#like when i imagine an athletic perfect white american boy

[mundifinis]

jason grace art that depicts him like an actual 16 year old TEENAGER and not a 20 something year old >>>>>>

[melancholymetropolis]

No Idea

Pairings: Athlete!Kirishima x PlusSize!Reader

Summary: College AU The reader is Kirishima's History tutor and they kinda have a crush on each other. It takes an afterparty filled with horny guys and a skin-tight dress for Kiri to realize he wants them all to himself.

Warning: Do I even need to say it at this point? It's smut, obvi. Kinda unedited. The reader and her best friend are black. Kirishima is a football player; he's VERY possessive over the reader. Her best friend is a little gay for her as well.

Author's Note: This was a commission!!!!! The client gave me this insane prompt and I had no choice but to go over the word limit. If you want to commission me, click here! Your support really means the world to me. Enjoy!

Word Count: 5,300

“You’re back early!” My roommate, Liza, yelled from the other side of the apartment-style dorm room. The sound of her chair scraping the floor followed shortly after, along with the light footsteps of her sock-clad feet. “I left you a plate in the microwave, in case you were hungry. I could heat it up, if you’re too tired— why the long face? What happened?”

“He didn’t show up,” I sighed as I dropped my books on the table and sank into a chair.

“How can he not show up?” Liza fumed crossing her arms. “His GPA is already in the gutter from all the other quizzes he seemed to fail before the semester even started.”

“I know,” I replied in a bored tone.

“He’s on academic probation—”

“I know.”

“One more hiccup and he’ll be off the football team—”

“I know.”

“Not to mention how you practically have to bend backward to make time for him—”

“Mhm.”

“Just for him to flake on you for the third time! I just—”

“Liza, please,” I rose from my seat and stood in front of her. “You don’t have to be angry with me. It’s truly okay.”

“No! It’s not okay!” She stormed to the microwave and pulled the cover plate from the inside. She removed the foil and pushed it back into the device, before pressing the start button four times. She turns to face me and forces an angered sigh from her lips. “He likes you, you know that right?”

I lifted my books from the table and walked to our shared room. I took in the words that she threw at me with each step and digested them. Kirishima liked me. It wasn’t as though I didn’t have an inkling that he may be, sorta found me attractive. Although I wore glasses, I wasn’t blind. At least with them on. I saw the way he looked at me when we were less than a foot apart. Shoulders practically touching as we slouched over the Advanced American History textbook. Our hands brushing against each other’s ever so often. The sparkle in his eye when he looked at me longer than a few seconds; the blush on his cheeks when I smiled at his corny jokes. His persistent tendency to walk me home, although most times, we finished our study sessions just before dusk. The way he stayed glued to my side during the journey to my dorm. How he’d carry my books on the way. I noticed it all and practically welcomed it, since I too found him attractive. The spiky redhead just had a way of making everyone swoon over him. Kirishima was genuinely a nice person, not because there was something in it for him, but just because.

The beeping from the microwave brought me back to reality. I placed the textbooks on the designated space on the shelf and fixed my scattered stationery from that morning. Liza shuffled in with a bowl of baked fetta pasta, and a piece of toasted garlic bread a few minutes later. She placed the bowl on the desk, with a fork, a can of sparkling soda, and my favorite metal straw.

“What did I do to deserve you?” I said with a tired smile.

“Helped me pass ‘Text and Ideas’ with an A-,” Liza smiled back and placed a hand on my shoulder.

“Oh right,” I took a seat at the desk and forked the starchy dish in my mouth. “This is heaven-sent.”

“I knew you’d like it!” She deemed walking to her own desk. “I got the recipe from tiktok.”

I hum in response and continued to stuff my face. After a few minutes of silence, I grab the phone from my back pocket and unlocked it. A new message from Kirishima was the newest notification from many and it said:

Hey, I am sorry for not showing up. My teammate got shitfaced and decided to take a dive into the fountain. It took three of us to pull him out. It sucks because I was really looking forward to seeing you.

Since my mouth had already filled to its brink with pasta, I opted for a tight-lipped smirk instead of a toothy one. Kirishima all but admitted that he missed me. My hunch was right: the feelings are mutual. I swallowed the pasta and swiveled around in my chair to look at Liza. Her eyes were glued to her phone, but she snapped her head up to laugh at the content on her screen. Once she was down laughing, I picked my phone up and pointed it in her general direction. Reaching forward, she grasped the device and quickly read the message.

“Don’t respond to him,” she said, handing the phone back to me.

“Why? I thought you were shipping us together?” I asked whilst forking more pasta in my mouth.

“That’s why I’m telling you what I am telling you!” Liza rose to her feet and in a split second, she stood in front of me with a sickening smile.

“I am afraid to ask,” I said with a sigh.

“You don’t have to; I’m gonna tell you anyway,” she squats between my legs and widens her smile. “That boy is already wrapped around your finger, all you need to do is pull away. Just a tiny bit and he’ll come running.”

“Liza. . .”

“Hear me out!” She rose to her feet again and walked to the closet. “Remember when I went thrift shopping last week and I picked up that cute bodycon dress?”

“Yeah. . . ?”

“Well, I washed it and realized that it didn’t have the BODY to fill it out properly.” She pulls the dress from the closet and turns back to me. “And since the Homecoming Afterparty is at the Quarterback's house tomorrow night, I thought it would be the perfect time for you to wear it.”

I eye the dress, taking in its extremely short length and strappy detailing on the front. One wrong move and my breasts would spill right out of it. But, one right move would have them fall onto Kiri’s lap. I tried my best to list the pros and cons of the situation. Pondering what I could get out of the ordeal going to the lion’s den dressed as a gazelle. Yet, all I could imagine was me twerking on someone’s son and taking him home afterward.

💘🖤💘🖤

The dress fit like a glove: perfectly tight, almost like a second skin, but very breathable. I paired it with some hoop earrings, a few bangles on each wrist, and 3-inch kitten heels. My goal was to dress to impress, not nurse my aching arches by the end of the night. The entire ride over to the nicer part of town was nerve-wracking, for one, the Uber driver wouldn’t stop staring at my cleavage from the driver’s mirror. And, secondly, Liza practically had phone sex with her boyfriend, who was going to meet us at the party. I stared down at my phone the whole time, rereading Kiri’s message and the ones he sent afterward. It was true, he was wrapped around my finger. He didn’t double text; Kirishima sent five messages in a row.

Hey, are you free tomorrow? I wanted to talk about yesterday.

I’ll buy you that weird thing you like from Starbucks.

The drink you said that tastes like the moon.`

And I’ll get you those cake pop things.

My heart couldn’t help but flutter; I didn’t know he was paying that much attention to me. I only mentioned that Starbucks drink once in his presence, quite a while ago. It had to be a little over a month ago, yet he still remembered.

The car stopped and Liza popped right out. Her 34 inch Brazilian, straight swaying behind her as she closes the door. Still chatting with her boyfriend, she motions me out of the car with an eager smile. Reluctantly, I detach myself from the cool leather and tug on my dress as I closed the door behind me. I looked up toward the mansion before me, white paint and overwhelming size almost frightened me. But, when I saw a familiar, spiky-haired, redhead, all my potential fear left my body and warmth replaced it.

Kirishima’s back was to me; he was having an intense conversation with his best friend, Bakugo, one of the team’s Linebackers. The blond was so close to popping a fuse but Kiri was struggling to keep from laughing directly in his face. I approach the porch, slow and sensual, my eyes glued to him the entire walk over. Kirishima briefly turns around to address a comer of the group, Sero, an offensive player, when his eyes come up the steps. The humorous expression on his face drops and is replaced with awe. The other two boys look in the direction of his eyesight and replicate his reaction.

“Hi—” I lifted my hand to wave, but it never made it past my abdomen. Liza appeared right in front of me and captured my wrist.

“Girl, it’s our song! Hurry up!” She said as she proceeded to drag me into the house.

“Bye—! Wait, damn!”

Liza pulled me to the makeshift dance floor in the middle of the living room of the home. She starts to bop side to side, swaying her hips in place. It takes me a few seconds to register that “34+35” was blasting the speakers. Liza twirls around me in a fit of giggles and continues to bop along to the music.

“I thought you liked “positions” better than this track?” I questioned as I matched her rhythm.

“I do! I just had to get you out of there,” Liza answered as she swayed her head back and forth. Which made her hair move in an angelic wave behind her bandeau top and pencil skirt. “Those three guys looked like they wanted to run a train on you.”

“ELIZABETH!!!!” I screamed with a shocked smile.

“What?! I’m not lying!” She gives me a bashful smirk. “You look so good, mamas! Shit, you're making me rethink my relationship with Shinso.”

“Oh my god!” I laughed. “I can’t take your ass anywhere, for real!”

The song began to fade out and bleed into “Pussy Talk” with the infamous City Girls. Liza’s soft bops began to move into full booty bouncing. Soon her hands are on her knees and she’s throwing her ass back on my lap. I press my hand flat on her back and lift my other hand in the air. She whines her waist and looks back at me as her inner hot girl is threatening to make an appearance. Shortly after the first verse, Liza straightens her back and dances around me as I bop to the side, bouncing my ass to the music. A smile comes to my lips as my favorite part plays on full blast.

“Pussy talented, it do cartwheels,” Liza and I screamed in unison. “And he pay ‘cause he like how that part feel.”

“Pussy give speeches, heartfelt,” I continued, popping my back against my friend.

“Yuh,” Liza ad-libbed.

“Said the pussy really talk like it Garfield,” I rapped as I felt Liza’s hands glide up my sides.

“It do!”

We danced around each other for the rest of the song and pulled away from the floor, desperately needing to hydrate. We practically stumbled toward the makeshift bar across the living room. We reached into the cooler and pulled out two bottles of water. We chugged the water and tossed the empty bottles in the trash.

“Only water, ladies?” Mineta asked as we turned back towards the dance floor. “You don’t want something a little. . . stronger?”

“Get lost, grape juice,” a familiar voice suddenly came out of nowhere.

Just a few feet behind the purple blob stood Kirishima and Shinso. If looks could kill, Mineta’s body parts would be staining the marble floors and messing up my fresh pedicure. The poor excuse for a human scurried away as both football players approached us. Shinso instantly wrapped his arms around Liza and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Having fun, baby girl?” His low voice sounded sensual against the harsh music.

A seductive smile falls on Liza’s face. “I would’ve had even more fun if you actually danced with me for once.”

“You know I don’t like—”

“Too bad!” She pulled Shinso to the dance floor.

Leaving me alone with Kirishima. I turned to look at him and offered him an awkward smile. “How was your diving lesson?”

The redhead returned my smile and scratched the back of his neck. “So you did read me my texts? I was starting to think you were mad at me or something.”

“Not at you, per se,” I replied thinking of my words carefully.

“Then who were you mad at?” Kirishima closes the distance between us and puts a finger under my chin. He redirects my attention to his face and gives me a smirk.

He looked good and he knew it. He wore a simple white t-shirt and black ripped jeans. But, he paired it with a burgundy leather jacket and a Cuban link silver chain. He had a gold wristwatch on his left wrist and a simple chain on his right. And his cologne. . . it danced in my nostrils. It wasn’t too heavy or suffocating; you simply had to be close to him to smell it.

Kirishima was playing a dangerous game and he knew it.

“At the people that take you away from me,” I looked at him with doughy eyes and slightly parted lips. A look of innocence was written all over my face.

Kirishima clenched his jaw and briefly looked away. A blush starting to form on his cheeks. “Well, I—. Shit.” He remained silent for a few seconds, gathering his words, before saying “You don’t know what you do to me, Y/N.”

“And what’s that?” I asked while removing his hand from my chin and bringing it to my lips. I gently kiss his bruised knuckles, never breaking eye contact while doing so.

The redhead opens his mouth to speak but is rudely interrupted by a yelling Liza.

“GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE, BITCH!!!! THEY’RE PLAYING OUR SONG!!!!”

While I was talking to Kirishima, the music seemed to slip away. I had no idea what was playing until I refocused my attention on the blaring speakers. “Come on, Kiri. Duty calls.” I drag him to the dance floor.

Liza unlatches herself from Shinso and twirls around me. “I’m not shy, I’ll say it. I’ve been picturing you naked.”

“I’m a little faded, you look like a fucking painting,” I continue the verse as I glide my hands along my body. “Big doe eyes, amazin’. She’s everything I’ve been prayin’.”

Liza walked up to Kirishima and glided her hand along his chest. “Me and your girlfriend playin’ dress-up house.” She pressed two fingers against her lips and poked her tongue out. “I gave your girlfriend cunnilingus on my couch.”

Kirishima blushes a bright red, nearly matching his hair. It takes everything in me not to laugh.

I look back at Shinso and he’s just shaking his head with a smile on his face.

“Go get your girlfriend, before she devours your teammate,” I said giggly quietly.

“Go get your best friend before she kills your loverboy,” Shinso counters looking down at me with a smirk.

“He looks like he's gonna pass out,” I replied, struggling to contain my laughter.

“If you think that’s bad, you should’ve seen him when you were twerking on Liza,” Shinso jested while leaning closer to me. “Eijiro looked like he came in his pants.”

I smacked his arm and leaned against his chest. “You’re lying!” Laughter overcame my body; tears were gathering in the corners of my eyes.

“I swear to god,” Shinso struggled to say while laughing. “Then, when Bakugo called you hot. . . Eiji almost went feral.”

“Stop. . . I can’t breathe. . .”

“You better fuck him like the world is ending. . . I can’t keep stopping him from. . . fighting the entire team over you.”

“You and Liza. . . perfect for each other. . . I cannot. . .”

The song swiftly faded out into another. Yet another one of Liza’s favorites: Buss it by Erika Banks.

The young woman peeled herself from Kirishima and began walking to her boyfriend. I distanced myself from Shinso and walked over to Kirishima. I wrapped my arms around his neck and looked into his eyes. “Are you okay, Kiri?” A smile painted my lips.

His eyes darkened and he gripped my waist firmly. “I want you. . . so bad right now.”

“How about we get outta here?” I suggested with a raised eyebrow.

“Go say goodbye to your friends, I’ll bring the car around,” Kirishima asserted with a smirk. He pressed a kiss to my forehead before detaching himself from me and walking out of the living room.

I turned back to Shinso and Liza, who were seconds away from eating each other’s face off. I tapped the loving couple and cleared my throat. They both pulled away and stared at me.

"We're leaving," I said simply.

"About fucking time," Liza replied with a smirk. "You better come back to the dorm in a goddamn wheelchair, if not, I'm sending you back to his place."

"You have like zero chill," I shook my head and waved goodbye.

"Don't forget to use protection!" Liza yelled after me.

A chuckle fell from my lips as I walked out of the front door. I found Kirishima exactly where he said he'd be: parked in front of the massive house, within a bright red mustang. He exited the car and walked around to the passenger side of the vehicle. He opened my door and helped me get in. Kirishima made sure I was buckled in and comfortable before entering the car on the driver's side.

He starts the vehicle, and places his right hand on my thigh. He gives the plush fresh a securing squeeze before pulling away from the curb.

The drive was short and sweet, averaging around ten minutes. We parked across the street from the boys’ dorm hall and exited the car. Kirishima opened my door and helped me out of the vehicle.

"If you don't want this, I could always take you home," he said as he shut my door. "I don't want to pressure you into anything."

"I want this more than you know," I responded while gripping his hand. "But, if I ever feel uncomfortable, I'll let you know."

Kirishima nods and smiles. "Good girl. Now let's go."

The moment his dorm's door closed, his body was pressed against mine and his hand glued to my waist. His lips massaged against my own, slow and sensually. I moaned against the kiss, and pressed my body closer to his. He felt so good attached to me, almost like he was meant to be against me. His searing hot kisses inched down my jawline and to my neck. Kirishima's hands slid up my abdomen and to my shoulders, he slipped the straps from the curved surface and pulled away just enough just to allow me to remove them from my arms.

He kissed the other side of my neck, leaving little bites here and there. The redhead ran his tongue against my collarbones and I swear a flood rushed to my nether regions. Kirishima kissed down and left my breast, gathering the anticipation that swirled through my body before latching his lips on my nipple. A throat my moan fell from my mouth and my legs jolted slightly. My mind continued to fog as he nestled against the sensitive bud, while happily moaning against the soft flesh. I pressed one hand against the front door and another in his hair.

Pants left my lips as I began to squirm underneath his body. "Take me to the bed, please," I begged while looking down at him. " I want you so bad, Kiri."

The redhead detached himself from my breast and gripped my chin. "Say my name, baby." His red eyes stared deeply into my brown ones, taking in every little detail of my expression.

"Eijiro," I said breathlessly.

"Say it again," he broke eye contact and gripped my waist.

"Eijiro."

His hands slipped down the curve of my rear and to my legs. He lifted limbs from off the ground and wrapped them around his waist. I wrapped my arms around his leg immediately afterward and giggled.

He walked further into the dorm room and passed through another dorm. He sits me on the extra-long twin bed and falls to his knees between my legs. Kiri unlatches my strappy heel and tosses it to the other side of the room. While he does the other foot, a smirk presses against his lips.

"What?" I asked while looking down at him.

"I'm just thinking about how this started," he said while smiling. "How my shifty grades gave me the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Stop it," I counter with a blush on my face. "You're exaggerating."

"Baby, I mean it with every fiber of my being when I say this," he leaned forward. "I've wanted to be with you for a while now, I just didn't know if you'd like me back. And I was kinda ashamed of taking so long to say something because you're so sweet and you really helped me a lot with Advanced American History. I didn’t want you to think I was using you for information or anything."

I leaned forward and pressed my lips on his forehead. "I liked you even before I officially knew you. When you beat the shit out of that guy that tried to home a drunk girl."

"I don't even remember that."

"It was during a Halloween party last year, that was when I first saw you. And I thought, "wow I wish more men like him existed in this world"."

"I can't believe you remember that."

"How could I not? You basically saved that girl's life and dignity. You were the only human being in a room full of predators. That's when I knew I wanted you for myself."

Kirishima laughs. "Greedy, little Y/N."

I shrugged.

"Come here."

I gathered the football player into my arms and pressed my lips onto his. Taking in every ounce of his kiss. Sucking on his bottom lip. Slipping my tongue within his mouth. Tugging against his collar to close the distance between us. After a few seconds, Kirishima kissed down my body again until he was face to face with my heated center. He scrunched the dress around my waist and pulled my panties off my legs before spreading my legs wide open.

"Oh… look how wet you are, baby," he kissed the soft skin in between my thighs. "All for me."

Kirishima dipped his head between my legs and took a long swipe at the sticky mess between them. A shiver ran along my spine, Arching my back, I released a soft whimper and spread my legs further apart. He dipped his tongue into the smooth canal repeatedly, bobbing his head as he completed the action. His calloused hands slid up my legs once more and hooked around my thighs. Kiri moved his hot mouth from the very bottom of my womanhood to the top, leaving a long string of spit along the way. The redhead sucked on the protruding bud tenderly; with hollowed cheeks, he looked up from my heat and stared into my eyes. I bit my lip and moaned loudly.

“Fuck, you feel good,” I arched my back against his mouth and bucked my hips slowly.

Kirishima released my bud with a silent “pop” and began lapping the rosy, pink button in great haste. My legs jolted at the new source of stimulation and a throaty whine fell from my lips. Squeezing my eyes shut, I squirmed underneath his mouth, desperately wanting to add more friction. Kiri noticed my slutty movements and began to move his tongue even faster.

“Ah. . . just like that, don’t stop,” my fingers gathered my bosoms and gave them a firm squeeze. The walls of my slick cave began to clench and release themselves at a faster pace. Tingles rose up my body, swirling against my lower abdomen, almost numbing my lower half entirely. Then, a searing sensation ripped through me, causing my hips to raise from the bed and my knees to shake. A low scream left my mouth as I felt the throbbing of my bud increase tremendously.

“Oh fuck! Oh fuck! Oh fuck!” My hips fell on the bed again and my legs shook violently. Kirishima steadied them as much as he could before a whole another wave hit my body and my entire being went still.

“Ah! Eijiro!” I screamed as the pleasure shot through my body for the last time. Pants left my throat and short spurts, just as sweat dripped from my forehead. I looked down at Kirishima, who had just pulled away from my spasming cunny. He had a look of astonishment on his face, as if he couldn’t believe his eyes. He looked down at my wrecked body, taking in the shaking limbs, the thin layer of sweat upon it, and the scrunched-up dress at the waist.

“You sounded so hot screaming my name,” he finally said after a few seconds of silence. “No one has ever made it sound so good as you.”

“Well, grab a condom and I’ll scream your name for the rest of the night,” I replied with a smirk. “If you can last that long.”

“Oh, baby,” Kiri’s smile widened. “You have no idea.”

He walked over to his dresser and pulled out a box of condoms from the top drawer. He ripped one off the sleeve and walked back over to me. I pulled the scrunched-up dress over my head and tossed it to the side. I looked over at Kiri and he’d already stripped himself of his T-shirt. He was currently unbuckling his belt with the condom packet in his mouth. His massive bulge immediately caught my eye and I moaned in anticipation. Kirishima rips the packet open with his teeth and rolls latex down his throbbing shaft. My walls clench at the delicious sight and I could feel my nipple begin to stiffen

“If you’re still tired, we can wait a little—” Kirishima begins to say before I cut him off.

“Eijiro, stop being nice and fuck me like a slut.”

His lips were on mine within the next heartbeat. His hands roamed every crevice of my body, taking in the soft tissue and stretchmarks lovingly. His throbbing member slowly slid into me with little to no friction. He made sure to thumb my clitoris while inserting himself, just so he wouldn’t hurt me. And I swear, I was seconds away from asking him to marry me. He gently moved his hips backward, and then pushed forward again. Highlighting his first stroke. He looked at the crimson hue on my face and leaned down to kiss me.

“You are so pretty, princess,” Kiri groaned softly, as he moved his hips at a gentle pace. “So, so pretty.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him again. Our tongues danced together as his member tenderly kissed my sensitive walls with each thrust. Kirishima moaned against my lips, as he took in every part of that union. He hiked up one of my legs and hooked it around his waist while he cradled the back of my neck with the other. He looked into my eyes as he increased the pressure of his strokes and their depth. My mouth hung open, and drool poured from the side of it as he kept up the sickening pace. My eyes began to roll back as throat moans rose from the depth of my body.

“Oh God. . .” I slurred as the pleasure increased within my body.

“Aww look at my pretty baby,” Kiri grunted as he rested his hand on my neck. He pressed his thumb between my lips.

I sucked on the digit and looked into his eyes. He moved his hips faster and my lips separated from around the finger. Pants fell from my lips as I felt his member sensually assault my cervix. After a few minutes, Kirishima suddenly pauses and hikes one of my legs up to his shoulders. He readjusts his body, leaving his hand on my neck and placing his hand on my clit. Kiri began to rock his hips in a powerful, but steady motion. He rubs the throbbing bud in a gentle motion, slowly gathering every ounce of pleasure within my body. The pace of my breathing increased rapidly, as the pool in my stomach began to inflate. Whimpers fell from my lips as I gripped the sheets underneath me.

“I’m so close. . .” I whispered through tight lips. “Please don’t stop. . .”

“You’re squeezing me so deliciously tight, baby,” Kirishima grunts as a droplet of sweat drops from his brow. “Milking my cock for everything it’s worth. What a greedy little cunny you have.”

“Eijiro. . . I wanna cum so bad,” I whimpered through pants. “Please let me cum, baby.”

Kirishima curses under his breath and releases his hand from my throbbing bud. He places both hands onto my neck, thumbs pressing against my jaw. He eases his body forward and keeps his sickening pace. “You’re gonna be the death of me, I swear.”

I sucked in a breath and wrapped my hands around his forearms. I furrow my brows and pant with my mouth open. “You make me feel so good, Eiji. So fucking good!”

“You’re mine, you hear me?” He drops his hands from my neck and presses his forehead to mine. “You don’t get to fuck anyone else. . . . .You don’t get to be with anyone else. . . .My name will be the only name you moan for the rest of your life, do you understand?”

I nod. “I understand.”

“You’re mine and no one else's.”

He pulls me into a searing hot kiss. Drinking in all the love and energy throughout my body. I hook my arms around his neck and moan against his lips. Suddenly, I felt an intense rush of adrenaline pass through my body and everything seemed to go silent. A low ringing noise sounded in my ear as my mouth fell open. I dug my arms into his back and clung to his body. Every fiber of my being tensed and my mind went completely blank for several seconds. Then, slowly, my body released itself and collapsed onto the bed. I opened my eyes lazily to see Kirishima’s eyes tightly closed and his hips slightly shaking. Once he finished his ride, his body relaxed and he lowered my leg from his shoulder. He pulled me into an embrace and pressed another kiss onto my lips.

I pulled away from the kiss and looked into his crimson eyes. “Were you serious about calling me yours?”

“Ugh. . . yes?” He replied hesitantly. Then, he added “If that’s okay with you! I don’t wanna force you—”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I cut him off with a smirk.

“Oh, I was worried for a second.”

“The only thing you should be worried about is your Advanced American History grade.”

“Oh, right. . .”

“You miss another one of my sessions, I’ll ignore you again.”

“Please don’t! I will be present at every session.”

“Good. And you have to be Starbucks.”

“The drink that tastes like the moon?”

“Matcha latte with 2 pumps of chai. Yup.”

“And two chocolate cake pops.”

“Mhm. You know me so well.”

[sgtpaine]

The Left’s Revolution Dominates Every American Height, And They Don’t Know Why We Aren’t Cheering

Herein lies a glimpse into just what kind of knuckle-draggers the left thinks we are. They think patriotism means we’ll do whatever they say whenever they say it.

By

Christopher Bedford

AUGUST 10, 2021

“Rooting against Olympians, scoffing at Capitol police, broaching civil war — meet today’s conservative movement.”

That’s the opening of an article last week at Vox.com. You’ve probably heard of Vox. Their self-proclaimed, self-aggrandizing purpose is to “explain the news.” But when Vox’s condescending reporters start talking about conservatives, Christians, guns, or really anyone outside of a few coastal cities, they have a habit of sounding like Jane Goodall observing apes.

So, what’s their qualm now? Let’s let them explain it in their own words:

[There is a] rising tendency in the conservative movement to reject America itself. In this thinking, the country is so corrupted that it is no longer a source of pride or even worthy of respect. … Queer female soccer stars demanding equal pay, Black basketball players kneeling to protest police brutality, the world’s best gymnast prioritizing her mental health over upholding the traditional ideal of the “tough” athlete — this is all a manifestation of the ascendancy of liberal cultural values in public life. And an America where these values permeate national symbols, like the Olympic team, is an America where those symbols are worthy of scorn.

Worthy of scorn; imagine that. Underperforming and overpaid people who for a living play a game no one watches want to be paid the same as people who are better players and earn more viewers.

Rich athletes publicly spitting on their country, their flag, and the men and women who have died for it, so they can push left-wing lies.

An enormously talented athlete quitting on the brink of competition, and saying the problem was she wanted to compete only for herself, not for her coaches, her teammates, or her country.

These are indeed “all a manifestation of the ascendancy of liberal cultural values in public life.” They’re the fruits of a spoiled, privileged, narcissistic, and self-obsessed revolution that began in the late 1950s and has been fighting its way to power ever since. They have it now, and it isn’t simply confined to our sacred soccer ball kickers.

Sports is just the latest, but look at its sponsors: You can be a subpar professional athlete, but if you spit on the flag you get a lucrative Nike contract.

Remember that Nike ad, “Believe in something even if it means sacrificing everything”? It featured Colin Kaepernick. The only problem is, he didn’t sacrifice anything — he discovered he could be paid a lot more playing the American public than he could playing football as a backup quarterback.

Now, thanks to his fake bravery, he gets to decide if the first flag of the United States is permissible. He says it isn’t, because America wasn’t perfect 245 years ago — and Nike sanctifies that decision with a lucrative payout.

They don’t mind; Nike may still be headquartered in Beaverton, Oregon, but at heart they’re a Chinese company. That’s the People’s Republic of China: a godless slave state that uses forced labor to manufacture products and criminalizes dissent. That’s a country Nike respects, or at least one it cares about offending. Guess what: We don’t like that.

They’re far from alone. Silicon Valley was once a symbol of American enterprise: Young men working in their garages to harness technology and revolutionize our lives. Now Silicon Valley symbolizes the most powerful private companies the world has ever known — and they use that power to crush dissent, censor presidents and critics, and push left-wing propaganda. Turns out, when they do that we don’t like them.

We can go on. Blackrock sends its urchins to buy up affordable homes in growing cities to transform a society of homeowners into a society of servile tenants.

Mastercard and IBM build international databases for tracking humans so they can bar them from travel and commercial activity if they don’t take an experimental vaccine. Or, in MasterCard’s case, maybe they’ll ban you if they just dislike your politics.

Bank of America refuses to make loans to American gun manufacturers out of principle while making a $1 billion gift to Black Lives Matter, a racist, anti-American, anti-family, grifty riot squad responsible for dead police, murdered innocents, and burned-out cities. Huh — turns out we don’t like any of that either.

How about the Pentagon? Conservatives used to respect it because it won wars and embodied the finest of American values while doing so. But now the Pentagon loses wars, throws away lives, and wastes trillions of dollars while trashing those fine American values.

The military used to be a strict meritocracy. Now, they cut standards in the name of diversity. They used to demand that every soldier be fit and ready for war. Now, they slash the requirements for our troops’ physical performance and brag about maternity flight suits.

They teach weak and disgusting left-wing racism in their academies, they target Christians, they insult the middle-America conservatives who do most of the fighting and an overwhelming share of the dying in our armed forces. While our enemies run ads touting the manly virtues necessary to a warrior life, our generals run ads about having two moms. It’s not very intimidating. And hey, we don’t like it.

Ladies and gentlemen, we could all go on with example after example, but the point is this: The left got their revolution, the one they spent decades screaming and agitating for. They got their ideologues into the halls of power — not just the university halls, not just the halls of Congress, but all of them: Business, media, military, sports.

If there is an institution in your life and it’s not a good church, chances are that institution has implemented one policy after another pledging itself to the dogmas of the left. Now, the left is shocked — shocked — that we don’t like it one bit.

There was an America that we loved. It was an America of religious liberty and freedom of speech, and equality before the law. An America that loved what is beautiful rather than what is warped and ugly. An America that loved its founders and loved its children. An America that knew that whatever prosperity it possessed, it owed it all to the Almighty, and that it had a solemn duty to Him in return.

That was the America we loved. An America that hundreds of thousands of young men proved they loved more than life itself. We still love that America, and we’re not just going to cheer and applaud their active desecration of it.

Herein lies a great little glimpse into just what kind of knuckle-draggers the left thinks we are. They think patriotism means we’ll do whatever they say whenever they say it. “Drink your can of beer, sit on the couch, and cheer for sports. You like sports, don’t you, you ape? Come on, watch them on your 60-inch Chinese TV you bought at Walmart.”

“Buy our cheap, foreign products, do it now. You like free enterprise, don’t you? What’s more free than your boys and girls in the Navy guarding Chinese ships shipping Chinese products from Chinese companies to run-down American towns that were once industrial hubs?”

“You like cheap things, don’t you? I thought Republicans loved sports and business!”

“When Gen. Mark Milley says jump, you say how high. When he says you’re racist and you are showing white rage, nod along. When he says standards are overblown, and that diversity is our new strength, salute. Come on, don’t you support our troops?”

They don’t get it. They don’t get that we don’t honor and salute empty institutions and buildings! We don’t just bow down before the local magistrate’s hat on a stick.

They don’t get that a church is not just some building that can be made into a nightclub, it’s where we worship God — and it’s from his presence that it derives its meaning.

They don’t get that people watch sports for athletic excellence, good old American entertainment, and the thrill of cheering for the guys fighting for your team. No one watches sports to be condescended to, regardless of what uniform the athlete has on.

They don’t get that we respect the flag and the Americans who’ve fought and died for it and will again, but that doesn’t mean we stand and salute the Pentagon and all the foolish politicians in the brass.

They also don’t get that we’re not all 100 percent serious and miserable all of the time, like a couple of CNN anchors we could name; we still have a sense of humor. So yes, when a woman with an ugly heart says ugly things about America and then flops in a big soccer tournament, we’re going to chuckle about it. Maybe even laugh out loud. Maybe we will have that cold beer.

We’re Americans; we don’t resent success in sports, business, or military service. But as Helen Andrews of The American Conservative recently wrote, conservatives don’t resent the left’s success — we resent the ways they actively harm us. And we’ll never accept the rotten version of America they tell us we’re supposed to love.

America is worth saving. If you live in a major coastal city, leave it whenever you can and see that America. It can sometimes be hard to find — the left has warped it viciously. Today this country kills its children in the womb, celebrates decadence, and glorifies decay, but if Vox is onto anything it’s this: We are onto them. And we’re not buying it. And America lives on in our hearts.

There are a lot of problems in this country. We’re experiencing a secular elite trying to justify their existence in any way they can. Things are going to get worse before they get better, because they want things to and it makes them feel good.

But there’s no God at the end of this tunnel. Just as with drugs or money or sex, no amount of Black Lives Matter,  climate change activism, and yard signs can fill the hole they’re feeling. The good news is, it won’t work; the bad news is, our experiment is delicate and badly damaged.

The work — going to school board meetings, running for local office, speaking up in our towns and our cities and our states — is hard work. We’re going to lose friends along the way, but we will lose this country forever if we don’t, so there’s really no choice at all, is there.

Christopher Bedford is a senior editor at The Federalist, the vice chairman of Young Americans for Freedom, a board member at the National Journalism Center, and the author of The Art of the Donald. Follow him on

Twitter

.

[yehet-me-up]

Conquest

Pairing: frat boy!Changkyun/I.M x reader

Rating: M for language/sexy times

Genre: College!AU, smut

Word Count: 3,785

Summary: You’re used getting what you want, who you want. You take pleasure in each conquest, but tonight you may have met your match. 

Monsta X Kinks series part six: Spanking 🖐🏻🍑

The first time you see him, you have only one thought - you hate hate hate the smug look on his face. You can practically feel the arrogance radiating off him from across the party and you want to do anything you can to wipe it off him.

He hasn’t even noticed you yet, but the way he carries himself is a gauntlet thrown at your feet in challenge. He carries himself like he’s God’s gift to the women of MXU. As if the fact that he’s in the hottest fraternity on campus means he can eye the women coming through the door like they are prized cuts of meat, ripe for tasting.

He might think he can have everything he wants, but he hasn’t met you yet.

‘Dibs on that one,’ you say with a smirk, elbowing your friend Renee.

‘Which one? There’s so many to choose from,’ she says with wide eyes.

‘The cocky one in the corner.’ You lift your chin to point to where the man is holding court in the corner over a keg.

‘Are you kidding me? Him?’ she gasps and straightens the hemline of her dress. ‘Changkyun is like… a ladykiller.’

You snort. ‘Please. I’ll have him begging for it by hmmm -’ You look at your watch. ‘By midnight.’

She rolls her eyes at you, always amused by the thrill you get from the chase. 

That’s the secret, to hunt them while making them think they’re the ones hunting you. It’s all about playing them right, to make yourself the quarry they’ve been longing for, you think savagely as you find your group of friends in the corner.

‘We’ve got a live one on our hands tonight ladies,’ Renee announces to Shireen and Lindsey with amusement.

Lindsey laughs out loud and pretends to look around the party with her hand on her brow. ‘Ooooh who’s tonight’s victim?’

Renee motions subtly to Changkyun in the corner and Lindsey whistles.

‘Going straight for the alpha tonight, eh?’ Lindsey says and bumps you with her hip.

‘You know me Linds,’ you say with honey in your voice. ‘I always go for the jugular.’

They don’t realize you’re the predator, not the prey, until they wake up and realize you’re gone. Get what you want from them and then get out before you can get hurt. That’s the trick.

Your friends watch you with a combination of encouragement and concern. They’ve long ago stopped trying to get you to have, you know, a real relationship again and turned instead to encouraging you to be safe on this warpath you’re hell-bent on cutting through the men of MXU.

‘Anyone care for a drink?’ you ask the group. Renee raises her hand and you nod, heading off for the keg.

As you make your way through the crowd, you study him. His laugh is easy, congenial. The picture perfect All-American college stud. You’d bet your car on him being a Business major or something to do with sports. He’s got the look down, you’ll give him that. Light brown hair artfully tousled across his forehead. Dark wash jeans and a white button down, Timbs. Classy, approachable, yet undeniably lust-inducing.

Which character will it be tonight? you muse. Student athlete looking for a different kind of workout? Poetry major looking for a connection? Maybe a sweet freshman at her first kegger? Fumble with the pump so he has to step in and help; eyes wide and voice pitched higher. Grab his biceps and coo. Pretend you’re not experienced to inflate his ego?

Nah. Not tonight, you think with a shake of your head. Something raw and needy is flowing in your veins and you need more of a challenge. Tonight you decide to be yourself, just with the volume turned up.

When you approach the keg you finally make eye contact with him. For a moment the clean image he presents fades away and you get a glimpse of the animal within. He admires your calves, the cleavage on display in the dress you wear.

You meet his look with a snarky raise of your brow and resolutely ignore him. Instead, you expertly get yourself a cup of what is undoubtedly cheap beer, ensuring that you bend your back to show off your ass. Behind your back you can hear male voices discussing and you smile to yourself while you fill another cup.

It’s like shooting fish in a barrel, truly.

Without giving him a second glance, you walk back through the crowd. You’d be willing to wager that not many girls leave him in the dust. Good, you think. You can only imagine the slew of broken hearts he’s left across this campus.

The beer is indeed gross, but by the time you finish the cup you’re laughing at Shireen’s story of her idiotic professor you’ve already acclimated to the taste. With a last sip you finish the cup and frown at it. It’s too soon to make another pass through the kitchen. He needs time to want you first, you think.

‘Can I offer you another?’ comes a deep voice from next to you.

The man in question is standing there, holding out a blue cup to you with his brow raised in question. Renee giggles behind you and you sigh. If he’s already coming over to you, he must be an easier catch than you thought. Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

‘Thanks,’ you say, eyeing the cup. ‘But I don’t drink anything I didn’t pour myself.’

You smile up at him and he laughs. He’s not offended by the insinuation and you give him a point for that. There’s interest in his irises when he meets your gaze. Interest and something else you can’t name.

With a dramatic bow he motions toward the kitchen. ‘Might I accompany you to refill your own cup then?’

For a long moment you consider him before finally nodding. ‘Alright then. Lead the way, handsome.’

He drops a hand to your waist, ghosting over your lower back as he guides you through the crowd. 

‘Handsome, huh?’ The sound is low against your ear and you shiver despite the heat in the room.

When you turn to sass him he’s closer than you expected. Close enough to see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Close enough to smell his cologne, something woodsy and spicy and definitely not Axe Body Spray.

‘You know you’re handsome. Don’t act like you’re not used to flattery,’ you say while leaning in to let your lips tease the shell of his ear.

He laughs and watches as you fill your own cup. ‘Something tells me you don’t offer flattery often, unless there’s something you want. So I’ll take the compliment either way.’

When you stand he’s leaning back against the counter drinking the cup he’d offered you. He holds your gaze and licks his lips. 

You lean against the window ledge behind you. ‘So you weren’t trying to drug me. Do you think that makes you a prince or something?’ you say harshly before taking a large swallow.

This upsets him; brows pulling together, mouth thinning to a line. ‘I might not be the nicest guy in the world, but I stand for none of that here.’ He waits until you meet his eyes again. ‘I take nothing that isn’t given freely to me.’

You lift your shoulder and let it fall. ‘Good. It still doesn’t mean you’ll ever get anything from me, but thanks for playing.’

His expression melts into something more seductive. ‘What makes you think I want anything from you?’

Oh, he’s good. ‘Do you regularly offer beverages to women you’ve never met before?’

‘Maybe. It’s a free country. I believe wholeheartedly in hydrating everyone who comes into my house.’

‘I can fend for myself just fine,’ you challenge.

‘I’ll bet you can do lots of things just fine by yourself,’ he says with a wink. ‘But aren’t some things better with… help?’

The moment stretches out while you two size each other up. Fine, he is hot. You’ll give him that. You wouldn’t sleep with just anyone.

His chest looks broad and strong beneath his shit. The veins on his hands, cording up his forearms, make you imagine what they’d feel like holding you against a wall while he fucks you. His lips are full and red and you wonder what sounds he’d make when you pull the lower one between your teeth.

The familiar heat blooms low in your body, the itch you can never quite seem to scratch. You wonder just how empty and unfulfilled he’ll leave you when this is over. If you’ll take enough from him to make this worth the effort.

‘What’s your major?’ he asks casually.

You frown. ‘Don’t pretend like you care.’

He opens his arms wide, not letting you off the hook. ‘I’m just trying to get to know you here. Or do you normally have sex with men without knowing their name?’

The question is a knife to the chest, re-opening the wound you worry will never heal. The hurt animal inside you wants to roar at him. 

In two steps you’re toe to toe with him. ‘Maybe. Maybe that’s what I like. Rough, impersonal sex. And lots of it.’

He holds your gaze, seems to stare down into your soul as he breathes deeply at your closeness. A question runs through his eyes and after a moment he gives voice to it. ‘Why me?’

‘Huh?’ he startles you and you step back into a person filling their cup at the keg.

With his free hand he reaches for your elbow, steadying you. ‘You know what I mean. I saw you notice me when you came in. Why’d you pick me?’

You deflect easily. ‘Why’d you pick me? You were the one that came over.’

He gives you a lopsided grin and you wonder again what his mouth would taste like. ‘I figure it would be one of two things. Either we’d hit it off…’

‘Or?’ you push him, mostly to distract yourself.

This was supposed to be a game. He was supposed to undress you literally, not expose your secrets.

‘Or the hate-sex would be great.’ He licks along his lower lip, eyes fixated on the line of your neck. ‘Whichever way it goes, I’d get to spend the night with you.’

The hopefulness in his voice slips underneath your defenses and makes your heart flip. You hate the feeling and how vulnerable it makes you. The armor you’ve taken to wearing around your heart slides into place with a comforting weight.

‘Sorry, I’m closed for the night.’

You turn to leave but he reaches a gentle hand for your shoulder. ‘If you don’t want to sleep with me, we could always discuss this week’s reading.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘Masculinities: contestation, circulation, and transformation? Tuesdays and Thursdays with Professor Khan?’

He says it with a smile that you recognize so well you want to scream.

The smile you give to men who assume you can’t play pool or fix your own tire or school them at comic book trivia. The smile of satisfaction you let cover you with pride when you’ve called someone on their shitty assumptions. And now it’s your turn to feel chastised.

‘You’re in my women’s studies class?’ you say, shocked.

‘I am indeed. I’m planning on getting an MBA in sports management. I want to have a thorough understanding of the male psyche and its impact on the feminine. I want to represent men’s and women’s teams equally.’

‘How have I not noticed you?’

His cheeks turn pink. ‘Well, I normally wear my glasses and a beanie to fit in.’ He shrugs. ‘This isn’t what you normally wear, either though, is it?’

You look down at the low-cut, thigh-grazing black dress and razor-sharp stilettos you wear and laugh. ‘No. It’s not. My friend Renee calls it my ‘on the prowl’ outfit.’

He whistles. ‘That’s definitely a name for it. I like it. I also like what you normally wear. I have to say I’m flattered you picked me as your target for the night.’

The reality of him is so separate from the fantasy you’d constructed you want to cackle. A few minutes ago you wanted to throw your drink in his face before launching yourself into his arms and sticking your tongue into his mouth. 

Now you have no idea what you’re dealing with and it makes you feel raw and exposed and needy.

‘I don’t think we should sleep together tonight,’ you say so quietly you’re not sure he hears you.

He nods. ‘That’s fine with me. I’m just happy you’re talking to me. I’ve been trying to get your attention all semester,’ he says and runs a hand through his hair in embarrassment.

‘I’m sorry if I ignored you, I’ve-’ you start, thinking of how different things were in December compared to now. How different you were. ‘My boyfriend cheated on me over break and I’ve kind of been… throwing myself into forgetting him.’

There’s a warmth in his eyes that eases something cold and tight and aching inside you. ‘He’s an absolute idiot. If I had someone as intelligent and engaging and hot as you I’d never let you go.’

‘Maybe we should sleep together, then,’ you laugh bitterly. ‘Then you can get sick of me, too.’

He leans closer and you feel his breath against the sensitive skin of your shoulder exposed by your dress. ‘I highly doubt that.’

When he pulls back you almost toss your cup and grab him. But you cling to your sanity and breathe instead, torn between running out the door and taking a chance on him. 

Something in you tells you to trust your instincts, that you chose him the moment you walked in for a reason; saw beneath his facade as quickly and easily as he did yours, even if you didn’t realize it at the time.

‘Prove it,’ you say, like a prayer. A plea for him to know you in all the ways you’ve been denied in the past.

Like a runner at the starting gun he seems to jump into motion. He takes your cup and his and tosses them in the enormous recycle bin. The reassuring warmth and firmness of his hand encloses yours and he leads you through the party to the wide staircase.

You hold on to him and follow him up two flights and down a hallway, the noise of the party fading away with every step. His room is easily three times the size of your dorm room.

He kicks off his shoes and notices your surprise. ‘Being the president has its perks,’ he laughs. ‘Privacy is definitely one of them.’

With your back you close the door, watching him and crossing your arms. ‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ you ask.

He reaches for the edge of his shirt and tugs it over his head, tossing it to the floor. With heat and need in his eyes he walks towards you. The movement highlights the cut of his torso, the defined lines of his chest and abs that you suddenly want to drag your teeth along.

‘I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life,’ he says, reaching both hands out and resting them against the door behind your head. ‘Are you sure you want me, this?’

The past few months sex has been about taking. With your ex you gave him everything, all that you had to give. Over the last few weeks you took without apology. You came first, literally and figuratively. Screamed and moaned with pleasure and didn’t care who heard or what they thought of you.

But with him you know you’re going to give him something in return. Tonight he’s asking more of you and you wonder if you’re ready to go there again.

You reach out a hand and run it along his jaw, trailing it down his chest, his stomach. Your fingers dance along the line of his pants and savor the sharp inhale of breath he takes.

He doesn’t let you hide; holds your focus and watches you intently. Soft as a breeze he leans forward and presses a light kiss on your forehead, asking you to trust him. It undoes you, the need within you rushing forward to meet him. You kick off your heels and stand on your toes to press your lips to his.

The motion pulls his body against yours and you wish you could rip off your dress to feel his skin against yours. Suddenly, you’re unable to get enough of him.

He responds eagerly, bringing a hand to cup your head while he works his lips against yours with a groan. The other arm bands along your back, anchoring him to you as you taste him.

‘More,’ you moan against his open mouth. ‘Now.’

‘Thank god,’ he says in return.

He bends, not breaking the seal of the kiss. The rough heat of his palms trace the backs of your knees, your thighs, before settling on your ass possessively. In one fluid motion he pulls you into his arms, guiding your legs around his waist.

You tug at his hair, pulling his lip between your teeth. Just as you hoped, he growls against you, hands kneading the flesh of your ass and pulling you against his arousal. 

Tonight, you want to see what happens when you let him take charge, anxious to see how he’ll guide you both to completion. What he’ll mould you into with his hands and lips and cock; if you’ll like the person you become underneath him or on top of him.

‘I need to get my hands on you,’ he laughs against your mouth, his voice full of need.

He looks around and walks you back to his couch, sitting down so you straddle him. Freed of their job of holding you up, his hands seem greedy to know the feel of all of you. You watch as he strokes along your thighs, breathing hard in sync with him.

To help him you grab the edges of the dress and tug it over your head. Your hair lands along your shoulders, teasing the bare skin.

The way he savors the newly exposed skin makes you swallow. Before you can even breathe he grasps your hips firmly and pulls you flush against him, dropping his lips to the rise of your breasts over your bra eagerly. His mouth on the delicate flesh makes you whine and grip his shoulders to hold yourself.

He doesn’t rush and you like him the better for it. Instead, he takes his time, pulling down the fabric of your bra and licking first one nipple and then the other. 

It could be minutes or it could be hours that you spend with his tongue on your chest, you lose track of time. Your hands bury themselves in his hair and your hips grind against his erection of their own volition.

When he’s inside you, it won’t be like before. You know this and try to prepare yourself.

He unclasps your bra and cups your breasts with his wide hands and you try to prepare yourself for how it will feel to come around him.

You lift yourself so he can slide off his jeans and underwear and you try to prepare yourself for how he will look when he buries himself inside you.

He reaches for a condom in the side-table and you stand, holding his gaze. Sliding your underwear off, you aren’t prepared for how it feels to stand before him, truly naked down to your heart and soul. Asking him to see you and want you.

‘Beautiful,’ is all he can say when you settle yourself on his lap once more, reaching for his face with both hands.

‘Perfect,’ is all he can say when you take him inside you, so deep you both groan at the perfection of it.

‘Mine,’ is what he says, holding you tight enough to bruise, when you clench around him and gasp.

You ride him with vigor, matching the rhythm of his thrusts into you. It feels so good and right you can’t keep your eyes open, clinging to him and drowning in him. 

He grasps your hips, pulling you against him and angling you so he hits a spot deep within you.

‘Fuck,’ you whine, tugging him up to your lips by his hair.

The build of your orgasm inside you is a tidal wave you can’t control. He licks your mouth and you swallow his groans. He’s just as lost and close as you are. 

Was this what you were waiting for? you wonder as the sounds of your sex drowns out all else. Someone to see you and match you?

The slap of his hand against your ass shocks you, biting and sharp at first and making you gasp. He pulls back to watch you, kneading the flesh, not slowing his thrusts.

‘Too much?’ he pants, searching for signs you want him to stop.

The sting fades to pleasure and you clench around him. ‘No, God. Please don’t stop.’

He smiles, wide and wolf-like. This time he spanks the other cheek, drawing a groan from your throat. His mouth finds your neck and sucks, the sensation sending pleasure down your spine to your core.

‘Please.’ It’s all you can say as you take him deep inside you, matching each of his thrusts.

You preen, becoming a wild and unruly creature as his hands make the skin of your ass so sensitive you want to scream. His grip tightens as he slams into you, uneven and desperate, and you know he’s just as close as you are.

‘Come with me,’ he groans against you.

The need to orgasm is so strong you can’t even manage words, just a noise of assent. You drop your hand to where your bodies meet, finding your clit. In seconds you explode around him with a strangled scream.

You collapse into his arms, panting. He holds you to him, his arms heavy and strong against your sweat-slicked back. After a beat, you pull back to watch him with confusion, wondering at how different this night ended than it began. 

And it’s not even ten o’clock, you notice his clock with amusement.

‘Want to go again?’ he laughs, dropping a gentle kiss to your lips.

‘You’re not sick of me?’ you answer, watching him with wonder.

‘God, no,’ he says, voice absent of all joking, brushing your hair behind your ears. ‘I’ll never get enough of you.’

[x-spooks]

Just Right. (Got7 AU) Ep. 1

This is going to be a tugboat of a love storyline. Your name is Inez-Mi. Your stage name is Nyx. You’re the newest member of an existing K-Pop girl group, Goddess, who happens to be under JYP. You’re replacing the leader who left abruptly and under shh, shh, circumstances. This is my first post so if you have questions/concerns/comments please fell free. 

Sweat ran trails down the curvature of your neck, disappearing under the collar of your plain black T. It clung to your tacky skin leaving nothing to the imagination. Your chest heaved as your lungs were forced to take sharp scorching breaths. You were definitely questioning your sanity as you stared at your reflection and those of your fellow members. You weren't Asian slim. You weren't build for show. You weren't quite athletic either. Nope. You were comparing yourself to the 4'10" to 5'5", 90 to 100lbs, flawless Koreans, Chinese, and Japanese dolls. The instructor snapped his fingers. "Nyx, you're delayed half a step." He voiced annoyed in Hangul. "I'll improve." You breathed. Your smoky gray eyes met his black ones. You lowered your gaze and bowed deeply.  He narrowed his eyes while a hiss of disbelief left his thin lips. Mister Cho had made his disapproval painfully clear. Specially in front of your fellow members and the big wigs.  If it wasn't for your father's reputation and name you would've bounced after two days. But you were a Moon. A daughter of an Idol turned famous producer/Actor who gave his free time to excel a company he was a board member to, JYP Entertainment.  You rose from your bow.  "Again." Mister Cho demanded. Over dramatized groans filled the practice room. A Korean member, Song-I, mouthed a few curses about you being a foreigner and something about choking you to death.  A laugh busted from your pouters lip. You weren't one to flex, but you wouldn't take anything physical from anyone specially Song-I dramatic whiny no having ass.  "Moon Inez-Mi!" Mister Cho yelled. "Are you wasting all of our time?" Your laugh died in the back of your throat at hearing your full name, "No, Sir." You military straightened your spine.  "Everyone dismissed expect Nyx." He growled with impatience, "You stay here until you get it right."  You nodded refusing to get upset. You bit hard on your inner lip until you tasted iron. You waited until everyone was long gone before you let your frustration leave you. Your lungs took in a long stinging pull of air. Instead of trying to break your knuckles against the wall of mirrors, You counted backwards from hundred letting your breath leave your chest slowly.  After a good five minutes, You walked over to the sound system and snatched up the remote. You stabbed the play button. Music pumped out of the giant speakers arranged in the far corners. You started to do the mind numbingly simple steps. You felt like such a sale out to your gender. Women in history fought tooth and nail to not be seen as walking sex and how you were flushing their progress down the toilet.  With every movement your voluminous curves gave way more than your full Asian members.  You needed to talk to your Dad.  You shoved all those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. Listening closely to the music you continued to dance. You sighed at your reflection after dancing to the same track fifteen times. But You finally got the timing right. Your hands found your slim waist. You did a side turn. You stared at your side profile through the mirrors. Your butt and bust were big even with the tight sports wear. You kinda wished you took after your dad more. But your mom's Mesoamerican/north-western European genes were definitely dominate at least in you.  Your eyes were large, circular with smoky gray iris and a deep double lid. Your  skin tone was pale with pink undertones. A body that definitely had a Mexican flare. You did have your dad's full pouty lips, delicate nose and his cheek bones.  You shook your head. "Fuck this." You sighed in English. You weren't ever going to be one of them. Movement caught your attention. You assumed it was your Dad checking in. He did it from time to time making all the other girls swoon. You let out another sigh, before masking your frustration. "Dad, your avid admirer are not here." Your perfect pitched Hangul voice was stinky with sweet sarcasm.  "Dad?"  Through the mirror, your eyes settled on a much younger man. He was handsome in a classic Korean drama way. It was then you noticed a few other guys staring in at you over his broad shoulders. They were all handsome in their own right. Your face went from white to scarlet in your embarrassment. You bowed deeply as you turned to face them. You tried to recall their names. "Please. Forgive my tone." You rose as she spoke in Hangul. K-Drama onyx eyes were cold as he took you in. You forced your expression to stay neutral. "I did not mean to be disrespectful." You tacked on. "Moon's daughter?" The tallest one asked not to you, but to K-Drama who had casually leaned in the door jam.  He nodded slowly with a blank expression, but his eyes were steady and unyielding.  Had you pissed him off before?  "You must need the room." You forced yourself to blink so you wouldn't be staring at their stunning faces. GOT7, you suddenly remembered. "Please excuse me. I will leave you be." You rushed over to the equipment stand and set the remote back.  "I heard you can do gymnastics?" One asked in perfect English.  You glanced over your shoulder and nodded slightly, "I did participate when I was younger." You confessed in Hangul as you turned towards the sound of a masculine voice. Mark. Of course, you would remember the only American other than yourself. Well that was a lie you had a duel citizenship. He slipped past K-Drama and did a front aerial like it was as easy as touching his toes. He landed a few feet away from you.  A smile took over your features as you gently clapped. Your embarrassment started to melt away. You took a good four steps forward and force your body to preform a back flip. You landed it out of pure muscle memory. You even did the proper posture for sticking it. You shook her head at your silliness. "I am Goddess's Nyx." You bowed again. A few loose strands of navy blue hair fell into your eyes and framed your face. You rose to see the members who were in the hall were now in the dance studio. K-drama didn't budge. He was still leaning against the width of the door observing.

Mark's smile could be heard in his voice as he introduced the members that were present. "The one still in the doorway is Jinyoung. Yugyeom is the tall one. That's Jackson."

You slightly bowed your head to Jinyoung and Yugyeom. 

When your eyes moved to Jackson, he did a front flip so strong he landed in the super hero pose. 

A genuine laugh left you as you slow clapped, "I wager your admirers appreciate it extremely." She teased in Hangul.

"You know it." He smiled as he rose from his stance. 

K-drama aka Jinyoung voice killed the mood, "Mark." 

"Hmm?" Mark glanced over to the door.

Jinyoung made the slightest motions that you barely see out from the corner of your eye.

"Are you following me?" You were suddenly distracted by the sting of annoyance in your older brother and New Manager of Goddess, voice as it seeped into the dance studio from the hall.  "Why would I follow you?" A deep male voice countered with venom sharpening his every syllable. "I belong here. You. You're just the spoiled brat to a withered idol who hasn't got it through his thick skull his time has long since past." Jinyoung slammed the door. Not only shutting himself out into the hall, but also silencing the argument.  "I don't know who that is, but they're in for a rude awakening." You dropped your beyond proper Hangul and picked up your American English. You started for the door. "That's our leader." Mark offered slightly annoyed himself.  You stopped in mid-step. "What?" You glanced over to him.  "Let me apology for him. JB and your Father aren't fans of each other." He offered hesitantly.  "It boiled over today." Jackson offered.  Your eyes went to Jackson then to the door while you wondered what had happened between JB and your dad. Everyone loved your dad or so you thought.  A sharp clap gathered all of their attention, "While they finish their yelling contest let's see who can land the most moves." Yugyeom suggested in Hangul, "I'll keep score."  "I'm in." Jackson and Mark said in unison. Their attention moved to you once you didn’t say anything. Jackson started to do a pleading puppy dog thing with his face. Mark smiled the sweetest smile and Yugyeom was laying the aegyo on thick. You playfully rolled your eyes while shaking your head. "The one with the least amounts of completions must purchase ice cream." You challenged in Hangul as you walked to the far side of the room. Sounds of agreement shot into the air.  "Are we to perform the exact combination or a particular combination we have the most success with?" You called over your shoulder. "Best at." They agreed.  "No simple combinations." You shot out in a playfully stern tone. You turned your back to the wall. You only had to wait a few seconds for Jackson and Mark to be next to you. "Ladies before gentlemen." You smiled. You took in a deep breath and made your Nikes do a few quick steps to get momentum. You forced your body to do a roundoff back tuck. You stuck it only to be abruptly face to face with a man who was beyond pissed. Your light eyes quickly took in his features. Two beauty marks above his left eye. His handsome features were set in a brooding expression. You would bet he always looked slightly intimidating. The little girl in you was instantly attracted. Like how you would fall for the rich bad boy in all those mangas you read in your pre-teens.  You saw your brother was shoulder to shoulder with him from your peripheral. Well, as close as a 6'3" could be to a 5'11".  You smiled a polite smile, but blatantly ignoring their combined attitude and turned on the heels of your Nikes. "Who proceeding?" "Inez-Mi." Your brothers voice was firm. "Il-Gun." You turned to face him but continued walking backwards towards Mark and Jackson.  "Its time to go." He spoke in Hangul through clenched teeth.  You didn't stop walking, "Sweet, smooth, satisfying ice cream is the reward." You voiced in Hangul as you felt the wall at your back. You leaned against it in a relaxed pose. You looked to Mark and Jackson then simply motioned for the next one to go.  They didnt budge. You looked to the man next to your brother. You tried to keep your face neutral. His dark gaze locked onto her gray ones. If looks could kill. His kicked out chin and grimacing lips would make anyone with sense scurry.  But did you have any? Nope. Your American arrogance kicked in. "Most honorable Lim Jae-Beom," You said in your sweetest Hangul tone, "you're going to receive lock jaw if you keep clenching your teeth and pushing out your chin like such." Your foreigner feature were set in a concerned expression. Mark, Jackson, and Yugyeom burst out laughing but quickly zipped their lips under JBs murderous stare. Jinyoung disguised his laugh as an awkward cough somewhere out of sight.  "Now!" Gun snapped.  You leaned off the wall unfazed by his anger and started towards them. You turned on your heels but continued to walk backwards "Forfeit means you owe me bubble tea." You smiled speaking English to Mark, Jackson and Yugyeom. Jackson confirmed with a kind expression. Mark flashed his famous smile and nodded. Yugyeom was red from trying to hold in his laughter. You turned and stopped in your steps. You were a few feet from the brooding twins. You bowed to JB and Gun, "It was a honor to meet you and please excuse my disobedience I did not mean to be disrespectful," You slowly rose with a soft demeanor. You turned at the waist slightly and waved goodbye at the guys. You even made a point to wave to Jinyoung who was casually sitting on the couch behind JB and Gun. His view point was perfect, you thought. He could watch everything unfold without being in the line of fire. You went out into the hall but before Gun shut the door behind him. You heard JB’s deep voice ask, "Why is she speaking like she's a descendant of royalty?" He was definitely angry. You laughed walking ahead of your brother. "Inez," Guns voice filled the hall, "this isn't funny." He growled, "Pissing off JB isn't worth the headache nor the ear full you're going to get from Dad. You need to learn your place." You rolled your eyes hard. "I can't comprehend the reason why?" Your voice caught some of his sassy tone. "Your my Guardian when father is not hovering. So would it not be you who receives father's wrath for not keeping me in my quote unquote place." The squeaking of his teeth grinding meant you had gone too far. "It's on Goddess' schedule for you to get ready for a radio interview." He talked through his teeth.  You stopped in your steps until Gun was beside you, "I’m sorry." Your dared a glance up to Guns’ profile. "I did not intend to shove back so hard." An angry smile took hold of his intimidation features. "Dad didn't risk his neck and name for you to fuck this up. You are now the newest member and Leader of Goddess." He started walking so fast that you could barely keep up. "Start acting like it." You wanted to lash out. To scream at him that you had avoided the Idol path with college and spending time in the state's with our mom. But it wouldn't help you. You would come across as whiney, pathetic, and unmanageable. Gun was right, anyways. Their dad found a way to make lemonade out of a scandalous situation. A situation that was being covered up even within JYP Entertainment. Only the higher ups knew what happened and they weren't talking.  All you were privy to was you were Goddess' Hail Mary pass. JYP Entertainment was going to drop the girl group, when your dad made the move to drag his 'multi-talented' daughter into the mix.  You rolled your eyes hard as you remembered the press release.  You were so lost in thought, you bashed into a slim, tall figure as you rounded the corner, "Excuse me," you bowed your head. "My apologies." Your embarrassment was written on your face as your eyes gazed up to a pair of grey, blue irises.  "No," The well dressed man paused once he saw Gun. He sized him up with a cold expression, "Excuse me. I'm late and wasn't paying attention." His voice was lighter than You would have guessed. He bowed while side stepping. "Its all for show." An amused smile tugged on your lips as you spoke English. Your eyes settled on his handsome face as he rose.  "Nyx?" He asked with a spark of recognition in his eye and finger gun pointing at you. You nodded with a kind smile. You thought of Got7 and remembered Mark and Jackson weren’t the only regular English speaker. "Bam Bam?" You countered. You definitely liked how his expression reflect his mood. There was no way he was Korean.  A cocky smirk took over his full lips.  "You might want to count to ten and mentally prepare yourself." You commented with some regret lingering in your voice.  He arched a well manicured brow in confusion while losing his smile. "I might've," you paused thinking of a nice way to say you straight out disrespected his leader, "danced on JB’s last nerve." His full lips broke into a grin, "No worries." He laughed, "we do it all the time-" "BamBam." Gun voiced annoyed clearly ready to get out of here. He bowed his head in the slightest way. You sighed under your breath, "Gun-Hulk Smash." You felt Guns grip on your wrist. You had to resist ripping it out of his hand. You glanced down at your combined flesh. You were unimpressed. You softened your expression when your eyes found BamBam. "I am behind in my schedule as well it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," you spoke in Hangul as you bowed again. "Good luck."  Gun started walking while pulling you with him. "You too," BamBam smiled a kind smile that reached his eyes. His expression soured at Gun as you was tugged away. Once you two made it to the elevator, you tore your wrist from his grasp. Your light eyes narrowed as you stabbed your index finger into the up arrow. You wanted to say something, anything clever to make it clear he wasn't your guys Father, but nothing came to mind.  The elevator dinged open.  You got in after Gun. You went to the buttons and poked the floor you needed. While the doors were shutting you saw BamBam watching you two. You smiled a polite smile and waved. 

[brownskinsugarplum76]

Deceiving Looks, Pt. 1

I have several kiss prompts in my queue still from a few months back, and I’ve finally polished up the first bit of the next one. This comes from @callmethehunter's request and is for a forbidden kiss. I guess you could say this isn’t forbidden as much as it would be less likely... There are a few reasons why this couple would turn heads in the early 70s.

I intend to write more of this, including smut (this first installment is PG-13-ish). This is a fun pairing! ❤️❤️❤️

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Robert makes his way to a bench and sits down before he stumbles again. He watches Bonzo stagger around the pool and through the front door of the hotel. He is too out of it himself at the moment to be of any use to his friend.

He sweeps his curtain of curls to the side and produces a joint that was resting inconspicuously behind his ear, and he pulls a slim pack of matches from his back pocket. He lights up. He figures any hotel staff unlucky enough to be walking the grounds at 5 a.m. will only care if he doesn't offer a puff or two.

He stretches his long legs but can't get any relief. His jeans are clinging to his body tighter than usual in the humid, cloud-covered Honolulu morning air, and he can't wait to peel them off for the last time before going to sleep.

He exhales, closes his eyes, and lets himself go from the frenetic dash to the show, the volley of energy thrown at the band from thousands of fans, and the good, bad and ugly of the groupies available for the choosing for hours after the final note had been played. He closes his eyes and smiles. It's good to be Robert Plant, he thinks. It has become a mantra for him when he gets homesick, or when the last journalists without a clue insist on writing negative reviews.

"You've got something there that I need, I think. May I?"

The voice is feminine, throaty, and assured. Almost seductive. His smile grows to epic proportions.

He prepares to feast his eyes on a lass who seems to have followed him back to the hotel, but his sexy comeback gets caught in his throat. Rather than a twenty-something in a t-shirt, jeans, and shorts, he sees pink heels, brown legs, and a rose-colored Chanel skirt, with its matching suit jacket draped over an arm ending with gold bangles and colorful rings. Above her white sweater shell, he finds the smiling face of a woman who, he's sure, always gets what she wants. Her poise is perfect as she stands, and a rolling suitcase rests next to her. She has the regal sensuality of Diana Ross, and the flawless makeup and hair to match. He smooths his hair a bit, but he knows it's a losing battle, after the night he’s had.

His smile falters. "Ma'am?" he stutters out. He realizes with horror that his accent must make it sound more like "mom" to her ears, and he can't fight the Mrs. Robinson fantasies that flood his still-sluggish brain. "Miss?"

“Your cigarette,” she says. She realizes that he’s a little out of it and smiles sweetly, waiting for him to come around.

“Well, ah, it’s not a typical cigarette, I’m afraid… It’s, uh--”

“--I know. Trust me, it’s exactly what I need right now… I hate flying." She sits down next to him and places her hotel key in her purse. She holds out a hand of slender, tapered fingers that have never seen a day of manual labor. Her smile is still open and encouraging.

“Oh… Ah, I see now... Here you go.” He passes his joint to the woman. “You’ll have to excuse me. I’m a little out of sorts… It’s been a long night and a long morning.”

“I see you’re a little worse for wear right now. But,” she says, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes, “I can also see that you’ll clean up really nicely. What a handsome face...” She takes another hit of the joint and passes it back to Robert.

“Now, what have you been up to all night long?” She crosses her legs slowly, and the look on her face is stern.

Robert stares blankly. He opens his mouth to speak, and then closes it. “Uh…”

“Relax! I’m teasing you. Besides, I think I can imagine...”

Robert puffs a couple of times before passing back to her. He curses himself inside for being so tongue-tied. He’s not sure why he’s at such a loss for words, but he’s hoping the edge will wear away soon, so he can give the mystery woman the full effect of his charm. He knows that she is enjoying making him nervous, but he senses that she would prefer a little more flirtatious back and forth, even if it feels like he’s the last person who should have her on his arm.

She smokes some more. “But I must ask: Where did you get the money for this? It’s top quality.” Her expression relaxes noticeably as the high slowly makes itself known.

“Ah… A fan of Acapulco Gold, then? It just has a way of showing up for us at the concerts, you know? I mean, certainly we have our favorite friends with the best of herbs, but it’s everywhere, wherever we are. Nothing but the best.” He takes the joint back and smokes some more.

“Concert? We? Are you in a band? Must not be an American band, by your charming accent.”

“That’s right, it’s a British band. Led Zeppelin’s the name. We have 4 albums out now, came together in 1968. Maybe you’ve heard ‘Stairway to Heaven’ on the radio?”

“Well, I just listen to Motown, but Led Zeppelin… I think that name sounds familiar... I do know there are a lot of young rock bands, a lot of them from England, making a lot of noise… Free, sexy noise... A bunch of wild boys, stirring up all kinds of feelings with their guitars… What’s your name, dear?”

“Robert. Robert Plant. I’m the singer for Led Zeppelin. And I know my fair share of Motown.” He grins.

“Do you, really? Sing something for me?” She crosses her legs the other way and gazes up appreciatively when Robert stands. She could tell his legs were long when she first saw him, but she’s not prepared for him to be so tall. She realizes that he’s wearing boots with heels, but still.

“I might be a little rough right now… The concert was about three hours long, and I haven’t had a second of rest since then…”

“Three hours? That’s a lot of stamina, young man...” The joint dangles in her mouth while she takes this information in.

Robert can feel his manhood slowly waking up. “Bloody hell, you’ve got as much cheek as me… Uh, excuse my French, by way of West Bromwich…”

“I’m used to hearing all kinds of language, so it doesn’t bother me. And don’t let the Chanel fool you; I’m originally from Harlem. So, which song are you going to sing for me?” She inhales more of the weed.

“Hmm… City upbringing checks out, I think, because that’s very New York minute of you, the way you cut to the heart of the matter… OK, miss…?”

“Call me Josephine, Robert.” She looks him in his eyes, but the bulge in his pants that stands defiantly at the edge of her periphery keeps tempting her to shift her gaze.

“Right. Here goes…” He smiles and takes a deep breath.

“If I have to sleep on your doorstep all night and day

Just to keep you from walking away,

Let your friends laugh, even this I can stand,

'cause I wanna keep you any way I can.

Ain't too proud to beg and you know it,

Please don't leave me girl,

Don't you go,

Ain't too proud to plead, baby, baby,

Please don't leave me, Jo,

Don't you go.”

“You clever devil… Slipping my name in! Wow… Bravo, Robert. Where’d you get so much soul and passion from? Your voice is so rough one minute, and then so loving the next. I… I can’t tell you how much I love the way it sounds…”

“How about you show me, if you can’t tell me?” Robert sits back down, grabs the joint and then stubs it out and places it in his pocket. He gazes in Josephine’s eyes, and his wry smile means that he’s back on his game.

He’s not sure where this brazenness is coming from or, more accurately, he has mixed feelings about propositioning an older woman. He doesn’t think he’s misread her flirting, but being with her doesn’t seem as easy as it is with someone more his age. But he doesn’t have long to ponder it, because her face draws near and her lips connect with his.

She grabs his hair. He realizes that passion is the same, no matter the age or color of the person at the other end of the kiss. He cups her face and invites her tongue to dance with his in a sultry tango.

“Somebody’s hit his stride, and I like it! Would you like to continue with me in my room, Robert?”

“Yes. Yes, Mis-- erm, Josephine. I think we have a lot we could learn from each other.”

“I think so, too…" She stands up. "Say, give me 20 minutes or so and meet me at my room? It’s room 548.”

“548… I’ll be there.” His eyes sweep her body, and by the time his eyes search for hers, he realizes she’s also appraising his youthful, athletic frame.

“See you soon, Robert,” she says over her shoulder as she wheels her suitcase toward the hotel.

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The rest of my stories are here, or search for the hashtag #brownskinsugarplumlibrary.

[lady-divine-writes]

Kurtbastian one-shot - “Blaine Anderson 2.0″ (Rated PG13)

Summary: Blaine Anderson is getting a start on his brand new life with the help of Kurt, and surprisingly, Sebastian, too. (1509 words)

Notes: Takes place after 'The Emancipation of Blaine Anderson'. Warning for Blaine friendly.

Part 60 of Outside Edge

Read on AO3.

“So, what’s the plan, Stan?” Sebastian asks, sitting down at the breakfast table with his boyfriend and his new boarder, Blaine. He watches the boy sitting primly on the opposite end of the table, tucking into a plate of scrambled eggs with a fork and knife, which offends Sebastian on principle. There’s a part of Sebastian – a small part, mind you - that still thinks he’s insane for offering the boy who is clearly in love with his boyfriend (and who also happens to be perfect for him, in Sebastian’s opinion) a room at his house. But he wouldn’t go back on his decision even if he could. For one thing, inviting Blaine to stay with him was the human thing to do, and he’s been trying to act more like a human and less like a walking turd ever since he and Kurt got together. Plus, Blaine’s not a bad guy. It kills Sebastian to admit it but, in a different universe, he could see himself crushing on Blaine.

A little.

Not all that much.

Like if Sebastian happened to have the flu with a high ass fever and he was hallucinating, and Blaine was around, then he might think Blaine was cute.

But only then.

Besides, the moony eyes Kurt makes at Sebastian are more than worth the aggravation.

Like now, when Kurt is staring at him all lovesick, serving him pancakes from the platter in the middle of the table – pancakes Kurt made special to celebrate Blaine’s first breakfast at Sebastian’s house, but which he added chocolate chips to because he knows those are Sebastian’s favorite.

Oh yeah, Sebastian thinks, leaning over for a kiss on the cheek. He could get use to this.

“Well, I wanna go get some new clothes,” Blaine says, passing over a plate of bacon after helping himself to a slice. “Something a little more me.”

“Ooo! Shopping trip!” Kurt passes the bacon to Sebastian and blows him another kiss. “I’m definitely down for that.”

“Also, I want to buy a new car.”

Sebastian’s head snaps in Blaine’s direction, more interested in this development than Kurt thinks he should be. “You’re getting rid of the Mustang?”

“Yeah. I’m thinking of trading it in and buying a Prius. They’re way more environmentally friendly considering all the traveling I do. The last competition I did in Pennsylvania was a killer fuel wise. I can’t imagine the damage I’m doing to the environment every time I fill it up.”

“How much do you think you could get for it as a trade-in?”

Kurt’s eyes pop between his boyfriend and Blaine, curious as to why this matters to Sebastian so much.

“Not as much as I want, honestly. It’s a classic, completely rebuilt from the bottom up. My dad and I …” Blaine pauses, toying with his slice of bacon, tearing it slowly while he chews over the memory “… we did the work ourselves. But I don’t want to take the time selling it. Not in this economy. It’ll probably be sitting on Auto Trader forever.”

“My dad might be able to help you …” Kurt begins, sympathizing with his friend, but Sebastian leaps over him with his own offer.

“Let me take it off your hands.”

Both Blaine and Kurt shoot looks his way.

“Are you serious?” Blaine asks.

“Yeah.”

“But, didn’t your uncle just buy you that Audi?”

“Yeah, but it’s too new for someone who just got their license. I keep worrying about scratching it up and shit. Besides …” Sebastian bites his lower lip. He knows the next words out of his mouth might shut down Kurt’s moony eyes for a while, but he can’t help it. It’s too good. Plus, he’s not wrong “… Kurt likes your Mustang.”

Blaine straightens in surprise, turning to his friend who’s suddenly gone pale. “You do?” he says in a voice that makes Sebastian think that revelation may have lost him the car.

“Wh---what?” Kurt stares at them, eyes darting back and forth between the two, cheeks burning. “No. I … I didn’t say …”

“Sure you did,” Sebastian continues with a devious smirk. “You can admit it. We’re all friends here.”

“I … I may have mentioned that I admired it,” Kurt backtracks, looking at Blaine, begging him with his eyes to believe him, not his boyfriend. “You know, from a mechanic’s standpoint. It’s an exceptional piece of American craftsmanship.”

“Kurt, you said that car was so sexy that if it were a guy you would …”

“Sebastian!”

Blaine turns his head and laughs at Kurt’s indignant squeak, and even though Kurt glares Sebastian down as if he’s about to leap over the table and throttle him, cancel every scheduled make-out they have from now till next year, Sebastian has the audacity to wink at him.

“So, whaddya say, Blaine? I’ll give you whatever you think is fair. Cash.”

Blaine smiles, catching a hint of Sebastian’s smug ‘tude, only mildly disappointed about the deal he’s about to make. “I’d say you’ve bought yourself a car.”

“Great!” Sebastian digs into his delightful smelling pancakes with a shit eating grin. “And Kurt?”

Kurt stabs at his food, demolishing his pancakes until they’re unrecognizable. “Yeah?”

“You’re welcome.”

***

“Are you guys almost done in there? It’s been over two hours!” Sebastian flails in his overstuffed chair, making a scene in front of two moms waiting for their sons to come out.

“Stop your complaining!” Kurt calls. “Overhauling one’s life can be a lengthy and exhaustive process. It should not be rushed.”

“How much more lengthy!? I’m so hungry, my stomach’s about to recede!”

“You just polished off three pretzel dogs and a trough of lemonade!”

“Kurt, I am an elite athlete! I burn two thousand calories sitting and breathing. Three pretzel dogs isn’t going to satisfy me!”

“But complaining obviously does. Sit tight. He’s trying on his last outfit.”

Sebastian breathes in deep then groans unhappily into the air, unfazed by the glares aimed in his direction. This is revenge, he thinks, for what he said over breakfast. Sebastian doesn’t feel sorry for that, though. He was right. Even with daggers in his eyes, Kurt took a good long look at Blaine’s Mustang parked in Sebastian’s garage before they left, running his fingertips lightly over the hood, supremely focused on its leather back seat.

Yup.

Sebastian definitely made one hell of an investment taking that car off Blaine’s hands.

But as images of Sebastian and his half-naked boyfriend making out in that car run through his brain, another thought makes him jerk upright.

“Wait … Kurt? He’s not changing his entire look, is he?”

“How do you mean?”

“I mean, he’s not trying on new chonies with you in there, is he?”

“If you don’t sit still and keep quiet, I won’t tell you,” Kurt sings.

Sebastian seethes. “That’s not a no.”

“It’s not a yes either. Now hold on to your socks. I present for your consideration the new, not improved, Blaine Anderson!”

Kurt opens the door to the dressing room and hops out, gesturing dramatically inside like a ring master presenting an exciting circus act. Slowly, shyly, Blaine walks out, eyes trained on his hands as he smooths down his shirt, straightening seams that don’t need to be straightened. He looks happy, yet slightly insecure, and Sebastian, certain his boyfriend strong-armed him into this decision, shakes his head.

“Kurt! Christ! Couldn’t you let the man dress himself?”

“I did!” Kurt’s hands find his hips and lock on in a defiant pose. “I didn’t pick out a single thing except the bowtie, and that’s only because he asked me to!”

Sebastian looks Blaine over again from head to toe. Gone is the leather jacket, the white t-shirt with the dress shirt over it, the torn jeans, and the combat boots. Instead, the boy standing in front of him is wearing a pair of crisp, khaki slacks; a short sleeve button down; a sweater vest; a bowtie; boat shoes; and an off-white fedora.

Sebastian doesn’t want to say it, but he’s dressed a lot like the last picture Sebastian saw of his grandfather playing bocce ball a week before he died.

Kurt doesn’t dress this way, but he’s tried to get Sebastian to … politely suggesting during a few of their online shopping excursions that khaki slacks in this particular cut or boat shoes might suit him. And here Blaine comes, out of the blue, and dresses himself with no prompting like a page out of Kurt’s style journal.

“This” - Sebastian gestures at him in disgust - “is your style?”

“Yup. Always has been.” Blaine beams at Kurt, that nugget of insecurity evaporating inside his smile. “God! It feels good to finally wear what I want for once!”

“Oh dear God!” Sebastian covers his eyes and slinks down in his chair. Just when he thought Blaine Anderson couldn’t get any worse - as in any more perfect for Kurt - he pulls this.

Dammit!

That Mustang better be worth the money he spent!

[rebeccalouisaferguson]

Rebecca Ferguson - interview for Grazia Russia (N5, March 5, 2019)

The Lesser Evil

Charming redhead Swedish actress Rebecca Ferguson has become famous thanks to “Mission Impossible” franchise. Other than this adventure superhit, in the last couple of years the actress has starred in the musical “The Greatest Showman”, new reboot of “Men in Black”, and now it has also been confirmed that she is the one who will play Lady Jessica in an adaptation of a cult novel “Dune” that is being developed by Denis Villenevue. But when you ask her what’s the most important thing that has happened in her life to date, she is seriously contemplating before answering. “I didn’t die during the latest childbirth. That’s good for starters. Second that comes to mind is our summer vacation in Greece, where we went with my whole family after I finished shooting “The Kid Who Would Be King”.

Last year Rebecca gave birth to a daughter with her husband Rory. She already has a son Isaac from a former boyfriend, art-director Ludwig Hallberg, but she tied the knot for the first time after moving to the outskirts of London. “I love the fact that we are living in an almost countryside. It looks a lot like my hometown Simrishamn, where we also spend a lot of time.” District, where the couple bought a true british house, is close to the Pinewood Studios and Warner Bros. Studios Leavesden, where Ferguson works most of the time. Rebecca is shooting non-stop in an Olympic athlete rhythm. For example, the latest “Mission Impossible” installment and “The Kid Who Would Be King” she filmed simultaneously. She had to work weekends for the later. “At some point you get used to it and see this rhythm as a norm. When I was on holidays in Greece my agents contacted me and said that there is a role in the latest “Men in Black” that will take a couple of weeks to shoot. I said: “Dear family! It’s time for mama to go back!” We wrapped the vacations 5 days earlier than planned.” British director Joe Cornish found another way to the actresses’ heart, thought their mutual friend, Simon Pegg. To the first meeting in a restaurant Joe brought his sketches, pictures and acted out best dialogues, and made it so good, that Ferguson said “yes” right on the spot.

|-My agent called me in the evening and in swearing terms said what can be summed up as “What the hell are you doing?”

This spontaneity is very characteristic of Rebecca. She taught argentine tango, for example. The future star was a very active child and tried all dancing styles – ballet, street-jazz, contemp, but the choice was made in favour of tango. “Thanks to my mother. She was always telling me to go for it. I told her: “Give me an example!” And she started taking classes near the fishing village where we lived, and I was hooked as well.” Rebecca has her mother to thank also for the flawless british accent, that only british aristocracy has nowadays. “I used to imitate her when I was little. She graduated from a very good school and her accent is very good. Later, when I was cast as queen Elizabeth in “The White Queen” I studied with an amazing coach, who perfected that “royal” accent. I had to speak like that for 6 months in a row and it got so deep into my head that it stayed with me forever.” The only time when Rebecca’s mom was not listened to is when they were choosing a name for the daughter. “She wanted something traditional and aristocratic. They were choosing between Tallulah, after the American actress Tallulah Bankhead, and Gaelic name Tobermory. My elder sister’s name is Islay, this is the name of one of the islands in Scotland. The island nearby is called Tobermory.” Luckily, her father suggested: “Maybe Rebecca?”. That’s what was decided in the end. “Can you imagine? I could have been Tallulah or Tobermory! What a horror!”. By the way, the third name that Rebecca’s mother favoured was Saga. That’s the name that was given to her now six months old granddaughter. “Sagas are the basis of everything in Swedish mythology. They are telling the legends that form the folklore. I always liked that word and that’s how I named my daughter.”

As a foreigner Ferguson has of course read the story of King Arthur and the knights of round table. Nevertheless, she liked immensely her first role as a villain in “The Kid Who Would Be King”. She swears that now she will only play villains. Morgana, the magic half-sister of king Arthur is living underground and waits for her time to come back to the world of the living. 12 year old Alex, played by Andy Serkis son, Louis, finds the magic sword at the building site, which opens the portal for Mogana and her demons to the modern day London.

|- What I liked about this role, that she is pure evil. Unlike Disney bad witch who is evil, but not that unsympathetic.

How do you feel going home to your husband and two kids after this kind of shoot? “I forget about my character as soon as I leave the set.” Taking a pause to think Rebecca corrects herself. “You know, that was not true. My characters from “The Snowman”, “The White Queen”, “Hercules” – they are all here, - she says pointing to her head. “They live in my memory, but I do not spread that energy on my family.”

“The Kid Who Would Be King” premiere was the first one that her son attended with her. He is the same age as the main hero. During the screening the boy was scared a couple of times and touched his mom’s hand, saying, that it’s only “a reflex reaction”. He has seen Ferguson’s 4-hour transformation with make-up department into enchantress Morgana before. “He used to sleep in the corner while me and my colleges chatted”. The actress admits that her son basically grew up on different sets and cannot imagine a life without constant traveling.

By the end of our interview we decided to look through the Code of Honour that the heroes of “The Kid Who Would Be King” follow:

GRAZIA: The first rule – “Don’t lie”.

R.F. Not sure about that. I admit that sometimes you can tell a “white lie” like the English say for a good cause.

GRAZIA: “Respect the others”.

R.F. Respect is good, but sometimes you so want to be a bit naughty.

GRAZIA: “Do what you do till the end”

R.F. I very much didn’t like a costar once. I did not feel satisfaction from the work and didn’t know how to stand up to myself. But this situation taught me another good lesson: “If something bothers you, say it from the start!”

(scans and translation from russian by @edwardslovelyelizabeth for Rebeccalouisaferguson.tumblr.com)

[michaelconlon-blog1]

SW 150 Blog Post 1 

There are many social issues that are represented throughout arts. Many songs, books, pictures, and movies are made to bring awareness to a “Social Norm” that need to be changed. One thing that motivates me to try and fix a social problem is the movie Remember the Titans. I was introduced to this movie when I was in middle school, taking a sports films class. Going into watching this movie, I wasn’t really expecting it to have an impact on me, because I didn’t understand how deep the movie was. This movie motivates me to make a social change in accepting everybody, no matter who they are.

           Remember the Titans is a movie about a high school football team, that was originally an all-white school, but was now allowing everybody to come to the school. Many of the players did not want to have African Americans on their team, and vice versa. They were separated, all because of their social beliefs. They wanted nothing to do with each other when they were assigned to go to a football camp. When the coaches made the rooming arrangements to where it would be one white player and one African American player, they were all unhappy. They just didn’t accept each other because of their beliefs. As the movie progresses, the team begins to untie, ending the separation between the two races. All of the players learn to like one another and treat each other respectfully, and they really become brothers. This movie is a perfect example of whole wrong some social ideas are, and when they are put into a situation of that social norm, they prove that it isn’t how things should be. At the time of the film, the two races didn’t think they were supposed to like each other, didn’t think they could sit in the same room as one another, but when they are put in a situation where they are together, they could actually learn to really like one another. This movie inspired so many people across our country, to accept one another for who they are, and put a big dent in segregation issues.

           Growing up, I never looked at anyone different from myself. I never thought low of anyone because of their race. What this movie made me realize, however, is that at the time, all of the people in my life where the same race as me. Not that I wouldn’t become friends with different kinds of people, but because in my town, there wasn’t a big mix of people. According to a demographic chart of my town, Seaford, New York, of the 1,507 people of my town, 91.2% of people are white, 1.8% are Asian, and 6.4% are Hispanic. This list may be a few years off, but it shows how I never really had experience with different races of people growing up. Shortly after I saw this movie, there was a new kid in my class, who happened to be African American, and I was inspired from that movie to make sure that he didn’t feel different from anyone else. I couldn’t imagine how nervous he must have been when he came to school, with new people he has never met, and I wanted to make him feel welcome. Well, about 4 years later, he is one of my best and closest friends. Nobody in my school gave him issues about his race, and he seemed to be liked by everybody. I was very proud that he was able to fit right in to my town, and that really shows me that not only Remember the Titans, but the entire social act of bringing people together was accepted by people.

           When I came to the University at Buffalo, I was in almost a completely different world coming out of my town. The demographics of UB are so spread out, I was excited to meet a bunch of new people from different areas that I would probably never meet back in my town. I transferred here after a semester of community college, and I was put in a dorm room with three Chinese boys. I will forever be grateful that I was put in that room, because I became friends with the most respectful, caring people I have ever encountered in my life. They helped me successfully adapt to life here at UB. As I walk around the campus, I see groups of people of different races who seem to be very close and like each other, and it makes me very happy. This movie made me realize the importance of bringing people together and how much of a better place the world will be.

           Not only has the movie, “Remember the Titans”, made a big impact in my life, but it has around the world. The movie is about fighting racism and separation through football. This was portrayed in real life by a famous quarterback named Colin Kaepernick. He started to kneel during the national anthem before every game, saying that he is doing it to fight for minorities. This quote comes from an article about Colin’s movement. “I am not looking for approval. I have to stand up for people that are oppressed. … If they take football away, my endorsements from me, I know that I stood up for what is right.” While his heart is in the right place, and he’s only trying to bring people together, it is a very controversial topic in the US. People say if he wants to bring awareness to this issue, he should do it another way. Standing up to the flag is disrespecting the men who fought for us to live our lives. Me personally, I am torn between the issue. I like the message he is sending, but I also don’t want to kneel for the national anthem. I have two grandfathers who both risked their lives for our country, and I will always be grateful for their sacrifice. This movement has been a big topic in the US for years, and that’s exactly what Kaepernick wanted, to have people talk about what he’s doing, and why he’s doing it. This is a successful movement. It didn’t completely end the problem that he is trying to fix, but he definitely spread awareness to his issue or everyone being treated equally.

           Many athletes all over the world have been using their fame and status to spread awareness through civil rights. Many NBA players have spread awareness through their social media accounts about how there still needs to be a change. A Log Angeles clippers owner, Donald Sterling, stated that he didn’t want anyone of a different race attending his teams’ games. This was something that all of the athletes knew they needed to step in and get their message across that this kind of disrespect will not be allowed in today’s world. Not only clippers players wanted him to get banned from the NBA for life, but other players around the league, including Star Lebron James, wanted him gone, and were going to protest if he wasn’t. “Last May, the Clippers protested team owner Donald Sterling’s racist comments—in which he said he didn’t want black people coming to his games—by turning their warmups inside out and hiding the team’s name and logo. In the days that followed, Golden State was prepared to walk off the court and boycott a playoff game against Los Angeles and there were rumblings that LeBron James would lead a league-wide sit-out if Sterling were allowed to remain owner in power.” This quote is from an article about how NBA players have fought racism through using their high status to spread awareness. I am very proud that people who are well known around the world are trying to fight this social issue. Social Media allows these famous men and women to talk about social issues and try and fight them.

           “Remember the Titans” has made a huge impact on me. I would never be as focused on people being equal if I haven’t watched that movie. Even though even before that movie I knew that this was a problem, seeing it in the movie made me realize that this issue has to be resolved, because although there is progress, this movie came out in 2000, and it is now 2019 and there are still many issues on this topic that come up around the world. I know throughout my life, I will put an extra effort to make everyone around me feel equal, and fight against racism, through all races. I was inspired by “Remember the Titans”, and I will always be grateful that this movie was brought in to my life.

Works Cited:

“NBA Players Making Their Voices Heard on More than Just Basketball.” SI.com, 26 May 2015, www.si.com/nba/2015/05/26/nba-civil-rights-lebron-james-carmelo-anthony-trayvon-martin-eric-garner.

Schiller, Andrew. “Seaford, NY Demographic Data.” NeighborhoodScout, NeighborhoodScout, 10 June 2019, www.neighborhoodscout.com/ny/seaford/demographics.

TheUndefeated. “Colin Kaepernick Protests Anthem over Treatment of Minorities.” The Undefeated, The Undefeated, 3 Sept. 2016, theundefeated.com/features/colin-kaepernick-protests-anthem-over-treatment-of-minorities/.

[noctem-novelle]

This February, celebrate Black History Month with Black authors!

Culture is important, whether it’s your own to celebrate or someone else’s that you can learn about and appreciate. In the last few years, we’ve seen a steady increase in people of colour, LGBT communities, non-Christian religions, and non-European cultures represented in young adult and middle-grade fiction. While this is a great improvement and definitely a step in the right direction, people of colour are still underrepresented. We can do more to make sure that authors of colour are seen and heard. The following list, while by no means exhaustive, is a selection of excellent YA and MG novels written by Black authors*. This month, take some time to explore their stories.

*This list appears in no particular order and is not intended to be read as though any one book is superior to another.

1. The Hate U Give by Angie Thomas (Young Adult)

When sixteen-year-old Starr Carter witnesses the fatal shooting of her childhood best friend, she must decide whether to lie low or to join the protesters who seek justice for Khalil. A touching, timely, and often raw story about a girl who finds herself when she feels most lost, it’s no wonder this book has spent more than 100 weeks on the New York Times Best Sellers list.

2. Riding Chance by Christine Kendall (Young Adult)

Based on Philadelphia’s Work to Ride program, this novel follows a young man who gets into some trouble at school and winds up doing community service at the Chamounix Stables in Fairmount Park. There, he learns to play polo, an intense sport that teaches perseverance and focus. This book really hit home for me, having spent most of my childhood at polo matches with WTR. In real life, Work to Ride provides underprivileged children and teenagers in Philadelphia with constructive extracurricular activities, peer mentorship, and even college enrollment assistance. To learn more about Work to Ride, check our their website or Facebook page!

3. Let’s Talk About Love by Claire Kann (Young Adult/New Adult)

Let’s talk about the amazing QPoC rep in this book! Alice, who is asexual and biromantic, is determined to spend her post-breakup summer on a tv binge. She definitely does not intend to fall for her co-worker, Takumi. Whoops. This book is a mostly-fluffy slow-burn romance, full of nerdy pop-culture references. If you remember tumblr circa 2011, this book is for you.

4. Garvey’s Choice by Nikki Grimes (Middle Grade)

Garvey’s father has always wanted him to be an athlete, but Garvey is just not interested. When his only friend convinces him to join their school chorus, Garvey finds confidence and a new way to communicate to his distant dad. Told in verse, this is a heartfelt novel about one boy’s transformation through music.

5. American Street by Ibi Zoboi (Young Adult)

In her debut novel, Ibi Zoboi draws on her experience as a Haitian immigrant to tell the story of Fabiola, a young woman whose mother is detained by U.S. Immigration when they emigrate from Port-au-Prince to Detroit. This book explores the cost of the “American dream” with a mix of family drama, romance, and a hint of magical realism.

6. The Poet X by Elizabeth Acevedo (Young Adult)

Xiomara feels both invisible and too visible in a world that doesn’t want to hear her but is happy to objectify her. To express herself and to find some relief from her religious mother’s strict expectations, she turns to slam poetry. This novel-in-verse includes romance, wavering faith, and feminism.

7. Piecing Me Together by Renee Watson (Young Adult)

This powerful novel features a young woman who is determined to make it out of her impoverished neighbourhood. Jade’s mother taught her to take every opportunity she’s offered, so every day she takes the bus across town to a private school where there are plenty of opportunities, even if she doesn’t quite fit in. But some opportunities are less welcome than others, like the chance to join a mentorship program for “at-risk” girls. Sick of being singled out as someone who needs help, Jade hopes to find some autonomy and to stay true to herself.

8. Little & Lion by Brandy Colbert (Young Adult)

Suzette is home in Los Angeles for the summer and she isn’t sure she ever wants to go back to boarding school. Between supporting her bipolar brother, Lionel, and trying not to think about her clandestine relationship with her roommate, she’s got a pretty full plate. Unfortunately, she’s also falling for the same girl that Lionel likes. When Lionel’s mental illness sends him spiraling, Suzette must face her past to help him. This family features a blended family, Black Jewish characters, and a queer woman of colour.

9. Courage by Barbara Binns (Middle Grade)

T’Shawn has done his best to help out since his father’s death, but life gets complicated when his brother Lamont comes home from a stint in prison. T’Shawn finds peace on the diving board, and earns a scholarship to join a prestigious team at a local swim club. But when the neighbourhood crime rate starts to rise, T starts to think that he and Lamont may never put their pieces back together.

10. Monster by Walter Dean Myers (Young Adult)

A murdered drugstore clerk, a trial, and a young man in crisis. Monster is the story of Steve Harmon, amateur filmmaker and alleged murderer. To cope with the trial, Steve writes down the proceedings as if it were a film script, but as he tries to tell his own story, the truth starts to feel a little hazy. This one has also been adapted as a graphic novel.

11. All-American Boys by Jason Reynolds (Young Adult)

Rashad wasn’t stealing, but people sure seem to think he was. After he drops a bag of chips and a police officer beats him for it, Rashad is stuck in a hospital bed while the nation debates his character. Meanwhile, Quinn, a white boy who witnessed the beating, comes to learn that racism didn’t end with the Civil Rights Movement.

12. Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor (Young Adult)

Sunny is an albino girl living in Nigeria. Her skin tone often makes her an outsider, but she soon finds herself drawn into a community of magic users called Leopard People. Together with her new friends, Sunny is tasked with tracking down a killer known for maiming children.

13. The Red Pencil by Andrea Davis Pinkney (Middle Grade)

Amira is finally twelve and hopes to start school, but her life is turned upside down when the Janjaweed militia attacks her Sudanese village and her family must make the long and difficult journey to a refugee camp. Life at the camp is hard, but when an aid worker gives her a pencil and paper, Amira’s world begins to expand.

14. One Crazy Summer by Rita Williams-Garcia (Middle Grade)

Delphine Gaither and her two younger sisters travel from Brooklyn to Oakland to spend the summer with a mother they barely know. Imagine their surprise when she sends them to a Black Panther summer camp. Set in 1968, this historical fiction novel explores family dynamics and the importance of sisterhood.

15. Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson (Middle Grade)

In powerfully emotional poetry, Woodson tells the story of her childhood and what it was like to grow up Black in the 1960s and 70s. This novel-in-verse won the National Book Award and the Coretta Scott King Award.

16. Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry by Mildred D. Taylor (Middle Grade)

Between the depression and threats from the night riders, the Logan family has had a tough year. Cassie doesn’t see why her family’s land is so important, but as she becomes more aware of the way their white neighbours treat them, she soon comes to understand that the family’s strength comes from having their own place in the world. This book tackles the ugly reality of racism in the deep south from the perspective of a precocious nine-year-old. It can be hard to stomach at times, but I think that just makes it more important.

17. Zora and Me by Victoria Bond & T.R. Simon (Middle Grade)

Part historical fiction and part small-town mystery, this fictional imagining of Zora Neale Hurston’s early days sees the author as a young girl, exercising her skills as a storyteller. When one of Zora’s tales seems to come true and a man winds up dead, she and her friend Carrie find that things in their little town are not as peaceful as they appear.

18. Blended by Sharon M. Draper (Middle Grade)

Every since her parents’ divorce, Isabella has felt torn in two. Two houses, two families, two races. Switching between her parents, also means switching between two different identities. How can she ever feel whole when she’s constantly split in half? This book examines the life of a biracial girl, and doesn’t shy away from addressing exoticism and the (PG) fetishisation of mixed-race people.

19. Black Enough: Stories of Being Young and Black in America edited by Ibi Zoboi (Young Adult)

This contemporary anthology delves into the many-faceted lives of Black teens in the United States. Popular authors from a wide variety of backgrounds have contributed their voices to show that being young and Black in America is not just one singular experience, but a constellation.

20. The Parker Inheritance by Varian Johnson (Middle Grade)

A hidden letter and a summer mystery are what await Candace when she pokes through an old box in the attic. With the help of her neighbour, Brandon, she deciphers the letter’s clues in the hopes of discovering a forgotten fortune. This book is perfect for readers who like a good puzzle.

[amphetameme-queen-blog]

If you slip up...

Here’s my master list of how to take care of yourself after a b/p, stay strong my lovelies!

1. Physical Damage Control

Teeth -

It's usually a warning sign to have bad teeth as someone less than seventy years old. It's a 'classic' symptom of bulimia and I've heard a lot of (rookies) swear by brushing their teeth. DON'T FUCKIN DO IT MAN. I used to b/p anywhere between three to ten times a day at my worst, but I always kept a handy supply of TUMS or antacids on me. Your teeth become weakened when you b/p in the first place, so the abrasiveness of toothbrush bristles tends to wear down on your enamel. I never brushed my teeth after I would purge, and I've been b/p'ing on and off for about four years now. Like I said - ten times a day at the worst. I went to the dentist last month and they said that my teeth were like, perfect. It was actually shocking. Thank god for chemistry I suppose.

So how does it work? Well, the calcium carbonate (the main ingredient of TUMS) neutralizes the hydrochloric acid (stomach acid) on our teeth like it would in our stomach. It's basically a high school chemistry equation.

CaCO3+ HCl -> CaCl2 + CO2 + H2O.

The symptoms you'll get (after an antacid) is basically just burping up the CO2 lol. It's much more preferable to tooth decay, might I say. OH and if you don't have any antacids on you, baking soda works in the same way. Just put a teaspoon of baking soda into water, swish it around your mouth, and spit it out. It doesn't taste great, but you could probably mix it with a little alcohol-free toothpaste so it tastes more minty. I highly recommend against swallowing baking soda because it will most likely irritate your stomach and make you even more nauseous, and not in an emetic way. (Ana butterflies don't get any stupid ideas it's not gonna work like you think). Swallowing baking soda just makes you kind of uncomfortable, really.

Y'all need to floss too. I sound like I've got a major stick up my ass, because who actually flosses flossing is for old people and l0zers fuck that shit. Nope. Flossing once before you go to bed helps your teeth against yellowing, in my experience. I wouldn’t recommend flossing post-purge as your gums tend to be much more sensitive. ‘Cuz who’s trynna get gingivitis yeah no one.

Sinuses -

​Remember that time you (regrettably) b/p’d on rice? And you felt that rice grain up there and took a napkin and blew fuckin snot rice into your napkin, like the sexy beast you are?

Yeah I remember that too.

It’s pretty apparent that stomach acid anywhere besides your stomach is a recipe for havoc. The stomach acid eats away at the mucous membranes in your nose, leading to constant sniffling, loss of smell, and chronic sinus infections. Even if you don't feel irritation in your nose immediately following a b/p, the acid can still lead to damage.

So how do you remedy this?

From my experience, the Neti-Pot saline rinse is the best bet. You can use the one that looks like a tea kettle or the one that's a squeezy bottle - both do the same thing. I have the squeezy bottle and it's really simple to use. You add water up to the fill line

And then you pour the saline packet into the bottle and mix thoroughly (just shake the bottle). Be sure to use FILTERED DRINKING WATER because tap water often contains heavy metals like copper or iron, which isn't good for your nose. Then put the plastic bottle with the saline-water solution into the microwave for approximately 35 seconds, and be careful to make sure it isn't too hot. Make sure it's just slightly warm and then screw the cap on tightly. Lean over a sink and gently squeeze the bottle into one nostril until the water comes out the other. Don't worry, it doesn't provoke the dreaded “oh god there's water in my nose I feel like I'm drowning” feeling. Your sinuses are connected and because the water is warm (like body temperature) it won't come as a shock to your body. Repeat the process on both nostrils until the bottle is done.

I've had actual chunks of food come out of my nose before, and I'm like, “shit, that would have just been hangin out in my nose the entire time?” So it's really important for preventing sinus infections or acid damage to the nasal cavity.

​Electrolyte Imbalances -

​If I had a dollar for the amount of times I've seen THAT PICTURE of the dead bulimic girl I would be richer than Donald Trump. Yeah, she died from gastric rupture blah blah blah but I always see blogs referencing that picture with the danger of heart failure and death in bulimics.

Despite how frequently I used to purge, I'm not dead yet! Hurray I guess! I used to get serious heart palpitations after a long day of purging, but I could mitigate some of those side effects with proper hydration and electrolyte drinks.

I ain't talkin no purple Gatorade shit either. Gatorade isn't as hydrating as one would think. It's made for athletes who are working out and sweating, and releasing salt through their skin. Gatorade replenishes the sodium and sugar, but if you're not working out/sweating a lot, the extra sodium could cause water retention *panics* The best option for electrolyte-replenishing is coconut water, in my opinion. It's naturally high in potassium, which is the principle electrolyte lost by vomiting. Pedialyte takes a close second for hydration because it's designed to replenish electrolytes, like if you have the flu or something. You can buy Pedialyte over the counter at most (American) pharmacies.

Electrolytes are important in muscle contraction, which includes the heart. This is why many bulimics die from heart attacks

Of course, the best way to get potassium is through potassium-rich foods. Some examples:

Avocado

Acorn squash

Spinach

Sweet potato

Wild-caught salmon

Dried apricots

Pomegranate

Coconut water

White beans

Banana

Source: Dr. Axe

Y'all also gotta be mindful of your magnesium too. Magnesium is lost (most notably) through diarrhea and thus laxative abuse. Here's how to remember the electrolytes:

Potassium is lost through Purging and Magnesium is lost by taking Mega Shits.

I'm laughing bahahah but I shouldn't be because the magnesium thing is no joke.

2. Psychological Damage Control

The Post Purge Freakout-

​Quit playin. You know what I’m talkin’ about, that anxiety like fuck fuck fuck what did I just do I’m a worthless human I deserve to-

Stop.

These thoughts seem real, like ground-breaking realizations that affirm your worthlessness and desire to continue hurting yourself with ED behaviors. Diffusing these thoughts feels like the hardest thing to do in the moment, of course, but self-care is one of the most important factors in preventing another episode. I’m not trying to be some over-simplifying, self-righteous therapist who thinks that mindfulness is the only way out ‘it’s all about positive self talk, honey!’ Nah fam, anyone who’s dealt with the vicious cycle of bulimia knows it’s not that fuckin’ easy, and so I’m not trying to sugarcoat the fact that post-b/p self-care can be really goddamn difficult.

The best post-b/p self care I’ve implemented is putting on cozy pajamas (if you’re at home) and just taking a five minute break from what you’re doing to listen to music, draw/write, or go on a short walk. Let yourself feel comfy and secure, like being wrapped in a warm fuzzy blanket. Give yourself just five minutes to collect your feelings, and realize that a past slip-up can’t determine the future. Because that’s all it is - in the past. What’s in the past is done, and no amount of hateful self talk or self-injury will change that. But what you do in the present is what matters. Think about it as a fork in the road -

“Okay, so I just binged and purged, I have urges to hurt myself or compensate for what I just did, but what will happen if I don’t do either of those things?”

Nothing.

You might panic. You might cry. Let the tears come, if you are in a safe place where you feel you can do so. We know that the day might have sucked, but time stops for no one. The next thing you know, it’s the next morning. The sun is shining through your window, you are alive and your body is resilient. BOI IT’S A NEW FUCKIN DAY! YESTERDAY WAS A CAN OF SHIT, BUT YOU KNOW WHAT, TODAY DOESN’T HAVE TO BE. The important thing is that you lived through those horrible feelings, and you’ll remember that. You’re stronger, more resilient, and persistent than you think. You don’t even have to be in recovery to apply this. That’s not what I’m getting at. If you’re pursuing a goal, whether it be eating at regular intervals or meeting a certain calorie limit, there are going to be times you might mess up. And good god, it is absolutely okay.

Imagine yourself going to bed the next night, realizing that you had your first binge free, purge free day since you could remember. Knowing that you fought your urge to b/p will help you remember that next time, “hey, I’m stronger than my urges.”

I guess what I’m emphasizing here is self-forgiveness. I know a lot of people’s ED’s are driven by self-hatred and you’re all such beautiful human beings who deserve to love yourself as others love you. Wow. That got really deep real fast. But hey, I’ve been through it all.

~

Yo. I'm gonna add more to this, but only if people are interested in my ED-related writing. I'm actually working on a blog right now but I figured I might as well post some stuff here for feedback. PLEASE comment I would love to hear from you guys. 'Do I write like a sappy self-help book'? 'Is it relatable and/or helpful?' Let me know in a comment or DM what you're feelin about it. Sending hugs!

[wannawrite]

In Your Area

who?: Yuehua’s / Idol Producer’s Zhu Zhengting genre: 🌸 type: bullet point - I’m sorry I promise scenarios soon

blog navigator.

neighbours! AU 

• you aren’t quite sure what to make of your new neighbour but hey, he’s nice and pretty cute

Zhengting is so boyfriend material no one understands how I feel :”) I thought Justin was immortalised as my YH baby but Zhengting popped off ʕ·ᴥ·ʔ Thanks for requesting fluff anon!! I really needed it

- Admin L

a/n: sorry this took like two decades and can y’all vote if you want us to start writing for IP in 2018. drop us a message/ask!!! 

disclaimer: pictures used do not belong to be and credit goes to their original owners.

everything written is purely fictional 

ZT’s diary: (/^▽^)/ moving day

what. the. hell. is. happening.

the dream that played out like a perfect movie scene in your head was VERY rudely interrupted and ruined by the ‘clings’ and ‘clongs’ scarring your ears

wrapping your stuffed pillow around your ears weren’t providing much help either 

‘you’ve got to be joking...’

you groaned, realising there was, in fact, a new neighbour moving into that empty apartment next door

eyes closed, paradise fought to overpower your current reality

it was drifting in the distance, just out of reach, beckoning you to immerse yourself in the paradigm once again

but a loud crash resounded through the atmosphere and shattered whatever serenity there was

muttering complaints under your breath, you peeled your eyes open and slowly clambered out of bed 

sickening...who moves in at this unholy hour 

it was 9am 

I found out that sleeping until 9am isn’t a hard task I thought it to be  

do these people have a conscience? are they not aware that weekends are time for people to sleep in? 

while complaints and rants ran through your mind, your cousin and flatmate, Wenjun, threw the door open and barged into the room 

‘WAKE UP!’ 

his face displayed an enthusiastic puppy-like smile. ‘WE HAVE NEW NEIGHBOURS!’ 

great 

‘wonderful, I can tell. Now, go give them some gifts and greet them,’ you tell Wenjun before flipping over and pulling your blanket over your head 

‘NO! You come with me! Aren’t you supposed to be the older cousin?’ he complains. ‘It’s rude if I go alone.’ 

saying hi isn’t exactly the first thing I want to do 

you sigh. ‘Okay, okay but later. We should give them some time to settle in. Besides, we need time to get a proper gift.’ 

I just really need a couple more hours of sleep why can’t you get any hints Wenjun :((((

huh maybe this is why you’re still single even though all of the college kids are in love with you 

I follow the confessions page on ig, you don’t even know 

oblivious, really 

‘just go get something appropriate from the mall nearby.’ you shove Wenjun, eyes still shut and head still resting on your pillow 

‘we have to choose it together so it’s more meaningful,’ he says. ‘sleep can wait.’ 

this child knows nothing about junior year in college 

lucky sophomore 

sunlight begins to gently flitter in from the curtains, you almost enjoy the warm sensation as it lulls you back to sleep 

that is before Wenjun decides to be a little pest and yanks the material apart, bathing your room in ample sunlight 

it tickles your face and burns into your eyes, effectively driving you out of bed 

‘OKAY! Just let me get ready first,’ you huff grumpily. ‘Wait till your mother hears about this.’ 

Wenjun just sticks his tongue out and prances off 

brat 

hastily and half asleep, you pull on a random college camp shirt and walk out in your sleeping shorts 

‘get me my sunglasses like qinfen’s and car keys,’ you order Wenjun since it is HIS fault for making me arise so early 

I can’t let Mrs Lau on the 8th floor see me like this...geez that nosy auntie 

she’ll tell this whole block for sure 

I know she secretly tracks our movement to arrive at the lift and the exact time when the gossip is fresh 

she really has too much time on her hands being the newest third wife of her current sugar daddy of a husband 

I hope our new neighbours aren’t like her...I also pray they know what they’re getting themselves into by moving into this condominium 

if we get just ONE more snobby, rich, gossip digger neighbour, I’ll gladly pay for that 11.2 million mansion Wenjun was looking at 

there’s no denying the estate you and your cousin resided in was a rich one, flourishing with the younger generation of old-money families

it didn’t help that prestigious universities were planted nearby 

okay fine, you and Wenjun lived big because of your family 

but y’all weren’t stuck up, gossipy or as gold-digging, as the majority of the neighbours you had encountered 

the new ones next door better not be any of the above 

click click click 

Wenjen pops his head over your shoulder to stare at your phone. ‘Why are you searching up that mansion? Are we moving house?’ 

your eyes swivel to check if anyone was lurking in the corridor before whispering in a hushed tone, ‘No but we will be if our new neighbours are anything like the existing ones.’ 

Wenjun sighs and shakes his head dramatically but his lips quirk up playfully 

‘I’m sure they aren’t that terrible. C’mon, let me get my new Gucci sneakers.’ 

remind me why my kid cousin wants to wear his 2K shoes to the mall smh 

no one is going to see them 

besides, isn’t Gucci a little overexposed nowadays? 

yes, I went to the local Gucci store to check it was like 1.9K? but round it up

pushing the gate open, you manoeuvre your way around the piles of cardboard boxes 

simple cardboard boxes 

nothing at all like the usual sleek black boxes embellished with the family name in silver calligraphy font 

all of which ended up in the trash bin afterwards 

dumb 

flip flop flip flop 

‘...could you at least get a new pair of...marketing slippers?’ Wenjun pointed out, blinking in horror at your worn out slippers, the left side’s sole was loose and threatening to fall  

‘oh stuff it rich kid. These were from Rubi and there was a sale!’ 

that led to a family bicker over slippers right outside your front door 

the two of you were so engrossed that you didn’t hear the pairs of footsteps drawing closer 

‘um hi?’ 

you froze 

Wenjun had a faster reaction time. He beamed brightly and cleared his throat. ‘Hi! Welcome to the neighbourhood! Have you guys eaten yet?’ 

吃饭了吗？

your eyes scanned over the two boys who would now occupy the last flat at the end of the corridor 

they both had dyed hair just in differing colours, one blonde and the other jet black 

both were tall 

one seemed older and more athletic than the other 

‘I’m Bi Wenjun and this,’ Wenjun paused to shove you the in ribs. ‘Is my cousin, Y/N.’ 

the boy with the blonde hair spoke first, smiling to reveal pearly whites. ‘I’m Zhu Zhengting and he’s my brother, Justin.’ 

not related but YH are so close they’re all fam 

OH SHIT 

AM I SERIOUSLY GREETING TWO HOT NEIGHBOURS IN MY PYJAMAS AND FLIP FLOPS 

WITH MY HAIR LOOKING LIKE A FRICKIN BIRD’S NEST 

at least there are Coach sunglasses perched on my head,,,not so bad not so bad 

Wenjun had already started making small talk. Just smile and wave! 

THIS IS SO HUMILIATING 

I’M NEVER WEARING THIS SHIRT AGAIN 

i need new shorts and slippers pronto!

• UGH 

‘oh! China School of Fine Arts! I go to the same college,’ Zhengting suddenly spoke up. 

at which Justin rolled his eyes at. ‘Pfp, not for a term. Don’t worry if you don’t recognise him, he never actually attends classes.’ 

Zhengting blushed and elbowed Justin away 

hm cute 

NO 

‘oh cool,’ your tone was clipped and you feigned disinterest, trying to get your burning face to cool off. ‘I suppose I’ll see you around.’ 

m o v e  you tried to send a telepathic message to Wenjun 

I CAN’T STAND ANOTHER SECOND BEING IN ZHENGTING’S PRESENCE WHEN I LOOK LIKE SHIT 

times Wenjun has been oblivious today: 2 

the wait seemed excruciating and when Wenjun finally bid them goodbye, you took of in the direction of the lift with a carelessly wave 

it was good that your neighbours were people around your age 

just so happened that Zhengting was incredibly good looking and currently the only dateable candidate available 

IF YOU CHANGED YOUR OUTFIT, THINGS WOULD HAVE TURNED OUT SO MUCH BETTER

all drive long, Wenjun kept teasing you about your appearance or gushing about how well he and Justin got along 

he insisted on gifting them the most expensive hamper from Tangs 

you didn’t see a need for two young adults to have bone strengthening essences meant for elderly 

but they were complementary in the particular hamper so...

supermarket was particularly quiet that morning 

and it seemed to be offering an alarming amount of samples and candy promotions 

candy was more suitable for a high schooler and college student but you weren’t up to argue with Wenjun

he seemed too whipped for Zhengting and Justin 

‘I need ice cream to get over this,’ you moaned. ‘There’s no way I can ever look our neighbours in the eye again!’ 

call me overdramatic but you would have done the same 

I haven’t even had breakfast yet 

stupid Wenjun 

I think it’s low blood sugar that’s causing me to be like this 

‘sweetie, it’s 10.30am in the morning and you are on a strict diet. Remember that detox tea you ordered a week ago?’ Wenjun reminded, shovelling free samples of chocolate chip cookies into his mouth 

why does my kid cousin always have a point...but my day was absolutely terrible! 

‘whatever, f*ck it. I’ll just pass those to Cheng Cheng.’ It was your turn to sample those cookies 

don’t you just love supermarkets? 

you didn’t think the back seat of your car would be stocked with boxes of biscuits 

morning supermarket runs are interesting in the Bi household 

luckily, there were no snooping neighbours in the lift lobby to witness the Bi cousins haul about a dozen plastic bags filled with questionable groceries 

such as croutons without a leaf of a lettuce 

lift buttons were nearly hidden from view by white plastic 

bring your own bags to shop! 

there were no longer any boxes lining the corridors when you guys arrived home 

thank god

imagine going all American Ninja Warrior with arms full of grocery bags 

there was a lot of packing going on in the kitchen 

and ripping open almost all of the cookie boxes by the time y’all were done 

Wenjun went over to lend a helping hand while you hibernated in your room, reflecting over your outfit choice and eat more 

it was just sheet embarrassment that plagued your mind and influenced your actions 

might as well be all comfortable and sappy around them because they’ve seen me in my pyjamas 

AND ZHENGTING IS PROBABLY MY BATCHMATE 

i hope he doesn’t follow the school’s confession page 

those thoughts made you crunch down on the biscuit with unnecessary strength 

ding dong 

the melodious - rather generic - chime of your doorbell broke your train of miserable thoughts 

‘hamper delivery!’ 

as you were still clad in your wonderful get up, you opened the door wide enough for only your head to be seen 

‘send it next door,’ you hissed quietly. ‘Say it’s from your new neighbours with love. Thanks!’ 

oh my god 

WITH LOVE? 

HEY ZHENGTING AND JUSTIN I LOVE YOU 

WENJUN IS GOING TO LAUGH HIS HEAD OFF LIKE A DAMN HYENA 

you slammed the door faster than the delivery man’s reply and raced to your bedroom 

‘i’m ruined.’ 

*cue dramatic Disney princess sob fest on bed* 

a few heart-pounding minutes passed, you strained your ears for any sign of reaction 

unfortunately, people paid for soundproofed walls around here 

yet, there seemed to be a sound coming from outside 

out of curiosity, you peeled away your balcony door to take a look 

lo and behold 

Zhengting was standing on the balcony, tossing small pebbles onto yours 

visual reference: Songyi and Minjoon’s apartment balconies from Kdrama ‘My Love From The Star’ 

is...he really wasting the decorative pebbles...

SHIT I’M STILL IN THE SAME OUTFIT NO NO NO 

battling a blush of complete mortification, you gestured for him to say something 

‘Thanks for the hamper!’ Zhengting yelled with a bright smile. ‘We appreciate it!’ 

on impulse, your lips stretched into a grin. ‘No problem! Welcome to the neighbourhood!’ 

he looked at the small trench of bamboo and pebbles separating the two balconies and then back at you 

please please please stop judging my outfit 

‘hopefully, we’ll see each other a lot.’ 

HUH? 

he shot one last smile, maybe a soft chuckle before stepping back into his room 

his words confused you

maybe he meant to spite your outfit choice 

or maybe he genuinely felt like seeing you more often 

that’s because he’s new and probably needs someone to show him around the estate and would rather have a friendly next-door neighbour do it than the security guard 

get your head out of your ass he doesn’t mean it like that 

hmm...

ZT’s diary: one 1/2 months of living with Justin╰( ･ ᗜ ･ )╯

over the course of a month, you learnt that Zhengting and Justin were very inconsiderate neighbours 

there was always some loud music playing from their flat at every time of the day 

fortunately for them, you and Wenjun were the only neighbours on the right side of the 12th floor and you didn’t really care much to complain

the resident care committee was rather useless anyway

regardless, their music still annoyed and distracted you to an extent

according to Wenjun their apartment was larger and thus, they had extra rooms to build a dance studio in

that was how you found out Zheng Ting was a dance major in CSFA

he just had to be under Professor Zhou or Professor Cheng

Cheng xiao’s real name is so cute omg

at least he was in a different major

you wondered if he knew Professor Wang

Professor Wang knew everybody and Zhengting looked like a popular kind of guy

+ the guy who actually liked his major

while it was touching to see how hard he worked, you wished ‘I am the sheep’ wasn’t stuck in your head while you were studying for a quiz

the clock read 2am, that was the time you finally snapped

popping panadol pills wasn’t going to take a headache away

the soundproofing here sucks! it only works whenever it wants to

shockingly, Wenjun was tucked away in his dreamland, wrapped up in a cocoon of his blankets and oblivious to the world that surrounded him

you grabbed your phone and stormed to your neighbour’s apartment, pounding furiously on the front door

it took a while but the music stopped playing and a few clicks of locks could be heard

‘hi,’Zheng Ting panted out, wiping the sweat that was beading on his forehead. ‘It’s about the noise level isn’t it?’

suddenly, the want to yell at him was gone

he! was! just! too! knowing!

it made you feel a bit ashamed

not to mention that his white shirt was slowly becoming see-through

you clasped your hands together, grinning.

‘No! Not at all! I-I j-just wanted to find out the song you’re dancing to.’

lie lie lie? 

Zhengting seemed to ponder about that for a moment before beckoning you to enter his apartment

not shady at all

let’s go

be sure to take off your flip flops before entering houses

each room was slightly larger than the ones in your home

surprisingly, the house was kept neat and tidy, minus the odd one or two boxes that had yet to be unpacked

‘where’s Justin?’

the lack of the younger boy’s presence in the flat noticeable

Zhengting revealed that Justin was away for a week visiting his family

no wonder Wenjun seemed a bit sulkier

Zhengting pushed open the door to his cosy little dance studio

honestly, it was spacious enough to have a group of dancers practice

very well lit by the fluorescent spotlights and outfitted with a panel of mirrors

there was even a ballet bar on the other side

and Zhengting had hidden this treasure how?

his personal studio was comparable to the ones at school

suddenly, you came face to face with an iPad, an iTunes tab open

‘these are all the songs I’ve been choreographing to recently, and uh...loudly as well,’ Zhengting said, handing you the device

all of his fancy music equipment was organised in a small shelf

cut

he’s so damn invested into his dancing career

‘why are you working so hard for?’ you wondered out loud

even during finals, Professor Wang never gave your class so many assignments to work on

this is so inaccurate ^ btw, don’t take my word for anything

Zhengting nibbled on his bottom lip and nervously readjusted his headband. Pink flushed his cheeks as he took a step closer to you

with his lips so close to your face, you could feel the ba-bumps of your heart quickening

if I tell you, will you promise not to reveal it to anyone else?’

so secretive

you nodded, eager to find out what Zhengting was hiding

‘all these are for the school’s dance showcase. this year is more exclusive and getting a seat in the audience is invite-only,’ he disclosed. ‘Scouts from all the prestigious academies are coming to take a look.’

a small gasp of astonishment left your mouth, hands flying into a congratulatory clap

*iPad falls from your grip and your reflexes aren’t quick enough*

forget the iPad

rip screen  

ZT has a million more in some boxes anyway

showcases were a MAJOR event for CSFA students, this had to be out of the world spectacular!

discovery: praise only caused your neighbour to turn redder than a tomato

‘will I receive an invitation any time soon?’ you teased, gently nudging his side with your elbow 

please say I didn’t smash his iPad screen

hey, I placed it on the floor G E N T L Y

a mischievous glint twinkled in Zhengting’s brown orbs

you guys KNOW that look

he let out a huff and pretended to be in deep thought, weighing out the pros and cons

arms akimbo, you willed for him to stop teasing and provide an answer

he genuinely has no idea if Professor Zhou will grant him so many passes, stop being so pushy😫😔

Zhengting clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth triumphantly, finally able to decide on his answer

‘okay, IF you help me fine tune my choreography a bit more, I’ll beg Professor Cheng to save you a seat,’he offered

SCORE!

‘sure, of course! I am a composer and rap study though,’ you quipped in reply, hoping he would still go through with the proposal

ZT shrugged nonchalantly, ‘the more diverse an opinion the better. And please, you’re all Prof Jin and Prof Jackson brag about to our classes.’

now was your turn to blush and deny his claims

who cared if his iPad was broken

at least his heart wasn’t

ZT’s diary: month two of living with Justin＼(・ω・)/

commotion 

yet again 

and it was early in the morning 

history does repeat itself 

thank goodness it wasn’t the sacred hour of 9am but 11am 

still early on in the new day 

however, havoc seemed to be wrecking your neighbours flat 

• one moment, the sharp charring of a vacuum cleaner could be heard and the next, shattering items or dropping of boxes boomed through the flat 

basically, just huge chaos 

not wanting to seem too nosy, you kept yourself from going over 

however, the level of pandemonium was getting so out of hand that Wenjun put down his gaming control and asked if he should check it out 

what could be so wrong on a Saturday morning? 

you opened your mouth to answer but was abruptly cut off by two urgent knocks on the front door 

the door creaked open to reveal a panicky, oddly-dressed Zhengting holding onto handles of pet crates 

‘hi,’ you quickly greeted, unable to stand the awkward silence. ‘Is everything alright?’ 

‘just peachy,’ he replied, tongue slipping over his chapped lips

ZZT WITH CHAPPED LIPS ???

WHAT WAS UP WITH HIS CLOTHING CHOICE TODAY?

my most fashionable neighbour is clad in a shirt that cost more than my life from some new streetwear brand and lounge pants - probably from the market - with yellow butterflies on them

what a fit, a fashion statement

such fittingly random sense of style today

something obviously wasn’t right

yes, I’m referring to his pyjamas featured on idol xinfan

YH sprouts rlly wear questionable clothes to sleep no offence

...at least they don’t sleep nude right?

like that’s living life on the edge imagine getting your period while sleeping that’ll be awful

anyway

turning your gaze on the pet carriers, you spot a pretty white kitten and a caramel coloured puppy

in separate carriers

‘I’ll explain later but um our parents are coming for a surprise visit and they don’t know about my babies yet so could you please look after them for an hour or so?’Zhengting begs, desperation creeping into his voice

an ear-splitting crash echoes from their apartment before Justin yells, ‘ge! I can’t get the cat fur off our clothes!’

this is an emergency!!!

you take the pets from his hands gleefully and throw out your lint roller in exchange

‘try this!’

in no way am I advertising lint rollers I don’t even think I have one

Zhengting shoots you the brightest smile you’ve ever seen and hurriedly dashes over to Justin

Wenjun joins in a few moments later, leaving you alone to bond with your neighbours’ pets

a puppy and a kitten? sign me the f*ck up

sorry, couldn’t find if he was more a dog or cat person so you get the best of both worlds

the snow white kitten cautiously pads onto your ottoman while the more adventurous puppy bounces happily onto your bed

I think your heart just melted into a puddle of goo

just imagine Zhengting playing with these two cuties

ba bump, ba bump, babump, babumpbabump

since you’re worried the young animals might pee on your bed, you take them out to the balcony to play

an animal approved balcony

they mess with a collection of small potted

after which, grow tired and begin snuggling up to you for comfort

without caring you’re attempting conversation with pets - that are not even yours, you pose shy of a billion questions

like ‘is ZT treating you well?’, ‘does he look better with his hair up or down?’,‘isn’t he so cute?’

‘Zhengting’s so attractive,’ you muse wistfully not realising the man standing on the neighbouring balcony

ZT chuckles, feeling red tint his cheeks

he only emerged from his room to inhale a breath of fresh air before the intense grilling by his parents could pepper him

yet he felt his heart grow warmer than ever, prior to your heartfelt confession

*intermission*

the front door clicked shut behind Justin and the brothers flopped onto the living room carpet, finally able to breathe normally

we pulled it off, we did it,’ Justin gasped in disbelief, wondering if all the cleaning he had done was a lucid dream

but the realness of Zhengting’s high-five and sparkling counters proved him wrong

ah ha! whatever ge’s parents said to him also proved it happened!

‘soooo,’ he drawled out teasingly. ‘pa and ma think you’re attracted to our neighbour.’

Justin’s hand reached to pinch Zhengting’s steadily crimsoning cheeks

He only snickered when his ge swatted his fingers away as if they were pesky flies

puppy love

speaking of puppies, Justin insisted that Zhengting collect their babies back

knocking at your door, Zhengting had no idea why he felt more anxious than usual

his throbbing heart seemed to want to jump out of his chest

at least he was momentarily distracted by your endless gushing of love for his pets

compliment after compliment, love confession after love confession

shhh...he kind of wished you were referring to him

‘they’re such great listeners too!’

oh!

they admitted that I’m handsome!

Zhengting raised a smug eyebrow, mouth curling upwards. ‘So, you think I’m attractive huh?’

ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION I REPEAT ABORT MISSION

*sweats nervously*

thankfully, he doesn’t prompt for a reply as he takes the pet carriers from your grasp

with a wink, Zhengting walks off

leaving you in a frantic yet charmed mess

you: ZZT, you did NOT hear that

the text is fast, your fingers flurry over the keyboard  

his answer isn’t delayed either

zhengting: hear what? your Romeo&Julietesque confession of your love for me?

you: pft just bc we both have balconies doesn’t mean we’re Romeo and Juliet

you: it didn’t happen

you: I take my words back

zhengting: mhm and you definitely did not talk to my pets as if they were humans

you: SHUSH

zhengting: no :)

zhengting: come to the balcony

zhengting: please

zhengting: where are you

zhengting: :(

zhengting: come out or I’m calling Wenjun and exposing you

you rolled off your bed and onto your balcony faster than Usain Bolt

Zhengting had already propped his arms on the dividing decoration, awaiting your arrival

‘hey, secret lover,’ he poked. ‘Missed me?’

your orbs rolled in perfect circles,

‘please, I saw you a couple of minutes ago. If anything, I miss your puppy more.’

‘come over tonight.’

what? excuse me?

‘I really need help with my choreography. Please? You promised!’

Zhengting looked needy enough for you to say yes...plus, you wanted tickets to the showcase...and it couldn’t hurt to spend more time with help him right?

also because you wanted to see his pets again

you told him you would come over after dinner

the temptation would be too great to arrive on an empty stomach when a full-course meal awaits

Justin was clad in his baby blue onesie and carrying the small white kitten when he opened the door 

how childlike 

I should get matching pjs for Wenjun too 

with a knowing smirk, he mentioned that Zhengting was in his room 

in return, you filled him in on the new video game that Wenjun bought 

and then let him into your apartment to bug Wenjun 

hehe 

family goals 

you ventured further into the flat, a tad bit more familiar with your surroundings 

Zhengting must be playing with his puppy as excited barks were coming from the inside 

you rapped your knuckles on the door then entered 

bc you’re a cultured person who knocks the door before entering! 

you learnt you to knock after walking in on many...unpleasant things 

such as wang ziyi and cai xukun proclaiming their eternal love 

then catching xukun on a date with zhang yixing a few days later 

not the kind of things you want to recall 

as you expected, Zhengting is on his bed, playing with his puppy 

oh wow can I just say 

bedhead ZZT with his shirt sliding off one shoulder to reveal a defined collarbone 

his grey sweatpants have loosened around the waist to reveal his Calvins and the very tip of his waist tattoo peeking out 

wow 

so sexy 

but no, in reality, he’s just cradling his puppy and cooing sweet nothings into his ear 

‘what’s his name?’ the puppy pads over to greet you, flicking his small tongue over your hands 

‘Justin and I decided to name him Ry, taken from the end of Jeffery,’ Zhengting replies while casually fixing his top 

...as in Jeffery from school? 

oh goodness, of course, these boys had connections 

they must be popular 

even though ZZT never attends class???

what sorcery 

an awkward silence passes 

you both communicate without opening your mouths 

eventually, you’re seated on the floor of ZZT’s dance studio, cuddling Ry - not exactly paying attention to his dance 

honestly, I think Zhengting’s focus is unbreakable 

but when it breaks...it shatters 

you go from trying to explain that his left arm needs to be at the same height as his right arm 

to ‘oh my god I really like your new phone case.’ 

and then he’ll pick up the conversation from ‘thanks my phone case is from bare bears official.’ 

he loves being cute deep down and we all know it shh 

then it goes back to ‘one two...three...stop! pose. Wow, you’re a great choreographer.’ 

not even dance counts ^ 

blame Professor Wang for influencing my class with dance 

I’ve been dragged to deep down 

eventually, the night wears on and the two of you simply sprawl out on the dance floor 

tired 

Ry cheers you up by licking your face though, cutie 

you’re curious to find out more about zhengting, now seems like the perfect opportunity to pose questions 

‘what other animals would you want as a pet?’ Though, you can’t picture Ry and the kitten having TOO many friends yet.

you watch as Zhengting pouts, thinking hard 

‘maybe a pet piglet. My friend, Mubo has one and I played with it once at his place. It was so adorable that all my friends were in love with it.’ Zhengting laughs fondly at the memory. 

‘my mother would kill me though,’ he adds quickly

idk man we could like share a pet so we both gain from it and become piglet parents 

wh00ps did I say that out loud? Why is he giggling at me? 

‘yes, yes you did,’ Zhengting speaks between his chuckles. ‘I already am a Zhu so might as well be a piglet parent.’ 

朱 (last name) and 猪 (pig) are both ‘zhu’ 

jokingly, you say, ‘I’ll choreograph a celebratory dance if you take up my offer.’ 

that’s when Zhengting gets all excited and seriously considers buying a pig 

one hour passes just researching on pigs

how to care for one 

what to feed it 

where to buy one 

is it legal 

how much does one piglet cost

not that the cost affects his decision ^ 

‘let’s do it,’ Zhengting decides surely, the determination in his tone. ‘Let’s be piglet parents.’ 

‘you’re kidding...’ your voice trails off when you see he is COMPLETELY on board with the idea 

what :) have :)) I :))) done :))) 

I CAN’T BE A PARENT TO EARLY ON 

yet I really like the idea of Zhengting as a pet dad 

with me

it’ll be a small family 

‘we’ll work out the custody issues later,’ he jests. ‘Are you ready to sign some adoption papers? I found a reputable place.’ 

there’s this look of certainty and assurance in his eyes that only read ‘with me, everything’s going to be fine.’ 

maybe that was when you realised you were SO ready to admit you wanted to be with him

maybe confession could come later but for now

piglet parenting? 

hell yeah 

‘I’m in on it.’ 

I’m so glad you moved in next door 

I’m so happy Justin chose the right apartment complex

worked on this for one whole week oh my god and this lowkey became crack 

rlly wanted to get this up for his birthday!!!

so happiest 22nd/23rd to the gorgeous Zhu Zhengting!!

can’t believe he’s joining the old men club on Idol Producer I’m so proud :)

I fell for him on Pd 101 but unfortunately, his incredible talents weren’t recognised

he and Justin were my Chinese kings and now they’ve both come back to claim their kingdoms

Zhengting is just so talented, hardworking, kind-hearted and humorous

I love

tbh idk what lies ahead for his future bc YH’s plans look a bit scattered for the SKR and CH side

but whatever happens, I only wish the best for him and I hope that he would achieve his dream

literally, I would marry this man if the age gap wasn’t so big and if we shared the same religion

God bless him and his household, they deserve love and grace too

@ zhu family, thanks for raising such a wonderful man

朱正廷，祝您生日快乐！我希望正廷哥哥会得到耶稣的祝福，会继续努力也会好好照顾自己的身体。我希望有一天我们可以见面。加油吧！我一定会支持您。我爱您。💝💞💘

pls don’t bash me for my errors, my ancestors are disappointed enough already :”)

[aimeesuzara]

How We Learn to Hate Our Skin or, a Late Blossom into Self-Love, When Growing up Brown in a World that Makes You Want to Be White (For A History of My Body Blog Series)

 In the summer of 2016, I arrived in Santiago de Cuba with a dance group, and the first thing we attended was a performance by Danza Del Caribe. There, in a dark theater, with very few people in attendance, emerged the lithe, dynamic dancers -- the music, driving and sensual, the bodies, athletic and slim —the dance, modern, though there was something distinct about the movement that was very Cuban, its expression, the undulations of their torsos and hips.  Soon, there was another dance featuring traditional drummers and singers and all in costumes, reenacting a fiesta in the streets, and now, I could see the Afro-Cuban roots, the movement beneath the movement.  The music and the dance immediately seized us, a welcome that was neither superficial nor subtle.  Outside in the night, we piled into cars where Jacob Forever's song "Hasta Que Se Seque el Malecon" blared, and I realized I was listening to this song for the first time in Cuba.  I realized: I am IN Cuba!  That I had taken Cuban dance, from folkloric to Cuban salsa, and had become nearly addicted to dancing casino to Salsa-Timba, needing to dance at least once, if not three times, a week, faithfully attending class at my gym taught by one of the leaders of this very trip -- had always seemed strange if I were never to come here. Of course, it was a privilege to travel, a privilege that is very “American.”

As a person whose culture has not quite suffered the amount of co-opting that other cultures have (what comes to mind is yoga-fied Indian, anime-ed Japanese, kitschy or cutesy Chinese, boy-band Korean, luau'd Hawaii, cigar-and-salsa Cuba – to name just a few)-- I always wonder, "when and if this happens to us, how will I feel?" for example, how would I feel if I went to a Filipino tribal dance class from, say, Mindanao, and all of the attendees were white?  Sure, they could learn the language and the gestures, but could this be right?  And what if the consumers of such traditions had never been interested in my country nor never attempted to know and understand and have true relationship with not only the symbols of, but the actual inhabitants or descendants of my islands? I always imagined entering a class like that and basically losing my mind, giving everyone a piece of my mind.  And yet I, too, have done my fair share of being fascinated by and borrowing and romanticizing cultures other than my own -- I am guilty of it, certainly -- I do not deny that living in India in college, studying Buddhism and Hinduism and an extended stay of 9 months,  then returning here to attending yoga classes where few if any people were actually Indian -- that I was participating in the consumption of culture.  I also do not claim that my fascination with Cuban culture, spirituality, history, are entirely devoid of romanticism, idealizing.  And yet, there is something here to consider.  I do not consider myself a part of the (at least racial) dominant class.  That I have grown up with economic comfort, an excellent education, and two parents who lived together and were committed, raising me with everything I needed -- that I grew up with at least some semblance of identity connected to a homeland -- I do not deny the privileges I have inherited.

But as I've gotten older, I realize that my suspicion that we were always second-class citizens in many peoples' eyes, in the system's eyes; that we are dispensable, as labor, as intelligence, as optional colors to throw into a melting pot that somehow was and should be neutral, in other words, white; that I have never nor ever will experience whatever it is to feel I was neutral or normal or the regular, that things were made and meant for me; though I strove for, and lived at times under the illusion that I could be, a part of it.  As a child, I wanted my mom to have m & m's and pizza and popcorn around like the other kids; not soy sauce, fish sauce, hot peppers and rice.  I wanted us to sit down to an “American” Thanksgiving Dinner, since that's what everyone else did.  This became instated, at my insistence at the age of eight or nine: we had turkey, canned cranberry sauce, powdered whipped potatoes.  I was content to be like the other kids, not realizing that what was being replaced was whatever Filipino we had left. For a mother who was not that into cooking, those small symbols were what we couuld and should hold onto.  My Dad's Adobo; my mom's pancit; the ginataan that I half-loved and half-was disgusted by; the odd sweets and bottles and jars filled with sugary beans and coconut jelly for making Halo-Halo.  Instead, I opted for the can-shaped gelatinous cranberry sauce, not knowing how easy it was to make fresh sauce from scratch; the microwaved dinners like Hungry Man's potatoes and gravy and meatloaf, also not realizing that these were the easiest foods to make from scratch; popcorn and eggs, likewise, easy to to make and inferior when made in our enormous microwave oven.  I fought hard to lose our culture in order to be  part of the crowd, only realizing later that I would never the part of the crowd.  I would always be different, exotic, cute.  I would always stand out, could not really hide behind my hair like I thought I could; wearing black as a teen probably made me stand out more; I could never be "goth" -- my melanin prevented this. 

The illusion of belonging to a dominant class was broken at moments of my parents being talked down to; or my mom being called "cute" --my lunchbox food called weird, and people fascinated by my hair and eyes.  At a point in fifth grade the adoration turned to a silent segregation, and I distinctly remember sitting, as though on a faraway island, looking at my increasingly distant best friend, freckles and blue eyes, and her other newer best friends, blond and red-haired, all pale like Strawberry Shortcake and Barbie and Madonna; all perfect American little girls, as they became a click and left me with Jasmine and Keisha, whom I liked and got along with but also resented because they reminded me of my darkness; somehow being with the two black girls made me feel that all together we were just this big blotch of ink; a shadow on the playground; invisible and disappearing while the rest of the world marched on. A child of ten does not invent such a feeling, and especially not in a small town like Pasco, given that race or racism was never directly talked about by my parents nor in school, that my friends were all oblivious to the subtle ways in which racism was being perpetuated and carried on by their parents.  I remember Luis and Juan and some sense about them being just weird or less-than; I remember Pedro who broke his arm doing antics on the slide; they were Mexican and were seen as the comic relief; they were the jokesters, the pranksters, and so they were loved.  But in a sort of adorable, little-brother way, not to be taken seriously, and certainly not to be the object of a crush.  There was my Indonesian friend, also adorable and smart but never to be the object of a crush; crushes would be reserved for the classically white-cute Jeff or John. (*all names have been changed)

I probably had picked up on or heard snippets of my fathers' frustration, when he was deflated or downright angry about the dynamics at the hospital.  It seemed that the Filipinos were helping the Filipinos but not enough (and what was it they need to help each other for, I wondered?) and the Indian doctors had to leave; and the white doctors all supported one other were not supporting him. We left the Tri-cities nearly losing everything, in debt and abandoning the beautiful house on the hill; I disappeared for years from the scene and moved like a nomad across the country five times before I was a sophomore in high school.

But that is another story.  Let's begin with the body here and see where it all changed.

In Houston, Texas, I learned, as abruptly as you could at the age of 11 in sixth grade, that yes, we were second class citizens, people who should go back "home" (and what home was that?) and who smelled (this being the Indian slur applied generically).  Or it was "ching chong" which really got me because immediately the sound summoned the most slanty-eyed cartoon I could imagine, someone who couldn't even see through the slits of their eyes; and I was proud to have large, almond eyes, eyes my father and others said were due to my Spanish ancestry.  Deer eyes, round eyes, eyes that were expressive.  And I loved to sing, and talk and dance, so how could anything be Ching Chong from my lips --what a bunch of gibberish; I knew nothing about Chinese culture, but I knew no one spoke like that.

I remember, too, that in Texas, my two best friends and I clung to one other, protecting one another from the harsh slurs and taunting and just plain stupidity of the typical hormonal 6th-grader.  We created a fortress by linking arms and always walked together in the narrow halls.  I remember being conscious of Shalini, our Indian third, being made fun of for her hairiness and/or her odor.  Grace was nearly perfect, I thought, but her being Vietnamese and me Filipina, still, we were Asian and this was something, apparently, bad.  Our biggest steretotype was perhaps to be too smart (how terrible). But this also had to go hand-in-hand with, or mean, not-attractive. God forbid you could be brown, smart and pretty at the same time; that idea was only a fantasy.

There is something that extends beyond the number of incidences that I may be able to name that were "racist" -- micro-aggressions, and simply systematic and historical realities that, once you are aware of them, you could not become unaware.  It was only much later, after college, that I became aware that we live in a society built upon slavery, and exploitation, and the murder of brown-skinned people who lived here before. Then I learned that in my islands there were indigenous people before came the Spaniards, and the Dutch, and the British, and the United States, before capitalism and westernized culture infected the minds and hearts and bodies; I learned that people in my islands wished to lighten their skin and go to great lengths to be light, to appear or be white, to speak white, to be Western, and to look down upon their own even before coming to the USA-- the exact process described by Fanon and Cesaire as internalized colonialism, internalized inferiority. I inherited the internalized inferiority complex: I wanted blond hair and blue eyes; I wanted a tall nose; I wanted to lose my melanin and tried to hide my shadow in the brightness of light-skinned people for much of my childhood and teenager-hood. I bought into believing my parents were less-than with their strong accents and "foreign” ways. If I did not -- how else would I ever belong?

It had to be systemic: how could a 10-year old invent the kind of complex that I recall dawning upon me like a heavy mist, a poisonous web, that I breathed into my lungs, that permeated my body.  To be ashamed of my parents' tongue, our skin color, our bone structure, our food, our culture, to be ashamed.

To be ashamed as a woman may be something very universal, and especially under Catholicism, the gift of the conquistador to the natives of our islands and the other islands they descended upon.  But to be ashamed to also be brown, to also hail from what I learned later were islands resembling, no, are actually, Paradise?  Why and how could we feel ashamed of this?  Why and how could we feel ashamed to come from Paradise, where people are warm, loving, communally-minded, resilient, culturally rich, creative, how can you possibly hate the place you came from that was Paradise?

The shame of our own bodies as brown and Filipina is a sad and shared experience.  And now there is the irony that while in most of the world, it's more superior to be light, but there is also the fascination, the desire to be darker, to nearly consume, our golden skin.  The irony that while lightness gains privilege, those same privileged envy – no, desire -- our melanin, our eyes and hair.  To be envied yet to be looked down upon at the same time.  To feel invisible in one moment, unimportant, seen as part of the help or someone who cannot speak for herself; and then in the next, seen as extremely intelligent, eloquent, and exotic.  I never really knew how to accept the "compliment" of being exotic; was I a fruit?  Was I something to eat?  Why not be beautiful, like a fully-conscious and complete and (in my mind, neutral or standard) person could be?  Couldn't I be complex and whole, too? Could we focus on normal things like ice cream flavors and what we liked to do, rather than dwell on the uncomfortable differentness of our bodies? I would have preferred to be smart, interesting and cool than to be exotic, any day.  The journey of loving this body and this skin has been many years in the making.  People are often surprised, because they see me as very Pinay proud, embracing my heritage and loving my body and brown skin.  It’s been an evolution.  For those of us who have lived outside of the liberal or progressive Bay Area, we’ve been exposed to different messages.  Even IN the liberal Bay Area, we have to fight to drown out the noise; to make our own voices of self-love even louder.

[forloveoflibertea]

To Be Remembered | t h r e e

[ originally published on Wattpad : June 6th, 2017 . unedited . word count: 4,460 . updated January 23rd, 2018 . dedicated to @amivdragnire-likes for reblogging the previous chapter :D ]

t h r e e

« i s n ' t i t e n o u g h t o k n o w t h a t s o m e o n e c a r e s ? »

Where there are insurgents, there are punishments.

This was held true from the grandest and most complex monarchies, to the most obscure hierarchies. The Social Hierarchy of World Academy was no different—even though it was run by high school students who were in the prime of their adolescent years and still affected by pubescent hormones, there was no doubt in any student's mind, be they a Royal or a Commoner, that the King did not tolerate any rule breakers.

Any of those, and they were called—with an appropriate shudder and a sneer of disgust from those who conformed most to the three unspoken rules—'Rogues'.

To be a Rogue was punishable by the worst sentences conceivable in the mind of a high school student who thrived upon popularity. They were misfits, outcasts, black sheep—simply put, they didn't belong, whether to a caste or simply in general. They were abnormalities, stains on the otherwise perfect surface of the prestigious Academy. And to keep the order, the King and his court normally devised the most devious of ways to rid the hierarchy of the blasted eyesores.

As if it was not enough to be a Rogue, there was also a sub-category, so to speak, to the outcasts—and they were called the 'Suicide Squadron', but was more often spoken of as the 'Fallen Ones': the students who chose to become misfits, who cast aside the prestige and popularity of the hierarchy in preference to the obscurity and humiliation of being in the lowest rung of the social circle.

This infamous group was notorious, in every sense of the word, for their occasional battles with the King's court, and even with the King himself. They challenged him without fail, but not without repercussions. They never fell back, however, and for this their names were spoken with both disgust and awe by both Royals and Commoners alike.

But of what relevance was this to one Arthur Kirkland?

It all came to pass on one peculiarly warm morning in early November, a week and a half since the Briton last properly talked to the strange American.

It was to be noted that they occasionally exchanged gazes and looks, a whispered word here and there in the middle of their fleeting encounters in class, but never anything tangible enough to be remembered. True, there were moments when the green-eyed blond saw that same look again in the boy's eyes, and led him to silently grit his teeth in simmering agitation.

He remembered, of course—how could he forget the words the boy had uttered that afternoon on the rooftop? It had sent him spiraling into a cacophony of thoughts, which swirled and chased themselves around in his mind, and left him tossing and turning upon his sheets at night, an arm over his face. Arthur always ended up sitting upright and typing away his frustration into his works until dawn peeked into his room and set his aching eyes burning with unshed tears.

So it was on that morning, with his head pounding with a mild headache rooted from the fact that he had just survived an Algebra quiz the period before, that Arthur began to dread the next subject—which, unfortunately for him, was Physical Education.

Oh, he was no stick when it came to his athletic abilities; he was decent in that area, at least, having been trained in the art of running away from his brothers when they attempted to beat him up when he was younger, and that proved to be effective training when he briefly joined a football (for he refused to call the sport 'soccer', as the bloody Americans did) team in middle school. But his dread came from the fact that the instructor in the subject for his class was also the Assistant Principal of the Academy, and a renown 'sadist' when it came to physical fitness.

Dr. Aldrich Beilschmidt was no joke when it came to his occasional Physical Education exams, and that morning was a perfect example as to why many in the Academy's population both revered and feared him.

"Capture the Flag?" He echoed, shifting the sleeves of the jersey so that it better covered his bandaged wrist. He'd left it halfway unzipped over the required white shirt and the matching track pants, which was also in a shade of green which somewhat reminded him of military camouflage. Arthur had no doubt that it was the Assistant Principal's choice of colour, deviating from the school colours of blue and silver.

Their instructor nodded once, succinctly, and his pale blond hair, which was tied into a low ponytail, shifted slightly from its place on the man's right shoulder. "This will test not only your teamwork and cooperation, but also your own physical abilities as well as strategic thinking." He looked over the varying expressions on his students' faces, which ranged from outright terror, to nervousness, while some sported a calm and calculating look amidst a poker face. (Arthur as part of the latter group, with his expression schooled into one of polite curiosity, but not at all betraying the tension he concealed so well.)

"I have already selected two team captains for each group, who will in turn choose their teammates from both the girls and boys. There will be no exchanging of teammates, no maiming or causing serious injury—such as breaking one's limbs, for example." With the last phrase, cold blue eyes met with amused purple belonging to the ivory-haired youth standing in the back, surrounded by his court.

Dr. Beilschmidt turned away, then, but not without one last warning look in the direction of the hierarchy's 'King'. "Now then, the names I will call will be the team captains for this game of Capture the Flag. Step right up when I do so." He cleared his throat, letting his unnervingly cold and calculating gaze skim over the heads of his students, assessing each and every one, before they landed upon the figure standing just behind the Briton.

"The Captain of the Blue Team will be Alfred F. Jones."

A hand settled upon the sandy blond male's shoulder as the American pushed forward and out of the crowd amidst the hushed whispers from their classmates, which were quickly stifled with another harsh glare from the Assistant Principal. Arthur, startled by the hand Alfred had briefly placed upon his shoulder as he passed, watched with narrowed eyes as their instructor handed a navy blue banner to the ex-football quarterback, along with several bandanas in the same color.

With that finished, Dr. Beilschmidt looked towards his class once again, and his stare immediately settled upon the intimidating presence surrounded by his court, even in the middle of a seemingly harmless PE class.

"And the Captain of the White Team will be Ivan Braginski."

The whispers turned up a notch as the imposing figure of the hierarchy's King strode forward to claim the white banner from the professor, the cluster of bandanas looking like a small clump of cloth in his large hands. Tension seemed to spike higher and higher as the two captains faced each other: the Russian with a small, almost innocent smile, and the American with a carefully controlled version of his usual sunny grin.

"Now, I will toss a coin. Heads for the Blue Team, tails for the White Team. Whichever comes up will signal which captain will choose his teammates first. Is that clear?" The German Assistant Principal's voice brooked no refusal as he glanced between his two students, who offered no complaints and simply acquiesced. Even they, as high-ranking as they were (or formerly were) in the Social Hierarchy, could never defy the frightening Dr. Beilschmidt.

The students of Class 3-A watched with bated breath as the coin was tossed high into the air, spinning once, twice, before it fell into gravity's embrace and landed with a small clink upon the tiles. The Assistant Principal bent down and announced in a calm voice, "Heads. The Blue Team chooses first."

Arthur released a small breath he didn't know he had been withholding until that moment. He looked up from where the coin had landed, and emerald green met with sky blue. An unknown glint glimmered in Alfred's eyes as his lips pulled up into a knowing grin, and he placed a hand into the pocket of his jersey. Without breaking eye contact, he walked forward, placing a hand upon the Briton's shoulder.

"I choose Arthur Kirkland."

What?

The words were spoken quietly, Arthur could almost claim that he didn't believe his ears as Alfred's voice ghosted past the curve of his cheek. He had to tip his head up to see the American's smile as a navy blue bandana was tied onto his right bicep, and then he was being pulled into Alfred's side in front of the entire class.

"That isn't wise, da?" The seemingly childlike voice broke through Arthur's trance as the ivory-haired Russian offered an innocent but menacing smile in his direction. "Choosing a 'Rogue' to be on your side... You are simply asking for trouble, Fredka."

"Who I choose is none of your business, Ivan." Alfred returned coldly. "Isn't it your turn to pick your team?"

"Da." The King agreed nonchalantly, and he merely tipped his head in the direction of a terrifying young woman with platinum blond hair. "I choose my cousin, Natalya Arlovskaya."

The tension seemed to rise even more as the young woman shot a glare in their direction—a glare so intense that it was as if she was imagining them dead, preferably with their blood on her hands. Arthur had to hide the shudder which passed through him at the thought.

It went on in the same manner, with barely concealed threats and promises of dismemberment or humiliation being exchanged between the two captains. The Briton was already sure, by the end of the selection, that the two shared a rather violent rivalry, if the exchanges were any evidence.

On the Blue Team, led by the now surprisingly serious American (then again, Ivan's threats seemed to have some weight at least, for him to behave this way) were Arthur, Elizaveta, a Japanese boy named Kiku Honda, an Italian called Feliciano Vargas (whom the Briton discovered to be their History teacher, Mr. Romulus Vargas' grandson), a timid girl named Lilli Zwingli and her brother, Vash, a rowdy German named Gilbert Beilschmidt (Arthur had to do a double take when he heard his surname, thinking it to be a mistake, but was then pacified with the knowledge that yes, the terrifying Assistant Principal was actually his uncle), a Filipino girl called Maria Clara dela Cruz, and a boy Arthur had never noticed before, named Matthew Williams, Alfred's cousin. They at least seemed to know each other on a personal level, Arthur exempted as he was still rather new to the campus and had never interacted with them before, nor had he chosen to. (Aside from Elizaveta, but she was a different matter altogether.)

On the White Team, there were an assortment of... eccentric students, to put it lightly. There was Ivan Braginski, the King of the Social Hierarchy, as their Captain, along with his cousin, the frightening Natalya Arlovskaya. There was also a masked personage called Sadiq Adnan, who was currently arguing with a tall boy who looked as if he wanted to be anywhere but there. (But preferably asleep.) Arthur recalled him to be called Herakles Karpusi. There was a trio of boys who kept glancing at Alfred as if he wanted him to save them from the scary Russian; one with chin-length brown hair, one with blond hair with similar length, who was all but hugging the former to his chest and glaring warningly at the ivory-haired boy, and the last with dark brown hair and glasses. If he heard right, they were named Toris Laurinaitis, Feliks Łukasiewicz, and Eduard Von Bock. And then there were the girls: Emma Peeters, who was talking with her brother, Abel, and Lucia dela Cruz, whom Arthur learned to be Maria's stepsister.

So in all, in the Blue Team, there were three girls and seven boys, while on the White Team, there were also three girls and seven boys, making the distribution completely equal. It was only then that Arthur realized the utter difference between how much their class prevailed upon male students as opposed to females. (Although, if he was judging this correctly, he was quite certain that many of the boys in the class were either bisexual or homosexual, and one of which seemed to be either gender-fluid or transgender. Not that the Briton minded, as he too—how to phrase this politely—batted for the other team, so to speak.)

The 'battle ground' was set to be the entire length of the football field, a clear and flat space which guaranteed no hideouts and absolutely no cover, which meant that they had to primarily fight for their lives—or be practical and strategic in utilizing the materials the professor provided.

Arthur glanced towards where the Assistant Principal stood before the white line which signified the exact middle of the grounds, holding both a megaphone and a clipboard, with a whistle hanging round his neck. He looked at the team captains and their teams, which had assembled in groups with the two boys in the lead.

"Now the rules are," Dr. Beilschmidt began as soon as he managed to silence the arguing Turk and his Grecian contender with another of his patented glares of death. "First: whoever manages to capture the other team's flag and bring it over to their side wins. Second: removing the bandana of one in the opposing team removes them from the game. Removed or untied bandanas will remain in the eliminated's possession. Third: those eliminated from the game will have to stand in the 'prisons' in the sidelines, and can only be put back in the game when a member from their own team tags them out of the prison and successfully ties their bandana back on. Fourth: your bandanas must be tied in a place where your classmates may fully see them so as to give equal opportunity in tagging each other out. I repeat: there will be no violence, no maiming, no purposeful causing of harm towards any of your fellow students or I will have you be sent into detention for a month—and not with Vargas, but with me. And you all know what detention is when I am in charge. Is that clear?"

They all nodded, the timid ones glancing nervously at the smug looks some of the others sported.

Dr. Beilschmidt nodded approvingly. "I will give you ten minutes to organize a strategy before the game begins. Your time starts now."

With the shrill blast of the whistle, the teams moved towards their separate goals, where their banners hung proudly and in plain view. Arthur looked up at the navy blue cloth fluttering in the brisk wind, tugging absentmindedly at the secure knot of his own bandana.

He knew, of course. With the way the members of the White Team eyed several of his teammates, he knew that they weren't planning on playing nice for this game. It was clear that they disliked many of the members of the Blue Team, as evidenced by the murderous glares and hissed jeers the Briton overheard earlier on.

It was going to be a bloodbath—Dr. Beilschmidt's threat of detention be damned.

"'No maiming', my ass," Gilbert grumbled, crossing his arms across his torso as he returned the heated glares of the White Team's members from across the field. "We all know that that's just some pretty bullshit."

The Hungarian girl whacked him over the head, which elicited a pained grunt and a yelp of, "What the hell, Lizzie?" from the disgruntled German ("Prussian!" He had corrected when Arthur had said otherwise.) "None of your anti-Hierarchy shit right now, Gil," she scolded, complete with a finger wagging to and fro, as if chastising a child. "We need a plan to beat them, and we need it pronto. We only have ten—no, nine minutes left to make one up so we don't get beaten into the ground."

"Liz is right," Alfred cut in, then, breaking off his intense staring match with the ivory-haired King, who smiled that seemingly innocent smile again before turning back to his teammates. "We need a plan. So I'm gonna ask you guys: who's a decent runner in our team?"

—

"Why me?"

Alfred glanced towards the Briton as the words slipped past his lips, a meagre whisper amidst the brisk wintry wind. He dug his hands into the pockets of his dark green jersey jacket, watching as wisps of his breath condensed in the chilly wind. It was strange how fast the weather changed within the span of half an hour.

"What do you mean, why you?" He asked, although he already knew the answer. The American watched as the shorter male's shoulders drew up slightly, emphasizing the tension he kept hidden within his seemingly small frame. The way he held himself made him seem so much more imposing in real life; like he could take on anything, consequences be damned. It was like Arthur was saying, "Fuck society," with every gesture, every harsh look in his acidic green eyes and blunt word which escaped from that razor-sharp tongue.

But sometimes, Alfred wondered just how much of it was part of the front Arthur put up just to look strong. He knew it was a façade, of course.

He knew, because he put up a similar one as well.

The sandy blond youth glanced at the taller boy, then, tormented green clashing with curious azure as they waited for the game to start. "Why do you keep doing this?" He demanded quietly as they took their places—Alfred guarding the banner, Arthur as part of the second line of their offensive. "Why are you pushing yourself where you don't belong?"

He could hear the hidden questions beneath the sharp demands.

Why are you trying so hard just to know me? Why are you trying to show me that you care when no one else ever did?

And he smiled just as the whistle blew and dirt flew up into the air as his teammates kicked off running towards the other team's goal.

"Isn't it enough to know that someone cares?" Alfred asked quietly, as if to himself, as he watched the first clash of the two teams.

Elizaveta had taken charge of their offensive, barking out the command phrases they had settled on to keep their 'enemy' from guessing their next point of attack. She ducked beneath wildly flailing limbs, ripping bandanas and handing them back to their owners—with harsh obscenities and grumbles from those in the receiving end—as fast as she could.

"Arthur!" She called, and the Briton turned his head in her direction as he was weaving through the cluster of the offensive lines from both teams. “Operation 'Helena'!"

He grinned, offering a two-fingered salute as he vaulted over a stunned Eduard, his white bandana fluttering down to his face as Arthur sprinted away, his goal clear in sight as he yelled back to Elizaveta, who was busy duking it out with a furious Natalya—"'So Long and Goodnight'!"

Operation 'Helena', Alfred mused as he watched over the progress of his team, the offensive slowly but surely crossing the field, and the defense successfully fending off any wayward White Team members who slipped through their offense. If Elizaveta was already pulling that maneuver out, it meant that they had no need for their last resort—which Arthur had aptly named, ‘Amazing Grace'.

The maneuver called for their offense line—Gilbert, Elizaveta, Vash and Maria—to provide a distraction and to hold down the fort, so to speak, and eliminate the offense line of their opponents so that their runners, Arthur and Matthew, could grab the banner and back over to their side without a hitch. The reply to the call of 'Operation Helena', 'So Long and Goodnight', however, meant that Arthur would distract the defense line of the opposing team, making them believe that he will be the one to grab the banner and hightail it back to base, whereas it would actually be Matthew, who was skilled in stealth because of his low presence, who would make use of Arthur's distraction to claim the flag and run back to their team's side.

It was dangerous, of course. But Arthur had insisted.

"I'm not letting you put me on defense when we know that I can do better on offense," he had protested when Alfred started to decline his request to be one of the runners.

The American knew that the Hierarchy had put out something equivalent to a 'WANTED' mark on the Briton, a mark which called for him to suffer in the worst of ways a 'Rogue' ever could, and he wanted to protect him from that. He wasn't just playing hero for the sake of it.

He wanted Arthur to realize that he would be his hero, no matter what.

But that meant that he had to let him do as he pleased, so as to not risk angering the volatile blond, and to acquiesce to his demand. So Alfred agreed, but on one condition.

And that condition was their last resort, 'Amazing Grace'.

"Kiku, how many of the White Team's been eliminated?" Alfred asked from his post, pacing between where their team's banner stood and the prison, marked by several white lines upon the field. He glanced at the Japanese boy, who was also guarding their banner with the usual expressionless mask upon his face.

"I believe there are already three—no, six, now, Alfred-san," Kiku responded as three more from the opposing team moved towards the prison, holding onto their almost ripped bandanas. "Elizaveta-chan is quite the warrior when she wants to be."

"Gil looks like he's having the time of his life too." He muttered, looking out to where the albino was fighting against the ivory-haired King. He itched to be part of the combat, to put it lightly; he wanted to be out there, to be part of the main players, but he knew he couldn't. Not yet, anyway.

Their defense consisted of Feliciano, Lilli, Kiku, and Alfred himself, as the head of the defensive line. He hadn't wanted to send out two of the girls in his team on offense, but they had quickly proven him wrong—Elizaveta with a punch to the gut, Maria with a slap to the face. He didn't doubt their strength afterwards; he knew better than to actually put himself on death row.

Still, how could Alfred be Arthur's hero when he was here, on defense, while his tsundere Briton was out on the offensive?

(He really had to tone down the possessive side; Arthur might hit him for laying claim to him without him knowing, and they weren't even friends, to put it bluntly.)

He should have known to be careful what he wished for.

As Alfred cast his gaze towards the prison, making sure that none of the opposing team's players managed to escape without him knowing, he heard a familiar voice cry out.

It was no call, no shout of a command, just a raw, wordless cry of agony which immediately sent Alfred's nerves shot with anxiety. He turned to look at the ongoing 'game', desperately skimming over the heads of his other classmates, when he saw a sight which simultaneously left him both frozen and his blood burning with anger.

Arthur knelt, mouth still half-open in the aftermath of his cry, harsh breaths forced through trembling lips as his left arm remained twisted against his back. A victorious Ivan Braginski held him down, fingers tightly clenched into the Briton's forearm. But it wasn't the forced submission which angered Alfred.

It was the blood.

It was rapidly soaking through Arthur's sleeve, tainting the green cloth of his jersey an even darker shade that it almost looked black. Still Ivan held him down with no care to the fact that the lithe Briton was hurting from his bleeding wounds, made worse by the fact that the Russian's fingers dug deeply into flesh, even through the cloth of the bloodstained jersey.

Alfred couldn't take it.

He breathed deeply through his nose, counting from one to ten in a vain attempt to ease his rapidly burning rage, to no avail. He vaguely heard Kiku saying that Gilbert had been knocked out when Ivan threw him off, allowing the King to rush after Arthur and pin him down like he was doing, restraining him without any thought to the fact that he was hurting, goddamn it, even the most vile of children knew that when a person was already hurt, there was no need to keep tormenting him, fucking damn it—

He raised his gaze, but all he could see was red as he saw Matthew out of the corner of his eyes, having successfully claimed the White Team's banner and sneaking back to their side. With a shake of his head, Alfred advanced, only letting himself whisper to a concerned Kiku.

"Commencing Operation 'Amazing Grace'."

With that, he sprinted towards where Ivan still restrained a weakened Arthur with that smug, seemingly childlike grin he always had. He didn't care as he backhanded the commie bastard just as the whistle blew, signifying the end of the game.

Alfred lowered himself to Arthur's level, watching with wordless concern as the Briton struggled to take in air, cradling his injured arm to his chest as frustrated tears pricked at his eyes. When his sleeve rolled down, the American saw just where the blood came from.

Ripped bandages stained with crimson unraveled from around Arthur's wrist, where at least ten angry, crisscrossing lines bled with even more of the scarlet liquid. In vain, Arthur attempted to cover up his wounds—no, his cuts, evidence of him harming himself, trying to rid himself of his own life.

And Alfred said nothing as he pulled Arthur to him, wishing that for once, having someone who cared would be enough.

—

Notes:

Dr. Aldrich Beilschmidt — Germania

Maria Clara dela Cruz — OC! Philippines

Lucia dela Cruz — OC! Luzon, largest island of the Philippines

[jakejamesjournalism]

vampire weekend in the post-rostam era

6/8/2019                                                     

A group of high school kids starting a rock band is a great American past time… especially for those kids cut from the baseball team, THE great American past time.  The type of practice and commitment to collaboration it takes to become a good band or a good ball player is what makes both past times so appealing to the rest of us.  It was the love of the songwriting process first.  It was the smell of the fresh cut infield grass that got the particular individual in a single-minded mission in trying to turn the past time he chose into art.  Famous songwriters and performers loved and obsessed over the music they were recording long before the record deal came the same way pro athletes dedicate their lives to training years before draft day. 

That in itself, becoming successful at your chosen past time, turning it into art, and making a career out of it makes you all the more appealing to your inevitably growing fan base.  Aside from giving their specific audiences an emotional release, the love also comes from the acknowledgement that none of what you had was inherited, it was earned from tireless hours seeking perfection way before any dollars rolled in.  Sadly, most high school bands that scrape together money for studio time and college athletes who put it all on the line don’t ever come close to getting the recognition for their hard work.  They certainly don’t get the money.  This is not to say either activity is a waste of time.  Almost everyone comes out the other end of a band or sports team a better person.  Forming a band and being part of a team can build future collaborative skills that can positively affect the participant in numerous aspects of life…but the money and fame escape him.

Fortunately for some already privileged Columbia undergrads casually starting a band after a night of beer games turned into more than what any of them at the time could’ve imagined.  Although true, it was clear from the very beginning that Vampire Weekend wasn’t just another band.  Ezra Koenig, Rostam Batmanglij, Chris Tomson, and Chris Baio (excuse my oxford comma) made a name for themselves on the indie rock scene within 18 months of their inception.  While some critics spent time whining about how much the band sounded like Paul Simon’s ‘Graceland,’ most heard it as I did.  An indie record at heart with accessible pop ideas that weren’t carried by synths and predictable filler but rather tribal African drum rhythms, live instrumentation, and brilliant, witty wordplay.  This was highlighted on A-Punk, a self-referential gem about New York City that ironically catapulted them to fame way out of the five boroughs.  The two members of the band benefitting the most from the increased acclaim and exposure was Ezra Koenig, lead singer and lyricist and Rostam Batmanglij, who was the multi-instrumentalist often credited with being the brainchild behind the bands entire sound. 

“Rostam and I are the two main songwriters” Ezra said in an interview early in the bands career.  With Contra, the 2010 follow up to their self-titled debut that mythology continued to grow.  The two of them became masters at employing subtle differences in their recording styles.  Instead of using familiar echo sounds and various chamber effects that previously yielded glorious and simplistic pop harmonies, Rostam opted for a more digital sound.  Contra did this while also staying true to the bands organic DIY style.  From a critics standpoint this time around, it was more of a Talking Heads 80s experiment than a Paul Simon one.  While Ezra remained a capable songwriter, he felt the liberty to have more fun with his vocal palette.  On Contra, the band expanded the vocal possibilities.  There was gibberish wailing on the standout track ‘White Sky’ and even distorted speed rap on the song ‘California English’; both came off as successful sonic endeavors.  Rostam mixed Ezra’s vocals beautifully, knowing exactly when to let his feral tendencies run wild and when to harness them into gorgeous vocal textures.  The winning team was making their pastime a thing of true art.  A tandem now responsible for writing two of the most significant indie records of the new era.  It seemed like a partnership that would yield classic tunes for years on end.

It initially seemed this way on the bands third LP Modern Vampires of the City.  A level of maturation some detractors never thought the band could reach was on full display here.  Rostam’s production (this time assisted by pop guru and future collaborator Ariel Rechtshaid) was darker and more experimental without losing a shred of accessibility.  Ezra’s lyrics were far more introspective, dealing with themes of faith, mortality, and ‘Dying Young.’  The album features both ‘Step’ and ‘Hannah Hunt’ the two best songs the band has ever written.  Overall it was a masterpiece.  The band hit full stride; headlining major festivals, winning Grammy awards all while remaining true to their sound.  They were able to solidify themselves as serious artists with a singular vision.  No longer prep school boys who create decent music by taking the best pieces of their influences and mashing them together, this was the sound of a band in total control of their past time. 

It went unsaid, but it was understood, and well deserved, that Vampire Weekend would be enjoying a hiatus after the success and laborious touring schedule surrounding Modern Vampires.  Even so, after the Grammy, the critical acclaim, the incredible sales numbers, something totally unseen to the general public between the two main songwriters wasn’t right.  To everyone’s surprise and utter bewilderment, Rostam decided to leave the band indefinitely.

“My identity as a songwriter + producer needs to stand on its own.” Read Rostam’s public statement.  The news instantly polarized fans.  Many, like myself, criticized Rostam for leaving a good thing, while coming off extremely pretentious and ungrateful.  The man is lucky enough to be cooped up in the most successful songwriting duo in modern day rock music, why would he feel unfulfilled achieving greatness in the setting of a great band? Why must his work stand outside the efforts of collaboration? Who does he think he is?

It was known that Rostam, the multi instrumental production guru was always responsible for the sound of Vampire Weekend, while Ezra supplied the lyrics.  The parting seemed amicable, but all in all it left the future of the band in a precarious situation.  What was Vampire Weekend without Rostam? That very question went years unanswered. 

In the years since Rostam left Vampire Weekend, he has had limited success finding any traction as a solo artist.  His best effort thus far has been a collaborative record with Hamilton Leithauser of the Walkmen.  A brilliant record full of the same elegant strings, organic drum sections, and blissful pianos that came to define the sound of his former band.  Even so, it was still a behind the scenes production victory to add to his resume.  Hamilton is excellent on that record, giving Rostam’s instrumentals a visceral feel with his raspy passionate hoarse vocal delivery. 

As a front man himself, Rostam hasn’t achieved much.  His debut album Half-Light, released in 2017 came and went without much of a peep from anyone.  Indie circles overlooked it, it didn’t have a repeatable single, the vocals were shaky at best I gave it two listens and it passed it into the pile of albums that came and went without making a sound.  Since then, Rostam has not been able to find his voice.  Whether or not he can be an important voice in pop music remains to be seen, the talent behind the boards is there but it’s time for him to realize what he can and cannot do.  It takes a necessary self-awareness to know one’s limitations in any job, in any past time.  A contact hitter who plays his role by getting on base doesn’t swing for the fences.  I believe Rostam’s ego and infatuation with being the front man took him away from his true self a bit. 

Left alone in all this is Mr. Ezra Koenig. Years went on without a whisper of any new music and people started to wonder that same question: What is Vampire Weekend without Rostam? and more pressingly: Can Ezra write a Vampire Weekend album without him?  Turns out, answer is both yes and no.

Enlisting in pop guru and Max Martin collaborator, Ezra and co. brought back Ariel Rechtshaid to give the band help in the production department.  Ezra also used his smarts to understand the best way to go about marketing the new album.  A record far more freewheeling than previous releases, Ezra became more eclectic than ever, and shared a plethora of wide-ranging singles way before the album was scheduled to drop. 

The fourth album by Vampire Weekend, the 18-track record titled Father of the Bride was finally released May 3, 2019. Noted for its fusion of nonchalant broad-ranging grooves and witty pop songs about love, summer days, locking hate at the gate, and a few morbid things as well.  Ariel creates a template of shade from the warming sun for Ezra to bask in and the results are often satisfying.  While this new album won’t go down in history as an instant classic like its predecessor, it’s still hard to consider Father of the Bride to be anything but a monumental success.  Quality songs exist all throughout this thing and contain some of Ezra’s best songs yet.  An arena tour on the way, good new songs to play, and first week sales eclipsing 140k.  Say what you want about sales in today’s musical landscape, it’s impressive when a group of guys who still primarily play guitars can sell 140k first week.  It’s special.  You would have a hard time listing bands that released their debut record after 2000 than can sell over 100k first week and sell out Madison Square Garden.  What Vampire Weekend has is special.  

I’m predicting FOTB to be a summer 19’ novelty.  I’ve already heard cuts out on the streets of Asbury Park NJ, backyard cookouts, and New York City bars alike.  Can jam, car rides with the windows down, and poolside convos, Father of the Bride is a free-wheeling summer record that also has a thing or two you can learn from. 

It’s a wonder to me, knowing what he knows now, if Rostam would make the same decision all over again.  Joining a band is an American past time.  Playing in a band that influences the masses on a grand stage is special and should be cherished and appreciated as such.  Leaving such a beautiful situation seems egotistical. It may not be the case here, but it is the perception.  Ezra has proved himself to be just fine without him.  Rostam has time to blossom.  He is still young and has shown shades of greatness (the production on Frank Ocean’s Ivy is otherworldly) but that once again, is a highlight in music production-something behind the scenes.  Rostam, if you have a voice worth hearing, now is the time. 

[jakejames09]

No Rostam, no problem?  Vampire Weekend in the post-Rostam era

A group of high school kids starting a rock band is a great American past time.  Especially for those kids cut from the baseball team, THE great American past time.  The type of practice and commitment to collaboration it takes to become a good band or a good ball player is what makes both past times so appealing to the rest of us.  It was the love of the songwriting process first.  It was the smell of the fresh cut infield grass that got the particular individual in a single minded mission in trying to turn the past time he chose into art.  Famous songwriters and performers loved and obsessed over the music they were recording long before the record deal came the same way pro athletes dedicate their lives to training years before draft day.  That in itself, becoming successful at your chosen past time, turning it into art, and making a career out of it makes you all the more appealing to your inevitably growing fan base.  Aside from giving their specific audiences an emotional release, the love also comes from the acknowledgement that none of what you had was inherited, it was earned from tireless hours seeking perfection way before any dollars rolled in.  Sadly, most high school bands that scrape together money for studio time and college athletes who put it all on the line don’t ever come close to getting the recognition for their hard work.  They certainly don’t get the money.  This is not to say either activity is a waste of time.  Almost everyone comes out the other end of a band or sports team a better person.  Forming a band and being part of a team can build future team skills that can positively affect the participant in numerous aspects of life...but the money and fame escape him.

Fortunately for some already privileged Ivy League Scholars from New York the band casually started at a Columbia party turned into more than anyone could imagine on that alcohol fueled evening.  Ezra Koenig, Rostam Batmanglij, Chris Tomson, and Chris Baio formed Vampire Weekend.  (Excuse my oxford comma).  From the very beginning it was clear that Vampire Weekend wasn’t just another band.  Within 18 months of their inception, Vampire Weekend made a name for themselves on the indie scene.  While some critics spent time whining about how much the band sounded like Paul Simon’s Graceland, most heard it as I did.  An indie record at heart with accessible pop ideas that weren’t carried by synths and predictable filler but rather tribal African drum rhythms, live instrumentation, and brilliant, witty, self deprecating wordplay.  This was highlighted on A-Punk, a self-referenial gem about New York City that ironically catapulted them to international stardom.  The two members of the band benefitting the most from the increased acclaim and exposure was Ezra Koenig, lead singer and lyricist and Rostam Batmanglij, who was the multi-instrumentalist often credited with being the brainchild behind the bands entire sound. 

“Rostam and I are the two main songwriters” Ezra said in an interview early in the bands career.  With Contra, the 2010 follow up to their self titled debut that mythology continued to grow.  The two of them became masters at employing subtle differences in their recording styles.  Instead of using familiar echo sounds and various chamber effects that previously yielded glorious and simplistic pop harmonies, Rostam opted for a more digital sound.  Contra did this while also staying true to the bands organic DIY style.  From a critics standpoint this time around, it was more of a Talking Heads 80s experiment than a Paul Simon one.  While Ezra remained a capable songwriter, he felt the liberty to have more fun with his vocal palette.  On Contra, the band expanded the vocal possibilities.  There was gibberish wailing on the standout track ‘White Sky’ and even distorted speed rap on the song ‘California English’; both came off as successful sonic endeavors.  Rostam mixed Ezra’s vocals beautifully, knowing exactly when to let his feral tendencies run wild and when to harness them into gorgeous vocal textures.  The winning team was making their pastime a thing of true art.  A tandem now responsible for writing two of the most significant indie records of the new era.  It seemed like a partnership that would yield classic tunes for years on end.

It initially seemed this way on the bands third LP Modern Vampires of the City.  A level of maturation some detractors never thought the band could reach was on full display on MVOC.  Rostam’s production (this time assisted by pop guru and future collaborator Ariel Rechtshaid) was darker and more experimental without losing a shred of accessibility.  Ezra’s lyrics were far more introspective, dealing with themes of faith, mortality, and Dying Young.  ‘Ya Hey’ is still the most ambitious undertaking of the bands career.  Coming off as an eerie baroque pop anthem marching its way through a catchy uneven time signature with huge heart and a singalong melody made the song a special moment in the storied bands catalog.  ‘Unbelievers’ is another one.  One the surface the song seems like your average guitar pop bop but Ezra’s lyrics about mortality and the seriousness behind it add an appropriate darkness that gives an upbeat song a human feel.  A feeling amplified and perfected on Hannah Hunt and Step.  The two best tracks in the bands discography.  The band hit full stride.  Headlined major festivals.  Won a Grammy.  All while remaining true to their sound they were able to solidify themselves as serious artists with a singular vision.  No longer prep school boys who create decent music by taking the best pieces of their influences and mashing them together, this was the sound of a band in total control of their past time. 

It went unsaid, but it was understood, and well deserved, that Vampire Weekend would be enjoying a hiatus after the success and laborious touring schedule surrounding Modern Vampires.  Even so, after the Grammy, the critical acclaim, the incredible sales numbers, something between the two main songwriters wasn’t right.  So even though the latest release solidified the bands immediate legacy Rostam decided to leave the band indefinitely.

“My identity as a songwriter + producer needs to stand on its own.” Read Rostam’s public statement.  The news instantly polarized fans.  Many, like myself, criticized Rostam for leaving a good thing, while coming off extremely pretentious and ungrateful.  The man is lucky enough to be cooped up in the most successful songwriting duo in modern day rock music, why would he feel unfulfilled achieving greatness in the setting of a great band? Why must his work stand outside the efforts of collaboration? Who does he think he is?

It was known that Rostam, the multi instrumental production guru was always responsible for the sound of Vampire Weekend, while Ezra supplied the lyrics.  The parting seemed amicable, but all in all it left the future of the band in a precarious situation.  What was Vampire Weekend without Rostam? That very question went years unanswered. 

But in the years since Rostam left Vampire Weekend, he has had limited success in finding any traction as a solo artist.  His best effort thus far has been a collaborative record with Hamilton Leithauser of the Walkmen.  A brilliant record full of the same elegant strings, organic drum sections, and blissful pianos that were similar to the ones that came to define the sound of Vampire Weekend.  Even so, it was still a behind the scenes production victory to add to his resume.  As a front man, Rostam hasn’t achieved the same success.  His debut album Half-Light, released in 2017 came and went without much of a peep from anyone.  Indie circles overlooked it, it didn’t have a repeatable single, the vocals were shaky at best, and it passed before the world knew it existed.  I think even I only gave it one listen.  Since then, Rostam has not been able to find his voice.  Whether or not he can be an important voice in pop music remains to be seen, the talent behind the boards is there but it’s time for him to realize what he can and cannot do.  It takes a necessary self awareness to know ones limitations in any job, in any past time.  A contact hitter who plays his role by getting on base doesn’t swing for the fences.  I believe Rostam’s ego and infatuation with being the front man took him away from his true self a bit. 

As Rostam struggled to find footing without the band, and as the years went on it seemed like Ezra was in the same boat.  Years went on without a whisper of any new music and people started to wonder that same question: What is Vampire Weekend without Ezra? and more pressingly: Can Ezra write a Vampire Weekend album without him?  The answer is both yes and no.

Enlisting in pop guru and Max Martin collaborator, Ezra and co. brought back Ariel Rechtshaid to give the band help in the production department.  Ezra also used his smarts to understand the best way to go about marketing the new album.  A record far more freewheeling than previous releases, Ezra became more eclectic than ever, and shared a plethora of wide-ranging singles way before the album was scheduled to drop. 

The 18 track record is noted for its fusion of nonchalant broad-ranging grooves and witty pop songs about love, summer days, locking hate at the gate, and a few morbid things as well.  Ariel creates a template of sunshine for Ezra to shine under, and the results are often satisfying.  While this new album won’t go down in history as an instant classic like its predecessor, it’s still hard to consider Father of the Bride to be anything but a monumental success.  Quality songs exist all through this thing that contain some of Ezra’s best wordplay.  An arena tour on the way, good new songs to play, and first week sales eclipsing 140k.  Say what you want about sales in today’s musical landscape, it’s impressive when a group of guys who still play guitars can sell 140k first week.  It’s special.  You would have a hard time listing bands that released their debut record after 2000 than can sell over 100k first week and sell out Madison Square Garden.  What Vampire Weekend has is special.  

Father of the Bride is the soundtrack to many good summer nights.  I’ve already heard cuts out on the streets of Asbury Park NJ, backyard cookouts, and New York City bars alike.  Can jam, car rides with the windows down, and poolside convos, Father of the Bride is a jubilant summer record that also has a thing or two you can learn from. 

It’s a wonder to me, knowing what he knows now, if Rostam would make the same decision all over again.  Joining a band is an American past time.  Playing in a band that influences the masses on a grand stage is special and should be cherished and appreciated as such.  Leaving such a beautiful situation seems hard to believe.  Ezra has proved himself to be just fine without him.  Rostam has time to blossom.  He is still young and has shown shades of greatness (the production on Frank Ocean’s Ivy is otherworldly) but that once again, is a highlight in music production.  Rostam, if you have a voice worth hearing, now is the time.