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luna-redamancy · 4 years ago

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it me. pliz i need. Bifur x reader. Reader is our word and she works with deaf children so she knows sign language and when she falls to middle earth she tries to communicate with Bifur and picks up iglishmek with relative ease. Idk if this is true but maybe for this fic at least we can HC that it's primarily a sign language that is "useful" so there aren't words for things like, ahem, "i love you". So even though they can communicate he can't say he loves them till the axe is out >:)

;o It you! This idea was so freakin cute and I have a new love for Bifur! I hope you like it lovebugggg <3

The conversation/talking through sign language will be in Italics!

The fire crackled pleasantly in your ears, your eyes drawn from the bowl in your lap to Bifur who was having a seemingly heated argument with his brother, Bifur’s hands angrily slashing through the air as he argued, a glare on his face. Drifting your eyes from his face to his hands, you tilted your head as you watched him create symbols and make movements with his hands.

Setting your bowl to the side, you narrowed your eyes on his hands, mimicking his movements with your hands, listening to Bofur’s responses to try and grasp what Bifur was saying.

“Lass, what’re you doing?” Oin questioned, eyeing you suspiciously.

Jumping, you hovered your hand over your heart before you turned to look at Oin. “You scared the lights out of me, Oin.” You huffed before looking back at Bifur’s hands, feeling slightly shy underneath Oin’s scrutinizing gaze.

“I’m trying to learn how to communicate properly with Bifur.” You simply explained, watching as his movements got even faster with his rising anger.

“Bifur can understand what you’re saying, he just has difficulty responding,” Oin explained, watching his friend proceed to call his cousin a bag of useless ore. “After getting that axe lodged in his head, he hasn’t been able to talk properly since.”

Nodding, you watched as Bifur broke into a grin after seeing Bofur give up the argument, enjoying the way his eyes twinkled.

It took you around two weeks of closely eyeing Bifur to pick up on Iglishmêk, with the help of Oin who taught you the basic hand gestures and their meanings.

Deciding to test out how well you learned the language, you sat across Bifur (much to his confusion) as everyone waited for Bombur to finish cooking that night’s stew.

How are you? You signed with a gentle smile on your face, your hands moving slightly sluggish as you wanted to make the gestures properly.

Bifur’s eyes widened in shock, looking from your hands to your face before a grin broke out across his face.

The two of you spent hours chatting back and forth, your movements becoming much more fluid as you began to be immersed in the language even more.

“How did you learn Iglishmêk so quickly?” Bofur questioned, interrupting your conversation. Pausing your hands you turned to him.

“Back home I learned sign language to teach my students better, I had a few students who couldn’t hear very well, or hear at all. Some were simply non-verbal, so I did what I could to become the best teacher for them… “ Your smile dimmed as you wondered how your students were doing, if they missed you.

“It was easier for you to learn because you already learned one form of sign language?” Bofur questioned, still trying to wrap his head around how you learned Iglishmêk without learning how to speak Khuzdul.

“Sort of?” You didn’t know the answer yourself, “I was already used to talking to people through hand gestures, it is difficult though because I want to use the gestures I already know.”

Bifur watched you interact with his cousin with affection flooding his eyes. You learned Iglishmêk just to be able to talk to him, to have an equal conversation. Bombur watched the three of you from afar, catching Bifur’s gaze.

I think she’s the One, Bifur signed to his cousin, fondly watching you continuously explain that you weren’t a wizard to Bofur.

The two of you grew closer over time, your free time filled with him (and the help of Bofur) teaching you more Iglishmêk so you could conversate easier with the animated dwarf. His excitement when talking to you was like a child telling their parent their favorite story, no matter how simple the conversation was he always seemed so excited to get to talk to you.

Today he seemed particularly eager, nearly dragging Bofur by his braids to translate for you. His Iglishmêk was followed by quick phrases in Khuzdul, making you furrow your brows in confusion, turning to Bofur for help. “I’m afraid I don’t grasp what he’s asking of me?” Your voice was laced with worry and confusion as you watched Bifur’s face fall.

“(Y/n)...” Bofur sighed, realizing they never taught you anything more complex than simple conversational gestures. “Iglishmêk isn’t designed for full conversations… It’s mining talk, you see, designed for us to talk to each other without needing to find a quiet space, you see? My dear cousin is trying to, terribly trying to, ask you for your permission to braid your hair... To court you.”

Your eyes went wide, darting between the cousins as a blush began to rise up on your cheeks. “O-oh I see now…” You laughed nervously, a smile growing on your face.

Yes, you signed, watching Bifur’s eyes light up just like how they did when he won the argument against Bofur, only this time he was winning your heart.

You tried to not let it bother you so much, the increasing gap between you and Bifur due to the language barrier. Nowadays, Bifur would give up on bringing Bofur to translate, his body language telling you he was frustrated by not being able to get across the words he wanted to. As far as Balin told you, you two have nearly finished all the steps of courting besides one thing: impressing you.

In dwarvish culture, you discovered that the final step before marriage is to show your beloved how strong you are and how well they can take care of you, however, that seemed impossible to do while you were all focused on reclaiming Erebor and surviving the battle that was raging outside these stone walls. This didn’t help the doubt that began to grow in your mind, thoughts of how he probably will find a dwarrowdam once this was all over and Erebor gets rebuilt, you left in the dust while he creates a wonderful family all of his own. If you all made it out of this alive, that is.

Sighing, you pushed the negative thoughts out of your head, heading toward the entrance of Erebor to find Bifur, only to hear Thorin give a speech about being sons of Durin.

“-We are sons of Durin. And Durin's Folk do not flee from a fight.” Thorin declared as him and Kili pressed their foreheads together before Thorin approached the Company members.

“I have no right to ask this of any of you… But will you follow me? One last time?” Your eyes widened as they all picked up their weapons, silently agreeing to follow their King into battle.

Your eyes locked with Bifur’s, his expression grim as he began to approach you. Silently he dropped his weapon to the ground with a gentle thud, carefully pressing his forehead against yours to try and convey his feelings.

Feeling his frustration about not being able to talk to you fully, you only nodded, blinking away the tears that were threatening to form. “Come back to me,” Was all you said, your hand reaching up to brush your thumb over his cheek before he got pulled back to the Company and things descended into further chaos.

Time seemed to move by slowly, hours feeling like years as you navigated the mayhem surrounding you. The battle ended long ago, but the hysteria of the battle was not. Sounds of shouting, crying, and the constant shouts for more healers filled your ears as Gandalf continued to lead you back to the Company. Your proof of fighting was decorated on your body. Blood splattered on your face and clothes, slightly limping from being tossed like a ragdoll by a troll.

“She’s alive!” You heard Bofur shout as you and Gandalf entered the halls of Erebor, a weak smile stretching across your face as you waved at them, too tired to greet anyone.

Noticing Bofur’s worried expression you shook your head. “Not mine,” You announced, sitting down to rest, the adrenaline of possibly getting killed finally wearing off.

Bifur approached you quickly, looking over your entire form for any scratches or bruises before he cupped your face in his hands. “M’okay Bifur, just a little sore,” You grinned as he bumped his forehead against yours. Pausing for a split second, you pulled away with shock on your face.

“T-the ax?” You questioned, reaching up to stroke the mark on his head where the blade was once embedded into.

“It got pulled out during the battle,” His voice was gruff from not having spoken full sentences in years, but his grin was as big as you’ve ever seen it.

“I can finally say something I have been meaning to for quite some time.” Bifur bumped his forehead against yours again, his nose rubbing gently on yours. “I love you, (Y/n).”

You felt tears swell up in your eyes as a wide smile spread across your cheeks. “I love you too, Bifur,” You couldn’t help but giggle as he began to repeat the phrase over and over, giving you small kisses on the apples of your cheeks.

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def-initely-soul · 4 years ago

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Aloha you piece of sexy beast, from the first link, 4th bullet with yoongi plox. 😼😻 Pliz anything but angst 😅

asdfghgfdsa I LOVE THIS YES

pairing: yoongi from BTS x reader (f.)

prompts: we hate each other but we were invited to a mutual friend’s party and were warned to be civil so you complimented my costume and fuck you, I haven’t changed yet

genre: humour; smut; e2l au; explicit

warnings: mature language; unprotected intercourse; graphic intercourse; choking; degradation (kind of?)

words: 7.2k (ahHASHhahhHhahHHAhhAH yes im a simp for yoongi sue me)

The time is getting closer and closer, an unwelcome feeling of despair running through your bones as you watch the clock ticking away, closer to what you’ve been dreading since the beginning of the month.

Jimin’s Halloween Party.

And what makes it worse is that you can’t avoid it. You can’t simply show up, spend the appropriate amount of time without being perceived as flaky and then leave to return to the comfort of your own home.

No, because Jimin’s having the party at his apartment. And you’re his roommate.

Another clang sounds from behind your door, out in the living room where the preparations are taking place and you suppress down a sigh. Jimin’s friends are over to help him decorate and, even if he asked your help a thousand times now, you’ve helped him with the food earlier and that’s as far as you’re willing to go.

You wanted some peace and quiet before the chaos began even if it was for a few hours. Though it seems you can’t get much of that when there’s an active battlefield out there.

With a groan of exertion, you get out of your bed, pushing your laptop to the side to go out there and see what all the fuss is about.

The living room is a complete mess; empty balloons decorate the floor as Jimin’s best friend Taehyung tries to inflate them, there’s a garland hanging depressingly from the ceiling that seems to be an assortment of spiders? You can’t really tell, not with Namjoon shaking it violently so it can come off. Jimin tries to make the fog machine work, though with not very much success while Yoongi simply stares at his friends trying to make this whole thing resemble a party.

You roll your eyes. Of course, he wouldn’t help. But you shake your head at that thought. Jimin had warned you to be civil tonight. He wouldn’t put up with another fighting match between the two of you, no matter how much it would entertain his guests.

Truth is you hate the boy. Okay, maybe hate is a strong word corroborating with a strong feeling, and you definitely don’t have any strong feelings for Min Yoongi. You refuse to.

“I see everything’s going swell...” your sarcasm is tangible as you step into the room, crossing your hands on your chest as all four pair of eyes turn to your direction. Namjoon smiles at you, Taehyung gives you a wave and Yoongi simply stares back.

Creep.

“Y/N, please help uuuuuuus...” Jimin whines cutely, his cheeks puffing out as he gives you a demonstration of his best puppy stare. You’ve helped him out of so many situations that could’ve been avoided if he just listened to you. Like tonight, for example. He didn’t listen to you when you said Namjoon wouldn’t be able to do much to help and would probably mess something up. You like Namjoon, you really do but you have to admit he’s a bit clumsy and that’s certainly something you shouldn’t be when decorating for a party.

And he certainly didn’t listen to you when you told him to not invite Yoongi altogether.

After all, this is your house too.

Namjoon gives his neck a scratch as he stops pulling on the garland that looks pulls away from being ripped. “Yeah, we could use another hand...”

You smile at him. You take a step forward, grabbing a chair and climbing on it to remove the garland from the stray nail it seems to be stuck on.

“There. Now please don’t tug at it anymore or you’re gonna rip it in half,” you joke as you pass him the garland and Namjoon blushes in embarrassment.

Jimin gasps. “See? I told you to stop doing that! Y/N, please, these idiots are gonna ruin my party...” he says as he nears you, tugging at your arm like a child with a pout that matches one.

You roll your eyes fondly at him, realizing you really don’t have a choice. “Fine, what do you want me to do?”

Jimin’s eyes gleam with satisfaction as he drags you towards the fog machine. “I need you to look over this because it’s not working and Yoongi has been little to no help,” he responds sending a glare to the blond boy supporting himself on the kitchen island.

“I tried to help but you didn’t like my answer,” he speaks for the first time since you stepped foot into the living room and you rest your eyes on the machine to not look at him instead.

“He said it’s broken...” Jimin says to you as Yoongi throws his hands in the air in a huff.

“Hm... let me take a look at it...” you say thoughtfully as your eyes are already resting on the machine. Jimin leaves to help Taehyung with the balloons, leaving you alone to your ministrations.

You enjoy the comfortable silence for so long before another figure comes to stand near you and watch over your work.

You pay Yoongi no mind as you check the cables and find the one little thing that’s chipped at some part.

“There it is...” you say, removing the cable from both outlets and throwing it away.

“I could have told you that...” Yoongi comments nonchalantly and you turn to look at him, really look at him for the first time.

All of them are already dressed for the party and Yoongi is no different. He’s going as Han Solo; black boots, a pair of jeans and a holster for his fake blaster, black vest and a white shirt that’s open, revealing his collarbones where your eyes unwillingly trail.

You remove your gaze immediately, ready to be humiliated if he finds out you’ve been openly staring at a glimpse of his naked skin.

Shit, no, he’s a creep. Stop drolling, Y/N.

“You didn’t though...” you reply instead, and if he did got whiff of your wondering eyes he doesn’t let it show.

“And how do you plan on solving that problem? If you don’t have a spare cable, and I doubt you do, this is as good as dead,” he comments indifferently, eyes travelling to the machine and you ignore his barely conceited mockery as you sport a victorious smile.

“As I matter of fact, I do!” you announce before going to the kitchen to search through the cabinets. You emerge victorious after scavenging the third drawer and find the replacing cable. You trudge over to the machine as Yoongi watches you.

He keeps doing that. He should stop.

He presses his lips together as if trying to stop himself from speaking, while you crouch in front of the machine and insert the cable into both outlets. You press the button and -ta-dah!- the system is fully functioning once more.

Jimin makes a fist in the air with a soft “yes” escaping his lips before he throws you a wink. “Thanks so much, babe, I promise I owe you brunch!” he claims before going on to inflate some more balloons.

You turn around with a triumphant smirk as Yoongi currently stares at the machine as if simply by staring he can make it stop working again.

“I could’ve done that if I knew you already had a cable...” he mumbles, almost in a pout and you have to remind yourself you don’t like him to stop staring.

You nod as if to appease him, crossing your arms on your chest, not knowing what to do with yourself now that you solved one problem. You figure Yoongi is gonna move along to some other thing, not wanting to be with you no more than necessary.

But he stays. For some reason you both just stand there, unsure of what to do as the other three guys run around the living room. As seconds tick by, you find yourself getting flustered -why are you getting flustered, Jesus- and Yoongi looks everywhere by you. His phone is on the kitchen island, why won’t he go there instead?

At some point, a gleam enters his eyes and he returns his stare to you, making you jump in alert.

“I, uuuh...” he starts, voice hesitant and you realise what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to hold a conversation with you. Be civil.

Though it’d be perfectly fine by you if he simply ignored you.

“I, uh, I like your costume! The perfect broke college student!” he says, clearly awkward with this. Your eyes drop to your clothes; you’re into a pair of grey sweatpants, a white t-shirt with black bean sauce spots on it and your hair is currently resembling a bird’s nest on top of your head.

And worst of all, it’s not a costume.

You press your lips tightly together to avoid cursing at him, seeing as he really seems to believe this is a costume.

“I’m.not.changed.yet,” you grit through your teeth and Yoongi’s eyes widen in horror.

For a second he stays like this, clearly shaken by his idiocy and you think he’ll start apologizing any second now.

Instead, he presses his lips together. As if trying not laugh.

Your eyes see red once more. This freaking asshole! You can’t be civil around him, that’s what it gets you! You have to bite the inside of your cheek to not go full berserk on him now. Instead, you turn around, the rolling of your eyes coming out instinctively as you stomp away to your room.

Once the door is closed the sound of unfiltered laughter is clear in your ears.

It’s been two hours, thirteen minutes and forty seconds since you’ve disappeared into your bedroom.

Not that Yoongi’s been counting or anything.

The party is in full bloom, everyone else already having shown up and Yoongi finds himself talking to Seokjin that came dresses as -surprise, surprise- a certain Italian plumber going by the name Mario.

He’s not exactly sure how he manages to do it every time. Pissing you off that is.

It is also unclear to him how he seamlessly fell into the position of your rival. He never wished to be, never tried to and somehow he always finds himself in this unfortunate situation.

A little voice in the back of his head warns him that it’s his own doing but he chooses to ignore that voice.

He stares into his cup lazily, the only true reason he came to the party missing and he sighs, because, honestly, like it wasn’t enough that he thought you were already in costume, he couldn’t keep the giggles to himself either.

He’s positive you’re fuming now and will certainly tear him a new one if given the chance. Jimin’s request for courtesy be damned.

And, as usual, instead of taking it like he should (seeing as he’s in the wrong), his competitive streak will make its appearance and he’ll act as if he’s done nothing to warrant such a reaction.

Sometimes Yoongi wonders what goes on in that mind of his. Clearly, there must be something wrong with it, for him to act like such a jackass to the girl he likes.

A movement to his right, not too far away from him, catches his eye and he turns his head instinctively towards the sudden motion, the thought that this is where your door is, briefly passing his mind.

Although, he ponders, maybe if he paid a little more attention to that thought, he wouldn’t be staring at you with his mouth open right now.

You finally decided to grace the party with your appearance, and Yoongi chuckles at the choice of words as he gazes at your costume.

You’re dressed in a white, midi, puffed skirt with black details around the waist paired with low, black kitten heels. On the top, you’re wearing a black, short-sleeved blouse with an almost off-shoulder, v-neck neckline, where a set of pearl earrings and necklace grace your skin. There’s a white, almost transparent shawl hanging softly from your arms and you’re sporting a pair of white gloves as well. Your hair is smooth, styled back and ending in big, slick curls at the bottom.

You’re dressed as Grace Kelly in the movie “Rear Window” and Yoongi can’t get his fucking eyes away from you.

Holy fuck, how do you look so beautiful?

Admittedly, to Yoongi you’d look beautiful even with a sack of potatoes but that’s not the point.

Well, he has no fucking idea what the point is. Maybe it’s his inability to form a coherent phrase in your presence without sounding like a completely pompous jerk. Maybe it’s the glint in your eyes as you take in the party and seem to finally enjoy the vibe. Or maybe it’s just the way he can’t keep his eyes away.

Your eyes find him for a second. Only for a second but it has you halting in your steps. You stare back, uncertain of why he does too, but there’s something different in the way he’s looking at you right now. He’s never looked at you like that before.

Or maybe you just hadn’t noticed.

You shake your head of any thoughts of him as you approach Jimin, Taehyung and Namjoon across the living room.

There’s a whistling noise coming from Jimin’s best friend as Jimin’s eyes widen and Namjoon’s mouth hangs open at the sight of you in costume.

You smile knowingly at the three friends, giving them a twirl to see your skirt in action as you giggle joyfully.

“Look at you, hoe! You clean up niiiiiiice!” Jimin says, approaching you as his eyes travel all over the outfit with an appreciative glint.

“I only wanted to look my best for my roommate’s party!” you wink shamelessly at him and he giggles, shoving you lightly.

“And are you sure it had nothing to do with Yoongi’s comment earlier?” he asks mischievously and you lose your train of thought as you redden in embarrassment. You had no idea Jimin heard that but you’ll be damned if you let him think that’s true.

“Of course not! I had this planned the minute you said you were gonna throw a party!” you smile back, quickly composing yourself, although the costume you were actually planning on wearing mocks you from the floor of your bedroom where it’s currently laying.

Jimin enjoys the attention you’re giving him, quickly forgetting about the costume. “Stop flirting with me, it’ll get you nowhere!”

“Yeah, stop flirting with him, he’s mine!” Taehyung jokes, wrapping an arm around Jimin’s shoulders. Although judging by their matching costumes as Sherlock and Watson and the blush currently occupying both of their cheeks, you’d say there’s more truth to that joke than they’d like to admit.

You raise your hands up in defeat as you turn to the third person there. “Namjoon what do you think? Is it good?” you ask him, motioning to the dress. But you fail to register Namjoon’s blown out eyes and the redness of his face.

“I, uhm... You’re beautiful, Y/N. Really,” he comments, although his voice sounds more like a stutter and when your eyes finally meet his, you can’t miss the way he visibly avoids looking into your eyes.

You bite your lip. He’s cute.

“Thank you, joonie!” you say, pecking his cheek that has him almost choking on his spit and you giggle at the boy’s clear awkwardness around women.

But as mirth enters your eyes, it’s quick to abandon them as you watch the other blond boy staring at you from his previous spot. Although seeing him look at you would quickly put a dump in your mood, this time his gaze is different. Different from usual and different from when you came out of your room.

His eyes are dark, staring deeply at you as if he’s trying to look right through you and your heartbeat quickens. His face is stoic, calm though you have a feeling it’s not in correspondence with his actual feelings. And for some reason, it’s making you feel things.

Dark, wicked, sinful things.

Then he smiles at you. It makes you exhale shakily and your legs tremble.

You quickly turn your gaze away, trying to resist the urge to hide your cheeks behind your hands, choosing to instead focus on what your other friends have been saying. Even if Yoongi’s gaze still lingers on your skin.

You don’t know how long it’s been since you started talking to Namjoon on the couch just to have your mind occupied with something else other than Yoongi.

Fortunately, you’ve found the rum storage to also keep you occupied, even if you’re currently on your third drink, already having a pleasurable buzz running through your bones.

You don’t know why you’re like this. You’re supposed to detest the boy’s presence, not feeling the need to drag him away and wipe that smirk off his lips with your own.

Jesus, what is wrong with you lately?

You hate to admit it, you really do but recently instead of wanting to choke him to death, you want him to choke you.

And not to death.

You keep picturing him between your breasts, between your thighs and his mocking words instead of putting you off, they rile you up even worse.

The chemistry seemed to always be there, you think, but you’ve only stumbled on it as of lately. As if it was always hiding in the shadows, waiting for the moment you got aware of it so it can finally burst and make you want to fuck him senseless.

“Y/N!”

You jump in your spot, quickly shaking away any remnants of your fantasies to stare back at Namjoon apologetically.

“Sorry, my mind wandered off, what were you saying?” you reply with a sheepish smile and Namjoon is quick to smile back at you.

“I was just asking if you dance?” he asks, tilting his head cutely at you but his question confuses you. Wasn’t he just talking about the newest tv series he started watching?

“I, uh, you mean generally or you asking me to dance?” you respond with a nervous chuckle. Although you doubt there’s anything to be nervous of. Namjoon sees you as a friend.

His smile gets bigger, as if not hearing the nervousness in your voice. “The second one,” he replies casually, too confident in himself and a portion of your mind is wondering where the awkward boy from before went.

The other portion, the bigger one is panicking.

Your eyes widen and your mouth drops open. He can’t be serious, right? You’re just friends! Though when his gaze remains calm, hopeful as he stares at you, you realize that maybe Namjoon wants something more.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit, how did you not see this coming?! If you just paid a little closer attention to him you’d realize he acted nervously around you because he liked you, not because of a sudden avoidance of women in general. Fuck, what are you supposed to tell him?

“Uuuh, I- I-” you stutter, trying to find the right words to say and Namjoon, bless him, looks confused but not suspicious enough to understand why you can’t give him an answer.

You take a breath. Okay, you got this. You’ll let him down gently and then-.

But your train of thought is interrupted when you notice the figure looming over the two of you ominously. Both pair of eyes rise up to see Yoongi currently staring at you with an indescribable expression on his face.

“Oh, hey, hyung, what’s up?” Namjoon asks with a nervous chuckle, eyes drifting between the two of you, fearful you might get into a physical altercation again.

You find your eyes glued to his, staring up at him from behind your eyelashes, heartbeat quickly rising as he keeps on staring back. Your breath quickens as well now that his undivided attention is on you, suddenly aware that your current position gives him a perfect view of your cleavage that rises and falls with every breath.

Something stirs up in your stomach at the thought, your tongue peeking out to wet your lip. His eyes seem to follow the movement, ravenous and greedy as his own tongue pokes at his cheek in which can only be described as the most sensual thing you ever saw. You find it hard to swallow, not knowing what to say or do, completely under the spell of his eyes.

He presses his lips together to hide his smirk, with a confident tilt of his head as his eyes run up and down your body and you feel your arousal pooling in your abdomen. God, you wanna bite that smirk off his lips.

“Y/N, can I talk to you?” he finally replies, voice deep and rough as he crosses his arms on his chest. The movement has the muscles ripple beneath his shirt and your mouth waters almost instinctively. You clear your throat, otherwise your answer might have come out in the form of squeaks.

“Sure...” you meet his gaze, crossing your arms on your chest as you wait for him to go on. Yoongi sees the silent challenge hidden in your eyes and you almost see the cogs running in his head as he ponders on his next move.

He doesn’t relent though, his gaze as intense as ever on you. “Private...”

You stare at him for a second, with narrowed eyes. Should you go with him? You don’t know if you should. But you admit it gives you an easy way out of that conversation with Namjoon.

So with a huff, you get up from your seat, smoothing over the wrinkles in your skirt.

“Sorry, Joon, I’ll be back in a bit...” you turn to say to the younger man with a smile. Namjoon quickly gets over his shock before he nods at you with a smile. Yoongi instead rolls his eyes, before his palm wraps around your wrist to guide you through the party.

You gasp at the sudden touch of his skin on your but you’re pretty sure the sound of the speakers masked the sound from his ears. You let him lead you through the crowd until you end up in the corridor and walk into the pantry room.

Once the door is closed, Yoongi frees your wrist to fall lifelessly at your side and at once your arms end up hugging your middle protectively. You pay him no attention as he closes the door, instead looking everywhere else besides his back that strains under that shirt.

Though that alone isn’t capable of helping you avoid the newly rush of exhilaration running through your body at the thought of being closed up in such a narrow space together.

“So what did you want to tell me...?” you ask, impatient as your leg bounces up and down, still refusing to look at him, in case your feelings and thoughts are written on your face.

Yoongi doesn’t respond. Instead, he climbs up at one of the counters to sit down, grabbing an almost empty jar of peanut butter and proceeding to lick the spoon inside clean.

Your eyes now find him, narrowed and confused as he seems to not pay you any attention. A moment passes where he doesn’t reply; really he doesn’t do anything but lick the peanut butter of that spoon.

Not wanting to wait anymore, you throw your hands up in the air with a huff before they land on your waist in what you hope seems like a threatening stance. “Well?”

Finally, his eyes rise to meet yours as if only now becoming aware of your presence there in the same room as him. He takes a look at you, a good look that has you shuffling on your spot before he goes in to scoop some more of the spread.

“You’re out of peanut butter,” he simply retorts, taking another spoonful into his mouth.

You stare at him, not entirely sure if you heard right.

We’re out of peanut butter?

This can’t be the reason why he wanted to talk to you, right? Although when he makes no other comment on that or really anything else, you realize that that’s all he wanted to say to you.

“Are you serious? That’s why you brought me here?” you exclaim, voice rising in anger with the absurdity of the situation. Did he really have to drag you all the way here just to tell you that?

Yoongi shrugs nonchalantly, his messy blonde looks falling on top of his eyes as he refuses to look at you.

You press your lips together to suppress your rage. He’s toying with you.

But you won’t give him the satisfaction of giving him a reaction.

Instead, you let out a heavy sigh and shaking your head. No, you won’t curse at him, you won’t talk to him, you won’t even look at him. You’re just gonna get out.

You walk to the door, ready to meet the outside world once more but when you move the handle down, the door won’t budge. So you try again. No luck. You realize it’s locked, another wave of rage overwhelming you when you realize Yoongi just locked the two of you here with no explanation whatsoever.

And no, the absence of peanut butter doesn’t count.

You turn around rushedly, eyes already furious on him as you clench your jaw, trying too hard to ignore how casually hot he looks dressed as Han Solo and eating what’s left of your peanut butter. “That’s not funny.”

His eyes still remain on the almost empty jar, not giving you a spare look. “What’s not funny?”

Your fists tighten in an attempt to not yell at him. “Yoongi give me the key.”

Finally, your words seem to reach him as he raises his face to meet your own with a facade of innocence. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he has the audacity to say before a traitorous smirk covers his lips.

One that makes your insides clench and your anger to magnify.

“Give me the goddamn key, Yoongi,” you bite back, taking short, booming steps towards him and instead of quivering back in fear, his smirk grows.

Shit, you wanna fuck him so bad.

“I don’t have it,” he says with a shit-eating grin, one that matches both him and his costume so well, one reeks of cockiness and boldness and all logic flies out the window.

You quit playing nice.

Your hands drag him off the countertop as they search roughly through his garments to find that fucking key so you can get out of here, further away from him before you do something you’ll regret.

But he laughs at your antics, clearly not taking you seriously as he lets you search him all over. When you come up empty with a heave of frustration, you shove him back, his hips colliding with the counter as your arms cage him between the marble and your body. A stray hair has left your perfectly composed hairdo and you huff it out of your face as you stare at Yoongi with laboured breaths. He stares back, eyes lazily traveling your form and even though you’re the one trapping against the counter he looks entirely too comfortable.

Like he’s got you right where he wanted.

You heave against him, chest almost brushing his own as you try to clear your head enough of sinful thoughts to pay attention to the urgency here. Although with how his arms bulge underneath his shirt, how his collarbones peak from beneath the fabric, how his thighs seem to fill out his jeans, how that fucking grin seems etched into his lips, you’d say your tries were in vain.

You’re careful not to touch when you speak again, although your traitorous eyes trail the pumping veins at the side of his neck. “Where is it?”

His smirk only grows, tilting his head to the side as he looks at your lips through hooded eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

You’re taken aback by his question, not quite knowing how to answer it as his eyes fall to the bare skin beneath your neck. A sharp inhale resonates around the room, belatedly realizing it came from you and before you get to answer Yoongi speaks again.

“Back pocket on my left.”

Your frown deepens. “Give it to me.”

And his smirk grows. “Get it yourself.”

Your lips press together at that. His back pocket is currently pressed against the counter and there’s no way to get that key without touching his ass.

Fuck.

Though his eyes raise a challenge. One that says you won’t be able to do it.

So, true to your natural instincts to oppose him, you take a prideful breath before your hand dives between the counter and his body.

His eyes widen for a millisecond, clearly not expecting this from you but he’s quick to disguise the reaction. He stares leisurely at you instead, licking his lips with interest as his eyes fall to your breasts as you come closer.

You try to ignore the feeling of his plump ass against your hand as you search for his pocket. But then you also have to ignore your chest pushing on his own, leaving no room for decency as your bating breath fans over his lips with the contact. Your heartbeat quickens once more with the proximity, failing to hide your blushed cheeks from how close to him you are.

Yoongi’s eyes move to your lips and they stay there, watching your mouth exhaling softly with every breath and he has half a mind to not kiss you senseless right now.

You swear you won’t be able to take any more of this. You’re one step away of yielding when your hand finally feels something cold and metallic. You’re swift in taking the key out of his pocket, ready to gloat in his face but as you do so, his hands are quicker. As you’re ready to lean away from him, they’re already landing on your hips, grabbing the soft flesh and pulling you flash against him.

There’s a gasp tumbling out of your mouth at the unexpected gesture, the key falling from your hands as they fly to grasp at his shoulders in surprise. You’re now standing a hair’s breadth away from one another, his breath mingling with yours as your eyes stare unabashedly at each other.

“You... you did this on purpose you prick...” you whisper, breathless as your eyes fall to his plump looking lips, ready to be devoured.

This time he doesn’t smirk, clearly as affected as you as he can’t help but stare bewitched at your mouth. “Do you want me to let you out?” he breathes back.

At any other given moment, you wouldn’t have hesitated. You’d be out of the room in seconds, trying to get him out of your hair. But tonight is different. It is as if everything tonight happened to converge together so this moment could come. So he could ask you that question. So you could only reply with one word.

“No,” and you dive in, finally kissing him.

A sound of surprise escapes his lips but then he presses you closer, body moulding against yours as his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs. An animalistic growl falls free from his mouth, taking your bottom lip in between his lips, tugging it roughly, making a moan roll from your tongue. Your hands fly to grip at his shirt to press him closer, accidentally grazing across his milky skin and he feels cools beneath your fingers.

He’s quick to roughly press you up against the opposite wall, hands flying to grasp your own and push them over your head. You moan at the impact, feeling your arousal flowing from your cunt, ruining your panties and your legs rub together to get some much-needed relief.

Yoongi curses as he sees the motion, grabbing your hands with one hand as the other dives down to bunch up as much as he can of your skirt and wedge a leg beneath your own. You whine at the contact, moving your lips against his flexed thigh, the friction feeling deliciously against your clit.

“Yeah, you like that, princess? Wait till I’m done with you, you won’t even know your name,” he murmurs seductively against your ear before grazing it with his teeth. A moan of his name escapes you, no shame or pride left in you; only that carnal, animalistic need to get off.

“Fuck, fuck, please...” you plead as Yoongi peppers kisses on your jaw, your eyes closed in concentration as you drive your hips relentlessly against him.

“Please what? use your words...” he teases against your lips before leaving a languid kiss. His lips melt with yours slowly, the sound of your mouths colliding wet and arousing, as his tongue dives in to meet your own. Then his mouth travels lower, resting on top of your collarbones, leaving soft kisses that slowly turn into bites.

“Please, I need you... I need your-” your rant gets interrupted by a loud cry when Yoongi sucks a particularly rough hickey on your neck.

He seems to be enjoying this too much, having you at last to himself, moaning his name like it’s the only thing you need. “You need my what?” he asks teasingly, already knowing what you’ll say but once again you take him by surprise.

“Your hand. Your fingers. I need your fingers,” you manage to utter through heavy breaths, your hips still moving on top of his thigh, chasing after your high.

“My fingers, huh...?” he breathes against your neck as his tongue dives to lick against a freshly forming hickey. You hum in content as his kisses move upwards. “You need my fingers to do what? To toy with your clit until you’re screaming my name for everyone here to hear? To plunge into your cunt, knuckles deep until you’re a sobbing mess and asking me to stop?” his voice resonates against your skin, sending shivers down your spine along with the picture his words paint and, fuck, you want that so bad.

“Or do you need them...” his hand on your waist that’s holding your skirt up, moves upwards, letting the skirt fall over his thigh as well, and skims over your tummy, your breasts until it encloses its fingers around your neck. “... to choke you while I pound into you until you can’t take no more?” he says the same time he presses his fingers against your throat, a sharp inhale coming from you.

Your mouth falls open in a silent moan, rushed exhales leaving you as you can’t decide which one you want more. Fuck, fuck, fuck, you want them all.

Yoongi smiles wickedly at you before both his hands abandon your body; only to land on the waistband of your skirt and drag it down your legs. He throws the article of clothing away, before he’s on you again, kissing you harshly, hands tangling into your hair as he presses against you while yours meet at the nape of his neck.

“Unfortunately, we don’t have a lot of time before someone realizes we’re gone. But I promise to repay you heartily next time...” he whispers against your lips before his hands swoop beneath your thighs to carry you and this time you’re the one sitting on the counter with Yoongi between your legs.

You don’t mind his proposition as you both rush to get him out his confinements. He gets out the vest quickly, tossing it aside as you move to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants, letting them fall to rest just on top of the swell of his ass. His fingers are reaching for your underwear, dragging it down your legs to let it fall to the floor as you finally get him out of his boxers.

He’s already hard, standing tall and stiff against his stomach, veins already running down the length of his cock and your mouth salivates. Your fingers wrap around his dick, slowly moving up and down and Yoongi lets out a heavy exhale as his forehead rests on your shoulders.

You pick up the pace, his hips faltering as they begin moving in time with your hand, chasing after his own high. Then he curses out loud, the sound carnal, sending another wave of slick down to your thighs before he pushes your hand away.

“Fuck, you’re gonna have me cumming on your hand...” he admits before grabbing at his cock to drive it slowly over your folds. You hiss at the contact, moving your hips instinctively to get your slick all over him and he bites his lip with so much force you think he’s gonna draw blood.

But then he pushes the head of his cock past your folds, having you biting his neck to stop from screaming too loud. He groans at the feeling of your velvety walls encompassing him and once he’s fully inside you he stops to take a breath.

It’s not enough for you though to gather your wits, before he slams into you.

“Fuck!” this time you can’t do nothing to control the cry that comes from your lips, nails digging into the flesh of his biceps. His jaw is clenched in concentration as his fingers grab harshly at your hips for leverage before he begins pounding into you.

The moans roll down your tongue without stopping, not having much of a mind to remember you’re currently in the middle of a party where anywhere can pass by and hear what you’ve been onto all this time. Or you simply don’t care, you can’t distinguish the difference anymore. The only thing that makes sense right now is the feeling of his dick driving into you.

Yoongi keeps thrusting into you, matching each movement with a low grunt, the sounds coming from him sounding filthy in your ears, making your arousal grow.

“Fuck, Yoongi, don’t stop...” you say breathlessly, your hips moving to meet his thrusts. His eyes finally move to your face for the first time since he entered you and something crosses his face as if he suddenly remembered something.

He smirks sinfully at you before one hand abandons your hips to caress the top of your breasts. Your eyes widen in excitement, hoping he’ll do what he promised as his palm now rests over your collarbones. Before his fingers finally reach your neck and softly press against the spots that have your head getting lightheaded.

You suck in a breath before your air supply gets cut off, mouth dropping open in complete ecstasy.

“F-fuck...” you stutter, eyes closing to concentrate better on the feeling of his cock inside you.

His hand on your neck pushes you back in an angled position that has his cock pushing repetitively against your g-spot and you cry out loud. Your hand flies behind to grasp at the shelf above you as you struggle to keep up. Your hips are relentless against his own as each thrust gets rougher and rougher than the rest. His grunts are louder and louder, signalling his close end and his other hand abandons your hips as well to come and rest at your clit.

You inhale sharply as much as you can when he begins rubbing the sensitive nub slowly, steadily but then he picks up the pace as he feels his high nearing as does yours with every thrust

“Fuck, Y/N, look at you, fucking look at you. So fucked out, so wrecked by my cock, fuck, I’ll, fucking, ruin, you,” he says lastly between his last powerful thrusts that have you both unravelling against each other. You come with a loud cry of his name, clenching uncontrollably against him as he finally lets your neck, the incoming breath adding to your high.

He curses out loud, coming with one final thrust, rope after rope of cum painting your walls as you both lay against each other breathless.

A minute or two pass like this, with his head hiding at your neck as you both calm down. Then you feel him pressing soft kisses on your skin, something that has you take a double take on him.

He feels you shifting beneath him so he raises his head to look at you with a goofy smile on his lips, that has your chest constrict wildly.

He’s... dare you say, cute?

“Uhm, what are you doing?” you ask confused and he tilts his head at you like a confused puppy.

“It’s called kissing I don’t know if you ever heard of it...” he says with a soft smile before pressing another kiss at the corner of your mouth. Your eyes widen, not at all used at this side of his as he’d usually mock you or tease you.

Although you’ve never really been in a similar situation with him before so you can’t really tell if this is usual for him.

Yoongi seems to sense your apprehension so he stops kissing you and leans back to get a better look at you.

“I thought you hated me...” you manage to mumble in utter confusion on this new side of him. You’re not used to it, you don’t know how to handle it and frankly, it makes you feel all sort of weird things you’ve never felt before.

Not about him at least.

He has the decency to look somewhat remorseful over your words. “Yeah... I never actually hated you... I was just avoiding you cause you made me nervous...” he admits, rubbing a hand at the nape of his neck awkwardly and your eyes widen at his confession.

You made him nervous?

“...And I guess me avoiding you didn’t help into you liking me either....” he observes sheepishly as you still stare at him shocked out of your wits.

Yoongi... likes you?

“So, uhm... I figured since we already did... that...” he says, entirely too innocently compared to what happened merely minutes ago and your heart does that thing again. That thing that makes you wanna pinch his cheeks or bake him a cake or something.

“That maybe... If you want... maybe I could take you out on a date?” he finishes with a flinch as if expecting you to immediately refuse him. To be honest your mind still tries to wrap around everything. You just had sex with him in your pantry room, his cock is still inside you, admittedly soft but that’s not the point, and he just asked you out on a date.

You’ve done weirder things, haven’t you?

Besides you’d hate to see his face fall if you deny him that.

Who would’ve thought?

Later, when you’re out of the pantry room with no one having a single clue of what you did, your eyes keep finding each other like a pair of lovesick teenagers.

Admittedly it’s all still new to you, but you don’t mind the way he’s looking at you. Or the way your heart beats when you catch him staring. You can get used to this.

You think no one has a single clue of what happened between the two of you. But at some point, Jimin happened to pass by the pantry room and heard things he didn’t wanna hear.

Now he’s scared for life but judging by the looks you keep exchanging with Yoongi, he’d say it was all worth it.

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noqueronaareblog · 5 years ago

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The skelebros taking care of themselves...

I just want to express what I feel rn and how the situation has changed for all of us, so I did it in the best way I know! Doing fanart 😁

Take care of yourself... Pliz :')

English isn't my native Language. Reblogs are appreciated 💙

Stay safe, Stay at home 💙💙

#undertale #coronavid19 #coronavirus #stayinghome #stayathome #papyrus #sans the skeleton #skelebros #coronapocalypse #covid 19 #undetale fandom #fanart #Scarf

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boyackamo-blog · 5 years ago

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Hamilton teachers!au

Part 1

Alexander Hamilton

- tired social studies teacher

- dictates so quickly that you will only have time to write down the date, and he will already tell the whole paragraph

- wears glasses on the nose or on the head. In the second case he sometimes forgets where they are and asks the poor children to find it

- his writing on the blackboard is worse then you had in 4 years, and all because the handwriting is too clumsy and angular

-in his lessons, you must know the subject, otherwise you get C

-his lessons are completely silent, because everyone is really listening

-"the school is not to blame if a person" * puts his hands in the mouthpiece* "HAS PROBLEMS WITH HEAD"

- by the end of the year, you have to attach the leaves to the 96-page notebooks, because of writing

- does not check homework, and does not ask. "just learn the notes please"

- argues with Thomas believing that his subject is more important, because: "your entire history without certain rules of society and politics is just a solid list of stupid numbers and some guys with balls"

- there is always a mug of coffee on his table

- treats students with respect. sometimes comes up with funny nicknames, like: comrade, woodpecker

- doesn't get along with technologies. He doesn't need to.

- "how should i turn on this thing if THERES SO MANY BUTTONS." *breaks the computer* "well.. okAy class, today we exist without presentation.. again"

- so many aphorismes, like so many

- on the same wavelength as the students

-"this week you have a test and.. the o f f s e t"

- *groaning in the background*

- all those who studied with him passed exams only with good grades

- "you're a tough guy, i see"

John Laurens

- funny biology teacher

- knows his subject perfectly and will easily give you F if you don't know it

- it is easy to find hin in school due to:

• loud laughter

• curls sticking out in all directions

- if John is sick, the children just watch the cartoons about biology

- you can find anything in his office table, except pens

- sometimes it causes some difficulties to the whole class

- "can i borrow your pe- well no is no"

- in a day can use a pack of chalk because of hundreds of drawings

- "and this is what you need to pass final exams"

- has a habit of biting pens and losing pencils behind the ears

- uses the same pencils to fix the hair

- treats favorite students with homemade cookies

- he loves it when former students come to school, because then you can ask them to take him away from here

- honestly, this school didn't deserve him

- there is a small turtle and a snake named Thomas in the class

- founded the "no one edicts fashion" squad, with the help of his hoodies with stupid phrases

- very concerned about the environment

-" IS THIS A PLASTIC CUP? NOW USE IT FOR A MONTH"

- always late for school meetings and student councils

- "I'm sorry I'm late. Not really, because I didn't want to come"

- "it would be better to arrange an ecological week"

- don't let him fall asleep while he's watching animal planet

- a can of Baltika 9 (another beer) is always hidden in the table

- he wanted to become a doctor and treat children, but became a teacher and now he is treated by a psychiatrist

- once he confused the class and almost told the sixth-graders about intercourse

Gilbert Lafayette

- teaches foreign languages

- French accent from nowhere

- aue Parlez-vous français

- in English pliz

- every vacation rolls around Europe

- where he brings a bunch of stories and tells the students

- presentations✨

- prefers to devote time to the spoken language so that children really SPEAK

- on teacher's day, he receives an insanely large number of gifts and holds back tears of joy

- believes that mental health is very important. So, if you are very bad mentally, you will be told to stay at home or sent there

- at high school, he teaches kids to swear in French, because everyone knows English anyway

- if half the school in love with Jefferson, the other half definitely caught the crash on this man

- curly bun, which he constantly corrects if he is nervous

- "I did not think about a career as a teacher in my youth, because I wanted to become a linguist"

- travel to a couple with Elisa

- he gets seasick on buses, so don't even try to talk to him on the road

- almost always in a good mood

- no FIGHTS!!!

- seriously, very scrupulous about the relationship between students and teachers

- "Well don't give him a bad grade look he's an excellent student and such a sweetheart"

- cool story about travel throughout September

- there are no control works in his lessons, but there are tests, so you can always use the magic poking

- "if you do not know the answer, then poke at the most attractive expression for you. Maybe it's the véritable réponse"

- the principal wanted to kick him out of school because of his black nails, but no one told fashion how to function

- to the glory of God he burrs like a kitten

Hercules Mulligan

- pe teacher

- arranges a foot day

- loves to play sports with children, but can't because of professionalism

- mountain of muscles

- "my grandmother ran faster"

- but he runs very slowly

- "nothing, it's just a little rain outside," he says, standing under an umbrella

- if you are not a sports person at all and prefer not to take the form, then you will have to take a textbook and read it

- "don't want to play volleyball, lad? So, go to the pitch"

- but girls can practice yoga

- can't judge because he's too proud of the kids and wants to give everyone points

- favorite lessons with first graders

-is afraid to accidentally crush them, because he is too high and wide, and they are small cockroaches

- but at the same time afraid to go into the corridor, because it is a hellhole

- "WHERE DID YOU PUT THE BALLS, YOU LITTLE ASSHOLES???"

- were you named after a cartoon??

- people call him George, which makes him mad

- looks like might kill you, but he's actually a sweet caramel bun

- afraid of spiders. Very, very. And there are no mops in the gym. At the sight of furry climbs on a rope and hangs there

- "BRUSH IT OFF WITH A BROOM. BRUSH IT OFF WITH A BROOM"

- children, of course, love him, but sometimes they are afraid when lessons start on the street. There was a time when children ran around the school and he appeared from around corners to catch those who did not run

-Walks funny, slightly pigeon-toed

- the loudest teacher in the entire school, he can be heard literally everywhere. Even if he doesn't scream

- nanny for the kindergarten, which consists of Alex, Gilbert and John

- once got mad and gathered teams in volleyball, basketball, football and cricket.

- got the nickname "Bear" from high-schoolers because of his gait and strong hugs

------------

writing for the first time, sorry for mistakes~

#hamilton #alexander hamilton #lafayette #john laurens #hercules mulligan #hamiltrash #headcanon #oneshot #alternative universe #hamtrash #hamilton shitposting #hamilsquad

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luthienleithian · 5 years ago

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tag game

rules: 21 questions & tag 21 mutuals you wanna get to know better!

tagged by @acopicshrewdness YOU’RE WONDERFUL THANK YOU !!!

nicknames: Jupiter

zodiac sign: cancer

height: about 5 feet

hogwarts house: ravenclaw and horned serpent

the last thing i googled: Jar of Hearts by Jennifer Hillier

favorite musicians: arctic monkeys, hozier, muse, placebo, classical music pff..... idk I don’t listen to music all that much

song stuck in your head: wasteland baby - hozier (thinking of Boreo 😭)

following: a bunch

followers: a few

do you get asks: i get them sometimes but I want more !!! pliz send all the asks

amount of sleep: from 5 to 8 hours, depends on how much time I have

lucky number: I have no idea but I like 8

what you’re wearing: short jeans, blue shirt and tennis shoes

dream job: editor, home decorator, something to do with plants? painter... maybe

dream trip: iceland and japan.

instrument: lol nope

languages: english, some slav language and a bit of the latin languages too

favorite songs: …I don't have one

random fact: when i was young i dreamed to be an astronaut and started learning astronomy even before I knew how to read

aesthetic: it ranges from soviet slav squad, brutalism, whitewash, shabby chic, vintage to classic

tagging: @labyrinthinepaths @thoughts-of-lady-lazarus @bezakonik @nocturnepage @iupiters @nymphastral @borispav @perseiis any of you, al of you. tagg me I wanna know you people

#tag game #p;

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the-alpahaca · 6 years ago

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Answer 20 Questions, Tag 20 People!!

Tagged by: @lovelyfeh !!! thank you so much uwu💕💕💕

Nickname(s): Pringles (most common), Ivanuks, Ivabanana (provided by the awesome @cypher-yngi and @ggukksrose )

Zodiac: Leo, WHiCH i Don’T IdenTIFY wiTH AT aLL I HAte ThAT SO mUch most people when they meet me think i’m a Cancer, so like...yeah...c-can I join your group now (guys I swear I’m not as hyper in real life)

Height: 5’6-5′7??? Idk

Last Movie I Saw: Uhhh, like Captian Marvel I think lol? Like a month ago jnldjfdlkjn, idk i’m not a big movie goer lol.

Last Thing I Googled: 5′6 in meters cause I can’t with imperial lmao

Favorite Musician: Oooo I’m such a bitch for japanese music so obviously Vocaloid is included into the equation kfjhdkjdfl. My favorites always change (my recent fave is Akiko Shikata) but like some of the everlasting artists that I’ve always loved and will probably always love are Kalafina and Radiohead cause iconic (also like Britney Spears cause who is more iconic than her lol). I normally don’t tend to follow artists a lot, like I may adore a song from an artist but hate the r, so like idk it’s pretty strange.

Song stuck in my head: Thrilla Killa from VAV (love it lol)

Other blogs: @drmatchupmode I AM SO SORRY I HAVEN’T UPDATED BUT LIFE IS A BIT HECTIC RN AHHH

Followers: 134, I hope I blocked all of those porn bots lol

Following: 450 (And counting!)

Amount Of Sleep: OOOFF idk it depends a lot. I’ve been sleeping a lot more this semester like from like 6 to 8 hours, but sometimes I do have to sleep 2 to 3 hours :/

Lucky Numbers: Don’t really have one lol

Dream Job: OOOOFF this is too hard man. *Sigh* here goes my list: Singer, director, psychologist, philosopher, video game writer, video game designer, as you can tell I have no idea about what to do with my life

What Am I Wearing?: Just a graphic tee and shorts lol (AND MY ALPACA SLIPPERS)

Favorite Food: Tempura Fried Calamari and like...sugar lol

Language: English, Spanish, a bit of french (I’m going to Canada to study french for 3 months wish me luck oomph), a bit of greek, a bit of japanese and i’ll hopefully learn a bit of latin this semester lol...probably not :’)

Can I play an instrument?: I used to play the recorder lol and I play a little piano, but like nah lol (does a music pad count fjlnfglnkfjgd?)

Favorite song: Right now i’ve been listening to Unknown Mother Goose by wowaka and Replicare by Akiko Shikata for like 3 days straight now so uhh yaaaaaaaahhhhhh

Random Fact: My dog likes to compete with me for my parent's attention, just, yep

Describe myself in Aesthetics!!: Uhhh pretty much either princessy pastels, modern classy woman, or like Harajuku goth lol

Tags: I want to taaaagg @sol-sunshine (ik you already posted yours but I swear to god I was going to tag you before that lol), @ggukksrose @cypher-yngi @summoner-of-arkas @summoner-stones @soft-femagines @femme-blem @omi-writings @rwby-imagines-yall @haruhiheart @hopeless-romantic-ninja @raeonthearoace @shslnerdytrash @rebeljustforkicks137 @alice-in-idol-land @agustdlovcult @kimsocksjin @starvingmuse @axcyia and like the rest of my followers pliz. You guys don’t have to do it if you don’t want to lol.

#i doubt most people read these but like they are fun so whatever lol

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firstiwasafraid · 6 years ago

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LOOKS LIKE TU LES CHERCHES AHAHAHS! PLIZ DO THE WHOLE THING

50 questions you’ve never been asked tag

1. What’s your favorite candle scent? cinnamon2. What female celebrity do you wish was your sister? Anna Kendrick3. What male celebrity do you wish was your brother? Tom Holland4. How old do you think you’ll be when you get married? I’ll be dead5. Do you know a hoarder? no6. Can you do a split? no7. How old were you when you learned how to ride a bike? 6 or 78. How many oceans have you swam in? i don’t swim9. How many countries have you been to? USA, Japan, France, Portugal, Czech Republic, Greece10. Is anyone in your family in the army? no11. What would you name your daughter if you had one? Nina12. What would you name your son if you had one? Stan13. What’s the worst grade you got on a test? 5/20 (economy class), I litterally fell asleep on my exam sheet, I was so exhausted14. What was your favorite TV show when you were a child? Fame15. What did you dress up as on Halloween when you were eight? Halloween was not a thing 30 years ago16. Have you read any of the Harry Potter, Hunger Games or Twilight series? all of them17. Would you rather have an American accent or a British accent? British18. Did your mother go to college? yes19. Are your grandparents still married? they are mostly dead20. Have you ever taken karate lessons? no21. Do you know who Kermit the frog is? of course22. What’s the first amusement park you’ve been to? Walibi (j’en suis baba)23. What language, besides your native language, would you like to be fluent in? Spanish24. Do you spell the color as grey or gray? grey25. Is your father bald? yes26. Do you know triplets? no27. Do you prefer Titanic or The Notebook? None? but if I really had to pick one...Titanic28. Have you ever had Indian food? of course29. What’s the name of your favorite restaurant? oh lord, just one? why??? Papilles et pupilles30. Have you ever been to Olive Garden? no31. Do you belong to any warehouse stores (Costco, BJ’s, etc.)? I only know warehouse 1332. What would your parents have named you if you were the opposite gender? Yannick33. If you have a nickname, what is it? Mimine34. Who’s your favorite person in the world? my cat, Toby35. Would you rather live in a rural area or in the suburbs? suburbs but not to far from a rural area36. Can you whistle? yes37. Do you sleep with a nightlight? no38. Do you eat breakfast every morning? no39. Do you take any pills or medication daily? no40. What medical conditions do you have? I’m in a good shape considerig my age (I’m a dinosaur)41. How many times have you been to the hospital? 2 or 3 times I think42. Have you ever seen Finding Nemo? yes43. Where do you buy your jeans? America Today44. What’s the last compliment you got? “You’re funny”45. Do you usually remember your dreams in the morning? yes46. What flavor tea do you enjoy? I don’t really enjoy tea47. How many pairs of shoes do you currently own? 5?...okay 10...okay 1248. What religion will you raise your children to practice? none49. How old were you when you found out that Santa wasn’t real? 6 or 750. Why do you have a youtube?a what? who dis?

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backtodccember · 7 years ago

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What languages do you know?

I can speak English and Arabic!Pliz ask me questions xxx

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silly-oleghibli · 7 years ago

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Princess Mononoke Script- But Better IMHO

You know how I’m always saying that I think I’ve finally gone to far and that I won’t ever be able to top it?

Well, I think it’s safe to say that I think I actually did it this time... I know I say this a lot but I really do think I broke myself, my computer, the english language and the extent of how far someone should go for the sake of pissing everyone off...

The full thing shall be posted in parts on AO3 and FFN (If I can get it to work for me)

In ancient tumes, da land played covered in forests, whr, from ages log pass, dwelt da spirits iph da gods. bak dan, men nd beast lifd in harmony, butt as tym went bye, most iph teh creat forests were destroyed. doase taht remaned were guarded bye gigantic beasts... whu owed their allagiance too teh creat Forest Spirit, 4 doase were teh days iph gods nd demons.

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Yakul! cum on, boy.

grilz!

Asitaka!

There's somthin strange doing on. yu haf too hurry. da wise woman wonts errbody bak 2 da village at 1ce.

We jst came from Ji-san.

dif he c somthin?

Yes, in da forest. somat's rong.

da berds haf gone.

da animals too.

ill qo too teh watxhtower nd check wit Ji-san. yuu three hurry bak home nd bee quick abote it.

All rite. bee careful!

Huh? somthin's there.

Ji-san, dif yuu c it too?

i dif. It isant human.

thee wise woman's calling errbody bak tuh thee village.

Their. Lo0k. It's sum kind iph demon!

ah demon?

Run, Yakul! Run!

It's headed forr d village. i've qot tuh stopp it.

Prince Ashetaka, wit! b careful! dat thing iz cursed! don,t let it tooch yuu!

hear, Yakul! clam ur fury, o myty lord! wateva yew may b, god or demon, plz leave us in piece!

da monster!

comr on!

got bck! pliz! Leave a village lone! stopp! pliz! stopp!

git p!

Run!

cum on! Hurry!

He killd it!

Ashetaka!

Fetch tha wise woman!

dnt put tha fire out yet.

Ashytaka! ate ya all rite?

Kaya, don,t tooch it. duh's wound iz evil.

teh prince has been heart.

whr iz d wise woman?

her she comrs!

yew most keep away from him, all iph yew. evryone, stay bak.

want shall we do?

takke d's n pour it over he's wound, caild, slowly.

All rite.

O nameless god iph rage ans have, i bow brfore yhu. ah mound wiil b raised ans funarl rites performed on d's grond whr yhu haf falen. Pass on in piece ans bear us knw hatred.

digesting kittle creatures, soon all iph yuu wiil fell mah hte... n suffer as i haf suffered.

um aftiaf tha's iz very bad. tha stones tell meh tha boar god came from far too tha west. He hahd sumome kind iph poson inside him, driving him madd, ah posonous hatred daf consumed he's hart nd flesh... nd truned him in2 ah demon monster. Prince Ashytaka?

Yes?

Show evryone ur right arm.

wat's it meen?

mah prince, r yew prepared tuh learn... wat fate da stones haf foretold yew?

Yes, i was prepared thee very moment tht i let myh arrow fly.

Mmm. thee infection wiil spreid threwout u're hole body, bone ans flesh alike. It wiil cause u creat paine ans tham kil u.

iz there knw wag we kan stopp it?

da prince qot dat wound bi defending r village ans saving r likes!

Do we jsut sit hear ans wacth him die?

yuu cannot alter ur fate, mu prince. However, yuu kan rise tuh meet it, iph yuu choose. Look at duh's. duh's iron ball was found in duh boar's body. duh's iz waht heart him soo. It shattered he's bones ans burded its wag deep inside him. duh's iz waht truned him in2 ah demon. There iz evil at wonk in duh land tuh duh west, Prince Asitaka. It's yu're fate tuh qo there ans she wt yu kan she whit eyes unclouded bye hat. yu may find ah wag tuh lift duh curse. yu undrstand?

Yes.

We r da last iph da Emishi. It's years sence da Emperor destroyed r tribe... ans drove da remnants iph r pealpe tuh da east. sum managed tuh survive her forr all thesw years, buut da blud iph r tribe has qrown thinner ans weaker whit each generation. nou r last prince most cut he's hair ans leave us, nevet tuh return? summtumes i thank da gods r lughing at us.

ate laws forbid us from washin yhu got, Ashetaka. wateva cums too pass nou, yhu ate ded too us 4evr. Fareweel.

Asitaka!

Kaya, waht ate yhu doing her? yhu knowe it's forbidden.

Do yu thank i care bout tht? i came 2 give yu d's soo yu wan't forgit yu're liitle stither.

u're c riestal dagger. Kaya, i cnt takke da's.

pleas, keep it wit yew, brothr, tuh protect yew. yew hust takke it wit yew. pleas, i wnt yew tuh haf it, soo yew wan't... forgit.

Kaya, yu now i kould nevet forgit yu.

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#Princess Mononoke #studio ghibli #my art #anime #fanfic #i hate myself #jacksfilms #thanks comment horribler #Mononoke Hime

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fuelgrannie · 4 years ago

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Child of God

I have very controversial views of Jesus Christ, at least to Christians. I was raised in the Catholic faith and can thus attest to having played in the Jesus-as-God pool. I do believe Jesus existed and was an extraordinary bright, curious and loving mortal, but I do not believe he was a god nor in a god’s direct bloodline (because gods have no form, no blood, no sperm). But I do believe a higher force, God, exists.

I came to believe Jesus was mortal very early on in my life by a combo of logic and gut. This doesn’t mean I’m right. This just means I never bought into the idea that a couple thousand years ago a virgin gave birth to the lone valid god of all humankind. This belief in me has never wavered.

In my college Byzantine and Christian art history classes, I learned the Bible was edited in the 4th Century by the Council of Nicaea (a bunch of bishops and Roman Emperor Constantine at the latter’s lake house) so to exclude the years of Jesus’ life from age 7 to 32 when Jesus had traveled the world to learn about as many religions and forms of faith he could find and study. Decades of this trek, decades of this personality’s life and record of what he learned, were promptly and permanently erased from the primary tome of the Christian church.

By the fluke that I loved the teacher, I was in this particular art history class to learn potential confirmation of something I had long suspected: a more complete and full story of Jesus Christ, his travels and studies, perchance even his own attesting to his human mortality, may have been purposefully kept from public knowledge by the church itself.

The Council of Nicaea in AD 325 also decreed that the Bible universally refer to Jesus as the actual son of God, eliminating the concept and possibility that Jesus may have preached all humans were children of God, not just him. I’m not the only one to wonder or even suppose Jesus meant being a child of god was a universal concept, not just his sole status, so the Council of Nicaea deliberately set in stone for all forthcoming editions of the Bible that Jesus meant to refer to himself alone when referencing being a child of God; he more solidly and literally became the son of God.

It is not just my own supposition that Jesus never directly said, “I am the son of God and you are not.” He was known to have said that we were all God and that God was in all of us. Only an unresolved douchebag would land on this planet and say essentially, “I am better than you all, I am the son of an almighty power and you need to follow me,” yet that still happens from time to time when someone tries to pull off a second coming and pretends to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ. These people are nothing unless, and until, they are believed (and then the trouble starts: “hey, is it me or does this Kool-Aid taste bitter?”), but, as of yet, none have proven to be Jesus, who has made only one earthly appearance so far. Still, what Jesus lectured, the word he tried to spread, was made foggy by the spreaders, the editors of his very lectures: it’s hard for me to trust what’s left. The Council of Nicaea had its own intentions: as previous empires declined in power, the rising popularity of this new Christian religion had become a critical tool for human leaders. Emperor Constantine recognized the power of unifying his people, perhaps with more than a whiff of fear, to keep his own flock in check.

There are very few versions of the Bible to be found that originated before the Council of Nicaea and they are certainly not in English, a language whose long, clumsy unearthing is centuries yet to come. No one talks about the Council of Nicaea anymore, but some people will tell you exactly who they think God is, as if they know. They’ll tell you Jesus Christ is the son of God. They’ll be sure they’re right. They’ll pray for your soul because they’re sure they’re right.

Glory

One night in the mid-1990s, I was up very late with the TV on, and instead of watching infomercials, I stumbled upon televangelist Jimmy Swaggart and thought, “okay, what the hell: let’s just see what this is all about.” Swaggart paraded on his stage, his face wet from tears and sweat. He yelled and sobbed “glory, glory, glory” over and over again. He said nothing else. People in his audience howled, throwing up their arms, crying, dancing, responding as if new words, different words were coming out of the mouth of the minister with the blow-dried hair in critical need of a decent trim.

“Glorrryyy, galloryyy, glORY, oh glorrryyyyy.” He cried looking at the ceiling.

“Say something,” I told my TV set.

“Ahhh, glorrrrryyyyy,” he stomped from one side of the stage to the other. He then held the microphone close to his mouth and stood still. The camera closed in, framing his face which glistened with tears, snot and dripping hair product. He raised his eyes again to the heavens, shaking his head, the mike capturing his raggy breath, the camera tight on his visage.

He inhaled. “Here we go,” I thought. Now he’s going to say something, I reckoned. You could hear the saliva in his mouth, the audience held its breath.

He sucked in air, the microphone steady at his wet chin.

“Glory,” he whispered.

The crowd went even more insane.

I watched for 20 minutes. I wanted to give it a fair shot. The camera panned from sweating Jimmy, exhaling only the syllables “glore” and “ree,” to his hysterical constituents, who in turn shook their heads with an affected joy, smiling those creepy, religious know-it-all smiles that have never rung true to me. Nothing else was ever said other than that one word in as many ways as that word can be uttered. I finally turned the channel to Cher hawking shampoo. At least she talked. At least she was selling something you could actually buy.

Pliz Coiny

My sweet Brazilian neighbor Cecilia recently invited me to join her one weekend at a Baptist church service.

“Awww hell to the no!” I thought as I tried to think of an excuse not to go but the truth always works best: “I don’t feel comfortable.” I said.

“Pliz, Coiny,” she pleaded “please Connie” pinched by her Portuguese. “Oi neffer ask anniting uff you. Pliz.”

I wasn’t thrilled with her logic. It’s true she never asked anything of me but then again she shouldn’t; I hadn’t of her, I don’t operate that way. Neighbors are not automatic friends to me: I’m a New Yorker after all. And now here she was asking me to join her at church, let alone a Baptist church, and she had somehow decided I owed her something because she had never asked me to do anything before.

Given the choice, I would have rather cleaned her toilet with one single Q-Tip than haul myself to an hours-long non-English service (“dey haff interpritters,” she tried to sway me) at an outer-borough Baptist church. Baptists go crazy, don’t they? Crying in the aisles, yakking in tongues, yelling at the perceived devil? Did my neighbor expect that I would stagger out of a Queens storefront church at 6:00pm after having arrived at 11:00am, singing “Paaarrraise Jahesus!” and vowing to “spaaaarrread the WORD” to all non-believers?

I mean, I got stuff to do on a Sunday: I got to launder my unholy panties and stock up on ice cream and tortilla chips. I got DVRed episodes of The Real Housewives of Atlanta and Love & Hip Hop I got to catch up on. Sunday is for me, not Jesus.

“No, Cecilia.” I was firm, I was smiling: there were no hard feelings. I was not going.

“It do you good, Coiny. Pliz. Comm on.” Cecilia likely envisioned me burning in hell, innocent to the fact she’s arrived decades too late and with way too little ice.

“No, Cecilia,” I replied. “It’s not for me.”

HE HAS RISEN!!!!

Ten years ago, I worked at a Christian organization. My first week of work was a shock: I received emails that started with “Greetings in the Precious Blood and Name of Jesus Christ Our Lord and Savior!!” with signatures that screamed “Blessings in Christ!!!” and “He has RISEN!!!!” It was being shoved down my throat in capitalized words and ever-extending exclamation points. This was not my belief system and I resented seeing it so blatantly and that I felt unable to say anything about it because I suspected I would be perceived as offensive. And I did know no true ill was meant by these words so I learned to tolerate them even though they never became less jarring to me during the four years I worked there.

A Southern man called our office (the ecumenical agency of a major American Christian church) to complain that the Today Show had featured the Encyclopedia Britannica’s assertion on evolution. He sounded gay to me (a totally unfair assumption on my part but my gaydar is on point, sister, even over the phone) and he wanted me to do “something about” the fact that NBC may actually not believe that Adam and Eve are the ultimate foreparents.

What shocked me even more was my kindness and tolerance of this man; I did not yap into the phone, “are you kidding me and when are you going to do yourself a favor and get out of that closet?” Instead, I told him I sympathized with his frustration, which is the truth: frustration is one of my favorite hobbies. Everything makes me kind of crazy, too and I’ve never been shy with my opinions, but my caller was absolutely beside himself with horror, he almost couldn’t be consoled.

“They need to present both sides!” He squeaked in a lilt. “Doesn’t Al Roker beLIEVE?”

Apparently not. Maybe it’s out of Al’s hands even if he does.

I calmed down the Southern man and said I would follow up, which of course I never did. What could I say to NBC? And why hadn’t this guy contacted them directly himself? Did he know that only guffaws awaited him?

I emailed my gay friends immediately: “Wait ‘til you hear what I just went through!” I was living in a skit from The Kids in the Hall. I was a fish out of water: all the elements felt false and I chose to play along just to stay neutral.

My first year at the Christian office, at their Christmas party, with home baked cookies and apple juice, the few other employees and I stood in a circle with our heads bowed while our boss led a prayer. I felt extremely self-conscious and didn’t mouth any words. I am not one to say anything “in his name;” after all, I hadn’t bowed my head to take two minutes to sing the praises of the New York Stock Exchange during previous parties at previous stints at financial service companies. I felt resentful this Jesus business was something in which I was literally being forced to participate. But I went along. How could I not?

Pussycats in Outer Space

I was five years old when a human boot first hit the moon’s surface on July 20, 1969 so I grew up grudgingly watching the plethora of space travel TV shows from the 1960s and 70s, the airways thick with the concept of this new frontier. The prospect of such a life, tooling around on a space ship with a bunch of people wearing the exact same upside-down-triangle uniform while exploring the dark unknown, was one of my first visions of hell. My autistic brother Christopher loved Star Trek and we watched it every day, I bored out of my mind yet totally anxious at the same time.

Star Trek at least depicted willing participants in space travel. A horrific sub-genre grew from this theme: the unwilling, like in Lost in Space, a dreadful scenario built around the non-Swiss family Robinson, forever banished from planet Earth due to some spaceship mishap and doomed to an existence of trying to get back home while accompanied by a talking robot (clearly a costumed man resembling a large vacuum cleaner) and an obnoxious, fussy British guy. The latter two were almost like a couple, TV’s first inter-metal, intergalactic, gay marriage.

But the absolute worst for me by far was the animated series Josie and the Pussycats in Outer Space, a spinoff of the Archie comic books. Josie and the Pussycats were a musical group of beautiful girls, all small-waisted with turned up noses, who wore tight outfits, sang songs and played instruments, including an obligatory token African American girl who played the tambourine. These characters suffered a similar fate to the hapless Robinsons: the band accidently fell into a space vehicle which was then suddenly catapulted into deep space. The group proceeded to then float from planet to planet, back-dropped by paisleyed psychedelic purple swirls, running endlessly from kidnapping aliens who all (magically!) speak English. Josie and the Pussycats never make it back to Earth: every episode depicts another nightmare of being lost and being doomed, running and escaping. It was the ultimate exercise in frustration, almost pointless to watch. Gee, I wonder what will happen this week? Um, let’s see: they don’t make it home. No satisfaction, no variation, no happy ending: no ending at all. The same thing, the same existence of longing, loss: being trapped.

Heaven

Every Sunday morning, my father hauled my four siblings and me five blocks south from our Fifth Avenue apartment to St. Thomas More, the Catholic church in which my parents were married, although my mother scandalously remained a Presbyterian. My mother was thus spared the pilgrimages down to the 89th Street red brick building where my dad assisted in services and sang in a loud voice. I paid no attention to any words spoken and instead spent my time people watching because people all performed when they were at church. I watched my father, too: at times he was called to the front, near the altar, to read from the Bible, he took it very seriously. I remain confused by my father’s blind allegiance to Catholicism; it was a faith that made not one milligram of sense to me at any time in my life. Even as a tiny child, I disagreed with the religion, especially appalled by the lack of romance allowed for its clergy.

“You mean they can’t get married? That’s ridiculous!” I announced at age three.

It all seemed so sad to me: nuns and priests couldn’t even kiss, couldn’t have kids or live together or make dinner together or wear normal clothes to not stick out. They were alone in a lonely life and I wanted to play matchmaker for them: it seemed so easy to just pair them all up, like by size or age maybe. But apparently the clergy had no use for base physical needs; they chose this life, this consequence, but to me they seemed trapped. Church was the last place I ever wanted to be, church was the last life I would ever want to live.

I deeply believe in something outside myself. But I don’t need to gather with other humans to express my respect and thankfulness for that something. I do that on my own, and not only by praying because, really, I am more of a thanker. I thank God constantly all through the day. I live like a queen in comparison to the vast majority of my fellow global peers, especially the female ones, and I never forget it, with every water faucet I turn, with every bite of Thai takeout I enjoy, with every precious second I get to spend by myself in the exact way I want. I don’t need church to remind me of what I have and how lucky I am; believing in and thanking God is me, church is not. Church is about the other people in the church.

I don’t know why religion segregates people; you’d think it would bring us all together but it’s just another thing by which we compete. I can’t begin to understand why we have spent centuries yelling at each other and killing each other because we think our version of God is the right one and that anyone who doesn’t think the exact same way that we do must experience our vengeance. None of us can ever prove we’re right and yet we are violent with fear to be proven wrong.

I look at our planet-mates: animals don’t need religion. They don’t gather at a certain place during regular time periods to ponder something outside of themselves. Their souls and brains are too busy making sure their bodies sustain. Religion has no place in any animal’s process of being alive and neither does God. The existence of God doesn’t affect their own existence or prove to them their presence on this planet: their very birth already did that. Instead of “I think therefore I am,” it’s “I’m alive therefore I am.” And unlike us, they don’t kill for God: they kill to eat. Or to not be killed, to just keep living. Somehow this is too simple for humans.

I also don’t believe God is a Christian.

This concept makes some Christians absolutely crazy. I don’t believe a loving God (a male god) would plop his “son” (male child) on Earth (via untouched, virgin female flesh) and have that son represent only one religion. That’s favoritism, a very human tendency, and I do not believe God operates that way.

The old white guy who lives with his wife in the apartment upstairs from mine, rolls his eyes on occasion when he sees burqa-wearing Muslim women running after their kids on the sidewalk.

“I tell you,” he exhales, “I’ll never get used to it. They need to go back to their country.”

“They’re in their country, Monty,” I yap back. We both know he doesn’t mind finding no kindred in me when he gets into one of his rants. And I tolerate not one ounce of his crap.

“I know, I know. My wife says the same thing. You two are better than me.”

“Aww Mont, we’re not better,” I laugh, “she and I just look at it differently. Think about it: when you go to heaven, if there is such a place, do really you think it’s just Americans, just whites, just Christians who are allowed into heaven? Do you honestly think when you traipse through the Elysian Fields that you will be only surrounded by ‘your kind?’ Honestly?”

(It’s not gonna be like Josie and the Pussycats in Outer Space: the folks you meet outside this stratosphere will not always know your native tongue.)

Monty’s eyes slant as he ponders this. “My wife says ‘angels come in all colors.’”

“Well, there you go,” I say.

All colors, all languages. Each child with their rightful place at the messy table, as it should be, amen. No “get out of my country:” instead “come sit next to me, I saved you a seat.”

Earth

The dirt of me has no god, the material of which I am made is leaderless, it is solely of this earth. I have not risen, I am not lost in outer space. I am selfish and arrogant about God: I expect Him to accept me, not the other way around. I taste Him in pork and chive dumplings in Flushing, Queens; I see Him inside the running sweat off a lover’s chest; I decide He loves me when I watch reality TV on the floor drinking lite beer out of the can with a pink bendy straw. I am the basest of humans. God is my ally, I honor Him by merely living, I pay no other respects, I am a rotten subject.

I assume I am loved by God but by no one else. I assume God loves us all. I assume organized religion is a joke and doesn’t really count, that it’s a human construct and no direct creation of God’s. I assume some humans wouldn’t mind killing me for such thinking, or at least feeling that I deserved a good yelling at.

It’s awful: I actually think I have all the answers for me in this area. I must be wrong: it just couldn’t be that easy.

All I have is the truth I know in my heart, it’s all I can go on, here on the grimy path: my church is portable with God existing inside and outside all bricks.

Glory, glory, glory and even some more glory.

#queens #religion #nyc #nycblogger #heaven #search #path #childofgod #fuelgrannie #opinion #newyork #newyorkcity #earth

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