#this industry is not for the weak or faint of heart

[aizenat]

Kpop fans make no sense. Le sserafim has proven on multiple occasions that they can’t sing. And these Coachella performances put it on full display front and center. And even the ppl criticizing the performance and how bad they sound keep repeating it “the girls don’t deserve hate” and I’m like wtf do these idiots think this is? A hs popularity contest?

This is the fucking MUSIC INDUSTRY. Know what that means? You’re in the business of making music. And guess what you need to be able to do in that case? Fucking sing. If you can’t sing, get the fuck off the fucking stage. Yes I’m booing you. Yes I’m saying you suck. What else am I supposed to do? Just hum how sad you sing bad and then keep streaming and supporting you despite your inability to the do the bare minimum required to be in this industry? Fucking jlo can hold a note better than these hoes. JLO!

Like honestly, kpop fans are so delusional. They could never last in the music industry for real lol. You know how often and how much artists get torn down when they’re talented? Look at Beyonce and Megan thee Stallion. Fuck, look at Dua Lipa! When she got called out for being a shit performer, did she make excuses like “I tried my best and my audience had fun so there’s that?” No! She got in the studio, hired some dance instructors and choreographers, and put her ass to work. Now this bitch is singing on apparatuses and shit like it’s easy. THAT’S what artists worth our time and attention and praise do. They put in the fucking work.

Maybe if kpop idols focused more on doing the work than starving themselves skinny, practicing how to take selfies, and filming tik toks, they could fucking sing.

And Sakura is too old to be acting this obtuse and stupid. “We’re a rookie group” like okay yes, and? What that got to do with the price of tea in china? Britney went from promoting at malls to selling out stadiums within two years of her “debuting.” And she was dancing and singing with steady vocals. And like Britney even in her time was not the best vocalist we had to offer. Fucking Christina Aguilera was right there! Hell Pink is a much better singer than Britney! And that’s not even including BLACK singers who would dance circles around them!

This is why I refuse to tolerate this shit. If this is the best kpop has to offer, then why listen to it? Hybe and many other labels are trying to remove the k from kpop, and their best acts aren’t even good enough to be background dancers to our (American) most mid artists. Like this is embarrassing.

I was listening to Wonder Girls The DJ is Mine featuring School Gyrls and while those girls never went anywhere, School Gyrls could sing. And when I first heard the song, I didn’t even realize that there was an American girl girl on the track because Wonder Girls’ vocals were on par with the American girls. And that was the standard in second gen. Fucking Wonder Girls weren’t even the best second gen had to offer (and I say this as a very loyal wonderful) and they could hold their own vocally with American singers.

But these recent idols could NEVER no matter how hard they work at it. Fucking Demi Lovato was on that remix of le serrafim’s English version of eve psyche and Bluebeard’s wife, and I still remember the way when I was listening to that for the first time how I woke the fuck up when Demi starting singing because the difference in how amazing she sounded compared to le serrafim on their own fucking track was wild to me. And Demi is also not the best singer we have to offer! She might make some ppls top 100 vocalists, but only braindead Disney kids would put her in their top 50, and she sure as hell is no one’s top 20 or 10. And that’s not a dig but just to show how far the gap is. Demi isn’t even the best we have to offer and she’s singing circles around these girls on their own track? What does that say about them?

Oh I know! They fucking suck!

I’m not giving them a pass nor giving them excuses nor tolerating this. This is the music industry in America sweeties. And guess what? When you suck, we dunk on you. Can’t sing and we’re laughing and mocking you. If this was the Apollo, Black folk would be throwing tomatoes. No cookout invite for you tired hoes. Get the fuck out of here. No mercy for the weak too focused on being pretty than good at your fucking job. If we dunked on summer walker for canceling her tour due to anxiety when she can actually sing but was boring as hell on stage, why do you expect better treatment when you can’t even sing?

We’re not giving these mugs a handicap. You wanna tour in the us and promote here? Then get good. Period. And if you can’t, then get the fuck off the stage and stick with the inkigayo performances. Just don’t actually win because god forbid yall have to sing a fucking encore stage and everyone hears your live vocals again.

[agustdtown1]

Prompt no. 15 with Taehyung

PAIRING: kim taehyung x fem!reader.

WC: 2.4k

WARNINGS: the prompt is in bold, age gap (th is 35 & reader is 25), smut 18+, unprotected sex, dom!taehyung, idk if it would actually count as degradation but I’m throwing it in there just in case, idk tae just likes to make fun of reader and how desperate she is for him 🤷🏻‍♀️, doggy, chocking, slight clit slapping, a bit of masturbation (on readers end), sir kink, begging and a whole lotta petnames; btw this is not proofread.

A/N: thank you for your request, i hope you like it! I enjoyed writing this one sm.

prompt list | event masterlist | general masterlist

Unapproachable, stoic, cold-hearted and undeniably handsome, that’s what Kim Taehyung was. A man of many qualities and few flaws, one that could make any woman —or man, for that matter— weak in the knees with a single glance. His elegant mannerisms often drew people’s attention towards him, making it impossible to avoid unwanted social interactions wherever he went. Taehyung didn’t like the undivided attention he has gained over the years, which in retrospect he should have known it was going to be a given after building a successful empire in the entertainment industry. Nonetheless, the man didn’t like being the center of attention most of the time.

Luckily for him, there were times when his solemn demeanor would make people think twice before trying to talk to him, and rightfully so, for every single attempt to start a conversation with him was quickly shut down with a stern gaze and a grimace that —according to the man himself— resembled a grin. His cold attitude, however, was exactly what drew you in.

The first time you met Kim Taehyung you couldn’t believe a man like him was even real. He presented himself before you at the gala that you and your family attended every year. The man was tall enough to tower over you; his dark hair was combed nicely to leave his forehead free, giving him an elegant look; his eyes, oh his eyes, those dark brown orbs who stared you down with such a fierce gaze knocked the air out of you. But what really sealed the deal was the ghost of a smile taking place on his lips. It would be a lie to say you weren’t looking at him all night, it was quite hard not to in all honesty. Hence, you realized the tall man was not fond of smiling at others, but oddly enough he was willing to show you a grin, albeit a bit feeble, but a grin nonetheless.

“This is not your type of party.” It wasn’t a question or a guess; the dark-haired man spoke with such firmness that it made you doubt just how well you knew yourself. “It’s quite obvious.”

Taehyung didn’t show any sort of emotion on the outside, but deep inside he was trying to conceal an amused smile; he knew girls like you would kill to be anywhere else than in such a boring event. Like drinking an obscene amount of cheap vodka at a cramped bar, while your friends were trying their best to move to the beat of any trendy song at the moment; the night would undoubtedly end with you hooking up with a random guy.

Oh how he missed being young and free.

However, that was exactly what you didn’t want nor needed to do. After facing such a nasty break up, the last thing you wanted to do was mess around with just any guy that comes walking straight to you. A change of scenery is what you desperately needed, and maybe, just maybe, a man like Kim Taehyung would be the perfect remedy for that.

“I’m going to show you how a real man fucks.”

The idea of fucking a man that was ten years older than you was completely preposterous, but perhaps that’s exactly why you decided to follow through and act on your impulsive thoughts. It was stupid to believe you would be able to get in between the sheets with a man like Kim Taehyung; unrealistic, too good to be true. Therefore, the consequences that you were most likely going to face in the near future didn’t feel too serious for you to decline his offer to fuck you senseless. And with a faint fuck it, you started the memory of a night that would be too difficult to forget.

Taehyung’s hands were all over your body, caressing your skin as if it was the most delicate porcelain he’s ever touched. His lips were leaving burning kisses up and down your neck, stealing gasps whenever he used his teeth to place a harsh mark on your tender flesh. The sensations were too much to bear and he had barely done anything.

“I need more.” A small plea for the pleasure you were eagerly seeking. “Don’t tease me, please.”

“I wanted to take my sweet time with you.” He mentioned, pulling away from the crook of your neck. “But how can I say no to that when you ask so nicely?”

Without further ado, Taehyung aligned his bare length with your soaked entrance, slightly teasing you by coating his tip with your juices.

“Just put it in!” You whined, trying to guide his cock into your pussy, only to receive a harsh slap on your thigh.

“You’re in no position to tell me what to do, princess.” Kim retrieved slightly, clasping your neck with one of his big hands. “That attitude might have worked with the dumb guys you’ve fucked before, but I’m not like them. If you want something you better start acting right, otherwise you’ll get nothing.” His hot breath was falling against your face due to how close he was. “Am I clear?” You nodded dumbly, but that wasn’t enough for him. “I didn’t hear you.”

“Yes, you’re very clear.”

“Now, that’s a good girl.”

Taehyung didn’t wait for you to realize what was happening, before he slowly pushed his cock right into your drenched cunt, enjoying the warm feeling.

“Shit, you’re so tight, doll.” The man noted, already entranced by the way your walls were sucking him in. “You might not be able to take it all.”

A cry escaped from your mouth in a clear protest at what he was saying. You knew your body and your limits, and as big as Taehyung was —more than what you imagined, actually—, you were sure that you were able to take all of him. There was no need for going slow or being cautious with you, in fact, it was pointless to do so with the way you were desperately trying to get him closer to you.

“I will.” You assured him. “Don’t hold back, I can take it, I swear.” With a teasing smile you continued. “Weren’t you going to show me how a real man fucks?”

Hearing his own words coming from your mouth was like an awakening moment; you could see the switch in his demeanor, how his eyes darkened and his grip grew tighter around your waist.

“You better not be lying, doll.”

In a split of a second, Taehyung pulled out of your warm walls to flip you over and make you lay on your stomach.

“Ass up.” He ordered with a serious tone.

Kim didn’t waste a second longer before he reinserted himself inside your pussy. That magical feeling of your velvety walls wrapped around his cock was one he would never forget. The way you were, in fact, taking all of him so effortlessly was driving him crazy.

“Oh my fucking god.” You moaned, due to not only the change in position but also speed.

“This what you wanted, love? Me fucking you dumb, until your legs are shaking and the only thing on your mind is my damn name.” Taehyung was an experienced man, and along with experience came the knowledge of saying the right things to rile you up.

Even more than he already has.

“Yes, fuck. I want nothing more!”

Taehyung increased the pace of his thrusts, making you feel him ridiculously deep by the way he was pounding into you.

“Shit, just like that, don’t stop.” You cried out, fisting the sheets to ground yourself.

To your surprise, the response you got to your previous sentence was nothing more than a slap to your ass cheek, making you groan and jolt in your place.

“What was that for?”

“I already told you, darling.” He panted. “You’re no one to give me orders.”

His veiny hands were holding your hips furiously, digging his fingers in your soft flesh, and you knew for sure that there were going to be some marks showing in the morning. However, you couldn’t care any less at the moment, your only concern was getting that sweet release that was slowly approaching. By the way his cock was reaching all the right places, you knew that it wouldn’t take that long to finally get it, but you needed a bit more, just a little push.

One of your own hands drifted down to messily rub your clit in a rapid motion. Moans and whines were falling from your lips, muffled by the soft pillow. You could feel it, that sweet feeling of unraveling; an electrifying sensation running through your body to let you know your orgasm was approaching. Fingers were moving with haste, urgently touching your clit.

A deep chuckle echoed through the room, and before you could even react a much bigger hand grabbed your wrist and rudely pushed it away from your folds.

“You dumb little brat,” Taehyung sneered. “Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” His hand slapped your clit a few times, stealing whines from your mouth. “It is clear for me that I need to teach you some manners.”

The tall man lowered himself enough for you to feel his hot chest covering your bare back; dangerous lips brushing the shell of your ear while his muscular arm made its way up to wrap itself loosely around your neck. “Come on, ask for it. Nicely.”

You just wanted to scream; the way he was fucking you, along with his words, was driving you crazy. Not only was it the fact that his cock was repeatedly hitting that sweet spot of yours due to the way Taehyung was still ramming into you, but also his husky voice was making wonders to you. The man as a whole was so intoxicating; corrupting your mind with his indecent behavior and lewd touching. But far from wanting to get out of his spell, you leaned into his warm chest, saying his name like a sinful prayer.

“Taehyung… I wa-want you to touch me… please.”

“Touching you is all I’ve been doing since I saw you in that tight dress, sweetheart.” He stated. “Isn’t this enough?”

His free hand was hovering over your swollen clit, which was almost crying for his fingers to run wild over it. So close yet so far from what you needed.

“No…” You sighed; arms giving up and legs starting to shake, a matter of time before you would have to desperately beg for your release.

“Tsk, so greedy.”

Taehyung wanted to prolong your suffering by running his fingers close enough to your clit, but he reckoned this encounter had been going on for longer than the time he had to spare. And so, instead of being the asshole who would laugh at your desperation, he busied his hand nested in between your thighs, rubbing circles on your clit with his skilled fingers; it was clear as day that the extra touching was making you sensitive, and he loved to have such an effect on you.

“Is this what you wanted?” He teased you, sporting a bright and mocking smile on his face that you, unfortunately, couldn’t see. “Being touched like this really turns you on, huh? You get satisfied with so little, so used to being barely taken care of to be ambitious and ask for something else than the bare minimum.”

If you weren’t sure that Kim Taehyung wasn’t like any other guy you have met before, the way he talked to you really cemented the idea. No man, or boy for that matter, has ever spoken to you in the way Taehyung did. Haughty, arrogant, conceited, those were just a few of the words you could use to describe the brown-eyed man at that precise moment. Acting so sure of himself and the pleasure he could —already did— provide you with. His words were a clear example of how full of himself Taehyung really was. Surprisingly enough, that was exactly what lured you into begging him to give you more.

An ego boost, if you will, but it would assure you a mind blowing orgasm if you kept acting like that.

“Oh fuck, I’m so close.” You moaned. “You’re fucking me so good, sir.”

That word, which was far from being foreign for the tall man, fueled the fire within his body.

You really knew how to play his game.

“Say it again.” Taehyung ordered.

“Sir…” You moaned. “Please let me cum.”

A long overdue plea. Kim acknowledged that your breaking point was near, he could tell by the way you were clenching on his cock, almost making it impossible for him to move

“Fuck.” He panted, tightening the grip on your neck, which was previously loose. “You really wan it, don’t you?”

You nodded vehemently, whining and squirming beneath his body.

“Go on then, make my cock all creamy, princess.”

It was an automatic response to his lewd words. Your body exploded in a plethora of emotions and sensations that it has never experienced before. Toes curling, legs trembling, mouth agape, with moans worthy of being the audio of a porno running free through the room. Your vision became blurry for a moment, head too heavy to keep it up; your face ended up being squished against the soft pillow, while your body tried to recover from such an intense orgasm.

Through the years, you gained a fair amount of knowledge about what your body liked when it came to sex, but the things Taehyung did and said to you opened your eyes to a new side of yourself that was unfairly hidden, due to the poor performance of your previous sexual partners. But as amazing as it was, there was a pinch of fear invading your mind and heart for the same reason. No one has been able to give you what Taehyung did, and there was a very high chance that you would never be in the same situation as you were right now; how will you survive in a world where Kim Taehyung wasn’t the man making you see stars with a single touch?

“Are you okay, princess?” His husky voice invaded your ears like a sweet melody. “Hey, look at me, pretty, come back to me… there you are.”

A ghost of a smile, a genuine one, was adorning his face, making you feel uneasy.

How can a man like him be real? Where has he been all my life?

“I hope you’re not tired yet, because we’re not done here.” His small smile turned into a full smirk.

You were worried about the days to come, when your only comfort would be replaying this night over and over again in your head, but maybe, just maybe, you didn’t need to think about that for now.

“You’re mine for the rest of the night, doll.”

Taglist 🏷️: @aphrwodite @r1r111 @cholychi @artificialsuicid @vsr4197

[j23r23]

Getaway Heart

Tangerine x Reader - angst & fluff

Warnings: blood & vomit

You’ve been a getaway driver since you got your license at 18, maneuvering through the streets with audacity and precision that caught the eye of all the right, and wrong, people. For the past ten years, you worked alone in the shadows, carving out a reputation as the go-to driver for high-stake jobs.

On a rainy evening, the twins handler, a no-nonsense woman with a penchant for dark sunglasses and cryptic instructions, invited you to an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Madrid. The place smelled of oil and rubber. There she introduced you to the two men known only by their code names: Tangerine and Lemon. They were looking for a reliable driver, and their handler thought you fit the bill. You knew the Fruits were renowned in the industry for being very good at what they do but were slightly unhinged.

Tangerine was the first to step forward. He was tall and lean, with a sharp jawline and piercing blue eyes that seemed to dissect you with a single glance. Dressed in an impeccably tailored suit that contrasted starkly with the grime of the warehouse, he exuded an air of sophistication and control. His voice was smooth, almost velvety, “So, you’re the driver everyone’s talking about,” he said, his tone carrying a mix of skepticism and curiosity.

Lemon, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. Shorter and more muscular, he had a rugged look about him, with bleached hair and an unpredictable glare. His attire was casual— black jeans and a denim jacket—giving off a more approachable vibe. In his hand, he toyed with a small sticker book, flicking it absentmindedly as he watched you.

The initial meeting didn’t go smoothly. Tangerine’s aloof demeanor and Lemon’s staring put you on edge. Tangerine scrutinized your every word and movement, as if searching for a weakness, while Lemon tested your patience with his relentless talk about trains.

“Look, love” Tangerine finally said, crossing his arms, “we don’t have time for screw-ups. We need someone who can handle the heat and think on their feet. Can you do that?”

You met his gaze, your jaw set in determination. “I’ve been doing this long enough to know that hesitation can get you killed. I can handle the heat. Question is, can you keep up? Oh, and the names Orange, love.”

There was a moment of silence before Lemon burst into laughter. “I like this one,” he said, clapping Tangerine on the shoulder. “Got some fire in her.”

Tangerine’s lips curled into a faint smile, the first sign of approval. “Alright Orange,” he said. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The memory made you grin.

Right after meeting the twins you had your first job together and it was utter chaos—shit hit the fan, sirens blaring, guns a blazing and the scent of burnt rubber hanging heavy in the air. You were behind the wheel, the adrenaline coursing through your veins as you navigated the streets of Madrid with precision.

"Tangerine, we've got company!" Lemon's tone was annoyed.

Tangerine, cool and collected, leaned out of the window, firing off shots with deadly accuracy. "I can see that, Lemon! Im not blind!"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes, as the banter between the twins was getting on your nerves. "Would you two save the chatter for later? I'm trying to concentrate here!"

Lemon laughed. "Relax, Orange, we've got this under control."

You just sighed in annoyance and literally put your foot down, pushing the pedal to the metal.

Tangerine, sitting in the seat behind you, clung to the door handle, as hes being pushed back by the force of the speeding car. "Bloody hell, Orange? " he shouted, his voice a mix of panic and irritation.

Lemon, in the backseat, looked even worse. His face was pale, and he was gripping the headrest in front of him for dear life. "For the love of all that's holy, slow down!”

You smirked, your eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror. "Relax, boys. Let me do my job and i let you do yours" you said, narrowly missing a pedestrian who decided now was the perfect time to jaywalk.

"Relax? Relax?!" Tangerine's voice went up an octave. "We’ve got the entire Mafia of Madrid after us, how in hell am i supposed to work when you’re driving like a maniac!"

You took a sharp turn, the tires screeching in protest. The car tilted dangerously, but you managed to keep it from flipping. Lemon made a sound that was somewhere between a whimper and a growl. "If we die, I’m haunting your ass!"

"Hold on to something!" you yelled, spotting a narrow alleyway ahead. Without hesitation, you swerved into it, the car barely fitting between the buildings. The side mirrors scraped against the brick walls, sending sparks flying.

Tangerine’s knuckles were white from gripping the door handle. "Jesus Christ, woman!"

You chuckled, adrenaline pumping through your veins. "I got hired for my driving skills, remember?"

Lemon let out a strangled laugh. "Skills? More like suicidal tendencies!"

As you burst out of the alley and back onto a busy street, a car tried to cut you off. With a quick flick of the wheel, you sideswiped it, sending it crashing into a parked truck. "One down, a few dozen to go," you quipped, glancing at your handiwork in the mirror.

"Just keep us in one piece!" Tangerine barked, looking both impressed and terrified.

You sped towards an upcoming construction site, an idea forming in your mind. "Hold tight," you warned, accelerating even more.

"Oh hell no!" Lemon groaned, clearly dreading your next move.

You aimed for a ramp leading up to a half-built overpass. As the car launched into the air, all three of you screamed—though in your case, it was more of a whoop of excitement. The car soared over the gap, landing with a bone-jarring thud on the other side. The cars that are chasing you weren’t so lucky; the first few smashed into the gap, creating a massive pileup.

Tangerine looked at you with wide eyes, his breath coming in short gasps. "You’re absolutely mad, you know that?"

Lemon, still clutching the headrest, nodded fervently. "Completely off your rocker."

You gave them a cheeky grin. "But i got rid of them, no?"

As the car sped away from the chaos behind, Tangerines eyes still held a hint of disbelief. "You’re a bloody lunatic!"

Lemon slumped back in his seat, finally letting go of the headrest. "Next time, I’m driving."

You laughed, the thrill of the chase still coursing through you. "Sure."

After a few more sharp turns you finally pull into a secluded garage. You killed the engine, the sudden silence almost deafening after the chaos.

"You two okay back there?" you had asked, trying to suppress a smirk.

Lemon had groaned, his face pale as a sheet. "I think I'm gonna be sick, now that we stopped," he had mumbled, clutching his stomach.

Tangerine had shot him a glare before leaning out of the window, retching onto the pavement. "Yeah, and somehow we made it out alive!” he had grumbled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

You turn in your seat looking at the boys smiling. Tangerine shook his head, laughing despite himself. “But remind me never to question your driving skills again.”

“Deal” you replied with a grin.

After that night, the three of you went through countless jobs together, facing danger with unwavering trust in one another. As time passed, your feelings toward Tangerine began to change. Working alongside him, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the way your heart fluttered whenever he flashed a rare smile or the way your pulse quickened at his touch.

The more jobs you pulled, the deeper your affection for him grew, and the harder it became to suppress your emotions.

And now, something feels off. As you sit in the driver's seat of your idling car, the engine's purr does little to calm your anxious nerves. The night is heavy with tension, the rearview mirror becoming your only solace. You glance back repeatedly, your mind racing through every possible outcome of tonight's job.

Tonight's mission was supposed to be a straightforward smash and grab. The target: a high-end jewelry store fronting as a money laundering operation for one of the city's major crime syndicates in London. Intelligence indicated minimal security—just a couple of guards, easily neutralized. Tangerine and Lemon were tasked with infiltrating, grabbing the goods, and getting out before anyone noticed. Simple, clean, efficient.

You were parked in the back alley of the building, engine running, ready for the signal. The minutes stretched on, each one feeling like an hour. Something gnawed at your gut, a premonition that things weren't going according to plan. You'd run through every escape route, every contingency, but no amount of planning could shake the unease that had settled over you.

The longer you waited, the more your thoughts drifted back to Tangerine. His smile, his confidence, the way he always seemed to know what to say to calm you down. You remember the first time he took a bullet for you. He had laughed it off, calling you a softie for worrying. That was Tangerine—fearless, almost reckless, but with a heart that beat fiercely for those he cared about.

You trusted them both with your life, but tonight, that trust felt more like a lifeline, taut and fraying with each passing second.

The rearview mirror offers no new insights, just the darkened street and the distant sounds of the city. You grip the steering wheel tighter. You can almost hear Tangerine’s voice, telling you to stay calm, to trust the plan. But the plan is starting to feel like a distant memory, overshadowed by a growing fear that this time, things won’t go as smoothly as they always have.

And then, like a thunderclap, the back door of the building bursts open.

Suddenly, Lemon charges through the back door of the building, supporting a hunched over Tangerine. It's clear that this simple job has gone terribly wrong. As they stagger closer, you see the blood—Tangerine is losing a lot of it. You reverse the car and drive towards them. Lemon yanks open the back door, practically shoving Tangerine inside before he climbs in himself.

"Go, go, go!" Lemon shouts, urgency in his voice.

You change immediately into first and slam the gas pedal to the floor, the tires screeching as the car lurches forward. The doors are barely closed, but you don’t have time to worry about that. In the rearview mirror, you see Lemon struggling to put pressure on one of Tangerines wounds, while the latter squirms in pain.

"What the fuck happened?" you demand, weaving through traffic with precision.

"Tangerine underestimated the Job, didn't wear his west and got shot," Lemon replies, his voice strained. Tangerine just groans, clearly in too much pain to speak.

"You didn't wear your fucking west?" you scoff, your hands gripping the wheel tightly. "You always chastise us when we're not wearing one, what the fuck were you thinking!"

"Yeah, well," Tangerine mutters in pain, "we all make mistakes."

You maneuver through the city's maze-like streets, dodging late-night traffic and running red lights. The city's neon lights cast eerie reflections inside the car, illuminating the tense scene. The smell of blood fills the air, and you can hear Tangerine's labored breathing from the back seat.

"You better not die on me, Tangerine," you say, your voice tight with a mixture of fear and anger. "I’m not dealing with your expensive funeral."

Tangerine tries to laugh, but it turns into a pained groan. "Always… so considerate," he manages to say between gasps.

"Save your strength, mate," Lemon says, pressing another wad of cloth against Tangerine's bleeding abdomen. "We need you to stay awake."

The car roars down a narrow alleyway, the tires barely gripping the slick pavement as you take a sharp turn. You can feel the tension in the air, thick and suffocating. Every second counts, and the safehouse feels a million miles away.

"I swear, if we make it out of this alive, you're going to owe me one pristine car cleaning," you assert firmly, your voice tinged with worry.

"Deal," Tangerine replies, his eyes closing. Lemon looks at you through the rearview mirror "Just get us there in one piece."

You weave through the final stretch of city streets, your knuckles white on the steering wheel. The safehouse looms ahead, a nondescript building that has become your haven in times of crisis. You screech to a halt after driving into the garage, the car barely stopping before you pull the handbrake.

"Help me get him inside," Lemon says, rushing out and opening the back door. Together, you and Lemon half-carry, half-drag Tangerine towards the entrance, his blood leaving a grim trail behind you.

"Hang on, Tan," you whisper, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay calm. "We're almost there."

Inside the safehouse, the familiar surroundings offer little comfort. You clear the kitchen table with a sweep of your arm, sending everything crashing to the floor.

"Lay him down here," you instruct. "I need to see how bad it is."

Tangerine's eyes flutter open, and he looks up at you with a weak smile. "You always did know how to make things dramatic, love" he jokes, his voice barely a whisper.

"Shut up," you say, your throat tight. "Just let me fix you up."

As you rip open his shirt, revealing the extent of his injuries, the reality of the situation hits you like a punch to the gut. Four bullet wounds, two in his left shoulder one in his right arm and the worst is stuck in the right side of his abdomen.

This isn't just another job gone wrong. This is a fight for survival. And in this moment, all you can think about is keeping Tangerine alive.

"You ruined my Burberry suit," Tangerine complains weakly, attempting a half-hearted smirk.

"I said, shut up," you snap, your voice tight with worry. Your hands move quickly, working to stop the bleeding. Tears blur your vision, but you force yourself to focus, ignoring the emotional storm brewing inside you.

Lemon stands by, trying to keep pressure on the wounds. He looks at you, concern etched on his face. "You alright?" he asks, noticing your tears.

You nod, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on your shoulders. Each bullet you extract from Tangerine's flesh elicits an excruciating scream from him that reverberates through the room and it slices through you like a knife. But you steel yourself against the anguish, focusing solely on the task at hand. With each bullet removed, Tangerine's body relaxes a fraction, but his agony remains palpable.

Exhaustion settles over him like a heavy shroud, and he slumps back, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. You work quickly, stitching him up as best you can with trembling hands, the urgency of the situation lending you a sense of clarity.

Once Tangerine is bandaged and relatively stable, you turn your attention to the smaller cuts and abrasions littering his body. With gentle care, you clean away the blood, your movements deliberate and precise as you tend to his wounds.

When you finally finish, you look to Lemon, concern etched into your features. "You got any injuries?" you ask, your voice laced with worry.

He shakes his head, his gaze unwavering as he grabs a blanket and pillow, arranging them to make Tangerine's makeshift bed on the kitchen table a little more comfortable.

You look at your blood covered hands and your mind starts to race,

The reality of the situation sinking in. Despite your years of experience you can't shake the feeling of helplessness that washes over you. You've faced danger countless times before, but this time feels different.

As you turn to wash the blood away in the sink, Lemon appears at your side. His eyes hold a depth of understanding that cuts through the turmoil in your soul.

"Not exactly the night we planned, huh?" Lemon tries to joke, but his voice wavers.

"Yeah…" you reply, forcing a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

"You love him, don't you?" Lemon's voice breaks the silence, gentle but insistent.

You pause, the question hanging in the air. Tears spill over, and you nod, holding in a sob. "Yes," you whisper, your voice cracking. "I do."

Wordlessly, he reaches out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. His touch is grounding.

With a steadying breath, you push aside the tumult of emotions threatening to overwhelm you.

You look back at your shaking hands seeing the sink run red as you rinse the rest of Tans blood away, the water swirling slowly like the tension in your chest. The room feels both too small and too vast, the weight of everything pressing down on you.

Lemon's eyes soften with understanding. "Does he know?" he asks gently.

You shake your head, tears now flowing freely. "No," you manage to choke out.

Lemon gives you a sad smile and pats your back. "It's gonna be okay. He's tough. He'll pull through. He's Tangerine, after all."

You look over at Tangerine, his face pale and his breathing shallow. The sight of him like this, so vulnerable, breaks something inside you. You sink to your knees beside the table, clutching his hand in yours, your tears falling onto his bloodstained shirt.

"I should have told him, “ You whisper, your voice breaking. "I should have told him every day."

Lemon kneels beside you, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He knows," he says softly. "Somehow, he knows. And he’s fighting.”

The room is silent except for the faint, labored breathing of Tangerine. You press your forehead to Tangerine's hand, your sobs shaking your entire body.

"Please, don't leave me," you whisper, your voice raw with pain. "I can't do this without you."

"He's going to make it," Lemon murmurs, more to himself than to you. "He has to."

You cling to those words, praying that they're true. Because the thought of a world without Tangerine is too much to bear.

When the morning sun shines through the kitchen window, you stir, the warm light nudging you awake. You jolt up, immediately checking on Tangerine and finding him still breathing, albeit slowly. His chest rises and falls steadily, and a wave of relief washes over you.

Your body aches from the uncomfortable sleeping position, but you ignore it, stretching briefly before moving around the kitchen to make some coffee, the familiar routine grounding you.

Suddenly, you hear a faint sound. Turning around, you see Tangerine, though barely conscious, calling out for you, reaching out weakly.

"Hey, " he murmurs, his eyes fluttering closed but a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

You rush to his side, your heart heavy yet light with relief. “don't go too far" he whispers, his hand finding yours.

"Lemon!" you call out, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions. "Lemon, get in here!"

Lemon appears in the doorway, eyes widening as he takes in the scene. "What's going on? Is he—?"

"He's awake," you say, unable to contain the sob that escapes your lips. "He's going to be okay."

Lemon's face softens with a mixture of relief and joy. He steps forward, placing a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I told you he's tough," he says, his voice thick with emotion. "Tan doesn't go down that easily."

You nod, unable to speak, the relief washing over you in waves. You stay by Tangerines side, his hand still clasped in yours, feeling the weight of the nights fear and uncertainty lift just a little.

Lemon places a gentle hand on your back, his voice soft but firm. "You need to rest. Take a shower, change into some fresh clothes. I'll keep an eye on him."

You hesitate, glancing back at Tangerine "Are you sure?" you ask, your voice wavering with concern.

"I'm sure," Lemon reassures you, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Lem." you shake your head at his compliment and make your way to the bathroom. The hot water cascading over you feels like a much-needed cleanse, washing away the grime and the fear of the night. You change into fresh clothes, feeling a bit more human, and take a moment to steady yourself before heading back to the kitchen.

When you return, you see Lemon leaning close to Tangerine, their voices low as Tangerine attempts to sit up, wincing with every movement. Lemon supports him, and you quickly move to their side, slipping an arm around Tangerine to help. Together, you guide him into one of the bedrooms, easing him onto the bed so he can rest more comfortably.

"Thanks," Tangerine murmurs, his face still pale but his eyes more focused.

"You need to rest," you say, brushing a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "We'll be right outside." As you and Lemon turn to leave, Tangerine's voice stops you.

"Wait." His hand reaches out, grabbing yours weakly. You look at Lemon, who gives you a knowing nod.

"I'll give you two some privacy," he says softly. "Call if you need anything." You nod at Lemon before turning back to Tangerine.

"You scared the living daylight out of me last night," you admit, your voice trembling slightly as you sit on the edge of the bed, Tangerine's hand still clasped in yours.

"I didn't mean to," he replies, a weak smile playing on his lips. "But I guess I did give that Burberry suit a run for its money."

You manage a small laugh, tears of relief filling your eyes. "I guess I owe you a new shirt," you say, your voice breaking with emotion as you remember ripping it off him to stop the bleeding.

"And i owe you a pristine car cleaning," he replies, squeezing your hand tightly, his smile widening.

Your laughter fades and you sit in silence for a moment, gathering your courage. You know that now is the time to speak your heart. “Tan I—” you begin, but Tangerine interrupts, his expression soft.

"Thank you." He looks down for a second, watching his hand play with yours. “Sorry, you were saying,” he looks back up into your eyes.

You blink in confusion, feeling your cheeks flush. "Oh, erm… you don’t have to thank me. It’s... it’s part of the job." you mumble.

Tangerine’s grip on your hand tightens, his eyes never leaving yours. "It’s more than just a job to you, isn’t it?"

You swallow hard, the truth pressing against your lips. "Yes," you whisper, barely able to hold back the tears. "It’s more. So much more."

He nods, a bittersweet smile on his face. "Lemon might have hinted at it before, but I’ve suspected for a while."

A mixture of relief and embaressement washes over you. "Lemon and his big mouth," you mutter, a weak laugh escaping your lips.

Tangerine chuckles, but winces in pain. You scold him lightly. "Don’t laugh, you idiot. You need to rest."

He grins despite the pain, bringing his hand to your cheek. "Will you stay?"

You lean into his hand, feeling his touch. "I'll stay." you whisper, tears falling freely now.

Tangerine’s eyes soften, and he reaches out to brush a tear from your cheek. "I’ve been feeling the same way you know. For a while actually."

Your heart races, and you struggle to find your voice. "What?" Tangerine’s eyes flick between your eyes and your lips before he closes the gap, kissing you softly. The kiss is tender, filled with all the unspoken emotions you’ve both been holding back.

Its a clusterfuck, but someone might like it...

[pixzyn]

AFTER ALL, I’M STILL ECLIPSE.

  

The air in the abandoned factory is suffocating, filled with the sounds of whirring machinery, the faint hum of energy systems, and the echoes of footsteps on the cold, metal floor. Solar stands alone in the center of the cavernous space, his heart pounding. His eyes, though heavy with sorrow, are focused—focused on the twisted shape of his son. 

  

Jack—the son he raised, loved, and protected—now stands before him, a horrifying amalgamation of Negative star power and machine. His once innocent face is a mask of cold numbness, eyes glowing with a sinister purple light that speaks of unspeakable torment. His body is covered in shifting, adaptive-metallic armor, blades, and weapons that form and retract with every movement. His fingers are sharp, like claws, capable of slicing through steel. His speed is unreal, like a blur, his movements so fast they nearly defy the common eye. 

  

Solar, once a mechanic who built things with his hands, has no choice but to face his son as a weapon. He knows the truth—the boy he once called his son is gone, his mind shattered and enslaved by the sadistic figure lurking somewhere in the shadows, controlling everything. 

  

Jack smiles cruelly, his voice harsh, like a distorted echo of the person he used to be. “You’re too weak to save me. Thanks to my REAL father I’m better than I’ve ever been. Faster. Stronger. A soldier. A weapon.” 

  

Solar’s hands tremble, not from fear, but from the knowledge of what he must do. He’s always been good with machines, with creating, fixing, and modifying. But he never thought he would have to use those skills in this way. His eyes dart to a pile of scrap metal and tools nearby—pieces of discarded machinery from his workshop. He knows what he has to do. 

  

With a sudden motion, Jack vanishes, a blur of speed, faster than sound, and reappears behind his father. Solar barely manages to turn, just in time to raise a makeshift shield—a metal plate strapped to his arm, reinforced with jagged edges. Jack’s fist slams into it with bone-shattering force, sending Solar stumbling back, nearly losing his balance. 

  

“You can’t stop us!” Jack taunts, his body flickering with lightning-fast movements as he generates a blade from his forearm, its edge gleaming with deadly intent. “You never could.” 

  

But the Solar is quick—quicker than he’s ever been. He knows he has only one shot, one chance to end this. His hands fly to his utility belt, pulling out a few small, high-powered gadgets he’s cobbled together in the time he’s had since the Creator’s mind control first began to take hold of Jack. He pulls out a small device—a custom-made EMP emitter, something capable of disrupting electronic systems. He activates it. 

  

Jack freezes for a split second, his expression faltering. For just that moment, his movements slow, and his body hesitates. Solar takes his chance, moving with all the precision of a mechanic working on a delicate machine. He hurls himself toward a workbench nearby, pulling out a piece of industrial wiring—a sharp, electrified cable capable of delivering a paralyzing shock. Managing to dodge the electrical waves thanks to his mechanic gloves.

  

Jack, recovering quickly, charges again, his body shifting into a deadly whip-like mechanic appendage aimed straight for Solar’s throat. The mechanic , using all his strength, grabs the cable just as Jack closes in. With a swift motion, knowing his son’s body like the palm of his hand. He jams it into Jack’s exposed side, targeting a weak point—one of the few vulnerable spots left in the boy's body, where the mechanical systems are imperfect. 

  

For a brief, horrible moment, Solar eyes lock with his son’s, seeing the flicker of his son behind the cold, metallic eyes. Jack’s face twists in pain, confusion, and horror, as if the mind control is briefly cracking. 

  

Solar’s heart twists in agony, but he knows that the boy before him is no longer his son—not truly. He’s become a weapon, a puppet of something far worse. And if he doesn’t act now, if he doesn’t stop the boy, there will be no way to save him. 

  

Solar channels the remaining strength in his body, twisting the cable, sending a surge of electricity through his son’s systems. The boy jerks, his body convulsing violently, but still, he doesn’t stop. Solar, with tears streaming down his face, pulls out the final tool: a small but powerful magnetic pulse bomb he’d hidden on his body. It’s designed to short-circuit and destroy any form of advanced technology. Even the adaptanium couldn’t stand a chance.

  

With a grim expression, Solar places it on his son’s chest, activating it with the push of a button. Jack’s body reacts, shaking as the magnetic pulse begins to overload the mechanical systems that have been controlling him. 

  

Solar steps back, his breath ragged. He looks at his son, his heart breaking as the boy collapses to his knees. For a brief moment, the mind control flickers again, and Solar sees it. Negative star power starts leaking out of his body.—a flash of recognition, the boy he once knew, the one he loved. But it’s gone almost as quickly as it came, drowned by the dark power of the Creator. 

  

Jack’s body convulses one final time, as the devices and weapons within him shut down, his body now a twisted mass of broken machines and oil. He falls to the ground, his eyes no longer glowing with malice, but now dull and empty. 

  

Solar kneels beside him, feeling the coldness of the boy’s case, and the unbearable weight of what he’s just done. The pain in his heart is excruciating, but there’s no other choice. The son he knew is gone, lost to the horrors of the negative star power, and the only way to stop him from becoming an even greater weapon was to kill him. 

  

As Solar stands up, his hands trembling, he looks at the shattered remnants of his son—his final act of love, his final act of mercy. The sound of the creator’s laughter echoes from the shadows, but Solar has done what he had to do. 

  

And now, he’s left alone with the broken pieces of the boy he once called his son. 

  

The sound of Solar's breath is the only thing that fills the heavy silence in the abandoned factory. The EMP pulse hums softly in the background, the last lingering echo of the negative star power that once controlled his son. His heart aches with every beat, knowing the weight of what he’s just done. The boy he just grew to appreciate—the son he just started love—is now nothing more than a shattered shell, lying motionless before him. 

  

But then… something stirs. 

  

The mechanic's eyes snap open. The faintest tremor, like a pulse running through his son’s body, catches his attention. For a moment, the father freezes, his pulse quickening in hope and horror, unable to believe what he’s witnessing. 

  

The boy’s body shifts. It’s slow at first—his chest rises in a shallow breath, his fingers twitch slightly. His metallic limbs, once so efficient and deadly, now seem heavy and clumsy, the smooth movements interrupted by jerks as if the machinery within him is struggling to repair itself, to correct what the Solar’s final act had temporarily interrupted. 

  

Solar’s hands shake violently as he kneels beside Jack, barely able to breathe through the tightness in his chest. His eyes are wide, his face a mixture of disbelief, grief, and a glimmer of hope he never thought he’d see again. 

  

"Jack...?" The Solar’s voice cracks. He whispers it again, louder this time, filled with desperation, as if hoping to pull his son back from the precipice. "Please… please come back to me." 

  

There is a moment of stillness, almost unbearable silence, before the son’s lips twitch. Then, with great effort, Jack’s eyes—those eyes that were once so full of life, now clouded by the horrors he had been made to endure—slowly open. The unnatural glow that once illuminated them has faded, leaving behind only raw confusion and exhaustion. 

  

For the first time in what seems like an eternity, Solar is looking into the eyes of his son again, truly looking at him. And for a brief, fleeting moment, he sees the boy he built—the boy who laughed at the dinner table, the boy who had a bright future before him, the boy who had his whole life ahead of him. 

  

"…Dad?" The voice is broken, weak, barely a whisper. His son’s lips tremble, as if the words are struggling to form. "What… happened to me?" 

  

Solar’s heart cracks, and tears begin to blur his vision. He takes his Jack’s hand in his, trembling, his voice barely audible, as though he's afraid speaking too loudly might shatter this moment. "You were… you were taken, Jack. Controlled by the Creator, twisted into something you weren’t. I—" Solar’s words falter, his emotions overwhelming him. He struggles to continue, fighting against the lump in his throat. "I had to stop you. I had to… I had to save you. But the cost…" 

  

Jack’s head jerks slightly, pain coursing through his body as the realization begins to settle in. His eyes flicker with a painful understanding, and his hand tries to pull away from his father's grasp, weak and unsteady. “I… I killed people, didn’t I?” His voice cracks as the weight of his actions comes crashing down on him. His body shudders, a sob catching in his throat. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." 

  

“No, no,” Solar says, his voice filled with love and sorrow, not anger. "It wasn’t you. It wasn’t your fault." He holds the boy’s hand tighter, brushing Jack damp hair from his face. “You were taken from me. You’re still you. You’re still Jack!." 

  

Jack’s face twists in pain, his eyes now beginning to water as his body trembles violently from the damage done by the negative star power. He tries to sit up, but the effort is too much for him. The unnatural energy that once fueled him now seems to be gone, leaving him fragile and broken. 

  

Solar can see it now—Jack is slipping away. The Creator’s control had done irreparable damage to both his body and mind. His limbs are twitching uncontrollably, like the remnants of a system that can no longer function properly. His breathing grows shallower by the second, the energy fading from his body. 

  

Jack looks up at his father again, his gaze filled with sorrow, and perhaps the last bit of clarity he’ll ever know. “I’m sorry... I didn’t want to hurt anyone... I didn’t want to hurt you.” 

  

Solar presses his forehead against his son’s, tears falling freely now as the reality settles in. "I know. I know, Jack." His voice is barely a whisper, the pain of knowing the boy he saved will soon be lost again, the finality of it all gnawing at him. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to have to do this. But I would’ve done anything to bring you back… even if it meant losing you." 

  

Jack’s hand weakly clutches his father’s. "I… I love you, Dad..." His voice is faint, a whisper on the edge of his breath. "I’m... sorry. I can’t... stay." 

  

And just like that, as the final remnants of the negative star power fade away, his son’s body goes still. His hand goes limp in Solar’s grip. The last flicker of life and recognition in his eyes disappears, replaced by the emptiness of death. 

  

Solar closes his eyes, his entire body shaking with the agony of losing Jack for the second time. His hands cradle his son’s face one last time, gently brushing his forehead. "I love you too, son," he whispers, his voice barely audible as the weight of grief and relief hits him all at once. 

  

For a moment, it feels like time has stopped. Solar holds his son’s lifeless body, surrounded by the wreckage of what used to be a boy with limitless potential. There are no words left. No way to fix the brokenness between them. The heartache of what could have been and what never could be again is far too much to bear. 

  

And yet, in the silence that follows, as Solar holds Jack for the last time, there’s a final, fleeting thought. The negative star power may have stolen his son, but for a brief moment, he had his boy back. That’s all that matters now. 

  

_________________________________________________________________________________

Solar's hands are stained with dirt, Sun! Moon and Dazzle by his side. His fingers trembling as he gently lowers the lifeless body of his son into the freshly dug grave. The hole is not deep enough to erase the sorrow it holds, but it's deep enough to ensure his son rests in peace. His body, though broken by the horrors of the corruption of the negative star power, is still his son, and Solar will treat him with the respect and love he deserves. 

  

Solar’s breath catches as he gazes at his son one last time. The boy—now still and cold—has been returned to the earth, but Solar’s heart remains broken, raw, and exposed. With a solemn expression, he places the final layer of dirt over the grave, his hands working with an almost mechanical precision, despite the agony in his chest. 

  

The grave lies under the shade of a large tree—a place that had once been Jack’s favorite spot, where he and Dazzle would sit together and enjoy their youth, looking forward a promising future. Now it serves as a silent witness to the end of that future. Beside it lies another grave—the resting place of on of Jack’s bestest friends, Neptor, a boy who had been just as full of life and curiosity as Jack, taken too soon, and buried under this very tree. 

  

Solar pauses for a moment, his hands on the fresh mound of earth. He takes a deep, ragged breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of it all is suffocating. His son, had been lost in ways no parent should ever have to endure, twisted into a weapon, forced to carry out unspeakable acts, all controlled by a dark force beyond his reach. And now, the last remnants of the child he built are buried here, where the world can never again see the boy’s true potential. 

  

As he finishes covering the grave, his knees buckle. His hands grip the ground tightly, the feeling of emptiness clawing at him. The dirt is cold, the air thick with loss. He presses his palms against the earth, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. The tears fall freely now, mixing with the dirt beneath him. 

“Can I have a moment alone with him, please”. Solar says with a cracked voice.

“Yeah…su-sure…Solar.” Moon replied.

“Of course…take all the time you need”. Added Sun.

Dazzle reminds silent. Just following her own father and her uncle back to their house with piercing sorrow.

  

Then, amidst the suffocating grief, something snaps. 

  

Solar's hand clenches into a fist. 

  

A violent surge of emotion rises from the depths of his soul, a fury so intense it nearly blinds him. He’s spent the last moments of his life mourning, burying, accepting the cruel fate forced upon his family. But the man, the ANIMAL!—the one who caused this, the one who had twisted his son into a killing machine, the one who had orchestrated all of this—has not paid for his sins. 

  

Solar's mind flashes with memories—of the twisted figure standing behind the scenes, controlling his son like a puppet. He remembers the mocking voice, the cold, calculated promises, and the cruel laughter that echoed in his ears as the man turned his son into an instrument of destruction. 

  

The grip on his fist tightens so hard it almost hurts, but he welcomes the pain. He knows what he has to do. Revenge. 

  

The very thought of that thing—of the twisted creature that dared to control his case and oil—fills him with a burning rage, a rage that burns hotter than anything he’s felt before. The man responsible for this devastation must pay. His son’s death cannot go unpunished. The pain that has been inflicted on his family, on his son’s very soul, can never be forgotten, nor forgiven. 

  

A low growl escapes his throat, his body trembling with fury. He lifts his head to the sky, the cool air biting at his case as he stares into the horizon. His mind is consumed with thoughts of retribution—he will find that man, and he will make him suffer as he has made his son suffer. Solar knows he’s not the same man anymore. The gentle mechanic, the loving father, is gone. The loss of his son has forged something darker within him—something capable of unimaginable violence. 

  

His hands shake, but it’s no longer from grief. It’s from an all-consuming need for revenge. The loss of his son—his child, his world—has unlocked a ferocity within him that can no longer be contained. 

  

Solar stands, his legs unsteady at first, but his resolve hardening with every step. He takes one last look at the grave of his son, his heart breaking anew, but this time, a different emotion lurks beneath the surface. His son is gone, yes. But that man who caused this pain is still alive. He still breathes. He still walks the earth. 

  

Solar takes a deep breath, his eyes narrowing with cold fury. He knows exactly what he must do. No matter the cost, no matter the pain he must endure, he will make the Creator regret ever laying a hand on his family. 

  

He turns away from the grave, walking with purpose, every step driven by the promise of retribution. His body may be broken, his soul battered, but his mind is clear. 

  

He will find him. 

[teal-fiend]

A tiny who just wants to explore comes across a giant in a state.

content: g/t vore, multiple prey, implied fatal, unwilling prey, digestion, observer pov

–

You slip quietly into the room, your tiny footsteps barely making a sound on the cold, cemented floor. An abandoned warehouse. Or perhaps, to the giants, it was just a storage room. 

Either way, you liked to wander and sneak around places where you probably shouldn’t go. It was part of your borrower instincts, you’d say. Urban exploration is a fairly normal hobby anyway, for both giants and tinies. The point is, you weren’t looking for trouble. 

At first, everything looks normal for a condemned building—echo-y, dim, neglected, just the kind of place you’d been looking for.

But you have the sense that something isn’t right. A gut feeling—you can’t place it. You turn a corner and freeze.

A giant.

Your breath catches in your throat. The figure sprawled across the floor is immense, larger than any living being you’ve ever seen. From your minuscule perspective, the sheer scale of them is disorienting—no animal should be this large—it was like seeing a dinosaur; it should be extinct. It shouldn’t exist. But what really grabs your attention is their stomach.

It’s colossal.

You stare in shock at the massive, swollen curve of their belly, rising up like a hill in the center of the room. You’ve seen giants from afar, but never like this. Not up close, and not... like this.

The stomach is enormous—so much bigger than you, bigger than your car, even bigger than a house. It’s distended, rounded out in a tight, unnatural way that makes you start to realise something is wrong here. Are they sick?

The giant is passed out, their face relaxed in sleep, but their body tells a different story. Their stomach is so grotesquely distended, so unnaturally large, it looks painful.

And the sounds—oh god, the sounds. Despite any survival instinct you have, you inch closer, carefully stepping around their outstretched arm, your eyes fixated on their swollen midsection.

Deep, heavy gurgles reverberate from their gut, like the low rumbling of an earthquake, vibrating through the concrete beneath your feet. It’s so loud, so visceral, like standing next to an industrial machine. The noises make your skin crawl. Listen, as if in a horrible trance, to the groaning and churning of their stomach, struggling with whatever is inside.

And then, faintly, you catch something else.

Voices.

Your blood runs cold. Faint, muffled cries, barely audible beneath the thick layers of skin and muscle, but unmistakable. You edge closer, your eyes locked on the giant’s stomach, unable to look away. The voices are weak, but they’re there. It sets in with a sickening dread. There are people in there.

You take a step back, heart pounding in your chest as you realise what you’re hearing. The giant had eaten them—swallowed them whole, by the sound of it. You glance around the room; it’s still a nondescript warehouse interior. But you theorise the giant chose somewhere unassuming to hide while they...

Your stomach twists as you look back at the giant, their massive belly stretching up above you like a grotesque monument. You can’t help but imagine what it must be like inside, trapped in the tight, churning darkness of that giant’s gut, squeezed into the hot, suffocating space, with no way out. 

You can’t believe what you’re seeing—what kind of person would do this?

The giant shifts slightly in their sleep, letting out a long, low groan. You flinch, stepping back, but they don’t wake. Their face is slightly vexed; it seems like a fitful sleep; this might have been too much, even for them. 

But then, as you watch, their lips part, and a deep, thundering belch rolls out of their mouth. Their expression relaxes; it becomes peaceful even. They continue to lie there, completely unaware of the horror inside them. 

The noise is deafening, shaking the air around you. You cover your ears, the sound reverberating in your chest like a subwoofer, a reminder of just how enormous this body is compared to yours. The belch is loud and lazy, almost careless, like the giant’s body is simply responding to the meal. Their stomach seems to stir, and the deep gurgles return, louder this time, more ominous.

You take a shaky breath, your eyes locked on that unnaturally large belly. The skin is stretched so tight it shines under the dim natural light, and you can see the faintest bit of movement beneath the surface—small bumps, appearing here and there.

Your mind reels, trying to comprehend the scale of it all. The stomach is so large, so engorged, and those voices... There must be at least a dozen, maybe more, trapped inside. You can hear them still, faint and muffled, like they’re buried deep under layers of sound. How many people had the giant swallowed? And how did they catch them? 

You inch closer, trembling with fear and disbelief. From down here, the giant is like a living landscape, their body so vast it’s hard to take it all in. Their belly rises far above your head, towering over you like some grotesque monument. You reach out, not thinking, and place a hand against the tightly stretched skin. 

It’s hot, like an overheated computer, and you can even feel a constant whirring. You can feel deeper and stronger vibrations, which coincide with the audible gurgling.

The sheer size of it makes you feel so small, so utterly insignificant. And inside that massive gut are people—people like you. Only what, a metre or so from where your hand is placed. 

The giant lets out another soft groan in their sleep, and you jump, quickly stepping back again. Their body is so loud—every churn from the overstuffed organ is amplified to an almost unbearable degree. 

Your thoughts race, panic rising in your chest. You have to get out of here. This giant is dangerous—a predator unlike anything you’ve ever imagined. The predator is asleep now, but what happens when they wake up? 

You get the feeling that they wouldn’t still feel hungry...

But the fact that you’ve seen this means that you are a liability. You may be the only surviving witness to a terrifying crime. 

You glance back at the direction from which you came. Your heart thuds in your chest. You can still hear the voices—desperate sounds of those trapped inside the giant’s stomach. But there’s nothing you can do for them. You’re too small, too helpless. You can do more for them by escaping and letting the world know what happened. 

The giant stirs again, grumbling in their sleep, their bloated belly gurgling loudly, and you are once again frozen in place. You pray they don’t awaken. 

Another belch escapes their lips, still so resonant. You have to get out of here.

You take one last look at the monstrous sight in front of you—the giant, passed out on the floor, their stomach swollen beyond belief—and then you turn and run.

[liora-vespera]

In Love's Contract - Jungkook Oneshot

Genre: Angst, Fluff

Warning: non

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

Y/N wiped her damp hands on her skirt, nerves rolling through her as she stood outside the grand Jeon mansion. This wasn’t the life she had envisioned, but life rarely turned out as planned. Her mother’s weak smile and trembling hands were her only motivation to move forward. Her mother needed treatment, and this marriage was the price.

She had been Mr. Jeon’s secretary for over two years, and in that time, she had come to admire him for his professionalism and sharp intellect. When he suggested the marriage, promising to cover all medical expenses and ensure the best care for her mother, she hesitated for days. But with no one else to rely on and mounting hospital bills, she had agreed.

The door to the mansion opened, and the butler greeted her warmly. “This way, Miss Y/N. Mr. Jeon and Jungkook are waiting for you in the study.”

Her heart thudded. Jungkook. She’d heard whispers of him around the office. The prodigal son of Jeon Industries, he had spent years building a name for himself in the US. But his reputation in Korea was far from pristine. Stories of his wild parties, indulgences, and lack of interest in responsibility painted a stark contrast to his father.

Y/N entered the study, a spacious room lined with dark oak shelves and the faint scent of leather. Mr. Jeon smiled at her, his eyes kind. Next to him stood Jungkook, his expression unreadable. He was striking—broad shoulders clad in a crisp black shirt, sharp jawline, and piercing eyes that seemed to see through her. Yet, there was a coldness to him, an air of detachment that made her feel insignificant.

“Y/N,” Mr. Jeon began, “this is my son, Jungkook. I believe you two should get to know each other before the wedding.”

The word “wedding” hit her like a brick, and she forced a smile. “It’s nice to meet you, Jungkook.”

His gaze swept over her briefly before he nodded curtly. “Likewise.”

Mr. Jeon excused himself, leaving them alone in the room. The silence was heavy, and Y/N fidgeted with the hem of her blouse. She decided to break it. “I heard you just returned from the US. How was it there?”

He leaned against the desk, arms crossed, his demeanor nonchalant. “It was fine. I didn’t expect to come back to... this.”

The dismissal in his tone stung, but she pressed on. “I understand this arrangement isn’t ideal for either of us, but—”

“Let’s cut to the chase,” he interrupted, his voice sharp. “I’m not interested in this marriage. My father thinks tying me down will change me, but I have no intention of becoming the perfect son he wants. This is just a game to him.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “What are you saying?”

“I’ll go through with this for a year,” he said, his tone devoid of emotion. “One year to see what it’s like. If I hate it, we’ll part ways. If it’s tolerable... well, we’ll see. But don’t expect anything from me.”

Y/N stared at him, her world spinning. “A year? That’s all this is to you?”

He shrugged. “It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

Tears pricked her eyes, but she held them back. She wanted to storm out, to scream that she wouldn’t be a pawn in his twisted game. But then her mother’s frail face flashed in her mind.

“For my mom,” she whispered to herself. She looked up at him, determination hardening her features. “Fine. One year. But don’t expect me to make this easy for you.”

He smirked, as if amused by her defiance. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

---

The wedding came faster than she anticipated. It was grand, as expected of the Jeon family, but Y/N felt like a spectator in her own life. Jungkook played his part perfectly—smiling for the cameras, holding her hand, and even whispering sweet nothings during the vows. But when they were alone, the mask fell.

The first night in their shared home, he laid down the rules. “Don’t expect me to change. I’ll come and go as I please, and I don’t need you meddling in my life.”

Y/N crossed her arms. “And what about me? Do I get to have rules?”

“Do whatever you want,” he said with a shrug. “Just don’t embarrass me.”

---

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N settled into a routine. Jungkook was true to his word—he came home late, often smelling of alcohol, and left early without a word. She buried herself in work and focused on her mother’s treatment, visiting her every chance she got.

But it wasn’t easy. The loneliness of the mansion, the whispers of his escapades in tabloids, and the coldness in his eyes chipped away at her resolve. She tried to keep up appearances, attending events with him and smiling for the cameras, but behind closed doors, they were strangers.

One night, as she sat alone in the living room, the door slammed open. Jungkook stumbled in, clearly drunk. He looked at her, his gaze hazy but filled with something she couldn’t decipher.

“Why do you even bother?” he slurred. “Pretending like this matters?”

She stood, anger bubbling up. “Because it does matter—to me, at least. I didn’t ask for this, Jungkook, but I’m trying.”

“Trying?” he laughed bitterly. “Trying to play house with someone like me? Don’t waste your time, Y/N.”

Her fists clenched. “You’re right. This is a waste of time. But you know what? I made a promise, and I’m not breaking it. So, if you want to keep acting like a spoiled child, go ahead. But don’t drag me down with you.”

For a moment, he looked taken aback, as if no one had ever dared speak to him like that. Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared into his room.

---

Y/N lay awake that night, wondering how long she could endure this. One year felt like a lifetime, and yet, she couldn’t help but wonder if there was more to Jungkook than the cold, detached man he showed her.

She had no choice but to find out.

Six months had passed since Y/N and Jungkook’s wedding, and life in the Jeon household had settled into a rhythm. While their relationship was far from romantic, the hostility that once lingered between them had softened into something resembling companionship. Y/N continued to fulfill her duties diligently—making his breakfast, ironing his clothes, and keeping the house in order. Jungkook, though still distant, seemed to appreciate her efforts in his own quiet way.

But despite the small progress, Jungkook hadn’t changed much. His nights were often spent outside, indulging in the lifestyle his father disapproved of, and his mornings were hurried, a mere nod to Y/N as he grabbed his coffee and left. For Y/N, it was lonely, but she persevered, keeping herself busy with work and caring for her mother.

Then came the accident.

It happened on a rainy evening when Jungkook was driving back from a business dinner. The brakes had failed on a slick road, and his car collided with a divider. Y/N was in the middle of organizing papers in the study when Mr. Jeon called her. His voice trembled as he explained what had happened, and she rushed to the hospital, her heart pounding.

When she saw Jungkook, lying unconscious with cuts and bruises on his face, a lump formed in her throat. Despite his flaws and the emotional distance between them, the sight of him so vulnerable made her chest ache.

The doctors explained that while his injuries weren’t life-threatening, the impact had severely damaged his knee and hip, making it impossible for him to walk for the time being. “It will take about three months of rehabilitation for him to get back on his feet,” the doctor said.

Y/N nodded, her resolve hardening. “I’ll take care of him.”

---

The first few weeks after the accident were the hardest. Jungkook was bedridden, unable to move without assistance. Y/N stayed by his side, ensuring he was comfortable, feeding him, and even helping him with tasks that made her cheeks burn—like using the toilet and taking showers. At first, Jungkook resisted her help, his pride taking a hit every time she had to lift or support him.

“I can do it myself,” he muttered one day, attempting to sit up on his own but wincing in pain.

“Stop being stubborn,” Y/N said, her tone firm as she helped him adjust. “You’re not Superman, Jungkook. Let me help you.”

He sighed, frustration evident in his eyes, but he didn’t argue further.

As the days turned into weeks, a quiet routine emerged. Y/N spent her mornings helping Jungkook with his basic needs and feeding him breakfast. She guided him through his physical therapy exercises, encouraging him when he wanted to give up. In the evenings, they sat together in the living room, sometimes watching TV in comfortable silence, other times talking about trivial things.

For the first time, Jungkook began to see a side of Y/N he had ignored before. She was patient, strong, and compassionate, qualities that reminded him of his late mother. He hadn’t spoken about her to anyone in years, the pain of losing her still raw, but he found himself thinking of her whenever Y/N was around.

---

One particularly challenging day, Jungkook had struggled with his walking exercises, nearly collapsing from the effort. Frustrated and angry, he lashed out at Y/N.

“Why are you even doing this?” he snapped. “You don’t have to pretend to care.”

Y/N stared at him, her own exhaustion visible in her eyes. “I’m not pretending, Jungkook. I care because someone has to. And whether you like it or not, I’m your wife.”

Her words hung in the air, and for the first time, Jungkook couldn’t come up with a sarcastic retort. He simply looked away, guilt gnawing at him.

---

By the third month, Jungkook’s progress was remarkable. With Y/N’s constant support, he could walk short distances without crutches, and his confidence grew. Mr. Jeon often visited, expressing his gratitude to Y/N.

“You’ve done more for him than I ever could,” Mr. Jeon said one day, his voice heavy with emotion. “I’m thankful you’re here, Y/N.”

She smiled softly. “He’s stronger than he thinks, Mr. Jeon. He just needs someone to remind him.”

---

One chilly night, the first snow of the season began to fall. Y/N was curled up on the couch with a blanket, sipping tea, when Jungkook joined her. He had been walking more confidently lately, though he still favored his right leg.

“It’s cold,” he remarked, sitting down beside her.

She glanced at him, surprised he was choosing to sit with her instead of retreating to his room. “Do you want some tea?”

He shook his head, his gaze fixed on the snow outside. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quieter than usual. “You’ve done a lot for me these past few months.”

“It’s my duty,” she replied, though her tone lacked the usual detachment.

“No, it’s more than that,” he said, turning to look at her. His eyes softened, and for the first time, Y/N thought she saw a glimpse of the man behind the cold façade. “Thank you, Y/N. I mean it.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and she looked away, unsure how to respond.

As the night wore on, the cold crept into the room despite the heater. Jungkook, noticing Y/N shivering, grabbed the blanket and draped it over both of them. Their shoulders brushed, and the proximity made her cheeks warm.

“Are you always this warm?” he teased, his voice lighter than she’d ever heard it.

She laughed softly, a sound that surprised even herself. “Maybe you’re just cold.”

They sat like that for a while, their breaths mingling in the quiet room. The physical closeness felt natural, but the emotional distance still loomed. Y/N wondered if this newfound warmth between them was a sign of something deeper or just a fleeting moment of comfort.

---

As the night deepened, the room grew quieter, with only the soft sound of snow tapping against the window. Jungkook turned to Y/N, his gaze lingering on her face longer than usual. There was something different in his eyes—something she couldn’t quite decipher but felt drawn to.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

She looked at him, her breath hitching under the intensity of his stare. His hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face, and the simple touch sent a shiver down her spine.

The cold outside seemed to disappear as the warmth between them grew, a silent understanding passing between them. He leaned closer, his movements slow and deliberate, giving her the space to pull away if she wanted to. But she didn’t.

In that quiet, snow-filled night, the walls that had kept them apart for so long began to crumble. The distance between them faded, replaced by an unspoken connection. As the blanket fell to the floor and the fire in the hearth crackled softly, they found solace in each other, crossing the fragile boundary that had kept their hearts guarded.

It was a moment of vulnerability, a step into the unknown, and while it wasn’t clear where their hearts truly stood, for that night, they chose to let go of the doubts and simply be together.

—

The year had passed in what felt like the blink of an eye. Slowly but surely, Y/N and Jungkook had slipped into the rhythm of married life, their relationship evolving from cold strangers to something much warmer. They shared moments—cooking meals together, late-night conversations about everything and nothing, and even affectionate gestures that had once seemed impossible.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was real. For Y/N, it had begun to feel like a true marriage. She thought, maybe, just maybe, this was the life they would continue building together.

But on the morning of their first anniversary, everything fell apart.

---

The Jeon household was lively that day, with Mr. Jeon joining them for breakfast. Y/N had dressed up in a simple yet elegant outfit, planning to visit the church afterward. Jungkook, seated at the head of the table, seemed unusually casual, chatting with his father and even cracking a few jokes. Y/N smiled, thinking that this was how family life should feel.

As they finished their meal, Jungkook leaned back in his chair and glanced at Y/N. “Are you ready to go home?” he asked casually, as though discussing the weather.

The room fell silent. The house chef froze mid-step, and the maid looked on in disbelief. Y/N’s heart plummeted, the meaning of his words striking her like a blow.

“Home?” she repeated, her voice barely audible.

Jungkook, oblivious to the shift in the room’s atmosphere, nodded with a faint smile. “Yeah. You’re dressed up already, so I thought it’d be a good time. I’ll drop you off.”

Her gaze darted to Mr. Jeon, whose face had darkened with disapproval. “Jungkook,” his father began, his tone firm, “what are you talking about? You can’t seriously mean this.”

But Jungkook didn’t seem fazed. “We had a deal, didn’t we, Father? One year. It’s been a year. I think we’ve both fulfilled our ends of the bargain.”

Y/N felt her throat tighten as tears welled in her eyes. She had thought—hoped—that their time together had meant something more to him. That their shared moments, their growing bond, had softened his resolve. But now, it was clear he hadn’t changed his mind at all.

“I’ll... pack my things,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“Y/N,” Mr. Jeon called, his voice laced with guilt and sorrow.

She shook her head, blinking back tears. “It’s fine, Mr. Jeon.” She stood and walked upstairs, her steps unsteady as her world crumbled around her.

---

Jungkook drove her to her apartment in silence, the air between them heavy. Y/N sat with her hands clenched tightly in her lap, her wedding ring digging into her palm. Jungkook, however, seemed completely at ease, even cheerful.

“You know,” he began, breaking the silence, “you won’t have to wait up for me anymore. You can finally sleep without worrying when I’ll come home.”

Y/N said nothing, her gaze fixed out the window.

“And if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to call,” he added. “Seriously, Y/N, you’ve been great this past year. I mean it. You deserve someone who can give you more than this arrangement.”

When they reached her apartment, Jungkook parked the car and turned to her. “Do you want to take anything from the house? It’s yours too, after all.”

Y/N finally looked at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She slipped off her wedding ring, holding it in her palm. “This is all I want,” she said quietly.

For the first time that day, Jungkook faltered. His casual demeanor cracked as he stared at the ring in her hand. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out.

Y/N stepped out of the car, clutching the ring tightly. She didn’t look back as she walked into her apartment building, her vision blurred by tears.

---

Back in the car, Jungkook sat motionless, staring at the empty passenger seat. For a moment, the weight of his decision pressed down on him in a way he hadn’t anticipated. He had thought she would be relieved, maybe even happy to leave behind the marriage that had started as nothing more than a contract. But the look in her eyes, the quiet heartbreak she carried as she walked away, lingered in his mind.

For the first time in his life, Jungkook felt something unfamiliar—regret. But by then, Y/N was already gone.

—

The morning after Y/N left, Jungkook woke up to the eerie silence of his home. The usual warmth of the kitchen, where Y/N would hum softly while preparing breakfast, was gone. Instead, the quietness wrapped around him, unsettling and cold.

He walked into the kitchen, and the chef handed him a cup of coffee, the same way he had for years before Y/N entered his life. Jungkook took a sip but immediately frowned. It was bitter, not the comforting blend Y/N had made just right every morning.

“Is something wrong, sir?” the chef asked, noticing his reaction.

Jungkook shook his head, setting the cup down. “No, it’s fine,” he muttered, but the emptiness in his tone betrayed him.

As the day unfolded, Jungkook found himself distracted at work. Memories of Y/N lingered in his mind—the way she smiled softly when she handed him his tie in the mornings, her shy blush whenever he teased her with a kiss, the way she’d wave goodbye from the doorway, her eyes full of quiet hope.

He had once found these gestures unnecessary, even annoying. Now, he realized how much they had become a part of his life, grounding him in ways he hadn’t understood until they were gone.

---

Meanwhile, Y/N was determined to rebuild her life. Her mother, fully recovered now, supported her decision to move forward. “You don’t have to stay in a situation where you’re not valued,” her mother had told her when Y/N returned home. “You’ve done more than enough.”

Y/N nodded, her resolve firm. She reached out to an old friend who owned a small company and secured a job there. It wasn’t as prestigious as working for the Jeon family business, but it was honest work, and that was all she needed.

When Y/N had first told her mother about the marriage, her mother had been hesitant. “Are you sure about this?” she had asked, worried for her daughter’s future. But Y/N had reassured her, explaining the deal she had made with Mr. Jeon for her mother’s treatment.

Now, seeing the pain in Y/N’s eyes, her mother regretted supporting the decision. “You deserved better than this, Y/N,” she said one evening as they sat together.

“I know,” Y/N replied softly. “But I’m going to be okay now. I just need to move on.”

Her mother nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. She couldn’t help but feel guilty, knowing that Y/N had sacrificed so much for her.

---

Jungkook’s life, on the other hand, began to feel increasingly empty. Even the things that once brought him comfort—his nights out with friends, the fleeting company of women—now felt hollow. The house that Y/N had filled with warmth and life seemed unbearably cold without her.

He caught himself lingering in the spaces she had once occupied. The kitchen counter where she brewed his coffee, the hallway mirror where she’d check her reflection before heading out, the bedroom closet now half-empty without her clothes.

One morning, as he stood in front of the mirror adjusting his tie, his hands faltered. He realized he missed her small hands fixing it for him, her gentle smile as she whispered, “There, perfect.”

It was in these moments that Jungkook began to acknowledge the truth he had been avoiding: he missed Y/N. More than that, he regretted letting her go.

---

For Y/N, the process of moving on was slow but steady. She threw herself into her new job, making friends among her colleagues and even attending social events to regain a sense of normalcy.

She refused to let herself dwell on the past, though memories of Jungkook occasionally surfaced. She thought of his rare, genuine smiles, the quiet moments they had shared, and the fleeting hope she had once felt for their relationship. But those memories only fueled her determination to leave him behind.

She had given her all to their marriage, and he had discarded her without a second thought. Now, she was determined to live for herself.

---

Back at the Jeon estate, Mr. Jeon couldn’t ignore the change in his son. Jungkook was quieter, more irritable, and noticeably restless.

“You miss her, don’t you?” Mr. Jeon asked one evening over dinner.

Jungkook looked up sharply, startled by the question. “What are you talking about?”

His father sighed, setting his fork down. “You think I haven’t noticed? You’ve been lost ever since she left. Y/N was good for you, Jungkook, but you were too blind to see it.”

Jungkook opened his mouth to retort but found himself unable to deny the truth. That night, as he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, the weight of his father’s words sank in.

He had thought Y/N’s departure would be a relief, that he could return to his old life without complication. Instead, her absence had created a void he couldn’t ignore.

For the first time in his life, Jungkook felt truly alone. And for the first time, he wondered if it was too late to make things right.

—

Jungkook could no longer endure the void Y/N's absence had left in his life. He had spent days questioning his decisions, replaying every moment they had shared, and realizing how deeply he had wronged her. With a renewed determination, he decided to win her back.

The next morning, he drove to Y/N’s apartment. When her mother answered the door, her expression instantly turned cold.

“Why are you here?” she asked sharply, blocking the doorway.

“I need to speak with Y/N,” Jungkook said, his voice steady but laced with guilt.

“You’ve done enough already,” her mother snapped. “You think you can just walk back into her life after breaking her heart?”

“I know I made a mistake,” Jungkook admitted, lowering his gaze. “But I love her. I didn’t realize it until she was gone, and now I’m here to make things right. Please, I just want a chance to talk to her.”

Her mother’s eyes narrowed. “Do you even know what she’s been through? She gave up so much for you, for that ridiculous contract. And you threw her away like she meant nothing!”

Jungkook’s jaw tightened. “I know I don’t deserve her forgiveness, but I want to try. Please, Mrs. Y/L/N. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

Her mother studied him for a long moment, her anger softening as she saw the sincerity in his eyes. She sighed heavily, stepping aside. “Fine. But if you hurt her again, Jungkook, I won’t forgive you.”

---

Y/N returned home a little while later, carrying groceries and humming softly to herself. Her smile vanished the moment she saw Jungkook sitting in the living room with her mother.

Her expression turned cold. “What are you doing here, Mr. Jeon?” she asked, her tone sharp and mocking.

Jungkook winced at the formality but stood up. “Y/N, I came to—”

She held up a hand, cutting him off. “If you’re here to say something about the contract, save it. It’s over. I’m not part of your life anymore.”

He stepped closer, desperation flashing in his eyes. “Y/N, please, just listen to me. I don’t want the contract anymore. I don’t want a year, or two years, or any kind of arrangement. I want you. I want us.”

She scoffed, dropping her groceries on the counter. “Us? There was never an us, Jungkook. I was just a convenience for you, a way to get your father off your back. I won’t go back to being something you can pick up and discard whenever you feel like it.”

“That’s not true!” he protested. “I didn’t realize it back then, but I—”

“Enough!” she shouted, her voice trembling with anger and pain. “You don’t get to come here and act like you care now. You didn’t care when I was there, trying to make it work, trying to love you.”

The room fell silent except for her labored breaths. She turned away, walking toward her room.

But before she could get far, Jungkook grabbed her wrist gently, his eyes pleading. “Y/N, don’t do this. I love you. I know I don’t deserve you, but please... come back.”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she yanked her hand away. “I’m not something that can be bought in a store, Jungkook,” she said coldly. “I don’t need you. I can take care of myself.”

The argument grew more heated, their voices rising as they hurled their frustrations at each other. Suddenly, Y/N’s face went pale, and her knees buckled.

“Y/N!” Jungkook shouted, catching her before she hit the floor. Her mother screamed, rushing to her side as Jungkook carried her to the car and sped to the hospital.

---

Hours later, the doctor emerged with a smile. “She’s fine. Just some stress and exhaustion. But there’s something else.”

Jungkook and her mother exchanged worried glances. “What is it?” he asked anxiously.

“She’s pregnant,” the doctor announced. “About two months along.”

The words hit Jungkook like a tidal wave. His mind raced back to the moments they had shared—moments of intimacy that now seemed all the more significant. A surge of joy and relief coursed through him.

“It’s my child,” he whispered, his lips curving into a smile.

Inside the room, Y/N sat on the hospital bed, her expression blank as the doctor explained her condition. When Jungkook walked in, his face lit up with a mixture of guilt and joy.

“Y/N,” he began softly, sitting beside her. “We’re going to have a baby.”

She turned to him, her eyes cold. “I’m going to have a baby. You don’t have to worry, Jungkook. I can take care of my child on my own. I don’t need you.”

His smile faltered. “But I want to be there. For you. For our baby.”

“You’re not even my husband anymore,” she said sharply, her words cutting like a knife.

Jungkook reached for her hand, but she pulled it away. “Y/N, I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but please, let me be part of this. I love you, and I’ll do whatever it takes to prove it to you.”

Her eyes softened momentarily, but she quickly steeled herself. “You had your chance, Jungkook. I gave you everything, and you threw it away. This baby is the only thing that matters now.”

As she turned away, Jungkook felt a pang of heartbreak but refused to give up. For the first time, he truly understood what it meant to fight for someone—and he wasn’t going to stop until he earned Y/N’s trust and love again.

—

It had been seven months since Y/N had walked away from Jungkook, choosing to focus on her pregnancy and her independence. Despite the challenges, she had built a new life for herself, working hard and preparing for her baby’s arrival. Jungkook, however, had not given up.

He had spent months strategizing, determined to win her back. He knew Y/N’s pride and stubbornness wouldn’t let her forgive him easily, but he was willing to do whatever it took.

---

One morning, Y/N arrived at her office, ready to tackle another busy day. As she entered the building, she noticed an unusual buzz of excitement among her colleagues.

“What’s going on?” she asked a coworker.

“The company has been sold!” they replied eagerly. “We’re meeting the new CEO today!”

Y/N’s heart sank, unsure of how this change would affect her position. She made her way to the lobby, where the entire staff had gathered with bouquets to welcome their new leader.

As she stood among the crowd, her friend—the former owner of the company—stepped forward with a broad smile. “Everyone, please welcome the new CEO, Mr. Jeon Jungkook!”

Time seemed to freeze for Y/N. She stood rooted to the spot as Jungkook entered the room, exuding the same confidence and charisma that had once drawn her to him. He was dressed in a sharp suit, his expression calm and composed as he accepted handshakes and bouquets from the staff.

Her heart pounded in her chest as he approached her. His dark eyes locked onto hers, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them.

“Y/N, it’s your turn,” someone whispered behind her, nudging her forward.

Swallowing hard, she stepped up, holding out the bouquet reluctantly. Her hands trembled slightly as he took it, their fingers brushing. Jungkook reached out for a handshake, and she hesitated, her mind screaming at her to turn away.

“Shake his hand, Y/N,” his assistant said gently, sensing the tension but remaining professional.

Y/N had no choice. She extended her hand, and as soon as their palms touched, Jungkook’s fingers curled around hers in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t just a handshake—it was deliberate, intimate, and far too familiar.

Her eyes widened, but she quickly masked her reaction, pulling her hand away as soon as was polite. Around them, no one seemed to notice the subtle exchange, distracted by the introduction of their new CEO.

Jungkook’s gaze lingered on her, his lips curving into a subtle smirk that only she could decipher. It was the same look he had given her in the past, the one that always preceded moments of closeness.

Y/N’s chest tightened with a mix of anger and unease. She turned and walked back to her desk, her mind racing.

---

For the rest of the day, Y/N tried to avoid Jungkook, keeping her head down and focusing on her work. But his presence was impossible to ignore. His voice carried through the office as he spoke with authority, and she couldn’t help but feel his eyes on her whenever he passed by.

When she finally managed to sneak away for lunch, she found herself face-to-face with him in the breakroom.

“Y/N,” he greeted smoothly, leaning casually against the counter.

“What do you want, Jungkook?” she asked, her voice cold.

“I’m your boss now,” he said, his tone teasing but firm. “Shouldn’t you address me as ‘Mr. Jeon’?”

Her jaw clenched. “What are you doing here?”

He stepped closer, his voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. “I’m here for you.”

She scoffed, turning away. “You can’t just buy a company to get close to me.”

“Why not?” he replied, unbothered. “I’ve already made it clear—I want you back, Y/N. And I’m not giving up.”

She spun around to face him, her eyes blazing with anger. “You don’t get to decide that! You don’t get to waltz back into my life like nothing happened. I don’t need you, Jungkook. I’ve been fine on my own.”

His gaze softened, but there was determination in his eyes. “I know I hurt you, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making up for it if I have to. But I’m not going anywhere. Not this time.”

Y/N shook her head, her emotions swirling. “You don’t get it, do you? I’m not the same person I was before. I’m stronger now. And I don’t need you to take care of me or my baby.”

“Our baby,” he corrected gently, his voice firm. “And I know you don’t need me. But I want to be there—for both of you. Please, Y/N. Let me prove that I’ve changed.”

Her eyes filled with tears, but she refused to let them fall. “It’s too late, Jungkook.”

As she walked away, Jungkook watched her go, his heart aching but his resolve unwavering. He had a long road ahead, but he was willing to fight for Y/N—for their family. And he wasn’t about to give up now.

—

The office was unusually lively that morning. Employees bustled around, laughing and chatting as they shared chocolates and opened their unexpected bonuses. The source of the excitement? Jungkook, who had personally ensured that everyone in the company celebrated his wife's birthday—a wife none of them had met, or so they thought.

Y/N, sitting at her desk, overheard the chatter and felt her blood boil. She had explicitly told Jungkook to keep his distance, but this was a blatant attempt to undermine her wishes. When she saw Jungkook’s assistant and some familiar faces from his old company personally distributing the gifts, she had enough.

Stomping into his office, she pushed the door open without knocking, startling Jungkook, who was lounging on the couch with his legs crossed. He looked up with a lazy smirk as she marched in, fire in her eyes.

“Jungkook!” she snapped, slamming the door shut behind her.

He leaned back, arms crossed casually, and raised an eyebrow. “Ah, my wild cat has arrived. To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Stop calling me that!” she hissed, ignoring the heat that rose to her cheeks. “What are you doing? Bonuses, chocolates, announcing my birthday to the entire office? You promised to stay professional!”

Jungkook shrugged, unbothered. “It’s your birthday. Shouldn’t the world celebrate the woman who makes my life better?”

Her jaw dropped. “I’m not—” She stopped herself, taking a deep breath. “I want to resign. Effective immediately.”

Jungkook’s smirk faltered, replaced by a more serious expression. “You’re not resigning, Y/N.”

“Oh, yes, I am!” she retorted, stepping closer. “You can’t keep using this company to meddle in my life!”

He tilted his head, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “You look so hot when you’re mad. Like a wild cat ready to pounce.”

“Jungkook!” she shouted, her face flaming.

Before she could continue, she suddenly winced, clutching her belly as a sharp pain radiated through her body. A soft moan of discomfort escaped her lips, and her anger turned into worry.

Jungkook was on his feet in an instant, his teasing demeanor gone. “Y/N, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I… it’s just pregnancy pain,” she mumbled, trying to steady herself. But the pain didn’t subside, and she felt tears prick her eyes.

“Sit down,” Jungkook said firmly, guiding her to the couch. She resisted briefly but gave in as another wave of discomfort hit her.

He crouched in front of her, his face full of concern. “I’m getting some help.”

“No,” she said quickly, her voice shaky. “It’ll pass. Just… help me relax.”

Without hesitation, Jungkook grabbed a small bottle of olive oil from his desk drawer.

“Why do you have olive oil in your office?” she asked, her voice strained but curious.

“Emergency skincare,” he replied, deadpan, though his focus was entirely on her.

Before she could protest, he gently unbuttoned the bottom of her shirt, exposing her round belly. His touch was surprisingly tender as he poured a small amount of oil onto his palms and began to massage her belly in slow, soothing circles.

Y/N’s breath hitched, partly from the relief and partly from the intimacy of the moment. Jungkook’s hands moved expertly, his fingers warm and gentle against her skin.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured, his voice soft and full of emotion. “I’ve got you.”

As the pain began to subside, he moved to massage her shoulders and legs, his touch firm yet careful. His eyes glistened with unshed tears, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how deeply he cared.

“Why are you crying?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Because I can’t stand seeing you in pain,” he admitted, his gaze dropping to her belly. “You’re carrying our baby, Y/N. You’re doing this all on your own, and I…” He trailed off, his voice cracking.

Y/N’s heart softened as she watched him cradle her bump gently, his fingers splayed protectively across her skin.

The baby kicked suddenly, and Jungkook’s eyes widened in awe. “Did you feel that?” he asked, his voice filled with wonder.

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at her lips. For the first time in months, she saw the man she had fallen in love with—the man behind the arrogance and teasing.

Without thinking, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. The kiss was soft and tentative at first, but it quickly deepened, both of them pouring months of unspoken emotions into that single moment.

When they finally pulled apart, Jungkook rested his forehead against hers, his voice barely above a whisper. “Does this mean you’ll stay?”

She chuckled softly, her cheeks flushed. “Only if you promise to stop calling me a wild cat in front of people.”

He grinned, his dimples appearing. “Deal. But behind closed doors?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, playfully swatting his arm. “We’ll see.”

As the tension dissolved into laughter, the two of them realized that the wall between them had finally come down. They weren’t just co-parents or ex-spouses anymore—they were partners, ready to face whatever the future held together.

END.

[beehiveofblorbos]

Happy birthday Maizono Sayaka!!

I wasn’t prepared (sorry my love 😭) so please have this WIP Sayaka art. it’s not good but it’s what I have for her

This girl is honestly what hooked me into DR. Before there was Kokichi, or Kaede, or Tsumugi, I loved her and Makoto. She is probably my second or third favorite out of DR1. She also kinda hooked me into learning about idols!! She’s one of my favorite characters to analyze; everything about her is short and sweet and COMPLETE. Here is my favorite analysis I’ve done for her:

Early in the killing game, Sayaka Maizono makes a strong showing. She presents a cheerful face, strong people skills, and strong work ethic to everyone. She cooperates with the group, investigating and getting on well with most of the cast. I don’t believe this was a lie. Just the automatic public manner that Sayaka is required to have as the Ultimate Pop Sensation (or the Ultimate Idol). Additionally, Sayaka is the type of person who had a near impossible dream to become the kind of idol who could make people smile (the Japanese idol industry is vicious, something I’ll circle back to). She’s a dreamer and a determinator. Someone with that sort of goal isn’t inherently malicious: just takes opportunities where they come.

I don’t believe Sayaka actually made up her mind to murder until after the motive videos were shown, for reasons I’ll explain later. She was simply accounting for the possibility that she may need to defend herself when she grabbed the golden sword. She was extremely paranoid due to the years she’s spent mired in the idol industry, where no one was to be trusted. Of course she wanted a way to defend herself; it also helped her link up with Makoto, who she had been so excited to see again she remembered him through multiple years of not interacting and a mindwipe.

Once judging that she couldn’t use the sword effectively, she gave it to Makoto. I genuinely believe, for this reason, that she did trust Makoto: why else would she equip him with weaponry he could use to defend himself? Makoto was a known entity, where everyone else is unknown: even outside of a killing game, it’s natural that you become close with those you know. Plus, she clearly had cared about him for a long time. I mean, they’d just had their memories wiped, and before then it had been at least a year since she’d seen him (and years since that encounter that first caught her eye). She wanted him to be safe almost as much as she wanted to secure her own self, and she certainly thought they could help each other by relying on each other. Plus, she looked up to him and the pure kindness he’d displayed that day. I believe that Sayaka wanted to emulate that kindness and become a better person than who she saw herself as.

The Japanese idol industry, again, is absolutely vicious. The horrific things idols force their bodies to push through are unbearable for anyone with a faint heart or weak will. Everyone, even within the group, is constantly competing to stay relevant and keep their career on the ups and ups. Public opinion and interest is often fickle, but it is these people’s livelihoods to do whatever it takes to stay relevant. Sayaka admits something in that regard, saying she had to do horrible things to get where she was. This is the kind of world she THRIVED in, but it doesn’t mean she enjoyed it. That, after all, is why she wanted to reach her hand out to Makoto: because his actions showed that there were people who lived outside that world, and didn’t constantly act with a mask.

Once the motive videos are shown… Sayaka freaks. The motive videos are shown three days into the killing game; this is not a long time, but long enough to light a fire in Sayaka’s mind. After all, the first floor is only so big. After three days of investigating and finding nothing, she may have been slightly desperate already. On top of that, previously she may have thought her group would be doing something to find her. However, after she sees her group in trouble, that means there’s no one left to keep the public attention. No one to continue rising the star of the career that has been Sayaka’s life work. She struggled, she suffered for that career, and her entrapment in the school is taking it away from her right before her eyes. (I also do believe she cared for her idol group and its members as well; their relationships were complicated, but I do think she loved them, though I have no proof to support this).

So what would the Ultimate Idol do? To become the Ultimate Idol, it’s natural to be extremely good with people, physically fit to a not-insignificant degree, sing/dance well, be an expert at manners and how to present yourself, and be willing to do whatever it takes to advance your career. And that’s exactly what Sayaka did: whatever it took. While killing someone is a big step, after the motive videos she may have considered it necessary: just another stepping stone over which her career may shine. If only she could do it.

She had already reached out to Makoto as someone who could protect and defend her throughout the game, someone she knew was naturally kind and went out of his way even to help a hurt swan. It was a simple step to manipulate someone who had a clear crush on her (someone like Kuwata Leon, who notably only uses -chan for Maizono Sayaka. Someone like Kuwata Leon, who wants to get into the music industry and doesn’t think he needs to put in the same sacrifice and work that Sayaka knows so well).

Even so, at the moment of truth, she hesitated before attacking Leon. She was a girl who wanted to put smiles on people’s faces. How had she come to this? Perhaps she thought of her bandmembers. Perhaps she steeled her resolve with all the horrible things she’d done already. Her group was counting on her: she was the only one left! She had to do something! She could NOT die here!!!

And when her attack on Leon failed, she hid herself in the bathroom. The worst, the unacceptable outcome would be to allow herself to die. Then her group truly wouldn’t have any hope. Then her life’s work truly would be dead. Somehow Leon makes it in and corners Sayaka in there. With her lifeblood, she reaches out and attempts to help the living students (Makoto, who had promised to protect her) who will have to discover her body.

Sayaka’s entire character is extremely well demonstrated throughout her actions in chapter 1. She’s clearly fleshed out and her character perfectly befits her talent and expands on it. Her arc is tight and flawless, using even her death to characterise her and give her agency instead of making her a simple victim. She wanted better for herself, but put sacrifice and her dreams first always. She valued her life, and she wanted to escape because her work encompassed her entire life. She wanted to be a better person, and she wavered.

I love her for all of that.

[strangewrita]

Pure Love chapter 1

If Tony Stark was kidnapped at the age of fifteen and returned, and accidentally sent his father to prison, what kind of person would he become?

　　If Tony was kidnapped by terrorists in Afghanistan at the age of fifteen, and after an epiphany, he went home and personally sent his father to prison, and his mother keeps in the cold war with him. He desperately desires to be loved, so he invested himself in super baby manufacturing technology. He extracted cells from his own heart, edited the cells, and implanted them into his own artificial womb. He gave birth to a child after six months of pregnancy and named him Peter at Tony’s 24.

　　

　　The worst part of having a mental illness is people expect you to behave as if you don't.

　　Tony is not a psyche ofcourse. He wasn't, before His fifteen birth day.

　　----------

　　It was a hot, yellow sandy day full of insects. Fifteen-year-old Tony was forced by a group of people with rifles to walk on an unknown Gobi Desert.

　　They continued to walk ahead, passing through the cracks in the sky and the mountains made of loess. It was dry and hot here, making people feel like they were about to faint. Water was an extremely scarce resource.

Tony's hands were tied behind his back, with a burly man pressing him down so he couldn't lift his head.

"Be obedient, American," the mercenary with a Middle Eastern face shouted rudely.

"Observers-White Skull, are you in position?" A thin-faced man from the Skull Squad communicated with someone who seemed to be his superior through an earpiece.

"Almost there." White Skull suddenly grabbed Tony—Tony instinctively tensed up, then White Skull untied him and handed him a pair of binoculars.

Tony was pushed to a depression in the gravelly terrain, a place with a clear view of the open wasteland ahead.

"Your moment of merit has arrived, kid. Help me find a man in a red shirt, and maybe we'll spare your life," the mercenary said.

Resistance meant certain death. Tony pragmatically picked up the binoculars.

"I... I see him. He's surrounded by many armed people," Tony tried to control his trembling.

"Found him."

"Stark missile, launch."

The view was less a military outpost and more like a village. There were militiamen, women, and children.

They were all destroyed in an instant by a single missile.

"Now you're one of us, Stark's little brat," White Skull said before leaving.

Tony took a few steps back and collapsed onto the sandy ground, his knees weak.

A few minutes later, he realized he had helped the mercenaries confirm the target, consequently killing dozens of lives.

He began to shake violently, looking at his hands, which seemed stained with blood that couldn't be washed away.

Tony was dragged deeper into a civilian area in Afghanistan. Before departing, he saw the missile launch control vehicle, prominently displaying the Stark family logo.

"Your dad made them, right?" White Skull turned back and smiled at Tony.

They then entered into a guerrilla warfare with civilians, seemingly with a plan to capture a wanted target—an Afghan oil baron—which is why they hadn't bombed the entire slum.

Tony hid in a corner of a tent. He hadn't eaten for two days, only finding some leftover liquor from terrorists. The true nature of his family's business as brutal arms dealers almost froze his stomach.

The entire mercenary group led by White Skull was using weapons produced by Stark Industries. They used these to massacre innocent civilians and local Afghan armed forces.

Tony's barely functioning brain suddenly conjured a thought: ISIS?

"We can't leave him in the car. He'll definitely be captured, falling into those bastards' hands. Better to kill him," a mercenary yelled.

"We're short on people. Strap explosives on him. The Stark family isn't that valuable."

Tony was wrapped with a 25-pound bomb and pushed into the slum.

The ISIS method of human bombs. Tony slowly came to his senses—if anyone approached their current hideout, the explosives on him would detonate.

To survive, he needed to find the person controlling the bomb.

An intense gunfight broke out, and Tony trembled in fear. He wasn't a cowardly teenager—or rather, he was somewhat reckless. At four, he learned to assemble circuit boards. At fourteen, he entered MIT. On the first day of his fifteenth year, he became a prisoner.

Surprisingly, the bomb on him didn't explode. Was the person controlling the bomb shot? But who just arrived? Footsteps outside. Tony crawled under the bed. Taliban? ISIS enemies? People often have a cognitive bias that the enemy of an enemy seems like an ally.

The newcomers pulled Tony out from under the dirty bed. He struggled with all his might. Then they helped him remove the bomb.

"You wanna go with us?" Tony finally saw clearly—a group of women, not much older than him, around twenty.

Unexpectedly given a second chance, Tony's heart relaxed for a moment before realizing these village armed women were likely from the same community as those bombed kilometers away earlier.

Perhaps some of their family members were among the victims.

So Tony shook his head and closed his eyes.

He was a murderer. He had confirmed the bombing target. These were weapons manufactured by the Stark family. His father had taught him that justice meant having a bigger stick, but this stick had fallen into the hands of terrorists and extremists. Tony recalled his privileged life of the past decades, which now seemed built on the blood of innocent people.

War makes people dirty, but these female soldiers seemed fresh. Perhaps that's not an appropriate description. A soldier named Zhenya helped carry Tony out of the hideout.

They took him to a basement of a building not yet leveled by bombs and gave him hot lamb rice. In this region where water was scarce, they were willing to provide a precious hot meal to this teenage perpetrator.

Tony's mouth was full of lamb, his eyes reddening.

You've rescued the wrong person, he thought to himself, choking up.

"We're really short on people. If you can work, come help us break through the blockade," Zhenya told Tony.

She spread an old map on a dusty, crude table, as if they were in a World War I command center.

"We're a tribe composed of women who refuse to wear headscarves, sheltering women and minors. Where were you kidnapped from? Your kidnappers are an ISIS subsection—a fanatical far-right force. Their mission is to 'rescue' their leader's son. If successful, our area will be flattened by missiles," Zhenya quickly outlined the situation.

She drew a circle indicating ISIS's activity range. ISIS had surrounded and occupied the village, currently regrouping. Within the encirclement were the weakest—women and children with no military power. She then traced a thin, winding route with a stone as the breakthrough, aiming to escape and relay information to the garrison outside town, prompting them to use mortars to destroy ISIS's missile launch site.

However, the outdated mortars would alert the enemy, so they needed to capture ISIS personnel to obtain control station information.

This seemed almost impossible, Tony thought. Communication could be sent to the control center at any time.

The women pulled out an EMP.

Perfect.

The armed forces would place EMPs in several possible ranges, temporarily disabling systems, but the interception time was limited. During this window, they needed to locate the vehicle with the control station.

[markresview]

Why Market Research Firms in Dubai Are Essential for Business Growth

Running a business in Dubai’s dynamic market isn’t for the faint-hearted. It’s fast, competitive, and constantly evolving. To stay ahead of the curve, understanding what’s happening beneath the surface is crucial. This is exactly why market research firms in Dubai play such a vital role in driving business growth. They don’t just provide data – they offer insights that shape smarter decisions, minimize risks, and uncover hidden opportunities.

One of the biggest benefits these firms bring to the table is clarity. Without a clear picture of market trends, consumer behavior, and competitor strategies, businesses are essentially flying blind. Market research firms in Dubai gather, analyze, and break down complex information into digestible reports that business owners and managers can actually use. This level of understanding allows companies to make informed moves instead of relying on guesswork.

Consumer preferences shift faster than you might expect. What worked six months ago may no longer resonate with your audience today. By working with market research firms in Dubai, businesses can stay tuned into what their target customers want. Whether it’s through surveys, focus groups, or digital analytics, these firms help identify trends before they become mainstream, giving you a head start in adapting your products or services.

Competition in Dubai is fierce across almost every industry. Whether you're launching a tech startup or expanding a retail brand, understanding who your competitors are and what they’re doing is essential. Market research firms in Dubai offer competitive analysis that reveals strengths and weaknesses in rival businesses. This allows you to find gaps in the market or areas where you can outperform others. Knowing what to avoid or improve can be the difference between leading the pack and struggling to keep up.

Risk reduction is another huge reason businesses turn to these firms. Entering a new market or launching a new product comes with uncertainties. However, with proper market research, many of these risks can be anticipated and managed. Market research firms in Dubai conduct feasibility studies that evaluate the likelihood of success, ensuring businesses don’t pour resources into ventures that lack potential.

Strategic planning also heavily benefits from thorough market research. Companies can map out their growth path more effectively when they understand the economic landscape and customer demands. Market research firms in Dubai provide insight into the best regions to expand, the right pricing strategies, and even the best marketing channels to use. This kind of information empowers businesses to scale up confidently and sustainably.

Innovation thrives on data. Some of the most successful products are born from understanding pain points and unmet needs within the market. By collaborating with market research firms in Dubai, companies gain access to feedback directly from their audience. This not only helps improve existing products but also inspires new ideas that could potentially disrupt the market.

Moreover, brand positioning can make or break a business. It's not just about what you sell – it’s about how people perceive your brand. Market research firms in Dubai conduct brand perception studies that reveal how your business is viewed by the public. With this knowledge, you can tweak your branding and messaging to align more closely with the image you want to project.

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for November 29

Morning

“Walk worthy of the vocation wherewith ye are called.”

Ephesians 4:1-8 , Ephesians 4:11-32

So far from being ashamed of being shut up in a dungeon like a felon, Paul again repeats, as his choice title of honour, the words, “the prisoner of the Lord.” It is inexpressibly delightful to be allowed to suffer for him who suffered to the death for us. Paul uses his afflicted condition as an affectionate plea with the Ephesians to give heed to his counsel.

Ephesians 4:1-6

True believers are one; Christ has only instituted one church, he has quickened it with but one Spirit, and set before it one sole hope. The Lord is the alone Head of the church, she has not two Lords, neither has Jesus revealed more than one faith, or commanded any other than one baptism: hence believers should anxiously maintain unity, and endeavour each one to promote the good of the whole.

Ephesians 4:11-13

All the ascension-gifts come to us for the building up, not of many sects, but of the Lord’s one church. His choicest gifts are holy men, qualified for various gracious works, which they carry on for the perfecting of each believer, and of the whole body of the faithful.

Ephesians 4:24

Being made parts of a new body, of which the Lord Jesus is the head, we cannot act as we once did, or we should belie our profession altogether. Filthiness must be now abhorred, and holiness panted for; is it so with us?

Ephesians 4:26

We may be angry at wrong without sinning thereby, but if anger be a selfish resentment, it is always sinful, and if it lives beyond a day it cannot be justified. One of the hardest things in the world is to be angry and not to sin.

Ephesians 4:28

The cure for dishonesty is industry, and the remedy for a disposition to steal from others, is to learn to give to them.

Ephesians 4:29

Do we always attend to this? Are not some jests which are commonly heard very far from edifying?

Ephesians 4:32

Let this be written up in our chambers, and practised in every room in the house. What a heaven will our family then become.

Fill every part of me with praise,

Let all my being speak

Of thee and of thy love, O Lord,

Poor though I be, and weak.

So shalt thou, Lord, from me e’en me,

Receive the glory due;

And so shall I begin on earth

The song for ever new.

Lost in astonishment I see,

Jesus, thy boundless love to me;

With angels I thy grace adore,

And long to love and praise thee more.

Still may I view thee on the cross,

And all beside esteem but loss;

Here still be fixed my feasted eyes,

Enraptur’d with thy sacrifice.

Grace led my roving feet

To tread the heavenly road;

And new supplies each hour I meet

While pressing on to God.

Grace taught my soul to pray,

And made my eyes o’erflow;

‘Twas grace that kept me to this day,

And will not let me go.

Grace all the work shall crown,

Through everlasting days;

It lays in heaven the topmost stone,

And well deserves the praise.

Bless’d are the pure in heart,

For they shall see our God;

The secret of the Lord is theirs;

Their soul is Christ’s abode.

The Lord, who left the heavens

Our life and peace to bring,

To dwell in lowliness with men,

Their Pattern and their King;

He to the lowly soul

Doth still himself impart,

And for his dwelling and his throne

Chooseth the pure in heart.

Lord, we thy presence seek;

May ours this blessing be;

Give us a pure and lowly heart,

A temple meet for thee.

A fulness resides in Jesus, our Head,

And ever abides to answer our need;

The Father’s good pleasure has laid up in store,

A plentiful treasure to give to the poor.

Whate’er be our wants, we need not to fear;

Our numerous complaints his mercy will hear;

His fulness shall yield us abundant supplies;

His buckler shall shield us when dangers arise.

When troubles attend, or danger or strife,

His love will defend and guard us through life;

And when we are fainting and ready to die,

Whatever is wanting his hand will supply.

Worthy art thou, O dying Lamb?

Worthy, O bleeding Lord;

Eternal, Infinite, I AM,

Ceaseless to be adored!

Fulness of riches is in thee!

From thee all mercies spring:

And grace and love, divine and free,

And power enlivening.

Out of the deep of every heart,

Let praise to thee ascend:

Till thou to heaven shalt us translate,

Where praises never end!

Evening

“Be ye filled with the Spirit.”

Ephesians 5:1-21

Ephesians 5:1

followers or imitators

Ephesians 5:2

Here is a model at once so attractive and so perfect that we may love and copy it at the same time. We may not take the conduct of others for our model, and treat them as they treat us; the only pattern for a Christian is Christ.

Ephesians 5:3 , Ephesians 5:4

Sins of the tongue are fearfully common. Cheerfulness is a virtue, chaste pleasantries are the flowers of conversation, but those unholy allusions and unedifying jests which so often are commended as exceedingly clever should never obtain currency among the followers of the holy Jesus.

Ephesians 5:5

The covetous man is here placed in very disreputable company. This proves that the Holy Spirit judges lust for gold to be as vile a lust as any other; he sets the brand of Cain upon the brow of the greedy. We send missionaries abroad, and yet we do not sorrow over idolaters at home. If a man worships a god of gold, is he not quite as debased as if his idol were made of wood?

Ephesians 5:6-11

Avoid bad company. Choose only those for your friends who are also friends of God. How can we reprove sin if we take those who openly practise it to be our bosom friends?

Ephesians 5:14

Death hides in darkness, life loves light. We, therefore, who have spiritual life should never do anything which we should be ashamed to have published to the whole world. Christ has given us light, let us not hide it, neither let us shut our eyes to it.

Ephesians 5:15

Look all around, and be anxious that your conduct may do harm to no one, from any point of view.

Ephesians 5:19

Men filled with wine call for a song, and when believers are exhilarated by the divine Spirit they also should have their singing, but they must choose the songs of Zion, such as the Lord himself will account to be true melody.

Ephesians 5:20 , Ephesians 5:21

To make God great and ourselves little is our peculiar occupation; we are to give him glory in all that we do, and seek no honour for ourselves, but willingly take the lowest place among our brethren for the Lord’s sake.

Fill thou my life, O Lord my God,

In every part with praise;

That my whole being may proclaim

Thy being and thy ways;

Surrendering my fondest will,

In things or great or small,

Seeking the good of others still,

Nor pleasing self at all.

So shall each fear, each fret, each care,

Be turnèd into song;

And every winding of the way

The echo shall prolong.

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[marytaylorassociates]

Business Advisor in New York

Are You Struggling to Navigate Business Challenges in New York?

Running a business in New York isn’t for the faint-hearted. With ever-changing regulations, fierce competition, and complex tax codes, managing day-to-day operations can quickly feel overwhelming. Have you ever wondered if you're missing out on opportunities that could help your business grow? Or worse, have you felt stuck making critical decisions without the guidance of a trusted professional?

If these concerns resonate with you, hiring a business advisor in New York could be the solution. A professional advisor brings a fresh perspective, offering tailored advice that aligns with your goals and ensures you stay ahead in New York’s fast-paced market.

What Are the Benefits of Hiring a Business Advisor?

Whether you’re running a small startup in Brooklyn or managing a large company in Manhattan, having an advisor offers a wealth of advantages:

Objective Insights: Advisors provide an unbiased view of your business operations, identifying weaknesses and untapped opportunities.

Expert Financial Guidance: From cost-cutting strategies to securing funding, they help you manage finances effectively.

Time-Saving Solutions: Instead of juggling multiple responsibilities, you’ll gain clarity and save time with their structured advice.

Regulatory Compliance: Advisors stay updated on New York State laws, helping you avoid fines or penalties.

For example, a retailer in Queens recently worked with a business advisor to streamline inventory management. Within three months, their operational costs dropped by 15%, freeing up funds for marketing.

How Do Advisors Tackle Specific Challenges?

1. Managing Financial Hurdles

Struggling with cash flow or mounting debts? Advisors assess your financial health, recommending solutions like refinancing loans or restructuring budgets. For instance:

Create clear cash flow projections to avoid surprises.

Suggest tax-saving measures relevant to New York’s regulations.

Assist in grant applications or investment pitches for additional funding.

An advisor can also help you prepare for seasonal fluctuations, a common issue for businesses like restaurants or tourism-based ventures in New York City.

2. Improving Operational Efficiency

Operational inefficiencies often cost businesses more than they realize. An advisor evaluates:

Workflow processes

Vendor contracts

Technology systems

They may suggest adopting software to automate repetitive tasks. For example, using a cloud-based payroll system might save you hours every week.

What Should You Look For in a Business Advisor?

Not all advisors are created equal. Here’s a checklist to ensure you hire the right one:

Experience in Your Industry: Choose someone familiar with the New York market and your sector.

Strong Network: Advisors with connections to legal experts, accountants, and lenders can open doors for you.

Proven Track Record: Ask for success stories or references from other business owners.

Clear Communication: They should simplify complex topics rather than overwhelm you with jargon.

For example, a bakery owner in Staten Island hired an advisor with prior experience in the food industry. This advisor not only helped reduce overhead costs but also introduced the owner to a local supplier, cutting ingredient costs by 20%.

Can Advisors Help with Marketing in New York?

Absolutely! Advisors often have expertise in identifying the right marketing channels for your business. In New York, where competition is steep, advisors focus on:

Enhancing your digital presence through local SEO.

Refining target audience strategies for diverse neighborhoods like SoHo or Harlem.

Optimizing advertising budgets for platforms like Google or Instagram.

For instance, a salon in the Bronx gained 300 new clients within six months by implementing a hyper-local marketing campaign suggested by their advisor.

How Much Does a Business Advisor Cost?

The cost of hiring an advisor in New York varies based on factors like experience, the complexity of your business, and the scope of services. Common pricing structures include:

Hourly Rates: Usually range from $150 to $500/hour.

Flat Fees: For project-specific advice, like creating a business plan.

Retainer Agreements: Ideal for ongoing consultation, averaging $3,000–$10,000 per month.

While this may seem steep, the ROI is often worth it. Businesses frequently report significant savings or growth after seeking professional advice.

Real-Life Success Stories: How Advisors Helped NYC Businesses

Case Study 1: Retail Store Expansion

A boutique owner in Brooklyn wanted to open a second location but feared overextending financially. Their advisor created a detailed growth strategy, securing a loan with favorable terms. Within a year, the second location increased their revenue by 40%.

Case Study 2: Tech Startup Survival

A tech startup in Manhattan faced difficulty scaling its operations. An advisor streamlined their hiring process and implemented cost-effective software solutions, saving $50,000 annually.

These examples highlight how valuable professional advice can be, regardless of the industry.

How to Start Working with a Business Advisor

If you’re ready to take the next step, here’s how to begin:

Identify Your Needs: Are you seeking help with finances, marketing, or operations?

Do Your Research: Check online reviews, credentials, and client testimonials.

Schedule a Consultation: Many advisors offer free initial consultations.

Set Clear Goals: Define what you hope to achieve through their advice.

Remember, working with an advisor is a partnership. The more open you are about your challenges, the better they can assist you.

Conclusion: Is Hiring a Business Advisor in New York Worth It?

Yes, if you’re serious about growing your business, managing risks, and saving time, a business advisor is invaluable. Their expertise can help you make smarter decisions and avoid costly mistakes, especially in a competitive market like New York.

The question isn’t whether you can afford an advisor—it’s whether you can afford to keep struggling without one. By seeking professional guidance, you’re investing in your business’s future success.

So, take that first step today. Reach out to a trusted advisor and watch your business thrive.

[wonderlanddreamer]

Chapter 1: Florence Fletcher's debut article on the Peaky Blinders hits the stands, catching the attention of the powerful John Shelby. With ruthless determination, he vows to make sure her first scoop is also her last.

Masterlist here.

Underworld Unveiled: The Rise and Ruthlessness of the Peaky Blinders

By Florence Fletcher - Birmingham Gazette

Beneath Birmingham's industrial and cultural vibrancy lies the dark world of the Peaky Blinders, a gang notorious for their violent and cunning ways. Led by Thomas Shelby, they have built a criminal empire post-World War I, engaging in illegal betting, smuggling, and extortion. Their name, derived from razor blades in their caps, symbolizes their readiness for violence.

"They control everything," said an anonymous source. "From racetracks to pubs, they crush any opposition."

The Peaky Blinders have violently clashed with rival gangs and intimidated businesses, making it tough for law enforcement to act.

"The police are either scared or corrupt," the source added, highlighting the gang's unchecked power.

Despite their criminality, Thomas Shelby's charisma and strategic mind have given the gang a veneer of allure, extending their influence into business and politics. "He's a businessman and strategist," noted another insider, underscoring Shelby's multifaceted control.

The Peaky Blinders' dominance threatens Birmingham's stability, creating fear and undermining the rule of law. "The public deserves to know the truth," urged the source, calling for greater exposure of the gang's activities.

The Birmingham Gazette pledges to continue investigating and exposing the Peaky Blinders, aiming to hold them accountable and safeguard the city's future.

Florence Fletcher

Investigative Journalist, Birmingham Gazette

-

The night was heavy with the scent of damp cobblestones and distant smoke as Florence Fletcher stepped out of her office. The dim light from a flickering streetlamp cast eerie shadows on the alleyway, making the darkness seem alive. Florence, an investigative journalist known for her fearless tenacity, pulled her coat tighter around her slender frame, her heels clicking purposefully against the cold stone.

She had just locked the door behind her when she felt a presence. A figure emerged from the shadows, his silhouette cutting an imposing figure against the faint light. John Shelby, of the infamous Peaky Blinders, stood before her, his eyes dark and intense.

"Florence Fletcher, isn't it?" His voice was low, and its menacing timbre sent a chill down her spine.

Florence's heart pounded in her chest, but she kept her composure. She had known this confrontation was inevitable after her latest exposé on the Peaky Blinders' criminal activities. She met his gaze, her chin tilted defiantly.

"John Shelby," she replied, her voice steady despite the fear curling in her stomach. "I wondered when you'd show up."

John took a step closer, his face illuminated by the weak light. The hard lines of his jaw and the cold glint in his eyes spoke volumes of his intentions. "You’ve got a lot of nerve, writing that piece. Exposing us like that."

Florence squared her shoulders, refusing to back down. "The public deserves to know the truth. You and your family have terrorised this city for too long."

John's smile was anything but friendly. "Brave words for a woman standing alone in a dark alley." He reached into his coat, and Florence tensed, her breath catching in her throat. He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a deliberate slowness that made her heart race faster.

"You think you can scare me into silence?" she challenged, her voice firmer now. "I've faced worse than you, John Shelby."

He exhaled a cloud of smoke, stepping closer until he was mere inches from her face. "You think you're untouchable, don't you? That your words will protect you?" His voice dropped to a whisper, dripping with venom. "Let me tell you something, Florence. I've made men twice your size beg for mercy. Don't think for a second that I won't do the same to you."

Florence's resolve wavered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. "You can threaten me all you want, but I won't stop until every last one of your crimes is brought to light."

John's expression darkened further, his eyes narrowing. "You really don't get it, do you? This isn't a game. This is life and death. You keep pushing, and you'll find out just how serious I am."

He flicked his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his boot with a deliberate finality. "Consider this your only warning. Back off, or next time, you won't walk away."

With that, he turned and melted back into the shadows, leaving Florence alone in the alley, her heart still pounding but her resolve stronger than ever. She knew the risks, but she also knew that the truth was worth fighting for—no matter the cost.

Masterlist • Chapter 2

[officewebmaster315]

Through Hole Resistors: The Unsung Heroes of Electronics

In the realm of electronics, where currents dance and signals perform their intricate ballet, one key player steals the spotlight — the Operational Amplifier ICs (Integrated Circuits). These tiny marvels might not wear capes, but they possess the power to amplify, filter, and manipulate signals in ways that seem almost magical. Let’s embark on a journey into the enchanting world of operational amplifier ICs and discover the wonders they bring to our electronic devices.

Imagine your favorite music flowing through your headphones, the crystal-clear sound wrapping you in a sonic embrace. Behind this auditory magic lies the operational amplifier IC, a silent hero enhancing the signals to deliver an immersive musical experience. These ICs excel at amplifying weak signals with minimal distortion, transforming ordinary audio into a symphony of sonic bliss.

But operational amplifiers aren’t limited to the auditory realm; they play crucial roles in diverse electronic applications. From medical devices measuring heartbeats to precision instruments in laboratories, these ICs silently contribute to the accuracy and reliability of our gadgets. Their versatility is akin to a Swiss Army knife, adapting to various tasks with finesse.

At the heart of an operational amplifier IC lies its ability to amplify signals. Picture it as an electronic magnifying glass, taking a small input signal and making it more potent without losing fidelity. This characteristic makes them indispensable in countless applications, from audio amplifiers to signal processing circuits.

Moreover, operational amplifiers possess another superpower — feedback. Like a wise guide steering a ship through rough waters, feedback helps maintain stability and control. Negative feedback, the unsung hero, ensures that the output remains faithful to the input, minimizing distortion and maintaining accuracy. This dynamic duo of amplification and feedback creates a harmony that resonates across the electronic landscape.

One of the endearing qualities of operational amplifier ICs is their user-friendly nature. Their simple configurations make them accessible even to electronics enthusiasts who are just dipping their toes into the sea of circuits. With just a handful of external components, one can create circuits that perform complex operations, thanks to the innate intelligence embedded within these ICs.

In the grand tapestry of electronics, operational amplifier ICs are like the conductors, orchestrating the symphony of signals with precision and grace. Their widespread use in everyday electronics, from audio systems to industrial control systems, highlights their indispensability. Behind the scenes, they tirelessly work to elevate our electronic experiences, making the complex seem deceptively simple.

operational amplifier ICs might not be as flashy as the latest tech gadgets, but their impact is undeniable. From transforming faint signals into powerful waves of sound to ensuring the accuracy of medical instruments, these electronic wizards silently weave their magic into the fabric of our daily lives. So, the next time you enjoy your favorite tunes or marvel at the accuracy of a measuring instrument, take a moment to appreciate the unsung hero — the operational amplifier IC. It’s proof that even in the world of electronics, the simplest components can create the most enchanting experiences.

[heresthedealok]

Here's The Deal Podcast - The Max Baker Jr. Story - Episode 75 - The Texas Rangers Episode

In episode 75, we discuss something different from the Live Music / Concert Industry... One of Max's companies, The Fabulous Baker Boys were hired to provide labor for The Major League Baseball, World Series Champions, Texas Rangers Parade & Celebration. This was a massive event with almost a million people invading Arlington, TX.... As Max always says, "someone’s got to build it & make it happen".... That is what The Fabulous Baker Boys Do!!!!! We often say this show, or that show was Legendary, or a historic event.... This one truly was Legendary.... So many people in one place. A logistical nightmare... Working events like this are not for the weak or faint of heart. When the pressure is on, & the clock is ticking, quitting is not an option, that is when The Fabulous Baker Boys shine & the job gets done... GO RANGERS!!!!

listen here https://heresthedealok.com/

[digitalexpo]

Best Cardic Surgeon In Bhubaneshwar

Dr. Chandan Kumar Ray Mohapatra, Best Cardic Surgeon In Bhubaneshwar,  a renowned cardiovascular and thoracic surgeon, is widely recognized for his exceptional skills and experience in India. Currently serving as an Associate Professor and Consultant at KIMS & PBMH, he possesses a deep understanding of the human body and specializes in operating on the heart and lungs. Dr. Ray Mohapatra boasts an impressive track record of successful surgeries, and his patients consistently express high levels of satisfaction with the quality of care he provides. If you are searching for a highly skilled cardiovascular or thoracic surgeon, Dr. Mohapatra is an outstanding choice who will ensure that you receive the best possible outcome through his diligent work and dedication to excellence.  

Dr. Chandan Kumar Ray Mahapatra - Your Trusted Cardiac Surgeon 🌟 Recognizing the Signs of a Heart Attack:

1️⃣ Chest pain or discomfort.

2️⃣ Feeling weak, light-headed, or faint.

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Contact us for expert care and support!

Address: Chandaka Industrial Estate, Patia, Bhubaneswar, Odisha 751024

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[parodyroyalle]

Reblog

Hmms well if we follow it across the pond to the young woman who alleged the BRF blackmail and open source confirms UK and Canada locations. We have intelligence to look into major crimes in the area such as gold theft and the link to location and link to similar attack on to reporters with video from live open source ( YouTube ).

I would say by guess they either paid out an inside job for hush money and will try to discredit witness from coming forward again as they were privy to all case files allegedly and confirmed on social media. That is if they are being blackmailed and trying to cover up.

Blue Jay Game timeline: This goes back 2016 and will be vague. Spot the two and two photos separate however do the same signal in the photo's. These photos are with other people and interpreted as signal of their comrade or agenda. If hinch is correct that could help JM and that circle in Toronto redeem themselves as it is seemingly a political thing with possibly Conservatives. All links to a past political scandal in the 911 community connecting to the same circle abusing badge, names, titles, networks and connections to elevate whatever agenda in same area that gold theft taken and the same departments. If the casualties were not animals, children, young people and seniors maybe I would not care as much to read into but sorry not sorry and yes, we are all linked and yes, people talk shop on the golf course.

If BRF are investigating I would say this is because they still have a perceived security breach this is still a possibility. It is always a possibility. Possibilities are endless and should be treated like such. They should always be vigilant as intel leaks after people leave their post can also occur. Maintain and Tale. Protect. Preserve. Prevent.

I did read there was something of a breach in the Intelligence in UK by someone gunning for top position inside the department? Got ousted and cried racism. So it would come as no surprise that Canada could have one too in the Toronto and extended region? Was there not a big lump sum stolen? Rumor has it was an inside job and people with relatives in the RCMP are allegedly laughing about it.

I read the above comment and cross referenced with the news and I don't think it makes KC look weak. I think it reveals weak links which is actually a learning point that circles world wide. I think it identifies the level of burn out around the world and how lax a daisy ppl are which in turn can potentially leave the system open for vulnerable attacks. Forgive me, I am human even though may sound robotic.

It not rumored and reported that MA was the love child of someone and from the Toronto area in the Eastend lol sorry just thought of Eastenders and S Club 7. It is a rumor heard on both sides of the pond and throughout the film industry. It was also recently circulating the relation between MA and OS and MM so the 3 way prong and then SOHO and of course the roasted chicken remarks on PH and the winner winner chicken dinner give away lottery hot sauce gumbo all in the same radius. Not for the faint of heart. Dirty rice. Jerk chicken is better in my opinion and generous with the gravy. This is where I'm going to have to toss in PC Jonas roti be roti. PC Jonas also said something like birds of a feather all sleep ... errm ... flock. They flock together... to the local "roti" shop... ... toss what? Birds and their Beards. I didn't come up with that one. someone posted a comment about Princess Anne wanting the beard to come off. Love is love and no discrimination please! X

Open reports showcase two indie reporters one in the US and one in Canada were both 1 degree of separation from camp Markle endured serious incidents and one of them was reported on International Trafficking and has a letter from HMTQ on open source social media delivered to the same Area location the money from the Airport was stolen, markle mayhem, etc went down around the time that PH was visiting before the engagement as posted in an old article from Metrolinks. When reading the news paper shows two hot spots for some shady crime that looks like department and insurance related. It is clear that we have two hot locations and very obvious that it's an attack that warrants defence of some kind. Unsure on the level of Intelligence however it seems one part totally f^ucked up and one part f^ucked up yet salvageable thanks to Anonymous and Indie. Something tells me to be f^rank and all the f^ckery wouldn't be without some git f^uck booys in mix so x o x o m^f winehouseiOs.

It is a tad embarrassing I could see why someone's would have an ego trip and want to cover the whole thing. I'd say go to the local waffle house get stacked. smother it with butter and maple. top up your java and a side of Orange juice and keep the pulp. It's good for the digestive system. Consider tapping a tree and jinggle all the way.

PB.S. education opinions and snark open source jabber waffle sauce

The King is investigating how letter was leaked..this is concerning…..you mean to tell me, after ALL that her and that one have done….he still has to investigate? So, when it is confirmed it was her….then what? Case closed? This is really making KC look weak….or blackmailed!