#i was christian ALL throughout middle n high school

[liverpool-enjoyer]

footballers doing homework

requested by @mebiselfandi !!! thank you sm for requesting!! <3

leo: does his work on time, and gets roped into doing ney n luis' work for them. but hes pretty bad at it and gets them all Fs.

ney: as just mentioned, gets leo to do his homework for him so he can play/stream video games instead. he isnt even mad when he gets an F, the man jus does not care.

trent: starts the DAY its assigned, but every time he answers a question he "rewards" himself by scrolling though twitter for an hour, eating a meal, n taking a nap. needless to say he turns it in late.

erling: his dog eats it. no like his dog actually eats it, and this man has to go up to his teacher n try to convince them that no he ISNT using the oldest excuse in the book, hes SERIOUS, YOU GOTTA BELIEVE ME.

luka: actually studies n applies himself like a NERD. gets a good grade on the assignment but he has to work for it. tutors his friends for free though.

luis: doesnt realize until the night before its due that hey, maybe forcing leo to do his homework WASNT the best idea n he woulda been better off doing it on his own. so yeah he does his own work from that point forward.

jude: he tries but this homework is jus so HARD. ends up calling erling at two in the morning or some shit like "ITS BEEN HOURS MAN N I DUNNO WHAT IM DOING." the teacher notices the teardrop marks on his paper n passes him outta pity.

sergio: tries to get luka to do it for him, but lukas like "i'll help you with it instead!!" so he ends up having luka tutor him but you know his ass aint learning SHIT.

mbappe: that bitch thats rlly smart n knows all the answers without even TRYING. gets his done the day its assigned AND charges people to have him do their work for them.

christian: COMPLETELY forgets abt it. like it doesnt even cross his mind until the night before its due, when as hes lying down to go to bed his eyes shoot open n hes like "SHIT."

[kim-seung-mo]

Angel

Hwang Hyunjin x gn!Reader

Love doesn't always have to hurt

♩very short one-shot, romance, non-idol!au, slightest angst but mostly fluff, hyunjin cries like once, written in bullet points

♩♩word count: 1.1k

♩♩♩A/N: I wrote this in like 20 minutes for a friend soooo enjoy ig?? (also ik hyunjin's christian but this is au)

Until the day Hyunjin turned 18, he thought his whole life would pass in a blur

He was just an ordinary boy all throughout primary school, middle school, and high school

He was neither good nor bad at school, good-looking, but not very popular because of his introverted personality

His only friends were perhaps Minho, who was two years older than him, and his friend Chan

But even in the trio's circle of friends, he was always the one who was ignored

Although he didn't feel anything himself, to outsiders, his life was really lonely

Hyunjin did average in his college entrance exams and went to a school that was nothing serious, but was out of town

The two of his friends went to the same local university two years ago

So at the age of 18, Hyunjin lost all his friends and was left alone

His birthday was at the beginning of spring, a beautiful time when flowers bloom

But his heart felt as if it had withered

That night, sitting alone in his dormitory, he looked at the tiny cupcake sitting in front of him, the candle with "18" written on it

And for the first time, he shed tears of sadness

He was so lonely, but how had this happened?

Why did he feel that his life was already over when it was supposed to be a new beginning?

"If there really is a God out there..."

Hyunjin shook his head, he was an atheist, why was he speaking of such things?

But after another moment of silence, he clasped his hands together once more

"Dear God... I do not wish to be alone any longer ...... If you can, please send an angel to stay by my side......"

A light breeze blew by and the candle flame on the cupcake was blown out

Hyunjin smiled with bitterness

Maybe there really is a God in this world... It's just that even he is repulsed by him

With that thought, he went to the fridge to get a drink, but found that he had run out

Sighing, he put on his shoes and took his wallet with him, heading downstairs to the convenience store to buy another box

And it was in this convenience store that he met the person who would change his life

At first glance, the person didn't look anything special, but they gave off a very comfortable, non-aggressive feeling

To be honest, he hardly noticed the person at all

But it was this "normal" person that changed Hyunjin's life

"They seem friendly" was Hyunjin's first impression of you

Secondly, that they were very kind

Hyunjin had brought his wallet, but it was just a little short of the money he needed

This month's living expenses were running out, and he only now realized

He panicked and didn't know what to do

At that moment, he felt all the frustration coming to his heart

It was his birthday, yet nothing was going his way

The person in front of him, you, who seems to have noticed the difference, asks him in Korean with a slight accent, "Are you okay?"

"Are you okay?" is a simple question that you might not even have thought much about, just a casual question

But for Hyunjin at the time, that question was the little bit of care he needed

The tears came in a flash, without any warning

He sat down on his knees and cried helplessly, not caring whether it was humiliating or not

Seeing him in this state, you came out from behind the counter and crouched down beside him

"Sir? Are you in pain somewhere? Do you need me to do something?"

He shook his head even though he was still crying

He didn't even know what he was crying for at the moment

Was it because he was touched? Or was it because the pressure had finally been released? Maybe it was a little of both

"Thank you..." He whispers, tugging at your sleeve

He opens his watery eyes and looks at you, speaking in a sincere tone

"Really, thank you for caring about me..."

That is the story of Hyunjin's first encounter with the love of his life, the only love of his life, that is, you

Your name is Y/N, you're a foreigner who moved to Korea for family reasons

You attended the same university as Hyunjin and studied art

After that somewhat awkward first encounter, you became friends

You worked at the convenience store and Hyunjin came down every day to buy breakfast

The conversations that lasted less than five minutes a day slowly began to become something more

Hyunjin isn't uninteresting, he's actually a thoughtful boy

It's just that no one ever took the time to get to know him, no one ever wanted to engage with him too much

He also loves art and everything to do with art

He also likes to dance, and you described his dancing as being like an elegant swan

No one ever knew, because he never tried to show it

Five minutes of conversation a day adds up to 35 minutes a week, two and a half hours a month

You became the person he knew best, even though he still didn't know anything about you

The week before Christmas, he finally got up the nerve to ask for your number

He didn't know what love was, he had never known such deep feelings

Even with you, he didn't know exactly what his feelings were

They say that love is deep, that it is painful and joyful

But he doesn't seem to feel the same way about you, it doesn't seem to be painful or profound

It seemed to flow slowly and gently, nourishing his lonely heart little by little

There were no ups and downs, merely an accumulation of feelings

If the rest of his life was like this, Hyunjin might keep smiling like this every day

You say his smile is a bit silly and cute like a ferret

If someone else had said that, maybe Hyunjin would have started to be concerned about his smile and would have stopped smiling

But coming from you, it's not quite the same

He likes it when you say that, when you notice the details about him

"Would you like to go out with me?"

Hyunjin asks on a bridge near the school on Christmas night

"I was wondering when you were going to ask me" you tease

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think, Pabo, it means "yes" of course"

Hyunjin blushed, although he expected that you wouldn't say no, he still felt his heart skip a beat when you actually said yes

It was snowing for the first time that winter

On the bridge, Hyunjin's face was flushed, not sure if it was because of the cold or because he was shy

He bent down and hugged you gently

Perhaps God really heard his prayers that day

And sent an angel to stay by his side

[possible69arabiwilldo]

Name is Robert I was born in

Name is Robert I was born to be a big loser but I am a winner big in my heart and soul in a way you can say that I was a bit of a pain in the ass I was in the only place I could go to a place where I was not only a little more than in the way of my own parents who were not the best for a child who was born with cerebral cerebral palsy on my left side my biological mom was a ratchet hooker crackhead and my brother father was in prison for most of my life their names were Irene and Michael I was middle child alongside my older brother Michael and my sister Jolene and my sister Margaret I was adopted at the age of 3 to my aunt and uncle verton and Cheryl Miller who had two biological children or named Jed and Josh you are both older than me 35 years old as 2021 throughout School I was a troubled child was put in behavioral disorder classes bullied a lot by my peers also did not graduate high school I have to go back and get my myged and then when I turned 18 I finally got to meet my biological family my biological dad Michael is really awesome is a minister for a church called The Cowboy Church are pretty prairie Kansas where are people who are Outcast another churches can until right at home and not be judge by their fellow churchgoers adoptive parents brought me up as a Mennonite which is a sect of the Amish faith Amish people riding a horse and buggy by the age of 19 I started smoking meth smoking cigarettes drinking beer and other alcoholic beverages having gay sex and having a black boyfriend and at the time I was only starting that would lead to Chronic homelessness now I'm 35 years old living in Lincoln Nebraska homeless on the street along with my buddy Charles who is also homeless 27.8 years old black man from Chicago Illinois Charles is my best friend in the whole wide world as an amazing friend awesome awesome sidekick Charles is a straight man but I always joke around or make cracking jokes about being gay and humping his leg are having gay sex with with him I used to bounce around from mission to Mission state to state City to City house 2 house never once ever succeeding in life I am broke Social Security income smoking methamphetamines Delta 8 homeless homeless gay single with no identity because it was stolen I won't stay at the mission here in Lincoln because there were seven stabbing in one night one guy got stabbed in the throat where is surf covid pandemic damn so bad that I constantly have to wear masks Wherever I Go and now the Delta variant of covid I made it 10 times worse worrying about if

there's going to be Fentanyl in my meth so much that I am about to leave that shift alone all together for the fentanyl I the meth is killing people who have been smoking meth cut with it in the last few months I have been dating a guy find Beatrice Nebraska who is interested in P n P bareback sex with a big collection of illegal paraphernalia in his bedroom he has his own what does experiences business as his own car and has a 3-bedroom house of his own and his own personal needs to be happy with his own business as a hair stylist and his life is great and awesome I've also had some very bad sexual experiences like having sex with guys bareback who are hiv-positive sucking off Truckers and being a gigolo having unprotected sex with men for money sure I can survive getting hard lately I have been feeling kinda sickly I don't know if it's because of the cold weather all the rain hot days cold nights just because of my sexual experiences which are so raunchy and nasty but I'm ashamed of because my biological mom was arrested during a filming the 147th episode of cops for prostitution in the city of Wichita Kansas on 157th Street South and Broadway what is known for prostitution and a bunch of gang activity I am pretty ashamed of my actions that I have done I am a Christian and I am ordained minister and I would like to take this time at the end of this article to repent my sins pray for forgiveness strive to do better in the long run I've had some crazy Life Experiences that those experiences probably worst experiences I have ever experienced in my whole entire life so without further ado dear Lord God in the highest I Repent my sins and ask for forgiveness browse a simple nasty perverted sexual activities that I have participated in throughout my 35 years of living on this Earth ame

[wb-ivy]

An Incomplete History of Music

A/N: I wrote this about a year ago as a result of coming out as trans and being punished for it. Decided that for Trans Awareness Week I would share this with you. Stay Strong and Remember, YOU ARE VALID!!!

Masterlist

Choral music as we know it was first recorded around the beginning of the 10th century C.E. Although score sheets have been around for longer, the first piece of polyphony music was not actually discovered until December of 2014 by an intern at the British Library who was studying for his PhD at Cambridge University. He discovered the piece in the manuscript of Bishop Maternianus of Reims. Before going any further, it should be noted that polyphony music is music specifically written for several voice parts to perform at the same time. Since this only covers the history of polyphony choir music, solo opera pieces, songs written with only voice part but performed by a large group, and instrumental symphonies will not be discussed throughout the next ten pages. 

Choral music is believed to have originated from modern day Germany with only two parts before making its way to Western Europe where it becomes elaborated for eleven hundred years to become the intricate expressions we see in every school and church across the globe. Choral music became the main event in churches, right after the Lord, during the Medieval period. Although historians have known the significance of  group performances during the Middle Ages, no physical sheets of scores have yet to be discovered. 

During this time period, the most typical and popular piece of polyphony music was in the “organum” style. Pieces written in the organum style were performed with the accompaniment singing either above or below the melody, but they both sang the same tune. The most intriguing part about the birth of polyphony music is that historians originally thought it was developed using a set of strict rules that the composer had to follow. The discovery of this artifact, along with the organum style of music shows that the creator of choral music was breaking the rules of his own invention. These discoveries have helped to smash down old assumptions made based off of The Winchester Troper, the world’s second oldest choral music currently known.

The original was then discovered to not actually be written all at once. Experts believe that it was actually written in the early 10th century as a solo piece before adding on a seperate piece a few years later during the same century. This priceless work also shows that it was nearly the basis of experimentation to create an original work that harmonized several groups of singers all at once. It seemed that the composer had bigger visions to a multiple part song.

The middle ages was truly the start of choral music becoming popular inside the catholic walls. Although most of what we currently know about this music era is guess work, many groups specializing in medieval music prefer to use easily blended sounds without any vibrato. All musicians in this line of work will try to make their educated guesses of the original sound by comparing the music to other pieces found during that time alongside the renaissance pieces known by every singer, no matter their profession. During this time, although Catholic churches preferred to use instruments to help emphasize the vocal sounds, Jewish synagogues preferred to leave singers unaccompanied to show off the beauty of the choirs natural sounds. These types of a capella performances were known as Gregorian chants and differed greatly from street singing that was common in populated cities.

Street performances during the middle ages were normally made more attractive to make the performers more money by including intricate dances that followed the rhythm with their songs. These songs were almost always accompanied with smaller instruments such as flutes, but were normally a song that was written in only one part for several singers in unison. Synagogues preferred to use advanced harmonizing that was unaccompanied with music or dance because they believed that it distracted from the word of god. Synagogues also excluded women from performing in their ensembles, whereas street singing was a gender neutral activity.

Numerous examples can be seen throughout score sheets that Christian and Catholic choirs are heavily based on the hebraic performances that started in the Jewish community. Although the Catholic community mainly performed for much larger scaled gatherings of church goers once a week. They still shared the belief that music was meant to spread the psalms and proverbs to the masses.

During the Roman Catholic regime, singing saw a drastic change of its members. Beforehand, only priests and their congregations could sing the gospel, until a special group known as a choir was formed of talented members of the congregation to accompany and contrast the priest’s solos in order to make his voice stand out. Women had major roles in the start of official choirs until 578 when the Hebraic rule that didn’t allow female singers was reinstated in the Catholic church. It wasn’t until the 20th century that choirs weren’t made up of just men and young boys, when women’s rights were brought into the religious circle and helped regain female positions in the choir.

When the renaissance gave the average person more free time then their ancestors ever saw, choral music saw a boom in composition. This was the start of vocal music outwaying instrumental pieces in importance. Scores were written mainly in Latin, and composers were preoccupied by wanting the listeners to be awed by the music to actually worry about the harmonies. Choirs would consist with about three people for each section and with countertenors instead of altos, the higher of the four parts (soprano and countertenor) still consisted of young school boys instead of women. The renaissance period also tried to stay away from the vibratos used during the dark ages because they felt like it blurred the individuality of the voice parts and caused horrible blends of the melody.

During the renaissance period young boys were only able to perform high pitched parts until their voices cracked and they had to be moved to the lower sections (tenor and bass). Nowadays it would be impossible to find a male soprano to perform the complex and intricate music that rang throughout the Roman Empire. The reason choir directors could get away with boys singing intricate songs before puberty was because the average male didn’t hit puberty until the age of seventeen, much later than the current person hits puberty. The voice ages helped the choral industry stay male dominated and hindered the allowance of women in the chorus.

Strict rules had started to be imposed on composers during the renaissance in order to attract the most attendants to the church without straying too far from the words of God. Churches knew that if they didn’t allow the music to be brilliant and inspire the crowds that attendance at the services would drop, causing a decrease of funds they get from weekly offerings. On the other hand, churches were weary that if they music was too astounding that people would be too fixated on the sounds to get the message out of it that church wanted you to know. Composers during the time were seldom allowed to write about anything other than the gospel because there were few places other than the house of god for music to be performed. 

During the late sixteenth century, the Renaissance slowly slipped away and was replaced with the Baroque period. This Era saw the founding of concertato style, where a soloist or a quartet stood out and sang something different from the rest of the ensemble. The Baroque age also saw the sizes of choirs increase by tenfold and start to try to re-include instruments into its pieces. Some historians say that the Baroque period didn’t include anything new or special from choral pieces, but that it just simply continued top experiment and expand on the Renaissance’s most famous techniques. Though others argue that the Baroque age brought in a “new style” of music, such as the canata and the oratorio, which had never been used until then. Renaissance ideas that had started to fade out of fashion towards the end of the period saw itself newly revived and at the front and center of the Baroque period. An example of this included the use of several independent lines for vocal parts, which had become obsolete and had been replaced with a form of composing that where a single melody was performed vocally with a bass part performed by an instrument. 

Some of the most notable figures in the choral sphere of the Baroque period were Claudio Monteverdi (1567-1643), Heinrich Schutz (1585-1672), and Johann Sebastian Bach (1685-1750). Claudio Monteverdi was most known for transitioning music from prima prattica to seconda prattica. Even to this day, three of his twelve most important pieces have been preserved and are frequently performed. Heinrich Schutz made musical history by writing the best pieces throughout all of Germany and varied his collections from passion to oriatos and motets. Johann Sebastian Bach is one of the most famous choral composers to this day. Being known for his music internationally,he produced over three hundred pieces of work during his lifetime. Bach was able to produce songs the artfully combined the most spectacular techniques from every type of music during the Baroque period. Not to mention, his music helped define choral pieces for centuries and for centuries more to come.

The classical age of music came right after the Baroque age with Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart carrying most of the figurative choral weight upon his shoulders. The classical age had a major slow down of vocal pieces as composers started to experiment with the capabilities of instrumental music at its full capabilities. It was known as the classical age for attempting to revive the ancient Greek and Roman forms of fine arts and literature, which wasn’t very big on vocal music. The Classical age was famous for a Rococo style of music, which was light in nature, homophonic, and very elaborate compared to any other style of vocal performances. The Classic age was also heavily defined by its association with the church. Composer finally had the ability to write scores from a secular viewpoint with public concert halls being constructed for the first time. Choral music was finally allowed to be enjoyed by all no matter their beliefs or political views and actually became one of the most important parts of life for the socially elite in Europe.

Unlike every other musical time period, the Classical period only had three famous composers rather than several dozen of them. These three men were Wolfgang Amadeus (1756-1791), Frans Joseph Haydn (1732-1809), and Ludwig van Beethoven(1770-1827). Even though the popularity of vocal musicians increased, people like Mozart kept it alive with elaborate pieces that would have made the Fathers of choral music proud. Most of Mozart’s pieces were biblical and written to be performed at masses due to the fact that he was an archbishop. Some of his most famous works include Great Mass in C Minor, Coronation Mass in C Major, and Requiem Mass even though it had never been fully completed before Mozart’s death. Haydn was known for creating both The Creation and The Seasons after being a choirboy himself growing up until he was eight.

 “A Brief History Of Choral Music.” Calgary Children's Choir, 30 Mar. 2015, https://calgarychildrenschoir.com/a-brief-history-of-choral-music/.

Brown, Mayer, and Howard. “CHORAL MUSIC IN THE RENAISSANCE.” OUP Academic, Oxford University Press, 1 Apr. 1978, https://academic.oup.com/em/article-abstract/6/2/164/402312?redirectedFrom=PDF.

Foss, Lukas, and John Patrick Thomas. “The Middle Ages.” Encyclopædia Britannica, Encyclopædia Britannica, Inc., 8 Aug. 2011, https://www.britannica.com/art/musical-performance/The-Middle-Ages.

“Introduction To Renaissance Choral Music.” Choral Music In The Renaissance, http://dlib.info/home/braxton/.

Kozinn, Allan. “The Sound of the Middle Ages, Through Research and Intuition.” The New York Times, The New York Times, 4 May 1990, https://www.nytimes.com/1990/05/04/arts/the-sound-of-the-middle-ages-through-research-and-intuition.html.

Riley, Danny. “A Tour through the History of Choral Music.” By Bachtrack for Classical Music, Opera, Ballet and Dance Event Reviews, Bachtrack Ltdhttps://Bachtrack.com/Themes/bachtrack2013/Mastheadlogo.png, 17 Jan. 2018, https://bachtrack.com/feature-at-home-whistle-stop-choral-music-june-2017.

Stevens, Denis William. “Choral Music.” Encyclopedia Britannica, Encyclopedia Britannica, Inc., 19 Jan. 2015, https://www.britannica.com/art/choral-music.

THE BAROQUE PERIOD (1600-1750), http://cmed.faculty.ku.edu/private/hyltonbar.html.

THE CLASSICAL PERIOD (1775-1825), http://cmed.faculty.ku.edu/private/classical.html.

THE ROMANTIC PERIOD (1825-4900), http://cmed.faculty.ku.edu/private/romantic.html.

[lucky-bucky-boy]

Fall

Pairing: None at the moment, eventual College!Bucky x Reader Word Count: 1960 Summary: Reader is introduced to the friend group Warnings: The pining has begun A/N: This is the second chapter of Boys Like you. Masterlist Here / Series Masterlist Taglist: @frenchzodiacgirl  @johnnynunzio @all-art-is-useless @necromaniackat @sunflwerstark

-

Early morning alarms, blankets too warm to leave, a tinge of regret at the choice for a 9am class. Rustling of unorganized clothes, quick application of mascara and a hint of gloss, a cup of coffee in one hand and bag thrown over the other shoulder. Scurrying feet of people excited to start their first week of college, sluggish walk of those ready to get the year over with. 

A bubble of anticipation as more chairs scraped against the floor, a need for the caffeinated drink that was almost gone, an observing gaze taking in every person. Mixed group of kids, some obviously freshman, a few looking like they were seniors probably needing another elective to graduate. A few cliqued together groups already forming: a few cheerleaders sitting together in the back, the group of nerds front and center, an oddly pretty blonde football player sitting to the right of the middle with presumably friends starting to sit around him. 

They were intriguing more than anything as they filed in. The blonde sported a Letterman jacket that had “ "Captain” Rogers" on it, a girl with fiery red hair wearing all black, from the boots to her leather jacket plopping into the seat next to him, hand moving to ruffle his hair. Next was a tall man with a sharp stubbled jawline that exuded warmth, oddly followed by your dormmate Wanda, a gorgeous dark skinned girl that had flowing dark brown locks that curled naturally and perfectly and seemed like the type to keep to herself. 

Finally was a boy who was far too handsome for his own good, bright blue eyes that were easily noticeable across the room, long dark brown hair pulled back into a low bun. A pair of grey sweatpants that hugged his thighs perfectly, a plain white t shirt, and his letterman jacket that read “Barnes”. His brooding demeanor quickly diminished when he saw him friends, breaking into a breathtaking grin, sitting behind the blonde. 

Half a mind to go over there, the opportunity was ceased as the professor walked in, introducing himself as Dr.Strange and welcoming everyone to “A Walk Through World’s History”. An eccentric but strict and respectable man, one you easily found yourself respecting and wanting to please and impress. 

Class went on smoothly, syllabus handed out, class introductions where thankfully anxiety didn’t get the best of you. The brunette introduced himself as “James, but everyone calls me Bucky”, and it was already decided that Wanda would be getting questioned about her friend. It was hard not to steal glances of him, but it was the first day of class and falling heads over heels for someone like him was not the best idea. It was difficult however with the teeth pulling redundancy of how first days went. It would be easier next class to not get distracted, there would be something to focus on, hopefully.

Classes melted together in their repetitive nature; “Hi. I’m your professor. Who are you? Alright next. Okay, so now for the syllabus.” A sigh of relief as the last class of Mondays was over and a hint of annoyance when the whole week ended up just as repetitive. It was expected, every first week of school is the worst to get through, easier to watch paint dry than to sit in a chair for hours being told and retold and lectured on policies and procedures of the college and classroom.

Friday held a beautiful forecast, the sun setting a warmth in the air as clouds danced across the sky, a slight breeze that made being outside all the more welcoming. Perfect weather to explore the campus or grab a blanket and watch movies until the dark of night. But that’s not what Wanda had planned.

A night earlier in the week spent rearranging the room, beds on either side of the room with both dresser at the foot of one and both desks at the end of the other. The two of you had set up a television and a few game systems which you assumed was for the two of you to relax. Except Wanda was more social than she seemed.

Nothing wrong with having friends over, but nothing could have prepared you for the group of kids that walked in as all the weeks homework was sprawled out on the bed and laptop open to some YouTube video, various snack wrappers littered on the mess as well. A slight feel of embarrassment as the group of Wanda’s friends from Dr.Strange’s class walked in. 

Each and everyone one greeted Wanda before finding various places to sit in the slightly too small space. Quickly moving to clean up, a move too fast had you bumping into someone, looking up to see the brunette from class, a soft smile gracing his lips. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled.

“Got everything, doll?” He asked, not letting you answer before helping you clean your bed off as his friends started catching up on what happened over the brief few hours they didn’t see each other. 

He ignored your insisting that you had it, throwing trash away and stacking you papers neatly on your desk. “I’m Bucky by the way,” he smiled. 

“Oh, uh, I’m (Y/N). Here sit, sorry Wanda kinda sprung it on me last minute that she invited you all over.” A mumbled apology as you fixed yourself on the bed, covering yourself up and grabbing your phone. 

“Its all good really. You hungry?” He asked pulling his phone out.

“I uh- kinda? I can always eat.”

Bucky turned to look at his friends, “You assholes want pizza?” A chorus of agreements as his bright blue eyes turned to look at you. “What kind, doll?”

A night that ended up being more fun than anticipated. Anxiety fueled decisions kept any bad mistakes from being made. But with every passing moment an ache to be a little closer to Bucky would persist. 

Throughout the night you grew to learn a little about everyone. Steve was the quarterback of the football team and a sweet little Christian boy who was a junior, along with the rest of his friends. They knew Wanda because of Sam, who played soccer with Wanda’s twin Pietro, and may also be the person Wanda had a crush on but that was something not yet confirmed. The pretty redhead was Natasha, a child of Russian immigrant parents who grew up on the rougher side of town and had a mean exterior, but was a softie at heart.

Then Bucky. Real name James, but he adopted the name Bucky, a shortened version of his middle name. He was a junior, majoring in pre-law with a minor in business. He could speak fluent Romanian and Russian. And was a ladies man. 

It was obvious really, but something about the confirmation made a tinge of pain fill your chest. He was so sweet and gentlemanly, a kind and courteous nature with an almost mysterious smile making every girl wonder what he could be hiding. It would be so easy to fall for him. 

A silent promise to yourself as they all left, you wouldn’t become another notch in his belt. Despite the dazzling smile he gave you, and the warm hug, the thanks for letting them intrude, the slide of his (and the rest of the groups) number into your palm with a lingering touch. You wouldn’t be his next prey. Your mother warned you of boys like him.

The sound of way too earlier alarms for a Saturday morning, the smell of coffee brewing, the warmth of the sun creeping in through the blinds, a groan as you turned to your dorm mate who was already wide awake on reading a book. 

“Good Morning!” She chirped at you, eyes never leaving her book. 

“Why’re you up so early?” Another groan as you say up, stretching the last bit of sleep from your muscles. 

“Well, me and the rest of the group decided that every Saturday morning we’d all have breakfast together. And per someone’s request who I am not allowed to say, I was to wake you up and see if you wanted to join us.” Wanda finished her sentence as she sat her book down on her night stand. “Care to join the living for a quick breakfast before all of them head to practice?”

A soft sigh as you grabbed your phone, checking the time to read 7:30 am. “How long do I have?”

“We’re meeting them at 8:30, figured I’d give you enough time to shower if you wanted.”

A soft nod as you stood. “Sure, but,” a playful glare sent her way, “Next time, I’ll hide your phone charger so I can sleep in.”

A soft melody of a giggle, “Noted. Now go get ready.”

A warm shower that wasn’t quite long enough, a quick application of mascara and lip gloss, a warm fuzzy light blue sweater and a pair of black high waisted jeans, worn out converse - perfect way to start the morning of an all too chilly summer Saturday. Wanda led the way as the two of you chatted, it was becoming easier to call her your friend. Sure she was from a more wealthy family, and could sometimes be a pain, but she was down to earth and genuine with every word.

It had only been a week and she was already pushing you to be out of your shell. A passing comment you thought that went unnoticed about hoping to find more than one friend this semester and she had already introduced you to a whole group. A good hearted, strong souled girl you couldn’t help but admire.

Walking into the food hall, the groups of varsity jacketed boys was quick to find, heading in their direction. This time Wanda’s brother was there as well as a smaller boy. Standing off to the side awkwardly you watched as Wanda tousled her brothers hair, standing behind him for a moment before hugging him while he sat. “Is the white hair helping you get any like you hoped?” She teased, earning a laugh from everyone in the group.

A prayer that Wanda would acknowledge your existence again was cut off by a warm hand on your shoulder, turning your attention you saw Bucky, smiling warmly. “Hey, (Y/N/N),” he hummed softly. “Since Wanda is preoccupied - Hey, Pete,” the smaller boy look up from his plate of food, smiling softly, “That’s Peter, hes the kicker for the football team. And the boy with silver hair is Peitro, Wanda’s twin brother who you will very quickly come to learn it 7 minutes and 42 seconds younger than her. She pulls it a lot. Hes on the soccer team, not sure what position though.”

The warm smile never left his lips as he pulled his hand away. “Go grab your food, you can sit next to me when you get back.”

A breakfast that quickly reminded you of breakfast at home, laughter and grumbled groans of tiredness, too much food and a warmth that just embodied happiness. Jokes and smiles, everyone stealing off of each others plates. 

The insistent nagging in your ear to remind you not to glance of Bucky too often, the flutter of your heart you tried to ignore whenever his leg would briefly touch yours. A slight blush when he was so kind as to even take your plate and clean up your mess without even asking. 

As the group begin to leave, Steve came up to you, a soft welcoming smile on his face. “You don’t have to be a stranger in class now, mkay?” His voice has a slight tease to it. “You’re one of us now. And don’t let Barnes scare you off.”

[volturialice]

Spork Haven chapter 8: King fucking Lear

welcome to spork haven, where I spork the EL James fic you’ve never heard of

previous chapter | next chapter | contents

real quick before we do a Previously On I need to warn y’all about what’s coming in this chapter because holy shit

in the grand tradition of Stephenie Meyer, EL James makes a Shakespeare reference. but in the grand tradition of EL James, it’s completely horrifying (and hilarious)

but it isn’t so bad in hindsight because right before that we get the WORST, the very W O R S T,  title drop of all time

if you’re brave enough to read on I just hope you’re prepared for the snakes that will physically manifest in your house. you’ve been warned

previously on Spork Haven:

actor!Edward and hotel maid!Bella went on a date! Bella is a cello-playing orphaned virgin who is definitely in the Witness Protection Program! The paparazzi may have gotten a picture of Bella! Edward and Bella are gonna bang!

chapter 8 is pretty much entirely smut so it is [gag] very hard to read but very easy to summarize.

Edward is, as usual, profoundly horny, but he tells himself “not to be such a fucking Neanderthal” because since finding out that Bella is a virgin he “needs to get her aroused” because he doesn’t want to hurt her (was he going to fail to arouse her and then hurt her if she wasn’t a virgin? ok erika)

Edward begins by taking off Bella’s shoes and she reacts like it’s the sexiest goddamn thing that has ever happened to anyone.

mmm...shoes. 

then he takes off her socks...but in excruciating detail!

and this is around the point where I was like ‘jesus fuck erika how long is this going to take’ and I definitely jinxed myself

anyway. throughout the undressing process, Bella is

which. I know “bloody” is British slang and not meant literally but in this context it kind of sounds like she’s just been biting her lip so much that it’s now bleeding all over the place. charming.

just when things are heating up, Edward carries Bella into the bedroom and we get the weirdest non-sequitur imaginable:

if y’all’ve read 50 shades of grey, this weird fixation on food and feeding your lover will sound familiar! except (and I can’t believe I’m about to compliment 50 shades) at least in that story, there was a starvation backstory that made christian’s fixation on food make a shred of sense. here it’s just...bizarre and out of place. they literally just ate lunch, for fuck’s sake.

anyway the sentences in here range from disgusting to cliché to bafflingly weird. for example, bella’s bellybutton tastes “like fucking Christmas” (because who hasn’t wanted to fuck Christmas? nothin sexier than Christmas.) 

we discover that, in keeping with Pure ‘N Virginal™ EL James heroines, Bella has never so much as masturbated, and Edward thinks that’s the hottest thing he’s ever heard. magnanimous soul that he is, he fingers her a bit and then mansplains masturbation until at last we reach the sentence

which I could not help but hear in Owen Wilson’s voice. you’re welcome

is it just me or does Edward’s use of “wow” here imply that his partners usually don’t come? good one erika lmao

anyway, now it’s time for some penetration! Edward continues to explain sex to Bella in the most patronizing possible way. he sounds like a middle school heath teacher and a victorian mother at the same time and it’s about as sexy as it sounds, which is to say not at all. then we get the hilarious return of Personifying Edward’s Dick. his dicksona, if you will.

ok then.

but at last, we get down to business. Edward slowly pushes in, as you do, and then. and then.

it happens.

the sentence. the worst sentence.

“a safe fucking haven... 

....for me and my dick”

a safe fucking haven for me and my dick

A SAFE FUCKING HAVEN 

FOR ME AND MY DICK

erika...oh erika...do you mean to fucking tell me...that the ‘safe haven’ of the title...was Bella’s vagina all along?

THE SAFE HAVEN WAS BELLA’S PUSSY ALL ALONG

just for reference, like just so y’all know, there have actually been a few other title drops before this. but always, when the phrase “safe haven” popped up before now, it was referencing Edward’s hotel room. this one, though? this one feels like the Thesis™ of the story. like obviously Bella was always going to be the safe haven but nope, erika just had to take it a step further

kill me.

anyway, Edward and Bella have sex, there are many gross sentences and implications but they have nothing on that title drop, Edward finally (at last!) gets to suck on Bella’s earrings, and then, when Edward is trying not to come too quickly, we get this delightful paragraph:

some quick background: I am a Shakespeare Bitch. his image is plastered all over my bedroom, my fridge, my car, and my heart. I have an encyclopedic knowledge of his life and works. I have been in King Lear.

which is why I can’t help but wonder...why exactly does Edward know King Lear’s storm monologue? did he, a 24-year-old, play oldass geriatric King Lear at some point?

yes obviously he could have been in a high school production like I was where there were no actual old man actors to cast, but tbh I am having the time of my fucking life imagining an early twenties RPattz playing Lear in old man prosthetics

don’t come crying to me about this horrifying image, it’s nothing compared to the horrifying title drop you just read.

anyway, back to the smut! when at last Edward runs out of Shakespeare monologues and Arsenal stats, we are treated to what might be the dumbest description of an orgasm ever written:

emptying...his soul. 

hey good news @ canon!Edward, you can stop worrying about your soul! turns out it was in your balls the entire time! the soul is in the testicles! what was that edward? edward? oh he hung up

and thus concludes chapter 8! may I suggest treating yourself to a nice Snake Rack for all the snakes that just manifested physically in your home?

be sure to organize your snakes by size and color according to the konmari method

a̴̧̛̩̖̰̫̲̮̙̓͊̐̄̿͝ ̵̧̦̠̪͚̫͌͐͜ş̷̳̝͔̖̲̟̀̑̆̓̋͂̓a̷͙̙̝̫͂͂͛̊́́̎́̕̕̚f̷̪͎̰́̆̊͊͌̿̄̃͛́́̂͑͆e̵̪̜̻̱̗̭̤̬͙̥͔͉̘̼̓̾̑̽̀̕͘͠ ̵̧̟̤̃̐̎͌̔͋f̵̧̡̭̭̘̰̹̹̼̬̳͎́ͅͅư̴̢̯̗̲̱̣͍̪̦̰̾̈͌̿͛̿̏̓͘͜͜c̷͙̦̳̗̀̀͐̒́̍͒̚̚k̴̡͕̩̗͇̪̘̥͊́ͅͅi̶̦̘̎̊̂̒ͅn̵̦̪͙̪͓̓͌̌͐̈́͗͂͠ͅg̶̡̳͔̳̻̻͖̩̤̹̜͖̺͆̈́͛͂̆͑̃̃̑͌̔̚͝͝͝ͅ ̷̜͉̱͉̆̎̋h̷̛̟̽̀̚̚a̷̹̠̺̤̘̲̪̤̾͂̈́͂̋̐̅̑̎̄̚͘v̵̧͓̫̯͇̼͖͎̭͎̿̒̊͑̕͜͝e̷̢̛̲̱̭̙̭͂͐̈ǹ̴̛̒��̦̯̹͇̰ ̶̨̡͈̤̫̼͉͖̮̬͎͖͋̿̄̍̀̈́͝͝f̷̝̞̤͙̤͖͕̖͐̏̋̑̇͗́͑̈́̕ͅo̷̢̱̠̳̞̰̺̩̙̔̐̅̀̓̒̈͑̅̈́͝͝͠r̸̨̢̼̺͖̬̱̹̠̻̽̅̏͊͗͋͑̅̕̚ ̵͚̤͎̜̆̋̏̋̔̔̊́̾m̸͎̫͙̼͈̖͍̜̯̻̝̝͔̍̔̈́̉͆͛́́͝ȩ̶̺͓̪̳̫̞̳͖̝͇̪̩͎͌̓́́͊̓͆̂̑̎̾̚͝͝͠ ̶̧̬̠̳͇̠̤̦̑̍̋̊̉̋̓á̶̯͚͒̏̃̿̈́͒͌̿͝͝n̴̨̡̟͓̟̖͓̪̗̼̩̞̣̻̰̔̈́̿̑̌̅̋̈́̒̔̅͋̚͝͠ḑ̴̧̡̱̲̱̮̻͎̩̼̺́͂̅̽̈́ͅ ̵̭͙͙͍̞̝̥́m̴̨̝̠͔̲̺̺̜͙͗̒ŷ̷̛̜̳͓̹̹͔̻̥̗̔̈́͐͐̀̀̏̐̚͜͜͝͝ ̶̯̮͙̆͆̀̓̉d̷̛̗̮͂̂̇̊͊̊͊̊̚͝í̶̡̗̠̘̜͙͓̟̙̼̱̌́̈́̾̑̅͂̉̐͐͊ç̸͙̳̠̞̣̙̥͎̣͓̠̝̟̾̈́ḳ̸̮͈͇̏̑̈́͘͜

best “fucks”

over-fucking-whelming (the temptation)

a fucking go signal for my dick (a gasp)

best “shits”

happy and shit (edward)

next chapter: the fucking inquisition

[trickkombowerskru]

Preacher’s Daughter-Patrick Hockstetter X Reader Smut

Request: Anonymous: Patrick x reader imagine please? You’re the daughter of the priest where Patrick and his fam go to church, and he sees you in a white dress and immediately becomes obsessed with u. Stalking you and basically wants to defile the good Christian daughter and one night when he’s in your room (closet) he watches as you masturbate and moan his name and you can take it from there please  omg sorry I’m thirsty for Patrick 

Warnings: NSFW, Sex

You followed closely behind your mother and father, adjusting the skirt of your dress and cardigan. As you walked through the aisles you greeted the early comers. It was always the same crowd. Mrs.Jefferson, Mr.Matthews, the children in the choir, and the rest of the usuals. 

As you chatted with them you felt a pair of eyes on you, but ignored them, continuing to follow your mother.  

You sit in the front bench ready to listen to your fathers sermon. Throughout it the burning of the mysterious eyes was too much to take. You turned and your eyes locked with blue green ones that had a dark undertone. 

The boy looked familiar, handsome even. You knew his family came here every Sunday, but you never talked to him so you didn't know his name. You figured after the sermon you could maybe change that. 

You took in your father's words, as always so interested in the way he was so passionate about his job. You hoped you could find even a sliver of passion for anything in your life that he had for preaching.  

After it ended you and your family head into the lobby to talk to those who stuck around moving from person to person. Your mother seemed to be friendly with the boy's mother. 

The boy you noticed who was now leaning up against a wall, flicking his lighter opened and closed. 

You went over with a sweet smile. 

"Hi. I'm Y/N."

"Hey. Name's Patrick Sweetheart."

You feel your cheeks heat up at his forwardness. 

You two talk for a bit and you decide he is definitely.....interesting, before your father notices you and comes over.

"Hey any trouble here?"

"No we were just talking."

"Why don't you go talk to Mrs.Anderson about the bake sale so know what she's bringing."

"Sure. Bye Patrick."

"See ya around Princess."

Your father lead you over to Mrs.Anderson and you could see his face flush with concern. 

"Honey. I don't think you should talk to that boy anymore?"

"Why not I was just being friendly."

"Trust me he's trouble and the last thing I want for you is to get tangled up with him. Okay?"

You sigh and give him sad eyes. 

"Okay Daddy."

"That's my girl."

Before he leaves he quietly tells you to make sure whatever Mrs.Anderson is making to be sure to convince her to also bring her caramel brownies since those were his favorite. You laugh and nod, telling him you're  on it, then go to talk to her. 

During the week you couldn't help, but let your mind drift to Patrick. Maybe it was the fact he was supposedly dangerous. Or maybe it was the fact that when your could you would try to disobey your father in the smallest of ways. 

But whatever it was he took up a good corner of your mind, and he'd probably take up more if you went to the same school. Ever since you were little your father insisted that you go to an all girls Catholic school. 

And just like he was in your mind, you were also continuously in Patrick's. The thought of defiling the good little preacher's daughter sent him absolutely wild. He seen you a few times before, when the thought originally took place in his mind, but that little sweet white dress you wore last week was really set him off. He was sure to tell the guys all about you. How sweet and innocent you were, how he needed to have you under him, all the usual Patrick related things.

Of course it didn't end there, of course with Patrick it could never end there. For the 4th time this week he took his familiar route home, that is to say stalling you before going to his own house a few blocks away. 

He hid in the large bush near the side of your house, his breathing becoming heavy as he watched you  change near your window. He'd only been in your room once and he had to time it perfectly so he didn't get caught. Needless to say the mission went as planned and he left with a pair of your panties. 

The sight of you making his pants ever more constricting he figured he had better get home and rub one out, deciding he would come back later tonight like had a few times this week. 

And comeback he did, you were gone, so he was able to slip into your room. Although before he did anything you were coming back so he hid in your closet. He watched as you prayed and got into bed, admiring the way your night gown clung to your figure in all the right places. He watched you toss and turn for a bit before his jaw damn near dropped at what he saw next. 

You couldn't sleep, but you were always tired after getting off so you figured why not. Again you liked to disobey your father in the littlest ways you could and this was one of them. 

You slide your nightgown up a bit a start with just one finger going at a slow pace, teasing yourself. Then you out another finger in, quickening the pace, making yourself quietly moan. However, after this the thought of Patrick's mysterious eyes, shaggy hair, and ringed fingers entered your mind.

You thought about what his head would look like in between your legs, how he would actually feel, hell even blowing off mass for a quickie. All the ideas excited you more and more as you quickened the pace again, this time adding your thumb to the mix, moving it around to put pressure on your clit. Your breath heaved as you were closer and closer to the edge, and you quietly moaned Patrick's name as you came.

Patrick smirked to himself while jacking off in your closet to the little spectacle, although he started after you so he was far from cumming. Who would've thought it'd be that easy, that all he would have to do is talk to you to get stuck in your mind.

As you came down from that high Patrick figured now would be the best time to do it. He exits your closet, walking over to your bed, and he straddles you. At first you want you scream, but through the moonlight coming in the window you can see his eyes and you calm down. 

He removed the hand he out over your mouth, once he sees your calm and leans down to kiss you. It is absolutely messy and sloppy, but still filled with passion, and you can't get enough.

"That was quite the show you put on for me Baby," he laughs.

You heat up intensely at the fact he saw you. 

"How long were you in here?"

"Not long before that happened. Now tell me what is the preacher's good little daughter doing getting herself off?"

"I disobey my father in the smallest most unnoticeable ways I can. It gives me almost like....like a rush of adrenaline. Like I'm actually real and not like this....perfect puppet he wants me to be."

"Hm." Patrick says as he laughs in his head at the fact you think you're real.

"Well I know one thing that'll definitely give you that rush."

He leans down kissing your neck, moving down and giving you a hickey right between your neck and shoulder. He pulls your nightgown right up over your head, happy to see you're bare underneath. 

As he lets you pull his shirt off, he gives you another messy kiss, and grinds against you, making you feel how painfully hard he is. 

He pulls away from you to kick off his boots, and pull off his pants. You stare at him in awe for a few seconds. While seemingly tall and lanky, he actually had some lean muscle on him, which looked so good in the space moonlit room. 

You weren't going to tell him you were a virgin because you were pretty sure he knew. Which he absolutely did and he was more than happy to change that. He comes back over harshly kissing and biting his way down your body, before everything you had just fantasized about was coming true. 

It felt better than  could've imagined, the combination of his mouth and fingers moving from your folds to your clit.....damn that boy had skills. 

You were on the edge again, this time of being borderline overstimulated when he pulled away making you whine.

He chuckled to himself, taking the look of you wreathing under neath him, before he went in. While his style was anything, but slow he figured at least the first time he entered you it could be slower than his usual pace before he really fucks into you. 

So that's what he did, slowly inch by inch getting you used to the foreign stretch, before shoving himself into you and making you gasp. He continued this method going hard and fast before doing one slow thrust in the middle to really drive you nuts.

Which is exactly what it did, you were breathless you whined when you came around him, which was enough to make him cum as well. He stands backs after you finish,putting his clothes on and handing you your nightgown, chuckling at you looking all fucked out for him.

"Yeah that really disobeys him. You're mine now Sweetheart."

Unable to do anything really you just nod, accepting the fact that you would now have to hide from your father the fact that you were jot only dating, but fucking the boy who he labeled as "trouble".

He gives you a wink and then you watch as he disappears out your window while you start to fall asleep with a big smile on your face.

[icyharrington]

Sinful Thoughts (Michael Langdon X Reader) Part 1

ok now that i read this over i lowkey hate the way it turned out, but i spent a lot of time on it so im gonna post it anyways lmfao. y’all wanted sexual tension, so sexual tension you shall receive! 

plot: you’re the epitome of a good christian girl. michael langdon intends to ruin that.

warnings: high school au, fem!Reader, masturbation, sexual tension, no actual smut

word count: 2.7k

i.

“Alright, last pairing. (Y/n), your lab partner will be Michael Langdon.”

You were sure the color drained from your face, because a collective snicker spread itself throughout the classroom the minute you registered your teacher’s words. You’d always hated group projects. Even worse to you were involuntary pairings. Especially when it meant that you were now obligated to do your school project with the weirdly flirtacious kid who lived across the street from you.

You froze, looking across the classroom to the boy who’d been named. He smiled at you innocently, hands crossed neatly in front of him. Your stomach lurched.

“Uh, Ms. Calvin? Would it be okay if I, um, worked by myself instead? I don’t mind taking on the extra work.” You swallowed nervously. More laughter from your classmates, which you did not acknowledge.

Your teacher frowned, emphasizing the deep-set lines in her face. “If I let you work alone, I’d have to let everyone work alone. This project is meant to be completed with a partner.”

You sighed, trying not to seem too distressed as you fidgeted with the sleeves of your pale pink sweater. “Then could I possibly get a new partner?”

“Ms. (Y/l/n), sometimes we are dealt things in life that are not ideal to us. Michael is a perfectly capable young man, and you will work with him.”

“But-“

“Unless you have a valid reason not to work with Mr. Langdon, he will remain as your lab partner.”

You ran your tongue over your bottom lip. What was the reason you were so opposed to working with him? He hadn’t done anything to you, not really. You’d known him since he’d first moved into the neighborhood two years back- from the second you’d saw him, clad in all black with a confident stride, he made you nervous.

Of course, there was also the fact that he seemed to love making you uncomfortable. He’d make some sort of flirtatious comment nearly every time your paths crossed, and it made your insides churn. But still- it was possible he wasn’t even aware that he was being flirtatious, though you doubted that from the way his eyes would glint each time he’d make you blush.

The bell rang, jarring you, and you tucked your books away into your sensible messenger bag. Then you tugged gently on the dainty cross which hung around your neck on a thin gold chain. You always fiddled with it when you were feeling anxious; it brought you comfort to feel the smooth symbol under your fingers.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when somebody leaned on your desk, placing both hands palm-down with a startling thud. You didn’t even have to look up to see who it was: you saw a leather jacket and black button-up, along with large hands adorned with several rings.

“That wasn’t very nice of you,” came a smooth, slightly mocking voice. “What’s so bad about being my partner?”

You looked up timidly, flinching slightly under the boy’s piercing blue gaze. “Nothing. I just- um.” Your voice trailed off, and you realized it probably hadn’t been the wisest choice to request a new partner in front of the entire class.

“You just what?” He tilted his head to the side, widening his eyes. “You has no problem voicing your thoughts a minute ago.”

Since looking into his eyes was making you impossibly nervous, you tried instead to focus on his hair, which even you had to admit was lovely. “I just think we’d both work better with other partners.”

He shook his head, allowing his blond waves to fall in front of his eyes. “I’ve been nothing but nice to you, (y/n),” he said softly. “Perhaps you’d like me better if I weren’t so nice?”

You scoffed, and he cocked an eyebrow at you, seemingly pleased with your defiance as a grin began forming across his full lips.

“You’ve never been nice. You just love to make me uncomfortable.”

“If anything I’ve said has made you uncomfortable, then that’s on you.” He stood up straight, drumming his fingers on the black belt around his slim waist. “Why would you think I care enough to try and make you squirm?”

You pushed back in your chair and jumped to your feet, throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Just- don’t talk to me unless it’s about the project.”

“So we’ll meet on Friday, then?” he grinned at you, baring his perfectly straight teeth.

“I am not going to your house,” you snapped. “You can come to mine.”

“Fine with me. I’d love to see the way a girl like you lives.”

“I’m not even going to ask you what that’s supposed to mean,” you muttered, walking around your desk so you wouldn’t have to cross paths with Michael on your way out.

“Oh, (y/n)?” he said, just as you were about to leave. Back still to him, you grimaced.

“What?”

“That’s a nice necklace you’ve got on.”

Your hand flew up to your neck, caressing the cool metal frantically. In your head, a prayer repeated itself over and over; you shut your eyes, hoping it’d calm you down, but for the first time in your life, it didn’t.

ii.

The week went by impossibly fast, and before you knew it, it was Friday. You’d almost forgotten the plans you’d made with Michael— almost— but Michael had made sure to cheerily remind you that morning as you left your house to leave for school.

Now it was 3:59. He was supposed to come over at 4. Your palms sweat profusely as you waited in the living room, and you wiped them on your modest knee-length skirt.

You hoped maybe, by some miracle, he’d forget. But you knew that would never happen. He was looking forward to this, looking forward to getting under your skin.

The clock on your phone switched briskly to 4:00, and you winced. There was a beat, and then came three sturdy knocks on your front door. Of course he’d show up at 4 on the dot. What else had you expected?

You stood up and fixed your hair, hoping he wouldn’t be able to sense the intense anxiety coursing through you. Then you made your way to the door and swung it open, letting out shallow breaths in an attempt to compose yourself.

He stood there on your welcome mat, backpack slung over his shoulder and smirk on his lips. He made no attempt to conceal the way his eyes traveled over your body, and you shifted, uneasy. “Michael. Come in.”

“You seem enthused,” he said, brushing past you and into your home without a second thought.

You turned around, watching him enter your living room, his head turning to observe every last detail. His lips curved upwards slightly as he regarded the various religious symbols mounted on the wall- an old-fashioned crucifix, a simple wooden cross, a framed painting of Jesus that your mom had bought at a yard sale. Then his eyes fell upon the leather-bound bible on the coffee table, and he chuckled.

“What?” you demanded, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Nothing,” he sang, shoving his hands in the pockets of his jacket and flashing you a close-mouthed smile. You returned it with a straight face, entirely unamused.

“Wait here while I get my stuff,” you said, turning on your heel and heading for the stairs. “And don’t follow me.”

You made your way up the carpeted steps, tensing as you could practically feel his eyes bore into you from behind. All at once you felt self-conscious, and you wished you’d changed into a pair of sweatpants instead of staying in your skirt.

When you got up to your room you let out a breath, immediately relieved once you were out of his admittedly intimidating presence. You walked over to your desk, impeccably tidy save for your biology binder set in the middle.

“Hm. Looks exactly like I expected,” came a drawling voice in the doorway, and you jumped.

“I thought I told you not to follow me,” you said through grit teeth, jaw clenching as you tucked your binder under your arm. That was strange, you thought, the way he’d snuck up on you without you hearing his footsteps on the stairs. He ignored you and tilted his head quizzically, running his fingers along the rosary hanging off your doorknob.

“Don’t touch that,” you said, and he let it drop, beads bouncing noisily against the wooden door.

“So you really believe all this Jesus shit, huh?” he said, amused, taking a few steps inside.

“Get out of my room,” you said in as firm a tone you could muster, but you were surprised when your voice trembled.

He looked at the wooden cross hanging above your bed, and then down at the blue blanket and matching pillows, positioned evenly and smoothed out. You felt vulnerable, somehow, knowing that he now had an image in his mind of where you slept.

“Everything in here is so impossibly perfect,” he stated, running his fingers idly along the frame of your bed. “You want to be perfect, don’t you? You want to be mommy and daddy’s perfect little Christian girl.”

You stared at him, feet planted to the ground as you tried to come up with something to say. He sounded so sure of himself, like he’d been inside your mind and was simply reciting the facts. You wanted to punch him right between those hooded blue eyes, but something inside you prevented you from moving.

“I assume you’re saving yourself for marriage?” he continued, coming closer to you with a smug expression on his handsome face. You willed your feet to move, and your eyes widened when you realized you literally were unable to. Panic rose in your throat, contrasting harshly with his cool exterior.

“None of your business,” you spat, curling your fingers into your palm to try and conceal the silver purity ring you’d been given at church camp several years ago. He laughed, stopping in front of you.

“You’ve never even kissed a boy, have you?”

He craned neck slightly, just looking at you. Then he reached up and tucked two fingers beneath your chin, tilting it up so you could look at him. “And I’m certain you’ve never touched yourself.”

Your face burnt up at his words, and you knew he was enjoying watching the redness creep across your face. He was mere inches away from you now, smiling serenely as you tried your hardest to pull back.

“I’ll even bet that every time you feel that ache between your legs, you drop to your fucking knees and beg god for forgiveness,” he whispered, breath hot on your face.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, focusing all your energy on trying to move. What was keeping a hold on you? It couldn’t possibly be Michael- how would he be able to do something like that?

“Because good Christian girls aren’t allowed to feel carnal pleasure,” he said, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “Are they?”

His hand moved from your face to your neck, his pace painfully slow. Your breath hitched when his fingers reached the thin chain around your neck, toying with it for a moment before continuing downwards. He took the cross in his hand and surveyed it, running his thumb across it as he leveled it in his palm.

Before you could do anything, he let go, and all at once the hold on you seemed to break. You pushed him back, hard, silently thanking god for freeing you.

“Leave. And don’t come back. I’ll do the whole project myself. You can take credit for half, I don’t even care.”

He let out a low chuckle. “I’ll let you get back to your prayers.”

You eyed him as he turned around and left, following him to the top of the stairs and watching as he left through the front door. You waited a minute before returning to your room, fixated on the door as if Michael might change his mind and burst through it. Your heart hammered against your ribcage as a familiar, unwelcome sensation began radiating from between your thighs, which you intended to ignore as usual.

You were so distracted by the thoughts of what on earth had just happened that you almost didn’t notice the small change that had been made in your room.

The cross above your bed- which you could’ve sworn had been upright when you followed Michael out- was now, plain as day, upside down.

iii.

You blinked twice, mind foggy as you took a step forward, toes curling at the feeling of cold wood against your bare soles.

You looked down; you were naked, skin dotted over with clusters of goosebumps as your hair stood on end. Your nipples hardened at the low temperature, and all at once you realized you could see your breath in front of you.

You heard something stir from afar, and finally you averted your attention to the opposite end of the room. You were in a church, it appeared, the pews of which were empty. The noise you’d heard had come from behind the altar, and it quickly became apparent that somebody was standing behind it.

Your mouth went dry. It was Michael. His face was heavily shadowed, but from his stature alone you knew it was him. He, too, was naked, at least as far as you could see from the portion of his body that was visible.

A chill rolled up your spine and you wrapped your arms around your stomach, shivering as the cold set into your bones. Michael raised one hand, and though his eyes were obscured with shadows, you knew they were settled on you, your body.

From his fingertips, a flame ignited. He rolled his wrist back, cupping his hand around the flame as it grew. Then he flicked his hand forward, and you stumbled backwards as each pew went up in flames, the rich scent of burning wood invading your lungs. Your skin prickled at the feeling of unbridled warmth enveloping you, and from your throat spilled a grateful moan.

“Touch me, and never again will you freeze,” came a booming voice, loud enough to bring you to your knees. You realized that Michael was now much closer to you than he had been before, standing bare as he looked down upon you. You reached for him without shame, lips parting, and before you could feel him, everything went black.

“Michael-“ you croaked.

Your eyes shot open; you were in your bed, legs entangled in a mess of sweat-stained sheets. It took several seconds to collect yourself, and once you finally had, you discovered that your hand was slipped underneath your underwear and buried between your thighs.

“Oh my-“ you stopped yourself from finishing the sentence, removing your hand as if it’d been burnt. Running your hand over the fabric of your underwear, you were alarmed to find that it was completely soaked through.

Face flushing with guilt, you groaned at the pounding coming from your core. It almost scared you how badly you wanted to touch, how badly you wanted to slip your fingers up inside yourself and ride them until you couldn’t hold back the screams.

There was something seriously wrong with you. Usually you were able to ignore the feelings, but with each passing second the throbbing intensified, causing you to squirm restlessly. Images of Michael flashed through your mind, the filthy words he’d spoken to you earlier vibrating in your ears, and you bit your lower lip hard enough to draw blood. Your hips bucked up towards nothing involuntarily; your chest rose and fell hard, one hand settled on your breast through your sleep shirt.

It’s not right, you thought, applying slight pressure to your nipple before drawing your hand back. You squeezed your eyes shut, moving your lips silently as you methodically recited prayer after prayer in your mind, hoping to find the strength to ignore the feeling and go back to sleep.

It felt like an eternity had passed before you fell back to sleep, and when you woke up the next morning, you couldn’t help but feel disgusted with yourself, sneering at your reflection in the mirror for being so goddamned weak.

You didn’t know what kind of spell Michael had cast over you, making you think such vulgar thoughts, but you were sure of one thing: Michael Langdon was nothing but trouble.

[raisingsupergirl]

A Daydream In Defense of Classical Education: Love the Lord Your God With all Your Solid, Liquid, Gas, and Plasma

LentWatch 2020, Week One: Freedom!

Change is hard. Breaking habits is harder. And breaking habits without accountability is the hardest, which is probably why I've already "failed" at my personal Lent goals by snacking after dinner (c'mon, it was just a few cookies… and some meat-n-cheese… and some chips). But despite realizing my limits and having to drop that one goal, I've held strong to the rest (which you can read about by clicking here), and the results have been like a long sigh after months of holding my breath.

At first, I felt a little lost. Especially regarding social media and YouTube videos. It's amazing how we, in the 21st century, have lost the ability to sit idle. Every spare moment is taken up by checking our phones. Waiting at doctor's offices, going to the bathroom, five-second pauses in friendly conversation—they all fall victim to Instagram notifications, leaving no room for actual thought. And I almost forgot the joy of such idleness before I gave these little things up. And that, combined with cutting television down to a minimum and alcohol down to zero, has made way for that glorious thing that used to be so condemned by teachers and parents: daydreaming!

Now, one can't just cut out all entertainment cold turkey. I'm not even convinced that a human can survive on work and sleep alone. There must be some in-between where we recharge and enjoy pleasures of our own choosing. And so, instead of Facebook and Netflix and beers, I've been reading—at night, mostly, but also in the morning, and even a little during the day. As I said in my previous post, I started re-reading Celebration of Discipline. But I'm also reading The Book of Revelation, The Time Machine, and a creative young adult trilogy called The Illuminae Files. I've never been one to read multiple things at one time, but gosh, it seems like my mind has been hungry for too long, and now it's chowing down. And with the glut of all these stories and ideas, I'm finding that I pause every page or so to just think.

What am I thinking about? All kinds of stuff! For example, why water can't (typically) get hotter than 212 degrees Fahrenheit. Or why an open refrigerator will actually heat a room. Or whether Einstein was wrong about exceeding the speed of light. Or why four separate books of the Bible seem to disagree about how to love God (and thus, what it means to be human). You know, normal stuff.

WARNING: What follows is some serious musing and rambling. If you're strapped for time or are easily irritated by random details, skip to the last paragraph. You'll have no idea what the title of this post means, but hey, I'm not sure I really know, so…

Now, if you haven't checked out, you're probably just intrigued enough to wonder if I've completely lost it. But it may surprise you to know that all of the thoughts I listed above are quite related. And I never would have had them (or their subsequent "higher" questions) if I hadn't "wasted" tens of thousands of dollars on a bunch of classes that I "didn't need" in college. I would have just read the books I listed earlier with interest, and then I would have moved on with my life. But, you see, there are things that bind us—things that connect us to art, literature, history, architecture, mathematics, science, religion, and back to art again. And, for me at least, the more I fill in the gaps between these elements of the human experience, the more I appreciate it all.

I get that not everyone is like me. I get that most people are happy to learn a craft—become an expert, even—work at that craft, leave a legacy, and catch the last episode of their favorite TV shows. And that's the way it's always been. I mean, not everyone in ancient Greece was a philosopher. Not everyone in the Middle Ages received a classical education. But there may have been soldiers and peasants who would have enjoyed the experience had they been given the opportunity. And I, for one, am one of those peasants.

As I've said in previous posts, my young life was characterized by impulsiveness, which culminate in the idea that, "I should go to college and become a physical therapist." I just kind of had the idea one day, so I did it. I resonate with Elle Woods (from Legally Blonde) when she applied to Harvard Law School and said, "What, like it's hard?" Now, of course college was hard (and PT school was much more so), but I enjoyed it. All of it. Even the classes that I didn't need to take: philosophy, freshman English (in which I learned only about Little Red Riding Hood in all of her iterations throughout history…), physics, Old Testament studies, American history. Learning to enjoy education was a slow burn, and it definitely didn't peak until college. If I'd have followed my first inclinations as a senior in high school, I would have joined the military or the police academy, and I would have had a fulfilling career in either (likely with a more impactful contribution to society), but I never would have understood the universe in the way that I do now. And that would have been a real shame.

But I did go to college, and I did rack up student loans (which I'm scheduled to pay off this spring!). And I did come close to what could be called a classical education, which laid the foundation for me to continue to learn, grow, and connect thoughts and ideas into new and creative concepts… some of which are kind of insane, like the one's I mentioned above, which I will now explain briefly (but only if you see the dragon in this picture I took below. Why? Because it’s awesome, and if you don’t see it, you’re not worthy--aka weird enough--to continue):

Thanks to the books I'm reading in tandem—along with plenty of breaks spent daydreaming in idle, wandering thought—I've dredged up an old fascination of mine: Why is the Great Commandment represented in four different ways in the Bible? "Love the LORD your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength." That's how the author of Deuteronomy puts it. But then when the verse is quoted by Jesus thousands of years later, Matthew, Mark, and Luke all put it in slightly different terms: "heart, soul, and mind," "heart, soul, mind, and strength," and "heart, soul, strength, and mind," respectively. Now, I realize the differences are subtle, and Mark and Luke both say the same things in a different order, but they are different. And when the essence of the phrase is, "Love God with everything you have," it's easy to wonder if these components make up everything it means to be human. And further research into the original languages in which these phrases were written sheds some light onto the discrepancy: English (and Greek, for that matter) doesn't have the words to describe the original Hebrew text, so slight variations are represented based on who's writing it and in what language.

But the intrigue remains. What does make up a human? And the answer, for someone like me (OCD, science-minded, Christian foundation), it's clear that we're bound together by a multifaceted system, like the Holy Trinity or the Four States of Matter. And so, if we take the States of Matter approach, what if our strength (bones, muscles, tendons) is akin to "solids," our heart (hormones, neurotransmitters, basic emotions) is akin to "liquids," our mind (cortical thought, short-term memories, self-awareness) is akin to "gas," and our soul (that ethereal, immortal morality not bound to social constructs or genetic influence) is akin to "plasma?" And so, such extrapolation (i.e. going down the Wikipedia rabbit hole) naturally leads to all sorts of allegory and thought puzzles. Oh, what fun it is to dream!

LAST PARAGRAPH BELOW FOR NORMAL PEOPLE:

Like I said, cutting the distractions from my day has allowed me to get back to the things that bring me true joy: quiet contemplation, purposeful living, and totally normal ideas about what it means to be human. Week one has been a success. I'm thankful for the money I "wasted" on my education because it's made me the man I am today, and I'm thankful for Lent because, even though I will inevitably fail at some of it, my ultimate victory will be remembering who I am as a man (which, apparently, boils down to the various states of matter…). So, thanks for reading, y'all. You could have been doing a bunch of other things (and you probably wish you had), but hopefully my rambling forced you to have at least one thought of your own.

And maybe, just maybe, that thought will lead to a daydream…

[babygirlofwakanda]

Not Gon Cry | Chapter 5

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS — Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four

CHARACTERS — Black! Reader X M’Baku X T’Challa

CONTENT — Trials Of Black Love, Adultery, Broken Vows and Marriage, Humiliation and Manipulation

PLOT — Based off of the song, “Not Gon Cry” by Mary J. Blige on her Share My World album. This is strictly based off of the lyrics, but a little twist. In addition, I STRONGLY suggest listening to this song on REPLAY while reading to get further feels, but hey..

NARRATIVE — “Oh, girl! What happened next?” You heard your friend Giana, wife of the Merchant Tribe’s warrior exclaim. Giggling, “Well, I didn’t even get to answer his question because the man dived in cutting off my use of vocal cords!” You yelled.

Feeling an abrupt sting on your arm, “—Trick, you didn’t tell me this!” Your best friend Saleem shouted. Swiftly turning your head, “I was gonna tell your ass, but you were too worried asking me if I saw his dick!” You clapped back, before returning the pinch.

“Well did you?” The country’s lawyer questioned, with a slight raise in her eyebrow. “Yes, bitch. You happy now?” You deadpanned, as you rolled your eyes before you inherently scrunched your head down at the sudden squeals echoing throughout your living room. “Ah! How did it look?”

“Fuck that, how big is it?” You heard the hairstylist of the Royal Family and your friend Ramla ask, as she peeked her head around Giana’s frame.

It has been twenty-four hours since T’Challa had you sprawled out on your couch with tears springing to your eyes as he ate you out and not containing your disbelief of what y’all did you called over your three closest friends before spilling the beans.

Rushing over within an hour with drinks and snacks at hand you invited them in. Finding yourself sitting down on the floor with y’all backs against the couch y’all began to gossip like middle school girls before they interrogated you on your blissful night.

Feeling your cheeks temporarily ache up from the big grin plastered on your face, “C’mon tell us Y/N!”

Using that as an excuse to drink the sparkling cider resting on your table you took a gulp. Releasing the glass from your lips you sighed, “After he got done eating me out he stood up and adjusted his pants and maaan..” You dragged, as you dramatically fanned a hand infront of your face.

“Quit teasing us!” Giana yelled, as she anxiously took a sip of her drink before slamming it down. Laughing, “I didn’t see his bare dick, Saleem. However, ya girl did peep the print and damn talk about a eggplant.” You squealed, as your memory flashed of his penis prominently bulging against his slacks.

“It was that damn big Y/N!” Ramla asked, with her eyes damn near popping out of her socket. Fiercely nodding your head you spoke, “Yes, girl! He had to be atleast eight or nine inches.” You detailed.

Saleem loudly cleared her throat before she took a sip of her water before she spoke up, “Well, I think we’ve tipped toed around this burning topic enough but who has the biggest dick?” She questioned.

Now feeling your eyes popping out you placed a hand on your temple before gently rubbing them.

“Um, shit Saleem.” You rolled your eyes. “Imma just say M’Baku has the biggest dick because of his body mass, height and weight.” You mumbled, causing the girls to erupt into squeals and gasps.

“—Wait! Wait, a second. Not to say that I don’t think T’Challa doesn’t have a big dick. It’s just that M’Baku is working with that Jabari wood, but it doesn’t mean that I’m counting T’Challa out because he’s an inch or three off.” You shrugged, before you abruptly drowned your sparkling drink.

“Well, aren’t you just one lucky girl. Got T’Challa on his knees eating your pussy. Ah, I taught you well.” Saleem grinned, as she proudly dusted her shoulder.

“Aside from Saleem’s antics and you eaten out, how are things with the separation?” Giana questioned. A smile crossing your face, “Well he agreed to all my demands and to pay them.” You said, before doing a little dance in your seat.

“—Ugh, I still can’t believe that monkey ass nigga cheated on you and hurt my little babies hearts!” Ramla exclaimed, before loudly scoffing.

Sighing, “I know, me either.” You said, before you reached for the table opening up another bottle of flavored water pouring yourself another glass.

“I gave that man everything I had, but it still wasn’t good enough for him after marrying him, giving birth to our children he turns around and pulls this shit.” You stated, before desperately attempting to hide the tears welling up by the rims of your eyes.

Taking a sip, “Six months! He cheated on me for six months!” You exclaimed, before you abruptly stood up. “Here I was thinking it was just a bunch of petty arguments and innocent business trips overseas!” You spat, as you started pacing.

Tears now blinding your vision you continued, “For six months he was fucking a broad behind my back! For six months I didn’t know another bitch was out here sucking his dick making him call to Hanuman!” You shouted, before you instantly threw the glass against the closest wall.

Stopping your tracks you watched the glass shatter on the wall causing you to briefly have a flashback from the glass breaking against the wall in Paris.

With your heart now beating vigorously against your rib cage as the flashbacks started clashing against each other in a rapid manner.

Blinking rapidly you felt the tears burn your eyes as they slowly cascaded down your cheeks. Seeing your friends rush up from their seated position they came and embrace your trembling figure. “Fuck M’Baku.” You spat, as the tears finally blinded your vision.

You finally had a good and sober cry as it was only a matter of time before your walls would crumble. You were trying to be so strong for your children that you subconsciously pushed your feelings aside until now.

Furthermore, a week had passed since you were cradled into the arms of your three closest friends and the day had finally approached when you would be taking your last trip to the Gorilla City. The day were you would finally get to sign on the printed papers thus far ending your marriage.

Getting up at the crack of dawn you stretched out your arms above your head as you released a yawn before you threw your feet on the floor as you got up and out of your bed and went into your bathroom and completed your morning routine.

Walking back into your bedroom you tossed your bonnet and scarf off; since we must protect our edges and lock in that moisture.

Freeing your hair you took down your large plaits before walking back into your bathroom. Grabbing ahold of your spray bottle you dampened your hair before racking your fingers through your hair with moisturizer, castor oil and shea butter.

Content with your large curly mane framing your face you exited the bathroom before traveling down the stairs and going into your kitchen.

Quickly fixing yourself a bowl of cereal with bananas and raspberries you poured the fresh milk into your bowl before grabbing yourself a spoon. Getting the bowl you went in your living room tucking your legs underneath you once you switched on the television.

With a hour flying by you got off of the couch and headed upstairs after dropping your bowl off in the kitchen. Reaching your bedroom you went into the closet before you changed into the climate friendly clothing. With your fur boots and coat on you called up your driver before heading downstairs to wait.

As the television was still on you were about to sit down when a ring echoed through your house from the front door. “Ugh.” You mumbled, before you lifted up from your squat position and headed to the door.

Peeking your head through the hole you spotted a Dora Mijae on your porch. Opening the door you said, “Hey Ayo!” as you greeted her and gave her a smile.

“Greetings Y/N, King T’Challa sent me here to deliver this to you.” She stated, before revealing the gift bag hidden behind her back. Furrowing your eyebrows you gave her a questionable look before steadily taking the bag out of her hand.

“What is it?” You asked, while stepping into the kitchen placing it on the table. Shrugging she closed the door before following you inside the house.

Sighing you dug your hand in the bag while pulling apart the unnecessary tissue before you pulled out a wrapped box. “This nigga.” You smacked your lips, before rolling your eyes as you heard Ayo giggling.

Shaking your head you started pulling at the paper before it revealed a Christian Louboutin box. A smile crossed your face as you opened the box to reveal yellow colored high heels.

Your jaw quickly dropping at the gift you picked up the shoe gazing at the colored red bottoms.

However, your view was soon distracted by a note that was taped to the inside of the lid. Placing the shoe back in the box you picked up the lid before you started reading the note.

Dear Y/N,

As you know these shoes are a gift from me to you. I thought the least I could do was gift you with some shoes after I made your toes curl up so much the last time I saw you. Speaking of which, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to stop by since that night lately I’ve been dealing with issues that the council couldn’t seem to handle by themselves. Anyways, I hope to see those lovely shoes tonight at the kingdom as we dine with one another over a delicious dish. Will you join me tonight?

Love, T’Challa

Feeling a goofy grin on your face as you put the lid down to turned around to face Ayo. “You knew about this, didn’t you?” You questioned, as you viewed her weak attempt to hide her smile from spreading.

Ignoring your question she spoke, “Will you join him for dinner Y/N?” She asked. Shifting your mouth as you thought about it, “Tell him, I will think about it.” You smiled, as you viewed her confused face.

“—but tell him I will enjoy the shoes.” You confessed, before you sent her a wink, confirming your answer.

Nodding her head, you trailed behind Ayo and out of your house before you parted ways as you hopped in the vehicle. The drive to Gorilla City was quick as you found yourself through the hallway for one last time as you approached the throne room.

Walking inside you spotted your advisor and lawyer, M’Baku’s team and the elders of council and politely greeted everyone before taking a seat as you waited for M’Baku to invade your peaceful presence.

Seeming that your thoughts were on high alert you heard the pounding of his footsteps vibrate against the hefty wood. “—I am here, the Leader of the Jabari Tribe has arrived.” He announced.

Shamelessly rolling your eyes at his arrogant antics you finally shifted your eyes up to view his large frame when you were thrown for a loop.

There he was proudly standing at his throne with his hands clutching onto the fingers of another woman.

However, this wasn’t just any woman, this was the hand that belonged to the trick who’s ass you gave a pass to in the hotel room. With a fraudulent smile on her cherry colored lips, she cuddled up to M’Baku’s warm fur as if she was utterly in love with him.

Anybody with eyes could see that she was only doing this for the attention of others around her.

Shaking your head in a weak attempt to stop the laugh you tucked your lips inside your mouth making your jaw to hurt. The couple looked so phony on the throne as the almost made a mockery on how you used to stand beside M’Baku in the same manner with the hand holding before council meetings.

Sighing at the image of the two clowns standing together you took the time to scan the appearance of the woman. As the last time you saw her she had her makeup running from the tears of pleasure from your husband, hair sticking up in every direction and she was half-naked with only her bra around her frame while she was thrown carelessly on the floor.

Taking in her facial features you realized that she was actually a pretty decent woman. However, that was something you wouldn’t dare to admit outloud, but you could tell that she kept up her appearance.

Grazing your eyes over her coconut complexion you found your emotions in a whirlwind. Looking at the women your husband cheated on you with for six months had you temporarily questioning your appearance and self-esteem.

However, you quickly regained your confidence by remembering the bad bitch you are. No matter how much shit you endured from M’Baku you managed to always keep up with your looks.

“—Are y’all ready to get this started? I have other business to attend to.” The masculine voice stated, as you watched him take his seat on the throne with the unknown trick sitting on his lap.

Standing up the elders motioned for the advisor to give the papers to you and M’Baku sign. Taking the papers in his hand the Great Gorilla spoke up, “You know I never thought I’d see the day that I would be signing these papers. It’s funny how things change.”

Instantly frowning your face you finished writing your signature before lifting up your face, “Don’t do this with me, it’s to early to hear your bullshit.”

The elders and lawyers briefly exchanged looks before M’Baku continued talking, “You always did have a dirty mouth, mnandi. It’s just a shame that you didn’t always know how to put it to use the right way, luckily I have found someone who does.”

Doing a double-take you blinked rapidly before you abruptly stood up. “Nigga what, run that shit by me again? Have you lost your rabbit ass mind? She can have your dirty green giant ass!” You exclaimed.

“They always wanna get upset when you express your feelings, when that’s all they beg you to do.” He said, towards his team of lawyers with a cocky smirk.

Quickly approaching the throne with your blood boiling you spat out, “I hope you catch something from this fucking broad, nigga. I hope you get the use out of the free clinic in Golden City since you seem to like sticking your dick in trash, nigga.”

Instead of getting the reaction you were hoping for he laughed with pure enjoyment before he leaned over in the trick’s ear whispering into it before she started to obnoxiously cackle. “What the hell is so fucking funny?” You questioned, with a strong neckroll and a prominent bat of your lashes.

“You are so angry, sithandwa sa. All because you are jealous of her area in talented skills in which you lack in.” He declared, before another round of laughter erupted.

Squinting your eyes you licked your lips something you often did when you knew you were about to light someone’s ass up. “Don’t make me out you infront of your people, but since you wanna show your ass to everybody let me show mine.” You suggested.

“While you up here laughing with Ms. Thang over here let’s be clear. You weren’t saying all that shit when you know I had your toes curling, your fists balled up and had you praising Hanuman.”

Directing your eyes over to the unknown woman you spoke, “Don’t believe me, mnandi? Because I have it on video.” You deadpanned, as you lifted up your kimoyo beads with your finger hovering over your video gallery.

“—but that’s beside the point. Since you wanna be all big and bad make sure you tell this bitch that you will beg to have your ass played with and let’s not forget that you have a tramp stamp with my name on it, so I hope she enjoys seeing the reflection in the mirror on the ceiling when y’all fuck.” You shrugged.

Watching his features contour in embarrassment as you finished airing out his dirty laundry. Now you was the one laughing as you whipped your head around to see the shameful looks around the room.

Smirking, you turned around before dropping the papers you had signed in his lap not before saying one last time, “—I hope you suffer from the bullshit you caused, but have fun with your sloppy seconds. She will never the half the woman I was to your ass.”

Reaching the door you flicked your head back peeking at the shook M’Baku before you called out, “I’m taking the kids tomorrow, so please enjoy your night with them. Oh, and please explain to them why umama will not be returning. I’m sure Mandla, would be happy to find out the truth on his utata’s affairs.”

Turning on your heels you walked towards your team of advisors and lawyers and embraced them as you continue your journey out of the room.

Sending a wink back at the trick, elders and his advisors you walked out of the room with the click of your heels sounding off your disappearance.

Traveling back down the snowy mountains of Gorilla City and into the humid temperatures of Golden City you entered the foyer of your home. Closing the door behind you, you pressed your back against the wood before taking a deep breath and releasing the stress of today’s events out of your memory.

However, as much as you wanted to peace the Great Gorilla out of your life you knew you had to deal with him until Cebisa turned eighteen and maybe longer.

Snapping out of your thoughts you walked into the kitchen grabbing a bottle of water before your gaze fell onto the shoe box laying on the table. Chewing on the inside of cheek you sighed as you began to debate on attending dinner with T’Challa.

What could go wrong? Nothing.

What could happen after dinner? That’s where your mind started to run rapidly as you started thinking of every possible result of this simple dinner request.

You didn’t want to jump right into a relationship if even that? All you ever did to him was tongue him down and thrust your dripping core into his face while he lapped at it like a thirsty puppy.

Completely normal? Just two friends helping each other’s sexual tendencies and frustrations out.

Rolling your eyes at your chaotic thoughts you stared at the box before you exhaled loudly allowing your shoulder to rise and fall drastically.

Walking out the kitchen and traveling up the stairs you reached your bedroom before you strolled over to your closet. Searching through your dresses with only the sound of metal sliding against each other as the hangers created friction with metal rack before the sound ceased once you pulled out a plum, pineapple and berry multicolored dress.

Swiftly discarding your fur dress now clinging onto your moist, sweaty skin you quickly hopped into the shower. Stepping back out with only a towel secured around your frame you put on complexion colored undergarments before you went back into the bathroom.

Pulling out your bag of makeup you leaned over the counter as you lightly filled in your eyebrows, applied concealer around them before and color correcting under your eyes, forehead and bridge of your nose.

Eventually, you blending out the product you aapplying powder to your face and after letting it soak up your extra moisture you grabbed a fan brush as you started to highlight the high points of your face before spraying your face with setting mist.

More than satisfied with your appearance you walked back into your bedroom before you went over to your bed. Lifting up the dress from the hanger you detached it before slipping on the dress.

Half an hour later you were clacking your heels against the vibranium infused floor of your foyer as you rushed out the door. Stepping foot on the stone pathway in the thick greenery around your house you traveled into your surroundings. Almost reaching the kingdom you abruptly heard the rustling above the path before you took your eyes off of the scenery.

Goosebumps rising on the moisturized surface of your skin you flicked your eyes up to investigate the sounds when your orbs connected with T’Challa’s.

Your expression drastically changing into a buoyant one as well as his once you felt your cheeks rise as a grin appeared. As you gazed at the T’Challa’s mocha skin as the tangerine sun rays cascaded over him like a warm blanket.

“—Glory to Bast.” The King of Wakanda muttered, as he took in your stunning appearance as the same colored rays reflected over your flawless skin.

TRANSLATIONS —

“Mnandi.” means sweetheart “Usana.” means baby “Sithandwa sa.” means my love “Umama.” means mother “Utata.” means father “Giana.” means god is gracious “Saleem.” means peaceful “Ramla.” means prophetess

AUTHOR’S NOTE — I’m sorry it took so long y’all this chapter just wouldn’t come out for nothing..

Fun fact, I hate fruit and only wrote reader with fruit on her cereal because I assumed y’all like that shit.

Anyways, reader was spilling the teaaaaa, hunty!

However, do y’all think she should have stopped? Let me know should she have done that or what point do you think it went to far if she went to far to you.

TAGLIST — @blackpanthersmut @leahnicole1219 @minyara-kun @lalapalooza718 @mysticbrownie @siriuslycollins @therevolution-willbelive @hutchj @xbreakingmidnightx @texasbama @thiccdaddy-mbaku @muse-of-mbaku @blue-ishx @destinio1 @ursapharoh05 @purplemuse @cmonkillmonger @drsunshine97 @royallyprincesslilly @ashanti-notthesinger @barely-emily @halfrican-heat @theshadesofbrown @lildashofmelanin @sisterwifeudaku @mbakuwifey @autumn242 @inlovewithmakeupcomicsanimelove @hold-me-like-a-heart-beat @airis-paris14 @s0eul @taehyungsmelanin @soulmates8 @inlovewith3 @dakotapaigelove @blowmymbackout @504queen @sweetpeachjones @niggarachi15 @madamslayyy @everybodylovesmormon @ambthegamer @jecourt @lewatigress @randomassfandomwho @inlovewith3 @pananegra @brittyevans

[nothando-ndlovu]

Exploring my position ality as a student therapist

Picture taken from: https://lsa.umich.edu/social-solutions/news-events/news/insights-and-solutions/infographics/intersectionality--positionality--and-privelege.html

It was necessary for me to acquire a viewpoint as a young black female Christian lady growing up in a society with vast diversity and, as a result, mass adversity to my viewpoints and ways to live. The role that we play in society shapes our values. It has positioned itself as the arbiter of morality and ethics. I'm at a point in my life when I'm figuring out who I am, what my personality traits are, what my moral code is, what my belief system is, and what my strengths are. We've been raised to believe that everything we've been taught is true, and why should we let society characterize us when we can define ourselves? I'll discuss all of the aspects that affect my positionality in this blog.

Picture adapted from: https://carleton.ca/socanth/2019/feminist-reflexivity-on-positionality-and-knowledge-production/

Growing up in a royal Swati household came with its challenges. As a female I was taught at a very young age by the chief that I have to obey every rule and question less. With questioning came consequences such as beatings or getting my belongings confiscated. Men had the upper hand, they still do and they get to make all the decisions that would best suit everyone. Until recently, men were not expected to believe in "patriarchy," let alone discuss it with such apocalyptic zeal. It was the kind of word that, if said without irony, identified the speaker as a very specific type of person – an old-school iron-spined feminist, or the kind of ossified socialist who griped bitterly about capitalism's flaws. Being a female and coming from a family that oppressed women's opinions resulted in me having to accept and obey these rules regardless of me being against them.

My mother on the other hand taught me to be firm, to stand my ground and question what is happening around me. She had to make ends meet growing up hence educating herself to ensure that she had a brighter future. My grandfather never saw education as an important thing to have in life hence he never supported my mother from continuing her studies. My mother's encounters showed me an incredible first example that another individual and their viewpoints are substantial and acknowledged throughout everyday life except are not using any and all means your proportion of achievement, guide to life and key to bliss. As an emerging occupational therapist, it was significant for me to comprehend that regularly one's positionality can change, in particular through direction and understanding. At Kenville I understood that male controlled society is a framework so imbedded inside our general public that it requires long stretches of being exposed to imbalances and unlearning before females face it.

Being a black woman in South Africa remains a huge issue as we are subjected to abuse, inequality and patriarchy. While I was screening at Kenville I came to realise that there were more mothers with babies yet there was no record of the father. Ms N during our interview mentioned that the father is not present in the child's life due to being exposed to GBV. Women at the clinic also stated that they are unemployed and dependent on grant money which immediately made me think of the KITE project that we are currently running at the clinic aiming to employ women in order to put food on their tables. Due to the apartheid era most communities including Kenville have issues such as food insecurities and high unemployment rate.

I come from a middle-class family. With that I have been privileged to attend private and boarding schools. However, in these schools I have been subject to racism as they were multiracial schools. According to Mathews (2012), race and racial equality have yet to be accomplished in South Africa, nor in the many other places of the world that have experienced some sort of blatantly segregationist white supremacist system at some point. In some form or another, black people continue to face racism in public places, schools, and workplaces; however, when I provide intervention to my clients, I do not consider race but rather approach each person as an individual in order to be ethical and not let my own experiences influence intervention.

Positionality is important because it pushes us to recognize our own power, privilege, and biases at the same time as we denounce the power systems that encircle our people (Madison 2015). According to Milner's (2007) approach, students should engage in critical race and cultural self-reflection; understand the self in relation to others by reflecting on themselves in relation to the people they serve in field placements; engage in reflection with clients to process what is happening in their particular environment; and shift from focusing on self to thinking more broadly on a system level, taking the historic, political, and social context into account. This also emphasizes the fact that positionality is dynamic. My race, culture, social background, and patriarchy have all shaped my positionality. We treat everyone equally at Kenville Community, regardless of gender, ethnicity, or family status. We've put in place programs to educate the community on the role of occupational therapy, maternal health, child development, and common ailments.

Conclusion

References

Matthews S. (2012) White Anti-Racism in Post-Apartheid South Africa, Politikon, 39:2, 171-188, doi: 10.1080/02589346.2012.683938

Milner IV, RH. R. (2007). Race, culture, and researcher positionality: Working through dangers seen, unseen, and unforeseen. Educational Researcher, 36, 388-400.

[ninja-muse]

Urban Fantasy Recommendation Masterpost

This is a list of the urban fantasies I’ve enjoyed most over the years, split down a few lines and to be updated as I discover new series. I’m also including contemporary fantasies because the lines often blur. Hope you find something you like on it!

$ for LGBT characters £ for characters of colour € for characters with disabilities * for potentially problematic depictions of the above ! for #ownvoices (all based on my slightly spotty memory, so feel free to correct if I’ve missed something)

World-Focused

or stories that spend most of their time steeping you in the magical world

American Gods - Neil Gaiman £

Shadow Moon gets out of jail and is hired by the cagey Mr. Wednesday to … he’s not really clear, honestly, but it puts him in the path of people who may or may not be gods. Multiple mythologies.

Among Others - Jo Walton €!

A 1980s teen flees her troubled home in Wales to get to know her birth father and attend an English boarding school. Is her mother’s family able to work magic or is it just wishful thinking? Reading science fiction might give her the answers. British folklore and faeries, and a very interesting take on magic.

The Boggart - Susan Cooper

A Canadian family inherits a Scottish castle inhabited by a mischievous boggart—who then stows away and finds himself in Toronto. Scottish folklore.

The Bone Clocks - David Mitchell £

The life of a woman from teen-hood to old age as she lives her life and occasionally intersects with an ancient war between good and evil, fought with telepathy and other things that look a lot like magic.

The Changeling - Victor Lavalle £ !

After his infant son is violently attacked, Apollo Kagwa, used bookseller, descends into the hidden world of New York in search of his vanished wife.

The City We Became - N.K. Jemisin - $ £ ! for race

New York City, newly alive, is being attacked, and six humans, no longer quite human, must do everything in their power to save their city.

the Dark is Rising series - Susan Cooper €*

A group of English kids—four siblings, a seventh son, and a boy who might be a reincarnated Arthur—versus the forces of darkness. Five books, only the last of which includes all the kids. Cornish and English folklores, Arthuriana.

Gods Behaving Badly - Marie Phillips

The Greek pantheon now lives in North London and is as dysfunctional as ever. Artemis walks dogs. Aphrodite does phone sex. Apollo is a washed-out TV psychic who’s just fallen, via Eros, for the cleaning lady—who’s trying to date someone else, thank you very much. Greek mythology.

The Golem and the Jinni - Helene Wecker £

A golem and a jinni both find themselves in turn-of-the-century New York, both literally and figuratively. A beautiful exploration of the immigrant experience, friendship, and identity. Jewish and Arabic folklore.

Good Omens - Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman

A mostly-good angel and mostly-wicked demon discover they’ve been training the wrong Antichrist days before the scheduled apocalypse. The real Antichrist wants a dog and to save the whales. Also features a legacy witch, a rookie witch-finder, the Four Horsemen, the Four Other Horsemen, Satanic nuns, and a Queen soundtrack. Christian mythology.

The Hunter’s Moon - O.R. Melling

A Canadian teen visiting her Irish cousin ends up mounting a cross-country road trip to retrieve her cousin who’s run off with the faeries. Irish mythology.

The Left-Handed Booksellers of London - Garth Nix $£

In the summer of 1983, Susan Arkshaw travels to London to find her birth father. What she discovers is a family of magical booksellers, and an Old World that’s very much alive.

Middlegame - Seanan McGuire

Roger and Dodger are exceptionally gifted, telepathically linked, and a little more than natural. James Reed will stop at nothing to use them, or people like them, to get ultimate power. Alchemy, time travel, and portal fantasies are involved.

Neverwhere - Neil Gaiman £

Richard Mayhew has it all: a good job, a hot fiancée, a nice flat. Then he helps an apparently homeless girl with the power to create doors and is pulled into the magical community below London. Nothing will ever be the same.

Of Blood and Honey and And Blue Skies From Pain - Stina Leicht

It’s tough, living in Northern Ireland during the Troubles, and Liam finds it harder than most. No one trusts him, he can’t find work, everyone wants him to choose a side, and to cap it off, he feels like a monster is inside him and knows something inhuman is stalking him and his. The war between the Fey and the Fallen is heating up, and the only people keeping peace are an order of priests—who also, surprise, want Liam’s help. Irish and Christian mythology.

The Sixth World series - Rebecca Roanhorse $£€ ! 

Maggie Hoskie is a Monsterslayer of Dinétah, but she’d rather not be. Even rescuing a kidnapped girl is supposed to be a one-shot deal. But the monster’s a new one, an apprentice medicine man’s attached himself to her, and Coyote’s around, so of course it’s not that simple. Navajo mythology.

Son of a Trickster - Eden Robinson £€ !

Jared’s life sucks. He’s sixteen, living in a crap house in a crap town with crap prospects. He’s paying his dad’s rent with weed money. His mom’s more interested in parties than holding down a job. His only friend’s a pit bull. And just when he thinks that’s as low as it gets, a raven shows up and say he’s Jared’s real dad. Heiltsuk (and other First Nations) mythology and folklore.

Sparrow Hill Road - Seanan McGuire

Rose Marshall, the Phantom Prom Date, the Ghost of Sparrow Hill Road, hitches her way from coast to coast while dealing with paranormal problems and route witches—and avoiding Bobby Cross, the immortal who killed her.

Sunshine - Robin McKinley

Rae is a baker. Tough and practical and smart, but a baker. Who’s just rescued herself and a vampire from captivity using magic she’d half-forgotten she had. Unfortunately, the master vampire’s still after them, the magical police know something’s up, and she just wants to keep being normal. Includes mild, realistic PTSD and a whole lot of delicious desserts.

An Unkindness of Magicians - Kat Howard

The Turning has started in New York and every magician in the city has their own reason for entering the tournament—power, status, acknowledgement, revenge, revolution. The high stakes would be enough for anyone, but it’s starting to look like there’s something suddenly wrong with magic, too.

Witches of Ash and Ruin - E. Latimer - $ £ € *

Dayna wants to be a witch, live her life, and block her OCD thoughts so she doesn’t have to deal with them. Then scary but gorgeous Meiner and her coven roll into town prophesying Bad Things, and a serial killer reappears who seems to target witches and shit. Meet. Fan. Themes of family and abuse.

Ysabel - Guy Gavriel Kay

Ned Marriner’s tagging along with his photographer dad to Provence when he begins to notice magic awakening around him. There’s an ancient love triangle that‘s repeated throughout history, using contemporary locals as proxies—and it’s very interested in Ned, his new friend Kate, and his father’s entourage.

Mystery-Focused

or stories that spend most of their time solving a magical crime

The Arcadia Project series - Mishell Baker $£€ !

Millie’s nearly broke, scarred, a double amputee, mentally ill, and Done with all the BS around that. She’s also despairing of ever resuming her directing career, so when a mysterious woman offers her a job with her temp agency, she’s intrigued. What wasn’t mentioned? She’ll actually be an immigration agent working with the Fae of Hollywood, and one of them’s just gone missing.

the Blood series - Tanya Huff $£€

Vicky Nelson is the pinnacle of the tough, no-nonsense PI—which poses a bit of a problem when she’s hired to catch a “vampire” on the streets of Toronto and then actually meets one. (He writes romance novels.)

the Felix Castor series - Mike Carey $*

Felix Castor is an exorcist. A hard-drinking, down-at-the-heels exorcist in a London brimming with ghosts and demons. Unfortunately, he never seems to get the easy cases where he can just waltz in and play a tune—and his past mistakes might be coming back to haunt him.

Dirk Gently’s Holistic Detective Agency and The Long, Dark Tea-Time of the Soul - Douglas Adams

Dirk Gently solves mysteries by wandering around, getting into strange situations, and then connecting dots no one believes even exist. Like time traveling robots and Romantic poets, or rampaging eagles and mold-ridden refrigerators.

The Grendel Affair - Lisa Shearin £

Makenna Fraser is a seer working for Supernatural Protection and Investigations in New York. “Seer” meaning she can spot the ghoulies and ghosties few people can, including her coworkers. When an off-the-books gnome removal turns into a blood-soaked crime scene, she and her partner are handed the case—but will her eagerness to prove herself just land her in hotter water?

the Greta Helsing series - Vivian Shaw $£

Dr. Greta Helsing serves the undead of London. Her best friends are vampires and demons. The boundaries between worlds are thinning, causing all manner of metaphysical trouble. Plays with 1800s horror classics; equal parts sensible, disturbing, and funny.

the Greywalker series - Kat Richardson $£

Harper Blaine prides herself on rationality and unflappability, but after briefly dying on a case, she’s suddenly wrong-footed and seeing ghosts everywhere. In the middle of all that, she’s hired by a mysterious voice to track down an organ that’s more than it seems, and suddenly haunted street corners are the least of her problems.

the Incryptid series - Seanan McGuire $£

Meet the Price family, a close-knit group of cryptozoologists whose mission is to protect and preserve endangered cryptids like dragons, gorgons, and the religious Aeslin mice from humans. They’re also hiding from the Covenant of St. George, a.k.a. why the cryptids are endangered in the first place. Technically paranormal romance.

the Iron Druid series - Kevin Hearne £

Atticus O’Sullivan is a herbalist and seller of New Age paraphernalia by day, two-thousand-year-old druid by night. He thought moving to Arizona would keep him safe from gods bent on revenge. He thought wrong. Multiple mythologies.

Last Call at the Nightshade Lounge - Paul Krueger $£€ !

Bailey Chen is fresh out of business school, broke, and living with her parents. When a childhood friend offers her a job as a barback, she takes it as a stopgap—but then she discovers the secret cabal of bartenders who fight demons using magical cocktails and after that, there’s no looking back.

Moonshine - Alaya Johnson £

Zephyr Hollis, a charity worker and ESL teacher in 1920s New York, and therefore flat broke, takes a side job from a student, Amir, without asking questions. But will the vampire mob, the drug-crazed vamps, Amir’s literal smoking hotness, or her family history do her in first?

Night Owls - Lauren M. Roy $

Valerie is a vampire with a successful campus bookstore. Elly grew up fighting monsters and fearing for her life. When their paths collide via a book in Elly’s keeping, they must unite to prevent said monsters from unleashing hell and then some.

the October Daye series - Seanan McGuire $£€

Toby Daye wants sleep, coffee, and for everyone to leave her alone already—not necessarily in that order. Unfortunately, as a changeling Knight and PI with a knack of finding people and solving problems with maximum chaos, none of those things will ever be easy to come by. Multiple folklores.

the Olympus Bound series - Jordanna Max Brodsky $£

Selene di Silva’s been keeping her head down for a long time, shutting herself off not just from New York, but from the world. (Being a former goddess will do that.) But then she stumbles on the body of a woman who’s been ritually sacrificed and her past as Artemis comes rising up again. Greek and Roman mythology

the Rivers of London series - Ben Aaronovitch $£€

When Constable Peter Grant meets a ghost at a crime scene, it’s only logical for him to take a witness statement. When DCI Thomas Nightingale learns of this, he offers him a job as an auror the sorcerer’s apprentice a valued member of a magically-focused police unit. London, its river goddesses, various magic workers, assorted Fae, and the Metropolitan Police will never be the same.

the Shadow Police series - Paul Cornell $£

Following the mysterious death of a suspect, four Metropolitan Police officers are drawn into London’s sinister magical underworld in their hunt for a killer.

the Smoke series - Tanya Huff $*£

Tony Foster’s found his footing as a PA on a Vancouver-shot vampire show. Unfortunately, the paranormal weirdness that is his life continues and it’s somehow up to him to save the day.

Unholy Ghosts (and following) - Stacia Kane £*

Chess Putnam works as a Church exorcist, partly out of obligation and partly for the pay, which goes to fuel her drug addiction. Unfortunately, no ghosts are nice ghosts and her private life keeps intruding on her cases.

the Watch novels - Terry Pratchett

Ankh-Morpork is the citiest of fantasy cities. Its City Watch is a bunch of misfits. Sam Vimes isn’t putting up with any nonsense. Somehow, they fight crime.

Zoo City - Lauren Beukes £

Zinzi December is a con artist and occasional finder of lost things who lives in the Johannesburg slums with her sloth familiar. Her latest case? Find a pair of missing teen pop stars—before the apparent assassins do.

[sevenpabosandabunchoffans]

The Meaning of Family | The Beginning or the End? {Part 1}

Characters: Kim Taehyung, Original Characters, Park Jimin, Kim Seokjin, Kim Namjoon, Min Yoongi, Jung Hoseok, Jeon Jungkook

Words: 5028

Genre: High School Student!Taehyung, Soccer Player!Taehyung

Warnings: lots of fluff, Jimin is suffering from a broken heart so give him lots of love, angst, smut, unprotected sex do not do what they did in this unless you are fully prepared to take on any consequences that may come from it

Summary: “Does anything ever happen between Taehyung and Kortni?”; A new person shows up and Taehyung is not too happy with their presence; Time Period - Taehyung and Jimin’s senior year, ranging over a 3 month period; Ages: Jin - 38, Namjoon - 37, Yoongi - 20/21, Hoseok - 19/20, Jimin - 18, Taehyung - 18, Christian - 17/18, Kortni - 17/18, Jungkook - 16, Sammie - 19-22 months

A/N: So since this first part answers that question, any subsequent parts to this storyline will come if it gets requested....I know, I’m evil :D Hope you enjoy! <3

“Look who finally decided to show up, Mr. Captain~” Kortni called out as Taehyung approached their regular soccer field. It was their last day before school started back up after Christmas break and their final soccer season of their high school careers was about to begin. It had been announced after tryouts that Taehyung would be the captain of the boys’ team. “I heard Joy was very eager to congratulate you.” Taehyung set his sports bag on the sideline of the empty field and pulled his soccer ball out, smirking as he joined Kortni in the center of the field. Kortni scoffed at his expression and reached out to playfully shove his shoulder. “Why are you such a manwhore?”

Taehyung held his finger up to stop her. “Ah, ah, ah, manwhores will sleep with anybody. I have standards.”

Kortni held back a laugh at that. “Pfft, what standards?”

“Well, I’ve never tried to sleep with you, have I?” Taehyung flashed her a smile as her jaw dropped in irritation.

“Oh, you are such a jerk!” She punched him on the arm as he laughed before taking the soccer ball out of his hands. “I start~” As she set the ball in the middle of the field, Taehyung took his spot across from her, still laughing. He only turned serious once Kortni nodded to him that she was ready, and they began their regular scrimmage.

After nearly an hour of playing, the score coming out to a tie, the two of them sat on the ground, sipping from bottles of water that were kept cool by the January air. “How’s Jimin doing?” Kortni asked, and Taehyung gave a small shrug.

“He’s still heartbroken.” He brought his bottle of water back up to his mouth but spoke again before taking a sip. “I don’t blame him, it’s the first holiday season since she dumped him.”

“Not to mention that she was his first love.” Kortni commented. “That would be hard for anyone to get over.” Taehyung stared at her with interest until Kortni looked up and noticed. “What?”

Taehyung shrugged. “I never took you for a romantic.”

Kortni shot him a playful glare. “Watch it, I can still kick your ass~”

“I’d like to see you try~” Taehyung laughed, leaning back as she tried to swat his arm. “Alright, I gotta get home for dinner." He said once he’d calmed down, standing up and gathering his things. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“No, I was totally planning on dropping out of school with one semester left just to avoid you.” Taehyung laughed sarcastically as the two of them made their way to their respective vehicles.

“I’m home!” Taehyung called out as he entered the house, immediately seeing Hoseok lounging on the couch on his laptop. He made his way to the kitchen where his dad was. “What’s for dinner?”

“Caprese pasta~” Jin responded as he drained the pasta. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes; can you go ask Jimin to come set the table?”

Taehyung nodded and made his way to their shared bedroom, unable to do anything but feel pain for his brother as he saw him curled up on his bed completely covered by a blanket. He sighed as he set his sports bag down, getting ready to use his normal tactic to get Jimin out of his funk. “Come on, Jimin, time to get out of bed.”

The lump on the bed shifted until the other 18-year-old was peeking out of the comfort of his blanket. “Leave me to suffer alone~”

“Sorry, no can do. It’s against the rules of this family.” Jimin retreated back into his makeshift shelter. “But seriously, it’s your turn to set the table for dinner.” Jimin stayed quiet and didn’t reveal himself again. “Alright, you asked for it.” Taehyung walked over and pulled the blanket off of Jimin, throwing it to the corner of their room so he couldn’t pull it back over himself. “Up~”

“No.”

“I will literally drag you out of this bed.” Taehyung threatened, only honesty laced through his statement.

“I don’t doubt you will.”

True to his word, Taehyung took hold of his brother’s ankles and tugged him until he was off the bed, Jimin going limp and subjecting himself to his fate as Taehyung dragged him across the floor and out of their room. Taehyung didn’t let up as he crossed the living room where Hoseok and Jungkook, who had arrived home from hanging out with Yugyeom at some point while Taehyung was trying to coax Jimin out of bed, didn’t even bat an eye as they were so used to the action. “I got him!” Taehyung announced as he entered the room with Jimin’s body.

Jin turned around and his eyes immediately widened. “Taehyung, what have I told you about dragging Jimin around like a ragdoll?”

“How else was I supposed to get him in here?” Taehyung retorted as he let Jimin’s legs fall to the floor. Jin just ignored him and moved to Jimin, pulling him to his feet, at which point the 18-year-old moved to grab plates from the cabinet.

The next day, Taehyung dropped his lunch tray on the table with irritation before sitting across from Kortni. “If my child care teacher wasn’t such a bitch then my life would be perfect.” He angrily bit into his breadstick.

“Someone’s still salty about the one time he got a B on an assignment.” Kortni snickered.

“My dad, who has worked in a preschool for 20 years, helped me make that activity plan, and she turned around and said it wasn’t age appropriate for preschoolers because it involved word labels.” Taehyung stared at Kortni, who shrugged.

“I get it, she’s a bitch who doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

“Thank you~” Taehyung popped a grape in his mouth. “She’s the main reason I’m happy summer break starts early for seniors.”

“On the plus side, you can now let off your frustration towards her during practice.” Kortni pointed out before taking a bite of her pasta.

A few days later, Taehyung arrived at the soccer field for practice, waving at Kortni who was on the designated field for the girls’ team, before setting his bag down and beginning to stretch. “Alright, boys~” The coach gathered them around. “Before we actually start practice, we have a last-minute tryout today. This is Christian, and he just transferred here from Cabot.” Taehyung vaguely recognized the male as the new student in his AP Lit class. “So, let’s give him a fair tryout. Taehyung,” the 18-year-old immediately looked at his coach. “Although I get the final say, I would love the captain’s input.” Taehyung nodded and waited for the coach to begin the tryout.

All throughout Christian’s tryout, the most prominent thought in Taehyung’s mind was wow this dude is cocky. His arrogance permeated through the air any time he successfully made a goal, stole the ball from someone else, or was able to escape without losing the ball. Taehyung thought he might be imagining things, but he was sure Christian was targeting him by sending smirks his way each time. Even though something was off about the guy, Taehyung knew he had to put that to the back of his mind when the coach asked for his opinion. “I can’t lie, the guy’s good.”

Christian was immediately welcomed to the team and everyone cheered, although Taehyung obviously wasn’t into it. He noticed as Christian looked over towards the girls’ team and shot a wink. When Taehyung looked over, he felt something bubbling in the pit of his stomach as he saw Kortni blushing and trying to avoid looking over.

Soon after practice picked up, Taehyung forgot about the small action, and his new teammate went to the back of his mind until a week later when he was at the first rehearsal for the school musical. “Summer lovin’, had me a blast~” Taehyung sang quietly, already running through the songs before rehearsal officially started.

“Tae,” Mr. Spiridigliozzi caught the 18-year old’s attention, “I wanted to introduce you to your new understudy.”

“Understudy?” Taehyung looked at his teacher in confusion as he stood up from where he had been sitting on the stage.

Mr. Spiridigliozzi nodded as he stepped aside to reveal none other than Christian here. “This is Christian-“

“Oh, I know Christian,” Taehyung responded, trying not to glare at the guy.

“Well, Christian expressed his interest in the musical and since he was unable to audition back in December, due to him not being  a student here yet, we went ahead and let him have a special audition, so would you mind getting him caught up to where you are with your role in these next few minutes before we start?” Taehyung nodded, not trusting his voice at that moment. “Great~” The teacher pat both students on the shoulder before walking off to speak with the choir director.

“This ought to be fun,” Christian said, that smirk once again displayed across his face.

That Friday, Taehyung sat at his and Kortni’s usual table, picking at his chicken rings as he waited for Kortni to join him. When she finally did, Taehyung’s face morphed into one of slight horror. “What did you do?!”

“Oh, shut up~” Gone were Kortni’s signature curls pulled back into a ponytail, and in their place were straightened locks that flowed a few inches past her shoulders.

“No, seriously, who are you and what have you done with Kortni Stephens?” He then squinted his eyes and leaned closer to her. “Are you wearing lip gloss?!”

Kortni reached out and smacked the top of Taehyung’s head, causing him to quickly lean back and rub it. “You know, most girls like to fix their hair and makeup on occasion.” Kortni snapped at him as she opened her bottle of water.

“Yeah, but you’re not most girls.”

Kortni scoffed. “Wow, thanks, Tae~”

“No, I mean that as a complete compliment.” Taehyung said honestly. “You’re real, unlike most girls.” Kortni rolled her eyes and didn’t respond to him, nor did she attempt to hold a conversation with him for the rest of lunch.

He got an explanation for the body invasion in 7th period AP French. He was sitting next to Jimin, furiously finishing up his homework assignment when a familiar giggle reached his ears. He looked up to see Kortni with Christian, just standing outside the open classroom door and talking in the hallway. His grip on his pencil tightened when his gaze moved down and landed on their intertwined hands. He wasn’t sure how long he stared, only snapping out of it when he felt the pencil in his hand snap in half.

That evening, Taehyung paced around his and Jimin’s room as Jimin watched him from his bed. “I can’t stand him!”

“I can tell,” Jimin mused. “If looks could kill, he would have been dead ten times over.”

“I’m serious!” Taehyung exclaimed. “It’s like he’s trying to steal my life! I used to be my AP Lit teacher’s favorite student, now he comes along and becomes the teacher’s pet. I’m the lead in this year’s musical, he becomes my understudy, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he turned out to be planning out some sort of ‘accident’ for me.” Taehyung ignored Jimin’s eye roll to continue with his rant. “And finally, he’s obviously trying to take my captain spot from me.”

“You forgot how he has Kortni.”

Taehyung stopped in his tracks. “What? This has nothing to do with Kortni!”

“Are you sure?” Jimin raised his eyebrow. “Because you’re looking a little green.”

“This isn’t about Kortni~” Taehyung said firmly just a few seconds before a light knock sounded on their bedroom door.

The door pushed open to reveal Sammie toddling into the room, Yoongi standing behind her and watching her fondly. “Pizza~” She said in her cute voice, which bettered Taehyung’s mood, but only slightly.

“Woah, did I just enter a war zone?” Yoongi asked as he bent down to scoop Sammie into his arms.

“Don’t worry,” Jimin told their older brother as he stood up from his bed. “Tae’s just a little jealous.” He and Yoongi walked out of the room to join the rest of the family for movie night.

“I’m not jealous~” Taehyung grumbled, following after them.

The semester went on and it seemed to Taehyung as if his frenemy no longer existed. What started off as just straightened hair and lip gloss turned into dresses and full on makeup. Not only did her appearance change, but so did her behavior. She became gigglier and was almost always seen clinging onto Christian’s arm. She also went from spending every lunch with Taehyung to every other day to not at all. The final straw was during early April at a party. He was leaning against the wall, flirting with Emily, one of Kortni’s teammates, when he looked up and noticed the aforementioned girl standing in the corner, looking around awkwardly. “Excuse me~” Taehyung said to Emily before making his way across the room. “What are you doing here? You don’t even like parties~” Those were the first words Taehyung had said to her in months other than during French class.

Kortni looked up, seeming surprised that Taehyung had approached her. “Christian wanted to come by for a little bit.” She answered.

“Of course, he did~” Taehyung muttered. “And where is Christian right now?”

“Oh, he just had to go to the bathroom, he should be right ba-hey!” Taehyung had grabbed her by the wrist and started to tug her towards the front door. “Let go!”

“I’m taking you home.” Taehyung said, not stopping until Kortni yanked her arm from his grip.

“No, I’m staying here with my boyfriend!”

“Do you really not see it?!” Taehyung asked, whirling around to face her. “Your so called ‘boyfriend’ is changing you!” He finally got off his chest what had been troubling him since the beginning of the year.

“He is not changing me.” Kortni insisted.

“Really? Because you literally told me six months ago that you would admit I’m a better soccer player than you before being caught wearing makeup and guess what, you still haven’t admitted it.”

“You don’t know anything about relationships, all you know is how to get in some girl’s pants!” At this point, neither of them cared that they had become the center of attention at the party.

“Well I do know that if you have to become a whole different person to please someone, then that’s not any relationship you need to be in!”

An expression of realization crossed Kortni’s face. “I get what this is really about. You’re jealous because this is something I beat you at.”

Taehyung looked at her incredulously. “What?”

“Yeah, I got into a serious relationship before you did, and you can’t handle coming second in anything, so now you’re lashing out. Grow up, Taehyung!”

“This has nothing to do with our rivalry, Kortni!” Taehyung exclaimed. “This is about how Christian is a jerk and the person I consider to be my closest friend is going to end up hurt by him!” The two of them remained silent after Taehyung’s confession.

Christian arrived a few seconds later, obviously noticing the tension between the two. “Is everything okay over here?”

Before Taehyung could tell him to fuck off, Kortni spoke up. “No, Tae was just leaving.” Taehyung shot her a look, one full of hurt, before walking out of the house.

Kortni didn’t show up to school for a few days, which gave Taehyung time to think over their argument and plan out a way to apologize to her. On the exact day he’d picked out to share his apology, he was elated to see a familiar ponytail sitting on the wall at the edge of the courtyard. He headed straight towards her, wanting to go ahead and patch things up before going to the band room to get some morning rehearsal in before class. “Well, look who’s back~” The smile fell from Taehyung’s face when he heard a sniffle and saw Kortni angle her body away from him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Go away, Taehyung~” If the sniffle hadn’t already done so, the waver in Kortni’s voice made it obvious that she had been crying.

“No, tell me what’s wrong?”

“Why?!” Kortni’s head shot up, revealing just how red and puffy her eyes were. “So, you can gloat about how you were right? Just leave me alone~” She grabbed her backpack and stood up, running off to find somewhere more private to let out her feelings.

Taehyung clenched his jaw before turning back to the parking lot, heading to where he saw a certain someone hanging around their truck with their friends. As soon as he arrived at the group of young males, he was shoving the owner of the truck. “What the fuck did you do to her, Christian?!”

“Dude, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” That smirk was still painted across his face as he looked around at his friends who were snickering away.

“Kortni.” Taehyung said, shoving him again. “What did you do to her?”

“Oh, you mean the prude!” Taehyung felt a fire burning inside of him after hearing Christian refer to her in that way. “Yeah, I got tired of her. I mean, three months and no action, come on~” He fakely smiled at Taehyung. “You understand, right?”

“No, I don’t understand, because I don’t string girls along and make them cry.” Taehyung glared at the boy.

Christian sucked air through his teeth as he shook his head. “That’s not what I’ve heard. Then again, you have been working on her for years now, right? Maybe you’ll actually get lucky now, thanks to me.” Taehyung took a step forward, but Christian held his hands up. “Woah, woah, you don’t want to do anything to risk your precious captain spot. And we all know who Coach would pick to take your place.” Taehyung clenched his jaw and with one last glare towards Christian, he walked away.

In his child care class, Taehyung finished his assignment early, so he took the extra sheet of construction paper he had grabbed and started drawing and writing on it, hoping to have it finished by lunch. He did, and he went straight to his and Kortni’s usual table, happy to see her sitting there. He set his tray down and began digging through his backpack. “Tae, I told you to leave me alone-“

“And I will,” Taehyung assured her. “I just want to give you this first.” He pulled his hand out of his backpack to reveal the card he had made in class and the small gift-wrapped box he’d placed in there that morning before school. “Happy birthday, Kortni~” After setting the gifts on the table in front of the shocked now 18-year-old, he went to sit with Jimin. He didn’t attempt to talk to her later in French, not wanting to push her until she was ready, but he couldn’t help the smile that stretched across his face as he saw her already wearing the charm bracelet that he had spent months collecting charms for.

That Saturday, he was laying on his bed reading when he received a shocking text. Are you still coming over tonight? Long before Christian appeared in their lives, the two had planned to have a movie night that weekend, prom weekend, since neither of them found the appeal in going to the school dance.

He unlocked his phone to type back his response. Is that still happening?

He received a reply just a few seconds letter. I’ve already made a pillow fort big enough for two.

And that’s how Taehyung found himself at Kortni’s door that evening. “So, your mom’s allowing you to have a guy over for an indefinite period of time tonight?” Taehyung asked as Kortni let him into her house, knowing just how conservative the girl’s mother was.

“She doesn’t exactly know.” Kortni answered. “She’s out of town on some gospel retreat.”

They didn’t speak again until a few movies later, other than commentary on the films. “So…” Taehyung turned his head on the pillow to look at Kortni, “I haven’t thanked you for my bracelet yet…thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Taehyung responded, sitting up. “Do you like the charms I picked?”

“Yeah! At least the ones that I know the meaning of. Like the soccer ball is obvious, it didn’t take much to figure out the fleur de lis or the ponytail.” Taehyung reached out and lightly took her hand in his, admiring the way the bracelet looked on her. “But I can’t figure out what this 4 is supposed to mean.” Kortni fingered the gold charm dangling from her wrist.

“Oh, that’s just the number of years we’ve known each other, going back to the very first time you approached me at the soccer fields.” Taehyung explained, smiling at her.

Kortni bit her lip and took her hand out of Taehyung’s. “This seems kind of sentimental for your supposed arch nemesis.”

“You may be my arch nemesis, but you’re also my best friend.” Taehyung said softly.

“So, you don’t actually hate me and aren’t just doing the whole ‘keep your enemies close thing’?” Kortni teased, bringing small laughter from the pair.

“Trust me when I say I’ve never hated you. In fact, believe it or not, I actually had a crush on you when we first met.” Kortni was rendered speechless, only able to tilt her head as she watched Taehyung talk. “I even talked to Jimin about how in love I was. But then you came out with all that shit about trying to take me down and that was the end of that.”

“Wait, you loved me?” Kortni asked, seeming to have latched onto that one part of Taehyung’s confession.

“I mean, I was only 14 and had never had a girl actually talk to me without openly flirting with me, so-“ Taehyung froze when Kortni leaned in and pressed her lips against his. After a few seconds of registering what was going on, he let his eyes fall closed and began to move his lips against hers, soon after bringing one of his hands up to caress her face and letting the other one fall to her waist. He tensed up when he felt her hand fall on his upper thigh, extremely close to his crotch, but relaxed as he convinced himself that it didn’t mean anything, only for her hands to creep up his chest and tug at the top button of his flannel. “Wait, wait~” He lightly pushed her away. “I didn’t mean to make you feel pressured or anything.”

“You didn’t~” Kortni stated, completely serious and Taehyung could see it in her eyes. “I want to.”

She leaned in again, and Taehyung welcomed the softness of her lips on his for a few seconds before pulling back. “I don’t have a condom.”

Kortni bit her lip again, and Taehyung moved to lay back down to start watching the movie again but stopped when she spoke. “I’m on birth control, if that helps.”

Taehyung furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “Wait, your mom, the queen of conservativeness, let you-“

“It’s for period control, like cramps and stuff.” Kortni shrugged. “And you could, you know, pull out too if you needed to, right?”

Taehyung knew he probably should have said no and stopped things there, but he found himself unable to keep from leaning back in and molding his lips to hers. They didn’t progress past kissing for a few minutes, as Taehyung didn’t want to rush through things. When he finally decided to deepen the kiss by slipping his tongue between Kortni’s parted lips, he gently pushed her to lay back onto the pillows and climbed over her. They continued to take their time, slowly removing articles of clothing piece by piece until they were finally down to just their underwear.

Taehyung fingered at the clasp of her bra without making any moves to take it off. “Are you absolutely sure?” He waited until she responded with a ‘yes’ before unhooking the clasp and removing the undergarment from her body. Before she even had the chance to cover her breasts out of shyness, he leaned down and lightly pressed his lips to the top of her chest, beginning a trail down her body to the hem of her panties.

It was when he reached the top of the fabric and had started to tug them down that Kortni spoke up again. “You’re not going to do anything down there, right? Like, no oral?” Taehyung paused in his movements and looked up at her. “The thought of it just kind of weirds me out.”

“Not if you don’t want me to.” Taehyung assured her before slowly tugging her panties down her legs. “But it’ll probably hurt more if I don’t.”

“That’s okay~” Kortni said as Taehyung pulled his own underwear off. “I trust you.”

He leaned down and kissed her once more, taking hold of his member to guide it towards her entrance before parting from her lips. “If we go on from here, we can’t go back, so are you 100% sure?”

Kortni reached up and encased his face in her hands. “Yes, I am absolutely, positively, 100% sure.”

Taehyung allowed her to pull his face down until their lips met, using it as a distraction as he pushed the tip in. He stopped once he felt her tense up and whimper against his mouth and pulled back from the kiss. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, taking hold of her hand and intertwining their fingers as he looked at the pained expression on her face. “Just tell me if you want to stop.” She shook her head and squeezed his hand. “Am I okay to move?” She nodded, and he pushed deeper, stopping again after a few seconds to allow her to adjust. He continued this until he was fully inside her, letting out a quiet groan at the feeling. “You still good?” He asked, pressing a kiss to her forehead afterward.

“Y-yeah, just wait a little bit~” She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close until there was absolutely no space between their bodies, burying her face in his shoulder. With the new position, Taehyung nuzzled his face against her neck, leaving gentle kisses everywhere he could reach in hopes of providing comfort to her.

He wasn’t sure how long they stayed like that, but eventually her grip on him loosened. “Okay, you can move now.”

Taehyung pulled away from her neck and propped himself on his forearms, leaning in for their lips to meet yet again as he began to rock his hips against hers, only making shallow thrusts so as not to push her limits. Everything was blocked out of Taehyung’s mind except for the feeling of his lips on hers and their bodies moving together. Even the pain from her fingernails digging into his back was nonexistent as they connected in a way that before that moment, Taehyung never would have imagined to be possible.

He woke up the next morning to Kortni’s curls tickling his nose and his phone vibrating loudly. He opened his eyes and immediately realized that Kortni was curled up against him, her head resting on his chest. Once his phone began to vibrate again, he slowly moved out from under her without disturbing her slumber. When he was free, he sat up and leaned forward to grab his jeans, pulling his phone out of his pocket and immediately answering it once he saw who was calling. “Hey, Dad-“

“Don’t ‘hey dad’ me!” Jin cried into the phone. “Taehyung Kim, you better have a good reason for staying out all night and ignoring my calls and texts!”

“I’m really sorry, Dad! Kortni and I fell asleep while watching movies last night and I just now woke up. Trust me, I was not intentionally ignoring you.” Taehyung whispered, still trying to not wake Kortni up.

He heard his dad breathe a sigh of relief. “As long as you’re okay…just come home soon, alright?”

“Yeah, I’ll be home in a few minutes.” Taehyung hung up the phone and got up, gathering his clothes to redress himself. Once he was situated, he walked over to Kortni’s desk, softly smiling when he saw the card he made for her propped up by her picture frames and tore a piece of paper out of one of her notebooks, grabbing a pen and writing a note for her so she wouldn’t be upset when she woke up and saw he was gone. After the note was finished, he kneeled next to Kortni on the floor, pressing his lips to her forehead before leaving, making sure to grab the plastic cup he had ended up finishing in the night before to throw in the trash outside to limit the risk of Kortni’s mom seeing it and finding out her daughter wasn’t as pure as she thought. As he closed the door to her room, he failed to notice that the slight wind created from the action cause the note to move slightly, just enough to fall off the edge and become lost between the furniture and the wall.

That next Monday, he sat at their usual lunch table, waiting for her to arrive, but she never did. He convinced himself that she was busy meeting with a teacher or talking to her teammates as he gathered his trash to throw away. That was proven untrue by the end of the day. He perked up in his seat as he saw Kortni enter their French class, only for it to feel like he had been punched in the stomach when she chose to sit across the room from him rather than in her normal seat in front of him. He could feel Jimin’s eyes on him, silently asking what was wrong, but all Taehyung could focus on was how what he thought was the start of a relationship between them was actually the end of their friendship.

Next Part

[samanthabreedlove-blog]

FUCK Tampa. (part 2)

The bones of St. Pete have a lot character-- one might describe the architecture throughout as charming; the roads layout as a grid with Streets running east to west and Avenues south to north. The east side hits the waterfront where the piers reside, and to the far west are the beaches. From waterfront to beach is maybe about 20 miles, but downtown to the Grand Central District at 16th street is an easy walking distance. Everyone knows everyone in the scene, and for the most part everyone gets along. There are occasional minor spouts of drama, sure, but in general we’re united for good against our common enemy: ‘the Man’, Nazis, and anyone from Tampa.

Surrounding downtown are 15 distinctly historic neighborhoods fanning out on either side from Central Avenue, which divides the city down the middle into north and south. There’s Old Northeast, Roser Park, Jungle Prada, Crescent Lake and Snell Isle among others. Each whimsical neighborhood has a unique pulse, comprised of colorful craftsman houses, sprawling spanish style mansions with terracotta clay roofs, or little bungalows like my house in Historic Kenwood.

I purchased my house in 2004, a tiny pink tudor style built in 1941, with white shutters and a pointy grey roof located on 9th Avenue North at 28th Street. Originally constructed as vacation homes for snowbirds, little homes like this are super common in Kenwood. Inside my bungalow there are two teeny bedrooms on either side of the living room, dark hardwood floors throughout, and checkered ceramic tile in the kitchen. The bathroom’s shower faucet was dysfunctional, requiring a pipe wrench to turn the water on but in the five years I lived there, I never got around to fixing it. One winter we turned the Florida room in the front of the house into a makeshift bedroom where Faith lived before she got knocked up with her first baby Juliet.

My house becomes the hub for so many epic house parties; a revolving cast of roommates and couch crashers. An orphanage for wayward drunk girls and boys, at some point or another just about everyone close to me has lived there. The backyard, about 4 times the size of the house itself had a chain-length fence running the parameter so all my neighbors could witness the debauchery in real-time. The garage was separate. Early on, I turn this shed into a studio work space but eventually rent it out to a handful of people over the years who need a place to live despite the fact that the garage isn’t exactly what you’d call livable-- no bathroom, a/c or ceiling.  

In the summertime, my backyard has a kitty pool, a slip-n-slide and a constant keg of Yuengling. I’d mow the lawn only after the City gave notice of an impending fine, so the yard was always overrun with grass up past your knees. Here I lived until 2009. During these years, my little pink house will go down in history as one of the great party houses this side of the Bay, the last of which saw three kegs killed. A local metal band played a show that night in my garage, their mosh pit busted a huge hole in the drywall and some assholes started an uncontrolled fire in the alley. The cops came to break it up but we still had people sleeping on couches hauled out into the backyard come morning amid the hundreds of red solo cups littered across my lawn.

But, I am not technically from there-- my closest friends and I did not grown up in St. Pete proper, a fact which sets us apart. We remain “new kids” to the scene for years, in contrast to the original crew of rabble-rousers-- generations upon generations of brothers and little sisters indoctrinated to punk from a young age who’d been kicking it together causing trouble and setting dumpsters on fire since they were prepubescent.

Quinn, Emily, Carolyn, Alex, Diane and I are all originally from Seminole, a suburban enclave to the Northwest. Seminole is a “good” area, which just meant that any crime occurring was happening behind closed doors. In Seminole there are residential neighborhoods with names like Bay Haven, Imperial Point, or Rustic Pines, and tract homes that span for miles. Our local mall was desolate-- anchored by a depressing food court and a K-Mart, frequented only by the residents of a neighboring nursing home who would sit on benches all day staring out into the nothing. On the main boulevard is the only restaurant in town, Joto’s, a “family friendly” pizza joint where suburban moms and dads would hang out amid the local high school jocks, reliving  glory days over bud lights, televised football games and greasy food.

Anna grew up in nearby Pinellas Park, just to the east, best known for biker bars, white-trash trailer parks and an enduring meth epidemic. Anna lived in Seminole with her grandparents the years she attended middle school due to instabilities with her mom, stepdad and their ever-relapsing drug addictions. We met Anna back then but didn’t become good friends until years later when Emily and Anna will unknowingly be sleeping with the same guy. When the truth broke, they decided they liked one other better than they liked him anyway, and have been best friends ever since.

Quinn, Emily, Alex and I are Seminole High School class of 2002. Angsty outcasts, the rest of the school was all Abercrombie & Fitch; way too enthusiastic about attending and participating in sports related activities, pop music and having nice cars-- the four of us did not fit in. Surviving a fairly sheltered, very boring adolescence, our summer days were spent hanging out on John’s Pass-- an old fisherman’s wharf on the Gulf of Mexico where we would play board games or read books at a coffee shop located on the far East end of the docks. After nightfall we would hang out under a bridge where skater punks would use the uneven cement to facilitate flip tricks. While we’d watch them skate, they’d tell stories, cultivating for us an alluring mythology of downtown St. Pete: tales of out-of-control shows at State Theater and the Refugee a mission/music venue that fed the homeless population. The Refugee was run by a new-agey Christian man who fancied himself akin to a modern Jesus-- all walks were always welcome there.

There was the C.O.R.E., a radical bookstore on the far southside of town where you could buy extremist literature (even things that were government banned like the Anarchist’s Cookbook, prominently displayed on racks towards the front). They skaters would speak of long nights spent drinking quarts of malt liquor on dirty beach just east of the pier where you could look out across the Bay and watch the bright lights of Tampa on the other side.

The Globe had the best nachos. A buck would get you a cup of coffee, 50 cents more buys a few refills and because the Globe was open until 4am, it was an excellent place to stay out all night when your parents thought you were staying at a friends house. Josh Sullivan always worked the front counter, and was the coolest. Josh really loved ska music so he’d dance whenever it played on the stereo. He had a cat named Slap that he’d walk on a leash, and was the creator of JoshComics, an iconic local zine.

At the age of 17, we venture beyond the beaches and onto the streets of downtown. Overnight we go from good suburban girls to drinking Mickey’s at punk houses-- making out with older guys in studded jackets, bullet belts, mohawks and too many facial piercings. In 2002, when we turned 18, Quinn, Emily, and Alex all move into a house on 26th Street and 4th Avenue. I secure an apartment at 5th and 5th right next to the Coliseum. Soon after, Anna will move into a ground floor apartment in my complex. On Saturdays when she isn’t working, Anna and I will smoke pot on her big blue couch by the window discussing our plans-- when and how we will escape Florida; who was working that night at World Liquors, and if they would sell to us.

[steliosagapitos]

                    William Thomas Kinkade III

     Thomas Kinkade (January 19, 1958, Sacramento, California, United States – April 6, 2012, Monte Sereno, California, United States, aged 54) was an American painter of popular realistic, pastoral, and idyllic subjects. He is notable for the mass marketing of his work as printed reproductions and other licensed products via the Thomas Kinkade Company. He characterized himself as "Thomas Kinkade, Painter of Light", a phrase he protected through trademark but which was originally attributed to the British master J. M. W. Turner (1775–1851). According to Kinkade's company, one in every twenty American homes owns a copy of one of his paintings.

Despite wide commercial success throughout his life, Kinkade is generally held in low esteem by art critics; his pastoral paintings have been described as maudlin and overly sentimental.

He was born on January 19, 1958, in Sacramento County, California. He grew up in the town of Placerville, graduated from El Dorado High School in 1976, and attended the University of California, Berkeley, and the Art Center College of Designin Pasadena. He married Nanette Willey in 1982, and the couple had four daughters: Merritt (b. 1988), Chandler (b. 1991), Winsor (b. 1995) and Everett (b. 1997), all named for famous artists. He and his wife had been separated for over a year before his death in 2012.

   Some of the people who mentored and taught Kinkade prior to college were Charles Bell and Glenn Wessels. Wessels encouraged Kinkade to go to the University of California at Berkeley. Kinkade's relationship with Wessels is the subject of a semi-autobiographical film released in 2008, Christmas Cottage. After two years of general education at Berkeley, Kinkade transferred to the Art Center College of Design in Pasadena.

In June 1980, Kinkade spent a summer traveling across the United States with his college friend James Gurney. The two of them finished their journey in New York and secured a contract with Guptill Publications to produce a sketching handbook. Two years later they produced The Artist's Guide to Sketching, which was one of Guptill Publications' best-sellers that year.

The success of the book led them both to Ralph Bakshi Studios where they created background art for the 1983 animated feature film Fire and Ice. While working on the film, Kinkade began to explore the depiction of light and of imagined worlds.

After the film, Kinkade earned his living as a painter, selling his originals in galleries throughout California.

Recurring features of Kinkade's paintings are their glowing highlights and pastel colors. Rendered in highly idealistic values of American scene painting, his works often portray bucolic and idyllic settings such as gardens, streams, stone cottages, lighthouses and Main Streets. His hometown of Placerville (where his works are omnipresent) was the inspiration for many of his street and snow scenes. He also depicted various Christian themes including the Christian cross and churches.

Kinkade said he was placing emphasis on the value of simple pleasures and that his intent was to communicate inspirational, life-affirming messages through his paintings. A self-described "devout Christian" (even giving all four of his children the middle name "Christian"), Kinkade believed he gained his inspiration from his religious beliefs and that his work was intended to contain a larger moral dimension. He also said that his goal as an artist was to touch people of all faiths and to bring a sense of peace into their lives through the images he created. Many pictures contain specific chapter-and-verse allusions to Bible passages.

Kinkade said, "I am often asked why there are no people in my paintings," but in 2009 he painted a portrait of the Indianapolis Speedway for the cover of that year's Indianapolis 500 race program that included details of the diversity of the crowd, hiding among them the figures of Norman Rockwell and Dale Earnhardt. He also painted the farewell portrait for Yankee Stadium. About the Indianapolis Speedway painting, Kinkade said:

The passion I have is to capture memories, to evoke the emotional connection we have to an experience. I came out here and stood up on the bleachers and looked around, and I saw all the elements of the track. It was empty at the time. But I saw the stadium, how the track laid out, the horizon, the skyline of Indianapolis and the Pagoda. I saw it all in my imagination. I began thinking, 'I want to get this energy — what I call the excitement of the moment — into this painting.' As I began working on it, I thought, 'Well you have this big piece of asphalt, the huge spectator stands; I've got to do something to get some movement.' So I just started throwing flags into it. It gives it kind of a patriotic excitement.

Artist and Guggenheim Fellow Jeffrey Vallance has spoken about Kinkade's devout religious themes and their reception in the art world:

“-This is another area that the contemporary art world has a hard time with, that I find interesting. He expresses what he believes and puts that in his art. That is not the trend in the high-art world at the moment, the idea that you can express things spiritually and be taken seriously. It is always difficult to present serious religious ideas in an art context. That is why I like Kinkade. It is a difficult thing to do.”

Essayist Joan Didion is a representative critic of Kinkade's style:

A Kinkade painting was typically rendered in slightly surreal pastels. It typically featured a cottage or a house of such insistent coziness as to seem actually sinister, suggestive of a trap designed to attract Hansel and Gretel. Every window was lit, to lurid effect, as if the interior of the structure might be on fire.

Didion went on to compare the "Kinkade Glow" to the luminism of 19th-century painter Albert Bierstadt, who sentimentalized the infamous Donner Pass in his Donner Lake from the Summit. Didion saw "unsettling similarities" between the two painters, and worried that Kinkade's treatment of the Sierra Nevada, The Mountains Declare His Glory, similarly ignored the tragedy of the forced dispersal of Yosemite's Sierra Miwok Indians during the Gold Rush, by including an imaginary Miwok camp as what he calls "an affirmation that man has his place, even in a setting touched by God's glory."

Mike McGee, director of the CSUF Grand Central Art Center at California State University, Fullerton, wrote of the Thomas Kinkade Heaven on Earth exhibition:

Looking just at the paintings themselves it is obvious that they are technically competent. Kinkade's genius, however, is in his capacity to identify and fulfill the needs and desires of his target audience—he cites his mother as a key influence and archetypal audience — and to couple this with savvy marketing ... If Kinkade's art is principally about ideas, and I think it is, it could be suggested that he is a Conceptual artist. All he would have to do to solidify this position would be to make an announcement that the beliefs he has expounded are just Duchampian posturing to achieve his successes. But this will never happen. Kinkade earnestly believes in his faith in God and his personal agenda as an artist.

In the very beginning of his artistic career, Thomas Kinkade put his entire life savings into the printing of his first lithograph. Though at the time he was already an acclaimed illustrator, Thom found that he was inspired not by fame and fortune, but by the simple act of painting straight from the heart, putting on canvas the natural wonders and images that moved him most. It was this dedication and singular-minded focus on the ultimate goal of Sharing the Light™ that made Thomas Kinkade, a simple boy with a brush from the small country town of Placerville, California the most-collected living artist of his time.

Throughout his life Thomas Kinkade shared his joy and used his paints in support of hospitals, schools, and humanitarian relief. Though the recipient of countless awards and honors, it was Thom’s profound sense of purpose that his art was not just an accessory, but also a ministry, that continues on as his legacy. From custom images that were sold for The Salvation Army, Hurricane Katrina relief, Rotary International, to donations that now grace the halls of St. Jude’s Children’s Research Hospital, the White House, The Vatican, and Britain’s Tate Museum, Thom raised hundreds of thousands of dollars over his lifetime for charity.

1996 – Decorating the Christmas tree with Nanette and their four daughters.

Thomas Kinkade the artist was also a devout and loving family man. It was this devotion for his family that inspired him to add symbols of his love to his artwork. Numerous paintings contain hidden “N’s” representing Thom’s lovely wife Nanette and many other paintings include the numbers 5282 as tribute to their wedding date May 2, 1982. Thom’s four daughters were also included in his artistic process- after the birth of each of his daughters, Thom painted adoring images in each of their namesake; Evening at Merritt’s Cottage, Chandler’s Cottage, Winsor Manor and Everett’s Cottage.

Thomas Kinkade, the Painter of Light™, emphasized simple pleasures and inspirational messages through his art – and the branded products created from that art. From textiles, to collectibles, to music and books, Thom gave credit to a higher power for both the ability and the inspiration to create his paintings. His goal as an artist, who was Christian, was to touch people of all faiths, to bring peace and joy into their lives through the images he had created.

Thom’s dearest wish had always been that his artwork would be a messenger of hope and inspiration to others – a message to slow down, appreciate the little details in life, and to look for beauty in the world around us. As millions of collectors around the world sit back and enjoy his artwork in their homes, there is no doubt that Thomas Kinkade had indeed achieved his goal of Sharing the Light™.

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Writing in 1965, the distinguished British historian Hugh Trevor-Roper argued against the idea that black people in Africa had their own history: “There is only the history of the Europeans in Africa,” he declared. “The rest is largely darkness.” History, he continued, “is essentially a form of movement, and purposive movement too,” which in his view Africans lacked.

Trevor-Roper was echoing an idea that goes back at least to the early 19th century. But it wasn’t always this way. When the young Prince Cosimo de Medici (1590-1621) was being tutored to become the Duke of Tuscany — about the time that Shakespeare was writing “Hamlet” — he was asked to memorize a “summary of world leaders” that included Álvaro II, the King of Kongo, along with the Mutapa Empire and the mythical “Prester John” of Ethiopia. Soon, however, even that level of knowledge about African history would be rare.

Perhaps it shouldn’t surprise us that ideas about Africans and their supposed lack of history and culture were used to justify the enslavement of millions of Africans throughout the New World, especially during the 19th century when sugar production was reaching a zenith in Cuba and cotton was making growers and manufacturers rich. What is surprising is that these ideas persisted well into the 20th century, among white and black Americans alike.

When I was growing up in the 1950s, Africa was the shadow that both framed and stalked the existence of every African-American. For some of us, such as Paul Cuffee and Marcus Garvey, it was a place to venerate, a place to escape the horrors of slavery and Jim Crow. For so many others of us, however, it was a place to run away from. After all, scholars such as the sociologist E. Franklin Frazier insisted that the horrors of bondage and the trans-Atlantic crossing had severed any meaningful cultural or religious links between black folks on either side of the ocean, when in fact enslaved Africans brought with them their religious beliefs, music and ways of seeing the world.

When I was a child, one of few insults between black people more devastating than the “n-word” was to be called “a black African.” Far too many of us had been brainwashed into believing that the darkness of the skin of the stereotypical African on stage and screen reflected the darkness of the cultural and intellectual soul of an entire continent of people, the continent of our ancestors.

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Almost all African-Americans descend from black people who managed, somehow, to survive the Middle Passage and the soul-crushing ordeal of slavery, America’s “peculiar institution,” as it was called in the 19th century. My oldest ancestor in the Gates line is a woman named Jane Gates, who was born in 1819. She was a shadow, too. I first saw her portrait in 1960, when I was 10 years old. Unlike her mixed-race descendants, she looked “African,” we thought, so that’s how we referred to her: Jane Gates, the African.

I used to wonder where she had come from, and who her people were; what language her mother spoke; what was her mother tongue. Later I would learn that Jane couldn’t have been born in Africa, since the slave trade to America ended in 1808. But her grandparents could have been Africans, and quite probably left the continent from the Gambia River or just north of Congo, “almost certainly on a British ship,” the historian of the slave trade David Eltis tells me. Only DNA can tell me more. Her tightly wound hair and those high cheekbones and that glassy stare were all of Africa that had been left behind for her great-great-grandchildren to ponder. Where were your people born, Jane Gates, the African? Could we ever bring your people’s culture and history out of the shadows?

It was hard enough in the 1950s to wrap one’s head around the slave experience, outside of shaping signifiers such as “Gone With the Wind” and Disney’s “Song of the South.” But Africa and its Africans? Who could imagine more about Africa than “Tarzan” and “Ramar of the Jungle”? Except for the relatively few African-Americans who saw through such racist fictions of Africa, drawn upon to devalue their humanity and justify their relegation to second-class citizenship — people such as Garvey, Henry Highland Garnet, Martin R. Delany, W.E.B. Du Bois (who would die a citizen of Ghana), Langston Hughes and Maya Angelou — far too many of us felt that “Africa” was something of an embarrassment. Richard Wright, the great novelist, published a book titled “Black Power” in 1954 about feeling that way.

That began to change for me sometime around 1960, the year that 17 European colonies became independent African countries, following Sudan in 1956 and Ghana in 1957. I was in the fifth grade by the time these countries were born, with arresting names such as Togo, Madagascar and Somalia, and more familiar ones such as Senegal, Nigeria, Gabon and the Congo. Our geography teacher, Mr. McHenry (our only male teacher), hung a map of the world listing recent events in front of the blackboard every Monday. Our task was to master the details of nine or 10 newsworthy events. Africa was all over this map.

That’s how my love affair with Africa began. I memorized the names of the new countries and the names of their leaders — Patrice Lumumba and Moïse Tshombe, Léopold Senghor and Kwame Nkrumah — and exotic-sounding city names: Dar es Salaam and Mogadishu, Dakar and Kinshasa. Then we read an incredible story, perhaps from Reader’s Digest, about a boy who walked across the Equator. I wanted to cross the Equator, too.

So many of the students of my generation at Yale were introduced to African art and culture through a wildly popular course taught by the eminent art historian Robert Farris Thompson. Studying these things within the womb of the black cultural nationalism of the late ’60s and early ’70s made the appeal — the lure — of Africa irresistible, as Du Bois might say. So, when opportunity knocked, I answered the door.

The door that opened Africa to me was an exceptionally imaginative gap-year program at Yale. It sent 12 students to work (not study) in a developing country between sophomore and junior years. I ended up working in an Anglican mission hospital in a village called Kilimatinde, in the middle of Tanzania, about 340 miles from Dar es Salaam, with a population of about 6,000 today — far smaller than when I arrived there in August 1970. Several months later, I would hitchhike across the Equator with a recent Harvard graduate named Lawrence Biddle Weeks, ending up in Kinshasa before flying to Lagos, then on to Accra, to visit Du Bois’s grave. Two years later, I would find myself in the Cambridge University classroom of the great Nigerian playwright Wole Soyinka, slowly but inevitably falling in love with the idea that I might become a professor of African studies.

African history is replete with riveting stories that refute centuries of stereotypes about black people and that show our shared humanity: Our common ancestor, Mitochondrial Eve, 200,000 years ago; the out-migration of our anatomically modern Homo sapien great-grandparents 50,000 to 80,000 years ago; the still-magical Nile River kingdom of Egypt and its rival Kush around 3,000 B.C.; and Emperor Menelik II’s heroic stand on the plains of Adwa on March 1, 1896, when, blessed by a replica of the ark of the covenant, he soundly defeated an Italian army.

African history is an encounter with “kings and queens and bishops, too,” as the song says, including a black queen of Meroe who defeated the Romans in 24 B.C., then confiscated and buried a statue of Augustus Caesar before her throne so that her subjects could gleefully walk on his head. The third nation in the world to convert to Christianity was Ethiopia, in A.D. 350. How many of us know that the Sahara was a trading highway or that the ruler of Great Zimbabwe, in the late Middle Ages, dined off porcelain plates made in China?

Africa — contrary to myths of isolation and stagnation — has been embedded in the world and the world embedded in Africa. There was nothing empty or blank about it except the willful forgetting by the Western world, after the onset of the slave trade, of Africa’s long and fascinating history.

Though not very likely, I like to think that Jane Gates’s grandmother would have passed down even one of these many riveting stories, and eventually it would have been passed down to me. Our challenge today is to ensure that more and more stories like these become a central part of the school curriculum, as well as the stuff of documentaries and the mythologies of Hollywood, so that they will never be lost again.