these two becoming as close as they used to be before the attack on the celestial realm seems too strange for me. Some relationships can't be repaired. But honestly the idea that the two were childhood lovers or had crushes on each other before the falling out is really sweet so I'll give it that.

Destiny bones (Mayor x LBD) is a ship I would love if not for how LBD literally just replaces Mayor with Wukong in S3 Finale. But honestly given how LBD was literally going to die if she didn't do that I'm pretty sure Mayor would forgive her (I mean, I doubt LBD could do anything for any reason to make them not worship her anymore). And, to be honest, if she really did want to replace the Mayor with a more powerful servant, then she probably would have already gotten rid of him when she regained her hold on Macaque. But anyways, I love the dynamic of LBD having so much control over Mayor and what that could mean for their relationship. I can definitely see Mayor being in love with LBD (in all the ways possible), it's just the idea of LBD loving Mayor in turn which makes me contemplate it a little. I mean, I just don't see LBD as someone who would invest in a romantic relationship? Or any relationship at all? Not because she is heartless but because she has dedicated her life to her destiny. She does not have time to pursue personal attachments. All in all, another not really healthy relationship (in which they are low-key co-workers/partners in crime) but it makes my brain turn/pos! Boss and henchman dynamic for the win!!!

And now for some honourable mentions (might be updated when I think of some more opinions)!:

Silktea (Sandy x Huntsman) - Read a few fanfics and seen fan art, I like it but Cyberhunt (Syntax x Huntsman) has grabbed my brain a little bit more solely because it is in fact, a toxic co-worker dynamic LMAO.

Dragonfruit (Mei x Red Son) - This beats spicynoodles for me ngl. I think it's just because the dynamic between these two is stronger and they have more moments together. But then again, I think the Traffic Light Trio are better off as good friends.

BrokenBonesTrio (Macaque x Syntax x Mayor) - This isn't necessarily a ship but the dynamic between these guys is so funny lmao. None of them are normal and so they will not do normal things.

Freenoodles (Pigsy x Tang) - Also really sweet to me, I just, love those two. I know that Lego will probably never officially make them canon but I think it's just a given that the two are in a relationship, married or not. Sometimes the coding in the writing is enough.

Syntax x Shoe Store Worker - An inside joke between me and a mutual of mine but it's a very silly crack ship.

Regardless, none of these ships will top Shadowpuppet for me. I rest my case.

[sarahjtv]

My Hero Academia Chapter 427 Quick Spoiler Talk: Closure for Some Villains

I'm mainly writing this as a countdown of the final My Hero Academia chapters for myself, but because I wasn't as invested with this chapter as I was last week's Todoroki-centered one, I don't have much to write this week. Solid chapter, though so nothing to complain about there:

I really liked how Deku's conversation with Spinner was handled and how that contrasted with how the public thought of him. Spinner saw Shigaraki as his first real friend who understood him and had similarities to him. To Spinner, Shigaraki was his hero. To everyone else, Shigaraki was an actual menace to society who killed a lot of people and ruined a lot of lives. To the rest of society, Shigaraki is seen as a villain.

Deku handled the situation very well too by listening to Spinner talk instead of arguing against him at any point. Letting Spinner grab him in his massive form and not even flinching shows how far Deku has come for better or worse (he's still a good boy who's been forced to mature over 1+ year, remember). He doesn't even stop Spinner from telling his side of the story in the future and even suggests that Spinner write his story as a comic book. Maybe this is Deku's way of making sure that history isn't forgotten so that it doesn't happen again even if there's a still chance it might repeat itself. He won't ever forget about Tomura Shigaraki himself regardless.

Also, I want to quickly point out that this panel of Izuku is one of the prettiest panels of him we've seen in a good while. Like, goddamn Horikoshi; this is legit beautiful artwork 💚:

I mentioned it in another post I made here, but I'm so satisfied with how Horikoshi left Overhaul's fate in the worst way for him. There are absolutely worse fates than death and this is one of them. Having Overhaul essentially pay for what he did to Eri for the rest of his life via guilt, scolding, eternally apologizing, and literal haunting from his beloved boss (Eri's grandfather who was put into a coma by Overhaul before she was abused btw) who will remind him of his sins until he dies is some damn good comeuppance. This is another example of Horikoshi not letting characters off the hook when they don't deserve it. Not everyone gets a happy ending.

And ending the chapter off with the new first-year girls chasing Bakugo and Shoto down is fucking hilarious 😂 Shoto especially looks so done with everything and Bakugo is wishing they would be expelled already 🤣! I'm surprised this hasn't happened earlier, but better late than never. Ah, the curse of being pretty boys 😭🧡🩵

And finally, we are officially on break next week. This is the last one we will get and after that, it will be only 3 more weeks until the final chapter of the series. We're getting damn close, guys. I'm scared, excited, sad, all kinds of emotions. I assume next chapter we'll get to see more of our beloved kids in Class 2-A and some of the new first-years. I wonder if we'll get an update on Ochako and Toga too, but that remains to be seen. Right now, all we can do is rest up for 2 weeks and see what Kohei Horikoshi has in store for us for the final 3 chapters of the series.

[spoiledlemonsbiggestfan]

SORRY I DISAPPEARED

Hello there! It has been way too long since i updated you guys on how i've been doing, and i've probably only got myself to blame on this one. But i have FANtastic news to share! (get it? Cus i'm fan? Genious, i know.) I finally managed to get a job! And a decent one this time, no more cleaning mediocre school halls for me! (Horrayyy!)

So this entire hiatus hasnt been for nothing, i've been very hard at work finally being able to persue the thing i love the most, writting! Now i can officially call myself a journalist instead of an amature blogger. The self-improvement sure is real, love to see it. Sadly, I am constantly restricted from putting my heart and soul onto the paper in favor of transmitting what could be classified as useless information to whoever is bored enough to watch the news. And that constant restrain has made me miss the days of the good ol' Fan blog, so i guess you could say that's the reason i'm here. I've missed writting whatever i want to without the need to always double or triple check my work, its fun to not worry if every single word i type fits into my current streams of thought and stuff like that. But you don't wanna hear about all of that do you? You wanna hear about the funny stories! The authentic work experience i have gained! Atleast i hope so, because if not then youre probably in the wrong blog. But if that IS what you came here for, bluckle up bukaroo because im about to tell all about the working woes and friendly foes!

First off the job aplication process was VERY off-putting, my 2 future bosses took care of the interview and they asked... odd questions. They were also always a little too...rude. But thats ok! Nothing that i havent already handled. On the job i have met some interesting personalities such as suitcase! (I was given permission to state her name, duh) suitcase is very kind and funny, but she also has social anxiety, which is weird considering she is one of the few reporters we have, the type that usually goes out, interviews others and deals with harsh weather conditions for some reason. Suitcase is always busy going from one place to another so she can grab the needed fotage, and since im normally the one who writtes her scripts, i get to go with her sometimes! The news channel utilises this totally not ominous and cramped mini-van to cary all of the needed equipment and people. Surprisingly enough, my supervisor is the one who drives the van! She's quite chill, her voice is so smooth that i have to stop myself from yawning when i'm around her. Dont get on her bad side though, i once saw her almost yell at our make-up artist. Speaking of that, they both have some weird relationship going on, i genuinely have no idea if they are friends or enemies and at this point i am too scared to ask suitcase about it.

Working there is pretty chill, i tecnically dont need to phisically be there but hey, a bit more of social interaction wouldnt hurt. Besides, i wouldnt have met suitcase if i only sent my scripts via e-mail! So its a win-win! What else do i have to say abt work? Hmmm.... oh yea! I have a funny story to share!

On my first few days, suitcase told me that the make-up artist was an extreme chatter-box that preferably likes to "spill the tea" on everyone. But if you've been following this blog for a while now, you'd know that im not really good with understanding these types of frases, so for the longest time i thought that this guy actually spilled tea on people on porpose. (he looks really refined, so i just assumed he would be the kind of guy to like tea) So i, being extremelly cautious to not get tea on my lovely red paper, avoided him for like 5 days straight! He eventually caught on and complained to suitcase about it, she then told me so, and i explained my conundrum to her. After she explained what the frase actually meant, we couldnt stop laughting! I never actually apologised to the guy, i sure hope he doesnt hold grudges!

[dianneking]

So, when yesterday I told you I had no sugar mommy boss updates, I might have been talking too soon, because here we are with:

(Aspiring) Sugar mommy boss saga - chapter 5-ish?

(you can find the start of the saga here, and I'm working on getting all the updates linked together so you won't miss a single drop of drama)

<- Previous update - Next Update ->

We had been talking this afternoon about our plans for the evening, and I told her I usually keep my Monday evenings as free as possible, so as to recover from the start of the week.

So when we wrapped up earlier than usual, I had no comeback when she stated (yup, stated, it was very much Not A Question): "Well, we've finished early. I'm taking you out for dinner then."

I tried the "Oh, but you don't have to..." card, since I couldn't fake having a previous engagement since I had just told her my Mondays evenings are free (the jury's still out whether that was me being dumb or her beigg devious...or both). "Nonsense! I'll be in Provence next week and the one after that and I want to have a proper dinner with you before I go, since I cannot take you with me there."

So yeah. I said yes (also, free food is free food).

And I thought we'd be going to the easy-going pizza place we'd already been to a couple of times, but noooo, she pulls up to a fancy restaurant (we're in a very rural place, don't go thinking this is a super high-end ritzy place, but still, it's the upper-tier of what's available).

She walks in like she owns the place, and the restaurant is packed. I lag behind because of a child throwing a tantrum and I see her muttering agitatedly to the waiter. He starts to shake his head, but she says something else. The child finally moves away from my path and as I reach them I swear I saw her hand the waiter something that looked suspiciously like a twenty euro note. Or two. I'm not sure.

"If you'll wait here a second, your table will be ready soon." I hear as I finally reach them and then the poor waiter (or possibly, now slightly richer waiter) goes to the back of the restaurant, looking slightly harassed, and comes out with another waiter, carrying a mf new table and settling it in a corner.

Since sometimes I have zero filters I ask her "Boss, did you just bribe the waiters to materialise us a table?" and she just laughs and answers "Bribing sounds so bad... I prefer to think that I persuaded them."

Dinner was, once again, not awkward at all, except for the waiters who kept treating us like royalty (understandable, but kinda disquieting). The food was good and the conversation never steered in uncomfortable territories.

But I discovered something, and it's a bomb.

She's 59, folks.

Fifty-nine!!!

Which means she's officially more than double my age.

!

Anyways, dinner went well, she accompanied me back to my car and nothing untoward happened and I am now safe in my bed at home updating y'all on my crazy ass drama of a life (I know some of you worry).

[1rsoldiersince2012]

Bound by Law (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Words: 1993 (chapter 24)

Summary:

You and Matt met in the courtroom. Now, you may think that Matt was a knight in shining armour and defended you in the name of all United States laws, but that was not the case. Matt was totally destroying your client, and you wanted to tear him into pieces right then and right there, because with Murdock as your rival, your head is on the firm's plate with each case. Did Matt care? No, he only cared about bringing justice, he was a human-machine, driven by the need to bring righteousness no matter the cost. Or was he just that? What happens when you get involved in Fisk's business and Daredevil's lies against your will?

UPDATES: anytime during the weekend

Find my other accounts on ao3 and wattpad!

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1rSoldierSince2012

wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/1rsoldierSince2012

24. Time is a Fragile Thing

The day was over, but as poets say, the night is still young. And full of surprises. 

Following the last night's ruined plans, the Russians decided to talk to the big guy themselves, instead of poorly cooperating through his puppets like Wesley. And this turned out to be their worst decision yet. 

Fisk shyly looks at Vanessa, and Wesley from the far corner table feels as if someone was twisting his insides. His boss, looking like a weak puppy, begging for attention, was something he had never expected to witness, yet a thing he always suspected to happen. Wesley's been sitting there, spinning a half empty cup of coffee in his hands for a good 40 minutes, from time to time checking up on Fisk. Not his most serious mission so far. Of course, he was used to spending his free time like this, alone with his thoughts, but unfortunately, no thoughts came to his mind now.

Vanessa smiles again, charming Fisk over and over again, until he stumbles on his words once more, "Are you sure about dessert? They have an incredible Zuppa Inglese." He looks down for a second, painfully aware of Wesley's intense stare across the restaurant.

Vanessa slightly furrows her eyebrows, "Don't children have that at birthday parties?" Both chuckle at the same time, and Vanessa studies the sudden wave of seriousness that washes over Fisk.

"Yes. When I was a kid, I loved it. Probably loved it a bit too much." He looks slightly down and Vanessa understands the clue.

"Well, now I have to know what it tastes like. You wanna split one?" She says so nonchalantly, perfectly aware that Fisk was under her spell like a madman. 

"Yes." Fisk immediately gestures for a waiter, making Wesley to look up from his cup, "We'll have a Zuppa."

"Chocolate was always my downfall. Milk chocolate, not the dark stuff they say is better for you." Vanessa smiles slyly, secretly pulling her blouse down, so her cleavage would be more visible.

"I can order something else." Fisk answers, following the movement of the blouse.

"No, no, it's good to try new things. Get out of the comfort zone." Vanessa protests almost immediately, intently waiting for Fisk's reaction.

"Yes, we get caught up in what we're doing...who we think we are." He finally answers, lifting his eyes to meet Vanessa's, and immediately gets embarrassed. 

"So...who are you, Wilson?" Vanessa leans forward on the table, messing her hair.

"Tonight, I'm just a man... enjoying the company of a captivating woman."

Vanessa doesn't get to ask another question when in behind her, Wesley quickly shoots up from his seat, trying to hold off an angry Anatoly on the stairs of the entrance. "I told you, he's indisposed-" Wesley gets pushed away slightly, but manages to keep his balance.

Half of the people in the restaurant stand up, all men dressed in costumes, and stand around Vanessa and Fisk's table. The other half stare at the scene, hoping that the worst won't happen. 

"Sir, I need to speak with you." Anatoly makes his way towards Fisk, when two men stop him.

Vanessa looks around, feeling overwhelmed and confused, "What is this?"

Fisk grimaces, holding inside another anger episode. "We need to go... now. I'm sorry."

Anatoly continues talking, "I want to tell you, my brother and I, we gratefully accept-"

Fisk makes his way towards the exit, where Wesley was watching the scene unfold, and guides Vanessa outside, "Wesley will take care of you." He tells Anatoly, without turning back to look at the man, and quickly whispers to Wesley, "Put him in a car."

"Understood." Wesley answers briefly, pushing glasses up his nose. 

*** 

Fisk walks with Vanessa, side by side, both silent, until finally they stop in front of the big dark building. Fisk knows that there is a car on the other side of the street with his men, watching the scene unfold. "Will I see you again?" He finally dares to ask a question since they walked half a block from his car.

Vanessa sighs heavily, looking at her shoes, "I don't usually date customers."

"You came out with me tonight." Fisk pushes more, waiting for a different kind of reaction.

Vanessa finally looks up, yet still avoids his eyes, "And here we are, so..."

The moment of silence is interrupted by the slight shuffling of shoes nearby, and from the shadows of the building you emerge, phone on your ear, and a concerned look on your face, "no, I... I don't know why. You might as well ask her" you argue with someone on the phone in a hushed tone, perfectly aware of strangers eavesdropping habits. Focused on your conversation, you never notice the two of them arguing as well. Fisk takes a notice of your unusual attire - jeans, sneakers, warm hoodie and a coat resting on your shoulders like a cherry on top of a cake. So different from the woman he saw in the court, so different from the pictures he has seen on the internet. 

Fisk never loses his next thought and as you disappear inside the building, followed by four sets of eyes, he says, "I can...return the painting, and then I'd no longer be a-"

"I'm not interested in gestures, Wilson, or your money, or...whatever that was all about at the restaurant. I went out with you because...there's something different about you. Not so sure if it's a good thing now." Vanessa finally looks him in the eyes, noticing the confused expression on his face.

"Like you said...I don't do this much. And I'm sorry that our night, it went sideways. But...I enjoyed our time together very much, Vanessa. If you don't feel the same...even a little bit...just tell me, and I promise you won't see me again."

"I...don't know how I feel" Vanessa turns on her heel and walks into the building, where you just went in minutes ago. 

*** 

Wesley finds himself sitting in a backseat of a black SUV, shoulder to shoulder with tonight's start, Anatoly. "And even after all that, you didn't even get a name out of the girl?" Wesley asks annoyed.

"No. The man in black came before our men had finished." Anatoly answers in a thick russian accent, not even imagining how it drives Wesley insane.

"You were right to reach out to us, although...a call would have been more appropriate."

"Look, I...I wanted to speak with him in person. Try to put the past behind us." Anatoly says guiltily, when the car stops abruptly. "Why are we stopping?" 

"They say the past is etched in stone, but it isn't. It's...smoke trapped in a closed room, swirling...changing. Buffeted by the passing of years and wishful thinking. But even though our perception of it changes, one thing remains constant. The past can...never be completely erased. It lingers. Like the scent of burning wood." Wesley says mysteriously, not looking at the man beside him, but somewhere he wishes he could be, until his phone rings, pulling him out of this trance and cutting him off. "Sir? Yes, passenger side." He answers briefly, a shadow of sorrow passes on his face.

Anatoly slightly shuffles in his seat, "Was that him?"

"Hmm." Wesley hums, "He'd like to have a word with you."

Anatoly doesn't get to answer when he gets harshly pulled out of the car and pushed on the ground immediately. Anatoly tries to fight back, pulling out his knife and pushing it into Fisk's stomach, but it does nothing, only making Fisk angrier.

"You embarrassed me. You embarrassed me in front of her!" Fisk pushes Anatoly on the ground and watches how he starts crawling back to the car, begging Wesley for help. Wesley remains in his seat, stone-cold expression on his face, only one thing in his mind - you. Fisk grabs Anatoly's head and starts slamming the car doors repeatedly, until Wesley finally can't take it anymore, the car was shaking too much. James steps out into the cold night and looks at the river for a moment. Such a nice evening for a romantic stroll, unfortunately, there was nothing romantic with the sounds on the other side of the car - grunts of Fisk and Anatoly's blood splashing all over the place. Wesley closes his eyes for a moment, blocking the sounds completely, thinking over his own words that said earlier, the past can never be erased, especially his. Especially yours.

The place becomes silent, and Wesley takes that as a cue that Fisk is done. Turning on his heel, he goes over and offers Fisk a handkerchief, watching how he wipes the blood off of his face. 

"Tell Mr. Potter I'll need a new suit." Fisk rasps out, breathing heavily, noticing a few drops of blood on Wesley's white collared shirt.

Wesley briefly nods, eyes avoiding the horrible sight at his feet, "what about him?"

Fisk takes one last pitiful look at what was left of Anatoly, "Take what's left of him and send it to his brother."

"It'll start a war." Wesley furrows his eyebrows.

Fisk's mouth morphs into a menacing grin, "I'm counting on it."

*** 

The morning traffic held you off a little, but you managed to make it to the office on time, right before Karen came in. Foggy and Matt were already there, chatting over their future plans for the firm.

You purposely sat in Karen's chair, opening the email from the auction again. 

"Sorry, I'm late, the traffic is terrible." Karen bursts inside, a pile of paper in her hands, hair covering her eyes, she notices you comfortably sitting in her chair only after she hangs her coat. 

"I know about the traffic." You simply say, turning your head to the right, as if trying to get a better look at the blonde.

"Oh, what's with the change of seats?" Karen tries to joke, but her smile falls when equally disappointed Foggy emerges from the office. 

"What's with the new inventory?" You raise an eyebrow, watching her panic slightly.

"What?" Karen looks for help at Foggy, but the latter just turns his eyes down.

"Where were you yesterday?" Matt asks, holding his side under his jacket. 

"I... Was at the auction. Bought some supplies for the office." Karen says, finally feeling the pressure from the three lawyers in one room.

"I wouldn't call all that junk supplies, Karen." You cross your arms, intently watching her body language. Like a stray cat, approached at its weakest moments, Karen pulls her shoulders forward, afraid that she'll have to turn her defence system on.

"I'm sorry, I don't know what was I thinking." She starts shaking her head.

"Thankfully they got a nice sum after yesterday's win, but I hope that in the future, you won't make such mistakes." You stand up briefly, watching how Foggy and Matt disappear in their offices, without any comments. You stop in front of Karen, looking her in the eyes, that became wider in a matter of seconds, and sligthly lean forward, "I believe that this was no accident, after all, you did work with finances, Mrs Page." You say in a hushed tone and leave her standing in the middle of the room, going to your and Matt's office, loudly closing the doors.

"Weren't you a little harsh?" Matt asks, earning a low chuckle from you.

"If you think that this is harsh, at HC&B they would eat her alive." You plop down on the chair in front of Matt, pulling out your phone, only for it to start ringing. "Hello?" You turn the volume down, as to not disturb Matt, but little did you know that he can hear everything perfectly fine. "Tonight at 8? Yes, of course I'm free." You smile, "not to take my car? Oh, depends on how I'll be getting home later."  Moment passes by, with Matt intently listening to the person on the other side of the phone, and you writing down the address of the place in your workbook. "Okay, I'll see you then, yeah, bye." The phone call ends, with Matt clenching his fists under the table, not even bothering to ask questions, because after all, he knows all the details. 

[glossdebut]

Take a Bite Ch. 3

✧ PAIRING: yoongi x fem!reader

✧ SUMMARY: Your fledgling career as a music journalist is finally going in some kind of direction that must be on the path to success. Your coworkers like you enough to invite you out on Fridays, your boss is starting to think you’re competent enough to let you score a few bylines, and you're finally getting the hang of InDesign. All of your hard work, late nights, and complete lack of a social life are starting to pay off... Even if it all came at the expense of the longest relationship of your life. Fine. You've accepted the fact that romance isn't for you, under any circumstances. You won't risk your career for anybody. Not even Min Yoongi.

✧ TAGS: slow burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, producer yoongi, music journalist reader, neighbors to friends to lovers? you'll see, reader is bad at feelings, reader is post-break up

✧ WARNINGS: yoongi being RICH. also... remember that eventual smut? well it's kind of here! if you wanna skip, stop reading at [Maybe you should fix that.] and then continue at [After another moment, you roll over onto your stomach...]

✧ WORDCOUNT: 3.5k

✧ STATUS: complete

✧ AUTHOR'S NOTE: hi i normally post on wednesdays but we're about to get a HURRICANE where i'm at so i'm posting early lmfao. rating goes up in this chapter whoops! not sure when chapter 4 will be posted but i'll keep you guys updated. thank you all so much for the engagement i've been receiving on this fic!!! it's my first one ever and i never expected to get so many readers so quickly <3 you guys are keeping me writing so please feel free to send me feedback if you like this chapter. i'd love to read it if i have power over the next few days LOL

Chapter 3: I Wanna Fold Clothes For You

So, you and Yoongi are friends.

Of course, seeing him three times within twenty four hours was a fluke, and over the next six days you don’t see him once, not even in passing in your shared hallway. You’re not privy to his work hours, but you know based on what little he’s told you that working as a producer demands more than the normal nine to five, as does your job.

Still, there’s something about coming home every night and knowing that you have a friend right down the hall, if you need one. You haven’t had that in a long time, and you feel so much lighter now that you do have it. 

There is, of course, an upside to not being able to see Yoongi often. Given that you’ve only just met him, you don’t have his appearance committed to memory quite yet, and mercifully, you’re beginning to forget why you were so viscerally attracted to him in the first place. 

You reason that it must’ve been the alcohol. You were getting drunk when you met him, stupidly drunk when you discovered that you’re neighbors, hungover when you shared a tangerine, and drinking from a bottomless glass of wine (courtesy of Seokjin) when you drooled over his hands for a solid ten minutes. You have yet to interact with Yoongi clear-headed and lucid. Not to mention you’re just a little bit… pent up, recently. Drunk and horny Y/N had the wheel. That has to be it. Nobody is that hot. You’re sure of that. Men ain’t special!

So you go through your week business as usual, but with a slight spring in your step, and it’s lovely. You even venture way further away from the office for your lunch hour on Friday than you normally would to go to a restaurant you’ve been dying to try. You’re usually so tied to the office that the furthest you tend to go is the convenience store down the street for the instant stuff.

And then, since the universe demands correction (or overcorrection where you’re concerned), all of the floaty goodness comes to a screeching halt when you get in your car to head back to the office. Your car which, in the past hour you’ve been blissfully stuffing your face with tteokbokki, has decided it has done its job and is ready to retire.

It just straight up won’t start.

Sitting in the parking lot of the restaurant, you go into crisis management mode.

You’re thankfully not completely clueless where cars are concerned. It comes with the territory of owning a beater. You keep up with your oil changes, you don’t leave the lights on when you get home late. You replaced your battery semi-recently, so that shouldn’t be it. Unfortunately, you don’t have much time to troubleshoot. You need to get back to work. Okay… Damage control, then.

The most obvious solution is to call one of your coworkers to come and rescue you, but your coworkers are just as notorious for being tethered within a one mile radius of the office as you are, so that would more than likely end up being a waste of time. You could find the nearest bus stop, but who knows how long public transportation could take right now? Too unpredictable. You could call your boss and tell him that you’re not going to be back to the office anytime soon (or at all today) and get your car towed and repaired. But then you would suddenly have a reputation of being unreliable, because god forbid you have a human moment. That’s straight up not an option. You’ve been doing so good this week.

You’re sure there are other options. But isn’t this what friends are for?

He answers on the fifth ring, but he answers.

“Y/N?” 

“Yoongi.” You feel your shoulders slump in relief. You try your best not to sound as panicked as you feel. “Are you busy?”

“Um. I’m at the studio,” he says, confusion in his voice. “But I have a minute. Is everything okay?” Confusion and concern? That’s nice.

“Everything’s fine!” you blurt out. “Okay, maybe not. My car won’t start! I don’t know why, but it won’t, and I need to get back to work, but you’re at work, too! I don’t even know where you work, but I doubt it’s anywhere near where I am, and even if it is, I don’t want to tear you away from anything important—”

“Y/N.”

“—I know you said you had a minute, but I really don’t want to fuck up your flow. That’s a term, right? You’re a producer, you… flow. Anyway, I just don’t really know anyone here and I didn’t know who to call, and if I don’t get back to work soon my boss is going to kill me—”

“Y/N,” he says, more firmly. Your mouth snaps shut. “Where are you?”

“In my car,” you say dumbly, frazzled.

Yoongi sighs. “Send me your location.”

“For what?”

“I’m gonna send a car to come get you and drive you to your office,” he says, and he sounds just the slightest bit exasperated about needing to explain that to you.

Send a car? What the fuck? You have so many questions, such as: how fucking loaded is the guy who lives two doors down from you in your very shitty apartment building? What label does he even work for? How famous of a producer is he to be able to send a car to you? But your immediate instinct to turn down his help wins out over asking any of them.

“What? Yoongi, no, that’s too much,” you complain. “Don’t do that. I just freaked out a little bit, I can–”

“Y/N,” he interrupts. If you’re not mistaken, it sounds a bit like he’s trying not to laugh at you. Fucker. “Location.”

So you send him your location. What other option do you have?

“You’re not far,” Yoongi says once he receives your text. A few moments pass, and then: “Car will be there in ten.”

“Thank you,” you say. You feel nauseous, like maybe you’re going to cry, but there’s also a good amount of relief there, too. “I’ll make it up to you.”

“No need,” he says. “I’d come get you myself, but I really can’t get away right now.”

“Still, there’s a comically large bottle of an alcohol of your choosing in your future. Seriously, thank you.”

His responding laugh is enough to settle your stomach just a little. “Seriously, you don’t need to pay me back…” A pause. “But for the record, I like whiskey.”

You wrinkle your nose even though he can’t see it. “Gross.”

“Don’t be a hater.”

“As long as you don’t make me drink it with you, I’ll keep my comments to myself,” you say, finding yourself smiling.

“Oh, you think I share?” Yoongi teases back. He sighs again. “I really have to go.”

“Go, go,” you say. “Thanks for saving me. Even if it’s by proxy.”

“You can always call me if you need shit like this,” he says. You can tell that he means it. “I’m glad you called me. Means I’m doing something right.”

“You are,” you say, your voice soft. Your cheeks feel warm. Probably because you’re sitting in a dead car. “Thanks.”

Yoongi hums in response. “Text me when you get back to the office safe, okay?”

“I will. Bye, Yoongi.”

And that’s that.

★ ★ ★

True to your word, you text Yoongi when the stupidly luxurious car he ordered for you drops you off at your office, only ten minutes later than you’re due back from your lunch break. You’re able to slip in without anyone noticing that you’re late at all, which is great. Crisis partially averted.

He sends back a thumbs up emoji, and then decides to drop the bomb that he intends to pay for your car to be towed.

[1:21] You: YOONGI NO

[1:21] You: you can’t do that!!!!

[1:24] Yoongi: 100% I can and will as soon as I get ten minutes to make a phone call to sort it out.

The audacity of this man.

[1:25] You: seriously i cannot ask you to do that

[1:25] You: i was just going to take the bus back to the restaurant after work and deal with it from there. i’m actively researching towing companies and repair places on company time as we speak

[1:30] Yoongi: You’re not asking me. You’ve got enough to worry about. Let me take care of it. I know the places.

[1:31] You: still, i can’t let you spend money like that on me. i don’t even wanna think about what that car cost you

[1:31] Yoongi: If it helps you sleep at night you can pay me back on your own time. You definitely don’t have to though.

[1:32] Yoongi: That reminds me. You can use that car until yours is taken care of if you need to. I’ll send you the driver’s contact. Don’t take the bus.

You feel like you’re going insane.

[1:33] You: do you have a grammy or something? what do you DO to be able to afford shit like this? why do you live in our building? are you a drug dealer?

[1:37] Yoongi: :]

Of course, he gives you no clues about what exactly he does, but after a bit more back-and-forth, you finally give in and let Yoongi handle everything under the condition that you’re going to pay him back. He doesn’t seem all that worried about it, which infuriates you just a little.

You go through the rest of your day like normal, if not a tad twitchy. Come quitting time, you take advantage of having a driver at your disposal and have him stop a liquor store on your way home.

As you take the elevator up to your floor, comically large whiskey bottle (as promised) in tow, you text Yoongi and ask if he’s home yet. At his responding ‘No, why?’ you cackle to yourself and pocket your phone. The elevator doors slide open. You were hoping that would be the case. 

You clocked out at a semi-normal time tonight, a gift to yourself to cope with the stress of the day, and so you take great pleasure in setting the bottle down on Yoongi’s very tasteful cat doormat, flipping it off right back on your way into your own apartment.

You silently pray to whatever god may be listening that the whiskey isn’t swiped by someone before Yoongi gets home. Your cat, Pepper, is blinking at you lazily on the kitchen counter, and you give her a triumphant little scratch on the head before padding to your bedroom to deal with your laundry.

Your move, Min Yoongi.

★ ★ ★

“Do I need to be jealous?”

You take advantage of getting off work early to call your best friend Rina for the first time in what feels like forever. She’s in Paris this month, debuting a play that she’s been working on tirelessly about aliens and drug addiction. You’ve read the script six times over. It’s both campy and gut wrenching all at once, and you’ve cried every time. You picture her with her very chic haircut, sipping from a flute of champagne. The thought of her being jealous of any part of your life is laughable. 

“What do you have to be jealous of, exactly?” you snort, holding your phone between your ear and shoulder as you toss your laundry basket upside down on your bed unceremoniously. Your clothes are covered in a perma-layer of Pepper hair, and you think it’s lucky that Pepper is a black cat and most of your clothes are black. Very enviable.

“Of Yoongi, dipshit,” she coos through the phone. “You’re replacing me.”

“Sure,” you say, like she’s making total sense. You’re lying on top of your laundry now instead of folding it. You put her on speakerphone and rest your phone on your chest. “I’m throwing away ten years of being your best friend for a guy that I met a week ago. I’m glad you figured it out, honestly, because I was dreading telling you. I was going to wait until your matinée, but you don’t seem too broken up about it.”

“Of course. You have to do what’s right for you, I’ve always told you that,” she deadpans back, and you groan. You don’t want to hear it. “No, I just mean… It’s good. That you’re meeting people.”

“We’re neighbors,” you say, flopping over onto your front to rub at your temples. Rina is resting on a pile of your underwear now. “We talk about work. My work, not his, because he thinks it’s funny to act like he’s too cool to tell me about his job. He’s helping me with my car. We’re… neighborly.”

“And you want to fuck him,” she says. Maybe calling Rina was a bad idea. Debriefing over text would have sufficed.

“I don’t want to fuck him,” you say, indignant. “We’re friends. He’s nice. I can have a guy friend.”

“Of course you can,” Rina says, like you’re dumb for even thinking she would imply otherwise. “And you can be friends with him all you want. But you also want to fuck him.”

You groan in protest but she speaks over it.

“Baby, you can pretend, but I know how you talk about people you want to have sex with, even if you don’t say it outright,” she continues. “He may just be feeding you and helping you and talking to you about the weather, but I know you, and I know the whole time he’s talking you’re just agonizing over how he might fuck you if you let him.”

“That’s not fair,” you mumble, letting your face drop into your laundry. It smells good. Small comforts.

“Are you going to let him?”

“No,” you whine, muffled by the cotton. “I don’t need that. There are always strings. I hate strings.”

“You said he’s a super straightforward, honest guy, right?” Rina asks.

“Brutally so,” you grumble.

“So. Maybe he’d be cool with a lack of strings. You won’t know unless you ask, baby.”

You want to tell her that’s easy for her to say, but you don’t want to fight with her when you know you won’t hear from her like this again for a while. 

Rina has never compromised for anything. She decided in both of your sophomore year of college, after flirting with both performance and directing, that she wanted to be a playwright, and that was that. 

She wrote and wrote and wrote, and after you graduated together, her career blossomed almost instantly because she worked goddamn hard for it. She got opportunities to travel and work with theatre companies around the world, and she took them without giving it a second thought because she knew it was what she wanted. And she’s had a consistent, loyal boyfriend nearly the whole time. He doesn’t always travel with her, but he supports her in everything she does. They’re excruciatingly healthy about it. 

When your long-term college boyfriend dumped you unceremoniously two months into your first reporter gig because he felt he came second to your career, Rina was there for you. But you resented her a little bit. There was no way she could understand any of it. 

Still, as much as you hate to admit it, she has a point. You could just ask Yoongi if he wants to fool around without it being a thing, and you know he’d give you a straight answer. You’re even pretty confident he wouldn’t make it weird if his answer was no. That’s not the problem. It never is.

“The problem isn’t whether or not I think he’d be cool with it,” you mumble. “The problem is if he is cool with it, and then the strings come anyway. The friendship is nice. I’m attracted to him, yeah, fine. But I can ignore it if it means I get to be his friend.”

Theres a long pause on the line, and then Rina sighs.

“Your life would be a lot easier if you could do one night stands,” she says.

Don’t you know it. 

“Yeah.”

“I’ve gotta go, okay? Text me. Keep me updated on life.” You read between the lines. On Yoongi, she means. “I love you.”

“Mmmhh,” you mumble back, still burying your face into your laundry. 

When the line disconnects, you feel considerably more twitchy and irritable than you did before talking to Rina.

So, you’re attracted to Yoongi. Or you were, when you were drunk and he was all… hot and considerate. That doesn’t mean you have to act on it! You’re not going to act on it. You’re just pent up, that’s all. It’s been a long time since you’ve had an orgasm, self-inflicted or otherwise, and you can’t think straight.

Maybe you should fix that.

It’s clear you’re giving up on laundry for the night, so you shove the mountain of clothes back into the basket on the floor, sighing as you lay back on your bed.

You feel only slightly ridiculous as you shimmy your sleep shorts down your thighs, your hands sliding up your shirt to cup your breasts, squeezing slightly. Warming yourself up.

You quickly decide to get to the point, though. You’re struggling to immerse yourself in the fantasy that usually does the trick, too wound up and embarrassed (as if it’s not you in here by yourself, as usual) at groping yourself.

Despite the embarrassment, it becomes abundantly clear that you didn’t really need to warm yourself up anyway. Your fingers slide through your folds with ease, drenched like you’ve been that way all fucking day, unbeknownst to you, and a surprised moan falls from your lips. Fuck.

Closing your eyes, you circle two fingers around your clit experimentally, making your hips jerk up under you, sensitive. You do it again, a little firmer, starting a slow rhythm that makes you squirm against your mattress, your bottom lip rolling between your teeth.

It feels good. It usually does—you’ve always been able to make quick work of an orgasm to rid yourself of any lingering jitters before bed. But it feels really good right now, your pussy extra sensitive tonight, and you can’t figure out why. There’s nothing new about what you’re doing.

Rina’s words worm their way into your brain uninvited—the whole time he’s talking you’re just agonizing over how he might fuck you if you let him—and you’re too turned on to stop that train of thought, flashes of capable hands and pink tongue (tonguetechnologytonguetechnologytonguetechnology) filling your mind, and you’re moaning softly despite yourself as you rub your clit a little faster.

You continue to make soft noises of pleasure, your tongue darting out to wet your lips, dry from panting as the barrage of Yoongi-related thoughts keep coming, bringing you closer and closer to your release. 

Dark, dark eyes looking down at you. A delicate chain dangling above your face. You whimper, your fingers sliding down from your clit to sink into your pussy, curling up to rub at your inner walls. A thick cock sliding into you, filling you so deliciously.

You pump your fingers fast and desperate as you get closer and closer to that sweet edge. You wonder what Yoongi would sound like if he was the one fucking into you right now. Would he moan in your ear in that gravelly voice of his? He’s a man of few words. Would he be like that in bed, too? Would he call you sweet names? Not so sweet? Which ones?

Your walls flutter around your fingers, your hips stuttering up off the mattress as your orgasm crashes over you and you gasp out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding.

You stare up at the ceiling for a minute panting. The high of your release buzzes pleasantly through your body before it starts ebbing away, but the thoughts of Yoongi pervade. Well, fuck.

After another moment, you roll over onto your stomach to grab a towel from your laundry basket and wipe off your fingers, tossing it on the floor. You grab your phone, only to be greeted by a notification from the subject of your masturbation fantasy himself. He sent it about ten minutes ago.

When you tap it open, you’re greeted with a photo (!!!) of Yoongi holding your gift next to his head, the hand wrapped around the neck of the whiskey bottle almost dwarfed by its sheer size. A testament to the ridiculousness of it, because you’re well aware of how long Yoongi’s fingers are. There’s a lazy smirk on his face, and a mole that you’re just now noticing on his right cheek.

[8:23] Yoongi: Cute. 

Yep. Yep. Cool.

You swipe out, tapping on Rina’s contact.

[8:35] You: okay. i want to fuck him. 

[8:35] Rina: 🥂🥳🎉

Shit.

✧ shoot me a reply or an ask if you enjoyed this chapter! feedback is always appreciated <3 join my taglist if you want to be tagged in future chapters!

@dollfaceksj @jajabro

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[artificialqueens]

Untouchable for Life, Chapter 1 (Anetra x Sasha Colby) - Writworm42

Admin Note: I'm so worry, Writ!! You should have been in the last queue, and I'm also sorry that it's taken me a million years to fix it after you told me. I have no excuse, I just completely forgot and I apologize deeply! -V

A/N: Summary: Anetra should be grateful for his new job as a photographer for the city's biggest queer tabloid. Especially considering how hard he fucked up before landing there. But it's all lost on him until he's roped into a special assignment, one that ties Sasha Colby into his life. But can the knots that bind him to his past be undone? Or will the cord he and Sasha walk on snap?

Sorry not sorry for all the puns in the summary fhdsjfk but I promise chapter summaries will have more specific to the chapters themselves and the story as a whole!!!

Anyways, remember how I said I'd never write another multichap bc they're too much stress? WELP! Thank you nickysjaida for encouraging me and athena for beta-ing, you're both so wonderful <3

Fic title from I Turn My Camera On by Spoon

Anetra sighs, dropping his head into his hands as his thoughts race. His boss watches in front of him intensely, almost to the point of scrutiny, but what can he do?

He doesn’t exactly have options here.

“I just don’t get why—“

“The board wanted you gone,” Michele shuts him down immediately. “Hell, they wanted your head on a platter! This is the best I can do for you. You either take it, or you go collect your things.”

“But I wouldn’t even get to write!” Anetra huffs. “Not even captions or anything!”

“I know,” Michele says coolly. “Why do you think I was able to negotiate this? You’re too good to lose, Anetra, but I guarantee if you walk, it’ll be the last time you ever work in journalism, photo or otherwise.” 

Anetra groans. Michele is absolutely right—he fucked up, and fucked up big. Lose his credibility big. Sue the whole company big.

But does that really mean he has to go to Q-Beat ? He’ll be a laughingstock in the journalistic community— Q-Beat may be the most popular queer magazine in the country, but it’s barely above a tabloid. Hell, maybe it’s worse—they’re probably the only print mag he can think of that has more listicles in one issue than actual pieces, and the product placements are so obvious they might as well just say Absolut wrote the news updates. 

There’s a reason the whole industry calls it Q-Bait as a joke. 

But with the scandal he’s in, he can’t afford to negotiate now. If he wants to do anything other than Walmart Christmas portraits for the rest of his life, he has no choice but to take this job.

"Fine," he finally sighs, grabbing the contract and pulling it closer. "Give me a pen."

--

The Charles Media building is often referred to as a marvel of architecture in the city, and the reputation isn’t unearned. Standing under its sloped, pink-painted roof are twenty-five floors of different print outlets, each an empire in its own right. Anetra has to admit, it’s kind of impressive--from magazines to books, encyclopedias to graphic novels, if you can flip or scroll through it, you can find it nestled among the offices in the tower.

Perhaps most impressive, though, is the way the architects were clearly so committed to the bit when they designed the place. From floors one to twelve, everything is wide, spacious, and decorated in black and silver. The floors narrow slightly after that, and from thirteen all the way to its sloped roof, the building’s colour scheme is a deep magenta, with sparkle and hints of blush. And that’s just the outside--within the walls of 96 Tucker Avenue, things are even more colourful, bringing the entire aesthetic full circle.

The perfect shade of lipstick for the perfect media queendom, both inside and out.

At least, that’s the vision the company projects. Right now, Anetra feels anything but perfect—and from the way his coworkers avoid him in the elevator, he’s pretty sure the feeling is mutual. 

At least Q-Beat is near the top floor. Once the last few people filter out around the sixteenth floor, he has the elevator car all to himself, leaving him alone to try and collect his thoughts. 

From what Anetra knows, the farther up the tower you go, the more isolated the group, meaning there’s a chance that no one at Q-Beat knows who he is or what he’s done. A perfectly fresh start. Good; his talent will speak for itself that way, and he can make friends based on that. If he even wants to--maybe friends aren’t such a good idea. The main condition of being able to keep this job was to lay low, after all. 

Plus, the longer he tends to stay in one place, the less people seem to want him around. Especially now that he’s a liability. 

It’s a thought that hurts, and he’s glad to be able to swallow it as the elevator comes to a stop at the twenty-third floor.

The sight that awaits Anetra as the elevator doors glide open makes his jaw drop. 

Back on the eighth floor where Anetra’s old magazine was located, everything had been all business all the time. The walls and the floor were a stern black, with tiles that clicked under your feet as you walked. There had been almost no decor in the entrance either, other than a pair of leather chairs under a harsh silver sign directing visitors to various offices tucked behind heavy mahogany doors.

But on the twenty-third floor? 

Anetra can’t help but feel like he might as well be on an alien planet. He had expected pink, had expected some sparkle and embellishment. But he had had no idea just how much of a culture shock it would be. It’s such a contrast, he barely knows where to start—though maybe the entrance is as good a place as any. The floor’s lobby is fully furnished with tables and chairs and even some floral arrangements, separated from the action by only a glass door and floor-to-ceiling windows that allow a clear view of the Q-Beat workspace behind it. The floors are plush zebra-print carpet, the walls an almost violent pink lit up by a fluorescent sign welcoming visitors to Q-Beat with cursive font. And when Anetra peers into the office space, he sees not a maze of cubicles, but an open floor plan that’s bustling with people in casual dress.

In other words, friendly coworkers and lax norms without anywhere to hide from either. 

Fuck. 

“Are you Anetra?” 

Anetra snaps to attention and sees a tall blonde standing in the office’s doorway looking at him with anxious eyes. 

"Oh, um… Yes?" He frowns. He was supposed to meet the editor-in-chief first, but this woman is in jeans and a tank top that shows off well-defined muscles and big tattoos, her hair fluffed up in an almost rockabilly style--definitely not like any chief Anetra has seen before.

"Are you asking me or telling me?" The woman's eyes narrow. "Because I have a meeting in fifteen minutes and only ten before my Ativan hits, so I really need to get a move on orienting you if you are."

Anetra decides right then and there that no matter who this woman is, he definitely likes her.

“I’m Anetra,” he tries again, stepping forward and extending a hand for the woman to take. 

“Loosey LaDuca, she/her pronouns, editor-in-chief,” she shakes his hand firmly. But before he can drop his hand away, she grips it harder, pulls him forward through the glass doors and into the office. 

“Let me introduce you to the others, they’re really excited to meet you.”

Crap.

—

Loosey’s tour of the Q-Beat workspace is a whirlwind, so fast that Anetra almost wishes he’d brought a notebook with him. Though that probably wouldn’t have done much to help him either; Loosey doesn’t even stop to breathe as she charges through the office with Anetra in tow, so he seriously doubts she would have let him slow down to write. At least he avoids seeing too much of the team this way; Loosey’s version of ‘introducing’ is more like drive-by name-dropping, and Anetra is perfectly content to settle for the waves he and his new coworkers exchange as he passes. 

Good things can’t last forever, though, and sure enough, Loosey’s tour comes to a hard stop right in front of a large table surrounded by people who immediately turn all their focus on Anetra. 

“This right here is our photography department. Well, two of them are,” Loosey rolls her eyes. “The rest of you, get back to work please?” 

“Hey, they were working!” a short woman with hair almost as big as Loosey’s protests. “Half of them were reviewing the photos that are going to go with their article.”

“Uh-huh, and the other half?” Loosey retorts. 

“Is this Poppy’s replacement?” The other woman left at the table pipes up quickly, a smooth change of subject accompanied by an even smoother smile. 

“Oh, yes,” Loosey says, her eyebrows raising in surprise as if she’d forgotten Anetra was beside her. “Anetra, this is Mistress--” she points to the smaller woman, who nods curtly, “--And this is Salina. Ladies, Anetra is coming to us from News Summary Weekly , so things might work a little differently here than he’s used to. So be nice, Mistress.”

“Hey!” Mistress huffs when Loosey shoots her an extra-pointed look. 

“You know I’m right,” Loosey rolls her eyes. “Now, will you guys take over from here? These pills are not doing what they’re supposed to, so I’m gonna go take a three-minute power nap before I have to talk budget for the rest of the afternoon.” 

“Sweet dreams!” Salina calls after her, cackling when Loosey shoots her the middle finger over her shoulder in response. 

Just like that, their attention is turned back on Anetra, giving him the distinct feeling of having been thrown to the wolves. 

“So you’re from the political phonebook, huh?” Mistress starts in right away, her lip twitching as she looks Anetra up and down. “You’re certainly dressed like it.”

“Hey, wait a second,” Salina adds pensively, “Ain’t that the magazine with the guy who--”

“Sorry, what are your guys’ pronouns?” Anetra cuts in fast before Salina can finish that sentence, hoping to God the heat he feels rising in his cheeks isn’t visible to the two women before him. “I use he/him.”

“She/her for both of us,” Mistress answers with narrow eyes, her tone of voice skeptical. Anetra’s going to have to look out for her, he can tell. But at least Salina seems distracted enough—her attention is already back on her computer, which she wastes no time in sliding over to Anetra.

“Alright, newbie, come here and sit down, let me show you all the different softwares and shit we use in this department.” 

It’s a close call, but he’ll take it. He smiles gratefully as he moves over beside Salina, leaning in close to get to work.

Pride Challenge Points: 2806

[daydream-cement]

Cold Head Heart Ch. 5

Marilyn Thornhill x OC (Rowan Ali)

Authors Note: SORRY THAT I HAVENT UPDATED IN FOREVER. I WAS TOO ENTRACED BY THE ANGST THAT WAS VIOLET AND ROSE.

"That might be the meet-cute of the century! And she just loomed over you and said what?" You were laying on Fern Rogers' bed, kicking your feet back and forth as you flicked through a Better Homes and Gardens magazine that had been in her purse. She was busying herself by unpacking her trunks and generally settling into her new quarters.

She mimicked your boss's accent when she repeated the phrase Larissa said when they ran into one another at the train station, "'Oh dear. Cat got your tongue?'… Jesus, she is a beautiful woman. I had no clue what to say to her."

"Slow down there, tiger. You haven't worked here a full 24 hours and you're already pining for your boss." You tossed the magazine onto Fern's desk and sat up in her bed, stretching out as you spoke to her, "You don't even know if she likes you."

"I flirted a little in the car… and she said 'You flatter me, doctor. You better watch out… Flattery will get you everywhere.'" Fern was dancing around as she refolded a pair of jeans when she mimicked Larissa's voice once more.

You kicked your feet against the bed, completely giddy that Fern was able to get the ever-reserved Larissa Weems to flirt back, "That is absolutely incredible. When you see her naked, I want all the details."

The jeans, once in her hands, hit your face and Fern scolded you, "Must you be so crude?"

"Oh, come on… You know you want her." You raised your eyebrows at her once you removed the jeans from your face.

"I want to get to know her…" Fern had her hands on her hips as she approached the bed to retrieve her jeans from you. She dipped her face low and whispered her final thought, "…and then I want to climb her like a tree…"

------

You weren't particularly proud of yourself as you drove to the Chittenden Regional Correctional Facility in South Burlington. Marilyn had sent you a letter while in prison, asking how you were and if you would be willing to come see her. You had never been to a correctional facility to visit anyone so this was an entirely new experience. Marilyn's letter had just seemed so desperate and lonely. You had sworn her off months ago, but once you saw your name scrawled in her delicate handwriting, you were hooked in once more.

You had been sitting in the parking lot of the correctional facility, psyching yourself up to go inside when Fern called. You grabbed your wallet and keys from the passenger side seat while holding the phone up to your ear, "Hey, Ferny. What's up?"

"Where are you? I have to talk to you about a run-in I just had with Weems!" Her voice was almost a whisper as she was trying to make sure Larissa wouldn’t be able to hear her divulging her excitement from the recent interaction. Ever since the two of them met, Fern had been overanalyzing almost each interaction, hoping that every word and glimpse meant that Larissa liked her as much as she liked Larissa.

"I'm grabbing a bite to eat. What happened?" You lied blatantly, not caring to share the truth with her, or anyone else for that matter.

"I was going a little too fast around a corner and I ran right into her, again. Her arm was around my waist and I kissed her hand and it was so tense and awkward and then I think she asked me out." Fern was talking a-mile-a-minute as you walked closer to the front doors.

Instantly, one detail in her story stands out amongst the rest and you had to tease her for it, "You did what? Kissed her hand? What is this? The 1800s?"

"It was cute! She had her hand by my face and I just thought it was cute! Don't make me question myself!" Fern was being extremely defensive and she seemed out of breath, she must have been running late to dinner. While you were more suave and forward with romantic interests, Fern had always been more gentle and reserved which you were sure Larissa greatly appreciated.

You moved on from the teasing and picked out the second detail in her story that warranted further questioning, "What do you mean by you thinking she asked you on a date?"

Your question made her second guess herself, "She asked me if I wanted to go on a walk tomorrow…"

"I see. It's like a not-date date. One where it doesn't seem super official, but if you start dating, you will both say 'Oh, yeah. That was our first date.'" You tried explaining the nuance of the date to her, knowing she had been out of the dating game for a few years.

"You think so? Do I like… bring her flowers?" You almost wanted to let out a laugh at how darling this kid was sometimes, but instead you try to reassure her a bit.

"No… Don't stress about it, hon. I'll be back later tonight and we can chat about what you are going to do." You grasp at one of the front doors to the correctional facility, trying to end the call before you go inside.

"Okay sounds good. Bye."

"Bye."

------

Marilyn was different. Her perfect haircut and chipper demeanor from when you first met her were completely gone. She seemed tired and her body even smaller as she was swallowed by the uniform she was forced to wear. You bit at your thumbnail as she sat down, both of you seemed all too nervous by the other's presence.

Her voice was quiet at first, unsure if your reasoning for coming was hostile or well natured, "Hi, Rowan… I see you got my letter."

"I did…" You kept your response short, unsure of what to say.

Marilyn paused for a moment before speaking again, even more hesitant with her words, "How- How have you been?"

"Good…” This conversation seemed so trivial. Why had she even asked you here? You continue with the pleasantries, hoping that she will begin to open up, “And you?”

“Uhm… It’s been different living here…” Marilyn nodded and offered a half smile.

“I can only imagine.”

This conversation was beyond painful. You were beginning to pine for the days where you would lay in bed with one another and talk about nothing and everything for hours on end. Why did she have to go and make everything so complicated?

“How is Larissa?” She offered a new line of questioning.

You looked at her skeptically, almost positive that this may have been the reason she asked you here. Larissa had been her romantic obsession when she attempted to destroy Nevermore, so it wouldn’t be shocking if she was still on her mind. You give her a short response, not wanting her to know much about your boss, “Alive and well… Ready for a new school year.”

“Good…”

Silence befell you both once again, but you were the one to break it now, “Why did you do it?”

“I thought it was the right thing… My father… My family was killed by outcasts.” The way Marilyn answered almost made it seem like she wasn’t even sure of her own answer, rather it was what she had been telling herself to avoid the truth.

You decided to challenge her, “Were they really? Your brother’s death was due to your father’s bigotry. Your mother died of a broken heart, and your father-”

She cut you off, her temper ready to fly off the handle, “Don’t talk about my family like that. I know how they-”

“You were abused for years, Marilyn. Abused and manipulated.” She looked away from you, her eyes were filled with anger and embarrassment and she didn’t want you to see. You were seething with your own form of rage, unable to have outcasts take the blame for the hand Marilyn had been dealt, “You shouldn’t let that bitterness consume you. Life is full of death… and disappointment… but it isn’t hard to find the good in it.”

She went quiet. You couldn’t tell if she was beginning to ignore you or if she was considering your response. You are watching her intently now, wondering what was going through her wretched yet beautiful mind.. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips and you are reminded of those passing periods spent in the broom closet. Her face was downcast on the table in front of her and she picked at her nails. Those hands. Those hands that had caused so much damage yet brought you so much pleasure in the early hours of the morning.

You began to question yourself, wondering if you were conflating love with lust.

Her voice broke you from your thoughts. It was soft and desperate. Her eyes looked up at you almost like she was pouting. Her eyes were begging you, “Will you come back next week?”

You were reminded of those nights she would come to your room after being rejected by Larissa, saying ‘no’ to her was impossible then too. You considered her question for a moment and you knew that you were doing something wrong when you gave your answer, “Yes…”

As you walked from the correctional center, you wondered if she was manipulating you again. You wondered if she wanted to rope you into some larger scheme when all you wanted to do was love her.

Link to Chapter 6

[imbiowaresbitch]

Praise You

My Year of the OTP November fic!

Castiel needs a fresh start after his divorce. He doesn't really have a plan, so is heading east to visit his friend Balthazar and crash in his spare room for a few days before finding a place of his own. A traffic jam turns him off course, but maybe where he's headed is finally the right direction. Accepting himself is a major step toward his own happiness, but is he ready for what that means? To ask for what he wants? ~~

Castiel suppressed a sigh, knowing Gabriel would misinterpret it. As though wanting a fresh start after a divorce was all that unusual.

"You're sure about this, Cassie?" 

Gabriel's voice was muffled through the radio, and Castiel rolled his eyes.

"Gabriel, if you're going to talk at me while I'm driving, take whatever it is out of your mouth and use your words properly."

There was a POP!, like a tootsie-pop pulled from his brother's mouth, and a disgruntled huff.

"How do you know it's some thing and not some one?!"

Castiel snorted. 

"Because I can hear the ambient noise from the café in the background. So unless you've really updated Happy Hour," Castiel said sarcastically, "it's probably candy."

"You've got me there. You wouldn't believe the cost of a licence for that kind of –"

"Sorry, I'm about to enter a tunnel. You're breaking up!" Castiel interrupted, tapping away on the wheel of his new – to him – Mark V and staring at the gridlocked traffic ahead of him.

"Don't even try it; I checked your route. There aren't any tunnels on the way!"

"I'll find one if I have to. Now shut up for a minute and let me drive, Gabriel," Castiel ordered, checking over his shoulder and signalling right. 

Spotting an opening, he quickly pulled into the next lane and turned right on the side street. His GPS beeped at him.

"Off-route. Recalculating…"

"Never mind that," he muttered at it and followed the signs to the flyover for the northbound interstate.

"Call me when you get to Balthazar's, alright?" Gabriel said, and Castiel glanced guiltily at the GPS, which was urging him to turn around and rejoin the parking lot it called the eastbound route. 

"Yeah, about that. Can you call him for me and tell him I'm not getting in tonight? Traffic is completely backed up, so I'm either going to have to find a motel or another route."

"That's what you get for leaving so late in the day, Cassie. I tried to tell you –"

"Uh huh, ever the big brother, right, short stuff?"

"Oh-ho! Cassie is sassy today! Alright, I'll call Zar. But you text me when you know where you're staying tonight, or I'll call Michael and file a missing person's report!"

"No, you won't," Castiel argued, laughing.

"No. I won't. Only because he hasn't forgiven me for the last time I called that in."

Castiel snorted, remembering their youngest brother's outrage when he found out it was a prank.

"Gabriel, if you want him to forgive you, you'll probably need to do the community service hours you said you would."

"Ughhh. Who died and made you the boss of me?" Gabriel demanded, but Castiel could hear the fondness in his older brother's voice.

"That would be your maturity. We gave it a lovely service. I sent flowers."

Gabriel guffawed. "I haven't heard you like this in too long, Cassie! You know something? I think this move will be good for you!"

"I think you're right," he mused, grinning. It felt freeing to smile like that. "I'm hanging up now. I need to figure out where I'm going!"

"Bye, Cassie! Do something I'd do!"

"Only if you have bail money," Castiel teased. "Bye."

Castiel disconnected the call and pulled his aviators from the overhead visor, slipping them on. He ran his fingers through his carefully combed hair, scratching at his scalp and messing up the neatly coiffed style he'd arranged out of habit. Rolling up his sleeves one after the other, he loosened his tie and hauled it off over his head. He stretched, cracking his neck, and popped a couple buttons on his shirt.

"Let's see where this road goes."

~~

Many thanks to @nickelkeep for the beta! Read it on AO3.

[willowlived]

still into you - day two | coffee

sponsored by my watching black friday and getting emotional at take me back and thinking Hm... What if? Something something happens / any universe, so no spoilers! no triggers just some angst at the beginning :)

Peter Spankoffski was the one thing that Stephanie Lauter never expected to find. He made a surprise entrance, and every kiss, every touch, every dance, every smile, every moment there after had been a surprise and a gift. Never before in any sort of romantic interaction been so... gentle and caring. Never before had she ever felt like she loved someone like she loved Pete, and never before had she regretted not realizing it sooner and saying it the moment she had.

The one thing that had not surprised Steph when it came to Pete was the full fucking ride that he had gotten to a nice as fuck school that was not too far from the one that Richie was going to. It was then that she knew - or really, that she is sure that the both of them knew, that they were on a timer.

It was her that broke up with him. Pete, she knew, with the utmost affection, would not want to but Steph knew that they had to, or she had to. The week after Honeyfest. He deserved so much better than anything in Hatchetfield and Stephanie, well... She was not getting out of there for awhile. She had to free him. She had to let him chase the better things. True or not, she felt like she might be holding him back if they held on. They both had cried, but they both understood and they both had promise to keep in touch. For a year they had done just that but it hurt like fuck, so texts and calls began to get more distance and here they were, another year later and all of her updates about Pete came from Ruth- the pair of them living together, Ruth going to community college while Steph was working at Beanies. it was like everything that she had ever dreamed about when she was younger- away from her dad. comfortable.

-The one thing that was missing was the only thing that had come into her life unexpectedly. Life got busy and she tried to move on. When shitty dates weren't filling her time, she worked, she budgeted, she and Ruth cooked dinners and almost set their little kitchen on fire. Life was good and she was beginning to find a pattern that she was settling into.

Until a familiar voice easily broke that pattern. An oddly busy day hit Beanies but Steph, thank god, was finally on her fucking break- a break that was cut short when Nora asked if she could stop early and make a quick hot chocolate for a customer. With hesistance and tired energy, she stood to her feet, about to apologize for the delay when the customer in question talks first.

" Stephanie Lauter? "

Now, it was not the first time that she ran into this- People from Hatchetfield High visiting or someone that recognized the former Mayor's only child all grown up. But that voice...

" Peter Spankoffski?! "

-There he was, practically looking the exact same, dressed in his usual signature nerdy look that maybe she teased about but god it really does look like him. In that moment, her breath caught in her throat, time is forgotten, her cup, her job, as Steph is moving out from behind the counter, to give him a big tight hug.

To her surprise, he laughs, perhaps from awkwardness, but he hugs her back after a mere moment of hesitation just as fucking tight.

" Nora I'm finishing my fifteen. " Is all she says as she lets go, and despite hearing the groan in her bosses voice, Steph lets go and all but drags Pete outside.

" What the actual fuck are you doing back here?" She laughs, standing back to look look at him, trying to find anything that has changed over the two years. " I am not missing a birthday, am I? Is it some holiday, because I sure as shit might have forgotten and I want time and a half. " He laughs at her joke and this bittersweet feeling fills her chest. It's good to hear that noise again. She's missed that laugh. She did not know just how bad until now, but fuck.

" No. No...." It still lines his voice, laughter lining his words and she finds herself smiling. " It's Ruth's opening night and you know, first time in a show show I wanted to- "

" Surprise her? " She finishes with him, the both of them laughing a little, more of an awkward sound, and Steph looks away, smile still lining as her lips. " Well she's going to flip in the best way possible. She's been so nervous but I know it will mean the world to see you there. And well.. between you and me, the show is pretty good too. "

It strikes then and there, this sudden quiet, awkward, distance, and they both are looking at each other in the eye before they let out this similar awkward chuckle and look away. Steph exhaling as she tried to think on what to say. Memories fill in her head. Times before. Things that were and were not. It was hard to focus on the now with it. But neither of them could move.

" Well if you need a place to stay-? "

" Oh no. It's okay. Rich came too, we're sharing a hotel for the weekend. "

A pause, again. Steph thinks that she ought to just turn around, say that she will see him tonight, but it's Pete who breaks it.

" But I would like to catch up. Preferably when your not at work. " He notes with a smile and blush tinted cheeks. "Maybe we will all hang out after the show, but would you maybe uh... want to get coffee or something tomorrow? "

Her eyebrows raised, her face flushes, and she gives him a questioning look, almost silently asking if he was sure. What she was met with was a smile, hopeful, nervous, but unquestioning and unwavering. Stephanie Lauter, hence, smiled.

" Yeah. I'd like that too. Starbucks at 10? "

" It's a date. " a pause. " Wait, no! No it's not a date. I mean- "

" It can be whatever you want." Steph shrugged, giving him a little bit of a wink. " It's.. just good to see you. "

" It's good to see you too. " he smiled, looking at her with a lingering glance before tilting. " but I do need my hot chocolate. "

" Yeah yeah yeah. " She says with a laugh, opening the door, this feeling of weightlessness, familar butterflies in her stomach as she smiles widely up at him. " You are still such a nerd Spankoffski. "

And again he smiled. His gaze lingered. And again those same fucking feelings she had when he asked her to homecoming danced inside of her chest. A weekend. Two days. That wasn't much time, but it felt like all the time in the world. Even if she thought she had moved on it was clear that she had not in the slightest-

And maybe, just maybe he might still be into her too.