#file under: wants: ruben

[knotfodder]

name: Ruben Fuentes nicknames: none (yet) dob. age: November 13 (40) gender: Male pronouns: (he/him/his) secondary gender: Omega occupation: defense attorney species: merman fc: Oscar Isaac

+sarcastic, loyal, tease+ -curt, aloof, dismissive-

[polarmoon]

sim requests 🌙

this was fun! probably gonna do more if anyone's interested :) will probably make a note of it somewhere on my blog if requests are open or not in the future~

★ cc + dl under the cut

★ ruben ritchie for @headcavedin cc – none!

★ nicole "nic" cunningham for @thecutestgf cc – facekit, face overlay (included), lips, hair (tsr warning), freckles + body moles, eyebrows

★ arthur hayata for @cozylattesims (private dl) cc – facekit, face overlay (included), skintone, eyebags, blush, hair, glasses, everyday top

★ kiran nischal for @treefish cc – facekit, face overlay (included), skintone, blush, beard (emilio), hair, glasses, everyday top

★ macey holmes for anon cc – facekit, face overlay (included), blush, eyebags, eyelashes (maxis match v3), hair

★ daniel ortega for @peachiyuu cc – facekit, skintone, freckles, hair, eyebrows

they have all outfits set (plus some extras), bare bones likes/dislikes/turn on/offs, and some of them have sexuality and gender custom settings. feel free to change whatever you like except for nic's sexuality + gender settings, and kiran's top surgery scars!

note: all sims are pictured with my defaults, and a no ea eyelashes mod. they all use packs, though i tried to keep things as limited as possible (when specified not to use certain packs in the requests i didn't!). if anything gets replaced feel free to re-dress them! terms of use: don't reupload or claim as your own, otherwise do whatever u want!

📁 origin id: detectmagic make sure the “include custom content” box is ticked!

📁 tray files dl [sfs]

[lucyfrostblade]

kipperlilly 👻, 😺, 😶 ivy 🎭, 🎶, 😶 ruben 🦾, 🏳️‍🌈, 😶

headcanon ask game !!

thank you! this one is under the cut because it's fairly long

Kipperlilly:

👻 A headcanon about what scares them

i think it would be easy to say that Kipperlilly is afraid of being insignificant which i think is part of it, but i don't think that's the root of issues. in the screenrant interview that brennan did, he says that kipperlilly forced the name "the high 5 heroes" as a way to force camaraderie that they didn't have yet. we also know from jawbone's file on kipperlilly that she wanted to keep the name while everyone except lucy voted against, and that in particular Ivy and Oisin proposed the name change. finally we also know that lucy was "the only one that sort of gets it". to me this comes together to paint a picture of someone who is incredibly lonely and doesn't know how to fix that.

she doesn't want to be alone, and this is what motivates her to me. she'll be useful, and she'll be interesting, and no one will ever leave her again. she's trying to make herself invaluable to her party, this genius mastermind rogue that leads them to glory, so that ultimately they have no choice but to stick with her. it's not even something she's necessarily conscious of, that deep-seated fear she has of being alone.

i think it makes the fact that she's the only one that stays dead after the plan and the fact that she willing took the shatterstar even more tragic, because she's ended up exactly where she feared most: alone and unremarkable (not to me, kipperlilly copperkettle you will always be famous to me)

😺 An animal related headcanon

in middle school, kipperlilly's parents took her to an animal shelter and they adopted a cat. the original idea was to get a dog, a really affectionate and energetic dog to help bring her out of her shell and relax to a certain extent. she ended up falling in love with this small orange cat that she names peaches, a name she is embarrassed by once she gets older. when the shatterstar plan starts in full force, and all the rat grinders end up at ruben's house, peaches stays at kipperlilly's house. she doesn't need the comfort or the affection from him anymore, she's beyond that she tells herself. her parents send pictures and she pretends she doesn't miss her stupid orange cat. he still sleeps in her bed, waiting for her to come back.

😶 A random headcanon!

i am a big fan of the idea of kipperlilly becoming a devil in hell post-canon. she would thrive there, i think, and really just lean into all her worst traits. just slowly climbing the ranks of hell and amassing more and more power and finally mattering in the ways she always wanted to be. it's easier for her to pretend that she's not so lonely, to ignore that she got everything she wanted and she still craves something else, that underneath it all she's still just a lonely high school junior.

Ivy:

🎭 A headcanon about what they lie about

ivy lies to herself more than she lies to anyone else, i feel. not that she's necessarily truthful to other people but it's rarely if ever an outright lie, more so manipulating the truth. but with herself? she'll push down her feelings and convince herself that she doesn't actually feel that way.

🎶 A headcanon about music

if you ask ivy she listens to rock music, something paramore-esque and maybe some pom pom squad if she wants to seem more indie in music tastes, but in her heart of hearts? she loves pop music. wireless earbuds are her best friend because now to doesn't have to worry about oisin pulling her earbuds out and like .5 of siena liggins, rina sawayama, muna, sofya wang, or chappell roan playing. she thinks it ruins her mystique if anyone finds out she listen to sapphic pop music

😶 A random headcanon!

in the yellowjackets trg au that is constantly rattling around in the back of my head, ivy is the natalie—the reluctant leader and the one who knows the most about actual survivial—to lucy's lottie and kipperlilly's misty.

and then bc i have no idea if you have any context for yellowjackets, in the doomed space crew trg au that is also constantly rattling around on my brain, i have her down as the pilot and oisin as the captain. she's next in line to be in charge if anything happens to him, and outwardly she's super confident about it, but really she doesn't want to consider 1) anything to happen to oisin and 2) actually having to make the tough calls

(if you are curious kipperlilly is the engineer, lucy is the medic, mary ann is security, ruben is the botanist, and i am not sure where to put buddy yet)

ruben:

🦾 A disability headcanon

bro has the worst vision in the world. he doesn't ever wear glasses in public, used to wear contacts but he wore them too much and he's now banned from wearing them and his eye doctor will no longer prescribe them. he makes lucy or oisin read every menu to him. he'll wear them only in private and only to write and learn new music.

i also think he has chronic hand and wrist pain, the sort that existed before he started playing guitar but is 100% worsened by it. lucy used to remind him

🏳️‍🌈 A sexuality headcanon

i think he's bi, mostly dates women to the point where for a while everyone assumes he's straight but then he casually mentions a hookup with a dude. i don't think he puts much thought in romantic partners or their genders, he just dates people.

😶 A random headcanon!

on a very objective level i understand that the irl music that ruben's band makes is very evidently just mcr but i personally think it's funnier if my clerical gnomance makes music similar to waterparks: "I'm sick of all this how'd you get your band name? / Is that your real first name? / Can you text and can you follow back cause it's my birthday? / No one cares what I want, just what I've got / And if we sit and count it up it's really not a lot" is such a "i'm getting mobbed for autographs" verse and you cannot convince me otherwise.

also he would have an elaborate inside joke that one of the members is an infamous serial killer that's really popular in the fandom until the shatterstar stuff becomes known and then it's just awkward. they don't stop making the joke tho. (lucy finds it funny, personally)

post shatterstar i think he leans more towards music like laura jean grace's, reconciling his pre-shatterstar, shatterstarted, and post-shatterstar selves into some angsty and anger soulcrushing tunes ala "I am a burning church / I am artifice and years collapsing / I have not yet become all that I will be"

[firthwatch]

I'll just go ahead and let Colin himself provide the film summary "It's a rather silly story about an acting coach who trains an actress by psychologically torturing her. I knew it would be complete rubbish and I sincerely hope no one ever sees it."

Far be it for me to disagree with the man but...I actually very much disagree that it's rubbish.

Review Under Cut

This is actually not a bad little thriller. Actually, the movie is about how women are routinely tortured, abused, used, and assaulted in Hollywood and nobody seems to care. Jamie (played very well by Jennifer Ruben) is a struggling actress who hears about a big part in the movie Playmaker, they are looking to cast a complete unknown. She calls her agent to ask why he didn't get her an audition, and he blows her off, but she insists--we find out that this agent is a sleezy scumball who of course is sleeping with her and it's not very clear if she's interested in sleeping with him or just going along to get along.

Of course, she's nervous about the audition and goes to her favorite bartender, Eddie, to vent about it. He recommends she go to an acting coach named Ross Talbert, who helped get another famous actress her big break, and off she goes with $5000 in hand. At the house, she meets Ross (Colin) who "trains" her by psychologically torturing her....to the point that she is in fear for her own life. And acts on that fear.

But of course, because she's been so broken down mentally and emotionally, she gives a "brilliant" audition and lands the coveted part! Pretty bleak commentary on what Hollywood is looking for in an actress.

In fact, the entire film is pretty bleak commentary on the state of things in Hollywood, on what actresses are expected to endure, on what people will do for money, for love, for revenge. Maybe Colin didn't watch the parts of the film he wasn't in himself, but this is actually a movie where the victim gains some autonomy and actually preserves her dignity rather than sacrificing everything, including her life.

This fits into the Neo Noir genre, but in this case, the woman at the center was unknowingly cast into the femme fatale role.

It is available on Youtube

Movie Review 6/10--It's a little messy, but there's a compelling mystery at the center of it, and even if Colin didn't want to be there, he did a good job. All the performances in this movie are well done.

Colin Beauty 10/10--let's just say that IN THE MIDST of psychological torture disguised as actor training, she chose to sleep with him, and she was right to do so. And even if he thought it was rubbish, he still did a good job, especially towards the end of the film when there was a character turn and there is a certain amount of vulnerability needed.

[rubentate]

Just about the prettiest blue eyes he’d ever seen in real life bounced around excitedly at the proposition Ruben lay before her, and he could see it. They flickered back and forth on his, like she was looking at the right and the left separately, then his lips, then his eyes again, almost like she was having trouble focusing. It made Ruben all the more excited to know that he had the pretty she-wolf right where he wanted her. "You know what your signin' up for, right darlin'?" He asked in a low groan, the blood rushing through his veins practically screaming at him to shut up and get to it already. The fact that she was so willing and seemingly just as eager had Ruben's heart racing. As she slid the key towards him, his breath caught in his throat. His hand came down on it fast, keeping the prying, jealous eyes from knowing their plans before her rose to his full height. With the last of his beer drained from the glass, Ruben smiled at Cora before he walked away.

The bar became crowded as more people filed in, ready to drink away their woes, which made more staff appear, which meant less eyes on Ruben as he wandered away from the bar to the back. He could feel his heart beating in his ears as he headed towards the staff area, the key tiny in his massive hand as he attempted to slid in the door once it was unlocked. He wanted to be calm, but no sooner than the door was shut behind him did he hustle to lock it back before knocking into boxes on his journey to find the bathroom.

It was an inconspicuous brown door all the way in the back of the stock room that his massive frame could barely get through, but inside was Cora, waiting like a gift under a Christmas tree for him. No hesitation was given as he slammed the door behind him and crossed the small room to her. With a growl summoned from the animal that slumbered within his human form, Ruben grabbed Cora's hips and pulled her into a kiss. His tongue pushed past her unbelievably soft lips to moan into her mouth as he lifted her off the ground and unto the tiny counterspace of the sink. Eagerness conquered his ability to be gentle as he placed a hand on either of her thighs and spread them apart, managing as best as he could to fit between them as he leaned in, kissing her deeper.

It was the heat coming from her that was his undoing. Her arousal was giving off the most amazing scent, pheromones and lust mingling with the lingering scent or flowers and sweat to create a perfume more intoxicating than any booze he'd ever had. It went to his head fast. Ruben hadn't been with another wolf in so long that he had forgotten how natural it felt. "Fuck," flew past his lips as he took a moment to breath, pulling his shirt over his head and discarding it on the floor before diving back in.

“Yes a flower shop.” She defended, smacking her teeth with her tongue and rolling her eyes. She didn’t think it was so weird that this was her job, as it was something she’d known for far longer than being a wolf. “I knew that first before all this. It’s easy, calms me down, keeps me focused.” In all truth very little did anymore, as now everything seemed to be doubled in intensity.“Maybe.” She said in full confidence, body turned to meet his full attention. But the joking manner carried between them grew thin and his eyes darkened, and she could sense that their banter was over.

Cora pulled herself back to her cloth and to cleaning, his tone of his voice shifting to a lower tone and raising the hairs at the back of her neck. “Huh.” The words came softly and unintentionally, like they spilled from her brain. The word more of a sound than anything, a jerk reaction along with the flutter of blinks, a dry feeling suddenly at the back of her throat.

The words felt like hot pincers on her skin, a frisson sizzling just under her ears and in her neck. The carnal desire he spoke of plagued her, too, slid under her skin and made it hot to the touch, a tension coiling at her core. And although she was one to hardly ever commit, there was this incessant, rabid need that existed where it did not before. Cora let out a breath from feeling stunned, throughly impressed by the breath he took from her.

Discarding the cloth and reaching under the bartop, Cora unhooked a small key and slid it as inconspicuously as she could over to him. “Like a safe word?” The answer short and heady, a little of her breath returned to her. Now she was less stunned and more in tune with her needs, which now seemed to chew at each end of her skin like if she didn’t move now she might scream. “I’m going to put an order of food in for myself in the back, which should kickstart somewhat of a rush.” Cora wiped some invisible crumbs off her apron, beginning to untie it as she turned to face her next objective. “The employee bathroom should be where you’ll find me, if you feel like getting away from the crowd.”

[thelastairsimblr]

Family Pack #1

I’m happy to share some sims with you all today! In this post, you’ll find 9 households (35 sims total), each with their own stories and biographies. All of these sims have additional Everyday outfits, skills, bonus traits, Likes and Dislikes, Turn Ons and Turn Offs, sexual orientations, pronouns, family dynamics, and Lifestyles. You can find them all on the gallery under my Origin ID: TheLastAirSimmer or in the tray files linked under the cut! As always, feel free to tag me if you end up using them.

Kyle

Andrea was just a small investigative reporter looking for her big break when she met Ramon. She was able to sit him down for an interview on a case they were both interested in and the natural chemistry they had was just too hard to ignore. Andrea worked up the courage to say yes after his many advances and they eventually fell in love, got married, and had a baby girl. Even though she’ll always be daddy’s little girl, Teresa wants to be a rebel and escape the eye of her watchdog of a father.

Dorval

The Dorvals have made names for themselves beyond the limits of their small town. Redick is a master of the fantasy genre, able to bring to life his readers wildest dreams with unmatched skill; young Jill is his biggest fan. Maisie admires her fathers’ talent and hopes to become a prodigy in her own right in the world of theatre. Rosalie made her family values integral to her political campaign and keeps everyone in line while Lucien, the eldest, takes nothing seriously aside from his music.

Browne-Morris

Howard met Romeo while married to Jackie and knew that things with her wouldn’t last. He still had a son with her and Jackie vowed to make sure Kendrick would always know love. Years later, the men have their own family and now that Kendrick is a teen, Jackie wants to follow her dreams and become a massage therapist. Howard hopes his firstborn will be a great big brother to Erick, though Kendrick is still uncomfortable being around them. Meanwhile, Romeo wants to be his husbands’ first priority.

Jordan-Salazar

Malcolm and Gianna are fully aware of the perceptions surrounding their relationship. A wealthy businessman worth millions ending up with a reality TV star? People are bound to talk, but the couple couldn't care less! The twins Chloe and Connor, still reeling from their parents’ divorce, are having a hard time accepting this new mother-in-law. And with a new addition to the family, Chloe is afraid of no longer being her fathers' favorite while Connor is worried about his inheritance.

Coleman

Dhalia is a defense attorney who fell deeply in love with a client. Lance has been working hard to mend his troubled past ever since. However, with a criminal record and no high school degree, he was only able to get low wage work. He hopes to one day feel worthy of his loving wife and pull his own weight in their marriage by using the skills he learned in prison to become a crafter. Their daughter Shauna has inherited her mother's intelligence and grit, but also her father's love for danger.

Waldorf

Free from a confining marriage, wealthy playboy Myles Waldorf was thriving after his divorce. Extravagant parties and a string of nameless lovers were his norm. He never assumed that in keeping everything from the settlement, he would soon become the primary caregiver for his teenage daughter Charlotte. She shares her fathers’ sense of self-importance, but bemoans his reckless behavior and wants to make a name for herself, unattached to Myles’ (of course, she’ll gladly take his money to do so)!

Castillo

As a creative person, Ruben is quick to recognize and appreciate artistic value in others. So, when the lovely Camilla won him over with her baked goods, he knew he knew he had to have her! Being a pastry chef, socialite, and a mother of two are all facets of her personality that she is deeply proud of. However, Marisol and Esteban don't seem to appreciate passion or hard work! The superficial cheerleader is incredibly materialistic and her younger brother isn't much better.

Hildebrandt

The Hildebrandt’s have quite the reputation as an upstanding family. A surgeon and a dean, Richard and Claire are professionals in their fields. Claire set high expectations for Monique; the girl tries her best to reach them even as they overwhelm her. Richard didn’t hesitate to take in his nephew Trevor after his sister died, but the rest of the family seems unsure about this roguish new houseguest. With the exception of Thaddeus of course, who’s just excited to have someone to play with.

Moseley-Gaston

When both partners work from home, it can risk taking a toll on a relationship. Venus and Marissa know firsthand as the former is trying to make it as a streamer and the latter takes on freelance art projects to pay the rent. This was all before Marissa's teenage niece moved in! Since Brooke was constantly getting into trouble at home, Marissa vowed to get her niece back on track. But Venus has grown tired of their new houseguest while Marissa believes the two could get along if they only tried.

[vanillann]

pickup lines without the picking up (spencer reid x reader)

thank you for the request love!

warning: mentions of sex(if you really look into it) and maybe swearing I can't remember

word count: 1.2k

“Hey Spencer, you must be a tower because Eiffel for you.”

“Did you know that the Eiffel Tower has a science lab on the third floor-”

I let my head fall back, hitting on the back of my chair. Morgan and Emily laugh could be heard from somewhere near my desk.

“I actually didn’t know that Spence,” I looked back up at him, his smiling face looking at me.

“It also is covered in scientists name, it’s craved all along the side.”

I smiled to myself, the way his eyes lit up anytime he spoke about something he knew made the annoying feeling in my chest leave.

JJ came speed walking around the corner, in her hand was a case file. I jokily rolled from my chair, placing my hand on my forehead as I laid on the floor.

“Are you okay?”

I opened my eyes to see a worried Spencer Reid standing over me, his hand held out for me to grab.

“Perfect Spence,” I grabbed his hand, that was oddly warm, and watched as he easily pulled me from the floor.

Suddenly his eyebrow drew together closer and he stuck his tongue out the side of this mouth.

“You didn’t actually fall did you?”

I shook my head and his face scrunched up, his face became red.

“You’re getting better at the social cues kid,” Morgan clapped him on the back as he headed up to the roundtable room.

“You actually are, I’m super proud.”

Spencer smiled at me, letting go of my hand and following behind Morgan, whispering something in his ear.

Emily came up behind me and threw her arm over my shoulder, a smirk across her face as we both walked to the room full of profilers.

JJ stood in front of the room, the remote held tightly in her hand. I took my seat in between Spencer and Emily. JJ smashed the button while I opened the hard copy of the case file in front of me.

“Richard Todd was found dead 12 hours ago,” the ID picture flashed across the screen.

“He is the third victim over a 48 hour span, Keaton Grant and Ruben Martin are the other two victims.

“How do we know it’s the same unsub?” Rossi asked while he looked up at JJ.

“Each victim had a cheesy pickup line stapled to their shirt.”

I felt myself drop the file in my lap, the irony of this whole situation had me rolling my eyes.

Morgan chuckling could be heard from the other side of Spencer.

“It’s said that the unsub had seduced the men online and that’s how they know each other.”

“Great,” I mumbled under my breath, watching as JJ looked me over with a twinkle in her eyes.

“He doesn't have much of a cool down period,” Emily spoke beside me, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“That’s why we are leaving soon, wheels up in 15.”

Hotch charged out the room, Spencer quickly grabbing the paper from the desk.

“(Y/N), do you want me to get your go-bag from your car?”

I smiled, standing up while I picked up my papers. I felt the team's eyes on me but I tried to ignore it.

“I can get it, don't worry.”

I pulled my key off my belt loop but as soon as I had it in my hand, it was gone. Spencer held it in his hand, a proud smile on his face.

“I think you forgot I’m a magician.”

Without another word Spencer left with my keys sitting in his hand, a skip in his step.

“I’m going to kill you JJ.”

*

I sat in one of the uncomfortable police chairs looking over the crime scene photo tapped to the board.

Spencer walked in the room, another police officer behind him.

Before even thinking about the situation, I looked back down at the file in my lap and started talking.

“Spence, even if there wasn’t gravity on Earth I’d still fall for you.”

“If there wasn’t any gravity then the Earth would quickly break into millions of pieces and float off into space. Also our head would most likely implode due to the fact that the air pressure would increase.”

I heard the female officer behind him giggle, sliding her hand up and down his arm. Spencer looked up at me with begging eyes, pointing his head over to the woman.

“Babe, can you look at this.”

Without another word Spencer ran over to me, mumbling the word ‘thank you’ over and over again. The female officer gave me a thin lipped smile and left the room.

“I didn't realize she was flirting with me until it was too late,” Spencer spoke, looking at the crime scene photos over my shoulder.

“You never realize.”

I felt my cheeks heat up, Spencer moving his head to look me in the eyes.

“What?”

A light “shit” fell from my lips and I looked the other way.

Suddenly JJ came into the room, making eye contact.

“(Y/N), Hotch thinks you should join the Press conference with me.”

I quickly nodded and threw the file on the table. I said nothing to Spencer as I ran from the room, watching the female officer slip in as soon as I was gone.

*

I sat on the back of the ambulance, my head hurting from the but of the unsub gun. I felt an ice be held to my head, I opened my eyes expecting Emily. Once Spencer sad face came in the view, I was glad I had something to blame my red cheeks on.

“How are you feeling?”

I only shrugged, moving my hand so I could hold my own ice pack. Spencer moved and sat beside me.

“Hey (Y/n)?”

I turned to look at Spencer, his eyes trained to the road underneath us.

“Yeah Spencer?”

“R-rose are red, my f-face is too, that only happens when I’m around y-you.”

I felt a roar of fireworks in my stomach, a small light giggle falling past my lips.

“Who told you to say that?”

Spencer ran the tip of his converses on the road, kicking a few rocks in the process.

“Penelope sent me a website full of pick lines.”

I laughed, knowing it’s the same website Penelope had sent me multiple times.

“Do you mean it all?”

Spencer finally looked at me, a sad smile on his face.

“Every time, did you mean that?”

“Yeah, I really do. I don’t steal all the team's keys to get their go-bag, do I?

I laughed, liking the way he gave me a light smirk with the sarcastic comment.

“I just we both aren’t good at this.”

Spencer only smiled, playing with his fingers.

“I know something I am good at,” he said it quietly but I heard him.

“What’s that?”

Without another word Spencer grabbed the back of my head, pulling at my hair slightly. He crashed his lips into mine, his tongue swiping over my bottom lip.

I felt my body pull into this, the warmth felt nice across my cold arms.

I gently pulled away, not moving far just enough to set my forehead on his.

“Excuse me, I lost my teddy bear. Will you sleep with me?”

Spencer laughed as he kissed the tip of my nose with a quiet “I thought you never ask”.

cm tag list:

@itsarayofsunshine

[threeeyedharemp3]

YAYYAYAYAYAYAYYYY hehe okay

last song - every you every me live acoustic ver by placebo

favourite colour - green & purple :)

last book - uhmmmm the scarlett empress by paul magrs(?) eight doctor adventure AND !! mr wakefeilds crusade by bernice rubens. so much going with that book.

last movie - watched most of dog day after noon a couple days ago it was. okay. i wasnt really paying attention i just wasnt in the mood for it i dont think.

last tv show - either x files or the crow road i dont remember exactly it was a couple days ago?? or maybe doctor who techinically i rewatched mummy on the orient express the other day too...

sweet/spicy/savoury - uhhhh i always say salty to these which i guess is technially under savoury but i loveeeee salt hehe

last thing i googled - 'sobbing emoji' (for somereason the emoji keyboard of my computer stopped showing up so had to google it to copypaste lol

current obsession - capaldiverse. sighs sadly and turns to walk away only to walk into a wall & fall over

looking forward too - performing pj harvey song on thursday! and next week were doing dress up days & i have some fun ones planned, & also my coworked said that his band want to do a gig at some point soon & i can open for them :D (<- he has never heard me play he is going off vibes of what i might sound like)

uhmm @catholickedd @creature-from-unknown-orgins & open tags!! i would tag more people but i always forget who likes these........ no pressure of course :)

ten people i'd like to get to know better

tagged by: @megkuna thanks <333

last song: the phantom of the opera

favorite color: muted green

last book: uhhhhhh oh man i really need to start reading books

last movie: phantom of the opera which i watched with a friend

last tv show: the original star trek which i also watched with a friend

sweet/spicy/savory: sweet, i love sugar too much

relationship status: single and not looking, i'd rather just have more friends

last thing i googled: "how to know if skincare routine is too harsh" my pimples hurt in a Different way now :(

current obsession: probably still mob psycho 100 but it's not what it used to be. yay depression

looking forward to: when my family finally moves into the new house

tagging: @scarecloud69 @disorganised-thoughtss @daneonrainbow @lawful-goof @officialkarinuzumaki @leo-probably @vychodocech @umkayonninay @mocha-blossom @spageddy29 no pressure though <3

[knotfodder]

-

[paperficwriter]

Be Thou My Vision

Aziraphale and Crowley! In Paris! In 1899! And there are some homages to Moulin Rouge, which is one of my favorite films. Enjoy!

Paris, 1899, in the neighborhood of Monmartre, a steady snow fell and covered the rooftops, the cold wind carrying the sound of can-can music from the nearby red windmill. Crowley had dragged Aziraphale to the Moulin Rouge to mingle with the bohemians, but when someone passed him a bottle of absinthe, some sugar and a metal spoon, he had lost track of him.

Now, though, it was almost midnight, and on New Years, it was utterly inappropriate for Crowley to not be with his best friend (note: it was still easier to call it that - a friendship - than to label it as something different, or something that might get them too much attention from both the mortal and immortal worlds both. It seemed the popular thing to do among humans of similar presentation too, though Crowley had a feeling that would lead to some confusion later on…), especially since he was in the same city for once.

He took the steps of the apartment structure that had been built over a cafe two at a time, long legs demonically enhanced and leaving small sparks with each footfall on the landings, like struck flint. 

When he got to the loft, Aziraphale was staring out the window, a book against his chest, his chin in his hand. Crowley followed his gaze out over the city towards the Eiffel Tower, barely visible in the snow as it thickened. Although he reclined on the purple chaise lounge that Crowley had acquired for him (because he insisted that he hated sleeping, that it was unnecessary, that he would much rather stay up and read), there was a tension to his shoulders, and he pulled a thick, velvet coat around himself.

Compared to Crowley, who was bare but for suspenders and cotton slacks, he was quite overdressed.

“What’s with the coat, angel?” Crowley asked. By his internal clock, there was still about five minutes. Plenty of time.

“It’s quite stylish, I’ll have you know!” Crowley jerked back like a dog that had been admonished. Aziraphale rarely snapped at him (not counting when he deserved it), and he must have realized it too, because he quickly said, “I’m sorry, dear boy. Really, it’s not you I’m irritated with.”

“Right.” Crowley sat down beside him, plucking the book away and putting it down on the shelf next to them. “So. You’re irritated with---”

“Your friends!” Aziraphale raised his hand with a flourish and then brought it down on his knee. “Those bohemian boys of yours! I walked in just behind you and they cut me off and said I…” He trailed off, pouting into his collar. Aziraphale trailed off, pouting into his collar. Crowley had a love-hate relationship with that pout; it was so utterly adorable and yet he would sink ships and burn bridges both when someone made his angel upset.“They said I looked like some bourgeois pig, with my fancy clothes and corpulence, as they put it.”

“Your French accent really is terrible.” Crowley tugged at his sleeve.

“I know! Do you think that helped?!” Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest, and the pout intensified to near-explosive lengths (Crowley would be the one doing the exploding). “I’m not an idiot,” he finally said. “I know I could change this form. I know that I could be less...of what I am, but I like this body, Crowley. And I don’t like when people make me feel like I should be ashamed of it.”

In the distance, Crowley could hear the sounds of people counting backwards in French. Champagne was being shaken, lips puckering, the cold bellringer at Notre Dame (who actually had a very fine back, but a shit liver) grabbing the rope and beginning to pull…

And Crowley threw his hands up to Hea-- well, he threw them up. And everything stopped.

Everything except Aziraphale, whose eyes focused on the snowflakes now hovering motionless in the air like stars. “Crowley, you know you are not supposed to do that! You’ll be reprimanded for sure--”

“Pah,” Crowley remarked, slouching onto the bed beside him. “If I can’t have New Years with you happy, then no one can have it.”

“That’s...a little dramatic, dear boy.” 

“It’s the turn of the century, angel! Let them wait on their little bohemian revolution.”

Aziraphale clicked his tongue at him, but didn’t actually make any further remarks on the situation. The world truly was so still when everyone wasn’t making such loud to-do’s about everything. 

“I’m not going to let it start like this, with you not appreciating how beautiful you are.”

He could see the little jump in Aziraphale’s shoulders, and heard the sharp intake of breath. His round cheeks went a little rosy, and his warm hand found Crowley’s chilly one. “Crowley…” he whispered. 

It wasn’t their first kiss. But given that about forty years before, when Crowley didn’t think there would be any more kisses ever (foolish, thinking a fight would end anything -- it never did, but it always felt that way at the time), now he would take it. He would delight in it, as he always did. Soft lips. A warm nose pressed into his narrow cheekbone. The smell of books and candlelight.

“We shouldn’t,” Aziraphale murmured, fingers hopelessly tangled in red hair and a suspender strap.

“That’s never stopped us before, angel.” It took two hands to get at the topcoat’s buttons. “You don’t have to cover up in all this.”

“What if someone is watching?” Aziraphale glanced both up and down, as if it needed to be clarified that he didn’t mean some passing Parisian pervert. 

He managed it, starting on the next set, talking as he went in that rapid-fire sinister sensuality that was so very, very much his style. “No one’s watching, and I’ll file it as a divine temptation. There I was, in Paris, promoting terrible imbibing of hallucinogenic drinks, when what to my wandering serpent eyes should appear, but an angel in doubt.”

“I’m not in doubt! Don’t even joke, Crowley!” The demon kissed the center of his furrowed brows, nuzzled there with his face until he relaxed. “There’s no holy oath against a little insecurity now and then.”

“I still won’t have it, angel.” There. The last of the damnable buttons undone. Who had been in charge of the last change in fashion? His side, or Upstairs? He wasn’t sure, but something needed to be done about the next trend to come. Burying his face against Aziraphale’s chest and soft stomach, he squeezed, hissing, overcome very suddenly by how much he loved this body, loved all of his constant companion. Which was so much not like what a demon should do, and that made him all the gladder to express it.

Aziraphale squeezed his head and held him just as near in turn. “You’re being positively ridiculous. You make it sound like you found me drowning in tears like the lead in some...Sarah Bernhardt play.”

“You really think that after so many thousands of years…” Crowley gazed up at him with his golden eyes, and he wondered for a second what they looked like, the two of them, in this affectionate embrace that was only intimate when you really peered at it. What kind of painting might they resemble? Caravaggio? Lomi? Rubens? “You really think I need to see you crying to know when you’re hurt?”

Aziraphale didn’t say anything, averting his eyes to his dress shirt and tutting. “I’m ruining your good time being so…”

“Vain?” he couldn’t help joke. 

“Don’t!” This time Aziraphale smiled, and he gently slapped his cheek. It didn’t even make a sound. “Do you, though?” he asked in a whisper. “Do you really think--”

Another kiss, a kiss for ‘yes.’ A kiss for ‘of course, silly clever thing.’ A kiss for ‘forever, from the start of Day One until the End.’ That was true. He was glad to be kissing him instead of saying it, how there was always fondness back when Heaven resembled sunken gardens and nebulas and sun-warmed clouds and not Versailles. And how when he first slithered his way back after All That Unfortunate Nonsense, he saw him standing there at the Eastern Gate and thought, ‘maybe’...right up until She gave him that sword and he smiled like the sun and Crowley - Crawly - fled the scene to talk to that lady about the apple.

Could he really blame him for going doe-eyed when he said that he had just given it away?

“Show me.” Damn the angel’s endearing eyes and his pitiful smile. 

“What do you think I’m doing exactly?”

“Show me more. Please. However will I be a true believer, and how will you be a true tempter?”

Crowley smirked. He had already lost. No amount of fussing over it would change that. Not that he wanted to. But he also couldn’t just give Aziraphale the satisfaction. With the wave of his hand, the shirt, the pants, everything but his sock garters and silky, knee-length drawers remained. They were open in the back, he could tell. Such was in the style. That was his lot’s doing. “Animal!” Aziraphale scolded, but he was smiling and blushing.

“How can I appreciate you when you have to layer a hundred garments over the good parts?” Crowley slid down to his knees, chin tucked but eyes up. He lovingly kissed the softest part of his thigh. “Let us pray…”

“Crowley…” Aziraphale studied each press of lips, caress of fingers, slip of tongue, and he seemed to melt on the lounge until he was picked up in the demon’s strong arms. He leaned up to rest his forehead against Crowley’s, and it tingled a little, like lightning in the air at the top of a tower just as the stormcloud rolled in. It was where his halo would be. Where it perhaps still was.

He missed his wings, but he wouldn’t tell him that tonight. Because he would manifest them immediately and someone would notice that time had stopped, because he would have his hands in them all night. 

The bed creaked under their bodies, Aziraphale on his back and Crowley sitting between his legs. He snapped his fingers and what remained of his own clothing was tucked away. All of it would be in the dresser by the door in the morning.. “I think it’s like...when people walk out into the sun,” Crowley said, coming up to touch around his knee, to appreciate their dimples before moving back up, sliding on his belly like the serpent that he was, that he still was even after all this time. “They hate how it gets in their eyes...makes them ssssweat...turn red...but who could ever actually hate the sun? How it always glows…”

He gave a peck to each side of his chest, the dip of his neck. When his hand slipped into the folds of Aziraphale’s undergarments, he was pulled down into that body that was as giving as goose feathers. He pecked at his neck. “You’re soft, angel.”

“I know,” he said, and it might have come out dejected if not for the moan of pleasure as he found warm, hard flesh to put his hand on. 

“Don’t ever think poorly of that. Not when it’s something I love about you. One of many things. Things I could very well die for.”

“Let’s...not talk about things like that now, dearest.” Aziraphale guided him into another kiss, and when he waved a hand downward, everything was gone, leaving them both blissfully as naked as they had come into the world (though perhaps looking a bit less humanish). 

“Aw. I like the garters.”

“Really? I can bring them back.”

“No, no.” Crowley squirmed out of his arms and knelt, gazing down at his whole visage there. Without the world turning, the scrutiny of his eyes was a slow drag of a bow across a cello. “This is perfect.”

Aziraphale messily hugged the pillow beside him against his face. Now, he truly did remind him of a cherub. “I’m ready for you, love.”

He returned to lying on top of him, the kiss coming with his sharp teeth for just a second, only enough to make Aziraphale gasp in a way that amused him as much as it aroused. “One day, I’ll have you start to finish. With all the preparations that they like to do with fingers and oil and...other things, maybe…”

“And one day,” Aziraphale echoed, stroking his cheeks, “may I be granted the patience to handle the wait.”

Crowley entered the sanctity of him.

Blissful wet, and tight. Always tight. But didn’t they all love their ideology around virgins, about every touch being like the first touch? Not that Crowley was complaining. Aziraphale’s body always responded like this was a gift, like this was a union. It was never just fucking with Aziraphale. At least not now. Not yet. Maybe that would be a ‘one day’ too, when these moments weren’t years apart. Sometimes centuries.

When momentary indiscretions could be something as commonplace as tea time and duck ponds.

“Crowley...oh, my darling...my...Crowley…”

“Aziraphale…”

They could end it at any time, but they never did. They always left this part of themselves so very mortal at the end, so the natural progression could take over, so they could feel the other unraveling and know it wasn’t because of some magic trick.

Aziraphale was always ruined first. Pretty little thing, like he was starved for it, like it was a sweet treat that he had never had and might never have again. And, admittedly, then he might go back for seconds, as it were, but Crowley never pointed it out. All was the better for him.

When he spilled, it was like rising. And it only lasted a second, only ever a second, even when there were no seconds actually passing, like it was now. When he Fell, it was eternity. When he Rose, it was bobbing for just a moment and then settling back again.

But Aziraphale was always there, ready to hold him, to keep him from grieving.

“Go on,” the angel said now, his hair a mess across the pillows, curling up under the sheets like a cat. “I’m ready.”

“Oh, of course, if his Majesty is ready.” Crowley kissed his nose, closed his eyes, and the snow fell again. The music swelled, and bells began to ring out. Everyone kissed, and they did too, and just like this, so still, Crowley could swear he could actually feel the world turn. 

[roymadison]

Madison: A Goodbye That Goes On Forever

I don’t need to tell you Friends, fans, and followers, signs of finality are everywhere. The haze of darkness arrives earlier than you expect each night. The air in the morning has a chill in it. The leaves in the branches above your head cling to life while their thin membranes turn to dust, and the diamond at the south west corner of Vancouver’s Strathcona Park sits silent. It’s time to say farewell.

The East Van Baseball League saw their last game of the season play out. A 16 to 2 defeat of the Railtown Spikers at the end of a weekend long tournament of post season playoff games that produced the league’s first champions: the Mount Pleasant Murder. The Murder turned in an impressive record all season long and counted only two losses during the league’s inaugural regular season.

Don’t let that record fool you into thinking the Murder had it easy in the playoffs though, friends, fans, and followers; those fellas had to work for their title. The Murder barely escaped loss at the hands of a Black Sox team decked out in Saturday morning hangovers and new jerseys, and a Railtown Spikers crew that wouldn’t go away. The Spikers surprised everyone on the opening Friday of the tournament with a take down of the Strathcona Stevedores. And on Saturday, they managed to brand the only “L” into the Murder’s near impeccable weekend championship run, and earned the right to come back on Sunday for a rematch to determine who would get bragging rights all winter long. What a final it was, friends, fans, and followers. It held the beautiful possibility of a dramatic upset, with a Spikers victory over the Murder all the way into the last gasps of the 4th inning, but after that it was all Murder. That’s when Malibu Rum started making its way around the Official Roy Madison Broadcast Booth like we were sipping from a bottle of memories at a wake.

After the dust settled, everyone went up to the league’s hot dog provider, What’s Up Hot Dog? to celebrate. Suddenly it was the off season friends, fans, and followers; a time when there’s little use for Roy Madison. I took one last look at the green lawn of Strathcona Park darkening in the setting sun, and hired a car back to the hotel to pack up whatever belongings I had worth keeping. I went downstairs, ordered a final round in Sylvia’s Bar, and said so long to everyone there that made my stay so pleasant and welcoming. Then I high tailed it to the airport and got the hell out of town.

That was some time ago. I’m back in California now. Tina is nude and just out of the bath behind the sliding glass doors of my small patio here at the Highland Gardens Hotel. We’re going to Musso’s for dinner to celebrate my return, and I have just enough time to file this final East Van Baseball report from where I can see the teal-blue void of the pool that started this whole business in the first place, glowing into the night sky above. It feels good to be back, I’m a lucky fella to have managed to keep a setup like this intact. Tina runs the Gardens, and kept my room ambiguously occupied and unavailable while I was in Canada. Now I have to occupy her evenings every Tuesday for the foreseeable future.

Some might call me a goddamned prostitute, but for chrissakes what do you expect friends, fans, and followers? A sportswriter doesn’t make much of a living without a steady beat, and I haven’t had one in years. Hell, it was probably in Tina’s best interest to have me off the premises anyway. My crisis in front of the other guests at the Gardens seated around the pool on the day I decided to fall into it without a plan to return to the surface, likely brought plenty of questions Tina didn’t have answers for. Oliver helped out a bit too, by playing the part of a paying guest while I was gone, making it easier for Tina to keep my room out of the hands of holidayers until I was ready to come back.

Don’t go thinking Oliver is some kind of saint though, friends, fans, and followers. He was holed up in my place long before this whole East Van thing got started, and was likely ecstatic at the prospect of having the Madison suite to himself. Oliver and his wife Alice have been on rocks since I don’t know when, so he’s up in my corned beef sandwich on a regular basis. I can always tell a stint at my place is in Oliver’s forecast. He’ll come over for cards, something he rarely does — he says he can’t stand all the smoke — then he’ll stay late to clean up and never leave. All spring he was on my pull-out sofa, and we were bickering with each other night and day. Thank the lord above that he cleared out about a week ago so I didn’t have to put up with him when I got back from Vancouver.

Want to know why? Because Alice missed his cooking! For chrissakes friends, fans, and followers, can you imagine? His cooking! Hell, I can’t figure it out. I thought his cooking was a pain in the neck! The constant worrying over cooking times, the non-stop berating for a critique of his efforts, asking how it tasted, if there was too much salt, if there was something he should have done differently, then professing that there wasn’t enough turmeric, and finally that it was completely ruined. And I hadn’t even had bite yet.

When I got in from Vancouver, Oliver was gone, but his presence still greeted with me a tidal wave of cleanliness. He had sprayed the living bejesus out of the place with Lysol and it just about knocked me over. But that’s not all friends, fans, and followers. Oliver left one of his goddamned soufflés in the fridge with a note under it.

“Welcome back. I whipped up this little something for your arrival because you just can’t trust food on planes these days. And please stop ashing your cigarettes in the window sill of the shower, it’s disgusting. — Oliver.”

Not a word about how to cook the thing, so I threw that damn soufflé in the trash and ordered a bucket of chicken.

Oliver and Tina weren’t the only ones to miss me while I was gone. The fellas I have over on Wednesday’s weren’t too pleased to show up at the Madison suite to find Oliver in an apron, about to put a lasagne in the oven and forgo cards for charades! And Ruben, my bartender at Musso’s thought I might be in some sort of distress when I didn’t show up for my usual. Tina said Ruben actually came all the way up Hollywood Boulevard before dinner service one night to check up on me. Helluva guy. I’m telling you, I don’t need a doctor or a dame, just a bartender to sit in front of.

Now that I’m back, I realize Vancouver had a good effect on me. In the spring, when I didn’t have an inkling of where Vancouver was, another season of Major League Baseball was set to open and I could care less. Actually, come to think of it friends, fans, and followers, I didn’t have much interest in anything. I had no desire to take part in life’s greatest pleasures: not writing, not swimming, not eating, not smoking, christ not even drinking. Ok, I was still drinking, but I sure as hell wasn’t writing.

I was flat out on a lounger in my housecoat by the pool one morning in March under a haze of dilaudid, tomato juice and beer when I heard some kid floating on a yellow donut out on the water, talking with some actors about how he was from Canada and was set to play baseball for a new sandlot league in Vancouver. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but some days later, when I was waiting to run out of air on the floor of the pool’s deep end, I got the idea to come back to the surface and go to Vancouver to check it out.

I was in attendance for the first exhibition game of the season that spring, but didn’t leave the front seat of my car parked outside Strathcona Park. I guess I just wanted to see if what that fella was talking about in Hollywood was real, because there isn’t a goddamned ounce of truth in that town. But when I saw that group of guys and gals, just playing ball out there, in a roughed up park, in the middle of what seemed like nowhere, the mixture of familiarity and foreignness roused an interest in me that said: get out of the bloody car Madison! But it was too soon friends, fans, and followers. I had to take my time. My return to regular coverage had to be taken slowly, seriously, methodically. At that point, all I needed to hear was the tell tale hiss and pop from a ball hitting leather, and hell, I got it.

The next game, I left my car to sit on the grass, but still maintained a safe distance from the diamond and stands so as not to create any interest in my presence. It was still damp, and that goddamned, cold, wet, Canadian lawn put two big wet circles on the ass of my slacks. I snuck out of there somewhere in the fourth inning with my tail between my legs. I certainly wasn’t going to introduce myself in that state. Back in my room at the Sylvia Hotel, with my pants hanging in the window, drying in the breeze of English Bay, I filed my first East Van Baseball report to make it official, by simply stating: this was my beat.

Every time I returned to a East Van Baseball game, I moved a little closer. The fans in the bleachers, the cheers, the scent of the open air, the crack of tin cans being pulled open, the dust and dirt getting kicked up from wild plays around the bases in those early months when players were getting the tightness of winter off their throwing arms and catching hands, everything just felt fresh and full of promise. Finally one morning, as if possessed by the vast turf of Strathcona Park itself, I walked up to a few of the Black Sox to introduce myself like any other good citizen of the free world and said, “Fellas. I’m your writer, Roy Madison.” And that’s how it all got started.

Even though my coverage of East Van Baseball competed with the unexpected hypnosis of ocean surf that held me transfixed in my beach-facing room at the Sylvia Hotel, forcing me to report on games from my dining room table instead of an East Van ballpark, the league appreciated whatever words I managed to put together. All season long, players, friends, fans, and followers came up to me, shook my hand, thanked me for the stories I told, the games I managed to attend, and welcomed me into the community of what’s only getting started up there in Vancouver. I don’t think those kids knew just what the hell I was, where I had come from, or what I was doing, but by the time the season ended I was handed a microphone for the championship tournament.

In the final days of August, when East Van Baseball’s first playoffs were set to begin, Strathcona never looked better. The fields were kept green and lovely by the grounds crew ladies, the washrooms were open, the bbq was on and sizzling with weiner, the spa bus — painted red, and parked just behind the field — was hot, and hell even the goddamned sun decided to come out, making it one of the warmest weekends all summer long.

When I sat down in the official Roy Madison broadcast booth and asserted myself with a clearing of the throat, a flood of memories came through the worn out grass beneath my feet, up to my ankles, through my legs, across my heart and down to my left hand holding the mic. In that split second of amplified silence before I spoke, I heard a child’s cry crossfade into the sound of hard soled shoes on a sidewalk, the thunder of the 7 train pulling into Grand Central on its way to Shea Stadium, felt the warmth of a good meal cooked by someone that once loved me. I smelled exhaust in the autumn air from the car I bought new with the spoils of a good year at the Daily News, and pictured the fat little fingers of fellas I saw every day in the press box plucking away at a keyboard, jawing on about the sight of some sweet dame in the stands. Like a current of nostalgia that ran through the park all around us, it gave me a shock, and electrified my voice with the grandfatherly tone of knowledge I needed to profess to the fans in attendance that Friday evening — “Friends, fans, and followers, it’s time for East Van Baseball!”

And just like that, I had made a return to broadcasting, but christ was I rusty. Thankfully I had a crew of great fellas to help me out. Some kid from the Murder named Rob, kept me on the course of balls and strikes. And Andrew, my color man and sound technician knew all the players, because hell I didn’t know who was at plate half the time. They were just swell friends, fans and followers, and obviously enamored at the chance to work with a self-proclaimed legend! I could see a glint of wonder in their eyes, as I stumbled my way through inning after inning to the annoyance of the umpires, and some of the players that weren’t much impressed with the idea of hearing their motions translated into my brand of poetic play-by-play.

I’m sure those fellas with me in the box thought they might want to get into the press box game one day, so I did my best to make the life of a sportswriter sound terrible. Because it is friends, fans, and followers! I warned those two that every meal would be lunch — an endless cavalcade of plastic wrapped sandwiches, chased with concealed beer in a paper cup. Every town would start to look the same, and the highway at night would start to speak to them through painted streaking signals of light, so that by the time they stepped up to a microphone they would talk in an alien language few people could understand. Home would be a filthy hotel room, an ice machine down the hall their fridge, a vending machine their pantry, an adult movie their lover, and if they happened to check into a joint with a pool in the parking lot... Aw hell, who am I kidding? Sportswriting is great! My life is a good one, it just took me a summer in Vancouver to admit it.

Well, Tina’s turned off her hair dryer. That means she’s just about ready for dinner, and any second now she’ll be stepping onto the patio to complain that I’m still in my underwear. I don’t know why I thought Hollywood was ever so bad in the first place. A writer can only spend so much time courting modesty. Eventually I had to give in and accept that what I have is exceptional: solitude, sun, a swimming pool, sex on Tuesdays, a steady card game every Wednesday, and the desire to spin a yarn to anyone that will listen. I’m a sportswriter. I’m the guy that tells people what’s really going on in that split second between a ball leaving the sweat-glistened hand of a pitcher on its way to the dry wood of a bat — redemption! Friends, fans, and followers, redemption.

But that’s a story best left for another season, because this one has long since finished. The end is good. The constraints of finality are needed. “The last,” defines things, and gives them meaning and purpose. I’m sure you thought Roy Madison was just going to go on forever, didn’t you friends, fans, and followers? A thank you is in order if you made it this far into my endless goodbye, but the only story I have left is for Manny, my usual waiter at Musso’s. It starts like this: a martini and shrimp louie salad in one of Musso’s luscious booths, followed by a rib eye steak, baked potatoe, and bottle of wine that Manny suggests by just bringing it to the table. The climax is dessert, with a tawny port, and several healthy doses of tobacco appear throughout the whole thing. It ends with a late night swim under palm trees that blot the darkness of the sky with their even darker, ink black crowns.

Oh hell, friends, fans, and followers, I’ll be back — or maybe I won’t. I don’t know. That’s the thing, nobody can tell if the air entering their lungs is their last breath or not. Life will always be without a natural, convincing closure. So I’ll just stop.

[d-noona]

AERO

SUMMARY: In a future of political, economic and moral collapse, a genetically enhanced superhuman prototype named Y/N escapes from military confines and dwells amidst the decadent underground street life of *Seoul* to avoid government agents who want to bring her back into the fold.

WORDS: 2233

Jeon Jungkook x Reader

M.List | CH. 05

CHAPTER 04 - MEETING THE INFORMANT NET

After Y/N's last run of deliveries, she surveys the place, and in a nearby window her pupils dilated to zoom in to the other building just right across. She sees several admirable statues and displays that she can probably fence for a large wad of cash. Y/n goes to an alley way, climbs up the side of the building, reaching the top. She takes off her black glasses. A distant car headlight sweeps her and Y/n's pupil glow for a split second with a green retinal reflection, much like of a cat. As y/n looks up into the night shadows of an alley between high rises. Wearing a skin tight black pants, rubber soled high-tops, a black leather jacket, and black gloves. She is a silhouette in the darkness. She hefts a black nylon bag over her shoulder. Once on top she disables the roof security camera with a piece of black tape over its lenses, she crosses to the edge overlooking the alley. The street is twenty two stories down. Her target is a narrow roof formed by a setback in the facade of the next building, one hundred feet below her and eight feet away horizontally.

Holding on tight on her gear bag as it is unzipped. Y/n's gloved hand yank out a large bundle of black nylon rope. She hinged the lock as a carbine is snapped around a steel pipe. She stepped on to the parapet, jumps at a down angle, as she plummets down the face of the building. She adds arm pressure to the belay around her waist, then inverts with a snap, dropping feet first now, the rope making shush sounds across her leather jacket. Y/n now builds later speed across the face of the glass high-rise. She reaches the bottom of the arc, the rope stretching, taking the shock, and her lateral speed wipes the world into a blur.

Y/n arcs upward, starting to slow. As she flashes above the parapet of the target rooftop, she then releases the belay, and lets the rope slide through her arm, dropping onto the rooftop with a soft thump, feet-first, crouching like a tiger or a panther light on its feet. She then turns onto the skylight , as y/n jimmies the latch and lifts the cover, she ties a rope on a steel pole, dropping herself ever so gracefully into the spacious apartment.

Nodding in approval looking at the luxurious space of the apartment and its architectural design, she goes to work, padding gently to the apartment. She opens drawers, looks inside cabinets, picking up object examining them. Y/n enters another room silently, hefts a small porcelain figurine, 17th century Venetian. She slips it into her bag, a pair of small gold dolphins follow. Y/n then hears something, she investigates further, peeps in a room with a man talking. Stokes on a computer keyboard. The walls are bathed in a blur CRT glow as Y/n slips the door open a few inches and looks in to the room.

A man still sitting at a bank of computer monitors, half a dozen screens, racks of computer gear and peripherals of all descriptions. The room is dark except for the glow of the screens and power lights winking from the equipment. Haphazard heaps of papers, photos, files and printouts are piled everywhere on very expensive antique tables and couches. The man Jeon Jungkook, is speaking directly into the video camera.

"Do not attempt to adjust your set. This is a video of Free Korea Bulletin. The cable hack will last exactly sixty seconds. It cannot be traced. It cannot be stopped, and it is the only free voice left in this city..." Y/n slowly walks out of the room and continues rummaging the belongings of the cyber hacker.

Y/n can't see Jungkook's face directly because his back is turned, but she can see him in one of the monitors. Early 20's with intense, almost haggard, yet strikingly handsome features. His brown doe eyes blaze with intelligence and he projects a fierce energy as he speaks. Y/s registers surprise as she realizes who the guy is. The pirate cyber journalist known as Informant Net in the flesh.

Jungkook scrolls back through the video he has just digitalized and hits a key command which processes the image through a masking filter. Pixilation blurs the contours of his face, leaving only the intense eyes clear. He watches it to check that the effect is complete.

Y/n knew she was right, he was just on the same deal as everyone else. Power hungry, living and hiding under his expensive apartment. He seemingly is a part of the richer parts of the City. Y/n slowly backs out the door and stops as she sees something. On a table just inside the room, is a statue, an Egypt-deco affair of gold and onyx depicting a creature half-female, half cat. It's illuminated from above a single pin point of light. Y/n looks at it utterly transfixed, she snags it and backs out of the room. As she stuffs the statue on her bag and heads back out.

Then a security guard, Ruben, has found the rope. He flicks his Maglite up to the open skylight and his eyes go wide. He un-holsters his 9mm, scanning and listening around him. He crosses to the alarm panel near the door and punches in the silent alarm code. As Y/n approaches, the guard is scanning the shadows his gun sweeping the room as he moves forward and y/n is moving down the hall toward him on a collision course from the other side. She senses something on a level that no ordinary man or woman could feel, a sound, a vibration, the guard's body heat perhaps. As he approaches the corner and pops around the wall corridor, it was empty.

Y/n slips through the door quietly but suddenly stops, lit only by a night light, a woman lying on bed with a young girl about 7 years of age, having just tucked her into bed. The woman Janna Reid and her younger sister Juliette. Janna looks up locking eyes with Y/n as she screams in fear "In here! Help, in here!"

Jungkook hears the cries and shoves aside a pile of papers and grabs a pump shotgun as he chambers around. Ruben breaks into a run heading for Janna and Juliette's room, as Janna grabs a lamp and hurls it with all her strength at Y/n.

Y/n's body reacts, the lamp tumbles end over end, in slow motion Y/n moves with amazing speed seemingly blurring the world. The guard flings the door open, sweeping his gun towards Y/n. Y/n sees everything in slow motion, except for Y/n who is moving in a rather much faster pace. Y/n easily ducks the lamp, which is just shattered against the wall as the guard takes aim with a two handed grip. The room goes dark as the lightbulb explodes. Y/n moves sideways before the guard can pull the trigger.

The room strobes with the shot but the bullet goes where Y/n was, not where she is now which is halfway to the guard moving like a freight train. A second shot was heard, the bullet carves the air next to her. She reaches the guy and gets a hand on the gun, yanking it down and around in a sweeping roundhouse which twists it out of his hand. The guard Ruben was 6'3" and 250 pounds, mostly muscle. Y/n follows through with a foot sweep takedown and drops onto the guy hard with his arm twisted behind his back. Y/n unloads the pistol sliding out the magazine and jacking out the chambered round. She throws the gun away and mag the other. The guard struggles to move but Y/n drops onto him knee first again, knocking the wind out for a while. Y/n looks up at the terrified woman and the crying little girl.

"Sorry" she whispers to the ladies as she bolts out the door, she sprints down the hall. Suddenly, Jungkook appears in front of her with a shotgun leveled at her. It has a built in mini-xenon light and it is blinding her night vision, making it hard to see exactly where he is aiming at. She is at a momentary disadvantage. Though Y/n knows with a sweep of her finger she can probably cause the poor man to be thrown by the wall since her abilities have improved vastly for over a thousand years. She however was amused by the man's predicament and decides to play along.

"Put it down" says Jungkook. Y/n does this and drops the bag on the floor. Jungkook calls to Janna, eyes riveted on Y/n. "Janna, are you okay?" he asks. Janna not going out of the room, creaks the door open and answers "We're alright Jungkook." Jungkook scans the room to look for the beaten security guard. "Ruben" he shouts.

Y/n smirks at Jungkook, knowing that he may be looking for the poor man lying on the floor. "If he's the side of beef with the walkie-talkie, he's okay, but give the man a few minutes. He's a little bit knocked out for a while." Jungkook sees the statue peeking out of the open bag amazed and relieved. "You're a thief?"

"Girl's gotta make a living." As y/n responds with a Cheshire grin on her face. The frazzled and confused Jungkook responds "Thank God. I was expecting someone else."

"First time I heard that. Guess you weren't expecting the pizza delivery guy." Y/n responds sarcastically. She turns around as she heard a creak on a door as she's Janna hanging back in the bedroom attempting to pacify the crying child. "Im sorry if I caught you at a bad time." She responds to both Jungkook and Janna.

"It's alright were just a little tense right now." Jungkook withdraws a bit but keeping a wary eye on the beautiful thief. He notices the status hanging on Y/n's bag. "You have good taste. French, 1920's attributed to Chitarus." He says.

"Yeah. Whoever that is." As y/n responds nonchalantly. Jungkook tilts his head and quirks an eyebrow at the woman standing in front of him "So what? You liked it because it was shiny?" Y/n taking a note on the sarcasm floating out of the man's mouth. Y/n seemingly wiser beyond years stares at the man blankly and responds in the most monotonous voice to contrast the man's sarcasm. "No, because it's the Egyptian Goddess Bast. The Goddess who comprehends all Goddesses, Eye of Ra, protector, avenger and destroyer. Giver of life, who lives forever. I can keep going you know..."

Jungkook just looks at her, fascinated. Then, Ruben emerges from the bedroom, holding his ribs as he fumbles out his handcuffs and heads for Y/n. Jungkook panics "Stay back Ruben. The guards are on their way."

Too late. Y/n moves like lightning, grabbing Ruben's wrist as he reaches for her. Yanking him off balance and getting him in a sharply painful come-along hold with one hand bent up behind his back. Y/n has maneuvered him between her and the shotgun, trumping Jungkook's hold over her. She gave him a smile "Look, I'd love to discuss art but I gotta jet." She marches Ruben backwards into the living room controlling the big bodyguard with the thumb-hold and keeping him between her and Jungkook.

"Easy, easy. My wrist is gonna snap" Ruben pleads in pain as he attempts to calm the girl. Y/n responds to him "Yep. That could happen" then she turns to Jungkook and grins "By the way. I love you show"

At that moment there is a thundering crash at the front door. Y/n's head snaps around as a squad of private security cops wearing ballistic armor haul back and pound the door again with a steel battering ram. The doors were blasted open and a group of heavily armed rent-a-cops spill inside, their flashlights sweeping the apartment. As they raise their weapons towards Y/n she salutes the men. Moving like grease lightning as she bolts away from Ruben, who finds himself suddenly handcuffed to a heavy wrought-iron table. As the security squad moved, they submerged to try and stop her. She runs like a black blur. Jungkook yells for them to stop with his words distended "Noooo! Waaaiiiittt!!!"

Y/n crosses her arms over her face and hits the window at a full run. The glass explodes outwards in a diamond shower. Y/n disappears into the night, like she was never there. The cops didn't even get a shot off. As Jungkook runs to the window to check on the poor woman to see if she is still alive, he looks down. He catches a glimpse of Y/n leaping from balcony to balcony, down the face of the building ninety feet below. She vanishes into the shadows at a street level. Jungkook watching in fascinated awe as the curtains blow around him in the night wind.

[armeniaitn]

Armenian Leader Criticized For 'Hasty' Congratulations To Lukashenka

New Post has been published on https://armenia.in-the.news/politics/armenian-leader-criticized-for-hasty-congratulations-to-lukashenka-47702-12-08-2020/

Armenian Leader Criticized For 'Hasty' Congratulations To Lukashenka

YEREVAN — Armenian Prime Minister Nikol Pashinian is receiving criticism in his country for issuing “hasty” congratulations to Belarusian President Alyaksandr Lukashenka after the Central Election Commission (CEC) in Minsk announced he’d won a landslide reelection victory.

With widespread complaints of electoral fraud in Belarus, the preliminary official tally announced on August 10 by the CEC has spawned protests across Belarus that have been met by a harsh police crackdown.

Pashinian, in his message to Lukashenka on August 10, said he was confident that “through our joint efforts we will continue to strengthen the friendship between our peoples, to expand mutually beneficial cooperation between our countries, both bilaterally and within the framework of international organizations and integration associations.”

According to the CEC’s preliminary official tally, Lukashenka won more than 80 percent of the vote, compared to less than 10 percent for his main rival, Svyatlana Tsikhanouskaya.

Tsikhanouskaya, who drew tens of thousands of people to her campaign rallies, refused to recognize the CEC’s results, saying that she considers herself the victor.

She has since left Belarus apparently under duress, with members of her campaign team saying she was forced out of the country by Belarusian law enforcement authorities after she visited the CEC headquarters in Minsk to file a formal complaint about the official vote count.

European Commission President Ursula von der Leyen has condemned the violent crackdown against protesters in Belarus, calling on the Belarusian government to “accurately” count and publish the poll’s results.

In Yerevan, human rights activist Artur Sakunts said the Armenia prime minister’s “hasty congratulatory message” to Lukashenka was “unacceptable” — particularly from a leader like Pashinian who came to power as a result of widespread anti-government protests.

Sakunts, who heads the Vanadzor office of the Helsinki Citizens’ Assembly, drew parallels between current events in Belarus and Armenia’s postelection protests of 2008.

Armenia’s former president, Robert Kocharian, is currently on trial in Yerevan over his alleged role in the deaths of 10 protesters during the 2008 crackdown against protesters by Armenian police.

In a message on Facebook, Sakunts wrote: “How can a state whose prime minister congratulates dictator Lukashenka later prosecute Kocharian for the same? This is a complete anachronism of values and principles…. This is just absurd.”

Sakunts said the leader of a democratic country should not send congratulatory messages to authoritarian dictators, at least until the final official results are published.

“If he wants to show his attitude in any way, he should at least express his concern over the fact of human rights violations and call for the resolution of all issues within the framework of the rule of law,” Sakunts said.

Opposition Bright Armenia party leader Edmon Marukian also says Pashinian was too quick to congratulate Lukashenka.

Marukian said he saw a “conflict of values” between the track record of Armenia’s current government and the prime minister’s congratulatory message.

“I would wait for the processes of disputing the election results by the opposition to go through at least internal instances and only then make a decision on that,” Marukian said.

“In this regard, the prime minister took a hasty step,” Marukian said. “One protester already died [in Belarus in clashes with police]. More than 3,000 people have been detained. Opposition leaders are in jail, media leaders and journalists are in jail. And the prime minister is putting it all aside and hurrying to congratulate [Lukashenka].”

Pashinian’s spokesperson Mane Gevorkian refused to comment on the criticism but said she was aware of it.

Ruben Rubinian, a member of Pashinian’s My Step alliance and the head of the parliament’s Foreign Relations Committee, dismissed the criticism.

Rubinian said he sees nothing unacceptable in Pashinian’s congratulatory message to Lukashenka.

“In general, international relations are different from domestic politics,” Rubinian said. “International partnerships, relations between the heads of state, have a different level and have other components.”

Armenia is a member of the Russian-led Eurasian Economic Union and Collective Security Treaty Organization, which both include Belarus.

Other leaders from those groups, including Russian President Vladimir Putin and Kazakhstan’s President Qasym-Zhomart Toqaev, quickly sent congratulations to Lukashenka after preliminary official results were announced on August 10.

With reporting from Yerevan by Narine Ghalechian

Read original article here.

[bigyack-com]

US To Recognise Sikhs As Separate Ethnic Group In 2020 Census: Official

Currently an estimated 10 lakh Sikhs live in the US, United Sikhs said (Representational)Washington: For the first time, Sikhs in the US will be counted as a separate ethnic group in the 2020 census, an organisation of the minority community said on Tuesday, describing it as a milestone moment.President of the Sikh Society of San Diego Baljeet Singh said the Sikh community's efforts have come to fruition."This has paved the way forward nationally not only for the Sikh community but also for other ethnicities in the United States," he said.Describing this as a milestone, the United Sikhs said that this will be the first time the minority group will be counted and coded in the decennial US Census.A delegation of the United Sikhs has held several meetings with the US Census in the recent past with the last one being on January 6 in San Diego."It's clear that a separate code is needed to ensure an accurate count of Sikhs in the United States, recognising a unique identity," said US Census Deputy Director Ron Jarmin."Working with United Sikhs, we understand how this change affects the national Sikh community, leading us to add this code for the 2020 Census," said Shagufta Ahmed with the Census Bureau and Office of Management Budget.According to the United Sikhs, the current estimates of Sikhs living in the US are at 10 lakhs.Sikhs meet the criteria for representation in the US Census as a distinct ethnic group and have a distinct unified appearance, culture, language, food and history.The United Sikhs has advocated for the separate coding for more than two decades and filed commentary with the US Federal Register advocating for Sikhs to be added as an ethnic group, in large part, so that action can be taken to address major Sikh issues such as bullying, intimidation and hate crimes against the community."With the 2020 census approaching, many historically undercoded communities will be at-risk for being under-counted and under-served," said Ruben Singh, United Sikhs Census Manager."We look forward to collaborating with our census partners and other Sikh organisations and institutions to address the unanticipated challenges of the 2020 Census," he said.Meanwhile, the Sikh Coalition has partnered with the Census Bureau for the 2020 census.This is because Sikhs have traditionally been a "hard to count" population in the United States, said Satjeet Kaur, Sikh Coalition executive director."Our community matters, and we want to make sure that Sikh families are appropriately counted and accurately resourced wherever they are across our country," she said.(Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by NDTV staff and is published from a syndicated feed.) Read the full article