#not including inactive members of course

[rakkuntoast]

nonetheless i think its sweet how the qsmp members want the inactive players to come back to the point to go out of their way to plan lore guides/museum so the ones interested in joining are able to catch up

also hoping to remind the ones that arent as interested in lore that you dont have to participate or have a big role if you dont want to like i think antoine, etoiles, philza, vegetta and tazecraft at some point (and i think felps too? i dont watch his pov as much sorry :( ) are one of the best examples of this. they are the ones that i've seen that participate the least in lore and there's nothing wrong with that, everyone should be allowed to play the server as they want

[lightningbreath]

A little more information about the HH leaks + a rant about some things in these leaks.

SPOILER ALERT

WARNING: MENTIONS OF ATTEMPTED SA AND SUICIDAL ATTEMPTS

Rosie owns Alastor's soul and sings a song about how Alastor is her pet and how he is in her zoo.

Vox looks like they will try to perform a '''''correctional grape'''' on Alastor to prove that Alastor is not asexual. (PROVEN FAKE) .

Vox tries to use the media to damage the Hotel's reputation. At some point, he manages to place several sinners (including some members of the Hotel) under mental control.

Husk and Angel apparently kiss in episode 6.

Apparently Lucifer dies (AMEM) in episode 8. Lute probably kills him, but it's pure speculation, all I found was an image with Lucifer on the floor. If this is true, and Viv resurrects Lucifer, then the chances of Adam and the dead Exorcites returning become very likely. And this will further undermine the understanding of how death works in Hazbin Hotel.

ABOUT EP 2, SEASSON 2

Sir Pentious is simply insufferable. During Emily's song introducing him to Heaven, Pentious tries to create and link A SHITTING DEATH WEAPON WITH A SMILE ON HEAVEN'S FACE, but Emily, Abel and Peter stop him and destroy the weapon.

Sir Pentious's sin was not having reported Jack the Ripper. Although I would say that inaction in these cases does not constitute a valid reason to be sent to Hell for christianity, after seeing how some Mouthwashing fans treat Curly, then it's not crazy to think that there are people who believe that would be a reason to go. to Hell. But it's interesting to see how Viv didn't have the ability to take a real sinner and try to redeem him, it seems like she thinks the only way to empathize is by posing a '''sin''' that isn't a sin, without a challenge moral, without a conversation about what is good and evil, without something that makes people REALLY think about whether redemption should be for everyone or if it should be limited, etc.

Ah, but Hazbin Hotel is a bold series that criticizes religion and says that situations are nuanced, a series without ''good guys vs bad guys'', a series that is not moralistic..... Of course it is. 🙄

Lute nearly has a panic attack after the Tribunal, this is where she starts hallucinating Adam, he basically validates all her thoughts and encourages her to do what she has planned (similar to how she is talking to herself). Here it is interesting to see how Sera, Emily or the ''Voice of God'' don't even care about Lute's emotional instability. Emily and the Voice of God are described as ''good'' and ''compassionate'', but they only know how to look at Lute with disgust instead of, I don't know, TRYING TO LISTEN TO HER BEFORE SIMPLY DISCARDING HER. To have the slightest empathy because Lute's WHOLE world is crumbling and falling apart and the only person with whom she identified is DEAD. It's also funny how quickly Sera simply discards Adam, Lute and the Exorcisms now that she sees that she was ''''wrong'''', simply using them as scapegoats, without worrying about the consequences this left on the exorcisms. itself. Yes, the Exorcisms were Adam's idea, but it was SERA who allowed them for who knows how long, Sera doesn't seem to have tried to control the Exorcists' murderous impulses, she simply left everything in Adam's hands and only showed up to demand and complain when something went wrong.

Abel seems at least somewhat affected by Adam's death, despite appearing to be a pacifist type, he seems somewhat willing to go to Hell out of resentment for Adam's death. He admits that he is not the best person to say what to do about the situation in Hell, as he himself is kind of interested in getting revenge for Adam's death, so this bombshell is in Sera's hands.

Lute goes to Adam's office and Abel follows her, he tries to connect with her by talking about Adam and apologizing for the way he acted in Court, but Lute doesn't want to listen to him and throws him out.

Lute's song begins (BANGER SONG), where she swears revenge on Charlie.

St. Peter continues to be useless and from now on, I will consider that he is just a random person with that name and that he IS NOT the real St. Peter.

Emily is spoiling Sir Pentious, and when she sees him crying for his minions and his "friends", Emily creates new minions (basically the same as the ones he had in Hell, but these ones have wings). She continues to spoil Pentious, who continues to try to create weapons (but the environment in Heaven seems to not allow weapons like Sir Pentious's to work). Sir Pentious spends the entire episode crying saying that he wants to go back to Hell and see his "friends".

Sera decides to put all of Heaven under protection while she thinks about what to do. Emily opens a portal saying she will warn Charlie about recent events.

The Exorcists continue to be dehumanized to the extreme and treated as simple '''walking weapons'' and as scapegoats, with Lute being THE ONLY ONE who has, at least, a face.

Lilith is apparently in the Garden of Eden, she was sitting enjoying the breeze and eating fruit. Then she sees something on the phone, gets up and leaves.

[eretzyisrael]

by Gregg Roman

The Red Cross has once again failed the Jewish people by choosing to appease its enemies rather than help those in need.

The International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC), in its mission statement, claims to be "an impartial, neutral, and independent organization whose exclusively humanitarian mission is to protect the lives and dignity of victims of armed conflict and other situations of violence and to provide them with assistance."

The actions of the Red Cross since October 7, however, show that it does not consider the lives and dignity of all victims to be equal. Instead, the Red Cross has fallen in line with those who refuse to condemn Hamas and ignore the atrocities perpetrated against Israelis.

This isn't the first time that the Red Cross has ignored the suffering of Jewish people to avoid offending those who seek to eliminate the Jewish people. The Red Cross has received three Nobel Peace Prizes, including one in 1944 for its services in World War II, but decades later, we know the whole truth.

Documents released after the war revealed that the Red Cross was well aware of the Nazis' genocide of the Jews and chose to remain silent. The Red Cross defended itself by claiming that if it had disclosed what it knew, "it would have lost its ability to inspect prisoner-of-war camps on both sides of the front." Although the Red Cross has apologized for its inaction in confronting the Holocaust, the bias the ICRC has shown against Israel makes that apology ring hollow.

Magen David Adom, Israel's official emergency service, was founded in 1930 and ratified as a National Red Cross Society by the Knesset in 1950. However, the Red Cross refused to allow Magen David Adom entry to the international organization because the latter wanted to use the Star of David as its symbol in place of a red cross. Even though Muslim Red Cross organizations use a red crescent as their symbol, Israel is singled out for refusal. Only after 76 years of life-saving work was Magen David Adom finally accepted by the ICRC in 2006.

The Red Cross has conducted itself similarly since Hamas took Israeli hostages. The Red Cross gained much acclaim for bringing Israeli hostages home after they were released. However, the Red Cross played no part in the negotiations that led to the release, and made no effort to visit the hostages while they were imprisoned.

This is in stark contrast to past hostage crises. During the Iranian hostage crisis, the Red Cross visited the occupied US embassy in Tehran. When 72 Japanese hostages were kidnapped by guerrilla forces in Peru in 1996, the Red Cross provided food and medical assistance. When New York Times reporter David Rohde was held by the Taliban in 2008, the Red Cross delivered him a letter from his wife. When more than 240 hostages were taken from Israel, however, the Red Cross did nothing.

The Red Cross responded to a recent lawsuit filed by Israeli hostages, which claims that the Red Cross neglected its duty to visit prisoners of war, by saying: "The more public pressure we seemingly would do, the more they [Hamas] would shut the door."

The evidence shows that the Red Cross did not try very hard. UN Watch compiled a report showing that the ICRC's social media posts were heavily biased in favor of Hamas, and refused to acknowledge Hamas' atrocities and the plight of the Israeli hostages.

When families of the hostages asked the Red Cross to deliver life-saving medications to their family members in captivity, they were scolded and told to "think about the Palestinian side" by the ICRC.

Since the beginning of the current war, the Red Cross has pumped millions of dollars into Gaza, along with supplies, infrastructure, and medical teams. Hamas, of course, has a long history of shamelessly stealing money and supplies that were intended for civilians, a fact that the ICRC knows, and, unsurprisingly, Hamas has continued to do so during this current war.

The Red Cross has both the leverage and the stature to gain access to the Israeli hostages and even to push for their release. They were even able to leverage the Taliban into granting access to hostages in the past. People listen to the Red Cross. But they also hear the Red Cross' silence.

When the Red Cross speaks about the Israel-Hamas conflict without mentioning Hamas' attacks, and its president meets with Hamas' leader but does not advocate for Israeli hostages, the message is clear.

The Red Cross' historical and current actions seem to suggest that it does not value Israeli lives as much as other people's. It is time for the international community to ask the Red Cross why it looks out for all of those in need, except for Jews.

[kunikidanelson]

Alright there was surprisingly a lot of people who wanted to hear my interpretation of kunikidas backstory. So uhm here i go, i just hope i dont disappoint y'all. (Its long as fuck i know, and its not even all LMFAO)

i think he wasnt an orphan because im fucking sick of every single character in bsd being a fucking orphan. What i do think though is that he didn't have the best family life, an overly "protective" (controlling) mother and either an absent or inactive father. (as in, the dad didn't really care what happened at home he just sort of did whatever his wife wanted him to do) but basically this is where Kunikidas hatred for authority starts because all his mother does is pull the "im your mother and you have to listen to me" card. I think his ability before being affected by the "all men are equal" would definitely act up therefore he couldn't go to a proper school because he didn't want to accidentally summon a lion or something like that. So he was basically a nuisance to his mother because she had to homeschool him. Once he was older he decided to go to a math based high school for two reasons: he cant summon numbers; he could live in the school dorms. He basically runs away from home once he's capable and takes on a lot of part time jobs (katai offers him money but kunikida refuses) and basically lives like this until college. Being a good student grade wise he made a deal that if he does tutoring for the other students, they'll let him rent the dorm for free. But at one point he fails an important exam, and though he doesn't get expelled from the college they retract their statement about letting him tutor unless he proves he's knowledgeable in the subject. But that ruins his housing situation and lives on the street for a few days, realising that its less than ideal to sleep on a park bench he goes to katai out of desperation and lives with him for some time while he tries to find a job. And you might see where I'm going with this. But i dont think kunikida would apply to be a detective at first. I believe he would see some poster about the agency needing a secretary, especially someone who could handle computers and decides to try to get a job there. When he goes to the interview he almost starts crying because he's so desperate for money and his own place to live in. Fukuzawa takes pity on him and lets him take hold of the files. Kunikida gets his own apartment (yay) retakes his exam and gets back to tutoring. At one point the agency say they need some sort of signature (or something, i dont have to think of a specific example do i??) on regular paper and kunikida admits that though he knows how to write, his handwriting isn't very good because of his ability he didn't have much of a chance to perfect it. Yosano and Fukuzawa, of course shocked that kunikida has an ability in the first place meanwhile Ranpo just shrugs because he knew all along, just didn't care to mention it. Then fukuzawa asks Kuni if he doesn't want to join the agency as a detective and that any training he might need, will be provided. (Partly offering this to him because the agency in the early days had literally 4 members including the president and secretary Kunikida and they all built a sort of trust between each other) so kunikida accepts and eventually drops out of college because he quite literally doesn't need it anymore, he knows what he wants to do now. And also after all men are equal takes place kunikida starts writing traditionally all the time, simply because he was so deprived of it before, thus building his habit of keeping his notebook with him 24/7.

I hope this made a bit of sense, if you imagined it differently, im not taking that away from you this is just my interpretation xx

Also don't ask me how katai and kunikida met i dont know nor care, i mean they've been friends for around 10 years, so they met when they were 12? They honestly could have just met one day on complete random, I'm not looking too deep into that

[electrikworm]

Helping Hands

Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Wrecker

Tags: Back Pain, Massage, Fluff, Established Relationship

Summary:

Once again, Wrecker is plagued by back pain. Padmé isn't just going to let him suffer and has found a way to potentially aid her partner.

Word count: 4,174

Read on Ao3

Sighing, Padmé slips off her boots before she tracks dirt into the Marauder. Whilst some mess is constant with this squad, Padmé knows Tech won't hesitate to berate even her when it comes to making the ships floor unnecessarily muddy.

Padmé's not someone who enjoys being inactive, so if there's a mission that she's got information on, she won't hesitate to join. This mission had come from intel she'd gained from a fellow member of the senate, so of course Padmé had to get involved.

She'd been on the Marauder with Clone Force 99 for almost a week now, though it's far from the first mission she's had with them. She'd long since been on enough missions with the squad for them to actively include her in their crazy plans, which suits Padmé very well.

True to the Bad Batch's 100% success rate, this mission had been a success too.

Though that is far from the only reason this squad is Padmé's first choice for missions. Padmé knows plenty of competent and strong fighters, many other clones that could do just as good of a job. But since the first time she'd fought along this batch, she'd stayed in contact with them, grown attached to them.

The preference naturally grew stronger when Padmé ended up spending more and more time exchanging calls and messages with the squads demolitions expert, Wrecker. A fondness grew between them, resulting in them officially beginning to date a couple months ago now.

Of course, this isn't information they share freely. Clones barely classify as living beings by law, something Padmé's been trying to change with the help of a few other members of the senate, so dating one isn't exactly encouraged. They are first and foremost property of the republic. Padmé was horrified to hear all the ways they're reminded of this in day to day life.

Wrecker luckily has good brothers, none of which will disclose information on what's happening between him and Padmé. They've over all been very welcoming towards her in that regard too, minus some quips from Crosshair.

Just as Padmé's about to look around for her partner, Wrecker's large hand is placed on her shoulder. Smiling softly, he leans down to catch her lips in a kiss. The slight bump in Wrecker's lip from the scar on his face is familiar, the stubble an indication that he hadn't had time to shave that morning. After breaking the contact, Wrecker lingers close to Padmé, forehead rested against hers, breathing a little heavier then he usually does.

The way Wrecker winces when he straightens the way he stands doesn't go unnoticed. Discomfort has been radiating off of him all day, and since Padmé's certain Wrecker's baring no injury worse than bruising, it has to be his back causing him issues again.

She's about to point that out, when Hunter exits the refresher, freeing it for someone else to shower. As much as Padmé insists Wrecker use to sonic first, she still ends up doing so before him. Sonic showers are fast, but Padmé tries to hurry the process further.

As soon as she's out and in fresh clothes, Padmé tries to talk with Wrecker again, only to be interrupted by Hunter wanting to discuss the mission briefly. Once they're done, Wrecker is the one showering. With sight, Padmé sits down on a chair at the navcomputer.

She's been thinking of ways to help Wrecker with the aches and cramps he gets, and has been meaning to try something out. It took ages for Padmé to even learn of the muscle pain that torments her boyfriend, that not being a fact about himself Wrecker likes to share or admit to.

Padmé spent a considerable amount of her free time looking up and asking around about back pain relief, picking up a couple promising sounding massage techniques. In combination with the heat patches the batch stock for these instances, Padmé hopes to get Wrecker feeling a bit more comfortable.

Wrecker exits the refresher dressed in lose civilian clothes, fabric looking soft from usage. Padmé enjoys what Wrecker looks like in his armor, but this is better. The harsh look of his armor conveys the strength housed in his large body well, but this outfit mirrors the softer parts of Wrecker's personality. The fact that Padmé can sometimes catch glimpses of Wrecker's stomach or lower back when he stretches only factor into that preference slightly.

Getting up, Padmé strides to Wrecker's side, taking hold of his hand. She makes sure not to stand too close to Wrecker, so she doesn't have to look up at a bad angle. “How's your back?” she asks, leaving no room for Wrecker to distract from the problem at hand.

He shrugs. “S'fine,” Wrecker says, looking anywhere but at Padmé. He's a terrible liar.

“Doesn't look fine,” Padmé says firmly. Wrecker hunches as his lie is pointed out, shrugging again. “There's something that might help that I'd like to try.”

Wrecker meets her eyes at that, lifting his free hand to wave her off. “No, no, you don't have to do that. I'll sleep it off,” Wrecker protests.

Padmé uses her free hand to cup Wrecker's cheek and he leans into it immediately, just like he always does. A barely audible sigh escapes his lips, soft expression making Padmé's heart clench.

“I won't make you do anything you don't want to, Wrecker.” Padmé trails her thumb across his cheek bone and the scars that line it. How much Wrecker trusts her on his blind side moves Padmé every time she experiences it. “However, all I want to try is a massage and I really think it could help. I promise I won't do anything without letting you know about it first.”

There's a chance Wrecker's declining Padmé's offer due to the fear of unfamiliar medical procedures he'd picked up on Kamino. Padmé's barely heard a fraction of the stories, and she can already see why Wrecker distrusts medical situations.

Wrecker shakes his head. “S'not that, I trust you,” he says, placing a hand over Padmé's one resting on his face. “But we're all tired, and I don't want to keep you from resting.”

“Would have been silly of me to offer if I didn't intend to do what I said I would,” Padmé says, smiling up at Wrecker.

Rubbing a thumb over Padmé's knuckles, Wrecker nods. “Alright, but only if you really don't mind.”

“I don't,” Padmé reassures him, just able to press a kiss to the side of Wrecker's jaw if she stretches upwards. Using the hand she still has in Wrecker's, she starts pulling him towards the batch's sleeping area.

The sleeping racks the Marauder has to offer aren't much for comfort, nor are they particularly wide. When Padmé joins the batch on missions nowadays, her and Wrecker usually opt to sleep on the floor. There's a lot more space to spread out and it's just as comfortable as the rack.

Reluctantly letting go of Wrecker's hand, Padmé gets the blanket they sleep on, as well as the one use to cover themselves, out of storage. They'll only need the first for what Padmé's planing, but she doesn't want to do a lot more before they sleep anyway, so she might as well prepare.

In the time Padmé takes to arrange the first blanket on the floor, Wrecker's gotten the pillows. They're flat and on the hard side, but do their job well enough. They're the same gray so many GAR issued pieces of equipment are. It's easy to tell that the squad must have picked most of these blankets up along the way somewhere, their varying colours contrasting to the pillows bland gray tone.

Padmé's glad. She's seen the GAR issue blankets before and they feel horrible.

Voicing a quick thanks to Wrecker, Padmé gestures for him to sit on the blanket. “Take your shirt off,” she says, not waiting to watch if Wrecker does so.

It doesn't take a lot of searching for Padmé to find the green glass bottle she'd stowed in her personal belongings, after all, she'd hardly packed much.

“What's that?” Wrecker asks as Padmé sits next to him, tilting his head slightly. He has his arms crossed in front of his chest as he sits there shirtless. Despite running hot, the slight chill on the Marauder must be affecting him.

“Massage oil,” Padmé answers as she unscrews the bottle's lid. She holds it out to Wrecker. “Tell me if you like the smell. If you don't, I'll find something else to use.”

Wrecker takes it from her carefully, leaning forwards to smell the contents. Padmé purposefully picked a subtle scent, a blend of citrus with a faint herbal note. Hunter and Tech react badly to intense perfumes, and Wrecker doesn't particularly like them either.

Thankfully, Padmé seems to have made a good choice, as Wrecker smiles and nods. She really doesn't know what she would have replaced it with if he didn't like it. Tech's got plenty of oil for work on the Marauder's engines and his contraptions, but it smells bad and leaves stains. Padmé also isn't all too keen on smearing cooking oil on her boyfriend's back.

“Lay down then,” Padmé says, putting a hand on Wrecker's bicep. Before doing as asked, Wrecker leans over far enough to lightly bump his head against Padmé's, making a smile cross her face.

Wrecker settles on his front, head cushioned on one of the pillows and his arms. He pushes himself up briefly to look back at Padmé, smile on his lips.

To better reach the broad expanse of Wrecker's back, Padmé decides to place herself with a knee on either side of Wrecker, sitting on his butt. That gets a laugh out of Wrecker.

“Is this okay?” Padmé asks.

“Completely fine,” Wrecker answers, hints of his amusement still present in his voice.

Padmé allows the oil to pool in her palm, hoping to warm it somewhat before spreading it across Wrecker's back.

The multitude of scars stick out against the warm tone of his skin, a wide variety of them littering Wrecker's back. Padmé's heard the story behind a good amount of them. Some Wrecker tells gladly, usually tales of the missions they've been on. Others, Wrecker is less proud of, most of those being small, circular puncture marks and neat, regular incisions.

Padmé's never pushed Wrecker to share the story behind those, but he'd divulge bits and pieces of their origin ever so often, usually when he isn't feeling particularly well. They come from his time on Kamino, and all of the batch share similar scars. No member of the squad sees them as honourable, the marks acting as a source of shame and disgust.

The scar on Wrecker's face continues down his neck and shoulder, enveloping most of his left shoulder and spreading down his arm and across his shoulder blade. The skin looks twisted by the injury, alternating between being raised and grooved. The scar tissue is thick and knotted. Padmé knows from experience that it's harder to the touch than the surrounding skin.

Wrecker had laughed when he told Padmé that the explosion tore such a large chunk out of his shoulder, that you likely could have seen bone. If it hadn't been for all the blood, that is. Padmé was horrified by the information, and Wrecker's brother's didn't quite share his enthusiasm either. Looks of fear, guilt and shame ghosted across their expressions as they listened to Wrecker tell the tale.

The more time Padmé spends observing Wrecker move and lift things, the more obvious it gets that he favours his left arm, never putting quite as much weight on it as his right.

Padmé makes a note to pay special attention to that spot when she gets to it.

“Tell me if anything makes you uncomfortable or hurts,” Padmé says as she places her hands flat on Wrecker's lower back. He nods in response.

With even strokes, Padmé spreads the oil across Wrecker's back. He hums appreciatively, almost trying to arch off the floor to lean into Padmé's touch.

“Feels good,” Wrecker comments as Padmé runs her hands across his skin.

A short laugh escapes her. “Love, I haven't even done anything yet.”

“Still feels good,” he sighs. As endearing as Wrecker's appreciation of close contact with Padmé is, how surprised and overly grateful he reacts to it doesn't speak well of his past partners and interactions with people other than his brothers.

Once the oil is evenly spread, Padmé brings her hands to Wrecker's upper back, placing her palm flat to his skin and her other hand on top of the first. Increasing the pressure slightly, Padmé begins moving her hands in a circular motion.

Wrecker releases a low groan almost immediately, making Padmé smile.

“Good like this or can I go harder?” Padmé asks, trying to see Wrecker's expression from where she's sitting. All she can tell is that his eyes are closed.

“Kark,” Wrecker groans, “you can absolutely go harder.” Padmé laughs softly, doing as asked.

Just then, someone clicking their tongue in annoyance behind , makes Padmé jump. She whips her head in the direction of the noise, somehow managing to not interrupt the circles she's rubbing into Wrecker's skin.

Crosshair's standing there, resting a hand on his tilted hip and lazily holding a toothpick in the other. “You know, this is only marginally better than what I thought you were up to based on the noises you're making.”

Padmé scoffs, amused by the attempt to get a rise out of her. It's far from the worst innuendo she's heard in the years she's spent in the public eye. “Can't have been that misleading if you felt comfortable walking in on us,” Padmé responds.

“Yeah,” Wrecker agrees, “shut up, Cross.” He starts sitting up a little, only to quit halfway, clearly deciding to prioritise leaning into Padmé's touch over getting back at his brother.

Crosshair sighs loudly, rolling his eyes, but doesn't make any further comment as he disappears back into the cockpit.

Padmé continues the circles down Wrecker's back, along the right side first, then switching to the left. Reaching the lower back, she eases the pressure to keep it from getting uncomfortable across areas not protected by ribs. Padmé spends a little more time focusing on areas near Wrecker's hips, knowing it's a problem spot for him as well.

Wrecker's positive response is consistent, a mix of soft, pleased noises and thanks. She's careful not to put too much pressure on Wrecker's scarred shoulder with this move, paying close attention to how Wrecker reacts.

When she's done with both sides of his back, Wrecker tries to sit up. Padmé places her palm flat on his back to stop him. Of course he could easily push past her, but Wrecker doesn't, halting his attempt to get up at the touch.

“I have other things I could try, if you like,” Padmé suggests, trailing her thumb along a scar originating from a blaster bolt.

“Really?” Wrecker asks, twisting to look at Padmé, almost making her fall from her place sitting on Wrecker.

Padmé nods, delighting in the sweet smile that spreads across Wrecker's face. He settles back down, resting his head on his forearms. He mutters something Padmé doesn't quite hear, followed by him thanking her again.

She begins circling her thumb along Wrecker's back, slow steady movements. A content sigh comes from Wrecker, clearly enjoying this just as much as the first move.

Padmé's half way up the right side of his back when Wrecker's posture changes suddenly as he tenses, hissing under his breath. Drawing her hands back quickly, Padmé leans forwards.

“Everything alright?” she asks, hoping for a honest answer. It's clear something she did caused Wrecker pain.

Wrecker is quiet for a moment. Padmé expects him to try and argue that everything is fine. After another few seconds of nothing, Wrecker finally answers.

“That spot just hurts,” Wrecker answers, “but you don't ha-”

“Then I'll be more careful around it,” Padmé interrupts Wrecker, cutting him off before he ends up trying to apologize to her for experiencing pain.

Padmé goes over the spot again, much gentler this time. She spends some time trying to ease the tension causing that particular knot, unsure if it actually works.

“Better like this?” she checks in, Wrecker not having reacted at all to the second attempt at tackling that soreness.

He nods, humming affirmatively.

Wrecker points out a few more trouble spots as Padmé continues, each being carefully focused on. Padmé's unsure if the previous technique hadn't sparked the discomfort or if Wrecker simply hadn't voiced it, but she's glad he's doing so now.

By the time Padmé moves to the next step, Wrecker's practically melted beneath her. His breathings evened out, having become deep and slow, and his shoulders lack their usual tension. The only reason Padmé's sure Wrecker hasn't fallen asleep is the occasional groans and sighs he releases.

Padmé's nearly overwhelmed by the need to lean forward and press a kiss to the back of Wrecker's neck ever so often, only stopping herself because she'd get massage oil all over herself and it would interrupt her work.

“You seem extraordinarily good at this.”

For the second time that day, Padmé is scared by one of Wrecker's brothers, this time Tech, who apparently didn't feel like announcing himself. Clearly he spooked Wrecker too, who's up on his elbows, glaring back at his brother.

“Tech,” Padmé exclaims, “don't sneak up on us like that.”

“Apologies,” he says, looking a lot like he isn't sorry, and in fact, had done so on purpose. In the corner of her eye, Padmé catches Wrecker rolling his eyes before laying back down.

“Do you need something?” Padmé asks.

“Ah, no, I do not,” Tech answers, “I merely wanted to check in on you. It's a good idea, what you're doing. I believe it has the potential to really help.” He gestures at Padmé's hands on Wrecker's back as he speaks.

“Already is helping,” Wrecker mumbles into his forearms, finishing off with a content sigh. Padmé can't help but smile.

“Oh, and I brought you this,” Tech continues, holding out two of the heat patches Wrecker usually uses for his back pain.

Padmé thanks Tech before returning to tending to Wrecker's back.

Balling her hands into fists, she runs them along Wrecker's back, away from his spine and down towards his hips. Tech comes back a little later, depositing a towel next to where Padmé's placed the heat patches. It'll be useful to have that when she's trying to stick the patches to Wrecker's skin. The oil would likely hinder their adhesion.

When she's thanked Tech again, he's off, just as silently as he'd appeared the first time.

To finish off, Padmé rubs her hands across Wrecker's back firmly for a couple minutes, enjoying how completely at ease he seems. His body is almost entirely slack beneath Padmé.

When Padmé gets off of Wrecker, he seems almost disappointed at the loss of her weight on him. Before Wrecker can try moving or look what she's doing, Padmé shuffles closer to his head. From her new position, she has much better access to Wrecker's scarred shoulder.

Warming up a little more oil in her hands, Padmé takes a moment to just look at Wrecker. He's tilted his head so he can look up at Padmé, eyes half lidded, soft, relaxed smile on his lips. She takes this opportunity to lean down and kiss Wrecker's temple.

“Feeling alright?” Padmé checks in.

“Feelin' great,” Wrecker sighs, laughing softly. Padmé's heart aches with fondness for him.

With the utmost care, Padmé starts massaging Wrecker's shoulder. With the way he's laying now, Wrecker has his blind eye and deaf ear up, yet he's still completely relaxed as Padmé works her fingers across the thick scar tissue lining his left side. She's honoured he trusts her so much.

Sitting like this would have been ineffective for working on Wrecker's back, but Padmé really enjoys the immediate feedback of not only hearing the noises Wrecker makes, but his facial expressions too. There's next to no tension remaining in his expression, a lot like when he's sleeping peacefully. Padmé ends up having to disturb the way Wrecker lays to gain proper access to Wrecker's upper arm. He doesn't seem to mind, easily allowing Padmé to take hold of the limb. Seeing as Wrecker tends to get his fists involved in combat and their enemies are more often than not droids, his knuckles take a lot of punishment on the daily as well. Like so often, dark bruises are spread across them. Padmé plans to pay some attention to Wrecker's hands as well, but she'll wait until her hands aren't covered in oil any more. Before finishing off, Padmé lets her fingers trail up the scarred side of Wrecker's neck, kneading the skin. Wrecker leans into her touch as much as he can, consequently making his neck a little harder to reach. Padmé doesn't want to correct him, finding it sweet. Wiping her hands on the towel, Padmé cleans most of the oil off two spots on Wrecker's back, one on the lower half, the other on the upper. Placing the towel aside, Padmé unpacks the heat patches, applying both to Wrecker's skin.

“There,” Padmé says, smoothing the patches down, “done.”

She's about to offer to look at Wrecker's hands next, when, as soon as the words have left her mouth, Wrecker's arms are wrapped around her. Releasing a surprised yelp, Padmé is pulled into Wrecker's embrace, ending up laying next to him, with his arm and shoulder draped across her.

Before Padmé can make a point of telling Wrecker that she wasn't entirely done, Wrecker's started pressing kisses to her face. Along her nose, forehead, cheeks, no part is spared in Wrecker's demonstration of affection. Padmé is overcome by laughter at the soft sensation of Wrecker's warm lips on her face.

“Wrecker!” Padmé exclaims. “I still want to look at your hands.”

“Said you were done,” Wrecker says, wide grin on his face as he's propped on his elbow above her.

“Please?” Padmé's already turning in Wrecker's grip, holding her hand out in preparation to receive his. There's a smile in the sound of Wrecker's voice as he sighs dramatically and agrees.

He settles on his side, draping the second blanket across both of them before doing so. Padmé takes Wrecker's large hand in hers, inspecting it carefully.

Years of scar tissue cover the knuckles, smaller burns and cuts having left marks on the rest of his hand as well. The bruising is still fresh and will likely darken even further over night. Padmé starts rubbing her thumbs across Wrecker's palm.

She doesn't get far before Wrecker kisses the top of her head, distracting her. Padmé tries to ignore it, but Wrecker keeps shifting his hold on her, leaning his head on top of hers or kissing any spot he can reach. It's making progress very slow.

“Wrecker,” she sighs fondly, “you're being very distracting.”

“Then it's working,” Wrecker says with a small laugh.

Padmé shakes her head, suppressing laughter as she turns to give Wrecker a look. “Come on.”

“You've done enough,” Wrecker says, resting his forehead against the top of Padmé's head, “can't we just sleep?”

Padmé sighs, but Wrecker's hands can wait. She is feeling rather tired, especially this close to her furnace of a boyfriend. “Alright, later then.”

She takes the opportunity of Wrecker shifting to embrace her better to connect her lips with his in a slow kiss. She presses close to Wrecker, allowing their legs to tangle. Padmé absent-mindedly runs a hand across the arm draped across her chest, feeling very comfortable. She has to push away the thought of having to sleep alone soon again.

“Thanks Padmé,” Wrecker sighs, “I'll make it up to you soon.”

“You don't have to, my love,” Padmé smiles. She's been trying very hard to make it clear that she isn't going to hold anything she does for Wrecker against him or demand compensation. That hasn't quite gotten through to him yet.

“Want to though. You need to relax more too.” Wrecker runs his fingers through her hair gently as he talks.

“Some other time, Wrecker,” Padmé says. “Just sleep now.”

She can feel Wrecker nod as she closes her eyes, letting her body go slack against Wrecker's. Padmé wakes far more rested when she sleeps next to Wrecker, and knowing that makes falling asleep just that bit easier. Wrecker's shared with Padmé that he feels the same.

There continues to be barely an tension in Wrecker's body, seemingly entirely at ease. It makes Padmé feel quite pleased with herself, knowing she managed to help at least a little with Wrecker's recurring back pain. In the face of that achievement and the comfortable position Padmé's in, all her other worries are far away as she falls asleep.

[tenderlyrenjun]

Married

(Jisung ver.)

minors + inactive/empty blogs do not interact; fic rec blogs do not reblog without comments

a/n: repost, sorry; if people still hate it, I’ll take it down but please stop telling me that my fics suck; please be nice, i'm having a rough time in life and I wrote this in like 2-3/ish days … I’ve just been thinking about Jisung a lot; I think he’s neat

word count: > 12k (sorry)

married (og, jeno ver)

edit: oppa kink removed.

includes … afab reader, tw jewellery, tw food (not in a sexual way) established relationship, unusually clingy jisung, non-marriage proposals, reciprocal ‘ooooh you want me so bad’ dynamic, better than gold TDS2 in BKK body rolls mention, implied (and wrong) experienced virgins, lots of making out, hair pulling, oral sex (m + f receiving), lowkey exhibitionism, sex in a supply closet, first times, ass grabbing, vague choking, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, thigh job (m + f receiving), fingering, lowkey size kink/difference, creampie consent – homophobes dni; mark + doyoung are gay

again, minors + inactive/empty blogs do not interact

“Hey, my dad said Doyoung asked you to be the ring bearer.”

Jisung tears his attention from the engineering student portal as you kick your way through the blankets, teetering candy boxes over a bowl of popcorn, path dimly lit by the TV and Renjun’s candles. He offered, about twenty minutes ago, before you stockpiled half his snacks on the couch with him, to gather the food, but you assigned him to pull out the cushions into a kind of bed setting. It only took a couple seconds, as it always does for him, which is why, since the last movie night, he’s had an inkling suspicion that you keep having him unfold the couch. That, or you want to keep him out of the kitchen, on account of all the times he dropped and sprayed soda all over the floor. He makes up for it!, he hopes, like earlier when he got all the snacks from the convenience store downstairs – at 10 PM, if he might add. Granted, his long legs make the trip shorter than if you went, with or without him. Actually, once, or twice, or a few times really, whenever you go with him on those allegedly short walks across the road, it extends an hour, two hours, past midnight, not that he minds. Jisung never minds; he uses it as an excuse to take a break from the studying he scarcely does – on the surface, of course. His more romantic side holds your hand and tells you that he just likes spending this time with you because you study too much at the lounge in Square Garden.

“Yeah,” Jisung answers, “Doyoung asked his morning.” He takes the candies from you first, then the popcorn, helping you settle comfortably below the thin throw blanket next to him. A soda can slides down with the new incline and he catches it with his foot, placing the bowl between your thigh and his, beside the other snacks. “Apparently, his fiancé didn’t confirm anything, and they were a party member short,” he shrugs. “Are you still the flower girl?”

You nod, “mmhmm,” then crack open the soda he caught; you put two straws inside, pulling the blue one (his) a little bit taller. “Jeno thought I was going to be a grooms-woman though and asked if we were walking down the aisle together.”

Jisung scrunches his nose. That doesn’t even make sense. You all – him, Jeno, you, Renjun, Jeno’s girlfriend, etc. – are attending the wedding from Doyoung’s side of the family, at an unequal ration (he and his fiancé have three grooms-people each; you wouldn’t be able to walk with Jeno). But he makes no corrective comment, instead slowly unwrinkling his mouth. “I don’t think his girlfriend would like that.” Because he wouldn’t like it very much, no matter how many times he tells you that he’s not a jealous guy.

Jisung quickly takes a small sip of Cola while you still have it in your hands, and you raise an eyebrow.

“Why? You don’t trust me?”

He slurps a little too hard, choking on the sudden rush of soda down his throat, and pulls off. “No, that’s not – of course, I do –“ Then, you start laughing, and he pushes your chest, another smile widening into his cheeks. “Ah, you’re so …”

“So what?” you bounce back, knocking your shoulder into him. “So lovely? So pretty? So Park Jisung’s girlfriend?”

Jisung catches you with both hands, an arm wrapping around your shoulders, his fingers grazing your cheek. He pulls a serious frown that doesn’t quite meet the curve in his eyebrow. “Mmhm, yeah,” he answers the last one, leaning in tighter. “You’re so Park Jisung’s girlfriend.” His lips almost touch yours, thumb tilting your face upward, breath a poor, poor substitute for your tongue. “Don’t forget it.”

You wrap your hand under his wrist, pushing his arm up a bit further. He casts his eyes toward yours for a second but sees you staring at his parted lips. Your tongue peaks its tip, briefly catching his most prominent tubercle. “Never.”

You make the first move, for him, thankfully, because he debated, too long, how to proceed with you still carrying the soda in your lap. His broad shoulders envelop you when you fist his hoodie, dragging him and the collar down, zipper chafing his bare sternum. Jisung braces a hand on the couch, somewhere near your hip that his index finger feels, steadying the both of you upright. It only lasts a second, before you both fall into the pillows, and the cushions barely support you two, so you cling to each other. He readjusts your hips under him, your knee bending to avoid the popcorn bowl, which probably already spilled. Your hand slips into the split ends of his hair and pulls, drawing out all his breath, making his hand slip under your ass.

Then you pull harder, and his breath becomes audible, becomes a moan.

You – and he – learned this evil little fact somewhere around the seventh month mark – his hair pulling kink. Jisung met you after a particularly long evening class, holding a thin bouquet of pink tulips and couple bracelets in his trench coat. He kissed the top of your head, an arm wrapped around your shoulders, hiding you and your backpack in his large jacket, on the way to his car. You made it to the restaurant about 10 minutes early, but the table ran late, so the both of you sat in the backseat, pointing out the moon in mirror’s reflection, talking and talking until you were no longer talking, kind of like now. And you pulled the ends of his hair, nails grazing into his scalp, to get him on top. You ended up being late to you reservation.

“J-Jisung,” you whisper, cut off by the harder he presses his lips.

He shifts around the couch, aligning you perpendicular to the snacks, better lit by the candlelight, straight against the original layout, your head on the arm rest now – all without breaking the kiss. And his hands get more frantic, taking away the soda, mauling your hips, flipping his fingers repeatedly over your waistband.

“Is this too far?” Jisung asks when his thumbs sink above your underwear. He can feel the tiny organza flowers bulging into his finger pads. You both have gone through most of the bases, with each other – been making out, hot and heavy, since your fourth date; groping each other over and under your clothes since the second month; touching each other a little more south since that seventh month mark. He has seen you naked, too! Well, mostly naked; sometimes you wear his hoodie or only your underwear, which leaves little to the imagination, but still, he hovers and asks.

Your eyes blink slowly, opening just a crack but so obvious in the dark. He waits for you to look at him, following you up his neck to his face. You bite your lip a tiny bit, right in the middle, almost imperceptible until you let go, and he pecks you once, pulling away just as quickly even though your lips trail after him.

“No,” you mumble, also fast, jutting out your chin to kiss him again, sliding your arms around his neck, hands down between his shoulder blades. “Jisung, please, keep going. I want – I want to –“ You suck in a breath and center yourself (and him). “I want you.”

Jisung grunts your name, popping his chest like a dance move before he locks himself onto you, rolling your torso with him. He presses your hips down, deeper into the couch. Your shins stand up, outlining him, giving his dick a small crevice between your pants against which to rub. Instinctively, he bites his lip – and yours, and you yelp, prompting him to apologize, but you yank him even closer, nails clawing into his cheeks. You slip your plump tongue into his mouth, drawing his out, and your lips feel even softer on his tongue as you kiss around it, kind of like that time you gave him head, back when you still lived in the dorms on campus. He barely fit those days, and each thrust would drag your lips back into your mouth with him; he basically trained you, since then, to take his entire length in one stroke. Same with his long fingers beneath your panties, which now unbutton your trousers. He crosses your leg one on top of the other, pausing, on his knees, to grind against your ass. And you both roll your eyes shut, incoherent mumblings spilling down both your tongues without the other to mash them away. Jisung dives down again, both hands shimmying off your pants while he kisses you, equally fervent.

But once he gets them down your ankles, your feet prepared to kick them off, the lights turn on.

“Oh!” Renjun groans from the entrance, a brown grocery bag covering his eyes as he makes his way into the kitchen behind the couch. “Could you not do that on the communal furniture? Please?”

Maybe Jisung takes Renjun’s words a little too closely to heart, or maybe he wants to save money by booking a multiroom suite with his friends, or maybe he really wants to make love to his beautiful girlfriend who he has known for years now, because he agrees with his friends on the shared unit, like his apartment with Renjun, for Doyoung’s weekend wedding in mid-Seoul near the Han River. Jaemin convinced everyone that they would need a place to rest and get dressed without having to make the hour/hour and a half drive back to their apartments in upper Seoul. The hotel also gives Jisung the excuse to sleep next to you (just sleep, Renjun glared, traumatized after your date night), which he absolutely loves, in a different way, laying on your chest, matching your breath, siphoning off some of warmth to you.

It was the first thing you both did when you got to your rooms – sleep.

Jisung dropped your duffel bag and his – both couple items – in an open armoire while you settled his smaller backpack on the vanity. Neither of you opened any bags, wordlessly and simultaneously collapsing on the singular king-sized bed. You sprawled out for a couple seconds, then searched for each other’s hands in the sheets. He turned to you first, after you intertwined your fingers, and kissed your knuckles, one at a time, doubling back on your ring finger. It made you giggle, which made him giggle.

“Ah, I like being here with you,” he confessed, flopping against the mattress again, brushing away his bangs from his forehead, a dumb, gummy smile spreading up his face.

He never told you this, but a few months into dating, when you accidentally stayed the night at his apartment for the first time, falling asleep on his full-sized bed while he finished a last-minute assignment, Jisung had this epiphany where he realized that he likes this, likes sharing a bed with you (he almost asked you to move in, but that would have been way too soon, especially for a couple of kids). Then, after he fixed your hair, tied it into a ponytail sometime before sunrise for a hiking date along the Yeongbong Peak Trail, he realized that he likes the intimacy of being with you, his girlfriend. And he finds himself, this weekend, on the second evening staying at the hotel, looking for all those moments of intimacy.

Like now, he sits on the end-of-the-bed bench, watching you fix your eye makeup in the mirror according to Doyoung’s navy and gold rehearsal dinner, matching a shimmering highlight with the trim in the slit of your maxi dress. You wore this same dress – and him the same matching suit – to some European restaurant with him a couple months ago. No special occasion that time; you just met him at a restaurant for date night after not seeing him all two weeks of midterm season. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, people said when he was younger and naïve and didn’t quite understand them enough to believe, but he got it instantly, in that moment, and essentially made a vow never to be that far from you again – probably why he seeks and prolongs these moments of intimacy, and why he likes your dress so much, among a few other reasons.

“Are you finished?” you call, a little garbled as your mouth hangs while you apply mascara.

“Almost.” Jisung looks down at the loose tie around his neck. “Just need to fix one last thing.” He looks back toward you, and you look beautiful and mostly finished, not that he knows, entirely, what look you will be completing. He just thinks you are always pretty. “Are you almost done?”

“Not really.” You pull away from the bathroom mirror, blinking a few times, then turn to him. “How does this look – Oh, are you not wearing the couple watch tonight?”

“No, I am.” Jisung points to his silver watch on the table at the other side of the room with his black blazer. “Are you wearing yours?”

You nod. “Yeah, I just need to add some lipstick and jewellery, and I’ll be done.”

Jisung stands up and crosses the room to get behind you. He lifts your hair in an impromptu ponytail, making sure to grab lowly as not to ruin what you have done so far. “I'll help you,” he half-requests, gently, already pulling your long necklace into place and clasping it at the perfect length. He spins you around to add the bracelets and watch, but you have yet to finish applying makeup, so he holds your hands and kisses you slowly, like the scene of a movie (or an artsy porno).

You put a hand on his arm, jerking him forward, leaning on the door frame. He tilts his head a little bit left, nose brushing into your cheek, and you copy him enough for him to feel your breath on his face. Ever since the first time he kissed you longer than a simple peck, Jisung has been obsessed with all the ways he can elongate a simple kiss. One way you do, and this doubles as giving him consent, is by wrapping your arms around his neck, which you do now, hiking your leg, through your slit, around his waist high up, practically sitting on the sink counter. It gives him a better angle, more comfortable, against the height difference, to bend his neck. Jisung hikes your other leg around his waist, sandwiching you between him and the wall, thigh supported by the sink, an ass cheek supported by his large hand, his pelvis pressing too tightly into yours. He brushes your hair to the side and presses a trail of quick kisses down your jaw that have your breath elevated, turning into whispered moans of his name that he has to kiss quiet.

You hold his chin still, about to return the trail of kisses, when three knocks hit the bedroom door.

“Are you guys do – Oh, come on,” Jeno groans, throwing his hands in toward the exit, swinging his entire body away from the bathroom (a private bathroom, Jisung mentally adds). “Wrap it up, people. Jaemin is one perfume spray from being ready, and we’re already five minutes late for the rehearsal dinner.”

Jeno leaves as quickly as he entered, but Jisung still scrunches his nose, making a small annoyed face at the door. You tap his arm quickly a few times, and he steps back, helping you hop down the counter.

“So … do you still need help?”

You deadpan at him. “Out.”

“Is it always that bad or am I just noticing it now?” you call from the bathroom again.

Jisung laughs and pauses the TikTok on his phone. “What? You don’t want to marry me?”

You point a half-used wet wipe at him, brown eyeliner smudged past the corner of your eyebrow. “You proposed to me twice!”

Jisung rolls his eyes and onto his stomach over the bed. “One of those doesn’t even count!” During your two-year anniversary picnic at the Han River, a few months ago, he proposed the idea of proposing when he saw a kid with a red candy Ring Pop. You didn’t turn him down, citing that you both already had platinum couple rings, and he proposed on the spot with his, even getting halfway down on a knee before you toppled him into the grass. Okay, maybe that one counts; Jisung rubs the back of his neck. “But all the aunties thought we were cute!” During the rehearsal dinner, they kept bringing up a follow-up wedding with all the couples – you and Jisung, Jeno and his girlfriend, Mark and his boyfriend. All of you treaded around the conversation, as if none of you have had The Talk with your partners yet, even though Jisung knows that Mark has a ring ready and Jeno has a date planned (and he has a proposal in mind).

You turn off the bathroom lights and quickly jump into the bed, hiding your bare legs under the blanket without him, fluffing his extra-large hoodie over your head.

Jisung frowns and scoots into bed with you. “Did it really bother you that much?” He knows that he jokes about marriage from time to time, probably brings it up one too many times, but he is serious about it. If you said yes, he would marry you in an instant. You would wait anyways, for a big ceremony, until the both of you finish your degrees and have jobs, him delayed a few semesters due to military service before school, but he would marry you in an instant. “I can talk to the aunties tomorrow, so they don’t bring it up again.”

“No, Sung,” you backpedal. “It’s just that I never noticed it before. Of course, I want to marry you. We’ve just never really talked about the details before. We don’t even live together.”

Jisung settles into the pillows, dragging you down with him, into his arms. “We could,” he whispers. And you look up at him, eyes wide, a hand over his on your stomach. “Move in, and talk about all the details. We could move in together, you know. Maybe not on Monday or anything, but, like, next semester or next year, or something like that. We could wait until after college, too, if –“

“Jisung?”

“… Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Jisung sighs, in relief this time, melting a little bit deeper into the mattress, free hand taking his forehead temperature. “I love you, too.” He rolls on his side and buries his face in your neck, curling his long leg over your bare thighs. You comb his hair behind his ear a few times before he starts kissing your neck, sneaking into the hoodie with you – there’s enough room for two people if he squeezes.

“Jisung,” you sigh quietly. He looks up, catching you close your eyes, mouth parting enough for your tongue to peek out a bit, flat with the way you bite it. And he kisses your neck again, a quick, wet one, licking his lips so closely that his tongue catches your skin. Sometimes he doesn’t have exactly the right words, so he rambles through the entire dictionary until he finds the right one. He also really likes kissing you. “Jisung,” you sigh again, a little bit louder, more enunciated over the wet smacks that he tries to make chaste, given the brief conversation about marriage. “Mmm, Jisung.”

But like he said, he would marry you in an instant.

Jisung kisses your neck a little longer, a little harder, slipping around the column to find a perfect vein that makes you whimper his name exactly the same again. And pliantly, your head lulls into his palm, kissing his life lines almost deliberately. Jisung turns you back to him with the same palm, pyjama pants rolling your legs open, wide enough for him to slip between. He grinds down, the first kiss to your lips, fingers coiling in the hair behind your head, freehand pulling a thigh up his back. You seem to get the hint, tying your feet on his spine, pushing your heels down to trap him.

“If we – if we move in together,” you breathe, eyes closed, lips pursed, “I don’t think we’ll get very much sleep – Jisung – ah!”

Jisung coasts his throbbing boner through your lips, milling his pants against your underwear. His waistband starts folding over itself, exposing his Adonis belt further and further and further, until his ass is half out, almost matching the way your underwear tangles between your cheeks. He brings you up closer, pulling your head off the pillows, fully kneeling, making indents in the sheets.

“I want it,” he tells you, hauling you into his lap, making you straddle him backwards, “I want to move in together, to sleep together, to sleep together.” He squeezes you against the headboard, quietly banging it against the wall just once, then louder a second time as you meet him, equally, trying to fuse your bodies together. His hands start roaming, and your hands start roaming, only settling on the best place to knead each other – his broad shoulders and your ass. “I’m not just saying it, I promise.” You stare at him a few milliseconds, searching his eyes, then kiss him even rougher, making him lose balance, and he accidentally kicks the headboard harder.

“We’ll talk about it later,” you tell him, mouths misaligned, kissing around his cupid’s bow specifically. And Jisung sucks in a huge breath, holding it right there in his chest, gravitating the entire Earth’s rotation around his, well, his penis, the lifeline, right now, to his brain and heart. Then you whisper, “I want it, too. All of it,” and he exhales and flips you on your back, making you yelp and giggle, which makes him giggle.

“Right now, I want you.”

Jisung leans down again, half a centimeter from your lips … when a loud bang comes from the adjourning wall, accompanied by your names. He looks up at it, mouth still puckered, hoping that the sound came from you two. Sensing nothing, he kisses you again, and a moan escapes him, and the banging comes back.

"Jisung," Jaemin shouts. “I can’t tell if you’re just watching porn too loud or you’re trying to have sex in a hotel room that you share with your best friends, but it’s 3 AM, and we have to be up at 7 for the wedding, so, for the love of God, please go to sleep.”

You laugh out loud, and Jisung covers your mouth with one hand. Then, as expected, Jaemin hits the wall again.

“Hello?? What did I just tell Jisung?”

“Yo!” Mark wanders into your room, eyes covered his long blond hair and a single hand. The other blindly feels around the air, as not to bump into anything, but he still hits the end-of-the-bed bench where yours and Jisung’s clothes are neatly packed in black suit protector bags. “Are you decent?” he asks, stopping in place, “The guys sent me to see if you’re ready yet.” He spins his wrist in the air. “Something about not wanting to deal with –“ Mark takes a chance and peaks through his fingers … only to find you and Jisung sharing wired earbuds, laughing at a stupid, silly, little TikTok. He breathes a quick sigh, petting down his chest, then deadpans and grabs a pillow, throwing it at you two. “Hey!” He snaps his fingers. You both finally look up. “Time to go, losers. My boyfriend’s already pulled the car around; Jeno left 30 minutes ago; and the makeup artists started on the Doyoung's fiance’s groomsmen.”

You and Jisung make no move to get up.

“Hello? Now, please,” Mark practically orders.

“Um,” Jisung squeaks. He scrunches his nose, pressing his tongue on his bottom lip, in lieu of biting. It’s still a bit swollen from last night, when you both kept kissing each other through messy hand jobs, wanting the first time that you actually have real, penetrative sex to be more freeing. But still, he did have sex last night, and the reminders show, under the blanket, where you don’t wear pants. “Can you give us, like, two minutes to get dressed?” He gestures to the heap of blankets.

Mark throws his head back. “You’re not even dressed? Of course, you’re not.” He groans. “Okay, you have five minutes to be downstairs, or you’re driving yourselves.”

The moment Mark walks out the door, Jisung asks, “Should we just Uber there?”

You smack him with a pillow. “The makeup artist has to get both of us ready. We’re in the wedding party.” Jisung flails over that pillow, making you drop it, and you roll your eyes, getting up like Mark requested.

“Ugh.” He hugs the pillow tightly, covering the dick imprint in his boxers. “The wedding doesn’t even start until 3. We could have time to just …” Jisung watches you take off your sticky black panties and pull on even smaller ones, words trailing off, because now his 7 AM boner remembers how he kissed you until 5 AM; how your hands squeezed above his balls, while he slid his entire length in the crevice of your thigh; how he fingered you with three long digits, thumb pinching down on your clit. Then you catch him staring a little south of the hoodie you stole from the last time he did laundry (Thursday, when you slept over), and he finishes his sentence. “To – to just re-relax.”

You roll your eyes again and put on the Adidas sweatpants that Jisung bought you a few months ago. “Let’s go, Jisung.” And he rolls his eyes, sticking his tongue out his jaw.

"Fine, but you owe me a kiss."

Jisung accepts, or, really, takes his kiss, outside the hotel. He stops you a couple steps down the short perron, dress storage bag, hitting his thigh from how fast he moves. And - while Mark leans against his boyfriend's car, calling Renjun and Jaemin down, who are also late - Jisung gives himself the time, the moment, to pucker his lips.

But it turns into a longer kiss, backing up Renjun and Jaemin, who were not as late as he thought.

“Two and a half years, and you still suck face? Are you two even dating or just making out all the time?” Renjun shakes his head sarcastically. And Jisung pushes him into Jaemin, who catches him easily.

“Ay-yo??” Mark calls from the street, hand over his eyes like a visor. “We’re late, let’s goooo.”

In the car, Mark and his boyfriend take the driver and passenger seats, obviously, and Jaemin and Jeno’s girlfriend sit in the pop-up row in the trunk, leaving you, Renjun, and Jisung – the smallest and tallest of the group – in the middle, much to Renjun’s protest. Though, he only jokes about this stuff; he actually thinks that the both of you are “so cute” if his cuteness aggression is anything to go off. Sometimes he throttles you two, and Jisung is scared that he might get bitten (by someone who isn’t you).

The drive to the venue (re: other hotel) is only 15 minutes, so everyone tries to stay silent, on their phones, still waking up, not even properly dressed, but Jisung, of course, breaks it, laughing and mouthing stop through his gummy smile after you respond to his TikTok.

[Boyfriend ♡, 7:13 A.M.]

hey, look at this

[Boyfriend ♡, 7:13 A.M.]

https://tiktok...com

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 7:14 A.M.]

Are you trying to tell me something?

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 7:15 A.M.]

Andy Park? 🤨

“Ah, stop,” Jisung blushes. He rubs up your thigh and buries his face in your neck, lips curling into your skin prominently enough to act like another kiss. You sneak your hand around his head, combing out his bed hair.

“What?” you whisper in his ear, brushing away the longer strands. “Not going to propose a third time?”

Jisung covers your mouth and presses a quick kiss to your neck. “Someone’s going to hear you.” If it were any other situation, he would take you on the suggestion, half-jokingly proposing with whatever couple ring he happened to be wearing at the time. Mostly, he wants it to be an intimate proposal, just the two of you, eyes on each other; the after party, when you tell everyone, can be the bigger affair, but Jisung wants to see the ring slide down your finger and hear your answer clearly with his own ears. He peeks an eye and finds you already staring at him, cooing. “Why? Do you want me to propose again?”

Dramatically, you take off your ring and plop it in his palm. He laughs, audibly, breaking the silence again, but slips it down your finger regardless.

“Ehhh,” you grimace at it, playfully, twirling your hand in the sunlight, “Same ring.”

Jisung grabs you by the neck and kisses you quiet this time, only pulling away to peck your lips repeatedly. His thumb brushes into your cheek, fingers drawing you in, tilting your head at the perfect angle to slip his tongue down your throat. Your head falls pliantly, supported by his wrist that you hold, following every twist and turn he makes to kiss you harder.

“Okay! Here! Everyone out of my car!” Mark’s boyfriend shouts, loudly shifting the car into neutral a few steps from the Grand Hyatt Seoul. He looks pointedly at you and Jisung breathing heavily through the rearview mirror. “Especially you two.”

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 12:14 P.M.]

Meet me in the lobby

[Girlfriend ♡♡, 12:14 P.M.]

I have a surprise for you ^^

Jisung waits on a cushion bench, fully dressed in his navy tuxedo, silver accessories hidden under his sleeves and high collar to accommodate Doyoung's wedding theme. He scrolls back through your car ride conversation, since he has the time, smiling to himself, curling into himself, covering his mouth as he kicks his feet forward like a middle schooler with a crush.

You are continuously cute in his eyes, and, as he relives this reminder of just how cute you are, Jisung doesn't know how he got so lucky. Sure, yeah, you two make out ... a lot, as Renjun pointed out, but he also finds you incredibly compatible. You send him pictures of the moon at night and the sun in the morning; you go out with him at 1 in the morning to the good fish-shaped bread cart (the one by Jamsil stadium after all the concerts neither of you attended); you cheer his name after all the physics exams on which he tries his best.

Really, Jisung could go on forever and ever, gushing about pretty much every aspect of your relationship. He loves you so much. And he used to, back when you first started dating, and he still does during your anniversaries (100 days, 6 months, 1 year, etc.). All his friends complain, especially the bitchless ones (Renjun, Haechan, and Jaemin), but he wants you in his life for as long as you'll have him.

“Were you going to text me?”

Jisung jumps in his seat, automatically locking his phone. He relaxes though, the next second, when he sees you, and scoots over enough for you to sit with him.

But you keep standing.

And he raises an eyebrow.

“What are you –“

You kick your foot up, through the slit of your dress. Jisung thinks you wear these dresses often, which he likes, never mind that Doyoung picked this dress out - a fact he tries to ignore, even though he's pretty sure that he confided this secret to his friends and Renjun probably let it slip after a few drinks.

You catch your ankle, showing off the white bottoms under your heels, below the pretty, silver watch that you will have to take off before the ceremony. Jisung, on instinct, hold you steady first, seeing signs of imbalance in your face. He waits until you lean on him more before looking at your foot.

"Why are - Andy?" he reads, vertically down your foot. It takes him a second to react, chest pounding fast, first, mind going blank, eyes flying to search your smiling face. Then, he returns it - your smile. "Ah, you're so cute."

Jisung pulls you into his lap, like a princess on his knee, and kisses you fast. He might have you repeat this when you actually get married, already filing a mental note to save the TikTok for inspiration. For now, though, he can just pretend - pretend that you did this for your wedding, pretend that you will talk down the aisle for him today (well, you go first, so he will meet you at the first row in front of the alter today), pretend that your white-ish dress is for him, pretend that your current rings carry even more permanent meaning than they already do.

You laugh between the repeated pecks, trying to pull away, but he has you vice gripped close by his chest. “You’re so clingy this weekend, Park Jisung.” And he draws back first, briefly looking at you before burying his face in your neck, arms dropping down your waist. “Someone might think you actually like skinship.” You laugh again and comb his hair.

Jisung squeezes your waist, just once, breathlessly laughing with you. He knows – he knows that he isn’t really known for skinship, having waited days, in the beginning, to hold your hand, not even kissing you until your fourth date; and he knows that he has been obsessed with you these last few days, so he kisses your neck again and confesses, “I just … I just …” He sucks in a breath. “Ah, I just want you,” he finishes lamely. “Can we stay a little bit longer? Here, at the venue, without … everyone else?”

You pinch his cheeks upward, puckering his lips at which you coo. “Did you want to get married today, too?” you giggle. And he almost hides behind your hair, if it weren’t neatly tied up, braided forward to your temples, but also, you hold him as steady as he hugs your waist. He wouldn’t mind, you know, getting married today, after Doyoung; the only people missing, right now, are his siblings (and a few other people); he might want to buy you a new ring really quick though. “Hmm? What’s up, babe?”

“Everyone will be gone,” he says simply, and you relax your fingers curiously onto his shoulders, fumbling the lapels. “From the hotel, they’ll be gone. Most of them are leaving during the dinner, and Mark’s already packed up his boyfriend’s car with their bags. We’ll have an entire suite to ourselves; we won’t have to check out until tomorrow morning.” Jisung swallows and licks his lips, giving himself a beat of reprieve before his tongue goes numb, making it impossible to voice the reason for his request. You stare at him, wide eyed and nodding, urging him to go on, even though it looks like you already know what he wants to ask, even though he feels too scared to ask. “We could, um, we could – oh, God.” He likes to think that, since you’ve been dating for almost three years, he has gotten past most of the nervous, honeymoon stuttering, but he (loves you so much) takes a deep breath and starts again, rushing through, “Wecouldhavesex.”

And you giggle.

He wishes you wouldn’t. It sets a bad precedent for the activity he wants to do; albeit, you didn’t laugh those other first times – when he kissed you, when you sucked him off, when he fingered you. So, really, Jisung has no reason to worry. He just needs to suggest it again, calmly.

“We could use the hotel room, later,” he alludes, monitoring your reaction closely, involuntarily stiffening his fingers through your silky, pale gold dress. You give him more encouraging tiny nods, leaning in with each micro-adjustment, and he copies you, nodding to himself, giving himself the same support. “To have sex,” he whispers, then repeats, louder, “Make love. Do you … want to …?”

You exhale shakily, and he hadn’t realized you were holding your breath. “Yeah,” you sigh. “Yes, definitely.” You grab his face, and he wants to propose again, possibly for real, to see you react like this again, possibly more enthusiastic. “Jisung, I love you,” you say obviously, honestly, “Of course I want to have sex with you,” you whisper the last bit, like him, and he kisses your shoulder, suppressing his gummy smile briefly.

“Give me your ring.”

“Whoa?” You blink. “Just because I said yes? Park Jisung, I never thought of you as a player.” You giggle again and hand over the mismatched ring regardless, probably already knowing the question he has written across his face.

He almost apologizes, for not having a new present, a new ring, something new to give you for another relationship marker, but he changes his mouth to say your name and holds out the jewllery between his thumb and index finger, which are shaped like a heart, nail pushing the center design at you. “Will you,” he pauses, dramatically, muffling a sheepish laugh. “Will you,” he restarts, “make love to me tonight, in the hotel room – our hotel room, after the wedding?”

You roll your eyes and push his shoulder, but he stays still, keeping himself upright to drag an answer out of you. And you answer again, definitively, “Yes, Park Jisung, I will make love to you tonight in our hotel room.”

Except, after the wedding, past the foyer at the reception hall, you almost fuck your boyfriend in a supply closet. He’d only been dancing in the makeshift mosh pit with his friends, jacket fallen down his shoulders, mostly sheer white shirt exposing his toned humerus. They kept cheering him on through the popping and locking and body rolls as he wore a pair of cheesy, blue party glasses that Doyoung placed on all the tables with dessert. Then, the DJ – Doyoung’s friend Johnny from high school – slowed the melody, pulling all the couples onto the dance floor.

All the couples except you because you stole Jisung’s hand and dragged him out one of the smaller doors behind the furthest unoccupied tables. He tripped over a few chairs on the way, praying that no one heard him, trying to catch up the half-step you have on him, wondering what dastard plans you have on your mind.

“What are you –“

“It’s such a crime,” you tell him, shoving him against a poorly lit shelf, inhaling his lips, running your fingers along his torso, finding the best place to hold him. The door slams loudly, which is oddly comforting, to give you both some privacy. And he drops his hands from surrender onto your shoulders, relaxing you enough to continue talking through the kisses. “You look so good, too good, Park Jisung, and you dance so well. God,” you moan into his mouth, ridiculously close that he can feel your boobs squish on his chest. “I know, we’re waiting for tonight and tomorrow, and – and –“ You pull back swallowing, realigning your breath. Jisung licks his lips. He’s been the one to kiss you all weekend, to initiate it all weekend, so he gets hard, instantly, when you return the same energy, finding him as hot as he finds you. “We’re waiting,” you reiterate, and he presses his forehead against yours, “but – but can you do that dance move again – that body roll again,” you glance at him through your lashes, “on me?”

“Here?”

You nod, biting your lip. “If you don’t – we don’t have to; we can go back. I just – Jisung, ah, fuck.”

You rarely swear, never finding a reason unless you’re frustrated or really turned on, and Jisung always wants to hear it, claiming that you sound really sexy when you say things you’re not supposed to, especially, like in this case, when you are doing things you’re not supposed to. So rather than responding, he complies, pulling his face down, legs pliéd to accommodate your height, then rolls once, thigh grazing through the slit in your dress, dragging it up and behind your waist.

Jisung groans, deeply, pausing to settle his nerves. He repeats, even closer, grinding across your chest, twisting your dress around the buttons of his shirt. And you fall into him, a hand braced on the shelf behind his elbow. Jisung bites his lip. Something juxtaposes deeply in this moment, but he cannot place his finger quite on it. He feels like a middle schooler again, waiting to kiss the prettiest person at the party; he also feels like a teenager with raging hormones, back to 19 right before his military service, jacking off in his room with lotion and a box of tissues; but he also feels like an adult (or the most adult a person in their 20s can feel) in an adult relationship doing adult things. So he does it again – the body roll, breathing into your mouth, chasing your lips down for another kiss.

“I don’t want to make love to you in here,” he whispers, despite rolling his fully hard dick in the crevice between your thigh and vulva. Jisung fists your dress at your waist, bunching it higher. Your panties expose, thin and transparent. His resolve nearly falters, almost completely fucking you in this supply closet with his family and closest friends a few meters away. He kisses you again and again, burying his words with his tongue down your throat, exhaling shakily. Then, he shakes his head, slowly pulling away, holding your face in place, hand around the front of your neck. Jisung opens his eyes and finds you already looking at him, your fingers wrapping around his wrist one by one. “I want you –“ He brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, that fell out of a tight braid. “– so bad, you have no idea.” He grinds his dick up your leg as proof. “But not here, not like this.”

“I know. I don’t want it like this either,” you tell him, smoothening the wrinkles in his shirt, staring down his chest. “I just … You looked so hot out there, and, God, Ji, I want you so, so bad, too.”

Jisung brings his hands down, fumbling this thumbs back and forth across your hips, your dress bunched up as you practically sit on his lap while he barely sits on a half-empty shelf. You snake your hands behind his neck, fidgeting with the tag in his coat. He tries to fight the smirk that appears in the corner of his mouth, sweeping his long hair in front of his eyes, but you catch him and bury your face in his neck this time.

“Don’t make fun of me,” you whine, voice going up an octave at the last syllable. You tease him more than he teases you, verbally at least (he likes to think that he does more than you in bed), so he’s not entirely accustomed to his whiny girlfriend, and he kinda likes it.

“Never,” he tells you, sarcastically, chuckling a hair away from your lips before he kisses you again. “I like that you think I’m sexy.” He smirks, inhaling a deep embrace, literally taking your breath away with a slow and gentle kiss. You moan into his mouth, mumbling his name between colorful expletives. It lets him slip his tongue inside, confidently, crushing his lips harder and harder, needing you to come equally closer, to ease the pressure on his dick. He knows – he knows what he just said, but, “We don’t have to … have sex in here,” he tells you, whispering like it’s a bad word. “There are other things we can do.” He groans, throatily, chest rising faster.

You’ve done worse, honestly, in worse places than dry humping in a supply closet at a family friend’s wedding. He can think of several blow jobs in the library’s reference section (which has no cameras, by the way); or that time he held a vibrator on you the entire Starbucks drive-thru, resulting in him plastering his failed differential midterm over the windows as a cover up while he ate you out in the back seat. Actually, just last Tuesday too, at the gym, after he locked the door to a communal weight lifting room, you bounced on his long, agile fingers. Granted, it was 4 AM, so the place was already empty, save for a couple employees, thus easing his anxiety. And you could do it again, right now. You don’t have to take his dick inside your cunt, but you could give each other sloppy hand jobs, using spit as lube (or not; he's probably leaking so much pre-cum). The thought makes his knees buckle, making the both of you stumble.

“Sor –”

You cut him off with another kiss, your fingers flying to his pants, undoing his fly quickly. He grunts, involuntarily thrusting up. His dick was already pointing tip-up, the entire length, even flaccid, unable to sit snugly otherwise in his pants. You curl your nails in his waistband, scratching under his boxers. He nods his head, mouth parted, gasping, giving you all the green lights to touch him more, which you do, sliding one hand down his pants and the other onto his cheek, allowing you to deepen the kiss. Jisung grunts, again, plump lips biting your tongue, and he copies you, one hand behind your neck, under your head, anchoring himself to this moment (also, before he completely evaporates).

“Shh,” you whisper, mouthing across his jaw. “We have to be quiet.” But you make it hard for him (pun intended), holding your thumb on his throbbing slit, breaking his pre-cum into uneven globs down the sides. “Everyone keeps interrupting us, baby," you pout.

You take your hand off his dick and bring it to your mouths. He watches you, intently, lick your palm, pink tongue peeping just above the web in your hand, and he falls – not literally. Jisung bends in half, lowering himself to your boobs, silently thanking your heels, which have his name branded on the bottom. He kisses the highest part on your dress, halfway down your chest, then slides the straps down your pretty arms. You repeat his name, verbally – his proper name, after he takes a nipple in his mouth, tongue flat against it, massaging the entire areola. He sucks lightly, hollowing his cheeks, bobbing up and down, opposite hand enveloping under your unattended tit, but he’s too big, as is everything about it, and his palm rests on your ribs. His thumb and index finger pinch repeatedly, automatically, increasing hardness each time a digit swipes over your nipple. You have to bite your hand to stop from moaning too loud.

“Jwiseong,” you stammer, accented by the muffle.

You edge a little closer to him, pushing the shelf into his lower back, and he yelps. But it comes out as groan, vibrations making you match him. Jisung stands up fully again, taking a wide step on the outside of your thighs. He grabs you by the face, kissing you in the way he has been all weekend, a hand behind your neck and another supporting you by the ass, this time dipping you toward the ground. His cock flops completely out the fly of his pants, balls still trapped behind the slit in his boxers. The heavy air hits the veins in his dick first before it rubs against your inner thighs, and you squeeze them around him, both of you groaning, your skimpy underwear adding friction for both of you. Jisung moans your name, accidentally biting your bottom lip. But you say nothing, instead wrapping your arms around his neck, doing your best to slide his cock between your thighs. And he grunts. He can feel his cock pulsing to release.

“Jisung,” you mumble more coherently, “Jisung, Jisung,” you half-chant between kisses, but every time you open your mouth, he slips his tongue in farther, twisting inside your mouth, licking behind your teeth, goading your tongue inside his mouth to suck on. Your panties twist at the crotch, like a substitute thong, and his long cock, ridges and all, rubs your clit to ass and back again. “Jisung,” you moan again. “Jisung, you can’t cum – you can’t – oh, my God, Jisung,” you whisper-shout, forcing him to kiss you harder. He can’t cum on your clothes.

“I know,” he mumbles, giving your tongue one last suck before he pulls back, sitting on the same half-empty shelf, you back on his lap/ish. He lightly fingers away the hairs curtaining the front of your face, tucking the thicker ones behind your ear. “I know,” he repeats. You’ve given him thigh jobs before, humping between his legs, which landed cum on your ass, and letting him hit doggy style, which landed cum on your stomach. So, here, in the random supply closet, it – his cum – would ruin both of your outfits, something you wouldn’t be able to explain on your goodbye rounds. And he cums so much (it was embarrassing the first time, then he found out how much you liked it). Jisung glances at his cock, shortly, jumping between it and your face. He steadies his breathing and takes off his jacket; he undoes more buttons down his pecs and rolls up his sleeves. “It’s so … hot in here,” he justifies.

You nod, pulling at your dress. And he sees it – the wrinkles in the skirt, the slit pushed toward your strapless bra, your panties even tinier.

“You can cum in my mouth,” you whisper thickly, “so – so you don’t stain your tux.”

“We could just go back to our hotel,” he offers instead, really feeling the need to cum elsewhere.

“You’re fine walking out with this –“ You slide your hand down his penis, fingers not entirely touching despite getting tighter at the base. “– poking everyone in the eye?”

“N-no, yeah, you’re right. Please let me cu-cum down your throat.”

You rearrange your dress comfortably folded beneath your knees, hit jacket adding extra padding. Jisung sucks in a breath, then even more when you swallow the entirely of his dick, or whatever you can, stuttering halfway down. It seems he got bigger, all his cum girthing at the tip, waiting to flood. You skip the foreplay, the teasing, immediately hollowing your cheeks around the bit you can get in your mouth without destroying your esophagus (again, you still have to say your goodbyes), but he still grips the shelf behind him, knuckles turning white. Jisung bites his lip, forcing himself to keep his eyes open, to watch his sexy, sexy girlfriend blow him, so that he cums fast. In almost any other scenario, it would be embarrassing how fast he cums, especially with how much volume he expels, but you make it so difficult not to overflow the crevices of your mouth. You press your tongue under his cock, sucking in your lip over your top row of teeth, feeding his cock down your throat, and massaging the half you can’t take. He feels a vein scrape the corner of your mouth and twitches forward, pushing more dick inside. Your eyes water a little bit, lashes blinking them away, so he takes over, slowly thrusting his cock to gauge how much teeth with graze it on the drawback. Once he finds the perfect length, he sets a faster pace, squeezing cute little dimples in his ass until he grunts erratically, incredibly close to cumming.

“Almost there,” he whimpers. He knows that he sounds frustrated, but it’s not at you, never at you. He just wants to make love to you in your hotel room right now. “So close,” he pleads, again not at you, more at himself.

You pull off his cock and open your mouth wide, as circular as possible, and he grabs his dick back, rubbing your spit and cum and his pre-cum up his length, pointing the tip inside your mouth. The first rope shoots down your throat perfectly, then the next rope lands on your tongue. It keeps sputtering out this way, like a spray bottle, until it doesn’t, and his cum clings to his cock, dribbling down his veins, prompting you to lick him clean.

And you make eye contact the entire time, which makes his cock twitch. After you finally finish cleaning him off, you stand up and show him all the collected cum in your mouth, holding your tongue still like a cup. Jisung grabs your neck, holding your pliant head as you swallow what you can, in two breathy gulps. He wipes a little excess bubble from the corner of your mouth to inside, then presses a kiss on your neck, squeezing your collarbone, tighter with his thumb.

“Mmm,” he grunts. “My turn.”

Jisung sinks to his knees, pushing your hips against the shelf. He slides your skirt to the side, making a bigger slit for him to get under, and raises your leg over his shoulder. Slowly, your fingers tread into his hair, pulling at the top. He falls forward, closer to your wet pussy, lips ghosting a breath on labia. Jisung tilts his head to the side and wraps his tongue around the crotch of your panties, a teasing excuse to pull them out, to give him better access, his wide tongue swiping your skin briefly.

“Jisung,” you whine, shaking your butt on the shelf. “Hurry.”

He laughs. “Shh, no one can know we’re in here.”

Jisung pushes his middle finger inside your cunt, gradually making the interphalangeal creases disappear, moaning when you do. Outside, he kisses your vulva, jaw coming up, raising his tongue to your clit. He flicks it with his entire tongue, desperately sucking the little knob between his lips. You tug his hair again, and he swears that his dick twitches – not a good sign, so he works faster, adding a second finger. He sucks again and again, releasing your labia with suctioned gasps, working his nimble digits knuckle-deep repeatedly. In, out, in, out, halfway in, out, all the way in, out, in again.

His knuckles hit your pussy harder and harder, confining him to the small space as your leg wraps around both of his shoulders rigidly, his hot breath sighing back in his face. Jisung hums again on your clit before sucking harsher, lips biting every time his mouth turns into the flat part of his tongue to the tip to nothing, then back again. When he feels your feathery walls squeeze his fingers, he adds a third, despite the taut stretch. He presses all three to the roof of your vagina and curls, flexes each one in different directions, tickling that spongy little spot if two happen to land on it simultaneously. Your legs stiffen and shake side-to-side, but he keeps going, goes faster, not slowing down.

Until you relax.

Your legs go numb, and you almost fall off the supply shelf, so he holds you up, still licking your vulva clean as you cum and cum and cum across his lips.

It takes you pulling his hair again to stop him. And Jisung stands up, breathing just as heavily. He hugs you closely, around your waist, and you bring your hands to his arm. Both of you stabilize your breaths to each other.

You move first, brushing his hair out of his eyes. “We should go say bye to everyone.”

Jisung nods, blindly, not fully coherent enough to process the suggestion. He is trying to lengthen his refractory period, make his partially hard cock go back down. You’re so sexy, too sexy right now, and he desperately needs a bed to make love to you.

“So we can get back to the hotel,” you clarify, voice light.

And suddenly, Jisung is halfway through tugging on his jacket and ordering an Uber.

It takes every nerve, every ounce of self-control for Jisung to make it through goodbye rounds.

The first thing you did, before the rounds, other than sanitize your hands or fix your outfits, was drink water and pop a breath mint from the dessert table, then he kissed you quick, mumbling some random excuse about a mouth check, which turned into a five minute make out session halfway out the door that Jaemin commented on, on his way out. Even one of the groom’s cousins mentioned how he – Jisung – is always touching you, always has a hand attached to you, despite not even really liking to share food.

Chenle, he thinks, was the sole person to explicitly say something, catching onto Jisung’s mismatched buttons and your new ponytail, frizzy curls hanging loose. Jisung prayed his hands together, begging his best friend not to say anything. So he didn’t. But Jisung knew that he would hear all about it on Monday, from everyone in his friend group.

Jisung could only get through two or three more conversations, suddenly feeling like a kid trying to leave the Chuseok dinner, before his cock (which never fully went down, by the way) started straining his pants again, the idea of getting you in his bed as the single motivator to leave as soon as possible. He ended up pushing you, by the waist, in front of his crotch to protect his decency, no longer carrying his jacket because you wear it, because Chenle pointed out some discoloration, another bump low on your neck. You spoke for him, lying to all the aunties that he drank too much or danced too hard. They believed you, especially after he giggled into your shoulder, snapping his body in half to lean on you. It hurt his ego that they believed you so easily, but he’ll deal with all those feelings later. Everything else drowns into white noise, going in on ear and out the other, almost forcibly removed by the horny hormones his hypothalamus orders.

Also, he really wanted to avoid clean up duty. His hands need to be clean for post-nuptial activities, you know.

You have to know by the time he gets you in the elevator to your hotel room, your shared hotel room. He backs you into a corner under the camera, at the blind spot. You look up at him, wide-eyed, gasping when he rubs his thigh between your legs. He grunts, deeply, softly, and kisses you quiet. And he thinks, there have been way too many situations this whole weekend where you were required to be silent. But still, you moan and raise your arms around his neck (and he hopes that the security cameras are old and have no sound). Then, in his next move, your elbow accidentally hits an extra button.

“Are you sure about this?” Jisung breathes as the doors open to the third floor. Your room is on the seventh.

“Yes, of course.” You frown, brushing your hair through the middle, resting your arm on his broad shoulder. “Why?”

He scrunches his nose. “Just making sure you’re not looking for a way out or anything.” He tilts his head to the going up sign, and you hit his arm.

“I told you not to make fun of me,” you pout.

“Sorry, sorry,” he laughs, then kisses you again.

And he doesn’t stop kissing you all the way to your room. Just changes the location. You stumble out of the elevator, tripping on your dress as you pull away from him, and he catches your hand, giving your knuckles a princely tap. He pushes you on another wall, hissing – because he dick points toward the ceiling and, every time he presses up against you, it bends to meet you, practically drawn to your pussy – hissing something about wanting you so bad, right now, just another reiteration. He doesn’t know what else to say. Most of the time, you just moan into each other’s mouths, just mash your lips together, trying to keep quiet, so his dirty talk skills are … lacking. He just hopes that he makes up for it with body language.

Jisung kisses and hisses all the way back to your room, both of you knocking into the furniture. “Sorry, I just need you right now,” he keeps saying, excusing the way he practically rams you against the closed door to your bedroom. He protected you from sharp corners and your head from the impact, but he just hurts his hand. Jisung inhales. His hands cup your face like flower petals, bringing you taller, even more on your tippy toes. You steady him by his shoulders, relaxing your jaw, accepting his tongue, and he kisses you chastely, thumbs rubbing into the apples of your cheeks.

And he’s the first one to pull away. Well, you can’t exactly open the door without making the both of you collapse, neither of you balanced correctly on your feet. You’d crash to the floor in an instant.

“I love you.”

Your lips twitch at the corners, curving up your smile wider than it already is. “I love you, too.”

Jisung remembers when he had a crush on you like three years ago. He doesn’t remember when his feelings started, but based on the way everyone teases him, you included sometimes (if you’re not kissing him appreciatively), he’s always had them, from the moment he laid eyes on you reading at the café . And this feels a lot like that – the-the fluttering in his empty stomach, the tingling and hyper-awareness of his limbs, the rush to say anything, just to see what makes you laugh or what makes you stay. He even doodles little hearts in your cheeks with his thumbpads.

“I –“ he swallows. “I –“

“Jisung?” you interrupt, breath shaking out your nose, “Can we have sex now?”

“God, yes.”

Jisung kisses you again, having regained some balance in the beat. He thrashes a hand behind you, fumbling for the door knob, and when he gets it open, he dips you back again, walking you inside the room, supporting you mostly by the ass, hanging you around his neck like jewellery; he should really buy you a new couple ring later. Honestly, he’s mostly surprised by his – and your – breath control and not his core strength (that is what the gym is for!), never getting winded between all the kisses or tongues or teeth. And you – God, you – keep leaning backward, hauling all his 180 centimeters toward the bed, making him more and more impressed by your commitment to zero space for Jesus. You suck his bottom lip inside your mouth, sealing your top lip inside his, and he whimpers, knees buckling again, so he lifts you up and pushes you on the bed, kicking away the stupid bench that slows him down.

“I’m gonna eat you out,” Jisung decides, towering over you.

“Ugh, no,” you whine, squirming the bed into another mess of sheets.

“No?”

“Jisung, I need you to please, please fuck me now, cock inside. We did all the foreplay already, and – and I’m ready, I promise. I want you so bad. You’re so sexy. I –“

He returns his lips to yours, this time softer, sweeter, slower, cutting you off, this time, before you ramble yourself into oblivion (before he has the chance to take you there himself). And you relax again, shoulders slumping into the mattress as he crawls over you, showering you with attention from lips to feet. Jisung builds up his momentum again while you gradually undress, starting with his blazer, pulling one arm out, then the other, redirecting your hands down to his waistband again, starting with the zipper. You creep your nails over the tip of his cock, and he thrusts upward, pushing your hand into a claw around the girth, fucking your hand a few times. His length is too big, you both know, so it bounces over your stomach, almost like a premonition for how deep he’ll go. Jisung tries to get more comfortable, but he slips on your silky dress, the skirt flailing out to the side. The way he falls moves you on your obliques, and he brushes your hair behind your ear, away from your neck. You throw your leg over his, tangling your limbs lackadaisically.

“I – my – it’s too big.”

“A huh,” you nod all the way through your chest, toppling him, straddling one of his thighs. “I know. It’s hot.” You don’t grind him (much to his disappointment), because he is still wearing his tux and your panties are just way too thin and wet at this point (he hopes), but if you ask, and maybe even if you didn’t, he would make this the designated sex suit and fuck you in it whenever he wears it, regardless of the function (actually, there’s a charity gala coming up, when he has to wear this ensemble again). But he wants the intimacy of closeness, of vulnerability, of nakedness this first time.

“No, I just,” Jisung whines, “I need to prep you before you can take it – t-take me.”

You inhale sharply, and he feels it. He trails his eyes up, wide, to meet you, staring at your face, noses touching. Jisung waits for your answer; he knows that you want this too, so he gives you both a moment to collect yourselves, mentally preparing himself, too, for the next step. And a beat passes. Then, he unzips your dress at the back; it’s not long, the zipper, so he doesn’t have to wait even more, but the drag slows time and you squeeze his biceps, encouraging him to go faster. He slides the entire material off you, stripping you down to just your panties. When he goes to do the same for himself, standing at edge of the bed, you kneel, still shorter than him, on the blankets, and do it for him. You start with the tie, slowly loosening it side-to-side. It pulls him forward, and he braces himself on your hips, fingers twisting in the waistband of your panties. You get shirt and under-shirt off quickly, but stop at his pants, the top button already undone and fly down.

“Is – is something wrong?”

“I really want to suck you off again,” you confess, jumping from his dick to his eyes.

Jisung pecks your lips. “You can do it later. We have all night.”

“Yeah, okay, yeah,” you nod, kissing him languidly, leaving him to take off his pants.

“Turn around,” he mumbles on your lips. And this time, you comply, standing on your hands and knees, all fours. Jisung copies you, kneeling eye level with your pretty, glistening lips. He grabs your ass first, in both hands, pulling your vulva apart, panty crotch to the side, two fingers each, middle digits dipping inside, just an interphalangeal crease deep. “Don’t cum yet.”

“Jisung, ple –“ You squeal, falling on your forearms, when he cautiously licks outside, around his fingers, up your slit, and you shudder an exhale. “What h-happened to prep-ping me?” you stutter and whine. “You’ll feel so good inside me, Jisung – ah.”

Jisung drags his thumb down the line of your makeshift thong, rubbing round your asshole tentatively before slipping two long and flexible fingers knuckle deep inside your cunt. His other hand pushes your cheek into the pillow, giving you a head rest, making you ass pop up. And slowly, he draws his fingers out, then pushes them back in three-quarters of the way. He does it again, pulling out, extracting your moan, and pushing in, all the way this time. Jisung sets that steady pace, slow and controlled, and he kisses your ass, leaving a bite mark. It makes you yelp, and you squeeze your pussy, accidentally pulling off. You grind back down, meeting his rough knuckles. And soon, he’s finger fucking you harder, with three fingers, and you’re bouncing on his hand, your panties hooked on his thumb.

“Ah, Jisung, fuck, Park Jisung, that feels so good.”

Blindly, he finds his cock and holds it by the base, squeezing his hand like a cock ring to keep from cumming without you.

“I think,” he pants, “I think I need to fuck you now.”

You nod, enthusiastically, turning on your back. “How do you –”

“Missionary,” Jisung answers too fast, already dragging you into position. “I want to see your pretty face.” He hovers his cock above your pussy, between your plushy thighs, hand around the top. The thrusts once, heavy tip dipping to your stomach, that bulging premonition hitting him all over again. His knuckles rasp, kneading your folds, rolling your clit in the wetness, and your knees fall in, so he has to spread them again. “What if it’s too big?” he wonders out loud, shifting his cock to your entrance.

“I can take it,” you promise, bobbing your head. “I can take it, plea –“

He cuts you off with a firm kiss, smashing his lips ungracefully on yours, and slips the first quarter inside you. The kiss is less to muffle you, since neither of you have to be so quiet right now, more to share this intimacy with you. He adds another inch, shallowly thrusting to get his dick wet.

“Ah, you’re so tight,” he hisses. “I could fuck you like this.”

He thought he prepped you enough, but halfway deep, his cock already hits an impasse, so he tries something that he saw in a porno. Jisung moves your right leg over your leg, giving him access to your ass, jiggling your boobs. The motion pulls his cock out a little, and he pushes it back in, pushes more in, making you both groan.

“Full, so full, Jisung.”

“Oh, God, I’m going to cum if you keep talking.”

You grind your hips down. “You should.”

“I’m not wearing a condom,” he reminds you, gritting his teeth. You pull your ass, showing off the way you take him so well, and he rips your panties, exerting his lack of self-control elsewhere. He throws the tiny material at the wall and falls on your lips, repeating, “I’m not wearing a condom, and I – I cum so much.”

“I know. It's hot, you're so -” you moan, fucking yourself on his dick, slapping his thighs, taking him completely. “F-fill me up, Jisung. I want all of you.”

“I want – I want you, too,” he stutters, brain struggling to multitask between answering you and fucking you.

So, he pushes his palms into the mattress, squelching the rest of his dick inside your pussy, basking in your moans. You boobs bounce circularly every time he bottoms out, and he doesn’t know where to look – your cunt sucks him in, contracting around him without reprieve; your nipples taunt him, showing him something to bite and lick and suck; your lips part perfectly for him to shove his tongue down your throat, expelling a series of staccato moans mixed in with his name. Jisung settles for your collarbone, burying himself in the scent of his cologne marking your skin from earlier. His lips bite the bone, groans getting louder and louder.

“God.” He clutches your knees, dragging you so close. “Is this – is this okay?” he asks, despite not letting up, going faster actually, driving you higher up the bed, making him climb even more on you, chasing you.

“Yes, yes, please don’t stop,” you cry. “I’m gonna cum, Jisung, I’m gonna cum.” And you choke on your words, babbling incoherently, talkin’ nonsense.

“Come on, baby, you can cum,” Jisung encourages you. He stands up straight, thrusting in, and in, and in, bottoming out. He holds his cock fully sheathed, deep, circling his hips over your labia, naked thigh sliding up and down your clit. You claw his arm, dropping into his hand, and he intertwines your fingers. You squeeze his hand, and your pussy clenches on his cock. Everything starts choking him, and he loses his breath, inhaling and inhaling, mouthing at your neck.

Then, you cum, back deflating into the bed, lulling pliantly in his hands, toes releasing the tension.

Jisung picks up his pace, brutalizing your cunt, and you whine and squirm, moaning. He feels the veins in his cock catch more prominently in your pussy, like you don’t want to let him go, so he just keeps pushing and pushing and pushing, your canal practically wringing him dry, and he cums too. Thick ropes control the way his cock jumps inside your uterus, bouncing on your spongey, little G-spot before more spills out, forcing him to remove himself. He planks above you, head hanging low, sweat matting down his hair.

You raise both your hands, brushing it back to see him better, and you prop yourself on your elbows, raising yourself high enough to kiss him, slowly but deeply.

Jisung sighs dreamily, flopping down next to you on his oblique. He tilts your chin up at him.

“You,” he starts, pecking you quickly, “are so perfect.”

“Then,” you giggle, taking his left hand. You run your thumb and index finger down his ring finger. “Will you marry me, Park Jisung?"

[lawlessfm]

INTRODUCING WHAT’S DONE IN THE DARK,   010 /,       

( PROCESS ONE, )            IT WAS A GHOST STORY,      wasn’t it?     It’s like hearing scratching inside the walls when you’re home alone.      If you give it attention then you have to give it details.    Like:   what colour was the wallpaper when your father left?     What colour is your father’s hair?      Do you have a father? ( PROCESS TWO, )       A FILE IS SENT TO THE FBI’S HEAD OFFICE,     MOST NOTABLY UNIT CHIEF VINCENT NOLAN,       IT’S ENCRYPTED AND TAKES FIVE DAYS TO TRANSLATE.      This is the part of the story where you can stop reading at any time.     This is the rabbit hole,    remember?    It takes all those youthful souls and twists their necks until they’re misshapen husks.        If you want to know what the files entail,   continue.      If you want to leave the game:    press ESC.  ( PROCESS THREE, )       RED EYE OPERATIONS,     THEY CALL THEMSELVES,    WERE ORIGINALLY THOUGHT TO BE HALLUCINATED,         no witnesses,    no solid accounts of being involved with the organization.      Until now,   of course.      The file includes fourteen titles  :///    

A. CHIEN, ACTIVE. A. BREMOVYCH, INACTIVE. A. SYVASTOSLAV,    ACTIVE.     C. HUMMEL, INACTIVE. G. LAURIER,    INACTIVE.    M. LUO,     ACTIVE.      N. EL-KHOURY,     ACTIVE.    N. BYEON,   ACTIVE.     R. KOWALSKI,   INACTIVE.    R. ROCKWELL,    ACTIVE.     S. JUAREZ,   INACTIVE.      T. BORGES,     ACTIVE.     V. SILVA, ACTIVE. X. ALCARAZ,     ACTIVE.

( PROCESS FOUR, )       EASIER SAID THAN DONE,    AS IS ANYTHING,         the rules reads as follows:      for each name revealed   (   difficult to do without help as none of these shadows hold records or paper trails )    this FBI reaper must give up one of his own.      A name for a name!      Red Eye’s capture  ( or evasion of capture )    is at your fingertips!    How willing are you to have something to trade?    Our guess?     Highly willing.     After all,    if it’s not one of your own,    it’ll be one of your citizens.     Those vigilantes can replace any wriggling worm of a member of government any day!    The time to decide isn’t yours to take,   either.    This file will mutate within forty eight hours until it’s completely unmanageable and then we'll just take all names to the grave. Agents, intelligent officers, operatives, detectives, attorneys, and vigilantes alike.   Happy picking!  

SUMMARY :           THE SNAKE DEN’S   first play on the board.       This will take both the government’s decision in dealing with the Snake Den   or  Red Eye.     Which one is the bigger fish to fry?    The Executioners will also be in the know due to a few media sources covering this update on the Snake Den,   coupled with a few tarot cards being left around city hall.     All with bloody smiley faces drawn on the backs of them.         As for who gave the Snake Den this information?     It was an anonymous source.   Donated quite generously    —     mentioned something about cashing in a favour in a few weeks time in return. As usual, please react to this post once read.

[missirissims]

3 to 2 Traits Project - Cowplant Survival

Hello again, lovely Simmers! I have an interesting (albeit niche) set of mods for you today.

Within this post, you'll find mods for the following:

A chance for your Sims to survive the Cowplant, based on their traits and energy motive!

Cowplant autonomy adjusted for traits, including an option to allow household members to autonomously grab the cake!

A mod to re-enable a hidden interaction where you can try and save a potential Cowplant victim from being eaten! (See caveats below the cut)

A simple mod that will pan your camera if a Sim is being eaten by the Cowplant!

Details and more below the cut!

Cowplant Survival is a series of mods based around enhancing the Cowplant experience for the Simmers who dare to have one. These mods are also tunable to your preferences, with BCONs provided in Cowplant Survival and Cowplant Autonomy to tweak survival and autonomy chances. Make sure to read the included Readme to find details about tuning.

Cowplant Survival

The main mod in this pack revolves around your Sim managing to fend off the Cowplant, sort of like how they can survive it in the Sims 3 with the right traits. However! it is not a guarantee.

Sims with the Lucky, Brave, Daredevil, Good and Unlucky traits will all get bonuses (or malus, if you're Unlucky) to their chance to survive.

Sims with a high energy motive will also get a bonus to their chance to survive. Conversely, Sims with low energy will actually suffer a malus to their chances.

As a bonus, Sims with the Daredevil trait will also get a nice Fun boost if they manage to beat the Cowplant at their own game!

After a failed attempt to eat a Sim, the Cowplant will cut its losses and pull the cake away for a short bit, allowing you to address the near miss so it won't happen again in the future. Unless it's your intention to actually let Sims get eaten, of course.

Cowplant Autonomy - With Traits!

Traits and motive levels will now factor into whether a Sim will autonomously try to Grab the Cake.

Sims with the Coward or Genius trait will no longer autonomously try to Grab the Cake, regardless of their motives.

Sims will also only try to grab the cake if their hunger motive is very low (-50 by default).

Daredevils, however, don't care about hunger, and will instead try to autonomously Grab the Cake if their fun motive is very low (-50 by default).

WARNING - There are two variants of this mod, Townies Only and EXTREME!

EXTREME enables the option for household members to autonomously Grab the Cake, so use this variant at your own risk. As far as I have tested, it will not eat inactive household members but if you have any problems, please report it to me!

Cowplant - Save Victim

Whilst researching for this mod, I found a hidden interaction that was disabled by default. This interaction allows a second sim to throw a tantrum at the Cowplant if it is in the process of trying to eat a Sim. This mod simply re-enables it. However, I have not changed the interaction itself at all.

The interaction has a short window in which it can work and may not work every time. When I have time and energy later I may tweak this interaction to see if I can get it to function better, but as it is, use this at your own risk. It shouldn't break your game but I cannot guarantee that it works 100%. It likely works best when the Cowplant sniffs a Sim before eating. Sometimes the Cowplant will go straight to eating instead, and this likely doesn't work if that happens.

Cowplant - Camera Control

This mod is a simple change that simply pans the camera to the offending Cowplant if it successfully manages to eat a Sim, so you're at least aware if it eats a random townie and you're not left wondering why your Sim rolled a want to turn someone into a Zombie when they were just there a second ago... (this actually happened).

Conflicts and Requirements

All of these mods were created with Sims 2 Ultimate Collection. It is likely (but not guaranteed) that these mods will conflict with any that change the Cowplant functions. These mods all require University to work. Here are the individual mod requirements:

traitmod_cowplantsurvival.package will conflict with mods that change the following resources:

0x7F9FDDF5:0x1029 Grab Cake - Just Sniff?

0x7F9FDDF5:0x012D Dialog prim string set

0x7F9FDDF5:0x1004 Interaction - Grab Cake

coward-genius-daredevil_cowplantautonomy.package will conflict with mods that change the following resources:

0x7F9FDDF5:0x1042 Grab Cake - Allow Autonomy?

0x7F9FDDF5:0x1002 Tuning - Grab Cake Ads for Non-Family

0x7F9FDDF5:0x1005 Interaction - Grab Cake TEST

0x7F9FDDF5:0x0001 Interactions

cowplant_savevictim.package will conflict with mods that change the following resources:

0x7F9FDDF5:0x1046 Interaction - Save Victim TEST

cowplant_cameracontrol.package will conflict with mods that change the following resources:

0x7F9FDDF5:0x1010 Sub - Save Disable

Cowplant Survival and Cowplant Autonomy require Easy Inventory Check by Hexagonal-Bipyramid, who is also the lovely author of the traits project! These mods (obviously) also requires their traits mod, found here.

Please remember to let me know if you have any problems with this mod, as I have only tested it in my own game!

Hope you enjoy, and happy Simming!

Download Here! - Cowplant Survival and Autonomy

Download Here! - Save Victim Interaction

Download Here! - Cowplant Camera Control

[greatwyrmgold]

Comparing Animorphs to Worm

The first comparison is my relation to the series. (Serieses? How do you pluralize that word?) I was obsessed with Animorphs in grade school, starting younger than my parents probably would have allowed if they were familiar with the books. (I knew the name "Scholastic" from these books before my first Scholastic book fair, which should tell you a lot, if kids these days still have Scholastic book fairs.) I was obsessed with Worm immediately before and during college, shaping the way I engage with fiction and fandom to this day.

That's one of the reasons I'm comparing the two series, but there are plenty of other comparisons. Their teenaged protagonists, their heavy subject matter, the stories framed in an almost YA format that slowly peels away like old paint over rusty metal, the planetary threats from outer space...

And of course, the characters.

The Heart

This might sound weird if you're used to the fanon versions of Cassie and Taylor—the former being a weak-willed hypocrite who's constantly whinging about whether they're doing the right thing, the latter being Chuck Norris if he was a war criminal and controlled bugs. But they're very similar characters.

Superficial stuff out of the way: They're both unpopular introverts with unusually strong connections to animals, and end up in a messy interracial relationship with their team leader.

Now onto their shared core. They both have a powerful moral compass, which slowly warps under the pressures of the violent plotlines they're involved in without completely vanishing—even when they commit acts of shocking brutality.

Cassie's character arc is relatively simple. She's reluctant to hurt anyone, even Yeerk soldiers and especially their Controllers. She's so reluctant that she leaves the team in the first third of the series. But she also comes up with a lot of really concerning ideas for the group, including David's fate (I'll come back to this).

As for Taylor? She starts out joining a villain team to help the local superheroes, and becomes the voice of caution and moderation pretty much immediately. She also comes up with some pretty brutal ideas for the Undersiders, albeit mostly ones she implements herself.

As far as this aspect of their characterization goes, the big differences is where their moral compasses go in the end. Cassie becomes more comfortable with the moral compromises required by war, but not completely comfortable. She's always at least a devil's advocate, but she doesn't start arguments every time the animorphs need to premeditate their violence.

On the other hand, Taylor falls face-first into moral decay, whittling away at her moral beliefs until she finds the unbending core that she refuses to compromise. And a big part of that is critiquing inaction as strongly as action. People who could have stopped something but chose not to are as culpable as people who actively choose to cause it. That's part of why Taylor is as ruthless as she is, in the "seeing the bright clear line that goes from motive to means" sense.

Both of them also have strong self-sacrificial tendencies. Taylor's are front and center (our girl is practically jumping at martyrdom from her first night in costume) but Cassie is also willing to sacrifice herself for her beliefs. She traps herself in caterpillar morph to prove her conviction to a Yeerk, which is a pretty serious sacrifice since she didn't know she could demorph after metamorphosis. (...yeah, for all its darkness, Animorphs is still a YA series.)

Oh, and they also have a strong friendship with the team's pretty blonde extrovert and its violent butch bitch. But for Cassie, they're the same person.

The Big Guy

Rachel and Rachel are both the most violent members of their teams, but their arcs go in different directions.

Rachel Berenson started as the pretty popular mall-loving cheerleader gymnast type, but started sliding into blood knight territory as she adapted to the war.

Rachel Lindt, on the other hand, starts out antisocial and violent, and she only starts getting friends and finding a more comfortable, less violent life after meeting Taylor (and, to an extent, the other Undersiders). Rachel climbed out of the pit that swallowed Rachel whole.

This comparison is a pretty obvious one...probably the only obvious one.

The Leader

We're getting to the part where it's hard to compare Animorphs to Undersiders; I don't think I have any substantive comparisons to make between the other halves of their team. (You could make comparisons between Marco and Lisa, or maybe Alec or Aisha or Taylor; Tobias turning into a bird is kinda like Taylor's cape escapism but they go different directions; and Ax is too literally alien to have a clean parallel with the earthly Undersiders, except maybe Alec.)

But I think there's something between Jake and Brian, beyond their shared status. For starters, neither one wants to be a leader. Jake chafes at the title of Prince, and Brian stubbornly refuses to take sole responsibility for the Undersiders. In both cases, this flattens their team's hierarchy. Jake and Brian help set the agenda and direct discussions, but they don't force their will on the group if they can avoid it.

They also care strongly about their family, especially their siblings, Tom and Aisha. They're putting their lives in danger in large part for those siblings—rather more directly for Jake, whose brother has a Yeerk in his brain, but Brian explicitly says he became a supervillain to provide for his kid sister. (Which is a lot funnier from an outside perspective, since both of their parents are alive.)

The big differences are age (Jake is 13-16; Brian is 17-18 pre-timeskip) and the scope of what they care about. Brian is very clear; he cares about his family, he cares about his friends, but the rest of the world can sort itself out. Jake, on the other hand, knows he's on a mission to save the world and acts accordingly.

But if Brian was a few years less jaded, and given the nearly sole mandate to defeat a threat to the entire human race...I think he could end up a lot like Jake. War crimes and all.

The Traitor

David and Cherish were both trapped just offshore by the team they betrayed, and their screams can sometimes be heard by people on the shore.

David's fate is a bit less nightmarish (he's a rat on an island instead of a brain in a box) and his screams are less deadly, but the fact that I'm comparing something the Animorphs did to something the Slaughterhouse Nine did should indicate how dark the books can get when they aren't engaging in instant maple-ginger oatmeal shenanigans.

If I reread the series, I could probably come up with more comparisons. But for one Tumblr post, I think this is enough.

[messiahzzz]

I agree with you about the increasing hostility of some Wyll fans. I'm not saying that they are not right to feel bitter about Wyll's lack of content from fans and Larian, but some of them are just as toxic as the toxic Astarion fans.

Gale also receives a lot of hate from the wider BG3 fandom, but I was pretty much told that it doesn’t matter because he is like the 4th most popular character. And I had to block the wyllstarion tag due to the hostility of some members of the fandom towards Bloodweave.

I once saw someone say Bladeweave made more sense than Wyllstarion, and they got shut down as being racist. About Bladeweave.

I just don't engage with Wyll or Astarion content anymore, sadly.

i have said this so many times by now, but i’ll repeat it again: people have every right to be upset and criticize larian for their treatment of [insert any character here that isn’t a*tar*on]. no one is stopping you, no one is urging you towards inaction, neither is anyone claiming that racial biases don’t exist in this game. be as bitter as you want, have discussions about race in the d&d universe and how this also extends to wyll. dissect each snippet of wyll’s dialogue, write thorough analyses, and vent about it on your blog to your heart’s content. in that sense: it’s perfectly fine to address the continuous mistreatment other characters face at the same time. don’t be discouraged, this doesn’t take anything away from wyll.

it is about the means of achieving said goal (i.e. more/higher quality content for wyll) that is alienating a big part of the fandom in the process. deeming public pressure and demands directed at the devs an appropriate course of action in an attempt to get wyll the content he very much deserves. which, in the end, is doing more harm than good. it is putting more negative focus on the wyll fandom as a whole, which in turn sadly also affects how other fans engage with said character. the inevitable result being that fans choose to stay in their own small, curated fandom corners and are now even less likely to create new content with him than they were in the first place. this is truly unfortunate. tirelessly perpetuating the “it’s them vs. us” mentality (which i believe is also what you were referring to in your ask) only further discourages fandom from engaging in any sort of discussion around wyll that might actually be worthwhile. this includes discussions about racism, racial bias and stereotypes. basically anything that addresses wyll outside of his romance and his role as a narrative stepping-stone. these dialogs and exchanges are incredibly important, and contrary to what some might believe: not blindly agreeing to every point mentioned doesn’t automatically make you the problem.

i personally believe this whole approach to be effectively counterproductive. it is not “spreading the wyll love”, so to speak. for instance, i highly doubt that demanding a public note app apology from larian will result in them granting wyll’s story the resources & care it deserves. (note: i did notice that wyll’s petition has been edited and the wording/content has been largely adjusted after i made my og post. so several of those goals aren’t listed anymore as of now)

now, this is just my own personal estimate on the situation, mind you. so take it with a grain of salt: i don’t believe petitions like these will actually provide the desired results. there are petitions for almost every npc at this point (one for raphael’s romance included) that have a higher amount of signatures and still remain largely ignored by fandom and larian alike. which i think perfectly illustrates just how much fandom truly cares about these specific issues once direct action and organization are required.

sending larian continuous feedback containing constructive, direct criticism and specific examples with data to back it up is way more likely to get them to notice and actually bring about the changes you want, instead of making nebulous claims that contain half-truths which likely won't ever enter larian's peripheral vision. don’t stop sending in reports even if you don’t get a reply the first few dozen times. provide an overview, tell them what specific scenes and what lines of dialogue need to be changed. yes, i know this is tedious and tiring.

i personally can’t add much on the shipping discourse front. that’s a part of fandom i systematically avoid. i do hope that you’re curating your online experience to your tastes and don’t seek out discourse that actively distresses you. stay safe pls 💕

[josephthesnailshow]

After many years, someone finally narrated Prototype Fredbear’s Ask Series #0 and of course, it is from my good friend, Seabass, who of which narrated my more popular creepypastas like Sammy the Cat and Burnt Luigi.

For an synopsis on this story:

"Prototype Fredbear's Ask Series #0 is a lost episode creepypasta.

It starts with the narrator explaining a series called "Prototype Fredbear’s Ask Series," exclusively on the FNaF amino, where characters perform tasks based on audience requests, often leading to violent (yet comedic) outcomes for Shadow Fredbear. A fan directs the narrator to a shady Amino community resembling Five Nights at Freddy's. The community is mostly inactive, with a few depressed members, and one warns the narrator to leave. The narrator discovers an unfamiliar, poorly edited episode titled "Prototype Fredbear’s Ask Series #0," featuring disturbing and violent dares not made by the narrator.

In the video, Shadow Fredbear self-harms and is attacked by other characters like Lolbit and Prototype Fredbear in gruesome ways. The episode includes eerie scenes, unsettling character actions, and a looped murder scene. The video abruptly ends with more violent acts, and attempts to contact the community leaders and the video's poster reveal it originated from the dark web. An investigation uncovers rotting cosplay suits and minimal evidence, with Lolbit being the only survivor, later mistaken for the kidnapper and killed by police.

The narrator leaves the Amino, deeply disturbed, and continues developing the series while being haunted by the incident."

[diona-98]

*deepest inhale in the land of deep inhales*

Okay so basically, theres this small little AU called Heartslost. This girl was born, but her powers were deemed wicked and unholy by the villages, and she was banished to a part of the Earth. This part has one way barriers, once you go in you cant come out. Unless of course, you have the power of 7 human souls.

The young girl uses her powers to create life. She first creates Ink, who uh.. turns out soulless. He kinda leaves out. She then creates Error, because Ink is a little bit of a danger and someone needs to keep him in check. After? She creates Blue, Frisk, and Chara.

Wait.. isnt making humans overpowered!? Couldn't she just make the human souls!? Well.. no. She can only make psuedo souls, which are the same strength as monster souls.

Continuing, Frisk is a ghost who kinda just.. vibes with Chara. And Blue? Well he grows close to the girl, almost like a brother.

She decided to make only a few more creations. Dream, and Nightmare. The whole "nightmare eats black apple thing" still happens, but like.. theres no bullies really? He does get a bit bullied but not that severe. ITS FRICKIN' ADAM AND EVE??? HOW DID YOU GET IN THIS STORY??? Basically one of Nightmare's "friends" tricks him into eating one.

Dw tho, he's still chill. Just even more emo now.

Okay you're probably getting tired of me setting this AU up, so basically this girl named Olivia (Soul; Courage) gets stuck, has a little ghost pal following her, befriends everyone, and frees them.

Oh and also Blue helped the girl come up with a name. And that name is Afta.

Afta and her creations are free, and Olivia is their ambassador. Afta reunites with one of her birth family members too! Her brother, who also had a "curse" but it didnt happen until way later in his life and he could hide it.

OKAY WOOOO THATS OVER WITH.

NOW WE CAN GET INTO THE MULTIVERSE- OH SHOOT MORE BACKSTORY.

I'll make it short! Or try..

Basically theres a glitch in a copy of Heartslost, and Afta has been replaced. The new person quickly gets corrupted though. Went through torture, blah blah blah, lost their whole AU. Seeks vengeance.

So? They use an abandoned AU from the multiverse over. Including Ink, Error, Dream, Nightmare, Blue, Dust, Killer, Cross, Horror, Lust, Classic, and Fell. And maybe a few more. They play around with corrupting it, before abandoning the project. They did a hard reset on everything, leaving the experiment rewritten.

Then, their plan was inacted. They corrupted an au known as Sweetsverse. They also went around and corrupted a few more.

Okay now I'm getting tired so I'll just give a run down.

The corrupted person, Ochita, went around corrupting AUs. They eventually corrupted Heartslost, leaving Afta corrupted. Though the building resistance had found a way to fix them. Basically, you just split it. Two versions, the uncorrupted and the corrupted version.

Though none were powerful enough to do this. So they had to summon a third deliverer. These deliverers bring the messages of above. The third deliverer, Okita, managed to fix the AUs using this method. This summoned a new ally, Invert, a corrupted Afta.

Yadda yadda, Ochita corrupted more aus, oh also so many lesbians. Eventually though, one Afta knew what to do. Dessert, aka Swap!Afta. They had once been friends with Ochita. And they knew who they had to contact.

There were test versions for the Afta AUs. And their leader, Lav, aka Test Dessert, was pretty powerful. The two did a little thingy thing and fused. Eventually, the battle with Ochita came to an end, The fusion stabbed, and killed them.

And.. that's the end. Of Gen 1. Theres 2 more wars, both separated by gens. Gen 2 and Gen 3 are next. BUT ONLY IF YOU ARE STILL CURIOUS!!

I managed to get my half sleepy eyes to read this, unfortunately i couldnt read the multiverse part since im tired now

Ill make sure to read this in the morning (well, if i even remember it)

But over all, great au, love it already, oh and i hope you have a great day

[intoloopin-archive]

am i late to the npc game? PLEASE MAKE PROFILE FOR YOUR OTHER NPCS WITH THEIR HISTORY AND LORE AND EVERYTHING IN BETWEEN!!!! i am begging at this point 😭

GIO:

IT MAY NOT SEEN LIKE IT!!!!! But your ask rose me for my grave anon, I'm sorry for making you wait so long!!!!! Here's an extra treat...

YOU GOT … MIDNESTRA!

Midnestra was a fictional south korean girl group debuted in early 2016 and disbanded in mid 2017 under small startup company HOWL-L Entertainment. LINEUP (04): Myungji. Dahyung. Faye. Saki. SONGS INCLUDE: Wake Me Up (2016). Archangels of the Sephiroth (2017). CONCEPT: The Midnight Orchestra of Monstresses. NOTORIOUS MEMBERS: Myungji, Dahyung.

I technically wasn’t going to include any deep PASS(i)ONE related information (PASS(i)ONE being a name that I dropped a lot on the LOOPiN headlines recently, and if you follow me on the yapper sideblog, you might already be kinda familiar with as my ‘backburner project’), except for Genie because everything about Kendall and her bonkers lingering relationship with Genie is funny as shit.

For extra context: PASS(i)ONE has a whole three member unit of once debuted Idols, it’s an intricate part of their branding, and it’s made up of Caihong (centuries old SM Rookie), Kendall (once Genie’s Eunjoo) and of course, my favorite Pi1 mess, Dahyung (back in Midnestra days under the stage name ‘Pearl’).

Midnestra as a whole holds a very special place in my heart even though in universe this group is as dead and nugu as it gets, all because I did try to write for them and got into a nice 5K-ish ramble way before LOOPiN came up into the picture, they even had their own inactive sideblog and all! Their concept is also very neatly meta, something that looking back was a beta version of what I ended up doing with the loop dudes and their never ending repetition circles; the members assigned monsters within their group concept were very related to their personal struggles – Faye was ‘the midnight shifter / werewolf’, Saki was ‘the midnight shadow / ghost’ and most importantly, Myungji was ‘the midnight crawler / vampire’ and Dahyung was ‘the midnight singer / siren’. The siren symbolism with Dahyung is one of my favorite imageries for an OC I have and taps into a lot of her brain’s inner workings – her relationship with her influence over others, her femininity and her own queerness are some examples – and since I’m still hopeful of someday bringing Pi1 to the spotlight on their full OT9 glory, I won’t dive to deep into it, but just so you know: I ADORE her loser ass! She’s such a fucking asshole!!!!!

But oooooooh, miss Yang Myungji, this bloodsucker, fame fucker bitch! On her I must share some thoughts because wow, go fuck yourself girl, like actually! On paper, she’s one of my favorite unapologetic villains around – a washed up ex-Idol that happened to find one poor rookie girl that was a fan of hers despite all odds and it’s been using her and trying her hardest to manipulate her and live a second attempt at stardom through her, and won’t you believe it! That’s another PASS(i)ONE member! And on top of that, Myungji uses her past complicated bond with Dahyung as bandmates to suck up all of Dahyung’s possible alliance to herself only, completely fucking up her early bonding with the rest of Pi1 (mostly because she can, mind you!), weaponizing nostalgia and Dahyung’s suppressed attraction for her that she just knows is very, very real.

Myungji is a textbook manipulator and sadist controller, and also the way she can make herself seem like a victim all the damn time? Insanity. She is insane. I lowkey wish she would stab me at the neck with her stilettos–

[nepofm]

hi, i’ve been lurking the main and really admire the work you’ve put into this group <3!! however, and please understand that i’m not being hostile, but i’ve been noticing a huge influx of korean industry fcs in this group & it makes me reaaaally uncomfortable. i’m korean, love my culture, love kpop & kdramas, and i love some of those fcs, but EVERY SINGLE group with a lot of these fcs has always made me feel alienated, fetishized, etc. years in this community have taught me that there are practically no exceptions to how strange a korean industry fc-dominated group can be, even if it’s not because of admins’ influence. i know that you can’t help who applies & that this isn’t a unique issue to this group, but this is one of the few groups i’m interested in applying for in months 😜 but i feel iffy doing it if i 99% know i’ll inevitably be frustrated in because i’m surrounded by people’s weird perceptions abt my culture. that sounds like a threat SORRRYYY i don’t mean it like that & you don’t even have to post this message? but i just wanted to raise a concern that i’m sure isn’t just being noticed by me!

 hey  there  !  i  want  to  start  off  by  saying  that  i  appreciate  the  honest  feedback  so  thank  you  !  please  know  that  i  do  not  view  this  as  hostile  or  threatening  at  all  as  i  can  see  where  exactly  you're  coming  from  .  truthfully  ,  i've  also  noticed  the  recent  influx  lately  and  have  been  contemplating  the  best  course  of  action  .  so  again  ,  thank  you  for  bringing  it  up  .  the  last  thing  i  want  to  do  is  to  make  any  member  (  this  includes  prospective  members  )  uncomfortable  as  nepofm  should  be  a  safe  space  for  all  writers  !

 to  our  members  and  prospective  members  ,  as  this  anon  implores  us  as  a  group  to  reflect  ,  i  want  to  draw  attention  to  the  DIVERISTY  UMBRELLA  section  located  in  our  guidelines  .  while  there  is  a  1:1  ratio  where  for  every  white  fc  you  play  must  be  matched  with  a  fcoc  ,  please  be  diverse  in  your  fc  choices  .  this  isn't  to  single  anyone  out  or  target  anyone  specifically  but  if  you  find  yourself  leaning  more  towards  korean  industry  fcs  in  particular  ,  please  be  be  mindful  of  this  !  and  as  a  reminder:  the  admin(s)  reserve  the  right  to  decline  an  app  based  on  inactivity  or  lack  of  diversity  .  this  can  and  will  extend  to  the  lack  of  diversity  in  fc  choices  . as  an  admin  ,  this  is  a  tough  call  to  make  .  i  want  to  avoid  taking  drastic  measures  but  will  in  order  to  mitigate  this  if  there  is  no  improvement  .

 i  understand  that  sometimes  the  fc  makes  the  character  and  muse  heavily  fluctuates  .  but  please  don't  be  afraid  to  reach  out  to  the  main  ,  i'd  be  happy ��to  help  !  or  even  reach  out  to  each  other  for  fc  suggestions  .  and  at  the  risk  of  sounding  blunt  ,  we  want  to  avoid  becoming  a  krp  .

and  finally  ,  please  heart  this  post  if  you've  read  it  and  pick  up  what  i'm  putting  down  .  thanks  for  being  patient  with  us  anon  .  we  promise  to  do  better  !

[elena-captain-of-the-stars]

Hello everyone!

I've been quite inactive on the account, but I've always had Elena, the Justicia and the 985th Clone Battalion in my mind. And quite frankly, I have gone insane in creating a story for them.

I honestly don't think I'll ever get the energy to actually write it all down like some osrt of book/biography/information, but if I do, then consider the following super messy info dump as a preview! Please note that Elena's story is still being filled in, and if I find myself RPing again, you very well may be a part of it!

Be warned: Long.

We have Elena's Bio, thankfully, to start us off.

The link at the choices are broken but it's either Defector or Loyalist. The canon one is Defector.

The Clone Wars:

In the Clone Wars, the 985th Clone Battalion was put to Fleet Security. Upon the launch of Victory Fleet, they were deployed to them, spread all over. CC-3232 who wasn't very creative with nicknames like 'Two Thirty-Two's' 'Tooth Hurty' and simply 'Boss' or the variants, chose to do things a little bit differently. If a flagship is lost, command has a chain to follow but it is still a massive hit. So he believed in spreading out. He allowed his 2IC, ARC-4298 who was called Buzzcut behind his back to choose a ship and station there, whilst he chose one of his own. That way, at the very least, some semblance of command for the inner security of the vessels would remain if one were lost. This was allowed, because screw you it's my story.

CC-3232 stationed himself aboard the Justicia with Captain Tarunt's blessing. They then got up to the usual antics together, and were grew very close.

Antics include, but are not limited to:

Captain's Dinner and talking about Galactic Politics

We took the Justicia to repair but there was a trap laid by the clankers and now it's guerilla warfare onboard her own ship.

Investigating abandoned research vessels because nothing could go wrong.

Assisting ground forces with some extra troops and a healthy dose of orbital bombardment.

Secret Orders!

Contention between 32's group and Buzzcut's group because they aren't getting on right now.

Introduction of SO MANY clones. I need to make a list but I have a "few".

Elena working with a team of Republic Commandos, who give her one of their blaster pistols, because that shit was cool.

Learning why the Medic is called 'Hatchet'

Checkmate wants to defect because he fell in love!

So on, so forth. A more primary one is the meeting of Jedi General Vahlen. Or supposed Jedi General that is. I'm going to spoil it right now, she isn't a Jedi, she's a Sith from the olden days and she was betrayed by the rest of the Dark Council and put into concrete-slab-sleep like Han was. Only reason she didn't die was probably because she was a Sith Lord, and was very powerful. More on her, a little bit later.

Either way, she and her Jedi Padawan were a little strange but Good Soldiers Follow Orders, and they were helping clean out the droids in return of the 985th helping enter some very mysterious dark ruins.

Then, Order 66. Of course.

It was the breaking point for a lot of people, because they got shot or stabbed. For the 985th they had the, uhhhh, moment right after they rescued a small Jedi outpost, which had a member of the Jedi Service Corps. She didn't pass the trials to become a Jedi, but she served as a librarian or research of some sort. Unfortunately, she might not have been a Jedi per se, but she was close enough, so she got blammed.

And oh boy, Elena did not like that. She was very close to arresting 32, but then started to realise ALL the clones were acting the way he was, and she soon realised something bigger was going on.

Not long passed and at the refurbishing of the Justicia into a Victory-II Class Star Destroyer, she transferred them over and told them they were no longer welcome.

Galactic Empire:

And so, here she is, serving the Empire. Mostly she gets put on anti-piracy duty because she's in a ship that isn't as liked as the Imperial Class. But she still does her duty. From there, nothing special really happens apart from SURPRISE IT'S THAT JEDI NOT JEDI, VAHLEN AGAIN! Except this time she's an 'Overseer' of a number of facilities dotted around the segmentum. She requisitions Elena and her ship, using them for super secret tasks.

Such as:

Why are the dead not staying dead on that ship?

Why is that weird alien thing got two mouths and burst out of our chests?

Why can't we unionise

And a million more classical things.

This was Vahlen's original purpose, to give Elena the reason to explore the other, wilder things that might not be passed onto a simple Captain. She is, after all, a named character.

Then, we have the absolute BEST part of my RP journey, and that is @yeomancorel. Lt. Lancer was great (And a triator) but Beth, if you read this - damnit you're bloody well appreciated! But the next few chapters was Beth discovering she had a little gift that is slightly illegal, and her and Elena fell in love and got married and retired and lived happily ever after.

The end.

I SAID THE END.

Of course, that never happens, so after those two got rather close, Alderaan kinda went 'poof' and decided to have the significant emotional event of being destroyed. Elena's parents were retired on Alderaan, so you can imagine, Elena's not happy. Not many people are. Apparently destroying a whole planet isn't popular! But hey, fear will the local systems in line. Fear of this battle station.

From there, Elena's fate to defect was sealed, but what started kicking her into gear was Beth, who saved Elena using the power of friendship, love, and a smidge of the force. This actually manifesting itself in a high stress situation was A. Right on time and B. Fecking worrying.

So Elena knew the risks (Although never to the true extent). And they helped hide it. Thankfully due to things exploding, the whole force things wasn't mentioned in anyone elses report, but eventually she was found out. This is where Beth's writer tore out my heart with her little goodbye, and Elena was found powerless to stop it. (Seriously, cry emoji x17).

Realising that that isn't good, Elena's plans to pop onto the other side of the fence were put into motion and she kinda had to kill her First Officer, Vesalius Alquesta, which she felt extremely bad for.

Since then, she tried her best to fit in with the Rebellion, but she was an Officer through and through, and it put her at odds with the rest of her new crew (Not everyone wanted to be a Rebel. Fighting happened, people retired).

She worked with a few people, like her Chief Engineer, Ewan Alsotte, played by Bob Peck! There are others, Michael Dorn is included, too. But really, they worked with the Rebel Alliance and in the background constantly were looking for Beth. With no success (YET).

Unfortunately they ran into SUPRISE IT'S SITH LORD JEDI GENERAL OVERSEER INQUISITOR Vahlen once more, and that's when Elena discovers Vahlen isn't really from around here. But don't worry, for she has more antics, and Elena very much learns that when a facility's Overseer was Vahlen, to just nuke the site from orbit. It's the only way to be sure.

Again, this was for Elena being put into weird ass places where she might not have been. Blame it all on the wierd Sith Lady.

But then, it comes to Callisto!

Callisto:

This is a big one. This is where things are A, messy, and B, confusing. and C, violent. So bear with me!

Callisto was a planet that was Mid-Rim. Before the Clone Wars it was having a lot of problem with organised crime, so they developed the SADIE Project (Search And Detection Intraplanetary Enforcer) to basically act as the Star Wars version of a Police Helicopter. At the time it was super impressive, but a lot of politics and also funding caused delays. Then, with the Clone Wars looming and soon occuring, they wanted something that could defend the planet . . Because these were totally going to do that. As such, over a large number of design changes, it was redone to the CASSIE Project (Close Air Support/Surveillance Intraplanetary Enforcer) which kept the sensor systems, but also had weapon mounts for things it could use in support. Unfortunately that never came, there was more argument and then the war ended, so only around 30 or so for the entire planet was made. And these were binned as soon as the Empire did their thing and declared martial law or Imperial law or whatever to make the Stormtroopers/Army Troopers do policing duties. So they were sent to the scrap heap, but eventually picked up by the Rebellion and the Justicia got a handful to use.

So that's the CASSIE Gunships. Now for the planet.

Obviously, they weren't happy with Imperial rule and the planet was one of those that weren't entirely important, but if the underdog rebels got a hold of it, it would absolutely be a boon. That's why the Seps never attacked because it didn't pose a worthwhile benefit straight out, but the Rebellion figured they could get that, use it as a foothold and it'd be a massive boon. The Empire wouldn't fight too hard for it. So their cells went down to do their destabilising thing.

However, you remember the 985th? Well! After being kicked off the ship they called home, they were reassigned and eventually Buzzcut's group were brought back together. To call it tense would have been an understatement. Constant social fights, arguments and the like. Buzzcut's group had taken on his belief that they were just tools of war, and truly believed the Empire was the way forward, that the Jedi and the Republic were rotten to the core and needed to be wiped out. Meanwhile, there was regret in the whispers of the group that had stayed on the Justicia. After all this time, after all the respect the crew of that ship had earnt from the 985th, and following orders broke all that? Why. And after Howzer, after Kamino, what were they doing, fighting for an Empire that was ready to discard them?

The private, traitorous thoughts were finally whispered, and the whispers became talks, and the talks became plans. The 985th couldn't stand by and let the innocents they swore to protect, suffer under the hands of the Empire. They fought for the Republic, not the Empire.

Well, some of the 985th couldn't stand by.

Unfortunately, not everyone saw it that way. When Buzzcut heard the rumours of defection, he took his men and confronted 32 right there and then. It became an argument. An argument that was ended with the simple words "Open fire." And then it became a gunfight.

32 and about 300 managed to escape, and get out of there, formally marking themselves as enemies of the Empire. To cover up this black mark against the 985th's proud history, Buzzcut was placed in command and given orders to eliminate them, wherever they were. And if they needed certain . . . Help, they had it.

The traitorous clones ran to the planet of Callisto and hid in the mountain rages, using an old OLD fortress as their new home to lie low. It worked, but as the months, perhaps years went on, the urgre to fight for what was right faded, and they fell into seclusion.

But whispers in the wind told the village nearby of who they were. Heroes of the Republic! Ghosts of a brighter time, a beacon of hope. For they were so close by, should tragedy strike, the Clones, the good ones! They would swoop in and save the day.

Well, maybe not swoop in. Swooping is bad.

However, tragedy did strike. With the increasing unrest, agitated by the Rebel cells on planet, the Empire reacted with an iron fist. Tougher and tougher, raids occured far too often. But when it came to the isolated village in the middle of nowhere, near some mountain ranges, it wasn't a raid. It was a slaughter. Thankfully a resident of the village escaped, though mortally wounded, and managed to reach the fortress. To be disturbed after all this time was a scary prospect, but the pleas of the villager shook them to their core. Scouts were sent out, and soon found the reason she was wounded. They didn't realise they were so . . Highly thought of. The villager passed from their injuries, and it wasn't long before CC-3232 put his helmet back on and called his Brothers to form up.

Imagine then, you're a trooper in the Empire's Army. Beating, shooting, destroying, wrecking this 'Dissident Outpost'. Maybe you feel bad, maybe you don't. And from out of nowhere, terror strikes. Not like the terror you inflicted upon these civilians, no. No, the terror of an enemy that fights back, an enemy that knows the land, an enemy that had fought through war and come out swinging, an enemy that found its lost flame, that knew now they were fighting for the Republic. Your AT-ST was the first to face the fury, you don't even know where the rockets came from. Through the blizzard, arcane blue bolts tear down numbers of your comrades. You can see the faint figures of white, obscured and distant, but you fire back. You don't think you hit anything. You start calling out the bearing, glancing around. You see your Captain just as a sniper takes him out. You look around, trying to see who is left with you. They're all surpressed, trapped and fearful of what they have woken up. You hear one of your squad mates coming up to you and you start telling them to -

It wasn't a squadmate.

You look into the visor of a relic of the Clone Wars. That was the last thing you saw.

After the strike force was wiped out completely, the Empire responded with a Star Destroyer setting up to provide assistance. An entire compliment of Stormtroopers would sure finish these people off. Unfortunately for them, news of the traitorous 985th hadn't appeared yet. So when a small number of Clone Troopers told about how they had orders to redeploy elsewhere, and everything lined up on their code cylinders, the Captain had no issues with that. In fact, they even offered to play Ship Security again. After all, it was their expertise and most of his compliment were being deployed planetside. Unfortunately for him, the traitors had played him like a fiddle, and after a few days, they acted. Soon enough the sabotage was planted and nothing could stop the reactor from going critical. A message was sent that day. A very powerful message. Callisto was not the Empire's.

Of course, that brought the attention of two Star Destroyers and the 985th Loyalists, all of whom were eager for blood. From there, the planet started turning into a warzone. The Defectors were very good at getting around unnoticed, and hit very hard, but Buzzcut kept hunting them. Victories for both of them, and bitter defeats. Brother against Brother, and plenty of Rebels and Imperials in the background and foreground. A lot of notable people. Such as:

Mandalorian lesbian couple feauturing a Cathar and Human

Twi'lek Rebel who has terrible luck

A badass Nautolean lady!

A few more Mandalorians because they want to kill the Empire

Rebel squad that became 'special forces' without meaning too, but they're good at it.

Another Sith Lord Not really, but I got mad with power on XCOM 2.

A Jedi! Who just so happens to be the Padawan of Lady Vahlen! Because she is everywhere.

Lady Vahlen! But less so. She's busy.

With a special guest appearance from Rail Class ARC Troopers! Because officially, there never was a clone rebellion.

As I mentioned, this was mostly played out on XCOM 2, and it introduced some great enemies for them to face!

Such as:

The 985th Loyalists

TWO Inquisitors

Gur-Mon Vallinor, Blightstalker. A Mandalorian sniper!

Help, we got tested on and now we're kinda force sensitive clones but oh god the pain!

Dave from accounting!

Mod conflicts!

This is where I play out XCOM 2 and make out stories of who live, who dies, side characters, and personalise the clones even further. Using Advent to Galactic Empire, and MOCX for that good stuff.

So, eventually it's just a warzone completely. The Justicia gets to lead a small battlegroup into combat, but they need to deal with the two Star Destroyers. Which, as one might know , is tricky. Eventually they come up with a plan. A cunning plan, a very BAD plan.

The ADAMA MANEUVER.

Changed a little so it makes slightly more sense, lots of calculations and weather information from the planet, so they can plan it to be perfectly precise this sets back their assault like a whole month sort of thing.

But when they do, the Justicia unleashes hell on Imperial targets, launches all of her strike craft and begins climbing. For the Star Destroyers never expect an enemy capital ship to come up from the planet they were guarding. With ion cannons, turbo lasers, surprise and the rest of the battlegroup, they were thankfully able to take down the two Star Destoyers and help liberate Callisto.

From there Elena starts learning about the 985th and the 985th, and how the 985th is trying to kill the 985th for betraying the 985th. However, a lot of the named Clones of the defectors and the loyalists are now dead. Buzzcut dies via the tooth thingy, but in 32's arms as he pleads for him to hold on until medics get here. Locke died and I know exactly how I want him to die, but I need to ask someone about that. Sharke has lived, Callback lost his leg but continued operating the long range. Hatchet has lived but finally admitted to the time he killed a few civilians. Debt, Short, Flowers, Bruise and Crash admitted they beat the shit out of Checkmate for wanting to leave because he found love. You know, the whole bittersweet sorta thing of learning the truths, but now that was a very bad thing and we all feel bad.

Whether Elena and the 985th meet at that point again, I do not know. I never chose, but this is where the Galactic Civil War story is sorta left. And quite frankly, I never did much after that.

WELL,

Apart from that after the war, a number of people went on trial for being Imperial, and Elena was chosen as a scapegoat because she didn't defect until after Alderaan, and it took time, and she fought so hard and demanded that she kept command of her ship and most of the crew. They didn't like her for being so disciplined, so proper, so . . . Imperial. And so she was put on that horrid rehabilitation scene we saw, and also given the black mark to never serve a security, military or other such force again. Unfortunately, with the anti-Imperial hate thing, cause you know, oppressors and stuff, she didn't really get to do much. She managed to recover a Lambda Class the Justicia used to have, and she's been around ever since, looking for home, looking for Beth. (Or maybe she found her by this point, it hasn't been decided!).

Everything is a blur at this point, though she tries to help Liea's Resistance against the First Order by being an Advisor to them, technically not part of them! Unfortunately that all goes to hell.

However, Lady Vahlen does make one last appearance. She had always been busy behind the scenes, always wiggling into power somehow, and here was no different. For she had managed to aquire a very certain Victory-II Class Star Destroyer and refitted it with state of the art equipment, Of course, we shouldn't ask too much how she got the funds, and why is that person not looking very healthy, but she hands it over as a thank you gift to Elena, and tells her to take part in liberating the Galaxy once more.

And then, the end.

I figured she wouldn't retire, but actually find her end in war. The Justicia sacrificing itself to save those that needed protecting sounds like something she absolutely would do, and leave a mark upon the ones she saved. Of course, a happily after is always nice, but I like the idea of this trilogy of movies to end with no fanfare, no celebration or parade, but a silent run through the wreckage of a venerable ship, such as she.

Lady Serena-Acculah Vahlen

With Elena's story finished, it's time to talk about Lady Vahlen. She's forever in the background, and I often picture her like Q from Star Trek. She's around and it's terrible, but she's always around, her motives are a mystery, and she seems quite interested in Elena and her ship, considering all the run ins.

Lady Vahlen is from SWTOR, she was my Sith Inquisitor, and I decided to put her here as that way of interacting more.

Surviving all the carbon freezing drained most of her powers, and she swapped hands from collectors until she was picked up by scavengers. Here she found a force sensitive young lady who she reached out to, very similar to KOTOR II's intro with Kreia. The whispers almost drive the young lady to insanity, until she finally releases her. From there, she needs power. She needs essence, she needs life. And so she begins to feed. Not on the one who helped her, but on the others of the crew, sucking them dry like she's from the Mummy or some shit. From there, the pair go on their first adventure at an old temple ruin, but the young lady is a little bit on the terrified scale and that causes her to perish to a trap. Woops.

Eventually, Vahlen finds herself on the moon Wasskah, and she spends her time researching and learning, watching the prey get hunted. It's there that a group of Jedi Initiates is spotted. This piques her interest and she watches them, seeing their progress and taking interest in one in particular. Then a Jedi Padawan is thrown into the mix, a Togruta this time. She watches it all unfold, becoming very interested. She's quite disappointed when she watches her favourite one die, but as the body is left behind, she swoops (Yes I know swooping is bad, but Vahlen is bad!) in and recovers her. She then sets out on a hunt. Upon capturing a trandoshan hunter, she uses Sith Magicka to transfer the life of one into the other. Thankfully because it's Sith, they don't have to be willing. This saves the young lady, though she still needs care, which Vahlen provides.

That's right, Lady Vahlen saved Kalifa. Sue me.

The pair get talking, and after figuring out that Vaheln has a dark past, but she's actually not that bad, she slowly agrees - in payment for her life, she will be taken under Vahlen's wing as an Apprentice.

Now, this far, I've mentioned she was a Sith, and she is very much evil no objections to murder and torture, and the good stuff, but she has never been one to be outright evil, at least, not anymore. Her being betrayed wasn't because they were Sith and they do that, it had a reason, though she never shares it. And when she emerges in this time, she's a lot more . . .Muted, I'd say. Like Emperor Gorgeiou from Star Trek Discovery a little! She doesn't inflict torment for the fun of it, she inflicts for a goal, and stops when she can achieve that goal. She's by no means good, nor caring to those not Her and Hers, but is a little more neutral in things. And that is how she gets to persuade Kalifa at least for now. The power to save people thought dead, the fact she is open that she has not been nice, but the thirst for knowledge, and the fact that if Kalifa refused, she'd be let go. Kalifa was never a prisoner and free to go, and that piqued her curiosity.

Since the Clone Wars was going on, pretending to masquerade as Master & Apprentice was an obvious choice, and Vahlen taught Kalifa about the force, and help her trian her abilities. They also went on plenty of adventures, which is where they met the 985th.

Now, Vahlen is very strong in the force, and skilled in the use of Battle Meditation exactly like Batilla was, and that is her primary thing, she doesn't get involved but she does support. However, when it comes to combat, she fights like Kriea does in the end of KOTOR II, on Malachor, with the floating lightsabers. She also has the ability to turn invisible-esque (Balanced for gameplay purposes) so she could observe the Trandoshans like she was the Preadtor.

Her first meeting with the 985th went well, but they were suspicious of her. "She was wierd." was all they could say, but there is something off with her, like she doesn't belong here. The second time they meet, 32 and Elena just pass it up in their reports that they've met Jedi Master Vahlen, and Command are like "That's funny, we don't know anyone of that name operating here. Maybe it's the Jedi being Jedi. We'll ask them." and so they tell the Jedi and the Jedi are just as confused. Eventually they start to investigate and they find the pair investigating a ruin the Seppies are using as a base. Mace Windu or Kit Fisto (Or someone else, but those two were in my head) come along with some clones, and the whole thing ends up a triple threat, because the Jedi now know she's lying. Vahlen and the Jedi begin duelling, which only reinforces that they were bad. The duel is cool, lightsabers swinging and force powers and stuffs. However, a rocket lands and destroys the walkway Kalifa was at. At this moment, Vahlen senses and drops all but one of her sabers (Remember, she does the floaty thing like Kirea) and focuses on stopping Kalifa from falling to her death. The single saber from a distracted mind is easily defeated, but it's clear that it was fighting defensively, like maybe Vahlen didn't want to fight now that Kalifa was in danger, and as the Jedi moves closer . . They stop. Vahlen isn't trying to stop them now, just putting Kalifa down safely. The Jedi begins to realise maybe this could be talked out, and so he begins to protect Vahlen as she tends to her Apprentice.

Eventually, they discuss things and they come to some sort of agreement for a fragile peace. It was clear she wasn't working with Dooku, but they do not exactly trust her.

So, during Order 66, the Lady Inquisitor and her Padawan are onboard a capital ship, and a squad of clones move in to kill the pair as they meditate.

However, being strong in the force and still fairly evil, she isn't taken by surprise, like some of the other Jedi were. And so the clone squad finds themselves trapped in a hallucination, of an endless hallway and dark clouds, whispers and doubts, the dark side, and evil clawing at them. Like good troopers, they continue to push on. Eventually, they come up to the pair, still in meditation. They circle around them to get a full field of fire. Unlike Ashoka apparently proved, you can't block 360 degrees at once from multiple sources. However, the Lady Inquisitor has studied Battle Meditation as her mastery, seeking to perfect it. It guides your allies to fight better, or pushes your enemies to fight worse. It guides their actions as the best course. And the Clones never realised this was exactly what she was doing. After she caught them in her web, she pressed into their minds and took each step for them. Including the circle, where her lightsabers - collected from centuries from others, or built or stolen - were lying. So as they raise their blasters in unison, so too, do the lightsabers rise. And as their fingers pull the triggers, the lightsabers ignite.

The pair then must escape the vessel, filled with the Clones that now want to kill them.

Here, they quieten down for a few years and Vahlen begins infiltrating the Empire, just like she's best at, whilst Kalifa studies what happened and where surviving Jedi might've gone, as well as the Emperor's plans with things like ruins and artifcats. Would he still pursue those?

She mets Elena a couple of times and sends them on whacky adventures, as mentioned, but as she is settled in, she infiltrates the Inquisitorius. I saw infiltrate, but she does effectively join it, and they buy the lie she was a Jedi who was covering her tracks. She never shows them her true power, and makes sure she isn't around when Darth Vader is. Unfortunately, this isn't something Kalifa like the news of, and she runs away, fearful that it was all a ploy and Vahlen had always been evil, there was no nice and it was all deception. She has to task someone to find her and bring her back. My thought of this for some reason was Cal Kestis? I don't know why, but when I was picturing this, it was him and Kyle Katan I pictured doing this for her, and the back and forth and the reveal of who she was. Maybe Kyle Katarn would suit better, but still. Eventually they are reuinited agian, and their stories begin again.

After the Empire and after Elena's wings are clipped, Vahlen began her infiltration of the New Republic which wasn't that hard. And, over the course of the few years, especially after she heard mention of the First Order, she began steps to locate and aquire that certain Captain and her ship.

The one amazing thing about it, is that she managed to get and refit the Justicia completely legally. 100% EVERYTHING was in legal order. Loopholes and stuff of course, but it wasn't some secret stolen ship. And it was a museum piece at this rate. And there, she gifted it to Elena, and they went to Exegol.

And that, I think, is the majority of my minds ramblings, condensed as they could be. If you read it all, I am sorry. If you have questions or ideas, or slight suggestions or something, feel free to say.

I know that a lot of this won't be classed as canon, a lot of it is a bit hmmmmmm but it is my story, and it is fun darn it!

Also the Victory Class Star Destroyer is the biggest class of ship that can operate in atmosphere AND I DON'T CARE WHAT THE MOVIES DID THAT'S CANON IN MY HEAD ALRIGHT!

Anyway, thanks for reading hte parts you did, and I wish you well! <3

[endst0ne]

in addition...

hi girlies. obligatory "not an avid tumblr user" and "crappy grammar/formatting ahead". i'm here to add onto two very important posts about user cheebs (chibidashie on this website). i'm very briefly mentioned in a post made by cheebs as well as in mick (link) and dapp's (link) statements, so I'd like to give a glimpse of my experience with cheebs as well, especially regarding the vile accusations made towards me in her rant.

i would highly suggest reading the previous two statements first. mick and dapp have gotten the brunt of cheeb's vicious behavior, and deserve to be heard. my statement is here to give my experiences, clear my name, and support the words of my partner, who kindly defended me in his own statement.

tw: grooming mention(s)

my name is fox, referred to as "f", or as mick's partner. i will state that i did not know cheebs very well. she seems to present us as friends, when in reality, we were distant acquaintances at best. most of our interactions were short, either in brief chats about common interests or with my responses to her vents (which is important, and not something i will show here.)

sometime in late june of 2022, i took a glance back into an older server of mine. i hadn't been active in this server in over a year, and it was muted. i was completely unaware of cheeb's actions, of anything that had occured or been occurring between my partner and cheebs, so suddenly seeing message after message about "what a horrible person mick was" came as a complete shock. i do not have screenshots of a majority of these messages, as i noticed a common thread of her believing to be watched or stalked, and did not want to feed into it, even if she wasn't aware of my presence. however, a majority of them followed along the lines of mick "hating her oc", "hating her age regression", and "abandoning her like pink spinel was abandoned by white diamond."

the only screenshot i have is the one that would eventually push me to make a statement about my discomforts with her actions.i believe this speaks for itself.

i watched these comments slowly fill her channel for about a week, until i mustered up the balls to speak to my partner about it. he was… disappointed. to say the least. however, he showed me the proof he's shown you all in his document. i was floored that cheebs, someone who had been so sweet and silly, could say things like this, could lie like this. yet, it continued.

roughly a month after finding out, she would have a major breaking point, where she proceeded to tear into mick (behind his back, of course), about abandoning him. i will not show screenshots of this, as this is extremely personal to her. however, this is where i made my appearance, and where my section in her rant begins.

"snakes" (i will include all quotes in "this format")

cheebs begins this section by explaining what i explained above; the server was inactive and she used it as her ranting space, until i came in.

"However, I did not realize that the inactive people on there were actually snakes as well, when one day, P’s s/o, F (which i mentioned earlier) had suddenly became active, telling me to stop “shit-talking about P”."

i will admit my reappearance was sudden, as i had been lurking for a month at that point. however, this was sparked by her rant. i saw other server members attempting to calm her down, with her angrily telling them that this was her coping mechanism. i was incredibly upset, but worded myself as nicely as i could. i do not have screenshots of this message, but essentially told her that this behavior was unacceptable and incredibly difficult to witness. in response, she spoke to me as if i had never known her. she said that this reaction was because of her ptsd (which i will neither confirm nor deny; i am not any sort of mental health professional), and that this is how she copes. i can understand venting and ranting to get out emotion. but screaming in someone's personal channel, claiming how they abandoned you when they simply established new boundaries is Not It.

she also proceeded to tell me that she age regresses to cope, which "people seem to hate" (paraphrasing). this confused me. if we're such good friends, how did she not remember that i knew about her regression? that i never minded it? why would she talk down to me about a piece of information i already knew? i mentioned before that i would respond to her vents, and that many of our interactions were in vent chats. many of these vents occurred while she was regressed, and yet i still responded. if i had really hated her regression, why would i have done that, or shown her that kindness? these questions remain unanswered.

"I of course asked “who told you about this?” as this was quite telling that F was being a snake and someone was feeding them intel. F played stupid and said something about how nobody told them and was “only checking up on the server”. it was very, very suspicious to say the least."

I was never fed intel. ever. i came back to the server of my own volition, and out of complete chance noticed everything she was saying. a snake in the grass needs to know what it's striking at to be lethal, to be a danger. and yet i wasn't anything close to that.

rereading this part of her statement, even now, forms a pit in my stomach. i am not unused to being called stupid, to being seen as a liar. but to receive this treatment, these words from someone i barely know is a fucking insult. how dare you assume my character when you do not know me.

"Sometime later, F had posted a long rant saying that P “only wanted to move on” and basically mock me, telling me how I used P as a safe space (implying that safe spaces are a bad thing in general, which surprise! is actually an alt-right ideal!)."

The rant in question is this (mick is referred to as gil in this piece);

this rant was posted very early in the morning, before i left the server for good. i had no intention of sticking around to hear the response, i was done. however, i was later shown her responses to my statement.

(the censored section in the channel name is a past name / deadname)

in her response, she accuses me of not knowing about her struggles with a therapist. this is somewhat correct; i was aware that she was in the market for a new therapist, but not the issues she had with her therapist at the time. my point still stands; this should have been taken offline.

she also accuses me of ableism for "infantilizing her", as i restated mick's message of him "outgrowing" her / their friendship. this has nothing to do with her age, her autism, her age regression, none of it. you can outgrow something or someone at any age, it doesn't make the other thing "for babies" or the other person "a baby". you're simply moving on in life, finding new paths and new friends with them. people grow up and move on all the time; why is it such an issue when someone does it to cheebs?

she also briefly mentions how "mick wasn't my safe space", a statement she later uses against me. while she may not have considered mick himself her safe space, she absolutely considered their friendship one. keep in mind that he was her shoulder to lean on for four years. mick words this sentiment beautifully in his own statement: "F did not say that safe-spaces are a bad thing. F said that using someone four years younger than you as a receptacle for your problems is a bad thing." this was… exactly my point. as for me "repeating an alt right ideal"… can someone kindly point out where i said "safe spaces are bad and evil go fuck yourself", please?

"i thought were we friends!!" we weren't. i don't know you, dude.

"everything in here feels so manipulative and gaslighty", "…and basically mock me…" yet another blow. yet another chance to call me a liar and paint me as the evil villian in your sob story. all for attempting to explain my genuine feelings.

overall, my "rant", a message used to voice my genuine discomfort with the way cheebs was speaking out my partner, was used against me. the only thing she paid attention to were the last 3 sentences, the most "controversial" of the bunch, instead of the entire first few paragraphs where i explain myself and even emphasize with her struggles. rather than now being the "concerned boyfriend trying to voice his discomfort", i was now the "evil alt-right snake".

"The thing that made me so mad about F, however, is them weaponizing therapy, telling me to “deal with this with a professional”. I realized all this time later that if I did actually tell a therapist, they would ask me if I communicated with them about this whole mess (I did!) but only got silence in return."

telling someone they need help is not, and never will be, a "weaponization of therapy". cheebs is very clearly someone who needs professional help to properly deal with the emotions she's been going through. this was evident from her messages then, and it still evident from her consistent vents and vagues about all of us today. honestly, knowing now that she lied about her "communication" about her issues with the others involved makes this a bit… pathetic? you're lying about whether or not a therapist would help you, for christs sake.

"F had also treated me like an animal also saying “go to my dms and attack me there lol”. F had left P’s abandoned server right after. i immediately blocked F in case of them harassing me."

this is just common courtesy. if she wanted a private conversation i was willing to hear her out, maybe see if she'd explain everything. not to mention i never said "attack me", i said "scream at me or just chat." pretty big difference, at least to me. but no. in the end, rather than i treating her as an animal, she treated me like one; blocking me when i'd shown zero indication of wanting to continue this fight, treating me like the vicious snake she'd claim i was later on. i will say that i had a much angrier statement prepared for you, cheebs. i could have been a wholeeeee lot meaner. but i wasn't, because i recognized that you were in a fragile state. and yet, you still bit the hand that offered you grace.

other issues

i am also briefly mentioned in this statement; "Meanwhile on P's server, P had abandoned the server but was still present, as did their s/o (we will call F) and one of their friends. Even still on P's server, it still felt like I never existed. F and someone we'll call Dream (not the shitty minecraft guy) would always talk to each other, and I would join in too, but was basically ignored. One day, I asked why I would always be left out to F and Dream. Dream gave me an answer: "we just want our own space". This confused me because if I was on P's server and F and Dream wanted their own space, does this imply that I was no longer welcomed as a friend? I had a burning rage that was building up over time due to the fact that I was being mistreated and had enough, so I made my own server where I have my friends vibe all equally."

this supposedly takes place on mick's second server (the now-deleted one), where dream and i bonded and became very close friends. to be completely honest; i do not remember this happening. cheebs herself was not very active in this server, and was typically only active in the vent channels or her own personal channel. there are very few occasions where i really remember us speaking, and even then, those occasions were simply 1-2 messages at a time. our interactions were extremely limited because we didn't share many interests, and because i myself was shy and nervous around people i didn't regularly speak to. this on it's own isn't a bad thing, but she twists it to be that way.

considering her claims of me "weaponizing therapy against her", i believe that this was aimed (at least partially), towards me. and.. well, she's right! i've never been to therapy, because i do not have the resources, nor the emotional stability, nor the parental support for it. however, i know good and well that no therapist would ever give you "lying about your former moots" as a coping mechanism. no therapist would have you do any of the things you've done and said to us as a "coping mechanism".

additionally, i want to touch on this, specifically the last sentence. "I remembered the time P had said when I was being excluded a lot on how “exclusion is necessary for the comfort of others”, yet I did not know why I was being excluded. did they see me as a shadow of my racist, conservative mom? the fact that i have been actively fighting off the harmful things my mom had attempted to ingrain me for a very long time? unlearning these harmful things takes a very long time. it felt as if P compared me to a nazi, the very same people who sent my babcia to a camp in Poland, forced my dziadek to be a soldier for my people's oppressors (at the time) against his own will, and generational trauma from the horrors of the holocaust that are still felt in the family."

like the others who've commented on this before me, this sentence made my jaw stop, drop, and roll away. i can genuinely think of no other reason to include this rather than to throw a pity party for your family's trauma. i can throw that party too; i am also polish. my great-grandparents and grandparents faced the horrors of war and its aftermaths, my parents faced the horrors of the soviet union, and now i carry the burden of their struggles, their lessons, and their unaccomplished goals. nevertheless, i live my own life. you do too. and we both know that generational trauma has no leg to stand on in this situation. it has no influence here, aside from being used as a ploy for sympathy. surely, someone who wails about being "seen as a nazi" would understand the ramifications of claiming someone else is one too.

in conclusion this is probably the only time i will speak about this publicly, so i want to make the message as clear as i can.

cheebs. i have said it before, and i will say it again. seek. fucking. help. venting and ranting about everyone using our full names isn't coping. making up lies and spinning story after story, evil narrative after evil narrative about how the mean evil ex-moots hate you and want you dead… isn't coping. i can empathise with your paranoia of being watched wherever you go, of feeling like everyone hates you and secretly prays for your downfall. i have been through that as well. i am still currently going that as we speak. however, i cannot empathise with lying, with spreading misinformation every. single. chance. you get. my empathy has bounds, and those bounds have been long since crossed.

we may not have been friends, but i sure as hell know you're better than this.