#and this will be their fifth time for hosting for another country

[because-its-eurovision]

Sam Ryder @samhairwolfryder on Instagram

“Hey friends. Just a couple thoughts.

It’s Ukraine’s party. We’re just inviting them to throw it at our house.

I know how much it meant to Kalush and the Ukrainian delegation that Eurovision would be held at home in Ukraine next year. And I’m not the only one whose heart is heavy knowing that that can’t be the case at this moment in time.

But what I would love to say to anyone watching this from Ukraine is that we know how to throw a party here in the UK and our excitement is outshone only by our focus on that one sole objective to hold space and be on hand to help wherever needed to host an event that celebrates Ukrainian culture, history and music, and to stand in solidarity with the rest of the globe shining a unified light.

Now, us… The rest of us are just loving facilitators and there is no doubt in my mind that we will all come together in the spirit of unity that Eurovision has always been about to celebrate the wonderful people of Ukraine.

I love you and I’ll see you soon. Peace!”

#Sam is a bean and needs to be protected at all costs #I can't believe there are people who are salty like the UK somehow stole Ukraine's victory #yes the situation is not ideal but imo this is the best possible outcome #it's fair because UK came in second and won the jury vote #this is also what would be done if the contest was won by Australia or San Marino or some other country that wouldn't be able to host #in those cases the contest would be hosted by a Big-5 country #UK/BBC has hosted the contest a record of eight times #and this will be their fifth time for hosting for another country #they have the facilities and the money #at this point wishing for Ukraine to be the host country is just not realistic #they have more important things to focus on now #even if the war ended soon do people really think Ukraine would pour millions of euros on a stupid song contest #instead of rebuilding the country? #hot take but letting United Kingdom host is the best decision EBU could have made at this point #*preparing for my first anon hate* #eurovision #ukraine #united kingdom #uk #2022 #2023

[ugh-yoongi]

a word from our sponsors | knj

you’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it. 🎙️

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: podcast, friends to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact. warnings: parasocial relationships galore, a m*n with a p*dcast, author abuses italics, swearing, alcohol, reader uses a pseudonym/nickname (piper) because writing the meta fanfiction scene would've been too weird without one and i refuse to use y/n, dialogue-heavy but it is a fic about a podcast, everyone is down horrendous, mentions of social media & fake r*ddit posts, ex-boyfriend yoongi but in a good, healthy way. let me know if i missed anything but mostly this is just two goofballs not realizing they're in love with one another. smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex (fiction), protected vaginal sex (nonfiction), a lil squirting, mild degradation, mentions of a p*ss kink but there is no actual pee i promise (...lest?), i didn't intend to write size kink but it's namjoon so it just showed up anyway, slight dom!joon, everyone orgasms. wordcount: 17.5k credits: this was entirely inspired by that one episode of the basement yard where frankie reads the smut fic of him and joe, so credits to both that author and that podcast. spotify, for their podcast name generator. astro-seek for helping me drag namjoon astrologically. an extra special, gigantic thanks to @effortandmore for writing the meta fanfic (3k of it, no less!) and not batting an eye when i said it could have pee in it as a joke. this is as much yours as it is mine. finally, @hot-soop and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over for me and telling me i'm funny. author's note: happy birthday, indigo! here i am to validate every fear you've ever had that the people you write porn about may one day read it. live and on air. :)

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years.

You can learn a lot about a guy in that amount of time.

None of it is especially salacious. You know all about his family and his dog and the brand of recycled paper towels he insists on buying in bulk. You know what he’d written his grad school thesis on and what he’d looked like in the thick of it, when he was staving off his fifth mental break of the week. You know how fidgety he gets when it’s closing in on Friday night and he’s got a date—how much he stresses over which restaurant to pick, which cologne, which expensive cashmere sweater to wear.

You also know what the internet thinks about him. Intimately.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is peak husband material. He has cheeks ripe for pinching and thighs small countries would go to war to defend. He has a lap that doubles as a seat and dimples people want to get baptized in. He has Instagram selfies with hundreds of thousands of likes and comment sections full of intelligible keysmashes, especially the ones he posts from the gym.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is a man written by a woman.

Looking at him now, you aren’t sure that’s true, you think people just need to raise their standards. Namjoon is just… Namjoon. He’s intelligent and kind and up to date on modern feminist theory, is all. And, sure, maybe in the current political landscape that puts him far above the rest of men, but the way the internet has latched onto him is a little concerning.

“There’s another post about whether or not we’re dating,” you say, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

sooo let’s be real here, we ALL think they’re dating, right?? Posted by u/pod-shipper 2 hours ago

Just like he always does, Namjoon huffs out a soft laugh, makes his way around to your side of the table. Puts his large hands on your shoulders as he leans in close to read from your screen, snorting every time he reads a sentence he finds particularly amusing. Whichever cologne he’d chosen this morning is, admittedly, very nice.

It’s sooo obvious, especially in the episodes they film and post on YouTube. The way they look at each other?? I don’t even look at my HUSBAND like that! (+1264) ↳ omg ur sooooo right! i could MAYBE buy that they aren’t full on dating, but they’ve def at least slept together. Namjoon is so 🔥🔥🔥 (+791) ↳ um how can namjoon be dating her when he’s already married to me 😌💅 (+3) ↳ For the millionth time, can we not speculate on their personal lives? This is weird and reinforces really harmful ideas that men and women can’t just be friends. (-51)

“How come they never talk about how hot you are?”

You can tell by the look on Namjoon’s face that he hadn’t meant to say that—or, if he did, he didn’t mean to say it like that, with an entire pout, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Cursed to be ugly and dumb,” you joke to ease the sudden tension, reading the comment that simply says you’d have to be the dumbest person alive to not sleep with Namjoon.

He scrunches his nose at that. Returns to his side of the table. “Yeah, I don’t think so, lots of people haven’t slept with me.” Starts to unpack all the gear from his bag before he says, “Hey, all that stuff—does it bother you?”

“What do you mean?” you answer, the corner of a protein bar stuck in your mouth. Namjoon always insists on recording at the most inconvenient times.

“People thinking we’re together,” he clarifies.

You shrug. “I dunno. Not really. Comes with the territory, I think, not to mention how much you love to overshare—”

“Hello?”

“I’m just saying,” you retort, hands raised in self-defense. “There really was no need for you to mention you blew your grad school stipend on a porn scam.” Namjoon looks affronted, like he can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to bring that up. “Or that you lost your virginity at fifteen.”

“We have a relationship podcast,” he states simply. “That’s kind of what we do, right? Talk about relationships? And the spectrum of human sexuality is part of that.”

You slump back in your chair as you quirk an eyebrow. “No one said it wasn’t, I just said you overshare. Which you do.”

“And that’s why there’s a dozen Reddit posts a week discussing whether or not we’re dating? Because I overshare?”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s the kind of behavior that leads to parasocial relationships. People latch onto that shit. Makes them think they’re your friend.” He glares. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. It’s bad enough you’ve word-vomited all this highly personal information about yourself, but to not even do it under a pseudonym? It’s like you’re begging for trouble.”

Another comment he doesn’t even realize he’s making: “I don’t beg. For anything.”

To this day, you’re not sure why Namjoon asked you to co-host a podcast with him.

His reasoning had been simple: “You’re my best friend and we don’t agree on anything.” Hard to argue with that. Namjoon has seemingly endless patience, even in the face of things he shouldn’t entertain, and you… do not, to put it simply.

You’re not a cold person. Your fuse isn’t short. You’re just a little jaded, is all. Have far less propensity for bullshit than Namjoon does, so the two of you play well off each other. You end a sentence with a well-punctuated full stop and Namjoon’s right behind you to sigh and say maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty, not everything in the world can be so black or white.

Except some things are. Somewhere along the way, the podcast—which Namjoon had affectionately named Place Him Gently in the Garbage, even though some people should be shoved in there with force—had picked up a following. A big one. And now, every week, you’re inundated with emails ranging in severity. Sometimes people just want to vent after their tenth bad date in a row or share funny stories, and Namjoon lets you take the lead on those, but sometimes it’s a little more serious. That’s where Namjoon shines, all that endless patience, and people love him for it.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks, accepting a thick stack of papers from Jungkook.

Ah, Jungkook.

You aren’t sure what he actually does. Some kind of social media manager, which is obvious from the wildly out-of-context clips he posts of you to TikTok, and it’s his responsibility to go through the thousands of emails you get from listeners, but aside from that all you’ve got are your suspicions that he just sticks around to swindle Namjoon out of more and more money.

“I’m in a silly goofy mood,” comes Jungkook’s reply, and you let out a witch cackle as Namjoon winces. Nothing good ever comes of Jungkook being in a silly goofy mood, and that’s quite alright by you.

Fifteen minutes later finds you with a camera in your face that you greet with an unamused, flat stare. Jungkook is used to it by now. Just films for a few seconds before turning his attention to an unaware Namjoon. Head down, pen and highlighter going a mile a minute as he pores over the stack of papers with all the doggedness and eagle-eyed stare of a literature professor.

That’s the thing about Namjoon—he takes this really seriously. So do you, but not in the ways Namjoon does. He’s all skill and determination and you’re color commentary. It works. It clearly works, so you aren’t too bent out of shape about it, but sometimes you worry. Namjoon takes this really seriously and sometimes you worry that he takes it too seriously, that he carries the burdens and worries of all these strangers, that he’s trying to solve and fix things that aren’t his responsibility to solve and fix.

So he takes it really seriously and you don’t take it as seriously as you maybe should, and everything is by design. Balanced.

Twenty minutes later finds you staring across the table at Namjoon, who asks, “Are you ready?” and does one last equipment check before he launches into, “Welcome back to another episode of Place Him Gently in the Garbage with Namjoon and Piper. What’s new with you, Pipe? Any fun news?”

Pipe. It drives you nuts. Feels like nails on a chalkboard. “I see you almost every single day,” you respond dryly. “But for the sake of entertainment, I’m thinking about getting a cat.”

“A cat?” Namjoon parrots, and his eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe because he knows what that means.

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, but you’ve known him even longer.

Since your first year of college, which is also when you met Yoongi. Yoongi, your ex. Yoongi, the person you’d been with for six years and had planned a life around. Yoongi, now one of your closest friends, because the two of you still love one another but no longer in that way, which is fine. But also—Yoongi, allergic to cats.

So, yeah. Namjoon knows what that means, and he has the good sense not to mention it. Unlike him, you’re intensely private and keep your cards close to your chest. Your listeners don’t even know your real name, let alone that you’d gone through a breakup a year ago.

“What kind of cat?” he continues, like his entire world hasn’t just been turned upside-down.

You shrug. “Eh, I don’t know. Probably one that’s been in the shelter a long time, I guess. I’m not too fussy, you know?”

“Right, a cat is a cat,” Namjoon says, thinking he’s done something. You and Jungkook gasp at the same time. “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because that’s a fucked up thing to say! A cat is not just a cat. They have little personalities, just like people. You’ve got—”

“But you just said you’re not fussy,” he interjects. “And I know they have personalities and that you have to find one that suits your lifestyle! Like, you can’t have one of those really cool cats that likes to go kayaking and shit, it’d never work—”

“What does that mean? Why couldn’t I have a cool cat?”

“Hey, all you cool cats and kittens,” Namjoon mocks, and you can tell he thinks he’s done something again, but his impression falls flatter than flat. An awkward silence fills the studio. He coughs. “Anyway. Do you have pictures?”

“Yeah. I also have a list of candidates ranked by how cool their names are. Number five, Casserole.”

“That’s cute.”

“Mhm,” you agree, “but Casserole is a kitten, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“They do say you should adopt kittens in pairs.”

“And that’s how they get you. You want one kitten and they talk you into two, and before you know it you’ve got, like, twelve cats. Number four, Party Girl.”

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

“And, finally, number one: Human Torch.”

“Yoooo.” Namjoon laughs. “You have to adopt Human Torch. Let me see.” You pull up a picture on your phone and hand it over. “Okay, for our listeners—Human Torch is a young, male Domestic Short Hair. He has stripes. I don’t know what that’s called.”

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

“Jungkook says he’s a tabby. He’s cute. Adopt him.”

You return your phone to your pocket. “Maybe. I still think I want an older cat, but I’ll consider it. What about you, though? Any new dating horror stories to share?”

Ah, the dating horror stories. Your most dedicated shippers are convinced they’re fake, that Namjoon just makes them up on the spot to keep them off your trail. If only. Not in the if only they were fake and Namjoon and I were actually dating kind of way, but the holy shit one of my closest friends is a fucking disaster and it’s a little embarrassing kind of way.

“Not really,” he answers. “I’ve got a date this Friday, though. Trying to decide if dinner and a movie is too boring.”

“It’s a classic for a reason. What are you gonna see, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3?”

“Three?” Namjoon emphasizes, truly sounding scandalized. “Since when are there three? I haven’t even seen one or two.”

“Okay, first of all, the original is a classic and it’s a crime you haven’t seen it.”

“And second of all?”

“There is no second of all. Repeat point one.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna see that, anyway. Maybe the re-release of Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

“I like both,” he chickens out. “Now, let’s stop wasting time and get to the point of the show.”

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

“I—no, we’ve just got a lot on the agenda today.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s lots to talk about on the celebrity front—”

Namjoon loves this part. As esteemed and educated as he is, not even he is immune to good old celebrity gossip. (Inside him there are two wolves.) Lives for it. Texts you about it at all hours of the night. Sends you links to Reddit threads with hundreds of comments. Has more opinions on Celebrity Big Brother than he does on Ludwig Wittgenstein, sometimes, and when that’s the case you know you’re in for a long evening. You’ve never even seen an episode of Celebrity Big Brother.

But Namjoon loves it, so you’ve become fond of it by association. Reminds you a bit of Yoongi and his love for sports and sports anime.

“—one should we start with?”

“Whatever you want,” you answer, because you haven’t been paying a lick of attention and you aren’t sure it matters anyway. Namjoon can talk to a wall on a good day, but he’s an entirely different beast once mundane, innocuous celeb gossip gets involved.

And even though you hadn’t been paying attention, it seems like this was the right thing to say, because Namjoon smiles so wide his dimples crater his face. “Cool. Let’s start with Taryn Manning. Did you see that bizarre—”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

Namjoon looks a little dumbstruck. Even Jungkook’s arching an eyebrow at you. “Are you serious? She was in Orange is the New Black and Crossroads.”

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

Your co-host shoots you a very pointed look. “I will, thanks. Anyway, she posted a video on social media talking about this affair she had with a married man. Like, she pulled over on the side of the road to record this. Said she can’t stand the man’s wife because she called her a quote-unquote lunatic.”

“I—huh, thought we weren’t supposed to say that anymore. Alright.”

“But wait, it gets even more bizarre. Listen to this quote—and this is direct. This is a direct quote from the video, I can’t stop thinking about it: ‘Don’t you ever threaten me when your husband came to me to get his butthole licked.’ Can you—”

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

“It’s crazy, right? She was gonna buy this guy a boat.”

“Namjoon, this is a family show, you can’t just talk about ass-eating unprompted.”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, you still shouldn’t talk about ass-eating unprompted. It’s unbecoming.”

“You’re unbecoming,” Namjoon fires back, because he can’t help it. The words are out of his mouth before he can think. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

You sigh. Know whatever look Jungkook is catching on his camera right now is exasperated and pointed, the corners of your mouth probably tugged up just a hint. “Unbecoming, like I said.” Namjoon scoffs. “Anyway, so this actress was gonna buy this married guy a boat and was eating his ass?”

“Yeah. Apparently it was her friend’s husband? They all went to a Taylor Swift concert together.”

“Jesus, this keeps getting worse. Big year for Hollywood cheaters.”

“It is, right? Cheaters and divorces. Something in the water, I guess.”

“I saw the astrology girlies saying a bunch of planets are in retrograde, so—”

“Can you explain that to me? Like, what does it mean for a planet to be in retrograde? Why is it causing divorces?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an astrology girlie. That’s why I said the astrology girlies. What are your big three, though?”

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

“Ugh,” you intone, “don’t worry about it, I’ll do it myself. What time were you born?”

Namjoon rattles off a time.

You grab your laptop. Pull up the page, type in Namjoon’s date of birth and birthplace, and wait. Then you’re staring at a circle with a bunch of lines in it that also don’t make a lick of sense to you. You roll your lips to keep from laughing and school your voice into something deadly serious. “Bad news: it says you’re a virgin.”

“Virgo,” Namjoon corrects, not taking the bait. “I already knew that.”

You scroll a little further down the page. “Your moon is in Sagittarius. Oh god, listen to this, they’ve got you pegged: ‘The greatest need is to always search for something. In order to feel safe you need a philosophy or belief’—”

“Haaa, that’s not—”

“—’You need to have a goal or mission that gives your life meaning. Your faith must be voluntary and it is a paradox that fighting against dogmas may lead you to other dogmas.’ Yeah, that’s you.”

“That could apply to anyone,” he argues. “There are seven-billion people on this planet; I’d imagine a sizable amount of them would say that also describes them.”

“Hm, sounds like your faith in astrology is not yet voluntary. Did you know you’re a Scorpio rising?”

“No. I’m sure you’re gonna tell me all about it, though.”

You smile. “Correct. ‘People with Scorpio on the Ascendant need to fight against dark and destructive power in their life.’ Is that true?”

“Yeah, you’re the dark and destructive power. You keep sidetracking me and we need to get to the point of the podcast.” He grabs the stack of papers Jungkook had given him. Looks more highlighter than paper, if you’re being honest. “I guess Jungkook thought we needed a lighthearted kind of day.”

“That was nice of him, considering what he gave us last week. I guess we’re allowed to have faith in humanity today.”

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

“Alright,” Namjoon starts, putting on his Very Serious Podcast Guy voice, “first up we’ve got a question from one of our listeners in Canada. It says, ‘Hi, Piper and Namjoon. I recently agreed to go on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She said he was a bit old-fashioned but really talked him up so I thought I was in good hands—and then he showed up to get me in a ‘67 GTO and exclusively referred to me as doll. He didn’t use my name once. I’m torn, because he was really nice and I had a good time otherwise, but this is weird, right? Should I see him agai—’”

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

“You don’t have to. This guy sounds greasy.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “And why is that?”

“Ignoring the fact that this guy has arguably one of the lamest classic cars around, he didn’t use their name once? Not once, in all the time they spent together? That’s really disrespectful.”

“Some people are just pet name people,” Namjoon argues.

“With absolute strangers, though? It’s really giving the impression that he didn’t even know it, not to mention some people are uncomfortable with pet names. The whole shtick is super lame.”

“I agree it sounds a bit misguided, but—”

Ignoring Namjoon, you say, “Sorry you had to go on a date with the ghost of less-cool James Dean. Into the garbage he goes.”

And, just like he’s done a million times before, Namjoon rolls his eyes and says, “If you really like this guy and want to see him again, a bit of communication will go a long way. Tell him the pet name made you uncomfortable—if it did—and offer to pick him up for the next date. I don’t think he’s completely destined for the garbage, yet.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t have a license. You probably think a 1967 Pontiac GTO is the pinnacle of romance. That’s probably like picking someone up on a Specialized Aethos to you, eh?”

“That’s a fifteen-thousand dollar bike, I’ll have you know.”

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

I think Namjoon had the right idea on this one. Sure, the car can be considered lame, but I think a lot of men are deeply insecure and therefore overcompensate when it comes to dating. Women are hard to impress when they have unlimited options. You have to stand out, so I’m glad he advocated for him. Piper can come off like such a misandrist sometimes. (-649) ↳ just shut up bro namjoon would fuckin hate u (+204) ↳ Imagine caring about something like this when they’re getting a cat together 🙄 (+19)

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

Adopting a cat is certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had, and truth be told it’s been a little lonely, living by yourself. No more Yoongi in your space; no more Holly. So, having a new little friend around might do you some good.

It’s just—

It’s a big commitment, and there’s also the dog sitting-shaped elephant in the room. Ending things on good terms means you’re still Yoongi’s second-choice sitter whenever he has to go out of town, and while you love Holly dearly (the two of you had adopted him together, after all), he’s a lot like his father in a lot of ways.

Should I get a cat, you type out, and it’s only been in Yoongi’s inbox a few seconds before the most unflattering picture you’ve ever taken of him is flashing across your screen.

“Are you dying?” you ask, because Yoongi doesn’t call you for much else.

And you already know what his response is going to be. “We’re all dying.”

“Lighten up, Yoongi. One might say being so existentially nihilistic before noon causes wrinkles.”

There’s a split-second pause. “It’s nine p.m.”

“Sure, but it’s before tomorrow’s noon, so it still counts.”

“Whatever. Listen, before you adopt that cat, I need a favor.”

“You going out of town again?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long, though. A week at the most, five days if I’m lucky.”

“That’s fine, bring him over whenever. Yijeong’s busy?”

This pause is far, far longer. “No,” comes Yoongi’s eventual response, but it’s slow. Unsure. A two-letter word has never taken so long to say in the history of ever. “He’s, uh. Coming with me?”

Oh, you think. This is where your ex awkwardly and hesitantly breaks the news of his new relationship. You’ve known this day was coming, and this is what you get for staying friends with him. “This is a fanfiction plot,” you accuse. “Hot, mysterious man moves into a gaudy apartment complex after ending a long-term relationship and meets his equally-hot and mysterious neighbor and they fall in love.”

“I—that’s not—my apartment is not gaudy.”

“Yes it is. There’s a giant gold bust of a weird bird in the lobby.”

“Weird bird?” he parrots. “It’s a swan.”

“I see you’re not denying the in-love-with-your-neighbor accusations.”

“Am I on trial?” Yoongi retorts, and it’s such a Yoongi thing to say when what he means is, is this okay? He means, are we able to talk about this without it being weird? He means, I won’t ever say as much out loud, but your acceptance means a lot to me, and I’d like for you to give me this.

So you lower your voice and soften the edges because it’s not really something to joke about, and you say, “No, of course you’re not on trial,” and Yoongi knows what you mean. “And if you were, you'd get locked up for fifty years. You can’t lie for shit.”

There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat, mutters a thanks that is so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “Send me pictures of the cats.”

Later on, once you’re freshly-showered and tucked into bed with a candle and a book (Eloge de l’amour by Alain Badiou at Namjoon’s insistence and request), your phone buzzes with a text from Yoongi—

Yoongi: toddler is a fucking hilarious name for a cat but so is flat Yoongi: it’s a tie for me You: Okay well pick one 🙄 Yoongi: yijeong says get both You: Both???? Is he paying my vet bills? Yoongi: kinda out of line to proposition him for money. flat is also good with dogs, js You: If he’s now being raised by you two, my perfect, well-behaved son is probably long gone. Does he even count as a dog anymore? Yoongi: me and yijeong both say fuck off Yoongi: holly too. he says he doesn’t miss you anymore and he’s not coming over now Yoongi has added Yijeong to the group Yoongi has changed the group name to #ThirdWheelChat Yijeong: Please don’t drag me into this. Also I did not say “fuck off” You have changed the group name to People Who Have Seen Yoongi Naked Yoongi: fuck you

You should’ve known something was going on with Jungkook, because it’d started like this:

(When you and Namjoon started the podcast three years ago, it was in the living room of his apartment.

Surrounded by books and plants. He loved to record in the afternoons back then—Namjoon loved to say it was because of his grad school schedule, but you’ve always suspected he just wanted to preen in the golden hour light, much like he’s doing now.

“Is this really necessary?” Jungkook whines from his spot on the couch. He’s already swindled Namjoon out of two bags of microwavable popcorn and three cans of sparkling water. “It’s a Saturday afternoon; I could be doing something so much more fun than this.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Are you saying this isn’t fun?”

“Yeah. It sucks, actually. This could’ve been an email.”

And because Namjoon is accomplished, mature, and absolutely incapable of not taking Jungkook’s bait, the space between his brows creases as he sends a murderous glare Jungkook’s way. “Stop eating my food, then. And drinking my drinks. And lounging on my couch like that—”

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

“Well, knock it off! My couch is only for fun and people who think I’m fun!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “So you fuck on it?”

“What?”

“What other fun things could you possibly do on a couch?”

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

Jungkook groans, throws himself backwards against the pillows as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “Jesus. No wonder you can’t score a second date.”

“Okay, that was a little uncalled for. There are a ton of reasons a person might not want a second date, and no one is obligated to go out with me—”

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

You clear your throat. Try to hide your own can of seltzer you’d taken from Namjoon’s fridge in the midst of his and Jungkook’s bickering. “Not trying to be rude, but I have an appointment at the shelter at three. If, y’know. You wouldn’t mind speeding this up a little.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

“Oh, so you’ll speed this up for her but not—”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “She,” he begins, jerking his thumb in your direction, “isn’t needlessly complaining and actually has someplace to be.”)

It was just a quick little rendezvous in Namjoon’s living room to come up with a rough draft for the following month’s episodes. He couldn’t do it over text because he’d fallen down the steps at his office and landed on his ass on the corner of a step and his phone had been in his back pocket. Cracked clean in half. And he couldn’t do it over email because he—rightfully—knew Jungkook would ignore them because he has his inbox set up to send all of Namjoon’s personal emails to the trash.

But Jungkook holds onto things like that. Grudges. Loves to let Namjoon think bygones are bygones and pop up a few days later with some evil scheme. Hence:

“What is this?”

Jungkook smirks. Rocks back on his heels. “It’s fanfiction.”

“I can see that, but… why?”

This is where Jungkook shines: the ominous, cheshire cat grin; the aw, shucks demeanor that gaslights Namjoon into thinking Jungkook couldn’t possibly be fucking with him. “Well, you were having trouble coming up with ideas for episodes, and there’s an email in there from someone whose partner reads really expli—”

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Of all the weird shit you’ve seen on the internet (and there’s been a lot), fanfiction of people you know—your friends—was something you’d managed to escape. Probably by virtue of not knowing anyone famous enough to warrant fanfiction being written about them.

But you should’ve known. You really, really should’ve known.

“Oh my god?”

You’re not sure who says it. Could be you or Namjoon, but the sentiment is the same. He mouths a what the fuck at you that’s met with a shrug. You’re in uncharted territory now, too. “Where did you even find this?” you ask, taking the stack of papers from Namjoon. “And why did you print it out?”

“Because I’m going to track down whoever wrote it and get them to autograph it. Then I’m going to buy a nice frame and hang it on the wall behind him, so we never forget this historical moment in Place Him Gently in the Garbage lore.”

“It’s a podcast,” Namjoon deadpans, “how can it have lore? And how much lore can there possibly be?”

“It’s the internet,” you concede. “The lore possibilities are endless. Don’t tempt them.”

Jungkook nods sagely, well-versed in the degeneracy of the internet. “Yeah, that’s how you end up with shit like 4chan.”

“4chan? There’s Space Jam porn on there.”

As the youngest, all Jungkook can do is roll his eyes. “Sometimes explaining this shit to you feels like trying to teach old people how to rotate PDFs—”

Namjoon scoffs. “I’m not that bad. I know how to rotate a PDF.”

Wow, Jungkook mouths. “Anyway, back to the fanfiction—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Namjoon interjects. He looks at you. “It’s weird, right? Like, it’s weird that people have written this about us?”

About us.

Your scope of the world narrows to the size of a pinhead. It’d just been about Namjoon before. This is fanfiction about me, he’d said, and you hadn’t been included in that. Now it’s written about us and you’re included.

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

Jungkook rolls his lips. “It’s about the two of you fucking, to be specific.”

“Can you not—”

“Fucking a lot,” Jungkook continues. “So much fucking.”

Namjoon looks at you, and it’s all you can do to keep from laughing. The look on his face is pure bewilderment, both that Jungkook has cooked up this idea and is hell-bent on executing it and that he remains employed. And maybe it’s a little bit of nerves, too, because neither of you are ignorant of the risks. Reading fanfiction about yourselves—about the two of you as a couple, specifically, or at least two people who have sex—is weird. Not something you can unread.

And maybe it’s because you’re so determined to not make it weird that you send Namjoon a cheeky, exaggerated wink, shrug your shoulders, and say, “I’ll need a couple drinks, but I’m down.”

Jungkook throws his head back and cackles wildly, and that look of bewilderment on Namjoon’s face morphs into something else. Trepidation, maybe; definitely disbelief, because sometimes he lets himself get swept away in Jungkook’s schemes, but it’s rare that you follow suit.

As Jungkook continues to laugh, you wonder if you should’ve said no.

Namjoon has two stipulations: the two of you have to film the episode completely alone, and he, too, needs to be a little drunk.

The latter? Piece of cake, considering Namjoon has become some sort of whiskey aficionado in recent years. His drinking is streamlined and to the point—he knows exactly how much and what to drink to get him where he wants to be. You can’t say he isn’t efficient.

The former, though? Borderline impossible. From the second Namjoon states his terms, Jungkook is having none of it. Argues that he’s the one who found the story and the one who cleared it with the author, so he deserves to witness the fruits of his labor.

“No,” Namjoon repeats for the nth time, “no way. I’ll barely be able to do this with just her, let alone both of you.”

And that—that doesn’t bother you, right? You force a laugh, because why would it bother you?

There are few secrets between you and Namjoon, except your respective sex lives have been staunchly off-limits. Namjoon could be a virgin for all you know, and as you study him—the way he keeps bobbing his leg, the slight shake in his hands—you wonder if that’s the reason he’s being so weird about this.

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

Most people don’t have to worry about someone writing stories about them fucking their friends. If they do, you reckon even less actually read them. So, sure, it’s a little strange, but people from all over the world send in stranger stuff all the time, don’t they? It’s literally the reason you’re in this predicament.

Eventually Jungkook agrees. His whining has gotten him nowhere, so he just throws up his hands. Posts a cryptic little “u guys won’t believe what the next patreon ep is lmao” that sends the internet into a frenzy. Doubles your Patreon numbers almost immediately, and both you and Namjoon do a good job of pretending the pressure isn’t overwhelming.

Jesus. You have to read explicit fanfiction about yourselves. On camera.

Namjoon gets caught up with work and isn’t available until the weekend, so you’re forced to sit with the nerves for a few days. Not too bad at first, but you’re nearly coming out of your skin by Thursday with the need to know. You’re well-versed in the world of fanfiction, but this is fanfiction about you: your name, your likeness, maybe even your personality.

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

Will they get it right, the way he looks with his jaw clenched? How impossibly deep his voice can go, both when it’s raspy with sleep and when he’s fully at ease? Will the Namjoon in the story be closer to the Namjoon you know, or the version of himself he presents to the public?

And you’ve known him a long time—long enough that there are few secrets between you, but you don’t know the most intimate parts. All the parts the internet loves to speculate on. All the little gaps that, apparently, need to be filled in by fanfiction.

Will they know what Namjoon looks like when he gets off?

No, you scold yourself, jerking awkwardly like you’ve been burned, and neither will you.

Because you are not going to think about this. Your thoughts are not going to go there. Namjoon is your friend, and you’ve listened to him scold an endless amount of men on the podcast for exactly this behavior. Sexualizing their friends. You’re not going to do it, too.

Maybe that’s why you’re kind of seeing double when it comes time to record. Namjoon needed an extra shot and offered you one as well. You’d necked it without a second thought and now you’re here, trying to ignore the slight tilt of the room as Namjoon adjusts the camera.

“How’s the shot look?” he asks, gesturing vaguely behind him at his laptop screen because Jungkook had refused to lend you his fancy cameras if he wasn’t allowed to be involved.

It’s a completely normal question.

It’s a question you’ve asked and answered a million times.

Except—there’s something horribly distracting about Namjoon in this moment. The outline of his back muscles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The way the sleeves are tight around his biceps. He’s always been a gym rat, always carries around a protein shake that smells and looks completely foul, but you can’t remember it ever being this obvious.

And you take too long to answer, because Namjoon straightens up just enough to send you a concerned look. Which does not help. You are not imagining what else might cause his brows to pinch like that, what might have his lips parting, have sweat dotting his hairline.

You swallow. Hard.

“Looks fine,” you manage to say. He’s still staring. Are you on fire? You feel like you’re on fire, which would make sense. Would explain Namjoon’s sweating and concerned stare and the fact that he cannot stop staring at you. “Maybe a tiny bit to the right if we’re being picky,” you tack on, hoping it’ll break whatever spell the two of you are ensnared in.

It works. “To the—the right, yeah, makes sense,” he rambles.

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

Recording hasn’t been this awkward since your first episode, or maybe ever. You’re sat across from one another like you always are, and usually Namjoon would be making quip after quip by now, talking endlessly until Jungkook shushed him long enough to get the intro filmed. Now, there’s just silence.

“Should we…?” Namjoon startles. Bangs his knee on the underside of the table and drops a string of curses. “Sorry, are you��”

“I’m fine,” he says, cutting you off. He gestures vaguely toward the camera. “I’ll just… yeah.”

Showtime.

You wipe your hands on your jeans, unsure of when they got so damp. Unsure of when you’d grown so nervous, too, because you’d been fine an hour ago. Had strolled in with two cups of tea and a little too much confidence, giddy at what you were about to do.

Maybe the nerves had shown up alongside the alcohol. This sounds reasonable, and you do not, under any circumstance or for any reason, think about Namjoon’s back. Or his biceps.

Namjoon makes it through the intro, dimples deep and wide as he smiles, and you also don’t think about the way his voice cracks and gets a little breathy when he introduces you. It’s only because he’d been drinking, and the flush on his cheeks attests to that. The same flush that creeps down his neck, still a little sweaty; disappears beneath the hemline of his shirt.

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

Now it’s your turn to startle, and there’s not much you can do to hide the obvious except ask Namjoon to redo the shot. Because it’s bad enough the internet already overanalyzes every move you make, every word choice, every instance you’ve stared at Namjoon a second longer than they thought you would—this is a blatant display of… affectedness.

“Sorry,” you say, “I wasn't paying attention. Can we redo it?”

You’re expecting a playful scolding. A ha ha, get it together, because that’s what you usually get. But there’s nothing aside from Namjoon studying you and nodding. Asking if you’re okay. Saying, “Is this—this is weird, right? Is it too weird? Maybe we shouldn’t—”

An out. Namjoon is giving you an out, and you should take it, you know you should take it, so there’s absolutely no reason at all you shake your head and say, “No, no, it’s fine! I think I’m just a little, uh. Drunk?”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“It’s fine, Joon,” you insist. “Besides, it’ll be good content, right?”

“Good content,” he parrots. “Yeah, for sure.” He fidgets in his seat, runs his hands down the span of his thighs. Very, very thick thighs. “I’ll grab us some water.”

You faceplant onto the table as soon as he’s out of the room. When did his thighs get so thick?

But the water helps. Cures whatever strange, insatiable thirst has come over you, because you feel much more human after a few glasses. Less drunk, too, which makes sense. Yoongi could barely escape your drunken, horny wrath when the two of you were together, so you chalk it up to a Pavlovian response.

Namjoon does the intro again. Introduces you strong and steady, not a hint of nerves, and explains, with a fresh blush taking over his upper body, what the episode’s going to be about. “Someone wrote fanfiction about us,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, pretty explicit. Jungkook thought it’d be funny if we read it.”

You snort. “He might get fired, depending on how this goes.”

“He should get fired regardless,” Namjoon deadpans. “Anyway, we have permission from the author to read this so don’t come after us, and, as always, we’ll put all the credits in the video description.”

“Special shoutout to Jungkook, though, who was not allowed to be here with us for this momentous occasion.”

Namjoon laughs. “I’m sure he’s having plenty of fun at home.” You both pause. “That’s not—I’m not implying anything with that! I just meant—you know, like. He’s hanging out and enjoying his day off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Moving on. I have two copies of this. Do you want your own?”

You grin, wicked and wide. “Nah, just read it to me.”

“Making me do all the work,” he huffs. “Typical.”

“There’s a stack of papers in front of you that might say otherwise.”

It’s clear you catch him off-guard. He cocks an eyebrow, opens and shuts his mouth a few times like a goldfish. An obvious question sits on the tip of his tongue: You think you’d be in charge? Instead he coughs, jerks his head to the side, and says, “I guess we’ll see.”

It sounds like a challenge.

Thirty seconds is all you get before Namjoon’s shuffling his stack of papers and clearing his throat. Asking if you’re ready and jumping right into it once you say you are. Reads the first few lines like they’re some old lecture notes, and they’re conservative and safe-for-work enough that you start to relax.

And then Namjoon reads, “A louder one wonders if Namjoon is a pet name person—if he’d call her ‘honey,’ or ‘gummy bear,’ ‘babe,’ or ‘baby,’” and you choke.

“Gummy bear?”

Namjoon laughs along with you—the weird one that almost sounds like a dog panting. “You want me to call you gummy bear?”

“I want you to call me a Lyft,” you snark. “I’m leaving.”

He continues:

And that’s how it starts, wandering thoughts, wandering fingers—the first time Piper comes to the thought of Namjoon calling her baby, pushing inside her, showing her that he definitely doesn’t beg, but she does… Well, she’s a little ashamed. She’s apparently got a reputation to maintain, anyway, not to mention a friendship.

His eyes leave the paper and lock onto you. “Or maybe you’d prefer baby?”

“Fuck off.”

Weeks after that first time, it’s become a habit, thinking about Namjoon as something more than a friend. It’s confusing and a little mortifying and it’s starting to affect her in ways she hadn’t expected. When they record, she feels fidgety—she’s jumpy when he gets close, has all the stupid obvious tells of an unwanted crush: her breath hitches when he whispers (why the fuck is he whispering in her ear, anyway? Doesn’t he know what that does to a person?) inside jokes to her so Jungkook can’t hear, her heart rate spikes when their fingers accidentally brush, she feels itchy and hot and a little embarrassed whenever he holds eye contact with her. It’s terrible, and it’s only made worse by the way he’s doing all of those things more than usual. Or, at least she thinks he is, thinks she’s not imagining the way his eyes linger on her more than she can remember happening before or the way she’s caught him staring at her lips when she chews on the end of her pencil mindlessly. 

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

Namjoon’s staring again. You need to salvage this. He’s only on paragraph three and you’re already squirming in your chair and imagining things that are not appropriate. So you roll your lips, return his teasing. “Well? Do you stare at my lips?”

It works. “No,” he scowls.

“You sure?” you joke, morphing your face into something half-pout, half-duck face.

“We’re never gonna finish this if you keep making comments.”

“You started it,” you point out. “Go on, then.”

There’s some dialogue. Some prose that hits way too close to home, has you wondering who on earth wrote this and how they plucked every single thought from deep within your psyche. A pang of fear that maybe you haven’t been as subtle as you’d thought all these years. A moment to confirm to yourself that, no, you haven’t been harboring a secret, deeply-buried crush on Namjoon.

Then he reads—

And then he kisses her. It’s greedy and hot, his lips like a branding iron. She moans a little against her better judgment when he licks at the seam of her mouth, and in return, she can feel Namjoon’s lips curve into a smile against her own. It’s better than she’d been imagining it, really. He’s a good kisser—firm at the right times, soft when she needs it, careful but not cautious. He holds her jaw with one hand and keeps her right where he wants her beneath him (as if she’d want to move, anyway).  When their lips finally part, he rests his forehead on hers. It’s intimate in a way she hadn’t expected, and he looks at her as if she’s the answer to every question. Finally, he whispers, “What’re we doing, Piper?” His lips are still wet and pink and a little swollen from kissing, and she barely hears the question—she’s too busy thinking about kissing him again, about pulling his plump bottom lip between her teeth, teasing and…  “Kissing,” she says finally.  “What do you want?” he asks, sinking to his knees in front of her. And if that alone isn’t an answer to his question… “Whatever you’re willing to give,” she replies. It feels like she’s wanted this forever, this and so much more. Once she got the idea in her head, it’s hard to know if she ever felt differently, ever truly thought they could just be friends. Or, if in the back of her mind, in the dark corners that she never lets see daylight, she always knew she wanted Namjoon. Always knew she loved him.

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

Namjoon sits with those words for a moment. Scans the paper in his hands and frowns a little when he confirms what you already know. “The rest is, uh. Porn.”

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“I’m not scared,” you lie. “Are you? You’re the one who keeps stalling.”

He huffs. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he retorts, and then nothing is all that funny anymore.

Because Namjoon was right: the rest is straight-up porn. He’s barely able to read the part where he goes down on you with a straight face, turning a deep shade of crimson. Stutters through the part where you pull his hair, and that is not something you needed to know about your friend. You think he loses his grasp of language entirely when he reads, “When he slides a long finger into her and brushes past her most sensitive spot, she arches into him and lets his name fall from her lips in a soft cry. Piper, notorious skeptic, is a babbling, trembling mess as she gets closer to her orgasm,” because all the words are garbled together, producing nothing but gibberish. You think he’s ready to keel over and die when he reads, “Namjoon pulls away briefly, lips slick with her juices, and licks over his top one, pausing to tell her how good she tastes before he dives back in.”

“That was nice of them to include. I appreciate their attention to detail in regards to my personal hygiene.”

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Gimme. I’ll finish it.” He hands over the papers immediately.

Except you regret it immediately. The words you’re staring at are not words you ever thought you’d read or recite in your entire life. Not even for a million dollars. “Oh,” you say instead.

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

“This is really embarrassing,” you confirm. “I might need another shot.”

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

Namjoon staggers forward obligingly, looks completely fucked out and pliant, willing to do whatever she asks. She remembers the sounds he made when she pulled his hair, wonders if he likes being bossed around, if he wants her to tell him what to do, to be a little mean to him. Maybe it’s different from her dreams, maybe he will beg her. She wants him so badly, she’d do anything for him. So, she pulls his briefs down to expose his absurdly large member, already mostly hard, and slaps it. Gently at first to see how he’ll react, and when he shudders and jerks his hips, she does it again, a little harder. “Look at you,” she whispers, “such a needy boy.”  He whimpers at that, eyes pleading. “Please, Piper…” he whines.   “Please what?” “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. She wants to, wants him so much, wants to feel him stretch her open, and from the looks of his cock, thick and long and drooling with precum, he could. “Should I?” she asks. She musters all her confidence to keep the condescending tone up. It feels wrong given how desperate she is to get him inside her, but it also seems to be getting him worked up and equally as desperate. “Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”  Namjoon’s cock twitches, and he begs, “I—I’ll fuck you so good, Piper…. I know how, I promise. Just… please?”

“Oh my god,” the two of you say in unison.

You so badly want to ask if this is biographical. How Namjoon feels about a little degradation; what he’d do if someone actually called his cock stupid. Ifsomeone has called his cock stupid. You dare a glance at him and conclude that someone’s had to. Namjoon just has that kind of energy.

But you can’t ask because it’d be weird, so you keep reading.

“How do you want me?” she asks softly when their lips part. There’s a wild look in his eyes, like he’s processing all the possible options out of everything he’s considered. And then it occurs to her. “Have you imagined this before? Thought about how you’d fuck me?” she teases him as she stands, stepping into him. Piper pushes one hand through his hair, brushing it back off of his forehead and wraps her other around his dick, squeezing a little for emphasis on her words. “Yes,” he groans as she strokes him, thumbing at the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want, then. Want me on all fours for you? Want me to show you how it’s done, to let you lay back and ride you so you don’t have to put in any work?” Namjoon’s breathing is getting heavy, pupils blown wider with each suggestion. 

“I told you!” you shriek, laughing in between the words. “I told you I’d…” And then your gloating tapers off, because what happens next has your brain malfunctioning.

“All of that,” he whines as she lets go of his hair and brings her hand down to run a fingertip over his perineum. “Want all of that. Want to bend you over the table and fuck you right here. Hear your sounds in the microphone.” Even in her dirtiest thoughts about him, she hadn’t considered the microphone, hadn’t considered recording it. When she thinks about it though, it makes sense. Namjoon is exactly the kind of person that would get off to someone’s voice. So, she does. She makes a show of turning around and slowly bending over the table, sliding her upper body across it carefully until she can reach her microphone and turn it on. When she says into it, “What’re you waiting for?” she sees over her shoulder the way that Namjoon shivers.

This is… not good. You’re never going to be able to look at a microphone the same way, which is extremely not good for a person who supplements their income with a very popular podcast that requires them to speak into a microphone for extended periods of time.

This is very, very bad.

Namjoon must be thinking the same, because he lets out a strangled a-haaa that’s less of a laugh and more a plea to God, the gods, the entire gamut of higher powers that might be able to save him. No one’s going to, you think, staring down at the paper again. This godless piece of fanfiction will be preserved on the internet forever, will be seared into your mind forever, and no amount of praying is going to erase it.

“I should, uh. Just read the rest, yeah? Get it over with?”

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

Don’t say please, you almost say. You can’t take it; not after what you’ve just read.

So you put on a show. Steel your expression and your nerves and take it seriously. Use voices and sound effects and desperately try to stave off the awkwardness you know is inevitable because a smut fic is probably only going to end one way, and that’s with you acting out Namjoon having an orgasm.

Maybe you’ll have another one, too, if the author is nice.

It’s sweet, she thinks, the way he’s easy for her, takes his time with her. Strokes his fingertips along her sides and kisses the back of her neck reverently. As much as she loves it, part of her hopes he’s not always like this—hopes he’ll give as good as he takes, hopes he’ll put her in her place. She can feel his cock hard against the cleft of her ass, not even inside her yet, and still, she thinks about next time and the time after that. “Still okay?” He breathes into her ear as his tip rubs against her cunt.  “Yeah—want you, Joon.”  “Never thought I’d hear you say those words.”  “I never thought you’d record them,” she teases, eyes glancing up to the flashing light showing the mic picking up all of this as he starts his slow slide into her.  Piper falls even further forward when he bottoms out, letting her forehead rest on the table. He’s whispering filth in her ear, about how he has something to prove, how she’ll never want anyone after this, how no one can fuck her the way he does.  She hates that he’s right.  Each stroke brings a new sensation: sparklers, butterflies, nerve endings on fire as he fucks into her and licks and sucks at her neck, her shoulders, her ear. Piper can’t even think, and this is what people mean when they talk about being fucked stupid, she decides.  It’s perfect.  Every time she thinks she’s getting close again, he changes something: fucks her a little shallower, moves his hips just a little, slows down, speeds up… It’s driving her crazy.  “Come on,” she whines. “I’m so close…” At least she can tell he is, too. No longer able to sustain the dirty talk, he’s breathing heavily, letting out broken moans and sighs of her name. He’s moving rhythmically now, thrusts consistently faster.  “Oh, fuck, Piper,” he groans, “Gonna cum.” One of his hands finds her clit and he rubs careful circles over her, bringing her to her peak along with him, no more teasing.  When she comes, it’s with a loud moan into the studio mic, and that seems to be what tips Namjoon over the edge, too. His hips stutter into hers as he comes, her cunt clenching around him for what feels like forever.

You deserve an award, you think. An Oscar. You didn’t even groan when you had to read the word “cunt,” and that’s a feat in and of itself.

“Is it over?” Namjoon asks, words muffled by the hands covering his face.

“Not quite,” you answer. “There’s some aftercare, and at the end you ask if I’ll piss on you.”

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

“Today’s episode has been brought to you by Stamps-dot-com—”

HOLY SHIT THE NEW PATREON EPISODE???????? Posted by u/pod-shipper 4 minutes ago NO WAY. NOOOOOOO FUCKING WAY DUDE THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY THEY DID THIS AS AN ACTUAL EPISODE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT HTE FUCK WHAT EHTU FKF DFGLKDG;L (+705) I wasn’t sure if they were messing around before, and I was quite critical of the “shippers,” but now I’m pretty convinced. (+423) ↳ we’ve been telling y’all for YEARS 😤 (+197) ↳ Glad you’ve seen the light, u/RandomAcorn2058! (+5) ↳ ugh. they weren’t messing around before and they aren’t messing around now. do you guys not listen to what they say? namjoon’s been dating, and piper got out of a six-year relationship just over a year ago. if they’ve had something going on for “years” that means they’re both cheaters, and that’s a really shitty thing to assume about them. not to mention it makes the entire point of the podcast moot. (-63) Why do you guys think Jungkook “wasn’t allowed” to be there? (+314) ↳ So they could fuck lmao it’s so obvious (+329) ↳ because it’s awkward af? would you wanna read porn about yourself w all your coworkers in the room? (+2) ↳ the “it’s awkward” excuse is sooooo lame he’s the one who found it and is the one who edited the episode, he’s gonna see it regardless. (+15) ↳ Tbh I’m more curious about how he even found it to begin with? Do they have a throuple thing going on? Like, why was he looking for smut fic about his bosses? (+38)

You do not get through recording unscathed.

You are very scathed. Perhaps the most scathed a person has ever been.

Jungkook texts the group chat sporadically throughout the week, cracking jokes and making memes at your and Namjoon’s expense which is par for the course and shouldn’t have you off-kilter, but something inside you feels deeply wrong. Feels like someone’s given you devastating news; feels like it used to back in uni when you knew you’d failed an exam and were just waiting to see how badly.

It both helps and doesn’t that the internet is so invested. All the clips Jungkook keeps posting have re-doubled your Patreon numbers, and jumping up a tax bracket never hurt anyone, you included. But all of those jokes and memes largely went unanswered by both you and Namjoon, still too close to the incident to find the humor in it from the other side.

The two of you had sex.

Not literally, of course, but you figure you might as well have with the way you’re feeling. The way you’re avoiding one another. Someone wrote a story about the two of you having sex and you both read it and something about that, days later, feels really fucking unsettling.

In a bad way? You aren’t sure. It’s not like you’re mad or upset or any other synonym. You just feel… off. Itchy from the inside out, and that’s far from the norm in your and Namjoon’s friendship. In all the years you’ve known one another, you’ve never once avoided each other, including the time you’d set him up with a close friend and he showed up 45 minutes late to their date and ghosted after.

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

Maybe it’s because Yoongi had always been there as a buffer. You aren’t of the belief that men and women cannot be platonic friends, but being in a years-long committed relationship nixed a lot of awkward interactions and assumptions off the bat. Even Namjoon had known Yoongi first. Had introduced himself to you in your shared 100-level psych course with a, “Hey, you’re Min Yoongi’s girlfriend, right?” because they ran in the same underground circles and Namjoon had idolized him from afar for years.

Pretty fucked up, then, that Yoongi’s off in Los Angeles with his hot new boyfriend and you’re on your couch, Holly at your feet, pointedly ignoring your texts.

“I’m gonna get a cat,” you say to the dog, trying to redirect his attention when he starts chewing on your sock again. Holly doesn’t offer any input, of course, and he’s a lot like his father in that way. “I can’t believe you have a stepfather. You’re a proper child of divorce now, Min Holly.”

There are a pile of unread texts you continue to ignore in lieu of showing Holly pictures of adoptable cats. A few more memes from Jungkook, one from Namjoon’s new phone asking to move the recording date a few days because “something came up at work,” one from the food delivery service you admittedly use too much offering 10% off your next order, and two from Yoongi. This reminded me of you, the first one says beneath a picture of an ice cream cone on the ground, and another one of him holding a water gun that says send me a picture of my son or else.

You eventually reply back with a picture of your middle finger, Holly nothing but a blurred brown blob in the corner of the frame.

That’s how it goes for the better part of a week. Namjoon’s work issue lasts four days. He doesn’t offer an explanation and you don’t ask for one, you just wait for the all-clear text and try to quiet the nerves once you get it.

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

The more popular the podcast became, the more money rolled in. The more money that rolled in, the more you could afford nicer things. That meant going from recording in Namjoon’s living room to a bona fide office space. Third floor, an expanse of windows and natural light, thirty-five minute commute by train.

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

You can hear Jungkook’s witch cackle from the stairwell, and your mind fills in the blanks of Namjoon’s exasperated sigh. It helps, your brain reminding you that you know these people. You know this is Jungkook’s late gym day, so he’ll be in a pair of sweats and a hoodie that drowns his frame. You know that when Namjoon has work issues and feels like an inconvenience, he always shows up with two boxes of baked goods from the bakery near his place, and you know both of them will save the best donut for you.

So you walk in and Jungkook’s in a hoodie and sweats just like you expect him to be, and there are two boxes of baked goods next to the coffee machine. Both of them say hello and wave and, for all intents and purposes, everything is normal.

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

Not in a bad way. Not in a bad way. He almost always dresses nicely, always looks polished and put-together, usually because he’s either going to or coming from campus—fitted shirts, either of the tee or dress variety, and earth-toned cardigans; tailored trousers that are sometimes corduroy; polished loafers. Sometimes, if he’s feeling extra casual, a stark white pair of tennis shoes.

Today, he wears none of those things.

No, today torture comes in the form of form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt a little oversized so he can roll the sleeves. His hair is brushed back off his face instead of parted down the middle. He’s wearing gold jewelry that glints in the sun. A pair of off-white Converse high-tops. And, much to your horror, he’s also wearing his glasses.

According to the internet, Kim Namjoon is peak husband material, which you can usually ignore, but not when he’s wearing glasses.

You avert your gaze, convinced you’ll burst into flames if you stare too long, not to mention Jungkook will notice and that’s a ribbing you’d rather die than take. So you avert your gaze and pointedly ignore Namjoon, who’s talking about his work crisis to no one in particular. Something about a co-worker going on an unexpectedly early paternity leave, and Namjoon being asked to cover some of his courses until they could find a more permanent fix.

Jungkook asks a question you don’t catch. Because paternity leave means his co-worker and his partner had a baby, presumably via old-fashioned methods, and it’s not a direct mention of sex but it’s close enough to send you into a coughing fit you have to blame on your donut. Neither of them buy it, but Namjoon is a good enough person to look genuinely concerned. Reaches out, probably to slap your back, but the thought of him touching you is just… too much.

So he barely gets out an, “Are you o—” before you choke down whatever’s left in your mouth and cut him off with a, “Yep, all good!” before you’re scurrying off to the opposite side of the room like a little rat.

It doesn’t get any better.

Both of you are so stilted and awkward during recording that Jungkook has to be the voice of reason and call it, suggest trying again tomorrow. Luckily he has enough b-side stuff he can release if need be, Namjoon’s work emergency providing a decent cover, and he sends the two of you home for the afternoon with all the exasperation and incredulity of a disappointed parent.

Thirty-five minutes back home.

Thirty-five minutes to sit in the embarrassment of not being able to do your job. Thirty-five minutes to catastrophize and wonder what you’re going to do if you can’t get it together. Namjoon will keep the podcast, of course; you’ll be replaced with someone else. Maybe someone less cynical, maybe someone more, but undoubtedly a man. After this mess, you can’t imagine Namjoon would want another female co-host.

But as embarrassed as you are, your traitorous brain keeps thinking about Namjoon.

Thirty-five minutes to think about his glasses and his rolled-up sleeves and the way the denim of his jeans contoured perfectly to his thighs. Thirty-five minutes to think about, “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. Thirty-five minutes to squeeze your thighs together and overanalyze the way he stumbled over his words today; how he could barely make eye contact. Thirty-five minutes to draft a dozen resignation texts and delete them all.

You groan, head thunking against the train window. You’ll take a cold shower as soon as you get home.

That’ll cure you.

You get home and walk Holly so long he gives up halfway through and you have to carry him back to your apartment. You take a cold shower and actually find it pleasant once the initial shock wears off, so it doesn’t work to keep all your rogue Namjoon thoughts at bay. You make a simple dinner and don’t think about Namjoon sitting you on the counter and having his way with you. You tuck yourself into bed far too early and consider going back to therapy, because clearly something very, very bad has happened to your psyche.

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

But it’s a new day, and you’re determined to get your shit together. Yesterday was a fluke, because you’re so normal and so capable of being in the same room as Kim Namjoon.

Except—you’re not.

Jungkook’s there when you arrive, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Barely looks up at you to say hello, and barely returns it when you do. You double-check the time, because you can count on two fingers the amount of times you’ve shown up and Namjoon wasn’t already there, jotting down extensively-detailed notes, circling and highlighting and chasing down Jungkook to ask questions.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

You roll your eyes. “Super helpful, thanks.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes right back. “You don’t pay me enough to also be his handler.”

You bite your tongue. Arguing with Jungkook means you’ve already lost the war. Not worth it. But it still eases your worries a bit that he doesn’t know any more than you do. That Namjoon hadn’t only texted him to say why he was running late because he didn’t want to—or couldn’t—talk to you.

So you wait. And you wait and you wait and you wait. Jungkook lets you talk to people on his dating apps and tells you about his new gym routine until your eyes are glazing over. Orders food delivery for the two of you because he gets hungry after an hour and had already eaten what was left of the snacks before you arrived. Cracks a joke that isn’t really a joke about calling the police, because Namjoon still hasn’t shown up and he hasn’t said anything and none of your texts are showing as delivered.

You’re halfway to hour two when the office door bursts open and Namjoon stumbles through, soaked with sweat and stammering over apologies.

“I am so sor—I broke my phone again so my alarm never went off and then I missed my bus? And apparently they’re not running the regular bus schedule today so the next one was a half-hour wait, but then I…”

You don’t catch the rest, because Namjoon is covered in sweat and breathing heavily and a week ago you could’ve survived this. A week ago you would’ve cracked a joke and handed him a towel and told him to get to work. A week ago you would not have been paralyzed in your seat, transfixed on the sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

You are fucked beyond belief.

Jungkook elbows you in the ribs, bringing you back to reality. “...even paying attention?” You startle, face warming in embarrassment. Namjoon still isn’t looking at you. “This is so sad to watch,” Jungkook mumbles, and thankfully it’s only loud enough for you to hear. “Like some stupid shit you only see in nature documentaries.”

Well, you can’t really argue with that, now can you?

But you’re a professional above all, so you hum an acknowledgment and take your regular seat. Pointedly ignore Jungkook. Wait for Namjoon to assume his position as well, and you’re surprised to see the space in front of him empty. No notes. No script. There’s just… nothing.

“Are you okay?” you ask, gesturing to the space in front of him when he seems confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a stack of notes in front of you.”

“I forgot them.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, either.”

Your tone is light and airy, not at all accusing or confrontational, but Namjoon’s jaw clenches nonetheless. He scoffs, fires a shitty little, “Were you not paying attention when I was talking about what a horrible fucking morning I’ve had?” at you that makes even Jungkook flinch. A few moments of stunned silence, and then, “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, that was rude—”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, and all of a sudden you feel too big for your body. Feel like there are ants beneath your skin, feel like everything is wrong, and you don’t want to be here anymore. “It’s fine. Let’s just—”

Namjoon looks like he wants to argue, but he just sighs and says, “I—yeah, okay.”

This is where Namjoon would usually launch into the intro, a dimpled smile already plastered on his face that’d drop as he discussed another failed first date with that brand of self-deprecation that makes him so endearing. This is where he’d say what have you been up to, Pipe, and you’d try not to groan because how hard could it possibly be to add one more letter, another syllable, but Namjoon seems incapable of it. This is the part that, for three years, has been seamless and easy and instinctual, just two friends having a conversation.

There’s a red light on your microphones that indicates you’re recording. It’s on and it mocks you, because Namjoon is not doing the intro or telling you about a failed date. He doesn’t use that cringey nickname. He doesn’t say anything at all. His mouth opens and shuts and no words come out. What’s worse is that you know exactly why he can’t speak, because you’re thinking about it, too.

“So, uh,” you begin, and Jungkook makes a gagging sound from behind you. “Come here often?”

Namjoon ignores you. “Right, right, the intro…” He sucks in a breath. “Welcome back to another episode of Put Him in the Trash, I’m—”

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

“Piper. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?”

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

“You said Put Him in the Trash.” Namjoon just blinks. “It’s Place Him Gently in the Garbage.”

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

He looks at Jungkook, who is hiding behind his hands. “Is she right?”

A beat of silence. “I can’t do this,” he half-shouts, half-whines. “Are you two going to be like this forever? Because if you are, I’m quitting. I’m so serious. I’m gonna quit. I can’t take it anymore. The two of you are insufferable.” Another beat of silence, before Jungkook stands at full height and lords over you and Namjoon. “Forget today. Just go home and try again on Monday. This is so—I’m seriously gonna quit.”

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

Yijeong isn’t with him, which is almost disappointing. Now that he’s dating again, you were looking forward to seeing just how awkward it could get with the three of you in the same room, but he looks good. Refreshed. The trip clearly did a world of good for him, and you can’t even bring yourself to crack a joke at his expense.

He, however, has no such hang-ups. “You look like shit.”

“Weird way to say thank you.” You click your tongue and look down at Holly. “Do you see how your father treats me? You should bite him.”

“My son would never. But also, thank you.” He flops onto the sofa. “You do look like shit, though. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you, preferably.”

“Oh, gross, is it a dating thing, then?”

“I—no.” You pause. It’s not a dating thing, but you still feel like you’ve got motion sickness whenever you think about it. How would you even begin to explain this to Yoongi, anyway? Someone wrote a porn fic about me and Namjoon. You remember Namjoon, right? Namjoon, that I’ve known and have been friends with since college. Yeah, that Namjoon. Anyway, someone wrote fanfiction about us having sex, and it fucked me up so bad I can no longer be in the same room as him.

No fucking way.

“You look like you’re holding in a fart.”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of you. Did you just come here to insult me?”

He snorts, but his smirk dissipates a few seconds later, a familiar seriousness filling the void. “We’re okay, right? Was the Yijeong thing too soon?”

“No,” you answer immediately, leaning over to flick him on the forehead. “We’re fine, and if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.” He still looks doubtful. “You want me to start singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ or something? It’s just… weird work stuff.”

“Depends. Are you singing the Dolly Parton or Whitney version? And real work or podcast work?”

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

Yoongi seems surprised by this, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe. “Like, the podcast with Namjoon?” He presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek when you nod your head. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Like I said, it’s weird. It wasn’t, like, an argument or anything.”

“How weird?”

“You’re so fake, Min Yoongi. You act like you’re so distinguished and above drama, but really you’re just as hungry for gossip as the rest of us.”

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

God help you, you’re going to rip off the band-aid. “Someone… Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Someone… wrote? Fanfiction? About us.”

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

“About us… uh. Having sex? Specifically.”

“Oh my god—”

“Jungkook found it and thought it’d be funny if we read it for an episode.”

“Oh my god?”

“So we did? And it was really weird, which I expected, because I’ve known Namjoon for a long time, and I never, ever thought about having sex with him because we were together and me and Namjoon are friends, so yeah, it was fucking weird. But now… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it? And now we can’t even be in the same room as one another.” Yoongi is a concerning shade of red. “So our show is gonna get canceled, because we can only release b-side stuff for so long until people realize something’s up, and it was Namjoon’s podcast to begin with so obviously I’ll get fired—”

“Oh my god, you want to fuck Namjoon.”

Yoongi sounds like a strangled cat when he says this, which does not help the way you feel like you’ve been hit square in the face with a frying pan. “No,” you argue, though it sounds more like a question. You do not want to fuck Namjoon. “No, no. No. It’s just because it was weird.”

“Did you forget I dated you for six years? I know what you look like when you want to fuck someone.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t be weird if someone wrote fanfiction about you fucking your friend?”

“Not if I didn’t actually want to fuck them, no.”

“You’re a liar. Get your dog and get out of my apartment.”

Yoongi laughs as he stands. Pats you on the back in the most condescending way you’ve ever had someone pat you on the back. “Let me know how it goes. No need to give me credit for your moment of horny clarity.”

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

Unfortunately, as you come to find out, he’s also a correct bastard.

You want to fuck Namjoon.

Which is… not great, you have to admit, considering he can barely stand to be around you, so you take another cold shower and decide you’re going to take this to your grave. You’re going to spend the rest of the weekend getting your shit together, and you’re going to show up on Monday and be a consummate professional. You’re going to look at Namjoon and say, ha ha, isn’t it so funny someone thought we would have sex? I don’t think about it at all because I am so cool and normal about it.

You’ve got it all planned out. You’re going to show up fifteen minutes early with your own box of pastries. You’re going to look nice, if not a little pretentious—maybe a nice sweater. You’re going to be prepared with notes of your own. You might even be nice to the villain of the week so Namjoon doesn’t have to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh at you.

And then someone knocks on your door.

You find Namjoon on the other side, and all your plans immediately go to shit.

Has he always been this tall? You can’t remember. You can’t remember a lot of things, including how to speak, because Yoongi had launched you into a crisis of epic proportions and now here’s the source of it, standing right in front of you. With all of his… height. And thighs. And that heady, musky cologne he always wears, that you can still smell now even though there’s an unfortunate amount of distance between you.

“Uh, hi.”

You blink. “Hi,” you parrot, and it’s a little insulting how one single word seems to have sucked up all of your brainpower. “Namjoon,” you tack on, not awkward at all.

“Sorry to just show up,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. Very bad idea; makes his biceps bulge. You barely swallow your whimper. “It’s just—my phone’s still broken, and it felt bad leaving things how we did? So I was hoping we could talk.”

Talk. Namjoon wants to talk to you. Normally: not a problem. Currently: big problem. You manage a nod, open the door wider to let him in, and you don’t think about how jarring it is to have Namjoon in your space. You don’t think about how your legs feel like jelly all of a sudden, or what it’d be like if Namjoon bent you over the couch, or the kitchen counter, or the—

You cough. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, sure. Maybe just some water if you have it.”

If you have it. What kind of person doesn’t have water? But you tell him to make himself comfortable and get him some anyway, and you mull too long over the size of the glass. Ultimately decide on a smaller one, because if things get unbearably awkward you can excuse yourself to the kitchen to get more.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Namjoon says from the living room, and when you look up he’s sorting through a stack of books near the window. Some he’d lent you months ago, notes jotted in the corners, sticky notes in the shape of sea animals on important pages. “You ever wind up reading this?”

The Idiot. Namjoon had raved about it when he was in the midst of his 19th century Russian phase, right after he’d read a bunch of Tolstoy and Pushkin. You shake your head—though, judging from the title, you wonder if someone hadn’t written your biography.

“It’s good. If you have the time, you should definitely give it a shot.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, handing over his water. You take a seat in an armchair, pull your knees to your chest. Namjoon’s still looking through your books, isn’t looking at you, so it feels safe to say, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He moves to sit on the floor, massive thighs spreading until he’s comfortable. Thank god he can’t see the look on your face. “I just wanted to make sure we’re alright. Things have felt pretty weird since we filmed the, uh.” He coughs. “Thing.”

“Right, yeah.” You realize he’s waiting for an answer, and you offer up a very rushed, “We’re fine, Joon.”

“Are you sure?”

Yeah, you’re sure: sure you absolutely cannot be having this conversation in the safety and sanctity of your own home. It’s tainted now, contaminated by all your uncontrolled horny thoughts about the man in front of you. You’ll have to fumigate. Might have to pick up and move, actually, or call an exorcist.

“I’m sure,” you assure him. “The… thing… was weird, but it’s fine. Temporary.”

“Do you think we shouldn’t have done it?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because, in isolation, reading a porn fic about yourselves wasn’t a big deal. No one got hurt. Everyone who needed to be consulted was consulted. The episode made the two of you a lot of money, and Jungkook even promised to send some of it to the author, so your bases are beyond covered.

So, should you have done it? There wasn’t a good enough reason not to, because the story itself was never the problem.

The problem is staring you right in the face. It’s sitting on your floor, a book cracked in half at the spine and forgotten in his lap. The problem is looking at you like you hold all the answers to the universe’s secrets, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. The problem is that Namjoon is looking at you like that from across the room but you’re wondering what it’d look like from on top of you.

The problem is that you’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, have known him even longer, and you’ve just realized today that you want to have sex with him.

And you can’t say that, can you, because Namjoon came here to fix things which really does not lend itself to a hookup. Namjoon cares about your friendship and your working relationship so much he came here to try and salvage it, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut. You’re going to say, “I think it’s okay that we did,” and leave it at that. Because it is okay.

Because you’re the problem.

It feels like a small victory when Namjoon sags in relief. When he exhales and says, “Okay, good, because I think so, too.”

“It made us a lot of money,” you tack on.

Namjoon’s eyes widen as he laughs. “Right? Like, that was almost too much money. Just to watch us read porn?”

“About ourselves. I think that was the selling point.”

He stands. You do, too. “Never thought I’d be doing that,” he says, returning the book to where it belongs. “Definitely the most embarrassing thing I’ve done for money.”

“Being a man with a podcast wasn’t embarrassing enough?”

He snorts. Gets closer to the door. “Hey now.” You’re going to survive this. “Thanks for entertaining me, by the way. For a second there I was really worried we’d fucked it all up.”

Just the ending. Just one more thing to say and you’ll be done with this, and then you can take your third cold shower in recent memory and triple text Yoongi with a full-fledged mental breakdown. Maybe he’ll bring Holly back and you can register him as your emotional support animal.

And Namjoon must sense the awkwardness that’s crept back in, because he tries to cover it with a joke. Says, “Haaa, like you’d actually piss on me, right?”

Except it sounds like he’s got a mouth full of marbles.

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

Because he says like you’d actually piss on me but you hear like you’d actually kiss me, and there isn’t a universe that exists in which the following makes sense: you, stunned into silence in the doorframe, Namjoon saying his goodbyes, you thinking fuck it, last chance and saying, “Yeah, I’d kiss you.”

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

Your entire body is on fire. “Is, uh. Is that not what you said?”

“I don’t think it matters anymore what I said.”

“I’d argue that it does, for the sake of my digni—”

“You’d kiss me?” Namjoon… doesn’t look put off of the idea, which is surely a point in your favor. Interesting to note that his diction is crystal clear, now. Bastard. “You’d kiss me right now?”

There’s also no explanation for the way you say: “It’s only been an option for ten seconds and you’re already begging for it?”

You’d say there’s no explanation for the way Namjoon’s jaw clenches, the way he repeats I don’t beg for anything, but maybe the simple fact is: the two of you want to fuck each other. And, judging from the way Namjoon crowds your space, keeps dropping his gaze to your mouth, it seems very likely to happen.

All that fixating you’d done on Namjoon’s thighs was wasted, you think, as you take in the shape of his mouth. His lips. The way his tongue darts out to run along the bottom at the last second before he reaches out, tilts your head up, and finally presses his mouth to yours.

And you’ve got to laugh, because no piece of written fiction could ever accurately portray what it feels like. How soft his lips are. The way he touches you—gentle, but still dominant enough to have you moving the way he wants, have you backing up into your apartment so he can smile against your mouth as he closes the door behind him.

No piece of fiction would get it right, the way you’re unsteady on your feet, breathless at the way Namjoon’s kissing you. How he only breaks apart long enough to ask where do you want me in that throaty, deep voice of his. How you’re so overwhelmed you can’t decide: unsure if you want to waste the time it’d take to get to your bedroom, but if it’s only going to happen once, wanting to make it count.

So you decide to risk it. Plant your hands in the middle of his exceptionally broad chest and push him in the direction of the hallway, and if the two of you can’t wait, can’t control yourselves, well.

But the story had gotten one thing right: Namjoon does kiss like a branding iron, hot and greedy. Namjoon kisses you like there’s nothing else he wants to do in this lifetime, and it makes you dizzy. Has you off-kilter, stumbling into the wall as you try to remember where the fuck your bedroom is and why it’s so far. Just like the fictional version of you, you also moan when he licks into your mouth.

“Should I do it the way we did in the fic?” Namjoon asks as the two of you cross the threshold into your bedroom, a cheeky grin on his face. “Do it like this?” he questions, pushing you gently until you’re on the back in the middle of your bed, chest heaving as you lift your head to look at him.

Namjoon is so, so big from where you lay, just hovering at the foot of your bed. Cheeks ruddy, bulge prominent. “What’d you say you wanted?”

Takes a second to remember how to breathe, let alone what you’d read. What do you want, Namjoon had asked, right before he’d sank to his knees in front of you. “Whatever you’re willing to give,” you answer.

Namjoon smiles. Puts one knee on the bed, and the way it dips beneath his weight is unsettling. Why does he have to be so fucking large. “That’s right, baby.” Christ, you think, because there’s another thing that fic had gotten right. No one on earth would be immune to Namjoon calling them baby in that tone of voice.

The riposte biting at the back of your teeth gets swallowed whole as Namjoon grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed. “May I?” he asks, hands poised above the waistline of your leggings. You nod, and Namjoon drags down your underwear with them. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans, awe creeping into the edge of his words.

“You want me to do it the same way? Hm? You’re being awfully quiet; thought you were giving me shit about being the one in charge,” he chides.

Because you’re short-circuiting. Namjoon’s on his knees, just like you’d envisioned, and his mouth is dangerously close to your cunt. How can you be expected to think and speak under these conditions? But if Namjoon can find the brainpower to be a bastard, so can you, because what you’d read and the way he’d reacted can both never be forgotten. So you thread your hands into his hair and pull. The resulting moan is enough to sustain you for years.

“Are you gonna keep running your mouth, or are you gonna make me come on it?”

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

There’s precedent. Fictional Namjoon ate you out like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough. Had fictional you writhing and insatiable, so it’s a lot to live up to, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He hesitates for only a second, giving you one last chance to back out before the two of you set every last boundary on fire, and then he’s settling between your thighs and making you see stars.

Now you know what it’s like. Now you don’t have to rely on fiction, and it doesn’t matter because it’d never compare to the way Namjoon feels as he works to bring you to your ruin. The way he flattens his tongue to lick long, thick stripes; the way his lips suction around your clit. The way it feels when he groans against your core. The way he says, “Fuck, you do taste good,” like that’s a completely normal thing to say. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you.

But you need more and Namjoon knows it. His mouth doesn’t leave your cunt for a second, but his fingers find your mouth, so you put on a show. Wrap your lips around them, suck on them the way he’s doing to you, make sure they’re slick. Namjoon groans again, doubles his efforts. Slides one thick finger inside of you and barely lets you adjust before he’s adding a second.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Namjoon has you unraveling. Presses incessantly on a spot that has your vision whiting out. Has you trembling, a little panicked as you say, “Joon, fuck—Namjoon, wait—” as it builds and builds and builds.

You might black out for a second, because you come to and Namjoon looks… stunned. He looks like he can’t believe any of what just happened, and you blink a few times, try to come back into your body, and when you regain enough consciousness, you’re extremely aware of the large wet patch beneath you.

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

“Namjoon, that’s not—that’s embarrassing—can you grab a—”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Presses the taste of you into your skin, and all those silly protests die in your throat, because if Namjoon was needy before, he’s desperate now. Covers your body with his own, hips dipping down low enough to press his erection into the juncture of your thigh, and the weight of him is delicious. Has you fisting the fabric of his t-shirt to pull him closer, has you pulling it over his head, his pants following. Has your hands skimming down every thick part of his body until you reach his cock, hard and aching and slick with pre-cum.

“I need to suck you off later,” you say, done with overthinking. Time to just be honest, and Kim Namjoon has a dick you need to feel down your throat. “Remind me.”

He whines, thrusts into your hand a little harder. “How could I forget that?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t know if this would be the only time,” you answer. “Did you bring a condom?” Namjoon nods, fetches one from his wallet and rolls it on.

He hovers above you again. Looks nervous, all of a sudden, like he can’t tell his lefts from his rights. All out of sorts. You’re about to tell him it’s fine, you don’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to, don’t have to do anything at all, when he says, “It doesn’t have to be.” You just stare. “The only time.”

There’s a conversation to be had. You know that. Both of you clearly have feelings you need to talk about and sort out, but you reckon they can wait. They’ll still be there in the afterglow, in the morning. So you nod, say okay, Joon, and kiss away the insecurities that still linger.

You think about the fic. Think maybe Namjoon would appreciate it if you cracked a stupid joke, just like he’d tried to do earlier. “Has anyone ever called your cock stupid?”

He laughs, breath fanning against your skin. “No. Wanna try it and see what happens?”

Might as well. You try to remember the exaggerated tone of voice you’d used. Repeat the line—“Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”—and wait.

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

Namjoon swallows thickly. “I, um. Unfortunately, I think that really works for me.” You laugh. Pull him closer. Wrap your legs around his waist as he starts to move against you. Has jokes of his own. “Please. Please let me fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, laugh tapering into a giggle. “Do you know how?” Namjoon nods, looking all too much like a puppy eager to please its owner. “Do you promise?” He nods again. “Okay. Okay, come here.”

You expect him to move fast; expect the first time to be frenzied and a little awkward. It isn’t. Namjoon lines himself up and pushes the smallest bit inside, and then he’s leaning down to kiss you. Threads your fingers together, squeezes your hand. Pushes further inside and mumbles praise just beneath your ear.

It’s dizzying, the amount of care Namjoon handles you with. How soft he is. Does nothing to ease the discomfort of the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, but he talks you through it. Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you look. Spills a lot of words you’d probably be embarrassed to hear and he’d be embarrassed to say if this was any other time, but in the heat of the moment it all just works to unravel you faster.

He bottoms out. “Okay?” he asks, and you’re rewarded with a dimpled smile when you say you are. Namjoon is a devastating kind of beautiful.

But, as he gives you time to adjust and you give him the all-clear, he also fucks like a demon. What once was hand-holding is now your wrists pinned to the bed, your body caged beneath him as he rolls his hips at a pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head. You’ve been deceived. Lured into a false sense of security.

It’s almost a shame this isn’t being recorded, because you want to memorize all the sounds Namjoon’s making. Want to hear them for the rest of your life. Don’t want anyone else to be the reason he sounds like this, and as he ups his pace and presses his lips to your neck, you don’t want to sound like this because of anyone else, either.

Maybe one of those times in the future, you can talk him into it.

Namjoon reaches down, rubs circles into your clit. Every time you think you might be close, he pulls his hand away, smiles like the devil. You let him have his fun for a while, let him think you’re keen to lie back and take it, and then you tighten your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back.

He doesn’t think it’s very funny. Looks up at you all bewildered. “What’re you—”

“You were taking too long,” you snark. “Figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“Yeah? Shit,” he says as you begin to move. “Fuck, baby, like that. Ride me just like that.”

You do. Don’t change a thing, because Namjoon’s cock is long and thick enough to hit exactly where you need it to. You can feel yourself clenching, feel yourself getting wetter, and the sight of Namjoon beneath you does nothing to stave off the inevitable. He looks even better than you’d imagined: skin flushed, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, sweat-slick. You want to make him cry. Want to give him the entire world. You will.

Namjoon thrusts at the same time you roll your hips, and that’s what does it. Has you crying out, has stars flashing behind your eyelids. Has you saying fuck, fuck, fuck as he drives you over the edge for the second time. Has you on the brink of oversensitive as he thrusts a few more times to chase his own end, almost delirious at the way Namjoon moans as he spills into the condom.

Has you swooning, just a bit, at the dopey way Namjoon smiles at you, eyes half-lidded and crinkled at the corners.

“Was that okay?”

You snort. “Yeah, I’d say it was decent.”

“Maybe next time you could pee on me,” he jokes.

You whack him on the chest. “Sure. Or we could record it.”

Has you a little shocked at the way his cock twitches inside of you at the mention of it.

On Monday, you don’t wear a pretentious sweater.

When you stroll in, Jungkook’s already got the best donut shoved halfway into his mouth because he’s a shithead. He eyes you warily, probably hoping with all his hope that you spent the weekend finding God and getting your shit together.

And then he realizes you’ve got on Namjoon’s hoodie and he nearly chokes to death.

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

Namjoon appears at that very moment, and it’s so hard not to take credit for the way he’s glowing, the dazed smile on his face. But Jungkook notices, because Jungkook notices everything, and his gaze darts between the two of you: your hoodie, Namjoon’s face, your face. He opens his mouth, something inappropriate bound to spill out, but Namjoon beats him to the punch. “Ready?” he asks you, and you nod.

It’s seamless.

No hiccups, no awkward stuttering. Namjoon gets through the intro without a hitch, and it feels exactly like it used to. Just two friends having a conversation. It’s obvious Jungkook still wants to say something, but after suffering through last week, he stays quiet lest he makes it worse and sends the two of you back to the bad place.

“How was your weekend, Pipe? Do anything fun?” Namjoon rolls his lips, tries not to laugh.

So you play along. “No, not really, just some dog sitting. How about you?”

“Oh, you know me. Had another first date on Saturday.”

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

It’s a blessing Jungkook isn’t filming this, because your eyebrows raise so far they nearly disappear from your face altogether. There isn’t even a hint of hesitation in Namjoon’s voice, and although you would’ve described it the same way, hearing him say it with such conviction has you a little stunned. “Wow. You gonna see her again?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, sharing a private smile with you. “I think I am.”

who the FUCK is namjoon dating Posted by u/pod-shipper 7 minutes ago This has honestly ruined my entire day. I thought all the stories he told about dating were a bit… Like, what kind of guy has a podcast about relationships but can’t seem to be in one? But you could just HEAR it in his voice how much he likes this woman he went on a date with over the weekend and I’m sick to my stomach. (+2195) ↳ bro you and me both 😭 i genuinely thought him and piper had something going on fr (+1302) ↳ Seriously might stop listening because of this! Any woman with self-respect would never let their partner host a podcast with someone they’re obviously in love with. If he gets serious with this woman, Piper will be gone within 6 months, mark my words. (+927) ↳ I wouldn’t worry about it too much! My cousin works at a really nice restaurant in the same city Namjoon lives in, and she said she saw this “date” on Saturday and that it wasn’t anything serious. (+788) ↳ Piper got a cat and Namjoon finally got a second date. Face it, it’s over. (+325) ↳ cannot believe him and piper aren’t dating.. do you think i should delete all my tiktok edits? (+4) ↳ this is unhinged lmfao i thought y’all hated piper? you’re in here bitching abt her being a “misandrist” every week and now ur gonna stop listening bc namjoon isn’t dating her? pick a lane and stay in it (-64)

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and reblogs/shares are always welcome! I appreciate you very much~ ♡

#namjoon x reader #namjoon smut #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x reader #namjoon fanfic #namjoon imagine #namjoon scenarios #namjoon x you #namjoon x y/n #bts imagines #bts scenarios #jewel writes

[wntrs0ldier]

An Offer · part 03

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 3,3k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.)

<previous part | next part> | series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

Since the question of marriage came into your life, everything else has receded into the background. Even if you tried to distract yourself, you couldn't focus on anything other than agreements, mergers, potential offers and, most importantly, fears about the future. You wondered whether the Rumlow Family would agree to talk again. If not, what was left for you? You didn't have enough time to learn how to manage your father's business; to master all the functions of the Head of the Family. Besides, you didn't even have the right qualities to become one. 

Unable to concentrate on your work, you closed your laptop. Your gallery was scheduled to host an exhibition soon, and you had been doing your best to give it enough attention, but you gave up after the fifth mindless reading of an email. Having stood by a huge window that overlooked a patch of the city, you let your thoughts wander somewhere to the beginning of your life, or at least to the moment when you began to be aware of it. You reflected on which decision – yours or someone around you – had brought you to this point.

You weren't sure about your father, but your mother didn't want that life for you. When she thought you were old and sensible enough, she would say: Never marry a gangster.

But this life never bothered you. You weren't afraid of guns or blood, and the usual dangers that came with what your father did didn't particularly scare you.

For the first few years of your life you were no different from any other kid. But as soon as you finished elementary school, your parents sent you to a private girls' school in London, where you spent the next six years. At first you thought the prestigious academy abroad was a real opportunity. Only later did you realise what it was really all about. Your mother panicked; she didn't want to let you soak up the darkness and ruthlessness of the world that was your father's everyday life. She believed that there was something inside you already, and that it needed to be nipped in the bud.

But her plan failed. You noticed and understood more than was thought. Sending you to another country didn't get the job done, because when you came home for holidays and long weekends, you seeked ways to absorb as much as possible of what your mother was protecting you from. Your father, on the other hand, seeing your enthusiasm and fascination, secretly allowed you to explore this world, but dispensed it safely. You may not have become an expert because of this, but you were not completely clueless either. You learned a few things.

Your mind swiftly connected your past with the relationship you had with Bucky. You both came from the same background, your father having a good relationship with both George and Timothy Barnes. Despite this, Bucky's and your paths never really crossed. He was six years older than you, so when you finally finished school and returned home permanently, you didn’t see him often.

You wouldn't say that you knew him. You were only aware of his existence, you had heard things about him. You witnessed the assassination of his father and then Bucky just disappeared. He left New York for two years.

And now? You considered an analogy – he was becoming to you what George and Timothy were to your father. You supposed you both had it in your blood; a mutual affection for each other.

Your thoughts were disturbed by a knock at the door. A girl named Tracy, who worked in the gallery, entered your office with a big bouquet of hyacinths and white tulips. This sight caught you off guard. 

“Who are these from?” Tracy asked, grinning with excitement. She put the flowers on the desk. 

You raised your eyebrows. “I thought you'd tell me.”

“Courier delivered them.” She looked at the flowers with persistent admiration. You would have given a lot to be able to share her enthusiasm, but you were aware that this bouquet could have meant anything. Like another offer, you thought uneasily. 

Noticing a small piece of paper, you reached carefully between the stems. You didn't expect to know the handwriting; nevertheless, you felt even more anxious.

These flowers are supposed to symbolize an apology. Really. Check that out. 

Sorry.

Your first suspicion fell on Brock. Could it be that he regretted the way he behaved in the pub that day? No one else had offended you enough to send flowers. And even though you still didn't want to have anything to do with Brock, you couldn't get rid of them. The bouquet didn't make you forgive Brock, but it didn't deserve to be thrown away either.

Another sleepless night was no particular surprise, but you felt too exhausted to accept it. Besides, you couldn’t let tiredness affect your next day – you had to be able to think properly, especially now. So having taken something to help you sleep, you lay in the darkness, waiting for the effects.

Until something caught your attention. 

A quiet tap, but you couldn't tell where it was coming from. Immediately afterwards you heard it again. You sat up on the bed, switched on the bedside lamp – which blinded you at first – and looked around. With another tap you realised that it was the sound of something hitting the window. 

You got out of bed and walked there. Because of the moonlight outside, it was bright enough for you to recognise the man standing below. Without a second thought, you opened the window.

“Hi,” Bucky spoke. 

You stuck your head out and smiled; you tried to do it with disapproval, but you had to admit that his presence instantly lightened your mood. And the fact that the scene looked like a forbidden romance of teenagers allowed you to forget about your current problems. “Did you just throw rocks at my window?”

“Would you rather I scream? I can scream.” He lifted his eyebrows with conviction.

You raised your eyebrows expectantly.

“Actually, I can’t,” Bucky said, and you let out a brief laugh. “I’m too scared of Michael,” he lowered his voice. 

“And that's why you are standing there instead of using the door,” you guessed, causing him to nod. “Do you want me to come down to you..?”

“I can go up to you.” He shrugged casually. 

“Oh, really?” 

Hearing the skepticism in your voice, Bucky shook his head resignedly, theatrically offended by your lack of confidence in his abilities, then moved closer to the wall. You watched him with a kind of awe, certain that he would give up at the last moment. At least, that seemed the most sensible option to you. However, Bucky grabbed onto the drainpipe, and placing his feet on its fixings, began to climb upwards. Your eyes widened. 

On the one hand, you wanted to stop him; to ask him to come back down. On the other, the sight gave you too much joy that you didn't want to take away from yourself.

You moved back to a safe distance so Bucky could slip inside without trouble, and when he was on the final straight, you grabbed his arm with both hands and pulled him into the room. Not that he needed it, but your conscience did.

“Thanks,” he breathed, dusting off his T-shirt and jeans.

The typical coolness of a spring night was coming in, so you closed the window, then reached for your robe and threw it over your shoulders. When you turned your gaze towards Bucky again, you found him by your dresser. 

“So, this is your room,” he concluded, inspecting the scented candle he had grabbed from the top of the dresser. He unscrewed the lid of a small jar and hesitantly sniffed the wax inside. Only then did he glance at the label, frowning. “It's… not how I'd imagined.”

Your forehead creased. “What? My room?”

“Lounge At Night.” Bucky lifted the candle so you could see what he was talking about. You rolled your eyes, snorting a quiet laugh. “You like them? Scented candles?” 

“Mhm,” you answered, watching him with patience. You wondered what he was up to. And why did he come here. 

“I've never thought about your room. I'm not that perverted like-” he cut off suddenly, unsure whether he should mention that.

“Like Brock?” 

Bucky smiled at first, then let out a quiet sigh. Staring at you with something you couldn’t exactly figure out, he chewed on his bottom lip. “I’m sorry if I took away your chance to get married.”

“Wasn't that the plan? To cool Michael’s enthusiasm?” You squinted, the corners of your mouth turned up in an amused smile. “Anyway…” you added more seriously. “I wouldn’t call Brock a chance.”

“Good. Because I’m not really sorry.” He raised his eyebrows, and you cackled again. Talking to Bucky turned out to be a pleasant escape from all the important conversations you've been having lately. 

But you felt uneasy, having recalled the situation in the gallery. “I don't know if he's not up to something. I… got some flowers today,” you said nervously. 

There was some slight change in Bucky's face, which you could barely see in the faint light of the bedside lamp. Sparks of boyish sneakiness flickered in his eyes, but otherwise he remained unmoved. “White tulips and blue hyacinths?” 

You didn't immediately realise what he was actually telling you. But when you did, your brows drew together and your lips parted slightly, but no sound came out except for a single short breath. “Those were from you?” 

Bucky nodded. “What I did was wrong. I left you in that pub without saying anything. I was a bit harsh, too, and you did nothing to deserve it.”

You pursed your lips helplessly. It wasn't that you felt relieved when it turned out that Brock hadn't given you an outstretched hand. You were somehow touched by Bucky's gesture. Not only had he sent you flowers, but – as the little note in the bouquet told – he had made sure they were not accidental.

“Hey…” Bucky began softly, walking up to you. He seemed concerned. “I’m sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” you protested right away. “I didn't expect to get flowers from you, that's all.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed as he studied your face in silence. Just by that expression you could feel the teasing coming. “Is it that shocking? You think I'm that thick skinned?”

“You said yourself you’re not a guy to marry,” you pointed out. “So, yes, such romantic gestures from you can be pretty shocking.”

A corner of his mouth lifted. “Romantic gestures?” 

“Leave it,” you warned. “I don't often get flowers. That's why I was so moved.”

“I thought men throw themselves at your feet.” Bucky seemed genuinely surprised. 

“Sometimes they do. But they don’t buy me flowers,” you clarified, smirking. “So far you are the only one who has done both,” you reminded him, referring to the situation at the funeral. And although you felt embarrassed at the time, now this event slightly sweetened your memories. “The bouquet was really beautiful. Thank you.” Your mouth curved into a delicate smile. “And for what you did for me in the car that day. And for Brock.”

Bucky's face softened again. At first he gazed at you with mild surprise, astonished by your gratitude. It seemed he wasn't waiting for a thank you, which you didn't suspect him of anyway. “I get you out of trouble, right?” 

“And I don’t understand why you do it every time.”

“I told you, I want to do some good. For a change.” Bucky shrugged. 

“Mhm,” you murmured unconvinced. 

“You're saying I should sit around and do nothing?”

“Well, I’m not your problem, aren’t I?” 

You secretly hoped that you would manage to frustrate him with your tenacity enough that he might finally tell you the real reason. But Bucky appeared completely controlled; without even blinking, he patiently put up with your innocent push. 

“You can become my problem,” he said. If it wasn't for the fact that his calmness impressed you most of the time, you would probably find it annoying. “If Brock gets carried away by his pride, and I think that is what will happen, he won't want an alliance with us.”

“If I marry Brock, our Families won't have a good relationship anymore?” you made sure, putting it into as simple words as possible. Your brain was working at a lower and lower speed - the sleeping pills you had taken a few minutes ago were slowly starting to kick in.

Bucky nodded.

“Why won't your uncle talk to Michael?” You frowned.

“Because that's just a guess. My guess. And all Michael cares about is putting your father's business in good hands. It's the only right way to go, but he believes too much in agreements. He thinks he’ll have Rumlows’ loyalty with their signatures. But he won’t.”

You were again stepping into the sensitive area – topics you would have preferred to avoid, to get away from. But when Bucky shared with you what he thought about it all, you knew you could listen to him for hours.

You had a real intellectual in front of you; a far-sighted strategist with a nose for people. If you hadn't had several conversations with him, witnessed him speak, you wouldn't have suspected him of the brilliant way his mind worked. After all, just a moment ago he had climbed up the drainpipe into your room. He was wearing that leather jacket of his, a bruise from his clash with Brock and healing wounds on his knuckles. There was still a stubble on his face that many might call untidy; you wondered when he'd get rid of it and if he'd do it at all. You remembered that he looked a bit different in the past – much shorter hair that curled shyly into soft waves, always clean shaven. Now he seemed to wear the remains of what he had become in his absence. You didn't know him well enough, you'd never had the chance to get a good look at him, but you were amazed at how much a person can change in two years. 

Bucky watched you, but he wasn't impatient with the fact that you didn't say anything, didn't refer to his last words. He probably understood that you were tired of it all.

You didn't think you could get so comfortable in his company even when you were both silent. And it seemed that Bucky felt the same way – he didn't look for an opportunity to say anything, he appeared completely relaxed, as if you had known each other for centuries.

“Would you like some tea?” You spoke. 

The corners of his mouth turned up. “What about Michael? He told me to stay away.”

“And yet, here you are. Looks like you don’t mind the consequences.” You raised your eyebrows. Immediately, however, the expression on your face returned to the same gentleness of a moment ago. “Like any decent person at three in the morning, Michael is at his place,” you added, sneaking a hint, at which Bucky squinted slightly. 

“In that case…” He sighed. “Tea is fine. If you don't mind the company of degenerates like me.”

“I can handle it.” You pursed your lips to hide an amused grin. 

Keeping as quiet as possible, you led the way out of your bedroom, then up the stairs and eventually to the kitchen. You put the kettle on, then reached into the cupboard for a tin container of tea.

“Where do you keep your cups?” Bucky asked. 

You gazed at him with confusion – you probably expected him, as a man from your environment, to sit back and idly watch what you were doing. And you wouldn't be angry about it, after all, men were in charge of much more important things; they were the providers, bringing home the money they worked hard for all day. 

You blinked. “They’re just above me, but I’ll-”

Bucky stretched out towards the cupboards you mentioned, thus pushing his body involuntarily against yours. He froze for a moment, and the warmth of his torso, which you felt on your back thanks to the thin material of your robe as well as your nightgown, was enough to make a swarm of butterflies go mad in your stomach and a pleasant shiver spread through your body with a hot wave. And even though Bucky moved away, the goosebumps lingered on your skin for the next few minutes.

You turned hastily, pressing yourself to the edge of the countertop at which you were standing, and gave Bucky an almost terrified look – like an animal backed into a corner. He, too, stared at you anxiously; with fear at how such a small, insignificant gesture had caused so much. That was all it took – the glances you gave each other – for both of you to know that there had just been a slight discharge of the electricity that had hung over you from the moment Bucky appeared in your house for the first time.

Bucky glanced at your lips, but quickly looked away, ashamed and even a little concerned about what was going through his mind. You could feel your cheeks burning.

You both flinched when the kettle started to whistle. You hurriedly moved to turn it off – you didn't want to wake up the whole house. Besides, you had to get out of that situation somehow. With a trembling hand, you poured the tea into two cups and filled them with water, doing these things for longer than they required. You were unable to predict what would happen if you looked at Bucky again.

“Why exactly are you here?” you finally asked. You sounded surprisingly calm, considering what happened just a moment before.

“My mom…” he began, and you looked over your shoulder at him. “She wants you and your sister to come to our house for dinner. Claims you two could use some family time.”

Your brows drew together as you were taking in what he had just said. Perhaps it was actually about you and Suzie, or perhaps Mrs. Barnes felt it was your mother who could use some space – after all, she had lost her husband herself, and knew like no one else what it was like. 

You didn't have the heart to say no. “When..?”

“This Saturday.” 

You nodded carefully, still staring at him. You forgot the tea; you both did.

“You could have called. Or texted,” you said, again pushing to find out the truth. This time you were a little more determined about it; mainly because of what happened. “Why are you here?” you repeated.

Bucky clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. His face took on a particularly helpless expression. “I don’t know. I guess I wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

There was silence, and this time it turned out to be much less comfortable. It seemed that you both stopped trusting each other – stopped trusting your instincts. 

The phone in Bucky's pocket buzzed; even you were able to hear it through the silence that surrounded you. He reached for it and, reluctantly taking his eyes off you, focused on the screen. “I gotta go,” he murmured. “Thanks for the tea,” Bucky added, and you glanced at the cups. “I'll see myself out. You go back to bed.”

For a brief moment you thought he wanted to take a step towards you. Eventually you decided it was just a wrong impression, so you didn't react, just folded your arms. Bucky gave you a crooked smile, then he left.

You listened to his footsteps, and when you heard the front door click, you closed your eyes and  let out a heavy, shaky breath.

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @cybereggpastahoagie @buckysgirl01

#mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x y/n #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #mob bucky #mafia!bucky

[eratolasting]

Tulips (Anthony Bridgerton x Reader)

Summary: At the first ball of the season, you seem to catch the eye of many -- including the eye of the viscount Anthony Bridgerton.

Warnings: Loss of virginity, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, creampies, oral (f receiving).

Word Count: 4.4k

MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY

This wasn’t your first ball, nor would it be your last. It wasn’t even your first season of looking for a husband, yet something was renewed within you after your family's summer stay in the country. A new sort of light within you. You’d grown up a lot more over the holiday and your lady’s maid had learned a new source of hair styling and makeup artistry from the staff at your summer home. It was something that flattered your features a lot more than they had before. 

Even so, your jaw was a bit sharper than it had been before, and your bosom ampler than the lords had remembered. Your legs a little longer — not that they could see that — and your hair a little shinier. You really had grown up a lot, and you were ready to finally find yourself a husband.

Though it wasn’t your first ball, it was the first ball of the season — aptly hosted by Lady Danbury. Like any other season, you assumed a scandal was to come sometime. You hoped to keep that far, far away from your family name. 

You entered the already roaring party with your mama, your father, and your siblings. You collected your dance card and hung it from your glove-clad wrist. You stepped to the back of the room with your brother to grab a refreshment and the two of you stood, side by side, as you sipped from your glasses.

“Has anyone caught your eye?” You asked him. He was to find a wife this season, and you only hoped he found a good one. 

“Not yet,” He responded, his brows quirking upwards as he tilted his glass for another sip. 

“Well, you’ve got to get out there and dance, even if no one looks interesting. You will never know until you speak with them.” You pointed out, giving him a smile.

“You’re one to talk, sister. Are you not on your, what is it, fifth season? If you’re not to find a husband soon, you will be an old maid.” He teased.

“Third season; and I intend on finding one this year.” You promised, not at all put off by his badgering. 

“Excuse me, but I can’t help but notice the lovely young lady you’ve got the attention of tonight. Do you mind if I steal her away for a dance?” Lord something-or-other asked your brother, who only grinned in response. “Of course you may take my sister for a spin on the floor.” He held out his hand for your glass, and you handed it to him before taking the Lord’s offered arm. 

He brought you out onto the dance floor where the two of you delighted in a quadrille together. You smiled at him politely the whole time and answered any questions he had of you. 

He filled out your card at the end and you gave him one last curtsey before finding your way back to your brother who handed your glass back.

“Well?” He asked. 

“Well, what?” You responded, smiling knowingly. 

“Is he the one?” 

“Well, if he calls on me tomorrow I may, in fact, enjoy his company. Lovely fellow, knows how to hold a conversation and dance.” You raised your eyebrows at him.

“Do not put all of your eggs into one basket, sister. There will be many other gentleman callers on you tonight.” He nodded towards another Lord who was approaching you. Before he could say anything, though, loudly from across the room you heard a loud announcement of viscount Bridgerton’s intentions of finding a viscountess this season. 

The thought made your heart race as you looked across the room at him, only catching his face through a sea of heads. 

You’d never get a chance, you knew. Not with the viscount. Not even a dance. Sure, you’d grown into your features and looked more lovely than you had previously, but your standards had to be far lower than the viscount, Anthony Bridgerton. 

You turned back to the gentleman in front of you and smiled, graciously taking his arm as he lead you onto the dancefloor once more. 

This one had been less entertaining than the last, but he was a handsome man. Perhaps he was just nervous? You didn’t know, but you still politely bowed to him as he brought you back to your brother and made his way to other ladies.

“Alright, lad. It’s you’re turn.” You told your brother, taking both glasses from him. “Go dance with at least one girl. You’ve got to.” You tilted your head up at him.

He sighed heavily, but nodded, stalking away to ask some young girl to dance with him.

You sipped from your glass as you looked about the large room, trying to locate your parents and your other siblings — but they were no where to be seen. Strange, really, but there were many people and the room was rather large. Not to mention there were the gardens outside and the balcony upstairs… They could be anywhere.

You watched your brother partake in a few dances, a charming smile on his face as he entertained the women of the ton. You placed your empty glasses on the next servants platter that passed and folded your hands in front of you, waiting patiently for someone else to call on you.

“Excuse me, miss, but I don’t believe we’ve met?” 

You turned your head only to see the very viscount in front of you.

“Lord Bridgerton, it is a pleasure.” You smiled graciously and curtseyed. 

“The pleasure is mine, Miss…?” He smiled suavely back at you.

You told him your name, and he offered his arm to you. You delicately took it, and he lead you out onto the dancefloor.

You felt as though you couldn’t breathe for a moment. The viscount had approached you, and had asked you to dance. Though you knew it wasn’t his first time to do so tonight, you still felt giddy with delight that he had searched you out with the many ladies who wanted his attention.

The first few steps of the dance were met with a soft silence between the two of you, though it wasn’t uncomfortable. His hands were gentle as they met your body, and he didn’t speak until you were waltzing.

“I saw you from across the room. You look… ravishing. I couldn’t help but come make your acquaintance.” He told you, dapper smile on his lips.

You couldn’t help but flush at his words, your cheeks heating up a heap pinker than you could control. You smiled graciously back at him. "Thank you, my lord. You look very handsome tonight, as well." 

“Tell me… do you like to read?” He asked as he twirled you, your face landing a bit closer to his than you expected.

“Well… yes, my lord. I do enjoy a good book. I believe young women should learn as much as men, if anything to set an example for their children.” You explained, a little flushed from expressing your opinion.

“You would get along well with my sister, Eloise.” He noted, smiling. 

“I do hope that’s a good thing.” You mused. “I suppose that depends on who you’re chatting with. I do believe one should get along with one’s betrothed family. It is something very important to me, family.” He responded.

“Family is also very important to me, my lord. I am very close with my brothers and sisters, and I do want children.” You were trying to talk yourself up, now. At least, as much as you could.

“How many?” He prompted.

“As many as I have. I believe wishing for one too less or one too many may be a disappointment.” You explained.

“I can see where disappointment may lie in having one too less than you wanted.” He nodded his head briefly. 

The dance was over, then, and the two of you bowed and curtseyed, respectfully. 

“I thank you for your time, Miss,” He started, as he lifted your dance card. “I would take you for another spin, but you’re almost full for the night.” He smirked up at you.

“I would not mind it, if my lord so pleases.” You responded, earnestly. 

“No, but I do believe other gentleman may mind.” He let your card drop from his hand, and his fingers gently brushed against your clothed wrist before his hand fell. 

“Perhaps, my lord. But none other can dance and converse quite as well as you.” You folded your hands in front of you, trying to not think too hard about where he had touched you. It had merely been an accident, you knew. 

“No? Well, perhaps I should save you from continued droll conversation, then?” He offered his hand up to you again. 

Your lips curled up into a smile, and you took it. Now you were having a second dance with the viscount Bridgerton. How interesting.

All eyes were on you as he lead you around the floor in a cheerful dance, though his eyes were always boring deep into yours. 

After another wonderful conversation to get to know each other a little more, the viscount led you off of the floor and took your card in hand once more. 

“I had a remarkable time with you tonight, Miss.” He told you, his eyes flicking from your card up to your face.

“As did I, my lord. Thank you for your time.” You nodded your head to him slightly.

You gave your curtsey, and he gave his bow, and the two of you parted from there.

“Was that the viscount Bridgerton I saw spin you around the floor twice?” Your brother asked as you approached, an amused look on his face.

“Yes, in fact, it was.” You told him, “Though I fancy myself a walk, brother. Care to take a stroll about the tulip garden?” You prompted.

He gave you a smile, and lifted his arm for you to take. You folded your hand into it, and the two of you left the ballroom. 

The night air was cool on your skin, and definitely soothed your flushed cheeks. You took in a breath as the two of you stepped through the high hedges, complete with tulips scattering the bottom of them.

“What do you think of Cressida Cowper?” Your brother asked you seriously as you walked.

You looked at him, trying to garner if he was truly genuine. Though his face said he was.

“You can’t be serious, brother? Cressida Cowper is… well,” You tilted your head, not wanting to say unladylike things should someone hear you other than him. “If you believe her to be worthy, I will support you.”

Then, he laughed. 

“You jest me!” You laughed along with him, giving his arm a soft slap.

“I apologize, sister. But I couldn’t lose the opportunity. You should’ve seen your face!” The two of you stopped walking to turn to each other, and you shook your head at him, a smile on your face.

“I am simply happy you do not want to bring her into our family.” You admitted.

“And who would that be?” A third voice came from behind the two of you, and you turned.

There he was again, the viscount, with who you assumed to be his younger sister on his arm.

“No one, Lord Bridgerton. It was a simple jest.” Your brother explained.

“Ah, but was it a good one?” Anthony’s sister piped.

“I believe it was,” You responded, smiling.

“You have not formally met, have you?” Anthony proposed. “This is my sister, Miss Eloise Bridgerton.” 

Anthony introduced you all, and you shared a quick curtsey, your brother bowing slightly.

“Would you care to join us, Bridgertons? We were just taking a stroll through the gardens.” Your brother asked. You looked at him, wondering where he was intending on going with this. However, your politeness outweighed any nervousness you had about more alone time with the viscount. 

“Of course, I was just telling Eloise that—” 

The walk was rather calming, in fact. Anthony and Eloise were both fairly good at conversation, and as were your brother and you. 

You all stopped near the edge of the gardens, Eloise and your brother in a deep conversation about… well, you were unsure if you had to be honest. You and Anthony stood in front of a large row of tulips, looking out onto the grounds.

The silence between you was not uncomfortable, and yet you felt you had to say something. You bent slightly to smell the tulip, before humming softly.

“Did you know, Lord Bridgerton, that red tulips symbolize passion, love… lust.” You tilted your head slightly, allowing your fingers to brush them before you looked up at him.

“I did not, though, I am sure my mother knows that. She’s very skilled with knowing what flowers to put in arrangements to symbolize the correct emotion.” He smiled at you.

You smiled back and nodded. “It is important for a Lady to know what to send in times of love, comfort, and distress.” You tilted an amused eyebrow up at him. “Do you not agree, my lord?”

He cleared his throat before nodding, seeming a little flustered from the implications. Perhaps he was not used to a lady, such as yourself, hinting towards things like that.

However, your mama had explained what happens between a husband and wife on their wedding night quite in-depth as she had felt it important for you to know. So you understood things that others in your situation did not, though it deemed improper by the ton for you to have that much information before the day of your wedding. 

With a rake such as Anthony Bridgerton, you had to assume he’d done those things with women who were not ladies already; and while you would not want to tarnish your families name, you knew that if Anthony attempted anything on you, you would not say no.

He was a gentleman. He would ask for your hand afterward. 

He looked past you to your brother and his sister, seeming to attempt to make a choice. 

“Miss, would you…” He looked down before his brow pinched. He seemed to be fighting with himself. 

“I must escort my sister back inside.” He sighed and turned to go.

“My lord?” Your voice stopped him, and he turned back to look at you. “I do believe the tulips are rather pretty. I may stay a while longer.” You bit your lip.

His eyelashes fluttered at you, before he nodded, looking all too pained as he turned to leave.

“Come along, sister. I do believe the night is still young.” Your brother smiled at you. You smiled and took his arm as the two of you followed the Bridgerton’s back inside the ball.

You were about to do something rather scandalous, you thought. Going somewhere unaccompanied where you could be caught alone with a man. Though, if it was to garner the viscount’s affections, who could blame you?

Five minutes later saw your brother being swept back onto the dance floor, and you hid along the wall as you made your way back out to the gardens, your heart beating swiftly. Perhaps Lord Bridgerton would not come back out and see you, alone. Perhaps this was all a mistake.

Though as you turned the last corner into the most private part of the gardens, there he stood. His arms were behind his back, and his spine straight and tall. 

“My lord,” You whispered, your voice barely a breath as you curtseyed to him. 

He looked down at you, still looking a little pained as he took a few steps closer until your chests almost touched.

Silence was in the air, but the mere conversation passing between your eyes was enough to fill it. Your chest filled with deeper breaths, nerves beginning to well up in you as he leaned in, closer.

“This is wrong.” He whispered. “Though I cannot seem to help myself. You are… the most interesting prospect I’ve met tonight. My soul longs for you.” 

Your breath caught in your throat, and you swallowed thickly. 

“My lord…” You breathed, as his hand lifted to rest on the side of your neck, his fingers delicately pressing against your jaw. 

“I know it is wrong, but I don’t think I can wait.” He told you, licking his lips.

You tilted your head, a soft and slight nod. “I would dare not say no to you, my lord.” 

“Anthony.” He told you, “Please, do call me Anthony.” 

“Anthony,” You tasted his name on your tongue, and his eyes closed tightly, that pained look on his face once more.

“Please, do forgive me. You are a respectable young woman, and I will be taking that from you.” His thumb brushed against your jawline.

“Please, my — Anthony. It will be our secret.” You promised. “You may court me as if this never happened.” 

He chuckled, low and breathy. “It is our secret.” He repeated.

Though you were prepared, in part, by your mama to know what to expect, you never knew how delicious kissing would feel until his lips pressed to yours. He tasted of brandy, and lemonade as his tongue wedged your mouth open. 

His hand rested on the small of your back, pulling you flush against him as your tongues met and brushed, delicate. He seemed afraid of scaring you off, but you did not know any different. You’d never been kissed before now. 

It didnt take long for it to turn hungry, however, and he pressed his front tight against yours. You could feel something new pressing against you, too. Something you’d never thought of before. Your cheeks flushed deeply as he pulled from the kiss and took your hand, leading you further into the alcove to hide you both away from any prying eyes. 

He helped you onto the grass where you laid on your back and he hovered above you. You were malleable in his hands as he moved you, fluffing the skirt of your dress up to find your leg, and he lifted it at the knee so he could settle between them. His lips were back on yours once more, his bulge pressing against the heat between your legs.

He rolled his hips gently, testingly, as a soft, surprised moan left your lips. He smirked into the kiss, seeming happy with your response. He broke the kiss again and helped you sit up, his hands reaching around you to unlace your bodice to get your dress off. He stood to pull it off of your body, you giving a soft giggle as you lifted yourself around for him to get it all the way off.

Your bosom heaved, threatening to spill out from what held it close. He would not fully undress you tonight, no. There was no way he would be able to help fully dress you again. His fingers were delicate as they pulled at your gloves, unstrapped your heels, and brushed down the skin of your legs to rid you of your tights.

Then, he was crouched between your legs, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your thigh and trailing closer and closer to the thin cloth that covered your sex. Heat rushed through your body, seeing him like that. Feeling him. It was so very… dirty, in ways you’d never thought of before. 

His fingers hooked into the cloth and pulled it down your legs, tossing it aside to join the pile he’d made of the rest of your clothing. 

This was all beginning to become very real for you, right at this second. You laid on your back, careful to not mess up your hair too much as your eyes stared up at the stars in the night sky. 

A soft wind blew, and you could feel it on your sex. Cold, exposed. You’d never been so exposed before. 

Your mind completely stopped racing, though, the moment his tongue dove between your folds. You gave a surprised yelp and looked down at him, as he was looking back up at you with those dark eyes. 

Your eyes fluttered for a moment, brow furrowing as you reached down to softly touch his head. You didn’t want to mess up his hair, either. You both still had a ball to go back to. 

Moans flowed from your lips as his tongue delved and licked you all up, his eyes never leaving your face as you gasped at the new sensations he was making you feel. His hands were gripping your thighs lovingly, thumbs petting them soothingly.

You were, exceedingly, overwhelmed.

Something new was growing within you, something you’d never felt before; a heat, welling up in your belly as his tongue flicked against you over and over and over, relentlessly. 

“A-anthony—” You cried out, fingers curling against his head, “I—somethings—I can’t—” You didn’t know what was happening, but he was driving you closer and closer to some edge you never knew was possible. 

He knew better than to stop, though, and moments later pleasure exploded within you. A loud moan bubbled from your lips as stars exploded behind your closed eyelids, your back thumping softly as it hit the ground once, twice.

You were panting heavily by the time he decided to give up his action, giving each thigh a little kiss before he slid up to meet your lips with his shining ones once more. The taste this time was… different, but not entirely unpleasant. 

His hands were working, unbuttoning the side of his trousers as his lips devoured yours, sharing saliva and your juices between the two of your tongues. 

You felt something warm and new against your belly in the next few seconds, and you broke the kiss to look down at it. Something sticky dripped from the tip of it and landed on your skin, leaving a translucent line between it and your stomach. It was… big. You were unsure how it was meant to fit inside of you. 

“Do not be afraid. It will only hurt for a moment, I promise.” He told you, pecking your lips once more before he grabbed himself with one hand and lifted your thigh with the other.

You nodded, you knew that. Your mama had told you as much. Still, your nerves were a little high, your breath a little shuddery as you felt the tip of it press against your sex. His eyes were on yours the moment the head broke through the very beginning of your slickness, his lips parted slightly as he gently pressed in.

“Oh—” You gasped out, as the pain, sharp—quick, settled over you. Your fingers dug softly into his shoulders, and you swallowed thickly.

However, as quick as the pain was there, it was replaced by a new pleasure as he slid the rest of the way into you. You could feel all of him within you. He twitched slightly as your walls fluttered around him, slick with your previous orgasm. 

He leaned in to kiss you again, muffling your moans as he slowly pulled out and pressed back into you, his fingers holding your thighs gently apart. 

This was it. He was taking your womanhood from you. The viscount; and by this time tomorrow, you suspected, you would be engaged to be wed.

He moaned your name as he broke the kiss, his breath hot in your ear as his hips slapped softly against you. You released shuddery, deep moans as he continued to press into that spot deep inside you that made your toes curl. 

This was… amazing. He was good at it, too. Good at making you feel wonderful. 

Your eyes fluttered closed as his forehead rested against yours, your breaths mingling together and speeding up as his hips began to move a little faster.

“You are to be my viscountess…” He groaned into your ear. “So perfect... I shall make sure you are full of my seed. Make sure you will give me the children I properly deserve.” 

You moaned right back at that. “Yes, my lord.” You responded.

“You like the thought of that, do you not? To bear my children with your beautiful body?” His voice was breathy as he spoke, his hips speeding up once more.

“Yes, my lord.” You repeated.

“But this… this is so scandalous, is it not? Me, taking you in Lady Danbury’s gardens before I even ask you to marry me. Very dirty, Miss.” He nibbled softly at your earlobe as you moaned louder. “What would the Lord and Ladies think of you, now?” He whispered.

You couldn’t find yourself an ounce of care. All that mattered was his length pummeling into your sex at a rapid rate, rapid enough to make that heat grow inside of you once more.

“Oh, Anthony — It’s happening again.” You whimpered, your nails piercing the skin of his back.

“Cum for me again, Madam. I would love nothing more than to feel your walls clench around me, begging me to fill you up with my seed.” 

You shook as you came again, your back arching so far that your chest pressed against his and your moans surely loud enough to hear over the band playing inside.

He was finishing, too, moments later. Spilling inside of you while he whispered sweet nothings into your ear, promises to take care of you, to love you. 

You both panted softly, gasping for breath in the silence of the outside. He slowly pulled himself out of you and helped reset your panties, your stockings, and your heels. 

Only then, did he redo his pants, and pull his suspenders back into place. He helped you stand and get your dress back on, sinching the back to fit you. 

Last touches were your gloves, which he did not put on until after he thoroughly kissed each finger, palm, and wrist. 

“I shall call on you tomorrow, Miss.” He promised. “Do enjoy the rest of the ball for me.” He kissed you one last time; chaste, loving, and then he was gone.

You stayed out in the cool night air for a moment longer, catching your breath. Then, you went back inside — no one wiser to the seed dripping slowly out of you. 

The next morning found many a gentleman caller, but you cared for none. You were waiting for the viscount. 

Then finally, he arrived; a smile on his lips and a bouquet of tulips in hand.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton #bridgerton imagine

[kp777]

By Thom Hartmann

Common Dreams

March 31, 2023

The Republican Party's most dangerous grift today has been their embrace of the lie that America is not a democracy but instead is a theocratic republic that should be ruled exclusively by armed Christian white men. It's leading us straight into the jaws of fascism.

Nobody ever accused Republicans of not knowing how to make a buck or BS-ing somebody into voting for them. Lying to people for economic or political gain is the very definition of a grift.

Whenever there’s another mass- or school-shooting, Republican politicians hustle out fundraising emails about how “Democrats are coming to take your guns!” The result is a measurable and profitable spike in gun sales after every new slaughter of our families and children, followed by a fresh burst of campaign cash to GOP lawmakers.

But the GOP’s ability to exploit any opportunity that comes along — regardless of its impact on America or American citizens — goes way beyond just fundraising hustles.

When Jared Kushner was underwater and nearly bankrupt because he overpaid for 666 Fifth Avenue and needed a billion-dollar bailout to cover his mortgage, his buddies in the Middle East (Saudi Arabia and the UAE) blockaded American ally (and host to the Fifth Fleet) Qatar until that country relented and laundered the money to Jared through a Canadian investment company.

Just this week, after Trump deregulated toxic trains leading to a horrible crash and the contamination of East Palestine, Ohio, Steve Bannon — already charged with multiple fraud-related crimes and then pardoned by Trump — showed up this week to hustle $300+ water filters to the people of that town.

The grift is at the core of the GOP’s existence, and has been since Nixon blew up LBJ’s peace talks with the Vietnamese in 1968 and then took cash bribes from the Milk Lobby and Jimmy Hoffa in the White House while having his mafia-connected “plumbers” wiretap the DNC’s offices at the Watergate.

— Republicans successfully fought the ability of Medicare to negotiate drug prices for decades; in turn, Big Pharma pours millions into their campaign coffers and personal pockets (legalized by 5 Republicans on the Supreme Court).

— Republicans beat back Democratic efforts to stop insurance giants from ripping off seniors and our government with George W. Bush’s Medicare Advantage privatization scam; in turn, the insurance companies rain cash on them like an Indian monsoon.

— Republicans oppose any effort to replace fossil fuels with green energy sources that don’t destroy our environment; in turn, the fossil fuel industry jacked up the price of gasoline into the stratosphere just in time for the 2022 election (and you can expect them to try it again in 2024).

— Republicans stopped enforcement of a century’s worth of anti-trust laws in 1983, wiping out America’s small businesses and turning rural city centers into ghost towns while pushing profits and prices through the ceiling; in turn massive corporate PACs fund ads supporting Republican candidates every election cycle.

— Republicans authored legislation letting billionaires own thousands of newspapers, radio stations, and TV outlets; in turn the vast majority of those papers (now half of all local papers are owned by a handful of rightwing New York hedge funds) and stations all run daily news and editorials attacking Democrats and supporting the GOP.

— Republicans Trump and Pai killed net neutrality so giant tech companies can legally spy on you and me, recording every website we visit and selling that information for billions; in turn, major social media sites amplify rightwing voices while giant search engines stopped spidering progressive news sites.

Newspeak — George Orwell’s term for the grift where politicians use fancy phrases that mean the opposite of what people think they mean — has been the GOP’s go-to strategy for a half-century.

Richard Nixon, for example, promised to crack down on drugs, but instead used that as an excuse to crack down on anti-war liberals and Black people. Instead of an economic grift, it was a political grift.

As Nixon‘s right hand man, John Ehrlichman, told reporter Dan Baum:

“You want to know what this was really all about? The Nixon campaign in 1968, and the Nixon White House after that, had two enemies: the antiwar left and Black people. Do you understand what I’m saying? “We knew we couldn’t make it illegal to be either against the war or Black, but by getting the public to associate the hippies with marijuana and Blacks with heroin and then criminalizing both heavily, we could disrupt those communities. “We could arrest their leaders, raid their homes, break up their meetings, and vilify them night after night on the evening news. “Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did.“

The grift is a recurrent theme through Republican presidencies in the modern era.

Ronald Reagan told us if we just destroyed America’s unions and moved our manufacturing to China and Mexico, great job opportunities would fill the nation.

He followed that up by promising if we just cut taxes on the morbidly rich, prosperity would trickle-down to the rest of us.

Reagan even assured us that raising the Social Security retirement age to 67 and taxing Social Security benefits would mean seniors could retire with greater ease.

All, of course, were grifter’s lies. Republican presidents since Reagan have continued the tradition.

George W. Bush called his program to make it easier to clear-cut America’s forests and rip roads through wilderness areas the “Healthy Forests Initiative.”

His program to legalize more pollution from coal-fired power plants and immunize them from community lawsuits (leading to tens of thousands of additional lung- and heart-disease deaths in the years since) was named the “Clean Air Act.”

Bush’s scam to “strengthen” Medicare — “Medicare Advantage” — was a thinly disguised plan to privatize that program that is today draining Medicare’s coffers while making insurance executives richer than Midas.

Donald Trump told Americans he had the coronavirus pandemic under control while he was actually making the situation far worse: America had more deaths per capita from the disease than any other developed country in the world, with The Lancet estimating a half-million Americans died needlessly because of Trump’s grift.

Jared and Ivanka cashed in on their time in the White House to the tune of billions, while Trump squeezed hundreds of millions out of foreign governments, encouraging them to illegally pay him through rentals in his properties around the world.

Other Trump grifts — most leading to grateful industries or billionaires helping him and the GOP out — included:

— Making workplaces less safe — Boosting religious schools at the expense of public schools — Cutting relief for students defrauded by student loan sharks — Shrinking the safety net by cutting $60 billion out of food stamps — Forcing workers to put in overtime without getting paid extra for it — Pouring more pollution from fossil fuels into our fragile atmosphere — Gutting the EPA’s science operation — Rescinding rules that protected workers at federal contract sites — Dialing back car air pollution emissions standards — Reducing legal immigration of skilled workers into the US from “shithole countries” — Blocking regulation of toxic chemicals — Rolling back rules on banks, setting up the crisis of 2023 — Defenestrating rules against racially segregated housing

While Nixon was simply corrupt — a crook, to use his own term — in 1978 when five Republicans on the Supreme Court signed off on the Bellotti decision authored by Lewis Powell himself, giving corporations the legal right to bribe American politicians, the GOP went all in.

Ever since then, the GOP has purely been the party of billionaires and giant corporations, although their most successful political grift has been to throw an occasional bone to racists, gun-nuts, fascists, homophobes, and woman-haters to get votes.

Democrats at that time were largely funded by the unions, so it wasn’t until the 1990s, after Reagan had destroyed about half of America’s union jobs and gutted the unions’ ability to fund campaigns, that the Democratic Party under Bill Clinton was forced to make a big turn toward taking corporate cash.

Since Barack Obama showed how online fundraising could replace corporate cash, however, about half of the nation’s Democratic politicians have aligned with the Progressive Caucus and eschewed corporate money, returning much of the Party to its FDR and Great Society base.

The GOP, in contrast, has never wavered from lapping up corporate money in exchange for tax cuts, deregulation, and corporate socialism.

Their most dangerous grift today, though, has been their embrace of the lie that America is not a democracy but instead is a theocratic republic that should be ruled exclusively by armed Christian white men. It’s leading us straight into the jaws of fascism.

Bannon’s grift in East Palestine is the smallest of the small, after his being busted for a multi-million-dollar fraud in the “Build the Wall” scheme and others, but is still emblematic of the Republican strategy at governance.

When all you have to offer the people is a hustle, then at the very least, Republicans figure, you should be able to make a buck or gain/keep political power while doing it.

#republicans #gop #grift #common dreams

[archoniluthradanar]

A Day of Mini-Golf with the Volturi Masters, and how you came to be living with them

The fifth place winner and final story for the Summer Fun with the Volturi Masters, story poll results.

A Day of Mini-Golf with the Volturi masters, and how you came to be living with the Volturi.

Summers in Volterra could be mild or hot, depending. It had been rather warm for you, a human, while your Volturi hosts never felt the heat. The interior walls of the castle were better suited for Summer than Winter, keeping the temperature down. You were very happy when this week seemed cooler than the one before it. Now you felt like getting out and doing something fun, and you wanted the masters to join you. If they were unable to, surely Felix and Demetri would accompany you.

You checked the Internet on your laptop, searching for locations for the best mini-golf courses in the country. You were usually good at mini-golf, but then you assumed the vampires would be as good at that, as they were at any game they had played with or for you. Their hand-eye coordination was perfect. Their strength was already well known to you. Somehow you'd have to come up with a way to better your chances at winning.

After much browsing, you decide that the Caribbean Golf mini-golf course looks the most interesting. It has a pirate theme with lots of atmosphere and decor that immerses players in the time of the buccaneers. It's located just up North not far from Venice.

You look for Aro, since he basically makes all the decisions. You find him in the throne room, sitting in a chair while perusing an old manuscript. Neither Marcus or Caius is with him, oddly. The masters almost always seem together in nearly everything they do.

You step up to Aro, waiting for him to acknowledge you, since he knows you're there by your scent alone. You can't sneak up on a vampire.

"Yes, my dear, how may I help you?"

You walk up to the Volturi master and place your hand on his shoulder, smiling down at him. "Aro, are you and the others terribly busy tomorrow?"

"Not at all. Have you something in mind?" He puts down the manuscript and looks up at you, waiting for you to make your request.

"Well, the weather has been so nice, I thought maybe we could go to Jesolo?"

"And what is in Jesolo, dear one?" Aro knows it to be a resort town on the coast, something he was surprised you didn't know, but he humoured you with your requests to go to various locales, even out of country.

"Mmmm...mini-golf? I haven't played in forever, and I found a course called Caribbean Golf that has a pirate theme. It looks like a ton of fun. But I'm not sure if you would care for it. If not, maybe Demetri and Felix could be given permission to join me?"

Aro stands and takes your hands in his. He is trying to give you your privacy as you've requested, but it can be difficult to just turn off his gift. He smiles, pleased by what he has seen. "No, my dear, we will be happy to go with you. Another piece of humanity to be shared with us. Let me speak with Marcus and Caius, but I'm sure they will say yes."

You kiss his cheek, and say, "Thank you, Aro. Let me know." You bounce out of the room, not noticing the Volturi master shaking his head, but he is still smiling.

Aro does as he said and speaks with both Marcus and Caius. As usual, Caius huffs while Marcus plays devil's advocate. As little as he shows it, he enjoys the outings with you.

"Brother, golf? Mini...golf? Is this just for some absurd game?"

"No, Caius, it's for our young ward. You do want her happy, don't you? She so enjoys sharing her experiences with us, and when you think about it, she doesn't ask much of us."

"All right, Aro, we spend a day playing mini-golf for our little human. Besides, the theme is one of interest. I have never been to the Caribbean in all my centuries."

The next morning, Aro's car is waiting out back by the gate, freshly washed and gassed up. Aro insists on driving today, so Caius sits on the right, while you and Marcus sit in back. The air conditioning is turned on since the day is warm and they want you comfortable. The private jet is waiting at the Pisa airport for the short 4 hour plus flight to Venice, then another car will be waiting to drive to the resort town of Jesolo.

On the flight, you lean into Marcus while sitting on one of the sofas, your hand playing with his long graceful fingers. He leans over to kiss your forehead, inhaling your scent that draws you to him. Aro and Caius are sitting at the back of the jet playing chess, deep in the game and ignoring you both. Or are they? You have a feeling Aro is always listening when you're with Marcus.

Aro insists on driving once again until you reach the golf course. Already you see skeletons wearing pirate clothing hanging in the trees and off netting.

At the equipment booth, you each pick out a putter and a ball. The masters go straight for the black and you protest, saying they must each choose a different colour. But when you see three smiles looking at you, you know your leg's being pulled. Caius keeps his black ball, while Aro and Marcus choose new colours.

You start at the first hole, explaining to the masters how to play the game. You go first, making the 2 stroke par easily.

On the third hole, which consists of three hills the ball must go over, you make par, but the three masters make holes-in-one.

"How do you do that?" you ask. "Why doesn't your strength make you hit past your goal? How can you see behind things as if you had Superman's x-ray vision?"

Aro frowns and shakes his head. "My dear, I have no idea the meaning behind what you just said. Who is the super man?"

"Oh, nothing, Aro. I just have a feeling my ego will be taking another bruising today."

By the fifth hole, Caius has made his displeasure known. "This is too easy," Caius says. "Where is the challenge?"

You pull something from your pocket and go over to Caius, then reach up to put a cloth pirate eye patch on Caius, something you found at the booth. "This will be your handicap, smartypants. One-eyed golf." While you straighten the patch, you can hear Caius inhaling. "Will you stop that? Good grief, you guys are ruled by your noses. Ok, there you go. Try playing with no depth perception."

Caius did find it a bit more difficult playing with one eye. But he still managed not to do too badly, as did the other masters. You were holding your own which made you somewhat proud. These were vampires, after all.

On the seventh hole, everyone has to put their ball into the bottom of a keg where it comes out the other side and down an incline to the hole. On another nearby keg, sits a buxom female pirate, her concrete breasts high and round, tied by an appropriate shirt. When it was Caius' turn to putt, he could not stop staring at the statue.

You tap your foot, finally, saying loudly, "Master Caius, you're holding up the line, and...they're not real!"

He gives you a glare, then smiles. "Jealous?"

You throw your ball at him, the ball merely bounces off his chest, while you mutter beneath your breath.

He, of course, hears every word you mutter. "Any day, any time, my little human," he says with a brow-lifting leer.

Behind him, Marcus is not amused.

A while later, on the twelfth hole, you are standing at the far side of the end of the putting green, with Caius up. He takes half a second to judge the distance to and the position of the hole, then swings without considering his strength. The ball flew a bit higher than he meant it to go, when it grazes your head, sending you to the ground. You try to rise, but fall back, unconscious.

You were newly arrived in Italy, a tourist with little more than a small carryon, a passport, a map, several reservations at inexpensive B&Bs, and about 500 euros that would have to last you a week. This was more an immerse yourself into the Italian people and culture trip than a vacation. On your second night, you had been walking the streets of Volterra, enjoying the sights, and talking with some of the locals who wanted to practice their English. It was the trip of a lifetime, and one that nearly ended your life.

It was after 10:00pm, and you hadn't meant to be out so late. You were trying to recall where your hotel was. The street looked familiar, but when you turned the corner, the next one didn't, and now you were lost. While looking at the various buildings hoping to find your B&B, you think you see something behind you, but you hear nothing. Maybe it was just a cat roaming the neighborhood.

You are beginning to feel panic set in. Perhaps if you went up to a door and asked for directions but then, what if they didn't speak English. Then you looked behind you again. There was something there in the shadows, quiet and watching. You chided yourself for the over dramatics. It's only because you're in a strange city at night. You walked faster, with no idea where you were going. If you could just find an open business, they would most likely have someone who spoke English and knew the layout of the city, and could tell you how to get to your B&B.

You continued walking, now sure someone was behind you. Maybe you should stop and face them, yelling loudly. Isn't that what some self defense books say to do? When you turn, a hand grabbed your mouth from behind. You felt hot breath on your ear, and Italian being spoken. Your purse was pulled from your arm roughly, causing you pain. A man on a scooter pulled up beside you, the man holding you throwing your bag to his confederate.

"No! I need that!" you shouted. Before you could continue shouting, the man who was holding onto you was pulled away. You found yourself on the ground, dragged down when your assailant was taken. Maybe you had a knight in shining armour saving the day, but you still lost all your money, and your ID and passport.

You looked up to see another man, dressed in black, grab your assailant, and bury his face in the man's neck. What the hell is he doing? Strong arms picked you up off the ground but when you cried out in pain, you were instantly released. When you turned around, you saw a tall man with long dark hair looking down at you. Soon another man with hair as pale as creme came to stand beside you. His expression frightened you because he didn't look happy at all.

You took a step back from these men, their appearance too odd to fathom. The street light was even making their eyes appear red.

"I just want to thank you for..." You saw the man who attacked you lying in the street. Was he dead? You started walking backwards, tears welling up in your eyes. Were you saved from a robber to end up with something much worse?

The blonde man said, "Brother, you cannot leave him there", only it's Italian you hear.

The tall man picked up the supposed dead man and disappeared. You looked around, wondering where he went. He was there and then he wasn't. A hand suddenly grabbed your good arm, while another was placed over your mouth. You squirmed, feeling cold air on your neck. "Please stop struggling. We will not harm you." It's the one who attacked your robber. In the few seconds you saw him, you notice he has very dark hair, pale skin and...red eyes. That's the last thing you remembered.

When you awoke, you were lying on a bed. You squeezed your arm which felt better. You yawned and looked around the room...to find the three men standing as still as statues near the door. How long had they been there, watching you?

You sat up, and decided the best defense was a friendly offense. "Hello. I just want to thank you for rescuing me. I lost everything I had though." They merely stared at you in response. "What I mean is, is it ok if I stay here for a few days? I need to get back on my feet. Damn, I'm sorry, I should not even be asking you this."

"Child, there is no need for this. You're safe here. We give you our word, you won't be harmed," the tall man had said.

"Harmed. Harmed by what?" you asked, worried.

"In case you haven't already guessed, we're vampires, an ancient race of beings. Yes, my dear, we do exist. And in telling you this, by all rights, you should die. But we feel compelled not to kill you." He smiled oddly. "I am Aro, these are my brothers, Marcus and Caius."

"Um. Aro, is this some sort of vampire code of honour? I mean if I go to sleep, I won't find you've changed your minds."

The blonde you know to be Caius only smiled enigmatically.

You stood up off the bed and walked to them. "Let's assume you're telling me the truth. That means my life is in your hands. And since you were the ones who saved me, I am beholding to you with all due gratitude." You saw the black-haired man called Aro look at the tall one named Marcus, both men nodding once at each other.

"Your life does belong to us, my dear, but it will be for the better, we assure you. You're our...guest. Consider this room and everything in it, yours."

You rouse, hands on you, helping you up.

"Dear one, are you alright? Your have quite the lump on your head." Aro glares at a contrite Caius.

"I am sorry, little human. I never meant to hurt you."

You smile at Caius. "I forgive you. It was just an accident."

"We are done for the day, brothers. Let's get our ward home and into bed."

"Marcus, please help me." You expect him to give you his arm for support, but instead, he lifts you in his arms, carrying you to the car. You lean your head against his hard chest and close your eyes.

You don't realize you'd fallen asleep until you wake up in bed, a cold hand brushing across your forehead. It feels so good, you reach up and hold it on your face. Your eyes open to find Marcus sitting on the bed beside you. You smile up at him, whispering softly, "Thank you." Touching your head, you feel the bump left by the errant golf ball and wince

Marcus gives you a small smile, sympathizing with you. "If you play your cards right, dear one, Caius will do anything you want of him for quite a while."

You laugh, scoot over and pat the spot beside you. Marcus stands, then lies down next to you, his cold body feels so good this near to you. The Volturi masters saved your life one night in Volterra almost a year ago, and now you will be saving the life of one of them. Marcus, a man long dead in spirit and desiring nothing more, finds he has a chance for a new existence, in you. He's glad they didn't kill you that night.

#Summer Fun #The Volturi #aro volturi x reader #marcus volturi x reader #caius volturi x reader #volturi fanfiction

[wearingaberetinparis]

Fic Stats Game

Rules: Give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most bookmarks, fourth most comments, fifth most words, and your fic with the least amount of words. =

Tagged by @mppmaraudergirl 💛

Most Hits: It Only Takes A Taste (Incomplete, Jily Royalty AU) - I truly should complete this one!

Lily Evans is 28 years old and far too busy saving - according to her friends - the world to enjoy an epic romance. If you were to ask her, she would say that the last thing she needs is a complicating relationship that will distract her from all that she deems important: 1) her organisation for teens and young adults: Exceed Expectations, 2) her friends and family, 3) Mary's Instagram cooking vlog, 4) her favourite novels, 5) her favourite shows and films, 6) actually going to bed before midnight. Enter Prince James, heir to the British throne and the world's most eligible bachelor. There is no way she will allow him to sweep her off her feet. It's out of the question. It screams trouble. Yet... it only takes a taste, because - as Mary always likes to say - sometimes one bite is more than enough, to know you want more of the thing you just got a taste of...

Second Most Kudos: Knocked Up By My Ex (Complete, Sequel to Shout Out To My Ex, Jily Modern AU)

James Potter and Lily Evans, two Phoenix Radio employees who had secretly admired one another from afar, pretended to be fake exes for their show "Shout Out To My Ex". When Lily and James started falling for one another for real, however, they had to keep up the charade – pretending to be fake exes, who once secretly dated – whilst actually secretly dating. To make matters even more confusing, Lily Evans finds herself knocked up by James Potter, who is now her actual ex after their initial lies were exposed through the worst betrayal imaginable. The soon-to-be parents find themselves in quite a pickle and what better way to get through it than by airing their confusing journey through a radio show that, this time, is based on the truth alone: "Knocked Up By My Ex". A Jily Modern AU inspired by Rachel Lynn Solomon’s “The Ex Talk” and sequel to “Shout Out To My Ex”.

Third Most Bookmarks: Shout Out To My Ex (Complete, First Installment SOTME Series, Jily Modern AU)

Phoenix Radio is going through a rough period with the arrival of the new and controversial Riddle Radio. Albus Dumbledore, founder of the country’s number one radio station, asks his team to get ready to rebrand. Gone are the days of family friendly radio, a show where two exes talk about where their relationship went wrong and deliver relationship advice live on air, named Shout Out To My Ex, is exactly what Phoenix Radio needs. Who better to co-host this show than Lily Evans and James Potter, two Phoenix Radio employees who absolutely despise each other, or do they? A Jily Modern AU inspired by Rachel Lynn Solomon’s "The Ex Talk".

Fourth Most Comments: The Platonic Roommate Chronicles (Complete, Jily Modern AU)

“I think we should have sex.” He promptly choked on his tea. “Excuse me?” “Sex,” she repeated, oh so casually. As if she hadn’t just turned his entire world upside down by voicing his deepest, darkest desires which he needed to remind himself – like a daily affirmation – would never see the light of day. “You and I should have sex.” Or: Lily Evans and James Potter are very platonic roommates, who definitely aren't in lust or love.

Fifth Most Words: Lily in the Sky with Diamonds (Complete, Jily Celebrity AU)

A series of interviews with the UK’s hottest band, The Marauders, and the singer-songwriter Lily Evans, conducted by Nymphadora Tonks, as they prepare for the UK Tour after the release of their album “Lily in the Sky with Diamonds”. Everyone worships The Marauders. Everyone loves Lily Evans. Together they make hearts bleed. Inspired by "Daisy Jones & The Six" by Taylor Jenkins Reid.

Least Amount of Words: Stars Up In The Astronomy Tower (Complete, Jily Canon Oneshot)

"Stop being a baby! When he gets back, you only need grab him by the tie, yank him towards you and snog him until he's convinced he's up in the Astronomy Tower at midnight for the amount of stars you'll make him see."

Tagging @practicecourts, @annasghosts, @athenasparrow, @annabtg, @possessingtheproperspirit and everyone else who would like to do this!

#fic stats game

[viatagrinner]

Silvio Ricci.

Chapter 15

Flashback: Rio confesses his love for MC.  And he's been in love with her since the day she saved him. From the day he "knew kindness".

Rio saw everything. But even if his older brother and MC didn't kiss, he still felt bad.

That's where "the coal-black beast who was good at capturing people's hearts and fighting" caught up with him.

Gilbert: How are you feeling?

Rio: Fine. Thank you for your concern...

Gilbert: But you still look like you're dying, don't you?

Rio sits in the living room drinking water. Gilbert happily plays with his cane.

Gilbert: Don't be shy. I told you I'm on your side, didn't I? "Prince Valerio."

Of course, Gilbert knew everything.

The prince believes that the former butler has a block in his memories, as with severe stress.

This is common among Obsidian soldiers.

Gilbert: Some memories are better remembered, some are better forgotten forever.

Gilbert thinks Rio has the latter.

Rio is no fool and realizes that messing with the "trampling beast" is not worth it. And he wants out. But Gilbert grabs hold of his arm.

Rio didn't expect a man with such "sweet and gentle" features to be so strong.

Gilbert: Oh man. My favours...

Gilbert: You either accept it or you're made to accept it. There are only two options.

It got colder. There was no longer an "atmosphere of benevolence," it was like a "beast hunted".

Rio: Well, I'm out of luck... Lord Gilbert caught me...

The prince asks Rio not to get upset about it, in case there's something in the guy's memory that will help protect his precious "little Bunny."

Gilbert: Hmmm... I'll ask you again. What do you want?

_________________________________________

An ordinary day, but the heroine did not yet know that "the seeds of evil have already been sown".

Leon and Yves go to the province. Rio gave Sariel the idea of having a girl accompany them.

_________________________________________

MC realizes that she hasn't seen Silvio for days and that she misses him very much.

Rio notices this, but keeps quiet.

_________________________________________

Drunken conversations #1.

Night. Gazebo [A place with a couch].

Keith and Silvio.

Silvio is already drinking his fifth bottle of wine.

Keith tries to stop him. But if Silvio wants to get drunk, he'll get drunk.

This has been going on for five days now.

Silvio: The host hasn't entertained us for five days in a row.

Silvio: She's back already.

Silvio: Still no sign of her coming to entertain us.

Perhaps the girl is busy, Keith suggested. But there is no more important job in society than to entertain a guest from another country, replies the prince from Benitoite.

Silvio: Well, at least the damn dog doesn't bother me.

Keith: MC's butler is really excellent.

Silvio: .... What?

Keith:... I'm really sorry.

Silvio: Haven't I told you something? The dog hates it when I bother her.

Silvio: It's worth every bit of trouble to keep her around to harass that dog.

Keith says it looks like Silvio is in love with MC.

_________________________________________

Meanwhile... MC's room.

The heroine's schedule is full; she has no time to entertain her guest.

MC: You've been trying to prevent me from meeting Lord Silvio lately, haven't you?

After all, Chevalier also asked her to follow Silvio along with Rio.

Rio tells her that she should not gather too much with his brother. It would hurt the girl. The brother is not a bad man.

However...

Rio: But in "some respects" he is a ruthless scoundrel.

But if Silvio is not entertained, he may refuse to cooperate with Rhodolite.

But Rio realizes that no matter how hard the heroine tries, it won't affect Silvio.

_________________________________________

Rio is silent about his past. But he is not proud of it.

Rio asks the heroine if she likes Silvio.

_________________________________________

Drunken conversations #2.

Night. Still the same gazebo.

Keith and Silvio.

Silvio: Hey. Who's going to fall in love with this damn sassy and cute woman?

Keith remarks that his friend's behavior is due to the fact that he hasn't seen MC in a long time.

Silvio: ... Hmm. Women are such creepy creatures, all of them.

Silvio: They flatter those who have power, carelessly leap over others, laugh at those who have fallen.

Silvio: I throw a tantrum when things don't go their way...

Silvio: On the contrary, if they get their way, they'll make an almost nauseating purring sound.

Silvio: ...I get goosebumps.

The words that came out of his mouth were filled with incomprehensible hatred.

Keith says that Silvio just hasn't had any luck with women.

Silvio agrees with that, but also says that women are all the same.

Keith: ... And Miss MC?

Silvio: ...Аh. I am sure that sooner or later she will show her nature.

Carlo, Silvio's squire, arrived and delivered a message.

Silvio: That old bastard.

Silvio's Masterlist

#ikemen prince #ikemen ouji #ikepri #ikepri translation #ikemen gilbert #gilbert von obsidian #keith howell #ikemen prince keith #ikemen keith #ikepri silvio's route #ikemen prince silvio #ikemen silvio #silvio ricci #ikepri silvio #ikemen prince gilbert

[darlenefblog]

Another! Yeesssss!

Will There Be a Third Downton Abbey Movie?

Downton Abbey: A New Era isn't the end of the Downton universe.

Athird Downton Abbey movie is officially in the works. Actress Imelda Staunton, who played Queen Mary’s lady-in-waiting, Lady Maud Bagshaw, in the first two movies confirmed the exciting news in March of 2024.

“There will be the final film—there you go,” Staunton said in an interview with BBC Radio 2 breakfast show host Zoe Ball. At this point, no other details about the film have been shared publicly—other than it's happening! But as soon as we know anything about a premiere date, the plot, and which characters are set to return to the screen, we will be sure to update this post.

Rumors about another chapter in the Crawley family's story have swirled since the second film premiered in 2022. "Honestly, I thought the fifth was the last series," creator Julian Fellowes told Town & Country at the time, when asked about the possibility of additional sequels. "Then I thought the sixth was the end of them. Then I thought the first movie was the goodbye. Who knows?"

The Downton Abbey creator continued, "If there's a big demand and everyone wants them back, I suppose I certainly wouldn't say no, because I've long since come to terms with the fact that, when I die, Downton will be the main item in any article about me going. So I might as well continue the ride for as long as it goes. But I don't know. I think it's an audience decision, really."

#downton abbey #pbs

[leonaluv]

YG New boy group

don't take it to seriously

So I decide to just do a few because no information on debut but they could actually have like 8 or 9 members.

When debut ??

the 2 cups -2 months - I don't think it will be that soon . as no official statement this year on Yg boy group. I still will say 2024 or 2025 maybe much later. The 2 cups here can be YG teaming up with another company or something similar.

what type of concept ??

elegant /mature - type of boyfriend experience lol

oldest

He is rebellious  and funny ,also can be the visual  of the group. He study aboard and enjoys being in his home country,  loves his home &family-orinted.  He likes to be confident and he can just like to be extra. The way he dress will give him the role of ambassador  for fashion but it can be related to more of bag item or some sort of an assortice. He is one of few who can be writing lyrics  or producing for the group.  bring more humor to the group. He doesn't like conflict but he is good at ending it. 

four wands teacher reverse  publisher -cards page swords  power couple .

 artist He will be very involved  as he is a creative type of person. Be know for his fashion sense and good eye for detail. In the future  when he is older he be the one people go to hear his advice on music.  He can come  from a family of artist and he can be generous . He doesn't  like conflict but he can be sassy to others .

Third member Korean - a person that doesn't like conflict and he is the person that will help bring a more lighter/fun energy to the group. He is also the person that will break up arguments. The member to be the most popular at debut and outgoing nature. He does a lot of things for self care and like to keep his enviorment clean. ( mediator , three cups)

Homebody , round face , likes to watch movies

Fourth member - American -Korean . He likes to go with the flow of life. Just do whatever he feels call to but because of hi s strong faith he has in himself. He can also come from a religious family and he can have things that pop up about him on social media rumors .He is talented artist. Good at creative pursuit.( judgement ,artist )

Pale skin, tattoo, active ,MC host

Fifth member- He just has that great creativity aspect of everything he does works out for him. Traditional , most likely Korean. Creative talent seems to run in his family. Everybody will see him as these little brother figure. He likes hanging out with guys ,working out , protein shakes , and etc. .( The emperor, Midas, bro card, gifts. )

Sixth member- A cute image in his debut. His parents seem against him becoming an Idol but he has a strong mindset &Will so he went for it . He can be emotional at times and likes to give back to charity/help others He also seem like he can be center of hius group .Also receive so much liv. e from industry( martyr, storm , strenght, celebraction , love attraction. )

#yg #new boy group #Kpop readings #yg boy group

[frostfairysteve]

What was private school like? I'm assuming you don't have a basis to compare to a public school (and those vary drastically depending on where you're at in the world/country/state/or even within the same city) but maybe you do have thay comparison.

Just curious maybe even to what kind of classes were offered? A school is a school but there has to be something to set a private school in a different category or why would they exist.

💙

I got insecure and googled it, and according to wikipedia a more accurate name is charter school as tuition was free. The admittance is on a first-come, first-served basis.

But it was still different from public school, which I did go to. I started charter school in 6th grade and then went to a public high school afterwards.

My specific charter school is called Kunskapsskolan (knowledge school) and surprisingly, out of 80 schools, only 36 are in Sweden. (Apparently, they have schools in the UK, USA, the Netherlands, India, and Saudi Arabia. Although Wikipedia uses the word sponsored for them so they might not operate the same?)

Anyway.

It was a very individual learning plan; the subjects were split into steps and courses. You had a step goal for the step subjects since that was completely under the student's control, and then a grade goal for the rest as the course classes had group projects, while music, art, and phys ed were weekly classes.

The classes in another province were home ec, wood shop, textile shop/sewing, and engineering. Engineering tended to be part of the courses. I only chose sewing once, and that was the time I didn't go lol

For those classes, you had two classes each day; one subject before lunch and one after.

The rest of the year, you planned your schedule each morning in a logbook and then your homeroom teacher had to sign off on it.

For the step subjects (swedish, english, modern language, math), there were workshops hosted by teachers if you wanted to be able to ask for help. Otherwise, there were computers or group rooms that you could use to study on your own or with classmates.

For the course subjects, there were obligatory lectures and seminars.

Every fifth step, you had to show your work to a teacher, and there were certain things you had to do in class, so planning your schedule was important.

Of course, this whole step system meant that you could skip school very easily. You just had to be back for homeroom at the end of the day, and not miss any obligatory stuff. I took some very long lunch breaks and afternoon breaks.

And it was very easy to use the computers for other things. I wrote a lot of fanfiction for a certain magic school fandom, made games using powerpoint, and went on forums. I also wrote a lot of poetry during this time.

There was also one year that I had a lot going on and just fully skipped phys ed, but never got told off, and I also got a passing grade. (This coincided with the year that one of the math/science teachers was also teaching phys ed, at least for my class.)

Oh, and my homeroom teacher married the music teacher. The above-mentioned year, she was on parental leave. My class and the music teacher's class got to see their home in 9th grade. They had made a quiz where each answer was a student; I was the answer for a question about Alice in Wonderland.

(Each grade had 4 classes, I was in class 2 and the music teacher was responsible for class 4. The labeling was grade-class so I was in 6-2, 7-2, 8-2 and 9-2.)

Other fun facts to throw in is that the school used to be a mental hospital. There was a locked building on the grounds full of old hospital beds and stuff, but the windows were blocked so you couldn't really see in. I had a friend in the grade above that was a medium and said the school was haunted.

My class had a sleepover at the school in ninth grade, as our fun graduation thing.

Oh, and there was a yearly, student written musical. I never ended up being brave enough to participate but they were fun to watch!

#my answered letters #anonymous letter #junior high sure was something

[wolfeyedwitch]

Color Coordination

Finally writing a bit for @the-whumpers-soiree! This is (another) AU of With Bloody Outstretched Hands, my hero/villain whump series. Here we have Bailey (villain moniker Poppet), the protege of one of the most notorious supervillains in the country, walking into the party with no knowledge of what's going on inside.

---

Bailey shifted from foot to foot as the attendant read their invitation for what must have been the fifth time.

“Is there a problem?” they asked, trying to channel Slipknot’s tone of calm authority. 

“No, no Mx!” he hurriedly replied. “Your invitation is all in order, I’m just… ah…”

Bailey raised an eyebrow as he trailed off. 

He flinched at their movement. “Apologies, Mx. I merely need to contact my supervisor and make sure everything is in order.”

Bailey frowned at that. Hadn’t he just said their invitation was in order?

“Not with you, Mx, but on our end!” he hastily added. 

“Very well,” Bailey said, still doing their best to channel their mentor’s attitude.

He gave them a nod, then stepped into an alcove far enough away that Bailey couldn’t hear the conversation. 

Bailey tamped down their apprehension at this hold-up. It was fine. Everything was going to be fine! Slipknot wouldn’t have sent them anywhere they didn’t think Bailey could handle. And anyway, it wasn’t like this was somewhere dangerous! It was a party!

Bailey held back a wince at the thought of some of the other “parties” they’d attended. This wasn’t like that. It wouldn’t be! It wasn’t a villains-only party like the ones Slipknot hosted, and they weren’t the evening’s entertainment. 

They fiddled nervously with their necklace. Like the rest of their outfit, Slipknot had chosen it specifically for the evening. It was a diamond pendant, a rare pink diamond in fact. It had been the single most expensive item that Bailey had stolen in the heist that led to Icarus’s… 

No. They weren’t going to think about that, not tonight. What mattered was that it was a sign of their mentor’s approval, a lavish gift for a prized protege. Slipknot had insisted Bailey wear it to every social event since the necklace had been made, to “show everyone how well you’ve done, Poppet!”

A woman in a finely tailored pantsuit joined the attendant in the alcove. A moment later, both of them stepped out to speak to Bailey. 

“I apologize for the delay, Mx,” the woman said smoothly. “We merely needed to make sure we had the proper… accommodations for you.”

That was strange, but Bailey didn’t question it. They were more than ready to get past the entrance and into the party itself by now.

“Here is your wristband,” the woman continued. “It acts as your guest pass and identification, so be sure not to lose it!” She said the last with a practiced laugh.

Bailey smiled back politely as they held out their wrist for the woman to attach the glowing red wristband.

“There you are,” said the man. “Matches your beautiful necklace, Mx…?”

“Call me Poppy.”

---

For another disastrous party Bailey went to, click here.

You can read the incident Bailey refers to with Icarus and the diamonds here.

---

Bonus:

Behind the scenes:

Henchman: Boss? I, uh... I think there's a situation here that you need to see.

Boss: what do you want, I'm in here trying to keep a pack of sadists happy and their victims-to-be unaware!!!

Henchman: yeah, but, uh... there's someone here at the entrance who didn't request a red wristband, but I'm almost certain they should be given one. And I want someone to take down with me if I get in trouble for this.

Boss: *gets to front desk* who could POSSI...bly…. oh. Oh. Ooooooh.

Henchman: So it isn't just me? That is Poppet? I'm not seeing things?

The necklace was how they were recognized. And silly Slipknot, forgetting to tell their protege about the wristband rule!

---

Taglist:

gets to front desk who could POSSIBly…. oh. Oh. Ooooooh.

HP: So it isn't just me? That is Poppet? I'm not seeing things?

@heathenville @nonbinary-disaster @kim-poce @whump-world @dolls-circus @pickleking8 @ghostfacepepper @cupcakes-and-pain @badluck990 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump @extemporary-whump @whumpwillow @multiple-characters1-acct @sunflower1000 @fleur-alise @equestrianwritingsstuff, @scp-1296 @livingforthewhump @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @suspicious-whumping-egg @kaiwewi @lelly-belly @neuro-whump @newbornwhumperfly @whumpthisway, @whumpcreations, @wicked-whump @heart4brains, @myhusbandsasemni @how-to-be-a-hero @kixngiggles @kurochan @whumpsday @extrabitterbrain @pattonvirglsanders @neverthelass @we-write-as-one @elrysdoesstuff @whumperflies-and-roses @ha-ha-one @whatwhumpcomments @ramadiiiisme @towerlesskey @emmanemanemm @pigeonwhumps

#whumpers soiree #the whumpers soiree #with bloody outstretched hands #bailey the villain #bailey aka poppet

[newjerseydumpster]

Willkommen to Ulmich!

This is the unnecessary consequence of me wanting the protagonist of a shitfic to be a silly german middle aged woman. Please accept this funky little map before I open the exposition floodgates!

General Information

Ulmich is a region in what would be Pokemon's equivalency of Europe. It's pretty much just a yassified PokeGermany. It's in the center of this alleged "PokeContinent," and shares a border with the Kalos region to the west.

The official language of Ulmich is Ulmichan (which is just German), though most Ulmichans are bilingual, fluent in both their native tongue and either Galarian (English), Kalosian (French), or another.

The legendary Pokemon of Ulmich is Bundesaetos, a regal black eagle that Ulmich credits as its founder. Instead of using "Arceus" as a sort of stand-in word for "God," Ulmichans will often use "Bundesaetos" instead. This is not to say Bundesaetos usurps Arceus as a God, but rather that it's such an important piece of Ulmichan culture that it warrants its own everyday use.

Despite this, Bundesaetos hasn't been sighted in quite some time.

Cities [In Order of Population]

Zergen is the capital of Ulmich, as well as its most populated city. It's the industrial, financial, and government heartland of the region, a true concrete jungle if the country ever had one. This city is quite fast-paced and crowded, so cars aren't the most effective form of transportation. Instead, Zergen's got quite the underground transit system, providing commuters access to most of the city.

Additionally, Zergen is home to Zergen International Airport (ZIA), and Zergen University, among others. As far as the Pokemon League goes, Zergen has no gyms, nor is it the home of the Elite Four - but it's a must on the bucket list for tourists!

Waldig is the second most populated city in Ulmich but definitely has Zergen beat in terms of trade. It's the one Ulmich city that's right on the sea. Besides ingoing cargo ships from Galar, Kalos, or Paldea, Waldig has quite a lovely maritime beachfront and a shockingly successful cruise industry! Waldig is home to Ulmich's first and easiest gym, specializing in Water-type Pokemon.

Schwassberg is the third most populated city in Ulmich, which is quite ironic considering its placement in the more treacherous reaches of the region. However, it's mostly unperturbed by the Stahlgrenze Range due to its placement juuuust outside of its boundaries. Schwassberg residents are noticeably more laid-back than most other Ulmichans, and this is exemplified best in their world-renowned annual beer festival (Yes, we're talking Oktoberfest). You're gonna see a lot of silly Unovans come to Schwassberg for a keg or two.

Schwassberg hosts the eighth and final gym, as well as the most difficult. Considering the range that surrounds it, it's appropriate that the gym specializes in the Steel-type.

Munseedorf, lying right by the heart of the West Munsee River, is home to lovely scenery alongside the calming sounds of Munsee's current. Being closest to Kalos, a lot of Munseedorf's population is fluent in Kalosian, and the general culture is much more mixed between Kalos and Ulmich than in other parts of the region. Munseedorf houses the sixth gym, specializing in Grass-type Pokemon.

Strossem borders the Kitzberg Range to the east. As such, the city provides lovely, albeit daunting views of Mt. Kleinkrieg. Known for the "Strossem Sausage" and a thriving skiing industry, the city's doing quite well for itself. Strossem is home to the seventh gym in the Pokemon League lineup, specializing in the Bug-type.

Nachtfurt is the closest to what you could consider smack-dab in the middle of the region. It is widely considered as the "garden city" of Ulmich, as even the most urbanized squares of Nachtfurt are sprawling with gardens and forest cover. It's definitely got a gothic academia vibe. Nachtfurt is home to the fifth gym, which specializes in Ghost-type Pokemon.

Vechtwald, aside from Zergen, must be Ulmich's most blatantly historic city. Walking around the central streets will display a centuries-long myriad of architecture, from the newest marketplace to the oldest cathedral. Vechtwald is home to the second Pokemon gym, working with Dark-types.

Rosenschen is a city caught in the aridest part of Ulmich. Surrounded by the Rosenkranz Desert and Norwuste Range, Bundesaetos knows that it's a bit hard for things to grow. Citizens make it work, though, capitalizing on a sort of cowboy aesthetic to attract tourism. Rosenschen's gym is fourth in the League lineup, focusing on the Ground-type.

Mecklenstadt is the ninth and final city of note in the Ulmich Region. While it's not a buzzing metropolis, Mecklenstadt is quaint and historic, a much less busybodied rendition of Zergen. The city itself is probably best known for both its many Pokemon sanctuaries alongside its monopoly on Ulmich's northeastern beachfront. Mecklenstadt houses the third gym in the Ulmich League, Dragon-type in nature.

Towns and Villages

Rodenheim is the northernmost settlement in the Ulmich Region, situated at the very crest. It's like Waldig, but a much more downsized and rural version. If Ulmich were a game, Rodenheim would be the player's hometown.

Nordmund is primarily known as a fun art town. Have you got a love of gardens, old imperial palaces, and chocolate? Nordmund's got you covered, so long as you can put up with pretentious hipsters.

Kirchatz is very similar to Vechtwald in the old architecture field, minus the city aspect or secularism. Kirchatz people tend to be pretty religious, so if you're an Arceus-fearing fellow then I suppose you'd be right where you ought to be. For the rest of us, it's a bit awkward - but at least the churches look pretty.

Kalingen is a glorified rest stop. I believe in Kalingen slander.

Augureich, sitting right at the base of Ulmich's highest peak, is a village absolutely pelted by rain and snow. Augureich's a mining town, to be sure, but it's also full of spirituality and mystique. Legends say that Augureich was the birthplace of Bundesaetos. If you manage to outlast the blizzard on the way, here's to hoping you have enough money for a monk!

Gipfelitz, Ulmich's southwesternmost point, is the home of the Pokemon League itself. That's right - this little place is where the Elite Four and Champion conduct business. In Gipfelitz, upon a horizontal mountain face, belies a massive cathedral: The Pokemon League building. Walk right on in! If you dare.

Waterways

River Munsee is Ulmich's longest river, spanning out to reach across much of the northern and central reaches. Because of its shape, Munsee is divided into two parts: East and West Munsee. These rivers are vital for the prosperity of Munseedorf, Nachtfurt, Nordmund, Vechtwald, Strossem, and Kalingen.

Brandewitz River is the lifeline of Zergen and Waldig, and certainly the busiest waterway in the region as a result. Both cities use Brandewitz to ship their cargo to and from their ports, as well as the rest of Ulmich through smaller channels.

Herald River is the most straightforward river geographically speaking, but it's a lot more turbulent than Munsee or Brandewitz, with rapids in some areas that will not hesitate to knock you down. Schwassbergians really love to paddle around in it though, so I guess it's not so bad.

Mountains and Deserts

Rosenkranz Desert is the one and only desert (or prairie area, for that matter) in the Ulmich Region. In real life, Germany doesn't have any deserts - at least not truly, but south of Berlin (or Zergen, in this case) lies a pocket of pseudo-desert area referred to as the Lieberoser Desert. Rosenkranz is based on that pocket, though a lot drier. While not a sand dune type of desert, it's an area more similar to a desertified prairie land.

Norwuste Range is Ulmich's third tallest range. There's not much to write home about other than it being much tamer than Kitzberg or Stahlgrenze. Not to mention drier.

The Kitzberg Mountain Range is Ulmich's second tallest range altogether, and home to the second tallest peak in Ulmich: Mt. Kleinkrieg. The peak's name, meaning "little war," is well deserved, considering how dangerous it can really be to climb. While not as tall as Augureich, it's imposing on its own. Climbers, please perform your due diligence.

The Stahlgrenze Mountains are Ulmich's tallest range, housing Mt. Augureich, the region's highest summit. If Kleinkrieg's a freakshow, then wait till you see Augureich. The thing's surrounded by a nonstop blizzard, and if that wasn't bad enough, it also happens to be an active volcano. You see, unlike Kleinkrieg, there is NO climbing Augureich. Should you ever decide to ignore my warnings and climb the glorified death rock anyway, here's to hoping the monks in the town can give you a blessing or two before you depart. Happy days!

I've been working at this for two hours at the VERY least so I'm gonna tap out now. But if you're seeing this, thanks for sticking around! I bringeth upon thee a star sticker ⭐

#pokemon #pokemon region #fakemon #fakemon region #germany #missy lore #missy draws #ulmich #bundesaetos #why do i do this to myself smh

[calciumcryptid]

Nava Jha

Nava Jha is a Japanese chef, restaurateur, television personality, and writer. He founded his restaurant group Fresh Flavors in XXXX, and opened his signature restaurant the Golden Plate in Tokyo, Japan. He makes a regular appearance on In the Know. He is considered one of the most influential chefs in the world.

APPEARANCE

EARLY LIFE

Nava Jha was born in Tokyo, Japan to two Indian immigrants with his mother working as a janitor at a series of apartment complexes and his father working in a factory. His parents later had another child, Jha's younger sibling Jyoti Jha.

Due to his family's low funds, Nava Jha got experimental with the food they could afford doing all he could to make a dollar store meal a five star experience. His family had nightly family dinners, which contains his fondest memories.

When he was fifteen, his father died in a factory accident and his mother passed away from illness not too long after. Jha didn't continue his education, instead heading straight into the workforce to put food on the table.

CAREER

He started to work at a restaurant and slowly climbed the ranks to Head Chef.

While working there, a producer asked if he would be interested in competing in a reality competitive cooking competition to which he agreed. He participated in the cooking competition, but was eliminated in the third round due to the judges being disgusted at his lack of high quality ingredients despite the meal tasting the same.

Despite being eliminated, he did meet another person in the industry who asked if he would be interested in appearing on the first season of a talk host show as a show personality bartender. He was hesitant, but eventually agreed to try out.

In preparation for his audition, he went against the ordered food and drinks and prepared the talk show hosts favorite foods and drinks instead. On the day of the audition, he was the last one to audition and rolled out his specially prepared meal. While the network wanted to disqualify him, Kofuyo hired him on the spot due to his consideration.

The talk show was later named In the Know, and aired on XXXX. Nava Jha was a regular on the show for the first season, having his own bar set and taking a comedic role on the show as he helped set up jokes and conversations. A notable bit is when a guest said something outrageous, Kofuyo would call Jha to make her a drink as she needed one. Nava's popularity rose during this time, and is often jokingly referred to as the secret co-host by fans due to his chemistry with Kofuyo. In the second and third season, Nava Jha got his own segment that would help mark the beginnings of the morning and night segments of the show with him making a breakfast during the morning and then a drink for the night segments.

During the second season, Jha opened his first restaurant called 'The Golden Plate' to success.

When In the Know was renewed for a fourth season, it was noted by many fans that Nava Jha had been demoted from series regular to recurring guest. In response, Kofuyo shared that Nava Jha had started filming a new show for the network that limited his schedule. It was later revealed that the new show was called Nava Jha and the Flavors of the World, where he traveled from country to country to try and learn how to cook different food. The show recieved postiive reviews, with many noting Nava Jha's eagerness to learn and his respect towards other cultures. At the end of the show, he came back to In the Know where he shared his finds with Kofuyo and the two had a meal with the live audience.

Nava Jha was promoted to regular for the fifth and sixth seasons of In the Know, but was gone for an episode due to serving as a celebrity judge on the same cooking competition he was eliminated from all those years ago. He also was gone from his bar set sometimes due to the network sending him out to different festivals and celebrations around the world to try the food.

When In the Know was renewed for a seventh season, Nava Jha was once again demoted to recurring guest due to going off to film a new show for the network. The show was revealed to be titled 'Finding the Flavor', and it is an American reality television series in which Nava Jha was invited by owns to spend a week with a failing restaurant in an attempt to revive the business. The show was an attempted reboot of the pre-quirk show Kitchen Nightmares. The show was ordered for thirty episodes, but it is notable that only twenty-nine episodes officially aired. The show had a 1:4 ratio, with every failed business Nava Jha exceeded in saving four businesses. At the end of filming, Nava Jha came back to In the Know, and shared food from the restaurants he had saved with Kofuyo.

Nava Jha was promoted to regular again for the eighth season of In the Know, but was joined by a new young apprentice chef and mixologist Maple Hoffman that he had met during his time filming 'Finding the Flavor'. When asked about his new apprentice by Kofuyo, Nava Jha said it was so she didn't feel lonely when he had to go off and film. Later, Maple Hoffman had her first solo food segment while Jha was away judging another cooking competition.

Nava Jha was demoted to recurring guest for the ninth season of In the Know, due to after his engagement special with Koyufo he had become interested in baking. He soon opened his own bakery known as The Golden Whisk, and started a new series for the network called 'Finding the Treat' where he was invited by owners to spend a week with a failing bakery in an attempt to revive the business. The show was ordered for twenty-five episodes, and all episodes aired.

Nava Jha was once again promoted to regular for the tenth season of In the Know, and he revealed in an interview that he'll probably stay at the show for the foreseeable future as he missed the banter and regularity of being a regular.

PERSONAL LIFE

Nava Jha is the older brother of famous streamer and game designer Jyoti Jha; however, Jyoti didn't reveal their family connections until they hit one million subscribers wanting to make their own career on their own merit. The two are now often seen together in Instagram posts, and Jytoi Jha sometimes shares behind the scenes stories of In the Know on their channel.

Nava Jha and Koyufo were noted for their chemistry since the first season of In the Know, and in XXXX the two revealed they had started dating. A few years later the two got engaged, and a year later got married. The two had an engagement special that aired in place of an episode of In the Know where the two went around to different bakeries and tasted different cakes and learned how to bake them. When asked about children, the two said they had a discussion about kids but with their busy schedules it was not viable to start a family at the moment.

In an interview with the two, it was revealed Koyufo was the one to ask Jha out. She said that he always gave her leftovers to take home since she often didn't have time to make herself dinner. One day when he gave her leftovers, she realized she has feelings for him and asked him out.

Nava Jha has shared their quirk on television, saying it was called Recipe and it made it so he could identify all the components it took to make something. At first he thought it applied just to food, but later learned it applied to other things. It does not tell him how to make something though just the component and amount.

PUBLIC IMAGE

Nava Jha is often regarded as the 'Anti-Ramsey', a reference to a pre-quirk chef. This title comes from his more calm approach to teaching, and when helping failing restaurants does his best to keep the restaurant theming in tact even if it conflicts with his personal tastes.

When questioned about the unreleased episode of Finding the Flavor, Nava Jha shared that he felt personally uncomfortable airing the episode due the sheer amount of abuse displayed. Later, Maple Hoffman revealed she was from the restaurant in the unaired episode, and was grateful Jha got her out of a horrible situation.

Nava Jha is a non-playable character in the game Hero Shock in the Japan Campaign Path. He is found at the In the Know set where he gives out a quest asking the player to bring him ingredients for Madame Magic's surprise birthday party. At the end of the quest, he gives the player his bond item called the Golden Knife of Flavor. When the Golden Knife of Flavor is equipped it helps regenerate health. When the Golden Knife of Flavor is equipped on Madame Magic, his bond effects will come into play regenerating both health and energy and giving her random buffs. He was released in the mini update Magic of Cooking alongside Madame Magic and the introduction of a cooking mechanic.

Nava Jha's net worth is about sixty-five million dollars.

TAGLIST

@insomniac-jay

This is really late and for that I apologize.

#bnha oc #oc: nava jha

[eurovision-revisited]

Eurovision 1996: How they qualified

Along with the many new things this year came another change to the qualifying rules. Every country could take part and submit a song. There would be 23 songs in the final, one of which would be from Norway - the hosts and winners in 1995. There other 22 spots would be won in a pre-competition qualifying competition to which every eligible country could submit a song.

29 countries did so including one debutant, North Macedonia. The qualification was run with the same scoring rules as Eurovision. Each country had a jury of experts who listened to audio of all the songs in March. The top 22 countries progressed to the main competition.

This resulted in a big shock. Germany were eliminated with what some thought was one of the favourite songs for the final. Denmark had finished fifth in 1995, Israel ninth. Both were eliminated. North Macedonia, in the first entry were eliminated. Also gone were Russia, Romania and Hungary.

The other major result of this format was that every country got to hold a national final. A record number of 22 national finals took place while the other eight countries submitted internal selections. Only one of the national finals was a song selection competition for an internally selected artist (Bosnia & Herzegovina again).

With a large number of national finals come a large number of songs. In 1995 there were a total of 178 songs competing for a chance of winning Eurovision. In 1996 that jumped to 307. By far the most songs ever. It also made my job in picking a top 26 much harder.

North Macedonia used Skopje Fest to select their entry, Belgium had named their song selection competition De gouden zeemeermin and they were back to the Flemish half of the country with BRTN. Germany went back to holding a song selection Ein bißchen Glück, the Netherlands went back to having more than one act, but they each had three songs. In Russia the name changed to Pesnya dlya Evropy and the network went back to RTR (and this time there wasn't any of the controversy...). With Britpop in full flowering, the BBC renamed their competition to The Great British Song Contest. This was the first year that EMA was called EMA in Slovenia.

#esc #eurovision #eurovision song contest #esc 1996 #oslo #oslo 1996 #national finals #norway

[ausetkmt]

"Finding Zion, a Black cemetery time forgot in Tampa"

Lost African American Cemetery Found Under Florida Parking Lot

Nora McGreevy

Residents of Clearwater Heights, a historically black neighborhood in Clearwater, Florida, have long shared rumors of unmarked graves left behind when an all-black cemetery was moved to another town in the 1950s.

Now, an archaeological survey has confirmed this speculation, reports Paul Guzzo for the Tampa Bay Times. According to records obtained by the Times, researchers recently used ground-penetrating radar (GPR) to analyze a patch of land in the Tampa Bay community. Though a paved parking lot covers most of the site, a business complex owned by staffing firm FrankCrum occupies a small portion of the land.

Archaeologists discovered 70 possible graves just below the surface of the lot, says Jeff Moates of the Florida Public Archaeology Network. The team only surveyed a fifth of the 2.5-acre cemetery plot, raising the possibility that more graves may be hidden at the site.

The St. Matthew Missionary Baptist Church established the cemetery in 1909. When the church sold the land in 1955, most of the bodies buried in the graveyard were moved to another African American cemetery in nearby Dunedin. But some of the graves were unmarked, and they appear to have been left behind during the move.

Over the next 50 years, the plot of land hosted a department store, an administrative building and a technology firm. In 2004, FrankCrum purchased the site, unaware of the forgotten graves on-site, according to the Times.

The new discovery is the latest in a string of key historical finds across Tampa Bay. In the past year alone, research spearheaded by local reporters has led to the identification of four historical black cemeteries in the area.

Two years ago, Times journalists acting on a tip from local historian Ray Reed realized that the city’s first all-black graveyard, Zion Cemetery, was buried beneath land now occupied by the Tampa Housing Authority and restaurant warehouses.

Using GPR, researchers discovered more than 300 unmarked graves. Their findings, published in June 2019, led to the rediscovery of other cemeteries in the area, including a nearly all-black grave site hidden beneath a Tampa high school.

That these black cemeteries have been neglected or “lost” to time is no accident, but rather the result of systemic racism, reports Emerald Morrow for local broadcast station WTSP. During the Reconstruction era following the Civil War, Jim Crow laws effectively barred black people from owning property—a restriction that forced African Americans out of neighborhoods where they had lived for generations.

As Morrow explains, “At the time, racism and segregation meant African Americans lacked the political and economic power to hold onto their property and sacred institutions like cemeteries. And it’s the buildup of these injustices over time that have led to outrage in the black community today.”

Spurred by the recent spate of discoveries, experts from the University of South Florida and the Florida Public Archaeology Network are researching unmarked graves and working to identify the people buried within.

“We die twice,” says USF librarian Drew Smith in a statement. “We die when our physical body dies, but we also die when the last person speaks our name. We can bring these people back because we can begin talking about them and speaking their names again.”

As Jacey Fortin and Johnny Diaz reported for the New York Times last November, efforts to preserve abandoned or neglected historical black cemeteries are ongoing across the country.

In February 2019, Congressional lawmakers introduced the African-American Burial Grounds Network Act, which seeks to create a national database of historic black cemeteries under the auspices of the National Park Service, according to Caitlin Byrd of the Post and Courier.

More recently, the Mass Graves Investigation Public Oversight Committee announced plans to dig for suspected mass graves linked to the Tulsa Race Massacre, as DeNeen L. Brown reported for the Washington Post in February. In 1921, a white mob attacked and destroyed the prosperous black neighborhood of Greenwood, killing an estimated 300 black Tulsans. Public interest in the search for the mass graves has intensified as the centennial of the massacre approaches, wrote Jason Daley for Smithsonian magazine in 2018.

Work aimed at unearthing and preserving historic black burial sites has taken on new urgency as protests against racism and police brutality erupt across the country.

As historian Fred Hearns tells the Tampa Bay Times, “[Y]ou can’t hide the truth. It will be dug up. Those young people out in the street inherited our rage. Until we tell the whole truth, there will always be a lingering evil—like the cemeteries—waiting to pop its head up.”

#Finding Zion #a Black cemetery time forgot in Tampa #Zion Cemetery #Florida #Black History of Tampa #Lost African American Cemetery Found Under Florida Parking Lot