#Stuck With Our Digital Son

[bubblebear4life]

Who wants to hear about this AU I just thought of?👉👈

...No one🥺?

TOO BAD

~~~~~~

Kinger and Queenie are the creators to the new hit game The Amazing Digital Circus

At first humans were able to come and go as pleased and Caine wasn't an aware AI but one day Caine glitched out causing the whole game to crash and reboot on it's own

Wanting to get further information Kinger went into the game to see if he could find what had caused the glitch

What did he find instead?

BABY CAINE!!!!

Not just a baby Caine but a newly aware AI baby Caine

Kinger didn't want to leave baby Caine behind but he had to get back to the real world to fix the game

Lol he can't leave

Getting worried about her husband not returning from the game Queenie goes in herself to see what the hold up was

Lol she can't leave now either

Now they're stuck in the digital world they created taking care of a baby AI like he's their son (technically he is since they made him too)

~~~

I know I explained this horribly but maybe I'll write about it eventually (I'm trying to get a dang Ao3 account)

[hyunsvngs]

𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞-𝐚-𝐡𝐨𝐞! - spiderman!han jisung x fem!reader

wc: 11.1k

cw: han jisung is spiderman, a brief attack of an alien in school, both characters are 18+ (legal) but are intended to be in high school, friends to lovers, jisung calling mc baby at any given moment

synopsis: you’re obsessed with spiderman, but after a certain event takes place, you become convinced your best friend and spiderman are the same person.

a/n: after a long wait… HEHE smut warnings under the cut and as usual 18+ MDNI!!!!!!!

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: brief mention of masturbation (both), oral (fem!rec), slightly switchy both parties, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, loss of virginity (both), cumswapping, relatively tame given that its me

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You’re intrigued.

Interested seemed like too little of a word to use for how you feel whenever you see the latest news report. In a world full of superhuman serums and bulletproof skin, he is still intriguing. Maths homework could be ignored, as far as you’re concerned - and that’s bold for you, because you love maths. You wonder if he likes maths, too.

Every night at 6pm sharp, you settle in front of the television and wait for the news. Spiderman, the hero in question, is always up to something. He loves shooting his webs across the tallest skyscrapers in the city, dangling from them precariously without a care before he lets out a loud, earth-shattering giggle and beats the newest bad-guy that your world has attracted. You always wince at the reports, wondering just how he healed from the injuries he must sustain. It had to be down to the spider venom, you supposed.

“He’s dangerous,” Your dad huffs. He’s lounging on his normal armchair, peeling leather be damned, munching on a bag of crisps. You grimace at his crisp covered digits motioning towards the television. You love your dad, really, and your mum - you just always differed in opinions when it came to Spiderman. He was so fucking cool, and you seriously feel like a child saying that all of the time, despite your best friend Jisung telling you that we all have our interests. “I mean, he’s putting normal civilians in danger. Friendly neighbourhood Spiderman my ass.”

“Honey,” Your mother admonishes, digging through her own bag of crisps. You briefly consider why you haven’t been offered one. They look tasty, when your father isn’t rubbing luminous orange dust onto his previously crisp white shirt. “You know she doesn’t like it when you say bad things about him. He- what was the word again, baby?”

“He intrigues me,” You mumble, pretending to erase equations from your homework. Your cheeks blaze crimson when your mother hums in agreement, nodding triumphantly to your father. You wish you could be as sassy as her sometimes. You’re more timid, hiding behind oversized hoodies and Jisung. He is a lot more confident than you, more loud and exuberant - you suppose that’s why he had adopted you as his all those years ago.

Your mother had been best friends with Jisung’s aunt, Sohee. She’s just like Jisung, zipping around the place at an insane pace to offer you snacks and drinks at every second. When you and Jisung had first met in preschool, you’d been drawing patterns in the mud with your grubby little fingers, hiding from the bullies. He’d criticised your drawing. He helped you fix it, though, chubby cheeks puffing out with a grin when it was good enough for his taste. Looking back now, that behaviour was so Jisung, but your mother had been delighted to find out that you’d already met her best friend’s son.

It had been easy becoming friends with him after that. Every day, he’d drag you by your wrist and take you to the yard, insisting on doing your co-operative drawings together. The teachers had a fit everyday on the state of you two by the end of your break, but your mothers had loved it, taking a million and one pictures a second. He stuck up for you both to the teachers, and then he stuck up for you to the bullies and it was like you’d known each other since birth. Inseparable at the hip, you’d been glued together throughout preschool, primary school and now high school - it doesn’t look like you’re getting rid of him anytime soon, either. You’d applied for the same colleges.

You don’t particularly want to be rid of him anyway. He’s alright, really, and you had a bit of a girly, high school crush on him. You would rather jump off of a building like Spiderman sans the webs if anyone found out.

Another thing Jisung is good for is listening to your rants. He waits for your call every night after the news had been on, and you clamber on your bed obediently after the report finishes to press on his contact.

“Jisung!” You squeal. There’s a lot of feedback on his end, and you hear a low ‘shit, fuck, oops, oh God’, until there’s a loud thud and he giggles, chiming through your tinny phone speakers. “... Ji? Are you okay?”

“Yep, sorry, baby,” He sounds out of breath, but you smile when he speaks anyway. Whenever he calls you baby, his designated nickname for you, it makes your heart flutter and you have to grimace to ignore it. His face pops into the little square designated to him, his cheeks blushing pink and round eyes wide. His hair is slightly damp, from what you’re not sure - but he looks cute. “I just got home. I was- I was running some errands for my aunt.”

“God, she’s got you running like crazy lately,” You mumble, still jotting down numbers on your homework. It’s taken you hours, but you always get distracted on nights like this. “Did you see it?”

Jisung hums, and then you hear him groan. He’s stretching, slightly toned honey-skinned arms appearing above his head in the plain oversized t-shirt he’s wearing. You try not to stare. “Did I see what?”

“The- the news, Sungie,” You feel shy mentioning it so outright. It is a weird interest, a weird thing to be obsessed with - Jisung often reassures you that it really isn’t, and his anime obsession was a lot worse. It was. You sigh, clearing your throat. “Spiderman. He was- he was super cool tonight.”

“Ooh, was he?” Jisung teases, chuckling when you groan in protest. “I’m only playing with you, baby. I saw it. He was super cool, wasn’t he?”

“Ha-ha, super cool, ‘cause he’s a superhero. You’re funny.”

“That’s why you keep me around,” Jisung chirps. “Hey, have you done the maths homework? I haven’t had time, because of the errands, y’know.”

“Hmm, yeah, I’m almost finished,” You aren’t. You’re far from it, really, but he doesn’t have to know that. “I can let you copy it tomorrow morning, before class.”

“No, that’s alright, baby. We can just cross-check our answers tomorrow,” His voice sounds tired, but you don’t comment. It’s better not to question Jisung when he’s like this.

His aunt has him doing a lot these days. You haven’t wanted to ask about it because you know it must be tough for her to look after Jisung since his parents passed, especially when Jisung is always going at full speed and is probably seconds away from giving his aunt a heart attack. He was always clumsy as a child, too, snapping his glasses in half and having a few broken bones to tell long stories about. He always means well, but sometimes you wish that he had something else to get his energy out of his system rather than stressing his aunt out.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Jisung, surely you know who Spiderman is, like, underneath the mask,” Seungmin quips through a mouthful of dry, government regulated school food. “You spent all that time with Bang Chan in the internship.”

Seungmin is a lanky boy that just came along one day and decided to be yours and Jisung’s friend. With him, he brought a younger, smiley guy named Jeongin, and Jeongin brought Felix. Felix is just Felix - nothing else can describe him. Before long, you’d found yourself in a de facto group of misfits that you weren’t even sure you could call friends. Apart from Jisung, of course.

Jisung simply raises an eyebrow in response to Seungmin. “I mean, sure. I met Mr Bang a few times, but I never met Spiderman. Not out of his suit, anyway.”

You gasp. Jeongin startles from the nap he was taking on the cafeteria table, raising his head to look at you angrily. Felix pushes his head back down from the hood on his jumper and Jeongin immediately falls back to sleep. “You met him in his suit?”

“Well, yeah,” Jisung shrugs. When he turns to look at you, your mouth is agape, feeling slightly betrayed. Jisung shoves another spoonful of cheese - was it really cheese? - pasta into his mouth, and then he’s sighing. “It’s not a big deal, baby. If I really met him, the real him, you’d be the first to know. I promise.”

“You still got that fat crush on Spiderman?” Felix chirps. You meet his amused gaze with your own steely glare, pouting over your packed lunch.

“It’s not a crush-”

“It’s an interest,” Jisung clarifies for you, and you smile. He’s always jumping to your defence like that. You bite into an apple, savouring the crisp, fruity taste on your tongue, and then the bell rings. Sighing, you watch as the boys around you get up - including Jeongin, fox like eyes bleary from sleep - and swing their bags on their shoulders.

“I’ll see you later,” You murmur to Jisung, who throws his arm around your waist in a quick hug. “Enjoy English.”

Right. You and Jisung didn’t have the same classes. He has English now, and you have chemistry, which is probably your least favourite of all classes. You just weren’t a fan of the whole blowing shit up scenario, unlike Jeongin was, and the boy trundles behind you towards your chemistry class.

The class is boring. The teacher drones on and on about some experiment you couldn’t care less about, and you pretend to care. You’re taking notes, sure, ever the diligent student - but you can’t get anything other than Spiderman out of your mind. Jisung met him, and didn’t tell you, and who even is this guy? You’d love to know. You’d love to just see him, even once, just to be able to tell the story.

A massive crash stops the teacher’s speech. He turns to the door, confused, and the students do the same. You do too, furrowed eyebrows staring at the door. Another crash causes people to begin to rise, and the teacher starts ushering everyone out of the class to the closest exit route. You’re frozen in confusion and fear, pencil halted in your fingers, even as another noise makes the teacher run out behind the class.

It’s quiet for a moment, and you’re still sitting in your seat, eyes wide and heart racing. Then, you spring up to follow the rest of your cohort, sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor as you run to the door. Swinging it open, you stick your head out the door and look around, trying to see if the coast is clear. With a planet full of interdimensional attacks, you can’t be sure, and looking left leads you to see a scaly, large animal type of thing. You squeak, startled, and immediately retreat into the class before it notices you. What the fuck do you do? What are you meant to do?

The whole room begins to shake, and you have a feeling the creature’s getting closer. Beakers are thrown to the floor from the vibration ringing throughout the room, glass shattering loudly, and you feel like you’re about to scream, or cry, or run, and you can’t run.

Doing the only thing you can think of, you cower to the floor, hiding underneath a table donned in smashed beakers. You’re curled up in a ball, watching students standing outside murmuring and discussing their own safety, and then the shaking stops.

The door swings open. Everything outside the classroom is too intimidating, items being thrown everywhere, and you can’t even bring your legs to move with how badly they’re shaking. Who’s just walked in? You pray for Jisung. You pray for someone who’s going to help you hide, someone who’s going to keep you safe, and then-

A masked face pops underneath the table. He’s lithe, slender, but the tight red and dark blue suit highlights the hint of abs and sculpted biceps on his body. Holy fucking shit. Your eyes widen. Spiderman is in your school.

“Are you okay?” His voice is deep, but it sounds almost like someone putting on a deeper voice to hide their identity. You nod hesitantly, and then he’s extending a gloved hand towards you, pulling you out from underneath the table. You’re unable to speak. Once you’re standing in front of him, you notice he’s around a head or so taller than you, but definitely not as tall as you thought he’d be. He sighs, chest heaving with panic. You suppose it must be pretty tough work fighting aliens from outer space. “I’ve webbed him up for now, but it won’t hold much longer. Go- please, go and run. Please, anywhere, just- go and hide, or run.”

“I-I-”

“Promise me, b- um, you. I can’t let you get hurt.”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I- Yes, I promise, I’m going to- I’ll go, thank you, thank you-”

“Wait, no!” He shouts, rubbing his temples - or at least, you’d imagine he was but he’s just rubbing the mask in frustration. You watch as he bounds over to the window, kicking it open, and the students outside turn to the classroom in awe. You’re rooted in place, as if vines are circling your ankles and securing you to the floor, mouth agape. You wait for him to give you further directions, and you gasp when he runs back over to you, picking you up and carrying you over to the window. You feel light as a feather, and all you can think is how he’s even carrying this amount of strength in that small body. “Too risky. Outside.”

“O-Outside?” You stammer, cheeks bright red, and he nods. He leans to place you out of the window, delicately placing you on your feet, and then he speeds off, shouting a quick “see you later!”.

You blink. You can hear the noises of walls breaking and windows shattering as Spiderman fights, and Felix runs up to you from the crowd outside and slings an arm over your shoulder. You’re still staring inside the classroom as if you can see through walls and watch the fight. What did see you later mean?

What’s the likelihood, honestly? You knew he was the friendly neighbourhood guy, and all that, but why not Bang Chan, in his sleek nanotech suit? This was a big fight. You find yourself getting worried, biting your nails in concern for the man you don’t even know. You have to remind yourself of that. He saved you because you’re any other citizen, not for any other specialty - you don’t know this guy.

“C’mon, over here,” Felix ushers you over, tone soft. When you’re with him, Seungmin and Jeongin, he sighs, rubbing your back. “Crazy, right? At least you can say you met Spiderman now.”

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Jisung is safe, thank god. You kind of feel guilty for not worrying about him at the moment, but he’d text you shortly after, saying he’d left just before it all kicked off because he felt a little under the weather. He wanted to make sure you were okay, though, so he texted you as soon as he could. You’d never admit the blush that rose to your cheeks when you read it.

It’s quiet in your room. Your parents had sprinted to you as soon as you’d come through the door, having seen the situation on the news, and you’d reassured them that Spiderman had saved you. It definitely changed your dad’s perspective of him, and now you lie on your bed feeling more than relieved.

Your fingers tap on your tummy in thought, though. He was making his voice deeper, that much you could tell, but why? How was he there so quickly? There’s no fucking way he was a student. Still, that body in the tight suit… you’d definitely been looking. You’re a woman, of course you were going to look. He had a figure enviable to every man. Broad shoulders, abs just slightly visible, strong legs that carried you over to the window…

In your dreamlike fantasy, you’re considering something you previously never would’ve thought of. What if Jisung was underneath that suit? Now, that would be perfect. Both of your crushes being one being, Jisung pulling that suit up his lithe thighs and letting it settle over his broad pecs.

Before you know it, your hand is dipping under the hem of your pyjama pants, unable to feel guilty for thinking about your best friend in this way. Besides, it wouldn’t be the first time, with many of your nights spent whimpering into your pillow and coming apart on your own fingers wishing they were his. He had such nice hands… What if it was him who had grabbed you from underneath that table? Your hand trails down to find your folds, slick and ready for whatever you had in store, but you focus on your clit, swollen and aching between your bottom lips. Would he finger you in the gloves if you asked, let you ride his abs in the suit until completion? Would he kiss you upside down, hanging from the-

A tap on your window makes you jump. The room is dark, save for your bedside lamp, and you turn rapidly to see a faceless figure just about popping in from the corner. You yank your hand out of your bottoms, squeaking, and then you squint to try and see the figure closer.

Holy shit. Spiderman is at your bedroom window.

Your cotton tank top is revealing, so you turn immediately to reach for your dressing gown and tie it around your figure. You pad over to the window in your socks, still wide-eyed and completely baffled, and then you turn the handle to allow him access. What the fuck?

“What the fuck?” You blurt, toes curling against your floor. Spiderman swings inside instead of responding, walking around your room like he’s been there a million times before. “No, seriously, what the fuck?”

He turns to you, shrugging. “I said I’d see you later, didn’t I?”

You blanch. He did say that, yes, but that still doesn’t explain the million questions you have right now. “Well, yeah, but- how do you know where I live?”

“I- uh, found it in the school office,” He hops up onto your bed, sitting cross legged. His mask hides his face, but he hums in pleasure at the feeling of the bedsheets on him. “After the fight, I went in there. Glad you’re okay, by the way.”

He’s still making his voice deeper, and you blink, nodding in response. “I’m great. Can I- can I ask why you’re here?”

He shrugs again, fiddling with a loose thread on your duvet. “No reason. Got bored. I was swinging around and remembered I saw your address on the computer.”

“Right,” You shake your head, still baffled. Instead of questioning him further, you jump onto the bed in front of him and copy his position, cross legged. “Don’t you have, like, recovering to do? I heard you got beat pretty bad.”

“Nah, no way,” He scoffs, rolling his neck. You suppress a smile. Cocky. “Spider venom, y’know? It repairs everything super quick.”

You were right. You can’t suppress a smile at his response, clicking your fingers at his masked face. “I fucking knew it! I guessed it was the venom.”

He stops fiddling with the duvet, turning to you and tilting his head in question. “You’re smart, aren’t you? Hey, are you the one that’s friends with that kid?”

You narrow your eyes. Jisung’s a liar. If Spiderman knows who he is, that means they’ve met more than once, and Jisung lied. You reach for your phone, ready to bitch him out via text, but Spiderman knocks your phone out of your hand. You turn to him, confused.

“Talk to me,” He whines. “I told you I was bored!”

You roll your eyes. “Okay, damn. Yes, I’m friends with Jisung. Why?”

“No reason,” He wiggles forward on your bed, grabbing your hand. You’re confused, but then he launches you into an intense thumb war, one that you were never going to win. Everytime you go to move your thumb in response to his, he’s got you pinned, and before he speaks again you’re five rounds down. “He’s pretty cool, right?”

“Who?” You ask, still focusing on the thumb war.

“Jisung,” He clarifies, clearing his throat. Making his voice that deep must be taking its toll on his vocal chords. “He’s kinda cool. Super smart, I thought.”

“He definitely is,” You laugh when he pins your thumb down again, swatting at his wrist to get him off of you. “He’s smarter than me.”

“And, uh,” He clears his throat again, leaning back on your bed. Leaning back like that, you have a full view of his body in his suit, and you have to stare at the posters on your wall to avoid looking at him. He puts his hands behind his head, the full picture of relaxation, and you wished he’d stop throwing you this random curveball behaviour. “Is that all you think of him? Just smart?”

You blush, finally reverting your eyes to him. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean… Do you have a crush on him, or?”

“Who wants to know?” You bristle, playing with your hands in your lap. You look down at your chipped nail polish, awkwardly shifting on the bed in your pyjamas. “I don’t even know who you are.”

“No one knows who I am,” He responds easily. “I want to know. Tell me. Do you have a crush on him?”

“I’m not telling you that-”

“I’m bored!” He whines again, sitting up. You let him grab your hand again, pulling your pinky finger into a promise. You swear you see the mask smile. “Tell me!”

“Okay, damn,” You sigh, exasperated. Was he on molly or something? Are you dreaming? “I guess so. I guess I always have, yeah, I don’t know. I don’t think he’d ever like me like that.”

He coos at that, taking your hand in his. It’s strangely comforting. “Why not?”

“He’s- well, I don’t think I’m good enough for someone like him,” You admit, scratching the back of your neck. “It’s awkward. He’s my best friend. It would ruin things, and I guess I’ve never let myself think about it like that.”

“You should,” He hums. You blink, staring at him. What the hell is he on about? “I just mean you should. Maybe he likes you too, y’know? I like my best friend. I’d love to know if she likes me back.”

“You do?” You wiggle closer, eager to know more. “You like your best friend? What’s she like?”

“Well,” He strokes your hand again before pulling away, leaning his chin on his hand. “She’s super pretty. Smart, too. I’ve known her since like, forev- for a few years, I think, in total.”

“It’s kind of the same with me and Jisung,” You sigh again, pouting. “I’ve known him for my whole life, basically. I’m just scared it’ll ruin things, but I think about him a lot when I’m on my own.”

He snickers. “Really? Like when you’re doing what you were doing when I got here?”

You swat at his shoulder, blushing bright red. “Shut up, oh my god! I thought you- shut up. Just don’t.”

“Maybe he thinks about you then too, I don’t know,” He shrugs nonchalantly, and then he’s getting up and pacing around. You watch him fiddle with a few photo frames on your desk, humming at ones of you and Jisung when you were younger and even fiddling with a few of your academic medals and prizes. “I won’t tell him, by the way.”

“You see him often?” You ask, voice soft. “He said-”

“Nah, I’ve only seen him once or twice,” He stretches his arms above his head, still staring at your desk full of trinkets. “He doesn’t know who I am.”

“Can I know?”

He turns to you. “Know what?”

“I want to know who you are,” Your voice is confident, but you feel anything but, teeth chewing your bottom lip nervously. “You saved me, and now you’re in my bedroom. I feel that I deserve to know.”

He sighs loudly this time, walking towards the window. “When we get to know eachother better, maybe.”

“Wait, hang on,” You watch him sling a foot out of the window, exasperated. He can’t leave! “Where are you going? I thought you said you were bored-”

“Things to do, baby,” He replies quickly. You blink. That ‘baby’ sounds awfully familiar, and you stand up quickly to walk towards the window, but he’s already webbing away. “Bye!”

You stand there, shocked and confused. He’s swinging from building to building away from you, and you’re just standing there like an idiot. You were interrupted before you could even start touching yourself, forced into a thumb war and coerced into admitting your deepest, darkest secret, and then he just… leaves? Just like that?

Your life is proving to be a little more interesting than you thought, but your dreams were filled with familiar round cheeks beneath a red and blue mask.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“Baby, is there a reason why your eyes are burning holes into the side of my head?”

You’re convinced your best friend is Spiderman. There, sitting beside you with his glasses sliding down his nose and comfortable in a grey hoodie and pink Hello Kitty pyjama bottoms on, it’s hard to believe. But you’re not stupid.

First of all, since he started that internship with Mr Bang, he’s been weird about letting you inside his room. This is the same person that you had many sleepovers with growing up, and as recently as a few months ago you’d been cuddling in bed together watching Howl’s Moving Castle. He has something to hide, but you’d been let down when you’d arrived at his house earlier and shouldered past him to find literally nothing of suspicion inside his room, other than an anime girl mouse pad with the boobs to rest your wrist on. You knew that existed though, ever since his birthday last year when Felix had gifted it to him, so what gives?

Secondly, Sohee is more stressed out than ever. You’d caught sight of her flitting around the kitchen when you arrived for your homework friend-date, scrubs on and ready to head to the hospital but still panicking about something. Jisung said multiple times that he’d been helping her out more and that’s why he’s been so busy lately. She shouldn’t still be panicking.

Thirdly, Spiderman wouldn’t make his voice deeper to you unless you knew him. He wouldn’t need to, or you wouldn’t recognise his voice - unless it’s a habit he’s picked up, perhaps. That doesn’t change that the way he called you baby last night sounded a little bit too familiar, too comfortable. It came out of his mouth like second nature.

Still, it makes no sense. Surely Jisung would have told you? You’re his best friend, he said so, so he’d tell you. Or would he? Maybe Felix knows. You’re also hoping deep down that it isn’t true, because if it is, you told your crush last night that you liked him.

You can’t even be mad at Jisung for it. He’s still staring at you, and you’re staring blankly back while shoving snacks into your mouth. There’s crumbs all over your homework.

“Jisung,” You begin, and he hums in response. “Would you tell me your deepest, most serious secret if I worked it out?”

He chokes on his energy drink, spluttering neon blue liquid all over his bed. You want to giggle, to make fun of him, but you’re sure you’ve gotten somewhere here. He wipes his mouth, clears his throat, and turns back to you. His hands are shaky where they clutch his textbook, and his eyes are almost blurry through the glasses. “I tell you everything anyway.”

“I don’t think you do,” You respond, quick as a beat. He blinks, lips parting. “Not by that reaction, Jisung. I think you’re hiding something from me.”

He scratches his nose with the end of his pen, looking down at the textbook again. You raise an eyebrow. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Okay,” You hum. He sighs, scribbling something on the paper. It’s so quiet in the room that you can hear his pen scribbling, but you’re speaking again before you can even think. “Did I tell you Spiderman came to my room last night?”

He gulps audibly. “Nope.”

“Yeah, it was kinda weird,” You take a sip from your energy drink, still staring at him vacantly. Jisung’s eyes flit up to you, and then back down to the textbook. Oh, he knows. He knows that you know. He knows that you know that he knows. “He saved me in school, when that alien thing was there, and then he came to my room and asked me about you.”

“He, uh- really? Did he?”

“Mhm,” Your gaze is steely. “Jisung, I know you’re Spiderman.”

Jisung bursts out laughing. It would be believable, but you’ve known him since you were four years old and it’s a fake laugh. He’s cackling, loud as brass, and he lets out a little “ooh” afterwards as if he can’t believe you. “Baby, that’s the craziest theory you’ve ever come up with.”

“Is it?” You question, head tilting to the side. Then, in the smartest moment you’ve ever had, you pick up Jisung’s energy drink from the floor. He’s still looking at you, a fake smile on his lips, and you take a sip from it casually. Sharing drinks isn’t new for you. You glug back the artificial blue raspberry flavour, and then keeping eye contact with him, you let go.

Before the can is able to fall and spill the rest of its contents over your own textbook, and inevitably Jisung’s One Piece bed sheets, he reaches out and grabs it, hand wrapping around the can, quick as a flash. It all happens in about a second, and you gasp. Jisung gasps. His hand tightens around the can and it crinkles, an impossible show of strength, and then he’s blinking at you. You raise an eyebrow.

“I knew it.”

He puts the can safely on the bedside table, and then he’s slamming his textbook shut. You watch in confusion as he paces back and forth on his bedroom floor, running his hands through his hair over and over.

“Okay!” He points at you, victorious. “That was a reflex. I knew you were going to do that, I’m smart, duh! I knew you were going to drop the can to prove something, and-”

“Jisung,” You say, voice soft. He stops pacing, sock clad feet rooted on the carpet to stare at you. You’re going to get him. You’re going to get him good. “Do you not want me to know? Is that what this is?”

He immediately falls to the floor, head resting on your knee as he looks up at you. You can’t even feel sorry for him, because your plan is working perfectly. His eyes are round and vulnerable, and then he clenches them shut in distress. You think he’s probably a second away from crying. “Baby, it’s not that. I wanted to protect you. It would be dangerous if the bad guys knew who you were, knew that you knew, and I know I shouldn’t have come to your room, that was wrong of me, and-”

You giggle. Jisung furrows his eyebrows, eyes opening. “I knew I was right.” He gasps, pointing at you again.

“Judas! You’re a judas!” He’s shocked, leaning back on his haunches and staring at you. “I can’t- I can’t believe you, that was so-”

“Sneaky? Good? Smart?” You list, leaning back on his twin bed. He stands up, hands on his hips. You’re ready for him to bitch you out, but you don’t care - you knew that you had to know, had to have it confirmed. He taps his foot, and then you see a smile break out on his lips.

“Okay, yeah, that was pretty good,” He hums, returning to the bed. You let him shut your own textbook and sprawl across you, head in your lap. “I’m sorry, baby. I should’ve told you.”

You sigh, reaching down to run your fingers through his hair. “That’s okay, Ji. It’s fine. I’m just a little embarrassed.”

“Embarrassed? Why?” Jisung asks, his eyes fluttering shut from the feeling of your nails on his scalp. You want to scoff. Embarrassed for two major reasons - one, because you’ve been gushing about how cool Spiderman is for weeks, maybe even months, and two because you told Spiderman last night that you liked Jisung. Spiderman and Jisung are the same person. Sure, it makes things easier. You no longer have a crush on two people, only one, but it doesn’t change the fact that Jisung knows and is yet to say anything.

“I’ve been talking to you about Spiderman for weeks,” You blush, pushing his hair off of his forehead. He whines, thrashing his feet and shaking his head like a dog to hide his forehead again. He’s so dramatic. You like him so bad. “And- and you- it was you, then. You came to my room last night.”

“Yeah, that was risky,” He responds, exasperated. “I just had to, baby. I don’t know, you always seemed so interested in Spiderman and not me. I needed to know if you saw me like you saw him.”

You pause your movements on his head, blinking at the wall in front of you. When you turn back to him, he’s blushing, teeth gnawing his bottom lip. His eyes are conveniently staring at the window, away from you.

“Jisung,” You start, hesitant. “What do you mean?”

He sits up sharply. “Wanna go on the roof?”

“T-The roof? Jisung, how are we gonna- oh. Oh.”

Jisung jumps up from the bed, toeing his sliders onto his feet and pushing the window open. It gives you deja vu - that same figure was pushing the window open just like this to place you safely outside in school yesterday, and then he was coming through your window to see you late at night. It’s hard to believe that they’re the same person, the man you admired so much and your best friend who’s standing by the window expectantly waiting for you to join him.

You hesitantly stand up, brushing off imaginary crumbs from your joggers and looking at Jisung. He smiles, a soft, reassuring smile, and then he’s scooping you up from the floor and wrapping your legs around his waist. It’s slender, the plush flesh of your thighs almost obscuring it, and you squeak in surprise at being in the air.

“I- Jisung?!”

“You have to hold on tight,” He says. His face is inches away from yours, plush lips looking more than appealing and his glasses making him look so endearing. “I need my hands for this, so hold onto my shoulders.”

You nod, face blushing crimson at the realisation of just how close you are. Would he have you like this if he fucked you? Legs around his waist, hands on his shoulders, his face so close to yours as he pants and whines and moans-

You squeak again when he slides out of the window, and then you see him in action. His hands stick to the outside of the apartment building, feet kicking up against the concrete wall. Your heart is racing so badly it feels as though it could burst out of your chest, but you’re not sure if it’s because of the height or because you’re tightly pressed against Jisung.

When he swings you both over the side ledge on the roof, you notice the sun’s set already. Time always goes by quickly with Jisung, but the stars are already out, and the air is crisp and biting against your limbs despite the layers. Once he’s safely stood on the roof, he places his hands underneath your thighs and detaches you from his firm body, placing you on your feet.

You’re disorientated, shocked at the sheer height of the building and at the way Jisung seems to be swinging you around like it’s nothing, but he’s simply staring at you. A wide smile stretches from ear to ear, and he blinks when you don’t say anything. “It’s cool, right?”

“Y-Yeah, super cool,” You admit, chest heaving. “Really high up, but cool. Jisung, why are we on the roof?”

He’s wrangling you, hands on your arms and pushing you to the floor. It feels firm, but with what you now know about him, you know he’s holding back. He plops down next to you, eyes wide and expectant.

“I wanted to do it properly,” He begins. He pauses for a moment, licks his lips, pushes his glasses up his nose, and then he’s speaking again. “I like you, so that’s why I asked. Is it romantic up here? It feels romantic, but I’m not too sure-“

He stands up and begins pacing around the roof before you realise he’s even moved. You raise an eyebrow. “Jisung?”

“I wanted to do this right, y’know?” He pauses, hands on his hips. He looks comical, trying to assert dominance over you like that in those Hello Kitty pyjama trousers. “I- I wanted to swing by and like, grab you, or something? But then you worked it out, and now I’m just standing here with you on a roof…”

He continues mumbling like a mad scientist, eyes focused on a spot next to your head. You stand up, making your way towards him, and he still refuses to look at you. He likes you back. He likes you back, and he’s still your best friend - he’s still Jisung, but he’s also Spiderman, and you’re okay with that. You don’t have to like two people. You only like one, and it’s your goofy best friend.

“Is this even romantic? You know, we could just forget about it and-“

You press your lips to his. He doesn’t make any form of surprised noise, only cupping your cheeks with his hands and pulling you close to him. His glasses bump against your face, his lips pouty against yours and plush and maybe a bit too wet for a first kiss, but you’d always figured he’d take it too far. That’s what you like about him. Jisung never does anything by halves.

It’s brief, too brief for your liking, but then he’s pulling away with a satisfied grin on his face. You blink. Wait.

“Wait, your stupid- your stupid spidey things. Did you know I was going to kiss you?” You pout, and he giggles. “No, seriously! Could you like- I don’t know, feel it coming?”

“Not until you were like, a few inches from my face,” Jisung admits, and his teeth gleam in the brilliance of the evening. “I had a feeling you might.”

You sigh. “So why didn’t you stop talking?”

“Dunno,” He shrugs. “I couldn’t stop once I started.”

The statement is so true to Jisung, so in character for your best friend that you can do nothing but accept it.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

It’s easy to fall into a different routine with Jisung.

He never asked you to be his girlfriend. You’re pretty sure you’re fine with that, though - things have had a natural manner of progressing, and now your best friend slash boyfriend slash superhero turns up at your window every night after he’s been on his neighbourhood patrol. Sometimes he’s a little bruised, and sometimes he’s just looking for consolation kisses.

It’s a normal night for you when it happens. Jisung’s halfway out of your bedroom window on his way to perform perfect justice, pulling his mask down over his annoyingly beautiful face. You’re standing a few feet away grinning like an idiot.

“I’ll see you later, my baby,” You can see his grin through the mask. The eyes on his mask form beautiful crescent moons with his happiness. He falters, legs swinging on your windowsill. “Wait. I am coming back here, yeah?”

“Of course,” You giggle. He sends you two fingers in a mock salute, and you watch him begin his journey up the wall to your roof. A beat passes and you’re still standing there, smiling, hands on your hips, and then the masked head of your best friend pops back down into your window, upside down, tilting to the side in confusion. You blink, confused. “What is it, Sungie?”

“Well, where’s my goodbye kiss? Damn,” He huffs, and you roll your eyes playfully. You make your way to the window, sock-clad feet padding on your carpet, and you pull his mask down to his eyes with two fingers. It miraculously stays on his head, and his lips form a teasing grin.

Despite him being upside down, you place a chaste kiss to his lips, and you watch in amusement as he swings away afterwards. You can still hear him giggling with glee from a few buildings away.

It’s a few hours later when he comes back. You’re flicking through a book for English, scrawling notes and highlighting words on sticky notes. It’s started to rain, and the city lights only look brighter in the dusk with the pattering of water on your window. You left it open, of course, for your superhero, but the cold air bites at your arms even through the fluffy blanket you’ve got wrapped around yourself.

Just as you’re beginning to contemplate closing it, a louder, more prominent tap hits the glass. When you turn to the window, Jisung is slouched against your windowsill, chest heaving beneath red lycra and forehead pressed against the glass. He’s got his mask between his teeth, and his hair is dishevelled, floppy brown locks obscuring his eyes. You can still catch sight of the bruising on his cheekbones and you gasp, rushing towards the window.

You drop your blanket in shock, but you swing the window open, pulling Jisung inside with one hand. He stumbles through, disoriented and confused, and you lead him to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Got hurt,” He explains, huffing out a breath. The mask drops from his teeth unceremoniously, with a wet plop to your carpeted floor, but you don’t care. You rush to sit next to him, fingers gripping his chin to pull him to face you. His eyes are round, sincere, and he gives you a soft smile. “It’ll heal before long, baby, don’t panic.”

“I am panicking,” You say, resolute, because you really are. Bruising is scattered across his cheekbones, fading into green on the plush of his cheeks and his lip looks like it had been burst, but is already healing. “Will it- will it take long? Do you need me to get the first aid kit, or-“

“Baby,” He shakes his head, grabbing your hands. You watch with parted lips as he leans forward, both of you cross legged on the end of your bed. It reminds you of when Spiderman first visited you, when you weren’t quite sure of his identity. Jisung presses his forehead against yours, and you let him look into your eyes. It’s like he’s demanding everything that’s ever gone through your head to be vocalised. You’d tell him if he asked. “I’m really okay. I’m a little shaken up, but I’m fine. Most of it is on my ribs from falling, to be honest.”

“Your ribs?!” You shriek. “Show me. Let me see, I need to help you-“

You’re already trying to wrangle Jisung out of his suit, and he giggles, clearly thinking this is all just some game. He holds his arms up pliantly, though, and you don’t have the thought processing ability within you to realise that Jisung’s suit is an all-in-one and you’re currently stripping him down to his boxers.

The suit is wet too when you drop it to the floor, and before long you’re blinking at your best friend in his plain black boxers and he’s grinning at you as if this is any other day. There’s no bruising on his ribs. You’re staring at his abs, regardless, so you’re not sure you would’ve even noticed.

“You look fine.”

“I told you it heals quickly, baby,” He grins. You blink when he wriggles on your bed, laying on his back and stretching his arms above his head again, this time to get comfortable. His legs stretch out too, and you avoid looking anywhere below his waist.

His body is a spectacle. You can’t stop looking. Broad shoulders taper off into an extremely defined chest and a tight, thin waist adorned with prominent abdominal muscles, before reaching a v-line that leads into his boxers. You’re wide eyed, wanting nothing more than to reach out and run your fingers down his honey toned skin.

“Why-“ You cough, clearing your throat. Jisung raises an eyebrow. He’s grinning from ear to ear, teeth gleaming. “Why did you let me strip you if you’re literally fine?”

The bruising on his cheek is already fading. He shrugs nonchalantly, crossing his arms over his chest. His biceps bulge with the movement and you think you might choke on your own spit. “You seemed pretty determined, so I just allowed it. You wanted to see me naked, I assumed, so-“

“Jisung!” You wail, slapping his shoulder. He groans in pain, catching your hand, and he grits his teeth with a hiss.

“My shoulder! Fuck, that hurt, ouch, baby! What was that for?!”

You gasp. He clutches his shoulder, letting out little pants of hurt sounding noises. You let your head fall to his chest, engulfing him with a hug. “Jisung, I’m so sorry-“

“Hehe,” He giggles. When you look at him, he’s sticking his tongue out, completely fine. You groan, annoyed you fell for it, and then he’s grabbing your forearms and pulling you upwards on top of him.

Your breasts press against his chest like this, due to your lack of bra in your sleep shirt, and his eyes widen when he feels it. Instead of letting you go, his hands move to your back, encompassing you in his strong hold.

You gasp, wiggling in his grip, and he licks his lips. His eyes go to your lips, and then back up to your eyes, as if he’s hesitant.

“I-“ He begins, faltering. “Are you my girlfriend?”

You scoff out a laugh. “I don’t know, am I?”

“I hope so,” Jisung admits, his facial expression vulnerable. His eyes dart to something behind you, as if he’s not sure, almost shy. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him shy. “I don’t know. I didn’t ask, but I want you to be, if you want to be.”

“I want to be,” You nod. He nods in response, and you watch his eyes flicker to your lips again. It’s silent for a moment, and then he leans in, pressing his lips against yours.

The kiss is more charged than usual. Before now, you’re used to chaste, fleeting kisses from your superhero, but now he lets his tongue tease against the seam of your lips. Your eyes flutter shut, and his eyelashes brush against your skin where he does the same. You let your lips part, and Jisung’s quick to grip your back harder, tongue darting inside your mouth with impatience.

You’ve made out with someone before. You’d never had sex with someone before, but you had made out with someone. It was only once at a party when you were a little bit younger but it had felt like a good idea at the time. You’re sure Jisung’s lost his virginity though, but when he whimpers against your lips and his hips squirm a little you’re not too sure.

You pull away from the kiss, lips a little wet, and Jisung’s mouth goes to your neck. You allow him to suck a mark into the expanse of skin just underneath your jaw, his fingers grabbing impatiently at your back. “Sungie, are you a virgin?”

Jisung pulls away, licking his lips. You feel something hard pressing against your thigh where you lay on top of him. You’re thanking every entity ever that your parents are out for a work dinner. “Yeah, I am. I would have told you if I wasn’t,” He confirms, a little breathless. His hips wiggle again. “Is that- is that okay, baby?”

“Yeah, of course,” You smile, comforting. You peck his lips again and he grins back at you. “I am too.”

“I know,” He responds, quick as a flash. You blush. That’s embarrassing. “No, I just mean- you also would’ve told me, y’know?”

“That’s true,” You shrug. You’re feeling a little overconfident, and you move in his hold, having felt it gone a little lax with your kissing. You let your thighs spread over his hips, his hard shaft pressing against your core through your pyjama bottoms and his boxers. You still feel it, though, and it makes your pussy gush a little. “Is- is this okay?”

He’s blushing. His lips part, and he nods, perhaps too eagerly because he clutches his neck afterwards like he’s got whiplash. “Baby, you’re- I have a pretty girl in my lap. This is so okay. Like, so okay, I might have a heart attack and die, probably.”

You shift, and he winces. “Sorry,” You say. It’s a fake apology. You want to swallow his cock down your throat until he cries, and you don’t even know how to. You’d try your best though. “If I lost my virginity, I’d want it to be with you.”

“Damn,” Jisung whistles, eyebrows raised. “Let me hit?”

You giggle, tilting your head to the side. “I’ll let you hit right now, Jisung.”

Jisung shoots upwards into a seated position. His eyes are wide. “Right now?”

“Right now,” You confirm. You go from straddling his lap to laying on your back on your bed in a flash, and Jisung looms over you, all tight, toned muscles and broad shoulders.

“I’ll make it so good, baby, I promise,” He says, and then he’s kissing you again. It’s even messier this time, lips pressing against yours over and over and his tongue adding a collection of spit to the mix. You let your thighs fall apart, his hips quick to fill the space and press his cock against you. His hands go to your waist as he kisses you, sucking and biting on your lips until you’re whining with it, but he doesn’t let up. He’s desperate, messy, and it’s only making your pussy drool even more.

The rain hits the window still, cooling off a little but still providing a calming effect to your room when combined with the orange-pink of your lamp. He inches his palms up your shirt, the softness of his hands surprising you, and then he’s pulling away from your mouth to yank the fabric over your head.

You’re left in just your pyjama bottoms, lips kiss bitten and nipples pebbled against the cool air of your bedroom. You never had shut your window, after all.

“Oh,” Jisung says, exasperated. You finally open your eyes to see him staring at your tits, and you think he might be drooling. “Oh, yeah, my baby. They are so fucking good.”

You almost laugh, but you’re cut off by your own strangled moan when his pouty lips engulf your right nipple. He sucks on it, hard, and when your back arches he lets it slip out of his mouth with a wet popping noise. It’s only a brief moment of reprieve before he’s letting his teeth skim along the bud, and you keen, fingers moving upwards from his shoulders to grip onto the pillow behind your head.

“Oh, that’s so- Sungie, baby, that feels good,” You whine, and he hums against your breast. When he moves to the other one, he tweaks your wet nipple between two fingers. It’s experimental, but the whole thing is, and you buck your hips up impatiently.

His hands move to your ass, scooping underneath you and making you grind slightly against him. The movement makes him moan, your nipple leaving his mouth. A string of drool attaches to his lips and his tongue lolls out lazily, and before you can process it, he’s grinding his cock into your clothed centre.

“Oh- oh, fuck,” He whines, eyes clenching shut. You whimper in response, arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Baby- baby, baby. Baby, I’ve thought about this so much, I- fuck, you’re gonna feel so good around my cock.”

His words are so crude that they make you keen, nodding enthusiastically. “I thought about it too. I- I touched myself thinking about it, Sungie, did you?”

He gasps sharply, and there’s a fumbling between your legs. He rocks backwards on his haunches, and you see him gripping his cock impatiently underneath his boxers, fingers wrapped tight around the base.

“I will literally cum if I imagine that,” He huffs, breathless. “But yes. I did, many times, and- and- baby, can I see your pussy?”

It’s so bold that you can’t say no. You never would have dreamed of saying no anyway, and you nod, wiggling your bottoms down your legs. You never wear a bra or panties underneath your pyjamas, and your pussy is revealed to him in all its drooly glory, folds sticking together with your arousal.

Jisung’s jaw goes slack. You watch him jerk his cock, eyes fixated on your wet hole, and you shift impatiently.

“I showed you mine, Sungie,” You huff. “Show me yours.”

He nods, eyes still glued to your pussy. Your clit is swollen with arousal, some wetness stuck onto it, and you reach down to trace your fingertips over it absentmindedly while he pushes his boxers down. His cock slaps up against the bottom of his tummy, cockhead leaking beneath his foreskin, precum slicking the smattering of hair at his base. His balls look heavy, shaft swollen and fat between lithe thighs, and you can’t help but go a little googly eyed at the thought of him stretching you out.

He grabs it, pumps his cock a few times while you rub your fingers over your clit. “Is- is it okay, baby?” He gasps, cock leaking steadily in his fist.

“You’re so sexy, Sungie, ‘s so big. I- oh,” You whine, spreading your arousal over your folds. You prop your feet up, letting your legs fall wide, and the movement must expose your soppy hole to Jisung because his eyes widen even further. “I want you inside of me so bad. I’ve wanted it for so long, I just- shit, Jisung, what are you-“

You’re cut off by him diving between your legs. His cock is forgotten, his hands looping around your ass again to spread you wide, and his tongue presses against your core. He moans at the taste, and you whimper out loud, head rolling against your pillow. It’s messy and you can tell he’s inexperienced, but when he sucks your clit between his lips you can’t find it in you to care.

“Oh, oh- baby, baby! You’re good at that, so good at that, baby,” You babble, trying your best not to grind up into his mouth. His mouth is just as wet as your pussy, his lips drooling all over you. You’re cut short when he flattens his tongue against your core, moaning out loud, and his hands move your ass just a bit. “I- you- Sungie-?”

“Grind on my face, baby, c’mon,” He murmurs, muffled by your folds, and you oblige. Your hand goes to his hair, yanking on the dark brown strands, and you hold him in place while you grind your pussy senseless on his tongue. Your boy is good with his mouth, you realise - he’s pliant, letting you make yourself cum on his tongue and lips, and after only a few grinds you’re sure you’re going to fall apart for him.

“Ah! Ah, oh, baby, your mouth is- Sungie, Sungie,” You whine, feet kicking on the bed. Your legs go flat, but as the pleasure builds up in your core, your thighs tighten around his ears. He likes this, moaning loud to the point the vibrations make you jolt. It’s all so wet, your pussy dripping with arousal and his saliva, dripping down to your asshole. It has you wondering if Jisung would eat your ass further down the line, and your eyes flicker to his - would he let you eat his? He probably would, with how submissive he’s being.

His hips buck downwards on the bed and he keens into your pussy, and you realise he’s humping your mattress. He’s so desperate for you that he just can’t help himself, and you moan, loud and unabashed. The sight has you hurtling towards your orgasm.

“I’m gonna fucking cum, baby,” You warn, and he finally lets up, pulling back to suck on your clit. His hand moves over to the top of your pussy, pulling your mound backwards, and the exposure of your clit directly to his lips is your downfall. You wail, bucking your hips into his mouth, and you can hear yourself talking and moaning but you’re not sure what you’re saying, only able to feel your hole gushing into Jisung’s mouth over and over.

Jisung licks over your clit a few times comfortingly, and then he’s on top of you again, face looming over yours. His right hand holds him up steadily and the other stays downwards, hooked on your thigh to keep you open.

“You taste delicious, baby,” He grins, mouth wet. When he presses his lips to yours he’s desperate, tongue darting into your mouth to let you taste your own cum. You let your hands fall to his chest, fingernails digging into the muscles. The filthiness of it all has you wriggling around impatiently again, and Jisung’s cockhead slips against your clit, making you whine into his mouth. He pulls away, gasping for air with the sensation, and you kiss the beauty spot on his cheek for good measure. “Baby. M-my baby, shit, can- can I fuck you now? Have you got a condom, I- shit, I need to fuck you?”

He’s breathless, giggling at his own desperation, and you nod eagerly. You’re on the pill, and realistically you’d want nothing more than him to creampie you, but you have a shred of logic still left in your brain. “No condom. I- I don’t have any, can you pull out? I know it’s not-“

“Don’t care,” He huffs, legs moving to prop himself up more securely. His knees dig into your bed, and he pulls your thigh further apart, letting his eyes fall down to your pussy. His face is more than pornographic when he sees the visual of his cockhead sliding through your folds, eyebrows furrowed and lips parted. He lets his eyes flutter shut, a small profanity leaving his mouth. “You’re sure I can fuck you raw? I- please, p-please, baby. I need to be inside.”

“Jisung,” You whine. He lets his tip bump against your clit again, and you grow too desperate, reaching down yourself to grab his cock. The feeling makes him whimper, his fingers ripping into the pillow beside your head with his superhuman strength, but you’re too out of it to care. You position his cock by your hole, soppy and wet with your own cum, and he can’t hold himself back - he pushes in, all of it at once, a long, anguished noise leaving his mouth. “Oh. Oh- Oh, Jisung, that’s-“

“Is it okay? Are you okay?” Jisung asks, breathless. “Does it hurt? I- baby, baby-“

He’s still completely stationary, but he can’t stop talking, chest heaving and flushed pink. You shake your head. It doesn’t hurt. You’re wet enough that he glided in so easy, stretching your pussy in the most pleasurable, delicious way. You didn’t think it would ever feel this good, but you’re sure it’s because it’s Jisung.

“God, is it- does it feel good?” He questions you, and you nod eagerly, hands moving to rest on his biceps. He repositions you both so that your legs are wrapped around his waist, his arms holding himself up over you, and the movement has him sliding deeper, making you whimper. “Can I-“

“Fucking hell, Jisung, can you just move?” You huff, annoyed, and he giggles. He shakes his head fondly, and then he’s thrusting into you, slow but steady.

“Oh, that’s good,” He slurs, eyes rolling back into his head. “That pussy’s good. Jesus, you’re- you’re tight on my cock, baby, like a fuckin’ vice.”

“Your cock is so good,” You whine, trying to fuck yourself back on him. Your pussy is so wet that every thrust makes an audible noise, ringing throughout your room. If anyone walked past now they’d hear the debauchery, and you’re not sure you’d even care. “Fuck, Jisung- Jisung, you’re big. Please, please, more, I need more!”

“Okay, okay,” He moans, and then his hips speed up. His balls slap against your asshole with every thrust, his cock pistoning into you at a pace that has you wailing. The headboard slams against the wall. “Oh, fuckin’- baby, this puusssy.”

“It feels so good. Your cock is stretching me out so good, baby-“

“Fuck, wait,” He whines, pulling out sharply. When you look down between his legs his cock is painfully hard, and his pubic hair is drenched with you. The sight makes you even more eager to get him back inside of you, but Jisung grabs the base of his cock tightly, his chest heaving. “I- I’ll cum if you talk like that. Fuck, this is so embarrassing!”

“I want you to cum,” You insist, leaning up on your elbows. Your pussy is still leaking steadily onto your bedsheets, and you make grabby hands at your boy to try and get him back inside of you. “You made me cum so good in your mouth, Sungie, c’mon. Make yourself cum with my pussy.”

“Oh my God,” He moans, eyes half lidded, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re dirty. My fucking dream, holy shit.”

He leans over you once more, pushing his cock inside of you. It slides back in easily with another wet noise, and you moan, smiling with delight. “Mm, fuck this pussy, baby, c’mon.”

“I- fuck, okay,” He keens, nodding. His teeth bite into his lower lip almost painfully, and you kiss his neck while he starts to fuck into you again. With a quick reposition you let your thighs fall apart and further back, and his cock starts to hit your g-spot incessantly. He pulls away from you, head lolling into your neck. His breaths fan over your skin, hot and heavy. “You’re so wet, why are you- how are you so wet, baby? This pussy, fucking- I’m gonna cum. I’m so close, I’m so close, please-“

The shred of logic has left your brain. His cock feels so good, thick and pressing inside of you. You have to let him do it. “Baby. Baby, do y’wanna- I’m on the pill, baby,” You say, breathless. His pace stops, hips halting, and he makes a confused noise. “Cum inside. Creampie this hole, Sungie, I know you want to.”

“Oh my fucking- baby? My baby, can I?” He wails, head pulling up to look at you. You catch sight of tears brewing in his eyes, glassy and unshed. “Baby, please, I’m gonna cum, please, where-? Baby?”

“Inside of me, Sungie,” You wrap your legs around him, pulling him inside of you, deep. You know he could get out of it if he wanted to, but he doesn’t, hips starting to pick up inside of you again. It’s fast, desperate and he keens, nodding. “You gonna fill me up, yeah?”

“Yeah. Y-yeah, yes, oh- I’m gonna fill you up,” Jisung’s words are slurred, quiet, and you let him fuck into you over and over. With a sharp noise, his hips slow once more, and you feel a rush of additional wetness inside of you. It’s warm, and you run your fingers through his hair while he fucks his cum inside of you. “Fuck. Baby, you’re so good to me, so good. Lettin’ me breed your cunt, and- and- oh. I’m still-“

He’s still cumming. It floods out of his cock and into your pussy steadily, and you giggle, feeling sated. Your delighted state of mind only lasts a second, because he pulls out sharply and wiggles down on the bed, attaching his mouth to your cunt. He’s eating his own cum out of you.

“Oh! Oh, Jisung, you’re- you’re dirty, Sungie, ah-“ You whine, fingers moving to his hair again. He licks you over and over until you’re wailing with it, your own tears brimming in your eyes from the overstimulation. Your hole feels stretched, a feeling you’re sure you could get used to, and you shake through a second orgasm.

Jisung’s quick to lean over you again, and then his thumb moves to your chin. He opens your mouth firmly, spitting your combined release into your mouth, and you moan, letting him press his tongue between your lips afterwards.

It’s messy and you let him kiss you for a bit, slow, languid, passionate kisses that have your core almost throbbing for more, if you weren’t so satisfied. Jisung’s soft cock presses against your tummy, wet with your combined arousal, and then he flops down next to you with a huff.

“God, I could go again,” He admits, hand running through his sweat mussed hair. When you turn to him, he’s grinning from ear to ear, and you giggle. He looks at you with a satisfied expression. “You’re the best. That was literally like, the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life. Even more than when I win some fight against an alien, or something.”

“Alien?” You ask, and then you remember. “Oh, yeah. Kinda forgot about that.”

“You forgot about me saving your life?!” He shrieks, thrashing around on the bed in a tantrum. “Seriously, if I wasn’t in love with you I would- ah. Oh.”

You blanch, blinking at him. It’s easy to ignore that you’re both naked when he’s just dropped a bombshell on you like that, and you let out a giggle. “That was sweet. I’m in love with you too, for the record.”

You’re attacked in a flurry of kisses, and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You’re sure Han Jisung intrigues you just as much as his superhero alterego does, so it’s easy to accept.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

the wall between us

kinktober, day sixteen

a/n: ...yeah, this one is weird, but also kinda wild

summary: pov, you live in a cult where there is an impregnation ritual on your 18th birthday

warnings: steve harrington x reader, smut, cult au (they are both members), cult leader!jim hopper, weird birthday impregnation ritual, public sex, fem gloryhole, breed kink, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, forbidden romance

word count: 773

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

masterlist | join my taglist | kinktober 2023

“Always a blessed day when a flower blooms and becomes ready to expand on our wonderful family,” you heard Jim, your charismatic and adorn leader boast from the other side of the thin wooden wall, “now, gentlemen, let us bow our heads and pray, please, grant me the power to deduce who will bless this girl with a babe….” after a moment of dead silence, Hopper broke it with a loud, “ah! I can see it!” the others in the audience rumbled as he finally revealed, “it is you!”

“Me, sire?” a voice in the crowd cut through, sounding completely taken aback. 

“Yes, you bear the seed she needs, my child,” his proclamation prompted the other members to cheer loudly as you heard footsteps near. 

Laying on your back, legs resting up against the wall, you felt a gust of wind kiss your bottom that stuck out of the meticulous cut-out, indicating that a person had stepped up.  

“Hi,” he greeted in a hushed tone, the crowd still bustling from behind him. 

“Hello,” your fingers apprehensively fiddled with the fabric of your white dress, crumbled and gathered at your waist. 

“Uh, happy birthday.”

“Oh,” you blinked a second, surprised by his demeanour, “thank you.”

“Can I ask you something?” his low voice was clear, though his touch hadn’t found you yet.

“Sure.” 

“Are you nervous?” 

“A little, yeah,” you gnawed at your bottom lip, “I’ve just waited for this for a very long time… are you?”

“I know I shouldn’t be, but he’s just never picked me before, so…” he admitted, staying quiet a moment before checking, “is it alright if I begin?”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you rushed to say, adrenalin pumping through your veins. You sucked in a sharp breath as you felt his touch ghost over your skin, just your hip, the exposed part of you that was the furthest away from your core. Your fingers tightened their grip on your dress as his gentle touch slowly fluttered closer to your presented pussy, “is it strange that I wish I could see you?”

“Not at all,” he nearly chuckled, “I feel the same way,” his broad thumb came up to brush over your glistening folds, his touch staying ever so light as he tickled your clit. 

Just then, you heard a heavy pair of boots come near, “come on, son,” you heard Jim whisper into the man’s ear, “you haven’t got all day,” a threatening aura laced his tone, “complete the ritual,” a callused hand suddenly crept over your skin, “look,” and without warning, a finger plunged into you causing you to gasp, “she’s practically begging for you to pump her full,” momentarily curving his digit, he tickled a spot inside of you that made you shiver, “don’t make me pick somebody else,” though his controlling touch then faltered, parting ways by swiftly landing a sharp slap across your bottom, a hushed yelp bubbling from your lips. 

“I’m sorry, sire,” the man quickly apologised, hastily rushing to bury himself in you. 

Turning his attention back towards the crowd, Jim then roared, “and the ceremony has officially begun!” boisterous cheers promptly erupted, “soon we will be blessed with more abundance!” 

Keeping his voice low, you heard the man whisper as he bucked into you, “I’m sorry, I really wanted to do this differently, take our time…”

“It’s alright,” you breathed, “it’s how it's done…” your whole body rocked with each of his efforts to fulfil his duty. Planting your palm on the wood parting you two, where you presumed his visage was, you couldn’t help but imagine what he looked like… exactly the way his hips snapped into you… had his hair fluttered down to obscure his vision? Was he looking at you and you alone? Because if he looked anything like how he sounded or how he felt, then you couldn’t even begin to comprehend what that could mean, but what you did know was that it enticed you in a way you’d never felt before, “…maybe one day we’ll meet again and there won’t be a wall between us. Will you show me then how you had wished to do it?”

With a low and strangled moan, you felt him twitch inside of you and his movements quickly slow as he filled you up. 

“What’s your name?” he asked breathlessly. 

“Y/n,” you felt your heart flutter as you stared at the wall, “and yours?”

“Steve,” he whispered, his touch warm as his fingers fluttered over your goosebump-ridden flesh, “I’ll find you, Y/n. I don’t know how, I don’t know when, but I promise I won’t stop till I do.”

© 2023 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[octuscle]

My family is very rich, but my father's recently gotten into some legal trouble and our accounts are frozen until that's sorted out, which surely won't be too long. Until then I've had to move in with our landscaper and his son. Carlos is so infuriating! He's an uneducated and tatted up thug with horribly ghetto fashion sense who spends all his time lifting weights or getting into trouble on the streets. He's very hard to live with, but maybe I'll end up being a good influence and rub off on him while I'm stuck here?

It's not easy at the beginning. Carlos is such a lazy good-for-nothing. You tell him about the start-ups you've just founded or the ones you wanted to invest in. He doesn't seem to listen to you at all. He's playing with his cell phone, pumping his biceps with dumbbells. He usually doesn't say a word. To improve your influence on him, you accompany him to the gym. It's amazing. Even though he is usually sluggish, he is focused and disciplined here. Of course, the gym is nothing like the health club where you used to train. But there's nothing wrong with staying in shape. So you sign up. If you tidy up in the evening, mop the floor and clean the toilets, you can even train for free and get a few extra dollars. That's great, especially as it gives you more time to exert your good influence on Carlos.

Somehow Carlos is getting more and more careless. The more time you spend at the gym, the less he shows up. You and your bros at the gym think it's all very stuffy. He also wears less cool clothes. He asks if he can wear some of the shirts you've managed to save. No problem for you, you usually wear his old gym clothes anyway. It's not worth changing your clothes either. Either you're at the gym or you're hanging out with your gym buddies. One of them took you to the tattoo artist the other day. You look hot with that tattoo on your chest. But tattoos are really expensive! One of your bros organizes a job for you as a meat cutter at the slaughterhouse. That's great, then you can work there early in the morning, then have a nap, go to the gym, tidy up and clean and go straight back to the slaughterhouse. It's pretty exhausting. But you have your bros around you the whole time. Only Carlos, the philistine, you hardly ever see. Sometimes, when you do train together again, he asks you a few questions about the startup shit. Dude, you'd better deal with that when you're back in your penthouse. Shit, it's going to be a sick party with your bros and the other guys from the slaughterhouse. But you're happy to help Carlos. The little prick doesn't seem to get anything else together. His parents hardly ever get to see him either.

Carlos moves out of his parents' house. Apparently, the second round of financing has raised 200 million dollars. For some fucking fitness plan app. Shit, you used to have a similar idea. How could Carlos the little prick steal it from you? And how did he even know how to create a pitch deck and raise a financing round? And now it's only just come out that this is his second startup. He implemented the first idea and had a modest exit. But at least he was successful enough to buy your old penthouse at a foreclosure auction. His parents say that you shouldn't be sad. You would be like a son to them. And of course you can stay with them in Carlos' room.

Carlos is cool. On the cover of every business and digitization magazine. The rising star in the startup sky. Somewhere you read shit like "Ingenious combination of big data, big business and big muscles". Supposedly he also bought your family's house on Long Island. Fuck that. He gave you that cool necklace for your birthday. And a voucher for the tattoo artist. You got a tattoo of raw meat. To mark you as a stallion from the slaughterhouses. This is your home. And your destiny.

[moonferry]

ISMHO CHAPTER 4: I CAN'T HELP BUT WONDER

i know what you're thinking and yes the title is from epic the musical. kent &sam are so ody and telemachus to me. anyway, this one was nice to write. i love samfam so so much. the entire family is so so so important to me.

ALSOOO there are some easter eggs to my other works - forever stuck in our youth and when the sun burns too bright so you can read those too, if you'd like.

BIG thanks to my friend moona (spacesapphi on tumblr and sapphiresstars on ao3) for helping with some ideas found in this chapter :3 he is also a writer and they're currently writing an AMAZING shane centric fic called "moving forward, spiraling downward" i highly recommend. ALSO thank you to my friend sock (siredgarre) for some of their headcanons about vincent :D

summary:

jodi shows kent the concert, and sam and kent finally talk things out!!

word count: 3726

other chapters: chapter masterlist

ao3 link: here

warnings: mentions of past death, parental absence

as always, full chapter below the cut :3

Distant, muffled voices talked quietly, although one of the voices appeared quite exasperated. 

“How’d the show go?” A masculine, gruff voice asked. It was followed by momentary silence and then a sigh. 

“Kent..” the other voice started, the exhaustion clearly evident in her voice. Jodi pinched the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes tightly as she wondered how to tell her husband about the day’s events. She continued, “It was.. Certainly something.” 

“Oh?” Kent asked, raising his eyebrow at Jodi’s choice of words. He eyed his wife warily - searching for the cause of her distress. He knew Jodi preferred softer, piano-esque music and that Sam’s band could be quite noisy, but Jodi always spoke highly of their son - especially his performances. 

“What’s wrong, Jo? Did.. did something happen?” Kent asked, extending his hand out and carefully holding Jodi’s wrist. 

Jodi sighed once more and gave Kent’s hand a small squeeze. She looked towards Sam’s bedroom door, her eyebrows furrowing together in worry. She spoke, “Well.. it’s just.. You know how important this was to him, right, honey?’ 

Kent knew. Of course he did. Sam was always excited about his shows, Kent knew this, too.. But this one felt different - in a way. The previous weeks, Sam had been especially secretive about his plans and would constantly ask Kent if he was sure he’d be at the show. And, despite constant reassurance and Kent telling Sam that yes, he would be there, he… wasn’t. He could only imagine how upset Sam had been.

Kent nodded, though he braced himself. He could feel that there was an upcoming “but” in Jodi’s words. 

“I know how large crowds make you uncomfortable, so I decided to record it for you,” Jodi explained, fishing around in her small purse and pulling out her digital camera (one that had actually belonged to Kent’s mother and was given as a gift near the time Sam was born - “To capture memories,” Misty had insisted. Jodi kept it ever since). 

“The show was amazing. Oh, they all sounded great!” Jodi exclaimed enthusiastically, recalling the better part of the concert, “Sam even had a special surprise, just for you, dear,”

As she was retelling her story, Jodi frowned slightly before continuing, “And then.. Sam.. um… He.. Well, I think it’s better for you to see for yourself.” She pursed her lips into a thin line, extending her palm - which contained the small camera - towards her husband. 

Kent raised an eyebrow, skeptical, though he took the camera from Jodi’s hands. He took a deep breath - hesitating to prepare himself for whatever he’d see - and pressed the play button. 

The video started off as normal - showing the Goblin Destroyers intro followed by the band members performing several joint songs before moving onto individual pieces.However, Kent noticed Sam seemed… off throughout the entire first half of the show. Nervous, almost. He played wrong notes and - for a reason Kent couldn’t quite determine - kept looking at the audience, almost expectantly. Eventually, it was time for Sam’s song. Kent watched, listening intently as Sam began a small speech before the song. 

His voice sprang out, sounding boxy from the old speakers, “This song is for my dad, Kent Neilson. I hope you enjoy it, Dad.” Kent listened to the following song with a curious interest, one that was almost matched with his own guilt. 

So.. this is why he wanted me there, Kent thought to himself, his chest tightening as a pang of guilt resounded through it, And I let him down. 

He continued to listen to the song, nodding his head along to the soft strum of the guitar. Something about the guitar felt.. Familiar almost. Kent couldn’t place it for the longest time. He found himself staring at it as Sam finished the last line of the song, and, just as Kent recognized it, the unthinkable happened. 

Kent watched the video and his eyes widened in horror as Sam hoisted the guitar over his head before letting it crash against the metal of the stage. The image of the video then went skewed - as if whoever was recording had dropped it in surprise. What followed next was distorted audio, although Kent could decipher people arguing. Eventually, the video resumed and Sam was nowhere to be found. 

All Kent could see - the audio was still quite distorted at this time - was Sebastian and Abigail approaching Jodi, worried expressions on their faces. He brought the device closer and tried to decipher what was being talked about. 

The only thing he managed to hear was the end of Abigail’s last sentence, it appeared she had handed something to Jodi and, while looking sadly, said, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Neilson.. About Mr. Neilson’s guitar.. This was all that we could salvage..” There is a brief pause, followed by a small sniffle from Jodi. As the item passed to her hand, it was in the camera’s view long enough for Kent to read it. The video then cuts off. 

Kent stares as the video fades into a black screen. He closes his eyes, burying his face into his palms with a long, drawn out sigh. 

Jodi approaches her husband and places a caring hand on his shoulder. She rubs small, comforting circles as she tries to console him, “I’m sorry, honey.. I know how much you cared about that guitar..” 

“It’s just a guitar. There are thousands like it..,” Kent dismissed with a small shrug. He leaned into Jodi’s caring touch before opening his eyes. He glanced toward the tightly shut door to the left of the living room. He continued, furrowing his brows together, “I’m more worried about Sam, to be honest.” 

Kent sighed, rubbing his forehead. He turned to his wife and added, “It’s not like him.. I.. I can’t help but feel like I’m partially responsible.” 

“Sweetheart,” Jodi started, a small frown forming on her own lips, “Don’t blame yourself.”

“No, listen to me, Jodi,” Kent retorted, shaking his head. He carefully explained, “You and I both know how he was counting on me to be there.. And I let him down.” 

“I’m sure he understands, Kent..” 

“Sure he does. He’s the most understanding person I know,” Kent replied with a proud nod. He continued, “But that doesn’t make it fair to Sam. He did something special for me - put this whole thing together - and I couldn’t even show up. That isn’t something a father should do, Jo.” 

Kent continued his speech, allowing his thoughts to run freely, “I mean.. Do you know everything that I’ve missed over the years? Countless birthdays, anniversaries, and far too many of Sam’s concerts.” 

“Sam is 24, Jodi. Twenty-four. He’s basically a man now and I.. I missed all of it. I know it hasn’t been easy for you, Jo - and I will always regret that -, but I know it’s been especially hard for Sam,” The words spilled from Kent’s mouth and he buried his face deep into his palms. He added, “I wish I could’ve been there for him.” 

“But.. I wasn’t. And.. I don’t know how to make it up to him,” Kent admitted sadly. A small sniffle left Kent’s nose and his breath hitched as he said the next words, “I don’t even know if I can anymore.”

“That may be true,” Jodi started, reaching her hand over and gently placing it on Kent’s own. She gave it a careful squeeze, waiting for him to look at her. She continued, “But, you know what you can do?” 

“What?” Kent asked, looking at his wife, confused. 

“Talk to him.” 

Kent nodded. He pushed himself into a standing position. Before moving any further, he leaned down, carefully squeezing Jodi tightly, and placed a big, affectionate kiss onto Jodi’s cheek. He beamed at his wife and exclaimed proudly, “Jodi Neilson, you are the smartest woman in the world.” 

Jodi blushed sheepishly, leaning into Kent’s kiss. Then, she laughed and gently pushed Kent away, “Okay, okay. I love you, too, Kent.” She shook her head at her husband’s antics, before motioning him onward, “Now go talk to our son.” 

Kent walked towards Sam’s door. He took a deep breath before knocking two knuckles against the door. As he did this, Kent spoke, “Sam? Can I come in? It.. it’s Dad.” 

Silence. 

Kent sighed, resting his forehead against the door. He tried once again, “Sam?” Once again, there was no response. Kent pursed his lips together.

“Your mother.. She showed me your performance,” Kent explained, hoping his words reached Sam through the small gap between the door and its frame. He continued, “You sounded really good.”

“Ah.. I remember when you were younger. You were always crawling into my lap - barely able to hold the guitar - begging me to teach you how to play,” He recounted, a small smile spreading across his lips. Then, the smile soon faded as he remembered that the very guitar he was imagining so fondly was now a pile of splinters in some Zuzu City dumpster. 

Kent paused for a moment before adding, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” 

When he was greeted with more silence, Kent gave an understanding nod and sighed. He turned to walk away - as it was clear Sam didn’t want to talk. However, just as he was about to give up, the door opened with a soft click. 

Behind it stood a remorseful looking Sam, his arms crossed over his chest. He did not meet Kent’s gaze. Kent reached out and attempted to place a caring hand on his son’s shoulder. 

Sam stopped him, shaking his head and pushing his hand away. He looked at Kent sadly and stated matter-of-factly, “You promised you’d be there.” 

“Sam..I..” 

“But you weren’t,” Sam interrupted, his anger slowly returning. He clenched his fist - shaking as a wave of emotion washed over him. He continued, “Why?  Why weren’t you there..?  You promised me you’d be there, Dad. Promised.”

“You always do this. You promise things and then you break those promises. You’re never there when I need you.” Sam was rambling now, as if every grievance he had been holding from the past years was finally bubbling to the surface. He felt angry, but a small part of him felt relieved, too. It’s like Star has said: Sam should let Kent know how much his actions hurt him. 

 “Did you know Vincent will look for me before he looks for you? Do you know what its like - having to raise your younger brother, having to take care of your mother because you’re terrified of your father dying. But.. you can’t tell anyone how you feel because you aren’t supposed to feel? You’re supposed to be understanding and..supposed to put everyone else before yourself.”

“Do you know what it’s like to be in my place? I had to step into your shoes at the age of sixteen. I was a child, I should’ve… I don’t know. Hung out with my friends. Instead.. I spent every single day worrying about your safety - but I had to be strong for Mom, for Vincent. I had to be strong for everyone else and.. I needed you to be strong for me, Dad.”

“But.. you weren’t there. And, yeah, I get it. Don’t get me wrong - I admire you and I think your job is super important, but… aren’t we important, too?”

“Sam,” Kent interrupted, pulling his son into a tight hug. Sam was shaking now - fighting back tears. He did not hug Kent back. Instead, he allowed himself to be held - Kent’s grip never faltering.

“I’m so sorry,” Kent apologized, moving his hand to gently cradle the back of Sam’s head - similar to how one would hold a baby. He sniffled, feeling Sam turn even more rigid at the touch. Kent continued, “For everything.” 

“I wanted to go, trust me,” Kent attempted to explain. He looked at his son’s hurt expression and silently scolded himself. Why hadn’t he noticed something was bothering Sam sooner? Why did something drastic have to happen before it was addressed? He sighed, looking down at the floor, and continued, “But.. the more I thought about it.. The more I realized..  I didn't think I could handle it.” 

“I know you really wanted me there, Sam, and I truly am sorry.” 

Sam did not respond, at least not right away. He stood there - silent and still, completely unlike his usual bubbly and bouncy self. 

Kent noted Sam’s uncharacteristic behavior and sighed. “I wish I could've been there for you. For all of you.”

“And.. I want you to know that you are important,” He spoke, though a part of him felt guilty that Sam ever questioned that fact. He continued, love and adoration filling his voice, “You, your mother, and your younger brother? You three are the most important things in my life, Sam.” 

Sam looked up at Kent sadly, though he gave a halfhearted scoff. He pursed his lips together, mumbling, “It doesn't seem like it.” 

“Sometimes.. It feels like.. all you do is work. You're here for a few seconds and then you're gone again. Do you know how it affects us? Or.. are you just trying to run away from it all?” 

Kent shook his head. “Sam,” he pleaded, “There is a reason, I promise.” He paused, exhaling a small sigh and debating whether he wanted to tell Sam or not. 

Kent pursed his lips together before pulling away from the hug, looking Sam in the eye. 

“When I was around your age - maybe a few years younger,” Kent began, his expression darkening as he recounted the events. He took a deep, shaky breath before adding, “I lost my own father. Then, a few months later, I lost two of my best friends within the same week.”

“I was crushed. And.. all I could think about was how unfair the world was. It felt like I was looking after everyone - including my mother and yours - but.. no one was looking out for me.” 

“I couldn't figure out what the hell I’d done to deserve it, you know?” Kent admitted, looking down st the ring of dogtags that laid neatly around Sam’s neck. He knew the names well. He had given them to Sam, after all, for safekeeping. Sam, while he didn't know the names personally, wore the dog tags with pride - it was a small, metal chain with three thin plates; tags belonging to Kent himself, and his two friends: Daniel Sawyer and Vincent “Lee” Leegland. 

Kent closed his eyes harshly, trying to avoid the rush of spotty memories that threatened to come back. He hadn't remembered much - it was nearly 25 years ago and Kent’s mind had begun blocking out memories of the war - but through accounts from people who knew them (such as Jodi and Willy), Kent knew enough to remember how important the two men were. He continued speaking, “But.. I knew I had to try. So, initially.. I went back for that very reason - to find a purpose; some intangible reason for the world’s cruelty,.” 

Kent made a small “hmph” sound, his lips curving downward in a small frown. He spoke once more, “You were about six when I went back into service.. And it was the hardest thing I had ever done - leaving you and your mother alone, that is.” 

“So.. why did you?” Sam asked, looking up at his father expectantly. 

“Because they needed me,” Kent replied matter-of-factly, though he sounded slightly sad - as if remembering an argument he had with Jodi over this very same thing nearly 18 years ago. 

“Eventually, I began moving up the ranks. Because I was working harder than anyone else in my squad, they soon promoted me to Colonel - commander of the naval forces, too.. But, as nice as the recognition was.. that was no longer the reason I kept going back - not entirely, anyway.”

“Do you know what that reason was, Sam?”

Sam raised an eyebrow - curious. 

“It was you,” Kent admitted.

“What do you mean?” Sam asked, scrunching up his face in confusion. 

“Well, I wanted to make sure you were safe, son,” Kent explained, resting his hand protectively on Sam’s shoulder. He continued, “My father did the same thing when I was younger - I didn’t understand it then, just as you do now, but… when you were born - something changed. I had something I needed to take care of, something I could lose..” 

“I hadn’t intended to go back as many times as I did.. But.. when the conditions worsened and there were rumors of an upcoming draft.. I knew I couldn’t let them get you,” Kent admitted. His usually stoic and unreadable expression turned slightly solemn. 

He continued, “I wasn’t given a choice, Sam. But…this was a way of ensuring you were. I couldn’t let them do that to you. Not after everything I witnessed out there..” 

“So.. you went back to keep me from being drafted?” Sam repeated, his brows furrowing together - deep in thought. All this time, he had assumed Kent went back because he wanted to - not because he was trying to protect Sam. 

“Yes,” Kent replied with a small nod, “Because that is what you do for the people you love.” 

Sam sat there in stunned silence for a moment. He couldn’t believe everything he had just heard. It completely changed Sam’s perception of his father. However, it also made him feel extremely guilty. He sighed, glancing down at his shoes uncomfortably. 

“I’m sorry about your guitar, Dad,” Sam mumbled. He didn’t meet Kent’s eyes. “I’ll work doubles at the Joja Mart - buy you a new one. It won’t be the same, though..” 

Kent chuckled - a hearty, deep sound that jarred Sam. His father had always been quite stoic and rarely laughed - faintly smiling was the most Sam had ever seen from the man. He gently patted Sam’s shoulder before shaking his head. 

“Don’t worry about it, son,” Kent assured him. He spoke once more, repeating the sentiment he had told Jodi earlier, “At the end of the day.. It’s just a guitar.” 

“What about the memories?” Sam asked, his lips forming a faint frown. He knew how much Kent had loved that guitar - how proud Kent was to pass it onto Sam when he was old enough, how Kent had always encouraged Sam to follow his passion for music. He sniffled slightly, realizing he had destroyed all of it. He mumbled, “Aren’t you going to miss them? Aren’t you angry that they’re gone?”

“I.. I know how hard it is for you to remember things - since… y’know.. the war and all..” 

“I’m not angry, I promise,” Kent looked at his son, waiting for Sam to meet his gaze. “I’m more worried about you, Sam.”

“I just wish we had talked sooner,” Kent sighed, resting his forehead against the tips of two of his fingers - rubbing small circles against his temple. He spoke once again, “It was unfair of me to expect this much of you. You should’ve been able to enjoy your teenage years, not have to fill in my shoes. I didn’t realize how much this was affecting you. I.. I thought I was protecting you from all this pain - not that I was unintentionally causing more.” 

“I know I haven’t been the best father to you, Sam, and I will always regret that,” Kent continued, a wave of guilt covering his features. A small part of him would always be worried that his family would resent him - especially Sam. He pursed his lips together before adding, “I wish I could’ve been there for you more. I’m really sorry, son.” 

“Actually,” Sam began, looking up at his father with a small smile, “You’ve been a pretty great dad. I know you were trying - even if I couldn’t see it. So.. I’m sorry, too.”

Kent returned his son’s smile. Sam hesitated before pulling Kent into a tight hug. He buried his head into the man’s neck, closing his eyes tightly as he squeezed Kent - as if he would vanish if Sam were to let go. He took a deep breath before speaking once more, “I love you, Dad.” 

Kent was surprised by the sudden hug - the force nearly knocking him backwards. He waited a few seconds and Sam felt his heart drop when Kent hadn’t hugged him back yet. Then, Kent wrapped his own arms around his son - gently cradling his head once again. Tears stung at the edges of Kent’s eyes and he sniffled before replying, “I love you too, Sam.” 

“You really aren’t mad,” Sam started, finally breaking the hug and looking at his father once more. He continued, “About the guitar, I mean..” 

Kent sighed, but he shook his head, “No, I’m not mad. I’ll miss the memories, sure.. But we can always make more.” 

“And, besides,” He started, turning to face the living room. He pointed to the small wooden chip resting neatly on the coffee table, “At least one part survived, right?”

Sam stared at the chip for a moment - amazed that someone had picked it up. He let out a small “huh” of surprise and slowly approached it. He gently scooped up the wood before running his thumb over the faded lettering and the jagged grooves of the wood. As he looked at the wood, an idea popped into his head.

“Hey, Dad?” Sam called out over his shoulder. He then turned towards Kent and added, “I have an idea.. But I’ll need your help.” Kent raised an eyebrow, but he nodded and followed Sam.

The two spent the rest of the afternoon building a small, wooden jewelry box - ensuring they had left a space big enough for the wood chip to fit snugly inside of. Afterwards, Sam found his younger brother and helped him write a small message on a different piece of wood, writing his own to accompany it.  When they had finished, the three boys carefully placed the box on Jodi’s bedside table, as a surprise for her. What Kent didn’t know, however, was that Sam had included a surprise for him as well - another note, similar to the one Kent had left many years ago. It was a similarly shaped piece of wood, nestled delicately inside the box. It read: “Thank you for always supporting me. I couldn’t have done it without you, Dad. Love, Sam.”

[aaknopf]

Martyr!, the poet Kaveh Akbar’s propulsive debut novel, tells the tale of Cyrus Shams, the son of a lost mother (victim of a 1988 U. S. Naval snafu in the Persian Gulf that killed 290 people on a commercial airliner) and the long-suffering father who emigrated to Fort Wayne, IN with his baby boy. We meet Cyrus as a student of poetry at Keady University and a reformed addict. In this excerpt, he’s at the local open mic with his friends; we also share one of the poems from Cyrus’s bookofmartyrs.docx, helpfully supplied by Akbar, the poet behind the fictional poet.

. .

The Naples Tuesday night open mic had become a mainstay of Cyrus and Zee’s friendship. It was a small affair, not much to distinguish it from the myriad other open mics happening elsewhere in the country—except this was their open mic, their organic community of beautiful weirdos—old hippies singing Pete Seeger, trans kids rapping about liberation, passionate spoken-word performances by nurses and teenagers and teachers and cooks. As with any campus open mic, there was the occasional frat dude coming to play sets of smirky acoustic rap covers and overearnest breakup narratives. But even they were welcome, and mostly it felt like a safe little oasis of amongness in the relative desert of their Indiana college town, a healthy way to spend the time they were no longer using to get drunk or high.   Naturally, Naples didn’t have its own sound equipment, so Zee would usually show up fifteen minutes early with his beat-up Yamaha PA to set up for Sad James, who hosted every week. Sad James was called this to distinguish him from DJ James, a guy who cycled nightly through the campus bars. DJ James was not a particularly interesting artist, but he was well-known enough in the campus community to warrant Sad James’s nominative prefix, which began as a joke but somehow stuck, and to which Sad James had grown accustomed with good humor, even occasionally doing small shows under the name. Sad James was a quiet white guy, long blond hair framing his lightly stubbled face, who played intensely solemn electronic songs, punctuated by sparse circuit-bent blips and bloops, and over time at Keady, he had become one of Zee and Cyrus’s most resilient and trusted friends.   On this night, Cyrus had read a poem early, an older experimental piece from a series where he’d been assigning words to each digit 0–9, then using an Excel document to generate a lyric out of those words as the digits appeared in the Fibonacci sequence: “lips sweat teeth lips spread teeth lips drip deep deep sweat skin,” etc. It was bad, but he loved reading them out loud, the rhythms and repeti­tions and weird little riffs that emerged. Sad James did an older piece where the lyrics “burning with the human stain / she dries up, dust in the rain” were repeated and modulated over molten beeps from an old circuit-bent Game Boy. Zee—a drummer in his free time who idolized J Dilla and John Bonham and Max Roach and Zach Hill in equal measure—hadn’t brought anything of his own to perform that evening, but did have a little bongo to help accompany any acoustic acts who wanted it.   On the patio listening to Cyrus talk about his new project, Zee said, “I could see it being a bunch of different poems in the voices of all your different historical martyr obsessions?” Then to Sad James, Zee added, “Cyrus has been plastering our apartment with these big black-and-white printouts of all their terrifying faces. Bobby Sands in our kitchen, Joan of Arc in our hallway.”   Sad James made his eyes get big.   “I just like having them present,” Cyrus said, slumping into his chair. He didn’t add that he’d been reading about them in the library, his mystic martyrs, that he’d taped a great grid of their grayscale printed faces above his bed, half believing it would work like those tapes that promised to teach you Spanish while you slept, that some­how their lived wisdoms would pass into him as he dreamt. Among the Tank Man, Bobby Sands, Falconetti as Joan of Arc, Cyrus had a picture of his parents’ wedding day. His mother, seated in a sleeved white dress, smiling tightly at the camera while his father, in a tacky gray tux, sat grinning next to her holding her hand. Above their heads, a group of attendees held an ornate white sheet. It was the only picture of his mother he had. Next to his mother, his father beamed, bright in a way that made it seem he was radiating the light himself.   Zee went on: “So you could write a poem where Joan of Arc is like, ‘Wow, this fire is so hot’ or whatever. And then a poem where Hussain is like, ‘Wow, sucks that I wouldn’t kneel.’ You know what I mean?”   Cyrus laughed.   “I tried some of that! But see, that’s where it gets corny. What could I possibly say about the martyrdom of Hussain or Joan of Arc or whoever that hasn’t already been said? Or that’s worth saying?”   Sad James asked who Hussain was and Zee quickly explained the trial in the desert, Hussain’s refusing to kneel and being killed for it.   “You know, Hussain’s head is supposedly still buried in Cairo?” Zee said, smiling. “Cairo, which is in which country again?”   Cyrus rolled his eyes at his friend, who was, as Cyrus liked to remind him when he got too greatest-ancient-civilization-on-earth about things, only half Egyptian.   “Damn,” Sad James said. “I would’ve just kneeled and crossed my fingers behind my back. Who am I trying to impress? Later I could call take-backsies. I’d just say I tripped and landed on my knees or something.”   The three friends laughed. Justine, an open mic regular whose Blonde on Blonde–era pea-coat-and-harmonica-rack Bob Dylan act was a mainstay of the open mic, came outside to ask Zee for a cigarette. He obliged her with an American Spirit Yellow, which she lit around the corner as she began speaking into her cell phone.   In moments like these Cyrus still sometimes felt like asking to bum one too—he’d been a pack-and-a-half-a-day smoker before he got sober, and continued his habit even after he’d kicked everything else. “Quit things in the order they’re killing you,” his sponsor, Gabe, told him once. After a year clean he turned his attention to cigarettes, which he finally managed to kick completely by tapering: from one and a half packs a day to a pack to half a pack to five cigarettes and so on until he was just smoking a single cigarette every few days and then, none at all. He could probably get away with bumming the occasional cigarette now and again, but in his mind he was saving that for something momentous: his final moments lying in the grass dying from a gunshot wound, or walking in slow motion away from a burning building.   “So what are you thinking then? A novel? Or like . . . a poetic mar­tyr field guide?” asked Zee.   “I’m really not sure yet. But my whole life I’ve thought about my mom on that flight, how meaningless her death was. Truly literally like, meaningless. Without meaning. The difference between 290 dead and 289. It’s actuarial. Not even tragic, you know? So was she a martyr? There has to be a definition of the word that can accom­modate her. That’s what I’m after.”

More on this book and author:

Learn more about Martyr! by Kaveh Akbar.

Browse Kaveh Akbar's poetry collections and follow Kaveh on Instagram @kavehakbar.kavehakbar.

Visit our Tumblr to peruse poems, audio recordings, and broadsides in the Knopf poem-a-day series.

To share the poem-a-day experience with friends, pass along this link.

[sparklingelectricblue]

From the Ashes: Marvel Infinity #13

For those who don’t know, Marvel has a subscription service where you can read back issues of comics digitally. This service is called Marvel Unlimited. I really enjoy it. I’s nice to read comics without handling my comics or comics that I have not yet gotten ahold of.

Another part of unlimited is their infinity comics. These are short weekly comics that are online only. They tend to be silly short stories or they explain some missing back story from a main comic book. This week’s issue focuses on Magneto and is meant (I think) to fill in some back story on how Magneto went to young and powerful after being resurrected and fighting Orchis to now old and wheelchair bound.

I know not everyone has access to this so I thought that I would write up a summary about it.

There’s not going to be a lot of screenshots because the comic is meant to be read on a tablet where you scroll down through the story. It makes it so that it’s hard to capture a whole scene. But I’ll try to add some good ones. Plus, I don’t want Disney coming for me. I'm not going beat by beat but I do the major points. Anyways, I talk too much…

We start with this image:

Only to see Max scream “no” as he wakes up. He was having a nightmare. He looks over to the hover chair that he has been using in the new X-Men series. The helmet sits on the chair and seems to be daring him to wear it. “But he is Magneto… …he dares.”

Next scene, Max is hovering around in the chair as Hank is bouncing around him, asking Max if he plans to going Merle. Max confirms, “not that it’s any of your business, but yes”. That’s when Hank asks him if he could not go wearing his helmet and floating chair.

Max has a good response:

Honestly, I just love that Max calls his helmet gaudy. Hank responses that the helmet sends a signal that might be distressing given Max's "checkered" history. “At least try to put our new neighbors at ease.”

Next scene is Max in town in a normal wheelchair sans helmet. He compares the townspeople of Merle who worked or ignored the sentinel factory to the “neighbors” who willingly ignore the concentration camps outside their towns or the trains that passed through during the Holocaust. Honestly, a pretty fair comparison. “And so he will never trust a “neighbor” again.”

At this point someone bumps into Max causing him to drop what he was holding. The person is saying sorry but Max is calling him an idiot. A random girl picks up what Max dropped and gives it to him. Girl: “Here you go Mister Magnet. You dropped your pretty hat.” The art makes the girl look preteen but the dialogue makes her seem younger.

Max responds like this:

The girl’s dad says to her, “Don’t worry about it Anna. That old man’s probably just having a bad day.” Anna responds, “*sniff* he seems so sad, Daddy”. None of that seemed sad to me. Just angry and cranky. Maybe justifiably cranky given how things have changed for both him and mutant kind and he is stuck in a town where people worked towards the eradication of mutants. And it's cold. And someone bumped into him.

Maybe the writer was trying to reference that scene in Son of M where Luna says that Max is not a bad man, just sad.

But look at this face! It just makes me laugh.

Why does Max have a kippah? He’s going to a temple. Maybe the dream made him decide to go to temple.

Once inside, there’s a person who approaches him, “I was wondering when you’d drop by”. Max says he's been busy and that Merle was the last place he expected to find a temple.

The person is Rabbi Rachel Sagan and she offers Max a cup of coffee and to listen to him. She calls him "Mr. Eisenhardt", which I didn't know Max's real name was public knowledge or not. I guess it is now.

Max takes her up on it and over coffee he lists all the various places that he's seen destroyed: "Asteroid M. Utopia. Avalon. Genosha... Oy, Genosha. And now Krakoa."

So Rabbi Sagan asks how this brings Max back to temple.

It's really understandable why he would feel this way and everything he's been through.

"When Genosha fell, I looked out over the ruins and I knew we only had one or two chances left to marshal our factions together in the pursuit of a common dream. That chance will never come again."

Rabbi Sagan compares Max to Moses, leading his tribe though the wilderness. Max states, that was Charles. "The bald schmuck with the eyebrows? No, he never saw himself as an instrument. You can tell. It's you. It's always been you. But there's a problem..."

The show Rabbi Sagan put her hand on Max's, "Moishe was a humble man, Max. Are you?"

Pfft! No! He's the Master of Magnetism!

Max responds. "I... have been humbled. Over and over."

Rabbi Sagan says that's not what was asked, and prompts him to remember his Torah; how Moshe was was commanded to climb and was told him he would not live to cross the River Jordan.

Max: "What are you insinuating, Rabbi?"

Rabbi Sagan: "I'm suggesting that your fear is a consequence of your pride. Do you really fear that there is no promised land for your people, or do you fear that they will not be able to reach it without you?"

Max doesn't respond well to this.

Everyone has probably seen the scene where Max is then zooming out on his wheelchair while stating, "This was a mistake. I should never have come." so I'm not going to include it here.

The next scene is him outside in the street. He's angry about what the Rabbi said. A caption box says, "The Gall! Why if he was still himself, he'd..." . When suddenly, a truck sliding at full speed in the snow with a loud "Skreeeeee". Someone yells, "Billy, get outta the road! It can't stop!" and Max is surprised.

Bam! The truck hits him throwing him from his wheelchair before hitting a telephone pole and bursting into flames.

There is a close up of Max's face with blood on it. A caption box says "Yes, in dreams, he is a founder and feller of nations."

Then we end on this scene.

What's going to happen? We'll find out next week!

[hils79]

hi! I just saw your tags. Would you mind explaining what a cup sleeve is? Also! How are you liking Xikers? I've been meaning to get to them but haven't had the time. Thanks!

Hello!

To answer your first question I actually did a post about cupsleeves last year and compared them to going to fandom conventions.

I like them a lot, and the group chat I mentioned in that post are now some of my dearest friends. We chat every day and they call me mum because I'm quite a bit older than them and do things like make sure they eat properly and take care of themselves. We've very much become a dysfunctional little family and it's at the point now where we hang out even if there isn't a cupsleeve happening. We went on a group trip to the kpop store in Manchester a couple of weeks ago, and we've got a craft day planned for the weekend after the xikers/seonghwa cupsleeve.

They all wished me a happy Mother's Day today 😂 They're good kids (who are all in their 20s 😂)

IDK how common or popular cupsleeves are where you are, but I've got to know the person who organises the ones local to me and there tends to be one every few weeks. She did one for Seventeen last month, took this month off for Ramadan, then the xikers/seonghwa one is this coming weekend.

And to answer your question, I like Xikers a lot! I started listening to them last year and I enjoy their music, but I didn't really do a deep dive into the members. I have so many groups like this. The majority of the kpop I like, I'm just here for the music. Deciding to learn the names/personalities of a group is a big commitment for me because then I get attached, and I only have so much time to invest in the groups I'm super attached to. There are groups I've been listening to for as long as I've been listening to Ateez (I started listening to them in 2020), or longer, where I don't know the members names I just like listening to their music.

But when I found out there was going to be a xikers cupsleeve I decided it was finally time for me to try and learn them. This is not a task for the faint-hearted. The group has 10 members, which is only 2 more than Ateez, but when you get into double digits it just feels so much bigger.

Luckily for me, one of my kpop kids that I mentioned above has been a big fan of xikers for ages, and she's been coaching me. Our current game is I try to label a group photo, and she grades me. I'm firmly stuck on 7/10, and it's the same 3 that I keep getting wrong.

It's like when I used to get Jongho and Yunho mixed up when I was trying to learn Ateez, even when they look nothing like each other. It was a real problem for ages.

They're all super young so I kind of think of them as my sons more than anything. But I do have a bias, which may change as I get to know them better, but I loved his voice even before I knew anything else about them.

Sorry, that was a longer ramble than I intended but I hope that answers your questions. Feel free to ask if you have any more questions!

[lost-girl-2021]

Do you think you could write a one shot that the kids do actually do something illegal like stalking or trying to break in over the weekend Spider spends with Quaritch? And maybe Quaritch's reaction to it?

I've been meaning to get to this for a while, but here it is! I also have something involving Spider+ a Sully kid and something illegal already planned for Days Into Decades that will be longer and less crack-treated-seriously-ish.

Spider was nearly asleep when he heard the crash. Leaping up from bed, he slid into the hallway, his father already in front of him with a baseball bat. Pushing his hair from his face, Spider looked up at Quaritch with wide eyes.

“What— “

“Shh. Stay here.” He whispered, pushing him back with one hand. The man moved forward slowly, bat raised. Spider inched after him, peering around his tensed form towards the dark living room. He squinted, recognizing red hair.

“Kiri?” He called, shoulders drooping.

From her place crouched next to the window, his friend waved. “Uh, hey. We were just . . . um, popping in for a visit.”

His father sighed, relaxing his posture. “Is that a Sully in my living room, son?”

“Um, no. . . it’s two.”

Lo’ak emerged from behind his sister, sheepishly waving. “Hi.”

“Three actually. Neteyam got stuck in the window.” 

“This wasn’t my idea.” The oldest Sully kid groaned, throwing up a peace sign.

Spider laughed, stepping around his father and going to help Lo’ak pull his brother the rest of the way through the window. “Did you guys really climb the fire escape?”

“We didn’t want to wake him.” Lo’ak jutted a thumb towards Spider’s fuming father. “Whoops.”

Quaritch set the bat down, digging his phone out of his sweatpants pocket. “You have twenty seconds to get out before I call the cops. It’s too fucking early to deal with Sully’s.”

Spider glanced at the clock, blinking at the single digit. “It’s not even five, have you guys been up all night?”

The trio shared a look. “Maybe.”

“Ten seconds.” Quaritch reminded.

“Eywa— fine. So-rry for trying to bring our best friend a gift.” Lo’ak grumbled, pushing his brother back out the window.

“I don’t see a gift?”

“The gift is our presence.” Kiri explained, following her brother out the window. “Or, at least, it was. Party pooper.”

“This is breaking and entering, y’know?”

“We’re leaving, Jesus!” Lo’ak groaned, ducking back through the window. “Bye, Spider.”

Spider waved, yawning from the living room. His father shut the door, locking the latch and giving him a look. It said you have poor taste in friends. Spider shrugged in response.

“I’m going back to bed.” It was way too early.

[rei-does-stuff]

Little…Well LONG thing about Bamsaegi and co

—

So they all managed to get out of the gas chamber and escape underground. They find a hidden mineshaft that was left behind from the wolves and recover there, they think everything is finally okay but the worst happens as the mineshaft collapses on itself and they’re trapped once again. They’re not dying but they’re completely stuck.

They all try to make the best of the situation, stay positive yknow? But that can only go so far and eventually everyone is hungry tired and fed up with everything, Bamsaegi especially.

They’ve been trapped for a few weeks and Undochi keeps trying to tell everyone that Flower Hill is coming for them, that they still need to keep hope for Flower Hill so they can continue serving and Bamsaegi fucking snaps.

“WE’VE BEEN HERE FOR WEEKS! There’s not coming! They’re never coming! They probably already have a funeral ready for us and are parading us around as Martyrs just like your brother, just like Mulori, just like everyone else! Are you really this delusional?? We are gonna die in here!”

Undochi still having that Flower Hill propaganda deep inside him, gets angry esp since Bam brought up his brother.

“Well SORRY for trying to be positive! It’s not my fault you believe a random note you thought your brother sent! How’s that going for you? You’re so naive, don’t forget we’re in this mess because you stupidly thought everything was over! It’s no wonder Geum likes me more than you. He’s probably not even looking for you anymore, is he?!” And it eventually turns into an actual fight as Murori desperately tries to keep them both from murdering each other

He has to talk a lot of sense into them once he gets them off of each other. “Are you two crazy?? The more you fight the more likely this place will collapse on top of us, you two might be fine being buried alive but I’m not! We’re all tired, maybe they won’t find us, but killing each other just makes so if they do find us they’ll only be dragging out corpses! Put your anger towards finding a way out of here!”

They eventually dig a little into the mineshaft, but the tunnels lead to no where, they do find a lot of hidden information about the wolves, weasels and especially flower hill since it seems like the mineshaft was there to store physical files of information when they switched over to being completely digitally

And finding out the horrors of your homeland probably won’t end well for them

Undochi is trying so hard to cope. “Noo guys im sure we had a good reason! We aren’t monsters! R-Right…?”

“No Undochi I don’t think any amount of ANYTHING deserves stuff like this…Was my brother really doing this kinda stuff to the enemy?”

“It’s fake! It HAS to be fake!”

“It too real to be fake…We did all this, and more. Your brothers…My sister…Oh I’m gonna be sick…”

They eventually get out, they’re close to Flower Hill but after seeing what they’ve seen they don’t consider it their homes anymore, especially since they get to spy on their own funerals! Fun right?

They all think “Screw this place, if they think we’re dead then we don’t have to serve anymore, we can do whatever we want! This isn’t our home anymore!”

But the only thing really stopping this is Bamsaegi, he wants his parents, both of them. He thinks he can save them! Jul is still in the hospital so they do the very sane and normal thing of breaking into the hospital and kidnapping him whilst trying not to be spotted

Jul is obviously VERY fucking confused because moments ago he was grieving his son being dead and here he is, alive trying to kidnap you!

Bamsaegi is really emotional whilst trying to explain WHY he’s doing this and how Flower Hill is bad and everything and Jul is like “Look Bam, I care more about the people IN flower hill than Flower Hill itself…If you don’t wanna be here I can’t force you.”

Unfortunately it isn’t up to Jul.

They still have to find Geum, and he…He isn’t gonna be very nice about it, not nice at all

They managed to find Geum, it takes a lot of planning esp since Geum is still undercover but they manage to knock him out and drag him out of the Wolves Den

When he awakes he’s at first confused and disoriented esp since Bam is alive, but when he finally adjusts and realizes what’s going on he isn’t happy in the slightest

“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?! DID THE GAS CHAMBER MAKE YOU LOSE BRAINCELLS?? Do you realized what you’ve done?! You already made us go back to fighting and now you’re trying to pull me away and let everyone in Flower Hill die and for what?!? Because you’re upset about a few things we HAD to do?!?!”

Bamsaegi tries desperately to explain whilst is screaming at him, Jul is trying to calm him down but to avail.

“You don’t understand! This isn’t right! Flower Hill is just as bad as the others! This war is meaningless and it’ll never end! You’ve thrown half of your life away just because Flower Hill convinced you that it was your fault that you trusted Uncle Bear! It’s the conmanders who are trying to trick you into staying Dad! They’re using you! We don’t have to deal with it! We can just stay here and be happy like before!”

Geum, however, isn’t convinced. Straight up slapping Bamsaegi. He isn’t yelling, but his tone makes himself very clear that it isn’t up for debate.

“I am your guardian, I have been for years therefore you can’t do anything without my permission. And I refuse to give you permission to do something this traitorous. Your friends can do what they want, Jul…You can support them if you wish. But I will not let you betray Flower Hill. You are a stupid, naive child who doesn’t know anything about the real world. I was wrong to think you were ready to be a scout, I’ll be sure they train you better. We are going home, and I will go back to defend OUR hill like we’re supposed to. This isn’t a battle you can win.”

True to his word Geum does exactly that, much to Undochi, Murori and Jul’s dismay. The two kids try to stop him but Geum is a lot stronger than the two of them, so they have to wait before trying anything.

Jul isn’t happy, he tells Geum as much.

“You’re angry at me?”

“Extremely.”

“Look…I-I didn’t wanna do it either, but he can’t be thinking these kinds of things.”

“He’s already afraid of you Geum…You’re just giving more of a reason to be scared.”

“I know…But what else am I supposed to do? Let him run off to get killed by some weasel and not be able to fight back? If he stays here’s he’s safe, if he fights for Flower Hill he’ll have backup. If he’s out there? Nothing.”

“Hitting him doesn’t show that, even you know that…He should be able to make his own decisions even if you don’t approve. If he’s old enough to die for Our Hill he’s old enough to make that choice.”

“But that choice will lead to him dying!”

“So does fighting for Flower Hill! Geum he isn’t like you…Or he isn’t like you now…He had a point you know? I can tell…You still blame yourself for what happened with Uncle Bear…”

“…I can’t let him make the same mistake I did. He stays here.”

“Just…Really think about it Geum. Don’t push it away…I already lost Mulori, I don’t wanna lose you too.”

It’s a lot for Geum to think about

Undochi and Murori have already started planning to kidnap Bam back, sneaking in occasionally beforehand to talk with him.

They’re both pissed, Undochi especially!

Meanwhile Geum is maybe having an existential crisis about the whole “oh shit maybe I HAVE been brainwashed!” As the whole kidnapping Bamsaegi thing is happening which is great for Bam and co. Jul may or may not be helping them <4

Morning comes, Geum sees Bam isn’t there. “Did he run away?”

“Are you gonna look for him, you’re supposed to go back undercover today.”

“No. I have to…Talk with the commander first…”

Geum needs to see if the commanders are really…Well good for Flower Hill. Good to serve.

They greet him with open arms, he is there most loyal soldier after all. But Geum is there with one simple question.

“When I found out we couldn’t rely on Uncle Bear…We were able to drive the weasels out pretty quickly. Were we always that strong?”

“Of course! We didn’t need Uncle Bear, Flower Hill must be self reliant!”

“So then…Why did you let them attack? It was clear they were gonna do something…Why did you wait till Uncle Bear was already on the blackout drunk on the floor?”

“Well, how else would you learn? If you didn’t see the truth of the situation you would’ve just relied on Uncle Bear forever!”

“Learn….?”

“We had to teach you a lesson somehow! It worked, didn’t it? You know better now?”

“…Yes. I do.”

The commanders try to send Geum back undercover, he pretends to agree. But he isn’t going back. No, he serves his home, and Flower Hill clearly isn’t his home anymore. No, instead he goes to find Bamsaegi. He has a lot…a LOT of apologizing to do after all <3

Now realistically it would probably take a bit more to convince Geum but shhhhhh its fine <333

Yea just a think ive been having brainrot abt <33

[secretlythepits]

A New Day

Thanks for all the advice and support. As Annie would sing: “Yesterday was plain awful.”

“You can say that again.”

“Yesterday was plain awful.”

“But that’s, not now. That’s then!”

I had two talks. The one with my husband was bad. The one with my son was good. To be honest, that’s the one that really matters. That’s the relationship I have to get right.

I’m in a tricky spot.

We were (I was) considering divorce before his diagnosis. Because of financial and logistical reasons, I knew I wouldn’t leave until the kids finished high school. I don’t want to destabilize them economically and socially. Also, I need time to build my career and health, so it made sense to stay with one foot out the door.

A couple of months ago my husband and I really got into the state of our marriage. Communication has been a huge issue. We started really hashing out things that had been left unsaid. Things improved a bit. I felt heard, but maybe still not quite seen. He said he wanted to get back to a closeness and that was my first choice too. We figured if we both had that as a goal, we could move there.

Yesterday, after we spoke about our fight, I realized that I can’t remember the last time I felt loved by him. How sad is that? I decided to divorce him in my heart, because he is never going to give me what I want and need. He is never going to give me what I deserve. He doesn’t see me and he refuses to open his eyes. I know I am a good person. I know that I have a lot of wonderful things inside of me that I freely share with others, but he just doesn’t even look at me. I stopped showing him who I was, my ideas, my important thoughts, the deepest parts of me, because he is not a safe person for my heart.

But I am still logistically stuck. Me leaving while he is sick would devastate my kids. Our finances haven’t changed. My health hasn’t changed. I don’t want to do lasting damage to my relationship with my children by bailing while their father is dying.

And I don’t hate him. We do have a friendship and a connection to our shared memories and kids that will always be unparalleled. Also, I am a compassionate person and wouldn’t feel right letting him suffer all by himself. I care about him and it hurts to watch his health deteriorate. We can be partners, like in business. We do that pretty well for the most part.

My goal has changed.

I don’t want to work on closeness. I want distance. Miles. Oceans. Continents.

I feel sad about this, but also really, really good about what feels like the ultimate in self-care. I don’t need to torture myself by working on a relationship that has been broken for years. I don’t want a refurbished love, I want a brand spanking new one that sparkles and dazzles. Not now. Not near. In the far off future.

I have more pressing and interesting goals.

1. I am going to build a digital products empire.

2. I am going to host luxury personal development retreats in fabulous international locations.

3. I am going to travel the world.

4. I am going to lose all my extra weight and become very strong.

5. I am going to buy the most colorful, pattern-filled wardrobe ever and wear way too many accessories every day.

That is where I’m going. That is worth getting close to. I can feel my mind, heart, and spirit lining up and clicking into rhythm because I think this has been the destination for a long time. I just wasn’t ready to leave until now.

Thank you, dear readers, for making me not feel alone.

[jacobstonewriter-blog]

DOAYS - Chapter [One]

Have you ever felt as if you were losing control of your perfect life? A life that you had fought hard to achieve? After years of blood, sweat, and tears, navigating through the turmoils of puberty while successfully climbing the social ladder of the hellhole I called high school. I finally found my groove, which I danced to. Life was glorious.

I was the third-born son of the previous Beta. I had two older, obnoxious idiots I called Liam and Luke, and a younger sister called Lillian. Anyway, as the third child, I was never meant to be the future Beta, but it didn't bother me. I was going to attend college next year when I graduated from the hellhole. Unfortunately, that meant that I had to leave my best friend Justin behind.

Justin, the lumbering giant, had been my friend since our mothers popped us out of their wombs. Yeah, it was gross to think about, but it was true. I couldn't have asked for a better friend than him. A month ago, Justin turned eighteen and shifted for the first time. You see, young werewolves cannot shift until they turn eighteen. It sucked, but it also prevented hormonal teenagers from going on a rampage when their feelings got hurt. So yeah, I was stuck with a prima donna yapping around inside my head.

"Hey! Who are you calling a prima donna, bitch?" My other half yells out.

I winced and then replied, "You, Orion."

"Yeah, funny bones. You'd better get your head into the game before—"

A football to my helmet muffled out Orion's warning. Knocked off my feet, my back soon met the green turf with a thud rippling through my body. I watched on as a couple of white puffy clouds drifted along the clear blue sky while catching my breath. Another tortuous football practice... It was not that I didn't love football. However, after four years of playing the game, it had become less significant to me. I only tried out this year because Justin nagged me until I caved under pressure.

A large hand appeared, descending toward my face. "Come on, man," Justin grunted. Wrapping his digits over the rail guard, he yanked me to my feet. Jerk! "It's not the time to space out. The coach will have your ass in a grip lock if you don't get your head into the game."

I sighed while readjusting my shoulder pads. "Sorry, Captain Jackass. I can't seem to concentrate today."

Justin patted me on the shoulder while chuckling at my remark. "It wouldn't surprise me, considering that tomorrow's your birthday." His gray eyes twinkled mischievously. "Hopefully you won't stay this short after tomorrow, short stack." He knocked twice on my helmet before scampering off before I could redecorate his handsome face.

Shaking my head, I didn't want to drool over my best friend again. Yeah, I was gay. However, I was too scared to step out of the closet just yet. Not that our school or pack was homophobic. The headmaster was married to a muscle head who worked at the local gym. So there was a strong policy in place at the school against discrimination of any kind. The last loser who picked on a gay kid got suspended before his ass hit the exit doors.

I've had a crush on Justin since middle school, but kept it tight to my chest. I didn't want to lose my best friend. Although it was a cliché to crush on your best friend, I couldn't help my feelings.

"Hey! Mr. Grand?" The coach yelled at me, waving his clipboard in the air. "Get your pasty ass over here before I drag you off the field!" A few of the cheerleaders on the side of the field laughed at my expense.

I reluctantly pulled my helmet off my face before running toward my doom. Justin warned me it would happen, but I didn't listen. A cool breeze hit me on the back of my neck as I approached our coach. And man, he looked pissed. His porn-star mustache bristled as his brown eyes landed on me. I nervously ran my fingers through my sweaty blond hair, trying to get rid of my helmet hair.

"What the hell are you doing out there, Caleb?" The pot-bellied old man yelled at me. "It's the fourth time you've dropped the ball."

"Sorry, Coach," I mumbled, staring at Justin's tight ass as he bent down. "I've got a lot on my mind—"

A hard piece of plastic hit my head. I yelled out, rubbing the top of my head. "Get off my field! You're done for the day. Kenneth! Get your ass in position!" He waved his clipboard at one of my fellow teammates who sat on the bench.

The jock picked up his helmet and ran on the field with a grin on his stupid freckled face. Goddess! I just lost my place on the team. "Get your useless ass in the locker room! Hathaway will play this Friday in your place. I've given you plenty of chances this season, but it seems your heart is no longer in the game." The couch's eyes softened a bit. "Sorry, Cal. But we can't afford to lose this upcoming game and I only need the best players on the team."

My shoulder dropped, knowing that the coach was right. I've fucked up too many times already. I nodded at the coach before jogging toward the locker room with my tail between my legs. Great going, Caleb. What is Dad going to say?

"Oh, he's about to chew your head off," Orion sang out.

I scoffed and said, "Don't you think I don't know that? Dad has always compared me with dumb and dumber." My older brothers could do nothing wrong in my father's eyes.

When I rushed into the vacant room, the locker room's door nearly broke off its hinges. I walked to my locker and dropped my helmet on the nearby bench. With a heavy heart, I slumped down next to it and glared at the red locker ahead of me. What was happening to me suddenly? I've never had a problem getting my head into a practice session before. But this feeling of dread pooling in my stomach has been nagging me relentlessly of late.

"You're scared about what will happen tomorrow?" Orion asked. "We've been looking forward to this day since we were nine. Tomorrow's the day our goddess blesses me with my physical form. We'll be able to shift for the first time." Orion's giddiness made my heart palpitate.

I grabbed a towel off a railing and wiped sweat off my forehead and neck. "Aren't you a little scared?"

"And why would I be?"

I hesitated for a moment before I made my deepest fears known. "What if we don't shift into a beta-class wolf?" My stomach clenched at the idea. My father would shit in his pants if we didn't shift into a beta.

Orion laughed before saying, "And why wouldn't we? Our parents and brothers are all betas."

"You know that's not a given. The Moon Goddess doesn't give us what we want, but what we need." I twisted the towel until it groaned under the strain. "There have been multiple cases where the Moon Goddess has given a werewolf a different class than their parents. So being born into a long bloodline of betas means nothing if our goddess decides otherwise."

Orion remained quiet for a minute before he said, "You have your doubts that we won't shift into a beta wolf?"

"Don't you? We aren't as buff or tall as the rest of our family. Hell, Mom's taller than we are."

It was embarrassing. I was the shortest in our family of five. Even my sixteen-year-old sister was an inch taller than I was. What made matters worse, I didn't have the muscled physique that my brothers or father had. I had a swimmer's body with curvy hips. Justin always slapped me on my ass and called my butt cheeks 'juicy'. But my small stature added to my fears that the Moon Goddess would give us a Delta form, or worse... an Omega form. I shuddered, closing my eyes.

"What's wrong with being an Omega?" Orion growled. "If the Moon Goddess will it, so shall it be."

I shot up from my seat and punched the locker in front of me. I flinched and swore, rubbing the pain away. Bad move! My injured hand throbbed painfully. "Are you stupid? What do you think is gonna happen when we turn into an Omega?"

"Nothing disastrous is going to happen," Orion assured me. "The pack will be overjoyed at—"

"They'll take our freedom away from us, and then they'll imprison us in this pack until our dying breath."

"You know that's not true. Look at the Luna. Is she imprisoned?"

Shaking my head, I said, "I'm not talking about chains and prisons, you dolt! I'm talking about how the pack treats her. Have you ever seen the Luna leave the pack without having a dozen warriors following her everywhere? Every time she wants to leave the pack grounds, she has to ask her mate for permission." I began removing my uniform, lifting the shoulder pads over my head before dropping it on the bench. "I don't want to live like that. If we become an Omega, we can forget about attending college or traveling the world. And if you've not forgotten already, I have no intentions of ending up as a bargaining chip."

"Do you think the Alpha would sell us off to another pack?"

I scoffed, throwing my game pants and shirt in the laundry basket. "In a heartbeat. Justin's not gay," I shook my head disappointedly, "and we'll end up as a trade for another Alpha who is."

It was common practice in the werewolf community to exchange omegas between packs. Omegas were always mated to the Alpha of a pack, rarely to another rank. It only happened when a pack wasn't blessed with an omega. Then the Alpha was free to choose another wolf from any rank or bargain for another pack's 'excess' omegas. Lunas were synonymous with Omegas.

I opened my locker and retrieved my wet bag before slamming shut the locker door. "Sorry, Orion. I won't end up playing bitch to some arrogant Alpha. I want to choose my own mate and live my life as I see fit."

[britt-kageryuu]

It's another day in the lair, it's a rare day off for all the brothers, but none of them wanted to do a stream, and Donnie is doing maintenance on Shelldon, so River is going solo.

But this is not a stream, this is the guys lazing about relaxing.

Raph is soaking/submerged in the onsen, with the heater turned low, so like 70F/21C.

Mikey is basking while doing some rough drafts of a new piece he was commissioned to do. He's in a call with the person going over what they want. It's a day off from the restaurant, not the artistic rush.

Leo is going through a box that came with the fan mail. That apparently was all the questions someone didn't want to have drowned in chat, or pay to have it read.

"Why did they fill a box with fortune cookie sized pieces of paper with these questions? Why not just send a notebook?" He complains while pulling out a random slip, "I mean 'Do you guys breath through your butt like real turtles?' I mean that's one wild question to ask when they're supposed to not know we're actually mutant turtles. 'Do any of you lay eggs?' Well technically yes, but again why?"

Donnie looks up and lifts his goggles with a raised eyebrow. He only had a couple of things to put back on Shelldon left.

"I have questioned the sanity of our various fans from the beginning. Like the 300 at least people that were just watching me test the first model I had rigged." Donnie stated while carefully putting the last piece into place, "Maybe we should bring in your boyfriend, see if the views go up? Hmm?"

Leo starts to blush, and almost threw the box at him, but noticed a question that made him smirk.

"I remember Dee mentioned a girl called K, are they dating? If not is he available?"

Donnie sets Shelldon down as he turns back on, deceptively calm, then he uses his Ninpo to create a Nerf Gun (real guns are for villains only), and starts to rapid fire at Leo who runs to avoid getting hit, because those darts do hurt, alot.

This goes on for a few minutes before Leo tripped over the box that he dropped. Donnie then shot him in the back of the head one last time.

"We are even for now. Shelldon are your systems running properly?" He askes his robot son.

Shelldon lets out a digital turtle chirp, "Everything is running Awsome Dude!"

"So, we need to check over your grammar protocol, I see." Donnie is a bit unamused. His wrist computer dings with a message, "Oh River sent a message, I wonder what she needs?"

"DAD! I WANT TO TAKE A BREAK! AND I CAN'T LOWER MY VOICE PLEASE HELP!!!!!!" The message came through at full volume, that was near deafening.

"Shelldon, go take over for Sister, I need to do some debugging on her voice." Donnie instructs as he tries to make sure his hearing isn't damaged. Then went to grab his laptop.

Mikey was glad his call had ended during the chase, because he now didn't need to explain, well that loud noise, and that no it wasn't his kid, but his brothers.

Leo just stayed on the ground, and checked the live stream to see what might have caused Rivers volume to get messed up. He then sent the clip to April about their fans asking if she's hot, and single. And also a message to Raph just so he doesn't worry about the shouting.

Donnie brings a laptop and Rivers robot body, that's whimpering very loudly, because not even switching to the robot fixed her broken volume.

"Sigh, Alright River let's find out what went wrong." Donnie says as he connects to River to run a diagnostic check.

Leo gets up and gives River some pets and Mikey joins him, which leads to very loud digital purring.

"Heh, she has like the opposite problem of when we yell really loud, instead of loosing her voice, it just got stuck at max level." Leo jokes while still comforting his robot niece.

------------------

Masterpost

I didn't know where to go from there, I just figured I'd write a little behind the scenes post.

[hummingbee-lievable]

Song of the Day #10 (yayyyy, double digits!):

Mahk Jchi (Heartbeat Drum Song): Ulali, Pura Fé, Soni Moreno, Jennifer Kreisberg

Mahk Jchi tahm boo-ee

yahm pi-gih-dee

Mahk Jchi tahm boo-ee

kahn speh-wah eh-bi

Mahm-pi wah ho-ka yi nonk,

tah hond tah-ni kih-yee tai-yee

Ghee weh meh yee-tai-yee,

Nan-ka yaht yah moo-ni-yeh wah-jhi-seh

English translation:

Our hearts are full and our minds are good

Our ancestors come and give us strength

Stand tall, sing, dance and never forget who you are

Or where you come from

Track 2 on 'Music for the Native Americans', produced by Robbie Robertson and the Red Road Ensemble.

Fun fact: This compilation was created for the documentary 'The Native Americans'. It was Robertson's first time creating music inspired by his Mohawk heritage. His children show up in the album, with son on drums for a few of the songs, and his daughter singing backing vocals for 'Coyote Dance'. The language of the song is a mix of Tutelo and Saponi, which are dialects of the Sioux nation from the Ohio Valley.*

Personal blurb: I had a friend tell me years ago that I seem to be a morning song person, while they were a night song person. I'm not certain I buy into that perspective (because aren't we all a balance of everything?) but I came across this song marked 'Cherokee Morning Song' on YouTube (thank goodness for the hidden features the algorithm unroots) and fell in love with it; the whole album just followed suit.

I think mentioning Robbie Robertson last night got this stuck in my head this morning. 😋

To me, music is the perfect communal place to gather for cultural appreciation. How lucky we are to get to share in the joy this song brings.

*Reference:

[snimon]

Digimon Generations - Fic Masterpost

IT'S HERE!!

Digimon Generations, a Digimon story

The last thing 43-year-old Paul Manchester wanted was to get sucked into another world- and definitely not when he's got work in the morning. But instead, he's stuck tagging along with his 11 year old son while he and his new "Digimon" best friend go on a journey to save the "Digital World," or something. His son Asher and his new bad influence don't seem nearly as bothered by the ordeal, so Paul is left on his own to navigate a whole new world of problems and solutions- that as he goes on, become more and more painfully apparent he'd long since outgrown... Figure out That mess, and having to put up with the little creature that won't leave Paul's side, that is. At least it actually listens to him when he says something. "Let's trust the boy, alright? The kids seem to know more about it than we do."

Updates will come when they come, but I'm in this for the long haul.

(Just as a HEADS UP, this story features some intense themes that may be upsetting to some readers- such as bad parental figures, unhealthy family dynamics, child abuse, a lot of time spent in an abuser's pov and headspace, and similar elements that may sour the experience for some. Specific content warnings will be listed in the end notes, and feel free to comment and ask me to warn for anything else if I missed something. The ultimate goal of this story is Catharsis, but it'll be a long road to get there.

The father main character here is neurodivergent and not a good person and this fic does not shy away from that.)

Read on AO3 or RoyalRoad (content warnings listed)

Tags used on this blog will be #digimon generations for general discussion, and #fic update announcement for new chapter notifs or any important news.

[thehipovercor]

I lied, i drew Marty and Carpal again lol I'm sorry

I worked a lil with @shadowwing13 (owner of Carpal/Renard) and I decided I'd try writing some fiction for the first time in I have no idea when. Thanks, college, for obliterating my will to be fun :') Anyway it made me sappy and I drew the above of my blorbos

It's under the cut, yo

hi sorry to make you look at this lol

    I woke up and the world was dark. I felt something surrounding me and the suffocation of a tight space; I panicked and lashed out. I don't know why. The barriers of the world tore by my hand and stars poured in all at once. They were cold.

    Night in the pit of a valley. I didn't recognize the jutting stones until I had finished bursting forth and landing on my face. I don't know why my hands were wet. Ten digits, the one I had lost returned to me, stuck onto long palms; my left was marred by the same brilliant light that had blinded me for a time. Saint Paul didn't have claws but I did now. I checked over myself and couldn't muster any comment at the foreign skin I found myself in. Some kind of man-turned-animal. Whatever I was, I believe I deserved to be.

    "Juliana?" ...but the question didn't come out. The shell I was in spoke for me, shrieking once. I let it cry out as I attempted to stand up, sick of the soil clinging to me. I stood not like the finely bred lapdogs I spoke with her about but as one of the strays that'd beg from me during lunch. I looked up and searched and in the moment I regretted not being kinder to the dogs. Behind me was a horrible something. It was black and purple and familiar and alien and it had held me for… I didn't know what day it was. I had spoken hideous things in the springtime and went for a walk to collect myself for her, but the air was crisp and the grass looked as though it were dying. It didn't feel like the end of the world. I trembled from both the chill and enormous weight of burden. An animal. Turned into an animal to better carry the weight of my sin. Ashamed as I was, I did feel stronger-- built for a task. I don't know how long I shivered there before finding the trail back home. I limped the entire path. No one else walked in that valley at night.

    "Juliana?" I didn't let the body make any sound that time, although I wasn't sure if I actually spoke. I had navigated around the other houses and no one was awake at that time to catch me. My front door was locked. The broken window, however, was not. I climbed inside and landed unceremoniously. "Are you there? Hello? Hello!" I shouted but the body whined. No reply. Maybe that was preferable. The room I landed in was a bedroom no longer, instead being used for storage of some kind. None of the items were familiar, nothing we would have had in our possession. I cracked the door open and was met with someone else's home. I felt my skin prickle and my ears pin back. Pin back? Animal. Whomever lived here brought a mirror, I could see it, and the choice was obvious. Carefully, so quietly, I crept over and was met with the horned face of the devil staring back. Frills, horns, bulbous eyes of a similar fantastical orange the master painters used. Scars crackled across my right cheek. I was not an animal after all! I was lesser. I strained to not scream, I couldn't risk startling anyone awake to catch me. I slipped back outside until I could bolt to the wilderness to hide in the underbrush. Time didn't matter anymore, I ran and I ran until I slipped and fell back to the dirt. Less than a beast! I was the burden to bear! I cried and I howled until daylight reached through the canopy. I'm not sure if I was thankful no one came to check.

    I frightened a few hunters over the next week as I darted out of their sights. I had learned the hard way that I was still vulnerable after a father instructed his son to aim for a sturdy tree, the boy missing and firing into the underbrush where I laid. I growled, low, and did not allow myself to be envious as the pair discussed how impressive the shot was despite missing. How I missed, already, the casual conversation between family. I waited until they left and had to pull the arrowhead out of my shoulder. There were worse places to be shot by a child. I bled the familiar purple of that soft thing I had fought out of days ago in the dark. The wound seemed to seal itself before I could tend to it. No animal did such a thing when hunted. I sat and thought, another thing no animal could do. I could think, I still felt emotion, yet I felt no urge to harm or kill. Everything settled into shame and guilt, a great vast guilt. Was I greater or less than an animal? On a bright and sunny day, birds over my head singing as though I did not scare them, I sat and wept again. I had to check if I was still worthy of being saved. I wouldn't find it if I hid again.

    I took up a tree branch and walked part of the way. North. I didn't merely remember, I knew the way north. I may have been restricted to moving through the nights but I walked like a man. As the journey became subconscious I took more time to think and more time to practice speaking. The body I was in could not talk but, somehow, I willed myself to speak. I heard my voice echo once. "I LIVED." How disheartening it was to not feel my breath! Even stale air would have been a relief. Yet I heard it echo: "I LIVED." A voice with no air behind it. Perhaps I was thinking wishfully as the reality attempted to creep in yet again. I kept walking and relearning how to be myself but I felt the burden in my chest with every step. Physically I did not tire, barely dozing in the daytime between trips. I was a stumbling thing in the dark, leaning on a tree limb for security. I felt invincible. I felt vulnerable. I could bleed but not breathe. I did not yearn for a meal yet when thirst encroached I felt the ache in every pore of my skin. I drank from wells when I could and muttered thanks and apologies for stealing. I could wash my face. I almost felt better afterward. My heart remained heavy until I acknowledged it: I could feel it beat, slow yet with an unfamiliar intensity. A drum? Perhaps like a great drum -- when I allowed the grief to settle in I could hear my pulse and the more I tried to deny the noise I worried more and more and more and... It was a great number of times I had to stop and stand, hand clutching at my breast. I thought I would die. "I LIVED." And yet even if I had lived, something felt so deeply wrong.

    I quickly learned that keeping all of my previous dignity was slower. I prayed for forgiveness as I stole some rope from a small settlement. If there were a way to repay them I would with interest. The branch would join me if I needed it: I tied it to my back and allowed myself to run like a dog. If I didn't tire, then perhaps it was a blessing for speed. The travel time reduced and I practiced talking during the dawn. I benefited from being both man and beast, yet wondered what he would think. I called upon the branch as I walked the old, sleepy roads of his village. Familiar. His studio was locked but I could more than easily reach his hidden key. I caught myself smiling wondering how he could possibly reach it himself. Surely if I boldly entered with my best manners, he would realize who I was more quickly.

    No one was home; I do not believe anyone had been home recently. All around me, candles burnt to dripping stumps, the odor of rotting foodstuff, scattering mice, and-- It caught my eye. There was a piece of paper laying delicately, untouched apparently. Some type of letter, in French. "To the Journeyman Painter Renard, we..." it began. I wasn't aware I could still feel ill. A letter informing him of my death. I knew him, how sensitive he had always been. The correct summer sunset would bring him to his knees. I had seen him during the news of his nephew passing away, how he seemed to crumple for a child he had never met. How would he mourn for me? Did I matter to him in the same way he mattered to me? Surely he was alive, here, asleep in his bed. I'd appear and show how my practice of talking has progressed and tell him I'm alright. He would clean up and I would help him make a bowl of soup and... And I discovered he wasn't in his room. A painter would be in his workplace, of course. I didn't hesitate and the sound of the bottom of the branch hitting the floor was loud enough to warn anyone of a presence. "Renard?" This time I heard my voice reverberate off the wall. I was about to reach to swing the entry curtain away when my foot kicked something that I felt pierce skin. I paused and watched the small blade spin against the ground until it stopped at a wall. Dirty. Something dusted off the metal from the impact. My scratch no longer registered.

    Moonlight streamed into the studio, the flecks of dust being the only movement. The same black thing I had emerged from sat in the center of the room, the violet glow interrupted in my view by lonely easels. All of the energy I had to make my speech dissipated. I don't know what I felt. Maybe I felt everything. I approached. I saw the canvases. I clutched the branch and fell and I wept. I let my shell weep too. Each canvas was a place we had been. I saw the river we had sat by as I taught my own son how to fish. I saw the birch he kept returning to so he could vent his troubles to me. I saw the bakery where he had watched me spill flour across the floor, laughing as he jumped to help me sweep before the bakers got to me. Landscapes, damaged by exposure. How long had he been gone? Scenes that had been lived in yet offered no figures. There I sat, in a scene as the only figure. I gripped the branch until my hands ached. It felt like my last hope was waiting for me to do something. How my hands ached.

    The sound of movement snapped me out of a trance. It was daylight again. My legs were numb and the branch had divots from my fingers pressing firmly against it. Surely I would have noticed the mice. I blinked a few times and heard the sound again. Before me, I watched familiar panicking hands puncture out of the blackness. I mustered a dry voice. "Renard...?" The hands paused, the claws curling. I braced myself and stood up again by myself, leaning against the soft part. I helped them dig. I reached into the filth and pulled somebody out, dripping. Somebody reached out and pulled at my arms. I saw no horns, no frills, no orange eyes. No scarring on the face I recognized. Inhuman but so human.

    "Renard?"

    He blinked.

    "My grief, Renard! It's me! It's me. Friend, look, it's me. I'm here. I promise it's me."

    I placed him on his feet and took his head in my hands. I would have begun crying if I had any tears left. My heart was pounding. Perhaps he could hear the drum. "Renard, please! It's me! You're you! I lived! It's me, I lived! You're alive!"

    He blinked again and made a sound like one of the birds from the wilderness. I kept repeating "it's me, I promise" as I allowed him to move his hands from my arms to wrap around my back. I picked the branch up from where I dropped it and wrapped my arms in turn.

    "You're alive, I promise. I'm here."