#A Modern Day Prodigal Son
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as it was ; suguru geto.
pairing suguru geto x f!reader
word count 4.2k
synopsis suguru comes back, only to find that you've been waiting and wanting this whole entire time.
content contains modern no curses!au, gojo's sister!reader, brother's best friend, creampie, pet names (good girl, baby), most of the fic is geto's introspection, possessive sex, mutual pining/longing
author’s notes im not even horny for geto like that, but i wanted to write angsty smut abt spreading ur legs for a guy that left u & who else is better for this than geto <3
First words are always a bit tricky to get right, especially whenever he has to take into account that he essentially ghosted you a couple of years ago, after taking your virginity no less, and now he’s back in the godforsaken city he swore he was never coming back to, and he’s just at a loss about what to say and more importantly, how to say it.
He supposes an apology, for starters, would be a good first move. And maybe it would be, could be, should be, if only he wasn’t him and you weren’t you, and the two of you were not something so confusing and intricate that it’s hard to put into words and harder still to describe with emotions. The two of you are something raw and painful, both of you taking turns playing both sadist and masochist.
Even to himself, the extent of your relationship sounds twisted, but there was always an underlying purity to it, something that justified its existence. To this day, Suguru Geto is certain that you’re the only person who ever loved him for him, with a love so pure and just that he tries to hide it from everyone else before they can get their filthy hands on it and taint it, twist it into something it’s not.
Sorry I left won’t cut it, and Geto doesn’t even bother trying to come up with any other variations of apology because it’s not necessarily your forgiveness that he’s come back for. The opportunity to say “I’m sorry” and have it actually mean something has long since passed. All that’s left to say is the truth for why he left, which for some odd reason, seems even harder to do than his original disappearing act.
I missed you — that’s a slight improvement. It’s the truth, if not an understatement of it. He doesn’t regret leaving Tokyo, he just regrets leaving you. Which he could say, if you would actually open the door to face him.
He figures it’s what he deserves. He deserves worse, if he’s going to be entirely honest. He deserves a slap to the face, or a kick to his balls, or for you to tell him that you hate him, that you never want to see him ever again.
He knocks on your apartment door, harder this time, as if it’s something urgent. And maybe it is. He’s felt more like himself than he ever has after moving, but the solitude of the countryside got boring soon after, leaving him only with the ghosts from his past to keep him company. He thinks if he doesn’t see you, in the flesh, he might actually go insane.
He knocks again, only to be met with more silence and a door that’s starting to become more of a familiar sight than he would like. Fuck, what is he even doing? Showing up here was a bad idea to begin with, and it’s only seemingly getting worse by every agonizing second that ticks by. Even if you do open the door, there’s always the chance that you won’t let him get a single word in — that’d be the smart choice, anyway.
And you’re a bright girl, don’t get him wrong. Something about the Gojo bloodline makes your family incapable of producing anything less than prodigal sons and daughters. If you’re not proof of this fact, there’s your older brother.
Yet another reason why showing up here is such a shitty plan. Satoru will catch wind of his visit, and when he does, he’ll show no restraint in showing Suguru what all of his private boxing lessons are good for. A broken nose and missing tooth would be a fair exchange to see you for at least a second, though. A tradeoff that he doesn’t need to debate on.
You have to leave your apartment eventually. Suguru dances with the idea of just making camp outside your door and waiting for your stubbornness to fizzle out. It’ll be embarrassing, and your neighbors will surely have something to say about it, but it would be well worth it.
He hears the ding! of the elevator opening and human reflex causes his head to turn at the sound of the noise.
Oh.
The world becomes contradictory at this very moment. The air suddenly stills, but the atmosphere itself seems to come alive at the same time. Stagnant air, bursting with electricity and something awe-inspiring. Everything seems to slow down, but suddenly he’s acutely aware of just how alarmingly fast his heart is beating. It’s been a while since he’s last seen you, not even bothering to check up on your social media because he knows one DM from you would have him crossing the ocean to be back by your side.
The reason why you weren’t answering your door was simply because you weren’t even home. Relief floods his body, makes him less tense, only for him to stiffen up once more whenever his eyes trail over to the warm body awfully close to you.
Or maybe it’s the other way around, since you’re the one clinging onto him.
You and Kento Nanami both look like you two have seen a ghost, and all things considered, you wouldn’t be wrong.
“What are you doing here?” You’re the first to speak, with Nanami’s arm wrapped protectively around your waist, and it’s this closeness that’s the only thing Suguru finds himself able to focus on. It’s been years. He shouldn’t feel this way. You’re free to do whatever you want with whoever you want. It’s your life. He’s the one that chose to walk out of it, anyway.
“I just wanted to talk,” he answers. Which isn’t a lie. He wanted to talk. He wanted to fight and make up and fuck your brains out and beg for forgiveness and cook you breakfast in the morning and warm your bed, amongst other things, too. But, he figures the condensed version of his list will do, especially considering that three’s a crowd, and most of his itinerary was for your ears only. “Did I come at a bad time?”
You bite your bottom lip, slowly removing yourself from Nanami’s grip. Nanami looks at you first, concern evident in his warm eyes, eyes that you wish were just a bit darker and colder, so that they would be the ones you’re so accustomed to drowning in.
You like Nanami well enough. He’s kind and looks out for you, and sometimes you even consider making a move on him first since he’s too much of a gentleman to cross any boundaries. Then again, you don’t think Nanami sees you as anything more than a little sister, and the last time you fucked one of your brother’s best friends…
It’s why you just give Nanami a smile, one that tells him that you’ve got this under control. His facial expression doesn’t give any indication of what he’s thinking, but the glare he sends Suguru’s way says enough.
Suguru can appreciate the fierce protectiveness Nanami has towards you, but it doesn’t mean he likes it. Especially when it’s Suguru that’s considered to be the threat.
You move to unlock your door once Nanami makes his reluctant exit, and when you enter your apartment, you conveniently don’t shut the door. Suguru trails behind you.
You turn on the lights, your living room and kitchen blending together in an open-floor plan, bathed in the stark, white lights hanging from your high ceilings. Your apartment, at least what Suguru can see of it, is tastefully decorated. Courtesy of your mother, he’s sure. He would ask about her, ask how she’s doing, but he figures now’s just not the right timing.
It doesn’t seem to be the right timing for anything he wants to say. He wants to mention that he’s thought about you, thought about reaching out — sometimes to explain himself, and other times just to discuss the mundane aspects of life — but he thinks that would be even worse than apologizing. It would be cruel of him to dangle this information in your face, haunt you with the knowledge that all this time, he’s truly been avoiding you. Knowing you, you would have questioned him on why he didn’t bother reaching out, and he would have been stuck admitting that it’s simply because he was too scared that you wouldn’t answer.
“Want a drink?” You ask him, back facing him as you peer into your fridge. He catches a glimpse of shiny glass bottles, water bottled in Europe and with the optimal pH balance, he’s certain of it. His throat feels a bit dry, but he tells you no.
“I drank enough water on the drive up here,” he tells you, which again, isn’t a lie. Suguru feels a bit pleased with himself, even if it is a bit narcissistic of himself for expecting a pat on the back for doing something so simple. He supposes it’s just because he’s gotten so used to never being honest with himself — or others, for that matter — so his current streak for telling the truth seems like something to celebrate.
“I didn't drink enough.” You say, and he can’t tell if it’s alcohol you’re talking about or water. You’re a lightweight; yet another trait that seems to be passed down the Gojo family. That explains Nanami escorting you home, then.
“Aren’t you going to ask how I found you?” Suguru helps himself to taking a seat on the white couch in your living room. Because there’s no walls separating the two different spaces, he can still look at you from this position as you rest your elbows on your kitchen’s island, as if needing the support.
“If you wanted me to know, you’d let me know.” It’s the way you say it that reveals that this comment isn’t made just in reply to his current question, but for everything else Suguru was going to follow it with. Don’t you want to know where I went? Don’t you want to know why I left?
It’s amazing what humans are capable of. Nearly six years since the two of you have lost contact — since Suguru broke all contact — and yet, you can still read him just as well as he can read you. You see him for what he is, not whatever mask he wants to disguise himself with, and it’s scary, he thinks. Scary to be seen by someone. And nice. It’s nice to have someone know you’re a monster and still not run away.
He’s not quite sure what that says about you.
“It’s a bit of a funny story.” He says, trying to steer this conversation to a more lighthearted tone even though the two of you are nowhere close to feeling light and the jury’s still out on whether or not Suguru Geto has a heart. “You don’t need the reminder, but don’t ever tell Mei Mei a secret you want to keep.”
The mention of your shared friend — if Mei Mei can even be considered one — makes the corners of your pretty mouth tilt upward. Mei Mei was born with a silver spoon, but the running joke is that it wasn’t in her mouth because she bartered with the doctor and blackmailed him into giving her a gold one. If you have the funds, Mei Mei has the information you’re looking for.
She’s the only number Suguru saved in his phone contacts, and it’s only because he knew that if he needed anyone else’s number, Mei Mei would readily give it after her Venmo request goes through.
“Of course she would tell you my address.” You say, but you don’t sound upset at all. Just amused, like this whole situation is something endearing, and you don’t harbor any ill feelings towards either of them, even though both Suguru and Mei Mei technically violated your trust. Suguru more so than Mei Mei, but, well, semantics.
“Aren’t you mad?” The “at me” is unspoken.
“Mei Mei is a free spirit.” It’s a joke, and Suguru makes a sound from his throat that resembles a laugh. Mei Mei may do whatever she wants, but nothing about her comes free.
He knows you know what he was actually asking. He’s been trying to gauge your reaction to everything he says, trying to see if you hate his guts or not.
“I missed you.” You tell him suddenly, and while he’s imagined those words coming out of your mouth, it still shakes him up a bit. It’s hard constantly posturing as if he’s cool and collected, nothing ever bothering him, his body and expression never betraying him. But it’s his heart that gives him away, and it’s heart that you hold, and no matter what face he puts on, he knows that you’ll know what the words he won’t say are.
“Don’t apologize.” You continue, closing the distance between you two and opting to take a seat next to him. There’s about six inches of space separating you two. The distance shapeshifts in his mind, sometimes becoming mere millimeters and sometimes feeling more like there’s an ocean between you both.
The sorry was on the tip of his tongue and it traveled all the way there from his heart. It would be a waste of a journey for him to not say it, but he’s certain the apology would do more harm than good, even if it is genuine.
Suguru stands out against the stark white of your apartment. Your mom likes the aesthetic of it, and since it’s your parents’ money, you merely shrugged and let her do whatever she wanted. In his black pants and black sweatshirt, he looks almost out of place in your home.
The thought that he doesn’t belong makes your heart hurt more than the burn of the alcohol from tonight going down your throat.
You don’t waste time wondering where Suguru went because for all intents and purposes, you never even knew where he came from to begin with. You knew him since you were children; your favorite out of all your brother’s friends because it was always Suguru who let you tag along and trail behind them. No one really knows much about Suguru’s life, his past, present, and future all a big blur to anyone but himself. From the way he slowly turns to face you, dark eyes meeting yours, you start to think of the possibility that maybe not even Suguru is an open book with himself.
Suguru looks like a shadow, standing out from the brightness of everything that is surrounding him in your living room. You want to ask him the questions that plague your mind ever since he’s been gone, but you don’t, because you’re scared he is a shadow. One wrong move, and he just disappears from your grasp once again.
There are the hard-hitting questions, of course. The ones that search for why he left and why he told no one and why he didn’t bother taking you. Then there are the gentler ones that would still require him to rip himself open and bare himself to you, things like how’s your new place and meet anyone interesting? You feel his gaze travel from your eyes to the slope of your nose and the apples of your cheek, downward to your lips. The intensity of his stare makes you nervously lick your lips, a tiny, quick action, but his eyes greedily take in the sight of the tip of your pink tongue casually making an appearance, only to retreat behind your pretty pink, glossed lips.
“Are you mad that I came back?” Suguru finds himself taking the role of interviewer, since it’s evident to the two of you that you know better than to bother asking him any questions. He feels like you’re treating him a bit like a stray cat, all cautious and scared of provoking him or forcing him to run away. He wants to tell you that this is not the case and that he actually plans on staying this time around, but he hasn’t entirely convinced himself yet, so he’s not going to break your heart with any more empty promises.
“No. Like I said, I missed you.” He wants to be able to blame your honesty on account of you being drunk, but he knows that you’ve just always been honest to a fault.
“You shouldn’t.” He tells you this, and you scoff. Probably because Suguru is the last person who should be giving any sort of life advice.
“Guess what I’m thinking.” You say, and Suguru feels something come alive from within, like he’s been frozen for the past six years, and the more he gets to bask in the warmth of your presence, the more he starts to defrost. There’s not a single hint of anger or malice in your tone, just the familiar, lighthearted, girlish tone of yours.
“That you think I’m a creep and want me to get the hell out.”
You frown, rolling your eyes, tucking your feet beneath you to get more comfortable on the couch.
“I’m thinking about that last time you told me I shouldn’t be doing something.” There’s a gleam in your bright eyes that clearly spells out desire, and Suguru is very, very close to defrosting. In fact, there’s a heat that’s beginning to settle deep in him, and maybe he should know better than to indulge in it, but it’s been years, and you are sitting here in front of him, pretty and fresh, and his hindbrain takes the driver’s seat.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” But he does know, and he knows that you know that he knows, just as you seemingly know everything about him. Maybe not about his childhood — or lack, thereof — or what he’s been up to, but you know the important stuff. The things that make him tick and all the words he fails to say. Three words. Three words that he doesn’t think he’ll ever muster enough courage to say to you, but from the look in your eyes, you already know.
“I’ll jog your memory.”
And suddenly, your lips are pressed against his. You’re kissing him, and like the lovesick fool he is, he’s kissing you back. It’s pure muscle memory, maybe even animal instinct. He thought that leaving Tokyo was the right thing to do, and for the most part, it was, but with your lips perfectly melding with his own, he thinks that leaving was stupid.
Making out is such a juvenile ordeal, but he relishes in it because Suguru feels like he’s spent most of his youth trying to outrun it, and now he’s trying to take advantage of what his boyhood should have consisted of. The kisses are now bordering on sloppy and hazy, and somehow, you end up straddling his lap. He’s hard, and he should be embarrassed at popping a boner just from wet kisses, but it’s you. You have an effect on him that no one else does. His Achilles. The one weakness only he can feel.
Suguru knows that he is not a good person because a good person doesn’t go behind their best friend’s back and fucks their little sister. He had told, thirty minutes before introducing you to the feeling of his cock stretching you out, that the two of you shouldn’t be doing that. Suguru knows that he is not a good person because he cannot be any happier at the fact that history has a funny way of repeating itself. Six years later, and the two of you are back in a similar position.
You’re starting to rut against him, your dress riding up your thighs and exposing more of your skin to him. Suguru helps himself to handfuls of your soft flesh, squeezing in a manner that can’t be defined as gentle, but he loves how you take him as he is without any sort of complaint. All you do is let out a low moan, your pantyclad pussy grinding against his equally clothed bulge.
Your movements are a bit desperate, frenzied. You’re getting lost in pleasure already, and he hasn’t even done much to elicit such a reaction. The idea that only he can get you this riled up with doing so little makes him impossibly harder, and he looks down, realizing that you’re so soaked, your panties are practically translucent.
The two of you have the option of taking things slow, but neither of you want to do that. When you spend some time starving, you don’t savor the meal, you scarf it down.
That’s what the two of you are — hungry, greedy — as you both hastily strip as much clothing as you can bear to spend time getting out of. Your minidress is tossed carelessly on the living room floor, and Suguru can only bother with unzipping his pants and pushing down his briefs just enough to free his cock.
The intrusion of the tip of his cock entering your wet, needy cunt is less of an intrusion and instead akin to something rightfully returning to where it belongs. Your hands are tangled in his hair, and he relishes this feeling. This wholeness, this concept of being complete.
The inviting warmth of your pussy makes him want to cum right on the spot, but he can’t waste it. He’s spent years pining after you, missing you, and he wants you to feel like the time apart had been worth it.
“I missed you.” This time it’s him who makes the admittance. You tighten up at this confession, and it evokes a low groan from him, almost as if you had forced the sound to come from all the way down his throat.
“I know.” You gasp out, not able to speak clearly with how deep Suguru is hitting. Your living room is filled with the wet clicks and slaps of skin against skin, your juices coating his cock every time he pulls out.
The vein on the underside of his cock rubs against your walls, and the slight curve of it enables him to hit that gummy spot inside of you that has you seeing stars. You’ve never given much thought to cocks, but you know that Suguru’s is the prettiest of them all.
“Tell me you’re mine.” He grunts out, lips brushing against the soft skin of your neck before biting down; gentle enough not to draw blood, sharp enough to still leave a mark. You rock against him, hips moving in tandem with his thrusts, the steady hum of pleasure continuously building up in your lower belly. You are dizzy with pleasure; blanketed in it, being spoon fed it.
He doesn’t need you to say it to know it’s true, but you moan it out anyway, both to appease him and because there’s a sort of pride in knowing that you belong to him.
“I’m yours. I belong to you.” The words are separated, punctuated, by the little gasps for air you give out because with every word, he thrusts up even harder, hitting that special spot that will have you cumming all over him, making a mess.
“Yeah?” It comes out sounding like a shaky breath, and he’s close, you know it, you can feel it.
Calloused pads belonging to fingers much larger than yours are being pressed against your clit. You’re soaked, and the dryness of his hands combining with your overall slickness gives way to delicious friction that has you cumming with his name as a broken moan filtering through your swollen lips.
“That’s it, baby. Good girl. Good fucking girl.” He mutters, relishing in the way your walls tighten, spasm, clenching and unclenching sporadically as your body loses its energy and you press yourself up against his chest.
He follows after just a few more sloppy thrusts, the last one forcing himself as deep inside of you as possible. His cum is hot and thick, and it’s filling you to the brim. If he pulls out now, it’ll flood out of you, and the thought is both sad and hot at the same time. You want his cum inside of you, to serve as a reminder that this is real, that he’s real.
But seeing the physicality of him staking his claim, white seed dripping out of you, turns you on. Him, too, with the look of fascination and boyish wonder he has in his eyes as he stares at how the two of you are connected.
Before he can bother with confirming a round two, a sharp knock on the door has the two of you comically jumping a bit in surprise, both of you glancing at the door and then at each other.
“[Name], I know you’re in there!” You freeze.
Satoru.
Suguru wants to try to calm you down, whisper to you that everything’s going to be fine, but the anger laced in his best friend’s — former best friend’s — voice is enough to make him freeze up, too. Not just his icy tone, but what he says.
“I know you’re back, too, Suguru.”
#suguru geto x reader#suguru geto x you#geto suguru x reader#suguru geto smut#geto suguru smut#one shot#jjk x reader#jjk smut#angst#drabble#imagine
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"The Tower of London is no longer an option for King Charles. Even if it were, the presence of the Crown Jewels might prove too tempting, turning Harry and Meghan into modern-day Jacobites. Still other options exist to resolve the ongoing trouble with Harry and Meghan, including stripping the prodigal son of his titles and formal constitutional ties to the British Royal Family.
Harry, of course, will always be King Charles’ son. But the Duke of Sussex is no longer sufficiently trustworthy to be in the line of succession, especially when he, Meghan and others like Scobie (acting directly or indirectly on their behalf) are crassly undermining the sovereign on the world stage at every turn. "
Source: The Hill
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The Wandering Jew (Alfie Solomons x fem!OC)
"Welcome to end of the World", Alfie said.
Alfie x Rose Masterlist
Summary: It was like an apocalyptic movie. First it wasn't that bad, or that was people thought, until it was that bad. Rose landed in London with the idea of returning home a week and a half later, but few days after that, the PM decided to close everything. His flight was cancelled and getting a new one was an impossible mission. The world is facing a new era and she's there trapped in an Inn, in a distant city with a complete stranger and his dog.
Warnings: Just topics related to covid-19.
Words: 2K. || I'm rewriting the first chapters I posted last year. I changed several things and I'm happier now. You can find the rest of their modern story here.
Series masterlist.
18th March 2020.
The world was starting to panic because of the new virus created in China. Or maybe it was a sick bat that, like a domino effect, caused thousands of deaths already. China was closed, countries around it, too. Italy was collapsing slowly and the WHO already declared that this new virus, called COVID-19, was a pandemic.
Yet, millions of people continued with their lives as always. Working, going to classes, visiting friends or relatives and others, like Rose, were travelling.
Born in London in 1988, Rose Coldwell was returning to her city after eight years living in New York where she moved with her mother and two brothers. She received an important job offer back then and the money was beneficial for the four of them. Louis, her youngest brother went to high school and Samuel, the second brother, begun to study law in a good college there. Now the youngest was studying architecture and Samuel was part of a law firm in Manhattan.
Rose, on the other hand, ran her own fashion blog and had a small business. Nothing too extraordinary, but something that made her happy. After several years of sending mails and filling out forms to be part of any international fashion event and equal numbers of rejections, she sent a mail to be part of an international convention there in London and she was accepted. 2020, it was going to be an unforgettable year, she thought.
And she was right… but the reasons were going to be quite different.
The plane landed and she felt she was returning home like the prodigal son, or daughter. Not even once since she left the country she returned there and it was a pleasant feeling to be back on her land.
Some people around her in the airport were walking fast avoiding the multitude. Some were wearing masks, some not. A woman wearing one was offering alcohol to sanitize people's hands. An old man sneezed and caused several disgusted faces from people around him.
'Probably he's just allergic,' she thought.
While she was waiting for her baggage, she checked her phone. Her mother called her several times and also one of her brothers. She ignored them for now, once she was in her bedroom, she'd be able to call them.
"I think he needs to close everything."
Rose heard two men talking near her, one already had his suitcase, but the other not.
"Johnson already denied that, Luke. We're safe, he said."
"And you believe him?" the one named Luke, asked. "Give the virus a couple of days and we're doom, Fred."
Rose's heart started to beat fast. The fact that she was on the other side of the ocean away from her family, suddenly terrified her. But she shooed those thoughts from her mind. The UK under a strict lockdown sounded ridiculous.
.
The Wandering Jew was an Inn that opened its doors in 2017. The most popular in all Candem Town and its surroundings. Rated by its guests with five stars in websites like booking.com and full of positive feedback.
The Wandering Jew had over 60 rooms and five of them were almost a suite. Not like a the ones you would find in the most expensive hotels, but still quite elegant.
But most of all, The Wandering Jew had a man named Alfie Solomons, the owner.
Alfie bought the building, that was about to be demolished, in 2016 and hired people to reconstruct it. From engineers and architects to construction workers. One and a half years later, it was finished it. It costed him several thousands pounds but it was worth and he was happy with it.
His apartment was above the Inn, so he never really left that place, except to walk his dog and closest friend: Cyril. Every late afternoon it was common to see both of them walking out the Inn to go to a park and spend an hour or two there.
During the day, while Alfie was behind the reception counter, Cyril usually was sleeping next to his feet or greeting some guests.
And that was exactly what Cyril did that 18th of March.
The reception was empty in that moment, most of the guests were out visiting some places and few others were sleeping or at least they were in their bedrooms. Cyril had been chewing his favourite tennis ball, when he heard a taxi and he stood up quickly. The dog ran towards the glass door and spied from there. Alfie barely paid attention to him.
Cyril was excited. He didn't know her, but the dog was still happy. He could smell her as soon as she left the taxi and now that he could see her, his tail was wagging faster than before. His excitement caused to Alfie to finally raise his eyes from the newspaper and put attention to Cyril who was now hopping.
Alfie saw Rose for the first time while she was pushing the glass door with her body. In one hand she had her baggage and in the other her phone. She was speaking with someone and was clearly upset. And had every reason to be mad. The one on the other side of the line, was a bastard whose only purpose in his life was to harass her. No matter how many times she blocked him, he always get a new number to call her.
"Go and fuck yourself, dickhead!"
Alfie was amused, without no doubts that was the best entrance ever. And a very pretty one.
He saw her sliding her phone in her pocket and then watching at Cyril who seemed to be more than happy after she petted him gently. Cyril ran towards Alfie and barked at him.
"Did you see her? Did you?" He seemed to say.
"Calm down, boy," Alfie said to the animal and then he looked at her who was already in front of him at the reception counter. "I'm sorry, he's usually quieter."
"Don't worry, he's nice! And I love dogs." Rose smiled at him and he did the same. "I booked for a room online, two weeks ago. Coldwell is my last name," she told him.
After giving him her ID, and while he was checking the information she paid attention to the place. She had already seen several photos online and she liked it but the Inn was really nice. The paintings on the walls were warm and several represented the sea. A plant over the counter called Wandering Jew, like the Inn itself, captured her attention. Her mother used to have that kind of plans when they lived in London. She asked herself if the Inn's name was because of those plants or there was another reason.
"Everything is okay, Ms. Coldwell," he said giving her ID back and also a key "Room 44. Welcome and I hope you enjoy your days here."
"Thanks! I will!"
"Every room has a phone that communicates directly with this one," he said pointing at a black one over the counter, "if you need anything you can call me... us. Call us."
Rose chuckled and nodded "Thanks…"
"Alfred. Alfie."
"Thanks, Alfie."
_
Two days later, the 20th of March, it was obvious that things were out of control. Hospitals were saturated, the numbers of sick people were increasing, flights become to be a necessity and there weren't enough planes. Countries like Italy, Greece and France were collapsing under the virus. And several of them closed their frontiers. Boris Johnson had already a rope around his neck but he refused to start a quarantine yet.
"No, I'm not admitting new guests," Alfie said to the person who called the Inn "I'm sorry."
His right hand, Ollie, was next to him. Both of them were waiting news from the government but there was nothing except empty words and promises about a bright future.
The convention were Rose had to go was cancelled because the organisers were sick and it was suspended. And in top of that she received an email saying that her original flight to return home was cancelled. The company gave her the money back but they didn't say anything about a reschedule.
She returned to the Inn that afternoon only to see in the TV that was in the reception, that there were riots everywhere. Demanding a lockdown, demanding more medical assistance and some demanded Johnson's and the Queen's heads.
Both men, Rose and an old woman were paying attention to the BBC journalist who was in front of one of the hospitals.
"Welcome to the end of the world," Alfie commented.
He wasn't that wrong.
The night of the 22th of March, it was chaotic. Finally the lockdown was imminent and some people was already leaving the Inn. Ollie, who worked the night shift, was giving them their money back for the days that they couldn't stay. That night Rose didn't sleep. She tried to get a flight and she could hear her mother's voice in her head "you should listen to me."
And yes, Mary Coldwell was right but it was too late now for any regrets. Rose needed to return with her family, the thing was how.
The next morning it was officially confirmed the beginning of the quarantine. Alfie again behind the counter, was attending the remaining guests who were living the Inn. Including those who refused to leave. One particular woman was complaining about the lockdown and she was basically blaming Alfie because of that.
Alfie was trying to remain calmed but this Karen wasn't making things easy.
"You can't expelled me like that. I paid for my bedroom for three weeks and I've been here for only one. I want to stay here for three weeks!"
"But you can't. You can go to 10 Downing Street and talk with the Prime Minister about your holidays, if you want. I'm just a citizen following these new rules, ma'am. Pick up your belongings and get in your car and return home. Stay there until the Quarantine is over."
Rose was sitting on one of the armchairs at the reception. Phone in hand, refreshing the airlines website every two seconds, but not avail. Everything was collapsed and there wasn't any flights. The news showed people sleeping on floors and she knew that was her fate and she was really upset. So hearing that woman was ending with her patience.
"I'm going to sue you, you'll see! And you're going to regret it! This is a complete nonsense! There's no such thing as a virus!! It's the media! And the left and…"
"Shut the fuck up, for once! Fuck!"
Both Alfie and the woman stared at Rose who was frowning. The first one smiled, but the woman seemed offended.
"I didn't pay to be insultated!"
"I'm doing this for free," Rose replied.
Gasping, the woman warned Alfie with a lawyer one last time and left the Inn, according to her, to search a better place to stay. She found none.
The rest of the guests left the Inn without drama and by 4pm only Rose remained there. From all the guests that The Wandering Jew had there at the moment, she was the only one living in United States, the rest were all over Britain. In consequence, the only one having problems was Rose.
"Any luck?" Alfie asked watching her with her phone still in hand.
"No. Not really. My brother is trying to help from his home but he's not having luck either."
"You can stay here for tonight if you want," Alfie said.
"I was planning to go to the airport and stay there."
"Sleeping on the cold tiles in middle of a pandemic? I'm sorry but it sounds risky."
"But…"
"I hanged the sign. For everyone here, the Inn is closed. Don't worry."
"Just for tonight, I promise," she said.
Alfie agreed.
"Just tonight."
How wrong both of them were.
#alfie solomons#alfie x rose#alfie solomons x oc#alfie solomons x ofc#tom hardy#peaky blinders#modern au#the wandering jew
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reading r.f. kuang’s babel right now and after skimming through some locked reddit threads i am so disappointed by the reception.
spoilers ahead, and disclaimer that i am only on chapter 21, but i went looking for a discussion about how their plan to cover up after lovell was a little lacking, and what i found instead were hundreds of disappointed (apparently) white readers tone policing the author. calling her a bad writer, unsophisticated, and overly simplistic. Arguments that are so profoundly rich with irony as these are nameless white readers discussing the qualifications of an asian cambridge/oxford/yale graduate, but i digress. i can easily enough dismiss these criticisms as inane and incomprehensible to anyone who values non-western intellect.
Wthe criticism i have seen over and over again though, which infuriates me to the point of hysterics is that the book is too “preachy”. again and again and again dozens of people posted and hundreds of people upvoted that kuang’s book about the evils of colonialism wasn’t subtle enough. that it’s too in your face, the characters are too aware of “modern” discussions and opinions of colonialism, and that her heavy handed, over-articulated critique shows her youth and inexperience.
i could scream.
because why should colonialism be subtle? why must people of color assuage our indignation to accommodate the feelings of our oppressor’s descendants? why must the cruel, ceaseless destruction of hundreds of world cultures be boiled down to a beautiful metaphor? why is it that books about the evils of capitalism and discrimination can be so easily understood in the fantastical dark academia pieces of white authors, but the second the discussion shifts to imperialism and white supremacy, we must speak in similes and hushed whispers?
does reading about western missionaries intentionally devastating the lives and cultures of people of color for dominance and profit feel like preaching to you? imagine how the natives feel. for monolingual, white intellectuals who base their intellect purely off of western morality and philosophy, this book may certainly feel like a lecture, but for the marginalized communities who to this day speak the languages of their colonizers, this is just reality. a reality that in upper academia is still discussed in stilted, awkward tones because it would require considering where their endowments comes from. and kuang would know that, as someone who graduated from such institutions thrice.
for those that say her character’s speak with too much modern disdain and comprehension of colonialism, these opinions are not modern. the novel takes place in the 1830s, slavery, indentured servitude, and genocide were common practices of the western empires, and i can promise you none of their victims would be upset by admitting so. to say that the cantonese protagonist, with his indian muslim and haitian best friends, the three of whom were torn from their colonized home countries and now make up 75% of the incoming class of oxford’s most prestigious college, should not hold beliefs of anti-imperialism and should not have the vocabulary to express such, is so completely absurd and insulting I can’t even dignify it a response.
make no mistake, it is not that i cannot believe the outrage, because it is so very believable, but i cannot fathom how someone can deign to call themselves a reader and so flagrantly despise learning the experiences of others.
something that was particularly fascinating to watch was when someone mentioned achebe’s things fall apart, lauding it as the faithful brother to babel’s prodigal son. in an interesting reversal of roles, this black author’s novel was presented as the model to which minority writers should aspire to. subtlety, intrigue, mysticism, a delicate string of scenes and plot points to allow the reader to internalize the profound pains of cultural oppression without pointing too many fingers at whose doing the oppressing. because it is simply ‘more powerful’ to draw a beautifully direct parallel to a rhetorical issue than to point at the true source of our real world, ongoing crisis. not only is this a deeply mischaracterized description of achebe’s novel, but is precisely the rhetoric that both novels aimed to critique.
no novel is perfect. i still have yet to finish babel, and some comments I’ve seen about dialogue and characterization choices, with which i often disagree, i see the merit and validity of such arguments. however listening to the mindless degradation of this work by self-proclaimed white academics, who offer nothing of note besides overly-intellectualized statements of cultural insecurity, frustrates me on a level i struggle to put to words in any language.
anyways back to reading! i don’t imagine my thoughts are of much note, but if i have anything interesting to say, i’ll give an impassioned key smash when i finish
#babel#babel an arcane history#r.f. kuang#books and literature#rambles#god this was so much longer than i intended it to be#and yet this is not even half of what i wanted to touch on#i literally do not pose here at all what am i even doing#booktok#colonialism#philosophy#dark academia#dark academic aesthetic#light academia#is this enough tags yet?#babel spoilers
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WIP: The Man Who Walked With Death
Death finds his successor in a humble gravekeeper.
Genre: literary fiction, ~vaguely~ modern fantasy
Status: outlining/first draft
Tag: #project: tmwwwd
Setting: Woodhaven, a small fictional town in northern Wisconsin, current day
Summary: Death comes us for all. Matthew Harker knows this fact better than most, and he likes to think he's made his peace with it. But when, deep in the throes of a fatal overdose, Death himself offers Matthew a different path, he realizes he may have misjudged how ready he is to abandon being alive.
Warnings: copious amounts of death and discussions about it, drugs, brief instances of homophobia, suicidal ideation and other assorted mental health trials
Vibes/themes: the love was there - it didn't change anything, but it was there, and that matters. foggy forest mornings. losing religion, finding devotion. small town gossip. parable of the prodigal son. midnight bonfires. death as mercy. smiling dogs. the trials of godhood vs the drawbacks of mortality. messy love.
Brief Mood Playlist: das mädchen und der tod, oonagh // our way out, nico collins // alive, the scarlet opera // head up, broken back // six feet under, aeseaes // oblivion, bastille // one more light, linkin park
Characters:
Asher Moore (472, he/it): god of death. passionate about good food/drink, plants, and ensuring the dead pass over as peacefully as possible. desperately needs a hug and for someone to tell him he's doing the right thing.
Matthew Harker (32, he/him): son of Woodhaven's preacher, recovering addict, current gravekeeper of Holy Hill Cemetery. passionate about learning, organization, and making sure people feel wanted. enjoys reading on rainy afternoons and gives great hugs (mostly to Asher but he'll give you one if you ask).
Caine Slater (194, he/they/she): god of life. passionate about pestering Asher, good sex, and making sure life is worth living. always down to play videogames and cause a ruckus.
Mortimer the "Dog": Asher's Grim. passionate about getting petted, big sticks, and making the newly-departed smile. loves dancing, but he's not very good.
(photos in graphic via Unsplash, free to use | graphic made in Canva)
#project: tmwwwd#my writing#wip intro#character: asher moore#character: matthew harker#character: caine slater#character: mortimer the dog#writeblr#writers on tumblr#original work#original fiction#creative writing
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Marcora modern day
Cora is wbs live in nurse
And Marco is the sexy prodigal son who is constantly busy with work
Twist- Cora falls in love with Marco before they even meet
oooooo, yes!!! whitebeard brags about all his children but marco was the first, and he defo notices that Cora loves hearing about him the most. He has so many stories to tell.
Then finally meeting him months after hearing all these stories... Whitebeard didn't tell him how beautiful his eyes are.
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Songs I associate with various characters. No I will it elaborate.
Craig (Miracle Workers) - The Middle by Jimmy Eat World
Prince Chauncley (Miracle Workers) - The Green and The Town by AJR
Ezekiel Brown (Miracle Workers) - Brave as a Noun by AJJ
Sid (Miracle Workers) - Green Green Dress from Tick, Tick, Boom!
David (Camp Camp) - Get Back Up Again from Trolls
Eddie Diaz (911onabc) - The Drug In Me Is You by Falling in Reverse
Evan Buckley (911onabc) - Gold Rush Kid by George Ezra
Maddie Buckley (911onabc) - Montreal by Penelope Scott
TK Strand (911 Lone Star) - take me back to new york city by LukeTrepp
Carlos Reyes (911 Lone Star) - Tears Over Beers by Modern Baseball
Reggie (Julie and The Phantoms) - Don’t Throw Out My Legos by AJR
Luke (Julie and The Phantoms) - ESOEMOEHOED Leanna Firestone
Alex (Julie and The Phantoms) - Anxiety Song by Human Petting Zoo
Julie (Julie and The Phantoms) - birthday cake by Dylan Conrique
Willie (Julie and The Phantoms) - Be Glad I Love You (Go to Bed) by Bug Hunter
Carrie (Julie and The Phantoms) - Prom Queen by Molly Kate Kestner
Max Thunderman (The Thundermans) - IDK If I’m a Boy by Blue Foster
Spencer Reid (Criminal Minds) - Kind Love by Bears in Trees
Matt Murdock (Daredevil) - The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie by Colter Wall
Malcolm Bright (Prodigal Son) - Dead Girls by Penelope Scott
Ian Gallagher (Shameless) - Vicodin by CVBZ
Wilson (House MD) - A Sadness Runs Through Him by The Hoosiers
Abed (Community) - Scrawny by Wallows
Todd Anderson (Dead Poets Society) - Ramblings of A Lunatic by Bears In Trees
Neil Perry (Dead Poets Society) - Icarus by Bastille
Barney Stinson (How I Met Your Mother) - Casual Sex by My Darkest Days
Ted Mosby (How I Met Your Mother) - Haven’t Met You Yet by Michael Bublé
Chase Davenport (Lab Rats) - Oh No! By MARINA
#julie and the phantoms#house md#community#miracle workers#camp camp#911 lone star#911 abc#the thundermans#criminal minds#daredevil#prodigal son#shameless#dead poets society#how i met your mother#lab rats#evan buckley#eddie diaz#maddie buckley#malcolm bright#luke patterson#alex mercer#reggie peters#julie molina#ian gallagher#james wilson#neil perry#todd anderson#tk strand#carlos reyes#david camp camp
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I NEED TO HEAR ABOUT UR SAMWELL CONSERVATORY AU LIKE YESTERSAY GD WHY DOESNT TUMBLR LET ME SEE POSTS BRO!!!! IT SOUNDS AWESOME!!!! -dexsbruins
Here's the post that started this whole idea!!
Okay, so, the premise is that instead of playing hockey, they're all classical musicians and Samwell is a music conservatory that's not exactly Julliard levels, but it's up there in terms of prestige/excellence.
Bitty actually still started out figure skating, but then Coach got a job with Georgia Tech in Atlanta and they moved to the suburbs (yes this is similar to my Jack the Gardener AU) instead of back to Madison, and instead of joining the community's co-ed hockey team, he joined the school's orchestra.
When he gets to Samwell, his freshman year is spent partly in music history lectures, partly in the small-group he joined (all students have to perform in a small group throughout the year), and mostly in practice rooms crying into his music because who does he really think he is? This is Samwell. Bitty didn't pick up his violin until he was twelve, and everyone else seems to have been playing their instrument since birth.
He has rather strong performance anxiety because of this fear of not being good enough to those around him, and this leaves him out of making it into Founders, the honors string ensemble at Samwell.
It's sometime in November when Bitty's leaving a practice room and finds Jack Zimmermann standing right outside the door. Jack Zimmermann, the prodigal son of "Bad Bob" Zimmermann, the greatest violinist in modern day and the infamous concertmaster of Founders.
Jack overhears Bitty practicing and demands asks why he isn't in Founders. He then offers to help Bitty get over his performance anxiety, even going as far as to offer the open violin position in their small group ("Yeah, Johnson was--he left, and now we need a second violin.") which is where Bitty meets Shitty (the violist), Ransom (the cellist), and Holster (the bassist).
I haven't found a way to really finish the story yet and it's more outlined than written, but here's a snippet!!
Eric’s heard of Jack Zimmermann.
It’s hard not to. His name is always fluttering around the mess hall, the dormitories, hushed behind stands during rehearsals and taking meaning off the grapevine, ripe or not. People say he’s this legend, this risk, this fissure waiting to crack beyond redemption. One person praises the ground Jack walks on and the next person tuts indignantly in his wake. He’s the most divisive topic of conversation after pop music, and yet when Jack enters a room, there’s still this collective pause that’s just long enough to be noticeable. Eric didn’t know why that was until his roommate sent him a few articles about the prodigal child gone off the rails.
All throughout his first year, Eric heard his fair share of stories—that Jack botched his Juilliard auditions and his father sent him to Samwell as punishment, that he got a girl pregnant in London and his father sent him to Samwell as punishment, that he got caught with cocaine in some New York airport and his father sent him to Samwell as punishment.
The more Eric heard, the more outlandish the stories got, but they all had the common ending: Samwell is Jack’s punishment. Samwell is this step down from what Jack deserves.
Which, yeah, that rubs Eric the wrong way.
“It’s, like, this Samwell right of passage to hear about him,” one girl—Lala? Laura? Larissa?—said at the beginning of the term when a group of first-years behind them didn’t know how to whisper. Eric sits beside her in Music History: 1700 - 1850 and hadn’t spoken more than five words to her before that day. “Which fucking blows. I mean, he’s a student here like the rest of us, but they act like he’s a ticking time bomb or something. It’s ridiculous.”
Eric shuffled in his seat. To have the entire school constantly talk about you and never to you is definitely shitty, but—“I mean, maybe there’s some truth there?”
The look the girl gave him could positively kill. They haven’t spoken to each other since.
Eric felt guilty saying that, but he doesn’t think he was entirely wrong. Jack Zimmermann, as much as he’s talked about, never refutes anything or tries to clear the air, always just walking around campus with this brooding sort of energy. Always frowning and hard-looking and stoic in a way that raises the hair on the back of Eric’s neck.
“He’s almost scary,” Eric told his mama over the phone a few weeks after starting at Samwell last year. It was the first day Eric had seen Jack Zimmermann in the flesh, leaving Founders and running late for his Discover Samwell seminar. “I hate that all these people keep talking about him in such troublesome ways, but a part of me wonders if there isn’t some truth in it.”
“Well, you know what I always say, Dicky: if it ain’t coming from their own mouth, it ain’t worth your time.”
Eric sighed and waved to the car that let him cross the street. “I know, Mama. I just wonder.”
“Honey, we all wonder, whether we like to or not. Now why are you so twisted up over this boy anyway?”
Eric couldn’t answer that without telling his mama that Jack Zimmermann quite literally could be the hottest man he’s ever seen with his own two eyes, and the added mystery and broodiness worked for Jack just as much as it worked against him, so Eric didn’t answer at all. He moved on, let the occasional blips of concern pass, and focused on surviving his first year, his ensemble auditions, and his now upcoming sophomore recitals. He stopped letting the rumors and whispers and side-eye glances get to him, stopped eavesdropping on others’ conversations when Jack’s name was said.
It was easy. For the first time in his life, Eric wasn’t the target.
#the love child between my (mixed) history in music and my fandom obsession#thank you for asking!!#my writing#answered#classical music au
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|Okay! So multi muse blog is officially up and ready(ish!)
CURRENTLY UNDER CONSTRUCTION
Under the cut is the current muse list:
Prodigal Son:
Malcolm Bright (;Brightish;): FC Tom Payne,Canon plot-Malcolm is the son of famous serial killer known as the surgeon and works as a special consultant with NYPD. Due to his history Malcolm suffers from severe PTSD and commonly experiences tremors. He also some sociopathic tendancies.
(;LikeSurgeon;) In this verse Malcolm takes after his father, inheriting the traits that canon Malcolm feared having. The surgeon was never turned in and Malcolm learned the tools of his trade.
Martin Whitly (;surgeon;): The father to Malcolm Bright, A serial killer known as the Surgeon, who is currently locked up in the Claremont psychiatric hospital. (or other plotting him can put him after he succeeds in escaping (or prior to being brought in.)
Doctor Who:
Victorian-Clara Oswald (;Victorian;): FC Jenna Coleman, Clara is barmaid in Victorian london, who also double as a governess when she meets the Doctor. In this AU she doesn’t fall and travels with the Doctor. Other AU’s can include her having adventures with Vastra’s gang, modern day AU’s, or anything we want to plot.
Jack Harkness (;harkness;): FC John Barrowman, Jack is still doing jack, aka always looking for the doctor and/or adventures but this jack takes place after losing Ianto.
-Alternative verse (;mirror harkness;) Is set in universe where Jack was a companion to a darker doctor. While he retains much of his personality, he is a bit darker. (Plotting can weed out specifics!)
Mr. Clever (;cyberplanner;): Clever managed to beat the Doctor at chess, and managed to take over completely. Or so he thought. While he did take over control of the body, the Doctor is always there as an extra (annoying) consciousness. He does have the TARDIS, but half the time she doesn’t behave for him.
Amy Pond (;thelegs;): The other half of Amy and Rory! In canon after being sent back she lived her life with life with Rory. Outside of canon? She can be placed anywhere and in anytime. Probably would be pre-angels.
Fob!watched Missy (;Disguisedsleuth;): FC Lara Jean Chorostecki, After being shot by simm!master, She still managed to regenerate and hid her self, becoming tattle-crime writer Freddie Lounds. Even after opening the watch she still tries to be good, hoping the Doctor finds her. Or she can horribly fail and revert to her old ways.
Tenth Doctor (;allons-y;): The main timeline is post end of time where he is fighting of regeneration. But very much not set in stone!
Hannibal:
Freddie Lounds (;crimesleuth;): Freddie Lounds is journalist for tattle-crime, not afraid to push boundaries when she wants something. Most come to believe its for a sense of Justice. But Freddie has a dark secret, too. (AUish)
Hannibal Lecter (;ripper;): Hannibal Lecter, also known as the chesapeake ripper is a therapist who also doubles as a cannibal?? Plot wise he can be anywhere but will primarily placing for surviving the fall if not specified.
Will Graham (;Graham;): In canon (formerly) works as a special consultant for the FBI. Primarily putting him in season 2-3. Can also be post surviving fall.
Baldurs gate 3:
Karlach {;Infernal Engine;): Karlach is tiefling set in the world of baldurs gate 3. She is red skinned and has two horns, however one of her horns is broke off. Her heart? Yeah its engine thats only getting hotter. She served for ten years in avernus, unwillingly a champion to Zariel. Until she escaped, but is she ever really free?
Isobel {;let me be your guide and I'll show you the light | Isobel;}
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alrighty pal let's hear ur headcanons on what the corinthian does on a daily basis. boyd holbrook calling him a " connoisseur of all things " really shifted my understanding of the character - we see in the show that it's more about the terror, that he doesn't necessarily need to kill to experience pleasure, that he's more of a hedonist overall - the prodigal son ran rampant. (i rlly enjoyed for this reason how he is the nightmare that meets destruction in the waking world when dream is taking him for walkies, maybe he could have taken inspiration from him, who knows?) i also think, given the genuine hurt he displays in the show before dream unmakes him, there's an element of desperation of being taken away from the wonders of life, compared to in the comics where he's mostly just very angry and very eager to show dream all the ways he's learnt to instill fear. also, on the subject of the eyes: eyes being a window to the soul, to experience humanity, but given the importance of the "im gonna reshape the world to look like me" quote I reckon it's also about stealing humanity or at least autonomy/individuality from his victims, establishing balance in a way, would love to hear your thoughts about that. the corinthian wants to be a real boy! how do you think he spends his time every day?
OH GOD OKAY let me think.....
alrighty pal let's hear ur headcanons on what the corinthian does on a daily basis. / how do you think he spends his time every day?
I think the Corinthian’s daily activities involve a lot of exploration and just fucking around to find out, figuratively and literally ;) .
I think on a Monday you could probably see him taking walks around whatever city he’s decided to hang out in for the time being. Perusing the shops, just picking stuff up and looking at it. (Like the little mermaid, he’s just so curious about the human world!) He’s been around for a while, so he likes to see how stuff has changed.
I think he also likes checking out people, both in an attracted and a fascinated way. Somehow I think he finds something interesting in the mundane aspects of people. Noticing the same people who get on and off at the bus stops, how their moods change often. Whenever he finds a lucky (or unlucky) soul to talk to and engage with, he watches the way they respond to his facade. Most of the time, he’s truly convincing, if not a little eccentric.
Also, I like to think he’s at least a little bit up to date on trends. He certainly dresses sharply enough. He’s mastered that modern minimalist look, and he has a smartphone. He’s distinguished enough to look good but not stand out too much, as he intended.
"im gonna reshape the world to look like me" quote I reckon it's also about stealing humanity or at least autonomy/individuality from his victims, establishing balance in a way, would love to hear your thoughts about that.
My thoughts on that...I believe it’s his eager enviousness of trying to achieve humanity (his view greatly influenced by the great amazing totally extroverted Dream of course)! I think deep down he knows that as much as he tries to imitate and copy humans, he knows he will never be their equal....so maybe they ought to see (HA) things his way. The Corinthian achieves this by, yes, taking their eyes/individuality, and also by encouraging Collectors to embrace what makes them ‘human’ (spoiler alert: they all lived to regret that).
Actually the whole analogy of the Corinthian wanting a kind of human normalcy as a Nightmare could be a cool concept to explore. Thanks again for the lovely ask!!! I’m here all week!
(I haven’t read Nightmare Country.....YET! But I will soon. Also, I’m slowlyyy rereading the rest of Sandman)
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Sin sometimes creeps in as enticing and little bit luring... it starts with a compromise that opens the door to even more moral compromises. And it feels exhilarating. And even though you know what God’s word and His standards are you begin to rationalize and excuse it by listening to the world’s standards instead of what God says or thinks about it. Sin sneaks in with one compromise and it becomes easier with lying to one’s self and excusing it with another lie and another lie until you are ensnared in the enemy’s trap and you are not aware of it until sin has started to unravel your life with losses you didn’t count on. And after time you find yourself stuck, alone, and further from God’s presence then you ever imagined. He loves you still and always will but there is a barrier between your sin and God. Until you let go of what’s entangled you and until you ask God for forgiveness and His help you will feel stuck, lost and will begin to feel torture by the consequences of that sin that has entangled you. That thicket of that briar patch is full of piercing thorns. Every move you make it begins to hurt you and break you down more and more. And suddenly you realize this big lie of pleasure and false love and acceptance of the world is doing nothing but destroying you, your relationships, your job, your family, and your purpose and plan God has for you. Your dreams are shattered and you feel in pain from the shame, addictions, materialism, the inappropriate people and relationships and who you hang with... everything that felt so good and amazing now just feels like briars tearing you up inside and out and is destroying your life. Everything the world offers is counterfeit and leads to the path of destruction. Come home prodigal son or daughter. He is waiting for you with open loving arms. ~ A Modern Day Ruth, © 2022
2 Timothy 3: 1-4
But know this, that in the last days perilous times will come: For men will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boasters, proud, blasphemers, disobedient to parents, unthankful, unholy, unloving, unforgiving, slanderers, without self-control, brutal, despisers of good, traitors, headstrong, haughty, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God.
Matthew 24:12-13
Because of the increase of wickedness, the love of many will grow cold, but the one who stands firm to the end will be saved.
There's still hope in Jesus, it's not too late! Grace and mercy abound for those who would seek and follow Christ Jesus.
Photography by Nastya Melnikova
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if anyone wants I have a musicals playlist that's over 200 hours that has I think around 205 musicals here's an alphabetized list let me know if I'm missing any I should add (I don't like Andrew lloyd Webber musicals and I'm also not a huge fan of jukebox musicals more specifically mamma Mia) and if anyone wants a link please ask me
13
21 Chump Street
25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee
35MM
36 Questions
42nd Street
The Addams Family
Aida
Aladdin
Alice by Heart
Allegro
Amelie
Anastasia
Ani
Annie Get Your Gun
Annie
Anything Goes
Avenue Q
Back to the Future
Bat Boy
Beauty and the Beast
Beetlejuice
Be More Chill
The Big One-Oh
Billy Elliot
Black Friday
Bombshell
Bonnie and Clyde
Book of Mormon
Brigadoon
Bring it On
Once More With Feeling (Buffy musical)
Bugsy Malone
Bye Bye Birdie
Cabaret
Camelot
Carousel
Carrie
Catch Me if You Can
A Catered Affair
Charlie and the Chocolate Factory
Chess
Chicago
A Chorus Line
Cinderella (Rodgers and Hammerstein)
The Colour Purple
Come From Away
Company
Crybaby
Curtains
Damn Yankees
Days of Wine and Roses
Dear Evan Hansen
Desperate Measures
Dog Man
Dreamgirls
Dreamland
Dr Horrible's Sing Along Blog
Drowsy Chaperone
Duolingo on Ice
Elegies
Epic (all released sagas)
Everybody's Talking About Jamie
Falsettoland
Falsettos Revival
Firebringer
Flora the Red Menace
Follies
Fosse
Frankenstein
Frozen
Fun Home
Funny Girl
A Funny Thing Happened
A Gentleman's Guide to Love and Murder
Grand Hotel
Grease
The Great American Trailer Park
Grey Gardens
Gutenberg
Guys and Dolls
The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals
G*psy
Hadestown (broadway)
Hadestown (off broadway)
Hairspray
Hair
Hamilton
Harmony
Heathers
Hedwig and the Angry Inch
Hello Dolly
Honk
How the Grinch Stole Christmas (this one is just for Patrick page)
How to Dance in Ohio
How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying
Hunchback of Notre Dame
In the Green
In the Heights
Into the Woods
In Trousers
It Shoulda Been You
Jekyll and Hyde
Kimberly Akimo
The King and I
Kinky Boots
Kiss of the Spider Woman
Legally Blonde
Lempicka
Les Miserables (english and french)
The Lightning Thief
The Lion King
Little Do They Know
The Little Mermaid
A Little Night Music
Little Shop of Horrors (english and german)
Little Women
Lizard Boy
Love in Hate Nation
Love's Labours Lost
Mad Ones
Make Me a Song
Mame
A Man of No Importance
March of the Falsettos
Marguerite
Martin Guerre
Mary Poppins
Matilda
Mean Girls
Merrily We Roll Along
Miss Saigon
Monty Python's Spamalot
The Music Man
My Fair Lady
My Heart Says Go
My Son's a Queer (But What Can You Do)
The Mystery of Edwin Drood
Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812
Nerdy Prudes Must Die (I only have one song because I'm waiting to watch it with my friend before adding more)
A New Brain
Newsies
New York, New York
Next to Normal
Nightmare Time
Nine
Octet
Oklahoma
Oliver
Once On This Island
Once Upon a Mattress
Only Murders in the Building (Death Rattle Dazzle)
The Pyjama Game
Parade
Pippin
The Prince of Egypt
Prodigal
The Producers
The Prom
Ragtime
Ride the Cyclone
The Rink
The Rocky Horror Picture Show
Schmigadoon
Schmicago
Scottsburo Boys
Seussical
She Loves Me
Sherlock
Shrek
Shucked
Six
Smash
Some Like it Hot
Something Rotten
The Sound of Music
South Pacific
Spiderman Turn off the Dark
The Spitfire Grill
Spongebob
Spring Awakening
Starship
State Fair
Sunday in the Park with George
Superhero
Sweeney Todd
Sweet Charity
The Theory of Relativity
Thoroughly Modern Millie
Tick Tick Boom
The Time Traveller's Wife
The Trail to Oregon
Twisted
Urinetown
A VHS Christmas Carol
The Visit
Waitress
Wait Wait Don't Kill Me
West Side Story
Wicked
Water for Elephants
Wizard of Oz
The Wiz
Zombie Prom
Zorba
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Day 69 - Knight Of Cups
Knight of Cups Upright Meaning
This card is traditionally entitled the Knight, but in some modern decks appears as the Prince. Traditionally, this card in this suit has pictured a homecoming -- portraying a return to his true heart's home after a long journey. Like the prodigal son, he may be returning after long estrangement from all he holds dear.
His taste for adventure is exhausted -- there is no more romanticizing of battles or travel in strange lands. Now he wants to go where he will be recognized, wanted and welcome -- where he doesn't have to fight at every turn. He has the attitude of one who has become older and wiser, the prodigal son.
Knight of Cups Reversed Meaning
The Knight of Cups reversed continually looks for excuses or a way to blame his problems on someone else. He is not mature enough to realize that until he takes personal responsibility for the way things are in his life, he will continue to add to conflict rather than exercising his natural helping and healing powers.
Knight of Cups Advice Position
The Knight of Cups (in some decks, a Prince) in this position advises that you jump into your new situation with both feet. Get involved with what is happening in the present. Think no more about the route you had to travel to get back here. There is no need to be cavalier about what seems familiar.
Look deeply at the underlying values here. You may find that they represent something you mistakenly rejected in the past. Be humble enough to look at things through new eyes. At a deep level, your heart and soul are being nourished. Don't be tempted to run away again -- this is where you belong. Your entire journey was designed to bring you home with new appreciation.
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WIP Game
Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigued them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.
I was tagged by @ameerawrites and @oliviassunrise! Thanks guys :)
To start there is a folder called "discontinued wips" which is basically fics i haven't touched in...a long time haha that i have every intention of returning to at /some/ point but i'm either not really in the fandom anymore (like my prodigal son baby fic) or the show pissed me off so i took a step back (my handful of tedbecca wips).
Then the rest are in alphabetical order:
-afraid to jinx it (jane/maura baby fic)
-amb's fic (tess/joel commission)
-and a belly that's been growing by the day (tessjoel baby wip, currently posting)
-at the pleasure (tessjoel politics au, currently posting)
-AUpril (doc of prompts for AUpril which i still need to finish...seven months later)
-figure skater x hockey player college au (tess/joel au, in the planning stages)
-hold onto this lullaby (tess/joel modern au, currently posting)
-joeltess at billfrank's (tess/joel one-shot, needs to be finished)
-jopper kinktober (likely to never be finished tbqh)
-lost in the magic with you (a pretty disguise from the truth) (a mando/reader au i have not touched in months)
-magic au (tess/joel AUpril prompt that needs to be finished)
-musicians au (tess/joel AUpril prompt that needs to be finished)
-popstar x football player au (tess/joel au, in the planning stages)
-tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us (tess/joel angsty au, currently posting)
-the whumps of march (still in progress, eight months later)
-the world turned upside down (who am i to complain) (tess/joel marriage law au au, currently posting)
-to the ends of the earth (tess/joel modern au, currently posting)
-two headlights shine through the sleepless night (tedbecca road trip au, currently posting)
-we paint the town blue (tess/joel cop au, currently posting)
-word prompts (tess/joel one word prompts, currently posting)
-your body told me in a dream it's never been afraid of anything (joeltess/jopper foursome fic, second chapter to be posted sometime this month)
tagged @seethesunny, @sassymajesty @professortennant and anyone else that would like to play because i have too many wips for any sane person :)
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Ladders from Heaven
Today's inspiration comes from:
God Never Gives Up on You
by Max Lucado
Editor's note: God never gives up on you, friend! Jacob's story reminds us even at our lowest points, God reaches down and meets us where we are. Join us for the God Never Gives Up on You Online Bible Study starting 10/23!
"'Genesis 28:10-17
You’ve had, or will have, moments of deep despair. You’ve had, or will have, hours in which your eyes weep a river, and your heart breaks into a thousand pieces. You’ve had, or will have, journeys through dry, barren stretches that will leave you exhausted and isolated.
You will feel stripped of all you cherish. You will look around and see no one to comfort you. You will search for strength, but you will search in vain, for strength will not come.
Yet in that desolate moment as you sit near the headstone and cry, on the barstool and drink, or in your bedroom and sigh, God will meet you. You will sense and see Him as never before.
Do not begrudge the barren stretches, for in the barrenness we encounter God.
We find the presence of God. Jacob did. And no one was more surprised than he.
In one fell swoop he’d tricked his brother and aging father. Rebekah, the mom of the twins, saw Esau’s rage and raced to warn Jacob. “He’s got that look in his eyes. Don’t pack a bag. Don’t grab a cloak. Don’t stop running and don’t look back.” She told him to hightail it to the land of her brother Laban and to stay there while Esau cooled down.
Jacob did exactly that. He grabbed a waterskin and filled a sack with figs and fruit and, with one final glance at his mother, mounted a camel and left. He set out from Beersheba to go to Mesopotamia (modern-day Turkey): 550 miles.1
Life was in free fall. Jacob left behind a weeping mother, a seething brother, and an aging, angry father. He had no herds. No servants to serve him. No guards to protect him. No cooks to prepare food for him. No companions. No resources.
Nada.
Jacob was raised in Fortune 500 wealth, surrounded by servants, shepherds, and slaves. His grandfather was “rich in livestock, in silver, and in gold” (Genesis 13:2). Abraham and his nephew Lot were so blessed that “the land was not able to support them... their possessions were so great that they could not dwell together” (Genesis 13:6). This affluence was passed down to Abraham’s son.
[Isaac] began to prosper, and continued prospering until he became very prosperous; for he had possessions of flocks and possessions of herds and a great number of servants. — Genesis 26:13–14
Jacob was the grandson of a baron. The son of an aristocrat. Had he lived today, he would have been raised in a mansion, pampered by servants, and educated in the finest schools. He had everything he needed. And then, from one moment to the next, he had nothing. He ran for his life, suddenly and utterly alone.
In the first two days he traveled forty-three miles from Beersheba to Bethel, a barren moorland that lay about eleven miles north of Jerusalem.2 The land through which he hiked was scorched and strewn with rocks, bleak like wasteland.
On the evening of the second day, as the sun set over a village called Luz, he stopped for the night. He did not enter the city. Perhaps its occupants were dangerous people. Perhaps Jacob was insecure. Why he stopped short of Luz is not revealed. What we are told is this:
He took one of the stones of that place and put it at his head, and he lay down in that place to sleep. — Genesis 28:11
Without so much as a bedroll for his head, he was the Bronze Age version of the prodigal son. The desert was his pigpen. But the prodigal in the parable did something Jacob did not do. “[He] came to himself” (Luke 15:17). He snapped to his senses. He looked at the pigs he was feeding, considered the life he was leading, and determined, “I will arise and go to my father” (Luke 15:18).
Jacob showed no such initiative. He made no resolve, displayed no conviction of sin, showed no remorse. Jacob did not pray, as did Jonah, or weep, as did Peter. In fact, Jacob’s lack of repentance is what makes the next scene one of the great stories of grace in the Bible.
Daylight dulled to gold. The sun slid low like a half-lidded eye. Orange gave way to ebony. Stars began to flicker. Jacob dozed, and in a dream he saw:
A ladder resting on the earth and reaching up into Heaven, and he saw angels of God going up and coming down the ladder. Then Jacob saw the Lord standing above the ladder. — Genesis 28:12–13 NCV
A ziggurat spanned the distance between Jacob’s barren, borrowed bed of dirt and Heaven’s highest, holiest dwelling. The stairway was aflurry with activity: angels ascending, angels descending. Their moving was a rush of lights, back and forth, up and down. The Hebrew wording of Jacob’s response implies raised arms and open mouth. A direct translation would be
There, a ladder! Oh, angels! And look, the Lord Himself! — Genesis 28:16, emphasis added3
When Jacob awoke, he realized that he was not alone. He’d felt alone. He’d assumed he was alone. He appeared to be alone. But he was surrounded by august citizens of heaven!
So are we.
Millions of mighty spiritual beings walk on earth around us. More than eighty thousand angels stood ready to come to the aid of Christ.4 Scripture speaks of “countless thousands of angels in a joyful gathering” (Hebrews 12:22 NLT). When John, the apostle, caught a glimpse of Heaven, he saw “ten thousand times ten thousand, and thousands of thousands” (Revelation 5:11). Can you do the math on that statement? Nor can I.
Angels are to Heaven what stars are to the night sky. Too many to count!
What is their task?
All the angels are spirits who serve God and are sent to help those who will receive salvation. — Hebrews 1:14 NCV
There is never an airplane on which you travel or a classroom into which you enter that you are not preceded and surrounded by God’s mighty servants.
He has put His angels in charge of you to watch over you wherever you go. — Psalm 91:11 NCV
God Never Gives Up On You
Sheila Walsh experienced the promise of the passage. At the age of thirty-four she admitted herself into a psychiatric hospital. One would not have suspected any cause for concern. Just the day prior she had cohosted a well-watched national television broadcast. Yet a storm raged within.
Eventually Sheila would be diagnosed as a victim of depression and PTSD. But on the first night no one knew what was wrong. The hospital staff placed her on suicide watch. Sheila had every reason to feel all alone. But she wasn’t.
In the early-morning hours of day two, Sheila noticed that another person had entered her room. She had been sitting for hours with her head buried in her lap. Upon sensing the presence of the visitor, she lifted her gaze. The visitor was part of the suicide watch, she assumed. But something was different. He was a strong man with tender eyes. As her mind tried to process who he might be, the man placed something in her hands — a small stuffed toy: a lamb. He told her, “Sheila, the Shepherd knows where to find you.” And with that her guest was gone.
God had sent an angel to her.
Around six that morning Sheila awoke to the sound of orderlies entering her room. She had fallen asleep on the floor. There at the foot of her folding chair was the lamb the man had delivered hours before.5
Jacob was not given a lamb, but he was given Heaven’s comfort. The message of the vision could not be clearer: when we are at our lowest, God is watching over us from the highest. Between us stretches a conduit of grace upon which messengers carry out His will.
These angels convey our prayers into God’s presence. In the apostle John’s vision, he saw an
Angel, carrying a gold censer, [who] came and stood at the Altar. He was given a great quantity of incense so that he could offer up the prayers of all the holy people of God on the Golden Altar before the Throne. — Revelation 8:3–4 The Message
As God hears our petitions, He responds with thunder!
Then the Angel filled the censer with fire from the Altar and heaved it to earth. It set off thunders, voices, lightnings, and an earthquake. — Revelation 8:5 The Message
Our prayers have a thermostatic impact upon the actions of Heaven.
Mothers, when you pray for your child...
Husbands, when you ask for healing in your marriage...
Children, when you kneel at your bed before going to sleep...
Citizens, when you pray for your country...
Pastors, when you pray for the members of your church...
Your prayers trigger the ascension of angels and the downpour of power!
Jacob saw heavenly activity. One might well wonder why God would pull back the veil and show Jacob the hosts that surrounded him. After all, Jacob had not sought God. Yet what Jacob saw scarcely compares with what Jacob heard. You’d expect a lecture, a holy scolding. But God gave Jacob something altogether different. God told Jacob that he would make him and his descendants a great people who would cover the earth. Despite Jacob’s deception and shortcuts, God repeated to him the blessing he gave Abraham and Isaac:
I am with you and will watch over you wherever you go, and I will bring you back to this land. I will not leave you. — Genesis 28:15 NIV
The fugitive had not been abandoned. The trickster had not been cast aside. God committed Himself to the lifelong care of Jacob.
Again we might wonder why. Had Jacob done anything to show he was worthy of the blessing? No. Jacob had done nothing but slimy stuff thus far. He leaked integrity like a sieve. He played his brother like a two-dollar fiddle. He worked the system like a riverboat gambler. There is, thus far, not one mention of Jacob in prayer, Jacob in faith, or Jacob in earnest pursuit of God.
Even so, God drenched His undeserving fugitive with a Niagara of unexpected kindness.
God did not turn away from one who had turned away from Him. He was faithful. He still is.
If we are faithless, He remains faithful. — 2 Timothy 2:13 NIV"'
John H. Walton, Genesis: The NIV Application Commentary (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 2001), 570.
Donald Grey Barnhouse, Genesis: A Devotional Exposition (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1971), 2:83.
Kent Hughes, Genesis: Beginning and Blessing (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2004), 359.
“Do you suppose that I cannot appeal to My Father, and He will immediately provide Me with more than twelve legions [more than 80,000] of angels?” (Matt. 26:53 ampc).
Adapted from Jack Graham, Angels: Who They Are, What They Do, and Why It Matters (Minneapolis, MN: Bethany House, 2016), 111–12.
This one is quite lengthy, Max got motivated and went on long. Sometimes its okay to read longer narratives. In this case it is worth it. Joe (posting this)
Excerpted with permission from God Never Gives Up on You by Max Lucado, copyright Max Lucado.
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le naturel des lois de la nature a travers les vibration les sons, transition des pensees theorique ou practique ou simplement juste content des savoir inspirationnel des ancient prodiges qui les ont instaurer et transmission des savoirs des civilisations et des idees de ses gens penseurs jusca nos jours et de reconnaitres pour devrais quand cela arrive cela me fait rire: How to steam like a star also 2) How to be a top Steamer :
Hot SUMMER NIGHTS
the naturalness of the laws of nature through vibrations, sounds, the transition of theoretical or practical thoughts, or simply just content with the inspirational knowledge of the ancient wonders that established them and transmission of the knowledge of civilizations and the ideas of its thinking people to the present day and to recognize for should when this happens it makes me laugh: How to steam like a star also 2) How to be a top Steamer:
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