#every criminal in queens has to just live with the fact that they keep getting caught by an actual bug

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #17 死

† bedroom confessions †

“His real name is the most dangerous thing he’s ever given you.”

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 7.5k

rating: explicit (18+)

content: first time in jeon’s bedroom, real name revelation, sexual tension finally exploding, dirty talk that’ll make you blush, spanking kink discovery, emotional walls starting to crack, post-sex vulnerability, and lines being crossed that can never be uncrossed.

Kiki Nation’s discussion thread for this chapter.

☠ author's note ☠

Y’ALL I’M DECEASED. Just casually writing 7.5k of filth like it’s nothing. Who even am I at this point? My laptop is judging me, my FBI agent is traumatized, and I haven’t made eye contact with my roommate in three days.

So… that happened. Jungkook finally shared his real name AND his bed, and honestly? The power that man holds when he’s being all dominant and teasing is absolutely CRIMINAL. I had to take several water breaks while writing this chapter because WHEW. Is it hot in here or is it just me? (¬‿¬)

The fact that Jungkook’s idea of aftercare is literally “wanna stay connected all night?” has me HOLLERING. Sir, that is NOT how this works—but also it’s so perfectly HIM. Our emotionally stunted sniper boy doesn’t know how to process feelings unless they’re shooting through a rifle scope.

And Y/N with the attitude even DURING sex? A queen behavior. Standing ovation for not becoming a complete puddle the second he touched her (though let’s be real, it was close).

Let’s also talk about how they can’t stop BANTERING even post-orgasm. These two idiots calling it “charity work” when they’re both equally obsessed with each other? THE DELUSION. I love them so much it physically hurts my face.

I know I promised slow burn but uh… Listen. LISTEN. It’s an EMOTIONALLLL slow burn. The fuck buddies tag is there for a reason. Sometimes characters just take over and you have to let them bang it out, you know? It’s for their mental health or whatever.

Don’t get too comfortable though! We all know what happens in this universe when people get too happy… the universe (aka me, their cruel god) decides to throw a wrench in everything. ⌒(o＾▽＾o)ノ

Next chapter will give us a little morning-after situation and maybe even some actual plot development if I can stop writing smut for five seconds!

Love ya, trauma vultures! Keep those comments coming, they fuel my sleep-deprived writing sessions!

xoxo 💋

P.S. Also, for the hate comment I deleted 5 seconds after it was posted (you tried though)… here's an even longer author's note, since yk, like you said, nobody reads them… More for me to yap without consequences, I guess.

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

You're in Jeon's room. 

Jeon's fucking room. 

When he'd texted you to come to the shooting range earlier, you'd figured it was just another one of his typical late-night training sessions. 

But now? Now you're here, on his bed , with him standing over you like he’s already decided you’re his next target.

Like you’re already dead and just haven’t figured it out yet.

Okay, maybe a tiny part of you had hoped for this. (Shut up , horny brain.)

But you'd only agreed to be fuck buddies like, what, some hours ago?

And here you are already, sprawled across his sheets, heart hammering against your ribs like it's trying to escape.

Talk about moving fast.

Except it isn't simple. Not when you're already spread out across his bed like you fucking live here. Not when your heart's kicking like a scared rabbit in your chest.

Your fingers curl into his sheets on reflex. Satin. Dark. Smells like pine and something sharper—pine. Him. God, that should not do things to you but it does.

You fight the dumb grin twitching at the corner of your mouth.

Because here's the thing.

He's just as gone for it.

Jeon's staring down at you like he hasn't eaten in days. Dark eyes locked on you like you're dinner and dessert and every guilty pleasure combined. There's no hesitation. No second-guessing. No going slow. Just that razor-focused, dangerous glint he always gets before pulling the trigger on a mark.

And Jesus Christ, you're the mark.

Your breath catches.

That stormy energy of his? It's fucking alive. Wrapping around you. Crawling over your skin. You feel it. You taste it. Static in the air—sharp, biting, almost buzzing in your goddamn teeth.

His fingers graze your thigh and oh. 

That's nice. Really nice. 

But before you can really enjoy it, he pulls his hand away. Plants it on the mattress by your head, making the bed creak under his weight.

You snap your head up in disbelief. "Seriously?"

Your voice cracks. Great. Love that for you.

But then his other hand comes up—slides along your jaw like he owns you. Fingers rough. Callused. Deadly. And all you can do is stare like a fucking idiot as his thumb presses against your bottom lip. Tugging. Testing.

You go pliant before you even process it. Lips parting on instinct.

His mouth opens just a little—like he's picturing it. Like he wants to taste you. Swallow you whole.

And goddamn it, you want that too.

So bad it hurts.

Is he imagining what it'd be like to kiss you? 'Cause you sure as hell are.

"You sure you can handle the kind of tension relief I'm talking about?" he asks, voice low and gravelly. 

You almost laugh. As if you haven't been thinking about this exact scenario for weeks. 

"Guess you'll have to show me so I can decide, huh?"

That does it. 

He moves. Fast.

You barely register it before he's already there—mouth crashing into yours like he's starving. Teeth. Tongue. Fucking warzone.

There's no slow build-up. No teasing. Just pure, raw take.

Your breath punches out of you as you grab for him. Instinct. Desperation. Your fingers slip into his hair—damp, messy, soft as hell. You tug. Hard.

He groans into your mouth. Loud. Deep. Way too fucking hot. It rips down your spine like lightning.

You bite his lip just to feel him suck in air through his teeth. God, that sound—that sound—shoots straight to your core. Your legs twitch under him, thighs pressing together, trying to ease the ache.

It doesn't work. Makes it worse.

Jeon doesn't let you off easy either. He dives back in. Deeper this time. Tongue claiming, swallowing every shaky breath you give him like he owns them now.

His body shifts—presses down harder—pinning you to the mattress without saying a single word. Your back arches up like a fucking reflex. Can't help it.

And then, just as fast, he pulls back.

Forehead against yours. Breath ragged. Lips slick and swollen.

His chest rises and falls like he just ran a mile.

You're no better. Gasping. Throat dry. Pulse wrecked.

"We doing this?" he asks. 

Not really a question. He knows. You both know. Still—he waits.

And maybe it's stupid how much that makes your throat go tight.

You nod, still trying to catch your breath. "Yes."

One word. That's all it takes for Jeon's eyes to darken further.

His mouth finds yours again, but only for a moment. Then he's moving—trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, down to your neck. When his teeth graze below your ear, a small gasp leaves your throat.

Fuck.

The sound does something to him. You can tell by the way his fingers dig into your hip, how his breath comes out just a bit harsher against your skin.

His other hand slides down your stomach, fingers spread wide like he's trying to touch as much of you as possible. The shirt bunches up with the movement. 

More skin exposed to the cool air of his room. More of you for him to explore.

You can barely breathe right. Every inhale is shallow, desperate. A whine builds in your throat, needy and embarrassing, but you're too far gone to care. You want more. More of his hands on you, more of his mouth, more of the way he's practically caging you in with his body.

He makes this sound—low and satisfied, almost like a growl—that has heat pooling between your legs.

"Jeon," you breathe out. 

He pulls back just enough to look at you. His eyes are dark, pupils blown wide. 

"Jungkook," he corrects, voice rough with want. "My real name is Jungkook. Say it like that again."

Your breath catches. Using real names in Kkangpae isn't something you take lightly. It's intimate. Personal. A sign of trust that goes beyond the physical.

"Jungkook," you say again, louder this time. Testing how it feels on your tongue. 

The way his eyes darken tells you everything you need to know about how it sounds to him.

He growls—actually growls, okay paw patrol?—at that, like your voice saying his name is doing things to him. Like he can't get enough of it.

God. The way he's looking at you right now.

"Turn over for me," he murmurs like a command, but there's something patient in his voice. "I need to see that ass."

Your whole body feels like jelly as you move. The mattress dips beneath you, and fuck—you realize how exposed you are right now, laid out for him like this. How vulnerable. 

How wanted.

"Ass up, sunshine," he says, voice raspy.

You push yourself up on your elbows, lifting your hips. The position makes you feel s̶l̶u̶t̶t̶y̶ bold, but it also feels slightly intoxicating, being on display like this, knowing exactly what it's doing to him.

The sharp intake of his breath is worth it.

His hands hover over you for a moment—those same hands that can take a life from a mile away with a sniper rifle now ghosting across your skin. The anticipation has your stomach in knots, has you fighting the urge to push back against him.

When he finally touches you, it's almost reverent. Like he's mapping out territory he plans to claim.

"Fuck," he breathes out; and the way he says it—like a prayer, like worship—makes your face burn. "You have no idea what your ass does to me."

His fingers dig into the flesh of your ass, kneading with the kind of expertise that makes you wonder h̶o̶w̶ ̶m̶a̶n̶y̶ ̶t̶i̶m̶e̶s̶ if he's thought about this before. 

You have to press your face into the pillow to muffle the sounds trying to escape your throat. 

Because if you start, you're not sure you'll be able to stop.

He takes his time, methodical in a way that's driving you insane. His thumbs spread you open, then let you fall back together. His hands work their way, massaging and squeezing. The heat under your skin builds until you feel like you might combust. Like you might actually catch fire right here in his bed.

"Such a perfect ass," he groans, and then—oh—his lips are pressing against one cheek, then the other. Soft kisses that feel somehow filthier than anything else he's done. "Fucking beautiful."

The praise hits different when it's coming from him. When it's Jungkook—cold, distant, perfectionist Jungkook—telling you how perfect you are.

When he pulls back, the loss of contact hits different. Like someone just yanked a warm blanket off you.

"I want to try something," he says, and okay, when his voice sounds like that you'd say yes to almost anything he'd say. 

"Yeah?" Your voice is breathy, but at this point you're too curious (too turned on) to give a single fuck.

His hand traces up your spine, gentle in a way that doesn't match how intensely he's staring at you. The contrast makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.

"I want to spank that gorgeous ass of yours." 

It comes out like a confession, like he's been thinking about this for a while. There's a question mark hanging at the end of it though, waiting for your permission.

Oh.

Something hot and electric zips through you at the suggestion. Your brain staggers for a second, but your body's already made up its mind. You're nodding before you can even process what this means.

"Let's do it," you say, maybe too eagerly, but the thought of his hand coming down on your ass has lit something up inside you that you didn't even know was there.

"Remember our safe word?"

Even in the middle of this is, he's making sure you're both on the same page.

"Black tape," you confirm immediately. 

Having that word there, knowing you can use it anytime—it's like a safety net. Makes everything else feel okay.

"Good."

He positions himself behind you again, and the anticipation is k̶i̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ driving you crazy. His hand hovers over your skin, making you feel every inch of exposed flesh. 

Then, the first spank lands.

It's almost gentle—like he's testing the waters, seeing how you'll react.

The sound it makes in the quiet room has your face burning.

Sharp. Clean. Loud. 

Your skin blooms with heat where his palm connected, and fuck—it's not exactly painful, but it sends this electric feeling through your whole body that has you gasping. The sting melts into something warmer, spreading under your skin until you feel like you're floating.

Your face burns. 

And... It's not from pain.

Obviously, he's watching you like a hawk, trying to read your reaction. You can feel his eyes on you, heavy and intense.

"How was that?" His voice comes out rough, like he's the one who just got spanked.

You have to take a second to remember how words work.

"Good," you manage to get out, barely above a whisper. "Really good."

He gives you time to process, to just feel it. Then his palm is back on your ass, but this time he's not spanking. He's just... touching. Soothing the heated skin with gentle strokes that somehow feel more intimate than the spank itself.

It's messing with your head—how he can switch from rough to gentle so fast. One second he's spanking you, the next he's treating you like you're made of glass.

The air feels exactly like right before a storm hits. 

Jungkook's presence behind you is overwhelming in the best way, and when his hand moves away, you actually have to bite back a whine.

Every second he makes you wait feels like torture. You arch your back a little, trying to be s̶l̶u̶t̶t̶y̶ subtle about asking for more. You can't see his face, but you know he's smirking. 

You've seen that look enough times to picture it perfectly—that cocky little quirk of his lips, the way his eyes get all dark and intense.

"Ready for another?" he asks, voice gone all gravelly; and it shouldn't be hot, but it is.

Your heart's going crazy in your chest when you nod. "Yes."

Waiting has has your skin tingling, has you holding your breath without even meaning to.

You can feel him shifting behind you, the mattress dipping as he draws his arm back. 

When his palm connects this time, it's not a question—it's a statement. 

The smack echoes off the walls, louder than before, and holy shit.

"Fuck," you gasp out. 

It stings more this time, sharp and intense, but in a way that makes everything feel unfairly good.

"How does that feel?" His words drip with arousal, but there's still that undercurrent of concern. 

Always checking, always making sure.

"Nice," you hear yourself say, and you're surprised by how eager you sound. Like you can't get enough. "Keep going."

There's a pause, and you can practically hear the gears turning in his head.

"As you wish," he finally says, and you don't need to see his face to know he's smirking.

He pulls back again, and like the asshole he is, he makes you wait a little bit.

Not for long though, because clearly, the fucker is enjoying this too.

When the third spank lands, it's like a lightning bolt straight to your core. It's stronger, more controlled, and the pleasure that rips through you is so intense it steals your breath. 

You cry out—not from pain, but from how good it feels. 

How it makes your whole body sing.

This time, his hand stays put. You can feel the heat of his palm against your stinging skin, and it's grounding in a way you didn't know you needed.

"Beautiful," he breathes out, like you're some kind of work of art.

You hadn't pegged Jungkook as the type to be into this kind of thing. But the way his breath catches, the slight tremor in his hand as it rests on your ass—it's like he's discovering something about himself right along with you.

Maybe it's a spanking thing. Or maybe it's just a you thing.

Or your ass thing. 

Either way, the realization that you're affecting him this much? 

Heady. Bargaining material. 

His fingers start tracing patterns on your heated skin, soothing the sting. Again with the contrast, from the spanking to this. Like he's not quite sure himself where he stands.

"You okay?"

You nod into the pillow, not trusting your voice right now. 

Because how do you tell someone that you're more than okay? That you're floating on some kind of pleasure high you didn't even know existed?

And honestly, this whole situation is simply making it hard to think straight. 

But then, Jungkook moves, slowly, creates some distance and—oh? 

A soft thud. His towel hitting the floor. 

He steps closer once more, bare skin against yours, and it's hot. He's hot. His skin is hot.

His body is all hard lines pressed up against your softer curves, and when his cock presses against your panties, you actually have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

You push back against him without thinking. 

S̶l̶u̶t̶t̶y̶ Needy.

"You're driving me fucking crazy," he makes this sound you can't quite classify.

The raw want in his voice does things to you. But before you can even think of responding, his hand comes down on your ass again. 

Hard.

The sound echoes through his room, and you can't help the moan that slips out.

(Anyone walking past his door would definitely hear that one.)

"Tell me you felt that," he demands.

"I felt it," you manage to get out between breaths. "I felt all of it."

Then his free hand wraps around your waist, fingers spreading wide like he's trying to conquer as much of your body as possible. He pulls you closer, and god—you can feel every inch of his cock pressed against you through the thin fabric of your panties. 

The contrast between his rough skin and the smooth material is driving you insane.

"You want more?" 

He's trying to sound teasing, but you can hear how affected he is. His voice is multiple octaves deeper than his usual 'whatever' tone.

"Yeah." Your voice comes out wrecked. "Don't stop."

He laughs—this low, dangerous sound that makes your toes curl. "God, I love how eager you are."

His hand comes down hard—harder than before—and the sound echoes through his room like a gunshot. You can't help the groan that rips from your throat. It's embarrassingly loud, but who cares at this point?

The sting burns hot across your skin, sharp and biting, sinking deeper until it melts into that aching pulse you can’t get enough of. You can feel exactly where his palm landed, the heat of it sinking deep into your flesh.

"Christ, you take it so well," he says, and his fingers dig into the spot he just spanked, pressure making you bite your lip. "I can see the shape of my hand on your ass, turning red. It's fucking sexy."

You're breathing like you just ran a marathon, each exhale coming out kind of whiny and desperate. Your brain’s mush. All you can register is his hands and the heat of him grinding against you.

"Jungkook, please." The way you say his name is straight-up pathetic, way too needy. 

You push back against him, wanting to feel him without these stupid panties in the way.

His fingers trail down your spine, so slow it’s infuriating. They dance over the curve of your ass before playing with the edge of your underwear. When his fingers finally hook into the fabric, you freeze, chest tightening as he pulls the fabric aside.

Your face is pressed into his mattress, ass up in the air like some kind of offering. You should feel exposed, but something about it just feels right.

"You're already so wet for me..." You can hear the smirk in his voice. What an asshole. "How can I resist?"

But he does resist, the bastard.

His touch goes all gentle, fingers just barely exploring your folds like he's got all the time in the world. Like he's trying to memorize every little detail—how wet you are, how warm, the way you can't help but tremble. 

He then makes this approving sound deep in his throat and you've had enough.

"Jungkook," you whine, dragging out his name like some kind of desperate prayer. "Stop teasing."

"But I want to watch you squirm," he says, and fuck—you can tell he means it. 

He wants to see you fall apart, wants to watch you beg.

What a bitch. 

His sadistic little game only gets worse when you complain. You can feel his finger right there, barely touching where you need him most, just collecting evidence of how embarrassingly wet you are. The anticipation is k̶i̶l̶l̶i̶n̶g̶ driving you insane as he slides that finger up and down, parting you without actually giving you what you want. Using your own arousal to make the glide easier.

You try to push back against him, to get his finger inside you—anything. But his other hand is pressed firm against your lower back, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

"Jesus Christ, just fuck me already," you can't help but groan, frustrated. 

But Jungkook—because he's a bastard—just keeps playing his little game.

"I'll fuck you when you're ready to break from wanting it so bad," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. 

He loves it. 

His finger circles your entrance, the touch so light it's actually torture. Every time he passes over that spot, you clench around nothing, desperate to feel him inside you.

When he finally pushes just the tip of his finger in, you actually sigh out loud—half relief, half frustration. Your whole body's shaking with how bad you need more, but he keeps holding back. Adding pressure so slowly it should be illegal, pushing in just to pull back out again.

He's drawing this out just because he can, the power-tripping dickhead.

The pressure builds just a tiny bit as he shows you the smallest amount of mercy, sliding that one finger in entirely so slow you think you might actually lose your mind. 

It's not enough—nowhere near enough—and he knows it. 

You want him to stop being so careful, to just take what you're offering.

Despite how frustrated you are (or maybe because of it), you can't help but smirk. 

"What, you got no condoms this time either?"

The words come out all breathy between your gritted teeth—and honestly? Not your brightest idea, bringing up that particular memory from the tent.

The response is immediate—his hand comes down hard on your ass, sting spreading across your skin like wildfire.

"Aw, what the fuck—?" 

You yelp, caught between the sharp pain and how embarrassingly turned on it makes you feel—like your body can't decide if it wants to flinch away or push back for more.

"You should know better than to sass me right now."

Then his hand is smoothing over the spot he just spanked, gentle in a way that feels almost worse than the hit itself.

"You're such an asshole," you tell him, but there's no real bite to it. 

You both know you don't mean it, not when you're bent over his bed with his finger inside you.

"Mhm, but you fucking love it, don't you?" 

He says it like it's just a fact. Like the sky is blue, water is wet, and you get off on him being a dick.

(The worst part is he's not wrong.)

You can't help but grown more impatient when you feel his ring finger press up against your entrance, right next to where his middle finger is already buried inside you. He pauses there, just letting you feel the pressure.

"For fuck's sake, just do it." Your voice cracks embarrassingly, giving away just how bad you want it.

He laughs, low and rough. "Patience, I want you to feel every single inch."

Can he die? Genuinely. 

Then the pressure builds as he starts working his ring finger in alongside the other one. He's being so fucking methodical about it, pushing deeper into you at a pace that's making you lose your mind. 

Every inch feels like it takes forever.

"You feel so fucking tight, you sure you can handle both?"

The teasing note in his voice makes you want to bite him. He already knows the answer, the smug bastard.

"I can take more than you can give," you get out between breaths, because fuck him.

And it's meant to be cocky, but it comes out sounding more desperate than anything.

"We'll see about that."

His fingers stop moving for a second—just long enough to make you whine—before he starts pushing in even slower. Like he's trying to make you feel every single movement, every stretch, every slide.

And at this point your body's on fucking fire. But can you be to blame, when he's been nothing but an infuriating tease?

Little pleading sounds keep escaping your throat without permission. You're practically chanting 'please's as you try to push back against his hand. But he's got you pinned, keeping that torturously slow pace.

"Fucking... jerk," you mutter—because he absolutely is. 

"Yeah," he agrees. "I am."

When both his fingers finally—finally—bottom out inside you, you actually gasp. Your body clenches around them greedily, trying to get any kind of movement, and the grunt he lets out sounds s̶e̶x̶y̶ pleased.

"Tell me how much you want it."

It's not a request. His voice has that edge to it that makes it very clear.

"I want it more than my next breath." The words tumble out raw and honest.

"Good girl," he says, and even though it's rough around the edges, the praise makes you stutter.

His fingers curl inside you, making you moan embarrassingly loud. Then the bastard just... stops. Stays completely still, letting you feel exactly how deep his fingers are, how they're stretching you open.

You're actually going to lose your mind if he doesn't start moving soon. But you refuse to beg—you won't give him the satisfaction.

"I think listening to you beg is my new favorite sound," he says, like he can read your thoughts.

"Fuck off—" The words die in your throat when his fingers pull back just a tiny bit before pushing deep again, and yup, the sound that comes out of your mouth is straight-up pathetic.

"You're driving me insane," you tell him, trying to sound angry.

"That's the idea." He says, but it's all dark and pleased. "I want you out of your mind with need, so when I finally give you what you're begging for, you'll remember who put you there."

Fuck.

His fingers are still buried deep inside you, not moving, and you can feel every single knuckle. It's like a preview of what's coming later—a promise that this is just the start, and he's planning to take his sweet time getting there.

The seconds drag by like hours. You're stuck in this weird space between pleasure and frustration, where his fingers feel so good but it's n̶o̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ not nearly enough. The heat of his body against yours isn't helping either. Having him this close but not getting what you want is actually torture.

"Are you planning on moving anytime this century?"

And yeah. It sounds bitchy. 

Exactly how you want it.

"In due time."

You can barely breathe right, desperation clawing at your throat. Then—oh—his finger brushes against your clit, so light you almost think you imagined it. Your hips jerk without permission, chasing that barely-there touch.

"Jungkook," you warn, half-growl, half-whine.

He chuckles. "No patience at all, huh?"

"Just fucking touch me already." The snark in your voice is falling apart, giving way to pure need.

"Ahh, I love it when you get all feisty."

You open your mouth to tell him exactly where he can shove that smugness, but then his finger is back on your clit. 

Just ghosting over it, barely any pressure at all. 

But your whole body lights up anyway, every nerve ending suddenly wide awake.

"This is torture," you accuse, though the breathiness in your voice kind of ruins the effect.

"Not torture. Appreciation." He hums. "I'm just enjoying all those pretty sounds you make. The way you shake. How desperate you get."

Bastard.

His finger starts moving in slow circles around your clit, adding just a tiny bit more pressure. It's enough to make your back arch, trying to get more friction, but it's n̶o̶w̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ not nearly enough.

"Please," you whine, past caring how needy you sound. "Just—a little harder, please, Jungkook."

He gives you what you asked for—barely. 

Just a fraction more pressure, but combined with his fingers still buried inside you, it's enough to make your body clench around him. 

He's got you trapped between pleasure and frustration, keeping you right on that edge.

"This what you want?" he asks, mocking. "This pace good for you, hmm?"

You know exactly what he's doing—getting off on your impatience, on how desperate he can make you with just his fingers and that stubborn w̶i̶l̶l̶p̶o̶w̶e̶r̶ control of his. 

The pressure on your clit keeps changing, going from barely-there touches that make you want to scream to just enough to have you chasing more.

"Jungkook, I fucking swear—" 

The words die in your throat when his finger suddenly presses harder.

"What?" His voice drops even lower, hitting that dangerous note that usually means he's about to stop playing nice. "What exactly are you swearing?"

"That I'll rip your fucking hair out if you don't stop messing around." You have to grit your teeth to get the words out, trying to sound threatening even though you're literally shaking with need.

He laughs—this deep, dark sound that vibrates through you—and rewards your threat with a firm stroke that has heat coiling in your stomach.

"That's not very nice," he says, but he sounds more amused than anything. Like your empty threats are entertaining him.

His finger goes back to those slow, torturous circles around your clit. Each pass builds the pressure a little more, but it's never quite enough to get you there.

The most f̶u̶c̶k̶e̶d̶ messed up part? You're kind of into it. 

This whole power play thing you've got going—how you push and he pulls, how you threaten and he teases. 

It's addictive. 

Because in truth, there is something powerful about knowing you can make Jeon Jungkook, Kkangpae's perfect soldier, want to hear you say his name.

Suddenly his whole rhythm changes. 

No more of that torturously slow pace—his fingers start moving with actual purpose, curling inside you in a way that has your toes curling. Like he's finally done playing around and just wants to make you genuinely cum.

Hallelujah.

The sound that comes out of your mouth is straight-up filthy. You have to press your face into the mattress to muffle it, which only makes you more aware of how heavily you're breathing, each gasp basically fucking advertising how good his fingers feel.

"Come on, sunshine," he teases. "You don't have to be quiet. These walls are soundproof."

But you just press your face harder into the mattress. 

It's become a matter of pride now—you refuse to give him the satisfaction of hearing exactly what he's doing to you. 

You're right there, so close you can taste it—

And then the fucker stops.

A pathetic whimper leaves your throat as you squirm beneath him, feeling weirdly empty. The loss of sensation has you actually wanting to cry.

When you turn your head to glare at him, he's got this insufferably satisfied look on his face. 

He reaches over to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer like he's got all the time in the world. The foil packet he holds up catches the light, and the victorious look he gives you makes you want to bite him.

"See, I do have condoms this time, you smart mouth." The smirk on his face should be illegal.

"Oh wow, look who's being a semi-functional adult for once." You narrow your eyes at him."Want a fucking gold star or something?"

He laughs whilst tearing the foil packet and for some reason, it is weirdly hot—how focused he looks while rolling the condom on.

"Maybe after this you'll want to give me one," he says, still sounding way too amused.

He settles back on his knees, raising an eyebrow at you like he's waiting for something. You huff, pretending to be all put out even though you're literally dying from how bad you want him. When you press your cheek against his cool sheets again, you make sure to arch your back just right.

You know exactly what that view does to him.

Feeling extra b̶r̶a̶t̶t̶y̶ bold, you wiggle your hips a little. Just a tiny movement, but it's basically saying 'come and get it' without words.

And bingo. 

His hand comes down on your ass hard—but despite that, you feel weirdly victorious. 

Then he's right there, lining himself up. 

His tip brushes against your entrance, teasing to the point of madness, because at this point you just want him inside already.

You bite down on the sheets, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg again. But your body's giving you away anyway—the way you're trembling, how desperately you're trying to push back against him.

He takes his sweet time, just watching you. His eyes trail down your spine to where his handprints are probably turning your ass red. 

After what feels like forever, he finally pushes in, one smooth stroke that rips the air from your lungs.

And it's impossible to muffle yourself; even with your face squashed against the mattress, when he bottoms out completely. 

You feel every single inch of him, filling you up so completely it's genuinely insane. And he just stays there, buried deep inside you. 

"So fucking tight," he growls, sound vibrating through you, making your toes curl.

Your body moves on its own, pushing back against him, desperate for more. You need him to move, need that relentless pace you know he can give you. But the bastard just holds you there, completely still, making you feel every single detail of how he's splitting you open.

His fingers dig into your hips—not hard enough to leave marks (yet), but firm enough to keep you exactly where he wants you. And the slight bite of pain just adds to the pleasure, kind of welcome honestly. 

When he finally pulls back, you almost whine at the loss—but then he slams back in, hard and deep, and your brain melts. Everything gets kind of blurry after that.

Your skin feels like it's on fire everywhere he touches. The sound of skin hitting skin echoes through his room (thank god these walls are actually soundproof), getting louder with each thrust. His pace is brutal, punishing, but it's exactly what you've been dying for.

"That's it, take all of it."

And there's just this thing in how he says it—that has you pushing back against him like you're desperate for it. 

(Maybe you are.)

Every thrust feels like getting hit by a natural disaster; like a fucking hurricane. It's hard to breathe, hard to think about anything except how he's driving you into the mattress.

He's fucking you like he's got something to prove, hips snapping forward so hard it's just obscene, has you clutching at his sheets like they're the only thing keeping you grounded.

Then his hand slides underneath you, looking for your clit. Like he knows exactly what you need without you voicing it out. 

The second he finds it and starts rubbing circles against it, electricity zips through your whole body. It's almost too much, the dual sensation of his cock stretching you open and his fingers working your clit.

"Fuck, Jungkook," you moan, and you barely recognize your own voice. "Don't stop."

He lets out this grunt that gets lost in the sound of him pounding into you. 

But he listens, thank god, keeping up that relentless pace with both his cock and his fingers.

It's not gentle. He's fucking you like he wants to break you, like he wants to hear every embarrassing sound he can wring out of your throat.

"Just like that, sunshine," he pants. "Fucking take it."

Each thrust builds something wild inside you, like being caught in the eye of a hurricane. The pressure coils tighter and tighter until you think you might actually lose your mind. Everything feels too much and not enough all at once.

Your senses go into overdrive—the obscene sound of skin hitting skin, the heavy scent of sex filling his room, the salt of sweat on your tongue. You're drowning in pleasure, and Jungkook's the one holding you under with his relentless pace.

Then it hits.

The orgasm crashes through you in waves, drawing these embarrassingly loud sounds from your throat—whimpers, growls, straight-up begging. Your body clamps down around his cock like it's trying to keep him there forever, fingers still working your clit through it all. Pleasure zips through every nerve ending until you can barely breathe.

"Jungkook—" His name rips from your throat when you come, sounding absolutely wrecked. 

The pleasure is so intense it almost hurts.

He falters for just a second before picking the pace back up, fucking you through your orgasm until you're seeing stars. Each stroke sets off these little aftershocks that have you questioning your sanity. His groans get louder, deeper, mixing with the sounds you can't help but make.

Every thrust hits exactly where you need it, precise and commanding in that way only he can manage.

You can feel how tense he is, how close he is to losing it.

His breathing comes out all rough and uneven, matching the brutal pace of his thrusts. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave marks, using the grip to pull you back onto his cock like he can't get deep enough. 

It's feral, is what it is— how he's moving now—like he's completely lost in it, chasing his own pleasure.

"Shit, I'm close," he groans against your neck, chest pressed tight against your back, skin burning everywhere you touch.

Then he goes rigid as it hits him. 

You can feel every twitch of his cock, every pulse as he fills the condom.

He makes this plethora of sounds—deep, rough groans combined with some high pitched ones; all stripped away until he's just raw need and pleasure.

"Ah— fuck—"

Every curse that falls from his lips sounds snatched from him, desperate.

His hips stutter against yours, losing his rhythm as he rides it all out. His grip on your hips is tight enough to bruise, holding you still while he falls apart. Each thrust gets slower, like he's trying to make it last.

When he starts coming down from it, his hands go gentle where they were rough before. 

He's still panting hard against your neck, little aftershocks making his cock twitch inside you. His heart's hammering so hard you can feel it against your back.

Jungkook collapses against your back, his legs apparently giving out after how hard he just came. His chest is slick with sweat where it presses against you, and his breath fans hot across your neck. He's still buried inside you, cock softening but still making you feel so full. 

The sound he makes—this low, satisfied groan—is almost cute. Like a big cat after a good meal.

The afterglow starts to settle, leaving this heavy kind of quiet between you. Your breathing starts evening out, going from desperate gasping to something more normal. 

You both just... stay there for a minute, too worn out to move.

Then he just... drops his full weight on you. Like his arms finally give out or something.

The heat of his body wraps around you completely, and maybe it'd be nice if he wasn't crushing your lungs. 

His whole body is radiating exhaustion, and yeah—you get it. That was intense. 

"Jeon, move... you're heavy," you grunt into his pillow. 

Your voice comes out all rough from how loud you were being earlier.

"Give me a second," he mumbles against your skin, sounding just as wrecked as you feel. "You can't expect me to move after fucking you like that." 

He sounds half-joking, half-serious, nuzzling into your neck like he's planning to just stay there forever.

You can't help but laugh at that. Something about seeing Kkangpae's perfect soldier brought down by an orgasm is kind of hilarious. 

You shove at his side, trying to get him to budge.

He doesn't move an inch, the bastard. 

Instead, he has the audacity to suggest something so wild it's weirdly very him.

"How 'bout we fall asleep just like this, me still inside you?" His voice comes out all lazy and satisfied. 

You can tell he's half-joking, but there's this note in his voice that says he's actually considering it.

You reach back to smack him, caught between being annoyed and kind of endeared by how shameless he is. 

"Fat chance, thundercloud," you tell him, but there's no real bite to it. 

He laughs—this deep, warm sound that tells you he's smiling even though you can't see his face.

But you really can't breathe with him crushing you, so you push at him again, harder this time. "Seriously, off. You're heavy as fuck."

He makes this exaggerated groan like you're asking him to run a marathon or something, but finally rolls off you and onto his side. 

His cock slips out (and fuck, that's a weird feeling), and then he sprawls out next to you, throwing one arm over his face as he catches his breath. 

The sight of him like this—all tatted up and muscled, skin still kind of shiny with sweat—is doing things to your brain that you really don't want to examine too closely.

After a few more deep breaths, he sits up with this little sigh like moving is the worst thing ever. You watch him from the corner of your eye as he deals with the condom. 

There's something almost gentle about how he handles it, which is kind of funny considering how rough he w being just a minute ago. He ties it off and tosses it in the trash with this practiced little flick that says he's definitely done this before.

"So, you wanna cuddle?" The teasing in his voice is obvious. 

It's a callback to your conversation earlier, when you were both pretending this was just going to be sleeping.

"Seems like I'm not the one wanting to cuddle after all," you shoot back, matching his tone.

Jungkook gives you that smug little grin.

"Just doing some charity work," he says, voice all teasing and challenging, daring you to argue.

You can't help but scoff. The audacity of this man.

"Charity work? Please. If anyone's being charitable here, it's me."

He laughs—this deep, satisfied sound that fills his room. "Ha. Don't act like you didn't enjoy that just as much as I did."

Well. He's got you there, but you're not about to admit it out loud. Not when he's being this smug about it.

You tilt your head, feeling a crooked smile tug at your lips. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Guess we'll never know."

He shifts closer to you, and fuck—even after everything you just did, your body still reacts to his proximity.

"Maybe I need to fuck you again to find out," he says, voice dropping low enough to make heat pool in your stomach.

"Oh? You sure you can handle another round, tough guy?"

The smirk he gives you is absolutely criminal.

"Sunshine, I've got stamina for days." He says it like he's joking, but something tells you he's not exaggerating.

"For days, huh?" You raise an eyebrow. "Someone's confident."

"Because I know you," he says softly, words ghosting across your skin.

That makes you pause.

Know you? 

He doesn't know you any more than you know him. 

Sure, your bodies seem to speak the same language—the way you fit together, how you respond to each other's touch. 

But that's all this is. 

All it can be. 

Nothing more complicated than pure physical attraction.

But you don't feel like getting into that right now. Not when you're both still riding the high of what just happened.

"Tempting," you say instead, drawing the word out. "But we've got a long night ahead, and I'd rather spend it actually sleeping."

He narrows his eyes at you, looking way too pleased with himself. 

"My bed seems to be the only place you're actually honest," he says, and how does he always have a comeback ready?

You raise an eyebrow at him. "Was that supposed to be a compliment, Jeon? Getting soft on me already?"

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, putting on this fake serious face. "Can't have you thinking I actually enjoy your company or something."

"Oh, please. Soft is literally the last word I'd use to describe you." You can't help but smirk at the double meaning.

A yawn catches you off guard—not because you're tired (okay, maybe a little), but because you're actually kind of... comfortable?

Weird. 

"Anyway, time for sleep. That's what we said we'd do, remember?

He literally snorts. "Sleep? After what we just did? You're fucking with me."

"Not anymore, I'm not," you shoot back, and the look on his face is actually priceless.

"Come on," he tries again. "Round two? I promise it'll be worth staying up for."

But you're already settling into his stupidly comfortable bed. "Nope. Some of us need actual sleep, thundercloud."

"Fine," he sighs, all dramatic about it. "But just so we're clear—this isn't me giving up. It's a tactical retreat."

You actually snort at that. "A tactical retreat? Is that what we're calling it?"

"Yeah, well." He pulls the covers up, finally accepting defeat. "Pushy ain't sexy."

You both settle comfortably in the quietness of his room.

And you can't help but ponder.

It's weird how easy this feels—being here with him, joking around after what you just did. 

Like you're not just teammates or gang members or even fuck buddies.

That thought's definitely more scary than it should be.

goal: 480 notes (also lil reminder to go vote fmu 21 and 22 on wattpad after the mass unvoting to restore them, if you enjoy that story as well! (●’◡’●)ﾉ)

if you’ve enjoyed this chapter please consider buying me a coffee!! ☕️ ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

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© jungkoode 2025

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[sleepingdeath-light]

yandere hcs + his s/o realises what has happened ; our ! ciel phantomhive

requested by ; zetsubobu (16/07/23)

fandom(s) ; black butler

fandom masterlist(s) ; hub | specific

character(s) ; our!ciel phantomhive

outline ; “Anyways I'm obsessed with black butler so can I request (if possible a little fic but headcanons are also fine) yandere older ciel phantomhive with a reader that figured out that he's behind the mysterious deaths of their close ones but it's already too late at this point and has captured them?”

warning(s) ; yandere!our!ciel phantomhive, obsessive behaviour, manipulation, isolation, violent behaviour and murder (not towards the reader)

ciel had been so very careful, taking every possible measure he could think of to ensure you remained blissfully ignorant to the true depths of his infatuation with you and just how much blood he’s gotten on his hands because of it. but, unfortunately, whether it was one big mistake or a thousand tiny slip ups you somehow ended up stumbling upon the truth he’d so desperately tried to hide from you

that the untimely murders of your closest family members and friends — the very incidents that brought the two of you together when he’d oh so kindly offered to investigate them for you — were little more than a ploy to destroy your support network and push you into his arms

that he had been the one behind every brutal death, staged suicide, and unfortunate accident that had plagued your social circle for years

that he’d sit there and console you, promising you protection and support and all sorts of wonderful things you had only ever dreamed of before, all while having the blood of the very loved ones you were grieving staining his hands

that the funerals he arranged and paid for, the memorial services he dutifully attended with you on his arm, and the supposedly intensive investigations into each incident he was heading, were all part of some sick game for him — that he’d used your grief to paint himself as your prince charming, manipulated you from hour one, and that it had fucking worked

that the man you’d married, that you’d loved with all of your heart, had made your life a living nightmare just to keep you by his side — and gotten some poor innocent man executed in his place

you feel sick

your head is spinning, mind racing a mile a minute, and you feel like you’re about to pass out

your heart aches

your stomach churns

your throat runs dry

your eyes sting

you want to run

you want to die

you want to turn back time and make it so you and the earl phantomhive never crossed paths

but you can’t because this is ciel you’re talking about and he’s got eyes on every corner and ears down every street — running from him would be about as successful as trying to keep yourself dry at the bottom of the ocean

and as his wife — god the word makes your teeth ache — you’ve got even less of a chance of getting out because you depend on him for everything

he’s an earl, the queen’s guard dog, and you know for a fact he holds a significant sway in the criminal underground — and you’re just… his wife

a woman with nowhere else to go, nowhere to run to, and nobody to reach out to. everyone you speak to these days knew ciel first — his servants, his family, his friends, his associates — so there’s no way in hell that anyone would keep a secret from him.

you have nothing

you are nothing

and he knows it, you think… or at the very least he orchestrated things to be this way — the murders, the social isolation, the careful integration into his social circles, etc.

you almost feel like a marionette, a puppet on strings that he’s been manipulating behind the scenes for years, and all you can do is laugh

manically

hysterically

mournfully

because now you know the truth — that your life and marriage have been built on a carefully constructed web of lies, that every death your family suffered was because of one man’s obsession with you, that you can’t even fight back or run away because you don’t even know the extent of what your husband is capable of anymore — and, worse still, you can’t even do anything about it

all you can do is stay right where you are and pray you don’t meet the same fate as the others once he realises that you know too much

… til death do you part indeed

[flygefisk]

don't have the energy for more than these rn but! remy & lux!

remy (pitbull/snapper, he/him, full name remedy) is a retired gladiator. he fought his way out and was granted enough money to purchase a piece of land far, far away from the city where he was imprisoned. he built a farm on that land, where he grows his favorite fruits & vegetables & raises a small hive of giant bees and a few giant spiders. he only has to interact with others once a week when he sets up at the town's market.

remy is gruff, hard-working, and has absolutely no respect for authority. he's ultimately a pretty sweet guy, gentle & generous- the little old ladies in town adore him.

lux (deer/unicorn hybrid/imperial, he/they?, full name luxury) is a prince in hiding. his mother, the queen, was horrible, both to her country and her family. after her assassination, his family began receiving more frequent and vicious threats from both her allies and enemies (mostly the allies). so his eldest sister decided the heirs would be safer elsewhere. she placed lux with remy for two reasons: one, he's about as far as you can get from the capitol while still in the kingdom, and two, he hated the queen, so he'd have no reason to work with any loyalists who may come sniffing around.

lux acts like a spoiled little party boy (not entirely untrue) to hide his crippling self-loathing. he was a disappointment in every way to his mother, which is something he's quite proud of, but worries the few he respects feel the same. haughty, self-centered, and deeply rebellious- he in fact assisted those responsible for the queen's death.

remy only agreed to take lux in for the generous pay packet and the promise that lux would work to earn his keep. lux was… less than enthused about this arrangement. him, work? in the dirt?? get mud on his clothes?? in his hair???

some fun (?) facts about them:

remy is a trans man. he'd lived as a boy since early childhood, but didn't really choose his name til he escaped the ring- remedy to represent healing and commitment to a peaceful life after so much violence. he escaped at 24, and is 28 when lux arrives.

remy had a rough start. homeless orphan living with a group of small time criminals, then the king died and the queen instituted a crueler guard force and awful punishments. he got arrested one too many times, and the new sentence for repeat offenders was gladiatorial combat. he was seventeen.

remy has 1 (one) tiddy. he'll tell you the story- bitten off by a chimera! or maybe burned away by a dragon. or popped off by a kraken? the real story is honestly just as dramatic- it happened in the ring. an opponent chopped through it, remy made the final slice and dared them to do the other. they did not. they also did not leave that fight alive.

remy is also missing a pinky finger and most of his ears and tail, all taken as punishments by the ring guards. they docked his ears for insinuating he'd fucked a nobleman's wife (he hadn't, but did after that). they took his pinky for saying a visiting duke liked it up the ass (he had, in fact, greatly enjoyed remy's visit). and his tail... was for mooning the queen.

remy raises bees for honey & eggs, and spiders for silk. the bees are large chicken/smallish turkey sized, and the spiders range from large dog to cow sized depending on breed. he also has a mantis who herds the spiders & guards the bees at night. he makes mead with the honey and sells/trades the silk to a weaver in town- she once made him a very very cozy blanket as a thank-you.

lux wasn't really given a chance to be anything but cishet growing up, and little changed as an adult, given the expectations placed on royalty. in the peace of the countryside, he starts questioning that. grows out his hair, tries on skirts. he never really picks a label or even pronouns- any are ok. he's 26 when he arrives at remy's door.

lux's father was the unicorn, his mother the deer. his father died when lux was ~10 (supposedly of heart disease, which is unheard of in unicorns- most now believe the queen poisoned him to become the sole leader). he was a much better ruler than his wife, and the country took a nosedive after she took power. lux misses him very much.

lux looks more like his mother, which he hates- he inherited his father's long tail and silky hair, but only a teeny horn on his forehead. his eldest sister beauty is their father's spitting image, and his older brother treasure inherited his glittering coat. (lux never grew out of his big ol' fawn/foal ears)

lux's mother named all her children things she wanted them to embody (from oldest to youngest: beauty, marvel, treasure, luxury, splendor), not because she wanted them to be happy, but to show them off. she treated them less like children and more like trophies. she was especially proud of lux's antlers, they grew in early and elegant- he chopped them off and they never grew back properly. he still cuts them back every season.

lux does grow to love farm life. he misses some of his home, of course, and goes back every so often once things settle, but he'd rather stay with remy. he loves the bees, and especially loves mulberry, the herding mantis (she's very spoiled for a working bug)

these guys actually started as d&d npcs several years ago- they were a half-orc and a high elf, but otherwise pretty similar. i forget the whole story, but i remember remy crit during a fight and killed an enemy with a carrot lmao

[astro-lmk-enjoyer]

LMK rant!! (It’s a long one + a story/fanfic)

I like the concept that MK isn’t Wukong type immortal. But Macaque’s version of immortal, like, consider the fact that MK, as a celebrity, has a cash number on his head for all the demons and hard core criminals to exploit.

And MK just isn’t fazed by it at all.

He can get stab, shot, anything and he’ll walk into the restaurant and everyone will be like “OMG MK THERE IS A KNIFE IN YOUR CHEST”

And MK is like “oh yeah I forgot about that. There was a sale on a drink and there was no line so I just had to!” He pulls out the knife and the wound like, instantly heals? Everyone is shocked and MK is just: 😐

MK would have a HUGE price on his head in the black market, like “yeah this is MK The Monkie Kid’s headband which he wore throughout s1-s2 ep4” or something like that idk.

And MK will just throw the knife aside and go up to his room, like nothing happened, and check his to-do list coz, come on, MK has to train with Wukong AND Macaque and have mandatory hangouts with his friends and work (only part-time now) at Pigsy’s. Boy has a lot on his mind, which he likes! He has to keep busy so he doesn’t have time to think.

That to-do list had eat and sleep on it but those two rarely get done and that’s okay! MK doesn’t want to sleep anyway, every time he sleeps she is there (whether you take that as LBD or Nuwa is up to you). In fact everyone is there in his dreams but they’re not really there you know? They’re there but their ether died, dying or have a life threatening injury’s . Every time he sleeps he see how thing could have gone differently- all the time he put their lives in danger every time he hurt them.

The time almost the whole city got mind controlled, the countless times the city got destroyed and rebuilt only to get destroyed again and again by his mistakes- The Spider Queen, LBD, The Fire- The Celestial Realm- Asure Lion- AGAIN AND AGAIN HES HURT PEOPLE no mater what he does it always leads to pain! Not to mention the time HE LITERALLY COMMITTED SUICIDE TO SAVE THE WORLD what about his friends!? They almost got erased because of him! And he died again because that snake demon pushed him into the pillar. NOT TO MENTION THE IMPENDING DOOM OF “The Chaos beyond” AND ALL THAT. OOOH VERY NICE OF YOU TO TELL ME THAT BUT WHAT DO YOU MEAN. EXPLAIN.

Huh. Got sidetracked there. Anyway-

Instead of sleeping,MK walks around all night, he feels he’s looking for something but he doesn’t know what, someone to help? His sanity? His will to live? Those therapy sessions he should be getting? He doesn’t know really. But it keeps him awake and the city is pretty big so he doesn’t have to worry about running out of places to look, so it works. And when the sun starts to rise he goes home and sneaks back into his room.

The lack of sleep starts getting to him though. He’s more snappy, annoyed, all that good stuff. Everyone else knows and try’s to not give him stuff to do so whatever adrenaline he’s on finally calms down and he gets some sleep.

MK doesn’t see it like that though.

In his mind they have finally noticed how he’s useless now. Now that he’s for filled his purpose of saving the universe he is no longer needed. They don’t need him. They hate him. He’s unwanted. No worry’s though. He’ll get out of there hair and go around helping the people of the city instead of doing what they refuse to let him do for them.

But at some point the people notice too. They stop asking him for help.

He looks awful at this point and he start to spiral a bit-

I mean if even his friends and the towns people don’t want him then, then fine! He’ll find something else to give him purpose! And to help him not sleep of cause. But sleep is something you can only out run for so long.

He runs away. You might think this seems a very strange response but MK is basically delirious by this point. He finds a spot in the wilderness where everything feels like it’s stopped. It’s so calm and peaceful, you could never imagine that this place probably had hordes of dangerous creatures pass through it.

He puts his bag down and sits, relaxing for once in a LONG time, how many days straight had he been awake for now? 4, 5, more??

He probably only sits down for a minute before he passes out of exhaustion.

He wakes up later in the day, the other probably know he’s not at home by now, they probably think he’s out in the town somewhere. But he’s not.

He doesn’t really like having to walk about with his own thoughts for too long. But eventually he reaches the edge of the forest and the sea, he doesn’t know he came here of all places. No he can’t sleep here the water is too loud right now. Perfect. Now if he could just find somewhere hidden from anyone’s line of sight he could stay there.

Walking along the shore, MK eventually finds a cove-like area. Thick trees ether side but enough wind for the waves to stay loud. Siting down he wondered what he could do to stay awake, right! The water would keep him awake and he would have to keep moving as to not get pulled out to sea!

He stripped down to his pants and hung his clothes on a tree branch so they don’t get dirty. Wading in the water he found that the sting of the coldness made him a touch more awake. It was nice out here- oops. He slipped on some seaweed and the waves pushed him over. Now that he was under the water it seamed like a different place, the fish dove in and out of the seaweed. He reached out to touch the floor of the sea, he could feel the sand and the roots of the seaweed if he focused enough. Though it felt like he there was something he was forgetting-

Oh fu- he forgot to hold his breath! Bubbles flow past his face as he realised and he pushed his way the surface. But right before a thought came to him, what if he stayed there? Under the water? He could just disappear and no one would know where he went… nonsense that was. Once he was out the water he coughed up a couple handfuls of water and headed back to shore. That was enough water for him.

What was that strange thought anyway? I mean, thinking about that would keep his mind away from thinking about other things… why would he think that? Didn’t that count as a suicidal thought? No that’s not what that was. Was it?

A buzzing brought his attention back to his surroundings. Where was it coming from? He turned back to the trees intending to find a bee or something but no his phone in his jacket pocket was ringing. Quickly shaking most of the water off his hand he grabbed his phone. It was Pigsy. Pigsy was ringing him. It was past the start time of his shift, so it was probably to yell at him or something. He didn’t want to deal with that.

He let his phone ring out. But he rang again. MK didn’t- COULDN’T deal with that right now. He turned his phone off and throw it in the water. On second thought he shouldn’t have done that. The water wasn’t safe to be in if there was electronics in it right? But what did that mater to him for? Whatever.

He quickly got dressed and picked up his bag maybe he could read one of the two comic books he bought with him. He read both of them. Over and over till he memorised the words. This wasn’t helping. It passed some time sure but it wouldn’t last long, maybe he could redraw the comic in his own style? Yeah! That was something to do.

Just then he noticed a strange voice, it was to far away to recognise or to make out what they where saying but if there were people he had to move.

He walked- ran actually, he ran. But the voice just got closer, he recognised the voice now, a voice he could recognise anywhere, HER. Whispering right in his ear.

Did you miss me~

No! This wasn’t happening- not now!

They don’t need you anymore do they?

They-! … do they really need him?

Of course they don’t need you~ you did your purpose after all. You saved the world congrats, and in doing so you’ve hurt them beyond repair. Pigsy-

No!

Red Son-

No…

Mei-!

He tripped on a root and dropped his bag, but there was no time to pick it up, he kept running.

Look at what you’ve accomplished, what could have happened instead. I could have take the fire from Mei and been unstoppable! Not even Monkie King could-

MK tripped again but he could barely stand up again. If he could find somewhere comfortable like the grass from before maybe he could have the same dreamless sleep as he did before.

He rested his head on a tree trying to calm his breaths- everything was too overwhelming!

They hate you don’t they~

He was to focused on trying not to breath in all the world’s oxygen then on stopping the thoughts. He clucked his chest. He’d be fine. Everything would be fine.

A small movement caught his eye. A butterfly… but this one looked off for some reason? Just then the butterfly burst into a cloud of golden smoke before Monkie King appeared out of it. MK shoved himself up to his feet. His heart still pounding in his ears. Monkie King grabbed his wrist and said… something???

MK’s head pounded, he couldn’t tell whether his eyes were blurred from crying or his lightheadedness. Ether way he felt he was going to pass out. He stumbled backwards, Monkie King pulled MK towards him but all it achieved was making MK more dizzy. MK’s eyes felt heavy and he fell into Monkie King’s arms. He closed his eyes and Monkie King called out. MK felt the vibrations in the other’s chest. One hand was holding firmly onto his back and the other held his head gently.

His hands were soft. It felt… right. To be here in his arms.

And finally… MK fell in to that sweet dreamless-sleep he wanted.

Wow. Idk if it was my ADHD kicking in or something but I didn’t intend to write the start of a fanfic. Damn.

[kitty-i-swear-to-gosh]

I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT EACH AND EVERY PERSON ON YOUR OC POSTER. PLEEEEAAAASSSE

Thank you for being as obsessed with these little freaks as I am. It’s truly an honor

I’ve already talked about Angela and Mordicondor a bunch. I’ll just go into more detail about the rest of the crew.

Lets start with you, pretty boy

Griffinart Eltidar. Assassin. Drifter. Keeper of Secrets.

Griffinart was born as Prince Aureolus Solei, the eldest son of Emperor Aldonious of the Goldra Empire. The Goldra are a war-mongering species, fighting for control over the galaxy. Classic bad guys.

After Aureolus was caught assisting enemy forces in the war against the Xandra Empire, Aldonious executed his own son as a traitor, slicing him through and dumping his body into a river. 

Wounded but alive, the prince washed up near the swampy wastelands of his homeworld, where he was saved by a Xandra priestess. He then assumed a new identity as Griffinart Eltidar, and fled his homeworld. 

He spent many years living on the edge of the law, and soon was hired by the Captain of the Arora for his cunning and skill. Now, Griffinart has gotten almost comfortable in his new life, but sooner or later his past will catch up to him…

Fun fact: Griffinart is a natural blond. He dyes his hair bc he doesn’t want to look like his father.

And then this funky lil guy

Beelos Barthanos. Insane. Paranoid. Hates everyone.

After a harrowing escape from his (super communist) home planet, Beelos’ ship was swallowed by an unexplainable wormhole in deep space. The portal chewed up his ship, and spat it back out—crashing right into the Starship Arora.

Beelos survived the crash and was rescued by the crew of the Arora. However, upon waking, he couldn’t remember anything of his past, and even worse, he began hearing voices in his head.

He’d been touched by the hand of Chaos, and made its prophet. He sees glimpses of the future—a world where Chaos reigns and every light in the galaxy has been snuffed out. No one believes his prophecies.

Beelos is permanently paranoid that everyone is out to get him. He trusts no one, and hates everybody. The only reason he stays with the Arora is because he has no where else to go.

And then there’s my emo child <3

Roaco Agapé. A killer by compulsion, but a kid at heart.

Roaco was cursed from birth by Chaos, lord of evil, with a Withering Touch that destroys any living thing he touches with his hands. The curse is slowly killing him as well, creeping up his arms and melting away his flesh. 

Because of this curse, Roaco was banished from his village as a small child, and left to die. He wandered the wastes until he came to a small trading village. He stowed away on a cargo ship called the Maiden Arora where he was found and later adopted by Captain Mordicondor and his crew. 

Roaco has been searching all his life for a way to rid himself of the Wither. He doesn’t want to hurt anybody, yet a part of him always craves the satisfaction of destruction and death. Roaco has to fight to keep his morals and his mind intact.

My beautiful queen bestie🙏💖

Nyranu Buluro. Resourceful. Greedy. The compassionate Empath.

Nyranu is the ship’s medic, and she uses her unique Empath abilities to feel what others are feeling, in order to help them, or more often than not, to help herself.

Nyranu grew up on Talinor, a planet where wealth determines worth. Nyranu trained as a medic under the Federation until her family ran out of money.

Out of desperation, she turned to the criminal underworld, where she used her half-completed medical training to patch up smugglers, bounty hunters, and rebels. It was during this time she learned of the Federation’s enormous bounty on Former Admiral Mordicondor Agapé, a man infamous for his rebellion against the Feds. Capturing him would mean unimaginable riches.

She used her wits and power to gain the rebellion’s trust, and made her way onto Mordicondor’s crew, where she placed a tracker on the ship and sent a signal to the Feds. However, once they arrived, they betrayed and attacked her too.

The Arora risked their lives to save her, and she realized what a mistake she’d made. Nyranu confessed to the Captain, and to her surprise, he chose not to punish her but instead offered her a chance to do better.

She chose to stay, serving as the Arora’s medic and finding, for the first time, a family that valued her for more than her worth in credits.

Super fun fact: Roaco has been in love with Nyranu for years. He doesn’t have the courage to tell her.

And finally—

Drocithar. Despite the heat, he’s rather cold.

Drocithar has been a soldier all his life. He was a child soldier serving during his home planet’s civil war. After decades of battle, he escaped and joined the Federation, where he met Mordicondor. (And we all know how THAT went 😭)

Without somebody giving him orders, he doesn’t know what to do with himself. All he really wants is to settle down and stop fighting, but that would mean giving in to weakness—and weak is the one thing he can’t allow himself to be. A weak soldier is a useless soldier, and a useless soldier is a dead one.

So he pushes himself, and he pushes other people too. Sometimes beyond their limits.

Uhhhh yeah. Rambling again. I love loredumping and I love backstories and I love found family and I don’t know what to do with all of this but I will someday.

Thanks for listening!!! I love you!!

[writesaboutdragons]

365 Proverbs for Daily Living

Day 47 – She is Your Life

Take hold of instruction; do not let go. Guard her, for she is your life. (Pro 4:13 NASB95)

Read: Psalm 119:1-8

Today’s devotion contains spoilers for Disney’s Tangled, so if you haven’t seen it you might want to consider doing so before reading on. It’s a good film, and with a message far better, probably, than the writers intended.

In the original Grimm Fairy Tales, a woman lived by a sorceress, and looked into her garden each day and saw Rapunzel growing there. These edible flowers are a variety of Bluebell, which is almost always toxic and can be fatal, so don’t eat any. The campanula rapunculus is likely what was involved in the story. Regardless, the original tale is grim, like most of the Grimm’s tales, though it does have a happy ending, though it gets quite dark before the dawn. On to the Disney version.

In Disney’s Tangled, Rapunzel’s mother is pregnant with her, but falls desperately ill, and only the healing powers of the sundrop bloom can save her. The king hears where one grows, and sends soldiers to retrieve it, unknowing that the witch, Gothel, has been using its healing powers to keep herself young and beautiful for a long time. Centuries, in fact.

The flower is fed to the mother, and she is healed. The flower’s healing powers pass on to the baby girl, and her golden hair is where the magic is stored. The witch enters the crib room, intending to just steal a lock of the hair, but when cut it turns dark, and so she takes the baby instead, using her hair and an incantation she teaches to the girl to continue to heal and restore her beauty and youth.

In the original Grimm story, the parents are never mentioned again, but as they live beside the sorceress, one can only surmise they went on with their lives. However, the king and queen and the kingdom mourn the loss of the missing princess every year, and launch lanterns into the sky on her birthday every year. Rapunzel sees these flying every year, and longs to see where they come from, but the witch refuses to let her leave the tower.

Rather than a prince, a young scoundrel named Flynn Ryder is wanted for stealing Rapunzel’s intended crown, and is fleeing capture, as well as his double-crossed companions in crime, when he hides in the tower, and is captured by the princess, Rapunzel.

They escape the tower together, but Flynn is captured and Rapunzel betrayed back into the witch’s clutches. She returns her to the tower and sets a trap for Flynn, tricking and stabbing him. As Flynn lies dying, the witch decides to take Rapunzel even farther away, but she agrees to stay and not try to escape, if only Gothel will allow her to heal Flynn. She agrees, hoping to harness the powers of the hair again for another anti-aging spell. But Flynn takes the shard of the mirror he was stabbed with, pulls it out of his chest, and in a shocking move I never saw coming, uses the broken glass to cut off all Rapunzel’s magical hair.

Her hair immediately turns dark, and the witch, instead of being healed, begins to rapidly age back the centuries she has used the flower to stave off death. She hurls herself from the tower and plummets to the ground far below, but turns to dust even before she gets there. Flynn appears to die without the magical healing powers of the hair, but Rapunzel’s tears as she holds her dying love still contain enough power to heal him. She is returned to her kingdom, and Flynn, the wanted fugitive, is pardoned, marries her and becomes the prince.

There’s a message here, if you will, and parallels to our own redemptive story, that are striking, and worthy of revealing. Like Flynn, we’ve all broken the law, and are at heart self-centered criminals in God’s eyes, and worthy of death. We’ve only, ultimately, got the person in the mirror to thank for the death coming, too. The wicked one is involved in our death blow, and is only defeated when the savior is cut off.

The parallels don’t end there. It’s only through the power of the child of the one we’ve betrayed, that we can have life. And only through the sorrow and travail of the one we cut off, are we healed.

We don’t receive this new life, this healing of our souls, by clinging to our current life, either. As Flynn discovered, we have to repent our old ways, turn over a new leaf, and even be willing to die to that old life, to get the new one. But the new one we didn’t expect is far better than the old hunted life we had. Instead of stealing a crown, we are given one. Instead of being the enemy of the king we become his child. Instead of inheriting a noose we will inherit a kingdom.

It isn’t always easy to spot, but the pieces of the great redemption story can be pointed out almost anywhere you look. When your own kids decide to watch a movie, watch it with them, if you can, and after it’s all over, over icecream, perhaps, point out for them where you saw Jesus peeking through in it. Where they can find wisdom and the truths we are unpacking here. That practice can only come if you know this Word we are studying, you know. I’ve spent plenty of time helping my kids spot the lies in the entertainment industry, but it’s always so much more encouraging, when I can help them spot nuggets of truth.

Prayer:

Lord, help me to grasp tightly to the instruction you have in your Word, and help me spot your face and fingerprints in the world around me, today. Amen

[flowersdaggersviolasandblood]

Assassin with a Heart of Gold

Name: Admaer Daeneiros (He/Him)

Race: High Elf

Class: Rogue (Assassin)

Background: Criminal

Inspiration & Story: This lil guy I made long before I even touched BG3. He was originally made for a Out of the Abyss game that was unfortunately dropped. So his story was prematurely ended. The main inspo for this character is that he's an asshole with a soft heart. A tsundere hoe who thinks the don't care, but they actually do.

The main concept of his backstory is that he was born and raised a slave, more or less. At a young age, his Elven mother gave him up to a poor Human family. Only for that family to sell him away for money. He spent the majority of his life being bounced around by different slave owners, doing various different jobs that were asked of him. Eventually, his skills were so polished that he did better as a hired killer and assassin. He eventually escapes his enslavement and is on the hunt to kill every slave owner who ever owned him.

Below will related to his story so far within BG3.

WARNING, SPOILERS AHEAD!

Admaer isn't a native in Baldur's Gate, but he was quite obviously in the city when the Mindflayers snatched him up. He was (and still is) on a hunt to go after the man who made his life a living hell. For the purposes of this game, that end goal for Admaer is killing Lord Enver Gortash.

While on the Nautiloid, he opt to not save Shadowheart since the ship was quickly sinking. After the fact, he would meet her again and recruit her in the group. He would do the same with Astarion, Lae'zel, and Wyll. As for Gale, because the portal seemed dangerous, he saw no need to interfere with it.

Admaer's mind right now, aside from his own personal goals, is to get rid of the Mindflayer tadpole within his head. So upon entering the Emerald Grove, he's been largely dismissive of the Tieflings' blight and the Druids wanting to kick them out. However, the small inklings of the Druid Halsin has slightly peaked his interest. He's yet to meet kagha and Nettie.

Companion Relationships:

Astarion: Since EA (Early Access) Astarion was always my number one pick for this character, so he's obviously the "End Game Girl." Right now, in the context of the story, Admaer still doesn't know that Astarion is a vampire. However, both being fellow roguish men, Admaer currently is friendly with Astarion. Though he has noticed that Astarion has been feeling a little slow as of late.

Shadowheart: Admaer is also friendly with Shadowheart, though he is more distrusting of her than he should be of Lae'zel. Shadowhearts' constant bashing against the Githyanki has Admaer questioning why that is the case and if she's hiding any shit of her own. Especially since she's yet to come forth about the mysterious bauble she keeps on her person. If there's one thing he does agree with, it's that they need to find someone who can get rid of the tadpole.

Lae'zel: Not vibing with her condescending attitude, but respecting that she's not afraid to break a few bones to get the job done. Funnily enough, I accidentally appealed to her so much that she offered to fuck him XD. Admaer politely declined, though he did get some insight on what her history was like as a Githyanki warrior serving the Lich Queen, Vlaakith. Admaer is a little bit more on board with going to the Gith Creche since Lae'zel has been forth coming about what the next steps should be. Compared to Shadowhearts suggestion of just finding a healer. You know, in the middle of nowhere.

Gale: Mentioned this earlier, but when he found the unstable sigil, Admaer decided to leave it alone. So no opinion on Gale yet.

Wyll: Admear see's Wyll as a typical "do-gooder" type individual. He's even more confused as to why he's more focused on his search for Karlach than the tadpole they both possess in their head. He allows him to camp with his crew, seeing no point in not including the famed Blade of Frontiers. Especially, if his status holds true, he could utilize his fame to get themselves into the good graces of some important people.

Karlach: He hasn't met her yet. Right now, all he has is Wylls word: She's some sort of Devil who's out murdering innocents.

[daimonclub]

Mark Twain great quotes

Mark Twain great quotes Mark Twain great quotes, a collection of the author's best quotes and aphorisms on every aspects of life seen through his marvellous and witty sense of humor. In the first place God made idiots. This was for practice. Then He made school boards. Mark Twain Never argue with stupid people, they will drag you down to their level and beat you with experience. Mark Twain Keep away from people who try to belittle your ambitions. Small people always do that, but the really great make you feel that you, too, can become great. Mark Twain A round man cannot be expected to fit in a square hole right away. He must have time to modify his shape. Mark Twain The only reason why God created man is because he was disappointed with the monkey. Mark Twain A man is never more truthful than when he acknowledges himself a liar. Mark Twain A crowded police docket is the surest of all signs that trade is brisk and money plenty. Mark Twain Laws are sand, customs are rock. Laws can be evaded and punishment escaped, but an openly transgressed custom brings sure punishment. Mark Twain A circle is a round straight line with a hole in the middle. Mark Twain Always acknowledge a fault frankly. This will throw those in authority off their guard and give you opportunity to commit more. Mark Twain There is no such thing as ”the Queen’s English.” The property has gone into the hands of a joint stock company and we own the bulk of the shares! Mark Twain Soap and education are not as sudden as a massacre, but they are more deadly in the long run. Mark Twain Life is short. Break the rules. Forgive quickly. Kiss slowly. Love Truly. Laugh uncontrollably. Never regret anything that makes you smile. Mark Twain The two most important days of your life are the day you are born and the day you find out why. Mark Twain Give every day a chance to become the most beautiful day in your life. Mark Twain

Mark Twain best quotes The most permanent lessons in morals are those which come not of book teaching but of experience. Mark Twain A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn no other way. Mark Twain I can teach anybody how to get what they want out of life. The problem is I can’t find anybody who can tell me what they want. Mark Twain Action speaks louder than words, but not nearly as often. Mark Twain The fear of death follows from the fear of life. The man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. Mark Twain A classic: something that everybody wants to have read and nobody wants to read. Mark Twain Put all your eggs in the one basket and - Watch That Basket. Mark Twain To arrive at a just estimate of a renowned man’s character one must judge it by the standards of his time, not ours. Mark Twain There is nothing you can say in answer to a compliment. I have been complimented myself a great many times, and they always embarrass me - I always feel that they have not said enough. Mark Twain It could probably be shown by facts and figures that there is no distinctly native American criminal class except Congress. Mark Twain War talk by men who have been in a war is always interesting; whereas moon talk by a poet who has not been in the moon is likely to be dull. Mark Twain Man is the only animal that blushes. Or needs to. Mark Twain Man will do many things to get himself loved, he will do all things to get himself envied. Mark Twain Few things are harder to put up with than the annoyance of a good example. Mark Twain Wrinkles should merely indicate where smiles have been. Mark Twain Let us be thankful for the fools. But for them the rest of us could not succeed. Mark Twain It takes your enemy and your friend, working together, to hurt you to the heart: the one to slander you and the other to get the news to you. Mark Twain The very ink in which history is written is merely fluid prejudice. Mark Twain True irreverence is disrespect for another man’s god. Mark Twain Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of a joy you must have somebody to divide it with. Mark Twain Nothing that grieves us can be called little: by the eternal laws of proportion a child’s loss of a doll and a king’s loss of a crown are events of the same size. Mark Twain Martyrdom covers a multitude of sins. Mark Twain By trying we can easily learn to endure adversity. Another man’s, I mean. Mark Twain The man who is a pessimist before 48 knows too much; if he is an optimist after it, he knows too little. Mark Twain India has 2,000,000 gods, and worships them all. In religion other countries are paupers; India is the only millionaire. Mark Twain

Mark Twain great aphorisms We have not all had the good fortune to be ladies. We have not all been generals, or poets, or statesmen; but when the toast works down to the babies, we stand on common ground. Mark Twain There was never yet an uninteresting life. Such a thing is an impossibility. Inside of the dullest exterior there is a drama, a comedy, and a tragedy. Mark Twain The radical invents the views. When he has worn them out the conservative adopts them. Mark Twain There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics. Mark Twain It were not best that we should all think alike; it is difference of opinion that makes horse races. Mark Twain There is no sadder sight than a young pessimist, except an old optimist. Mark Twain My books are water; those of the great geniuses is wine. Everybody drinks water. Mark Twain Get your facts first, and then you can distort them as much as you please. Mark Twain When angry, count four; when very angry, swear. Mark Twain I have been studying the traits and dispositions of the "lower animals" (so called) and contrasting them with the traits and dispositions of man. I find the result humiliating to me. Mark Twain What's the use you learning to do right, when it's troublesome to do right and ain't no trouble to do wrong, and the wages is just the same? Mark Twain Courage is resistance to fear, mastery of fear - not absence of fear. Mark Twain Good breeding consists in concealing how much we think of ourselves and how little we think of the other person. Mark Twain Government is merely a servant – merely a temporary servant; it cannot be its prerogative to determine what is right and what is wrong, and decide who is a patriot and who isn’t. Its function is to obey orders, not originate them. Mark Twain All kings is mostly rapscallions. Mark Twain To string incongruities and absurdities together in a wandering and sometimes purposeless way, and seem innocently unaware that they are absurdities, is the basis of the American art, if my position is correct. Mark Twain In order to make a man or a boy covet a thing, it is only necessary to make the thing difficult to obtain. Mark Twain Whoever has lived long enough to find out what life is, knows how deep a debt of gratitude we owe to Adam, the first great benefactor of our race. He brought death into the world. Mark Twain Do not put off till tomorrow what can be put off till day-after-tomorrow just as well. Mark Twain Everybody talks about the weather, but nobody does anything about it. Mark Twain Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness, and many of our people need it sorely on these accounts. Mark Twain Truth is mighty and will prevail. There is nothing the matter with this, except that it ain't so. Mark Twain The elastic heart of youth cannot be compressed into one constrained shape long at a time. Mark Twain The humorous story is told gravely; the teller does his best to conceal the fact that he even dimly suspects that there is anything funny about it. Mark Twain Golf is a good walk spoiled. Mark Twain The holy passion of friendship is so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring in nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money. Mark Twain Its name is Public Opinion. It is held in reverence. It settles everything. Some think it is the voice of God. Mark Twain When we remember that we are all mad, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained. Mark Twain The secret source of humor itself is not joy but sorrow. There is no humor in heaven. Mark Twain Against the assault of laughter nothing can stand. Mark Twain

Mark Twain great quotes The very ink with which all history is written is merely fluid prejudice. Mark Twain After a few months’ acquaintance with European “coffee,” one’s mind weakens, and his faith with it, and he begins to wonder if the rich beverage of home, with its clotted layer of yellow cream on top of it, is not a mere dream after all, and a thing which never existed. Mark Twain Whenever you find yourself on the side of the majority, it is time to pause and reflect. Mark Twain Grief can take care of itself; but to get the full value of a joy you must have someone to divide it with. Mark Twain The lack of money is the root of all evil. Mark Twain It is better to have old second-hand diamonds than none at all. Mark Twain Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society. Mark Twain There is no distinctly native American criminal class except Congress. Mark Twain Training is everything. The peach was once a bitter almond; cauliflower is nothing but cabbage with a college education. Mark Twain When a humorist ventures upon the grave concerns of life he must do his job better than another man or he works harm to his cause. Mark Twain What a man wants with religion in these breadless times, surpasses my comprehension. Mark Twain Forget and forgive. This is not difficult when properly understood. It means forget inconvenient duties, then forgive yourself for forgetting. By rigid practice and stern determination, it comes easy. Mark Twain The holy passion of friendship is of so sweet and steady and loyal and enduring a nature that it will last through a whole lifetime, if not asked to lend money. Mark Twain What is the most rigorous law of our being? Growth. No smallest atom of our moral, mental, or physical structure can stand still a year. It grows - it must grow; nothing can prevent it. Mark Twain I always did hate for anyone to know what my plans or hopes or prospects were - for, if I kept people in ignorance in these matters, no one could be disappointed but myself, if they were not realized. Mark Twain Men are easily dealt with - but when you get the women started, you are in for it, you know. Mark Twain We chase phantoms half the days of our lives. It is well if we learn wisdom even then, and save the other half. Mark Twain Who would find out that I am a natural fool if I kept always cool and never let nature come to the surface? Nobody. Mark Twain Ah, well, I am a great and sublime fool. But then I am God's fool, and all His works must be contemplated with respect. Mark Twain I would rather have my ignorance than another man's knowledge, because I have got so much more of it. Mark Twain My interest in my work dies a sudden and violent death when the work is done. Mark Twain I am as prompt as a clock, if I only know the day a thing is wanted - otherwise I am a natural procrastinaturalist. Mark Twain Many a small thing has been made large by the right kind of advertising. Mark Twain Words are only painted fire; a look is the fire itself. Mark Twain It is by the goodness of God that in our country we have those three unspeakably precious things: freedom of speech, freedom of conscience, and the prudence never to practice either. Mark Twain Denial ain't just a river in Egypt. Mark Twain Human nature is the same everywhere; it deifies success, it has nothing but scorn for defeat. Mark Twain Patriotism is merely a religion - love of country, worship of country, devotion to the country's flag and honor and welfare. Mark Twain Low comedies are written for the drawing-room, the kitchen and the stable, and if you cut out the kitchen and the stable the drawing-room can't support the play by itself. Mark Twain In truth I care little about any party's politics - the man behind it is the important thing. Mark Twain

Mark Twain witty aphorisms I never made a success of a lecture delivered in a church yet. People are afraid to laugh in a church. They can't be made to do it in any possible way. Mark Twain I was afraid of a united Church; it makes a mighty power, the mightiest conceivable, and then when it by and by gets into selfish hands, as it is always bound to do, it means death to human liberty and paralysis to human thought. Mark Twain The secret of success is making your vocation your vacation. Mark Twain In my experience, previously counted chickens never do hatch. Mark Twain God only exhibits his thunder and lightning at intervals, and so they always command attention. Mark Twain Drag your thoughts away from your troubles - by the ears, by the heels, or any other way, so you manage it. Mark Twain Lord, what an organ is human speech when it is played by a master! Mark Twain Unexpected money is a delight. The same sum is a bitterness when you expected more. Mark Twain In the beginning of a change, the patriot is a scarce man, and brave, and hated and scorned. When his cause succeeds, the timid join him, for then it costs nothing to be a patriot. Mark Twain There are no grades of vanity, there are only grades of ability in concealing it. Mark Twain I was sorry to have my name mentioned as one of the great authors, because they have a sad habit of dying off. Chaucer is dead, Spencer is dead, so is Milton, so is Shakespeare, and I’m not feeling so well myself. Mark Twain I have been complimented many times and they always embarrass me; I always feel that they have not said enough. Mark Twain There is no God, no universe, no human race, no earthly life, no heaven, no hell. It is all a Dream, a grotesque and foolish dream. Nothing exists but you. And You are but a Thought - a vagrant Thought, a useless Thought, a homeless Thought, wandering forlorn among the empty eternities. Mark Twain To create man was a fine and original idea; but to add the sheep was a tautology. Mark Twain The difference between the almost right word and the right word is really a large matter—'tis the difference between the lightning-bug and the lightning. Mark Twain Humor is the great thing, the saving thing. The minute it crops up, all our hardnesses yield, all our irritations and resentments flit away and a sunny spirit takes their place. Mark Twain I must have a prodigious quantity of mind; it takes me as much as a week sometimes to make it up. Mark Twain Heaven for climate, Hell for society. Mark Twain A baby is an inestimable blessing and bother. Mark Twain I am opposed to millionaires, but it would be dangerous to offer me the position. Mark Twain A powerful agent is the right word. Whenever we come upon one of those intensely right words in a book or a newspaper the resulting effect is physical as well as spiritual, and electrically prompt. Mark Twain H'aint we got all the fools in town on our side? And ain't that a big enough majority in any town? Mark Twain Is not this insanity plea becoming rather common? Is it not so common that the reader confidently expects to see it offered in every criminal case that comes before the courts?... Really, what we want now, is not laws against crime, but a law against insanity. Mark Twain Thousands of geniuses live and die undiscovered - either by themselves or by others. Mark Twain You tell me whar a man gits his corn pone, en I'll tell you what his 'pinions is. Mark Twain Be respectful to your superiors, if you have any. Mark Twain Virtue never has been as respectable as money. Mark Twain Methuselah lived to be 969 years old . You boys and girls will see more in the next fifty years than Methuselah saw in his whole lifetime. Mark Twain A man cannot be made comfortable without his own approval. Mark Twain The cross of the Legion of Honor has been conferred on me. However, few escape that distinction. Mark Twain

Mark Twain great quotations There comes a time in every rightly constructed boy's life when he has a raging desire to go somewhere and dig for hidden treasure. Mark Twain If you can't get a compliment any other way, pay yourself one. Mark Twain We are discreet sheep; we wait to see how the drove is going, and then go with the drove. Mark Twain The public is the only critic whose opinion is worth anything at all. Mark Twain On with dance, let joy be unconfined, is my motto; whether there's any dance to dance or any joy to unconfined. Read the full article

[jordanianroyals]

Queen Rania of Jordan’s speech at Web Summit Qatar 27 February 2024

“Bismillah ar-Rahman ar-Rahim,

Thank you, Katherine. I am grateful to be here in Doha with all of you today.

One of the most fascinating things about technology is its ability to reveal human nature. The way we interact with our devices tells us a lot about ourselves.

We are, by nature, storytellers; it’s how we make sense of the world. Every selfie, status update, photo, and video we share adds a few more lines to the story that we are constantly writing, and rewriting, about ourselves.

We publish moments of our lives to our social media pages, never quite knowing how they will be received. Will we be praised? Judged?

Or, worst of all, will we be ignored?

Because, for a social species like ours, invisibility is akin to death. How can anyone feel they belong in a world where their story fades into the background?

For decades, one people’s story has been obscured… relegated to a footnote in a narrative authored by someone else. It is the story of Palestine, whose people have been pushed to the periphery, just out of sight – and out of mind.

For too long, Palestinians have been dehumanized and discredited… turned into a people unto whom anything can be done, without consequence.

Their status as an occupied people is glossed over. Their diverse population of doctors, educators, and activists is disregarded. Their many attempts at non-violent resistance – from historic strikes and civil disobedience, to Gaza’s Great March of Return – have been crushed, even criminalized.

Instead, Palestinians are reduced to antagonists in someone else’s story: They are cast as terrorists and security threats, nothing more.

Yet, today, for all the cruelest reasons, Palestinians have come into the world’s field of vision with sharper focus. And, three-quarters of a century since the Palestinian-Israeli conflict began, millions around the world are getting their first glimpse at what it means to be a Palestinian today.

In the wake of the war on Gaza, many of us have seen our social media landscapes redrawn. The colorful feeds on our phones have given way to monochrome: white shrouds, grey rubble, and black-and-white screens warning of “sensitive content” ahead.

I sometimes hesitate to reveal what is behind the warning screen. Because, after more than 140 days of war, I know what awaits: a harrowing snapshot of life and death in what has become the most miserable place on Earth.

Babies covered in searing burns… Children with bloody bandages where limbs should be… Mothers peeling back shrouds to kiss angelic faces goodbye…

Scrolling through these images of a merciless war, I find myself thinking, “It can’t get any worse.” And then, it does.

The bar for humanity keeps falling to new lows.

Actions that were once unthinkable are now commonplace: Hospitals under fire. Houses of worship destroyed. Civilians killed with white flags in hand. 

How can we possibly make sense of that?

The fact is, when one side of a conflict has been robbed of the right to tell its story, we’re left with an incomplete narrative.

The current iteration opens like this: “The war began on October 7th.”

To be sure, the brutal October 7th attack opened a new and devastating chapter in the saga. But the larger story has been unfolding for more than most of our lives: 75 years in which Palestinians have not known a single day of genuine peace.

Acts of war are not always as clear-cut as an airstrike, an ambush, or an abduction.

Sometimes, violence takes the form of a crippling 17-year blockade… as decades of almost daily deaths. It appears as checkpoints, a separation wall, armed settler violence, detentions without charge, and the endless indignities of life under occupation.

At The Hague last month, while presenting Israel’s defense against the charge of genocide, a member of its legal team argued that the historical context of the conflict was irrelevant… because, for him, October 7th was context enough.

That’s the trouble with so-called cycles of violence: no one can agree on where to start the story. Each side instinctively centers the suffering of their own people and minimizes the other—a posture enabled by digital echo chambers that reassure us that our opinion is the only credible one.

The historical story of Israel is centered on World War II, the Holocaust, and the Jewish people’s desire for a homeland.

Yet, this account has overshadowed the Palestinian story: the Balfour Declaration, the ethnic cleansing of the Nakba, and the decades of displacement, dispossession, and illegal military occupation that have followed… and continue to this day.

The echo chambers in our minds are hardwired to dismiss anything that doesn’t confirm our convictions. Yet, the war in Gaza, livestreamed to the world, has brought into full view the power imbalance that has dictated the story of this conflict.

Many in the West have been left with an uneasy sense that the Palestinian issue isn’t as black-and-white as they had been led to believe… that they didn’t have the whole story.

It’s uncomfortable to challenge long-held beliefs. But beyond the comfort zone of the familiar lies the opportunity to understand, connect, and grow.

One can acknowledge that, for many, Israel’s founding countered a historical injustice – while recognizing that it created another that has yet to be resolved. You can condemn the killing of Israeli civilians, while affirming that absolutely nothing could ever justify the annihilation of Gaza and its people.

But many who have expressed these sentiments have faced a backlash – as if it’s a crime to place equal worth on Palestinian and Israeli lives… As if Palestinians exist outside the limits of our humanity.

Yet, just as stories can dehumanize, they can also empower. They can help us see our own humanity reflected in another’s eyes.

Over the past few months, many Gazans have been thrust into roles they never asked for: photographers and content creators, turned war correspondents… reluctant spokespeople for Palestinian suffering and strength.

For those living half a world away from Gaza, it can be difficult to relate to a faceless people under attack. But that distance falls away when scrolling through the Instagram grid of a cheeky, teenage boy in northern Gaza.

His sense of humor may remind you of your son, your little brother... yourself. Yet, he is joking at the irony of surviving months of shelling only to potentially starve to death. 

Another brave young woman shares updates from a sea of tents in Rafah. When the lack of clean water forced her to cut her curly hair, activists across the world cut off a lock of their own in support.

This is, at once, a tragic and a transformational moment for the people of Palestine. Just as their lives are crumbling around them, people everywhere are connecting with them. From London to Madrid, D.C. to Dublin, people are mobilizing for Palestine in unprecedented numbers. Jewish activists around the world have been some of the loudest voices calling for a ceasefire. Murals of Gazan bloggers have appeared on European streets.

This new generation of citizen journalists is being credited with “humanizing” the people of Gaza. 

The tragedy is Palestinians have been human all along – it had just been simpler to believe otherwise.

Today, the visibility of Palestinians is dependent on their devices – but also on decisions made worlds away, in office buildings and corporate headquarters.

Many Palestinians and advocates have said they believe major platforms are limiting their reach. Some have had their accounts suspended or deleted after speaking up on what the International Court of Justice has deemed a “plausible” genocide.

It can be nearly impossible to prove that you have been shadow-banned or censored. Yet, it is hard for users to trust platforms that control their content from the shadows, based on vague standards.

Online and offline, blurred standards have never worked for Palestinians’ advantage. Just look at global benchmarks of human rights… international law… universal values of equality and justice… Some of our most basic principles are being rewritten in real-time, to rationalize an irrational level of violence.

Why is the killing of some condemned, while the killing of others justified?  Why is depriving one child of food a crime, but starving one million Gazan children an acceptable outcome of war?

These questions are echoing across the world, creating an unmistakable shift in global perceptions.

But what’s the point of changing minds without changing reality?

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the power and limitations of solidarity.

The people of Gaza have never been more connected – yet never more isolated. Cut off from food, water, medicine, fuel, and everything required to sustain human life, they have continued to reach for their phones… to reach for us.

Palestinians have long dreamt of telling their story to the world. Today, they are being heard, loud and clear…but at what cost?

It has taken their mass killing to garner mass support.

Why must Palestinians audition for their humanity?

Why must some fight tooth and nail for compassion, while others are given it freely?

What does it matter if millions of people believe you have been wronged… if the injustice continues?

My feelings on social media activism have always been mixed. Can a TikTok takeover or trending hashtag really make a difference? Are we elevating the stories of the oppressed, or providing ourselves with an easy out?

I have no simple answers. If anything, I become less sure each time I pick up my phone.

Because, every browsing session is an exercise in digital whiplash – a little girl’s mutilated body dangling from the ruins of a building hit by an Israeli missile… followed by a Japanese man taking to the streets alone each day to demonstrate in solidarity with Gaza. Hungry children wandering in the rain, carrying empty pots and pans… followed by a Swiss mommy-blogger spreading awareness of their plight through tears.

A punch to the gut, then a glimmer of hope.

But we need more than a glimmer.

We need a ceasefire. A cease to the destruction… A cease to the displacement… A cease to the deprivation by design.

This war must end, now… the inhumane obstruction of aid delivery must end…and the hostages and detainees on both sides must go home.

But that is only the beginning.

Ultimately, Palestinians want what most of us take for granted: The right to self-determination. The ability to govern their own lives, in dignity and security. Freedom from occupation.

These things are only possible through the establishment of a sovereign Palestinian state, living side by side in peace with Israel.

When we fail to stand up for what is right, we sign off on all that is wrong.

Palestinian solidarity cannot become a passing trend. The millions who have amplified their voices cannot let the story of Palestine fade into the background once more.

Each voice sends forth a ripple of possibility. Together, they can create a new reality for the people of Palestine.

Public pressure can rewrite the future. Collective action has compelled leaders to take steps once thought impossible: to abolish slavery … to end apartheid …to take down walls.

But, make no mistake: There is nothing more powerful than an informed, indignant global community, calling for an end to a great injustice.

Because, change is possible. Injustice is reversible.

But the onus is on us. As Martin Luther King Jr. once said, “Change does not roll in on the wheels of inevitability, but comes through continuous struggle.”

We must insist on a world where peace, dignity, and freedom are inevitable.

For you. For us. For the people of Palestine.

Because, their story is part of our story. And, in showing up for them, we are showing up for ourselves.

Thank you all very much.”

[duckapus]

Spidersona Idea: Super Spider

The radioactive spider still bites Peter Parker, but instead of the bite giving Peter spider powers, it gives the spider human-like intelligence and the ability to speak. It already had super strength and Spider Sense from the initial experiments.

Initially it just continues doing normal spider things, until it happens to witness Ben Parker's death and the fallout, and discovers that it's now capable of guilt and empathy. So it decides to become a superhero.

[nonasuch]

here is a fun little star wars scenario that has been pinging around inside my head like a screensaver:

so let’s say there’s some very zealous, very low-ranking fresh young Imperial officer on duty the day they take the Senator from Alderaan into custody. 

and he is very very nervous because a) he’s been here for like a week and b) none of that week required him to be in a room with Darth Vader. which he now is. so he is trying to focus very very hard on Doing Everything Exactly According To Protocol, as a means of not focusing on the seven-foot evil wizard standing fifteen feet away.

and part of the protocol for processing new prisoners is to make a new file for them in the prisoner database, and enter all their biographical details and vital statistics and a gene sample and their known associates and the nature of their terrible crimes against the Empire and so on. which he does! very meticulously!

except the computer keeps throwing an error message. the stupid thing keeps beeping at him, this awful grating little noise that makes his shoulders ratchet up tighter and tighter every time it honks at him, and he can’t fix it and Darth Vader is right over there—

except oh god oh fuck the beeping noise must be annoying Darth Vader, too, because he’s coming over here and our poor junior officer is convinced he’s going to die before he even lives long enough to send his first paycheck home to his poor widowed mother —

he stammers out an apology. Vader just stares at him. he swears he’ll figure out the problem right away, sir, it’s probably a bug in the system, it’s just that for some silly reason it keeps saying this gene sample doesn’t match the one on file for the Senator so he can’t get her logged as a new prisoner just yet —

“Dismissed,” says Vader. the poor kid flees, gratefully.

Vader considers the matter. in fact, his underling was correct: the gene sample, which he saw taken through his very own helmet lenses, does not match the official record of Senator Leia Organa, heir to the throne of Alderaan. so: perhaps the sample on record was falsified. not impossible, but very, very difficult. and ordinarily a crime attempted by the lowly and desperate. he cannot see any need for it, in the daughter of a queen.

another possibility presents itself. Alderaan has no history of using royal doubles, as some worlds do. but Bail Organa has worked closely with royal houses where the practice is long-established. perhaps he was inspired. perhaps the girl they captured is not Leia Organa at all.

Vader runs the gene sample against the ship’s database. it is woefully incomplete, of course, containing only a fraction of the Empire’s billions of citizens: the ship’s own complement, a selection of known criminals and Rebels they might encounter, high-ranking officials whose identity must be confirmed should the Emperor require their presence. unlikely that this girl, whoever she is, would have a record here, or even a partial match—

the computer beeps at him. it’s a cheerful beep, this time, not the error message that stymied the junior officer. the computer reports that the gene sample is a partial match for Pooja Naberrie, the Senator from Naboo. they are, with eighty-nine percent probability, first cousins.

and Vader just. kind of stands there. for a minute.

when he goes to Leia’s cell, there’s no interrogation droid with him. he goes in. he shuts the door behind him. he stands there, silent, for frankly a worryingly long time, until Leia has run through her entire stockpile of  “how dare you, I’m a member of the Senate on a humanitarian mission” and “whatever you want, you can’t possibly think I would be of any help” and “well, if you’re going to interrogate me, get on with it already” and “are you even listening to me?” and  falls silent herself. 

Vader has been listening to her. he has also been listening to the Force, which seems to think that she’s not lying. obviously the humanitarian mission part is bullshit, that goes without saying. but the “I’m Senator Leia Organa” parts and the “I won’t help you” parts? yeah. he searched his feelings. he knows them to be true. the Force is singing in his head, bright and clear, in a way it hasn’t for nearly twenty years.

there’s still Tarkin to deal with, though. Vader turns and leaves the cell without a word.

Tarkin wants to blow up Alderaan. this is unacceptable, obviously, and Vader forbids it on the grounds that the Queen and the Viceroy possess vital intelligence, not disclosed to their daughter, that must be acquired. said intelligence being, not that he’s saying this out loud, how the fuck Bail got his hands on his daughter, and who else knows about it.

“the fate of the galaxy rests on it,” is what he does say out loud. from the way the Force harmonizes with his words, that might even be true.

so the Death Star just. parks there. in an incredibly threatening orbit around the planet. they issue a demand that the Organas surrender themselves, or else, but apparently the happy couple just left for a low-tech weekend retreat in the mountains, what awful timing, they’re sending someone to fetch them right away. Vader shuts himself up in his quarters, to seethe and watch the surveillance feed from Leia’s cell. he’s not really paying attention to much else. 

and it’s not like a random freighter getting tractored in for being an incredibly obvious smuggling vessel is the kind of thing you’d alert Darth Vader over, anyway. 

so he’s still sitting there, one great big thought filling up his whole entire head, watching Leia take a frustration nap, when her cell door opens. 

and a trooper comes in.

and the trooper takes off his helmet.

and he says, “I’m Luke Skywalker. I’m here to rescue you.”

(continued here)

[mysteriouslybluepirate]

Heartbeat(1997)-Watching Con O'Neill's old stuff cause it's fun. Day #? REX HAWKINS!

Heartbeat S07-Ep.16 The Queen’s Message

Should you watch this? 

It’s fun, you don’t need context for the series, and its a full story. Fun for what it is. Con in this is wet and pathetic. It’s 50 minutes, and another one-off thing. Not as fun as Pie in the Sky, still a good time. 

As always, thanks to my mutual Con lovers! If you haven't watched it, skip this, as always! I hope everyone has a great week!

@dianetastesmetal @gydima @ivegotnonameidea @treesofgreen @vicsuragi

That was his milk! Fucking rude.

How about we never borrow money ever again! Why is it so easy to get in debt with the mob? Maybe it's my small-town roots showing, but damn.

Also, I’m jealous, why does Con's characters get choked out so often? That and the gun thing!

Are we allowed to hate the cops in this one, 'cause I already do

This had to have been made in the 90s

THIS IS THE DOCTOR ONE!!!!! The one where Con is in that white coat?

How are half the people in this looking like its still the 60s, love interest’s hair is interesting

Help Calude! He’s just an old guy, Jesus lady. 

The most homeless-looking man with a homeless-looking dog. 

G-man(half-life) Con Look

Who embroiders a Doctor’s jacket like that, it looks a mechanics smock 

This is Cons character from ‘Vengeance is Mine’s backstory.

Con is named Rex Hawkings yeah?

HE’S A MECHANIC!?! Oh, he’s a handyman. 

WHEN DOES THIS SHOW TAKE PLACE? Color TV’s? Weren’t they common in the 90s?

OH GOOD! HE’S NOT HOMELESS

That's a lil gremlin dog

Okay, the poor guy broke his antique, Rex sings in a choir and has a few ladies after him, then got shoved down the steps. A cop is suspicious of his motives

Weird hat lady totally influenced someone to push Rex.

Oh, Nevil did it with ladies' help, cool

THE CHIN STRAPS ON BOBBY HELMETS AHHHH

'LOL BAXTER'. Oh to be named Lol. That is a bard DND name begging to be stolen.

Her eyelashes bug me a bit, and I have no clue why.

Lol is waiting at Rex’s shop, great, lets have the mom be a witness.

“You finger me, you tell the cops?” EXCUSE ME? Is that what Lol just said?

The amount Con is able to spit in every role he’s in shocks me.

Calling the cops won't do shit babe, he's being strangled right now.

Oh Good, another Con character who knows to be careful with what you say to the cops

I feel for the homeless-looking guy, he’s just not given any slack. 

Shit, well, damn. Rex is kinda fucked. 

Oh good, you need to swindle a shit ton of people to make the money back. Lovely situation you got going on there Rex. 

He’s not too careful about not being seen near Rex in public, is Lol. 

The fact they kept a dog quiet that long in the back of a car is shocking. Also, clown car. That was like 12 guys.

HHALKJSDAHS Looney Tunes run into a door trick

Haaahakjlja Fucking love him, smashes the antique, great

Well, at least Rex got to sing at the thing at least. To an audience of fifteen or so people.  

HAAAAAAAAhahaha they replaced his part with a child!!!! 

I thought the Queen's Speech was also done through the radio, that’s the whole thing. Let the public hear it. 

You know, I want this same setup, but Con’s character is like, way more of a dangerous criminal. Not an incidental criminal, but has to keep up these two lives

Con’s panicking is very funning

It is obvious that he just wants protection

“Will that do?” *SMASHES PHONE.* He’s dumb and way too scared to survive prison. 

 LOL IS IN LOCKED IN THE SAME JAIL CELL AS RALPH!!!!!

That feels illegal. In so many ways. 

Oh look, they’re vibin. 

Scared Con is always kind of fun. 

God I don’t know most Christmas carols, huh. 

Whelp, Rex is imprisoned with the same guy who was threatening his life, and everything else is back to normal.

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

Overall, not bad. I watched this one with the brother, so my commentary was a bit more sparse this time. We made a ton of ‘Vengeance is Mine’ x ‘This show’ jokes, which was very fun. I swear, he remembers that movie better than I do which was funny. My favorite joke being that guns magically respawn around Con's characters, and he just needs to find a kit. Go out and get rid of Lol.

This is one of the few characters where Con got to be scared as shit without any way to fight back. It’s funny that the whole plot revolves around Rex being kind of a piece of shit, and the cops don’t care. It doesn't really work for me.

Seriously, he rented out broken TVs. Which is scummy, yeah, but not the worst thing, and it’s not like he did it on purpose! You know how many broken LED TVs get returned every holiday season? It’s kinda normal for a ton of them to be shit. I guess he’s also kinda a dick for getting that one guy kicked out of the church choir, but it wasn’t that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. Idk, I was a bit more sympathetic to Rex than I was supposed to be? But that’s kinda common for these shows with Con being a guest star. Especially when he’s as pathetic as Rex is. 

I have no idea what this whole show is about. If the cops are the main focus or not. I liked the poor guy, he was generally fun. Everyone else just felt vaguely off putting. Might just be the dated lingo, this came out in 1997’ so… 

CON: 8/10. Really fun. Wet, pathetic, and this is one of his earlier roles, like 1 or 2 years after Pie in the Sky and Soldier Soldier. Cool for him to morally be a wrong and not an actual threat to anybody. His singing was great, and he gave a solid performance. Scared little rat man.

It’s dated, and it feels like it’s from its time. Generally, I don’t like town gossip stories and that is what this is. I wonder how this all ties into the rest of the show, but I have no want to go find out. Not bad though. 

(I also used my Con drinking game for this, and was well-hydrated!)

Solid 7-8/10. Great time!

[swanimagines]

ONE BY ONE | KAZ BREKKER

Summary: Y/N is the only person left who Kaz has had since his childhood and he trusts her more than he trusts anyone. requested by @datrie

Characters: Y/N (female), Kaz Brekker, Jordie Rietveld (flashbacks), Jesper Fahey, Inej Ghafa, Matthias Helvar, Nina Zenik (mentioned)

A/N: Oooo loved this request!! And also we had a long and interesting chat with datrie about Kaz's boundaries! I hope you'll like it!

Warnings: death, mentions of violence, angst (hurt/comfort), blood

Word count: 2k

The Crow Club was silent today, just a few customers were over. It was probably because Kaz was on a heist with his Crows, and you have to admit, it was nice when the place wasn’t booming with laughter all the time. You could talk to the bartender about the newest gossip for once. He always had fun stuff to tell. But this evening, you found yourself getting lost in memories - memories of how you got to Ketterdam in the first place. A little Grisha from the Little Palace, fled because she didn’t want to become a personal tailor to someone and ended up in Ketterdam. She didn’t know that she’d be working for a criminal gang fifteen years later.

---

You never liked living at the Palace. Despite everyone being jealous when you were taken from the poor area to live in luxury, sometimes you would have given anything so you wouldn’t have been a tailor. The discipline was unbearable, you were hit with a stick on your fingers if you didn’t get the desired results right away. But the next moment, the teacher used you as an example of a gifted one because you learned so fast. In just a few years, you had learned so much and were almost ready to work for someone. But you didn’t want to go to gussy up some lady and be marked as her property, but you couldn’t go home either. So you fled the Palace.

You tailored yourself to look older and stole a coat to keep yourself warm and to hide the kefta, praying no one would realize that you in fact were on a run from the Little Palace. You had made your way to Os Kervo and boarded a ship, no idea where it would take you. And you had ended up in a coastal city which smelled bad and was full of scary people - but you had no choice but to make it your home.

You were on your own for a few days, tailoring yourself to look different every day so when you stole food or clothes, you wouldn’t be recognized. You had discarded your kefta the first night, putting it in an empty barrel after ensuring nobody saw it. But then, you had bumped into two boys - you immediately saw they were brothers. They introduced themselves as Jordie and Kaz, and you didn’t remember how exactly it had happened, but you had ended up going with them. Just like that, you had a little family.

You learned that they worked for a man named Jakob Hertzoon, as errand boys. You got to a warm bed and good food for a few days, and Jordie promised that soon you would have your own place like that because Mr. Hertzoon had promised them to make them rich, but soon he had stolen all their money, and you were on the streets again. You used your tailoring skills to steal food, but it was a lot harder to steal when one sandwich or an apple wasn’t enough, you had to make it three and go three times over. But you managed, and one evening Jordie promised that he’d work things out and get you on your feet. His last words from that night still echoed in your head - "our luck is changing".

But the next morning, he woke up with a fever.

The Queen’s Plague wiped itself over the city, killing dozens of people in just a couple of weeks. You didn't get sick because of being a Grisha, and tried to help them heal the best you could. You snuck them food and water, stole blankets and tried to make sure they're warm, hydrated and made sure they ate. But you were no healer, you couldn't help them more than that.

One day after you returned from your food stealing trip, you saw them being taken away. You followed the carriage to the shore, begging the Stadwatch to check your friends again, but they didn’t listen, holding you back when they laid them down on boats and sent them to the sea - Jordie stared to the sky, completely lifeless, but you saw how Kaz’s hand twitched and lips moved. It looked like he was pleading for help, but nobody believed you when you tried to tell them. People just saw you as a desperate little girl, latching onto hope to the last straw when all hope was lost.

So you had been forced to watch as the boat took your friends away, leaving you wailing to the shore. You had fallen to sleep right there on the wet cobblestones, but waking up when you heard someone swimming towards the shore. Their breathing sounded familiar, too familiar so you’d be mistaken about it. You jolted up immediately, being met by the sight of Kaz on the stairs, staring after a body floating away.

“Kaz…”

Kaz turned to look at you, his eyes glazed over. “I should close his eyes…” he muttered, his voice weak and raspy. He didn’t sound like himself. You didn’t get what he meant at first, but looked at the body again which was floating away, and understood.

“Jordie,” you mumbled, turning to look at Kaz again. You quickly realized that Ketterdam’s night and soaked clothes weren’t the best combo, so you hurried down the stairs, intending to help Kaz up and he extended his arms towards you at first but the moment your skins touched, he jerked backward, frantically rubbing the spot that you had just touched. You blinked at him.

“Don’t. Don’t touch me.” his voice wavered, and after a moment, you nodded.

And after that, you were sent to Ketterdam's night. A boy with a shattered soul and a girl who was determined to stand by Kaz, whatever it took.

---

“Oh Saints,” you gasped, seeing Kaz’s leg looking all wonky when he dragged it behind him. Stadwatch was nearing the alley, so you had to think fast. And you couldn’t come up with a good solution - it was either risking that Stadwatch would catch you both and imprison you for life or triggering Kaz’s traumas. And you had to choose the latter option. But the way back to the Slat with you basically carrying Kaz with you partly made you regret your decision. You didn’t want to put your best friend through that, but you had to keep going. To silence Kaz’s erratic breathing and whimpers from your mind. And the moment you were back at the Slat and his room, you took him to his bed as quickly as possible, trying to calm him down when he whimpered with his head in his hands, his back against the headboard as tears fell from his eyes. After he had calmed down a little, you had forced yourself to straighten up his leg, putting a plank to support it and just hoped it would turn out fine. After that, you had ended up sitting there for the whole night, just talking to Kaz in hushed whispers.

After that, Kaz wouldn’t take anyone else to treat him other than you. None of the healers of Ketterdam ever knew how to respect Kaz’s boundaries, but with you, he knew that you at least tried, even when you didn’t usually succeed in preventing any episodes. You weren’t a Heartender, you couldn't put him to sleep when you worked on his injuries. You weren't exactly a healer either. And when you had treated him for a while because of different injuries and it always led to severe panic attacks and tears and you had to calm him down for quite some time, Kaz had agreed that it can’t go on like this. And slowly but surely, you had begun to work on it together and after a year, he could already bear you treating different injuries as long as he saw your hands and could concentrate on the thought that it was just you. It was you, not a corpse. You also helped him to remember it by making sure your hands were dry and warm before touching him, and it helped a great deal.

After another year, you could touch him without a warning. And not long after that, you could touch him with no urgent reason - but you often chose to touch him only when it was necessary as his episodes still got triggered by others than you.

---

“Kaz got stabbed.” Jesper’s voice pierced your mind, snapping you out from your thoughts.

“What?” you turned around to see Kaz being dragged to the Slat by Matthias, and your heart sank when you saw the panic in Kaz’s eyes. You hurried to him, guiding Matthias to let Kaz sit down at one of the tables and knelt in front of him.

“Hey, Kaz. It’s Y/N. It’s alright.” you muttered to him. “Look at me.”

He did after a moment, his eyes meeting yours before his breathing started to calm down.

Inej stepped forward. “Y/N, the wound could get infected if it isn’t treated soon. I’ll get Nina-”

“No, not Nina.” Kaz rasped out, and you nodded at Inej.

“I’ll do it. Just… ask Nina that she’ll drop the supplies by. I know how to treat a stab wound.” you told her and Inej nodded, going upstairs. You stood up, offering Kaz your body as support. Your room was closer than his, so you’d let him spend the night in your bed.

And now you were in your room, Kaz sitting on your bed as you dipped the rag from Nina’s supplies to alcohol, gently lifting Kaz’s shirt up and pressing the cloth to his abs where the wound was. He tensed for a moment and hissed, earning a soft “sorry” from you. You tapped the wound for a moment with the rag, wiping the dried blood stains from around it and put the rag aside. You then took out the gauze, looking up to Kaz.

“Keep your shirt up.” you told him and he obliged as you started wrapping the gauze around his torso. You were still careful with your movements, making sure Kaz knows where your hands are, even when Kaz hadn’t flinched away from your touch for several years. But it was a learned habit, it had been the case for the first decade before it had faded away completely.

Even with you, it wasn’t like he craved touch or was glued to you like a lovesick teenage boy, it was more like you could touch him where necessary and Kaz could keep the waters down. You had even been able to briefly hug him a few times if you had been worried about him. And sometimes Kaz found himself even enjoying feeling you pressed against him even though he didn't really hug back - you were the one he had always trusted the most and you just had sort of an aura around you which made him feel safe.

You finished wrapping the gauze around him, putting the clip in place to hold it and looked at your work for a moment, before nodding and Kaz let the shirt to fall down to cover his torso again.

“You can sleep here tonight. I’ll take the sofa.” you told him. Some years ago, Kaz would have protested and retorted that he can make his way to the attic and risk his health, but by now he knew that you would tie him down if it would be necessary so he didn’t say anything, just nodding and laying down on your bed. You smiled softly at him. “If you-”

“I’ll wake you up if I feel any pain.” he huffed but a small smile still danced on his lips. You chuckled, nodding and making your way to the sofa, turning the lamp off.

“Good night, Kaz.” you said into the dark, making yourself comfortable on the sofa.

“Night, Y/N.” Kaz answered after a moment, and you couldn’t help but feel proud. Kaz had come so far from the moment his condition was triggered, and eventually, he could bear touch from others than you too. You just knew it. One by one, he would win his demons, just like he had won them with you.

[theskella]

That's New - An Exocolonist Fic

I recently played I Was a Teenage Exocolonist, and I absolutely adore it.

But there’s criminally little fic and content regarding my good good Squat Queen.

So I wrote a fic myself.

The punishingly dry air of Dust stings Sol’s near-sleepless eyes as he finally leaves his room, having abandoned making up for lost sleep. Groggy and stompy bootsteps bring him out to the overly-familiar sight of the multicoloured Vertumnan sky above, and the colony he has spent eons building and rebuilding from just off on the sidelines below. The noises of late morning activity on the farm serve to lightly annoy the tired teen. Is it too much to ask that I be allowed a restful sleep every now and then? He thought. I mean these folks owe me that much, surely. There were a few lifetimes that Sol bitterly considered how little credit he was allowed for managing so many lives, caring for the tapestry of the exocolonists' story here. Having staved off disaster after disaster, all without being believed that he was the weaver.

Familiarity breeds contempt. An old adage he despised crept its unwelcome way to Sol’s forebrain. There was another that Sol learned – from a cartoon, no less – that he’d often turn to to quiet the worming, malicious thought.

When you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all.

Sol looks over the railing to the colony. He’d subtly influenced so much to award himself this view, the greatest view of the colony, from where he could see all of his friends, and the infinite; though arduously realized, potentials they have. But chief among these, for this, the last, and so many other innumerable lifetimes, Sol’s eyes fall thus again to Nemmie. Her shock of vibrant red hair is easy to spot. Leading the jogging group of Helios, ahead even of Vace, a fact that – from its gilded frame in the hall of his most precious memories – reminds Sol that Vace seethes over. Sol chuckles, mentally viewing the thought, pondering over its fine-tuned aesthetic distance. When probed, Vace used to erroneously claim that it’s to ‘watch her go’, but Sol knows from thousands of lives that Nemmie is just naturally faster. Even he has struggled to keep up with her in their many foot-races from childhood to now.

Fortunately, Sol had already crested the hump, Nemmie had broken up with Vace a few weeks ago. This time an argument over having another man’s name tattooed on her arm lit the fuse. Nemmie’s stalwart defense of the personally important tattoo earned a terminal bout of silent treatment from which their already unhealthy relationship would not recover. Of course, Sol had to play a part. A part that once seemed difficult and uncomfortable; but with recitation and understanding of his motivation, he no longer felt or acknowledged that difficulty. Separating Nemmie from a woefully ill person in such a delicate time was the easiest of the boundless choices Sol makes.

Sol’s groggy waking movements begin to pick up as the still-overbearing heat of Dust bids his blood to pump. He passes Cal, pushing a heavily laden wheelbarrow outside Geoponics. Sol stops him from his work to hand him a Bobberfruit, clapping him on his unyielding shoulder.

“Man, Dust always makes me wish I had your augment!” Sol jokes as he repeatedly flaps the hem of his shirt to cool himself. Sol keeps up chit-chat until Cal idly bites into the fruit, letting Sol know that he’d devour it shortly. Despite his love of food, Cal’s dedication to work often has him skipping meals, a fact Sol has never quite been able to influence beyond joining Tammy in regularly putting food in his hands. As he jogs away letting Cal get back to it, Sol quickly pulls his holopalm up to update Tammy in the private chat they keep to let her know. A moment later she sends back two emotes, a sandwich, and the custom Tangent emote that Marz convinced Nomi to make as part of a set for all of them. Sol sends back a selfie: a single hand held in prayer in front of a bashful smile in thanks.

Next on Sol’s walk he passes Rex and Marz sitting casually on the steps up to Command. It’s always fun to try to get a reaction from the highly charismatic duo. Let’s see how they like this. Sol happily doffs his shirt with relief and enters their field of view, muscles aglow with beads of sweat, prompting a hearty, familiar and welcome howl from Rex. Marz soon joins in, similarly enjoying the show. Sol draws his hands up and down his rugged torso, mimicking some of the salacious videos Rex had shown him and Marz and taking more and more dramatic poses earning excited whoops and hollers. After wheeling around from flaunting his tush, the realization comes too late that Rex has advanced the bit and is racing toward him. It’s too late to brace and the collision brings the two young men to the ground, tumbling. All three laugh at the scene. From the ground for a brief moment, Dys can be seen peeking from over the hill the gate stands upon. Sol finds his eyes just long enough to convey a greeting in passing– Dys’ preferred morning interaction. Rex has gotten up and grips Sol’s forearm to pull him to his feet and brushes him off, cheekily spending more time than needed pawing at his body. 

“Sorry, can’t help but chase juicy pieces of meat.” Rex says with his wolfish grin, his eyes don’t make contact with Sol’s, choosing to linger elsewhere. The emphasis is a little too thick but that’s to be expected. Sol replaces his shirt, ruffles Rex’s piebald hair a bit and softly pushes his head back toward Marz. Looking to where she’s lounging on the stairs, Sol returns the smile and sultry wave she gives him as their eyes meet. Her attention turns back to Rex as he starts hustling toward her, before turning to give a goodbye wave to Sol with a huge smile on his face.

Moments later Nomi Nomi suddenly bursts into Sol’s’ vision in an eruption of shiny and colourful clothing, loud-but-lovely hair and inexhaustible energy.

“HEY SOL! Guess what! Guess guess guess!” They greet with far more energy than should be allowed this early.

Without even waiting for a guess they immediately launch into a story about a thread of comments that the stories they’ve been writing together are getting. People really seem to enjoy them, as Nomi all but squeals to him. 

“I can’t tell you how I know, but even some of the Helios kids are being nice!” Nomi pulls Sol’s sleeve to lower his ear to their face “I… snooped a little and they’re even writing fanfics based on our stories!” they say in a hushed, conspiratorial tone.

Sol encouragingly offers that perhaps the Helios aren’t as violent as they seem, and it’s a matter of perception that paints them as such. Nomi excitedly agrees and rushes off, yelling over their shoulder that they have a duty then, to encourage this creativity.

Gazing over to the Garrison shows the joggers are still running a few laps. I probably have some time then. He livens his pace a little toward the Engineering building. When he arrives he is happy to be greeted by Tangent and Tammy together in the hall. Tang is sat on the floor, busied by interfacing with her holo-eye, and taking breaks to chug from an energy drink. Tammy for her part is taking advantage of Tang’s hyperfocus to swap the energy drink for water, and keep a stream of idle chatter to distract her from the moments Tammy holds a sandwich half to Tang’s lips, prompting her to bite. Tammy catches Sol’s eye and gives a pronounced sarcastic eye roll and warm smile. Sol puts his hand to his heart and mouths ‘thank you’.

It didn’t take much to get Tammy to agree that Tang takes poor care of herself, but there was significant coaxing into convincing Tammy that Sol would help keep Cal fed if Tammy helped Tang in turn. Cal’s issue was in not stopping to eat, while Tang’s was thinking anything you eat would do for nutrition. Tammy’s significant culinary ability would be better spent keeping Tangent off of an all-protein bar diet. Tammy was reticent at first, knowing Tang’s past bitter refusal to be cared for. Sol did eventually convince her to give it a shot, saying that slowly but surely, Tang’s gotten over that attitude. As Sol approaches, he pings Tangent from his holopalm to ‘look up’. She does so, and is a little surprised by Tammy’s presence. Tammy reflexively stiffens, but Tangent is– however removed from the situation she may be– thankful for the food, and takes it from Tammy to continue eating. Tammy sighs in relief as she rises to her feet while being careful to keep the energy drink she’s protecting Tang from hidden behind her. The sweet girl places a gentle hand on Sol’s shoulder before excusing herself to the Creche.

“How are the tests for the modified pomoea batatas going?” Tangent asks, rapidly switching from tasks to attention to Sol.

“Things look good so far, they’re able to take to Vertumnan soil now. However, Cal let me know that they are also being singled out by an endemic fungus.” Tang curses under her breath as Sol speaks, clearly disappointed but in a way one could have expected.

Sol is mindful to mention “Cal thinks their enhanced nutritional load is prompting the targeted parasitism. You should talk to him about it, he’s really come into his own in terms of the science of farming.”

Tangent, quite without knowing it, pays Cal a compliment, “Yes, he has been helpful. I will do so.” It isn’t much, but Sol knows better than most to take careful measure of the words Tangent uses, she’s likely already considered their meaning 3 or 4 times before saying them.

Sol wishes her well as he leaves, watching over his shoulder to see Tang munching on the last bit of her sandwich with a surprising vim. It comes as a huge relief, she’s seemed much healthier overall, since Sol stood by her side against Lum’s push for a plague.

Sol exits the Engineering wing into the none-waned heat to see with shielded eyes the Garrison clearing out from the track. Nemmie is punching arms and waving goodbyes before she looks up and spots Sol, she exaggerates her waving to him in a way just familiar enough to when they were kids that it makes his chest flutter. A beat passes before Nemmie starts bouncing into a run toward him. He starts to bob along to meet her. Though, Sol notes, she’s gradually picking up the pace as she nears. Sol realizes then, this isn’t a run– it’s a charge! Ignited with a youthful flame, Sol sets his form like he used to when the Garrison was mostly an official excuse for him and Nemmie to rough-house. Before the fall of the Strato. Before the arrival of the Heliopause and before Vace made the entire space feel coarse and– ironically, alien.

Nemmie is approaching at a blitz, Sol looks for any sort of indication of the opening volley– a tackle? A flying kick? What’s her plan? The heavy footfalls Nemmie makes reach Sol’s ears now, his fingers twitch in anticipation. Nemmie is within 4 meters and his defensive posture stiffens, a stoic-looking Nemmie kicks off the ground, turning to the side and sailing through the air to deliver– nothing? She’s just flying toward– OH SHIT! Unsuspecting arms reach out to catch his friend, but the force is just a little too much and Sol is taken to the ground. Nemmie lands in a ball on top of him before bursting out laughing, a sound he hasn’t heard for far too long.

“You’re supposed to catch me null-head!” Nemmie’s eyes peer up from where her head rests on Sol’s chest, behind the tangled, beautifully chaotic mass of red curls that coil and tumble over his chest. The sight reminded him of more treasured memories, desperately and excitedly piecing together fractions of his wife’s face from behind those same curls, grown out and allowed to be wild once more. He forced his current-self to compose again, before things got inappropriate.

He fires back. “I was expecting you to hit me!”

She tosses her hair out of her face with the back of her hand, then presses into Sol’s chest to extricate herself. “You gotta be ready for anything, farmboy. Expect me to run this drill again.”

The smirk she wears now is knowing, Sol’s aware, she’s aware. Before leaving the Garrison, Sol outranked her– fair enough, he was intimately familiar with bolstering his performance– in fact thinking about it, even now she is one rank lower than he was, who is she to assign drills? She’s taunting him.

He’s not having it.

His fingers find Nemmie’s sides and rub, dig and grind prompting a flurry of jerky movements and fits of laughter. Despite all her training, Nemmie has always been ticklish. All the training did was make Sol have to work for it. The giggly girl desperately paws, punches and slaps away at the offensive, but to little avail. Soon Sol has pushed himself off the ground and over Nemmie, who is laughing and rolling about, fully at his mercy.

These dear, childhood friends carry this on for a few more moments, the less fun passerbys scoff and give a wide berth. Eventually Nemmie taps, completely robbed of breath and laying on her back to catch it. Sol is similarly posed beside her, relishing his best friend’s returning energy.

“Hey have you eaten?” He says, tapping his knuckles on her shoulder. “I’ve got Xeno Eggs at my place– Cal’s certain they’re for eating.”

Nemmie almost starts an excuse, Sol knows the tells. Her hand raises toward her head to run her fingers through her hair. But– it stops. Her hand is paused in the air. There’s a moment in Sol’s mind that feel’s… a bristling discomfort, almost a chill. Nemmie is up on her feet before Sol’s given a chance to dwell on it.

“That sounds great! I’m starving.” Nemmie reaches that same hand towards him. He cranes forward to reach for it, but Nemmie reels it back before his grip can find her, awkwardly spending Sol’s effort and making him look foolish. She’s back to laughing.

A classic Nemmie rug-pull. Her laughter plays like music in Sol’s ears as he grins and gets up on his own, playfully batting away renewed offers to help him up.

“But hey– I’ve gotta shower and change first, I’ve already worn these fatigues for a solid week, and I stink.” She says pulling at her collar and fanning her face in mock disgust. Sol hadn’t even noticed.

“It’s no big deal, You can shower at my place, and I think I still have a set of your sweats from last Wet. Clean, of course.” Sol offers up, not wanting to waste any of her time, he knows how dedicated she’s made herself to the Garrison.

The pair trek back, retracing Sol’s earlier walk until they arrive at his home. His parents are going to be working, so they essentially have free run. All the while through the walk, Nemmie is– at least by comparison to earlier this month, in high spirits. She asks about Sol’s expeditions, and how he’s doing with his photophoner practice. She’d gifted him that very same photophoner when they were kids, and he’s kept immaculate care of it since. Sol’s glad to talk about anything non-military with her. He’s surprised when passing Cal. Nemmie sends a small, brief wave back when Cal greets Sol. It apparently surprises Cal too, as he nods back at her with a quizzical look on his face.

Once inside, Nemmie beelines immediately to the shower. Calling back to Sol that she won’t be long and to just toss the sweats in when he gets the chance. Sol makes for the kitchen, pulling out the ingredients and supplies for omelettes from the fridge and preheating the pan. Swiftly, Sol retrieves the sweats that had indeed been left when Nemmie got caught in a bad rainstorm and sheltered here, wearing some yet-to-be-returned clothes of his to get back to the Garrison when there was a break in the rainfall.

Sol approaches the bathroom door, calling out “Delivery” before momentarily cracking the door and throwing in the clothes, then going out to the kitchen again.

Benefited by the lifetimes he’s spent helping in the cafeteria kitchens, it’s a trivial thing to prepare some Xeno omelettes. So his mind comfortably wanders as he moves on autopilot. Something’s been nagging at the very cusp of his mind since he felt that chill, but he can’t pin it down. He abandons the quest when he realizes he should ask Nemmie what cheese she wants, some colony kids take issue with floatcow cheese. He rounds the corner to the hall the bathroom door is in and is greeted with a Nemmie fresh out of the shower, just starting to pull the sweater down over her slick, rugged abs, freezing him in place.

“Oh, sorry!” Nemmie blushes, tugging the sweater down over her  “I rushed out when I smelled the food” she exclaims, trying to change the subject.

“Speaking of shredded; what kind of cheese would you like on your omelette?” Sol asks, holding the pan with the nearly cooked eggs inside. He punctuates with a teasing wink. She punches his arm in answer to this teasing when she walks over. 

“Floatcow’s fine. Stars, it really does smell fantastic in here. Lucky me– having a renowned cook-off champion as a best friend.” Nemmie boasts with a grin.

After finishing the omelettes with cheese and neatly folding them, Sol leads Nemmie into the den, choosing to eat on a comfy couch. The pair wordlessly adopt an arrangement they’ve had for a long time: sat facing each other, Sol cross-legged and reclined on the arm of the sofa and Nemmie laid out with the soles of her feet pressed against his stomach. Many cartoon marathons in the lounge of the Strato were enjoyed just like this. Between bites, Nemmie heaps praise on Sol for his cooking, and wishes she had the time to learn to cook like this. Sol offers to just cook for her and Nemmie lets out a singular laugh with her mouth full.

“Imagine, my own personal chef.” she says, a lilt of joking wistfulness in her voice before swallowing.

“Marz would be so jealous.” Sol points out before taking another forkfull. Something about Sol’s comment gives Nemmie pause, her eyes dart about and blink rapidly.

“Thank you, Sol.” Nemmie’s tone shifts, growing more serious as she continues, “I know that you put a lot of effort into making sure we’re all… just– thank you. You’re the best, most caring person on this planet. And I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Her foot idly presses and rubs against his stomach.

Sol places his plate on the coffee table and gently places his hands on Nemmie’s legs, warming toward answering her sudden candour, “Nemmie is everything alright?”

She smiles somberly. Her eyes are cast down on the empty plate she’s fiddling with. She takes a few breaths before saying “Yeah. Yeah, things are… better. I’m just–” she pauses. A long moment ticks by in the measure of her breathing before she finishes her thought.

“Everything made sense to me when I was with Vace–” she puts her hands out defensively in front of her and quickly covers– “I know, I know, he was awful. But things were easy. It’s hard to describe. It’s like, I was already angry and hurting, so Vace just felt like more of the same. I could deal with it, it was just part of the norm. And I’m happier now, but– without Vace I can see how lonely I was, how alone I made myself by tying myself up in his approval, and I’m… I’m scared that the person I was– who I let myself be when I was with him…”

Sol’s squeezes on her calf, trying to silently convey his empathy, to make it more tangible to her that he was listening. Nemmie’s feet swing suddenly over the edge of the couch, she spins to her knees sending her plate clattering to the ground and her falling toward Sol, catching him in a hug. 

Her eyes are welling up, and she sniffles into Sol’s chest before continuing to speak, though the words are laden with effort to keep her tears back. “I don’t want to be that lonely person,” she manages to squeak out in a whisper. Sol’s arms went around her in reflex, and tighten now as he’s clueing into what she’s trying to say. He hushes her. Letting her know it’s ok. He lets her breathe for a moment, comforting her until he can compose what he wants to say.

“Nemmie. Nothing could change so drastically that I– or any of us for that matter– would hate you,” She wetly sniffles some more, trembling but still holding tightly.

“We know who you are, and… as bad as things seemed sometimes, we knew that it wasn’t– that it’s not who you are,” his hand cups the back of her head, stroking her hair. “We were sad, and it hurt. But I promise that we love you. And it’s because we love you that it hurt to see you acting that way.” His own words are beginning to choke in his throat, but he tries to keep it together.

“How can you know?” her question is heavy with worry.

Sol can’t tell her. Not that she’d even believe him, that he’s already grown up with them countless times, and nothing has ever truly torn them apart. They’ve strained, frayed at the edges and shown wear and tear, but the tapestry remains beautiful– mending, patches and all.

“Because I know my friends. You’ll have to trust me.” Sol offers instead, though it’s not what he wishes he could say. 

She lifts her head up to look him in the eye, though his chest is no lighter for it. Tears have left trails down her freckled and scaled cheeks. Her eyes are puffy and red and searching his. The hug tightens on her subconsciously.

“I– I do,” her voice is steady now as she answers.

Then, quite brashly and without warning– Nemmie brings her lips to Sol’s. A moment cast in the haze of elation passes before Sol gently separates her from him.

“Nemmie wait–” he’s at once cursing himself and eagerly encouraging his next words– “you’re… you’re going through a lot right now. Are you sure– I mean, I don’t want you to…”

The faintest expression of doubt passes over the face of his best friend. Sol didn’t want her to jump into something like this out of stress. Wait–

“You’re right, I’m a wreck right now,” she starts softly and straightens herself up, pushing back off of him. Sol wants to disagree with her words, but she doesn’t give him a chance. “But you’re here for me. You’ve always been there, even when I thought I didn’t want you to be.” She starts out whispering, but she reaches her hand forward, her fingers barely graze against the arms that held her, and the quiet voice dissipates as she finds her confidence. And her hand gently but firmly grasps Sol’s wrist

“I’ve been thinking about this. You’re caring, you’re funny, I–” she takes a deep breath. “I don’t feel lonely with you. You’ve been my best friend for as long as we could walk. You’ve never once forgotten my birthday. I can talk to you about anything.” Her words fluctuate in volume and tone, it’s clear that she has thought about it, but the thoughts are coming out in a random priority.

It’s adorable.

“And– you make me feel safe.” She finally exhales.

Sol’s neck hair stands on end, as he finally catches that evasive, errant thought. Or rather it rockets toward him, a collision that shakes every corner of his consciousness.

“I– I’m in love with you, Sol.” Her brilliant, purple eyes lock with his, and he feels unable to breathe.

She’s never been the one to confess–

That’s new.

And that’s all for now. I want to continue writing this, but I felt like this was a good enough point to post a Part One.

comments in good faith welcome

[green-socks]

What More Could I Ever Need prologue

Pairing: Benny Miller x F!reader (Tangled AU)

Summary: Tangled AU where Benny is in the role of Rapunzel (without the hair thing) and reader is basically a female Flynn Rider. A criminal running from the law and a boy who has lived locked up in a tower go on an adventure together. And yes, there is an animal sidekick.

Words: 1,012

Warnings: kidnap of a child

Notes: Why yes it is another Benny AU based on a movie where I have reversed the roles (I definitely have a problem). Presenting Disney prince Benny! And I sort of blame @madrefiero for making me obsessed with this idea because she keeps (unknowingly) feeding me with inspo pics but I truly love it. A billion thanks to @writeforfandoms who has listened me ramble about this way too much and read it through to soothe my nerves <33. Oh and the title is from a song that was supposed to be on the movie soundtrack but wasn't. I couldn't resist opening with "once upon a time" and I won't apologize. But after that I will get normal I promise.

The pic is pretty much what prince Ben looks like to me.

MASTERLIST

Once upon a time there was a prosperous kingdom, ruled by a beloved king and queen. They had everything they could want, but there was a piece missing from their lives. Their dearest wish was to have a child, not just to have an heir, but a child to love.

After several years of hoping, the queen finally gave birth to a beautiful baby boy with golden hair, sparkling blue eyes, and the brightest smile. The day of the baby’s birth the sun shone so brightly that everyone present swore the new prince had been baptized with little drops of sunlight.

They weren’t wrong.

-

The little prince’s cheerful nature and sunshine energy seemed to only grow as he himself grew.

The queen simply doted on her son and refused to give him over to a nurse for more than what was absolutely necessary. She even put him to sleep every night by herself, holding her precious son close to her chest, singing him to sleep.

The queen sang to her child all the time, in fact, and at just a few months old he started humming tunes after his mother, mimicking the melodies. The first time that happened the queen felt like she had just drunk a cup of very strong coffee. Such was the joy of motherhood, she thought as she beamed at her son.

Month by month little Benjamin’s singing got stronger and stronger. And then one time the queen’s flu just disappeared when she was holding Ben and he hummed a melody to her. That was when she started believing there was something truly special about the boy. And it kept on happening until the nurse noticed it, the maids noticed it - even the palace cat seemed much more energetic after being petted by the humming baby.

And the word spread - as it so often does in big palaces like that. The staff talked amongst themselves, and then someone went home and told their family, who told their friend at the pub, and so on and so on.

Word of the rumored magical golden boy who possessed some kind of healing powers reached even the farthest corners of the kingdom. It so happened that they reached a woman who was struggling with the health issues getting older had brought along, and she wanted to see for herself if it really was true.

So she searched work as a cleaning maid at the castle. That way she was free to roam the palace unnoticed and gather information on the young prince.

One night she sneaked into the prince’s room through the balcony and tried to get him to sing to her. She held the baby in her arms and croaked a lullaby she knew.

And the baby started humming with her.

Instantly, she felt her pains going away. She felt younger even.

In that moment the woman made a decision - she would take the baby with her and raise him far away from the palace. Train his singing even more so that he could keep her young for years and years. The king and queen didn’t need this child’s magical powers, she reasoned, they were healthy and easily rich enough to afford any and all remedies if they happened to get sick.

And so she grabbed the baby from his crib and ran.

A palace guard saw her running away from the palace, only her cloak billowing behind her. He heard the baby’s cries getting farther from him with every step the woman took and realized what must have happened.

He alerted the other guards instantly, and they chased after the woman, but she had vanished. They searched for days through all the kingdom, but they could not find the young prince anywhere.

Eventually the king and queen had to tell the people to give up the search and admit that their son was probably in a land far away by now.

But they never gave up hope.

Every year on the prince’s birthday, the king and queen along with all the people in the kingdom released lanterns into the sky at night, partly as a prayer that their son would someday find his way back home, and partly to thank the sun for blessing their son with that drop of sunlight when he was born, the biggest gift they could have asked for.

--------

Meanwhile, little Benjamin grew up away from his parents, locked up in a tall tower hidden deep in a forest. The woman, Dagmar, who had kidnapped him raised him as her own, and fed him a new life story. By the time Benny was a little older, he had no memory of his true parents or true home and believed everything Dagmar had told him.

He was told that he could not go outside, because terrible things would happen to him; mean people would try to harm him. For Benny knew he was special, that his song could heal, and he knew that his mother only wanted to protect him. She explained to him that people had tried to do bad things to him when he was only a baby, and the thought scared him.

But that didn’t mean he didn’t sometimes long to go outside. Oh yes, he was curious; he wondered what it would be like if he ever went outside - would he be brave enough to face it?

-

Every year on his birthday Benny snuck out of his bedroom at night to go to the window and watch these odd lights flying across the sky.

For some reason he was drawn to them. Maybe it was because they showed up only on his birthdays, or maybe because they proved to him that there truly were other people somewhere out there. He didn’t really know what the lights were, or what they meant, but sometimes he thought they looked like drops of sunlight floating back towards the sleeping sun.

Those mysterious lights, more than anything else, made him dream about someday venturing outside to the real world.

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

Chapter 1

tagsies @writeforfandoms @starlightmornings

[opossumanonymous]

How did things get so messed up?

Warnings: Talk of murder, a single swear, Inko just sometimes thinks about murder, uh vigilante Izuku

Black Widow Inko! Part 2 featuring Dad Might vs Dad for One! This is honestly just Crack with a plot...

******************************************************

It seemed like yesterday he was in that hospital room meeting his son for the first time. Inko holding their sons tiny body, tears welling in her eyes as she beckoned him closer.

He walked over with no hesitation fully ready to meet Izuku (The name chosen by Inko who got to pick after winning a bet).

Sitting down next to his tired wife he stared down at the infant in wonder. The tiny human they'd waited 9 months for was finally here. Hizashi almost didn't know how to act for a second, so caught up in looking at the tufts of green hair and freckles covering small cheeks.

Reaching out Hizashi gently caressed Izuku's little face with a single finger causing the baby to let out a coo. He grabbed his father's finger in his little fist nearly bringing the 200 year old man to tears.

If asked that's how that day went to Hizashi of course Inko remembers him nearly flooding the hospital room but Hizashi would never admit that.

Tears or not that day Hizashi knew he would protect them with his life so how....how did things get so messed up?!

How did he end up sitting across from his arch nemesis?!

How did Izuku out of everyone in Japan end up with one for all?!

And most importantly how did All Might end up seducing his goddess Inko?!?!

Seriously Hizashi just couldn't understand how she could be with such a lowlife, she must not know who he is.

Never before had Hizashi felt such a deep burning hatred for anyone.

Currently he was sitting on the couch in his and Inko's apartment while she and All Might sat on the adjacent couch. No one spoke until Inko finally cleared her throat.

"Toshi this is my ex hus-"

"Current Husband."

She looked at him with eyes full of fire and a voice full of venom as she spoke. "You forfeited that title the second you thought not calling for 12 years was a good idea."

"...."

She always knew what to say to shut him up especially when she was angry. One of the things that interested him in Inko at first was how unlike most she got incredibly smart when angry.

She also got more sadistic, he could practically hear the gears turning in her head as she calculated all the ways she could kill him.

In this house he was not the devil no, the cute green haired woman sitting across from him was. In fact the murderous aura around her was very concerning, not that he feared for his life with witnesses around. He knew she'd be angry but he'd hoped him getting on his knees and begging for forgiveness would work like last time.

Meanwhile Toshinori was on the verge of having a mental breakdown. At first when he walked into the apartment after a date night he was shocked to find none other than All for One standing in his living room. He quickly pushed Inko behind him ready to defend her against Japan's greatest villain.

While he no longer held one for all that wouldn't stop him from protecting his wife with all he had. How did All for One break out of tartarus anyway?

And just how did he look like this?

All for one looked the way he did before their battle where he smashed his upper face in. All for one, who last they spoke had no eyes, hair and barely a nose now had all of that back and even looked a few years younger.

Each and every person in this room was plotting how to kill someone. Thankfully this day they'd all walk away unscathed.

Mainly because they all had a secret to hide from eachother.

Inko didn't want Toshinori to know about her past, Toshinori didn't want Inko to know who her ex was, and Hizashi didn't want to anger his wife further by revealing any of her secrets. (He may have been criminally insane but he wasn't stupid)

After all one does not rat out their ex-assassin wife's past to her new husband who is also the ex-symbol of peace. Lest they both team up, beat your ass and throw you back in prison or just straight up murder you.

"Anyway Toshi this is my ex husband Hizashi, Izukus father, he left about 12 years ago with no contact or information."

"Oh come now darling those divorce papers weren't serious. I understand you're mad but I'm back and I promise nothing will keep me away this time."

The utter nerve of this guy he really wants to die today! He's lucky he stopped wearing ties years ago or else Inko would've been choked him to death!

"Tea. I'm going to go make some tea I'll be back soon." She said with a strained smile resisting the urge to rip out Hizashi's teeth.

After she left to the kitchen the atmosphere got even darker the two mortal enemies now left alone.

"So it wasn't enough that you destroyed my face and took my son as your successor, you just had to go and seduce my wife too!"

"Your wife! Did you not just hear her she divorced you?!"

"Yeah all because of you and your meddling if you hadn't destroyed my face putting me in comatose I would've been there for her and Izuku!"

All Might paused for a second realization hitting him like cold bucket of water. Before he got his composer back not wanting the enemy to get the upper hand.

"If you hadn't have been quirk smuggling and stealing classified documents I wouldn't have had to!"

"Oh so it's all entirely my fault?!" Hizashi scoffed "I bet she doesn't even know what you did to me does she?"

Toshinori stayed silent it was true she may have known who he was but she didn't know about his hand in her ex husband's absence.

He had no idea how lucky he was she didn't know or there would be two dead men walking instead of one.

"I take your silence as a yes then?" Hizashi was a little smug now.

"Not like you've told her who you really are." Hizashi frowned at this causing Toshinori to smile "I see I'm right as well."

Well he was only half right he never out right told Inko she figured it out on her own. But All Might didn't need to know that, after all no use making Inko even more upset then she already was.

Meanwhile in the kitchen Inko was trying to figure out how to shoot her ex from the kitchen without Toshinori noticing.

While she knew it was impossible without blowing her secret a woman could dream.

As the tea finally came to a boil she noted the distinct sound of her sons bedroom window opening and closing. Knowing her son was back from his nightly vigilantism only done on weekend nights per their agreement. She briefly considered pouring rat poison in Hizashi's serving but decided against it.

Not that the good for nothing scumbag didn't deserve it. But just scaring him would do for now unless Izuku didn't want him in his life. After all he was Izuku's father and Izuku deserved to choose whether he wanted him in his life or not.

Bringing back a tray with the tea she sat the cups down with an eerie look on her face. "Here you go Hizashi I made yours just how you like it!~" She said sweetly.

Yeah Hizashi isn't drinking that, no way she definitely must have done something to it. He hasn't survived the past 200 years to die like that, thankfully his lovely queen isn't good at holding her emotions in.

"Thankyou darling you're too kind." He said taking a cup but not drinking from it.

Toshinori on the other hand called her buff he knew she wouldn't do anything. As he drunk his own cup he remarked on how good it was, well atleast he didn't have to worry about no real or imaginary poison.

Toshinori really didn't know what to do he was having a mental crisis. Should he tell Inko and young Midoriya the truth about All for one or not say anything? The boy would be devastated and would he really want to fight his own father when the time came? He would never forgive himself if it caused Izuku mental pain.

But if he turned Hizashi in to the hero commission they wouldn't know it was him. But he'd still have to deal with them being distraught and possibly hating him for not telling them sooner. Plus everything might become public and there's no telling how many enemies All for one has made that would be out for blood.

This was bad, both his morals and heart clashed at the thought of hurting Izuku and Inko they both quickly became the family he never got to have.

Izuku even started calling him dad for crying out loud! What would he call him if he found out his idol and mentor was the one who separated him from his biological father?!

"We need to settle this once and for all." Inko finally said still annoyed and just wanting Hizashi out.

"Yes you're right we should Inko darling. I won't make this hard, I promise I only want to see my son. Perhaps he can sleepover at my place on the weekends?"

Toshinori paled at that, if he got young Midoriya alone there's no telling what that monster would do to the boy. He could kidnap him, take one for all, and lock him away forever. Toshinori couldn't let that happen deciding he'd rather tell both Inko and Izuku who 'Hizashi' really was.

"Yeah no I don't think so you can have supervised visits and you can take him somewhere if I'm available to go with."

Yeah Inko wasn't buying what her ex was selling she knew he'd have Izuku quirkless and vaulted if she left them alone.

Not to mention that would force her to try rescuing him leading to her being vaulted as well.

But together they could defeat him after all he couldn't fight them both at once.

Hizashi was about to open his mouth when all of a sudden a voice called from the hall.

"Dad?"

"Yes son?" Both men said in unison before looking at eachother with a glare.

Izuku just stood there frozen in shock as his step dad and biological father glared at eachother. He couldn't believe his eyes, even though he heard his father's voice he just thought his mom finally got him on the phone. But this is unreal he never thought in his wildest dreams his father would be in front of him again.

He gripped his plan shirt that had "shirt" written on it in big white letters. His heart felt like it would beat out of his chest at any moment, a million questions going through his mind.

He was so deep in thought he didn't hear his mom get up from the couch and approach him till he felt her hand on his shoulder.

"Sweetie are you okay?" His mom asked him worried.

The two men stopped glaring at eachother now focused on Izuku concerned for him.

Tears came to the greenettes eyes as his voice shook with joy. "Dad!"

Hizashi was then tackled by the boy, slight bits of green lighting appearing on him showing his small use of one for all. Despite Izukus small stature compared to his father's hulking one, Hizashi nearly doubled over feeling like he was punched.

His son was a strong boy, he lamented the years lost since his little green bean was no longer little.

Wrapping his arms around his son Japan's evilest villain patted Izukus head. Causing the ex-symbol of peace to go into a coughing fit, a waterfall of blood pouring from his mouth.

"Dad are you okay?!"

Pushing away from Hizashi Izuku went to check on Toshinori as Inko offered up a handkerchief. Taking it in gratitude Toshinori thanked his wife before reassuring Izuku he was okay. "Thankyou son I'm alright no need to worry." Giving his signature grin he ignored his enemies death glare.

All for One the demon emperor would never admit he's jealous of anyone especially his arch-nemesis. But seeing his son coddle that blonde theif made his blood boil.

"Well this will be a new experience I never thought you'd call someone else dad..." Hizashi said with a strained smile his mouth lighting up with fire for a second.

He could always burn the blonde homewreaker with his fire breath good thing that was the quirk he with.

"Oh I guess it will get really confusing calling you both dad. But what other alternative names for you both? Or I could just call one dad and the other something else...maybe papa could work?" Izuku muttered suddenly, scratching the back of his head.

Both men looked at eachother realizing this could be the deciding factor. They knew that whoever got papa would win, after all it was the cuter of the two choices.

"Alright it's decided then!" Izuku claped his hands together a wide grin growing on his face. Both men sitting in anticipation at the boys verdict. The two looking like they were on a high stakes game show as sweat trickled down their foreheads.

"I'll call you dad" Izuku pointed at Hizashi "and I'll call you papa!" He then pointed to Toshinori.

Toshinori felt like he could do a cheer, his crops were watered, his stomach was back, his scares gone, everything in the universe was right.

That was until he looked over at All for One who he was sure would definitely kill him now if he wasn't going to before. His aura now darker than before as Toshinori's own aura glowed bright with happiness knowing he was the superior father figure in Izukus life.

Meanwhile Izuku ever oblivious to his father's fued just gave his mom his best smile feeling happier to have them in his life. After all they were his family and he wouldn't change that for nothing in the world.

******************************************************

Sometime later

Yoichi: Leave brother we will not leave this host!

AFO: Oh I don't want your quirk little brother, no not anymore.

Yoichi: Then why are you here what else could you possibly want?!

AFO: WHAT I WANT IS FOR YOU TO MAKE YOUR GOLDEN BOY LEAVE MY WIFE AND SON ALONE! HE'S RUINING EVERYTHING!

Yoichi: I see so that's what this is about...yeah no this is what you get. Consider this karma goodbye brother.

AFO: OH NO DON'T YOU DARE HANG UP ON ME TELL ALL MI-

Yoichi: *disconnects AFO from Izukus conscious*

AFO: *Sitting in Izukus room while his son sleeps* I can't believe it he hung up on me.

******************************************************

AFO: I'll have you know I did alot of good things I'm not a good for nothing scumbag!

Inko: Oh really name one good deed you've done since we got married.

AFO:............Well umm..... Oh! I had Izuku our son!

Inko: Hehe yeah no I had Izuku you just stood there and cried in the corner for 11 hours.

AFO: WELL YOU TRY BEING SUPPORTIVE WHEN YOUR WIFE CALLS YOU A- Wait no actually I adopted a stray child off the streets! That definitely counts as one good deed!

Inko: WHAT!?

AFO: *realizing how bad he messed up* You what happened was....