nothing to do with the work i should be doing right about now

Why BTS’s decision to publicize their support is important.

I have seen various fandoms downplay BTS’s newest campaign with UNICEF as nothing but image building and media play. 

I teared up when I saw the campaign that BTS has launched with UNICEF. As a person working for a similarly situated organization where I manage artists who use their influence to spread the advocacy, I want to tell you about how much this means in the work of helping children.

Organizations that work for advocacies have very little to no budget to gather funds and push forward the advocacy for more people to pay attention. The End Violence Against Children campaign is a unified effort across a number of inernational organizations, including the one I work for, pushing for children’s rights across all nations.

Violence Against Children come in different forms, from child abuse, to slavery, prostitution, discrimination, and bullying, all these are very serious issues that deserve attention and yet are being fought behind the scenes. Why? Media pays attention only when big issues occur, for persistent issues such as these, how often do you hear them in the news?

But right now many people are talking about it on social media. Why? Because BTS are making people pay attention. We call for the help of people with a wide range of influence for this reason.

Yoongi said this in the past, “THE MASS MEDIA CREATES ALL THIS FUSS ABOUT MAKING PEOPLE THINK THAT BEING ‘THIN/SKINNY’ IS THE ABSOLUTE STANDARD OF BEAUTY. BUT ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE WORLD, THERE ARE PEOPLE WHO STARVE TO DEATH. SHOULDN’T WE BE MORE AWARE OF THOSE THINGS? IF I BECOME A CLEAN AND INSPIRING PERSON, I BELIEVE I CAN MAKE PEOPLE TURN THEIR HEADS TOWARDS THOSE MATTERS MORE.” (Grazia, Sept 2017 Issue).

He has always known of the massive influence they can have on making people care about these matters. And he said this today, “During a past interview, I’ve thought that one of the many things I want to surely try doing is a charitable or a good campaign or project and I’m very honored that I am able to fulfill that. Also as big as our influence has become, I thought we should be a better influence so I am very very thankful that we can show many people a good through this great opportunity.”

This goes beyond media play and image building. This is not about kpop, not about fandoms, not about fanwars. This message is for the children of the world. Those who need our help. And I hope we focus on this message.

Harvey Weinsten sexually Harassed Lupita Nyong’o

Lupita: “I have been following the news and reading the accounts of women coming forward to talk about being assaulted by Harvey Weinstein and others. I had shelved my experience with Harvey far in the recesses of my mind, joining in the conspiracy of silence that has allowed this predator to prowl for so many years. I had felt very much alone when these things happened, and I had blamed myself for a lot of it, quite like many of the other women who have shared their stories.

But now that this is being discussed openly, I have not been able to avoid the memories resurfacing. I have felt sick in the pit of my stomach. I have felt such a flare of rage that the experience I recount below was not a unique incident with me, but rather part of a sinister pattern of behavior.

I met Harvey Weinstein in 2011 at an awards ceremony in Berlin, while I was still a student at the Yale School of Drama. An intermediary introduced him to me as “the most powerful producer in Hollywood.” As an aspiring actress, I was of course eager to meet people in the industry but cautious about strangers, and the intentions of men in general. So I tried to vet this famous producer by asking my dinner-table companions what they knew of him. A woman who was a producer herself cautiously advised me to “keep Harvey in your corner.” She said: “He is a good man to know in the business, but just be careful around him. He can be a bully.” And so I exchanged contacts with him in the hopes that I would be of consideration for one of his projects. I wanted to keep things professional, so I made a point of referring to him as “Mr. Weinstein.” But he insisted that I call him by his first name. In this first encounter, I found him to be very direct and authoritative, but also charming. He didn’t quite put me at ease, but he didn’t alarm me, either.

Not long after we met in Berlin, Harvey wrote to me inviting me to attend a screening of a film — a competitor’s film similar to one he had produced. He said we would be watching it with his family at his home in Westport, Conn., which was not far away from New Haven, where I was living at the time. He would send a car to pick me up. I accepted the invitation.

The driver and I met Harvey in the little town of Westport, where he informed me that we would be having lunch at a restaurant before getting to his home. I did not think much of this. It was a busy restaurant, and as soon as we sat down he ordered a vodka and diet soda for himself. I asked for a juice. Harvey was unimpressed with my choice and told the waiter to bring me a vodka and diet soda instead. I declined and said I wanted the juice. We went back and forth until finally he turned to the waiter and said, “Get her what I tell you to get her. I’m the one paying the bill.” I smiled and remained silent. The waiter left and returned with a vodka and diet soda for me. He placed it on the table beside my water. I drank the water. Harvey told me that I needed to drink the vodka and diet soda. I informed him that I would not.

“Why not?” I remember him asking. “Because I don’t like vodka, and I don’t like diet soda, and I don’t like them together,” I said. “You are going to drink that,” he insisted. I smiled again and said that I wouldn’t. He gave up and called me stubborn. I said, “I know.” And the meal proceeded without much further ado. In this second encounter with Harvey, I found him to be pushy and idiosyncratic more than anything.

We got to his home after lunch and I met his domestic staff and his young children. He took me on a brief tour of the house before he rounded us all up in the screening room to watch the film. He had just produced a similar film of his own, but everyone was raving about this rival version.

I settled in for the film, but about 15 minutes in, Harvey came for me, saying he wanted to show me something. I protested that I wanted to finish the film first, but he insisted I go with him, laying down the law as though I too was one of his children. I did not want another back-and-forth in front of his kids, so I complied and left the room with him. I explained that I really wanted to see the film. He said we’d go back shortly.

Harvey led me into a bedroom — his bedroom — and announced that he wanted to give me a massage. I thought he was joking at first. He was not. For the first time since I met him, I felt unsafe. I panicked a little and thought quickly to offer to give him one instead: It would allow me to be in control physically, to know exactly where his hands were at all times.

Part of our drama school curriculum at Yale included body work, using massage techniques on one another to understand the connection between body, mind and emotion, and so I felt I could rationalize giving him one and keep a semblance of professionalism in spite of the bizarre circumstance. He agreed to this and lay on the bed. I began to massage his back to buy myself time to figure out how to extricate myself from this undesirable situation. Before long he said he wanted to take off his pants. I told him not to do that and informed him that it would make me extremely uncomfortable. He got up anyway to do so and I headed for the door, saying that I was not at all comfortable with that. “If we’re not going to watch the film, I really should head back to school,” I said.

I opened the door and stood by the frame. He put his shirt on and again mentioned how stubborn I was. I agreed with an easy laugh, trying to get myself out of the situation safely. I was after all on his premises, and the members of his household, the potential witnesses, were all (strategically, it seems to me now) in a soundproof room.

Earlier Harvey had sent the driver to the store to buy a boxed collection of “The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency,” an HBO show that he had produced. This was the project he thought I would be right for, he said. (I later found out that the show had not been on the air for some time.) As I prepared to leave his home, he presented it to me. He wanted me to check it out and let him know what I thought. He would be in touch about it. I left for New Haven with his driver.

I didn’t quite know how to process the massage incident. I reasoned that it had been inappropriate and uncalled-for, but not overtly sexual. I was entering into a business where the intimate is often professional and so the lines are blurred. I was in an educational program where I was giving massages to my classmates and colleagues every day. Though the incident with Harvey had made me uncomfortable, I was able to explain and justify it to myself, and shelve it as an awkward moment. His offer to me to be a part of the HBO show was a very attractive one and I was excited about it, especially as I would be graduating in another year. I didn’t know how to proceed without jeopardizing my future. But I knew I would not be accepting any more visits to private spaces with Harvey Weinstein.

I decided to invite Harvey to come to a production I was in at school. Perhaps that way he would really see what I had to offer, and he would see my colleagues, too. He accepted the invitation, but the night of the production, he sent a message saying he had been caught up in New York and would be unable to attend. He would make it up to me. So when I received an official invitation to a staged reading of his new Broadway show, “Finding Neverland,” I was not surprised. I was still debating whether I should accept his invitation, and so I responded saying I was not certain that I could make it because of my school schedule. He responded with exactly the words I needed to hear: Come with whomever you want to come with. And so I invited two of my trusted male friends.

We attended the reading, and afterward Harvey invited us all to a restaurant for dinner with his comrades and collaborators. He sat me next to him, and another actress sat across from me. He had my friends sit at a different table. The talk was shop the whole time and Harvey held court with ease. He was charming and funny once more, and I felt confused about the discomfort I had previously experienced. I looked at the actress who I was informed had just worked with him on a project, searching her face for any sort of indication that she too had been made to feel uncomfortable by this powerful man, but of course I saw nothing. We did not stay very long because we had to catch a train back to New Haven. My friends had been equally charmed by Harvey. He knew when to turn it on if he wanted something. He was definitely a bully, but he could be really charming, which was disarming and confusing. I left feeling that perhaps he had learned my boundaries and was going to respect them.

A couple of months later, I received an email from Harvey, inviting me again to New York for a screening of “W.E.” After the screening, we would have drinks in TriBeCa. I then received a phone call from one of his male assistants to arrange my transportation. Feeling more confident about the new sense of boundaries that we had established in our last meeting, I attended the screening on my own this time. Afterward, as planned, his male assistant arranged for me to get to the Tribeca Grill, where Harvey would be joining us. I met a female assistant when I arrived there. I was expecting that it would be a group of us, as it had been for the reading, but she informed me it would just be Mr. Weinstein. She would sit with me until he arrived. She seemed on edge, but I could only imagine how stressful it was to work for a man who had so much going on.

Harvey arrived and the assistant immediately disappeared. We ordered drinks and starters. Again he was offended by my nonalcoholic beverage choice but he didn’t fight me on it as hard. Before the starters arrived, he announced: “Let’s cut to the chase. I have a private room upstairs where we can have the rest of our meal.” I was stunned. I told him I preferred to eat in the restaurant. He told me not to be so naïve. If I wanted to be an actress, then I had to be willing to do this sort of thing. He said he had dated Famous Actress X and Y and look where that had gotten them.

I was silent for a while before I mustered up the courage to politely decline his offer. “You have no idea what you are passing up,” he said. “With all due respect, I would not be able to sleep at night if I did what you are asking, so I must pass,” I replied.

His whole demeanor changed at that point. “Then I guess we are two ships passing in the night.” I had never heard that saying before, so I remember asking him what it meant. “It means just that,” he said. “We are two ships going in two different directions.”

“Yes, I guess we are.”

“So we are done here,” he said. “You can leave.”

We got up, having not eaten anything, and he led me out of the restaurant. My heart was beating very fast. A cab was hailed for me. I said I would take the subway (I could not afford a cab at the time), but he handed me some money and told me not to be silly, take the cab. Before I got in, I needed to make sure that I had not awakened a beast that would go on to ruin my name and destroy my chances in the business even before I got there.

“I just want to know that we are good,” I said.

“I don’t know about your career, but you’ll be fine,” he said. It felt like both a threat and a reassurance at the same time; of what, I couldn’t be sure.

I did not see Harvey again until September 2013 when I was in Toronto for the premiere of “12 Years a Slave,” the first feature film I was in. At an after-party, he found me and evicted whoever was sitting next to me to sit beside me. He said he couldn’t believe how fast I had gotten to where I was, and that he had treated me so badly in the past. He was ashamed of his actions and he promised to respect me moving forward. I said thank you and left it at that. But I made a quiet promise to myself to never ever work with Harvey Weinstein.

Not long after I won the Academy Award in 2014, I received an offer to play a role in one of the Weinstein Company’s forthcoming films. I knew I would not do it simply because it was the Weinstein Company, but I did not feel comfortable telling this to anybody. I turned down the role, but Harvey would not take no for an answer. While at Cannes, he insisted on meeting with me in person. I agreed to do it only because my agent would be present. In the meeting, he was honest about intending to persuade me to do his movie. I told him I simply did not feel it was a role I needed to play. He said he was open to making it bigger, more significant, maybe they could add a love scene. He said if I did this one for him, he would do another one for me — basically guaranteeing backing a star-vehicle film for me. I ran out of ways of politely saying no and so did my agent. I was so exasperated by the end that I just kept quiet. Harvey finally accepted my position and expressed that he still wanted to work with me at some point. “Thank you, I hope so,” I lied.

And that was the last of my personal encounters with Harvey Weinstein. I share all of this now because I know now what I did not know then. I was part of a growing community of women who were secretly dealing with harassment by Harvey Weinstein. But I also did not know that there was a world in which anybody would care about my experience with him. You see, I was entering into a community that Harvey Weinstein had been in, and even shaped, long before I got there. He was one of the first people I met in the industry, and he told me, “This is the way it is.” And wherever I looked, everyone seemed to be bracing themselves and dealing with him, unchallenged. I did not know that things could change. I did not know that anybody wanted things to change. So my survival plan was to avoid Harvey and men like him at all costs, and I did not know that I had allies in this.

Fortunately for me, I have not dealt with any such incidents in the business since. And I think it is because all the projects I have been a part of have had women in positions of power, along with men who are feminists in their own right who have not abused their power. What I am most interested in now is combating the shame we go through that keeps us isolated and allows for harm to continue to be done. I wish I had known that there were women in the business I could have talked to. I wish I had known that there were ears to hear me. That justice could be served. There is clearly power in numbers. I thank the women who have spoken up and given me the strength to revisit this unfortunate moment in my past.

Our business is complicated because intimacy is part and parcel of our profession; as actors we are paid to do very intimate things in public. That’s why someone can have the audacity to invite you to their home or hotel and you show up. Precisely because of this we must stay vigilant and ensure that the professional intimacy is not abused. I hope we are in a pivotal moment where a sisterhood — and brotherhood of allies — is being formed in our industry. I hope we can form a community where a woman can speak up about abuse and not suffer another abuse by not being believed and instead being ridiculed. That’s why we don’t speak up — for fear of suffering twice, and for fear of being labeled and characterized by our moment of powerlessness. Though we may have endured powerlessness at the hands of Harvey Weinstein, by speaking up, speaking out and speaking together, we regain that power. And we hopefully ensure that this kind of rampant predatory behavior as an accepted feature of our industry dies here and now.

Now that we are speaking, let us never shut up about this kind of thing. I speak up to make certain that this is not the kind of misconduct that deserves a second chance. I speak up to contribute to the end of the conspiracy of silence.”


I’m so happy Lupita shared her story and I have so much more respect for her and commend her for sticking by her morals. It’s disgusting that Harvey would even try something with her while his kids were in the other room, what a sick bastard

How To Come Out in A Conservative Society

An History Lesson on Ellen DeGeneres and Theories about BTS

First, let me start off by saying that I know this is going to piss off some people. Your precious boys can’t have a bad rumor spread about them, can they? 

Well, fun fact: These rumors about idols have gone on for years, and they still have jobs. The rumors aren’t the problem, because when it comes to LGBT rumors, unlike straight rumors or controversies, Korea readily just accepts them as not possible and so someone can be rumored gay and nothing come from it, unless it was ever confirmed, so again, the rumor isn’t the problem. The lack of acceptance if said rumors are confirmed is the problem, because idols can only work if a company feels they will be able to make money. It is simple economics. If fans are not willing to accept and openly express acceptance, how can we expect a society to? How can we expect companies to feel that their artists have a market? Now I understand Korea has a thing about censorship despite fan reaction. This is a part of the problem, and it is a complicated political setting in which I do not understand and therefore cannot determine the ultimate solution. 

All I can say is this:

Guys, America was not always as accepting as it is now. America did used to be like Korea, and none of the laws for the LGBT were in place. What changed? The people. If you, as fans, are so set on protecting idols that you inherently promote the idea that being LGBT is an issue, even if you don’t mean it that way, you are being problematic to the cause. Discussing it openly allows idols and even companies to see the acceptance among fans, and fans educating other fans about it allows the societies to see the change in the people. You have the power but when you so adamantly push to censor the discussion, you give the power to those who wish to not acknowledge the LGBT. Talking is good, and could really help an LGBT idol feel better about themselves if they are LGBT.

NOW ONTO THE TOPIC OF DISCUSSION!

So, BTS wants to visit Ellen. This is very interesting to me, as I have always felt a slight connection of their stories. I have a theory, but you have to actually hear me out to try and understand that this is something legitimate and not just some delusion of grandeur. 

First, how many of you actually know the history behind Ellen?

Well, I am going to assume that a lot of you are younger than me. BTS is younger than me lol. So, in the 90s, Ellen DeGeneres was an American television sweetheart. People loved her. American families watched her all the time. She was really popular. She had her show Ellen, which if you didn’t know, was not the talk show she has now. It was an actual sitcom where she played a character named Ellen. She boldly made the choice ON THE SHOW to have the character come out as a lesbian, and the next day on a talk show, she came out herself.

It was a bold move in the 90′s when LGBT rights were in the shitter. Still, if you look back, she actually was quite clever and strategic. She played the every woman and that’s why families loved her, but you will see hints of her sexuality. She used her medium and talent to subconsciously familiarize her audience with the idea of her being LGBT. It took a lot of work, and trust me, her coming out was not ENTIRELY smooth, but it went quite well. She was one of the few at the time to come out and have her career thrive after. 

She after that managed to have the highest viewed day time talk show that still runs today, a role in one of the most beloved children’s films, Finding Nemo. In fact, a open lesbian having a role like Dory in a children’s film at all was a huge deal. She managed to do all of this and land a deal with JC Penney and Covergirl, and her net worth is 350 million. She even for over a decade remained with her wife Portia, all while her career grew. Sure, along the way there were idiots who condemned her, but most of America loved Ellen.

All from a woman who wore short hair, gender non-conforming fashion, and openly lived as a lesbian in the 90′s. She may not be too shocking to you guys, but she did “look like a lesbian” in what people would have defined (don’t take this as my belief).

How? 

Just being someone everyone can connect to! She was happy and funny and wanted the world to laugh! She showed that LGBT people are just like everyone else. They wanted their rights, and that was all. This is a discussion for an entirely different subject, but I as an LGBT can tell you that while I think people should be accepted and able allowed to behave in the manner they see fit as long as it harms no one, there is value in LGBT who are not defined by the stereotypical “LGBT” behavior and are simply just day by day people who live just like you. Ellen did not over-exaggerate her sexuality’s stereotypical behavior. There is nothing wrong with being flamboyant, but sometimes sadly, the first step to acceptance is to be able to empathize and she was the one to be able to connect to easier, and with time, starting with people like her being accepted, times changed, and now we are seeing acceptances for all forms. It isn’t perfect, and it probably never will be, but it is there. She pushed boundaries, but she did so strategically and it worked for her.

NOW LOL WHAT DOES THIS HAVE TO DO WITH BTS?

Well, if you are familiar with their music, behavior, ethical principles, and the HYYH, then you might see where I am going with this.

Firstly, I would be here for hours if I mentioned all the various moments were they referenced something LGBT or did something related to. There is the Japanese Jungkook fanboy, Glam’s Party XXO, Namjoon’s words about the issue, Yoongi and his fuckery, Troye Sivan ultimate stanning, ‘I Know’ etc, but let me continue with my point.

I feel that BTS are familiarizing their fans with the idea of LGBT within idols. Idols have always had fanservice, and idols have always had ones who professed acceptance. There have even been idols that have hinted towards ideas of LGBT in their art (like Monsta X’s All In) but if ARMYS are correct about the HYYH, there may actually be the first LGBT narrative involving idols (KWill’s Please Don’t featured an LGBT plotline but I am talking about the idol themselves being involved). 

There have been hints that Yoongi and Jungkook within the narrative have a romantic plot. The HYYH Notes give this idea some light. Granted, we could be incorrect, but it does seem to be the case with the narrative text. We will have to see in the future where they take it.The Love Yourself highlights also hint at this. Then, Namjoon’s insistence on Love Yourself: Her being gender neutral. I think this is for a specific purpose as well.

Then there was the photoshoot with Jimin and Jungkook on the same rainbow unicorn float that was used at Korean Pride that same summer. I do not find this coincidental at all. There is a message, and I find that they are trying to send it in a palatable way for fans, which sadly shouldn’t have to happen, but it is the society we live in. There is the fact that they covered a song without changing pronouns, which would be ignored had it not been for the recent Namjoon comments and the fact that the BigHit survey featured more than the two genders. I think they recognize all of this. I think that this is all to familiarize fans with directly associating idol with LGBT. 

They are pushing boundaries, but doing so strategically.

Now, this next part might split some people, because it involves two members together, and I know people get pissy but hear me out. Please note that while you may think I am wrong, if you believe there are other LGBT members, the former discussion still applies.

I think the recent events involving Jungkook and Jimin are not fanservice. They are real events that are used by the two for fans. Let me explain: If they are together, they are spending time together, publicly interacting, and expressing themselves more. They are doing this because they love each other, but this is shown for fans for the purpose I believe of getting fans used to the idea, so that if they did eventually come out, it would not be such a shock. Much like Ellen did. I could be entirely wrong, but I think every moment is genuine and they are just showing it to people they care about to show their love. It can be a gift to fans, but that does not make it fanservice. 

As, I said, take the last two paragraphs away, and my point is still relevant, but I do believe they are utilizing this as a chance for members to come out who would not feel comfortable doing so before. I find at this point in time, the most likely is Jimin and Jungkook.

For sure, Jungkook. I always believed him to be some form of LGBT.

NOW, what does any of this mean? What does the future hold?

Well…

You got me.

If I am correct, and I believe I am, this means that BigHit and BTS will eventually tackle the idea of LGBT head on. I think an issue is with the Korea Unicef program, as it is 2 years long, and Yoongi decided not to get a tattoo to be able to do it, so what makes us think being LGBT wouldn’t be an issue, BUT who knows? They may utilize the fact that they are the current most successful Korean idol artist on a national and worldwide scale to see what can happen. Not changing the language they sing in reaches to their intent for change and being a voice for Korean youth, and utilizing the international fame allows them to bridge the youth they are reaching to with the liberalism of Western media.

The thing is in order to not kill their careers, they have to be big enough to survive it. That is why the first part of my essay is so important. Fans are the key. Our support and votes, and yes, our money, is the key to them being big enough that they are untouchable. That might not ever truly happen but it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try. If we can have an idol who is LGBT that is as big as them, that can invoke change…

JUST LIKE ELLEN. It takes time. Things didn’t change immediately after her, but damn if life didn’t get more and more progressive. I also credit so many others for that, but this is about them.

Please, take into consideration that I put a lot of thought into this before you brush me off, BUT ultimately this is my opinion. Good Day.

Man Up

by reddit user Pippinacious

When the bookstore at the mall put up its help wanted posters, I jumped at the chance to put in my application. Between being an avid reader who had practically lived amongst the store’s shelves in high school and a broke community college student taking a semester off to save money, it seemed still customer service.

Keep reading

Tom and Lin-Manuel: An Appreciation/Jealous Rant

Every writer has a golden period – a chunk of time when her brain is ripest, when the veins he is tapping are the richest, when the ideas, big and small, spill out over the sides of the bucket instead of having to be patiently collected like drops of rain off a leaf. This is true for songwriters, playwrights, novelists, screenwriters, anyone who writes anything in any genre. Go look at John Hughes’s IMDb page and marvel at his golden period, which I would bookend as 1983-1990. It’s outrageous. He wrote Vacation, Mr. Mom, Sixteen Candles, The Breakfast Club, Weird Science, Pretty in Pink, Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Some Kind of Wonderful, Planes, Trains, and Automobiles, Uncle Buck, and Home Alone in eight years. Eight years?! That’s absurd.

But then look at his next 20 years. You won’t find one movie that is better than the worst one he wrote in those seven years. The vein ran dry. It always does. That’s just the deal.

Tom Petty’s golden period never ended. Or, at least, the silver periods on either side of his golden period were seemingly infinite. No matter where you think he peaked – Full Moon Fever, or Wildflowers, or Damn the Torpedoes – the decades on either side were wonderful. He was great from the moment he released his first album in 1977 to the day he died last month. For forty years he wrote, and wrote, and wrote, and the songs he wrote were good or great or amazing.

Tom Petty wrote “Breakdown” and “American Girl” in 1977. He wrote “You Don’t Know How it Feels” seventeen years later, in 1994. He wrote “You Got Lucky” in 1982, “King’s Highway” in 1992, “The Last DJ” in 2002. He wrote “I Won’t Back Down,” “Runnin’ Down a Dream,” Free Fallin’,” “Love is a Long Road,” “A Face in the Crowd,” Yer So Bad,” and “The Apartment Song,” and “Depending on You,” all in 1989, and they were all on the same album, and that’s absurd.

He wrote “Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around” in 1981 and “Big Weekend” in 2006. He wrote every song on Wildflowers – and they are all great – in or around 1994. He wrote fifty other great songs I haven’t named yet, like “Don’t Come Around Here No More” and “Jammin Me.” He wrote great songs you’ve heard a million times, and great songs you’ve maybe never heard, like “Billy the Kid” (1999) and “Walls” (1996) which was buried on the soundtrack to She’s the One.  He took a break from the Heartbreakers and casually released “End of the Line” and “Handle With Care” and “She’s My Baby” with the Traveling Wilburys in 1989-90. He wrote “Refugee” in 1980 and “I Should Have Known It” in 2010. Is there any rock and roll songwriter alive who wrote two songs that good, 30 years apart? (Paul McCartney wrote “Hey Jude” in 1968, and only 12 years later he wrote “Wonderful Christmas Time,” which is so bad it nearly retroactively undid “Hey Jude.”)

He wrote about rock and roll things, like ’62 Cadillacs, getting out of this town, and dancing with Mary Jane. He wrote about love and loss and heartbreak. He wrote legitimately funny jokes, and moribund memories, and personal narratives, and imaginative flights of fancy. One of his characters calls his father his “old man” and it somehow isn’t cheesy. He was from Florida and California and wrote about both of them, and every time I’m on Ventura Boulevard I think of vampires, because the images he wrote are indelible. 

Petty didn’t just write songs directed at women, like most rock stars. He wrote about women, and he wrote for women, and he wrote with women. He treated the women in his songs as lovingly and respectfully as he treated the men. He cared about them as much, he spent as much time thinking about them, and he liked them as much, and all of that is rare.

He wrote simply, but not boringly. He made his characters three-dimensional, somehow, in a matter of seconds. There’s a famous (probably apocryphal) story about Hemingway bragging he could write an entire novel in six words, then writing: “For sale: baby shoes, never worn.” I prefer the 18-word novel Petty wrote as the first verse to “Down South” –

Headed back down south
Gonna see my daddy’s mistress
Gonna buy back her forgiveness
Pay off every witness

When I was working on Parks and Recreation, whenever we needed a song to score an important moment in Leslie Knope’s life, we chose a Tom Petty song. It started with “American Girl,” when her biggest career project came to fruition. It was “Wildflowers” when she said goodbye to her best friend. It was “End of the Line” at the moment the show ended. For the seven seasons of our show, Tom Petty was the writer we trusted to explain how our main character was feeling, because he wrote so much, so well, for so long.

*******

It seems like a joke, Hamilton – a joke in a TV show where one of the characters is a struggling New York actor, and is always dragging his friends to his terrible plays. Like Joey in Friends. There’s an episode of Friends where Joey is in a terrible musical called like Freud!, about Sigmund Freud, and you get to see some of it, and it’s predictably terrible. Freud! the musical is arguably a better idea than Hamilton the musical.

I’m far from the first person to say this – I’m probably somewhere around the millionth person to write about Hamilton, and the maybe 500,000th to make this particular point, but it needs to be said – a hip-hop Broadway musical about the founding fathers is an astoundingly terrible idea. Lin-Manuel Miranda should never have written it. As soon as he started to write it, he should’ve said to himself, “What the fuck am I doing?!” and stopped. And after he got halfway through, he should’ve junked it, gotten really drunk, and moved on with his life, and made his wife and friends swear to never mention the weird six months where he was trying to write a hip-hop musical about Alexander Hamilton. I literally guarantee you that when Lin-Manuel Miranda first told his friends what he was writing, every one of them reacted with at best a frozen smile, and at worst a horrified recoiling. Some of them might have been outwardly encouraging – “sounds awesome bud! Go get ‘em!” But then later, alone, they would call each other and say What the fuck is he doing?

There is a moment, in Hamilton, when what you are watching overwhelms you. (It’s not the same moment for everyone, but most everyone has one, I suspect.) It’s the moment when the enormity, the complexity, the meaning of it, the entirety of it, overpowers you, and you realize that what you are experiencing is new – new both in your specific life, and new, like, on Earth.  The first time I saw it, that moment was a line in the middle of “Yorktown.” Hamilton sang the line And so the American experiment begins / With my friends all scattered to the winds, and I burst into tears in a way I hadn’t since I was 10 and a baseball went through a guy’s legs in the World Series. Something about how casually he says that – And so the American experiment begins – just settled over me, like a collapsing tent, and this thing I was watching wasn’t in front of me, it was everywhere around me, and it was exhilarating and transformative.

(If I could put this part in a footnote, I would, but I don’t know how to, so: I should mention that I am very far from a musical theater aficionado. I have seen maybe eight musicals in my life. Not only did I not expect to cry, hard, during Hamilton, I did not expect to enjoy it. I saw it like a week after it opened on Broadway, kind of on a whim, knew nothing about it, and the last thing I said to my wife, as the lights went down, was: “We’ll leave at intermission.”)

The second time I saw it, that moment came much earlier (I knew what I was getting into, this time, so I was more ready to be subsumed). It came barely three minutes in, when the entire cast of the show, in a piece of choreography that can best be referred to as “badass,” all walk down to the very front of the stage and stand, shoulder to shoulder, and sing very loudly about how Alexander Hamilton never learned to take his time. The cast has, to this point, trickled on stage, slowly, one by one, telling you Hamilton’s origin story, and then suddenly there they all are, all of them – maybe 20? 50? It seems like 1000? – as close to the audience as they can get, and they are every size and ethnicity and gender, and their voices are loud, and I thought to myself, oh my God, this is a cast of people descended from every nation on Earth, all singing about the foundations of the American experience, and yes I “knew” that, intellectually, but holy shit, now that I see them all, I know it, like in my stomach, I understand it, and what a thing that is.

The third time I saw Hamilton, that moment was during “It’s Quiet Uptown,” when this enormous, sprawling, improbable, otherworldly, multi-ethnic, historical, art tornado presses pause on all of its historical-cultural-ethno-sociological-artistic investigations, and spends four and a half spare minutes with a couple who are grieving an unimaginable tragedy.  Specifically, it was the lines

Forgiveness
Can you imagine?
Forgiveness
Can you imagine?

What a thing to do, for your characters – to give them four and a half minutes in the middle of an enormous, sprawling, historical swirl, to just be sad. What a piece of writing that is.

(Again, should be a footnote, but: as long as I’m talking about writers here, I should point out that if the late Harris Wittels were alive, he would, at this moment, text me and hit me with a “humblebrag” for writing about how I have seen Hamilton three times, and he would be right. Miss you Harris!)

In the hundreds of hours of my life I have spent thinking about Hamilton since I first saw it – far more hours than any other single piece of art I have ever experienced – I have revisited that same thought over and over: he never should’ve written it. It was an absurd thing to do. It took him a year to write the title song, then another year to write the second song, and how did he not give up when two years had gone by and he’d written two songs?  He must’ve known in his heart it needed to be a 50-song, 2 ½-hour enterprise, and he had two songs after two years, and he kept going. How did he keep going? I’ve been trying to write this blog post about two writers I admire for different reasons since the week Tom Petty died, and I’ve almost given up five times.

At this point, the entire musical is that “moment” for me. It’s the whole thing, now – the thing that overwhelms me is the whole thing. The conception of it, the writing of it, the rewriting of it. The music and the motifs and the themes and the threads and the dramatic shape and the characters and their inner lives, and the eagle-eye writer’s view it took to keep all of that in his head, all of it, the whole time. The writing of it. The utterly impossible writing of it. 

BTS replaced you. - pt.3

[pt.1] [pt.2] [pt.3]


Originally posted by hobixing

“Ah… they did? What did they say?” Hongseok passes my phone to me as I read the messages I haven’t opened for the last few hours. Seeing them still hurt because it still feels insincere, as if I was alone in this friendship. 

“Are you going to reply?” Hongseok asked while taking one of my hand in his from under the blanket. It was barely even 6am and I wasn’t down for the drama just yet. 

“Not yet, let’s have cake.” I say smiling, and dragging him with me over to the kitchen still with my phone in one hand.

I took the cake out from the fridge and set it on the table between Hongseok and I. He placed a candle in the centre and lit it, turning the light off before he took his seat. The room was dark and the winter sun hasn’t yet risen and so all that was left to light up the room was the moonlight seeping through the gaps of the blinds and the orange candlelight. A few seconds after, the room was filled with his voice - he sang happy birthday and I couldn’t help but wear a smile on my face. His voice was pretty and I honestly couldn’t thank him enough for doing all this for me. When the short song came to an end we both clapped, I clapped to applaud his singing and he clapped to applaud me fo coming to life twenty-one years ago.

“Make a wish Y/N.” 

“Wishes don’t come true Hongseok.” 

“I’ll make sure this one does, as long as it’s realistic and I can afford it.” He laughed as I smiled. 

“There’s nothing I want.” 

“But there is, I can tell.”

“I just want a shoulder to lean on and not be a burden to people.” 

“Done!” I laughed at his enthusiasm.

“I’ll always be your shoulder to lean on, and you’re never going to be a burden to me.”

“It makes me feel as though I’m replacing them because that’s exactly what they said to me five years ago.” 

“I’m not asking to take their place silly, but just know that I’m always going to be here for you.” He grabbed my hand again from across the table and rubbed his thumb on the back of my hand. I wanted to cry in this moment because I was so grateful of him and his words. 

“I don’t deserve someone like you in my life.” 

“Idiot, I told you this already. You deserve more and better but you’re stuck with me now.” 

“I like the sound of that though.” We both laughed and enjoyed one another’s company. Until my phone dinged, showing a notification from the group chat. I un-muted the conversation but didn’t think they’d be up to say anything.

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Draw me Like one of your French Girls... Part 1


This fic is dedicated to @yunyin who was a big part of bringing it about in the first place ^_^ 

(Warning some spoilers for ML Season 2- (Just the stuff we knew during the hiatus nothing important from the new episodes) 

“Listen furball, I am ten times as sexy as you are. That is just a fact. People would pay to see pictures of me.”

“People DO pay to see pictures of me,” Chat shot back.

“What?”

“Never mind,” he grumbled, “the point is that I am obviously the sexier of the two of us.”

“Guys, I know this is a slow patrol night but you are giving me a headache,” Rena Rougue sighed, dropping down onto the platform and sprawling onto her stomach against the cool metal of the tower.

“Wait,” Chat said with a terrifying grin, “Rena. My dear, darling, friend.”

“Oh this can’t end well.”

“You are a fox of impeccable taste are you not?”

“Maybe.”

“And you are an excellent judge of both male and female attractiveness as well, are you not?”

“Ladybug is the hottest out of all of you,” she smirked, not bothering to get up.

“Yes, that is a given, but the point is-”

“The point is that I could pull off sexy far better than this mangy stray,” Bee interrupted.

“Could not.”

“Will you two please just stop fighting, it’s been too hot to deal with this level of stupid,” Rena sighed.

“It’s not stupid, my honor is at stake!” Bee huffed. “If you want us to stop then tell him that I clearly would be better suited to being a sex icon than he would.”

“Foxy lady, please tell Bee that she is clearly pollinating the wrong flower.”

Rena groaned. Clearly there would be no reasoning with the two of them until this had been hashed out.

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;the touch of silk (m)

pairing: min yoongi x reader, sugar daddy! yoongi, vampire! yoongi
genre/warnings: smut, romance, blood mentions, but nothing too crazy, dirty talk, dom! Yoongi
words: 14,221

:: summary— in a world where vampires coexist with the living, there are many humans looking for a cheap thrill…you’re ashamed to admit you’re curious too, putting to good use a dating app you find…but Min Yoongi is nothing like you imagined a vampire to be…

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First Kisses

Their first kiss wasn’t spectacular. No one stood in the background, waiting to light off fireworks while hordes of people cheered and applauded. There was no performance at all, really.

The fact of the matter is that their first kiss was on a Tuesday night, and Draco was making Harry stay up with him to study for a Defense Against the Dark Arts exam they had the next morning. They were the only ones in the common room. But Harry looked at the clock and realized it wasn’t Tuesday night anymore, it was actually Wednesday morning, and somehow during their studying they’d slumped over onto each other, eyelids weighed down with sleep. The fire had all but burned out, the glowing coals casting a dim orange light across the two boys on the overstuffed sofa…

It wasn’t spectacular. They just sort of… fell together, I suppose, melting into each other, and Harry wasn’t sure where his mouth ended and Draco’s began anymore. He kept falling. Harry hoped he’d never hit the ground.


Their first kiss was in the rain after Harry and Draco were both shit-faced drunk, stumbling out of the bar while still swaying in time to the pumping music inside. Harry’s glasses were askew, and his cheeks were flushed, and god, his pupils were so dilated… Draco had intended on mapping out every corner of Harry’s face so he could remember it later when he went home alone like usual, but when he straightened Harry’s glasses for him, his hands lingered against his cheeks, thumbs tracing Harry’s lips. Their foreheads pressed together. He could feel Harry’s breath against his mouth and when he finally closed the remaining space between them, Harry’s wand shot out sparks and singed Draco’s coat. If you weren’t looking closely as you walked past them in the dark, you’d think it was one cloaked figure, standing very still outside the crowded bar.

Draco didn’t go home alone ever again after that night.


Their first kiss was in the eighth-year common room, surrounded by friends who had all had far too much firewhiskey to drink. It was Harry’s turn, and his face was already beet red. He wasn’t sure if it was from the alcohol or from what was about to happen, but he wasn’t sure that mattered right now. He spun the bottle as hard as it would go. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and the bottle just kept going… There was no way there wasn’t magic involved in how long it took it to stop spinning. Maybe he was so drunk, it had stopped spinning hours ago and he just hadn’t noticed.

The room went silent.

Harry was particularly aware of the fact that there was a floor beneath him, and something else underneath, and he felt entirely too heavy to hold up. He looked at who the bottle pointed towards and wished the floorboards would give way to send him plummeting into whatever room was beneath them.

And Ron was assuring him that no, if he really didn’t want to, he didn’t have to do it, but Pansy started chanting “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” and made everyone else join in. Hell, even Hermione was pumping her fists and chanting, and all of the blood in Harry’s body rushed to his head. He was most definitely a deep shade of scarlet now.

He looked up from his lap, though, and inches in front of him was the one person he never thought he’d touch in a way that wasn’t with malintent, and his eyes were already closed.

Draco tasted like peppermint and booze. The first time, at least.


Their first kiss was full of fire and anger and sweat, and they were seventeen. There was no one left in the showers after Slytherin lost another Quidditch match to Gryffindor, and Draco was convinced Harry had cheated. He’d almost had the snitch. He could have beat him for the first time in his life. Draco punched first, hitting the hard brick wall and bloodying his knuckles when Harry ducked out of the way. Harry’s face was covered in dirt and neither of them had much in the way of a hairstyle after playing out in a rainstorm for several hours. But Draco couldn’t think about Harry’s unkempt hair or muddy face right now, because somehow Harry had pinned him up against the wall, breathing hard and muttering something about how Draco should think very hard about what he did next…

Harry had hickeys landscaped across his chest for days.


Their first kiss was confusing for both of them. Of course Snape had paired them together for potions again, and Harry was prepared to sit back and let Draco do all the work again, but they were being watched so Draco thrust into Harry’s arms some things to chop up that had nothing to do with what they were brewing. Harry was getting a Dreadful in this class and he wasn’t sure how he was going to finish school if he flunked out.

“I’ll help you,” Draco mumbled, and Harry became aware that he had somehow managed to say all of this out loud.

“You’ll what?” asked Harry, dumbfounded.

“I said I’ll help you, you git,” Draco sneered, “McGonagall wants me to do something for the less fortunate because it might help me get a job when we get out of here.”

So Harry agreed, and for two hours on Saturday nights Harry and Draco had a scheduled slot of time to argue study. They’d never spent time alone together though, at least not for this long, and Harry began to notice little things about Draco. Like how when Draco was thinking hard about something, he flossed his hands through his hair, pulling it all off of his forehead and accentuating his widow’s peak. He looked like a blond vampire like that. It was a good look on him.

“What did you just say?” questioned Draco, one eyebrow raised. Harry had thought out loud again. Shit. He tried to think of something to cover up what he’d just said, but it was all out in the open now. He couldn’t backtrack on something like that. Draco looked beyond pleased with himself, and Harry felt his jaw clench. That git.

God, Draco got under his skin, but here, in the empty potions classroom, alone, he looked…

God.

He got under his skin so much that skin was all Harry could think about now. Draco’s skin. It was softer than he’d ever imagined. And his lips were another story.


And that’s what I love about fanfiction. The fact that we can write into existence hundreds of first kiss, each one unique in it’s own way, but each one dripping with more magic than anything you can cast with your wand. Each one the jumping off point for an infinite universe of stories, love, heartbreak, and laughter. So here’s to beginnings. Here’s to more first kisses.


Thank you @parkkate for reminding me of the post I made a few months ago that fell along this line! I figured I’d have at it once again like I did with the other post I made yesterday since I don’t really remember anything I wrote last time! 

anonymous asked:

I wish you would write an outsider POV Sterek, maybe from their neighbor's POV?

This is embarrassing.

Holy, fuckmuffins, this is embarrassing. She should not do this. She should turn around and go back home. She should just be at home. Forever. She can order groceries from Amazon and socialize with people over the internet and she thinks she could be very happy to just live at home. It would be fun. 

Also, she would be alive. Because she is not sure she will be after all is said and done. 

She gets to their door and then seriously considers just turning around. It would make her a fundamentally bad person but she could be okay with that. 

Ugh.

No she can’t.

She takes a deep breath, wishes that Jenny wasn’t at her father’s this weekend because maybe a cute little four year old would help, and then knocks anyway. On her next door neighbor’s door. 

It had to be her next dooor neighbor. Someone who she will probably have to see again. 

And, of course, Murder Man opens it. He is already glaring at her.

He is going to kill her

“Hello?” he asks and she realizes she has just been standing there. Staring. Which, like fair, he is gorgeous but mostly she’s staring because it is just now occurring to her that she should have told someone where she is going before just coming over to share this bad news. 

“H-hi,” she says finally. “My name is Tammy and I live in number 406–right next door actually and I-I’m so sorry but I’ve just… I’ve just scratched your car.”

Keep reading

Eight Months.

Even eight months after the break up, Harry still felt the overwhelming urge to check up on you and your life. He would check your social media accounts a few times a week, more so before going to bed when thoughts of you plagued his mind. It felt naughty, wrong in a way; after all, it was him who ended your two year relationship.

*

“It’s never going to change, Harry! Things will always be the same! You ‘forgot’ my birthday and you spent the day with Kendall. You ‘forgot’ our date night and you spent the evening with Cara. I know it’s what the media want and expect from you, and I know management want you to do this, but I think you want to as well” you sigh, the words you had held for so long in your mouth now finally spilling out.

“You’re joking, right? That was a joke? You seriously think I want to spend any spare time I have with Kendall or Cara over you? Management need me to do this, if I don’t, I can kiss goodbye to my pay cheque! Half the things I do in this job is for you! How the fuck else would you get the latest handbags and purses and shoes?! Who else is going to pay for your education? Because I don’t see you or your family offering to cough up!” he spits almost bitterly.

You gasp in shock at his words. He knew your financial situation at home and that your parent’s worked so bloody hard to provide for you, but it just wasn’t enough. Your future career depended on your qualifications, and those qualifications could only be acquired in higher education in which Harry had offered to pay for, before he knew anything about the money side of things.

“Really, Harry? That’s how you feel? You think I’m with you for the money? I don’t give a damn about the shoes or bags and purses or latest fashion trends. I love you because you’re my boyfriend and I see myself living the rest of my life with you. I don’t love you because you’re Harry Styles from One Direction!” you spit back, your words truthful.

“I’ve heard that one before” he tells you, his eyes averting to the floor.

“So now you’ve got trust issues with me? Other girls may have treated you like that in the past, but I’m not like other girls, Harry. Two years we’ve been together and you really think that of me? When you guys broke up as a band, and you didn’t know what was going to happen to your music career, who was the one sitting up with you every night holding you whilst you cried? Other girls would have run a mile because of the uncertainty of your future. I love you even if you have nothing!” you shout at him.

Harry shrugs his shoulders and bites his lip. “Look, it’s not even just this causing arguments. They’ve been going on for a while and maybe having Kendall and Cara as friends is something you can’t handle. But I can’t live my life like this anymore. I’m done arguing with you all the time” he tells you softly.

“You’re making it sound like I don’t want you having friends, which isn’t true. I want you to put me first, like you did at the start of our relationship. You would have done anything back then for me, Harry. I hate arguing with you too. Maybe if we arrange some sort of schedule and arrange dates in advance to see each other?” you suggest.

Harry shakes his head. “I think it’s too little too late, (Y/N).”

You frown, your bottom lip beginning to quiver as you ask the dreaded question. “Are you breaking up with me.”

Harry’s eyes avert to the floor once more and the silence between you both speaks more volumes than words ever could.

*

Your Instagram account had been almost inactive for the first month after the break up, with only the occasional bog-standard photos of new make-up purchases and Starbucks coffee. But no selfies and nothing that indicated any happiness in your life. After three months, your social media accounts portrayed some happiness returning to your life as you took selfies with friends on regular nights out, but Harry knew as well as anyone that social media is one massive cover up for reality. Were you really actually happy? Were you living or were you just alive?

It seemed to him that your life continued to appear happy, but after four months of opening the app, he noticed someone by your side. Photograph after photograph, upload after upload, this person would be stood next to you. You had a side when taking photos with Harry, but now somebody else was standing on Harry’s side, taking his place, standing where he should be standing. Then tagging each other on Twitter began taking place. Simple things such as “coffee dates” and memes.

Five months after the messy break up, Harry sighted a picture of the two of you kissing; you and your new beau, as it was publicised. Your lips on his, no doubt his tongue down your throat and he wanted to vomit. It didn’t make social media, but it made the headlines in the news. The media had left you alone a little while after the break up, but of course, a new relationship for you meant gossip amongst the public, especially One Direction fans and Harry girls, and the tabloids couldn’t resist the opportunity.

Upon reaching seven months, Harry noticed another change in you on social media. You were becoming more and more inactive by the day, rarely replying to tweets and the amount of photographs posted reduced. Anybody else would put it down to business in studying and spending time with loved ones, but Harry knew how much you had loved your interactions on social media, and something didn’t sit quite right with him. But then he remembered that he’s not yours and you’re not his, and you have someone else taking care of you now.

*

Eight months later, and Harry still had you on his mind almost every minute of the day. He would awake in the morning with the help of his alarm but your hair wasn’t sprawled across the pillows as he would expect; he no longer bothered eating breakfast in the mornings; gone are the days when he used keep something warm on the stove for you, for when you awoke, ensuring you had something warm for your hungry tummy in the mornings; he had nobody to send a morning text to. His routine was completely out of sync and nothing over the last few months made it any better.

He would come home every evening to an empty apartment. He had nobody to cook dinner for. He had nobody to talk to about his day. He had nobody to snuggle up to at night. He had nobody to kiss. He had nobody to love and he had nobody to love him.

Some nights would be simple; Harry would climb into bed and flick on the television, watching a favourite film in which he no longer got pleasure out of. He’d check his social media, and then check yours, before setting his alarm and falling asleep, his dreams of you haunting him throughout the night.

Other nights, he’d yearn for you. He loved you, still loves you, and wants nothing more than to hold you whilst you sleep and keep you safe in his embrace. But he would yearn for you in other ways too, awakening in the night from happy dreams of you, his cock hard for you. He would lay awake between the sheets, grinding his hips into them and rubbing himself vigorously as he imagined being inside of you. He would let himself go completely when he could imagine the moans that would leave your lips, the breathlessness you would encounter, and it was as though he could almost feel you come around him.

He hadn’t been in another relationship since the split, but there had been a couple of one night stands. In a way to get over you, ironically, he would fuck others that had similar traits to you. The same hair colour, the same laugh, the same smile. But neither of those girls were you. He didn’t really want them, they just happened along with the alcohol consumption of both parties involved. After two girls, he stopped. He wasn’t sure if it was the reality of the situation that made him stop, or if it was the slap he received one night.

*

The music was pounding against the speaker, the DJ’s were screaming out and giving shoutouts, mostly for people’s birthday’s and other celebrations, bartenders were leaning over the bar in an attempt to actually hear what the customers were ordering in the club, and everyone was like sardines, squashed together, but everyone seemed to be enjoying it and having a good time. Everyone except Harry.

He occasionally moved around and shuffled his feet in an attempt to dance, but he felt so lost without you there. He kept an eye out to see if you were around, almost forgetting that you didn’t go there together. He always used to keep an eye on you, making sure you were safe on the dance floor and that no drunken men took advantage of you. He was your protector. 

“What’s your name?” a young blonde asked. That was the only thing that was same about the two of you. You’re blonde and so was she. But she wasn’t you. Harry wasn’t too sure if she was just acting oblivious to the fact that he was the most famous, most well-known person in the club, or whether she was just so drunk that she barely knew her own name, let alone his.

“Harry” he told her, placing his hand on the small of her back and pulling her closer so as they could hear each other’s spoken words over the thumping music.

The girl nods. “Louise” she tells him. “Fancy getting out of here?” she asks. 

Harry nods. He realises she’s not as drunk as he thought she was, but taking in her features, she looked a few years older than him. Maybe she really didn’t know who he was.

“Mine or yours?” she asks as they stumble out of the nightclub and onto the streets of London. Louise quickly hails a taxi as Harry replies, “yours.”

Whilst his own place seemed more appealing as he wouldn’t have the awkward ‘leaving after a shag’ stage, he didn’t want to take her, or anyone, to his bed. Only you got the privilege to be in his bed. He didn’t fuck anyone else in his bed, only you. He didn’t want anyone else to come in the sheets besides the two of you together and for each other.

The taxi ride back to hers was soon over and they stumbled through her apartment, his lips pressed to hers. Their eyes remained closed as he thought about you. Undressing you. Running his hands up and down your body and caressing your breasts as you laid all bare for him, for his eyes only.

Harry breathlessly pulls aways as he lifts up the miniskirt. They both quickly realise this is nothing more than sex up against the wall. She’s not taking him to bed either, and Harry wonders if Louise is also getting over someone. Within the next thought, he doesn’t care. He does’t love Louise. He loves (Y/N).

The blonde grabs at his belt, unbuckling it and unzipping his trousers, his length exposed to her. He quickly reaches into his back pocket before letting his trousers drop and rips open the packaging. Covering himself with the latex, he soon pushes himself into her. She gasps, taking him in, before moving quickly against him.

They’ve both been drinking and he knows his performance will be affected greatly, so he’s not surprised when he quickly comes inside of her, moaning her name. She gasps and he withdraws from her quickly. Before even getting the chance to dress himself, her hand collides with his cheek.

“Louise! I told you my name is Louise!” she yells at him angrily.

And in that moment, he realises that he moaned your name when he came.

*

He arrived home from the studio and continued his evening rituals. No work the following day meant he could have a later night and whilst he was glad to be able to sleep in later and not have the demands of an alarm clock, he knew from experience that on a day off where he lacked a busy schedule, you would be on his mind more than ever.

The night passed with Harry doing nothing more than eating his evening meal and lounging around in front of the television, flicking through channels to find something to entertain him for a few hours. He occasionally reached for the bottle of whiskey, pouring himself small measures each time. Whilst the drinking had become a regular habit a few months back, Harry had realised that drowning his problems with alcohol helped nobody, not even himself, and he kicked the habit almost as quickly as it had started. No amount of alcohol got you out of his head.

The comedy shows provided some entertainment, and whilst there were a few forced laughs, Harry did find some of the jokes genuinely funny. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed properly.

Tapping his watch with a yawn, he checked the time. Flicking off the television set, he threw the remotes back on the sofa and picked his body up from the position he had been in for hours. A loud, repeated knock on the door made him jump slightly. The banging got harder and more frantic and he could only wonder who would be calling in on him at this hour. “Alright, I’m coming!” he yelled in frustration. Couldn’t his unwanted and unwelcome guest wait two minutes?!

Heading into the hallway, he unlocked the door, pouting his lips to express his emotion, making sure the person on the other side of it knew he was angry at the disturbance and the complete lack of respect for him and his property. As far as they were aware, he may well have had work the next morning. Swinging the door open,  he gasps, taking in the demeanour of the person standing in front of him, the sight almost killing him as bile rose in his stomach and a nauseous feeling took control of his body.

I think a big part of how I see the world is that -

In college I was sick. In particular I was anorexic, and I nearly starved myself to death. I never accomplished anything, made commitments I couldn’t keep, lost track of time, and struggled with the most basic life tasks. I was anxious (mostly because I correctly knew that everything was going horribly) and lazy (because I could not possibly do enough things to matter, and doing things was hard and hurt) and unreliable and terrible. I ended up owing people a lot of money (I have since paid them all back) and failing at things that were really important to me and to other people.

And now I am in a good environment for me. I live with people who I can be reasonably assured don’t hate me and will tell me when they need me to do things differently, and I am no longer anxious. My work has clear expectations and is bite-sized and doesn’t pile up on me, and I reliably deliver it and do a good job. I have enough money I don’t have to deal with the mental overhead of deciding whether to buy the food I want, and I spend that mental overhead on better things. I am still messy and I am still bad at getting places on time, but I’m never late on rent. I am mostly a productive, honest, trustworthy, reliable person and I’m getting better at those things. I have friends and kiss girls (and the occasional boy) and I make a positive difference in peoples’ lives.

Some of the difference was immaturity and lack of skills; much of the difference is that I had starved my brain until it stopped functioning; much of the difference was that I was in an environment that was not shaped to my strengths. But living through it gave me this powerful sense that the difference between a “lazy” person and a “successful” person, between a reliable person and an unreliable person, between a “good” person and a “bad” person, is a lot about whether they are in an environment shaped to their strengths. That almost everybody will be great in the right environment and really really struggle in a bad one. And some people have never ever encountered a bad one and think they’re just inherently great; and some people have never encountered a good one, and think they’re just inherently miserable and hard to get along with and unreliable and untrustworthy.

I absolutely think people are still accountable for the things they do in bad environments. I’ve worked really hard to fix the things I fucked up at when I was sick, and I don’t mean “it’s all the environment” to mean “it’s not you”. Just - the same you who was miserable and did bad things will be happy and do good things, in better circumstances, and lots of the human project is building those circumstances. 

I don’t know how to give everyone an environment in which they’ll thrive. It’s probably absurdly hard, in lots of cases it is, in practical terms, impossible. But I basically always feel like it’s the point, and that anything else is missing the point. There are people whose brains are permanently-given-our-current-capabilities stuck functioning the way my brain functioned when I was very sick. And I encounter, sometimes, “individual responsibility” people who say “lazy, unproductive, unreliable people who choose not to work choose their circumstances; if they go to bed hungry then, yes, they deserve to be hungry; what else could ‘deserve’ possibly mean?” They don’t think they’re talking to me; I have a six-figure tech job and do it well and save for retirement and pay my bills, just like them. But I did not deserve to be hungry when I was sick, either, and I would not deserve to be hungry if I’d never gotten better.

What else could ‘deserve’ possibly mean? When I use it, I am pointing at the ‘give everyone an environment in which they’ll thrive’ thing. People with terminal cancer deserve a cure even though right now we don’t have one; deserving isn’t a claim about what we have, but about what we would want to give out if we had it. And so, to me, horrible people who abuse others all the time deserve an environment in which they would thrive and not be able to abuse others, even if we can’t provide one and don’t even have any idea what it would look like and sensibly are prioritizing other people who don’t abuse others. If you have experiences, you deserve good experiences; if you have feelings, you deserve happy feelings; if you want to be loved, you are worthy of love. You flourishing is a moral good; everybody flourishing is in fact the only moral good, the entire thing morality is for. Your actions should have consequences, sure, and we should figure out how to build a world where those consequences are ones that you can handle, and where you can amend the things that you do wrong. When you hurt people, that can change what “you thriving” looks like, because part of thriving is fixing, and growing from, things you have done wrong; but nothing you do can change that it is good for you to thrive.

I reject that I ever deserved to starve, and so I reject that anyone, ever, deserves to starve. I reject that I ever deserved to suffer, and so I reject that anyone, ever, deserves to suffer. Happiness is good. Your happiness is good. And without a single exception anywhere I want you to thrive.

Memories

Pairing: Y/N and Harry

Word Count: 6k

Prompt:

He lays there, blanket pulled to his torso, eyes shut, he looks like the rest of them, and she feels her heart ache. She can’t help but notice how young he is, he can’t be any older than twenty-six, and here he lays with no one around him.

“Hi there,” Y/N whispers, bending down to height of his ear, “I’m your nurse Y/N. Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m here to take care of you. Make sure you stay healthy for when you wake up, make sure you don’t get any bed sores yeah? I’ll keep you company, keep you updated on what’s happening in the world, tell you some funny jokes, I’ll even let you in on the latest company gossip, but you gotta do me a favor,” she whispers, placing her hand on top of his. It’s a cold hand, rough, and she knows it’s supposed to feel that way, but it maker her heart ache even more. Y/N closes her eyes, taking in a shaky breath, “you have to pull through this and live, yeah? Because when you wake up, it’s going to be your turn to tell me all about yourself, yeah?”

She opens her eyes and sighs.“It’s late now, one a.m., but I’ll be back later to check in on you,” she gently brushes the hair out of his face and stands, “we’ve got a deal. You can’t fail me.”

or 

Y/N is Harry’s beautiful nurse who he can’t stop thinking about, to the point that he’s willing to give up his old memories and life to make a new one with her.


“Good morning!” Y/N sings.

Keep reading

movies [ steve x reader ]

premise: (name) is dustin’s sister and they decide to watch movies all night. what (name) doesn’t know is that dustin invited steve, too

a/n: this was supposed to be shorter, like to paragraphs short, but…
also, requested by:  Hey I loved your Steve x Reader where reader is Dustin’s sister’s fic. Can you do more of it please? ( @queeeenofscots​ ) / can you plz do more dustinssister!reader x steve imagines??? thanks ily <3 (anon)

if you like my stuff and want to support me, don’t forget to treat me to a KO-FI! take part in the 7K followers gift HERE!

MASTERLIST.

A family night. Well, more of a sibling night. Mom is out of town with a couple of friends of hers (Mews death had really taken a toll on her). You and Dustin are left to your own devices, which means movie marathons and junk food all night. Falling asleep is also a no go because you swore to draw on his face with a sharpie if he even closed his eyes for a second. The same goes for you, of course. Granted, for being seventeen you sure can be childish sometimes. But you can’t really blame yourself for that, or wanting to spend more time with your brother. The two of you had always been close, but you drifted away when you grew into a real teen. Naturally the Demogorgon business brought you two together pretty quickly and neither of you intend to lose touch again.

Dustin picks between a few horror movies you had rented earlier that day as you heat up the popcorn, “Hey, (Name), how do you feel about Halloween?” Dustin asks from the couch.

You make a face, “Not good.”

“Perfect. We’re watching this one.”

You surpass the urge to roll your eyes and you grin and take the KFC you ordered out of those meek paper bags. As you turn off the lights in the kitchen, with one hand holding plates and the other grasping a big bottle of soda, you move into the living room as Dustin sets up the movie, “Just try not to scream.” Dustin says, fiddling with the VCR.

“Pretty sure you’ll be the one that’s screaming.”

The doorbell rings and makes a shiver shoot up your spine.  Instinctively you look at the looming front entrance and the dark night pooling behind it. You glance at Dustin but he doesn’t even look your way, mumbling something about ‘Stupid fucking movie why don’t you work?!’ so you set down the food and slowly make your way to the door. Right, maybe turning off all of the lamps so only the TV screen lights up the room with its ghostly bleak light and that weird scratching noise wasn’t the best idea. But it’s not like a Demo-dog can ring a doorbell, right?…Right?

Scolding yourself for being paranoid, you swiftly unlock the door and with a deep breath open it fully. The cool air pinches your cheeks red as you meet eyes with deep brown ones. Something clicks in your mind and you can’t help but grin at the visitor, recalling all those moments he had pulled you away from the mission just to talk or be close to you. Steve Harrington stands on your porch with a lazy smile on his lips and his hands shoved into his pockets. You make a mental note to thank Dustin later, because you sure as hell didn’t invite your crush over.

“…I was told there will be KFC.” Steve states.

“Who gave away this information?” You wonder, stepping aside to let him in. With a light shrug he enters and beelines for the couch.

“Hey, Dustin!—And I never reveal my sources, (Name).”

Soon you all squeezed on the small couch. Dustin in one end, you in the middle, and Steve in the other. After fighting over the popcorn and the abundance of puns Steve kept saying, a hush fell over your small group as the movie started. You were immediately sucked in and a bit terrified. You never could handle scary movies. And now that you literally had the opportunity to live out a real life scary movie with the Demo-dog business, you still find scary movies, well, scary. You pull the warm blanket closer to your lips as you are ready to hide behind it at any given moment.

Steve notices your terrified expression, and on a different occasion he wouldn’t find it as cute as he does now. You lean into him a bit when Michael Myers shows up. Something swells in his chest, something light and fuzzy and he can’t help but smile a little. For a full minute he ponders should he do the old ’yawn-put-my-hand-around-her-shoulders’ shtick. He conducts that would be pretty stupid and awkward so he just pretends to shift in his seat and drapes his arm over your shoulders anyway. You look at him. He pretends that nothing happened and gives you a playful glance.

Half-way through the movie you grew comfortable enough to rest your head on his chest. Steve’s fingers played patters on your skin, played with your hair almost subconsciously, but his eyes never once left the screen. When the clock struck 1 o’clock and the screen cut to black – the movie was finally over and you can take a breather, - you and Steve had to surpass a laugh at Dustin’s snoring. In hushed murmurs the two of you moved and Steve took up the job of picking Dustin up and bringing him to his room. With the blanket wrapped around your shoulders you waited him to return, and honestly, nearly swooned at how domestic he is.

Once he returns he shoves his hands into his pockets and looks around, almost as if trying to think of an excuse to stay. In lazy steps he approaches you and you have to bite down a smile, “I should…probably go now.” He says slowly, testing the waters. You flick your brows upwards.

“You sure?” You ask, “There are two more movies left.”

“You know, I always considered myself a patron of the arts so yeah, I say I could stay. With you. T-To watch the movies. If you don’t mind.”

“No, I don’t. Trust me, I don’t.”

Steve makes quick work of setting up the VCR as you find a good spot on the couch. You fluff the pillows and can hardly contain the excitements that’s practically radiating from you. Now there’s way more space to move around, but he sits close to you and you throw your blanket on the both of you to keep warm, if that is even needed. Honestly, you just want to share something with him. Be as close as you can possibly be without going overboard with your feelings. You have a small hint that he may feel the same way, but then again, you don’t want to ruin this – whatever this is you have with him – by tuning all mushy and sappy and kissy. Not that turning kissy would be a bad thing, now that you really consider it.

The movie starts in bright flashes and loud sounds and you frown softly. You feel Steve’s arm drape over your shoulders again and you turn your head to him. A kaleidoscope of colors shine on his face – it almost appears mesmerizing – as the thought of the two of you being completely alone finally sinks in. A spark lights up your chest and fuels your whole body with the need to kiss him. Your gaze roams from his eyes to his lips and back, an action he notices and smirks at, as you lean in ever so slightly and asks, “…Patron of the arts? Really?”

“I lied.” He grins, “Sorry.” He murmurs, leaning in and capturing your lips in a long overdue kiss.


end.


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Suga Daddy: Part 11

Suga Daddy: Part 11 (m)

Word count: 8.3k

Genre/Warnings: smut, angst, language, dom!Yoongi, choking and dirty talk

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Summary: Yoongi comes with you to Jungkook’s graduation.

I think there might be just a few chapters left. 

Parts: {playlist} one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten

Keep reading

Advice For The Signs

LIBRA: Occasionally you have to fake it until you make it. I know that this is a cliche you’ve heard many times before, but have you ever actually tried it? Cliches don’t become ‘cliche’ unless a lot of people believe in what they’re implying. Feel free to test this, even if it’s just for a day or two. Pretend that you’re in the right career, pretend that you haven’t been sad at all for the last few weeks, pretend that you’re powerful and comfortable and know exactly who you are. Sometimes a little confidence, even if it begins as a front, is the final piece to the puzzle.

SCORPIO: You’ve had chains wrapped around your ankles for so long now that you hardly ever notice their weight anymore. Don’t get me wrong, it’s wonderful that you’ve found a way to cope with the things that try to drag you down. But it seems like you’ve become so complacent in this state of being that you’ve given up on escape. Like you’re an audience member to your own existence. But you aren’t, even though life comes at you so viciously sometimes. You are in charge of your body, and in charge of what you do with it. Now use it.

Keep reading

green-eyed monster

request: Could you do a Steve x reader where Billy hits on her and it forces Steve to admit his felling for the reader? Maybe some like cute fluff??

warning: some cursing

word count: 1,534

“Damn, look at the legs on that one.”

Steve couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the guy standing a few feet away from him. Billy Hargrove was the resident bad boy at Hawkins High School. He was obnoxious and a total asshole.

The two of them clashed on multiple occasions. It was clear that they would never ever be friends and Steve was perfectly okay with that. He didn’t want to associate himself with a guy like Billy.

“The things that I would do to that beauty.” Billy whistled making a couple of guys around him laugh.

Steve had been tying his shoes and trying to ignore the stupid shit coming from Billy’s mouth. He looked up to see the poor girl that had gotten Billy’s current attention.

He was shocked when he saw that it was you.

Keep reading

just a bet part ii

hey!

sorry this took way longer than i wanted (writers block LOLLLL)

but anyway yeah this is lowkey a filler kinda chapter but i like it

enjoy!

summary:  beverly bets richie he can’t get with the new kid, eddie, in under three months. richie disagrees

pairing: richie and eddie

words: 1698

part one, three, four, five


2 months and 26 days remaining

Richie walked into school that day, feeling more confident and happy than he had been in a while. It was odd, yes, but he enjoyed the feeling more than it worried him. He approached his locker, finding Beverly leaning against it. “Why, hello, Beverly. Nice to join me this wonderful morning.”

Beverly snickered. “So, I’m guessing it went well? He show up?”

Richie nodded. “Of course he did!” Richie said, a small smile playing on his lips. “I woo-ed him so good he came to my game and we got ice cream after.”

She chuckled, pushing her hair behind her ear. “I gotta admit, Tozier, you’ve got game.”

He scoffed. “Mrs. Marsh! I’ve always had game, thank you very much. I pride myself in all of my lovable characteristics.”

“Like you have any of those.” Beverly retorted.

“I have so many of those!” Richie defended. “So many, in fact, that we’re getting ice cream after school today.”

Beverly raised an eyebrow. “That sounds suspiciously gay.”

Richie rolled his eyes and chuckled a little. “What an assumption.” He closed his locker and started to walk towards English, where they’d discuss the bet with Bill and Stan.

Beverly sighed. “You know, Eddie isn’t even that attractive. Why didn’t I make you go after like… Mike or something.”

“I like Mike as a friend, Bev, plus Eds is cute from my personal opinion,” Richie said back, sitting down at his table.

“Did you just call him Eds? And cute? Gee, if I didn’t know any better, I would suggest you liked this Eddie Kaspbrak.” Beverly grinned, sitting down in her chair.

Richie shook his head. “I don’t like him. It’s just a bet, that’s all.”

But was it? Richie never felt like he did around Eddie around anyone else. It was weird how oddly happy he was, giddy even. Do I like him?

No. Richie shook his head a bit as if to get the thought out of his head. He didn’t like Eddie like that. This was a bet and that’s all. Just a bet.

Eddie walking through the main hallway, weaving through the many students walking the other direction. Richie had texted Eddie and asked- well- demanded that they go get ice cream again. He wasn’t opposed to it as Richie was paying, but he did find it odd. Everyone was saying Richie was a horrible guy but he didn’t understand where that notion was coming from. He seemed so nice. Annoying, yes, but nice.

“Eds!” Eddie heard as he approached Richie who was leaning against his old, beat-up truck. He rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

Richie chuckled, reaching in his truck’s open window to unlock it. “Hop in, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Eddie rolled his eyes, opening the squeaky passenger seat door and sitting down. He clicked the belt buckle into place as he looked over at Richie. “Don’t call me that either.”

Richie scoffed. “Then what am I gonna call you?”

“Gee, I don’t know, what about Eddie?” He retorted sassily.

Richie acted like he was pondering it, stroking an invisible beard. “Nah.”

Eddie rolled his eyes again.

“If you keep rolling your eyes, they’ll roll right out of their sockets.” He joked, pushing the car key into the ignition and turning the car on.

“I think I’d like that so I don’t have to do it anymore.”

Eddie tried to hide his smile as Richie laughed, turning into the parking lot of the ice cream shop. Richie turned the truck off, hopping out of it quick enough to open Eddie’s door before he could.

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “I can open the door by myself, you know.”

“I do, however, I am being gentlemanly,” Richie responded.

Eddie resisted the urge to roll his eyes and got out of the truck, following behind Richie who had already started walking towards the door. He opened the door for Eddie, who eyed Richie and mumbled that “he could still open the door himself.”

Richie walked up the counter. The worker, whose nametag said, Rachel. “Oh, Richie, hey!” She gave him a warm smile.

Richie gave her a grin. “Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good. I’m about to get off work in a bit… maybe if you’re free if you’d like to hang out at my place?”

“Well-”

“Oh, c’mon, it’d be fun!”

Eddie watched his conversation from where he was standing behind Richie and he felt his blood boil. Why was he so angry? It was like someone had turned a switch on in him and he immediately felt the need to interject. “He’s not.”

“Excuse me?” She turned to look at Eddie.

“He’s not free.” He repeated. “He’s here with me.”

Richie had a shit-eating grin on his face. “I am here with Eddie Spaghetti.” He said, throwing his arm around Eddie’s shoulder. The girl’s face dropped and it was replaced with one of disgust. “You’re dating him? Really, Richie? You can do so much better than that.”

Richie scoffed. “Well, it’s not really your place, now is it? Maybe I should tell your boyfriend that you’ve tried to cheat on him with me. Twice. Now, that is someone who can do better.”

Rachel narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Wouldn’t I?” Richie responded, a smirk growing on his face. “Remember when Bella Richardson tried to do the same thing you’re doing? You wrote slut on her locker last month when, big shocker, you were doing the same damn thing! Now, can I order or what?”

She let out a long, frustrated sigh before looking up at a grinning Richie. “What do you want?”

“Finally! I’ll have one scoop of chocolate and Eddie will have one scoop of mint chocolate chip.” He said, handing her a five dollar bill. She gave Richie his change and got the ice cream, sliding it over to them with a fake smile on her face. “Have a nice day.”

Richie gave her one right back, handing Eddie his bowl and walking outside with him. “Wow, Eds, I didn’t think you had it in ya to get jealous like that. Also, mint is gross and tastes like toothpaste. I don’t know how you eat it.”

Eddie nearly choked on his ice cream. “What?”

“I said, mint is gro-”

“Not that! I was not jealous, Tozier.”

“Then what was it?” He asked, looking both ways before crossing the road. “I sure think it was something.”

“I was dealing with her for you,” Eddie replied, following next to him. “Besides, why would I be jealous? I don’t even like you. I only came because you paid.”

Richie gasped. “You don’t like me? Gee, Eds, I thought with all the blushing you’ve been doing that you did.”

Eddie felt his face heat up. “Shut the fuck up. I do not like you, hear me?”

Richie grinned. “Hear ya loud n’ clear.”

“Also, mint does not taste like toothpaste. Have you ever even tried it? It tastes nothing like-” Eddie’s ramble was cut short as he nearly tripped and landed right on his face. Richie reached out, grabbing Eddie’s waist to prevent him from falling. He had dropped his ice cream in the process.

Richie stood Eddie upright and scowled. “I have no ice cream now because of you.”

Eddie was blushing like mad, his stomach had tightened up into knots. All Richie had done was catch him, why did he feel so euphoric? Eddie made a face and handed Richie his. “Try it.”

Richie shook his head.

“Try it!”

“Damn, alright.” He said, taking the spoon from Eddie and putting a small amount of the green ice cream in his mouth. “Okay, I take my previous statement back. That is good.”

Richie hopped into the driver’s seat, turning the car on and immediately turning the radio on as well. He turned the knob up, the speakers sounding like they were on the verge of breaking. “I love this song!”

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Africa? You like.. Africa?”

Richie scoffed. “Of course I do!”

Eddie watched as Richie drove, singing the lyrics obnoxiously loudly. He was mumbling the lyrics under his breath. There was a red light as the chorus approached and Richie took the opportunity to look to Eddie. “C’mon! Sing it, I know you know it!”

Eddie looked over at him as it started. “It’s gonna take a lot to take me away from you!” Richie sang, pointing at Eddie.

He smiled, blushing a bit. “There’s nothing that a hundred men or more could ever do!”

Richie grinned. “I bless the rains down in Africa! Gonna take some time to do the things we never had!”

Eddie felt a wave of happiness fall over him. He didn’t know why he felt this way around Richie. In that moment, watching the other boy sing off-key and way too loudly, that he liked Richie. He really did.

Richie snuck a glance over at Eddie, to find him smiling to himself. This caused him to smile as well, continuing to sing the song until it was over. A foreign feeling washed over Richie as he watched the smaller boy drum to the beat in the air with his hands. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. Was this just a bet?

Richie nearly crashed the car with the thought of that. Of course, it was just a bet. He didn’t like Eddie, it was only for the bet. Sure, he was a cool guy and all but Richie had no romantic feelings for him.

Or did he? He couldn’t contain his smiles around him and he felt more compelled to be with Eddie.

But it was just a stupid bet. That’s all it’ll ever be, a bet.


heeeeyyyyY!YYY

wowowowowowow 

masterlist

taglist?/part three???

thank you for reading <3

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BTS Reaction - you being bratty and refusing sex

Seokjin

“Hello, love,” Jin says, coming up behind you to hug you. You’re not having it today though, not after what he did yesterday.

Your back stiffens and you give a small huff. Jin chuckles slightly and you feel your blood run hot once more.

“Still mad, I see,” he says smoothly, and you elect not to answer. You subconsciously push your nose a little higher in the air in defiance. Not that it matters - Jin is still towers over you.

He leans down to place slow wet kisses along the length of your neck, your resolve starting to crumble slightly under the tantalizing kisses, but you know that there’s no way he’ll change his mind if you relent now.

It’s only when he presses into you and you can feel his hardness against you that you pull away. Jin’s jaw clenches slightly at your stubbornness, but he doesn’t say anything.

“Princess,” he says, “I’m sorry that I’ve upset you but we really can’t get a kitten.”

You pout thoroughly, and despite Jin’s earlier arousal he’s smiling at you.

“Why not?” you cry.

“You’re allergic to cats…  I didn’t think I’d have to remind you. We were only in the pet store for five minutes and your eyes were leaking so much everyone thought you were crying.”

“Maybe I was crying, huh? Did you ever think of that? Maybe I was crying because I loved all the animals so much. What does that make you, pulling me away from all those sweet babies even when I love them?”

Jin laughs again at your antics. You’ve always had a flare for drama, but it’s something he loves about you. He wraps his arms around you in a hug, and tips your head back to place a soft kiss to your lips.

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, “I love you.”

Wrapped up in your boyfriend’s arms you know there’s no way you can stay mad at him, especially when he’s being so sweet.

“Jin,” you say, “Can we still have sex?”

Yoongi

It’s early in the morning when Yoongi finally crawls into bed. You’re still awake though, never really being able to get to sleep when he’s away. He’s been gone so much lately, and while you’re trying to be understanding you have to admit that it’s grating on your nerves just a bit.

Perhaps it’s your own self doubt, but you can’t help but think that it’s something wrong with you that’s keeping him out and away all night, rather than his work.

Yoongi must know you’re awake; he pulls you towards him and into a kiss that’s hot and heavy, and your head is spinning with the passion behind it. You briefly consider abandoning your carefully thought out plan for a moment, but decide to hold your ground.

You break the kiss and roll away from Yoongi quickly. He’s still for a moment - shocked - you’ve never rejected him before. Never.

“What’s the matter?” Yoongi asks, and you repress a shiver at how low his voice is. It’s always so rough when he’s aroused, his Daegu accent slipping out and lighting your core on fire.

“Nothing, Oppa,” you say, allowing your aggravation with him to seep into your voice. “But maybe you should see if someone at work can fuck you, since you’re always there. It might be quicker - you wouldn’t even have to come home.”

He heaves an annoyed sigh and even though you’re not looking at him you can imagine the look on his face; twisted into a cranky grimace that would usually have you giggling.

“You know I don’t want anyone but you, baby,” he tells you, forcing you to roll back and face him, “But I’m sorry if you’ve been feeling neglected because of work.”

He looks so sincere gazing into your eyes that you can’t help but lean forward to kiss him. He lets his lips lightly play against yours, gently kissing you and pressing you down into the mattress. You tangle your fingers in his hair in order to deepen your kiss but Yoongi stops you, whining slightly as he pulls away.  The sound makes him chuckle.

“Yoongi!” you cry. “Oppa, please.”

His eyes darken at your words, but he holds his ground.

“Sorry baby. This is what you get. I can’t have you thinking all I want from you is sex. Let’s just cuddle tonight.”

You huff quietly again, but let your boyfriend wrap his arms around you and pull you close. He’s warm and firm against your back, and even though you’re still a little flustered you can’t help but let out a quiet contented sigh before letting sleep overtake you.

Hoseok

“No?” Hoseok says, “What do you mean no?”

“I mean no, Hobi,” you reply, “We aren’t going to have sex tonight” 

The two of you are lounging in your bed on one of Hoseok’s rare days off. You hadn’t been planning to reject your boyfriend’s advances tonight, but with how he’d been teasing you tonight–in front of the other boys–you felt this was a fitting punishment.

He had been relentless, running his fingers over your body under the table, raking his hands through his hair and giving you that look, kissing you breathless when the other’s hadn’t been looking… it was shameless, honestly.

And so now you’re here, refusing him and hoping for the love of God that he’ll call your bluff to put you out of the flustered misery he’s caused.

Hoseok merely looks at you quietly for a moment before nodding his head.

“Okay, babe. I understand.” He lays himself back down, leaving you in a shocked and slightly angry state.

You huff to yourself, turning so that your back is facing him. All is silent for a while, just the two of you laying in bed in the dark. Eventually though, you can hear the sounds of your boyfriend’s breathing getting heavier, small gasps and moans escaping his mouth.

You turn back around to see Hoseok running his hand up and down his member, jerking himself off while staring directly at you.

“H-Hobi!” you chastise. “What are you doing!”

“I thought it was pretty obvious,” he quips, not slowing the movement of his hand, “It’s a shame that this isn’t your pussy wrapped around me, though. Bet that would feel way better.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, heat pooling at your core in a way that’s all too familiar. You can already feel yourself squirming in an attempt to get more friction for the throbbing between your legs as you watch your boyfriend stroke himself firmly.

“Do you want it baby?” he asks you, and you just nod and bite down on your lower lip. “Ah. Too bad… This feels too good to stop now…”

Hobi laughs as you gape at him, astonished that he would reject you even with his cock literally out and ready.

“But how about this,” he proposes, “Why don’t you touch that sweet pussy of yours too… we can cum together this way.”

Namjoon

Nothing had happened to make you feel like this; it wasn’t something Namjoon had done, nothing had gone wrong at work and there wasn’t anything to feel stressed about… but god were you in a piss poor mood. You had tried hard not to let it show while you were out with Namjoon and the other boys, but you could tell Joonie knew something was up.

“Babygirl, is everything okay?” he whispers to you during dinner when the rest of the boys are distracted.

“I’m fine Namjoon,” you say, scowling.

Namjoon let’s it drop, knowing that if you’re acting like this there isn’t going to be an easy way to pull you out of it. He let’s you eat in peace, as do most of the other boys when they notice you’re feeling a little grumpy. You’re happy that they do, too. You would feel terrible if you ruined the mood or made them feel awkward.

When your night is finally finished and you’re just walking into your apartment, Namjoon stops you.

“You’ve been upset all night,” he says. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing Namjoon, I already told–”

“What was that babygirl?” he questions firmly.

“Namjoon, I’m not in the mood tonight. I just want to be left alo–” Again he interrupts, 

“You and I both know that’s not true. Whenever you get like this it means you want to be taken care of. It means you want to be punished.” Your cheeks heat up at your boyfriend’s words and you stare down at your shoes. “I’ve not been a very good daddy, have I, if you’re acting this way? You only do it when you’re desperate for me.” 

You huff and try to walk away. You know Namjoon is right, but you can’t help but want to push him just a little more; that way the punishment will be all the better. He grabs your arm as you walk away, pulling you back to him and grasping your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

“Look at me when I speak to you babygirl.” The sight of the fire in Namjoon’s eyes immediately flips a switch within you. “You’re being a bad girl…”

“I-I’m sorry daddy, I–” Namjoon tuts and you immediately silence yourself.

“You act like a brat all night, begging for punishment and when I try to deliver you tell me you’re not in the mood? You know you’re allowed to say no, but I want you to look in the eyes right now and tell me if that’s the truth. If you’ve lied to me, you’re going to be sorry. You’ll not be able to walk for the next week I swear.”

“I’m sorry…” you say. quietly.

“For what?”

“For lying, daddy. I want you please.” Namjoon’s eyes darken at your submissiveness, relishing in the power he has over you.

“Then bend over the table sweetheart. You’re in for a long night.”

Jimin

You just wanted to test him, that was all. You knew it was petty, but you still couldn’t help it. It wasn’t fair that Jimin got to tease you whenever he wanted, do whatever he wanted, while you had to be a good girl all the time.

You decide enough is enough, and that no matter what he says or does, your boyfriend will be the one begging tonight. Jimin has the day off, and the rest of the maknae line are over at your apartment playing video games and generally causing mischief.

You try to be as subtle as possible in your teasing, keeping it to little things you can totally play off as nothing. You bend down a little slower, stretch your arms high so that your shirt rides up, doing anything and everything you can do to work Jimin up. You can tell it’s working, too, by the way you can feel his dark eyes on you whenever you walk into the same room as him; their heady weight threatening to pin you down and fuck you right there if you aren’t careful.

You feel a bit high on all the heated gazes he’s throwing your way, and by the time the rest of the boys leave you’re feeling both excited and smug.

“What was all that you were doing today, kitten?” Jimin asks, stalking towards you. You back up until your back hits the wall and Jimin seems pleased by this, placing his hands on either side of your head to trap you.

“I was just acting normal, Jiminie, I was just–”

“Cut the shit,” Jimin growls. “You’ve been teasing me all day, acting like a little slut. Trying to turn me on in front of Tae and Jungkook.”  Suddenly Jimin presses himself against you, letting you feel how hard his member is in his pants before continuing. “Well here you are. I’m turned on. Is that what you wanted?”  

Summoning all the courage you can muster, you squeak out a small ‘no.’

“No?” Jimin scoffs. “Then what are you playing at? What do you want?”  You stare into his eyes for a moment, watching as he gets visibly impatient. Finally you blurt out your motive for the entire night.

“I want you to beg for it.”

Jimin’s eyes darken in lust and anger. He brings his hand to your throat, pressing you back into the wall to kiss you roughly, biting your lip harshly between his teeth.

“Oh no, kitten. We aren’t going to fuck tonight,” Jimin whispers lowly into your ear, “My cock is only for good girls, not dirty little sluts like you. You’re going to have to get off the old fashioned way, with just your hand.  Maybe if you put on a good enough show I’ll let you swallow my cum.”

Needless to say, you’re not altogether too upset with how poorly your plan has backfired.

Taehyung

“I honestly can’t believe you, Tae,” you spit out angrily, “She was all over you and you were so into it.

“I wasn’t into it at all babe, I swear! She was the MC and I didn’t want to push her away on camera. It would’ve been so obvious that I was dating someone if I didn’t flirt back a little!” His admission only makes you more upset. You understand that you and Taehyung can’t go public with your relationship just yet, but still, hearing him say it always hurts your feelings. It’s as if you’re some shameful secret of his and you hate it.

On top of that, now he’s admitted to knowing he was flirting with that girl, too. Sometimes you just wish your boyfriend knew how to keep his mouth shut. You press your eyes closed trying to will Tae away- perhaps you can calm down if he just leaves you alone - but behind your eyelids all you can see is the way that MC had been flirting; touching Tae’s shoulder and letting small girlish giggles leave her lips at anything he had said.

You don’t blame her, really, you can’t. No one knows about your relationship, and you’ve been in the same position as her countless times - the thing that hurt was seeing your boyfriend’s reaction. The way he had looked at her… well… you only want him to look at you that way.

“Babe, I’m really sorry,” Tae says, approaching you with outstretched arms as if you’re some wounded animal. He places a soft kiss on your lips but you twist away from him, pressing your them together in a stiff pout.

“You don’t just get to kiss me and have everything be better Tae. That’s not how this works.” The boy in front of you hums quietly before leaning down to kiss your cheek softly, trailing his mouth slowly down your jaw and neck.

“I know babe… but we might as well try it anyway.” He leaves a small nip at your earlobe before continuing down, his hands coming around to unzip your dress.

“Tae-yah,” you say in warning, but all that really comes out is a breathy sigh.

He kisses your lips again, running his hands down your sides. “Come on babe,” he says, “Let me show you how much I love you.”

Jungkook

For the third time tonight you push Jungkook’s wandering hands out from in between your legs.

“Kookie-yah,” you tell him, “Not tonight.”

“Noona, come on. Why not?” he snipes at you.  You raise an eyebrow at the younger boy but still he holds his ground, looking as petulant and as devilishly handsome as always.

“Watch your tone baby boy,” you tell him, “You’re sounding a bit bratty if you ask me.”

“Oh I’m acting bratty? Look at you noona! You won’t even take care of me.” He leans in close to you, and even in the dim light you can see how dark his eyes have become.  You’re admittedly very surprised at the way your boyfriend is acting. He’s never begged so vehemently before, opting instead to submit to your every whim.  

Jungkook’s hands make contact with your shoulders, pushing you down on the couch and scrambling in between your legs. You can feel the way his length rubs against your core, already desperately hard as he ruts against you, and you wrap your legs around his waist to bring him to a stop.

“Noona please,” Jungkook says, “Please. I need you so bad.”

His head drops down onto your shoulders and you run your fingers through his hair, still not allowing his hips to move. At the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, Jungkook shivers and his cock throbs against you.

“Baby,” you ask him, “Is someone desperate?”

“Fuck yes,” he gasps, “Please let me fuck you, noona. Let me taste you. God I want you so bad.” Heat pools in your core at his words and you let your legs go.

“Alright then,” you relent, “Come on.  Fuck me hard, baby.” Jungkook whimpers in your ear as he scrambles to get the both of you out of your pants. He wastes no time, stretching you out around his fingers and pressing into you in a matter of minutes.

“Oh god,” he groans as he slips inside of you, “You make me feel so good noona, let me return the favor.”

The above gifs do not belong to me - credit to rightful owners

- Mackenzie xx