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#he said they had history and its true
kimjiwoong · 11 months
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alexis got back with his ex
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blluespirit · 3 months
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I sort of like the thought that Zuko and Aang take the Sun Warriors' warning not to tell anyone about the dragons a little more seriously… and they keep it between them. Of course, they trust Sokka, Toph and Katara. Of course they know they wouldn’t tell anyone, but now three people (including Iroh) know the truth about Ran and Shaw. And that’s three too many when you’re trying to keep a secret.
(and there are other people at the temple as well - like Haru, Teo and The Duke - who, while trustworthy, aren’t as close to them as the others, and when it comes to secrets with as much consequence as this one, you can’t afford to take any chances.)
Furthermore, the culture within the Fire Nation since Sozin’s rein has been warped. The culture is not to respect the dragons as the original firebenders, it’s to conquer and kill them. It’s the ultimate proof of your strength as a firebender. All it takes is one mistake before rumour spreads, and people go looking for the ultimate hunt. It’s not something Zuko or Aang can risk.
Whether Katara, Toph and Sokka (and Suki) ever find out the truth is up to you. But post-war, after Zuko returns from a strange, poorly explained trip with a dragon, and eventually develops the ability to use rainbow fire, either the others have some questions about Aang’s knowing look, or they are finally let in on a monumental secret.
#it’s a kids show so i think for that reason it was played for laughs about keeping the dragons a secret is not necessarily a bad choice...#the show does that sometimes where it says something off hand and then leaves me lying face down contemplating ✨the consequences✨ of that#but there are some… implications there about being too loose lipped with the truth in leading up to the end of and immediately post#war fire nation. just because zuko understands the spiritual significance of a dragon it does not mean the rest of his people will. actuall#its more likely that they'd reject zuko's opinion considering that he's basically coming into power and then telling everyone that#they've been lied to their whole lives. the fire nation is drowning in propaganda. for a lot of people this opinion of dragons and#firebending's true nature being violence and destruction is all they know. fire is LIFE but to most people that's an alien concept#and in terms of keeping secrets - it’s not even a matter of trust it’s a matter of too many people knowing#you might not even realised you’ve revealed some incredible information to someone who has the means to spread it or pursue it#so… i think zuko would be hyper aware of this. since he grew up hearing stories about the 'glory' of dragon hunting#and since iroh has also made a concerted effort to keep this information hidden i think it makes sense he’d be very hesitant to let it#get out to the public#aang would agree i think esp if zuko explained the importance of hiding them even from loved ones#ALSO random but it also makes me wonder what the fire nation said about roku in wake of the war#he had a dragon but he didn’t kill it. he didn’t ’conquer’ it#sozin would have had to work his ASS off to reframe history as him being the more… loyal(?) patriotic (?) of the two#did he frame it as roku didn’t have the courage to kill a dragon??? that he lacked the strength of a true firebender?#the avatar works hard but sozin's propaganda machine works harder 🧍‍♀️#zuko#aang#avatar the last airbender#zuko & aang#jack talks#sun warriors#book 3#what is it with me having a whole separate post in the tags 👁️👄👁️
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ruffgem · 2 days
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a lot of my teachers this year have randomly complimented me on my writing even when the class largely has nothing to do with it and tbh??!??! it's really nice and it makes me want to write more?!?!?!!?!?!
#i thought i was bad at it but i think it's just bc i had to write so many academic essays that i stopped having time for creative writing#but i was shocked today because i had a one-on-one with my painting teacher which was basically my final#it wasn't even a crit just a talk basically about my painting#and i had to submit a write-up in advance about what i learned through the process of that class basically#so anyway when i got to the one-on-one the first thing he did was thank me for the write-up and he was like 'clearly you love writing'#'you're a good writer'#and i was like what!?!?!??!?!?#BECAUSE#im not trying to brag SERIOUSLY but i wrote it really fast and i didn't think it was that crazy#but it meant a lot coming from him because he's probably the most articulate and insightful teacher i've ever had#and also he like has a degree in english LOL#and he said i was a storyteller... so anyway..... i almost cried in the club immediately#well anyway. top ten moments#also my art history professor who i deeply respect wrote a very thoughtful comment on my work today to tell me that she thinks#that i 'have a true talent for written visual analysis' and to 'take her word on it'#BOTH OF THESE MOMENTS?? IN THE SAME DAY?!??!!?!#sorry for 18 paragraphs of bragging but i was truthfully floored#i am always floored when people compliment my writing because lowkey i am hugely insecure about it and feel like i can't articulate shit#like so insecure i cant even write lyrics for songs im like 'i have nothing to write about' man stfu just make shit up its called FICTION#anyway....#top ten days of my life
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cinnabeat · 1 month
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i am perpetually haunted by my brother very briefly commenting that he thinks id really like that law guy from one piece and then never elaborating again like PERPETUALLY HAUNTED abt it bc i see that man on my dash every fucking day and im reminded that my brother is probably right and i hate it immensely
#ive said this so many times#im sorry#but it really does haunt me#less bc my brother is right and more bc i want to know how he came to that conclusion#what abt me says id like that character#why did he say that#he no longer remembers#it fucking haunts me#it haunts me bc im regularly reminded#but you know what else haunts me?#that sub i had in eighth grade history who told me i had an accent (??) and it sounded brazilian (??????????)#was not aware i had an accent#my speech patterns and potential accent also haunts me regularly and full disclosure i blame the sub#she started that and ever since then ive had people comment on it#my friend told me my spanish sounded like cursive. she did not know what that meant but everyone agreed and so did my brother#i always thought my spanish sounded staccato-y but sure it sounds like cursive#i talked to someone in spanish and they clocked me like *squinting* where are you from and going ah of course when i tell them my parents ar#are from chile. theyre like you sound it :) like hello. no one ever tells me that. my parents make fun like you sound mexican :) which is ho#horrifying im sorry and my relatives make fun bc my spanish apprently isnt that good when THEYRE the ones who speak like thre english words#this became abt accents sorry but it truly haunts me. after the sub thing i turned to my friend like do i have an accent???? and she was lik#like im not sure?? like thank you so hepful that also haunts me#anyways. if someone comments on my speech patterns or a possible accent it gives me an identity crisis and then i remember it forever#i will never ever forget spanish for spanish speakers 1-2 in middle school and getting made fun of bc i didnt know what a chancla was. i was#i was feeing ashamed for not being a true mexican when im not in fact mexican. like hello. AND THEN. people get upset when IM the one upset#bc someone makes a chile/chili joke like fuck OFF its really not rhat funny bitch#will also never forget the cultural fair in middle school and one class had chile as a booth and they lovingly decorated it with chilean fla#flags with an obnoxiously large flaming pepper in the middle and spicy made feom mexico candy to sell#like sure whatever fine like that makes ANY sense fuck you#ANYWAYS.#michi tag
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hacked-wtsdz · 5 months
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Every time I read or watch Lord of the Rings I can’t help but think about how Tolkien had survived one of the bloodiest, most cruel, most dirtiest and darkest wars in human history, came back and wrote this:
“The world is indeed full of peril, and in it there are many dark places; but still there is much that is fair, and though in all lands love is now mingled with grief, it grows perhaps the greater.”
And this:
"'I wish it need not have happened in my time,' said Frodo.
'So do I,' said Gandalf, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.'"
And this:
"I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend."
And this:
“Many that live deserve death and some that die deserve life. Can you give it to them? Then do not be so eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the wise cannot see all ends."
And this:
“True courage is about knowing not when to take a life, but when to spare one.”
And clearly they were all written partly because he survived the war, because of what he’d seen and done and learned. But at the same time the unwillingness to lose faith, the courage and strength that this man had to believe in these things after going through hell! It makes the nihilists look so cheap, so uninteresting! People who’ve went through concentration camps and wars believe in humanity anyway, isn’t that proof that hope and love exist? And many, many, many of them did not return or returned broken and cruel and traumatised to the point when no faith in others was possible for them, and nobody can blame them. But there were many who refused to lose faith and hope. They have seen some of the worst that life has to offer and came back believing that we shouldn’t be eager to deal out death in judgement and should love only that which the sword defends.
No matter how many people say that humanity is horrible and undeserving of love, and life is dark and worthless, and love doesn’t exist I remember this and have hope anyway. Because there were people who have actually had all reason to believe in the worst and still believed in the good, so the good must be real. The good is real, even despite the evil, and we must trust in it.
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cryptotheism · 1 year
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How do cards gain meaning in an occult sense? Like, both tarot and french-suited playing cards started as game pieces, but they have gained an understood meaning. Is it just someone whips up an organized table of connected ideas or is each card interpreted from a certain framework?
Oh good question!
Many things that we now consider staples of western magic are ideas that have been added to over generations by several layers of thinkers. Tarot Divination specifically is an excellent example of this!
In 1770, A french printmaker and occultist going by Etteilla published a book about how to do cartomancy with a 32-card Piquet deck. He writes down some simple but strict associations for the cards, and makes what is probably the first mention of reversals in carotmancy. He said that he learned the system "from an Italian." Now, its unclear how much of the system is his own invention, people have been doing cartomancy for as long as there's been cards, but the text presents a larval, bare-bones version of the cartomancy methods we know and love today.
Its 1780-ish. The Rosetta stone hasn't been discovered yet. Occult-inclined Europeans are obsessed with Egypt. That's where our boy Trismegistus is from! There's a concept in Egyptian mythology called The Book of Thoth, a mythical book of spells penned by the God of Knowledge himself. This was the Holy Grail for European Occult Egpytaboos.
In 1781, Antoine Court de Gébelin claimed that Tarot cards were the "original book of Thoth," Saying that Tarot cards had been used by ancient Egyptian priests for their own magical ceremonies, and that their designs contained ancient mystical secrets. This is 100% not true, but he writes a pretty fun pseudohistory for Tarot that involves Romani people bringing the decks to Europe through the Levant where they then taught its esoteric secrets to several Popes.
Then in 1783, Ettellia responded with another book. Manière de se récréer avec le jeu de cartes nommées tarots ("Way to recreate yourself with the deck of cards called tarots") Where Ettellia basically claims "uhm actually I knew about tarot divination way before Court de Gebelin published that big ass book. But anyway here's an interpretation of Tarot symbology that includes multiple references to Egyptian, Zoroastrian, and Greek mythology." But the smartest thing he did was include spread methods that involved Thoth and Numerology. Napoleonic Occultists fucking loved Thoth and numerology.
In 1788, he formed a little magical society for the express purpose of discussing and workshopping ideas for Tarot divination. In 1789, he made a TRULY smart decision, and published a Tarot deck that was Specifically For Magic, and that basically cemented Tarots place in magical history.
Occultists just kept iterating! Someone would speculate "maybe the suits correspond to the elements" and people went "yeah, they correspond to the elements! That makes this tool even more fun and interesting to use!" Then people go "What if the suits and the elements also correspond to parts of the Self?" and people went "Sure they do! That makes this tool even more interesting!"
But its also not just one thread. Eventually you get the Golden Dawn saying "The Major Arcana correspond to the nodes and paths on our version of the Quabbalistic Sefirot, you know, the hermetic version with a Q." and some occultists responded "Idk about that! Love what you've done with the color symbology though!"
The development of magical ideas is an iterative process. It is people whipping up a table of correspondences, but that table needs a mythology to keep it together. Originally, the mythology that gave tarot "power" was its Egyptian pseudohistory, but these days its the fact that occultists have been iterating on and fine-tuning this system for hundreds of years.
Humans don't think in tables of information, they think in stories. The cool thing about stories is that they're flexible. If magic is anything, its learning how to engineer stories to make the tables of information more effective.
I'm gonna plug my patreon where I post all of my occult research if you wanna see more stuff like this
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neochan · 1 year
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THE PRIDEFUL GAMER (M)
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SERIES MASTERLIST LINK | remember this is part two of a series! read part one for context!
PAIRING | best friend!haechan x reader
SYNOPSIS |  lee donghyuck had the largest ego you’d ever seen for someone who stayed cramped in their dorm room all night playing video games; but when you stay in with him the night after a raging party, you find yourself realizing that ego just might be deserved.
WC | 10.8k
WARNINGS | cursing, mentions of alcohol & weed, sexual comments, hyuck shirtless and covered in paint, party games, comments abt virginity, switch!hyuck (slight sub, lean dom), sexual content (nothing too crazy).
A.N | i know you guys have been waiting for this, so i hope it lives up to the hype :) and if it doesn't - sorry
“Haechan, I need you to fuck me.”
Your reflection stares back at you in the mirror, tired eyes ringed with heavy circles and glinting in judgement.
This was fucking ridiculous.
No matter how many times you sat in front of the mirror and practiced, you couldn’t get the words out with a straight face. Even the wet dreams that plagued your sleeping hours weren’t enough to prepare you. After all, you still couldn’t believe what you were going to ask Haechan to do. Or participate in, rather.
It wasn’t that you were scared, or that you didn’t want it, because trust and believe your mind and body both craved him; it was just stressful. Asking your bestfriend to give you some dick and then go on and mind his business like nothing happened?
Unfathomable.
But it was Haechan, and something in your brain told you he’d jump at the chance to fuck you; at least you were hoping so. How could you not think that when he said things like –
“If I open the door, am I gonna see boobs?”
Case in point.
You yell back, a blush of embarrassment heating your face while you fumble around to act like you were putting on makeup and not practicing asking him for sex, “No you pervert!”
The door swings wide open and the boy in question steps into the tiny room, “That’s a damn shame.”
God Damn.
Ever since that alcohol induced dream, your body had taken the liberty of reacting every time you caught sight of Haechan. It didn’t matter if he was drunk with pasta sauce smeared all over his face after he smashed a bowl of ravioli (true story), or if he was all done up for a class presentation on the history of the toaster oven (out of all things); your body reacted the same either way.
It went further than just sight though. If you so much as smelled someone wearing similar cologne to what he normally wore, arousal bells started ringing and you had to sprint home to relieve the ache between your legs.
This time wasn’t any different.
Fluffy, dark brown hair is what you see first, gelled stylishly in effortless waves around his head, save for the small curls on the nape of his neck. When you move your gaze lower, you lock eyes with his, and a spark of curiosity blooms. Then it’s his perfect pink lips set in a cute pout, and rounded jaw that you often stared at when he ate because it made you think of how good he’d be at eating you out. The thoughts start to creep into your mind, and you have no choice but to shake them out and replace them with something else, which so happened to be his outfit…or lack thereof.
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, revealing a cute tummy with faint lines and deeply toned biceps. You’d punched him in the stomach once before, and you didn’t need to see abs to know that that man was rock solid. Multicolored neon body paint decorated his torso and back, tiny splatters here and there, but the star of the show is a lime green handprint wrapped around his throat (Jaemins probably). His black sweats also had paint on them, but his combat boots didn’t have a drop of color. If he expected to get out of the frat with them looking spotless, he had another thing coming.
“You do know the theme is neon?” His voice jolts you back into reality, and the blush that was gone finds its way back to your throat and cheeks. You were literally sitting in front of the mirror with a neon pink bralette on, why was he asking you this? Slightly, you nod. “Then why are you staring at me? I know I’m not ripped like Jen or Jaem, but come on, I can rock the dad bod!”
“Haechan. Take this with a grain of salt, but you have a decent body.”
Automatically, the compliment goes to his head, “Wanna see all of it sometime?”
Yes, please.
“No.”
A cheeky smile forms on his lips, “Thought so…”
“I’m actually surprised you’re going. Don’t you have a video game competition or something?” You stand up from your spot in front of the vanity and grab your leather jacket that was laying on the rack beside it.
“I can’t pass up free liquor. You know this.”
For some reason, your outfit seems like its missing something, and desperately your eyes are searching for it… ah! A necklace. You couldn’t go in a frat without some form of jewelry. Unable to reach behind yourself and clasp it, you hold it out to Haechan who doesn’t hesitate to grab it and push your shoulder, so your back was to him. “So, the plan is to get hammered?”
Tender fingers brush aside your hair, a spark igniting in the pit of your stomach. You feel almost giddy at his touch, and you’re not sure you entirely hate it. You anticipate more, and he doesn’t disappoint. His hands reach around your throat, the heavy pendant resting at the base of your throat while his fingers work at the nape of your neck to clasp it.
“The plan is to get absolutely drunk, find a bad bitch and fuck her till the entire house knows my name.” His voice is low, dropping right next to your ear, and the air blowing from his lips makes your shiver into his touch at your neck.
“S-Sounds like a good plan.” you whisper.
What was this boy doing to you?
“Wanna help?”
“H-Help? Help with what? Help you?”
He backs away, hands held out in front of him and a smile cracking his features, “Yeah. Wanna help me find a frat bunny?”
I’m right here.
“Oh, uh, sure.”
“Perfect.” He starts to head out before turning back to you, “You didn’t think I was gonna ask if I could fuck you… did you?”
Your response comes out suspiciously fast, but Haechan had pregamed before stopping at your dorm, and he definitely didn’t catch it, “No! I would never! You’re like… really fucking gross. Sorry Hyuck.”
“Ahhh, theres the Y/N I know!” he claps you on the shoulder, “By the way, Jeno and Jaem are waiting in the car downstairs so hurry up.”
With that, he’s gone, the slamming of the front door resonating deep in the pit of your stomach, your nerves buzzing, and every muscle tense.
This was going to be a long night.
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People were already throwing up in the bushes by the time you and the boys arrived, but you’d rather wade through puke than sit in Jeno’s car a second longer.
The entire ride to the frat house was a mess. From being squished between Jaemin and Hyuck, thanks to Jeno reserving the front seat for his precious bottles of Smirnoff and Hennessy (Seriously, he wouldn’t move them. He even buckled them up in case he crashed the car. As if the bottles wouldn’t break.) to having one of said bottles passed around the backseat and promptly spilled all over your upper body; you couldn’t take it anymore.
Unfortunately, the situation was made worse by Haechan's actions. As the cold alcohol spilled all over you, his hands peppered over your body, gliding through the sticky liquid that was rapidly drying. When he touched the lace of your bralette, his fingers inadvertently brushed against your nipple, reigniting the warmth in your stomach.
You really hoped he hadn’t noticed.
Jaemin, on the other hand, kept shoving his arm around to try and garner your attention towards his phone, which had pictures of sorority girls pulled up.
“Which ones should I take back to my place tonight?” He kept asking you, again and again and again until you and his minty breath were quite acquainted.
Needless to say, you wanted out.
So, when the car came to a screeching halt along the sidewalk, you were all but climbing over Jaemins lap to get the door open.
“You know, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have you all over me, but this isn’t what I meant.” The flirtatious jokes from Jaemin were already starting, but he wasn’t the target tonight, Haechan was.
“Sorry, Haechan’s body odor was starting to get to me.” You send a warm smile to the boy clambering out of Jeno small coupe behind you.
“I literally haven’t even started being mean to you yet, why are you throwing insults?” Haechan stands tall, the heels of his combat boots making him tower over you, “And I’m wearing old spice anyway, this shit lasts ages. You must have been smelling Jaemins dick… I heard it’s quite overused.”
The pink haired boy whips around, hands shoved deep into the pocket of his sweatpants, “Why are you mad I get more pussy than you?”
Jeno thrusts a bottle of alcohol into you and Haechans hands, leaving Jaemin empty handed, who looks at you with a pout. You uncap your bottle, a dark thing of Hennessy, and pass it to him.
Haechan snorts, “Not mad, just annoyed that you keep me up all night with your grunting.”
Jaemin passes the bottle back to you and gives you a wink, but he doesn’t say anything else. Instead, the four of you start walking through the grass and up the steps to the frat house.
The front lawn was littered with red, plastic solo cups, ping pong balls, and empty beer cans. Toilet paper hung around a poorly spray-painted piece of cardboard that read, ‘welcome to the jungle’. College students hung around the porch smoking cigarettes and weed, and somehow a joint ends up between your fingers before you’ve even reached the front door.  
“Wanna shotgun that?” Haechan smirks, wiggling his eyebrows when you shove the loosely wrapped blunt between your lips.
Inhaling takes a minute, the burning sensation of the weed filling your lungs and immediately reaching your bloodstream. You blow the smoke directly in Haechans face as a way of declining his offer, though pressing your lips against his and sharing a smoky kiss sounded real good right then.
He waves a hand in front of his face, “Fine. I see how it is.”
Whoever handed you the blunt plucks it out from between your fingers before you can pass it to Haechan and disappears around the side of the house.
“Well, that was mean.” Jaemin sighs defeatedly.
“I’m pretty sure Renjun is inside selling if you want to buy something off of him.” Jeno shouts over his shoulder.
“Fair warning though, he doesn’t roll well.” You spit tiny green pieces of marijuana onto the front walkway and cringe at the taste. There was a reason you didn’t like edibles.
Jeno just nods to the freshman pledge assigned to door duty (a scrawny boy who went by the name of Shotaro) and shoulders the front door of the house. Immediate booming bass finds your chest and rattles through you, the smell of spilled alcohol and cheap drugs clouding the house in a thick smog. Black lights hang from the ceiling, the people loitering near the entranceway glowing brightly in neon oranges, blues, green, yellows, and pinks.
You vaguely notice a few of the brothers roaming around passing out beers to the partygoers, but one in particular notices the four of you crowding the entrance and discards his last beer to a random girl at his side before jogging over.
“Jae!” Jeno and the brother lock hands and embrace, slapping each other’s backs in a way that looked painful.
The only reason you had gotten into the frat parties all year long was because of Jaehyuns and Jeno’s relationship – they were on the hockey team together, and brothers.
Jung Jaehyun was a senior, the head of the most popular frat on campus, NEO, and Jeno’s half-brother. You’d never really interacted with him, but from what you heard, he was a nice guy with an even nicer girlfriend, and they were head over heels in love with each other. You didn’t see her around anywhere, not that you would know what she looked like.
“Looking for someone?” Haechans voice, gravelly and low, finds your ear and makes you shiver despite how hot it was in the house. You hated the way he made your body feel, but not as much as you should have.
“You’re about to be looking out of one eye if you don’t back the fuck up.” Hostility was not your strong suit, but Haechan just drug something out of you.
“Jesus Christ, you need to drink. You’re so much better drunk. A lot nicer.” He smiles down at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and you can physically feel your heart beginning to melt.
A little voice in the back of your head is telling you to say, and you’re so much better when you shut up, how about you put that mouth to use between my legs?
But you refrain.
It’s very hard to refrain.
You almost slip.
That is, until you realize Jaehyun has since walked away and left the four of you to party how you please.
“Okay. I’ll be staying sober. Well, as sober as a good couple blunts make me. Please try to stay in the house, it makes it so much easier when it’s time to go and I have to round you jack offs up.” Jeno smirks, handing his bottle of alcohol to Jaemin who gladly takes it.
You’re surprised he hasn’t already gone looking for someone to fuck, it was well known that him and Jaehyun didn’t particularly get along. Something about Jaemin fucking Jaehyuns ex… you didn’t know the full story.
Jeno grabs Haechans bare shoulders, “Please, for the love of God, do not jump in the pool again. Last time you almost drowned and I don’t feel like planning a funeral for your sorry ass.”
“I make no such promises, but I will try my best.” The younger boy beams.
“Alright, go have fun, and try not to catch a STD. I’ll be over with Renjun if you need me.” And with that, your friend Jeno breaks from the group, his neon painted bare back shining brightly amongst the crowd right before he fades in.
Jaemin breaks off almost immediately after chugging the bottle of alcohol Jeno had given him.
Haechan, who wasn’t one for parties and usually stayed holed up in his dorm room playing video games all night, sways by your side awkwardly.
“Aren’t you gonna go find a frat bunny to fuck?” You shout over the blaring music.
He looks almost nervous when he shifts his gaze to you, “I don’t really see anyone of interest… except you of course. Wanna go fuck in the bathroom?” A shit eating grin blinds you right before he lifts the Smirnoff bottle and takes a swig, finishing it with a grimace.
Wouldn’t it be nice to say yes and get his part of the challenge over? Fuck, how you wanted to grab his hand and drag him to the nearest bathroom, but frat parties weren’t the place to hook up, and you wanted to take your time with him anyway.
“I wouldn’t let you touch me with a ten-foot pole.”
“You’re telling me you don’t wanna hit this?” He rubs his free hand across his chest and stomach, dipping it so far as to drag down a bit of his sweatpants. A strong V-Line peeks out and you almost choke on air, eyes bugging out of your skull.
“Keep your fucking clothes on Hyuck.” You sputter.
He cocks an eyebrow and reaches out for your hand, which you hesitate to take. What was he doing? Was he trying to bring you into the nearest bathroom?
All he does is tug you towards the main room, an open area full of students dancing, drinking, and smoking, “Interesting… Come on, let’s party.”
The feeling of his calloused fingers enlaced with yours was enough to send your mind spiraling deep into the thoughts that plagued your dreams – like what it would feel like to have them wrapped around your neck, or shoved between your thighs, maybe even down your throat. 
Mentally, you tell your brain to shut up (it always did get slutty in these environments).
“Y/N!!” A girly voice shouts off to your left, dragging both you and Haechans attention. Lisa, a girl in the same major as you, who you’ve known for a couple years now, is barreling toward you and the boy you’re linked hand in hand with. She shoves a few partygoers to the side, an opened beer can in her hand which she’s cautious enough not to spill.
When she finally makes it to your side, her eyes dip down and make note of your hands crushed together, a freshly waxed eyebrow popping up in question at you. Immediately you yank your hand away from Haechan, who glares in protest but doesn’t say anything.
“I didn’t think I would see you here!” She’s beaming head to toe and slings a paint splattered arm around your shoulders.
You smile back, “Jeno made me come.” She’d had a crush on Jeno for ages, and from the look on her face at the mention of his name, it still existed.
“Oh, he’s here? I didn’t even know!! I need to go find him asap.”
“Well yeah, it’s his brothers party and all…” Haechan pipes up from beside of you, nervously biting at his nails. He always chewed his cuticles unrecognizable.
She looks up at him with a weird expression before extracting her arm and turning to face you, her back to Haechan, who sneers and throws up a middle finger in her direction. It makes you chuckle, but thankfully she doesn’t question it.
“Well, a bunch of us are playing games upstairs if you wanna join.”
You start to say no, but you can tell in her eyes that she wasn’t going to take that as an answer, so you nod your head, “Sure.”
A squeal so loud heads turn, erupts from her mouth, “Good!!! Ima go find Jeno and then head up there. I’ll see you soon.” And with a kiss to your cheek, she’s gone.
“Well, guess we’re playing games.” Haechan huffs, reaching for your hand now that she was gone, “I hope it’s spin the bottle so I can kiss you.”
Me too.
Rolling your eyes, you start towards the stairs, “Haechan?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
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Haechan didn’t shut up.
In fact, he kept his mouth running all the way up the stairs, through the bodies loitering in the hallway, around a puddle of puke, and into the makeshift living room Lisa must have set up.
Not like you were paying much attention to what he said anyways. Instead, your mind chose to focus on the way his back looked in the dim lighting of the frat house. Underneath a layer of pretty tan skin, the boy was all muscle, stretching and tensing when his lithe legs carried him up the inclined stairs. And when he turned around to make sure you were still following him, despite his hand being attached to yours, you notice the muscles carried all the way around to his abdomen and torso.
Because the house was hot and humid, the paint splattered on his chest was fading and streaking. The neon paint dripped down his body, with some even dribbling into the waistband of his sweatpants. The idea of the paint staining his v-line creates a sensation of warmth in your stomach.
You wanted to see him naked so bad and it made you mad.
What happened to the boy who stayed in his room every day and barely touched vegetables? What happened to him being a friend and just that? Had one night of drinking skewed your common sense? Or was this just a side effect of the challenge you were doing?
Whatever, he’s fucking hot and he has a big dick, you argue with yourself, images of what you saw on his phone flashing through your mind.
Haechan getting his dick sucked by some random girl, forcing her to deepthroat and then whimpering.
The thought alone almost makes you steer him into the nearest bathroom, but the makeshift living room comes too soon.
“I literally can’t get rid of you.” Jaemin perks up from his spot on the floor, bottle of liquor tucked away in his lap.
“Talk to Lisa.” You shoot back flatly.
As you glance around the room, you realize that the only person you recognize is Jaemin. While a few faces seem familiar, you can't recall their names or where you may have seen them before.
Hyuck guides you over to the circle where everyone is seated and takes a spot, leaving you to settle in opposite him. "Looks like it's just you and me," he says with a grin, displaying his gleaming white teeth. You can't help but wonder how they would feel against your inner thighs, and you unconsciously clench them together while crossing your arms.
You didn’t know how long Lisa and Jeno were going to be, or if she was still downstairs recruiting more players, but you’re lucky not to be left alone with your thoughts too long, because a couple minutes later, she, Jeno and Jaehyun (surprisingly) filter into the room, one after the other.
Haechan’s eyes cut to you, and he smirks, eyebrows wiggling in a stupidly suggestive way.
“Okay! Seems like we got enough players.” Lisa pipes up, taking the spot next to you that sat empty (thankfully no one had sat and tried to make acquaintance. you were too sober for that). Jeno sits off to your right, and Jaehyun takes the spot next to Haechan.
Jaemin leans in towards the circle, appearing invested as he asks, "What game are we playing?" His gaze travels up and down Lisa's body, and he licks his lips. You roll your eyes; of course, she was the one he was after tonight. Too bad her eyes were on Jeno.
She gives a short giggle before replying, “How about seven minutes in heaven?”
A low murmur ripples through the circle but affirming head nods set the game in motion.
Honestly, you find the game awkward and childish, something played in your early high school years, but maybe the universe and luck would be on your side tonight.
Wasn’t the whole point of tonight to get into Haechans pants? This silly little game was the perfect opportunity.
He seemed to be on the same wavelength because one glance and you see him making kissy faces directed at you.
Why the fuck was he so weird?
And why did you want to crawl across the circle and kiss him?
“Great, can we use that bottle Jaemin?” Lisa asks, and he’s quick to shove it in the middle. He must really want her to come home with him tonight if he’s giving up his alcohol that easily – or the bottle at least.
Lisa takes a finger and spins the bottle, the handle flying around so fast it looked like a blur. You hold your breath, silently praying it doesn’t land on you. You could probably hear a pen drop in the room (plus the thumping bass coming up through the floorboards).
It comes to a standstill, pointing at a random girl you’ve never seen before. She looks nervous, but that was to be expected, right?
Lisa spins the bottle again and you thank your lucky stars when it lands on another girl in the circle.
Two girls down, about 12 of you left.
The next few rounds follow a similar pattern, with two unfamiliar people being chosen and then awkwardly leaving the circle. At some point Jaemin and a blonde headed bimbo filter off to surely fuck.
The game starts to feel pointless, but then the bottle lands on you.
Haechan immediately perks up from being previously slumped against a pillow. The bottle of Smirnoff by his side was slowly draining, and you could tell he was feeling it a bit. A rosy blush spread itself on his cheeks and his eyes shined bright. An eager look crosses his face when Lisa tips the bottle into spinning.
Whoever it landed on was going to be shoved in a tiny closet with you for the next seven minutes. Time ticked slow, your eyes following it’s every move.
Spinning.
And spinning.
And spinning.
And stop.
“No fucking way.” Haechan pouts.
Your eyebrows raise, a short, disbelieving laugh rushing past your lips. The bottle has landed between Jaehyun and Haechan, more towards the latter, but nearly dead set between.
“Well, who is it then?” Haechan urges, pushing himself up on his knees, “Cause it’s more towards me, so I think it’s only fair…”
“Maybe by a single degree.” Jaehyun argues, locking his eyes with yours and giving a lopsided smile.
It strikes you as odd that Jaehyun, who you're pretty sure has a girlfriend (Jeno had mentioned her once or twice), is even participating in the game. Despite this, he seems to be making eyes at you, smiling with deep dimples and winking. You just stare back at him, causing the tips of his ears to flush red. You weren’t going to be the cause of a scandal if he was, in fact, still dating that girl.
So the dilemma (that wasn’t really a dilemma) dawns on you. Your best friend or the boy who (maybe) had a girlfriend? You contemplate storming out of the room and forfeiting the game – but what was the fun in that? And anyways, Haechan looked like he was getting antsy.
“Come on Hyuck.” you grumble, pushing yourself up off the dusty floor and slipping out into the semi-crowded hallway. The boy eagerly follows on your heel until you’re shouldering a random door and slipping into a dark room.
It feels much bigger than the closet you were envisioning, though where was the fucking light? Both of you search the walls to no avail. Faintly, you see the outline of a bed and walk over to it, dropping down on the sunken mattress – Haechan following your lead.
“What a coincidence that it’s you and me. I mean, I knew you wanted to fuck me, but seriously, how did you rig a spin the bottle game?”
In this moment you’re glad for the darkness enveloping the room – then he wouldn’t see the shock and embarrassment flooding your face.
Defensively, you shove his chest, “Shut up. I didn’t rig the game.”
The smirk is almost evident in his tone, “Oh, but you do wanna fuck me?”
“No – Haechan I wanted to play a game. Of course fate would give me your ass.”
“Maybe fate wants us to hook up.” he murmurs.
I’d agree with fate then, you think.
A million thoughts flood your mind in a millisecond. How convenient it was that you were stuck in an empty room, with a bed, with Hyuck – with a shirtless Hyuck. The dim lighting outlines the contours of his chest, and you can feel yourself clenching your thighs together for what felt like the umpteenth time.
“Would you like that?” You whisper, slightly leaning closer to him. He wasn’t that far away. Maybe a foot at most.
“Is the sky blue?” He retorts, ever so slightly leaning into you too.
You roll your eyes, “Is that a trick question – because it’s nighttime right now and the sky is black.”
“I don’t know, maybe you should kiss me and find out.”
His voice is lower than normal, which surprises you. But not as much as the statement. You knew he was like this – forward and flirty. Though it’s different when you actually want to reciprocate.
Time slows down and the electricity of the moment surrounds you two. His lips are inching towards your own, long, slender fingers grabbing your thighs.
Fuck, it’s happening – Everything you’ve been dreaming about for weeks on end. How did this happen so fast?
You can smell the alcohol on his breath – wondering if he’ll taste sweet like brandy.
“Hyuck…” you whisper, “ I-“
Light and sound flood the room, startling the fuck outta you and making you jump three feet back into the headboard.
“Oh shit –” the partygoer curses.
The girl on his arm giggles, “’m sorry. Didn’t mean to barge in on you two!” They slam the door, and the muffled sounds of the party bring you back to the present.
Yellow spots cloud your vision as you fumble to stand up, almost tripping over what you can assume to be a backpack.
You swallow thickly, “Let’s go back downstairs.”
“I’ll meet you down there.” Haechan whispers, one hand running through his hair, “You go on ahead.”
Without another word, you slip into the hallway and slink down the stairs – into the hands of hundreds of drunk college kids. You see Jaemin taking shots and Jeno smoking it up with Renjun.
What the fuck just happened.
And why did I ruin it.
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After a good twenty minutes away from each other, you realize he was the only person who you cared to hang out with. So, you found him utterly intoxicated on the kitchen floor and forced him to dance with you.
Well really you just forced him off the kitchen floor which he really didn’t want to leave, but once he was up and moving, he took you by hand and made the night worthwhile.
Now two hours later, with most of the alcohol Jeno had supplied gone, all you can think about is sucking Haechans dick.
It’s because of the way he danced (and smelled, and looked, and…). His hands reach out and greedily grab at your waist, fingers twisting through the empty belt loops of your jeans. A bit of the paint he had on was smudged against you, thanks to him pulling you into a bear hug earlier in the night.
He was drunk, and it made him extra touchy. Though you didn’t mind, in fact, you welcomed it now that your resolve was slipping. So, when he pushes you against the wall, one hand held high over your head, his other circling your jaw, it’s no surprise that your heartbeat goes wild. A blush rises hot on your face; his eyes finding yours and piquing with dull amusement.
“I gotta tell you a secret-” he slurs, swaying in your arms. He thinks for a minute before putting a hand over his mouth, “Wait, I can’t tell you.” When you don’t respond, instead, electing to stare at him in amusement, his lips jut out into a pout, “Why don’t you like me?”
One of your hands pushes against his slick with sweat chest, “I do like you?” Your breathing becomes labored when his lips pull back in a sloppy grin.
“You like me? You like me!!” Haechan teeters a bit to the left, almost falling into another couple that were vigorously making out, “They need to get a room… we need to get a room.”
We had a room.
“We need to get a room?” You question, eyes widening when he leans in so close he’s only an inch away from kissing you.
“Can I kiss you?”
It feels like the room comes to a crescendo, every sound clashing yet becoming silent at the same time. All you can think about is his mouth and how pretty and pink his lips are. How it would be heaven to meld into the strong grasp of your best friend. How the constant nights of intimate dreams of him weren’t enough to satisfy you. How you should have taken him up on his offer in that damn room.
How you wanted to go to that damn bathroom now.
But this was wrong.
The wrong time, wrong place, wrong everything.
You were drunk, he was more than drunk, and surely that would affect whether you thought he fucked the best.
From around his shoulder, you spot Jeno staring at you with a beer in his hand – so much for staying sober. He’s smirking, slightly chuckling, and cocking his eyebrows at you as if asking, ‘you gonna kiss him?’
“Haechan.”
The boy has gone from being semi coherent to humming some sort of song that wasn’t even close to the one that was playing.
“Haechan!” you shake his shoulder in an attempt to snap him out of the stupor, and suddenly he stands up tall.
“Y/N, I missed you!!! What are you doing here?” It was like he was seeing you for the first time.
He was too drunk to function. You should have expected as much, but you’re still slightly disappointed that you wouldn’t be able to go forth with your plan.
You sigh and grab his arm, the disappointment nearly sobering you up, “Let’s go find Jeno and get you home, okay?”
His eyes go frantic, “We can’t forget Jaemin! We have to find Jaemin!!!”
“Don’t worry Hyuck, I’d leave you here sooner than I would him.”
Maybe then I wouldn’t have the urge to ride you on the frats sofa.
“Meanie.”
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Steaming bags of takeout hang off your arm as you fumble to push your way through the unusually small dorm door.
“Hyuck! Jaemin!” you yell, hoping one of them would dart out of their room and help you with the load of cheap food you were threatening to drop on the ground. You shouldn’t be surprised when all is silent except for the smash of controller buttons and Haechans frustrated screech.
You wade through the mess that nearly makes you gag – piles of clothes, dirty socks and mud caked shoes. Books and pages of lecture notes litter the ground accompanied with crushed RedBull cans – evidence that Haechan did indeed leave his room at some point.
“Yo, you really need to clean this shit up.” you pantomime throwing up and toss the bags of takeout on Haechans dark blue bedspread that was actually made for once.
His back is to you, eyes trained on the video game he was playing, giving you a half-hearted grunt to acknowledge what you said. The too-big headset threatens to engulf his head, nearly sliding off as he jolts forward in the gaming chair.
“Fuck! Fuck! No… no… don’t… SHIT!” Exasperation floods his tone once the screen turns completely red and his character returns to the main lobby. “You guys suck ass.”
Without hearing their response, he shuts off his monitor and spins around to face you, who was patiently waiting on his bed, “Sorry. I woulda got the door for ya, but…” he gestures behind himself.
“It’s fine.” you mumble.
His eyes travel from your face and to the short ass skirt that was slung over your hips. Immediately your face heats up. Why was this awkward? Does he even remember what happened last night? How you almost kissed in some random frat bros room? Or how he had you pressed up against the wall, asking to kiss you. Does he remember the drive home? How he laid in your lap, drunkenly massaging your thighs? Surely he had to remember you tucking him into bed with the promise of takeout tomorrow night?
But when you look him in the eyes, you just see your friend eager to eat – not someone who you nearly fucked last night.
You clear your throat, “Um, where’s Jaemin?”
Haechan shrugs and starts sifting through the boxes of rice and pork cutlets, “He left early this morning. Said he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. Bet that means he’s going to get some pussy.” He takes a bite of rice and speaks through the mouthful, “Twenty four hours though? That’s a long ass time for him.”
You snort and take the box of rice he was gesturing towards you, “Nah, that’s light work for Jaem. As long as he lets us know he’s alive, I think a sex bender might be best for him.”
“You know, he’s still mad that you wouldn’t let him leave with that girl last night.” Haechans laugh rings through the room, making you smile. He had such a pretty voice.
“He was drunker than the both of us combined.” You tear the end of a soy sauce packet and dump it into the container in your lap. “Speaking of, what do you remember from last night? Did you, like, totally black out?”
“Not much, just that you were coming over today.” He says through another mouthful of food.
Great, so he didn’t remember anything. How convenient for you.
“Well… you ended up peeing on this guy when we were leaving because you missed the bush.”
“I missed the bush?”
“The whole bush.”
“Oh my god.”
“I know.”
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The food was long gone, with empty containers flooding his trashcan that begged to be taken out.
You were bored.
Here you were, laying on his bed with a lowcut shirt and a fucking miniskirt, and he was back to playing his game.
For the past hour you tried to get him to join you, but to no avail. Who knew that your first target would be the hardest to fuck? How can you accurately judge how good he fucked if he wouldn’t even lay on the bed with you?
One last chance or you were leaving.
This was an all or nothing moment.
“I’m horny.” It was a declaration. A statement so bold, he turns ever-so-slightly towards you and raises an eyebrow.
“Excuse me?”
You scoff, “You heard me. I need to fuck someone or something.”
The squeak of his chair rings through the uncomfortably silent room as he adjusts himself. What was he thinking? Was he disgusted? Flustered? Did he feel the same?
“Well now that you mention it…” he swallows thickly. Was it hot in his room? Could you feel it too?
You push yourself up into a sitting position, “Come help me.” His dark brown eyes flutter, the tops of his cheeks dusting a light pink color, but he stays silent. "No smart reply? No sexual comments? Did I really fluster the Lee Haechan?"
He gets up from his gaming chair, almost toppling over in the process and spilling the can of Redbull he was clutching onto for dear life. "I am not flustered. " The mattress dips under his weight as he gets comfortable next to you, his gaze falling to the lowcut shirt you wore, "Can’t I touch them if you’re serious?”
His bottom lip juts out in a pout, obviously joking around (your boobs always seemed to be the butt of his sexual comments), but even still, you find yourself removing your shirt before you can think.
The look on his face is priceless, wide eyes almost bugging out of his skull, “I was kidding! Jesus Christ Y/N, put your shirt back on!” his voice has somehow pitched up two octaves, obviously taken aback, but for some reason his eyes remain open and transfixed. It looks as if he’s almost salivating, especially when he watches your nipples perk up from how cool he kept his room.
Reaching out a hand, you clasp his wrist and bring it closer to your body, “But I’m serious.” The bewildered expression never left his face, even when you had him cup his palm around your breast, and then when he took matters into his own hands and gave you a fair squeeze, which made you giggle.
“Am I dreaming? This must be a dream?”
You hop up on your knees, making your tits bounce in the process which drops Haechan’s jaw, “Not a dream, very much reality.”
Slowly and sexily, you crawl towards his seated position beside you, “I want you Haechan.” You breathe the words out slowly, giving him time to comprehend what the fuck his best friend just said.
Confusion flits across his face and he hesitates, “But Y/N…”
“But what? I want you. I want you to fuck me.” His pupils blew wide at the confession.
“Y/N… I can’t.”
Disappointment fills your heart and deflates your ego in a millisecond. You should have known. How could you be so stupid? Of course, he didn’t want to fuck you. You were best friends for fucks sake. It would ruin everything. Why did you even try? Because you were drunk and horny the night the challenge was first brought up? Pathetic, really.
Haechan must have seen the worry and doubt fill your eyes because all of a sudden, he’s grabbing your shoulders, “No, It’s… It’s not because I don’t want to,” His eyes wash over your half naked body, and he licks his lips, “Trust me, I want to…but I’m…I’m.”
Leaning in ever so slightly you whisper, “You’re what? Scared?”
It was a taunt, a tease, a challenge, and he knew it, but he just shakes his head, “Y/N… I’m a virgin.”
Now it was your turn to be shocked, completely taken aback by this new revelation, “You’re a… virgin?”
Pink tints his cheeks and collarbones peeking through his oversized t-shirt, and he hangs his head to avoid eye contact, “Yeah, I’ve never had… never had sex.”
“But you always say –”
“I talk a big game, okay?” The reply rushes from his lips, embarrassment kicking him in the ass, “Yeah I’ve gotten head before, and I’ve eaten a few girls out, but I’ve never had actual sex. It’s… just never happened I guess.”
Here you were, trying to seduce not only your best friend, but your best friend that has just told you he was a virgin. You were trying to steal a virgins innocence. How fucked could you really be?
To be fair, he always acted like he got hella pussy, you argue with yourself.
“Jaemin knows.” He mutters, as if it was of any relevance to the situation.
“Well,” You start, sitting back on your heels, “Here I am shirtless, asking you to fuck me…” His eyes flicker up and lock with yours, “What are you gonna do about it?”
Another challenge.
He did well with challenges, and this time was no different.
You continue, “Unless you believe the ‘only have sex after marriage’ bullshit –”
“Absolutely not.”
Greedy eyes search for an answer on his face, but there’s nothing, only a permanent blush and frantic furrow brows, “Okay, then do you wanna go back to gaming?”
“…No.”
He still isn’t advancing, just sitting with his hands dropped into his lap and looking at you with his wide doe eyes, “Then what?”
You sit there, watching as Haechan fidgets with his hands, clearly nervous about what comes next. The sexual tension that hangs between you two feels like a thick fog. You want him, and you can tell that he wants you too, but the knowledge that he’s a virgin puts a damper on things.
You don't want to be the one to take his virginity. That's a big fucking responsibility, and it's not something that you take lightly. You start to wonder if maybe you should just call it a night and go home. But then Haechan speaks up, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to be a virgin anymore."
His words hit you like a ton of bricks, and you turn to look at him, really look at him for the first time since you arrived. He looks vulnerable, and you can see the fear in his eyes. But you can also see the determination. He knows what he wants, and he's not going to let anything stand in his way.
You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. You know what you want too, but you also know that this is a big deal. You can't just jump into things without thinking them through. "I don't know if I'm the right person for that, Haechan," you say finally. "Taking someone's virginity is a big deal. It's not something to be taken lightly."
Haechan nods, his eyes still locked with yours. "I know. But I trust you, Y/N." His words make your heart skip a beat, and you can feel your cheeks heating up.
"Okay," you say finally. "Okay, we can do this.”
Somehow, the tables had turned on you; and this was getting a lot sappier than you had anticipated.
The awkwardness settles back into the room, Haechan staring at you with his doe eyes, the nervousness flitting about his delicate features.
It’s a beat – a short pause before he speaks so low you almost miss it, “You know I want to fuck you.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
Maybe he’d give you a logical answer and you’d understand; put your shirt back on and let him get back to his video games while you silently scrolled Instagram.
But when was he ever logical?
And when were you ever one to back down?
Faster than you can register, he’s pushing your shoulders backwards until you fall breathlessly against his pillow. He climbs over top of you, his usual goofy smirk replaced with an intensity you both had felt the night before at the frat house. “Nothing’s stopping me.” His breath tickles your cheeks, “But I can’t tell if you’re fucking serious or taking a joke way too far.” A scoff rumbles in his chest, “I’ve damn near bared my soul to you tonight.”
“Not a joke-” you try to argue, but he talks over you.
“Ya know, just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean you can treat me like a plaything.” his head lolls to the side, “Well I mean if you wanted to, you could – but that’s not the point..” He sighs, pressing his face closer to yours, so that you were almost nose to nose. One more inch and you’d be kissing him, “I’m trying to say that if this is a joke… I’m sorry, but I’m gonna fuck you.”
“I – Are you sure about this? You won’t regret anything in the morning?”
He scoffs, “Have you not been listening to me when I speak to you? I’ve been wanting this for ages,” Eyes, half-lidded with desire, wash over your exposed chest, “I’m not gonna regret a damn thing.”
The butterflies in your stomach flutter uncontrollably when Haechan dips his head and captures your lips in a kiss. All you can taste is the fizziness of the redbull he’d been drinking earlier, and something undeniably him. It was urgent and wet, lips sliding over yours to deepen the kiss, dribbles of spit smearing on your cheeks. He was messy.
“No regrets.” You solidify, breath hitching in your throat when his hands cup your breasts – his thumbs flicking over your nipples.
He groans, hips desperately pushing against you, “Let me eat you out.” he asks, though it wasn’t really a question because he starts to lower himself down your figure; pressing wet kisses to your chest. First it’s your collarbone, then the swell of your breasts, all the way down until he hovered right above your skirt.
Your head is reeling with how forward he was, “You’re kinda bold for a vir-”
He slaps a rough hand over your jaw, “If you even so much as utter that word, I’ll shove my cock so far down your throat you won’t be able to speak for a week.” Tauntingly, he quirks an eyebrow as if to dare you, “And anyways,” he continues, moving his hand up to ruffle your hair, “Just because I’ve never stuck my dick between a woman’s thighs doesn’t mean I don’t know how to please one.”
It was your turn to raise an eyebrow, in shock or contemplation of his words, you weren’t sure.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that baby,” Lust drips from his words like venom, the pet name rolling off his tongue a little too certainly, “Sitting up here playing video games has made me exceptionally good with my hands,” he smirks, “and I guess I’m naturally good with my tongue… I don’t know, you’ll have to tell me, yeah?”
Furiously, you nod your head, eyes wide and marveling at this side of Haechan. The one slightly out of breath and bursting with the need to taste you. He was hot. More so than you were expecting. You should pay closer attention sometimes.
He doesn’t waste time undoing your skirt. Instead, he pushes it up until it bunched at your waist, and pretty pink panties were the only thing blocking him from doing what he wanted. Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he pulls them down agonizingly slow. “So pretty.” he whispers.
Without hesitation, he flattens his tongue and licks up your slit, a low rumble building in his chest. You tasted exactly like he had imagined.
The contact makes you gasp, and you fumble around for something to hold onto – choosing his hair as the only viable option. One tug and he’s whining against your clit, hips pressing into the bed unbeknownst to you.
“Y-you like hair pulling?” You question, doing it again to test the waters. He doesn’t answer, just groans against your pussy, tongue swirling around the sensitive bundle of nerves. Strong arms hook underneath your hips and pull hard, until you’re sat right up against his face.
“Hyuck.” you whimper, legs shaking. He was relentless, nosing your clit and fucking you with his tongue – all but lapping at the embarrassing amount of arousal wetting the inside of your thighs. “Hyuck!”
He perks up, lips puffy and jaw shining in the dim light of his bedroom,  “What?”
You feel almost shy at his stare, a blush settling over your cheeks and burning hot at the back of your neck, “D-don’t wanna cum just yet.” You stutter out.
Surprisingly, he rolls his eyes, “Let me stretch you out a little bit, okay baby?” There’s no time for you to respond because two of his fingers press against your entrance and slide in with ease. Simultaneously he dives back in, teeth slightly grazing your clit.
“Fuck!” Your back arches up off the bed, hips rolling against his face. His fingers pump into you, the stretch leaving your thighs shaking.
“See baby, all done,” He slips his fingers out and gives you one final suckle, “God, I can’t wait to fuck you.”
Words are unattainable right now, head still reeling from how fucking good he was with his tongue. That’s where he’d gotten the most practice, but you weren’t expecting that. It was what – less than two minutes? Yet you were already fucked out, body buzzing with excitement. If that was just the beginning, what was to come?
While lost in your thoughts, Haechan rid himself of his shirt and shimmied his shorts down.
The video didn’t do him justice.
Yeah, he looked decently big on his phone screen, but after weeks of contemplation, you could only assume it was the angle.
Oh, how wrong you were.
His cock stood thick and heavy, proudly slapping his lower stomach when he moves to throw his clothes on the floor. It was red and leaking pre-cum, and your mouth waters. Oh, how you wanted to hop up and stuff him down your throat. You wanted to milk him until he was shaking and sobbing for you to stop.
But another part wanted him in you, now.
Deep lines of muscle were etched into his torso – contracting when he leant down to kiss you again. You can taste yourself on his lips, but that wasn’t what caught your attention. Haechan was whimpering; all but shaking against you. The vibrations shot straight into your veins like a drug and when he pulls back and sits on his knees, you almost moan.
You are no better than a man.
Watching the way he touches his body, so soft and careful; tugging at his cock impatiently while his eyes are transfixed on the way your pussy clenches around nothing – it sends a desperate signal down between your thighs.
“Enough!” You whine, “Want you in me.”
His trademark smirk appears on his face, “Okay baby… but..,” he chews on his bottom lip in hesitation, “… I don’t know how long I’ll be able to last..”
“I don’t care!” You wail, annoyed, “Fuck me.”
“So demanding,” He huffs, hands fumbling to push your thighs apart. Looking to you for reassurance that everything was alright, he appeared somewhat uncertain and hesitant.
“It’s okay, ” you breathe, gasping when he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance. “Hold my hand!” It was a statement to make him feel surer of himself, but deep down, you knew it was because you were just as nervous.
Shakily, his hand slides into yours and pushes it against the pillow next to your head. He takes a deep breath. This is silly, he chides himself, just stick it in! You’ve been dreaming about this forever! Be a fucking man.
Slowly, he pushes himself fully into you while still maintaining eye contact.
“Fuck!” you both curse at the same time. His eyes flicker in the back of his head, lips trembling when he bottoms out, now sheathed inside your warm cunt. It’s taking everything in him not to cum right there – and you know it too. He stays like that for a minute longer – not moving, just processing.
“Hyuck…” You whimper, resting your legs on his back. He mumbles a mhm, too focused on steadying his breathing, getting his bearings, finding the will to actually fuck you. “Hyuck, you have to move.”
“M-maybe we should use a c-condom.” He stutters, eyelashes fluttering and tangling together. The interlocked grip on your hands falters when you rut your hips up against him. “F-fuck, we need to use a condom.” His breathing is labored as he tries to gather everything he’s feeling and seeing at once. The way your pussy sucks him in, squeezing around his length just fucking right, the feeling of your nipples brushing his chest every time he bottoms out, and the wet kisses being pressed to the juncture between his neck and collarbone. It was making his head dizzy, and he can feel himself already about to – “I’m gonna cum if you keep, fuck – y/n, stop kissing my n-neck.”
Lost in the satisfying pleasure of him stretching you out, you hadn’t even realized you were kissing him – everywhere. Licking at the place just below his earlobe, suckling bruises into the honey gold skin of his throat, and nipping at his jaw. And every time your lips or tongue grazed him, he shallowly thrusted into you – too caught up in the sensations to get a steady rhythm.
You purse your lips in a pout, pulling your head back to rest on the pillow, and stare up at him, “Why stop if you like it.”
“Good p-point.” He stutters out, burying his head into the crook of your neck. Maybe that would hide the pink tinging his cheeks – the embarrassment. Or maybe it was because he wanted to be enveloped by you completely. “Fuck,” He groans, his cock dragging against your walls with a concentrated pace – like he wanted you to feel every inch of him. And if that was the case, he was succeeding. 
You mewl and moan every time he slips out of you, just to fuck into you deeper than before. Time doesn’t pass, you don’t register anything but the burning sensation in the pit of your stomach – one that catches you off guard. As you arch your body into his touch, your mind begins to cloud.
Words of praise spill from your lips uncontrollably, "You're doing so well," you murmur, and he whimpers. “So good Hyuckie,” You moan, feeling his head still buried in your neck. “Keep going, baby.” The encouragement rips a broken sob from his throat, but he keeps driving his cock between your legs. He couldn’t stop – how could he? You were like his own personal brand of heroin.
His voice comes out muffled when speaks, “Want you to- fuck.. need you to...” His fingers are trembling, jaw slacked as he forgets his train of thought, “Slow down, wait – I need you to, y/n.. oh fuck this.” a rush of air tickles your body as Haechan tightens his hold and flips you over; worming his way underneath your body so that your legs were now slotted over his waist, cock still pushing into you. “There we go,” he mutters.
The action sends your head spinning, and a squeal rips from your throat. “Woah!”
“Woah!” he mocks, bullying his cock into you at such a fast pace, you were battling to keep your balance. His hands held onto your hips so tightly, there were bound to be a few fingerprint shaped bruises tomorrow morning. But that didn’t matter – not when he was burying his length into you again and again and again, abusing your g-spot to the point you’re babbling nonsense.
Your thighs are quivering on either side of him, struggling to keep yourself bouncing on his cock. Equally shaky hands pepper his chest in an attempt to hold onto something as the fire in your stomach burns hotter. Every whimper, every sob, every moan that falls past his lips is like another burning ember – shooting and twisting through your veins.
“G-gonna cum, Hyuck, gonna – “ you mewl, clawing at his collarbones and shoulders.
A harsh slap lands on your ass as he continues to piston his hips up underneath you. Just hearing you say the words edges him even closer to his own orgasm, “Please baby, cum – shit, cum on my cock, you can do it.” He groans through gritted teeth. Another smack lands, “God, I know you can do it.”
Your eyes roll back as you completely fall apart – he never stopped fucking into you. Not even when you all but collapsed on top of him, heartbeat erratic and gasping for breath. Not even when you begged him to slow down, begged him to give you a chance to recover, maybe get into a different position.
“Just give me one second baby, fuck, I still need to cum,” Like a lightbulb went off, he perks, “Wait- where do you want me t-to cum,” He’s rocking his body into yours now, sweat rolling down his temple with the exertion of holding back. “An-Answer! I can’t hold it anymore you feel too fucking good.”
Swirled in your own euphoria, you barely register his words, yet you manage to whimper against his neck, “Cum in me Hyuckie, please, I’m on the pill.”
The permission is all he needs, but the nickname is what sends him straight into a head high that has him burying his cock deep in you and releasing. Strong arms wrap around your torso and pull you against his shaking body while spurts of cum flood your pussy. He sounds exactly like he did in the video he showed you a few weeks ago – like he was sobbing with relief. Whining and whimpering, lolling his head side to side as he fucks the last of his cum deep into you.
He tries not to move, he tries really fucking hard, but every time you twitched, it squeezed around him again and again – curses flying from his body as he tried to squirm away. He slips out of you quickly, cum smearing on his belly and all over your thighs, “That was…”
You can hear his heartbeat – almost as erratic as yours is, and he’s puffing air, trying to catch an even breath. Both of you are sticky and tired – worn the fuck out. If you tried to push yourself off of him, you think you might topple over, so you don’t. You stay locked in his embrace, listening to the way his breathing slows and chest thumps.
“That was what?”
He runs a hand through his hair, “Everything I’ve dreamt of.”
Giggling, you snuggle closer to him. Who knew he’d be the type to sweet talk after sex. With how much he boasted and teased, you thought he’d be more… you don’t know… arrogant? You liked this side of him though.
Ah, shut up! you think to yourself, you’re not falling in love with him, so stop.
Haechan was a friend no matter if he did just fuck your brains out.
“Gonna go to the bathroom.” you mumble. Anything to get away from him and the swirls of ooey-gooey feelings.  
Clambering off of him proved to be easier than you thought earlier, and the wobble to the bathroom was only slightly embarrassing. You thank God for privacy when you shut the door behind you.
As you look at your reflection in the mirror, you realize how much of a mess you are. Your hair is disheveled, mascara smudged and streaking, and your lipstick is smeared. Dark colored hickies scattered across your chest and collarbones. Despite this, you feel satisfied and content (Regardless of any stupid feelings that might be lingering).
Yet if Hyuck were to sneak in the bathroom behind you and beg for another round, you’d give it to him, no matter if the original challenge was a one and done kind of deal.
Your eyes widen into saucers… the challenge.
It was actually done – or at least partially.
You smirk.
Challenge 1/3 complete.
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Maybe you should have stayed the night, but you were gone before the sun peeked over the tree line.
Haechan was still faintly snoring when you had slipped out from underneath the covers, and he only slightly stirred when you accidentally banged your toe on his gaming chair. His parted lips, and tinged cheeks made him look like an innocent angel.
One that you corrupted.
As you hurriedly walk back to your dorm building, you can’t help but feel a little bit of guilt fluttering about your stomach.
“Was this really a one-time thing?” he had asked right before his eyes had fluttered closed.
You had sighed, fidgeting with a thread on his comforter, “I don’t know Hyuck… maybe… I – I don’t want to ruin our friendship.”
Perhaps his shoulders had deflated with disappointment at your response, but you’d like to think he was just tired.
“Okay, let’s pretend it never happened then. Everything can go back to normal and… and if you want, I’ll be here to satisfy you again.” He had grinned then, although rather grim.
“Deal.”
You shoulder your dorm door and drop your bag on the kitchen table before grabbing a water out of the fridge. Thirstily gulping, you realize that even though it was his first time, he knew how to wear you out.
Points for that, you think.
You quietly slip into your room and take a seat at your desk after tossing the crushed plastic bottle into the trashcan. This is the moment you've been waiting for - a chance to rate the very first boy in the challenge. You grab a stray notebook from a stack nearby, open it to a fresh page, and begin.
Points for doing good his first time…Points for multiple positions…Points for eating you out first…Points for being whiny…Points for being eager…
There wasn’t really a system for your rating, but you take a satisfied look at the number and nod your head.
Congratulation Hyuck, you’ve received a 7.4/10, you think.
Despite it being his first time, he did exceptionally well. Who else could have lasted as long as he did, said the things he did, or fucked the way he did. Slowly, you find yourself slipping back into the memories, a play-by-play from start to finish – until a ping from your pocket drags you out.
Your heart leaps up in your throat.
What if it was him? What if he was asking why you left?
When you pull your phone out from your back pocket, you sigh in relief. It was just Jaemin.
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You toss your phone onto your desk and slump against the chair. Jaemin didn’t press the question of why you were up… and hopefully he didn’t say anything during breakfast.
Pushing yourself upright, you dance through the laundry strewn across your floor and into the bathroom.
Despite what you said, you also had to wash the sex smell away. God, you were becoming just like Jaemin. Up at the ass crack of dawn to shower off cum and sweat and spit. Unexpectedly, you grip the shower curtain as a thought bounces around the inside of your skull.
Na Jaemin was just getting his dick wet… with Yeji, of all people. One of his recurring fwb situations.. But.. he was fucking her.
The video he had showed you the first night flashes through your brain. His cock thick and proud, pushing into the girl so fluidly, so rhythmically, so intensely. Until she squirted and he laughed. He had fucking laughed. You remember what he had said, “God you’re so fucking hot. NaNa did that, didn’t he? Mhm…come here pretty girl.”
And even though Haechan had pounded you into the next week, you feel yourself clenching around nothing.
Don’t worry Jaemin, your turn is next.
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A. NOTE | big thank you to lou, @peachjaem00, for helping me get over my writers block for this fic.. and for just being fucking awesome! i love you <3
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vague-humanoid · 1 year
Text
https://www.washingtonpost.com/history/2023/05/10/mlk-malcolm-x-playboy-alex-haley/
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Jonathan Eig was deep in the Duke University archives researching his new biography of Martin Luther King Jr. when he made an alarming discovery: King’s harshest and most famous criticism of Malcolm X, in which he accused his fellow civil rights leader of “fiery, demagogic oratory,” appears to have been fabricated.
“I think its historic reverberations are huge,” Eig told The Washington Post. “We’ve been teaching people for decades, for generations, that King had this harsh criticism of Malcolm X, and it’s just not true.”
The quote came from a January 1965 Playboy interview with author Alex Haley, a then-43-year-old Black journalist, and was the longest published interview King ever did. Because of the severity of King’s criticism, it has been repeated countless times, cast as a dividing line between King and Malcolm X. The new revelation “shows that King was much more open-minded about Malcolm than we’ve tended to portray him,” Eig said.
Haley’s legacy has been tarnished by accusations of plagiarism and historical inaccuracy in his most famous book, “Roots,” but this latest finding could open up more of his work to criticism, especially “The Autobiography of Malcolm X: As Told to Alex Haley” — released nine months after Malcolm X’s assassination in 1965.
Malcolm X, a member of the Nation of Islam, had frequently attacked King and his commitment to nonviolence, going so far as to call King a “modern Uncle Tom.” But his criticism often had “strategic purposes,” Eig said.
In acting as “a foil” to King, his message had more value to the media. “King saw value in being a foil to Malcolm sometimes, too. But I think at their core they had a lot in common. They certainly shared a lot of the same goals,” Eig said.
Eig, who previously wrote acclaimed biographies of Muhammad Ali and Lou Gehrig, said he found the fabrication in the course of his standard book research for “King: A Life,” due out May 16. When a subject has given a long interview, he’ll look through the archives of the journalist who conducted it, hoping to find notes or tapes with previously unpublished anecdotes.
He did not find a recording of Haley’s interview with King in the Haley archives at Duke, but he did find what appears to be an unedited transcript of the full interview, likely typed by a secretary straight from a recording, Eig said. Eig provided The Post with a copy of the transcript.
On page 60 of the 84-pagedocument, Haley asks, “Dr. King, would you care to comment upon the articulate former Black Muslim, Malcolm X?”
King responds: “I have met Malcolm X, but circumstances didn’t enable me to talk with him for more than a minute. I totally disagree with many of his political and philosophical views, as I understand them. He is very articulate, as you say. I don’t want to seem to sound as if I feel so self-righteous, or absolutist, that I think I have the only truth, the only way. Maybe he does have some of the answer. But I know that I have so often felt that I wished that he would talk less of violence, because I don’t think that violence can solve our problem. And in his litany of expressing the despair of the Negro, without offering a positive, creative approach, I think that he falls into a rut sometimes.”
That is not how King’s response appeared in the published interview. While the top part is nearly identical with the transcript, it ended in Playboy like this: “And in his litany of articulating the despair of the Negro without offering any positive, creative alternative,I feel that Malcolm has done himself and our people a great disservice. Fiery, demagogic oratory in the black ghettos, urging Negroes to arm themselves and prepare to engage in violence, as he has done, can reap nothing but grief.”
Some of the phrases added to King’s answer appear to be taken significantly out of context, while others appear to be fabricated:
@meanmisscharles @russianspacegeckosexparty @ubernegro @that-biracial-geek-girl @redstarovermoundcity
Eig has shared this discovery with a number of King scholars, and the changes “jumped out” to them as “a real fraud,” Eig said. “They’re like, ‘Oh my God, I’ve been teaching that to my students for years,’ and now they have to rethink it,” Eig said.
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elodieunderglass · 1 month
Note
Hi! I was wondering if you could help me out with a word I've forgotten? I'm trying to remember the name for a concept that (I think) talks about how people better understand or process Things once they have vocabulary to describe it - I've heard it talked about in regards to the colour orange, or coercive control, etc.
long story short i've just read a paper saying ancient Greeks and Romans weren't racist bc they had no word for racism and am trying to form an argument against!
(no worries if this is unanswerable, i'm aware its a bit of a long shot but you struck me as a person who Knows Things)
That’s extremely kind and funny of you. i don’t know much but i am ok at synthesis.
I think you might be thinking of the concepts loosely called the “Sapir-Whorf hypothesis”, which describes something called “linguistic determinism.” This idea has been “disproven”, as it is just too reductionist as a concept - people are clearly perfectly capable of having experiences that are tough to describe with words. There will be plenty of papers showing how this reasoning is applied.
but it is still commonly thrown around and still considered a useful teaching framework. That’s why you’ll see it referenced online as if it is fresh, new, and applicable - people learn about it every year in college. Also, elements of the framework are probably perfectly sound. It definitely seems to be the case that language shapes brains; it just doesn’t seem to be the case that humans who don’t have specific words for them can’t experience orange, or the future.
(Many things in college are taught using teaching frameworks that may not be, technically, true; the framework is intended to give a critical structure for interpreting information. Then, when we later find evidence that disproves the hypothesis, that single piece of information doesn’t destroy our expensive college education; what we paid for is the framework. This is mostly frustrating in the sciences, when fresh crops of undergraduate students crash around on social media, grappling with their first exposure to (complex concept) and how it’s DIFFERENT to what they learned BEFORE and their teachers LIED TO EVERYBODY and they’re going to save the world from POP SCIENCE by telling the TRUTH. You’ll notice that these TOTALLY NEW INFORMATION reveals map along the semester schedule. The thing here is that getting new information, or information being different from what you were previously told, does not cancel out the fact that you are getting what you pay for - an education. Learning new facts that change our relationships to hypotheses isn’t a ✨huge betrayal ✨ , but the expected process of academia. Anyway.)
You have an interesting response here, and can start by looking at the ways that Sapir-Whorf has been disproved. There will be loads of literature on that.
However, it would be interesting to look at the argument as an unpicking of the other side’s rather weird, ritualistic superstitious belief that a behavior doesn’t exist if the creatures doing it can’t describe it. It is not on the ancient Greeks and Romans to categorise and interpret their behavior for a modern educated audience. They do not have the wherewithal to do so. They are also fucking dead. We can name the behaviors we see, and describe their impacts, however the hell we like.
Sure, the ancient Greeks used “cancer” to refer to lumpy veiny tumors. We can infer that they still had blood cancer, because their medical texts describe leukaemia and their corpses have evidence of it - they just didn’t know it was cancer. But we do, so we can call it cancer. Just because Homer said “the wine-dark sea” in a flight of girlish whimsy doesn’t mean he was unable to distinguish grape juice from saltwater, which we know, because we can observe that he was an intelligent wordsmith perfectly capable of talking about wine and oceans in other contexts. We are the people who get to stand at our point of history with our words, and name things like “this person probably died of leukaemia” and “poets say things that aren’t necessarily literal” and “this behaviour was racist” and “that’s gay” and “togas kinda slay tho” despite Ancient Greeks having different concepts of cancer, wittiness, prejudice, homosexuality, and slaying than we do today.
Now just to caveat that people do get muddled about the concept of racism. Our understanding of racism from here - this point of history, with these words, probably from the West - is heavily influenced by how we see racism around us today: white supremacy and the construct of “whiteness,” European colonial expansion, transatlantic chattel slavery, orientalism, evangelism, 20th century racial science, and so on. This is the picture of racism that really dominates our current discourse, so people often mistake it for the definition of racism. (Perhaps in a linguistic-deterministic sort of way after all.) As a result, muddled-up people often say things like “I can’t be racist because I’m not a white American who throws slurs at black American people,” while being an Indian person in the UK who votes for vile anti-immigration practices, or a Polish person with a horrible attitude about the Roma. Many people genuinely hold this very kindergarten idea of racism; if your opponent does as well, they’re probably thinking something like “Ancient Greek and Roman people didn’t have a concept of white supremacy, because whiteness hadn’t been invented yet, so how could they be racist?” And that’s unsound reasoning in a separate sense.
Racism as the practice of prejudice against an ethnicity, particularly one that is a minority, is a power differential that is perfectly observable in ancient cultures. The beliefs and behaviors will be preserved in written plays, recorded slurs, beauty standards, reactions to foreign marriages, and travel writing. The impacts will be documented in political records, trade agreements, the layouts of historical districts of ancient towns.
You don’t need permission to point out behaviours and impacts. You can point them out in any words you like. You can make up entirely new words to bully the ancient romans with. You are the one at this point of history and your words are the ones that get used.
Pretending that “words” are some kind of an intellect-obscuring magical cloud in the face of actual evidence is just a piece of sophistry (derogatory) on the part of your opponent here. It’s meant to be a distraction. You can dismiss this very flimsy shield pretty quickly and get them in the soft meat of them never reading anything about the actual material topic, while they’re still looking up dictionary definitions or whatever.
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snaileer · 2 months
Text
Time Unsolved
Dp Unsolved
“Today on Buzzfeed unsolved we cover the Timely Disappearance of Charles T. Williamsworth.”
Danny slurped loudly on his drink as the intro played. Was he maybe crazy for watching a Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime alone, at night? Maybe.
But Danny had been attacked by ghosts. What was a human gonna do that Skulker couldn’t?
“What a name!” Shane cut it immediately, yellow words typing themself across the screen. Ryan laughed.
“‘Ello, yes, my name is Sir Charles T. Williamsworth, how art thou Ah yes, jolly good!” Shane mimicked with a horrifically bad posh British accent.
Ryan laughed harder, “We’ve been to London, they don’t sound like that!” He said between laughs.
“Uh, /he does! There’s no way a man with a name like that is not ‘mm yes I will take a spot of tea with my biscuit thank you.’ I’m calling it, he definitely talked like that!”
Danny smiled at the antics as Ryan wheezed, “Well it’s too bad we’ll never know for sure then isn’t it, what with his disappearance, y’know what we’re actually here to talk about.”
“That’s okay. /I’ll know. I know my buddy Charles.”
“Alright then.”
The screen was lit up with an image of a man on a black backdrop.
“The Williamsworths were a French-German family who moved to Biel, Switzerland in early 1914, just months before the largest war in European history kicked off.
They were one of the lucky few families to have left France before the war broke out…”
“Oh a family moving, that’s suspicious now?” Shane cut in.
“Well, it was right before World War 1, I mean the timing is kind of suspicious.” Ryan replied in blue.
-People move, Ryan.-
-Okay, okay, it’s just the facts of the case,.-
Danny rolled his eyes, ready for the story to continue.
The images came back.
“This move would evidently prove to be quite fortunate for the family for obvious reasons. However, it also led Charles to find his true passion: … Watchmaking.”
There was a pause as a map of Switzerland came on screen. “Biel, the town that Charles would live in for the majority of his recorded younger life, was known for watchmaking, being one of several in the heart of an area named ‘Watch Valley.’ “
-You ever own a Swiss watch?-
-Nope-
-Heard they’re good. Reeeal good.-
-Yep.-
-…-
“Charles would reportedly develop a passion for clocks, watches, and timepieces in general, only getting more entrenched in his obsession over time.”
The image of the man now shifted to be overlaid on a map.
“By the time the First World War was over, Charles had gained an ostentatious apprenticeship under one of the premiere watchmakers of the time, Max Stührling. This lasted until Stührling’s death in 1938, after which Charles vanished from any records for two years.”
-Well y’know, his mentor had just died. -Maybe he wanted to grieve. Y’know curl up in his room and not see anybody for a bit.-
Ryan laughed, -2 years, he was crying in his room for 2 years and nobody found him?-
-Well, it’s not like records were great back then, I mean what are you gonna write on the census… just.. like..-
-Loud weeping heard from inside. One resident. Unnamed.-
-Yeah!-
“The next time Charles T. Williamsworth appears on record, it is in the back of a photo from France in 1940. Showing Williamsworth standing in front of a watch shop wearing dark clothes, a distinct pocket watch, and looking into the camera.”
The black and white image appears on screen, zooming in on the background figure. Danny tilts his head at it, something about it niggling at him.
“The shop and its owner would go on to be infamous within the town for the duration of the Second World War. Charles was unwillingly drafted in the summer of 1941, serving on the front lines for no more than 3 months before sustaining a wound to his face, leaving him with damaged eyesight, facial scarring, and a medical discharge.
He returned to his shop soon after.”
Danny frowned at the mention of what the man had probably gone through.
“With later evidence statements regarding Charles stating that he was an ‘odd man. He never mentioned the war, leaving it behind once he was not forced to be a part of it. He seemed to be separate from it all, he only cared for his watches.’
This sense of separation would extend to his shop, as when the town was bombed in 1944 leading up to D-day, his shop was left miraculously unharmed. It was reportedly open the very next day.”
-I can appreciate the dedication- Shane says in yellow.
-Yeah, I mean, the morning after is a bit soon, but he did really love watches. If he didn’t have to, I guess he wasn’t gonna close his shop.-
-He’s advertising, ‘Sure you were almost killed in a fiery explosion, but look! I’ve got new watches!’-
Ryan laughs.
“Over the next 50 years, Charles T. Williamsworth would disappear from records repeatedly, sometimes for months, only present on seven censuses between 1952 and 1979. Despite this, the clock shop was never sold, remaining in wait for its master’s return.”
Multiple pictures of pocket watches came onscreen. “It became known in the surrounding area for especially good pocket watches and grandfather clocks. Each personally made using Swiss essemblage practices, often engraved.
While it was a place of prestige, some described the shop as having ‘an unbearably loud sound of ticking, as if a thousand clocks were set to the same second.’
Apparently, Charles ‘seemed to enjoy the sound, often standing in the front room when no one was present. He was able to pick out one clock if it was off time.’ Witnesses stated.”
It cut to showing Shane and Ryan at their table.
“God, I can’t imagine. That’d drive me crazy.” Shane said, shaking his head.
“Yeah, I don’t know, a thousand clocks at the same time? Just..” Ryan looked back and forth frantically, as if there were sounds from every direction, “I’d go nuts pretty fast, I can’t even handle one sometimes.”
“I’d just go off and punch one of the clocks, just- RAAAH and -oh my god is that where that comes from?! I’m gonna punch your clock? Or like you clock somebody!?! Oh my god I never realized that!”
Danny’s jaw drops at the realization as Ryan laughs. Shane looks to be losing his mind as well.
“However, Charles’ most notable disappearance was his last.”
Dramatic music played as Danny zoned back in.
“Due to his frequency of vanishing for extended periods of time, it is unknown when exactly Charles disappeared. The last definite sighting of Charles T. Williamsworth was late at night on April 23rd, 1999, when neighborhood patrolman, Elliot Dubois, noticed him locking the door to his shop with its lights still on. Elliot, concerned for the safety of the elderly man, questioned him but eventually allowed Charles to leave, noting that he turned down a road that only led into the woods outside of town.
Two weeks later, 12 year old James Chappellè, a mailboy in the area, noted during his morning run on May 7 that mail had begun to pile up in front of the shop’s door.
Something that had never happened before.”
The word ‘before’ faded into red.
“It reached such a point that the mail system declared they would no longer deliver, as they couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t be stolen.
At this point, the police got involved and the case was assigned to Detective Jacob Laurent.
It turned out to be a more difficult case than first expected, as when they looked into Charles’ past, they were unable to turn up any such notable documents as a birth certificate nor any document containing a birthdate.
But when police entered the shop on May 10th, they found it largely empty, with only the shelves, register, and equipment left remaining between the front and back room.
It should be noted that there was still money in the register, and a light on in the back though the other bulbs for the front seemed to have been burnt out.
Upon entering the living space above the shop, it was found to be covered in dust, and all of Charles’ clothes and belongings still present.
Rather, there was evidence that Charles largely slept in his shop, with a cot beside his workbench.
A workbench that, upon police entry, only held one gold pocketwatch, personally engraved with the initials ‘C. W.’ As it was known for Charles to always carry the pocketwatch, he was officially declared missing and possibly presumed dead.
The watch’s presence also led detective Laurent to suspect foul play.
However, despite the declaration of foul play, the police did not extensively search the town woods, citing the size and density of the forest.”
The video cut to Shane staring at Ryan, face deadpan. Ryan was clearly trying to hold back laughs.
“So… let me get this straight… an old man who’s… how old at this point exactly?”
Ryan laughs, “Nobody knows, there’s no known birthday-“
“That’s weird too, but okay, let’s say he’s like what, at least 95? I mean… there’s a certain age that like if you disappear… ..eh.” Shane shrugged.
Ryan looked at him incredulously, “Eh??”
“Yeah,” Shane shrugged again, “Eh.”
“What???”
“I mean… y’know… old people wander into the woods sometimes, maybe he just went for a walk and got lost. At that age… death has gotta be around every corner, I mean come on!”
Ryan wheezed into his elbow.
Danny laughed quietly.
Once Ryan calmed down, he organized the file, clipping it down on the table, “So! With the story finished, let’s get into the theories,”
Shane rolled his eyes, “Oh god this is gonna be one of yours isn’t it? What ghosts are abducting people now?”
Danny smiled, briefly considering how much effort it would take to go haunt Shane all the way in LA.
“The first theory is that Charles T. Williamsworth was involved with the mafia at the time and was a long standing or high ranking member that had crossed the wrong people.
Some reasons for this theory is the lack of early documents, suggesting a fake identity or forgery.
This case is especially supported by the long absences, where his shop remained closed and yet still remained in his possession.
In fact, the deed for the shop was not listed under Charles’ name, instead Iisted as owned under a private organization.
This theory explains his disappearance and possible subsequent death as an act of revenge from an enemy made from illicit activities. Leaving no body behind, there would be no evidence to prosecute the acting party.
Within this, there are also some who believe that if Charles was engaged in the mafia and lived under a false identity, that his disappearance was him returning to his actual identity, possibly due to being caught.
Prison records indicate 6 Swiss-German inmates arrested at the approximate time of his disappearance, roughly matching the age and appearance of Charles. Notably, none of them had a distinct facial scar and no identification was ever confirmed.”
The screen switched.
Shane smiled at Ryan, “Oh Ho Ho, my boy Charles is getting into some funky stuff, huh? Workin’ for the Mob, breaking knees, chopping fingers?”
Ryan laughed, “Yeah maybe, it definitely lends credit to him being a part of something. Maybe he was out in the woods breaking knees y’know. Or burying something.”
“Someone,…”Shane said ominously, then burst out laughing, “What if he buried himself! Just-“Shane mimed digging, clapping his hands like he was wiping off dust, “Alright, thats a good illegal grave right there, just a good hole for a dead- woaaah!” He pretended to fall, “Boom, stuck in his own grave.”
“Really, this old man dug a 6 foot deep grave? On his own?”
“Hey you don’t know his strength, maybe he lifts.”
“Alright.” Ryan shook his head, still grinning.
Danny smiled, considering it, it did kind of make sense.
“The second theory is that Charles T. Williamsworth did indeed just walk into the woods and never come out. If this is the case, what happened in the woods is widely speculated on. Some saying that animals may have attacked him, or that he simply fell or was injured and could not get up due to his age.
This theory loses support due to the fact that no body was ever found. Though some say that if the woods were too big for the police to search, there may be a den or that his body was covered naturally.”
“Or in a grave.”
“You really think he was mafia?”
“I mean, who could tell?” Shane shrugged.
“The third theory, much like the first, is that Charles was a federal agent for one of the Allied Powers.
This theory is also supported by the significant periods of absence and lack of documents to indicate a forged identity, meant to fool the German government and allow him to work behind the lines. However, unlike the first, there is also evidence of a man with the same distinct scar on his eye, showing up in the background of photos at the British Intelligence Office, the Eiffel Tower during Germany’s occupancy, and behind closed Swiss borders.
None of which would be possible without the unique skills and permissions of a government agent.”
Silence reigned as Shane and Ryan stared each other down, Shane clearly ramping up for something.
“The name’s Williamsworth. Charles Williamsworth.” He said dramatically.
Ryan burst out laughing. “You support this one more then?”
“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind, he’s not in the mafia. His suspicious activities were in the name of secrecy, national secrets, confidential war trades. Espionage…”
“Well I guess, nobody’s gonna suspect the 95 year old man to be up to anything. I mean, if I saw an old man somewhere I’d just be like, huh I wonder who lost their grandpa, not ‘I bet he’s secretly working to take down Hitler.’ Y’know.”
“Charles gets caught: just ‘Whaa-at me~e? I’m just a gentle~e o~ ol~ld ma~an, I can’t harm nobody~y.” Shane mimed leaning over a cane.
“He gets caught and just pretends he has dementia, ‘Who am I? Who are you? Why am I here? Where’s my breakfast?”
Shane cackled as Ryan laughed.
Danny considered it more, this one seemed the most likely, though… he’d definitely be the oldest agent.
“Another theory is that the shop was robbed and Charles returned while or before it was happening, catching the criminals off guard and leading them to react rashly, injuring or killing Charles. They then would have hidden his body and cleaned out the shop to hide any other evidence.
This theory however is disproven by the lack of money taken from the register.
Despite this, it is the official claimed circumstance by the police at the time.”
“Fucking police, always with the boring one.” Shane said ruefully.
“Our last theory, and my personal favorite,-“
Shane groaned. Danny smiled, this was gonna be good.
“-is that Charles T Williamsworth was a time traveler. And that all of his disappearances were when he was traveling through time.
This theory supports his families early move to Switzerland under odd timing, his appearance in so many photos and even his obsession with clocks. As well as why he seemed unbothered by the tumultuous times.”
“I can… accept it.” Shane said, hesitant.
Ryan laughed, “I’ll take it.”
“Despite all of these theories, there is still significant information missing from the case.
And so, like clockwork this case shall remain:
Unsolved.”
Danny’s mouth dropped as the screen went dark.
No way.
No freaking way.
He lurched upwards, eyes wide.
Obsessed with clocks, scar on his eye, fricking weird and talks in riddles.
Oh mygod!
Danny threw himself out of bed, “I’ve connected the dots!” He rushed to untangle himself from his sheets, transforming immediately, “I’ve connected them!”
He dove for the ghost portal.
Holy frick!
Charles T. Williamsworth was Clockwork!
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Slice of Paradise
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a/n My brain literally now run only on Joel... So here's a little something something. 🫧
summary: Joel dream of having a farmhouse comes true. What makes it even better is that he's not there alone. He has his own little family to enjoy this little slice of paradise with him.
warnings: just tooth rotting fluff, mention of reader being pregnant, mentions of morning sickness.
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
If someone were to tell you that somewhere along the line you were going to end up at a place like Jackson in a farmhouse with a loving husband and kids, you would have laughed at them. Or brushed it off to the outback insanity. It seemed impossible. Safety seemed impossible at first. Then followed freedom and, of course, happiness. Those things appeared to be worthy of history textbooks. They could have a title like - at some point in human history, they were happy.
It was hard to move past deaths and past killings. Making sure you kept your humanity alive. Not to become a killing monster. Similar to clickers or any other of those fuckers. When Ellie happened, you had a feeling your life was going to change. You just never imagined it would change so drastically. You and Joel had settled for a dull day-to-day routine. Coming to terms with the fact that your life in QZ was as good as it could get. You never complained. You had one after another. Others didn't even have that kind of luxury.
But here you were now. In a little farmhouse with green shutters that Joel and Ellie had painted over for you because that's what you had always wanted. A garden - full of flowers that you tended to. Of course, to share with the town, but also for your own enjoyment. A couple of dozen of sheep were carelessly plucking grass in the fields around. Something that Joel wanted. Something that had helped him think clearer.
You hummed to yourself. Cutting up the last pieces for supper. The warm spring sun peeped through the windows, only making the smile on your face bigger. It still seemed surreal at times. Like all this was just a dream. One from which you never wanted to awaken. A little flutter in your stomach made you stop. Hand slipping on your five-month pregnant belly. Big enough to let everyone know that you were with a child but not big enough to make it hard for you to move around just yet.
Joel still found the walk to the house odd. It was weird in itself that he had a home to come to. And it wasn't the house itself that surprised him. Oh, no. You, Ellie, and now the baby that was on its was what made it home. A place where he could finally let go. Where the ghost of his past had a harder time finding him. Joel had finally been able to see the bigger picture. He was finally a part of a bigger picture.
With a gun still on his shoulder, Joel opened the wooden gates as he strolled towards the house. The dog on the side of the patio lifted his head, and Joel quickly reached to scratch his ear. "Hi, Brandy, why are you out in front, boy?", Joel questioned as the dog eagerly wagged his tail.
Ellie had come up with the name. She was eager for Joel to name the pup. No one else was allowed to pick a name. "Oh, come on, old thing! Think of something", she said, pushing for a thousand time. She wiggled a toy in her hand as the dog jumped around happily. "I don't know, Ellie. Just name it yourself," he grumbled, even though he knew that she wasn't going to drop the subject until he came up with something. "How about that nasty shit you always drink?", suggested Ellie, looking up. "Brandy?" Joel questioned, and the dog cocked his head at the sound of Joel's voice. Ellie's eyes grew big as she clapped happily. "You like it, boy? Do you like the name? He likes Brandy," she chirped happily. You leaned closer to Joel, laughing as he shook his head, and yet the smile was evident.
The house was quiet as Joel undid his jacket before hanging it up neatly. Knowing that you would be up his sleeve if he left a mess behind himself. He made his way through the house, stopping to listen in the living room. Hoping that he would pick up any sound that would lead him to you. And he did. A light humming came from the kitchen.
And you were indeed there; however, Joel nearly had a heart attack when he saw you standing up on the counter as you tried to reach for something in the upper cabinets. "Have you gone mad, woman", his voice started you, making you nearly drop the jar of spices in your hands. Joel's hands came off either side of your torso as he carefully lifted you off the counter. Your hands pressing into his shoulders.
"What are you doing here?", you questioned, not expecting him to be home just yet. Hence your little adventure. "The better question is, why were you up on the counter at five months pregnant?" You rolled your eyes at him. Appreciating the protectiveness but also slightly hating that now he thought that you were made of glass. "I needed this," you said as you fiddled with the jar in your hands. Moving to take off the lid of the pot before pouring some of it in. Joel's hands didn't leave your sides. "You get the step stool for that, love; we talked about it. You can't do this weird monkey shit; you're not ten." You turned back to your husband. Hands moving to cup his face as you looked at him, "You haven't seen half of my tricks", "I will tie you to the chair if you'll continue to do stuff like that", Joel warned you, and you couldn't help but laugh a little, "Don't forget your gun while you watch over me then".
His eyes altered as he glanced at you, and you couldn't help but let out a sigh. Joel leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, "I just don't want you both to get hurt." You moved your palms to run up and down his chest. "I know, honey, I promise no more jumping on counters," you said softly, kissing the tip of his nose. "Unless you're supervising me," you chirp, causing Joel to let out a chuckle.
"How are you feeling today?", Joel's tender palms slipped to run over your bump, and you hummed in delight as the warmth from his skin seeped through your flowy dress. "We're good. I didn't start my morning with a head down the toilet, can you believe it?", you cackled, and Joel gave you a knowing look. Morning sickness had taken its toll on you. To the point where he had rushed you to the doctor in town when you blacked out after vomiting for an hour straight. Joel refused to do any morning petrol after that. He wanted. He needed to be by your side. Even if every time you tried to usher him out of the bathroom, claiming it must be extremely disgusting to him.
"That's good, I was worried the whole morning," he admitted, focusing his attention on the bump. "Joel, we are all okay," your hand slipped on top of his, "She's been happily kicking away all morning," "She? No, it's a boy, aren't you, little guy?" Joel leaned down, pressing a lovely kiss and then the other on the swell of your tummy. Shortly after, a light kick followed up Joel's touch, making the male smile as he repeated the action once again.
"And where's El?", Joel asked, looking around the place. She usually sat by the island doing her homework happily by now, but there was no sight of her there. You hummed, "She said she would come a bit later than usual. She's out with a friend," you wiggled your brows, briefly turning your gaze to the food. "A friend?", "Yeah, Dina I think, and I suspect she likes her", a smile spread on your face as you thought about the little girly chat you two had.
"That's good; she deserves to have a friend. Good for her," Joel's arms were still roaming your skin as you turned back to him, giving him a look, "No, Joel. I mean, like, like her," Joel's face blanked as the realization dawned on him, and you hummed. "She brought in pancakes with fruit and cream to school to share with her", you giggled. Joel stayed silent as he stared ahead of himself. It felt silly, but Joel was almost jealous that Ellie suddenly had someone else in her life. Like he didn't want to share her with anyone else. You three had fallen into such conformable dynamics. It felt easy, and it felt right. To Joel, Ellie was still too young to date or have a crush. "Wipe the frown off your face; it's not like she's getting married already," you said as you nudged your husband's shoulder as he folded his hands over his chest.
"Mom," Ellie's voice echoed down the corridor. Your heart fluttered. It still did. Even after more than a year of her referring to you like that. She had sat you and Joel down after a month or two of you moving into the farmhouse. She was a stuttering mess as she tried to explain, or more specifically, ask if she would be allowed to call you her parents.
"Because we like live together, and then you let me stay, and I have my room. But the room, of course, means nothing, but you like wanted me to stay so…", you reached for her hand and then gave it a little squeeze as you cut her ramble off. "I'd be honored to be your mom," you said softly, and Ellie bit down on her lower lip in hopes of stopping it from quivering. Her eyes landed on Joel, who had his arms crossed over his chest. His usual stance - an unapproachable demeanor that he hadn't dropped even now. "Go ahead, just no daddy shit, or you're sleeping in the stables," Joel said. Ellie instantly rounded the corner of the table and launched herself into Joel's arms. Hugged his torso as she smiled. "Okay, daddy," she whispered, making Joel tickle her.
You smiled to yourself as the memory melted into your mind. "In the kitchen, baby," you shouted back. Joel's hand moved back to your hip as he and you waited for Ellie to appear. The footsteps sounded weird. Not as familiar. As if there were more than one set of them. And well, your hearing hadn't failed you, as another girl appeared on Ellie's left side. "Oh, dad, I thought you wouldn't be home." Ellie's face paled slightly, as she noticed Joel, but the lazy smile on his face made her ease up almost instantly. "I missed my girls; I thought I'd surprise you," he said in return. In a way, he was hoping that Ellie would run up to hug him like she always did when Joel returned from work, but he also understood that now that she had a friend here, she probably wouldn't do so.
"Ah… well, this is Dina, a friend from school," Ellie said shyly, and the girl by her side waved nervously at you two, "Can she stay for dinner?" Joel studied the girl. The girl who possibly Ellie liked. He tried to pinpoint the features she might have taken to her liking. "Of course, that would be lovely. Go wash your hands, you two, and I'll come to get you when it's ready." Stepping closer, you caressed Ellie's cheeks tenderly. She flashed you a bright smile as she took Dina by the hand, and the two ran up the stairs laughing.
You turned back to your husband, fanning your hands in front of your eyes as the tears parked up, clouding your vision. "Sugar, what's all of this for?", Joel stepped closer to you, embracing you once again. "Don't pay attention, hormones," you muttered, wiping away the tears. Joel chuckled softly, leaning in to press a kiss to your forehead. "Didn't you just tell me that she ain't getting married just yet?", he teased, making you bite down your lip. As another wave of tears rolled down your cheeks, "Imagine her in a dress, no, a suit—she would do a suit, ahh," you whimpered, covering your face with your hands.
Joel shook his head, pulling you even closer to him, his hands running up and down your back, soothing you. Secretly enjoying this more sensitive side of you. That one that cried at Brandy bathing in the sun or Ellie's school project. Even Joel's neatly folded clothes had you shedding tears. Joel breathed in the scent of you. One hand slipped back down onto your bump. "Take nice, big breaths, honey. Want a glass of water?", he asked, shifting, reaching for a cup as he guided you to sit down on the chair. Quickly stirring the pot before turning back to you.
"Do you think this little bug will grow up just as fast?", your hand slipped over your bump subconsciously once more. Joel hummed, "Don't they all? We'll blink, and this one will be climbing up the countertops," you sniffed again, unable to suppress a grin. "Go to your sheep before you turn me into a puddle", you waved Joel away playfully. It had been his habit for some time. He had a little talk with his soft friend before he sat down for dinner. A way for him to digest the day.
"Do I at least get a kiss?", Joel cocked his head to the side, watching you. "Do you think you deserve one?", "For putting a baby inside you, yes." You let out a gasp, hitting his chest. "Joel, dear God, they might hear you", he lets out a deep belly laugh, stepping closer to you, "Shut me up with a kiss", you roll your eyes. Cupping his cheeks before you leaned in, as you pressed your lips to Joel's in a tender kiss. Yeah, this was home, and even if Joel often thought he didn't deserve it, he wouldn't trade it for anything else.
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prismatic-bell · 2 months
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Levant history/present situation question: do you know why Egypt isn't taking in refugees from Gaza? Thanks for offering to answer questions
Hey! Sorry this took so long for me to answer; I just had a 72-hour work week and my brain was spaghetti. Let’s see what I can do here.
So first, I’m going to say a lot of this is going to be educated guesses because there’s a lot that’s unknown. With that said, I don’t think any of these guesses are unreasonable.
To begin with, Egypt’s stated reason is that they think if Palestinians are allowed to settle in Egypt, they’ll never be able to go back to Israel. I think this is true, as far as it goes; that’s certainly a valid concern about the current war.
With that said, I don’t think that’s the only reason. Until 1967, Egypt actually controlled the Gaza Strip; it lost possession thereof in the Six-Day War, which Israel initiated after Egypt blockaded all shipping to Israel. What it discovered during that time is that Palestine is difficult to maintain, manage, or rule; Israel offered to return the Sinai Peninsula to Egypt after its victory in the war but didn’t include Gaza in this offer, and Egypt didn’t fight for it. I suspect at least part of the lessons they learned before 1967 lead to their reluctance now. (Incidentally, Jordan also learned this lesson. They expelled their Palestinians and stopped trying to retake the West Bank around the same time.)
Palestinians also have a tendency to bring terrorism with them when they move. They’ve been expelled from several countries as a result, including Kuwait, where they backed Saddam Hussein’s invasion and annexation attempt. I’d imagine this plays a role, as well; the big players in Gaza (mostly Hamas these days) are open admirers of terrorism. Egypt has a peace agreement with Israel, and taking in a group known to commit pogroms and to have endorsed genocide of the Jewish people would probably not go over well for them, especially given the US backs Israel.
The third reason I suspect is at play is one that does disservice to Israelis and Palestinians both, and it’s another reason the UN and UNWRA are hopelessly corrupt. Let me show you three people living in America:
This is Ahmed. His parents were targeted in Afghanistan by al-Qaeda in the 1990s, and fled to America. Here, Ahmed put down roots, and applied for citizenship when he was 22.
This is a second Ahmed. His grandparents fled Iran when the Ayatollah took power. His parents were born in the US, and so was Ahmed.
This is a third Ahmed. His great-grandparents left Israel-Palestine during the 1948 Arab-Israeli War. Ahmed’s grandparents, parents, and Ahmed himself were all born on US soil. Ahmed has never set foot in the MENA region—not Palestine, not Israel, not Egypt or Iraq or Iran or Sudan or ANYWHERE. He grew up in a middle-class home in Illinois and speaks no Arabic; indeed, the only reason he has an Arabic name is because he was named for his grandfather. His friends mostly call him Eddie. Ahmed has expressed little to no interest in Palestine.
One of the three Ahmeds is considered a refugee by the UN. Do you know which one?
…..yeah.
Palestinians are the only group on earth for whom this is true, by the way. If you’re a refugee from anywhere else, you stop being a refugee the moment you get citizenship in a new country, and only people who actually fled a country—not their descendants born elsewhere—are considered refugees. Hell, Palestinians BORN IN GAZA OR THE WEST BANK AND STILL LIVING THERE are considered refugees. You literally cannot be of Palestinian descent and not be a refugee.
So my suspicion for the actual biggest reason is this special treatment Palestinians receive from the UN. Egypt would be in a damned-if-you-do-damned-if-you-don’t situation in which giving the Palestinians citizenship would be seen as “ceding to Israel” but not doing so would be “contributing to the plight of Palestinians,” and no amount of aid they provided would ever be considered enough. Frankly if I was the leader of a country I wouldn’t want to take them in under those conditions either. (Hence why I say the UN is doing a disservice to the Palestinians with this—they’re disincentivizing countries that might otherwise help.)
So there you have it: their stated reason and also what I think are some reasonable suppositions as to further reasons.
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wolfy1298 · 9 months
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Don’t you ever wonder what kind of secrets and plot points Venti keeps hidden? He claims to be the weakest amongst the Seven-and that could be true given his whole 500 year slumber and poison and all- but he’s still a god. AND one of the original Seven. You gotta be good at SOMETHING to survive for this long…
He’s also the only archon so far that doesn’t have a second story quest so what is he hiding?! We have accounts of him literally shaping the land with ease from both the Golden Apple Archipelago events and his character stories. We know that he has close relationships with the Hexenzirkel and somehow managed to avoid conflict with them??? And there’s also the fact from the skyward sword series that he was originally a catalyst user before picking up the bow in honor of Amos. He’s pulling a Childe when it comes to weapons he currently uses and the ones he’s proficient in.
And don’t even get me started on his connection with Istharoth and Celestia! Mondstadt already has the Thousands Winds Temple AND the nameless island where both Venti and Istharoth were once worshipped. And from Before Sun and Moon, we know that the Thousand Winds (which Venti IS A PART OF) were once called the Thousand Winds of TIME, all of whom were created and controlled by Istharoth. AND THEN you have Venti suspiciously appearing in the right place at the right time again and again and again. He even self proclaimed knowing every song: past, present, and future. Hell he’s probably one of the only few beings in Teyvat who can naturally bypass Irminsul because of his songs: Nahida already shown it’s possible to save deleted info if rearranged into fiction so the same should work for songs and poetry. And there’s also what the hydro fungus in Nahida’s second story quest said about changing forms. That you need time for growth to occur. And Nahida - an ARCHON- had trouble maintaining her fungus form for even the short period of time. She was even told that to do so for longer, one would need to bypass time itself which is near impossible. AND YET VENTI CHANGED INTO THE FORM OF HIS FRIEND IMMEDIATELY AFTER RECEIVING HIS GNOSIS AND HAS YET TO CHANGE BACK OR TIRE FROM FATIGUE (as we know it). HOW STRONG IS HE. Sure, the yokai in Inazuma and Adepti in Liyue can all change into a human form, but we know in game that it takes a long time and steady energy to take on a human shape, and the Adepti all seem to have that ability naturally: there’s no bending the laws of nature if it’s already natural to them. So what’s Venti’s excuse?!
As for Celestia: there’s already written in the statue of Barbatos “the gateway to Celestia” and what not. And Khanreia! In the chasm AND in the Caribert quest, Barbatos and Mondstadt keep getting named dropped. According to Dainself, the city in the chasm is supposedly OLDER than Khanreia and possibly the Seven, yet BARBATOS of all beings is mentioned in the records you find??? And in Caribert, it’s a Mondstadtian woman who that one bloke had a child with. Never mind that Mondstadt is where Kaeya and Albedo - the two characters with confirmed Khanreian origins- end up! There’s also the fact that Khanreia seems to base its gods and names and whatever around Norse mythology….which has strong ties to GERMANIC HISTORY. WHICH MONDSTADT IS BASED OFF OF. And Enkanomiya, which was once ruled by Istaroth, is Greek origin. Suspicious considering all the connections to HERMES Venti keeps portraying. (And then there’s also a connection to all three places with the hexenzerkel with their Chinese names? Like I think I read somewhere that Alice is Aries(?)/Eris(?) and Nicole is actually Nike in the Chinese version? Which are very much based in Roman/Greek origins)
Oh and something I forgot to mention earlier with the whole Istharoth connection. Mondstadt’s saying “seeds of stories, brought by the wind, and cultivated through time”. SUSPICIOUS
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Anyways, this has been my nonsensical Venti theory rant
And you’re stuck with me @worldsokayestmagicalgirl
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eilidh · 5 months
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Éowyn   ‘A sword rang as it was drawn. “Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may.”’ I painted this back in November 2017, on the kind request of Will o' Wisps for John Howe’s visit to AthensCon 2017. I had the good fortune to meet him there and give him a print of it. He had very kind words about it, leaving me on cloud nine, because Howe is one of my earliest art heroes. The Lord of the Rings has very few women characters in it, something that has been the point of criticism almost from its publication in the 50s. It might be for this reason that Éowyn stood out for me, but also because I was moved by how much understanding Tolkien showed for her situation. When she wants to go to war, she is dissuaded by Aragorn, and is rightly bitter about it: ‘She answered: "All your words are but to say: you are a woman, and your part is in the house. But when the men have died in battle and honour, you have leave to be burned in the house, for the men will need it no more. But I am of the House of Eorl and not a serving-woman. I can ride and wield blade, and I do not fear either pain or death." "What do you fear, lady?" he asked. "A cage," she said. "To stay behind bars, until use and old age accept them, and all chance of doing great deeds is gone beyond recall or desire.”’ Tolkien gave Éowyn a voice, and not only that, but also a chance to prove her valour and to change the course of the history of Middle Earth as no one else but her could have. He wrote little of women, it’s true. The little he did write, though, was with deep humanity.
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bau-drabbles · 11 months
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love me not
it's hard loving someone that doesn't return the same affections
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after maeve passed, they all thought reid would honestly be the next. he was a shell of a person he used to be, it honestly scared you how frail and weak he looked and your heart truly went out to him. he had found true love and the world had snatched it away from his hands before he could've enjoyed it.
you knew grief was tricky, you knew they said things they didn't mean. you knew how challenging and how painful it could be but seeing the pure rage in spencer's eyes was something you could never forget even if you desperately wished it to go. you could never forget how he looked at you with pure hatred and disgust at your lack of skill. as if the history between you both had simply vanished away, leaving nothing but pain and anguish in its wake
•••
"it was all your fault!" he sneered as he threw the gift basket behind him, the same basket you had spent hours making for him. trying to find his favourite things and even enlisting garcia and jj for help. but it didn't matter now, they were all crumped behind him and you feel yourself deflating as he continues the harsh words.
"you could've surrounded the area, you could've the shot from the back. you could've have done more" he stood, his hair tousled and messy but his eyes were dark with rage. that was new, he never gave you that look before and it rattled you.
"the main priority was you spencer! i-" "no, it was maeve. she was the victim in that situation! thanks to you, her parents lost their only daughter and i lost the only woman i ever loved!" he snapped vehemently, his fists balled up and slamming into the table. the sound shocked you and you look at him with pure confusion and pain
"what?" your voice was so soft, so fragile as you stare at him. your eyes were prickling with tears at how cruel he cold be, making you think if you ever truly knew reid.
so wordlessly, you stood up and walked out of his apartment and towards your car ignoring any and all comments he made. ignoring how he shouted your name, ignoring how he slammed his door when you left.
"you don't know what i mean. you wouldn't know what love is, how could you?" there's so much malice in his voice, it doesn't sound like the spencer you knew. and the very thought makes you want to cry. you tried to defend yourself but in the midst of the moment, seeing him so enraged at you for no reason, its as if those rose coloured glasses had fallen and you saw reid for what he truly was.
that the man you thought he was, the perfected imagine in your head, the romantic and funny and kind hearted doctor reid really only existed to maeve. he never extended that courtesy to you, and now you were an outsider to him. you had killed his one true love and with that, you had killed any love he had for you.
hot angry tears spilled down your cheeks when you reached home, your head swimming at what he had said to you. as much as you tried to force yourself to believe it wasn't him saying these things, you couldn't count how many times he left you feeling like pure shit. you held him in such a high regard but he never did the same to you, you didn't matter the same to him. it was hard because he was grieving and you knew it was a messy process but the pain and the ache in your heart felt so overwhelming.
it was enough, he was mourning someone that was dead. you were mourning a person that was well and truly alive.
•••
after weeks reid had finally come into work, greeting all the team members but you had made sure to stay out of the way. the pure rage that bubbled inside of you wasn't yet securely tightened and you weren't about to cause a scene in the bau.
and he noticed, of course he did.
when everyone hugged and rejoiced that their boy wonder finally came back, you watched from the background. you made no effort to walk towards him, no effort to hug so you just observed with a numbness in your heart that threatened to swallow you whole. he looked at you with a soft smile but you had turned your back, walking back into your office feeling more furious by the second of being anywhere near him.
when everyone sat into the chairs ready to discuss the next case, he noted how you chose the one that was most far away from him. when he tried to make eye contact you kept your gaze to your files or to penelope that explained the gory details.
when it came to sitting on the jet, you made sure someone had sat next to you so he couldn't. even when he was paired with you on a case, you only spoke about the facts and nothing more. he tried to talk but you shut it down, not responding unless it was about the case.
and you were okay with going about it like this. it hurt like a bitch but this way, you couldn't fall into mind numbing fantasies that the thought of you and reid could ever go anywhere. it wasn't the most healthy, sure. but this way, your heart and your head were protected from any links with reid. he was dr reid to you. nothing more, nothing less.
but the last straw was when he turned up to your home, knocking at some ungodly hour while you practically hold back your frustrations by a string. seeing him standing at your door step, tousled hair, dark eyes you have to force your arms back from touching him.
"go home" you utter, avoiding his touch like he was poisoned and trying to side step him to get him away from you
"i can't. i can't go unless this gets this resolved, please" he blocked your path and you tried to reign in the emotions. but with every passing moment, it was becoming incredibly hard to do so.
"and you'd do what?? you thought you'd come here like some prince charming and help me??? this isn't some fairytale reid, wake up" you scoffed and he just stood there completely in shock until it switched to pain and then anger
"why are you being so mean?" his voice was soft but his face had hardened, his eyebrows furrowing at you. that was the straw that broke your back, the fact that he continued to remain ignorant despite everything he had put you through
"you still don't get it, do you??" a humourless chuckle fell from your lips, eyeing him again. the rage felt completely overwhelming but behind that, there was grief. for the person you wish he was, for the man you used to adore. and you so desperately want yourself to be enveloped with the promise of a happy ever after with spencer reid but the truth was, you could never have that. not in this life, he wasn't yours to have nor hold. he wasn't yours to cherish and love.
he shrugs his shoulders, gesturing around eyes wide as he presses you further for the information
"i have supported you throughout this grief despite you being so mean to me reid. i helped you because i didn't want you to suffer alone and yeah, maybe that was my mistake," your eyes were beginning to prick with unshed tears that shone underneath the lights. every anger he had in the past moment has all deflated and he's standing there, looking at you with such a sadness you could almost drown in it.
"i didn't ask for that" his voice was low, his eyes red as the tears welled up.
"you didn't have to! that's what friends do! i loved you reid, more than i ever thought i could" your voice had turned into a soft whisper, tears spilling down your cheeks but you hastily wiped them away
"y/n" he steps forwards but in return you take one back. you wouldn't let him cloud your judgement tonight, he had taken up far too much space in your heart and mind already.
"but that was then. this is now" your voice is firm, looking at him with so many emotions you're not sure which is the most dominant.
"i did everything i could've though to do. i was there outside your damn door, not moving until i heard you eat something. i was there, pretending to walk away so that when you finally showed face, you were still alive. i didn't do that to receive validation, the only thing i wanted to do was to make sure you were okay. but to accuse me of maeve's murder like that..." your voice was pained, as if you still couldn't really believe the extent he had gone to, to make you feel so bad.
"i-i'm sorry y/n" his own voice barely escapes him but you're through with it. all the deceit, the hatred, the lies, the anger, all of it.
"i don't ever want to see you again. i don't want you coming by here anymore. you once asked me what love is? it's this" coming to your full height you walk towards your front door and open it. it's the most hardest thing you've had to do in a while saying goodbye to the man who holds your entire heart. but breaking your heart now meant that he couldn't make it shatter later on.
"y/n please don't do this. i-i love you, i do" if he had said these words to you a mere few weeks ago, how you would've embraced him without a single doubt. he was better than anyone you've ever met and all you truly wanted was his love, to bathe and bask in it.
but you take no notice now, opening the door wider.
"loving you is hard enough, don't make me hate you" your voice trembles and try as you might, it's difficult to stay strong when you feel like you're drowning in your despair.
"please don't do this" his voice shook as the tears he had been holding back finally trailed down his cheeks. he looked absolutely exhausted, so close to breaking but for the first time since you had met reid, you chose yourself. for you knew deep down maeve would always occupy his heart and you could never come close to the fire he burned for her. your love would simply diminish and extinguish, it could never be enough for him.
when he leaves, your back meets your front door. you covered your mouth as short shaky breaths left your lips, the floodgates were well and truly wide open now, the pure devastation and anguish leaving your eyes as you cradle yourself close. but it was better this way. better to face to hard cold reality that reid could never be yours than to envelope yourself with the sweetest lies that he could change.
and spencer was behind your door, his forehead meeting your door as his shoulders shake with all the pain in his heart. a million thoughts in his head and yet not one could pass his lips. his palm flattened over the door, trying but failing to muster up the courage to rap his knuckles again. to make you understand, to make you see that he loved you. that he needed you, that he yearned to be with you. that you were what he needed and he needed your comfort and your help and your presence
but the hand never knocked and all he could do was stand there with choked sobs leaving his lips. his forehead leaning against your front door, never once being so close and yet so incredibly far away from you
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astrophileous · 6 months
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ZARA MY LOVE MWAH SENDING THROUGH A REQUEST WOOOOOOO 😚😚😚
please give me spencer reid crumbs 🤲 maybe him seeing reader in a fancy dress for the first time 👀 and he’s like 😃 because she’s so pretty 🥴 and he’s been rendered speechless because oh my god that’s his girlfriend????? ARE YOU FEELING ME 😩😩
I FEEL YOU MA'AM!!! AND I GOTCHUUU DON'T WORRYYY 🫶🫶🫶 (y'all better thank avis the loml for sending in this request bcs this turned out better than I expected if I do say so myself 👀)
Warning(s): fem!reader, profanities, spencer being head over heels in love with his gf, kinda suggestive towards the end so pls minors just be mindful
This blurb was written as a part of the "Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K" celebration.
Zara's Birthday Bash and Road to 1K Masterlist / Criminal Minds Masterlist
"Are you laughing at me?"
"No one is laughing!"
"Right. You're saying that wasn't a snort that I just heard?"
"I just think you're being unreasonable."
"Unrea—? I'm not being unreasonable! Don't call me unreasonable!"
Spencer sighed out loud as he turned the car towards a quiet street, his eyes never straying off the road even if 90% of his attention had been domineered by your distressed voice resonating out of his speaker phone for the past fifteen minutes. Something crashed on the other end of the line, and Spencer nearly pressed his right foot all the way down on the brake pedal as he glanced worriedly at the device on the passenger's seat.
"Sweetheart? Everything okay over there?"
"Everything's fine! I'm okay, I'm okay!"
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm just—fuck. I bumped into some stuff. It's not a big deal."
"(Y/N)—" Spencer called out softly, "—why don't you take a deep breath for me, my love?"
"Spencer—"
"Just humor me, okay?" There was a lengthy pause before he heard you take several deep breaths through the phone. "Feel better now?"
"Maybe. A little bit. Yeah."
"Good." Spencer smiled, slowing his car down to a stop as he stared at the familiar building outside the window. "Because I'm pulling up to your place right now."
"What?!"
After a full more minute of you cursing the living daylights out of him, Spencer ended the call and grabbed the bouquet of flowers from the backseat before walking all the way up to your apartment on the third floor. The three-piece suit he donned felt stiff against his body. Nevertheless, it was the fanciest thing he owned in his closet, thus uncomfortable as he was, Spencer thought he'd endure it tonight for Rossi's sake.
It was a memorable night in the BAU's history, considering Rossi had just finished the first book he ever wrote after rejoining the team and was throwing a party to celebrate its launch. "It's a whole shindig," Rossi had announced. "Everyone's invited, so dress to impress. Don't forget to bring that lovely girl of yours, Reid."
You had only met the team once by this point—an accidental encounter that barely lasted ten minutes after you and your friends stumbled into the same restaurant where Spencer and his team just happened to be dining in—and Spencer couldn't be more ecstatic at the prospect of you finally getting to know his second family even closer. The invitation was merely an implied gesture that confirmed what Spencer already knew to be true: the team approved of you. They loved you.
Yet, as he extended the invite to you two weeks ago, Spencer was surprised to see you panic instead of the unadulterated joy that he had expected to witness when he went to deliver the news.
"Two weeks, you said? The party is in two weeks? Two weeks? I have nothing to wear!"
You had been freaking out over the party every single day since then. Upon further inspection, Spencer finally realized that this behavior stemmed from your fear of not being accepted by the team, which was illogical since Spencer had stated very clearly about how much they adored you.
"I didn't have the chance to prepare for a good first impression, Spencer. So whatever happens, everything has to be perfect for Rossi's party," you had reasoned.
Hence, Spencer could only watch you from the sideline as you ran around in a frenzy for the past couple of weeks. He listened patiently to each one of your manic ramblings and gave you reassurances whenever you needed it. Before he left for your place that night, he made sure to stop by his usual florist to purchase a big bouquet of your favorite flowers, hoping that the vibrant arrangement could offer some repose to your restlessness.
A couple of minutes later, Spencer found himself coming face to face with the view of a familiar door. His grip around the bouquet tightened as he knocked on the wood three times.
"Coming!" you exclaimed from inside the apartment.
When the door finally swung open, Spencer nearly collapsed as he felt the air being knocked completely out of his lungs.
Spencer realized, then, that in the ten months the two of you had been together, there had never been any special occasion where the two of you were required to dress to the nines. And as lovely as you always looked in Spencer's eyes, nothing could have prepared him for the sight of you standing in a luxurious dress, all dolled-up like the epitome of timeless beauty whose fairness they used to sing about back in the old days.
The material of the dress flowed and hugged your body in all the right places, giving Spencer a calculated peek to the vast skin underneath that he had mapped out countlessly in the past. The dress itself came in a color that complimented the natural gleam of your skintone. You looked radiant as you stood there with the dress and your makeup perfectly in place. Still, as stunning as you were at that moment, Spencer knew that the dress wouldn't be as captivating as it was had it been any other person wearing it instead of you.
"Spencer." The sound of his name in your enthralling voice brought Spencer back out of his stupor. "Can you wait a minute? I need to find my purse. I swear, I put it somewhere around here. And shoes! Shit. I haven't chosen what shoes to wear."
You flew around the apartment with the most anxious elegance Spencer had ever seen in a person. He wordlessly walked into the threshold and kicked the door shut behind him. You reappeared in front of Spencer barely five minutes later, holding a matching purse in your hand and standing four inches taller courtesy to the heels you were wearing.
"Okay, I'm ready!" you announced. "Spencer? Why are you looking at me like that? What, do I have something on my face? Crap, is it my lipstick?!"
Spencer stepped closer as you began rummaging through the tiny purse you were carrying. He gripped your wrist in his hand, stopping your ministrastions until you finally looked up at him.
"You look beautiful," Spencer admitted in a breathless murmur. "So gorgeous."
Without a word of warning, Spencer used his free hand to pull you closer by the waist, connecting his desperate lips with your sweet ones. You yelped against him before melting completely into his embrace, letting his tongue dominate your own as your delight erupted in a series of muffled whimpers. It felt as if hours had passed—your legs threatening to turn into jelly underneath you—when Spencer eventually pulled away, resting his forehead on top of yours as the two you tried to catch your breath.
"You have lipstick on your face." You laughed, wiping the reddish stain around Spencer's lips as your boyfriend chuckled wholeheartedly. "Not that I didn't appreciate the passionate display of affection, darling, but what was that for?"
"Nothing. I just love you so much."
"Uh-huh." You raised a pair of unimpressed eyebrows at him, your lips curving up one degree further when you saw what he was holding in his hand. "Is this for me?"
Spencer grinned as he presented the bouquet in your face. "Who else?"
You offered a quick thank you before rushing towards the kitchen where you relocated the flowers into a vase. Spencer followed closely behind, gaze never straying far from you as you pranced around the space fluidly.
"It's pretty." You hummed appreciatively as you set the vase on the kitchen peninsula. "Thank you, Spencer."
"Anything for you, sweetheart," he replied. Spencer's stare raked over your entire figure for the hundredth time in the last fifteen minutes, a twinkle in his eyes when he finally found your expectant gaze directed at him. "You know, the party venue isn't really far from here."
"Oh?"
"Yeah," Spencer whispered, stealthily moving towards you as if he was a predator stalking its prey. "And the party doesn't start for another fifteen minutes anyway, so there's no reason for us to leave right away."
A familiar fire burned brighter behind your eyes with every inch of distance Spencer managed to consume. "Is that so?"
"Absolutely." He was standing in front of you now, fingers dancing up and down your arms calling for goosebumps to rise on their wake. "Besides, I don't think anyone would mind if we arrive a few minutes late, right? After all, it's not our party."
"No, it's not." You gasped when Spencer shoved your body towards him, your chest flush against his to the point where you could feel the thumping of his heart on top of yours. "Fuck, Spencer. Just kiss me."
Groaning, Spencer didn't waste a single second before he claimed your lips in a hungry kiss. Spencer's palms roamed every expanse of flesh he could reach, eager to hear you sing his praises in the form of enraptured moans and gasps that elicited a blazing flame inside his own body.
Needless to say, as much as Spencer loved seeing you in that dress, he didn't think there was any greater sight than watching it thrown haphazardly on the floor.
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