#why isn’t it December 4th yet???

[thisismyroadtothethrone]

Not at me checking the chenford tag daily like it’s my morning paper

[joosthead]

finally // beautiful stranger || j.k. f!reader

WARNING #1: explicit real person fiction ahead, dni if below 18. dni if anti-rpf

WARNING #2: explicit rpf/real person fiction content ahead. read at your own risk. dni if anti rpf, dni or read ahead if you simply don’t like rpf lol

₊˚⊹⋆ part 3/prequel to normal au — this is a standalone fic but here’s part 1 and 2 if you want a little lore down the line : ). or if you’ve already read p1&2–this is how normal au joost and reader meet :3. set in december 2019.

₊˚⊹⋆ reader: f!reader. notfamous!reader. normal au a.k.a. reader has an office job and attends university. reader is not from nl

₊˚⊹⋆ word count: 11k (exactly !! :3)

₊˚⊹⋆ cw: smut (strangers to…lovers?, f&m!receiving oral, eating it through panties, protected piv), smoking, drinking. mentions of violence. reader and joost are kind of dicks to each other + pouty and annoying but dw it's ok bc theyre cute. unironic use of the word yolo. reader is apprehensive about receiving oral—references being self-conscious because it’s been a while. unironic ome robert during sex : ( teehee op does not drink or club sorry for inaccuracy

WARNING #3: rpf ahead—don't like it, don't read it. do not repost this on any other platform, screenshots or text alike. do not click ahead if you don’t want to read rpf. do not interact if you are below 18. how to block tags/words on tumblr.

₊˚⊹⋆ track(s) of the fic: “finally // beautiful stranger” by halsey :'')

₊˚⊹⋆ junote: plushies!!! thank you for your patience and the love on normal au :''') i absolutely adore this au and i'm so glad to know you guys do too!! much more to come ;)))) honestly this isn't extensively edited i was just so excited to drop it : 3 thank you so so much to @howisjoostfanfictionforfree and @killerlookz for hearing me out on my decisions on how to place this in the normal au verse >-< I SO APPRECIATE YOU GUYS!! <3333

₊˚⊹⋆ translation: "Zo mooi, liefje, ik heb zoveel geluk." - "So beautiful, I'm so lucky." / "Je smaakt zo lekker, ik vind het geweldig." - "You taste so good, I love it."

18+ only — explicit rpf content ahead, minors dni, anti rpf dni. 4th and final warning!

You should’ve brought a jacket. 

If you were someone else, you’d have blamed it all on your roommates, their insistence that since your shared townhome was “only a few blocks away” from the club you were going to and “the snow isn’t even that bad” and “see it’s not even that cold” convincing you that an extra layer wasn’t needed. You’re you though, and you’re bearing the entire brunt of your regret as you trudge through the sleet covered footpath, the snow shoveled to the side and yet still not enough to keep the wetness off of your strappy heeled feet.

Why didn’t you bring a jacket? Why is it so cold in the Netherlands? Why did you move here for university? Why did you even sign up for that many courses this term, and why did the weather have to be like this right after you took your last final?

When will it end? Never, you think, but at the very least—tonight you get to party. After trudging through a kilometer of snow, of course, your roommates trudging right in front of you and suffering just the same. The snow that falls melts as soon as it hits the ground, your skin, dampening your hair and chilling you with the wind that whistles past. 

Maybe you shouldn’t have even gone—but you promised that you’d loosen up after how hard you’d been going at work and school. Either way, you wouldn’t pass up the chance to meet your roommate, Ruby’s…Ruby’s boy-thing, an up and coming music producer with big eyes and a soft voice stage-named Tantu; and you wouldn’t pass up seeing Alanis, too, an acquaintance of your other roommate, Marina, turned your own friend. 

It’s okay. Before you even know it (feels like an eternity), you’re through the line and through the threshold of the club (after getting squished and cut in front of and annoyed), and now you stand in front of the bar, trying (and failing) to get the bartender’s attention. 

The club is packed to the gills with people—it is a raucous Friday night, and it’s been months since you’ve been in a place so full of people that wasn’t a library, a lecture hall, or some work event you had to attend. Still, though, it feels natural getting back into the groove of things, holding hands with Ruby as she leads you through the dance floor, checking on Marina behind you before she leaves to find Alanis. 

The cold you were blanketed with outside is no more, not even close now that you’re slipping in between and through grinding bodies and flashing lights, the background music to your night a thumping beat you’ll feel in your bones tomorrow and a fast rapping Dutch voice over it. It’s overstimulating in a good way, you think, much preferred over the overstimulation of your packed schedule—you'll have a few weeks of this before it all starts again, and you're happy to be here at the end of it all. 

Eventually you make it to the bar. Someone stepped on your foot on the way there, you lost sight of Marina, you have to adjust your little black dress constantly—whatever. Ruby’s boy thing is unmistakable, giant blue eyes and typical dad cap, and he stands at the bar with three shots waiting for you both.

“You must be Ruby’s other roommate!” he yells over the music and you nod, smiling at him as Ruby goes to hug him around the waist, giggling as she does. 

You prop your elbow up on the bar for support—god, these shoes suck—and yell back, “You’re Teun? Is this your song?” 

“This is my friend’s song, actually, Joost!” He looks around for a bit before giving Ruby a smile; her excitement is contagious owing to the fact that she’s almost never so animated, like she’s bouncing on her heels with her movement. “He’s supposed to be here tonight, I think he’s late.” 

“Joost?” you yell, and he nods—you nod back in approval. Very pop, very gabber (if you’ve judged the subculture correctly in the 2 years being here), very loud, but you like it. 

“He’s a really cool guy, I promise!” Ruby says, giggling even more and sharing a mischievous look with Tantu that you’re not sure means something. 

“Mmm, sure,” you smile, scrunching your nose. You have a feeling that Joost, whoever he is, will become someone important later on in the night, but you put him on the back of your mind as you pick up your shot glass alongside the two of them and down it—you expect it to burn on the way down, seeming like some kind of vodka, but it’s smooth and sweet, only slightly burning. “Thanks Tantu,” you say, holding your hand up for a high five which he reciprocates, laughing. 

“You’ll like Joost, I think,” he nods, and you cock an eyebrow. 

“Are you trying to set me up with someone?” 

“You need something to distract you from all your work, babe,” Ruby says, taking your hand and squeezing it. “Hopefully expensive vodka will loosen you up a bit.” 

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, “I didn’t ask for a distraction.” Work and school are already difficult enough to juggle as is, let alone your abysmal social life only kept alive by Ruby and Marina’s wide circle of friendly, eccentric creatives. You’d rather just keep your circle small, keep your head down and focus, but your friends always have things up their sleeves. 

Ruby orders 3 Bacardi colas for your small group and turns back to you. “We’re gifting you one, okay?” 

You shake it off, focusing more on the lovely rum and cola once it comes into your possession. Sipping at it, you follow Ruby and Tantu onto the dance floor, the bustling crowd jostling you around as you teeter on your heels, keep your purse close to your body, and try to keep your drink from spilling. 

Truthfully, the purse (the purse!!!) is one of your most prized possessions—you don’t think yourself too materialistic, but scoring a 90s Dior saddlebag for less than a thousand euros, with your first big paycheck… you reason that that’s more than enough to get you to be materialistic. 

You cover it with your arm as best as you can as you try and follow Ruby’s pretty lion’s mane of brown curls, turning to make sure you’re still there every once in a while but mostly just hanging onto Tantu’s hand—you don’t mind third wheeling when Ruby’s being so cute, a side of her you've never seen before. 

The three of you make it to the heart of the crowd, running into Alanis and Marina and picking them up along the way, the thrumming beat of some early 00s song until it transitions to something so hyperpop your eardrums might rupture. 

You mouth the lyrics, bright lights shining into your eyes, your dancing constricted by being way too close for comfort with a bunch of drunk and sweaty strangers, but. You’re trying. That’s for sure. 

Marina’s hands snake around your waist as you sway together to the music, eyes closed and letting the alcohol get to you; you would go back to the bar and get another drink if it wouldn’t be such a damn hassle to do so. 

You’re enjoying every single moment, the time passing by in a blur of dancing people and loud voices and sweaty bodies—you’re almost in a haze, all you’d need is a drunk cigarette to make this night perfect, but then Marina lets go of you, and you get disoriented. So many lights, so many people, not enough of your people. 

You get elbowed in the back by someone and it takes you out of your trance completely. You look back in annoyance, the culprit being a tall blonde guy with douchey sunglasses who’s whooping and hollering with a friend who looks just as rambunctious as he is. Scowling, you turn back to where Ruby and Marina are, speaking/yelling with Tantu and Alanis, somehow several feet away, but then you stumble over your feet, and the guy behind you stumbles into you, and you feel a cold liquid run down your arm, your side, all over your dress. 

Shocked (and frankly, about to cry) you look down at your now dripping arms, your purse and the stains on it obvious even now in the dim club light. A mixture of anger and pure disdain for the guy behind you comes over you as he turns around—what the fuck!!! Almost four months of utter bullshit at work and university and this is what happens to you the night you get back.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, I’ll pay for it, just find me later!” he yells, looking down at you, turning back to his friends and laughing, and you practically gasp in shock with how rude he’s being. Can’t even give you the time to make things right now, what makes him think you’ll trust him enough to leave it later? 

You tap on his shoulder, making him turn his attention back to you. He’s wearing earphones for some reason, and the big sunglasses really are so douchey. You’re normally not so judgmental—but he ruined your night. “Are you fucking serious? Sorry doesn’t cut it—this is vintage,” you shout, pointing at your poor purse. “And you’re a fucking asshole!”

“Oh, it’s vintage?” he scoffs, and you—you want to punch him in his smug face. You can’t even look him in the eye, his stupid sunglasses blocking your vision of him, but you know that you’re glaring holes through him. 

Any night else, you would’ve left it alone, probably. At the very least, get a yell in; at the very least, get his info and give him an angry text the next morning. Tonight, though, you have nothing to lose and a chip on your shoulder. You get up closer to him, in his face as best as you can with the height difference and the close quarters. 

“You wanna take this outside? You can yell where I can actually hear it, my music’s playing too loud!” he smirks, tapping on his stupid earphone, then pointing to the ceiling as the music keeps playing around you, as the people around you still keep dancing and hollering. He starts moving away from you, and you catch a glimpse of all of your friends—the puzzled stares from Ruby, Marina, Alanis, the concerned expression in Tantu’s eyes. You can't pretend to care about what you look like at the moment, except that’s all you care about at the moment. Your once perfect black dress, your mint-condition bag. 

You bring your purse up to your nose—fucking Baco, not even a clear drink that you can get out relatively easily. Maybe if you’d just brought a jacket, you wouldn’t have a Bacardi cola spilled all over everything and ruining your life. You forgot how intense you are when you’re tipsy. 

You follow behind him, practically stomping—you notice that people are parting for you more than they did in the beginning, and it’s likely because of the anger just radiating off of you in waves as you fume. Every once in a while, he turns and sees if you're still following…of course you are. You're not going to let him off the hook that easily. Any of your other friends would handwave it and just go back to partying. You’ve got an agenda, though. 

When you make it out of the club, jostling through what feels like a million people, you're a bit sobered up and it’s so late—it’s so cold. In the lamppost light, you see he’s much taller than you, wearing a heavy jacket and a wrinkled white button-up underneath it, baggy jeans with writing over the crotch. He looks exactly what you’d expect. “I already said I’d pay for your things,” he says, taking a pack of cigarettes out of his jacket pocket and offering you one, which you take as you roll your eyes halfway to the back of your head. “You have a stick up your ass.”

You take the cigarette between your fingers, bring it up to your mouth and he cups the end, holding the flame of his lighter to it—it sparks, and you take a long pull before sighing, “It’s gotten me much farther places than you, I know that for sure.” A smile teases on his lips, and you can't help but smile back, your anger already melting away like the snow on the ground. The two of you walk a little ways down, trying to get away from the loud clubbers and failing. It’s peak business right now; you couldn't escape them together even if you tried. 

In your head, you tell yourself that it’s because of the nicotine, the smoke in your lungs, but you have to be real with yourself. Whoever the asshole who ruined your night was, whether he was a friend of a friend or the soundtrack to this club—he has pretty blue eyes and a prettier smile, and you…you are weak. And sobering up and realizing that making a scene was a bit embarrassing. 

“Yeah?” he asks, and you nod, proudly, smugly, because you'd earned the right to after the way your life has been the past few months. “Sure it has.” Mood ruined again. You walked straight into that. 

Again, you roll your eyes. “I'm not here to try and convince you of my accomplishments.” 

“‘Accomplishments’,” he says, lighting up his own cigarette. “So accomplished but you didn’t bring a coat for this weather. Smart.” 

This makes you realize just how freezing you are, one of your arms hugged close to your body for what little warmth you can muster from it—your dress is quite short, not to mention damp from this guy’s Bacardi cola spilled all over it, and you’re feeling the consequences. Goosebumps line your skin all over, the breath that leaves your mouth is not only smoke but the cold condensation in the chilly air, and you shake your head. 

“I didn’t think I’d have to come out here and yell at you, but here we are.” 

“How much is your dress? Your purse? I'll send you the money and more for your trouble.” 

“I can't just replace vintage,” you fuss, looking down at your outfit. Your purse was once pink and white and Dior-monogrammed—now it is a muddy brown. Still Dior-monogrammed, but uglier. You never thought yourself a fusser—maybe this season of your life has changed you more than you thought. “I got this at a thrift in Berlin, you know how hard that is these days?”

A heavy weight gets put upon your shoulders; his jacket that he places around them wafts the smell of expensive men’s cologne and smoke. You look at him, incredulous; he gives you a quick glance, then averts his gaze. “You're shaking like a dog,” he says, taking a puff from his cig. “You need it more than I do.”

“Thanks,” you nod, and he gives you an acknowledging hum. “You don't have to. I was an asshole to you and you give me your jacket.” 

“Don't apologize for something that was my fault.” 

“It was both our fault.” 

The night is silent as it can be—not silent at all with clubbers streaming in and out, the music and the talking leaking to the outside. The two of you are a bit farther away from all the people—everyone is walking the other way to another club or bar to continue their outings. 

“Do you want to sit down? We can exchange info and stuff here. Your shoes look uncomfortable.” 

Now that you’re warm, you realize another thing: your feet are aching tired from the dancing, the minutes of stomping after him. The curb in front of you is damp from the snow, but his jacket is so big on you that it can cover your ass—it’s not like you have much else to lose with this outfit, anyways. You sit and he settles down next to you. The sky is a deep purple canvas marred by light pollution, yet you can still see a few stars. Same stars here, same stars back home. 

Another realization: you’re sitting in a foreign country, in almost silence next to some stranger, smoking a cigarette, wearing his jacket after calling him a dickhead and after he’s implied that you’re some airhead. 

Maybe you're just boring (you're not), but life has never taken you to a place like this before. 

To the side, he stubs out his cigarette, and you take a better look at him. Pink creeps up his neck, and when he turns back, you see how vibrantly rosy his cheeks are. If you're seeing it right, his eyes are a little heavy lidded, probably as a result from all of the alcohol. He has a beauty mark underneath his lip, and his lips are just as pink as his cheeks as he brings another cigarette to his mouth. “Do you want another? Or do you just want to keep staring?” His voice is playful, enough so that you bite your tongue for the quip back. 

“I shouldn't. I’m trying to quit, anyway,” you say, still breathing yours in. He nods and you notice that you can actually see his eyes now—no douchey sunglasses, or whatever you called them in your head back there. “Why aren't you wearing your glasses anymore? The ones you wore inside?”

“I don't need to wear them now that the lights aren’t crazy. It gets very overstimulating in there, the glasses help.” 

“I assume your earphones are for the same reason?” You point at his dangling white earphone, and he nods. “I should try that. Maybe it’ll stop me from yelling at strangers.” 

“Maybe it will help you, too. Want to listen?” 

He offers it to you, tonight’s symbolic olive branch, and you take it. “Sure,” but you take it out of your ear almost as soon as you put it in, the music extremely loud and blaring. “How do you not lose your hearing?” 

“I’ll lose it anyway—YOLO,” he says, shrugging, and amuses you how serious he seems saying it. “YOLO” is a fitting mantra for him. “I'm a performer, anyway, so—YOLO! Accelerate the process.” The music turns down considerably; if you're hearing it right, it sounds like Flemish dad rock, something you'd hear on the radio if you grew up here. 

“YOLO, I guess,” you laugh, and he nods like he’s proud of you, laughing himself. It sounds more like a bark, voice now raspy because of the cigarettes, because of the cold, but it sounds nice. “You’re a performer? What have I seen you in, then?” His appearance is so distinctive—hair so bright it almost glows, eyes reflecting an icy grey from the dark of the footpath in front of you. His style is even more distinctive, all Supreme and Bathing Ape and hype beast brands you’ve never heard of. 

But it is Amsterdam. Curly blonde haired, blue eyed hype beasts are a dime a dozen here. You’ve probably seen him around somewhere, it seems like even your roommates know him pretty well through their scene of creatives—but you can’t seem to connect him to anyone you’ve ever watched or heard before. 

“Let me pull up my music for you.” 

“Soundcloud rapper?” you tease. 

“Adjacent.” 

He takes his phone out of his jeans pocket, and you peer over his shoulder, watching as he scrolls through a different playlist. He looks back at you, smiles, looks at your lips then back up at your eyes—it takes a little out of you to keep from rolling your eyes, it takes a lot out of you to keep your composure when he does it. Ugh. “I don’t know what to play you,” he admits, turning back to his phone. “Feels like you’re just going to mess with me when I do.” 

“I'll try not to. Can't promise anything, though.” 

You put your hand on his shoulder—he feels warm, sturdy, and he’s taking way too long to pick a song out of the apparently many he has under his name. 

Finally, he clicks on a title and it begins playing; 1 second in, you say, “Skip,” just to fuck with him, and it works well—he looks back at you, mouth agape and eyes wide, expression so earnestly incredulous you have to laugh. Your faces are closer than they have been the entire night, but you can't even focus on that as you laugh. “Skip?!” he exclaims, getting closer to you, all up in your face. 

“Yeah, skip,” you giggle, nodding exaggeratedly as you lean into him like he just did to you. He’s so close, and he grins at you as your noses come close to brushing. 

“This is the first song of mine I’ve played the entire time, and you want to skip it.”

Obviously, it isn't actually a skip for you—”Ome Robert,” a really fun song about…sucking dick? Being a god? Either way, it’s incredibly catchy and well produced, but you don’t want to let him know that just yet. “Yeah, I wanna skip it. You’ve gotta have better than this.” 

“I work hard on this song, I release it myself, it goes platinum in the Netherlands, I make it to impress beautiful strangers at the club just like you—and you want to skip it. All that work, what did it even get me?” 

Beautiful. This counts as a win. “I admire your work ethic and I think it’s so commendable that you set up a record label for you and your friends—but it’s a skip, I’m sorry to say.” You shrug, putting your hands in the coat pockets once you stub your cig out. The air is so cold—honestly, you worry for him, his disheveled white button-up the only thing shielding him from the weather now that he’s given you his coat. 

“Tell that to everyone in the club, you saw it back there. You probably even danced to it, too.” 

“Did you have to pay the DJ to get him to play your song?” 

“No, we’ve been friends for years.” 

“Ah, so it’s nepotism. I see,” you state proudly, and he groans.

“Nepotism? I will let you know, I established a record label myself. Fully independent, no nepotism.” 

Though Joost’s tone is annoyed, there’s nothing but an amused grin on his face; you smile back, “Is he signed to your label?” He nods, and there, just as easy, you have another piece of ammo. “Ah, so he’s kissing up to the boss.”

“You—“ he starts, eyebrows furrowing, then stops, shaking his head at you. “I've been talking to you for an hour and I don’t even know your name.”

“We’ve been busy.” 

You offer your name and he repeats it, question mark at the end. You nod and he smiles bigger, if that’s even possible. In the streetlight, his eyes shine, long blonde eyelashes almost covering them. “We’re supposed to meet, did you know that?” 

“Really?” 

“I’m Joost. Friend of Tantu and Alanis. They said they wanted me to meet…their friend’s friend? If you are that. Friend’s roommate?” 

“What a way to meet.” You didn’t think this would be the Joost that Tantu was talking about at the bar, fiery yet sweet making loud and proud music you’d never heard before. 

“We made great first impressions on each other, I think. You are unforgettable.” 

“Mine worse than yours,” you sigh, and Joost hands you his cigarette to smoke the final few puffs. You take it even though you should quit, even though you told him you’re quitting, your lipstick staining the butt. 

“We can put it behind us, yeah?” he says, holding his hand out for you to shake. “Friends?” 

“Acquaintances, for now,” you tease, but shake his hand anyway. “Fuck, dude, your hand is so cold.” Your brows furrow in concern as you squeeze his hand, surprisingly freezing, surprisingly soft save for a few callouses.

Joost laughs smaller than you’ve heard him all night, your hands practically in his lap; his cheeks are glowing pink with how long you’ve been out here—your cheeks are warm, but likely not for the same reason.  

“Acquaintances? Don’t play hard to get.” On instinct, you wrap your other hand around Joost’s in an attempt to warm it. “Your hands are so warm, I appreciate you for trying,” Joost remarks. “Very small, too, Christ.” 

“Oldest trick in the book, Joost, my god,” you laugh, exasperated, yet still, you let him move your hands so they're flat against each other, palms touching. He holds your wrist gently so he can line your hands up; his fingers are much longer and thicker than yours, and the sight brings warmth to your cheeks—it shouldn’t have the effect it does on you, but it does. 

“It’s working, isn’t it?” 

You bring his hand into the coat pocket with yours—it worked enough for you to now willingly share this tiny pocket, that’s for sure. “It’s working,” you say softly, averting your gaze now that you both know that whatever it is is something that’s felt mutually. “Do you do this with every pretty stranger you meet in the club?”

If Joost is a performer like he says he is, a big time independent record label owner like he says he is—there’s sure to be a line of people out the door, or at least a few groupies or someone. Someone in that club who recognized those songs, recognized the mop of blonde hair sitting in front of you now. Over several failed situationships and romps with people this side of Europe, you learned: there is always someone. Someone who’s less busy, less distracted, more interested. 

You know you fit the bill for the interested part, at least—less busy is something you’ll be for a short time, less distracted…well, you have your full attention on him right now, don’t you? It’s been so long since you’ve done something like this, maybe you’re just feening for an excuse to check your own boxes for him, maybe you want to do this for the sake of the line out the door or the groupies. 

Or maybe he’s just Joost. Whoever Joost is, considering you just met him. And maybe you just want him to keep holding your hand, or talk to you more, show you more of his music or go back home with you, slip into your bed, stay until the morning. 

“I can't say I have. I’ve never had a conversation like this with anyone, really, so it wouldn’t even be worth it if I did,” Joost says. Your faces are close again—you would bridge the gap if you just let yourself, but you can’t; you can only muster the courage to let your noses brush against each other, only the courage to smile. “Can I kiss you?”

It seems, he’s checked your boxes for you. 

“Are you fucking crazy?” you scoff, though you lean in at the same time. Joost leans back when you do, teasing grin upon his lips, and you furrow your brows, shaking your head. “Don’t play hard to get,” you mumble as he untangles your fingers in your coat pocket, takes your face in his cold and gentle hands and presses his lips to yours. 

He tastes like cigarette smoke; his Bacardi cola on your dress and your shoes, and now the taste on your tongue; he tastes like smiling into a kiss with a pretty stranger, the way you both do now. 

Joost kisses like he’s scared to broach you, like it’s the first time he’s been delicate in a while—you kiss like you’re hungry for him, because you are, not a single care about your lipstick on his face or the people walking past or the fact that he’s a stranger. His hand slips under your coat, gripping your hip as you pull him closer by the lapel; you beckon him to kiss you harder when you let him lick into your mouth and you lick back. 

It’s your turn to pull back, come up for air; Joost chases you when you leave, hand running down your body as you go to stand up, a soft little, “what no” leaving his mouth when you do. The look on his face—his face!!! Fuck.—is so cute, big wide eyes and hand on the back of your thigh. You cup his face (is this too tender?), rub your thumb at the edge of his lips where your lipstick has smudged in an attempt to clean it off. Turning his head, he kisses your palm, and your breath catches in your throat. 

Wordlessly, he gets up, stands next to you. “What the fuckkkk!!!” he whisper yells, gesturing wildly, and the street echoes the sentiment back. “What are we doing?”

“I don’t know,” you say, laughing, and then stumbling because he’s gotten you in his arms again, kissing you, stumbling with you back against the brick wall of the building behind you as he laughs into your mouth to your whining between giggles about how he almost made you trip. 

Caged between his arms, you wrap yours around his neck so you can get up higher to kiss him—“I don’t regret spilling my drink on you at all,” Joost mumbles when you kiss his chin, nip at his jaw, go down to suck at his pulse point and nip at it too. “Can I touch you like this?” he whispers, and you nod as he brings his hands down to your ass, presses you harder against the wall, grinds against you as you kiss him breathless again. 

When Joost pulls away, you know—you’ve got him wrapped around your finger. Breathing almost heavy, pink lips dropped open, face more serious than he’s been the entire night and scanning your features in a way that is truly disarming—you don't want to admit it, but Joost has got you wrapped around his finger, too. 

A group of people from the club pass behind—you hear a few whispers of, “Is dat Joost?” and a few wolf whistles. Someone gives him a few congratulatory claps on the shoulder which he cringes at, giving you an apologetic smile. “Don’t listen to them.” Once more, he kisses you.

“Your place?” he breathes, and you sputter for a response. This is going a bit too well. Your silence seems to speak for you, but really, you're just thinking about if your room is clean, if your everything shower was enough, if you’re ready to do this with him. “Too much?” he winces, giving you a weak smile, and you shake your head. 

“No, no, my place is fine—my roommates might be home, though.”

“I can be quiet.” 

“Somehow, I don’t think that’s true.” 

“It’s a half-truth.” 

“I’ll take that.” 

—

After a kilometre walk the direction of your house chock full of giggles and pauses to keep kissing against brick walls, dark store fronts, alley entrances, you finally make it back to your house. 

You hurry up the icy steps to your townhome, taking Joost by the hand as he trips his way up the flight. “Schat,” he breathes, and the pet name makes your heart skip a beat, “My house was closer the other direction.”  

“You suggested my place, Joost,” you laugh as you unlock your door and step in your warm foyer—you wave him in, kicking your heels off and stepping onto the cold wood floor as he does the same with his shoes. 

Closing the door behind you, you listen for a beat…voices. The walls are so thin here, you’re unsure if the sounds come from your next door neighbours or your potentially home roommates. Either way, you bring a finger to your lips, telling him to be quiet. In his normal voice, he says, “I’ll be quiet,” and you laugh together at his volume—neither of your roommates would care, but the teasing you'll receive tomorrow if they knew it was Joost you were bringing home…endless. 

“Come, now,” you say, taking Joost’s hand and leading him up your steps, down the hallway to your room.

Your home is tiny and cozy and lived in—the three of you have worked very hard to make this feel like a household instead of just a shared living situation, frames lining the walls of your antics and travels together, baby pictures from home, posters of music artists and movies that one or all of you like. Joost lags behind you trying to look at them, but you just pull him along. Waiting any longer feels like a travesty. 

Once you get down the hallway, open and close your door, you push him up against your door and kiss him again to his surprise, your teeth clacking together from his smile and your enthusiasm. “You want me that bad, huh?” he teases, and you roll your eyes. 

The answer is yes, but you’re not going to let him know that yet. 

You room is as tiny as the rest of the house, a queen bed in the middle with off-white sheets, a desk on the far side, a dresser with a mirror when you walk in. 

“I don’t do things like this very often,” you mumble, fumbling with his angular belt buckle between your fingers, the cold metal of it and the jagged edges of the plate spelling “ALBINO” in a stylized font. 

“Me neither,” Joost breathes as he tries to help you, but ends up fumbling with it, too. “Holy fuck, if I knew this would be so hard to take off, I wouldn’t have worn it.” 

“Cool belt, nonetheless,” you say, and he kisses you thanks. 

“It’s the name of my album,” Joost beams as he finally gets it unclasped, pulling it through his belt loops. You undo his button, unzip the zipper, he does the rest, clumsily pulling down his pants slightly. “We should listen to it.” 

“Later.” From here, as you palm him over his underwear, feel his length through it, you can tell—he’s big. “You should’ve told me you were hiding this back there, maybe I wouldn’t have argued with you as much.”

“I was afraid you would’ve clutched your pearls if I did, schat, the way you yelled at me.” 

“You would be right,” you agree, knowing you would’ve probably thrown a drink in his face if he made some remark about his dick size to you in the midst of your argument. “But if you told me, we probably wouldn’t have sat out there for so long.”

“I wouldn’t have given up that conversation for the world.” 

From anyone else, these words would be hyperbole; strangely, from Joost, they feel true. it feels like you know him already, and he knows you. Perhaps it’s the result of having such a circle of a venn diagram of friends and acquaintances. Perhaps you did know him from a different time and you just forgot.  

“Me neither,” you agree softly, smiling into the kiss you give him as you reach into his boxers and wrap your hand around his hard cock. He’s just as thick as you thought. 

“Fuck,” Joost breathes into your mouth already, and you watch him and his face contort in pleasure as you jerk him lazily in his underwear just for the added sensation of the fabric rubbing against him. Gazing at your lips, eyebrows furrowing, chest moving up and down and breathing heavy, he says softly, “I haven’t done this in…a year? A year and a half? So please, have mercy on me.” 

“Go home with someone? Me too.” You figure that it makes sense—any fling he has is probably on the road, in hotel rooms, anywhere but home. You're not exactly welcoming guests on Friday nights either, but you’re holed up in it 24/7. 

“No, I mean—any of it. I don't do casual often, at all, really.” 

You scoff lightheartedly, “Yeah, sure.” 

“I’m serious,” Joost smiles as you take his length out of his boxers and get on your knees, the plush carpet cushioning you.  

You don’t do one night stands and you certainly don’t do them with self proclaimed “performers,” yet here you are. 

Now in front of you, his cock in your hand, you make complete peace with your decision, and it’s easy to do so. 

He is so pretty—all pale, the tip a delicate rosy pink and leaking wet, a vein running along the underside. It’s nestled in a thicket of lightly trimmed dark blonde hair; you give him a few pumps, running your thumb over the head for some lubrication when you do. 

“Won't listen to my music, but you’ll do this, ridiculous,” Joost says quietly, hand on your cheek as you look up at him through your eyelashes. 

“You’re still on that? Big ego, shocker.”

“Obviously not a shock, you’re holding it.”

In shock at his audacity, you gasp dramatically. “Don’t get cocky, now. You still needed to beg me for streams earlier.”

You give a kiss on the pink tip, salty precum coating your lips. A perfect moment passes when you look back up at him—he rolls his head back in pleasure, a quieted moan slipping past his lips at your tongue finally on him, just one lick to the slit but enough to get him a little louder. 

His cock twitches in your hand, and you grin, kitten licks to his shaft, “Too much?” 

Joost says breathlessly, “I think my knees will buckle sometime tonight, schat,” and you beam up at him. 

“That’s a big compliment,” you purr, taking the head of his cock into your mouth and sucking lightly, which earns a strangled groan for you, a curse under his breath. With every bob of your head, you take a tiny bit more, about half—you're ambitious, but who can blame you when Joost is so pretty? Struggling to keep it together, his stomach muscles jumping and twitching with every hollowing of your cheeks, every drag of your tongue along the underside of his shaft. 

Joost’s hand comes up to the back of your head, just resting there gently as you swallow down his cock, dripping spit on your chin; it hits the back of your throat and you almost gag, having to pull back and pump him a few times, the shiny head now a deeper pink. 

“You like it that much, hm?” he says, moving your hair out of your eyes as you lick a stripe along the underside.

“When you make those sounds—yeah, I do.” You lap at a bead of precum dripping from his slit, and it makes him hiss; it makes him groan even more when you pop the head into your mouth and suck again. 

Involuntarily, he thrusts just a little in your mouth—”Can I do this?” Joost asks, and you nod around him. He’s gentle when he starts, and you prepare to take more of him by breathing through your nose.

He makes these little thrusts into your mouth that make your eyes water, shallow as you suck around him, steady with one hand on your head. With every thrust into your open mouth, he breathes heavier, his pretty lips are dropped open. Spit pools at the sides of your mouth; one long seat into your throat, followed by another, and you gag around him, making him groan loudly. “Holy shit, schat,” Joost breathes, and you feel accomplished. “Enough of that, I think I’ll cum.”

With his hand, Joost wipes your spit from your chin gently; brings you up to meet him for a sloppy kiss, which you smile into as he reaches around to your dress zipper, pulls it down a few inches, rough fingertips against your soft back. You start undoing the buttons of his button-up for him, fumbling just as you did earlier with his belt. For some reason, you can't find it in yourself to slow down around him. 

The zipper catches and you miss a button on the way down, both of you entirely too distracted by kissing like it’s a competition, like you want to eat each other—thankfully, you get all of them undone, and so you run your hands down Joost’s chest covered in hair, his happy trail, back down to his cock again. It makes him falter as he brings down your zipper but he manages to do it, fingers light as a feather running down your spine, nudging your dress down. 

Erratic and wild as the man in front of you, your heart beats a million miles an hour, your hands in his hair as he pulls down your dress completely and it crumples onto the floor. 

Joost pulls back, a string of spit connecting your lips, pupils blown out and wide as he scans your body, your breasts and your pebbling nipples. You move your arms in front of them, avoiding his gaze. “Don’t be shy,” he laughs softly, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed—“ he moves your hand over his heart—it beats as fast as yours, and you give him a small smile. “I’m nervous, too.” A kiss that seems to calm your nerves. “Can’t believe someone pretty as you would take me home.” 

He rubs your back, and already you feel comforted—how is this the same guy who spilled his drink all over you? “Why wouldn’t I?” 

“Do you forget how your dress is still very sticky because of yours truly?” 

You laugh together as he kisses your cheek, the side of your mouth, then kisses your lips slow and achingly gentle, licking into your mouth and rolling your nipple gently between his two fingers, his other hand cupping your cheek. He drags his tattooed knuckles down the curve of your breast, making your breath catch in your throat, a small whine falling from your mouth when he runs them down your stomach, fingertips down over the lacy black fabric of your thong, down more and teasing at your covered clit. 

“Get on the bed,” Joost murmurs, and you practically scramble to it before he stops you with a loose grip around your wrist. “Woah, woah, woah.” With a puzzled expression, you turn back to him. “We can’t have them watching, what?” he says, gesturing at your bed. Staring back at you with gigantic embroidered blue eyes: three of your cat plushies placed upon your pillows from earlier when you made your bed. You weren’t exactly planning on guests tonight. “Blasphemous, no? They can look out the window.” Scooting behind you and to the bed, Joost scoops up the three, climbing over it to your desk facing outside. The moonlight streams in through your curtains as he sits them in a line and turns them around. “Much better.”

“Much better,” you repeat, laughing. On your now clear bed, you lie back and lean over. Opening the lower drawer on your nightstand, you rummage around for the box of condoms you know is somewhere in here but is covered by notepads, extra pens, random pouches filled with indeterminate belongings. Under a folder filled with paperwork and old assignments, you find the box, opened but largely untouched except for one used for a 4th date Hinge guy from months and months ago who didn’t even make you cum. 

You dig the box out and hold it out to him. Settling between your legs, Joost says, “Not yet,” taking it out of your hands and placing it on the nightstand. “I want to taste you, schat, I’ve been wanting to all night.” 

…Eating it already? You’ve declared that Joost is ran through, but you find yourself caring less and less with how enthusiastic he is. Still, though, there’s a part of you that’s apprehensive about letting him see all of you so soon. 

“Joost,” you blush, closing your legs. He moves them so he can see your face, and your cheeks grow hotter as you reason, “We just met.”

“And?” Tilting his head to the side, Joost scoffs. “We’re already naked in your bed, schat.” 

He makes a good point, but still…you’ve never had anyone offer to do it on the first link. “I don’t know…You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“You just put my dick in your mouth, it’s only fair I do something in return.” Just a little, you part your legs for him; slowly, he takes a place between them, gaze disarming as he comes to lie on his stomach and rests his cheek on your thigh, giving it a chaste kiss. So convincing, but you don’t really need to be convinced, do you? “I will make it worth your while, baby.” 

Soft mewls come out of you inadvertently when Joost noses at your inner thigh, sucks at the sensitive skin. “We could just move on—that is perfectly fine, too. But I could give you even more of a good time if we do this.” 

“You talk big game, Joost,” you laugh. With his age and strange tattoos and his bleach-damaged hair and his expensive attire, you expect Joost to be bad at…all of it, really, but he’s only subverted your expectations tonight without having the chance to fully even touch you yet. 

“I wouldn’t do so if I couldn’t prove it to you.” Joost presses a chaste kiss over your panties, over your clit, and somehow, your heart ups gears, beating unsteadily. “And if I didn’t want it so bad,” he adds in a low voice. Completely different from the smiling, pink-nosed boy you saw in him earlier, Joost is hungry for you, the look in his eyes telling you everything you need to know about the veracity of his words. “If you don’t want me to see, I’ll close my eyes—for now, we can just do this.” 

Whoever had him last must have trained him well.

Lathing his tongue over you, Joost spreads his spit over the cloth of your thong, soaking the fabric even more than it already is as he holds your gaze. One arm is hooked around your thigh; the other hand, you’re not entirely sure, but judging from how heavy he’s breathing, how desperate he looks as he eats you out over your panties, the movement of his arm—he’s touching himself, and you wonder if he can feel how much more wet you become at the idea that he is. 

A few hours ago, thought yourself unshakeable in the face of him—now you’re a squirming puddle in his hands. 

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to—but I promise—“ Joost says, big blue eyes shining at you, hands now clasped together as if he’s begging for it—you figure that he is begging for it, technically, and who are you to deny him the opportunity? “Do you really not want it?” Though he’s giving you an out, he sounds so resigned, and it makes you smile a little. 

From the sidewalk, your front steps, the threshold of your room, you wanted Joost badly; wanted him even after considering all the outcomes of this: a waste of a free night, or an hour or two with an overconfident and underperforming boaster before you shoo him away, or a sweet but egotistical rapper in your tidy bedroom putting plushies on top of your university textbooks and leaving his clothing on your floor. 

Despite yourself, you want him. The confirmation that he wants you just as badly, too—the air in your room is charged with electricity, warm and stuffy almost even with the cold outside. You haven’t felt something so strong in forever, too distracted by work and school and life to really care about your body’s needs, even less so what it wanted. 

Joost is exactly what you want. 

“No, no, please,” you breathe, already lowering the side of your thong. “I want you, please, Joost.”

The confidence feels more like giving permission to yourself to be so vulnerable with Joost. No one has seen you this intimately in months (feels like years) and definitely not after such short time together. 

“Okay, schat. Okay,” Joost says, pressing one last kiss over your underwear before helping you pull it off. When you kick it off somewhere on the ground next to the bed, he screws his eyes shut dramatically, and you laugh. 

“You can open your eyes, you know?”

“Hey, I said I would keep them closed for you, I’m not going to break my promise.” He shakes his head, moving forward to kiss…somewhere, you’re not really sure, but it ends up being the junction between your leg and your center, which tickles you. 

“Break it, I don’t care.”

“If you say so.” Joost shrugs, then opens his eyes. Already, it’s as if he’s trying to study you, and it makes you want to hide. Against your better judgment, you open your legs wider for him to have more room, and he gives you a small grin. “Zo mooi, liefje, ik heb zoveel geluk,” Joost says softly, one tentative lick up your seam that makes you shudder. Your cheeks feel warm with how reactive you are to him. Synapses overloaded with his skillful tongue teasing at your clit through your lips, parting them slightly with his fingers—you don't even have it in you to translate what he said to English in your head. “Je smaakt zo lekker, ik vind het geweldig,” he groans, laying his tongue flat against the bud, lapping at it a few times, smacking his lips loudly against you. 

He wraps his lips around your clit, making you moan loudly at how good it feels; you tug at his sweaty blonde hair, and he laughs, he laughs with his mouth on your pussy, and the vibrations of his deep voice make you go crazy. Already, you feel your climax about to approach—in the whirlwind of your busy life, you had no time at all for any self-love, and you guess that your heightened sensitivity is a direct result of that. 

Or maybe Joost is just that good. 

You watch Joost as he devours you slowly, eyes trained on yours and unflinching, arms hooked around your plush thighs and holding you down—even if you wanted to, you couldn’t get away from him. 

When he reaches his right arm up to paw at your breast, you can’t help but notice—“You—is that Crazy Frog?” Crazy Frog tattoo?!?! On his forearm of all places?!?! Who exactly are you sleeping with? You are entirely and endlessly entertained and intrigued by the stranger you’ve picked up tonight. 

“You know Crazy Frog?!” Joost exclaims, pulling back from you with a pop that makes you moan, lips glistening as he sits up a tiny bit. 

“Yes, I know Crazy Frog, Joost.” You laugh, amused if not a little puzzled at the notion that Crazy Frog could be some niche reference for anyone who’s used Youtube in the last 15 years or born before 2003. 

“I thought you would be too fancy to know him, I’m glad you aren’t.” 

“I may have a stick up my ass, but that doesn’t mean I live under a rock.” 

“Great,” Joost smiles, climbing up over you to give you a quick kiss before you gasp at two of his fingers circling your clit. “Then we will get along just fine.” Kiss to your cheek, and he’s back on you again.

The pause in stimulation makes you more sensitive, somehow, and when he immediately sucks your clit hard, it punches the air out of your lungs—you clench your thighs around his ears, but it just makes him suck harder. In the matter of a minute, your orgasm is coaxed out of you by Joost and his wonderful mouth, your moans no longer quiet and subdued; you have to cover your mouth with your hands, but it’s no use when he keeps licking your swollen clit on your comedown, every stroke of his tongue bringing intense waves of pleasure surging through you, making you sob out his name like your neighbours won’t have it memorized by the time tomorrow comes. 

Joost pulls away from your pussy slightly when you finally release all of the tension in your thighs, your body, letting your vice grip on his blonde hair go. Every part of you feels like jelly as you try to catch your breath, sweat on your brow, the pulse between your legs strong and steady as a result of the beautiful man lying between them. 

“You want another?” Joost asks, wiping his mouth, then giving you a wet kiss on your overstimulated clit that makes you curse his name to his raucous laughter. “I can give you another, I could do this forever if you asked.”

“No, no need, that’s very much enough, thank you,” you say, shaking your head. If you could stand not to have him inside you for one more minute, you’d take him up on his offer. “That was too good.” 

“Dank je wel,” he grins, then kisses you, your own flavour on his lips and his on yours. 

“Graag gedaan,” you giggle in your crappy accent and he kisses you again. 

“Wowww, fluent. Very impressive, schat.” Joost nods, giving you a small round of applause, and you roll your eyes but pull him in for another kiss anyway. He moves to sit down so you sit on top of him—his cock is still hard as it was before, a small wet spot on your sheets next to you from where he laid down. 

The feeling he gives you, it’s inexplicable—all those days writing reports and essays, brainstorming and editing, thousands and thousands of words upon paper, and Joost has rendered you speechless in mere hours. No sound between you—no jabs, no complaints or thinly veiled flirty insults, just your shared breaths in your bedroom, just the dull shuffle of your now messed up comforter against your sheets as you reach over and rip off a condom from the sleeve, the box falling over and onto the floor. 

For once, you don’t quite care; you only care about ripping the wrapper, taking it out, pinching the tip of the condom, rolling it down his hard cock as you kiss him open-mouthed and thoughtless.  

“All fours,” Joost whispers, and you let yourself follow his lead after so long having to be in complete control of your life. It feels good being with him, feels good when he places your legs far apart and you settle on your elbows, back arching. You’re so exposed like this—you almost flinch when he dips his fingers into your dripping folds. You turn your head to look back, let him see you and your face as he teases your clit. “Who would have thought?”

“Thought what?” you breathe, wiggling your ass back against his hand. 

“Nothing to say? No teasing?” 

“I’ve done my teasing.” You already knew Joost’s hands were big—but when he wraps them around your hips and pulls you to him gently, the size of them is stark, so warm and gripping you tightly. He comes closer behind you, his thighs behind your ass, dragging the tip of his cock through your slit with a groan. “Joost,” you sigh in a small voice, so overcome by your need for him. “Please, I need you, please fuck me.” 

“Since you asked so nicely.”

With a few more swipes of his cock through your wetness, a few circles of the head against your clit that make arousal pool in your stomach and between your legs, he finally inches it inside of you just a little. 

He’s going so slow, and you—you've never been so impatient in your life. You slide back for him, loud moans coming from the two of you at the fast stimulation, his cock dragging against your walls as you  take him deeper. “Oh my god,” you whisper as he eases more of himself into you, then leans over you, chest pressed against your sweat-sheened back and a hand snaking around to knead your tits. 

“‘Ik ben een god,’ I guess,” Joost says into your ear with a laugh, and you can't help but laugh too, even with all the ego dripping from quoting his own song calling him a god while he’s fully inside of you. 

“Don't flatter yourself.”

“I don’t have to flatter myself,” he says, and the grin in his voice is absolutely diabolical; he says it with a hard thrust into you, which you moan at, the way his cock hits your spot so amazingly, your eyes almost roll back into your head. Every nerve in your body is electric, so many months without use, without stimulation, Joost is a shock to your system. “You do it enough for me.” 

You practically hide your face in the sheets as he falls into a rhythm thrusting into you at an angle so deep inside you could cry—you would never let Joost have that satisfaction, though, so you bite your lip and revel in the pleasure. Every steady seat of his cock inside you, every single breathy moan that falls from his mouth, every whispered murmur of your name accompanied by his hands roaming your back. 

The sticky slap of his balls against your clit, the wet sound coming from your pussy so filthy it could take you out of this dizzying haze. Really, it sends you in deeper, burying you in it the way he’s burying himself inside of you. 

“Fuuuck,” you drag out as you grip your sheets for any leverage, eyebrows furrowing with his hands gripping tightly on your hips to bring you back onto his cock. “Joost, like that.” The pace he's set for you both is aggravatingly perfect—you think you might want it forever. 

“You sound so pretty saying my name like that, baby, do it again.”

“Joost,” you mewl, eyebrows scrunching that you’re letting him have what he wants. You start to say it again, but as you do—he sinks into you so quickly, so hard, then starts sliding out of you so slow you let out a strangled sob. You can’t say anything else when he continues fucking into you, only letting out stifled sighs with every movement. 

“So much to say earlier, now look at you. It’s okay, I know it’s good, liefje,” he says softly. 

“So good,” you murmur, the drag of his thick cock in and out of your pussy bringing you almost to the edge as you collapse your torso onto the bed, so exhausted with the endless dopamine hit you’ve managed to score with Joost—almost to the edge until he ceases his movements completely as he’s fully inside you. 

“Schat,” Joost breathes, and you turn around and pout at him, completely (and justifiably) annoyed at the stoppage of his wonderful hips. 

“Fuck you, why'd you stop?” you ask, propping yourself back up on your elbows and shaking your head. 

Joost leans over you, lips on the nape of your neck, so you turn your head. “Fuck you,” he says, and you kiss him as he laughs. He’s so full of it—You’re so full of him, a comfortable pressure inside of you and snug against your spot. “You need me to hold you up? You can lie down if you want, schat, maybe it will feel even better.”

“Yeah, hold me up.” At your wish, he stands you both up on your knees as he supports your stomach; one hand wrapped around your waist and the other snaking down, down between your legs. 

You’re sure that this will collapse you once more—you don’t mind. He resumes thrusting into you, breathing into your neck, kissing your shoulder. The wet slaps of skin against skin, the sighs and the breaths and his raspy voice in your ear when he finally touches your sensitive clit alongside the firm movements of his hips. “Let it out, lieverd, I know,” Joost murmurs into your neck as you sob in pleasure; there isn’t a single second of reprieve he gives you, not even slowing the circles he’s making on your sloppy clit. 

You don't have it in yourself to argue; not against the ego or his wandering hands and his voice you’d deem condescending if you were still arguing on the stoop in front of the bar earlier—Joost is right, it is good, and this angle he has thrusting up into you is mind blowing, even as the rhythm becomes irregular and disjointed as he kisses and bites the side of your neck. 

Your heart beats ever faster, the knot in your stomach tightens and tightens with every languid and messy thrust inside of you. You reach behind yourself to hold onto Joost around his shoulders, gripping his hair as you bring him in for a rough kiss, all teeth and carnality—you were so composed, once upon a time. He’s given you every reason to forget that. 

“Oh, fuck, schatje,” he mumbles into your mouth. You pull back to look at Joost in his glory—he’s even prettier like this, messy and sweaty, patches of pink all along his cheeks and neck, eyes focused and almost stern. “My hand is cramping,” he says, and you laugh when he adds quickly, “And you also feel amazing, but also my hand is cramping.” 

“Keep going, I'm almost there,” you say, and he obeys, still rubbing your clit, your wetness smearing on your pussy and his hand. “Do it for me, Joost, you feel so good,” you breathe, and he nods, kissing you deeply—it hits you before you even register it, takes you off guard when you climax and you have to pull back from him to moan his name, looking him in the eye when you do. 

You’re never this loud—it’s very vulnerable realizing how much he’s coaxed out of you, Joost watching intently, soft smile upon his lips at your clenching pussy around him as the waves of your orgasm come through you, practically leg shaking. 

He kisses you quiet again; kisses you until it’s his turn, thrusting sloppily into you, the overstimulation stinging, but so good still. 

He whimpers your name, and you contemplate asking him to give you another orgasm; he whimpers again into your neck, just a soft vocalization against the still filthy sounds of the final few thrusts he can give you as he cums, the warmth you can feel through the condom flooding your pussy. 

When he stills, Joost places his forehead against yours, and you breathe together in silence—if you didn’t know any better, you’d think the two of you have been with each other for years. 

“I’m really surprised I lasted that long, schat,” Joost breathes, and you laugh, watching his face as he grins at you 

“I’m surprised, too,” you tease, giving him one last kiss and untangling yourself from him; he’s still inside you, softening with every passing moment. When he slips out of you, you hiss—it feels empty, how sad. 

“Hey, mean.” You flop down on your bed, completely spent, sweaty, still wet between your legs and watching as he takes off the condom, ties it off, and throws it in your waste bin. “I showed you a good time, didn’t I?” 

“I’m not sure,” you tease when Joost comes back to sit next to you, putting his underwear back on with an annoyed rolling of eyes. “Maybe you’ll have to show me one next time?”

“Next time, huh?” he smiles, slipping his shirt on from the pile on the floor, starting to button it up. “Ehh, I’ll think about it,” he says, and you slap him lightly on the shoulder. 

“You’re a dick, Joost.” Joost cackles as you barrage him with a bunch of weak punches to his shoulder and back, getting your revenge for the dress and your purse, for him being a rapper and a fuckboy and the giver of the best dicking down of your life. You try not to let it kill your vibe—it likely will later, but for now, you can just be silly about it. 

“Where’s your bathroom?” 

“The door next to mine.” 

Closing your eyes, you lie back on your bed, half expecting him to just dip, hoping he’s not that much of a fuckboy. But a few minutes pass, and there’s a soft knock to your door, and Joost steps gently into your room again with a glass of water and a washcloth in his hands. 

“Did you think I would just leave?” Joost asks, coming around to your side of the bed and handing you the glass. “Glassie water!” he says in a singsong voice, and you look at him puzzled as you thank him. “You’ll understand when you listen to my music more.” 

“‘When…’” you laugh as he gives you an offended look and nudges your legs open. The washcloth is cold when he places it on your skin and you wince, shaking off his apologies about the water’s temperature because it’s sweet that he’d even do this in the first place. 

As Joost cleans you up, delicate and gentle as ever, he says softly, “I will send you whatever money it takes to clean your purse, I will give you my number, and I’ll send you my schedule for the next month. Okay?” 

“Schedule? You sure it’s not filled with other strangers from the club?” 

“It’s not, I swear. You’re going to come to one of my festival shows this month, and you're going to like it.” Joost leans in and you expect a kiss for some reason, but he just takes the glass from your hand and drinks from it himself. A free festival pass doesn't sound so bad. “Ruby and Marina are back. I said hi.” 

“Oh god,” you laugh, covering your face. “What’d they say?” 

“They were surprised you took me home, but apparently they won a bet with Tantu, so—we did something good, I think!” 

“You think?” 

“I know!” You laugh at his…everything, really, sinking down in your comfy bed, realizing how heavy your eyelids are, realizing that you still haven't even exchanged numbers or last names. Does it matter this far in? “I think I should get going, schat. The sun is rising.” 

In the middle of his sentence, you practically drift off into slumber, pulling your covers over your bare body. “It’s cold, stay.” You pat at the spot next to you. “But not for too long.” 

thank you so much for reading! likes, comments, reblogs always so so appreciated <3 : ) askbox hereeee - juno

[chambersandfogg]

December 4th, 1924

My dear Mr. Chambers,

Where in the world are you today? Have you fled Europe yet? Not that the continent is a place that needs to be fled from these days, but if the papers are anything to go by, this year hasn’t exactly been uneventful over there. What a mess we all made of things. I still can’t claim to understand why you wanted to go back there in the first place, but I have been enjoying the postcards. And I will admit some envy over getting to see the Games of the Olympiad. Your letter about it only just arrived, postmarked from Czechoslovakia of all places. I can’t tell if you just failed to send it from France over the summer, or if you didn’t write it until well after.

You’re usually good about dating your letters. You’re usually very good about writing them. But you’ve been across the sea for a year now and I have a paltry stack of missives on my desk. Then again, you haven’t received many from me, though I refuse to take full responsibility for that. You’re a hard man to track down, Charles Chambers, and you haven’t left me an address to write back to in four months. Three whole letters, two postcards, and, I imagine, several countries ago. Which means this, like many others, will most likely go unsent by me and unread by you.

I suppose that provides me a venue in which to be more honest than I typically am. Not that I’ve ever held back my mind in your presence. One of us has to say what he’s truly thinking and it’s never going to be you. I’m not sure why I’m bothering with the ritual of writing to you at all, but I'm about to open a new show and usually I’d be sending you an invitation. That’s never been a guarantee that you’d come, but the hand would be outstretched as it always is.

I think I’m quite miffed with you. You left the country with hardly any word. Simply a letter from London, three weeks after you’d already vacated the city, saying that you were going wandering for an unknown amount of time. Not a particularly typical move of Charles Chambers. And even less characteristic is the lack of plan you seem to have. I don’t think you’d keep your next destination from me on purpose—or, at least, I can’t think of a reason why you wouldn’t want me to know where you’re going, to give me some indication of where to send correspondence—which means that you have little idea of your next stop on your Grand Tour. Why the aimless traveling, Charles? For what purpose are you circling the globe with no map?

It isn’t that I don’t have plenty to entertain me. The theater is booming and bustling, the money and interest pouring in faster than I can mount new productions. And I can hardly keep up with every new musical act that’s playing in the jazz clubs. The talent is astounding. I’ve even taken myself to a moving picture twice this year and still find the whole thing as charming as I did when we saw that one picture last year. My parties have gone from delightful affairs to gatherings of legend and sometimes I wonder if this is what we fought the war for. So that life could be only this from now on—art and music and laughter and sparkling champagne poured by bold women in sparkling dresses. I’m not sure if it’s a fair bargain, all told, but it is one of which I’m happy to be on the other side.

I won’t say that I miss your company. We both know that you’re hardly wonderful company on the best of days and I know you don’t hold the same joie de vivre for the frivolity of our present moment. But I don’t enjoy not knowing where you are. I feel off balance hearing from you so infrequently. I find myself wondering what it is you’re doing at random times throughout the day and wishing I could tell you how I’m spending my days.

The harsh reality is, Charles, that you are the person on this earth who knows me best. And that’s been the case for some years, but in your absence that fact has begun to sink into my mind in new and terrifying ways. I don’t want to be reliant on your understanding.

There isn’t any point to finishing this letter in its usual manner. It’s simply going to be shoved into a drawer along with the rest.

[a letter never sent by J.S. Fogg]

[to read the pre-1917 entries, join Atypical Artists and get access to the archive of 24 entries (5,000+ words), as well as ad-free episodes of Atypical's whole catalogue. to receive future monthly missives straight to your inbox, sign up for free here]

[athetos]

It still doesn’t feel real that my brother died. I keep hearing my mom’s voice over the phone saying he died and the awful sob as she said that last word, “died”, the most broken noise. And she is on vacation and won’t be able to get home until Sunday night. I don’t have any tears left to cry. He turned 26 last month. Nobody expected this. He was a partier but he had gotten a lot better. He died presumably in his sleep after 4th of July. He was with his friends but he got home early before midnight. It’s not right. I don’t know what autopsy will say or when that will even be. He didn’t want to die. He had plans for after the weekend he was working a few hours away for the state and had a new job lined up too. I highly doubt there’s foul play but I wish there was so I would have somebody to blame. But there’s nobody to blame.

My roommate is out of state so I’m by myself. At least I fly home tomorrow and I get to meet my parents at their house. My mom is so strong and I love her so much. I know her heart is breaking far worse than mine. It’s going to be different now. I’m going to text her every day and call her often. My brother traveled for work but he lived with them and I know the house must feel so lonely and empty. I’m glad my stepfather is there for her, I know his heart is breaking too because he saw my brother and I as his kids even though we were teens when he started seeing my mom. My brother’s gone. I wish I lived closer to home but there’s directly flights now so I can be there in 2 hours but they only leave certain days of the week. I bought a ticket there but not one back yet. I’ll probably stay a week. I don’t know. I don’t care about work my boss said I have bereavement it’s 3 or 5 days but I don’t care about that either fuck it if I don’t get paid. I want to see the dogs and I wonder if they understand what happened or not. I even want to see my father for once. I talked to my mom but didn’t call the others because I didn’t know what to say and I feel kind of helpless that I can’t do anything and I don’t want to hear them cry when I can’t be there to hug them. But they understand and we’ve been texting and I’ll see them tomorrow. Idk it’s like… it doesn’t make sense I guess why this even happened he was 26 but there isn’t a reason things just happen but now we have to live with it and if I expected either of us to die it would probably be me because god knows I tried but I’m in a good place now and this happens and it just isn’t right.

I’m going to be okay I’m going to take it easy and go to the library to return my book and get another for the flight so I don’t stare out the window and cry the whole time and I’ll get lunch too because I don’t want to cook but I need to eat. And then I’ll rest and pack and call a friend or two and then I’ll try to sleep. I dreamt there was a second futurama movie I don’t remember anything else but it was on directv and my brother and I watched like the first 6 seasons of futurama together on Netflix when we were teens and I have fond memories of the show and laughing with him. At least I hugged him and told him I loved him last time I saw him in December so he knows that at least.

[yyh4ever]

A Red Nose Illuminates the Holy Night...?

"Yu Yu Hakusho" 100% Maji Battle Christmas Event

This Christmas Story was first held on December 4th, 2020.

Story: A Christmas party is going to be held at Kuwabara's house. Kuwabara decorates with great enthusiasm as Yukina will also be attending it. Shizuru went shopping and says she bought "something nice", but...

Video: 

Translation:

“A Red Nose Illuminates the Holy Night...?”

Kuwabara: Alright, I've finished decorating … The arrangements for the party are perfect!

Kuwabara: Nee-chan is out shopping. Thank goodness…

Kuwabara: I can concentrate better when I'm alone!

Kuwabara: Well ... you ain't coming home yet?

Shizuru: I'm gonna go to the store now.

 Kuwabara: Nee-chan, get me some chicken, ice cream, and cake...

 Kuwabara: Also, I want a Santa boot with assorted candy!

Shizuru: There's no way you could eat that much. Besides, I already made a cake.

Kuwabara: Eh, is that so!?

Shizuru: I made it yesterday, didn't you see it?

Kuwabara: Hehe…

Shizuru: For now, I'll buy only the necessary to continue with various preparations.

Shizuru: Well, if I'm in a good mood … it's possible that I would buy something nice for Kazu.

Kuwabara: Whaaat!?

Shizuru: Well then, I'm off.

Kuwabara: Ahh, even though she's said that, I'm sure she's gonna buy me something…

Kuwabara: Could it be … a Christmas present? I look forward to it!

Kuwabara: Yukina-san is also coming today…

Kuwabara: I, I, I can't wait!

[Shizuru is back home]

Shizuru: I'm home!

Kuwabara: Welcome back! You're back early!

Shizuru: Why are you waiting at the front door? Look, I got you the candy.

Kuwabara: Ohh! Nee-chan, thanks!

Kuwabara: …Huh, what about that paper bag over there?

Shizuru: This? I was just thinking, since it's a special party...

 Shizuru: Isn't it cute?

Kuwabara: A bright red dress! It looks very Christmassy!

Shizuru: So, Kazu. I got something for you too.

Kuwabara: No, no, no way ... the "something nice" for me…

Shizuru: Yes, this is it. A Christmas present!

Kuwabara: Nee-chan…! I, I'm soooo happy!

*rustle* *rustle* (Kuwabara opens the present)

Kuwabara: …Heh?

Shizuru: Hahaha! I thought it would suit you! A cartoon-character costume of a reindeer!

Kuwabara: ....

Kuwabara: Since Yukina-san is coming all the way here, I thought I'd kill it today...

Kuwabara: When you said "something nice", I thought it definitely meant "cool clothes", but…

Shizuru: Hey, Kazu! Try it on once!

Kuwabara: …at me

Shizuru: Eh?

Kuwabara: This … dressed like this! Yukina-san will laugh at me!

Shizuru: Wait…! Kazu!

Shizuru: ........

Shizuru: Maybe, I did a bad thing...

[Botan, Keiko, Yusuke, and Yukina arrive at Kuwabara's house]

Botan: Kuwa-chan, where did he go?

Keiko: I know, even though the chicken is roasting by now ... there is no sign he's coming back at all.

Botan: He left around noon, didn't he? I hope he didn't get caught up in any weird situation.

Yusuke: Don't worry, he'll be back when he's hungry, I'm sure.

Keiko: Jeez, Yusuke! Aren't you worried?

Yusuke: It's that guy we're talking about, he's gonna be fine.

Yukina: Kazuma-san, I wonder what happened to him…

Botan: Shizuru-san, don't you know the exact reason?

Shizuru: …Yeah, I don't know.

Botan: I see … Should we go look for him in a little while?

Yukina: Yes, I'm worried.

Shizuru: *Puff*, oh my  … I should have considered his feelings a little more.

Shizuru: Kazu...

 [On the streets...]

Kuwabara: Phew....

Kuwabara: It felt good to burst out of the house, but now I can't go back…

Kuwabara: I came out with the character costume in my hands…

Kuwabara: Nee-chan went to a lot of trouble to get it for me. I did a bad thing, didn't I?

???: Huh, Kuwabara-kun…

Kuwabara: Oh?

Kurama: What's the matter? I didn't expect to see you at a place like this.

Kuwabara: It's Kurama! Why are you here…

Kurama: I was supposed to join the party later. Kuwabara-kun, why are you here?

Kurama: I thought you were definitely with everyone else.

Kuwabara: Ah, well, I mean…

Kurama: Oh, is that reindeer…?

Kuwabara: Ah! Err … ahh … that…

Kurama: ........

Kurama: If you feel like it, would you like to chat for a moment?

Kurama: Also, standing here while talking, right? (Why don't we go somewhere else?)

Kuwabara: Kurama...

Kuwabara: My bad, thanks.

[Kurama and Kuwabara talk in a better place...]

Kurama: …I see

Kurama: Shizuru-san had good intentions when she bought that costume for you.

Kuwabara: Yeah.

Kuwabara: I'm sure she picked this one out for me, because it would be a blast if I wore it...

Kuwabara: But ... Today, I get to meet Yukina-san for the first time in a while.

Kuwabara: At least on an occasion like this, I wanted to look cool...

Kuwabara: When I thought that, I just ran out of the house.

Kurama: Is that so?

Kuwabara: Yukina-san will laugh at me if I wear this red nosed reindeer…

Kuwabara: But, I'm more laughable for worrying about such thing…!

Kurama: You already understand that Shizuru had no bad intentions, right?

Kuwabara: …Of course.

Kurama: He-he, that's fine then.

Kurama: It's a waste not to attend such a special party, because of those sad feelings.

Kuwabara: That's right … But, how can I go back at this late hour…

Kurama: I was on my way too. If you go with me, it'll be fine.

Kurama: Isn't Yukina-chan also waiting for you?

Kuwabara: .....

Kuwabara: Ha-ha, ha-ha-ha … I see. I seem so insignificant for worrying so much about it!

Kuwabara: Kurama, thanks.

Kurama: Not at all. Well then, let's head to the party.

Kuwabara: Yeeesss!

*rustle* *rustle* (Kuwabara is changing clothes)

Kurama: ...Hmm? ...Huh!?

Kuwabara: Hehehe…

Kuwabara: I'll light up the dark night streets with my shiny red nose!

[At Kuwabara's House]

Shizuru: I'm gonna go look for him.

*ching ching* (sound of chime)

Shizuru: Huh?

Yusuke: Ahh! You're late!

Kuwabara: Ta-dah!

Kuwabara: Mr. Red Nosed Reindeer has brought Kurama!

Botan: What is that outfit! It suits you!

Yusuke: You made us wait! You were with Kurama?

Kurama: I ran across him.

Yukina: Kazuma-san! I was worried when you didn't come back.

Yukina: He-he, the reindeer is cute.

Kuwabara: Yu, Yu, Yukina-san…! Isn't it funny?

Yukina: Yes! It's very Christmassy, and also looks very nice.

Kuwabara: Hahaha...! Yu, Yukina-san's outfit is also reindeer...

Kuwabara: I, I, I'm so glad we're matching!

Yusuke: What's that lewd look on your face? I'm starving because of you.

Keiko: Well, now that everyone is here, let's start the party!

Botan: Ahh, I'm hungry too!

Kuwabara: As an apology for being late, I'll carve the chicken! Just a minute!

Shizuru: I'll help too.

Shizuru: ...Hey, Kazu.

Kuwabara: Hmm?

Shizuru: Well … I mean... I should have thought about your feelings too.

Shizuru: Sorry.

Kuwabara: Nee-chan…

Kuwabara: Ok, it's okay! It's a big hit with everyone!

Kuwabara: I'm a reindeer, so I'm also matching with Yukina. I'm the luckiest person in the world!

Shizuru: Jeez, you're such an idiot.

Yukina: Oh, what is this drink?

Kurama: This is grape flavored soft drink. It's bubbling and delicious.

Kurama: It's a Christmas staple, and often sold at this time of year.

Botan: Come on, let's open it earlier!

Shizuru: Well then, I'll do this.

Shizuru: One, two, go!

Shizuru/Kuwabara: Merry Christmas!

 -The End-

Who needs a shrink when you have Kurama to give you advice (lol)? Shizuru's costume is called "Empress of the Holy Night", she does look like a queen! OMG, was it really a toast without alcohol? Where is Atsuko to bring the champagne?

Besides new illustrations of Shizuru and Kuwabara wearing Christmas costumes, this story brought back Botan, Keiko and Yukina wearing cute costumes. I wish Yusuke and Kurama were also wearing cool outfits. Invite Hiei next time!

[dearweirdme]

“The GCF was not for Jimin’s birthday, don’t know where you got that from, the Tokyo trip wasn’t even for Jimin’s birthday probably. Jimin himself complained about Jk not buying birthday gifts.”

I never said anything about the Tokyo trip being a birthday present. If Beyond The Story explained anything, is that they agreed to go on this trip together as an escape from the hell that was their life at that time. JK posted a picture of Jimin sleeping on his birthday with the caption "it's not over yet" as in he probably had more in store for Jimin's birthday. A couple of weeks later they went on that trip and then when they came back and told us about it, Jimin mentioned how JK took care of everything, from buying the tickets to booking the hotel rooms, to even paying for everything during their stay (and later complaining about how much money he spent because of Jimin's shopping 😭 Very domestic if you ask me)

As for the birthday gifts, Jimin did complain about JK being bad at buying gifts. But in Festa 2017, the members all jokingly interrogated him on why he only bought Jimin a birthday gift on his last birthday (2016, since 2017 Festa was filmed before Jimin's 2017 birthday) Namjoon said, and I quote, “When it was my birthday last year, we didn't have a culture of getting each other birthday presents (…) So I just wondered, because we had Suga hyung, Taehyung, Jin hyung, and Hoseok's birthdays too. But why did he he only give a birthday present to Jimin?" and Jin continued "I saw him giving Jimin a gift so I thought ‘Jungkook started taking care of others!’ but after that he never did it again!” and he added “After I saw him giving Jimin a present I even went to him and told him ‘I want this, Jungkook. I wish you would get me this for my birthday present’ while I was doing something for him. Jungkook said ‘Alright’ and on December 4th he just said ‘Hey, happy birthday!’” — He didn't even try to explain himself, he just listened to them complain about how he exclusively got Jimin a gift and then them switching up and defending him from allegations and saying he's generous and how birthday presents don't matter anyway. So Jimin said “Do we give him time for an explanation?” and gave him the maknae privilege to talk without a time limit as they've been doing initially with all members, but JK only had one thing to say “I will choose your presents more carefully and...” but they cut him off to tell him it's okay and that they don't really want/need gifts especially because he's the maknae, etc. But it's funny how he still never did it again as far as we know.

Hi again anon!

So no reply to the rest of my answer?

Your words ‘or how he made a whole GCF for him to celebrate his birthday’.

Jk’s post on Jimin’s birthday to me just looks like it’s referring to the day in question not being over yet. Jimins birthday is October 13th, the GCF was posted November 8th.. how is that connected to Jimin’s birthday, except for Jkkrs assumptions on that?

From the book it became clear that a Bighit employee living in Japan helped them plan the trip. Jk himself said he had no money while shopping. But feel free to send me when they did talk about Jk paying for everything.

Also.. super romantic…

Your birthday gift analysis only shows how Jk is not good at buying birthday gifts for members, including for Jimin.. because only one instance isn’t really proof of anything now is it?

[bonesandthebees]

Hi Bee, it snowed on Sunday and I felt like a little kid again even though the snow only stopped melting once it got dark so there was an actual layer, but I couldn’t go out in it. Anyway, back on my glass bullshit. None of this is coherent, but I have been given a free pass to provide any thoughts and I will abuse the fuck outta that.

I wanna talk about Wilbur and Tomys. I think it’s very interesting how Tomys looks at Phil in awe, but then more curious. I’m looking at Wilbur describing it like the awe disappears. I wonder if he even describes it as awe because that’s what he thinks Tomys would feel. It’s very much a lens through his narration. He sees his father as worthy of that reaction and ‘knows’ that he isn’t. And of course he notices Tomys first looking at the ferronnière. (It’s because he wonders what it is, he later asks about it, but Wilbur doesn’t see it that way). I wonder how much of it Is real and how much of it is in his head.

[In a way, it almost reminded Wilbur of how two animals looked at each other when they were trying to determine if the other one was a threat.] banger description. Tomys is scared and in a new place and Wilbur is overall getting introduced by Sam as the 4th person - right after his other 2 possible heir and his consul, but before the rest of the council - he must be very important. Meanwhile, Wilbur sees Tomys as a potential threat, more to Niki than himself, but still to his position, and does not yet know how dangerous he will turn out to be.

Btw, I’m actually rereading now, which means I can quote lines [At the same time, his father’s arm came to rest on his elbow, and Wilbur didn’t fight as Phil led him down the steps and towards Tomys.] Phil immediately eliminates the risk of Niki coming over to talk to Wilbur in favour of throwing his son at Tommy. He might not have noticed, but it’s Phil. So I expect him to think ahead and want Wilbur making a good impression on Tomys right away (and yes the way I spell his name will remain inconsistent).

Poor Tomys did not want to socialise, Tobyn really is just there for the emotional support. And Wilbur describing Phil”s voice as [strangely gentle] hurts. It comes across like he rarely hears it, though it could just be because he can tell Phil is forcing the gentleness. The other option is that it is genuine and Wilbur either doesn’t get why, or isn’t used to hearing genuine gentleness from his father. (Watch me overthink every line, I am fully capable of doing it.)

[A painfully obvious lie, but one Wilbur already knew he and his father weren’t going to call out.] ah like father like son, I sense this will become a theme. The combination of Phil and Wilbur being alike and working together vs. All of Phil’s high expectations and badly hidden disappointment is golden.

[Noticing this, Phil sighed and stepped back.] It’s so small, but to Wilbur that’s very clear disappointment. It’s a very clear, I’m messing up. And it’s very clear it’s because Wilbur wasn’t fast or fluent enough to jump on touring Tomys. He needs to adapt faster than he is. Always a step behind where his father wants him to be even if he does have his moments and victories.

(1/?)

-🎄

oh my god I'm so jealous that you guys are getting snow (even if it's not sticking around) because it was literally almost 80 degrees here this last week and I don't understand why it's DECEMBER

anyway. rose time rose time

I love playing around with wilbur's skewed perspective on things. was there really such a difference in the way tommy looked at phil vs him? yes and no. it wasn't exactly a sense of tommy being awed by phil and not by wilbur, in a way he is actually very awed by wilbur as well. but the reaction is different because in actuality, the consil as a figure is almost as revered as the king himself. as has been said before, the consil is the second most powerful person in the kingdom (and in some ways is the most powerful). phil is awe-worthy because of his position, yes. however, information about who phil is as a person is rare and hard to come by, and while other nobles have likely heard mention of the fact that he has a son, the general public knows next to nothing about the consil other than that his name is phil-something. tommy is from a noble family, so he has heard that the consil has a son, but that's it. for tommy to see such a powerful figure and then find out his kid is only a little bit older than tommy himself makes tommy very interested in what wilbur's deal is.

thanks I was proud of the two animals description lol. I think it perfectly describes the situation they're both in and the way wilbur feels about tommy.

oh yeah phil knew wilbur was going to want to go talk to his bestie so he circumvented that before he could even take one step forward

leaving the reasoning for why wilbur described phil's voice as strangely gentle up to interpretation for you guys :)

it's such a small moment of disappointment but it hits wilbur so hard. he's letting his childishness get the better of him even though phil knows he can be better than this. wilbur doesn't yet understand why he needs to play nice with tommy, and while phil knows he's young and he'll learn with time, he still wishes his son would catch up just a bit quicker

[alln64games]

Getter Love: Panda Love Unit

JP release: 4th December 1998

PAL release: NA

NA release: N/A

Developer: Hudson

Publisher: Hudson

Original Name: Getter Love!!: Chō Renai Party Game Tanjō

N64 Magazine Score: ?? (their score in their review box was “??”)

I’m an avid board gamer and one important aspect of them to me is choice. One game mechanic that removes a lot of choice is “roll to move”: roll a dice and move that many spaces. Unfortunately, most video games that take on the board game concept use this method, which is why the game itself is more of a way to pad out time between minigames.

I was surprised, then, that Getter Love appears to be a game with rather complex board game mechanics.

Getter Love is a Japanese exclusive digital board game with a dating sim theme. Thankfully, there is a complete English fan translation, so I can understand the game. A group of lads have challenged themselves to get a girlfriend, with a time limit of six weeks. You do this by chatting to one of the available girls, going on dates with them and “confessing” you love for them and having them accept you – if you have enough love points.

It sounds a bit skeevy, yet the game manages to not come across as such when you play it, with an almost childlike view of dating and romance of simply getting to know each other and talking.

The game takes place over a maximum of 14 “days” with each having three turns: Morning, Evening and Night. You start each turn by picking a destination, and you will start travelling there. Timing is very important, as you sometimes need to get somewhere before characters, and sometimes after. Everyone moves at the same speed, but you have to uses of “speed up” and “slow down” per turn to try and time when you reach somewhere.

The girls of the game have schedules while other NPCs also move around. You can get given hints as to where some will be, or they’ll phone you and let you know if they like you. Once you’ve arrived at your destination, any relevant events will happen and then you can choose an action – usually talk to a girl if one is there. You can also ask them out on a date where you can pick a time and a place – you’ll need to try and remember when other players have dates with them as you want them to be free.

On top of managing your time, you’ll also need to keep track of style, stamina and money. These can be increased by going home and washing, sleeping or working.

There are luck-based elements. One of the roaming NPCs will give you advice and a free card (which grants you a one-use power), while Reika will cling to you, spread lies about you and chase other girls away. There are other random events, such as a man in a superhero costume challenging you to a fight, a very aggressive cat and an older women who offers you money for something which is censored (after which, bad rumours spread about you).

Of course, there are also minigames, but these are attacks on other players. There are only four of them: a quiz (about the people in the game), a basic first person shooter in a level that looks a bit like Block Fort from Mario Kart, a phone where you’re fighting for control of a microphone and a 3v1 game where three players spawn “thugs” to ruin the other person’s date. To activate these, you must be in the same place as another player and choose to battle – they’re not a common occurrence like Mario Party.

Meeting up with a girl, going on dates, giving presents and choosing the right dialogue options and even talking to their friends will get you love points. If you think your points are at a high enough level, you can confess your feeling for a girl – but if you’re not ready, you’ll lose a ton of love points with them, so it isn’t a risky element as you can’t always tell if you’ll be fully accepted.

Not including adaptations of actual board games, the actual mechanics behind the board game are some of the best I’ve come across in a video game. There’s a lot to analyse, plenty of choices to make and you need to adapt as you play. It’s a lot more than I expected from what some people describe as a “competitive dating sim”.

Oh, sure, there’s thing we can do, like hanging around outside Japanese schools without fear of attracting unwanted police attention, or turning up at a record shop and starting a fight with a bloke in a yellow suit and matching headband, but, apart form that, we get a bit stuck around the point where you’re trying to chat up a saucy Japanese bird and, suddenly, a family of four turn up and start talking to you.

- Tim Weaver, N64 Magazine #26

Remake or remaster?

The English translation makes it playable enough to try out. Still, more video games with a board game theme should have better systems like this.

Official Ways to get the game

There is no official way to get Getter Love!! Panda Love Unit

[rainsmediaradio]

Rhapsody Of Realities 4th December 2023 By Pastor Chris Oyakhilome (Christ Embassy) – Redemption and Christianity.

TOPIC: Redemption and Christianity. Today’s  Scripture: Romans 6:4 Therefore we are buried with him by baptism into death: that like as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, even so we also should walk in newness of life.

RHAPSODY OF REALITIES DEVOTIONAL FOR TODAY MONDAY 4TH DECEMBER 2023.

Many don’t realize that the Christian isn’t actually the “redeemed.” If Christianity were all about redemption or salvation from sin, there wouldn’t have been the need for Jesus to rise from the dead. His death on the Cross and not would have been enough; it paid for all our sins and guaranteed complete propitiation. But that’s redemption Christianity. Redemption refers to saving someone by paying a price. So when Jesus died, He paid the price for man’s redemption with His own life; He did that for all humanity, not for Christians. The Christian is the result of Christ’s resurrection, not His death. This should make it clearer: when Jesus hung on the Cross, in the mind of God, every human person was hanging on the Cross too (in Him), for He was our substitute. When He cried out, “It is finished” and gave up the ghost, we also died in Him. Hallelujah! Now, when He came out of the grave, when He resurrected, we were also in Him. The resurrection of Jesus Christ gave us something far beyond redemption; it ushered us into a newness of life. We’ve been raised up together with Christ (Ephesians 2:6). Romans 10:9 lets us know that salvation comes by believing in the resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ and the subsequent confession of His lordship. A Christian, therefore, is one who identifies with the resurrected Christ. Thus, just as Christ was raised from the dead into a newness of life, the Christian has no past. That’s why the Bible says in 2 Corinthians 5:17: “Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature…”; meaning that he is a new species, one that never existed before. Being born again, therefore, you’re not the “redeemed”; you’re the fruit of the redemptive work of Christ. Redemption was consummated with His death, but Christianity came from the resurrection. Hallelujah! CONFESSION Just as Christ was raised up from the dead by the glory of the Father, I also have been raised into a newness of life to walk therein. I’m a new creation, conscious that I’ve been raised together with Christ and made to sit together with Him in the place of victory, authority, and dominion forever, in Jesus’ Name. Amen. FURTHER STUDY: 2 Corinthians 5:17; 17 Therefore if any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new. Galatians 2:20; 20 I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live; yet not I, but Christ liveth in me: and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me. Romans 10:9-10 9 That if thou shalt confess with thy mouth the Lord Jesus, and shalt believe in thine heart that God hath raised him from the dead, thou shalt be saved. 10 For with the heart man believeth unto righteousness; and with the mouth confession is made unto salvation. 1 YEAR BIBLE READING PLAN: 1 John 5 & Daniel 3-4 2 YEAR BIBLE READING PLAN: John 17:22-26 & 2 Chronicles 9-10 Read the full article

[sleepless-translation]

Phantom Troupe Drama CD English Translation-Track 09

CD : HUNTER×HUNTER～Next Episode Scene 3 幻影旅団 (Link) Track 09. 占いはいいことだけ信じよう “Only believe in the good news of fortune telling!” starts at 30.45

Disclaimer:

This is a fun bonus content from the 1999 anime that I decided to translate because I want others to enjoy it too (´꒳`)♡ Do note that some of the characters might act in an unusual comedic manner.

Summary:

With Chrollo's new stolen power from Neon, members of the troupe are asking to have their fortunes told, but they add a bunch of twists.

[Feitan] I dunno my birthday.

[Phinks] I don’t know what my blood type is.

[Nobunaga] What do we do, Boss?

[Chrollo] Right. Shal, try figuring out their birth date and blood type by their personalities.

[Shalnark] Yes, sir! Hmm…Got it! Phinks’s personality is like an aries and if you narrow it down, it is April 4th. Feitan, with the same method, is December 17th. Sounds about right.

[Chrollo] And the blood types..?

[Shalnark] B?!

[Chrollo] I see. Alright then. I’ll read your fortunes with those.

[Machi] Would that actually work?

[Chrollo] We won’t know unless we try.

[Shizuku] While you’re at it, could you please reread my fortune? I don’t want to die just yet.

[Shalnark] Mine too!

[Phinks] Hey, wait. Let’s see if ours could work first.

[Fortune] The calendar loses a precious component. The remaining months gather to mourn. Never again will you go down in defeat. As the eleventh moon is no more.

[Phinks] It’s a bit vague but I guess it worked?

[Chrollo] Looks like it. Uvo is dead, which means you're not going to lose in arm wrestling anymore.

[Pakunoda] That does appear to be the case.

[Shizuku] Now, since I want to be a Libra, I’ll have October 10th as my birthday

[Fortune] The calendar loses a precious component. The remaining months gather to mourn. You will run into your ex-boyfriend on the fifth. If you're able to retain your composure,  you might be able to get back to being friends!

[Shizuku] Something's not right.

[Shalnark] Alright! I think I'll have my age lowered a bit.

[Chrollo] Another one? Can’t be helped.

[Fortune] How much wood would a woodchuck chuck if a woodchuck could chuck wood? Never read it too quickly or you’ll bite your tongue with all your might.

[Shalnark] *Inhales* How much wood woul- *bites* Ugh-

[Shizuku] Are you okay?

[Shalnark] Haha…That was spot on but it’s rather odd...?

[Machi] Weren’t those fortunes earlier outside of the troupe’s affair? Maybe I should try it too… Read my fortune for me, Boss. Use O as the blood type. 

[Chrollo] Machi, you too?

[Fortune] The moon has come out! The moon has come out!  For the sun and the fake fourth moon. Tonight is their rendezvous. Where they shine brighter than the sky full of stars.

[Machi] I'm not sure if this is fortune-telling anymore…

[Hisoka] No. I'm pretty sure that’s a prophecy for a date with me.

*Rips* [Hisoka] *Gasps* That was a convincing fortune!

[Machi] My blood type isn’t even O, so that’s not my fortune! There’s no way I’m going on a date with Hisoka!

[Hisoka] Still as cold as ever.

[Machi] Boss, do another one. This time it should make more sense, or else, I’ll wait until it does! 

[Shizuku] That’s unfair. I want another one too then.

[Shalnark] I can’t back down like this either.

[Hisoka] Then me too.

[Nobunaga] Me too.

[Phinks] I’ll try one with a different birthday.

[Feitan] Me too.

[Franklin] Is this fun for you guys?

[Kortopi] Seems like we're not discussing prophecies anymore at this point.

[Franklin] It’s all made up.

…

[Chrollo] Give me a break already. Just how long do you think we've been doing this for?

[Shizuku] Absolutely not! I want mine to have a happy ending.

[Pakunoda] Hasn’t it only been 5 hours?

[Shalnark] Why can't I get a single decent reading?

[Machi] Why is mine only about a date with Hisoka?!

[Hisoka] (That's cause I kept rewriting them.) If you're wondering why, well, it's because it's our fate.

[Chrollo] I’m really tired…

[Fortune-telling club] What are you tired of?!

[Chrollo] E-Enough please.

════════ End of track ════════

TL Notes & Commentary:

NONE OF THESE BIRTHDAYS ARE CANON! JUST LIKE WHAT FRANKLIN SAID.

Shalnark’s fortune is a Japanese tongue twister about frogs hopping, but I changed it to a well known English one. Original one: かえるぴょこぴょこ

[martsonmars]

SIMON SNOW TRILOGY: BIRTH YEARS

A comprehensive list of everything we know about birthdays, ages, and birth years of the Simon Snow Trilogy's characters.

I am obsessed with birthdays. And numbers. And figuring details out.

A few months ago I made this post about Baz's siblings' birthdays because, as I said, I'm obsessed. Then @carryonsimoncarryonbaz asked if someone could compile all the info about the characters' ages and I thought, "Why not?".

I also have to thank @nonbaznary because their hard work on the same topic reminded me to finish this. And @palimpsessed for her precious feedback.

Below the cut (because it's long) you can find everything I've put together. At the end I also linked the GoogleDoc containing the same material.

Before starting:

Carry On (excluding the Epilogue) is set between September and December 2015

Wayward Son and Any Way The Wind Blows are set (somehow) in June 2017

Watford tragedy: August 12th, 2002

the gang started 1st year at Watford in September 2008 (in August 2008 Simon goes off), so:

1st year Sep 2008/Jun 2009

2nd year Sep 2009/Jun 2010

3rd year Sep 2010/Jun 2011

4th year Sep 2011/Jun 2012

5th year Sep 2012/Jun 2013

6th year Sep 2013/Jun 2014

7th year Sep 2014/Jun 2015

8th year Sep 2015/Jun 2016

A note, probably useless for most of you but hopefully it helps those whose school system is way different:

in the UK the school year is September-August (though school ends earlier)

in the same grade are people born between September of year X and August of the following year (with exceptions), so the gang’s year contains people born between September 1996 and August 1997 (+ exceptions like Penny).

THE BIG 5

All five birthdays were confirmed by RR on Tumblr or Twitter

Simon: June 21st, 1997

In CO he says he is 18, and that they put 1997 as his birth year on his papers; in older editions, he said the Mage always remembered his birthday in June, but this sentence was removed from later editions; the Mage says (to Lucy) he’ll be born on the solstice

Baz: February 24th, 1997

In CO Simon mentions Baz is 16 in the spring of their 5th year (on that occasion Simon says he’s 16 too and we know he isn’t yet, but whatever); Baz says he’s 20 in WS and AWTWB

Penny: January 26th, 1998

In CO she says her mother was pregnant when she felt the shift in magic linked to Simon’s birth; in AWTWB Simon says she started school a year earlier than she should have

Agatha: October 3rd, 1996

In WS she says she’ll be 21 in four months (so in October 2017)

Shepard: May 18th, 1995

In WS and AWTWB he says he’s 22

BAZ’S FAMILY

Malcolm: born around 1963

In AWTWB Baz says Malcolm started his new family 8 years before, when he was 46

Natasha: unspecified, approximately born in the mid 1960s

We can assume she’s around Malcolm’s age, maybe a few years younger; Rainbow said in a tweet she's 9 years older than Lucy and she was a teacher at Watford during Lucy's last year of school, so it's likely Natasha was born around 1965/66: she probably started teaching at Watford in the early 1990s, got pregnant at 30/31 when she was already headmistress and died at 36/37; we also know she’s a full generation younger than Lady Ruth who’s about 70

Daphne: born between 1979 and early or mid 1980s

Baz says she’s in her 30s in 2017; since her husband’s 54 I’d say she’s in her late 30s, so born at most in the early 1980s

Fiona: born in 1978

In CO she says she’s 37; this makes her 18/19 when Baz was born

Mordelia: born in 2008

She is 7 in CO and 8 in AWTWB; she was probably born in the autumn of Baz’s 1st year at Watford

Sophie and Petra: born in the second half of 2011 or the first half of 2012

They are 5 in AWTWB, which makes them 3 ½-4 (if born between January and June 2012) or 4-4 ½ (if born between July and December 2011) in CO (December 2015)

Swithin: born in 2015, around July

He is nearly 2 in AWTWB and was roughly 5/6 months in CO (December 2015)

PENNY’S FAMILY

Mitali: probably born around 1973/1974

She says in CO that Fiona (1978) was a few years below her at Watford; Simon tells Penny in AWTWB Mitali is like her but “25 years older”, which would make her 44/45 in 2017; Penny says she got married at 19, right after Watford, which makes sense since she has a 22yo son in AWTWB

Martin: about the same age as Mitali

Premal: born around 1995

He is 20 in CO

Pacey: born around 1999 and 2000

He’s in 5th year in CO and 17 in AWTWB

Priya: born around 2005

She’s 12 in AWTWB

Pip: born around 2006 or 2007

He’s 10 in AWTWB and will start at Watford in the autumn

SIMON’S FAMILY

Lady Ruth: probably born around the mid 1940s

Baz says she’s around 70 in AWTWB

Jamie: born around 1978

Ruth shows a photo of his 38th birthday taken “last year” in AWTWB; he’s also described as “heavy in a nearly-40 way”

Lucy: probably born around the mid 1970s

Simon in AWTWB says she’d be in her 40s, around the same age as Penny’s parents; she’s one year younger than Mitali but she was in the same class; she runs away with Davy a few years after Watford, so around the mid 1990s

OTHER CHARACTERS

The Mage: about the same age as Mitali

Ebb and Nico are around Fiona’s age, since they were at school together

Simon in CO says that Ebb must be 30 or 40; in AWTWB Baz says Nico must be nearly 40 because he’s Ebb’s twin

Mrs Wellbelove: born in the late 1960s, maybe 1968

She says in CO Lucy was 5 or 6 years younger than her

Helen (Agatha’s family’s housekeeper): born in the late 1970s

She was a few years younger than Lucy

Niamh: 1993/1994

She’s three years ahead of the gang, as she says in AWTWB

Smith Smith-Richards: born around 1987

He is 30 in AWTWB

And that's it!

Here is a link to the Google Doc if you want to download it! It contains bonus material (nothing special) and it's also possible I'll edit it in the future!

[libraryofloveletters]

Love Delivered To Your Doorstep

Evan Buckley x Reader

Warnings: fem!reader, mentions of cheating, break ups and killing/serial killers. (<in a joking context) 

Category: fluff for the most part. 

Word Count: 3.9k

Author’s Note: Doesn’t follow canon, it has a little of buck begins in there but it doesn't follow a strict timeline. It also is written like Buck moves to LA and has his apartment from the moment he moves there while trying to figure out what he wants to do. 

-----

Texting and calling was never your choice method of communication. 

Letters had always been more of your thing. 

Truthfully, they hadn't been your thing until your boyfriend moved halfway across the country for university. The two of you met in high school, freshman year and became inseparable since. Growing together and promising to always love each other no matter what -you always knew that couldn't be true but it never stopped you from telling him. 

When he told you that he was going to be applying to UCLA during your senior year of high school, it came as a bit of a shock to you. The plan was always going to college together, get engaged when you were done school and then married with a house by 30. 

You held out the hope of that being possible until the day he showed you his acceptance letter. 

You were incredibly proud of him but it was real now, he was leaving. 

You watched him pack up his entire life and uproot himself from New York and moved across the country. You sent the first letter to him at what was supposed to be his apartment. 

September 30th.

‘Hi baby! 

Just writing to see how you're settling in. How’s UCLA ? Have you gotten a chance to go around and get to see the place ? I know you’re there for school but you've got to live a little too. Hope your neighbours are sweet, your mom told me it’s a pretty nice place and it’s got a good view, sounds like your type of place. Hopefully I can come visit you soon. 

I started my classes last week. My chem professor is a pain in my ass already, he expects us to read an entire textbook in a week - well not exactly an entire textbook but you get the point. My biology professor is a sweetheart, she showed us pictures of her kids and talked about them for an hour, I didn't realize being a mother was so interesting but she was cool. Also showed us a video of an appendectomy that one of her colleagues performed last week. How are your classes and professors ? 

Did I mention I bumped into Sam at the grocery store ? Yeah, he’s back and he’s not fine to tell you the truth. He seemed like he was ready to snap but that might just be my judgment. He said to tell you hello if I spoke to you so- hello :) 

I’m going to sign off here, I know this one is short but I don’t have much to update you on. Life’s been pretty dull without you. Hope you’re having fun out there, soaking up the sun for me.

Write me back soon, I love you. 

Yours always, y/n’

You mailed the letter the next day, a few weeks had passed before you received a letter back. Except this letter had a different sender name but the same address.

October 22nd. 

‘Hi y/n,

This isn't your boyfriend. (I'm assuming that’s who you're writing too based on the context of the letter) I’m Evan, I live in the apartment you thought belonged to your boyfriend or maybe you got the address wrong, I’m not sure.  I know you were waiting for an update on all these exciting things that are happening at UCLA. I do not go to UCLA nor can I update you in anything exciting that’s happening there, sorry.

Anyways, the reason I'm writing you back is because I figured you’d want to know that this isn't the correct address and the person you were looking for isn't here before you send another letter and get no response. I was debating if I should have even written you back, but here I am, writing you back. 

Your professor for chem seems like an ass to be honest (hope that’s not rude) and your biology professor sounds great, is she hot by the way ? because bonus points for that. Anyways, are you studying medicine ? I'm guessing yes because of the classes you're taking. I'm thinking of signing up to become a first responder but I haven’t decided yet on what yet or if I'm actually going to do it. Anyways, good luck on your classes and the shitty chem professor. 

Hope you find your boyfriend (again, assuming) 

Peace out, 

Evan.’

To say you were shocked would be an understatement. How could the letter you sent to your boyfriend’s apartment belong to someone else ? Why was there someone else living in his apartment ? You dug through your apartment, searching for the paper he left you with the address, you finally found it buried in a drawer.

The address on the paper was identical to the one that Evan sent to you and to the one you sent prior to that. Either your boyfriend was lying or you were losing your mind. 

November 4th. 

‘Dear Evan, 

I'm sorry that I sent the first letter to you and as you guessed, I was looking for my boyfriend who seems to be a bit MIA right now. His mother says that’s the right address and the place that she helped him move into. So I'm not really sure what’s happening there. Anyways, sorry for unloading all of that on you. 

To answer your question, yes, I am studying medicine and no, she isn't hot. My bio professor is a 65 year old woman who loves her college aged kids very much. If that’s your definition of hot, then yes - she's got milf status

Have you decided yet if you’re going to sign up to be a first responder ? That’d be pretty cool. Imagine all the girls swoon over you and how many girls you’d pick up just for being a paramedic or a firefighter. 

Wait, are you into girls ? Or guys ? You know, whoever you're into, just imagine how many of them you’d pick up. 

Also, you’re not a murderer or anything right ? because I rather not answer questions when the police come asking about why I've been sending letters to a serial killer. 

Anyways, signing off for now. 

Yours always, y/n. 

ps. if you do end up bumping into or meeting a guy that looks like my boyfriend, (tall, brown hair, brown eyes. he’s got a pierced ear and a little butterfly tattoo by his collarbone- though not sure why or how you'd see his collarbone) let me know or tell him that his girlfriend is looking for him.

Double ps, what size shirt do you wear ?’

Buck laughed at your absurd question. A person he didn’t even know was asking what size shirt he wore. The letter was set on the coffee table with the rest of the mail, getting buried under all of the stuff he had on there. It was almost the end of December when he realized that he hadn't written you back yet. 

December 21st. 

‘Hey y/n, 

Sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. Things have been hectic over here. I’ve been doing some ‘soul-searching’ - I guess you could call it that and honestly, I don’t think if this whole first responders thing is for me. 

I tried out bartending or well, the technical term is mixologist and I’m liking it so far, I think i’m going to stick with it for now. 

How have you been ? How’s school ? Surely, you’re on break for the holidays right about now or at least when you get this letter. I hope that you're spending the break doing something fun. 

I’m not going to make this very long, I’m sure you’ve been busy with whatever you’re doing right now. 

Also, I’ve been meaning to ask. Have you located the mysteriously disappearing boyfriend yet ? I haven't seen anyone that fit your description. 

well, that’s not true- I did and just to be sure I asked to see his collarbone, he looked at me like I was a mad man so I guess it wasn't him ? 

Anyways, I hope you have a good holiday and you're probably gonna get this sometime between holidays, so merry belated (?) Christmas and happy New Years y/n. 

Peace out, 

Evan. 

ps. medium or large, depending on what it is. Hopefully that answers your question weirdo.’

January 13th. 

The morning of the 13th, he went down to check his mail. A box was there with his name on it, the return address was one he had only seen on an envelope. The box returned upstairs with him, setting it on the counter before opening it. 

Upon opening it, there was a letter and some colourful tissue paper with what seemed like a sweater under it. He opened the letter first.

‘Dear Evan, 

Happy New Years! How was your holiday going ? Did you do anything fun ? 

I’ve been good and school is good too, I'm almost done my first year, isn't that crazy ? Just a few more months to go. 

How’s your job as mr. mixologist going ? I'm sure you’ve met some wild people and heard some interesting stories. 

As for the boyfriend situation, that's over. I’m not surprised to tell you the truth but it still kinda sucks. Anyways, so what happened was that his older brother had come home from college last year and brought a friend with him. She went to the same school as his brother but transferred to UCLA- anyways long story short, they hooked up while he and I were still together and he moved in with her after his mom helped him move into the apartment I thought he had. 

But! I’m single and chilling now so it’s all good. (bonus, she cheated on him and left him so yeah) 

I got you a little something for Christmas and as a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present. I was in the gift shop and it made me think of you. Do you celebrate Christmas? I forgot to check oops. If you don't, count it as a just a “sorry for unloading all my boyfriend drama on you” present? 

I got a large because I wasn't sure if it would fit. I hope you like it. That’s all for now.

Yours always, y/n.’

He unwrapped the tissue paper to see a blue sweater with the letters NYU on it. He smiled, he assumed that’s where you went. It was sweet that you took the time to get him something, even if it was a by the way thing. Not a lot of people would send something to a person they had been talking to via letters and halfway across the country. 

February 12th. 

2 days before Valentine's Day, your least favourite holiday of the year. You weren't looking forward to watching all your friends going on with their boyfriends and girlfriends. The mail had arrived while you were out, you picked it up and headed in. There were two envelopes with your name on it,  a plain white one and a red one. The red envelope was more squared than rectangular, you assumed it was a card- both had the same sender name. 

‘Hey y/n!

Thank you for the sweater, it was nice of you to think of me and get me something. I didn’t know we were doing gifts or I would have sent you something as well and yes, I do celebrate Christmas. 

My job as ‘mr. mixologist’ was going well until I quit. It just didn’t feel like the right fit for me you know ? I'm going to see what else is out there for me. 

Sorry to hear about your boyfriend, he seems like a douche. Who would cheat on you ? You seem great I mean at least you are on paper (did you get my joke, it’s hard to tell) 

Also, remember how I was thinking I might actually give that first responder thing a try? Imagine me as a firefighter, that’s pretty cool right ? 

So I kinda did a thing and signed up and then I got in. I started two weeks ago and it was kicking my ass at first but I've gotten a hang of it and things are going pretty well. There's three other Evans in my class so everyone calls me Buck-I kind of like it. 

The other envelope, hopefully you opened this one first, is a little something for you for valentines. Hope you like it. 

Peace out, 

Buck’ 

The red envelope was on your lap, you pulled the edges carefully not wanting to rip it. Inside was a plain white card with bright red letters that made you laugh. The cover read ‘I’m not sick of you yet!” Opening the card, a $20 fell onto your lap. There was a little message inside that went along with the cash. 

‘Since we aren't together and can’t spend valentines together, there’s some cash to get yourself a box of chocolates and a teddy bear. Happy Valentines Day y/n

Love, Buck.’ 

You smile, this was the first time that Buck had signed with ‘love, buck’ it had always been ‘peace out, buck.’ You tucked the card into the drawer, one you didn’t use very often so you knew it’d be safe there. 

*4 years later*

A few weeks had passed since Buck had last heard from y/n. His last letter to her was at the end of June, telling her all about the day he had spent at Hen and Karen’s. He always described every little detail so vividly that it made her feel like she was there with him- but it was now July, end of actually and moving into August. 

4 years had blown like nothing.

It felt like just yesterday he got the first letter in the mail. 4 years and they still had no idea what each other looked like but they knew every intricate and intimate detail about each other, their lives and the people in it. 

Y/n and Buck had grown rather close over the last few months- more than they already were. Y/n just went through a pretty shitty break up and Buck wasn't exactly big on relationships as of right now. 

He had just gotten home from work, his keys set on the counter when he realized that he forgot to check his mail. Stepping back out, there was a woman in the hallway and boxes scattered across her, leading into the apartment down the hall. 

She must be his new neighbour.

He wanted to go over and introduce himself but she was busy telling the movers where to set her couch so he decided that he would check the mail and then introduce himself when he returned so he did just that. 

Except, she was still busy. 

She leaned against the wall, watching the movers move what looked like a coffee table. She glanced up to see Buck walking by, she smiled and he returned the smile. 

Buck reaches his apartment, the mail in hand and steps in. He sorts through the pile, bills, ads, coupons and no letter from y/n. 

---

Your new apartment was a mess. You decided it was time for a change. You applied to a few hospitals after your break up and the one in LA hired you. So you dropped everything and moved- no family, no ties. 

A fresh start. 

It was a nice neighbourhood and the building was quiet. The neighbours you met were pleasant and welcoming. When you were having the furniture moved in, there was a blonde man who smiled at you and you assumed he lived in the unit down the hall because that’s where he stepped into. 

It was almost 11pm when you finally sat down. You had been on your feet all day and just wanted to eat something. The box with the dishes was beside the couch, you pulled the tape off and opened it. There was an envelope sitting on top of the stack of plates. 

Buck’s last letter to you. 

You must have tossed it into the boxes while packing and you forgot to write him back. Tumbling through the boxes, you find a sheet of paper and a pen from your bag. Sitting on the floor, the paper resting on an unopened box, you begin writing. 

‘Dear Buck, 

I’m sorry I've taken so long to get back to you. I quit my job, and uprooted my entire life. The break up sucked major ass as you know, so I decided it was time for a change. 

Guess where I decided to go ? 

Did you guess yet? 

No, not Canada, why would you guess Canada ? 

LA! 

Yeah, isn't that crazy that I ended up here of all places? Maybe we could get together one day (if you haven’t turned into a crazy serial killer that is.) 

Anyways, that’s why I've taken so long to write. I was packing when I got your letter and I tossed it in a box and just found it again. Anyways, I hope you’ve been good, how have things been at the station ? 

I promise I'll write again with more details soon, I just have to get settled in first. 

Yours always, y/n.’ 

Folding the paper, you slipped into an envelope. The address being scribbled into the back of the envelope. You were about to seal it when the building number caught your eye. 

It was the same number as the place you moved into. The same address, the building number, the same floor. 

The unit number was the only difference. 

There was no way you moved into the building that Buck lived in. 

You knew the address felt familiar when you saw the listing but you didn’t think anything of it nor did it occur to you that you knew the address. 

Stepping out of your apartment, looking at the number on the room and back down at the envelope in your hand. Buck’s apartment was down the hall. 

Part of you just wanted to mail it and keep things as it was but another part of you wanted to meet him, to see what he was really like in person. So there you were walking down the hallway at a quarter past 11 in the dead of the night to meet a man you had been sending letters to for the last 4 years. 

The end of the hallway, you stared at the black wooden door in front of you. Your brain weighing the options right now: he’s a sweetheart and welcoming and makes you feel comfortable or he’s a weird guy who’s been lying to you this whole time and you told him everything about you and now he’s going to kill you. 

Before you could register what you were doing, you knocked on the door. 

Glancing down at yourself, you were wearing a pair of old shorts and a t-shirt from high school that you found in a drawer while packing. Not an ideal outfit, maybe he’s sleeping and you can go home and change- the door opened, a man wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt stood there. He looked like he had just woken up. 

“Sorry, did I wake you?” 

“It's alright,” he yawned, his hand covering his mouth as he blinked away a few tears. “What can I do for you ?” he leaned against the door. 

“Um, this is an odd question-” you shifted, glancing down at the envelope in your hand. “Are you Buck ?” 

“I am, who are you ?” 

“Y/n.” 

You had never seen a man wake up that fast, he seemed surprised, confused and concerned all in one. “How- uh, are you- What ?” he mumbled. 

“I found your letter in the box after I moved, I moved into the apartment down the hall” you point to your left, Buck sticks his head out of the doorway and looks at the door you were pointing to. You were the woman in the hallway that he saw earlier, he knew you looked familiar. 

“I just wrote your letter and I noticed that the addresses were the same, just a different unit number so I decided to come check. Sorry if I bothered you, we can talk another day- it’s late and you probably have work” “Would you like to come in?” he opens the door a bit more, looking to you for an answer. 

“Um, okay sure.” stepping in, you can’t help but glance around. The apartment was similar to yours, the layout was a bit different though. “Can I get you something to drink ? Coffee, water ? A beer ?” he rounded the kitchen counter, you took a seat on one of the chairs by the counter. 

“Water’s fine, thanks” 

He reached for a bottle from the fridge, sliding it over to you. You gave him a smile, he leaned against the counter and was now looking- studying you. 

“I know we’ve talked to each other for 4 years but this is kinda strange” you chuckled awkwardly, Buck can't help but smile. 

“Yeah, it is, isn't it? but can I ask why you moved to LA?” 

“Well all of that was in the letter” you slide the envelope across the counter and he picks it up, opening it. Giving him a few moments to read, you watch his expression like you were hoping for some insight as to how he was feeling or what he was thinking. He let out a laugh, “how’d you know I'd guess Canada ?” you smiled at him, a small wave of relief washing over you for some reason. “Lucky guess I suppose” 

“Do you-” “What are-” the sentences cutting each other off, the two of you awkwardly smiling at each other. “You first” looking at him, he hums. 

“Do you have work tomorrow or are you busy ?” His eyes meet yours, you found yourself leaning forwards towards the counter- towards him. He made you feel comfortable, you’d go as far as to say safe, in a way you’ve never felt before. 

“No, I don't start until the 21st. Why ?” 

“I was thinking - if you're not busy and if you want to, of course. Maybe I could take you out for breakfast and I could show you around ? Or lunch or dinner ? Whatever works for you actually” he rambles, fiddling with his fingers to avoid eye contact. 

A small laugh slips past your lips causing him to look up, his brows furrowed as he studies your face, looking for an answer. 

“Breakfast sounds good, what time should I be ready for ?” 

“Uh, is 10 okay ?” he asks, you nod. “I’ll be ready for 10 then.” 

“Okay, I'll pick you up” he smiles. 

“Buck, we live in the same building.” 

“Oh right,” he chuckles, “well I'll be by yours at 10 then” the two of you smiling at each other. 

“Okay.” 

----

taglist: @advicefromnixxxx @dralexreid @keenmarvellover @beth-winchester21 @fernandaweasley2 @yikesyikesyikes95 @hotchsdarling @duhbar1975 @hailsstormthings @averyhotchner  @captainxholmes @venusrosepetal @luke-alvez​ @looney-literature @caitsymichelle13​ @artemishunter18​ @anxiousblanketqueen​

[tarotsol]

BTS SOLO PROJECTS: from now and the foreseeable future:

Jin:

9 of wands

4 of Pentacles

At first I couldn’t get much from Jin regarding solo projects. The 9OW represents Inner Strength so there are definitely ideas being tossed around in his head. However I feel like he’s doubting himself or his ability. Yet he’s Jin. He’s done this before and can do it again!

With the 4OP the main theme here is that he’s holding on too tightly with something. The brick wall separates him emotionally from the city beyond. I took this as physical distance. Military era i suppose. He’s a fear of being robbed too? Not sure about this. Yet this didn’t give me an answer.

I pulled 3 more cards:

6 of wands

8 of cups

3 of pentacles

After a moment. These were my conclusions:

Big success

Solo song like “Moon”

“Running up that Hill” vibe

Could be for an OST

Will be completed in the midst of military enlistment. Will be traveling back and forth for this

Yoongi:

Page of Wands

4 of wands

Unlike Jin, this energy was clear as day. August D 3 will be coming.

Themes:

Blonde Yoongi/ Red hair

Cape will be significant

Bats/ swords/ those pole thingy

I’m getting jousting vibes?

Dark amphitheatre esque

Flames & fire like a dark circus

Castles

Orange and red theme

Drums

Celebration of some sort

I really like this sound that’s coming ngl

A messenger brings creative ideas

A time to reap rewards

It’s going to be a success regardless

Security & stability

4th, April, Aries season, middle of the month.

Hoseok:

6 of Pentacles

His solo already occurred, so I don’t expect much to be happening with him however;

Charity work

Donations

June, Gemini Season, the 6th of the month, Virgo Season will be significant.

Why am I seeing a potential Yoongi collaboration?

Or Hobi could be featured in his next solo?

Or JK’s

Or Namjoon’s

Or Jimin possibly?

Libra season…

Balance.

Solo Travelling

Animals

Castles as well…

Going to be generous.

Namjoon:

The Chariot

Major Arcana energy for a major man. Namjoon, you always give me such a riddle. Thanks, let’s go depict this shit.

Ok, so…

I feel like he is working on his solo…

Yet there’s other things going on as well…

That they’d Like you to know…

I’m not getting any …

This isn’t about a solo,

This is about a warning

A warning including Hybe

I feel his Sagittarius moon struggling…

I feel like he’s contemplating? Discussing with the company about things yet they’re in 2 completely different directions.

This could be inspo for a song but…

Like black and white and gray..

Dark Clouds

Aries/ Scorpio energy again.

Scorpio season.

His Scorpio Venus popping through.

Jimin:

9 of cups

JK went Bday live halfway so pls bare with me as I watch..

Blonde Jimin

Relationship

Collab solo

With a female artist

September/ 9th of month.

Grapes & fruit

Sensual Satisfaction

Going to be nice and very Libran

Taehyung:

The Empress

Exotic

Lions/ cheetah print

Fashion is going to be key

Vast location

MV in an open space

With water?

Forest and greenery.

Universal vibe, astrology, planets, connection.

Very aquarius y…

December/10th

And now the bday boy:

Jungkook:

Two of Wands

Two of Swords

Now let me get this straight

SOLO SONG IS COMING

But he’s NERVOUS

Such a perfectionist I swear

ABC 123 mapped out to the t

Dusk till dawn vibe

Work is under way

Kind of all over the place emotionally.

Ill check back on this at a later date :) Bangtan fighting!

[luvseungmin]

A diary written for you

Kim Namjoon

Genre: ♥︎

Summary: Namjoons best letters written to you in his diary while on tour.

September 4th, 2018 Los Angeles, USA

We landed in Los Angeles, it quite busy but very beautiful; you’d think so too. I’m excited to see army yet I miss you so much. Isn’t that crazy? It’s been just a few days since I’ve seen you and even so I miss you. I have to go practice, I’ll write to you again.

September 10th, 2018 Oakland, USA

Do you miss me like I miss you? The boys say I’m dramatic but I say I’m in love. I wish I could put you in my pocket and bring you with me, that would be convenient.

September 22nd, 2018 Hamilton, Canada

We’ve traveled to Texas and spent a few days there, we are in Canada now. I’ve bought some maple syrup just like you asked, we can try them on some pancakes when I get back home to you.

October 7th, 2018 London, UK

Newark, Chicago, New York City, yet none of them say HOME like you do. I miss you, so much. I’ve been looking at tickets to bring you with me, the boys miss you too so I see no cons in letting you join us.

October 12th, 2018 Amsterdam, Netherlands

I’ve realized a major flaw in my previous letters. Not once have I written to ask how my plants are! How are my babies Jjin Jjin, Maehwa-agi, dayug-i and Cherry?! Are you watering them well? Have you been talking to them like I told you?! Words of affirmation make them bloom better you know. Have you checked on moni too? I wonder if he misses me.

October 20th, 2018 Paris, France

Amsterdam, Berlin, Paris. I was able to visit some museums in Berlin, that’s when I video called you. Have I mentioned my favorite piece of art though? It’s a rare piece named “you”, I really love that piece.

November 1st, 2018 Tokyo, Japan

Can you believe it! I’ll finally get to see you again! Your beautiful face which I’ve missed so much. I called my parents to make sure they drove you to the airport, I didn’t want you leaving alone. I’ll be picking you up from the airport in Japan. You’ve always wanted to go to Osaka so I’m glad you’ll be here with me.

November 14th, 2018 Tokyo, Japan

Last day in Tokyo and I’ll miss army here. But soon I’ll see you and my heart will heal a little more. The boys and I roamed around today before the concert, Tokyo looks beautiful early in the morning.

November 20th, 2018 Osaka, Japan

I’ve picked you up from the airport, you’re currently laying right next to me in bed while I’m writing this for you. Did you know all my thoughts have been just you? It’s always you.

December 7th, 2018 Taoyuan, Taiwan

We celebrated Jins birthday a few days ago, he was very happy with your present. Your my present, seeing you makes me the happiest man alive. Gosh, I understand why the boys make fun of me, I’m so in love with you.

January 1st, 2019 Nagoya, Japan

We have now celebrated Taehyungs birthday too, you just know how to gift people don’t you? We are headed back to Japan soon, however I think your stay with me will run short soon as well. As said previously I wish I could just fit you in my pocket and carry you around with me.

January 16th, 2019 With You

I’ll be able to spend a month with you all by myself, isn’t that exciting? We can visit all the places you’ve wanted to visit my love.

February 16th, 2019 Fukuoka, Japan

Saying goodbye hurts. I had to do just that this morning. Why did it hurt to say goodbye more this time? I miss you already.

March 1st, 2019 Hong Kong

Although we haven’t had a concert, life has been hectic with promotions. Has your day been busy? I guess I’ll find out later tonight when I call you.

March 20th, 2019 Hong Kong

It’s weird, I miss you so much I want to go back home. But soon I’ll have to say goodbye to army and I’ll miss them so much too.

April 2nd, 2019 Bangkok, Thailand

Our last concert is in 5 days and I don’t think I’m ready to say goodbye. I don’t even think I’m ready to say see you later.

April 7th, 2019 Bangkok, Thailand

The day has come where my mind is conflicted. On one hand I can’t wait to wrap my arms around you, say I love you in person and be able to hold your hand again. But on the other I’ll miss army so much, I hope to see them again soon.

April 20th, 2019 Somewhere USA

It seems that we are extending our tour, so that means I won’t have to miss army any longer! And to make me happier you said you’d hop on board. Let me go buy a lottery ticket, I feel so lucky today.

The last note of this diary

June 1st, 2019 London, UK

I have no more space in this little notebook, I bought the biggest size too. Although it seems like nothing compared to my love for you. Thanks for traveling with me, I know you get tired. I hope we will travel the world together forever. I’ll buy a new notebook again tomorrow but until then, goodnight.

Authors note~ I hope you liked it!

[princessphilly]

Plain Jane Chapter 2

Word Count: 2391

CW: a mention of P K*ne, allusions to issues with alcohol, references to being in the closet

Tag list:  @newlibrary , @luvsherleafs @spine-buster , @m00nlightdelights @lovethepreds @myhockeyworld87 @Defiant-mouse, @callllumhood @yzas-stuff , @stars-canucks @laurenairay @cutiesara23, @besthockeyfics @hockeyallthetime @tazerass , @markymarkstrom @letsgobaby, @himbos-on-ice @hockeywocs @bloodthedevil @nhlboyshavemyhart88 @whatishockey @dreamer1430 @shelbsatans @no-pucks-given @stlbluesbrat21 @mydarkestsecretlol @t0xickisses2 @heatherawoowoo​

Join the tag list here!

I’m too damn stubborn for my own good. I admit it; I don’t like to lose or be wrong. I hate being wrong. Well, I hate losing money more than anything else. But I really hate losing or being wrong after that. - Journal 10/12

One year later

Jamila couldn’t help but look at Jonathan Toews as he sat at the table for this charity dinner. He really was more handsome in person than in the pictures. But the guy sitting next to him was just as good looking as him, in her opinion. He was rougher looking with long auburn hair and blue eyes and probably a good decade older than her, just the way that Jamila liked it. The only issue was… Duncs was nice but he wasn’t as exciting as Jonathan Toews. But Jamila told Shan and Mel that she was going to fuck Duncan Keith and she always got her man. Plus, it didn’t help that Jonathan always has something smart to say which made Jamila more dedicated to fucking Duncs. 

But it seemed like that wasn’t going to happen. Jamila was frustrated; she knew she was gorgeous and she was used to getting her way. But Duncs had a preference for blondes and.. Jamila had no desire to dye her hair blonde anytime soon. Plus, she hated the fact that she was going to lose because then Jonathan would hold it over her. 

Normally, Jon wouldn’t give a fuck that a girl wanted Duncs over him. He knew exactly where he stood with the vast majority of women and that he could have anyone he wanted. But he really, for some reason, wanted her. It had been over a year since they met and she was still hung up over Duncs. Granted, during that time, Jon was recovering from an injury and was at home in Winnipeg. Now, he was back and he wanted Jamila, even though she was supposed to be Cizisky’s girl. Jon had pulled the younger defenseman to the side and asked him about her and Cizisky straight up said that she was just going out with him as a friend to events. So Jon knew that Jamila was basically single and available.

Jamila was smiling in Duncs face but whenever he talked to her, she got angry and flustered. Jon knew she really wasn’t that interested in Duncs. He could tell by the way Jamila got closer to him when they argued that she really liked him. But the stubborn woman didn’t want to admit it. 

As the captain, Jon was used to solving problems. But this was a problem that he couldn’t solve and he was becoming frustrated.

**

It wasn’t fair how intense those dark brown eyes were. And they had been focused on her while Jamila attempted to flirt with Duncs. Jamila had to admit she was failing and it was annoying her. He was being polite but she knew she was being brushed off.

She could hear Jonathan; “Duncs isn’t interested. Aren’t you tired of wasting your time?” All of that paired with a mocking look. She was done doing favors for Shan’s cousin. Next time he needed a plus one, he could find someone else.

“Tired of shooting wide?”

“Really, a hockey metaphor?” Jamila rolled her eyes while Jonathan chuckled. He really was tired of watching Jamila flirt with Duncs. She wasn’t his usual type but Jonathan wanted to be her type. Once Duncs made it clear that he wasn’t interested, Jonathan decided it was time to try his luck.

“Good, you’re learning about the game! But are you tired?”

“What do you mean?”

Jonathan was tall enough that while she wore 5-inch heels, Jamila still had to look up at him a bit. He licked his lips and once again, Jamila felt those unwanted shivers. Jonathan smirked before saying, “Stop pretending you’re interested in Duncs when we both know that you really want me.”

“You’re so conceited,” Jamila retorted. A small part of her said he was right but her pride hurt so fuck him.

Jonathan gave her a devilish grin. “Fuck me? We can make that happen.”

Jamila’s eyes grew wide when she realized she said that out loud. “Captain Serious? More like Captain Dickhead!” Jamila rolled her eyes as she gave him a once over.

Then Jon shocked her. “That was a bit too much, I’m sorry,” he said. The earnest look in his eyes told Jamila he was telling the truth. “But seriously, you’re wasting your time.”

Jamila sighed deeply. She knew he was right but her ego didn’t want to let her admit it. Jamila just grimaced before pushing away from Jonathan. 

For the rest of the night, Jamila kept mostly to herself and Alex, nursing her wine. She was tempted to get something stronger, very tempted, but she kept herself to her one glass of wine. It helped that Alex was watching her like a hawk, as if he knew that Jamila was in a mood. As soon as he was able to, Alex made his goodbyes, escorting Jamila out to the valet.

“What happened, Mila?”

Jamila sighed as Alex’s car was brought up. “Nothing, buddy. Nothing.”

Alex wisely didn’t press it as he got his keys from the valet, opening the door for Jamila and closing it after she got in. Once he was in the car and driving away, he said, “You’ve been in a mood since you talked with Tazer. Did he say something that triggered you? I’ll tell him to back off if he’s triggering you, Mila.”

Jamila sighed. “He didn’t say anything that triggered me, per se, but you know I hate being wrong.”

“Yeah, because you’re very wrong about Duncs… I’ve been telling you that for months,” Alex cracked.

Rolling her eyes, Jamila replied, “Jonathan basically said the same thing. Then he hit on me, again.”

“I thought you enjoyed verbally sparring with him. It’s entertaining as fuck.”

“Fuck you too, Alex!”

Alex snorted as he said, “I would if I liked pussy.”

“Talking about that, have you thought of coming out,” Jamila asked. 

Alex looked at the road as he thought about his words. Then he said, “I could but I feel the same ones who talk about ‘You Can Play’ and all of that aren’t as accepting as they pretend to be. I mean, Tazer would be supportive, probably Duncs, maybe Kaner, Brinks, Murph, but the rest of the guys… I don’t want to risk it right now.”

Jamila reached over, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder. That was a lot to have to deal with. “People fucking suck, man.”

“I know. Thanks for being my plus-one, Mila. I will always support you, even when people are asking me to call you names when you finally get with the captain.”

Jamila laughed, tears forming in her eyes at the idea of dating Jonathan. “That was very funny, Alex, you should become a comedian.”

Smirking, Alex turned into the parking lot of the building that they lived in. They had separate units, Jamila’s bigger and more expensive, but it was still home. “Jamila, your eyes still follow Tazer everywhere he goes when you two are at the same place. It’s a matter of time, well, it’s a matter of how stubborn you are about it.”

**

As Jamila walked into her condo, she thought about Alex and his words. She felt a bit bad for him; locker room culture was real and it sucked that Alex couldn’t fully be himself yet. At the same time, Jamila wasn’t fully open about her own sexuality. If she wanted attention, she could easily come out as pansexual but Jamila didn’t want her life to become a circus. Add on the fact that she enjoyed bdsm and was a submissive…. It would be a hot mess, she thought. However, Jamila knew that she didn’t have to worry about the potential reactions of a bunch of other people if she did decide to come out. 

One thing Jamila did have to worry about was her thesis. It was finished, turned in, it was just a matter of finding out when she would have to defend it. Since she was graduating with her PhD this December, Jamila knew it would be before then. Not knowing the exact date was just irritating to her. Maybe once she had it, her dad would respect her more. 

Jamila sighed as she looked out at the Chicago skyline. It didn’t matter anyway. He wouldn’t really care. The only ones who would were Nina, Marisa, Ms. Tracey and Mr. Vernon, Siobhan, Lauren, maybe Karesha and Desiree. Sighing again, Jamila decided it was time to go to sleep for the night.

**

Jon looked at his computer screen as he looked at his budget for the month. Coming back this season has had it’s ups and down so far. The travel and other rhythms of the season were familiar but at the same time, Jon had enjoyed being at home. For over a decade, Jon had lived under the grind of the NHL season plus the playoffs. There was something nice about being a home, not a hotel room every couple of weeks. The hotels were all the same, they stayed at the same places in the same cities every year. But staying in his own bed night after night had it’s own appeal. 

At the same time, Jon wanted a 4th cup. It still irritated him that the team had decided to rebuild without even asking if the boys wanted to rebuild. Last season, Jon appreciated that the boys didn’t give up and tank even though the front office would have preferred that they did. Odds were stacked against them this season but Jon believed that they could make it. Once the playoffs started, it was anyone’s chance to get the Cup. 

Jon sighed as he opened the Netflix app. He was starting to really feel his age this year. He was only 33 but he could feel every hit now. Plus, coming home to this new place with no one waiting for him was getting very old. “Maybe that’s why you like that girl so much,” Jon muttered to himself. He felt dumb; every time he talked to Jamila, he felt like he put his foot in his mouth. But then, it seemed like she was just looking for an excuse to tell him no. 

As he mindlessly scrolled through shows, Jon felt super frustrated and ready to give up. He didn’t want to continue asking her out if she kept saying no. Jon blanched as the idea that maybe he was making Jamila uncomfortable came in his mind. As he clicked on watching Brooklyn 911, Jon decided that he was going to leave Jamila alone.

**

Jamila felt weird. It was two weeks since the last time she saw Jon and he was keeping his distance from her. All night, all he had done was say hi and wave when she greeted him. Jamila felt strangely bereft. Unconsciously, Jamila’s eyes drifted towards Jon more often than not during the charity auction. His black suit fit him like a glove, the crisp white shirt setting off his remaining tan. Of course, Jon didn’t wear a tie and it made him look absolutely delicious. Jamila inwardly scowled as she looked down at her water. 

Jamila was attempting to be good by sticking to water instead of any of the myriad alcoholic options tonight. The last time she had wine, she had to resist the urge to down the whole bottle. Jamila sighed; she thought she could try to have a bit of alcohol but now, she was sure that was impossible. Her sobriety was worth more than trying to fit in. 

The auction went pretty quickly, all things considered. Jamila made a couple small bids, there wasn’t really anything that caught her eye. Then the auctioneer said, “For our last, and surprise, auction item tonight, a date with the captain, Jonathan Toews. The winner gets to have one night with Captain Toews, at a place of your choice. Mr. Toews is a gentleman so it will be on him. Bidding starts at five hundred.”

One woman yelled, “One thousand!”

There were a flurry of bids and Jamila knew she had a screwface as she listened. One of the bidders was that bitch Frances and it looked like she was going to have the winning bid. The bids went up to six thousand before it started to slow. The auctioneer called out, “sixty-five hundred, do I hear sixty-six hundred?”

He waited for a couple of moments for additional bids. Jamila looked at her hands as the auctioneer said, “Sixty-five hundred, sixty-five hundred, going once-”

“Seventy-five hundred,” Jamila called out, raising her placard. 

There was a hush as people turned towards her. Jamila smirked as Jonathan raised an eyebrow.

“Seventy-five hundred, do I hear seventy-six hundred?”

Jamila waited as she sipped her water. Frances called out, “Eighty-five hundred,” frustration laced in her voice. Jamila smirked; this was time for payback.

The eyes turned towards her and Jamila looked down at her phone. There was a message from Alex: have u lost ur mind?????

“Ten-thousand,” Jamila called out. 

Jon let out a whoo, pursing his lips. This night had turned out in a way he hadn’t expected. The auctioneer called out, “Ten-thousand, ten-thousand, going once, going twice, sold, to number 53.”

Jamila rifled through her purse, looking for her wallet. She hoped she could just put it on her black card instead of needing a check. The money wasn’t a problem; the way of paying could be. One of the team’s interns came to Jamila. “Miss, come this way to pay.”

Following the intern, Jamila gave Frances a wide smile when she passed her. Luckily, Jamila was able to use her card to pay for her bid. 

“This wasn’t expected,” a deep voice said to her side. 

Jamila smiled. “Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

“I’m a tool for revenge? I feel like shit,” Jonathan joked. 

Jamila shrugged. “I’ll let you know if I ever want that date.”

Tossing her hair over her shoulder, Jamila walked away. She still felt some satisfaction winning the bid over that bitch, but something told her she made a crucial decision in some way.

[averytiredphoenix]

Welcome to gaylor tumblr!!! I'm a swiftgron but excited for some balanced kaylor takes. could you do a minipost of all the karlie references taylor did with lover era promo (like the butterfly mural)? TSYM and welcome again!!!

Thank you for the welcome! I’ve been on here for years but haven’t been gaylor on main in years! AND EVERYONE IS SO NICE HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!! I love that people are open to multiple interpretations and one of them is that we’re all clowns who know nothing

And ok omg so this was fun but also bittersweet and I had a post and lost it, but here is a mostly picture based summary of highlights:

The butterfly mural. Probably the loudest Kaylor nod. It was commissioned by Taylor to the artist Kelsey Montague who had famously painted a wings mural Taylor got a pic with in 2014. She also less famously doodled over the Kaylor Vogue cover with butterfly wings (wings are her thing), and it was shared on her website and all her socials. Kelsey said she didn’t know it was Taylor who requested the mural, but some standout images in it include the giraffe pattern on the outside, two ladybugs/ ladybirds (nice pun, Taylor 😉🐞🐞) and of course daisies

In YNTCD video there are plenty of trailers, including one with pride flag rainbow stripes and one in the lesbian flag colours, but there is only one airstream. It is outside the airstream that people protest. There was an airstream in their vogue photo shoot. Also interesting that the airstream was the yellow scene, Taylor had described Karlie as “sunshine” in the vogue best best friends video, the yellow stripe in the pride flag represents “sunlight and happiness” ☀️ (happiness 😳 don’t @ me, evermore album!😫😭)

In the same yellow scene, Taylor is sipping a cocktail with a straw that reads lover, fashioned in the same style as the bride straw Karlie had during her bachelorette weekend in 2018..... which included going to rep tour Nashville. Of course Taylor sold these straws as merch too.

We also got smacked with some Daisy imagery in YNTCD, and Taylor liked this post on tumblr about taking her Daisy away while the world burned behind her (and it was tweeted by someone with Karlie as their profile pic, then shared to tumblr by a Karlie fan -ksunshinek - the sunshine really jumped out ☀️☀️☀️

Another Daisy centric post Taylor liked with pics from the album photo shoot

Taylor’s performance outfit for the VMAs had a striking resemblance to one Karlie wore in a photo shoot in 2017. She likes twinning with Karlie, most famously her Out Of The Woods look on 1989 tour matching the bodysuit Karlie wore at VSFS 2013.

Lover the song. It was first released as a single on August 16th, 13 days after Karlie’s birthday and placed as the 3rd track on the album, Karlie’s bday is the 3rd. Then on some “”random”” Tuesday she drops the Lover remix with Shawn which includes a gold heart over her eye (gold is a Karlie thing), and that random Tuesday happened to be November 13th, the 6 year anniversary of when they first met! 13 days later she released the Lover first dance remix, but it was also the day after she performed it at the AMAs so isn’t as Kaylor

The heart purse merch. First of all, Taylor was papped with her black heart purse twice in June 2014, one of those times was sneaking in that garden gate at Karlie’s West Village home and then hanging out. Reachy, but the colour palette of the era was mostly 4 colours - the green, blue, purple & pink - but there were 3 options for the purse - reachy, but 3 is Karlie’s number

The album photo shoot behind the scenes video, Hi there, King of My Heart! Karlie is a Leo. These pics were said to be taken at her LA home (but I can’t find more sources other than fans, idk, maybe they went to a secret session and recognised it?), but the Lion in a crown being part of Taylor’s decor is interesting and it had nothing to do with the content of the photo shoot

In the video for ME! there was a panther looking figurine on the table near the window. Karlie’s walk is known as the panther

Another fashion parallel with similar horse earrings as to ones Karlie wore in her major runway show of 2017 - and why horses when the era was covered in unicorns? 🦄

Taylor replying to a fan on tumblr about how to use meowy as an adjective and mentioning a friend dressing up as catwoman for Halloween... I can’t with her

December was a fun month. On the 4th, aka, kissgate day, Taylor was randomly papped leaving Stella McCartney’s studio in London wearing her VSFS angel wings ring which is believed to have been given to her by Karlie as it is a gift from VS to their angels in the fashion show.

Project Runway had a challenge involving animal print and just decided to promote the Cats movie in it by having one of the giant prop doors and included footage from filming Cats in it..... strange.... but before the episode aired, Taylor posted this pic of herself with one of the giant prop doors. It was a very weird way of them being linked when no one on the project runway team was linked to the movie in any way AT ALL

I’m sure there is more, I didn’t do any lyric analysis and just pointed the most obvious Kaylor symbols in ME! & YNTCD. I didn’t go through all the interviews either yet, but these things seemed to be the most memorable and loudest moments. Karlie threw out some signals too, like constant sunset/ sky pics. She hasn’t posted a sky picture since April, but was allllll about the sky in Lover era, but this was about Taylor’s signals.

Hope that helps and I’m happy you asked for a mini post 🙈😂😂