#i cant argue with this. that image fucking rules
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> Mer{Cure}Y <
I gots some drugs for yall fiends > plug back <
1 > No one wants to talk to each other Hi how are you? good thanks :) Nice day isnt it. It for sure is! Hey wyd. not much wbu. Im chilling. Same lol. what are you doing? Im watching something on youtube. Oh nice. Wbu? im watching anime. Oh cool.
No wonder we are all fiends for some entertainment, because we are incapable of entertaining each other.
2 > The insecurity of not sounding smart makes everyone conform into a retarded form of one another. We all have the same views. The same topics are constantly being brought up. And when someone speaks about something new, everyone loses interest because no one can handle the reality that maybe they don't know something. Oh and the only reason you listen to each other is to get something from that person whether that be attention, or clout or whatever the fuck you define as your ends. Since most of us, are in a state of fear, we aren't able to talk about something we don't know about.
3 > Mercury is about confidence. And most of yall bite your tongues but love to act tough. Every person who has told me they are hard, is incapable of pushing the envelope. I think you are more caught up with your own image, and are afraid of not appearing tuff. But guess what true courage is about revolting against whats normal, or the courage to be wrong. Show dont tell true?. ANd im done hearing about whoever the fuck you think you are. Show me something interesting dont tell me what you think you are. Don't tell me what you want me to hear.
4 > Conversations are being ruined by people who are constantly telling others they are wrong. Excuse me fucker. But are you capable of arguing against me? No beyond that. Can you stick to the conversation at hand, or are you going to source the same sources every SJW ever has cited. Your not even a real person, your just mimicrying beliefs you believe in. Pathetic tbh. Hey whatever more people will agree with you because we are all jsut looking for a place to belong. so good for you. You chose the easy way out bravo. I thought conversations were a place to discuss and learn. But your so focused on being correct. to me you look wrong, but you do 'sound' right because well .. to reiterate we all want to be right so we band together with whats acceptable.
5 > School fucked you. You were told to sit down and stfu. and if you were invested in to the conversation in the class room. You were memed on by all ur class mates. School breeds insecurity, and teaches people to sit down. Thats why some of yall are so forceful in standing up for yourself. Trying to break the chains of the past. And before you point the finger at me. Don't shoot the messenger. we were all brainwashed, I dont blame anyone trying to change the foundations of your past, considering how fucked it all really is
6 > "Im not that smart" This is just an excuse. Learning everyone can do. You just need to concentrate and put effort in. "oh I canT beCauSe I HaVe ADHD" well my bad just take more of that meth shit that way you can turn into mini hitler and become smart I guess. Also if your so insecure go cry to your psychologists like ffs. Eveyrone can be smart. YOu just need to develop your confidence > Rule 3 <
7 > You learn from what you see. monkey see monkey do. if your surrounded by a bunch of dumb cunts. YOur a dumb cunt now. If your being put down by people in your clique you are surrounded by negativity. If your being constantly praised for nothing you are surrounded by yes man. Find diversity. use discrepency. Its perfectly okay to judge people. stop suppressing that urge to appear 'normal' Many people are not normal but we are so caught up in trying to act normal when we are all pretty fucky
8 > The past was different and so will be the future. Would you shut the fuck up with the pessmism. Things will change. You need to be open to receiving it. You've had happy times as much as youve had bad times. ANd if your trapped in a big pit hole of death. well you better get climbing because no one can be bothered to help anyone anymore because we are probably the most selfish we've ever been ever (social mediaaaaasaa) and the adults are still trying to adjust to the internet because the world been flipped (itll flip again)
9 > No one cares about your opinion more than you Thats why your so uncomfortable speaking your truth. Because everyone is more into their own truths. So we practise the art of self affirmation by denying other peoples truths. When everything exists for a reason. WE are so caught up in making our own manifestations true by denying others 'truths.' Selfish cunts.... But hey wtf am I saying Im just an anonymous pluto I don't know shit ;')
My next post is my last post. Don't cry. I have my reasons. My next post however is going to my >master piece< ;')
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warnings: reader has a “bf” back home so it’s basically cheating. i can say this is kinda… bad (theres a passage repeat that i cant seem to delete]: )
summary: after brutally losing an entire team on a mission, reader can’t help but to wallow in self pity. a worried soap checks on his first love.
wrdcnt: 2.7K
Labored breaths escape the rawness of your nostrils as you swipe and swipe at the dried blood around your nails underneath the strong stream of water shooting out of the shower head. A strong pounding in your head worsens the blurry vision that dares to send more tears down your stained cheeks. The red that dried into your skin is not yours, it’s the blood of your team that was ambushed during a moment of victory.
One moment, everything was okay and the five of you were happy about the success of taking down a terrorist group of extremist but, the next moment, everything blew up in your faces. The panic since then hasn’t left your body nor did the image of your injured teammates taking their last breaths.
One moment, everything was okay and the five of you were happy about the success of taking down a terrorist group of extremist but, the next moment, everything blew up in your faces. The panic since then hasn’t left your body nor did the image of your injured teammates taking their last breaths.
The moment you made it back to the barracks, Soap was already at your side and holding you after hearing of the unfortunate turn of events. Coddling your teammates was a silent forbidden thing around the base but he was always beyond the rules when it came to you. Sure, he angered Shepherd a lot but how could he ever let you suffer alone? You didn’t cry or hold him back but instead sat there and gazed at the hard floor at your feet. Though the barracks were all split into tiny two person rooms with bunk beds, that rule-abiding part of you couldn’t cry in front of him. To cry meant that you weren’t prepared and to be unprepared is to be unfit for your job. Perhaps pride had a good grip on you until you got in the shower.
Your roommate briefly stops by the room to fetch their jacket and unexpectedly was met with the sight of Sergeant Mactavish sitting on the edge of your bed and tentatively watching the bathroom door. They briefly exchange a small glance but Soap doesn’t look away from the bathroom door, even ignoring the rookie that bids him a quiet goodbye. Strong worry was clawing and gnawing at the back of his head. Soap has known you for eight years now and has been loving you for seven of them. The two of you had four long, memorable, and joyous years of loving each other until a disagreement from a mission that took place a year ago.
It was the day task force 141 needed both your stealth team and shadow company on stand by all in effort to calmly obtain el sin nombre. He remembers the way you exploded on him in front of everyone as if it just happened yesterday. You cursed and argued about who should be the person to offer intel just for him to keep his determination in stone. It didn’t help that Alejandro kept warning him that he would most likely be killed for even stepping on the property in the open. That was also the day that everyone realized that the two of you were surely more than comrades.
“So what, you just want to go in there and act like a fucking hero?” you fume, pushing him a little bit just for Phillip to settle a hand on your shoulder. Soap bristles for a moment but he fires back with a calmer tone in his voice that fails to relax you in even the slightest. “It’s better than you and somebody has to get it done.”
Tension suffocates the group for a moment until you finally scoff and back away from him with fury burning behind your eyes. It was the first time that you had to work with him on a mission like that and you could only wonder how often he was offering to die when you weren’t around to help him to succeed. Your heart lunges and tears begin to pend at the edges of your lids but you refuse to cry in front of your team. Your boyfriend of 4 years can only watch as you wave a hand of dismissal and turn on your heel to head back into the stake out building. “If you wanna go ahead and die, be my guest.”
And of course, that’s where things ended between you. His feelings were hurt and your words were left with him like a knife jabbed into his chest. Soap always knew that mixing love and work would fuck him up but the feelings he had for you were far too important to let ‘what if’s’ decide what could be. You guys gave a chance at love and it ended with a pool of unsaid words mixed with regrets.
The memory causes him to frown, lost in thought for a moment before he heard a sob from the bathroom. “Y/N?” he stood up and knocked on the bathroom door with furrowed brows. The tiny bathroom spares him of nothing that you’re doing in there. He can easily hear the way you sniff and huff, trying to control your breathing before hyperventilation gets to take its toll on you. You don’t say anything and continue crying to your heart's content, leaving Soap to worrily step away to close and lock the door to your small room. While he’s on the way back, your voice comes frail and hoarse, stopping him on the spot.
“John?”
He instantly answers and settles his head on the bathroom door so that he wouldn’t miss a word that you said. “Yes?”
“Please, I need you.”
He doesn't waste even a second to let himself into the bathroom and he’s greeted with the sight of you sticking your head out of the white curtain. Your eyes are swollen and red with irritation, adding on to the miserable look that you honed but that didn't matter to him. Tears cascade down your jaw as Soap’s calloused hands come to palm your wet cheeks. The natural, woodsy scent of him makes your chest flutter with intense warmth as he lifts your face to his to press a hearty kiss on your cheek, just like he used to. The kisses spread across your face and down to your neck as tears pool your eyes once again. He was like the natural detox that even the most desperate yearned for.
“Could you help me… none of it is coming off.”
His chest heavily rumbled with a hum as he finished the last of his kisses in the crook of your neck. The skin there burns pleasantly and his hands find yours. When he sees the dark redness that stains your skin, he can see himself a little bit inside of you. Soap remembers what it was like for him to lose himself when he was still a little new to the force. Days of wondering what he could've done to avoid the misfortune of his comrades lasted days and weeks or maybe even months until he was forced to get back to work. You could say he never really got the chance to truly wallow in his pity but at least he had you behind him during it all, just as you have him.
Your wet hand settled on the hem of his black shirt, soaking the material on contact and he instantly reached to pull it over his head. The silver of his dog tags land against his now nude chest and you idly wait for him to take his pants down. It’s been a long time since you’ve been so close to him but it all comes too familiar. He isn’t shy and you weren’t afraid to show your vulnerability to him. If there was anyone in the world that you would give your life into their hands, it would always be John, no doubt. The security of him was one of the many reasons you initially fell in love with him. It wasn’t because he was a big strong man that worked next to you through hell and highwater but mostly because of the way he always made you feel so sure of everything.
Once he’s stripped, you leisurely move back and allow him to take the heated water that he tilts his head back into before moving to stand behind you, just like he used to. You stand with your arms tightly wrapped around you and his hands come into view. The way his hands look confused for a second almost cracks a smile out of you. “Behind you, babe.”
“Oh.. sorry.” he takes a moment to look for the red towel that you had. A small sigh of relief escapes his mouth. At least you wouldn’t have to see the blood staining the towel, stuff like that made him relieve his troubles. You can feel his wet body press against yours as he fully wraps his arms around you, hugging you from behind. Maybe you’re a bad person for leaning back into him and bathing in his warmth when you had a man back home but who cares? He could be out there doing who knows what without you ever finding out. It’s not like you’d care much anyway. Every man to come or go should know that you’d never devote your heart to them as you did for John Mactavish.
His beard tickles your face as he grabs your hands after lathering the towel with soap. The way he began to gently scrub at the creases of your nails had caused your vision to blur once again. You can't help but silently wonder how long you will be the emotional wreck on base as your nose begins to run. “Staying with me tonight?” he says, lingering for a moment before running your hand underneath the water. Somehow, he was cleaning your body better than you could and managed to get your thumb clean. A kiss is pressed to your temple as he starts again, his biceps flex with every motion and the feeling is like home to you. Tears cascade down your cheeks as you nod and twist, leaning into him a little more. Sure, your room was no different from his but at least he had a rather less nosy roommate than you. The last thing you need is a rookie questioning why you’re crying and letting your Sergeant coddle you.
The shower lasts 35 minutes and consists of little to no words being exchanged. The silence between you felt like the type that made people dwell on things that went wrong. It’s specific but the way John would glance at you every now and then told you anything that you needed to know. He looked at you as if he wanted to say something and was merely waiting for the right time to say it; however, he didn't say a word except for small questions to make sure you were okay on the way to his room.
He gently guided you in and shut the door afterward. Secret relief floods over you as you walk over to Soap’s bed, glad that even his bunk mate was missing. A part of you really assumed that Ghost was just out to give the two of you some space but, you bite your tongue and instead settled for sitting onto the small twin sized bed. “... It’s lonely in here” you survey the not so lively room, trying to make for small talk that John immediately dismissed as he sat down next to you. “It wasn’t your fault.”
The bluntness makes you roll your eyes but the swelling on your face doesn’t make it look as sassy as you wanted. Your faux annoyance doesn’t deter him and he even moves in on you, forcing you to lock eyes with him. “You know you couldn’t have done anything different, do you?” but your nose unwillingly twists at the sound of that. Your mentality was contradicting that the entire time and now that someone who knew you was calling it out, you feel put on the spot. “You didn’t know, and they didn’t know. It was an accident and you were caught off guard.”
You jump back, exclaiming as if John just accused you of taking everything he is worth. “How do you know? If I was paying attention and not celebrating, they’d still be alive!”
“And if they weren’t celebrating, maybe they’d be alive, y/n.”
He watches the fury in your eyes expand as you recoil and prepare to rebuttal, but that doesn’t mean he lets it explode. Those rough hands of his once again cup your face and he speaks, rushed but clearly. “I know, you’re angry.”
“But you don’t know how I feel, Soap, you just don’t.”
“You’re right, but that doesn’t mean that you can’t tell me and it doesn’t mean you get to self-destruct.”
You angrily tuck your lips and rip from his grasp. “Who’s going to take the blame then?”
“The same fuckers that killed them will.”
You want to believe them but that evil voice in the back of your mind was getting the best of you. It kept telling you that if you all were just still on guard, none of this would have happened. Your heart breaks and rips at the thought of how their families will act when they receive the dog tags of their children that haven’t even gotten their chance to fall in love or to even have a family of their own. It hurts to imagine and it hurts to even put yourself in that position. The thought of receiving dog tags of the man you love made your heart palpate in fear. Anxiety is a river, a tide that drags and drowns you until you find foundation.
The mattress sinks back as John leaned on his palms, silently watching as you began to cry into your hands once again. “I’m never going to forgive myself, John. I just can’t.” His heart breaks to hear you say that. Though he wants to tell you that you’re speaking nothing but stupid worry, his heart won’t let him. You weren’t just one of his comrades but also someone he loved more than he loved himself. Everything about you mattered to him more than his own health so he will always be there for you, no matter how much you appear to be bothered by him.
“... You can start by recovering.” he wraps a single arm around you and pulls your slouched form into him. “Once you’re better, we go out and repay them.”
You nod and rise from the miserable slouch that you curled yourself into. Before you can even think about wiping your own tears, John wipes them first. “It’s not going to bring them back,” he kisses your pouty lips. “But I don’t want to lose you to any of this military shit. I love you too much.”
For a moment, your eyes meet his. The tug that you feel is powerful and it even causes you to lean into him impossibly further. Those blue eyes of his are like a magnet made only for the atoms that made your body into one. There’s nobody else in this world that you craved more than him. None of those ex boyfriends and damn sure not the one at home.
A small smile spreads across your flushed face.
Just the thought of falling in love with someone else is comedy itself. There isn’t a day where John doesn’t miss a day where he doesn’t sit and wonder what you could be doing or what you could be thinking of. Your line of profession was a divider that seemed to always be stomped on no matter the effort of your bosses and leaders trying to keep it alive and present. Together, things were easier. Sure, you both had to worry about if their lover was coming back sometimes but that strong sense of strength overpowered that. No matter the trouble, your hearts would always tell you to come back alive, not wanting to break the heart of the other. It’s a silent agreement that both of you can understand just by looking into each other's eyes.
Like an infatuated idiot, your voice came horse and raw.
“I love you too.”
He notices the way your hand was shyly inching towards him, so he sits up and takes it in his, kisses it before he kisses you again. “I’ve got your back.”
#call of duty imagines#call of duty x reader#call of duty#cod fluff#cod x reader#john soap mactavish#soap mactavish#soap x reader#soap mactavish x reader#soap mactavish x you#john soap mactavish x reader#cod angst#reader insert
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ok not sure how comprehensible this post is gonna be but! regarding the languages discussion, here are my thoughts about the anglo americans. be warned this post is long as fuck, but thank you so much if you do read all of it, and i’d love to hear your thoughts about it as well!
so i just wanna start with alfred’s name- alfred. i think he may be named after alfred the great of wessex, who may or may not have been the first king of england. he wasn’t technically the king of a unified england that we’d think of it as today- he was the king of wessex, as his title implies, but there was a point at which he was “in charge” or however you want to put it of most of present day southern england. anyway this presents the first of his issues with his identity. he’s permanently tied to britain beyond just his culture and most common language- his name is a reminder of who he “belongs to.” of course most people don’t know that and they just think it’s a little odd that this 19yo miles morales type is called alfred but eh, what are you gonna do.
then you have the fact that there’s no official language in the US, which makes things a little harder for him. he’s never sure what language he’s supposed to be speaking in, as the human representative of america. he thinks it should be english, seeing as that is the lingua franca, but there’s times when he just doesn’t vibe with english as a language. i mentioned before that he struggles with keeping his (spanish) dialects straight (which @cupofkey summed up as immigrant-kid-syndrome and that’s exactly it), although its not limited to just spanish. he also has a hard time keeping other shit in line, to the extent where his thoughts are a messy jumble of languages, concepts, images, and feelings. this is most evident when he’s nervous, because his accent will get super thick and he’ll start just saying the words that pop into his mind, even if they’re in another language or straight up not words at all. the only peson who can understand him when he’s doing this is canada. both of them are countries of immigrants, although they are different in who immigrated and when, so they dont have the exact same nervous tick language, but it’s close enough that they can communicate well. it’s sort of like a more global version of europanto? might sound something like this to an outside observer, but again, more global (also for the video they dont start talking until 1:17).
america and canada also have a sort of inextricable bond because of the first nations people. the first tribe that comes to mind are the members of the okanagan national alliance, which straddles the present day border of british columbia and washington state (this is also something america shares with mexico). it’s caused a lot of pain between them personally, and with the okanagan nation. just as the border itself is vague- though the us-canada border is more respected than the okanagan borders- the parts of their identities are also vague. they feel bits and pieces of themselves ebbing and flowing, and matt and fred have gotten into arguments about it because they struggle to define their identities and they just want to be able to explain themselves to themselves. but you know that often winds up causing friction with the okanagan nations, because whatever issues with identity regarding their indigenous people fred and matt are having. they’ve got it worse, only in a sort of..negative image. like whereas fred and matt feel it on the fringes of themselves, making it so they cant tell where they end and other nations begin, the okanagan nations feel themselves being slowly eroded. none of them want each other to suffer, though, because the okanagan people can be americans and canadians and okanagans all at the same time.
this also applies with the american border with mexico, seeing as there’s some areas in the southwestern us where spanish is spoken more than english. when he’s down there, freddie finds it easier to communicate than when he’s speaking english. chicano is his language just as much as english is- he just sort of became able to speak it when the west was colonized, and he already knew spanish for business purposes, so there ya go. there are some issues with that though because the spanish in the west is primarily from mexico and central america, whereas the east is more from the caribbean- like how miami has a large cuban minority. so he’s got a weird sort of chicano english too, because it’s no longer “pure” chicano. pure is a very loose term there because there is of course variation within southwestern chicano speakers. angelinos don’t have the same chicano as nuevomexicanos. anyway i think he’d get it mixed up with spanish proper or spanglish a lot because of the similar phonetic rules. i’m not sure about any indigenous tribes who have land that straddles the us-mexico border, but that’s probably not alfred’s biggest worry with That Border. actually no i think he might purposefully talk in an aggressively chicano dialect whenever someone in the government wants to talk to him about the ice concentration camps. like he usually doesn’t try that hard to keep the wrong language out of his mouth but he will go Full Chicano, just to make them uncomfortable and to try to get the point across that he can literally feel the physical pain of the people trapped at the border in those camps. but this also causes some tension with the countries of origins of those people, seeing as they can also feel that pain. there’s quite a lot of discourse between america, mexico, guatemala, honduras, and el salvador about that, because none of them quite know what to do. they argue again about whose pain it is and how they should, as nation personifications, deal with it.
another thing that he struggles with where matt is concerned is with his indigenous languages. the languages of his northernmost people are the most at risk and endangered, and some are actually in the process of dying. he hates that, because as much as he wants to act like he speaks just SCE and quebecois, he doesn’t. he knows all of his people’s languages, and it makes him feel like he’s losing his identity a little bit when his indigenous languages start fading away. the worst part about this is that he doesn’t even always know it’s happening until the fading feeling kicks in, so sometimes he’ll just make a point of going up to the northwestern territories and try to hang out with the oldest inuit people he can find to try and have a chat. and it’s ROUGH communicating at first but when he can get back into it he feels more solid and defined. i think this isn’t unique to him, and that the other countries in the americas do this too, but bc of the way civil rights work in canada, it’s a little different for him. because indigenous canadians are recognized as a certain class of citizen, indigenous canadian governments have a collective legal bargaining power and could theoretically ask for legal protections from the ottowa government for their languages. however, this doesn’t apply to the northwest territories, so that’s why matt goes there specifically to talk to old ass indigenous people. their languages aren’t protected legally in the same way that french and quebecois are, so he sort of takes it upon himself as mr canada to do preserve the languages and history. it’s especially sad when a language dies out forever, because then he’s one of very few people who still speak it and if he wants anyone else to know about it he’d have to teach them. but since the language is dead, there’s no one for him to get help from. the people who once spoke it are gone or use other languages now, and it’s all very weight of the world on his shoulders. i think this makes him very sad, because of the weirdly smug left wing anti-american nature of canadian nationalism. like he understands exactly the sort of pressure freddie is under but also has a cultural pressure to not say anything about it or even offer to help.
this is also why he has the most boring and basic idiolect out of perhaps the entire anglosphere- even arthur has a distinct posh dialect that he uses most of the time. matthew talks like a textbook. a very polite and anxious textbook, but a textbook all the same. and matthew williams actually kind of likes what alfred jones has going on, but canada doesn’t. canada fell into british hands after the end of the 7yr war, which happened to be the war that sparked the american revolution (speaking of which the ages for america and canada make no goddamn sense, ask me about it if you want more detailed thoughts). loyalists fled to canada, and developed a superiority complex around the idea that they weren’t ungrateful. then it was about how they weren’t slave owners- which isn’t entirely true- and in the present day, even in hetalia canon, canadians often define themselves in relation to america. that is, they are better than americans because of xyz political thing. right now, to quote the anime, it’s “our free healthcare and lack of gun crime, eh.” this also poses some difficulties for canada in terms of culture, though, because if that much of their national pride comes from being better than america, what do they have to make a name for themselves? for anglo canadians, that’s a more complicated question. for quebeckers, it’s that the’re not anglo canadians. but quebec is also annoying as fuck and canada actually has nightmares about there being a successful secession movement there, so. i don’t know what the average anglo canadian thinks of quebec seeing as im not an average anglo canadian, but i do know that i hate their accents so now matt does too, although he will respect their right to have their language protected by the ottowa government (because quebec, that’s why).
anyway i do have one last thought and that’s that nobody will ever really know america or canada like they know each other. they struggle with a lot of the same issues regarding language, but america has just sort of given up. in some ways, matt’s jealous of him, and in others he’s so glad he’s not the united states. but they do understand each other a lot as the anglo americans, and as some of the number one destinations for immigration out of the entire world. so yeah, i dont have any specific strong conclusion ot this post, but would absolutely love to hear your thoughts about languages in the americas! shit’s wack in this neck of the woods my dudes.
oh actually one last thing. i think america and canada struggle a bit with their identities because they dont fit into any one specific group, linguistically or otherwise. they feel a bit isolated from the rest of the world specifically due to the intensity of the melting pot effect, and even within their own countries sometimes. people will be like oh you’re too white or you’re too black or you’re too dine or too much whatever other culture, so they often feel isolated from that stuff because they are all of those things, and have a deep connection with all of it. anyway they’ll always be there for each other
#hhh this is Long#good job if you read all that its just pure unfiltered thoughts about the anglo americans#anyway sorry if the stuff about indigenous languages was weird or wrong#i have family who are dine so i tried to echo what they've told me about their relationships with that aspect of their heritage#as white passing dine latinos#but also just thinking about how fucking painful it must be to be a country#like my heart really goes out to them#specifically these lads#just because of the treatment of minorities within their borders..like how in the us you have so called patriots who are violently racist#im not sure how exactly i think stuff like domestic genocide or ethnic cleansing works in hetalia#but i think it might be analogous to self harm#idk#anyway enjoy this#hetalia#hws#hws america#hws canada#hws mexico#sort of#hws languages#this took..way too long to write but eh i enjoyed it#ceros posting
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incoming long list of incorrect quotes because im getting annoying on discord so you people have to deal with me now
Kei: Looking left cause you don’t treat me right
Han: Looking right because you left
Rose: Looking up cause you let me down
Oliver: Looking down cause you fucked up
Blair: What is wrong with you guys
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Kei: Bridge the generation gap by combining old and new slang into one!
Han: Tubular AF!
Rose: Mood to the max!
Oliver, annoyed: Groovy, I hate it.
Blair, just as annoyed: If she breathes, she’s a square.
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Kei: What’s something you guys are better than Han at?
Rose: Mario Kart.
Oliver: Yeah, video games.
Blair: Emotional vulnerability.
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Kei: There are seven chairs and ten kids. What do you do?
Han: Have everyone stand.
Rose: Bring three more chairs!
Oliver: The most important ones can sit down.
Blair: Kill three.
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Kei: Favorite horror movie?
Han: It
Rose: Saw
Oliver: Annabelle
Blair: High School Musical. after watching it I spent all my middle school years terrified that the entire school would start singing something and I’d be the only one who didn’t know the lyrics
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Kei: Poison is a magic transmutation potion that turns people into corpses.
Han: This knife is actually a magic wand.
Rose: Meet me in the Denny’s parking lot for a wizard duel.
Oliver: *cocks gun* Magic missile.
Blair: What the fuck is wrong with you people.
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Kei: Imagine if someone handed you a box full of all the items you have lost throughout your life
Han: Self-esteem, haven't seen you in years!
Rose: Oh wow, my childhood innocence! Thank you for finding this!
Oliver: I knew I lost that potential somewhere!
Blair: My moral code, is that you?
Kei:
Kei: I was just gonna show you this cool trunk my mother left me but do you guys need a hug?
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Kei: What if the person who named Walkie Talkies named everything?
Han: Pregnancy tests are Maybe Babies
Blair: Socks are Feetie Heaties
Oliver: Forks are Stabby Grabbies
Han: Defibrillators are Heartie Starties
Blair: Nightmares are Dreamy Screamies
Oliver: Stamps are Lickie Stickies
Rose, annoyed: You are disappointments
--------------------------------------------------
Kei: Where's Han, Rose, and Oliver?
Blair: They're playing hide and seek.
Kei: Where?
Blair: I don't think you get how this game works.
---------------------------------------------------------
Kei: You kidnapped Han? That’s illegal!
Rose: But Kei, what’s more illegal? Briefly inconveniencing Han, or destroying our dreams?
Kei: Kidnapping Han, Rose!!!
Oliver: Kei, listen, whatever I may think of you right now- these guys are counting on you to inspire them!
Kei: What, to kidnap people?!?!
Oliver: To work together!
Kei: TO KIDNAP PEOPLE?!?!?!?!
Blair: Kei, we all agreed a Han is a not a people.
--------------------------------------------------------
Kei: Anyone d-
Han: Depressed?
Rose: Drained?
Oliver: Dumb?
Blair: Disliked?
Kei: -done with their work... what is wrong with you people ...
----------------------------------------------------------------------
Kei: Nothing in life is free.
Han: Love is free!
Rose: Adventure is free.
Oliver: Knowledge is free.
Blair: Everything is free if you take it without paying.
---------------------------------------------------------------
Kei: We need more help. Maybe I should call my friends.
Han: ... Your what?
Kei: My friends.
Rose: Are they saying “friends”?
Oliver: I think they're being sarcastic.
Blair: No, no, no, this is delirium, they've cracked from being awake all night. Hey, Kei! All of your friends are in this room.
Kei: I have other friends! You asked me to make new friends, I made new friends! It was a task. I complete tasks.
-----------------------------------------------------
Kei: Good responses for being stabbed with a knife?
Han: Rude.
Rose: That’s fair.
Oliver: Not again.
Blair: Are you going to want this back?
---------------------------------------------------
Kei: Are we really going to let Han keep Rose?
Oliver: We kept Blair.
----------------------------
Kei: What does 'take out' mean?
Han: Food.
Rose: Dating
Oliver: Murder
Blair: IT CAN MEAN ALL THREE IF YOU'RE NOT A COWARD.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kei: If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If it bites you and you die, it’s venomous.
Han: What if it bites me and it dies!?
Rose: Then you’re poisonous. Jesus Christ, Han, learn to listen.
Oliver: What if it bites itself and I die?
Blair: That’s voodoo.
Himari: What if it bites me and someone else dies?
Han: That’s correlation, not causation.
Oliver: What if we bite each other, and neither of us die?
Blair: That’s kinky.
Kei: Oh my God.
-------------------------
*The squad is over at Kei's house*
Han: Ohhhh, we each get our own oven?
Kei: ... N-No...
Kei, laughing: How many ovens do you think I have???
Han, motioning to their kitchen: Three, I thought!
Rose: I see a-
Kei, motioning to one device: This is a microwave.
Han: Oh, well I-
Kei: Hey wait wait, actually- hang on- *fiddles with the buttons on the microwave*
Kei, amazed: Its got a bake setting!
Oliver: Ohoho, you learn something new every day!
Blair: Do we- Do we roshambo for who gets to pick first?
Kei: Now I've just discovered I have more ovens than I thought, we don't have to roshambo nothin!
Kei: I am someone who owns four ovens...
Kei, louder and way too happy: I am someone... who owns FOUR OVENS...
Kei: I didn't know I was so rich with ovens...
Himari, pointing to another appliance: Also the toaster oven!
Kei:
Han: Ohhh, toasty boy! Four- Five ovens!
Kei:
Kei, fucking ECSTATIC: I AM SOMEONE WHO OWNS FIVE OVENS
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Kei: Rules are made to be broken.
Han: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken.
Rose: Uh, piñatas.
Oliver: Glow sticks.
Blair: Karate boards.
Himari: Spaghetti when you have a small pot.
Kei: Rules.
Han:
--------------------------------
Kei: Who the fuck added me to a fucking group chat?
Han: >:O language
Rose: Yeah watch your fucking language
Oliver: OKAY WHO TAUGHT ROSE THE FUCK WORD?
Blair: 'The fuck word'.
Himari: Are you stupid? You guys use the f word all the time
Rose: Oh my god they censored it
Blair: Say fuck, Himari.
Rose: Do it, Himari. Say fuck.
--------------------------------------
'Can I copy the homework?'
Kei: I can help you with it!
Han: Yeah, sure.
Rose: Bold of you to assume I did the homework.
Oliver: lol nope.
Blair: Wait, we had homework?!?!?!
Himari: *Read 5:55pm*
-------------------------------
Kei: Time for plan G.
Han: Don’t you mean plan B?
Kei: No, we tried plan B a long time ago. I had to skip over plan C due to technical difficulties.
Rose: What about plan D?
Kei: Plan D was that desperate disguise attempt half an hour ago.
Oliver: What about plan E?
Kei: I’m hoping not to use it. Blair dies in plan E.
Himari: I like plan E.
-----------------------------------
Kei: We need to distract these guys
Han: Leave it to me
Han: Centaurs have six limbs and are therefore insects. Discuss.
Rose, Oliver, and Blair: *Immediately begin arguing*
Himari, watching in horror: Oh this. I don’t like this. I don't like this at all.
------------------
*The squad right before Kei's wedding*
Han: Well I have to go, I have a wedding to attend.
Rose: Wait... Oh! I have a wedding to attend too!
Oliver: Oh, I have a wedding to attend as well
Blair: I THINK WE ALL HAVE WEDDINGS TO ATTEND
Himari, panicked: I THINK I HAVE A WEDDING TO OFFICIATE
--------------------------------------------------
Kei: Croissants: dropped
Han: Road: works ahead
Rose: BBQ sauce: on my titties
Oliver: Shavacado: fre
Blair: Miss Keisha: fuckin dead
Himari:
Himari, grumpy: I didn’t understand a single word of that and I hate every single one of you.
---------------------------------
Kei: Everytime I hear someone talking about updog, I’m torn between not wanting to fall for it and wanting to help them complete their joke.
Han: Okay, but what is updog?
Rose: Updog is a long sausage in a bun, often served with ketchup, mustard, onions, and/or relish.
Oliver: Not, that’s a hot dog. An updog is when a new version or patch of an application is released.
Blair: No, that's an update. You’re thinking of the fourth largest city in Sweden.
Himari: Surely, that’s Uppsala, where’s updog is the giant spider in Harry Potter.
Kei: That’s Aragog. Updog is a symbol conventionally used for an arbitrarily small number in analysis proofs.
Oliver: You’re thinking of epsilon. Updog is an upward-moving air current.
Rose: No, that’s an updraft. An updog is the modern version of a henway.
Han: What’s a henway??
Kei: Oh, about five pounds.
----------------------------------
Kei: Just be yourself.
Han: 'Be myself'? Kei, I have one day to win Rose over. How long did it take before you guys started liking me?
Oliver: Couple weeks.
Blair: Six months.
Himari: Jury’s still out.
Han: See, Kei?
Han: 'Be myself'. What kind of garbage advice is that?
-------------------------------------------------------------------
Kei: I CAN'T DO IT!
Han, laughing: I CAN'T EITHER!
Kei: I CANT FUCKING DO IT ANYMORE
Rose: WELL I'LL TELL YOU WHAT, YOU CAN EITHER GIVE UP NOW, OR YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT. BECAUSE WE CERTAINLY CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT YOU, AND WE KNOW YOU CAN'T DO IT WITHOUT US.
Kei:
Kei: I appreciate it,
Kei: BUT LOOK WHAT WE'RE DEALING WITH-
Oliver: Kei-
Kei: YOU GOTTA DRAW THE LINE SOMEWHERE!
Blair: Kei we gotta-
Kei: YOU GOTTA DRAW A FUCKING LINE IN THE SAND. YOU GOTTA MAKE A STATEMENT.
Kei: YOU GOTTA LOOK INSIDE YOURSELF AND SAY 'What am I willing to put up with today?'
Kei, motioning to Himari: NOT FUCKING THIS
--------------------------------------------------------
*Squad reactions to being told ‘I love you’*
Kei: Thanks fam!
Han: oh no
Rose: *cries* I love you too
Oliver: Sounds fake but okay
Blair: *A flustered mess*
Himari: can i get a refund
-----------------------------------
Kei: Hewwo.
Han: Hihiiiiii!
Rose: Greetings, Humans.
Blair: Three kinds of people.
Oliver: I want pudding.
Kei: Four kinds of people.
Himari: WHAT’S UP FUCKERS?
Blair: Five kinds of people.
-----------------------------------------
Kei, walking into their house: Hello, people who do not live here.
Han: Hey.
Rose: Hi.
Oliver: Hello.
Blair: Hey!
Kei: I gave you the key to my place for emergencies only!
Himari: We were out of Doritos.
-----------------------------------------
Kei: *Posts a super low-quality image to the group chat*
Han: If I had a dollar for every pixel in this image, I’d have 15 cents
Kei: If I had a dollar for every ounce of rage I felt in my body after I read this text, I would have enough money to buy a cannon to fire at you
Rose: Actually I did the math, Han would have $225, not $0.15.
Han: Fam I’m right here....
Oliver: If I had a dollar I would buy a can of soda :)
Kei: while you’re there could you buy me an apply juice please?
Oliver: Sorry I only have a dollar
Kei: :(
Rose: Hey I just realized my friend is right, Han would have $22,500 because it's a dollar for every pixel, not a cent
Oliver: If I had $22,500 I would buy a can of soda and an apply juice
Rose: You can buy anything you want with $22,500
Blair: Yeah and they want soda and apply juice
Rose: Apply juice to what
Himari: Directly to the forehead
Han: Great chat everyone
---------------------------------
Kei: Would you guys be there for me if I was going through something?
Han: Nope, absolutely not.
Rose: I hope it sucks, whatever you're going through.
Oliver: I hope it emotionally scars you for the rest of your life.
Blair: I hope you reach out to me so I can ignore you.
Himari: I can't wait to go to your funeral, knowing I could've changed that outcome.
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Metamorphosis
Notes: This was written for the most wonderful, gorgeous and sweetheart babe in the history of ever!!! @omgcmere for her birthday! ILYSM sweetheart! Huge thanks to my babes @pastelle-pvnk and @bibliothesophfor reading over this for me!<3<3
.-
~A reblog is worth a thousand stars~
.-
I am free and that is why I am lost
-Franz Kafka
.-
Henry wakes up the day before classes of his junior year exhausted, hung over, and to a positively shit-eating grin that Pez is boasting while he gleefully pushes open the blinds like the sadistic fuck that he is.
“You’ve become a real tosser ever since making out with my sister last Christmas,” Henry informs him bluntly, stretching out slowly while looking around for his shirt until coming to the realization that the bloke from last night must’ve taken it while on the walk of shame.
Henry really tries his damndest not to think of his ass taking that walk.
“Ah Beatrice, my sun and stars.” Pez magnanimously throws Henry an old henley from his still unpacked suitcase. Tosser status withstanding, He’s still Henry’s best friend, has been ever since freshman year when they found solace in each other being the only two Brits in this entire university— well the only ones that matter, anyhow.
“Oy, did you wake me up at this godforsaken hour just to wax poetic about my sister of all people?” Henry grouses, padding over to their joint bathroom to brush his teeth, wincing only slightly at the already raucous chatter going on in the downstairs of their frat house.
“Believe it or not Haz, dealing with your temperamental arse actually wasn’t on my list to do today,” Pez crows, standing there all put together and fresh and well-rested. Like a fucking monster. “But we’ve got that meeting with the Dean of Student Affairs about the room situation for rush week, and we’re still in that debate with Chi Phi’s president over it.”
Henry glares at the reminder, a spark of fury running down his spine, and perhaps an extra thudding to his heart, but Henry’ll studiously ignore that.
“God damn Alex Claremont-Diaz.”
“Only took you around three minutes to mention him today,” Pez perks with a knowing leer. “I reckon that’s a new record..”
“Get the fuck out, Pez.”
.-
Henry was seven years old when he realized that his family were the sort of folks that end up on magazine covers and the headlines of salacious talk shows— that his dad was a renowned movie star and his ma’s the cousin of the queen of England. Henry was fifteen years old when he first started to hate as much. When a nurse assigned to his father's hospital room leaked his death before the doctor even had time to tell them, his damn wife and kids.
Henry was sixteen and lost at sea when Philip and the bloody queen herself sat down with him to tell him that his public presence required a certain sort of image, a discrete sort of image. An image that didn’t condone printed scarves and lingering hands with the son of a Lord who was two years ahead of him in Eton. Henry was eighteen years old when he ran off to America and learned how to keep everything hush, hush, becoming untethered to all the bull shit surrounding him. When he was accepted to Yale, and joined a fraternity and tried his damndest to emulate some douchebag wanker in the likeness of Philip.
And you know what, it was all going as planned until Henry met the infuriatingly arrogant, and downright mesmerizing boy in the rival fraternity. The one with an upturned nose and such big brown eyes and a delicious sort of half grin when Henry challenges him on something, or keeps him on his toes. Though if Henry’s being frank, he likes it most when Alex is keeping him on his knees, when Henry’s mouth is full and Alex’s lips are preening and he’s spouting out a sort of cursed poetry with every flick of Henry’s tongue and bobbing of his head.
Though that’s irrelevant now in the light of day when they’re on opposing sides and Alex is smirking at him from across the way with such irresistible swagger, sporting Henry’s red t-shirt that brings out the specs of golden in his almost molten eyes.
Henry hates him.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” he calls out, just because he knows it makes Henry flush.
“The room’s ours, you prick,” Henry retorts, beyond mulish.
“It’s so cute when you get all flustered, Fox.”
“I’m not joking around, Alexander! That room’s been Alpha Delta Phi’s every opening week since the bloody eighties.”
“Don’t you think it’s time for a change in venue then?” Alex asks with an owlish blink, sliding lower in his seat so that his legs spread even further.
Oh fuck him. Fuck Alex Claremont-Diaz’s stupid cocky attitude and his stupid fucking face and so what if Henry just wants to just fuck him stupid. He can’t win just because Henry’s a weak, weak man.
“The room’s ours, Alex,” he warns lowly.
“You wanna prove it, pretty boy?”
Henry’s eyes flicker to the clock over the office door. It doesn’t technically open for another quarter of an hour, and they’ve worked with less time in even more compromising positions, so Henry doesn’t think twice when he tugs a very caught off-guard Alex into the bathroom down the hall, praying to God that there are no cameras around here.
“Woah there cowboy, didn’t get enough last night?” Alex grins, hands already down to unbutton Henry’s jeans.
“You’re fucking infuriating,” is all Henry says in answer, swatting Alex’s hands away before going down on his knees and tugging down the abhorrently orange basketball shorts Alex has on. God, if Henry actually cared he’d pull Alex aside and give him a lesson on what’s actually excusable to wear in public.
“Now why don’t you try to stay quiet for once,” Henry tells him in a hush, biting lightly on the skin of Alex’s inner thigh before kissing the spot in penance.
“Psha, you — erm, you like it when I’m loud.”
Henry doesn’t argue, isn’t in the mood to lie. Instead he takes him in slowly, tongue lapping around Alex’s tip and pushing down with precision.
“Ah, yeah H,” Alex blurts, about two octaves higher than his normal speaking voice, as his head hits the stall, a shaking hand curled in Henry’s hair while the other one is clenched tight around his shoulder.
Henry lets one of his hands wrap around the base of Alex’s cock as the other inches to Alex’s admittedly fantastic ass, wants this done quick and sloppy and to teach Alex a lesson that he can’t just win every argument by sitting around looking like some sort of brought to life Grecian statue.
“Henry— H,” Alex comes too close to whining, tugs harder on his hair and cants his hips forward. He at least has the decency to look sheepish. “You really need to calm down or I’m,” Alex falters right then, eyes going blown when Henry’s first finger dips into his asshole, hooking in deep before Henry takes a mouth full of him again. He repeats the action another two and a half times before Alex has to frantically tap on his head in warning, and Henry gets to stand up — more than a bit smug — smirking down at a boneless Alex who’s using the stall as his only support.
“I reckon while you clean up here, I’ll go speak with the dean on the behalf of Alpha Delta Phi,” Henry tells him, swiping his mouth with the back of his hand to get rid of the pre-cum still found there.
Alex’s brows hike up as he slowly realizes what Henry has done, breathless while he spews out a fuming, “Bastard.”
“Least you got a consolation prize love,” Henry goads, kissing him full on the mouth before adjusting himself and walking back out to the office.
Alpha Delta Phi gets the room just like they have for the past half century, and Alex fucks Henry senseless for the next week. Balance is restored.
.-
Henry thinks it’s important to note that this thing he has with Alex — well, it’s not even a thing, really. They’re fuck buddies, but no. That would imply that there is some sort of camaraderie found between them, when simply there just is not. It’s a thing of convenience, truly.
The fact of the matter is that they find one another ridiculously hot, but also can’t stand a prolonged conversation without feeling the burning need to wring the others neck by the end of it. They realized as much halfway through freshman year when they had the same English lit class and Henry had to be physically restrained by Pez when Alex was arguing against Henry’s point about Hemingway being oversaturated and a blowhard.
“He’s a classic,” Alex had charged, the snow of early February in New England cascading in his dark curls and catching in his long lashes.
“He’s only adored because he’s got a dick! Why don’t you read Austen or at least a man who has something to say!” Henry had fumed.
“Let me guess, you like Metamorphosis?”
“What do you have against Kafka?” Henry gaped, only just beginning to notice the others eyeing the pair of them. And yeah, it might’ve been bewildering how they’re arguing about literaries from centuries passed in the middle of a bonfire party, but people need to learn how to mind their own fucking business.
“Well dude, if we’re speaking about blowhards, he’s definitely the king of them,” Alex had snorted loftily, taking a swig of his spiked hot chocolate.
“Don’t call me dude,” Henry had sniffed, which made Alex squint at him, more than a bit amused.
“Okay, tell me, does Prince Douche do anything for ya, pretty boy?”
That was the first night Henry grabbed Alex by the collar and showed him what it meant to be an actual blow hard. And well….they never stopped. They didn’t stop the sniping at each other or the razor-tipped barbs being volleyed around, and especially not the fucking. Never the fucking.
But yeah, it’s not really anything, especially not the best thing. It could never be that. And not even just because his shitty family basically told him straight up that Henry could never actually come out in the public eye, Henry’s accepted that, has learned how to slink around those rules to live in some sort of happy purgatory. But the thing is, Henry’s just not a good boyfriend. He’s always too in his own head and he’s not really that attentive, and besides all that, Henry didn’t come to university to meet some bloke and live some gay romance story from the 1900s.
Henry’s here at university to get a degree, to become someone. He’s here because his father always told him to reach for the heavens, to do something beyond himself. Henry wants to be the next great literary, wants to write something that matters, that makes a difference. Something that’ll make Beatrice laugh with no more worry eclipsing the sound, and maybe even something that’ll bring the stars back in his mother’s eyes. Henry wants to say something that’s worth being said.
Henry doesn’t want to have anything getting in the way of that, preventing him from becoming someone important. But regardless, it’s not as if Alex has ever seen Henry as more than a good lay, has made it abundantly obvious throughout the year and a half of their sleeping around. Most notably, that three month interlude when Alex began dating that boy from the student government, Liam whoever, at the end of last term. Though to be frank, Alex was always far out of Liam’s league, and the week that followed their breakup included some of the most dynamic and mind-blowing sex Henry’s ever experienced.
But that’s irrelevant.
Alex and Henry are only a last resort to one another, and it doesn’t have to mean anything more, it doesn’t have to be complicated, Henry hates it when things get complicated.
.-
Henry’s in the midst of editing his term paper on the impact that Woolf created in the discussion of gender in Orlando when he gets a text from Pez telling him to “stop being a robot.”
Glaring, Henry ignores the text from Beatrice about David, and the email regarding alpha Delta Phi’s first charity function for this term, and the half dozen snapchat notifications from Alex alone. He instead moves to reply to Pez with a middle finger emoji before he’s accosted by a pair of hands wrapping around his eyes.
“Guess who?” an ever-amused and incredibly buoyant voice asks.
“A prick?” Henry replies in a deadpan, making it so Alex cuffs him on the back of the head.
“Say dick you douche, you’re in America now,” he commands, taking a seat besides him in the almost empty top floor of the silent library.
“Fuck off,” Henry hisses, rubbing the tender spot. “And since when are you in the library this late?”
“You mean at three in the morning?” Alex says pointedly. “Never, because I’m normal and not a school-obsessed freakazoid like you.”
Henry sticks out his tongue in retaliation because he’s too groggy to come up with anything clever.
“And yet?”
“I’m a good person and dropped off a spare key to a brother who’s wigging out about a midterm,” Alex says, studying Henry with a peculiar amount of intensity. “Saw your pale ass haunting this place like a ghost and thought I’d bug you a little.”
“What is it?” Henry asks moodily, surprised at the lapse of silence that follows before Alex shrugs in answer.
“You’ve got some nasty circles under your eyes, white boy,” he says, not quite as crude as usual but Henry still glares in exasperation.
“So what? You got up in the middle of the night just to help a friend and criticize my looks?” Henry says with a huff, rubbing his strained eyes, only just starting to feel the exhaustion weighing heavy on his shoulders.
“I was at Nora’s place, so I was already up,” Alex says, unwittingly making it so Henry stiffens.
It’s not unusual for them to discuss each other's conquests, but it’s different when it comes to Nora. Henry knows that she and Alex had dated for a stint freshman year before the two of them crossed paths. She’s a gorgeous and fierce computer sciences major with a minor in mathematics. There’s no way in hell that Alex isn’t still carrying a torch for her, which is fine and all, it’s not like Henry and Alex are anything beyond occasional hookups, but yeah— it still makes it so something uncomfortable is squirming right beneath the surface of his skin. And God does Henry hate it.
“How is she?” Henry asks evenly, ignores the way Alex is searing a hole into the side of his head while Henry adjusts the syntax of one of his topic sentences.
“Fine,” he says in the same detached sort of inflection. “You’re working on that paper for your gender lit class?”
“It’s due tomorrow morning,” Henry answers.
“Haven’t you been done with it for, like, a week?” Alex asks.
“Haven’t you heard that revising is the only way to get a decent paper?” Henry sniffs.
“Dude, I think you’ve edited enough,” Alex snorts. Everything always coming so fucking easy to him, it’s maddening. He’s gorgeous and charming and brilliant and he doesn’t even have to try. But worst yet, it’s not even a big deal to him. Even if he weren’t all those things he never had a family name to live up to, was never expected to be something he was not. Henry’s so fumingly envious but also so goddamn lost on him and how it is he’s come to be.
“Alexander, is there a purpose for this ridiculous conversation?” Henry lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I really need to get back at this.”
“And what? Not sleep till tomorrow?” Alex snipes.
“If you don’t say anything worth my while in the next five seconds, I'm putting my earbuds back in and ignoring you,” Henry tells him point blank. “Five, four, three—“
Alex’s face goes a furious scarlet, jaw set, before he gets close enough that his breath skirts against Henry’s lips, and his hand finds its way to the front of his trousers.
“I’d really like it if you’d let me jerk you off right now.”
It's Henry’s turn to burn red.
“What?”
“Do I need to repeat myself?”
“We’re in public.”
“We’re in a dark library in the middle of the night and your weird ass always picks the corner surrounded by the shelves.”
“It’s always quietest,” Henry argues weakly.
“Bet we can change that,” Alex counters smugly.
Henry has already admitted that he’s a weak man, so he’s not surprised when Alex’s challenge actually works and he’s led to the most concealed corner with heated kisses and impatient grappling tugging him closer.
“You’re unruly,” Henry whines when Alex bites down at the hinge where the column of his neck meets his shoulder.
“And you’re really sexy when you’re all focused and nibbling down on that pen,” Alex leers, pulling himself and Henry out of their pants. “Really gets a guy imagining things.”
Henry swallows down, hard.
“What sorts of things?” He asks lightly.
“You know H,” Alex croons, gets a hand locked around each of them, knocking the breath out of Henry and making it so he’s gripping at the shelves, bracketing Alex on either side. “You get this little dent between your brows,” he leans forwards and nibbles against Henry’s neck once more. “’S the same one you get right before you cum.”
“Oh yeah?” Henry asks, pleads as he jerks into Alex’s hand, watching the moonlight dancing in his hair and tracing his strong features with a romantic sort of gentleness. Holy fuck, is he beautiful.
Okay, so Henry might’ve said that last part out loud, but he doesn’t even care because Alex’s grin goes lopsided, and he kisses the corner of Henry’s mouth and everything goes a blinding white when Alex strokes him over the edge.
“You are really something, Henry Fox,” Alex says in a voice that’s caught between befuddlement and a sort of wondrous intrigue. Henry can’t really reply though, feels heavy and sated and like he really wants to curl up with Alex. But that’s a ridiculous notion and Henry needs to get those thoughts out his mind or else this’ll all be ruined.
“You’re like an orgasm fairy,” Henry tells him in a yawn.
“I want that for my epithet,” Alex winks, gently pushing Henry’s overstimulated cock back into his briefs and zipping him back up. “I’m calling one of the vans if you want to join, our houses are the same way,”
Henry blinks, confused. “I can’t,” He tells him with a hint of irritation. “I’ve got to finish that paper.”
Alex frowns fully now, pinning him with a one-eyed squint.
“You look like you’re about to drop dead.”
“This’s how I always look after sex,” Henry contends, unconvincing to his own ears.
“You’re gonna run yourself into your own grave if you don’t give yourself a break,” Alex tells him, near fuming.
“Then that’ll be my own doing,” Henry says, steadfast.
“That’s fucking psychotic,” Alex hisses and Henry hates how he can’t understand why this, being here, being worth something greater than just a jumble of letters and familial connection, is so important to Henry.
“’S not your life to live,” he shrugs, turning away from Alex.
“You don’t have to be the best to be worth anything, Henry,” he calls after him, cutting and cruel and careless.
Henry feels like he’s been caught out, like he can’t breathe. And how dare Alex, how dare he pretend that their situations are at all similar. Like there aren’t chasms separating them.
“Fuck you, Alexander.”
“I mean that’s all you ever want, isn’t it?”
There’s a sound like Alex kicking a chair but Henry doesn’t know for sure, refuses to turn around and check.
.-
It’s been two weeks since the library incident.
Neither of them has texted first, not even glancing in the other’s direction in the one class they share. And it’s good, it’s fine, it’s whatever. Henry’s never wanted anything more than a consistent fuck, and Alex has got dozens of options of incredibly pretty and incredibly smart and incredibly affable people just like him. He doesn’t need Henry and Henry doesn’t need him.
It’s fine.
“It doesn’t look fine, mate,” Pez tells Henry that Friday night with knit brows and a worried expression splayed out all over his face. Henry doesn’t answer in so many words, just tosses him the bird instead. “Right, good talk.”
“It’s nothing, Pez,” Henry insists, taking a drag of his joint and pretending that it helps.
“Then come to the party with us tonight, yeah? It’s Spencer’s birthday and I know he’d be a total mess if you actually tagged along to get drunk with us commoners.”
Henry glares with feeling but accepts the offer merely to prove his point that whatever happened between him and Alex means nothing.
Admittedly, that notion might’ve been thrown out the godforsaken window when the party goes into full swing and Henry finally catches sight of Alex near the beer pong table, laughing with Liam of all fucking people.
They look happy, happier than Henry’s ever seen him.
Henry feels cold all over.
He doesn’t know why he’s acting like this, doesn’t understand the reason why his stomach’s twisting into knots and his veins are spiking with a truly awful emotion and why his ribcage has cracked open, screaming at Alex, telling him to notice, to look at Henry, to see that he’s here, dammit. To see that Henry’s here and whole and has so much to give him even if it looks like the contrary.
Henry doesn’t understand any of it, so he ignores the feelings and races up stairs to his room, crossly slamming his door shut and cursing at his own stupidity.
Like he does whenever he’s overwhelmed, Henry grabs for one of the novels lining his shelf and gets lost in the fictitious lives penned in black and white, lives far away from his reach, lives that Henry could get lost in studying and forget his own for only a little while. It’s what he did when Bea and Philip were doing grown up things and he was stuck at home all alone. What he did for days on end in the hospital room, reading to his father while he faded away bit by bit. It’s what he did to forget the fact that his own brother wants him to hide himself in all his varieties of light.
It’s the one constant in Henry’s life and he does it now, gets lost in the words and tries to forget the throbbing to his own heart.
It’s the first time it doesn’t work.
.-
Henry doesn’t know how much time passes when his door creaks open and he looks up to a face he put to memory long ago, even if he pretended otherwise.
“Alexander?”
“Cinderella,” he grins, slow and warm like molasses. “‘How cruel, your veins are made of ice water, and mine are boiling.’”
Henry’s heart feels like it’s just lodged into his throat, his eyes never leaving Alex’s own.
“Excuse me?”
“Wuthering Heights,” he says nonchalantly with a one-armed shrug while stepping closer into the room and pushing the door shut. “It’s your favorite book to read when you’re overwhelmed.”
Henry’s lips pinch, sitting up completely now, regarding Alex fully. “Is that right?”
“Mhmm. You like Sense and Sensibility when you’ve done well on a paper. And you have a secret copy of Little Women stuffed under your bed for whenever Bea messages you and you begin to miss her.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a stalker, Alexander,” Henry says, pretending that the butterflies swarming in his belly are just from nerves of speaking to him after so long and not from the pleasure of him knowing Henry without his evening realizing it.
“You’re not that difficult to figure out, Fox. I’ve told you: you’re just a bimbo with great legs and an accent that makes people think you know two shits about anything.” Alex flops stomach first on Henry’s bed, his head resting up against Henry’s thigh. It’s against Henry’s will when his hand moves forwards to card through Alex’s mussed curls.
“Charming, you’re truly so charming, Alexander. Do you know that?” Henry says blithely.
“The newspapers call me charismatic,” he smirks airily, making it so Henry can’t help but snort.
“Prick.”
“Says the guy who ghosted me,” Alex counters.
“The phone works both ways, love,” he says condescendingly, hating how something golden and splendid is coiling somewhere deep inside of him, merely to due with Alex’s presence.
“Pfft.” Alex gets up now so that they’re face to face, brown eyes boring into blue. “Do you know what you told me after the first night we slept together?”
Henry doesn’t have the slightest clue, so he just shrugs helplessly. “You’ve got a good mouth?”
“Shut the fuck up, you ass. I’m being serious.”
“So am I?”
“You called me a fucking distraction,” Alex hurls, like it’s been something that’s been clawing against him for a while now, itching to be spoken, clacking against his teeth and finally pouring out with vengeance. “You said you had to do well in your studies and you didn’t need a distraction.”
Henry furrows his brows, confused to the point he’s trying to make.
“And you agreed, if memory serves me well,” He says defensively.
“Yeah, because I wasn’t about to be rejected by some rich, pretty boy.”
“I hope you thought a bit more of me than that,” Henry teases, inches closer to him so that the tips of their fingers touch on the bedding.
“You also have a truly remarkable shoulder-to-waist ratio.” Alex shrugs, and Henry knows he’s trying to be a shit, but he still preens. Likes the reminder that Alex is just as much into him as he is Alex.
“I don’t see what’s wrong here.”
Alex shoves at Henry’s forearm, hard.
“The problem, you prick, is that for some fucked-up reason I was actually into you, like a lot.”
Henry’s head swings up from where it was lazily gazing at Alex’s lips, waiting for a chance to kiss them.
“Like truly into me? Like you want to go steady and out on dates and spend the night in my bed?”
“I mean, whatever the non-old man sounding equivalent of that is,” Alex tacitly agrees, head cocked like he’s trying to parse out Henry’s own feelings.
And for his part, Henry can’t believe what he’s hearing, what Alex’s saying, what he’s confirming. This must be a dream, a figment of Henry’s imagination. Stuff like this doesn’t happen to him, they happen to the protagonists of his favorite stories, not real life.
“Wh—What? Why?”
“Dude, that’s what I’ve been asking myself for the past year and a half,” Alex gripes, rocking back; Jesus fuck, he’s nervous. He’s just admitted all his feelings like that and he’s waiting for Henry to either confirm or shoot him down. Henry’s the one with the upper hand here, and it’s awful.
Holy fuck.
“You—you said you liked me,” Henry says tentatively. “But now, do you—erm, ahem,” Henry coughs awkwardly, and Alex is gracious enough to answer the unspoken query.
“I didn’t break up with Liam last semester because he didn’t root for the Cowboys, dumbass.”
“Oh,” Henry blinks, befuddled, which makes Alex roll his head back so fiercely that Henry’s afraid he might strain something.
“I broke up with him because I’ve got this massive, irrecoverable, disgusting thing for this blonde prick. A douche who puts too much on his shoulders and tries to prove something to someone who isn’t even here, and who is so goddamn dense that I have to spell my feelings out to him like he’s actually a frat bro instead of just pretending to be.”
Henry feels himself going scarlet, feels it how his heart blossoms with wanting, unrestrained and painful in its ferocity.
“But Nora?”
Alex’s face goes blank, and then a sickly green color. “Dude, why are you bringing my sister’s girlfriend into this?”
“Wait—You’re not? I thought you still had a, erm—a thing for her?”
“She’s not the one I just gave a Twilight-level cringe speech to, is she?” Alex harrumphs, crossing his arms and scowling at a point over Henry’s shoulder.
“So, you really like me?” Henry asks hopefully.
“I swear to God, Fox: if you don’t tell me how you feel in the next five seconds I’m going to—“
Alex stops speaking right then, is interrupted by Henry’s slamming lips and desperate palming and long limbs tangling into one another.
“You’re a monster,” Alex pants once Henry’s lips finally unlatch from his and Henry’s almost tearing off his shirt.
“I can’t believe you actually want this,” Henry says in contrary. “I’m a mess, you do realize as much, don’t you?”
Alex looks endeared when he smiles, shrugging helplessly. “I like messes.”
Henry can’t help the laugh he lets out, relishes when Alex finally gets a good hold of him and lays him back so that they’re pressed skin to skin and he’s spouting out nonsense about Henry’s eyes and mouth and dick, each point punctuated with a kiss across Henry’s protruding collarbone, helps him shed off the last of his clothing.
“You’re so fucking gorgeous,”Alex marvels, making Henry’s cheeks redden and causing him to hide it by kissing along Alex’s jaw.
“I’ve liked you for so long,” Henry can admit in the blanket of night, is soft when he slants their lips back up against each other, back arching when he feels Alex pressing inside of him, stretching him out. He’s always so gentle with Henry, even before this was supposed to mean anything. But, holy fuck, who’s he kidding––this has always meant something, even when Henry pretended otherwise.
“You’re the most stubborn fuck I’ve ever met,” Alex tells him, making it sound like an exaltation. “You always had your mind set, know exactly where you’re gonna go.”
Henry groans when Alex puts in the second slicked up finger, followed quickly by the third.
“Ah-Alex, ‘Lex, please.”
“You’re so smart and beautiful, and you have such a good heart.” Alex just keeps on talking, only stopping occasionally to pepper a kiss on a spot around Henry’s face.
Henry feels his eyes prickle with wetness, knows that it’s a combination of feeling so much and feeling so exposed, so open in Alex’s eyes.
“You’re amazing, sweetheart,” Alex whispers, kisses the tears away before he lines up and thrusts into him, something this side of painful with the first couple canting of the hips, until he hits that miraculous point that makes Henry’s insides go feral and something ferocious unfurl within him.
“Alexander, please. Please, love, please,” Henry pleads, hands scratching against Alex’s back and head tossed with yearning.
“You’re so good, so perfect, Henry,” Alex says like an oath, pushing deeper and harder into him, biting down on Henry and making him shout as he cants his hips up to meet each of Alex’s own.
Alex is spouting out a new round of praises towards Henry’s brilliance and butt and beauty and Henry can hardly handle it, feels the white streaks landing on his belly right before Alex begins speeding up in a graceless round of thrusts, finishing with a blown out expression, slowly pulling out and tossing the condom to the trash bin beside the bed.
He collapses half on top of Henry but he doesn’t mind, moves slightly so that the blanket is covering the both of them and kisses Alex’s shoulder tenderly.
“I think I might love you,” he whispers, snuggling closer to Alex.
“Good,” he yawns, slings an arm around Henry’s torso and curves against him. “Makes us even.”
.-
Next week Henry calls Philip and tells him to kiss his ass, and that he doesn’t have to prove shit to anyone.
“You’re sexy when you’re mad,” Alex tells Henry when he hangs up.
“You always think I’m sexy,” Henry sniffs loftily.
“Guilty as charged.” Alex shrugs, pulls up to kiss him senseless once more, making everything go delirious.
#FIRSTPRINCE#Red white and royal blue#Henry Fox Mountchristen Windsor#Alex Claremont Diaz#RWRB#YAY I FIXED IT#IT WASN'T SHOWING UP ON THE TAG#RIP#BETH BABE I LOVE YOU SO MUCH#!!!#SPILT INK
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11 + jaehyun >
“You cant banish me! This is my bed/bedroom too!” + jaehyun
It was a twist of fate that led to you and Jaehyun somehow being roomed together for the duration of this summer program. It didn’t seem to bother any of the program’s organizers, and though you were a bit alarmed when you learned that instead of having a solo room as some people were lucky to have, you would not only be forced to share a room, but you would be sharing it with Jung Jaehyun for the entirety of the next six weeks.
After a brief talk where you each laid down some basic ground rules about boundaries and such, you and Jaehyun determined that you could make this work. If any issues arose you would first address each other, and then take it up with the organizers if you couldn’t resolve it yourselves. You would be adults about this.
But now, three weeks in and there’d been a handful of issues. Minor things like Jaehyun taking entirely too long in the ensuite bathroom, you possibly leaving your clothes all over the room. Simple things that you’d been able to resolve yourselves.
When you’d left the room that morning to attend a class, you knew that you should’ve cleaned up. Jaehyun was always getting on you about that, but this morning you were running late and so you’d left a pile of clothes on your bed which looked a mess. Jaehyun had just recently told you that he hated when you did that.
So hours later when you were just leaving your final class to grab a bite before heading back to your room, you received a text from Jaehyun reading “Don’t come back tonight.” Your first thought is that you’ve finally done it. You’ve pissed him off with your mess so much that he’s just kicking you out of your shared room, not even bothering with trying any conflict resolution tactics.
You hurry back to the room, ready to argue with him until things are set straight again.
When you arrive the door is locked, and you knock.
“Go away!” Comes Jaehyun voice from inside.
“Jaehyun! You can’t banish me! This is my bedroom too!” You shout.
You’re sure if your neighbors are in their rooms, they’re probably capable of hearing you. But for the past three weeks they’ve had to put up with you and Jaehyun’s drama. They’re probably growing used to it at this point.
You hit the door once more for effect. “Seriously!”
The door swings open and Jaehyun’s standing there looking a little ruffled, and you’re suddenly embarrassed, remembering one part of the deal you’d both agreed to on that first day. Private times are to be respected.
Clearly you’d just interrupted that. You expect to see Jaehyun’s latest fling in his bed or maybe hurrying to dress and leave, but the room is empty except for him. His record player is going, a song swelling through the air, and a candle is lit on the table between your beds.
Oh.
“I’m sorry.” You tell him quietly.
“No, by all means, if you don’t want to be banished, come in.” Jaehyun’s tone is quite annoyed, sarcastic as he waves for you to come inside your shared bedroom. “Come in, watch if that’s what you want. What the fuck is your problem?”
You hesitate in the doorway. You should leave, you both know it. But honestly, all you wanted was to fall into bed and sleep after eating, but now eating is like at the end of your list of wants--now all you can think about is Jaehyun’s words and what he’d been doing before you began pounding down the door.
You should leave, but he told you that you could stay and watch, and as your eyes helplessly run over Jaehyun’s bare torso, his shorts riding low on his hips, your imagination runs wild. Images of Jaehyun touching himself, his muscles and all that skin, his voice moaning, and his hips rolling into his touch. You can’t shake the thoughts, and you shiver there in the doorway, wrap your arms around yourself and take a step toward the door as if to step around him and make yourself comfortable in your shared room.
Jaehyun’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead in surprise. “What?”
“If that offer isn’t serious tell me now. I’ll leave. But if you were ever even remotely serious about that...” You shrug.
Jaehyun falls back a step, opening up the whole doorway for you to come inside. He looks you over and his hands clench into fists before relaxing.
In a quiet voice that certainly doesn’t carry enough for your neighbors to hear, Jaehyun says, “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”
You kick the door shut behind you, moving quickly to dump your things onto your bed along with the pile of clothes, adding more and more to that mess, never taking your eyes off of Jaehyun.
requests are closed, I’m just finishing up the ones left in my inbox from before I closed it.
#jaehyun#jaehyun drabbles#nct#nct drabbles#asks#i could've continued this but lol these prompts were meant to be fluffy so i'm just leaving it there
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Publicity Stunt
Part Four
[Part One<-- Find here]
Warnings: Swearing as usual. Trigger warnings??( just to prepare you, so be prepared). I think thats it??
Pairings: Bucky x Reader
Summary: Reader is a fixer/Pr and longtime friend of Pepper. Post-endgame.
PS: Thank you guys for the support and feedback, your kind words are music to my ears(eyes bc i read them) and i cant explain how much it means to me. Thank you all so very much xxxxxxx
Scroll to the bottom for the next part
You stood on the tarmac as the Quinjet landed. Your personal assistant, Jonah, had arrived a few hours earlier and met the Avengers at the Senate hearing. You weren’t a fan of court procedures, any more than you were of politicians, so you sent Jonah – along with the lawyers you trusted – to the courthouse to ensure everything ran smoothly. Clint was a bit anxious when you told him your assistant was replacing you, Wanda refused to leave unless you were going with them, and Bucky spent the entire time asking about your male assistant.
“You planned this whole thing but you’re not showing up?” Clint argued, eyes flashing with betrayal.
Wanda agreed with him. “This is your thing! If anyone can convince people to do anything they don’t wanna, it’s you!”
“I’m not one for damselling—” Sam stopped pacing and took a breath- “but you’re turning me into one right about now.”
“This, Noah, person you were telling me about—” Bucky practically shoved the laptop in your face, a picture of your security’s supervisor stared back at you, “—he looks like a registered sex offender.”
You rolled your eyes, fixed the search, and pulled a picture of your assistant. You turned the laptop back to him and faced everyone else. “Jonah is a qualified attorney, and the team of attorneys that will be representing you are the best DC has to offer. You are in great hands.” You tried to reassure them, but your absence was clearly something that they weren’t okay with.
“Noah looks like Rumlow.” Bucky scowled, staring too closely at the screen. “He looks like Rumlow’s Hulk brother.”
“Looks like Drax’s long lost brother,” Sam added, peering over Bucky’s shoulder.
Clint joined in, clicking a few buttons and nodded. “He looks like he eats Senators for breakfast.”
“You work around Rumlow?” Bucky looked back at you, eyebrows furrowed. “Every single day, you spend time with this guy?”
“Jonah.” You corrected.
“He looks like a registered sex offender.”
“That’s not what sex offenders look like,” you scoffed, “you’d be surprised how many suits and ties are actual sex offenders.”
“Rumlow Noah is wearing a suit and tie.”
“Bucky, his name is Jonah,” you looked at him pointedly, “and it would do you justice if you remembered that. He’s a nice kid—”
“-registered sex offender—”
“—and he’s really good at what he does.” You glared at him for a moment longer before looking at everyone else, “I wouldn’t trust this part of the job on anyone else. He’s good. He’s great, and his team of attorneys are sharks. You—”
“Why do we need attorneys?” Clint asked, looking away from the laptop. “I thought this was a senate hearing.”
“While you’re at it, ask her about the security team of registered criminals she has on speed dial.” Bucky muttered, scrolling through more pictures of Jonah.
“What?” Wanda practically cried; eyes wide with panic.
“Oh, for fuck sake—” You inhaled deeply, “—the attorneys are for back up and the security is for the attorneys.”
Bucky, because he’s Bucky and his natural instinct is to make things difficult for you, scoffed. “It’s to get us out of there in case this is a trap.”
“A trap?!”
“Barnes!”
“Did you know Rumlow Noah had the third highest grade score in his class?”
It took far longer than expected, than necessary, to get them onto the Quinjet and to the hearing. Bucky was still attached to the laptop when he boarded, Clint was satisfied that you weren’t sending an intern with no experience, and Wanda was contemplating using her abilities on you. But, eventually, they departed for the city and left you with enough time to do your job, make a couple of phone calls and listen in on the senate hearings.
You weren’t a rookie, you had Jonah wear one of his bugged suits. This was the senate, after all, and you had to be ready for anything they could pull.
Jonah was a large man. His build caused controversy in the courtroom, juries thought him intimidating and witnesses found him unapproachable. His voice was far too deep, his face was far too intense, his looks were too menacing. His presence alone had scared witnesses into committing perjury, a few simple objections had caused him fines from contempt, juries ruled against his clients because of his daunting appearance.
Jonah was a very large man, but where others saw a beast, you saw brains. He was far younger than you, he had graduated from high school and law school far too early, and he was ready to make a difference. He could recite every word in the constitution, poke holes in the most ironclad of nondisclosure agreements, he could tell you all about each crime and how to elude being charged with it. The kid could get away with a Presidential assassination in broad daylight if he wanted to. But he looked like a Mafioso and appearance is everything in DC. So, when he lost a case – a case he should have won – you walked up to him and offered him a job.
Personal Assistant is what you both called his title, but he was much more than that. He was the reason you were good at your job.
“I’m guessing it all went well?” You raised an eyebrow at Jonah, the rest following suit.
Jonah simply shrugged, handing you a folder. “That shouldn’t even be a question.”
“Shit hit the fan.” Clint sighed.
“I’m making a list.” Bucky grumbled, idling a few steps away as he continued with his face shoved against the laptop.
“He pissed everyone off!” Wanda glared at him, “how is that not supposed to be a question?”
“Jesus—” Jonah rolled his eyes, dark brown glaring down at Wanda. “—you really think that was supposed to end well? It’s a senate hearing, with a bunch of powerful that were in the room with, arguably, people that are far more powerful than them. Your abilities, your avenging, everything about you already pisses them off.”
“What was the point of all that then?” Sam questioned, staring at Jonah like a lion ready to pounce on its prey.
“To piss them off,” Bucky added, shoving the laptop at you. “This is Rumlow’s classmate. She’s married, graduated top of her class and lectures at an Ivy League law school.”
You took the laptop and closed it shut. “The point of all this was to prove to everyone that the whole case is biased, that the entire senate – along with the accords – was based on the simple fact that they are biased.” You said, handing the laptop to Jonah’s anticipating hands and walking back inside.
“If we could prove bias to the general public,” Jonah continued as they all followed, “we could dismantle the entire case against you.”
“Sounds like a sex offender thing to say,” Bucky grouched, earning a warning look from you.
You placed the laptop on the kitchen counter, telling Jarvis to seal off every entrance to anyone without residential clearance. The rebuilt Compound was larger, but with less floors, the design was a unique mixture of every Avenger’s taste, except it was more of an armoury than it was a home. Each room had a secret compartment of weapons, and an exit route that led to either the garage or the woods, and the security system seemed to be engineered to withstand a nuclear war.
You had already set up a seating arrangement for them, their absence helped in getting a couple of things done, and you waited as everyone took a seat.
“Everything, from here on out, is gonna be war.” You looked at all of them, hating the next words that were about to leave your mouth. “The whole media stint where I had you kissing babies and walking dogs, helping the needy, all that was just for the cameras. All that was just the first phase of what’s to come next. We can’t win against the Accords, we can’t win against a hundred and seventeen nations. But the people can.”
“This was never about public image.” Wanda stated, bitterness coating her words.
You shook your head solemnly. “You pissed off a lot of powerful people. They don’t care about who you are or how good your intentions—”
“They care about controlling you.” Jonah interjected. “The accords are the perfect example of that, and that’s why I had to piss them off.”
“You didn’t have to do anything.” Bucky growled at him.
“The UN ordered you shot on sight,” Jonah fired back, glaring at him, “that’s illegal and the exact opposite of what they’re supposed to be doing—”
“—Jonah had to rile them up, I told him to do so. Senate hearings are televised and public record, we needed it to have the highest ratings possible.” You added, “because, now, the senate hearing is going to turn into an International court case, where your charges will be presented before you and the court. Testimonials and all that jazz, basically the same bullshit that the Accords doesn’t afford you—”
“—which is illegal and violates a shit load of rights.” Jonah interrupted.
“From that moment forth, we present our case to the world.” You completed, eyes lingering a bit on Wanda for a moment longer.
“We’re gonna lose and go back to the raft.” She said, too sure of herself for your liking.
“The people won’t let us.” Bruce chuckled softly, shaking his head at you. The wheels were turning in his head and the pieces were finally fitting together perfectly. “That’s why you spent so much time on our public image, why you started an uproar in a senate hearing.”
Sam’s shoulders dropped at the realisation, the picture finally becoming clearer. “You’re evil.”
“I’m efficient.” You corrected, “and I don’t like losing. I don’t like it when good people are wronged, and I really hate the government enough to defame it.”
“The economy is gonna suffer, international relations are gon—” Bruce started, but you were not having any of it.
You scoffed. “The accords are a pretty way of saying slavery, so I don’t care.”
“Uh—” Bucky raised his hand slowly, “—call me old fashioned, but I’m really confused here.”
“We’re going to lose to the UN,” Wanda said, turning to face him, arms folded and face twisted in spite. “But she’s going to start a civil war within all nations, and there’s nothing we can do to stop it because people love us, and she made them think the government is evil.”
“You’re evil.” Clint mimicked Sam’s words. “You’re worse than the government.”
“Someone has to be.” You acknowledged, unashamed and unbothered.
You knew what the job description was when you signed up, and you knew the kind of soulless monster you were going to have to be when Pepper called. You left DC behind, a town of vultures, to defend people that weren’t accustomed to those vultures. It wasn’t just DC’s most elite politicians you were going against; it was the entire country; it was the entire world – nations with resources to the disposal that you couldn’t even begin to fathom. First world countries, with the means to make you disappear without a trace, second world countries with the power to make your death seem natural, third world countries that had lost far too much to care about moral code.
To win, your only weapon was to start a world war.
To succeed, your only strategy was to make the people fight it for you.
You weren’t dumb enough to think you could win against world nations. But you were smart enough to know where to hit for fatal damage.
“We’re about to face the world and call their leaders a bunch of criminals,” You finally said. “Clint, I had Happy fetch your wife and kids, they’ll be here in a few hours. Scott will be here as well, with his kid. The compound is the safest place they could be, right now. Until this is all over. Until—”
“—until they’re no longer at risk of being held, by the government, indefinitely.” Jonah added for you, “because we’re not idiots to think they’re safe in their own country. They can and they will be used against you.”
“You’re saying our government would arrest minors for crimes they didn’t commit?” Rhodes, for the first time since he sat in the room, spoke – disbelief cloaking his face.
“I’m saying they arrested Wanda, Clint, Scott and Sam for not signing a contract.” Jonah, a man you trusted with your very life, fired back without missing a beat. “Because that’s what this—” he waved the accords in the air, “—this sad excuse of a law that will never stand, is. A contract. Not a law that has been enforced, not an amendment, and definitely not legal. So, yes, I do strongly believe that a government capable of forcing an Army experiment, which resulted in the Abomination – the same government that violated Bruce Banner’s constitutional right; by illegally searching all his belongings without a warrant – is capable of arresting minors for shit they didn’t do.”
“He can tell you all about the rights and laws that the existence of the raft violates,” you said, “but that’s gonna require a shit load of coffee and a lot of ‘I told you so’s’ from Ol’ man Rogers. And that’s not something we’re all ready for.”
Wanda sat up quickly, gaining everyone’s attention. “Wait,” she examined you, something finally clicking in her head. “Those rights apply to Americans and I’m Sokovian."
You shrugged. “I pulled some strings—”
“—made an argument that you couldn’t be eligible for death penalty for treason, in this country, if you weren’t a citizen—” Jonah added.
“—because then that’s gonna be a whole international dispute, and you would be handed over to your own country for the trial—” You nodded.
“—and, man, do we hate not having blood for blood.” Jonah sighed, shaking his head. “I could name a couple of states that want your pretty little neck attached to the adios syringe—"
“—and no country is a fan of those international disputes. So—,” you pushed the green file, you had placed on the table, towards her. “—you became a citizen the moment I walked onto the compound.”
“Which makes you eligible for the same protection as everyone in this room.”
“Pure evil.” Rhodes gaped at you, completely awed.
“We can’t stop the Accords from happening, but we can sure as hell change it. From this day forward, you guys must do everything I tell you, word for word. You’re a team, what you do and how you act will affect all of us. I know what I’m doing, and I need you to trust that; trust that I can, and I will, get you through all of this. You don’t have to trust me, but you can rest easy knowing that I don’t start wars I can’t win.
“I may be evil,” you breathed, straightening your posture and making sure to look every one of them in eye. “But I’m the kind of evil you need, right now.”
There was pregnant pause, an eerie silence encompassing the entire room. “’Til the end of the line.” Bucky voiced softly, his ocean blues capturing yours in a gentleness you’ve never known.
“We’ve come this far,” Bruce said, nodding in agreement to Bucky’s declaration.
Sam shook his head. “We’re so screwed,” he whispered to Clint.
*
Pepper didn’t know your plan.
The whole thing was going to be hard enough as it was. You had arranged the empty rooms into guest bedrooms, Jarvis was rather helpful in that department, you had him direct the Avengers’ loved ones to their designated rooms. You made a list of things for Jarvis to inform them of – the basics of the compound and the PG rated reason they were there – and made sure to stock the place with every single necessity you could think, that they would need.
She would disapprove of it.
Asgard was already on standby, in the unlikely case that the Compound was compromised. You had asked their current leader, Valkyrie, for the assistance and she was more than ready to help. The Avengers were dear to Thor’s heart, so taking in their loved ones for protection was something Asgardians were more than happy to do.
She would hate you for it.
Wakanda was on standby for extraction as well. In the event that the Avengers would need an escape route, Nakia – a woman that was very pleased to know about your plan – had promised to help in any way possible. She, too, was not a fan of politicians imposing their agendas under the false pretence of enforcing the law.
“Woah, woah, woah—” Bucky gripped onto your arm, pulling you into a slow jog then a stop, “—slow down there, doll.”
You were struggling to catch your breath as you pulled your arm out of his grasp, wiping your forehead free of sweat with the sleeve of your shirt. You fanned your face, trying to find something to lean against, someplace to sit, somewhere to breathe. Because, damn it all to hell, you couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t think, and it was freaking you out.
“Y/N…” Bucky called out, gripping both of your shoulders and turning you to face him, “Y/N, come on, look at me.”
It’s too hot. Dammit, why is it so hot?
You tried to push him away, worming your way out of his hold, but that only succeeded in him tightened his grip.
Let go.
Molars grinding, hands fisted, you ducked out of what felt like an ironclad grip and backed away from him. You just needed to think, that’s why you went for a late afternoon jog alone, to think. The compound was too crowded; too many voices for you to focus, too many smells, too many distractions. Your room was no better, it was big enough to be a master bedroom, but it felt small – why did it feel so small?
When did it get so dark?
You tried sitting outside, thinking that fresh air would do the trick. But Bruce and Clint and Jonah were outside, talking about something… you were close enough to hear, you think you even made a comment… What were they talking about?
“Come on, sweetheart, look at m—hey, hey, I need you to look at me.”
Go away!
You just needed to think. You rubbed your throat, continuing down your path – it was your path, right? – and tried to swallow down the dryness. You must have been jogging for a while, it was getting difficult for you to see or focus on where you were going. You tried blinking, alternating between rubbing your eyes and your throat, hating that you didn’t bring a water bottle with you.
What were you missing?
“Y/N—”
Why was he still here?
You just needed a second. You just needed to look at things clearly, for his sake, for their sake. Just a second. That’s all you needed.
Safehouses were sorted, because you could never be too safe. Black folders were ready, because you could never trust the other team to play clean. Everyone’s loved ones were accounted for. So, what were you missing?
Think about Morgan.
That annoying little twinge snapped at you, in you, spreading across the left side of your chest. You didn’t even like children, so that shouldn’t even be a thought. It shouldn’t have been a thought coated in Pepper’s voice.
This is exactly why, you thought, this is exactly why I don’t mix work with friendship.
You stopped walking when you could no longer see where you were going, reaching out to find the nearest tree. You couldn’t even hear your own footsteps as you did that, you couldn’t hear anything except the loud thrumming in your ears.
There was something in the distance, some sort of movement maybe – couldn’t be sure, you chose to pass it off as nature and focused on catching your breath. Your muscles felt tense, you blamed it on the jog – because you’re a walker, not a jogger. Your lungs were aching and each gasp for air seemed to not be enough, every deep breath you tried to take felt like it was twisting your chest.
You felt something crawl up your arm, an unwelcome heat that you recoiled away from, moving away from whatever it is. You mind shouted spider and you didn’t hesitate to speed walk away from the pest, but it wouldn’t stop clinging to you, pulling at you, dragging you back with its callous clutch.
You went to flick it away with your other hand, dread settling into the pit of your stomach. “Get off me,” you couldn’t recognise your own voice, drenched in trepidation as your hand tried to swat away at the thick-skinned creature.
Another one gripped at your hand, pressing it to your chest as you began to heave in an unadulterated panic. The iron grip on your arm moved to your back, unconcerned by the fight you were putting, and you were forced into something hard.
“Shhh,” Bucky soothed, wrapping an arm around your writhing figure whilst moving his other to stroke your head, “it’s okay, just breathe.”
This wasn’t you. This couldn’t be you. His shark, his girl, his little darling, his sweetheart couldn’t be the one that tried to fight him off. You couldn’t be this shivering wreck in his arms. No… it couldn’t be you.
But it was you. He could tell it was you just by the sound of your footsteps, so he followed the sound through the trees until he found you, taking a path he knew you’d never been on before.
His shark was shaking in his arms; he could pick you out in a dark room by your smell alone, and your disorientated steps struck an intrusive feeling in him, the kind he’d felt after the snow.
His girl, in the dark and alone, too scared to even let him hold her. This couldn’t be the woman he fell in love with, could it?
“Focus on my voice, I know it’s difficult, but—” he took a breath as he tightened his grip, “—you just need to breathe. Okay? Breathe with me, doll, in and out, slowly—”
He felt you tense, felt as your thrashing turned to uncoordinated twitching, felt as you tried to focus on what he was telling you to do. It took a while before you could mimic his breathing, he didn’t blame you – figured you were just realising what was happening, and even then, your breathing was off.
“That’s it,” he praised, “that’s my girl. You’re doing so good, darling, just keep focusing on my voice—”
You could barely make out his voice, the cloud in your head was too much, but the quick thuds that were drumming against your hand – each one strong as the other – pierced through the disarray. You moved away your hand, having been placed there from your attempt to push him away, and pressed your forehead against the area, forcing yourself to focus on at least that.
This wasn’t you. This didn’t happen to you. But here you were, in Bucky’s arms, hating yourself for letting this happen.
One sense at a time, your own voice rang in your head, that’s how you’ll get back control.
You shut your eyes, tapping your finger to beat of his heart, choosing to focus on your sense of touch first – not that it was a choice. Your first instinct was supposed to be listening, but your disarrayed mind ignored his voice, and went straight for the feel of his heart against your hand. The muscle beating against his chest, something you couldn’t hear, was the only thing you were capable of recognizing in that moment.
The thrumming managed to soothe away the ache in your chest and your feet, the feel of something soft and damp pressing against the crown of your head repeatedly managed to help cool you down, all that was left was for the slight stinging on your throat to disappear – but water could fix that.
You can’t do it all at once, Stark. You remember telling Tony, his panic attack had rendered him speechless, the first of the few that had. Divide and conquer, just like I taught you.
He had listened, focused on your instructions as you helped pull him out of the deep, then pretended he had it all under control – that he could have managed just fine without your interference. You laughed, accustomed to his humour, knowing it was only a defence mechanism, then told him about how it wasn’t something to be ashamed of. You told him that it was a normal thing, a reasonable reaction, to the horrors he had seen. You told him, insisted, that it wasn’t something to be embarrassed about because it happened to the best of us.
You didn’t think you’d have to tell yourself that.
Best of us, never included you.
You were the one that got people through them; helped them cope, taught them the little techniques that they benefited from.
You never thought you would have to use them on yourself.
Next Part
#fluff#bucky x you#bucky x reader#bucky fan#clint barton#masterlist#mcu fanfiction#publicity stunt#part 4#marvel x reader#marvel writing#bucky barnes masterlist#sam wilson#avengers#wanda marvel#marvel x you#marvel x y/n#x reader#sebastian stan#bucky fluff#endgame#post endgame#marvel fic#fanfic#marvel mcu
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not to be that person who asks a googleable question but wtf is hazbin hotel bc i googled it and the only “critical” thing i could find was a typo-ridden article of someone saying it has good animation and its haters are stupid. i was able to glean what it is/what it’s about but idk about the discourse lmao
Im actually so glad u asked this. Here's the lowdown, this is my definitive answer to hazbin shit from here on out, unless new info comes about of course.
Hazbin hotel is an independent cartoon by vivziepop. Most people (that ive seen) have agreed that the pilot of the show really isnt that great but the reason it has so many fans is bc of the entertaining livestreams, massive amounts of canon content produced (she has had these characters for years), unique art style, and the characters. (Ass ugly but unique.)
Its haters are totally justified bc of some of the "controversial" (read: bad) things vivziepop has done. Here's the conclusion that my friends and classmates (several of whom are Black, one Hispanic woman, and one trans woman...nellie if ur reading this i 💜 u) and i came to after discussing this stuff. I am NOT saying "well my black/trans friend said it's ok so i dont have to think about it!" this is based on a few different conversations that my friends and i have had about this topic so what im saying is that my opinion was formed by talking about this situation with multiple people affected by the controversy.
One controversial thing is a drawing u can easily find on google (called beastiality.jpg i believe?) It's a cropped (chest and up, but hes obv naked) drawing of vivziepops character, drawn by vivziepop, moaning, with a snake around him. The character is 17. Many people have interpreted this as child porn. I dont think this image is pornographic, i think it's a stupid joke (it was even tagged as a joke iirc) and completely inappropriate but since it's 8 years old on top of not being porn, i think it's just an example of a dumb drawing. That being said, i would NEVER argue that someone who is uncomfortable w the drawing (im uncomfortable with it! It's gross just not porn) or considers it porn is wrong. They are entitled to that opinion and i would never expose them to vivziepops work or talk about her stuff around them if they expressed to me that they disliked the image.
Another thing is that she drew a doodle of two racist TERFs. This is the one where my friends of color, my friends who are black, and my friends who are trans women took the lead. I sat back for this part and here's their and my opinion on this after talking about it and verbally going through this whole situation.
She was following these women (who had done blackface and stuff) and drew art of them. The art was a "quick doodle" that she did apologize for and she said she didn't realize the extent of their beliefs. She knew they werent great but hadnt consumed much of their content in depth. I believe her bc while ive never followed anyone as bad, ive certainly followed some pieces of shit and didnt notice for months simply bc im not online all the time and bc of the volume of people i follow, combined with the non chronological algorithms lately.
At the risk of screwing myself, im going to admit that there was about a year or so of my life where i enjoyed The Amazing Atheist. I was even subbed to him. I was a nonbinary lesbian (2 things he cant stand lmaoo) in catholic school and therefore i strictly watched his videos about theological stuff since thats what was frustrating me at the time. I had no clue the type of evil racist, transphobic, homophobic (yes ik hes bi), misogynistic things he thought, said, and did, bc i didnt watch those videos. I literally only watched select theological ones that could be of use to me while edgily debating my teachers (sorry mrs macdougal but u had it coming). I was about 15 at the time and im 19 now. Im sorry to everyone i hurt by ever having supported him. I had one of his quotes written in the inside of my religion notebook in high school. I regretted it and ripped the page out the moment i discovered the truth about him. I cant stress enough how much I HATE HIM. Thats an example of what i think happened here tho.
One of my friends who is a trans woman said (paraphrasing) "i think the worst thing shes done is that terf art but i believe the apology especially bc it was a quick drawing."
That being said, i would NEVER argue with someone who wanted nothing to do w vivziepop bc of this. That's their right. 100%. I would never expose them to her work after that.
The last thing i remember is something about a pedophilic couple in a comic but i heard it was a 17 year old and a 19 year old. Im 19 and if one of my peers did that i wouldnt say pedophile but id say ur a fucking weirdo, BUT, the kids were fake and being written by an adult so i can totally see her thinking that age gap is much less of a big deal than it really is. Like she forgot what it's like at this age. Idk how true any of that part is tho, i heard that info entirely secondhand.
Another thing to do with racism is that there's a joke within the show where one character says to the other
"don't get your taco in a twist"
"Was that supposed to be racist or sexist?"
"Whichever one pisses you off more"
I thought that was gross but one of my friends pointed out that vivziepop is of el salvadorian descent so that's her business. Like if i made a lesbian joke of equal or greater offensiveness than that and someone tried to call me lesbophobic over it id be like "that's literally my territory."
Oh speaking of which that character's name is vaggie and shes a lesbian but it's not pronounced w the same G you'd hear in "vagina." Vivziepop seems to name characters weirdly (like how in helluva boss theres a guy named blitzo and the o is silent) so maybe it's a pussy joke but i have no idea.
The animation was.................better than i could do, i wanna say the faces and gestures were good but god i remember there was a part with a car and my gf had to pause so i could laugh my ass off at it. I wouldn't describe the animation as a highlight but i liked the style in motion i thought it was a fun change. Vivziepops style is not appealing imo but i appreciate it as an art student and as someone whose friends all like she ra and steven universe where every character looks the goddamn motherfucking same, and while its chaotic and i dont care for it, the style actually works way better in motion than you'd think.
A good rule that i def use is to assume hazbin fans are guilty until proven innocent. If someone says they dont care about the discourse surrounding it and like it no matter what, RUN! They would support the show even if the creator was in fact a pedophile, or had done the blackface/was a terf herself! They probably support some horrible ppl and are probably "anti antis." A lot of them are minors tho so i'd say block and move on.
So, do i like it or not? Im an art student and all my friends like it so while i didnt think it was funny, i do fuck with it. At the convention this weekend my friends and i had a convo that led to me drawing an ahego hoodie where the faces were angel dust (a character's) face. It was a joke that i could make a killing by selling that in a booth at a con.
Theres really nothing compelling about the show but my friends like it so i join in on their conversations, and i do have a soft spot for angel dust bc he's like a worse, less amazing and gorgeous version of one of my characters, Candy, the love of my life.
A lot of people say the show was edgy/offensive and maybe im just desensitized but besides the taco thing i didnt pick up on that whatsoever??? The Archer episode "Swiss Miss" is worse than helluva boss and hazbin combined and even archer isn't offensive.
Im probably not aware of all the "discourse" (aka people being reasonably uncomfortable by weird and bad shit this random woman has done, and other ppl saying their opinions are wrong when it's literally just an opinion about a show) so if anything she's done isnt included in here it's not to defend vivziepop, this is genuinely all i know. I wouldnt describe myself as a fan of hers.
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[ @perfect-harmonia @drun-in-a-million @k-9-1-1-yes-hello @ly-cant-even @addie-bear ]
Deep underneath the halls of the castle of Lazuroth, lied an intricate prison. One made for one specific purpose. For one specific person.
Midge wondered why she made the decision to keep her here. Why she’d chosen this instead of killing her. Or letting Addie kill her. She’d killed her once before, after all. Why not this time? Perhaps it was by Togal’s own interference. Perhaps Midge couldn’t bring herself to do it this time. Or perhaps even a part of her got a sick sense of satisfaction knowing that Harmonia would be trapped here, powerless, for the rest of her days.
She was actually kind of glad for that decision, now. Who else could she ask about something like this.
Harmonia Cuppari looked up from the wall, her eyes looking over Midge for just a moment for a far too satisfied smile appeared on her face. “Madrigal. To what do I owe the pleasure? Missing your mother?”
“Not even remotely,” Midge told her, her tone as cold as the room around them, not that the two Lazurothians were bothered by it. Her eyes narrowed. “I’m here for information.”
Harmonia chuckled. “Of course you are.” She straightened up her seating, the chains around her wrists and ankles clinking as she did so. A rare metal called Atlantisian. It seemed to hold property to suppress supernatural powers, like Harmonia’s ice magic. “Never drop by just to say hello.”
“And I never will,” Midge hissed, ensuring her tone was as sincere as it was cutting. Not that Harmonia would care that even after all these years, the animosity Midge held for Harmonia still burned as bright as Addie’s flames. “What have you lied to me about this time?”
Harmonia didn’t seem fazed by the question, even sighing in exasperation. “I haven’t the faintest clue what you mean, dear.”
“Don’t ‘dear’ me, you self-centered bitch!” Midge snapped. There was a crackling of new ice forming around them. “You have to know something. You always do!” She growled, her hands balled into fists. “Why are me and my children hearing singing?!”
Harmonia rose a brow in genuine confusion. “Singing?”
“Yes! Singing! It’s like distant voices. My son mentions it sounds like someone calling and I have to agree.” She took a step forward and glowered. “Why is this happening? What haven’t you told me?!”
Harmonia stared at Midge for the longest time, as if contemplating what it was Midge even said. That scrutinizing gaze. Even now it made Midge want to shove an icy saber through her main heart.
The temptation grew when Harmonia began to laugh, the condescending sound bouncing off the frozen walls. Midge’s eye glowed blue in their fury. She knew no one would question her if she killed Harmonia again, they would never defy her over it. But she’d promised to never let her power go to her head. She would be a good example for her children. She would not rule by fear.
“Well, well, well,” Harmonia said, her voice full of amusement, “I honestly did not think this would be the way you found out. Hearing the Calling like that.”
Midge scowled. “What are you talking about? Find out what?”
“Oh, my darling daughter,” her voice was sickeningly sweet. Mocking. Midge had the image of ripping her vocal cords from her throat. “You’ve truly never even suspected? Never even questioned it?”
“If you don’t start actually talking about something of substance I am going to bury you under a thousand feet of snow,” Midge threatened.
“Tsk tsk. No need for threats, dear. You have the advantage here, remember?” Unfortunately. Harmonia had been trying to figure a way out of this for years, and yet here she was, still trapped beneath her own castle like some long forgotten relic.
If only he were still alive…
“Haven’t you ever wondered,” Harmonia explained, “why it was you could use your adrunel at such a high degree? No Lazurothian has ever accomplished such a feat and lived to tell the tale. It’s not because it takes some sort of great concentration. It’s because it is impossible to do so. Otherwise I would have tried.”
“I don’t believe you. You thought I was going to die that day when I defeated you.” Midge mentioned.
“I did. But only because you never showed any sign of inheriting anything from your father. Up until then, at least.” Harmonia smirked. “Then you got ice powers, and, oh, you adapted so beautifully to them. So easily. You’ve truly never wondered why that is? Or why the majority of your biological children have unexplained supernatural powers? I’m sure you could ask your mate what the true likelihood of a werewolf and a human producing werewolf children is? You know, the weird one with the goggles.”
“Don’t talk about my mates,” Midge snarled. “And what the fuck are you talking about? Drun inherited his powers from me. The twins are werewolves because...Dek was one. Addie...Addie…”
“Seeing where it falls apart, I see.”
“She’s a Jedi. Force sensitive. They can do...extraordinary and unexplained things.”
“I can assure you, different color fire is not one of those things,” Harmonia told her.
“You don’t know that! You’re talking out of your ass just to get your way like you always do!”
“And you are being crass and stubborn as you always are,” Harmonia argued, her tone tired. “I’ve given you the explanation to what you’re hearing. It is called a Calling. I witnessed it once. Couldn’t hear it, but it is quite phenomenal how far it can travel. Only one race can perform it and only its own kind can hear it. They are called Mefni, and they are elemental beings.”
“You’re speaking nonsense and it’s pissing me off!” Midge roared, stomping her foot. Spikes of dangerously sharp ice shot up from the ground. “Why would I, a Lazurothian, and my children, be able to hear something only this one race can hear that none of us have any lineage from?!”
“Did you not hear me mention your father at all? Or are you losing your hearing as well as your edge?”
Midge stared in disbelief. “You really wanna mess with my head that badly? My father was your brother. What does he have to do with any of this?”
“You’ll find records in the archives of exactly one time I left the planet. I wanted a change of scenery for a bit. The events afterward, however, you’ll find were either kept quiet or rewritten as to not expose what occurred. As to not expose what you truly are.” Harmonia’s gaze was intense, a sick glint of victory in her eye. “To be honest, after several years of you showing no signs of his lineage, I was under the impression that perhaps those genetics were nulled in hybrids. However, over the years I’ve seen they were merely dormant, needing just the tiniest of pushes.” A vile smirk appeared on her face. “A shame that I created such a powerful force by pure accident, only to have her turn against me.”
Midge was gaping, unable to put together what Harmonia was saying. It...it couldn’t be true. Harmonia’s ancestors had established the disgusting tradition of the royal family keeping the bloodline within the family. It made no sense for Harmonia to defy it. It made even less sense for her to defy with another race altogether.
No. No it had to be a lie. Just another game for Harmonia to play in Midge thoughts. Midge glared lethally at the woman before her, gritting her teeth in fury.
“You brought that upon yourself,” Midge said, her voice low and murderous. “You brought all of this upon yourself. And I know you’re lying to me.”
She turned on her heel, stomping her way out of the prison. She would not entertain anything Harmonia had just said. She would not.
“You know I’m not, Madrigal!” Harmonia called. “You can feel I’m telling the truth. I bet you can hear that voice even now.”
Midge didn’t respond, not wanting to give Harmonia the satisfaction of knowing she was right.
Even deep down her, beneath the stone and snow, she could hear that voice as if it were right next to her.
Ah ah ah ahhhhh~
000000000000000000
Not too long after Midge had reached the main floor of the castle, her communicator beeped. She answered it immediately. “Addie.”
Her oldest gave a worried gaze from the screen. “I have a feeling that all the calls to my phone from you, Drun and Rían have nothing to do with Christmas.”
Midge sighed. “I’m sorry to say that it doesn’t.” Her brow furrowed, struggling to shove all of Harmonia’s words out of her mind. “You...wouldn’t happen to have been hearing singing...have you? Like...disembodied singing that seems to come from no where?”
There was a pause that seemed to last a thousand years and yet only a second all at once. “I have,” Addie admitted. There was movement on the screen, perhaps of her typing something. “Not only that...I managed to trace the frequency. Difficult, considering apparently I’m the only one hearing it around here.”
A hologram appeared above the communicator of a green planet with four moons. Midge furrowed her brow questioningly, but Addie was way ahead. “That planet isn’t too far from Lazuroth, probably a week by ship with maybe one warp jump.” It was Addie’s turn to look questioning. “Mama...I thought Lazuroth was the only planet with life in that whole quadrant.”
Midge stared at this planet, feeling Harmonia’s words threatening to break down the walls she’d put in place to keep them out. “I...I thought so, too…”
Addie became quiet for a moment, seeming to study her mother. She nibbled her bottom lip, a habit she made sure to keep a secret from any of her subordinates. But around family it was always okay to show nerves. “What do you think it is?”
Midge contemplated her answer. She was not about to discuss anything Harmonia had said to her. It was all garbage as far as she was concerned. “I...don’t know. But all my instincts tell me it has to be a trap of some kind.” Because of course it was. It always was. “Obviously I can’t tell you what to do, but I’m going to ignore it. When they realize we won’t take the bait it should stop.”
Addie looked like she hadn’t quit understood that answer. In fact, Midge almost felt like she was being heavily analyzed. She truly hoped Addie wouldn’t try to drag more information out of her. None of them needed to know what Harmonia said. The idea of them all being part some elemental race was ludicrous, and Midge absolutely refused to entertain the idea. “If you think that’s the best course of action, then I will trust your judgement.”
Midge nodded. “Alright.” Her face morphed into a genuine smile. “I’ll see you at Christmas, sweetheart.”
“You will. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
0000000000000000
“Part elemental?” Drun asked after Rían got done relaying what he’d heard.
“An elemental race known as Mefni. Apparently Harmonia is saying that’s the real reason we all have powers. Or handle them so well.”
“But what about Ada? She doesn’t have powers,” Ruby pointed out.
“Yeah, but you said she mentioned that Mom showed no signs until much later in life.” Drun’s brow furrowed. “...What are they calling for?”
Ruby shook her head. “Don’t even think about it. Tomorrow is Christmas! And you heard Mama! She’s pretty sure Harmonia was lying.”
“Yeah but she doesn’t know,” Drun replied. “For all we know it’s a call for help or something. From family!”
“Or it’s another plot to get someone kidnapped again,” argued Rían.
“Come on! You can’t tell me you don’t want to know what it is!” Drun said insistently.
Rían shrugged. “Bro, I just want a Christmas where no one gets kidnapped, okay? I’m willing to let some weird spectral singing bother me for that.”
Drun shook with frustration, a few stray snowflakes falling from his balled up fists. He made a small growling noise. “Fine,” he said shortly before stomping off.
“Drun!” Ruby called worriedly.
Drun didn’t answer, stomping all the way to his room. It took everything in him not to slam the door, if only because it would alert one of his parents to his distress. He flopped onto his bed and screamed into a pillow.
How could everyone else brush it off like that?! There was some strange occurrence going on and not a single person cared to find out what it was? Where it came from? Why it was happening? Wasn’t his family supposed to be Team Nebula? Wasn’t stuff like this basically their job?!
Drun growled again, taking a moment to stare at his window. The stars glittered in the sky, dancing around Lazuroths rings. A heavy debate began to wrestle in his mind. He shouldn’t go anywhere tonight or tomorrow. Not yet anyway, but he also couldn’t help but second guess himself over whether he should go at all.
After all, the likelihood of it being a trap was unfortunately astronomically high…
Ah ah ah ahhhhh~
And yet, Drun thought, his antennae perking toward the sound.
Ah ah ah ahhhhh~
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LOOK IM SO GODDAMN MAD SO IMA RANT TO YOU LIKE OKAY I CARE SO MUHC ABOUT KPOP IDOLS OKAY AND I KNOW THE LIFE IS HARD BUT LIKE I CANT DEAL WITH SO MANY GOOD PPL LEAVING THEIR GROUPS FIRST WOOJIN NOW WONHO AND I WANNA FUCKING DIE
So I got this ask a few hours ago, and I originally didn’t really know how to respond. To be quite honest, I still don’t. That being said, I can understand your frustrations anon, but I can’t fully agree with you here.
Your feelings are valid, and I'm not simply answering this in an attempt to push your feelings aside. However, this message just doesn’t still right with me.
To put it bluntly, to me, your message comes across as if you are saying, “despite the hardships Kpop idols face, and the mental, physical, and emotional strains that some of them undergo, they should just learn to suck it up cause I don’t want them to leave their groups/terminate their contract before it’s due.”
Whether or not this is your intention of this ask, this is my interpretation, hence why it doesn’t sit right with me. I’m sure this is not what you mean, but wording can be very tricky to me, and I am always cautious of the way I word things, and how I intemperate the words of others.
I understand you care about your idols. As do I. As do many fans. The best thing we can do during these times, is offer support and be understanding of their decisions.
Yes, the life is hard. The life is extremely hard, and I don’t think a lot of people truly grasp this concept. Please understand that the entire process of becoming an idol doesn’t just stop once an idol debuts. I would argue that it just gets harder from there. Not only do idols now have to face the glaring review and scrutiny under the public eye, but they also have to face the scrutiny and rules of their company, including all those who fall under the company whether it be fellow idols, trainers, or CEOs.
What many don’t understand, is that Korea is a heavily military influenced culture, meaning a lot of their training runs like a military regime. Not only is it severely strict, but it is also severely demanding.
Additionally, after debut, idols are constantly in a spotlight of sorts, which depends on how popular a group is. Many new idol groups debut within a year, yet only a select few actually make it past their first year, and move on to actually make a name for themselves in the industry. So, not only do they have the pressure of debuting, they are continually pressured by their companies to do well. There is always a need to strive for greatness, to become better, until eventually, you are the best. However, there will always be someone better.
The increasing competition only serves to make it increasingly difficult for newer acts. Not to mention how the public will receive and view these new groups.
Being under the scrutiny of the public eye can be seriously taxing. Korea has a very strict culture in which a majority of the population views certain acts, such as drinking, smoking, and improper conduct, as immature, repulsive, or a bad influence. So, not only are idols constantly being attacked by antis or sasaengs, they are constantly under the pressure to perform their best, act their best, be their best. That pressure can become unbearable at times.
In order to do well in the public eye, one must be charismatic, and always be on their best behaviour to perform properly and make good impressions. No one will want to work with an idol who is moody, or considered rude. This also affects how well a group does after debut. Music shows, radio shows, etc., aren’t going to want to book a group who is viewed negatively in the public eye, or considered rude, for people will not want to associate with them.
Not to mention the constant ideal of always having to look ‘perfect’ all the time. As you probably know, Korean beauty standards are very strict, so if one does not fit into the specific image of beauty that society has deemed appropriate, one can be ridiculed or attacked for their appearance. That only adds to the already enormous pressure already placed on idols to always be, and look their best.
Another thing that can be extremely important in Korea and Korean culture is endorsements. This ties back into my previous point of needing to be perceived well in the public eye. If one has a good image, one can obtain endorsements which further promote the idol or idol group in said endorsement. This adds to a popularity of a group. Doing something bad or being perceived in a negative way can not only negatively effect the group, but the idol could also loose their endorsement, and possibly never be able to use that promotional opportunity again. So, you can understand the pressure placed on them to always appear as their ideal selves.
This can all take a toll on oneself. Not only the physical toll from often times extreme schedules, but an emotional and mental toll as well. I don’t know how much you know of Korean culture, but mental health is not too popular a topic. It is not freely advertised in public. Many of the older generation still views mental illness as a taboo subject, and some even deny the existence of such conditions. Not only that, but as far as I know, there are not too many options of treating mental health efficiently that are offered in Korea at the moment. Even if one does seek help, again, it is viewed as taboo by the older generation (as far as I know), and people assume there is something wrong with you. In short, mental health is not something openly talked about easily in Korea.
Now, imagine the emotional toll this can take on someone. The constant pressure of having to appear ‘perfect’ all the time. The rigorous training and practice, not to mention some of the schedules idols are put through. Many do not have time to themselves. They have their fans to think about. They have their group to think about. They have the company to think about. They have the public to think about. I wouldn’t be surprised if at some times, they don’t even have time to think about themselves.
“But Jackie, idols know this when they agree to become trainees,”
Yes, and no. Yes, they may get told how hard it will be. Yes, they may get told about the difficult road that lays before them if and only if they can make it all the way to debut. But no one tells them of the mental and emotional toll that this life can take on them.
Sometimes, even though you are upset about your fav leaving their group, take a moment to just sit back, and breathe. Think about the good times and happy memories you have had with them while they were in the group. It’s not the end of the world, believe me. I know it can be difficult, but sometimes this is for the best.
The best thing we can do is love and support our idols no matter what they choose to do. We don’t always know the full story. We don’t always get to see the truth.
We, as fans, should strive to understand our idols, and support them in their times of need. After all, there are much worse things than an idol simply leaving their group. This doesn’t mean their career has stopped. At this point, it is up to them to choose what to do, whether they want to continue in the spotlight after some time off, or retire completely, is up to them.
I’d rather see idols take time off for themselves, because I don’t know about you, but the other alternative is much worse in my opinion.
And whether the last part of your statement is true or not, anon, joking about it isn't the way to go.
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what about h/l from the models au? because I feel like out of all your harrys and louis’ they were like the Fun Couple lol and also h/l from the fake engagement au? I love they’re domestic bffs dynamic
after the last part, h/l from the models au don’t do any more photoshoots together 😂they explicitly state they don’t want to, because the brands start approaching them (due to how viral they’ve become) asking to promote their brands and like. they don’t want to commodify their relationship like that. so adidas and calvin klein are the only ones who have the privilege of having a harry and louis photoshoot. and i don’t know if they’re the “fun couple” per se out of all my h/l’s (because i havent really sat down and thought of that extensively) but they definitely have fun. i have this recurring mental image of them leaving the same party separately and tabloids are always like “they broke up?????” when in reality they both drive like three blocks down and end up in the same car anyway and they always giggle and laugh about it because fucking with the paps in industry parties is always so funny. also driver roll up the partition, please is a thing that happens with them quite a bit 👀
they never post each other on social media but sometimes paps will get harry walking around with an adidas hoodie that’s just a bit too small for him. louis walks around wearing the lavender sweater so much (like when he’s doing errands, like grabbing groceries or something) and it’s so frayed and ugly at this point and the people are always like “LOUIS TOMLINSON HAS NO SENSE OF STYLE!” but like louis doesn’t care.
they never attend events together but they watch a bunch of concerts together and there are always photos of them like cuddling while watching a concert, louis’ back pressed against harry’s front, harry’s face buried into louis’ neck. louis makes it a point to buy terrible children’s toothbrush after terrible children’s toothbrush–from mickey mouse to like winnie the pooh to like frozen themed ones
and…yeah. i think like, their proposal is something that comes a little bit out of left field, simply because it wasnt planned. one day the lavender jumper is just so holey and terrible and louis is all sad about it and complaining and harry just looks at this boy, looks around at their house–because it’s as much louis’ as it is harry’s now, louis’ presence ringing loud and true in every corner, every crevice–and he just says ‘marry me.’
they have their wedding somewhere nice and warm (marbella maybe? where did harry attend that wedding where he was chasing a kid around, that’s the place i always imagine)
—
wow that was long and now we go to h/l from fake engagement au! (rip im sorry)
first thing that comes to mind is that they go back to the same store they tried the cakes 😂they have to, louis wants more free cake! and now they’re actually getting married so harry doesn’t get scared of committing a crime or whatever.
they’re best friends first and foremost, so nothing really changes about their relationship–louis is still terrible at domestic things and harry still ends up picking up after him, cooking for him, etc. louis does try, though, and he surprises harry one evening with a very nice pasta dish he’d learned off those 1 minute tasty videos that circulate on instagram.
louis is harry’s favorite subject to photograph, so they go on park dates a lot and harry takes photos of louis lying on the ground, smelling the flowers, some unflattering ones of louis eating with his mouth wide open (which he posts on social media because he thinks it’s hilarious and louis gets so mad at him for). they adopt a dog? and play fetch with him in the park, i guess. idk why that’s important but they have a huge ass golden retriever. i dont make the rules, my brain does.
they also go up to visit jay and the girls in donny, go up to visit gemma and brad a lot (and meet harry’s nephew!!! because gemma gets pregnant and has a baby boy and harry is fucking in love and has terrible baby fever so he always wants to go and see him) (he doesn’t know how to take care of babies though, it’s louis who has to teach him okay haz hold here, support the head, hahahaha he just spit on you i think that means he likes you)
they argue a lot, planning their wedding. like to the point that some days louis doesn’t want to speak to him. but like, they’re best friends so it’s kind of hard to stay away from each other (you know when you fight with your boyfriend, and the first thing you do is rant to your best friend? so it’s kind of hard for louis and harry to stay away from each other seeing as in this au they are both so at the end of the day, either louis and harry curl up around the other, presses a kiss on the back of their head and murmurs ‘i’m sorry’ and it’s. it’ll be okay.) they send invites to kanye and kim and rihanna, and drake, and celine dion and whoever the fuck they can think of and they get no reply, obviously but it’s hilarious to them anyway
their wedding is. an absolute mess. like the event is wonderful and simple and tiny, but it’s a mess because harry and louis here are both. messes. they cant stop smearing cake on each other, decide that it’d be fun to mess with the event coordinator and argue with her about how the program is supposed to be like (the event coordinator they hired is fucking ace though, doesn’t get frazzled which is partly the reason why louis is like hey let’s see how far we can go). their first dance is to an acoustic version of work (which the event coordinator revolted against but louis wouldn’t fucking budge). their second dance though, is to ed sheeran’s photograph–here, harry holds louis under the fairy lights, watches them sparkle in his eyes; here, it’s only harry and louis and no one else in their bubble. here, harry kisses louis, slow and content and happy, because he doesn’t know what bureaucratic error it was up there that made him this fucking happy, but. he’d ended up married to his best friend. he made it.
#IM SO SORRY MOST OF THE PEOPLE FOLLOWING ME DONT WANT THIS IM SO SORRY ITS SO LONG#sorry anon i hope u like it#Anonymous#asks
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love triangle part two
welcome to part two of this painful mark/reader/yukhei fic. heres part 1
genre: angst and slight fluff
words: 2.3k
warnings: theres a lot of cussing in this!!
you lean up without thinking and press your lips against his
and he is so so surprised but he’s been mastering hiding how he feels for years now
so he kisses you back like his life depends on it
and he doesnt care that you have tears trailing down your face or that he knows that this is all fleeting and an act of emotion from you
he just cares that right now he can be here for you
the kiss is chaste and sweet and despite the circumstances,, perfect
something about the contact makes the burning in your stomach subside for a moment
the stinging in your eyes is stopping
and even though you still definitely want to die you feel like you can stand on your own again
mark squeezes you tightly and places a kiss just above your eyebrows before he lets you go
your legs are wobbly and you miss him instantly
hes standing right there in front of you and you miss him
“stay here ok?” he says, running his hands up and down your arms “let me go grab my keys”
you nod your head
he turns away and youre left there alone with your own emotions for the first time
alone with the weight of yukheis laugh and that pitch in his voice you will never be able to unhear
left with how fucking stupid you feel because obviously he doesnt have an interest in you
left there feeling like a joke
and a bad one at that
you know that you must look ridiculous, standing out here like this
leaned against the sports building with your eyes puffy and your cheeks red and the bitter resentment for yourself staining your tongue
you dont want to be outside anymore
not when there are still people wandering around the campus with snooping eyes
you check your phone and see that theres no new calls or messages
and you think mark is taking too long in there because you want to be out of here now
you take a sharp breath in before pressing your palm to the door of the sports house and stepping inside
you dont know what to expect exactly, youve never gone in past the doors before
yukhei and mark always told you to just wait in the front after their practices or games
you slowly wander down the hallway until you hear something
and that something sounds an awful lot like the voices of both mark and yukhei
your blood runs cold as you walk up to the locker room you hear them talking from
and you realise they arent talking
theyre arguing
you push the door open slightly and peer in
yukhei is half dressed in his baseball uniform and if you werent violently stressed out about the situation at hand you would have appreciated his state of undress
mark looks like hes absolutely fuming
“--too fucking thick skulled to realise whats right in front of you” you catch the end of what mark is saying tightly, like hes trying not to yell
yukhei cocks an eyebrow and you know that look
youve seen it before and you always hoped you could forget it
when his eyes glass and his jaw tenses and his demeanor changes
youve only seen it a handful of times and every time it signalled the calm before the storm
yukhei walks closer to mark and it feels more like a prowl than anything
a challenge
“you wanna say that again, mark?”
yukheis words are cold and calculated as he peers down the bridge of his nose at mark
“which part” your skin crawls the minute mark opens his mouth, you know this wont end well “the fucking idiot part or the shallow slut part?”
yukhei stalks impossibly closer “look, mark” he says it like the name tastes bad in his mouth, “i don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you today, but you best figure it out on your own time.”
yukhei turns and makes for the door to the gym and you think it might be over
“are you actually that fucking blind?” mark asks, and he sound like hes genuine
yukhei keeps walking and mark follows and fuckfuckfuck
“i’m not done, yukhei,” mark says and he reaches out and shoves the taller boys shoulder
yukhei stumbles but catches himself
and as he turns you swear you could die
because the calm before the storm has passed
and suddenly its a downpour
yukhei lunges back at mark and grabs him by the collar of his shirt and pulls hard
in heartbeat mark is up against a locker with yukheis hands caught up in the fabric of marks uniform and theyre both yelling and theres no way they can possibly hear what the other is saying and its so much
you dont remember when you walked in the room fully, but youre there now, just in time for the grande finale
“--if you want to keep pushing away the only person on campus that’s worth a shit, then be my fucking guest, yuk! maybe now she realizes what a piece of shit you are-- maybe, maybe now that you’ve shown your true colors she’ll get that you’re only interested in someone you can crawl into bed with and fuck a few times before you get bored!”
yukhei tightens his grip on mark, “and what if its true? why should you give a shit, huh?”
“because when shes too caught up in your dumb ass, she doesnt realize that someone here actually wants the best for her. so either figure it the fuck out or leave her out of your games.” mark nearly growls it out
yukhei looks stunned for a beat before he pulls his arm back and curls his fist.
“yukhei.”
youre a moment too late
the room falls quiet
yukhei yanks his hand out of marks uniform and turns around
“y/n, i--” yukhei tries
“mark, let’s go.” the shake in your voice cuts through
mark stares at you wide eyed for a moment before he wipes the blood from his newly split lip and grabs his bag off the ground
you turn and make for the door when yukhei tries again, weakly calling your name
and any other day under any other circumstances you wouldve stopped
wouldve listened
wouldve tried
but with the words he was yelling frenzying around in your mind
and the image of him slamming mark against the wall
and the image of blood oozing out of marks lip
you cant do it
“practice starts in five.” you echo his words from before and this time your voice is absolutely wrecked
you know youre crying again as you barge out of the locker room doors and nearly run down the hall to the exit
mark is behind you and he hasnt said anything yet
youre grateful for that
hes the only person in your life that seems to know when you dont want to hear anything more
by the time you get to marks car you cant tell what youre feeling anymore
overwhelmingly hurt, of course
but theres so much more underneath that
theres anger and longing and disbelief and just
an indescribable heartache
you never thought you would feel something like this
never wanted to
and all of it makes your stomach turn and if you hadnt been too nervous to eat at lunch that day youre sure youd be sick by now
you drop into his passenger seat and he climbs in the drivers side and starts his car
as youre pulling out of the parking lot he asks “do you wanna talk about it?”
“no” you say quietly
“okay” he says, nearly as quiet
he reaches over the console and rests his hand on your knee, gliding his thumb back and forth
the rest of the ride is quiet until he turns on a street heading to your neighborhood
“i don’t want to go home yet.” you say and it scares you how little you sound like yourself
your voice is shot and your nose is stuffy and it feels like youre in a foreign body with foreign emotions
“okay,” mark says in an instant, “where do you want to go?”
you think for a minute because you dont know
definitely not home
definitely not out in public
definitely not away from mark
“can we go to your house?” mark glances over at you “i can help clean you up” you motion weakly at his bust lip before you stare down at your hands
“yeah-- yeah of course we can”
mark knew he wasnt supposed to have anyone over when his parents were out of town
he knew good and well
and typically he followed that rule well and did his homework, played some video games and went to bed
but for you
for you he could make an exception
mark only lives a few streets away from you so you pull into his driveway soon after
he takes your bag for you and pushes the front door to his house open so you can go first
his house is perpetually new to you
you had only been over a handful of times, and always with the rest of your friends
it had never been you and mark before
it was always you and yukhei
your chest sank again as you realised that probably wouldnt be the case again
mark walked you through the foyer in to the living room
“you can get comfortable wherever. my parents are out of town for a while.”
you kicked off your uniform shoes and sank into his sofa
mark walked into the kitchen and placed both of your bags down on the island
“do you want anything to eat? drink?”
“water, please,” as the cottonmouth after crying began to set in
mark returned shortly after with water, a blanket, and the remote to the tv
as you sipped on your water mark threw the blanket over the both of you and clicked on netflix
you wondered idly how he remembered your favorite disney movie as he put it on the tv
you pushed yourself back into the couch cushions and pulled the blanket up to your chin as the emotional exhaustion hit you in full force
your body was screaming at you to go to sleep, to get some shut eye and stop feeling so awful
and the circumstances are perfect
youre warm and you feel safe and the theme song to your favorite movie is playing
before you know it youve dozed off
you dont dream and you dont really move very much
but you sleep deep and almost forget about all the shit youll have to deal with when you wake up
but when you do wake up
eyes drifting open
you really do forget about what you have to deal with
because mark is asleep and next to you and your head is on his chest and his arm is around you and its perfectperfectperfect
your phone buzzes from the kitchen and your bubble bursts, because you cant stay here and happy forever
slowly, you detangle yourself from mark and the blankets and tiptoe to the kitchen
you glance out the windows and see that its started to snow and its already dark out
you pull your phone out of your bag and wish for the blank screen you had seen outside of the sports house earlier that day
but luck does not seem to be on your side
theres three missed calls from yukhei, a string of message, and a text from your mom
you check your moms first, because truly nothing compares to mothers wrath
momma bear: hey sweetie, where are you? are you coming home tonight? the roads are getting bad
you typed out a quick response of “hey mom! sorry, i fell asleep doing homework at jennies. do you mind if i stay the night here?”
her bubbles immediately popped up on the screen and you were filled with anxiety
bubbles
bubbles
bubbles
momma bear: sure thing sweet pea, text me if you need anything. love you
“love you too!”
you breathed out a sigh of relief
and then remembered yukhei exists
yuk: talk to me
yuk: im sorry
yuk: what did you hear?
yuk: i didnt mean it
yuk: i didn’t know u were there i really didnt
yuk: y/n
yuk: at least talk to me
yuk: im so sorry
you clicked your phone closed and put it back in your bag before glancing back over at the living room
mark was still fast asleep, bloodied mouth slightly parted and head tipped back against the sofa
his arms and legs were situated a little oddly but you realized they were you shaped from where you had slipped out
without much thought, you grabbed a cloth and wet the corner, walking over to him gingerly
you succesfully washed away the blood and forming scab he had on his bottom lip without waking him
to be honest you watched him for a while
you watched the deep rise and fall of his chest
watched the way his hair moved when he readjusted
watched the way his eyes moved under their lids
and the memories of all he had said so much earlier in the day kept coming back to you
he could yell at yukhei all he wanted, but how could you be so blind?
of course mark was here
mark had been here from the start
always listening and never judging
awake at all hours when you needed him
guilt hit you in waves
because you knew that if you never came to the realization that he had feelings for you, he would have let you keep stepping on his feelings
because you thought you loved yukhei, but it had nothing in comparison to the way mark must have felt for you
a yawn racked your body and you looked up at the clock in marks kitchen
you had been awake for an hour, lost in your own thoughts and lost in mark
you decided that was enough for one day
so you tucked yourself back under the blankets, back into the couch, and back next to mark
you could worry about everything else tomorrow.
part 1, part 2, part 3
#text#nct#nct u#nct 127#nct imagines#nct scenarios#nct lucas#wong yukhei#lucas imagines#lucas scenarios#nct mar#mark lee#mark imagines#mark scenarios#angst#i dont know why i keep writing this#probably cause yall love to suffer#love triangle
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HP may be a metaphor of organized religion's God. He's controls the whole universe, created his followers out of his own image, and the one who performed the sin of free will was cast out of his 'paradise'. Says "all creatures, big or small, have a place serving Horde Prime". And he's been antagonized by She-Ra even before the First Ones arrived in Etheria, which implies he's immortal (and She-Ra his oldest enemy is his "Satan", as she drives creation against being unified with him as he wants)
HOLY SHIT HORDAK IS LUCIFER
#oh wow it got better#spop#parallels#meta#predictions#theories#religion#religious symbolism#religious trauma#horde prime#hordak
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SOME POSITIVE REFLECTIONS FROM QUARANTINE
I think it’s important to acknowledge just how non-linear, progress is. You’re gonna bounce all over the place for a long time before you start feeling like you actually put some distance between where you started and where you are now. And even after all that effort, all that struggling, progress, on anything, often feels underwhelming.
I spent a whole year struggling with a lot of anxiety over this project, really worried about having a senior project that feels substantial. Something that can make up for my weak ass portfolio. Something that feels honest but smart, something funny, something to better myself, something that could make a positive change in the world beyond me. I needed it to solve all this because i was scared of being a failure. I already knew that anxiety made me waste a lot of time throughout school, it had skewed how I lived my life so dramatically. I thought I could make up for everything I knew I did wrong if I could just do something something substantial and meaningful. And in my subconscious, I felt like I if I could do that, it would define who I really was beyond that anxiety, beyond all my fuck ups.
It took me a solid half a year to come up with an idea I liked. I wrote dozens and dozens of pages of research. I wanted to make sure that each step I took toward that abstract end goal was the right one. Then problem after problem was thrown in my lap, forcing me to alter my idea. And I can blame my lack of progress on all the constant shit thrown in my lap, but I know the real reason was all that anxiety. It was paralysis, something keeping me too afraid to move forward or make a wrong move.
Part of it was I needed to know I was doing the right thing in everyone else's eyes. And at first glance, that’s not a bad thing. The world is empathetic, you’re only as good as the value you can bring to everyone in your life. How much love can you give? How many problems can you solve for others? Can you give back more good to the world than you add to the bad? I still think those ideals are what part of make the world a kinder place. At the end of the day, ya just want the most amount of people to be happy. Theres so much good in the world you want to be a part of. It wasn’t bad thinking, it wasn’t toxic, but it was partially a need to please everyone in order to validate who I was. It’s those sorta thoughts that were informing my mentality. But you can’t define yourself as long as you’re doing it through the lense of others.
So there were all these hiccups, there was all this anxiety because of the democratic primaries and graduation, and on top of that, then the virus hit. And I felt more paralyzed than ever. I’d designed a whole project around focusing in on a specific evil, approaching it with some wit and levity, and making a change. But then the rules of the game changed and i just couldn’t care anymore. And why would anyone else? When you’re drowning, It’s hard to care about someone complaining about how cold the water is. That’s kinda where I was at, it was just a lot all at once. And honesty what affected me emotionally the most is that this was a project about me having something to say and being able to say it with a little bit of wit, and I just had nothing funny to say. I couldn’t find anything funny. I had nothing productive to say, no clever solutions, nothing that added to the good. No one wanted to hear another white dude complain about capitalism without offering any solutions, especially me. MAYBE you could argue listening to someone vent is fun, but the only reason listening to someone vent is fun is because you don’t see your feelings articulated as well anywhere else. But it’s like, when the whole world is screaming, what’s the point in screaming too? I just wanted a distraction. But I didn’t realize that till later.
I spent almost 2 months having done virtually nothing. Then I met in a big group with all of Anthony’s advisees, where it turned out everyone had been affected in some way. Most people now had to make a change to how they were going to present their ideas but were still about to go on with their project, and some people were even close to done. But I just wasn’t. So when it got to me i just kinda plopped all my baggage on the table. I said I’m depressed in every possible way but outright saying it and still talking about my project, not even realizing i was doing it. I shouldn’t of done that, but was exhausted and drained so I had no filter. and after i said my piece, they talked at me for a while trying to help me find some peace in not feeling up to creating anything, but the question that stuck in my head was Anthony asking “so if this wasn’t for senior project, what would you be doing right now?”
And honestly the answer was “nothing”. I didn’t wanna do shit. I wanted to play animal crossing and watch Buzzfeed Unsolved for 16 hours a day and listen to the same 5 Tennis songs over and over. I left that meeting feeling a little nihilistic. I had no ideas and nothing clever to say. I felt stripped of everything. This project was already my hail mary as it was. There was no way I was ever going to make something that felt substantial in time. No matter what i did, it was going to feel underwhelming to me.
But the fun thing about nihilism is that sometimes it leads to optimistic nihilism. Optimistic nihilism feels like kinda surrendering yourself to the universe, theres a feeling of clarity. If I was going to be a disappointment, who cared what I made? people are going to be underwhelmed no matter what. What future is there to worry about when every future plan you had was scrapped? Fuck it. It doesn’t have to be meaningful anymore; If you have nothing to say, say nothing.
But I kept thinking about Anthony's question and realized that if I were to be forced to make something, it would be little animation loops. Its all I felt like doing. They’re fun to make. everything else felt forced. Something simple and pretty like the “How To Forgive” visualizer.
And in the past, being inspired by a piece of media would make me anxious people would think I was copying or worse, that I was doing something derivative of something better and people . But recently, I wrote a “manifesto” for design issues about the current design trend which I called “Behance Style”. This manifesto made me break down everything these trendy designers were doing. using the same imagery, the same image making techniques, the same style fonts, there was so much of “the same”. It all felt so derivative of each other. But it didn’t matter to me. I liked it anyway. I was still entertained. And because now that I understood how this trend worked, I knew if I wanted to, I could subvert it, so I wasn’t afraid of making things in that style.
I’d been asked some variation of “forget the grade, what would you normally make? what do you want to make?” many times throughout this project. But I spent the last 6 years not making anything for myself, it was all to try and meet some standard. So when people asked about my personal projects, I didn’t know how to make any. Anxiety made me work non stop on school stuff, I never gave myself the time for stuff outside of what was required. And was always too anxious about school to feel compelled to make anything for myself. It was a distraction controlled by anxiety and self hate. I’m still struggling with the idea of making things just to make them without being influenced by outside forces, but this felt like a big step in the right direction.
Saint Cloud by Waxatachee dropped and it was just so pretty and cathartic and that was all I listened to for like 2-3 weeks. Between Saint Cloud and Swimmer, I had all these ideas for little pretty loops. Gabe Gundacker started his new project and I’ve been loving everything he’s released. I started listening to a lot of love songs. The Midnight Gospel came out and while the narratives are so thoughtful and engaging, that show partially felt so inspiring because the visuals feel like they were made with the mentality of “lets have fun with it.” It all felt really nice to just be able to appreciate something purely for being pretty. I didn’t care if people judged my music taste for being basic or thought my visuals we’re corny, I just wanted to make stuff to distract myself.
I just realized im writing in the past tense, even though i’m currently still in the middle of this project. Maybe to solidify the reality I want to exist?
Im still working on it now, who knows how this’ll all turn out, but all this feels like a nice step in the right direction. just moving one very small step at a time and then often thanking another step backwards or sideways feels exhausting but eventually you make progress, and it’s the only way to go about it, especially when you feel like you’re starting from nothing.
maybe edit that last paragraph tomorrow. i wrote it and it feels like a conclusion but i definitely didn't mean for it to, im just tryna wring out the last ideas i got in my head before going to bed. you might even wanna delete it and move shit around. i wanna come back to this tomorrow. really explore this and get to the bottom of shit. theres more i wanna say but i cant come up with the words that feel right. it s 5:04 am.
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“Work # 961: Six Works Seven Anecdotes”
When accepting the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1958, Harold Pinter said that “there are no real distinctions between what is real and what is unreal, nor between what is true and what is false. A thing is not necessarily true or false; it can be both true and false.” What I propose here is to engage with six works I created over the past three years, a series of works that are mash-ups of gay history, art history, and my history refracted through the mashed-up lens of image abutting image and text atop image. The resulting elements of ambiguity engage memory – not exclusively, but not insubstantially either – and neatly echo the lack of reliability between real/unreal true/false posited by Pinter. “Memory” as Mary Warnock would postulate “operates under perpetual tension: the only way to cope with life is to learn what to forget; the only way to feel one has an identity is to remember.”
In 2007, after a months-long bout of self-doubt and self-recrimination, I decided to take a booth in the artist sector of the Folsom Fair North to decide once and for all whether or not to throw in the towel. I was interested in feedback more than anything. Aside from earning about 20 cents profit, the one thing I learned from my afternoon spent in Allan Gardens in downtown Toronto is that Leathermen, while supportive, are cheap, cheap, cheap . . . With success and validation like that, I realized it would be stupid to give up so I resolved to stick around (much to the annoyance of some . . . they know who they are).
Accepting “Salò: 120 Nights of Sodom” as its personal saviour, “Work # 864: The Nature of God” (2013) looked to Pier Paolo Pasolini’s 1975 enumeration of abuse of power, corruption, sadism, sexual perversity, and fascism as the first work in a series that explored the outer limits of masculine behaviour – a behaviour that is traditionally still expected of the boy before he can be considered fully a man. With titles like “Trailer Trash Terrorism”, “Behave Work Obey”, “Yes I Will Yes”, “Cell Block Bitch”, and “Shhh . . . (How to Conduct a Successful Interrogation – Lessons 1-20)” this is not a series of works intended for the faint of heart. What was done with this series was the antithesis of aestheticizing gleaming muscleboys or exploring the romanticism inherent in male bonding. “Work # 864: The Nature of God” allows that the rigour of discipline often morphs into the disciplinarian running amok. Notwithstanding the fact that this work has been described as ‘the water-boarding piece’ (which is an interpretation that I don’t dismiss), it is a multi-image cum-soaked force-feeding enacting either the predetermined choreography of some arcane sexual ritual or the resolution of cold-blooded revenge – that’s up for you to decide.
“Work # 900: (Endeavouring . . . )“ (2014) is masculine behaviour of a different sort – a mash-up of “Hercules Beating the Centaur Nessus” by Giambologna and a slightly abridged line lifted from “The Pickwick Papers“ by Charles Dickens. While it appears to be a meeting of an apple and an orange, the two parts making the whole have a lot in common. Giambologna (1529-1608) was a Flemish sculptor (born Jean Boulogne) based in Italy and celebrated for a Mannerist style of intellectual sophistication and conscious artificiality favouring compositional tension and instability over balance and clarity. It seemed logical to partner a Mannerist sculpture from 1599 with a comic novel from 1836. As in many other Dickens novels the main literary value is the often exaggerated personality traits of his characters. The abridged quote is from a scene when the perennial spinster Rachael Wardle is driven into a state of near-feverish excitement over her botched elopement. The two fragments – sculpture and text – taken together assume a different form of feverish instability by implying a post-modern conflicted relationship willfully engineered by Nancy-boy Nessus to force hunky he-man Herc into delivering the most satisfactorily masochistic pounding. “Work # 900: (Endeavouring . . . )“ could never be construed as a self-portrait. The only thing masochistic about me is my continual insistence on maintaining an art practice; and as far as what goes on, as they say, behind closed doors, I’m far too snotty and opinionated to be anyone’s slave.
It was after much arguing that this work was finally exhibited as part of a self-described “queer” arts festival hosted by Artscape – a real estate monopoly that is the purveyor of postage-stamped sized “live/workspaces” and studios priced at levels geared to the 1% throughout Toronto – found this union of 16th century image with 19th century words simply beyond the pale for breached the organization’s (previously unknown) family-friendly guidelines . . .
The fact that it even needs to be stated plainly that “according to the rules of my tribe, being 62 puts me 12 years past my best before date” strategically planted atop a photo of a hot torso in “Work # 904: Twelve Years a Ghost” (2014) should be indictment enough in exposing ageism as the last acceptable prejudice. I guess I must have touched a nerve when the piece was exhibited (by a curator old enough to known better) far enough away and high on a wall in the furthest back corner of the gallery . . . Fine, I’m a sixty-three year old, half lame, three-quarters deaf, widowed gay man with a cardiac condition, full dentures, horrible eyesight and rapidly developing cataracts; I acknowledge those facts. But that doesn’t make me, as is said in Yiddish, ein alter kocker – and old shitter!
The scenario presented in “Work # 918: Ash [and] Tray” (2014), from the same series as “Work # 864: The Nature of God” and
dredged up from deep within my unconscious, was enacted several times over the course of one sultry evening at the Crash ‘n Burn in the summer of 1977. Toward the end of the line for the C’nB, the now fondly mythologized punk rock club brooding in the basement of its overlord the Centre for Experimental Art and Communication (CEAC), the crowd had become distressingly uptown (meaning north of Queen Street). Technically acting as the eyes and ears for the head office upstairs, the perpetrator of the heinous acts was me (drunk) and the instigator (drunker) was one Paul Bartlett (now deceased), a poor little rich boy with impossible-to-resolve daddy issues and (stupidly) the perpetrator’s soon to be boyfriend. That that sultry evening proved to be one of Mr. P.B.s more rational moments was soon to become apparent. That memory is both a weapon and a crutch led Jean Genet to claim that every man guards in himself his own particular wound. I don’t remember when the affair completely fell apart but I don’t think it lasted past that Christmas. To quote Francis Bacon, they say time heals, but I really wonder about that.”
There’s nothing metaphorical in the least about the title of “Work # 943: Spider Web Sex Machine” (2015), it’s exactly what it says – two panels, one over the other; the top, a photograph of a spider’s web glinting in the sunlight and the bottom a no-nonsense advertising styled photograph of a sex machine. Discovering its existence of such a thing left me with the same sense of unease in not being entirely sure how this baroque contraption accommodates a human body as when I inspected close-up one of the pieces of fucking furniture custom-built for the future Edward VII. One assumes that Mr. Spider has gone out for beer and poppers because the web is as empty and inviting as the sex machine is peculiar and menacing.
On March 28, 2016 I received the following email with the subject heading “Question about Work # 943“ from a fellow with residences in both Montreal and Berlin: “Hey There, You show a sex maschine [sic] in the Artworkt Nr 943 [sic] called Spider web sex machine' out of 2015. Do you know where to buy that machine from? [sic] maybe you can give me a website or a hint in what direction to go for more information about the machine. Cant [sic] find any hint nowhere [sic] on the internet so far. Thanx a lot for your help. Greetz [sic] J___ B______ “. Two things came immediately to mind when I read this: 1) this is the first time I’ve ever been sent correspondence from a genuine pervert (cool!); and 2) both the deutchen grammaticus and the fractured syntax made my pants feel too tight. Of course I emailed him at once (!) with a couple of suggestions and that perhaps, if all else failed, he would be interested in purchasing the one-of-a-kind “Work # 943: Spider Web Sex Machine” (2015), which is a work of art . . .
He never wrote back. Oh well. I tried.
On an annual school trip to the Royal Ontario Museum before I had pubic hair, I recall lingering behind my other classmates when we got to the Greek and Roman galleries because of one sculpture in particular, a life-sized fragment of a man’s nether region with orange-sized testicles and globular glutes – feeling sweat and convinced I was the focus of knowing glances. I don’t think anyone noticed, but in my mind’s eye “Work # 956: David Was Horny” (2016) is how I imagined I looked staring up at David’s gigantic balls for the first time. It made me wonder whether or not male desire has really changed all that much from 1500 to the present, and while I have long delved into the question of the "gay sensibility", it’s never been either a trip down memory lane or a retreat into the stereotyped suck-and-fuck paradigm. I've positioned myself as an ironic spectator of this world of men ripped from the daily headlines where the 19th century notion of a romantic friendship has been kicked into the gutter. Herein lies the challenge: it is old news that the male body continues to be a provocation; but ironically, a critique of masculinity has gone largely unexplored, and embraces the proposition examined in much of my work that it should be possible to be simultaneously hot and sweaty and critical and detached. It is desirable – even exhilarating – to question the givens of our cultural baggage while at the same time allowing ourselves to be wrapped in its brawny arms. Bruce Eves, April 2016
Bruce Eves is an artist living in Toronto. In past lives he was the assistant programming director of the Centre for Experimental Art and Communication (CEAC), art director of the New York Native and Christopher Street magazine, and the co-founder and chief archivist of the International Gay History Archive (now part of the Rare Books and Manuscript division of the New York Public Library).
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Serena Williams: ‘ Not everyone’s going to like the practice I seem ‘
The tennis star talks about swearing on courtroom, dancing for Beyonc and why shes criticised for being both extremely masculine and extremely sexy
There are so many line-ups to Serena Williams. Slick and powerful in ends and leotard, she dances, squats and moves beside Beyonc in the video for Sorry. “Shes been” lauded by Claudia Rankine, whose award-winning, book-length song Citizen last year outlined Williams as hemmed in as any other pitch-black person shed against our American background. She is the worlds top-earning female jock. And arguably more than any of her contemporaries, her body has been the focus, the point of intersection, of so many arguments about femininity, ability and hasten that it would nearly be possible to overlook the tennis.
But the tennis, of course, is memorable. Williams has acquired 21 grand slams. One more next week at Wimbledon, tell would bring her level with Steffi Grafs total, and merely two short of Margaret Courts all-time register of 24. Williams has been playing since she was three. In September, she swerves 35. If she stays fit, if the forte views, if she preserves acquiring, if young competitives prosper temperately, perhaps she knows how lunge herself through the constricting spread of time to leave a new digit in the record books. But meanwhile, she is singing karaoke at a pre-tournament party. When a Tv interviewer points out that a strap of her harvest top has passed, she commits her shoulder a brief gleam. Yeah, she responds. I know. Through everything, she is a self-stylist.
How did you get involved with Beyoncs book Lemonade ?
Weve known each other a really long time. Ive known the chairman[ Dikayl Rimmasch] since he was nine. My solicitor its his son. We kind of grew up together. They were like, It would be good for Serena. Beyonc had so many inspirational women in that persona, in her documentary video. She alleges she loves when I dance cos I dance like no ones watching. Im like, Oh, but thats different cos theres no camera, theres no one watching. But, yeah, thats kind of what I was trying to do. It worked out good. She had a lot of parties. She had Trayvon Martins baby, Michael Browns[ father] as well, the victims of that shameful violence we are seeing in the United States, as well as some beautiful ballerinas, body-imaging women who really enjoy themselves and hug themselves, so other beings cuddle them, too. It was really powerful putting African-American ladies together in her floor, because shes certainly a super strong African-American woman.
Did she explain it to you in those expressions ?
She excused it to me in different expressions, but we kind of have a same take over a lot of things. Shes are going through so much and been so positive.
Some beings argue that alone African-American wives can truly be attributed to Lemonade
No! I thoughts women in general can relate to it. I think it was a powerful part for everybody, I think it certainly, 100% traversed colouring boundaries. Absolutely.
Did you and Beyonc examine some of the topics adultery , for example ?
Oh God , no. No, thats not my I dont know about that. It was just getting together with strong women.
Over its first year, your form has been described and criticised repeatedly. Why do you think people have felt so free to statement ?
I guess its a part of being in the public eye. You have to accept that people are going to have a remark, whether its your body, or your look, or your hands. It could be your feet. Nothing is off limits. I think thats why, growing up, my mum not consciously, subconsciously schooled myself and all my sisters to be so strong. It readied me for these moments.
Did she do that particularly with regard to torso figure ?
A little bit. Also my older sister, more. But she ever taught us to cherish ourselves and I think that is a wonderful letter that I spread now to so many girls. Its really important. You are who you are, you cant change it. And youre beautiful.
Do the comments still hurt, or did you stop listening ?
For every negative explain, theres a million good remarks. I ever suppose, Not everyones going to like the room I search. Everyone has different types. If we all liked the same situation, it would reach the world a really boring target! What matters most is that I like myself.
Right. Because youve been described as more muscular , too feminine …
Too muscly and too masculine, and then a few weeks subsequently extremely risque and very sexy. So for me it was just really a big joke.
Have you thought about originating your eyebrows extremely, very long only to show people that you get to decide ?
No, its fine. I find it really funny. Sometimes its true. Im like, Gosh, I need to chassis these countenances! Cant argue with the truth sometimes!
You have prevailed in a white-male-dominated world without compromising whom you. Do “youre feeling” you have fought for pitch-black women everywhere ?
I do, but I feel its for all women everywhere. I have so many different people, hastens and colourings who are in a position associate with my floor, whether theyre poverty-stricken or rich or middle class, it doesnt thing. My objective is to inspire every woman out there. My new articulating for the past few years has been: The success of one dame should be the brainchild for the next. And by the way, very great for your health and it impedes young women and girls out of trouble.
This task of inspiring or representing others does it sometimes feel like a job or additional burdens ?
I dont see it as a responsibility and a imperative, but I cuddle it because I am who I am. I appear I can give that content because Im living that word. Does that make sense? I embrace it and I enjoy that I have an opportunity to do it because a lot of beings dont. And I dont have to be anyone different, cos the committee is me. And it really fits well with me.
Claudia Rankine included a long area about you in her brilliant poem Citizen. Was that a bombshell ?
Totally. She interviewed me, very. Her section[ on pitch-black excellence, for the New York Times] was one of best available acts Ive read. It wasnt about a fib, it was just about the truth. And that lyric, with me in it it was so potent. I adoration her work.
Rankines poem refers to the mistaken decisions by umpire Mariana Alves at the US Open in 2004, which contributed to your early departure from the tournament. It includes the line: Though no one was saying anything explicitly about Serenas black torso, “youre not” the only onlooker who thought it was going in accordance with the rules of Alves sightline Did that resonate with you ?
I precisely felt it was very true. And thats why I liked the narrative[ on black excellence ], very. It was just circumstances that are true. Theres happening there are still actuality, and theres fiction and what she supposed, she just said happenings. Those are simple facts.
Was there anything in particular that stood out, where you detected she nailed it ?
That line you opened is a great example, but theres a lot of material. Besides all that, shes a really inducing writer.
You said that your dad describes you as a good daughter, and the working day you hope to have good juveniles, extremely. Is having children on your sentiment ?
It is, it is. It is something I think about a lot, especially now. But I repute everything will be OK. I have a feeling that everything is going to work out, and I dont ponder I am done with what I am supposed to do now hitherto. I just dont feel better duration, and I thoughts when it is time, everything will work out.
And will you know when its age ?
Yeah, I feel Ill know. I know Ill know. Ive been intuitive my whole life. I just think when everything is done and articulated, Ill have a great feeling, and Ill have a great life, I hope.
Do you have a number of grand slams in your premier that you want to reach before you allow yourself to adjourn ?
No. I never even thought, at 21, I would be here. I dont imagine anyone “ve been thinking about” it. I signify, maybe some people do, but I didnt. I dont have a number. Im precisely relying on a believe. A good old feeling.
The poet Claudia Rankine, whose book-length lyric Citizen includes a segment about Serena Williams. Photograph: Anna Webber/ Getty Images for The New Yorker
Male tennis actors can just go on playing without needing to decide or choice in the same way
Man! Theres a part of it thats exactly not fair! But its OK. I emphatically wouldnt have it any other way.
You formerly told a line magistrate : I swear to God Ill fucking take the pellet and shove it down your fucking throat. Will “youve been” flip out on tribunal again ?
I will always be myself. Yeah. I will always be myself, and if that includes getting furious, thats what that is. I perhaps wouldnt use some of the language. But other than that, I dont want to be anyone else. Im Serena, Im happy to be Serena, and I will always be Serena. And if Im not true to myself, then who am I?
Serena Williams was talking at the Delta Air Route Baseline Sessions, for which she is an official diplomat
The post Serena Williams: ‘ Not everyone’s going to like the practice I seem ‘ appeared first on apsbicepstraining.com.
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