#sorry to contribute more to the circus today | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

honeymoonjin · 4 years

Text

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 11.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

Sick of unsatisfying hookups, boring relationships or the company of your own hand? Apply today for the chance to be on bangasm.com’s very first reality show! Seven attractive young gentlemen will be vying for your choice of who is best in bed. All from different backgrounds, these men claim they’ll be able to rock your world, so don’t hesitate! Apply now!

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted as the Lady in the first season of The Gentlemen.

<- prev || masterlist || next ->

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), big dick namjoon serving us tripod realness, dom!joon, and when i say dom i mean both dominant AND domestic : ), impregnation kink, daddy kink, praise, dom!jimin, sub!reader in both of these scenes, lingerie kink (m wearing), copious teasing, very light spanking, french kissing, lapdance, the jimin scene is filthier than the tags give it credit for ngl, oral (m receiving), cum swallowing/eating, aftercare (as always)

banner designer @jamaisjoons | thank you everyone in the sfhs server, you bring me so much joy, motivation and good ideas | AND finally thank you to the anon that suggested [redacted] jimin i legit replanned everything just to make that his prompt

DAY TWELVE

The mattresses in the room of bunk beds are surprisingly comfortable. The metal springs squeak a little if you move too much, but you wake up feeling well-rested.

“Not too bad, right?” Hoseok chirps, swinging out on the ladder and jumping down onto the floor with a thud. Using his laundry from the day before, he unceremoniously swaps his sleep shirt and boxers for some deep green skinny jeans and an orange sweater. Namjoon, more modest and distinctly more sleepy, grabs his clothes and stumbles back to his own room.

“The beds? Better than I was expecting for sure.”

Hoseok smiles warmly as you hop down the ladder and arrive on steady ground again, toes curling into the carpet. He fiddles quickly with a chunky watch, doing up the links. “Breakfast is downstairs if you want it.”

You throw him a teasing grin. “Not if you’re making it, thanks.”

He has the good graces to pretend to be offended, before tugging you into a playful side-hug, ignoring your squeak of surprise. “No, you cheeky fucker, Jungkook bought pancake mix. He texted me saying there’s plenty for everyone.”

“Jungkook making breakfast?” you ask dubiously, but the warm image of pancakes for breakfast makes your stomach growl. “Let me get dressed real quick and I’ll come down.”

Jungkook, it seems, is starting out the day cheerful as ever. He gives you a big grin when you, Namjoon and Hoseok come down for breakfast, and he makes sure to dish up the biggest pancakes for you, before taking the second biggest for himself.

Jin raises a teasing brow when you come down accompanied by the two men, Namjoon still with his hair ruffled up awkwardly from his slumber. “Long night?” he questions with a cheesy wink.

Hoseok catches on to the teasing nature, letting out a dramatic sigh. “Sadly, Namjoon wanted a rest day, so we didn’t enjoy any funny business.”

Jungkook watches the three of you closely, lips tightening just a little bit before he breaks out into a cheeky smile. “I think Y/n would have been too tired out to do anything more anyway.”

You choke on air, a forkful of pancakes blessedly not in your mouth yet. Beside you, Hoseok chuckles awkwardly. “Goodness, JK, we heard enough yesterday. The gym walls are not as thick as they should be.”

Instead of blushing like you are, Jungkook puffs his chest up. “I’ve never heard Y/n scream like that with any of you guys. Then again; I bet you haven’t made her squirt like I did.”

This time you aren’t so fortunate, coughing on a mouthful that you’d anxiously stuffed in to keep yourself occupied. You send Yoongi a grateful look as he slides you a glass of water.

“Jesus, Jungkook,” Jin grimaces, “we’re trying to eat breakfast.”

You keep your eyes down, confused by Jungkook’s behaviour and more than a little embarrassed.

When you hear Namjoon speak up, his voice is strangely tensed. “That’s really not appropriate.”

A heated pause. “This is literally a porn show,” Jungkook states defensively, “sex is the whole reason we’re here. I think everyone’s forgetting this is a competition about being the best in bed, I’m just- You know what, never mind, pretend I didn’t say anything.”

“You just what?” Namjoon questions. It’s unlike him to be argumentative, and you shift in your seat, taking another sip of the ice-cold water. “Did you really make us all pancakes just so you could gloat? Y/n is a person, not a video game, Jungkook. Have a little respect.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond, but when you glance up, the frustrated rolling of his eyes and furious stabbing of his fork in a pancake speaks volumes.

Yoongi pinches his brow. “Jin-hyung, can you pass the syrup? Thanks.”

Namjoon stares expectantly at the youngest Gentleman for a few moments, before letting out a light huff and returning to his food.

Silence continues for a moment or two before Taehyung pipes up, voice tiny in the oppressive tension. “How many people still have to do their prompts this week? I haven’t done mine yet.”

Yoongi sends him a lightly exasperated look. “Really?”

Taehyung gives a small shrug, glancing to the camboy sitting beside him. “I mean… I don’t think we need to be explicit but this show is about sex. I feel like it’s equally bad if we don’t talk about it at all, you know?”

“The kid’s right,” Jin allows with a wry grin. “I’ve done mine. Tuesday; though I suppose some of you saw.”

Jimin cocks his head, lost. “Saw? Uh, yes, I haven’t done my prompt yet. Actually, uh, if you guys wanna take part, stay in the lounge tonight. I need an audience.”

You send him an inquiring look. “What about me?”

Jimin lets out a short laugh. “Your participation is kind of mandatory. Please stay in the lounge too.”

You appreciate the slow brushes of conversation that ease the tension away. “Am I an audience member or a volunteer?” You grimace suddenly. “Wait, fuck, it isn’t like a circus act or something, right? You aren’t a magician?”

“Don’t worry, the show won’t be that kind of magic,” he promises.

You go to reply, but your attention is caught by the way Jungkook is openly glaring at Namjoon like he’s waiting for something. “Kook?” you question.

Jungkook’s eye twitches. “Why aren’t you saying anything now, Namjoon? So they get to talk about sex but I can’t?”

Jin sucks in harshly through his teeth, sending a look of alarm to the youngest. “Okay, break it up, that’s enough. Jungkook, any more smart comments and you can leave. We’ll talk privately if you need it.”

Jungkook lets out a bitter scoff, but Namjoon is already rising hastily, banging the edge of the table in his haste to get up. “I’ll go,” he urges, “you all can enjoy your breakfast in peace.”

Nobody seems to even breathe as the sounds of Namjoon’s footsteps fade away, a door upstairs shutting harshly.

Yoongi has his face bent, thumb and forefinger pressing to his forehead, like a headache is coming on. “What the fuck was that?” he muses tiredly.

Jungkook doesn’t answer, staring at his pancakes like he’s trying to make them burst into flames.

You bite your tongue harshly, unsettled by how tempers flared so quickly. Unsure of what to do, you stare at Jungkook for a moment. You don’t want it to seem like you’re picking a side, but he has five others around him, and Namjoon is upstairs alone. You slide your chair out, quieter than last time. “I’m just going to check on him. Jungkook; you’re fine, I’m not angry.”

He breaks out of his death stare at his breakfast to send you a look of bewilderment, but Yoongi is already clicking his tongue disapprovingly. “Well, I am,” the second eldest declares, and you rush upstairs before the scolding begins.

Namjoon answers, albeit reluctantly, when you knock on the door and call out to him. He’s well and truly awake and alert now, hair combed down sullenly, the purple looking more faded than ever against the rich blue of his long-sleeved t-shirt. “Are you okay?” he asks with a tired frown.

Your brows lift automatically. “That is the exact question I came up here to ask. Can I come in?”

His bedroom is even more tidy than usual, now that he hasn’t been sleeping there. You sit down on the edge of his bed, feeling an unsettling swirl of dread.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook,” is the first thing out of his mouth as he sits down beside you, shoulders hunched like he’s making himself as small as possible.

You shake your head slowly. “You shouldn’t apologise on other people’s behalf. He’ll say sorry if he wants to.”

Namjoon pauses for a moment. “Then I’m sorry about contributing to the uncomfortable atmosphere.”

Despite the situation, your mouth quirks into a grin and your eyes soften. “Forgiven. I’m more worried than angry, you know? About the both of you.”

Namjoon lets out a sigh, eyes dancing aimlessly around the room, no doubt pondering complex concepts at the speed of light like he usually was. “This is probably to be expected, right? Tension. I didn’t think I’d be the one involved, though.”

“Ah, it wouldn’t be a reality show without some drama,” you allow, scooting back on the bed so you can tuck your feet up, crossing your legs. “We’ve just gotta move past it, I guess.”

“Didn’t it make you uncomfortable?” Namjoon blurts suddenly, cringing at the volume of his voice. “Him talking about you so publicly like that?”

You run your tongue along the inside of your cheek. “It took me off guard for sure. I don’t know; I guess sex is kind of our currency in here, you know? Him being so, uh, bold about it out of nowhere is pretty weird, though.” You shrug it off. “Maybe he slept bad last night.”

Namjoon searches your face. “I’m too much of a prude, aren’t I? Things like that bother me, so why did I sign up for a porn show?”

You turn to face him, brows knitted in sympathy. “Just because others are more open doesn’t mean being modest is a bad thing. Don’t let Jungkook’s bad mood make you believe that you don’t belong on the show or that you need to change. Okay?”

The two of you share a tender moment of eye contact, before Namjoon laughs shyly and turns his head away. You grin at him. “What?”

“It’s stupid,” Namjoon deflects, “it’s not the time.”

“Not the time for what?” you press. “Tell me; I’m curious now.”

Namjoon’s eyes dart up, pausing briefly at your lips. “I just… I really wanted to kiss you.”

Your heart swells, but you keep your face open, your voice barely louder than a whisper. “Then you should kiss me.”

All the breath leaves his lungs in a rush, but before he can inhale again, he’s propelling himself forward, wide hands cradling your jaw steady so your lips can join, a little uncoordinated but perfect nonetheless.

The small whimper of surprise is muffled by his lips, but you quickly melt into him, hands clutching at the front of his shirt for stability.

You can taste the remnants of breakfast, the sweet stickiness of maple syrup on his lips. You deepen the kiss to seek out more of the flavour, breaths escaping your nose as you don’t dare part for a second. Namjoon seems equally enraptured, shy flicks of his tongue making your head spin.

You lean in until your wrists are pinned between his chest and yours, and then lean in more, wanting to be close. Like oxygen to fire, the more contact you get the more desperate you become, and when his hands lower to lift you easily onto his lap, grinding you unconsciously against his erection, you feel ablaze.

“I need to-nm-do my prompt,” Namjoon murmurs out, teeth catching on your tongue with how deeply you kiss.

You swallow, leaning back slightly to take a breath in. “We don’t have to now,” you assure, moving your hands up to stabilise yourself on his shoulders so that he cranes his neck up to chase your lips. “Or have you graduated from Hoseok’s School of Sexual Prowess already.”

You smile down at the way his eyes flutter shut with a crooked grin, delicate crescent moon lash line a deep brown against his tanned skin. His lips are flushed and swollen, and he swallows like a man parched before he speaks, blinking blearily up at you. “I prefer to learn on the job,” he quips hoarsely.

You grin, leaning down to nudge him slightly to the side with your nose, giving you a better angle to leave a trail of light kisses from the corner of his mouth to the top of his jaw, tugging on his earlobe just enough that you feel his dick twitch against you. “What’s it gonna be, then? Am I a naughty student? Slacking receptionist? Do I need to sign for a package, delivery boy?”

The chuckle Namjoon lets out is pained and reluctant. “Was that what you were hoping for? It’s a bit more romantic than that.”

“Romantic is good,” you assure, letting his arms on your hips hold you steady as you lean back and search his face. “Do I get any more clues? Tell me something.”

When he blinks up at you, there’s something open and earnest in his gaze, like he’s left behind that shy boy that blushes at any mention of sex. “Let me show you, love.”

He cradles your back and lays you down on his bed so delicately it takes your breath away. Without speaking, he presses his lips to yours again, and once again you feel unanchored in an ocean, kept floating by the pressure of his proximity. Slower than usual, you move against each other; his hands bracing him up by the pillow, your leg hitched up over his waist to keep him close. Between the soft cushioning of his bed and the solid heat of his body, you feel secure and safe, eyes closed so that he fills your other senses entirely.

The sweetness of the maple syrup on his tongue and lips has long since melted away, but it leaves behind his natural flavour, one you think you prefer more. Aftershave still clings to his cheeks, tingling your nostrils, but past it is the bright candylike scent of his orange blossom shampoo, and they mix dizzily as the ends of his hair brush your skin.

Need begins to pool between your legs, but it doesn’t drive you, instead staying muted in the background like the pleasant heat of a bubbling jacuzzi, hips rocking lazily without any true purpose as you focus on the shocks of pleasure when your tongues connect.

It’s impossible to tell how long the two of you stay like that, no urgency or haste, just enjoying the intimacy and closeness of shared breaths and swollen lips. When he trails a hand down to slip under your shirt, even his slightly calloused fingertips running up your side is enough to make you whimper, sensitised to every touch.

Namjoon groans when his palm covers your breast, gripping it and swiping a thumb over your stiffened peak, arousing even through the fabric of your bra, his mouth only leaving yours for the second it takes to push your shirt over and off, connecting again with a small grunt of need.

Though Namjoon’s body is hot like a furnace against you, the open air still causes you to shiver, arching your back so Namjoon can blindly locate the hooks on your bra, able to slip it off you in no time at all.

This time, when his teeth tug at your lip and you feel the uninhibited contact of his fingertip tracing a circle around your nipple, it’s like a spike of electricity straight to your core, igniting that spark of full-blown arousal. Namjoon’s lips quirk against yours when you let a moan catch in your throat.

When he shifts down, you’re expecting his mouth on your breast, or perhaps him to sit up to take his own clothes off, but he doesn’t go nearly that far. Instead he presses your jaw up, exposing your neck but laying kisses on the underside of your chin first.

Perhaps it’s that you weren’t expecting that touch, or perhaps such a unique place isn’t used to that type of attention, but his swollen lips caressing just below your jaw feels magical, eyelids fluttering as he sucks so, so gently.

His hand never leaves your breast, massaging the flesh, tracing where your regular skin pebbles into the dusky areola, nail dragging teasingly over the bud, and your mind is working itself into knots trying to process all the sensations he’s stirring in you.

If his first time was thrilling, this was nothing short of electric, neon bursts of colour behind your eyelids the only thing you can see. As his kisses slowly venture lower, dipping to the base of your neck, pulse throbbing against him, you picture your nerve endings like purple strands of electricity in a plasma ball, lighting up with every touch of his fingers, lips and tongue to your skin.

“Na-Namjoon,” you gasp out, swallowing to ease the dryness in your throat, “don’t tease, I need you.”

Namjoon shifts lower, but not low enough, chin resting on your chest as he looks up at you with a pleased smile, clearly satisfied with his improvement from last time. “But love, there’s no rush. We have the rest of our lives, remember? To have and to hold,” he rumbles lowly, pressing two light kisses to the top of your heaving breasts, “til death do us part.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

Namjoon’s lip twitches. “Oh,” he repeats playfully. Goosebumps break out on the tops of your arms at this sudden brazenness. He’d clearly been doing plenty of talking with Hoseok, and to see his hard work pay off in your pleasured reactions probably gave him a burst of confidence. “Are you going to be patient for me now, love? Let me savour you?”

Your breath catches in your throat, so you just nod shakily.

Satisfied with your response, Namjoon quirks a lip before using the very tip of his tongue to trail a circle around your nipple, just wide enough that the bud strains for his attention. Your fingers clutch his sides, annoyingly still clothed, as he moves to the other one, still giving your nipple a wide berth. “C-come on, Joonie,” you complain hoarsely, “I need more.”

When he looks up at you from below his lashes and sucks one nipple slowly into his mouth, tongue pressing it against his upper teeth, you hiss sharply, releasing the air in a breathy moan. Namjoon suckles at you gently, still languid but no longer avoiding your most sensitive areas, and the hand not propping him up begins rolling the other one between his fingers, making you shudder.

You’re so wet between your legs it’s growing uncomfortable, and so you cant your hips up towards him, hoping he gets the message. He tuts at you, but pulls off your nipple with a wet pop and sits up to undress further.

Namjoon shucks his own shirt without ceremony before his fingers find your waistband, and you let him slide off your pants and underwear as you lie back and enjoy the sight of his thick chest and smooth stomach, a trail of dark baby hairs disappearing past his jeans that you didn’t remember noticing the first time you slept with him.

He takes off those jeans, his boxers too, and joins you on the bed again, running a warm palm up your side. “I want to taste you,” he announces simply, carding a hand through his hair to keep it out of your face.

“Fuck, please.” You watch with wide eyes as he lies on his stomach, hands dipping under your thighs to lift and part them. The exposed air has you clenching instinctively, and you swear you can see his eyes dilate at the sight. “Namjoon,” you whine, back arching in impatience.

“Shh, love, I’ve got you,” he assures, peppering kisses from just below your knees, down your thighs until you can feel his breath on your core. “So beautiful.”

You can barely breathe, head propped up on the pillow to stare down the plains of your chest and stomach to the insanely attractive man between your legs. Though you’d grown fond of the kinkier, wild scenes - in fact, your dreams at night had taken a turn since joining the show - something about seeing Namjoon so at his element in this domestic atmosphere has you dripping.

Like he has all the time in the world, he locks eyes with you and blows a wave of slightly cool air over your folds. You breathe out a groan, sending him what you hope is a convincing-enough pleading gaze. He smiles placidly, licks his lips, ducks his head even further, and-

And blows another stream, this time narrowed and colder, directly over your clit. You shudder and buck instinctively in his grip, his hands on your thighs keeping you spread.

“Come on,” you gasp out, “Hoseok’s made you into a fucking demon!”

“Oh, trust me,” Namjoon murmurs, “Hoseok’s version was way kinkier than this. I’m trying to be romantic and sensual.”

You shift again, fruitlessly trying to wiggle your hips closer. “It would be really fucking romantic if you would actually put your mouth on my-ah!”

Just like you know Hoseok would (you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for this), Namjoon strikes when you least expect it, and when you most need it.

Though his mouth is small, his tongue is no less nimble, darting deeply through your folds to collect your juices and using them to slurp harshly at your clit. You jerk, hand shooting down to latch in his hair, but he continues that constant, unyielding vacuum until you’re squirming hopelessly beneath him, finally pulling off with the slightest graze of teeth.

“Happy now?” he retorts, swollen lips glossy with your slick. His hands tighten on your thighs. “Hold them.”

Invigorated by his command, you rush to grasp the backs of your knees, keeping your legs up and spread for him. “Fuck, so good, Joonie, w-want more.”

Now with two hands freed, it’s no surprise when two fingers find their way into your wet heat, twisting inside you with every smooth thrust. His chin is smeared with your wetness when he lowers it to continue laving his tongue over your sensitive clit, but he groans sinfully into you, like he’s getting just as much pleasure from it as you are.

Once he really gets going, he’s merciless, his fingers so thick that you don’t even need a third one to really feel him filling you, hooking up to rub at your g-spot every now and again to hear the involuntary whimpers you give out.

You hold onto your own knees for dear life, writhing under him as a hot coil tightens inside you. “Fu-fuck, Joonie, I’m getting close.”

His mouth detaches from your clit for a bare moment, enough for him to pant out a groan and stare lustily up at you. “Don’t cum yet,” he instructs lowly, “you’re going to cum on my cock this time, love.”

You whine, biting your lip harshly to try and distract from the building pleasure. “Then you have to- have to stop, Joonie,” you shudder out reluctantly.

To your surprise, Namjoon is even more begrudging than you are, tugging out his fingers to chase a last few indulgent licks up your seam before he finally sits up to kneel, panting. “Are you ready for me?”

You feel yourself grow impossibly wetter at the sight of him grasping his length, slipping it through your folds to slick it up. “Yes, god yes, I need it, need your cock,” you garble.

Namjoon’s eyes flutter shut for a moment, before he presses his head to your entrance, sinking in barely an inch to test your reaction. “Can’t wait to fill you up, love,” he admits, abs clenching with the effort it takes to sink in slowly. “Fuck a baby into you, my perfect girl.”

Your heart races at his words, clenching around. “God, yes, Joonie, please.” Though all the Gentlemen were well aware you were on birth control, there was something wildly erotic about the thought of it. “Fill me up, wanna be good for you.”

Finally he bottoms out, and your thighs shake at the stretch. With your hips tilted up, it almost feels like he’s fucking right into your stomach, so deep your mind struggles to process the sensations. He heaves a few breaths, giving you a chance to squeeze around him experimentally and grow accustomed to him filling you so completely.

You mumble out your permission for him to move breathily, the air punched out of your lungs when he pulls out only to drive deep inside of you in one slick thrust. Your mouth drops open once he begins to thrust, holding onto your knees for dear life as they tremble uncontrollably.

“God, look at you,” Namjoon pants out, chest heaving with excitement or exertion, perhaps a mix of both. One of his palms presses against the top of your stomach, increasing the pressure of his cock inside you. “‘Be so beautiful with my baby inside you, love, tummy swollen. I’ll take good care of you, would you like that?”

You have to squeeze your eyes shut to put all your focus into speaking. “Ye-yeah, I want that, Joonie,” you manage to articulate, his length keeping your mouth watering whenever he’s inside you. “Gonna be such a good daddy, Joon.”

Like a switch being flicked, Namjoon suddenly jerks, going rigid. Your eyes open blearily when he stills inside you, and you moan openly at the fucked-out look on his face, his eyes lidded and hair wild.

“S-say that again,” he commands, and your mouth drops open at the desperate grate to his voice.

So Namjoon liked to be called… “Daddy,” you whine experimentally, grinning when his cock twitches, hips juddering. “Want you to fuck me, Daddy, please move.”

“God, love, so fucking perfect for me,” he makes out before he starts off again with a renewed vigor, hands kneading at your breasts, at the flesh of your hips, at your ass as he lifts you up to meet his every thrust.

The feeling of him fucking into you so intensely has you feeling delirious, unsure if the ringing in your ears is actually the sounds of your own cries, torn from your throat with every slap of his balls against your ass, the weight of his hips jerking you into the pillow more and more every time.

You feel the pressure of his body hovering just above you, the angle of his thrusts changing, then suddenly his mouth is on your breast again, sucking harshly at the nipple. With the way your body moves beneath him, he can’t help but scrape his teeth against you a couple times, but it just makes the pleasure soar higher, neon starbusts of colour behind your eyelids when you squeeze them closed.

“Close again,” you warn desperately, losing the grip on one of your knees due to the sweat gathering there. With one up and one down, the angle changes again, and you reach out blindly to latch onto his upper arm, screaming at the heights of pleasure. “Can I cum this time, Daddy, please let me cum!”

“Fuck, give it to me, cum for me,” he growls out around your breast, and you see stars.

The orgasm that rips through you is powerful enough that all your senses fade suddenly away, unable to feel anything expect a rush of pleasure all the way down to your toes, boneless yet convulsing as he pistons his hips into you once, twice, three more times until he’s taken by the way you clench tightly around him.

He laps clumsily, wetly at your nipple as he spills inside you, before the two of you are completely drained of energy. Panting, heaving, you don’t even manage to catch your breath before you’re falling into slumber, Namjoon still inside you.

“He told us to wait here, right?” you ask anxiously.

There are six of you gathered on the couches in the lounge. Television off, the silence is weirdly uncomfortable. Perhaps that’s just because you know that everyone is waiting here not only to see Jimin, but to see what Jimin is going to do to you.

Hoseok, tucked into the smallest corner of the couch on the right, huffs lightly at your question. “He’s Jimin, Y/n. Either he’s up there primping or he’s just making you wait to be obnoxious.”

Perched beside him with a glass of whisky, two fingers full, Yoongi sends a droll glare to Hoseok. “Bold words for a man who’s choosing to watch the show.”

“I’m curious, sue me.”

“I think we all are,” Namjoon adds, curled up beside you in the central position of the three couches. “I think the only one that knows his prompt is Tae.”

Taehyung turns to answer, propped up against Jin’s side on the left, but the eldest interrupts, a crease of worry between his brows. “Not all of us, it seems,” he points out. “Don’t you find it strange that Jungkook isn’t here?”

“Does he know?” Taehyung wonders, fingers dipping into his pocket to reach for his phone.

Yoongi frowns. “He knows. He asked me not to make him anything for dinner tonight. Said he wasn’t feeling well. Didn’t seem like he was sick, just… distressed. I think you should talk with him, Jin.”

Jin sucks in a breath, pauses, and exhales again, jaw flexing. “Sure.”

The six of you lapse into a slightly strained silence again, before Namjoon gets restless, shifting beside you until he finally clears his throat and looks up at Yoongi. “What is for dinner, hyung?”

“We didn’t really have much for lunch, so I’m thinking steak and pasta,” the doctor offers up. “There’s some carbonara sauce in the pantry that looks good.”

Taehyung coughs nervously. “Do we have steak? I didn’t think there were-”

“We had plenty this morning when I checked,” Yoongi cuts in evenly. “Should I be aware of any recent developments?”

The masseuse pouts, leaning further into Jin’s side like he’ll protect him. “Well… It’s just that I feel so bad for Mango! The kennel I bought online isn’t as insulated as I hoped it would be and I know she gets lonely.”

Yoongi groans, going lax on the leather of the couch. “So you figured she’d what? Cuddle with the steaks?”

“I just figured maybe if I gave her nice food she’d cheer up,” Taehyung adds, “and it was just two! Are you mad at me?”

“No, I guess I’m not. Jungkook isn’t eating anyway, and…” Yoongi grins. “As penance, you can have plain pasta and watch the rest of us enjoy our perfectly cooked steaks.”

Taehyung throws himself against Jin dramatically, but even as he moans in misery, a relieved smile crooks at his lips. “I suppose,” he drawls begrudgingly, and once again a light atmosphere fills the room, like everyone’s just sighed out a breath of relief.

You lean onto the arm of the couch, facing Taehyung. “Tae, Jimin’s prompt isn’t too, like, intense, right?”

He cocks his head. “What do you mean? For him or for you?”

“Uh…” Your mind whirls blankly, cheeks heating up as you draw the attention of the other guys. “For- for me. So far some of the scenes have been pretty taxing, and I guess I just didn’t expect such a jump up from Week One.”

Instead of laughing or teasing, the others go a little solemn, perhaps even bashful. “Jimin’s isn’t super crazy, Y/n, don’t worry,” Taehyung assures quickly.

Yoongi bites down hard on his tongue, jaw popping. “We didn’t go too hard on you, did we?”

You suck in a breath. “I mean- No, not individually. It builds up though, you know?” Something niggles in the back of your mind, something you’ve wondered for a while. “Do you guys talk about it?”

Hoseok hesitates. “About fucking you?”

Your cheeks are on fire as you curl up small in the corner. “Not- Not that specifically, but just… Do you guys discuss who goes when and who has what? I kinda wondered why you spread yourselves out, if it’s just a coincidence or if you- Never mind, it’s stupid.”

“We kinda do,” Hoseok admits freely. “Like, obviously we don’t all sit down in a room brainstorming or something-” You don’t miss the way Taehyung and Namjoon instinctively lock gazes, though you can’t quite read their expressions. Hoseok continues, “but we do chat with each other and try and give each other space.”

Jin shrugs easily. “Yeah, like, I’ll just say in the groupchat, ‘I’m planning on doing my scene outside, look outside at your own risk’ or whatever.” The eldest stiffens as he’s fixed with several glares of alarm, including your own. “What? Were we not meant to tell her about the groupchat?”

Your mouth drops open. “You guys have a groupchat without me? I wanna see!”

“That defeats the purpose of you not being in the group chat,” Yoongi points out, though his grin is more sheepish than mischievous.

You make a noise of exasperation, ready to protest further, but before you can open your mouth the doorbell rings.

Everyone freezes.

After a moment, the doorbell rings again.

“You should go get it,” Taehyung supplies helpfully, eyes on you. “Might be interesting.”

Your heart picks up with the cool thread of adrenaline. It’s time. All eyes are on you as you sit up and make your way out to the foyer, the tile cool under your bare feet.

Though the door is a rich mahogany, clouded glass panels on either side betray a dark figure, perfectly still. Even though you can barely see the outline, there’s no deny the expectant tilt of their head belongs to none other than Jimin.

By the time you pad up to the door and turn the knob, his hand is outstretched to ring the bell a third time, and his mouth parts in surprise before giving you a pleasant beam.

You’d been wondering if he was meant to be a delivery guy, a mechanic, something along those lines, but your first glance over him proves you wrong.

His blue hair is glossy enough to reflect the light of the lamp above the doorway, curled in graceful swoops on his forehead and temples. Though he always wore makeup, it was clear he’s set to impress, with a bold russet red lip, powerful black eyeliner and a spot of gold under each eye.

He’s taller than usual, and you glance down automatically, to be greeted with the most gorgeous black heels, stiletto points giving him an extra few inches of height. The shoes make his legs look a mile long, and you suck in a breath as you follow them up, realising they’re completely bare, the only adornment a sinfully tight pair of black fishnets that dig in to his thighs and calves.

In fact, all he seems to be wearing otherwise is a black trenchcoat, falling to mid-thigh and with the sash tied so tightly it accentuates his narrow waist.

All put together, he looks like sin personified, the kind sailors drown for. You can’t help but want to dive in yourself. Trying to go along with the roleplay, you play dumb. “Do I, uh, do I know you?”

Jimin’s smile broadens as his arm falls, hand resting snugly on his hip. “You will soon, sweetness.” Usually one for pinks, nudes and clear glosses, seeing him suddenly in a deep red makes you realise just how full his lips are. You miss the feeling of them on you. “Did Taehyung not tell you I was coming?”

“Did Tae-?” You clear your throat, unsure how to proceed. This Jimin was Amazonian; bruisingly pretty and intimidating in his grace. “I guess not? Was he supposed to?”

His eyes crinkle empathetically, darting past you into the foyer. “Let’s talk inside, shall we? I’m not exactly dressed for the outdoors.”

“Oh, fuck!” you blurt instinctively, and you swear his lip twitches before you’re backing away hastily, ushering him inside. “I’m so sorry, please come in! Do you want me to take your coat? I don’t- I don’t know what you need.”

Jimin steps inside and closes the door behind him in one smooth motion, punctuated only by the click of his heels on the tile. He reaches out to pat your cheek, only somewhat condescendingly. “No wonder, sweetness, you didn’t even know I was coming.” That isn’t quite true, but in the scheme of things, you may as well not have known he was doing his scene tonight at all for all it’s helping you. “Why don’t you lead me to Taehyung? I assume he’s here.”

“Of course he’s- I mean, yes, he’s here. Right this way.”

The two of you only have a short trip to the lounge, where no doubt the other five have been straining their ears to eavesdrop, but every strike of his heels against the floor behind you has the hairs on the nape of your neck standing on end.

In the lounge, the guys are all turned around in their seats to shamelessly ogle Jimin, Taehyung the only one without the gobsmacked look on his face - though even he takes in an unsteady breath at how gorgeous the man looks.

You make your way to him, standing awkwardly in front of the couch that him and Jin share. Turning back to face Jimin, you can’t help but match Taehyung’s reaction. Jimin looks even more radiant in the decent lighting of the room. You can see now his trenchcoat is a lush fabric, slightly thicker than silk, and deeply matte. Around the inside of the collar is a faint embossed silver logo, promoting Chanel as the designer of that piece.

Ignoring the stunned silence of the room, Jimin slinks immediately to Taehyung, tipping his chin up with his knuckles. “Did you not tell Y/n about me, hm?” he questions with a faux pout. “Kept it a secret, our naughty Taehyungie.”

The masseuse wilts pleadingly under Jimin’s gaze, and the responding wicked grin makes you think that Jimin probably told him to keep quiet, only to tell him off for it now. “Sorry, Minnie,” Taehyung mutters nonetheless. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Did you now?” Jimin lets go of him, stepping back. “I suppose we should get down to business, then. Are you all leaving, or do I have an audience tonight?” Glancing around imperiously, you watch as his eyes dart back and forth, smile faltering. His breath catches, eyes dull with disappointment that he quickly masks under a broad smile. “It’s just the six of you, then?”

Your heart aches as you think of the missing person still upstairs in his room. “Yeah, it’s just us.”

Always the professional, Jimin moves on without comment. “Well, then, sweetness; take a seat and get comfortable. You’re a lucky girl tonight.”

Your mouth feels dry even as it waters. Taking your seat beside Namjoon again, you watch in rapt anticipation as Jimin slips a hand into his pocket and pulls out his phone, fiddling with something on it as he strolls slowly into the center of the room, just in front of the television.

“We have a few rules,” Jimin announces. “No heckling, no getting drunk while I’m here, and no touching unless I give you permission. They’re simple, so I expect you to follow them. Got it?”

With his back to the group as he sets up his phone, you’re unsure who exactly he’s addressing, but some of you make general hums of confirmation, all the attention on Jimin.

When the music starts - a deep, thrumming beat with a sensual pace - you can see the change in him immediately, even from the back. His shoulders adjust, head tips back slightly like he’s letting it run through him, and his fingers find the knot of his sash.

You can barely comprehend the fact that Jimin is about to dance for you, breath caught in your throat when his hips begin to sway and the fabric of his trenchcoat loosens, slipping down just enough to reveal the tops of his shoulders, bare except two skinny black straps.

Following the groove of the music, he rocks his head back, hips shifting side to side, and lets the coat fall an inch at a time. A tight black bodice is revealed, structured leather with a soft velvet trim that covers most of his back. Sleeves dangling right at the ends of his fingertips, the coat dips just below the swells of his ass, which are clad in a racy g-string, a thicker band of lace low across his hips and a narrow one running down the middle of his cheeks. Letting the coat go completely, the last of his back silhouette is exposed, the leather garter straps that hold those fishnet stockings up.

“Shit!” Yoongi hisses under his breath, hands glinting in the light and whiskey glass significantly emptier than before. A dark patch spreads across one leg of his pants, evidence of him spilling his drink.

Though he was quiet, Jimin picks up on it, and turns smoothly, lightly surprised and heavily amused, watching Yoongi squirm in embarrassment as he approaches.

If the view from the back is breathtaking, seeing Jimin full-frontal is another level. The bodice has clearly been tailored for someone with a flat chest, but the shape no less speaks to the feminine style of a bra, roughly triangular leather covering the upper half of his chest to meet the smooth velvet straps. The whole piece is just short enough that it leaves a stripe of skin between fabrics, his hipbones jutting out gracefully and guiding your gaze lower, where the front of his lace panties strain with the size of his length, the tip threatening to peek out the top.

He’s hard, you notice with a start, and from the hazy look on everyone’s faces, they’ve noticed it too. Jimin likes this.

When he’s standing in front of Yoongi, towering over the other in his heels, he reaches out a hand silently, eyes darting to the glass in Yoongi’s hand.

The elder gulps, holding it up, blushing as Jimin wraps one hand around Yoongi’s wrist, and takes the glass from him with the other. In a graceful swill, he downs the last of Yoongi’s whiskey, not even wincing. Teasingly, he bends down to place the empty glass directly over Yoongi’s crotch, making him hiss.

Like he has all the time in the world, Jimin straightens up again and tugs the wrist in his grasp higher. Locking eyes, Jimin parts his lips and wraps them around the base of Yoongi’s thumb, sucking off the spilt liquor.

Yoongi groans lowly, cheeks stained red as his eyes flutter shut in a mix of pleasure and humiliation. As Jimin makes his way through all of Yoongi’s fingers, bobbing his head obscenely and swirling his tongue, you think you see the empty glass wobble on Yoongi’s lap, like his cock is twitching in his pants. Fuck. It’s not even you getting the full weight of Jimin’s attention and you already feel dizzy with need.

Once he’s done, Jimin lets go and Yoongi’s hand falls limply to his side. Satisfied, he moves to the center of the room again, hips fluid with the flow of the music.

A cursory glance around the room shows that you’re not the only one heavily affected. Beside you Namjoon is restless, shifting back and forth from spreading his legs to ease the pressure, and clenching them together to try and hide the bulge in his pants. Hoseok looks pale, eyes wide and locked onto Jimin’s ass as he walks away from their couch.

On the other side, Taehyung and Jin are significantly more shameless; Jin rests a hand on the back of Tae’s neck and tugs at the curls of hair there as the younger boy ruts against his thigh, curled into his side even as the two of them focus on the attraction in the centre of the room.

You can only imagine how fucked out you must look too, wriggling against the couch cushion seeking friction with your heart thudding in your chest. The effect is only heightened when Jimin locks his eyes to you and begins to dance.

One day, a few of you were gathered in this very lounge, having enough drinks to get a bit silly and uncoordinated. Jimin had told you all a little bit about his dancing career. From what he’d said, you formed this mental image of him in soft makeup and satin shoes, dainty but powerful in front of an adoring crowd. The way he spoke about music - too much of a heavyweight to be as incoherent as the rest of you - made it seem like it was his greatest love, a match made in heaven.

Though now pirouettes and grand jetés had been replaced by spread legs and lidded eyes, you could still see that passion he spoke of. It enchanted you like a snake charmer or a siren, and arousal entwines endlessly with awe in your stomach.

After what feels like the shortest eternity, the music of the first song fades out, and Jimin straightens up, exhaling a breath like he’s releasing its hold from his body to make room for the next.

The tune that fills the room next has a decently higher tempo than the first one, each beat punctuated by a clap, and he grins when he hears it, stalking forwards.

Between Jimin and the rest of you is a coffee table, and he makes his way around to Taehyung and Jin, eyes sparkling at how Taehyung straddles Jin’s thigh, blinking up at the dancer owlishly.

“Oh, baby,” Jimin coos, “enjoying the show?”

Taehyung nods, not shy but too wound up to speak.

At the lack of verbal response, Jimin grins, perching himself on Jin’s other thigh, making the eldest hiss. “Taehyungie,” Jimin calls in a sing-song voice, fingers winding into his hair, just above Jin’s, “you still haven’t paid me for my services, you know?”

“H-huh?” Poor Taehyung looks barely coherent, interrupted from his grind and staring weakly at Jimin’s glossy lips. You can’t imagine you’d be faring any better in his situation. “What- How do I pay you?”

Jimin faux pouts. “Normally I’m very expensive,” he admits lowly, but the room is silent apart from the music, and since it’s just playing from his phone, it doesn’t impede the rest of you listening in. “But I like you. I’ll take my payment tomorrow. You know what I mean, right?”

Taehyung nods dumbly, obediently, making the dancer grin wickedly.

Fixing his attention on Jin, Jimin trails his fingertips up his thigh and traces the outline of Jin’s cock in his makes, making him groan. “Take good care of my baby tonight, won’t you?”

Jin sucks in a shaky breath, eyes darting to Taehyung, but the curly-haired boy just whines and buries his face in the crook of Jin’s neck, a wordless display. “You got it, Min.”

From the other side of the room, a click of the tongue catches your attention. Hoseok is straight-faced, extricating himself from the corner of the couch to stand up and make his way out.

Jimin swiftly stands in front of him to impede his way. “Where are you going?”

Hoseok rolls his eyes with a shrug. “I came, I saw, I sated my curiosity. I’m not interested in waiting in line to be fondled, thank you very much.”

Jimin seems to have forgotten the music, eyes gleaming as he faces off the dom. “Poor baby too impatient to wait, hm? I’ll let you jump the queue,” he finishes in a husky voice, grinning.

Hoseok eyes the doorway behind Jimin, huffing impatiently. “Nice try. I’m not interested.”

Tipping his head to the side, Jimin’s brows lift in a mix of surprise and bemusement. “I’m inclined to disagree,” he says, taking a step closer so that only a sliver of air parts them. Hoseok stiffens, stubbornly avoiding looking at the dancer. “I’d venture a guess that you’re leaving so suddenly because you’re a little too interested.” Slow enough that Hoseok has plenty of time to refuse, Jimin runs his knuckles all the way down Hoseok’s front, brushing over his crotch. His grin widens, flashing white teeth. “Hmm.”

Hoseok scoffs and pulls himself away, neck and forehead slightly red. “Don’t get too cocky. It was from Taehyung, not from you, peaches.”

Even from the other side of the room, Jimin’s instinctual reaction is clear as day. His shoulders drop and his lips part, lashes fluttering before he can control the response.

If you didn’t miss it, Hoseok certainly didn’t either. He barks out a laugh, back in power again, and steps to Jimin’s side to pass him. “Knew it. Don’t miss me too much, then, peaches.”

Even as Jimin is shuddering at the petname again, Hoseok rears his hand back to smack Jimin’s ass with a sharp noise of impact, Jimin jumping forward with a startled squeak. “No touching!” the dancer hisses, one ass cheek already flooding with a sweet candy pink.

“Apologies,” Hoseok says with a teasing grin, already at the doorway, “I’ll see myself out.”

Jimin makes an indignant cry, but the older man is already bouncing up the stairs cheerfully. Determined to get the sexy atmosphere back, Jimin takes a deep breath and turns back to you all with a rueful smile, but it falters when the music fades out, the second song ending. “Ah,” he murmurs, “show’s over, kids.”

Namjoon, the only guy that hadn’t received any personal attention, sits up with a frown. “Wait, already?”

Jimin shrugs, smiling at him sweetly. “Sorry, Joon. Last song’s a private dance. Maybe another time.”

A private dance. Your breath quickens as Jimin turns off the next song that randomly came up on shuffle, collects his phone, and hitches his coat off the floor with the point of a stiletto, gathering it under his arm.

The others quietly start to stretch, sit up, Yoongi going to fill up his glass again. By the time Jimin makes his way to you, Jin has already lifted Tae up with a single arm under him, carrying the younger upstairs as Taehyung sucks shamelessly at his neck. Namjoon is slower to move, probably still a little worked up and edged from the show, but he joins Yoongi in the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone.

Once Jimin is directly in front of you, your breath stops. He’s gathered the lightest sheen of sweat from dancing, or perhaps that’s just the highlighter on his cheeks, and his eyes are hazed from the excitement of performing. He silently reaches a hand out to you with an enticing smirk.

You furrow your brow in confusion. “Not here?”

“I did say private. Unless you want me to fuck you where everyone can see?”

You gulp at the thinly veiled threat. “We can go.” You take his hand and let him lift you up with effortless strength, pausing when he looks at you expectantly. “Did I do something…?”

Jimin beams like you’re a cute but stupid pet. “I haven’t been here before, remember? Show me to your room, sweetness.”

“Oh!” You rush past him, hands catching to guide him out and upstairs. The thrill of excitement speeds your steps, and in no time at all he’s placing his coat and phone on your desk, guiding you to sit on the end of the bed.

The third song starts with the familiar smoothness of Beyonce’s voice, an older pop song that holds up still, and Jimin slips off the black straps of the bodice, another set directly below them. Arms tucking behind him, he begins to undo the clasps one by one.

“You were being very well behaved, you know, sitting there and waiting for your turn,” he muses, fiddling with the fabric behind him. “Now you get a reward.”

You don’t know what to say in response, just nodding wordlessly, but it seems he is content with that. After a moment, you notice the top half of the bodice pull away from his chest lightly, revealing not plain skin but more lace, matching the panties that struggle to cover his cock. He approaches you as he undoes the last few at the base, and slips smoothly between your legs, letting it fall to the side.

In front of you in all his glory, Jimin looks gorgeous, the inky swoops of his tattoo peeking out from under a sweet black lace bralette, the skinniest straps holding up the delicate cups. In the center is a tiny black satin bow, and you think you feel your heart give out a little at the sight of it.

Even in his pretty lingerie, he’s no less intimidating, and you shudder at the feeling of his eyes locked onto you, feeding on your reactions and pinning you to the bed.

“You like it?” the dancer asks, voice rough with arousal. You nod quickly, still too stunned for words. Jimin hums, winding a hand around the back of your neck. “Show me how much you like it.”

Before you can suck in a breath, his mouth descends on yours, and a shot of electricity runs through you as he spares no time for pecks and caresses. This kiss is nothing short of filthy, his tongue runs over your teeth, he bites your lips, he sucks on your tongue. You do your best to reciprocate enthusiastically, but there’s no question who’s in charge.

With how deep and primal it is, there’s no surprise when you feel your shared spit begin to collect in the corners of your lips and run down your chin. Jimin doesn’t stop, but lowers his mouth to lap it up, pushing it back in and continuing to fuck his tongue into your mouth.

You moan hopelessly into the kiss, hips rocking on the edge of the mattress fruitlessly and fingers holding on to his neck and shoulder for dear life. His teeth are sharp, nipping mercilessly at your bottom lip until your eyes sting, but it only serves to drive more need.

The music in the background livens up as it reaches the chorus, and suddenly the thought of the song finishing and him leaving you high and dry comes to mind. You tug yourself away from him, sucking the spit off your swollen lip. “Jimin,” you gasp out, “I want you.”

Jimin grins. Though his gloss is all but gone, the colour on his lips remains intact. “You aren’t gonna let me finish my dance, sweetness?”

“Wi-Will you still fuck me after the song ends?” you ask, feeling stupid for needing confirmation.

Jimin lets out a soft but condescending coo, hands squeezing your cheeks together so that your lips pout. “Poor baby just wants to get fucked, does she? Baby just wants a cock in her.”

Even as he mocks you, you can’t even defend yourself. “Please, Jiminie.”

He places a single light peck over your protruding and obscenely swollen lips. “Let’s make a deal; I’ll dance for the rest of the song, and if you can keep your hands to yourself, I’ll let you cum when I fuck you. Sound fair?”

At this point, you’d agree to anything, and both of you know it. “I can do it,” you insist even as your voice wobbles.

Instead of answering, Jimin begins to move, following the momentum of the music. Your hands lie at their sides, the duvet cool against your heated flesh.

He starts out easy, stepping back to give himself more space and slowly lowering into a crouch, the heels making his calves pop. Running his hands down his chest, fingers slipping under the lace, he sighs out like his own touch gives him unspeakable pleasure.

You grit your teeth. Watching him touch himself just makes you want to touch him more. He widens his legs, showing the place where the lacy band narrows down below his balls into a thin string. Whether it’s the angle or just the amount of moving he’s done, the tip of his cock has nestled up higher, poking out just to the side of his hip. Shamelessly, he runs a single fingertip over it, tapping so you can see the clear strands of precum that cling.

You let out an unsteady breath, relaxing slightly as the song begins to build to the final chorus. Not long.

Unfortunately for you, Jimin recognises the changing keys as well as you do, and he stands up smoothly, slinking towards you.

Instead of settling between your knees this time, he turns his back to you and bends down, folding himself in half to fully bare his ass. Hoseok’s handprint still pinkens the skin of one, and the sudden desire to reach out and see if it’s as warm to the touch as it looks overcomes you. You hiss and fist your hands in the fabric of the duvet cover, making Jimin stretch up with a laugh.

Merciless, Jimin widens his stance, choosing to sit on top of your lap, ass grinding on you. You can imagine this movement would be much more unbearable for a guy, but you still feel your resolve unravelling, taken by the fluidity of his hips, the lace accuentuating his slender waist, the pressure of his head as he tips it back onto your shoulder.

“This is so unfair,” you complain shakily, and are rewarded with the musical giggle Jimin lets out, bubbling from his arched throat right into your ear.

Luckily, the chorus ends, and the final notes settle down. Jimin’s hips still and he turns his head, lips just about brushing your cheek. “Good job, sweetness,” he praises warmly, “can I have another kiss?”

Your jaw jerks automatically before you catch yourself. Though it’s fading out, the song technically hasn’t ended yet. “Not yet.”

Shameless even as his ruse is exposed, Jimin just beams and twist around so that he’s straddling you face-on. He lowers his mouth to your collarbone, nibbling at the skin there as the beat fades and the overlaying instruments peter out. Though it must only be ten or fifteen seconds, it feels like forever as he rocks himself against you just like Taehyung had done to Jin - albeit less desperate and more strategic - and licks at the bite marks on your neck.

Finally, it goes silent, and you exhale deeply, hands automatically coming up to rest on his hips as he laughs lightly at your successful efforts. “I’m impressed,” he admits, “guess you get your reward after all, sweetness.”

So relieved that the heat between your legs will get some attention, you barely take notice of him standing up off you, at least not until he slips his cock fully out of the panties.

His cock, straining with being left unattended so long, is a far deeper pink than the mark on his ass, particularly around the head. He sucks in a breath through his nose as he strokes himself, before blinking down at you.

“Clothes off if you want me, sweetness.”

You could guarantee you’ve never undressed so quickly before, frantically enough that your hips are hot from the friction of tugging down your pants. You take no note, however, just spreading your legs wantonly as you eye up his cock.

“Fuck, look at you,” Jimin curses, bracing a hand on your hip as he lines himself up. “Don’t even need stretching, do you? Looks like Joonie opened you up for me already.”

Your cheeks burn, but there’s not enough time to dwell on the embarrassment, as Jimin holds you down with his grasp on your hip and bottoms out in a single thrust.

Even though he’s right, the sudden fullness has you gasping a moan, almost falling onto your back. You prop yourself up and widen your legs further, eyes locked on the sight of his cock, nestled underneath by the lushest black lace, buried deep inside you. “Fuck, please move.”

“My pleasure,” he coos with a sweet smile, before the smile drops to a slack pout of lust, snapping his hips with a deftness that you now know is due to his background as a dancer.

You fight to keep yourself sitting up, one hand around the back of his neck as he fills you with every stroke, but the angle isn’t quite right, and you find your pelvis shifting to find it.

Jimin notices your frustration, and wordlessly pauses, grips your thighs and tugs you forward so that you’re flat on your back, ass over the edge and held up by his upper body strength. Without you even processing the change, he’s returning to his ruthless place, and you sob from relief at the way your insides come alive with pleasure, so much stronger than before.

“Fuck, right there! Right- ungh, yes, Ji-Jimin,” you pant out, feeling unbearably hot all at once with the intensity of it.

Though part of you is still sore from the scene you had with Namjoon earlier, your swollen walls only increase the drag of him against your sensitive tissue, and you quickly turn incoherent, tongue so thick in your mouth that you open it, panting as your fingers clutch the duvet to anchor you.

“That good, huh?” Jimin notes with a laugh stuttered by grunts of exertion. Normally, you’d protest or retort, but with your ankles wrapped around him and back arching off the bed, there’s nothing on your mind but the enveloping urge to cum.

Rather than reply, you just let yourself drown in the sensations, vision going black as your eyes roll into the back of your head.

Your orgasm comes so fast that you don’t even notice it approaching, can’t even warn him. It’s like a clap of thunder, making you go stiff with a scream before turning completely boneless, legs slipping down off him weakly.

Jimin curses as you squeeze around him, but fucks you through it thoroughly, only slowing down once you begin to fuss, shivering and wriggling away.

Dazed from the sudden onslaught of pleasure, it takes you a few moments for the fog in your brain to clear. Once you do, you glance down and realise Jimin is still achingly hard, dripping with your slick and the remnants of Namjoon’s cum, but none of his own. He strokes it lazily, gaze searching your face.

So exhausted from two intense scenes in one day, you don’t think you could manage to jerk him off or give him a decent blowjob, but to leave him hanging would be cruel. Instead, you fumble to slide yourself off the bed, landing a little too hard on your knees.

“What are you- oh, Y/n, fuck,” Jimin exclaims lowly as you blink up at him and open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He gets the message easily, speeding up his strokes as his tip bounces on your tongue, brief sparks of the salty tang of your shared arousal.

He must have been close before, because it doesn’t take him more than a minute to fall over the edge, cumming into your mouth with thick spurts. A shame it couldn’t have been inside you a different way, but you nonetheless chase his cock, blade of your tongue dipping into his slit to make sure you’d gotten every last drop.

Jimin swears lowly, stroking your hair back fondly as you swallow, and helps you stand up on wobbly legs.

Leading you to the bathroom, Jimin sits you on the closed toilet seat as he runs a bath. Having slipped off his heels somewhere back in the room, he unhooks his garters as he waits for the tub to fill. With one leg resting on the high edge of the tub, rolling down the fishnets one at a time, you once again are silenced in awe of his beauty.

It feels unspeakably intimate to watch him unclasp the bralette, slip off the panties, and slowly take his makeup off, easily locating the makeup remover he’d borrowed from you that very first night.

Your eyes sting a little as you’re reminded of that time. It feels like an eternity ago, even though it’s just under a fortnight. You’d thought he was so intimidating back then. Though he still had the power to command attention, you’d seen enough of the kindhearted, thoughtful and sensitive man beneath that the Jimin two weeks ago felt like a very different man.

“Water’s ready.”

You blink yourself out of that train of thought, letting Jimin help you carefully into the tub, joining you on the other side, legs tangled. “Thank you,” you manage to say, still feeling a little out of it after a tiring day and a good orgasm.

Jimin beams, glancing away to obscure some of his face. It’s clear to you that the lack of makeup has him feeling a bit vulnerable. His skin is flushed red - either naturally or from exertion you couldn’t tell - and his brows were softer, eyes looking smaller without the shadow that emphasised them. He wasn’t any less beautiful like this, just more human. Comforting, in a way, as he passes you a washcloth and begins to lather himself up in strawberry-scented bodywash.

“Hey, Y/n,” Jimin starts, but his voice sounds weirdly stilted and unlike him.

“Mm?”

“My, um, my…” He lets out a light cough, avoiding your gaze with an air of forced aloofness. “Granny keeps asking about you. She’s convinced we’re dating, but that’s, uh, I’ve assured her we aren’t. She really liked you, and whenever we chat she asks to speak to you, and, um…”

You feel more coherent than you have in a good couple hours, sitting upright. “She does?”

Jimin laughs ruefully. “I never really knew how to ask you if you wanted to speak to her, or if I should even ask you at all-”

“So you thought now, while we’re both naked in a tub after you fucking my brains out is the right time?”

Jimin’s cheeks colour more as he splutters. “You can say no, I just didn’t want you to… I don’t know. You can say no.”

You beam at him. “I have one rule.”

“What?”

“I’ll hang out with Mrs. Park on one condition.”

The blue-haired boy stares at you warily. “Which is?”

You lean forward with a deadpan expression on your face, making him grimace in worry. “You let me sleep in your bed tonight,” you explain gravely, “I’m running out of options for this Bangasm Bomb thingy, and it’s only fair after you just took me out of commission like that.”

Jimin laughs in relief, throwing his head back with a joyous grin. “Deal! Don’t scare me like that.”

You return his smile, heart swelling from the fondness you hold for him. “Of course I’ll chat with your grandma, Jimin. I love her. She reminds me of you a lot.”

You may have said too much, but Jimin goes lax against the opposite end of the tub, smile never leaving his lips, and you don’t regret it for a second.

1K notes · View notes

desi-lgbt-fest · 3 years

Text

Day 5: Platonic

A story I wrote for today's prompt. It's a story about two middle aged men realising the happiness they want can come in many different forms.

1. 8 k words.

Cw: Mild homophobia. Incorrect language. It's indicative of character's understanding, not mine.

...

When Vikram Kumar first transferred to their branch, Nath wasn't impressed. Theirs was a small transport company, still somehow holding on against the giants of the industry. They were doing well for themselves; they had branches in few neighbouring states where the business was concentrated. And yeah, the company policy does state that employees should get transferred around every 4 years or so. But that never really happened. Nath had been working at Gada transport ltd for more than 25 years now and the only way anybody new ever came in the office was if someone died or retired.

That was what had happened. Another clerk, Nisha Bhagwan, had a heart attack at the computer and in came Vikram Kumar, a transfer from Nagpur. The office people took to him like animals take to the new clown at the circus. Nobody was really sad about Mrs Bhagwan's passing. She was old and in an office full of other old people, they were just waiting for the hat to drop on someone. Better Mrs Bhagwan than us.

They inquired after him, after his family, his mother's family, his neighbour's family, his neighbour's dog's family. When they found out that he was divorced and currently living in a sketchy hotel, they immediately turned to Nath.

Nath, or Adinath, as his name was, owned two flats in his society. Two flats side by side, one in which he lived. He very famously refused to rent it out to families or students or single women. Which meant, he never really rented it out. It actually quite suited to his own solitary silent life. But he regretted boasting about it in the office because here came his perfect rent.

"I- uh. The apartment is very dirty and I'd have to clean it," he started making excuses.

Vikram Kumar shrugged. "I don't mind. Better than listening to the sex noises coming from the side wall." Raucous laughter emerged, unhampered by the fact that their only woman employee wasn't there anymore.

Nath couldn't say no.

Vikram Kumar did turn out to be an ideal renter. He was silent. No guests. Rent, which Nath had kept a little high to dissuade, always on time. Sometimes old hindi songs drifted from his flat but Nath didn't mind. As his novelty wore off and office people stopped fawning over him, Nath did find himself to be quite okay with Vikram Kumar's existence.

A distinct mark in his favour was that he didn't laugh when at their regular chai break (5 minute break that always turned into a 45 minute one) the others made him familiar with Nath's title as the resident Bramhachari.

"Never married, never looks at a woman," Bhosle, their manager remarked.

"Hey you remember that time when that bombshell came in complaining about some lost package? Nath did not even look away from her face."

"Pakka gentleman, I tell you. He's not the customer complaint manager for nothing."

Everybody guffawed. Nath gave his regular pained smile. Vikram Kumar smiled back. For a moment, Nath thought it was a smile of understanding.

Eventually, Nath started offering Vikram Kumar a ride home on his ancient scooter. He obliged. When the ride turned regular, Vikram Kumar started contributing for petrol. Another mark in his favour.

13 months later, Vivek Chand, accountant, retired. In came a new hire, Ashalata Waad.

Suddenly many colleagues started turning up in pressed shirts and oiled hair. Nath merely shook his head and laughed at their preening. It was their colleagues' turn to laugh when Ms. Ashalata, recently widowed, took to Nath. Furtive smiles. Sympathy over dealing with difficult clients. Nath of course did not notice. But the other colleagues did. And out of sympathy for Ms Ashalata's feelings, they gently took her to a side after a week or so and directed her towards someone more likely to respond; the new divorcee, Vikram Kumar.

That, Nath certainly noticed.

That evening, Nath left without offering a ride to him.

Next morning, everyone noticed the distinct coldness between Ms Ashalata and Vikram Kumar. It was a long day too. Some trouble with licensing of a large shipment, everybody had to stay behind. It was well over 8 when people started leaving. Vikram came over to Nath's desk and tapped on it.

"I don't think this late I will find a riksha like yesterday. Will you please give a ride home?"

Nath sighed. He wasn't petty after all. Well, not much.

The streets were near empty. Theirs was a small town. One that eats at 8 and sleeps at 10. Nath's scooter cut through the silence and the sickly orange lights of the streetlamps like an interloper. They were crossing the Hutatma Chauk when Vikram asked him to stop.

"What for?"

"It was a long and stressful day. I wanted us a relax a bit at the park bench before we go home."

"I'm not going-"

"Please yaar."

Nath sighed.

Stopping the scooter at side, they both walked to the circle where statue of some forgotten freedom fighter stood, benches around it. Surprisingly, there were some people ambling around. Old couples taking a rest from nightly walk. A group of youngsters.

After having the sound of scooter in the ears for past five minutes, the sudden silence was deafening.

"I don't think Ms Waad would be talking to me again," Vikram Kumar started without preamble, a laughter in his voice.

Nath sighed and ran a hand through in thin hair. "You didn't do any-"

"No no, oh god no! I just said I'm not interested. I think that was enough for her to be offended."

"She's not your type?" he probed gently, curious.

Vikram was silent for a moment and then burst out with sudden emotion, "Why does it matter? Why one single woman and one single man can not stay without having an affair? Ye saala bollywood-" Nath hushed him, noticing the people around.

"Sorry." Vikram said, taking a deep breath to calm himself down.

"I get it. Years ago, when I told my father I was gay-"

"You're what??"

Nath felt like he made a tremendous mistake in judgement. But he was a grown man dammit, he will hold his ground!

"I said I am gay." Nath held his gaze. Vikram Kumar stared back, unknown range of emotions passing. Eventually he broke the gaze, ran a hand through his own balding hair and sat back.

He shook his head. "I am not gay, if that's why you-"

"That wasn't-"

"I'm NOT. I like women. I- I mean men are good too. I. I don't-"

Nath couldn't help it. He broke into a loud laugh. Like Vikram had performed some excellent comedy sketch.

Vikram punched him lightly on his shoulder, a smile evident on his face.

"I just meant, men, women. All are same to me. Honestly, I didn't mind being married to Sheela. I provided for her, I cared for her wellbeing. Our.. bedroom relations were less ideal but I didn't shut her out. I did my duty."

"I'm guessing she wanted someone who didn't see her as a duty?"

Vikram shrugged. "She was nice about it. Told me plain and simple she found someone else. We didn't have kids. It was easy. Well. As easy as it could be. She told the court I was impotent for swift divorce. I agreed. It caused drama in families though, which is why I asked for a transfer."

"Mrs Bhagwan died at a really opportune moment then."

They both shared a laugh and things fell silent once again.

"So you are... one of those," Vikram tried to say casually.

The elderly couple had left. A newly wed looking one took their place. Nath suddenly felt he was thrown back in time.

"I don't have much family," he started. "Mother died when I was young. Theirs was a love marriage, quite unusual for the times. They had run away and so had lost their families. My father raised me well enough; started pestering me for marriage when I got the job at 22. I kept avoiding for few years. But eventually I had to tell him. I wasn't going to ruin some poor woman's life." Nath looked pointedly at Vikram. Vikram didn't take offence. Just laughed self-consciously. Mark in his favour etc etc.

"Father raged for days. Didn't raise his hand on me, didn't tell anyone else but we fought a lot. It wasn't that he denied my condition. He just wanted a family. On some level we understood each other. I realise it now. I knew he wanted me to marry because he didn't want his hard fought family to die with me. And I guess, he probably knew what it meant to love someone you weren't supposed to.

He died soon after."

"When you were thirty, I remember you telling me."

Nath nodded. "I was free. I had a place of my own. A job. No family to hide myself from. I felt guilty over feeling relieved. I felt angry at being guilty. Then came sadness over being angry. That sadness stayed for a decade."

Vikram asked, "So you never...?

Nath shook out of his trip to memory lane. "Hm?"

"Are you? A bramhachari? Did you ever find-"

"There were some men here and there. Obviously there wasn't going to be a relationship," Nath scoffed. "If you know where to look, you can find release. But after Father died, I don't know, I rarely ever went looking for anybody. I didn't have it in me."

Vikram laughed. "Look at us. Two old men, all on their own, no happy family for us."

"Speak for yourself, I'm barely a day over 40," said the man, almost 50.

Vikram laughed again, looking at him with such fondness in his eyes. Nath felt sharp fear for a moment. Then he decided to be an adult again.

"You look well for your age too."

"Nath..."

Nath shivered at hearing his name. It was an intimate name. People didn't say it much. But it fit in Vikram's mouth.

"I don't want to change anything," Vikram said. "I'm happy as things are. It's ideal. I can't offer anything more."

Nath got up, brushing dust from his pants. It had gotten late. They were alone at the circle. A vehicle passing by to remind them of the world that exists.

"I'll take whatever you can offer," he said, looking away from him.

"Friendship? For as long as I live?" Vikram held out his hand.

Nath looked at it. Big, warm. Hairy. Pale skin where the wedding ring used to sit. He extended his own and took it.

"As long as I live."

... Let me know if you like it enough to see some other prompts involving them... I have so many headcanons for them.

27 notes · View notes

manicdragondreamgirl · 4 years

Text

I haven’t had chemistry since like 2008, and I’m also an idiot who likes to make my friends upset, so I rated the periodic table in order to tilt my friends:

Hydrogen - this is like your childhood friend who has always been with you more or less and always will be down to get a drink and chill even tho you haven’t spoken in years. Solid bro imo 7.5/10

Helium - always down for a good time, even if probably created Alvin and the Chipmunks which in some places is considered a war crime. 4/10

Lithium - Gives me bitchy vibes and is flammable as fuck if I remember. Skinny bitch with an attitude 3/10

Beryllium - idk this sounds like a sailor moon villain lol for that it can have a 6/10

Boron - more like BORONG amirite ha ha wait no seriously I have no idea lol 5/10 clean neutral rating

Carbon - *screaming* 2/10 I will not be taking questions

Nitrogen - cool cool cool tight tight tight 9/10 Nitrogen just is the cool hot chick you wish you were

Oxygen - kid who takes up all the glory for the group project even tho you did all the work, 4/10 for natural charisma

Fluorine - lol what are you knockoff chlorine lmfao bitch 3/10 reminds me of the dentist

Neon - I can vibe with this boy for his contributions to signs which cause my eyes to scream 8/10 modernized Art Deco thanks you

Sodium - 10/10 this is me and I won’t be taking questions next element

Magnesium - magnesium is a close relative of magnificent and therefore I think the case is closed folks 9/10

Aluminum - 10/10 for providing a home to my Diet Coke addiction I’d be dead without you

Silicon - 6.9/10 :smirk:

Phosphorous - This has a very soundly name and it’s welcome to do that but idk, not a fan, seems like he’d be smelly, 2/10

Sulfur - 1/10 pretty sure that dog farts are purely comprised of this and as such if I was leaving negative ratings I would

Chlorine - 7.8/10 for being in pools so we could swim without brain eating amoeba in the south you a champ

Argon - he seems like a nerd jk this guy has a good color 9/10 for just being himself

Potassium - I hate bananas and this word gives me the physical sensation of biting into one but only by thinking of abstract letters and making them into something which we can nutrientise from bananas and to me that shit is bananas, b a n a n a s — 3/10 for making me sing hollaback girl thru adhd word association

Calcium - hm my brain went to mega milk so you get a 2/10 today bud I don’t make the rules

Scandium - pretty sure this is fake lol what’s next faxdium, e-Mailite and copinium? 5/10

Titanium - this song’s a banger and also is the only thing that lets me wear earrings 10/10

Vanadium - if your erection lasts for longer than like idk it’s supposed to then don’t take vanadium wait what do you mean it’s not an ED treatment 4/10

Chromium - decent bloke shame the browser eats all your memory 5/10

Manganese - if a weeb tries to tell me how to pronounce mayonnaise one more time... 1/10

Iron - excellent tool against the fey, in your blood, what a bro, 10/10 this bitch slaps

Cobalt - has a powerful energy; I respect him. 8/10

Nickel - if I had a nickel for every time someone made this joke lol 5/10 he’s doing his best

Copper - taste bad 3/10

Zinc - isn’t that the dude in the green tunic and white tights who saves premcess Lelda or something lol 7/10 those games are good

Gallium - seems like a prick 4/10

Germanium - sounds like a child pronouncing geraniums which are superior 3/10

Arsenic - bad vibes coach 1/10

Selenium - isn’t this just sailor moon lol 10/10 love this bitch

Bromine - farmine wherever you aremine - 9/10 I love a good bro

Krypton - he’s okay I guess 5/10

Rubidium - yet another Steven universe villain who will be redeemed I imagine 4/10 seems a bit dull

Strontium - I feel nothing when I see this lad’s name and that seems like a shame 1/10 I don’t like it

Yttrium - this is an atrium in Yharnam, or something 8/10 would love to sit in one and make contact with higher beings

Zirconium - oh wait THIS is the sailor moon villain from the dead moon circus! 9/10 I enjoyed that arc

Niobium - seems sassy, I like that in an element 7/10

Molybdenum - I hate this one, rancid. 1/10 for making me have flashbacks to difficult Ancient Greek vocabulary there is no fucking way that sound combination is anything but Beta and Delta borking and then Latin being like oh imma steal that

Technetium - 6/10 decent name but seems a bit forced

Ruthenium - 5/10 kindly old lady element I guess lol

Rhodium - 10/10 this ain’t my first rhodium babee this lad has good vibes what a name what a king

Palladium - 10/10 for making me think of paladins

Silver - 12/10 I’m breaking the rules for this silver is the best it is so cool and also it is the other best tool for dealing with supernatural creatures when iron has failed you highly suggest Even if I am extremely allergic to it going into my ears...wait hold on

Cadmium - 2/10 sounds like a total douche

Indium - 8/10, i just think it’s independent and neat

Tin - 10/10 good ear sounds when involving rain and roof shapes and automatically reminds me of Nora Jones’s come away with me album which is also 10/10

Antimony - 7/10 decent protagonist good name all around seems rad

Tellurium - tell ur mom what? That’s so early 2010s league of legends humor bro 2.5/10

Iodine - strikes fear in my soul from having it poured on my wounds but this is why I have more pain tolerance than god 5.3/10

Xenon - I think this is a declension of Xena warrior princess which is a win in my eyes, 8/10

Caesium - kind of has a cunty Latin name, 4.5/10

Barium - yeah boss, bury’im! 7.5/10 I love a good mobster gag

Lanthanum - A bit pretentious on the Tolkien spectrum sorry bud 3/10 sounds like you’d be the dickwad elf everyone hates

Cerium - 6.5/10 I like this one, gives me a clean vibe

Praseodymium - the fuck who sneezed all their alphabet soup onto the paperwork and called it an element Christ we can’t keep doing this 1.5/10

Neodymium - oh my god what did I just say 1/10

Promethium - thank Christ we’re back to greek 9/10 Prometheus was a Chad I could get behind

Samarium - 5/10 gives me boring wizard vibes

Europium - 4.5/10 don’t rename opium chrissake can’t take these nerds anywhere

Gadolinium - 5/10 it’s a starship knockoff but it’s trying to be bold with the G sound

Terbium - 2/10 I don’t vibe with this one

Dysprosium - sounds like an antidepressant that has a lot of shitty side effects 3/10

Holmium - sounds like someone anxious asking their beloved to hold them 8/10 I like hurt/comfort fics

Erbium - you can’t just describe something as herby you daft bastard 2/10

Thulium - sounds like a spell I like it 8.5/10

Ytterbium - macguffin in a shite sci-fi show that gets highly overrated because BBC produced it and superwholock stans emerge and go utterly feral 1/10

Lutetium - bards are an element I agree 10/10

Hafnium - sounds like a river (my dog) sound and has a cute vibe, I’d offer it head pats 7/10

Tantalum - noooo you can’t be sad yuor so sexe haha 6.9/10 tantalizing

Tungsten - 10/10 this is a lad with history

Rhenium - 5.5/10 it’s ok

Osmium - 4/10 I wasn’t a big wizard of oz fan

Iridium - 9/10 sounds like iridescent and that’s in my top 10 favorite words and concepts

Platinum - 10/10 best Pokémon game

Gold - 7.9/10 all that glitters and all but it’s still pretty on some people, silver is better tho

Mercury - yikes 8/10 so it doesn’t kill me

Thallium - sounds like the brother character in a ps4 exclusive western rpg that oddly falls under the radar in terms of reviews and gets shafted at awards for no reason 7/10 I’ll support you tho

Lead - 2/10 that’s gonna be a no from me dawg pretty sure I still have lead in my hands from stabbing myself with my mechanical pencils

Bismuth - 6/10 sounds good in mouth and reminds me of biscuits for some reason, I’ll take it

Polonium - to thine own self be true so stop trying to act like the arts don’t influence science jk pretty sure this is named for Poland but hey that’s where we get the Witcher so you get a pass 6/10

Astatine - 1/10 I don’t even know what you are

Radon - 7/10 this motherfucker knows his shit and how to party, rad is right

Francium - I bring you francium...and I bring you myrdurdium... 7/10 for a good vine

Radium - killed the video star probably 9/10 I can get behind her

Actinium - as opposed to passtinium I prefer actinium in the voice of writing 8/10

Thorium - overrated Norse god 5/10 because lightning is still cool

Protactinum - sounds like some pretentious condom brand 4/10 wouldn’t do it with a dude who bought these

Uranium - I always thought she was a hot sailor scout 10/10

Neptunium - same for her I knew they weren’t cousins you couldn’t lie to me 4kids 10/10

Plutonium - sounds like a macguffin unfortunately 5/10

Americium - I read this with a pivotal letter missing and nearly died, 7/10 for the laugh

Curium - 10/10 gives me Curie vibes and also reminds me of curiosity which reminds me of—[old yellered before the association could set in]

Berkelium - what I shout when I want Burke (fam dog) to slaughter innocents and raze territories 2/10 world was not meant to know his commands

Californium - 1/10 California is cool with geography but probs could stand to chill with the ego sorry to my friends in Cali

Einsteinium - 6/10 it’s alright but we’re really running out of ideas huh

Fermium - 3/10 this one is porny

Mendelevium - 1/10 my brain didn’t like parsing this and I stand by my earlier statement of running out of good names

Nobelium - 0/10 you didn’t name any noble gases this cowards this gas can’t be a noble oh wait it’s NOBEL I take it back 5/10 seems an alright chap

Lawrencium - fear the old blood my sorry dead hunter’s ass I’ll never get back my life from the hours I spent trying to beat this lava shitting bastard 2/10 for being a boss who eats Taco Bell specifically before being challenged to have fresh lava shit with which to punish you for having the audacity to exist in his space

Rutherfordium - my god what a snob 4.2/10 I respect him a little but only because he sounds like a right lad

Dubnium - DROP THE BASS 10/10

Seoborgium - not sure about this one but it can have a 7/10

Bohrium - as an American English speaker this sound combination makes my pathetic throat become a black hole as I try to properly create the sound of it 10/10 I love when my body becomes a massive void in the universe

Hassium - lazy 2/10

Elements 109-118 can go fuck themselves I hate them all, collective 6.66/10 for their general demonic vibe

#the periodic table #made by an idiot #it’s me your manic dragon dream girl #long post

35 notes · View notes

words-writ-in-starlight · 5 years

Note

THE UNTAMED, YOUR CHOICE OF OURAN AU, SOUL EATER AU, S&S AU, OR CORPSE BRIDE AU

OKAYI’M GOING TO DO THE OURAN AU BECAUSE I THINK IT’S REALLY FUNNY AND I MADE THEBAD CHOICE™ OF READING A BUNCH OF NEWS TODAY. Uh. Mycomputer crashed halfway through this and I think somehow it got longer,so. Sorry about that one.

ONE

Wen Ning is a scholarship student. He’s more than ascholarship student, really, he’s a here by the grace of every godever and also his sister student who also, incidentally, is ona scholarship. The phenomenally wealthy Wen family recently went down ina blaze of indignity and political scandal, but newly-broke Wen Qing is not hearing any arguments about sending her babybrother to a less-than-top-of-the-line high school, especially since he acedthe tests and was given a full ride except for books and uniform. SinceWen Qing was halfway through med school at the time of the Wen scandal, they’reburning through their meager inheritance to get her degree and make ends meetfor food, on the gamble eventually they might be able to move out of their absolutelyshit one-bedroom apartment on a doctor’s salary and also because Wen Ning pointblank refused to let her drop out. Therefore, when Wen Ning tries to hideout in an empty music room and accidentally breaks a very expensive vase, he hasa moment of abject dread and–well, yeah, okay, he’ll work it off, he guesses.

TWO

WeiWuxian isn’t actually planning to charge this kid for a vase that is definitelyworth more than the entire apartment building he lives in! Wei Wuxian isnot an asshole! It’s just that he hasnever seen this scholarship kid with the secondhand clothes and the long hairhiding his face and the unfortunate name speak to anyone outside of absolutelymandatory conversation, and it’s kind of depressing. So, Wuxian has decided to adopt him, teachhim how to talk to people, and maybe buy him a ponytail holder. He has about five seconds to get all of thatout on the third day since recruiting Wen Ning, when a very petite woman in ared coat storms in like a hurricane and corners Wuxian alone (or rather, withonly Lan Wangji, which is as close as it gets) with apparently homicidal intentto snarl, “If you’re messing with my brother’s head, no one will ever find yourbody.”

(WenNing did not mention being low-key press-ganged into a host club on the firstday. On the second day, he came home ina real uniform that actually fit, with his hair cut into something thatresembled a style and pulled back from his face, and he had to spill hisguts because not even Wen Qing’s sleep schedule was going to make her miss thatone.)

Turnsout that the sister Wen Ning mentioned, implying that she was the same kind ofangelic creature as Jiang Yanli, is fucking terrifying. Wei Wuxian rambles through hisexplanation so fast that he kind of doubts Wen Qing gets all of it, and then hewaves his hands helplessly and says, “I don’t know, he just seemed kind oflonely?” Wen Qing narrows her eyes athim. “It’s true! I never see him talk to anyone!”

“A-Ningis a good kid,” she says, shoving a finger into Wuxian’s chestthreateningly. “Our family never likedhim because he’s too nice, and no one else likes him because of his name, so ifI hear you’re messing with him…”

“Iswear,” Wuxian says, raising his hand. “Ijust thought maybe it would be good for him, having some people to hang outwith.”

WenQing studies him for another moment, and then she steps back and nods and says,“It will be.”

Andthat’s how the host club gets a part-time manager in addition to its latestrecruit.

THREE

Thehosts are:

[rose_petal_animation.gif]

WeiWuxian, whois nominally in charge because he came up with this whole idea, on the argumentthat, quote, “Jiang Cheng needs to learn to be nicer.” It was also tacitly agreed that he and JiangCheng needed something that would keep them out of the house and therefore outof Madam Yu’s way after school, and they’d already been kicked out of themartial arts club after a slight incident involving Wei Wuxian’s fist, JinZixuan’s face, and Jiang Cheng’s unapologetic support. Wuxian went around and recruited some folks,and now he has a host club, which, in his opinion, is markedly more fun thanthe martial arts club. The Mischievoustype.

JiangCheng,who has spent three years in this circus and is not noticeably nicer. He’s likable enough with the guests, but nomatter what Wei Wuxian says, Jiang Cheng does know how to be civil whenthe situation calls for it. He spends mostof his time trying to reign in his brother’s more wild ideas, but his successrate isn’t great, because their sets-and-costumes guy is a horrible enablerwith family money who is more than willing to contribute to all kinds ofnonsense as long as he can show up with a fan and look mysterious while hewatches the chaos at their events. JiangCheng says he’s the Long-Suffering type but actually he’s the Bad Boy typebecause of his temper.

JinZixuan,who is only here because his mother said he’d be grounded until he graduatesunless he found a good extracurricular and he didn’t know who ran the host clubwhen he blurted out that he was planning to join it. Now he’s committed because his mother will notsupport him leaving and it’s been three years and also he still hasn’t gottenJiang Yanli’s phone number, which has become absolutely necessary because thethree minutes he sees her every Thursday when she comes to get her brothers fortheir weekly sibling dinner are the best of his week. There is a good chance Zixuan’s going to getpunched again when he finally gets his courage up to ask her out, but sometimesit be like that. The Princely type, althoughhe’s hopeless when he’s not playing a part.

LanWangji, treasurer,who is only here because Wei Wuxian asked him to be, and everyone (except WeiWuxian) knows it. He’s still remarkablypopular with the guests, despite the fact that most people are lucky to get fiveconsecutive words out of him and it’s a known fact that he’ll bow out of aconversation with nothing more than a brief apology and a nod the moment Wuxiancalls him. Somehow, three years later,Wuxian has not picked up on the fact that Wangji is really not here tolearn to talk to women. Save him. The Stoic type.

LanXichen, generalsource of stability if not necessarily common sense, who is here because hisbrother is here. He and Wen Qing bondimmediately over their shared Protective Older Sibling energies, although WenQing is very much here to beat up anyone who looks sideways at her brother andXichen is very much here to wingman his brother as hard as he can manage. He’s a year older than the others, graduatingthis year, and the most popular host by a long shot. The Chivalrous type.

WenNing, who,yeah, is wide-eyed and shy and tends to start stuttering if more than threeguests are looking at him at any given moment, but he has an apparently innatetalent for sweet and unassuming kindness that’s a big hit. The guests are charmed by his nervousness andthey’re always happy to listen to him talk about his favorite subjects (his sister,his friends, and archery, which he currently can’t afford to do but knowseverything about, in that order). The Natural type.

Honorablemention to Nie Mingjue, who graduated last year and was only partof the host club because Lan Xichen made him. Which is to say, Xichen smiled at him and talked about how gladhe was that Wangji was making friends and how good it would look onMingjue’s college applications as a complement to his more athleticextracurriculars and how happy Huaisang would be to do something withhis brother, and then Mingjue blinked and boom, host club. He doesn’t have any idea what happened. Xichen is like that. The Jock type.

FOUR

NieHuaisang has been Wei Wuxian’s top enabler and partner in chaos since they werein middle school and he also knows everyone and everything despite hisreputation as a top-notch dumbass. Hisentire rationale for not being part of the host club is that it wouldrequire him to admit to knowing things, and he Won’t, which—top student Wei “IHandle My Adequacy Issues By Being Smart But Also Have Guilt About It” Wuxiandoesn’t totally get that, but sure, okay, proceed. Huaisang does, however, have anexcellent grasp of how to acquire all manner of strange things, so he is theirone-man supply center for all manner of wild concepts. One time he got an entire apple treenext-day-shipped just to prove he could.

Also,Huaisang is personally responsible for making most of the host club’s money,because he has a camera and a good sense for the kind of pictures that peoplewill pay for. Even funneling most of the money back into funding the club activities, Huaisang is still managing to turn a decent profit all told. He takes a nice 7% cut for himself (friends and family discount), which is half the reason Mingjue didn’t kick up even more of a fuss about it.

Huaisang’svisceral hatred of the head editor of the school paper is the best kept secretin the school but on god Huaisang’s connections are better than that JinGuangyao asshole’s and he’s going to take him down before graduation.

FIVE

Halfwaythrough the school year, Wei Wuxian gets in a car wreck and the way Lan Wangjireacts to being the first number the paramedics find in Wuxian’s phone is informative. It’s taken five and a half years, four brokenribs, a punctured lung, a concussion, and a spirited yelling sessionfrom Jiang Cheng, among other things, but Wei Wuxian has finally managed to geta clue.

Anda boyfriend.

Nowall they need to do is resolve Huaisang’s vendetta, figure out how the hell afirst year like Xue Yang managed to so comprehensively destroy ex-teacher XiaoXingchen’s reputation, and try and make it to Wen Qing’s graduation on time,and they’re golden.

#the untamed #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wei wuxian #wen ning #ouran au #ask meme #headcanon meme #if you went 'hey where's mianmian' i'm sorry to inform you that she's too smart for this au!#mianmian is off living a completely sane life somewhere! she has a nice boyfriend and a healthy social life!#there is a HARD max of one truly sensible person in any ouran au and wen qing is already here!#'oh star lxc is sensible' no he's not. have you ever even glimpsed the source material. lxc is himbo supreme he's just quiet about it.#anyway i'm not sure how jgy wronged nmj in this au...but he did and nhs is out for BLOOD #this is a good au and it makes me happy but also i've been looking at it for So Long trying to remember what i wrote before #what else was i going to say about this au #oh! right! xy arranged to have xxc's reputation destroyed for 'inappropriate behavior on campus' with his bf song lan #and also implied although did not QUITE accuse outright that xxc came onto him #don't worry nhs has proof of that one also! this is a happy endings only au and that means that xxc gets his job back #after nhs has successfully orchestrated a LOT of disciplinary action #i sort of feel like wwx and lwj take more of a backseat in the host club after this year and jiang cheng (to his horror)#discovers that the nominal leadership has fallen on him #oh and also one time jzx made jyl cry and her brothers never forgave and they never forgot #the crying was after the punching though so it could be said that there was pre-existing resentment #asked and answered #cthulhu-with-a-fez

115 notes · View notes

witchsblackfox · 5 years

Text

Escape to The Circus

~A Cure?~

Summary: Almost done? I think not!

Note: Chapter is definitely a little short compared to the others. But I am stumped. Should I make the last chapter 19 or make it to 20 and see where it leads us from there?

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

Selina spent all week with Ivy in the biological garden over the Wayne Industry. Apparently Marinette has tried to leave the manor all Saturday nor has she been eating properly. This worried Selina more.

"There has to be something that can fix her. Do you have a plant that enhance her hunger? Or break whatever in her head that is making her think the worst thing imaginable?" Ivy just gave her the "will you shut up" stare and continued to combine a cure. Selina paced back and forth reading her copy of the file.

"Cubozoa is a jellyfish, so he'd have to have a way to get one or even be around one. Where could he find one?" Selina spoke to herself as she walked over to her phone and started looking for aquariums who house jellyfish.

"I got it!" Ivy shouted and held up a vile of light green liquid. "This should get her to at least eat." Selina Jumped up and down almost throwing her phone out of her hand.

"Great! Let's take it to Mari."

øøøø

It was already the 30th and everything that week wasn't going as planned. Marinette's wound on herf lot was good as new, only a scar took it's place, and she just kept on trying to leave.

Damn it... Cole is waiting for me and we have a performance for Halloween to rehearse for! She stomped around in her room trying to figure out a plan. I got it! She slammed her fist in to her hand and smiled. She put on her light blue romper with the see through train and slipped on socks carrying her boots down stairs. She kept her hair down holding ribbons in between her lips as she skipped down the hallway and sat on the stair railing, sliding down it like Mary Poppins did. As she landed at the bottom of the steps she found Mr. Pennyworth blinking at her then smile.

"Hello Miss Marinette. Are you hungry?" She gave him a nod with a smile. "I made French toast and eggs sunny side up." Her smile grew wider as she moved the ribbons to her hand and said thank you. He turned around and lead her to the dining room where all four boys sat with Cass, Selina, and a red head woman waiting for her.

'No school today?' Mari asked Cass. She smiled shook her head.

'Dad is keeping me out for the next week. Something about wanting me to stay home with family.'

'I see! Then think we can go to the park today?'Cass's eyes lit up then turned to her brothers. They were watching Mari as if expecting her to do something crazy. Cass eyed them suspiciously, then turned to Selina. Selina was also watching Mari in the same manner, only the red headed woman didn't seem to give much mind. Cass sighed then began to eat.

Marinette stared at her plate, trying to figure out what she was eating. Mr. Pennyworth said it was French Toast and eggs.. But... This looks like... Green vomit and burnt toast. She gave a twisted expression but picked up her fork and cut into "vomit" turning green seeing if break and drip apart off her fork. She felt sick, she knew Mr. Pennyworth put time into making her breakfast, so she closed her eyes and quickly took the fork into her mouth and swallowed it down. She tried to keep from thinking about the food she threw into her mouth. It taste like... Eggs... But... I feel sick.. She felt everyone's eyes burrowing into her and opened her own looking down at her plate finding the vomit and toast replaced with sugar covered French toast and yolk covered eggs.

It's really eggs and French toast... Excited and hungry she ate it hastenly forgetting all about her table manners as she ate.

øøøø

No one around the table was sure what to expect. When Ivy and Selina came back early this morning with a little vial and insisted Alfred make Marinette's food separate. They weren't sure it would work, but it had to be enough to at least get her to eat. They all waited at the table for Mari to come down to join them. The boys knew she would want to go back today and unfortunately what they are doing is complete kidnapping. When Marinette came down and joined them at the table ribbons and boots in hand, they watched her carefully.

'No school today?' She asked Cass who shook her head.

'Dad is keeping me out for the next week. Something about wanting me to stay home with family.' Cass said rolling her eyes slightly.

'I see! Then think we can go to the park today?' Cass liked the idea, they hadn't had time together since Mari was in a semi coma.

Damian leaned into Dick and whispered into his ear. Jason sat ready to jump at the chance to catch her if she ran for the door, and Tim just sipped his coffee watching over the cup. Cass turned to look at them to be brushed off. She scowled then turnes toward Selina and Ivy to receive the same response. I'll just wait for father to come home and ask. Alfred placed the plate of French toast and cooked egg in front of her and Mari and began to eat it. Mari however, just stared at it. Her face twisted and even slightly turned green. I wish I knew what she was seeing. Jason and Dami said she sees the food or drink in front of her differently and it makes her not eat.

She cut into the egg first, watching the yolk errupt all over the dish then quickly put it in her mouth and swallow. Each person at the table leaned on the edge of their seats staring at her hard. When Mari opened her eyes, a glow of green flashed in her eyes but was replaced with wide bright blue eyes. She smiled and devoured everything but her plate. Everyone gave a relieving sigh and began to to eat themselves.

Poor Alfred had to made Marinette two more plates of food but he seemed to be happy to do so. He went ahead and had Mari join him in the kitchen as he made them. Selina cleared her throat and everyone who stayed looked to her.

"This is a temporary situation. Without knowing how long she had been taking the drug and at what dosage, I was only able to counteract the appetite suppressant she was given." Ivy spoke in a soft voice for only the table to hear.

"What did you give her?" Damian asked first.

"Because she was given cocaine and Hoodia Gordonii, a catus-like succulent, I wasn't sure it would work. But I pretty much gave Marijuana." Ivy shrugged.

"Wait, you gave her a munchie drug to counter an addictive mind tripping drug?" Tim asked baffled for a second. "Doesn't that add to the addiction?"

"I won't get into this with you, however it got her to eat. The Hoodia Gordonii is greatly used in Africa to suppress hunger and make you feel full with only one bite. That was what I was countering Timothy." Ivy spoke with vinegar. "From my understanding of plants, the Erythroxylum coca, or cocaine plant, stimulate the brain and can help alter the mind of anyone under the influence." All four boys fell back in their seats and stared at their hands.

'So, you're saying Mari was, sorry is drugged this entire time and none of you have done anything?! You're freaking Robins!' The boys stared at Cass in disbelief. 'I learned about the drug addiction stuff just last week. Mari might not know she's addicted... What if she looks like two-face?' Cass's eyes was really wide. The image in her had made her shudder.

"We are working on it, the problem is like Ivy said, we don't know how long she has been in this state, and as far as we know it could have been from the beginning of time." Tim spoke up. Jason came out of his mind and spoke next.

"Cass, Dick and Damian are following an investigation that is related to Mari's situation, if they can find out who did it then it will be easier to get a cure for her. Tim and Selina are working with doctors and Ivy to create a cure for Mari." Damian settled in his seat trying to not get angry.

'Mystry Circus leaves the day after tomorrow. You're running out of time!' Cass was holding back her tears, angry and worried expressed all over her body and words.

"Hey, we promise you that we will find a way to help Mari. Even if it means, we kidnap her. Again." Dick said earning a coughing snicker from his brothers and Selina. Cass sighed got up from the table walking toward the kitchen and peeked in to see Mari happily eating her third plate. She turned around toward the boys, making herself look taller and older.

'She better be marrying one of you after this. Otherwise I will when I'm 18.' She said confidently then walked off to her room to change for the day.

øøøø

Selina and Ivy laughed hard against the table. After wiping away the tears that were made, Ivy stood up.

"I believe it's time I go. I'll work some more on the hunger remedy. Maybe we can re-alter her mind to see what she is told is in front of her." With that Selina walked Ivy to the door and gave her a hug.

"I'll find that jelly fish for you. It's going to be hard unless I fly to Australia." Selina whispered in her ear then walked back inside and to the boys. "So, who's going to marry my sister?" Each men looked at each other almost glaring then turned to Selina and raised their hands.

øøøø

The man clapped his hands together and sat with Mr. Casso.

"Thank you for housing me and my pet. Tomorrow night will be our last with Mystry Circus." His voice melted in his ears. "You have been such a huge contributer to my cause." The man walks away from the Ring leader's tent and headed to the red tent, making sure everything was back to normal in her tent and even pulled out her blackadybig leotard and skirt on the bed. He sniffed the article of clothing and sat on her bed, remembering their night together and smiled.

"This will be magnificent performance. In fact it will be to die for." He said to himself stroking the bed as if Marinette was there.

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

@starry-bi-sky @zebrabaker @wuvpancakes @18-fandoms-unite-08 @weird-pale-blonde-person @vivilakitty @novicevoice @northernbluetongue @luciferge @krispydefendorpolice @nomiegnome @persephonebutkore @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @magicalfirebird @unabashedbookworm @vixen-uchiha @dorkus-minimus @dur55 @disneyfoxuniverse @caffeinetheory @drarryismylife101 @shamefullove @yuulxd @moonlightstar64

#maribat #mlb x dc #escape to the circus #not soulmating :p #batfam

58 notes · View notes

clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 22: The Next Chapter

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

Nadya and Adrian finally talk about what happened. Lily gets a bouquet of blue lotuses.

WARNING: this chapter contains explicit sexual content

[READ IT ON AO3]

Two weeks later…

“Adrian Raines’ office, please hold.”

Click.

“Adrian Raines’ office, can you hold for me for just a sec? Thank you.”

Click.

“Mr. Raines’ office — please hold.”

Click.

“Adrian Raines’ office, ple— Oh, thank you for holding. Uh… just keep doing that. Thank you!”

Click. Ping.

Nadya’s on autopilot as she grabs the phone and holds it to her ear — ready to spout her spiel to yet another caller. The dial tone confuses her for a second — can’t tell if it’s actually there or her brain’s the one that’s gone on hold.

The glowing icon at the bottom of the computer screen brings her back into focus-mode.

[ADRIAN]: You ok out there? [NADYA]: yes [NADYA]: did u get this many calls b4 or am i out of practice? [ADRIAN]: There’s a tech expo next week. Nicole signed up RCorp to present on solar energy.

Somehow she’s not even surprised that Nicole’s legacy — publicly tarnished regarding a carefully-crafted scandal of ‘selling company secrets’ — is making her life more difficult.

The phone starts ringing again and she’s barely a crumb away from pulling her hair out.

[NADYA]: take some of these!!!! [ADRIAN]: Sorry, I just finished with Vega’s campaign manager. [NADYA]: NOW!!!

The screen says Adrian is typing but she closes the window without letting it send. Puts on her most chipper service voice as she answers; “Adrian Raines’ office, thank you for holding, I’m transferring you to Mister Raines now,” and sends the problem away with a push of a button.

Well, that problem anyway.

It takes them the entire afternoon to crank out every last caller. Just when there’s an end in sight another wave floods in — but it wouldn’t be work if it wasn’t irritating on some level.

Adrian is, well, Adrian-like in his profuse apology messages. And if she’d normally turn down his offer to pay for the upstairs employee restaurant to bring down dinner she certainly won’t today.

The last time Nadya looked at a clock it was a perfectly acceptable time to order steak and scallops as a reward for finishing. Somewhere in between she migrates into Adrian’s actual office with all of her supplies and several tablets — he takes the calls while she gets everything in place.

That nothing she’s putting down on his calendars has anything to do with vampires, Council problems, or mysterious supernatural happenings is actually frustrating. And there are several times Nadya catches herself in the middle of thinking ‘I’d rather be chased by a horde of Ferals’ and shakes it off because, well, neither is preferable.

When the work-day officially ends (maybe not for them but certainly for the people who will be pestering them with calls) Nadya actually chucks her calendar aside like a frisbee. Flinches when it collides with the office wall but it doesn’t leave a mark so, you know, no regrets.

Heels kicked off in blissful relief and she ignores the soft ticking of the clock reading 22:11 on the wall behind him with carefully honed skill to dig into her buttery meal with fervor.

“I completely forgot about the expo. Wine?” Adrian lifts the bottle in offering, takes her vigorous nod around a mouthful of food with laughter as he pours a second for himself. “I can’t believe I let it slip my mind. We’ve contributed the last four years.”

Nadya at least has the decency not to answer with a full mouth. “Well in your defense we were sorta busy, you know, trying not to die.”

“Fair point.”

They ‘cheers’ their drinks and take a celebratory sip. Not just for what they accomplished today — they both know it.

Most of the shared meal is filled with silence. Adrian doesn’t share her human gusto for luxury entrees but he does eat instead of continuing to work. A small gesture for which she is eternally grateful.

Only when she’s pushing around the scraps of fatty meat in fattier sauce does Nadya consider voicing her thoughts. Avoids eye contact carefully — only because she doesn’t want him to reconsider keeping her on as his assistant.

“How do you do it?”

“Do what?” asks Adrian in reply. She gives him a look of really? but he’s not a mind reader.

“You know — this,” with a wide gesture around his office, “balance the two worlds. Not let it make you crazy.”

“Where is this coming from?” He leans forward with folded hands. “You were managing it just fine before the Ball.”

“Exactly! Before the literal circus. Before the Ball and what happened to Megan and hiding underground and… and you’re awfully calm considering a few weeks ago you were nearly executed for something you didn’t even do.”

Maybe her voice hitches a little bit. Hopefully he won’t say anything.

The day they returned to work Nadya adopted a ‘leave it all behind’ mentality that, for the most part, has worked pretty well. Adrian’s followed in her footsteps without needing clarification on anything too. Like it never even happened.

Only it did happen. It very much happened. And she can only ignore it for so long until the rambling starts to kick in against her will — her subconscious is dying to talk and can only be suppressed for so long.

Okay, so… maybe not talking about it wasn’t the best idea. She’s known to have a few bad ones from time to time.

Only Adrian doesn’t look very surprised. In fact he seems relieved.

“I was wondering when you were going to open up. I wanted to try sooner but Lily said you just needed time.”

“Well I have this thing I do where I — hold up, when were you talking to Lily?” Not like her best best friend and her boss best friend can’t talk but… what?

Almost sheepishly Adrian nudges his phone under a leather file. “Hm? What?”

“Don’t gimme that face Adrian Raines.”

“What face?”

“That face.”

He’s lucky he relents before she has to rough it out of him. “In my defense I was just concerned. I wanted to make sure you weren’t just pushing down your feelings.”

Nadya huffs. “Well you should’ve just asked.”

“Would you have told me?”

“Maybe — not. But don’t use Lil’ as a middle-woman.”

“All right; and I’m sorry.” But she’s not getting away with it that easily — can’t change the subject without him being able to follow her step-for-step. That much is obvious by the look he gives.

Nadya tries not to feel so painfully small and human when she finally says; “I just thought it would be better — pushing it all down, I mean. No offense but I don’t exactly have much experience with multiple near-death situations. Actually I don’t have any experience with them at all.”

“Good thing that wasn’t in the interview, huh?”

“You tricked me over coffee. Technically I missed my interview, remember?”

“I told you how refreshing it was not to be recognized. And you did get the job in the end.”

At least he doesn’t hold back bantering with her. That does wonders — more than Nadya even realized. Only she doesn’t have a comeback, so…

So Adrian helps her out.

“But that’s the difference, I think. You’re right; you haven’t come so close to dying before, but I have. Actually,” he leans back thoughtfully, “that isn’t even the first time I’ve had my life threatened by Vega now that I think about it.”

“Adrian?”

“Yes Nadya?”

“How many times have you nearly died?”

He stops to think it over. “Certainly over a dozen, maybe two — not counting the time I actually died.”

That’s a good point. She hadn’t thought about that one.

“But do you want to know something?” He waits until she’s looking back into his eyes. “All those times before; every battle in every war, every dangerous stunt or accident? I may have had confidence but I never knew I was getting out alive. This last time — no matter how bleak things seemed — I didn’t need confidence. I had something else.”

“What was it?” she asks; maybe if it’s enough for him then it’ll be enough for her too.

“I had hope,” when he offers his hand palm-up on the desk Nadya takes it without hesitation, “I had you.”

It’s so awful. Like, so terribly corny and embarrassing that she’s flustered for him which simply isn’t fair. Especially when he starts grinning over it.

“If you spent your time trapped in that dungeon thinking I was gonna bust in and rescue you like some Buffy sequence —”

“No, not exactly. But you did save me.”

“Well yeah but only because —”

“Because you’re the woman who chose to remember. Who had questions and dug your heels in until they were answered. Don’t devalue yourself just because you’re human, Nadya.”

He squeezes their hands. “Thank you, Nadya Al Jamil. Thank you for saving my life.”

She’s all-too-familiar with the stinging in her eyes at this point. Yanks her hand from his and looks around hastily for a tissue only to remember they’re on her desk back outside — but he takes pity on her and offers up his handkerchief.

She can only manage to speak when she’s got soft cotton pressed into her eyeballs.

“I left my waterproof mascara at Kamilah’s, jerk.”

“I’m sorry?” He has the gall to sound unsure.

“You’d better be.”

When Nadya opens her eyes again Adrian’s no longer in his chair — which spins slowly without him. In the blink of an eye he’s at her side with her purse and tissue box from her desk; both offered with a hopeful look.

They trade and he tucks the handkerchief in his pocket. “You’re learning, Raines.”

He sits back in his chair with a grin.

“Who said you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?”

“Oh my god — shut up.”

“What? What did I say?”

She hurls a makeup-smeared tissue ball at Adrian while he laughs.

The delivery man is really lucky she had a last-minute question in her choice of shoes. Otherwise Nadya most certainly would have stepped on the bouquet.

If Adrian weren’t waiting downstairs in the middle of evening traffic she’d be happy to parade the flowers into Lily’s room and make fun of her for being so unbelievably sappy with Maricruz but, alas, time is of the essence.

“Lil’ you’ve got a delivery!” She shouts instead. And if there’s only one good thing about Lily being Turned it’s that vampire speed really helps their near-opposite work ethics.

Nadya places the flowers on the counter just as Lily blurs in.

“Hey, thought you were leaving for work?”

“Well I was. But these stopped me.” She pushes them over gently. The blue of the petals reminds her of Mari’s shocking hair. That must be why she picked them.

For a moment it looks like Lily has no idea what she’s talking about; but it must have been a trick of the light. She takes them in hand and looks them over with… surprisingly un-Lily-like speculation.

“Oh, huh. Is there a card?”

“Dunno, lemme see —” the sudden armful of bouquet nearly sends her reeling, “— here, down near the bottom.”

For You.

Scrawled in elegant script she didn’t know the smuggler was capable of — but everyone has a strange hobby. “Well that’s cute.”

Lily nods; suddenly distracted by something on her phone. “Uh-huh. Yeah.”

“Lil’?”

“Totally.”

“Lily.”

“Huh?” She sees Nadya’s light smack of the head coming from a mile away and speeds around the kitchen island to avoid it. “What, Nadya? What?”

“You’re just a little casual about them, that’s all. Especially since you’re seeing her tonight…” Nadya exchanges flowers for her bag and looks Lily over.

“You’d tell me if you were having girlfriend troubles… right?”

“Me? Girlfriend troubles? El-oh-el, Nadya. Mari and I are fine.”

With her thumb still rapidly plugging away at her screen Lily rounds the counter. Starts pushing Nadya out the door with unnerving strength. “Don’t keep Adrian waiting! Oh here, take ‘em —” how does she end up carrying the bouquet again? “— they’ll brighten up your office.”

“What? Wait —”

“Buh-bye!”

“What are you —”

“Mari’s almost here. Surprise booty call. Leave!”

“But —”

But nothing. Lily shoves her out the door and maybe she’d buy the erratic behavior if Lily getting laid was actually on the table but she’s pretty sure Maricruz isn’t gonna like the locks she hears slotting into place.

Outside she catches sight of the company car when Adrian flashes the headlights. She’s never been more excited for her boss’ generosity when he hands her a small bag full of powdered sugar-y goodness.

Her suspicion levels start to elevate when, fifteen minutes later, he checks his phone for the seventh time.

“Okay — what are you two not telling me?”

There’s such a thing as too innocent and maybe someone like Nadya could pull it off (she’s short and that’s adorable — a widely known fact) but Adrian ‘Scary Vampire’ Raines most certainly can’t.

Especially when he blinks and tries for what he probably thinks is a nonchalant smile. “What was that you said?”

She’s not stupid enough to try and distract him from driving in the middle of the city but he’s going to get a literal earful when they reach the parking garage.

Which… they should have reached the parking garage by now.

Nadya looks out through the tinted windows to the city’s nightlife awakening block by block. Commuters heading home, tourists starting their evenings on the town; neon lights starting to reflect off the windows of skyscrapers.

Wait. She knows where they’re going.

She swallows thickly around a too-large bite. Grabs her compact mirror and starts wiping powdered sugar away from her lips and chin in haste.

“Why are you doing this to me? I look terrible.”

Adrian scoffs. “You look great. You always do.”

“Yeah maybe for a day at the office. Not for…”

“A date?”

City traffic or not that earns him a smack to the chest. He doesn’t even flinch.

Is she sweating? Oh lordy she’s sweating. She’s gonna sweat right through her thin cardigan and that’s not attractive in the slightest.

“Please turn around?” She squeaks, timid, but of course Adrian doesn’t listen. Why would he ever listen to her?

Instead he continues on the route to Ahmanet Financial.

Trapped in a car with her boss (who undoubtedly has only the best intentions), after being shoved out of her apartment by her roommate (who definitely plans on someone getting lucky tonight), on her way to the apartment of her… special friend (who she hopes for everyone’s sakes is in on this).

What a… Thursday.

“The bouquet was Lily’s idea,” Adrian says when he finally has enough of Nadya’s silent treatment — singing like a canary, “do you like them?”

“They’re pretty.”

“They’re Egyptian blue lotuses. Kamilah’s favorite.”

So this is a thing that’s happening.

“If you’re gonna go through with this can you at least, I dunno, fill me in on what’s supposed to be going on?”

Being the terrible terrible person that she is Nadya decided to take the ‘leave it all behind’ mentality a little… too far. Too-embarrassed-to-call-her far. Hiding-in-the-office-bathroom-when-she-stopped-by far.

Safe to say Kamilah might be under the wild impression that Nadya wants nothing to do with her now that they’re out of mortal peril. Which couldn’t be further than the truth! She just hasn’t done this in some time and definitely doesn’t know how to go about it with a woman as gorgeous as Kamilah.

Not to mention the two thousand-year-old badass queen of pain thing. That might be a contributing factor.

Only when they’re parked and Nadya’s taken deep breaths while hopped up on the trunk of his car does Adrian answer.

“Whatever you may be assuming about her, I think you may be holding yourself back.”

She gives him a look of ‘wow, you don’t say?’ but can’t hold it for long. Adrian — god love him — keeps trying like Nadya’s making a conscious decision not to pursue perfection.

“She can be bristly at times — I’m sure you’ve seen. But underneath it all she’s really this… this wonderful and caring person. She’s just guarded — both of us, you know? We’ve been through —”

“Adrian,” she holds up a hand to stop him, “you don’t need to talk her up for me. Trust me; I really — like really — like her.”

“Then what’s stopping you?”

“I am. I think.”

She gives him a quick recap of what happened in the Shadow Den — not about Kamilah helping her realize she isn’t crazy or secretly some sort of psychopath, but how they agreed to talk about, well, them when everything was over. “And instead of doing it I just chickened out. She probably doesn’t even want to anymore.”

He coaxes her off of the car and onto her own two (wobbly) feet. Flexes his fingers on her shoulders and squeezes; nothing painful, but stronger than the average man. Squares down and looks her in the eye.

“Kamilah is the closest thing I have to family. She’s been the only one in my life worth protecting for decades now. Well — I mean now that I know you I guess —”

“Yeah yeah I get it. Keep motivating.”

“— Right. What I’m saying is I’m just as protective of her as she is of me and I know, Nadya — I know — that you two are something special. So if that’s what helps you march over to that elevator and give her those flowers and —”

“You don’t gotta describe the whole thing.”

“— Right. Again. You know what I mean.”

Yeah. She knows what he means. And pulls him into the tightest hug she can for his troubles. The way he returns it floods her with comfort; reminds her that no matter what she isn’t alone.

Before Nadya can pull away there’s a sudden weightless feeling and a familiar tonal ding. She pulls back to find them both in the enclosed space of the elevator — and then Adrian’s on the other side of the doors.

“Good luck!” She doesn’t know which is worse; his little wave or the two thumbs up he shoots at her before the doors cut them off.

Maybe he and Lily have been texting a little too much.

It feels like no time has passed when the elevator stops at the penthouse — makes her check just in case that it didn’t stop on a random floor by accident. Nope.

She steps out. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. And knocks.

Maybe Gerard will be able to throw a handful of wise words of English wisdom her way…

Kamilah answers the door instead.

Nadya almost throws the bouquet in her face. The woman’s vampire speed keeps that from going as disastrously as it could but, you know, it’s still not the best thing to do. A flurry of fallen petals trickle to the carpet.

Kamilah practically wrenches her eyes away from Nadya; looks down to observe the mostly-intact flowers with soft surprise. She brushes the tips of her fingers over their vibrant hue.

“Full disclosure: the flowers were Adrian’s idea — I think — and I know I should have known your favorite flowers beforehand but I promise the second I get to my notebook I’m jotting that down for future reference.”

Only when she stops rambling Kamilah is still focused on the flowers. At first she was sure there was one of her rarer open and unguarded looks gazing down at them but now she can see the slight downturn of Kamilah’s mouth.

She’s gonna kill Adrian. And Lily. Both of them — again.

“You don’t like them?”

“The blue lotus is a rare — and expensive — varietal. Hard to get this time of year.”

That doesn’t… answer her question? “Oh.”

Her heart drops into her gut when Kamilah turns back into the condo with the flowers in tow. Leaves the door open behind her. It makes Nadya stand in the doorway like a statue until, beyond the kitchen, she hears; “close the door behind you.”

She lingers behind like an awkward shadow. Watches as Kamilah re-homes the bouquet in a vase that looks ancient and yet still timeless. She can’t read the hieroglyphics wrapping around the vessel from top to bottom but judging by the fondness hiding in the corners of the woman’s eyes that’s not the first time it’s held flowers native to her homeland.

Each time they cross paths she tries to find something to say — falls short when she’s given a look with Kamilah’s almost signature arched eyebrow and just saves her words for later when the moment passes.

It doesn’t help that she has no idea what’s going on. What’s expected of her then and there.

Especially when Kamilah turns down the hallway towards the rest of the place.

“Are you coming?”

Oh. Oh yes she is. And that definitely doesn’t need a word to follow it as she practically scampers along. As she passes the vibrant lotus blossoms on their pedestal that overlooks the entirety of the main apartment.

Nadya made the mistake of going into Kamilah’s office only once; when she was still getting her bearings staying in a new place. She imagines it’s designed much in the same fashion as her CEO’s office several floors below them; sleek and sharp and new-age; everything Adrian’s office isn’t.

By the time she makes it to the doorway Kamilah is at a small table with a hidden bar caddy in the cabinet below. She takes two full glasses in hand and turns — offers one to Nadya casually.

She takes it and, uncultured as she is, tries to inhale and determine what it might be.

“A cherry cognac,” Kamilah answers unprompted. Tilts her tumbler slightly for a gentle cheers before they drink.

It burns all the way down Nadya’s throat. Makes her cough and tap her chest lightly. Kamilah tries slightly less than her best not to look bemused.

“Alcohol like this is not meant to be tasted, but savored.”

Nadya’s voice is rough in her reply; “Good to know.” Not like she’ll ever understand rich people and their rich liquors anyway. And the second time, when she sips with tight lips that barely let anything through, it goes down much more smoothly.

They’re both companions to silence for some time. Nadya discovers this amazing thing where every time she tries to speak and fails she can cover it up with the taste of burned cherries.

It’s likely they’re both a little surprised when Kamilah chooses to go first; turns her back on Nadya to face the large window overlooking the city.

“I would have thought you would be at the office by now. There’s an important convention of some sort soon, correct?”

Kamilah Sayeed making small talk. Screw Vega — this will bring upon the end of the world just as easily.

It makes Nadya laugh. “Well yeah, that was the plan. But plans change.”

“Oh?”

“Especially when your boss takes you to work every day… except for today, of course. When he sorta bypassed that.”

“Of course.”

“But I guess that’s what happens when said boss is gung-ho on playing matchmaker.”

She joins the vampiress at the window. Finds herself focusing more on the beauty of Kamilah’s reflection than the actual view. Her drink is empty by now but she still holds onto it — habit more than anything.

After her eyes make the journey of traveling from Kamilah’s waist all the way up to her features, though, her breath catches in her lungs at the piercing eyes giving her the same treatment.

Only after a long and final drink does Kamilah answer.

“And are you only here by Adrian’s meddlesome hand?”

“Meddlesome…” Nadya bites her bottom lip, “some might say helpful…”

But Kamilah only quirks her eyebrow; her question unanswered. Got it.

“Partly. I know we said, you know, when everything was done we’d talk about what happened — uh… between us.”

“Indeed. I recall.”

“And I wanted to — well, want to…” She pauses when Kamilah starts moving; ready to let her take the lead on the conversation. But the brunette gives a nod to coax her into continuing while she casually takes their glasses away. “But then there was this part of me that kept doubting myself, you know? Kept me wondering if it was a good idea, or if I was reading the signals right…

“And that part kept asking if you were really interested in me.”

Kamilah crosses the room before she’s even finished. That speed, both alluring and terrifying depending on who or what is coming at her; catching her breathless. She’s starting to think that’s the way Kamilah likes her best.

Nadya only realizes she’s pinned when it’s too late. Watches as Kamilah splays her long fingers against the glass beside Nadya’s head and curls her other hand in the hairs at the nape of her neck.

Well this escalated quickly.

Then she’s leaning forward and Nadya can taste the smoky cherry on her breath. There’s no rain to drown them out this time. The only thunder is what hammers between them.

“Answer something for me, Nadya.”

Has she ever noticed the way her name curls on Kamilah’s tongue? So terribly terribly sinful.

“Mm—Mmhm. Yes. Anything.”

And oooh boy she knows that look anywhere. Anything, well anything is a dangerous game. One she’s sure the immortal will definitely play if given the opportunity.

Whatever air might have been left between them Kamilah closes with a press of her hips.

“You’ve been in my home. You’ve seen my work. There are things you know about me that I would not share with a soul living or dead. And rarer still… you are one of the few lucky enough to have seen me at my most raw and bare.”

Her tongue flicks out — tastes the seam of Nadya’s lips — and she catches the hint of pearly fang hidden behind a smirk.

“Do I look to be the kind of woman to waste her time on that which does not hold her interest?”

Nadya’s fully prepared to answer — doesn’t realize it’s a rhetorical question until she can’t speak on account of the second tongue in her mouth.

They melt together; blood and water in the same glass. Both starkly different but entangled together in a mess of limbs and hair and hot, panted breaths more from one than the other.

Every moan and mewled gasp Kamilah eats up like a starving woman. Drinks in the taste of Nadya’s skin speckled with sweat from the curve of her jaw down to the dip of her fluttering pulse against her neck.

There’s no doubt about it: Kamilah’s way more into it than she was the last time. But Nadya wouldn’t trade either of these moments for anything in the world.

She tries to reach down and cradle Kamilah’s face — bring her back up to continue killing her through kisses — then she can’t move her hands. Can feel the flex of the vampire’s fingers entwined with hers and the hard press of the glass against her wrists. Swears the glass might let out a resistant creak or two.

“Did I say you could touch?” The words are purred; punctuated with scrapes of blunted teeth on her collarbone. Nadya’s heart feels like a hummingbird’s wings.

“S-Sorry.”

“You can do better than that.”

Ohmygod. “I’m sorry, Kamilah.”

She doesn’t know if that’s the word the woman wants — hopes it’s okay because she doesn’t want to try any funny business right now. Wants to say Kamilah’s name until it’s no longer a name but a series of letters strung together that she can’t even comprehend besides what they bring into her life: pleasure, joy, desire.

Thank god it’s enough. “Good girl.”

The world moves on without them while they stand there lost in bliss. In the burn of alcohol on savored lips and the flex of fingers as Nadya tests the waters — tests, but doesn’t breach them.

She’s never swam this far out in the sea before. It both terrifies and excites her. Kamilah both terrifies and excites her. Yet even treading open water she knows there’s no way the waves of feeling pushing off of the woman before her would ever let her drown.

Kamilah gives a soft nip to her jugular; sucks on the heated flesh and the liquid gold pounding beneath. Nadya closes her eyes on instinct. Tilts her head up to help ease of access.

Then the pleasure of plush lips stops. Nadya flexes — the grip is still there. Can still feel the presence radiating off of Kamilah’s body like an ancient ruin still standing.

She peeks open her eyes and tries not to startle at the sight in front of her. It’s one she’s seen before — and never, too, until now.

Nadya knows she’s safe because all it takes is a tap against the woman’s knuckles to free her hand. Yes, even without permission she reaches out and brushes aside the curtain of warm brown hair.

It’s not fear that turns away the vampire’s true nature; the subtle monster hidden just beneath the surface. No, Kamilah is too proud of who she is despite what she is to let that stop her.

But there’s a shadow in the look she gives Nadya that isn’t brought on by the night outside.

There are things you know about me that I would not share with a soul living or dead.

With a wordless burst of confidence (that she would wholly deny if this happens to go badly) Nadya’s grip tightens on Kamilah’s jaw. Holds her in place as she leans forward to drag the flat of her tongue over the razor’s edge of a fang.

It hurts — like all small wounds do — and the sudden coppery taste that coats the back of her throat is something she almost chokes on. But Nadya endures. Pushes her blood along Kamilah’s teeth.

She’s not giving permission, no, but allowing vulnerability. It’s hard to tell the difference but Kamilah’s helping her get there bit by bit.

Kamilah’s voice drops into a wanton moan. For the first time Nadya feels the weight of her immortality yield in tiny tremors wracked over her body. Feels the prickle of hairs standing tall down her lithe arms.

When they open Kamilah’s eyes are a thin red band around blown pupils. Her mouth hangs open ever-so-slightly. Panting; prone. Her tongue runs along the length of her teeth to suckle every last drop of blood to savor.

“I want you to have all of me.” whispers Nadya; enraptured by the sight before her.

The vampiress shakes out of some stupor. Starts to reach and Nadya brings her hand back up to the window but there’s nothing holding her there beyond a sheer will to please; to make Kamilah proud of her.

She doesn’t wait long to feel that touch again. To feel the tickle of a zipper sliding along her hip and her skirt struggle to stay held in place.

With a wave of Kamilah’s hand the skirt tickles her toes in a pool of fabric. The tips of sharp nails drag half-formed promises atop her nylons.

Their eyes meet. If there’s a game being played Nadya comes to the conclusion that she’s just lost.

She’s never been so incredibly happy about losing before.

“Are you truly aware of what you say; of what you’re offering?” Kamilah rasps. Traces the outer entrance of her human with coy intent.

Nadya nods. “Yes.”

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I know… I know what I’m offering, Kamilah.” It takes every ounce of her finite willpower to keep from keening; feels those nails press and drag and rip through the thin nude mesh and expose her skin to that tantalizing touch.

“Good. Now tell me again.”

“I’m offering all of me.”

“Again.”

“I’m offering —” this time there’s no playful teasing, only the way her panties are moved aside, “— all of m-me.”

“Again.”

The fingertip dips forward. Just a touch. Enough to coat the digit in slick.

Nadya wants to obey — wholly intends on it — but finds herself rendered mute at the sight of Kamilah bringing her hand up to her lips and sucking her skin clean.

But Kamilah doesn’t like to be kept waiting. Cocks an arched brow and pushes all her warning into one word: “Nadya…”

“I’m yours!”

Not what she was planning on saying but sometimes her lack of brain-to-mouth filter comes in handy. Especially in moments like this; where her heart overrides all thought and reason.

She’ll savor the victory of Kamilah’s surprised face later, it seems. If she’s still alive by the time they finish.

Judging by the fervent hunger with which Kamilah seals their unspoken pact in a kiss, though, that might be up in the air.

#bloodbound #kamilah x mc #kamilah sayeed #adrian raines #choices bloodbound #bloodbound mc #mc: nadya al jamil #oblv: bound by destiny #oblv: new chapter #; my fics #lily spencer

6 notes · View notes

wknc881 · 5 years

Photo

ALBUM REVIEW: HUSKER DU- Metal Circus

BEST TRACKS: Real World, It’s Not Funny Anymore, First of the Last Calls, Diane

If not for Husker Du, I probably wouldn’t be writing for this blog right now. The entire apparatus of modern alternative rock would be fundamentally different. Without our darling 80s three-piece, punk’s defiant outersiderdom may never have settled upon the general anxieties of adolescence; and while the 90s grunge explosion was this sentiment’s most (commercially) developed form, Husker Du’s insistence on honest alternativism was a lightning rod for anybody searching for honest, offbeat rock and roll. Du’s magnum opus, Zen Arcade, was radically ahead of its time. Blending amphetamined screeches, startlingly tender piano, and percussive folk guitar, the absolutely essential double album is regarded as the definitive blueprint for something very dear to all of our hearts: College Radio. That’s right, if I were to step into a time machine and travel to 1978’s St. Paul to break Bob Mould’s arm, you could very well be wearing sperrys this very moment. But I didn’t, and you aren’t. And in honor of our collective Husker debt, we should all stand together in our crusty Vans and thank them for their service to aggressive otherness.

But we aren’t talking about Zen Arcade today. No, that would be too easy. Instead, this installment of WKNC From the Vaults Punk Rock Classics Hour with Cliff Jenkins Title Pending is their 1983 EP Metal Circus. Released on SST, Greg Ginn of Black Flag’s independent label, Metal Circus hints at the power punk nirvana (no pun intended) which defined Zen Arcade; and yet was still subtly positioned behind classic hardcore. In fact, SSTs catalogue was stacked with former hardcore bands set on rupturing the boundaries of a genre strictly confined by minimalist fury. Acts like Meat Puppets, Dinosaur Jr., and the Minutemen were stationed at the horizon separating hardcore from punk’s modern iterations by transitioning from a reactionary to a progressive sonic model. Of course, Husker Du was perhaps the most important of this noisy new guard, and Metal Circus deserves to be examined as the first evidence of a hardcore band embracing its most egregious blasphemy:power pop.

Husker Du (I don’t want to add the umlauts) was born out of Saint Paul’s Macalester College by Grant Hart, Bob Mould, and Greg Norton. Eventually the trio began practicing with keyboardist Charlie Pine, mainly playing typical classic rock covers. However, on several secret occasions where Pine was absent, the remaining trio confided their love for the Ramones and began testing to see the upper limits for the band’s speed. At their first gig in late 1979, then billed as Buddy and the Returnables, the band ran through expected pop rock before, unbeknownst to Pine, unplugged the keyboard and ripping into several speed fueled originals. Unsurprisingly, Pine was subsequently kicked out, and the band was rechristened “Husker Du” after the eponymous memory game from the 50s. Du began playing out as the consistent three-piece and entered 1980 as a pretty typical hardcore band. Although Mould has stated that there was always intent to remain at least partially removed from the strictly political aggression of bands like Crass or Minor Threat, they closely paralleled these bands’ sound in their infancy. Du toured ceaselessly and, by 1982, released the two critically acclaimed albums Land Speed Record and In a Free Land on the Minutemen’s label New Alliance. This level of semi-local fame caught the attention of punk’s pasty father figure: Greg Ginn of Black Flag. Ginn soon invited the band to move to his own SST where Husker Du were finally upgraded from one collapsing hardcore label to another collapsing hardcore label that the Meat Puppets were signed to. Born out of their brief tenure with SST was the EP Metal Circus: the first indication that their hardcore abrasion was thawing towards the inception of modern indie rock.

Metal Circus does not initially betray its forgiveness of everything sweet. The first track “Real World” does, at least upon first listening, sound pretty close to DOA’s frustrated tremors. But there is something within the apparently standard guitar assault that sounds…off. It could be the power chords shellacked with chorus, but Bad Brains already did that. It could be an anthemic melody brushed behind furious speed, but the Descendants already did that. Maybe it was the off-kilter guitar leads that meandered away from brutality…but Television already did that. Honestly, there is no particular element which separated Husker Du from their influences. But there didn’t need to be. Du was not a gimmick band. There was no awe to them beyond their incredibly explorative and tight songwriting. That being said, “Real World” was only an introduction to Metal Circus’ embrace of pop sentiment. “Deadly Skies”,the EP’s second track, is a laid trap. It’s the purest punk of the EP’s 7 track odyssey; it lures the listener into imaging “Real World” as an aberration. Maybe it was easy listening for marketing purposes. Nope, sorry my imagined 80s hardcore fan with a freshly shaven head and a dirty pair of white Reeboks, the pop has only started.

“It’s Not Funny Anymore” is actually the best 90s alternative song ever released despite coming out in 1983. Are you listening to Nirvana? Are you listening to Blur? Are you listening to fucking Oasis? Fuck that. This song connected the 11 years of poppy alt-rock between its release and Green Day’s Dookie, and shit on absolutely everything else that came out in the interim. If you ever consider creating or watching a video essay documenting the slow transformation of pop punk, don’t. Listen to the Buzzcocks, Descendents, Husker Du, and early Green Day. But I digress. “It’s not Funny Anymore” is the first substantial crack in the ice; it’s slow, fuzz filled guitar lead essentially nullifies any supposed progress that Grunge made. Bob Mould’s pained belches roughly glide along something that certainly isn’t fully departed from punk (it’s production is still shitty) but is indifferent to the rigorously ascetic lifestyle demanded by their hardcore forefathers. For better or worse, the rest of this EP is a tribute to individualized anxiety.

While “Real World”, “It’s Not Funny Anymore”, and “First of the Last Calls” deserve due recognition for their contribution to mope-riddled punk, we still haven’t explored the track that, quite frankly, birthed modern college rock. “Diane”, the EPs only (semi)ballad, instantly received nationwide attention for its declaration of a new alternativism. Its intensely muddy four-minutes of echo-fuzzed guitars, uncomfortably distant drums, and harmonizing wails brought with it a haunting melody that sat comfortably between radical noise and pleasantry. Heavily circulated among university radio stations, the song exploded any legitimate wall separating college tastes from serious commercial attention. (Again) for better or worse, college radio would now become the engine for new-wave exploration; bands like REM, Dinosaur Jr. or even Sonic Youth owe a great debt to Husker Du and the groundbreaking success of “Diane”.

Husker Du simultaneously represents the birth and actualization of college rock, and to a further extent, an accepted mingling of punk with power pop. Though later releases would ultimately prove to be more acclaimed than Metal Circus, this early EP documented a revolutionary change in indie rock that absolutely qualifies it as a legendary addition to punk’s canon.

-Cliff Jenkins

#wknc #wknc 88.1 #album review #Husker Du #Husker Du Metal Circus #Husker Du Metal Circus album review #submission

1 note · View note

gyrlversion · 5 years

Text

Thousands of eco-warriors pour into London to bring city to standstill

Environmental protesters will paralyse London‘s roads today by creating human barricades at five landmarks.

Organisers of the Extinction Rebellion group claim up to 30,000 eco-protesters are expected to block major routes from 9am. Scotland Yard warned drivers to expect road closures and widespread disruption in the capital.

The movement, which is demanding the Government takes urgent action on climate change and wildlife declines, has been backed by actress Dame Emma Thompson and former archbishop of Canterbury Dr Rowan Williams.

Climate protest group Extinction Rebellion set up camp in London’s Hyde Park yesterday before today’s plans for disruption

The campaigners, who include the granddaughter of a baronet, are demanding the introduction of a legally binding policy to reduce carbon emission to net zero by 2025.

They say they will continue to block key roads in London for weeks and ‘escalate civil disobedience’ if their demands are not met.

Humans have declared war on nature, says ex-archbishop of Canterbury

Humans have declared war on nature and put progress before the planet, the former archbishop of Canterbury said on the eve of environmental protests aimed at bringing London to a standstill.

Dr Rowan Williams said the world is in a crisis which could be called ‘being at war with ourselves’.

He spoke at a meditation event outside St Paul’s Cathedral in the capital attended by activists preparing to take part in mass demonstrations organised by the Extinction Rebellion group.

Sitting on the ground amid protesters who held flags and banners, he said: ‘We have declared war on our nature when we declare war on the natural world.

‘We are at war with ourselves when we are at war with our neighbour, whether that neighbour is human or non-human.

‘We are here tonight to declare that we do not wish to be at war. We wish to make peace with ourselves by making peace with our neighbour earth and with our God.’

Praying at the all-faith gathering, he added: ‘We confess that we have polluted our own atmosphere, causing global warming and climate change that have increased poverty in many parts of our planet.

‘We have contributed to crises and been more concerned with getting gold than keeping our planet green. We have loved progress more than the planet. We are sorry.’

Extinction Rebellion, which describes itself as a non-violent direct action and civil disobedience group, said the protests at major central London locations including Parliament Square and Oxford Circus from Monday ‘will be bringing London to a standstill for up to two weeks’.

The first stage of their global ‘Rebellion Week’ will see human barricades at Marble Arch, Oxford Circus, Waterloo Bridge, Parliament Square and Piccadilly Circus.

Their goal is to shut down vital roads and transport links, causing misery for commuters and keeping over-stretched police officers busy for hours.

The so-called festival of action will see food stalls set up and talks given in the middle of the road throughout the day. Some protesters even plan to super-glue their hands to objects in the road and each other.

One of those expected on the streets is Tamsin Omond, the granddaughter of Dorset baronet Sir Thomas Lees. The 35-year-old went to Westminster School and Trinity College, Cambridge.

The most prominent figure in Extinction Rebellion is Left-wing academic Roger Hallam, whose stated ambition for the group is to ‘bring down all the regimes in the world and replace them’, starting with Britain.

Last November, Extinction Rebellion blocked bridges across London to bring chaos to the capital.

In February, they took part in a nationwide school strike and on April 1, during one of the Brexit debates, a group of their protesters stripped off in the House of Commons.

Speaking at a meditation on the eve of the protests Dr Williams said humans had declared war on nature.

He said: ‘We are here tonight to declare that we do not wish to be at war. We wish to make peace with ourselves by making peace with our neighbour Earth and with our God.’

Thompson has previously said of the demonstrations: ‘It is time to stand up and save our home.’

The Met Police said it was aware of the protests.

Officers said their operational response to camping ‘would be dependent on what if any other issues might be ongoing at the time’.

On April 1, during one of the Brexit debates, a group of Extinction Rebellion protesters stripped off in the House of Commons

Extinction Rebellion protesters sit after pouring fake blood onto the ground in London outside Downing Street on March 9

Scotland Yard said they have ‘appropriate policing plans’ in place for the demonstrations and that officers will be used from across the force ‘to support the public order operation during the coming weeks’.

Protests across Europe

Today will see people in at least 80 cities in more than 33 countries hold similar climate demonstrations.

The first protest of the day was held at Schuman Square in Brussels this morning as protesters formed a human ‘XR’ logo – the same as that of Extinction Rebellion.

The Extinction Rebellion ‘Rebellion Week’ begins at Schuman Square in Brussels today as protesters form a human ‘XR’ logo

Police advised people travelling around London in the coming days to allow extra time for their journey in the event of road closures and general disruption.

A spokesman for the organisers said: ‘The International Rebellion begins and Extinction Rebellion will be bringing London to a standstill for up to two weeks.

‘They will be blocking five of the city’s busiest and most iconic locations in a non-violent, peaceful act of rebellion where they invite people to join them for several days of creative, artist-led resistance.’

Demonstrators arrived at London’s Hyde Park yesterday, some having journeyed to the city on foot in recent weeks from various parts of the UK for what is described as an ‘International Rebellion’.

While organisers encouraged people to set up camp in Hyde Park overnight into this morning, they were warned they could be breaking the law by doing so is an offence under Royal Parks legislation.

A spokesman for The Royal Parks said Extinction Rebellion had not asked for permission to begin the protest in the park and that camping is not allowed.

DOMINIC LAWSON: Deluded middle-class climate warriors can’t see the real danger of their bright idea

Claire Perry said her encounter with this (until now) obscure group had been ‘good and productive’

Getting to see a government minister isn’t easy. I’d challenge any reader to see how long it takes to persuade the civil servants manning the bureaucratic barricades to let you bend a minister’s ear about whatever concerns you.

Yet somehow they found a space in the diary for a group called Extinction Rebellion (XR) to lobby the Minister of State for Energy, Claire Perry.

Ms Perry told the Mail on Sunday that her encounter with this (until now) obscure group had been ‘good and productive’.

Really? Extinction Rebellion is this week launching mass protests designed to shut down or obstruct transport links, causing (more) misery to commuters and business. If that’s the result of ‘productive’ talks, I wonder what would happen if they had gone badly.

But making Britain hell for business (and anyone who drives a car) is what Extinction Rebellion stands for. As the Energy Minister must know, its mission is to ‘save the planet’ by eliminating Britain’s CO2 emissions entirely by 2025.

Brutish

Or in other words, to reduce us to a state of mere subsistence, last seen in the pre-industrial age when life was (for the great majority) nasty, brutish and short.

As if to emphasise the primitiveness to which they wish us to return, this is the group which on April Fool’s Day performed a naked protest in the public gallery of the House of Commons.

Actually, this is the only way people with such views could take part (so to speak) in parliamentary debate. Because any party which tried to get MPs elected on a policy of mass immiseration would not win a single seat. There might be some thousands of middle-class students and drop-outs sufficiently aesthetically offended by mass consumerism to vote for such a manifesto, but that would be it.

This is the group which on April Fool’s Day performed a naked protest in the public gallery of the House of Commons

Unsurprisingly, the leaders of this movement tend to come from well-to-do homes, which have never experienced scarcity or privation.

The figures behind the demonstrations planned for this week include Tamsin Omond, granddaughter of the Dorset baronet Sir Thomas Lees

The figures behind the demonstrations planned for this week include Tamsin Omond, granddaughter of the Dorset baronet Sir Thomas Lees; Stuart Basden (who said his week in prison after an earlier action was ‘a bit like boarding school’); and George Barda, son of the distinguished stage and music photographer Clive Barda OBE FRSA and a 43-year-old postgraduate student at King’s College London.

I am distantly related to one of the inspirations for this movement, the environmentalist author and journalist George Monbiot (we are both scions of the family which created the J Lyons catering and food manufacturing empire). Monbiot is anything but a hypocrite. He leads the life he preaches to others: he doesn’t own a car, never flies and, so far as I know, survives on a purely plant-based diet.

Last week, Monbiot appeared on Frankie Boyle’s television show, New World Order, and was cheered by the youthful audience when he demanded action to end economic growth, adding that this meant ‘we’ve got to go straight to the heart of capitalism and overthrow it’.

Monbiot has been consistent in this: in 2007 he wrote an article for the Guardian welcoming the prospect of a recession, even though, as he acknowledged, ‘it would cause some people to lose their jobs and homes’. (He got his wish: it turned out not to be popular).

But if it’s the planet you want to save, and you believe its very existence is threatened by excessive emissions of CO2, then what happens in this country is almost beside the point. The UK contributes little more than one per cent of global CO2 emissions. Even if the inhabitants of these islands were reduced by an environmentalist version of the Cambodian dictator Pol Pot to a state of pre-industrial and self-sufficient subsistence farming — no wicked imports of food via boat or plane — it would have a minuscule effect on the planet’s future.

In fact, the UK — chiefly through the steady closure of the domestic coal industry — has been in the vanguard of reducing CO2 emissions: in 2018, our emissions were at their lowest levels in 120 years.

Activists from Extinction Rebellion block off a road at Parliament Square, London, during a protest in October last year

The group yesterday set up camp in London’s Hyde park ahead of plans to cause widespread disruption across London later

It’s not British politicians that groups such as Extinction Rebellion should be haranguing and demonstrating against, but those in the People’s Republic of China. That is the nation responsible for 60 per cent of the growth in global CO2 emissions over the past decade.

And China is currently building almost 260 gigawatts of new coal-fired power generating capacity — in itself almost the size of the entire U.S. coal-fired capacity.

The trouble is the Chinese state would treat rather robustly any Extinction Rebellion activists who attempted to demonstrate on its busiest streets, or to mount a naked protest in the Great Hall of the People in Beijing. I don’t recommend they try that.

Plunder

Nor should we be so critical of the Chinese. They, as we in the West did before them, are using cheap energy wrenched from the Earth’s resources to escape from lives of almost unimaginable poverty. And it was economic growth which ultimately created the circumstances in which peace rather than conflict became the normal state of human affairs: nations could prosper and enrich themselves through trade rather than the plunder of neighbours in a zero-sum world.

If the likes of Extinction Rebellion were to get their way, it is something like that bleak past which would be revisited upon us. And the political forces emerging from that would be truly terrifying.

If she is still in the habit of seeking their opinions, Claire Perry might point that out to the delusional middle-class climate warriors.

Who’s ready to get arrested? Undercover with the eco-activist group Extinction Rebellion who plan to bring London to a halt on Monday – and are as ruthlessly professional as they are deluded

By HOLLY BANCROFT FOR THE MAIL ON SUNDAY

Cigarette break: XR training volunteer Clare Farrell

I’m sitting in a cavernous community hall in East London with a group of eco-activists huddled in thick jackets against the cold.

We’re being drilled for our arrest – like soldiers being trained for capture and interrogation by the enemy.

Our tutor is a sixtysomething woman with fuzzy white hair who knows all about civil disobedience and its legal consequences.

She explains passionately that we must not speak to the police, other than to give our name and date of birth.

We must not get drunk before the ‘action’ in just a few days’ time.

And we should consider wearing adult nappies – in case we’re locked up for hours in a police van with no access to a lavatory. Or if we decide to chain ourselves to railings, barriers or whatever else to cause maximum disruption.

Welcome to Extinction Rebellion (XR), the revolutionary protest group hell-bent on eliminating fossil fuels from Britain.

To achieve this, they are planning an onslaught of civil disobedience on a scale rarely seen in this country. And I’m here undercover as a new recruit, or ‘rebel’ as they call it.

My induction took place late last month in an anonymous office block near Euston station. I’m told XR was given the space for free by a well-placed sympathiser.

A lift takes me to the fourth floor – an open-plan space with a smattering of desks and some 40 new recruits, an even mix of male and female, all casually dressed.

A handmade poster by the lifts is daubed ‘Eco not Ego’. A large sign warns us to avoid ‘suppression juice’ – that’s alcohol – so we can ‘rebel with a clear body and mind’. Brightly coloured banners hang from the ceiling – ‘No Brexit in a dead planet’, says one – while a giant papier-mâché skeleton of some big beast lies, under construction, in the corner.

This introductory meeting is led by a bearded XR activist called Greg, who lives in a squat in West London with other members of the group. His first move is to lead us in an awkward ‘ice breaker’. Sitting in rows on school chairs, we’re instructed to stick both arms in the air and waggle from side to side, chanting ‘woo-hoo’.

Then comes a minute’s silence for ‘the dying planet’. Struggling not to laugh, I bowed my head with the others, eyes down.

‘Devote some of your brain to imagining the kind of world you want to create,’ says Greg. ‘To get through this struggle together, we need to hold tight to our dream.’

We’re asked to think of one word to describe the world we want – and shouts of ‘harmony’, ‘sharing’ and ‘green’ come from around the room. ‘Courageous’, mutters a boy in a long beige trench coat sitting next to me.

Questions follow. The volunteers are keen, but concerned.

A charity worker with short blonde hair says she is worried about XR’s policy of deliberately getting arrested.

Not that she’s against breaking the law – just that it might deter volunteers who cannot take the risk of getting into trouble.

Eating her dinner from a Tupperware box, another young woman raises concerns about XR’s links to Labour’s hard-Left Momentum faction. George agrees XR and Momentum have a good relationship.

Preparing for action: A photo of an XR meeting taken by our undercover reporter. There is no suggestion those pictured are all intending to break the law

Then we are told to get in a long line, arranged in order of willingness to get arrested. It is time to hone our tactics and strategy for the forthcoming ‘rebellion week’ – which starts tomorrow.

‘Move around the room according to what you feel,’ says Naomi, one of the lead activists.

‘The question is this: how arrestable are you in XR?’

A handful immediately place themselves at one end of the room, the extreme that signifies: ‘Yes, I really wish to be arrested right now.’ A few walk to the opposite side, meaning: ‘Absolutely not.’

I’m with the majority shuffling around in the middle amid embarrassed laughter. This position says: ‘Maybe, let’s think about it.’

They ask us how far we’ll go. Will we commit a litany of protest crimes – smashing windows, defacing buildings? Will we glue ourselves to doors or block roads using ‘swarming’ – sitting down for a few minutes at a time to stop traffic?

‘I’m comfortable with spray paint that permanently damages but not breaking windows,’ states a woman in her 30s from a refugee charity.

‘I’m somewhere between the permanent spray paint and the chalk spray paint,’ says a man studying for a PhD in environmental activism. ‘They can’t charge you with criminal damage if you use chalk paint.’

‘Training session’: XR potential recruits Greg, left, and George

After an hour or so, we’re all split up into what they call ‘affinity’ groups based on how radical they judge us to be. They don’t seem to think I’m very revolutionary.

Roles are assigned for the forthcoming ‘action’. Our group has a ‘wellbeing co-ordinator’, a ‘legal observer’ and a ‘media organiser’.

Middle-class zealots who’ll make Monday a misery for millions

The most prominent – and radical – of the XR leaders is failed organic farmer and PhD student Roger Hallam

Failed farmer wants a world revolution

The most prominent – and radical – of the XR leaders is failed organic farmer and PhD student Roger Hallam.

After years in a succession of Left-wing groups, the 52-year-old says the ‘name of the game’ for XR is to ‘bring down all the regimes in the world and replace them’. Hallam (above) says paralysing traffic will eventually cause food shortages and trigger uprisings.

In a recent interview, he said XR protesters should be ready to cause disruption through personal ‘sacrifice’. If necessary, they ‘should be willing to die’.

XR co-founder Stuart Basden, 36, a middle-class writer from Bristol

Co-founder says jail’s like boarding school

XR co-founder Stuart Basden, 36, a middle-class writer from Bristol (above), has goals that go way beyond a desire to curb global warming.

Indeed, he has claimed: ‘XR isn’t about the climate. You see, the climate’s breakdown is a symptom of a toxic system that has infected the ways we relate to each other as humans and to all life.’

Basden has urged XR followers to embrace going to prison – where he spent a week after defacing London’s City Hall with spray paint last year – saying it is ‘a bit like boarding school’

Tasmin Osmond, 35, is a veteran of ‘direct actions’

Veteran campaigner from baronet family

Tasmin Osmond, 35, is a veteran of ‘direct actions’ which had little to do with climate change, such as Occupy London, the poverty protest which set up a camp outside St Paul’s cathedral in 2011.

The granddaughter of Dorset baronet Sir Thomas Lees, Omond (above) went to Westminster School and Trinity College, Cambridge, where she read English.

She was thrown out of anti-aviation group Plane Stupid after saying the green movement ‘brand’ was ‘unwashed, unshaven and up a tree’, and this ‘doesn’t represent me’.

George Barda, 43, believes the ‘Criminal UK Government’ is to blame for climate change

Student who’s on Putin’s TV channel

George Barda, 43, believes the ‘Criminal UK Government’ is to blame for climate change.

A post-graduate student at prestigious King’s College in London, the son of classical music and stage photographer Clive Barda still finds time to be a dedicated revolutionary and camped outside St Paul’s cathedral in the Occupy London campaign.

Today, Barda (above) is a director of XR parent company Compassionate Revolution and regularly appears on Russia Today, Russia’s controversial British TV channel.

How far would we go for the movement? A Scottish actress in her 20s tells us she’s planning to recruit her mother. ‘I think I’d be OK with being arrested,’ she adds. ‘It’s just that I’m so in and out of the country, I work between here and Paris. I don’t know if I would be able to make my court date, so I don’t know if it would work out.’

Another young woman, a university student, says she’ll bring her harp along to keep us entertained during ‘rebellion week’. Before the meeting breaks up, the organisers call for mature women willing to be trained as ‘de-escalators’.

These are the people asked to calm down frustrated members of the public, particularly drivers, trapped in the traffic jams we’re going to cause.

Then the evening comes to a conclusion with repeated chants of ‘Extinction… Rebellion’ from the hardened activists, who then treat us to an impromptu and utterly excruciating dance.

A beat box starts blaring, one long-haired man sways expansively, arms waving out of time, the others jig about. I leave, armed with XR stickers and posters to plaster on the streets.

The group gives me constant updates through the WhatsApp messaging system, and a few days later I’m back in the office block for another training session. This time, it’s altogether more alarming.

An activist in her 20s called Jess lays out XR’s terrifying vision of the future: ‘We want to build a structure, a community and test prototypes for the coming structural collapse of the regimes of Western democracies. And we see this as inevitable – this has to happen.’

Now, we’re drawn further into the plans for illegal protest, and made to take part in role-play scenarios of activists clashing with the police.

The golden rule is to stay silent when confronted by police – unless we quote from a self-righteous prepared statement outlining our supposed right to break the law as a ‘conscientious protector’ of Planet Earth.

And we must never, ever identify any of the XR organisers in case they are charged with inciting illegal activities.

Activists who plan to ‘lock on’ by super-gluing themselves to public property are warned to expect a long wait, as few police officers are trained to dissolve the glue.

The hope is to cause the maximum amount of chaos. They might even have activists locked on at five separate protest points in London. If we are seized by the police, we must make our bodies go floppy, to tie up more officers as they attempt to carry us away.

I endure a further marathon training session at a climbing centre in North London.

We’re being addressed by the white-haired lady, who I now know is press officer Jayne Forbes. Stating her own readiness for martyrdom and jail, she tells us that: ‘I’m an older person with no responsibilities.

‘I’m prepared to go to prison and I think we are privileged in this country to have prisons that are relatively acceptable.

‘If I was living in Brazil or something, I could get killed as an activist. Our prisons are not bad compared to many in the world.’

She tells us never to agree to a caution because that would be ‘an admission of guilt’.

We must never accept the help of a duty solicitor because they would be ‘pally with the police’. I’m learning a great deal.

We’re advised only to bring an old-fashioned ‘burner’ mobile phone to the protest in case the police want to seize the device as evidence.

I’m told a paperback will help me while away the long hours in a police cell – and that I can ask for up to three blankets from the custody officers.

I now have a list of ‘friendly’ solicitors on a small sheet of paper reminding me of my legal rights. Can we get vegan food in prison? XR thinks the answer is ‘yes’.

By the time I say my goodbyes, I’m truly worried. If this week goes according to plan for Extinction Rebellion, I know that many of its members will be only too delighted to learn first-hand about the inside of our police cells and our prisons – believing they have come one step closer to making their dangerous plan a reality.

The post Thousands of eco-warriors pour into London to bring city to standstill appeared first on Gyrlversion.

from WordPress https://www.gyrlversion.net/thousands-of-eco-warriors-pour-into-london-to-bring-city-to-standstill/

#Entertainment News

0 notes

ixvyupdates · 6 years

Text

How I’m Using My Story as a Homeless Student to Help Students Turn Trauma Into Strengths

By the time I was 15 years old, I was living on my own, and mostly homeless. My parents were undocumented immigrants. I didn’t know my father, and my family struggled to provide a stable home and support my education. Working to support myself, I flunked out of high school, landed at an alternative school that provided options for students who have a hard time in a regular school and nearly failed there as well. When I was 17, I got arrested.

“Pobrecita.” (Poor thing.)

People who meet me are often surprised by my story, but my struggles aren’t embarrassing liabilities. They’re my sense of strength and identity. They’re the story of my family and my community and therefore they’re part of who I am, not something to be overcome.

When I went to the alternative school, I found the opportunity to create my own path at my own pace with unique resources and programs that worked specifically for me. Growing up in a family that struggled with the trauma of migration, I developed my sense of inner strength. When I was homeless, that experience taught me to take control of my own life, and to believe I could turn any challenge into an opportunity.

We live in a time where racism, sexism, hatred, discrimination and hostility against immigrants happen every day. Right now, there are children who are separated from their parents and those they love. I know what that fear feels like. I’ve lived it. Often, educators project guilt about their own privilege into sorrow. Poor thing.

But what these kids—like most kids—truly need is not pity. It’s love and support.

A Healing Centered Approach

Author and activist Shawn Ginwright writes about the need to shift from “trauma informed” to “healing centered” approaches for students with backgrounds like mine: “A healing centered approach to addressing trauma requires a different question that moves beyond ‘what happened to you’ to ‘what’s right with you’ and views those exposed to trauma as agents in the creation of their own well-being rather than victims of traumatic events.”

While I may not have had the money or other external assets that other students did, I had plenty of internal assets. The limited resources and often unstable environments in my childhood made me innovative, adaptable and aware of my emotions. While many have chosen to focus on my trauma while feeling sorry for me, I chose instead to foster strong connections with lots of diverse and different people who helped me turn my trauma into strength.

The teachers who helped me see those assets helped me the most. Today, as an education leader, I can channel those experiences to help students like me. I was the kid a lot of schools and teachers tend to give up on.

Unfortunately, some educators don’t give students the space or do not know how to channel the power of those experiences. Instead, they too often get trapped in extremes. Some harshly judge their students to the point of invalidating the very real trauma they face. Others pity them to the point of lowering expectations of what they can achieve.

As educators, we have to ask ourselves how we can hold the two truths of our students’ experiences at the same time. How do we acknowledge their difficulties while also celebrating what they derive from them? How can we be compassionate to all they have endured while also encouraging them to meet the same high educational standards as others?

And right now, when our nation has chosen politics over people by using harmful actions and disparaging rhetoric, students from immigrant backgrounds are increasingly fearful. But as educators and leaders, we can support them and show them they are worth more than a political circus.

We must emphasize this to students. I am inspired by those courageous educators and students that are already leading this in our classrooms and schools.

When I talk to students who come from similar backgrounds as my own, I find they have rarely heard how much they can contribute to our society and have rarely experienced instances where they can be their full and authentic self.

Every educator and leader should tell students this:

You come from a rich cultural history, and everything from that history gives you a distinct kind of power. Remain grounded in that story and use it as a way to bring a much-needed new perspective to the table. The goal is not to hide your past, but to acknowledge and understand it and all of its complexity. You are not weaker or lesser for the struggles you face and overcome. You can be stronger and better, and your story is a part of your identity and journey.

As one student in Ginwright’s essay said, “I am more than what happened to me, I’m not just my trauma.”

Photo by Kayalin, Twenty20-licensed.

How I’m Using My Story as a Homeless Student to Help Students Turn Trauma Into Strengths syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com

0 notes

trendingnewsb · 6 years

Text

5 Ways The Past Was Even Crazier Than You Thought

Everyone’s had a jerk ruin their day. But go back a few centuries, and you’ll find that the world was built for jerks — jerks who could screw with other people’s lives and rarely suffer any consequences. OK, maybe it’s not so different from today. Regardless, whether it was starting fights on the beach or pretending to be a ghost for criminal purposes, the past was a ludicrously awful place. Take how …

People Used To Celebrate Christmas By Getting Drunk And Rioting

Modern Christmas involves awkward interactions with estranged relatives and eating a worrying amount of food, and that alone stresses us out. But that’s nothing compared to mid-19th-century America, when the holiday season was spring break crossed with Die Hard. Youths brawled, riots broke out, and the streets became holly jolly battlefields. More people dreaded Christmas than looked forward to it, because people called “fantasticals” would go out of their way to make life fantastically miserable for others.

Back then, Christmas was more of a public holiday, where you’d get out of the house to watch a horse race, go skating, etc. But if you were young and working class, you’d get drunk, set off explosives, fire guns, stage mock battles, block off roads, blast trumpets, sing, and generally try to make as much noise and chaos as humanly possible all day and night, often while cross-dressing or in blackface. If someone objected to the racket, well …

Via Johns Hopkins Univ. PressThis is back when Peace on Earth and Goodwill towards men were typically pleas for mercy.