anonymous asked:

Ahh true anon I didn't saw Tae wearing that earring but Jimin and Jungkook has the same, just they have different hoop. The hoop Jungkook wearing is more thick. And sometimes he puts extra hoop because he can't put it inside the chain when he wears the thicker one. And also Jimin has a extra long bar earring beside the chain but he sometimes doesn't wear it. Also maknae line wearing matching pendant 👀

how do yall notice these things pt 2

50 Cute This or That Questions
  1. cacti or succulents
  2. butterflies or honeybees
  3. typewritten or handwritten letters
  4. flower crowns or oversized sun hats 
  5. polaroids or film
  6. road tripping in a VW bus down the coast or camping in the woods on summer nights
  7. cozy beanbags or breezy hammocks 
  8. oversized jumpers or fluffy bathrobes
  9. banana bread or pumpkin spiced loaf
  10. the smell of old books or the smell of petrichor
  11. chapstick or matte lipstick
  12. macarons or eclairs 
  13. a candlelit bath or a naturally lit reading room
  14. a matinee at a musical or a evening at the art gallery
  15. creamy hot cocoa with marshmallows or dippable hot chocolate with churros 
  16. poetry or prose
  17. vinyl or cassettes
  18. antique shops or second hand stores
  19. a heavy, rich chocolate cake with ganache and caramel or a light, summer sponge cake with cream and fruit
  20. purikuras or photo booths
  21. cozy scarfs or warm beanies
  22. rose gold or copper
  23. watching the sky at sunset from the beach or watching the city below from an airplane at night
  24. mason jars or coffee mugs
  25. puffy clouds and blue skies or thunder and lighting on rainy days
  26. a cup of hot tea or a bowl of warm soup
  27. picnic on a grassy hill or tea in a flower garden
  28. silk or lace
  29. sketching in a museum or journaling in a café
  30. converse high tops or beaded summer sandals
  31. sweet crêpes or fluffy pancakes
  32. galaxies or nebulae
  33. cuff-chain earrings or full finger rings
  34. knee socks or leggings
  35. in bed or out in the rain
  36. the muted colors of winter or the vibrant colors of summer
  37. autumn leaves or spring flowers
  38. summer fruits: peaches, berries, cherries, and apricots or tropical fruits: pineapples, mangos, papaya, and grapefruit.
  39. malt shakes or ice cream floats
  40. smooth jazz or lo-fi
  41. waves lapping at the shore or wind rolling over wheat fields
  42. sunflowers or lavender
  43. enamel pins or embroidered patches
  44. fresh cheeses and cured meats or fresh bread and homemade jams
  45. fireworks or sparklers
  46. bath bombs or scented candles 
  47. library borrower cards or vintage postcards
  48. singing and playing the ukulele while walking or singing in the car with the windows down
  49. filling your passport with stamps from each place you travel to or collecting souvenirs from every place you’ve traveled to
  50. _____ or _____
student info: Junk, the student assistant librarian

The library is an odd place, and the librarians are an odd bunch. There’s the research librarian who hunts monsters; there’s the one who smells like fig newtons and seems to live and breathe books and only books, as if bound somehow to the library itself; there’s the… some guy, you think, who helps with reshelving (and “some guy” is not at all an accurate description of… whoever or whatever he is, but you don’t dare risk any other description) and, of course, the head librarian. The head librarian is called Irons, and her name suits her. Mrs. Irons is rarely seen, but when she does show up, everything- everything- falls silent. They say Mrs. Irons once shushed the Wild Hunt. You almost believe it. They say she learned the true name of one of the Gentry, and put him to work in the library as an unpaid intern. You don’t know about that, but you don’t look up when you hear some guy shuffling a book cart around the shelves.

And then there’s the student assistant librarian.

The student assistant librarian is exhausted and stressed all the time. Usually she says her name is Junk, but sometimes she gets confused and introduces herself as something else instead- not ever her true name, no, just whatever she happens to blurt out. She’s used to false names. She wears boots with iron hobnails and sweaters inside out and cargo pants with a hundred things in their pockets; her hair is usually uncombed but always smells of witch hazel. She’s tall, but she has the sort of permanent stoop you get from keeping your eyes on the ground all your life. She’s personable, but she doesn’t do well when conversations go off script. She never makes eye contact, and her dark eyes move oddly when she looks around- as though there are things in the room she wants to avoid seeing. She lies as often as she tells the truth, seemingly without reason. Her lies are always either entirely inconsequential or unconvincing to the point of absurdity, but she always delivers them with the same impossibly straight face.

The job is minimum-wage work study; you’re not sure how many hours they’re even allowed to give a student each week, but it seems like Junk is always in the library. There’s a dingy old microwave behind the circulation desk and a pile of clothes from the lost and found that could conceivably be a bed, if you’re an exhausted college student who doesn’t want to risk the trek back across campus at three in the morning. (Any time but three in the morning, freshmen quickly learn- you can be a night owl all you like, but three in the morning is not our time.) 

The student assistant librarian, whose name is usually Junk, is on the brink of flunking all her classes and always behind on reshelving. This is understandable. She is a student and an assistant librarian, but the real task of the student assistant librarian has little to do with either of those things. The library is an odd place and it is full of odd things, things odder even than the librarians. It is the task of the student assistant librarian to provide protection between the library and the students. She wanders the shelves with silver studs in her ears, washers on a chain around her neck, salt in her boots, a hand-crank flashlight in her pocket, and a crumpled guide to the Dewey Decimal system in her hand. She recites a poem as she walks, not because it keeps her safe but just because it’s her favorite stim: feeling the rhymes and rhythms on her own tongue, finding the patterns, finding the sense. It helps keep her calm- and she needs to be calm when she walks the shelves. 

She finds the students who have wandered into danger; she finds the danger that has wandered into the library. She sorts things out. She chews her lips bloody inside every time she goes into the deep shelves, but she sorts things out. She knows exactly how to deal with the Gentry, and exactly how to avoid dealing with them. She is not all-powerful, nor does she think of herself as particularly heroic, but she is smart and she is stubborn and when you are in her library you will be safe.

There’s a rumor that Junk was born with the Sight. You’re not sure if that’s true- you’re not sure if that’s possible- but when you look at her, this strange gangling girl who strides into the deep shelves every night for minimum wage and strides back out again with lost students at her side, this girl who knows every rule for every interaction with the Gentry, this girl that lies as easily as breathing and once accidentally introduced herself as Captain Kirk, this girl that you once saw crying into a cup of E-Z Mac behind the circulation desk… when you look at her, you think that if anyone was ever born with the Sight, it was probably Junk.

You do not envy her that.

She has a cat, officially registered with the school as a support animal for her autism. It is grey, a bit chubby, incredibly loving, dumb as a box of rocks and about as energetic, and all in all one of the most aggressively mundane animals you’ve ever seen. Perhaps that’s why the Gentry have never messed with it- or maybe that’s because Junk has always ensured that the cat is as protected as it is possible for any animal to be: an iron-buckled collar of brass bells, fur washed with witch hazel water she’s left in the moonlight, salt packets sewn into its support animal vest, no name given, and always at her side. It does not chase mice in the library. It does not chase anything at all, nor has it ever attempted to drink or eat from the offerings that students leave out. Maybe, upon reflection, it isn’t actually that dumb.

On the occasions she actually manages to make it to class, she usually falls asleep on her tiny desk within ten minutes. Even in small classes, most of her classmates don’t want to wake her. Student assistant librarian is not an easy job, and it is only decency to allow her rest where she can find it. Her grades suffer, but she will return to the library for her shift, and when you are in her library, you will be safe.

Junk doesn’t have a major. Even after two years, she’s still muddling through her gen eds. She doesn’t often talk about her family- at least, she doesn’t often tell the truth about them- but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love them. Sometimes, at Elsewhere, it’s best to keep the things you love secret. Her family, whoever they are, wherever they are, are proud that their daughter made it to university. They do not know about her job, or the duty that comes along with it. They especially do not know about her grades.

Finals week is hard on everyone, but it also means that the number of students in the library increases tenfold- and so does the number of other things. Finals week is the most dangerous time of year, more dangerous even than the ravages of Spring Break, and it is the duty of the student assistant librarian to provide protection between the library and the students. She stays up all night herding the desperate studiers out of the unsafe places; she takes her exams as quickly as she can (too quickly) and then races back to the library to fetch those who have gone missing in her absence. It is not uncommon to see Junk full-on sprinting down the campus sidewalks during finals week, lanky limbs akimbo, hair wild, cat peeking out of her backpack. As hard as she runs, though, she never cuts a corner from the safe pathways. 

Not a single student has been Taken* from the library since she started work- an unprecedented record. She’s proud of that, even and especially on days when she’s too exhausted to put three sentences together, let alone write a timed essay. It seems unfair to give a job like this to a full-time student, and it is- but there is something about it that’s vital that the student assistant librarian must be both student and librarian. They must be a go-between. They must walk both worlds. They must provide protection.

(*She found a philosophy student halfway to the Barony once, miles past the marble palace in the reference section. He was lost and glamour-dazed, but not yet Taken, not all the way. She gave him half the sandwich she had in her pocket (the other half went back into the pocket, just in case) and led him back to the circulation desk in time for the end of night shift- the journey had been several days, she was certain, but time passed differently in the library. Two weeks later, the same philosophy student went missing from a party, and never reappeared. Junk couldn’t do anything about that; he wasn’t in her library. But no one gets taken from her library.)

Junk never asks for anything in return from the students she rescues from the deep shelves- it is her duty, after all, and duty means a bargain bigger, more binding, and more sacred than any trade between students. Still, it might be a good idea to help her with her classwork. After all, if she flunks out, the school is unlikely to get another student assistant librarian like this one.


((Hope this is alright! Wasn’t sure how to submit this but… Junk and Mrs. Irons are original characters of mine, sliding into Elsewhere University AU-wise. Anyone who wants to can find out more about them and their other lives (and talk to Junk!) at my blog @deweydeadcimal.))

Fall coquette tips 🖤🍂🖤🍂

- warm colors are def a must

- nude and dusty roses lip sticks

- gold highlighter

- knee boots

- coffee dates w your bffs

- go to a theme park on Halloween

- Simple jewelry ( hoop earrings, chain bracelets, small stone rings)

- fitted sweaters and a skirt

- bronze makeup

- Halloween parties are also vvvv fun

- attend football games

- bonfires and late nights

- hike a mountain

- camp anywhere ( your backyard for a night or spend a weekend w your friends)

- rose water will save your life (and skin)

- baby oil gel after you shower (before you dry off) will give you the softest skin Eva

- green tea every morning will boost your metabolism

- keep your lips moisturized n kissable

this is not what you think it is

canonverse (set sometime during the time skip), ereri, ~1800 words. trigger warnings: bondage–but not the way you think, ballgag–but not the way you think, ropes–again not what you’re thinking. minor violence.

The ropes dug into Eren’s flesh, raced across his naked chest trapping his arms at his side and over his bare thighs. He gave a little moan around the gag in his mouth and Levi thought, finally.

“You’re awake,” Levi ascertained. “Good.”

Eren made a noise that Levi assumed was “Captain?”

Levi at least was fully clothed, but because of his height, only came to Eren’s chest, which was very awkward because his tanned chest was very smooth, but also covered in Eren’s drool. Levi wiggled his wrists again, trying to get some blood flowing. Everything was too tight.

Eren looked around the room in horror and struggled to get free. Which was pointless really, their captors had wrapped Eren and Levi together several times over and bound them tight to keep Humanity’s Strongest from simply breaking the ropes and then threw in a chain on over the mess, because why not?

Keep reading

|A Theory part 5|


GENRE: Angst, Smut, Pure unadulterated nonsense


A/N: I am so so so sorry for how long this took for me to get out. I really hope you guys like it. Now, I since already gifted the Jackson stans, I believe the eldest hyung and the leader deserve some love too, yes?

Originally posted by got7official

Originally posted by msmichellec


“Dress sexy” .

Jackson’s husky words echoed in my mind as I washed my body, making sure to shave, exfoliate and almost everything else in the book I could think of. I touched my skin making sure it was silky smooth to the touch before turning off the water and stepping out. The steam enveloped the room, making it a foggy maze to the door. I grabbed the dark colored towel off of the rack, wrapping the fluffy thick cotton around my body before I left the humid room, relishing in the cold air hitting my wet skin when I opened the door and stepped out into my room. In my immediate line of sight, I could see a broad back and shoulders going through my closet, carefully inspecting each article of clothing before pushing it aside and moving onto the next.

“I like the red” I heard his low, smooth voice speak as he inspected a dress I wore once to some high end fashion party Bambam dragged me to.

“It suits you” he mused.

That deep, melodic and smooth voice belonged to only one person. But how and when did he get in my room? How long was I in the shower for? It couldn’t have been that long, could it? My mind was swirling with the bombardment of questions assaulting my conscious, the most prominent one being what the hell was going on.

“Jaebum?” At the call of his name he took his attention away from the dress and turned to me.

I could fully see how he was dressed now, a simple white button up, buttoned up to his elbows with black slacks on. It was simple, but with his accessories of the silver earrings and simple chain, adorning his neck, he made it gorgeous. Giving me a once over, his lips spread into a gorgeous breathtaking smile. He kept his hand on the smooth, silky fabric of the dress as he addressed me.

“Evening baby girl” he said in a smooth, polite voice.

The initial shock of Im Jaebum in my room, while I was naked no less, was staggering and highly difficult to get over to say the absolute least. He raised an eyebrow at my silence and I could see the smug glint in his eye. He was breath taking, it was almost impossible for me to take my eyes off of him. His dark hair was styled back and away from his forehead, giving me a view of his gorgeous features. He watched me as I watched him, silently egging me on to do something as I continued my ogling unabashedly. That was before my mind took me back to the reality of the situation; Until I was reminded of the questions that needed to be answered.

“What did Jimin tell you?” Finding my voice was difficult but to produce it was even worse.

Keep reading


Trinkets ( Pennywise Reader  Drabble)

( just a cute little idea I had about Pennywise giving little gifts to his human because that’s what you should do right? Humans like shiny things don’t they?)

It started off with just a few things at first, a couple of loose coins around the sink drain, a marble or two in the bath. Small innocuous little every day items that you didn’t even think about at the time though you probably should have in hindsight.

It was when the coins changed to things like a silver chain hanging of of the shower head, a single pearl earring lodged in the faucet or the unfortunate teddy bear sitting in the toilet. (you managed to wash most of the filth off of it but it still smelled rather awful)

It seemed like almost every day you found some new little trinket lurking in unusual places around you house, each one more interesting than the last.

It was only when a familiar towering figure decided to pay you an in expected visit that you finally put two and two together.

“Do you not like them?” His voice was soft and raspy as he startled you from cleaning the dishes, a loud clattering of china against the sink edge making you flinch as you whirled around to face him.

“Oh shit! I asked you not to sneak up on me like that” You clutched your chest trying to ease the frantic pace of your heart. He always did this to you when you were holding something breakable, delighting in your panic and frustration at even more broken plates (honestly you had go through like 5 in this month alone)

Oddly instead of flashing you the usual sharp fanged grin he remained dead pan and staring at you with intent, his wayward eyes unusually both focused on you as he began to frown.

“Did you not like them” he repeated, his voice a little deeper this time, an undercurrent of displeasure colouring his word making you shiver a little. This was very unlike him, it was off putting to see this more serious side of him. it was like you had done something wrong only you had no idea what is was

“What are you talking about? What did I not like?” confusion painted your face as you glanced about, wondering he could be talking about. You answer seemed to only make him frown even more, his shoulders hunching slightly and eyes darkening as he glared at you

“My gifts, you didn’t like my gifts” He sounded offended as he began to shift closer to you, the action instinctively making you back up against the sink as fear began to set in. Gifts? what gifts, what could he possibly mean by-


In that single moment of clarity it was like a light bulb dinged over you head, all the pieces finally coming together. So thats why you had been finding all those little bits around your bathroom lately. The coins, the silver chain, the earring. Of course they would be placed near anything with a drain how did you not even realise.

“You left them there? for me?” the dumbfounded look on your face made the clown pause in his menacing approach, his head tipping to the side as he regarded you with a slight sneer.

“of course I did, who else would have” the way he looked at you made you feel like a complete idiot, you face flushing with embarrassment as you tried to stammer out an excuse.

“w-well I…” words left you as in just a few short steps he was upon you, his hands gripping the edge of the sink behind you as he trapped you with his arms. His gleaming yellow eyes glared down at you as he let out an agitated huff against your hair.

“Stupid human, I give you my treasures and you don’t even care. Ungrateful little animal doesn’t even say thank you” it was clear that in your blind ignorance you had managed to offend him greatly, a feat you were desperately trying to find a resolution to before he did something awful to you in his anger.

“I’m sorry Penny please I didn’t know…thank you, thank you for all your gifts, I love them I really do” you frightened but earnest as you tried to plead your case, your small hands reaching up to pet softly at chest, trembling hands stroking against the satin fabric of his outfit in a placating manner.

Staring down at you intensely his whole body seemed to tense at your touch. His eyes searching your face of any sign of insincerity. Time slowed down to a crawl as he weighed up your words in his mind, each second of silence sending your heart beating faster. It seemed like an eternity had passed until he slowly began to relax, bit by bit, his shoulder slumping slightly as the deep frown on his face eased into a more neutral expression.

“Next time, think” he grumbled softly, a large gloved finger poked you firmly on the forehead in warning before he pulled away, his face still absent of a smile but at least he was no longer glaring at you. Nodding frantically in response you mumbled out a quiet apology as his tall lanky form slipped away from you completely, slinking backwards into the darkened hallway as his body melted into the shadows.

It was clear he was still a little upset with you but at least now you understood why. Still though, you had never once thought that he would even consider giving you gifts. The whole set up the two of you had was more him taking what he wanted from you whenever he wanted and in return you got to live for another day. Not that you minded much really, not when you ended up enjoying ‘Playtime’ Just as much as he did.

Shaking your head sharply to clear out the mess of your thoughts you headed off to your room, the dishes long forgotten in the flurry of events that had just transpired. Entering your room you immediately went for the small box you had stashed under you bed, your hands shaking a little as you opened it and began rooting through its contents.

All these little things, from the coins to the teddy bear, they had all come from him. Little treasures he must have gathered over the years from his hunts no doubt, the very thought making your gut clench slightly as you brushed your finger tips over a metal coat button in amongst the coins. All of a sudden the once amused delight you had felt when finding these little trinkets was slowly melting away into despair as you wondered just what you had done to deserve such gruesome trophies.

You did you best to bury these thoughts as your received even more gifts over the next few weeks, the slight feeling of sadness that twinged in you heart never truly leaving though thankfully he could never tell. You remembered now to thank Pennywise when he visited, for whatever small gift he had given you you always made sure to show your appreciation for it, however small it may be. His smile returned to lips once more as he delighted in you finally understanding, his human knew better now it would seem. 

 As long fingers toyed with the single pearl earring draped across your neck by a silver chain one night, the soft pleased purr against your ear made you feel just a little bit better for it all, the ever present reminder in you head of the horror behind these little gifts falling silent…

…if only for moment

Connecting the disconnected: when South Asians accuse East Africans of cultural appropriation 

On August 9th, Yasmin Yonis, a Somali-American writer, caused a Twitter storm when she started a conversation about accusations of cultural appropriation made by South Asian Twitter against Black Twitter. At the core of the debate were headpieces, henna paintings, clothing, ear chains and necklaces worn by women in East Africa and elsewhere that South Asians claimed as theirs.

Conversations about cultural appropriation have since few years been on the rise but have, for obvious reasons, mainly focused on how white cultures appropriate those of people of colour. Debates between people of colour have largely been sidelined to Twitter, Tumblr and other social media conversations. Yonis’s tweets struck a nerve and were shared by thousands, predominately Black Twitter. She argued that most accusations of cultural theft made by South Asians against Africans are expressions of widespread anti-black racism amongst South Asian communities. And she is right.

When South Asians accuse East Africans of cultural appropriation, it is less about cultural relations or power dynamics at play. It’s about brownness and blackness. It boils down to a question of race-relations and border demarcations. Such accusations stem from both widespread ignorance, but also plain old racism. A few months ago, I started my own tweet conversation on the topic, and here’s an elaboration.

The sight of a Somali woman wearing a multi-coloured dirac wrapped around her body, or that of an Ethiopian woman with henna painted on her hands irritates many South Asians because it challenges centuries-old myths about their place in this world and racial hierarchy. It’s a sharp reminder that there are understudied connections between these two parts of the world and many of its diverse communities. But, many South Asians would rather want to sweep those under the rug and pretend they didn’t exist.

Truth being told, most South Asians can’t fathom to be related or share anything in common with Africans.

If you today casually ask South Asians about historic relations and shared cultural heritages with Africans, you will most likely receive a baffled look followed by a prompt and outright negation. We’ve in fact silenced our shared histories to the extent that scholarship needs to be produced outside of South Asia to force us to look into our pasts and face the histories that were never granted its rightful places in our own history books. And when we seldolmy discover them, we treat them as if they were some anomaly, some exotic trope or even human zoo. There’s today little interest in uncovering African-South Asian relations, unless it serves neoliberal projects. This stands in stark contrast to how many South Asians remember and write about their relationships to Arabs, Persians, Turks and European colonisers, and, importantly, how many South Asians claim ancestry based on such long, complicated and often times violent histories. You’ll search in vain for any references that will connect you to the African continent. And you’ll have to search long for any South Asian to claim African heritage on their own (unless they are busy appropriating Black American culture, of course) and find some form of pride in it.

For South Asians, the Indian Ocean that connects us to East Africa is only relevant when talking about Arab traders or European Invaders. African-South Asian histories find no space within it.

Africa is of course not a country and neither is South Asia. The millions of people and communities have different relations and degrees of connections towards each other. Just as their cultures may vary, so do their histories, relationships and genetic heritages. What unites South Asia across the board however, is their embracement of whiteness. The aspiration towards fairer skin drives them towards an ‘Aryanized’ reading of their bodies and histories, which values fair skinned-bodies while equally erasing dark-skinned ones. This reflects in South Asia’s most widespread religion, Hinduism, which vilifies dark bodies by construing them as either symbols of death or demons. Fair-skinned bodies are, on the hand, seen as those of saints and saviours. Any embrace of whiteness/lightness is therefore equally also a rejection of blackness/darkness.

The community I come from, Eelam Tamils from northeastern Sri Lanka, has for centuries been construed as black within the South Asian context, including by other islanders. One of Hinduism’s holy books, the Ramayan, depicts us in its North Indian interpretation, the most dominant one, as barbaric monsters whose island is burnt to the ground by fair-skinned saviours. Diwali, the festival that follows Ram’s return from Lanka, is today still celebrated in the North as a mythical victory over darkness. Eelam Tamil (often also referenced as ‘Sri Lankan Tamil’) is today a codeword amongst South Asians for darkness/blackness, even for Indian Tamils. In light of it, calling someone a Tamil can be used as a slur by fair-skinned South Asians against dark-skinned South Asians.

Within South Asia and its diasporas, we’re next to Afro-South Asians, Andamanese and Nicobarese people one of the main recipients of anti-black racism. Being called anti-black racial epithets however, doesn’t stop us from equally producing and maintaining anti-black racism towards others. Quite the opposite: it makes us even more eager to demarcate our differences.

When I today ask my mother why our hair texture isn’t the same as to that of Indians, she provides me a dry reply that we are not Indian. When I dig a little deeper and talk to her about her hair politics and put them in juxtaposition to those of black women, she usually reacts outraged. When I say dosai tastes like injera, injera like dosai, tibs like meat curries, meat curries like tibs, my family refuses to hear it. When I tell them of the Eritrean waitress who mistook my Eelam Tamil friend and I for a compatriot and started taking orders in Tigrigna, they laughed it off. When a group of Eritrean youths at a refugee welcome party full of white Germans and other light-skinned refugees took their seat on our table to start bond with us as if we’re family, it remained an anecdote without consequences. When an Eritrean friend told me about the many times she has been mistaken for a ‘Sri Lankan Tamil’, they said that’s impossible. When my cousin was approached by four elderly Somali men playing chess in a McDonald’s in Norway in Somali, it was reduced to little more than banal entertainment. When a Somali friend wore a sari and my parents said in delight that she looked like a Tamil girl, they didn’t think about the meaning of their words twice. When white men then called us the ’n’ word, we said we’re not ‘African’. When fair-skinned South Asians addressed us as black, we called them racists. These are just few of the anecdotes we carry around but find no space to articulate or share because of how we’re positioned between fair-skinned South Asians and white people — at the expenses of possible linkages and solidarities outside of both.

When American-Indian-Tamil comedian Aziz Ansari mistook 14-year-old American-Sudanese Ahmed Mohamed, who was arrested in Texas for having built a clock, for a ‘brown kid’ he could project his own bodily experiences upon, it was more than just a simple negation and/or confusion of/over Mohamed’s Black Arab heritage. It didn’t just speak to Mohamed’s type of blackness which sits at the borderlines of erasure and irritation amongst dominant Black and Arab narratives. It also spoke volumes about Ansari’s type of brownness which similarly struggles with erasure and dislocation from dominant South Asian narratives. Ansari’s misidentification shows how colour lines are not static or linear. Neither are black and brown two absolute separates that never collide, historically or in the present day. They can be ambiguous, confusing and even messy because of how racial classifications do not respond to the complexity and diversity of human bodies, experiences and self-identifications.

From attire to jewellery to food cultures to skin colour, there are many things we share. We’ve rich histories that require explorations. Anti-black racism, however, raises us to believe that we monopolise our own cultures, that they are the result of isolation or mingling with fair-skinned others — but never with our dark-skinned brethrens. It tells us that black folks do ‘brown’ things when we’re actually also doing ‘black’ things. Anti-black racism functions as a form of self-hatred amongst many of us that we’re raised with since childhood, and our communities have been instilled with for centuries, much longer than the first presence of European colonisers in the region. It remains deeply intertwined with Hinduism and South Asia’s resulting caste apartheid. Anti-black racism under white supremacy and Brahmin supremacy pushes us to position us closer to lightness than darkness in the quest of surviving racial and caste hierarchies. It makes my family think about the many intersections of our experiences as coincidences rather than results of shared histories.

When in 2004 the tsunami embarked from Ace, Indonesia, to kill tens of thousands on India’s and Sri Lanka’s coastlines, the waves didn’t cease there but continued all the way until they reached Somalia and Kenya’s coastlines. Several hundreds were subsequently killed hours after the first earthquake erupted thousands of km further east, on the Asian side of the ocean. Yet the 2004 tsunami remains to be remembered as an Asian catastrophe and not an Indian Ocean one. Most have in fact never heard about African victims of this catastrophe. It is reflective of our how mental borders, connections and knowledges are drawn, limited and reproduced by colonial mappings; how they erase connections that challenge their very raison d’être and hinder us from thinking beyond the spatialities colonialism has left us with.

But if we’d be able stop identifying by land but, say, the ocean, we’d not be people of two continents but one ocean. If we’d be able to think of the ocean as something that connects us rather than divides us, we could begin to reflect about the relationships, cultures and histories that bind us. We’d be pushed to move away from conceptions of Asia and Africa being two separate entities, but could see them as the fluid, interconnected spaces they are. It would enable us to build meaningful solidarities and embrace our darkness while remaining cognizant of how white supremacy and caste apartheid intersect and organise us to weaken us and see us as strangers, when we are in fact anything but. Our anti-black racism can erase many of our shared histories, even lead us to cry cultural appropriation when seeing Somali women wearing diracs, but it can’t erase the waters that connect us. 

By:  S. Varatharajah

PhD student @UCLgeography |Founder @rootsofdiaspora | Rsr @europapress_Islamrace|diaspora|migration|memory|geography|urbanity|
postcoloniality -  Roots of Diaspora 

Eyes Closed (M)

G-Dragon: Angst/Small amount of fluff/The ‘Eventual’ Smut Is Here

PART 2-B: (XO) The One About Hong Kong

A/N: FINALLY IT’S HERE! ALL 12 PAGES! I’m sorry it took so long but I had fun writing this one, I hope you all enjoy! xx

(Part One)||(Part Two-A)||(Part Three)

Originally posted by jitaewon

      With my head in my hands and the ever present ringing noise in my ears from the bad decisions from the previous night, I stared at the floor in complete and utter shock. How could I have been so stupid? How could I have let myself not only fuck up for the hundredth time but royally fuck up so bad that I could already hear everybody back in LA screaming at me. But the thing I was afraid of most was the heaviest of my baggage being hurled at me with no way of dodging out of the way; and I could already see him coming at me with reckless abandon. As much as I told myself to stay low key until this week was over, I did the complete opposite and was staring straight into the line of fire. Suddenly a pang of whole body goosebumps hit me as every vile, repressed memory of him crossed my mind.

      After Parties were probably one of the best perks of going to award shows, sure it was fun dressing up and receiving an award and people kissing your ass and telling you how amazing you were but the real party didn’t start until the after parties.

      After Party; af-ter–par-ty (noun) : A place in which all morals are no longer valid and all caution is thrown into the wind; see ‘Divine Decadence’.

      Where idols out of view from prying eyes could let themselves be themselves, somewhere they could throw away the façade of perfection and indulge in low-hanging fruit in their very own Garden of Eden. And the After-After Parties? Well much like ‘Fight Club’–we don’t talk about about the After-After Parties.

      Bobbing her head along to the music, Alex now somewhere between tipsy and drunk, and  looking over the ledge from the comfort their private table located atop one of the many balconies she mused at the sea of intoxicated individuals; some making poor life choices that they’d be sure to regret later and others letting loose for the very first time. She laughed to herself as she watched one person in particular on the dance floor doing a very drunken, almost robotic rendition of the ‘Fantastic Baby’ dance. A pair of arms suddenly encircled her waist bringing her out of her drunken haze.

      “Hey baby you look pretty lonely, you got a boyfriend?” the mysterious figure said into her ear.

      Again laughing to herself “fortunately for me I’m not lonely whatsoever” she let out a fake sigh “but unfortunately for you I’m spoken for”

     “Oh really?” he spoke again only this time lightly brushing his lips against her exposed ear causing a chain reaction of goosebumps all over her entire body.

      She let out a shaky breath “Yupp…”

      His hands now roaming her form, he pressed his body closer to hers making them both lurch closer to the ledge.

      “He must be pretty stupid to let all of this” he ran his hand over her ass “just stand here all alone”

      She braced herself on the ledge “I said he was my boyfriend, I never said he was the brightest crayon in the box”

      He let out a chuckle “Bet he’s a shitty boyfriend…” he said kissing his way from her bare shoulder to that spot on her neck that made her eyes roll into the back of her head.

      She bit her lip holding back a moan she so desperately wanted to let go, swallowing hard before speaking.

      “Well he can be…”

      Stopping mid kiss on her neck he spun her around to face him “Wait really?”

      She held back a laugh “Oh my god babe I was kidding” she said giving him a sympathetic look.

      “How’d you know it was me? Which by the way if it wasn’t me you let that go on a little past too long” he held her at arm’s length.

      She smiled and cupped his face in her hands “You’re the one who wanted to try roleplaying remember you little perv?”

      “…not a perv” he furrowed his brows and frowned.

      She bit her lip before pulling him in for a kiss. Smiling into the kiss he placed his hand on the back of her head deepening the kiss. He pulled away holding her at arm’s length again and looked her in the eye. His heart felt like it was simultaneously beating faster and slower at the same time, and swelled every time he looked at her. He couldn’t imagine being with anyone else for the rest of his life; no matter how cheesy he may have thought that sounded he just plainly didn’t care.

      “What?” she chuckled.

      “Nothing” he shook his head and gave her a shy smile all while pulling her into his chest and kissing the top of her head.

      Still holding her against his chest he looked down at her, staring into her eyes again.

      As if afraid of saying something he has said a hundred times over again, he smiled at her again and said:

      “I love you”

      “I love you too” she smiled back.

      “You better” he scrunched his nose.

      She stuck out her tongue “Why do you do that?”

      “Do what?” he furrowed his brows letting her stand up straight.

      “Every time you say ‘I love you’ you act like it’s the first time you’ve ever said it” she wrapped her arms around his neck.

      He blushed and let out a small laugh “because when I’m with you that’s what it feels like”

      She pushed his shoulder “Ji-Yong you got me already, you don’t have to lay it on so thick” she laughed.

      “I know, I just can’t help it. You give me butterflies” he smiled looking away.

      She bit her lip and smiled “Well the feeling is mutual”

      Blushing again he turned back to look at her and went in for another kiss only to be stopped by a drunken Seung-Hyung and an equally as drunk Seungri cat calling them from the booth.

      “Yeaaahhh Hyung!” Seungri attempted to whistle “get it!”

      “Ji-Yongie-ah!” Seung-Hyun cupped a hand around his mouth “I can become an ordained minister if you give me like ten minutes and you two can just” he mushed his hands together; not quite sure what that hand gesture was supposed to mean.

      Ji-Yong shook his head “Have you two been watching us this whole time?”

      “Yea what kind of peep show do you think this is you weirdos” she raised an eyebrow.

      “Ok it sounds weird when you say it like that” the maknae defended.

      “It sounds exactly like what it is, you two are into some voyeuristic shit and hey no judgement but fuck off” Ji-Yong said walking to the table and grabbing Seungri’s drink out of his hand, tossing it back then slamming the glass on the table.

      The maknae went wide eyed.

      Alex laughed “Hey be nice” she lightly smacked Ji-Yong’s chest.

      “Oh my favorite Dongsaeng~, thank you!” Seungri dramatically placed both hands over his heart.

      She let out a small laugh and rolled her eyes.

      “Ok looks to me like you two need a refill on your drinks” the maknae jumped up out of his seat and clapped his hands.

      Alex and Ji-Yong glanced at each other “we don’t have any drinks” they said in unison.

      “Exactly my point I’ll be right back, you want anything in particular? –Nevermind I’ll just bring you back something!” he said making his way toward the bar.

      The two stared after the drunken man and just shook their heads, looking back over at Seung-Hyun who had made his way to another table and acquired a pink feather boa that he was currently trying to wrap around Dae-Sung who seemed to be nothing but blissful as a on the verge of tears from laughing so hard Young-Bae looked on.

      She smiled and rolled her eyes, she couldn’t believe these were the people she called her friends. Scanning the crowd again she spotted a few of her friends a couple tables away.

      “Oh babe” she touched his shoulder “I think I see some of the BTS boys over there, I’m just gonna go say ‘hi’ really quick I’ll be right back”

      He nodded his head ‘ok’ and she gave him a kissed his cheek.

      Making her way through the crowd of drunken people over to the three boys, as she comes closer into view she comes to see it is in fact Nam-Joon, Yoon-Gi and Jackson from Got7; and a very heated argument between a drunken Nam-Joon and Jackson.

      Jackson turns away from Nam-Joon and sees her approaching them and starts to yell out “noona! Noooonaaaa!”

      She gets to them and lightly smacks his shoulder  “Jackson I told you not to call me that. It makes me feel old”

      just then a wave of drunken ‘noonas’ came her way from the three boys.

      She shook her head “nice to see you too boys” she said giving each one of them a hug.

      “Yah noona, I’m glad you’re here” Jackson placed his arm around her shoulder “So get this, Rap Monie over here–”

      “Oh boy here we go again” Nam-Joon interjected.

      “–thinks he’s too cool to–”

      “Ah jinja, I never said I was too cool!”

      “–he thinks he’s too cool to answer his phone and hang out with me!” Jackson complained.

      Nam-Joon pinched the bridge of his nose as he listened to Jackson drunkenly drone on and on about their little spat.

      Yoon-Gi on the other hand had given up on them that he just started to ignore them entirely; he thought they should keep their marital disputes to themselves.

      Alex laughed and with Jackson’s arm still across her shoulder, she hugged him by the midsection as she continued to listen to a very hurt and intoxicated go on about how much more their friendship meant to him than Nam-Joon.

      Meanwhile halfway across the room a Ji-Yong that was becoming very impatient with the story his very hammered maknae was trying to get out, but couldn’t because he kept laughing before he even finished his sentences, trying to calm himself he started to make a mental drinking game out of this never ending tale about how Seungri apparently did something hilarious in Osaka but by the way he was telling it he was sure exactly what it was.

      Stopping again mid sentence looked past Ji-Yong in awe.

      “Yah! Seungri if you don’t finish–”

      “Wahhh Hyung-ie, you must be either really trusting or really dumb because if that was my girl i would have ripped that guy’s head off” the maknae pointed in the direction where Alex stood with Jackson still having his arm around around her shoulders and her hugging him back.

      Turning in the direction his friend pointed a drunken finger, he could feel a dark jealousy beginning to rear it’s ugly head.

      “Come to think of it, where is my girlfriend?” the maknae blabbered to himself and walked away in search of his girlfriend, who in his drunken state had forgotten that she was in Cape Cod for another week and a half.

      Ji-Yong continued to glare in the direction of where that other man dared to touch his girlfriend. Who the fuck did he think he was? But the longer that Jackson kept his arm around her, the more livid Ji-Yong became.

      Turning away for a second to grab his drink, when he turned back around he caught a glimpse of the other man getting far too close to Alex’s face and he instantly felt his blood boil.

Mother fucker…” he mumbled under his breath crushing the plastic cup in his hands and not even caring he spilled most of it all over his Lanvin shoes.

      Just then an unsuspecting Seungri was walking by with drinks in his hands when Ji-Yong snatched them away and tossed them back leaving the maknae to somberly go back to the bar.

      Looking back to glare daggers at Jackson, his heart felt some relief as he saw one of the other men pull him away and push him in another direction and saying their goodbyes to Alex. But that feeling was only momentary as he saw another man approach her.

      “Hey you” a man grabbed Alex’s wrist.

      She turned in confusion “Oh my god, Suho Oppa~!” her face immediately lit up.

      Ji-Yong wasn’t any kind of professional lip reader, but he was 99.99% sure she just called him ‘Oppa~’. And judging by how elated she looked to see him, he was just as sure he knew exactly who this new man was.

      Going in for a hug Suho smiled at her and left his hand to linger on the small of her waist when he pulled away.

      “Well don’t you just look amazing”

      She pushed his shoulder “Shut up”

      He flashed her another smile “I’m serious! You somehow always managed to look amazing no matter what you wore”

      “Oh good one, real smooth Casanova” she said sarcastically

      “I mean it” he leaned against the ledge swirling around the drink in his hand “Why else would Romeo over there look so pissed?”

      She furrowed her brows in confusion and turned to look in the direction he gestured with his head “Oh boy…

      “What?” he let out a small laugh.

“This is going to be the end of the line for my wonderful night…” she sighed.

      He laughs “why is that? Is your boy over there you going to to go ape shit because you’re hanging out with someone who isn’t him”

      “No” she said sardonically “He’s going to go ape shit because I’m talking to other attractive guys who aren’t him”

“Ohh attractive huh?” he smirked.

      She shoved his shoulder “Oh stop, you know what I meant”

      “Well let’s just put it like this, look at you if I had you I’d probably be just as pissed. I kinda don’t blame him” he said taking a sip of his drink.

      She rolled her eyes and smiled “ha-ha very funny”

      “I mean it’s not too late, you and I could always try again. You have my number” He smiled in Ji-Yong’s general direction.eon

      she laughed and shoved his shoulder again.

      He threw another smirk her way.

      Not being able to take any more of the scene before him, Ji-Yong tossed back the drink in his hand and stormed his way toward them.

      Suho noticed the enraged man making his way toward them and laughed to himself.

      “What?” she questioned.

      “I think the end of the line for my wonderful night is stomping his way over here” he took another sip of his drink “I should probably–”

      “Hey baby” Ji-Yong clenched his jaw.

      “Oh hey babe” she felt his arm tighten around her waist as he began to pull her toward him.

    “GD-Sunbaenim” Suho bowed “I was just leaving. Alex it was so nice to see you again, have a good rest of your night you two” he bowed again and turned to make his leave.

      “Oh Alex” he turned on his heels “just remember what I said, it’s not too late” He smirked and turned to continued on his way.

      The car ride was no less painful than leaving the club, the tension was high and nobody said a word. While they were about to walk out the door to the outside of the club he reached behind him to hold her hand only to have her pull away from him. He clenched his jaw and let out an incredulous small laugh as he watched her continue to walk ahead of him. Again as they were getting into their SUV he stepped aside to help her get in but she ignored his hand and let her security guard help her in; he sardonically laughed to himself. They both knew that once they got the the hotel the gloves were coming off.

      The tension in the elevator between the two of them was so thick one could almost cut it with a knife. Neither one daring to speak, though in their heads words were flying at a mile a minute; so many things they wanted to say but just didn’t know where to start. The journey leading up to the elevator was no picnic either. As they were being walked through the hotel by their security guards, they would normally escort them all the way to their room but when they reached the elevator and the doors opened Ji-Yong out stretched his arm stopping them before they could follow suit.

      “That’ll be all for tonight, thank you” he said nonchalantly.

      The lead security guard was taken aback “Sir we have to escort you to your room”

      “Not tonight guys. Take the rest of the night off, I’m sure we can manage without you for one night” he raised an eyebrow. He made his way into the elevator and pressed the button for their floor.

      “But sir–” the lead security guard spoke again.

      “Good night gentlemen” Ji-Yong said as the doors to the elevator closed and marked the clear division between: holding your tongue before the eyes of the world and being in the center of the eye of the storm.

      The beeps of the elevator filled the air, floor by floor it felt like it was a countdown to a ticking time bomb that was going to explode any minute. Fifteen floors seemed like it was light years away and carrying a bomb with short fuse that had been burning long before they ever even entered, well it seemed the tides were not their favor. With the distance between the two of them and the mind numbing silence one could swear that they were complete strangers; not lovers but strangers with the same hunger. It felt as though with how far Alex stood from him, she might as well have been in an entirely different part of the world. God knows she sure as shit felt that way. And with the alcohol still running through his veins and an ugly jealousy still festering in his head, he spoke without a moment’s hesitation. beep, beep, beep.

      “So, you never answered my question earlier. Did you have fun with all your guy friends?”

      She scoffed incredulously, she was definitely not drunk enough to deal with this kind of bullshit right now. She wore a sardonic smile on her face.

      He pursed his lips and nodded his head “Hmph. Glad to know you had a good time with him honey” he said with a condescending sneer. beep, beep, beep.

      Still keeping her silence, she shot him a look of disgust. She kept repeating to herself in her head ‘don’t blow up on him, don’t blow up on him. He’s just wasted and so are you..’

      Her lack of putting up any kind of protest or just let alone speaking was driving him crazy. The fact that she allowed those douche bags to hold her the way that they did, and then rejected him her own boyfriend when he tried to hold her hand; that just threw him over the edge.

      “Why would you be acting so lovey dovey with your fucking ex-boyfriend in front of me like that?! Why would you even talk to him in the first place?!” Boom.

      She went wide eyed in disbelief “Oh.my.god. I went on one fucking date with him like five years ago! And that was way before I ever met you. I’d hardly call him my ‘ex-boyfriend’”

      “Ahhh so she speaks!” he hollers “Just proving how your conscience is weighing on you, I didn’t even have to specify which him I was talking about but you already knew exactly who it was”

      She couldn’t believe they were even arguing about this. He’s had all the chance in the world to complain about anyone that she’s dated in the past and he’s choosing now of all times’ while he’s completely fucked up, to do it.

      “Of course I knew who you were talking about, I only dated one of the six people I was talking to jack ass!” she squeezed her hand so tight around her phone that it felt as though if she had squeezed any tighter she could have Hulked right through her phone “Like I said before, I only ever went on one date with Suho and that was five years ago!”

      “First of all don’t say his name. Second of all so because you met him first that means how I feel doesn’t amount to anything?”

      “What the fuck are you on?! I never said that! Stop putting words in my mouth!” she threw her hands up “I didn’t do anything wrong I was just being friendly with my friend who just so happens to be a man! All I did was say ‘oh my god hi, how are you? How have you been? cause I haven’t seen you for over a year!”

      “yea right Alex come the fuck on, who acts so touchy with some guy she only went on one date on?–”

      “Ji-Yong you have got to be kidding me” she crossed her arms again.

      “–Also I clearly heard you call him Oppa~ and now you’re also admitting to having talked to him while we were dating? Well if that doesn’t get you girlfriend of the award I don’t know what will” he furrowed his brows.

      Alex was about to blow a gasket, she was trying so hard to not go completely mental on his ass. Ji-Yong has had his moments of jealousy in the past but it only ever got this bad when he allowed himself to wallow in his own self pity with a bottle at hand. Alex took a deep breath and spoke.

      “Ji-Yong can we seriously not do this right now? You’re super trashed so if you still wanna yell at me that badly by tomorrow when you’re hopefully sober then so be it”

      He scowled “No, I’m not done–”

      Ding. The doors to the elevator suddenly opened to reveal another drunken couple join them on the elevator. Only difference was, they actually seemed to like each other. As if the couple hadn’t noticed that they weren’t alone, they continued to giggle and laugh while kissing each other like it was the last chance they would ever have to do so. The sight of the other couple not only made Ji-Yong and Alex feel uncomfortable but it made them long for a time not so long ago when they were just like that. Ji-Yong not wanting to endure them rubbing their apparent love for each other in his face, he cleared his throat causing  the other couple suddenly wake up from their daze of young love only to realize they weren’t alone after all. The other two looked back at Alex and Ji-Yong with an apologetic look in their eyes. The boyfriend was the first to speak up.

      “Oh I’m so sorry” he said still holding his girlfriend “We didn’t notice you there, you guys were so quiet we thought we were by ourselves”

Ji-Yong merely gave him a half hearted smile and a nodded; Alex just turns to look away.

      Fuck was it that obvious they wanted nothing to do with each other?

      The girlfriend, in her drunken stupor, quizzically stared at the two with her eyes darting back and forth between the two; her eyes suddenly went wide. ‘Shit…’ Ji-Yong thought, here we go another super fan about to bombard him with a string of ‘Oh my god! GD Oppa~! Saranhaeyo!’

      “Omo! You’re G-Dragon! Oppa!” you see, he wasn’t completely wrong. “A-and you’re Alexandra McMahon!” the girl pointed and covered her mouth with her hand.

      Alex internally cringed at hearing her full name before she shot the girl an insincere smile.

      “Yup that’s me haha” she raised an eyebrow; Ji-Yong stayed silent.

      The boy and the girl smiled at each other before the boy spoke again.
      “What are you guys already calling it a night?” he chuckled “I never would have pegged you two for going to bed early, I would’ve thought you two would be partying until tomorrow!”
      Alex and Ji-Yong just glanced at eachother and let out an awkward laugh.

      The boy looked between the two and smiled.
      “Ohhhhhh! I get it” he smirked “You guys are going to go have an ‘after party’, am I right?” the girl playfully hit her boyfriend on the shoulder.
      “How did you guess?” Ji-Yong said in a monotone manner; the other two just laughed. Alex rolled her eyes and looked up at the glowing numbers above the doors indicating how much longer she’d have to endure the other two. Much to her surprise the next floor was theirs. She put on the fakest smile she could muster and grabbed Ji-Yong by the wrist.
      “Well it was so nice meeting you two but it looks like this is our stop!” the elevator doors opened and she pulled Ji-Yong along with her as she stepped out. Stopping right outside of the doors she placed her arms around Ji-Yong’s neck confusing the shit out of him.
      “Now you two kids have fun and stay out of trouble, I know we will. Right babe?” she said sardonically.
      Still confused as to what was going on, he spoke just barely above a whisper.
      “Uh y-yea?” he raised an eyebrow.
      Just before the doors were about to close she pulled him in for a passionate kiss. Taken aback by her actions it took him a second to process what was going on but it didn’t take long before he deepened the kiss and placed a hand on her cheek. The other two in complete awe, subconsciously started tilting their heads to the side to keep watching the display of affection before them as the doors were slowly closing; the boy spoke up for the final time.
      “Wahhhh, I wish we were that in love…”
      With the other two now gone and out off their hair, Alex and Ji-Yong stood their ground kissing just as passionately as before. But even now as she was running her hands through his hair, and every now and then giving it a gentle tug, he still could not understand what was going on. Did the alcohol just finally hit her? Had they finally argued so much that she had lost it? Or was this just the beginning to an entire evening full of amazing hate sex? Either way he wasn’t mad about his current situation. He placed his hands on her hips and pulled her in even closer as he ground his growing erection into her. She let out a little moan into his mouth; Ji-Yong couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. With another gentle tug to his hair, she took his bottom lip between her teeth and gave it a small tug this time earning a moan from him.
      He pulled away from the kiss to speak “Mmm fuck. let’s go to the room before I fuck you right where you’re standing” he ran his hands over her ass.
Her only response was kissing his neck. He let out a small laugh and with and unrelenting Alex still kissing his neck he carefully pushed her in the direction of their hotel room. Bumping into things every now and again due to either the alcohol or when she’d nip at the sensitive spot on his neck, it was quite evident Ji-Yong was enjoying himself. Finally managing to make it to their room door, he paused pinning her between himself and the door as she continued her relentless attack on his neck.
      “Babe. babe–” he smirked as tried to get her attention.
All he received was muffled ‘Mmm?’.

      He licked his lips and threw his head back “Ung” he groaned “fuck babe you’re gonna make me cum before we even get to the fun stuff”
      She pulled away momentarily to smirk at him.
      He looked back at her and ran his thumb across her bottom lip; if there was anything he loved more in the world other than Alex herself it was her plush lips. Just looking at them brought back memories of all the amazing things that have come out of that mouth; also some of his favorite memories about things that have been in that mouth too. One item in particular being at the top of that list. If there was one memory that by far was his favorite, as lewd as it was and aside from the day they met, it would be the first time she ever gave him a blowjob; plain and simple. He remembers her saying that ‘she never usually did stuff like that’, she said ‘she only ever did that with whoever was her boyfriend at the time’. With what they did the rest of the night it was beyond ‘just blowing your friend for fun in his car because he came home from tour that night’. Come to think of it Alex wasn’t as ‘untouched as the morning dew’ as she said she was.
      Managing to get the door open and both of them inside, Ji-Yong slammed the door shut with his foot as he pulled her in for another passionate kiss. Not bothering to turn the lights on, or break the kiss, he lead her further into the room and gently pushed her onto the bed. With both their chests heaving up and down and feeling like their hearts were pumping so loud that the other could hear it, they looked into each other’s eyes as if time had stopped right then and there. Standing between her legs he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on the floor before crawling on top of her to straddle her body. Ghosting his lips over hers and then to her neck made shivers run up and down her spine, he tilted her head to the side to get a better angle and began making quick work of her neck. Her eyes rolled back into her head as she bit her lip, he took one of his hands in hers and interlocked their fingers as he brought their hands above her head. The sensation of his lips and teeth grazing over her skin was driving her crazy, a hand she had previously placed upon his chest was now running down toward his toned midsection stopping every so often when he’d nip at the sensitive spot on her neck. Inciting little whimpers from her from the absence of his lips on her neck he kissed his way down toward her chest. He released her hand above her head and caressed her arm as he slowly lowered the spaghetti strap to her dress from her shoulder and unveiling one of her breasts. He took her exposed breast in his mouth before peppering kisses all over it and this time receiving a small moan and a tug to his hair. Pulling away he made his way back up to her lips and languidly kissed her before pulling away again to speak.
      “I love you” he pecked her lips.
      “I love you too” she ran her hand up his back.
        He smiled before he went back in to kiss her and ran his hand underneath her waist to lift her up higher on the bed. Settling between her legs, he hiked up her dress above her thighs and went back to suck on her neck.
      If there was one thing that made her patience wear thin it was when he would tease her and make it feel like it was an eternity before he actually started to fuck her. Wanting to speed up the process, she placed a hand on his abs and slowly made her way to his prominent erection that was just waiting to burst out of his pants. Sticking her hand between his pants and his boxer briefs she began to palm him earning a moan from him and a momentary halt on the attack on her neck.
      “Fuck” he groaned.

      She removed her hand to undo the zipper and button on his pants and this time returning to pump him in his underwear.
      “Shit” he moaned, she smiled to herself; one of her favorite things to hear was him swearing whenever she was either A) blowing him B) jerking him off or C) when she was on top, it was like some sort of sexy validation she was putting in work.
      Ji-Yong not wanting to end their private party before it even started, grabbed her by the wrist putting a stop to her actions.
      “Patience is a virtue…” he ghosted over her lips again.
      “Not when you tease me the way you do” she pouted.
      “Bet he can’t make you feel the way I do” he returned to kiss her neck.
      “Wait what did you just say?” she furrowed her brows and pulled away from him “Ji-Yong If you said what I think you said I swear–”
      “What you’re gonna go running to him?” he sat up straddling her.
      “You have got to be shitting me…” she shoved him off of her and rearranged her dress as she got up from the bed.
      “Did I miss something here? What did I do wrong?” he furrowed his eyebrows.
      She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms “You’re joking right? You’re being an absolute douche bag!”
      “Oh what, you think that a hand job makes what you did with that asshole go away? Think again baby” he said getting off the bed.
      She clenched her jaw “You know what, how about I do us both a favor and fuck-off back to LA and you can literally go fuck yourself” she hollered as she made her way toward the door.
      “What the fuck do you mean you’re going back to LA? You can’t just leave without me, you know how bad that would look?!” he took a step toward her.
      With a hand on the knob of the door she stopped in her tracks and let out an incredulous chuckle “That sounds like a you problem”
      “Baby wait! W-What about your stuff, you wouldn’t just leave without your suitcase!”
      “Considering the fact that I’m worth millions, I’m pretty sure I can afford to buy a new wardrobe. Do whatever you with it, shove it up you ass for all I care!” and with that she slammed the door shut.
      “Alex–Alex!” Ji-Yong grabbed the vase on the night stand and smashed it into the wall. They have had bad fights before but never like this, there had been times where she threatened to leave but never actually threatening to leave for another country and actually walking out. Ji-Yong at this point had taken for granted the fact that no matter how pissed he’s made her that she’d always come back, on way or another she’d always come back. But he wasn’t so sure this time.

      “whoa, you ok there kid?” Tim asked with a severely concerned face
      “Huh?” I said absentmindedly “O-oh yea, yea I am” I forced a smile.
      “Where’d you go?” he put a hand on my shoulder “after you saw the picture you screamed bloody murder and then went total lobotomized zombie on me; just stared at the floor with a vacant expression”
      I shook head out of my thoughts “No, really I’m fine…I just..just kinda spaced out a little I guess”

      “A little?” he raised an eyebrow.
      A sudden clicking sound diverted our attention toward the front door that was slowly being opened. Tim and I became stiff; both in defensive mode ready to jump up and kick the intruder’s ass. Truthfully I was more concerned that I would be murdered in my underwear and at that the crime scene the police would find me in that kind of state of undress. The intruder slowly pushed the door open and made his way back first into the room and as if on queue the light to that walk way flickered and shut off shrouding the intruder in darkness. ‘Shit. am I really about to be Michael Myers-ed right now? Damn it I wish I had worn cuter underwear…’ I thought to myself. The intruder having turned back around encroached his way toward us and into view.
      “Ahh! Suho what the fuck?!” I put a hand over my heart “You scared the shit out of us”
      Carrying a bag in one hand, a cup holder in the other and another paper bag between his teeth let out a muffled ‘sorry’.
      I closed my eyes and rubbed my temples with my fingers “What the hell are you doing here anyway? And how the hell did you get a key to my room?”
Suho let out a chuckle as he put down the items he was carrying “I told you I was coming back to check on you don’t you remember?”
      “Clearly there has been a miscommunication here because I wouldn’t be asking if I had remembered” I furrowed my eyebrows “Sorry I didn’t mean to sound so mean…”
      He smiled and shook his head “I was hoping this wouldn’t happen but I don’t blame you, especially after last night”
      I went wide eyed “Oh my god. We didn’t–did we?”
      He laughed “ouch, well if we had I really hope you would’ve remembered at least that. I’d want to leave a better impression than that on you” he gave me a smile that made me blush.
      “Oh I brought you these by the way, I didn’t know which ones were your favorites so I just got all of them” smiling again he handed her the mismatched bouquet of flowers.
      Taking the flowers I smiled into them as I put them up to my nose to take in their smell.
      Tim feeling like he had been booted out of the room rolled his eyes and cleared his throat.
      “Oh, hey Tim sorry I didn’t get you flowers but how about a coffee?” Suho gestured making me laugh.
      Not entirely fond of Suho to begin with, Tim didn’t really find his joke any more appealing than he found Suho.
      “So, thanks for bringing her back to her room last night, glad you came to check on her but as you can see she’s fine so you can–” Tim attempted to rush Suho out.
      “Hey hold on there, he’s not quite done here” I put my hand up “Now since you seem to be the only one that actually remembers any of last night, can you explain this” I held up Tim’s phone that held the webpage to my undoing; the only one of the pictures that was taken of me last night that had managed to not be blurry and of course it had to be one of Suho and I completely making out while waiting for a Taxi.
      “Oh…” Suho covered his mouth.
      “Listen, I’m not mad about the make out session I’m sure it was great–”
      Tim felt like he was about to gag.
      “–but I’m just more upset that my face is plastered all over the internet and half of it is being devoured by you”

      Suho held back a laugh “I mean” he rubbed the nape of his neck “It just kind of happened, I was trying to get you home because you were pretty hammered and one thing led to a thank you and that lead to you kissing me and that lead to–well that picture”
      I let out a sigh “Well I guess there’s nothing we can really do now” I leaned back on the bed “I can’t really complain if you’re the ‘Mystery Man’ I went home with”
      “Ok and with that I am out” Tim stood up making his way toward the door       “Alex, I’ll text you, and Suho” he just nodded his head and headed out the door. Leaving a very confused Alex and Suho staring after him.

Elorcan Werewolf AU part 9

“even a white rose 

has a black shadow”     

Elorcan Werewolf 9

Elide Lochan was locked in a cell, a chain latched firmly onto her ankles. Her shadow would bend and stretch to a dance of melancholy and insanity, dark dreams drenching her sleep. The cold would seep into her bones, every movement emitting a crack and the occasional snap. Purple crescents shaped under her eyes, her throat a rasp of what she once was.

Elide covered her ears as screeches filled the air—the rusted food tray sliding under the opposite side of the wall through a thin slat and grating against the splintered stones. Her spine remained curled as she slowly rocked into herself, the flurry of scratches scraping against her ears.

Elide slowly leaned forward, fingers reaching for the edge of the tray. Her hand wrapped around the cup of water, stale and murky. A noise of determination escaped her cracked throat as she pulled the cup to herself, her hands wobbling.

The cup spilled.

The fluid slithered through the cracks in the floor, weaving through the ground.

Elide pressed her cheek against the floor, the droplets caressing her face and nails caked with grime. She opened her mouth as wide as she could, allowing the water streaks to trickle into her mouth.

Elide laid there, loneliness wrapping around her like a blanket, laying there on the cold stones, chained, and waiting for time to drag on.

And on and on.

Her cell opened, the jarring sound rattling her into clearer conscience, and Vernon’s face peered down. Fear whipped through her.

Not again, she silently begged. A couple more seconds.

Her prayers went unanswered.

“Ready to try again?” he smirked, and jerked the chain out.

Her body dragged along the stones, and slumped against the base of the rocky stairs. She felt every crack along the ground cutting her spine and shredding her ears. The chain clattered to the floor, and a sharp kick to her side sent her to the first step at the base of the cave.

“You know what happens if you can’t make it,” he hissed, the stench of alcohol oozing from his breath.

Elide knew.

And Vernon knew too, a belt snugly fit into his hands, his black-collared shirt already unbuttoned.

“Climb,” he ordered.

And she did.

Up and up and up.

To the unreachable light. 

Elide could not breathe.

She could not think.

She could not focus.

She could only move — every whisper of movement laced with a burning sensation over her hands, knees, and feet to her very lungs.

Her eyes failed her long ago, the tiny slivers of sunlight a shrapnel scraping into her irises. Even with her lids closed, fractures of brightness invaded, too much light for a too long stay stay in the darkness — in hell.

Her hands scraped over stones, scars scratching open. So much blood had spilled and bathed over her body that she could taste the crimson, salted liquid in her tongue.

She didn’t have the energy to spit it out.

Not when her body would seize her with huge wracking spells; her throat closed up and she coughed on her own blood. Her lungs burned, her throat wheezing to a cacophony.

The climb reduced her to submit fully to her knees and hands, a wounded and shattered animal in human form with nothing but the raw emotions of enmity — except no longer did her instincts sing to live, but to relinquish in death’s calling.

Every crack in the ground furthered the descent into madness and rage. The echoing sounds in remembrance of the lash of the whip and the tearing of her clothes set her forward, almost as she’d been duly programmed to climb and climb — tortuously slowly and painfully — skimming the cracked ground with numb hands bearing running lines of red soaking her skin all the way from her ribs down to her toes.

Swabs of cotton blossomed underneath her forehead, her throat thick with saliva from panting and scratches from rasping out her mantra over and over again.

Lorcan, Lorcan, Lorcan.

Lorcan Salvaterre.

Commander of the Lycan Pack.

Her mate.



Blood spilled out her mouth. Her hand caught inside a wedge of slab, her wrist splintering as she pitifully tried — memories slamming and wedging into every corner — tried to stop remembering, old wounds reopening.

Elide gurgled in the blood rinsing her mouth as her bone snapped.

Her cheek rested against cold stone as she heaved, greedily inhaling the musty air that no longer fuller reeked of the rotten, decaying stench of poisoned flesh.

Lorcan Salvaterre.

Her hand clawed along another stone when she heard the lash of the belt at her toes.

“I loved you.”

She saw red beneath her lids as she hauled her body up, her legs shaking and arms shuddering. There was no more youthful joy with dazzling hopes of love. Reality proved the coldness severing any warmth.

“You did not give me a chance, Elide. So I will not give you a second one.”

She collapsed along the stones, a seizure wracking her body, blood spilling out of her cracked lips. Everything swam underneath her, a buzzing sound cutting across her forehead and through her ears. Her only chances were this torture of trying and failing.

Give up, a part of her said. Give up, the walls and shadows and blood and flesh and bone whispered.

So she gave up.

Gave up to heartbreak.


A part of her wanted to consent.

To submit to the darkness.

But that tiny, shredded sliver of hope still shone within her. A tiny thread of sanctuary

A dry laugh sounded behind her, a rasping voice that sent shivers across her skin.

She’d been still too long.

The whip lashed across her back.

Her body didn’t have enough energy to arch off the ground—instead she laid limp and broken and shattered. Salt wove through her mouth, grime caking her tastebuds, and salt oozing in thick waves out.

She could feel a hand working up her thigh, and the familiar, rotten stench overcoming her. She could not conjure up the scent of her once-mate anymore, emptiness and bitterness plaguing her.

Not again.  

“Looks like another failure,” the dark voice tsked, darkness overcoming her, shadows leaping over the dark walls collapsing over her and squeezing the last remains of breath from her lungs.

It burned.

Aelin’s door banged open again, the smell of fried noodles and apple juice filling her nostrils. She pressed down the uncomfortable feeling of distaste squirming in her stomach, and noted Manon’s similar look of uneasiness. Elide’s absence had affected them both, nourishment no longer appealing; it had been the Elide, the Pack Doctor apprentice, who had made sure they afforded time to eat rather than completely dive into Pack duties.

The palace door closed, and the scent of familiarity washed over her.

“Rowan,” Aelin greeted, turning her face away, and then paused. “Or should I say personal chef now?”

A snort. “Emrys cooked.”

“So you’re the messenger boy?”

Pine-green eyes flashed. “A boy wouldn’t have had you moaning yesterday.”

Her cheeks flushed at the whisper of memory while Manon sneered at the male, pointing a warning claw at the male. Rowan stilled at the challenge emanating from the half-Lycan.

Gods, not again.

The Prince of Lycans set the plates at the foot of Aelin’s bed with a clatter, and strode to her Beta, coldness and fury radiating from the testosterone-filled body.

“Stand down,” Aelin ordered quietly, watching Manon silently tense. The last thing they all needed was an internal conflict, especially when her own pack member and the Lycan commander were missing.

Rage flickered through those pine-green eyes from his mate’s command. Rowan let out a growl building from the base of his throat, but otherwise stalked back to her bed, breathing in the scent from her blankets and pillows. The muscles at his back and shoulders rippled.

How delicate these males were, exercising self-control daily, each strand chipping away with each passing day.

Aelin reverted back to pacing around her room, ignoring her mate’s constant fussy looks and worrying tactics—and the occasional careful and well-guarded look towards Manon.

Too many plates of untouched fruits, meats, and vegetables piled up in her room, nectar tea and water lining against her walls. The amount of food Rowan had brought her started to resemble a banquet, and if the Prince of Lycans didn’t stop soon, she wouldn’t be able to walk through her own damned temporary room without swimming through a sea of plates and bowls. Walking around this room in the castle consumed her from the normalcy of living within her own controlling borders. Not to mention the other female residents in the Lycan castle lived just a hall down, driving her senses to the edge.

Manon stabbed a nail through a blood-red apple, peeling the skin off into perfectly thin curls. Each strip, no doubt, tasted bland and dry, a reflection of the past couple months turned into emptiness and dread, living in a proliferation of well-kept fear.

“How could anyone obtain Yellowleg’s poison?” Aelin stared out the window where she could only imagine the nightmare Elide was living in daylight. The rays no longer held warmth she could soak in like a security blanket, but rather held a mockery of what she could not protect even in broad daylight. Her skin felt cold, but one look from her mate had a different type of heat racing through her.

She looked away.

Manon’s teeth latched around the peel. “I don’t understand how the poison still could have affected Lorcan after he killed Essar.”

Aelin paused, a myriad of dark scenarios crossing over her mind. She rubbed her temples, a slight draft breezing in and skimming over her skin. Abruptly slamming the window shut, tension rolled over her, not even her mate’s presence able to soothe her. “It doesn’t add up in the first place. If Essar is dead, then who controlled Lorcan while he was at the castle?”

Manon let out a low hiss, one that demanded bloodshed. A calm, killer look crested her face, and her claws slid out. Her eyes cut towards Aelin. “Now that is the real question.”

Rowan cleared his throat. “I doubt it would have been Essar. She did have give her heart to Lorcan, but she knew her boundaries. By the atrocities of her actions, the whole scenario seems absurd, almost as if she’d also been on the poison to act such.”

A pause.

Manon cocked her head, a predator accessing the situation and how to pin down the prey who’d slipped from their grasp one-too many times.

Rowan crossed his legs from Aelin’s bed, the gesture too simple—through the complications—for her eyes to handle. Growling, she chucked the plate of steamed broccoli and peppered carrots at her mate’s head.

The bastard merely flicked his hand, his magic neatly setting the trays on her bed.

Lunging forward, Aelin made way to tackle him, but Rowan hastily stood up, holding both palms up in the air.

Not in defeat, but in contemplation.

He frowned. “The day you came to the castle, pretending you were sick—” Rowan cast a hard look towards Aelin, who merely raised a brow “—you—” He turned towards Manon who had reduced the apple to the very core “—You said you saw Remelle in the palace. In the halls.”

Manon tossed the core in the air, and caught it within her hands without breaking the stare with the Prince of Lycans. “Yes.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “That’s…odd.”

It was Aelin’s turn to shoot her mate a glare. “Why’s that exactly?”

“Because she should have been in my room.”

The Alpha of the Fireheart Pack cocked a hand on her hip. “Oh?” Aelin put her mate’s words far out of her mind. When Elide was safe within her pack, then she could think about Rowan’s endeavors with other females. She told herself she didn’t care anyways, not when she had a line of unmated males, and even Alphas, desiring her—but still, the comment stung deep within her.

She’d make the Prince of Lycans think twice in who he was dealing with.

She’d started to think that the whatever deity out there was not some benevolent goddess anymore.

Rowan stalked closer towards her—daring her to interrupt and shut him out. “She’s been deigning to carry out her diplomatic meetings in my room, otherwise choosing to withhold information. That day, she was supposed to fill me in about the Morath Pack. Any details we could use to legally shut them down and use to show the Council.”

Manon let out a low hiss, ignoring Rowan’s hesitance and Aelin’s vehemence. “Morath,” The Beta gutturally gutted out so viciously Rowan’s teeth bared. “Remelle asked Elide how was Morath.”

Morath—Gods, Elide. Lorcan was right—it was that breeding place after all this time.

Vernon wasn’t trying to lie low.

“Even if Elide lived in Morath—” Rowan started, but Aelin’s face paled, realization pouring through her, a vast broken dam.

“It wasn’t Essar who poisoned Lorcan.”

Manon stiffened. “It was the one who is vying for your mate.”

Aelin’s heart stuttered. “Remelle.”

Manon clicked her teeth together, and turned towards Rowan, baring her teeth. “The first time I met Remelle, I was given the orders to not harm a hair on her head. Now?”

The Prince of Lycan’s eyes matched the half-Lycan’s dark glint full of malice and ill intent. “Those orders have reversed.”

Aelin watched Manon and Rowan stride out of the door, purpose filling each of their veins. She supposed it would be fun to have a little chat with the Lycan princess—find out her exact her role with Elide’s kidnapping and her intentions with her own mate—killing two birds with one stone.

The familiar scent of fresh air, pine, and snow filled her nostrils. Rowan pushed her door open again and stood footsteps away from her, a hard look on his face.

“I know what this may seem like, but if you trust me, believe me when I said nothing transpired.”

The Alpha of the Fireheart pack stared at the rotten core Manon had tossed on her floor. Dead and putrid—what state would she find Elide in? Even worse, she dreaded the state Lorcan would find Elide in. The retribution unleashed…

Mate or mateless, both had been tied together by the ineffable feelings of hope and life, a choice both had accepted.

“It’s not you I’m worried about,” Aelin said slowly, meeting her mate’s gaze. “I’m more worried about Remelle.”

She could feel the strings to her link with Manon and the waves of delight rolling through her Beta, just as a high-pitched, feminine scream pierced the air. A grin played over Aelin’s lips and she stalked to the door, sparing one last glance back.

“You coming?” she asked.

Rowan gave a slow shake of his head, and strode next to her, leaning slightly down. “When things settle down,” he said quietly. “I hope you will consider a future with me.”

The hairs at the nape of her neck prickled, and she opened her mouth, tongue tied with too many thoughts. She refused to give up her Alpha position, especially to live among royalty where she’d be nothing more than a trophy wife. “We—”

A body flew towards past their door, and crashed into the wall at the end of the hallway. Manon stalked down the hall, bloodlust written in her eyes, and crimson red dripping off her nails and onto the expensive sapphire carpets.

Remelle’s back was bent—snapped. A hand was pressed against her mouth, brimming with saliva and blood.

“A deal with Rogue Baba Yellowlegs,” Manon hissed, the rims of her dark gold eyes glazed with phantom ghosts. “Two drops of Yellowleg’s poison for the princess here for the promise of winning the queen’s crown in return to revoke Baba’s Rogue status.”

“And?” Aelin pushed.

“One drop in Essar’s breakfast tea. Under the spell, she’d been commanded to poison Lorcan’s goblet.”

Remelle’s shudder was confirmation enough.

Aelin pursed her lips. “Is Baba Yellowlegs still alive?”

Manon swung Wind Cleaver in a wide arc, and Remelle screamed, covering her eyes. “Yes! Yes she is!” When Manon’s claws slid out, the Lycan princess quickly added, “Morath,” her body trembling and convulsing.

Rowan frowned. “That’s most likely one of the quickest, successful interrogations I’ve ever seen.”

The Alpha of the Fireheart Pack smirked. “It’s why she’s my Beta.” Because the half-Lycan bred more unsatiasted ills inside of her, cultivated over the years, never receiving the closure comfort in her past. The wrath of a woman never worshipped.

Remelle screamed as the half-Lycan stalked towards her, swinging Wind Cleaver easily in one hand. The Lycan princess glanced desperately at Rowan, who merely nodded his head at Manon in expectation.

“Wait,” Aelin said, cracking her neck.

Manon looked at her impatiently, the black in her eyes dilating in anticipation.

“You get Sorscha and reinforcements to Morath as soon as possible.”

A nod from Manon, albeit unwillingly. The half-Lycan spared one last glance at the Lycan princess, who slumped against the wall in relief. And then her Beta was gone, a menace’s shadow.

To Elide, to restoration.

Aelin, Alpha of the Fireheart Pack and mate to the Prince of Lycans, stepped forward from under the doorway, and locked eyes with the Princess of Lycans.

“Remelle,” she purred. “You and I are going to have a nice, long civil chat.”

She drew Damaris from her sheath, the blade glinting against the overarching golden beams.

To the unanswered dreams and whisper of hope within them all.

Vernon rebuckled his pants, licking his lips in satisfaction. The experiments on captured wolves turned them into Ilken now guarded Morath so that not one soul would dare not survive a trip past his borders.

He’d gotten his empire, and built a kingdom out of skulls and death. He’d done the impossible without the interference of the Lycans blooded with Royalty. He’d beaten the heir to his Pack into submission.

He’d gotten it all. And so much more.

Nightmares turned into realities.

He had his secrets, his dark deeds, his gory graves, burning in his brain, a living hell, his own to hole up under lock and key.

His boots shoved the limp figure away from him, a nest of black hair lying dead against the slope of stones. Blood pooled around her, her stomach caved in, mouth open in a silent scream of terror. A perfect doll stuffed with poisoned needles and sewed with barbed words.

He had broken the Perranth spirit and heir, and carved out Morath, a devil’s realm of hell to rule absolutely.

A mirthless chuckle shuddered through him, seizing every pore. He’d brought down a Pack of light and hope, tore through every crack, and filled the gap with his own gushing red rivers of twisted wickedness.

The truth was out. That heinous acts could thrive and withhold a place in this too gray world.

He’d nudge the canvas towards the ink, and devour the white. Completely.

Vernon felt, rather than saw, a shift in the darkness—a different blackness with more volumes.

A hatchet whistled through the cave, and flew through a wide arc, nearly slicing the limp figure’s fingers, rottened and rottled.

A heavy, dark presence shattered the shapes of phantom and shadow.

Pure, undiluted rage and unfiltered feralness.

And barrenly broken.

The Alpha of the Morath Pack slowly turned around, revealing yellow-red teeth, caked with the crimson liquid of the broken body’s mortality. A nasty soul for the invading one in his land, his territory, his sanctuary.

“You missed,” he hissed in delight.

A warrior of moon’s darkness, not of the sun’s glory descended into the cave.

Deeper, deeper into hell. His hell and no one else’s. His, his, his and his own lovely-pieced heaven.

Welcome, he almost breathed, soaking in the other demon’s face.  Look at this little lush.

The darkness flared out, every vein within him throbbing as if pins and needles had stitched through him.

A hysterical laughter shot through him.

A consequence that had not foreseen.

A broken girl with a broken mate.

Put together, they healed.

He should have known. Wedged them further, despite the inevitable. His own secret darkness failed, to tell to another larger and loose dark, a spawn of wretched misery.

A wild, maniacal grin—a monster he had unknowingly forged. A living sin.

“Did I?” the twisted darkness rasped.

Vernon’s ankle collapsed, a chunk of flesh ripped and torn, blood seeping through the floor, dark ink swirling with the fading scarlet. A slice reeking of revenge felt to the depths of his marrow.

The hatchet yanked out of his ankle, and the Alpha’s knees kissed the stones. A pale hand, too twisted for true comprehension, gripped the hatchet.

The little girl who had hung onto that little thread twisted with hope.

A fading will focused on retribution, a face meaner than his own demons.

He hadn’t won.

The warrior slipped through his peripheral, the slickness of the liquids sliding over his hands too tangible.

“Tell me how you did it,” he insisted, not feebly—anything but. Foam bubbled at his lips. “Slipped through my defenses unharmed.”

His utopia. Meeting an end to greater darkness. There was no perfection, truer silencer than this. The Ilken had failed him, his fantasy had not been fulfilled, the girl had not crossed over the line. Into insanity.

The warrior stepped over his mangled ankle. A true devil in a lower hide.

More pain, but numb.

Onyx eyes peered into him, a smile promising more things than the sweet release of decaying. Hardened and unconquered. Eternal seconds of breathings for this very moment.

He repeated his words. Slurred.

Grasped at the syllables in response.

Knew the warrior opened his mouth.

Did not know the warrior had been broken and remade. Would remake the broken, shattered figure next to him, gripping the hatchet with a ferocity only the desperate could hold before fading away into dust.

The warrior knelt down next to him, and leaned close to his ear.

Opened his mouth. Said the words again—

Death cannot conquer love.

The sickened rose within him, swirling and spiraling savagely. Vernon howled at the sounds of answer, the clipped crunching cracks chipping away. Heard them over and over again, slithering down his ear and wrapping around him, a vice like grip. Choking him from the inside.

Again and again.

The Alpha of the Morath Pack heard the beating drums of madness crescending louder and louder and louder matching the beating within his own ribcage until all fell into silence and solemness.

She knew she was blinded.

Suffering in the darkness did not mean alleviation in the light.

Too bright, too sunny—she could not see the same way again.

The male warrior had stripped his shirt into thin slices and wrapped the fabric around her eyes, shielding them from the blinding sensations of radiant rays that ripped through her orbs.


—she knew she was safe.

Secure, and sound.

Warm, and protected.

There was no words needed to fill the silence, not when a reunion of simple touching kissed away every troubled crack.

It was as if the past had washed away with the present.

A hand wove through her knotted hair and stroked her scalp, rubbing away the grime and dirt coating her roots.

“Elide,” he murmured, and Elide felt the vibrations rumbling through his chest.



Elide opened her eyes, the thread expanding and pouring through her. The warmth from that sliver span flashed through her, and she felt her insides match the other string’s song, the warrior whose arms she was in. Then—in that moment, she realized paradise was not a place, but a feeling.


How could she forget that rough-hewn face and those onyx eyes—once haunted—now glimmering with that resounding hope pulsating through her.

Lorcan Salvaterre.

“I am an immortal, seen it all, met it all. But you—” The Commander of the Lycans looked at her with something akin to almost wonder in his eyes. “—You, Elide, are entirely different. You taught me ascension.” His fingers cupped her face, a gentle caress. “You taught me that life is finite and fragile.” His Adam’s apple bobbed.

Elide Lochan cried.

And her mate cried with her.

Elide felt the threads of connections flowing through her, more safety nets, more familiarities. More lives.

She could hear the sharp and feminine voice ringing through the air, and taste the death of Rogues on her tongue.

A blade whistled through the air, and she smiled.

Wind Cleaver.

Which only meant—the white-haired wolf stalked through the clearing, black blood and dust showering her leathers. Claws and teeth and all, she was still radiating the dominance of the powerful and unconquered, the unhinged lethalness of past and present.  

A fierce, feral grin. “If you call one werewolf, you invite the pack.”

Lycans and Fireheart Pack members filtered through the clearing, some scratched, some bleeding, some scarred. Blistered hands and broken joints.

But alive.

Seeing the Lycan carrying her in his arms, Manon gave him a warning glare, but a sharp nod. The white-haired warrior disappeared through the trees, the sound of wind and death weaving through the trees as more of the Ilken summoned, only to receive the hand of death.

This was not some pity party, but art—in death.

In the deserved.

“No,” she whispered, and her mate carried her to the edge of the thick, crooked trees where she could see glimpses of Sorscha and other medical care. Her chest rattled, and her throat cracked. But— “I want to be the one.”

She stared into those onyx eyes that carried her physically and mentally through the darkness, and willed them to understand.

“You want to be the one to bring Morath down,” her mate said, stroking her cheek.


Her eyes fluttered close, tiredness overwhelming her. Every part of her still hurt and throbbed, but once these passings passed—

The once Alpha of the Perranth Pack would reclaim her throne.

“Elide,” Lorcan said, solemnly. “I need to know one thing before you pass out.”

Elide Lochan blurrily stared at the shape carrying her, stroking her. Loving her.

She could feel the presence of Sorscha pressing a damp cloth against her forehead, and her mate hooking her trembling fingers through his. Flesh thoroughly marked and matched.

“Do you—” A pause “—love—”

Elide Lochan screamed, a new flare of flame flashing through her. She saw red and felt raw, as if her insides were on fire. Her bones rattled and spine seemed to contract.

More pain.

To think it would end, she almost cackled.

What the hell is going on?” Lorcan roared, gripping her hands, which had started to tremble uncontrollably.

Sorscha—sweet Sorscha—swore, a rattle of a gasp emerging from the pale column of her throat. “She’s Settling.”

Elide Lochan nestled into the darkness, submitting to this other facet of pain and fracture.

Lorcan looked down at the trembling figure in his arms, twisting and turning. Her skin sweated in large rivulets, stinging even his hands.

His mate.

Suffering once again. They were dirty and dirt, but they could blossom from their own embittered seeds. Together.

He swore it. To her, to his mate, to his future.

Sorscha took a hesitant step forward. “By her conditions, I cannot guarantee that she’ll live through the process in becoming Lycan.”

He felt his darkness flare out, angry, bent on madness. Rage. “If you cannot guarantee,” he said lowly. “Then I will.”

He ignored Manon’s demands to halt and Sorscha’s protest. He sent one demand to Rowan Whitethorn, one if carried out, would pay off all of the Prince’s debts to him.

Lorcan Salvaterre whisked his mate away from the screams and tucked her thrashing body under his chin. Elide Lochan was his mate, so damned poison nor words nor ills could deprive him of.

And he would be damned if even Death could snatch that away from him.

Because death could could not conquer love. And love bled in war.  

Rowan Whitethorn tossed the Alpha of the Morath Pack into a cold cell.

Dark and damp.

Aelin and Manon and the entire Fireheart Pack had clawed at the dungeon entrance, demanding justice and retribution to end the pitiful existence of the monster of a man, Vernon.

But he had a deal and a command.

And he would make sure it would be upheld.

The Prince of the Lycans locked the door and watched the gears spur shut. Click after click after click.

No escape.


While Morath was in flames, the true dark core rested within the beating heart of the man who had raised an army of rogues into turned Ilken and experiment on the souls of once-purity.

It was only a matter of time before the pulsing faded away into ashes and dust.

The man clawed at the walls and howled and screamed and scratched and laughed.

Insanity and lunacy. His liar.

His bones started to rattle, blood burn, his teeth chatter, his eyes widen, his jaw unhinge, his insides boil, and his body twitch over and over into a dark and forbidden dance of nightmares and little secrets. 

A swooning flame swished through him, and the little specks flecked across his head. The chunk of missing flesh at his ankle seared and sparked. The demons within him caved him, a forbidden forgiveness. 

Shadow and phantom. Dark and dangerous.

Ill and inquiry.

Hueless and hellish.

And his Settling began. And a new reign dawned. 

the town of olddell | do kyungsoo

pairing: kyungsoo x reader

genre: fluff, angst, some kissing

word count: 1,745

summary: street singer kyungsoo gets invited to perform at the prince’s birthday, but he sees that the beautiful princess is in danger.

Do Kyungsoo never considered himself to be ‘famous’. He was popular, yes, but he never thought of the word ‘famous’. He knew that moving from town to town made him one of the more well known singers around the country, but when he was requested by King Kim to sing at his son’s, Prince Junmyeon, birthday party, he was completely shocked.

Olddell was always one of his favorite towns to be in. It was full of happy townspeople and none of the guards ever mistreated anyone. Everything was fair and just.

Kyungsoo usually would set up his small tent near the town’s shopping space so he’d get extra tips by passersbys. He had his guitarist, Park Chanyeol, travel with him everywhere. He considered them a team and he always refused playing a show without him.

During his fourth visit to Olddell, while him and Chanyeol were setting up their tent, three guards approached him and gave him a bow, the one in the middle that had distracting lip corners smiled and said , “Sirs Do Kyungsoo and Park Chanyeol, for the past few months, we, the entertainment unit of the town of Olddell, have been watching your performances. We have realized that both of you have been gaining a high satisfactory rate from the people that listen to your music. The Prince Junmyeon is turning 21 soon and it is a very important age here in Olddell… for it represents the complete transition to becoming a man and the throne will be passed down to him. King Kim has requested for us to find the perfect performances to create the perfect party. Several people of high positions including the royal family will be in attendance. Please, accept our offer and perform at future King Junmyeon’s 21st birthday!”

Chanyeol dropped his guitar and immediately said, “Yes, it would be our honor! Thank you so much for choosing us.” Kyungsoo could only stare and nod. The guards handed them two envelops, one for each. “These are the hand-written invitations. Let my men take care of your things and come with me to the castle, the prince wishes to meet you!”

Chanyeol handed the men the rest of their things while Kyungsoo asked the leader a few questions about the party. They were escorted to a carriage painted black, “I feel like a prince, Chanyeol.” Kyungsoo whispered to him. Chanyel simply laughed and replied, “Who says you aren’t?”

This was the first time the two boys had seen the entire town and it was bigger than they had expected, “This truly is a gorgeous place.” Kyungsoo said to the leader, smiling at him. “We try our best to keep it that way. The royal family today truly is one of the finer generations that have passed this town. Our past Kings and Queens weren’t this interested in what was happening outside their castle walls.” The leader seemed to have a sad expression on his face while recalling the past leaders.

After a few more minutes in the carriage, they began to pull up to a large white castle. Stepping out, both Kyungsoo and Chanyeol’s jaws dropped open. “I behold to you, your home away from home for the next few days!”

The castle stood hundreds of feet tall. It was surrounded by green fields, stables, and farms. It was made up of a main house and several towers. This castle was the largest they had ever seen… and they were invited to it to do what they loved the most.

“We will now show you to your guest room, it contains two beds but if you wish to have your own room each, it can be arranged!” the leader said to them. “Good sir, thank you for all of this, but you’ve yet to tell us your name.” Kyungsoo replied. “Oh, I truly apologize. My name is Jongdae. Kim Jongdae.” Chanyeol grinned, “It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Jongdae.” Jongdae shook his head and placed his hand on his chest, “No, no! It is my own honor to meet you two! Please let me take you to your room. It isn’t my personal job but I would love to.” The boys nodded and they began walking.

The castle was humungous on the inside as well. The ceilings were extremely high and had carvings in them. The walls were filled with paintings and pictures.

As the three boys were walking they heard a faint voice. “You’re majesty! You must be very excited for your party today, correct?” Two boys appeared, one short with a crown on his head and another who was slightly taller with a dimple. “Aha! The man of the hour! Hello, Prince Junmyeon.”

“Drop the formalities, Jongdae. Yixing and I were going golfing- Ah! How rude of me… I didn’t notice our two guests, and who may the two of you be?” Prince Junmyeon had a wide smile on his face. “I’m Do Kyungsoo, the singer, and this is Park Chanyeol, the guitarist. It’s an honor to meet you, your majesty.” The two boys bowed to him before Junmyeon said, “Ah! Don’t bow, please. I don’t feel like acting happy go lucky before my party. Address me like you would any of your friends, please.” Chanyeol let out a laugh and nodded.

“Join us, boys?” Yixing piped up from behind him. “We’d love to… but we must get some rest before our performance tonight, we don’t wish to disappoint.” Kyungsoo said and Chanyeol agreed. “You’re playing at my party? I can’t wait to see how you do. Good luck, men.” Junmyeon patted each of them on their backs and walked away with Yixing who gave them an acknowledging nod.

They walked for a few minutes before arriving at a large room which Jongdae told them was their room and left them to settle in. The first thing each of them did was jump on the bed to get their naps.

Before the party, Kyungsoo stood in front of the mirror of their rented shack, fixing his attire. He applied his hair gel and sighed. “Chanyeol, I’m nervous.” Kyungsoo had performed in front of crowds of hundreds, but never in front of royalty. “Kyungsoo! Don’t make me nervous too.  You shouldn’t be nervous… your voice is amazing mixed with my tunes. You’ll do amazing like you always have.” Chanyeol’s words put the shaking boy at ease.

Chanyeol moved from where he was sitting to begin dressing up. He added a gold chain around him and enhanced his large eyes using dark eyeliner and added a diamond earring. Kyungsoo observed him and said, “Chanyeol, could you make me up? I know I usually don’t do this type of thing but I wanna look good.” Chanyeol looked at the eyeliner pen in his hand and giggled, “Of course.” He applied the makeup to Kyungsoo’s face and finished the look with a chain earring.

“Ready, Soo?” Chanyeol asked Kyungsoo. He nodded and they began walking to the ballroom. While they were going to the ballroom, Kyungsoo heard a female voice whining. He stopped in his tracks and looked around, but saw no one. “Chanyeol, you go ahead. I’ll follow you.” Chanyeol nodded and kept going. Kyungsoo began walking in the direction of the noise until he could finally hear it clearly, “I refuse. I refuse to get married to someone I haven’t even met, so don’t try to convince me!”

It was a female’s voice. “I am the King and I give the orders!” Kyungsoo heard footsteps coming his way and hid behind the corner of a wall before he saw the King’s figure walking away. He began making his way towards the girl’s voice when he entered a huge pink room. The first thing that caught his eye was a girl in a blue dress, climbing out a window. “Yah!” he yelled before running over to her and grabbing her.

“Hey! Fuck off!” She yelled, pushing his hands off her before she could stop herself from swearing. “Watch your hands.” She looked up at Kyungsoo and her jaw dropped. “I-I’m sorry. Excuse my language, sir. But may I ask what you’re doing in my room?” He looked around, suddenly flustered by the gorgeous girl’s question, “I heard yelling and saw you climbing out a window.” He said.

“Please, let me go. Please don’t tell anyone you saw me. I need to leave. Please.” She clasped her hands together and held them in front of her, begging me. “What’s going on?” He said, moving her hands away. “They want me to marry someone I don’t love. They expect me to start a life with a man I don’t want. They said that if I haven’t found anyone before 18, I’ll have to marry the prince from Rosewell. I don’t want him. Please let me run away in peace.”

“I don’t want to be a part of this. Good bye princess.” Kyungsoo began walking away before she grabbed his arm. “Please, I’ll give you whatever you want. Help me run away.” He shook his head, “And what makes you think I want anything?” She pulled down on his arm harder, “I’ll give you my virginity.” He burst out laughing and she let his hand go, “Are you serious? I’m not like that.”  

“What if I want to?” She stood on her tip toes and gave him a peck on the lips, “Princess… you shouldn’t have done that.” He brought her closer by the back of her head and kissed her again. He opened his mouth to slide his tongue into hers and she gasped. He pulled away to look at her, “Was that your first?” She nodded and he went in for another kiss, making it longer and wetter. “By the way, I’m Do Kyungsoo.”

“I’m Kim Y/N.” He laughed, “I know that.”

“Please, don’t tell anyone that I ran away, okay?” She repeated. “No. Listen. Stay here and attend the party. I’ll sneak you away when my partner and I have to move to another town, okay?” She nodded, “Wait, are you a member of that singer and guitarist duo playing tonight?” He nodded and she smiled, “I’ve heard so much.” He felt his cheeks heat up and he was flattered at her comment. “Let’s head to the ballroom, Princess. We’ll run away together soon.” She nodded.

They linked hands and began heading towards the ballroom to have the last bit of fun they ever will again at Olddell.