#and like. i was a smoker for 4 years. i was an alcoholic for 6.

[sillypilled-friendcel]

"what do you know about drinking" "what do you know about smoking" "what do you know about weed" "what do you know about drugs" you do not know me or my life!!!!!!

[lumin-w-nox]

There's enough people that follow me, so I should probably do one of these

Introduction

(I'm shit at these)

Hello. I'm Aloysius (A-low-shis) Morningstar, or just Alo

At the time I'm writing this, I am 30 years old. I'm married to a smart (she literally has an IQ of at least 140) and beautiful woman. We have one child together

I come from a purely Celtic bloodline. About half Scottish, the rest is a mix of Irish, Welsh, and brit. My ancestors came and settled in West Virginia

The family rumor/story is that my family were masons and, upon immigrating, helped establish the capital of the state, Charleston. Which is also where I was born

I've been practicing witchcraft for about 4 years, but have studied it for about a year longer

I am a Luciferian. Lucifer came and spoke to me directly in my dreams. I don't dream often (as in only 23 since August 2023) so I do believe it was actually him

I was a Christian when I was younger and was baptized when I was 14. Since I was 16, though, I have dabbled in Islam, Demonolatry, Sikh, and Satanism (both theistic and atheistic)

My witchcraft consists of a little bit of everything, but I hold more of a chaos belief. I believe that the universe is chaos (disorder) and that we all hold the potential to use our inner energy to harness and organize the chaos into something we want

I am not anti-christian. I do believe that all religions are true and all hold merit and teachings that are good for all of humankind. Therefore, I don't believe that places of worship should be burned. Majority of the time, it's the people that do the religion injustice. Except Wicca. I hate Wicca

When I first started practicing witchcraft, I hid it from everyone for the first 3 years. In doing this, I molded my practice into incorporating sigils into a practice all its own. I have included runes into it as well and have attempted to create seals, though with varying effect

As for my mundane life, I practiced martial arts for about 14 years. I am a 2nd degree black belt in an Okinawan style called Wado-ryu and I am a brown belt in Tae Kwon Do. If I get back into it, I'd like to learn Tai Chi (my age is catching up with me)

I worked in the food industry for about 12 years and, at one point, wanted to be a chef. However, I had to put that aside once I started having chest pains from pushing myself on the line. I do still love to cook, though, and have even made duck breast pretty successfully (I will always brag about this)

I have gone through some abuse from my family. To the point that I would like to change my legal name (if it wasn't $400+ and a 6 month ordeal, plus talking to a judge in a legal court). I've also gone through abuse with past relationships that I am still working on

I have been diagnosed with depression and anxiety and I'm pretty sure I am on the spectrum, but I can't afford an assessment. I've been admitted to a psychiatric hospital 3 times for self harm and severe depressive episodes. I am now in much needed therapy and on appropriate medications. I've never felt happer

I am a smoker of cigarettes. I used to smoke pot, but stopped once I habitually smoked half an ounce a day. I was also an alcoholic at one point, drinking a 750ml bottle of vodka daily. I also was unfortunate enough to be addicted to porn for 10+ years, starting at age 6, which very negatively affected me

I am an aspiring author. I am currently working on a romance novel that is loosely based on my wife and I (no, it's not one of those kinds of romance novels). I have a fantasy book in mind as well that I'd like to write. I'd also like to write a book about Lucifer and his gospel

I'm not sure what else to dump in here, so feel free to go on my page and send me an ask. Almost nothing is off limits, so go crazy, but with a little restraint, please

[mrbopst]

My Sound Advice column for Brick this week 5/4/2010

I wasn’t always an avowed hippie hater.

In my single digit and early teenage years, I listened to many of the principle players from the late 60’s youth phenomenon (thanks to my father’s record collection) from Dylan to the Byrds, Santana to Jefferson Airplane as well as the one group that not only survived, but prospered long after the Summer of love, The Grateful Dead. Not that I ever owned any of their records myself, but whenever my brother or one of my friends put on, “Box of Rain”, “Uncle John’s Band” or, “Friend of the Devil”, I didn’t complain. Though I would have preferred hearing The Who, Ted Nugent or KISS, it was innocuously pleasant music with the added bonus of being somewhat subversive. For the life of me, I couldn’t understand how they could even remotely be considered rebellious when stacked against my favorite record at the time, “Powerage” by AC/DC, but the older kids, the kids that were smoking pot, seemed to think that they were real scary.

Not being a pot smoker, I assumed they were scary because they had, “dead” in their name.

It wasn’t until years later when I witnessed the Grateful Dead for myself did my hatred blossom for them and the post relevant hippie culture they came to represent. Beyond the meandering, acidic bubbling of Jerry Garcia’s guitar floating over the group’s never ending journey to nowhere, what struck me the most during the 6 times I saw them was the defining lack of thought that epitomized their audience. They were drunken, drug addled idiots. While this stupefaction is evident at any large concert, the vapid hedonism of Grateful Dead crowds was heroic. And that was the allure of Grateful Dead shows: Not to listen to the music, but to get as fucked up as humanly possible. For a band that carried the mantle of the idealism and the hard fought battles of the counter culture movement of the late 60’s, by the time the early 80’s rolled around, the Grateful Dead had withered into forays of laid-back decadence evidenced not only by the drug overdoses of the band members themselves, but the legions of zombies they left in their wake that worshipped them as gods. People think yuppies were bad, but as despicable as those Ronald Reagan, trickle down opportunists were, they were at least making an effort (albeit a questionable one) to better themselves. Latter day hippies on the other hand stood for nothing more than the deadening of one’s head.

And what a long stupid trip it’s been ever since.

Since Papa Jerry’s heroin overdose in 1995, a plethora of jam bands has sought to wear the Grateful Dead’s crown as the number one draw in the financially lucrative and increasingly competitive hippie market. One of the genre’s top concert draws, the Athens, Georgia based Widespread Panic, played two sold out performances at the National recently and agents from the Virginia Alcoholic Beverage Control had a field day making a total 69 arrests, many for underage drinking and drinking in public, in the area around the music hall. It must have been like shooting fish in barrel. "We heard from other law enforcement agencies where the band has played, that some followers of the band may be participating in illegal activities, so we proactively provided a presence," said ABC spokesman, Philip Bogenberger, in an article in the Times Dispatch echoing similar stings authorities have conducted during the group’s recent tour (dubbed, “Operation Don’t Panic”) that resulted in 200 arrests (and an ecstasy overdose) during their performance in Pelham, Alabama and over 60 in Louisville, Kentucky. "What they did to me was totally uncool," said Jason Bartlett, 30, a spreadhead (the Widespread Panic equivalent of being a deadhead) and self-described ski bum from Colorado, who was arrested during the group’s concert in Alabama and spent 20 hours in jail before a friend posted bail for his misdemeanor marijuana arrest. "We don't want to lose our scene. We are trying not to lose our vibe, but we are definitely scared."

Well, dumbass, you should be scared. You better toughen up if you plan on being so stupid.

Beyond the plasma draining effects of jam band music, it’s because of sentiments like this is why I hate hippies. They are docile, easy targets for legal retribution rendered inert by their all-encompassing desire for obliteration. While I do think the drug war is a sham of biblical proportions, hippie’s quest for anesthetized states beguiles feeble minds unable to comprehend that huffing inhalants, binge drinking and illegal drug use in public might get you arrested. They are the poster children for the drug war.

I have no sympathy for you idiots. You got what you deserved.

Chris Bopst May 3rd, 2010

[canichangemyblogname]

Something that’s been rubbing me the wrong way? This weird obsession Millennials have with gen z aging. For a generation that insisted you were going to embrace aging, you sure have done a good job of continuing to stigmatize it. Like, I get it… it’s just a manifestation of aging anxiety, but c’mon.

(And because someone is going to “bean soup” this post, I’ll just get this out of the way: I’m not saying Gen Z is full of perfect little angels working to destigmatize aging.)

Anyway… comments like “Why does Gen Z look so old” on posts by a Millennial making fun of other fellow Millennials or “Gen Z is aging like milk” or “All the vaping and alcohol is making Gen Z look old” or “Gen Z makeup and fashion trends just make them look old” are only reinforcing the idea that aging is something uncool™️ and signs of it should be avoided.

If we’re being honest, “old” has just become the Millennial version of “cheugy.” And the Millennials I see doing this always use this as an opportunity to contrast their looks and aging with the supposedly Gen Z influencer they’re commenting on (the influencers they “stitch” are often usually young Millennials, though). “Why does Gen Z look so old? Like… I’m 34 and I don’t look that old.”

Have we considered for a moment that you do, in fact, look your age? And have we also considered that the person you’re commenting on also looks their age? Like… have we considered the fact the 28 y/o Millennial you’re stitching is not going to look drastically younger or older than a fellow adult only six years older than them? Have we? And have we considered that you’re not very good at recognizing age due to our society’s cult of youth? Which is why when said 34 y/o meets someone who’s 40, they’re surprised: “You’re 40??? I would have guess that you’re 36!” As if there isn’t only 4 years between 36 and 40…

I get it. We’ve all met young adults who we’ve thought are older than they actually are. But was the reason for that actually based on their appearance or based on where they were in life and the fact they attained certain socially-important “achievements”— like owning their own place and having a full-time job making 6-figures— at 22 when you *still* have yet to achieve those things at 33? Like. Many of the people you’re commenting on are “success stories.” They’re influencers. They’re wealthy. They’re at a very different place in their life at 22 than you were at 22. Believe it or not, they look their age, you just assumed their life has been like your own.

And all of these comments about aging and addiction are intended to be directed at a population of people between the ages of— like— 11 to 25. The vast majority of Gen Z aren’t vaping or drinking (mostly due to age). These flippant jokes about Gen Z being heavy smokers and drinkers also ignore the very real statistical fact that drinking and smoking are on the decline among Gen Z adults and adolescents. Adolescent smoking, for example, declined more than 80% from 1999 to 2019.

Your comments are factually wrong, and you’re using Gen Z as a scapegoat for your negative views on addiction and to displace your anxiety around aging. Like, if you genuinely believe that Gen Z’s health, well-being, and longevity are being severely, disproportionately, and negatively impacted by addiction, maybe do something about it rather than take the opportunity to brag about how your skin is glowing compared to theirs?

And when this trend comes across a young adult who has had a hard life and who actually has stress lines and who has had health problems which have affected their appearance, comments like, “Damn. Gen Z aging differently,” are really just making fun of things like diabetes, poverty, addiction, and skin texture. Many of the people I see making these types of comments are making them on videos of people with textured skin, often acne. Like, yass, 👏 let’s make fun of the 19 y/o for his acne! Real adult behavior there.

[billvaouli]

Blog Post 3.5 (Self Bibliography)

1. Attentional control deficits in trait anxiety: Why you see them and why you don’t. Biological Psychology. (2013). https://www-sciencedirect-com.proxy.seattleu.edu/science/article/pii/S0301051112000695

I chose to put this link first because I feel like anxiety rest with me the most. I'm always worried about upcoming things or what could happen in the future. I've never been legit tested for anxiety, which I should probably do, but I know I have it. Also I learned more about myself because anxiety can get worse or better depending on life events, so I know to pay more close attention in my life.

2. “I Use Weed for My ADHD”: A Qualitative Analysis of Online Forum Discussions on Cannabis Use and ADHD. (2016). https://go-gale-com.proxy.seattleu.edu/ps/i.do?p=AONE&u=seat38459&id=GALE%7CA453533563&v=2.1&it=r

I'm an active weed smoker, but I use it because I use it for my ADHD. I've never been tested for ADHD because my parents never thought I had it so they never tested me. But deep down I personally feel like I do. The difference between when I smoke vs when I don't, I can tell the difference in my mood/vibe. When I smoke I'm more calm, relax and more focused. Whereas when I don't smoke I feel anxious, worried and sad all the time. Personally I think weed helps me more than it hurts me.

3. Unexceptional exceptionalism: the origins of American football in a transnational context. (2013). https://www.proquest.com/docview/1365015043?accountid=28598&parentSessionId=yCD2WvdCPBZWopUiBldfRGMtsKz3MVwWIFG9TL31J0A%3D&pq-origsite=primo

Early types of football played in Europe, especially England, can be seen as the ancestors of American football. Different variations of kicking a ball across a field or attempting to carry it to a goal we're featured in these games. I'm a big fan of football and I've been following it since I can remember. The most knowledge I possess is about football because it's a sport I also played growing up and in high school. It's been fun learning about the middle of the 19th century, American colleges started to play their own versions of football, which frequently had varied rules depending on the institution.

4. Can a Dog Really Be a Man’s Best Friend?: An Exchange between Humans. (2018). https://muse-jhu-edu.proxy.seattleu.edu/article/720205

It's been about a year now since I got a dog, and I can confidently say I love my dog. But to be honest I never understood dogs being mans best friend until I got a dog of my own. Overall, the qualities that make dogs "man's best friend" is loyalty, friendship, devotion, and the numerous ways they improve the lives of their owners. They offer their loved ones practical advantages that improve their quality of life in addition to emotional support and friendship. My dog has done tremendous things to help get me on the right path and back up on my feet.

5. Insomnia with objective short sleep duration is associated with longer duration of insomnia in the Freiburg Insomnia Cohort compared to insomnia with normal sleep duration, but not with hypertension. (2017). https://go-gale-com.proxy.seattleu.edu/ps/i.do?p=AONE&u=seat38459&id=GALE%7CA499323001&v=2.1&it=r

I have sleep insomnia and it's one of the worst things possible because I'm constantly waking up and can't stay asleep for long. Many things like stress, worry, erratic sleep patterns, poor sleep hygiene, medical disorders, pharmaceutical side effects, or lifestyle choices like excessive caffeine or alcohol intake are all common causes of insomnia. I should probably get checked out for this too. Something weird about me and never getting checked up on.

6. Working at the Car Wash. (2007). https://web-s-ebscohost-com.proxy.seattleu.edu/ehost/pdfviewer/pdfviewer?vid=0&sid=224c93f7-7659-4d3d-803c-f0aa4542ce8d%40redis

Found an old newspaper article from that job that I work at. I've been working at Brown Bear car wash for about 2 years now, I started when I was a senior in high school. Brown Bear's been an amazing company to me. It's funny reading all the memberships and things they've added since 2007. Brown bear has come a long way because even when I first started there they started at $16 an hour for minimum wage. Now they start at $19 an hour which is just a $3 difference in like 2 years for the minimum wage. If you haven't been to a Brown Bear yet, I suggest you go.

7. Stan Lee Came Up with Spider-Man Because He Saw a Fly Land on a Wall and Decided There Needed to Be a Superhero that Could Stick to Walls. (2020). https://www.proquest.com/docview/2674422834?accountid=28598&parentSessionId=oaC%2BhfvhZc5EFK8jc7zUFoRouaPknXK0E%2FY7bZMwWH4%3D&pq-origsite=primo

If you know Bill than you know he's the biggest spider-man fan boy alive. I can remember spider-man from my earliest moments in my childhood and he's absolutely amazing, even until this day. But I found a peer-reviewed article about how Stan Lee came up with spider-man. It's funny how he came up with a whole character that turned into an icon by just seeing a fly crawl up a wall. It's also crazy how most people, including me, didn't know this until he passed away.

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Sean O’Dell  *Supporting character

Voice Claim: (Adam Driver) https://youtu.be/b5wmoYWB4b0?t=810

Partner(s): Beatrice Marlowe Parents: Garrison O’Dell (is not in contact with mother) Kids: None Age: 39 (2021) Birthday: 1st of July Height: 189cm (6.2ft)   Body type: Muscular. Eye color: Medium to light blue, with few brown spots. About: Adventurous, Athletic, Competitive, Determined, Proud, Dominating, Courageous, Stubborn, Resentful, Unstable, Spontaneous, Challenging, Cocky, Observant, Independent, Temperamental, Dutiful and Simple. ~ Has buzzed black hair. ~ Head fireman at Saint Greer Islands Fire Department. ~ Sexuality: Straight. Closeted. ~ Is not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but not dumb either. ~ Has no relations to his mother and a strained relationship to his controlling father. ~ Father was extremely abusive when Sean was a kid, which is why his mother left. His father then took it out on Sean for years. ~ Sean barely gets along with his father by now, but he has to, since he’s Chief at the fire station Sean works at. ~ Hopes to take over the fire station when his father retires, hopefully within the next 5 years. ~ Doesn’t want kids. ~ Gets panic attacks. ~ Has been with his girlfriend for 5 years. ~ Acts tough, isn’t. ~ Gets into fights a lot.  ~ Smells like: Some sort of Axe deodorant and smoke. ~ Chain smoker. ~ Is always looking for the next adrenaline rush. ~ Gets drunk to cope with life. ~ Does drugs to completely shut the world out when needed. ~ Pretends he’s okay, but it often leads to violent outbursts. ~ Can’t stand being alone, so he often stays at the fire station, even when he’s off duty, and only returns home to his apartment, when Beatrice comes off work. ~ Hates silence, so he often let’s the tv running, even if he’s not watching it. ~ Not good at dealing with his mental health, and as such has never recovered from his childhood. He just brushes it all under the carpet and claims he has no issues. ~ Is often found at the gym. ~ Doesn’t have sex as often as he would like, as his girlfriend is borderline asexual. ~ Often gets speed tickets. ~ Would be extremely suicidal if he would admit he has issues. ~ Gets very dark at times, and spirals into a whole of drugs and alcohol, to a point where he blacks out and does things he rarely remembers, and would never do while being sober. ~ Has delusions, often involving believing he can do extraordinary things. Such as crashing his car into a tree without scratches, or jumping off a 5 story building unharmed. ~ Sometimes sees things that aren’t there. People. Shadows. ~ Often has a hard time organizing his thoughts, and can end up rambling nonsense. ~ A psychiatrist would probably call it Schizoaffective Disorder. ~ On\off depression, but doesn’t want to admit it. ~ Addicted to energy drinks, but actually hates the taste. ~ Loves: Adrenaline, his work, clubbing, working out, burgers, alcohol, drugs, chili cheese fries, sex, hot sauce of any kind, extreme sport, any sort of video game involving cars, humming birds and going to concerts. ~ His style is: Gym wear. ~ Is actually a really nice person if you peel all the other layers off first.

Sean’s tag Sean’s house/home Sean’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One song to describe him: The Prodigy - Baby's Got A Temper Personal Playlist: 1. Alice in Chains - Nutshell 2. Linkin Park - A Place For My Head 3. The Prodigy - Poison 4. MINISTRY - Search And Destroy 5. Unloco - Bruises 6. Slipknot - The Devil In I 7. Juno Reactor - Komit - 3 of Life Remix 8. Black Label Society - Set You Free 9. Dead Days - Control 10. Disturbed - Liberate 11. Juno Reactor - Let's Turn On -  Psychedelic Disco  - The Mutant Theatre 12. Deftones - Lucky You 13. Linkin Park - Session 14. Space Motion - Fire 16. Mad Season - River Of Deceit

[promptprophet]

Welcome back

I am not dead, although I am ready to throw down. Okay so there is a lot under the cut, but by every star in the sky I have been gone from all of my blogs for a while due to some roccuring issues. If any follow my main at @prophet-rebellion then you may have noticed that.

Some pro-tips:

1. Do not attend a gathering with family that does not believe in Covid. Because if they are anything like mine, someone will tell them they tested positive, your Uncle will encourage them to come anyways and not tell a single other person - and then, surprise surprise, everyone ends up with Covid.

2. Do not let your advisor plan your schedule entirely. Even if they are the Dean of your department. Because if they are still like mine, they will give you six classes. Which would not be an issue of 18 credit hours if it were not for the fact that 5 or the 6 are writing enriched. The only one that it not is math-based which is not my strong suite anyways.

But, in other news - I took a toll for the worst at one point. It has since gotten better. Granted, I had to be the biggest pain-in-the-ass to the campus physiatrist because he wanted to revoke some of my medication. Just because I am somehow making all As for the moment does NOT mean that I do not need my ADHD medication.

Speaking of! Yours truly got formally diagnosed with combination ADHD, depression, and anxiety. And after a lot of trial and error, we have found a medication and dosage that actually helps with the latter two! ADHD is still a work in progress because he is fighting me on it. He also doesn’t want me taking my meds unless I have a face-to-face class that day - as if it is some 9-5 weekdays only issue and I do not have class outside of those times, or online ones. But! A work in progress!

Also, Covid gave me the perfect chance to drop an incredibly toxic group of people in my life. One one hand, my mental health is so much better for it, and so is my own sense of self worth. On the other, it is definitely hard to do and hard to adjust to suddenly losing so many people. But I have reconnected with my 14 year old sister for the first time in 5 years - she wants to have lunch. Which is nice considering I have no spoken to my sisters in 5 years for her, 6 years for the older one (the middle). And I am also trying to reach out to my brothers more. It is interesting, because I did not know them until later. I am the oldest out of 5, 2 half-sisters of my mom’s side, 2 half-brothers on my dads, ironically enough.

I am also seeking out a competent doctor even with Medicaid, because I know need two more surgeries. This will make surgeries 4 and 5. It should have been 2 at most. But 5? And that is minimum, not counting if anything goes wrong again. It is taking longer, because I refuse to see my prior surgeon, and the only opening this past winter break as when I had to have my wisdom teeth removed, so, that did not happen.

Given circumstance I have managed to find a place to stay during breaks. Which is great because as some of you may recall I was kicked out after I turned 18 in 2019, and the room I rented over that summer was terrible (maybe leaving a known alcoholic with no regard for privacy alone with a just then 18 year old girl is a bad idea - if the number of times he barged into my room unannounced to try and get me to drink with him was anything to go by), but it was so my parents could travel full-time. Which, they are doing now and I am happy for them because my mom has 10 years maximum if she is lucky before needing oxygen (Smokers Lung), and my dad is dealing with medical injuries he got while serving - they discharged him because they would never heal right.

I have also picked back up with my job on my college campus! So money! And have secured a much better paying job over break than my McDonalds job, meaning I am not so hard pressed for cash. Which is also great because the last week of summer I had to dish out $2500 for my truck after it broke down in Tennessee and we had to get towed back to North Carolina.

So! Down to business! Now that I know what was wrong with me, and I no longer have issues with suicide, I’m on medication, and last semester I had a therapist that was a major help to me. I am actually in a better spot to be here. It has certainly taken a lot of work, and 2020-21 has thrown just about everything that it seems to have been able and hell, I am still looking for a third job.

Speaking of, god damn, the commissions! Jesus H. Christ, I wanted those done by January! And it’s March! Although I have been making progress on them, that is absolutely true - I am working on them a bit oddly though, switching between which ones I do to try and stop burn out and also because I was not drawing while mentally at my lowest. So to anyone who commissioned me who may not be looking at those messages, but sees this, I am sorry, they are being worked on. And I understand this is a ridiculous amount of time to wait for them and thank you all for being so patient.

I have also been considering if it is a good choice for me to come back to this page, and yes, I think that it is. Having something that I do every day has proven to be very helpful, and the amount of joy and love I have for these pages and the followers on them is immense. I was trying to clear out storage on my phone and I have an album just of prompts or asks that you guys have sent that continue to make my day. It really does mean the world to me.

I cannot be too sure if many have noticed my absence, if Prompt Guy did either. But I am stopping it now. I am finally in a good place. And yeah, I have a lot to do still - if all goes according to plan then I graduate next year. So after this I only have two more semesters before I graduate with my Bachelors in Business, with a focus on Entrepreneurship at the age of 20. And I better because I cannot afford to be in college much longer. I want to be back here, and return to my regular postings and interactions. I am getting those commissions done no matter what - that is a constant guilt over my head. Trust me, I know that it is there. I know. But I joined as an admin because I had followed this page the day it was created. And then I saw it had gone dead with no posts, so I applied as an admin. I got it. And things went very well. Well, I intend to hold back to what I wanted when I was first on this page, bringing it back to consistent postings for everyone.

I am here. I am back. And I am staying.

Also, I apologize if there are any typos, I have been doing a lot or writing for homework and personal work (trying to stop burn out and the threat of school ending my love to write) and my eyes have been strained the last few days, so everything is a bit fuzzy. Speaking of fuzzy! Turns out I needed glasses! So I have glasses now!

Yours truly, Prompt Prophet

[childrenofthenightt]

only the black rose (chapter 8)

pairing: jimmy page x layla porter (oc)

warnings: big nsfw warning, drinking, jimmy being himself, fluff

words: 3.6k

summary: in the blink of an eye, it’s 1975 and layla’s suddenly joining led zeppelin for their north american tour. throughout the chaos, the band take a liking to her, she builds friendships with the boys, and love blossoms. but all good things must come to an end.

author’s note: so. layla’s a freak in the... well... not necessarily the sheets, i guess? more stressy hands because they're my weakness, and just... please savour the last bit of happiness you get here. that is all. (two more chappies to go!!!) hope you enjoy :) feedback as always is so very welcome!

masterlist

playlist

chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

———

As she’s checking over the stage, ensuring the lights and speakers are set to do their job, Layla’s thoughts roam. After the chaos at the hotel pool, while everyone was asleep, Layla had been anything but. Her tossing and turning had disturbed Jimmy, who had pulled her further into his arms with a tired grunt. She lay there for another hour, her conversation with Jonesy running through her mind over and over. It was obvious she’d have to go back to her own time, and she missed her friends. She missed her mom. She missed everything.

Layla couldn't help, though, but think that maybe she didn’t want to leave.

 She had made friends that meant the world to her, and… she’d found Jimmy. The guitarist had changed her life, and had shown her what it meant to love. She’s falling for him, and it’s not long before she hits the ground. It’ll be worth it, she thinks, for someone like him. Jimmy Page is a rare gem, precious, and she knows that she would spend her life trying to find her way back to him.

A throat clears from behind her, and, looking over her shoulder, Layla spots Peter Grant standing a few feet away. Soft smile resting upon his lips, he steps closer, placing a large hand on Layla’s shoulder.

“Layla, I trust everything’s going well?”

“Yep! Lights and sound are looking good, and the stage is set up. Anything else you need me to do?”

“No, this is perfect, dear,” Peter shakes his head, smile morphing into a smirk as he continues. “Though, you’ve been requested elsewhere. Follow me, Layla.” Leading her through the venue, Peter stops in front of a closed door, a laminated sign next to it reading, “Dressing Room: Led Zeppelin”. Turning to Layla, he holds out an arm, beckoning her to take it.

“Shall we?”

“We shall, Peter.”

Arm in arm, they walk into the room. Robert, lying elegantly across the comfortable couch pressed against the wall, has his eyes closed. He hasn’t thrown up yet, but his voice is hoarse, and he has a terrible cough. Knowing these boys as well as she does, Layla suspects that nothing will bring them down. The show must go on, after all. Bonzo is next to him, Robert’s feet in his lap. The drummer speaks quietly to the sick man, who answers in the voice of a 20-year smoker. Jonesy speaks in hushed tones to Jimmy, eyebrows pinched in worry. Jimmy, Layla realizes, has his finger in a bowl of what looks to be ice water, if the cubes of ice scattered across the table are anything to go by. From the doorway, Layla can’t hear what’s being said, but by the downwards tilt of Jonesy’s lips, she can assume Jimmy’s stubbornness is on full display again. Her entrance with Peter hadn’t been noticed, until Robert’s eyes open to slits and he sits up, a smile breaking out on his face.

“Peter! Ah, look, if it isn’t my favourite little dove…”

“Hey, Robert. How are you feeling?”

“Better, better,” Robert smiles, and stands up to pull Layla into a hug, hands splayed across her back. “All thanks to you, Layla. Seriously, thank you for taking care of me.”

Layla grins in response, waving at Bonzo as she passes. He lifts up a hand, as if to splash the woman, and her face lights up, a giggle flying out past her lips. Layla walks over to Jonesy, and he gives her an uncertain look, beckoning her closer. Leaning close, he whispers into the woman’s ear, a worried glance at the guitarist beside him following.

“He was in a lot of pain, even with the meds, so he, uh… found a bottle of Jack’s and… Layla, he won’t listen.”

As if on cue, Jimmy takes a pull from the large bottle of whiskey that rested next to him on the table. Layla hadn’t noticed it, walking in, but it stuck out like a sore thumb now.

“Hey, petal,” Jimmy slurs slightly, bottle in hand as he sends the woman a lazy smile. Injured finger in plain view now, Layla can see how the nail is completely black, the skin around it still dyed purple from the force applied to it. Layla shakes her head, eyes downcast, as she walks closer to Jimmy. She grasps the bottle of alcohol in his hand, replacing it with her own, a warm palm meeting his.

“Jimmy… you can’t just…” Layla drifts off, not wanting to argue with him this close to showtime. They can always talk about this later, after all. Jimmy, noticing her internal battle even through his alcohol-fueled haze, pulls her into his lap. Jonesy, confident that Jimmy is in good hands, nods at Layla before giving the couple a moment to themselves. Jimmy brings a finger to the apple of Layla’s cheek, stroking it almost hesitantly, as though she would break under a stronger touch. Layla’s eyes, once meeting his, drift to his plump, pink lips. They shine in the artificial light, as he swipes his tongue across to wet them.

“Layla,” Jimmy starts, snapping her out of her trance. Her eyes meet his, and he smirks at her dilated pupils. She knew he had caught her staring, she wasn’t exactly subtle about it. “Can I ask you a question?”

“Shoot.”

“What is the meaning of life? Please, answer seriously. This is important.”

“Jimmy, I didn’t peg you as someone who indulges in drunk philosophical discussions.”

Jimmy huffs a sigh, and leans in closer, pressing a quick kiss against her lips. Pulling back, he looks at their joined hands, before meeting her eye once more.

“Humour me.”

“Well—”

Before she could answer, Peter floats back into the room, telling the boys to follow him backstage. It’s showtime, and Layla doesn’t want her guitarist to leave yet. Jimmy looks at her expectantly, green eyes searching her face as though the answer to his question was written in the curve of her lips.

“It’s okay, Jimmy,” she says, squeezing the hand in hers, passing courage from one to the other. “We can continue this after the show.”

Jimmy nods, and releases her hand slowly, not wanting to break the contact. Layla hops out of his lap, and helps him stand. Her lips meet his in a soft kiss, as she presses their foreheads together. Their eyelashes flutter against each other, and the scent of citrus, tobacco and pine was ever-present, invading all of Layla’s senses. Jimmy pulls away first, and walks to the door, glancing back at her over his shoulder. She smiles at him, adrift in the empty dressing room, and he smiles back, walking out the door.

“Good luck, angel.” Layla whispers, voice swallowed up by the silence of the deserted dressing room.

Making her way to the familiar lip of the backstage area, Layla’s hands wring together, her lips bitten red. Robert hadn’t sounded well at all earlier, and Jimmy… It seemed like he was deteriorating right before her eyes. The mixture of codeine and Jack Daniels killed the pain, sure, but he was no longer the sharp, pragmatic man she was falling for. He was too caught up in the burn of the drink down his throat, a way to forget the agony rushing through his hand like a current. Bringing her attention back to the stage, she spots the boys, who share a loaded glance. Robert takes a deep breath, and launches right in. ‘Rock and Roll’ passes without a hitch, save for some voice cracks. If anything though, they add to the authentic performance, the crowd electric as usual. ‘Sick Again’ stuns, followed by ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’, and all is well, until ‘How Many More Times’ rolls around.

It was small. Insignificant, really. If Layla hadn’t been searching Jimmy’s face, entranced by the way his brow furrowed as he got lost in the music, she wouldn't have noticed. Breaking apart from the rest of the band to complete a complicated lick, Jimmy’s fingers trip up on the fretboard. To the audience, the only consequence is a slight dead note in the midst of heavenly riffs. Gazing over at Jimmy, however, Layla could see the discomfort in the downwards tilt of his lips, and the pain stiffening his shoulders. She could see the anger flaming in his dark eyes. Jimmy recovers well, delivering attack after attack, though his solos, from that point on, tended to go a little off-track. Whether from nerves or self-doubt, Layla didn't know. But she knows him. She knows the guitarist will let it cloud the entire night. She knows he’s gonna pick the show apart, minute after exhilarating minute, looking for the smallest flaw. Layla knows that she’ll be there for him through it all.

No matter what.

----------

With a hoarse thank you and a flourish directed at the audience, Robert finally leads the band off-stage to voltaic cheers. Robert, ecstatic as ever during the concert, seems to deflate the second he gets off. With a nod and a soft smile at Layla, he disappears into the depths of the backstage area. Jonesy and Bonzo pass by with tight-lipped smiles, clapping her on the shoulder as they follow Robert. Jimmy is the last to appear, and the reason for the rhythm section’s warning glances becomes apparent immediately.

Jimmy scowls as he approaches, eyes glassy, as though she were looking into a clear stream. Layla can see herself reflected in them; can see the worry reflected in her own gaze. Slipping a hand around his bicep, she steers Jimmy into a corner. He refuses to look at her, even as her hand tilts his face upwards softly.

“Jimmy, love, that was—”

“Shit.”

“No, not at all,” Layla steps closer, a hand finding the familiar spot on his cheek. “It was a great show. You saw the audience, Jim. They loved you guys!”

“It was shit, and everyone knows it. If I could just—”

“Jimmy, come on…”

“—be good enough, this would have gone differently.”

Layla’s breath catches, eyes as wide as saucers as she steps closer to the guitarist, who turns away. His gaze at the floor never wavers as he paces, muttering to himself.

“Jimmy, look at me,” Layla stops him in his tracks with a hand at his back. His shoulders heave with deep breaths as he tries to calm himself down. “You played a good gig. It doesn’t matter if you missed a note or two. You came to play a great show, and you did.”

“But it isn't enough. These people came here for an extraordinary show and we couldn't deliver. I couldn't deliver, and—”

“Hey—”

“—if my finger wasn’t broken, we would have been as good as we’ve always been. This is my fault.”

“Jimmy, this isn’t on you. You did nothing wrong.”

Jimmy’s hands fly up to land in his hair, as he pulls at it almost unconsciously. Layla grips his cheek lightly, as the other hand comes to rest at a thin wrist, pulling it away from the dark locks it had latched onto. Jimmy averts his eyes from the woman’s earnest gaze and turns his back once more, treading a hole in the wooden floor of the backstage area. Layla’s palm rubs soft circles into the fabric of his cardigan, patches of whispering dandelions catching on her fingers. From her place behind him, she can see the way he’s beating a fist into the palm of his injured hand repeatedly, perhaps a way to atone for a mistake that hasn’t been committed.

“I fucked up this tour. It’s my fault. I can’t do everything I know I can do, and that’s on me. I just…”

“Jimmy…”

“I can’t do this anymore!”

Layla shrinks back slightly at the exclamation form the man, who is shaking like a leaf. His head drops, long hair hiding his face once again. Recovering quickly, she spins him around carefully to face her. Hands cupping his cheeks, she presses her lips to his. His eyes flutter closed and he immediately reciprocates, a hand pressed to Layla's hips; his new favourite spot for them. Jimmy lets out a whine of pleasure, and Layla pulls away, looking into his tired eyes.

“Jimmy, listen to me. You did play well. I am so, so proud of you. Okay?”

“...Okay. I’ll… work on trying to believe you.”

“That’s all I can ask for.”

If Layla sees the sparkle and shine of tears on the man’s cheeks, she doesn't mention it as she grabs his hand, leading him to an empty room, locking the door immediately.

Finally away from prying eyes, Layla unfurls the guitarist’s hands from their clenched position, bringing the injured one up near her mouth. Gazing up at him, eyes shining in the dim light of the room, she presses a chaste kiss to each finger, slowing as she reaches the one painted shades of purple and black and blue. Jimmy nods, exhale shaky, and she presses the softest of kisses to the tip, hoping to cause pleasure rather than pain.

Jimmy’s hands slide lower from their place on her hips to cup her bum lightly, in case she was uncomfortable and wanted to slip out of his grasp. Her lips find his again as he pushes her against the large table in the middle of the room. Layla lets out a whimper, swallowed by the mouth against hers, as Jimmy’s tongue laps at her bottom lip, asking for entrance. He’s always been soft with her, but this new side of the dark-haired guitarist excited her. The kiss was over as soon as it began, Jimmy pulling away to stare at her, close enough still that their noses touched.

“Petal, I… We were gonna take it slow, and we will, but if you're ready…”

“I’m ready.”

Jimmy smiles, crashing his lips against her quickly, passionately. Pulling back once more, Jimmy smirks as Layla chases the high the feel of his lips gave her. Pressing into his space again, she frowns, which makes Jimmy chuckle. Layla’s hand reaches up, twisting in his hair.

“Angel,” Layla starts, a light tug on a mussed ebony ringlet following the nickname. His mossy eyes were dark with desire, and he placed his lips on her neck, kissing a trail down her jaw, stopping at her collarbone. Slipping the sweat-soaked cardigan off his shoulders, she traces a line down his cheek, eyes glued to his blush-red lips. “Can you lie down on the table for me? Please do try not to break any other body parts.”

“Haven’t I told you I’m afraid of heights?”  Jimmy laughs, and with a small smile thrown over his shoulder, he hops up onto the table.

“You overlooked that, love,” Layla says, unbuttoning her blouse ever-so-slowly, surely teasing the guitarist, who leans back on his elbows. His eyes follow her every move as she takes off the rest of her clothing. “Now, I feel like you might have too many clothes on, Jim. We need to be even, after all.”

Slipping his pants and underwear off in record time, he reclines back, already hard. Fully exposed now, Layla climbs up onto the table as well, straddling the man’s lap, before sinking herself onto him. A calloused hand lands on her hips, helping her find the perfect position, until a soft groan rang through the near-empty room. Jimmy’s hands move up to her breasts, toying with the woman’s nipples, much to her delight. Layla grabs onto his chest for support, craning her head back in pure euphoria at the sensation, the hollow of her neck exposed as Jimmy raises up to nip at it. Grinding her hips to the rhythm of the man’s soft groans, she trails hickies up his chest and neck.

“Something to remember me by.” she says, looking at him with dark eyes, a haze of lust filling them. Hand gripping Layla’s ass tightly, he brings her ever-closer, a mumbled “fuck” leaving the woman’s kiss-bitten lips. The guitarist’s face is creased with absolute exhilaration, as he rocks back and forth to the movement of Layla’s body on his. The couple didn’t know where one ended and the other began. Ecstasy fills the room, and whispers of praise flow like music from lips bruised and bitten.

“You did so well today, angel. You’re incredible.”

Jimmy raises up once more to capture her lips in a bruising kiss, a hand raking through the woman’s hair roughly, landing on her throat. Jimmy squeezes it lightly, warningly, and presses his lips to Layla’s once more, swallowing the shriek of pleasure she gasps out.

“You liked that, petal?” Jimmy’s hoarse voice reaches Layla’s ears almost belatedly, too caught up in the pleasure of his hands on her, though she nods as if her life depended on it. Panting hard now, Layla quickens her pace, noises of pleasure growing louder. With the friction of his hand on her, roaming everywhere it could reach, Layla felt divine; heavenly in this embrace. Leaning down for a heavy, passionate kiss, Jimmy’s hand finds her hair again, and he tugs on it hard. The pain elicits a moan from Layla, as she reaches her peak.

With a stuttered breath, Jimmy releases as well, gasps leaving his lips as he looks at Layla reverently. The wetness from her core rushes over him as she lays back down beside him, spent. Back arching as she pants, her head turns to face him, faces painted with bliss.

In a post-coitus haze, Jimmy has his arms wrapped securely around Layla’s shoulders, as her head rests on his chest. Layla giggles tiredly, as her breaths ruffle the dark hair on Jimmy’s chest. Looking up at him, she’s pleased to see him looking right back at her.

“That certainly cheered you up, didn’t it?”

“You’re the best at cheering me up after all. This, of course, was just a bonus.” Jimmy noses at her messy hair, smelling a combination of fresh linen, sweat and her shampoo; hints of strawberry and mango tickling his nose.

“We should get up, the boys are probably looking for us,” Layla says, dragging light fingers across his stomach, watching goosebumps appear on the pale skin. Whether it’s from the sensation or the chill of the table, Layla didn't know, but she’s comfortable in his embrace, in danger of drifting off.

“What if we just… stayed here forever. They can find another guitarist.”

“You’re pretty irreplaceable, Page,” Layla whispers, reaching up to press her lips to his jaw. “I mean, who would the boys chaperone if you were gone?”

“Chaperone? I’m not that bad. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Right, so Robert was lying about the time you refused to sleep for 5 days out of pure adrenaline? New York, 1973, I believe it was?”

“...”

“That’s what I thought. We need to have a serious talk about your habits, Jimmy.”

With a chuckle from the guitarist, the two lapse into a comfortable silence, as Jimmy presses a kiss to the top of Layla’s head, nuzzling it with his cheek.

“Hey,” Layla shifts to look up at him, eyes filled with adoration. She felt as though she were looking at a star. Beautiful and shining, but out of reach, as much as she wished for the opposite. She knew this couldn’t last, though she’d savour every last minute of it that she could. “I need to… tell you something.”

“What’s wrong, Layla?”

“Nothing’s wrong, really. It’s… kind of the opposite, actually.”

Jimmy tilts his head in confusion, turning on his side to face her. He looked like a puppy, hair wild about his head, and Layla couldn’t help but giggle at the sight.

“S-So,” Layla shifts, nervous all of a sudden. Jimmy grips her hand in his, and nods when their eyes finally meet. “Do you remember what you asked me earlier? About the… meaning of life. You might not remember, you were a little out of it, and—”

“I remember. You’re rambling, petal. What’s going on?”

“Well, it’s… it’s love. The meaning of life is… love. Jimmy, I…um…”

“What is it? You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I’m… I guess... What I’m trying to say is,” Layla says, taking a deep breath as she looks into the eyes that captivate her, and make her smile, and set her on fire. “I’m falling in love with you, and I just… Yeah.”

Jimmy grins brightly, surging forward to capture her lips in a kiss bursting with joy. He laughs into it, as their noses brush together, his finger tracing nonsensical designs across her side.

“Very eloquently put, Porter.”

“Oh my God, I just confessed that I’m falling for you, and you focus on—”

“I’m falling in love with you too. I thought that may have been obvious, considering the state of this poor table.”

“W-Well,” Layla stutters, blushing crimson as Jimmy’s plush lips tilt up in a picture-perfect smirk. “Put your clothes on, Page. The boys are probably waiting for us.”

Jimmy laughs, but redresses in his stage clothes, turning to stare at Layla as she slips her jeans back on. Buttoning up her shirt and flattening her hair, which frizzed up like a halo around her flushed face, she gazes over at Jimmy. Crowding into his space, she put a hand to the back of his neck, up on her tiptoes to peck at his lips once more. He slips a hand to her cheek, and deepens the kiss. Pulling away to glimpse the golden smile that rests on Layla’s lips, he feels like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. Arm in arm, they walk out of the room, twin smiles nearly splitting their faces. Jimmy glances over at Layla, and can’t believe just how lucky he is.

Screw falling in love, he thinks.

This is love, and he knows it for sure, now.

------

taglist: @jimmys-zeppelin @salixfragilis @timetraveller4 @earthfire-75 @thatiloveyouso (let me know if you want to be added!)

[cowboyworf]

just because smoking cigarettes is a common addiction does not mean it isn't still an addiction and i feel like a lot of people forget that?

cigarettes are fucking hard to quit. research has shown that it can take smokers an average of up to 30 attempts to quit smoking before they finally succeed. (1, 2) there are a lot of factors for this, but one the of the major ones is the same reason people do not consider smoking to be a serious addiction- it is legal, it is accessible, it is everywhere.

when i got clean off of heroin, my counselors told me the same thing all addicts hear: you need to avoid the places you did the drug the most, you need to cut contact with the people you used with, and you need to get rid of the contact information of your dealers. easier said than done, but i did it. you know what i can't do? avoid gas stations, avoid walmart, stop hanging out with all of the people in my life (including the non-smokers) because my brain has been conditioned since the age of sixteen to have a smoke when i'm socializing. i have found ways to avoid heroin, but, unless i stop leaving my house entirely, i will never be able to avoid cigarettes.

just like alcohol, smoking is normalized and deadly complications take a lot longer to develop, which is one of the reasons i wasn't afraid to start. but we all know smoking is deadly and yet there is no empathy extended from non-smokers, even in people who "support addicts." smoking kills around 480,000 people in the united states alone and it cuts an average of 10 years off a person's life (3) but thats meaningless, because "you shouldn't have started in the first place."

when my mother died from cancer that spread to her lungs, the first thing people would say to me was, "oh, she was a smoker." they would spit that last word out like venom, a roundabout way of saying "i would feel bad, but she deserved it." mind you, my mother did not smoke and her cancer was and still is unbelievably rare, but it made me realize fast that if i die from smoking complications, my loved ones will not receive sympathy without and asterisk. that's sad, but you should have seen it coming.

more than anything though, more than all of this, i need people to recognize WHO smokes, because guess what? it is disproportionately POOR PEOPLE. people living in poverty smoke nearly twice as much as those who do not, blue collar workers start smoking younger and smoke more than white collar workers, and cigarette company advertising is much more prevalent in low-income communities. (4) we could speculate why this is, but there's no one true answer. in my experience, it's because poverty is fucking stressful, cigarettes suppress your appetite so you don't have to eat as often, and we do not have the same medical resources to help us quit as wealthier people do.

and SURPRISE! mental health plays a huge factor too. mentally ill people are two to four times more likely to smoke cigarettes than the general population. people with schizophrenia and bipolar disorder particularly have a higher rate of smoking, some studies suggesting 70 to 85% of schizophrenia and 50 to 70% of bipolar disorder. (5) i began smoking when the symptoms of bipolar disorder were in full swing and i was using excessive drug use to cope, since i had no access to mental health services. cigarettes made me feel less anxious. they gave me something to do with my hands and mouth and brain when i was manic. they gave me a community of other mentally ill smokers when i was alone.

i am not saying to stop promoting quitting or to go out and buy your first pack of cigarettes. starting smoking was the worst decision i have ever made. i am out in rain and snow and heat just to get my fix. i start weeping if i haven't had a cigarette in 6 hours. my asthma is 10x worse than it was before. my doctors assume every single problem i come in with is smoking related (or weight related, but that's a conversation for another day). my health is already declining and i have already tried to quit six times, to no avail.

all i am asking is that people acknowledge that smoking is a serious addiction too and give cigarette smokers even an ounce of empathy instead of treating us like we are these uneducated monsters who deserve to die.

(an addition: yes, some smokers are absolute assholes and should not be smoking in public around other people, nor should they be smoking around children or pets. yes, smokers should not litter either. i know that already. that's not what this post is about so make your own damn post lmao)

[ronmanmob]

Here we find a list of little facts about Ronald Kray - the very real man who inspires my muse. I collated these an age ago, and thought I’d plop them back front and centre because Ronnie, real Ronnie, deserves to be known of, remembered, recognised and (if you’re so inclined) loved. Here he is look -

Without further ado, the facts :) 

1. At his heaviest, Ron weighed about 14 stone (almost 200 pounds).

2. His weight went up and down a good bit because the medication he took for his schizophrenia put some extra on him and he wasn’t regular about taking the bloody stuff.

3. Ron both was and wasn’t a sociable chap. Among friends he was the life of the party, but with strangers he was distrustful and slow to warm.

4. Ron once brought a race horse for his mum.

5. He and Reggie also purchased a country home on the edge of Bildeston, Suffolk.

6. Ron and Reg were among the last prisoners ever to be held in the Tower of London.

7. The Twins were dishonorably discharged from the army because they wouldn’t follow orders.

8. Ron’s preferred aftershave, to the best of my knowledge and research, was Old Spice.

9. Ron enjoyed going on long walks in the country.

10. John Players tobacco and cigarettes were Ron’s vice of choice (discounting alcohol). 

11. He was 5′7.5 inches tall.

12. He had dark brown eyes and similarly dark hair.

13. He was moved from Durham jail in 1970 to Parkhurst on the Isle of Wight.

14. Among Ron’s various occupations, he was a club owner, a labourer, a dog breeder, a billiard hall keeper, a wardrobe dealer and (briefly) a soldier. 

15. Though most official court documents describe him as homosexual, in his writing (see his self-authored book My Story) he describes himself a bisexual. Mun is more inclined to go with Ron’s words, since he knew himself better than any judge or lawyer.

16. Ronnie was married twice.

17. Ronnie also had a girlfriend (fiancé) for the three years leading up to his arrest. Her name was Monica.

18. Ron had a provisional driving license, but never got a full one - that’s what drivers are for :p

19. Ron’s nickname among his employees was The Colonel - because he acted like one where dress codes and good behaviour were concerned.

20. Ron wrote poetry.

21. He also enjoyed pottering about in the garden at Broadmoor Hospital - where he spent much of his time after his arrest.

22. Ron was younger than his twin brother Reggie by about 10 minutes.

23. He almost died from a head injury he got when fighting with Reggie as a boy.

24. Ron was a competent boxer in his youth.

25. Ron was a heavy, heavy smoker.

26. He went to America to meet up with members of the Mafia.

27. He loved travelling and went to Turkey and Africa (among other places).

28. Ron didn’t enjoy being publicly affectionate with people.

29. Ron once knocked a man out because the chap was cursing and Ron was in the company of numerous ladies. He didn’t think the swearing was appropriate at all, and had warned him to stop before taking more…forthright action. The chap he clocked was the actor Oliver Reed - known to many as Bill Sykes in the movie Oliver! 

30. Ron chased members of a rival gang out of his billiard hall with a katana because they demanded protection money from him.

31. He once attended a meeting with rival gangsters carrying dynamite in his pockets. His thought was, if it goes bad he could trigger the explosives and off everyone. One of his more colourful schemes, that one xp

32. Ron’s favourite alcoholic drinks were Brown Ale and Gin & Tonic.

33. Ron adored dogs.

34. While Ron’s temper was legendary, he wasn’t always raging. Most of the time he was quite content to just get on with his business.

35. Ron could also be terribly kind when he wanted to be. He once emptied one of the cash registers at one of his clubs because someone he knew needed money.

36. Ron had a wicked sense of humour. 

37. Ron did indeed give people nicknames - some fond, some not. His ladyfriend Monica for example was his Little Doll, or Little Angel Face.

38. Ron had a habit of bouncing his knee when he was agitated. 

[myhealthmag]

8 Ways to Stay Excellent Healthy

Eight healthy behaviors can go a long way toward improving your health and lowering your risk of many cancers as well as heart disease, stroke, diabetes, and osteoporosis. And they’re not as complicated as you might think.

So take control of your health, and encourage your family to do the same. Choose one or two of the behaviors below to start with. Once you’ve got those down, move on to the others.

1. Maintain a Healthy Weight

Keeping your weight in check is often easier said than done, but a few simple tips can help. First off, if you’re overweight, focus initially on not gaining any more weight. This by itself can improve your health. Then, when you’re ready, try to take off some extra pounds for an even greater health boost.

Tips

Integrate physical activity and movement into your life.

Eat a diet rich in fruits, vegetables and whole grains.

Choose smaller portions and eat more slowly.

For Parents and Grandparents

Limit children’s TV and computer time.

Encourage healthy snacking on fruits and vegetables.

Encourage activity during free time.

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2. Exercise Regularly

Few things are as good for you as regular physical activity. While it can be hard to find the time, it’s important to fit in at least 30 minutes of activity every day. More is even better, but any amount is better than none.

Tips

Choose activities you enjoy. Many things count as exercise, including walking, gardening and dancing.

Make exercise a habit by setting aside the same time for it each day. Try going to the gym at lunchtime or taking a walk regularly after dinner.

Stay motivated by exercising with someone.

For Parents and Grandparents

Play active games with your kids regularly and go on family walks and bike rides when the weather allows.

Encourage children to play outside (when it’s safe) and to take part in organized activities, including soccer, gymnastics and dancing.

Walk with your kids to school in the morning. It’s great exercise for everyone.

3. Don’t Smoke

You’ve heard it before: If you smoke, quitting is absolutely the best thing you can do for your health. Yes, it’s hard, but it’s also far from impossible. More than 1,000 Americans stop for good every day.

Tips

Keep trying! It often takes six or seven tries before you quit for good.

Talk to a health-care provider for help.

Join a quit-smoking program. Your workplace or health plan may offer one.

For Parents and Grandparents

Try to quit as soon as possible. If you smoke, your children will be more likely to smoke.

Don’t smoke in the house or car. If kids breathe in your smoke, they may have a higher risk of breathing problems and lung cancer.

When appropriate, talk to your kids about the dangers of smoking and chewing tobacco. A health-care professional or school counselor can help.

4. Eat a Healthy Diet

Despite confusing news reports, the basics of healthy eating are actually quite straightforward. You should focus on fruits, vegetables and whole grains and keep red meat to a minimum. It’s also important to cut back on bad fats (saturated and trans fats) and choose healthy fats (polyunsaturated and monounsaturated fats) more often. Taking a multivitamin with folate every day is a great nutrition insurance policy.

Tips

Make fruits and vegetables a part of every meal. Put fruit on your cereal. Eat vegetables as a snack.

Choose chicken, fish or beans instead of red meat.

Choose whole-grain cereal, brown rice and whole-wheat bread over their more refined counterparts.

Choose dishes made with olive or canola oil, which are high in healthy fats.

Cut back on fast food and store-bought snacks (like cookies), which are high in bad fats.

Buy a 100 percent RDA multivitamin that contains folate.

5. Drink Alcohol Only in Moderation, If at All

Moderate drinking is good for the heart, as many people already know, but it can also increase the risk of cancer. If you don’t drink, don’t feel that you need to start. If you already drink moderately (less than one drink a day for women, less than two drinks a day for men), there’s probably no reason to stop. People who drink more, though, should cut back.

Tips

Choose nonalcoholic beverages at meals and parties.

Avoid occasions centered around alcohol.

Talk to a health-care professional if you feel you have a problem with alcohol.

For Parents and Grandparents

Avoid making alcohol an essential part of family gatherings.

When appropriate, discuss the dangers of drug and alcohol abuse with children. A health-care professional or school counselor can help.

6. Protect Yourself from the Sun

While the warm sun is certainly inviting, too much exposure to it can lead to skin cancer, including serious melanoma. Skin damage starts early in childhood, so it’s especially important to protect children.

Tips

Steer clear of direct sunlight between 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. (peak burning hours). It’s the best way to protect yourself.

Wear hats, long-sleeve shirts and sunscreens with SPF15 or higher.

Don’t use sun lamps or tanning booths. Try self-tanning creams instead.

For Parents and Grandparents

Buy tinted sunscreen so you can see if you’ve missed any spots on a fidgety child.

Set a good example for children by also protecting yourself with clothing, shade and sunscreen.

7. Protect Yourself From Sexually Transmitted Infections

Among other problems, sexually transmitted infections – like human papillomavirus (HPV) – are linked to a number of different cancers. Protecting yourself from these infections can lower your risk.

Tips

Aside from not having sex, the best protection is to be in a committed, monogamous relationship with someone who does not have a sexually transmitted infection.

For all other situations, be sure to always use a condom and follow other safe-sex practices.

Never rely on your partner to have a condom. Always be prepared.

For Parents and Grandparents

When appropriate, discuss with children the importance of abstinence and safe sex. A health-care professional or school counselor can help.

Vaccinate girls and young women as well as boys and young men against HPV. Talk to a health professional for more information.

8. Get Screening Tests

There are a number of important screening tests that can help protect against cancer. Some of these tests find cancer early when they are most treatable, while others can actually help keep cancer from developing in the first place.

For colorectal cancer alone, regular screening could save over 30,000 lives each year. That’s three times the number of people killed by drunk drivers in the United States in all of 2011. Talk to a health care professional about which tests you should have and when.

Cancers that should be tested for regularly:

Colon and rectal cancer

Breast cancer

Cervical cancer

Lung cancer (in current or past heavy smokers)

[lovemesomesurveys]

THE BASICS

Name: Stephanie. Gender: Female. Age: 31. Birthday: July 28th.

Race: Caucasian, Mexican, Filipino. School/Grade: I’m done with school. Job: Unemployed. Status: Single. Hometown: Somewhere in California. Current Town: Same place. Parents Still Together?: Yes. Siblings Two brothers. Pets: One doggo named Princess Leia.  Smoker: Nope. Drinker: Nope. Virgin: Yes. Orientation: Straight.

APPEARANCE

Hair Color: Naturally dark brown. Is It Dyed?: I’ve been dyeing it red the past 5 years. I’m way overdue now, though, so a lot of my natural hair color is showing. Eye Color: Brown. Height: Like 5′4. Style: Super casual. Glasses/Contacts/None?: Glasses. Freckles: Yes. Body Type: Thin. Shoe Size: 6 in US women’s.  Piercings: Just my earlobes.  Want More?: Nah. Tattoos?: No. Want More?: -- Braces?: No. Overall Best Feature: Nothing. Overall Worst Feature: Everything. Do you get most of your traits from mom or dad?: I’m told I look like my mom, but I do have distinct features of my dad’s. 

LIKES/DISLIKES

Favorite Color: Pastels, rose gold, sea foam green, coral, yellow. Worst Color: Brown. Favorite Number: 8. Favorite Animal: Doggos and giraffes. Least Favorite Animal: I’m terrified of killer whales. Favorite Flower: I don’t really have one. Favorite Food: Boneless wings, chicken tenders, ramen, pasta, eggs, turkey or bologna sandwiches, pizza. Worst Food: Seafood. Favorite Junk Food: Chips and dip. Worst Junk Food: Uhh. Favorite Restaraunt: Wingstop. Favorite Ice Cream Flavor: Strawberry, mint chocolate chip, birthday cake. Favorite Candy: White chocolate. Favorite Alcoholic Drink: None. Favorite NON Alcoholic Drink: Coffee, Starbucks Doubleshot energy drink, Coke, Cherry Coke, Wild Cherry Pepsi, Dr. Pepper, Mountain Dew, Chocolate and strawberry Yoo-Hoo. Worst Alcoholic Drink: All of ‘em. Worst NON Alcoholic Drink: I’m not a fan of sparkling water or Ginger Ale. Favorite Genre of Music: I like variety. Worst Genre: Hmm. Favorite Band/Artist: I have several. Worst Band/Artist: Uhh. Favorite Song: I have many. Worst Song: There’s a lot I don’t like as well. Favorite Radio Station: I dont listen to the radio anymore. Favorite Book: I couldn’t possibly choose just one. Worst Book: Fifty Shades of Gray series. :X Favorite Type of Movie: I like variety. Worst Type of Movie I don’t find ones like Step Brothers, The Hangover, Pineapple Express, etc funny or entertaining.  Favorite Movie: I have many. Worst Movie Ever: Ones where I feel confused or unsatisfied with the ending, like too much was left unanswered.  Favorite TV Show: I have many. Wost TV Show?: I don’t get the appeal of ones like The Big Bang Theory or 2 Broke Girls. Newer sitcoms seem to be getting worse. Favorite Season of the Year: Fall and winter. Worst Season: S u m m e r. Best Friend: My mom. Worst Enemy: Myself. Favorite Day of the Week: I don’t have one; my days all loop together. Least Favorite Day of the Week: Okay, I do have a least favorite, which is Thursday, because I have a weekly doctor appointment that day. Especially now because things are going well, so that day just really sucks. Favorite Sport: None. Sport You Hate: Not a fan of any sport. One thing you cant get enough of: Sleep. One thing you hate more than anything: My current situation.

LOVE LIFE

Are You Single?: Very. If not, who is your bf/gf?: -- How Long Have You Been Together?: -- Do You Have a Crush On Anyone Right Now?: Nope. First Kiss: My boyfriend at the time, Derek. Ever Kiss in the Rain?: No. In a Movie Theater?: No. Underwater?: No. First Love: Joseph. Have you ever Cheated on Anyone?: No. Been Cheated on?: No. Used Someone?: Yes. :/ Been used?: Yes. Lied to your bf/gf?: Yes. Ever Made out With Just a Friend?: Yes. Do you Flirt a Lot?: No, definitely not. Longest Relationship: Joseph and I’s 3 year thing we had. Shortest: A few months. Have you Ever Gotten a Poem?: Yes. Ever Get Flowers?: Not from a significant other or romantic interest, no. Do you Believe in Love at First Sight?: No. Do you Believe in "The One"?: I thought I found him, but I guess not. Do you Fall in Love Fast?: I did fall fast. It’s been a few years now since I’ve been interested in or had feelings like that or someone and I wonder if I’d still be like that or not. Ever cried over someone of the opposite sex?: Too many times. Ever Been Dumped?: Yes. Ever dumped someone?: Yes. Ever been rejected?: Yes. Ever dated someone more than once?: Yes. Do you ever make the first move? I’m not one to make the first move. Double dates or single?: Double dates can be fun now and then as well. Do you want to get married?: No. Hair Color: My preference for a guy’s hair color? I don’t care. Short or long?: Short. Eye color?: I don’t care. Style: Jeans and tee are fine with me. Oh, and plaid shirts with the sleeves rolled up. Age: Around my age, but not younger. Height: Well, just about everyone is taller than me. Muscular or skinny?: Some muscle. Boxers or Breifs?: I don’t really care. Do you care about looks?: I can’t say I don’t at all, but there’s a lot more to it than that.

OTHER QUESTIONS

Can you drive?: Nope. Do you have a car?: No, cause I don’t drive. Do you have a cell phone?: Yes. Are you online a lot?: Yeppp. Can you speak another language?: Not fluently, but some Spanish. Do you do well in school?: I did, yeah. Do you collect anything?: Giraffe stuffed animals and knickknacks. Have an obsession?: Coffee? Do you hate yourself?: :/ Ever smile for no reason?: There’s generally a reason.  Talk to yourself?: I think out loud. Do you have any regrets?: Yeah, a few. :/ Believe in magick?: No. Sex before marriage?: Do what you what you feel comfortable with. Do you trust people easily?: No. Forgive easily?: Yes. Too easily sometimes. Do you have a secret no one knows?: Maybe. Do you get along with your parents?: Yes. My mom and I, especially. She’s my best friend. What about other people?: Yeah. How do you vent your anger?: Cry, ramble in a survey or on Twitter to the void. Goal Before you die?: Hopefully get my shit together and make something of my life. Biggest Fear: Losing my loved ones, getting worse health wise, never getting my shit together and making something of my life... Beggest Weakness: I’ve just become so weak in every way these past few years. Do you play an instrument?: No. What do you want to be when you grow up?: I am “grown up” and still have no idea.

PERSONALITY TRAITS

Are you...

A daydreamer? Shy? Talkative? Energetic? Happy? Depressed? Funny? Boring? Mean? Nice? Caring? Trustworthy? Confident? Friendly? Smart? Sarcastic? Dependable? Quiet? Weird? Strong (emotionally)? Strong (physically)? Mature? Logical? Religious? Indesicive? Sympathetic? Polite? Creative? Fun to be around? Loveable? Easily Amused? Outgoing? Daring? Clumsy? Nosy? Lazy? Scary? Optimistic? Persuasive? A good listener? Curious? Determined? Artistic? Honest? Respectful? Concieted? Cocky? Controlling? Playful? Hot Headed? Serious? Thoughtful? Considerate? Stubborn? Romantic? Ambitious? Jealous? Insecure? Obsessive? Attentive? Helpful? Punctual? Sincere? Tolerant?

GOODBYE

Did you enjoy this survey?: It was okay. Was it too long? Nah. Do you think it contained just about everything? Sure.

[copias-thrall]

This is Halloween (Halloween)

Mary expands Suey's world by taking her to a crazy art party.

(Part: 1; 2; 3; 4; 5; 6; 7; 8; 9)

It’s one of the stretches where you actually haven’t seen Mary in a few days. He’d apparently been by your apartment—dishes were done and he took out your trash—but you’d spent that day hunkered down at a coffee shop so you could have sandwiches with a friend who got a job downtown. And while Mary can be lyrical when he wants to be, his texts are usually brief and full of letters that only make sense to him in his shorthand … so you’re not ever going to get any missives from the front lines from him.

Which is fine: you’re super-busy and full of your own hobbies. Like napping. And complaining. Occasionally you’ll round that out with chip-eating. You’ve never been particularly creative—which makes Mary wince at you every now and then (you love art, you’re just not … adept, and sometimes it seems unfair that he can write music AND lyrics AND doodle great sketches)—but you are a voracious reader. You’d been shocked to find out that not only had Mary read Austen, but he also had a love of Persuasion—a novel you yourself found superior to Pride & Prejudice. He’d been similarly chuffed when he’d realized you liked Chuck Palahniuk for more than just Fight Club. 

Which is all to say that when Mary’s not around, you like to combine your hobbies—a little chip eating while you read, only to fall asleep with the book on your face. 

Tonight is no exception.

It’s nearly Halloween (it’s tomorrow actually, and you’re only slightly bummed that Mary has to work), so in honor of the holiday you’re working your way through an anthology of Lovecraft. Unexpectedly, there's a knock at your door. You check your phone, but there are no texts.

Hmm.

There’s another knock, so you set down the book and sprint to your bedroom to take up what Mary has dubbed your “Masher Hammer.” You make it back to your apartment door just in time for a third series of knocks. When you look out the peephole, however, it’s clear that whoever’s on the other side is blocking the viewer.

Gripping your hammer tight—ready for swing mode—you unlatch your door and open it.

You’re met with the sight of a Jack O’Lantern. 

No—

Not a Jack O’Lantern … some guy with a carved pumpkin on his head.

“Ta-d—Jesus Christ, Suey … put Masher down,” says a muffled voice.

“Mary?”

Mary lifts the pumpkin—a real pumpkin, not a plastic basket from the dollar store—a little off his head enough for you to make out his face. You lower your swinging arm.

“Why is there a pumpkin on your head? What are you doing here?” 

He spreads his arms out and does jazz hands. “Mischief Night!” 

When you just stand there squinting at him, he finally takes the pumpkin fully off his head. His hair is squashed, and he’s only wearing some light makeup around his eyes and on his lips.

“So, you gonna let me in, or … should I duck?”

“Oh, right,” you say as you step back.

As Mary suanters in, you can see his eyes sweep to the couch where you’ve made a nest of blankets and pillows—your book lying face down, and the open bag chips positioned at an optimal angle on the coffee table.

“That looks nice.” He sidles up to you to squeeze your tits through your hoodie. “Almost makes me want to call it a night and get cozy in those blankets … I could crush those chips and lick them off you before I eat you out.”

His hand slides down to your crotch.

You’re trying to take him seriously, but he’s holding a pumpkin under his arm. You snap at his face.

“Mary—focus. What the hell?”

He gives you a put out look, exaggeratedly pushing out his bottom lip—but it’s soon replaced with a wicked grin.

“Mischief Night! Do you wanna go to a weird-ass art party?”

“An art party?” you ask dubiously.

“No, not what you’re thinking.”

He sets down the carved pumpkin on your table and walks to your fridge, rummaging around before pulling out the pisswater beer he keeps around.

“Think of it as a teen-movie house party—but on steroids and no one there got laid in high school. With, you know: art.”

“That’s … very specific.”

He walks back over to you, cradling the beer in one hand, and puts the other on your shoulder.

“We are under no obligation to participate in the orgy.”

You don’t think he’s joking.

He gives you a once over. “It’s also a—hmm—masquerade, so we gotta get you outfitted.”

Your mind darts.

“I only have those stupid headband cat ears my friend got me as a joke.”

He gives you a vulpine smile. “You’re gonna go as me.”

It had been a fun little party of two as you’d put on a YouTube Halloween playlist from your phone. Mary’d given you a dramatic mohawk with his precious airplane glue, then fished around in the pink makeup bag with hearts (that you’d put his stash in as a joke and he’d kept) to give you his iconic look—blood and all.

There was no way you were going to fit in his skinny jeans, but you’d been able to pair one of his well-worn tees (that you hadn’t already stolen) with your favorite denim skirt. Mary had taken off one of his studded belts to wrap around you—it’d needed a couple of safety pins to act as extensions, but Mary had assured you that that just made the style more authentic. Upon Mary’s request, you’d put on your ripped fishnets, and you had your own worn Docs to complete the look.

“Do I get to be a sex-crazed jerk all night?” you’d asked as you’d admired yourself in the corroded full-length you had propped up by the bathroom.

“You say that as if that’s something new and different for you—fuck ow,” said Mary as you’d tapped his balls.

“So where is this place?” you ask as Mary and you head to the train. 

It’s in the old factory district, which means it’s a ways away, but still subway accessible.

“It’s actually in a converted co-op. I think they started out as squatters—unclear—but now it’s above board as a residence and shit. I used to know a guy who lived there for a while—they had sectioned off areas with screens—and he had a corner so he slept in a hammock. Most of the space is for their art, though. What a fucking life to live.”

You look at him, incredulous. “Mare. You live in a 2 bedroom with 4 other dudes.”

He scoffs at you. “We also have a couch. It’s a whole ‘nother level.”

You just hum at him.

When you finally get there—after a few mis-turns in this silent neighborhood full of abandoned brick factories—you’re surprised (despite Mary’s description) to see that the place is lit. There’s a guy standing at the entrance to the parking lot (that slopes dangerously toward the river) checking attendees; it becomes clear that not only is he checking for 21+, but for alcohol and toilet paper. Those without either have to “donate” $10.

“Oh—” says Mary right before it’s about to be your turn. “I’m not Mary tonight.”

“What should I call, then? The ‘Great Pumpkin’?”

“Just not Mary,” he hisses as you shore up to the “bouncer.”

The guy is not in any kind of costume—just grey sweats and a sports team hat. He’s sitting on a bar stool, and he has a little flashlight he’s using to check IDs.

“Hey, guys!” he says cheerily. “Welcome to Magical Mischief Mystery at the Factory. IDs? Ah! TP and suds? Cool, cool.”

He checks your IDs, then looks at you, then your IDs … then at Mary’s pumpkin face, then at you.

“OH MY GOD,” he starts chortling and slips off the stool to grab Mary’s arm. “Mary, you old bastard—I haven’t seen you since Dusty left to get hitched.”

You take a deep breath and—in your best screamo voice—you say, “I’m fucking Mary Goore,” (not a lie) “and he’s ‘Late for Dinner’.”

The pumpkin head turns to you. You can feel Mary’s unamused gaze.

The bouncer starts wheezing so hard that you’re afraid he might expire from laughing.

“Fuck, fuck,” gasps the dude. He shakes his head, eyes watery from mirth, and waves the two of you through.

“I hate you,” says Mary.

“I didn’t call you ‘Mary’, though,” you quip as you slip your arm through his.

“Why do I have to carry all the shit? Here. Pull your fucking weight.”

Mary hands you the toilet paper roll he heisted from your bathroom.

“Are we going to TP something?” you ask as you take the roll from him.

“Heh. No, it’s purely functional. This many people? It’s so the bathrooms don’t run out.”

The two of you enter with another mass of people, traveling through the miasma of secondhand smoke from the smokers. You cough, but Mary inhales deep, sighing. You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you gape as you look around.

You and Mary stand on an open floor—which is what 5 or so floors look out onto all the way up. The place is crowded, but not jam packed. There’s a makeshift kitchen area where a dude in a bare chest and suspenders is accepting the toilet paper and libations. Above him is a white sheet that’s stretched out, on which an Art Film is being projected. The film has no sound because in the far corner there’s a DJ spinning, and a group of people are “dancing” to his jams. Mary was right: it’s like some kind of frat party for the artsy set. Because of the theme, most everyone is in a mask of some sort, and people—or groups of people—are making out in corners in various states of undress. 

Mary grabs two beers, then leads you to a staircase—there’s a freight elevator by it, but it’s got cheesy Halloween “do not enter” tape blocking it.

“The first year too many people loaded into it, and it dropped 3 floors before the emergency brakes kicked in,” says Mary as he notices where you’re looking.

In a loft on the second floor you and Mary watch a woman—nude and covered in white paint—become the canvas to her girlfriend’s landscape painting.

In what’s clearly a shared bedroom, you and Mary peruse some really great paintings and sketches from what must be a number of the co-op residents.

“You should have told me to bring cash,” you say.

“We can always come back. I know a guy.”

You imagine Mary’s probably winking at you.

On the third floor there’s an inexplicable open-air kitchen attached to a bathroom. In it there’s a dude doling out beer from a keg.

“What’s this,” Mary asks him.

“It’s my homemade IPA, dude! Pumpkin for the season!”

He hands Mary a business card.

“We have a small space in the boonies, but we’re trying to get a brewery up and running in the city. Red tape though, man.”

“I fucking hear that.” Mary takes a sip. “Good shit, dude.”

The guy high-fives Mary.

“One for your girl?”

Mary hands you the solo cup, and you take a sip. You were expecting something grassy and hoppy—but the pumpkin actually balances it out nicely without it itself being cloyingly sweet. When you nod, Mary just lets you have his and indicates to the brewer to pump another cup.

The two of you enter what you think might usually be a studio space, but instead there’s a burlesque performance going on. There are some people making out, but Mary and you watch, rapt, praising the skill of the performers to each other.

The fourth floor has the least amount of people. Someone is doing a reading in one corner, and across the way there’s some sort of performance art going on. A woman stands in a white shift and gauze. Every time a dude who looks like a Nazgul rings a bell, she contorts herself to a different pose with a dancer’s ease.

You roll your eyes, but Mary begs your patience—watching solemnly as she continues.

“What is it?” you ask when the set is clearly over.

“Did you not feel it?”

“Uh …”

Even through the pumpkin you can feel his eyes on you.

“She’s a dancing monkey. Bound and constrained, only ever allowed to perform at the whim of her faceless master.”

“Mary …”

“No—don’t scoff. That was meant for you. It’s an allegory for the patriarchy, and I for one found it quite moving.”

You guess you can see it now that Mary’s pointed it out to you. He takes off the pumpkin, and you hold it while he goes over to talk to the woman. You shift uncomfortably as they engage, and she grabs his hands, shaking them profusely. Mary suddenly points over at you, and the woman waves and motions you over.

“Oh my god, look at you!” she squeals. She turns back to Mary. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it—she looks just like you.”

“I liked your patriarchal allegory,” you say.

Mary twists his mouth at you, but the woman just presses her hands to her chest.

“Thank you so much. I’m testing it out here as a protest piece. A bunch of us are going to travel to different cities and perform outside of big corporations.” She grabs Mary’s wrist. “Your boyfriend is wonderful. His song about—”

“—my band’s song—”

“—the nature of performative gender roles is one of my favs.”

You have no idea which song she’s talking about, but Mary looks pleased. So you’re pleased. You wrap your arm around his waist.

“He is pretty great.”

She lifts her veil to chug the glass of water Nazgul hands her.

“It was so nice to meet you person to person, Mary. I’m going to find the ladies before my next performance.”

“Love your work, Lizzy. I’ll put you on the list for our shows. Show up anytime!”

She bows and shuffles backwards as Mary leads you away.

“You have no idea what song she’s talking about do you?”

“I—” you sputter. “Uh. Dead Things?”

Mary looks at you indulgently.

“I’ll let you think about it.”

It turns out that the 5th floor is off limits to party goers, so Mary—back in his Jack O’Lantern—and you wander down to ground level to acquire more beer and to join the crowd of dancers. At some point the two of you take a break to pee, then hydrate as you add your own dialogue to the film on loop above you.

Back on the dance floor, there’s some skanking, some goth writhing, and some line dancing as the DJ spins his own set and sprinkles in some crowd requests. At this point in the night, most of the attendees have already made passes through the upper floors and are now all on the dance floor. Mary does some goth stomping (his pumpkin abandoned and now being passed around), and you do a silly skank until you slip on a slick spot and fall on your ass. After that, Mary pulls you close and grinds against you, his thigh between yours, both of you buzzed from multiple trips to the bar.

“Do you wanna find a corner?” he whispers into your ear.

In any other situation you’d probably say no … but—for all the crowd is packed—this is clearly a private party, one whose hosts don’t frown upon a little bit of lechery. You guess he wasn’t kidding about the orgy, after all.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

It takes a little investigation, but Mary and you find a room that seems to have been either designated or usurped as the makeout room. There’s a writhing mass in one corner, and the bed is covered in rolling bodies. There’re some breathy invitations—and a hand or two lightly caresses your calf as you walk by—but no one insists on participation further than that. 

Mary yanks a pillow from the bed and tosses it to the floor. He pulls you down so that you’re both on your knees, his mouth capturing yours and his hands alighting everywhere. A hand of his sneaks down your skirt, and yours slithers down his jeans—the roving fingers of you each more a prelude than anything, stoking you both up to what’s next.

“Can I fuck you?” huffs Mary.

“Kinda drunk,” you say.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No—just not gonna be very useful,” you giggle.

Because you wore the fishnets you’re not wearing underwear, so all Mary has to do is rip a hole in the crotch area—they’re not even good fishnets, so it’s not like there’s a liner to contend with. He grunts at your wetness.

“You sure?”

“Fuck me, Mary.”

He fumbles with his dick, finally managing to sink it into you. It’s a very awkward fuck—you’re lolling all about the place, and Mary isn’t being particularly steady.

At one point a light turns on only for a Sorry! to squeal out as it turns off again.

You try to swallow your laugh, but your jiggling belly can’t hide your reaction, and soon Mary is laughing too.

“Fuck … shut up … fuck,” he giggles. “I’m trying to get off here.”

You’re just catapulted into further fits, and before long Mary’s soft cock is slipping out of you as he joins you in snickering.

“Crap. I might be too drunk for this too.”

The two of you lay like that for a bit, a feedback loop of laughter, until your belly muscles ache.

“Fuck. Take me home, Suey.”

“Yeah, ok,” you say. 

After some readjusting, you both stumble out of the room. The crowd has thinned, but that’s not to say the dance party isn’t still going strong.

“We should get a cab,” you say.

“Cash?” Mary asks as you guys shuffle out of the building.

“App,” you say as you hold up your phone to poke at your cab app. “My card s’on file.”

“Fancy.”

“S’for emergencies.”

“Oh.”

You give him a lopsided grin. “Like staying too late at a factory party.”

There’s a comedy of errors when the cab can’t find you and cancels, and you have to rebook—only to have the same cab automatically cancel your order again. Mary calls the number for dispatch, and they direct you out to a main street. The cab that picks you up is the same cab that voided your reservation twice, and he yells at you for giving him the wrong address.

You let Mary argue with him (content to doze on his shoulder)—the conclusion seeming to be that while you put in the correct address, the app didn’t like it and spit out a close, but different, pickup address.

By the end of the trip, however, the cabbie and Mary seem to be old friends. He lingers even after the driver validates your card, talking with the guy about where he’s from, until you tug on his arm.

“Sleepy,” you grumble into him.

The cab driver laughs.

“We are beholden to our women, yes?”

“Happily,” says Mary as he wraps an arm around you.

“Have a good night,” says the cabbie, and Mary just raps on the car, waving as it pulls away.

 “What a cool dude,” he says as the two of you shuffle toward your building.

“Mhm,” you mumble.

“Jesus, you’re useless when you’re drunk.”

There’s a lot of fumbling and stumbling, but you both finally make it into your apartment. Somehow Mary gets you into the shower, which you don’t even realize until it turns on, and you shriek when the cold water smacks you in the face before it has the chance to warm up.

“Why am I still in my clothes?!” you whine.

Mary pokes his head in.

“You fucking serious? You almost bit off my fingers when I tried to undress you!”

“I’m more than just sex!” you yell.

“Just fucking wash your face.”

“Kay.”

You fall asleep sitting in the shower, waking only when the water turns cold. It seems to have had a sobering effect, because you definitely feel more clear headed than when you entered—it’s not as funny to be slightly sober and peeling off your cold, wet clothes. Usually you give your teeth the full experience, but tonight (this morning?), you just give them a quick brush.

For all he seemed soberer of you two, Mary doesn’t seem to have fared much better. He managed to get his shirt off, but he’s lying on your bedroom floor—curled in a ball—still in his unbuckled jeans. It would be amusing—and maybe after sleep it will be—if you weren’t so wrecked. It’s a struggle tugging off his jeans, and he semi-wakes halfway through and starts to shiver.

“Wha—?”

He looks at you blearily.

“Help me get your pants off, Mare bear.”

He blinks down at his legs, then sort of squirms his legs to help you wiggle him out of the black denim. Luckily—disorientated as he is—he’s able to assist you in getting him into your bed; he conks out again the minute you trundle him under the covers. The night outside is lightening, and you know there’s no way you can work tomorrow. Today.

Whatever.

You shuffle into your living room and start up your laptop, blinking rapidly as it boots up. When it finally loads, you send off a missive to your supervisor about potential food poisoning you’ve contracted, but how you’ll check your email later this afternoon. You preemptively down some ibuprofen and sneak some of Mary’s Pedialyte.

Mary seems dead to the world when you climb into your bed, but he’s rolling over and wrapped around you as soon as you’re settled, huffing into your neck.

“Took the morning off,” you mumble.

He hums.

You’re in a good doze when he speaks, jarring you back awake.

“Had fun?”

“Yeah, Mare. Now, shh.”

He mumbles something into your neck, but it’s too incoherent and you’re too knackered to decipher it. You just relax into his koala embrace and let sleep take you.

⬅️Previous | Next ➡️

[drawing-way-outside-the-lines]

Dominic Roth *supporting character

Voice Claim:(Patrick Warburton) https://youtu.be/NOqY7Qb1B7E?t=395

Partner(s): Single. Parents: Rudolf and Jutta Rothschild Kids: None. Age: 42 (2021) Birthday: 11th of November Height: 187cm (5.1ft) Body type: Muscular Eye color: Light green/gray-ish

About: ~ Competitive, Experimental, Daring, Stubborn, Cynical, Aggressive, Dominating, Charmless, Disobedient, Morbid, Impulsive, Scheming Argumentative, Perverse, Dishonest, Intolerant, Outspoken, Sarcastic, Disrespectful, Secretive, Aimless, Blunt, Careless, Deceitful, Insensitive, Manipulative, and Selfish. ~  Bouncer/doorman at a local nightclub. ~ Sexuality: Sex is sex. ~ Shoulder length black hair he mostly wears up to show of his undercut. ~ Dresses a bit slobby, cause he doesn’t really care. ~ Hates authority. ~ Not an easy person to be around. ~ Is a part of the wealthy Jewish family ‘Rothschild’, originally from Frankfurt. ~ No contact to family, they wrote him off years ago. ~ Lives with a bunch of roommates, but isn’t really close to any of them. ~ Fuck this! ~ 10/10 horrible friendship material. ~ Slob - refuses to clean after himself! ~ Barely showers. ~ Fuck that! ~ Doesn’t think before he speaks. ~ What is sleep? ~ Drugs, coffee, energy drinks and alcohol keeps him going. ~ Fuck you! ~ Doesn't give a shit about anyone but himself. ~ Horrible listener, it’s best for yourself simply not to strike a conversation with him. ~ Chain smoker. ~ Face full of metal (piercings) ~ Highly offensive. ~ Prefers people calling him Dom, as he believes it establishes his dominance. ~ Smells like: Stale sweat and beer stains. ~ Loves drugs, sex, alcohol, weed, fighting, violence, anything that will give him an adrenaline rush, escaping the cops, loud music, tagging shit, disobeying the law, pissing from rooftops and pizza. ~ His style is whatever! ~ Swears A LOT.

Dom’s tag Dom’s house/home Dom’s moodboard Handwriting/ask answer pic:

One Gif to describe him:  

One song to describe him: F**k Everything (Jon Lajoie) Personal Playlist: (Warning: Mostly Dark Techno) 1. Chris Masc - DirtyFucker 2. Dok & Martin - Feeling Of Glory (T78 Remix) 3. Oliver Immer, DunkleMaterie & Kryptonit - Klingt nicht sehr brutal (Original Mix) 4. Matt Mus - Thorn (Original Mix) 5. 80 DOPPEL D - AK47 (Original Mix) 6. Volodia Rizak - Back To Back (Felix Wehden Remix) 7. Sebastian Schwarz - Plattenkribbeln (Chris Masc Remix) 8. Dope Amine - Bone Cutter (Orignial Mix) 9. Alfred Heinrichs - Do You Know What I Am Saying (Original Mix) 10. Marsi - Beast Mode (Original Mix)[BassAudienz Rec.] 11. Felix Reichelt - Prime (Oliver Immer Darkness Remix) 12. Klanglos - Scheinwelt (Original Mix)

[joseamooney]

20 Health Tips for 2020

The start of a new decade brings with it new resolutions to improve one’s life, including a healthier lifestyle. Here are 20 practical health tips to help you start off towards healthy living in 2020.

1. Eat a healthy diet Photo: FAO/J. Grey Eat a combination of different foods, including fruit, vegetables, legumes, nuts and whole grains. Adults should eat at least five portions (400g) of fruit and vegetables per day. You can improve your intake of fruits and vegetables by always including veggies in your meal; eating fresh fruit and vegetables as snacks; eating a variety of fruits and vegetables; and eating them in season. By eating healthy, you will reduce your risk of malnutrition and noncommunicable diseases (NCDs) such as diabetes, heart disease, stroke and cancer.

2. Consume less salt and sugar Photo: WHO/C. Black Filipinos consume twice the recommended amount of sodium, putting them at risk of high blood pressure, which in turn increases the risk of heart disease and stroke. Most people get their sodium through salt. Reduce your salt intake to 5g per day, equivalent to about one teaspoon. It’s easier to do this by limiting the amount of salt, soy sauce, fish sauce and other high-sodium condiments when preparing meals; removing salt, seasonings and condiments from your meal table; avoiding salty snacks; and choosing low-sodium products. On the other hand, consuming excessive amounts of sugars increases the risk of tooth decay and unhealthy weight gain. In both adults and children, the intake of free sugars should be reduced to less than 10% of total energy intake. This is equivalent to 50g or about 12 teaspoons for an adult. WHO recommends consuming less than 5% of total energy intake for additional health benefits. You can reduce your sugar intake by limiting the consumption of sugary snacks, candies and sugar-sweetened beverages.

3. Reduce intake of harmful fats

📷 Photo: WHO/S. Volkov Fats consumed should be less than 30% of your total energy intake. This will help prevent unhealthy weight gain and NCDs. There are different types of fats, but unsaturated fats are preferable over saturated fats and trans-fats. WHO recommends reducing saturated fats to less than 10% of total energy intake; reducing trans-fats to less than 1% of total energy intake; and replacing both saturated fats and trans-fats to unsaturated fats. The preferable unsaturated fats are found in fish, avocado and nuts, and in sunflower, soybean, canola and olive oils; saturated fats are found in fatty meat, butter, palm and coconut oil, cream, cheese, ghee and lard; and trans-fats are found in baked and fried foods, and pre-packaged snacks and foods, such as frozen pizza, cookies, biscuits, and cooking oils and spreads.

4. Avoid harmful use of alcohol

📷 Photo: WHO/S. Volkov There is no safe level for drinking alcohol. Consuming alcohol can lead to health problems such as mental and behavioural disorders, including alcohol dependence, major NCDs such as liver cirrhosis, some cancers and heart diseases, as well as injuries resulting from violence and road clashes and collisions.

5. Don’t smoke

📷 Photo: WHO/Y. Shimizu Smoking tobacco causes NCDs such as lung disease, heart disease and stroke. Tobacco kills not only the direct smokers but even non-smokers through second-hand exposure. Currently, there are around 15.9 million Filipino adults who smoke tobacco but 7 in 10 smokers are interested or plan to quit. If you are currently a smoker, it’s not too late to quit. Once you do, you will experience immediate and long-term health benefits. If you are not a smoker, that’s great! Do not start smoking and fight for your right to breathe tobacco-smoke-free air.

6. Be active

📷 Photo: WHO/Y. Shimizu Physical activity is defined as any bodily movement produced by skeletal muscles that requires energy expenditure. This includes exercise and activities undertaken while working, playing, carrying out household chores, travelling, and engaging in recreational pursuits. The amount of physical activity you need depends on your age group but adults aged 18-64 years should do at least 150 minutes of moderate-intensity physical activity throughout the week. Increase moderate-intensity physical activity to 300 minutes per week for additional health benefits.

7. Check your blood pressure regularly

📷 Photo: WHO/F. Tanggol Hypertension, or high blood pressure, is called a “silent killer”. This is because many people who have hypertension may not be aware of the problem as it may not have any symptoms. If left uncontrolled, hypertension can lead to heart, brain, kidney and other diseases. Have your blood pressure checked regularly by a health worker so you know your numbers. If your blood pressure is high, get the advice of a health worker. This is vital in the prevention and control of hypertension.

8. Get tested

📷 Photo: WHO/F. Tanggol Getting yourself tested is an important step in knowing your health status, especially when it comes to HIV, hepatitis B, sexually-transmitted infections (STIs) and tuberculosis (TB). Left untreated, these diseases can lead to serious complications and even death. Knowing your status means you will know how to either continue preventing these diseases or, if you find out that you’re positive, get the care and treatment that you need. Go to a public or private health facility, wherever you are comfortable, to have yourself tested.

9. Get vaccinated

📷 Photo: WHO/F. Tanggol Vaccination is one of the most effective ways to prevent diseases. Vaccines work with your body’s natural defences to build protection against diseases like cervical cancer, cholera, diphtheria, hepatitis B, influenza, measles, mumps, pneumonia, polio, rabies, rubella, tetanus, typhoid, and yellow fever. In the Philippines, free vaccines are provided to children 1 year old and below as part of the Department of Health’s routine immunization programme. If you are an adolescent or adult, you may ask your physician if to check your immunization status or if you want to have yourself vaccinated.

10. Practice safe sex

📷 Photo: WHO/F. Tanggol Looking after your sexual health is important for your overall health and well-being. Practice safe sex to prevent HIV and other sexually transmitted infections like gonorrhoea and syphilis. There are available prevention measures such as pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP) that will protect you from HIV and condoms that will protect you from HIV and other STIs.

11. Cover your mouth when coughing or sneezing

📷 Photo: WHO/I. Brown Diseases such as influenza, pneumonia and tuberculosis are transmitted through the air. When an infected person coughs or sneezes, infectious agents may be passed on to others through airborne droplets. When you feel a cough or sneeze coming on, make sure you have covered your mouth with a face mask or use a tissue then dispose it carefully. If you do not have a tissue close by when you cough or sneeze, cover your mouth as much as possible with the crook (or the inside) of your elbow.

12. Prevent mosquito bites

📷 Photo: WHO/Y. Shimizu Mosquitoes are one of the deadliest animals in the world. Diseases like dengue, chikungunya, malaria and lymphatic filariasis are transmitted by mosquitoes and continue to affect Filipinos. You can take simple measures to protect yourself and your loved ones against mosquito-borne diseases. If you’re traveling to an area with known mosquito-borne diseases, consult a physician for a vaccine to prevent diseases such as Japanese encephalitis and yellow fever or if you need to take antimalarial medicines. Wear light-coloured, long-sleeved shirts and pants and use insect repellent. At home, use window and door screens, use bed nets and clean your surroundings weekly to destroy mosquito breeding sites.

13. Follow traffic laws

📷 Photo: WHO/D. Rodriguez Road crashes claim over one million lives around the world and millions more are injured. Road traffic injuries are preventable through a variety of measures implemented by the government such as strong legislation and enforcement, safer infrastructure and vehicle standards, and improved post-crash care. You yourself can also prevent road crashes by ensuring that you follow traffic laws such as using the seatbelt for adults and child restraint for your kids, wearing a helmet when riding a motorcycle or bicycle, not drinking and driving, and not using your mobile phone while driving.

14. Drink only safe water

📷 Photo: WHO/F. Guerrero Drinking unsafe water can lead to water-borne diseases such as cholera, diarrhoea, hepatitis A, typhoid and polio. Globally, at least 2 billion people use a drinking water source contaminated with faeces. Check with your water concessionaire and water refilling station to ensure that the water you’re drinking is safe. In a setting where you are unsure of your water source, boil your water for at least one minute. This will destroy harmful organisms in the water. Let it cool naturally before drinking.

15. Breastfeed babies from 0 to 2 years and beyond

📷 Photo: WHO/T. David Breastfeeding is the best way to provide the ideal food for newborns and infants. WHO recommends that mothers initiate breastfeeding within one hour of birth. Breastfeeding for the first six months is crucial for the baby to grow up healthy. It is recommended that breastfeeding is continued for up to two years and beyond. Aside from being beneficial to babies, breastfeeding is also good for the mother as it reduces the risk of breast and ovarian cancer, type II diabetes, and postpartum depression.

16. Talk to someone you trust if you're feeling down

📷 Photo: WHO/F. Guerrero Depression is a common illness worldwide with over 260 million people affected. Depression can manifest in different ways, but it might make you feel hopeless or worthless, or you might think about negative and disturbing thoughts a lot or have an overwhelming sense of pain. If you’re going through this, remember that you are not alone. Talk to someone you trust such as a family member, friend, colleague or mental health professional about how you feel. If you feel that you are in danger of harming yourself, contact the National Center for Mental Health hotline at 0917-899-USAP (8727).

17. Take antibiotics only as prescribed

📷 Photo: WHO/F. Tanggol Antibiotic resistance is one of the biggest public health threats in our generation. When antibiotics lose their power, bacterial infections become harder to treat, leading to higher medical costs, prolonged hospital stays, and increased mortality. Antibiotics are losing their power because of misuse and overuse in humans and animals. Make sure you only take antibiotics if prescribed by a qualified health professional. And once prescribed, complete the treatment days as instructed. Never share antibiotics.

18. Clean your hands properly

📷 Photo: WHO/F. Tanggol Hand hygiene is critical not only for health workers but for everyone. Clean hands can prevent the spread of infectious illnesses. You should handwash using soap and water when your hands are visibly soiled or handrub using an alcohol-based product.

19. Prepare your food correctly

📷 Photo: WHO/A. Esquillon Unsafe food containing harmful bacteria, viruses, parasites or chemical substances, causes more than 200 diseases – ranging from diarrhoea to cancers. When buying food at the market or store, check the labels or the actual produce to ensure it is safe to eat. If you are preparing food, make sure you follow the Five Keys to Safer Food: (1) keep clean; (2) separate raw and cooked; (3) cook thoroughly; (4) keep food at safe temperatures; and (5) use safe water and raw materials.

20. Have regular check-ups

📷 Photo: WHO/Y. Shimizu Regular check-ups can help find health problems before they start. Health professionals can help find and diagnose health issues early, when your chances for treatment and cure are better. Go to your nearest health facility to check out the the health services, screenings and treatment that are accessible to you.

[perfeggso]

Noir (yutae)

Week III pt. 1

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Chapter 1  |  Chapter 2  |  Chapter 3  |  Chapter 4  |  Chapter 5  |  Chapter 6  |  Chapter 7  |  Chapter 8  |  Masterlist 

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 9.7k 

Every day at work since the night in the car with Yuta was torturous for Taeyong.  He found himself wishing he had just been left alone at the electronics shop in Akihabara but no – Yuta had to pluck him up and complicate an already complicated situation.  Maybe that was what Taeyong deserved for getting his hopes up and prying.  Yuta had been glum for the first couple of days and Taeyong thought he caught him trying to approach the topic a few times, but Yuta would either drop it before he even opened his mouth or else Taeyong would remove himself from Yuta’s presence.  Eventually, Yuta seemed to decide that the best way to handle what had transpired was to not handle it.  He went back to acting cordial and more or less professional, and Taeyong figured he should too even if he couldn’t always shake the memory of the humiliated tears which escaped his eyes that night.  

It had been four days when Taeyong found himself in a communal space at headquarters, sulking over a sour plum onigiri he’d bought for lunch at Lawson.  Doyoung, Jaehyun, Johnny, and Taeil were there with him, having a smoke break and waiting for orders from the Oyabun or from Yuta.  Well, all but Jaehyun, who was only there to distract himself from his studies.  Taeyong knew from the way he and Yuta had been acting that everyone probably suspected something – but no one asked.  

Johnny was talking to the others about some girl he was seeing while, in the corner, Doyoung was, as the only non-smoker, listening and practicing throwing a small knife into a corkboard.  Taeyong wasn’t really paying attention and was sitting in the opposite corner next to the open window so he could taste his food.  

“Taeyong!” yelled Johnny, clearly trying to knock Taeyong out of his stupor with some good cheer.  “You should come around to my place this evening.  I’m closed tonight so we can all get drunk and have a grand old time.  These guys will all be there, right?” The indicated guys nodded their heads.  “Unfortunately,” quipped Doyoung.  

“Right,” Johnny continued, “what do you say?”

Taeyong chewed his food slowly.  He didn’t have to think about what he’d do, he just felt like taking his time.  “I don’t think I can,” he explained, “I’m going somewhere with Yuta tonight.  For his project.”  

Johnny cocked his head, expression betraying concern.  “Well maybe you two can swing by after.  Just let me know if you decide to.”

“Alright.”

Taeyong felt like his general demeanor had brought down the rapport in the room that had existed during whatever bawdy story Johnny was in the midst of telling before.  The only sound for several beats was the THWACK of Doyoung’s knife lodging into its target.  Finally, Jaehyun spoke.  

“What are you two doing?” he asked Taeyong.  

“We’re going into Shinjuku to meet up with someone named Donghyuck who has contacts that might be helpful.  Do you know him?”                    

Taeil spluttered.  “Oh, you haven’t met Donghyuck yet?” he asked.  

Taeyong paused his chewing, wondering if there was something he should be aware of that might be concerning to him.  

“No,” he said, “is that a problem?”

Taeil laughed again, the dregs of his earlier outburst.  “Just be on your toes.  He’s a street kid, kind of like you were, but infinitely more obnoxious and he likes to test the new recruits.  You’ve got to establish dominance before he gets too much under your skin.  I know you don’t want to look like a little bitch in front of Yuta, yeah?”

“Oi!” Jaehyun warned Taeil with a quick glare.  “Maybe cool it with that.”

THWACK! Everyone turned their attention to Doyoung.  “That kid is Satan spawn,” he said coolly, going to retrieve his knife from where it was lodged.  

“Oh, you know you love him though,” Johnny jested, then turning his attention back to Taeyong.  “But don’t worry about it; he’s not even old enough to have a driver’s licence  – you can handle him.”

Taeyong just nodded.  

“I never said I didn’t love him, Johnny,” said Doyoung with a sly smile.  “I am a Satanist after all.”

“Oh, bullshit,” Taeil interjected.  “You just want to sound clever.”

***

That evening, Taeyong met Yuta at their pre-arranged spot below an elevated highway.  Yuta greeted Taeyong curtly – although Taeyong read some of the discomfort on the other man’s face more as guilt than contempt – and introduced Taeyong to the young man by his side.  

“Taeyong,” he said, “this is our associate, Donghyuck.  Donghyuck, Taeyong.”  

Donghyuck was slightly shorter than Yuta, with shaggy black hair and a round, jovial face.  He had a couple of Inagawa-kai themed tattoos on his neck and wrists and carried a baseball bat with him.  Must be a confident kid to get away with that, Taeyong figured.  

“I’ve been told to watch out for you,” said Taeyong by way of a greeting.

Donghyuck smirked.  “I have no idea why that would be,” he sing-songed.  “If those guys at headquarters can’t handle a shatei then I think that says more about them than it does about me.  Now,” he continued, grinding a foot into the gravel below him and clinking his bat against the ground, “shall we be on our way?”

They started under the overpass towards an area populated by office buildings and construction projects.  Since they were on the edges of Shinjuku, in a sort of no-man’s land between neighborhoods, there weren’t many people around and Taeyong wondered to himself what kind of weird stuff went on in the shadowy corners under the highway once the sun started to set like it was.  Mostly though, he just tried to avoid getting pooped on by the pigeons loitering above.  

“Where are we going?” Taeyong asked.  

“Donghyuck is our go-between for gaining information on the operations of other yakuza groups.  He knows the small-time gangs that do business with them informally, since that’s the world he was part of when we plucked him up,” Yuta explained.  “We’re going to go meet with one such gang in their hideout.”  

Taeyong nodded as they approached a wall of gray buildings.  “What does this have to do with Sana-san?” he asked.  

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” said Yuta, looking the closest to normal spirits that Taeyong had seen him in days – probably because he anticipated a big break in the investigation.  Taeyong thought Yuta might know more than he was letting on, but he was mostly just happy to feel some of the tension between them letting up.  Even if their interaction in Yuta’s car scarred Taeyong every time he laid eyes on the other man, he knew it was in his best interest to be personally liked by his greatest advocate.  

The three continued walking on the desolate sidewalk and, out of curiosity, Taeyong turned to Donghyuck, who had inched uncomfortably close to his side.  Taeyong chose to ignore that.

“You ever join the Bosozoku?” Taeyong asked, eyeing the baseball bat: a favorite of the biker gangs.

Donghyuck raised his eyes at Taeyong like he was an idiot.  “No!” he said.  “Besides, you think they’d take me?  Fucking fascists.”  

“I was just wondering about the bat,” explained Taeyong with an almost faraway laugh.  “One time I got beat up with one just like it.”  

“Oh yeah?” Donghyuck asked swinging the weapon around viscerally with an intense expression which reminded Taeyong of himself a few years earlier.  “Then you understand how I feel about Bosozoku.  I stole this baby from the leader of the Black Emperors!”

Donghyuck skipped out ahead of Taeyong and Yuta a few steps and turned around to walk backwards, holding the bat over his shoulders with one hand.  He reached into his pocket, rummaging around for something.  

“Speaking of stealing,” he said, pulling Taeyong’s wallet from his pocket, “you need to be more aware of your shit, kumi-san .”

Before Taeyong could make any words materialize to express his shock and irritation, Yuta spoke for him.  

“Hyuck,” he said, “that is wholly inappropriate.  I’m going to have to request that you give my partner his wallet back right now.”

Donghyuck threw the wallet at Taeyong with just enough warning for him to catch it, then turned the right way around.  Yuta sped up to catch his subordinate and place him in a playful walking headlock.

“That was very disrespectful to your elder,” he chided.  

Donghyuck faked a choking sound and spat on the sidewalk to his left, causing Yuta to let up off of him.  

“I’ve worked for you for longer,” he complained.  

“Damn, now I know why everyone warned me about you,” said Taeyong, replacing his wallet and patting himself to confirm the presence of his other possessions, having finally regained his voice.  “Brat.”

“Oi!” Donghyuck spun around, wielding his bat and only calming down when Yuta placed a hand on his shoulder and plucked the weapon from his hands.  Taeyong laughed and Donghyuck looked at his boss in disbelief.

“Your men are totally out of control, apparently!” he whined, and Yuta tutted, spinning Donghyuck around and recommencing in the direction of a large under-construction high rise.  He pulled Donghyuck into his side.  

“Now listen,” he began, “you certainly don’t get to tell me when to discipline my men.  Alright, shatei ?”    

Yuta let Donghyuck go as he nodded begrudgingly.  “Yes, Shategashira .”

“Good,” said Yuta.  “I’ll kick your ass if you try anything else.”

Taeyong barely registered the end of the interaction playing out in front of him because he was too busy trying to process the flow of blood he felt at the insinuation that he should be ‘disciplined.’  

They stopped before the chipped doorway of the high rise.  The structure seemed almost complete, but it was difficult to tell under the scaffolding.  

“Here??” asked Taeyong, growing more confused by the minute.  When he was a teenager he had sometimes messed around with his friends in rundown buildings and other sketchy locales, but never in an active construction site.  

Yuta nodded mildly and turned his attention to Donghyuck, handing him back his bat under the condition that he be good and control himself.  Donghyuck took the bat back with a pointed glare and went inside.  Yuta looked at Taeyong.  

“After you,” he directed.  

Taeyong followed Donghyuck up several dilapidated sets of stairs.  The interior of the building was about what would be expected; lots of brick, concrete, raw drywall, and exposed wiring.  Some of the walls were damp from unfinished plumbing and the farther they made their way up the stairs, the more convinced Taeyong became that this project had been abandoned for some reason.  

Finally, they came to a steel door which Donghyuck pushed them through, and then to an equally dank hallway that smelled of duckweed.  There was barely any light on account of it being dusk, and this fact made Taeyong’s skin prickle.    

“Last door on the right, Shategashira ,” Donghyuck instructed as Yuta moved past him down the hall.  Taeyong followed all the way until Yuta had entered the indicated room, at which point he felt something hard and rounded brushing against the back of his head.  He paused where he was just on the outside of the naked doorframe and put his hands up.  Looking to his side, he realized that Donghyuck was looking at him, smirking but angry seeming at the same time, and holding his bat up to Taeyong’s head as if teeing him up.  

“ Kumi-in ,” began Donghyuck, “this is strike two.  I thought you seemed soft.  And Yuta’s soft enough already.  If you want to survive together you need to be more aware, got it?”  

Taeyong nodded, trying not to seem too intimidated by someone four years his junior.  He heard Yuta yelling for them from inside the room.  

“Point taken,” he said.  “May I be on my way?”

Donghyuck nodded, bumping his bat lightly against Taeyong’s head for good measure before pulling it away.  

“Don’t let there be a strike three,” Taeyong heard Donghyuck say behind him as he entered the room.

Inside was an industrial attic of sorts with lots of metal beams, trash scattered over the floors, and a lightbulb hanging from the ceiling on a wire, illuminating three late teens to early twenties looking boys along with Yuta at a plastic table.  

“What kept you?” asked Yuta.  

“Haechan!” yelled the tallest of the boys, and Donghyuck approached the table with a sunshiny plump-cheeked grin.  What a contrast .  

“Sorry,” said Taeyong, eyes on the grimy floor.  “Also, Haechan?”

“Nickname,” Yuta explained.  “I think he uses it as a code name with his friends.”

“I see.”

“Who’s this guy?” asked one of the boys, almost yelling.

Yuta motioned towards Taeyong.  “Jisung, Jeno, Jaemin, this is my new associate, Taeyong.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Taeyong and the three boys, each of them tall and rail thin, bowed unenthusiastically and returned the greeting.  

“Yuta-san,” began the one in the middle.  He had a squarer face than the others and if the order of their introduction was anything to go by, he would have to be Jeno.  Taeyong wondered for a moment why they didn’t have to address Yuta by his title, but he figured it was because they didn’t technically work for the Inagawa-kai.  

“You need more information on this girl, right?  Sana-chan?”  Jeno held up a small black and white photo of the girl Taeyong and Yuta had stalked the other night, walking with an older man in a suit.

“That’s her,” Yuta confirmed.  

The boy on the far end of the table, Jaemin, leaned forward into the light.  “Listen, boss, I don’t think you’ll like what we have to tell you.”

Taeyong snuck a glance at Yuta’s face, feeling the nerves start to creep up on him, but Yuta’s expression remained completely placated; he showed no indication of worry and this calmed Taeyong down a bit.  Only a bit, though.  

“Please, just tell me whatever it is,” said Yuta openly.  “I’m sure I’ve dealt with worse.”  

“Okay,” Jisung began, “essentially, Yamaguchi is holding Ms. Minatozaki hostage.  They’ve got her working Miyazaki for cash as like, a sugar baby, but little does he know all the money he’s wiring his girl through shady Thai banks is really going right into the pockets of a yakuza clan.”

“We don’t know how she got mixed up with them,” explained Jeno, “but she is, and we’re pretty sure she’s doing it because they’ll hurt her if she doesn’t.”

Yamaguchi, Taeyong realized, would have to mean the Yamaguchi-gumi, only the largest criminal family in the country.  How did his situation just keep growing more and more outlandish?  Taeyong watched Yuta’s reaction and finally thought he caught a hardness seeping into his face.  

“Fuck, Yamaguchi,” Yuta practically snarled.  “Okay, this isn’t ideal but if we play it right and don’t allow them to catch wind of us, we could use this situation to our advantage.  Did you get this straight from them?

“Yeah,” Jaemin assured, “we heard it from our contacts in the Yamaguchi-gumi!  But listen, that’s why you need to make sure we have protection, because we’re really sticking our necks out for you and they might have more men but the Inagawa-kai owns Tokyo, so we expect you can manage to look out for us.”

“Oi, Jae, maybe you shouldn’t talk to a Shategashira like that,” warned Jisung.      

Jaemin whipped around to look at his friend.  “Listen, do we need to take this out to the roof or something?  Because I’m just trying to ensure our safety and since you’re not down with that, I might as well give your ass a preemptive beating.”

“Come on, guys, let’s not cause a disruption,” said Jeno, laughing awkwardly and placing a hand on each of his friends’ shoulders.  Then, he turned his attention to Yuta.  “We humbly implore you, sir.”  Still, Jaemin and Jisung continued arguing over him, that is, until Donghyuck slammed his bat on the ground with a resounding CLACK!

“Shut the fuck up, you guys!”  The three young men all froze, silence reclaiming the space around them.  Yuta’s face remained calm although Taeyong heard him let out an impatient sigh, and Taeyong himself had to suppress laughter.  He used to be just like these boys.  

Donghyuck continued.  “I’d appreciate if you didn’t embarrass me in front of my boss, thank you.”  He turned to Yuta.  “Please excuse them, Shategashira .”  

Yuta smirked.  “Perfectly alright,” he said.  “Jaemin-kun, I’m sympathetic to your concerns and I assure you that you will have ample protection from the Inagawa-kai be it from your friend, Donghyuck, Taeyong, or any of my men.  You are also welcome to use our headquarters and safehouses if need be.”

Jisung, Jeno, and Jaemin, let out a collective breath.  “Thank you very much, sir.”

“Of course,” said Yuta.  “We appreciate what you have done to help our mission, and I recognize that you did not have to.  That being said, I hope you will understand that protection comes with a certain level of surveillance.  With your proximity to our rivals, we have to be sure you can continue to be trusted.”

The three boys nodded nervously, exchanging reassuring looks with Donghyuck.  “We understand, sir,” confirmed Jeno.  

“Good,” said Yuta.  “Well, then.  Back to the matter at hand.”  

“Do you –” Taeyong began, cutting himself off when he noticed everyone staring at him.  They had probably forgotten he existed.  “Sorry, um, do you think this thing with Ms. Minatozaki and the Yamaguchi-gumi has anything to do with us?  With our plan?”

Yuta smiled, his first genuine smile that Taeyong had seen since their misunderstanding last week, and it caused a rush of pride to fill Taeyong.  

“That’s an excellent question, Taeyong,” said Yuta.  “Do you boys have any incite?”

Taeyong caught Jisung and Donghyuck sharing a brief, quizzical look.  

“Well, we can’t be sure unless we talk to someone higher up,” began Jisung, “but that’s certainly a likelihood.  I mean, they have their ways of finding things out just like you do, and I know they wouldn’t want you getting this deal.”

“My guess,” said Jaemin, “is that they’re going to blackmail their way into the meeting in a month and try to outmaneuver your Mitsubishi arrangement.  It would be a ballsy move since, like I said, you guys are much more powerful within the city, but Yamaguchi are nothing if not ballsy, wouldn’t you say?”  

“I’d imagine you’re correct,” said Yuta.  “That’s all for now, then.  Thank you again, you three.  Donghyuck?”

“Yes, Shategashira .”

“You stay with them.  Taeyong and I will be heading out.”

Donghyuck saluted and his three friends bowed, thanking Yuta for his consideration.

***  

“Starting to think like an investigator, I see,” remarked Yuta once he and Taeyong were back down on the street.  Taeyong started.  

“Oh, really?  I – I just thought it was an obvious question.  Sorry I interrupted.”

Yuta began to walk back in the direction they came and Taeyong followed.  “You didn’t interrupt,” he said with a sideways smile.  “No one was talking.  Besides, that was about to be my next question.  I’m just glad you’re starting to feel comfortable being involved.”

“Oh,” said Taeyong, not knowing what to say to that.  He felt tingly even though he now knew he wasn’t supposed to.  “Shategashira?”

“Mm?”

“Are you scared?”

Yuta laughed suddenly, making Taeyong jump and proving, at least, that his nerves were on edge.  “Scared?  There’s no use in being scared, Taeyong.  Although I wouldn’t fault anyone if they were.”  Yuta began walking once more.  They were just clearing the overpass highway.  “Are you?”

Taeyong thought for a moment.  He’d been in plenty of fights and dangerous situations, so he was used to threat.  If he was being honest, he wasn’t so much scared as he was consumed by a sense of dread.

“Not exactly,” Taeyong stated.  

Yuta repeated, “Not exactly.”  The lights of central Shibuya were slowly becoming visible – like an illuminated cargo ship on the sea at midnight.  Taeyong weighed the appropriateness of bringing up what had happened between them four days earlier, getting the sense that Yuta was still trying to ignore it and move on.  Taeyong felt like he needed closure, but Yuta began to speak before he could.  

“I’m sorry this happened to you Taeyong,” said Yuta.  Taeyong huffed.  He was getting a bit sick of the pity speech.  “No, listen for a minute.  I know this situation seems really crazy, but I’ve been doing this since I was fifteen; been around it my whole life.  I’ll handle anything that comes at me and anything that comes at you, alright? And I don’t underestimate you.  You’re smart, a quick learner, and you’ve got spark.  I know that because I’ve worked with people like you for a while now.”

“What people like me?” asked Taeyong.  “ Zainichi ?”      

“No, not just that,” Yuta clarified.  “People who’ve had to scrap just to exist.  That’s the exact type you want in this line of work.  That’s why I have confidence in you.  I know you can scrap.”

Yuta’s words soothed Taeyong, although he wanted to punch him at the same time.  He knew this wasn’t exactly flirty – more like, professional encouragement? – but Taeyong felt like he was being led on by all the compliments.  

“I see,” he said mildly.  “I will try to live up to that.”  

Yuta chuckled, exhausted by formal talk.  “Are you tired, Taeyong?”

“Not really, actually.”

Yuta smiled.  “Good, because I told Johnny we’d be joining.”  

***

There had been almost no one in the area until Taeyong and Yuta got closer to central Shibuya.  Almost.  Taeyong had noticed someone shortly after agreeing to accompany Yuta to Johnny’s place; a man dressed in dark clothes and walking a good ways behind Taeyong and Yuta.  He wasn’t doing anything in particular to call attention to himself, so Taeyong didn’t pay him any mind.  

He didn’t pay any mind either when he noticed the man entering Shibuya station after them.  The station handled millions of commuters every day, after all.  It was only when he and Yuta had boarded the Shibuya line and he spotted the same man in the next car over that Taeyong instinctively brushed his hand over the interior pocket of his leather jacket, where his gun was hidden.  Still, he assumed he was just being overly cautious.  Yuta didn’t like using his car if he didn’t have to because the plates could be tracked, but Taeyong found himself wishing for the false protection of being alone in a personal vehicle.  

“Akihabara-eki.  Please be cautious of the closing doors.”

The electronic woman’s voice rang through the train as Taeyong and Yuta descended onto the platform.  Taeyong glanced to his right, making a mental note that the same man was also getting off, and practically pulled Yuta towards the exit under the guise of trying not to get separated in the rush of passengers.  He heard Donghyuck’s voice in his head: “ don’t let there be a strike three .”  

Taeyong walked out ahead as he and Yuta started down Ameyokochō, passing food stalls and vendors of knock-off Nike sneakers.  

“You know how to get there, right Taeyong?”

“YeahIdo,” Taeyong huffed, and Yuta grabbed at his hand to pull him around, stopping them both in the middle of the busy pedestrian street.

“Taeyong,” said Yuta, “are you just that eager to have some fun, or is something the matter?”

Taeyong’s body was jittery with the impulse to move, and it only got infinitely worse when he caught a glimpse of the same dark-clothed man over Yuta’s shoulder.  

Taeyong yanked Yuta forward.

“Taeyong, what the fuck?” Yuta looked angry, eyes dark and brow knitted.  If he hadn’t been so scared, Taeyong might have found the expression attractive.  

“Shategashira, I’m very sure we’re being followed,” he explained, practically dragging both himself and Yuta through the crowd of evening revelers.

Yuta stole a glance behind them and confirmed Taeyong’s fear.  

“Shit,” he said, “I think that’s Yamaguchi.  Let’s go.”

Yuta took the lead this time, navigating their surroundings more efficiently than Taeyong had.  Yuta had Taeyong bend his knees as they walked, trying to disrupt their pursuer’s vantage point, and Taeyong silently cursed Yuta for feeling the need to dye his hair.  Finally, they came upon an alleyway they could use as a shortcut to Johnny’s bar, thinking they had managed to lose the man.  

“Here,” said Yuta, pointing to a dumpster about halfway down the alley.  “We need to hide behind this for a second, so he doesn’t see us when he passes.”

Taeyong, as designated lookout for Yuta during this whole operation, took it upon himself to peak out from their hiding spot in case something went wrong.  He watched as throngs of passers by ignored the alley, but none of them were the tall, dark-clad Yamaguchi agent.  Taeyong hadn’t been this nervous since high school, when every day he would return home for the day not knowing if there would be nationalist gang members waiting at his house to drag him away.  Still, back then if he could get enough distance between him and his attackers, he was probably safe.  Now, he knew for a fact, everyone who wanted to hurt him was carrying a gun.  Every cell of his body felt like it was trying to evaporate; the only things grounding him being the metal heft of the revolver in his hand and the outline of Yuta in his peripheral vision, sitting on the ground and pulling Taeyong down to earth like a heavy stone.

“Why didn’t we just stay in the crowd?  He couldn’t shoot that way,” asked Taeyong, voice uneven.  

“Because,” Yuta explained, “this is more direct and if he keeps on our trail, he keeps on our trail.  Better to get in a shootout with him here than guide him to all our colleagues and put them in danger too.  He might have associates ready to pounce when they know the location of Johnny’s place.  Just trust me on this.”

Taeyong sucked in a breath as he watched the man from Yamaguchi turn the corner down the alley.  He’d been able to see them the whole time.  

“Damnit!”

“We need to run,” said Yuta urgently.  “We can’t stay here and let him get closer and corner us.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” Taeyong repeated, shaking and feeling fully gone as Yuta got to his feet next to him and the man stomped towards them.  

Yuta took his gun out and Taeyong heard the click of the safety coming off.  Yuta put a hand on Taeyong’s arm and looked him in the eyes, steady.  

“Remember, Taeyong,” he said, “no use in being scared.”  Yuta smiled his patented Cheshire Cat smile and with that was up and running before Taeyong could even think.  Taeyong followed instinctively, turning around after a moment to check the progress of their assailant.  His eyes went wide as the man slowed to pull something from his pocket – a gun, undoubtedly.  Taeyong stopped and steadied himself and his weapon just in time to catch the black shine of the handle showing from behind the man’s jacket.  No strike three, no strike three, no strike three!  

“ Shategashira , look out!”

BLAM!

Taeyong stumbled half a step back, panting and letting the weight of the gun pull his hands down to his thighs.  

“Holy shit…” he said, absently.  The Yamaguchi member was a few yards from him and Yuta; where he’d been when Taeyong fired, struggling simultaneously to pull his collapsed right knee from the concrete and to pick up the gun he had lost his grip on when Taeyong shot him.  Blood was seeping, dark and thick, from an open gash over his kneecap.  

Taeyong watched as Yuta passed by his right shoulder, striding with brutal grace to the now pathetic man who had given Taeyong the fright of his life just a minute ago.  He kicked the gun away before the man could get to it and then crouched on the ground next to him, holding a pistol to his head at point-blank range.  Yuta looked pissed, but in a way that Taeyong had never seen before, like he could have skinned the guy alive and enjoyed it.  

“Oi!  What’s your name?  What’s your position in the Yamaguchi-gumi?  Are there others with you?” demanded Yuta.  

“I’m not telling you anything, you, you fucker,” the man barely managed to get out with his ragged voice.  “God damnit.”  

Yuta stood back up and put his foot on the man’s thigh, just above his injured knee, pushing down.  The man howled and Taeyong’s stomach churned at the horrifying scene.  

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” asked Yuta, laughing mirthlessly.  “I know what you guys are up to.  Seems foolish to try starting a gang war after such successful coexistence, but your leader’s always been a bit dim, hasn’t he?” Yuta nudged the man’s head with his gun as Taeyong started smelling iron.  

“Shategashira, should we leave I –” Taeyong began, but Yuta cut him off, singularly focused.  

“We have another three minutes or so until the police show up.  Alright,” he continued, turning his attention back to his victim.  “Never mind your name and rank.  Tell me though, are you guys really going to go through with this?  What are you doing with Minatozaki Sana?”

The man spat.  “All I’ll say is that you Inagawa bastards will get what’s coming to you!” he panted.  “We’ve let you have Tokyo for too long.  You know how easily we’d take you down if we just tried?  You think you’re intimidating?  Fuck you.”    

Yuta tutted, “that’s really too bad; you’ve wasted your chances.  If your men are so confident why don’t they just attack already instead of sending in useless assassins like yourself?”

Yuta shot the man right through the head and Taeyong nearly shrieked, turning his head away immediately when he thought he saw something a little too pink to be blood hitting the brick wall on his left.  He wanted to scream – wanted to ask Yuta how the hell he could bring himself to do that – but he found that he couldn’t speak.  He realized all of a sudden that they were in public, noticing in terror that there were pedestrians trying to get a view of the alley.  

“Hurry,” Yuta instructed, and Taeyong followed in horrified and awed silence until they reached the back door of Johnny’s pachinko bar.  

Yuta stopped before going inside and clapped his palms over Taeyong’s shoulders.  “Sorry you had to see that,” he said, lips curling just slightly.  To Taeyong’s surprise, he didn’t feel any need to push Yuta away, despite knowing now the kind of shit he could do.  “But remember all that to remind yourself that this is no joke.”  

Taeyong nodded, eyes glued on Yuta’s, still in a bit of a stupor.  “You need to stop apologizing,” he said, allowing himself a small smile.  “It’s your ride and I’m just someone who fell into the sidecar.  It’s not your fault and I’m not your responsibility.”  

Yuta let out a breathy laugh.  In the distance, Taeyong heard the quavering notes of police sirens.

“We should get into the party,” said Yuta, “but before we do, thank you.  You saved me, Taeyong.”

Taeyong couldn’t even process the statement before Yuta was turning and slipping through the door.

The music which had been seeping through the door came at Taeyong with a pulverizing intensity when he got inside.  He found himself in a grimy pachinko hall with machines, booths, and orange lighting.  On the wall next to the door was a fully stocked bar manned by a yellow-Hawaiian-shirt-clad Johnny.  Every member of the Inagawa-kai’s 15th Tora regiment had congregated around the bar along with Jaehyun and a few young women Taeyong didn’t recognize.  The room was cloudy with smoke, but despite the assault on their lungs, Mark and Donghyuck had cleared a couple tables in the middle of the room to do some kind of pre-choreographed dance to the song that was currently playing.  Taeyong was pretty sure it was “Back on the Chain Gang” by the Pretenders.  

There was a general noise of excitement when Yuta made his way into the room, followed by a smaller whoop for Taeyong.  

“You made it!” said Johnny, gleefully.  

“Man, you look like shit, Shategashira ,” observed Jungwoo.

“Oh yeah?” mocked Yuta, “while guess what, I’m still sexier than you so who’s the real winner here?”

“Oooooh shit! You just got destroyed, man,” Mark interjected, pausing his routine.  Jungwoo rolled his eyes.

Taeyong wanted to plaster himself against the wall like one of the traditional watercolor prints of tigers that Johnny had up.  He couldn’t understand how Yuta’s demeanor could change so dramatically so quickly.        

“In all seriousness, though,” said Yuta, “today has not been easy.”  

“Oh yeah?” Johnny asked, “come sit.  I’ll make you a drink and you can decompress.  You too, Taeyong.”

Johnny served Taeyong a Sapporo (“that’s all you want?”) and broke out the Suntory he kept for special occasions for Yuta as Yuta recounted their encounter with the Yamaguchi-gumi.  By the end, everyone was stunned into a brief silence as David Bowie’s “Let’s Dance,” played like an ironic joke in the background.  

“Shit,” said Doyoung, “this is going to throw a wrench in things.  At least we know their plan.  But they can’t know we know.”  

“Agreed,” said Yuta, sipping his whiskey.  “Anyway, I know this is a bit of a bomb for us, but this was supposed to be a fun night and I didn’t come here with the intention of bumming you all out.  We’ll have plenty of time to work it out tomorrow.”

“Wait!” said Donghyuck, approaching Taeyong at the bar.  “Johnny, can I get a shot of shochu?”

Taeyong looked at Donghyuck with curious eyes, still a bit scared of the kid.  

“I propose a toast,” Donghyuck declared once he’d been handed his drink, “to our new man Taeyong for showing his stuff and watching out for our Shategashira !”

He and Taeyong exchanged a smile as Taeyong protested weakly.  No one heard him.  

“ Kanpai !” the whole room yelled.  

Taeyong cringed.  “ Kanpai…eyy…arigato, arigato …” he mumbled, doing jazz hands for some reason.  

“Now LET’S DANCE!” yelled Taeil from somewhere behind the bar, and everyone spluttered laughter at his enthusiastic drunken English.  It didn’t deter a girl in a blue silk minidress from sauntering over to him, though.  Hoo, wouldn’t that be easy? thought Taeyong, taking a swig of his beer.  

One beer turned into two; then three, then four, then who knows how many?  The relative mildness of the drink was stopping even lightweight Taeyong from acting out, but he did note with a bit of concern that he hadn’t eaten anything since that onigiri at lunch.  Maybe he should stop.  

“Need another?” asked Johnny.  Or not .

“Sure.”  A very pretty girl in a printed knit dress came up behind Johnny while he was getting another Sapporo from the fridge.  With the short-sleeved shirt Johnny had on, Taeyong could see all the intricate tattoos which practically writhed over his arms.  He realized that he’d never seen Yuta’s arms before, wondering if they looked like that too.  

Taeyong watched apathetically as the girl tried to dance against Johnny and he whispered to her that she needed to calm down while he got his friend a drink.  Taeyong wished, stupidly, that it was him and Yuta.  He tried to remind himself that Yuta was a sociopath who didn’t want him anyway, but sadly, that didn’t help.  

“You want a shot in this?” Johnny finally asked, referring to the beer, more of a suggestion than a question.  “A shot for the shooter?”  

“Why not?” Taeyong wondered aloud by way of an answer, ignoring the dreading feeling which came back at the mention of the shooting.  Johnny poured a shot of shochu in the beer and handed it back to Taeyong.  The resulting beverage already made Taeyong’s head hurt in anticipation of the next morning.

“Mina-chan,” Johnny snapped sardonically when the girl tried again to get a rise out of him, “why don’t you get to know Taeyong here?  He’s new; you’ll like him.  Talk about knee-capping bad guys or makeup or something, I don’t care!”  Taeyong flinched at the mention of makeup, wondering if it was a subtle jab at his sexuality.  He figured it was nothing though, while also making a mental note that Johnny was a bit of a dick when drunk.  

Mina sat down on the stool next to Taeyong, sighing and sipping from her lemon sour.  Then she smiled, and Taeyong was knocked out by the sheer aesthetic beauty of it.  

“Hey,” she said.  “Man of the hour.”

Taeyong tripped over a response, finally settling lamely on “I don’t know about that.”

“Oi!” Taeil was yelling somewhere, so loudly that Taeyong and Mina had to place their conversation on pause. “Johnny!”  

“Yeah?” said Johnny, holding a rag and looking up from a shelf under the bar.  

“Do these machines work?” asked Taeil, looking pretty out of it at this point as he fawned over the pachinko machines.  

“Like, in general?”

“No, right now.”

Johnny sighed.  “Not really, Tae, I turned them off.  Why do you care?”

“I wanna play!” Taeil slurred.  Taeyong giggled when he saw Doyoung make a face that communicated something along the lines of ‘kill me now’ and down the rest of his highball.  

“You don’t wanna play that anyway, man,” said Johnny, throwing the rag over his shoulder.  “They’re rigged.  I don’t want you losing a bunch of money and then blaming me tomorrow.”

“Rigged?  Really?” asked Taeil, incredulous.  “That’s kind of crooked, man.”

Johnny threw his hands up in exasperation.

“A n y w a y,” Mina restarted.  “So, you’re new.  How did that happen?”

Taeyong recounted the story of how he had fallen into his position with the Inagawa-kai and would probably be going insane if it weren’t for Yuta, funnily enough.  He omitted the part where he pined for a week and then got flatly rejected.  

Apparently, the situation behind the bar was continuing to deteriorate even past Taeil’s outbursts, because once Taeyong finished the broad strokes of his story, there was yet another interruption.  

Jaehyun, who had spent most of the gathering sat in a booth, flirting with a girl, came out of nowhere into the center of the space and pointed at Yuta, who was in the middle of a conversation with Mark.

“Yuta-san!  My friend!  I have been dared to wrestle you!”  He was grinning and looking hyper charged and chilled out at the same time.    

Yuta balked.  “Me??  You really want to do that?”

“I’ve been dared!” Jaehyun repeated.  “A true man must fight with honor when the occasion is upon him!”

Mark started to do the thing where he spazzed out all over the place instead of laughing.  Now the whole room was balking.  

“I think he needed to be cut off a while ago,” Taeyong whispered to Mina.  She just sighed.  

“I bet you there’s something a lot stronger than booze in him,” she said, voice resigned.  

“Well alright then,” Yuta agreed, getting up just like that and rolling up his sleeves to reveal the tattoos Taeyong had figured would be there as Jungwoo and Mark cleared some tables away to make room.  

“To the death!” said Jaehyun, pointing at Yuta again.  

“Um – no!” yelled Johnny.  

“Let’s ignore them,” Mina suggested, swiveling her stool to face Taeyong.

“Sounds good.”  The two of them clinked glasses as the sounds of a physical struggle mixed with the rhythm of “Cat’s Eye” by Anri coming from the jukebox.    

“They’re tiring, huh?” Mina prompted.  

“Tell me about it,” Taeyong felt the hard alcohol in his drink burning the back of his throat as he took a sip.  “You ever seen someone get killed, Mina?”

Mina’s expression looked flatly put-off for a moment before she gathered it back up.  “No, Taeyong, I can’t say that I have.”

“Sorry,” Taeyong said, feeling like an idiot. “That’s really morbid, huh?  I just – I’m still kind of in shock and this party’s been a lot for me to process.”

“Yeah,” said Mina, eyes skimming over her knees.  “I bet.  You know how I met Johnny?”

“How?”

“The oldest profession,” she said.  

Taeyong’s brow furrowed for a second.  “Oh! Oh…”

“It’s alright, I know it’s unglamorous,” said Mina.  

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to sound judgmental – I promise.”

“No, no, I know.  But listen, I think if I was a guy who’d grown up in my same situation I’d probably be sitting where you are, and in all honestly after watching the kind of things Johnny gets himself into, I really don’t know if I’d be equipped to handle it.  You want my advice?”

“Sure?”

Mina leaned in so she could whisper over the fight and the music.  “Do what you can to get out of this as quick as possible.  I know you’re worried higher ups than these guys will track you down if you try to run off, and you’re right about that, but the minute the Oyabun and Wakagashira decide you can be trusted you should remove yourself.  That’s what I’d do.”

Taeyong nodded, a little too out of it to know how to respond.  He settled on a mildly accusatory “But you stay.”

“I’m not the one getting shot at,” said Mina.  “Today?  That was just the tip of the iceberg.”  She shrugged and looked at Johnny, “besides, I have someone pulling me in.”

I do too , Taeyong wanted to say but couldn’t, only in part because it wasn’t fully true.  

Mina turned her attention to the wrestling match happening on the tile floor and Taeyong followed suit.  Jaehyun was cackling and holding a yelling Yuta down below him.  The image made Taeyong feel like he had consumed something stronger than alcohol.

Johnny came around to Taeyong and Mina on his way to the jukebox.  “Watch this,” he said with a smirk.  After fiddling with it for a couple seconds the telltale opening strings of “Come on Eileen” filled the room and the fight was being broken up in favor of dancing.  Everyone jumped around, yelling whatever version of the lyrics they could and making fun of the actual English speakers when they admitted even they didn’t understand what was being said.  This is how Taeyong came to learn that Johnny and Mark had each grown up in North America as the children of yakuza outpost members, and Jaehyun had gone to boarding school in Connecticut.  

The drinks, bouncing around, and singing were really starting to shake the memory of earlier in the day out of Taeyong’s brain and by the end of the night, he was barely worrying about Mina’s warnings.

***  

Everyone had gone home except for Johnny, Jaehyun, Taeyong, and Yuta.  The former two were in the alley having a smoke and getting some air, so this left Taeyong and Yuta alone inside.  

Yuta let out a big breath and spun around in the middle of the room.  His hair and clothing were stiff with dried sweat and he had some bruises on his arms and his left cheek.  

“What a day!”

“You alright?” asked Taeyong, parking himself in a nearby chair and eyeing his boss’s mild injuries.  

“Aish,” Yuta jested, flexing his arms as if he were really in pain.  Then, he broke out into a grin and laughed, waving Taeyong off.  “Nah, I’m alright.  Would’a had him if Johnny hadn’t intervened.”

Taeyong giggled.  “Sure.”

“Oi!” Yuta started laughing harder.  “I’ll have you punished for insubordination!”

Sounds good . “Sorry, Shategashira.  You’re right; you are the manliest.”  

Yuta hopped into a walk towards the jukebox.  “We should dance!”

How was he not completely out of energy??  After a moment, “Overkill” by Men at Work started to play.  

“I love this song,” Yuta remarked as if he hadn’t chosen it. “Come on, dance!  That’s an order.”  

Taeyong got up sluggishly and started to move in rhythm with Yuta from across the room. Yuta kept pulling silly faces and making Taeyong laugh in his way where the sounds seemed to keep getting caught in his throat on their way out.  

“Did you have fun tonight?” Yuta asked.  

“It was nice,” said Taeyong.  “I felt like part of the group.”

“Good,” said Yuta, dancing closer and eventually getting right into Taeyong’s personal space, outstretching his hands next to Taeyong’s hips, palms up.  Slowly, Taeyong placed his hands over Yuta’s, staring his dance partner in the eyes and knowing that his must have appeared full of uncertainty.  As if by a natural force, Taeyong’s fingers slipped into the slots between Yuta’s and they swayed like that silently for a few seconds.  It was a good feeling, and Taeyong let his eyes close just long enough to enjoy it.  

“Yu – Shategashira ,”

“Mm?”

“What are you doing?”

Yuta looked back into Taeyong’s eyes and then flickered his gaze away, a breathy smile tracing over his lips.  

“I’m thanking you for saving my life,” he said, plainly.  

“You already did that,” Taeyong all but whispered.  

“Not in the way I wanted to,” Yuta mumbled.  “Not in the way you deserve.”  

Yuta pulled a centimeter closer and Taeyong felt like his skin was an electric grid.  He let out an involuntary gasp as Yuta sighed close to his ear.

“Tell me, Taeyong,” he continued, voice thick with liquor, “do you think I’m a monster?”

“Think you’re a monster?  No! No, Shategashira , don’t be ridiculous.  I don’t think that.  I was just – scared.  I know I said I wasn’t earlier today but that was before…I don’t think you’re a monster.  Anyone with your position would have done the same thing – would have been expected to, even.”

“You’re a very kind person, Taeyong,” Yuta observed.  “I hope you know that.”  

“Thank you…” Taeyong smiled to himself at the compliment.  

Yuta pulled back an inch and flashed his gaze over Taeyong’s face.  “Would it be too much for me to kiss you?” he asked.  

Taeyong felt like all his organs were shutting down at once.  How was this happening? Hadn’t Yuta said no?  Hadn’t that ultimately been the right decision for both of their safety? Taeyong froze, only able to watch Yuta’s beautiful face and babble god knows what – he didn’t know.  Finally, he managed to spit out, “but I thought you didn’t want me.”

Yuta looked genuinely hurt.  “I never said that, Taeyong,” he clarified.  “And what I did say was a mistake.  I’m trying to make up for that.”

Taeyong nodded.  “Okay.”

“Okay I can kiss you?”

“Mm-hm.”

And that was all it took.  Yuta pressed his soft lips to Taeyong’s and they stayed there like that as any awareness of the outside world grew fuzzy.  It was gentle enough that Taeyong didn’t know if it was perfect or if he wanted more.  Fortunately or unfortunately, he didn’t have to decide right then, because just as he was beginning to melt fully into the kiss, he heard Johnny and Jaehyun chatting as they walked back inside.  Yuta pulled away quickly, but even if neither man had seen anything, the position Taeyong was in with him was incriminating enough.  Taeyong’s face flushed so hard it almost turned violet as Johnny and Jaehyun snickered.  Yuta, thankfully, was relatively cool enough to handle the situation.  

“You two go on ahead.  Taeyong and I will stay and lock up,” he offered.  

“Alright, Shategashira ,” said Johnny slyly.  “You do that.”  

As the last two stragglers got ready to leave, Taeyong felt himself begin to panic.  He was pretty sure all of Yuta’s friends knew about his sexuality, but he couldn’t remember if he had ever confirmed that fact or if he’d just inferred it.  Finally, he was alone again with Yuta.  

“Sorry about that,” said Yuta.  

“I told you to stop apologizing to me,” Taeyong mumbled.  

“Right.”  Yuta sat next to Taeyong on a chair and pretended to zip his mouth shut.  Taeyong laughed.

“They…know, right?” asked Taeyong and Yuta’s eyes went as round as coins.  

“Oh, my god, yes!  They do!  Don’t worry about them.  They’re obnoxious for other reasons.”  

Taeyong finally let himself relax into his seat. “Good,” he breathed.  

“Taeyong,” said Yuta, his voice taking on a darkness it didn’t have before and Taeyong looked at him expectantly.  “Come here.”  

Taeyong stood and traversed the couple of feet between them.  Yuta patted his lap and Taeyong thought he was going to faint.  He didn’t.  Instead, he straddled Yuta hesitantly and let the man below him look him up and down, gaze sharp.  

“Is this good?” he asked.  

Yuta skimmed his hands lightly over the seams in Taeyong’s jeans.  “Yeah it’s good,” he said.  “You’re so good.”  

Taeyong closed his eyes at that and let out a choked sound.  

“Ah,” remarked Yuta, using his right hand to ruffle Taeyong’s hair and then brush over his cheek.  “Yonggie likes praise, then?”

“Mm, mm-hm,” Taeyong confirmed, leaning into the soothing movements.  

“Can I touch you?”

Taeyong nodded.  “Yes please.”

This time, Yuta let his palms run flat over Taeyong’s thighs and up to his hips, causing Taeyong to wriggle in his lap.  Yuta pulled Taeyong forward into another kiss, deeper and more insistent this time.  It felt sloppy and wet and Taeyong absolutely loved it; couldn’t help himself from grinding his hips just a little bit, although when Yuta noticed this, he tried to hold him in place.  

When Yuta pulled away, Taeyong let his face hover nearby, pink and panting.  Yuta’s lips were glossy and somewhat swollen, and he was looking at Taeyong like he was about to disappear and needed to be studied thoroughly so he could be remembered.  Yuta’s hands roamed over Taeyong’s back, slipping under his shirt.

“ Shategashira ,” Taeyong said in surprise before he had adjusted to the temperature of Yuta’s skin.  Yuta burst out in whooping laughter, throwing his head back in a way that made Taeyong both nervous and aroused.  God , Taeyong thought, hands going to his mouth out of nervous habit, Yuta was going to devastate him.  

When Yuta came back up for air, he stared at Taeyong in mock incredulity.  “Oh, stop playing with your lips,” he said.  “You’re always doing that and it drives me crazy.”

Taeyong ripped his hand away, embarrassed.  “What was so funny?”

“If we’re going to do this, you need to drop the title, Taeyong. Just call me by my name,” Yuta explained, holding Taeyong’s chin between his thumb and pointer finger as if chiding a child.  Taeyong loved it.  All of it.  He smirked.  

“What if I like it?” he challenged.

Now it was Yuta smirking.  “Oh?  Taeyong likes titles, hm?” he leaned forward to start kissing up Taeyong’s neck and Taeyong mewled.  “You like feeling like I’m in charge, even now,” he teased between kisses, “hm, sweetheart?”

That was all Taeyong could take. He started grinding again and this time, Yuta didn’t stop him.

“Yes, Shategashira . I like it so much.”  Yuta sucked a love bite into the skin over Taeyong’s collarbone and Taeyong hissed.  

“Pretty,” Yuta admired absently when he pulled away.  Taeyong was so lost in feeling that it took him until this moment to notice the pressure that had started to build against his thigh.  He looked down at where Yuta was straining against his black jeans.  If he was being honest, he was getting a little uncomfortable himself.  

“Yuta,” he breathed, forgetting all about power play for a second.  Yuta chuckled.  

“I know,” he said, “I didn’t really mean for that to happen but here we are.”

Taeyong raised his eyebrows cutely.  “Would you like me to help you with that, Shategashira ?”  He was ready to drop to his knees at a moment’s notice, so he felt a little disappointed when Yuta waved him off.  

“No, no.  Let me handle it.  I have an idea.”

Taeyong watched silently as Yuta pulled himself out of his pants and started to stroke himself, looking directly at Taeyong.  Taeyong’s eyes went wide and he licked his lips.  Yuta’s wasn’t the biggest cock Taeyong had ever seen, but it wasn’t small either and what it lacked in length it made up for in girth.  

“Fuck, Taeyong, unzip your pants.”

Taeyong made quick work of his fly and let Yuta reach out and pull down the front of his boxers.  Yuta pumped Taeyong a couple of times, making Taeyong gasp when his thumb traced over the head of his cock, then instructed him to move up a little on his lap.  Taeyong watched as Yuta spit on his palm and wrapped his hand around both of them, letting out a gut-punched moan at the contact.  

“Shit, Shategashira , ahh.”

Taeyong tried to let go and focus on the slide of Yuta’s hand on one side and his cock on the other, but he couldn’t help thinking how lewd this was: him perched on Yuta’s lap, face mottled with red splotches, starting to leak onto Yuta’s hand and the clothing that they were both still wearing.    

Yuta moaned and Taeyong felt himself twitch, hips jerking into the partial ring of Yuta’s grip.  Pleasure radiated from where Yuta was touching him all the way up to his head, stopping to pool hotly at the base of his stomach.  

“You asked if I thought about you,” Yuta murmured, speeding up his rhythm.  “I should have told you the truth, which is that I did.  All the time.  Sometimes at night I’d imagine you on my lap like this, or in my bed.”

Taeyong made a choked noise and Yuta leaned forward to pepper kisses over his cheeks.  “But you’re so much better in real life.”  Yuta made a sound in Taeyong’s ear somewhere between a moan and a sigh and laughed darkly.  “Did you think about me, sweetheart?”

“Yes, yes, Shategashira , I did.  I tried not to, but I didmmmmmmm…” Taeyong cut himself off with a groan when Yuta pushed his thumb over Taeyong’s slit.  The sensations were starting to overwhelm him.    

“Yuta?”

“Yeah, baby?”

Taeyong shivered, his hips beginning to twitch in fits and starts.

“I’m gonna come.”

“Whenever you need to, Yonggie.”  Yuta tried to speed up his strokes one more time. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

Taeyong held onto Yuta’s shoulders and Yuta kissed him again as he spasmed through his release, the sounds he made getting muffled by Yuta’s mouth.  When he pulled away, Yuta was grinning and still stroking him through his aftershocks, the movements slicked now by a new layer of Taeyong’s come.  The sight made whatever was left of Taeyong’s brain go numb.  

All of a sudden, Taeyong was so sensitive that he felt like needles were pricking at his skin.  

“Ah, ah, okay, stop, Shategashira , please,” he pleaded, squirming.

Yuta allowed Taeyong to pull himself away and closed his eyes, focused on achieving his own release.  Taeyong took advantage of the moment to kneel on the floor between Yuta’s thighs, and when Yuta reopened his eyes, he was the one twitching.  

“Oh, my god Taeyong,” he growled.  

“It’s okay, I like this.  Please, Shategashira , I want your come.”

Taeyong opened his mouth and stared up at Yuta.  Within seconds, his pose had the desired effect: Yuta was groaning and coming over Taeyong’s mouth.  Taeyong licked his lips as Yuta watched, spasming and rubbing himself slowly; his heavy breathing was the only sound in the room.  Taeyong shimmied a little closer and lapped innocently at the head of Yuta’s cock, and Yuta threw his hands over his face.

“Ooooh, my god, Yong…”

Taeyong kept at it until Yuta started to squirm, reveling in the idea that he had made the cool, collected badass that was Nakamoto Yuta come undone like this.  

“Alright, alright,” Yuta said, guiding Taeyong back to his lap with a hand on his scalp.  Once there, Yuta stuck his dick back in his underwear haphazardly and brushed his fingers through Taeyong’s hair.  

“Did you like it, Shategashira ?” asked Taeyong, eyes blown out.  

“Like it?  I thought you were going to kill me there for a second.  You were so good, getting on your knees for me.”

Taeyong giggled.  

“Did you like it, Taeyong?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “I liked it a lot.  Thank you.”

Yuta chuckled, pulling Taeyong in for one more kiss.  He sighed after.  

“Okay, I know Johnny has clean towels in here somewhere.  Don't go anywhere; I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay.”  Yuta pecked Taeyong on the nose for good measure before he stood, and when Taeyong got up to let Yuta off the chair he almost fell over, barely managing to steady himself.

Yuta returned with a clean one of Johnny’s bar rags that he’d run under some water and cleaned them both off.

“Okay,” he said thoughtfully.  “That’s better.”  He considered the rag.  “I’m going to need to bring this home with me to wash.”  

Taeyong blushed and Yuta pulled him into his side, looking around.  “Not a very romantic setting, is it?”

“No,” agreed Taeyong.  

“Next time we’ll go somewhere better and I’ll make love to you properly,” said Yuta, casually.

Next time.  

Yuta continued, “we should probably lock up like I said we would and get out of here, hm?”

“Yeah.”

Yuta kissed Taeyong’s cheek and practically charged towards the front door, throwing Taeyong a small key.  “I’m getting the front, so you get the back, okay?”

“Okay.”

Taeyong felt like he was high for the rest of the night and could barely get himself to sleep despite the knowledge that tomorrow would be a busy day.  He couldn’t believe what had happened.  He wished he could visit the version of himself that existed only days earlier and share the good news.  Maybe, he thought, this whole insane situation he’d found himself in would work out for the best after all.