#can’t believe we are close to the end of Ramadan

[yoongiseesawmp3]

get you, pt2 - seungcheol (m)

summary: neighbor!seungcheol. after your first date with cheol, you just keep falling harder. you start sharing more and more of your life with him, opening up your heart and home to the prince charming from across the hall. 

word count: 12.2k (part two/?) part one

warnings: afab reader (some gendered terms), nsfr (not safe for ramadan), cussing, smut!!!! fingering, oral (f receiving), protected sappy lovey dovey sex

of course your first date with cheol was perfect. he was a complete gentleman, buying your dinner and waiting patiently at the record store after while you searched through all the new and old releases. he even carried all of your picks just for you to give up half of them because you decided “i don’t need all these albums” right before you checked out. 

even though that was your first date with cheol, it didn’t seem like a first date at all. usually you’re on edge trying to make a good impression while deciding whether you like the guy or not, but this was the easiest date you’ve ever been on. the hard part was ending it. cheol came back to your apartment after, helping you organize your vinyls and cds by your meticulous standards. after teasing you endlessly for your filing system that makes no sense (it’s based on vibes) cheol asked if you had anything to drink, and once again you find yourselves sitting entirely too close and sharing a glass. you put on one of the vinyls you just bought before you sat down, and you sit together in comfortable silence as it plays softly. when it’s time to flip, cheol gets up and does it for you, coming back to sit even closer than he was before with his arm around your shoulders. you’re snug in the corner of your couch, but you shift to try and give cheol more room. instead he just lifts your legs in one arm and drapes them over his lap, comfortably resting his hand on your thigh after.

“this ok?” he asks, looking at you to confirm.

“it’s nice,” you tell him, and he squeezes your thigh in agreement. “what do you think of the album?”

“it’s good,” he nods. “now i understand why you wanted this on your chill shelf and not the funk shelf.”

“it’s chill funk,” you joke, “and that’s too niche for it’s own shelf. but it’s more chill than anything else so it makes sense.”

“or you could just do it by, i don’t know, the alphabet?” cheol asks, holding back a smile.

“that’s boring,” you pout. 

“oh, baby thinks being logical is boring?” cheol pouts back, and you admire his lips for a moment before it clicks: you could just kiss him. you’ve done it before, and you did just go on a date with the man. instead of daydreaming about a kiss, you could just...lean forward and press your lips to his. you sigh into his mouth when your lips connect, and he holds you by the thighs tighter. your hands drape over his broad shoulders, angling him more towards you so it’s easier for you to run your lips over his. you pull back slightly to catch your breath, but cheol’s lips chase yours, still perfectly pouted and an even brighter shade of cherry red than before. you knock your forehead into his, giggling, and he laughs too, asking, “what’s wrong with you? that wasn’t funny.”

“no,” you say, calming your laughs. “i just..can’t really believe i did that. can’t believe we went on a date.”

“neither can i, honestly,” cheol says, and you pull back completely to look at him fully. “well, i mean, i knew it would happen eventually,” he continues. “because i knew i wanted to ask you out. i just didn’t expect you to make the first move.”

“hey!”

“sorry babe,” he shrugs. “but really, next time you wanna go out, just ask me, no need for an elaborate story-”

“that’s it, i’m calling vernon,” you say as you reach for your phone, “i need him to clear my name.” 

“did you tell him we went out anyway?” cheol asks casually, and you stop. “you didn’t, did you?”

“no,” you shake your head sheepishly, and cheol smiles at you. “honestly i didn’t want to be distracted by him teasing me while we were on our date.”

“understandable,” cheol nods. “when i told mingyu we were finally going out i actually had to put my phone on dnd. otherwise gyu would’ve blown it up.”

“god, he’s gonna feel like he made this happen,” you groan, head falling into the crook of cheol’s neck. he smiles at the ticklish feeling of your breath hitting his skin, but he doesn’t ask you to move. “you know, now that i think about it, we have really annoying friends.”

“yeah,” cheol sighs. “but they mean well.”

“whatever,” you reply, closing your eyes to enjoy this moment. the warmth of cheol around you, his scent encasing you with every breath, and the music...it had turned off. when did that happen? you pick your head up and look at your record player and, yep, totally still. 

seungcheol watches your eyes and picks up on your train of thought, saying, “it turned off a while ago. guess we didn’t really notice.”

“oh.”

“yeah.”

the unspoken issue between you now is: who’s going to make the first move to get up? and what happens then? usually cheol just goes home once it’s too late, but you’re dating now, right? so, should you ask him to stay? as always, it’s like he was reading your mind, and he says, “i guess i should go.”

“really?” you ask, your head back on his shoulder looking at him with pleading eyes. “but i’m comfy.”

“yeah, but i’m about to fall asleep,” he laughs, “and you don’t want to be stuck under me when that happens.”

“or do i?” you counter, and a flicker of something crosses his eyes that you can’t read. “i wouldn’t make you sleep on the couch though.”

“noted,” he says quietly, holding your gaze for a moment longer. he squeezes your thigh again, but this time moves you off his lap carefully. “but i should really go back.”

“o-ok,” you say, holding back a yawn as you watch cheol grab his things. “want me to walk you so you don’t get lost?”

“no,” he laughs, “but cmere.”

“what?” you ask, a small smile on your face as you get up and meet him at the door. he wraps an arm around your waist, bringing you close to him as he dips down to kiss you one more time. your eyes flutter closed, and you stay like that long after he pulls away.

“night darling,” he whispers, placing a kiss on your cheek. you open the door for him and watch him cross the hall, leaning on your door with a hand on your cheek where he kissed you. cheol looks back and gives a small wave before he disappears behind his door, and you close your own and smile happily to yourself, realizing that warm feeling in your chest might be here to stay. 

- 

everything about cheol is easy. going on a date with him was easy. kissing him was easy. finding little things that make you realize you’re falling in love with him, that was easy too. 

while your feelings for cheol have been brewing since you met him, the first time you thought this might be love was a couple days after your first date. you were coming home from work, tired and stressed, and you had the scare of your life when you opened the door to your apartment. laid out on your couch, asleep with a book held tightly to his chest, was seungcheol. you yelped a little when you saw the surprise waiting for you, and fred stirs first from his spot by cheol’s feet. his movement wakes your visitor, and he sits up slowly to find you staring at him with confusion and a little fear in your eyes.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, still out of it.

“um? what are you doing here? how’d you get inside?” you ask nervously. “your couch isn’t doing it for you, had to come in here and use mine?”

“oh,” he yawns, sitting up slowly and messing with his mussed hair. if you weren’t so startled you’d be cooing over how cute he looks, but your heart is still slowing from the fright he gave you. “sorry, i should’ve texted you but i didn’t want to worry you at work.”

“what happened?” you ask as you join him on the couch, and his arm wraps around you out of habit. “did someone break in?”

“no, but they could have,” cheol eyes you with a hint of annoyance. “i came back from my run right after you left for work, and i guess fred heard me thinking you were back home so he was whining pretty loud. i almost texted you then, asking if i could come get your keys so i could check on him, but i tried your door and somebody-” a light flick to your forehead “-forgot to lock up before they left.”

“oops?” you try, and when cheol continues looking at you with a hint of disappointment you try rubbing the spot he flicked. “also ouch.”

“oh you’re fine,” he says quickly, kissing the spot on your forehead he flicked. “anyway, i opened the door and fred had gotten sick in the kitchen. i took him out and he was sick again, so i just stayed over here to keep an eye on him. he’s been fine since. did he eat anything weird last night?”

“not that i know of,” you reply, watching cheol closely. “i can’t believe you risked breaking and entering charges for me.”

“it was for fred.”

“well he’s basically my son, so,” you say, trying to hide your smile. “thank you baby, i’m glad he’s got you looking out for him.”

“baby?” cheol smiles. “i don’t think you’ve called me that before.” 

“thought i’d give it a try,” you explain. “figure i’ll have to work my way up to calling you sweetcheeks.” 

“you can call me sweetcheeks now,” he says with a smirk, pushing his cheeks up as he continues, “i mean i am pretty sweet.”

“those aren’t the cheeks i’m talkin about,” you joke, pulling his hands from his face as you wiggle your eyebrows at him. cheol falls back into the couch with a loud laugh, and you kick your feet up onto the couch so you can lean back with him and rest your head on his shoulder. 

“never mind, never call me that please.”

“too bad sweetcheeks, already changed your contact in my phone to it.”

-

even though that wasn’t the first time cheol had shown you he cared for you deeply, it was the first time it made you feel safe with him. protected. looked after. knowing you had cheol, and he had you, that meant the world. so seeing first hand what lengths he was willing to go for you planted that seed telling you this might just be love. for cheol, it was a different story. 

a few days after cheol’s breaking and entering, he had told you he might be a little busier than usual because of school, so you agreed to have a week to yourselves. mostly. just because you didn’t have time for each other doesn’t mean you won’t find ways to sneak over to his to have coffee with him in the morning, or he won’t stop by once he hears you get home from work just for a quick kiss and to hear how your day was. this week was hard though, cheol had his own school stuff to handle with assignments and ta work, but he also had a bunch of music lessons to prepare for because of end of year concerts. he was out of his apartment from sun up to sun down it seemed, and you knew he wouldn’t have time to take care of himself.

all week you tried to figure out the pattern of when cheol would get back home so that you could surprise him on friday. once it got close, you kept the noise in your apartment to a minimum so you could hear cheol as soon as he got to his door. you had spent the night cooking for him, making sure he’d have a nice meal to help him refresh and get ready for what was probably going to be a stressful weekend too. the minute you heard his keys, you threw your door open, making him jump slightly. 

“y/n, hi,” he says, confused. “what are you doing up so late?”

“i’m a night owl, you should know this by now, baby,” you tell him. you almost get distracted by the way he’s dressed, obviously coming back from his ta job since’s in one of his nice button ups and another pair of slacks that highlight his juicy thighs. cheol watches as you practically drool over him, and he clears his throat to get your attention. 

“i feel like this is deja vu from the last time you saw me dressed like this,” he teases, bringing a blush to your cheeks. “what’s up my love?” 

not missing his new nickname for you, you tell him to wait there as you disappear to your kitchen to grab the food you’d made for him. while you were gone, fred sauntered up to the door and cheol crosses the hall to baby talk with him and scratch his ears, further endearing him for you when you return. 

“here,” you say, forcing the two dishes in your arms upon him. “the purple dish can go in the microwave, but heat the green one up in the oven for a few minutes.” you put your hand on his shoulder, using it as leverage to stand on your toes and kiss his cheek. “see you later, sweetcheeks. get some rest.”

“what?” cheol laughs slightly, looking down at the delicious food in his hands. “what is this?” 

“your dinner,” you respond. “i figured you haven’t eaten a healthy meal this week, so i made you one. there should be enough for you to have leftovers, unless you’re hungrier than i expected. anyway, it should take care of you for tonight at least.” 

“but,” he sputters, “you? did you eat?” 

“yes,” you nod, “those of us who finish work at a normal time tend to eat soon after.”

“smart ass,” he smiles, cocking his head toward his door. “come over and watch me eat then. i’ll give you a play by play of how amazing it is.” cheol crosses back to his door, looking back at you still standing at yours. “oh, unless you’re tired?”

“no,” you hesitate. “i just don’t want to bother you, you must be exhausted.”

“baby, come over,” cheol whines, his signature pout coming out. “i miss you, and we’re both gonna be up for a while anyway.” 

“well if you insist,” you say, about to close your door and join him.

“lock your door or so help me,” he laughs, pointing an accusing finger at you from underneath one of your dishes. you groan and say you’ll be over in a second, diving back into your apartment to find your god forsaken keys. 

“so you’re not tired?” you ask as you enter seungcheol’s apartment, closing (and locking) his door behind you. 

“hm, i was,” he starts from the kitchen, and when you walk in your find him with a spoon already stuffed in his mouth. “but i don’t know, some crazy person forced me to take food from them and now i feel fine.” 

“i can go back home-”

“no!” cheol shouts, grabbing you by the waist before you can make a move. “stay. for just a little bit. i’m making you a plate whether you like it or not.” 

“i already ate,” you assure him. 

“then i’ll just take what you don’t want,” he solves the problem easily, and you wrap your arms around him and lean into his chest as you wait for the food to finish.

“i missed you,” you mumble into his shirt, appreciating how it still smells like him even after a long day. “you shouldn’t work so much, because it wears you out, obviously, but i don’t think it’s fair for us to spend so much time apart all in the same week.” then, looking up at him with your chin still on his chest, “what if i forget what you look like?”

“then take a picture, darling,” he teases, booping your nose just before the microwave beeps. he pulls you off of him so he can take the food out, putting a healthy amount on both plates he’s got on the counter. you peek into the oven and check on the rest of the food, and you feel a hand graze your ass as seungcheol moves quietly behind you.

“hey!” you shout, “you touched my butt!” 

“huh?” he plays innocent. “wasn’t me, promise. i must have a ghost.”

“tell your ghost i’m taken,” you reply, looking for oven mitts. cheol reads your mind and hands you one from the drawer behind him, and you remove the second dish from the oven.

“about that,” cheol starts off, watching you give his plate more food than you put on yours. you turn around, handing him his plate, while you wait for him to go on. “can i start calling you my girlfriend?”

“yeah, i’ve been calling you my boyfriend,” you say simply, walking past him to hop up into one of the chairs at the bar on the other side of the kitchen. you watch him as you take a couple bites, hiding a smile as he opens his mouth in shock.

“who have you told?!”

“mostly vernon,” you reply. “but tahi and jen have asked, so i assume some of the guys have heard it too. wonwoo at least, not sure about gyu.” 

“so am i the last one to know about this?” he asks as he takes the empty seat next to you. 

“guess so, boyfriend,” you tell him, nudging his arm before you say, “now eat.”

in between bites, and telling you how great the food is, cheol tells you about his week. school was hard, being a ta was harder, but the highlights were his music lessons. he mostly does piano, which is easy for him he claims, but there’s a couple violin lessons he looks forward to more. there’s one kid though, a family friend he tells you, who wants to learn how to rap and produce. cheol lights up as he talks about him, and you watch fondly as he gets so excited over his little prodigy learning how to layer tracks or discovering what an 808 is. you’re interested in what he’s saying, really, but the late hour and your own hard work catches up to you and makes you yawn.

“you should go to sleep,” cheol says, finishing the last bite of food off your plate. “thank you for the food, my love. this made my week.”

“you’re welcome,” you reply with another yawn. “are you gonna head to bed too?”

“honestly, i’m not tired anymore,” cheol laughs, and you groan as you lean into his side. he uses his leg to bring your chair closer to his, finding your hands so he can play with your fingers. “guess all i needed was some time with my baby and i feel back to 100 percent.”

“while i think that’s very precious,” you start, “i’m upset i did this now because i know you probably won’t go to sleep for a while.”

“eh, it’s fine,” cheol shrugs. “it was worth it. i can always take a sleeping pill too, that’ll knock me out.” 

“you stay stocked up?” you joke, surprised that’s such a casual option for him but he nods before he explains. 

“i’ve got insomnia, so i use them every once in a while. i can’t go straight to sleep unless my body and mind are exhausted.” 

“so you haven’t used them this week i assume?” 

“no, i haven’t,” he laughs. “but it’s not a big deal if i use one tonight. i don’t feel like wearing myself out before bed so this is fine.” 

“what do you usually do?” you ask. “if you don’t wanna take a pill, i mean. how do you get yourself tired enough to go to sleep?”

“i’ll do a workout, or if it’s not too late i’ll go for a run,” he explains. “but mostly i work out. or uh, exhaust myself another way.” he clears his throat at that, grabbing your empty plates to take them to the sink. you watch as he washes them diligently, and you say something that gets drowned out by the water. “what was that babe?”

“if you ever need help, uh, wearing yourself out,” you say delicately, cheol smirking at you trying to be subtle about it. “if you ever need help i’m probably up. you could just, um, you could just call me. next time.”

“next time,” cheol says, almost like a question, and you nod. 

“yeah, next time.” 

“alright baby,” he smiles at you softly, his heart thudding in his chest as it hits him: he’s in love with you. he realizes he’s just been staring at you this whole time, and he clears his head by wiping the newly clean dishes off. “um, do you want your dishes back? i can-”

“keep em,” you shrug. “it’s not like i won’t be back over here soon.” 

“right,” he smiles, his heart pitter pattering softly. “want me to walk you home?”

“oh, so you can walk me home but i can’t walk you?” you scoff, and he just glides around the counter to grab your wrist and pull you toward the door anyway. he takes you back across the hall, tucking some hair behind your ear before he cups your face and kisses you goodnight. 

“night darling,” he says, sugar dripping from his voice. “and thank you, i loved this little surprise.”

“i’ll do it more often then,” you smile back at him, unlocking your door and waving before it closes behind you. 

-

that weekend, tahi and jen come over for a girls night, insisting you need it knowing how much you’ve worked lately. you neglect to tell seungcheol though, so when he finishes with his music lessons for the day he crosses the hall and knocks on your door as usual just to be met with screams to go away.

laughing, you answer the door, clad in what cheol notices is a brand new keroppi pajama set. as his eyes rake up your body, he smiles and you can see the beginnings of a joke forming on his lips when he notices the curlers in your hair.

“hey sexy,” he smiles wider, hand reaching up to play with a poor strand of neglected hair hanging by itself. “you missed a spot.”

“do not mock me,” you warn him, finger not so threateningly pressed into his chest. “i can never reach the back of my head so the girls are helping me.”

“you know i could help you?” cheol laughs. “i’m your boyfriend, i think that’s within my official capacity.”

“yeah, but if i let you see me getting ready like this then it ruins the movie magic.”

“baby if you were a movie i’d be watching the extended cut and all the behind the scenes,” cheol jokes, and he hears boos from your living room. that’s when he peeks inside and notices jen on the couch, also wearing a pajama set of her government assigned sanrio character (cinnamoroll). “hey jen.”

“tahi’s here too,” you tell him, and he looks around but you say, “in the kitchen. i think she’s making tea.”

“ooo, tea sounds great,” cheol says as he tries to walk into your apartment, and you do your best to use your smaller frame to stop him. “baby, what are you doing?”

“girls night,” you say sternly. “no boys allowed.”

“no boys?” he pouts, and you can hear tahi telling you to be strong. 

“no boys,” you confirm with a nod, and cheol pinches your cheek.

“fine. where’s fred then?” 

“what?”

“if you’re having girls night then me and fred are gonna have boys night,” cheol says. “gimme his toys, he’s sleeping at my house.”

“NO,” jen shouts, “you can’t take him, he’s the only reason i came over!”

“hey!” you and tahi whine, and with the distraction cheol is able to grab fred’s leash from the wall and call for his partner in crime. fred happily gets up from beneath jen’s feet to meet cheol at the door, going along with whatever happens. you sigh as you notice how excited fred looks, so you trudge through your apartment grabbing whatever fred may need to spend the night with your annoying boyfriend. 

“here,” you grumble, shoving a bag into cheol’s eager hands. he looks just as excited as fred, so that softens the blow a little bit. “you two have fun. don’t stay up too late, don’t talk to strangers, and please don’t lose my dog.”

“i would never,” cheol scoffs, leaning in to give you a kiss. “i know you’d break up with me if anything happened to him and i won’t allow that.”

“hm, whatever you say. just come back in one piece tomorrow morning,” you tell him and he nods. 

“that i can do,” and then to fred, “let’s go buddy! boys night boys night!” chanting all the way across the hall to his door. you watch them with an idiotic grin on your face, and when you close your door you hear someone clearing their throat. you turn around to see tahi and jen both staring at you expectantly, and confused you simply ask, “what?”

“you know you’re in love with him, right?” jen asks, and you balk.

“i am not,” you reply quickly, and then you backtrack, “i mean, i like him, obviously, he’s my boyfriend. i should like him. i do. a lot. but love? i don’t love him. yet. maybe. do i?”

“yeah, you’re definitely in love with him,” tahi says as she hands you your mug of tea before she kicks off her my melody slippers and takes what’s usually cheol’s spot on the couch. “anyone can see it.”

“do you think cheol knows?” you ask, nervous. 

“maybe,” jen shrugs. “if you were oblivious about it then maybe he is too.”

“nah, he’s been in love with her since day one,” tahi says. “you know that saying, if he wanted to he would? cheol has been the embodiment of that for y/n. i don’t know any other man that would move furniture for me after not even knowing me for five minutes.”

“cheol’s just really nice,” you mumble, and your friends nod. 

“i think he’s a jerk,” jen says, and you turn to look at her just for her to say, “i can’t believe he stole fred from me.”

“oh just go over there if you miss him so much,” you groan. jen thinks about it for a second, you can see the gears turning in her head. “oh my god you’re not really gonna ditch us for my dog are you?”

“no,” she says finally. “but i’m staying for lunch tomorrow. i need to get my fred time in.”

“fine, weirdo. what movie are we gonna watch?”

-

after your night of being annoying with your friends, you wake up the next day shockingly early and a feeling hits you deep in the chest: you miss cheol. or fred. or both. you lay in your bed for a moment trying to decipher which one it is when you remember that you can just go over there and see them. cheol isn’t usually an early riser, but you know fred has probably needed to go out already, so you slide into your robe and slippers hoping that cheol will let you in when you knock. 

you quietly make it through the living room, hopefully not disturbing your friends (because they would ridicule you for what you’re about to do). once you’re at cheol’s door, subconsciously you just reach out to open it, still a little sleep clouding your brain. but it opens. his door was unlocked, and for a second your heart drops to your ass thinking something is wrong. you step into cheol’s apartment worried, searching for your boys and any missing valuables. nothing looks wrong in the living room, so you keep going until you find his bedroom door ajar. you push it open, and let out a quiet “awww” at the sight before you.

fred is laying on cheol’s chest, a situation you’re familiar with, because he obviously wants to get up and play but cheol is to tired for that. both their heads turn at the sound of your voice, and fred’s tail starts wagging as cheol tries his best to sit up and look at you better.

“baby?” he asks, reaching out for you. “what’s wrong?”

“oh nothing,” you say nonchalantly, shuffling over to his bed to join them. “i just missed you.” cheol’s heart jumps into his throat at your words, but then you try to recover. “i mean fred. i missed fred.”

“sure,” he smiles, grabbing your hands once you’re close enough and pulling you down into his bed. “cmere. we missed you too.”

“that’s sweet,” you coo, letting him pull you against him, his arms wrapping around you as fred situates himself at your feet. “but you wanna hear something shocking?”

“what?” cheol asks, confused. “you missed me so much it hurt?” 

blushing, because that was totally true, you reply, “no?”

“what then?”

“how do you think i got in here, sweetcheeks?” you ask, and the realization dawns on his face. “mister why-don’t-you-ever-lock-your-door forgot his own number one rule.”

“guess i’ve been spending too much time with you, your bad habits are rubbing off on me,” cheol mumbles into your hair, placing a kiss at the top of your head when he’s done.

“too much time?” you ask, sitting up, “i can leave then-”

“don’t you dare,” cheol growls, basically koala-grabbing you with his arms and legs so you have to lay back down. “can’t leave. ‘m comfy.”

“i have to though,” you grumble, struggling to get out of his strong hold. “i left my friends alone in my apartment. they could be stealing.”

“they’re probably still asleep.”

“but i promised i would make waffles-”

“waffles?” cheol asks, suddenly interested. “i like waffles.”

“hm.”

“let me come with you and i’ll let you go.”

“they’re gonna make fun of us.”

“whatever, we can just make out to make them uncomfortable,” cheol jokes, a shit eating grin on his face that you know is at least half serious.

“promise you won’t be weird around my friends and you can come,” you warn him, and he gives you his best puppy dog eyes, pout and all. “fine, let’s go.”

back at your apartment, you and cheol do your best to get into the kitchen without waking your guests but fred ruins it by booping noses with them just to say hey. jen is thrilled that he’s back so she stays in the living room, but tahi wanders into the kitchen and watches with a smile on her face as you and cheol work on the waffles together.

“what happened to girls night?” tahi teases, and you glare at her while cheol responds.

“this one just missed me too much,” he sighs, earning a slap to the arm. “but it’s not night anymore. it’s-” checking the oven clock “-ten in the morning, so girls night is over. do you want chocolate chips in your waffles?”

“please,” tahi nods, and cheol reaches around you, hand on your waist, to grab the bag of sweets. cheol adds some chocolate to the bowl he’s working on as tahi goes back out to join jen, and while cheol waits for the waffle iron to heat up he comes back to your side. 

he dips his finger into the batter you’re working on and almost moans at the taste, asking, “what did you put in here to make it so good??”

“cinnamon? i don’t know really, i just started adding stuff,” you reply. “is it that good?”

“mhm, taste it,” he says, dipping his finger back in and presenting it to you. nervously, you lean forward and wrap your lips around his finger, licking the batter off as you hold eye contact with him. there’s electricity in the air around you as you pull back, and with a new deepness to his voice, cheol asks, “what do you think?”

“i think it needs more vanilla,” you squeak out, and cheol holds your gaze for a second longer before he nods. 

“i think you’re right,” he says, finding the bottle of extract and taking over the work for you. you just watch on, heart beating quickly in your chest, as you try to calm down from whatever that was. 

-

cheol’s bold move in the kitchen changed things. obviously you’ve thought about the physical side of your relationship, but so far it hasn’t naturally gone further than making out a little bit or grabbing each other’s butts. now though? you can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened if you and cheol had gone further. you catch yourself daydreaming about his hands and what they could do, and that leads you down a deep dark hole. you’re not sure how to bring it up to cheol though.

but you really should bring it up, because he’s thinking the same things. the way your lips wrapped around his finger has been bouncing around in his mind ever since. his brain reminds him of it at the worst times, and if he lets his mind wander he starts thinking about what else you could wrap your lips around. he wants so badly to say something, but doesn’t want to rush you into anything. so in silence you both wait for the other person to make a move.

that is, until the following friday when you get invited to a party at mingyu’s house. he’s known to find the most random reasons to throw parties, so you’re not even sure what the occasion is this time. you do know that cheol is excited about going as a couple, so you can’t say no. since you don’t totally understand the theme, you need reinforcements, so you stalk across the hall and bang on your boyfriend’s door.

“how exactly am i supposed to dress for a ‘spring equinox’ party?” you ask cheol as soon as he opens his door. 

“um, warmly?” he guesses, toweling off his wet hair. that’s when you notice he’s just wearing his boxers, his broad chest still glistening with the remains of his shower. your mind starts to wander again, and you physically shake your head to help you focus. “at least that’s what mingyu’s text said.”

“but it’s still cold outside,” you counter, then pause. “do you answer the door for strangers in your boxers?”

“no?” he laughs. “you’re the only person who knocks on my door, so i knew it was you. in case you were jealous of the world getting to see this,” he explains, doing a little shimmy at the end. 

“you’re not helping,” you groan. “what are you wearing?”

“shorts and a t shirt?” he guesses. “maybe a jacket just on the way there. but mingyu is very serious about his themes, babe, so i don’t think you can get out of this one.”

“fine,” you sigh, turning back to your door. “i’ll wear something hot.”

that you did! when cheol finishes up at his, he grabs his things and tries your door, shocked that it’s locked for once. he texts you that he’s outside, let him in pretty please, and when you open the door it takes his breath away. he’s never seen you so scantily clad before, and he finds himself staring with his mouth open. trying his best not to have the same reaction as a high school boy, he just checks you out calmly and jokes, “when you said you were dressing hot i didn’t think you meant sexy.”

“please,” you roll your eyes, “this is not sexy.”

“beg to differ,” cheol replies, looking you up and down once again. you’re wearing shorts, which he realizes now he’s never seen you in before, and he’s admiring your thighs and your ass, but the tight tank top you paired with the shorts accentuates your chest just the right way. he’s trying not to imagine what it would be like to bury his face in between-

“i’m ready,” you say finally, and cheol whines when he turns to look at you. 

“why’d you put more clothes on?” he complains, openly hating the large button up you’ve added on top.

“it’s cold outside!” you whine, and he tsks. “you’re so weird. most guys would want their girlfriend to hide the goods.”

“not me,” he shakes his head. “i want everyone to be jealous of what they can’t have, so i vote no shirt.”

“i’ll take it off at the party, deal?” you ask. “i don’t wanna be cold on the way.”

“i could keep you warm,” cheol offers, and there’s that tension again. he holds your gaze, challenging you to take up on his offer. you’re about to cave when your phone buzzes with a text from tahi, asking when you’d be there. 

“um, we should go,” you say as you clear your throat. “sounds like we might be late.” 

“hm, shame,” cheol sighs, opening your door for you. “go ahead. i’ll lock up.”

“you just wanna stare at my ass while i walk, don’t you?”

“you know me well, darling.”

-

at the party, you’re greeted by a shirtless mingyu at the door. he pulls you in quickly, dragging you to the kitchen to meet his new “friend” ali. she smiles politely, happy to meet more of the posse mingyu talks about so much. 

“she makes the best drinks, what’s that weird donkey drink you like y/n?” mingyu asks, and you laugh.

“a mule?” you reply, and he nods. 

“yeah, she can make you one!” you look to mingyu’s special lady and she nods, getting to work.

“are you a bartender?” you ask, finding cheol over by wonwoo. he smiles at you sweetly, and you smile back.

“no,” ali replies, “i just got really into making cocktails after the pandemic. got a whole mixology kit and thought i’d try it out. now it’s my party trick, i guess.” as she finishes, she hands you your “donkey drink” and you take a sip.

“oh, this is perfect,” you say happily. “i’ll be seeing you again later, my friend.”

“sure thing,” ali smiles, and you leave her with mingyu, who literally has puppy dog eyes as he looks at her in amazement. you laugh to yourself, happy that your friends will have someone new to tease for being in love. you walk over to join cheol and wonwoo in the living room, linking your arm with cheol’s as you listen to their conversation. 

“i’m just saying, he’s weird, man,” cheol starts. “who throws a party practically in the middle of winter and makes us wear summer clothes?” 

“i think he just wanted an excuse to be shirtless in front of that girl,” you point out, and the guys nod.

“or, crazy thought, there’s a whole season in between winter and summer,” wonwoo says, looking back at cheol. “and it’s about to start. maybe that’s why he’s having a spring equinox party.”

“that’s my point,” cheol whines, lips forming his signature pout. “who does that! what does equinox even mean!”

“it happens when the sun crosses-” wonwoo starts, and cheol whines again, head falling to your shoulder.

“baby make him stop, i don’t want a science lesson,” he says, arms wrapping around your waist as he turns into your neck. you and wonwoo share a look, yours trying to apologize for cheol’s behavior and wonwoo’s just amused by the sight before him. he says something about going to find tahi, and you’re left alone with your clingy boyfriend.

“what is your problem,” you laugh, trying and failing to push cheol off of you.

“you are,” he pouts again. “you look too good and there’s too many people here for me to make out with you without being self conscious.”

“outside?” you suggest, and cheol looks at you mischievously. 

“thought you said it was cold out.”

“i thought you said you could keep me warm?”

-

while it’s not the balcony that you and cheol shared your first kiss on, you find yourself in a similar situation a few seconds later. you easily snuck out without anyone noticing, cheol even managing to grab a bottle of soju for you to share as you passed by the kitchen. it’s neglected at first, because the second you slide the door closed, cheol’s hands are gripping your cheeks and pulling your lips to his. you sigh into the kiss, instantly warming at the contact. you kiss him until you need a breather, and you pull back with a dopey smile on your face as you admire the man before you. 

“hey, you’re cute,” you whisper, laughing when he blushes.

“you’re cuter,” he counters, leaning down to grab the soju he placed by the door before he takes a swig and hands it to you. “i didn’t bring cups, hope that’s okay.” 

“we just swapped spit, we can share a bottle,” you reply, taking it from him and having a healthy drink yourself. you keep passing it back and forth between you, cheol asking for a kiss every once in a while in exchange for the bottle. when it’s finally empty, he moves like he’s going back into the party, but you stop him. “wait, let’s stay out here for a minute.”

“okay,” cheol nods. “you’re not cold?”

“a little,” you shrug, placing your hands on the cool railing. “but i’m a little drunk so that’s helping.” cheol is quiet for a second and you’re comfortable just admiring the night sky like this, but his strong arms wrap around you and pull you into his chest.

“warm now?” he checks, and you nod. you relax in his arms, one of your hands reaching up to hold onto his. cheol places a kiss to the top of your head, and in that moment you feel yourself wanting to say that you love him. you don’t though, afraid to break the silence surrounding you and risk ruining the moment. so instead, you just nod and take a deep breath. 

you’re not sure how much time passes with you standing like this, cheol eventually swaying you back and forth to the beat of whatever playlist mingyu has going inside. eventually, the music gets louder, and you realize together that someone must have opened the door to the balcony. looking back you see a smug vernon there, ready to crack a joke, but you beat him to it. 

“what’s up, champ?” you ask and he smiles. 

“your favorite person is here,” he replies, and you gasp, unraveling yourself from cheol’s grasp. you follow vernon back inside, eyes searching for one of his friends that you always love seeing. when your eyes land on seungkwan you almost scream, rushing forward to pull him into a hug. you both start talking a mile a minute, trying to catch up over the past few months all in a few seconds. 

cheol comes in from the balcony, empty bottle in his hand, and he stops next to vernon. he notices cheol’s rigid posture as he watches you and seungkwan, making vernon laugh.

“don’t be jealous, dude,” vernon assures him. “me, y/n and seungkwan were all really close in college, but he’s not interested. it’s just been a while since he’s visited so you can understand why she’s so excited.”

“yeah, i get it,” cheol nods. 

he stands for another moment, watching you closely, before turning away and mumbling about finding a recycling bin. in the kitchen he makes you both new drinks, taking yours over so he can meet your friend. he’s not jealous that you’re talking to a guy, really. he’s just jealous that vernon called this dude your favorite person. wasn’t that supposed to be cheol? he makes it back to the couch where you’re listening intently to seungkwan telling a story, and he perches on the arm of the couch behind you as he hands you a drink. you reach back and grab his hand, kissing his palm, and the gesture makes seungkwan stop cold.

“you’re joking,” he says, looking between you and cheol. “don’t tell me this is the boyfriend you mentioned.”

“he is,” you say proudly. “kwan, meet cheol, cheol meet seungkwan.”

“hey,” cheol nods. 

“hi,” he says quickly. “can i be blunt?”

“sure?” cheol says, unsure of what’s coming next.

“what does someone like you see in someone like y/n?” he asks in disbelief, and you push him so hard he falls back into a sleeping hoshi. jen left him for a few minutes, hopefully to go grab him some water, so when he notices his girlfriend is gone his bottom lip starts to quiver. you push seungkwan again and say, “look what you did, you made the baby cry.”

“he’ll get over it,” he waves it off. “i’m sorry. but come on. this is a joke right?”

“no,” you whine. “cheol is my boyfriend, get over it.”

“you’ve changed, y/n,” seungkwan shakes his head. “this is the first time i’ve met one of your boyfriends and haven’t immediately wanted to talk shit about him with vernon.”

“i hate you,” you say, trying to stand up, but cheol lightly pushes you back down.

“no, let the man speak,” he smirks, and you groan as you fall back into the couch. you down your drink as seungkwan tells cheol embarrassing stories about your past, and cheol plays with your hair as he listens at full attention.

“i’m getting another drink,” you mumble, standing up and allowing cheol to take your place. he’s listening to seungkwan describe a date that he and vernon had to save you from, because the guy was an hour late to a movie and you didn’t want to watch it by yourself nor waste the ticket that you already paid for. you mentally curse vernon for inadvertently bringing the two together, and when you get back into the kitchen you find mingyu and his friend making out. “oh, sorry.”

“y/n, my bad,” mingyu says, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

“you’re good, pretend i’m not here,” you reply as you grab things randomly and pour them into your cup. you take a sip, satisfied with the sweet taste, and you walk back out to find cheol in the same place. his face lights up when he sees you, smiling all the way up to his eyes as you get closer. there’s not much room on the couch, so you try to sit on the arm like cheol did earlier, but he’s not having that. he pulls you down by the waist to sit in his lap, and you shriek when your drink spills. 

“shit,” cheol grumbles, “i’m sorry baby, here let me help-”

“it’s fine,” you say, holding your drink out to him. he takes it and you slip your button up off, tossing it over the back of the couch. “it was just the sleeve, i’m good now i think.”

“you look great,” cheol says, complete with a sneaky smile. he pulls you closer, his arm wrapping around you easily as he says lowly, “been waitin all night for you to take that off.”

something about his words and the tight hold he has on you all sends a wave of goosebumps over your skin. you shift in his lap, trying to create some space, but the friction of your ass rubbing over his crotch just has the beginnings of a boner poking through cheol’s shorts. you look at him in shock, and he’s staring back at you darkly. 

“are you alright?” you ask, and he nods. 

“great, you?” 

“mhm,” you agree, taking a sip of your drink. cheol watches you like he’s trying to ingrain this moment in his memory, closely staring at the way your lips meet the cup and how your tongue pokes out to lick your lips when you’re done. you offer the cup to him, wanting his attention off of you for a moment, and as he takes a sip you lay your head down on his shoulder, just trying to get a moment to breathe. 

the next thing you know, cheol is waking you up, saying that it’s probably time for you to leave. you only dozed off for a little while, he explains, but the party was slowly dying out and cheol wanted to get you home. your shirt is still soaked though, so at the door cheol slides off the tacky hawaiian shirt he’s been wearing all night and wraps it around your shoulders. you say your goodbyes and head back to the car, cheol’s arm wrapped around your shoulders. 

“sorry i got tired at the end,” you yawn. “we could’ve stayed longer.” 

“no, it’s ok,” cheol assures you. “i think mingyu was ready to kick us all out anyway.” 

“yeah, i noticed we’re not the hot new couple anymore,” you joke, and cheol smiles. “are you tired though? you wanna do something-” yawn “-before we go home?”

“no baby,” he says fondly, “you need to go to bed. and wonwoo finally found me and explained what an equinox is so i think my brain is tapped out for the night too.”

“ok, because we could go get food or-”

“no baby,” he repeats, kissing your cheek. “i’m good, really. let’s go home.”

in the car you dozed off again, and cheol quietly admired you as he tried to calm himself down. he had definitely popped a boner with you sitting in his lap, and his skin was still on fire from the feeling of your ass grinding against him, even if the movement was completely innocent. he uses the ride home to get his heartbeat back to normal, and when he opens your door to walk you home you never would’ve known all the nasty thoughts running through his head. he takes you to your door, kissing you goodnight before he disappears into his apartment. you take care of fred and then work on yourself, wanting to sober up a little before you go to bed. so you take a shower and start a load of laundry, hoping your shirt didn’t stain at the party. once you’re done and laying in bed finally, you can’t seem to close your eyes for long. your mind keeps trailing back to cheol, and his big arms wrapped around you, and how it felt being so close to him with his breath fanning over your neck, and-

there’s a knock at your door. 

you lay still for a moment, but when the knock comes again you relax, knowing it must be cheol. maybe he forgot something, you think as you trudge to your door. or did he not kiss you goodnight? you thought he did but maybe not. you open the door finally, and he’s standing there in what you assume are his sleep clothes, hair a mess and a darkly inviting look in his eyes.

“i can’t sleep,” he says simply. “can you help me?”

“hm, and how would i do that?” you play coy, leaning against your door frame. smirking, you look up at cheol who’s taken a step closer to you, hands coming up to hold you by the waist. 

“take me to your room and i’ll show you?” he smiles back, already walking with you back into your apartment. he kicks the door closed behind him, locking it swiftly while you watch him and let him lead you wherever. “tell me baby, what do you like?”

“cheol,” you blush, bringing your hands up to push him away but he pulls you closer and basically growls into your ear.

“you want this, right?” he confirms. “you want me?”

“of course i do,” you nod, and you can feel him smiling against your neck.

“then tell me what i should do to drive you crazy,” he starts, starting at your collarbone and trailing kisses up your neck. “tell me what you love, tell me what you hate, i wanna know it all.”

“i’ll give you a study guide,” you tease.

“you joke but i would take that seriously.”

“i know.”

“i’d make flashcards,” he smiles, “carry em around. practice when i get bored.”

“i get it,” you laugh, realizing that you’re at the doorway to your room. “you gonna take me to bed or what?”

“kiss me first,” he whispers, looking up at you sweetly. you lean in, your hands cupping his cheeks as your lips meet. as you make out you pull cheol back to your bed until the backs of your knees collide with your mattress. you sit down, pulling cheol with you. he eagerly crawls on top of you, caging you in. he pulls away as he hovers above you, admiring the way you look laying beneath him. “hey.”

“hello,” you wave, and his head falls into your neck as he laughs.

“you’re beautiful, do i tell you that enough?” he mumbles into your skin, and you’re glad he’s not watching you blush the deepest shade of red.

“you tell me plenty, love.”

“i’m gonna start saying it more,” he tells you, sitting up again so he’s hovering above you. “because you are.”

“every time you do i’m just gonna remind you of your dreaminess,” you reply, and he nods. 

“deal,” he agrees, dipping back down to capture your lips again. he lowers himself on top of you so he can use one arm to support himself while the other grabs the hem of your shirt. “take this off baby.”

“bossy,” you tease. “i like it.”

“noted,” cheol says, catching your eye again. “i can be bossier.”

“show me.”

“ok,” he says as he sits up completely, thick thighs straddling your legs. “take your shirt off and then keep your hands above your head. don’t move or i’ll stop.”

you do as he says, pulling your sleep shirt off before you toss it somewhere in your room. as you lay back down you notice cheol’s taken his shirt off, and you admire him while he does the same. you’re not wearing a bra so cheol watches intently, tracing every curve of your chest with his eyes.

“can’t believe this is the first time i’ve seen your tits,” he whispers, hands reaching up carefully to caress them. his thumbs rub delicately over your nipples, earning a breathy moan from you. “come on baby, gonna have to be louder for me.”

“then you’re gonna have to work for it,” you tell him, staring at him above you. you watch as his eyes shift, getting darker, and he dives in to kiss you again. this one is hungrier, full teeth nipping at your lips and cheol’s eager hands tweaking your nipples. you’re squirming beneath him, and he moans into your mouth when you brush up against the bulge in his boxers. 

“careful baby,” he mumbles, “don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“but,” you gently push him away, “i thought this was for you? you’re the one that needs help, right?”

“yeah, but,” he stops to kiss you again, “i think we’re both enjoying this.”

“duh, but i want to help you,” you say, “wanna make you feel good. let me get on top.”

“no,” he says sternly, grabbing your wrists and placing your hands above your head again. “i’m in charge tonight. that’s how you can help me, yeah? just do as i say. and don’t move your hands again, baby, want you to be good for me.”

“or what, i’ll get punished?” you dramatically pout, and cheol pinches both your nipples in response. you buck up, a low whine coming from deep within your chest. 

“wasn’t planning on it, but hey, if you deserve it,” cheol smirks, kissing you one more time before he trails his lips down your jawline and to your neck. he starts marking your neck, and you let out a shaky breath as you feel his hand trail to your panties. he looks up at you, silently asking for permission and you tell him it’s okay. his fingers dip into your panties, gasping when he’s met with the arousal seeping out of you. “you’re so wet darlin, this all for me?”

“mhm,” you whine, wiggling your hips to try and get more friction. “need more cheol.”

he listens, swiping some of your slick on his fingers before finding your clit. he rubs it in light circles, giving you some relief but not enough. you blubber out another whine, and then cheol dips his hand down to your core. he tests the waters, slowly easing one finger into you, and your hands fly down to his head so they can grab onto something. you pull his hair, earning a moan as he bites into your neck harder, and then you feel him slip a second finger between your walls. you moan softly as he works you closer to your high, getting louder as he strokes just the right spot inside you. 

“cheol, baby, feels so good,” you moan, lifting your hips to get him deeper.

“stay still,” he growls, grabbing one of your hands from the back of his head and pinning it beside you. he keeps working at your core but he lowers himself further, puckering his plump lips around one of your nipples. he kisses and licks your hardened bud until he gets bored and moves onto the next one, moaning at the taste and feeling of your soft skin on his tongue. you use your free hand to play with your neglected nipple, breathing faster as you get closer to your orgasm. cheol picks up on it quickly, staring up at you like the finest piece of art as he whispers, “are you close baby?” all you can do is nod, already at a loss for words, so he asks, “think you can come for me like this?” you whine and stare down at him, shaking your head, so he lets go of your hand and brings his your lips. he presents you with two fingers, asking you to suck. you welcome them into your mouth, groaning as he picks up speed with his other hand. when cheol’s satisfied with your work, he brings his saliva coated fingers down to your clit to rub tight circles on top of it. the whole time he watches you closely, memorizing the way you breathe, the way your eyes roll into the back of your head, and committing every sound you make to memory. he can feel you clenching around his fingers as you come, and with a toe curling orgasm you reach your high. cheol slowly works you through it, calming his movements until your breathing settles again. you look down at him and smile, hands carding through his hair.

“sorry i couldn’t keep my hands to myself,” you whisper out. “but that was amazing.”

“yeah?” cheol asks, and you nod. “you think you can give me another?” 

“cheol, let me do something for you-”

“you are,” he insists, crawling down your body until his face is level with your soaked panties. “let me eat you out and come for me again, that’s what you can do for me. alright princess?”

“princess?” you smile, and cheol hums in agreement. “i guess i can do that.”

cheol pulls your panties down then, groaning at the sight of your puffy pussy lips covered in your release. he can’t wait to devour you, but he needs one more thing before he can get started. he reaches for your hands and plants them in his hair, earning a confused noise from you. he looks up between your legs before he explains, “want you to pull my hair. i don’t know what i was thinking telling you not to touch me. don’t think i can keep going without your hands on me somehow.”

“needy,” you tease, and he hums as he lowers himself back down to your core. 

“you’re dripping for me so who’s really the needy one?” he asks, swiping a finger through your folds before he pops it into his mouth, moaning at the taste. “ready baby?” 

“please,” you whine, using your hands threaded through his hair to push his face into your core. his nose bumps at your clit and your hips rise farther into his touch. delicately, he swipes his tongue from your clit to your entrance, his own hips trying to find some sort of attention as he grinds into the bed. he goes top to bottom once again, this time dipping his tongue into your entrance. you moan his name breathlessly as you feel his tongue at your core, one of his hands coming up to play with your clit. “cheol...”

“mm?”

“too much,” you warn, loving the way his tongue is devouring you but worried that the extra attention to your clit might make you come too soon. “gonna come.”

“isn’t that the point?” cheol smiles at you evilly, his lips and chin coated in your arousal. 

“i mean, yeah,” you squeak out as he dives back in. “b-but i should make you feel g-good. you-ah, you needed the help.”

“baby,” he says seriously, looking up at you once again. “please. i’m enjoying the hell out of myself. you can help me out soon, yeah?” you nod, and he’s satisfied. “alright then. tell me when you’re gonna come.”

he goes back to his original position, thumb carefully stroking your clit and sending electricity straight through you while his tongue teases your entrance, obscenely slurping at your lips as he plays with you like a toy. you’re so caught up in the way he’s making you feel you almost don’t notice the extra attention, cheol’s free hand slipping down to join his tongue at your entrance. he fucks into you with his tongue, a finger slowly joining him, and then he pulls his mouth from you completely as he goes back to stroking that one spot inside you. he backs off of your clit too, and you sigh thinking you’ve gotten a chance to catch your breath. that’s short lived, because you feel his tongue flicking over your clit instead, playing with it just the right way that you feel the coil in your stomach starting to come undone. he puckers his lips around your clit, sucking lightly, and your hands tighten in his hair, encouraging him to suck at your clit again, adding another finger while he’s at it. you’re coming again, cheol making out with your pussy as you come, chanting his name over and over again. 

“fuck,” cheol groans, wiping your release from his face with the back of his hand. “you’re so warm baby. and sweet. can’t get enough of you.”

“fuck me then,” you say boldly, opening your legs wider to welcome his hips. cheol leans over you and grabs you by the knees, bringing them up to your chest.

“hold these outta the way for me princess,” he growls, watching the way your pussy clenches, waiting to take him. he pulls his boxers down, stroking himself as he asks, “shit, do you have a condom?” you nod. “where?”

“bedside table, in the drawer,” you answer simply. you watch as cheol hops out of bed and slides his boxers down his legs, biting your lip at the sight of his ass on display. he finds the condoms and chuckles, making you ask, “what’s so funny?”

“i genuinely don’t know if these will fit, honey,” he replies, shaking the foil packet above you. 

“well can you try?” you ask suspiciously, looking down at his cock as he rolls the condom over it and your eyes bulge when you see it fully for the first time. “whoa.”

“whoa?” cheol laughs, sliding the condom down his length. “that’s not reassuring. you still want me to fuck you?”

“even more so,” you nod, opening your legs wider to accommodate cheol’s hips. he slots himself over you, slapping his cock over your pussy as your hips chase his. “stop teasing.”

“stop complaining,” he counters, sliding his cock up to rub your clit, earning a choked moan from you. “you sure i prepped you enough? need me to go back down there and check?”

“cheol,” you whine loudly, bucking your hips up so his tip will bump into your clit again. “fuck me please. wanna feel you.”

“since you said please,” he smiles, taking his cock by the base and guiding it into your core. he thrusts into you slowly, hissing at the feeling of your walls swallowing his cock. you’re left speechless, not used to someone so big. you catch yourself holding you breath and take a deep inhale, core flexing even more around cheol. “fuck, do that again.” you obey, clenching around him a few times before he finally tears his eyes away from where your bodies meet. “can i move?”

“please.”

“good girl,” he hisses, pulling out and thrusting all the way back in deeply. “taking me so good.”

“you feel amazing cheol,” you sigh. “never been fucked so deep.”

“good,” he says, holding onto your hips so he can angle you how he wants. “don’t want you to ever forget this. or me.”

“impossible,” you smile up at him, and he leans down to capture your lips. your kiss is as frantic as the feeling of cheol thrusting into you, lips breaking apart every so often from the force of his hips. you let go of your legs, letting them fall open around cheol so your hands can wrap around his broad shoulders, grabbing onto him so your lips stay locked. he moans into your mouth when he feels your nails grazing his skin, and his hands take up your place on your knees, holding your legs up and apart. he starts thrusting faster, getting you close to your third orgasm of the night. you still feel bad that he hasn’t come at all, so you clench around him to get him closer. his hips sputter and he stops, breath fanning over your face as he takes a second. 

“fuck,” he groans, thrusting into you lazily as he speaks. “you have the tightest pussy. feels like you were made for me.”

“and what if i was?” you ask, your hands playing with the hair on the back of his head. cheol’s cheeks warm at your words, but his hips pick up speed again as he tries to convey just how he feels about you into the pleasure he wants you to feel. he wants it to be overwhelming, he wants it to be the only thing you can think about, so he dips his head down to your chest and captures a nipple in his mouth as his hips drill into you relentlessly. you’re back to chanting his name and he knows you’re close, letting go of one leg so he can trace circles over your clit again. your legs start shaking as he fucks you into your final release of the night, and you feel his thrusts falter as he spills into the condom. 

you breathe heavily, trying to understand why your body suddenly feels like it’s on fire. in your post-orgasm bliss you missed cheol going to the bathroom to toss the condom and grab a wet washcloth to clean you up, but when he’s back in your bed you roll over to face him and you’re overcome with that fiery feeling again. you both lay there, staring at each other, and it hits you: that fiery feeling is love. you love cheol, you have for a while, but you’re sure of it now. you feel safe with him. you feel loved with him. 

as these thoughts run through your head, cheol pulls you into his chest so your head is laying just above his heart. you listen as the rapid beating slows, comforted by his presence and warm all over. you look up, ready to tell him what you just discovered, but you let out a silent laugh when you see his pouty lips parted in the beginnings of a snore. you lean up to peck his perfect lips before settling back in his hold, content to sit with your revelation a little longer. 

-

in the morning, you wake up before seungcheol. you’re usually a late sleeper, but you weren’t used to having someone in your bed and cheol’s vice grip on you all night has made you too hot. you try to unwrap yourself from his hold, but he just pulls you into him even tighter despite his eyes staying closed. 

“cheol,” you whisper, and nothing. you brush some of his hair out of his hair out of his eyes and try again. “seungcheol.” still nothing. louder, you try one final time, “choi seungcheol, wake up.”

“don’t call me that,” he mumbles, pulling your head down to his chest so he can nuzzle into your hair. “go back to sleep darling.” 

“no, i’m hot.”

“yeah you are.”

“cheol,” you groan, wiggling in his grasp. “let me go. i’m gonna make breakfast.”

“waffles?” he asks, peeking up at you hopefully.

“sure,” you nod, and he hesitantly lets you go. “don’t stick my finger in your mouth this time.”

“killjoy!” he shouts accusingly, watching happily as you get up and start pulling your clothes back on. “no naked breakfast either?”

“i can ask you to leave,” you threaten. “you live across the hall, i could push you there if i really wanted.”

“you wouldn’t dare,” he teases right back. “need my help in the kitchen?”

“eh, no,” you shrug, looking back at him as you pull on a sweater. “you stay here and get your beauty sleep.”

“do you mind if i use your shower?” he asks before you leave your room, and you tell him it’s ok. he slides out of bed and he catches you staring as you explain where the towels are. 

“and i should have a new bottle of body wash under the sink,” you explain, “just in case the one in the shower is empty.” 

“got it sweetcheeks,” cheol says as he meets you at the door, snaking a hand around your waist before kissing you. 

“hey, that’s my name for you,” you pout. “you can’t take it.”

“i’ll come up with my own then,” he says as his hand slides down to squeeze your ass. he’s staring at you intently, making you blush, and you’re tempted to tell him what you were thinking about last night when he interrupts your thoughts. “can i say something?”

“sure,” you nod, and he wraps his arms around you completely. 

“it was pretty nice waking up next to you,” he says as he drops his forehead to yours. “think we should do that more often.”

“but you snore,” you complain lightly, and he smiles.

“you’ll get over it.” 

when cheol gets out of the shower, he goes back to your room to find the clothes he was wearing last night. he gets dressed quickly, eager to get back to you and this slice of domestic life. it really did something to cheol to have you wake up in his arms, and he can’t shake that feeling from his head. it also has him thinking about how he’s been trying to tell you he loves you for several days now, and he always backs out at the last minute. but today? today he’ll do it. he’ll ask you to dinner, he’ll take you to that fancy place you’ve been dying to try, and he’ll tell you surrounded by candles. 

except, all of that goes out the window when he walks into your kitchen. his heart almost beats out of his chest at the sight of you dancing with fred, singing him a song off of that playlist cheol made for you so long ago. you look so happy, and beautiful, and just..perfect. cheol can’t help it, he coos and seemingly ruins the moment, pulling your attention and fred’s. he jumps down and meets cheol at the door for pets, but you invite him over, your arms wrapping around each other as soon as you’re close enough. you sway to the music together, gazing at each other like two idiots in love. because you are. 

“baby?” you whisper, afraid that speaking too loud will ruin the moment. 

“yeah?” cheol responds, worried by the look on your face. you study him for a second longer and decide to go for it.

“i think i’m in love with you.”

“you do?” cheol asks, a smile threatening to overtake his features. 

“i do,” you nod. “i love you, cheol.”

“hm, how interesting,” cheol says, relishing in this moment, letting the words fall out of his mouth like he’s never been so excited to say something before. “because i’m in love with you too.”

“you love me?” you smile, your face lighting up at the relief you feel.

“i love you,” cheol confirms. “do you love me?”

“i love you,” you nod, cupping his face before giving him a kiss. you don’t pull away completely, but you lean back enough to whisper into his lips, “say it again.”

“i love you,” cheol repeats, punctuating his words with a kiss that makes you feel like you’re soaring. “i love you, and i plan on loving you for a very long time.”

#choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol fluff #choi seungcheol imagine #choi seungcheol one shot #choi seungcheol fic #choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #scoups fluff #scoups imagine #scoups fic #scoups one shot #scoups smut #choi seungcheol smut #seventeen x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagine #seventeen smut #seventeen one shot

[fhakizi322]

Assignment #2

For assignment #2, I picked option #3: “Watch the CBC television show Little Mosque on the Prairie (which can be watched free on YouTube) and then write an analysis of how the show reinforces or violates stereotypes from both a historical and semiotic standpoint.”

Admittedly, I found option #2 more interesting but thought that as a Muslim, I could give a different perspective to the show that the rest of my classmates can’t give. So, I went into my living room, called my brothers, and the screen mirrored the first episode of “Little Mosque on the Prairie”. 

The first seven minutes of this show were very intense, we actually stopped it multiple times throughout because this was a lot; nothing like having three teenagers and a confused five-year-old yelling to make you wonder why you were in this exact situation.

The bombing/blowing away jokes were a bit much, especially since the show ran from 2007-2012, but I suppose because this show ran and was made in Canada, it wasn’t as taboo or as tense as doing such a show during that time would be in America (I read that there were 24 Canadian casualties so it isn’t as though the country wouldn’t have a reaction as those in the fictional town of Mercy). I also found it a bit odd how few of the actors in the show were Muslim, coming from someone who is writing this in 2023, if you are going to do representation, do it correctly.

When it comes to stereotypes, there are a lot of them, although most of them came from the mouth of non-Muslims/those looking for a single issue to exploit. The man who came to talk about his roof shingles, went to a radio station to spew anti-Islamic propaganda. The casual sexism was also jarring, although the temporary Imam using licorice as an example of how Western society tempts/corrupts was really funny. Outside of the sexism rant this part of the episode sounded almost exactly like something my local Imam would say!

My conclusion for the first episode was that it admittedly reinforced some stereotypes, i.e. sexism and anti-progressive values(I have never seen people argue about goat or cucumber sandwiches at a mosque event…usually in potluck situations people are given free rein so long as the food is halal). Something that was very clear throughout the episode was that the Muslims were accurate portrayals of everyday Muslims, some are open about being Muslim, and others hide it. Some women wear hijabs, others do not, and even then the ones who don’t put one on when they were praying.

The argument about the start of Ramadan isn’t so much of an argument that people have nowadays; there’s an app for that and it's probably only in Saudi Arabia that they need a telescope to discern such information so that they can let others know. We do still have arguments about when Eid Al-Fitr (the Eid (which is the Islamic equivalent of Christmas in terms of importance and similar ways of celebrating)that follows the end of Ramadan The other one is Eid Al-Adha) is happening; this year, according to my mom, was the most chill out of last couple of years. My boss(who is also Muslim) said in Iran(where he’s from) they celebrate Eid Al-Fitr the day after when Saudi Arabia says it’s supposed to be. Nigeria often celebrates the day before everyone(I still don’t have a clear answer as to why).

For violating stereotypes, I loved the fact that when they did the Mousqe open house/welcome party, they invited the Mayor and the Reverand! One of the stereotypes that I’ve actually had experience with is that many believe that Muslims are often very closed off and don’t like outsiders, which would be haram(against our religion). In a couple of situations, we have actually had people come to our Mosque to learn about what Islam is all about. So, for the show to have that in there on the very first episode was awesome! Another thing is that the women had jobs, one woman works for the mayor and another has a cafe she runs. Neither of these two women was any less Muslim than the others in the show. 

All in all, I am probably going to continue watching this show, my brothers and I after we got past those very hectic first seven minutes of the episode really enjoyed it!

[bowieexaminprogress]

Directorial nuggets

Donderdag 13:37

It is Eid day finally and a massive celebration for the Muslim community. This day families and friends come together and they celebrate the end of Ramadan. Depending on different cultures and areas Eid al-fitr can be a one day to up to month long celebration.

We see Aïcha’s family coming to celebrate the day with Yasmina’s family. Note how Aïcha has 3 brothers. She is the only girl and I think that immediately is indicative of the reason why she might feel pressured, questions the way she practices her religion and hides that away from her family. From what we have seen from the clips before during Iftar her mother is very traditional.

Yasmina in her room getting ready. Note how she is wearing a black hijab and abaya. We know that this is the colour of power, authority but also signifies a closed off energy, sadness, frustration. Everytime we have seen Yasmina in black it was during or following stressful events.

Aïcha immediately goes up to Yasmina’s room. All dressed in red. Such a juxtaposition to Yasmina. I love how this colour represents the true Aïcha. A passionate, highly energetic girl full of excitement. Even though the hijab is not who she truly is the colour represents her perfectly.

Aïcha doesn’t beat around the bush. She gets straight to the point. Her and Younes are not together. She leaves no space for misunderstanding. She tells Yasmina that Younes talked to her about the blocking.

Note how Aïcha reflects on the mirror (a symbol of reflection and revelation of truth) again while Yasmina puts make on. Make up is a symbol of covering the truth.

Yasmina has clearly raised walls. She is not being honest about her feelings for Younes nor the reason she blocked him here. And Aïcha even though Yasmina tried to cover the truth senses that she is not getting the full story.

Yasmina says that she had a crush on Younes and that the reason she blocked was only because he is not Muslim.

Aïcha not believing that Younes is not Muslim is very indicative of how Younes is perceived by others. Because of his kindness and the way he navigates himself in life even people that know him perceive him as Muslim.

Yasmina throughout this conversation is snappy and appears to be a little judgy of Younes she rushes into assumptions again. I love how Aïcha here is a voice of reason. She offers a different perspective to Yasmina. She tells her basically that sometimes people don’t have a linear relationship with religion. They have periods of doubt and questioning. Not everything is black and white. Aïcha knows because she has experienced that herself. Yasmina on the other hand can’t understand that yet because never before she had to question her religion nor the way she practices. Even though Yasmina appears determined and frustrated, here visually shown from the way she ties her belt tightly, I like how Aïcha has planted that thought in her mind. We know that Yasmina is very cerebral. We know that once everyone is gone she is gonna think about Aïcha’s words.

As Yasmina steps into the living room and we see the families together and the eidi tradition (money given to children as gift during Eid) we also hear “My future” by Billie Eilish. A song that talks about self reflection and self growth and being hopeful about the future. Our girl has just began her biggest self discovery journey that will bring a lot of questioning of the things that she thought were certain before.

#wtfock #wtfock season 5 scene analysis

[lorirwritesfanfic]

What’s Left Unsaid

Author's note: I'm soooo in the mood for drama lately 😈 [Leading characters are owned by Pixelberry Studios and original characters are creations of the author] 

Book: Desire & Decorum (modern day AU) Characters: MC (Daphne), Ernest Sinclaire, Briar Daly, Harry Foredale, Dominique Foredale, F!OC (Alisha) Pairings: Ernest Sinclaire x MC (Daphne), Prince Hamid x MC (Daphne) Rating: T Word count: 3507 Summary: Hours before travelling to spend a week with Hamid, Daphne receives an odd invitation from Ernest. Yet, neither of them is ready to handle the inevitable conversation. Based on the music prompt: How Do We Make It?

"All set?" Briar asked before she took a malteser to her mouth.

"Yep. Everything is packed," the lady answered, closing her toiletry bag and putting it over her suitcase.

Leaning back on the plush couch, Briar ate more of the round biscuits coated with chocolate and frowned at her friend's luggage. "I understand you want to spend as much time as you can with Hamid. Believe me, I totally get it and support it. But why do you have to leave so soon?"

"You make it sound like we won't be living together for the most part of the next three and a half years."

"But you're leaving me again during this sensitive period I'm going through," Briar whined.

"It's just a week. You can survive without me for the time being."

"What if I need help? I can't call you anytime I want. I don't want to cockblock you and Hamid now that I know you’ll be on a dry spell until the end of March."

“It’ll be a little longer than that. Ramadan starts a few days before he returns to Cornell and he’ll have to abstain from anything that incites impure thoughts, but that’s beside the point. Just call Annabelle."

"Really? Ooof…” Briar made a face.

“Briar!” The lady glared at her friend.

“Sorry…” Briar smiled sheepishly. “But back to my problem, I don’t know. Annabelle's idea of tough love may be a little too tough for me." Briar's nose wrinkled in annoyance.

"Maybe it's just what you need." Daphne gave her friends a knowing look, who replied with a scowl. "You could also become friends with Alisha. She's really sweet."

"We barely know each other. I can't exactly call her in the middle of the night and ask her to help me not to send dirty texts to Ed."

"Well, I don't think you should call his step sister to talk about that, but it never stopped you before," Daphne joked.

"Hey!" Briar grabbed a pillow and threw it at the lady, making her laugh.

The two of them continued to tease each other when the viscountess's mobile got a notification.

Briar smiled slyly as her friend reached for the cellphone. "Aw, you smitten kitten…"

"Shut up…" Daphne scoffed as she tapped the screen when she read the message.

"Gee, did somebody die?"

Daphne eyed her friend confused. "Huh?"

"Your face doesn't scream boyfriend-girlfriend cute texts. It looks more like you just got 'we need to talk' text."

"Well, that's exactly what it is. Except it was Ernest." Daphne explained, placing the mobile in the pocket of her trousers.

"Oh…” Briar frowned. “Is his mother okay?"

"I don't know. He just said he wants to meet me tonight to talk."

"Sounds serious."

"It feels like it is..."

"Hey, maybe you two could meet at mum's? It's on the way to the train station and you can have tea and sweets to make the conversation less intense."

Daphne sat on her bed and considered the suggestion. "That's not a bad idea. I'll text him."

"Great. And when you're there, can you do me a favour?"

"Sure. What is it?"

"Speak louder. I want to hear the details when mum makes me wash the dishes in the kitchen." Briar's lips curled up.

Daphne narrowed her eyes playfully. But before she could retort, a door knock called their attention.

"Come in," Daphne said. A combination of surprise and nervousness took over her when the door opened. "Lady grandmother!"

"Hello, Daphne," Dominique said as she strolled in. "Briar, can you give me a  moment with my granddaughter?"

"Certainly, ma'am," Briar bowed politely and left the room.

The dowager countess took a seat on the plush chair near the bed and looked at her granddaughter. "I heard you're travelling to Turkiye again."

"Yes. It's my last opportunity to spend time with Hamid before I go back to Cornell."

"Isn't he returning next month?"

"He can't travel by plane for the next three months without the risk of suffering an embolism."

"I see." Dominique nodded. "Are you returning to America from there?"

"No. I'll come back for three days to pack everything and take Drake with me."

"Good. I was hoping you could join me for tea in London with the Queen."

The young lady pressed her lips together and heaved a sigh. “Lady grandmother, please…”

"It's a mere informal gathering with an old friend of your grandmother, Daphne.”

"Who happens to be the Queen of England..."

The flat yet mocking tone in the young lady’s voice didn’t go unnoticed. Yet, the dowager countess chose to not reprimand her granddaughter. "I still believe you made a mistake, but I assure you it's not an audience. She is a wise old friend you could learn a lot from. Spending time with her is a privilege only a few people in the Commonwealth have."

Daphne pondered about it carefully. There wasn't a single time in her life she has ever joined her grandmother on something that didn't have a purpose. However, of all the times they have argued, this was the first one Lady Dominique has ever made the first step. Even if it wasn't an explicit apology, it felt like something similar to it.

"When will it happen?"

"January 10th."

"Okay. I'll see what I can find to dress for the occasion."

"I already made an appointment for you at the boutiques you like."

"Of course you did…"

The two shared rare friendly smiles.

"What time are you leaving?"

"Five thirty. I'm meeting Ernest at six."

"Oh…" Worry clouded Dominique's features. "Is Lydia alright?"

"I've been asking myself the same question."

"I'll make sure to pay her a visit later. But whenever you have time, join me at the lounge. I'd like to see the drawings you've been working on lately. Miss Parsons can join us as well," Dominique said as she stood up.

"I'll text Ann."

"Excellent. I'll see you downstairs."

"Yes, ma'am."

The sound of luggage wheels running on the wooden tiles followed Daphne down the stairs as she descended carrying her suitcase.

"Do you need anything else, ma'am?" Her maid asked.

"No, thank you. You've done enough…" The lady looked around the room, brows knitted together in a frown. "Hey, Carmindy. Do you know if Drake returned from his daily walk?"

"Yep, he has." Harry sauntered over with Lord Vincent, who held the dog's leash. "I hope you've been waiting for us. It'd be very rude of you not to say goodbye to us, sis," he teased.

"I wasn't going to do that. I already talked to Ed and grandmother," she said, swatting her brother’s arm. She then turned to her father and the dog. "Thank you for taking a walk with him. Bye, dad."

"Of course, dear. Have a safe trip." The lord cupped one side of her face and kissed her forehead.

"Thank you." Daphne beamed and crouched down to pet her dog. "Bye, sweetie! Be a good boy to everyone."

The dog replied by licking her hand.

"Are you ready to go?" Harry asked.

"Yes," Daphne replied. After waving to her father, her dog, and the staff nearby, she headed to the door carrying her luggage.

Inside the car, the lady gazed out the window as droplets of rain softly blurred the view. Despite the music playing in the background being one of her brother's favourites, he wasn't singing along or humming the melody as usual. Harry was quiet, serious, eyes focused on the road and the traffic as he drove towards the city.

"Thank you again for taking me. You didn't have to," she said.

"Don't worry about it. It's our driver's week off. Why would I let you waste money taking a taxi when you can buy me cheesecake?" He looked at her from a corner of an eye and smirked.

"Good point." Daphne nodded with a smile, glad to see her younger brother in his laid back demeanour again.

"So… When am I going to meet your new boyfriend?"

"I don't know. I haven't thought about it."

"Ouch…" Harry clutched a hand in his chest, pretending to be wounded.

"Don't be silly…" She scoffed. "I meant to say I haven't talked about it with him because we're taking things slow. It's not like we have everything figured out."

"Excuse me?" He gave his sister a look before turning his attention to the road once again. "You left home in August with all your four years of uni planned. And before that, you had most part of your life sorted out."

"Well, after everything I went through this year, I realised planning too much isn't going to do me any good. I'll just take my time and see how it goes."

"Huh…" Harry glanced at her with a curious look. "When dad and Ed returned from Ithaca after your birthday, they said you changed. But I didn't know what to think."

"Were you worried?"

"Honestly? Who wasn't? The only reason the family council agreed with you moving back to America was knowing that Briar and Annabelle would be with you."

"What?!" Her brows rose. "When did that happen?"

"Right after you said you'd choose Cornell over Sorbonne and Cambridge. Anyway, now I understand why they said you're changing. You're healing. And you're slowly finding your way to be your best self. That's brilliant, sis."

"Thank you." Her eyebrows rose as amusement played on her lips. "Look at you so perceptive and wise."

"It's a blessing and a curse."

The two of them chuckled.

But as their laughter died down, Daphne cast her glance to the window again. "I just wish I didn't have scars..."

"All great fighters have scars, Daph. I know whatever you have to face in the future, you'll keep your head high and do your best."

"Are you trying to psych me up to the meeting I have with Ernest, Harry?"

"No…"

She arched an eyebrow.

"Maybe…"

The lady shook her head with a smile.

"I know you're dating Hamid and I can see you care about him, but the whole situation with Ernest broke you. I don’t want to see you going through anything like that again."

"It's sweet of you to worry about me because I've been talking to him again, but I'll be fine. This is no big deal. He probably needs advice with something related to Mrs. Sinclaire's treatment."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. If he says anything I can't handle, don’t worry. I'll strangle him myself," she joked, making her brother laugh just a few blocks away from the bakery.

Once Daphne greeted the staff of Mrs Daly's bakery, she took a seat on one of the stools by the counter, where her childhood friend and the newest cook of the shop stood by.

"So you're meeting your ex-fiancé a few hours before you take a train to spend a week with your new boyfriend," Alisha concluded, but it was clear she was still trying to absorb the information.

"Yes," Daphne affirmed.

"And your new boyfriend is okay with it?"

"So weird, right?" Briar mumbled.

Daphne narrowed her eyes at her friend then turned to the cook. "Hamid knows I wouldn't do this if I didn't think it's important to support Ernest right now."

"You're lucky. Not all men are so understanding. By the way, that's one of the few contexts I'll ever start a sentence with 'not all men'," Alisha stated.

The three of them giggled.

"But seriously, are you okay with it?" The cook asked.

"Yes, I'm fine. But thank you for asking."

"We can bring you an extra dessert and a tea for you afterwards if you need comfort. On the house." Briar grabbed her friend's hand.

"I'm fine." Daphne insisted. "This is not the first time I’ll talk to him after we broke up."

Just then, the bell chimed as the front door opened. Placing his coat on the rack nearby, Ernest Sinclaire walked into the shop, nodded politely to the staff, chose a table, and waited for Daphne to follow.

"Call us if you need anything." Alisha gave her a sympathetic smile.

"Thank you." Daphne smiled.

"And if he needs a beating, I'm calling Ann," Briar warned.

Daphne pursed her lips at her friend. "I'm going to join Ernest at the table. Excuse me," she said standing up and walking towards the corner table, where her ex sat looking at the rain quietly drumming on the glass windows. "Good evening."

"Good evening," he replied calmly. "Did I make you wait for too long?"

"Not at all. I was just chatting with Briar and Alisha, the new cook here," Daphne explained as she sat down. "How are you and Mrs. Sinclaire?"

"We're fine. Thank you for asking."

Her eyebrows went up in surprise. "Really?"

A corner of his mouth lifted upwards discreetly. "Were you not expecting me to say that?"

"Um… No?" Her nose wrinkled. "I'm sorry. It's hard to figure out the tone of a sentence through texts. I didn't know what to expect."

"It's all right, Daphne. This is precisely why I don't like texting."

"You could add a few 'lols', 'jk' and emojis here and there…" She hinted.

"I'm not even going to entertain that idea."

As a giggle escaped Daphne's lips, Briar approached the table.

"Good evening! I'll be your waiter tonight. May I take your order?"

Daphne arched an eyebrow. "Oh, are you now?"

"Yes," Briar plastered a fake grin that purposely faded when she turned to Ernest.

"Miss Daly," he nodded politely and looked at the menu.

"Sinclaire," Briar hissed.

Noticing her friend's deadly stare, Daphne spoke up. "Anyway, I'm in the mood for mille-feuille, chamomile tea, and a box of macarons to go. How about you, Ernest?"

"I see the new cook added some new desserts to the menu. I'll have profiteroles and English tea."

"I'll be right back with your orders."

The two of them thanked Briar, who stepped away, still glaring at Ernest.

"I see she still hates me," he avowed.

"You are in a relationship with our secondary school nemesis."

He shifted in his seat and gazed at the woman before him. "Do you hate me as well?"

"I did." She confessed, staring back at him. "But that's water under the bridge now."

Despite the somewhat awkward start, the conversation flew easily after. Between bites of their desserts, the two kept everything friendly.

"Your French has certainly improved," Ernest praised.

"Thank you. It's nice to get feedback from a real person. I only get feedback from Duolingo, but I think the app is being nice to me on purpose."

"Doesn't Harry help you with that?"

"Sure… Because that's something siblings love to do: help each other."

He chuckled.

"So…" She placed her cup of tea down and looked at him. "You haven't told me why we're meeting here."

"All right." He cleared his throat. “First of all, I want to apologise for that awkward situation at the Christmas feast.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“I didn’t say a thing. Couldn’t that be interpreted as if I agreed with what Felicity said?”

“It could have been. But if I know you well, you didn’t say anything because you didn’t even want to be there in the first place. Besides, engaging in any frivolous topics of conversations isn't your cup of tea.”

“You do know me well.” A ghost of a smile played on his lips. “But I want to apologise anyway.”

“Thank you.”

"The other subject I want to talk about is my mother. She made a decision about her treatment."

"Oh?"

"Her doctors said they have great chances to stabilize the tumor and remove it through surgery if she keeps receiving chemotherapy and radiation. She said yes." At last, a broad smile lit up his features.

"Oh my God, that's fantastic news, Ernest!" Daphne beamed.

"I think so too."

"And you're moving back to UK soon, right?"

"Yes, I'll be back next month."

"This is really great, Ernest. I'm happy for both of you."

"Thank you. I knew you would be."

Daphne then glanced at her wristwatch. "Well, this has been such a pleasant evening, but I have a train to catch."

"Of course, I'll get the check."

After a brief moment, Briar returned with their separate bills and two boxes with pastries. "The second one is baklava for Hamid." The young woman gave her friend a knowing look.

"He's going to eat most of my macarons, but whatever. Thanks." Daphne replied and gave her credit card.

Ernest remained in silence for a moment, watching the two friends talk. Once the bill was paid, they stood up, thanked everyone, and headed to the door, where they got their coats, and Daphne's received her luggage that Briar kept in the storage room.

From the back of the counter, Briar and Alisha waved at the viscountess and her former fiancé leaving.

"Well, for two people who had their break up headlining all gossip blogs and tabloids in UK, they seem very friendly," Alisha commented as she arranged a few pastries inside the bakery display.

"Yeah…" Briar narrowed her eyes, not knowing what to make of her friend's behaviour near her ex.

"It's easy to make things look perfect for everyone else when you're just sweeping dirt under the rug instead of actually cleaning the house." Mrs. Daly chimed into the conversation as she passed by the two young women. "That has always been their biggest problem."

As they stepped outside, he gazed at Daphne tapping her screen of her mobile. "If you need a ride, I can take you to the train station."

"No, thank you. I'm calling an Uber."

"It's not that far from here."

"But you'd be driving in the opposite direction. I don't have to go through all that trouble…"

"Daphne," he called, placing a hand on her arm. "It's a fifteen minutes detour I'll gladly make for you. Please."

The lady considered the offer carefully. She wasn't eager to be seen in public with Ernest, especially given how much the tabloids used to follow both of them throughout their relationship. Yet, the paparazzi have stopped following her and the driver she called was over seven kilometers away. Perhaps this wasn't such a bad idea.

"Fine…" She acquiesced and watched him promptly open the door of his car then put her luggage in the backseat.

The moment Daphne buckled the seat belt, a message pinged on her mobile:

"I heard your boyfriend suffered an accident. Is he all right?"

Daphne's cheeks flushed crimson as her former fiancé's voice pulled her back to reality. "Yes, he's getting better. Thank you for asking."

"Is that why you’re returning so soon?"

"Among other reasons..."

The lady looked ahead, unsure where this conversation was going, but hoping her destination wasn't so far.

"Is it serious?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your new relationship: do you see yourself with him in the future?" He insisted.

"It's too soon to say."

"You've been seen with him since late October."

"I started dating him officially three weeks ago."

"But you were here three weeks ago. Did it start as a long-distance relationship?"

"Yeah, you could say that."

"How is that working out for you two?"

"It's too soon to say."

He glanced at her quickly, but didn't say a word. Yet, his expression said more than he wanted her to see.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't say anything," Ernest scoffed.

"Funny... You look like you have a lot to say about that," she replied, trying to suppress her annoyance.

He huffed. Somehow, this odd conversation felt awfully familiar. Ernest jumping to conclusions too quickly, Daphne annoyed with his judgemental demeanour. It was a clear sign that some things would most likely never change between them.

"Why would you care if my relationship is going to last?"

"Because I care about anything related to you!" He snapped as the car abruptly stopped right in front of the train station, pushing both of their bodies forward, only to be held back by the seat belt.

"Oh, sure! You did seem like you cared about me when you began your relationship with a girl that made me and my friends miserable in secondary school three weeks after we broke up."

"It wasn’t like that. I did care! I still do!"

"That was one hell of a way of showing it, Sinclaire!" She bellowed.

Honks startled them, breaking the tension between them. And as words sunk in, the only sentiment they shared at the moment was regret. Unbuckling her seat belt, Daphne reached for the door handle when he spoke up again.

"Did you ever love me?"

A moment of silence settled inside the car. Although she wished she could just leave, she knew this couldn’t be left unsaid. "I thought I did." Her eyes welled up as she mulled over her own words. "Now I don't know..."

Ernest inhaled sharply. Did he expect another answer? Or did he know it all along? "Perhaps it's for the best that we never said those words to each other."

Daphne swallowed hard and nodded. "Thank you for the ride." She uttered then opened the door, picked up the luggage from the backseat, and left without looking back.

#choices fanfic #choices desire and decorum #desire and decorum fanfic #ernest sinclaire #ernest x mc #hamid x mc #briar daly #harry foredale #dominique foredale #lorirwritesfanfic #lorircreates #desire & decorum modern day au #meant to be au

[roleplcyheaux]

stop sending messages about kelly to amanda. jc its like youre obsessed.

i rarely curse at people but fuck you. and i mean that from the bottom of my heart. i don’t know what possessed you to send me this ask in the first place because i haven’t been on the dash in days but fuck you. i’m not sending messages about kelly to amanda. kelly hasn’t crossed my mind in months. i haven’t spoken or uttered her name in conversation even longer than that. ya’ll are so quick to accuse people of things with no evidence? the fact that you assume everyone who sends in questions about these people are just jaded friends / members is the problem! none of you want to take responsibility for your actions so you’d rather just brush off the stuff being said about you as “hate” and “negativity”. i’ve made one post about kelly in my entire existence on this website. AND I EVEN SUGAR COATED THAT ONE POST by only sticking to rp related instances! i went to painstaking lengths to ensure nothing i wrote about her came across as mean or inflammatory. there’s a whole paragraph where i sang her praises. why? cause for a very long time she was someone very dear to me and i didn’t want to crucify her in the public eye because i believe people can change and grow. but since ya’ll love to villainize people, let me just say this.

if i wanted to send amanda messages it would be:

about that time i made a post on my personal during the 2016 election ( or maybe directly after i can’t remember ) where i said something about trump supporters being ignorant ( literally one of the least nasty thing that can be said about trump supporters ) and kelly messaged me on skype upset that i said that because her family members were trump supporters. i literally had to APOLOGIZE TO HER for saying something about trump supporters. even though they were outwardly spewing anti-immigration propaganda and encouraging trump’s muslim registry nonsense. two things kelly knows i am, an immigrant & a muslim. still, i “agreed to disagree” so she wouldn’t be mad at me. from that day on i felt like i couldn’t post anything political on my blog or else she’d find an issue with it and come confront me again. ( i would link to the post in question but i think i literally deleted it to placate her + skype wont let me scroll back further than april 2017 & this convo happened prior to that )

or maybe the time someone came to me in my inbox to ask about if it was insensitive to play turkish fcs as non-muslim & i answered saying something along the lines like “no it wouldn’t be insensitive but like please keep in mind islam is the largest religion practiced in turkey.” nothing controversial about that right? like i wasn’t telling people that they would be cancelled if they had non-muslim turkish muses but STILL kelly who was in a big turkish fc phase at the time felt the need to then reply to my ask to be like “there are jewish people in turkey too!!!” which is true! there are multiple religions practiced in turkey but that wasn’t what was up for debate in the ask that was sent to me. people already play turkish fcs as anything but muslim. again she messaged me privately afterward saying she hoped it was okay she interjected and to avoid confrontation i didn’t say anything and let it slide cause i told myself she was just excited about exploring judaism as a faith. but just think about it? could you imagine if someone was answering an ask about zoey deutch being jewish & whether it was insensitive to play her as non-practicing & i just inserted myself by saying “um actually people practice other religions in america too!” just because i like playing zoey deutch fcs and may not wanna be held responsible to play her as her religion? LINK TO THE ASK HERE.

or how about that elongated period of time she had not white in the description of her personal? if memory serves me correct her blog title had gypsy in it and someone told her that term was offensive to romani which is when she said she was part romani herself. which then inevitable led to the “not white” identifier on her blog. but multiple times before and after that privately she only talked about her family being italian. rarely if ever did the romani thing ever come up again. only when it was convenient. i’m not trying to say kelly isn’t romani or is lying about identifying as nonwhite but there were multiple times in our friendship where i felt like she was trying to use labels associated to minority groups for some sort of invisible “brownie points” and it was very uncomfortable to me but i never felt comfortable enough to brooch it with her for fear of being exiled from the friend group or accused of being “toxic” the way she described other ex-friends.

or maybe i’d give amanda extra details about stuff i’ve already said about kelly on my blog. like when i said she asked me to play a nina twin with her at a group but then got mad at me for essentially plotting with people? what i didn’t add was that that whole thing happened during ramadan while i was fasting. and she knew it was ramadan cause we talked about it in our gc. i had been working all day helping my family do stuff while fasting only to log on to skype to have one of my best friends accuse me of trying to ruin her plots and fun in a group she invited me to. the whole conversation gave me so much anxiety on top of being hungry & tired from running around a majority of the day. like i kept worrying that if i didn’t respond fast enough that she’d get angry which in turn made me family be upset at me for keeping looking for reasons to be on my phone. her excuse in the end? she was on her period and feeling sensitive. ( LINK TO SCREEN SHOTS )

or what about all those times she would message me privately about people i considered friends and how she didn’t think they liked her. or how she felt unliked and unwanted and i’d have to go out of my way to assure her that wasn’t the case. to the point of my own discomfort. it got the point where i started not enjoying my own rp experience cause i’d feel bad that i was having fun on the dash when she wasnt? it was during a time she claimed she changed and she would always weaponize the narrative people had of her “old self” against me to make me feel bad for being friends / friendly with those people even though she’d keep insisting that it was totally fine & she wasn’t mad about it and simply just “worried” cause she didn’t want to cause “drama” ( to use an example from an instance used in my other ask about kelly: her and my friend lauren had a falling out. when said falling out happened she repeatedly insisted that the rest of us in the friend group didn’t have to “pick sides” then, later down the line, when she found out lauren was joining a group i was opening she then proceeded to use that as one of the reasons why i was being a “shitty friend” to her. LINK BACK TO THAT PART OF THE CONVO )

if i was really obsessed with kelly i would just have submitted the messages i got from people after i made my post about her to amanda. people who were friends with her were coming to me telling me that kelly had done / was doing the same thing to them that she put me through and how they appreciated me speaking up about it. keep in mind i made my post like a year after i stopped being friends with her. which meant that in that time, despite all the claims she had made about changing and being better, she was still treating her friends and the people close to her shitty. i’m not gonna share screen shots of those messages because it seems for all intents and purposes those people have forgiven kelly & are still friends with her and i’m not trying to get them in trouble with her.

i’ve given kelly the benefit of the doubt for years. even after i stopped communicating with her i didn’t say anything about the microaggressions i faced as her friend or how manipulated i felt by her. being her friend often felt like you were one mistake away from being cut off. it’s like you constantly had to prove your loyalty and love to her or else. it took me a long time to realize how our dynamic was extremely unhealthy and even when i realized that i never publicly said anything because i still cared about her and saw how much shit she was getting & didn’t want to add to it. but i’m not the pathetic little hales that can be bullied and talked down to anymore. i’m not gonna allow you to come into my inbox when i was minding my own business and try to make me the bad guy. if people are sending messages to amanda about kelly it’s because she’s got a long list of people she’s hurt & hasn’t resolved anything with. that has nothing to do with me so please kindly get out of my inbox.

#Anonymous #i never get aggressive / mean in responding to things to avoid the whole #angry black girl trope #but like this message was bs #i've been living my life just fine since removing myself from this narrative #but ya'll love diverting blame / using people as punching bags whenever things don't go your way and i'm not gonna have it #am i gonna regret posting this? probably but whatever #i tired of people in this community

[pastelwitchling]

This prompt is courtesy of @unbuttonedbane.

hi! so idk if you’ve hit your fic limit yet, but here’s a prompt that’s been stuck in my head: michael is having a heated conversation with someone and when alex steps in to try and defuse the situation, an already frustrated michael loses his temper and unleashes his powers, unintentionally hurting alex. thanks, I love your writing ❤️

***

               “Heard you took Alex out last night,” Michael said, the sound of the door as it shut behind Alex still echoing throughout the bunker.

               Kyle looked up from across the table, the file he’d been working on still in his hands as his brow rose. “Heard from who?”

               Michael shrugged a shoulder. “Just a friend saw you guys at the bar.” Together, the word remained unspoken, though not unheard.

               “And thought it was groundbreaking enough to tell you?” Kyle asked, setting his file down. “Or are you just following Alex around again?”

               Michael stared. “Just answer the question, Valenti.”

               Kyle smirked humorlessly, his eyes dark. “I warned you the last time that I’d tell Alex you were stalking him unless you stopped, and you obviously haven’t, so now I will.”

               “Did you take him out or not?”

               Kyle shook his head. “What does it matter? You’re not a couple, and I think you’ve made your feelings about him very clear.”

               Michael flinched, his jaw clenched as he recalled Alex’s wide, trusting eyes looking at him as if he was the only good thing he knew he could believe in, the only good parts of himself that he knew for sure at least one person saw. And he remembered the way that trust shattered as Michael told him that his father was a part of him, that it was that part that was too hard to get past, that part that hurt Michael the most.

               When he spoke, his voice was quiet and dark. “I don’t think what happens between me and Alex is any of your business.”

               “Funny,” Kyle said, continuing his search through his file, “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”

               Michael had one hand on the desk in front of him, a list of old Project Shepherd files to go through, but he couldn’t think about them at all. He was here because Alex needed his insight on the alien research, but he didn’t want the cowboy here, that much was obvious. Michael’s eyes fell to the chair beside Kyle’s that had been pushed out as Alex had found yet another excuse to step outside, as if even being in the same space as Michael hurt him. He scratched a finger on the desk. Following Alex around, watching him from a distance, it was the only way Michael could have him.

               “He loves me,” Michael said, and whether he was trying to convince Kyle or himself, he didn’t know. “Don’t think just because you take him out for a few drinks that that’s gonna change.”

               “I know he loves you, Guerin,” Kyle said, his voice almost rough, his research forgotten, and Michael could tell he was touching a nerve. Somehow, it made him angrier. Why did Kyle care so much about Alex’s feelings for him? Why did it matter? “I know what he thinks of you, and I know what you mean to him.”

               “Good,” Michael said. “So you’ll know not to get any closer to him than you have to.”

               Kyle expression darkened, and he looked at Michael as if he was someone else. “Don’t threaten me. Especially not with Alex.”

               “Stop saying his name like that,” Michael stood, his voice rising. “He doesn’t care about you, not like he cares about me. The longer you stay away from him, the less confused he’ll be.”

               “That’s not up to you!” he said. “What right do you think you have to be making any decisions for him? Do you have any idea what you did to him? Comparing him to that monster – it’s sick!”

               “I didn’t compare him to Jesse –”

               “You may as well have!” He shook his head, looking at Michael as if he couldn’t understand how the cowboy was missing the point so badly. “You – You treat him like he’s made of stone, like he can take anything you throw at him – he can’t! Everyone has a breaking point, Guerin, and that was his. It’s sad that you don’t realize how much worse it is that it came from you.”

               Michael’s nails dug into his palms, and he felt it; the slight shift in his balance. Suddenly everything that wasn’t bolted to the ground had risen up, from small things like scrolls of blueprints to larger, like discarded computers and chairs, all levitating up to their chests. Kyle looked startled only for a moment before his gaze settled on Michael, hesitant.

               Michael, on the other hand, couldn’t have cared less about what his powers were doing, his anger directed at Kyle. He finally figured it out, the gradually growing rage in his chest, his blood boiling, the race of his thoughts and his heart at the same time – it wasn’t anguish because of Alex, it was fury at Kyle.

               “You know, I’ve always hated you,” he said, his voice quiet and trembling. “Even when we were teenagers, and you were a total dick, you still acted like you knew Alex better than anyone. Like there was something between you that nobody else could live up to.”

               Kyle shook his head, even as the objects lifted higher. “You can’t scare me, Guerin.”

               “You always think you know best, even if that means keeping him away from me.”

               “I’m not keeping him away from you, you’re the one who pushed him away!” Kyle snapped. “If you’re waiting for him to say that he’ll wait for you, you’re gonna be waiting a long time!”

               Michael swallowed, and he could feel the objects start to turn around them, as if closing them off from the outside. “Did you sleep with him?”

               Kyle’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

               “Did you sleep with him?” Michael repeated. “And I’ll know if you’re lying.”

               “Guerin –”

               “What about kissing? Have you kissed him?”

               “You need to calm down,” Kyle said, his eyes darting around as the levitating wall spun faster.

               “Have you kissed him?!”

               “No, okay?!” he snapped, panic seeping into his voice. “Guerin, stop already –”

               But Michael couldn’t stop. Kyle acted like he understood, but he didn’t. Michael felt every racing thought since not only last night, but since the day Alex had walked away from him for what felt like would be the last time, since the look of hurt and betrayal on his face seemed to overwhelm any love he had for Michael – he felt every bit of that fear hit him at once.

               What if that had been his one chance, and he’d thrown it away? What if Alex never forgave him? What if Alex never stopped blaming himself because of Michael? What if Michael had broken him?

               “You don’t know what he is to me,” he said, his voice quiet, his eyes burning as the fear gnawed at his heart. Last night had just confirmed Michael’s greatest fear. Last night had shown him that Alex could move on, that he could learn to trust somebody more than he ever trusted Michael, that he could fall in love with someone else. The idea, Michael thought, felt worse than any death ever could. “You don’t know what I’d do to keep him, Valenti, you have no idea.”

               Kyle’s eyes seemed to catch something behind Michael, and his face fell. “Alex –”

               Michael exhaled a shaky breath, pressing the bottom of his palms to his eyes. “Stop saying his name!”

               “Guerin –” a voice said, and a hand suddenly touched his shoulder. Michael, angered and blind to everything but the fire burning behind his eyes, yelled, and everything close to him was pushed away, hitting the walls.

               Everything fell silent, and Michael, after looking up, realized that Kyle was still standing, though his expression had turned to shock and horror. Michael’s frown deepened, dread immediately crawling up his throat. Who had touched his shoulder?

               He followed Kyle’s gaze, and his heart sunk when he saw Alex lay against the wall amongst piles of folders, wires, chairs, and smashed computers. He was breathing shakily, his hand holding his waist, his cheek and lip cut from one of the sharp tools, his arm barely holding himself up from the ground as Kyle hurried to his side, his hands on his shoulders. He tried to help him sit up, but Alex winced, and all but fell against the doctor. Michael’s arms went limp at his side. He hurt Alex.

               “Alex,” he breathed, and took a step toward him.

               “Don’t!” Kyle snapped, holding Alex closer.

               Michael flinched, stumbling back. He hurt Alex. He hurt Alex, he hurt Alex, he hurt Alex.

               “I’m – I’m sorry, Alex.”

               But Alex had been thrown against the wall too roughly, his eyes hazed as he tried to control his breathing, as if he didn’t even know who he was holding onto and who he was keeping away.

               Michael’s hands trembled, and he moved toward the door. “I’m sorry,” he muttered over and over as he left the bunker, taunted with the thought that the further away he got, the safer Alex would be.

***

PROMPT SUBMISSIONS ARE NOW CLOSED.

Thank you so much for your prompt, and I’m so sorry it took so long! School and fasting and yada yada. Ramadan is nearing its end, and these are the hardest days, lemme tell ya. But it’s almost over, and I’m so glad I was able to finish all the prompts beforehand.

Thank you SO MUCH to everyone who’s submitted, I really enjoyed the challenge. It was so much fun getting to put my own spin on your ideas, and I think, while I don’t see myself taking more prompts in the near future, I definitely value a lot of the lessons I’ve learned during this experience. Sounds stupid, I know, to be talking so dramatically about prompt requests, but I just want you guys to know how much I cherish each and every one of you, and how much your support means to me.

Thank you so much again - I love you 3000 ❤

#malex #alex manes #michael guerin #malex one-shot #malex fanfic #malex fanfiction #malex fic #roswell new mexico #roswell nm #malex prompt #malex prompt request #malex angst #malex fluff #tyler blackburn #michael vlamis #gay #love

[revlyncox]

Where Charity and Love Abide

This sermon was given to the UU Church of Silver Spring via online worship on May 10, 2020.

Where is the Divine in all of this? If you’ve ever had sessions with a spiritual director, that may sound familiar. If you are a theist, they may ask you to reflect on where God’s presence seems nearby. If you are agnostic, they might get more creative, like where are you finding awe and wonder, where is a sense of reverence popping up in your life, when do you get a tingle that something sacred is happening?

One of the songs in our prelude this morning, Ubi Caritas, suggests that where charity and love abide, the Divine is there. I find that deeply comforting - I don’t know if I believe in God, but I do believe in kindness, and remembering the ways that people and other beings express love helps me to have faith that there is something holy moving through the world.

In times such as these, I am looking for every sign that I can. It is easy to get overwhelmed with world events and personal sources of sadness. Really, I wonder, where is the Divine in all of this? If there is a higher power, I don’t think it makes arrangements intentionally for our suffering, but maybe there is a power that can comfort and inspire us and move us to respond when humans hurt each other. Maybe it comes from humans ourselves acting our best and highest; or maybe it comes from the Source of Love, beyond our knowing. We need that kind of help right now. Where is it?

It may be that part of my problem is looking for the sacred in one, concrete place, as if it were a pair of scissors that keeps moving around the house. My mind is trained to seek things that I can see and touch and hold, and perhaps the holy is not a thing with a single location. Particularly in times such as these, when everything is changing quickly and our basic assumptions about how the world works are being upended, concrete predictability will not yield a force that brings comfort, inspiration, challenge to live our values, or a sense of connection with the universe. in times like these, perhaps what we seek can’t be found in one place. It’s not a commodity to be grasped. Not even signing up for the right workshops or collecting scented candles will allow us to possess it and tame it. What we seek is a spirit that moves.

Some of our Pagan friends celebrated Beltane not that long ago. One of the traditions of this holiday is to light fires. Some say that one aspect of the tradition is to put out all of the fires in the community, to light a new fire to be the Beltane fire, and re-light all of the hearths of the community from this new flame. In this way, the warmth and light of every household is connected to one source, to one flicker of renewal. Cattle are driven between festival fires in hopes for their continued health. Partners jump over the fires to renew relationships. Grains from the previous year are cast into the flames, symbolically purifying the stores of that which is stale. The fires of Beltane remind us that renewal happens in relationship. Our community is linked by shared renewal. Partnerships thrive in cooperative renewal. Our ability to thrive agriculturally is relational with the earth. And none of it is static. Instead, the spirit that moves dances like the flames, taking no final form. The Beltane fires are something to pass through or leap over or rekindle, but cannot be predicted or held in place.

Another story about fire is coming up for Christians at Pentecost, celebrated this year by Western Christians on May 31. As the story goes, Jesus’ friends had been coming to terms with his death and the possibility of his resurrection for over a month, meeting in small groups and figuring out what it meant to continue their movement without their leader. In some of the stories, the resurrected Jesus had appeared to them, and at the end of this time of regrouping, left them to return to heaven. It was again a season of pilgrimage in Jerusalem, and there were people from all around the known world crowding into the city.

As the story goes in the Book of Acts, the disciples were all gathered in one group when “tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability.” The fires of Pentecost are the fires of renewed mission. They could not continue witnessing and healing the way they had done; they had changed and the world had changed. Fire symbolized that they had to carry out their mission in a new way. They needed new language, new skills for communication, new technologies for finding connection. The shape and the outcome of their movement was not set at that point; they were traveling through a time of transformation. The flames of Pentecost gave them energy for change, but not certainty.

Though Unitarian Universalism grows from Christian roots, not all of us are close followers of Christian tradition. I don’t know if the story happened exactly this way, but I believe it’s true that a movement that witnesses for justice for the poor and accountability for the powerful, a movement that knows that state-sanctioned violence is a real possibility, a movement that seeks right relationship between people and with the holy -- that movement needs to be ready for change. Sometimes the times in which we live are fires to pass through, and our way of pursuing our mission must adapt. Outcomes are not assured. The shape of things to come is unclear. The spirit that moves can’t be held in our hands. Yet there are powers that inspire and challenge and draw people together.

In the story from the Book of Acts, people are in Jerusalem for the Jewish holiday of Shavuot. This is a holiday that is celebrated very differently now than during the second Temple period of first century Palestine. Nevertheless, it’s a day worth noticing, and it is also coming this month, on May 29. Shavuot is partly a harvest holiday, bookending the grain season that begins with Sukkot. By tradition, the Torah was given to the people on Shavuot, and the holiday has become an occasion to celebrate the Torah by staying up all night studying.

In the Book of Deuteronomy, we read that the first version of the Torah that God gave to Moses to share with the people did not last. Moses came down from Sinai, the mountain ablaze, and saw that the people had already strayed, and he smashed the first two tablets. God helped Moses create another set, Torah 2.0, and those were the tablets placed in the ark.

According to Jewish mystics, the first set of tablets were written with black fire on white fire. Perhaps the black fire represents judgment and the white fire represents mercy; or the black fire represents interpretation and the white fire -- what we might think of as blank space in graphic design -- represents possibility. Perhaps the fires represent what is written and what is hidden. Rabbi Michael Strassfeld suggests that the white fire is the world around us, that the sacred must always be understood in the context of life as we are living it -- holy words must be interpreted in relationship with the world as it is in the current time and place.

So, again, the spirit that moves cannot be pinned down. The Divine flickers and dances and resists concrete form, revealing and purifying and drawing people together in ways that adapt to the times in which we find ourselves.

My last sacred story is not so much about fire as it is about commitment. We are in the middle of the holy month of Ramadan. During this month, Muslims recall when the Prophet Muhammad, Peace and Blessings Be Upon Him, received the revelation of the Holy Quran. During this month, Muslims not only fast from food and drink during the day, but they are particularly careful to avoid lies, slander, gossip, false oaths, and greed or covetousness. According to one story, the Prophet Muhammad was in contemplation when he was visited by the Angel Gabriel, who commanded him to read. Muhammad replied that he was unable to read. Gabriel embraced him, and then commanded him to recite, which he did:

Read! in the name of your Lord who created Man from a clinging substance. Read: Your Lord is most Generous,– He who taught by the pen– Taught man that which he knew not.

So ends the reading. Not only am I moved by the commitment to charity and love that I observe in my loved ones who fast during Ramadan, I am reminded by this story that we move through times of uncertainty with abilities that we either didn’t know we had or that we pick up because we didn’t know we would need them before. Being committed to our values means we adapt. If it is our hope to be in the places where charity and love act, we change along with the spirit that moves. Charity and love are not static. They are always in motion, always part of a system of relationships.

This brings us back to wondering where the Divine might be in the midst of this pandemic. How is the spirit moving us through the fires of this time of transformation? We do not know how society will be different on the other side of this. We can try to shape that change. As we do that, let’s stay anchored to our values. How do we move with the spirit in which charity and love abide?

As I mentioned earlier, I feel that our commitment to honoring the interdependent web of existence and the inherent worth and dignity of every person means that it is incumbent upon us to recognize that the stresses of the pandemic fall most heavily on those who hold one or more marginalized identities. The decision to go to the store or wear a mask or exercise outdoors is more risky for some because of factors like racism, xenophobia, and ableism. My prayers are with the family of Ahmaud Arbery, who was murdered in February, and whose family had to endure being re-traumatized this week as his death gained publicity. May the trial of the two men were arrested for his murder proceed swiftly and with integrity. The inequitable effects of the pandemic don’t stop there. Wealthy people are invited to shelter at home, while meat packing workers are ordered into places of danger, being told by a Wisconsin state supreme court justice that their illnesses and deaths don’t count because they are not “regular folks.” Families of color -- especially Black families -- and families who are poor are sustaining heavier losses. In the United States, we mourn for over 76,000 people who have died of Covid-19, and we ache for leadership that will honor those who are left. We are faced with an urgent need to transform our society toward justice, equity, and compassion, now more than ever.

I know this congregation is full of compassionate people. You have been reaching out to one another through the contact tree and spontaneous calls and cards in the mail. You have responded with generosity to the Minister’s Discretionary Fund. You are capable of great kindness. The charity and love you express is part of something larger. Love goes out to individuals, and also to whole systems, where it takes on the name of justice. Your personal calling may be rooted in acts of individual compassion. We don’t all have to be full time activists. We do, if we are honest, need to remember the systems of oppression that make suffering worse. Let us remain committed to our deepest values.

This is a threshold time, an open doorway, a sacred fire for us to pass through or around or over. I do not wish for us a return to everything as it was before. The future is still unfolding. My hope is that we adapt, that we find our place in the dance with the spirit that moves, that we follow the rhythms of justice and compassion. So be it. Blessed be. Amen.

[peckhampeculiar]

Peckham student makes horse-racing history at Goodwood

Local resident Khadijah Mellah won the Magnolia Cup at Goodwood racecourse earlier this month in her first ever horse race. She is thought to be the first jockey in the UK to wear a hijab in a competitive outing and beat the likes of Olympian Victoria Pendleton along the way.

Her historic win made newspaper headlines across the country and the story even nabbed the much-coveted “And finally...” slot on the national evening news on the day she won.

The 18-year-old said of her victory: “This has been the most unbelievable experience and I can’t actually believe I’ve done it. To think it was only two months ago that I sat on a racehorse for the first time is amazing, let alone to compete in a race and win.

“I remember getting to a point in the race where I was stuck behind three other horses so I went around them and then my horse started quickening up. I just kept my eyes forward and thought, ‘Oh my God, I can’t believe this is happening.’

“There have been so many people supporting me and it was great to have all my family and friends there too. I definitely think I’d like to keep riding and I just hope my experience shows what women can achieve with a bit of ambition and determination.”

Khadijah first learnt to ride at the Ebony Horse Club in Brixton and since the end of her A-levels and Ramadan, she was based in Newmarket as part of her preparation for the race.

“It’s crazy to think of my journey over the last couple of months but a big part of my life has been proving people wrong,” she said. “There are definitely a fair few guys out there who would struggle to do what I am doing and I am thrilled that I am part of a shift in social understanding of what women can achieve and what they can be good at.

“There’s quite a stereotype around Muslim girls and them ‘not being able to follow their sporting passions and dreams’. I want to be a role model to anyone who wants to do something that they wouldn’t initially believe was in their comfort zone and allow people to follow their aspirations and dreams.”

Khadijah rode a horse called Haverland in the race, which was trained by Charlie Fellowes. Alongside the British Racing School, Charlie has been instrumental in Khadijah’s training.

He said: “Khadijah has worked so hard since she has been based in Newmarket and to say she has improved in her riding is an understatement. She has ridden out with my team practically every day and has built a really close bond with Haverland, who adores her.”

A documentary about Khadijah called Riding a Dream comes out this autumn. Executive producer Oli Bell said: “For Riding a Dream to be successful we needed someone who was determined, ambitious and brilliant and we found that in Khadijah. When we started out on this project she was doing her A-levels, it was Ramadan and she was having to learn to be a jockey, which is a huge physical challenge in itself. She really dedicated herself to her training and we are hugely grateful to everyone who has helped her.

“The improvement that Khadijah has shown has been truly remarkable. It’s a wonderful story because you see someone who never would have expected to ride in a race and you can see her blossom. Hopefully it will show that whoever you are, whatever your background, you can achieve your dreams.”

#peckham #peckham news #peckham newspaper #peckham peculiar #local news london #london news #southeast london

[fambaneni]

Storytelling through her eyes

As the first post since my 2 years hiatus, I wanted to cover a story that resonates my current personal position of self- liberation and growth creatively. Since embarking on curating and deeply engaging with the art sector, I discovered that some elements of the industry go against my temperament. Despite this, I am driven and will continue to walk my own path.

For this reason, I am excited to share the story of the South African film maker Ntombozuko “Twiggy” Matiwana, who is making her own mark through film. She has won awards for her first short “The Bicycle Man” 2016  the Silver Poulain and the European Union’s Africa, Caribbean, Pacific Prize in Burkina Faso March 2017, alongside notable film makers/directors; Alan Gomis and Ousmane William Mbeya. Her film has also been to several festivals including Cannes. Matiwana has worked on popular South African TV soaps (The Queen, Scandal and Skeem Saam). She is also well known for her poignant documentaries that highlight critical social issues within South Africa and beyond. With features in magazines such as Elle SA, she is a woman to watch!

Twiggy on the set of “The Queen” which airs on Mzansi Magic

G.T: Hi Twiggy, firstly, I would like to thank you for agreeing to this talk/interview.

I admire your strength to go for what you want. I read in an article that you left your hometown Joza in Grahamstown with only R20, resigned from a marketing course you were doing at the time and a career in Journalism to pursue film and tell stories that are often neglected. Firstly “See, Speak and Hear no Evil” 2013, on violence against women and “Waterless Flower” 2014, on the troubles of access to water and basic sanitation for some communities. These seem to be part of your first works as a film student, yet they have already received accolades.

Can you please tell me about your journey into film making, your favourite films/directors, and why?

T.M: Thank you for the invite Gaynor. Well, when I left home I had an agreement with my family to be back after a month. I told them that I will just go test the waters in Johannesburg. That month turned into 15 years. I can’t believe it’s been that long, what a journey!

Twiggy’s awards for “ The Bicycle Man” film 2016

T.M: My calling has always been to tell stories. From a very young age, I was that child that went to bed late, I was always glued to the television screen. At the end of each film I would carefully read the end credits - intrigued to see who wrote and directed the piece. I was more into Asian cinema, “Days of Being Wild”, “In the Mood for Love” by Kar-Wai Wong, and John Woo’s films like “Face Off”. The list is endless!  

Why…Well I think Wong is poetic, he’s often fascinated by the smallest details, for example, “In the Mood for Love”, there is a scene where you see smoke swirling towards the ceiling or a reflection shimmering in a puddle – he prefers his drama to be understated. Wong’s multi-narrative, non-linear story-lines delight in jumping around restlessly. He knows how to make you laugh too. As for John Woo’s film, “Face Off”, I think it’s a compelling classic compared to other violent Hollywood crime films. This one you can always watch. Woo admits that his gun-play was influence and inspiration from Martin Scorsese. Thinking about this it’s sad that growing up I was never introduced to female filmmakers.

Twiggy with one of her favourite directors/film makers Abderrahmane Sissako

G.T: You aim to educate via questioning/challenging stereotypes through your films. Do you maintain your philosophy on sets that you work or have worked on as an assistant director, such as “The Queen” and “Scandal”? If so, how?

T.M: Television is different ball game. To be honest with you, I have never been part of story development in all the soaps I’ve worked on, I mainly do the casting.

G.T: Can you please share some of your highlights while on these sets, especially “The Queen”, what is it like working for Ferguson Films?

T.M: The Fergusons!! Love them. I think they are the most reliable black owned production company to date. They have given me so many opportunities. I oversee casting and scout new talent. For them to give me that responsibility shows great trust. They also know that I am a passionate film maker, so they give me time off to work on my own projects. Shona and Connie are very supportive of talent and enabling others to excel.

One of my key highlights with the Fergusons is directing a few episodes of The Queen Season 1 and having all episodes approved for broadcast.

On the set of “ Defiant Bonga”

G.T: I have been noticing posts on your Instagram, “Defiant Bonga”, what is the film about, how did you get involved?

T.M: This year South Africa hosted the BRICS Film Festival, each country that forms BRICS (Brazil, Russia, India, China and South Africa) had to produce a short film paying tribute to the life and legacy of Nelson Mandela. I was fortunate enough to be chosen to direct the South African short which is, “Defiant Bonga”.

The film is about a strained relationship between father and son. This is put to test when the ‘rebellious’ teenager sneaks off in the middle of the night and is brought back home by the police. However, a person’s perspective of a Johannesburg night can conflict with the actual revelations of the day, much to the relief of a concerned father. That’s all that I can say for now, you will have to  see it yourself.

G.T: You directed the web series “Bold Girls” which explores the life and tribulations of 4 women by Nonocreations, a female owned production company. What was it like working on the series/set?

T.M: “Bold Girls” was an exciting project to make. Nono and I wrote the pilot episode and I called in favours from production design to cinematography. Martha Sibanyoni my art director and Philani Brown my DOP (Director of Photography) and I all made sure everything was on point. Everyone was excited about the series and we all made it work. My lovely wife, Sindiswa helped in the wardrobe department. In total, 90% of the crew were women, we all took charge, and helped shape the story. It was fun to be part of. I am happy and proud to have been able to create such interesting lives for those women characters.

On the set of “Bold Girls”

G.T:  What are you currently working on, any writing or full-length film residencies in the pipeline?

T.M: I’m working on my first feature script. Writing can be tormenting sometimes but am learning to be patient with it.

As for residencies, I have been applying but there’s been no luck. Going away from the noise for a while would be great, a peaceful and tranquil place would help.

G.T: I hope you will get a residency soon. Nonetheless, in terms of film making you are doing well, however, are there any obstacles that you continue to face, especially as a woman film maker? If so, how do you overcome them?

T.M: As we all know the film industry is male dominated, so if you come in as a young female director it’s even scarier. I however, always make sure that even if I’m terrified I walk tall. For me to be bold am also always prepared.Preparation is important, it gives you confidence and the crew will see that you know what you are doing.

Finance!!! Finance!!! Finance! Our Industry needs to trust women more. Trust Women! Give funding to Women! Regardless of this issue, I tell myself that my turn will come. I also have space saved up for disappointments, so when they happen I go back to the drawing board and I work even harder. I don’t let obstacles get in the way.

Twiggy in Ouagadugou, Burkina Faso

G.T: In 2017 during the FESPACO festival where you won your awards, you had a video interview where you advised the EU to try and reach those from rural areas and disadvantaged backgrounds with unique stories to tell. As part of the Youth Film Makers Project working together with emerging film makers, what are your thoughts on how the EU can achieve this? If you were to be an ambassador for the EU, how would you go about ensuring this?

T.M: If I were to be an ambassador for EU, firstly, I would help shape the state of education in our country and allow our children to learn with no fear. Secondly, I would help build independent cinemas around where I come from. You know, I can’t believe that Grahamstown does not have a single cinema to this day! That just breaks my heart.

Pushing for film making, I would make sure that aspiring film makers have accessibility to opportunities from a young age and get to learn everything they can about film. I would teach them about Ousmane Sembéne, the father of African cinema; Med Hondo, Djibril Diop Mambéty and Abderrahmane Sissako, Jamil X.T Qhubeka, Ramadan Suleman just to name a few.

G.T: To close, what advice can you give to future film makers both male and female?

T.M: Baby You are all you’ve got. Live to learn that the sky is the limit. You can be anything you want if you set your mind to it. Trust yourself enough AND STAY IN YOUR LANE. Never compare yourself to anyone.

G.T: Well, thank you, what a beautiful close! This actually takes me to my favorite picture of you, at the top of a mountain which you pushed yourself to climb. Its a lesson to continue defeating our fears and shine.......

“......Condolences to Fear and to Insecurities, you will never win with me......"

#Film #Inspirations

[newstfionline]

How hundreds of Yemenis fleeing war ended up on a resort island in South Korea

By Brian Murphy, Washington Post, June 22, 2018

JEJU, South Korea--This is the end of the line for hundreds of Yemeni refugees fleeing war 5,000 miles away.

The setting is a new one in a world of migrants and asylum seekers on the move: a resort island off South Korea’s southern coast where tourists come to dive the reefs, golf and eat local seafood specialties.

But the wider story unfolding on Jeju Island is familiar. It is about desperate people looking for any loopholes or undiscovered pathways on the migrant trails crisscrossing the globe, seeking a place willing to take them in.

It is how Africans have shown up on the U.S.-Mexico border after an overland trek from Brazil, how Syrians came ashore on Greek beaches in 2015 and how Iranians are among those in holding camps on the Pacific island nation of Nauru. And how South Korea is now thrust into a refugee quandary that caught it by surprise.

Jeju’s improbable turn began in early spring.

Word was out already of Jeju’s tourist-friendly visa policies, making it one of the few places that did not require advance visas for Yemenis. A few Yemenis reached Jeju in recent years to make claims for refugee status in South Korea.

What changed this year was a new direct flight to Jeju on a budget airline from Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia, which also grants Yemenis a visa on arrival. At first, a trickle of Yemenis arrived in Jeju. Then many more--all willing to risk sometimes all their savings to flee more than four years of warfare and deepening humanitarian miseries.

The hope was that Jeju would be a springboard to reach Seoul and apply for refugee protections. But that proved wrong. South Korean officials quickly blocked Yemenis from leaving the island, and on June 1, Jeju dropped Yemen from the no-visa rules to join a handful of other countries including Syria, Iran and Nigeria.

The more than 500 Yemenis who made it to Jeju before the door closed--mostly men, but some families with children--are stranded. They can’t reach the mainland, and few have the money or inclination to return to Malaysia.

“We are not wanted anywhere,” said Ahmed Abdu, 23, who left Ibb in central Yemen in April on a more than $2,000 trip that transited through Jordan and Qatar, then to Kuala Lumpur and on to Jeju. “America doesn’t want us. Europe doesn’t want us. Saudi Arabia doesn’t want us. When we heard about Jeju, we thought, ‘Maybe this is a place that can save us.’”

He paused to think about what he just said. “We can’t leave. That is true,” he added. “But we are alive. We are not worrying about war. That is something very good.”

Abdu, like many Yemenis in rebel-held territory, was caught between both sides. His neighborhood was blasted by waves of Saudi-led airstrikes--using U.S.-made warplanes and weaponry--against rebel fighters, known as the Houthi, controlling most of northern Yemen. Riyadh and its allies claim the Houthi receive direct support from Iran, something Tehran officials deny. Abdu did not want to talk about how many relatives and friends had been killed. “Many,” he said.

The tipping point came after Houthi forces tried to forcibly conscript young men in his area, he said. “I knew there was no way I could remain.”

Yemen continues to sink deeper into chaos. A push by Saudi-led forces to claim the port of Hodeida, a critical entry point for fuel, medicine and other supplies, has touched off another civilian exodus, and international aid groups warn that an all-out fight for the city could be another staggering blow to the country.

At first, Abdu and the other Yemenis arriving in Jeju, which has a population of about 600,000, were left to fend for themselves. They piled into hostels, cheap hotels and campgrounds, getting an occasional meal from a restaurant or volunteers.

Slowly, some help has taken shape.

On Monday, more than 200 Yemenis received free health screenings by the Korean Red Cross and lined up for jobs arranged by Jeju officials while their refugee status was being assessed, which could take months or longer. Some took tough work that Koreans do not want--on fishing boats or fish farms making the legal minimum wage of about $1,500 a month. The luckier ones found jobs in restaurant kitchens. A local migrant aid society--normally dealing with Filipinos and other Asians--started Korean language classes for Yemenis.

But the Yemenis in Jeju have opened a difficult conversation in a nation where only a small fraction of refugees have been approved to stay since the 1990s. Last year, South Korea finished review for 6,015 refugee claims, rejecting all but 91 of them, according to South Korea’s Justice Ministry. Eleven of the Yemenis who passed through Jeju in earlier years were among those granted refugee status.

“About 500 people from Yemen may not seem like a lot for countries that have dealt with hundreds of thousands, even millions, of refugees and people fleeing war,” said Lee Il, a rights attorney with Seoul-based Advocates for Public Interest Law. “Here, it has forced people to think about the wider world of suffering and, in a rich country, how we fit in.”

On May 31, the Yemeni arrivals sparked perhaps the first anti-immigrant march in Jeju. In Seoul, an online petition calling for South Korea to pause allowing any more refugees cleared 200,000 shows of support Monday on the presidential Blue House website--meaning the government must issue a response within 30 days.

Kim Eui-keum, a spokesman for South Korea’s presidential office, added Wednesday that police patrols on Jeju will be stepped up to “avoid unnecessary clashes or interference.”

Jeju’s governor, Won Hee-ryong, told a meeting Monday that he believes authorities and private businesses should band together to help the Yemenis.

“Jeju can set an example for the first refugee crisis our country is facing,” he said.

Still, resources are thin. There was only one immigration investigator on Jeju to hear refugee cases when the Yemenis began to arrive. Just two people on the island spoke Arabic. On Monday, one of them led translation for a crash seminar on South Korean culture for about 100 Yemenis, all men.

“I thought I’d be in Jeju maybe two weeks and then head onto Seoul,” said Gamdan, a 36-year-old from Yemen’s capital, Sanna, who arrived in Jeju in May. “It was a big surprise when I learned that I wasn’t going anywhere.”

Gamdan, who gave only his first name, serves as an Arabic-English translator for the increasing number of groups on Jeju who need it.

“Here,” said Sister Christina Gal, part of a Roman Catholic aid service, Naomi. She handed a cellphone to Gamdan.

“Tell her that we found her a house to live in,” she said.

Gamdan told the Yemeni woman on the phone the good news--someone in Jeju had offered her a place to stay for at least a month.

In the other room, a South Korean volunteer quizzed Yunes Melhi Naji, a 27-year-old waiting for a free dental check for an aching molar. The volunteer, who knew almost nothing of Ramadan, wanted to know more about the Muslim dawn-to-dusk month of fasting that just ended.

“But you must drink water during the day?” asked the woman in English.

“Nothing,” answered Naji.

“But no water ever?”

“No, ma’am,” he said. “The Ramadan fast is no problem. What is a problem is being here without work and not knowing what will happen.”

#Yemen #Yemeni refugees #South Korea #Jeju

[oneletterwrites]

ILY and your writing so much and you are just a sweet sugar pie. Maybe I could as for a small holiday beauty worth au drabble bc they are babes pleasr and thank you ❤❤

Together in Winter

It shouldn’t have come as a surprise but still Gilbert had been caught off guard by the holiday differences between them. He knew that each kingdom had their own special celebrations that they attend to, he just didn’t know his way of celebrating would be neither of what Matthew or Lovino did.

Lovino had started his ‘celebration’ a month ago. Gilbert couldn’t quite understand it, but Lovino had been adamant of following the rules. It seemed odd to him for Lovino to refuse to eat as long as the sun shone in the sky, he would have loved to eat as much as he could if he had the opportunity. Lovino just refused the small snacks offered to him by Matthew.

He had given up on a few other simple things as well. His temper seemed toned down, the crude language he had been fond of no where to be found. Gilbert couldn’t say it hadn’t been funny to see Lovino grit his teeth and walk away without the snarky comments. He also gave up on the loving touches Matthew would give him and playing with Gilbert’a hair.

That had stung a little, but Lovino told them over and over it’s not them, it’s just what he needed to give up for the month. He would eat when the sun disappeared but the touches remained scarce and his mood on a lighter note. For a whole month. Gilbert could see Matthew struggling not to hug him when he entered a room. Gilbert wondered if all the hugs Matthew would give to him instead are just because Lovino would not accept them.

“It’s for gratitude,” Lovino told them. 

“There are so many things in the world, and we should be happy to have them in every day life. By ridding ourselves of them for a month, we gain a little more appreciation for those things.” He shrugged and backed away from Matthew’s touch, a sad smile on both their faces for another week at least.

When the month ended, Lovino and his kingdom rejoiced in their ability to hold off on the things they refused. Gilbert snickered into his hand, never seeing any one in the castle not eating for the next three days. Lovino always had food with him, casually munching. His temper returned with vengeance it seemed.

The best part though had to be the touches. Lovino would barely let go of Matthew’s hands, his waist, hugs overflowed. Matthew’s face grew into a bright smile every time and Lovino pretended to ignore it. Gilbert’s pleasant surprise came with Lovino offering him more touches too. Hands in his hair, holding his hand for longer than ever before, dragging him into cuddle piles that didn’t ever want to end.

“You don’t know how much I missed this,” Lovino told them one night after. Matthew laughed and kisses his head. Gilbert just smiled.

Matthew’s winter holiday began just a little after Lovino’s three day celebration of no longer fasting. He and Lovino accepted the invitation to join as Matthew simply lit a candle, and sat in front of it. Every day when night fell, he would venture to his candles, lighting one more than the night previous, then sitting on the ground with his hands in his lap.

“What are you doing?” Gilbert whispered to him during the third night. Matthew peeped an eye open, and a smile grew on his face.

“For my kingdom and my family, we take time to rejoice in the peace our kingdom holds. We light a candle for the wars now over and the miracle of living.” Matthew reached out a hand to the flame, his fingers curling around the flame but not close enough to burn.

“We take time to remember all we have to be thankful for.” With that he lowers his hand, intertwining his fingers with Lovino on one side, and then Gilbert’s on the other. They sit in silence, all lost in their own thoughts. Gilbert isn’t too sure he understand the what he’s supposed to be doing, but he thinks of both of them, watching their faces as they subtly twitch as they think about all that they have. 

Where would he be without them? Probably in the outskirts with his adopted father and brother, rummaging for scraps, making do with what little they have. Probably hating everything about himself like he used to. He doesn’t dislike himself as much with them around. They loved him so much, he forgot what hating himself felt like.

He’s grateful for them he decides. All the kind looks and words, and the clear standing up for him that they do not have to do. They make him feel special, a feeling he doesn’t believe he would have ever gotten without them. The idea of being just a servant to them is far out of his mind. He knows, he knows he’s so much more than that now. 

Matthew stands after some time, blowing out the candles for the night. Lovino and Gilbert give him loving looks, thankful they are trued enough to join in Matthew’s ceremony. Gilbert swallows as he trails after them on the way back to their room. His room is technically down the hall, but he can’t really remember the last night he slept in there.

Lovino is quick to shed his more royal garb for night clothing, Matthew following soon after. Gilbert carefully sheds his things, just in case they decide they do not want to be with him for the night. He turns and they are both looking at him, waiting. He sighs and sits on the edge of the bed. He’s immediately pulled down to be in the center of the pile.

With each prince softly sleeping beside him Gilbert comes up with a plan, hope burning inside him that they will like what he has to offer.

–

“Gilbert?” Matthew pops his head into the servants designated room, though if Matthew had his way all of Gilbert’s possessions would be in his and Lovino’s shared room. Not finding the servant anywhere he turns to his husband and shrugs. Lovino twists his nose up and with a roll of his eyes starts towards their room.

“He’ll be around shortly I’m sure,” Lovino says. Though he sounds so sure of himself, there’s a sadness lingering underneath. Mathew sighs. He hasn’t seen Gilbert all day and he knows with the way Lovino’s hand twitches that it’s getting to him too. He wouldn’t have run away, or truly left without telling them, but the bitter thought is stuck in the back of his mind.

The door to their room swings ope to reveal Gilbert standing in the center, feet shifting back and forth with his hands behind his back. Matthew’s face breaks into a wide grin as he skips over and wraps Gilbert into a tight hug.

“We missed you!” He says. Lovino has a relieved smile on as well, running a hand through Gilbert’s hair affectionately. Gilbert swallows hard and takes a step back from them, his head down out of shyness. 

“So you both shared with me traditions of your kingdoms and families,” He starts awkwardly, offering a half smile. Matthew and Lovino share a quick look then focus on him.

“And I just, wanted to share a bit of my family with you too,” Before his nerves can tell him this is a bad idea, he pulls two small wrapped boxes from behind his back. A white one wrapped for Matthew and a red one for Lovino. Carefully they take the boxes, amused smiles on both their faces.

Gilbert twitches as they tear at the paper, hoping with ever fiber of his being that he’s not making a mistake. Lovino pulls his gift out first, a simple metal band with one gem of white and another of gold. Matthew’s smile is blinding as he pulls out his as well, another metal band but with a white gem and a red gem.

“In my family we give gifts to those who-” we love.

“Who we are close to,” He changes the words. Matthew slips his onto his pinky, right next to his wedding ring. Lovino does the same, holding out his hand to admire the craft work.

“Did you make these?” Lovino turns his eyes to Gilbert suddenly. Gilbert nods. A skill he has earned from his father. Maybe not his best work in such a rush and out of practice, but the sharp edges are gone ans the stones are set and polished.

“These are beautiful,” Matthew coos, coming closer to him. Gilbert lets out a breath and lifts his own hand.

“You’ve been so kind, and cared for me, I just-” He cuts himself off, letting Matthew hold his hand and admire the metal band on his own finger, a gem of red and a gem of gold. Lovino steps closer, holding Gilbert’s hand as well. Every thought flies out of Gilbert’s head as Matthew places a soft kiss to the ring on Gilbert’s finger.

“It’s perfect, thank you for sharing this part of you with us,” Matthew is so close to him now. Gilbert nods and swallows the lump in his throat. Lovino is pressing their heads together soon enough, so close Gilbert feels more overwhelmed than when they end up cuddling. It’s intimate, both his hands held by those who have helped him in so many ways and their faces far closer than they have ever been.

Gilbert is the one to pull away, too much for him to handle. Matthew just laughs and places the new ring on his finger to his cheek lovingly. Lovino admires the handiwork and runs a hand through Gilbert’s hair.

“You are truly one of a kind,” It’s a compliment that makes Gilbert’s insides turn to mush. Every thing about them turns him to mush. He snorts at the compliment, excusing himself to attend to his servant duties. Matthew and Lovino both watch him go down the hall, turning to smirk at them one last time before leaving around the corner.

The added weight to their hands is pleasant, a happy reminder that they are in this together, and they wouldn’t have it any other way.

–

Lovino’s ceremony is based off Ramadan.

Matthew’s is based off Hanukkah.

Gilbert’s is loosely based off Christmas.

#aph south italy #aph canada #aph prussia #prumanocan #drabble #me-ohh-my #beauty worth au #polypolypoly #HI ILY2 #THANK

[gokatanime]

who i admire

I believe everyone has their own person, some may even have more, but from personal experience I’ve always had that one person. If you’ve seen Grey’s Anatomy then you know Cristina is Meredith’s person, someone she can count on and doesn’t judge her (kinda). Some people meet their person as early as elementary, others as adults, even so, it may feel like you have known them for years. 

Due to circumstances that are out of your control you may lose touch but if your paths were to ever cross again then it would feel like you never lost touch to begin with. This was my case while in elementary and middle school, I cared for them deeply, still do. We were always together, inseparable. It’s comforting knowing someone is there for you no matter what.

 I met my best friend in middle school, specifically in the 6th grade, not knowing he would one day become my best friend. We had a few classes together, but we didn’t talk often. It wasn’t until high school that we finally got to know each other better. By then we lived in the same neighborhood and rode the same bus to school, so we spent more time together. I can’t pinpoint exactly when we became so close, it just happened. 

Sometimes friendships can feel forced when you’re in a group of friends you don’t really connect with. It never felt that way for us. I’ve also seen people become “friends” with certain people for their convenience but outside of that they would never speak to you. We were never like that, whether you were part of our group or not we always spoke to you.    

Everything about him was so genuine and I loved that, not many boys his age were that sincere. He has never been the type to talk behind anyone’s back, if he had an issue about what you had said or done, he would confront you directly. He never felt the need to sugarcoat anything, so he told it how he saw it. It may seem like he was dismissive, but he just wanted it to be known that you must own up to your actions because you will not be babied your entire life. 

From a young age he understood the reality of the world and that everything isn’t all that sweet. He kept himself and everyone around him grounded. This is someone who you could trust and always showed out. If he said he would do something for you he kept his word, you never had to make sure he was still up for it. 

No matter what, he frequently put others before him, not ever has he been selfish. His character reminds me of the protagonist of most animes where they continuously put the needs of their friends, sometimes even strangers, before their own. Their generosity is simply contagious, wishing everyone could be like that.

Living in a very diverse community we were aware of all cultures and embraced it. During Ramadan I respected fasting hours and only ate around him when he could, I didn’t need to, but I wanted to, out of respect. When my parents had cookouts, I would make sure they had food that catered to him so he would never feel left out. We constantly learn from each other and lift one another up!

The more we got to know each other we realized how much we had in common. I believe we clicked so well because our personalities are a bit alike. We’re both introverts but become extroverts with the ones we are most comfortable with. We also like to observe and gather all the facts before speaking abruptly.

How exactly does my best friend relate to my theme? Back in high school we would procrastinate days on end because we would stay up watching anime instead. We still got our work done on time, but we would complain about it the entire time, why we didn’t just get it done first to have more free time is beyond me. We convinced ourselves that we work best under pressure so to this day, we procrastinate on a few assignments, we also still complain as much as we did then. Once we’re completely done with school, we’ll most likely be complaining about becoming adults, we already kind of do that now, which can suck sometimes.  

[dailykhaleej]

Coronavirus: NYC Muslims struggle to hold traditional burials | USA News

With our bodies piling up at hospitals and morgues, and funeral houses turning households away due to a scarcity of capability, New York Metropolis has been stretched to its limits by the COVID-19 pandemic.

The disaster has touched hundreds of grieving households, just about all of which have been pressured to navigate chaos after their cherished one’s dying from the lethal respiratory virus.

Extra:

The funeral course of might be much more sophisticated for Muslim New Yorkers, who make up about three p.c of the inhabitants throughout the town’s 5 boroughs, as a result of a sequence of spiritual practices guides the burials.

“It’s overwhelming – just the amount of illness, the amount of deaths,” mentioned Imam Khalid Latif, govt director of the Islamic Heart at New York College (NYU), concerning the basic feeling within the metropolis.

He mentioned that early on, it turned clear that “funerals and things happening at end of life were likely really difficult for a lot of people” within the Muslim neighborhood.

“A lot of people [were] reaching out saying, ‘We just can’t connect to anybody, and the places we are connecting to, they’re telling us it’s going to be days before anything can actually happen’.”

Rising prices

Latif mentioned households have additionally raised considerations about the price of burials.

An Islamic funeral service in New York Metropolis would sometimes value round $2,000, together with a plot of land for burial, Latif mentioned, however lately, some members of the Muslim neighborhood mentioned they have been being charged round $10,000.

“In Islam, the funeral rites are considered a communal obligation,” he advised DailyKhaleej. “Here, we have a responsibility to ensure that people who can’t afford it are still able to have it done.”

Packages of bread sit on a desk with a crate of apples for passersby to take, outdoors the closed Masjid at-Taqwa mosque within the Brooklyn borough of New York after the mosque closed due to COVID-19. [Kathy Willens/AP Photo] 

Latif helped arrange a web based fundraiser that collected almost $195,000 this month to help Muslim Funeral Companies of New York, a Brooklyn-based group also called the Janazah Venture.

The cash will probably be disbursed to funeral houses to bolster their providers – together with the acquisition of autos and refrigerated vans to transport and retailer our bodies when hospitals are over-capacity, and private protecting tools for staff.

Latif mentioned monetary pressure shouldn’t be a cause individuals don’t get an opportunity to correctly keep in mind their family members, so needy households will even immediately obtain a few of the cash to cowl funeral prices.

“To me, that’s a really unfortunate reason as to why someone who is already in a lot of emotional strife will have added anxiety that doesn’t allow for them to grieve,” he mentioned.

Shifting practices

Monetary considerations are particularly prevalent amongst individuals employed in public-facing industries – similar to taxi or Uber drivers, restaurant workers, or development staff – who’ve taken successful in the course of the pandemic.

Muslim New Yorkers make up a excessive proportion of these staff within the metropolis, mentioned Ahmed Mohamed, litigation director on the Council on American-Islamic Relations New York chapter (CAIR-NY).

“Especially for immigrant communities, telework, work from home, is not a possibility. Having to be confined to your home means you don’t have a job and you don’t have a paycheque,” Mohamed mentioned.

He mentioned many traditional Muslim practices have been upended in the course of the COVID-19 disaster: households can’t be with a sick loved-one as a result of the sickness is so contagious and most hospitals have strict visitation guidelines in place, and public gatherings have been restricted, too. The challenges additionally come as Muslims worldwide put together for the beginning of the holy month of Ramadan.

A Muslim well being employee prays outdoors a particular coronavirus consumption space at Maimonides Medical Heart on April 06, 2020 within the Borough Park neighbourhood of the Brooklyn borough of New York Metropolis [Spencer Platt/Getty Images/AFP] 

In New York state, funeral houses and cemeteries have been designated as important providers, however the authorities urged them to keep away from in-person gatherings. “If in-person services must be held, the gathering should be limited to only immediate family, with as few persons physically present as possible,” the state mentioned in a letter to funeral administrators on April 10.

Consequently, the Muslim neighborhood – like different spiritual teams throughout america – has had to adapt to meet public well being suggestions designed to cut back the potential unfold of the coronavirus.

Mosques have shuttered their doorways, and Friday afternoon prayers – in addition to different practices, similar to halaqa (communal spiritual gatherings) and khotba (the sermon earlier than Friday prayer) – are going down on-line as an alternative. Some households are live-streaming funerals, as nicely.

“Obviously, it’s not what the Muslim community would do during a normal basis, where we come together to better relieve some pain and ease people’s sorrows during those times,” Mohamed advised DailyKhaleej.

Unfounded rumours

Regardless of these stop-gap measures, uncertainty round burials stays a supply of concern.

A hearsay that Muslims have been being buried in mass graves not too long ago ripped by means of the neighborhood, mentioned Raja Abdulhaq, govt director of Majlis Ash-Shura Islamic Management Council of New York, an umbrella group for over 90 mosques and organisations.

“We had imams calling us where their community members are calling them crying, worrying about their loved ones being buried in mass graves without seeing them. This was really scary for the whole community,” Abdulhaq mentioned.

The group reached out to metropolis officers and investigated the declare, and located the hearsay to be unfaithful, he advised DailyKhaleej.

On this video, our Govt Director Raja Abdulhaq, clarifies and refutes the rumors surrounding the burial of Muslims in mass graves on Randalls Island. https://t.co/jsEAWMwnoe

— Majlis Ash-Shura of New York (@ShuraNewYork) April 9, 2020

“What’s happening is that hospitals are creating temporary morgues remotely, away from the hospitals, so they can continue to have enough capacity for the new bodies that are coming in,” he mentioned. “But this is very specific only to unclaimed bodies.”

In a information convention on April 9, New York Metropolis Mayor Invoice de Blasio mentioned every physique “will be treated individually and specifically” and burial plans will probably be coordinated with the households of the deceased.

“We clearly have painful but real contingency plans to deal with anything that might come up ahead, but with a very clear standard: dignity for the families. Every family is treated individually,” he mentioned.

One other hearsay that Muslim our bodies have been being cremated – a apply that’s forbidden in Islam – was additionally false, Abdulhaq mentioned. “So far we have no cases and we have no reason to believe that this is happening.”

“Whereas the precise variety of Muslims who’ve died from COVID-19 is unavailable, Abdulhaq mentioned the town’s Bengali neighborhood was hit significantly onerous.

‘Unprecedented time’

In Islam, the physique of a deceased individual is washed and shrouded, a prayer is carried out, after which the physique is buried immediately into the bottom with none embalming, defined Latif, the NYU imam.

However he mentioned that in distinctive circumstances, similar to throughout in the present day’s COVID-19 pandemic, when a few of these spiritual practices can’t happen for no matter cause, alternate options are attainable.

“An individual will essentially tap their hands on clean dirt or earth, and positions their hands then on different parts of the deceased’s body as a purification process in lieu of the washing,” Latif mentioned, by the use of instance. That course of is called tayammum.

Latif acknowledged that many neighborhood members are nonetheless battling what to do when a cherished one passes away, or when individuals get sick with COVID-19.

“It’s really hard for people right now who are losing loved ones because there’s so much happening that prevents them from being there with them.”

He inspired individuals to attain out to each other to stave off isolation – particularly in New York Metropolis, a spot that he mentioned might be significantly lonely. “It’s an unprecedented time,” Latif mentioned. “And where government has failed and has not done its part, we just need to step up and do what we can and come together.”

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[asexual-fandom-queen]

Solidarity

Five times Leonard Snart finds solidarity with someone of a different religion, and the one time he doesn’t [read on Ao3]. 

cw: islamophobia 

1. Stein

“Kid says repairs on the Time Drive are gonna be a month.”

Stein jerks in surprise when Len speaks, dropping his spoon with a messy slosh into his soup. The sweet, earthy smell of chicken broth tickles Len’s nose and floods his tongue with saliva, though he knows from experience that Gideon’s best synthesized effort still doesn’t hold a candle to the comforting warmth of matzo ball soup made by a loved one.

“Y-yes,” Stein stammers after a minute, glancing surreptitiously around the room first, as though Len might be talking to someone – anyone – else. “I heard.”

“You’ve got a way of tracking dawn and dusk on this ‘ole tin can,” Len observes, his voice a slow, disinterested drawl. Abruptly, he turns the whole of his focus from some abstract point in the corner of the room to Stein and smirks. “I want in.”

Stein blinks, quick and bewildered, then reaches up to adjust his glasses as his brows furrow. Len pushes off the doorframe and wanders to the counter, leveraging himself up to sit, one boot curled under his thigh.

“Really, there is no way to track the sun in a space that exists outside time,” Stein explains.

“But you and Palmer have a system.”

Len’s eyes narrow, something that never fails to make Stein ruffled and insufferably pedantic. “It’s interesting, actually. Many rabbis and Jewish scholars agree that all time-bound mitzvot are exempt once a person leaves Earth,” Stein says. “Of course, not everyone agrees. In fact, Jewish astronauts have been known to use the sunup and sundown times of their origin of departure while on the ISS.”

“Which is what you’re doing,” Len guesses.

“A version of it,” Stein agrees. “Since we’re out of time rather than space, there is no way to relate our time back to that of, say, Central City. But, it is possible for Gideon to track how many hours we’ve been displaced from our timelines, and when sunrise and sunset would be, had we remained on Earth. Of course, Raymond and I are no longer in synch after all the times we’ve been separated, so we’ve agreed to both follow my internal clock. It’s nice to have someone to observe with.”

Len tilts his head. “Makes sense,” he says. He remains perched on the counter, thinking.

Stein turns back to his meal, but obviously can’t fully settle with Len still in the room. “I didn’t realize you were Jewish as well, Mr. Snart,” Stein says, cracking at last.

Len shrugs. “I’m not,” he replies. “But so long as we’re stuck here for a month, now seems as good a time as any to celebrate Ramadan. Not technically the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, but hey, it’s not technically Shabbat for you and Boy Scout, either.”

Len offers Stein a shit-eating grin the slides gracefully off the counter, crossing the room in long strides. Stein takes a second to process, and Len’s halfway out the door before he manages to sputter out, “M-Mr. Snart.”

Len stops, turns on his heels and gives Stein a curious look.

“You’re welcome to join Raymond and me,” Stein says. “Not for Shabbat, I mean. But on our internal clock. If you’d like some sense of community.”

Len trails his fingers over cool metal, body wrapped around the edge of the doorframe with enough force to feel the outline pressed against his sternum. “Invitation accepted,” Len replies with a tilt of his head, then a wave of his fingers.

He’s gone before Stein can say anything else.

2. Singh

“CCPD! Put your hands up.”

Len has very little choice but to oblige. His bike is still halfway down the alley, his handgun still resting on his bedside table. It’s his own fault for being sloppy enough to get caught, but he’s head’s been elsewhere all day.

Lisa ruptured her achilles tendon.

No matter how many times he thinks it, the pill doesn’t become any less bitter to swallow. Figure skating was it for her. She was going to make it big and leave Central City and their shit excuse for a father behind. But there’s no way Lewis pays for the elective surgery to get her back in competing condition, and Lisa’s mother is either too drunk or too terrified of her boyfriend’s fists to speak up on her daughter’s behalf.

Len needed the hit, needed the score, needed something to give him hope.

“Now, turn around slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

Len does, and gets his first look at the officer who’s stopped him. He’s in plainclothes, fresh-faced and handsome, no older than Len, if not a few years younger. Truth be told, if they were meeting under different circumstances, he’s exactly the kind of guy Len would pick up for a quick night of fun. Jury’s still out on whether he’ll try his luck anyway.

“Leonard Snart,” the officer says, his deep brown eyes cast even deeper in shadow in the low lighting of the alley. “What are you doing here?”

Putting on all the bravado he can muster, Len inclines his head in the direction of the building he’s just left and offers the officer a pompous smirk. “ Zakat ,” he replies.

Len’s expecting to see the officer’s brows knit in confusion, or at the very least, for him not to react, so it comes as a surprise when he lowers his gun half an inch and lets out one of the most conflicted sighs Len’s ever heard.

“Fuck, this is just great,” he mutters to himself, the sarcasm laid on thick.  

The hair on the back of Len’s neck stands on end. “Problem, officer?” he asks, trying to keep the nerves out of his tone. Normally, the kind of people who bash his religion don’t know enough about it to recognize any of its Five Pillars by name, and certainly not to recognize them in Arabic, but Len doesn’t feel entirely confident dismissing the possibility.

Of course, it’s also likely the officer is reacting less to Len being Muslim and more to the fact that he’s just come out of an LGBT youth shelter. Gay bashing is much more commonplace in Len’s life than islamophobia, though he’s only come back to the faith of his childhood in the past several months, knows that’s something that might change.

The officer scoffs, harsh and bitter, and shakes his head. “Yeah,” he says. “I gave up my one night off this week to mentor queer kids, not have a morality crisis, so, thanks for that. Thank you very much.”

Len’s brain scrambles to adjust to this new turn of events. He’s not sure what it means, but his situation suddenly feels markedly less dire. “I didn’t catch your name,” he says, trying to put some semblance of control back into his hands.  

“Officer Singh,” the man replies on instinct, then immediately berates himself. “And why would I tell you that? You had nothing on me.”

“If it’s any consolation, Officer Singh,” Len says. “I’d have found out anyway, if I really wanted.”  

Singh worries his lip between his teeth. Len let’s him sweat. Finally, Singh lowers his gun another two inches and asks, “were you really in there making a donation?”

Len narrows his eyes. “You’re Muslim?” he asks.

Singh shakes his head. “Neither is the youth centre,” he says. “I thought that was the whole point of Zakat , anyway. Giving to poor Muslims.”

“Let’s just say I’m still trying to work out where I fit with this whole Islam thing,” Len replies, cryptic as he figures he can get away with.

That’s enough to get Singh to lower his gun and return it to his holster. He scrubs a hand down his face, still shaking his head, like he can’t believe he’s doing any of what he’s doing, and honestly, Len can’t either.

“Go,” Singh huffs, stepping aside to clear the mouth of the alley.

Len’s hackles rise. “You’re just gonna look the other way because of my religion?” he asks. “Or maybe it’s my sexuality? You do me a favor, I do you–”  

Singh matches Len’s ire like a switch was flipped. “I’m looking the other way because this world is shit enough without going out of my way to police what little good does happen,” Singh says, nearly a shout, but keeping his voice controlled enough to avoid attracting attention. “And because you’re not the only person who’s religion advocates sharing your prosperity,” he adds.

Len considers that, gives Singh a thorough, calculating look. “You’re Sikh,” he says finally.

Singh huffs a laugh. “Yeah,” he says. “The turban and the beard really give me away.”

He gestures to his close-cropped hair and clean-shaven faith with a hint of confliction beneath the bemused expression. The rest of the tension eases from Len’s body, as much as it ever does.

“Maybe we’re not actually so different,” Singh proposes. “Just a couple of queer brown kids trying to figure out where we fit when none of our pieces seem to wanna go together. Maybe that’s why.”

There’s something remarkably vulnerable about the statement that makes Len’s insides curl and flip. He doesn’t want to examine it too closely.

“Maybe,” Len agrees, backing toward his bike. He grabs his helmet from the handlebars and swings his leg over the seat. “‘Course,” he adds. “I’m on my way to rob a bank after this, so maybe we’re not so alike after all.”

Len doesn’t leave time for Singh to comment. He slides on his helmet, starts his bike, and peels out of the alley, nearly running the officer down on his way by.

3. Mick

Len’s shoulder is still aching when he shuffles into the kitchen in baggy pair of sweatpants and and even baggier sweater that can’t possibly be his. It smells of sweat and woodsmoke and gasoline in a way that’s still somehow pleasant.

“Good, you’re alive,” Mick grunts. He’s in a pair of sleep pants, chest is bare, a dangerous game with the bacon spitting grease indiscriminately on the stovetop, but it hardly seems to faze Mick when the errant droplets land against his skin.

“It was a through-and-through,” Len grumbles, sitting at the table and pulling two pancakes from the stack. There’s a plate already waiting, along with a knife and a fork and a full glass of water.

Len’s never stayed overnight at Mick’s place before. They’ve been partners on and off for just over ten years, but the few times their relationship has crossed the line into the personal, it’s been under dire circumstances. That’s even true now, Len laying low, recovering from a gunshot wound and hiding out from those moronic, trigger happy Santini kids. If Mick hadn’t taken him home and patched him up, Len would probably be dead.

Though cooking him breakfast feels like more than just obligation, professional or otherwise.

Before Len can react, Mick’s crossing the kitchen with his frying pan and a pair of tongs and depositing a huge stack of bacon on top of Len’s pancakes. Len watches, heart seizing, as the grease soaks into the pancakes, tiny flecks of char speckling the golden crust.

Len opens his mouth, but the words freeze in his throat.

Mick notices anyway. “What?” he asks, putting the tongs down in the pan to grab a piece with bare fingers.

“I don’t eat bacon,” Len replies after a deep, steadying breath. Anymore , he could add. He’s only stopped in the past year, trying be more observant, to eat only what’s halal. Bacon, he’s been successful with. Mini-marshmallows are still a work in progress.

“Oh,” Mick says, chewing with an open mouth. “That a Jewish thing or somethin’?”

Len shifts in his chair. His shoulder throbs. “Actually,” he says. “I’m Muslim.”

Mick’s lips twitch. “Huh,” he says. “Didn’t know you guys had a hate on for Piglet, too.”

Shrugging, Mick reaches down, grabs Len’s plate from him, and returns with it to the stove. Len’s about to protest that picking the bacon off won’t be enough now that it’s soaked into everything else, but he doesn’t have to. Mick sets the frying pan down and comes back with a clean plate, handing it to Len and settling in with Len’s old plate as his own.

“Yeah,” Len drawls. “It’s almost like we all wanted to be on the safe after the first guy got trichinosis.”

Mick hums, like Len’s probably got a point, but tucks into his bacon anyway. Len takes new pancakes on his new plate and covers them in syrup, then cuts a piece with his good arm and brings it to his mouth. It’s his non-dominant hand, so the trajectory’s a bit shaky, but he makes it.

“I just gotta say,” Mick says suddenly, out of the blue, a few bites later.

Len’s heart leaps into his throat and beats double time. Mick’s been the most constant, reliable person in his life outside of Lisa – maybe includingLisa. They might not have the same degree of intimacy as most people who consider themselves friends, but for Len, they mean something. And he’s tried and injured and not in peak fighting condition. Whatever Mick’s going to say next, he tries to brace for it, but he’s not sure he can.

“I know jack shit about Muslimism,” Mick continues. He takes a heaping bite of pancakes and doesn’t wait to finish chewing before he’s speaking again. “So if I say somethin’ dumb, tell me to fuck off.”

Len chuckles. He can’t help it. Something in the relief is explosive. “Well, to start, it’s Islam,” Len says.

Mick’s brow furrows. “Why?” he asks.

“They’re Arabic words, Mick,” Len replies. “They don’t really care about English grammar.”

Mick snorts. “Last I checked, English didn’t care about English grammar, either.”

They get through another few bites of pancakes before Mick comes back with more questions, but Len feels none of the panic from before. Mick’s curiosity is friendly, rather than an inquisition. Len isn’t used to that, but he thinks, as a wave of fondness settles in his chest, it’s something he could get used to.

“Is that something you grew up like?” Mick asks.

Len tilts his head rather than aggravate his shoulder with a shrug. “When I was younger,” he says. “Moved away from things by the time we met, but I’ve been getting back into it.”

“I wish I could move away from things,” Mick says with a small grunt, somewhere between amused and genuinely annoyed. “Pretty sure I still recite acts of contrition in my sleep.”

“Are you still religious?” Len wonders. He wants to know, to understand Mick better. Len’s never been one for sharing, but something about this feels good.

“Irish Catholic. Such a big part of growin’ up, couldn’t really stop being if I wanted to,” Mick replies. “‘Course, it’s more a personality thing than a religion thing now. Can’t say I believe in God. If He really existed, things would be good, instead of bein’ this.

“But,” Mick says. “I believe in honesty, confessin’ your sins. Believe the undesirables and the wretched deserve as much as anyone else does. Occasion calls for it, I even believe in forgiveness, turning the other cheek and all that hippie crap.

“None of that bullshit about burning in hell,” he adds. “Probably is one, and it’s probably even where I’m goin’. But because I’m a murderer, and a heartless bastard to boot. People out there, livin’ their lives, loving and fucking whoever they want, maybe doing a few shit things ‘cause everyone’s human. That’s not mortal sin. Pope can get fucked for all I care if he disagrees. I know what it’s like to be a bad man. Catholic Church doesn’t have a fuckin’ clue.”

“You ever find it weird?” Len asks. He can’t seem to find his appetite with his stomach full of lead. “Having faith and doing what we do?”

“It’s all weird,” Mick says with a shrug. “End of the day, what you believe is up to you. Then deciding what, of all that, actually matters. Ain’t a religion in the world that’s gonna call us Saints, Snart. Doesn’t mean you can’t wanna walk the parts of the path you can still reach.”

4. Sara

Len is walking the halls of the Waverider when he hears it, a low and guttural sound, like a river carved through a mountainside, harsh and abrupt in places, buoyant and fluid in others. Hair rises on the back of his neck as his whole body turns clammy and cold with some ineffable feeling. It’s waking up from a nightmare. It’s nearly falling on the ice. It’s misremembering an extra stair in the dark.  

It’s Arabic.

Len understands a few words – sorry , and soon , and can’t wait , and I love you – but hears even more, combinations of sounds, sharp and rough, that mean nothing to him anymore, and yet somehow still mean everything. His eyes burn, but he won’t cry. Like speaking his mother’s native tongue, he doesn’t know how to do that anymore.

Abruptly, the talking stops. Len considers retreating to his room, forgetting this ever happened and going about his life. Had he been outside anyone else’s room, he might have.

He knocks on Sara’s door.

“Come in,” she says.

The door slides open, and Len steps inside. Sara sits cross-legged on her bed, hair half-up, with one of the Waverider’s intertemporal calling devices in her lap. Len hovers, torn between sprawling performatively and keeping a safe distance.

“Nyssa?” Len asks.

Sara nods.

“I didn’t know you were fluent in Arabic,” he says.

Sara snorts. “My pronunciation is shit,” she replies. “But Nyss was having a rough day, and sometimes it’s nice to just turn your brain off and speak your first language, you know?”

“I wouldn’t,” Len says. “Haven’t been able to speak mine in years.”

Sara’s eyes are suddenly wide. She shuffles over in bed and looks pointedly at the empty space left at the far end. Len sighs and stalks over, sitting with his back against the wall, spindly legs out in front.

“Well,” Len amends after a moment. “That’s not entirely true. English is a first language, too. Just not the only one. Or it wasn’t.”

“Arabic?” Sara asks, an expert at reading people, but especially her friends. Especially him.

Len shrugs. “My mother was Lebanese,” he says. “She left the country when the civil war broke out. Married Dear ‘Ole Dad not long after. From what I’ve gathered.”  

“How long were you fluent?” Sara wonders.

Len says nothing, stares blankly ahead at the wall with stony eyes and twirls the ring on his pinky.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want,” she says. “I know I could go for some gin. The card game or the alcohol, I’m not picky.”

She chuckles a bit at her own joke, then shifts to move off the bed.

“I was six when she died,” Len says, shocking Sara silent and still. “Dad had already started getting hands on about keeping that towelhead stuff” – said with a sneer – “out of his red-blooded American house. And I was lighter than her. White passing. He thought he could save me from being like her. All he had to do was beat her language, her culture, her religion out of me, and I’d be just peachy.”

Sara bites her lips, eyes wet. “That’s shit,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“Tip of the iceberg,” Len replies with a shrug. “Hardly worth mentioning.”

“Do you forget it all?” Sara asks.

Len frowns. “Most of the language is gone,” he answers. “Still a practicing Muslim.”

“You drink all the time,” Sara says. “I thought that wasn’t allowed.”

Len smirks. “That’s why I’m still practicing.”

Sara groans at the pun, shakes her head and buries her face in her hand to hide the way her frustration devolves into laughter.

“Please,” Len adds. “As if you don’t do things the Catholic Church would frown upon all the time.”

Sara’s still chuckling when she answers. “Tough luck for the Catholics, then, because I’m not.”

Len raises a surprised eyebrow.

“Not everyone who believes in Jesus is Catholic, Leonard,” Sara says with a dismissive scoff and an eyeroll. “I’m Presbyterian. Not to say we’re above critique, but we’re also one of the largest Christian denominations in the world that supports gay marriage. Plus, we starting ordaining women way back in the 30s. The number of men and women ordained now is almost equal.”  

“Is this Presbyterianism 101 or are you just bragging?” Len asks in his signature drawl, fixing Sara with a teasing smirk.

Sara narrows her eyes. “I’m sorry, am I boring you?” she says back, but it’s all in good fun. Len laughs from his belly, nothing more than a short, quick chuckle, but it’s enough to lighten the mood.  

“I could teach you,” Sara offers after a moment of companionable silence, soft and so earnest. “Arabic. Or, re-teach you, I guess.”

Len snaps his head sideways, staring at her, wide-eyed and guarded.

“Though, again, godawful pronunciation problems ,” Sara chuckles, and whether she’s reminding him or herself, Len isn’t sure. “I could be more of a curse than a blessing.”

Len shakes his head. “Don’t sweat it,” he says. A warmth settles over his chest. “I remember how it sounds.”

5. Barry

“Do you want our kids to be Jewish or Muslim?”

Barry’s sudden question takes Len by surprise. They’re in the galley-style kitchen of their two bedroom apartment, dating for close to three years but not engaged yet – though it’s something Len’s been thinking about more and more the longer his travels on the Waverider keep him away.

“I didn’t realize we were expecting,” Len drawls, leaning against the counter, arms crossed at the wrists.

Barry frowns. He turns back to his pot on the stove and sticks the wooden spoon gripped like a vice in his hand back in, stirring the contents with more vigour that strictly necessary. “Be serious,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Len says, tilting his head in that way he does to demonstrate his acquiescence. “This is me being serious.”

He’s quiet, waiting, and Barry sighs before asking again, “do you want to raise our kids Jewish or Muslim? It’s not that hard a question.”

“What do you want us to do?” Len throws back.

Barry freezes, hand still gripping the spoon. “Wait, seriously?” he says. “You’re actually okay with us talking about having kids?”

“I’m assuming you don’t mean tomorrow,” Len says with a roll of his eyes.

Barry swallows thick and nods. “Okay,” he says. “Well, I guess the reason I’m asking is because I’ve been thinking a lot about our future lately, and every time I do, I realize how important religion being a part of that is for me.”

Len is quiet, considering.

“Is that weird?” Barry asks, when his patience wears thin and Len still hasn’t replied.

“It’s not weird,” Len assures him. “I’d just never thought about it.”

“It’s not that I don’t want our kids to be able to make their own choices about believing in God, or which version Him they think is the right one,” Barry says, rushing to explain, the way he always does when his ideas are so personal. “I mean, they could grow up and be Christian, and it’s not like I’d be upset.”

Barry stirs the soup again, calm and repetitive, leaning over the pot to let the steam settle against his face. Len reaches out and wraps a hand around the base of his neck, squeezing in reassurance.

“Growing up, losing my parents,” Barry says, after taking a moment to collect himself. “I lost my whole community. Moving in with Joe and Iris, they were great, but they’re atheist, you know. There are things about being religious and why it’s important they never really understood, and my Jewishness became this thing that sort of fell through the cracks.

“I’m not mad,” Barry says quickly, forceful in a way that makes the statement hard to believe. “I just– I remember what it felt like to go to temple for the first time since I was a kid while I was away at university. It felt like home, like there was this whole community that I shared something really deep with and just– I felt like I was a part of something again, something bigger than me.

“I want our kids to have that,” Barry says. “And yeah, a selfish part of me wants them to be Jewish, because I want to share that with them. But at the same time, I want them to be able to share your religion with you, too. And I figured there was no easy answer, so it’s probably something we should start talking about sooner rather than later.”

Len wraps his arms around Barry’s waist and rests his chin on his shoulder. Barry melts into him, nervous tension easing from his muscles.

“I hate to break it to you, Barry,” Len whispers, bumping Barry’s ear with his nose. “But we’re not exactly special. Interfaith families have been around a lot longer that we have.”

Barry scoffs. “I know that,” he says. “But that doesn’t mean there’s some kind of guidebook. Is there a guidebook?”

Barry turns to catch Len’s eye over his shoulder. Len can’t help himself, leaning in to steal a kiss that Barry eagerly returns.

“We’ll figure it out,” Len says when they separate. “If the culture and the community is what’s most important to you, we’ll find a way to make sure they have that.”

“What, like sermon Friday, temple Saturday?” Barry asks.

Len shrugs. “We could,” he agrees.

Barry laughs and shakes his head pitifully. “God, that’s so much religion,” Barry says. “Our kids are gonna hate us.”

“We don’t have to force them, Barry,” Len reminds him. “Plus, you said it yourself. It’s not all about the religious angle. I’d like them to speak Arabic. To be charitable. To have principles, self-discipline–”

“Ethics,” Barry adds.

Len quirks an eyebrow. “Now, Barry,” he teases. “Are you calling Islam unethical.”

“No,” Barry replies with an embarrassed flush. “But I figured, as long as we’re listing things we hope our children learn from us, I should make my position on certain things clear.”

Len nods. “Got it,” he says. “No teaching them to pick locks until they’ve started elementary school.”

“Len,” Barry huffs.

“Junior high,” Len amends. Barry chuckles, exasperated, but doesn’t argue the point further, and Len feels quite confident that he’s won this round. “Plus, we’ll have traditions to pass down,” he adds. “Food.”

Barry frowns. “Are you just using cuddles to get closer to my matzo ball soup?” he asks, feigning indignation.

Len smirks and kisses the corner of Barry’s jaw. “I’m a dishonest guy, Barry,” he drawls. “You knew this about me when we started dating.”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Here,” he says, collecting a sample of broth in the curve of his wooden spoon and holding it to Len’s lips. “Careful, it’s hot.”

Len doesn’t need the reminder, but he appreciates it, appreciates Barry’s concern. He watches Len sip the broth from the spoon, nervous to see his reaction. The old family recipe Barry found in a box of his mother’s things is faded with age, but still mostly legible, and every nuance in Barry’s expression betrays how much he wants to get it exactly right.

“So?” Barry asks.

Len smooths his hand over the knots in Barry’s stomach. “Tastes like tradition to me.”

+1. Zari

“You look worried Allah’s going to smite if you take another step.”

The observation isn’t entirely inaccurate. Len hovers just outside the open door, eyeing the ledge in the flooring where cement gives way to tile.

Zari sighs. “You’ve been inside a mosque before, right?”

That’s enough to push Len over the threshold, squaring his shoulders and leading Zari to the coat check to remove their shoes.

“I’ve been inside my mosque,” Len hisses. “Where the Imam knows I’m a supervillain instead of a fraud pretending to be a good Muslim.”

They’re in Toronto, 2246, chasing down a band of Time Pirates looking to bring advanced tech back to the medieval era. A lull in their mission’s forward momentum just so happens to line up perfectly with Friday sermon, and while Len wouldn’t normally bother finding a mosque to attend prayers, Zari, in her enthusiasm to share the experience with a fellow Muslim, roped him along.

Zari shakes her head and rolls her eyes at Len’s declaration. “There is no such thing as a good Muslim versus a bad Muslim,” she says, taking a deep red scarf from her bag and wrapping it around her head to cover her hair. “There are only people and the various ways in which they interact with their faith. Your relationship with Allah is yours. You shouldn’t feel shamed because it’s different than someone else’s.”

“Wow, Sister Zari, you’re right,” Leon deadpans. “However would I handle my crises of faith without you?”

Zari narrows her eyes. “I don’t appreciate when you use Sister in a mocking tone, Brother Leonard ,” she says pointedly.

Len tips his head. “Fair,” he replies.

“Now, come on,” Zari says, urging him along with a wave but keeping her hands to herself. The mosque is progressive in its views according to their cursory research – all of the 2240s seems to be – but Len doesn’t think Zari avoids touching him for propriety’s sake. She’s more devout than he’s ever been, prays five times a day when she can, getting Gideon to keep track of her internal clock the way Stein taught Len all those months ago. The choice to refrain from touching him is a choice she’s making for her.

“We still need to perform wudu , and with how meticulous you are, we could be there all day,” Zari teases. She crinkles her nose and sticks out her tongue, and despite himself, Len’s chest floods with fondness.

“Also fair,” he agrees. Sliding his shoes into an empty cubby, Len follows Zari through the entrance space to prepare for prayer.

#losfdiversityweek #coldflash #leonard snart #barry allen #mick rory #sara lance #martin stein #david singh #zari adrianna tomaz #my fiction #ao3

[skamelias]

LAILA

3.1 Søndag 13.08.17 12.08

((( I Won’t Mind - Zayn Malik )))

Elias raised his hands to his face, rubbing his tired eyes. The last few nights he had been tossing and turning, unable to fall asleep. Instead of catching up on much needed rest, he had spent the entirety of his day in bed, scrolling through Facebook. All he could think about was Laila. He felt like the world’s biggest idiot. He couldn't believe he’d tried to act like the big hero and thrown a punch for a girl who ended up getting mad at him for that very reason.

He thought about what Laila had said.

People are shitty and selfish, there’s nothing we can do about it.

Did she really think that? Elias had never seen himself as an optimist; rather a realist. But he was certain that most people had good intentions deep down. It saddened him that Laila was so convinced that people were inherently self-serving.

He had thought something was going to happen between them last Friday. But no, that asshole had crossed the line, making Elias in turn act like an idiot. He had felt a weird twist in his stomach ever since that night. Some of it from exhaustion, but mostly from guilt. He needed to fix things. He couldn’t bear having Laila be mad at him.

Elias searched Laila’s name under his list of friends on Facebook and found her profile. She’d added him a while ago, the day she told him about the library job, and they’d chatted for a while on and off again.

Elias scrolled through her pictures on her profile. The first picture was of her at a party, smiling brightly into the camera; her hair in her signature braid. The second picture was of her and a blond haired girl he vaguely recognized from Sana’s bus meeting. Laila was smiling with her head tilted towards her friend, a bright gleam in her eyes. She was wearing a black turtleneck, sporting a pepsi max bottle in her hand. Elias clicked on all the pictures of Laila smiling. Elias hated that he had been the reason for her unhappiness that night.

Was this how it ended?

Their friendship that is. Or whatever the hell it was. They had met on so many random occasions that it almost felt like fate. But was it all over just like that? Elias couldn’t deny that he felt drawn to her. Somehow, he felt like they were supposed to meet. He sighed as he thought back to the relatively few moments they’d spent together.

Elias was mentally berating himself once again for the way he had acted when he heard voices drift in through the crack in his door. He recognized them; it was his mom and Sana. As they moved further away from his bedroom, their voices grew exponentially lower. Elias got up off his bed and went to the door to listen more closely, straining his ear to hear what they were saying.

“I like him, Mama. Maybe even love him. He supports me in my faith and respects my beliefs. He doesn’t push my boundaries. But--” Elias heard a slight pause. “--I sometimes worry that we’re too different.”

Elias furrowed his brows.

“I know, honey. Love isn’t everything in a relationship. I’m sure Yousef will support you, I know he’s a good person, but there are obviously things you’ll miss out on. Like waking up together to pray or breaking your fast together during Ramadan. And if your husband isn't Muslim, would he want your kids to be raised in the Islamic faith? This is all something you have to talk about with Yousef. Have you told him how you feel? About your doubts? Communication is just as important as trust.”

Sana’s silence filled the hallways. “I haven’t.”

Elias heard his mom sigh. “Sana….,” she slightly hesitated, “You need to share these doubts with Yousef. I know when you’re young it seems like you have life all figured out. But if you’re so adamant on your feelings for Yousef, he needs to know these things.”

“I know.” Sana said, her voice grew noticeably softer.

“Yousef’s a good guy, he’ll listen.”

Elias heard Sana pause. “How did you go from ‘I don’t like you spending time with Yousef’ to ‘Yousef is a good guy’?” she laughed aloud.

Elias’ mom chuckled heartily. “Can’t I have a change of heart?”

Elias moved away from the door, processing what he’d just heard. He had known that it would be complicated between Yousef and Sana, but they would make it work; if anyone could, it was those two. They were perfect.

He thought about what his mom said again. Communication is just as important as trust. He needed to show Laila she could trust him. But how did he go about doing that? There was so much he didn’t know about her.

He mulled over these thoughts in his head, as he laid down on his bed, letting his eyes fall closed. He wondered why she’d reacted the way she had last friday. Was that guy someone she knew? An ex boyfriend maybe? She had mentioned that she liked to be in control. Maybe she didn’t like when people fought her battles for her? To say that Elias was confused, was an understatement. The one thing he knew for sure was that he had to make it up to her.

#skam #elias bakkoush #simo el #skamelias #sana bakkoush

[fae-fucker]

Shatter Me: Chapter 10-11

Chapter 10

Last time we were in this heck hole of a book, Adam had been revealed to be a soldier and we were introduced to Warner Bros., the resident sexy bad boy who has offered Juliette a job as his personal weapon. 

Adam leads Juliette through some hallways and she’s like totally hot for him still.

I feel him shift in the darkness and soon his body is too close so disarmingly close to mine. His hand is on my lower back and he’s guiding me through the corridors toward an unknown destination. Every inch of my skin is blushing. I have to hold myself upright to keep from falling backward into his arms.

“I’m 100% convinced this man wants to kill me but hotdamn I’d still tap that.”

I can’t even start explaining how much sense this all just makes, you know?

I’m painfully excited but I haven’t felt natural light on my skin in so long I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle it.

This is why people hate first person narration. Fucking look at this garbage.

The air hits me first.

It’s my phantom fist.

Juliette is in awe of all the outside that she’s feeling right now before Adam stuffs her into a tank. A TANK. She also mentions soldiers looking at them and I have to wonder what kind of facility this actually is.

They drive off and Juliette angsts about how shitty everything is and how the world is dead. We also get more information -- if you can call it that -- about how the Reestablishment came into power and became the Establishment, if you will.

I remember there were rules. No more dangerous imaginations, no more prescription medications. A new generation comprised of only healthy individuals would sustain us. The sick must be locked away. The old must be discarded. The troubled must be given up to the asylums. Only the strong should survive.

Ok, so this sounds like good ole fascism right there, so this could theoretically be a thing (because it kind of is right now). It’s got that proper us-vs-them mentality that’s at the core of most authoritarian governments. But then Tahereh gets greedy:

No more stupid languages and stupid stories and stupid paintings placed above stupid mantels. No more Christmas, no more Hanukkah, no more Ramadan and Diwali. No talk of religion, of belief, of personal convictions. Personal convictions were what nearly killed us all, is what they said.

This is just dumb. People in power often use religion to justify their toxic views, and I’m having a hard time seeing humanity (which has gone to war over religion over and over again) giving up all of their religions just because some dingdongs claimed it would help.

Now, I’m not shitting on religious people here, I’m just stating the facts that I do not see humanity accepting this new hardcore atheist government that says that being a person with beliefs and convictions is bad.

Usually dictatorships and authoritarian governments are based on an us-vs-them mentality. The people in power pick a target that they label as “other” and create propaganda to “unite” the people against a common “threat”. “Our” group is presented as strong, righteous, and good to reinforce the love for their own group while strengthening the hate for the “other”.

Forcing the population to war against ... itself? Convincing a population that they’re all terrible to the point where they’ll all just go “yeah I guess we are, please control us”? I don’t see it. Many YA dystopias are based on this idea and I honestly don’t see how this could ever work. 

A potential leader telling you that you’re the best, better than that guy over there, let’s go kill him? That clearly works on a population. A potential leader telling you that you suck and that you should give them the power over you so they can fix you? That’s suspicious as fuck. This sounds more like a cult than a government, and sure, cult tactics do work, but cults target very specific individuals that they slowly groom into accepting their views, and they’re often small as a result of this and the fact that they isolate their members from society. Doing this to a whole population? Nah.

I think this kind of is a side-effect of YA authors being afraid of taking a side? You don’t wanna write about a nasty white dude taking power and making everyone believe that everyone other than a white dude is a piece of dirt because that might upset the white dudes, so you just kind of write governments that are weirdly diverse but are “evil” because they hate ... humanity in general? And we’re all humans, so clearly we’ll think they’re evil! Easy! 

This is also why YA dystopias often create worlds that are super hardcore and oppressive, but conveniently never racist or misogynistic or homophobic, so they’re somehow more advanced than we are when it comes to equality but also more barbaric. *insert I’m not [thing], I hate everyone equally joke here*

And I get it. Writing about real-life oppression mirrored in a fake world is hard and icky and uncomfortable. But if you’ve set out to write a proper dystopia and you end up with this, you do kind of cheapen it all by making your dark-haired white girl oppressed because of her cool superpower/rebel spirit while the government is made up of a diverse cast of bad guys who are all bad because the narrative said so.

I think I went off on a tangent. What I’m trying to say is: people take elements from 1984 even though the parts they take from it don’t make any dingdang sense in the context of their worlds.

Anyway, Juliette tells us that there is, in fact, an underground rebel movement that’s waiting for the right moment to strike. I don’t know how she knows that and I don’t know why they’re waiting, but whatever.

We pull up to a structure 10 times larger than the asylum and suspiciously central to civilization. From the outside it looks like a bland building, inconspicuous in every way but its size, gray steel slabs comprising 4 flat walls, windows cracked and slammed into the 15 stories. It’s bleak and bears no marking, no insignia, no proof of its true identity. 

Political headquarters camouflaged among the masses.

How bad is this camouflage that Juliette, who presumably has never been inside, is able to figure out what it is? I can’t accept the idea that she’s supposed to be super insightful, for obvious reasons. 

Chapter 11

Dirty money is dripping from the walls, a year’s supply of food wasted on marble floors, hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical aid poured into fancy furniture and Persian rugs. I feel the artificial heat pouring in through air vents and think of children screaming for clean water. I squint through crystal chandeliers and hear mothers begging for mercy. I see a superficial world existing in the midst of a terrorizing reality and I can’t move.

[...]

They filled our world with weapons aimed at our foreheads and smiled as they shot 16 candles right through our future. They killed those strong enough to fight back and locked up the freaks who failed to live up to their utopian expectations.

Ok so um. I see the point you’re trying to make here and I agree that rich people are the devil and that we should eat them, but in this world that you’ve created, this kind of makes no sense.

How ... How exactly are they “stealing” or “wasting” money if they’re in charge of the economy and the production of everything? Who exactly are they stealing from if they’ve murdered most of the population anyway? Are they paying people to have those Persian rugs made? Isn’t it more logical to assume they’ve just taken stuff that has already existed, since nobody else was using it? 

Like, you have real-life examples of how politicians and corporations get rich, and this ... this isn’t one of those ways. You don’t blast a population to death and then start producing wealth out of nowhere. New wealth doesn’t just magically appear once you’ve stolen “everything” from the population.

You know for someone who was complaining about how evil the eestablishment are for taking away art and fancy things, she sure doesn’t want any of this art or fancy things. The Reestablishment was also established (hueh) to promote a “simple” lifestyle, and yeah, usually dictatorships do that to the population while they live like kings, but Juliette hasn’t noted this hypocrisy yet, she’s just cringing at the fancy things so far.

Let’s hope she does.

Whatever. Juliette is all disgusted with the luxury around her and sees blood all over (See because she thinks people have been sacrificed to Big Corporate for all this fancy stuff. It’s poetic you see because poor people have uuuuh died for all this stuff and all that.), so much so that she has a breakdown.

I’m in the air. I’m a bag of feathers in [Adam’s] arms and he’s breaking through soldiers crowding around for a glimpse of the commotion and for a moment I don’t want to care that I shouldn’t want this so much. I want to forget that I’m supposed to hate him, that he betrayed me, that he’s working for the same people who are trying to destroy the very little that’s left of humanity and my face is buried in the soft material of his shirt and my cheek is pressed against his chest and he smells like strength and courage and the world drowning in rain. I don’t want him to ever ever ever ever let go of my body. I wish I could touch his skin, I wish there were no barriers between us.

Ok so first you get all upset over how these guys are evil for having all this stuff, and the next second you’re creaming yourself about how you totally wanna bang this dude you don’t know and who you’re convinced wants to kill or otherwise hurt you?

Makes that whole previous freakout seem a bit cheap now, dontcha think?

Juliette begs Adam to kill her because she just can’t handle how horny she is for him how rich and evil these people are, but he’s like naw dawg, can’t kill the protagonist in a trilogy this early. 

Adam takes her to a room and Juliette complains about how pretty and luxurious it is.

Listen. I don’t care how strong her ess-joo spirit is. Girl has been locked up in a cell all alone for 200+ days. Justice for the poor should be at the very back of her head, not her main concern. She should be shitting herself with joy right now.

“Please don’t let go of me put me down,” I tell him.

Tahereh ... sweetie. You can’t do this in dialogue. That’s not ... that’s not how anything works. Did she actually say this and then quickly correct herself? I should be enchanted by this riveting dialogue, not be taken out of the experience trying to figure out if this girl has two voices like she’s possessed by Pazuzu.

Juliette asks Adam to leave her alone, which he says isn’t an option, since Warner Bros. considers her a threat and has thus decided that Adam must watch her at all times. Which means he’ll be moving in.

Yikes. I know it’s all a (rather fanfiction-y) setup for their “romance”, but still, how creepy and uncomfortable is that?

I want to hate him and judge him and scream forever but I’m failing because all I see is an 8-year-old boy who doesn’t remember that he used to be the kindest person I ever knew.

Yeah, can’t wait until he’s suddenly written to be super evil so Warner Bros. can swoop in and save you. 

And, really? “I know he’ll be invading my privacy for who knows how long and I’m pretty sure he wants me harm or at least wouldn’t mind inflicting it if ordered, but he was a nice kid back in school, so I can’t bring myself to hate him!” Great.

Adam tells her that she has to change into less icky clothes and says that there’s a bathroom. 

I see a door connected to the room and I’m suddenly curious. I’ve heard stories about people with bathrooms in their bedrooms. I guess they’re not exactly in the bedroom, but they’re close enough.

1) This narration is completely OOC for Juliette, and also really dumb.

2) So we went from “fuck all this rich people crap!!” to “ooh, my own bathroom? sweet!!” Consistency who?

 Adam says that there are no cameras in the bathroom, which means that there are cameras in the bedroom. Juliette is only mildly concerned with this.

Adam says that Warner Bros. will be expecting her for dinner, and then goes to show her how the stuff in the bathroom works. 

He then acts a bit weird, looking around and putting his finger to his lips to tell her to be quiet, and Juliette assumes he’s about to rape her and wishes she could kill herself.

He of course isn’t and leaves when he realizes why she’s freaking out.

So uh. This suddenly got dark. 

#eff reads: shatter me #book rants