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shebeafancyflapjack · 6 months ago

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Run, Little Witch (Epilogue)

(Ft @idiotwithanipad 's oc Amy)

"And that concludes our tale of how the magnificent Mary Guppy defeated the monster in the mirror." The pink haired girl rounded off her story, finishing with a twirl of her wrists and a bow; "The End."

As she sat back down, the ghosts gave her a half-hearted applause, barely tapping their hands together more so then clapping.

Pat forced his trademark welcoming grin.

"Er...thank you, Silver, pet. For regailing us with a story we're already very familiar with, having...y'know, lived through it. In a sense."

A grim murmur vibrated around the group gathered in Higham Suite for Story Club.

The witch crossed her legs; "Amy didn't."

Their newest dead resident who sat on her right widened her eyes, "Wait...That all actually happened?!" She looked to the others, to Humphrey in particular, for confirmation.

Everyone nodded, guilt-ridden lips downturned.

"Sadly yes, Poppet." Humphrey said, his head and body connected in his seat on this rare occasion.

"Not one of my prouder moments." Captain cleared his throat, looking down at the stick on his lap.

To this day, Silver still flinched whenever he waved it too close to her face. He tried his best to avoid doing so in her presence.

"Quite." Agreed Fanny, fingers of the hand she'd used to strike the young woman's cheek twitching.

"Guys. Come on." Silver addressed to them, feeling a little bad for making them all relive it. But it felt like it was finally time; "It's been years now. We can talk about it. It's good not to bottle things up, remember?"

They all seemed to give a mumble of vague agreement but none of them looked keen to think about that night anymore than she did.

Had they asked her to stop at any time during the story, she'd have done so.

But, just like Mary's trial and execution, she had been the one to suffer the most from the Witchfinders spirit. It was her story to tell.

It had taken hours of sobbing in Mary's arms for her to calm down. She'd let the larger woman lead her to her bedroom and then lay with her until the sun rose, rocking her close and stroking her hair.

She still desperately needed to sleep. But the panic was gone. As the sunlight crept into the cramped room, she'd begun to accept that the danger was behind them now.

"I saw him pass from the Captain's body into the mirror. He won't harms you now, lovey." She'd reassured, her lap functioning as Silver's pillow while Mary petted her head. "And the others all be back to their old selves. You is safe."

Safe.

She wanted to believe that. She wanted to trust that she could leave this room, leave Mary's side, and she'd have nothing to worry about. That she could approach her friends and everything would be back to normal. But it wasn't that easy.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. They understands. You can stay here as long as you need."

Would forever be okay?

Of course she doesn't need forever. At lunchtime, Alison knocks upon the door, making Silver jump and reach for Mary before her familiar voice announced her.

She let the living woman enter. Despite being partly, mostly even, at fault for the night's events, Alison hadn't directly assaulted her like the others.

The guilt in her eyes shone true all the same.

"I am so, so sorry, hon." Her fellow millennial spoke cautiously, a respectable distance away; "Mary warned me something bad would happen and I ignored her. Please don't be mad at the others. I've spoken to them and, not to downplay what happened to you, but they went through Hell as well. That...monster, Pius, basically violated them. They were aware the whole time and tried hard as they could to fight back but...They weren't in control. They never wanted to say and do those things. But they feel awful, all the same."

Part of her already knew that. She'd witnessed the struggle on Humphrey's face as he'd tried to communicate truly to her. For all that went through this night, she can't imagine how it feels to not have control over your own body.

"I'm not angry with any of them. Please tell them that." She said to Alison, "I'm not even that angry with you though, yeah, you do need to listen to Mary better. She knows her shit."

"T'is true. Cow, mostly, but also horse." The older woman commented from the side.

That brought the first smile to Silver's lips since the incident.

"I'm just...not ready to face them yet. Is that okay?" She asked, sheepishly, rubbing at her arm. "I really need to sleep it off, you know."

"Of course. They get that. We all do." Alison assured her, "We'll all be here for you when you wake up, and when you're ready."

The only other ghost she agreed to see before her final night was Kitty. Everyone else, she suspected, would understand her need for space, whereas Kitty would be left with the uncertainty of their relationship for a whole month.

Alison left to fetch the young Georgian woman and lead her inside before leaving them to it. Silver sat on Mary's bed, the woman herself giving Kitty a smile and gesturing her to come sit at the foot. Silver had already told her it would be okay. But she struggled to look her friend in the eye just yet.

The accusation of having...forced herself upon Kitty continued to echo in her ears, making her skin crawl.

"I don't expect you to forgive me. Even though I never meant those awful words, not a single one." Kitty explained with surprising maturity in her tone.

It wasn't about forgiveness. But how could she attempt to explain that?

"You and Alison are the sisters I always wanted. I would never say or do anything to hurt you. And I hate that horrible man for making me act that way!" She'd never thought she'd hear Kitty proclaim hating anyone, but Silver felt the bitter sincerity in her words; "Alison said you still needed to sleep it off and I respect that. Just...when you're ready, could you please let me know when...if we can be friends again?"

A tear leaked from Silver's exhausted eyes at such an innocent request.

She edged her fingers towards Kitty's hand on the divan.

"When the world...leaves you feeling blue," She softly sang, "You can count on me....I will be there for you."

Kitty smiled as she sobbed, wiping her face.

"When it seems, all your hopes and dreams, are a million miles away, I will reassure you." She joined in.

"We've got to all stick together. Good friends are there for each other. Never ever forget that,"

"I got you and you got me..."

Their fingers interlocked. Silver tugged her friend across the gap and over to her. Kitty whimpered in relief as they embraced each other, all the awful events of the night before seeming to be crushed and dissolved by the hug, at least between the both of them.

Silver rested her head on the Georgian's shoulder, still cursing her for making her so uncool with her catchy pop songs.

When her last night came to its close, Mary offered to walk her back to her bed in the forest, assuming that she wouldn't want Robin to do his usual duty for the time being.

"Actually..." Silver began, timidly, "C-can I stay here? In your room?"

"For the month entire?"

She rubbed at her own elbow; "Is that okay?"

"Of course, darlin' girl." Mary seemed honoured by the request. She helped Silver lay down comfortably, wishing she could tuck her in as a true mother would for her child, "You have a good long rest and plenty of sweet dreams."

"And you'll be here when I wake up?"

Mary smiled, patting her hand, "As my Lord is my witness." She'd leaned in to kiss her forehead as the first rays of dawn began to appear in the sky; "Goodnights, little'en."

The kiss had tingled on her brow as she finally, at long fucking last, drifted off to sleep.

"Well, I didn't think it was possible for this Mary woman to sound even more awesome. But I was wrong." Amy smiled; "She sounds like the GOAT."

Confused stares were shared around the group, even from Silver.

"No, Stompy, Mary human lady." Robin corrected.

"What? No, guys, I mean..." Amy rolled her eyes, exasperated once again at being surrounded by oldies, "Greatest Of All Time."

"Ah!" They all chorused.

"Oooh, I like that. I'm a bit of a goat myself in some areas, if I do say so." Julian boasted.

"Think you mean 'git'." Humphrey cleared his throat.

"Well there can't be too many GOATS or surely it loses its meaning." Said Fanny.

"How does one refer to a herd of GOATS then?" Pondered Kitty.

Silver sighed, leaning towards Amy; "See, this is why we don't try to teach them new slang."

Her friend giggled, seeing that she'd opened up a whole new can of worms.

"To get back on topic, you're right...Mary was the best." Silver said with an air of love and loss.

Everyone seemed to nod in equal agreement.

"Certainly an unforgettable character, to say the least." Said Fanny.

"Remarkable woman. She'd have put many of the men in my cabinet in their place, that's for certain. Not myself, of course, I've always respected strong, powerful females such as Mary." The disgraced MP spoke.

"Sure you have, Julian." Said Silver.

Robin reached to tap Amy's arm; "Remind me to take you outside tonight. Me show you Mary's star. You meet her, say hello. She very quiet but me think she be happy to see friend of Moonah girl."

"Thanks. I'd like that." Amy looked back at Silver, neither of them mentioning that her friend had already shown her which star belonged to her mother figure.

There was a more pressing and disturbing matter on her mind though.

"Uhmm...this Pius prick?" Amy ventured, tucking her hands inside the sleeves of her hoodie; "Where is he now?"

"Still in the mirror. In an old trunk Alison found in the attic." Julian explained.

"It belong to pirate friend of mine who die here. Built to last." Robin added; "Alison and Mike throw to bottom of lake."

"She arranged something with the hotel guys when they left, asking them to make sure it was securely sealed so it wouldn't be disturbed by divers or treasure hunters." Silver explained, spotting the goosebumps on her friend's neck; "Don't worry. He ain't getting out. Not in a thousand lifetimes, gods willing."

They had been tempted to send the chest away, but there was always that possibility his spirit had to remain within the boundaries of the land, the same as the other ghosts. It wasn't worth the risk to try to carry it past the boarder if it somehow broke the enchantment.

Silver was content to think of him rotting in the murky depths, locked away from hurting anyone again, the misogynistic shitbag.

"And....you're okay?" Amy asked her, lowering her voice; "I mean...that sounds like a fucking shit night. For all of you, I know, but..."

The Wiccan nodded; "Not gonna lie, it creeps up on me now and then but...I felt a lot better after I woke up. I won't bore you all with the dreams I had-"

The group all sighed in relief, aside from Kitty who had already heard them.

"Dickheads. Anyway, the dreams helped. And I just wanted everything to be back to normal."

Rather than facing the gang as a whole, she'd asked for each of them to come to her, one on one.

Cap had been the first, which made sense. It had been difficult to resist the urge to recoil as he entered the room, flashbacks hitting her of being punched and flogged at his hand. But then he'd explained to her the significance of his stick, of who had given to him, what it was supposed to symbolise. And now it felt corrupted by the pain it had caused. She'd watched the stern patriarch get brought to tears by his own confession. Not even the others knew the story of how he died and yet he'd shared it with her. His most intimate secret. She'd thown her arms around his neck and, to her surprise, he'd patted her back.

That was the only hug they'd ever shared.

Everyone else's apologies had been less dramatic. Pat, as usual, had done the least wrong but still gave a hundred sorries, along with suggestions for some woodland activities that might appeal to her pagan lifestyle. Fanny was curt and formal as usual, but no less sincere. Julian prepared some waffling speech but then cut himself off and went "sod this, let's cut to the chase. Soz. We cool?" The git somehow made her laugh with that and it was all she needed. Thomas also prepared a three hour long apology sonnet, as he called it, but she made him trim it down to twenty minutes. Humphrey had babbled awkwardly, Mary having passed his head to her. But Silver just hugged him close. He'd tried. She'd seen that.

All that remained now was...

"He's not in the house?" Silver frowned at the revelation.

"He said that traitors in his tribe were dealt with by death or exile. And as he's already dead, well..." Julian shrugged.

"So he exiled himself? Where?"

Where else?

The caveman was sat, cross-legged, on her bed in the forest, among the trees and the flowers in full Summer bloom, when she went out to find him. He looked up at her approach and jumped off immediately.

"Me just look after bed for Moonah girl. Me not try to steal, honest." He said, shakily, hands raised up.

Silver walked towards him.

He shrank back, rubbing at the front of his pelt. Never before had he appeared so much like a scalded puppy.

"Robin hurt Moonah girl. Robin trick. Break trust. Me so sorry. Robin understand if Moonah girl never-."

"Shut up, you great floof." She said, wrapping her arms around him, tight.

"So...you forgive us all then? Just to make things clear." Captain asked her, back in the present day.

"Of course I do, guys. I mean, sure, it might have taken me ten years, but I'm over it." Silver smiled.

Some looked greatly relieved while a few frowned.

"Hang on...It's only been eight years? Hasn't it?" Pat asked.

Fanny and Robin seemed to be working it out in their heads before confirming.

"Ah yeah, that's right. Two more years to go then." The pagan folded her arms, "Hey, Cap? I've got this load of tension aching me between my shoulders. D'you mind?"

"Oh. No! Of course not, my dear." The soldier sprung to his feet and moved around to place himself behind the young woman, massaging her beneath the base of her neck with his surprisingly skilled fingers. "How is that?"

"Mmm. Yes, that's lovely, ta." She moaned, rolling her neck back in pleasure.

Robin quickly got onto his knees before her.

"You want foot rub too?"

"Oh please, Robin, if you wouldn't mind." She accepted with false humility, before winking at Amy to her side; "You know how uncomfy these big boots can get."

The two young friends struggled to contain their laughter.

If Mary had taught her anything, it was how to keep men in their proper place.

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts fanfic #ghosts oc #oc: silver #others oc #mary guppy #robin the caveman #captain ghosts #run little witch

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sweet--sweet--muffin · 1 year ago

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My Millennial Tree Cookie Headcannons bc why tf not-

• Millennial Tree is bigender and doesn’t mind going by any pronouns (but mainly likes to go by She/Her and He/Him) I got this headcanon from a silly thought where Millennial Tree is just Father Time in the body of Mother Nature, and this thought spiked in my head when I found out he’s a m a n.

• She likes to go on a morning or nightly stroll throughout the forest. She be singing like a Disney princess while doing so. (as if she isn’t already a Disney princess).

• Can also tame even the most vicious animals.

• Her smile is so gentle and serene, it can calm the most furious storm

• While Millennial Tree might seem nonchalant about anyone threatening him, it doesn’t stop him from protecting the land from anything that may endanger it and gets worried about how the effects of said threat has impacted on the ones she holds dear. He’s especially worried about what DE and Pomegranate did to Wind Archer Cookie when he was Night Raven, because she can imagine the suffering he had to endure and has to reassure Wind Archer that it’s not his fault for letting the darkness consume him.

• Millennial Tree is basically like Oogway from Kung Fu Panda in a way

• She fucking loves Wind Archer dearly and for l i f e andhefeelsthesamethoCOUGH. MT is very appreciative of him as her guardian and protector, but sees him as something more to her than that and cherishes him as her dear friend (being called a “friend” by the Millennial Tree, the very being he is sworn to protect, bewildered Wind Archer at first but felt honored and humbled by the sentiment)

• MT is very fond of Carol Cookie, Mint Choco Cookie and Clover Cookie, along with their music, but is also curious about the kind of music that DJ Cookie makes. MT and DJ Cookie formed an unlikely yet unique friendship over this.

• Speaking of which, due to being foreign to the current period of time, Millennial Tree occasionally messes up figures of speech and has a tendency to use very outdated slang in an attempt to socialize with her fellow Cookies. (Her fellow Cookie friends would find the effort adorable)

• He wished there is something he can do to undo Sea Fairy’s curse, but SF appreciates the thought and insists that this is something she has to fight on her own. MT’s kindness towards her is one of the things that brings warmth to her heart and it’s also one that motivates her to fight her fate.

• She can manipulate the height of her own Cookie form, but her real height is that she’s fucking b i g. Like bigger than any of the dragons’ cookie forms and the OG legend squad (Moonlight, Wind Archer, Sea Fairy and Fire Spirit) had to hold in their laughter at their height differences, much to the dragons’ dismay.

• MT loves to lay in flowerbeds and admire the sky. He sometimes ends up falling asleep and his sleeping position in laying down is messy, looking like he fell from the 7th floor. Wind almost had a heart attack when he thought that he’s dead but MT is actually just sleeping. His snoring is soft tho-

• MT has a one-sided rivalry to Timekeeper and finds the effort in TK being a stronger time user than her kinda concerning bc even though it might not seem like it, MT actually cares for Timekeeper’s well-being. Timekeeperishellagayforherbutshewon’tadmitthat-

• He met Adventurer Cookie in The City of The Millennial Tree by the time where MT’s curse was broken and when Adventurer came to check what the hell was going on as he had heard a big sound in the forest, he saw Millennial Tree. Adventurer basically fell for his beauty and just... asked him so many questions about the city (and abt MT himself ofc). They became friends after this and Adventurer would share his stories from his adventures whenever MT asks him about them out of genuine curiosity.

• The dragons don’t like her. Not one bit. Probably the one thing they all can agree on. They never thought about her serene, warm smile when they saw her. Pitaya definitely didn’t thought about how feisty and bold MT can be, especially when she was made aware of Pitaya’s awakening. Ananas definitely didn’t thought about her consideration and thoughtfulness in protecting the land she calls home. Lotus definitely didn’t thought about her soothing voice that would probably be in tune with their own melody when they’d play their mandolin. Lychee definitely didn’t thought about how fun of a playmate she could be when they saw her playing with the Cookiemals. And Longan definitely didn’t thought about how the mere thought of MT herself brings an abundance of warmth in their chest. Yeah. They all hate her very much.

• Fire Spirit once burned MT’s head branch for fun when he’s out in the forest and didn’t realized that branch belonged to someone. Or rather attached to someone- And that’s how those two met. MT was pretty chill abt the encounter despite his head branch being burnt tho.

• MT explained her meeting with Fire Spirit to Wind Archer and that’s how his tension with him increased, thinking that FS is actually gonna burn MT (which is an accident, at least to Millie).

• Butterflies like to crowd land on his branches and MT finds it adorable.

#cookie run #cookie run headcanons #millennial tree cookie #muffin misc #In courtesy of my tree wife’s belated happy birthday have these instead

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bisluthq · 3 months ago

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I don’t know what it is about Taylor that makes outfits like that not work? It can’t be her age because Charli isn’t that much younger and she has been pulling a gen z vibe to the point where some people believe she’s in her 20s. This one doesn’t even suffer from her choosing one trendy item and styling it badly, the whole outfit works on paper. But something about it feels so off? Maybe it’s because she usually dresses more mature so her more “youthful” outfits don’t work as well? I can’t figure out what exactly isn’t working

Idk it’s also her makeup and styling tbqh. Charli’s whole aesthetic is very Gen Z (even tho she herself is a millennial lol). Taylor’s makeup and hair here isn’t in line with most Gen Z trends I’ve seen so with that outfit, especially since it’s not fitted correctly, it feels very “how do you do fellow kids” lmao. But also Charli has always looked younger than she is (she could’ve passed for teens well into her twenties and now in her thirties can pass for twenties and always embraced slightly younger aesthetics/trends that were popular with younger girls) and Taylor, despite some fans’ insistence otherwise and her own continued visits to the aestheticians, pretty much just consistently looks her age since her mid 20s (she’s even looked older than her age on occasion like during Lover when she fucked up her lip fillers).

but like idk man look at the pics of like Charli and Billie and u can see Charli’s older but not thaaaat much older. She looks like at most a big sister and obviously the sexual lyrics towards each other make it… not sisterly lol but also don’t feel weird. Whereas u look at pics of Taylor and Ice Spice and it’s giving more cool hip fun auntie than older sister/cool older friend 💀💀💀

in conclusion, and this is not to disrespect Taylor or anyone who wants to experiment with newer/hipper trends, sometimes aging gracefully imo involves not getting too big into those lol. Nothing wrong with trying but yeah it’s not always gonna work and sometimes you’ll end up with “how do u do fellow kids” moments 😂💀 which imho is what’s wrong with this Anabel’s outfit. Again, judging this from myself and people I know. Like I think the longer socks thing is very cute but I did try one day and just looked silly lol whereas my brother’s gf wears them like that all the time and looks great because she’s yk 18 and it suits her whole aesthetic 🤷🏻‍♀️💀 I did the knee high ones when I was 20ish and that was a big trend and it also looked cute but if I dug those out and wore them with like an outfit that did work then (like the hyper mini skirt and either a little tucked in blouse or a crop top) now it’d not look so great and that’s okay!!

I do have a pleated high waist mini skirt I bought last summer and I wore it a LOT and got compliments on it but I styled it differently. I mostly wore it either with like Grecian sandals or with white fashion sneakers and secret socks and with slightly oversized fashion T-Shirts that I half tucked for the sneakers combo or with like a knitted top that I then didn’t tuck in on colder days (I’ve got two knitted tops with 3/4 sleeves and they worked with that) and with the sandals. It’s also not THAT mini so that I think helps. Like it’s not that I’m saying start dressing like a nun/soccer mum but… try be realistic on what you can pull off lol.

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moki-dokie · 2 years ago

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god i was just about to make a post about this very sort of thing last night and just didn't have the spoons to get into it. but now that the foundation is there...

i'm not sure what it is specifically about us millennials and younger, but there's been a MASSIVE change in the way we interact with our fellow humans that is just... not fucking healthy. for anyone involved. and you know where i see the most blatant example of this? when anyone asks someone else a question. most commonly here where we have askboxes but i see it everywhere. threads on twitter, forum posts, texts, facebook chains, you name it. and it goes a little something like this:

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I was wanting to know X."

Look, i know we're suffering some unprecedented amounts of untreated trauma, abuse, neglect, and conditioning from practically every direction but this isn't an excuse to slot every single person you interact with into a trauma-warped role. you have control over how you speak and how you treat other humans (generally speaking. obviously there are some exceptions. and if you legitimately fall into that exception this obviously isn't for you) and WAY too many of you are using your mental illness as a shield and excuse to not take responsibility, to not put in the hard work into self-help, to not treat your fellow person with basic decency.

to start off a conversation with self-deprecating assumptions is so incredibly unhealthy for your already struggling mental health and entirely unfair and just mean to the person you're trying to talk to. there's so many more examples of shit like this that is alarmingly common in our casual daily speech, almost exclusively to the 35 and under agegroup. yeah, i see it here and there with some 40-somethings, but beyond that you'll almost never see or hear that manner of speech. because it's 1. presumptuous as all fuck 2. projecting and announcing insecurities very loudly and 3. just plain Not Polite. it's not funny, it's not cute, it's not how healthy conversations work. probably has a lot to do with how most of us in the age bracket grew up with more digital conversations than face to face. idk.

As someone who works in a chat-based customer support day in and out, i see it too much. perhaps even more in my job than out in the wild.

"I'm sorry for wasting your time, but could you tell me... "I can't figure this out, sorry I'm just really stupid..." "Sorry to be a pain about this, I'm checking on the status of..." "sorry if this has been asked before..."

stop apologizing for a made up wrong you've assumed to have committed before the other person has even had a chance to speak. stop making other people carry your insecurities. have some accountability for your own actions. you don't get a free pass to act a fool just because you've got issues.

remove apologies entirely from your speech unless someone is specifically stating you have done something to wrong them or you know beyond a shadow of a doubt something you said is deserving of one. obviously there are cultural exceptions to this *coughcanadians* *coughirish* and there are instances it can actually be used in a polite way (such as you didn't hear what someone says and respond with "oh sorry i didn't catch that, could you repeat it?" like there is a big difference there) or when it can be used sarcastically and ironically and i know yall have the critical thinking skills to know the difference.

All of those examples can be said without the self-loathing included and with more thought and engagement towards the person you're speaking with: "Hi! If you have the time, could you please tell me about X?" "Hey, I'm just having a tough time getting my head around this problem, would you be able to help?" "Hello there! I'd like to check in on the status of this ticket, please! I really appreciate the help." "Hiya! If this has been asked before, maybe you can point me in that direction, but if not, [question here]"

when people say be kinder to yourself, it starts with stuff like this. you don't need to apologize for just talking, for just existing. nor do you need to continually berate yourself in front of other people and assume they think the same. the sooner you start removing this kind of language from your conversations, the better off you'll be. if you want to have better conversations, want to keep people around, want to have people WANT to talk to you, then start evaluating the way you're speaking. start making little changes so you aren't handing the other person a whip they don't want. until there isn't even a whip present.

i don't wanna hear the bullshit excuse of bUt iT's NoT tHaT eAsY!!!! either. fucking duh. change isn't easy. self help isn't easy. nobody in the history of ever has said it's easy. this is why you seek professional help if you have the ability and lean on friends/family/loved ones for support and assistance. and none of this "but i don't have anyone :(((((((" bullshit either. yes you do. if you are reading this you have the entire internet at your fingertips. find someone. ask people. join communities dedicated to helping. becoming a better conversationist and taking better care of yourself both require you taking initiative and putting in the effort for it. and yes, it's hard. yes, you will slip up and backslide sometimes. that's okay though. because eventually it won't be hard anymore. eventually you won't even think about it anymore and you might just find yourself having the kind of deep, meaningful, engaging, fun conversations that were out of reach before.

a good conversation tip is that when you initiate a conversation or a topic within a conversation, you are implicitly Casting the other person in a role–they’ll have had or observed similar interactions in the past and understand this even if not consciously. like the simplest example of this is that if you say ‘knock knock’, the other person knows they’re meant to say ‘who’s there?’. this is why intense self-deprecation is a shitty social move, because you are casting your conversational partner in one of two roles: Guy Who Argues With You, which is inherently a tiring role to be put in, especially on the regular, or worse, Guy Who Agrees That You Suck Because They’ve Always Secretly Hated You, which nobody wants to be. verbally self-flagellating isn’t bad social form because it’s wrong to express symptoms of mental illness, it’s bad because unless you are careful you end up implicitly offering the people youre talking to a whip they dont want

#can't wait for people to take this out of context #but man its exhausting talking to people that do this #ffs please stop it #at least put in the bare minimum effort to try #promise you'll feel a whole lot better for it

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lesfeldickbiblestudy · 1 year ago

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Through the Bible with Les Feldick LESSON 3 * PART 4 * BOOK 78 PART 2 of the MESSIANIC PROPHECIES – PART 4 Psalms 22, 23, and 24 Okay, good to see everybody back for program number four this afternoon. And we’re going to continue on to the next Psalm, which is Psalm 24. But before we look at that, we’re going to look at some verses in the New Testament again, and then we’ll come back. For those of you joining us on television, again, you know how I like to keep thanking you and praising the Lord for all your prayers, your contributions, and all that goes with it. How we thank you for your encouraging letters that we are getting something done. People are getting interested in what the Book really says. Now to introduce us to the 24th Psalm, let’s go back to I Peter a moment. Remember, that Peter is writing to Jews just as well as the Psalm is dealing with Jews. A lot of people don’t see that. But there’s nothing in Peter’s epistles that say otherwise, so I’ll maintain that. I Peter 5:4a “And when the chief Shepherd (We’ve had the Good Shepherd. We’ve had the Great Shepherd. Now we’ve got the Chief Shepherd.) shall appear,…” That is at His Second Coming. Now you want to remember, that when Peter wrote this little epistle, this is after the work of the cross. This is just shortly before they thought the Tribulation would be coming in. Of course, it’s not too long before Peter and Paul are both taken off the scene. But here he writes as an Apostle of the Nation of Israel—as he was when he was in Christ’s earthly ministry. But he writes concerning His Second Coming. Peter knows nothing of the Rapture, only His Second Coming. We’ve got the timeline up here, so I’m going to use it. Here we’ve been coming through all these Old Testament prophets and prophecies. Everything is 99% God dealing with Israel, even as we’re seeing in these Psalms. Then He fulfills those graphic prophecies concerning His first advent—His suffering, His death, His resurrection. He ascended. And then, according to all the Old Testament prophecies and timing and all that, they were expecting, like Peter is writing here, the seven years of Daniel’s seventieth week—or what we call the Tribulation—to come right in. And if these Jewish believers could survive these seven years, they’d go into the Kingdom, because that’s what they were looking for. Now in reality, looking back, we know that it didn’t happen. God postponed it. He brought in, instead, our Age of Grace. We now feel that we’re right down here toward the end. And again, we’re looking at those seven years as just out in front of the world. But here again, Peter is rehearsing the matter with his fellow-believing Jews—as if all of this is going to be happening within their lifetime. So read it once again. I Peter 5:4-5a “And when the chief Shepherd shall appear, (At His Second Coming and He will bring in that 1,000 year reign, or what we call the millennial reign, or the Kingdom.) ye shall receive a crown of glory that fadeth not away. (Because now it goes into the eternal state.) 5. Likewise, ye younger, submit yourselves unto the elder, Yea, all of you be subject one to another, be clothed with humility:…” And so on and so forth—preparing these Jewish believers for the Tribulation that they felt was right out in front of them. All right, back up a page, at least in my Bible, to chapter 2. Still in I Peter and verse 25. I just want you to see this constant analogy that the Jew was the sheep and God was the Shepherd. All the way through from the appearance of, especially, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and so forth—it’s that analogy of the sheep and the Shepherd. And as I pointed out in previous programs, I cannot find that you and I as Gentiles are ever in that category. I cannot find where God looks on us as sheep of His pasture and He is the shepherd. Instead, He’s the Head and we are in the Body—a whole completely different concept. But here in I Peter now, we’re still dealing with the sheep aspect.

I Peter 2:25 “For ye (speaking to his fellow Jews) were as sheep going astray; but are now returned unto the Shepherd and Bishop of your souls.” In other words, the Spiritual element is ready for the coming of their King. But you know, I just thought of a verse. On your way back, before we go to Psalms, stop a minute at Luke 15. This is one of my favorite examples of how the majority of Israel saw absolutely no need for a spiritual salvation. And that’s in Luke 15, the Parable of the Lost Sheep. That’s what made me just think of it. You were as sheep going astray. And that’s exactly the parable that Jesus gives in Luke 15 verse 3. And again, I’ll remind you of what I said in the last program. Israel was a pastoral people. Most of them had their own little flocks of sheep and goats. So He could talk in language that they were so well aware of, and they could understand it. Now verse 3: Luke 15:3-4a “And he spake this parable unto them, saying, 4. What man of you, having an hundred sheep, if he lose one of them, doth not leave the ninety and nine in the wilderness,…” Now you’ve got to remember, the wilderness is not like our Rocky Mountains and forests and so forth. The wilderness in the Middle East was what? Desert. Just flat desert. And in no time those sheep could be scattered and without a shepherd. They had no way of holding themselves together. All right, so here’s the picture then. He leaves those ninety and nine with nothing to guide them or protect them, and he goes after the one that he hears crying out there. Maybe in a little cavern of some kind, but he’s lost. So he leaves the ninety and nine out there on the wilderness, on the desert. Luke 15:4b-6 “…and go after that which is lost, until he finds it? 5. And when he hath found it, he layeth it on his shoulders, rejoicing. 6. And when he cometh home, he calleth together his friends and neighbors, saying unto them, Rejoice with me; for I have found my sheep which was lost.” Now this is all hard to comprehend in the picture here. Why didn’t he just take it back and join the flock? Well, it wouldn’t fit any more, because this is the picture of a believer. And the rest are still unbelievers. Next verse: Luke 15:7 “I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over ninety and nine just persons, who need no repentance.” Now, I just got a letter the other day with the question. Evidently I’d made point of it in a previous program, that these ninety and nine were lost. And the writer of the letter says, “Les, how can you say that when it says that they didn’t need repentance?” Well, why didn’t they need repentance? They were self-righteous. Now don’t lose that. They were self-righteous. They didn’t need anything that God had to offer. The ninety and nine were the same way. Did they miss the shepherd? No. They were out there on the wilderness grabbing at little clumps of grass. They had no concern. But what were they? Lost. You get the picture. Now read this verse again. Because whoever wrote the letter, I know was thoroughly confused, and I am taking this opportunity to straighten them out. That likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth—why did he repent? He knew he was a sinner. Why did the little sheep cry his head off? He knew he was lost. The ninety and nine didn’t have a clue that there was anything wrong. They were self-satisfied. All right, now that’s the same way then in verse 7. Luke 15:7 “I say unto you, that likewise joy shall be in heaven over one sinner that repenteth, more than over the ninety and nine just persons, which needs no repentance.” That sinner that repenteth was far more in God’s favor than the ninety and nine just persons who needed no repentance. Now, do you get the point? Why did they not feel that they needed repentance? Self-righteous. I’m okay. I don’t need anything. But what are they? Lost. And that’s most of mankind. They go through life thinking, well, I’m as good as my neighbor.

I’ll never forget, I had an elderly fellow right down the lane from me, and I would go down and try to witness to him. And every time, he’d say, “Les, I’m as good as so and so,” who was a known adulterer. But listen, that’s not going to cut it. You can’t hide behind an adulterer and hope to get to Heaven. But see, that’s the way they look at it. Well, I’m better than him, and he’s going to make it. I said, “What makes you think he’s going to make it?” “Well, he’s a big wheel in the church.” That’s not going to cut it. But, you see, these are the same way. They were out there on the wilderness, eating their little clumps of grass unconcerned. They were okay. But what did the Lord call them? Lost. Don’t ever forget that. All right, now on your way back to Psalms, let’s stop at Isaiah chapter 40. Then we’ll go and look and see what the Psalms says. Here I just want you to see how all through Scripture, when God is dealing with Israel or the Jewish people, you have that shepherd and sheep concept. Here it is again. Isaiah 40:11 “He shall feed his flock like a (What?) shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.” Well, when will Israel enjoy that kind of a closeness with their shepherd? In the Kingdom, when all the promises will finally be fulfilled. Okay, now that’s exactly what Psalm 24 is talking about—that when the King shall come and set up this glorious Kingdom, then Israel will enjoy all the promises throughout the Old Testament. All right, back to Psalm 24, starting at verse 1. Now remember what our three Psalms applied to. The first one was the Good Shepherd. Psalm 23 was the Great Shepherd. And now we come to Psalm 24, the Chief Shepherd—because it’s bringing us to the end of time as we know it. Verse 1: Psalms 24:1 “The earth is the LORD’S, and the fullness thereof; the world, and they that dwell therein.” Certainly no argument there, is there? He’s the Creator. He’s the Sovereign Ruler of the universe, and it’s His to do whatever He feels needs to be done. Psalms 24:2-3 “For he hath founded it upon the seas, and established it upon the floods. (In other words, the floodwaters—if you want to go back to Noah, I see nothing wrong with that.) 3. Who shall ascend into the hill of the LORD? or who shall stand in his holy place?” What is the Psalmist establishing? Who God is. Now I think if there’s a book in our Bible that establishes it, it’s Job. Now let me make my point. Come back to Job 38. Maybe this will make my point—that even a lot of people living today do not have the concept of who God is. They’re evolutionists. They’re atheists. They’re agnostics. And they just will not recognize that the God of Creation is who this Book says He is. All right, now it wasn’t that Job was an agnostic, not by any stretch. But on the other hand, he had a long ways to go, didn’t he? You know, a lot of people think that maybe God dealt unfairly with Job. Why? Why did God come down on that man so hard? Well, He had to make an impression on the man’s thinking. I think it was because Job thought he was a pretty good ol’ boy. I think he had a level of pride that God had to bring down. And that’s what I get here in chapter 38. After all these previous 37 chapters, now the Lord answers in verse 1. Job 38:1-3 “Then the LORD answered Job out of the whirlwind, and said, 2. Who is this that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge? 3. Gird up now thy loins like a man; for I will demand of thee, and answer thou me.” Now watch these questions. Job 38:4 “Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth? (My, wouldn’t I like to ask some of these atheists a question like that? Where were you when God called the universe into being? That’s what He’s asking Job. And then look what the Lord says next.) declare, (tell me) if thou hast understanding.” So, what’s implied? Job was a pretty smart ol’ boy. But he wasn’t quite smart enough.

Job 38:5-7 “Who hath laid the measures thereof, if thou knowest? or who hath stretched the line upon it? 6. Whereupon are the foundations thereof fastened? or who laid the corner stone thereof; 7. When the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?” Where were you Job? Well, what’s He establishing? His Deity. His Sovereignty. He is the One that has all the answers. Well, that’s enough. It just sort of wets your appetite. Come back again to Psalm 24. Otherwise, I’m going to run out of time. Psalms 24:3-5 “Who shall ascend unto the hill of the LORD? or who shall stand in his holy place? 4. He who hath clean hands, and a pure heart; (In other words, a true believer—even back there in Israel.) who hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor sworn deceitfully. 5. He shall receive the blessing from the LORD, and righteousness from the God of his salvation.” See those promises for the believer? Psalms 24:6-7 “This is the generation of them that seek him, that seek thy face, O Jacob. (See how he’s addressing this to Israel, to the Jew.) 7. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting (or the ancient or the eternal) doors; (Now here it comes. This is the thrust of this Psalm—the Chief Shepherd, the Bishop of Israel’s soul.) and the King of glory shall come in.” Now, those of you who know a little bit about your Bible, come back with me to Ezekiel 44 verse 2. Now remember why I’m going back there. “Lift up your heads, O ye gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall come in.” Ezekiel 44:1-2 “Then he brought me back the way of the gate of the outward sanctuary which looketh toward the east; and it was shut. 2. Then said the LORD unto me; This gate shall be shut, and it shall not be opened, and no man shall enter in by it; because the LORD, the God of Israel, hath entered in by it, therefore it shall be shut.” Now, if you know a little bit about the Eastern Gate in the wall of Jerusalem, what’s unique about it? Well, number 1, if you see pictures of the Eastern Wall with the Dome of the Rock in there, there is a Golden Gate. Those of you who have been may have seen it. But that’s not the real gate. That’s not the gate through which Christ went on that triumphal entry on Palm Sunday. It’s about ten feet below ground. And the Muslims have put a cemetery there so that nobody can fool with it. But you see, that Eastern Gate—even though the Golden Gate is up there in view—that’s not the one that Scripture’s talking about. That’s not the one through which Christ entered. It’s below ground. It’s been shut for centuries. The Muslims, for one reason or another, will not let anybody even attempt. One guy tried to dig down to it, and they caught him red-handed. But the real Eastern Gate is down there below the one you see in the pictures. It’s been shut ever since when. But something is going to happen that that gate is going to be opened when the King of Glory will come in. And that’s what the Psalmist is talking about. That the Eastern Gate that has been now shut for 2,000 years will be opened, and the King of Glory will come in. Now verse 8: Psalms 24:8-9 “Who is this King of glory? The LORD (And that’s the Old Testament term for God the Son, remember?) The LORD (Jehovah—God the Son) strong and mighty, the LORD mighty in battle. 9. Lift up your heads, O ye gates; (that is of Jerusalem) even lift them up, ye everlasting doors; and the King of glory shall (What?) come in.” And where’s He going to rule from? Mount Zion in Jerusalem. All of Scripture is looking forward to this glorious Kingdom that is still going to come. Now, I want to just finish the Psalm, and then we’ll look at a few other verses in Scripture that are promising this glorious King and His Kingdom. Verse 10, it’s repeated again for emphasis. Psalms 24:10 “Who is this King of glory? (Well, it’s--) The LORD of hosts, (The Creator—it’s God the Son.) he is the King of glory. Selah.”

All right, let me take you back to the New Testament. Let’s look at Matthew for a moment. Let’s jump in at Matthew chapter 25. This is just another little inkling of Scripture describing this King. This coming Lord of Lords, as Revelation put it. We saw that earlier. He will return to the Nation of Israel, to the city of Jerusalem, and He will set up His Kingdom. It’s coming! All right, verse 31 of Matthew 25: Matthew 25:31 “When the Son of man (the King of Glory) shall come in his glory, and all the holy angels with him, then shall he sit upon the throne of his glory:” Now let’s back up a few pages to chapter 19, where we get another picture of that same great throne room—that event that’s still future. Here is where it was promised to Peter and the Eleven disciples. Now of course, Judas fell out, but Mathias came in. So we’ve still got the Twelve apostles waiting to fulfill this glorious prophecy. Now verse 27 and this is toward the end of Christ’s earthly ministry. The Twelve, of course, are still—like I’ve already shown on our timeline—are looking for the King and the Kingdom in their lifetime. They have no idea it’s going to be another 2,000 years. Matthew 19:27 “Then answered Peter and said unto him, Behold, we have forsaken all, (Their fishing business up on Galilee, their families, and they’ve spent these three years serving the Lord day and night. So he says--)and followed thee; what shall be have therefore?” That is for reward. And look at Jesus’ answer. Peter, are you crazy? Is that what He says? No. He doesn’t put him down. And He knows that Peter isn’t talking about his salvation. He’s got that. But what are we going to have for having forsaken everything? We’ve followed you. What’s our future? What’s our reward? Now look how the Lord answered him. Matthew 19:28 “And Jesus said unto them, Verily I say unto you, That ye who have followed me, (you eleven men) in the regeneration (In other words, when the world is made ready for the Kingdom. It’s been totally renovated and regenerated. That’s what the word means.) when the Son of man shall sit in the throne of his glory, (like we just saw in Matthew 25) ye also shall sit upon twelve thrones, judging (ruling)the twelve tribes of Israel.” Now isn’t that beautiful? Everything fits. Who is this King of Glory? It’s the Coming, Second Coming, of the Son of God, Jesus the Christ!

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toongrrl-blog · 4 years ago

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Bridget Jones: In Company with Beckys and Karens

We can start with unpacking your luggage Bridget, you are gonna need the help but pull your weight into it.

Hi Bridget, looking good as always. Long time, huh? I guess it has been awkward after I have given your husband Mark a beat down and sent roses to his first ex-wife and your ex supervisor Perpetua. I think it’s time we talk. I understand life hasn’t been easy for you: your mother is nutty and a misogynistic racist, your father is friends with pervs and found it astounding you had a real boyfriend (Colin Jones won’t escape my ire), your friends are trash frankly especially the smug marrieds, you are insecure over a body that actually isn’t really a outlier to the dominant white patriarchal standard of cis female beauty (by the way, have you heard butt implants exist now?), your jerk husband is very negging and in the original novel he “compliments” you by pulling “Not like other girls” on you and all your other boyfriends see you as a piece of ass and don’t respect you, your uncle gropes your ass for how long and his wife pesters you about your body and past singleness.

But let’s be real Bridget: those wilderness years where you feared becoming a sad spinster were endured in a spacious apartment where your bedroom was separate from the kitchen AND the living room without a roommate (hope I get this lucky), you haven’t wanted for nothing growing up in a affluent and safe town in a single-income family (your dad was also a accountant), you were given blonde hair and blue eyes (traits that have been considered desirable for multiple millenniums), your body was always curvier than you’d like but you had no problem finding a lot of clothes in your size and didn’t have a doctor fat shame you (now smoking and drinking...), I learned from Jameela Jamil that actually Britain of your teens and twenties was a racist time, you got to go to college (granted it was in the University of Wales, which wasn’t “prestigious” enough for Daniel Cleaver) and you got a stable office job at a publishing company that you often fudged (most WOC can’t fuck up like you and thrive in this culture), and you never been in most situations where you didn’t have to look in the media or in the room and find yourself out of place.

Well now it’s 2020, have you heard of Black Lives Matter? This shitstorm of a year has been forcing us to confront issues regarding the patriarchy, capitalism, white supremacy, putting people of privilege to question their own involvement in prejudice, and a highly militarized law enforcement. Has Mark spoke of this to you? I haven’t heard a peep from you and Helen Fielding. I must say, I was glad not to hear either you or Helen say anything transphobic (fuck off JK Rowling). I think you heard of these memes going around called “the Karen” and “the Becky”, you must be wondering what the difference between the two are and was at a loss to counsel your smug married friends or your racist ass mother crying over being called Karens. Here is the trouble, I think you are likely a Becky and have the potential to turn into a Karen, after all you dream of weaponizing your mother’s embarrassing casual racism and thin privilege against Perpetua and Mark Darcy, and you dabbled in the White Savior trope for a hot minute in Thailand (oh and playing an idealized Ivanka Trump to your mother in the 3rd film?). Also let’s face it, you are compared to every confident, capable woman in your universe (surprise they are all bitches) or the non-Anglo British or non-British conquests of Daniel or Mark’s ex wife.

Let’s talk about the traits of a Karen and Becky and how they are related, Bridget.

Karen

Ah the Karen, or as Tv Tropes called her the “Obnoxious Entitled Housewife”.

Here is a bullet point of traits the Karen possesses according to The Take:

She’s an entitled, middle-aged, upper or middle class, often White woman.

She mistreats those “beneath her” like wait staff and customer service, classism at it’s most in-your-face and irritating.

She follows the rules, except the part about expired coupons.

She sticks to the hierarchy, using it to prop herself up.

Often passive-aggressive and judgmental.

She puts up the image of the perfect fragile woman, even if she instigated a crime.

Narcissistic behavior.

She considers herself the policewoman of human behavior.

She often lacks a understanding of different races and classes.

She projects her own misery on those who cannot fight back against her.

She is often a Know Nothing Know It All.

This probably hits home Bridget, they describe your mother, Auntie Una, and smug married friends. When you look at the news from my country, you tell yourself every time they wonder about your marital status or when you will have children, you are likely keeping them from calling the police on a black kid selling cups of water. But Karen is merely the more outwardly mature version of a trope you definitely fit and her name is....

Becky

Hey Bridget, your hair may not be as shiny as you like but according to a White Supremacist structure, you have “good hair”. You dealt with your literal Beckys Bridget (hi book version Rebecca Gillies), but what “Becky” refers to is to a often ditzy, somewhat entitled, young, white woman who lacks real racial understanding. It refers to how our society props up an image of idealized white femininity, sometimes it bleeds into women not considered “ideal” themselves.

By the way, the redhead featured is Joan Holloway. She isn’t ditzy like a Becky but her Queen Bee behaviors, her reliance on her pretty privilege, lack of racial understanding, and her adherence to femininity and social climbing make her a modern-day Becky Sharp (also an earlier Becky).

Remember when you contemplated introducing Mark as “a middle-aged prick who was lefty by his cruel raced ex-wife”? Wasn’t that kind of racist of your Bridget? Not so different from your mother? Here are a few traits:

Becky can be oblivious to her surroundings (and the feelings of others less advantaged than she).

She usually gets away with trouble due to her idealized Anglo looks.

Willfully naïve.

Conventionally feminine.

Often spoiled.

She and her interests are basic and mainstream (sounds like milk tray, Colin Firth binge fests, shopping, numerous garden parties).

She is often cushioned against disappointment (in the 3rd film we were all supposed to be on your side while your bitchy boss fired you for very good reasons).

Unaware of other’s needs because she is so used to things going her way.

Her ignorance can be just as frustrating and harmful as a Karen’s maliciousness.

Becky is given real growth in fiction, to learn to be better.

The thing is Bridget....where is your character development? It seems you hardly achieve much confidence, intellect, or maturity. In the 3rd film, I was shocked you were in your forties, I thought I was looking at a overgrown teenager. Perhaps you are a victim of Flanderization?

Karen and Becky

Now we look at how bad things could get if you don’t check your privilege soon enough Bridget, yes a lot of Beckys run the risk of becoming Karens. This is Mother-Daughter pair, Nancy (daughter) and Karen (Mother) Wheeler, I put them because of the connection but they don’t fit the stereotype (despite one of them having the name) but they are privileged white women talking about their shared experiences with misogyny. And most Beckys and Karens had to deal with misogyny, both outside and internalized, the issue being they don’t see how other people had to suffer due to prejudice.

Now Bridget, with your mother, you are a Becky while she was always a Karen. That is you are ignorant about your white privilege while your mother runs on casual racism, ignorance, and Tory politics. Ask her or Mark about the race riots, ask her and Mark about Enoch Powell. And yes Julie Bindel, a fellow compatriot of yours, complained about the Karen label but honestly it’s scary about how some of your peers chortled over racist jokes or your mother’s antics but get up in arms when people of color in service jobs call ya’ll out. But there are some Karen traits you show already, you will weaponize your place in the pecking order to beat down on another woman, like with Perpetua and Mark’s first ex-wife.

What does this say about you?

I will be the first to admit, I would’ve jumped up and cheered if I woke up in your body. You are conventionally prettier, but lately I recognized my own points and one of them is flair and the ability to read folks. Believe it or not Bridget, you are seen as a role model and a relatable figure to folks (and your last film ran on Millennial bashing, hating on younger women is not a good look). Maybe these Zoomer teens were on to something? Bridge, they will save us, we need to do the work.

Now maybe you can take a cue from Dr. Rawlings on how to support and critique women Bridget? In the meantime, I think if I run into you, I’ll run if I see your mother.

Not all is lost, I see you are a reader, maybe put down the self-help books and do some self-improvement by learning how to be a better white ally. I would like to read Hood Feminism (Mikki Kendall is a delight on Twitter). Meanwhile, if you do release a 4th movie in the future: don’t release it during a U.S. election year (I have had enough right wing presidents to last my teens and twenties).

#Bridget Jones #Bridget Jones's Diary #Karens #Karen #Becky #Beckys #white women #White Privilege #racist patriarchy #Casual Racism #Women in Media #character analysis #your fave is problematic #character intervention

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roses-ruby · 6 years ago

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Cherry Muffins and Lavender Tea

Namjoon x Female Reader

Genre: College AU, Sugary Fluff, Humor if you squint, Smut but it’s ugly, and the teeny tiniest angst

Warnings: curse words, sex, orgasms, oral (female receiving), choking kink, daddy kink, hot biker Namjoon, sex with clothes on, might make you hungry (i’m not sure about everything that’s considered a warning sorry! If there’s something you want me to add, tell me)

Word Count: 8,196

Summary: You’ve got feelings for my man Namjoon, the scary looking dork that drops by where you work. But how will you relay them?

A/N: My first story! Omfgsfkhbifb I’m nervous so please leave a kind word, I’ll love you forever. Might have mistakes cause i’m an idiot. None of this would have been possible without the great @countrysundae she’s my darling and inspiration and I love her sooooo much and you should too!!! Please appreciate her Pisces ass, and send her some love! Oof anyway, please enjoy

10:30

Originally set for 8, 10 fucking 30 is when the bells of your alarm informed you to awake for maybe the 99th time that morning. Groaning in displeasure you move your stiffened muscles to shut the damn thing off. This is a process that’s become a routine; waking up way later than originally planned, no matter how many timers set, or reminders kept. Even though you admit you are sleep deprived constantly, it doesn’t make you a heavy sleeper habitually! You wake up to the tiniest noises at night, from your roommate trying to sneak back into the shared room in ungodly hours of the night to the leaking tap in the bathtub. And yet your phone’s alarm is your placebo-it does absolutely nothing for you.

Though you do try. You keep about 5 alarms on at once, to your roommate’s expense who somehow is both a night owl and early bird all at once. Speaking of which-

“So, the witch finally sees daylight,” snickers Sana

“what the fuc--how long were you there?!” You rasped, grabbing at your erratic heart

“Just got in 5 minutes ago, that was my first alarm and trust me when I say I would’ve strangled you if I heard another.”

It’s true, she’s done it before. Your poor roommate was an occasional victim of your ruthless sleeping habits. You’d sometimes slip into conscious from slumber to hear her whine about your blaring alarms in her own sleeping state. Other times you’d wake up from a pillow landing on your face from a girl who’s had Enough.™ But you didn’t feel too bad for her, since you’ve given her the option of waking you up herself and she’s proven frivolous far too many times for such a simple task. Lowkey? She deserves it.

“Ooh another fun night, huh?” You grin in your sleepy state

Sana giggles “Mhmm, think Mark’s in love with me the poor chap,” she mocks his English accent making you both laugh at yet another fuckboi who’s become a victim to Sana’s lethal looks. Giving her a glance over, from her messy hair and smeared lipstick you conclude she indeed had a very fun night.

Sana came from a well-off background and had it all. Good-looks, smarts, the money, and a very good heart. She didn’t have to go to university, but her mom was not having it. The whole ‘be grateful for the opportunity people suffer to receive’ speech led her here. A parent’s guilt tripping wasn’t something you were unfamiliar with. You considered yourself an average person. Kinda cute, smart, headstrong and half of a pretty good character…Your parents on the other hand, were really wimpy.

“We always thought you’d go to the neighborhood community college”, your dad remarked in horror holding the prestige upper state university’s acceptance letter that arrived recently.

Your dad, who thinks jaded denim vests are cool.

“You’re too young to be living on your own, you’re still a bird who can’t use her wings correctly, not ready to leave the nest!” Said your distressed mom, who’s solution to all bad food was to put more cheese on it.

Don’t like your chicken curry? Pass on the parmesan sprinkler!

You hear the bang of hands on the table and a chair screeches, “let her go, she’ll come back with her tail between her legs”, your little brother who plays fortnite all day and is going through his ‘I hate feelings but secretly cry every night’ faze shouts before storming off towards his room.

All you do is sigh and roll your eyes, picking at your over-parmesaned chicken curry with your naan as your parents continue to nag, cause after this whole fiasco your mind was certainly convinced.

You’re going to the university.

Now that you are here, nothing was easy even for someone as headstrong as you. You were smart enough for a scholarship, but living expenses were something else entirely. Which led you to seek employment at a small café, a few miles from your university. It wasn’t the most bustling of places as it drew in a handful of consumers a day, even your fellow students chose the McDonalds right across the street. Everyone enjoyed the quick coffee and frozen fries, rather than your place’s slightly pricier fresh brews and handmade savory biscuits. Alas, you considerably appreciated the quiet composure your café provided. From the dim soft white lighting, to the 60’s slow jazz-which you routinely exchanged with a Studio Ghibli playlist from YouTube discreetly, blended well together. Gave you time to catchup on your schoolwork. Your boss was a chill 42-year-old who won the lottery a few years back, and let you clock in any time before 12, even if your morning shift began from 9. Maybe it had something to do with how the last waitress quit to work at McDonalds.

And he was always there.

Kim Namjoon. The quiet stud that had captivated your heart without even trying. Also, the fucking reason you wanted to get up earlier in the mornings damn it!

Namjoon was a psychology major who was always reading a new book. Mostly from his favorite author Haruki Murakami. And he always stopped by at the place you worked to indulged them. Parking his Harley-Davidson Softail outside and softly walking in with his old school leather jacket and gloves, ripped jeans, a book in his hand, his huge hard…helmet forgotten on the bike’s handle. He’d gently relay his familiar order of cherry muffins and lavender tea, raking his hair back with those beautiful black gloves, and striding to his usual seat in the back of the café.

He’d grace your presence 3 times a week, usually at 9:30 before his 10 am classes; another early bitch bird. All you wanted to do since then was to be able to take his order.

You had met Namjoon at the beginning of your first semester last year. But he hadn’t harbored much of your attention until that fateful day. Chilly winds and frequent rain were what you were adjusting to, as fall was in its peak with every other color on the leaves a vibrant orange, grabbing at your focus. Having arrived on time for once, you were engaged in your workspace. The co-owner and your co-worker of the small café, the boss’s niece, had taken a day’s leave, and you knew she’d beat your ass if you were late. Tray in hand, you served a bacon quiche and caffé americano to the table refuging a girl in an infinity scarf and glasses who didn’t bother to look up from her phone, when the door chimed open

It’s him again, you thought at the tall stranger you’ve seen around your campus in all black stepping towards the counter. He had small droplets of water on his leather jacket and hair from the rain. You didn’t realize you were staring until he awkwardly looked directly at you, standing with an empty round tray at the side of the table of the occupied girl, who you know is also taking a secret glance at him, and shyly smiles.

Cute.

You walk yourself behind the counter and smile, “hey there”

“Hi, um two cherr-“

“-y muffins and lavender tea, right?”

He nods

“Why don’t you just say the usual?” You laugh, wringing up his order in your old school register

“I didn’t think you’d remember me out of all the customers,” he states bashfully, dimples on display

“‘all the customers?’’ you laugh louder, “we get like 15 a day, I’m sure I’ll remember you”

“Oh, I thought I just came too early”

“You definitely do! I don’t have the energy to get up and comb my hair at 9 in the morning, much less bike to a café for cherry muffins”

“You like it?” he grins “it’s a Harley-Davidson, my dad owned one”

“It’s as pretty as you sweetie,” you don’t know where that confidence was coming from, because you’ve definitely haven’t talked to a boy like this before. Blame it on the chilly weather.

“oh, thank you,” he rakes his leather gloved hands through his hair, looking down at his shoes

Stepping towards your tea station, you grab open the bag of loose organic dried lavender buds, on the shelf above. Picking up a measuring spoon, you scoop and slide in some buds in the French press. You grab the boiling water on the electric stove, next to your station and slowly pour it onto the herbs. You close down the French Press and set a timer for 6 minutes.

Taking a breath, you look around the café. Namjoon stands there as towering as a tree, looking at his book, ‘Women who Run with the Wolves.’ Most people would go sit down if it wasn’t pickup, but he always stood right at the registrar. Strange. Unsurprisingly, you remember being intimidated as hell in the beginning. Usually people that come to the café are chill in the ‘harmless millennial hippie’ type of way, dressing themselves in mutable colors. But he looked like he would yell if you even slightly messed up his order or gave a ‘wrong look’ to his bike. You loosened up when his order was always so easy, and his book choices always so cute. You almost bust out laughing when he came in with ‘A fault in our stars;’ especially when he sat at his table with glossy eyes, trying to finish the last pages. His smile also melted all worries away.

Infinity scarf girl gets up to leave (but not before giving Namjoon a longing look), leaving you both alone in the balance of your heartbeats. There was slow piano from Kiki’s delivery service filling up your café’s background. The weather still faintly drizzling, the soft gray clouds seeping through the broad windows, making the café’s wooden brown hues a tad bit dimmer, yet the fairy lights radiant. Pedestrians with transparent umbrellas in beige coats and red hats pass by every so often, not a care in the world. Smells of fresh scones and cinnamon filled your nostrils, making you remember holiday nights at home. Though your thoughts often redirected themselves towards the handsome stranger and the harmony of the quiet fall day.

The timer dings and you get back on track, using the handle to press the floating buds down to the bottom of your French press. You head toward the counter’s display case. Below is a steel countertop with coffee/tea cups, silverware, small plates, trays and a set of tongs. You grab a cup and plate, fixing them properly you pour the tea. The steam drifts towards your face, an amazing aroma that complimented the purple complexion of your brew. Grabbing a set of tongs, you take out two large cherry muffins, placing them on a tray, along with the tea. You decide to grab a chocolate chip cookie as well from one of the clear cookie jars set on the wooden crown of the display case.

“Here ya go,” you place the tray in front of him. He places his book and gloves onto the tray and gets out his wallet from his beautifulbooty back pocket. After paying he picks up the tray and halts

“Cookie?” He holds up the chocolate chip cookie in his hand, a bit confused

“It’s on the house, they’re the best thing in the café, but I end up eating most of them, so might as well give ‘em out”

He smiles, “thank you, it looks delicious”

“No problem, anything for our loyal customers,” you both laugh, “it’s beautiful out today”

“Hm, not as much as you,” he states, walking away from you towards his usual seat. Now, he turned around very quickly after he said that, so you didn’t really get to see his face after such cheesy words, but the tips of his ears were red. Oh.

He’s cute cute.

Stunned, you stand there for a moment or two, just wide-eyed; staring at nothing, until you spin on your spot and head back into the tea vicinity of the café. You feel your heartrate rise and alarms go off in your head. But not the loud intrusive kind. The kind where a baker knows his three-layered chocolate fudge cake is ready. The ones where a mom takes freshly baked cinnamon rolls out in the morning. The ones when the apple pie is prepared to be sliced. Those kinds. Covering your extremely warm face with your hands, you muffle a squeal.

Since then, you’ve started paying close attention to Kim Namjoon.

You didn’t know what it was, his tall broad frame and long thick legs, which you wanted to be choked with. His large hands in those chunky leather gloves or when he took them off, to handle the pages of his book delicately; his long skinny fingers would graze over the soft wood, both things you wanted to be choked with. Or his keen eyes that would get larger or darker depending on what part of the book he was reading, and you imagined in which manner they would present themselves with while he’s choking y-Ok. Ok. Ok. You had a kink. Endeared was how you felt at his intimidating appearance.

You also adored how far away from intimidating he actually was. You were smitten with his gentle demeanor in dealing with people. His pacifist nature, and how much he loved tiny crabs, how he was so respectful towards everyone, younger or older, never judging anyone’s appearance or his love for characters that’re as large, and clumsy as him, like Ryan from that Kakaotalk app. And his laughed that carried large amounts of joy over cheesy, silly things ultimately making you laugh as well.

You were sure you loved Kim Namjoon, yet you barely spoke to him-

I mean who’s gonna disturb a huge scary-looking dork when he’s trying to read? Certainly not you. What you desired is a way to get close to him somehow, and for that you needed to know more about him. It wasn’t hard to pick up gossip though, when you were friends with the loudest chatter mouth on the planet.

You told Sana once about your silly crush and she shrieked so hard it sounded like a howl. The next day she had all the deets on who she referred to as ‘Hunkjoon.’ He had an IQ of 148, he hates seafood, he’s so clumsy that his friends refer to him as ‘the god of destruction,’ favorite color is black (no duh), he’s well-known, terribly smart, and to your dismay, associated with the exceedingly popular frat boys Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin.

Ugh

Jung Hoseok and Kim Seokjin, or who you so kindly referred to as the Seokbitches, were the schools James Dean. ‘Icon of teenage disillusionment.’ Hehe, perfect definition by google. They were notorious, for playing ghosts in their classes, throwing a party every.single.damn.day., never keeping their dick™ in their pants, and having the most obnoxious laughs on the earth…

Ok, so maybe only you knew them for that. To others they were the teenage love and rebellion dream, James Dean. They never attended classes, because they were fuckthesystem peeps, threw a party everyday so the poor souls stuck in an endless cycle of capitalist warfare aka their fellow students could enjoy the more fun things life has to offer, indulged in every part of youth-including the 24/7 horny part, and had the most beautiful laughs in the damn planet.

How were they Namjoon’s closest friends…How? Anyone with a functioning brain can tell the vast difference between the trinity. Namjoon attended all his classes (yet fate didn’t give you a class with him, the bitch), he actually read books, and he wasn’t hooking up with 2-3 girls every night, unlike certain people.

You heard from a classmate a while back that ‘bout two years ago Namjoon had a serious girlfriend. Since their breakup, he hasn’t been with anyone else. It’s good that he’s single but you’ve still only talked to him here and there. A few shy glances, a few awkward touches. Nothing more, but lord do you want more, alot more. What if a girl more daring gets him first? Do you really need angst in your life? NO! but you are still at a loss of what to do. You had one boyfriend so far, and it was one of your worst experiences.

The guy was a total creep. And the worst part? You asked him out. All your friends had relationships and he was someone who rode the bus with you, making you laugh here and there. So, being the usual teenager, you thought it’d be a good idea to date him, like a fool. Who knew he wasn’t just being charming, and making fun of people (trying to be edgy as you now know) was a hobby for him? You did. Right after you overheard him announce the fact that you look like a winged bat when you suck dick just to make his jerk-ass friends laugh. It was so humiliating, as you never did something of the sorts with him, yet his friends would stick out their teeth in a ‘vampire like manner’ whenever they passed you in the hallway, as well as your first heartbreak. You got him back by filling his locker with Limburger cheese, from your mom’s collection of cheeses. His gym clothes smelled for a month, and people called him cheeseboi for the rest of the year.

You shed your blind innocence that day and knew that men are trash. Namjoon isn’t like that though, and you’re surer of that than anything. He’s special for you and you want to be the special one for him. Sadly, you just didn’t know how to start a conversation with Namjoon, without looking like you jumped in boiling water. I mean you had hook-ups in college. Who doesn’t play around here and there? But fuck-this is definitely the first time you actually like someone. Like really like them, so you just clam up and don’t know what to do. That’s where you are today.

You bounce from your bed, heading towards the bathroom. “I’m late again,” you mumble.

Sana hears that (at this point she could have better hearing than dogs)

“Hunkjoon, huh?”

“That’s not his name Sasha”

“Listen, why do you even spend your time trying to get with him in that boring café?” Sana shouts, hopping off her bed she makes her way to the bathroom and throws her hands around you who’s brushing her teeth. “You should ask him out, maybe to a club. A little booty popping, ear sucking, mouth licking, and he’s yours”

“Please don’t ever use any of those words in that way ever again.”

“I’m serious!” Exasperated she throws her hands in the air before resting them on each of your shoulders together and squeezes you. “You just need a change of scenery, that place is no hook-up central for us modern kids. Just one party, and he’ll be all over you.” You tug her off your back and narrow your eyes-looking at her through the mirror; you continue to brush your teeth. She knows you want something far from a hookup with Namjoon, yet she-

“And then,” she smirks, “maybe your mouth would be full of his cum-not toothpaste”

You choke.

“Sana what the fuck,” you rage running after the laughing vixen with your toothbrush as a makeshift knife

“Don’t act like it’s not what you want!” She cackles as you tackle her onto the bed ready to stab her eyes out when your phone rings. Oh shit. You know exactly who that is. Picking it up, you run to the bathroom, spitting out your toothpaste

“H-h-hello?”

“Where. in. Jesus’s. name. are. you?!”

“O-oh, coming Linda, I’m in traffic” Sana proceeds to imitate a car beep sound at that-“and I’ll be there in 5 minutes!”

“If you aren’t, I’ll personally serve your head as our main dish this afternoon!” She screeches before hanging up

“Shit,” you catch your breath, “I gotta go,” scrambling around, you find something appropriate to wear in late April weather. You brush your hair in a hurry and throw on a high ponytail. Sana just watches you the whole time, staring at you up on her elbows from her bed looking deep in thought. Grabbing one of Sana’s car keys and your purse, you rush out the door with a quick bye to Sana. She doesn’t reply back but after you are out the door she flings back onto her bed, arms expanded.

“I’ll ask Hobi,” she says to herself

Parking in the small lot behind the café, you run inside the back door. You gather yourself, fixing your hair and your fast heartbeat, you wrap on an apron and head to the front.

Linda spots you right away.

“You’re late,” she grits

“Yeah, traffic sucks,” you grin awkwardly, praying she’ll believe you.

“Just get to work, the pound cakes are almost ready to take out,” she points toward the oven. You nod, heading into the vicinity of the oven in the back next to the stove.

“Hey Linda,” someone shouts making you turn, “the person at table 3 wants some sourdough starter”

Linda acknowledges, moving into the back storage where the starters where kept.

You spot a girl. A new girl. A very very pretty girl, with long light brown hair up to her waist, and a delicate body. She meets your eyes and smiles and you return the gesture before looking away like you didn’t momentarily become gay looking at her soft features.

It’s good to have her around, you conclude. Usually you worked the morning shift with Linda 3 times a week, taking afternoon classes during those days. (coincidently when Namjoon comes by) You know there’s a girl who works the afternoon shift, but you never really ran into her. And since you do come late 1 out of 3 times, Linda ends up doing most of the work herself, including making all the café’s delicacies. You’re so very thankful to Linda and her uncle for not firing you, and very glad that Linda has some actual help now.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the oven timer dings and the door chimes open.

The new girl greets the customer cheerily while you concentrate on taking an enticing whiff of the vanilla pound cakes, about to pull open the oven’s door when you stop dead in your tracks. You’d recognize that deep voice anywhere.

Turning your head so fast, you feel your neck burn from whiplash you spot your Namjoon finishing his order to your co-worker. He meets your eyes for a moment, and god you’re sure you look like a fish.

“Would you like anything else? We have really good chocolate chip cookies,” pipes the newcomer

“I know, they’re delicious,” he catches your eyes again, “but no thank you, not this time”

“Aww, well I love them a bit too much. Even though I’m new I’ve had quite a few,” she starts ringing up his order

“I thought I haven’t seen you around here”

“Moved in recently and kinda have trouble unpacking…I need a stronger body ya’know”

“Is that so,” Namjoon quirks a brow and you feel like you’ll throw up. Why is Namjoon late? Catch 22 didn’t seem like his style of book? Why the fuck is she giggling so much? Who let her steal all your cookies? And why is his hair so much messier than usual? He looks so cute omg?... What’s that burning smell?

…Shit

You gawk at the oven in horror as Linda shouts your name from a mile away.

Sana’s scrolling through her phone on her tummy when you bonk her head with your purse

“Ow, what the fuck-”

“When’s the next frat fiasco? I need to relive some stress”

She smiles, “I knew you’d come around, and that’s why I went ahead and asked Hobi to bring Hunkjoon tonight.”

You beam at the mention, “Sana you angel!” Then immediately scowl, “Wait at a seokbitch party? Just fucking great”

“Don’t be so sour,” Sana sighs, sitting up, “Namjoon doesn’t go to many parties anyway so his best friend was the only solid way to bring him.”

Giving it a thought, you beam again, jumping on Sana

“Sana you angel!”

“Whatever’s up with your hair by the way, looks like you’ve been pulling on it.”

“Don’t ask…long day.”

Arriving at the party, you grimace at the smoke of marijuana blanketing you as soon as you enter.

“Alright, Hobi should be around here somewhere,” Sana looks around,” standing on the tippy toes of her heels, trying to look past the frisky bodies, but it’s of no use with the amount of people in the room.

The room was packed with tipsy children. There was barely any elbow space even though the frat house was huge as you and Sana squeezed through hot, sweaty dancing bodies. Some unbalanced drunkards clumsily pushing into you every now and then and you wondered how anyone came to these things. It’s hot, and everyone smelled of axe and sweat. Parties would be much better with just a modest group of people you know, or maybe that’s the small-town girl in you speaking.

No! You cringed internally. You must forget about your outdated methods and passive behavior. Tonight, you will become someone completely new. Someone who takes action.

“Oh there!” Sana shouts over the music, waving furiously to someone by the stairs

Soon after you hear the jubilant voice of Jung Hoseok as he comes into view to greet Sana with a hug, and after being temporarily blinded by his smile you give him a once over or call that twice, because fuck He looked good in a simple white tee, tight blue jeans, dark brown Timberlands and his hair pushed up with what seemed like some gel and messy fingers (think back to Gayo Daejejeon 2018 mic drop)

“This is the girl I was telling you about,” Sana points at you

Hoseok joins in on your shameless gawking and grins

Embodying you was a baby pink thin strapped mini dress, and when you say mini, you mean your black Chantelle Présage lace thong is showing mini, but you’re a woman on a mission, and you didn’t care if you were naked at this point. Your hair was thoroughly straightened, and you went for a glossy cherry makeup look, courtesy of Sana. You weren’t trying to look like a cherry muffin, buuuut you didn’t mind if that’s what people thought, specifically one person.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he extends his hand, eyes duskier than a moment ago

You should wear shades in front of him or you’re sure you’ll go blind.

You shake his hand and give him one of your most forced friendly smiles, trying not to make much conversation as you just wanted one thing. Though that shiver upon your spine at his grip tells you otherwise.

Hoseok motions for you both to follow him and you pick his trail

Sana elbows you

“We talked about this! You’re supposed to be acting like a lamb, ready to be jumped on at any time, not a fox,” she whispers at your obvious display of wanting nothing to do with the Hyena

“I’m being nice! I am! This is how I’m nice!”

Sana rolls her eyes, and you sulk. It’s not your fault she is a master seductress, and you just don’t know how to be kind to the guy who’s trying to undress you with his eyes when he knows you’re here for his friend. She told you two things about seducing men, act completely incompetent and laugh at all their lame jokes. The more you feed a guy’s concocted ego, the more you feed his desire for you. And well, a way to the man’s heart is through feeding him…or something right?

But all your thoughts disappear into nothing once you lay eyes upon the man you’ve been wanting for almost a year.

Kim Namjoon, holy fuck.

Never has a loose black tee and oversized maroon velvet bomber’s jacket looked that good on anyone before. He commands your undivided attention with that low-neck line and gelled up hair. Healthy, glowing skin spread out like a canvas. His jeans ripped in all the beautiful places around the man’s thick, strong thighs, and black derby’s? Classic, yet defiant as always. He was fucking beautiful and you were awestruck. Hoseok says something to the group of 3 guys standing by the back sofa, including Namjoon, most likely about you, but you don’t hear anything once Namjoon locks eyes with you. There’s evident surprise in his eyes, which dims into concentration at the dress you’re wearing.

“So Namjoon,” Hoseok interrupts your thoughts, “I heard you both’ve met before?”

Namjoon doesn’t break away from you for a moment, smiling slightly “we’ve met, it’s nice to see you here”

He was being strangely vague. “You too,” you mutter

You could physically feel Sana scoff at the virginity act.

“Alright, I can use a drink-Ali, Jason, Sana let’s go get them”, Hoseok works fast to evade the intrusive attention on the both of you

“Why do you need 3 people to help you with drinks”, says a confused Jason

Flustered at the man’s impaired ability to read between the lines Hoseok scrambles for another excuse, “um…uh, I don’t know what you want? And uh there’s a lot of people, so uh”

Jason stubborn as ever quirks, “well I can just tell you what I wan-”

“JASON! ALI!” Sana shouts and everyone, aside from Namjoon, who won’t turn away from you, glances at her, “be a darling and pour my drink for me,” she uses her sultry voice, throws a sly smile, and they all get led away by her, even Hoseok, looking hypnotized

Watching them walk away you let out a sigh. This is it. This is your moment. You really should’ve had a shot before this. Drunk you wouldn’t clam up and clench her buttocks that sober you is doing for some reason. Clearing your throat, you start blurting out the first forms of conversation that settles in your mind.

“Nice to see you here, finally away from the café-not that I don’t like seeing you there…I mean I do, but this is nice too hehe”

You mentally slap yourself for the worst beginning. When have you ever been this quiet? Sana couldn’t get you or your alarm to shut up most of the time and this is the moment you choose to get awkward? Maybe this is it. He’ll just walk away now and you can wallow in self-pity.

“It’s great to see you too, out of that café…not that I don’t like it as well” he smiles

Your whole form relaxes, and you feel the knot of pressure in your back coming undone. You know you’re overthinking, know that your mind is self-sabotaging you, so it can get out of this hellhole back into its safe space between your bedsheets. So, you take a breath and focus on his eyes, trying to bring back the confidence of an 80’s café waitress. “You got yelled at pretty hard this morning, were you ok?” He asks

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I kinda deserved it and Linda’s the biggest sweetheart, she would never actually hurt me.” Minus where she almost tore your hair out in the backroom

“…speaking of which, why were you late this morning?” You slapped yourself again

He gave you a look. Shit. “You track me?” he grins

“No-no, nonono…n-yes. I track all my customers”, you smile awkwardly, “they keep me on my toes ya’ know the little bastards” If only you could forever tape your mouth

It was a bad joke but he lets out a chuckle where his eyes turn into little crescents and his dimples poke through his skin

“Well, I missed my alarm this morning, so I was too late to arrive on time…but I still wanted to come…”

“…Why?”

“I just,” he stares at you, “did”

“I see. It’s our tea isn’t it.”

Both of you share a laugh

“You look beautiful by the way”

“This little thing?” you twirl your hips, “just found this in the back of my closet”

The brag was true because you never fucking dressed up for anything, yet always shop like you do.

When you look at him again, you see his eyes dark at the move you just did, which you’re sure exposed your ass

Gathering courage, you start walking toward and up the stairs not giving Namjoon another glance. You could feel his bewilderment through your exposed back, as he follows you like a lost puppy. You hide a smile. Heading into an open room, you find its balcony. Outside, the spring wind picks up your hair and you take in a deep breath, letting go of all your nerves that tense up once you feel the balcony door open and close and the presence of another person in the little island.

“Are you alright?” You feel his breath on you, and you barricade a shudder

“I’m fine…I just couldn’t breathe in there with all the weed,” you turn and smile at him.

“I hate it too,” He smiles back

There’s a moment before you both break eye contact and he’s stepping up beside you

Looking out from the balcony, you pander in the serenity of the dark night and silent winds. The music is still mutely conscious in both your eardrums, as well as the laughter of kids who came here to forget tomorrow. There’s always a calmness you feel with him, no matter the weather or locality. The tips of your arms are touching and the barring heat your entire left side simmers in provides you with the translation of your need to be closer with him.

“I’m sorry I’m not good at small talk”

You turn your face to him as he takes a breath before speaking again

“I’m very awkward, sorry about that”

“You aren’t the one who’s awkward, you raise a brow, I’ve been making bad jokes all night. And well, who’s good at things like small talk?”

He smiles at you, “Your jokes aren’t bad,” he says bringing his face closer to yours, “and I love hearing you talk”

“Thank you” There’s another silence before you ask, “started a new book recently?’

“I did!” He quirks, “‘Yellow Wallpaper’ by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, it’s disturbing yet addictive. Like an Edgar Allen type you know. The increasing dread creates a form of suspense, which feels like a drug. Even though you can tell the ending won’t be good, you carry on led by a strange empathy as if you’ve become the character and it-“

Namjoon stops suddenly and stares at you smiling. “Um…sorry I got carried away, I’m probably boring you”

“Nuh-uh” you stop him immediately, “You aren’t boring at all. I love hearing you talk”

There’s a radiant blush on his cheek as red as your cherry lips, and you just want to devour him. “When I,” he begins looking away, “When I come to the café, you always seem so interested in what I’m reading. Most people don’t really care about that from me. They care that I ride bikes or about my popular friends. Not that I mind. I’m fine keeping them on a surface level. But,” He looks at you, “I want to know you better.”

“Me too” you blurt out very quickly

Your faces are so adjacent you can smell his soft mint toothpaste from his steady breathing. He’s staring at your glossy lips, your whole form is covered with his warmth, fluttering your senses leisurely

“Want a taste,” you whisper just for him to hear

“I bet it’s as delicious as it looks,” he lets out a heavy breath

“Well lucky you cause tonight I’m serving them specially for you”

You close the distance between your mouths and take in his plump lips. It wasn’t rushed, yet it wasn’t slow. It felt like the most perfect kind of kiss in the silent spring, the one that’s described in timeless romance novels. The one that you tell your children to look for, if they’re fortunate enough in their youth. That they’ll know it’s from the one.

He brings his hand upon your cheek and rubs it tenderly with his thumb. You both move back and stare in each other’s eyes.

“Well…was it delicious?”

“Better than cherry muffins,” he licks his lips to taste your cherry gloss on them

You crinkle your eyes to cringe and giggle

“You’re so cute,” he says and he’s kissing you again

This time he slips his tongue in your mouth and you hum in content, grabbing at the back of his blonde hair. Your tongues dance wildly, and Namjoon reaches for every nook and cranny of your wet cavern. Immoral sounds are escaping you both as your closed eyes burn in delight. Putting your legs on each side of his torso, he hurriedly picks you up from under your thighs and easily carries you inside the room, towards the bed.

You both break off as soon as he lands your bodies on the spring. His body still contains the heat from your thighs, and he’s pressed so close to you, you can feel your nipples against his rock-hard chest as well as the tent in his jeans. Breathing heavily, you stare in his starry eyes, filled with so much lust it feels like they’re dripping.

With a shaky breath you try to melt his lips onto yours again, just for him to shift back.

“Do you want this?” He asks, determined to move off if you refuse him

That would be a sin. “Yes.” You speak clearly, “I always wanted you, since I first saw you, Namjoon.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, before he’s on you again like the kindest, warmest deity he is.

He’s back into exploring your mouth as your hands find their home roaming his broad back. As he moves his hips up and down your wet entrance, a heat shoots up through your spine. His hands are kneading your ass, and everything is moving in slow motion for what feels like forever. Breaking off your mouth, he moves his kisses along your neck down to your cleavage, sucking hickeys on sensitive areas you moaned around. Growling at the invasive flimsy fabric surrounding your chest, he begins to tear it apart. His hands pulled down your transparent bra. You gasp at the intrusion of air surrounding your upper body.

“Mmm, fuck yes baby,” you could feel yourself soaking his cloth covered crotch as you fuck yourself upon his restricted dick.

Namjoon smirks reaching towards your back to take off your bra, letting his warm fingers tickle your skin as you lift your back to help him remove it and discard it to the side. Namjoon takes you in, caressing your face and you feel like he’s going to compliment you before he’s spitting words in your ear

“You little slut, you came here just to be fucked didn’t you”

Flustered you splutter, “Yes, ah please”

“That’s yes daddy for you baby,” he uses his large fingers to take hair off your face and removes his jacket and shirt

“Yes daddy, please,” you eye his tan muscles and broad chest. He noses your jaw and takes his mouth around your areola. You immediately run a hand through his golden locks, your mouth hangs open as he flicks your nipple with his tongue. Around his arms was sunken skin, in the form of muscles and you run your hands through every cervix.

Your breathing is labored

He moves back, moving your thong slightly to the right as he dips two fingers into you,

“Drenched and shameless muffin,” he mutters scissoring your entrance slightly, staring at you darkly

You are sprawled out for him like an unwrapped muffin. One leg hangs off the bed, while the other is desperately wrapped around his torso as if you’re scared he’ll leave. Your breasts are exposed and wet with saliva, and you’ve just handed him your cunt for the taking. You’re high off his soft sandalwood scent, as he takes your chest in his large hand, rolling your nipple in his thumb and index finger, pulling it slightly. His fingers are wet from your juices and you’re embarrassed you’re this wet. Vulnerable, you shut your eyes and look away before he grabs your cheeks with his hand and brings your face back towards him, hitting a certain spot that has you arching your back and knitting your brows.

“Don’t close your eyes baby girl, I need your focus completely on me”

“Then no more teasing,” you pout

Namjoon chuckles as he brings his fingers dripping with your silk into his mouth; looking straight into your soul he licks around his fingers in the lewdest way possible. “Sweeter than cherries” he mutters, slowly unraveling your wrapped leg and caresses the inside of your wet thigh, never letting go as if reassuring you that he’s right here. Languidly, he noses down your navel and further below until he’s lined with your aching core

“Daddy” you whimper

Giving you kitten licks around your folds, he licks a long strip before placing his tongue slightly inside your walls and suckles your juices. Your legs were on each side of his head, and you pulled at his hair out of frustration. The higher your voice went, the more he licked, bringing his tongue around your bundle of nerves and gently rolling the nub around. His hands traveled from your thighs to your waist, and slowly towards your breasts and kneaded. He flattened his tongue against your folds again, to take a finer taste of you, as he hummed knowing you were close. He took his right hand off your chest and used it to slide two fingers into your inner depths.

His mouth then went back to your clit, slowly rolling it around his tongue in a circular motion as his fingers drilled into you faster and faster. You let out a string of curses as your thighs began to shake, and the knot in your stomach becoming undone. You came with a yelp as your eyes began to see stars and vision whitened.

All your sudden adrenaline left you and your limbs limped onto the bed, fingers no longer in Namjoon’s hair. Letting out heavy breaths you saw Namjoon slowly coming out of your legs to face you. His thick lips were wet with your juices, and he licked through them and smiled.

“You’re so beautiful baby girl,” he said before kissing you again. Your tongues danced through your exhaustion, and you moved your hand towards his hard on. You felt him hiss into your mouth as you slowly rubbed him through his jeans. Backing off his mouth you smiled, it’s your turn daddy, and undid his zipper. You felt his hard dick in your hand, blessed in length. Spreading precum around his shaft, you watched him twist his expression. He reached into his back pocket and took out a condom, tearing off the wrapper with his teeth and handing it to you.

You gave him a smile as you rolled the condom onto his length and lined it with your entrance-giving him a hand job as he gradually moved into you. Once he was fully sheathed, he took a moment, before pulling out a slamming into you again

You let out a gasp at his pace, still a bit sensitive from your last orgasm. He was relentless and pounded into you over and over again, as the whole bed shook at his force.

“F-fuck dadd-y ooh” you cried as the same knot appeared inside your stomach. You grabbed his hand on the side of your head and brought it up to your face to give it a kiss. Light headed from the force of his thrusts, you could still feel him looking at you as you brought his hand upon your neck and laid it out flat

He cursed at your submission, and lightly put pressure on your neck “You’re such a good girl, daddy’s good girl, good girl fuck,” his paced faltered and you could feel your orgasm approaching with the pressure around your neck. With his other hand he stimulated your clitoris and that’s all it took to have you cuming once again.

Your mind travels back to how much you’ve wanted this-wanted him. His strong arms are no longer hidden under his bulky jacket, his fingers no longer clean with traces of paper fiber, but with your juices. How the hands you’ve wanted for so long around your neck, the eyes you waited to be filled with just you, the moans you suffered to hear from his luscious lips. It’s all happening. It’s all yours and no amount of overthinking will take this away.

With a few more thrusts he reached his own peak with a grunt, flopping down on you shortly afterward. You could feel his heavy, hot breathing on your neck and you wrapped your hands around him. You take a few more huffs before talking to him.

“I really like you” you whisper

“So I’ve heard,” he chuckles moving off you, he picks you up to move you upright in the bed with your head on the pillow and your arms still around him. He lays down next to you. “I’m not going anywhere baby. I really like you too. You didn’t really think I came for the tea did you”

Your heart soars and you meet his dimpled smile, He looks so youthful with his after sex glow, “Hey I make that tea with a lot of love and care!”

“Right, I’m sorry,” he laughs

“I didn’t know you liked me, your head is always in your books”

“Well originally, I came to chill and read. Until I found the cutest waitress that makes amazing tea-“

“-Shut up,” you jab him with a giggle

“-and I didn’t want to seem creepy, so I just payed attention to my books. But I did try to talk to you. I would stand as still as a tree next to the registrar trying to think of something to say. You tended to look intimidated of me, so I always froze up and just sat down. I asked my friends how to talk to you, and they kept giving me strange advice. I don’t think they know how to get a girl without sexual innuendos. They didn’t know how you looked, just knew you as café girl. If Hoseok found out you were café girl tonight, he’d probably try and do something stupid”

You took in the information he gave you and put the puzzle pieces together. You both were huge overthinking dorks. “I was only intimidated in the beginning,” you begin, “even if I was I still found you hot and probably would’ve jumped on your dick had you asked”

He suppresses some coughs while turning red

Smirking you lead him on, “Oh, so you’re shy now but wanted me to call you daddy just a few minutes ago”

“T-that’s” he begins, and you laugh out loud thinking this is definitely your Namjoon

“What about your choking kink? That was cute and unexpected” he gives you a sly grin

“Wait, shut u-that’s not…it’s your fault with those leather gloves, and leather jackets”

You poke his dimple out of mock anger and he tickles you. The rest of the time is spent by talking out your feelings, your dreams, favorite books, and desserts until you both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

You wake up by what you believe is your alarm. Opening your groggy eyes, you look up towards the ceiling of a room that wasn’t yours. After a minute more in conscious you realize it’s not your alarm ringing, but a pounding residing from the closed door of the stranger’s room.

“Can you guys please give me my room back now,” shouts a frustrated Hoseok

That’s when you remember the nights events and look at a sleepy Namjoon next to you. After checking the time of 7:41 shining through the digital clock on the nightstand next to what you now know as Hoseok’s bed, you smile and cuddle up to the warm body.

“Go away Hoseok,” Namjoon groans, “My baby’s trying to sleep.”

Both of you ignore Hoseok’s whines of protest as you whisper to Namjoon

“It’s fine, I’m glad he’s here so I can get to work on time for once. My alarm never wakes me up”

“Babe don’t worry, from now on I’ll be your personal alarm. As long as you can be my cherry muffin”

“I’ll do you one better and make one for you at the café”

“Those cherry muffins taste good,” he looks at you, “but you taste better,” and winks

You giggle until you hear the disturbed voice of Jung Hoseok behind the door,

“You guys are disgusting and have no idea how to whisper”

...

“GET OUT OF MY ROOM”

#Bts #Namjoon #Bts fanfiction #Bts fluff #Bts smut #Namjoon fluff #Namjoon smut #RM #Kim Namjoon #R:CMLT

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fursasaida · 4 years ago

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rambling about moral exhaustion or something under the cut, i dunno i’m just bummed

people on twitter are yelling about Roger Stone’s commutation a lot and it’s making me incredibly depressed. not because Stone got out of his sentence. rather, because i feel so incredibly alienated by their response, a response which does not seem to be shaped by the experience of watching precisely no one go down in any way at all for the Iraq War. i cannot bring myself to give a shit whether Roger Stone is in prison or not; i cannot imagine having expected that he would have ended up in prison or having believed that his being there would materially improve matters.

i know, in theory, that a failure of justice in the past does not mean there is no point in pursuing it in the present and future. i know that every single time a rich person gets away with shit while others suffer enormously for very little, the world gets incrementally worse. i know that trump using his power to pardon this way is further evidence of corruption and crony politics and that the failure to address this really is dangerous. but i just.

it’s not some sort of smug “what did you expect?” thing. it’s that it is obvious, has been obvious for years, that all of this is broken. it’s that we are in the middle of a ~national conversation~ about how the “justice system” is anything but and people still can’t imagine a scenario in which “person i hate is in jail” isn’t a good, useful, corrective thing. it’s that people are demonstrating very clearly with their outrage that the fact that, say, John Yoo is a free man meant nothing at all to their view of these systems or of justice. it’s that the other week Obama said George W. Bush “had respect for the rule of law” and this was not considered scandalous by nearly so many people. it’s that over and over again i feel like i am having my nose rubbed in the sensation that no one else lived through the 2000s. it’s that americans don’t care about iraqis.

i get a little twinge of this every time David Frum, for example, is treated as a legitimate public intellectual. i don’t want him to be imprisoned or convicted of anything (he did not, at least, personally commit the war crimes, just enabled and excused them; also, again, prison does not solve this kind of problem). i want to live in a society that would consider his record reason to treat him as, at best, disqualified from a public platform, or--and i would prefer this, honestly--as a social pariah. no amount of “i have to live with this responsibility for the rest of my life” talk from him changes this. yes he does. i don’t see why i should have to live with him while he does it. “living with this responsibility” does not and should not simply mean having some bad feelings sometimes. the “responsibility” has to mean something socially, outside his body. and it doesn’t. the consequences certainly do, for iraqis. but his responsibility for the consequences does not.

somehow the outrage over Stone is just magnifying this ongoing malaise 1000fold today, because i suppose it demonstrates to me so strongly that i do not live in the society that would make Frum’s responsibility, or Yoo’s, or Bush’s, or anyone’s, mean something. of course i knew this. of course it has been being demonstrated unendingly for my entire lifetime. of course it has been especially emphasized through the pandemic response and the structures against which BLM is pushing. but i use the word “society” rather than “system” or “government” very specifically here. i don’t even mean formal justice or punishment. i mean a social world that would give a damn.

even with my ongoing understanding of this and the particular ways it currently shows up as mentioned, the nature of my work and how i came to do it is intimately tied to the Iraq War, and the demonstration that so few of my supposed fellows care about it much at all is particularly painful. the failure to hold anyone accountable for the war is frequently invoked as a reason why millennials and younger don’t have faith in the system, but i haven’t actually seen evidence that people think about it much at all. i feel that we live in its aftermath, like so much of the 2000s, without acknowledging that it ever happened, is happening, is a happening.

so i suppose on some level there is a “why are you surprised?” element to my reaction to the Stone reaction, except that it’s not about “what did you expect from this president?” it’s: “how can you be so unaffected by our previous and total moral failures as a society so as to find this particular event particularly outrageous?”

i don’t know. i’m tapped out. i’m gonna go back to reading about the language of geopolitical comparison and then walk over to my local rona testing site to see what administrative fuckery awaits.

#How We Live Now

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mitigatedchaos · 5 years ago

Text

Is it Satire?

(~1,000 words, 4 mins)

Is this real or satire?

In the 1990s and the 00s, as the veterans of the second World War reached their 70s and 80s and were gradually fading from this world, the History Channel ran World War 2 documentaries so often that people sometimes jokingly called it "the Hitler Channel."

Those who celebrate war and violence as transformative are too eager to invite devastation and unnecessary human suffering. ...but war is transformative. "War made America a country. War gave America a continent. War cast out the curse of slavery. War marched on Europe and burned the terrifying vision of Adolf Hitler into nothing more than the ashes of history." Is this not the national mythology of America, which war itself has reforged?

If you are anyone else on Earth, like say if you're perhaps European, Chinese, or Japanese just as an example, more typically your men are dead, your infrastructure is destroyed, there's a breakdown in public order, and you're in debt up to your eyes. You've cast an entire generation into the fire, and for what?

But if you're American, the inheritor of a continent-spanning superstate safely resting beyond two oceans on the best land on Earth, that isn't necessarily the case. In fact, in part thanks to the greatest war of all time, your country still effectively defines the world order. In 2001, when you ask why America deserves this power, the answer you're given is to use your overwhelming economic and military might to "make the world safe for democracy." And that's not necessarily so terrible. They say the old empires fought wars for rare resources. Under the Americans, you just pay for rare earth magnets with money. There are coups and assassinations and spies and drone bombings, but there are what, maybe seven countries in the whole world who even need an aircraft carrier anymore?

So the Americans loved war, or at least, they loved the idea of war.

Americans have a dream, a fantasy really, of World War 2. The total mobilization of all of society - every class, every race, every sex - towards one overwhelming and measurable goal of profound justice. Not a world without suffering, but a world where your suffering matters. A world where every drop of your blood shed, up to and including the end of your life, brings the country that much closer to ending Nazi Germany.

But very few wars are World War 2. Not even wars against Communists are World War 2. (Some would argue that, in a certain sense, not even World War 2 was World War 2.) When it seemed the Communists were gone, it was easy to slip (or rather be lead) into a terrible and costly mistake that has damaged the country's institutions, morale, and spirit. (Why are Millennials so in favor of the Democratic Party? Yes, there are rumored demographic factors like later family formation, but remember that Millennials came of age during the Iraq War and, like those who spent decades refighting the 60s, they seem keen to refight the Bush Administration.)

When I called for every competent teenager to be dunked in a VR tank and sent off to fight the digital ghosts of the Third Reich, what I proposed was to give the Americans something they are yearning for. If the Americans want to send every generation off to fight a war, why not let them? We'll give them not just any war, but the perfect war they've always dreamed of - a war so much better than reality that they'll never choose a real war instead unless they absolutely must.

The thing about countries is that they have a certain fundamental mortality; a country must be renewed with each generation. And sure, you can read about the motivations of the founders in a book, but the emotional energy, the weight, the context of founding a country, that's a product of experience. To be truly understood, you must, for a moment, live them. The goofy cars, the slicked-back hair, the leather jackets and googie architecture may seem like set dressing. After all, we don't expect anyone to embrace them. But they belong to an era with a much lower compression of space and time, without the constant buzzing of addictive electronic noise. This isn't only to allow time to think and reflect, with only a magnetic compass and a map as your guide in the quiet summer night, but to understand on a visceral, intuitive level the constraints that lead your ancestors to make the choices they did, to see that they weren't such fools, and were in many ways even similar to you.

(Some will argue and claim that I haven't used America's founding as the date. But I have. Recently, some scholars have argued that America wasn't founded in 1776. They are correct, of course - America was founded in 1941.)

Some might object to the randomization of race and background, but of course the men who fought that war didn't have much of a choice in that, either. Others might object to altering the distribution of demographics to match the current one, or that the way the simulation plays out each time is different - but this is because, for that generation, the simulation is their war (and they must bear the risk of failing it). The purpose of the exercise is to generate a shared body of culture and personal experience not based on immutable characteristics, to build trust in your fellow Americans in order to form the minimum consensus necessary for governing.

We might say it's absurd, but provided the technology required to carry it out, is it really that much more ridiculous than anything that's happened in US politics since 2015, or perhaps even 2001? Certainly it seeks to arouse hatred of only a phantom enemy (as the original Nazis, the enemy of the piece, are quite dead) rather than any living people, and it should cause far fewer deaths (foreign or domestic) than any real invasion - if anything, it should be much safer.

The US Locomotive Act post, of course, is just a light-hearted joke.

#supervillain #augmented reality break #half shtpost #longpost

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moveslikebuckywrites · 5 years ago

Link

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Good Omens (TV) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: Beelzebub (Good Omens), Hastur (Good Omens), Ligur (Good Omens), Gabriel (Good Omens), Sandalphon (Good Omens), Original Characters Additional Tags: is it a coffeeshop au if it's not an au?, the long suffering silence of your local barista, also don't forget to tip your baristas

Summary: In which three well-meaning but underpaid Baristas are subject to the tensions of the (unknown to them) demons and angels that work in Broadgate Tower.

It's no worse than any of their other regular customers.

_____

This is for a weekly prompt fill over in @ladyoutlier‘s Ineffable Outlier’s discord!

It’s a super fun time over there, y’all should come check it out!

_____

Broadgate Tower was, at the outset, an altogether normal office building.

There were real estate offices, sales offices, legal offices, offices that did some sort of business that even the people working there weren’t sure about; any office you could think of.

Like most office buildings in the 21st century, there was a coffee shop in the lobby. Hard to handle the daily grind of the corporate sector without a boost of caffeine. Office workers of all kinds would flock to the little shop every day, in their smart three-piece suits and overly-expensive shoes, for their much-needed fix.

Yes, most of the workers in the Broadgate Tower were very well-paid corporate entities. Not so much the baristas in the coffeeshop.

When you work for the minimum wage, you get used to certain things. You get used to being treated like you’re not entirely human. You get used to hearing things that normal people with manners would never say to anyone they actually gave a toss about.

Demands to see the manager over the inability to make a drink that they don’t even carry the ingredients for (what exactly is supposed to be in a Pokemon Go Frappuccino? We still don’t know, really. This isn’t a bloody Starbucks.)

Flash bastard suck-ups who really want to be the CEOs of their company loudly complaining into their phones about the wait times (what, exactly, did they expect when tower staffing would only budget for three baristas during rush hour?).

Screaming over lattes being 5 degrees too cold, then about them being 5 degrees too hot after being remade (the machines are automatic, both drinks were the exact same).

The same individuals, after having their drink remade three times, saying things like “See, it’s not so hard, is it? You’re just making coffee after all!” while laughing shrilly, covering their mouths with their hands to show off their overly expensive French manicures.

“Whatever ‘hell’ actually is,” said one barista, after a particularly crazy morning rush, “It can’t possibly be worse than that.”

“Just wait, Rose, you’ll get used to it,” Kristy, the shift lead, added as she tried to unearth the condiment bar from the seemingly endless pile of sugar and sugar substitutes that had buried it, “It’s only your first day, and you’re doing great.”

“They really need to get us a fourth morning shift,” said Jisel, the last of the three, currently grinding coffee to replenish what the morning stampede had obliterated, “It’s bad enough to deal with the rush, worse when they show up.”

“When who shows up?” asked Rose, “I thought that was the bulk of it?”

“The ‘gangs’,” Kristy said sarcastically, “Bit of an odd bunch; seem to absolutely hate each other. Never can figure out what their offices do, but it always feels like a bomb is gonna go off when they come in the morning.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Rose’s eyes widened, “can it?”

“The tension is the worst,” Jisel groaned as she set up the coffee baskets to brew, “like they’re waiting for a war to come or something.”

“One group works on the top floor,” Kristy said as she scooped out more sugar into the dispensers, “Those are the ones that wear all beige and gray. The other work in the basement, wear all black and some of them stink. Upstairs is all fake smiles and downstairs is all depression, it’s quite odd.”

“And don’t get me started on their manners,” Jisel pressed the ‘brew’ button on the machines and turned her attention to the pastries, “One of them, some American asshole with purple contacts, always calling our food ‘gross matter’. Like, buddy, it’s not my fault this is what corporate sends us.”

“Oh! Or the baldie, always staring! Shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that leering, creeps me right out!” Kristy suppressed a shiver of fear at the thought of the bastard.

“Isn’t he the one with the grills in his teeth?” Jisel winced at the thought, “What does he think he’s a millennial or something? He’s not fooling anyone, he’s gotta be at least 45! Or even the short one, with the fly hat!”

“What, like, a cool hat?” asked Rose.

“No, like, a literal house fly but it’s a hat on their actual head,” Jisel said waving the pastry tongs about, “They wanted to fire me for wearing a necklace one day and this one gets to wear a hat that looks like a housefly?”

“Come on now, you know they don’t work for tower staffing,” Kristy had given up at this point and taken position at one of the tables to watch whatever shit was on the tele currently, “Whatever company it is must be pretty lenient.”

“Dunno how lenient you can be when the best place you could rent out is a basement. All the ones that wear black work in the basement.” Jisel poked at a stale scone with the tongs, “Seems ever so dreary.”

“’Cept for the one with the sunglasses, he’s always good for a joke.” This whole job was a joke. A sense of humor had always been something Kristy could appreciate, even if most of their customers couldn’t.

“Yeah, when he’s here. Usually just the rest of the lot though,” The scone continued to be regarded with disdain before being unceremoniously tossed in the garbage and replaced with a fresher one,

“What about the professor looking fellow from the upstairs group?”

“The fuddy-duddy?” Kristy asked, wrinkling her nose and flipping through the channels. Rose had taken to cleaning the same tabletops she’d already cleaned.

“That’s not very nice,” The tongs hand moved on to poking at one of the unfortunate looking breakfast sandwiches, “He always leaves good tips!”

“S’pose that’s true; day always seems to go better after he visits.”

“Still haven’t figured out how we seem to have marshmallows when he’s here,” Jisel said, “We don’t usually have them do we?”

“Probably best not to question it.” Kristy, out of everyone, had been there the longest and had seen the majority of the strangeness the ‘gangs’ (as the baristas all called them) could be. Sometimes things happened when they were around and if you thought too hard on it, you’d find yourself with an upset stomach or a migraine.

This was how it was with coffee shops. Part of the business. Marshmallows existed when the fuddy duddy was around, and that was that.

“Um, ‘scuse me,” Rose piped up from where she was cleaning the same table a third time, “Did it get colder in here?”

“Ah,” Kristy stood to take back her position behind the bar, tossing the remote on a table, “They’re here.”

It was only three of them today (a blessing, if you believed that sort of thing) but it would have to be the worst possible three. She knew their names, of course. You didn’t work in the same place this long and not learn customer names. Beelzebub, Hastur, and Ligur. Weird names, but a coffee is a coffee.

The first, hot chocolate with cinnamon - extra whipped cream.

The second, black coffee with two shots of espresso.

The third always changed his order with the season. Sometimes she could swear his eyes changed color, too. She thought to her old worn out glasses and thought how nice it must be to afford contacts, much less color ones.

“Finally! I might spare your deaths for another day,” the one known as Ligur said, “It appears you’ve all come to your senses and deigned to bring my preferred drink back. I’ll have the pumpkin spice.” He said this with a snarl, making it sound eviller and foreboding than any overly-sweet sugar-drenched latte should. Which was difficult, because around here “Pumpkin Spice” was a four-letter word. Jisel punched the order into the till with the complete indifference one can only gain by working in the customer service industry.

Rose looked like she might jump out of her skin from her position by the oven, and Kristy couldn’t really blame her. There was a certain aura that came with the basement workers; doom and gloom was the best way to describe it. The fact that the one seemed to have a reptilian hand sticking out from under his blonde hair didn’t help.

Best to ignore that.

Also best to ignore the beady eyes boring holes through her as she filled half of the large cup with whipped cream for the weird fly-hat person. Did they even blink?

“Cinnamon if you pleazzzz.” Beelzebub said with a buzz and obvious disdain, poking a straw into the lid that was clearly not for straws. Kristy turned her attention to the espresso shots running for the black coffee. She was sure that she very much did not see the person offer the straw to their hat and most certainly did not see the hat actually drink from it.

She had gotten very good at not seeing things.

The other two joined the first at the hand-off plane, both grumbling.

“I don’t see how you drink that blessed shit,” said the one called Hastur, “You know that Crowley got a commendation for it1.” He said the name ‘Crowley’ the same way one might say ‘toenail fungus’.

“It’s awful.” Said Ligur who, for today, seemed to have settled on a highlighter-yellow for his color contacts.

“Oh,” said the other, “Well that’s alright then.”

They often spoke like this. Backwards, in Kristy’s mind.

“Um,” Rose piped up from her position as Kristy added the swirl of whip cream to the pumpkin-only-in-name latte, “Now it feels warmer in here?”

“Nah, it’s cuz you’re by the oven,” Jisel said.

Kristy declined to comment; she already knew they were coming. She’d had lots of days seeing the tension flooding into the depressing group in front of her.

Sure enough, in walked the upstairs department. All four smiling so wide as if there was something just behind their teeth trying to claw its way out.

She knew all the names but one. The tall American never ordered, only complained. Uriel, Michael, and Sandalphon were the other three.

They all got the same thing. Americanos. No room, no cream, no sugar.

The small person in the fly hat stared at the American. The American stared back at them.

“Ah, Beelzebub,” the man said, clasping his hands in front of him, stooping down slightly to address who they knew as Beelz, “What an absolute pleasure to run into you again.” He said ‘pleasure’ the same way one might say ‘mandatory monthly torture meetings’.

“Gabriel,” fly-hat replied, looking altogether taller than they had a few moments ago, “Not too bzzzy being self-righteouzzz elzzewhere?”

It always astounded the baristas how they could so easily talk down to another who had a good three feet of height on them. Impressive, to say the least.

The tension in the room was palpable. Like being stuck in pea soup. Like being on a knife edge. Like any moment something was going to snap, and they’d have to run to the phone and call in the police for the inevitable brawl that would definitely probably break out today.

But that was just a typical Friday afternoon at any other time of the day, so Kristy went on with making the Americanos.

The two individuals stared at each other for what felt like hours but was probably only a few minutes. Jisel didn’t speak. Kristy didn’t speak. Rose, well, tried not to speak but definitely whimpered from her little corner of the back bar.

First days were always overwhelming.

And then, as it had transpired every other day, fly-hat broke the eye contact and began walking past the American, head held high. Defiant. Them and the other two would walk out the door, the upstairs people would leave shortly after, and the rest of the day would proceed along as it always does.

This time, fly-hat stopped.

“You are aware,” they said, pure anger palpable even to the baristas behind the bar, “It izz only five more dayz. We are The Fallen, and we will rizze from the ashezz.”

“Whatever helps you make it through the day, Beelzy,” the American said mockingly. Kristy saw fly-hat bristle at this nickname, “We all know the greater good will triumph in the end.”

And with that, the downstairs people left. The upstairs people were given their drinks. They smiled their fake smiles; they didn’t leave a tip2. The baristas stared after them, as they always do, still not sure what to make of it. Even after five years, Kristy’s never figured it out.

"What do you think they meant by that, Kristy?" Jisel asked, "Five days until what?"

"No idea, probably just some corporate garbage, like it always is."

The beeping of the coffee timer kicked them out of their stupor and back to business at hand. Nothing new really, world keeps spinning on as it always does.

______

1 – Crowley had been quite proud of his influence in the creation of the phenomenon known as the “Pumpkin Spice Latte”. An entire pumpkin based beverage without a bit of pumpkin in it, just the spices usually associated with it. It had been a big hit and he’d received a commendation from it on the sheer amount of vanity and addiction it had produced. This of course backfired on him when Aziraphale had proclaimed them to be “quite scrummy indeed”.

2 – Sandalphon, however, did entreat them to “Climb every mountain and ford every stream”, which did little more than confuse the baristas.

#good omens #my fic #beelzebub #gabriel #hastur #ligur #ask me about working at starbucks #ask me about how much I hate pumpkin spice latte season

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veroticker · 5 years ago

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One moment please - Amy Daws

You can buy the book on Amazon.

Summary (from Amy Daws’s website)

That awkward moment when an ER doctor has to inform you that you’re pregnant…with his baby.

Three things Lynsey Jones knows about the hot doctor: he’s grouchy, an arrogant jerk, and strangely obsessed with pie.

Three things Dr. Dick knows: he doesn’t talk about his past, he doesn’t do relationships, and the crazy girl in the hospital cafeteria who ate a fistful of French silk pie…is annoyingly irresistible.

After a chance meetup at a bar and a heated cab ride together, things come to a head and now instead of hating each other, they’re horizontal in a bed.

Three months later, the weird cafeteria stalker who crept out of Dr. Dick’s house like a thief in the night, winds up as his patient in the ER after her Tinder date from hell.

Dr. Dick is prepared to keep it cool and professional. That is until her bloodwork reveals that she’s pregnant.

What really throws him for a loop…is the surprise baby…is his.

Blurb

““Holy dip on a carrot, I did it!” I squeal softly to myself as I finish the edits on the last line of my thesis and click save nineteen times. After nearly three months of killing myself and creeping into this hospital cafeteria to work because I couldn’t seem to write this godforsaken paper anywhere else, I have finally completed my master’s thesis.

Dip on allll the carrots!

Intense, sweet relief shoots through my veins. I could stand on my chair and blast light from my fingertips. Instead, like the mature graduate I’m on my way to becoming, I sit back and bask in my achievement while observing my fellow cafeteria diners. These people have unknowingly kept me company as I’ve suffered through this paper. And I never would have had the guts to come here to work if it weren’t for Kate.

With a grin, I pull my phone out of my laptop bag and type out a quick text.

Me: I did it. I finished.

Kate: Aww, see? I told you if you used the bigger attachment on your vibrator, you’d climax quicker.

Me: I’m not talking about masturbation, you perv.

Kate: Perv? You say that like it’s a bad thing! Don’t you realize that being called a perv is basically a compliment to an erotic romance novelist? Actually, you’ve just inspired me to get it embossed on my business cards.

Me: I’m talking about my thesis. I finally finished!

Kate: Holy shitballs…congratulations! That’s better than an orgasm!

Me: I know, right?

Kate: And let me guess, you’re at the hospital cafeteria again?

Me: I’m embarrassed to admit it, but yes.

Kate: I told you not to feel bad about writing where the words flow. My smutty words flow at a tire shop waiting room, and yours flow at a hospital cafeteria. We’re productive millennials, Lyns! Which is more than I can say for the rest of our generation. You totally owe me a fruity beverage, by the way.

Me: That’s exactly what I was thinking! Hang at my tiki bar tonight?

Kate: Can’t tonight. Miles put a roast in the crockpot, and he’s embarrassingly proud of himself about it.

Me: That sounds so domestic and boring. How is cohabitating with your lover going, by the way? It’s only been a week since you moved out & I already miss my best friend. My tiki bar is sad too!

Kate: I miss you too! But I’m getting sex on the reg now, so I have to admit, I don’t miss you that much.

Me: You’re disgusting. I hate your happiness.

Kate: That’s because you need sex! Call Dean and make him be your wingman tonight. Get out of your house and away from the tiki bar to celebrate this achievement. It’s about time you were wooed by something other than a fruity beverage and the Womanizer Pro40.

Me: You’re the worst.

Kate: Later, whore

Me: Later, perv”

(review under the cut)

Review

(audiobook) How do you deal with a painful past? Either you build on it, you build yourself a future, a career; or you let it consume you, break you. Being optimistic--some may even say naive--Lynsey chose the first path. And she’s going to work hard to save Josh from his .

After that kind of summary, you must imagine that One moment please is angsty. It isn’t. Sure, there are some sad elements--there’s no romance without a bit of drama. But this book is mostly funny, and sexy, and full of love. It’s a romcom!

I found the characters interesting, the woman in her late twenties always finding hope where there was none, and the man who keeps to himself and whom love changes. The talented narrators gave them life in the audiobook, and it was brilliant.

It was my first book by Amy Daws, and it won’t be my last. With or without audio.

Quickie

Series: Wait with me #3 (but can be read as a standalone)

Hashtags: #doctor romance #romcom #surprise pregnancy

Triggers: lots of talk about sick children

Main couple: Lynsey Jones & Josh Richardson

Hotness: 5/5

Romance: 5/5

+ Lynsey never gives up--anything nor anyone

- it ends...

Stalker mode

You can suscribe to Amy Daws’s newsletter on her website.

You can also follow her on Facebook.

#Amy Daws #One moment please #contemporary romance #doctor romance

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justforbooks · 6 years ago

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Towards the beginning of The Golden House, there’s a soireè scene, where the eldest of the three Golden sons, the loquacious Petya, offers a brilliant display for the guests. The narrator recounts:

“That night he talked and drank without stopping, and all of us who were there would carry fragments of that talk in our memories for the rest of our lives. What crazy, extraordinary talk it was! No limit to the subjects he reached for and used as punching bags.”

Those subjects range from the collapse of foreign currencies to the sex lives of British royals, from the lyrics of Bob Dylan to the flaws in Stephen Hawking’s theory of black holes. Petya, “glittering-eyed and babbling like a brook,” flies from topic to topic, drawing spontaneously on his vast reservoir of knowledge, “like a whole cable box full of talk-show networks that jumped channels frequently.”

Veteran readers of Salman Rushdie will recognise this tendency from the author’s body of work. Like Petya, Rushdie is a polymath. His books – and his lectures -– overflow with myriad allusions, digressions, and stories within stories, sweeping through eras, continents, and cultures. However, unlike Petya, who suffers from a crucial “flaw in the program,” Rushdie is the master storyteller in his latest book, never losing control over what is, ultimately, a suspenseful thriller.

Return to realism

In The Golden House, Rushdie abandons the fantastical elements of much of his previous fiction, choosing realism over the magical realism for which he has become renowned. His return to realism may not be all that surprising in a novel that examines life in the United States in recent years. Actual events in America have proven to be so bizarre that the need to invent fabulous ones may have been eliminated.

In any case, this book is set firmly in the real world – in contemporary Bombay and New York – the city of the author’s birth and the city where he now resides. Its present action coincides with the eight years spanning Barack Obama’s Presidential term. As in some of Rushdie’s earlier work, most notably Midnight’s Children, the story of individual characters runs parallel to that of a nation caught in the throes of transformation.

The novel’s immediate setting is the Gardens, a grassy quadrangle in the heart of Manhattan that forms “an enchanted, fearless space” for the exclusive community that resides around it. It is in this idyllic space, where fireflies sparkle on summer evenings and children play freely, that our millennial narrator René lives with his liberal, academic, parents. At the beginning of the novel René is “just a young man dreaming of the movies.” He is, in fact, an aspiring filmmaker, in search of a subject.

On the day of Obama’s first inauguration, an event marked by a sense of unbridled optimism across the city, the grand mansion that has lain empty behind the Gardens for years is finally occupied, by a wealthy foreign family who refuse to divulge any information about their previous lives. The family’s imperious patriarch, like many immigrants before him, seeks to reinvent himself in America. He christens himself Nero after the last of the Caesars, and his sons choose their own names – Petronius (Petya), Lucius Apulius (Apu), and Dionysius (D). The mansion itself is renamed The Golden House.

Nero Golden shares many characteristics with another American literary hero – a mysterious past, unexplained wealth, decadent parties, a mythic property. Like Jay Gatsby’s guests, Nero’s new acquaintances try to fill the gaps in his narrative by spinning tales about him. René, who fancies himself as a modern-day Nick Carraway, makes several references to Fitzgerald’s novel. But unlike Gatsby, Nero is not alone.

The golden sons

In a sense, this is a story of fathers and sons. Each of Nero Golden’s sons is idiosyncratic and distinctive. Petya, afflicted by high-functioning autism, is an incredibly intelligent and erudite but socially awkward man who spends much of his time inside his bedroom bathed in the blue light of computer screens. When he is not expounding on the many subjects that crowd his brain, he immerses himself in the virtual world of gaming. Petya’s manic conversations conceal a deep and endless suffering.

The second son, Apu, is the artist in the family. Romantic and political, Apu becomes a successful painter and dabbles in activism before growing disillusioned with what he regards as liberal posturing and ineffectualness. He has a way with women, which places him and Petya firmly on the warpath.

The youngest son, the beautiful, androgynous D, is forever the outsider. Born of Nero’s extramarital liaison with “a woman of no consequence” 18 years after Apu, D has never felt like he really belongs in this family. Tormented by his illegitimacy and plagued by questions about his sexuality, D is the first to leave the Golden House and find refuge elsewhere – in Chinatown – outside the cloistered precincts of the Gardens. There is something deeply tragic about each of the sons. Their vulnerability shines through at key moments. These are the most moving sections in the novel.

Compared to the men, the women seem less vulnerable. From a relatively minor character such as the exotic Somali sculptor Ubah Tuur to the “astonishing” Vasilisa who presides over the novel, their physical perfection and power over men make them both magnificent and slightly removed from the reader. Even when they suffer – and they do suffer, often because of actions taken by the men – we rarely get inside their souls in quite the same way as we do with the men. At one point René makes a telling statement when he says, “‘The art of the cinema,’ Truffaut allegedly said, ‘is to point the camera at a beautiful woman.’” It is perhaps fitting then that our narrator is a filmmaker.

Watching from the window

However, this does not mean that the women are not interesting or indeed fascinating. And no one is more so than the one whose machinations change the destiny of the Goldens: the Russian émigré Vasilisa. At once goddess and witch, Vasilisa is seductive, manipulative, and ruthless. It is her all-encompassing ambition of living a life “worthy of her beauty” that propels the plot forward. In a book about immigrants, Vasilisa embodies the immigrant desire to start over. “The past,” she says, “is a broken cardboard suitcase full of photographs of things I no longer wish to see.” Contradicting forces for good and evil literally struggle within her soul. Again, this seems more mythic than human, but whether or not she will ultimately prove to be one or the other is one of the many mysteries the narrator will have to uncover.

The auteur-narrator makes numerous references to movies throughout, and the influence of cinema, both on him and on the novel, is unmistakable. Like Jeff in Alfred Hitchcock’s Rear Window, René watches the Goldens – and other neighbors – from his home, overhearing noises and catching glimpses of scenes that hint at secrets and scandals. He soon discovers that the place the Goldens have fled is none other than Bombay. His research – and imagination – reveal that they left behind a city infested with corruption and crime, a world of underworld violence and international terrorism. “The worlds are less different than we pretend,” Nero tells him.

Initially, René is only a witness, but soon he finds himself becoming a participant and getting further and further entangled in the events. Poet, philosopher, and chronicler, René serves as the conscience of the book. And while he is flawed and complicit in the events that unfold, he says, “Allow me this at least: that I am self aware.” That he is, and it makes him the most endearing character of all.

Truth and lies

Even though this is not a work of magical realism, the distinction between lies and truth is often blurred. The Goldens of course tell “stories about themselves, stories in which essential information about origins was either omitted or falsified.” The characters frequently betray each other. The structure of the book further contributes to the blending of lies and truth, as René begins to invent scenes for his film in progress. Several sections are written as script, with scenes dissolving or ending with the director’s cut, and the camera zooming in and out. Some include voiceovers and other stylised effects. At times it’s difficult to say what really takes place and what is invented by René. If you don’t know the truth, fellow filmmaker Suchitra tells him, use your imagination.

Meanwhile, even as truth and lies begin to collide inside the Gardens, outside it, in the wider world of America, the greatest betrayal of all begins to take shape. The world readies itself for the 45th US presidential elections between two unlikely contenders. On the one hand there is Batwoman, “who owned her dark side, but used it to fight for good, justice, and the American way.” On the other is the Joker – a green-haired, white-faced, red-lipped, real estate tycoon who is “utterly and certifiably insane.”

Rushdie uses rants by minor characters on the streets of Manhattan, as well as observations by our protagonists, to explore the growing “discontent of a furiously divided country.” It is tempting to find the author’s own well-known views on certain topics in the characters, for instance, when Apu chastises “wishy washy” liberals for attempting to sanitise language due to political correctness, or when René defends his suspicion of organised religion. While much of this author’s prior work has dealt with political events, this book’s preoccupation with many of the burning issues of the day makes it particularly urgent and relevant.

The personal and the political

Of all those issues, the question of gender identity is especially prominent. The Museum of Identity where Riya works represents the quest for identity in general, but for D, this quest is very personal. “Come inside and learn about the new world,” Riya tells him. What follows is an education, mostly about transitioning and “gender identity, splitting as never before in human history, spawning whole new vocabularies that tried to grasp the new mutabilities.” Some of their dialogue on this subject sounds didactic, like an introductory lecture on the transgender community for a beginner, which of course is what D is. Nevertheless, the effect of this new education on him is profound and real and will eventually lead to the most poetic, moving section in the book.

Rushdie’s prose is as always both dazzling and dizzying. Replete with clever wordplay and digressions, it includes allusions to Shakespeare, Greek tragedy, the ancient Chinese hexagrams of divination, the 1956 chess Game of the Century between Bobby Fischer and Donald Byrne, video games, superheroes, and Seinfeld, to name only a small fraction. References to current affairs range from Planned Parenthood and the Occupy Wall Street movement in the United States to the telecommunications scam and the 2008 terror attack against Bombay’s Taj Mahal Hotel in India.

People often appear and disappear within a few lines, but are given their own histories and eccentricities. They are, in René’s words, “minor characters who might not make it past the cutting room floor.” These people, like some of their dialogues and many of the allusions, might at times seem a tad gratuitous. The long, packed, meandering sentences can feel overwhelming. But, then, so is New York. Together, the obviously significant and the apparently insignificant help create the teeming, chaotic world of the city to which the book is a tribute of sorts.

The novel can be read as a chronicle of America in recent years, leading up to the present, troubled, Presidency. But that is only a part of it. At the heart lies a page-turner that is the stuff of blockbusters. There’s something breathtaking about the combination of contemporary events that we have all witnessed and are part of even now, and the gripping story of crime and passion, all narrated in such baroque prose.

Much suspense is created through René’s laments as he recollects events of the past eight years. Statements such as “it concerned all of us less than it should have,” and “I should have known there would be trouble,” suggest impending doom. Always, looming over us is the premonition of tragedy. “What would it mean,” René ponders, “if the Joker became the King?” The innocence, of both the Gardens and of Obama’s inauguration in 2009, cannot be sustained. This is the tale of a dysfunctional family within a dysfunctional nation, both hurtling toward disaster. At times it may be horrifying to watch, but it is impossible to look away.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

#JUST FOR BOOKS

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moonreadingjournal · 2 years ago

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Hello!!

I've been away from this blog for a while. I have still been reading. I need to double check what I last posted in this blog to know what I should write about.

But first I will like to share some books I recently bought, I love them all and I am almost done with one of them.

I will post some pictures but also the summary in the back of the books for all to know. Well workout further ado. (Pardon the pictures my iPhone broke and I am using my old blackberry in the meantime)

First we have Red, White and Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston. I love queer books but as of right now I've only read with Gay characters. I especially like the enemies to lovers trope. I will confess too that one trope I particularly enjoy more is an enemies to lovers but one-sided enemies. When only one of them thinks they are rivals. That is not the case in this situation (I don’t think so). I'll put the summary because I suck at that:

"When his mother became president of the United States, Alex Claremont-Diaz was promptly cast as the American equivalent of a young royal. Handsome, charismatic, genius - his image is pure millennial marketing gold of the White House. There's only one problem: Alex has a beef with an actual prince, Henry, across the pond. And when the tabloids get hold of a photo involving an Alex/Henry altercation, U.S/British relations take a turn for the worse.

Heads of family and state and other handlers devise a plan for damage control: stage a truce between the two rivals. What at first begins as a fake, Instagrammable friendship grows deeper, and more dangerous, than either Alex or Henry could have imagined. Soon Alex finds himself hurtling into a secret romance with a surprisingly unstuffy Henry that could derail the presidential campaign and upend two nations. It raises the question: Can love save the world after all? Where do we find the courage, and the power, to be the people we are meant to be? And how can we learn to let our true colors shine through?"

The second book I will be showcasing is Paris Daillencourt is about to crumble by Alexis Hall. I have to say I absolutely love this author, I still have to read A Lady for a Duke and Something Fabulous but the other two books I’ve read of his were amazing, the sequel to Boyfriend Material is definitely one of my top books for this year. There is something about Paris that completely screams Lucien (one of the main characters of the Boyfriend Material trilogy) but it is that they both kind of reek of lovable disasters. This is definitely the next book I will read after I am done with Red, White and Royal Blue. I will attach the summary:

“Paris Daillencourt is a recipe for disaster. Despite his passion for baking, his cat, and his classics degree, constant self-doubt and second-guessing have left him a curdled, directionless mess. So when his roommate enters him in Bake Expectations, the nation’s favourite baking show, Paris is sure he’ll be the first one sent home.

Bur not only does he win week one’s challenge--he meets fellow contestant Tariq Hassan. Sure, he’s the competition, but he’s also cute and kind, with more confidence than Paris could ever hope to have. Still, neither his growing romance with Tariq nor his own impressive bakes can keep Paris’s fear of failure from spoiling his happiness. And when the show’s vicious fanbase confirms his worst anxieties, Paris’s confidence is torn apart quicker than tear-and-share bread.

But if Paris can find the strength to face his past, his future, and the chorus of hecklers that live in his brain, he’ll realize it’s the sweet things in life that he really deserves.”

I find this book so cute, it reminds me to Boyfriend and Husband Material, the way that Lucien and Oliver both have trauma and suffer a lot from sever self-deprecation, I love how both of them overcome everything and start to heal and find comfort in each other. I loved it, it made me have a nice, warm feeling inside and I think that this book will be along that same line. I cannot wait.

Speaking of nice, warm feelings, Love & Other Words by Christina Lauren. This cover gives me a nice, warm feeling. It feels like a feel good kind of romance (at least that is the first impression I get). I saw this book where I work at last year but we only got 4 books at that time and then they were gone. They never came back and they were sold out online too. It wasn’t until recently that we got them back and I was able to get one copy. I will add the summary:

“Macy Sorensen is settling into an ambitious if emotionally tepid routine: work hard as a new pediatrics resident, plan her weeding to an older, financially secure man, keep her head down and heart tucked away. But when she runs into Elliot Petropoulos--the first and only love of her life--the careful bubble she’s constructed begins to dissolve. Once upon a time, Elliot was Macy’s entire world--growing from her gangly, bookish friend into the man who coaxed her heart open again...only to break it on the very night he declared his love for her.

Told in alternating time lines between then and now, teenage Elliot and Macy grow from friends to much more--spending weekends and lazy summers together in a house outside San Francisco devouring books, sharing favourite words, and talking through their growing pains and triumphs. As adults, they have become strangers to one another until their chance reunion. Although their memories are obscured by the agony of what happened that night so many years ago, Elliot will come to understand the truth behind Macy’s decade-long silence, Elliot will come to overcome the past and himself to revive her faith in the possibility of an all-consuming love.”

My third book is By a Thread by Lucy Score. This book reminds me a little bit to Me Before You by Jojo Moyes but less traumatizing. It is another Enemies to Lovers...I believe. But honestly the guy seems like a tsundere in denial to me and the girl a bit, I don’t know the word, not very girly but I can be wrong. Or maybe they are both tsunderes, like Kabakura-senpai and Hana-chan from Wotakoi: Love is Hard for Otaku. To be honest I grabbed it because I feel like there will be a lot of bickering, and I like that a lot too. I will attach the summary:

“DOMINIC

I got her fired. Okay, so I’d had a bad day and took it out on a bystander in a pizza shop. But there’s nothing demure about Ally Morales. She proves that on the first day of her new job, which just happens to be in my office...and I can’t fire her, because it’s my mother, the CEO, who hired her.

So maybe her colorful, annoying, inexplicably alluring personality brightens up the magazine’s offices that have felt like a prison for the past year. Maybe I like that she argues with me in front of the editorial staff. And maybe my after-hours fantasies are haunted by those brown eyes and that sharp tongue.

She’s working herself to death at half a dozen dead-end jobs for some secret reason she doesn’t feel like sharing with me. And I’m going to fix it all. Don’t accuse me of caring. She’s nothing more than a puzzle to be solved. If I can get her to quit working here, I can finally peel away all those layers. Then I can forget all about the dancing, beer-slinging brunette.

ALLY

Ha. Hold my beer, Charming”

She so calls him Prince Charming ironically.

I am pretty sure that I have already said this before but I am a sucker for beautiful covers. I saw this cover and wanted it the moment I saw it. Then I read the summary and wanted it so much more. It feels like the type of book that will break my heart while reading but hopefully will be worthwhile (one or both of the characters better not freaking die or I will never read again).

“WAIT FOR ME...

Farleigh is just an orphanage. At least, that’s what the church would have the people believe, but beautiful orphans Nox and fae-touched Amaris know better. They are commodities for sale, available for purchase by the highest bidder. So when the madame of a notorious brothel in a far-off city offers a king’s ransom to purchase Amaris, Nox ends up taking her place, while Amaris is drawn away to the mountains, home of mysterious assassins.

Even as they take up new lives and identities, Nox and Amaris never forget one thing: they will stop at nothing to reunite. But the threat of war looms overhead, and the two are inevitably swept into a conflict between human and fae, magic and mundane. With strange new alliances, untested powers, and a bond that neither time nor distance could possibly break, the fate of the realms lies in the hands of two orphans--and the love they hold for each other.”

This kind of story reminds me of The Lonely Hearts Hotel... but with a good, happy ending.

I totally wrote down the summaries of 5 books but I really don’t care, I am bad at summarizing and reviewing books, even when I try. Though, it will be nice if someone sees this post and decides to buy any of the books that I put.

I have a book on the mail coming later this month actually, it is Heart of the Sun Warrior by Sue Lynn Tan. It is the sequel to Daughter of the Moon Goddess, when I get it and read it they will definitely go in my top books of the year. I did put that I will read the Alexis Hall book after Red, White and Royal Blue. But when I get that I will more than likely leave it.

I will check what I have posted before and then put on here stuff that I have read between posts. Hope you like it.

#bookblr #bookworm #moonreadingjournal #red white and royal blue #casey mcquiston #paris daillencourt is about to crumble #Alexis Hall #love & other words #christina lauren #by a thread #lucy score #the night and its moon #piper cj #heart of the sun warrior #Sue Lynn Tan #daughter of the moon goddess #reading all that I can!

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