#Mc said fuck all the snakes and liars

[chosovixen]

hi! can you do a drabble wherein the mc gets princess treatment nsfw pls oikawa or atsumu please

i had to research this, and i still don't understand, so if this isn't right i'm sorry!!

NSFW!!  

“baby please,” oikawa whined. he’d been trying to cheer you up for the past hour, but you weren’t having any of it. you sat on the soft cushions of the comically enormous couch—arms crossed over your chest as he pleaded with you. “princess please look at me.”

you shook your head, a small pout still spread across your plush lips. “you’re a liar,” you spat out and pulled away when he reached out and hold you. 

“baby no, i was really busy.” and he was, you just didn’t care enough to understand. his priorities were to only be you, so what was so hard? “it was a really important meeting. i’m sorry i got here so late, we can always have dinner somewhere else.”

“i wanted to got there, they’re the only place that has what i like” you sneered, now looking at him, half-lidded eyes as you tried to control the anger that was building. 

“yes i know, but we missed the reservation.” you glared at him. “i-i missed our reservation, so please let's just go somewhere else.” he corrected while trying to grab onto your hand, but you again pulled away and sighed.

“i don’t want anything else. you never listen to me,” trying to make your way off the couch to get past him was no hope as he pulled you back down. oikawa shook his head at you—watching as you flopped back.

“well if you don’t want to do anything else, can i at least do something for you?” you raised an eyebrow and waited for him to continue. “so that i can apologize?” you were intrigued, so you softened slightly. he then pushed you back further onto the couch with his large but slender hand against your chest. 

“wha-” and before you could question him, he was snaking his hands up your fitted dior dress with ease. 

“i promise i’ll make it up to you,” he spoke in between kisses up your thigh, and you could only moan as you felt his fingers curl at the hem of your underwear—yanking slightly at the material. you lifted just enough for him to pull them down and when they were finally discarded he wasted no time dipping his head between your legs. his warm breath tickled your exposed cunt, and you shuddered at the feeling. he watched as you squirmed—bottom lip between your teeth as you bit down softly. 

“please. i need you,” a small whimper escaped your trembling lips as oikawa continued to tease. 

“i got you, princess. i got you,” he panted. with one long lick from your hole to your clit you were a moaning mess—head thrown back as your nails scratched the cushioning beneath you. he sucked and slurped your puffy bud, swirling his tongue gently every so often. 

“fuck. harder, please,”

“i know baby.”

he obliged and sucked hard, making you yelp, back arching as your hips pushed further into his face. he held your legs in place as he now sped up once feeling you grab at his hair and so eager to get you to cum, oikawa’s teeth nibbled softly at your bud, and you could feel yourself clenching, nearly coming on the spot. 

“please. i’m gonn-”

he came up for air and whispered, “i know, baby, fuck-cum all over my face,”  before taking his place back between your legs and sucking harshly on your clit. you came undone all over his pretty face after a few more licks and wet kisses. your legs felt numb, and your breathing was rapid as you tried easing yourself through your orgasm. 

oikawa got up from in front of your pulsating cunt and bent down to pick your tired body up. you instantly wrapped your arms and legs around him as he began to walk towards your shared bedroom. 

“am i forgiven?” he asked with a hushed tone, trying his best not to alarm you.

“no,” you bluntly stated.

he frowned, thinking perhaps he could buy you a dress or nice shoes to make up for it, but you interrupted his thought. inputting a request of your own.

“i want you to fuck me till i can’t remember why i was mad.” you sluggishly said while placing pouty kisses on his lips.

and a smile began to spread across oikawa’s face because he knew he would be able to fulfill that request with no problem.

[mskinkyafro]

BFFR! I’m HEARTLESS? Nah this is returning MF ENERGY!

Miss Mama sit this out, before you get ate up too. I was handing Meera her asshole in her hand bc it’s what she deserved. You damn right I paid 5 diamonds for it. All that barking for Alfie’s dusty ass and he let you high in dry 🤷🏾‍♀️ Why should I care?

You cross her once, that’s pretty much it. A straight up Goofy you ended up being smh.

[luckyqueenreign]

Suresh Route Episode Summary: 36

LAST ONE BESTIES ... I HATE THIS TWO EPISODE A WEEK BS

Spoilers under the cut...

Alfie keeps looking at us...boy your answers aren't in my eyes. AVERT YOUR EYES!! this gave me SUCH season 5 Michael and Joanna vibes. "If you found what you were looking for you'd leave" Johnny/Nicolas keeps inserting himself into their chat...super annoying I wanted to slap him.

Dana asks you here what you think of Alfie staying and you can tell her you're happy, not happy, unsure...I told her me and alfie were NEVER going to happen so he was making a mistake. Just want to make it clear as day I want Suresh 😩

The islanders go help those losers pack...Meera gets all in her feelings that the public and Alfie dont like her so why should we? GIRLY YOURE RIGHT! WE DONT! again here you can be mean / nice. I will forever choose mean options with Meera...🤷‍♀️ she made an enemy out of me. Sorry not sorry. Kat says nice things to Meera 🙄 and the girls rally around her...BOO! but I guess gabi is right she is leaving. AHHH FOR 5 GEMS U CAN PUT MEERA IN HER PLACE!!! WORTH IT!

MEERA GEM SCENE - U can tell her off for being an absolute snake to you since casa, siding with Johnny/Nicolas, being an overall cow. It was great and you do get an apology out of her so worth it in my opinion

MC is left alone in the room with Johnny/Nicolas who is griping about all the drama with Meera/Alfie....this fucking guy🙄. but he tells you he wants to tell you all about his master plan and that he has dirt on your HUBBY...YOUR CHOICE IN WHO U MARRY MATTERS!!!!

Johnny/Nicolas GEM SCENE - I had Johnny so he talks about how much of a liar he is lol and how hes been fabricating stories for ages now...great so why should I believe anything u say now...he tells us how he was going to pick a girl or more than one and basically see what was special about them and ride that out until the end. OK So here's what he said about your hubbys biggest turn on...I married Suresh 🫣 "Good thing its not patience...Suresh told me his biggest turn on is...powerful women" He wants a women in charge, who can take control and not afraid to tell him off. (ARE WE GOING TO GET TO TELL HIM OFF!?!)

Meera and Johnny/Nicolas leave...BYEEEEE and the islanders all find out about his "plan" to turn everyone against each other. They all apologize to MC. LMAOOOO if you said good riddance to her the last time she calls you out on it now....💀💀💀💀💀💀

Alfie is all sad about Meera and being single and collects his things to go sleep outside on the daybeds. I offered to talk to him but he said he wanted to be alone. not sure if that's because I've been pushing him away and choosing the options to not be with him.

Finn pulls MC to go chat in the bathrooms.......and turns on the showers so no one can hear them talking. He is asking about Alfie...again not sure if this is because I pied Finn off earlier - I would assume so. He asks me if I wanted to couple up with Alfie and I said no that we're just friends. Finn says that Alfie might be regretting not going with Meera. (THEN LEAVE THEN) ARE YOU KIDDING ME FB YOU DIDNT EVEN GIVE US THE OPTION TO BONE FINN OR NOT?!?! THATS THE CLIFFHANGER.....😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡😡 I HATE IT HERE .....Also im not going to do it bc clearly our choices are starting to matter and if I want suresh I dont think shower sex is the way to go 😩

[twistedmusings]

#22 "It's nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today" with a half awake leona and his very warm, pillow aka mc

A/N: The writer is currently laying out on the metaphorical floor because she feels like her writings are super weak...but I am a Leona simp before I am a depressed person so we are still writing this. 

Warnings: Soft Leona, that deserves a warning. 

Leona Kingscholar 

What a miracle that he didn’t hear Ruggie’s voice. 

Leona was used to hiding from the second year, not really wanting his nap to be interrupted by the annoying hyena and his constant demands that dealt with this school’s stupid schedule. He had already taken every single goddamn class twice, he didn’t need to attend any dumbass lectures. 

All he really wanted to do was sleep, lay himself out in the grass or on a warm bed and let the day waste away without his thoughts bothering him. 

Sleep was the only time he didn’t feel like he was the useless second born. He was just a beast enjoying a well deserved nap. 

He lets out a small growl when he hears the birds start to sing outside his window, cursing the fact that the nights in Savannaclaw had grown hotter which led him to open his window. The cool breeze had been wonderful at nighttime but the fucking birds were starting to get louder and the light was coming through the window so harshly that it was starting to wake him up--

A slide of curtains was heard as the bird flew away, a quiet whisper telling them to ‘run away’ before silence returned to the room. The furrow in his brow slowly started to relax while small busy noises made his ears twitch in curiosity. 

That certainly wasn’t Ruggie. The hyena would be opening the windows even more and would possibly bring in a whole band of Savannaclaw students to rile him into screaming at them to leave his room, effectively keeping him from going back to sleep now that he was all angry and needed to let it out. 

Yet this person not only didn’t smell like a beastkin but was doing their best to keep quiet as they moved about the room. 

“If you’re trying to steal something...” 

The movement stopped. 

“You better realize that I will rip out your throat the moment you make it to the door.” 

His tail flicks lazily as the stranger takes a moment before footsteps started getting closer and closer to the bed. A full frontal attack? What the hell did this herbivore think they were--

“Leona-senpai.” 

Oh. It’s you. 

One green eye peeks out from a tired eyelid, Leona’s cheek pressed against the pillow as he got a better look at your face. You were smiling, looking at him as if he was a newborn kitten instead of a true king. If it was anybody else he would have immediately roared at them to get away from him but he found that he didn’t necessarily mind you getting this close. 

“Ruggie-senpai said he had something to take care of so I will be in charge of you today.” you prop one elbow on his bed as Leona hums at the news, “I came in pretty early to try and give you time to wake up.”

“What time is it?” 

“Seven in the morning.” 

Leona groans as he moves his had so that it is covered by the pillow while you walk back to his desk. The warm darkness slowly lulling him back to sleep but your voice calling out to him bringing him right back. 

Damn you. 

“I made the room darker and even brought you breakfast. I used to have trouble waking up as well but I found that giving myself time to wake up was probably the bes--” 

“Herbivore.” 

“...yes?” 

“C’mere.” 

You take two steps forward to the bed. 

“Closer.” 

Two more. 

“You know what the hell I mean, get closer.” 

You giggle and kneel by the side of his bed, grinning as you prop both elbows up this time to really look at the dorm leader. 

“You know, Leona-senpai, one of these days you are going to find yourself waking up at seven and you are going to think that this isn’t so ba---AAAH!” 

Your vision tumbles as you feel a hand pull on the back of your collar, dragging you onto the bed, flipping you to the other side of the mattress and long legs effectively locking you in place as Leona wrapped himself around you. 

How the hell? It took the third year three seconds to grab you, flip you over to the cooler side of the mattress and then just wrap himself around you like a snake?!

“Let go you big overgrown kitten!! Ruggie-senpai is paying me--” 

“Liar. Ruggie would rather die than pay someone to do the work for him.” 

You huff. Bastard called your bluff. 

“Well Jack is waiting for us--!” 

“He is running with Schoenheit today.” 

“Then--” 

“One more lie and I’m biting you.” 

Your cheeks grow red as Leona’s hands wrap around your waist and pull you close.

“...” 

“Hah? No answer? Do you actually want me to do that?” 

“Please stop talking.” 

He chuckles in your ear, the sound rough and low in your ear as you feel your eyes growing heavier. Shit, you had made the atmosphere so perfect. There was no way he was going to wake up. 

You shiver as the dorm leader rubs his forehead against your shoulder, shifting around so he gets comfortable before taking a deep breath. 

“It’s nice that your voice was the first thing I heard today.” he mumbles against your skin, “But you really didn’t think this through...” 

“I didn’t think you were..." 

Leona smiles as he hears your defeated sigh, feeling your body relax and shift in order to get comfortable. 

“...we sleep for one hour and that’s it...” 

“Mmm. Whatever you say, herbivore.” 

[katsukikitten]

Hell Bound 2

Katsuki notices that with each howl of the wind you snuggle deeper into your scarf, often checking your jacket sleeve to make sure all of the buttons are secure. He knows that they are all neatly fastened as he did them himself but there was nothing he could do about the biting air seeping into your bones.

All the while you drink in the sight before you, thoughts swimming with the swirls of the ornate roof tops, staring up at the large gate to the shrine.

A harsh wind carries with it the threatening scent of snow causing your teeth to chatter, Bakugou elbows you then. Palm held upwards towards you. Hesitation grips onto your body as you look up into normally harsh scarlet eyes.

“I won’t bite, damn.” He says, nudging his open hand against your fist. You see a small blush creeping along his cheeks and take the rare opportunity to tease him.

“What if I want you to?” It comes out as a flirtatious purr, earning you a quick glance from Urarka-san who quickly turns away with flushed cheeks as she reads the language between you two.

A deadly smirk washes over his kissable lips as you take his palm, he leans in lips beside your ear as he speaks in a husky tone.

“Then I won’t disappoint.” What he wants to do is bite your ear then but instead he pulls you along towards the whole reason why you were here.

 The Ema are neatly stacked, both the clean slates and the filled ones as you approach the covered walls. Markers are piled nicely by the clean slates as you grab one, suddenly feeling the weight of all of the wishes in the open courtyard.

You stare at the small plank of wood before deciding on your wish.

Scarlet eyes watch closely as your fierce handwriting dances across the board.

‘Happiness for my friends’

His lip curls, as he is about to tell you that you’re supposed to wish good fortune for yourself he watches an idea form in your head. You grab for another board and try your best to hide what you are writing from your tethered friend.

‘A boyfriend too please I don’t need one but it would be nice’

He bites back his snort, watching you place it gently among the other planks when you turn to face him he acts disinterested, his free hand shoved deep into his pocket. He feels the chain pull as you reach for what he thinks is your third wish before he finds the wood being pressed into his chest.

“What’s this?” He snarls out of habit, somehow you do not shrink away or growl back as you normally do. He begins to wonder if all of this time bound together has gotten you so used to his gruff attitude.

“You have to make a wish too Katsu…” You clear your throat, “Bakugou.”

He stares down at you harshly, the capped marker and corner of the wood beginning to bite through his jacket, he sighs.

“You can say Katsuki ya brat.” He grabs for the wood with his left hand, “Now how am I supposed to write?”

“I’ll angle myself like this.” You turn your body closer to his blocking your left wrist and his right, “Now we look like an overly affectionate couple and people won’t look.”

You giggle at the end, he tells himself not to like the sound.

But one can only lie to themselves for so long. He stares down at the Ema not knowing what to wish for for the first time in his life.

Before he would have known what to write without question, ‘Number One Hero or else Kamisama’ but now he finds himself at loss.

Then the marker moves on its own as you furrow your brows in question.

‘I wish for her safety and happiness’

Had Bakugou have a crush that you were unaware of? Regardless you smile almost stunned that he would write a wish other than himself.

He places it then offers you his hand to which you take without any hesitation, snuggling into his warmth anytime the wind whipped through your jacket.

“Y/N! Y/N! Good news! Kirishima lied to Sensei and said his project was locked in the classroom. Sensei agreed to letting him in! Kirishima is going to grab random papers and the key tomorrow! Aren’t you excited?!” Mina throws herself onto you, flashing her boyfriend’s phone with waiting for approval.

“I think they are starting to look like a real couple though..” Denki says nudging Kirisima, earning a glare and an elbow to the ribs. Scarlet eyes gauge your reaction, your hand loosens just a hair, pulling Bakugou’s heart.

“It’s just pretend though….” You gulp, eyes holding some emotion that Katuski cannot place, “We actually don’t like each other much.”

With that Bakugou drops your hand barely letting his fingers brush against yours. Your heart sinks into the pit of your stomach, push past the feeling lacing your fingers back with his own.

He glares down at you with a heated gaze, if you ever had a chance before you sure as hell ruined it now. You gulp but choke on the lump in your throat as you’re guided to the train to return home.

💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣

 The day yawns into night, the two of you choosing to opt out of the festivities to count down the New Year and instead retreat to your room. Bakugou is far from tired despite today’s adventure and the lack of sleep the night before. He is tense as he replays the day, memories fixating on you from both lack of choice and repetition. He sighs when your skin brushes against his but he cannot deny that it relaxes him some. He fishes for his phone, using his left hand as much as he can to avoid disturbing you, that and he is not sure if he would be able to resist your touch should you curl any closer to him.

‘We actually don’t like each other much.’ The words echo in his head causing him to suck his teeth.

He scrolls idly trying to let social media consume him only for his feed to shove couple pictures down his throat. Todoroki and Momo at the shrine, Kirishima and Mina at the shrine.

Fucking Deku and Urarka at the shrine, he goes to exit out of the gram when he spies a picture of the two of you.

Looking every much a couple as the real ones. You’re looking up at him some type of way, your look softened and seemingly only for him. Your hands intertwined as he gazes down at you.

This was when you were pressing the Ema into his chest with blatant force.

Had you looked at him like that then?

Damn you were a good liar weren’t you?

He goes to the home screen searching for anything before he reluctantly plays an old mobile game.

Reluctant only because he has been stuck on this particular level for much longer than he’d like to admit. The colors of his screen start to catch your eye, capturing your attention as the answer jumps out at you. You take your cuffed hand and swipe across the glass before it flashes three out of three stars.

“Oooii”,” He growls but begins to fly through the levels behind it, “Did ya fucking look it up?”

You giggle that damn giggle again before turning your attention to your own phone.

“No, just a fresh perspective.” You begin tapping at your screen smiling as you do. Curiosity gets the better of Bakugou as he grabs for your phone.

“OI!” It is your turn to shout as he holds the phone away from you, pressing yourself into his body as you attempt to reach your phone, “Stop!”

“Why? I just want to give you some fresh perspective on your game.” He smiles wickedly before turning the screen to face him. He blinks slowly as he digests what is on the screen. An animated man dressed to the nines, a slight flush to his cheeks. Obviously trying to avoid whatever affection MC is giving him.

“Is this one of those fucking OTME games?” He snorts, “You get the recommendation from Denki?”

This time he laughs and embarrassment melds hot with rage in your cheeks. Scarlet eyes rove over the three options as your fist finds his solar plexus.

“OOOF”

You snatch your phone before settling down, he turns onto his side to watch you play. You glare at him as he gestures for you to go on before you stare at your screen. Unsure what option to pick, five minutes tick by.

“Oi, what are you waiting for?” He hisses interest fading fast, you bare your teeth at him before admitting.

“Look, this is the character I’m after…” Before you can finish he picks the middle option, you’re furious, there is no replaying this scene without starting over. If this leads you to a bad ending you’ll just have to kill Bakugou Katsuki.

Where you expected a shake of the tough guys head instead comes a bigger flush.

‘B..baka…Don’t say such things so frivolously…’

You watch the screen flash the character’s main portrait with the intimacy level filling all the way up. Something you had yet to be able to do.

“How did you…” You stare as you begin to prepare for the next part of the story.

“He’s a fucking tsundure. They act all tough but they’re all soft and shit.” He yawns as he watches you play quietly for the next twenty minutes. The men on the screen seem to pine for your attention, saying all sorts of devotions. Were you always this hungry for attention and affection?

You didn’t act like it during class or even when Denki tried to ask you out. In fact you seemed cold only ever spiking any sort of emotion when you were around Bakugou.

And that was solely ever wrath or rage.

The thought snakes its way to his heart, coiling it in a tight vice. He swallows thickly, it does nothing to alleviate the pain in his chest.

“Is this what you want in a boyfriend?” He asks aloud, he notices the dusting on your cheeks.

“Well…” You start but cannot bring yourself to finish. Your man of choice flashes across the screen. Hand held out, eyes averted as he says something so damn sweet. Bakugou sucks his teeth beside you.

“I could be a better boyfriend.” He selects your option for you again, you think for sure he is going to sabotage it this time, but your “intimacy” levels all the way up once again. You side eye him while crimson eyes bore into your screen.

“You? A boyfriend?”

He thinks of your wish, he thinks it wouldn’t be so bad to fulfill it. Shit he had to be better than a virtual one.

Then again a virtual one hardly ever had a real temper.

“Yes me, a boyfriend.” Is his only reply. Your brain goes into hyper drive as you let the question sink in.

“Wa…wait are you asking me out?”

“FIVE!” The rest of the class downstairs begins to shout, reaching all the way up to the two of you enveloped in the intimacy of your room. Somehow you deepen in hue as you become hyperaware of your proximity

He holds your gaze carefully biting the inside of his lip.

“FOUR!”

“Depends, you might not like me once we are uncuffed. You claimed you’d rather be tethered to grape shit head than me. ‘We don’t like each other much.’” His voice dips dangerously low as he repeats your words back. He tucks some hair behind your ear as your heart races.

“THREE”

“I…” Words lodge in your throat.

“TWO”

He can no longer deny that he wants to be some sort of happiness in your life, especially so after seeing that you’d rather turn towards a program than a human being for any sort of affection. He watches your lips in the low light, you do not speak further but you do not avert your gaze.

“ONE! HAPPY NEW YEAR!” The rest of the class screams from the common room. Bakugou’s body moves on its own accord as he leans in kissing you gently, bringing in the new year with you. He goes to pull away, staring into your glittering eyes, stomach twisting as he thinks of your laugh

Of your smile

And how selfishly he wants it all for himself.

“The offer still stands after we are freed tomorrow.” With that he turns onto his side giving you his back.

‘B…baka’  Your phone echoes out in the darkness, you lock the screen and stare at the ceiling as if it had the answers.

It gives you nothing but more questions in return.

[santoteez]

In The Bronx - Hongjoong (4)

Part: 4 of (?)

Part 5 HERE!

Genre: Drugdealer!Hongjoong, Drugdealer! SeonghwaAU, Eventual Angst, Eventual Smut, Eventual Fluff

Word Count: 2.6k

Requested: no

Warnings: MC is a black female, mentions of drugs, mentions of child neglect & abandonment, swearing, Hongjoong’s brother is inspired by Mingi

NOTE: This fic does NOT, in any way, shape, or form, portray the way I view any member of Ateez nor does it depict their true personalities or actions. This AU is just that. An AU.

The ride back to The Bronx was eerily silent. After parking outside the building, Seonghwa helped Minjoon out of the car and inside the house while Santana carried the food inside. They didn’t risk not buying it, knowing Minjoon will always remember food no matter the circumstances. That, and Popeyes was his favorite and considering what has just gone down, he’s gonna need at least one good thing.

“The fuck does this kid eat? He’s built like a brick wall.” Seonghwa said, a loud crack coming from his back as he stretched.

“He’s not the star quarterback for nothing,” Santana said, eating a biscuit.

“You eating that with no drink?” Seonghwa asked, grabbing a carton of Minute Maid from the fridge. “You might as well choke yourself to death.”

“It’s not THAT dry.” Santana rolled her eyes.

“And I’m not THAT rude. Let’s all be liars for the night.”

“You really think he’s gonna confess?” Santana asked, staring off into space.

“Seonghwa sighed. “I hope he doesn’t but knowing HJ, he thinks we’re all better without him. He always spoke about turning himself in if some shit went down, but I always brushed him off. I let my guard down; didn’t think anything would happen. We were always so careful. You know, there was a time I almost stopped hustlin’.” He poured juice into a glass and handed it to Santana.

“Word?” She asked. “I ain’t know that.”

He nodded. “Around my 20th birthday. I had finally made enough money to put myself through school. Since I was a kid, I wanted to be a chef. Like Bobby Flay or some shit. This shit was only meant to be temporary. After all, when they ask you your occupation, ain’t no box to check off for ‘drug dealer.’ I was ready, I had spoken to Snake and everything.”

“So if you were so ready to leave, what happened?”

“On what was supposed to be my last day, Snake retired. Left the whole place to HJ.” He filled a glass for himself, putting the carton back. “HJ ain’t know shit. I was planning on telling him after my last drop. It’s not like I was going anywhere. I’d still fuck with him outside the trapping shit. His first order in power? Making me second in command. It was then I realized just how close we were. He had just inherited an EMPIRE, and his first thought was to bring me up with him. Snake gave me a knowing look when I made a complete 180, assuming the position. It was like he knew. That HJ would choose me, that I’d say yes. He always called us the dynamic duo. In the past two years, I’ve come to believe it. Now you see why I can’t just let him rot. I gotta go get my brother.”

“Please tell me you didn’t drink all the cherry limeade.” Santana and Seonghwa turned to see Minjoon standing in the doorway.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Come eat some of this chicken you made me buy.” Seonghwa said, waving him over.

Minjoon grabbed some chicken, and the room was silent for a while.

“You didn’t tell me where Hongjoong is.” Minjoon broke the silence.

“Maybe we should wait till morning, Youngblood.” Seonghwa said.

“Nah, I don’t think we should,” Minjoon shook his head. “I’m tired of being kept in the dark. Being told I’m too young. Somebody better start talking.”

Santana grabbed his shoulder. “Minjoon, calm down.”

“Nah. You heard him, he’s grown. He’s gotta hear this. You know that lil packing job your brother has at Costco? It’s bullshit. All the paystubs, the uniform he carries in his backpack. It’s all a front. Your brother’s a drug dealer. Actually, no. He’s a fucking KINGPIN. He runs the shit! Your brother has been running an entire street pharmacy under your know for YEARS and you knew nothing. You think Costco was giving him all that money to buy you shit? Headphones, Jordans, backpacks, that big ass bed you have, this sectional couch?”

Minjoon opened his mouth but didn’t know what to say.

“Minjoon, say something,” Santana said.

“How’s that possible? There have never been any drugs here. No guns, nothing. I know I would’ve noticed a kilo of fucking cocaine by now.”

“Every morning he’d drop you off at school, he’d come back to the house and bag what he brought in from the night before. All that time you thought he was sleeping, he was bagging up product. A few minutes before he left to go get you, I’d swing by, pick up the product, take it back to the warehouse. That way, he’d get work done and you’d never see an ounce.”

“So it was all a lie.” Minjoon shook his head. “He’s a fucking criminal.”

“Shut up,” Seonghwa said, his voice rising.

“Seonghwa.” Santana started.

“No. I gotta say this, Santana. Your brother lied to you, boo fuckin’ hoo. You know what else he did? Became your legal guardian at 18. He was a fucking kid, and he took on another child. Raised you since you were 13. By himself. There’s grown people out here who are struggling to take care of their own kid, and here comes HJ, making it look so fucking easy! You’ve never starved. Never fallen asleep too cold or too hot. He’s ran his own body into the ground so you can live like a fucking prince. He sleeps on a fucking couch! And he wakes up from it with a smile on his face! When he does sleep. Between being up all-night making money and up most of the day packing product AND driving you to school and back, it’s a surprise he has any time for Santana. I’m not saying he’s perfect. But he’s all you got. And that more than enough. So stop being so fucking ungrateful.”

Minjoon sighed. “I’m sorry, Seonghwa. I never thought of it that way. And I’m sorry to you, Santana. You deserve to spend more time with the guy you want to be with. It’ll be different from now on, I promise you.”

Santana smiled, resting her head on his shoulder.

“That’s right, Youngblood. Be a man. The sun’s gonna come up soon. I should head to the warehouse, make sure it’s clean. Stick together, especially this weekend. Take care of each other until HJ is back. He will be back, if it’s the last thing I do.” Seonghwa said, getting up from the couch. “Santana, lock the door.”

When Minjoon was out of range, Seonghwa whispered to Santana. “Make sure he straight, it’s a lot of information to take in for a kid, no matter how grown he thinks he is.” Santana nodded, locking the door.

“You knew all of this, and you still said yes to being with him?” Minjoon asked when Santana sat back down.

“I see past it all. Your brother is no blockhead. He’s intelligent. Talented. Caring. Look at all the things he’s done for you. He threw himself into a world of danger out of love for you. He’s been saving up to send you to college, disregarding his own dreams. It’s always ‘Minjoon first’ to him. He packed all the money into the baby carrier the cops found you in when you two were abandoned. He made sure Seonghwa and I would find it because he’s planning on turning himself in.”

“Wait, what? Why would he do that? He could get life!”

“Just like I said. He’s doing it for you. Time and time again, he says he’d give his life for you. That’s what he’s doing.”

“No, he’s not. We have to figure out where they’re holding him. Talk to him. If he goes to jail for wanting the best for me, I won’t be able to live with myself. We have to go now!”

“Seonghwa will look into the cop that came here to arrest him. When he figures where that cop works, we’ll know where to go. Try and get some rest for now.”

“If I can, with all the shit I learned today. You wanna take the bed? I don’t want you in here sleeping on some couch, especially without HJ. If something else happens, you’ll be safer in there.”

“Minjoon it’s fine, really.”

“I insist. My sheets are clean, I swear. That’s one thing Hongjoong is always on my ass about. Laundry.”

Santana laughed. “I’ll only go if you promise you’ll sleep.” When he nodded, she stood up.

“Goodnight, Minjoon.”

“Night, Santana.”

 When Santana awoke, it was well past noon. Minjoon wasn’t kidding about the bed being comfortable. Just as she rubbed her eyes, her phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Officer Carlo Bianchi. Works at Sing Sing. Visiting hours are over at 3pm, so get your asses in an uber NOW if you wanna see him today.” Seonghwa said on the other line, not bothering to greet.

“Thank you, Seonghwa. We’re leaving now.” She hung up.

She ran into the living room, where Minjoon was already awake, staring out the window.

“Hey! Let’s go, they got him in Sing Sing.”

“Shit, that far? Okay, I’m changing now.’ Minjoon scrambled into the room.

In 15 minutes flat, they were dressed and in the back of an uber. They arrived to the correctional facility a little after 1.

“Name of the inmate?” The guard at the door asked.

“Hongjoong Kim.”

“He’s new, so they might not bring him down, but you can have a seat down the hall to your left. If he’s able to take visitors, he will be escorted to you personally.”

They chose a table at the center of the room, observing the other inmates with their loved ones.

“We gotta get him outta here. This can’t become our lives. Seeing him for a few hours a day with a table between us?” Minjoon shook his head.

“Holy shit, they’re bringing him! He’s coming down!” Santana pointed.

Hongjoong entered the common area, dressed in an orange jumpsuit, handcuffed by the wrists and ankles. He looked like he hadn’t slept, and his usually styled hair was disheveled. Santana wanted badly to run and jump into his arms but could do nothing but sit and watch him be uncuffed to sit.

“Ain’t that the shirt you wore on Wednesday, motherfucker?” He eyed Minjoon once he finally sat down.

“Dude, you’re in fucking jail. There’s bigger problems than my shirt right now.” Minjoon said, smiling slightly. Even in a situation like this, his brother to make him smile.

“At least I can count on someone to look their best coming to see me.” Hongjoong turned to Santana. “How you sleep?”

“Clearly better than you.”

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me. I’m where I should be. I’m guessing that if Minjoon is here, he must know the truth now.”

Minjoon nodded.

“Everything I did was for you. I can never get the image of Mom running into a car out of my head. I can never get that feeling of heartbreak out of me. I made a vow that no matter what, you never experienced that. I never wanted you to feel alone. In need.”

“And yet, here you are throwing in the towel. How can you say you don’t want me to feel abandoned when that’s what you’re doing? I know what you’ve done. What you’ve sold, what you work as, all of it. I thought long and hard about it. And guess what? I don’t feel any different. I loved you before I knew, and I love you now. But I don’t want to love you from a distance. Brother, please.”

Hongjoong looked away, focusing on nothing in particular. He turned to Santana. “Did you find what I sent you to get?”

She nodded. “The carrier.”

Hongjoong nodded. “It was initially just for Minjoon, but when I realized how I felt for you, I added more. That’s for the both of you. I want Minjoon in college. I want you to open your lil boutique and shit. Be what this world needs. Make money the right way.”

“What good is making bread if there’s no one to break it with? Hongjoong, listen to yourself.” Minjoon reached out to grab his hand.

“No touching.” The guard shouted from the door and Minjoon placed his hand back in his lap.

“HJ. Hear us out, PLEASE. Would you want us to give up on ourselves? What if Minjoon dropped out right now, despite being on track to graduate early? What if I just stopped sketching and designing altogether? You wouldn’t accept it from us, so why would you think we’d accept it from YOU?”

“Y’all don’t have an entire illegal business you’re responsible for. You’re not facing a 25 to life. That’s the difference, Santana.” Hongjoong shouted.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t have hope,” Minjoon said, fighting back tears. “We can use the money to bail you out. I can find another way to go to college.”

“Dry your face. I ‘hoped’ our mother would come back to us. I ‘hoped’ to grow old with the woman I love. Does it look like any of that happened? Hope doesn’t exist for Hongjoong. Never has. So, cut the crap. You’re not bailing me out. That money is for your future. Always has been. Don’t ” Hongjoong stood up, motioning for the guard to come over.

“You’re leaving? So soon?” Minjoon muttered.

“There’s nothing else to talk about. I made my decision.”

“Just like how Seonghwa had made his decision.” Santana blurted out.

“What?”

“The day Snake retired. You claimed ownership. That was the day Seonghwa was gonna quit the game.”

“How do you know this?” Hongjoong sat back down, causing the guard to roll his eyes and go back to his post.

“He told me last night. He was all set to go to culinary school. It was gonna be his last drop. Until you made him second in command. He realized the loyalty and trust you had in him, even back then. So, he stayed. He changed his mind. And he has your back to this day. Even now, while you’re locked up in here, he’s moving heaven and earth for you. Don’t make his efforts die in vain. The least you can do is have some fucking hope. Seonghwa does. Minjoon does. And I sure as hell do.”

Hongjoong sighed. “If you all believe I can get out of here, then I’m gonna believe it too. I’m gonna find it in me to have hope. I believe in you guys.”

“Seonghwa is gonna find a way to get you out of here. You’ll see Minjoon off to college. We’ll get some house in the middle of nowhere and grow old and wrinkly together. And all this hard work will pay off. Speaking it into existence.”

Hongjoong smiled. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

“That’s a wrap! Visiting hours are now over. Visitors, please make a single file line to exit the facility, inmates please stand up and wait to be handcuffed by your guard.”

“I will see you guys soon?” Hongjoong asked.

“Of course. You can’t keep us away.” Santana said, causing him to laugh.

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Santana and Minjoon stood on line, watching as the guard cuffed Hongjoong and once again took him up the stairs. Santana turned her phone back on once outside the building and notice several missed calls from Seonghwa. She called him immediately.

“Hello?”

“Santana? You’re out?”

“Yeah, just now. Why?”

“I sent you an address. Come quick. I think I found a way to get HJ out.”

[mysteli]

es in vegas (choices crack series) part 1

A/N: This is gonna be so weird I already know! But it’s hopefully gonna be fun. This is my first crack-fic so don’t mind if it’s a little messy but this first chapter is the lead up to Vegas so it’s  bound to be all over the place. Anyway, I hope you like it! You were all really excited for this so I hope I did it justice!

Warning: the best way to describe this is probably... mature? mainly of the content in it because if it’s just clean then it ain’t really Vegas. this series will feature implied nsfw but not really anything descriptive (mostly just mentions), exaggerations on use of alcohol, strong language and... crazy behaviour? It’s just weird and I’d proceed with caution... 

PS: this chapter does feature a little bit of nsfw but it’s barely anything... it’s just a little innuendo. 

Disclaimer: most of the plot belongs to the Hangover and the characters belong to Pixelberry. I’m just mashing the two together. 

Pairings: Jake X MC, Craig X Zahra, Diego X Vaaryn, Aleister X Grace - just the OG pairings for now but things could change ;) -

Tag list: @brightpinkpeppercorn @likethetailofacomet @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @sceptilemasterr @indiacater @chyeahboy @candychoices @zaffrenotes @nicknameking @bailey-choices @szeherezada @whatsernamerps @aries-light @endlessly-searching-for-you @justboredtrash @beckettsattunement @gerrysacushla @mind-reader1 @sweet-honeybird @allykrane @seraxa @violarobics

I tagged everyone who liked the post just in case! If you wanna be removed, just let me know!

Let me know if you wanna be tagged! 💗and let me know if the tags work because Tumblr is acting up.

Masterlist

Summary: With Aleister and Grace set to be married in a matter of days, the gang decide to have separate last minute bachelor and bachelorette parties before they tie the knot. And what better place to go than... Las Vegas!

Words: 9003 (I apologise in advance)

ENDLESS SUMMER IN VEGAS PART 1 - SIN CITY

“Oh my god... oh my god.. is this really happening?” 

The shaky excitement practically bouncing off of Grace’s usually more timid voice echoes in Logan’s ears, as she once again listens to Grace having a literal panic attack over a goddamn party. Sure, it makes sense. She sounds excited but the worry seems to shine through more than anything. It’s painfully obvious that she isn’t too experienced in parties or a lot of social events and it appears in her voice like she’s trying to hide the fact that there are any nerves activated at all. 

Grace worries about everything. She overthinks things way so much almost all of the time and ever since she and Aleister announced their engagement, she’s done nothing but excessively worry about planning the wedding. Now, with only a few days to go, the group came to the conclusion that both of them needed a break. So they all suggested separate bachelor and bachelorette parties so that the two of them can cool down and at least enjoy their last few nights as single people. With this idea in this place, Grace and Aleister were pretty up for it... until Jake chimed in with the addition of going to Vegas. 

Of course he would be the one to announce that sort of idea and everyone was really excited about that and Grace and Aleister had no choice but to accept, no matter much they tried to say how much they wanted something quaint and simple. They’re crazy if they think a trip to Vegas is gonna get put aside when it comes to their group. Besides, it seems like a great chance to bond together again and enjoy a nice weekend in America’s most sinful city. 

Now they’re around an hour away from leaving and Logan has been trying to finish her packing while Jake is on the phone trying to get out of work for the weekend. Should be pretty busy, even if he is the world’s worst liar. Logan basically give him that trait by pointing it out. He’s too dedicated to this Vegas trip to not be determined enough to get outta work so he should be fine. Meanwhile, Logan hasn’t been able to finish her damn packing since she’s been on the phone with an extremely anxious Grace for about an hour now. The girl is doing nothing but panicking. Clearly she doesn’t believe she can summon the courage to go to Vegas and actually enjoy herself. Maybe it’s the thought of being without Aleister for a night or maybe she’s just socially awkward or maybe she doesn’t wanna waste her money. She’s mentioned all those things and not settled on one. 

Logan huffs in annoyance at Grace’s constant panicky state. She’s spent an hour now trying to keep Grace calm but nothing seems to be fucking working. She grabs her heels from the bottom of her closet and tries her best to keep up with Grace’s repetitive tangents. 

“Logan... I am not prepared for something as huge as this.” Grace suddenly says and Logan rolls her ocean eyes, really not sure what to make of this entire scenario. 

“What do you mean something as huge as this? It’s Vegas. You get drunk and have fun. That can’t be as difficult as getting married.” Logan points out, impatience running around her tone and she runs a hand through her platinum hair out of frustration. She can’t pack with all these damn distractions. 

“Of course not but... I’m just nervous. What if we don’t come back? What if we get too drunk and make some dumb mistakes? Oh shit... what if we kill someone?” Grace is really starting to sound like an idiot now. It’s like she thinks they’re taking part in the fucking Hunger Games or something.

“Listen, Chidi... this is Vegas.” Logan smirks at the actual good nickname she just used. Wow... if only she said it in front of Jake. He would be so proud.

“Exactly. It’s Vegas. You’ve heard all the horror stories, haven’t you?” Logan can practically hear Grace biting her own nails and gritting her teeth because of how damn worried she is about this trip.

“You haven’t been watching those, have you? Cause that’s called clickbait, Grace.” Logan warns Grace and rightfully so. If Grace is worrying about what fake people are saying on the internet than this is just ridiculous. 

Grace is silent for a moment and that is all the answer that Logan even needs. “...No.” is all Grace manages to mutter and Logan just rolls her sapphire eyes at the thought, stuffing her last shirt into her bag. 

With a heavy sigh, Logan composes herself and tries to actually provide Grace with decent advice. “I’m gonna tell you this right now. Nothing bad is going to happen. It’s just all twelve of us having a fun time in Vegas. And remember you’re celebrating your last few days as a single woman, which means you gotta make the most of it! I suggest you loosen up and shed all those nerves because you’re gonna need your confidence when you’re out there.” Logan nods to herself proudly when she catches the sound of Grace sighing with a sign of relief, which clearly reveals that she’s calmed down at least a little.

“You’re right... I shouldn’t be worrying. I shouldn’t be panicking. I should be ecstatic because we get to go to Vegas and it’s my bachelorette party. This will be fun!” Grace seems to be trying to energise herself now with reassuring words and motivation. She’s not really talking to Logan anymore.

“Good. That’s the attitude we want, Grace.” Logan appreciates Grace’s sudden mood change and she releases a deep sigh when she realises this is a good time to hang up and finish packing. “Ok... well I’m gonna let you get to it and I’ll meet you at the—“

“Wait!” 

“What?!” Logan questions, suddenly worried that something’s happened. 

“What if Aleister hooks up with a stripper?!” Grace alarms Logan for no reason and she is left just completely fed up.

“Bye Grace.” 

Logan swiftly hangs up her phone before she loses her sanity and the last of her brain cells. Exhaling sharply, she tosses her phone on the bed and tries to remember what the hell she was doing before. That conversation with Grace might have completely messed her up. Luckily, a lightbulb goes off in Logan’s head and she quickly gets back to finishing her packing. After about fifteen minutes of finishing everything up with her bags and cleaning the bedroom, Logan makes her way out of the bedroom, hooking her bag on her left shoulder as she exits the area. When she reaches the living room, her sapphire eyes glance over a familiar figure pacing back and forth, with a phone pressed against his ear. Of course its Jake and Logan can’t help but form a weak smile at the sight of him. He looks proud of himself and it probably means that he was successful in his plans to get out work. 

From the corner of his eye, Jake spots his wife with her own ocean eyes fixed on him. He shoots her a flirty wink and a clean thumbs up before quickly finishing up on the phone.

“Yeah ok. I’ll see you Tuesday morning.” Jake ends the call and stuffs his phone in the pocket of his jeans before making his way over to Logan, who is eyeing him with expectancy. “I got out of work.” Jake declares with a natural confidence (something Grace definitely doesn’t have).

“Oh I know. I could tell by the sly smirk on your face.” Logan counters with her own smirk crossing her lips and she presses her palms against Jake’s chest after letting her bag drop to the floor. She doesn’t really seem to notice though and neither does Jake. 

Jake responds to her action eagerly by snaking his hands around Logan’s waist and letting his hands explore the curves of her body. “That’s always there, Princess.” He whispers before leaning in and briefly bringing their lips together. He chuckles lowly as they pull away when he spots the clear excitement in his wife’s eyes. “Guessing you’re ready for Vegas.”

“Of course I am. I’m so glad we’re taking Furball as well!” Logan exclaims excitedly and Furball is propped up against the sofa, dancing with glee.

“Mmmmrf!”

“I’m also ready to down every drink I buy and...” Logan takes this an opportunity to have some fun with the moment they’re having. “...maybe see some strippers.”

“Oh really now? You’re lucky I won’t be there to kick their ass if they even look at you.” Jake retorts, a little surprised that Logan is choosing now to play a game like this. He leans in again, lips pausing inches away from Logan’s - their heavy breaths bouncing off of the other’s lower lip. 

“You’re not gonna be there though, are you?” Logan pouts as she continues to torture Jake, meeting eyes with him and she can practically see his own darken with desire. Damn, they aren’t even in Vegas yet. 

“Trust me on this though, darlin...” Jake begins, letting his eyes roam over Logan’s heavenly features and allowing his hands to be dragged up her back until they’re tangled in her hair. “...I’ll leave you so damn satisfied, you won’t even know those strippers are looking at you the way they will.”

With that, Jake yanks Logan in for a well overdue kiss, immediately building up a steady rhythm and the passion inside them both is let out the second their lips connect. They got about twenty minutes and that’s plenty of time to just get in some... rounds before they head off to Vegas. Besides, they’re gonna be separated most of the night so it isn’t a bad idea to just have fun with each other before they leave for Vegas. Hell, they don’t even know how they’re gonna survive at a party that is about Grace and Aleister. No offence to them but they aren’t exactly the most lively in the group. They’re the ones that tend to keep to themselves the most and reject the offers of everyone hanging out together but this whole thing they just couldn’t get out of. They prefer solitude and that’s their problem honestly.

Logan roughly bites down on Jake’s lower lip, taking it between her teeth for a few seconds and letting him know that she’s ready to spend the next few minutes using their more wild sides. Jake obliges, sweeping Logan off her feet in one swift motion and steadying her in the air by her waist. Logan helps by wrapping her legs around his waist, as Jake leads her over to the kitchen and carefully places her on the counter. The kiss never breaks and the heat never dies. It’s impossible for that to happen when it comes to them because they’re always wanting each other and needing each other. Maybe they’re just crazy but it also makes sense for people like them. Just shows how much they love each other. 

Logan blindly uses her hands to guide Jake’s jacket off his body and he smirks against her lips as she carries that out. He breaks the kiss momentarily, letting his lips drift down her neck and his lips linger in one place for a moment. He’s almost preparing to leave some sort of love bite but before he can... 

“Holy mothertrucking poop on a wenis!” 

The sound of a very traumatised voice forces Jake and Logan apart and just the extreme exaggeration of the reaction to them gives away the identity of the intruder. Carefully and slowly, Jake turns to where the witness is standing and he barely manages to hold back a laugh, while Logan is left with complete embarrassment flooding her expression.

“Raj...” Of course it’s Raj. “Chill. You didn’t see anything gross. What you saw is what... pigeons do in broad daylight and I don’t see you getting mad at them.” What the fuck is Jake talking about?

Logan facepalms hard and her humiliation only grows. “Jake... please stop talking.” 

Raj’s chestnut eyes are wide with disbelief, that natural innocence lost the moment he walked in on... this. Jake presses his lips together and avoids all eye contact with Raj as an attempt to stop himself from laughing his brains out. Logan cautiously hops off the counter and tries to bring back Raj back to the real world. The dude seems dazed and completely out of it. 

“Raj?” 

No answer.

“Mimosa Man? You okay?” Jake just has to chime in with that nickname. 

“I thought you weren’t supposed to call him that.” Logan reminds Jake with arched eyebrows. 

“No that’s the one he likes. The one he didn’t like was Tequila Stealer.” Jake responds and revisiting that nickname only makes it more difficult to not laugh. 

At last, Raj manages to blink and breathe and gather himself finally. He flicks his gaze between the two lovebirds before him and he cringes a little when he reminds himself of what he walked into.

“Jesus would be disappointed in you...” Raj states randomly. It almost comes across like a joke but his solemn expression tells a completely different story.  “...and the kitchen?! Really? That’s where you cook, dudes.” 

“We’re sorry, Tequila St— I mean Mimosa Man.” Oof. Jake almost released the devil of all nicknames again. 

Raj is really coming off as intimidating right now. This whole moment is just unbearable and awkward. “Ugh... okay. Come on, guys!”

“Where?”

“Vegas! Duh!” Raj rolls his brown eyes as a reaction to Jake’s stupidity. “We’re all going one of Grace’s mom’s limos so come on!”

Logan is taken aback a little by that statement. “But I thought we were taking Quinn’s minivan.” 

“Catch on, my dudes.”

After what feels like forever, the oh so amazing limo that Grace’s mom had set up for them to drive in - with Grace being the only one who is allowed drive it because if anything happens to to it... well someone will get hurt - finally passes the memorable Welcome of Vegas, completed with a description of the city in one word... Fabulous! The limo is pretty sweet though but it does have one price. They didn’t even get an arranged driver. Grace has been bugging her mom about having her own responsibilities lately instead of having everything handed to her. Well her mom granted her wish by giving her the responsibility to drive the limo there and back and not damage it all in the process. What the fuck does she think they’re doing? They’re in Sin City.

Grace is starting to get frustrated with the amount of traffic that’s building up in their surroundings and they aren’t even that far from the hotel. Luckily, she’s a calm driver but if anyone else was driving this car, we’d have many problems and many arguments. Lots of noise. With the slight pause, everyone (yeah everyone is in the limo and even Vaaryn decided to tag along) takes this as a chance to talk about their plans for the parties. 

“So... what do you all wanna achieve tonight?” Quinn challenges the group to name their goal for the night and everyone’s faces just light up at the thought of what they might do in Vegas - well everyone aside from Aleister. Grace is now a lot more into the idea than she was before and Aleister is really the only one left who is in denial. At Quinn’s question, everyone else is pleased to answer but Aleister just rolls his icy eyes and hangs his head, tuning out of the conversation. 

Raj starts things off with some kind of far away fantasy that he seems really serious about achieving but no one could be drunk enough for it to happen. “My goal is to be drunk enough that I will somehow wake up and end up in Disneyland.” He tells the idea to the group rather confidently and he seems really proud of something like that. Quinn seems fascinated by it and she knows she’d love to do it too.

“Disneyland?! I would do it even if I wasn’t drunk.” Quinn exclaims, giddy and excited and her sky blue eyes sparkle with excitement.

“Pretty sure you’d need more than mimosas for that, buddy.” Jake points out, causing Raj to roll his eyes.

“What is with you and comparing me to mimosas, Jake? I like other things too.” Raj questions, raising his eyebrows bewilderedly at Jake.

Jake merely forms a devilish smirk and just that look is enough to know that a comeback is coming. “Like tequila?” He retorts, only earning a rough nudge from Logan who shoots him narrowed eyes of annoyance.

“Says you. Before I saw you and Logan fucking on the kitchen counter.” Raj randomly points out, completely exposing Jake and Logan and they are suddenly washed over with humiliation, as all their friends react about the way you’d expect them too. 

“What? Why would you do that? It’s so unhygienic.” Michelle pipes up and it’s surprising that she’d be the one to say something as dismissive as that. 

“Dude! We weren’t even fucking. We were barely even kissing!” Jake snaps, folding his arms out of irritation and eyeing Raj with complete disbelief, not finding the strength to believe he just exposed them like that. 

“You looked like you were about to suck the blood out of poor Logan.” Raj counters, a sympathetic look on his face as he looks directly Logan’s way and she just shrugs her shoulders, unsure how to even react to whatever the hell just happened. 

“You think I was trying to turn my wife into a fucking vampire or something? Actually that’s called giving someone a hick—“

“—Okay! Moving swiftly on...” Quinn cuts Jake off before he can completely tamper with Raj’s innocence. He don’t deserve that. “Let’s not ruin anyone’s lives today Jake.” 

With that, Jake scoffs mockingly and leans back in his seat, his back sinking into the soft leather. Maybe he’ll learn that his comebacks are not needed, especially in times that are supposed to be fun like these. 

“Who wants to go next?” Quinn surveys the sight of the limo, smiling faintly when her eyes land on one specific person. “...Aleister. What about you?”

Aleister doesn’t even glance up, shaking his head defiantly as his icy gaze remains fixed on his phone screen. “I’m not gonna participate in some ridiculous game, where you make up stupid fantasies that you’d never have the true guts to do anyway.” He snaps in a cold tone. It’s been so obvious from the beginning that he isn’t really up for this whole Vegas thing but he could at least pretend to be onboard for the sake of the rest of the group having fun.

In truth, everyone really needs this time to take a break from all their hectic lives. Everything has been going really well career wise but nobody has the time to relax or enjoy themselves for a while. That’s why this time away is so important to most members of the group and with the wedding so close, you’d think Aleister would be more eager to participate. 

“Al... come on. Just tell us what you wanna do in Vegas.” Grace tries to reason with him since she’s the only one who ever has any success. 

“I wanna sit around and do nothing. I’m aware I’ll be the only one who is sober throughout the night.” Aleister states solemnly, lifting his head momentarily and staring pointedly at Jake as he mutters those last few words. Damn, what a low blow. 

“So wait... you’re not gonna drink?” Sean questions, raising his eyebrows with disbelief.

“Why the hell would I want to?” 

“Um... because it’s your bachelor party.”

Aleister is flooded with a tension as those words come out of Sean’s mouth. “I never even said I wanted this but you all dragged me along anyway. I’d rather just be married but no... you all just had to hit me with the lie that celebrating my last few single days mattered.” 

“Were not saying it’s a requirement. We just want you to have fun for once.” Logan points out, slightly offended since she’s the one who supported this whole idea when Jake suggested it in the first place. It’s actually a great thing but Aleister is too guarded to see that. 

“Whatever, Logan. Just know that I won’t be drinking. I’d rather be sane, thank you very much.”

“Watch us spike it.” Zahra hisses, a devious smirk planted on her face and Craig high fives her in response. 

Eventually, the traffic clears and the group finish up their conversations as the limo edges closer towards the hotel. Grace calms her frustrations with the traffic and you can tell she’s keeping it bottled up inside so she doesn’t lash out. She seems to be the type of person you wouldn’t expect to have a mean streak or a dark side but would have one anyway. Don’t judge a book by its cover is the lesson we’ve learned today. Now there is still one more matter to address...

“Oh my god... I still can’t believe you wanted to come to Vegas with us, Vaaryn.” Diego exclaims, probably the most excited out the lot. Mostly about the fact that his one true love was joining the group for Vegas. It sounds like a great thing and an amazing opportunity but at the same time... it could be devastatingly scarring.

“I’m mostly doing for you, my love, but it would be nice to experience more human things and Vegas you speak of, is a very popular place for sinning and I know that sinning is something humans do a lot of.” Vaaryn responds and he sounds completely clueless. He really doesn’t know what’s in store for him. 

“Vaaryn... do you even know what’s in Vegas? Has Diego taught you anything?” Estela questions with a knowing smirk, shooting Diego a pointed look, who facepalms at what Estela is insinuating. 

“He hasn’t told me much. Just that it has an Eiffel Tower and it’s very easy to lose yourself.” 

Zahra sees this as the perfect oppurtunity to chime in. “Well then let me know tell you about the wonders of Vegas.” She declares, learning her chin on her fist and revealing a genuine look of interest. 

“Please... don’t.” Diego pleads anxiously and Logan pats him on the back apologetically. “He probably won’t even understand what you mean.”

“I’ll explain it then. Very vividly.” Zahra counters, folding her arms. 

“Oh man! Diego... your dude is so screwed.” Craig exclaims, obnoxiously laughing in the background at the scene and pointing mockingly at Diego, who’s head is now in his hands. 

“Oh come on, this is mean. Just let Avatar find out for himself. Telling him is too easy.” Jake suggests and that causes Zahra and Craig to smirk and giggle in unison.

“You’re on. Have fun, Vaaryn.”

When Grace successfully parks the limo outside the Caesar Hotel, everyone leaps out and makes their way inside. The lobby is absolutely fucking huge and they have to really search using their eagle eyes in order to even locate the front desk. Luckily, they manage to spot it and Michelle leads the group over to the front desk, since she was the one who offered to pay for their reservation. She ends up paying for a villa, which is probably the most they could get out of Michelle since she isn’t great on spending all of her money on the room. But she’s a doctor! Who else was gonna pay?

Excited and energised, everyone rushes to get to the designated room, clutching the straps of their bags and being as careful as possible so they don’t drop them. But once they get to the room, all the carefulness and caution is pushed away and everyone just throws their bags to the side, amazing at the sight of the huge room. There’s thirteen of them so some of them may still have to get together in bunks but they would much rather just have one room together than be in separate ones because once the two parties travel back to the room, they can all celebrate together afterwards. It’s a strangely thought out system but it works for them so who is to judge?

“God fucking damn. I missed Vegas.” Jake suddenly points out and Logan raises an eyebrow at her curiously when he says that.

“When was the last time you went?” 

Jake smiles at the thought of reminiscing. “Mike and I went to Vegas once when I brought him back to visit my family for the first time. We had a crazy fucking time in Vegas, I’ll tell ya that. Don’t actually remember much though.” Jake explains, laughing under his breath but exhaling sharply when he sees himself talking about Mike again. 

Noticing, Logan wraps him in a hug and briefly brings their lips together in a reassuring kiss. “I’m sorry he couldn’t be here for this, babe. He just couldn’t get out of work like you could.” 

“Yeah well... sometimes plane jobs suck.” Jake laughs before knocking his forehead against Logan’s and smiling. “You gonna be able to have fun without me, Princess?”

“I’m sure she’ll manage, cabron. Sometimes she’s tougher than you.” Logan and Jake turn to find Estela smirking at them, both hands resting on her hips. 

What’s very different about Estela though is that she’s already fucking dressed?! It only feels like they’ve been in the room for 10 minutes or so. She done her makeup and her hair and everything in a matter of minutes. Aside from the timing, she also looks pretty fucking hot. For the first time in forever, Estela is dressed in a clean, skintight dress that is completely pitch black and pauses halfway down her thighs. At the front, in the centre, a golden zipper travels from the top to the bottom. To complete this whole ensemble, Estela has paired the simple yet so sophisticated dress with a pair of leather black heeled boots with zippers down their side. Her silky brunette hair has been let out of the normal ponytail and straightened ever so perfectly. This look appears like it took her hours when really she only spent a few minutes doing this.

Jaw dropped, Logan struggles to speak at the gorgeous sight that is Estela Montoya. “How the fuck did you get ready so fast?” is the best reaction Logan can summon. 

Estela just giggles aloud, dusting off her dress and smoothing our her hair. “I’m just fast, ok? The others are being so fucking slow and you haven’t even started yet!”

Logan flicks her gaze between Jake and Estela, clearly confused. “Well I’ve been—“

“Eye-fucking your husband. I know and I get it but you gotta move your ass before I make sure you lose it!” Estela warns, arching her eyebrows and narrowing her dark eyes at Logan, causing her to panic a little.

Logan swiftly turns to Jake and he just laughs at the fact that she’s asking for his permission. “Go ahead, darlin’. I’ll be out here to see you before we go.” Jake urges, planting a quick kiss on her forehead before letting her go get ready. 

Jake watches her walk into the other room, biting his lip at the sight of her and his cerulean eyes darken slightly. It’s Estela’s exhausted groan that suddenly brings him back to reality. He glances back at the brunette to find her staring at him with disbelief. 

“What? I love my wife. What’s fucking wrong with that?” Jake questions, his intentions appearing rhetorical and Estela notices that.

“Nothing. The look on your face is what’s disgusting.” Estela retorts, shaking her head at Jake with an expression where you can tell she’s been cringing. 

“Ha. Ha.”

Logan finally finishes touching up her makeup with the rest of the girls and she’s finally ready to take on Las Vegas. Turning towards the mirror, Logan admires her chosen attire. She’s gone for something rather classy but still great for a fun night out. A clean, crisp white romper, is what she’s gone with, that contains a semi-deep dip of cleavage but not overboard. She’s aware that will drive Jake crazy. Then she’s paired it with white strappy heels and a silver necklace that is longer than most you’d see. It’s one of those more layered ones and it matches her outfit perfectly. Her platinum blond hair has been curled exactly to her liking, curtesy of Michelle. And her makeup is mostly natural because she doesn’t trust herself to go for something bolder. 

Taking one last glance at herself in the bathroom mirror, it’s time for her to reveal her look to the group. She’s the last one to finish getting ready of course, even indecisive Michelle beat her to it, so everyone is waiting for her and they’re excited to see what’s she chosen to wear. All the rest of the girls have gone for slutty and glam because it’s Vegas. Hello?! Even Zahra decided to wear a cocktail dress of sorts and it’s a beautiful deep crimson colour that matches her hair perfectly.

Finally, Logan collects herself enough to find the strength to exit the bathroom. She wanders out of the other room carefully, determined to stay steady on her heels and when she opens the door to the main area, all eyes are on her. 

Some eyes widen and some jaws drop but the most continuous thing is everyone’s silence. Everyone is speechless. No one will talk. All Logan can do is question their well-being and not really focus on the fact that they’re in that current state because of her walking out of a goddamn room. Jake, especially is just shell-shocked and it’s painfully obvious. Logan takes advantage of the silence and decides to admire everyone else’s appearances since they all look hot. 

That deep red crimson dress that Zahra is wearing looks even more captivating on her than Logan noticed from a first glance. Her ombré hair is left to rest on her shoulder and she’s caked in a lot more makeup than she usually would be, probably because she never typically wears it anyway. She looks so damn different.

Then there’s Grace, the featured guest of the bachelorette party and she’s decked in a bronze, glittery dress that is haltered at the top and it goes down to the floor. The revealing thing about it is the slight slit at the side. The dress hugs her figure carefully and the way she’s styled her hair only makes her look more beautiful. Everyone was scared that Grace would dress like she’s going to prom or something but no... she surprised everyone and she did herself justice. 

Of course Quinn managed to blend a beautiful elegance with a little bit of a daring approach so perfectly. It’s like a natural talent to her and she’s successfully made herself look beautiful again. She’s rocking a deep indigo dress that almost matches the one she wore at the New Years Party on La Huerta. She’s gone for more of a deep cut down the middle and the dress fades into a lighter blue at the end. It’s only a slight gradient that could easily be missed. Her auburn hair is gracefully cascading down her shoudlers and each curl you can tell was done with care. Hell, even the dress matches her eyes. There’s nothing this girl can’t wear. 

And finally we have Michelle, who has literally outdid herself again. She’s decked in a long, black jumpsuit that hugs her curves ever so perfectly. There’s also a more revealing approach that is shown through the sight of more cleavage. Though she wears it well, amazingly well. She’s paired it with more pointy nude heels and a black choker at the tome. Her ombre hair is tied back into a loose ponytail with two pieces hanging like strays at the front. To complete it, she’s wearing large silver hoop earrings that just give it that extra amount of sophistication.

Basically, all the girls look like fucking queens and this is their night to shine. As for the guys... well there’s not much to say. They’re wearing suits. Yeah, that’s their description done. Though there is one strange thing that stands out and that is Craig’s extremely colourful shirt. It’s a fucking double rainbow up in there. So many vibrant colours and patterns. It’s very difficult to not go blind just by looking at it. Like damn... another thing is how weird it is seeing Vaaryn in a suit. Like what? And Furball... looks so fucking cute and he’s not even in a suit. 

After what seems like forever, the only thing Logan can summon up to say is... “Nice shirt, Craig.”

Craig almost blushes. He’s so flattered by the little compliment. “Aw, Lo. Thanks for noticing, dude.”

“Pretty sure the gorillas in Africa noticed your goddamn shirt, Craiggers.” Zahra retorts coldly and Craig’s eyes widen with hope.

“Oh my god. That would be so cool!” 

Sean rolls his eyes and places his hand on Craig’s shoudler idly. “Let’s make sure you don’t drink anymore tonight.”

“You guys are no fun.”

While the bickering commences, some of the gang hurry over to Logan - that includes Quinn, Estela, Michelle and Jake. “Holy shit, Logan. You look so hot!” Michelle exclaims with a rare enthusiasm barely used but she’s been like this a lot for Vegas.

“Thanks, Meech. I did what I could.” Logan dusts herself off and takes a quick glance at Jake, noticing how his cerulean eyes constantly drift up and down her figure and his gaze burns into her body so eagerly. Oh fuck... she knows what he’s thinking. “You ok there, Aragorn?”

Estela scoffs at the look on Jake’s face. “Ha. Pretty sure he’s dead after seeing you like that.” She points out and correctly, mind you. “We’re leaving in five so we’ll let you say your goodbyes.”

The girls take off to the other side of the room, leaving Jake and Logan alone for the last few moments of their time together before they separate for a few hours. Jake finally snaps back to reality as the girls leave, clearing his throat in order to compose himself but it feels like there’s a rock planted deep in his throat. 

“I am so close to not letting you go anywhere tonight, Princess.” Jake whispers in a low husky tone that sends shivers up Logan’s spine. In response, Logan bites down on her lower lip and admires Jake’s chosen suit. It reminds her of the one at the La Huerta New Years Party - except everything is black. 

She reels him in by his pitch-black tie for a long, slow kiss that lingers more than it should. As they pull away, she smiles innocently against his lips. “Nice suit, Aragorn.” She whispers back, knocking their foreheads together sweetly.

“Goddamnit, can I swap Aleister for you?” Jake questions, almost like he’s begging and he almost looks serious. “I can’t handle more than an hour with that bore.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll manage.” Logan assures, rolling her eyes at his exaggeration of the situation. “Just remember that this is about Aleister. It’s his goddamn party.”

“Well I’m the one who suggested it.” 

“Which gives you more of a reason to make it about Aleister. Even if he is a bit of an asshole, remind him that he’s supposed to be having fun.” Logan suggests, wrapping her arms around Jake’s neck and dragging him in for another kiss, biting down on his lower lip this time before pulling away. 

“Watch me try and watch me fail.”

“Jake.” Logan says his name as firmly as possible. 

“Fine but as long as you torture me when I get back. It’s more fun than being tortured by Aleister‘s dull taste in fun.” Jake retorts, rolling his eyes at the fight that he just lost. 

“I promise.” Logan swears, planting one last kiss on Jake’s lips before finally letting him leave her. 

The bachelorette party has been active for about an hour already, with the girls already having a little alcohol in their system but not enough that will make them wanna do anything so crazy just yet. Well all except Logan Mercer because she’s the oddest of them all. 

All of the girls are pacing across the street, having had just experienced a wonderful meal in the closest restaurant. Now they’ve got the fancy shit out the way, they can move on to the more fun part. 

“That fucking food was too damn fancy for me.” Zahra points out, executing a fake vomit-like noise with her hands and everyone just roll their eyes at her expected remark. 

“I know you wanna get drunk, Zahra, but you still need to eat.” Grace replies, hands on her hips. 

“We can eat! But we’re in Vegas. We should be eating somewhere trashy like... Burger King or Pizza Hut!” Zahra exclaims and no one can really make out what point she’s trying to get across here. 

“Zahra, all you eat back home is Burger King and Pizza Hut.” Michelle bites back, flipping her hair to one side and giggling at the ridiculous context of this conversation.

“What exactly do you wanna do now then, Zahra?” Quinn questions, genuinely curious. 

“Anything that isn’t boring and fancy!” 

A lightbulb suddenly goes off in Logan’s mind and a sly smirk crosses her lips. “Ok... I might have an idea.” 

“Yes, Mercy! Someone smart. What is it?” Zahra eagerly enquires, showing interest in Logan’s insane idea.

“I know we agreed earlier with the guys that we wouldn’t... go see strippers but they can’t exactly stop us when they’re not here.” Logan points out correctly and all of the girls match her level of deviance with their expressions, all except one. Grace, of course.

“Um... Lo. Im not sure I can agree to that. What if it’s like I’m betraying Aleister?” Grace asks with anxiety in her chestnut eyes. 

“Grace, you’re not hooking up with strippers. You’re just watching them. Besides you’re the guest of honour, you should let yourself have some fun!” Estela assures, rubbing Grace’s shoulder comfortingly and that causes her to release a sigh of relief. 

“But just so you know, even if you don’t agree, we’re gonna go to the strip club anyway. I don’t care if you’re the guest of honour. So you either come with us or we leave you on the street?” Michelle warns, a solemn look in her hazel eyes. Clearly she’s not kidding and Grace actually respects that attitude. 

“Agh, fine.” 

“Woohoo!” Zahra reacts, clapping her hands together like a fucking seal. “This what I came for!”

“Really? You didn’t just come for booze?” Logan jokes, her smirk widening.

“Nope. Strippers too.”

The bachelor party is dying pretty quickly, even after the guys’ tacky meal in Pizza Hut but everyone still enjoyed it because its good fucking pizza. Well, everyone besides Aleister. He’s been such a goddamn buzzkill during the first hour and it’s impossible to have fun when the dude is constantly telling someone to shut up and when Jake dares to make a joke about offering Aleister a drink and he almost tosses it on Jake. But he resists, shooting the pilot an icy glare instead. 

Jake is trying his very best to make this all about Aleister, just like Logan asked him too. But it’s impossible to make this dude happy! Everyone else is having fun. Diego was teaching Vaaryn all about pizza and all the different flavours while they were there. Craig was trying to see how many pieces of pizza toppings he could get in his mouth. Raj has been telling lots of fun stories and Jake has managed to not mock any of them, no matter how crazy they are. Be proud of him. Even Sean has managed to not be a buzzkill and he’s actually turning out to be a lot of fun, with plenty of banter and jokes to go around. And Aleister is just being... petty and ungrateful.

Now they’re here, semi-drunk and trying to figure out what the fuck they’re gonna do next. Everything has been pretty low-key so far and maybe this is the time to kick things up a notch. 

“Well that meal was absolutely atrocious.” Aleister is of course the first to comment on the food and it’s not even a compliment.

“Al, I know you hate all of this but could you not trash the food because I paid for that.” Sean asks as politely as his voice will let him and Jake is surprised and maybe even impressed that Sean could call Aleister out like that.

“Of course. This whole thing is sleezy anyway.” Aleister responds, his shoulders slumping back in a hopeless manor. He’s naturally stiff. 

“Well, what do you wanna do then, Aleister?” Raj questions with a genuine curiosity. Usually that type of thing would come off as sarcastic and rude, especially if it came out of Jake or Craig’s mouth. But no, Raj is the only one who could ask such a question and Aleister would actually take it as a real request. 

“Well I—“

“Bro, don’t ask him that!” Craig pipes up before Aleister can say anything else. “He probably wants us to play a game of chess or something. I hate chess.” 

Aleister’s expression sinks at Craig’s hurtful assumption. Don’t think he meant it that way however. “Nevermind. I’ll just let you airheads guide me through his hell hole of a night. It’ll all turn out fine when I wake up.” 

“Harsh, Malfoy,” is all Jake has managed to say throughout this entire situation until an entire new idea pops into his head. “Wait... since Jack Frost is giving us total control... how ‘bout we hit up a strip club?”

“We can’t do that. Didn’t we promise the girls we wouldn’t—“

“Diego, don’t ruin this.” Jake urges, folding his arms in a confident manor and smiles faintly at Diego when he silences himself. “I know we did. But they ain’t fucking here so what’s the problem?”

“I see Jake’s amazing logic here, bros.” Craig agrees, a bright smile fixed on his features.

“Me too. Let’s do it.” Raj is also ready for this as well, it’s clear from the eagerness in his tone.

“Sorry, my love, but what is a strip club?” Vaaryn dares to ask Diego, who just looks at him bewilderedly.

“I’ll explain on the way or I’ll just let you see for yourself.” Diego responds, careful with his choice of words and he pats Vaaryn on the shoudler reassuringly. 

Happy that most are on board, Jake expectantly turns to Aleister with a hopeful glint in his eyes. “How ‘bout you, Frosty?”

Aleister barely tilts his head, in disbelief that Jake has even dared to ask for his permission. “Absolutely not. It will be like I’m betraying Grace.” 

“Seriously? That’s your excuse.” Jake reacts, raising an eyebrow pointedly.

“Wouldn’t you feel as if you’re betraying Logan?” Aleister challenges and Jake just scoffs mockingly.

“Me and Princess got an understanding. Trust me.” Jake lies a little bit at the same time they kind of do. They always have. Even if Jake let Logan know, she’s probably gonna be okay with it. 

The ongoing argument is interrupted by a soft bark echoing from the ground and into the ears of the members of this weird bachelor party. Jake spots Furball curling up by his foot and a smirk immediately crosses his lips when he finds him. Furball has a choice which party he wanted to attend and he ended up going to Jake so this is where he ended up. Recently, it’s been like Jake is Furball’s all time favourite and they’re developing a real special bond. It’s cute.

Jake squats down so his finger can gently stroke the little fox’s teal fur and that gives Jake an idea. “Ok... this is it. The fox has the final say.” He declares in a proud tone and everyone around seems to nod along, all besides Aleister.

“What? That’s preposterous.”

“You have no say, Malfoy. Animal rights are talking now.” Jake pushes Aleister’s out the way completely and blocks his protests out. All that’s left is for Furball to announce his opinion. Jake turns to Furball with hope but also certainty because he knows he won’t be betrayed. “So Furball... ready to lose your innocence by going to a Vegas Strip Club?”

With no hesitation, Furball responds with an eager yelp. “Mmmmrf!!!l” With that, he crawls up Jake’s back and props himself up on the pilot’s shoulder, smiling widely. 

“Then it’s settled, kids.” 

Having much more fun than they were before, the girls have taken the bachelorette party to one of Vegas’ finest strip clubs. They’re all gathered around a booth, sipping on champagne and enjoying the sights before them. Grace is a little uncomfortable but she’s lightening up the longer they’re there. Meanwhile, the rest of them are having the actual time of their lives, especially Zahra. Everyone is starting to feel the alcohol now. 

“Can I tell you guys something?” Michelle suddenly asks, a slight shakiness in her voice. It’s extremely obvious that the alcohol is starting to get to her head and she’s not even the lightweight, she’s just had a lot more than any of the others.

“Sure.” 

Michelle forms a crooked half-smile and holds up her glass eagerly. “How about we make a toast and also an agreement that Sean is an absolute ass?” 

“Wow, Meech. Didn’t take you long to point that out.” Zahra scoffs, her dark eyes roaming over all the pretty sights before. Following her gaze, Quinn can’t help but let out a humoured giggle, not able to hold it in. Zahra catches the sound of her laughter and raises an eyebrow questioningly. “What?”

“You do realise you have a boyfriend right?” Quinn points out and rightfully so. “Pretty sure he wouldn’t appreciate you eye-fucking those strippers like that.” 

Zahra just scoffs mockingly. “You kidding? Craig would love it.”

“Kinda sure that doesn’t signal a healthy relationship, Z.” Logan counters, chugging down half of her champagne and pressing her lips together in order to contain the bitter aftertaste. 

“What can you say, Mercy? Would Jake want you sniffing around strip clubs?” Zahra retorts, folding her arms in a confident manor. 

Logan smirks at the comment, an unreadable look in her ocean eyes. “Me and Jake have an understanding.”

“Ok, all of you need to calm down. This is about Grace remember.” Estela calms the situation and raises her glass, gesturing to Grace with a faint smile. “To the guest of honour! And let’s hope that her marriage to Aleister is enough to make him at least a little more fun.” Everyone laughs along at Estela’s words and join in raising their glasses. 

“Aw, thanks guys. You’re all crazy but I really do love you all.” Grace performs a little speech and that’s when everyone clinks their glasses together. It really is memorable when they all hang out together, especially for a special occasion such as this. They’re all there to watch one of their best friends get married and it’s truly a great chance for them to bond. 

“You should. We’re amazing.” Zahra points out proudly, a smug smile on her face as she lowers her glass.

“Holy shit... guys look.” Estela’s voice interrupts the heartfelt moment, as her dark eyes widen at another sight. Curiously, everyone follows the brunette’s gaze, only to find a familiar group entering the strip club. 

“Oh no...” Grace reacts, covering her face with her hands out of shame. “Aleister is not gonna like this.”

“Well it looks like they had the same idea.” Logan points out, shaking her head at the sight of the guys standing at the entrance of the strip club and you’d expect to look a lot messier than they actually do. Jake looks so damn guilty. This has to be his idea. “Jake has gotta be the mastermind behind this.”

“So basically, you’re both as bad as each other.” Quinn counters, hiding her smirk behind her glass but Logan still manages to spot it anyway. 

“Jake knows what he should and shouldn’t do and at least he’s actually making Aleister have fun.” 

Michelle throws her head back and scoffs at that. “Ha! Aleister doesn’t look like he’s having fun at all.” 

“That’s because he hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol.” Estela points out, gesturing to Aleister with her glass. “Trust me... he’d be much paler.”

While everyone is discussing the current state of the guys, Logan surveys them carefully, trying to resist the urge to laugh at them. But her cover is blown when she locks eyes with Jake, who finally spots her and immediately a natural smirk crosses his lips. Of course, he’s smug about it already. 

“Oh fuck...” Logan mutters under her breath and nudges Quinn as discreetly as possible, a lot harder than she intended. 

“What the hell, Lo?”

“The guys have spotted us.” Logan tells Quinn, slight panicky about what their cocky reactions might be. It will be unnecessary but it will happen. Then it just gets worse. “Shit. They’re coming over.” 

Logan leans back in the velvet booth as she notices Jake and the guys are starting to pace over towards the girls. Clearly they’ve been skeptical and suspicious about why the girls are there just as much as they were about the guys. Now it’s come down to some sort of face off and this is just bound to get awkward, especially with Aleister following behind with an icy expression fixed on his face. It’s obvious he isn’t happy to see his soon-to-be-wife messing around at a strip club and she’s clearly having fun as well, which only makes the tension worse.

After what seems like forever, the boys reach the girls and both parties look like they’ve been caught red-handed, which they have. You’d expect one of them to be pretending it isn’t their fault but no, everyone looks equally guilty, which means no one has a good excuse.

“Look who we found.” Sean pipes up first, arms folded and an amused look on his face. “Guess you couldn’t handle the no-strippers rule either.” 

Michelle simply narrows her eyes. “You are a little late to the party though.” She retorts, a light scowl on her face but it’s hidden enough that Sean doesn’t notice it. 

“Was this your idea, Al?” Estela chimes in with joking intentions but Aleister merely rolls his eyes, not amused. 

“Obviously not. It was all Jake’s doing.” Aleister responds, shooting Jake the side-eye and at first, you’d think Jake would be more angry at Aleister but no... he’s more proud and only Jake Mckenzie would be proud of such an idea in this situation. 

All eyes move to Logan as Aleister rats Jake out. Her only reaction is a knowing smirk reaching her lips. “Oh really, Jake.” 

“Well ours was all down to Logan.” Grace pipes up, causing Logan to flinch a little, especially when Jake’s smirk only widens at the revelation. 

“Oh really, Princess.” He reacts, folding his arms in a condescending manor and he tilts his head cockily. 

“Oh my god... you brought Furball?!” Logan reacts, gesturing to the little blue fox curled up on Jake’s shoudler with nothing but excitement in his magenta eyes. He’s more excited about this then Aleister ever will be. ““Looks like you got into his head Jake.”

“He was the true mastermind.” Jake admits, high fiving Furball proudly.

“Ok... since you’re all here and we got booze and strippers around us...” Zahra begins and everyone suddenly realised what exactly she’s getting at. “...how ‘bout we combine these two parties into one?” 

“That’s... not a bad idea. Pretty sure it’s too late to go to another strip club anyway.” Jake jokes and he seems to be the only one who’s laughing at his comment. 

“This is just... madness! Can’t we just give up and end this little waste of time?” Aleister protests for the millionth time. He’s sulking like a mere child now. 

“Aleister, hunny. I mean this in the nicest way...” Michelle begins, easing Aleister into her comment. “You’re being so annoying and we don’t really care for your opinion.”

“Then looks why we’re gonna compromise.” Logan confirms, raising her glass once more. “To not getting too drunk.” 

“Hey! At least wait until we got shots before you toast.” Craig interrupts Logan before she can perform a toast.

Just as that is mentioned, Vaaryn comes bounding around the corner with a tray of around twelve glasses. Damn... good timing. He looks extremely proud of himself but also a little clueless like he has been this entire time.

“Holy shit! Blue Bro got shots!” Craig exclaims excitedly, his hands rising in one swift motion and he leaps out from the booth, heading for the tray of shots like a cheetah chasing prey. 

“Is that what they are? I was standing beside them before and this man in a bow tie asked me to fill them up and bring them to a table.” Vaaryn explains and everyone’s eyes widen at what he just implied. 

“So wait... you stole them?” 

“I am no thief. I did what I asked. I brought them to a table.” Vaaryn corrects and most seem on board with that idea. 

“I’m liking Avatar’s logic.” Jake points out, stroking his jaw thoughtfully before he sneakily swipes one of the shots. “I say we toast now. Go ahead, Princess.” 

Everyone grabs a shot while Logan clears her throat, preparing for her toast. “As I was saying... to not completely ruining our lives tonight.”

“And to a night we’ll easily forget.” Michelle adds and everyone laughs along. 

That light-hearted comment seems like a really good laugh at that moment. An easy joke that passes everyone by. Little do they know, that forgotten statement... is about to become a reality when morning arrives. Besides... no one can escape Vegas. 

trust me... the next part gets even weirder

[noramoya]

“Brilliant piece on power and race by Ta-Nahisi Coates which includes an extended comparison of Kanye West and Michael Jackson. I hope fans will generate significant discussion/critique on the underlying assumption that Michael Jackson was “dying to be white.” ~ Lisha McDuff .

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“I could only have seen it there, on the waxed hardwood floor of my elementary-school auditorium, because I was young then, barely 7 years old, and cable had not yet come to the city, and if it had, my father would not have believed in it. Yes, it had to have happened like this, like folk wisdom, because when I think of that era, I do not think of MTV, but of the futile attempt to stay awake and navigate the yawning whiteness of Friday Night Videos, and I remember that there were no VCRs among us then, and so it would have had to have been there that I saw it, in the auditorium that adjoined the cafeteria, where after the daily serving of tater tots and chocolate milk, a curtain divider was pulled back and all the kids stormed the stage. And I would have been there among them, awkwardly uprocking, or worming in place, or stiffly snaking, or back-spinning like a broken rotor, and I would have looked up and seen a kid, slightly older, facing me, smiling to himself, then moving across the floor by popping up alternating heels, gliding in reverse, walking on the moon.

Nothing happens that way anymore. Nothing can. But this was 1982, and Michael Jackson was God, but not just God in scope and power, though there was certainly that, but God in his great mystery; God in how a child would hear tell of him, God in how he lived among the legend and lore; God because the Walkman was still uncommon, and I was young and could not count on the car radio, because my parents lived between NPR and WTOP. So the legends were all I had—tales of remarkable feats and fantastic deeds: Michael Jackson mediated gang wars; Michael Jackson was the zombie king; Michael Jackson tapped his foot and stones turned to light. Even his accouterments felt beyond me—the studded jacket, the sparkling glove, the leather pants—raiment of the divine, untouchable by me, a mortal child who squinted to see past Saturday, who would not even see Motown 25 until it was past 30, who would not even own a copy of Thriller until I was a grown man, who no longer believed in miracles, and knew in my heart that if the black man’s God was not dead, he surely was dying.

And he had always been dying—dying to be white. That was what my mother said, that you could see the dying all over his face, the decaying, the thinning, that he was disappearing into something white, desiccating into something white, erasing himself, so that we would forget that he had once been Africa beautiful and Africa brown, and we would forget his pharaoh’s nose, forget his vast eyes, his dazzling smile, and Michael Jackson was but the extreme of what felt in those post-disco years to be a trend. Because when I think of that time, I think of black men on album covers smiling back at me in Jheri curls and blue contacts and I think of black women who seemed, by some mystic edict, to all be the color of manila folders. Michael Jackson might have been dying to be white, but he was not dying alone. There were the rest us out there, born, as he was, in the muck of this country, born in The Bottom. We knew that we were tied to him, that his physical destruction was our physical destruction, because if the black God, who made the zombies dance, who brokered great wars, who transformed stone to light, if he could not be beautiful in his own eyes, then what hope did we have—mortals, children—of ever escaping what they had taught us, of ever escaping what they said about our mouths, about our hair and our skin, what hope did we ever have of escaping the muck? And he was destroyed. It happened right before us. God was destroyed, and we could not stop him, though we did love him, we could not stop him, because who can really stop a black god dying to be white?

Kanye West, a god in this time, awakened, recently, from a long public slumber to embrace Donald Trump. He hailed Trump, as a “brother,” a fellow bearer of “dragon energy,” and impugned those who objected as suppressors of “unpopular questions,” “thought police” whose tactics were “based on fear.” It was Trump, West argued, not Obama, who gave him hope that a black boy from the South Side of Chicago could be president. “Remember like when I said I was gonna run for president?,” Kanye said in an interview with the radio host Charlamagne Tha God. “I had people close to me, friends of mine, making jokes, making memes, talking shit. Now it’s like, oh, that was proven that that could have happened.”

There is an undeniable logic here. Like Trump, West is a persistent bearer of slights large and small—but mostly small. (Jay-Z, Beyoncé, Barack Obama, and Nike all came in for a harangue.) Like Trump, West is narcissistic, “the greatest artist of all time,” he claimed, helming what would soon be “the biggest apparel company in human history.” And, like Trump, West is shockingly ignorant. Chicago was “the murder capital of the world,” West asserted, when in fact Chicago is not even the murder capital of America. West’s ignorance is not merely deep, but also dangerous. For if Chicago truly is “the murder capital of the world,” then perhaps it is in need of the federal occupation threatened by Trump.

It is so hard to honestly discuss the menace without forgetting. It is hard because what happened to America in 2016 has long been happening in America, before there was an America, when the first Carib was bayoneted and the first African delivered up in chains. It is hard to express the depth of the emergency without bowing to the myth of past American unity, when in fact American unity has always been the unity of conquistadors and colonizers—unity premised on Indian killings, land grabs, noble internments, and the gallant General Lee. Here is a country that specializes in defining its own deviancy down so that the criminal, the immoral, and the absurd become the baseline, so that even now, amidst the long tragedy and this lately disaster, the guardians of truth rally to the liar’s flag.

Nothing is new here. The tragedy is so old, but even within it there are actors—some who’ve chosen resistance, and some, like West, who, however blithely, have chosen collaboration.

West might plead ignorance—“I don’t have all the answers that a celebrity is supposed to have,” he told Charlamagne. But no citizen claiming such a large portion of the public square as West can be granted reprieve. The planks of Trumpism are clear—the better banning of Muslims, the improved scapegoating of Latinos, the endorsement of racist conspiracy, the denialism of science, the cheering of economic charlatans, the urging on of barbarian cops and barbarian bosses, the cheering of torture, and the condemnation of whole countries. The pain of these policies is not equally distributed. Indeed the rule of Donald Trump is predicated on the infliction of maximum misery on West’s most ardent parishioners, the portions of America, the muck, that made the god Kanye possible.

And he is a god, though one born of a different time and a different need. Jackson rose in the last days of enigma and wonder; West, in an accessible age, when every fuck is a tweet and every defecation a status update. And perhaps, in that way, West has done something more remarkable, more amazing than Jackson, because he is a man of no mystery, overexposed, who holds the world’s attention through simply the consistent, amazing, near-peerless quality of his work.

He arrived to us with Bin Laden, on September 11, 2001—life emerging out of mass death—and I guess it is more accurate to say here that he arrived to me on that day, since West had been producing since at least five years before. All I know is when I heard his production on The Blueprint, I felt that he was the one I had been waiting for. I was then, still, an aesthetic conservative, a vulgar backpacker who truly and absurdly believed that shiny suits had broken the cypher, scratched the record, and killed my beloved hip-hop. My theme music alternated between Common’s “I Used to Love H.E.R.,” The Roots’ “What They Do,” and O.C.’s “Time’s Up.” Slick Rick’s admonition—“Their time’s limited, hard-rocks’ too”—was my mantra, so that on that day of mass murder, when Kanye West greeted me, chopping up the Jackson 5, drawing from Bobby “Blue” Bland, pulling from David Ruffin, arrived with Jay-Z, an MC who dated back to the Golden Age, I did not see myself simply in the presence of a great album, but bearing witness to the fulfillment of prophecy. This was insane, and it has been the great boon of my life that Twitter did not exist back then, to come of age in the last days of mystery, because Lord knows how many times I would have told you hip-hop was dead, and Lord knows how many times I would have said “Incarcerated Scarfaces” was the peak of civilization. Forgive me, but that is who I was, an old man before my time, and all I can say is that when I heard Kanye, I felt myself back in communion with something that I felt had been lost, a sense of ancestry in every sample, a sound that went back to the separated and unequal, that went back to the slave.

That was almost 20 years ago. It is easy to forget just how long West has been at this, that he’s been excellent for so long, that there are adults out there, now, who have never seen the sun set on the empire of Kanye West. And he made music for them, for the young and futuristic, not for the old and conservative like me, and so avoided the tempting rut of nostalgia, of soul samples and visions of what hip-hop had been. And so to those who had been toddlers in the era of The Blueprint, he became a god, by pulling from that generation raised in hip-hop’s golden age, and yet never being shackled by it. (Even after the events of the week, it would shock no one if West’s impending was the best of the year.)

West is 40 years old, a product of the Crack era and Reaganomic Years, a man who remembers the Challenger crash and The Cosby Show before syndication. But he never fell into the bitterness of his peers. He could not be found chasing ghosts, barking at Soulja Boy, hectoring Lil Yachty, and otherwise yelling at clouds. To his credit, West seemed to remember rappers having to defend their music as music against the withering fire of their elders. And so while, today, you find some of these same artists, once targets, adopting the sanctimonious pose of the arthritic jazz-men whom they vanquished, you will not find Yeezy among them, because Yeezy never got old. Maybe that was the problem.

Everything is darker now and one is forced to conclude that an ethos of “light-skinned girls and some Kelly Rowlands,” of “mutts” and “thirty white bitches,” deserved more scrutiny, that the embrace of a slaveholder’s flag warranted more inquiry, that a blustering illiteracy should have given pause, that the telethon was not wholly born of keen insight, and the bumrushing of Taylor Swift was not solely righteous anger, but was something more spastic and troubling, evidence of an emerging theme—a paucity of wisdom, and more, a paucity of loved ones powerful enough to perform the most essential function of love itself, protecting the beloved from destruction.

I want to tell you a story about the time, still ongoing as of this writing, when I almost lost my mind. In the summer of 2015, I published a book, and in so doing, became the unlikely recipient of a mere fraction of the kind of celebrity Kanye West enjoys. It was small literary fame, not the kind of fame that accompanies Grammys and Oscars, and there may not have been a worse candidate for it. I was the second-youngest of seven children. My life had been inconsequential, if slightly amusing. I had never stood out for any particular reason, save my height, and even that was wasted on a lack of skills on the basketball court. But I learned to use this ordinariness to my advantage. I was a journalist. There was something soft and unthreatening about me that made people want to talk. And I had a capacity for disappearing into events and thus, in that way, reporting out a scene. At home, I built myself around ordinary things—family, friends, and community. I might never be a celebrated writer. But I was a good father, a good partner, a decent friend.

Fame fucked with all of that. I would show up to do my job, to report, and become, if not the scene, then part of it. I would take my wife out to lunch to discuss some weighty matter in our lives, and come home, only to learn that the couple next to us had covertly taken a photo and tweeted it out. The family dream of buying a home, finally achieved, became newsworthy. My kid’s Instagram account was scoured for relevant quotes. And when I moved to excise myself, to restrict access, this would only extend the story.

It was the oddest thing. I felt myself to be the same as I had always been, but everything around me was warping. My sense of myself as part of a community of black writers disintegrated before me. Writers, whom I loved, who had been mentors, claimed tokenism and betrayal. Writers, whom I knew personally, whom I felt to be comrades in struggle, took to Facebook and Twitter to announce my latest heresy. No one enjoys criticism, but by then I had taken my share. What was new was criticism that I felt to originate as much in what I had written, as how it had been received. One of my best friends, who worked in radio, came up with the idea of a funny self-deprecating segment about me and my weird snobbery. But when it aired, the piece was mostly concerned with this newfound fame, how it had changed me, and how it all left him feeling a type of way. I was unprepared. The work of writing had always been, for me, the work of enduring failure. It had never occurred to me that one would, too, have to work to endure success.

The incentives toward a grand ego were ever present. I was asked to speak on matters which my work evidenced no knowledge of. I was invited to do a speaking tour via private jet. I was asked to direct a music video. I began to understand how and why famous writers falter, because writing is hard and there are “writers” who only do that work because they have to. But it was now clear there was another way—a life of lectures, visiting-writer gigs, galas, prize committees. There were dark expectations. I remember going with a friend to visit an older black writer, an elder statesman. He sized me up and the first thing he said to me was, “You must be getting all the pussy now.”

What I felt, in all of this, was a profound sense of social isolation. I would walk into a room, knowing that some facsimile of me, some mix of interviews, book clubs, and private assessment, had preceded me. The loss of friends, of comrades, of community, was gut-wrenching. I grew skeptical and distant. I avoided group dinners. In conversation, I sized everyone up, convinced that they were trying to extract something from me. And this is where the paranoia began, because the vast majority of people were kind and normal. But I never knew when that would fail to be the case.

On top of the skewed incentives, the wrecked friendships, the paranoia, the ruin of community, there was a part of me that I was left to confront. I was the loneliest I’d ever felt in my life—and part of me loved it, loved the way I’d walk into a restaurant in New York and make the wait disappear, loved the random swag, the green Air Force Ones, the blue joggers. I loved the movie stars, rappers, and ballplayers who cited my work, and there was so much more out there waiting to be loved. I loved my small fame because, though I had brokered a peace with all my Baltimore ordinariness, with how I faded into a crowd, with how unremarkable I really was—and though I decided to till, as Emerson says, my own plot of ground, whole other acres now appeared before me. It almost didn’t matter whether I claimed those acres or not, because who are you if, even as you do good, you feel the desire to do evil? The terrible thing about that small fame was how it undressed me, stripped me of self-illusion, and showed how easily I could be swept away, how part of me wanted to be swept away, and even if no one ever saw it, even if I never acted on it, I now knew it, knew that I could love that small fame in the same terrible way that I want to live forever, in that way, to paraphrase Walcott, that drowned sailors loved the sea.

But I did not drown. I felt the gravity of that small fame, feel its gravity even now, and it revealed securities as sure as it did insecurities, reasons to preserve the peace. I really did love to write—the irreplaceable thrill of transforming a blank page, the search for the right word, like pieces of a puzzle, the surgery of stitching together odd paragraphs. I loved how it belonged to me, a private act of creation, a fact that dissipated the moment I stepped in front of a crowd. So, that really was me. But more importantly, I think, were things beyond me, the pre-fame web of connections around me—child, spouse, brothers, sisters, friends—the majority of whom held fast and remained.

What would I be both without that web and with a larger, more menacing fame? I think of Michael Jackson, whose father beat him and called him “big nose.” I think of the sad tale of West’s rumored stolen laptop. (“And as far as real friends, tell my cousins I love ‘em / Even the one that stole the laptop, you dirty motherfucker.”) I think of West confessing to an opioid addiction, which had its origins in his decision to get liposuction out of fear of being seen as fat. And I wonder what private pain would drive a man to turn to the same procedure that ultimately led to the death of his mother.

There’s nothing original in this tale and there’s ample evidence, beyond West, that humans were not built to withstand the weight of celebrity. But for black artists who rise to the heights of Jackson and West, the weight is more, because they come from communities in desperate need of champions. Kurt Cobain’s death was a great tragedy for his legions of fans. Tupac’s was a tragedy for an entire people. When brilliant black artists fall down on the stage, they don’t fall down alone. The story of West “drugged out,” as he put it, reduced by the media glare to liposuction, is not merely about how he feels about his body. It was that drugged-out West who appeared in that gaudy lobby, dead-eyed and blonde-haired, and by his very presence endorsed the agenda of Donald Trump.

I finally saw Michael Jackson moonwalk in 2001, finally watched the myth descend into the real, though finally overstates the matter. I had, by then of course, seen the legendary tape of his performance at Motown 25, but somehow it was not yet real to me, because I had not shared in the actual moment, at that moment, because I still, after all those years, remembered the longing of having missed a great event, and having experienced it secondhand. But this time I really was there, live as it was airing—the 30th anniversary of Jackson’s entrance into the pop-music world—and I am thankful that it happened then, at the end of that era of myth and legend, when the internet was still embryonic, and DVRs were not omnipresent, and the world had not yet been YouTubed, and reality television had just begun to peak over the horizon. This was a world still filled with the mysteries, secrets, and crank theories of my childhood, where the Klan manufactured tennis shoes and bottled iced tea, and shipped it all into the ghetto. What I am saying is that this was still a time, as in my childhood, when you mostly had to see things as they happened, and if you had not seen them that way, there still was a gnawing disbelief as to whether they had happened at all.

I think this, in part, explains the screaming and fainting. Jackson cranked up “Billie Jean” and I felt it too. For when I saw Michael Jackson glide across the stage that night at Madison Square Garden, mere days before the Twin Towers fell, I did not imagine him so much walking on the moon, as walking on water. And the moonwalk was the least of things. He whipped his mop of hair and, cuffing the mic, stomped with the drums, spun, grabbed the air. I was astounded. There was the matter of his face, which took me back to the self-hatred of the ’80s, but this seemed not to matter because I was watching a miracle—a man had been born to a people who controlled absolutely nothing, and yet had achieved absolute control over the thing that always mattered most—his body.

And then the song climaxed. He screamed and all the music fell away, save one solitary drum, and boneless Michael seemed to break away, until it was just him and that “Billie Jean” beat, carnal, ancestral. He rolled his shoulders, snaked to the ground, and then backed up, pop-locked, seemed to slow time itself, and I saw him pull away from his body, from the ravished face, which wanted to be white, and all that remained was the soul of him, the gift given onto him, carried in the drum.

I like to think I thought of Zora while watching Jackson. But if not, I am thinking of her now:

It was said, “He will serve us better if we bring him from Africa naked and thing-less.” So the bukra reasoned. They tore away his clothes so that Cuffy might bring nothing away, but Cuffy seized his drum and hid it in his skin under the skull bones. The shin-bones he bore openly, for he thought, “Who shall rob me of shin-bones when they see no drum?” So he laughed with cunning and said, “I, who am borne away, to become an orphan, carry my parents with me. For rhythm is she not my mother, and Drama is her man?” So he groaned aloud in the ships and hid his drum and laughed.

There is no separating the laughter from the groans, the drum from the slave ships, the tearing away of clothes, the being borne away, from the cunning need to hide all that made you human. And this is why the gift of black music, of black art, is unlike any other in America, because it is not simply a matter of singular talent, or even of tradition, or lineage, but of something more grand and monstrous. When Jackson sang and danced, when West samples or rhymes, they are tapping into a power formed under all the killing, all the beatings, all the rape and plunder that made America. The gift can never wholly belong to a singular artist, free of expectation and scrutiny, because the gift is no more solely theirs than the suffering that produced it. Michael Jackson did not invent the moonwalk. When West raps, “And I basically know now, we get racially profiled / Cuffed up and hosed down, pimped up and ho’d down,” the we is instructive.

What Kanye West seeks is what Michael Jackson sought—liberation from the dictates of that we. In his visit with West, the rapper T.I. was stunned to find that West, despite his endorsement of Trump, had never heard of the travel ban. “He don’t know the things that we know because he’s removed himself from society to a point where it don’t reach him,” T.I. said. West calls his struggle the right to be a “free thinker,” and he is, indeed, championing a kind of freedom—a white freedom, freedom without consequence, freedom without criticism, freedom to be proud and ignorant; freedom to profit off a people in one moment and abandon them in the next; a Stand Your Ground freedom, freedom without responsibility, without hard memory; a Monticello without slavery, a Confederate freedom, the freedom of John C. Calhoun, not the freedom of Harriet Tubman, which calls you to risk your own; not the freedom of Nat Turner, which calls you to give even more, but a conqueror’s freedom, freedom of the strong built on antipathy or indifference to the weak, the freedom of rape buttons, pussy grabbers, and fuck you anyway, bitch; freedom of oil and invisible wars, the freedom of suburbs drawn with red lines, the white freedom of Calabasas.

It would be nice if those who sought to use their talents as entrée into another realm would do so with the same care which they took in their craft. But the Gods are fickle and the history of this expectation is mixed. Stevie Wonder fought apartheid. James Brown endorsed a racist Nixon. There is a Ray Lewis for every Colin Kaepernick, an O.J. Simpson for every Jim Brown, or, more poignantly, just another Jim Brown. And we suffer for this, because we are connected. Michael Jackson did not just destroy his own face, but endorsed the destruction of all those made in similar fashion.

The consequences of Kanye West’s unlettered view of America and its history are, if anything, more direct. For his fans, it is the quality of his art that ultimately matters, not his pronouncements. If his upcoming album is great, the dalliance with Trump will be prologue. If it’s bad, then it will be foreshadowing. In any case what will remain is this—West lending  his imprimatur, as well as his Twitter platform of some 28 million people, to the racist rhetoric of the conservative movement. West’s thoughts are not original—the apocryphal Harriet Tubman quote and the notion that slavery was a “choice” echoes the ancient trope that slavery wasn’t that bad; the myth that blacks do not protest crime in their community is pure Giulianism; and West’s desire to “go to Charlottesville and talk to people on both sides” is an extension of Trump’s response to the catastrophe. These are not stray thoughts. They are the propaganda that justifies voter suppression, and feeds police brutality, and minimizes the murder of Heather Heyer. And Kanye West is now a mouthpiece for it.

It is the young people among the despised classes of America who will pay a price for this—the children parted from their parents at the border, the women warring to control the reproductive organs of their own bodies, the transgender soldier fighting for his job, the students who dare not return home for fear of a “travel ban,” which West is free to have never heard of. West, in his own way, will likely pay also for his thin definition of freedom, as opposed to one that experiences history, traditions, and struggle not as a burden, but as an anchor in a chaotic world.

It is often easier to choose the path of self-destruction when you don’t consider who you are taking along for the ride, to die drunk in the street if you experience the deprivation as your own, and not the deprivation of family, friends, and community. And maybe this, too, is naive, but I wonder how different his life might have been if Michael Jackson knew how much his truly black face was tied to all of our black faces, if he knew that when he destroyed himself, he was destroying part of us, too. I wonder if his life would have been different, would have been longer. And so for Kanye West, I wonder what he might be, if he could find himself back into connection, back to that place where he sought not a disconnected freedom of “I,” but a black freedom that called him back—back to the bone and drum, back to Chicago, back to Home”.

~ Ta-Nehisi Coates