#Not to imply that 310 ever left... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

pricklynoodle · 3 years ago

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real or not real

Itadori Yuji/Fushiguro Megumi pairing | Squid Game AU | Rated T | warning: implied character death | ANGST

( yes, writing instead of doing school lol, squid game ruined me so if you want to read this then be warned of SQUID GAME SPOILERS. There's no graphic death, but its sad as hell either way TT)

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“The player who takes all ten marbles from your partner wins.”

Megumi had always kept to himself, never saying anything unless spoken to, never stuck to groups, and never took the choice to attach himself to something. Everything had an expiration date. Unnecessary things like friendships had never appealed to him. He only needed his sister, and it wasn’t like she had the choice to have him as her brother. But the fact that she still stuck around caring for him until she worked herself to a coma.

So honestly, it’s a surprise why he feels his heart drop when the announcement tells him he has to go against … whatever 310 is to him.

He hardly knows 310, and doesn't know anything about his life actually. Other than that he’s crazy strong, has an impressive pain tolerance, but also the loudest kid he’s ever met. He's always around him, sticking to Megumi like a persistent piece of gum stuck to his shoe. But he doesn't dislike him, but he can't say he's thrilled with him either.

But would Megumi kill him?

Stupid, he tells himself.

“Oh, fuck, I honestly didn’t see that coming,” 310 says with a grimace, looking at Megumi guiltily as if he was the cause of Megumi’s inner turmoil. He sits down on one of the stone benches. The whole setup was supposed to mimic a typical neighborhood, something Megumi wasn’t fortunate enough to grow up in. The bastards even made the effort to add in the sounds of cicadas from the fake trees, as if this was a completely normal summer for a couple of teens.

Megumi doesn’t say anything, he feels dizzy. He drops down to the bench, away from 310 as possible.

“I’ve always wanted to say this,” 310 says as he rests his elbows on his knees, looking at Megumi seriously, “This whole thing reminds me of Hunger Games.”

Megumi looks at him with furrowed brows.

“You know, Jennifer Lawrence?” 310 pushes. Megumi says nothing. “...Tall girl, big ass? The one with the arrows?”

“Can you shut the fuck up,” Megumi deadpans, then he shakes his head. He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He counts to ten, then glances down at his hand. 10 marbles. “Just tell me how to play this game.”

“I don’t know either,” 310 admits, sounding sheepish. He shrugs carelessly, “This is more of the games my gramps used to play, but he was too busy being sick to teach me though.”

Megumi looks up at 310. He looks tired, but nostalgic. Like he was thinking of a good memory.

310 perks up, grinning at Megumi brightly, “though they said that we can make our own rules. I’ll think of something.”

Megumi nods solemnly. The silence stretches until 310 lets out an ‘aha!’.

“Let’s bet everything and just play one around,” 310 says, even dropping his fist down onto his hand as if it were the best idea ever.

Megumi freezes, staring at 310, was he going to trick him? He doesn’t even know him. They’re not friends. Of course, everything still is a death tournament at the end of the day.

310 seems to pick up Megumi’s reluctance, he jerks his head to the side. He points towards the pair of men competing against each other, looking frantic and panicked.Their faces are sheened with sweat, t-shirts drenched in sweat. It’s… it’s a pathetic sight.

“Fine,” Megumi relents. “What are we playing?”

“Calm down,” 310 chuckles, “are you that excited to kill me?”

Megumi stays quiet.

“We have a lot of time left,” 310 says breezily, pointing towards the timer mounted on the wall. “Let’s do it at the last minute.”

“What do you suggest we do till then?” Megumi asks with a scowl. “Sit nice and pretty, twiddle our thumbs and shove these marbles up our asses?”

“Jesus, man,” 310 laughs, “no just… talk.”

“Talk,” Megumi repeats.

“Talk,” 310 smiles, looking down at his hands. Megumi looks at them too. He remembers the hard calluses on them, when they shook hands. They’re thick and sturdy, and hold a lot of power. He really could have killed Megumi before, just wrap his hands around his neck and it’s all over.

Megumi also shakes away the filthy thoughts of what else those hands could do. Get a grip, Fushiguro.

“Things we couldn’t tell other people,” 310 says, smiling wistfully. “One of us is going to die here anyways.”

Megumi swallows the lump in his throat.

310 smiles wider. He’s always smiling, Megumi notes.

“There’s no reason to feel embarrassed if that’s the case,” 310 tells him, “I promise I won’t laugh when you blush like a tomato.”

“I don’t,” Megumi denies, but he can feel the heat already rising up to his cheeks.

“You do,” 310 says, “but I think it’s cute.”

Cute.

“So, uh, you have someone back home then?” 310 asks.

“Yeah,” Megumi says.

“...like a girlfriend or something?”

“Sister,” Megumi says quickly, “no...never a girlfriend. Impossible for me.”

“Ah, okay,” 310 says, nodding. “Just your sister?”

“I had a dad, but he … never came back.” Megumi confesses, “he was a shitty dad. He was never really home, but he gave us shelter and food. He had a bad temper, but he never hit us. He never liked to be around me especially. I … used to think he hated me.”

“What changed?” 310 asked.

“I… I became him. I understand why he did what he did,” Megumi says, fiddling with the sleeves of his jacket. “Doing dirty jobs, stealing, never at home. Hiding from danger. Hiding us from danger. Protection.”

310 nodded, he slid closer to Megumi. Thighs brushing. Silence continues.

“He came here,” Megumi says, looking up at the ceiling. It’s painted a pink-orange gradient, like a sunset. “I found half of that business card in one of his jackets. The last two digits were cut off. I dialed every possible number until I got here.”

“For what?” 310 asks.

“Find him,” Megumi says, “punch him. I would have killed him, I think, if I found out that he left us to rot. Then steal all his money to pay for my sister’s medical bills.”

“Oh, she’s sick?”

“Coma,” Megumi clarifies. “Some rich bastard from work hit her on her way home. He got off easy because of money.”

“I see,” 310 says, clenching his fists. “That’s terrible.”

“Yeah,” Megumi says gruffly.

“You’re still getting money though,” 310 says. He doesn’t say but you don’t get your dad back. “What would you do with it?”

Megumi doesn’t even hesitate, “pay for my sister’s medical bills. Buy a nice house for us to live in. A car, if I can.”

“If you can?” 310 says, “where would you drive your car?”

“school,” Megumi says simply. “I would use my car to drive to school.”

310 blinks. “You know, you can do much more with that 40 billion. You really don’t want anything else? Don’t have a destination?”

“I’d go to Sendai.”

“Wh—Sendai? I’m from Sendai. Are you kidding me? Are you going to drive there with a shiny new Toyota Yaris?”

Megumi blushes furiously, “enough about me, ugh, it’s your turn anyways.”

310 shakes his head, but he’s giggling like a schoolgirl. “You really have to think bigger. Have you ever been to the beach?”

“No,” Megumi says.

“You should, one that’s got nice soft sand and blue water. With palm trees too. And you should get piña coladas.”

“What?”

“C’mon man, you don’t get to be frugal with 40 billion. I’ll teach you how to splurge once we get out—”

Ah.

“Right,” 310 breathes out, laughing to himself all silly. “Only one of us leaves.”

Megumi grunts.

Silence.

“...Ever seen a dead body?” 310 asks.

“...I’ve been answering all these questions. You haven’t answered at all,” Megumi points out, feeling far too exposed for running his mouth.

“Ah you’re right! Uh, I don’t have anyone.”

“But your grandfather—”

“He’s dead. For a while now. My mom and dad. Also dead. My brother is on the run. He’s, uh, killed a lot of people. He got the death penalty, so yeah, haven’t really seen him around.”

Megumi looks at him.

“I don’t think he counts,” 310 says, scratching his face. Megumi realizes the scars on his face aren’t from the previous games. They looked healed, puckered and faded from time.“He looks a lot like me, though. A lot of people can’t tell us apart. He hated that. He’s only a bit taller than me, and he loves to brag about it. He has a huge ego.”

“I see.”

“Yeah,” 310 says, but he doesn’t look awkward about it. Just mildly inconvenienced. “Oh, have we really been talking for that long?”

Megumi looks at the time. They have less than 2 minutes.

310 stands up, swiping the dirt off his pants. He pats around for his marbles. “Okay, so you see that wall over there?��

Megumi nods mutely. It’s quite far, maybe around 2 meters.

“Okay, we throw one marble, and the one closest to the wall wins, okay?”

“Okay.” Megumi nods, easy enough.

“Okay, you go first.”

Megumi scowls.

“added rule, we do it together,” he says, jaw clenched.

“Eh?” 310 looks at him, confused.

“I’ve been doing things first, so it seems rather fair if we do it at the same time, with our best effort, okay? I have the blue marble, you get the red one.”

“... okay.”

“Don’t give me a weak ass toss, alright, that doesn’t count,” Megumi says gruffly, narrowing his eyes at him. “Do your best.”

310 nods, giving him a thumbs up. “Okay!”

“On three,” Megumi says.

“Okay!”

“Three.”

“Two,” 310 continues, positioning his arm.

“One,” Megumi does the same.

They both throw their marbles. Megumi’s heart leaps out of its chest as he watches his marble in the air.

Clack!

Megumi looks down on the marble that lands right next to his shoe.

It’s red.

“Ahh, shoot, I threw it too hard,” 310 says with a pout.

Megumi sees red.

He shoves 310 against the wall. “Are you fucking with me?”

“Whoa! No, you won f-fair and square, man,” 310 stutters. “I did my best shot, like you said!”

“Any idiot would know that shit would bounce right back if you threw it like that!”

310 laughs, “I must be some one of a kind idiot, then.”

Megumi shoves him further into the wall. “I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

“You can’t kill me if I’m gonna be dead anyways.”

“THEN I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU DIE.”

“See, that doesn’t really make sense—”

“Shut the fuck up! Why did you do that?!”

310 slumps against the wall, body lax. Not looking at him.

“Answer me!”

“You… you have a lot more to live for than me,” 310 says quietly. He looks up at Megumi, tears in his eyes, “what kind of asshole would I be to deny you for a life?”

“You have a life!” Megumi snaps.

“I don’t, not anymore,” 310 sobs, a wobbly smile on his face. “Before my grandfather died, he told me that I should help others. That when it was my time to go, I would die surrounded by others and not end up like him.

“I should use my strength to help others, that’s what I’ve been doing here. Out there, no one wants me to help them. No one wants the face of a killer to help them. No one wants me to be around them. I can’t go to places, I’ve… I’ve always hated what Sukuna did to me. Made me carry his sins, his crimes. The way people looked at me as if I was him. I can’t move forward, not like you.

“I… I never went to school either, y’know. Or I never graduated. When Sukuna became a wanted man, I became a target. I stayed in my room. The doors were locked. The curtains were always down. It was like this for years. I received no support. The only way I could get by was doing interviews with journalists, feeding the narrative. Making people hate Sukuna more, making them hate me more. That’s no way to live.”

Megumi felt the back of his eyes burn, his teeth aching from being clenched too tight.

“Even if...I had the money. I can’t erase what my brother did. I can’t erase my existence in the world. I would just keep doing the same thing everyday. I don’t… I don’t want a bigger house, not when it’s just me who lives there.”

“You and I are not so different,” he says, looking up at Megumi.. “I think that’s why… I want you to win. You get to experience all these normal things, and feel… happy. You have a chance.”

Megumi wipes his eyes harshly, “Shit.”

“That’s true.”

“... What’s your name?” Megumi asks.

“Itadori Yuji,” 310—no, Yuji says. “My name is Itadori Yuji.”

Megumi takes a shaky breath, he raises his hand for him. “Fushiguro Megumi.”

Yuji grins, he clasps his hand onto Megumi’s. “That means blessing, right?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“I’m glad then, Megumi. That I’m friends with you even through this hell. That itself is a blessing in a disguise.”

“Shut up,” Megumi punches his shoulder.

A guard suddenly arrives, carrying a gun in his hand. Waiting.

Yuji looks behind Megumi’s head. “Ah, I wish we had more time.”

Megumi bites his lip. “I wish I’d… met you sooner. I don't know anything about you.”

Yuji jaw drops, “Okay, I’ll … summarize this in ten seconds! I’m twenty-years-old, my favorite color is green, my favorite manga is Bleach, my type is tall people with big butts! Uhh, I really like watching action films—”

“Not … whatever, nevermind,” Megumi says softly as he listens to Yuji ramble on about himself.

Yuji pauses from his ramble looking winded, “uhm, Fushiguro, can I hug you?”

Megumi freezes.

“I just haven’t had a hug in a long time—” Yuji trails off before he gets cut off with Fushiguro hugging him desperately, clinging to him.

“Idiot, idiot, idiot!”

“...Hey, Fushiguro Megumi, live a long life, okay?”

Megumi lets go.

He turns around.

Eyes burning as he stares unblinking down the path. Footsteps. Silence. Breathing. He feels something salty on his lips when he licks them. It's not sweat.

He... he got attached. He stares forward, he doesn't regret it. Not at all. He got to know Yuji Itadori, the real him, and the pain in his heart is the best he can give back. A reminder that he was more than what people saw him. Yuji Itadori didn't deserve what the world gave him, they did not deserve his cries. The fact that... no one would shed a tear for him.

...Ah.

Megumi notices the dark wet spots on the dirt.

“Thanks for playing with me.”

#my writing #itafushi #itadori yūji #fushiguro megumi #fushiita #squid game au #squid game spoilers #angst #fanfiction #im sorry everyone lol #it just broke me #i m gonna go lay down and cry now bye

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alphinias · 3 years ago

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I seriously doubt Nancy backs off of Park anytime soon. The next episode is rated TV14DSV. Nancy probably sleeps with him. With only four episodes left, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to buy anything happening with Nace in the finale without some huge hand waving. There’s just not enough time for any of this to play out realistically.

Plus, the fact that she could do that while Ace is missing or even at all when she was “pining” for him a week ago (show time) is frankly unbelievable. I know she loves sex but the person she allegedly loves is nowhere to be found and that’s her default move?! The writers obviously want us to ship Nancy with a man who is way too old for her and that she barely knows over the pairing that’s had nearly 50 episodes of build-up. You’d think with the fanbase being 99.9% Nace that would mean something, but it truly doesn’t. Also, not sure why Kennedy loves 310 so much when it seems like a show/ship breaker and not in a good way.

I had such high hopes after 218, but this has honestly been one of the worst seasons of television I’ve ever experienced. The writing has deteriorated with every episode because of an obsession with a new character, the lack of Drew Crew interaction, the lack of meaningful Nace scenes, the looming character assassination of Nancy, and an extremely confusing mystery. Not to mention the weird social media “promotion” including Park being praised 24/7 and Scott Wolf seriously implying Nace is unhealthy which still blows my mind.

I can’t even recommend this show anymore without a disclaimer. It’s been a huge disappointment and that makes me incredibly sad. We’re all getting played for fools just like with every other CW show that’s ever aired.

I mean, you’re entitled to your opinion, but I don’t agree. I don’t think it’s a perfect season of television by any means, but I personally am having a great time even though I dislike the Park storyline. They’ve given us what I take to be meaningful Nace scenes in pretty much every episode this season, and several episodes where Park is not present at all. I think a longer season would have maybe been better for the Nace development, but the story isn’t done yet. These writers have taken things that make no sense before (like Nancy and Gil) and made them make sense, so I’m just here along for the ride. But the nace set up right now is the angst and pining of my dreams, to be honest, so if you don’t like it at all I just can’t relate!

I didn’t see the Scott Wolf comment or whatever, and I found the nark promotion annoying, but they also promote Nace ALL THE TIME. This cast and crew is very nice about Nace. It just makes me think that some of you haven’t been a part of a fandom that’s ACTUALLY a shit show (like Bellarke, for example). I don’t know. I think you just have to take little comments that rub you the wrong way with a grain of salt, because at the end of the day their experience isn’t the same as ours. They are promoting their job and we’re experiencing it as fans. And either way, the actors aren’t writing the show and have no say in what happens, especially about a storyline they aren’t even involved in.

If it’s making you that upset, I always recommend taking a step back and maybe not watching. For example, I’ve had to take a step back from the Rookie because I don’t like where it’s going, but yeah…. I’m currently having a great time with ND and Nace.

I might be disapppinted at the end of the season. I don’t know. But I’m not right now.

#I’m sorry I don’t like to pull the ‘y’all haven’t SEEN a bad fandom until you see this one’#but it’s the truth #nace #ask

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donavanhall · 4 years ago

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Acts of Translation

Late in February 2021, I was walking through the Long Island Pine Barrens, along the beginning of the Paumanok Trail. The snow-covered path was marked by the patterned boot tracks of other hikers (only two or three at the most) and the cloven hoof-marks of deer. The sky above the trees was pale blue, tinged with gray. The air was cool, crisp, dry. With each step, my boots compacted the icy slush and sometimes my boot would shift, sliding on the heavy, dense snowpack so that I’d have to compensate with a movement of my upper body and arms to keep my balance and to prevent myself from slipping.

The fourth branch of Jacques Roubaud’s “the great fire of London”, a volume called Poésie: (récit) — I prefer the French title since Poetry: (a story) is less poetic and loses a sense of meaning that I think should be there, poésie to my ear implies a movement that is lost in the more static English word, poetry, and récit (and perhaps this is peculiar to me and has nothing to do with actual French) suggests narration closer to that when a storyteller speaks to a listener who receives the récit and so completes the action, a story doesn’t necessarily require a reader — begins with the Narrator (Roubaud) moving through space, in this case, the space is urban, the streets Paris.

Early in December 1994, I was walking in Paris. The sky was gray, low, the air humid, warm.

For walking in Paris, I wear a blue K-way jacket, and a cap, also blue. The K-way was a gift, not something I’d picked out. It was light, blue, waterproof, costly.

For walking in the woods, I wear an olive green jacket made by Patagonia that zips up the front and has a little pocket over the left breast where I can store my phone for easy access. Around my neck, I wear my “Doctor Who scarf” knitted by my mother. (The scarf isn’t a replica of any of the long scarves worn by the Fourth Doctor, played by actor Tom Baker, but a spirited recreation of the sort that anyone familiar with the various scarves featured in Season 12 through 17 of the TV show would immediately recognize.) On my head I wear a black bowler hat I purchased at the museum shop of the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art in 2018 when I took my mother and son to the Magritte exhibit. (The next summer, I would take my wife and son to Brussels to tour the permanent Magritte exhibit at the Musée de Beaux Arts. The study of Magritte’s art and writing is a principal concern of my Project.) The clerk at the shop said this style of bowler hat is the exact same one worn by René Magritte when he was alive. So it should be no surprise that I’m pleased with it and wear it every opportunity I get, and especially when I’m out on my daily walk.

Before the pandemic, I walked every afternoon through the pine barrens. This was easy enough since the office where I perform my paid work (not at all literary) is located in the middle of the pine barrens. There are a network of trails that lead through the woods that are immediately accessible from the back door of the building where I work. A year ago, my office was closed, so that I now work from home. Now my afternoon walks (usually) are taken along the streets in the neighborhood where I live in the village of Long Neck. I’ve become a familiar sight in the neighborhood as the man in the bowler hat. My neighbors wave to me and sometimes will view my unusual headwear as an occasion for conversation. What kind of hat is that? asked one neighbor. Another fellow walker assumed I’m a fan of Stanley Kubrick’s adaptation of A Clockwork Orange, a novel by Anthony Burgess. I’m more a fan of the book than I am a fan of the movie, but my bowler hat is most deliberately a nod to Magritte and not to Alex and his three droogs. Throughout the pandemic, Magritte and his art has been my life line.

On his walks in Paris, Roubaud doesn’t wear a bowler — his cap is of a different sort.

I bought the cap in New York, at J.J. Hat Center, at the corner of Broadway and 42nd Street. It’s a hat made in Scotland and the salesperson assured me that it was the same exact style of cap worn by Sean Connery in the film The Untouchables. It’s no surprise that I’m happy with it.

After I’m vaccinated and I feel like taking the Long Island Rail Road to Penn Station again, maybe I’ll go to the J.J. Hat Center myself and shop for a hat. Although according to “the internet” J.J. Hat Center is now located at 310 Fifth Ave (between 31st & 32nd), not far from Penn at all. If/when I do go in to the city, I’ll want to pay a visit to the Fountain Pen Hospital. A man can never have too many hats or too many fountain pens.

I could go along in this vein for quite some time, this leisurely stroll through Roubaud’s Poésie: (récit) allowing his text to guide my own thoughts, reveries, musings, etc. The resulting text would function as a companion text. I’m walking along with Roubaud in Paris as he moves from the National Library, past familiar restaurants, along familiar streets…

I passed between the tops or periscopes of the licorice icebergs of the Buren columns, making sure not to slip on their outgrowths/extensions [? the French word is excroissances, but it’s not obvious to me what these outgrowths or extensions might be], on the damp grills, slimy, soaped with crushed beige leaves. And I made it through with no accidents to Place Colette, on the right side of the Théâtre-Français. This route was well known to me.

...but Roubaud himself is not walking with me, only his text, or perhaps he is with me as an invented copy of an imaginary Roubaud that I carry within myself as I read and as I walk along the snow-covered Paumanok Trail thinking of his book, or books (one book in seven volumes called collectively “the great fire of London”).

I read the first two and a half branches (the first three volumes to be translated into English), starting with Branch One: Destruction in the fall of 2018. Without really intending to, I wrote a little book of jottings while reading Roubaud’s novel. I called my little book, In the Labyrinth of Forking Paths, since “the great fire of London” is “a story with interpolations and bifurcations” with actual links indicating different narrative paths the reader can take during their wandering reading. I was reminded (though only a little) of the choose-your-own-adventure books (published by Bantam) I read when I was a kid. One of my early attempts at writing fiction was a “literary” choose-your-own-adventure called (imaginatively enough) Into the Labyrinth (a slight variation on a title of one of Alain Robbe-Grillet’s novels, Dans le labyrinthe, with whose hyper-descriptive nouveau roman style I’d become bewitched, a style ideally suited to such text adventures). (I published my Into the Labyrinth as an interactive fiction designed for a media platform that worked only on those early generation iPods. I have no idea if anyone ever read/played my interactive fiction even though according to the app, mine was the most downloaded story. It was certainly the longest.) I won’t claim that I have been waiting for the remaining four volumes to be translated into English. In fact, I felt a certain level of contentment with the artificial truncation of the novel — I had read all that I could, all that was available in English, so now I could move on to other things, like reading the works of Miklós Szentkuthy. Procuring and reading the rest of “the great fire of London” wasn’t a tempting prospect until Anthony, author of the blog, Time’s Flow, mentioned that he’d purchased the remaining volumes in French and would be making an attempt to read them. That was all it took. If Anthony was going to do it, then so would I. I ordered copies from a bookseller in France and they arrived last Friday in the post. So when did I get the idea to translate these remaining four volumes into English myself? Was it a serious idea or just another of my fanciful projects? Project 7139: translated two thousand pages of Jacques Roubaud’s “the great fire of London” into English. (For the record, I’m currently working on Project 3 which I started twenty years ago. Project 4 is “write a masterpiece that will establish my literary reputation.” That one might take awhile.) Certainly, I would read these other branches. Or would I? My track record for finishing big projects is not stellar. (The first time I read Proust, it took me ten years.)

While walking in the snow in the pine barrens, I thought about why I was being pulled back into Roubaud’s book. What was it about his very long prose that attracted me? Was this a momentary literary crush or had I fallen for “the great fire of London”? If this were a romance, you could say that Roubaud and I met in the fall of 2018 and spent some time together, mostly walking. We shared our mutual interests, talking about poetry, literature, and mathematics. I learned a great deal about haikai (haiku and haibun), gained a new appreciation of the works of Charles Dickens, and was introduced to Nicholas Bourbaki, and then resumed my own mathematical studies after a hiatus of twenty years, this time beginning with set theory and topology. And then it was over. He had to go. We parted ways.

Then two and half years later, Roubaud pops up again at a party hosted by a friend, this time we’re speaking French — my French is better now, so it’s much easier for us to talk and now I feel something different than I did before. We’re making a real connection. I can feel it. And Roubaud seems somehow changed. When we first met, I was the one who was paying attention to Roubaud, accompanying a new master, and learning new things. Now, this new Roubaud, this French-speaking Roubaud is interested in me, keeps asking me questions, asking for my opinion. Then it dawns on me. Roubaud has chosen me. You’re the one, he says. I’ve picked you.

Of course, this isn’t an exclusive relationship. Such is the way with authors and their books. Readers must share the objects of their affection, but still it feels different when a book chooses you rather than you choosing it.

I’m choosing you. I’m ready whenever you are. Shall we begin?

#jacques roubaud #walking #translation #french #literature

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philadelphialunchrestaurant-blog · 5 years ago

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howdoyouspellepiphany · 6 years ago

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The Prophecy

Summary: Min Yoongi is the first in line for the throne in Infernum. He is the only child of Hades, the current King of Infernum and Min Yoo Jung, the goddess of harvest and spring. A long time ago, a prophecy have fallen upon Infernum and Paradisus which promises the demise of two realms in the hands of a creature that many believes to be a mortal. With Hades gone in search for a solution, Yoongi had to fill in his father’s position as a regent. And for the longest time, everything is going smoothly ignorant to his mother’s feelings.

So, when his mother, the goddess of spring had forced him to spend some time with her on Earth after ignoring her and her feelings for 15 years, he had no choice but to obey her.

Now, the prince of Infernum is back on Earth and he met a pink haired waiter who looks like heaven and smells like sin. And all of a sudden, he was reminded by the prophecy:

Beautiful as the creature may be, fire doesn’t burn, ice doesn’t freeze, water doesn’t drown and lightning doesn’t destroy.

Warnings: Implied smut, crude language, ignorant author

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 1

When Yoongi opens his eyes, he finds himself on some park near an unknown river. He grumbles as he glares at the sun shining up above with white puffy clouds and blue sky. It’s a beautiful day with birds chirping and flowers begins to bud. It was the first day of spring and everything is coming back to life after 3 months of hibernation. He glares at the sun in disdain as his senses slowly return to him. The silver haired man groans and forces himself to sit upright. His brows creases as the wetness at the back of his black shirt slowly makes its presence known. It has gotten wet due to lying on the grass (presumably wet due to melted snow).

Frankly, Yoongi is man who has 10:1 ratio of what he couldn’t stand to what he can. And being wet is one of the things he cant stand.

“I’m going to kill Namjoon.” He seethes as memories of being pushed into the loophole flashes through his cold, bluish grey eyes. Yoongi had a small dispute with Namjoon before he was so rudely interrupted by his own advisor.

‘You need to settle things with Suran. Things are really looking bad for her and if you don’t help her, she might really get turned against this time.’ Now, how many times have Yoongi heard this? Thrice in a span of 5 years. Suran have always managed to make things alright again when given time. So why is this time any different? ‘Also, you need to visit your mother on time, this year. I can’t handle her wrath last year when you decided to bail at the last moment. How many years has it been since you last saw her? 17? 20?’ His advisor patiently reminded him for the umpteenth time this week. Yoongi was at the end of the thin and fragile rope known as his patience. If he ever hears Namjoon bringing up his mother again for the 132,510th time, he swears in his father’s name that he will end Namjoon himself.

‘You know I can’t help it. I am a regent until my father returns.’ Yoongi said and the blonde man next to him sighs dejectedly. Yoongi knows that the stress of managing a kingdom hasn’t only taken a toll on him but on his advisor as well. He knows that Namjoon means well and is trying to help him make wise decisions but he is a prince to his people first. ‘I am sure Suran can come and pay us a visit here herself and I haven’t been visiting my mother for only 15 years. Don’t exaggerate it, Namjoon and I’m sure it feels like only what? 6 months have passed-‘

‘9 months.’ Namjoon corrected.

‘Right, 9 months have passed and it’s not even that long and my mother will understand. Now, call the members of the council for a meeting. I need to speak with them urgently about your birth home. I hear it’s worse this time round. It had really gotten down to -310 degrees and my demons are freezing over there.’

‘You don’t need to worry about Athara. What you need to worry is about your position on Earth. Suran can’t keep filling in for you. The dhampirs and the ghouls are going berserk and Suran’s army can’t hold up against them any longer. The dispute is very bad, Yoongi. They are going against the pact and they are going to have Suran’s head if you’re not going to do anything.’

‘I am going to do something and I am going to Earth as soon as I’m done with my duties here. You’re not helping by having this conversation with me.’ Yoongi creased his eyebrows as he wonders when did Namjoon learn to talk back to his words while the said blonde demon glares at the prince as he tries to ignore the loud voices inside his head to hit the royal highness square in the face for being so stubborn. But he obviously decides against it for he knows Yoongi isn’t kind enough to let him pass with just half his bones broken.

‘Your duties as a prince will never stop.’ Namjoon tries again. He is truly worried for the things going on in the world above them and he is getting desperate and frustrated that Yoongi doesn’t seem bothered. ‘You need to get up to the surface.’

‘I don’t see why you’re so worried. We have Jungkook up there.’ Yoongi said despite knowing how his little brother enjoys the bloodshed and war. He knows that Jungkook is own version of Ares and the golden boy has never let him down before so he doesn’t understand why this is any different. But before Yoongi could even say more, a loophole appears before his feet and Namjoon flashes him a smirk.

‘Say hello to Queen Yoo Jung for me.’

The silver-haired adolescent with fair skin rips the green grass off the ground as he tries to control his temper so the grass in his palms down burst into flames. I ought to change my advisor. He thought spitefully. This isn’t a great start for him. For one, he isn’t completely sure where he is, as he just thought of wherever his mother might be with hopes that the loophole will bring him to where she is. But vagueness isn’t what loopholes obey to and he ended up in a park where humans are found lingering around. Great. He rolls his eyes. Yoongi takes in a deep breath despite how uncomfortable the wet shirt feels like clinging onto his skin is and he couldn’t deny that he actually does like the clean air right after winter. After all, he couldn’t deny what his other half is made from.

Yoongi is the first-born child of Hades, the King of Infernum and his mother, Min Yoo Jung, the goddess of spring. He is the only heir and first in line to the throne which he has been taking for a while now that his father had embarked on a journey many moons ago with his brothers Zeus and Poseidon to find their father, Kronos.

The reason behind their impromptu journey is that a prophecy was bestowed upon them like lightning on a beautiful, peaceful night. Cassandra of Troy was visiting Apollo’s Temple one night when the tales of the future flashes against her irises. She described the disaster as a sea of flames engulfing Paradisus – Olympus to be exact and in the middle of it all is a creature who has the features of a mere mortal. The fire was so strong that even Poseidon’s water couldn’t tame it as it burns everything that stand in its way whereas Zeus’s lightning did little to no damage against the mortal. Upon seeing the raging fire, angels have tried bringing the ice from Infernum’s Athara but alas, the ice melt against the raging fire. It was total chaos as bright orange and amber burns in Cassandra’s eyes. And as Paradisus burns to death, Infernum freezes up for there is no Paradisus without Infernum and vice versa. She’s seeing the end of both Paradisus and Infernum and it all ended in the hands of the said creature.

She had summoned Hermes that very night and told him of the final prophecy she saw before killing herself in the temple of a God that she resents with her whole existence. She has decided that she will not take sides and there’s a wicked voice in her head which did not belong to any of the goddesses that taunts Cassandra to let the gods who have done no justice to her and her people die. Hermes had flown back to Paradisus in a haste and barged in the Zeus’s golden chateau in the heart of Paradisus – Olympus as soon as he got there. Once the message was relayed to Zeus, he had called for an emergency meeting one so big that it includes the King of Infernum himself.

Yoongi was still young when he followed his father, Hades to Olympus for weeks with no end. Yoongi didn’t do so well in the friend department but still to make a friend in Olympus who was shunned for not being beautiful. Nevertheless, he still remembers the chaos and the hushed voices of older gods and goddesses who are constantly whispering about the prophecy wherever they go in fear for their lives.

Beautiful as the creature may be, fire doesn’t burn, ice doesn’t freeze, water doesn’t drown and lightning doesn’t destroy.

And everything went to shambles from there.

Massacres and the strong stench of blood lingers in the air for a long period of time due to selfishness and fear. Even so, the gods knew they couldn’t cower in fear and the massive and groundless massacre for long hence, the three most powerful gods went to search for an answer from their father.

Yoongi stares off the distance as he tries to figure out where he was sent to but to no avail. He just couldn’t pinpoint where he is. He tilts his head to the left a little in frustration as he sighs until two older women jog past him. He was sure he had memorized every page of that Geography book Jungkook had made personally and sent him before coming here. It was impossible that he couldn’t recognize any of these buildings from his little brother’s professional photographs.

“Another one wasted? What a disappointment.” One of them nudges the other.

“I wonder what’s to happen to the younger generation for they dye their hair in odd colours then go to parties and get wasted all night.” The other woman scoffs in distaste. Upon hearing them, Yoongi immediately stands up and gave them a smile before looking into their eyes. And almost immediately, he sees the few things that troubles them – being old, financial issues and family feuds.

“Good morning, grandmothers. It truly baffles me how you can badmouth a stranger who is trying to relax when your children are basically living off of your pension money on liquor and grade C coke.” He said with a polite tone. He was feeling less annoyed now that he knows where he is. He even bowed to them before leaving as he hears some insults were thrown his way but he blatantly ignores them. The deep yellow was starting to radiate above their skin says it all – they were embarrassed and Yoongi have already attacked their biggest weakness. Nothing else that may come out of their mouth that is worth his wasted time.

So, for his own crude amusement, Yoongi decides to indulge himself in the scenery before him as he ignores the curses that comes out of the women’s mouths. Although there is no place like home, he is still amazed with how fast Korea is developing over the past few years that he wasn’t able to accompany his mother. Speaking of his mother, he should have known that she would have chosen Korea despite there are 194 other countries in the world. She must have chosen Korea this time to see the cherry blossoms for she was summoned to Paradisus last year by her mother, Demeter for something his grandmother might have wanted. The mother-daughter pair have never let him in any of their discussion for Demeter used to tell him that it was something only the Divines would understand. It used to annoy the living shit out of Yoongi when he was younger hence not seeing his grandmother up till now. But it’s not like Demeter had even remotely tried to talk to him, anyways.

Yoongi buries his hands in the pockets of his black leather jeans as he lets his body guide him to the apartment where he believes his mother resides. Seoul in his eyes is a beautiful city. It has a different feeling from he was in Tokyo, Singapore, London or New York. He likes deceiving Seoul is. While the exterior is clean, scenic and prepossessing, the interior is squalid, grotesque and appalling. And despite how amusing weaponry smuggling and drug lord wars are in Yoongi’s eyes, he finds himself at home amongst the two-faced everyday civilians he encounters.

As soon as he steps out of the park, he becomes more aware of the putrid air – the smell of sex, hypocrites, jealousy and failure thick in the air. Yoongi is a clairvoyant type of demon whereby he can ‘see’ feelings through colours despite not being able to hypnotize people the way Namjoon easily can with a snap of his fingers. He sees deep red of lust radiating from teenagers and adults alike, deep blue of sorrow and purple of avarice on men and women in suits. It is very rare for him to find other colours on adolescents and elderly alike. But with children, they indulge him in other colours like white which represents innocence, gold that represents intense happiness and pastel pink that are soothing to the eyes due to their pure love.

As he was zoning out, he found himself outside of his mother’s apartment as he stares at the number on the brown door. He sighs as he punches in the 6-digit password – 814519 as it flashes green, chimes a little and an unlock sound was heard. He pushes the handle downwards and steps in the apartment. To his surprise, his one and only mother was standing in front of the door with a ridiculously huge smile on her features. Yoongi sighs at the sight as she pulls him into a hug. “If you were here, why didn’t you open the door for me?” Yoongi mumbles as he accepts his mother’s warm embrace. His mother, Yoo Jung or more commonly known as Persephone or Jachongbi, is a tan woman with locks that reminds him of the golden rays of the sun during a bright sunny day. Yoongi, on the other hand is ivory skinned. He is, according to his mother a complete copy of Hades. The only thing he physically inherited from his mother is her greyish blue eyes.

“You’re freezing!” Yoo Jung exclaims as she hugs her son tighter. Yoongi rolls his eyes. He’s always freezing. That’s what he and his father is. Despite ruling Infernum which in normal and common belief is supposed to be on fire, it’s actually quite cold but the fire burns hotter than it normally does. When Yoo Jung lets go of her son, she pats his cheeks as her eyes water. “It’s been a while since I last saw you.” She whispers and Yoongi sighs.

“Mom you know I’ve got no choice. Dad is gone-“

“I know, I know. With your father gone, you’re the regent. I know. But cant I miss my own son? You don’t visit me anymore.” Yoo Jung said, frowning.

“But I’m here now.” Yoongi tried and Yoo Jung smiles at her son before ruffling his hair. The said woman begins to ask too many questions at once like ‘have he eaten’ or ‘is he tired from the journey’ and ‘when is Namjoon coming’ all of which is ignored by Yoongi. He just wants to rest now that he’s on Earth but instead of going straight to his shared bedroom with Jungkook and Namjoon, he went towards the old brown piano nearby his mother’s balcony where she has her plants planted in pots. He runs his finger across the wood but never the keys. He has been dying to touch the piano ever since he had no time for it but now that he’s actually touching it, he fears that he’s already forgotten the notes. And so, he turns away from the piano and steps outside.

As a child, Yoongi learns how to create life like his mother does and did his best to learn every single type of flora there is even the ones present in the human world. “You still have these?” Yoongi asks as he touches the soft petals of the tuberose. The flower reminds him of sunsets because it starts with a deep purple from the dark green stem that slowly turns into dark red and pink before it turns into orange and ends with yellow tips.

“The Neoleas? You know your brother can’t sleep well without them.” Yoo Jung said softly as a memory of the past flashes before her eyes. The tragedy didn’t only physically affect Yoo Jung but Yoongi as well. For the sake of keeping the atmosphere light, he forces himself to focus on other things like:

“Is that why we have a smaller version of a peach tree here?” Yoongi asks in amusement. “You spoil him too much.” The heir of Infernum plucks a peach off the small tree and eats it. Of course, the plants that were planted by her hands always turn out scrumptious for she is the goddess of spring and plants befitting to be the daughter of Demeter, the goddess of harvest.

“I spoil all my boys.” Yoo Jung said in defence. “Which reminds me, I made some lamb skewers for both you and Jungkook in the fridge. I’m sure there’s plenty for the both of you and Namjoon so don’t quarrel over it.” Yoongi makes a face. Quarrel? Over lamb skewers? What are we? 7? “I know what you’re thinking, Yoongi. Although I don’t think the three of you resembles children, but your actions always speak louder.”

“What are you talking about?” Yoongi scoffs, offended.

“The last time I made too little, the house was reduced to ashes.”

“Honestly, that was all Jungkook.” Yoongi said in a matter of fact-ly tone.

“Yeah? Then mind justifying yourself why I vividly remember you biting Namjoon’s burnt hand while Jungkook was eating is own tail?” Yoo Jung asks, hands on her hips as she dares her son try to win the debate.

“It was still Jungkook.” Yoongi mumbles petulantly while the goddess of spring can only shake her head and sigh at her son’s behaviour.

“Anyway, there’s some japchae in the fridge for Jungkook’s dear friend. Do remind the boy to take them over for his friend before it turns bad, will you?” Yoo Jung said as she heats up the bulgogi she made earlier in case her son decides to stop by.

The demon prince, now clad in a black leather jacket found himself wandering in the streets of Seoul once again on his red and black Streetfighter. He just wants to discover the city a bit more for it clearly had changed since the last time he came. It’s obvious that it had gotten more modern now. Yoongi makes a stop at the red light and all of a sudden, a bitter but calming aroma of coffee hits his olfactory and he can’t help but reminisce the time he spent with a human girl named Yaksoku. Yaksoku is your everyday girl who has troubles with her skin and hair. She was a crossbreed between a Korean mother and a Japanese father – hence the name, Yaksoku which rhymes with promise in both Korean and Japanese. Her skin isn’t very fair and her looks are mediocre but she managed to captivate his attention with her luscious black hair that reminds him of the night sky at 3 in the morning and her warm brown eyes that resembles the coffee he likes so much.

Yaksoku, the human girl who captured Yoongi’s attention is someone with dreams of opening up a café. She used to take odd jobs (which eventually leads to their fateful encounter) and one day, with Yoongi’s help, she was able to turn her dreams into a reality. Yoongi isn’t a saint, no. He told her that she needs to trade her soul for it and she agreed without hesitations even if it meant sleeping with him. He used to think that she’s foolish to sell her soul for something that he hasn’t even given her but when he saw the determination in her eyes, he isn’t sure if her decision is foolish anymore.

He doesn’t know why he stayed true to his end of the deal to help her build the café but he did and he built it from scratch. And he unknowingly gained Yaksoku from it as she did not only give him her body and soul but an unbreakable bond built on trust and friendship. It wasn’t as though he loved her and vice versa but they feel at lost when the other isn’t by their side – much like when you miss your best friend after not seeing them after 30 minutes. But being regent is harder than Yoongi have originally thought and the Fallens have begun questioning him of Yaksoku and he ended up leaving after giving her soul back to her.

While he is lost in his thoughts, his body brings him to Yaksoku’s café – the Promise café. He doesn’t want to admit to anyone but seeing her for the first time in a few years made him excited. The white haired prince isn’t even sure if she wants to see him again after all these years after he left but he knows that his best friend isn’t one to leave him. He can proudly say that he knows her all too well.

Yoongi has strains his neck as subtly as he can to steal glances inside the café for a woman’s silhouette with hopes that it’s Yaksoku. He knows that her necklace might already be glowing as an indication of his arrival but he still wants to sacrifice his neck to search for his best friend. When he couldn’t find her, he hastily parks his bike and hops down. As soon as he enters the shop, the air conditioning immediately hits his skin and he welcomes the chill and the lustful eyes that comes with. It is no secret that Min Yoongi is blessed with good looks as females and males alike ogle shamelessly at the demon prince whenever he struts past them as the said demon barely gave them a glance while minding his own business. Yoongi makes his way to corner next to the cactus he had Yaksoku get when she first opens the café as he emits a don’t-bother-me aura when he finally makes eye contact with the humans who are still staring at him. He sees how some avert their eyes as the colour changes from red to yellow – a colour of embarrassment or cowardice.

To Min Yoongi, humans’ feelings are a fickle thing. The colours they emit changes so fast and soothing, pastel colours he often sees in children are rarely ever present on adults as the usual two colours he often sees is the deep, smothering red surrounding men which represents their insatiable lust and the disgusting green that reminds him of a swamp or the slime on Leviathan’s back surrounding the women which shows him their envy and jealousy.

There is a 10:1 ratio of the things Yoongi hates to the things he likes here on Earth. Amongst the few things that he undoubtedly like is his mother’s cooking, alcohol, drugs, cigars, fruitless deaths, pretty things, lots of filthy sex and coffee. So, when a pink haired waiter coming his way with a scent that goes well with the bitter aroma of coffee in a loose white shirt, Yoongi found himself salivating. Suddenly, he doesn’t know what he’s salivating for anymore – the boy or the coffee. He couldn’t deny that the boy is drop dead gorgeous with a scent that makes him hungry for more. But what catches him off guard is the fact that there is a thin white light radiating above the boy’s skin – something that Yoongi has never encounter on a grown man for it represents innocence.

“May I take your order?” The boy asks, offering Yoongi a menu as to which the prince declined. He already knows what he wants, after all.

You, Yoongi thought cheekily as he smirks to himself. But he wouldn’t do that to his best friend even if the one who catches his eye looks like heaven and smells like sin. “Black coffee. That’ll be all.” Yoongi said as the pink haired boy bows slightly before taking his leave. Yoongi’s blue eyes follows the boy till he disappears behind the door that separates them and the kitchen.

While the white-haired prince waits for his long-awaited reunion with Yaksoku and his hot cup of coffee, his eyes trail to a certain pair of red eyes that have been blown out with lust. Yoongi holds her gaze as she submits to him with just a look before lowering her a head a little. Yoongi immediately knows that the girl sitting across the table is an ally of Asmodeus’s or her species is more commonly known as a succubus whose greatest sin is lust. He takes notice of the two men next to her, with their hands up and below her skirt no doubt giving her the release she probably had begged for. Now, Min Yoongi is no saint and he, too would do anything to sate his needs by any means possible even if he has to fuck them in the middle of the café but he would be damned if he let himself get controlled by a mere human as he watches the little succubus leads her two play things out the café before giving him a small and subtle bow.

Min Yoongi isn’t a patient man which is why he was baffled himself that he was able to wait for Yaksoku to turn up until the shop closes. The pink haired waiter whose name is Jimin (he learned it after his third cup of coffee and a ‘it’s on the house!’ peanut butter and chocolate flavoured cake) told him that it is past the closing time. Yoongi knew it was closing time nearly 2 hours ago but he didn’t want to believe that Yaksoku didn’t want to come see him but when Jimin had say it, he couldn’t deny the feeling of utter betrayal. Did Yaksoku not want to see me? Is that why she didn’t come? Yoongi couldn’t help but have these toxic thoughts as he braves himself to ask about Yaksoku only to find out that she had passed away a little over 2 years and that Jimin is her grandson. The little piece of information shocked Yoongi greatly. While he was busy with his duties, he forgot that a year to him is equivalent to 20 years in the human realm and if he was aware that at least 3 years have passed in his realm, in the human world, a grand 60 years have passed. Yoongi was shocked beyond words, mostly angry that she had died so easily despite only 60 years have passed.

Humans are indeed weak and pitiful. Yoongi thought in distaste before giving Jimin a 50 dollar bill and took off before Jimin could hand him his change. To anyone who knows Yoongi would already know that the prince had sped off to Aphrodite, the most famous brothel in the red district. He was immediately greeted by Ken or more known as Asmodeus as he was given a glass full of his favourite wine, a room and two of the Aphrodite’s favourite Angels. Once Min Yoongi got his hands on them, he didn’t let go of the Angels even for a breath or for a thought as he used their body for his own pleasure.

Whimpers turn to moans and eventually screams of pain and agony was heard from the room. Yoongi paid no heed to their begging and pleas to stop as he chases his own pleasure. Yoongi’s grand, black wings make its appearance as it rips through his skin and his black shirt once he does. It was so large and so beautiful that for a split second, the angels thought he’s a God but when they meet Yoongi’s unforgiving eyes, they knew he was far from it.

Once he was done, he calls out for Ken whom he knows has been outside of the door, hesitating to enter the room while he had his way with the Angels as he takes out a cigar from the drawer and casually lights it up. The prince of Infernum have only gotten his best friend’s death out of his mind but now another person has creeped in his mind.

When Ken steps in the room and carry his Angels out of the chamber, his jaw drops in awe. The headboard has smashed to pieces, the satin of the bed sheets is torn and feathers all over the floor from the pillows. Ken finally snaps out of his trance when he hears his Angels whimper in pain. He looks at them with emotions devoid in his red eyes – a common feature for Asmodeus and his underlings - as he watches his Angels scramble to cover their body with the torn and soiled satin sheets. The prince has broken them, was the only thing that he can think before helping them out.

“You better leave before Jin finds out what you’ve done to his angels.” Ken said after bringing the second Angel out. Yoongi, on the other hand makes no haste move to cover up as he blows a puff of smoke and downs another bottle of liquor.

“Bring me another one of these.” He said, completely ignoring Ken.

“I’m serious, Yoongi. Leave before Jin finds out.” Yoongi pauses for a moment as he looks at Ken. Yoongi hates being bossed around by anyone including his own mother but he couldn’t blame Ken for being anxious. After all, the demon who gains strength by the fulfilment of one’s carnal desires are torn apart between respecting his prince and maintaining a beneficial friendship with the owner of the club, Jin.

Now, Kim Seokjin or more known as Jin is a friend of Yoongi’s and the son of Aphrodite. He, in Yoongi’s eyes has mommy issues thus naming his infamous brothel after his mother, the goddess of beauty and pleasure. And much like Yoongi, Jin only has a few things that he loves and amongst which is the club, his Angels, his friends and Kim Namjoon. Yoongi sighs as he lays on bed. “Fine, don’t give me another bottle. I’m leaving. I’ll pay your Angels twice the amount for their services tonight.” Yoongi groans as he sits up on the bed. He retracts his wings with a groan. It hurts having them out since it pierces through his skin and it hurts even more getting them back in because it’s not comfortable for him. Ken offers to carefully dab Yoongi’s bloodied skin with a warm towel as he offers kisses down Yoongi’s neck and at the skin where his wings popped out. “Kiss me one more time and I will fuck you into this mattress, Asmodeus.” Yoongi threatens with his real name as the other demon chuckles. Although Ken knows Yoongi doesn’t play around when he calls him by his real name, he couldn’t feel threatened. How is he supposed to feel threatened when all he hears is a promise of a good time?

“You said it like it’s a threat.” Ken coos, kissing Yoongi’s lips, silently daring the prince of Infernum as Ken’s red eyes shine a little in the dim light.

“I have time to spare. If it’s a fuck you want, you know I’ll give it to you.” It is no secret that Yoongi and Ken have fucked before. Gender and species have never been an obstacle to Yoongi although he does have a personal favourite and for a long time, he enjoys copulating with a human most.

“Please do. Don’t hold back this time.” Ken has his tongue out and drag it along Yoongi’s collarbone as the prince chuckles deeply. His eyes are devoid of white sclera as he stares Ken down.

“Alright. But you’re doing all the work.” Yoongi said as he gets comfortable on the bed. He continues to smoke on his cigar as he watches Ken takes his own pants off. The demon then got on his knees and kisses Yoongi again before taking his dick in his hands as he strokes it up and down. Ken’s other hand pushes his own black hair back.

“As you wish, Your Highness.” Ken whispers as he places his knees in between Yoongi’s thighs.

“You don’t have STDs or anything like that, do you?” Yoongi asks, blowing a puff of smoke into Ken’s face.

“You wound me, Your Highness. You can’t get any of those humanly diseases and so can’t I.” Ken replies, feigning hurt.

“It’s always a good idea to be safe, Ken. Who knows who else have fucked your tight little asshole.” Ken moans wantonly at Yoongi’s words as he feels his prince’s dick thicken in girth as it begins to slowly stand tall.

“Only humans, Your Highness. Clean humans.”

“Very well then. Serve me.” Upon Yoongi’s verbal green light, Ken sinks down to Yoongi’s full length. Yoongi closes his eyes at the surprisingly wet and tight asshole but when he opens his eyes, the one bouncing on his dick no longer takes the form of Ken. If it werent for his voice, he would have believed his eyes.

“I live to do just that.” Ken whispers, knowing full well that he now looks like someone Yoongi has been wanting. Though Ken doesn’t know whom, Yoongi surely does. He would have been damned if he ever forgets his pink hair.

Chapter 2

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krankensignblog · 2 years ago

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eldritchsurveys · 4 years ago

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880.

5k Survey VII

301. List 5 things you have not experienced that you would like to experience before you die. >> Feeling real human connection, skydiving, travelling abroad, feeling at home in my body and not being riddled with dysmorphia and dysphoria, therapy that actually helps and doesn’t make me worse. 302. Will you try to accomplish any of these things within the next year? >> I highly doubt any of those things can be accomplished within the next year. 303. What do you feel controlled by? >> The effects of persistent trauma. 304. If Jesus appeared to you and told you that the moon was made of green cheese would you believe him? >> Why would I believe one dude over all the evidence collected by many humans by a variety of methods (including actual visitation of said moon)? Doesn’t matter what his name is, he’s still got the burden of proof and if he doesn’t deliver, then his word doesn’t mean shit. 305. What is one thing you are sure of? >> I’m sure of nothing, really. I’m not even sure the moon isn’t made of green cheese. I just choose to believe the multitudes of scientists that have asserted otherwise, because that makes more sense than believing a questionable apparition from a religion I don’t even follow.

306. At what part of the day do you feel the most alert? >> I guess throughout the morning and early afternoon, before the mid-afternoon slump hits. 307. Have you ever played in a band? >> No. 308. Have you ever stared into the ocean thinking ‘early creatures crawled outta that’? >> I’ve never had that thought while staring at the ocean, no. But I can see how one would, and it’s a pretty fascinating thing to consider. 309. If not, what do you think of when you are staring into the ocean? >> It depends on what’s on my mind that day. The ocean doesn’t conjure any specific thought processes for me or anything. 310. Do you like the mental challenge of chess or other games? >> I don’t know how to play chess and I don’t care to find out. 311. Do you ever think of where your atoms were before they were in you? >> In passing, sometimes. More often I think of where my atoms will end up after I’m gone. 312. Do you ever think about where your atoms will go after they have been in you? >> ^ 313. If you didn’t know that people couldn’t fly do you think that you could? >> I don’t know if that’s what I would think or not. 314. Are you someone that others call when they’re having a problem and want to talk about it? >> No. 315. When it comes to literature, do you see beyond the writing and into the meaning intended by the author? >> I usually don’t, not without prompting, or without having prior knowledge of the author’s perspective on things, life experiences, that sort of thing. For example, I know a lot about Ayn Rand’s life by now, so when reading her books, it’s a lot easier for me to see what she was expressing and why she chose to express it like that. Whereas when I first read The Fountainhead, I mostly took it at face value and the political implications kind of went over my head in the beginning. It’s just not my skill set, I guess (and is a big reason why I failed high school English). 316. Is there anything you can take apart completely, and then put back together, and have no left over parts? >> I don’t know, I don’t usually do stuff like that. 317. What are your feelings about the death penalty? >> Sometimes I think it’s more humane than lifelong incarceration. 318. If there was a god and you could ask him/her one question what would it be? >> If I wanted to ask a god a question, I’d just ask him. I don’t see what the issue is, here. 319. Do you believe that life will be found on other planets? >> I think it’s highly possible and I wouldn’t be surprised if it happened. I’d be really delighted, though, because that’s a neat ass discovery. 320. What is something worth suffering for? >> I’m not sure “suffering” is the word I’d use for this kind of thing. I think there is useful pain and good stress, but the word “suffering” particularly implies a level of unnecessariness to the whole experience. Suffering, to me, is the stuff of life that no one should have to go through, that adds nothing of value to the world, that is mainly just human cruelty perpetrated on others. Suffering is “starvation in a world of plenty” or “chronic homelessness” or “child abuse”. Whereas what I think a useful pain or a good stress is, is something like “delayed gratification” or “strenuous exercise” when in service to a personal goal or ideal, or the pain of surgery to fix something wrong, or the pain of mourning or confronting a feeling that you’d otherwise try to run from. 321. If you could put an extra eye on your body anywhere you wanted, where would you put it? >> I’d have extra eyes all over. That’s a pretty good look, if you ask me. But they’d have to be tattoos or magical projections or something, because otherwise that’d just be a terrible nuisance. Eyes are way too sensitive and prone to injury to start putting them on body parts that generally have more contact with the environment. 322. Are you in touch with the earth and nature? >> I don’t know. The conditions of my existence have put me at a considerable remove from nature, I think, along with a lot of other urban-dwelling Americans. So now capitalism sells us things and experiences meant to “get us back in touch with nature~”, because this is a hell world. 323. Would you rather live simply or extravagantly? >> I think some measure of in-between is best for me. There are some things considered “extravagant” by other people that I think would just provide me and my neuroatypical brain with a better quality of life -- like having a big bathroom with modern fixtures, or a housekeeper to do the heavy cleaning. On the flip side, I don’t want to live in great opulence, or anything. I want aesthetically pleasing, well-made things just like the next guy, but not ostentatious things, not status-symbol-y things. 324. Have you ever been camping? >> Yeah, a couple of times. Would love to go again. 325. Is your heart open when you meet someone new? >> Well, see, I have never had open-heart surgery, so-- 326. Are you able to have conversations with and become friends with people who are not like you and are interested in different things than you are? >> It depends on what levels they are different from me. I can definitely have conversations with people of varying interests and life experiences. That’s how I learn new things and new perspectives. But I don’t think I could have any fulfilling conversations with someone who refused to respect the truths of my existence, or with someone who seemed especially impoverished in the open-mindedness department. 327. Are strangers more beautiful or frightening to you? >> Er. Neither? Most of the time, strangers are just inconveniently in my line of perception and I’m just waiting for them to pass out of it. 328. What stops you from doing everything you want to do? >> Coronavirus. *rimshot* 329. Can you think of three adjective that do not apply to you at all? >> I don’t think I can, really. There are some adjectives that might only apply to me incidentally, or only to a certain version of myself (who might or might not still exist), but that means they still apply in some context. 330. How do you feel about Jeremy Jaynes, who got a nine year prison sentence for spamming people with junk email (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jeremy_Jaynes)? >> I don’t feel like reading about this person. 331. Do you know who the current premier of China is? >> I don’t remember. 332. Are you very active? >> No. 333. Is there a city that reminds you of the landscape of your brain? >> Yeah, the Los Angeles of Blade Runner 2049. Ha ha. 334. Have you ever loved someone who has loved you back? >> Probably. 335. Is it really being 'in love with’ someone if the other person doesn’t love you? >> I don’t see why it wouldn’t be, but I’m the wrong person to ask about that sort of thing anyway. 336. Do you believe that there is someone perfect for everyone or that people just fall in love with who ever they are with at the time? >> I don’t subscribe to either of those ideas. 337. Do you know secret things? >> No. 338. Have you ever fallen in love with someone you shouldn’t have? >> I don’t know what this means. 339. How do you overcome your fears? >> If I do, it’s probably because it went away on its own or something weird happened to dispel it. I have no idea how to overcome a fear on purpose. 340. What can you do better than anyone you know? >> Nothing. 341. Would you benefit from a wilder existence? >> No, I really would not. Unless you mean “wilder” in the sense of “wilderness” and not, like, “wild child”. In that case, yeah, maybe. 342. Does it seem to you like the range of socially acceptable behavior is getting smaller or larger? >> I don’t know, man. I try not to make any sweeping generalisations like this. I think some of the conversations we’re having as a society really need to happen, though, whether they’re comfortable or fun to participate in/observe or not. 343. Have you ever fired a gun? >> No. 344. Are people becoming more afraid of each other? >> As I said, I prefer not to make sweeping generalisations like this, I don’t think they’re useful or in any way accurate to actual experience. 345. If you had to choose the percentage of freedom vs. safety what ratio would you decide on (ex: 100% free 0% safe)? >> What. 346. Does safety stifle you? >> Some people’s ideas of “safety” do stifle me, yes. Other people’s ideas of it are life-affirming to me. I haven’t really given much thought to what “safety” means for me, personally. 347. Who or what needs to be stopped? >> Oh, you know. The planet, so I can get off *cue laugh track* 348. Are human beings becoming more domesticated? >> Isn’t that what the advance of civilisation is, and particularly advancements like technology and industrialisation? The process of increasing domestication, of separating Man from Nature, elevating that one above that other? Otherwise, I have no idea how I’m supposed to answer this question. 349. Do you follow the lives of the British Royal Family? >> No, I know nothing about them. 350. How did the death of Pope John Paul II (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pope_John_Paul_II) affect you? >> It didn’t. I don’t even remember when it happened.

#surveys #survey #5000 question survey

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kameronxsws818 · 5 years ago

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Articles, Tagged With "Rope".

While search engine giant Google has only been a player as one of the major search engines for less than a decade, it has actually become a goal of a lot of webmasters to make certain that their pages are search engine optimization Google friendly so that they can achieve the best Google ranking possible. This implies standard SEO optimization will not matter as much. Ranking will eventually be dead. Things like traffic, analytics, bounce rates, and so on will count more. The more unique traffic your site have the better you will do. Spammy traffic from paid bulk traffic site will not be also considered as it has remained in the past.

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iromyy · 4 years ago

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The Truth of Genesis: The Evil and Ignorance of Gentile Christianity - Part 1 of 7

This is a follow-up to a past arrangement named "The Sad Truth of Christianity and Judaism". Current Judaism has ignored the way that Israel owed capital punishment, and it would need to be paid before their pledge with Yehovah could be recharged. Simply because Yeshua restored the Covenant with Israel, by shedding His human blood, was the entryway opened for the two Jews and gentiles to go into the realm of God (Christianity). Be that as it may, by denying Yeshua similar to the Messiah, the Jews likewise are considering John the Baptist a liar, or possibly they are disregarding John's service. The greater part of Judaism today anticipates that the Messiah should come later on, without capital punishment ever being paid first, which is incredible. That is the reason Yeshua (Jesus) needed to come the first run through to be stricken, and pass on, being the everlasting Lamb penance for wrongdoing. Jesus was the "Prophet" of whom Moses talked. He will make two additional approaches before His Eternal Kingdom is established over all the Earth and universe.

Be that as it may, this arrangement is about the silliness, obliviousness, and underhandedness of gentile Christianity, in its endeavor to guarantee itself as the best approach to Heaven https://junkempire.net/. The "Christianity" groups which are generally known and followed today are bogus trinitarian religions (Catholicism, Mormonism, Protestantism, Non-Denominational, and so on.), and genuine Christianity has for the most part been overlooked since the times of Constantine, the Roman Emperor. Trinitarian Christianity is really sin, and was set from the merger of Roman mysterious religions and pseudo Christianity of the Roman Empire, produced together by Constantine with his Council of Nicaea in 325 AD. Its lone object was to constrain all residents to acknowledge a "state religion", with an end goal to bind together the realm, not to get salvation. Be that as it may, Jews and (unique) Christians were banished from joining in. Out of this board, the bogus tenet of the trinity was set up. Be that as it may, Constantine himself stayed an admirer of Mithra, the Persian sun god.

Prior to Constantine, there were a few little scope blasphemies invoked by Satan and his adherents as an assault against unique Christianity, as instructed by the Apostles. The followers of Yeshua were first called "Christians" in Antioch of Syria. From the start, after the congregation was conceived, the devotees of the confidence were designated "pupils" of the Christ. They thusly, were rehearsing the Apostles' convention (Acts 2:42), who were authorized by Jesus to convey the good news of salvation to all humanity. Thusly, genuine Christianity doesn't follow Yeshua legitimately, yet rather the conventions set by His Apostles (John 17:20).

From the start, the followers were all Jews, since salvation was to be given to the Jews first. Some time later, half Jews (Samaritans) were added to the confidence (Acts 8). At that point a few years from that point onward, gentiles were added to the confidence (Acts 10). It followed the succession that Yeshua gave (Acts 1:8). About when gentiles were added to the confidence, bogus conventions began sneaking in. The main realized deceptions were from Jews that had been of the Pharisees, concerning gentiles.

In Acts section 15, there was the instructing that the gentiles must be circumcised, so as to be spared. That was not written in the sacred texts, nor educated by Yeshua nor His Apostles. So where did it originate from? It originated from men, making up garbage, to cause others to follow their convictions. furthermore, "pay some dues". The Pharisees were hugely blameworthy of that. That is the reason a significant number of the wonders that Yeshua performed were in broad daylight differentiation to the takanot and bogus educating of the Pharisees. The Apostles chose to not "put a burden upon the neck of the gentiles", and confirmed that changed over gentiles just needed to keep away from "contaminations of icons", sexual episodes, and profane dietary patterns (which isn't plainly deciphered in the content), other than eating things relinquished to symbols.

Dwindle was given the keys to the realm (of paradise, salvation, and so forth.) by Jesus, implying that Peter would be the one to open the entryway and report the boundaries (conventions) of salvation. This he did on the Day of Pentecost (Acts 2:38), in Samaria (Acts 8:14 - 17, finishing crafted by Philip), and started salvation to the gentiles (Acts 10: 19 - 48). After the Apostles kicked the bucket, certain men of malice started showing sin, which was not what was initially given to the congregation. This incorporates counterfeit gospel works (acting like compositions from Mary Magdalene, Philip, Thomas, and so forth.) and lessons of blasphemy that were intended to confound and dishonor the "new" confidence. However, sin on a stupendous scale would not come to fruition until the times of Constantine.

The main realized sin was from a man named Arius, near 315 AD, however I don't know that the "Christianity" that was being polished in at that point in Rome was anyplace near the first, after 140 AD. In Matthew 13:24 - 30, Yeshua told the illustration of the tares. What it implied was that Yeshua was the foundation of salvation, and He charged His twelve Apostles to be the establishment (Eph. 2:20) of the confidence. This implies we that call ourselves "Christians" are not following Jesus straightforwardly, however follow the teaching of the Apostles (Acts 2:42). However, after 104 AD, all the Apostles were dead, and second era ministers and educators were pioneers of the confidence.

At some point after 140 AD, particularly in Rome, there were individuals that started to educate "different things" not passed on from the Apostles. By 310 AD, there were those showing sin the Godhead, the holiness of Yeshua, and even the timeframe Yeshua led His service on Earth. Unique Christianity was marked as "Sabellianism" and "Modalism" by those that had grasped Catholicism.

To sort the issue out, how about we return to the start of the accounts. Let me first give a wealth of credit to Michael Rood, who composed and had distributed "The Chronological Gospels: The Life and Seventy Week Ministry of the Messiah". As of this composition, Michael Rood has not yet found genuine salvation, however has still been an instrument utilized by God. I additionally express gratitude toward Yehovah, who guided Mr. Rood and helped him to finish that multi year task. I ask all to buy a duplicate, to advance your comprehension of the blowouts and how they had a significant impact in the life of Yeshua.

The fifteenth day of the third month (Sivan) was the agnostic date of June 10, of the year 4 BC. This is close to the day that Zacharias would finish up his request for administration in the Temple, finishing with the consuming of incense. It is on this day that the curve blessed messenger (most likely Gabriel) reported to Zacharias that he would have a child. Zacharias and his better half Elisabeth were close their mid-seventies, and were childless. Since he was questioning this could come to fruition, Zacharias was struck almost totally senseless until this kid was conceived. Around three days after the fact, when his timespan was finished, Zacharias left the Temple and came back to his home, which gives off an impression of being close to Bethlehem.

In July, the following month, Elisabeth imagines, and shrouds herself for five months. In the mean time, Mary is the more youthful first cousin of Elisabeth. Their moms were sisters, being possibly twelve years separated, and of the linage of Moses and Aaron. In any case, Mary's dad was of the royal line of David and Solomon. His name was likewise Joseph. Matthew 1:16 (KJV) erroneously names Joseph "the spouse of Mary", which the interpreters got off-base. Joseph, the "father" of Mary, was the twelfth age from Babylon, Mary was the thirteenth, and Yeshua was the fourteenth era. Joseph, who was the "spouse" of Mary, was of the linage of King David and his child Nathan. Two distinct men named Joseph.

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ultrasfcb-blog · 7 years ago

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French Open 2018: First open winner Nancy Richey on prize cash & Paris riots 50 years in the past

Nancy Richey’s small French Open trophy reproduction (centre) sits in a cupboard at her dwelling alongside a grainy newspaper picture of her – the one image she has of her huge second

2018 French Open Venue: Roland Garros, Paris Dates: 27 Might-10 June Protection: Every day dwell radio and textual content commentaries on BBC Radio 5 dwell and the BBC Sport web site

When Nancy Richey received the 1968 French Open, she by no means obtained the prize cash, couldn’t ring her dad and mom for the whole event and needed to change motels thrice in Paris.

The American’s victory over Briton Ann Jones within the last ought to have earned her 5,000 francs (£422 – the equal of about £7,000 at this time) – the primary time prize cash was provided at a Grand Slam occasion – however as a result of she, like most of her compatriots, was nonetheless an beginner, she couldn’t settle for it.

As a substitute, she acquired her $27 (£11 on the time) day by day allowance – a number of weeks later.

“It was actually unbelievable,” Richey instructed BBC Sport. “It disgusts me… [Americans] did not get to play for the prize cash within the first yr.”

She is the one beginner winner of a Grand Slam ladies’s singles title for the reason that begin of the Open period – and is more likely to stay so.

However the 75-year-old will not be bitter and right here describes how being an beginner had its benefits and the way the strikes that paralysed France in Might 1968 could have helped her win the title.

And he or she additionally explains why she forgave her mum for answering one piece of fan mail.

Beginner v skilled period

Nancy Richey beat Britain’s Ann Jones 5-7 6-Four 6-1 within the 1968 French Open last

Having been unable to say the cash in Paris, a couple of weeks later Richey reached the ultimate at Queen’s, which was then a males’s and girls’s event. Each singles finals have been cancelled by rain and she or he was given a £250 procuring voucher.

“I might have put it within the financial institution, if I would obtained precise cash, however this was a voucher I needed to get one thing with – I wasn’t certain what I used to be going to do with it so I went to [London department store] Liberty’s and picked out a set of china and had it shipped dwelling,” she stated.

“They did not name it prize cash – I could not obtain it. I suppose we would name it semi-prize cash.”

She says she has used the fruit-patterned eating set twice.

Richey did finally flip professional and was a member of the pioneering ‘Authentic 9’ – gamers who broke away from the tennis institution in 1970 and fashioned their very own skilled tennis circuit, which finally led to the formation of the WTA Tour.

However earlier than that she lived off the $27-a-day allowance she was given by her governing physique, the USLTA.

“You could possibly pay your resort – not a fantastic place – and your meals. You scrimped and you bought by,” she stated.

“You did not make something but it surely did pay for it. I used to be lucky that my mum and pop did not push me out – till I obtained married in 1970, I lived at dwelling. It is lots totally different to what occurs at this time.”

Richey believes one of many most important causes she received the French Open was as a result of she was in significantly better form bodily than a few of her rivals who had simply turned skilled, together with compatriot and 12-time Grand Slam singles champion Billie Jean King.

“They have been travelling, taking part in one-night issues, I do not know in the event that they even performed full matches,” she stated. “They weren’t in a position to actually practice or play like I used to be taking part in, and weren’t in nearly as good a form as I used to be in.

“I beat Billie Jean within the semis – the conditioning had lots to do with it.”

Pioneers of girls’s tennis

Like all Grand Slam occasions nowadays, the French Open gives equal prize cash for women and men, with singles champions this yr set to take dwelling 2.2m euros (£1.92m).

However it could by no means have occurred with out Richey and the remainder of the ‘Authentic 9’, who risked suspension or expulsion by the tennis authorities once they arrange their circuit, partly in protest on the disparity between males’s and girls’s prize cash.

All of them signed $1 contracts and inside the subsequent yr greater than 40 gamers have been taking part in for over $300,000 in prize cash. In 1973, their Virginia Slims Circuit turned the Ladies’s Tennis Affiliation, which nonetheless runs ladies’s tennis at this time.

“The ‘Authentic 9’ actually began professional tennis for the ladies. I am greater than thrilled that we have been those who obtained it to begin. It was a particular time,” Richey stated.

However does she want she may have been a participant on at this time’s Tour, reaping the total good thing about the massive prizes on supply?

“No,” she stated. “At my stature – 5 foot three – I do not suppose there’s any means I may compete with the six-footers who’re taking part in at this time.

“I am greater than thrilled that we have been those who obtained it to begin. I am blissful – what we did was to get ladies’s tennis the place they have been taking part in for many prize cash.”

And because the graphic beneath reveals, if Richey had been allowed to just accept her prize in 1968 she would have been in a position to purchase 10% of an average-priced home in Britain, whereas this yr’s winner may purchase greater than eight of them.

French Open prize cash has been transformed from French francs and euros to British kilos utilizing historic alternate charges

‘It was just like the darkish ages’ – Paris in Might 1968

France was within the grip of civil unrest whereas the French Open was being performed in 1968, and a few gamers couldn’t even get to Paris which led to many first-round walkovers.

A few of those that did make it to the French capital had been compelled to be artistic of their journey plans, together with Richey’s brother Cliff, who flew to Luxembourg and paid $100 for a 180-mile taxi journey to Paris with a few different gamers.

And as soon as they have been there, the influence of the demonstrations and normal strikes was important.

“Because the weeks progressed the event saved asking us to maneuver nearer to the courts as a result of the gasoline was operating out within the official vehicles,” stated Richey. “I moved resort thrice.

“It was getting worse by the day after we obtained in there. The telephones weren’t working to name overseas, rubbish was piled sky excessive in every single place. After which proper after I received, the strike broke and I may name dwelling and inform my dad and mum that I had received the event. Superb.

“It was just like the darkish ages. Not to have the ability to discuss to my father, who was my coach for all my taking part in days, it was off the wall. It was the oddest event I ever performed in.”

However, she wouldn’t change something. In reality, she would go so far as to say the strikes had helped her as a result of her brother couldn’t get out of Paris and ended up staying on to teach her by the remainder of the event.

“I am actually grateful for the strikes as a result of I am undecided Cliff would have stayed and he was nearly as good in teaching as my dad was, so it was actually a key factor to me profitable the event,” she stated. “I’ve handy him half the trophy no less than as a result of he actually helped.”

France was paralysed in Might 1968 by pupil uprisings that blew up right into a normal strike

Fan mail and groupies, 1960s-style

Tennis gamers at this time have thousands and thousands of followers on social media, who can pore over each ‘like’, emoji and selfie of their idols.

However in Richey’s day, in case you needed to attempt to interact along with your favorite participant it needed to be pen and paper.

She by no means replied to any of her fan mail however then her mum responded to a British lady referred to as Mary in 1966.

“After I obtained dwelling from Australia my mum was standing on the door,” Richey recalled. “She says you are going to kill me – and Mary had written again so now it was my duty to write down to Mary.

“Nicely, she’s now my greatest good friend.”

Mary and one in every of her pals travelled to Paris to comply with Richey’s journey to the French Open title – no imply feat amid the transport strikes.

“These have been my groupies,” she laughed. “That they had a resort eight miles from Roland Garros – they walked to the courts and again for 2 or three days throughout the event to look at me play. To stroll eight miles to the court docket and again – 16 miles, I can not even conceive of it.”

Tennis at this time ‘a bit of bit boring’

Jelena Ostapenko (proper) received the 2017 title however can runner-up Simona Halep (left) go one higher this yr?

Richey has not performed tennis for round 18 years after breaking her foot. Today she retains match with day by day three-to-four-mile walks round a neighborhood park.

Maybe a hangover from her taking part in days, she retains a meticulous report of the variety of miles she has clocked: “I’ve carried out 310 miles since 1 January.”

She nonetheless watches a little bit of tennis – however doesn’t at all times take pleasure in it.

“The sport at this time is ‘increase, increase, increase – and increase’ – there isn’t any range in type, there isn’t any serve and volley. Numerous instances it will get a bit of boring to look at,” she stated.

However she can be tuning in to see whose identify will seem on the Coupe Suzanne Lenglen 50 years after her personal.

“I actually want to see [Simona] Halep win, just because she has come so shut so many instances. She’s sort of light away in the important thing areas there so possibly she will get it collectively,” she stated. “And [Petra] Kvitova appears to be like like she’s having a very good yr.”

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