#say what you will but music is cultural and taking it away is erasing people's identities | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nix-whythisfilm · 2 years ago

Text

Movies and Shows to watch this Women's History Month

Coming from a culture where women are only celebrated selectively, and worshipped as a goddess but also are the majority of victims in the crimes here, I hope we can take back our power and find equality in this world that's meant for us all. From naive young girls to wise older women, from tomboys to prep girls, from emo girls to it girls, from straight girls to lesbian women, from ciswomen to trans women; a very happy women's day, including the identities I might have missed out on.

You are all valid. You are all worth it. You are all powerful. You are all more beautiful than any words can describe. You are more than what you look like. You are more than what other people see you as. You are so much more than any wild imagination.

Bridgerton (2020)

With a new upcoming season about the fictional Queen from the first two seasons, the series has everyone biding time in anticipation. The series is based on the books written by Julia Quinn, eight books for the eight Bridgerton siblings. The show is said to be adapted a little differently, focussing on different details and following a different narrative. The first season is set like a typical chick flick, with the oldest daughter having regal confidence and feminine finesse with everything expected of her. The second season takes on a bolder tone, showing us the perspective of the older brother, known to be a rake, looking for a gentle wife, only to meet a pair of siblings opposite in their natures, both challenging his opinion of love.

I initially found this series through the buzz on social media and the modern aesthetics it appeals to despite being set in Regent England. The music was what drew me in, being classical adaptations of modern songs, but what kept me was the way women were not shown in any distinctive way but as themselves. The show highlighted the little details people forget are a part of being a woman, such as not being educated on the duties of a marriage or the quiet strength we all possess through our social capabilities and gossiping skills. It was amusingly empowering to watch how the women took power by not doing anything special but only by being a typical women.

Gangubhai Kathiawad (2022)

Based on the story of Gangubhai Harijeevandas, this film involves a girl running away with her lover only to be sold to a brothel and forced to work there. While the story is all too common to an Indian and gives us a chill every time we hear of something similar, this film brings us a side of the story that is often shunned and not accepted. Gangubhai was a prominent figure in Mumbai in the 1960s, fighting for the rights of sex workers and orphans rising from the red light districts. She has been shown to change as her life demands and took charge of the brothel she was sold to and was very well known in Kamathipura.

Chilling and raw, this film gave us the reality of sex workers in a barely romanticized narration. Alia Bhatt's performance is startling, and by the end of the film, we can find ourselves having a different opinion of the women in that profession. They have made it widely clear that she not only promoted their commercial prospects but also highlighted the confidence and sense of power in the women there to give them a choice in their lives. She fought for her life, her freedom, and the freedom of choice for other young girls who found themselves in her place. While many others would say that the film glorified the dangerous space that women and children could be stuck into, I will go ahead and say that things that cannot be erased or changed should at least be provided with the space to adapt as required.

Rookie Historian Goo Hae-ryung (2019)

Set in Joseon, this series is about the historians who worked in the Royal Courts of Korea, noting everything that happened, from simple interactions to actions taken concerning state matters. They were to be present at all places, documenting silently, around the King and the Court Officials. While politics and patriarchy were present nearly everywhere in that era, this show features a fictional prince who presented the idea of having female historians who would record everything that happened around the Queen while also providing challenging work opportunities to women of that era, who were always held back from higher education.

This series is remarkable for anyone interested in Journalism and gender equality. The main character is a modern thinker who goes out of her way to make people have uncomfortable conversations. Another thing that stood out to me from this show was the way they resolved the major conflict using non-violent methods, and the strike of honest intellectuals was justified from their perspectives. The series highlighted the importance of honesty and the way history is recorded. It focuses heavily on dramatic politics and simple romance, but they equally discuss the importance of literature and history, in the process.

Tribhanga (2021)

Another jewel is this list, this film was written and directed by women, with a story involving mothers and daughters. The movie appears to break the fourth wall, where the characters seem to be talking directly to the audience, but as a start, the story begins with a prominent self-made dancer who hears of her mother being in the hospital. The scenes quickly cut to her hurrying there with her newly married daughter to the hospital, where her estranged mother has slipped into a coma. The film continues with Milan, a follower of Nayantara's work, pleading with everyone to talk more about her story as the mother, who was an author, was in the process of writing her autobiography.

The movie was entertaining, to say the least, and a caressing memoir at its best. Through tears and yelling, fights and hardships, the entire story of three generations of women comes to light in the span of this film. It starts with the mother who separated from her family to be a writer and raised her daughter as a single mother, who then grew up through her hardships to become an accomplished dancer and celebrity. Anuradha was a single mother who raised a confident, poised daughter who then chose to marry into a large family to have the life her grandmother had abandoned. The story picks and talks about the nuances of being a woman while feeling like a personal story to every woman who watches it.

Happiness (2021)

An unlikely genre for this list, this series is a horror-thriller show involving a fast-spreading disease that turns humans cannibalistic. Set in South Korea, this disease spreads much like Covid and the authorities take quick action to control the spread. The story mainly focuses on an unusual couple who move into an elite gated community of apartments. With their jobs being a challenge and being discriminated against for their job benefits, the show quickly focuses on the disease and the ripples of fear it has in the community. I put this show here in this list because the character Park Hyungsik plays, who is an unwavering feminist who goes above and beyond for his wife.

With not much buzz about this show, I discovered it in my interest in watching Hyungsik's work and was pleasantly surprised by the way they captured people's reactions to their epidemic. It was accurate with how the Covid pandemic happened and the trauma a disease can bring to any community through its horror elements. While there are numerous female characters in this show, some antagonistic in nature and others part of the complete story, the series can easily be categorized into a work that captures the story through the female gaze. It's a surprise how well the movies and series can be perceived differently when the perception of the director is guided by their gender.

Bell Bottom (2019)

A Kannada film set in the 1980s, the story follows a man struggling to be recognized as a detective and finally finds a crime that seems like a mystery. Rishab Shetty and Haripriya come together to show us a fresh story that scratches the back of our necks until the end. With their romance bringing an easy laugh and dynamics around the small town that keep us engaged, this film is sure to leave the audience thoroughly entertained.

Curious about the actors' work, I found this film a unique slice of entertainment. The cultural details of this story are highlighted excellently, and the feminist factors need to be dug into passionately. But through it all, the film can be called an easy and entertaining watch. Interesting with narratives that audiences are unfamiliar with, this quirky film brings us a unique set of feminists and characters that cannot be put into stereotypes.

Wheel of Time (2021)

Honestly, underrated for the breathtaking show that it is, this series deserves a much bigger audience. Following a prophecy that was foretold and fighting wars that are beyond humanity, this show is filled with beautiful visuals and meaningful narratives. It starts with one woman guiding five others through the trials for the people they are predicted to be and the story takes us through a journey beyond our imagination. With simplified concepts of fantasy and a world of politics, this show is ruled by the many women who control the stories of numerous others in the show.

A show that was exhilarating and left me wanting more, it was led by women in places of power who decided the fate of people with magic. A unique concept of only women having magic, this series brings us a tale that was written decades ago and gives us characters of various cultures coming together to fight against unfamiliar darkness. With every character holding the potential to be a game changer and everyone hustling to be in places of power, this series presents us with an intimidating world, quite similar to the one we are living in right now. And through it all, it also shows us women finding themselves and bonding with other women in ways that are not highlighted in reality nearly enough.

Kahaani 2: Durga Rani Singh (2016)

Raw and magnetic, this film is about a woman who defies odds thrown in her direction that are beyond ordinary. It starts with a haunting accident and leads a police officer to investigate it, only to find a woman he never expected to see with a daughter. With her daughter missing and criminal charges against her that make no sense, this film takes us on a sombre journey of her past and the things she faced. The movie has a grip over us with Vidya Balan playing Durga Rani and Arjun Rampal playing the police officer. This film is a slap of honesty and mostly focuses on the various women involved in this story who might not always be loyal to their gender.

Shocking me beyond imagination when I first watched it, this story managed to grip me even today with the narrative of a terrified woman facing the world by herself while also taking on responsibilities that were not hers to begin with. With dangerous people always around her, Durga Rani manages to do the right thing by herself and everyone who depends on her. This film empowered me on the struggles of being a survivor and ways one can push themselves to be more than their ruinous experience. Rooted in India and navigating the clutches of patriarchy, this film is a wake-up call to the silent bystanders and people who believe ignorance is better.

How to get away with Murder (2014)

Following the story of Annalise Keating prominently, this show is a dynamic punch for any audience. The show focuses on murders every season, involving the diverse characters of the show, who all grow through the six seasons. While the first season starts off with a student's narration, the following seasons involve the lives of the main characters and conclude with a full-circle story of Annalise. An intimidating woman to most, and a terrific teacher and lawyer to the rest, Annalise is a complex character who can be studied through various approaches. This show was unique with the narration having a feminist approach and having main characters that do not belong to the mainstream crowd.

I began this show hesitantly, expecting it to be a slow watch that would take me aeons to finish. Instead, I finished the entire series in three weeks and was left reeling on how they managed to involve a plethora of ordeals the characters experienced. From losing loved ones to doing the right thing, from being a single mother to experiencing health complications, from menopause to the struggles of being a part of countercultures, this show has managed to put it all together. Women in this show have been shown as the people they are, with their faults and quirks. Women from all stereotypes have been a part of this show, and somehow, the show manages to empower us with its dark truths and dangerous struggles.

Pieces of a woman (2020)

A heartbreaking film on the experience of losing a child, this film focuses heavily on the woman who lost her baby after birth due to complications. While movies exist about the loss of a child and the many labours of miscarriages, a film had never been made before about the experience. The directors, a couple who experienced this personally, brought out this script after surviving the struggle that was never spoken aloud about. Vanessa Kirby has played the character so beautifully it leaves us speechless on the woes a human being could go through.

Having found this film through a friend, we later wrote a paper on this and nuances that would be commonly missed out. The film is incredibly insightful on the details of motherhood and the changes a woman's body goes through post-pregnancy. It focuses on the way loss can affect a woman and a man, and how both adapt to it differently. The most important element highlighted throughout is the way a woman is expected to cope after a miscarriage. While we all hear the numerous pressures a woman goes through in her life, this film sheds light on the way a woman is expected to behave a certain way even through uncertain, hopeless times.

Bombay Begums (2021)

Starting with women in powerful positions this mini-series takes us on a ride with the stories of four women at different times of their lives. They belong to different social classes and have different aspirations, but they all are shown to have challenges that only someone would experience as a woman. While some are struggling for power and money, others are grappling to hold on to relationships and personal-social ties. Some women here are stumbling to balance everything as women are always portrayed to be doing, while others are exploring their options and finding themselves in the midst of everything.

I was confounded when I finished this series, only having imagined it to be a dramatic show with a plot carried by women. It had nuances to their struggles that couldn't have been explained in mere words and brought out their personalities in ways a male director could never. The series humanized the women to the people they were while also shedding light on the experiences that women are privy to. I recommend this show to every woman as it has captured something that has never been done before. The dialogues hit home as the story moves in an unpredictable direction leaving us with a sharp sting of reality over 6 episodes.

Easy A (2010)

A very typical American chick flick, this film is light-hearted and packs a powerful message. It starts with Olive, a seemingly normal high school girl, making up one lie about having a college boyfriend to appease a nagging best friend. The story then spins out of control quickly with wild rumours about her spreading all over her school making her a subject of gossip and school scandals. Being the good-hearted girl she is, she helps out anyone she can with the attention that she now commands, and once again the narrative is taken for a spin to paint her as a girl with loose characters and a nympho.

I watched this film years ago on television and thought about how people could miss the entire point of the film and only focus on the romantic ending of her story. Having "Scarlet Letter" as the prescribed text in the film, the students all witness their scandalous woman, when she starts dressing as they painted her in spite and to claim her power. A film aimed at teenage girls, this film can easily be watched by anyone who enjoys humour. We see a perspective that is often missed out in chick flicks and a main character who takes power in the stereotype she is pushed into. All in all, time spent watching this would be well entertaining.

23 notes · View notes

kika501 · 2 years ago

Text

A hot take:

I was watching bones and all and could not help but have the profound realization that white America are like cannibals. The feast on the the body of color, whether it be Latino, native, southeast Asian, etc, but especially upon the black body. They consume all that there is to consume: our food, our music, our voices, our art, our words, our poetry, our creativity, and our culture. But that's not all, they always want- NEED, more. They consume our bodies, our labor, our time, our blood, sweat, tears, mind, heart, liver, every single morsel they consume. Bones and all.

And once the hunger is temporarily sated, they go to their white pickett homes, stomachs full and warm and. Then they gaslight us into believing that we are lesser. They pack us like animals into pens of poverty and say it is our fault that we live in such a state. They mock us for our culture and creativity that they so readily consume. They say stop and wait your turn. Don't you see this is the land of the free?

As a black woman in America, I live in such fear that all that I have will be taken away. I fear for my love ones, my little brother and cousins. I live in such fear that I refuse to have childern in this country, for where would I go? To the doctor that mutilates my body, forces a c section when not needed, refuse anesthetics because they are taught that black people can't feel pain (and yes even in 2023). Why would I bring a black baby girl or boy into a world that hates them? No matter were we go we are met with mockery, disdain and violence. Our original homes are raped continuously by colonizers so that I am force to seek sanctuary in their arms. Why would I bring a child to such a world that seeks to erase and rewrite our history so white America can still believe the lie that this is a country stands freedom, independence, and justice for all?

I cry myself to sleep knowing there is no where to run to find peace. That, at 22 years old, I find comfort in knowing that I will die one day and it will be finally over. I will decay in the ground were my skin with rot away and they can no longer eat my body because it is black. This is America. This is what this country means to me.

Please understand that this is coming from a state of confusion, hurt and betrayal. The recent political climate and events have really sent me spiraling. I've come to the realization that I don't want to live here anymore. I don't feel safe. Every day there are pick up truck waving Trump flags and blue lives matter passing by my house. My neighbors wave these flags. I no longer feel safe being surrounded by white men as a black woman. I hate being constantly reminded of my skin color. I hate knowing that by brother could just be skate boarding down the street and some cop can harass him and arrest him for no reason. That no punishment will occur. I have no trust in the the police force, for they are just another gang and tool for white supremacy. I don't want to know my body could be beaten and tossed aside and not one thing would change about this country. I'm tired. Even though I understand this sounds like a generalization of white people, it's not. It's an observation of the collective white identity and whiteness and how it makes me feel. While I'm open to conversation, I know no one cares. No one will change their mind no matter how much I scream, beg and cry. No matter how much facts you place upon them they will never see us human but nothing more than the fuel that sustains there body and way of life.

Either way it was eating me inside and I just was desperate to share.

16 notes · View notes

puckwritesstuff · 2 years ago

Note

🎵 87

87. "Listen to the Music" - The Doobie Brothers

“What the people need is a way to make 'em smile It ain't so hard to do if you know how”

This is one of the happiest, most positive songs on my Wrapped, and I still made it depressing, lol XD

Thank you for the ask!

---

The houses of the village were built enough that most of the people had moved out of the Great Hall. Sigyn’s was going to be one of the last ones finished— she needed an office and a proper nursery, and she also wasn’t going to force any of her people to stay in a place that was not a home while she had one. And in any case, Bruce had insisted they put a bed in her office in the Great Hall. She said she didn’t need one, but it was nice to have, especially as her pregnancy developed.

Angrboða approached Sigyn with a wrapped bundle in her arms. Sigyn had noticed that she was hard at work on something, but Angrboða had kept it from her. She now handed the bundle to Sigyn.

“I, um, I know I should be working on blankets and such,” she said. “Considering how few looms we have. But I still have a few things stored from Asgard, and I’m not particularly handy, so I thought that this might…”

Sigyn pulled the wrapping aside and saw that she was holding and elaborate, woven and embroidered tapestry depicting Heimdall. Sigyn gasped, her eyes welling with tears.

“I know Loki still weighs heavily on your mind,” Angrboða said. “As he does on mine. But your father was a good man, and your son should know him.”

Sigyn smiled. “Thank you.”

“Of course, your majesty,” Angrboða said, stepping away.

Sigyn looked over the tapestry again, and a thought entered her mind.

“Boða, wait.”

Angrboða turned around.

“Would you… I mean to say, Loki always spoke very highly of your skill as an artist and craftswoman,” Sigyn said.

“I’m flattered,” Angrboða said.

“I know that it might seem silly,” Sigyn said. “But could you make a few more of these? Of Odin and Frigga, and…”

“The princes?” Angrboða said.

Sigyn nodded. “There’s value in keeping our history, our culture. Just because we have lost all that we have, doesn’t mean we have to lose that. I would like you to head our Cultural Preservation efforts.”

Angrboða blinked. “I… I would be honored, your majesty.”

She bowed and left. Sigyn looked over the tapestry again, tracing the yarn that made the edge of her father’s helmet. She used her magic to hang the tapestry from one of the cross beams in the ceiling. Her hand came to rest on the slight swell of her stomach.

“You should have known your grandson,” she said, her voice quiet.

---

Sigyn was lying in bed, trying to read a report from Volstagg for the fifth time, when Angrboða, without knocking, walked into the bedroom, the components of a loom surrounded by Angrboða’s deep blue magic and assembling themselves next to Sigyn’s bed.

“Boða, you know I’m not—”

“You can take an hour off,” she said. “And you don’t have to do any weaving. I need someone to prepare the yarn and everyone else is busy.”

“I’m busy,” Sigyn said.

“I checked with Sif and Banner,” Angrboða said. “They both agreed that you could use some recreation without the interruption of work.”

Sigyn rolled her eyes.

Angrboða handed Sigyn some yarn.

“Braid the strings together so I can put it through,” she said.

Sigyn did as she was told, braiding pre-cut strings of undyed yarn with stark white. She looked over at what was on the loom and saw that Angrboða was working on the shoulders of someone in green.

“Is this..?”

“Oh,” Angrboða said, looking at the loom. “Yes.”

Sigyn looked at the stark white string again.

“It should be half blue,” Sigyn said.

Angrboða paused. “Are you certain?”

Sigyn put a hand over her stomach. Her skin had gotten so cold, and she could feel her son gently kicking inside of her.

“My child will be half Jotun,” Sigyn said. “That’s not something I intend to hide. From him, or from Asgard. Loki accepted who he was by the end, all of who he was. I would not have that part of him erased.”

Angrboða nodded, summoning a royal blue spool of yarn. Sigyn clipped the stark white string in half and measured out some of the blue to braid in. Angrboða wove in silence for a moment.

“He always loved you,” Angrboða said. “Even back then.”

“He would have married you if you hadn’t left,” Sigyn said.

“That would have been a mistake,” Angrboða said.

“He would have been happy,” Sigyn said.

“He never wanted ‘happy’,” Angrboða said. “He wanted you.”

Sigyn considered that, putting a hand on her stomach again.

“We don’t always get what we want,” Sigyn said. “He said himself that satisfaction was not in his nature. He died alone, and scared. He couldn’t hear Thor calling for him, he couldn’t feel his brother’s hands…”

Angrboða stopped for a moment and put a hand on Sigyn shoulder.

“He loved you,” she said.

“I know,” Sigyn said. “I think I always knew.”

#prompt #fanfiction #sigyn #angrboda #logyn #loki x sigyn #loki x angrboda #Love Duty and Glorious Purpose fic #LDGP Main Timeline

2 notes · View notes

maximuswolf · 2 months ago

Text

Taylor Swift gets "Honorary Doom" award by Doomcore Records!

Taylor Swift gets "Honorary Doom" award by Doomcore Records! A spokesperson by Doomcore Records had the following to say regarding this surprising decision:"Doomcore Techno folks usually hate the overground, the mainstream, pop music, so this decision might rub a lot of people the wrong way.But, if you look at Taylor, the music she does now...It's songs about depression, self-harm, s*icide, loathing humans, the world, everything.It's vengeance, revenge, spite, scorn... wishing destruction on everyone that wronged you... wishing destruction on everything you see.It's about descending into a void, chaos, an infernal vortex of thoughts and emotions, thought and desires.It's about lust, sinfulness, pr*miscuity, erasing any trace that is left of "christian family ideology"...It's doom and gloom hidden behind a saccharine-acerbic voice, delivered by the form and appearance of an angel... an angel of death and darkness.if that is not exciting for a follower of doomcore techno, then what is?She comes off as a witch, banshee, monster, in her videos.she juggles with snakes, balances drugs on her tongue, gets chained up as a lust-slave in a sleazy way, tortured, electro-shocked, executed, and then gets her revenge and wrecks it all.Very disturbing things!her sound is not her poppy stuff from 1989 anymore... it feels more like a left-field and "left-wing" neofolk / industrial crossover with more then one trace of darkwave.she talks about a "torture department" in her latest title... i mean, that's doomed stuff right there!she does dark, sick music...the only "fault" is she is not using techno beats... yet... but we at Doomcore Records can appreciate other styles and genres, too!well, she is branded as a teen idol by the media, she is mainstream, she is not really underground...but even from the viewpoint of the true cultural underground rats... should we blame her for that?just an example: do you like Baudelaire? les fleurs du mal... i guess most people who are into doomcore techno appreciate Baudelaire.but he is not very "underground" at all, isn't he? mentioned in a lot of movies, boring middle-aged teachers talk about him fondly... art snob hipsters love him.yet this doesn't take Baudelaire's gloomy appeal away for us, does it?in his introduction, Baudelaire dedicates his poems to young men and women who are enlightened by the darker, more disconcerting and horrific sides of existence...and if taylor swift does a similar thing... giving the young generation of today an entry-level experience of doom and decay and scorn and blasphemy... well... then this is all the better for us!"https://ift.tt/ZbrmGv4 Submitted October 04, 2024 at 01:35PM by Low-Entropy https://ift.tt/n5mlpDx via /r/Music

#IFTTT #reddit

0 notes

hajiisonline · 1 year ago

Text

Homi Bhabha, in “Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse” theorizes mimicry occurs when people of a colonialized society imitate and take on the culture of the colonizer. This mimicry is imperfect, forming the gap between the colonizer and colonized. With this gap comes subversion, resistance—and anxiety for the colonizer. In this way, it can be seen as form of Cultural Cannibalism, the colonizer imposing upon the colonized, leading to erasure, distortion.

Cultural Cannibalism is the process and act of a dominant culture appropriates, absorbs, and assimilates elements from a subordinated, or colonized culture, often erasing the original context and significance of these elements. They can involve aspects such as language, traditions, clothing, cuisine, music, and other forms of cultural expression.

In a conversation with lovely friend Dean, a Central Asian artist, I used the coined the term to describe white Russians wearing the cultures of the ethnic groups they’ve colonized (and terrorized). I replied, “It feels like a form of Cultural Cannibalism to which they replied, “Cultural Cannibalism, that’s like, the perfect word for it.”. Cultural Cannibalism is a metaphor that emphasizes the predatory and destructive nature of this form of cultural appropriation. A dominant culture consumes, feasts traits of the marginalized culture. Cannibals, consuming other human beings.

During Cultural Cannibalism, the dominant culture often reinterprets and redefines the appropriate elements to create its own colonized chimera. This leads to the erasure of a culture’s meanings, and the marginalization of the colonized people. These further perpetuate power imbalances, contributing to the continuation of colonial ties, even after formal political decolonization.

As my Habibi, my heart, Saif a Palestinian artist, says, For Israelis in Particular, “Will claim aspects of Southwestern Asian and North African Cultures and wear it like a skin suit to further prop up their fictionalized indigeneity.” As if hoping it will become fact. As fetuses, we fight and tear away from your mother’s womb, we fight to be created. Humanity is terrifying.

Humans do horrific things, they cannibalize one another.

Unlike the birth of children, the birth of Israel is like that of a parasite, consuming its indigenous host.

The Host, being Palestine, a nation known as the Holy Land.

Israeli colonization began in the late 19th century, and with it emerged the Zionist movement. Seeking to establish a colonial homeland in Palestine, leading to the holocaust, Nakba, and the established apartheid State of Israel in 1948. The cultural cannibalism in Israel can be found even housing, the demolition, or seizures of Palestinian homes. This bloodshed led to the displacement of Palestinian people and the appropriation of their lands and resources.

For the past 70+ years, Israel has terrorized and tortured Palestinian people. They’ve been committing crimes since my grandparents were alive. Sex Crimes against men, women, and children—the persecution and murders of gay Palestinians. Even the recent even that have gone for over 40 days, the world has seen bombing of ancient Palestinian buildings, places of worship. Families wiped out. Men, women, and children trapped under rubble. Human beings you see one minute, murdered the next. Others imprisoned, detained, humiliated, starved—put in jail without of trails—although, Israeli officials will tell it’s all, alleged. Israeli and the UN love using that word, alleged, that the word should be used with caution.

But if not a genocide, then what is it?

It is a crime again humanity if you do not see those people as humans.

Perhaps, they become beasts they mimic.

“That’s why Palestinians are considered the cockroaches of the world,” a Florida lawyer, Bruce Raticoff remarked, “Burn them to the ground.”—or, the pro-Israel cartoonist, tweeting a picture depicting a IDF (Israeli Defense Forces) boot crushes a roach meant to be a Palestinian cockroach with the caption, “This!”—or was it parallels to Nazi propaganda that depicted their enemies, people of Jewish, Slavic, Rromani, and African descent as bacteria, cockroaches, rats, pigs, apes, dogs.

But that would only come from someone genocidal back by military aid from world powers, right, the ones committing genocides?

Making Zionism, not a Jewish birthright, but a white supremacist movement?

Ah, I digress.

Israel as a concept, is devoid of culture. Even that of Ashkenazim, who have wonderful cultural dishes like Ptcha and Knishes and dances such as Horah and Terkisher. From that grows a delusion, that consumes. Perhaps that could be why they’ve appropriated dishes like Falafel, as national Israeli dishes despite them predating Israel’s birth as well as the traditional dance of Palestine, Dabke. Like noted with falafels, Israeli’s cultural appropriation and cultural cannibalism extend beyond its initial host. Dishes like hummus, shawarma, and couscous, have been rebranded as Israeli. Cultural Artifacts, predating Israel, have been stolen and displayed in Museums with out acknowledge of their origin. This, act itself is an attempt to obscure, to erase Palestinian history. The Keffiyeh, seen as of resistance and piece traditional Palestinian clothing, has been met with a similar fate.

(Moretz, Cultural cannibalism: A study of Israeli and Russian colonization 2023)

#my writing #free palestine #palestine #israel #writing

1 note · View note

violetsystems · 2 years ago

Text

#personal

Been a little happier lately despite all the gloom, doom and fuckery. I can't say anything has been getting any better in my normal life. I fear that sooner or later everything is going to implode around me. I received an email back from a recruiter Friday night. I don't really get much contact from anything in the job market at all. I send about three or four resumes a week depending on the listings. The recruiter admitted that the hourly pay rate and role probably wasn't of interest for a person at this stage of my career. That's interesting poker call in the game of job hunting. Some of the jobs I've applied for customer service in certain fringe industries only offer barely above minimum wage. This opportunity would have been fixing computers. So it kind of told me how low in my field I shouldn't go salary wise. I've applied for three or four jobs in the Marijuana industry here in Illinois. Those are a little easier to present yourself professionally to ironically. But everything out there for me is a mixture of closed doors, reluctance to interact, and some grand cult like civic agenda I'm supposed to already know. For the record, finances are my own problem. This is what has stressed me out so much about being retired early. It isn't so much about the money. It's that everybody just assumes I don't have to work. The pension payout I got wasn't exactly enough to live on for the rest of my life. Not that anyone around Chicago appreciated my birthday even happened let alone admit I"m alive and still sell music. I keep thinking of myself as a test subject. That Generation Z and Millennials are going to be hit worse when their time comes. Imagine hitting your ten year mark in a career you went to college for at thirty three or something. Then being forcibly retired and having to plan out the next fifty or so years of your life. I've spent almost three years doing that. And all I ever get is recruiters asking me if I can refer them to someone more fit for the roles they offer. Why blog about it when I can just worship a woman I'm in love with at her feet? Because I'm kind of fearful the things we both love about this country are going into a financial tailspin. I just read that a population of gen z was polled as thinking women's rights have "gone too far." That shit scares me. That the children of generation x are complete fuck ups in so far that they've erased any culture we brought to the table. I'm completely invisible these days. I tend to use it to my advantage to stay alive and protect the things nobody really needs to know about.

I've always thought the thing about me that probably is the most attractive is that I try to deal with the present in a creative way. Even if dumb people don't understand it. I don't care. I know I'm in a completely losing situation. And I know people are just always trying to trap you into some petty shit to make you trip. My immediate neighbors fucking unplug the laundry when they see me get quarters so I lose them when I try to do my wash. They've stolen my 5g phone after being delivered by fed ex by asking me to unlock the laundry room while someone else lifts the package. They've set up makeshift shit traps on the fence so that I'll be covered in feces when I take out the trash. They work with my old job to intimidate me at the mailbox when my COBRA extension gets delivered. All of this is true. Nobody wants me to prove it. And has happened over a two or three year period. I've been trapped here writing about it. I've been applying for jobs overseas, in la and New York to get away from it. And I just sit here day after day watching nothing happen. I get that ultimate the joke is on other people. But some of the things I've had to do recently just fucking piss me off. I was expected to literally spend down my whole retirement and wait for another offer. I haven't done that yet. But the way the stock market has behaved the last two years, I've been left holding the bag on a lot of shit. I don't really understand how anyone in the future is supposed to retire with things behaving this fucked up. The value of Tesla as a company is ten times it's future revenue. That's like ten credit cards stacked on top of each other with Jerome Powell tap dancing at the top with a cane that twirls the interest rates around like a magic show. This recent bank failure is the result of nobody having enough liquid cash on hand to cover their ass. And yet everyone listens to whatever the fuck some twit whole stole an entire free speech platform to bankrupt it has to say.

And the FDIC bails out exactly 250k max for each "victim" at Silicon Valley Bank they protect. Around the same time they cut pandemic food benefits for poor people. I tried a number of things over these years to buffer myself. I didn't just lose my job yesterday. But even the two universal basic income programs I applied for in my country and city I was denied. I didn't qualify for unemployment because my pension payout was too much income. I basically got fucked. Now Monday morning an entire mess of startups will implode because there is no way to payroll with two hundred and fifty dollars thousand dollars unless you are paying minimum wage. Maybe that was intentional? That's one way to sabotage the employment of America. I still invest just the same. I was taught by America that this is the only way to stay alive. But my perception of money, capitalism and rich people is that of a gluttonous demon who plays tricks on the townsfolk like the idiots fucking with my laundry. If you've read this far, you understand that I don't think there's a solution in complaining. I'm not even on health insurance anymore. Not like COBRA payments weren't as much as my rent. I've been literally left to die by most of the people who say they knew so much about me from my past. I've been on LinkedIn the entire time professionally. If people wanted to find me for a real opportunity it's right there. I cut off my Facebook. I cut off my instagram. I block people on Tumblr that I think are too locally nosy about what I'm doing. I have to ignore entire friend groups now out of proactivity simply because they're not worth the liability of gossiping about my personal life. I know the way forward in the future is to leave it all behind. I just am a person who thinks deeply a lot. I am hurt that people don't want to fix things. I am hurt that when I get given a new shovel by my building maintenance the rest of the neighborhood treats this shit like a school yard bully and thinks I'm the teacher's pet. This isn't fucking high school. And yet with child labor and child marriage, maybe it's not far off. People out here have turned severely populist, encumbered by their own financial decisions that seem to be blowing up left and right. I think we're all a little more aware of the dangers of being blindsided by absolute failure here in this country. But it's getting beyond scary that you can communicate so well but the people around you will actively collude to fuck up your only line of communication to people who care about you. That's fucking terrorism. And these people out here are motivated by it for the dumbest fucking reasons. They aren't smart and they don't appreciate smart people or talent. Mainly because everyone would rather hoodwink, trick and grease people than work together. The more people get tricked? The more people get angry and the more society here in America starts to turn worse than it already is for me. I know my future is a lot brighter especially when I think about things that inspire me. And I am still inspired don't get me wrong. But I'm fucking dying out here in a literal ghetto prison of bullshit that I don't think anyone hasn't observed being fishy at least once. I just live every day like people are camping out waiting to surveil me on every corner. They literally take my garbage out of the trash and leave it on my porch facing back at me. Like we know what you spend your money on. I know what you did a couple summers ago too. And if the tips I sent in the government are any indication. Everybody gonna lose their fucking jobs sooner or later. I'm not hiring. <3 Tim

1 note · View note

seewetter · 7 months ago

Text

Three thoughts on this:

Don't rules like "you can't speak AAVE unless Black" erase an awareness for why people wanted that rule to begin with? If you simply forbid foreign cultural practices, you take away a sense of responsibility from others: you decided for them what they must and mustn't do and they just follow along. No wonder people turn that into an impulse to self segregate or experience guilt.

Many liberals/progressives are anti-rap because they believe exaggerated things about media influence ("rap has violence in it so it makes people violent") and because they attribute problems like misogyny to a narrow idea of culture (e.g., media influence) rather than a superstructure of material relations between men and women. DJ Khaled or 50 Cent appear to spread misogyny because they have some scantily clad twerking dancers in the background of their music videos or make patriarchal remarks. In reality, they are just appealing to something that is already there.

But there is a continuum from far-right to center-left where rap music is scrutinized for signs of misogyny more than, say, country music or death metal. This continuum is comprised of people who (A) can't think of how to improve institutions such as prisons or the police (or failing schools or underfunded hospitals etc.) (B) therefore overfilled prisons or police violence are never viewed as faults of those institutions and instead attributed to crime problems (C) since responsibility has been placed on the minority culture, the minority culture now must have fairy tales told about it (it must be Otherized) because the alternative would be to critique the institution (and our starting point is that our law enforcement officers are heroes and fine people, remember?) which then means that (D) if you believe in media influence, you will gratefully blame criminal behaviour on music that "celebrates crime" (either literally, because the artists are having fun acting as gangsters or in the liberal/conservative imagination, by advertising wealth that doesn't grow on trees or whatever). Even Tumblr users that believe in ACAB or whatever may be susceptible to thinking that somehow crime within poor communities is the result of such media, rather than the result of desperate people (who are easily recruited into organized crime) or easy marks (who can't afford locks or lawyers).

In short, it's not astounding to me that Tumblr users get squeamish around rap. Their whole cultural environment consists of the sort of influences that would push them in that direction.

the current trend of "tumblr users embarrassing themselves by proudly announcing why they don't listen to any music made by black people" is really astounding.

i cannot help but think this is a direct result of liberal White Guilt and how people have interpreted "anti-racism" as form of cultural self-segregation - the kind of person who thinks trying to cook chicken curry is cultural appropriation, or sends white people anon hate for wearing a kimono (yes, this kind of discourse happened). like, "oh, no, i could never participate in this culture, i'd get my evil white hands all over it! it would be more Progressive if I only did White things."

if you're a poc you've seen this, i'm sure - this deer-in-the-headlights stare you can get from white people when you play music / show art / share a story / anything that is Racially Coded, this total refusal to actually engage with it out of fear that it is in some way Wrong for them to have any opinion on it. because they read somewhere that it's bad to use AAVE but the only lesson they actually learned from that is "gotcha, white people are not allowed to interact with other cultures as punishment for my White Crimes. this helps to fill up the gaping pit of my white guilt and makes me one of the Good People." this transforms their discomfort around non-white cultures (black culture, especially, i should add) into a kind of virtue

anyway if you are white and reading this. go listen to some fucking haliu mergia. ethiopian jazz. will knock your dick right off. go listen to rap or reggae or bollywood and have a genuine reaction to it - like, an actual, from-the-heart reaction. you are allowed to not like some of it. but you will definitely like at least a little. yes, you can compare it to lemon demon (or whatever) if that helps you get into it and that's your only point of reference. maybe don't say that part out loud. but don't, like, separate yourself from it, like you are seeing it in a museum and the only polite thing to do is go "ahh, huh, very interesting, so much culture here."

36K notes · View notes

captainswanandclintasha · 2 years ago

Note

i've seen your post about the new va show (the one by j***e p**c) and i think the discution about representation would be much easier if ppl would realize eastern europeans (not only slavic but all of us) don't mean racial/phenotypical representation. yes, we see ppl who look like us, but don't see ppl who ARE like us – our culture, life style, behavior etc – unless they're a villain/hooker or both.

i cried when i saw moroi and strigoi (actual mythological romanian creature) being more than fancy/spicy names for vampires in the books. i was so happy to see romanian, the language, being used and not to mention the comrade jokes... i teared up (bcs we may not have grown up with communism but our teachers, parents, grandparents, all the adults in our lives did. we grew up with stories and had our fun with it bcs we didn't understood the weight of it. i remember having boys try to immitate Ceaușescu and all of us spoke with tovarăș (the romanian version for comrade) at some point just for the fun of it).

it's like with the witcher. they made the villages, clothes, music, customs, *everything* anglosaxon. when it could have painted an eastern european fantasy. i imagine actors in our traditional clothes, in our traditional houses, with our myths and lore and i'm so angry we didn't get that. and the witcher had slavic ppl involved in its making for the first season, then they quit bcs they couldn't bear it (grain of salt, i saw a post about it, but hadn't fact check).

i mean, why can't there be both? young poc being able to see ppl who look like them on screen AND young eastern euros being able to see ourselves and our stories as well. why erase/change/disregard the eastern european stuff?

//sorry for the rant. got carried away, trying to beat writer's block and write my eastern euro lore book//

I want to start this but saying that I am so very sorry for answering so late to this message because it's been staying in my dms for about a week but I honestly to God didn't had time to answer.

Secondly. I hear you my Romanian babe. I hear you and I KNOW.

And yes. We want people who are like us, act like us. People coming from here.

I've said it once and I will say it again: the americans are the only ones OBSESSED with the color of your skin. They are obsessed and they are showing it everywhere. Are Europeans racist? Yes, they fucking are. But europeans are racist with EACH OTHER. Romanians hate Hungarians and vice versa. British hate French and vice versa. The whole of Western Europe thinks we, Eastern Europenas are stealing their jobs and such but you will never see and european call the police on a black person. Or worse. No.

Strictly speaking as a Romanian, living in Romania, and growing up with western media where Romanians were portrayed as thieves and whores: I fucking cried when I first saw bits and pieces of Romania and Romanian in the Vampire Academy. And people who believe that Romania and Romanians don't have a place in the Vampire Academy world, should read at least wikipedia and see exactly where MOROI and STRGOI came from.

You are welcome, american Vampire Academy fans, for having a tv show based on Romanian mythology with zero fucking representation to Romanians but full of americans and english.

I don't think this fandon understands how it feels too see your legends, myths and LANGUAGE - FUCKING LANGUAGE - in a tv show where they are ERASED.

I will forget the casting choices, the changes, the mess they did, but I will never fucking forget Julie Plec and co. for creating a new fucking language "OLD MOROI" instead of using what was right in front of them and what stood at the bases of creating the whole Vampire Academy world. Romanian.

I don't try to come at me and tell me "romanian didn't had any representations in the book anyway" like you are doing with Turkish people because I will fucking end you. Take a look again at Mână (https://vampireacademy.fandom.com/wiki/M%C3%A2n%C4%83) and read the bios of half of the characters. BTW. Dragomir is a Romanian name :)

As @ladystarkov already said, Spain is full of Romanians. And I guarantee you anyone would have loved to be involved in this show.

So yes, dear darling fans, next time you try to come out and tell us that we are racist, that we are haters, maybe try and imagine how would you feel if some French tv show director would make a Hamilton tv show, with all the characters... Asian and African, and no one would speak English. Only French, Arabic and Japanese.

#captainswanandclintasha #vampire academy #anti julie plec #yes this again #and if i see my post again on some screenshot on twitter i will fully make this place a living hell #call me a hater all you want #or a racist if you wish #but i know better than you

20 notes · View notes

writingtoforgetreality · 4 years ago

Text

Sleep Paralysis (Helmut Zemo x Reader)

[Marvel-Masterlist]

Summary: You hated sharing a room with another person. Especially when it came to sleeping. Which usually resulted into you staying awake for the night if you were teamed up with someone. Sometimes you could not escape exhaustion, though.

Words: 2,381

Warnings: language, angst, fluff, insomnia, experiencing sleep paralysis, anxiety, TFATWS spoilers (I don’t think there are any but just to be sure I guess), Zemo awakens the poet in me idk, REQUESTS ARE OPEN!

If you like my work & wanna support me: a coffee would be highly appreciated ❤

The people you found yourself teamed up with gave you safety. Sam, Bucky & even Zemo. With the three of them on your side, you had nothing to fear. Missions with these guys were easy. If the two grown ass men children were not occupied with killing the other grown ass man child. Names were not needed here, that was explanation enough. You were surprised yourself when you started enjoying Zemo’s company. He was a criminal. He was supposed to be the bad guy. So why could you not view him as such? Was it the way he moved his body? Was it his hair which fell in place just perfectly imperfect? Was it his coat that accentuated the weight of the world he carried on his shoulders alone? Was it his smile that was just the tiniest bit bigger whenever he glanced at you? Was it that stupid head tilt thing that was everything but stupid to you? What the hell was it? And why the hell was resisting your urges so damn hard?

Maybe it was your mind playing tricks on you but you could have sworn that his eyes fell on you, no matter how big the crowd. You could have sworn that his body searched out your presence wherever you went. There was this unspoken thing between you guys. As much as you wanted to address the tension building up, you were apprehensive what your best friends would say about it. You were doubtful how he would receive the news. Your ever growing friendship was at risk. The mere thought of having to live your life without him was inconceivable. How did it work before he came along? It was like your brain erased those memories altogether. Truthfully, he changed your life around without having an idea of the effect he had on you. Or he did know but enjoyed messing with your feelings. Though he did not strike you as that type of man.

Countless nights were spent with you having deep, meaningful conversations. Thanks to those times, you perceived his side of the story. His motives & what drove him to the actions that brought him behind bars in the end. By no means were you trying to justify his crimes. There would have been multiple different ways. Back then, the only purpose for him was revenge. Apologies that came too late were given. Zemo truly was sorry. And while words & emotions could be faked easily, it was impossible to hide the deeper meaning that his eyes held. The softness, the wariness, he could not simulate this. Those beautiful brown orbs were withholding years worth of tears. It was not your position to force him to display his weakness in front of you. Sometimes, simply knowing that another person was available if needed, that was enough.

The same feeling of secureness was provided by him. Your past was not necessarily pleasant either. Innumerable regrets labeled your existence. You were not a good example of a hero. Every day, you contemplated the what-if’s. Overthinking was part of your diurnal routine. All the pondering was needless. The switch only shifted after the beginnings of Zemo’s nocturnal reassurances. Without him, you would still be stuck in that gloomy pit your body had constructed on its own. You two were reliant on each other. Not physically but mentally. Unpretentiously, small touches followed. Brushing his thumbs over your smooth skin on the back of your hand. Squeezing your shoulders gingerly. Goosebumps erupted each time his body warmth was transferred to yours. Whether he wore his leather gloves or not, your body responded with endless fireworks that launched from deep inside.

The hotel you entered radiated wealth. Zemo negotiated the reservations. Which was obvious by the mere impression of the lofty ceilings that were embellished with immense sparkling chandeliers. Your eyes overstrained from the extravagance, switching from one highlight to the next. As a regular citizen, your income denied you such a lifestyle. Avengers did not earn a fortune, this trait came with the job description. Meaning that you would savor every little ticking of your stay. The marvelous high of contentment ceased when the receptionist informed you of an immutable adjustment concerning your room situation. The only two vacant premises were a king size in one & two singles in the other. Apparently, the decision was resolved without you having a say in it. Your questions were answered with a definite proclamation. You were the only soul unable to kill the Baron. Your attempts to conceal your embarrassment were unsuccessful. The smirk adorning Zemo’s features was unhelpful in your current position. Sam & Bucky abandoned you in the entrance, heading off to their room to rest after a tiring mission.

Zemo demanded your luggage to be brought up to your chambers. One of his hands rested on your lower back. This motion warmed your body. It was so simple yet filled with extensive care. It should have been wrong but you have never felt more protected in your entire life. One thing worried you. Sharing a room with the man who brought out your true happiness. It was no secret that you suffered from insomnia. Usually, it vanished after indefinite missions. The interminable flight in Zemo’s private jet added up to your exhaustion. Under no circumstances would you sleep in a room with the Baron. The trust existed, that was not the issue. What happened during your slumber could not be controlled. The tossing, turning, screaming. Nightmares invaded your dreams every time you closed your eyes. Therefore, you obviated sleep as long as possible. Multiple cups of coffee, the heavy does of caffeine every day, aided your wish to stay up. If you narrated a good enough excuse, he would not inquire. At least, that was what you hoped.

Stepping through the tall door into the spacious room, you stopped dead in your tracks. You needed a second to take everything in. Never before had you occupied such a luxurious chamber. It resembled a suite. Different shades of warm colors complemented each other. The vast windows enabled your view of the city beneath. Colorful lights brought the dead of the dim night to life. Facing the stars aligning the somber night sky, Zemo arranged himself next to you. Minutes of silence enveloped you, filling the room to the brink. The man next to you fractured the quietness with whispers. He pointed out various constellations. Observantly, you absorbed his words. He was cultured but never bragged about it. His sentiment of deliberate timing was unique. One of his characteristics was fathoming when to quit talking. Or when it was suitable to speak. Zemo constantly knew how to ease the tension with his thoughtful comments.

“You take the bed. I am content with resting on the couch.” he proposed. As much as you appreciated his deliberation, you pronounced the contrary.

“No, Helmut. I won’t sleep anyway, you can have the bed.” your gentle smile underlined the tiredness emanating from your eyes. He tilted his head to one side, observing your body language.

“You have not rested after our mission yet. Not even during the flight where Sam, James & I slept.” he annotated, worry audible in his voice. Your shoulders lifted in a short shrug. Alleging that you were fine. Spending hours with you concluded to him comprehending your lies. Your features were different whenever you attempted feigning him. Approaching your figure in the barely illuminated room, he halted a few steps away from you. Movements of his hands caught your attention. The gloves were peeled off. Lifting one of his arms, you shivered when his skin touched your cheek affectionately. His fingers caressed your face so lovingly, your eyes closed instinctively. “You are exhausted, darling.” his words were soft, soothing your ears by the fragility of them. The space between you two was narrow. You breathed the same air. His body heat passed onto you. Your heart sped up, almost as if it could break out any second. Nobody had ever made you feel that way. Nodding obediently, Zemo dragged you closer to the soft mattress covered with silk sheets. It was a desired invitation. It did not last long before you gave in. The smooth material welcomed you. Realizing Zemo’s retreating steps, your hand reached for his wrist, freezing his tries. He glanced over his shoulder bewildered.

“Stay.” it was music to his ears, hearing your quiet proposition. Holding himself back, he shook his head briefly. A signal that he did not want to disturb you. “Please.” his face softened at your plea. How could he resist your sweet voice? How could he resist you when it was obvious that you wished for him to stay with you?

“Okay.” pulling back the blankets, he lied right behind you. Your back was facing him. The shock was only brief when your hand searched for his arm. Draping it over your waist, you sighed contently when he embraced you tighter. It was not just what you needed. This, it was required by him as well.

Peaceful hours of cuddling went by without disruption. The calm was interrupted by your eyes snapping open in fear. Your back was against the mattress. Staring at the tall ceiling, your breath quickened when you could not move. Could not talk. Could not scream. There was not a single thing that could be done but you awaited the bad that would arrive soon. It was not the first time you experienced such a situation. The pressure in your chest grew steadily, obstructing your breathing. Your muscles ached, your head pounded. Someone would murder you. If you did not rise soon, death would come knocking on your door. Your attempts to push away the sheets & your labored breath stirred the man next to you awake. His confusion ended when he noticed your struggles. Propping his head onto one of his arms, he scooted closer to your body. Zemo knew what you were going through at the moment. While he had never suffered from such a period himself, he had read about it. Your eyes widened when his locked onto yours. The fear was visible even without a light illuminating the room. His free hand moved to your cheek. In the process, he whispered sweet nothings to you in hopes that they would reach you. Irregular breaths were still very much present. Though you had him with you, your anxiety was acting up still. Your mind was determined that you would die in a few minutes.

“Hey, hey, hey. Darling, look at me.” your eyes slowly shifted from the ceiling to his dark, almost black ones. They were a beautiful shade of brown but it was too sinister to detect the different hues. “There you go.” his voice was steady, controlled. “What you are experiencing is called sleep paralysis. It means that you are awake but your body is asleep still. It will be over soon, I promise. This might feel life threatening to you but I’m here, okay? I am here with you & I will not let anything happen to you.” his eyebrows raised expectantly. The most you could give him was a useless attempt of a nod. His fingers stroked over your skin, bringing you comfort. You were not on your own. Zemo held you close to his body. Still unable to move, the one thing you could feel was his body heat. Minutes without change went by. Affirmations were whispered into the quiet of the ample room. Your leg shuffled the blankets. A small smile crept onto your face. Finally, you had control again. Your muscles were no longer frozen in place. Overwhelmed by the sudden liberty, you embraced Zemo into a tight hug. Reciprocating immediately, he held your head in place in the crook of his neck. His other arm raked around your waist, keeping you as close as possible. He assured you that you were alright. That nobody & nothing could hurt you. Not when he was around. The silent tears rolling down your cheeks were inevitable. They stained his shirt but he could not care less. All that mattered was you overcoming the feeling of uncontrollability. Maybe it was his explanation. Or his proximity. Or his sweet words calming you down. In the end, the cause was insignificant. Zemo helped you through this & there were no words to express your gratitude to him.

Pulling away slightly, he rested his forehead against yours. You mimicked his deep breaths, disposing of the last bits of worry. When you were in his presence, it was gratuitous to be fearful. Demons had no chance. Not when it came to Zemo. The next reaction came naturally. This time, you did not fight the urge to press your lips onto his. You took his breath away by the unexpected action. There were no complaints from his side. Both hands rested on your face, bringing you closer if it was even feasible. In your imagination, you recalled kissing Zemo to be heated. This right now was the exact opposite. No words could depict what emotions were rushing through your entire body. Descriptions were useless if you could demonstrate it with a simple kiss. After it ended, silence sheathed you two once again. It was everything but unpleasant. He kept holding onto you. Zemo would never judge you because of nightmares or similar occurrences. Your head rested on his chest, above his heart. The beat calming your nerves even further. Explaining that you had always suffered from the monsters of the night, he did not interrupt. You needed to confide & he was more than happy to be available. Another soft kiss was pressed on top of your head. A content sigh left your lips. Zemo assured you that he would stay, no matter what. He was in this for good. Whatever this was. Time would clarify the relationship between you two. All you knew was that it felt right. Having him close to you. Having him as your protector. Having him to brighten up your days. Simply having him. That was adequate. That was your unspoken wish. You expected a lot but you did not expect the fulfillment of a previous unknown dream. You were home.

Published (04/21/2021) by Cathy

Tags: @eristudytime, @hiraethmaximoff, @incansas, @fionanovasleftnut, @mundaytuesday, @ashamed23, @pedropascallovebot, @kpoptrash2000, @lulu-yuming, @bibliophilewednesday, @arctic--ash, @mischiefmanaged71, @yallgotkik, @noavengers, @lieutenantn, @birdieofloxley, @aisling1985, @tatooineisdry, @obsidian-queen, @h0ly-fire, @dxnxdjarxn (thanks for your support <3)

440 notes · View notes

bryte-eyed-athena · 4 years ago

Text

Afrofuturism in the work of Janelle Monáe

Ashley Clarke, a curator for the Brooklyn Academy of Music, defined Afrofuturism as “the centering of the international black experience in alternate and imagined realities, whether fiction or documentary; past or present; science fiction or straight drama.”

Themes of Afrofuturism can be found throughout the works of Janelle Monáe. Her previous albums like The ArchAndroid and The Electric Lady showcase this through the exploration of androids as a new “other.” Today I want to talk about one of her most recent projects, Dirty Computer, and the way it contributes to the conversation on Afrofuturism. Janelle Monáe released Dirty Computer as an album and a 48 minute long Emotion Picture to draw her audience into a visual and auditory world of her own making. The dystopian future she presents to us is very similar to our own current reality, except that the voices being amplified are those that have historically been silenced. People of color and the LGBT+ community are central in this story rather than pushed off screen. Dirty Computer is so powerful because it focuses on joyful rebellion, love, and freedom in an oppressive dystopian setting.

The project, as Monáe has shared, can be split into three parts: Reckoning, Celebration, and Reclamation.

Part I: Reckoning

gif credit: scificinema

The Emotion Picture begins with Monáe’s character Jane 57821 laying out how her society has begun to capture people deemed dirty in order to “clean” them of their supposed filth against their will. This is meant to produce beings that are stripped of all individuality and ready to conform to societal norms and expectations. Jane tells the audience that, “You were dirty if you looked different, you were dirty if you refused to live the way they dictated, you were dirty if you showed any form of opposition at all. And if you were dirty it was only a matter of time.” The dichotomy between dirty and clean has created a system where an entire class of people can be demonized and oppressed. This foreboding tone at the beginning prepares the viewer for the grim implications of the cleaning process in this universe.

Dirty Computers are strapped to a table and forced to undergo the “Nevermind” which is a program that deletes memories. It is a process that is horrifying because of what it symbolizes to the individual and entire communities of people. To erase someone’s memories is to erase who a person is. The character of Mary Apple 53, Jane’s love interest, shows us just how alien a person can become once their memories are gone. The horror of erasure is also something that marginalized communities have faced for centuries and continue to face today.

In an interview on Dirty Computer, Janelle Monáe said “I felt a deeper responsibility to telling my story before it was erased. I think that there’s an erasure - of us, and if we don’t tell our stories they won’t get told. If we don’t show us we won’t get shown.” Afrofuturism is a response to this erasure of black people and people of color in culture, history, and art. Monáe has made a deliberate choice to tell her story even if it might get erased because if she doesn’t do it then no one else will. Remaining silent would be to assist in that erasure and Afrofuturism is all about refusing to be erased.

This first part of the Emotion Picture is all a reckoning with the Dirty Computers and how they are pushed to the margins. The lyrics in Crazy, Classic, Life speak about how the same mistake made by two people on different ends of the spectrum of social acceptability is punished unequally. Take A Byte follows it with a more upbeat tone, but even then the lyric “I’m not the kind of girl you take home to your mama” speaks to a feeling of being outside social norms.

There are moments of light and joy that are counterweights to the dire situation Jane is in. These come in the form of her memories which are played one final time before they are erased. Jane’s life before she was captured was filled with exploration, youth, love and celebration.

Part II: Celebration

Gif credit: normreedus

Gif credit: daisyjazzridley

Gif credit: nerd4music

Dirty Computers seem to recognize that they are living on borrowed time and that any day could be the day they are forcefully disappeared. This is why they fill each moment with as much fun, life, color, and joy as they can. There are many scenes at clandestine parties where Dirty Computers live freely and openly despite the threat of drones or police that could capture them at any moment. It is important to have these scenes of celebration though because Afrofuturism is also about providing hope.

The future must be a hopeful one if we are to strive for it and Afrofuturism allows us to be creative in crafting our visions of a hopeful future. Even though Monáe’s future is dystopian, there is still room for hope and joy because those are the things that make life worth living. These Dirty Computers have to live their lives joyfully because they don’t know when they’ll be sterilized.

In the interview mentioned previously, Monáe added that “I had to make a decision with who I was comfortable pissing off and who I wanted to celebrate. And I chose who I wanted to celebrate, and that was the Dirty Computers.” The LGBT+ community, people of color, black women, immigrants, and low income people have all been mentioned as people Monáe wished to celebrate. This celebration comes intertwined with images and themes of rebellion as expressed in Jane’s memories. Screwed, Django Jane, Pynk, Make me Feel, and I Like That are the songs that embody celebration the best. Whether it's a celebration of sexuality, femininity, unity, or of self love it is all encompassed in these songs. Jane is shown connecting with others and being unapologetically proud of herself. We also see her falling in love with two people, Zen and Ché, and we see them love her in return.

Gif credit: thelovelylights

Viewing these memories and interacting with Jane seems to encourage the questioning of authority. The employee utilizing the Nevermind process seems to question why he should be deleting Jane’s memories at all. Mary Apple 53, previously named Zen, also directly questions their matriarch after speaking with Jane and realizing that she’s connected to her. It all culminates in a nonviolent escape attempt where Jane, Zen, and Ché reclaim their names, bodies, and their lives.

Part III: Reclamation

Gif credit: thelovelylights

The Emotion Picture ends with Jane 57821 and Mary Apple 53 freeing themselves, and their recently arrived lover Ché, from the facility. They escape without harming others the way they themselves have been harmed. By leaving they are reclaiming their freedom and their right to be proud of being Dirty Computers. They refuse the new names that were forced upon them and leave to rediscover the memories of the life they lived before capture.

It is a hopeful ending that plays into the themes of Afrofuturism. Even though both Jane and Zen’s memories were erased they still have the ability to create new memories and stories. Their ability to recreate their past as well as create a new future was not taken away. As they escape the song Americans can be heard in the background. The lyrics subvert the typical American patriotism expressed by racist white southerners. The trope of preserving gender roles and being a gun carrying american are satirized in these lyrics. America as a whole is being reclaimed by Janelle as a place for the people who have been marginalized.

Janelle sings “Don’t try to take my country/ I will defend my land/ I’m not crazy baby/ nah I’m American.” This sentiment is typically espoused by xenophobic americans, but when it is sung by Janelle she is saying that she won’t be forced out of America due to the bigoted beliefs of the people who hate her. She also pleads for the listener to love her for who she is which is something that has been denied to black women for centuries. The song ends with a powerful message of reclaiming America by Rev. Dr. Sean McMillan who said “Until Latinos and Latinas don't have to run from walls/ This is not my America/ But I tell you today that the devil is a liar/ Because it's gon' be my America before it's all over.”

This also shows themes of Afrofuturism since Monáe is reclaiming her history and is refusing to be excluded from it. She is asserting her presence and that of all the Dirty Computers by saying that they too have a claim to America. The Emotion Picture and the album are both a masterpiece of Afrofuturism art and music. Monáe masterfully weaves various musical genres and visual storytelling to show her pride in being a black queer woman. There is no other artist like Janelle Monáe, and I am excited to see what new worlds she will take us to next.

#janelle monae #dirty computer #afrofuturism #dirty computer emotion picture #blog post #space is the place #analysis #media analysis

216 notes · View notes

une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 3 years ago

Text

The Dragon has Three Heads

"Three heads of the dragon... yes... but the third will not necessarily BE a Targaryen..."

~ GRRM @ at some convention

The conclusion is simple. The heads of the dragon refer to people and while the two are Targaryens, the third might not be one.

We can ignore anything that says this group of things are of different things (for example, I've seen "two Targaryens plus a concept"), as that makes no narrative sense. The key is exactly that last sentence, the third one may not be a Targaryen, which implies the three heads are all people and that two are Targaryens and the third is not quite one. Therefore, these three dragon heads must refer to people associated with dragon, with two of them being Targaryens but the last one not necessarily being one.

The most popular theory is that the two Targaryens are Danerys Targaryen and Jon Snow, with the third being the youngster that claims to be Aegon VI Targaryen and appears first in ADWD. This identification ignores the narrative framework for both Aegon VI Targareyn and Jon Snow.

On one hand, Aegon is often associated with kingly imagery (for example, the chapter he's introduced starts with six chests, the kid himself is introduced as standing at a higher ground than the rest, and ends with a turtle who is said to witness the birth of kings), he's accompanied by a lot associated with his parents such as Jon Connington (his father's hand of the kind) and some dornish / royne people (his mother's land and culture). Another thing to note is that Varys introduces him as the real thing to a dying man.

Moreover, there is at least one "baby switch" story that shadows this one, a prince baby being switched with a nobody, sent away to protect against a Baratheon. In specific, Mance Rayder's son (the wildling "king") being switched with Gilly's son, then sent South for protection against another Baratheon, which is notably a plan concocted by Jon Snow (another of Rhaegar's kids, as if preparing him and the reader to "believe" such a scenario is possible).

On the other hand, Jon Snow's core character revolves around two facts, that he is a bastard and that he loves his Stark family. The reveal that he's not Eddard Stark's bastard but Lyanna Stark's child doesn't erase the latter, as he's a Stark through his mother. Still, the nature of Rhaegar and Lyanna's relationship may erase the former. If Jon is illegitimate, that doesn't erase the former, but if he's legitimate somehow (Targaryens are said to take multiple wives), that erases the former and replaces it another. It can go either way.

Moreover, there is at least one "legitimized bastard" story that shadows this one. In specific, Jon Snow is offered to be legitimised both by Stannis Baratheon (something that is a true temptation, as it would give him everything he secretely longed for all his life), but also by Robb's will as it names Jon Snow as his heir over sisters and that's only possible through legitimising him. It's my conviction that "the rule of three" applies, therefore that Jon will reject Robb's will like he rejected Stannis' offer, but will have a third legitimization opportunity and that this time around he'll acept.

To be more specific and in contrast with Aegon, who's introduced with kingly imagery, Jon is introduced with bastardy imagery. Bran introduces him into the narratve as his bastard brother, while Jon's first POV chapter starts with him musing that he's a bastard. While Jon has "kingly" imagery, it doesn't come associated with imagery from his father's side, and seems to be self-contained to the North (for example, the first inside joke is "kings hiding under the snow" or Mormont's crow calling him king while he's at the wall). Jon's hidden parentage comes along with prince imagery instead (for example, the anti-parallel with bastard prince Joffrey). With my conviction explained above, I do believe it will come to Aegon legitimising Jon as his heir until he has kids (a parallel to Robb's will). Most (if not all) foreshadowing falls into place. Aegon VI is king, Jon is the (bastard) prince. An example would be Sansa's "Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. (...) "He is the dragon's heir." which fits with Jon as Aegon's heir.

Combined, this interpreation suggests that the popular theory is actually backwards: Aegon VI is the real thing while Jon Snow is the Blackfyre (bastard Targaryen). This is in accordance to the way the text is presented.

House of Undying

"THe dragon has three heads" is referenced for the first time to Danerys Targaryen in a prophetic inducing Shade of the Evening tripping out at the House of Undying.

The man had her brother's hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. "Aegon," he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. "What better name for a king?"

"Will you make a song for him?" the woman asked.

"He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany's, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. "There must be one more," he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. "The dragon has three heads." He went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife and babe faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to speed her on her way.

I'll say that whatever the House of Undying shows, may not be reality. Rhaegar wanting to fulfill some prophecy with three kids is not referenced anywhere else, except this moment which is the equivalent of a very bad drug trip. It's worth mentioning though, Ratgar saw a comet in the sky and thought he should impregnate his wife, against medical advice because she who was recovering from giving birth his first child. It could be, but it could not be.

Regardless, what's important to note is what's being prophetized. Much like GRRM's convention remark, Rhaegar identifies the three heads as people. So far so good. However, he also gives us an order: omitted Rhaenys as she was born already, Aegon in mother's lap, Danerys when Rhaegar looks up to "see" her at the door, then finally Jon when he says "there must be one more". On one hand, Rhaenys was murdered and Danerys is in this as well, so the conclusion is that the former "replaced" the latter in the prophecy. On the other hand, if this had been a real memory, than Rhaegar would have two legitimate kids at the time (Rhaenys and Aegon) such saying "there must be one more" suggests a third child (Jon), which goes well with GRRM saying "the third may not be a Targaryen". So in order, we have Aegon, Danerys, Jon.

Danerys later reflects upon what this prophecy means and comes the conclusion that these heads are supposed to be people. This is because the Targaryen coat-of-arms is a dragon with three heads, each head representing three Targaryens.

"The dragon has three heads," she sighed. "Do you know what that means, Jorah?"

"Your Grace? The sigil of House Targaryen is a three-headed dragon, red on black."

"I know that. But there are no three-headed dragons."

"The three heads were Aegon and his sisters."

(...)

"Prince Aegon was Rhaegar's heir by Elia of Dorne," Ser Jorah said. "But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall."

"I remember," Dany said sadly. "They murdered Rhaegar's daughter as well, the little princess. Rhaenys, she was named, like Aegon's sister. There was no Visenya, but he said the dragon has three heads. What is the song of ice and fire?"

(...)

"Your Grace," he conceded, "the dragon has three heads, remember? You have wondered at that, ever since you heard it from the warlocks in the House of Dust. Well, here's your meaning: Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar, ridden by Aegon, Rhaenys, and Visenya. The three-headed dragon of House Targaryen—three dragons, and three riders."

(...)

When Brown Ben left, she lay back on her cushions. "If you were grown," she told Drogon, scratching him between the horns, "I'd fly you over the walls and melt that harpy down to slag." But it would be years before her dragons were large enough to ride. And when they are, who shall ride them? The dragon has three heads, but I have only one.

(...)

"No dragon has ever had three heads except on shields and banners," Armen the Acolyte said firmly. "That was a heraldic charge, no more. Furthermore, the Targaryens are all dead."

"Not all," said Alleras. "The Beggar King had a sister."

(...)

"The dragon must have three heads," he wailed, "but I am too old and frail to be one of them. I should be with her, showing her the way, but my body has betrayed me."

The prophecies in ASOIAF are always misunderstood. Danerys is no exception, as she's wrongly identifing people and their motives. One thing is for sure in all these mentions though, the "dragon heads" are meant to be people and one of them is Danerys.

Danerys thinks these three dragons are supposed to mimic the original trio, with herself as Aegon and two men she'll take as lovers as the two sister wives. This is where the misunderstanding is, because it's obvious from the framework that is backwards.

These at least she could rely on, or so she hoped . . . and Brown Ben Plumm as well, solid Ben with his grey-white hair and weathered face, so beloved of her dragons. And Daario beside him, glittering in gold. Daario and Ben Plumm, Grey Worm, Irri, Jhiqui, Missandei . . . as she looked at them Dany found herself wondering which of them would betray her next.

The dragon has three heads. There are two men in the world who I can trust, if I can find them. I will not be alone then. We will be three against the world, like Aegon and his sisters.

Danerys is a dumb bitch and the text shows us exactly how. The idea of Danerys being betrayed comes together with the other two heads. They're not lovers, they're betrayers. It occurs again in ADWD as she's in the Dothraki Sea, contemplentanting if the "king" betrayed her and a wolf answers in the distance.

The framework fits this foiled scenario. The original trio was a man married to both his sisters, but only he became king (later, only the man could rule according to Targaryen law). In contrast, Danerys is a woman (foil) and both her brothers are dead (foil), whom are replaced with nephews that have a bigger claim than her (foil) and whom will not be involved / married with her (foil).

It's also thematically relevant and poignant for the trios to be foiled. The Targaryen king dynasty started with an alliance between three dragons, it's fitting that it ends with a war between three dragons. It's what they've been threatening all along with the Dance of the Dragons after all.

#anti daenerys targaryen #queue

106 notes · View notes

sketchguk · 4 years ago

Text

a world alone; myg

➳ pairing: vampire!yoongi, street racer!yoongi x reader

➳ genre: modern vampire AU, street racer AU, bad boy AU, fwb AU, smut, fluff, angst

➳ wc: 11.3k

➳ synopsis: the rest of the world will pay no mind to yoongi’s gentle soul. they’ll take one look at his etched skin, bruised knuckles, and gnarly scar and write him off as the bad guy regardless of the faded heart he wears on his sleeve. they think they know everything about your best friend, yet they’ll never know about his bloodlust and his need for speed.

➳ warnings: explicit language, mentions of drug and alcohol consumption, heavy petting, blood sucking, menstrual blood, oral (f receiving), handjobs, fingering, unprotected sex.

➳ a/n: this is dedicated to my delightful destinee, @yourdelights 🥺💖 i was heavily inspired by Lorde’s music, and I’m dying for her comeback!! yoongi’s character was also based on jess’ character from gilmore girls (shout-out to vic for reigniting my love for that show @minsprings !!)

Your parents always warn you about hanging out with the wrong crowd. They’re under the false impression that anyone who surfs the internet for “fun” and recreationally smokes weed in their parents’ basement — two crimes worthy of capital punishment — is inherently the offspring of Satan.

It’s quite melodramatic to say the least, but they don’t even know the half of it.

Sure, you understand the consequences of drinking fireballs until your throat is raw and getting plastered beyond recognition. You can also see why it’d be a bad idea to stick and poke needles into one another’s arms or to have unprotected sex. It’s inevitably a part of suburban culture when there’s nothing else to do in this deadbeat town besides pray to a God who doesn’t even care to listen.

But if they think their advice is going to stop you from being a quote unquote deadbeat, they’re gravely mistaken.

There’s no harm in a little bit of indulgence, right? Because if there’s one thing you can’t wrap your head around, it’s reasons to stay away from Min Yoongi.

They claim that the infamous bad boy is “nothing but trouble,” but to you, there’s absolutely nothing dangerous about his warm eyes and gentle hands. He may be a little wild and fluorescent in the dark, but under the moonlight, the way he wraps you around in his ink spattered arms makes you feel safer than no other. Although Yoongi is anything but perfect, you can easily acknowledge that.

Yoongi has his flaws. A million and one bad habits to kick. He has tired eyes, no doubt from his unhealthy lack of sleep. His caffeine addiction keeps him up at night, yet you can’t help but spur it every time you secretly drop by his place with an americano in hand. Not only is his hot breath laced with coffee beans, but on occasion, it’s unmistakably mingled with some potent nicotine. To be quite honest, the taste isn’t as bad as your parents describe it to be. You’ve been trying to wean him off of it though, and it’s been working for the most part.

Rather, in place of smoking a pack a week, Yoongi subconsciously bites his nails. Even though chewing off his cuticles isn’t a healthy substitute either, it’s certainly better than killing his lungs and filling it with smoke. You can also admit to biting your own nails out of fear or anxiety sometimes, but ever since you started to hang around the older boy, the habit has diminished significantly. Nowadays, your mouth is fixated on other things your mother wouldn’t be proud to hear about.

In the hazy, quiet of the night, when the rest of the world is fast asleep, you situate yourself on top of Yoongi’s lap, straddling him on either side of his thigh just like clockwork. The novel you were once reading is long forgotten from your dainty hands, too busy carding it through his dark locks and pulling at his roots. Your mouths are preoccupied with one another as he’s the one to bite your lip, and you’re the one to bite your tongue, holding back secrets he’s not ready to hear.

With parted lips and clashing teeth, Yoongi rolls his tongue around yours. In a fight for dominance, you’d gladly submit to him any day. A gasp falls between your teeth and a shiver runs down your spine as he trails his cold hands down your sides, rubbing circles into your exposed hip bones with his calloused thumbs, never daring to dip further south without your permission.

He peppers kisses down the column of your throat with his swollen lips, sucking bruises into the tender skin. Yoongi focuses his attention at the base of your neck, lapping at the pretty love bites adorning your clavicle. You brace yourself for what’s to come by squeezing at his broad shoulders. Growing restless, you begin to bounce on his lap, begging for him to use you at his disposal.

The faint glow of the overhead lamp illuminates his profile, his honey skin glistening in the low light. Your heavy lidded eyes wills itself to open up, meeting your sight with the man beneath you. While your eyes darken with lust, a clouded vision of Yoongi overcomes you ー his pupils shining with an otherworldly brilliance, a golden glare so intense that you fall prey to him every night.

Your sultry eyes are pleading for him to sink his teeth into your flesh, and who is Yoongi to deny you of all the finer things in life? He caresses your waist with a soft touch, gently squeezing at your sides as if he’s too afraid to let go, but Yoongi is vastly acute of all your reactions. So with the nod of your head and a whisper of affirmation, you confess that you want this ー him ー more than anything in the world.

Yoongi runs his tongue over the most sensitive parts of your neck, sucking on the prominent vein at the juncture of your shoulder. He slows down to massage his teeth into your skin, biting gently before piercing your jugular with his canine fangs. All the blood in your body rushes through your vessels, satiating Yoongi’s bloodlust thirst. You’re at a loss of breath, panting heavily as you overheat under the scope of his fiery glare and the electrifying graze of his extremities.

In any other lifetime, you would revolt at the sight of blood and its metallic taste, yet in this time and space, you would allow your best friend to do anything he pleases ー even if his greatest wish is to suck the life out of you. To Yoongi, your viscous blood is sickly sweet and beyond addicting. He doesn’t have a clue as to why he’d ever pick up another cigarette when you’re the only addiction he needs.

As the life drains out of you, one drop of blood at a time, you can feel yourself grow weaker in Yoongi’s arms. You fall limp, becoming a victim to his voracious fervor. But Yoongi understands your limits, being so in tune to your body, and he’s sure to stop before you descend into a comatose.

Your lungs are starting to cave inside of you as heavy sighs escape from your parted lips. Weakly tugging on the strands of Yoongi’s hair, you warn him of the dangerous territory he’s about to enter.

Yoongi suckles at your punctured skin, running his tongue over the point of contact before retracting his fangs and sealing the wound he had gouged with a kiss. He wipes his mouth clean of any residue with the back of his hand, whispering a thank you into the shell of your ear.

You nod your head and wrap your arms around Yoongi’s neck to catch your breath, barely even conscious of his soft coos and gentle caresses. Your head is spinning on an axis, but you allow yourself to fall deeper into Yoongi’s arms, fully knowing that he’s always going to be the one to catch you no matter what.

His sweet nothings reverberate around your skull ー a deep voice echoing like a polyphony, lulling you into your rapture. He brushes your hair back behind your head, and before you know it, your cheek is nuzzling into the cotton of the pillows as he lowers your body onto the firm mattress.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been asleep for, but Yoongi’s delicate voice and quiet hushes bring you back to earth. You can feel his slightly chapped lips planting a kiss at the top of your temple and the soft tickle of his fingers tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. Yoongi calls you by your name, fanning his breath over your plush cheeks until you stir back into reality. In your groggy state, your eyes unwillingly blink open, and although your vision is blurry, the sight of Yoongi and his precious smile is clear as day.

He helps you to sit up before passing you a glass of your favorite concoction. While you’re still stuck in a daze, your face instantly lights up at the sight of the tiny cocktail umbrella sitting at the rim of your cup.

“Small umbrellas bring big smiles,” he offers, “Drink up.”

It’s cheesy as hell, but you throw your head back to take a sip, making it all the more difficult for yourself when you can’t erase the larger than life smile from your lips. You’re instantly hit with the earthy taste of greens as there’s a mixture of kale, cucumber, and celery, but most importantly, Yoongi is sure to throw in a generous amount of spinach to replenish the iron that you’ve lost from his feasting. Even though most people would rather die than drink a blend of vegetables, you’re no stranger to Yoongi's Midas touch in the kitchen. He’s an expert when it comes to food, always going above and beyond without even trying. You can’t even fathom how a carnivore like him has gone as far as creating the perfect vegetarian steak as per your request – mentioned jokingly in passing, of course.

“You hungry?” He inquires.

You shake your head no, but he’s all ready to step back into the kitchen to prepare you a meal from the sparse ingredients in his low-humming fridge.

“Just want you beside me,” you pout, reaching for his hand, encouraging him to climb underneath the covers with you.

Yoongi gives into your wishes, interlacing his fingers with yours like it’s second nature. You lower your drink onto the stack of books designed to be a makeshift nightstand as he reaches for your paperback copy of Metamorphoses, lying precariously at the edge of the mattress. He settles beside you as you comfortably situate yourself across the bed, laying your head onto his lap and scrunching up into a fetal position.

Too wrapped up in your own world, you don’t seem to notice the presence of Yoongi’s ginger moggie until he’s curled up beside you, nudging at your bare arm, begging to be pet. You give into the scraggy feline, keeping busy, while Yoongi turns to your marked, dog ear page, finishing up Book IV with the story of Perseus and Andromeda.

Ideally, this is exactly how you want to spend the entirety of your Sundays. Although this is how your night always ends, it doesn’t always start off this way. Typically, you’re hanging around his apartment alone, pacing the age-old floorboards, biting your nails and waiting for Yoongi to arrive home safely from his lucrative hustle. You’d even chat it out with Yoongi’s kitten to keep your sanity intact, only to receive a hollow meow in return. Meanwhile, Yoongi spends his Sunday evenings doing all the things your parents warn you not to do. All in good faith, Yoongi earns some quick and dirty cash by participating in the underground street race scene. For you, it’s never been about the money, but more about his safety and wellbeing. And every week, with a few scratches in sight and give or take a couple of bruised knuckles, Yoongi returns home with a pocket full of cash like a double edged scheme. Regardless, you know for a fact that he does whatever he wants purely for his own happiness. It’s all for the cheap thrills, and if this is what he wants to do, who are you to stop him from doing so?

Yoongi rests his hand on top of yours to keep you safe when in reality, shouldn’t you be the one to do that to him? He’s reading the story out loud to you, and you’d probably never acknowledge this fact in the open, but in the repressed part of your subconscious, you’re more drawn to the deep lull of Yoongi’s voice than the enchanting story itself. The words go in through one ear, and out the other, but it’s not important because you’ve read this story at least a dozen times before. Instead, your attention is directed towards Yoongi and the subtle purse of his lips. Your eyes are fixated on the gentle slope of his rounded nose and the faint beauty mark that’s slightly off center.

It’s also hard to ignore the scar that cuts through the middle of his right eye. You don’t mean to stare, but it’s hard to believe that everyone perceives Yoongi as the tough guy because to you, he’s just… Yoongi.

Your Yoongi.

He’s the same guy who would save a stray kitten from the side of the road, befriending it and accepting it into his run down home despite the nasty claw mark that’s embedded into his face. And although Yoongi doesn’t have much to offer financially, he’d still give it his all to take care of the scruffy kitten. Per your informally formal one-woman petition, you’ve requested that Yoongi deem the domestic long-haired cat as San, and ever since then, he’s been inseparable with the little critter. It’s quite endearing to watch this man and his little bundle of sunshine cuddle like it’s nobody’s business or slow dance around the apartment with a cat in his arms in spite of his two left feet.

However, it’s upsetting how the rest of the world will never see the delicate side of your best friend in the same way you see him. Even now, as you lie in bed with him, fiddling with his pretty hands, you can never not think about how they fit perfectly between the spaces of your fingers, comforting you like no other man in your life could. You can’t even look at them without imagining how elegant they are when they’re dancing across the rusty and slightly out of tune grand piano in the corner of the room.

Even if his arms are inked in tattoos, the rest of the world will pay no mind to his gentle soul. They’ll take one look at Yoongi’s etched skin and write him off as the bad guy regardless of the faded heart that he wears on his sleeve.

“Remind me again why you like this stuff?” Yoongi wonders, placing the paperback face down on the bed. Your lack of attention causes him to call your name repeatedly until he finally resorts to poking at your sides.

“HUH?” You yelp, breaking out of your reverie, not fully comprehending anything he’s said in the last five minutes or so.

“Ovid.”

You lift yourself in an upright position, rolling your eyes at his blissful ignorance and lack of taste for Greco-Roman literature. “This is a relic of antiquity, and Ovid pretty much lays the groundwork for Shakespeare, bro. Pay some respect to his name.”

Yoongi breaks out in a smile at your term of endearment but shakes his head in utter disagreement. “You know I’m not a fan of Shakespeare,” he almost gags at the sound of his name. “I’ll admit that the dude has a way with words, and I applaud him for keeping up with the meter, but it’s just not my style.” Yoongi’s nose scrunches up in distaste, his eyes squinting shut.

“We literally wouldn’t have some of the greatest works known to humankind if Ovid didn’t exist.” Your arms run wild, waving in the air as if your points will come across stronger because of how manic you are. Perhaps you’re being a little too dramatic, but in your defense, Ovid is an absolute legend. “I mean think about it, we have The Tempest, Pygmalionー”

“Rousseau’s Pygmalion or Shaw’s Pygmalion?”

“To each one’s own, but you have to know that I’d pick Rousseau any day,” you shrug.

“Yeah, Shaw didn’t have that philosophical flavor, you know,” he chuckles. “I guess you have a point. Let’s not forget A Midsummer Night’s Dream though, a classic.”

An ear to ear grin spreads across your lips at the mention of one of your favorite works. You know that Yoongi is bringing it up for your sake more than his because of his strong hatred towards the brilliance that is Shakespeare. And you know for a fact that he likes A Midsummer Night’s Dream, but he’d never outrightly dare to admit how much he enjoys your book recommendations ー especially if they involve Shakespeare.

“I’m glad you see the error of your ways,” you smile smugly. “Besides, back to the point, Dickens was inspired by Ovid, and Oliver Twist is still your favorite novel.”

Yoongi clicks his tongue, completely defeated by your argument. “Hey! That’s not fair now. It’s basically a social commentary about my life. C’mon, you’re gonna pull that card on me now?”

“Exactly, so you’re not giving him enough credit,” you plead with a pout. “We read this when we were in high school, but I think you’d really enjoy it if you gave it another shot.”

Yoongi bites his lips and picks up the book once again in hesitation, observing it from cover to cover. He plays with the myriad of pink post-it notes that protrude from the worn edges, flipping through the pages and thumbing through all of your annotations.

“Fine,” he grumbles, placing the book back onto his bed. “I’ll give it another try, and I’ll have a full, in-depth review ready for you by this weekend but... you have to come to my race on Sunday.”

“Are you serious?” You ponder over his proposition.

“Yep, that’s the deal.”

Although you’re still skeptical about Yoongi’s side hustle, you’d still support him no matter what (even if it’s in stubborn petulance). Shrugging your shoulders and saying “what the hell,” you give in to his proposal.

Yoongi flashes you his infamous gummy smile, and a warm, fuzzy feeling blooms in the center of your chest. Call it what you want ー elation, glee, fondness, tenderness, something entirely nuanced, or perhaps something above and beyond all of that. Regardless, it’s easy to shrug it off when the feeling comes and goes every so often.

And shrugging it off is what you do best.

Nevertheless, Yoongi’s willingness to appease you causes you to squeal and ramble on about how excited you are for his commentary. Your mouth is too busy running while Yoongi stumbles across his tiny studio, slipping on his shoes and shrugging on his army green utility jacket. He reaches for your outerwear and your white high tops while listening intently to your excitement about the activities you have planned for this Saturday. He hums in affirmation as he slides his hoodie over your raised arms and tugs the black material over your torso, getting you ready to sneak back into your parents’ home.

“Mmm,” he murmurs with a smile plastered on his lips, “Can’t wait, babe.” He tries to conceal his joy as he ducks his head down, sliding your Converse past your ankles and tying the shoelaces up for you.

With your grasp in his one hand and his car keys in the other, he ushers you out of his apartment and into his run-down 1986 Grandeur Azera. The neon green digital clock on his car radio taunts him, blinking every few seconds to count down the limited time he has left with you before kissing your cheek goodnight, or rather good morning, and sending you off to the sheltered life kept under wraps by your overprotective parents.

Yoongi tries not to think too much about the impermanence of the greatest things in his life as the slow burn of sunrise peeks over the horizon. Rather, he’s focused on how the car ride is filled with some of his favorite sounds ー the low hum of old school hip hop playing through his vintage radio and the ring of your laughter resounding over his stupid jokes.

The weekend rolls around quicker than you expect it to.

Days in the cul-de-sac are abnormally slow, especially when you’re in the midst of June. With each passing day, sunlight drags on a little longer because of the impending summer solstice. From the confinements of your window, it seems like all you ever do lately is watch the golden sun rise and set over the lake.

On occasions, your eyes are drawn to the far distance where there are freight trains that chug across the railroad at the crack of dawn. You can’t help but think about the places they’ll go and the things they’ll see in cities outside of your own.

In all honesty, you should probably do something more productive with your days. While everyone you know is complaining about work or studying for a degree they won’t ever use, you’re too busy studying the floor. And although daydreaming about the bright lights and city sounds is a way to kill the time, you’d much rather do it with Yoongi at your side.

Each second that you spend with him is more precious than the last. It’s hard to contain your excitement over the little things like movie nights at the drive in with him because it’s pretty much the highlight of your entire week, hence why you drop by his workplace extra early today – a whole hour before his shift ends.

Your presence is made known to the entire auto shop when the shout of your name is amplified throughout the garage. Of course, you catch Jimin and Taehyung dallying around before they even take notice of you standing in the doorway. They race over to engulf you in a hug, nearly knocking the wind out of you.

“Working hard or hardly working?” You giggle at the two boys.

Jimin lies through his teeth, as expected of him. “Working hard, of course.”

He grabs the mysterious, white paper box from your hands, curious as to what’s inside.

“Cupcakes? For me?” Taehyung asks with innocence in his eyes. He doesn’t even have to wait for your response because the two boys are already ravaging away at the sweet delectables.

Surely you had the boys in mind having stepped foot into the antique bakery shop earlier that day, hence the extras. But earnestly, out of the kindness of your heart, your primary goal is to surprise Yoongi with his favorite red velvet cupcakes. At the same time, you wouldn’t deny its leverage as a way to sway him and his opinions on the awe-inspiring Ovid.

“Don’t eat them all at once, okay?” You warn the boys before wandering off to find Yoongi.

You first expect him to be in his office, doing paperwork of some sort, so you make a beeline towards the backroom. However, there’s nothing in sight of his office beside his cold coffee perched at the edge of his desk. There are also scraps of yellow notepad paper with lyrics sprawled across the pages and a framed photo of the two of you. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, but it’s still not what you’re quite looking for.

You make your way out of Yoongi’s office and down the hall, continuing your search for him. You come to a halt when your ears perk up at the sound of a kick drum and a bass guitar laying down the beats to an iconic Nas song. The faint sound of music slowly crescendos as you lead yourself to the source.

It should be no surprise to you that Yoongi is hot rodding his car and making last minute improvements for tomorrow’s race. Yet again, you find him with his head between the hood, either replacing the worn out brake pads or the loose fan belt (in which he’s shown you how to do a dozen times before).

Yoongi’s reactions might be a little slow for being a vampire considering he hasn’t acknowledged your presence just yet. Sometimes he’s a little short of hearing, especially when his radio is a tad too loud.

The only reason he turns around from the car is because his right hand man has gone unusually silent. Yoongi doesn’t even know how long it's been since you dismissed Namjoon, telling him that you’ve got it covered. Nevertheless, he’s grateful because he can indulge in endless discourse about Metamorphoses, his new favorite anthology, rather than botany which Namjoon never shuts up about.

Being so lost in conversation about literature, and with the cupcakes long forgotten, the two of you hardly even notice the time that’s gone by.

“Boss, we’re gonna clock out,” Namjoon interrupts the two of you.

“Clock out? Oh shit, what time is it?” A quarter to six.

“We’re gonna be late,” you worry.

Yoongi digs his hand into the pocket of his navy coveralls, dishing out a set of keys. He hands them over to Namjoon before coming to his senses, thereby chucking it to Jimin who is arguably more responsible.

“Don’t fuck up,” Yoongi warns them, albeit without any menace in his tone.

Yoongi tugs off his coveralls before grabbing your hand and heading towards his car, listening to the boys wolf whistle from behind him. He shrugs it off, but the smug grin he bites back says otherwise.

He opens the passenger door for you, allowing you to settle in first. Then he does a half run, half walk around the hood. Putting the car in reverse, Yoongi rests his hand behind your seat and throws his head over his shoulder. He drapes his wrist over the steering wheel and zips off into the quiet roads where you can both talk nonsensically as if there’s something to say.

Saturday evenings always start this way.

With two souls as hollow as the bottles you drain and a brown, paper bag full of snacks from the dingy 7-Eleven down the block, you and Yoongi would recline your seats far enough to comfortably watch the movie on the big projection screen.

This must be your week because not only does Yoongi confess his new found love for Greco-Roman literature, but he’s also willing to brave through a romantic melodrama with you ー A Walk to Remember, no less.

Yoongi takes a lot of pride in never having to cry, but this time around, he doesn’t hide the stray tear that rolls down his face. The crying quickly subsides, but still, he gladly accepts the tissue you offer him with no denial in his eyes.

While the end credits roll and everyone has a chance to exit out of the car park, Yoongi would feed you the remaining gummy worms until the bag empties out. Meanwhile, you’d feed him the rest of the chocolate you’d rather not eat. The two of you would also take the time to digest the movie ー tonight’s topic of discussion revolving around the fact that Jamie and Landon deserved better.

But once the coast is clear, your mouth always finds its way to his. And somehow, the two of you always end up undressed ー or at least with your pants pulled down to your ankles. Usually, it’s the both of you, but sometimes it’s one or the other. This time around, it’s just you.

Yoongi always knows how to take care of you, but there’s something telling you that tonight isn’t necessarily your night ー the need for an orgasm being his first priority but a second one for you.

“I wanna make you happy,” he pleads. A double entendre you fail to notice.

But no matter how blissful his lips feel against your cunt, you’re still hyper aware of how bloodthirsty he is at this moment.

He doesn’t even try to hide his enthusiasm as he laps his tongue around your entrance, licking up the residue you’ve pooled from your time of the month. His hunger is insatiable, and it’s evident from the way he puckers his lips around your clit, sucking on the tiny bundle of nerves.

His tongue delves between your folds, playing with your juices, and it’s absolutely intoxicating. Yoongi’s overgrown bangs are parted when your hands find their way to his hair. His line of sight no longer obstructed by his dark, gelled locks. Your breath hitches in your throat when Yoongi looks up at you ー his irises gleaming with gold.

A glob of spit forces its way down your dry throat as you try to overcome this heady feeling. Typically, you’re a woman of many words, but Yoongi obliterates every thought in your head with just a single swipe of his tongue against your heat. A string of curses warble from your throat as he’s relentless in his endeavor, pushing his tongue in and out of your walls, massaging the tender flesh until it's raw.

Your jaw falls slack as your mouth parts open to release a sigh. “Ngh, pl- please, Yoongi,” you stutter out.

“Mmm?” He hums against your folds, sending shivers up your spine.

Your thighs quiver as you fight the need to clamp your legs around Yoongi’s head, but he’s quick to spread them, wedging his tongue further into your tight hole. It’s slick with your arousal, and the squelch of your juices is amplified further with the intensity of Yoongi’s ravage.

You can feel yourself getting closer to your impending high as your walls clench tighter, but you take it like the good girl everyone knows you are. You’re overcome with desperation as your hips cant upwards, rutting yourself against his mouth. Yoongi flicks his tongue over your clit to coax you to your climax, stimulating the nub until whimpers escape from your pretty lips.

It feels as if you’ve lost all of your senses as you reach the edge of your release, pleasure rippling throughout your body. You can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, and you swear that you can see all of the stars in the night sky. Your chest heaves in an attempt to catch your breath, and your heart races as you descend from your high.

But as always, Yoongi is right there to catch you.

He licks his lips clean to collect every last drop of your sweet nectar. He presses a chaste kiss against your overly-sensitive clit before repositioning your underwear back into place. Then, he peppers kisses up your body and burrows his head into your neck, whispering sweet nothings against the column of your throat, revelling in the afterglow. Once your heavy breathing slows down and your heartbeat plateaus, Yoongi looks up at you with the pretty brown eyes you know and love. And although you’ve recovered from your high, your pussy no longer pulsating, the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest never dissipates.

Yoongi brushes his lips against yours before kissing you with fervor, saying all that needs to be said. Your mouths are having the unspoken conversation you’re too afraid to have when you’re both tongue-tied and trapped outside of your own mind. Whenever his lips meet yours, it feels as if the rest of the world is falling away at your feet. It’s comforting in a way that his words will never be.

But that’s okay because it’s precisely how you and Yoongi work.

He’ll hold you tight and kiss you goodnight, but you’ll just have to settle for that because the innermost part of your brain would rather wonder forever than know the disappointing truth about where you two stand.

You’re not quite sure why you haven’t been kicked out of the car park yet, but to be frank, you don’t really care and certainly neither does the security.

Yoongi is the first to break the comfortable silence. “You still coming to my race tomorrow?” His nose nudges against your cheek, and he lays a chaste kiss on your supple skin.

Your mouth presses together in a straight line as you contemplate your options. You’ve always been a little skeptical of his illegal pastimes granted that you’ve been raised to reprimand such activities all your life. But knowing Yoongi, you’d trust him with your heart and soul in his hands, and thus, you nod your head in agreement.

“Yeah, I’ll still come,” you shrug, humming in a low voice.

The two of you remain quiet in the backseat of his car, wrapped in the safety of one another’s arms, listening to the soothing melody that plays on the radio. Mindlessly, you trace the pretty ink on Yoongi’s forearms, running your finger over the ornamental designs.

“Is this new?” Your movements come to a halt upon spotting a piece of ink you’ve never noticed before.

Jamais seule written in a simple, fine line ink.

“Huh?” He asks, looking down at his wrist. “Oh yeah, Jeongguk did a custom for me earlier this week.”

In an attempt to hide your smile, you nestle your head into the crevice of his neck.

“What’re you smiling for?” A grin creeps onto his lips, but Yoongi doesn’t even need to ask because he knows better than anyone.

It’s just another reason to add to the list as to why there’s nobody in this world you’d rather be with than your best friend. At the thought of the tattoo, memories begin to flood your mind:

“Conjugate the verb parler in the imperfect tense.”

Yoongi refuses to answer the question. “Are you as hungry as I am?”

“Uhm, no? Yoongi, can you justー”

“My coffee’s getting cold. Do you want another cup?” Yet another excuse.

Your mouth opens up to refute, but he’s already on his feet, heading towards the coffee station at the corner of the cafe. Your hands cup around the mug that he’s left on the table, and you’re not surprised that the ceramic is relatively warm against your palms.

After spending the last hour studying for tomorrow’s French exam, you would have thought you’d make a breakthrough with Yoongi. But time and time again, he refuses to cooperate with you.

You don’t even know why he bothers returning to his seat when he doesn’t even care to study.

You let out a huff in another attempt to get him to learn. “Okay, let’s try this one more time. Can you conjugate the verb parler in the imperfect tense?”

“The coffee here is good, no?” Yoongi takes a sip from his mug once again, observing the hot liquid slosh around. The only thing he’s committed to is tiptoeing around his responsibilities (as well as his feelings, but that’s a whole other conversation).

“Look, I’m trying to help you study. If you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, then can you please focus and pay attention?” To no avail, Yoongi doesn’t respond.

“… Do you understand me?”

He doesn’t understand you. In fact, he’s on his phone, texting away and paying no mind to what you have to say.

“Bro, are you even listening to me?” You enunciate again with a scowl on your lips. Your jaw tightens as you pull out your own phone, angrily typing away at the keyboard.

You (1m ago): Yoongi, I want to help you study, so if you don’t want me here, I’ll go. But if you want me to stay, then can you focus and pay attention?? Please?? Do you understand me??

Yoongi (now): 🥺

Yoongi pouts and looks up from his device with sadness in his eyes. “I understand,” he mumbles under his breath. He finally puts his phone into the pocket of his hoodie and opens up his textbook, taking one step in the right direction.

You can’t say you didn’t try unlike all of your high school teachers. They’ve practically given up on the boy, seeing that he hasn’t shown up to class as he should. And when he does, he’s keeping it lowkey in the back of the classroom, sticking his nose in a new novel each week or scribbling away in his black, leatherbound journal. You’re not even sure how you got Yoongi to sit down with you knowing that he’s hard to get a hold of. But really, you’re just unaware that he’s afraid, always running away in the face of uncertainty.

Not even ten minutes go by before Yoongi is finding another excuse to fool around. It’s a whole new record, and you’re pretty proud of his accomplishment nevertheless.

“I’m sick of studying,” he groans with slumped shoulders.

“How can you be sick of studying? In the last hour, I’ve watched you make coffee and spin your textbook on your finger as if it’s a basketball.”

Yoongi’s lips press together in a straight line, but there’s no denying your observations.

“You’ve also tried to convince me that Tupac is the Mozart of our time. It’s not that I’m disagreeing with you, don’t get me wrong, but which part of this consummates studying?” You query with furrowed brows.

“Tell you what, let’s make a deal, okay?”

You shake your head at the thought of his proposal. “Oh, so you’re gonna bargain with me now?” Your voice is filled with exasperation.

“What do you think about ice cream?”

“What’s not to like about it?” Your arms cross over your chest as you lean back in your chair.

A wide, gummy smile spreads across Yoongi’s lips. “If we take an ice cream break, I swear that we’ll come back and study.”

A sigh falls from your lips because you’re not totally convinced, yet you ponder over the proposition. “I really doubt that you can keep your worー”

“Cross my heart and hope to die.” He mimics the motion by tracing his finger over his chest. “I’ll even drive,” he adds.

Your eyes squint, still uncertain.

“I’ll treat you,” he offers.

“Min Yoongi, you are one convincing dude,” you chuckle.

Closing your textbook and gathering all of your belongings, you chuck them in the backseat of Yoongi’s car and head off to the ice cream parlor.

You make it just in time before closing, being the last two customers in store that they have to kick out. While you pick a flavor as peculiar as butter pecan, Yoongi decides on a fruity flavor ー orange to be precise. The two of you enjoy your dessert, licking away at the sugary mess before it has the chance to melt onto the black, leather interior of his car.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” You pry, looking over at Yoongi.

“Shoot.”

“Why is it that you’re flunking when you’re smarter than 90% of the people at our school?”

“Ah,” he shakes his head in disbelief, “It takes more than intelligence to act intelligently.”

You scoff in rebuttal. “Seriously? You can quote Dostoevsky word for word, and I’m sure you can recite the entirety of Crime and Punishment in your sleep.”

You can see him shrug his shoulders out of the corners of your eyes. “I really don’t see the point when I’m not going to go to college.”

“Okay, so what’s your big dream, then?” You ask with worry laced in your tone.

“I don’t think you necessarily need to have a big dream.”

A drop of your ice cream melts onto your hand, and you’re quick to wipe it away. You’re shocked to hear what he has to say because everyone in this deadbeat town has a dream. It usually involves getting away from said deadbeat town. “Okay, enlighten me then?”

“You just need to be happy.” He’s stoic in his response.

“Are you happy?” You ask. It’s a loaded question.

He shrugs.

It’s quiet.

Moments go by.

Yoongi’s the first one to break the comfortable silence. “They’re flunking me because I’m truant. I work in the auto shop outside of town, so when I’m not in school, I’m picking up extra shifts there. It doesn’t pay a lot, but it’s enough to keep me alive, you know? It’s enough to cover the car too.”

Another drop of ice cream melts onto your wrist. You don’t fail to notice the fact that he hasn’t addressed your question. “But are you happy? Is this what you want?” You try again.

He runs his tongue over his bottom lip, pondering. “I’ve always thought about doing this, but... I want to drive out to L.A. and take my chance at music production or something.” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Sorry, it sounds stupid, I know.”

A fond smile makes its way onto your face. “I think that’s so cool,” you reassure him.

He cocks his head to the side as he tries to hide the smile that mirrors yours, but you can see his hard exterior break down before your very eyes. Nobody has ever believed in him the way that you do.

His eyes sparkle in the moonlight as if the galaxy lays dormant in his lonely irises. “... But the thing is, I don’t know if I want to be out and about in this world alone.”

You’ve never seen Yoongi so vulnerable before, and you never thought you’d have the chance to see it. So you comfort him in the way that you know best.

“Jamais seule,” you offer in consolation.

Yoongi’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “What?”

“Jamais seule,” you repeat once again, placing your hand on his shoulder. “It’s French for ‘never alone.’”

He chuckles at your explanation. “Are you trying to make this a teaching moment?”

You nod your head in response, a proud smile making its way onto your lips.

“Okay, then what about you, huh?” He inquires. “What’s your big goal then?”

“Me?”

He nods his head. Of course he’s talking to you, but you’re taken aback because nobody’s ever really taken interest in what it is that you want to do.

“Realistically, I guess I’d be a teacher? When I was younger, I was thinking about doing dance, but I think I should specialize in French or maybe even English? I want to learn other languages too, but I’m not totally sure if I can make a career out of it.” Your nose scrunches up at the uncertainty.

Yoongi orients his body towards yours, taking in your profile. “Fuck that. Learn all of the languages you want to learn, okay? But tell me what it is that you really want to do now, unrealistically speaking.”

You look over at him, and your heart swells up inside your chest. A warm, fuzzy feeling overtakes you as you brace yourself to share this part of your life because honestly, you’ve never admitted it out loud to anyone before in part because nobody has ever bothered to ask or even care in the way that Yoongi does.

“I want to be a flight attendant.” It almost feels as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest as you heave out a sigh. “I want to see other countries, experience different cultures, and meet new people. I just want to see what the world is like outside of this town, you know?”

“I know,” he mouths. His gummy smile resurfaces on his lips as he nods his head, listening to you speak so passionately about your dreams. “I think you’d make the best flight attendant in the whole world.”

In the entire cosmos, there’s a short list of things that you genuinely love. One being the delicacy of antique books, worn and torn with age, brimming with the faded passages of time, two being chips and guac, the magic elixir to instant happiness, and three being Min Yoongi.

It should be no surprise to you that you’d do anything in the world for your best friend, but hanging around the dirt drag to watch tonight’s race is the last thing you would ever expect.

As you approach the spectator crowd, the smell of burnt rubber and seared tarmac infiltrates your senses. There’s a cloud of smoke rings floating around you while the people huff and puff on their Newports and Marlboros. Some of them even offer you a lighter, but you politely decline.

It’s pretty obvious that you don’t fit into this scene. You’ve never even shown your face in this part of town before, but everyone else seems to know one another relatively well, hanging out on the hood of their cars and getting drunk off bottles of Smirnoff.

“Hey, princess, take a shot with us why don’t ya?” Someone whistles.

You turn your head to the side, only to find a group of girls eyeing you from head to toe. “No thanks, I’m good,” you offer with a timid voice, shrinking away at their electrifying gaze.

Yoongi pulls you closer to his side, wrapping his arm around your waist and squeezing his fingers into your hip bones. His eyes glimmer with gold as he shoots daggers at the group of girls.

“Don’t talk to anyone you don’t know, okay? Stick with Hobi,” he whispers to you through gritted teeth.

It’s not long before you come across Hoseok, socializing with a group of people who appear to be crossfaded. Yoongi pats him on the back, drawing his attention away from the dead end conversation.

“Hey!” Hoseok shouts with enthusiasm. He wedges himself between you and Yoongi, resting his arms around both of your shoulders. He turns your attention away from the group of people he was once conversing with, walking in the opposite direction. But once you step far away enough, out of reach from the crowd, Hoseok sighs in relief.

“Thank God for saving me, I literally don’t know how much longer I can talk to them for,” he shakes his head and rolls his eyes in spite of the happy-go-lucky personality you’re so familiar with.

The blare of an air horn cuts through the bustling night, indicating that the race is soon to start. Yoongi cups his hand around Hoseok’s ear to tell him something in secret, and in response, he nods his head in affirmation.

Yoongi turns to you and flashes his sweet smile. “When I win, I’ll treat you to whatever you want, okay? Ice cream? Pizza? Tom kha gai from that Thai place you like? Name it and it’s yours.” Yoongi walks backward to take one last glance at you before tugging his headset over his ears and running off to the direction of his car.

You smile to yourself as the warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest begins to bloom once again.

You shout “good luck” to him as he steps away, but you know for a fact that he can’t hear you. He doesn’t need the luck anyways.

Hoseok taps on your shoulder, gathering your attention to lead you to the frontlines where you have a good view of the action. He fiddles with the device in front of him, tuning his CB radio, twisting the dial back and forth to find the right frequency.

“Agust D, this is J-Hope, OVER.” Hoseok shouts into his intercom with a little too much enthusiasm.

“Dude, we’re not gonna do this,” Yoongi complains through the static of the speakers. You can’t help but giggle at his response. It’s very characteristic of Yoongi, and you can already imagine the creases forming at the corner of his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

Your eyes look over towards the two approaching cars, one of them being the black and yellow Grandeur Azera you know so well. Yoongi and his opponent toe their tires to the starting line, making sure it’s a fair game.

The host speaks through his megaphone, but it’s hard to hear over the screaming crowd. His words are muffled, and it’s nearly indecipherable, but he’s most likely explaining the rules and safety to everyone, or at least you hope he is.

Yoongi, being the cocky bitch he is, revs his engine over the voice of the announcer. Through his rolled down windows, you can see him tap his fingers over his mouth to let out a dramatic yawn. He even checks the time on his watch just to show off.

You shake your head at his overwhelming pride, and just in time, he looks over at you to send a wink. Despite the roll of your eyes, you can’t hide the heat that rushes to the apples of your cheeks.

The countdown begins as the announcer yells through his megaphone. The crowd amplifies his voice as they count alongside him. The two cars rev their engines, and it’s deafening to your sensitive ears.

An overwhelming sense of nervousness rushes through your veins, but you squeeze onto Hobi’s arm to anchor yourself. The thought of Yoongi getting into a fatal accident crosses your conscience, but you quickly wipe the image away from your mind. You trust Yoongi, and there’s nobody in the world who does it better than him.

In the blink of an eye, you nearly miss the cars zipping off into the dead of the night, too lost in your thoughts.

Looking over Hoseok’s shoulder, you can see the red and green dots floating across the monitor, the green symbol representing Yoongi’s GPS signal as he zips around the circumference of town. All the red symbols show the police hotspots within a 10 mile radius.

“Yoongi, right turn in 3 blocks,” Hoseok says into the intercom. According to the police scanner, the cops are too close for comfort.

“Yep, gotcha.” Yoongi’s voice sounds faded through the speakers.

In hopes of clearing the static, Hoseok fiddles with the dials. “What the fuck? I’m losing you.”

Panic rises to your chest as you watch the green dot speed across town, driving in close proximity to the law enforcement. Even worse, you’re losing communication with him. It’s nothing but static.

Hoseok slaps the radio in rage, but of course, nothing happens. “What the hell’s going on?” He even rips out the batteries and puts it back into the device to no avail. He looks over at you as if you have the answers, but you’re rendered useless when your mind draws a blank.

Hoseok pulls your hand away from your mouth, not even realizing that you’ve been chewing on your nails all this time.

“Well shit, now what?”

“Hope and pray?” He shrugs.

At the sound of his words, your heart drops to your stomach.

Your hands begin to tremble as you monitor the screen. He’s cutting close to the finish line, but you have no eyes on his opponent. Meanwhile, the cops are spreading across the map, probably searching for the source of the disturbance.

Yoongi has yet to be caught, but he’s smart enough to maneuver through the backroads he knows better than anyone ー the ones he’s practically grown up on.

The green dot races across the screen, coming closer and closer to your marked location. The boisterous rev of an engine can be heard within earshot, so your attention shifts to the far end of the dirt path. Your heart pounds against your ribs as you cross your fingers, praying and hoping that Yoongi is the one who’s returning to you.

The lack of street lights makes it difficult to see down the cloudy road, but you never seem to give up, leaning over the makeshift barrier and tiptoeing above the crowd.

The sound of the engine elevates as the frontliner approaches. Your attention focuses on the two tiny, bright lights emerging from the distance. However, your vision is blurred as the two lights diverge into four. Another car follows behind it, charging full speed towards the finish line. Your hands squeeze around Hoseok’s wrist as the two of you anxiously wait to see the winner. The headlights illuminate at a greater lux as it speeds down the path. You begin to squint, trying to adjust your eyes to the light to make out the license plate number or at least something that’s telling of who the lead driver is.

But fear not, because a sigh of relief escapes from your lungs as the yellow detailings on the infamous Grandeur Azera is within sight. Yoongi crosses the finish line with full speed, and the crowd erupts in a roar.

He decelerates before coming to a full stop. There’s a haze of dust that trails behind his car, and a silhouette of a figure emerges from the smoke. It’s none other than Yoongi who trudges out of the car, and it’s unmistakable from his golden glare which shines through the exhaust.

You let go of Hoseok’s wrist in favor of racing towards Yoongi to wrap him up in the safety of your arms. He immediately reciprocates and melts into your embrace. He squeezes you tightly around your torso, and you fall further into his arms. Your nose presses against his shoulder, burrowing your head against the crook of his neck.

You chuckle through the stray tear that rolls down your cheek and onto the green denim of his jacket. “You idiot, you love scaring the life out of me, huh?”

Yoongi pulls away from you to cup your cheeks, angling your face so that he can gaze into your eyes. His irises slowly revert back to the shade of brown you’ve come to love. He wipes away the tears streaming down your cheeks and tucks a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“Iー” He opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but he decides against it. Instead, his lips come crashing down onto yours, kissing you as if it’s his last breath.

“Care to explain what that was all about?” You slam the door shut behind you.

Yoongi refuses to answer.

The air doesn’t feel clear between the two of you, and it hasn’t ever since the kiss. It feels off. Tense, even. As a matter of fact, it’s been unusually quiet since the car ride home.

Your head has been spinning round and round because Yoongi never acts like this. Whatever it is that goes on between the two of you doesn’t go beyond the confinements of these four, egg white walls (with the exception of his car, of course).

But bottom line: It’s an unspoken rule that whatever happens between you stays between you.

Yoongi is sullen in his contemplation. He kicks off his boots, trudging into his apartment with heavy feet as if he’s a teenager ridden with angst. You would think that he’s retired from the days when he keeps to himself and feeds the world with the “I’m misunderstood” bullshit as some lame excuse. But yet again, he’s crawling back into the shell of the man he once was.

He chooses to ignore the obvious problem as he shrugs off his jacket and switches out one t-shirt for another. You hate the idea of him going to bed upset, but no matter how much you try to get him to talk, you’re left with utter silence.

Being tired and frustrated of his lack of communication, you decide to stand up from the edge of the mattress, plodding through the creaky floorboards to stand before Yoongi. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, but his glassy eyes avert yours, looking anywhere but at you. All you can see is the faint beauty mark on the side of his nose, but never in your life did you think that you’d frown at the sight of it.

You opt for getting his attention by wrapping your arms around his waist, resting your head against his bare chest, listening to the violent storm that pulses beneath the shell of your ear.

His arms hang by his side. You squeeze him a little tighter, and he huffs out a sigh, falling prey to your touch. Your cheek is pressed tighter against his chest as he envelops you in a hug. His fingers trail up and down your spine in an effort to comfort you, but really, it’s more appeasing to him than to you knowing that you’re within arms reach.

“They tapped into my radio.” His voice cuts through the quiet air.

You swallow down the knot in your throat as you listen to his every word.

“God, they said some fucked up shit to me.” His hands clench tighter against the cotton of your t-shirt, and you can hear his heart pound harder against his chest.

A painful sigh escapes from your lips as you listen to the tremble of his voice. “Whatever they say isn’t true, you know?” You offer in consolation, “They don’t know you like I do.”

“It wasn’t even about me, ughー They were talking about you, and... fuck, Iー” Yoongi fights against the tears that are threatening to spill, the frustration evident in his tone.

Your heart shatters at the sound of his broken voice. “Yoongi, people are gonna talk, and nothing they say will ever matter, so just let ‘em talk.”

Your words ring through his ear as he harshly swallows a glob of spit down his throat. He thinks to himself in silence, wondering whether or not his words will ever matter to you.

“Can I tell you something?” He pulls away from you to take a better look at your expressions.

“Yeah, of course, anything,” you knit your eyebrows together and nod your head in solace.

Yoongi walks backwards until the back of his knees knock against the edge of his bed, allowing you to climb onto his lap, mounting his thighs with one leg on either side. He licks his lips to ease his nerves, anxiety bubbling up to the surface. His hands get clammy as he rests them on the curve of your waist.

But all of that dissipates once he fixates his attention on your eyes.

It feels as if you two are in your own little world together while everyone else dances around in the ruins of their dreams.

His eyes soften and a shy smile spans across his lips. “I love you.”

You’re taken aback by his confession, almost as if you didn’t hear him correctly granted his low murmurs. Your mouth hangs open, jaw slack. Your eyes blink, stunned by what you may or may not have heard.

It takes four and half seconds for you to register that ー holy shit ー did he just say what you think he just said?

“What’d you say?” Your brows knit together and your forehead creases asking for the much needed confirmation.

“You really want me to say it again?” He’s bashful as he hides his rosy cheeks in the crevice of your neck, his hot breath tickling your skin.

“Say it again,” you encourage. Your face starts to ache with the beaming smile painted across your lips.

Yoongi’s mouth curls into a smile to mimic yours as he peppers kisses against the column of your throat. He repeats his words once again, each syllable caught between a featherlight kiss.

“Iー” His lips ghost against your jaw.

“Loveー” Onto your chin.

“You.”

His soft eyes flash open to gawk at your lips, waiting for permission to kiss you where he so desperately wants to. He blinks, looking up to peer into the depths of your soul through the gateway of your irises. You can see the whirl of emotions in his eyes, a mixture between elation and tenderness and everything in between.

But above all, you can see the love.

A shy look is exchanged before you flutter your eyes close and lean forward to hesitantly brush your lips against his, testing the waters. But once he melts into your touch, you dive into the deep end, firmly committing to your desires.

It takes another half second for you to register that ー holy fucking shit ー you’re actually kissing the love of your life.

Although you are no stranger to Yoongi’s lips, something about this feels different. Yet again, you’re drunk off serotonin and intoxicated by his fiery touch. The world around you disappears alongside your worries and your troubles. All of your feelings, your emotions, your secrets, and all of your wishes are laid bare before you.

But what’s different about this kiss is that for the first time in your life, you know for a fact that this is what love is supposed to be.

“I love you, Yoongi,” you finally confess with your whole chest. Tears begin to form in your eyes and a smile that’s larger than life spreads across your lips, bringing pains and aches to your cheeks. But nevertheless, it’s all worth it because Yoongi loves you and you love him.

It doesn’t even register in your head that your back is now flat against the mattress, nor do you register the embarrassing amount of slick that has pooled at your entrance. At least not until Yoongi presses his fingers against the slim cotton of your underwear, teasing your folds with the glide of his calloused fingers.

“You’re wet already?”

You mewl upon his comment. “Can’t help it.”

Yoongi tugs off your shorts with your underwear in tow. His mouth reconnects with yours in longing, and his lips taste exactly like blackberries, bay leaves, and blissful midnights blanketed underneath the stars.

Your breath hitches in your throat and you shudder under his touch as he grazes over your clit. His finger dips between your folds, collecting your arousal before rubbing soothing circles over your sensitive nub. Your heavy eyelids fall close, and Yoongi watches your face contort in pleasure, your eyebrows creasing together.

Growing restless of his teasing, you lurch forward to palm the tent in his pants. You will yourself to open your eyes just the slightest bit.

“Hard already?” You tease with raised brows.

“Can’t help it,” he echoes.

You pull on the fabric of his jeans, begging him to remove the material from his legs. He obliges while you strip your top off.

At the sight of your bare breasts, Yoongi’s lips find its way to your pert nipples, hallowing his cheeks and sucking on the tender flesh until the blood rushes to the surface of your skin. His hand trails its way down your body, dipping two fingers into your tight hole, pumping in and out to massage your walls.

A thick glob of saliva forms in the back of your throat, and you sputter it into the palm of your hands. Reaching down for Yoongi’s shaft, you jerk him off exactly how he likes it. Your thumb traces over the tip of his cock, swiping over the slit as he leaks beads of precum.

Yoongi sighs as you work faster, milking him for all of his worth. He grips his hand around your wrist to slow down your movements, wanting to change it up. Instead, he trails kisses up your body until he’s hovering over your lips.

“Don’t wanna come like this,” he says with a heavy sigh.

His hand replaces yours as he pumps his length and lines it up at your entrance.

You brace yourself by squeezing your hands around his shoulders, clinging on to him for dear life. He pushes his member one inch at a time until your fingernails dig into his supple skin, dragging him down to meet your lips.

A gasp falls from your throat as the angle changes, and he pushes deeper inside of you.

“Oh, fuck,” you quiver.

Yoongi lays a kiss upon your cheek before meeting your eyes once again. “You okay?”

“Better than okay,” you nod.

A blinding smile makes its way to Yoongi’s lips and you can’t help but reciprocate. He pushes his length further until he’s balls deep, his pelvis pressed up against yours.

You throw your head back against the mattress, exposing the blank canvas of your neck. For a second, his eyes are gilded with gold, but it quickly regresses. His tongue runs over his bottom lip before languidly licking a stripe up the side of your neck. He suckles on your skin until it discolors, leaving behind a love bite that’s none other than a mark of his love.

As you finally adjust to the thick stretch of Yoongi’s cock, you start to fidget, rutting your hips against his.

“Yoongi, please move,” you cry out, wrapping your legs around the small of his waist. And you swear you could physically cry in this very moment.

At your request, his hips begin to thrust, fucking himself into your wanting pussy. With the drag of his dick, you can feel every inch of him move inside of you. Your walls contract and mold against his shaft, his balls slapping against the curve of your ass. The filthy sounds fill the tiny space of his studio apartment, as does the squelches of your arousal.

Yoongi bites his lip as he relishes this very moment. The way you look beneath him, taking his cock like a good girl, fucked out and in total bliss as a dribble of spit cascades down your lips. He tucks his hand underneath your chin to wipe away at the saliva, only to fall back down into a plank position.

Your chest heaves and your head lolls to the side. You can hardly see through your eyelids which are falling shut, but somehow, you resist, seeing the pretty ink that’s engraved into Yoongi’s skin. The most prominent one ー and also the newest addition to his sleeve ー being at eye level. Leaning over the slightest bit, you press your lips against the simple, fine line ink.

A fire within Yoongi is ignited upon your action. His hips begin to stutter, reaching close to the end of his release. He sticks his fingers in his mouth, sucking on the digits until they’re nice and wet. His hand trails a path down your body, only to find its way to your clit. It’s hot and slick down there, especially with the newly added pressure.

A series of moans tumble from your lips as he relentlessly rubs harsh circles onto your nub.

“Oh my god, Yoongi ー Yeah, just like that,” you whimper when the tip of his cock pushes against your cervix. Your eyes are starting to water at the immense amount of pleasure building up in the pit of your stomach.

“Like what?” He smirks, “Like that?”

His thrusts are harder as he quickens the pace. Your body drifts further up the mattress with the force of his hips and your arms wrap around his upper torso to keep yourself anchored. Your fingernails scratch the surface of his skin, leaving behind a trail of red marks down his back.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Yoongi, Iー” A strangled noise escapes from your parted lips.

“Yes, baby? You can come for me.” The soft coo against your ear contrasts against the harsh slap of his hips, sending you further into your release.

“Yoongi… I- I love you,” you manage to sputter out, albeit weakly from the current, fucked out state that you’re in.

At the sound of your confession once again, Yoongi grunts harshly, his breath fanning across your face. His cock grinds harder against your cervix as he chases your high.

The knot in the pit of your stomach unfurls with a harsh thrust, and you dissolve into pleasure. Your walls clench around his dick which continues to pound into you. Your body heats up and your heart races a hundred beats per second as waves of bliss come crashing through you.

Yoongi molds his lips against yours, kissing you with ardor. As you tremble beneath him, your vision starts to blur and your eyelids fall shut, yet with a few more pumps, Yoongi is releasing himself inside of you, painting your inner walls white with his cum. He collapses on top of you, chest heaving.

Your pussy is bare and battered, but you wouldn’t have it any other way with sticky thighs and Yoongi’s pulsating cock inside of you.

The two of you lie down together in the safety of one another’s arms in an attempt to catch your breath. Your fingers run through his raven locks as he rests his head against your chest, listening to the come down of your beating heart.

In the dead of the night, the air in this tiny space is quiet and still while every other deadbeat in this town runs rampant in the world, yet you wouldn’t have it any other way as long as you are never alone.

1K notes · View notes