#Minimally invasive beauty

[foxbirdy]

can you please tell me more about the island at the equator? the one you drew about? i'm planning on becoming a sailor and i want to know what it was like way out there. can you tell me about the stars and the manta rays

I would love to tell you more about that island.

It's a tiny atoll, with a little over 4.6 square miles of permanent land. The hottest sun and most furious rain I've ever seen in my life, often in the same 24 hours. There are no freshwater sources here; everything you drink must come from the sky. Coral reefs surround the lagoons and islands, in vivid terraces that cascade from crystalline shallows to water so deep and blue it confuses your eyes. Sand flats and coral rubble beds stretch around the margins of the lagoons, and sometimes the water is so still and glassy that you can see the ripples from the spotted eagle rays and lemon sharks and schools of awa from a half mile away. Blue bottle jellies come up with high tides every new moon, and the manta rays gather in winding circular trains when the moon is full. Bioluminescent plankton is a rare and treasured guest, making the wave tops glitter cyan and green, illuminating each wingtip on the manta rays as they ruffle the surface of the water. Over one million seabirds make their homes there, and sometimes the chatter of the 'ewa'ewa is so constant and deafening that you stop hearing it at all, fading into the background sounds of wind and water and trees. The 'iwa fly in the highest wind currents, pirates of the sky, with their big forked tails and sharp lightning-bolt wings. The manu-o-Kū catch the tiniest silver fish, the length of my pinky, and flutter down from their perches to chitter at you as you move through the forest. The 'ā - red-footed boobies - crane their heads from side-to-side as they look at you, and when they open their mouths, you remember that birds come from dinosaurs. The stars are close and bright, despite the heavy humidity, and on clear nights the milky way is like a hundred pearl necklaces stretched across the sky, and you can walk with just the light of the moon. You can see the Southern Cross from one side of camp, and Polaris from the other. Cassiopeia sits in pride of place, and her daughter Andromeda is a lightblur in the crook of her knees. Meteors there sometimes fall like brilliant green balls of fire, so bright they put spots in your vision. On nights under one of those big dark storm cells that walk across the ocean like giants, the thunder and lightning moves around you in transient peaks and swells, inconstant, distant and then close. These are the only times you cannot hear the birds, gone silent, as the downpour takes up the place where their voices live.

[doctorsmiledentalgroup]

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[honeytonedhottie]

a glamorous well-being⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🌸

i've decided to write this post to remind my audience that you're own well being comes first and just share some ways on how you can focus on ur well being in small steps that can gradually build a lifestyle.

BEAUTY SLEEP ;

go to bed at a reasonable time and wake up at a reasonable time. when ur well rested you'll feel and look your best. theres a reason why ppl call beauty sleep beauty sleep.

when u dont get enough sleep ur skin is dull, you'll start to have eyebags beneath ur eyes and can even shorten ur life span. and thats not hot.

if u feel like it'll make u more well rested, take a midday nap. if u find that u have problems sleeping, having a before bed routine that soothes u can rly help u to sleep like the angel that you are.

drink a warm cup of tea before bed

do gentle stretches

take a soothing bath or shower

DIGITAL MINIMALISM ;

we experience the fear of missing out bcuz of our habit of consuming hundreds if not thousands of unnecessary information every single day. in a way we've become information addicts.

no scroll mornings - cutting a habit completely might be hard so dont jump in with both feet immediately. go little by little.

digital declutter - intentionally cut out optional online activity and instead focus on something in person like ur community, urself and ur projects

APPRECIATING SILENCE ;

if the weather permits, i rly recommend going for walks. walking is not only good for ur body but also ur mind and getting fresh air and sunlight is rly good for u and important.

start doing guided meditations

go on daily walks to get some fresh air

JOURNALLING ;

journalling is so easy and fun and glamorous. i love the concept of journals bcuz its just such a cute way to get everything from ur mind onto paper which is helpful.

to journal with the intention of improving ur well being i recommend to get into shadow work cuz its like journal therapy. i'll link a post with shadow work prompts right here, that way you can have a place to kind of start off from.

other then simply doing shadow work journalling or maintaining a diary of sorts is also helpful for ur well being bcuz it showcases ur growth and its a great way to cultivate a sense of self without fear of judgement or privacy invasion from others.

TAKING BIG STEPS IN EASY WAYS ;

i think that the secret to overall wellness in the most glamorous way possible is a bunch of little habits that can contribute to an overall beautiful and glamorous inside and outside.

so focus on building habits before you make a huge lifestyle switch. not to confuse this with not being all in. you must be all in otherwise you'll fall back into unhealthy and old patterns for the sake of comfort.

but thats not hot, you can take baby steps while still being all in. commit to a more vibrant and more well self cuz you'll thank urself in the long run.

[kingmaxstatic]

Mainly putting this on my main blog because F/Ovember is currently happening on @staticshipstation (check that out btw)

But one of the reasons I have “if you villainize Amanda/Wooly DNI” is not only because.. well they’re my kids and I adore them. Like these are not villains these are my beautiful imperfect children.

But also because honestly?… I think it’d really hurt the story if either turned out to be true.

One of the reasons I love and adore ATA is its story and how fucking tragic and almost real it is. Guy with genuine heart and ambition wants to achieve his dreams (Sam) but some fuckass corporation taints his goal of wanting to help children (Hamlen). It’s the story of a shitty company doing shitty things to people who don’t deserve it.

And I’m sorry but having the wrench of “OH YEAH AND ALSO THE LITTLE GIRL/SHEEP ARE EVIL!!!” Is.. so out there and would honestly just be really awkward in the story.

Like are Wooly and Amanda perfect? By all means no. But people are acting like Wooly is some Disney twist villain from the 2010s or that Amanda is some spoiled brat. When the reality is that both of them, to an extent, are victims.

They just deal with their traumas VERY VERY differently.

Amanda keeps being invasive and even aggressive at times. This anger is justified, by all means, Jesus Christ. She deserves to be angry. But at the same time that doesn’t negate the fact she’s hurt people doing this, though it’s important to note that doesn’t mean her own pain doesn’t valid. Wooly tends to bootle shit up and push it to the side. When something in his so obviously wrong in front of him he hides it so deep. He’s scared it might trigger something and that he might get hurt.

These characters and the dynamic is just so deep and complex that the sudden twist of “OH AND WOOLY WAS WORKING FOR HAMLEN THE WHOLE TOME >:D!!” Or “AMANDA WAS ACTUALLY TRYING TO KILL YOU!!” In my opinion, minimizes everything set up.

I want to end this off by saying that anyone is valid for believing these theories, despite my qualms with them, I can understand how people came to these conclusions… however it’s just not content I really want to engage with personally.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

How do you think the Yeerks kept their Hork-Bajir fed between the invasion of their homeworld and the Earth invasion? The one world we're sure that they invaded was the Taxxon homeworld, which was supposed to be mostly desert, likely with minimal trees and tree bark. If the Yeerks really would end up destroying the natural beauty of planets that they conquered like Ax says in Book 4, I can't imagine feeding all the Hork-Bajir would be easy. Unlike Taxxons, who eat anything.

All right, so. You can get up to 12 square yards of mulch from Home Depot for $560 in today's dollars, which is $285 in 1997 dollars. We don't know exactly how many hork-bajir-controllers are left after Alloran's ethnic cleansing, but from Visser I'm guessing it's a few hundred to a couple thousand. Of those, not every one is posted on Earth, so I'm willing to bet there are only ~1000 hork-bajir on Earth.

How much does a hork-bajir eat? Well, an Earth animal that's about 7' long and herbivorous — I'm going with okapi — eats about 35lbs of plant matter a day. A cubic yard of mulch weighs about 600lbs, according to Home Depot. So 1 cubic yard of mulch is about 17 days' food for one hork-bajir, or 1 day's food for 17. Which means you could get 204 days' food (12*17) out of $285 in 1997.

If there are 1000 hork-bajir, then you'll need 5 of those 12-yd shipments a day, which comes out to $1425 in then-dollars, $2802 in now-dollars. UNESCO says that cheap bulk meals for humans can be calculated at $3 a meal or $9 a day with U.S. ingredients, meaning it'd cost a nonprofit ~$9000 a day to feed 1000 humans. So if feeding a human costs about $9 a day and feeding a hork-bajir costs about $2.75 a day in today's money, then I'd say they're probably feeding the hork-bajir just fine. I'd even venture that they're spending more on the "grilled chicken, roast potatoes, steamed broccoli" (Visser) the humans get than on their hork-bajir.

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #08 死

† chai †

"Sweetness doesn’t have a place in Jeon’s life, or at least it didn’t, until now. Because he’s been craving vanilla and cardamom and… chai? Hoseok is as annoying as always, and the fact that you may be at tonight’s celebration is… something he doesn’t quite know how to process."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6.3k

rating: mature

content: snippet into jeon’s head, jeon’s POV, jeon being emo, sad vibes, insomnia, mental health issues, pills, suicide jokes, j-hope being a good friend and also a good doctor, celebrations, booze, female friendships, moon being surprisingly good at mixing drinks

☠ author's note ☠

I can literally HEAR all your "I can fix him" screams from here and honestly? SAME. I, too, want to fix the emotionally constipated sniper who probably sleeps with his combat boots on (￣ω￣)

Here's the thing—I started this whole endeavor thinking I'd stick strictly to the protagonist's POV. Very tunnel vision, very "we only know what she knows" vibes. But then Jeon's broody ass started living rent-free in my head and I was like... fuck, I want to show what's happening in that disaster brain of his too???

I'm sure you know the feeling. When reading, you just NEED to know what the hell is going on behind those cold eyes and that jaw that could cut glass. But it gets tricky, especially when you're trying to do this whole slow reveal thing without dumping too much info at once.

And trust me, the character of Jeon is like a cocktail made by a bartender who's having an existential crisis—way too many conflicting ingredients, definitely going to give you a hangover, but you're still going to drink it because you hate yourself. Or love pain. Or both.

So I decided to include snippets of his POV sometimes. It feels necessary—some conversations need to happen when our protagonist isn't there, and some emotional baggage needs unpacking for you readers to understand what's actually going on (like back in chapter 2 when we got that glimpse into his head).

Now, I'd love to ask for your opinion on this whole POV-switching business, but let's be real—this story is pretty much gonna be completed by the time you're reading this author's note. So... I'm just gonna trust my chaotic writer instincts on this one.

And if you don't like getting glimpses into Jeon's beautiful disaster of a mind? Well... you're gonna like it today anyway (•̀ᴗ•́)━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁��

Jungkook doesn't do sweets. Never has.

His world operates in darker shades, tactical operations and precise calculations. Sweetness belongs to a different universe—one of bright colors and soft edges that he left behind long ago.

Sometimes a piece of candy appears in his pocket, usually after a meeting with JM who keeps bowls of them everywhere. He'll unwrap it absently, the crinkle of plastic echoing in his quiet office. Let it dissolve on his tongue while reviewing mission reports. The initial sweetness isn't unpleasant, stirring something old and forgotten in his chest.

But it never lasts.

The sugar becomes too much, coating his mouth like an unwelcome invasion. 

Cloying. 

Suffocating. 

He usually tosses the rest, wondering why he even bothered.

Lately though, something's changed. 

He finds himself reaching for vanilla cookies in the cafeteria. Ordering cardamom tea instead of his usual black coffee. Small impulses he can't explain, like his body's searching for something his mind hasn't caught up to yet.

And now?

Now the clock reads 4:16 AM. 

It's yet another night of minimal sleep—three and a half hours if he's being generous. The neon numbers mock him from his bedside table, surrounded by an array of pills that could probably tranquilize an elephant. 

All prescribed by J-Hope.

All increasingly useless.

Benzos. Narcotics. Nothing touches the corners of his insomnia anymore.

He's been fighting with his sheets for the past hour, tangled evidence of another failed attempt at rest. The black covers pool around his feet like spilled ink. His bedroom surrounds him in familiar darkness—walls painted to absorb light rather than reflect it, matching the void that lives behind his ribs.

The king-sized bed stretches out like empty territory, conquered by nothing but restless thoughts and the occasional phantom of memory. His room is a fortress built of clean lines and minimal decoration, a cell of his own design where even the shadows know better than to dance.

But lately, even this usually comforting solitude feels... different. Like something's missing. Something warm and sweet that he can't quite name.

Jungkook steps into the cold, the floor a shock against his bare feet. The shadows stretch across his bedroom, making the space feel hollow and vast at 4 AM. His movements are silent—years of training making even his insomnia graceful.

The lounge area of his wing feels abandoned. Empty sofas and tables wait like props on a stage, missing their usual cast of lieutenants and strategists. During the day, this space buzzes with mission plans and tactical discussions. Now it's just him and the quiet.

He closes the door to his wing, crossing into the neutral territory of the entrance hall. It's the DMZ between his domain and V's—a thought that makes his head hurt. Even at this hour, he can feel the shift in energy. 

V's presence lingers here like a bad taste.

The access card feels heavy in his hand. A small piece of tech that reminds him of his rank, his responsibilities. AD's security system responds with a soft beep, elevator doors sliding open on silent tracks. He steps in, presses the button for the common area. It's not his usual haunt—too exposed, too public—but lately he's been drawn there.

The descent gives him time to think. His mind drifts between fragments of nightmares and that strange, persistent craving for sweetness. It's been haunting him for weeks now, this urge for vanilla and cardamom. 

For chai and spices.

Maybe his brain is trying to balance out the bitterness that fills his days, or maybe he's finally losing it.

The elevator announces his arrival with a quiet ding. The corridor stretches before him, dark and empty. Somewhere down there is the snack area, and maybe, if he's lucky, a moment of peace.

He moves towards the corridor. Posters and artwork splash color across the cream walls—a jarring contrast to his stark quarters. He never quite understood the need for decoration, but the members insist on making the space "lived in." Whatever that means.

After 3 minutes, the common lounge sprawls before him, so different from his wing's militant precision. Here, rank means little. Divisions blur. The high ceiling should make the space feel cold, but somehow it doesn't. Maybe it's the worn leather sofas or the gaming consoles scattered about like abandoned toys. 

The air smells of polish and something unknown yet weirdly tranquil—comfort, maybe. 

He pushes that thought away.

Vending machines hum quietly in the snack area. Behind the glass, rows of sweets beckon. His eyes linger on a vanilla protein bar, then drift to some cardamom cookies. The craving hits again, piercing and mercilessly insistent.

But he's not alone.

AD slouches in a puff chair, bathed in the blue light of his game screen. His face twisted in its usual scowl, fingers jabbing at buttons with unnecessary force. 

The sight stirs something in Jungkook's chest—regret, maybe. 

Or guilt. 

Both emotions he'd rather not examine.

Their eyes meet. The air grows heavy. Unspoken words. Shared trauma.

The gaming console beeps softly. AD's character dies on screen. The silence that follows feels like an accusation.

Jungkook notes the way AD's blonde hair glints in the dim light as his eyes snap to Jungkook. His fingers still on the controller, body shifting into something more guarded, more alert. 

Jungkook feels his muscles tense automatically. The late-night sugar craving fades to background noise as AD's frosty stare pins him in place. 

Like a fucking needle cutting into skin. 

His hand hovers over the door handle, and he can't decide whether to stay or retreat. There's too much history here, too many buried regrets—and AD's presence brings it all rushing back—memories Jungkook would rather keep locked away with his other nightmares.

He immediately clocks the way AD's face contorts—sharp and bitter—and it makes Jungkook's chest tighten with familiar remorse. 

The younger man has never quite forgiven him. 

Probably never will.

Just as Jungkook decides to leave, to return to the safety of his isolation, AD's voice slices through the silence.

"No need for you to scurry off." The words barely mask the hostility underneath. "Was about to leave anyway."

Jungkook forces his shoulders to relax, though his jaw remains tight. Their paths cross rarely these days, and when they do, it's always like this—loaded silences and measured distance.

AD sets the controller down. Sharp. Angry. His movements are stiff as he rises, radiating enmity in waves that fill the common room. The scent of fresh lemons—AD's signature—grows stronger as he approaches.

But Jungkook doesn't move. 

Doesn't flinch. 

He deserves this, after all. This anger, this hostility, this remorse that reminds him of betrayals he can never make right.

The collision comes swift and deliberate—AD's shoulder slamming into his with force. The impact jolts through Jungkook's body, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the guilt that floods his system. His throat tightens with dusty apologies he knows AD would never accept.

He watches him stride away, the blonde's back rigid with years of accumulated anger. The sound of his footsteps fades down the corridor, leaving Jungkook alone with the quiet hum of the vending machines and his own thoughts.

There was a time when AD looked up to him, when their dynamic was different—better. Now all that remains is this bitter aftermath, this chasm Jungkook carved with his own choices. The memory of who they used to be makes the present cut deeper.

The gaming console's screen still glows, enhancing AD's absence in the empty chair he left behind. The 'GAME OVER' message blinks mockingly. Jungkook's fingers twitch, remembering late nights spent teaching AD new gaming strategies, back when trust wasn't such a foreign concept between them.

He should feel angry at the shoulder check; at the constant hostility that feels like a reprimand. 

But all he feels is hollow. 

Empty. 

Because how can he blame AD for hating him when he did this? When he destroyed something irreplaceable with decisions he can never take back?

He can't help but stare down the empty corridor where AD disappeared, the bitter taste of their encounter lingering longer than he'd like. His craving for sweetness feels almost desperate now—a childish attempt to wash away the guilt that gnaws at his chest.

His throat tightens. He swallows hard, trying to maintain the aloofness expected of Kkangpae's deadliest sniper. 

But it's hard, when AD's hostility has cracked something open inside him, letting old memories seep through like poison.

The vending machines hum quietly, offering a welcome distraction. He scans the selection without really seeing it, until—

Croissants.

Something shifts in his stomach at the sight of those packaged pastries. They're nothing like the fresh ones from the cafeteria, the ones you always grab during breakfast. Not that he's been watching. It's just that you're always there when he is, picking up one of those flaky pastries along with your coffee.

He's noticed, despite himself, how early you arrive to snag them before they run out. Same time as him, though his early mornings are spent running from nightmares rather than hunting down breakfast.

The memory of your routine feels oddly grounding after his encounter with AD. It's something simple, predictable. 

Unlike the mess of guilt and regret that follows him through these halls at night.

It's a strange comfort, this knowledge of your habits. 

One he doesn't understand.

One he probably doesn't deserve.

The scent of fresh lemons still lingers in the air, like a ghost of bridges burned and trust fractured. But as Jungkook stares at those artificially-made croissants, he finds himself thinking of chai tea instead.

He tears his gaze away, scanning other options until he spots a nutty protein bar. Practical. Sensible. The kind of choice the Chief of Tactical Assassinations should make. 

He jabs at the keypad hastily, and then, the machine whirs and drops his selection with a dull thud.

The wrapper crinkles in his grip as he retrieves it. Such a simple thing—choosing a late-night snack. No one gets hurt. No trust gets broken. No consequences ripple through the gang's hierarchy. 

Just him and a protein bar at 4 AM.

The common room feels different now that AD's gone. Quieter. Jungkook lets himself breathe, really breathe, for what feels like the first time since AD's shoulder slammed into his.

He should feel worse, probably. Should let the weight of past betrayals and broken friendships crush him like they usually do. But something about this moment—this stupid protein bar in his hand, the quiet of the room, the lingering thought of croissants and early mornings—makes everything feel a bit lighter.

His lips almost twitch into what could be a smile. It's weird, this tiny bubble of something in his chest. Almost like contentment. He doesn't examine it too closely, afraid it might shatter.

The corridors don't feel as suffocating as he makes his way back to his wing. The shadows seem less interested in reminding him of his sins. 

For now, in this small hour between night and dawn, he allows himself this moment of peace.

He probably doesn't deserve it. But for once, he takes it anyway.

Jungkook stares at his lunch without really seeing it. 

The cafeteria bustles around him, but he's carved out his own bubble of silence at the far end of a long table. It's better this way—no small talk, no pretending to care about division gossip.

His chopsticks push a piece of fish back and forth across his plate. The encounter with AD keeps replaying in his mind, each memory tasting bitter like the coffee he's been nursing for the past hour. Some wounds, he's learning, don't heal with time. They just scab over, waiting to be picked open again.

And then, a tray clatters across from him. 

J-Hope drops into the seat, his white medical coat slightly rumpled from what's probably been a busy morning in the infirmary. The doctor's eyes scan Jungkook's face with scrutiny, his mouth pulling into that familiar worried frown.

"You look like shit," J-Hope announces, ever the picture of bedside manner. "Two hours of sleep? Maybe less?"

Jungkook shrugs, still focused on mutilating his fish. "Don't count anymore."

"Those new meds I gave you—" J-Hope starts, unwrapping his sandwich with more force than necessary. "You're actually taking them, right?"

"They don't work." The words come out flat. "Nothing does."

"Jesus christ," J-Hope mumbles through a bite of sandwich. "Have you tried, I don't know, taking them before you spend six hours staring at your ceiling? Maybe with some tea?"

The concern in J-Hope's voice makes something twist in Jungkook's chest. 

He doesn't deserve this—the worry, the care, any of it. 

Not after everything. 

But J-Hope is one of the few people who still treats him like a person rather than a cautionary tale, so he tries to sound less dismissive when he responds.

"I don't need a lesson on how to take pills. They just don't work for me."

The doctor sets his sandwich down, eyebrows pulling together. A bit of lettuce falls out. "Look, I know you've built up tolerance, but we need to find something that works. You can't keep going like this."

"I'm fine." He's not, but he doesn't truly care. "Function better on less sleep anyway. More efficient."

"That's bullshit and you know it." J-Hope's voice rises slightly, anger seeping through. "You think I can't see what this is doing to you? The mood swings? The isolation? This isn't healthy, Jungkook."

Jungkook flinches at the use of his real name. "I don't need a lecture. I'm handling it."

"Oh yeah, real healthy coping strategy." J-Hope's scoff holds more concern than mockery. "Just pretend everything's fine while you run yourself into the ground."

Exhaustion weighs heavy on Jungkook's bones. Three hours of sleep and memories of AD's hostility from last night make his tongue looser than usual. "Maybe you should prescribe me your finest benzos. Let me wash them down with vodka. That ought to do the trick."

The slam of J-Hope's palm against the table makes the silverware jump. Several heads turn their way, but Jungkook can't bring himself to care. 

"If you want to kill yourself," J-Hope's voice is deadly quiet, trembling with rage, "don't you dare make it my prescription."

The cafeteria suddenly feels too small, too crowded. J-Hope's worry tastes bitter in the back of Jungkook's throat, mixing with guilt he doesn't have the energy to process. He shouldn't have said that—shouldn't have joked about something so dark. But three hours of sleep and a lifetime of regrets make it hard to care about much of anything anymore.

Silence stretches between them. Jungkook stares at his mangled fish, not really eating anymore. He knows what's coming—J-Hope never could leave well enough alone.

The doctor's voice softens, trying a different approach. "Have you considered meditation? Or maybe some calming music? I know a sleep therapist who—"

"I don't need a damn therapist." Jungkook's tongue plays with his lip ring, a nervous habit he can't shake. 

The metal tastes bitter, or maybe that's just the exhaustion talking.

Because J-Hope is wrong. Therapy won't fix this. Pills won't fix this. Nothing can erase what happened, what he let happen. Some stains don't wash out, no matter how hard you scrub.

"Look, Jungkook." J-Hope uses his real name again, and his throat constricts uncontrollably. "Ever since what happened with—"

"Don't." The word comes out sharp enough to cut.

J-Hope holds his gaze, unflinching. "You can't keep punishing yourself forever."

"I'm not discussing this." His voice turns to steel, matching the cold weight that's made a home in his chest.

Another sigh from J-Hope as he leans back. "Fine. But you know where to find me when you're ready to actually try and fix this."

Jungkook's jaw clenches so hard it hurts, a muscle jumping under his skin. But he stays quiet. What's the point of arguing when J-Hope doesn't understand? 

Some things aren't meant to be fixed. 

Some people don't deserve to be.

Jungkook pushes his half-eaten lunch away with a tired sigh. He can feel it coming—the same conversation they have every year.

"So," J-Hope starts, right on cue. "Making an appearance tonight or pulling your usual disappearing act?" He peers at Jungkook over his coffee mug, eyes too knowing for comfort.

"Haven't decided." The words come out clipped, because he feels already exhausted by the mere thought of socializing.

"You should come." J-Hope takes a careful sip. "Might help to interact with actual humans instead of just your rifle for a change."

"I interact plenty." It sounds defensive even to his own ears.

"Glaring at people from across the room doesn't count as interaction." J-Hope's voice is dry as desert sand. "Neither does grunting one-word responses."

Jungkook's tongue finds his lip ring, playing with it absently. "It's just a casual thing. Not mandatory."

"Right, just our leader's rise to power celebration. Totally insignificant." The doctor's sarcasm could cut glass. "Definitely not something a Council member should show face at."

"RM himself said it's not formal." 

"Maybe not officially. But you know what it means to everyone else. Especially the newer ones—shows them what we're about, what matters to us."

Newer ones. The words make him hold his breath. He thinks of Yunjin's bright enthusiasm, of your sharp wit. Of how you'll probably be there tonight.

The thought doesn't help him decide whether he wants to go more, or run faster in the opposite direction.

"You seem perfectly capable of handling traditions without me."

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook." The doctor's frustration bleeds through. "This isn't about tradition. It's about you actually being part of the team for once. Don't you ever get tired of the whole lone wolf act?"

Something bitter rises in Jungkook's throat. His tongue presses against his cheek—a habit from childhood he never quite shook.

Silence. He takes a slow breath, measuring his words. 

"I'll think about showing up."

It's not a yes, but J-Hope takes what he can get. The doctor's shoulders relax slightly as he leans back, apparently satisfied with even this crumb of compliance.

"Got patients waiting," J-Hope says, collecting his things. The coffee mug scrapes against the tray. "Try to sleep before tonight, yeah?"

Jungkook makes a noncommittal sound, already drifting into thoughts of empty corridors and quiet corners where he won't have to pretend to be social. Where he won't have to see AD's hatred or V's cruel smile. Where he won't have to watch you move through the crowd, chai-scented and d̶i̶s̶t̶r̶a̶c̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ irrelevant.

J-Hope's footsteps fade into the cafeteria buzz, leaving Jungkook alone with his cold coffee and colder thoughts. 

Another conversation that changes nothing, fixes nothing.

Just like everything else in his life.

"What?"

The word tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it. 

Smooth, real smooth.

Chaewon snorts, eyes crinkling. "Right, keep forgetting you're still a baby gang member. Tonight's the whole 'RM took over this shitshow' party."

You frown, because seriously? Four months in and you're just now hearing about this? Some Seduction Division recruit you are.

"It's not a big deal," Chaewon adds, probably seeing the confusion on your face. "RM didn't even start it. We just got drunk on the first anniversary and now it's a thing."

Eunchae pops her head between you and Chaewon, her light brown hair tickling your cheek. "Plus, you know. Give gang members an excuse to drink and we'll run with it."

You lean back against the couch, letting your head fall back softly. 

Great. 

Another Kkangpae tradition you and Yunjin missed the memo on. At this rate, you'll still be the clueless newbies when you're both grey and wrinkled.

"So what, we just show up and get wasted?" you ask, trying to sound casual. Like you're not low-key freaking out about what to wear or how to act around the higher-ups when they're three sheets to the wind.

Chaewon shrugs, picking at her nails. "Pretty much. Some people get all fancy, others come in sweatpants. It's not like RM gives a shit either way."

A flash of bubblegum pink catches your eye. Yunjin shuffles in, hair wrapped in a towel and dripping onto her shoulders. Perfect timing, as always.

"Did someone say alcohol?" She plops down on the sofa arm, water droplets flying everywhere. "Because I'm not playing nurse again tonight."

"That was one time!" Eunchae's voice pitches up in defense. "And that mark needed me to drink!"

Kazuha snorts. "You could've said no."

"To free drinks?" Eunchae spins around, hand on her chest like she's been mortally wounded. "In this economy?"

"She's got a point," Sakura drawls from her sprawl across the couch. Her long legs dangle over the armrest, taking up way too much space.

Yunjin tugs at her towel, rolling her eyes. "Well, don't come crying to me when you're hugging the toilet later."

You can't help but laugh. These idiots are really your team now. "I take it parties get pretty wild around here?"

"Oh honey." Kazuha's lips twitch. "There's a reason strip poker got banned."

"I'm sorry, what?" Your eyes go wide. Because what.

"It was brief but iconic." Eunchae grins, nudging your shoulder. "Sakura tried to slide across a table."

"And I would've made it!" Sakura calls out, not even bothering to lift her head. "That loose board was sabotage, I swear."

"Sure, blame the table." Eunchae turns to you with a conspiratorial wink. "Just wait till you see what happens when someone breaks out the tequila."

You raise an eyebrow, already mentally noting which Council members to avoid when the drinks start flowing. 

"Thanks for the warning. I'll stay away from any furniture surfing attempts."

Your teammates' laughter fills the room, and something warm blooms in your chest. It's weird how these chaotic idiots have become your f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶ friends in just four months.

Chaewon leans back, crossing her legs. "Tonight's pretty chill though. Eat, drink, try not to pass out in a bush somewhere."

"Now that's what I'm talking about." Eunchae bounces in her seat like an overexcited golden retriever.

"Open field, 8 PM." Chaewon's voice shifts into what you've dubbed her 'mom tone.' "We're doing BBQ, and there'll be enough booze to knock out a small army. Wear whatever, but bundle up—it gets cold as balls out there."

"That's two hours from now!" Eunchae flops dramatically across the couch. "Two whole hours. I'm starving now."

"Is food literally all you think about?" Kazuha rolls her eyes, but there's fondness in her tone.

"I could think about other things." Eunchae wiggles her eyebrows. "But food's never disappointed me like men do."

You snort at that. She's not wrong. In your four months here, you've learned (mostly from Yunjin's gossip) that Kkangpae men are like a box of chocolates—mostly bitter, occasionally nutty, and always complicated.

The girls dissolve into giggles again, and you find yourself joining in. Maybe it's the promise of alcohol, or maybe it's just the way these dorks make even a deadly criminal organization feel weirdly homey, but you're actually looking forward to tonight.

God help you.

It's 8:10 PM when you finally head out. You went with comfy over fancy—oversized grey hoodie over a white turtleneck, because fuck freezing to death. The thermal lining is probably the best purchase you've made since joining Kkangpae. That, and these loose jeans that actually have functional pockets.

A flash of pink appears in your peripheral vision before Yunjin loops her arm through yours, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

"Aren't you excited?" She bounces on her toes like a kid with a sugar rush. "I heard these parties are insane!"

You can't help but laugh. Her enthusiasm is s̶w̶e̶e̶t̶ infectious. But the elevator dings before you can respond, doors sliding open to reveal—oh.

V lounges inside, arm draped over JM's shoulders like the Finance Chief is his personal armrest. JM seems unbothered, wearing that patient smile he gets when dealing with V's... everything. His salmon-colored hair looks soft under the elevator lights.

"Ladiessssss!" V draws out the word like he's auditioning for Parseltongue lessons. He shifts to make room, though his arm stays firmly around JM. "Coming to party with us common folk?"

"Free food's free food." You shrug, stepping in beside Yunjin who's still clinging to your arm.

She giggles at your response, squeezing your arm tighter. You catch JM's eye and nod—proper respect for a Council member and all that. He returns it with a warm smile that makes his eyes crinkle behind his round glasses.

The elevator feels smaller with four people, especially when one of them is V taking up space like it's his job. But hey, at least it's not AD. Or worse, J̶e̶o̶n̶ certain other Council members.

"Evening, JM." You smile at him, because it's hard not to. His aura always feels like a warm blanket—the complete opposite of V's chaotic energy.

"Good evening." JM's voice is soft, gentle. "I hope the night finds you well."

"What is this, fucking Shakespeare?" V waves his hand dismissively. "Save the fancy talk for business hours. Tonight's for getting wasted and making bad decisions. Luckily we will be free of certain judgemental stares."

"V." JM's warning comes with a poorly hidden smile.

"What? Just saying what everyone thinks." V grins, all teeth. "Not my fault someone walks around like they've got a steel rod up their ass."

"Pretty sure that's just the natural reaction to dealing with you for years." The words slip out before you can stop them.

"Wow. Wow." V pretends you've stabbed him in the chest. "Already picking sides? And here I thought we were gonna be besties."

You roll your eyes. "Not picking sides. Just speaking from personal experience."

"Brief experience," he corrects, wagging a finger at you. "You haven't seen all my charms yet. I grow on people, like mold."

"That's... not the selling point you think it is."

Finally the metallic doors open to the ground floor. Through the glass gates, you can see the open field where everyone's gathering. The sky's already dark, stars peeking through like tiny paint droplets.

Here goes nothing.

The field buzzes with activity, gang members scattered around like the stars peppered across the night sky. A bonfire crackles in the middle, throwing warm light over everyone's faces. The smell of BBQ makes your stomach growl—you haven't eaten since lunch.

RM's white hair catches the firelight, making him look almost ethereal. It's weird seeing him like this, gesturing animatedly as he talks. The fearsome leader of Kkangpae, actually laughing. Who knew?

Moon hovers by the drinks, playing bartender—although still maintaining his usual polite efficiency. Though tonight his smile seems more genuine, less 'I'm being nice because I'm your superior' and more 'want another beer?'

Jessi and Chaewon huddle together near the fire, probably plotting world domination or sharing gossip. The flames dance in Jessi's red hair while Chaewon leans in close, looking more relaxed than you've ever seen her during training.

V drags JM toward the grill, still attached to him like a very loud, very clingy octopus. "Make way for the master chefs!" he hollers, making JM shake his head with fond exasperation.

Your eyes scan the crowd before you can stop yourself. Looking for broad shoulders in black leather, for silver piercings catching firelight. For that scent of pine and wood that's become way too f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶i̶a̶r̶ noticeable lately.

But Jeon isn't here.

You feel something waver in your chest—disappointment maybe, or just hunger. 

Yeah, definitely hunger. 

You push the thought away and focus on the party. There's food and alcohol and your friends are here. That's what matters.

Yunjin tugs you toward the bonfire, and god, the warmth feels good after the castle's perpetual AC chill. It's weird seeing everyone so relaxed—like someone hit pause on all the gang politics and murder plots for one night.

You sink onto a log bench, letting the fire chase away the evening cold. The flames bathe everyone in soft gold, making even the most hardened killers look almost n̶i̶c̶e̶ normal for once.

J-Hope appears through the crowd like a ghost in his white medical coat, looking like he's about to collapse. The bags under his eyes have bags of their own, but he's still got that manic energy that keeps him running on fumes and spite.

He drops onto the bench nearby with a groan that sounds like his soul trying to escape. The scent of sandalwood follows him, mixing with woodsmoke.

"Rough day?" you ask, eyeing his very out-of-place doctor getup.

His laugh comes out more like a wheeze. "You could say that." He waves vaguely at his coat. "Didn't exactly get a wardrobe change break."

Yunjin giggles beside you, still clutching your arm like a pink-haired koala.

Your eyes scan the crowd again, definitely not looking for anyone s̶p̶e̶c̶i̶f̶i̶c̶ particular. "Where's the rest of the Council?"

"Well," J-Hope snorts, "AD's busy losing at League of Legends. Says he'll grace us with his presence when he's done raging at his screen."

"And Jeon?" The question slips out. Smooth. 

J-Hope answers your question with a nod toward the field entrance. Your eyes follow and—oh.

Jeon strides in with Takama, both of them loaded down with enough meat to feed a small country. The firelight catches on his silver piercings, and fuck, he shouldn't look this good just carrying groceries. Your heart does that stupid little skip thing it's been doing lately whenever he's around.

But it's like... something's different about him tonight. The usual ice-prince vibe is dialed down a notch, replaced by something almost... approachable.

Unapproachably approachable.

Takama actually has him engaged in conversation—a miracle in itself. His shaved head immediately grabs your attention as he says something that makes Jeon relax slightly.

They drop the meat by the grill, and you notice how Jeon's eyes sweep across the crowd. It's quick, casual, but you catch it anyway. There's something searching in his gaze, like he's looking for... well. Probably just checking the perimeter or whatever security shit he does.

You turn back to J-Hope, trying to ignore the warmth in your cheeks. "Even party night comes with duties, huh?"

"That's Kkangpae for you." J-Hope's voice carries a touch of dry humor. "We don't do proper days off here."

He's right. Even now, surrounded by laughter and firelight and the promise of good food, you're all still playing your parts. Though watching Jeon handle those heavy bags like they're nothing makes you think some roles aren't so bad to watch.

Get it together. 

You sink deeper into the bench, letting the bonfire's warmth seep into your bones. The sound of laughter and sizzling meat hovers around you; everyone's guard lowered just a fraction under the stars.

Takama then leads Jeon toward the fire, some members sprawled out on the grass around them like lazy cats. The deputy's eyes find yours, his smile genuine—a rare sight in your line of work.

"Ankle doing better?" he asks, and you're touched he remembers.

"All healed up, thanks." You return his smile, because Takama's one of the few higher-ups who actually seems to give a shit about the recruits.

Jeon just nods at you, dark eyes meeting yours for a split second before sliding away. You're starting to notice is his thing—minimal effort, maximum impact. Your skin prickles despite the fire's heat.

The conversation naturally flows around you, mission stories and inside jokes mixing seamlessly even between different divisions. You half-listen, too aware of Jeon's presence at the edge of the group. He pulls out his cigarettes with those r̶i̶d̶i̶c̶u̶l̶o̶u̶s̶l̶y̶ ̶n̶i̶c̶e̶ steady hands, placing one between his pierced lips in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

But before he can light up, J-Hope shoots him a look that could freeze hell. Some silent doctor-patient communication passes between them, and Jeon clicks his tongue, shoving the cigarette back in its pack. Frustration flashes across his face before he quickly shoves it down. 

But you catch yourself studying him—the way his fingers fidget with the lighter he can't use, how his jaw clenches when he's annoyed. Little details that paint a picture of the man behind the cold exterior. 

Not that you're paying special attention or anything.

Moon's got a nice little bar setup going by the drinks station. You could use something to take the edge off this weird night. So you stand up, already missing the bonfire's warmth whilst stretching your arms above your head.

"Getting drinks," you tell Yunjin, who's deep in conversation with some other recruits. "Want anything?"

Her eyes light up. "Beer, please!"

You glance at Takama, still chatting with his boss. "Beer run. You in?"

"That'd be great, thanks." His smile is genuinely warm.

You look at the doctor—J-Hope's been quiet, watching everything with those too-observant eyes—and ask him too. 

"Can I grab you something?"

"I don't drink." His tone is light but final. Like a door closing.

You nod, not pushing it. Your eyes drift to Jeon last, catching him staring into the flames like they hold all life's answers. He meets your gaze for a second, and you'd swear something unreadable flickering across his face before he looks away.

"Whisky on the rocks," he mutters, barely audible over the crackling fire.

You bite back a smile. Of course he drinks whisky. Probably the expensive kind too, the pretentious a̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ guy.

Moon's showing off his bartending skills to an impressed crowd when you approach. Time to see if the Deputy Commander makes drinks as precisely as he runs operations.

His back is turned to you as you approach, mixing something that probably has enough alcohol to knock out a horse. But he moves confidently, like he's done this a thousand times before.

When he finally finishes serving another member, you step up. His serious bartender face melts into something more welcoming.

"What can I get you?" He wipes his hands on a towel, all proper and polite as usual.

"Vodka lemonade for me," you say. "Plus whisky on the rocks and two beers for the others."

He nods, already reaching for bottles. "Coming right up."

You watch him work, impressed despite yourself. "Where'd you learn all this fancy mixing stuff?"

"Been around a while," he chuckles, measuring vodka into a shaker. "It's useful—nothing settles gang politics like a good drink."

"You're really good at this," you say, leaning against the counter. "Like, seriously good."

His hands pause for a split second. A small smile tugs at his lips. 

"Thanks. It's an old passion. Actually wanted to open my own bar once—somewhere quiet, away from all..." He gestures vaguely at the chaos around you.

"That's... not what I expected." You watch him pour whisky over ice with perfect precision. 

"Life's funny that way." He slices a lemon expertly. "We all had different plans before this. Different dreams. But here we are."

Something in his voice makes you pause—because yeah, it's so easy to forget sometimes that everyone here has a story, a before. Even Moon, with his perfect posture and formal suits, had different dreams once.

The thought sits heavy in your chest as he lines up your drinks. You wonder what dreams everyone else gave up to end up here, in a criminal organization's makeshift bar under the stars.

"What about you?" Moon asks, stirring your drink now. "Got any derailed dreams?"

You consider the question, because it feels surreal to be having this kind of talk with the Deputy Commander—usually conversations here stick to missions and murder plots.

"Pretty sure we all left something behind when we joined." The words come out slower than intended. "Different paths all leading to the same fucked up destination, right?"

Moon hands you the drinks, and his expression is softer. "That's gang life for you. Trade in your old self, get a new family and some trauma in return."

"Any regrets?"

He gets this far-away look, like he's seeing something beyond the makeshift bar. Then he shakes his head. 

"Made my choice. Even the darkest paths have their bright spots."

You take the drinks, mentally filing away this unexpectedly deep conversation with Kkangpae's second-in-command. Who knew he had a philosophical side under all that formality?

"Thanks for the drinks. And the..." You gesture vaguely with your chin, since your hands are full. "This whole thing."

His smile actually reaches his eyes this time. "Anytime. Now go before those drinks get warm."

"You joining us later?"

"Once dinner's ready." He's already turning to help another member.

You nod, somehow managing to stuff the beer cans in your hoodie pocket while balancing two glasses. The bonfire calls you back, its warmth promising more interesting conversations ahead.

Though probably none as surprising as this one.

next | index

🔪 taglist 🔪

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @redcherrykook @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[toronto-tree-removal]

Expert Tree Removal Services in Toronto: Why It Matters for Safety & Aesthetics

Introduction: The Importance of Professional Tree Removal

Trees are an essential part of Toronto’s urban landscape, offering shade, beauty, and environmental benefits. However, there are times when tree removal becomes a necessity due to safety hazards, disease, or urban development needs. At Toronto Tree Removal, we specialize in safe, professional, and efficient tree removal services across various neighborhoods, including The Annex, The Beaches, Liberty Village, and more.

In this post, we’ll discuss when tree removal is necessary, the process involved, and how to choose the best tree removal service in Toronto.

When Should You Consider Tree Removal?

Not all trees need to be removed, but some situations demand professional intervention. Here are common reasons why property owners in Toronto might need tree removal services:

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Structural Damage Risk: If tree roots are damaging underground pipes, sidewalks, or your home’s foundation, removal may be the best solution.

Obstructing Construction or Landscaping Projects: Sometimes, trees need to be cleared for new buildings, driveways, or other landscaping projects.

Invasive Species & Infestations: Trees affected by pests like the emerald ash borer may need to be removed to prevent the spread to healthy trees.

If you’re unsure whether a tree should be removed, our team at Toronto Tree Removal can provide an assessment.

The Tree Removal Process: What to Expect

At Toronto Tree Removal, we follow a structured and safe approach to tree removal:

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Our ISA-certified arborists first assess the tree's condition, size, and location to determine the safest removal method.

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In Toronto, tree removal regulations require permits for trees over 30 cm in diameter on private property. We assist clients with the application process, ensuring compliance with city regulations.

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Once the tree is removed, we offer stump grinding services to eliminate the remaining base, leaving a clean and usable space.

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Conclusion: Protect Your Property with Expert Tree Removal

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Citations:

Toronto Tree Removal Services

Tree Bylaws & Removal Permits – City of Toronto

ISA Certified Arborists – Why Certification Matters

[clinicse]

EYESURGERYANTALYA - GOLD

Are you considering eye laser surgery in Turkey? This bustling nation has rapidly become a top destination for individuals seeking advanced eye care treatments at affordable prices. Procedures such as eye laser surgery not only offer a chance for clearer vision but also feature state-of-the-art technology and highly qualified specialists. Additionally, options like trifocal lens surgery and blepharoplasty further enhance your overall eye health and appearance. With its rich culture and scenic beauty, Turkey makes for an appealing backdrop while you undergo transformative treatments.

Eye laser surgery turkey

When considering eye laser surgery Turkey, patients are often drawn by the combination of advanced technology and affordable prices. This type of surgery, often referred to as LASIK, uses state-of-the-art lasers to correct common vision problems such as nearsightedness, farsightedness, and astigmatism. Many clinics in Turkey offer experienced surgeons and modern facilities, making it a popular destination for those seeking improved vision.

One of the main advantages of choosing Turkey for eye laser surgery is the significant cost savings compared to many Western countries. Patients can expect to save anywhere from 30% to 70% on the total cost of the procedure, including travel expenses. This affordability often does not compromise quality, as many Turkish clinics adhere to international standards and boast accreditations from recognized bodies.

Additionally, the pre-operative consultations and post-operative care are typically thorough, ensuring that patients feel comfortable and informed throughout their journey. With a growing number of success stories, eye laser surgery in Turkey continues to gain popularity, making it an appealing option for those looking to enhance their vision safely and effectively.

Trifocal lens surgery turkey

Trifocal lens surgery Turkey is rapidly gaining recognition as an innovative solution for those seeking to improve their vision. This advanced surgical procedure allows patients to obtain clear vision at multiple distances, reducing the need for glasses or contact lenses. With the help of cutting-edge technology and skilled surgeons, many individuals are experiencing enhanced quality of life through this transformative surgery.

Many clinics in Turkey offer a comprehensive package for trifocal lens surgery, including pre-operative evaluations and post-operative care. These packages often come at a fraction of the cost compared to Western countries, making Turkey an attractive destination for medical tourism. Patients can not only experience substantial cost savings but also take advantage of the robust medical infrastructure available in the country, ensuring a safe and comfortable surgical experience.

Furthermore, the success rates for trifocal lens surgery in Turkey are impressive, with many patients achieving satisfactory results within days of the procedure. The procedure itself is typically quick, minimally invasive, and performed with precision, allowing for faster recovery times. As more individuals learn about the benefits of this procedure, Turkey continues to solidify its reputation as a leader in ophthalmic surgery.

Blepharoplasty turkey

Blepharoplasty, commonly known as eyelid surgery, is an increasingly popular cosmetic procedure in Turkey. It involves the removal of excess skin, fat, and muscle from either the upper or lower eyelids to enhance the appearance of the eyes and provide a more youthful look.

Turkey has become a top destination for blepharoplasty due to its combination of skilled surgeons and affordable prices. Many individuals from around the globe are seeking these procedures in major cities such as Istanbul, where advanced medical facilities and experienced professionals abound.

Patients considering blepharoplasty Turkey can expect a thorough consultation where doctors assess individual needs and create tailored treatment plans. Post-operative care and follow-ups are also essential components of the surgery, ensuring that patients achieve the best possible results with minimal complications.

[estranged-archive]

“seven depraved days” — 18+ dd:dne by @estranged-girl

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64336096

multi-chapter work in progress | 12.2k words

inspired by you by caroline kepnes — in which you are a jedi knight in the midst of the current clone war’s ceasefire; deployed for a simple diplomatic mission on the planet artemisium for a week.

there’s apparently a plumbing issue at the temple forcing everyone to use communal bathrooms, and despite not being very close, you kindly offer anakin skywalker the code to your quarters so he can take a warm shower.

what you don’t know is, anakin also happens to have a week off—to attend order-mandated ‘rebalancing sessions’—and he intends to spend that free time in your personal space without your knowledge, because you are what he calls his “muse.”

𓁼 warnings: dead dove: do not eat, dubcon/noncon elements, smut, non-consensual voyeurism, trespassing, invasion of privacy, male masturbation, scent kink, panty kink, clothing theft, power imbalance, men whimpering

— additional tags: canon divergence of revenge of the sith, unnamed reader (no ‘y/n’), pov anakin skywalker + first person, pov alternating + second person

— chapters with smut marked with “𓌖” in title

��� excerpt from chapter 2: “7 days left”

A few clicks, a hiss, and I’m inside a chamber I’m sure no one else besides me has seen thus far. I’d say you were too naïve in giving me your security code. But I’m going to presume you gave it to me, I alone, and had anyone else asked, you would have shut them down.

Even though you’ve been gone for a few days already, your scent still wafts from the place, hitting me like a brick; your lingering has marked the space. I swear I’m getting drunk off of your air. It’s so potent in some spots that it instinctively makes me turn on my heel to search for you. Within these walls, you carry out your life, a life I can only speculate about. The game of speculation is sending warmth to my lower half. Given your detachment as a poster girl of the Jedi, I’m curious about the extent of your belongings. You’re my pure muse, but I’m sure you’ll have some flaw, some humanity, a struggle of some kind.

I’m just going to shower today. I’m going to respect your space. I don’t want to take advantage of your kindness. But I can’t help but make so many assumptions based on your quarters.

I always wondered what it would look like. You follow nonattachment to a T; the same clean lines, but you have taste, and no amount of flowy fabric can obscure your apparent beauty. But your quarters are surprisingly sentimental for such a non-attached person. You’re meticulous, but not cold. You’re real. Countless books and scrolls in an organized chaos. Keepsakes from different planets you’ve visited, huh? You must be planning to bring one back from Artemisium. Maybe a shell or rock of some kind, by the ocean. You have a desk and it looks like you’ve left your datapad there. A stylus is not far from it.

You’re not a messy girl, really; I understood that from a single glance around this room. You like to follow rules—you tidied up before you left, or maybe you have a disposition to cleanliness. Even then, you aren’t perfect. You don’t force your space to be ready for guests 24/7. Some books are collecting dust you haven’t feathered away yet, and you left things here and there, albeit very few, out of place. You probably forgot to put them back in a rush to leave. I don’t mind it at all; I’m glad you left some things out in the open so I can learn more about you.

Your bed is made, but the sheets are a bit rustled; you slept here last. There’s one pillow the length of your bed’s width, placed neat and taut, but there’s a clear indent on the side of the bed you prefer. I brush my fingers across the fabric of where you sleep, and you’re enticing me to the other side already. There’s only a simple linen sheet draped over the whole thing. Minimal and ascetic, as I thought. Classy. But I’m sure you must indulge in a worldly thing, something, anything. I know I shouldn’t, but the way you toy with me with this stilted perfection makes me want to find it.

[crochet-the-ninth]

(witchklng) i've been doing a happy dance for the last ten minutes ever since i realized your cam & pal patterns are up on etsy now !!!!!!!!!! SO SO SO EXCITED TO MAKE THEM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i haven't been able to crochet for the last couple months to an injury but i'm finally on the mend and am so close to diving back in to make the whole squad 🥰

thank you so much for sharing your beautiful adorable show-stopping creativity!!!!! your lil guys bring me endless joy 🥰💗💕💗💕💗💕

Sorry to hear about your injury! The sixth house offers their condolences, along with a band-aid and a minimally invasive necromantic procedure.

(the ninth would offer a bone cocoon for your recovery, but Gideon convinced Harrow it would be weird)

(if you accept the band-aid Gideon will draw skulls on it though)

[x-x-pie-x-x]

What If Illumi Zoldyck Gave In to Desire?

Illumi has spent his life mastering his body, emotions, and everyone around him. But imagine a moment-after a successful assassination, after silence falls, and the needles are removed from his face. He's alone. And the mask slips.For someone like Illumi, the kink wouldn't be about physical pleasure-it would be about total emotional control. He wouldn't crave intimacy as much as domination of another's mind and identity.

Setting: He isolates someone-someone "interesting," not because they're beautiful, but because they resist. He doesn't want someone who surrenders easily. He wants a challenge. A person with autonomy.

Behavior: He uses words the same way he uses needles: sharp, invasive, persuasive.His pleasure would come from breaking down identity gently, making the person question whether their reactions are their own or something he's drawn out.Touch would be minimal at first-he'd withhold physical affection as a form of psychological torment. Control isn't taken by force; it's offered and slowly accepted.He might create rituals-testing boundaries, offering "rewards," requiring submission through choices rather than commands.

Kinks Manifested:

Psychological ownership

Obedience training or conditioning

Emotional dependence

Possibly even androphilia or gynophilia without romantic attachment-he wouldn't be "in love," but obsessed with control over one person's inner world.And if he ever developed affection? That's when it becomes terrifying. Because he doesn't know how to love without controlling. If he loves someone, he might want to own them utterly-make them his shadow, his echo.

[a1fanfictions]

I’m obsessed with this concept

Characters and creations of Dexter belong to original owners and makers.

I tried to prompt the ai to make the scenes and characters feel realistic. Minorly revised and edited by me. Used DreamGen.com for anyone who wants to try

Combined and compatible - A Dexter Morgan Ai generated fanfiction

A/n: This will be heavily indulgent on my part but… I wanted to read it haha. Kinda bimbo housewife material reader written as female with minimal physical descriptions

Dexter Morgan had always been who he was- a high-functioning sociopath that murdered bad people, deserving of such a fate, in order to satiate his “Dark Passenger.” And, he had always been the go-lucky lab geek turned blood spatter analyst who brought everyone donuts.

It was a difficult tight rope, but he traversed it well.

Then he met Rita, had Harrison, it was all so great, so… chaotic. He loved his wife and son- of course, he did. But nothing ever went smoothly, even though he had to plan and schedule every single day, every single minute. And curveballs were to be expectedly unexpected.

With Rita gone now, things were even more chaotic. Sending Aster and Cody to their Grandparents was hard- almost heartbreaking. Finding a fitting nanny for Harrison had been time-consuming. And he had been late to work, for the first time in his entire career, four times in the last two weeks.

But his workload had gotten better, and he had even found the perfect nanny for his son. So now, he had more time for his "Dark Passenger."

It was after one of those nights that he met her- beautiful, sweet (Y/N).

He had time to spare, after dropping his recent kill into a harbor. Having had no incident that night left plenty of time to hit up the grocery store before it closed. Just grabbing milk, apples, and beers for the inevitable Deborah invasion.

(Y/N) had been idly wandering when Dexter bumped into her. They exchanged quick sorry's, her voice being so light and sweet, and Dexter was hooked.

He couldn’t explain it or why he was feeling this way, but he knew there was something different about her.

He could see her eyes rapidly moving as she did math in her head, and he heard her whispering something under her breath- something about being under budget and something about having everything she needed in the pantry.

Dexter wasn’t sure why it mattered to him, but he thought she was intelligent, well-mannered, and cute.

That last thought had taken him off guard, and instead of dwelling on it, Dexter half-heartedly turned to traverse the isles for the dairy section. He monotonously grabbed his milk and turned toward the next section, only to see the pretty girl in the middle of his path once again.

Dexter had planned to walk past her- no words, no thoughts. Only getting Deb's beer and checking out.

Key words- planned to.

“E-excuse me?” A delicate, timid voice called out. Dexter halted in his tracks immediately, a strong pull to his protective instinct beating his thoughts, and he turned to the girl. He offered her a neutral expression, but a soft one, too.

“Could you help me get that coffee creamer, please?” she asked with hesitation, as her eyes went from her feet to the top shelf, and back to the floor again.

She didn’t ask for help normally, opting for different flavors, or scaling the shelves of the empty store instead of baring her teeth and greeting a stranger.

But he seemed... safe. And she didn’t know if it was the way he had looked at her when she first saw him, or the way he apologized, but- despite his intimidating aura -she felt safe enough to ask for the mocha hazelnut creamer that was always just out of her reach.

So she asked.

“Of course.”

Dexter’s voice was deep but smooth, and (Y/N) found herself looking away as he stretched to grab the coffee creamer. His shirt raised just enough to allow a peek at his stomach, and she blushed.

But just like that, Dexter handed over her favorite flavor, and she gave him a big grin.

“Thank you.”

Her voice was still soft, but her energy had a way of being palpable.

Dexter’s chest swelled with pride, and he enjoyed the response from the girl. But more than that, he enjoyed that he had simply fulfilled her request- no deep rooting desires, no long-plotted plans. Just a simple ‘please’ and ‘thank you.’

“Anytime.”

Dexter didn’t realize the true meaning of his statement. He hoped for another time.

And there was, not even two weeks later.

In the same store.

In the same dairy section.

Dexter idled through the aisles, escaping the afternoon sun, in search of milk. And beer.

He perused the store, grabbing a loaf of bread and a few of the Gerber snacks that Harrison seemed to enjoy, before strolling to the dairy section and grabbing a gallon. Turning toward the beers, he saw her again.

She had a different coffee creamer in hand- an orange label this time instead of green. And she had halted, fist tightening ever so slightly as her eyes trained on the top shelves once more.

Dexter planned to go about his business- grab his beer and leave. But something inside tugged at him, and he couldn’t move.

“Excuse me?” He called out this time, mirroring her words with the addition of his own confidence.

She turned her head toward him, and her eyes grew wide as she saw him standing there. Dexter knew she remembered him from the last time, and he gave her a small smile. She gasp so quietly he almost didn’t hear, before a grin broke out on her lips.

“Would you like that one?” He pointed to the mocha hazelnut creamer that was now becoming familiar to him. Her face lit up impossibly more, and she nodded rapidly.

“Yes please, it’s my favorite!” She said in a rush before covering her mouth with her hand as if to stop herself from speaking more.

“I’m glad,” Dexter said with a chuckle. He plucked the container off the top shelf and handed it to her with a smile. Her eyes grew wide again, and she gave him a gratitude-full smile before looking to the floor shyly.

“Thank you,” she was sure to say despite the warmth on her face, manners mattered.

“You’re welcome,” he said as she quickly turned on her heel and made her way to the checkout lanes. He watched her go, his chest swelling again, and a heat settling in him he didn’t know. He ignored it, and finished his shopping.

When he arrived at the checkout lines, he noticed she was ahead of him, in the line. She felt him behind her, turning to look over her shoulder almost instinctually, and her cheeks flared once more.

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized for no reason, and Dexter shook his head with a chuckle.

“No problem,” he assured her. The cashier pulled her attention then, and she turned to finish putting the groceries from her cart onto the conveyor belt. She kept up, sorting them into separate bags, while the older lady behind the registers scanned. Bread and tortillas together, fruits and vegetables together. She took care with it when most others didn’t, and Dexter kind of liked that detail about her.

The cashier told her the total- a simple $23.87. And as she was distracted bagging the last of her items, Dexter swiped his card on the ATM. Accepting the receipt, he watched as the lady began scanning his items.

With an almost panicked look on her face, she turned around to the now continued beep, wallet in hand, and brows furrowed. Wasn’t that the last of her groceries? Wasn’t it supposed to be twenty-five dollars?

But Dexter was there, smiling at her sweetly. And he handed her the receipt that claimed she had already paid. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked embarrassed as she told him he didn’t need to do that. It was okay, she was way under budget.

She thrust a $20 and a $5 bill at him. “Please, take this. I’d feel just… wrong taking from you like that,” Dexter thought about accepting it just to ease her worry. It was obvious she was consumed with the idea of having not paid for all of her groceries. But then a better idea came to him.

“It’s okay. I wanted to,” he reassured her. “Why don’t you just give me your number instead?”

He stated it as if it was worth more than the cash in her hands. Her heart stopped for a moment, and a different blush burned on her face.

She was always careful. She never spoke to anyone she didn’t know or didn’t know someone who knew them. She was in Miami, after all. But there she was, and a small smile was growing on her lips as she folded the receipt paper. She hurried to write her number down, using the cashier’s pen.

Dexter almost smiled as she handed him back the receipt, now covered in black ink. He watched her scurry away as the cashier finished scanning his items and then he paid. His attention was fully on the girl making her way toward the exit, not caring much about the prices in front of him or the small talk coming from the elder woman.

When he left the store, the receipt was already in his pocket, safely tucked away for later. Dexter goes home, puts his groceries away, and sits at the computer in his living room to research his next victim. Setting his phone on the desk, he logs into the laptop with his password. Then he glances at his phone and shakes his head. He tells himself he can't just text immediately.

The day goes on, Harrison comes home with the nanny, and she's quick to drop him off and leave. Dexter isn't up for his usual small talk, so he considers her haste a blessing. He gets Harrison ready for the bed and they sit in the living room- the news on for Dexter and colorful blocks scattered around for Harrison.

As the news goes on, Dexter glances continuously at his phone resting on the living room table before him. He manages to make it past the weather report, before he's pulling out the receipt from his pocket and typing out a message. He keeps it simple.

‘Hi.’

‘This is Dexter, from the store,’ he added a little later, just so she knew exactly who was texting.

The reply showed up almost immediately, and he felt that same heat settle in his stomach again.

‘Hey, how are you?’ she texted back, and he was quick to reply.

The conversation went on for hours, and they talked about everything. From their jobs to their favorite hobbies, and the different ways they liked their coffee. Dexter found that he was smiling slightly more than usual, and that he was enjoying this conversation. This connection he felt to her.

But Harrison was eventually in bed, and Dexter wanted to get the most of his night. So he said his goodbyes and his thanks, and then saved her number.

They talked for the rest of the week, and then a weekend came around. Dexter found himself asking her if she wanted to meet up, for coffee. He wanted to see if there was more to their connection than just the little notes they sent back and forth.

She agreed, and Dexter was surprised when he’d began counting down the clock. He hadn’t felt this way before, he was eager to know more about this girl.

They were supposed to meet at a little coffee shop on 8th street, and he arrived early. The bell rang as he opened the door, and the barista looked up to him with a smile. He ordered a coffee- mocha hazelnut with a creamer -and he paid before sitting at a small corner table. He had his back to the wall, a habit he kept to see everything around him.

Seven minutes went by before he saw her walk into the cafe- also early. She had on a light sundress, her hair pulled back, and her bright eyes shined as she scanned the cafe. He watched as her eyes landed on him, and how the smile she was already wearing grew even more. She walked over to him, her hips swaying gently. And when she finally sat in front of him, he felt the energy in the room get lighter and stronger at the same time

“I'm sorry I'm early,” she said with an apologetic smile.

He shook his head and smiled back. “Don't apologize, I'm early too.” They both laughed then, and Dexter reached forward to grab her hand. She gave it freely, and his heart began to beat stronger as he pressed her knuckles to his lips. “I'm Dexter.” She blushed again, and he almost smiled. He had already told her his name.

“I know.” She said softly, looking away from him. Then back at him, her cheeks still flushed and her eyes shining brightly. “I’m (Y/N).”

“I got you this,” he slid over the coffee cup on the table, earning a curious but gracious glance from (Y/n).

“Thank you!” She was quick to respond, but Dexter noted the way she searched the room- eyeing cameras and seeming to decide the barista looked trustworthy. And more so he noticed the one again barely audible gasp she let out after the first sip.

Internally celebrating his decision, Dexter sat with the content he felt being able to make her day with a simple thing he knew she’d like. He wanted to keep doing that.

It was the start of something new. A chance for Dexter Morgan to know happiness, and to experience something other than death.