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puff-poff · 3 years

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The Culture of the Demon World

One part of The Promised Neverland that I always wanted to learn more about was the demons and their culture. Demons are a whole new race with their own language, religions, traditions, food, and history, and I want to learn more about their society. So, I decided to do a bit of research on a few specific aspects of the demon world. After writing everything down and connecting the pieces while trying to remain true to canon, I finally have something clear enough to share with you all.

Without further ado, I present to you my analysis of demon culture.

Part One: Clothing Just like in real life, the clothing demons wear depends on their social status and wealth. The middle and lower-class demons wear loose, flowing clothes with wide collars and sleeves. They most likely do this just in case they aren’t able to eat human meat and maintain their form; baggy clothes won’t tear if the demons start to degenerate. This is why the wealthy demons wear tighter clothing. Tight-fitting outfits show that you can afford plenty of human meat and that you aren’t worried about degenerating.

Many demons, both poor and rich, wear long, layered clothing, but it’s hard to tell if this is a societal standard or a byproduct of cold weather. Almost all of the demons we see are wearing long-sleeved tops and ankle-length bottoms, as well as a jacket, shawl, cape, or scarf. However, the feet and hands are almost always uncovered.

A major part of demon clothing is, of course, their masks. This extra page explains the styles and functionality of the Goldy Pond demon’s masks:

Like the rest of their clothing, wealth plays a part in demon’s masks as well. Detailed masks with large horns, like Luce’s, are worn by rich demons who want to flaunt their wealth, while lower-class demons wear simple, paneled masks with short horns. Demons who want a more functional mask might choose one without horns so they don’t get in their way. The aristocrat demons also have a unifying feature between their territory’s masks to differentiate themselves from the leaders of other territories. Whether or not your mask shows your mouth appears to be a personal preference since Legravalima, Mujika, Sonju, Awla, and Mawla all have uncovered mouths despite the character’s drastic differences.

Another detail I would like to point out is the material of the masks. Most demon masks are likely made of a material similar to clay, but there are a few demons with special masks that appear to be made out of something else. Nous and Nouma, for example, have athletic masks coated with shiny material that’s probably similar to polyester. However, it was Legravalima and Sonju’s masks that interested me the most. Legravalima’s mask is smooth, glossy, and seemingly made out of metal. A metallic mask is likely a sign of royal status and immense wealth. This explains why Sonju had a metallic mask as a child, and why he doesn’t have one now. When he was a prince, Sonju wore a shiny mask with a design similar to Legravalima’s. After running away with Mujika, he grew out of his mask and now wears a clay one of the same design.

This might just be the art style of the series changing over time, but I also find it interesting that Sonju’s mask suddenly becomes glossy in chapter 156 during the battle at the royal capital. It’s his first time stepping foot in the palace since he ran away, and it’s as if his mask is suggesting that returning to the palace has given Sonju his royal status back.

Part Two: Architecture In many ways, the architecture in the demon world reminds me of places like the Sant Francesc Church in Spain and Royal Ontario Museum in Canada. As time goes on, old buildings are expanded and improved with modern additions to accommodate the changing world. This can be seen in the paradise hideout, where a newer building was constructed next to the original settlement.

The old, traditional demon buildings are made of clay and other types of stones. They don’t appear to have many windows, and the few windows they do have are holes without window panes. Many of the older buildings were carved out of mountains or trees, or at least rest atop a mountain with steps carved into the side. This traditional style of demon architecture is similar to old Pueblo architecture and adobe homes.

The newer demon architecture likely came into style sometime before Goldy Pond was built, seeing as Goldy Pond has buildings similar to those in modern demon villages. It resembles the European Tudor style with its grid window panes, timber frames, and sloped roofs. The walls were probably made using the wattle and daub technique and painted white or cream. Some of the buildings have stone foundations, but unlike the old style of architecture, the stones are laid like bricks. Buildings made using the new style of architecture also have shutters, awnings, and Juliet balconies.

This picture of the royal capital’s streets perfectly shows the mixing of the old and new architectural styles:

Here, you can see the original clay buildings with the balconies, awnings, and wooden frames of the new style added on. The buildings in the foreground have open windows while the ones further back have grid panes. One of the structures on the right is built in the style of the older demon homes, but it uses modern stone bricks and balconies. This blend of architecture helps show the development of the demon society through the years.

Part Three: Food Human meat is the most important food in demon culture since it’s what keeps the majority of demons from degenerating. I won’t be talking a lot about the farms and human meat in this post since it’s already been explored by the manga and people smarter than me. If you want to read more about demons and human meat, I recommend this post by the-silliest-idiot and this translation of the fanbook, particularly the Q&A sections.

As explained in the manga, the appearance of demons changes depending on the type of meat they eat. The aristocrat demons eat human meat, Parvus eats monkey meat, and the demon horse Sonju rides eats horse meat. As explained in the fanbook, humanoid demons will lose their human appearance if they don’t eat human meat, but monkey demons like Parvus can retain their appearance for a while. To keep themselves from degenerating or changing forms, humanoid demons don’t eat a lot of meat other than the human meat from the farms. When the demons do eat other meats, they eat bugs, fish, and birds, probably because those animals are difficult to change into.

While it’s unclear if demons eat the plants in the forest, we know that there are plenty of edible berries, nuts, fungi, and other plants that the human escapees eat during their travels. Demons also have a variety of fruits, vegetables, and nuts that they grow and harvest. In just these two panels, we can see that the demons have their own versions of pears, hazelnuts, pineapples, kiwi, and mangos (the mangos seem to be popular in the royal capital).

All demons, regardless of wealth or social status, appear to have equal access to all food except human meat. Lower-class demons get low-quality meat, but the same berries and nuts being sold at street markets are present in the Tifari offering.

Part Four: Language Unfortunately, I’m not smart enough to decode the old demon language. In the words of the fanbook, “Sugita created demon god's name, but every other text from the demon language that appeared afterward was Posuka's creation.” The language was made up by Posuka, and I’m not sure if there’s enough dialogue to translate a full alphabet. The old demon language looks like a combination of Japanese and Enochian, but that’s all I can gather from it. It’s also unclear if the language has a written form.

However, the old demon language isn’t used anymore. The language died out for two major reasons; a general lack of knowledge and to separate language from the old faith. The aristocratic demons know the language well enough, but we don’t see many commoner demons speaking it. The modern demon society writes in English, as shown by the signs at Goldy Pond, and it’s likely that they also speak English despite the story being written in Japanese. There's also a chance that the demons speak Old English since the promise was forged during medieval times. If this is true, then the aristocrats and heads of the farms could have a more modern accent because they often talk to people from the human world.

Part Five: The Arts Sadly, we don't know much about art in the demon world. The promise was made around the 11th century, so art in the demon world is likely reflective of that time. I can only assume they have their own literature, art movements, and music, but it's mostly speculation. One thing I noticed is that the demon world has a lot of embroideries, whether it be on the edges of a cape or banners inside the palace. This fits with my theory of medieval Europe-inspired art and languages. During medieval times, top layer garments such as coats and cloaks were commonly embroidered along the hemline and cuffs. This kind of embroidered clothing is worn by many demons throughout the series.

Banners, tapestries, and flags were also commonly created by artists during medieval times. Lines of flags are seen throughout the demon world, and a few buildings in the capital have banners hanging outside. The palace has a few banners of its own, though they're fancier than the ones in the capital streets.

Damask fabric is another example of demon artistry being influenced by medieval Europe. Damask is a reversible fabric created by weaving. The royal demons seem to have jumped on the damask train before the promise was sealed because it can be found in many places throughout the palace. Most notably, Legravalima's dress is partially made of damask, though the silhouette is very different from that of a medieval damask evening gown. Damask was commonly used to make curtains as well, like the ones draped around the Tifari offering.

We don’t know much about literature in the demon world. The books we see were written in the human world and sent to the farms, but surely the demons have their own books and stories. Seeing as the rest of the arts in the demon world were inspired by medieval Europe, I can only assume that their books, fables, and plays are as well. Much of medieval literature was based on religion and chivalry. There were also many fables and myths derived from old stories and religious texts. Demon children probably read many stories about the Evil Blooded, the runaway prince, and heroic knights who protect the demons from harm. There likely are many stories written in the old demon language as well. Similar to Latin and Old English in the Middle Ages, the old demon language was probably the main written language until the 11th century, when the demons began using English as a primary language.

I imagine that Anglo Saxon, Byzantine, and Norman (ha get it) art heavily inspired art in the demon world. The palace is likely covered in tapestries and murals depicting historic events. Metal and tilework were probably once a major part of demon artistry, but the practices died out over time. Instead, many demon artists practice painting and embroidery. Pieces of art in the demon world would be very vibrant and colorful, especially the works displayed in the palace.

When it comes to music in the demon world, there isn’t much to go off of. We know that the farms have access to instruments and sheet music because of Leslie and Nat. Barbara also sings a Japanese children’s song in chapter 113. Unfortunately, we don’t get much information about music in the demon world outside of the farms. I assume that demons primarily play string instruments and piano because of their long fingers. They also have more fingers than humans, meaning they can make a variety of chords that humans can’t. More fingers also allow demons to add more strings to their instruments. Even though it’s possible that demons have their own special instruments, we know that they also have human instruments like cellos, trumpets, and pianos.

Conclusion: There’s a lot more I wish I could talk about (mainly the elements of culture), but I’m stopping for now so this doesn’t get any longer. Feel free to correct me or add on anything I missed. If you made it this far, thank you for reading this incredibly long analysis of demon culture and I hope you have a great day.

#am I reading into this too much? yeah #the promised neverland #the promised neverland manga spoilers #tpn #yakusuko no neverland #ynn

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thelastofthepartisans · 3 years

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The King of Nargothrond in all his splendour and glamour

Some years ago after watching a documentary about birds-of-paradise I came up with the idea that the Noldor might wear doublets or coats with super colourful sleeves like that. It would probably look fascinating when they dance. And who else could be the model for my recent musings on this concept, of course. Especially after this post

I also picture Noldorin clothes very close to Italian Renaissance fashion, and for this particular look I got inspired by that outfit. Only garments worn by Lorenzo de Medici himself would do justice to Finrod’s extravagant taste

#Finrod being a fashion disaster is something everyone agrees on in ths fandom #there can't be too many trinkets when it's him #Finrod #finrod felagund #The Silmarillion #tolkien #my stuff #I had so much fun drawing it

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kimmariesembroidery · 3 years

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Since I’m nearly finished embroidering my Bird of Paradise, I am in process of looking for what my next project will be. I came across this gem from Turkmenistan. It is called a Chirpy. According to www.sarajo.com: “A chirpy can be worn over the shoulders as a cape or over the head. Their sleeves are usually vestigial and decorative. They drape over the back and connected with a small band. The color of the ground material is of great significance; young women wear blue chirpies, married woman wear yellow ones, and the rarest white chirpies are worn by matriarchs and widows.The most profusely decorated chirpies are covered with floral designs executed in polychrome silk. The finest work is reserved for the lapels and the sleeve-endings. Those parts of old chirpies are often re-applied to newly made ones. Older chirpies such as this example are lined with beautiful block printed cloth.” It’s a neat idea I might try and play around with in the coming weeks in terms of coming up with a new project. The picture above is from: https://turkishfolkart.com/

#turkmen embroidery #embroidery

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spicykoreantatertots · 4 years

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Sleep Alone - Part One

Pairing: Namjoon x Female Reader (ft. Hoseok and Seokjin)

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: PG-13

Genres: SFW, Soulmate AU, Angst (Future Fluff)

Summary: The timer on your wrist is ticking away until the moment you get to meet your soulmate. You often spend time daydreaming about your him. The time remaining on the timer has fluctuated throughout your life. Each big decision you or your soulmate makes can have an affect on the timer. A week before you finally get to meet, the timer gets extended by an additional forty years.

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, drug dealing, drug lording, meth labs, death, murder, blood, scary guys being scary dudes, someone gets arrested, but there is not smut lmao.

A/N: Proud to be part of Bangtan Scenery’s April Showers Bring May Flowers Collab! This is the first part of this fic. Part two will be coming in May! I may also do a NSFW one shot later this year. I’m excited to continue working on my soulmate series (one for each member). They are all based on songs by Waterparks, check out Sleep Alone.

Big shout out to @megahwn and @ho-baebae for beta reading and thank you to @lovely-literati for always being supportive. Love y’all! 💜

~~~~~~~

The street is deserted, only one parked car about a few feet away. He sneaks around the corner into the alleyway. Careful not to step on any debris or in any puddles, he slinks past the dumpster overflowing with garbage. He can barely make it out in the dark, but he’s found the door with the marking.

He reaches into his back pocket for his lock picking kit, but when he begins to work on the door he finds it unlocked. He pauses, unsure if he should continue inside, but the overwhelming metallic scent of blood floods his nostrils.

He rushes into the building. The first room is large and dim. But he can see boxes, buckets, beakers, tubing, and trash everywhere. It’s a meth lab. The smell of ammonia starts to overtake the smell of the blood. Until he sees two bodies in the next room and one big puddle of blood between them.

As he approaches cautiously he begins to recognize one of the people. Dae-hyun. He falls to his knees. The one person he was trying to protect from all this. Before the grief strikes him, there’s a crash from the other room. And footsteps. And then his chest is on the ground, the breath knocked out of him, a knee in his back. A booming voice.

“Kim Namjoon, you are under arrest for the murders of Jung Dae-hyun and Yoo Young-jae. You have the right to remain silent...”

~~~~~~~

It’s the same dream you always have. Following the path of rose petals up the hill. The sun is setting and at the top you can see him: your soulmate. You’ve never been able to see his face. You always wake up just before you reach him. This time as you approach the hill, he’s nowhere to be seen.

The gentle thunder from the approaching storm wakes you from your sleep. An early morning thunderstorm, one of your favorite types of weather. The gray sky and light drizzle almost lull you back to sleep. But just as you’re dozing off you see it. Your timer.

44y:67d:54h:23m

You have to do a double take. Forty-four years? Just last night your soulmate timer was counting down from four years. It’s not uncommon for it to change.

Each decision you make could potentially affect the timer. You changed your mind about college three times before you settled on the one that only added two years to the timer. One day, your timer went from 5 years to 3 minutes, but then quickly returned to 5 years. You had just been watching TV, so you often wondered what decision your soulmate made that brought you so close together and why he would have changed his mind.

But you couldn’t have done anything in your sleep last night to cause this... what did he do?

~~~~~~~

It’s the story of the year. Of all the exciting cities across the world, it has to be breaking in your hometown. The sexy new drug lord, Kim Namjoon, finally caught. It’s sick, but it makes for good news. Or whatever Buzzfeed is. They’re taking it as far as possible with their quizzes and bullshit articles.

Are you compatible with Kim Namjoon?

10 reasons why Kim Namjoon is the sexiest drug lord of the century.

Which paradise should you and Kim Namjoon escape to?

22 things to know about Kim Namjoon’s life before drugs.

Kim Namjoon as exoctic birds.

It’s not something you would normally be interested in, but during your morning social media scroll, one article catches your eye.

Could Kim Namjoon be your soulmate? Click here to see his timer.

There’s something growing in the pit of your stomach. It really really couldn’t be. The fact that the story broke the same day your timer had 40 years added means nothing... Right?

You check the comments, refusing to give into click bait.

Kim Min-seo

President Namjoon 2020

Steven Borden

Why do we care about this? He’s a murderer and drug dealer.

Karen Smith

prayers for the family

Jae Lee

He can murder me any day of the week.

Julie Ann

Can’t imagine having a half empty bed for 44 years. Thank god I got my mans already.

The feeling in your stomach radiates throughout your body. It can’t be. You give in and click on the article. A picture of Kim Namjoon. A close up of his wrist. It’s not exactly the same as yours, but it was taken two days ago. At 3pm. You do the math in your head. Then you do it again on a piece of paper. Then you plug it into Google, just to be sure.

It’s him.

So if any of you ladies or fellas out there have the matching timer, you can find him at the 48th Police Precinct before he’s transferred to a maximum security prison upstate. Click here to stay up to date on all things Kim Namjoon.

A gif of Namjoon being escorted into the police station plays on a loop at the end of the article. He is beautiful isn’t he? He could be a murderer, a full on drug lord. But as it begins to fully sink in, you know there has to be more to the story. Your soulmate couldn’t really be a killer.

~~~~~~~

There was no air conditioning on the bus to the police station. The warmth of late spring is making you sweat. You might think it was just your nerves, but the overwhelming smell of body odor confirms that everyone else is sweating too.

Looking around the bus at the other passengers, it’s hard to imagine where they might be coming from or where they’re going. Most people are probably doing normal things, shopping, going to work, visiting friends. Is anyone else on their way to face their soulmate?

Some chattering from the front of the bus pulls you out of your head for a moment. Everyone on the bus begins looking out the windows on the opposite side. You crane your neck to try to see what everyone else is looking at. It’s a crowd of people, but that’s about all you can make out.

“Stop #27: West 12th Street!” The bus driver announces over the intercom. The bus slows to a stop, your stop, right in front of the police station.

Fiddling with the strap from your bag, you exit the bus slowly. Soon you’re able to get a good look at the crowd. It’s mostly young women, all crowded near the entrance of the police station. They’re holding signs, it must be a protest of some kind.

As you get closer you can read some of the signs.

HUGS AND DRUGS

LEGALIZE

FREE KIM NAMJOON

END THE WAR ON DRUGS

PRESIDENT NAMJOON 2020

The protest signs seem... inappropriate? Especially considering he was arrested for murder and not his alleged drug lord-ing.

“Free Namjoon!” Shouts the girl wielding the “President Namjoon 2020” sign.

“He’s too hot for prison!” The girl next to her screams.

“Ji-woo shut up! You’re invalidating the cause.” You don’t stay to hear Ji-woo’s rebuttal, instead opting to duck inside the police station before they engage you.

It’s a bustling place. Lots of people in the waiting room. A woman with two small children is ahead of you in line trying to reason with the woman behind the counter. She’s trying to convince her that the $10,000 bond for her husband’s DUI is unreasonable.

“Ma’am, the judge sets the bail amount. There are bail bonds services down the street. Next!” She motions for you to step up to the counter.

“How can I help you?” She asks, not making eye contact, but instead clacking away at her keyboard.

“I’m here... to see Kim Namjoon?” It comes out as a question, without looking up she responds.

“You can go join the group of your friends waiting outside. No one can see him. Next!” There is a grunt from the man behind you in line when you don’t move immediately.

“I think...” You start quietly. “I’m his soulmate.” The woman stops typing to look up at you. You reluctantly pull back your sleeve and show her your timer, still ticking away.

“I see.” She stands and disappears down a hall and out of sight. You fight the urge to look around the room, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone who might have heard you. The forty years on your timer don’t change and you’re not sure what this means. Maybe they still won’t let you see him, soulmate or not.

After several minutes of awkwardly standing and waiting, she returns with a police officer.

“Ma’am please come with me.” The officer motions toward a door that leads out of the waiting room and the woman returns to her keyboard. The officer meets you on the other side of the door. It’s quieter than you expected. A bulletin board of wanted flyers stares back at you.

“He doesn’t want to see you, but he was willing to add you to his phone call list.” Your stomach drops. How could he not want to see you? He’s the one who’s been arrested, it’s you that shouldn’t be willing to see him.

The officer continues down the hall to a small conference room. There are two other people in it, another police officer and a man. The officer guides you in and then leaves.

“Hi please have a seat and fill out this form.” It’s a fairly simple form. Name, address, phone, relationship to detainee....

“Who are you?” The man next to you asks. He’s looking at you trying to fill out the form. You don’t respond to him at first, because who is he? He looks like any other guy off the street. Well maybe not quite. He’s dressed in basic dark jeans and a graphic t-shirt, but he is very handsome.

“I’ve never seen you before, why are you here to see Namjoon?” He prompts you again. He must know Namjoon. But if he’s friends with Namjoon... Namjoon the potential drug lord and murderer... can he be trusted?

“I’m his soulmate.” The words still feel awkward falling out of your mouth. But you don’t have much choice but to trust him. He’s your only line into the life of Namjoon. The man tenses up, drops his head into his hands. He says nothing, the lights in the room flicker slightly.

After too much awkward silence, you push your completed form toward the officer across the table. He tells you that you may receive calls from the station or prison when Namjoon is able to call, but the only way for you to reach out to him is to send letters to the prison. You thank him for the information and pause, waiting to see if Namjoon’s friend will say anything. He doesn’t, so you get up and leave the room.

You manage to get out of the police station and through the crowd of weird fan girls before the tears start flowing. What are you supposed to do now? Just wait around and hope he calls?

“Hey! Hey!” You turn and see the man from the conference room running toward you. You quickly wipe the tears away and straighten your posture. He slows a bit before approaching you cautiously.

“I’m really sorry. I don’t know... God. I don’t really know what’s going on to be honest. I just know that what they’re saying... what they’ve accused him of. It isn’t true.” Even though he’s a stranger. Even though you have no reason to trust him. You feel relieved.

“Who are you?” You finally ask him. He smiles a little and stretches out his hand.

“I’m Jung Hoseok.”

~~~~~~~

Namjoon’s friend, Hoseok, walks with you down the street to a cafe. He buys you a drink and tells you about Namjoon, the English, Government, and Philosophy triple major. The boy set to start law school in the fall. His best friend for years now, the friend who helped him finally find his own soulmate connection.

And now here you are. Namjoon’s soulmate, sitting across from Hoseok at a coffee shop.

“So, you clearly don’t think he could have done this,” you mumble across the table, “so what do you think is going on?” Hoseok is quiet for a long moment. He’s looking down at the cup of coffee, stirring mindlessly.

“I think he’s being framed.” The air between you is heavy, the weight of the situation settling onto your shoulders.

“Namjoon has- had this friend from his childhood,” Hoseok starts again, “he got mixed up into some bad things.”

“Dae-hyun?” You ask before taking another sip of your drink. Hoseok nods.

“I know Namjoon was trying to help him. He asked me to follow Dae-hyun a few times because he wouldn’t have recognized me.” Hoseok shakes his head a bit, as if he’s wiping away some memories.

“You followed him? That was so dangerous, why would you do that?” You question.

“I owed him one.” A faint smile crosses Hoseok’s lips.

“Well.... Did you learn anything?” Eager to hear more, eager to figure out how to fix this problem.

“Dae-hyun was dealing something, I’m not sure what. I guess meth, they found Joon in a meth lab didn’t they?” Hoseok takes a drink before continuing. “Dae-hyun was in a relationship with the other guy that was killed, Young-jae. I wasn’t sure, but Namjoon thought they were together. He said Dae-hyun would never do drugs much less sell them, so he assumed Dae-hyun must have been trying to help Young-jae get off drugs, get out of the drug ring.”

“Why did Namjoon do all this, why not go to the police?” You ask, your head beginning to hurt. Trying to connect the dots is taking its toll.

“If he had reported it to the police they would have busted Dae-hyun and Young-jae.” Hoseok pauses. “I think Namjoon was trying to take down the whole drug ring.”

“By himself?” You laughed to yourself. The stupidity... the guts... your soulmate is something else, isn’t he?

“Namjoon is a genius, but even more than that he’s compassionate and caring. And he must have been close, because they framed him for murder, framed him for running the drug ring himself.” Hoseok was right. The real leader of the drug ring must have felt Namjoon was getting too close to exposing them.

“Hoseok?” You tilt your head to the side, an idea brewing in your mind. “Do you think Namjoon may have left any evidence or clues for someone to find?”

“What are you thinking?” Hoseok raised his eyebrows.

~~~~~~~

It wasn’t difficult for you to convince Hoseok to take you to Namjoon’s apartment. It’s proving to be much more difficult to convince him to cross the crime scene tape.

“Hoseok this isn’t even where the alleged crime took place!” You shout, tugging your hands, trying to break Hoseok’s grip on you.

“We have to be careful about this. If we get incriminated too there won’t be anyone left to help Namjoon.” You don’t want to admit it, but he’s right.

“This is the closest I can be to him Hoseok, please let me go in.” Your shoulders droop and you stop fighting him. He doesn’t let you go though. He’s about to speak, but before he does, both of you hear footsteps running down the hallway.

A tall man wearing a baby pink sweatshirt is running toward the two of you. Hoseok drops your wrists and puts his hands on his hips with a huff.

“Jin what are you doing here?” Hoseok greets his friend with a hand slap and a bro hug.

“I don’t know exactly. My fiance sent me here to see if I could find anything helpful. She’s headed to Namjoon’s hometown to be with his family. They were close growing up.”

“Oh yeah... does that mean she was friends with Dae-hyun too?” Hoseok questions.

“Yeah she’s really upset about it.” Jin turns to you finally. “So who are you?”

“She’s Joon’s soulmate.” Hoseok says before you can answer.

“Bad timing, huh?” You laugh a bit to stave off the uncomfortable feeling.

“Yeah, well. I know a thing or two about bad soulmate timing. I’m Seokjin.” You shake his hand. He laughs a bit, not bothering to tell you about his soulmate story. The focus is back on entering Namjoon’s apartment.

Hoseok stands in front of the door, still wanting to weigh the options. Without hesitation Seokjin begins furiously tickling Hoseok’s underarms. Hoseok doubles over in laughter and then dead weights himself, sending both of them toppling to the ground. While both of them are laughing, you decide to reach for the door.

The door is unlocked, so you swing it open. You step through the tape, trying not to break it. Silence breaks over the three of you. The boys scurry to their feet and enter the apartment behind you.

“Don’t leave your finger prints on anything.” Hoseok whispers. It takes a moment for it to set it in, but the more you look around the room it’s easier to see.

Someone has been here. The place has been completely trashed. Drawers are open, couch cushions thrown about, pictures and decorations knocked down and smashed. You reach down and pick up a framed picture of Namjoon and his family. The glass falls out, so you remove the picture and slip it into your pocket.

Before anyone can say anything, there’s a sound from the back of the apartment where the bedroom must be. It sounds like a drawer slamming and then someone curses. Someone else is in the apartment.

The hair on the back of your neck stands up and you look back at Hoseok and Seokjin. They’re both frozen. Footsteps are coming from the hallway and a figure comes out of the shadows. Hoseok grabs your arm and pushes you back behind him.

It’s a man, yet another person you don’t recognize. He’s wearing all black and a leather jacket. Hoseok seems to tense further upon seeing the man’s face.

“What the hell are you doing here Min-jae?” Hoseok demands. The man stills upon seeing the three of you standing there. He puts his hands up and slowly continues walking toward you.

“Probably the same thing you are. I just need some answers man.” Min-jae stops about ten feet away and puts his arms down. Hoseok turns to you.

“Young-jae’s brother.” Hoseok mouths this information to you, trying to hide what he knows.

“I need to know what happened! Why would this guy kill my brother?” Min-jae shouts. He kicks a chair over in the kitchen while tears begin to fall down his face.

“Listen, we came here to figure something out too.” Hoseok continues, cautiously approaching the man. “Namjoon didn’t do this. He loved Dae-hyun, he was trying to help them. Dae-hyun was on drugs, your brother was probably trying to help too, but just got caught up in the mess.”

Hoseok was intentionally sharing the wrong information. He must have a reason to not trust Min-jae. Seokjin looks over at you and you shake your head once, so slightly as to not let Min-jae see.

“Well good luck because I haven’t found anything.” Min-jae let out an exasperated sigh.

“You’ve never been here before, so maybe we should give it a once over. We’ve all seen this place before.” Hoseok says, again, not the truth. You’ve never been here. You play along with Hoseok’s ruse.

The four of you search the house for anything that might be helpful. It’s more difficult than you thought because you don’t know what you’re looking for. But you are learning about Namjoon.

In the kitchen you learned that he seems to eat a lot of take away and instant ramen. In the bathroom you learned that he has a full skin care routine and that he uses cinnamon toothpaste. In the bedroom you learn that he probably misses the hamper when he’s in a hurry, and based on the polaroids taped to the wall, he enjoys traveling. Back in the living room, you learn that Namjoon is an avid reader. You’ve parked yourself in front of his book shelf, scanning each title carefully.

“He’s always got a book with him.” Seokjin says as he comes out of the kitchen. He reaches past you to grab a book from the shelf. It’s leather-bound and has his name printed across the cover.

Seokjin opens it and the two of you stand there, silently looking through the notes scrawled throughout the pages. Except, they aren’t notes. They’re song lyrics.

Your phone begins loudly ringing in your pocket, causing both you and Seokjin to jump. You excuse yourself into the hallway. It’s an unknown number, your heart skips a beat.

“Hello?” You answer quietly.

“A detainee at the 48th Police Precinct is attempting to contact you, do you accept?” An automated voice is on the other line. This is it. Namjoon is calling.

“Yes.”

“I’m so sorry.” Kim Namjoon on the other end of the call, it sounds like he’s crying. “I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Oh I know sweetheart.” You coo into the phone, it feels strangely natural to comfort him.

“Where are you?” He sniffles.

“I’m with Hoseok at your place.” You continue speaking in a hushed tone.

“Okay that’s good. Stay with him until this is over. You can’t trust anyone else.” The words send a chill down your spine, reiterating the seriousness of the situation.

“Seokjin is here too.” Your voice is trembling now, your hands shaking.

“Jin is safe.”

“A guy named Min-jae was here when we got here.”

“Son of a bitch.” Hoseok seemed to be suspicious of him and Namjoon’s reaction confirms that he is bad news. “Listen to me. Listen carefully.” Namjoon takes a deep breath.

“I can’t say much, I don’t know who is listening. There is a small flash drive taped to the back of the painting above my couch. Jin will know who to take it to. Get away from Min-jae as soon as you can, don’t let him see the flash drive.”

“Namjoon I-”

“You don’t have to do any of this, you can leave now and I won’t blame you-”

“No!” You almost shout it, probably getting the attention of the boys back inside the apartment. “No, I’m in this now. We’re in this together.” Namjoon takes a deep breath.

“Thank you. Please get yourself out of there.”

“I’ll see you soon, Namjoon.” You say firmly. It’s not an option. You will get him out.

“See you soon.” He chuckles lightly before hanging up the phone.

You take a moment, pressing your back against the wall. You try to catch your breath, but instead you cry. The tears silently roll down your face.

Back in the apartment, the three boys seem to be in the back of the apartment continuing their search. You tiptoe toward the couch and reach for the painting. It comes off the wall easily and you set it down silently on the couch cushion.

It takes a minute to spot it. It is actually very small and painted to be the same color as the back of the painting. You carefully remove it and stick it in your front pocket. You put the painting back up and turn to go find Hoseok and get the hell out.

Min-jae is there behind you, staring at you.

“Find anything interesting?”

~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading! Part Two coming soon! Check out my Not Warriors Soulmate Series Masterlist!

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nobodyeverasked · 4 years

Text

00:00; mark tuan

(6293 words) - large

summary - there’s one small second where the world holds its breath. In that second, you feel okay.

Y/N tried to withstand the symphonies of the sunlight lulling him to sleep as he pinched himself through his sweatshirt sleeve and squinted at the projector ahead of him, really debating why he took Art History for the third year in a row despite how much he hated it. He needed the credit for his internship program in the summer, but he didn’t know he was going to have to withstand this kind of torment.

He let his sighs dissolve into the pages of his textbooks which piled up his heavy eyes and tried to focus on the man gesturing enthusiastically at a black and white picture of a historic art figure Y/N swore he saw two slides ago. Professor Cross was a tall, gaunt man with nothing in his wardrobe other than those sweater vests that were so washed out of their colour Y/N almost sympathised with them. They looked like they were tired of his lessons too; the threads bouncing around his writhing arms looking like they wanted to rip themselves off and hide away in the nearest washing machine. Y/N thanked them for staying on, though, he ran out of eyebleach when he had to sit through an entire presentation by the junkies behind him on why erotica is the pinnacle of artistry and how modern interpretation and segregational stigmatism is the bane of humanity.

Don’t worry, Y/N didn’t stay awake for that one either.

He almost gave into the sleepiness that pulled at his eyes and weighed down his shoulders until a head leaned onto his, and heard a dramatic huff he knew all too well. He combed those famous brown and blonde box-braids out of his face and turned to face the one person in this entire college he didn’t entirely dislike. Gloria Antoine. One of the only people that was there to dash to his front door and cook some month-old ramen from the back of his pantry and be there to hear his rants that seemed to only surface under the veil of the moonlight.

“Remind me why this is important…?” Gloria groaned and Y/N struggled to hide a chuckle in his sleeves. “I’m like, I get it, but why…?”

“You don’t find Cezanne’s works transcendent?” Y/N poked Gloria’s cheek before she lifted her head off his shoulder. “I wonder if Mcdonalds is still hiring?”

Gloria stifled a cackle and they both looked forward to the screen, letting the whispers of their laughter flutter around them and fuel the flames that lay smouldered under his fingertips. Y/N turned his hand over, the memories of the night prior still ingrained in his mind, still blessing every beat of his heart that pounded at the thought of the guy that made every second they spent together - in and out of each other’s arms - so special. Mark Tuan. He remembers the knot of devotion tied between them as they laid back on the hood of Mark’s mustang and looked at the canopies of ivory stars that gleaned like spotlights and spilled on their skin. He remembers Mark taking his lips with his own and the cold metal under them rendering itself useless. Mark was the arms of sanctuary that wound around his waist and would never let go. The feeling of safety and freedom, the moments that made Y/N feel like a bird soaring through a cloudless heaven.

Mark was his everything, the vows of affection that tumbled out of them on their lazy Fridays, the sheets between them that scorched their bodies and drowned them in the waves of their own admiration. He was almost too good to be true sometimes. He sometimes felt so unworthy to feel the heat under Mark’s fingertips, to be scorched by the skin that runs so sweet under his tongue, like the stars under Mark’s skin always shone too bright, were always too beautiful for Y/N’s skies whenever they aligned.

Even so, he couldn’t wait for the bell to sound so he could fall into Mark’s embrace, drown himself in the haze of coffee and cherries that always reminds him of the clementine skies they shared on rooftops together, brings him back to when they had the golden sunlight carve out their leather-studded kisses in the sands.

Their nights draped in the Shanghai moonlight are all just a blur now, blissful memories that hang on the edge of their tongues-

The bell sent Y/N careening out of his trance and up to the students that scrambled for the exit, hoping to escape the clutches of black coffee are boredom that swelled in the room like pungent stench. He could hear Gloria whoop before jumping out of her seat and tossing her back over her shoulder, barely able to contain her excitement for the fact that this lesson was finally over. She tugged at Y/N’s arm, gesturing her head to the door and Y/N followed her out, the stiff smile he held out to Professor instantly falling off his face as he stepped through the doorway like a breath he didn't know he was holding.

He followed Gloria to her locker where her friends waited there expectantly, tapping away at their phones to distract themselves from the concept of socialization. Abbey - the blond one…? He didn’t remember - greeted Gloria with a hug and an avalanche of words came tumbling from their lips, frantic chatter taking over their small circle. Y/N just leaned onto the lockers behind them, taking in all of the latest ‘tea’ Abbey had to spill, wishing he could take in the melodies of his midnight conversations with Mark instead. Gloria snatched him down from the clouds of euphoria that began to swallow him up and wrapped her arm around his shoulders, bringing him back into the circle and turning him towards a new girl that he somehow didn’t notice stepping into their conversation. The shy hunch in her shoulders and the demure shimmers in her hazel eyes danced in the amber sunlight contorting to the busting chatter going on around them.

Was she Abbey…? Or was she Britney…? He didn’t remember, and he genuinely didn’t know if he wanted to care.

“Hey Y/N, this is Stella, she’s new here and I met her in my Bio class.” Gloria gestured towards the girl whose eyes were taken over with a flourish of confidence as she heard Y/N’s name.

“This is Y/N?” Stella’s smile was weirdly wide and brilliant. Y/N just smiled back awkwardly, Gloria’s arm that comfortingly wound around his shoulders failing to shed the shivers of awkwardness that slithered down his spine. “You’re the one that’s dating Mark, right?” Stella stepped closer, he could see the brilliance of admiration shine in her eyes, light up her smile. The same light which ignited every one of Mark’s laughs as they swayed in their living room, the light that wound around them and dyed their most cherished memories, the light that was caught between their lips as they sealed their kisses in their indigo night. “Oh my God, Mark Tuan… I’m sad he transferred schools, he’s so hot.” Gloria could feel Y/N tense up and opened her mouth to cut in, but Y/N stopped her with a shrug.

“Yeah, he’s pretty amazing.”

“I know we just met, but I’m gonna be honest with you Y/N. Just for the one-time.” Stella building up her statement didn’t help the blissful toxins that bloomed under the violet tapestries of Mark’s admiration adorning Y/N’s chest from running bitter like as and stinging with regret. “I have no idea how you copped that. You’re lucky as hell.”

“Well, Mark’s pretty lucky too, Stella. Y/N can actually stay awake in art history.”

“Thanks Gloria…” Y/N shook his head. Gloria was always there to be his hype-woman when he needed her. “It’s not that impossible, right?” He turned back to Stella, trying not to let the doubts that boiled in his stomach and spilled out in smokescreens in his mind leech into his resolve too much. Y/N forced down a frown, trying not to snarl in the face of Stella’s unyielding persistence to make his kisses on mark’s skin feel paper thin, feel stone cold, like the paradise in his hands that Mark said was always there was nothing but a mirage.

“I mean-”

Gloria slammed her locker closed with a nudge of her knee and whipped her head towards Stella. “Thanks for the Ted Talk, Stella, but Y/N and I need to get going. I’ll see you girls tomorrow.” She didn’t pull back the punch of her glare into Stella’s hazel eyes as she nudged Y/N around the corner, taking his hand and escaping the estrogen-fest that did nothing but beat Y/N down. “I’m sorry, Y/N. We were vibing in Bio, I don’t know what happened.” Gloria shifted her gaze over to Y/N, his resolve crumbling in one defeated sigh. Y/N tried to focus on the clicking of Gloria’s heels against the white tile floors of the hallway before pushing his words past his teeth.

“It’s okay, Gloria.” He tried not to let her words bite too deep into his skin, to keep the stars under his skin that would always wait to align with Mark’s from fading in the whirlwinds of Stella’s words that kept Y/N with his fist clenched in his pocket and the hold on his textbook tightened to his chest. “How did I get a man like Mark? He’s literally everything, and I’m just a guy with a seventy average and a dream laid to waste..” Y/N stopped walking, gaze trained to the shine in the freshly waxed floors and the reflection of his eyes that held too many questions and not enough answers. Gloria froze where she stood and snapped her head to her best friend, someone usually so confident, so in love with themselves in others, now his voice was barely above a whisper fading in their breaths that echoed in their silence. She grabbed his shoulders, and brought his gaze up to hers, looking at him with a wildfire of determination lapping at her dark brown eyes.

“Hey, I know it’s been hard cause everyone seems to have a hard-on for comparing you two just because you’re dating, which sucks. Stella sucks. But you’re the best and you deserve to know it, okay? He’s so lucky to have you, because you’re so dedicated to him and me and us and you, and you’re so loyal. You’re beautiful, okay? You’re beautiful and talented and amazing.” Neveah took an exaggerated breath, a smile beginning to frame her lips as Y/N’s chuckles resonated between them. “Don’t-”

“Ah! Y/N! I’m glad you’re still here!” Y/N and Gloria turned their heads to the monotone voice they’ve grown to fear. It was Professor Cross, walking up to them and waving his arm above his head.

“Can’t catch a break, huh?” Gloria and Y/N let their laughter fade into the evening air. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, and coffees on me.”

“Six shots of espresso or I’m suing.”

“Your wish is my command, Y/N.” Gloria wrapped him up in a hug before scampering towards the exit.

“Y/N!” Professor Cross called again despite their distance. Y/N tried not to scrunch his nose as he could smell the coffee and disappointment in his Professor’s breath, wedging his teeth into his lip as he suspected the hundreds of things that this could be about. He knows that he’s been falling behind, the worries and stress that riddled his mind like a plague and withered his willpower leaving him to stare at his essays with nothing but doubt, nothing but his knowing that he’ll never be smart like Mark. His favourite moments with Mark were when that didn’t matter, when knowing complex historical milestones or bisecting segments on invisible squares never came spilling from their lips like their vows of affection did. “We need to talk about your marks in my class…”

“I-I know, Professor Cross, I’m in a slump right now but the summative will bring my mark up, I’ve been working on a piece-”

“I know, I know, but I didn’t expect you to hit a slump, Y/N. You’re one of the most enthusiastic students in my class. Granted, it’s art history, that’s not saying a lot, but I was surprised when I got the numbers for your last few tests. You know, I thought Mark would have a better influence on you, after all. He was always first in my classes.” Professor Cross tried to joke around, tried to bring some hollow laughter into the stale air trudging between them, but he knew he took it too far. He could see the fluorescent lights above chipping away at Y/N’s resolve, the hands clutching his anthro textbook gripping onto the spine. Y/N’s gaze shifted to everywhere except on the professor, deep breaths drying his throat and weakening his forced smile.

“I know, Mark’s smart, he used to be the top in the class, he’s been making art, fixing cars and changing the world, I know…” Y/N tried to wring the sweat out from his hands, doing his best to not let the sunlight streaming from the classroom windows to scratch into his skin too much. “I know, he’s the best, I know…” Y/N only shied away as Mr. Cross took a step closer. “I’ll get my grades up, I promise, I’ll try hard.”

“Y/N-”

“Have a good night, Professor…” Y/N could barely raise his gaze up from the ground, the weight of his professor's words dragging down on his shoulders and keeping his breath lodged into his throat. He turned away without a second thought and barely spared a glance towards his Art History professor before whipping himself around the corner of the nearest doorway. He needed to escape, he needed to escape from the spotlight that burned into his head and constantly sung his inadequacies into his ears whenever he let his mind wander. This was no swansong that so easily fell from between Mark’s lips, and this light was not the ivory whisper of the starlight that would alway drape over their entwined fingers.

He tried not to let his inner thoughts consume him as he made it to the main gates, the smokescreen of his doubts boiling, bubbling under the breath he finally let out as the amber sunlight followed in his footsteps to the main courtyard of the campus.

Mark leaned against the side of his car, playing with the edge of his sleeve as he waited for Y/N in the front of the parking lot, bathing in the amber sunlight streaming from the golden sky. It’s been a few months of this routine, picking Y/N up and heading home to bask in the fires of their admiration together, and Mark could not get enough of it. Seeing Y/N’s tired smile bloom as they sat next to each other in the front, the lazy kisses and intertwined fingers making them grateful his windows were tinted. Mark couldn’t get enough of it, he wanted more, just to take Y/N in and all of the wonder that spilled out from between those beautiful lips - heaven’s gates - the edge that their secrets used to tremble on and now free fall into the oceans of their trust, their love.

He couldn’t help but beam as he saw Y/N finally scamper out of the entrance to his design college, but he didn’t notice Y/N’s shifting gaze and the dejection weighing on his shoulders. Mark only focused his gaze on Y/N’s eyes that seemed to sparkle in the gilded sunlight and his skin that glowed under the golden skies, his lips that always wrenched his gaze on them and reminded them of how sweet they tasted under his tongue and between his teeth. The stories they told, they could go on and on and he could spend hours listening to what they had to say. That head of hair still singed by his wandering hands and burning touch where he could bury his worries, and revel in the softness that he tangled between his fingers. Those shoulders he would wrap his arms around and feel the tides of their cherry chapstick crash on the shores of their adoration, the shores like those beaches they burned black with the circles they danced in the sands.

“Hey, baby.” Mark wrapped his arms around Y/N’s waist and kissed the top of his head, lips trailing down to his cheeks and waiting, longing to paint his skin in tapestries of their compassion. Y/N just hid his face in Mark’s hands, eyes taking sudden interest in the pebbles on the concrete. “How were classes today?” Mark cradled Y/N’s cheeks between his hands and kissed his lips, his smile slowly fading as the one that shone behind Y/N’s pressed lips didn’t budge. “What happened? Did Mrs. Fletching go on about why colour theory is JUST A THEORY, A COLOUR THEORY!”

Mark nudged Y/N’s chin up and pecked his lips, unknowing of the judging stares and jealous glares that dug into Y/N’s back and ripped out his spine Mortal Kombat style.

“Something like that…'' Y/N’s lips finally budged with a shrivelled whine, his head leaning onto Mark’s chest, hoping that his leather jacket and beautiful hands could hide him from his own shame and the girls that he knew were whispering about him by the library entrance. Y/N’s smile always sweetened the sparks that ignited between their teeth, and Mark wants to get that blissful glow under Y/N’s cheeks again. “Can we just head home?”

“Of course baby.” Mark opened the door for Y/N and then wound around the front to head in himself. “Do you want to talk about what happened? I really like your smile and…” Mark paused, trying to choose his words carefully so the heavy silence practically crushing the car could feel just a bit lighter. “I haven’t been seeing it a lot nowadays, you know I’d do anything to see you smile.” Mark caressed Y/N’s cheek, seeing a weak smile spread across his baby’s lips made him feel a tiny bit better, at least the words spun like silk from his lips could always make Y/N feel safe. He meant every word and wanted Y/N to know that.

“Maybe later? I just wanna get out of these tight-ass jeans and sleep…” Y/N shrunk back in the seat, with Mark’s touch melting from his cheeks and smoothing across his hands, the demons thrashing about in the pits of his stomach made and making him question his worthiness of such a man. A man who smiles in Y/N’s adversity…

I don’t deserve him, Y/N thought as they pulled out of the parking lot and headed home.

Y/N sat on the couch, doodling on his tablet, one of Mark’s many sweatshirts that found their way into his closet on his body. Mark couldn’t resist the way Y/N looked in his clothes, the scent of coconut and lavender staining all of his shirts and the admiration that dripped down their necks in the nights under the moon drenching the collar of everything he put on. It was the smell of home to him, the touch of home to him, the feeling of home to him. Y/N’s fingers between his, the coffee flavoured kisses starting every one of their slow mornings. He shuffled over from the other side of the couch, raising to his knees to tower of Y/N’s huddled form and looked to the tablet to see what masterpiece he was conjuring on that screen this time. He played with Y/N’s hair, kissing his forehead and stroking his arms before scrunching his nose at Y/N’s focus on the brilliant screen between his hands.

“Y/N~” Mark kissed Y/N’s nose, earning the cutest little squeal he has ever heard in his life. “What d’you want for dinner…?” Mark straddled Y/N’s legs, playing with the hand that wasn’t vigorously scribbling on the screen with his stylus. Y/N leaned forward - eyes finally off that screen - to press his forehead to Mark’s. His big baby. Sometimes, in moments like these with the evening sunlight draped over their shoulders and the gleam of their smiles taken between their lips, he feels like he deserves this. Sometimes he deserves Mark, the most caring, affectionate, optimistic and beautiful man he’s ever met. But it just takes one day, one thing, one word to break that all down, to tell him he’s not worth him, not worth anything. The sting of his classmates’ glares still burned into his skull, etched themselves into his memories every time he and Mark kissed.

Maybe they were right - he thought. Maybe…

“Uhm~” Y/N sang into Mark’s skin, the fingers tracing the lines in his palm and the body inching itself between his thighs breaking his melody a little. His heart burned for Mark, longed for him, but did he deserve a man like that to fester the flames? To ignite the weathered stars under his skin? Sometimes when he ran his hand through Mark’s hair or listened to the symphonies of his precious heartbeats on the nights that used to leave him sleepless, he could feel his skin burn. Not with the sparks that writhe between their sweat-soaked chests, but with a toxin of those doubts that leech into every hesitant kiss he plants. “How about pizza?”

“Sounds good to me.” “You wanna come?”

“I think I’ll stay here, gotta get some stuff ready.”

“My hero.” “Turning on netflix and everything.”

“I know, superman was found jobless.”

“You’re everything superman wishes he was.” Mark headed to the door with a parting kiss Y/N wanted to last forever, until the sunset bled black. “And so much more~”

“I don’t deserve you.” Y/N widened his eyes as he realized what tripped over his tongue, he hoped Mark didn’t read into that too much.

“You deserve the world, baby.” Mark hummed into the coffee-stained air of their house before slipping out the door, making sure to send a wink Y/N’s way. The scarlet in Y/N’s cheeks bit into his skin. He wanted it to feel good, the way Mark’s sweet nothings made his cheeks burn like wildfire. But so many voices in his head, Stella, Professor Cross, that one teacher that constantly calls him Mark’s boyfriend. They all started screaming, voices in his head that tore the feeling of Mark’s lips from his skin.

As the door shut and Y/N sighed into the haze of silence settling in the house, he just let the voices twist and echo in his head and rip into his heart. He let them stifle the flames stoked between the symphonies of their twilight, he let them wash away the footprints in strawberry sands and make the coral sunlight that melts on their skin on those summer nights they’ll always cherish submerge him in pools of guilt.

“I don’t deserve you…”

Mark stumbled through the front door, kicking off his shoes with a stagger and proceeding into the surprisingly dark house. Pizza boxes in one hand, house keys in the other, he stalked into the kitchen with a cocked eyebrow. He presumed Y/N may have been napping, but he knows Y/N hates having all the lights off. Mark learned his mistake the last time they did that during one of their many journeys to thwart the waning moonlight together, Y/N in Mark’s arms as they tried their best to keep their eyes on a horror movie Mark said would be ‘just fine~’. He could still remember the popcorn they had to clean off their carpet and the nails that dug into his arms. Neither of them slept that night, but at least they had their midnight conversations and entwined grins to help ignite the starlight between them and ease the nerves that rumbled through their nervous laughter.

He sighed at the memory, still feeling the cinders of their admiration staining his fingertips as he dusted off his hands and walked towards the bedroom - going to retrieve Y/N from whatever blanket cocoon he was probably in - but instantly halted when he heard sobbing scratch at the bathroom door. Desperate and fragile sobs freezing Mark in his place. He scrambled to the sound and rushed towards the bathroom, pressing his ear up against the door.

“Y/N?” Mark didn’t hide the panic beating senseless at his throat or the stress that fested under his shaking hands. He remembered Y/N’s silence, the hollow light of his weak smiles. He remembers how Y/N’s gaze always fell to the floor and how the kisses to his fingers as of late weren’t moulded by the grin he loves to see. Why couldn’t he see this before?

He kept his forehead on the door, wincing as the sobs and whines from behind it instantly stopped as Mark called out Y/N’s name again. “Y/N… What’s wrong? Can I come in?” Mark didn’t know how to handle this… The stench of grief that oozed from under the door and rose to his ankles. He didn’t hear an answer, but pushed past the silence and saw Y/N in the corner, knees hugged to his chest. Y/N’s head snapped up to the sound of footsteps and let a gasp rip through his sobs as he clambered to his feet.

Mark put his hands on Y/N’s shoulders, stopping him in his place before he could escape.

“Y/N…”

He didn’t like this, seeing the tears rolling down Y/N’s cheeks, staining his hands and carving rivers into his skin. He sat Y/N back down onto the floor wrapping his arms around Y/N without a second thought. “What happened?”

“I...I…” Y/N tried to choke out some sort of excuse for why he was feeling this way, battling through the smoke and breaking the mirrors that housed a reflection he despised. He brought his knees closer to him, his efforts to wipe away the onslaught of tears staining his sweatshirt stopped by Mark, who took Y/N’s hands into his own and kissed his knuckles softly, his face contorted with confusion and worry. “I really don’t deserve you… The more I thought about it, what everyone’s been saying, the truer it seems.”

“Y/N- what are you talking about? You-”

“You’re the most beautiful, empathetic, loving man I have ever met. You can do anything you set your mind to and even when I decide to let my thoughts take over and consume me, you’re still there to hug me and kiss me and hold me even when I ignore you or dismiss you. Everyone is so right… You’re too good for me, your everything is too good for me, Mark. I-”

“Stop!” Mark shook his head violently, taking Y/N’s face in his hands and standing him up. “What are you talking about? Who’s making you feel this way?” Mark’s voice was barely above a whisper as he brought Y/N away from the corner, wiping his tears as he waited for an answer. Something.

Even with Y/N’s face between his hands, his eyes still looked everywhere but him, Mark couldn’t stand it. Y/N was hurt, someone was hurting him, and he wasn’t telling him who it was! “Please, Y/N tell me, who-”

“ME!” Y/N tried to push himself away. “I… I don’t have a reason, but every day I look at you, I realize how worthless I am, how I could never do anything you do, and yet you come home or pick me up and you take me in your arms and tell me that I’m perfect…”

The girls in the wallways...

“Every day I start to hate myself more and more because of who I am, what I look like, what I do or what I CAN’T do… And no matter who tells me to get over it, or that it’s just in my head, doesn’t understand that I can’t stop it!”

Stella… Professor Cross… Everyone… Everything!

“I don’t know what to do, Mark… I love you more than anything. But I don’t deserve you… I don’t deserve your smile, or your love or your compassion because I’m ME! I’m a failure, I’m just another guy who’s trying to make his dying dreams a reality. I’m a guy who thinks he has everything down pat until the test comes up and I fail again, I’m the guy who lies about his problems ‘cause I’m always told they don’t matter. I’m just a commendable, malleable second choice for everyone around me and I don’t know how to stop it!” Y/N’s sobs ripped through from between his teeth, hitched breaths boiling in his throat as he hit his head against Mark’s shoulder. His cries took up the silence in a cacophony of sadness and anguish, and the light in his eyes that Mark could embrace himself in for hours died out like the withering flames of whatever confidence he had left.

“Y/N…” Mark pulled Y/N into his embrace, hoping that his kisses to Y/N’s neck could straighten his frown or stop the chills of his cries from biting so deep. “I didn’t know you were feeling this way… I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t notice and I’m so sorry I let these thoughts get the better of you. They’re not true, not a single one.”

“It’s not your fault, Mark… It never was, please don’t blame yourself.”

“We’re each other’s responsibility, right Y/N?” Mark angled Y/N’s chin and fixed their gazes, trying to take solace in the fading galaxies that embraced his boyfriend’s teary-eyed gaze, the stars that light his nights ablaze.

Mark pulled Y/N forward and turned him towards the mirror, wrapping his arms around his waist and setting his chin on Y/N’s shoulder. With a shaky breath, he entwined their fingers and pointed towards the mirror, leaving Y/N to cock his head their reflections. “You know what I see?” Mark kissed Y/N’s neck, feeling the fires of their adoration start to dance under his skin with every second Y/N spent in Mark’s embrace. “I see the most beautiful man I’ve ever laid my eyes on-”

“But-”

Mark stifled Y/N protests and let his tongue take their place, looking at Y/N with so much purpose, so much love. Even now, when the flames between their skin are just tiny sparks, even when the sunsets in their skies are pale with their cries and the tears drenching their hands and cheeks dwindle the lights in their eyes. Mark’s admiration never wavers, will never waver even if anybody wants to tell Y/N otherwise.

“You know what I see…?” Mark nudged Y/N’s nose with his, the small chuckle he earned from between Y/N’s lips made his hopeful smile that much brighter. “A gorgeous, compassionate individual, who is also an amazing artist and the best boyfriend a guy like me could ever ask for. You will never be a failure, Y/N, the mistakes you make now will only help you become an even more perfect guy if that’s possible. I know it’s hard to realize, especially now babe, but what those people down the hall or up the creek or whatever say, shouldn’t matter. They’re the same people that will marvel at every single thing you’ll create through those beautiful, beautiful hands. I can’t completely understand what you’re going through, but I’m here to stand with you, I’m here to help you respect yourself because you deserve it, Y/N. It’s hard to hear the love when the hate speaks so loud, I know… What others say though, shouldn’t affect you like this, they aren’t you, they don’t know what your can do or what your precious, pure heart is capable of. I know you love me so much. I know that. Sometimes I feel like I don’t deserve you, with the weird looks we used to get in public or those people that don’t know what love is or how free it should be. But when I drop by to pick you up or come home and see that smile and hear your beautiful voice, it helps me believe. It helps me believe that I’m worthy to wake up next to you or to see you embody the moonlight you hold in your hands.” Mark took a breath, looking up into the mirror to see Y/N’s teary-eyed gaze and a smile as brilliant as the sheets of starlight that drape around their shoulders on the nights they’ll never forget.

Y/N whipped around and threw his arms around Mark, the arms instantly tightening around his waist and the lips ghosting his ear leaving Y/N’s sobs as nothing more than shrivelling whispers behind Y/N’s grin. The flames of their admiration that lapped at their hearts in delicate flames burst under their fingertips and spiralled between their breaths. Mark pressed his forehead to Y/N’s, the sweetness of Y/N’s skin that ran under his lips like velvet and the light of his smile that made the sun look like a shadow made his chest swell in happiness. The wildfires embracing them and their hearts lifting the haze that choked out their sobs and letting their breaths of ease mould the soft kisses Mark traced Y/N’s cheeks with.

“I love you, Y/N. You mean so much to me… I just want to show you how special you are, not just to me, but to yourself too…” Mark’s breath was caught in his throat as Y/N entwined their lips with a flourish, tongues caressing lips that curled into grins as soon as Mark’s back hit the wall. Tear stained breaths burned up in cinders to reveal languishing sighs, the streams of sunlight now stained with their quiet laughter and the ruby red that painted their kisses.

“I… I don’t know what to say…” Y/N held the hands that cupped his cheeks and pressed them to his chest, kissing Mark’s knuckles as their giggles ignited the dreary darkness of their bathroom. “I didn’t expect all of that, thank you, Mark. I love you more than anything and you mean the world to me. I’m sorry-”

“No apologizing!” Mark freed his hands and messed with Y/N’s hair, scrunching his nose and burying his kisses into the hair he would knead through as the summer rain sang it’s melodies at their window, or when the glow of the clementine skies of their autumn evenings finished carving out the ripples of their sheets and ran weathered between their restless hands. He draped his arms around Y/N’s waist, looking down to his pout he couldn’t help but kiss away with a blissful, lovestruck grin plastered onto his face. Y/N just leaned onto Mark’s chest, breathing out into the symphonies of silence that surrounded them and the violet evening that began to bloom above the rooftop of their house.

They enjoyed the silence that draped over them like the ashen sheets just two doors over that housed their safest sounds, the amber sunlight stepping through the door and painting their grins gold like the honey that embraced their most cherished memories.

“Now, I, as your amazing, loving boyfriend brought home pizza that’s probably freezing cold by now. Would you care to accompany me on my journey to the microwave?” Mark let his stray fingertips prod at Y/N’s waistband, failing to hide his smile as playful shrieks soaked into his neck - music to his ears.

Y/N just remembered why Mark went out in the first place, making him wince into Mark’s skin. He hummed at Mark’s proposal.

“Microwaved pizza… How romantic…” Y/N followed Mark out of the bathroom, tightening the knot of devotion that burned between their interlaced fingers, their giggles spinning into the gold that dripped from their smiles. The sweetness of the air following them out into their hallway that surrounded all of their midnight walks down the block shoving their heads under the reckless waves of their ocean.

“I’m honoured, my beloved.” Mark playfully nudged Y/N towards the wall, pressing him up on it and taking his skin between his lips. “I love you, baby…”

Y/N looked into Mark’s eyes, auburn gemstones of untainted beauty. The one place he could truly see himself - suspended in Mark’s star-studded gaze. Mark was the flowered path of happiness and acceptance he longed for every day the full moon peeked out to talk with him on his lonely nights. He did deserve this, he thought. He deserved to savour the air that stings with the sunlight they stir every morning, the fingers that tangle in his hair and worship him like a treasure, the ivory spotlight that hangs over their dancing tongues, the desire stuck between their teeth and dripping from garnet lips. Maybe he did.

As he cradled Mark’s cheeks with hands scorched by the beautiful novas that burned between their lips, they let the blissful silence ignite between them and allowed their fingers to wander across skin they were blessed to memorize every inch of under the spotlight of the stars.

“I know, Mark. And I’ll never forget it.”

“You better not.”

#kpop #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop lgbt #lgbtq #kpop x reader #kpop x male reader #got7 x male reader #got7 mark x male reader #mark tuan x male reader #got7 x reader #mark x reader #mark x male reader #mark tuan x reader #writing

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years

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Fictober 2019, Oct. 6th, “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

Fanfiction

Fandom: Queen (band)

Pairings: None

Warnings: None

Rating:T (for swearing, maybe? Idk I haven’t done ratings like this in years, if y’all feel it needs a change lemme know!)

642 words

The only synopsis I can give of this is that I love the video for It’s A Hard Life, and I know Roger really hated that ruff. And then this happened!

For those who haven’t seen the costumes from that video, here’s a picture of the lovely boys, Roger in particular looking very happy, for reference:

Image originally posted by @ylly22!

“That...is a ruff.”

“Yes, I’m aware. Your point?” Freddie asked, and tried to hand the ruff over to Roger again.

“I’m not wearing that.”

“And why ever not? We’re all dressed up, you don’t get to be the exception,” Freddie said, gesturing to the eyes and strings and ties on his own outfit.

“Okay, but...that? I’m going to look so stupid!”

“I’m sorry, did you say you’ll look stupid?” John asked, swinging in from the other dressing area. “Because I have a fucking horse, as a part of mine.”

“Are you dressed as a horse in a ruff?” Roger asked.

John shook his head.

“Oh, so I’m still looking the stupidest then.”

“Roger,” Freddie sighed.

“Well, what’s Brian wearing? C’mon, tell me! Have we dressed him up as a decorative palm or something?” Roger scoffed

“I think I’m meant to be Death,” Brian replied as he walked into the room, pulling at the sleeves of his costume, a guitar-like instrument ending in a skull in one hand.

“See, now that’s kind of cool, at the very least, even if he does still look very stupid.”

“Thank you, Roger. You’re beautiful as ever yourself, until you open your mouth,” Brian said dryly. “Just put the ruff on and join the parade already.”

“No, there’s got to be something else I can wear,” Roger protested, side-eyeing Freddie as he crept closer, ruff in hand.

“There isn’t anything else, and you’re being ridiculous,” Freddie said. “Don’t make this worse than it has to be.”

“Worse? How? Why, what are you-” Roger’s shouting turned to a wordless screech as Freddie wrestled him down to pull the ruff on, an expert already at having put a collar on many an uncooperative cat.

John watched, a bemused smile on his face. “Think he’ll start biting next?”

“Hopefully not. Don’t really want to have to call the medics back for this. What would we tell them?” Brian asked, wincing at the ongoing wrestling match.

“That we had to put a fancy collar on a particularly fussy cat!” Freddie said triumphantly as he pulled himself up off of the floor.

Roger remained there, glaring at all three of them, tugging at the ruff now around his neck. “Oh, stop with the smiling. I’m wearing it, alright?”

“You are,” John smirked. “Think he’ll start rubbing his face across the carpet to try and get it off?”

“Yuk it up, no, really, enjoy this moment,” Roger scoffed as he stood to pull on the rest of his outfit.

“I don’t dare pet him, he’ll hiss at me,” Brian teased as he reached to gently pat the ruff.

“I hate...everything about this,” Roger sighed as they started out towards the set, John pulling on the last of his costume as they went.

“There. You owe me for this, Freddie,” John grumbled.

They turned to look at him, and Roger nearly fell over with laughter, cackling loud enough it echoed.

“That’s enough, stop it,” John muttered.

“Y-you’re a glittery horse,” Roger was almost crying as he laughed. “Never mind me, you win, you look stupidest.”

“I’m not a horse, I”m just holding...a glittery horse’s head,” John mumbled.

“Bit metaphorical though, isn’t it? I’d presume it to mean you were a horse, or a unicorn or something,” Brian said, laughing at the glare John immediately sent his way. “Out of the way, the horse is about to kick me!”

“Good lord, we’re a farmhouse now. A barn cat, a horse...what does that make us?” Freddie asked with a smile.

“A bird of paradise and a vulture, that are late to set!” came the squawk of the director’s megaphone, far too loud for the small studio space.

They all bit back giggles as they trotted on set, like mischievous admonished schoolboys. One day, they’d look back on the whole thing and laugh.

Except for Roger, maybe.

#text post #LeeH writes #fictober19 #queen band fic

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thesunlounge · 4 years

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Reviews 342: Milord

I’ve spilt a considerable amount of digital ink covering essentially everything the West Hill crew has committed to wax since the end of 2017 and it’s been fascinating to chronicle their continued growth as producers and songwriters, with the future freak funk psychedelics and fourth world boogie jams of The Mystic Jungle Tribe eventually blossoming into supremely romantic and timeless dancefloor fair…things like the sensual R&B of Modula’s “Argonauta,” the starry eyed synth pop of Whodamanny’s The Dance Sucker, the pitch perfect Afro-Italian grooves of Afrodesia, the ecstatic orchestrations and disco diva vocalizations of Masarima, and most recently, a truly stunning mini-LP of sunset mystery, sexual temptation, and lovelorn adventure under the name Rosa. And though the general trend has been towards increasingly classical journeys in Neapolitan disco, boogie kissed proto-house, and balearic pop, there have been some interesting detours along the way, with the collective flexing their trippier tastes via the wah wah echo slides and boom bap electro scuzz of Space Garage, Modula’s ceremonial doom epic “Descending the Abyss,” and the galactic groovescapes, experimental funk cruisers, and splatter jazz electronics of Whodamanny’s T.C.P. But perhaps most singular and far out of all was Milord’s Delta Waves Dimension, which used interstellar ambient, starscape kosmische, and sci-fi electro to guide the mind through mysterious landscapes within the world of dreams, resulting in an album of astral magic and inner space exploration unlike anything else out there. So as you can imagine, I was ecstatic to learn Milord was releasing new music in 2020 via Pinchy & Friends and now, having spent time with his M · E · T · A / M · U · S · I · C 12”, I am happy to report that the artist has constructed another imaginative, enigmatic, and deeply transportive sonic experience, though this time, the textures lean towards spiritual new age, oceanic etherfunk, psychotropic boogie, and cosmic library experimentation, with a vibe not so far from Pàscal’s deeply mystical Nero di Seppia 7”, as well as the more zoned out and gaseous cuts from The Mystic Jungle Tribe.

Milord - M · E · T · A / M · U · S · I · C (Pinchy & Friends, 2020) When I listen to “Transcendental Experience,” I imagine somehow traveling to the arcane video game environment pictured on the record sleeve and finding a hidden door behind the waterfall…a mysterious passage into the stone monolith leading to a spiritual soundbath of swirling galactic vapors and square wave leads that smear into a photonic haze. Liquified spheroids spin rapidly, gust of wind carry threads of shimmering space dust, and choral voices drone side to side until a calming kick beat enters the scene, which is eventually accented by snares, rimshots, claps, and tom tom pitter patter…a sort of understated rhythmic processional holding together orbiting formations of outer-dimensional gas while synthesized dolphin tracers dance through rainbow wormholes. “The Kemetist” follows, with a title hinting at resurrected Egyptian mythologies and a sonic world introduced by malfunctioning laser chatter and robotic bird laughter. A pulsating samba rhythm comes to life on rimshots, shakers, and kick drums and is soon livened by fat-bottomed tribal tom cascades and cracking snares that pitch-shift and phaser morph according to some psychotic dream logic. Hi-hats sketch out hypnotizing patterns as the melodic elements pull away, leaving distorted basslines that snap and growl with a sort futuristic post-punk energy while sparse chordscapes of melted glass drop the kind of wiggling anthemic hooks that could only come from the West Hill. Then, a panoramic conversation erupts across the stereo field, with brass-tinged mirage leads scatting on sunbeams in one ear and palm-muted spacefunk licks percolating in the other. All the while ethereal strings hover eternally and droning wisps of silver carress the spirit while Milord slowly peppers the background with deep space laser whooshes, percussive metals of alien origin, and wavefronts of aqueous static. It’s a world of swaggering future funk minimalism, including these ultra-confident bridges where the basslines break free from the rigid punk funk flow for snaking walks down the fretboard while psychoactive hazes and computronic noise bursts filter across the sky. There are even drops into pure electro-drum ritualism, with morphing snare panoramas, swinging laser drum cascades, and texture of percussive exotica approximating the screams of monkeys and the mating calls of birds of paradise.

The B-side opens in the dripping crystal caverns of “Infinite Balance,” wherein crumbled starlight falls over softened chords of volcanic glass. Angel choirs swim alongside laser light energy blasts as the beat drops, with kicks, snares, and toms firing like machine guns before settling into the groove. Massive bass synth pulsations move the body via pressurized wavefronts and as electrified clap cascades intermingle with flamboyant Latin prog tom rolls, panpipes calm the mind with their meditative paeans to the spirits of the sea. At some point, rocketing snare fills wash away the panpipes, which are replaced with squiggling West Hill-style leads…these searing solar energy scats of future fusion majesty that are trailed by malfunctioning machine gases, as if zany chord clusters and slip-sliding ascents are transmuting into the joyful songs of extra-terrestrial whales. During a section where the melodic elements recede, spaceage liquids drop over a shambolic percussion vibe out, with cowbells sparkling amidst towering tom tom flams, whipcrack snare and clap patterns, and burning currents of exo-planetary static. But eventually, the stoner funk basslines return to chug out their ambient dreamspells while glowing glass chordscapes support new age woodwind romantics. And by the end of the track, the mix reduces to asymmetrical kick drum echoes, blasting snares, and melted globules of twinkling light. Then in final track “Meta Music,” an introduction of cowbells, snare cracks, and flubbing tom patterns drops us into a sexual downtempo groover…a sort of boogie kissed chill-out strut into the depths of a paradise nightscape. Basslines throb nimbly as they saunter up and down, sometimes leaving huge chasms of silence between the sensual funk growls. Palm-muting guitars slide smoothly, fairy fantasy woodwinds intermingle with FM synth leads, and celestial orchestrations evoke rising cascades of starlight that disperse into a haze of dust. An extended passage of electro drumming sees shakers decaying like rattlesnake tails and silvery space leads floating alone in the void as the basslines continue their midnight funk walk, and as the strings and breathy pad layers return, the carry with them sparkling mermaid atmospherics that surround aquafunk guitar riffs, electrified idiophones made of seashell, and heatwave fusion leads that bend towards orgasm.

(images from my personal copy)

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alchemisland · 4 years

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An Madra Dubh

Part 1: Old Stone

This world's design is cruel. Optimists seek comforting notions. Horrible things are tempered by equal, opposing forces. For each infant cold in the cot, drowned in themselves, a newborn stirs across the sea. When a tempest tears a tree from its plinth which spills across the pathway and flattens a carriage of promising student veterinarians, a sapling yields, strains toward a drowning man. They seek a balance which does not exist.

Nor do I deny them such trifles. Contrary, I bid them heap on more cream. Fill your boots, sers. Many reputable thinkers fortify this thesis. I delve further, fearlessly deviate. Naturally as precedes endeavours outside mainstream interest, my revelations received no official sanction, nor were gratitudes paid or doubts benefitted.

I have discovered beyond quarrel that our world takes pleasure of our suffering. Nature wears a pleasant mask to obscure a starker, purer form; one too obtuse and horrifying to consider. A remnant of elden times when in the wild woods Echidna's scabrous brood feasted where and upon whom they pleased.

Aye. Dig down into the rent chest of the padlocked world. Sluice the viscera with your bare hands gloved and gleaming to find the very centre of this place, the black pit of swirling immensity feeding on our sin.

All my life I secreted a tale. Harboured it like a dead King's bastard through this life. Now that I'm ready to impart my tale, I feel too old, too tired. My mind is become disordered, stretched thin as a soldier's wit. Like bundled wool of rare quality hastily unspooled, it can only then be gathered and tally taken, never again returning to its globed, ordered form; the links, lines and angles of the balled material lost to chaos, beyond rekindling.

Cast your line once, trusting only your judgement that its placement be true and right. I age and stoop, my mantle lank and ashen. Near now are chin and knee when restful repose is taken, back arched as a cathedral should and a man should not.

My tale be written twice and spoken nowhere. It will be scribed here in ink upon the parchment in mine own hand, which ne'er before piqued disrepute's gorgon visage. It will be printed a second time in St. Peter's codex, should my morsel of piety prevail. Nowhere else shall it be written.

A mare in my health would be shot and consider it mercy. Not before time I'm aged yet feel unfairly cursed. Years flee from me like startled birds. Though always short their tailfeathers by a breadth, I'm tantalised nonetheless. One day I'll catch them. Like Eve supping with serpents, I'll grasp that bough of exodus and pluck for all my heathen heart when I do. I'll make downed pillows of their plumes to rest my head upon outside the newly-barred gates of paradise. So it is now, old beyond mercy and little slowed, I sleep cheek to burning sand outside Eden. Raw memories secret themselves where I am not and do not go. They are wild horses, braying like living chess pieces, unwilling to my mastery yield.

Are things destined to be, do you know? When the young world was formed, perhaps from another's ashes, had the Norns already woven the inchoate egg of man's falling.

Spectacles grand and quaint oft commence inauspiciously, my story no different. The morning my invitation arrived was like any other. That grim autumn when I felt old for the first time. Dawn found me restless, at court on the kitchen island reading the Chaldean's Chimera special, I bathed in the tallow light of newborn sun, waning daily in effulgence since August. The blurb offered that the truth's exclusive domain was the Chaldean's own black and white, minutely-fonted pages; in my opinion unsurpassed in the field of paranormal inquiry.

I sniffed the fluxing halo of steam wreathing the lip of my mug, came alive in its redolence. Coffee was rarer then. Still an exotic commodity matching guady tropical vignettes depicted on tins it came inside. A mushroom omelette swole threateningly on the stove, hissing more fiercely as it became drunk on the oil, prompting me to abandon my aromatherapy to bayonette its jaundiced exterior, deflating it.

Scene so set, come the marionettes.

Leaves exploded beneath postmaster Vincent Fogarty's new crawlers, received as a fiftieth birthday present from his beloved wife Ophelia, Queen of the Licked Stamp. As a bonus cherry mounting the cherry of his newfound stylishness, he unknowingly delivered the package himself, later framed as 'akin to mounting a ladder on your arse to help the monkey up your back'. Though I knew little of him, less of her, I pictured a solid union. Evenings with Vincent presiding over a gaming table, an estate map laid out flat with crockery denoting local area landmarks, plotting his optimal circuit.

Ophelia alongside him, guiding his hand toward the pieces, convincing him in whispers that her ideas were his, as women oft are forced when speaking sense. He Ceasar not yet returned from Gaul. She Calpurnia, chaste and powerful, downtrodden into even temperedness, but stately still.

As only postmen could, second in poise only to dancers, Vincent cleared the drive in four vast strides, pushed the envelope inside and stole away before the latch struck back. Mail staff are furtive creatures, like a manner of lesser fae.

I hastily opened the unexpected envelope with grease-silvered fingers, discarding the rent slip atop a cooling heap of xanthous matter. As I consumed its contents, a sense of latent something drew over me like a muse's sleeve. A sudden pregnancy of possibility, from which only one seed could germinate. This was some divergent fork, wholly outside the real.

By will alone I had longed into existence the materials of my later fortune. Many hours spent manifesting which exotic locales I would frequent given chance and half a crown were proffered now for my perusal. Opportunity called and I harkened her clarion. Scarcely finished reading, already my mind was thrilled by visions of windblown cliffsides, dark woodlands and my triumphant position therein.

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omegaplus · 4 years

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# 3,113

Guns N’ Roses “Paradise City” b/w “Used to Love Her” UK gun-shaped picture disc (1989)

According to USA Today, The UK and Wales seen 50-60 gun fatalities in a population of 56,000,000 people in 2016, averaging out to 1,000,000:1 odds of someone being murdered by them. Ask how the United States are doing on that one. In 1989, The UK saw a flood of guns coming into the country...guns shaped as picture discs, that is. Puns not pushed aside, Geffen had a heck of a way promoting Guns N’ Roses’ ultimate 1987 winner Appetite For Destruction, releasing “Paradise City” with a gun-shaped picture disc bearing the band’s namesake. There were other pressings of them uncut as a clear picture disc as well. The AA-side “Used to Love Her” had a fitting lyric “but I had to kill her”. With what, pray tell? No worries as it’s not about a murder or twisted fantasy of their bandmate’s ex-girlfriends. As Slash stated: it’s about Axl Rose burying his dog. It didn’t help matters any as critics thought the song was misogynistic and double on Axl whose ex-wife accused him of domestic abuse.

As all vinyl records need sleeves for safe-keeping, guns need holsters. Never fear as we’ll show you how to kill (oops) two birds with one stone...

#omega #music #mixtapes #reviews #playlists #guns #Guns N' Roses #rock #metal #Axl Rose #Slash #vinyl #picture discs

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cchattychinese · 6 years

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Traditional Chinese clothing

As a fundamental piece of Chinese human progress, conventional garments assumes an essential part in the nation's history and culture. Their essential highlights are cross-neckline, folding the correct lapel around the left, tying with a scarf and a type of shirt in addition to skirt or long outfit. These highlights have been safeguarded for a great many years till the season of the Republic of China (1912 – 1949AD) when Chinese Tunic Suit (Mao Suit) and cheongsam won. These days, be that as it may, most Chinese wear present day garments in their day by day lives, very little contrast from their western partners. Conventional clothing types are just worn amid specific celebrations, functions or religious events. Be that as it may, they are frequently found in Chinese TV serials and motion pictures. A significant number of the nation's ethnic minorities additionally wear their conventional outfits in their everyday lives and they assumed a critical part in the customary Chinese attire.

History

In view of chronicled revelations, Chinese garments go back to the later period of the Paleolithic Times (1.7 million years prior - the 21st century BC). Materials utilized were of creature skins and improvements were of little stones and creature teeth. The "genuine" garments were not created until around 5,000 years prior by the Yellow Emperor. By the Shang Dynasty (seventeenth century BC - 1046 BC), the fundamental highlights of customary Chinese Dress were made, and additionally the general example of the shirt in addition to the skirt. Afterward, the long outfit showed up amid the Zhou Dynasty (1046 - 256 BC) and it coincided with the pullover skirt blends for a great many years, enhancing further as time passed. At that point, an extraordinary change happened with the development of the Republic of China when Mao Suit wound up prevalent among the guys and cheongsam among the females. In the early time of the People's Republic of China, Mao Suit remained famous among guys, as well as females. Later in the 1970's, the point at which the nation executed change and opening approach, the majority bit by bit swung to western-style clothing.

Highlights

Notwithstanding the essential highlights and examples, customary Chinese Dress types have numerous different highlights like appearance, cutting, improvement, shading and outline, and so on, all of which changed over the different administrations. For instance, dark is the most stately shading in the Xia Dynasty (21st - seventeenth century BC), white in the Shang Dynasty and red in the Zhou Dynasty. They likewise differ in view of one's political position, economic wellbeing, occupation and sexual orientation, and so forth. For example, winged serpent weavings and brilliant yellow must be utilized by sovereigns more often than not; in the Tang Dynasty (618 - 907 AD), purple authority outfits are for the fifth or higher rank authorities; in the Qing Dynasty (1644 - 1911 AD), the higher a man's social status or the more extravagant one was, the more weavings and fringes there were on his clothing types.

Surely understood Fashion

Cheongsam Although the form incline changes after some time, there are a few sorts that are mainstream till today both at home and abroad.

Conventional Han Chinese Dress (Han Fu): It alludes to the clothing worn by the Han individuals from the enthronement of the Yellow Emperor (around 2698 BC) till the late Ming Dynasty (1368 - 1644 AD). It wound up known as the Han ("fu" signifies "garments" in Chinese) in light of the fact that the mold was enhanced and promoted amid the Han Dynasty. It is generally as long outfit, cross neckline, folding the correct lapel around the left, free wide sleeves and no catches yet a scarf. Albeit basic in outline, it gives distinctive sentiments to various wearers.

Chinese Suit (Tang Zhuang): It is a blend of the Manchu male coat of the Qing Dynasty and the western style suit. It is normally straight nabbed, with looped catches down the front. Its shading and configuration are in customary Chinese style however fitting is western.

Cheongsam (Qi Pao): Originated from the Manchu female garments, it developed by converging with western examples that hotshot the excellence of a female body. Its highlights are straight neckline, the strain on the midsection, wound catches and openings on the two sides of the dress. Materials utilized are normally silk, cotton, and cloth. Cheongsam is the most well known Chinese Dress on the planet today.

Chinese Tunic Suit (Zhongshan Zhuang): Also called the Yat-sen Suit, it is composed by Dr. Sun Yat-sen by joining the Western-style suit and Chinese Dress. It has a turn-down neckline and four pockets with folds. As Chairman Mao Zedong worn it much of the time, it is likewise called the Mao Suit by westerners. It is the primary clothing from the establishing of the People's Republic of China in 1949 until the 1980's. The nation's pioneers still wear it today when going to critical events, for example, military motorcades.

Different Types

Conventional Manchu Clothing: It is the customary dress of the Manchu ethnic nationality, for the most part as long outfit and in some cases with a coat or petticoat outside. Since Manchu is the main class of the Qing Dynasty and their dresses were emphatically advanced, this sort of garments was exceptionally prominent in that period. The attributes are round or straight neckline, secure with catches from the correct neckline and a scarf on the midsection, two or four openings, and tight sleeves with sleeves formed like steed feet.

Customary Clothing of the Other Ethnic Minorities: notwithstanding Manchu, the nation has 54 ethnic minorities and every one of them has their own particular one of kind ensembles. Dissimilar to the customary Han Chinese outfits, these ensembles are still generally worn today. Essentially, they can be isolated into two kinds: in length outfit and short coat with jeans or a skirt. They more often than not wear long outfits with caps and boots; others favor short coat and for the most part, wrap their head with material and wear shoes. Individuals wearing a similar kind of garments can be additionally recognized by the outfit points of interest like the structure, specialty and style, and so on. Take the long outfit for example. The Mongolian and Tu nationalities incline toward high caught outfit with catches down the front; the Tibet and Monba bunches wear the collarless outfit with catches on one side and the Uygur love those with catches on the right.

Winged serpent Robe: It is so named in view of the weaved mythical beasts on it. It must be worn by the sovereign, who was viewed as a mythical serpent from paradise in the antiquated circumstances. Different attributes of a mythical serpent robe are round neckline, catches on the privilege and more often than not in brilliant yellow.

Authorities' Uniform: Unlike present-day China, a wide range of authorities in antiquated circumstances had regalia. They are entirely recognized by hues, weaved examples and caps, and so on. For example, in the Ming Dynasty, the weaved design on a first rank common officer's uniform was a crane, second rank a brilliant bird, third rank a peacock, fourth rank a wild goose, fifth rank a silver fowl, 6th rank an egret, seventh rank a "purple mandarin duck", eighth rank an Oriole and ninth rank a quail.

Customary Wedding Costumes: Chinese conventional wedding ensembles shift in various lines and eras. Be that as it may, they are red more often than not as red is viewed as fortunate, glad and propitious in the nation's way of life. The most understood are red chaplet and authority robes, which are still generally worn today by recently married in customary style wedding functions or for taking wedding photographs.

#Chinese clothing

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noelynbocaling · 4 years

Text

bald as coot

in a nutshell

A screw loose

stiff upper lip

Time flies

put all your eggs in one basket

kick the bucket

head over heels

shadow of your former self

pull up your sock

piece of cake

cherry on the cake

walking on egg shell

on bended knee

cold feet

The cat's got your tounge

Got the cat by the tail

no room to swing a cat

tie the knot

keep your card close to your chest

heart on your sleeve

Born with a silver spoon in your mouth

spill the beans

something fishy

Big cheese

bird brain

1.ALLUSION:

“Don’t act like Romeo in front of her”-Romeo and Juliet-William Shakespeare

2.ANAPHORA:

“It was the best of times,it was the worst of time,it was the age of wisdom,it was the age of foolishness-A tale of Two Cities-Charles Dickens

3.EUPHEMISM:

“Royal wench!She made great Ceasar lay his sword to bed.He plowed her,and she cropped”-Antony and Cleopatra-William Shakespeare

4.EPIGRAM:

“To see a world in a grain of sand,And a heaven in a wild flower,Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,And eternity in an hour”-Auguries of Innocence-William Blake

5.LITOTES:

“I am no prophet and here’s no great matter”-The lovesong of J.Alfred Prufrock-T.S. Eliot

6.METONYMY:

“MARCELLUS:Something is rotten in the state of Denmark”.-Hamlet-William Shakespeare

7.OXYMORON

“As for believing things,I can believe anything,provided that it is quite incredible”-The Picture of Durian Grey-Oscar Wilde

8.MERISM:

“She bought the whole thing, lock ,stock,and barrel!”Lock,stock and barrel Sir Walter Scott

9.ANTITHESIS

“Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heav’n”-Paradise Lost-John Milton

10.IRONY:

“Nobody heard him,the dead man,but still he lay moaning:I was much further out than you thought and not waving but drowning”-Not Waving but Drowning-Stevie Smith

ROMEO AND JULIET

BY:WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE

The story of Romeo and Juliet is somehow good and different from the book that we read nowadays.The style of the author that used to write “Romeo and Juliet “is very passionate and poetic.The author spoiled his reader in a prologue part because even if I just read the prologue part,I can predict what will happen.The tone that the author used is very sympathetic because it proved by the two couple character who’s Romeo and Juliet.It gives arousing symphathy and a sexual desire to the readers.The book contains a lot of figure speech but most of it is metaphor and personification.When Benvolio said “Alas that love,so gentle in his view,Should be so tyrannous and rough in proof!”it shows personification.When Romeo said”Juliet is the sun” it shows metaphor.”It is the east,and Juliet is the sun”That quoted also shows metaphor.The author used diction in so many parts of the book .For example when Juliet said “ O shut the door!and when thou hast done so,Come weep with me;past hope,past cure,past help!.”And also the author used diction in this part but its far more moderate in the line of Friar Laurence said “It strains me past the compass of my wits:I hear thou must,and nothing may prorogue it,On Thursday next be married to this country”.Actually overall the story is good but its just the ending is very unexpected and the first time I read this book,I cried because of the ending.It so tragedy.

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theblovel · 6 years

Text

The Blovel #4

The brilliant, afternoon sun produces an invigorating beam upon her face. The warmth of the air caresses her skin. A cool breeze makes the humidity easier to tolerate. The sounds of birds unknown, and cheerful chatter and beautiful music pleases her. The possibilities of an unfamiliar land begs Charley to remember why it is good to treat herself at times. She works so hard to keep her florist a highly recommended business that she neglects the simple pleasures of a vacation far too often. As she inhales the air of the island paradise, she is at ease and completely soothed by the welcome of the D.R.

Charley, Ava and Myra arrive at the AirBnb that Charley booked. They drove past the impoverished country side as well as many resorts that Ava and Myra marveled at they but kept driving. Seeing the difference in life after leaving the airport was a complete culture shock for all of them. Ava seemed a bit annoyed at the passing of so many beautiful, luxurious possible places to stay. They arrive at their destination to the chagrin of one vacationer.

Ava offers, “Well this definitely is not a resort.”

Charley follows immediately, “Well Ava, remember, I booked this trip. I made the arrangements and I made the calls. I was trying to do you a solid.”

Ava came back, “You don’t have to throw stuff in my face Charley. I was just saying.”

Charley responded, “Well I’m just saying that the entire time on the plane you looked as if sitting in economy class was below your standards and that you deserve better. I spent my money on what made more sense. This place is amazing! We are going to have a good time and not worry about the silly shit, OK? I love you. Remember that, but sometimes you got to be reminded of what it is. Let’s go in and see where the money went. I know this is about to be all the live!”

All of the pictures and reviews suggested that this private property was a spectacular deal and an even better experience; at first glance, it is definitely more than Charley bargained for. It is a four bedroom villa with all the amenities! A beautiful view from every bedroom, a fully stocked refrigerator with fresh vegetables and fruit, granite countertops, every type of rum you can imagine, recessed lighting, hardwood floors, fresh flowers in every room, a private pool, jacuzzi, beach access and it even came with a butler!

Myra yells, “Charley!!! Look at this view! This is amazing!”

Charley offers, “Girl I’m telling you! This is our villa for the next four days and we are about to live it up!”

Ava retorts, “I thought you were off dick right now? What are you planning to do if you run into Mr. Clean from the airport?”

Charley takes a moment, sits upon the cushioning of the dark brown wicker rocking chair at the back entrance of the private villa near the pool, takes a deep breath and says, “If we meet it was meant to be, if we don’t my life continues.”

Myra returns, “Bitch, did you see this pool and jacuzzi? We are gonna act up out here!”

Ava turns to Myra, “Look, we are not turning up with you out here. We came to have a good time and relax and just chill. Besides, my husband would not approve of such things from his wife.”

Myra speaks directly to Ava saying, “But your husband didn’t pay for this trip for you; Charley did. He hasn’t done much for you since you took him back after cheating on you. I don’t even know why you…”

Charley interrupts, “Hey! We are out here in paradise. Y’all can argue at home! Now fix this or be done with it because I don’t want to hear this no more while I’m on vacation for the first time in six years. Y’all have it out now or drop that shit.”

In the middle of their brief shouting match, a dark skinned, medium height gentleman dressed in a white, short-sleeved, long pants outfit emerged from an unknown area within the villa holding a sterling silver serving tray and three ice cold deep red beverages. His name tag said “Winston”. He began, “Que lo que ladies. My name is Winston and I will be your butler for the next four days while you stay here at this villa. I will do my best to remain discreet, but I will be here to make your stay as easy as possible. If you need anything, please ask. If you need me and I am not present, please pick up the phone and dial the number by the phone. I stay a few properties down so it will not take me long to respond. You have fresh towels in each of your rooms and I will do your dishes and towels daily. Please take a mamajuana and enjoy your stay ladies.” Winston offers a smile towards Charley. He is attracted to her but must remain loyal to his responsibilities. His glance is short lived as he remembers he is in a domestic capacity. Both Ava and Myra notice the brief interaction.

The ladies take their drinks from Winston and he retires to the lair from which he came. Myra begins, “Charley did you know we would have a butler and a fine ass, bald head, dark-skinned brother all in one? He gonna be here everyday girl?”

Charley responded, “I believe so but I’m gonna check with the owner just to see. I knew we would have a butler but the access he has makes me feel a bit weird. Let me see if that’s the case.”

As Charley leaves to confirm, Ava grabs Myra by the arm, “You are not about to fuck the butler. We did not come all the way here for you to have sex with the butler.”

Myra pulls away from Ava, “You better worry about you and yours. I’m good. If I want to fuck Winston, I will. You can’t tell me who and who not to fuck Ava. I’m not your baby sister any more. You don’t have to protect me.”

Ava relinquishes her grip, “Fine Myra. Do what you want to do. Just remember who told you not to when it becomes more than you bargained for.”

As Ava and Myra break apart and go to their respective rooms, Charley ensures of Winston’s whereabouts around the villa with the owner and takes a moment to admire the setting sun. Charley rarely observes the natural beauty of the world. The setting sun’s bright oranges and yellows and hot pinks in the clear blue sky reminds her of just how much of the worlds she is missing. Being so enamored with her business leaves Charley tired and worn down. Though she is committed to her business, she still longs to have more out of life.

As night begins to fall over the island, Charley offers to the ladies the planned itinerary for their stay in the D.R., “So tonight we’ll have dinner here. I planned to have a nice homemade dinner that I will make for us and then afterwards there is this club that is in a cave that I heard we have to experience. We can catch a taxi to the club and just have a fun night out.”

After the ladies enjoyed the meatless mofongo that Charley prepared and a few rum and pineapple juice beverages, they got ready for their night out. All of the ladies looked breathtaking! Charley wore a yellow, spaghetti strap dress that couldn’t help but to accentuate the curves that she can’t keep men from noticing. Ava wore a silver, sequin dress that hugged her shapely body with a neckline that dipped low on her cleavage. Myra wore a bright pink off the shoulder dress that fit but wasn’t nearly as flattering as Charley’s or Ava’s; Myra was a young girl and hadn’t learned what made her curves look just right the way Charley and Ava have. All the ladies wore heels and carried small clutch purses. Charley called for a cab and as it arrived the ladies all seemed to be in good spirits. They get into the cab and are excited about their first night out.

Charley started, “So we all know the rules right? No one leaves the group no matter what and no one brings anyone back home to the villa ok?”

Ava adds, “You got that Myra?”

Myra responds, “Stop coming for me Ava.”

Ava offers, “I’m just saying.”

Myra suggests, “You’re always just saying something.”

Charley quiets the ladies down and reminds them to leave the bickering at home and to enjoy this time in paradise. As the taxi pulls up to the club, the ladies exit and see an array of people standing outside of the club. Many men turn to notice them and begin to speak to them, but none of the ladies speak Spanish. As they walk towards the main entrance the aggression of the island men becomes more uneasy as they continue to advance towards the ladies. Charley is leading the ladies away from the herd of men trying to gain their advances. She bargains with the club security as the men outside of the club are still putting bids in for Ava and Myra. Miraculously Charley gets the favor of the security guard and gets them into the club without paying.

They walk down this corridor to the entrance of the club that proved to be pretty difficult for most of the women who had heels on to walk down, but these ladies were exquisite and handled it with grace. They then must walk up a small path to where the party was. The music was loud. The lights were flashing. People were dancing and some were making out on the dance floor. The ladies immediately hit the bar and each desire a drink. Charley reminded them of the dangers of consuming the water in the D.R. as foreigners and told them to get beverages without ice. Charley orders mamajuanas for all three and they begin to find their little nest in the cave.

The music takes control of everyone. People are in a trance as the base pumps through the speakers and shakes the walls. Many are intoxicated and have clothing loosely hanging on but they can’t stop dancing to the music. The ladies remain close together though many men have tried their hands at each of them trying to get them away from the group. Charley shakes her head saying no to a shorter man with bulky glasses and a half open shirt. He tries to pull her in against her wishes after her suggestion of no but somehow stops short. His eyes affix upon something beyond Charley. She can see how his aggression quickly changed to apprehension. Charley saw the bulky glasses guy put his hands up and retreat but he wasn’t looking at Charley. She wasn’t sure exactly what happened. She turned around to see what caused the smaller man to alter his advances and there he was; it was Buxton.

#TheBlovel #fiction #short story #short fiction #weekly series #blogged novel #JTeheren #the blovel

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