#like he's pissing me off by simply existing in my proximity at this point

[rxkuyo]

the fact that this man has been home from his supposed business trip (that may or may not have really been a business trip) for not even 10 minutes and I am already about to snap really does say a lot about the relationship I have with my father huh ?

[sublimecatgalaxy]

Truth or Dare- Part 7

Pairing: Elliot (Euphoria) x Reader

Summary: The reader joins a game of truth or dare with the trio, still shaken from what happened at home. Elliot keeps a keen, worried eye on her the whole night. Jules gets put in her place in a pretty brutal way and the sleepover turns to a trip down memory lane, Elliot and the reader staying up late to talk.

Song: "Little More" by Catie Turner

Warnings: Swearing, angst, overall happy ending.

Word Count: 3.1k

A/N: I really loved writing this part even though I liked cranked this out. THIS CHAPTER IS TENSE FOR THE MOST PART. I tried to stay focused and not side track since I have a SHIT ton to do today.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4* Part 5 Part 6

I sit in Elliot’s lap, his arms protectively around me as I sniffle, the sleeves of his sweatshirt rising to wipe my eyes. Jules and Rue look between the two of us with skeptical eyes, wondering why I’m crying and what caused the sudden shift between the boy and I, not understanding why we’re so close all of a sudden. Elliot directs their attention elsewhere, the truth or dare game that’s continued on for the last few hours keeping my eyes open and my mind alert.

I wanted nothing more than to just lay in Elliot’s arms, to close my eyes and fall asleep safely. He was worried about me, I could tell from his wandering eyes and concerned questions. He had to have asked me eleven times within the first twenty minutes being here if I was alright or not. I just couldn’t stop reeling over my dad's words, his text, if my brother was okay, where he was.

I had a million thoughts going through my head at once. Like, what was my mother doing right now? Was she awake, crying and mourning for her marriage? For her kids? Or was she sound asleep knowing that this incident was bound to happen either way. I felt a bit betrayed by her but I know that this was hardest on her of all people. It’s obvious that my father blamed her for getting pregnant with Aaron. If she would’ve never gotten pregnant, maybe my dad would be with a man and be happy. But that would mean that Nate and I wouldn’t even exist.

Would it have been better?

“Y/n, truth or dare?” Rue asks, sliding the sunglasses low on her face as she spins around in the chair, a small, doped out smile on her lips. I think for a moment, taking a deep breath as Elliot’s fingers gently play with the sleeve of my shirt.

“Truth.” My voice is meek as it comes out, it being the first word that I've spoken since I got that text from my dad. Rue watches me intently, looking between Elliot and I with a concentrated look.

“Are you fucking Elliot?” She asks, Jules’ head whipping to look at her girlfriend with wide eyes. I can understand why they’d think that. The proximity, the worry, the way he looked at me. We were obvious that there was a bit more than friendship to our relationship.

“No, Rue. We’re not fucking.” Elliot responds simply, his chin resting on the top of my head as I huff, my knees folding to my chest. Rue gives us an unconvinced look, her head shaking with a scoff.

“See, you guys forget that I’m like a fucking genius.” Rue chuckles, sitting up straighter in her chair as Jules pouts in the corner. My eyes rake over her, my eyebrows pulled together in confusion at her pathetic exterior. Is she really pouting? Now? Suck it up, you cunt. “You’re all touchy feely a-and Elliot, this is the most serious I’ve ever seen you. Like what the fuck is going on.” Rue asks, her hands flying as she speaks, a soft tired laugh leaving my lips.

“She’s had a rough night, RuRu. I told you not to fucking pry.” Elliot grits, a smile on my lips as he stands up for me, obviously not caring what people think. Rue backs down, her hands raising in surrender with a shrug.

“I’m just saying. There’s something you guys aren’t telling us.” Rue huffs, flopping back into the chair as we all look at Jules, her silence pissing me off at this point.

“I’m sure there’s a lot of things not shared in this room right now.” I snap, my gaze set on Jules as Rue’s eyebrows pull together, wondering what exactIy I mean by that. Jules’ eyes flicker up to me, her face falling pitifully as her gaze shifts to the man behind me. The weight in the room shifts to a tense anxiety, the need to stand up to Jules, to shove it down her throat that I’m the one in Elliot’s arms tempting me.

“There seems like a lot to unpack there.” Rue laughs, oblivious to the tense gaze that Jules and I share. She obviously didn’t tell Rue about the kiss that Jules and Elliot shared- or should I say, the time that Jules shoved her tongue down Elliot’s throat without his permission. She also didn’t tell Rue about the fact that I slapped her in front of a room full of people. Something that I’m still proud of to this day.

“It’s my turn.” I huff, shifting the attention back to the game. But if Jules kept up this tough, pitiful exterior, I was not going to hold back. Rue didn’t deserve a partner who was obviously cheating on her. Emotionally and physically. It made me sick. I get that Rue is by no means the perfect girlfriend, her ongoing drug issue being hidden from her blonde partner. They both had secrets. But one was not my business and the other involved the man that I’m in love with. That was personal. “Jules,” I pause, Elliot tensing behind me as her eyes widen, looking up at me with a scared look, “who was the last person you kissed?” I ask, tilting my head at her as I watch her body shake, Rue looking between us with a confused look.

“Uh, Rue, obviously.” She chuckles nervously, looking at her girlfriend with a soft smile. Mhm, bullshit. Elliot’s hands rest on my stomach, a small laugh rumbling in his chest at my pettiness. I feel his lips against the shell of my ear, a shiver running down my spine.

“Behave.” He whispers, pinching my side as I giggle, rolling my eyes in defiance. Jules huffs as she sits up, her eyes locked on Elliot behind me. I applaud her ballsiness for even looking at him with me in the same room. With her girlfriend in the same room. She has cartoon heart eyes for the handsome boy, but his eyes were not on her, nope, they were on me.

As they should be.

“Elliot, truth or dare.” She asks with a smug smile, my eyes rolling as I rest my head against Elliot’s shoulder, closing my eyes. Can I slap her again?

“Truth.” He sighs, playing it safe. He knows her, he knows that she wanted every reason in the book to kiss him again, to prove me wrong that he wanted to kiss her. She obviously knew of my feelings for him but she just didn’t care. Where’s girl code when you need it? Elliot’s chest is hard behind me, his breathing stuttering as he waits, knowing that if Jules asks the wrong thing that I would flip and she would not like it. I had put up with enough shit today between my family and now her. I could handle her though, put her in her place in a moment's notice.

“Who would you kiss in the room right now if you could?” She asks, her eyes flickering to me as my eyebrows tick up. She knew that I knew about them kissing. She knows that he told me, that he told me everything. Why was she proud of that? Why was she proud about cheating on Rue? Was it fun for her, did she just like the rush and chase? The secrecy? Before I can reply, Elliot gives me a gentle squeeze. He lets out an aggravated sigh as he shakes his head.

“Obviously Y/n since she’s the only single one in this room. And among other reasons.” Elliot chuckles and my cheeks heat up, my head rolling to look away from Rue’s prying, intrigued eyes. She knows that there’s something going on with us and the fact that she’s so excited about it is so cute. She deserves better. “Jules, can I ask why the fuck you’re so interested in my lips and who they kiss?” Elliot asks, Jules stuttering a bit as she fumbles through her brain for an answer. “Like seriously, it’s genuinely fucking weird. If you wanna kiss someone so badly, kiss your girlfriend.” I smile proudly as Jules gets up, marching out of the room, her eyes filled with tears. I hear the bathroom door slam as I scoff, Rue looking back at the bathroom door with a sigh. “Rue, I think your girlfriend has some things that she’s not telling you.” Elliot adds, my heart pounding in my chest as I look up at him, his face stoic and jaw tight.

“I don’t think she meant it when she said she wasn’t interested in men anymore, hun. Unless Elliot is that exception.” I explain, the sunglasses falling off her nose as her expression drops, a small pout on her lips as she nods.

“Yeah…” Rue trails off, her reaction taking me off guard. Did she know or suspect something already? “I was excited that you guys were getting closer cuz maybe she’d drop whatever she feels for you, Elly.” Rue frowns sadly, her feet dropping to the floor as she bites the inside of her cheek. “Thanks for letting me know.” She smiles sadly at us, both of our heads nodding as she turns. “Just tell her I went home. Kick her the fuck out for all I care.” Rue mutters as she walks away, leaving the room as I frown. I turn back to Elliot quickly as I pout, suddenly feeling terrible that she knew and we solidified the knowledge that her girlfriend was cheating on her. Fuck. Elliot reaches up, cupping my cheeks as he notices my dismay.

“She knew. You didn’t do anything wrong.” He whispers, gently pressing a kiss between my eyebrows as I nod. “You wanna kick Jules out or you want me to handle it?” He asks with a deep breath, anger bubbling in my belly at the mention of the blonde who opens the bathroom door behind me. I turn to her with a frown, my head tilting at her. She looks around the room, her face falling as she sees that Rue left. I watch as multiple emotions pass through her face, betrayal, guilt, sadness.

“You can leave now.” I add, her eyes widening as she looks at Elliot, shaking her head with a dropped jaw.

“It’s not even your house, Y/n-” She scoffs, waiting for Elliot to confirm but he simply shrugs, cutting her off.

“You can leave now, Jules.” He repeats, her eyes blinking rapidly as she stares at the two of us, shocked. “I’m not the group boyfriend. And I’m not gonna help you cheat on your girlfriend just cuz you’re confused.” Elliot explains as Jules gathers her things with loud sniffles, my heart pounding against my chest as I find the words I’ve wanted to say for weeks.

“Also, find someone else if you wanna ruin your relationship. Elliot’s too busy for that shit now.” I hiss, Jules not sparing a glance at me as she stomps out of the room, his bedroom door slamming as she makes her way out of Elliot’s house.

Relief falls on my shoulders as I let out a sigh, happy to just have her gone and happy that Rue knows. That they both know that Elliot and I were kind of together though we haven’t exactly specified that yet.

Silence falls around us as my back stays firmly pressed against Elliot’s chest, his cheek resting on the top of my head. I rub circles into his forearm that rests around my waist, a small smile on my lips as I listen to him breathe.

“That was like a really hot, vague way to tell her I’m taken.” He snorts suddenly, a laugh leaving my lips as I shake my head playfully. He spins me around in his arms, his hands resting on my lower back. I shift so I can wrap my legs around his waist, a small huff leaving my lips.

“Are you taken?” I ask quietly, my fingers playing with the strings on his sweatpants. He watches me with soft eyes, his hands rubbing up and down my back as he hums gently.

“I don’t know, am I?” He asks in return, a shy smile on my face as my cheeks warm, suddenly feeling exposed under his gaze. He nudges his nose against mine as I giggle, my head bobbing in a nod. “Wow, I didn’t even know that, it’s so crazy that I’m taken- oh my god, should I change my status on social med-” I shove him with a playful giggle, our backs hitting the bed as I curl up in a ball beside him. He watches me with soft eyes, his fingers intertwining with mine in between us. “I’m okay with being taken. Are you?” He quizzes playfully, my bottom lip tucked between my teeth as I huge the ridiculous grin that wants to seep through.

“Yeah, that’s cool with me.” I whisper, watching as he rolls over onto his side, his hand splaying against my thigh between us. My breath gets caught in my throat at the proximity, the weight that’s been on my chest finally brushing off as I relax into his sheets. “I missed having sleepovers with you.” I whisper, my fingers playing with his.

“Yeah? What did you miss?” He asks with an enamored gaze, his eyes flickering over my face as if he wanted to memorize everything about me. “You miss me stealing blankets, uh, or the fact that I’d wake up with you literally smothering me?” He teases, my eyes rolling as I think back a few years.

“I just liked when you’d come to sleepover at my house and we’d wake up super late and my mom would make us breakfast.” I whisper with a shrug, the mention of my family making me sad. “I just missed everything about you for all those years. I felt like a legit piece of me was missing.” I huff, my eyes avoiding his as he scoots closer to me. He wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him as my chin cranes up to look up at him.

“No matter how mad I was at you, or how mad I seemed, it was all because I knew I was gonna miss you so fucking much.” He whispers, our legs tangling together as I grin, his hand rubbing my waist softly. “Like, I couldn’t even think about seeing you occasionally because I would just want to stay with you forever. That's why I just dropped everything.” He explains, my head bobbing in a quiet nod as he goes on. “But everything just fell apart without you, bug.” He whispers, his hand reaching up to cup my cheek. “Fuck, I failed like three classes, I lost like ten pounds cuz I couldn’t even eat. I would sit in front of the phone just staring at it like an idiot.” He chuckles, shaking his head with a laugh. The thought of young Elliot being so torn up over me makes my heart break, my hands reaching out to rest on his chest. “When my cousin mentioned moving, her mind went here first. I think she knew where your family moved.” I grin at the thought, marking it in my mind to thank her later for doing me this solid. “And then I saw you that day and I felt like such a fucking jackass.” He whispers, his thumb brushing against my cheek as I pout. “I can’t stop and will not stop apologizing for that.” He scoffs sadly, pressing a kiss to my cheek as I chuckle.

“Good, you dickhead.” I giggle, his jaw dropping in a shocked smile. I wrap my arms firmly around his neck as he sighs, his nose nudging mine as my heart beats wildly. “So, I’m not drunk right now and I don’t think you are either…” I trail off, remembering his words from the party when he left me hanging. His eyebrows raise teasingly as he chuckles, his eyes flickering between mine and my lips.

“Yeah? You know, now that I’m taken, I think it’s important to say that I don’t think my girlfriend would like me kissing someone else.” He teases, my eyes rolling with a giggle. My heart stops at the term girlfriend, not thinking I’d ever hear those words come out of his mouth when referring to me.

“I think your girlfriend is pretty cool and I think she’d be perfectly fine with you kissing me, Elly.” I laugh quietly, my fingers running through his tangling hair as he nods, his eyes soft as he looks at my lips.

“Yeah, you’re right, she’s pretty fucking amazing.” He whispers, leaning forward to gently press his lips against mine. I gasp at the feeling, my heart swelling in my chest as he pulls me tighter to him. The kiss is tentative and shy at first, not kissing each other in years. It was definitely different and he definitely had some idea of what he was doing compared to a few years ago.

Parting my lips, the kiss deepens quickly as the wait finally ends, the kiss growing needier by the second. He slides on top of me, not disconnecting his lips from mine as I sigh quietly, my head tilting as he does the same. His hands are everywhere, my hips, waist, face, anywhere that he can touch. I cup his cheeks in my hands, the skin heated under my touch as he pulls away, his forehead resting against mine. Breathless gasps are shared between us, a huge smile on my lips as he laughs. His head falls to my shoulder as he giggles, both of us feeling bashful and embarrassed as the room grows quiet.

“I’m not gonna lie. Some things don’t change.” He whispers, my eyebrows pulling together as his gaze shifts downwards, an obvious tent in his pants as I gasp. Reaching up, I cover my face as he slides off of me, my giggles probably being heard from down the street. “I’ll be back, don’t fucking move!” He yells over his shoulder as the bathroom door shuts, tears pricking my eyes as my laughter dies down. This fucking kid will be the death of me.

Reaching over to grab my phone, I yawn at the sight of three in the morning, my eyes fluttering shut briefly. Waking myself up a bit, I find Nate’s contact, deciding to share the good news and check in on him.

To Nate: I just kissed Elliot.

I giggle at the words, them feeling unreal to me as my mind goes over the last fifteen minutes. Elliot and I are dating, together, a couple. It’s something that younger me prayed over, wished for on birthday candles for, wished on 11:11 for, anything that could give me hope that we would be together one day. My phone buzzes on my chest, two messages from Nate coming through.

From Nate Good for you, kid, I’m proud of you.

Now go to fucking bed, you woke my ass up.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @bubblebuttwade @rafelover2405 @leslienjazzy @sorceresss @grxnde-dwt @alex--awesome--22 @bunnietoof @niyamar1e @serialghost @plantlungs @geniusohn @akaliltimmytim @lilaalouuxx @xshariex @elliotsbeigeguitar @elle4404 @lelieja @srhxpci @joselyn001 @taysirene @spinkspanther @thedivineuphoria @peter-maximoffs @tsukishimawhore @poohkie90 @szlaco @distantsighs @nstyles4299 @wolflover384 @givemefoodandlovesstuff @vane28282 @yeswhatever33 @amirrahfranson @vvaalleennttiinna @f-mu @yaspillz @jeyramarie @skylievin@abbybarnes17 @jointherebellion215 @visiondaddy @steezysimfinds @its-ya-gay-boi-luigi @crunchytoenailsyum@glizzymcguirex @beth123lg @melovesmut @rafecameronswhore @ariianelle @write-from-the-heart @vampviolets

Euphoria Taglist:@ssprayberrythings @username-lols

Elliot Taglist: @vintagebitc

Truth or Dare Taglist: @4lyssasworld @jamespotterswifey @daddydraco0 @soobzao @c1rcusl1ght @kaitieskidmore1 @applebree2001 @ritadiniss @lselnerys

[itshuu]

7. watching their s/o defend themselves

pairing bakugou katsuki, keigo takami

word count 1329 words

_____________________

bakugou katsuki

after including the word “crepes” into every conversation you could with bakugou for the past week you made a date to visit your very first crepe shop

yeah bakugou made sure to click his tongue in annoyance when he reluctantly gave in but he wasn’t bothered at all

I mean, he’d do anything to make you happy y’know

even though he’d rather die than admit it

you both planned to go out that fateful day

although you had a few quick errands to run that morning you let him know that you’d meet him later at the shop through an early morning text message

so he left the dorms, past the gates on his way to finally see you after suffering through breakfast with his dumb friends

checking his phone he saw your message letting him know you arrived and texted you back, picking up the pace

when he finally arrived he froze in his spot when his eyes caught your figure being harassed by another man

you stood there confidently, unbothered even as you examined the crepes in the display window while the stranger invaded your personal space

you knew better than to award a useless man with your attention so you simply pretended as if he didn’t exist

almost sensing his fiery aura you adverted your attention to bakugou who had his eyebrows scrunched together producing a nasty glare at the man

holding in a chuckle you gave him a sweet smile as you walked towards him

but you were stopped by a sudden hand that held onto your wrist restricting your movement

“where ya going? I asked for your number didn’t I?

before bakugou could blast this guy to hell he watched as you twisted the man’s arm painfully behind his back singlehandedly, yelping as he fell to his knees

“who said you could put your hands on me?”

your voice is laced with an unfamiliar venom that makes chills run down bakugou’s spine

face stern as you click your tongue and twist his arm further which makes the man hiss

“do you need me to teach you manners?”

at this point the stranger is spewing apologies quickly, begging to be let free

all you could do was scoff in disbelief as you reluctantly freed the man and watched him scramble to his feet making a run for it

sighing exhaustingly you finally make your way over to bakugou who’s staring back with his eyes wide with a faint but noticeable blush on his cheeks

grinning, you subtly grab his hand and feel him twitch slightly

“let’s go?” you ask with a playful glint in your eyes

and he nods dumbly making you chuckle which knocks him out of his trance

scoffing, his signature scowl settles upon his face as he turns away from you and leads you through the front door of the shop, hands intertwined

for the rest of the day he kept you under his supervision, refusing to leave you alone, occasionally, laying his hand protectively on your hips and sending death glares to anyone who lingered their eyes on you too long

bakugou knew you weren’t weak, even before today’s display he was well aware of what you were capable of

yeah he was pissed watching you being flirted with but he couldn’t deny how absolutely hot you were watching you defend yourself

keigo takami

observing keigo for the past few days you were gone you could tell he was starting to miss you

after receiving a call earlier that week you’d decided to go to your grandmother’s to help out here and there

it was 3 hours away from what you and keigo called home and even though he suggested it, you absolutely refused to have him fly all the way here after one of his late night patrols

you hadn’t seen each other in the flesh in about 4 days now, settling for late night calls

he was more than eager to hear your voice after a long day of work, finding comfort in your serene voice

but you could tell he was getting restless, sighs coming out more frequently, “I miss you”s flowing out a lot more, and his loving yet lonely gaze that met you through the facetime calls you both had

you were flattered really, to be loved by japan’s no. 2 hero, it was an honor

something you never would’ve imagined would happen in lifetime

and you never took such fate for granted, treating hawks like your one and only greatest prize

because in reality he was

cracking a soft smile at his tired pout after he complained about being home alone tomorrow on his day off you whispered to him softly through the screen

“would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow?”

almost immediately hawks lights up, eyes and wings perking up in interest as he stares at you in surprise before shouting in approval

laughing into the quiet night thats how you both planned your day

that next morning you woke up to take the earliest train

you made breakfast for the large bird still sleeping in bed, shared interesting stories, breathless kisses, soft touches, and relaxed indoors within close proximity of each other before setting out for your date

it was nearing sunset as both of you went for a stroll in the park, basking in each other’s presence, laying on the grass with take-out and enjoying the fresh air

until you had to pee

with a groan you excused yourself to the bathroom really quickly and took off running as he laughed at how desperate you seemed

hawks couldn’t remember the last time you both had an entire day to yourselves to just relax and refresh

with both your schedules often clashing and the tons of work he has thrown on his shoulders by the hero commission as the no.2 hero it’s no doubt that he’s constantly busy

you both had settled for the late night and early morning greetings to keep you happy but this was the icing on the cake

lost in his thoughts with a smile on his face as he recalls the day with you hawks realizes you’ve been gone for quite a while

a part of him feels like he’s pushing it trying to convince himself that you’ve only been gone for about 3 minutes or so but he knows its been longer

so, confused at your odd behavior he stood up and headed towards the bathroom to check up on you

the closer he gets to the bathroom he finds a larger crowd of people gathering around which unconsciously makes his eyebrows knit together

“is that man crazy? sneaking inside the women’s bathroom like that…” he heard a passerby say

“damn, they're strong though” he heard another said

“oh hawks arrived!”

pushing himself through the crowd politely his eyes widen in surprise when he sees you

there you were holding a man by his shirt off the ground outside against the bathroom wall singlehandedly

the words tumbling out your mouth like poison, hot and steaming as you publicly shame the perpetrator in your hands

immediately hawks whistles, impressed by your tenacity and just how hot you look when you were upset

peeking your head over your shoulder to glance at him who was smirking at you you smiled gently at him and immediately he felt his heart swoon

“let’s drop him off at the police station and finish our date at home” you said and hawks chuckled at you

how did he manage to get such a bad-ass

© 2021 itshuu, all rights reserved. Do NOT repost, translate or claim my work as yours.

[lordseochangbin]

Commitment

Request:  can i request jisung arranged marriage + fluff/smut ??

A/N: Side note but I think Ima start that Felix FBI agent AU soon. I’m excited hehe the thought of Felix being an agent sounds :D

You could not believe it. 

A few years later after your mom lost her job, you had found yourself taking double shifts, cleaning shit from your neighbor’s yard, eating tubs of ice cream and mourning the cause all together. Your mother opposed it as well, her child having to take over all this labor. Her only way to help? Tie the knot with some rich, stupid guy and hope you’ll benefit from it somehow. 

“He’s an idiot mom! I cannot be with or be SEEN with Han Jisung!” Those were the only words that left your mouth when your mother said you had to be with him. 

“It’s what your father would’ve wanted honey, just give him a chance” A pat on the shoulder and she leaves the room so it’s just you and your thoughts. 

Next thing you know, you find yourself at a golden door. The palace looks marvelous honestly, and if you had to put your mind to it- you’d ask yourself why such a handsome and rich man would need to be forced into marriage. People would kill to be with him. Unfortunately, the least you would do for him is cut a flower from its soil, drying its roots and unwatering its petals, leaving it to its lonely life just like he had done to you. Simply from existing. 

What takes you by surprise is when a half-naked woman opens the door, your mouth dropping when the open door reveals Jisung slumped over on the couch with more naked women. 

“Daddy, someone opened the door” The girl calls him, making you roll your eyes at the nickname. 

“Are you Han Jisung! What the fuck is this?” Oh dear, the look on his face when he hears someone call him by his real name. Walking towards him, you grab his wrist despite the women around him and explain, “We were supposed to go on a date today, and you’re here living it up with other women, what an amazing husband you are” 

“Aww sweetie” He teasingly replies, facing himself towards you before lying a finger under your chin. His black trousers and shirtless figure explain the simplicity of his actions, how normal it was for him to be caught in a situation like this. Is he even turned on by the number of girls here or was it some gesture to piss you off?

“Don’t ‘aww sweetie’ me!” You say, pushing his hand away. “We’re going to this date, whether you like it or not” You tell him off, asking the ladies to leave. 

“Aww c’mon Y/N, you’re ruining the fun!! Why are you kicking them out?” He pouts, leaning closer to your ear. “Unless you wanted to have fun with… just me”

“Oh fuck off Jisung!” You retort, pushing him away before closing the door as the ladies leave, “I’ll be downstairs.. you better come.. and put a shirt on for fuck’s sake!” 

----

After dinner, you come back to Jisung’s apartment. Over a plate for two, you were surprised at how kind yet shy he was. It was hard at some points to get him to talk or start a conversation, but once you brought up one of his interests- it got him talking on and on. He was actually kind of… cute? With every bite of his cheesecake (which he demanded for dessert), his cheeks would bunch up as he smiled and chewed, taking in each bite as if it were the last. 

“Umm.. usually it’s the guy who walks the girl back to their house but, thanks for taking me here I guess” He said, itching the nape of his neck out of nervousness. 

“No problem” You smiled in response. Maybe he was the right guy after all. Your hopes felt high for Jisung. Maybe he would be the right guy- that was until you remembered the amount of girls inside of his room hours before. The sudden memory made your heartache, he was a straight up player. 

“Oh! I almost forgot” He exclaimed, opening his apartment door and peeking inside. “My mother asked me to give this to you, I didn’t look inside but I’m assuming it’s some big ass jewel or something” 

You walked into his apartment, following the steps to his bedroom as he picked up a box from his dresser. “This is for you,” He smirks, watching as you opened the box. 

He wasn’t wrong. It was a big ass jewel made to impress you. A secret message from a mother just sent ‘I know he’s stupid, but can you marry him please?’ Chuckling at the jewel, you put it back in his drawer. 

“Thanks, but I don’t want it, Jisung. What I want is this-” You gestured at the space between you two “to work. If we’re really going to do this.. I really want your commitment” 

Jisung scoffed at the comment. “Commitment? Please. I would commit to a girl who at least knew how to flirt, even kiss at least” 

You bit your lip at his response, “Are you saying I look like a bad kisser?” 

Jisung internally laughed at the comment, taking a step forward. A quick sniff of his cologne had you swifted, your heart beating at the close proximity. 

“Are you denying it though?” 

You rolled your eyes before taking a deep breath and muttering a quick, “How’s this?” before closing the gap between you two. 

Letting your tongue slip into the kiss, you stepped forward causing Jisung to fall on the bed between him. A small gasp left him as he fell onto the bed, his hands reaching out to grab your waist before he could pull you closer. “Not bad” He smirked before locking his lips with yours. 

You let your knees press against the soft comforter beside his hips, your hands holding onto his shoulders as you hold onto them. Softly pressing against his crotch, you watch as he tilts his head back at the action.  

“What’s wrong Jisung?” You ask him as he takes a deep breath. “J-Just give me a second, fuck” He curses, a confused expression meeting your face at his concern. 

“Jisung, we don’t need a condom. I’ll take the morning after pill, okay?” You smile, kissing his forehead as he sighs in relief. His eyes look glossy, relieved. He couldn’t help but to smile back. No matter how hard he tried to piss you off, you stayed with him. He realized you weren’t in this relationship for the money, you genuinely liked him- and he would prove that he loves you just as much. 

“Babe, sit on the bed… let me make you feel good” He whispers, watching as you slowly lay on your back, pressing your head against the pillow. 

His fingers run under your dress, slowly lifting the piece of fabric before rubbing circles on your heat. 

“J-Jisung, please” You whimper, your hands grabbing the sheets next to you as he pecks the bare skin on your thighs. 

“So wet for me babe, just be patient” With a soft chuckle, he lifts your dress over your head, one hand cupping your breast as the other continues to toy with your heat. 

With every touch you find yourself trying to stay still, whimpering when he lets go and bucking your hips into his fingers when he hits your sweet spot. 

The second you bite your lip, you shut your eyes as the sight of Jisung slowly removing your bra. He takes the time to lick around your breasts before his lips could close on your erected nipple. His fingers quicken its pace and you find that all too familiar pit inside your stomach. “Jisung, I-I’m so close” 

His lips leave our breasts and attach to your neck, softly humming against the skin before meeting your ear. “Cum for me babe” He whispers, making you gasp as his finger brushes against your sweet spot, your back arches as your wet juices coat his digits. 

“Mmm, Fuck” he curses, getting on his knees to unbuckle his jeans. “You’re driving me insane” He mutters as he unzips his jeans, freeing his tight member of its restraints and pumping it with his hand. 

He takes no mercy as he presses his cock between your walls, his nails digging into your hips as he rides his hips against yours. 

His grip on your hips is so strong that you feel your chest constantly slam into his, Jisung taking pride in the way your breasts bounce against your skin. He doesn’t want this now, but he wants it forever. To see you at night like this and in the morning cuddles in his arms. 

“Jisung, god” You whine as he slows his pace, letting his tip meet your soft spot again. It was almost embarrassing how fast he got you to reach your high again, your walls clenching around his member. “You must love how good my cock fits inside your tight cunt, you love it don’t you babe?” 

You let out a small whimper, throwing your head back as you lift your leg, letting him hit your sweet spot from a different angle. “God babe, you’re even asking for more. You’re dangerous” He says, his words filling your mind as your sight starts to become foggy. 

You’re holding on to Jisung for dear life, letting him fuck you like his little ragdoll, his little toy. “Shit, I’m gonna cum” He curses, your walls tightening around him again as you meet your orgasm. 

“Cum inside me Ji” You breathe out, holding him closer to you as his dick twitches inside you, filling you with his warm cum. 

“Fuck, babe” he sighs, grabbing your hips and turning you around so you’re on top of him. Your hips meet again as you hide your face in his neck, slowly peeking up as the two of you reach your high. 

Jisung smiles as his eyes meet yours, his hand reaching out to place a stranded piece of hair behind your ear. 

“I hope you learned a thing or two about kissing after this.” He chuckles, raising his eyebrows. “Or even more” 

Slapping his shoulder in embarrassment, you pant out a small laugh before replying, “and I hope you learned a thing or two about commitment after this”

“Maybe this will teach me a thing or two about commitment” Jisung chuckled before capturing your lips in a kiss, “I’ll only stay with you now”

[musicalmagic]

Quarantine Days [2]

Summary: Coronavirus has arrived to the BTS members and yourself. Grappling with boredom and the reality that, yeah, you really all were stuck in the same place for a while. Ensure that the shenanigans of your days with BTS are recounted here, and please do remember, stay in contact with those you love.

A/N: It’s only chapter 2, and I already have the angst. Hahahahhh, sorry sorry. I promise there’s more good than bad, but frustrations need to come first before the good, no?

* Pairing: BTS (OT7) x reader (Idol Au)

* Word Count: 1,654

* Genre: Angst, Fluff

* Warnings: Coronavirus

1 2

Tag List: @itspwi

It was an early evening, sun only just beginning its decent into the concrete jungle that existed just outside the window of the high-rise apartment. Jungkook and Taehyung decided to play videogames after an easy-going discussion for the next album with the rest of the members, Jimin occasionally popping in to pick on the two when they messed up in Mario Kart races or Street Fighter matches. You were with Namjoon, Yoongi, and Hoseok in the studio fiddling with Cubase and other DAWs for fun, settling on a weird plugin to occupy the time, that distorted whoever’s voice spoke or sang into the microphone.

“Hey, HEY, don’t worrrry ‘bout me!” Namjoon’s filtered voice filtered about the space, while Hoseok was laughing his ass off at the wobbliness of it all, Yoongi had a small smile on his face, and you were around the same state as Hoseok. Clutching onto Hoseok’s shoulder as you balled with giggles like you were being tickled.

Seokjin was in his shared room, happily on his phone when Jimin bursts through the door. The man was so startled that he chucked his phone toward Jimin — who barely managed to duck after he himself was shocked, and the two just stood there in silence. Seokjin nervously smiled, before Jimin took off after him in a jokingly angered way. Running to catch up and managing to snag Seokjin’s jacket that swirled around him like leaves in the wind, pulling him back toward him but instead of wrapping his arms around his waist, was in fact knocked to the ground. Seokjin’s larger frame landing directly on top of him. The men grunted as gravity stomped on them, air escaping their lungs from the impact.

Jungkook waddled out from the living room to find Jimin attempting to shove Seokjin off of him but was failing miserably, grumbling curses under his breath when he realised it was impossible. Taehyung appeared moments later clutching his stomach in hysterics at the sight. Seokjin was laughing as well, which only made Jimin even more pissed. He quickly hooked Seokjin’s right leg around his own and pulled Seokjin’s right arm towards the ground, pushing his other leg upwards in an attempt to get Seokjin off — who completely fell off of Jimin in surprise.

“You alright there?” Taehyung questioned, a tint of glee in his tone. Jimin just glared at him from the floor, looking close to punch him. Seokjin stood up and began to pat his clothes to rid the creases, eyeing the two in front of him and heavily sighing. Glad that Jungkook wasn’t here either.

You and Hoseok, still on about the craziness of distorted Namjoon singing, happened upon the trio’s standstill with Jungkook also coming out to peek at what was going on. Jimin and Taehyung were bickering, while Seokjin just looked like he wanted to run the other way, ears tinted red and staring at anything but Jimin and Taehyung.

You sighed and looked to Hoseok, who had a firm, but unreadable expression on his face. He turned back the way he came.

You all stood still.

Waiting.

  Hoseok returned with Namjoon, Yoongi trailing behind him. With a single nod to everyone, Namjoon successfully dragged everyone to the living room. Jungkook promptingly switching the TV off, as you all settled on the available seats.

“First, what happened before this?”

Jimin huffed, crossing his arms, and simply saying, “Seokjin threw his phone at me.”

“You startled me first by barging into my room!” Seokjin angerly remarked, “Unannounced, might I add.”

“I didn’t know you had a phone in your hand!”

“Maybe you should knock next time then.”

Jimin grumbled again, unable to reply.

Namjoon just sighed into his hand, trying to think what to do.

“We are only two months into this lockdown and already fights are breaking out. You two need to find a way to cool off,” Yoongi chimed in. Namjoon gently nodding next to him.

You sat there in puddle of your own sweat at the idea it was only two months since the lockdown, and there were already conflicts. How can they stay friends in such close proximity in general?

Jimin sat up and headed out of the living room towards his room, and Seokjin did the same. The six of you remaining all collectively agreed to leave the two alone, and went off. Although, the five boys decided on watching a movie, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, Namjoon and Jungkook all began scrolling through Netflix while you stared out into space. Furrowing your brows deep in thought.

While lockdown was stressful enough, you wondered if or when it’d get better. This definitely wasn’t a normal honeymoon phase when new events start. In fact, it felt more bickery than flattery.

“Hey ­_____, are you going to watch with us?” Jungkook asked, pulling you out of your head.

“Yeah, sure. Have you guys chosen something?”

Yoongi answered quickly, “We thought a light-hearted movie would be good.”

“So we’re putting on a Disney movie,” Hoseok finished. Namjoon hummed in confirmation, “The Little Mermaid.”

You perked up at that, smiling, “Sounds good! Put it on, put it on!” You excitedly said.

Everyone there chuckled at your reaction, putting the movie on quickly.

--

Pretty much everyone had fallen asleep by the time the movie’s credits had rolled on by. The boys all somehow ended up on top of each other in a cuddle puddle, and you had to wordlessly move their legs off your own to get to the kitchen.

Seokjin was there when you entered, his fingers tapping the mug he held as he drank what was in there silently, brows furrowed in concentration. You paused at the doorway, concerned.

“Seokjin? Are you alright?” He didn’t startle and held firm, only slightly surprised at your sudden introduction.

He looked tired as he answered with an, “I’m fine _____. Thanks.”

You padded over and took out a glass from one of the cabinets, filling it with water when Seokjin asked, “How’s everyone else?”

“Asleep. I don’t know how to get them all to their beds,” you replied while sipping on the water.

Standing a lot closer to Seokjin, you focused on how seriously exhausted the man was. Seokjin is someone who doesn’t vocalise their struggles often, and prefers to show the happier sides of life, and is a calming presence. But you felt that the person in front of you was drained entirely.

So, you put your glass down, and did the same with Seokjin’s, which was easier as it was already on the island. You slid the cup away from him.

“Let’s go to bed Jin.” Seokjin began, “But what abo—”

“I’ll handle them. You need sleep.”

With that, Seokjin headed off to bed, grumbling but still going along with it anyways.

You turned back to the doorway that led to the living room. Ah yay, this’ll be fun. You quickly walked into the room. Noticing first the black TV, how it turned off by itself, and the sleepy forms of most of your friends. Yoongi and Jungkook had managed to end up on top of one another, while Namjoon, Taehyung and Hoseok had all curled around each other. Your first instinct was to yell loudly, but that would wake everyone else up.

With some hesitation, you went with shaking them all from the shoulder. Jungkook, Namjoon and Hoseok woke up easy, eyes drowsy and drooping though, but they all helped you try and wake the last two who were notorious heavy sleepers. At one point, Hoseok had tried jumping onto Taehyung, but just fell off the side of the couch when he landed; Taehyung had just curled further into the fetus position and mumbling incoherent nonsense. Which, to be fair, all of you who were up found hilarious.

Yoongi was the same, well, mostly. He kept between half-asleep and asleep, and you and Namjoon thought by this time Yoongi was just messing with you all.

Instead of Hoseok, Jungkook tried jumping on the two-sleeping people, and actually managed to get Yoongi up. Who just shot up and glared at the maknae. Now it was Taehyung that was still asleep.

Which, Jungkook also handled easily. He resulted to pinching the slightly older man awake.

You sighed in relief, all of them were awake.

Namjoon glanced at everyone as they all yawned, he clapped twice and sent everyone to their rooms.

--

Jimin and Seokjin were tense around each other when morning came. Avoiding the other completely when they could. Namjoon was over the behaviour and called another meeting.

“Alright, you two need to work this out.”

They didn’t even look at each other.

“Answer me guys. I can’t do anything if you don’t talk what’s on your mind, yes?” Namjoon firmly reminded them.

Seokjin huffed, “I’m pissed at him.”

“Why would you be pissed at me? I would be more so! You through your phone at me and sat on me! This isn’t fair Namjoon! Why am I even here?” Jimin angerly spouted at the two.

Namjoon groaned under his breath. Annoyance etched into his expression as the two started arguing again.

“Okay!” You yelled—shutting them up. “Look, Seokjin,” You began, “I can understand why you’d be angry, someone barged into your room without knocking, and I empathise that throwing your phone was a reflex, but not moving when Jimin was struggling underneath you wasn’t nice, yes?”

Seokjin’s gaze drifted from yours, silent.

“Jimin,” you turned to him, “Don’t go into other people’s rooms—even if its shared, you never know if someone is busy, cooling off, or needing space. Always knock.”

“Now, Seokjin apologise to Jimin; Jimin do the same.”

It was nothing short of amazing, how quickly you handled everything. The rest of the boys watching you in fascination, as the two apologised, genuinely so.

As the group dispersed once more, Yoongi and Namjoon had the same thought, “I’m glad she’s here.”

Previous Chapter?

Next Chapter?

[clairecrive]

“Let’s stay home”| Quarantine AU

Chapter 1 -“Alfie”

A/n: I’m so excited to finally share this with you!! This really came up to me as a way to pass the time but it slowly became an almost fic so I thought, why not, maybe someone will like it too. Can’t wait to hear your thoughts about it!

Tag list: @deaflikehawkeye​, @mollybegger-blog​, @br0ck-eddie​, @evelynshelby​, @fandom–0verdose​, @shadow-of-wonder ( let me know if you wanna be added)

Next chapters: Masterpost

The news was out, not it was official:  the whole world was on lockdown. Emma knew it was coming, seeing as her family in Italy had been updating her since the pandemic had been official but still, it still felt all too surreal for it to be true. Only that it was and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Until scientists won’t find a cure, the only thing they could do and were asked to, was to stay inside. To go out only in necessary. Currently, Emma wasn’t home. Well, thanks to her job she had been on the move for quite some time, so other than her family’s one she didn’t really have one. At the moment she was renting this lovely house with a sea view and private access to the beach in San Francisco, where her work had taken her. The house was big and she’d get often lonely so during the weekend she had this tradition of calling some friends over. Her schedule was pretty hectic leaving her very little time for social interactions. Emma wasn’t exactly a social butterfly but enjoyed the company of her friends so, in this way, it was a win-win for everyone. Alfie had called her at the beginning of last week to tell her that he was in the area for work and asked her to meet up. Seeing as her friends were busy this weekend, she invited him over. Of course, she had thought of a cute possibly romantic weekend but then pandemic happened and now it seemed that they were stuck together. To be fair, Emma knew that she could pack and go back home to Italy but maybe it was safest for everyone if she just stayed here. Work would be easier to deal with too if she stayed in San Francisco. 

“What do you mean we can’t leave the house?” Emma had given Alfie the news after hearing it on tv and he wasn’t taking it too well, to say the least.

“We’re in quarantine Alfie, I think it’s pretty self-explanatory.” 

“That’s bullshit, they can’t do that.” Of course, he would say that, king of the world.

“Don’t be daft Alfred. The danger is real and almost every country in the world is on the lockdown.”

“Can’t believe this.”

“People are dying Alfie, I’m sure you can think at least at hundreds of different scenarios where you could get it worse.” Rolling her eyes, she turns around and heads over the bathroom to get her day started with her skincare routine. “Besides, the only one that should be complaining is me. Do you hear me bitching and moaning?”

“What are you insinuating?”

“Have you met yourself?” She sassed looking at him over her shoulder,” I’m stuck with you for god knows how long, still I’m not complaining.” Surely, when she came over the other night, she wasn’t expecting that she’d be stuck with him. However, Emma understood that she was in a privileged position. Yes, she wasn’t with her family but she was grateful nonetheless to be surrounded by people she loved. She knew the cockney man can be a handful and that’s exactly why she called for help.  Alfie, still puzzled about this whole situation, follows her like a lost puppy. He didn’t like her tone, but then again, he knew he could be quite the pain in the ass so the prospect of spending the next weeks in close proximity with him wouldn’t be appealing to anyone.

“What are you doing?” The look on his face was priceless. His eyes studied the various bottles she had sprawled all over the sink like they were an Arabic papyrus or something.

“My skincare routine. Ever heard of it?” Her eyes laid on his form behind her through the mirror, while she put her tonic on a cotton pad before gently applying it on her face.

“Seems rather pointless. Don’t see why  you need to put all this stuff on your face.” Of course, Alfie was skeptical and ignored even the existence of moisturizer, she could swear it.

“You should definitely give it a try, your skin would thank you for it, rest assured.” She recommended but didn’t get an answer. When she looked again at Alfie, he was curiously watching every little movement she made. For someone who proclaimed to be so against skincare, he was certainly interested in it. Smirking at the thought, she moved a little to the side making enough space for him to join her. Prompting him to come closer with her hands, she was met with his confused gaze but did what she asked nonetheless.

“What kind of skin do you have?” She asked now turning towards him to study his face. He would probably none the wiser about the type of skin he had but she asked anyway.

“What kind of question is that?” As she thought. Ignoring his tone, she simply rolled her eyes again and opted for deducing the answer herself. Spotting the red patches on the edges of his face, she guessed that he had sensitive skin. He didn’t look like he had an oily prone to acne one but she couldn’t tell if he had dry skin either. Maybe he had just normal skin.

“Do you get oily during the day or do you struggle with dryness?” She tried again with a simpler question. I mean, he had to know these things, she thought.

“Well, uh, I don’t think I get oily as you said. Definitely noticed some dry patches though.” Alfie said after a little thought. Well, now we’re going somewhere.

“Okay then.” Considering what he told her, she looked into her beauty case to find the appropriate product for his skin.

“Try this.” She hands him a cleanser that worked for every type of skin and was extremely gentle, so it was perfect for his red patches.

“Why can’t I use that one?” He asked pointing to the tonic she was using when he first entered. She gave him a little smile, the one you give little kids when they ask an obvious question that they didn’t know due to their age. 

“Because that one,” she said taking it in her hands so that she could show him, “ is a tonic. That comes after. The first step is to wash your face with a cleanser in order to purify the skin and rid it from all the dirty stuff.” She then proceeds to explain. He didn’t look too convinced but went ahead and followed her instructions anyway. After he had washed his face, she hands him the tonic again.

“Now you can use this. Put a little dose of it on this cotton pad and then gently pat it all over your face.” Seeing as she had to do that step too, she took her pad and showed him how to apply it.

“What’s this for?” He asks while he swipes the pad over his forehead.

“No Alfie look, don’t swipe it. Pat it, like this.” She corrects him, taking his pad in her hands and doing it for him so he could see the right movement. “This is called a tonic and it closes our pores after the cleansing. And since this is a rose-based tonic, it also helps to soothe the skin and cure any irritations.” She softly explains, her eyes focused on the motion of her hand on his face. Seeing up close, his skin looked even more bruised and irritated. She wonders what was the cause and for how long he had had them.

“Swipe, pat. Whatever.” Alfie mumbles resembling very much a little kid but for some reason, it makes Emma smile.

“If they’re two different words it must mean that they mean different things, no?” In a very condescending tone, she finished what she was doing ending it with a pat that was more vigorous. She turned around to gather the next product they would need and thinking that she couldn’t see him, Alfie literally mouthed “gne gne” at her, making fun of her. Maybe he was even more childish than a child. Waiting for him to noticing how much a fool he had made of himself, Emma freezes him with a stern look when he looks at her through the mirror.

“Now, two years old child stuck in the body of a thirty years old, it’s time for under eyes. Although, maybe you don’t want it.” She mused turning around to face him, messing with him as well.

“Do not make me fucking beg for an eye cream, Emma.” Rolling his eyes Alfie spat.

“You know what? I’ve changed my mind. We should definitely do a face mask, god knows your skin needs it.” An idea popped into her mind and she went looking for a hydrating mask for the both of them. 

“A what?” Alfie called after her when she walked out of the bathroom.

“Oh please, don’t pretend you haven’t seen Ig posts with girls with colored stuff on their faces or a sheet mask. Before you can even think of denying it, you should know that I can see the posts you like.” She said completely disarming him so that he could only surrender at the fact and wait for her to gather what she was looking for. 

“Here it is. It’s super easy actually, you just have to open it and put it on your face and keep it for fifteen minutes-ish.” She explained after handing him the packaging of the mask she had chosen for him. The only she got for herself was not a sheet mask so she had to apply it. She was halfway through when she noticed something strange in the background.

“What-” Erupting in a  loud laugh she couldn’t finish the sentence. Putting on a sheet mask was a rather easy task. Or so she thought. But seeing the way Alfie had erroneously put on his, she was reconsidering her statement. Emma couldn’t really see his expression but by the sound he made, she figured he was offended that she was taking the piss at him but she really couldn’t help it.

“Alfie, dear god, what did you do?” Taking the mask in your hands, you pulled it off his face readjusting it to the rightful position. “Here, that’s how you put it on. Look, there are holes where your nose, mouth and eyes go.” She couldn’t help but smile condescendingly at him. He really was a child sometimes.

“And now what?” He asked when they both went back to the living room.

“And now we wait. In 14 minutes you can take it off.” she said looking at the time on her phone while setting a timer, “oh what a wonderful coincidence, they’re also going to be here in fifteen minutes.” She said probably reading a message.

“Who’s they?” Alfie inquired narrowing his eyes startled by this news piece of information.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? I’ve invited some friends over.”

[carrera-ffxiv]

Morning Shadows Pt. 3

The best times in life seemed to flash by the quickest. Feverish snogging reminiscent of adolescent behavior and the mixture of alcohol led to him delivering her to rest with the patented princess-carry. A hand brushed the hair from her visage as he tucked S’mira in. He couldn’t help but smile at the image. That expression quickly faded from his bearing.

He struck a match and took a few puffs from his pipe to get it going. He needed the brisk air of the Shirogane beach just outside his house to help him refocus as he leaned on one of the cherry blossoms in his yard- the haziness of inebriation still lingering slightly along with the euphoria. He needed to come down from the clouds and as if just on cue... a masked figure in formal attire knelt before him.

“My lord,” the white haired Miqo’te spoke in a feminine voice, “I’ve located their base of operations… are you certain you want me to bring… her? She’s… inexperienced and foolish. She will be nothing but a hindrance.”

Hadriel sighed a plume of smoke, “Once upon a time, you and N’syri would both follow my word without question…” She offered a nod, “I-I...” she spoke softly behind the mask. “You’re the only two I have left since before I left Doma. Trust in me.” he responded. Silence fell about them as a delicate rain. “I understand.” she offered before reality tore and distorted while they blinked out of existence.

K’vyna lamented her own hesitation. Hadriel had done nothing but put his faith in her and she could not offer the same. She lowered her mask a moment as she held it to her chest, reminiscing. Her eyes shifted about, assessing the landscape.

“This was once part called Castrum Novum…” she would point off into the distance, “Camp Revenant’s Toll was there… since the battle of Silvertear Skies the land has been torn asunder and neither exist. Now Castrum Centri stands over the ruins of Novum, and this part remains abandoned…” she looked back to the warehouse. “Between the adventurers in Revenant’s Toll, Imperial patrols, aetheric instability, desolate landscape, unexploded ceruleum tanks, and morbols, this is both the best and worst place for our target to hide their base of operations.” She sighed heavily and put her mask back on, “S’era… this is dangerous. If you want to back out, this is your only chance. There is no reason for you to risk your life here for a cause you don’t understand.”

S’era gripped the katana she had on lease with her good hand, before eyeing K’vyna carefully. “It’s a castrum. Er… was a castrum. I’m well aware of the danger, Vyna. I need this experience anyway.” She paused as her eyes drifted north. “If the layout is similar, it means navigating a well-fortified castrum will be far easier, when the time comes. Let’s get to work.”

A smirk would be hidden behind K’vyna’s mask. A fellow student under the man who was once her master- how eager she was to prove herself. “Keep up then.” she would comment before focusing her aether to her feet, quick-stepping off the cliff and dashing under the guise of night along the broken walls of the rebuilt castrum. She would spot patrols about her path- not Imperials, but security guards hired from Ul’dah. A keen eye would notice the shinobi along the perimeter keeping an eye on the patrols as well. The first shot rung out in silence as Vyna’s rapier pierced the patroller, spinning around as she pulled the blade. The second’s throat was slashed in one smooth movement. She casted a chantless spell: Aero, to keep the bodies from smashing to the ground and raising the alarm. Quickly she began pulling one of the corpses to some cover as she signalled S’era to do the same with the other.

She was only a handful of paces behind the woman, more of a bystander watching her work than an equal participant. With her bandaged hand she kept her hood low over her head, just in case someone spotted her; once the spell wore off and the bodies settled in the dirt, S’era gripped the dead lalafell by the ankles and dragged him behind a rusty crate. Silently she poked her head up to see K’vyna doing the same with the hyur, folding his arms and tucking him into what looked like a garbage dumpster. She looked both ways once, twice, then three times, before darting out into the open and dashing across the walkway, stopping at K’vyna’s side with a powerslide through the dust.

The masked one weaved wind-aspected aether to settle the earth S’era had disturbed. “There are shinobi around watching, you need to be more careful.” she commented before lifting the cover of a nearby garbage chute. “We need to cut a path through for Hadriel and to make sure no one else interferes when he finds his quarry.”

S’era strained to scan the outer perimeter, her blue and teal eyes glowing ever faintly in the dark; she saw no one standing guard, but, if they really were shinobi, that much is to be expected. “Shouldn’t we help him?” She asked in a hushed whisper. “He shouldn’t be fighting his target alone, should he?”

K’vyna tilted her head toward the chute, gesturing for her to get through. “He’s taught you a bit…right? Do you think you’ll be more of a help or hindrance if he had to fight someone seriously?” S’era didn’t know how to answer that at first, taking a long moment to think about it; he taught her the basics- the very basics of swordplay, but she was still quite handy with a pair of daggers. Still, reach trumped subtlety, and in an open battle, no amount of fancy knifework would compare to a skilled swordsman.

“... I don’t think I’d be much help, no.” She was reluctant to admit it. “Let’s clear the path… that much I -can- do.”

K’vyna allowed a crooked grin to form beneath her cover, “He taught me too, trust me, you’ll learn more from watching at this point.” she affirmed before tugging S’era before the chute, patting her on the rear. “Upsy-daisy.”

She scampered into the chute, crawling through dirt, dust, and hopefully little else through the pitch darkness. It was a tight squeeze- even for a miqo’te as small as herself, forcing her to tuck her hands under her chest and wiggle through the confined space as quickly but as silently as she could. When she caught a whiff of fresh air, it tasted like the best thing she’d eaten in years; the chute suddenly led upward, and she eagerly followed the faint light at the end of the tunnel. 

S’era opened the lid to find herself in some sort of bathroom, her clothes covered in years-old grime and waste. She poked her ears out first and scanned the room for any sounds, before tilting the seat back to wiggle herself free. “Azeyma above…!” She whispered the moment she was convinced the coast was clear, gagging and coughing as she stood on solid ground again. Wisely she chose to pull her long coat off her body to never wear again.

K’vyna looked over what appeared to be a hand-drawn sketch on a napkin. “Okay, we need to get out of this room, take a right at the corridor, leave the building, and we can open the gates… show me what you got S’era.”

She eyed the woman sideways before handing K'vyna her katana and pulling two curved daggers from her belt; the Way of the Blade may still be foreign to her, but the thief's creed were a song and dance she knew all too well. Free from her stained overcoat, S'era was free to move about silently in her form-fitting ebon leathers; skulking through the darkness was second nature, and it wasn't long until she found her first of many targets.

"Gods I love workin’ ‘ere." An enthusiastic lalafell loudly proclaimed, his pants halfway down his stubby legs as he pissed against the wall. "No noisy ‘venturers snoopin’ around playin’ at ‘eroes. No battles. No nothin’! Just gettin’ paid ta look at crumbling ruins. Any fool would kill ta get a job this easy, heheheh!" S'era looked around to notice he wasn't talking to anyone specifically; just a bored grunt thinking out loud.

She crept up on him as he wiggled the last few droplets free. Just as he pulled up and buckled his trousers she descended on him, her hand clamped down on his mouth as her blade pierced his coat. "Mmrph-?!" He wiggled and fought against her, but his arm was pinned to his side, and his weapon might as well be miles away. A few more stabs in his chest and his widened eyes finally relaxed. S'era dragged him back into one of the stalls and propped his body onto a toilet; with luck, the stench of his corpse and the need for privacy would render him unnoticed until it was far too late.

“Fufu?” Another voice called out. “Where the hells did you waddle off to, halfman?” A roegadyn four times S’era’s size came stepping into the dimly lit hallway, carrying a rifle on his shoulder and a lantern in his grasp. Immediately he noticed the pool of urine in the corner, and before long he caught sight of the blood trail leading further into the abandoned stalls. “What the-”

S’era dropped down onto his shoulders from the ceiling, her hand dragging his helmet down and over his eyes. Her knife repeatedly found his throat and collar as he coughed and gagged on both the cold sting of steel and the warmth of his own blood, thrashing around to grip the attacker to pull her off his back. He slammed her against the wall once, then twice, but soon his strength began to wane; he collapsed to one knee with a hard thud, before falling limp face first onto the floor. With a flick of her wrist she pulled her blade free and stepped off his back, choosing to wipe her blade clean on his arm before slipping it back into her belt.

K’vyna brought a hand to her mouth as she uttered a quiet and inaudible incantation. “Verfire.” She gestured her hand toward the defeated man, blowing a kiss of flames at her victim. The coat of the unconscious mercenary sparked and flashed before bursting into flames. The fire licked at everything about it, threatening to swallow everything in proximity. She simply nodded at S’era to acknowledge her efforts and shifted out of the area in a blink.

The courtyard outside was a little more complicated than two fools hiding in a building to avoid their responsibilities. Five soldiers stood out in the open: two on either side of the gate, another two walking their scheduled routes back and forth, and the last one sitting up in a nearby watchtower. “We need to work fast unless we want to raise the alarm.” S’era whispered to K’vyna. “Sooner or later they’re going to smell the burning bodies, or see the smoke. We don’t have much time.” She glanced over her shoulder before asking, “Any ideas?”

“That’s the point, they’re going to come to us soon. The fire is a distraction…” she sighed as she affixed a focus onto the hilt of her rapier, raising it to the sky as if a staff. “I’m going to draw their attention. Open the gate.” A series of runic circles glowed hazardously around her as she muttered them into existence. 

"R-right… I knew that." She did not know that. S’era bit her lip before slipping through the shadows. The soft pads on her boots made each step nigh-undetectable, but as soon as she broke off into a full on sprint, there was little that could dampen her approach. One of the guards near the gate was halfway through rubbing his nose on his finger when he glanced over to see her eyes glistening in the dark. “Who’s sneaking arou-?!” The flash of a dagger caused him to blink, before the sting of the blade biting into his shoulder forced him to stagger. S’era performed a powerslide through his legs, slicing clean through cloth and tendon along the way, before pressing her feet beneath her and launching herself at the other guard who was formerly preoccupied with a lazy yawn. Her blade found his chest twice before his throat, giving him ample time to holler out in agony before gurgling on his wounds; he gripped S’era by the face before falling backward, crashing against the gate on his way to spinning to the ground.

The two patrolling guards glanced over to see a Miqo'te on top of their friend, stabbing him repeatedly with a soaked dagger in her grasp.

“Verflare.” 

A blinding orange radiance flashed into existence above the unsuspecting patrol. The space around them distorted as if the laws of physics just within that space had changed and warped irreparably before a surge of magic swallowed the area whole. After the screeching from the spell died down the alarum was raised: less an annoying Imperial warbling and more a cacophony of mercenaries barking at each other confused. K’vyna shouted, “We need to drag them away, get the gate open now!” No sooner did she say the words did her gaze snap to the nearby rooftops. Skittering shadows from silhouettes moving too fast for normal soldiers darted toward them; a group of shinobi were on the approach.

The crippled guard rose to a foot and raised his rifle at S’era, but she saw him long before he was ready. An explosion of smoke erupted from her feet moments before he fired, his dead companion twitched once from getting shot. She rolled out of the smoke and let loose another dagger, this time planting it squarely between his eyes with a wet slurk! With both guards dead, she was free to run to the rusty gate to fiddle with the pulleys. “Keep them off me for a bit longer!” She called out, pulling the ropes as fast as she could.

The masked girl dropped her rapier and focus, instead holding tightly onto the sheath and hilt of Sera’s katana. “Hissatsu: Guren.” she spoke calmly as she recalled the lessons of her master. Swordsmanship was an art- among all the things she was taught, that had resonated with her the most. She yearned to understand the meaning and intent behind every graceful skill bestowed upon her from the teachings of countless Samurai past, specifically, the ancient souls guiding her master’s blade. This artistry’s name carried the meaning ‘Deathblow: Crimson Lotus’; a gaudy name for a technique perhaps, but an apt one nevertheless. Four of the shinobi were able to dodge or parry the flurry of flying edges from K’vyna’s slashes as they landed but a fifth shattered about a crimson mist. Regardless, she created space between S’era and them which was ultimately her goal. A dizziness overcame her as she knelt to the ground, holding herself up with the sheathed sword.

The gate wasn’t even halfway open, but there was enough room for a Roegadyn or Hrothgar to crouch through; it would have to suffice. Kicking the lever with the heel of her boot to jam it out of place, S’era ran over to the dead guard, pried the rifle from his hands, aimed at the group of shinobi set to swarm K’vyna, and fired. Her aim was terrible, but she pulled one of them away from the group to handle her. Unfamiliar with how these unwieldy Garlean rifles even worked, S’era aimed and fired another round to hopefully kill her pursuer before he reached her; she missed again.

The mercenary dropped to his knees and ate gravel regardless, sliding across the ground to stop a few inches away from her feet. S’era, more confused than relieved, looked up to see the others scattering back into the dark like roaches exposed to light; she turned the new corpse over to see several metal needles protruding his throat and head. In the distance came two silhouettes calmly approaching the gate - another masked Miqo’te in a purple yukata escorted Hadriel through the entrance, bowing respectfully. He eyed the two who had worked hard till the present, “I figured you would’ve dragged them off by now.” Hadriel turned back to the third Miqo’te who remained silent, he would nod at her. She returned the gesture in kind and shifted off to her next assignment.

“That was some fine bladework S’era…”  Hadriel sauntered over to K'vyna, handing her the focus and rapier she dropped before patting her shoulder, taking the katana from her. S’era couldn’t tell if she was being mocked or not, but held her tongue nonetheless once he turned to K’vyna. “And some impressive swordsmanship from you. Glad you haven’t forsaken all my lessons for magic.” she pouted a bit in response; although she wanted to be upset, she was also pleasantly surprised by the rare compliment. He turned to hand the katana back to S’era, “Does it have a name yet?” More hustling and bustling could be heard in the background, but the noises slowly died down.

"Not yet." S'era shook in her boots as the adrenaline began to wear off. "Not until I can wield it properly. It was a gift from a friend, who also studied the blade. It feels foolish to give it a name before I know how to use it." Her gaze snapped to something in the corner of her eye, fearing the shinobi had returned with reinforcements; but they were either hiding exceptionally well, or they were long gone. Was it the mysterious Miqo’te woman’s doing? Do the shinobi fear Hadriel? S’era didn’t have ample time to ask herself- or anyone else- these questions, before her mentor began his approach to the open gate.

He offered her a smile and turned to the warehouse structure. “A conversation for another time perhaps. Your fellow pupil awaits. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”

S'era nodded in silence before trotting off to catch up to K'vyna. He watched S’era assist her into the shadows with fading interest, his once comforting smile all but gone. His boots clacked along the metal grating inside the building as Hadriel made his way to the ground floor.

[jikooklaundryroom]

Dry Pancakes

Gather around folks. It’s time to have an open and honest conversation about – yep you guessed it – Jimin and Jungkook and the behavior that mystifies the entire fandom.  And notice I say Jimin and Jungkook, not Kookmin or Jikook, because this talk is less about them as a couple and more about them as individuals.  A fair warning to everyone, only grown, competent adults are invited to this conversation.  If you are a twelve-year old who wants to scream about top/bottom sex positions and Omega slick and Jeonlous tongue thing – please move on.  This conversation is not for you.  Adults will be talking here.

In this essay, I will NOT discuss Jimin and Jungkook as an intimate- romantic couple, or as boyfriends, or as domestic partners, or as husbands.  In fact, those topics are so complex, that they will definitely need to be saved for another day.  Lastly, the only time Tae will be mentioned is in this sentence because I plan to write a full separate tribute to this precious man so that I can properly call out how poorly he is treated and perceived because of shipping wars.  Again, I give you fair warning, if this ain’t for you, move on because I can’t help you. OK?  I am going to give you my honest opinion here and I won’t be nice about it.  Pancakers, you should also be warned, you may be offended as well.  I leave no stone unturned.  Now that we have a proper filter in place, let’s get it.

The month of May gave us nauseating amounts of Jimin and Jungkook being seen together occupying each other’s space.  For those of you have been living under a rock, I will do a quick break down of some of their time together:  stage moments of laughing and teasing, stage moments of them comforting each other through difficult emotions (aka: the infamous ear sucking confusion), stage moments of them holding hands, sudden VLIVE, the two of them sharing a car, the two of them presumably sharing a hotel room, each one watching the other during rehearsals, the two of them watching fireworks, the elusive selca, the hand jockeying during the unboxing video and last but not least, the full day of sight-seeing they did with their friends in London.  And of course, for every moment they DO spend together there is a sea of people who only care about the moments that they DON’T spend together.  I’ll address both sides.  Within this flurry of activity/inactivty, comes a flurry of narratives from different factions within the fandom attempting to define what is happening, attempting to brain wash the neutral observer into taking their side over others.  These folks are literally and figuratively battling across social media to reign supreme in the war of narratives that explain Jimin and Jungkook.

Let’s break down some of these narratives and discuss why they are ALL bullshit shall we?

Narrative #1 -The “Bighit is forcing them to be together for publicity” crowd –  This group thinks that everything that Jimin and Jungkook do is strictly for the sake of bringing publicity/attention to Bangtan.  This shit has never made sense to me.  Exactly what additional publicity does Bighit and Bangtan need?  They just reached 20.2 million followers on twitter. They just won TWO Billboard music awards in America despite singing in only Korean.  They’ve been announced as members of the Grammy Recording Academy, they received the Order of Cultural Merit award in South Korea, they spoke at the United Nations.  They are the biggest boy band in the history of the world and if I am not mistaken they are currently on a sold-out stadium tour that has sold out over 600,000 seats in just ten shows.  SO, tell me, what bitch doesn’t know who Bangtan is?  Let’s pretend for a moment that Bangtan needed more publicity.  What additional publicity would be achieved by insinuating a homosexual relationship between two members?  Especially when you consider the vitriol that explodes when these two particular members are together.  Do you really think that forcing Jimin and Jungkook into a touchy-feely spree will help Bangtan sell more CDs or get more YouTube views?  If we consider how many homophones exist within the fandom, do you really think that highlighting the intimacy between Jimin and Jungkook would be viewed as positive and promote deeper engagement with the group?  Absolutely not.  Bighit is not encouraging Jimin and Jungkook to be fake gays for publicity. So again, I ask you, what additional publicity does Bangtan need? The answer is NONE; I think they’re good bro.

Narrative #2 - The “This is just fan service to satisfy the shipping culture” crowd – No other “ship” makes the fan more unhappy than Jikook. In fact, SNS explodes with negativity almost every single time that Jimin and Jungkook even breath near each other. Fans get extremely upset OR they ignore and refuse to acknowledge the interaction.  So how can it be fan service if it pisses off the majority of the fans?  Isn’t fan service supposed to make fans happy?  I would go even further to say that Bangtan, Jimin and Jungkook in particular know full well how polarizing their interactions are for the fandom. Seems to me like they don’t give a fuck though.  Fan service is to service the fans and give them what they want.  They don’t seem to want Jimin and Jungkook as unit.  And for those of you who think their relationship is manufactured to feed the pancakers out there, you’re mistaken and here’s why: Jimin and JK work very hard to avoid being caught or showing us too much.  It is pretty common knowledge that most of their most intimate interactions are done AWAY from the cameras – a fact that we would never know if they didn’t accidently tell us.  (“I go to Jungkook’s room at night when I can’t sleep because he also stays up late.” - Jimin) Often times, pancakers are VERY unhappy with the amount of interaction we get between Jimin and Jungkook and we are quick to yell foul if we aren’t “fed”.  This once again proves my point, it is not fan service if it doesn’t please the fans.

Narrative #3 – The “We just don’t understand Korean culture “ crowd - Uuum what? Talk to K-Army and even they will tell you that the intimacy and togetherness between Jimin and Jungkook goes far beyond typical “fan service” or “cultural norm” that would be expected from the Korean culture. It also extends beyond typical friendly male behavior given their closeness.  Westerners often get accused of “oversexualizing” Jimin and Jungkook or claiming something as homosexual because we “don’t understand” how Koreans interact.  BULLSHIT, BULLSHIT, BULLSHIT.  We know what we see.  We know what K-ARMY has explained to us.  We have taken the time to study the culture in Korea and talk with our fellow ARMY about Jimin and Jungkook.  The conclusion is always the same; there is an entire relationship being played out in front of us and it is consistent, predicable and progressive.  These interactions are not just fortuitous bits of circumstance by two friends. It is not just Korean culture.

Narrative #4 - The “Bighit is forcing them to be apart because they are too loud” crowd – Sorry Pancakes, but shut up.  This has become a ready-made excuse for us pancakers whenever we don’t receive the interactions that we expect (demand, crave, obsess over). Do you realize how much influence Jimin and Jungkook have over their own choices?  They are not mindless dummies who are mind controlled by their management. I will concede the fact that both of them are thoughtful and considerate of the feelings of the other members and they are also respectful of the wishes of management.  So if either of the two entities gives them advice with regard to watching their proximity then YES, this could affect their natural behavior’s. You have that concession from me. But that is NOT WHY THERE ARE LULLS IN THEIR INTERACTIONS.  Bighit management and Bangtan members are not playing some sadistic game of RED LIGHT – GREEN LIGHT with Jimin and Jungkook’s emotions.  Think about how ridiculous this sounds to say to grown men, “Ohh well you two were too intimate and too loud and you could expose yourself so you better repress your natural instincts as best friends and then pretend that the other doesn’t exist.” And then conversely, “You two have behaved and been good boys, so now you are allowed to interact and act like you’re in love again.”  If Bighit was trying to hide anything, they would shut it down completely, permanently - NOT IN RANDOM SPURTS.  The two of them would be threatened beyond belief and I guarantee there would be contractual implications.

It is simply ridiculous, not to mention reductive to attempt to exercise that level of control over two rich, popular and very grown individuals.  Guess what?  It’s also impossible.  Have you ever noticed that neither Jimin nor Jungkook are very good at following directions? If they are being told to stay away from each other, how come they never seem to do it?  At best, they manage to tone things down for short periods, but inevitably they always go back to just being them. My fellow pancakers have even gone so far as to develop a theory that Bighit was keeping Jimin and Jungkook from ever doing VLIVES together.  But just recently, we saw them splash tension all over the screen in a VLIVE between the two of them.  If they were restricted from doing VLIVES, then why did they do one all of a sudden after a 2-year hiatus?  Did Bighit suddenly change their mind and allow it?  Of course not.  There is a much simpler explanation and I will explain later.

Narrative #5 - The “They are just brothers, nothing they do is a big deal or any different from the rest of the members” crowd – Guess what? I actually agree with you, sorta’. So much of what Jimin and Jungkook do is the result of them being very close and loving friends who have been together forever. Even some of the gentler physical contact between the two is not exclusive to just them when compared to the other members.  But the situation is not quite that simple is it?  Brothers (not blood brothers) is just ONE of the many layers of the Jimin and Jungkook dynamic.  There’s more, a lot more.  I will come back to this one.  

Hm.  So if none of the prevalent theories above define the incongruent public intimacy of Jimin and Jungkook, then WHAT IS THE ANSWER?  Simple.  It’s called FREE WILL!  No one, especially Pancakes with butter and syrup, want to ever admit that Jimin and Jungkook do exactly what they want to do. The reason they interact and the reason they don’t is because it’s what they want to do at that moment.  They are exercising their FREE WILL.  If Jimin and Jungkook don’t speak, it’s because they don’t want to.  If Jimin and Jungkook don’t post on twitter, it’s because they don’t want to.  If Jimin and Jungkook don’t post a selca, it’s because they don’t want to.  If Jimin and Jungkook don’t do a VLIVE for two years, it’s because THEY DON’T WANT TO!  There could be months that go by where they CHOSE not to let us into their private lives and we as Jimin and Jungkook supporters have to be accepting of that choice.  Allow them to exercise their free will.  In most cases, their free will is to self-manage their own interactions.  Think about it this way – is everyday a good day for you?  Probably not. Some of us have really good days and some of us have really bad ones.  Our moods can be dictated by so many things such as: hunger, bad news, fatigue, negativity, irritation, anger, jealousy, illness, depression – so many things can affect how we feel and how we project our energy. These two men are no different.  They are not immune to the emotions that plague the rest of us mere mortals. Travel with me for a moment as we reflect on just how much Jimin and Jungkook are together,

Sharing a car during transport to and from the airport

Sitting next to each other on the plane

Spending time outside of business schedules to attend personal events (movies, dinner, tours)

Visiting each other’s parents

Presumably living together

Presumably sharing hotel rooms when they travel

Working together

Practicing together

Filming together

Presumably engaging in intimacy together

Together- Together -Together –Together- Baam  

That’s a lot of freaking togetherness.  When we see them keep their distance, why are we surprised?  It is clear that they are using their free will to be together MOST of the time and that is a sign of a very solid symbiotic relationship.  So why can’t it be conversely true that they are also using their free will when they are apart?  We pancakes are so quick to blame external forces when Jungkook and Jimin aren’t stuck to each other as opposed to blaming Jimin and Jungkook themselves.  Personal growth can only occur when you broaden your horizons and experience new things, new environments, new opinions and new people.  YES NEW PEOPLE.  It is an exercise in self-care for them to be apart from time to time.  We can’t and shouldn’t expect them to be together 24/7. It just isn’t healthy.  I would say they live a well-rounded life when they can be happy apart but still prefer to be together.  It’s beautiful.  It you are truly a part of the Jimin and Jungkook nation, then your attitudes and opinions toward the strength of them individually or as a couple should NOT be predicated solely on what they do together and how often.  Do I need to repeat that last sentence for the 14YOs who read this post even though I tried to filter you out?  Just because the two of them don’t show us blatant interactions does not meant that is an indictment or indicator that the friendship/relationship/companionship/brotherhood is dead.  Please stop posting fatalistic admonishments because their interactions are not timed according to your schedule.  Let them live.  Yes, I am saying that when we go through a pancake drought, it is because Jimin and Jungkook themselves want it to be that way.  Not because they are being forced to do so.

Now let’s talk about the nature of their interactions by using myself as an example.  I love my husband with all of my heart.  He is truly my soul mate and we get along very well. Our relationship is so complex and has so many layers.  We are friends, lovers, parents, mates, partners, business owners, even at times like siblings.  So, when he and I interact, the definition of that interaction could fall within any of the categories that I just listed.  It could be a friendly touch, or a sexual touch or a business partner touch – understand what I mean?  The same is true with Jimin and Jungkook.  Their interactions are highly conditional and must be reviewed within the context of the moment.  Which means, when they are in friend mode and they hug, they honestly are just hugging as friends.  Over hyping meaningless moments without placing it within proper context, makes pancakes look petty and delusional.  Another example, when one is sucking the other’s ear – aww shit – I have no idea what category to put that in – but it ain’t friends – we need to hype the shit out of that one.   That was a bad example.  But you get my point.  Moving on…

Let me make this really clear.  Do you remember when you first fell in love with Bangtan?  We fell so hard right?  The music, the dancing, the talent, the fashion, the creativity, the visuals – we fell hook line and sinker.  But there was more wasn’t it?  Think back.  There was soo much more.  Yes my pancakes, we fell in love with their hearts.  We fell in love with them as people.  Above all, we fell in love with their AUTHENTICITY.  You see, Bangtan was never fake.   Bangtan never presented a closed-off image to us.  They provided as much transparency and honesty as they possibly could, which was a HUGE change from what we were accustomed to seeing from KPOP artists (any artist really).  They allowed us to have a real-world peak into their emotions, vulnerabilities and personalities.  Bangtan’s authenticity is why we love them most and why we continue to love them. So when we see the love that exists between all seven of them, we know it’s real.  Accordingly, there is an extreme affinity that Jimin and Jungkook have towards each other that cannot be faked.  Even if they were being forced for publicity purposes to spend time together, they could not do it successfully unless there was already an underlying desire to be together.  Furthermore, forcing someone to be together when they don’t want to be is paramount to torture and that would greatly affect the overall happiness and chemistry of the entire group.  Imagine being forced to spend that much time with someone you don’t like.  It also explains why we don’t see other couplings “forced” upon the members because it’s not natural.  None of the members have a strong ability to vacate authenticity.  They all truly exercise their free will.  

And for my very last point, I want to talk a little tiny bit about the VLIVE (again).  I have insisted throughout this rant that Jimin and Jungkook were never prohibited by Bighit from doing a VLIVE together. So why the 2-year hiatus?  I think the explanation is pretty simple.  As we saw, it is very difficult for the two of them to maintain “composure” when they are together.  They show us so much when they fully intend to show us nothing.  They are acutely aware of how they appear on camera – which is why I argue that their two-year hiatus was self-imposed.  Think about how hard it must be in that intimate setting, sitting that close, talking that freely to repress their natural instincts to touch, or call each other pet names or possibly even kiss.  It’s like freaking impossible.  So why risk it?  It is so much easier to just keep themselves out of that situation and instead watch each other do the VLIVES from off camera.  As we know, even when one of them is off camera, they still freaking flirt.  Imagine if they were both in front of the camera on a consistent basis.  This goes back to my theory on free will.  I honestly believe that these two are being very smart to exercise their free will to stay away from Jikook VLIVES.

I have probably not changed anyone’s mind and you will likely continue to incessantly spew your narrative, whatever it is.  But for those of you who are a bit more open-minded, I hope you found some insight as well as clarity in my words.  Here’s to loving our seven boys and obsessing over two of them.

So in conclusion, I have concluded.  Thank you. Love you Pancakes – don’t be mad, k?

[mela-chronic]

Come On, Take my Hand

The club, more of a 1950s styled lounge, housed a dance floor teeming with goers of all ages. Elderly men were dragging women in the early 30s out onto the dance floor, young children were swinging on their parents by the finger, and couples were swaying back and forth in their own galaxies. Each cluster was chaotic, yet in balance, like planets gravitating near each other. 

“So, we’re only here to gather information, Lieutenant?” Connor adjusted the lapels of his blazer; a smooth shade of chocolate brown, pulled together with a dark brown tie. The light cream of his dress shirt paired well with the darker undertones of his ensemble. He looked to Hank, waiting for a response as he watched the bartender prepare a cocktail. 

Hank leaned back against the bar, his weight constantly shifting against the plump leather seat of the bar stool. Somewhat disheveled in comparison to Connor, Hank’s suit was a midnight blue. His blazer was left unbuttoned, and his grey dress shirt was unbuttoned at the top. The dark blue fedora helped lift the outfit just enough for a formal gathering place such as this. “Yeah. The owner croaked under some shift circumstances, but an Android was seen leaving the club about 5 minutes after.”

Cursing under his breath, Hank tore of his fedora and tossed it onto the bar stand. The bartender peered up, and took a quick look between Hank and Connor. “How may I help you gentleman tonight?” He flashed a quick smile as he set down two cocktail napkins. Connor sat up straight, his hand balled up in a fist as it lightly tapped against the table. 

“Let’s see, Lieutenant Anderson will have a double whiskey on the rocks, please.” Connor looked over at Hank nervously. The tension in his face disappeared once Hank nodded slightly. 

“I’ll have that right up for ya.” The bartender grabbed a short glass, dropping two large ice cubes as he sped over to the other end of the bar. 

“You paying for me now?” Hank looked over at Connor with a smirk. The band was playing an energetic, and bombastic cover of “Great Balls of Fire,” a song from an era long gone that both Hank and Connor have no memory of. It didn’t stop Connor from trying to mouth the lyrics of the song, however. 

“Connor, you deaf or somethin’?” Hank tapped him on the shoulder. Physical contact was unusual for him; Hank was never one to break the touch barrier, but here is with a  Connor spun around, caught off guard by the touch. His eyes were wide, the light hung like small stars in his pupils. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was watching the dancers. What was your question, Lieutenant?” Before Hank could answer, Connor spun around to face the bartender as he made his way back to them. 

The bartender gently placed the glass on the napkin adjacent to Hank. “Enjoy. Let me know if I can get you gentleman anything else.” He winked at Connor, a gesture which warranted a bitter scowl from Hank. 

Connor looked back at Hank after quickly letting out a “thank you.” “What was your question, Lieutenant?” 

Hank downed his drink, slamming it against the wood. He let the whiskey burn his throat; it lingered on his esophagus, the alcohol blistering on contact. Fucking lover boy.

The atmosphere became heavy, an invisible pressure weighing down on them both. Connor, confused, pressed on. “I think we should try asking the bartender about the work schedules of the employees. I believe he has an idea of how the Androids of this establishment operate.” 

Hank only acknowledged Connor’s suggestion with a grunt, and a quick lift of his finger. Seemingly aware of Hank’s attitude, Connor promptly stood up while buttoning his blazer, and then walked over to the other end of the bar. There was a tinge of hopelessness in the way Hank watched him walk. His eyes rested on his shoulders, balanced and steady as he swayed from side to side with each step he took. Anger clouded his mind. He’s doing the right thing. Why the fuck am I pissed? 

Watching the way Connor spoke so properly, with a straight back and perfect eye contact, laid a burning lump of coal in Hank’s chest. The bartender was similarly charismatic; a dazzling smile constantly on his lips, his hands busy as they expertly polished a scotch glass. God, hurry up. 

Maybe Hank wouldn’t have launched into a frenzy, had the bartender not touch Connor’s hand with the flirtatious caress of a doe eyed waif. If it were anything else, maybe even another wink, Hank would’ve allowed the animosity to fester before even thinking about reaching for Connor’s arm. But here was, stomping over to Connor much to the fear of the bartender. He took a step back as he watched Connor turn to Hank, his smile fading into shock as his arm was taken into Hank’s hand. 

“Lieutenant, what seems to be the problem? I’m still question-”

“Change of plans. Uh, come over here with me. Need you for something.” 

Connor didn’t protest, he simply allowed himself to be guided towards the dance floor by Hank. The band was joyous, and booming in their carefully coordinated suits. They looked like a picturesque, rat pack group of soldiers ready to take the world with synchronized sashays. Lights, ranging between bold rays of yellow and diffused beams of white, painted the dance floor. 

“What are we here for, Lieutenant? I was gathering vital information from that bartender.” 

Shame, and embarrassment swatted Hank’s judgement back and forth like a game of tennis. His thoughts wavered, skipping back and forth, unable to settle on one place. The music was booming, deafening Hank as he tried to make a snap decision. It became a challenge when Connor kept staring at him, waiting patiently for a response.  

“Lieutenant?” Connor reached out to Hank. “Is.. something the matter?” 

For once, Hank was scared. “Yeah, yeah there’s something wrong.” 

“Well, what is it? You can tell me.” 

Here goes the dive, the jump into infinity. Here goes nothing, I guess. “I.. didn’t wanna keep wasting time on the bartender. I was thinking we could, um..” Hank looked out onto the dance floor as he fixed his blazer. He could feel whiskey stains building on the wool. “I was thinking we could try blending in. Staying at the bar all night makes us look like cops, not clients.” Seriously, Anderson? 

For a second, Connor blinked, then he nodded as his eyes creased with sudden elation. “I understand now. You make a good point.” Before Hank could answer, Connor already had his hand on Hank’s. His heart was racing, jumping and beating at undetectable speeds as he watched Connor lead him to the dance floor. To Hank, he thought he caught a glimpse of what was nervousness in Connor’s eyes as he turned back to smile at him. The sea of people began to part, not paying attention to the two men who were too hesitant and stupid to get over their own pride. 

“So, what now, Lieutenant?” Connor mustered a coy smile, a physical action that he handled with the clumsy grace of a child. Tense, his hands started to find their way into Hank’s; at first resistant, but more scared than anything, Hank’s fingers began to mold to the shape of Connor’s palm. 

“I-I don’t think we need to dance-” Hank’s voice caught in his throat. He tried to shake his head to dispel the illusion; too bad it was reality. 

“Then why are we here, on the dance floor?” 

Shit. “You’re busting my balls, Connor.” He took Connor, his hand against the small of his back as he drew him in. Connor’s eyes widened with disbelief, surprised by the proximity. Were Hank’s eyes always that blue, and did he always look so vulnerable? Was he always this confident? Because Connor’s never seen him smile the way he did until now. The music shifted to something slow, a perfect tune befitting a lovers’ first dance. “I Only Have Eyes For You,” was delivered with the silvery baritone of a singer who was certainly enjoying his night. With a gentle lilt, the piano keys coaxed couples to the floor; the harmonized vocals of the back up singers were like a hypnotic hymn. 

They’ve looked at each other so many times before, but why is it that now was so new, and different? Hank barely drank, Connor definitely had nothing, so why did Connor feel himself settle into Hank’s arms as the night went on? Hank, despite his steps being like a drunken horse, felt like a strong partner as he led Connor to the siren allure of tonight’s entertainment. Nothing needed to be said; several months’ worth of secrets, hidden declarations, disregarded feelings were spilling out between them both as they stared into each other’s eyes. They could hardly keep eye contact for long to even carry on a conversation. Then, Connor found the courage to rest his head against Hank’s shoulder; his hand rested against his back as they swayed. 

Hank grinned as he whispered to Connor. “You think this is a decent front?”

Connor breathed him in, sighing against Hank’s blazer. “Yes, I would say it’s more than decent, Hank.” 

Heh, looks like I did something right. Hank didn’t need to do much, because his entire existence was effortless perfection for Connor. As the music swelled, Hank and Connor looked up at each other; they held their eye contact for longer than a minute this time, gauging the distance between their lips before closing the gap. When two people acknowledge their shared affections, you get the type of sheer love and commitment that was radiating off of them right this second. Like two celestial bodies in the light, they moved as a single unit as they weaved a picture of complete happiness through the lounge. 

My works

[queenwinry]

Propinquity

Pairing: Royai

Rating: K+

Words: 3093

A/N: ‘Propinquity’ is an eloquent and poetic word. This oneshot is not. Watch as I take a super meaningful prompt and turn it into the tropiest trope fest in existence, lol. My prompt for day 1 of Royai Week (and a happy Royai day to everyone!) 

Summary: “Propinquity: the state of being close to someone; proximity” 

The two military officers stepped through the doors of the run-down inn and out of the torrential downpour with a sigh of relief. The journey to the southern region had already been filled with hours sitting on uncomfortable train benches, missed connections, weather delays, and one very frazzled and annoyed Amestrian brigadier-general. When the fuhrer had suggested (or rather, commanded) General Mustang and his adjutant take the diplomatic trip, Roy hadn’t been expecting it to be such a fiasco. It had seemed like every little thing was systematically and purposefully working against him.

But finally, blessedly, Roy and his captain had made it to where they would be staying. No matter how dilapidated the old inn looked from the outside, the general was already dreaming of his awaiting bed.

“I’ll go check us in. Wait here, sir,” Captain Hawkeye spoke in a voice that was as tired and weary as Roy felt. He didn’t need to be told twice as he shook off a bit of the rain still dripping down his overcoat and set his suitcase down with a weighted ‘plunk’. The lobby of the old inn wasn’t much to speak of, but the general still took full advantage of the few empty chairs scattered about. His feet rejoiced once he sat down.

He mindlessly watched the rain pattering against the front windows for a while and twiddled his thumbs as he waited. He hoped this place at least had hot water. A shower and a warm bed were just what he needed.

It took far longer than it should have for the captain to return, and, upon taking a glance at her scrunched up face as she walked over to where he sat, a decisively dreaded feeling welled up inside of him. Now what’s wrong…

“Bad news, sir,” she began, her tone giving away her exhaustion. It seemed they were both at their wits end and not even remotely prepared to deal with yet another hiccup.

“What?” Roy gritted out, pinching the bridge of his nose as he braced himself.

“The woman at the front desk says our reservation isn’t in their book. She triple checked and there’s no sign of it, despite the fact that I called to confirm a few days ago.”

The general’s entire body slumped against the squeaking chair at her words. Hadn’t the universe thrown enough at them just trying to get here? The dreams of a hot shower and a clean bed were leaving his mind’s eye faster than the bullets exited his adjutant’s guns. “This place is one of the only decent hotels in the area. Are you saying we have no where to stay tonight?”

Giving him a sliver of hope, the captain tilted her head at his question. “Not exactly. They had to move some things around, and it’ll take a minute to get it ready, but they were able to reserve us at least one room for the night.”

The general eyed his body guard with a strange look, wondering why she still seemed so worried. A room was a room, and provided it had an actual bed, Roy didn’t really give a damn.

But, he also knew his captain well enough to guess what was running through her mind. One room, when they had specifically reserved two. It was like a bad romance novel come to life. The general understood Riza’s need for boundaries, especially now as he was rapidly climbing the ranks, but a few nights sharing a hotel room wouldn’t kill her, right?

Perhaps his sheer exhaustion was getting the better of him, because he simply stood to his feet slowly and gave a small shrug of his shoulders. “After the day we’ve had, I’d give anything for just a dry blanket and a shower. It’s not ideal, but I think we’re mature enough to handle it. If it’s alright with you, it’s alright with me.”

Riza seemed to weigh the general’s words for a moment, pondering her various options. He could tell she felt similarly in regards to having someplace to stay for the night. They’d been up since before dawn and it was easily past midnight. They were cold and drenched from having to walk all the way from the station in the rain and were in no mood to go searching for other options because they were afraid of sharing a bed. It was toeing dangerous waters, but not even the captain’s astute fastidiousness was going to get in the way of her desire for a good night’s sleep.

“Fine, we’ll make it work. But you better not snore,” she eventually spoke, gracing him with a small and weary smile. The general returned it and they waited together for the room to become available. Riza mumbled to herself a few times, wondering at what could have possibly happened between her calling to confirm the reservation and their names being completely wiped from the book. Roy had a few suspicions, especially given who the orchestrator of this entire trip was, but he kept his mouth shut for the time being. Best not to put any more unhelpful thoughts into her head.

After a short wait that felt like an eternity to the downtrodden soldiers, a mousy woman came out to inform them their room was ready. They picked up their soggy suitcases and trudged up to the third floor and all the way to their safe haven in room 315. The general paid the accumulated dust along the hallways and the overwhelming musty scent of the place no mind. When the captain turned the key in the lock, he almost let out a cry of relief.

Riza entered first, inspecting the perimeter like she always did. As Roy followed in behind her he couldn’t help but let out a scoff and a small shake of his head. “This place sure looks cozy. As usual, the military’s accommodations are impeccable,” he spoke sarcastically, closing the door behind them and setting his suitcase down next to what he could only assume was supposed to be a dresser. He let loose a sigh as he peeled the soaked overcoat off his shoulders. “You’d think after I finally made brigadier, I’d get more than some random two star dive.”

Still running basic security checks, the captain shot her superior an unphased look. “Border towns aren’t known for their kushy resorts, sir. We took what we could get. I do find it amusing that you’d deem this place worthy enough of two whole stars,” she spoke in her usual flat tone, though the general easily picked up on her own sarcastic edge and smirked at the comment.

“Maybe I’m feeling generous,” he continued to banter, as he sat on the foot of the bed and began to remove his soggy boots.

In a rare showing, Riza gave him a smirk of her own, as she began to remove her coat and boots as well. “Your attitude the entirety of this day would suggest otherwise.”

“Come on, you can’t blame me for that. Alphonse Elric would be grumpy after the day we had.”

The captain tilted her head to concede his point, her military jacket following her coat, revealing the many guns she carried on her person at all times. Casually disarming herself, Riza replied, “Our day should go down in history. I’ve never seen more things go wrong all at the same time than I did today. I still want to know how our reservation got lost.”

The general was silent a moment before he too shed his jacket and spoke conspiratorially. “It is all rather convenient, isn’t it?”

The captain’s brow furrowed as she discarded the last of her guns and opened her suitcase, seemingly searching for her night clothes and basic toiletries. The general tried to ignore how domestic this was beginning to feel. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“Why would a place that houses maybe twenty people lose track of one reservation that you confirmed only a short while ago. I think more than the universe is working against us.”

Riza stopped her rifling to shoot her superior a skeptical look. “You’re saying all of this was somehow planned? For what purpose other than to piss us both off?”

“I don’t know,” Roy lied, ending the conversation there. He nodded to the bathroom, offering her the first shower, which she of course refused, before he gathered his things and began to get ready for bed.

The pair were silent after that, not wanting to fully acknowledge the fact that they were sharing a miniscule hotel room for the first time...well...ever. It wasn’t that it was awkward at all. They had known each other far too long to be uncomfortable in a setting like this. No, it was more that this was a bit too comfortable. Like they were a married couple settling into bed after a long day. Going about their nightly routines, neither of them acknowledged the fact.

After a (thankfully) hot shower and a quick change into his night clothes, the general settled into the frightfully small bed that could not possibly be considered a double. He mindlessly waited as his bedside lamp lit the area, listening to the water running as the captain showered, brushed her teeth, and then exited the steaming bathroom into the main space.

She was silent as she came to the empty side of the bed, clothed in a pair of crisp and clean pajamas. She quickly combed through her soaking blonde locks before lifting the blanket and settling in next to him. The general attempted to get comfortable, but her entire aura was rather distracting, and he already knew this was going to be an interesting night. Part of him wished he had just offered to sleep on the grimy floor, to save themselves the inevitable conversation.

Riza seemed wholly unphased, however, and a part of Roy he didn’t normally like to acknowledge bristled at the thought. He watched with a lifted eyebrow as she took one of the free pillows resting behind her and aligned it perfectly in the small space between them. Satisfied with her work, she pulled the thin comforter over her legs and settled in for the night.

Roy, however, wasn’t going to let that small move slide.

“Is that really necessary?” he suddenly asked, just as the captain was moving for the bedside lamp. She turned toward him in confusion.

“What?”

The general simply nodded to the pillow resting between them. “This,” he spoke simply, and a flash of understanding lit up Riza’s face before it scrunched in annoyance.

Letting out a sigh, she replied. “With all due respect, sir, I’d like to have some measure of propriety. Approximately ninety percent of the military would be in stitches if they found out we were sharing a bed. At least this gives us some distance.”

Roy couldn’t help the noise of distaste that bubbled out of him. “It’s taking up half the bed. There’s not a lot of space to speak of, Captain.”

“Yes, exactly. That’s the whole reason it’s there,” Riza threw back in a biting tone, clearly not interested in maintaining this conversation any longer.

“We’re adults, Hawkeye. I think we can manage one night sharing the same blanket.”

“Please, sir, just...just give me this one little thing.”

The tone of her voice stopped him, as her eyes avoided his own. He wasn’t really expecting the uncertainty he found there. Perhaps this was really jarring her more than she was letting on. Suddenly a feeling of guilt at having coerced her into this situation welled up inside of him.

Still, this was not a conversation either of them were even remotely prepared for, and he would probably just make everything worse seriously addressing any of it, so he simply huffed and turned his back to her, switching off his own bedside lamp. “Fine, but if I fall off this thing in the middle of the night I’m blaming you.”

A very familiar sigh escaped her before she too reached for the switch on her lamp. “A sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“Goodnight, Captain,” he said into the darkness, his tone a touch softer than it had been.

Replying similarly, Riza spoke, “Goodnight, General.”

---

Turning over for seemingly the hundredth time in the past few hours, Roy was about ready to scream.

Of course, if he had done that, he would awake his blissfully unaware bed partner.

Really, in all his deepest, darkest fantasies, he had not imagined the two of them in bed together quite like this. Even with the rainstorm and it being the middle of the night, the southern region was proving itself to be as stiflingly hot as he remembered. There was no air conditioning to speak of in the old hotel, and he had angrily discarded the itchy blanket hours ago.

Hearing Riza’s deep breathing made him even angrier. How could she possibly sleep? They each had only a sliver of space to lay out on, thanks to her obtrusive pillow separating them, and the temperature of the room had to be astronomically high. He was about ready to turn traitor on Amestris (again) and march right back up to Central to murder the fuhrer.

Who he just knew had secretly arranged for their current situation, in some weird and misguided plot for great grandchildren.

Well, the current arrangements certainly weren’t helping his case, Roy thought bitterly. He’d rather sleep on the squeaking chairs in the lobby than this stifling room. In a fit of sleep-deprived anger, he yanked away the median pillow and threw it aside before quietly rising to his feet and heading to the small bathroom. He ran some water across his face to try and cool down, before searching somewhere in his exhausted brain for a solution to his insomnia.

Unsurprisingly coming up empty, he sighed and walked back into the bedroom, his foot scuffing across the floor in defeat. This whole trip was just going to be a waste for him, it seemed. He wouldn’t get any sleep, he’d suffocate in the southern heat, and would probably be too grumpy and annoyed to get any diplomatic work done.

And, he’d have to deal with Riza’s ‘pillow’ rule for the next two nights.

What he wouldn’t give to be back in his cluttered apartment in East City.

With one final sigh of defeat, he moved to get back in the bed, only to stop cold when his eyes drifted to his snoozing captain.

She had her back turned, practically hanging off the side as her chest slowly moved up and down with her deep breaths. But, it wasn’t her sleeping form that had him so shocked, it was the sight of her pajama shirt, riding midway up her back from her own twisting around in her sleep. Normally, Roy would have brushed it aside. He didn’t consider himself so depraved that a quick flash of skin would have him immovable. No, it was the horrifically familiar etchings on the skin that did him in.

It had been a while since he’d seen it. Years, in fact. He only remembered the elaborate tattoo in two ways: one, as a fresh recruit coming to offer help to his master’s orphaned daughter and being given far more than he ever expected, and two, as she was being nursed to health following Ishval. When he had burned the skin his eyes were looking upon with his own hands.

He’d never gotten to see the healing process after he’d asked her to come work under him. Though he’d been curious, it would have been far outside their new professional boundaries to ask that of her. So, even though he’d conjured it up in his mind’s eye, he never really had seen the tattoo marred and scarred over as it was now.

To say he was at a loss for words would be an understatement.

Her smooth and perfect skin with so much imperfection was jarring, and had him leaning against the side of the bed for balance. Even years later, he still couldn’t believe that he had done such a thing, that he had laid his hands on her and burned her for the rest of her life. She had told him multiple times not to dwell on the guilt. She had asked this of him, and still fastidiously stuck by her decision, even when the residual reminder would come back, in random bouts of aches and pain.

He still hated himself for it. He didn’t think he would ever stop.

A strange feeling suddenly overcame him, as his hand lightly reached out for the skin, ghosting across the marred edges to the familiar etched design. She was here and she was alive and after all they’d been through, especially since the Promised Day, he couldn’t help but be overwhelmed with a desire to just...be close.

Stifling hot room be damned.

Attempting to be quiet, lest she wake and start reaching for her guns, Roy reentered the bed, this time facing her back. He made sure to keep his movements discrete as he leaned over and watched the unsuspecting rise and fall of her chest. This was certainly one of the stupidest things he’d ever done (which was saying something, all things considered) but he found he really couldn’t help himself. The rare times he got to have her close to him were times he’d rather forget. Burning her back, watching as she bled out, hoping she’d still be alive and by his side where she belonged. To get to be close to her now, in such a benign setting, was a rare opportunity the general would not let slip away.

Making sure to stay just a touch behind her, Roy gently weaved his arm around the curve of her waist, in a gesture that felt simultaneously familiar and foreign. She squirmed a bit at the new sensation, but seemed to eventually settle in her sleep. The general let out a sigh of relief and laid back on the bed, allowing her quiet breaths to lull him into a much needed sleep while his thumb rubbed lazy circles along the scarred skin.

Certainly when they awoke in the morning, and Riza found the purposefully discarded pillow on the ground and her superior’s arm wrapped around her waist, there’d be hell to pay, but for now, Roy would be content with this. Having her right by his side, having her near to him, being oh so…

Close.

[virtual-crisis]

⭐Alpha Centauri⭐, Part Eight

So, demons. As you can imagine, they can’t enter holy ground like churches/synagogues/mosques/etc. But the likes of Chick-Fil-A? Oh baby.

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Eventually, Nebb had to go back to his dorm, so Chai and I went to have dinner… At Chick-Fil-A.

The reactions were delicious. Pious, devoted and devout followers of God were for the most part shielded from the ‘ill sensations’ us demons would give with proximity to them, but the ‘Christian’ crowd that frequented and ran CFA were infamously not so. Hypocritical, decadent, prejudicial. Come to think of it, they were basically mortals acting like soldier-of-heaven angels.

When we got to the front of the line, we ordered one at a time. I took a good few minutes vocally puzzling over the caloric consequences of different options, like some ‘weight watcher’ insisting to themself that simply eating less of the same fast food would turn fat to loose flesh. While I was no wrath demon, I could feel the frustration of the others behind us. While they were getting sick of standing, my legs numbed themselves to the point I may as well’ve been sitting, using my thighs as a seat.

Then, despite my mock-indecisiveness, I wound up ordering a good ten or so greasy, deep fried, chewy-biscuit ‘chicken sandwiches’, with a different similarly unhealthy side for each one. To top it off, I spent another minute negotiating an extra large soda cup with a mix of drinks in it, trying to convince the cashier to let me have said drink——to hand off to Chialer, because holy shit that would melt me from the inside out. Audible groans of impatience came from all but Chai herself, in the line.

“Yo, girl’s gotta eat, thought ya boi upstairs said to love your neighbor,” I said to this, casting a cynical look over my shoulder. Chai gripped a hand tightly around her mouth, her chest seizing up as she tried desperately not to laugh.

The price came up on my order, and I added the real cherry on top of the infuriation: fumbling around with a total mess of different-valued dollar bills and no change except for pennies to handle the tax with. By this point, even the cashier was urging me to just give an extra dollar and take the change, but I insisted it was my last one dollar bill and needed to swing by the bank to make proper change.

Unfortunately for the process of moving the line along, they didn’t want to start actually making the huge order until I’d actually put up the cash for it. But once the money was in the register, I sidled out of the way. Little did the humans expect that I was the lesser of their problems, for Hell hath no appetite like the gluttons of its ranks.

Chai, clearly, stoned herself in preparation for coming here, which she’d recommended in the first place earlier in the afternoon. Rush hour, sedated with marijuana, planning ahead of time to be unhelpful… Her process of ordering was so much more infuriating than mine that I could swear the cashier was trying to decide between an aneurism or risking getting fired to lash out at her. The mortals still waiting behind her were exponentially more agitated, with more red skin than racist depictions of native Americans, enough clenched fists to rival a rock concert, and more eyes glaring at my roomie than I had secreted away on my wings. I quivered in place with that sadistic catharsis that ran like blood through our kind. Not like I can help one of my primary purposes for existence being to torture the damned.

My food started coming to me as Chai got in a pointless argument with the cashier about how to pronounce ‘burger’ at a place that didn’t even serve those; once I was loaded up with fast food bags, I went to take the biggest booth-table in the dining area. From there, I could see a group of people make various sounds of frustration as I’d clearly taken their place for whatever over-a-meal ‘team building’ shit they had planned in place of the sort of missionary work religious types eagerly sought out back in yester-century.

From afar, I observed a carefully planned and heavily handicapped dance: Chialer, uranium-skunk demoness of gluttony and envy, working carefully to maintain hostility with the cashier and even a couple other customers, but keep herself from being kicked out of the restaurant; all while stoned off her ass with weed, which didn’t get along with her anyway.

One minute, she was arguing about ordering hashbrowns, even though they were part of the breakfast menu and it was dinnertime. The next, she was antagonizing the cashier with horrifically nitpicky specifics on *just* how much vegetables and sauces would be on each thing… Oh damnit, she got them to call out the manager. I forgot that whoever did that quicker dodged having to pay…… Couldn’t blame her for not stopping me from paying when I hadn’t done so at all during my order.

It took a good half hour before she got to my table with me. She sat next to me, sidling up against me and gently thumping my chest with the back of her hand. I sneered, letting out an obnoxiously loud belch. Only Chialer and myself were amused. Unfortunately for them, Chialer had a similarly crude sense of humor, and we kept up, acting like completely undignified slobs. That, mortals, is what happens when gluttony meets sloth. Alongside, ironically for my end, leaving no leftovers to take home. It was Hell on my stomach (ha ha), but Chialer being around helped a ton (also ha ha).

People cringed, faces squinched up. Kids were giggling, which their parents quietly shushed. Personally—and I can’t speak for Chai here, necessarily—I enjoyed the kids’ reactions the most. They enjoyed what we did: lots of food, lax on ‘customs’ and ‘following the norm’. Modesty, in my opinion, was easily one of the worst traits of humanity.

But all the while, something felt… Insufficient about it. Something not adding up to the sum. I looked around. One couple—an asian duo, looking more than a little out of place in a crowd of white people—were casually sat and eating food as if nothing was wrong, despite all the noise from us. I stared at them for a minute… The man looked really… Tired, while the woman looked very tense.

“See those two?” I whispered across the table at Chialer.

Chai glanced up. “What about ‘em?” she replied quietly.

“They’re not even reacting to us…”

“Maybe they’re deaf, who knows.”

“And coming to a fast food place, ordering food without holding up the line at all? Bullshit.”

“Whatever, Cen, just keep eating. Or let me, if you’re too high on conspiracy theories.”

I furrowed my brow. She wasn’t wrong, but she also was. I knew something was up there, so I sat and pouted for a while, staring at the ceiling. Eventually, the husband got up and walked to the bathroom.

I followed.

He may’ve gone into the men’s room, but I had… Reasons I could go in anyway. Independent of me being a demon, don’t get me wrong. I still looked around to be sure nobody was watching, then slipped in, carefully scanning for others besides the one I was tailing.

The man in question… I saw his shoes in one of the stalls, and… Well, you know what sound I heard from in there. So I used a long, wadded up strip of paper towels to stick the door shut from the inside, and waited for him to come out. When he did… He’d give some answers. If they were innocent enough… Well, hopefully I could zap him in the right way to only erase his memories of the last hour. Electro-neuroscience was very difficult to get right.

“Okay, who the hell are you?”

The Asian man looked up from brushing off his jacket. “I not speak English,” he said calmly. No conviction, no sort of gesture or look of confusion… Yeah right.

I crossed my arms. “Then how did you order food.”

“My wife order food, I eat.”

I scoffed, narrowing my eyes. “If you don’t speak English, how did you understand that.”

The man narrowed his eyes as well, hunching over somewhat. “...Takuya Nakano. Now piss off.” he said flatly, walking around me to wash his hands.

I looked down, pulling up a sleeve to glance over my upper arm momentarily. Some time back, I’d written on it with permanent marker, occasionally reapplying it if it seemed to be fading. Mom had told me the line years and years ago, and I wanted it on hand [or close enough while out of sight] in case I needed to use it…

“Shilton lot-zipper……?” I murmured.

The man lifted his head, glancing over his shoulder for a moment, before shaking his head and going back to washing his hands.

I looked over my shoulder at him, furrowing my brow. “לוציפר שולט." ‘lotziper sholt’. Lucifer reigns.

The water from the sink abruptly stopped. Given the improvised soundproofing I put in the door, it was now dead silent. I couldn’t even hear anything through the walls.

“Where did you hear that.”

“My mom.”

The man shook off his hands for a moment, going to dry them off. “When.”

“Eight years ago, as she sent me off to college. Told me it was a ‘code phrase’.

“Only the princes of Hell pass that knowledge around. Hebrew is a dead language outside of the middle east.”

I let out a huff of air. “So that’s why you’re so nonchalant about my roomie and I.”

“I was trying to have a nice, quiet dinner with my wife. We were ignoring you.”

“Mortals can’t just do that.”

“I noticed.”

“So what are you, then?” I demanded.

The man grumbled in frustration, walking past me again to the door. When he had trouble opening it, he looked down then stomped on the wadded up paper towels and scraped them out so he could leave.

I peered out the door around him. Someone had been trying to get in, and thankfully hadn’t seen me yet. I quickly ducked into a stall and let the guy enter as well. Once I was sure his view would be blocked by a stall door, I snuck out and scoped out ‘Takuya’’s table. His wife was gone.

I ducked into the girl’s bathroom and searched it. Didn’t recognize any of the shoes—hers were pure black boots, really stuck out from the other patrons—so I headed out and made a lap around the building. The alcove for the dumpster out back was a crack open, so I peered in, and sure enough…

“What do you want?” the woman spat in an expected Japanese accent. She was leaning against the back wall of the enclosure, smoking a cigarette with indeterminate components.

I stepped in, closing the gate behind me. “I was trying to chat with your husband a minute ago—nothing flirty or anything, I saw his ring—and he was being evasive about a question I asked…”

She blinked slowly and deliberately. “His dick’s four and eight-tenths inches, he subs in bed, and yes we do use condoms.”

My eyes went wide, and I raised both brows. She smirked. “Woah? Yikes? Okay shit, I’m part succubus and that’s TMI to me.”

“Part what?”

I waved a hand boredly. “...Yeah yeah, לוציפר שולט and all that,” I murmured. “You two are demons and he’s not admitting it.”

The woman blinked again, same as she had before. She then stepped away from the wall and turned around, rubbing the burnt end of the cig on the brickwork. “His name’s Tsuki. I’m Shihai. We’re trying to have an anniversary date, so contact us later about it,” she said. Awfully trusting...

“You’re just…”

“A demon hunter or angel wouldn’t just spit out that they’re part succubus in response to a line like that. They’re too serious, especially for jokes like that.”

I shrugged. “Well I… That’s probably gonna get you fucked up sometime.”

“Believe me, if it were going to, it would’ve happened long before you. Now take your notes and let me smoke,” she said. Afterwards, she pulled out a new cigarette, lit it, and stood aside from an ashen graffiti tag of a pentagram. I quickly ran up to it, looking over it carefully and memorizing the runes drawn in the spaces around it. There were ones representing several of the seven deadly sins—but not all—and an elemental rune corresponding to each. The center held a manji: ‘svastika’ in Sanskrit, but well, you wouldn’t want the symbol nazis stole to be referred to by such a similar name, even if it was the original one.

I nodded slowly. “...Holy shit, you’re—”

“Out. Now.”

I winced, then nodded slowly, going back to open the gate and head inside to finish up dinner with Chai—or rather, yell ‘angrily’ at her for eating all the rest of my food. That svastika (okay, let’s just call it a manji like they do in Japan) had a very specific meaning among demons: versatility. Power. Maybe a certain elder goat-demon would be able to give me more information on the topic...

[raw-inundations]

When East Block St. Went Dark

Michelle Viloria

Wave : 315 South 1st St. // 310 South 3rd St. Downtown San Jose

10.30.17 :  7:20pm  

*** Please read context at end of essay after reading,

or else none of this will make much sense

{30A First Class seat: on the plane back to my mom’s house for the holidays.}

I know my initial relief should be from seeing my old friends and family, but it’s not. In reality my relief stems from the fact that i’m about to get actual sleep for the first time in two days without having to study for midterms in my dreams and then wake up to cry.  You know that beautiful, delicate phase where you’re drifting off to sleep and you know in just 10 seconds you’ll be out like a light, well i wasn’t aware you could be excited during those brief moments but i was more excited than i’ve been in the last few years. I could almost taste the rest, i was so close-until suddenly it feels like a brick just crushed my toe. Completely pissed, i glanced over to see the whiskey scented old man seated next to me dropped his pack of cigarettes while trying to pull a newspaper out of his jacket. He didn’t care to apologize or notice for that matter, he simply mumbled in disapproval,  “a millennium full of quitters”. I was confused and insulted until i read the headline:  ‘17 YEAR OLD GIRL COMMITS SUICIDE: OVERDOSE’. I watched him flip through the article with the tar stained finger tips of his left hand. Suddenly i found myself upset over something else, in fact I was so furious I didn’t realize I was talking out loud. -It sucks ya know, that feeling of just wanting to escape-to run away. But you can’t because no matter where you go you can’t run from yourself. You can’t run from your head so people try to poison theirs with substances or decisions they’ll regret. Some people are so adamantly against suicide yet show nothing but indifference in continuing to kill themselves in every other way that enables them to continue breathing. The same people who ride their high horses on their saddles of entitlement are the same ones that drown their livers each night to the point that its’  functionality never surpasses the bare minimum. The same folks who condescend those who felt as if there was no other choice and proceed to fill their veins with hallucinogenic toxins are the ones that truly know the meaning of vacancy. Despite the individual��s preferred method and whether it be healthy or detrimental, whether you’re barbecuing your lungs to a crisp everyday, we’re all simply trying to fill the emptiness, that’s all i’m saying.

“Oh”.

I switched my seat.

{Reminiscing on the plane to my mom’s house, post-nap; 7pm}

The memories of my childhood echoed in my head like a comforting song, one that you listen to only occasionally but will always feel like home despite time, place or circumstance. The home that i’ve longed for ever since i left home for college nearly four years ago, bits and pieces were foggy, like the sky when i arrived at my doorstep. In fact the fog was so thick, and the night was so dark that i dropped and lost my keys which led to me having to use our doorbell. Other than that for the most part my memory was as clear and simple as requesting a glass of water when my mom asked me if i wanted anything to drink as we all gathered at the dinner table. As she places the glass by my plate like she always has, the bottom makes contact with the surface of the table, accompanied by the all too familiar tap it’s made for 18 years since I left, but there was something missing, I raised my glass to my mouth and looked forward-and that was when i remembered everything. The inundations fled through my memory like the water escaping through the crevices of the glass as it shattered against the varnished wood.  

When I was a child there was this lamp post on the street of my Mother’s house on the corner of East Block St. Though it stood in singularity its beams copiously lit up the entire block, providing salvation to those who wished to move forward in the late nights of a Canadian winter, whose lifeless streets seemed to overcome the efforts of any feeble headlight. The same light which illuminated direction for the dog walkers and children of the neighborhood who infamously forgot how to differentiate between the careful conformity of their homes.

Over the course of my adolescence this was what cradled my fear of the dark and served as the silver lining to my walks home, once the sun had ceased to touch the earth. This was the lamp that provided just the right amount of light on our faces when I had my first kiss beneath it at 16. For the soft spoken yet loving old man that lived three houses down, through his remaining moments before his sight had bid him farewell, this illuminated the path to return to what mattered to him most. When winters get this cold you begin to realize that the shelter you seek isn’t a roof and walls, but loving arms and a heartbeat. When the fragility of his life was that of nothing but a loose thread on my father’s favorite flannel, the same piece of fabric who had proudly shown to be worn not by him but by time. This was the lamp post that despite his deteriorating perception, guided the aged man through these icy streets at the end of each night and back into the perfect warmth of his wife’s embrace. For the newlyweds who resided at the end of the block, this was the final house that remained within its rays’ proximity. Due to this, this family was never guided nor even directly impacted by its luminescence. Their reliance, although gentle was far from insignificant. On nights where the light of the stars seemed to shine farther, the kind and nurturing light of this infamous street lamp sufficed best to serve as their child’s night light, this was the night’s gift of guidance to the newborn, whom had not yet been introduced to the presence of the night. A gift which softly illuminated their nursery thus allowing the child to embrace the touch of nightfall and peacefully slip into a restful slumber. That was it. It’s gone. I ran outside before i could hear my mother shriek at the sound of the glass shattering. For 18 years, my chair which was placed adjacent to the dining room window always overlooked the lamp post. When I raised my glass the light had always beamed through the glass and it’s reflection was visible from beneath the cup as i drank from it, but not this time. It was wrong, everything was wrong. In its place there was a dark, snow covered figure where the lamp post once stood. I asked my Mother about it and she said she never realized it had gone out, in fact no one there realized.

It was a literal beacon of light for the inhabitants of the community and all who it’s streets harbored. It’s significance was of no stranger to any, yet its memory was disregarded no differently than a receipt crumpled and tossed beneath the car seat, left to be dusted with time. Unlike that receipt however, time does not touch our lives with a gentle hand. It rapidly consumes us, often before one can even process, and much like the nature of an Antarctican current, whisks us far from comfort, lacking any regard for our readiness for where it’s indiscriminate tides may render us. To East Block, that destructive current was July 2003, exactly five years ago when a drunk driver had hit the lamp post on the corner where the street light had resided. A loud crash, thankfully no casualties as the lamp had absorbed the majority of the impact, however, the beloved light had not survived the collision.

Five years ago was my junior year of highschool, i thought to myself, but I was here? How could I have been here and not noticed when the entire street went dark. Suddenly there was this feeling that grew inside of me. There’s not another way i could explain it other than meeting a friend you’ve heard of but knew more about you than you did about them, meeting the embodiment of awareness. It’s almost as if a vulnerable part of me that I had never known existed, became unveiled for the world to see. This was when we all glanced around us and saw what we’ve ignored for years. We turned to look down our street and no longer felt the warmth of home in the midst of an icy winter. You could no longer make out the shapes of snowflakes from the glare of the light that was no longer there. From as far as the eye could see there was not a glimmer of light in sight but in its place a vacant, lonely darkness as a result of neglect and lack of appreciation.

Admittedly maybe I might have not remembered much, but i was certain of that year.  This was the year that life began to move faster, the current came to pull me in and since then i never quite saw shore again. College apps, work, I had always been looking down on my phone that I hadn’t realized my screen had been the only light on that street as i walked home. Packing for college was stressful, and as time went by dinner was no longer about conversations regarding the events of our lives but simply about respectfully completing a meal so you can return to your room. I slept a lot more that year, yet still it never felt enough. I rarely saw daylight before i left for college, nevertheless paid any attention to a street lamp.

Isn’t it interesting how life can move us in different directions so rapidly that we forget to hold on to what meant the world to us at the peak of our innocence. That night in July 2003, the street light lit the way for East Block one last time, and by the following morning never shined again. As its final glimmer gave out, with it all our memory of it’s existence faded into the darkness and was engulfed by the night.

A concept which wreaks of simplicity yet never given attention to analyze. Similar to that of an exhausted infant slipping into rest, the darkness crept in so gradually no one had noticed when the lights went out. You go out into the world searching for that same warmth you felt back when the streets were bright and you could see every step which led to home, now you go into that party and search the room as if you were scanning faces hoping to see an old lover that never left your heart. As a response to your lack of discovery you found yourself at the liquor cabinet. You took as many shots as it took to try to replicate the feeling that shot through your heart when she said goodbye. As you stumble on the floor, your vision becomes blurry but for some reason you make out a shape of someone standing over you and sober or not you swear to god, it’s her. Similar to the It’s then when you realize that you lost your way when the light went out. The closest you got to feeling the warmth of home was your lips on the brim of a bottle on a saturday night, but even she knows the heat of the alcohol in your chest can’t numb the feeling of the icy ground against your skin as you lay on the floor of your cold, vacant apartment. But It’s those last intoxicated breaths before you lose consciousness that it becomes clear to you, a ray of light from the distant heavens illuminates a revelation, that the light did not simply go out in one night, but slowly lost its necessity over time. In fact the crash was utterly meaningless. No one had noticed its disappearance because the light had been gone far before the incident. The path home was never lost, but that as time passed you gave up looking-you gave up looking for yourself. Once you give up looking, time consumes it like it does the glare of a headlight engulfed by the night and once a light goes out, it only shines for as long as you notice. A truth as icy and haunting as the vacantly lit streets of East Block, once something is gone, it only exists for as long as you allow it. Similar to those stranded out in the dark winters of East Block, who are only seeking a shelter which provides the warmth of home to expel the icy vacancy that surrounds them, those who succumb to vices are merely attempting to fill the inescapable emptiness which lies within them.  

{Commencement Context/Analysis:} - aka metaphor key

Inside the networks of my mind //

A general, fictional narrative inspired by personal references. Intertwined within the metaphors reveal pieces of the characters life. Hidden within the concepts reveal pieces of the writer’s life. A compilation of several concepts, the fictional story is primarily meant to be an elaborate allegory roughly symbolizing and personifying depression. One does not simply wake up in this state. It is a gradual and silent process. One that often goes unnoticed even by those directly affected. {hence the houses affected by the lamp post} The characters embody the range of those affected by Depression and those who are touched by someone who suffers.

> The aforementioned streetlight represents depression itself along. The concept brings to light (yes, pun intended) the idea that it is often those who give the most to others are the ones that become most vacant themselves and suffer in silence.

> “East Block” is known as the darkest area in Canada, along with all of North America. {i thought it was clever ok}

> “Her” which is referenced at the end, symbolizes the genuine, happier, younger more innocent version of the main character. {ex. Myself prior to MDD}

> The infant; conveys that although one under {condition} may feel insignificant/incompetent, not everyone needs your 100%, your best is sufficient. = If the light were any brighter the child would not be able to rest, any darker the child would be fearful.

> General: One single light can inadvertently aid to an entire community, even though one may not always receive a sign of gratitude or significance etc.

> Dynamics context: References to “her”, or the MC prior to diagnosis, are made as if she were a past lover with no promises of returning. As often with depression, one remembers their old self almost as if they were a completely different person. Different yet still remaining close to the heart, even if bittersweet.

> 30A Seats- The writer of the story, ingested {30 A}aspirin tablets as an attempt to commit suicide at 17.{hence the headline of newspaper}

> “The shore” - main characters old “genuine” self.

[celticnoise]

I’ve lost count at the number of stories I’ve read in the last few weeks about how it is a matter of time before the best young Scottish football prospect in decades departs for the riches of England. If this was coming only from our hurting Sevco loving hacks that would be one thing, but this isn’t just them.

This is ex-Celtic players and current managers.

This is everyone who can get their faces in front of a camera or their voices on the radio.

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And it’s shocking.

It’s disgusting, in fact, and I wish every single one of them would shut it.

Kieran Tierney has a long-term deal with Celtic. He is the happiest he has ever been. He’s also grounded, unpretentious, unselfish, and passionate about our club. He knows he can have whatever he wants here. He knows he can have it all.

He can be Mr Celtic.

Our media should be encouraging that.

Our ex-players most definitely should.

Is there a single one of them who felt like they went somewhere better when they left, or had been somewhere better before they came here?

Sutton and Hartson are the worst of these; we gave those guys the best football memories of their careers. They know that. They should be encouraging Kieran to stay for as long as possible. Instead they are doing the opposite.

Football is awash in money and greed.

Even mediocre players can make astounding sums.

Those players who show “loyalty” to clubs down south end up on salaries so obscene that it has shattered the link between those out on the pitch and those who sit in the stands. No broken that link, please note; I used the word shattered, and that’s appropriate.

Kieran Tierney still has that link.

If he graduates to the point of earning £30,000 a week he’s an instant millionaire, without us even talking about bonuses or sponsorship or add-ons.

He will graduate to that point.

He’s that good. And he will still be one of us.

There was always stupid money in the game; ask Hartson and Sutton why they signed for Celtic in the first place. Was it all about the cash? Was that the attraction? No, because they could have made more staying in England.

For some players it’s about more than that. For some players there’s the simple pleasure of doing what you love, in a place where you feel at home.

Patrick Roberts isn’t coming to Celtic for wealth … he could have that going to Southampton and being a footballer there.

Armstrong’s head has been turned; there’s just no doubt about that.

Whether he finds, again, the pure satisfaction of playing for our club I don’t know, but his future is pretty much guaranteed should he decide to leave; he will spend the rest of his career in mid-table obscurity. He’s not a genuine top tier talent, like Moussa or Kieran can be. He will have the money, but like Virgil Van Dijk you’ll read him, one day, in the press complaining that his “footballing ambitions” haven’t been fulfilled and his Celtic memories will be the best he has of the sport.

No harm to Armstrong, he isn’t the player he thinks he is. Not yet. Perhaps he never will be, but if he goes that’s not what he’s heading south to find out. He’s heading south for a big payday and a weekly wage that could pay someone’s mortgage at a stroke.

Tierney shows no signs of harbouring that kind of “ambition” but perhaps Hartson and Sutton and the rest, like Stubbs, who are lining up to predict that he’ll go are correct and one day he’ll depart Parkhead for tens of millions of pounds and get to sign that contract with more zeros than you can find in Sevco’s dressing room, but at this moment in time he’s not pushing for it, at this moment in time he’s happy right where he is.

These people talk about it like it’s a done deal, like it’s inevitable, like a move to England, for the money, is just the natural progression of things.

I understand Hartson and Sutton’s belief and where it comes from; they spend all their time in close proximity to that league and see people in it having a rare old time and living it up like rock stars.

But I say again; they both turned their backs on that to come here and neither regrets a second of it, and somewhere along the line they’ve forgotten that completely.

This is not a done deal.

There is nothing inevitable about Kieran Tierney’s departure for England.

There is nothing guaranteed about his deciding to follow the cash.

Interest from the biggest clubs down there might turn his head, but if I were in his shoes I’d not make that move unless I was guaranteed to start because this kid is a pure footballer and nothing less than playing every week will see him become the best player he can be.

Hartson is in the papers tonight predicted that Tierney will be gone “in the next 18 months.”

Give it a rest for God’s sake.

Why would he be?

Even if the so-called Big Four were interested – and I have my doubts; an SPL left back is decidedly lacking in bling, which is what these clubs value more than anything else – why would he go or we be willing to let him?

If Kieran is capable, as many believe, of being one of the best full-backs in the world isn’t it in our best interests and that of Scottish football to keep him right here? To see to it that this huge star stays within our game?

It’s not all about money.

Why didn’t we sell Larsson  when there were obscene offers on the table? Easy answer; Larsson wasn’t banging down the manager’s door demanding a transfer. Why didn’t we sell Brown? There’s been interest. There have been offers. But Brown never wanted to leave.

Celtic does not sell players simply to generate income; Celtic has a well stated philosophy that when a player wants to move for the money we allow them to.

But if Kieran Tierney decided to give the best years of his career to Celtic we would not rush him out the door.

Indeed, we’d eventually make him the highest paid player at the club.

This pitiful “all the good players will eventually go to England” stuff really pisses me off.

This week, Jozo Simunovic was linked with a move to the EPL and for a day the entire press corps was pissing its pants over the possibility, and some Celtic fans foolishly got on board spreading rumours about it.

And who was the club that generated these stories?

It was Burnley. Okay?

And with all due respect, if they weren’t an EPL club who would even care they existed?

If Jozo Simunovic was willing to leave Champions League Celtic to move to Burnley there would be nothing we could do to stop him, and in those circumstances I would not want to. Such a staggering demonstration of greed before ambition would be enough reason for me not to care.

I wouldn’t want someone like that in our squad.

But you know what? It was never going to happen. Simo knows he’s at a bigger club than Burnley. He dug his heels in over a move to Torino two seasons ago; when it collapsed he said he was glad and wanted to stay at Celtic Park. There is no way he is leaving our shining city on the hill for Turf Moor. Not a chance. I never believed a word of it, much as I laugh whenever I read that West Ham want Dembele or Bournemouth want Armstrong … these clubs are pissing in the wind, and the casual disrespect they show Celtic and football here with the low-ball figures they tout for these guys is only further reason for us not to entertain them.

Kieran Tierney is a Celtic supporter.

Just last week he gushed over what an honour it was to be made captain for a game, and said he hoped it would not be for the last time. But in the same interview he said he was in no rush because Brown will “be here for a few years yet.”

Which, I don’t know, sounds a lot to me like he’s planning on sticking around.

But the words of the player are an inconvenience Hartson, Sutton and our assorted hacks don’t pay too much attention to as they try to punt the best young player this country has produced in 30 years. And honestly, it’s really starting to piss me off.

http://ift.tt/2irDzGk

[idontdateblack]

Boys Will be Boys is a Bunch of Bullshit and Everyone Knows It.

Growing up I had never understood a young boys fascination with ass grabbing and breast touching. I had never understood why teachers, parents, and the rest of my peers would turn a blind eye to when a boy would sexually harass a young girl. Often I’d hear “boys will be boys” or “they’re just playing around, don’t pay them any mind” or “ignore them”. In school us girls were taught to not wear spaghetti strap tank tops and to wear our skirts and shorts right above the knee, as we shouldn’t be a distraction. Though the schools never said who we’d be distracting, it was obvious of course: boys. At a young age society had began to teach me, a young Black girl, that my whole existence was a fucking distraction, and that any unwanted attention would just ‘poof’ disappear if I ignored it. It had been embedded in me at an early age that women were supposed to accept being touched and fondled without permission, because this is what boys just do and if they DO commit those acts, then we were asking for it.

The concept of “boys will be boys” never did die out, it never left. Instead “boys will be boys” just grew up and turned into “men will be men…. that still act like little dick boys”. In my college years and younger twenties I still experienced being at a party or club, minding my business or simply trying to make my way through a crowd, all while feeling someone’s ashy handed son grabbing on my ass. Clearly, boys were no longer boys. These were now grown ass men that were still carrying this ideology that it is okay to place their unwanted hands on my body and that I would let them get a pass. Wrong! I left a few hand prints and dick kicks as a memory that I am not to be fucked with. The same “boys” that felt it was their GOD given right as a man to find his fingers in the cracks and crevices of my ass without my permission,  are the same “boys” that get upset went you condemn them and rectify their behavior. These same “boys” them begin to ask you what’s your problem and cause a scene, often playing victim to a situation that they themselves have created.

Many of these males who fit the “boys will be boys” prototype, have evolved into the “men will be men” that are often seen on social media and the internet passing themselves off as motivational speakers. However, none of these men really seem to be saying anything that motivates you as a woman. They seem to ONLY address the faults of  women and place them at blame for the actions of men. Recently, I read an article on www.theroot.com titled, “Women, Stop Listening to Sexist Relationship Experts”, which exposes celebrities such as Reverend Run, Steven Harvey, and Tyrese who all have blatant sexist/misogynistic view points when it comes to failed relationships and why men behave the way that they do. Their point of views always seem to place women at fault for the mistakes of men, all the while justifying a man’s action, even if it is degrading to a woman.

On the now cancelled show (thank GOD), “It’s not you, it’s men”, Amber Rose faced off with Tyrese Gibson and Rev. Run regarding how women dress versus how women should be addressed. Needless to say the boys came out to play and Amber Rose shut it down with a quickness. Tyrese went on to justify a man’s unwanted approach by saying this, “If you see a basketball player, and he’s known as a basketball player, when you see him, you’ll be like, 'Yo, let’s go play ball.’ I’m just saying, the comfortability that some people find in wanting to touch or grope you. It’s an energy that’s being sent out there that creates that type of response.” First of all, comparing a woman’s existence to a profession are two complete different things. Having knowledge that someone is an athlete would generally compel you to engage in athletic combat and dialogue, which is still not the same as making unwanted sexual advances at someone and making them uncomfortable. Seeing a woman simply existing, meaning you don’t know anything about her likes or dislikes, does not compel you to grope her, you do. Rev. Run followed up with the statement “Dress how you would want to be addressed”. So let me get this straight. You, my fellow Black man, are constantly being scrutinized for your athletic gear, your fitted hats, baggy jeans, and dread locks. You fell alienated when a White man in a business suit is greeted first in a public place. You can’t help but notice when you are being over looked, ignored, or followed in an establishment simply because you don’t look the part. You grieve the deaths of many African American males  who fell victim to racial profiling because they were wearing a hoodie and a beanie, but not once do you blame the (Black) man for the unwanted and unfair attention due to his attire or his “energy”. Instead, you blame society for marginalizing how (Black) men in America should be treated based on their attire, dialect, physical appearance, and for most importantly existing.

How dare you turn the other cheek when our (Black) women are being marginalized AND sexually abused/harassed for existing just like you? How dare you not defend us when we put our hearts on the line and will go to war for you? What I find even more baffling is that Tyrese is a model, singer, actor, and….. a sex symbol. Why is it that society is accepting of the sexualization of men, but not women? Why are women shamed for displaying their physical attributes, meanwhile men are applauded and awarded for posing topless and in briefs which exposes the size of their penises? You mean to tell me that if I were to see a man, half naked, in nothing but briefs, that I couldn’t just stick my hands in his pants and grab onto his manhood? That’s exactly what is happening to women across the globe.

What bothers me the most is how men/society refuses to hold other men accountable for their actions against women It is time for our judicial system, schools, and neighborhoods to stop letting boys slide through life without ever making them suffer the consequences of their wrong doings. Mother’s need to stop coddling their sons to the point that they are raising them to be just like the “ain’t shit” man that she despises. Father’s need to spend just as much time teaching their sons about consent, protection, and abstinence, just as much as they preach to their daughters about remaining a virgin. Often I hear ignorant men say, “If I have a daughter, she can’t do anything. I’m not letting her date”, followed by more misogynistic banter. I find something very wrong with this ideology. This plants the idea into young girls minds that any sexual advances made at them, whether wanted or not, if their fault. Meanwhile, young boys are being taught how to be a player and have multiple girlfriends and how to lose their virginity. Not that I condone children engaging in sexual conduct, but why do we teach young girls that sex and sexuality is bad, while we teach young boys to engage in early sexual conduct and that it is okay for them. We teach our young boys to take pride and have confidence in their bodies, while we tell our young girls to “cover up”.

I am not here for it. I refuse to raise my daughter with the mindset that her pure existence as a woman gives men the right to disrespect her verbally and physically. I refuses to raise my son with the mindset of sexual entitlement, that a woman owes his sex and her body just because they are in the same proximity as one another. I am not here for the woman bashing and especially against Black women. We are the most unprotected race of women on this here Earth.

OWN IT If everyone is responsible for their own lives, happiness, actions, etc., then men so are you. Own it. YOU are responsible for your actions. No one can force you to rape, abuse, and harass a woman except yourself. Take responsibility for both the good and bad that you do.

NO MEANS NO Nothing pisses me off more than a grown ass man practically begging for sex. Telling me “we’re both grown” as if that will make me want to drop my panties even more. Respect the fact that I know that I am grown enough to make my own decisions concerning sex. Constantly gripping at my clothes, whining, and pulling me closer to you will not change my mind. If anything it makes you seem more annoying and now I’m less willing to have sex with you.

I DON’T OWE YOU My body is my body, not yours. I do not owe you sex, just like you don’t owe me your paycheck. Many men, whether conscious or not about it, feel as if they are entitled to sex from women. I do not care if you took me on 20 dates, if I don’t want to have sex with you, I don’t have to. You can simply stop entertaining me and leave it there.

DRESS HOW YOU WANT TO BE ADDRESSED IS BULLSHIT You cannot apply this way of thinking solely to women and expect it to not be applied to the rest of the world, because it doesn’t make sense. If we applied this ideology to our every day lives, most of us would feel rejected and scrutinized. My attire does not give any man the right to touch me without my permission. A woman’s hijab doesn’t give you the right the assume she’s a terrorist. A White man in a business suit doesn’t give you the right to assume he’s wealthy. A Black man in athletic gear doesn’t give you the right to assume he’s uneducated. You get the point.

#boys boyswillbeboys feminism blacklivesmatter relationships sex couples advice amberrose stevenharvey tyresegibson revrun

[pettyicequeencee-blog]

Boys Will be Boys is a Bunch of Bullshit and Everyone Knows It.

Growing up I had never understood a young boys fascination with ass grabbing and breast touching. I had never understood why teachers, parents, and the rest of my peers would turn a blind eye to when a boy would sexually harass a young girl. Often I'd hear "boys will be boys" or "they're just playing around, don't pay them any mind" or "ignore them". In school us girls were taught to not wear spaghetti strap tank tops and to wear our skirts and shorts right above the knee, as we shouldn't be a distraction. Though the schools never said who we'd be distracting, it was obvious of course: boys. At a young age society had began to teach me, a young Black girl, that my whole existence was a fucking distraction, and that any unwanted attention would just 'poof' disappear if I ignored it. It had been embedded in me at an early age that women were supposed to accept being touched and fondled without permission, because this is what boys just do and if they DO commit those acts, then we were asking for it.

The concept of "boys will be boys" never did die out, it never left. Instead "boys will be boys" just grew up and turned into "men will be men.... that still act like little dick boys". In my college years and younger twenties I still experienced being at a party or club, minding my business or simply trying to make my way through a crowd, all while feeling someone's ashy handed son grabbing on my ass. Clearly, boys were no longer boys. These were now grown ass men that were still carrying this ideology that it is okay to place their unwanted hands on my body and that I would let them get a pass. Wrong! I left a few hand prints and dick kicks as a memory that I am not to be fucked with. The same "boys" that felt it was their GOD given right as a man to find his fingers in the cracks and crevices of my ass without my permission,  are the same "boys" that get upset went you condemn them and rectify their behavior. These same "boys" them begin to ask you what's your problem and cause a scene, often playing victim to a situation that they themselves have created.

Many of these males who fit the "boys will be boys" prototype, have evolved into the "men will be men" that are often seen on social media and the internet passing themselves off as motivational speakers. However, none of these men really seem to be saying anything that motivates you as a woman. They seem to ONLY address the faults of  women and place them at blame for the actions of men. Recently, I read an article on www.theroot.com titled, "Women, Stop Listening to Sexist Relationship Experts", which exposes celebrities such as Reverend Run, Steven Harvey, and Tyrese who all have blatant sexist/misogynistic view points when it comes to failed relationships and why men behave the way that they do. Their point of views always seem to place women at fault for the mistakes of men, all the while justifying a man's action, even if it is degrading to a woman.

On the now cancelled show (thank GOD), "It's not you, it's men", Amber Rose faced off with Tyrese Gibson and Rev. Run regarding how women dress versus how women should be addressed. Needless to say the boys came out to play and Amber Rose shut it down with a quickness. Tyrese went on to justify a man's unwanted approach by saying this, "If you see a basketball player, and he's known as a basketball player, when you see him, you'll be like, 'Yo, let's go play ball.' I'm just saying, the comfortability that some people find in wanting to touch or grope you. It's an energy that's being sent out there that creates that type of response." First of all, comparing a woman's existence to a profession are two complete different things. Having knowledge that someone is an athlete would generally compel you to engage in athletic combat and dialogue, which is still not the same as making unwanted sexual advances at someone and making them uncomfortable. Seeing a woman simply existing, meaning you don't know anything about her likes or dislikes, does not compel you to grope her, you do. Rev. Run followed up with the statement "Dress how you would want to be addressed". So let me get this straight. You, my fellow Black man, are constantly being scrutinized for your athletic gear, your fitted hats, baggy jeans, and dread locks. You fell alienated when a White man in a business suit is greeted first in a public place. You can't help but notice when you are being over looked, ignored, or followed in an establishment simply because you don't look the part. You grieve the deaths of many African American males  who fell victim to racial profiling because they were wearing a hoodie and a beanie, but not once do you blame the (Black) man for the unwanted and unfair attention due to his attire or his "energy". Instead, you blame society for marginalizing how (Black) men in America should be treated based on their attire, dialect, physical appearance, and for most importantly existing.

How dare you turn the other cheek when our (Black) women are being marginalized AND sexually abused/harassed for existing just like you? How dare you not defend us when we put our hearts on the line and will go to war for you? What I find even more baffling is that Tyrese is a model, singer, actor, and..... a sex symbol. Why is it that society is accepting of the sexualization of men, but not women? Why are women shamed for displaying their physical attributes, meanwhile men are applauded and awarded for posing topless and in briefs which exposes the size of their penises? You mean to tell me that if I were to see a man, half naked, in nothing but briefs, that I couldn't just stick my hands in his pants and grab onto his manhood? That's exactly what is happening to women across the globe.

What bothers me the most is how men/society refuses to hold other men accountable for their actions against women It is time for our judicial system, schools, and neighborhoods to stop letting boys slide through life without ever making them suffer the consequences of their wrong doings. Mother's need to stop coddling their sons to the point that they are raising them to be just like the "ain't shit" man that she despises. Father's need to spend just as much time teaching their sons about consent, protection, and abstinence, just as much as they preach to their daughters about remaining a virgin. Often I hear ignorant men say, "If I have a daughter, she can't do anything. I'm not letting her date", followed by more misogynistic banter. I find something very wrong with this ideology. This plants the idea into young girls minds that any sexual advances made at them, whether wanted or not, if their fault. Meanwhile, young boys are being taught how to be a player and have multiple girlfriends and how to lose their virginity. Not that I condone children engaging in sexual conduct, but why do we teach young girls that sex and sexuality is bad, while we teach young boys to engage in early sexual conduct and that it is okay for them. We teach our young boys to take pride and have confidence in their bodies, while we tell our young girls to "cover up".

I am not here for it. I refuse to raise my daughter with the mindset that her pure existence as a woman gives men the right to disrespect her verbally and physically. I refuses to raise my son with the mindset of sexual entitlement, that a woman owes his sex and her body just because they are in the same proximity as one another. I am not here for the woman bashing and especially against Black women. We are the most unprotected race of women on this here Earth.

OWN IT If everyone is responsible for their own lives, happiness, actions, etc., then men so are you. Own it. YOU are responsible for your actions. No one can force you to rape, abuse, and harass a woman except yourself. Take responsibility for both the good and bad that you do.

NO MEANS NO Nothing pisses me off more than a grown ass man practically begging for sex. Telling me "we're both grown" as if that will make me want to drop my panties even more. Respect the fact that I know that I am grown enough to make my own decisions concerning sex. Constantly gripping at my clothes, whining, and pulling me closer to you will not change my mind. If anything it makes you seem more annoying and now I'm less willing to have sex with you.

I DON'T OWE YOU My body is my body, not yours. I do not owe you sex, just like you don't owe me your paycheck. Many men, whether conscious or not about it, feel as if they are entitled to sex from women. I do not care if you took me on 20 dates, if I don't want to have sex with you, I don't have to. You can simply stop entertaining me and leave it there.

DRESS HOW YOU WANT TO BE ADDRESSED IS BULLSHIT You cannot apply this way of thinking solely to women and expect it to not be applied to the rest of the world, because it doesn't make sense. If we applied this ideology to our every day lives, most of us would feel rejected and scrutinized. My attire does not give any man the right to touch me without my permission. A woman's hijab doesn't give you the right the assume she's a terrorist. A White man in a business suit doesn't give you the right to assume he's wealthy. A Black man in athletic gear doesn't give you the right to assume he's uneducated. You get the point.