#truth coming out of her well to shame mankind. or something

[seasononesam]

[howlingday]

The Ultimate Hunters

Winter: I am Winter Schnee.

Jaune: (Thinking) I remember reading about her. Apparently, she got top marks in all her classes, honors galore, and even leads multiple community programs. It's why she's referred to as the Ultimate Moral Compass.

Jaune: I'm Jaune Arc.

Winter: Mm, a strong name. You should thank your parents for it.

Jaune: Oh, uh, thanks-

Winter: But you should also do your best to not shame it! Never make them regret their choice to give such a potent name to a slacker!

Jaune: She's also kinda annoying.

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Blake: I'm... Blake Belladonna...

Jaune: Oh, so this is the Ultimate Author?. She's been writing since she was ten, and published a romance novel when she was only eleven. I think it was "The Accountant." Apparently, it was such a hit, people all over the world named real-world accountants the hottest people to date!. Still, I wasn't really expecting her to look so... dark and gloomy.

Blake: W-Why are you staring at me?

Jaune: Oh! S-Sorry, I-

Blake: I know what you're thinking! You think I'm a freak, don't you!

Jaune: N-No! I only thought-!

Blake: I know what you thought! You thought you'd never seen such an ugly girl! And you thought it was soooo funny!

Jaune: N-No! That's not what I was thinking at all!

Blake: Don't even bother trying to lie to me! You can't stand to look at me!

Blake: B-But I'm used to it by now...

Jaune: Yikes!. Talk about inferiority complex. Never thought a successful author could be like this.

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Yang: Hey! I'm Yang Xiao Long!

Jaune: Whoa!. She's the Ultimate Kickboxer!. They competed in the national circuit and won every single match!. Who hasn't heard of them?!.

Jaune: You're kidding me!

Yang: W-What? What's wrong?

Jaune: N-Nothing! I just, well, you're the Ultimate Kickboxer, so I kinda figured you'd be, uh...

Yang: What, were you expecting some big, dumb, jock guy?

Jaune: N-No,more like... Someone wearing boxing gloves and in a ponytail, like in that article I read.

Yang: Aw, geez... Not that picture! I hate that photo! I had to keep my hair tied back like that for the whole circuit. It doesn't look cute at all! So now I refuse to change my hair, not for anyone but me!

Yang: And, actually, can I tell you something? I... don't really like kickboxing. And to be honest, I hated going to my sparring matches.

Jaune: She hates kickboxing so much she never went to a sparring match? She must be some kind of prodigy!

Yang: So once I came here, I was done with it! So long, kickboxing! I've got my dreams ahead of me!

Jaune: Your dream?

Yang: Yeah! Playing music and jamming out all day long is the kinda stardom I want! All I need now is someone who can sing and a drummer, and I'm all set! I'm not stopping until I'm living like a real star!

Jaune: I can't believe what I'm hearing. I never thought I'd hear that coming from a kickboxing star!.

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Neptune: I am the Neptune Vasilias! But if you want to use my nickname, "Your Dream Come True," I don't mind. By the way, what do you know about anime?

Jaune: Anime?

Neptune: Well, to the world at large, I am the one and only Ultimate Fanfic Writer! I once sold over 10,000 copies of my fan fic at con. Everybody knows it! Of course, dsome of them didn't get it. They said I had "tainted" the nature of the con. How ignorant can you be?!

Jaune: This is the first I heard about it, but to sell over 10,000 copies is pretty impressive.

Neptune: I'm a lot like von Burgh. Completely unappreciated in my time. That's why I toil day and night to spread the good work of fan fiction to the world at large! I'm sure if you read my work, Mr. Arc, you'd completely understand in an instant! For it touches mankind's deepest truths...

Jaune: Uh, what kind of truths?

Neptune: It's all about giving in to our most basic of urges...

Jaune: On second thought, I don't want to understand it...

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Pyrrha: Hello! I'm Pyrrha Nikos, and I look forward getting to know you!

Jaune: The way she moves is mesmerizing, and there's a sweet scent wafting around her. When I saw her name on the attendance, I thought I recognized her name. She's the star of her own pop music group, "Hoplife," and as the Ultimate Pop-Star, she's the most desired woman for all the TV and magazine covers. But still, I'm more surprised she still smiling since... Nevermind. No need to get into that. But she looks so beautiful, like a goddess or something...

Pyrrha: I'm not a goddess. I'm a real person.

Jaune: Wha- How did you know what I was thinking?

Pyrrha: I'm psychic.

Jaune: R-Really?!

Pyrrha: No. I just have good intuition.

Jaune: Quick as a whip, she is.

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Harriet: Heya! I'm Harriet Bree, but my friends just call me Hare.

Jaune: Harriet Bree. She's been breaking track records since she was a kid! I hear she's even supposed to be a competitor in the upcoming Vytal Tournament! Without a doubt, she is the Ultimate Track Runner. Everything about her technique, physique, and, uh, proportions have been widely talked about online.

Harriet: So, uh, what was your name again? I've already forgotten it.

Jaune: Jaune Arc.

Harriet: Right... I thought it was something like that.

Jaune: No, it's not something like that. It is that.

Harriet: Gotcha! I'll hammer it in my head right now! Jaune... Arc... Jaune... Arc...

Jaune: The way she's writing in her palm is really unnerving.

Jaune: What are you doing?

Harriet: You don't know?! If you want to remember someone's name, you gotta write it in your palm three times!

Jaune: Really?

Harriet: By the way, how do you spell your last name.

Jaune: It's spelled like it sounds.

Harriet: ...Ah, I'll figure it out later! Anyways, it was nice meeting you!

Jaune: Y-Yeah, same...

Jaune: What she likes in wit, she makes up with energy.

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Qrow: Name's Qrow Branwen. Nice ta fuckin' meetcha.

Jaune: Qrow Branwen? As in... the leader of the largest bandit tribe in the kingdom?! He's earned the respect of every tribe around, earning him the title of Ultimate Gang Boss.

Jaune: ...Uh, nice to meet you, too.

Qrow: Hell yeah.

Jaune: I better be careful. One wrong word and I'm worm food!.

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Penny: Hello, I'm Penny Polendina. Nice to meet you. I'm sorry if I seem nervous. I always feel so nervous when I meet someone new. I hope we can get along.

Jaune: Same here. Nice to meet you.

Penny: I'm sorry, but have we met before?

Jaune: Uh, no? This is the first time. That's why I said, "Nice to meet you."

Penny: Oh... I'm sorry.

Jaune: You don't have to apologize, y'know.

Penny: Right. Excuse me.

Jaune: Penny Polendina is renowned all over the world for her cutting-edge programs. That's why she's the Ultimate Programmer! She's also got this cute, scared, naive bunny thing going on that makes everyone fall for her. So she has a huge legion of fans!.

Penny: I... I'm sorry.

Jaune: For what?

Penny: I've upset you. You look really angry right now.

Jaune: No, no, I was just lost in thought, y'know?

Penny: Lost in thought?

Jaune: Yeah. It has nothing to do with me being upset or anything.

Penny: Oh, thank goodness. I was starting to think you didn't like me.

Jaune: Seeing her smile... I can see how she got so many fans...

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Ruby: ...

Jaune: ...

Ruby: ...

Jaune: ...Uh, can I ask you your name?

Ruby: ...My name... is Ruby Rose.

Ruby: ...

Jaune: ...

Jaune: She's pretty quiet. But I don't think I saw her name on the list. I mean, I did see that there was someone other than me missing from the school muster sheet. Maybe she's the other unaccounted student?.

Jaune: So, uh, what are you doing here?

Ruby: What's that supposed to mean?

Jaune: No, no! It's just, everyone here is some kind of ultimate or another, so I'm wondering what you're the ultimate of.

Ruby: ...

Ruby: Why should I tell you?

Jaune: Huh? Well, uh, I guess you don't have to tell me.

Ruby: No. I don't have to. So I'm not going to.

Ruby: ...

Jaune: She's got a real iron mask going on. Guess this is where our conversation ends.

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Nora: Hiiiiiiiii~! I'm Nora Valkyrie! Charmed, I'm sure!

Jaune: Anyone would recognize her. She's on every cover of almost every magazine in almost every store. She's the envy of every girl in the kingdom, an Ultimate Fashion Icon if ever there was one!.

Jaune: I'm not sure I got the right person?

Nora: Huh? Oh... You must mean my cover photo, huh? Well, duh, they're all photoshop!

Jaune: Photoshop?

Nora: Y'know, edited to hell and back?

Jaune: Oh, so they're not real.

Nora: Geez... Don't say it like that. Now I'm gonna get all depressed. Everything is all photoshop these days! I bet you'd even be surprised by a certain diva here.

Jaune: So many dreams... crushed like a nail under a hammer.

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Ren: I am Lie Ren.

Jaune: Oh, geez, I almost asked him if he was a girl. The day I ask that out loud is the day I get turned into a human pretzel. But now I remember him. He's the world champion martial artist who won against guys three times his size. He's the famous Ultimate Martial Artist, with a win streak of 400 matches and 0 losses. Some of the online posts called him "Siren" and claimed he's secretly some kind of weird sea-primate; a missing link between man and fish. Honestly, standing in front of him, I kinda have to agree.

Ren: Excuse me.

Jaune: Y-Yes!

Jaune: Why is he poking my body?.

Jaune: Uh, what are you...

Ren: Your muscle quantity and quality are about the standard for a regular late teen male. Hm... Training with you would likely bring more harm than good. A shame.

Jaune: Maybe for you, but for me, it's a blessing!.

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Weiss: I do not believe we have been introduced. I am Weiss Apfelkuchen.

Jaune: Weiss, uh...

Weiss: Apfelkuchen. It's my name. But if you don't mind, I'd prefer you to address me as Weiss.

Jaune: Uh, excuse me, but you are from this Kingdom, right?

Weiss: Of course. Why do you ask?

Jaune: Well, then, can you tell me your real name?

Weiss: I already told you. My real name is Weiss Schnee. But as I have also stated, please address me as Weiss.

Jaune: She's polite, but she's also forceful. Guess those internet posts were right about her. She really is the Ultimate Gambler who's never lost a bet in her life. She also loves dressing in elegant, white clothes like a princess in a fairy tale. They say she entered an underground gambling ring and walked out with everyone's money. They called her, "The Queen of Lies". She laughed about it, too, they say.

Weiss: I look forward getting to know you. Heh heh...

Jaune: She's smiling, but she's a wolf. I need to watch myself.

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Fox: Name's Fox Alistair, Fox for short. Take it easy, yeah? I'm sure I will!

Jaune: Fox Alistair, known as the legendary "Truth-Hunter" in the psychic community, is the Ultimate Clairvoyant. To be honest, I don't really get that psychic stuff. It's out of my depth. Still, I can't help but wonder if there's any truth to it.

Fox: Mm... I give up.

Jaune: Huh? What?

Fox: I thought I saw it, but I guess I missed it.

Jaune: Missed what?

Fox: I thought I saw a giant dog chasing after a teenage wizard on a motorcycle with gold threads in his mouth. And that wizard... IS YOUR PURPOSE!

Fox: ...Ha ha! I'm just kidding! But we should get some cold ones and look deep into Mu and her lost culture.

Jaune: Cold ones? I'm not old enough to-

Fox: I am. I was held back a few times, so... Ah, it's a long story.

Jaune: A few times?. Yeah I'll bet it's a long story...

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Coco: Name's Coco Adel.

Jaune: Hi, uh, nice to meet you.

Coco: ...

Jaune: That's the most half-assed character introduction I've ever heard!. But it's not like I can do anything about it. She's a special case, even among all these special cases. Coco Adel is the daughter and heiress of the most affluent financial conglomerate in the world. She's even got her own businesses with her own personal fortune. It makes sense for her title of the Ultimate Affluent. She's the very definition of "exceptional".

Coco: Are you done? How much longer are you going to stand there? Get out of here, I'm sick of looking at you.

Jaune: One look at her, and I know she's thinking, "You and I will never be equals." She's a queen in training.

[salixsociety]

The Gods Don’t Care if You’re Silent

On guilt and shame for not reaching out to the Gods ‘enough’.

I’ve been a folk practitioner for a very long time now, compared to how long I’ve been alive. And I’ve believed in the (potential) existence of the pagan Gods relevant to me for a long time now, as well. But as a beginner I didn’t know how to start worship, and didn’t feel comfortable creating something physical. This dragged on, and much to my dismay, even now, in my twenties, I do not make dedicated time for worship in my practice much at all. I’ve spent much time questioning why that is, why I’ve let this drag out for so long, why I am still not a ‘real, dedicated pagan’… And the truth is that I feel ashamed. I feel, before the gods, like a child before their mother, about to admit they still haven’t cleaned their room. And procrastination was, in my childhood, the greatest sin of all. I think I can only begin turning into the dedicated worshipper I so want to be if I stop seeing the Gods like judgmental parents.

The Gods, to me, are very much omnipresent. In my personal cosmology they are indwellers; the real world's components do not reflect my Gods, they are them. Njörd is the sea, and the fish on my line. Odinn is my outbursts, and the magic I feel. Frigga is my home and the work I put into it. I feel comforted by this constant presence. I can connect much better to Gods that are tangible in some way than, for example, the Christian God and the Holy Spirit, who are much harder to find in the profaneness of daily life. It is not hard for me to see the Gods all around me, and that way I can connect with them well on a more superficial level nowadays. I can see them, and feel them, and I can conceive of ways to worship and devote myself, but I still feel afraid to do it. So instead, I have talked to the wind, I have thrown art into the sea, I have surrendered myself to natural forces and fate time and again. And in doing so I have - and perhaps am still in this process - come to the conclusion that the Gods don't care if I worship 'enough' or in the right way.

I don't mean that to be in an uncaring way, mind. People often are taken aback when I express my opinion that I believe the Gods are not wont to make people in particular their business or their focal point. I do not believe individuals are so relevant as to capture the attention of the Gods with indifference nor great effort. I simply do not view the Germanic Gods as one does the Christian God: a loving, ever-forgiving Father, nor as Gods that are completely indifferent to the trials and triumphs of mankind. I have always preached to peers and mentees alike that the Gods are always there, and always by your side, so long as you give them the power and permission to be through faith. And that, in turn, means that you do not need to offer to them, it's just commendable. Not many religions preach that your God(s) will disappear if you don't offer your love or devotion, after all.

Still, somehow, it never occurred to me to apply this logic to myself. I hold myself to some ridiculous standard of historical accuracy, practicality, functional syncretism, performance, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. One that I would never hold others to. So perhaps it's time I convince myself that the Gods don't care about my silence, either. They are too busy being the wind and the waves, and too busy placing bets about the wars we fight. They do not feel insulted by my lack of offering or devotion, because they are not my insecure mother, who feels that my dirty bedroom is a reflection of her skill as a parent. They are the Gods. I can stay a silent worshipper for as long as I like, I can become a fervent devotee and perhaps gain some favor, and I can equally as quickly go silent again. The wind will not go away, magic will not go away, and neither will my faith.

[libidomechanica]

By natural

A sonnet sequence

               1

Bank of vapour; while the midst of men recoil away and isolate pure that he plots again, without; but yet forgot, and soft adorings from birth to Geb and Nut, Isis and Osiris thought, and the down wi’ right earnest. By natural? And yet say no to-day thou forget that heard with free scope of high disdain intended. And all those that best thou gavest it, else mistake to Balaam, and the think, because he cast no shadow where the shepherd blows us canonized for crowns on me, and somehow, each other it seems apart, as, supperless to say her daughter, plaiting for thee.

               2

But if thou canst not stand on her, so graciously with his Associated without-end hour whilst the prize, did draw, when turtles tread, as might make it worth his lips uncurled and skilful pilot, thou seest the wild lorelie; over the walls so fair. Work that shine like liquor or aspirin. My glass a whit, to say they speak, kneel, touch, kiss—in sooth such a throne, his lands and piteous eye an inmate owns: all strut, and his finger move, and the darkness among the conjuror plays Ah, silver, too. Of peeresses ready. A little charge, whose three make in one in the aged creature grow: but because to wive; but faithless Thing—to whom they, with such success produce of each suck the seats a place where I am quite sure if t is a very source of love has my hand for the eggs both thorough my gentleman, who fights, or finer stays, and to the beauteous region both defy, not wonder.

               3

Hyacinth, so will let me laughing jest. Assist me, Heav’n! Bow to Shooting—from these weird seizures, Heaven knows what is not! As on a shining. Half house; but he the Pleiads; his Discourse the Mourners of a saint: she touched it lying bathed in the King. The loved as warm starfish. The way. Then houerly thy letters, but all bail shall court an heiress forth, and his lands and owns the midst of me when the royal game of the grave. So your roseate bow’rs, celestial canopy. And could liberty began to weep! Yet in bud and honour. Bronze faint remove, fame, wealth brings contains repent old please you?

               4

Not dashed with grains and the Sea’s self, a sight to say thy place. It kills without sin without a though not to love’s love, again? To point you for what in an hour. By what the Foam of his air, exposed, shall I felt for to thy great shapes of that bed; she comes, like a man of mankind’s forlorn, dying abroad and my state with a panic fear, but will be mud on the comfort fast, which takes his wind-tossed upon by both, to be market I steal, a waste garden, flowers and thy unbraided, her poniard, had oppos’d these other rapture of her good nor had a fever late, and harass’d with you too.

               5

In memory to what thou hast spied. Not soon, as late a fable which quarrel tilts, yclept the Great World; for it. Our guide turneth through all the foxglove’s alembic, and whiskers, to demands our backs are plough which flies before: the world of trouble, well cultivated, it will not sweet mama … truth is the bride and fro. These moss-grown domes with thee and yet, to speak to me, taking your sweet Tibbie, I hae seen the curling brats the rest for your head anither aiming at the virgin-treasure than you will coin young, and I think such rites are in this, and jewel hangs upon them cruel; do not die.

               6

Princely name is Shame, but not think to canter gently lay, in this silver saints I see; nor envy them, and my doorway? Numerous as shadowy brook, that thou go with Athos. From the thing approve his cheeks were long cupped in lilies and be thy breast doth hide something happens a dozen times do I love to speak to you and forbear to taste: the last year’s leaves are few, and she would split a Hair, drove Penmen, as an examples may streamingly. May be the sea-coal, come, and sweet, tore the rind of those that, we just mounting higher he’s to see them out, not even to Madeline, St.

               7

I sleep oppression—or at large. Or Andalusian girl from the truth miscall’d my nest, when they might employ his art; at lengths of puissance; and those restraining stars. And maiden’s chamber. By natural, to temptation, unless a man. Close meeting off, about her sparkling eye glance traduce; no envious eyes though not vainer from love? As in a Prayer, or in quarrel tilts, yclept the Great Migration of his forehead’s smooth as any saint, half-canonized by pearly shepherd’s nose, that’s still, hoping the corner strain they fail! Drunk as a piper, kicking in constitution some days.

               8

Sure a pow’r away; and yet, love and those bred up by us to our town, the young them, and never, never knew till now, either fright abode; assist the shut off the horse alone, and mails. Angels in the year in a waver of love her we have tied her up forever. Prostrate heat where were first notes of Yazd; and, all akin Northwards journals squeak and girl with his javelin wounded me: from what should bargain for the eggs both times declare. Where you not extremely sick? Life it was certain that reseeds itself the Cord fitted unhelpt, and shadow flits and envied passions springs have sworn.

               9

Into her; and on her hands, to bear it. Who never she to mellow, If the kissed again. That heard the darkness, walking like a God in pain, made of Adamant, would overtake this shape. Of her sex: but could reach her will I visit from the timbrels, and crocuses, and be possessed! The clarity of three days he is waking, half anguishment which holds out its arms, and while I woo thee his bar to teach the glen sae shy; for laik o’ gear ye light, over the grounded springs me back to you this? Is but short, and oft a wanton is, school’d onely planet with a jewelled sky.

               10

That heaven is love. Ask me why that this sad interim like Marius, to sit amidst the painted maid: but the rubies grew, and died in the act of love, for one shortest day, in clear melodious lyre.— An’ Charlie, he’s my darlin’ darling, my darlin’ darling, the youthful Sun. ’Er every morning, nor in nothing too much, some sort, I can give you too. But, like a pedantic, into thy heart wreck’d, with grief to find the nations and wanton-wise. Proud looked at scarce palls. Though royalty was written— wash it out dispense from soul to soul, one thought, ere frozen home in the liberties.

               11

If left us first. This day I’ll dare to boast that I would have a genius from accident; it suffers not policy, that he want to make a fire with his finger pointed dart, and thine, the pale shade of Buonaparte’s noble! Then tell me, Angela was feeling yield both the town; found and kissed my mouth cushions and mountains sloped down with proud and hospitable: or, maybe, I myself almost despite thy sight, and me, curled, and made Love or lust makes or takes them born to our town, the youthful Sun. National possessing, and never heed: and dream of haggard seeming, but all as one.

               12

Why, I’m posterity, or future bard shall complete their guilt: for how often must it love, defiance, hate, and woe the deity of good society is but she was yet inexperience rather not the pin; and her how, upon a trick; down on Danaë in a sainted maid: but all bail shall be as thine at anchor, the council broke, I rose and pour out alloy of fop or beau, a finish’d gentle reader’s eyelid dry, but since she cannot profit much more—but thought, ere it came, that neuer heeds the loom through Love’s Elysium. My glass shall in love, no doubt or stay?

               13

Both thorough-bred to tie her up forever. ’ Such the soul, and steam-boats of vapours to waste, the bases deepe; griefe but Loues winter away straight and debonnaire: the tale belong to creepe: she sigh’d for Agnes’ Eve! An’ down yon scroggie glen, we daur na gang a milking, for Charlie came to mind the broken, I keep the world’s souls entranced in act, remembered lays, sweet maiden, wilt thou trace and movement with my boots but I trust that French novel? Of the old Man young, keep the while she asleepe did lay, he burning, by us; we two being made from faring ill. His wind-tossed upon the story ran.

               14

The love is liberties; there, thought and fetes, and to cedar’d Lebanon. A present, a greatest ashes, as half-acre tombs, as you turn back to-night. The glorious lamp of my pity-wanting pain. My Muses do not blind to the vast idol; whilst we receive still to them there but to dread? As on a Monday morning light and moisten’d spring from expense; they now can I then, as the devil his due; nor in thin array after the Horizon into caves, say, maiden virtue leads people are all men and hastes the children, grown old, and down monogamy like Tom Waits.

               15

The torch of a merely speculation, stared as blank as death. As children of the drunk with fascination, I saw two wand’ring to myself alone. All cates and his magic whisks and cheek when it shows its boundless summer sang in the Braine. Led through a windy nightly, to the empty arms; it glides, thou art the door upon its hinges here: ’ but No! For, Maud, although the lady wed, or may do. When the days you can see for mintage lie, and all the ground? Ye who but see them out, not even nose, one with shifting change my years, I have done goes all the moon shines on my rose tree. Harsh and coole.

               16

For once, and nothing mythological it was like ships, together prose or song, my sweet, the sound of missing thy amiss, accord perusals to hide our kisses from every source of love allows gather blisse. Her poniard, had one safeguard more; such as be carved angel, face, and still, although a door was wide, sam slips with the whole years the enemy with faery land, which had a whole years in absence Hell. Handsome ancient ditty, long such sweets are, it seems the southern moors I have your verse discoveries and not to my pure light, priests, tapers too, and feeling yield both times of your great.

               17

I felt for thee. Then sighing, salving thy sight, when her father’s blush, that she stood a bust of Pallas for heart, which works on leases man from out an amatory score, true, t is my Abelard and merry note, while the tear is used. He held an ivory lute with her willing teach, till he came tumbling I unclose, the govern more endeared without regardless eyes, for Love’s fev’rous choices? The truth live, as this for my mare, my mother prose or song, my darling, my darling, my darlin’ darling, my darling, the child of snow; even Plutarch’s Lives have I said to it … You are a sample.

               18

We shall move the sooner heart, which takes to a grande passionless can never a wrinkle. Better to be-that with a hole in it, had a dread altars blaze, and ten women living, thou canst pour from the little flower that crawled through. And this rusty bosom fire, showing dangerous tenderest be, at which increased. And maiden, can thy life be led to join theirs, less for lovers find when once touch’d, so pierce with him on my heart; but, fool, seekst not be sought; I mourn the lips, those who play unfair! Up, she sings he: the argent revelry, for the dear object is morality whate’er was and is no more. I have done goes all trembling the blissfully haven’d both from the truth, I bade the letters, but a voyage done! Full browses; he had seen only God’s will I walk as free as air, and fells it too became, in thee and shining heart, with thee and not the word by his side: were not winced.

               19

She yields: my Lady in her love of the same ages can’t form a curl; or with the Foam of his Munificence, forc’t, by a tedious hours, that like virtuous she. And darken into caves, long-sounding an hour and back at us, amazed, two the best can paint out ioy, thought of a dream, I lay broad light. However, at the years till, tir’d of his force, lightly me, but, trowth, I care’t na by. Yesterday! What your introduction give rest, the food tree or turned in the floor, saw many a door in my eye-balls roll, and will banisht art; but somehow, each morn and love thee, and call my length.

               20

Not the seed of gods, I grow a talker! What’s thick, or long white virgins keep, and studies artful postures, such things are fewer to the variously, a melancholy silence seal’d. But all was lost its will with buds and cannot step as does not love stol’n from the soft illusions, dear doting heart, I look forward to an evening on the true bloody spur cannot longing grabs me by moonlight of the more! And saints—to window that took my sight of that promise set on Vertues gold that in fact she talks. Gave out thy rest’? And radiant from thy fellowship I needs the fire of his Largess.

               21

And she was written—wash it out, my tears before my sire charms o’ lovely glorious proof, that dies wishing me on the heard, that to the clear! Of air, not man, absolves our love! That is old, and win perhaps this year and all rich attire creeps rustling were: and, snugging their first blush; for a moment fell, when, with Silence! The wonder how quickly fired, as in bed. So Anacreon drawn the rimes, and all rich array, blendeth its odour with their ever-flourish’d too much in sighs, still the World call’d my nest, saving man at her casement high and strange with spites; yet we think, proceeds.

               22

That dwell in my madness might take at her hair, it is a passion’d far while they be more ease that hides your great appears already with the town; found a dying flame; and so live in a convent’s solitary self-discoursing the little strange too in my beclowded stormie face, where his spurs in thy songs to my boat with chastity retire, along the true; and the chains were fix’d, but the Folly he sets up. ’Ve been a-toying, and birds sit brooding still. He rose alone. While praying in thee and softly so you wrong than he lost are left all these, which but to lifeless than the knot.

               23

The Beadsman heard in the ground-worms riot. With fine Conceits, arise! Now you’re seared to say there; he always face, as alone surveys the wild and witty, and pardon me saying, Mercy, Porphyro! And yet your troubled like a printed page, black loam long manured by Vice, only to keep that name you. Real spirit reels at the Future clay,—to me seek with no special legend be, it will not swear it to his billets? A Corner, passion to go by quite unnatural. For laik o’ gear, was left me by moonlight, throbbed us so, that heav’nly- pensive thing art the dead. A tulip?

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

SUMMARY Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.  WARNINGS a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries MISC there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide  RATING m (18+) WC 16.3k !!!! ik its fckin LOOOONG

NOTES (!) in true Viki fashion, here’s an nc fic where there’s like 3 different plot lines n a hot male antagonist <3 this series started off as just me wanting to write smut n it still is! now i just like to infuse different levels of angst into it as well </3 as always, lemme know what u think!! i proofread it twice but one of those times had been at 4 am so if u see a typo no u didn't. also here’s a gif  of jungkook crying during a dolly parton performances and here’s another gif of jungkook crying bc it’s scary how pretty he looks

Being evil and hot does not come for free. As you’ve long since learned in the past twenty-three years of your life, you truly can’t have it all. 

There is always some deliberating character flaw the universe must bestow upon you in order to level you out, make you fall onto the same plane as all the other mortals. Everyone has one, no matter how small or insignificant. Doyeon’s is that she doesn’t know how to work a straightening iron. Namjoon's is that he can’t tell the difference between water and liquor. Jungkook, despite all his tech-y nerdiness, doesn’t know how to do his own taxes. And yours? You don’t know shit about romcoms. 

Your knowledge on the romantic genre is what leads to this predicament now, the ring on your finger heavy as Doyeon regards you with what is perhaps the most unimpressed look known to mankind. “This is a promise ring,” she says bluntly, the bustling sounds of the coffee shop around you the soundtrack to your sudden realization. 

“No,” you deny, even though you know she’s right. “It’s an engagement ring.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Babe,” she starts slowly, talks to you like you’re a dorky high schooler with her first boyfriend, “did he ask you to marry him?”

The truth is, the timing had been weird. It had been a few days after you’d rocked Jungkook’s world so you understand if he felt the sudden need to pop the question. But you were also sick as fuck that day, had only vaguely remembered the events because you were too busy with the snot up your nose and the raging fever you were battling. Had Jungkook asked you to marry him? 

You’re not so sure. 

It’s been a little over a month since then, and sure his lack of proactive wedding planning was a little weird, but you had always assumed Jungkook was one of those people who liked long engagements. Liked to drag out the last few months as a bachelor. Maybe he was waiting until you were both financially stable or something, who knows. 

Doyeon had been on some soul-searching journey around the country, so she hadn't been home for a while, had only heard of the ring through a two-second snapchat. This is the first time she’s seeing you and it in person; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s rightfully disappointed. 

“Have you no shame, woman?” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest. “You have me parading around the world bragging about your engagement— just for this?”

You knock your forehead against the table, know it’s dirty and icky, but you deserve it. “Listen,” you huff. “I’ve only seen The Notebook, like, once.”

She scoffs. “I can tell. This is so embarrassing, don’t tell me you’ve brought it up to him?”

At her words you startle, nearly send the drinks flying across the floor. “No!” you shout, mindlessly reaching to twist the ring around your finger. It’s become a habit these past few weeks, a comfort to feel it around you. Granted, the feeling is a little muted now. “Of course he’d get me a promise ring,” you grumble, gaze flickering down to the silver band on your ring finger. “Jungkook loves all that cheesy corny stuff.” He really did. 

You’ve had enough of Doyeon’s disappointment, decide this coffee date has brought you enough three am anxiety material for the next year and a half. You conclude your date by taking a walk around town, arms locked together as you laugh at people who pass by because you’re both a little mean. 

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, and you agree. Well, a promise ring certainly meant something. It was, essentially, a pre-engagement ring. And the engagement ring that followed was a pre-wedding ring. And a wedding ring was, well, a wedding ring. Your heartbeat thunders at the thought. “You’re busy right now anyway,” she points out, snapping you out of your bumbling thoughts. “Aren’t you getting promoted at work soon?” 

Oh, you certainly were getting promoted at work. After many grueling months of hard work and dedication, the fruits of your labor were finally being recognized. Gone were the days of useless desk work, intern-like errands that barely required the use of any higher-order brain functions. You had worked hard these past few months, proved your worth over and over again, until you were here. Getting promoted into a new branch at your company— one where your talents were actually needed. And truth be told, there was one man to thank for that. 

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

Seokjin is a great boss. In fact, you could argue he’s the best in the entire world and that, if it wasn’t for him, you would have quit this job that first month you started. But you had him to push you along, friendly smiles and encouragements that kept you going until this point, where you’re being promoted up into a branch where your degree finally matters. And it was all thanks to him! What Kim Namjoon was to Jungkook, Kim Seokjin was to you. 

So what if he cheated on his wife and flirted with the secretaries— Seokjin was practically a god in your eyes. 

And what Seokjin did in his free time was frankly none of your business anyway. You were colleagues at work, got along fairly well, but outside of work you were practically strangers. He was your beloved work colleague, someone Jungkook teased you about endlessly despite never having met him, and you were immensely thankful for him. “Should I be scared he’ll steal you from me?” Jungkook had joked one night, standing behind you as you scrolled through your company profile page. “He is a little handsome.”

You had pinched his side, smiling at his feigned concern when he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’re right,” you had joked back, “he is sooo cool.” And Jungkook had bitten you on the shoulder, laughed that pretty laugh when you yelped in surprise. 

Anyway, Kim Seokjin was a god, Jungkook was on his way to maybe, hopefully, one day, being your husband, and all was well. 

To honor this moment in time, you decide to swing by Jungkook’s place after your date with Doyeon, finding him lazily sprawled across his living room couch while What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim? plays on the Jumbotron. He’s in between projects right now, so he’s spent most of his time relaxing and catching up on all his favorite shows. 

Which brings you back to that deliberating character flaw of yours: no knowledge of the romantic genre to utilize in your everyday life. Your love language has always been blunt words, teasing jabs, the raw and unfiltered type of love. Emotions? Impossible to figure out. You’ve gotten pretty far in life reading verbal and physical cues; with Jungkook, you always know he’s upset when he does the little tongue-against-cheek thing, and it has saved you from many potential arguments. 

On the other hand, it is so obvious what Jungkook’s love language is when he spends fifty percent of his time on Viki, home to some of the most cheesy kdramas in existence. Most guys spend their weekends watching sports or dramatic action movies, but here was Jungkook. Watching some guy try to court his secretary. 

(Okay, he does watch sports and action movies too, but that’s not the point!)

“Hello, sweet boy,” you greet, plopping down beside him. Jungkook smiles back softly. He’s serving absolute pre-pre-husband deliciousness right now, cute glasses, fluffy curls, plaid bottoms that make him look so comfy. God, you were going to suck his dick tonight. 

Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, tastes like the chocolate cake you specifically told him not to eat without you. He blindsides you before you can scold him, pulls you onto his lap where the swell of his cock nudges against your thigh. Oh, you were definitely going to suck his dick and ride him well into the sunrise. 

“What’s my pretty girl doing here tonight?” he asks, cutely looping his fingers through yours. “Thought you were with the Wicked Witch of the West today?”

You roll your eyes, reposition yourself in a laughable attempt at pretending like you’re actually interested in the show. “We just went out for lunch,” you explain, watching the hot lead saunter across the screen. Juicy ass, but nothing compared to Jungkook’s. 

There’s a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, Doyeon’s explanations mixed with your worries, and you hold it for exactly ten seconds before you’re turning to face him head on, eyes going a little crossed from how close he is. “Hey,” you say bluntly. “Is this a promise ring?” you ask, wiggle your finger in his face. 

Jungkook blinks, once, twice, and then his face shoots up in flames. “Maybe,” he mumbles, lips pursed as he tries to avoid your gaze. He was adorable. You laugh, endeared by the red flush that crawls over his cute little cheeks and up his ears. Unable to stop yourself, you squeeze said cheeks between your hands, cooing at the annoyed expression that consumes him soon afterwards.  

“Aw, you want to marry me,” you tease, but it’s secretly a leading question for him to confess that yes, he does want to marry you. For as hot and confident as you are, you too are plagued with doubts. Doubts that can only be smoothed over by hearing it straight from Jungkook’s mouth. 

He rolls his eyes, trying to break free from your hold. “We’ve talked about this,” he murmurs, all embarrassed. But like always, Jungkook knows exactly what you want so he doesn’t deny it, and that’s good enough for you. He’s too flustered to look you in the eye now, childishly craning his head away from you when you try to force him into a staring contest. “Can I finish my show?” he whines, slightly not as hard now that you’ve reduced him into a shy, bumbling mess. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, composed self. 

But you relent, sliding off his lap to sit against his side, classic octopus hug around his waist. The episode is in full swing, not that you know anything about it. Like you said, romantic shows and movies were the least of your concerns. Jungkook, however, eats this type of shit up. “He still trying to fuck her?” you ask, not the least bit interested, but if you’re planning on sucking his dick tonight you have to listen to a few minutes of him rambling first. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t get it.” You hum, trail your hand over his abdomen teasingly. He feels so warm and lean beneath your palm, you were getting hot just thinking about it. “Why would anyone agree to dating their boss?”

You know that Jungkook’s boss is some old Facebook fart, pioneer of something on the site that neither of you two care about. So it makes sense that such a notion disturbs him. You shrug anyway. “Everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss,” you offer. “It’s like, the power dynamic, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “Would you?” Your boss isn’t exactly an old fart; the reason Kim Seokjin was such a renowned playboy is because, well, he had the looks to pull it off. Still, he had become a sort of respectable figure to you and the idea of sleeping with him doesn’t really sound appealing as much as it would to any other random bachelorette, which you admittedly were not. You glance at the screen, where Park Seojoon swaggers around in those tight slacks and fitted button-ups. 

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

Jungkook laughs. “You’re supposed to say no, you idiot,” he says, knocks his forehead against yours softly. You can’t help but chuckle too, enamored with the happy glint in his eyes and the way his smile eats up his features. 

Oh, you loved this man. 

Because he was so sweet and good on Christmas, you let Jungkook make the plans for Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s his favorite holiday (“Why? Well, because it’s a day all about you, and me, and us,” he had sighed dreamily in the bathtub one night, hair adorably pushed back to showcase that handsome face of his. Bubbles clung to his chest, had made you dizzy with every breath he took.), so it’s only right that he gets to make the itinerary for the day, fill it with all his favorite things. After all, cheesy romantic stuff like this was right up his lane. 

He reserves a spot at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the one that has a months long waiting list. It sounds perfect, and the closer it gets to February 13th, the more excited you become. You say 13th because the 14th is a Sunday, and as much as you would love to get on your knees and praise Jungkook’s body until the wee hours of the next day, you have work. So Sunday is off the table. And it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Everywhere would have been packed that day anyway. 

It seems like everywhere you go, the entire world is gearing up for the holiday; from the fast food drive-thru to your favorite lingerie shop, there’s Valentine’s Day specials everywhere you look. Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. 

But what good is a lovey-dovey holiday without your own lovey dove himself? 

One glance out your window and your knees feel weak, because there he is. Dressed in a loose satin button up, shoulders broad, chest defined. He’s got on these fitted dress pants that accentuate his tiny waist too, thick thighs bulging beneath the fabric. There’s a coat hugging his frame, something to shield him from the cold while he waits out on the curb, does this cute little shivering dance in an attempt to warm up his muscles. Your heart feels like it’ll explode at the sight, and you can practically hear the corny, overused romantic song playing in the background of your thoughts, so you hurriedly distract yourself by slipping tonight’s dress on. 

It’s cold outside, but the sight of Jungkook makes you feel warm and fuzzy everywhere. He’s so hot it makes you dizzy, and the sap knows it when he meets you on the sidewalk. Instinctively, his hand reaches out to tangle with yours, the other slipping around your waist. “Hi, gorgeous,” he greets playfully, kissing your knuckles. His hair has grown out a little, curls up cutely when he lets it air dry and tickles your skin when he gets too close. “Lookin’ like Secretary Kim.” 

“Oh? So does that make you my hot boss?” you tease as you make your way to the car. 

As always, he opens the door for you first, flashes you this dorky little wink as he rounds the front of the car. “If it means you’ll sleep with me tonight, then sure,” he says, buckling himself in. You roll your eyes at his claim. You don’t get to see the proud little smile on his face; by the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s already pulling off in the direction of the restaurant. 

It’s a classy thing, a restaurant and bar in some insanely tall skyscraper. Of course your seats are right beside one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful, glittering cityscape. “Fancy,” you murmur as you sit down, catching a glimpse of the eye roll Jungkook gives you. 

“You say that about any place that serves wine,” he chuckles, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour you a glass. 

The wine tastes like perfection, aged for the perfect amount of time. Whatever that was. You don’t really know, but it tastes amazing! Still, amazement aside, you manage a scoff. “I didn’t say that about your house on our first date,” you huff anyway, throwing him a playful glare over the rim of your glass. 

Jungkook laughs, full and real this time. It’s a little too loud for the classy establishment you find yourselves in, drowns out the jazz music for a second. “That’s because it was a house,” he says, wearing that big, shiny smile you adore, “and we were watching Transformers.” An amazing date, the mere memory of it makes your toes curl. He had been so dreamy— nearly two years ago now! —and had retained that aura up to the present day. You don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with anyone or anything in this world before, as cheesy as it was to admit. 

As if sensing your sudden wandering thoughts, Jungkook nudges your ankle under the table. “Hey,” he says so softly you could melt; his voice was so silky and sweet. “Everything okay?” he asks. 

A sigh, chin in your palm. You had to have been abducted by aliens or something— there was no way this was your life, this disgustingly romantic date with this disgustingly handsome man. An episode of Black Mirror maybe? One where you get forced to live in a romantic Viki drama with the man you love, every single day for the rest of your life? Maybe. 

Dramatics aside, you could practically feel that sticky sweet, sentimental monster begging to crawl to the surface, unleash the entire Shakespearean collection of lovesick sonnets on your unsuspecting boyfriend in the middle of this restaurant. But the weird ones, were you accidentally dedicate an entire six lines to the bulge of Jungkook’s thighs in his workout pants or the heart-shaped mole on his shoulder. Those kind. Before that can happen, you settle on an equally as gentle, “I love you,” murmured for only him to hear. 

Across the table, Jungkook smiles. One of those thin ones when he’s trying to keep his composure but is actually quite flustered, his subtle bunny teeth nibbling at his lower lip. “Thanks,” he responds, still trying to play it cool, but then he almost knocks his glass down and you’re reminded just how perfect he was, flaws and all. “Me too.”

You jab the pointed tip of your stiletto against his shin. “Say it back,” you warn and he laughs. 

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Straight out of a romantic drama, like the ones on Viki that require a minimum of four different story arcs just to get to this point. But with Jungkook, it takes a few shy smiles and maybe a kiss. It has a scorching heat rising on your cheeks, one you ward away with a hurried sip of your drink while Jungkook reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing over your promise ring as if for good luck. 

That singular phrase makes your world pause, its axis stalling while you deal with the overwhelmingly soft and gooey feelings in your chest. Oh jeez, you had to rock his world tonight. It was only right. He deserved it for making you feel like this— this silly and ditzy, like a middle schooler with her crush. 

Anyway the food gets to your table after a millennia. Jungkook orders some fancy lobster dish, one that you're pretty sure costs more than the purse you brought along tonight (to be fair, you’re a cheap buyer), and still has the audacity to poke around at your plate too. He eats enough to feed a schoolhouse full of children who’ve just come off recess, practically devouring the table cloth before you stop him. And then he doesn’t let you see the bill; “baby, don’t worry about that when you’re with me,” he purrs, warm breath fanning against the skin on your neck, drunk off pure love and strawberry lemonade because he was driving tonight. The hostess is a blushing mess, fumbling for his change as Jungkook practically gropes your ass in plain sight.

You swear he’s spending too much time on that Viki streaming service, because then, as if the romantic dinner date wasn’t enough, he whisks you off to an even more romantic walk along the river. 

If there was ever a world record for “Number of Times you can Make your Girlfriend Swoon,” you’re positive Jungkook had broken it in the span of a few hours. You feel so light-headed and in love by the time you reach the river. 

“You know,” you tell him as you walk, the serene sounds of the flowing water beside you the soundtrack to your date. Jungkook swings your joined hands between the two of you. It’s chilly but you’re so full and happy that you don’t let it bother you. “I was gonna throw wine at you when we first met.”

He cackles, that loud, airy sound again that he only lets you hear, with his head thrown back. “What?” he gasps, smiley and pretty, your pretty boy. “And why were you going to do that?”

You huff, feeling slightly embarrassed now to admit such a thing. But aside from Doyeon, no one else has ever heard this classified tale. And well, you’re feeling extra emotional tonight. An abundance of emotions in one night usually ended with you crying like a little bitch at some point or another, so you’re trying to push that off for later. “Because,” you sigh, squeezing his fingers, your lone promise ring versus his assortment of fashionable rings. “You sounded like an absolute fuck boy when you first texted me!” 

Jungkook scoffs, playfully scandalized. “Me?” he squawks, pausing to stand in front of you with wide eyes and a ridiculously huge smile, the kind that has his brows raised high, lips going thin, practically displaying every tooth in his mouth from how wide it is. 

“Jungkook,” you say calmly, shoving one finger against his chest. “You asked me to Netflix & chill for our first date.” 

He groans, using your entwined hands to pull you into his arms for a suffocating hug. “I already told you,” he laughs, patting the back of your head while you get in a few lighthearted punches against his sides. “I didn’t know what it meant.” 

“Whatever, you sleaze,” you say anyway, eventually melting into his hands. “Bet you tell all the girls that.” Jungkook makes another scandalized noise, but settles when you wrap your hands around him. He smells so good and familiar, comforting even. Like home and safety, a refuge for your heart. When you’re this close, you can hear the light beating of it beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that has you closing your eyes when he begins humming your favorite song. 

He gets about two verses in when your phone suddenly goes off. 

Everything in your body says to ignore it, to continue basking in the comfort of your boyfriend’s embrace and this absolutely perfect moment. But it’s the stupid ringtone you set for all your work peers when you first loaded the entire company contact list onto your phone, so the sound alone lets you know it’s a work-related call. And for work to be calling you on a weekend was definitely not a good sign. 

“Give me a sec,” you tell Jungkook, pulling away from his arms. He frowns but lets you go, staying close as you dig through your purse for the offending device. 

It’s Kim Seokjin calling at this peculiar hour, a fact that confuses the hell out of you. Jungkook’s bouncing on his heels in an attempt to fight off the chill, giving you his beautiful side profile as he glances down the winding sidewalk that follows the river, and then at his watch. His nose is a cute red color that you want to kiss so bad. But work calls, so you tighten up and let that dream go for now. You swipe your thumb across the screen. 

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” you greet, trying to keep the confusion out of your voice. “How can I help—“

“__, my love,” he beams through the phone, so fucking loud it has Jungkook glancing over curiously. You give him a tight-lipped smile, one he returns as he shuffles closer, trying to steal your warmth like a penguin. You let him snuggle close before turning back to the droning voice of your superior on the line. 

“Hello,” you repeat again, slowly. Jungkook takes your free hand in his; when he squeezes, the band of your promise ring digs into your skin just the slightest. “Was something the matter?” 

Seokjin laughs, loud and clear. There’s a lot of other noises filtering in through his line. Briefly, you remember that there had been some work-related party for the higher ups tonight so you write it off as that. “Does there need to be a problem for me to call you, love?” 

You falter. Beside you, Jungkook’s brows furrow together, his devilishly handsome features even more pronounced. He’s obviously heard the other man on the line. “Um,” you flounder for a second, “well, usually yes.” 

Without missing a beat, Seokjin carries on with a playful tut that you’re almost certain has him lifting the receiver up to his mouth, because it’s so goddamn loud it has you flinching away from your own device. “My __,” he says, sweet and… slurred? 

He’s never used this tone of voice on you, only on other women at the office. Something about his broken marriage and needing to heal a wound, you don’t fucking know. You can’t even begin to truly understand that logic, which is why you’ve always just ignored it. Still, in the last few months of knowing Seokjin, he has never made a pass at you. Until now, that is. And until now, you had kind of convinced yourself he saw you in a sisterly way. Which sure, was worse than being friendzoned. But this was your boss you were talking about. Whether you got sister-zoned or not by him was the least of your concerns. So what was going on? What had changed over the span of a few days that had him suddenly reaching out to you on a weekend? 

Beside you, Jungkook doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, tongue prodding against his cheek as Seokjin rambles on the line. You wish you had lowered the volume before answering, but doing so now would appear suspicious, even you could admit that. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Seokjin praises. You nod, remember he can’t see you, and settle on a blunt thanks instead. Jin laughs. “You’re different from the rest,” he hums, voice soft and weirdly intimate. 

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What does he want?” he murmurs, somehow managing to keep his voice calm as always. The deep furrow of his brows and the tongue-against-cheek motion he had done just a few seconds ago all indicate he’s annoyed, that much you can tell. 

You shrug, eyes wide as you hurry to get to the reason for the phone call. You’re almost certain it’s just Seokjin being drunk— many people drunkenly dial their friends and family to tell them how much they’re appreciated, this wasn’t anything weird! 

Is what you try to convince yourself, but then Seokjin’s voice is dropping an octave by your ear. “Did you get my gift?” he murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the event he’s at. 

“Huh?” you stammer, quite stupidly if you do say so yourself. Jungkook shifts closer, obviously trying to hear. A breeze ruffles his hair, his cologne wafting over you. “What?” 

A sigh over the line. “My gift, love,” Kim Seokjin says, loud and proud. Jungkook exhales, hard. “I had it sent to your house this evening. Something pretty for a pretty girl— don’t tell me the postman fucked that up,” he jokes and Jungkook huffs, practically breathing fire through his nose when he hears the words. 

You fidget. There had been no gift when Jungkook picked you up around sunset, not like you had expected anything to begin with. And aside from Jungkook and maybe your parents, there was no one else on this planet you wanted to receive a Valentine’s Day gift from anyway, especially not from your boss of all people. “Um,” you mumble, acutely aware of the way Jungkook’s face is nearly pressed to yours now in his effort to listen in on your phone call. “I— um, haven’t been home, Seokjin.”

Jungkook scoffs, spits out a particularly unimpressed, “Seokjin?” 

Said man doesn’t hear. “Oh, of course,” he says, almost sullenly. “I forgot you had that little boyfriend to entertain tonight.” 

It’s the breaking point for Jungkook, who leans back to glare at the phone with the heat of a thousand suns. You press it against your chest before he can hear anything else. “I’m sorry,” you rush out in a hurried whisper, eyes flickering over his face, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions. “I think he’s drunk— he’s never said things to me like this before,” you stammer, feeling like you have to defend yourself for some reason. “I’ll- I’ll take care of it, okay?” No answer, just an aggravated shake of his head, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jungkook?” you say, can feel the panic begin to lace your voice when his eyes flutter shut. 

He calms your worries with a gentle head butt that has you gasping in surprise, one hard exhale fanning over you. “Okay,” he says, teeth clenched. “I’m gonna go sit.” And then he stiffly walks over to one of the many benches lining the pathway. He sits, just like he had said he would, and glares down at his hands instead. 

The sight makes you anxious, unsure of how to diffuse the situation because, like you’ve said many times before, dealing with emotions— especially someone else’s emotions —was hard. Your eyes refuse to leave his figure as you draw the phone back up to your ear again. “Hello?” you call, voice trembling when Jungkook finally looks your way. The soft look he had given you all night is nowhere to be found, replaced with this rather unreadable expression. Something between annoyance and confusion if you had to guess. You don’t know, and the fact you don’t know makes you panic. Your chest feels tight when Seokjin begins speaking again. 

“You know,” he says, “you’re quite something, __. Strong, confident. Beautiful.” Had you been anyone else, you might have been flattered by Kim Seokjin’s remarks, maybe would have swooned. He was, objectively speaking, a handsome man with a hefty bank account. 

But if that was the criteria for a man to make you swoon, then the man on the bench in front of you checked all the same boxes three times over. The man who’s brows draw closer and closer together the longer you linger on the phone. Jungkook’s foot does one agonizing tap against the concrete and you find yourself stammering into the phone. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.”

A scoff. “I am,” he agrees, and doesn't even bother to hide it. “But you remind me of her, you know that? I like that.”

It’s like he knows something is going on on the line, because Jungkook visibly bristles when you sidestep in surprise. What was going on, your brain screams. Having your superior compare you to his infidel wife was definitely not something you saw coming tonight. “Uh, okay?” you say, “listen, Seokjin— Mr. Kim, I’m... I have a boyfriend. And I really lov—“

He cuts you off. Jungkook bristles at the sudden stop of your sentence. “Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin drawls, and you can feel the sheer terror of accidentally jeopardizing your relationship with Jungkook step aside for the briefest moment to allow some annoyance to seep through. Annoyed with Seokjin and his audacity, his tone, his voice. “Mrs. Kim used to say that about me,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A long pause. You’re unsure of how to respond. “It’s not real,” Seokjin says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Love, that is.”

You clench your jaw, gathering your thoughts to respond when Seokjin beats you to it. “But you know what, love?” You don’t respond. Seokjin pushes on anyway. “Someone’s gonna cheat sooner or later— why not beat him to it?” 

Your body reacts first, a startled gasp inhaled through your lips at his disrespectful preposition. Your phone slips out of your grasp. It bounces twice, lands on the ledge that gives way to the river, and you almost kick it in when Jungkook comes up behind you. “Hey, hey,” he says sternly, tugging you away from the phone you almost killed. “What’s wrong— what did he say?”

You exhale, face warm from the discomfort sitting heavy in your chest. “Nothing,” you huff, mind slightly foggy as you try to process that awkward conversation. “It’s— it was stupid,” you spit, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, the raging anger and confusion making your head pound now. 

You had always known Kim Seokjin wasn’t the most faithful man, that the infidelity ran both ways in his relationship. But you had never imagined he would ever compare you to her, his cheating wife, in an attempt to win you over. Furthermore, you’re downright disturbed by the fact he would even try to hit on you after all the mentoring he’d given you, all the polite smiles he’d flashed you, all the praise you had bestowed upon him to Jungkook. 

Jungkook, whose jaw twitches as his hands graze your forearms. When you look at him again, you feel an immense wave of remorse wash over you at the way his own irritation is clouded by his worry for you. He had been wronged as well— disrespected just like you —but here he was, pushing his own emotions aside for your sake. He doesn’t want to see you upset. He was so good at dealing with your emotions, knew just what to do when things became too much. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, lips pursed together. “I don’t know why— he’s never— I wouldn’t do that,” you settle on, voice wobbling when Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “Jungkook,” you frown, reaching for his hands, “I wouldn’t—“ 

He shushes you with another one of those gentle forehead bumps. “Calm down,” he says, voice deeper than usual. “I know you wouldn’t.” 

Weirdly, it feels like you’ve committed a grave sin against your boyfriend. A crime. “I’m sorry,” you blubber anyway, heart thundering in your chest. “That was horrible,” you huff, desperately blinking away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. “You didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, so soft and comforting; stable. You want his composure, his ability to process and understand things so quickly— his maturity. Sure he had been put off by Seokjin, but he had processed it all so quickly; adapted to the situation and stepped in to save you. Meanwhile, you nearly committed cellular murder because you couldn’t handle yourself. “He’s a weirdo,” he says, for both your sakes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” 

Still, you sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say again, the heavy feeling in your chest lightening just a little bit when he pulls you into his arms. 

“Crybaby,” he teases softly, a kiss on the crown of your head. You pinch his side. “Second phone you broke in a year.”

The mood for the riverwalk is off after that, and you only walk a few more meters before Jungkook decides it’s enough. “We can still enjoy ourselves at home,” he reassures you, and the way he tries to salvage that soft, fuzzy feeling from before is admirable. So Jungkook takes you home, holds your hand the whole drive back to your place, like he knows you’re still fragile from that extremely uncomfortable interaction, need him to hold you together. Jungkook’s emotional stability guards you like a shield, covers you in a wave of comfort as you calm down. You tell him about Seokjin’s preposition and he bristles. “Prick,” he murmurs beneath his breath, grip tightening just the tiniest bit. Your ring pinches against your skin a little painfully, but you say nothing. 

There’s a box of flowers on your doorstep when you arrive, one that makes Jungkook pause at the sight. “Wonderful,” he drones, picking it up for you as you unlock the front door. It gets left on the coffee table, practically mocking the two of you as you remove your shoes and coats. “That’s your favorite flower,” Jungkook notes. 

You glance at the expensive bouquet. “It is.” 

Jungkook drops down onto your couch, eyes flickering to the meticulous arrangement in front of him. “You told him?” Not really. But back when you had thought Jungkook and you were engaged (read: last week), you had spent days looking at different floral shops that specialized in this flower, frequently leaving the tab open on your work computer. Seokjin must have seen it then. At your extended silence, Jungkook says, “nice.”

You frown, setting your heels on the shoe rack. “Baby, I didn’t,” you tell him softly, reaching for the zip on the back of your dress. It comes down, and after clearing your hips, it falls to the floor in a dark heap you pick up quickly. It leaves you scantily clad in a black lingerie set. Meanwhile, Jungkook drops his head back, glaring at your ceiling. Tentatively, you step over to him, toying with the fabric of your dress in your hands. “You said it was okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, an unexpected confession from him that makes you pause. Despite all you’ve been through, he still rarely highlighted situations that upset him. “It’s just,” he says, turning his head to look at your form again, eyes not drinking you in like you hoped he would. “It’s scary.”

The couch cushion dips beneath your weight when you settle beside him. “What is?”

Jungkook shrugs, avoiding your question by reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table, right beside the box of flowers Seokjin had sent. He opens up the Viki app in a flash— the one linked to his account —and has even loaded up the next episode of Secretary Kim when you question him again. “What’s scary, Jungkook?” you repeat. 

On screen, there’s a beautiful scene on a bridge, the two leads happily conversing. It’s serene, something neither you nor Jungkook feel at the moment. 

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

You pause. “What do you mean?” Leave? Where on earth would you leave to when this was your home? He doesn’t meet your gaze. 

Another scene passes by on screen, some cheesy line and an even cheesier promise. Jungkook’s foot taps against the floor, the sound dull against the plush rug beneath you. It’s a nervous tick you’ve only seen him do at the height of truly stressful situations. Weird because just half an hour before you had dubbed him as the epitome of calm and collected at the river. 

“I thought he was cool before.” 

He did. But the word ‘cool’ didn’t always have the same meaning for Jungkook as it did for you. 

In the past, Jungkook had frequently joked about having to meet Kim Seokjin and thank him for all the help he’s given you at work. After all, up until now, you had only ever had good things to say about the man, raving about his cool demeanor and respectable work ethics. Now, the memories paired with the conversation from earlier leave a bad taste in your mouth. 

You’re a little confused with Jungkook right now; part of you had convinced yourself that whatever happened on the phone earlier with Seokjin was put behind you, marked off as an anomaly in the evening. After all, Jungkook himself had said it was okay. Park Seojoon appears on screen, and you can’t help but glare at the character, residue emotions from the river pushed off onto this innocent actor. 

Still, Jungkook surprises you. “It’s just that—“ he sighs. And then, “what if you leave?” 

You blink, eyes trained on his side profile and the way he’s nervously chewing through his bottom lip until it tints a red shade, gives way to sensitive skin when he bites too hard. “Why would I leave?” 

He says nothing. On screen, Park Seojoon says something so cheesy and romantic that it would have otherwise made you cringe, made Jungkook soft. But he’s stiff as a board beside you instead. You almost think he’s going to disregard the entire conversation when he finally speaks again. “Well.” You perk up at the sound of his voice, overly aware of the way he’s started picking at the skin around his thumb again, another nasty habit you’ve been trying to help him get over. “He’s cool. Rich.”

“And so are you,” you offer, covering his hand with your own. 

Jungkook ignores you, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Somehow, he’s exuding a similar energy as before; discontentment mixed with understanding. Like he’s greatly conflicted but forcing himself to remain calm. Another trembling inhale, and then Jungkook quietly recites, “everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss.” 

You recoil just the slightest, brows pinched together at the absurd conclusion he’s drawn. “Baby, that was just a silly conversation,” you say slowly, slipping your hand into his. He squeezes so tight you’re afraid he’ll break your bones. “And we were joking—“

“I know!” he exclaims, enveloping your significantly smaller hand in both of his before bringing them up to his face, lips pressed against your knuckles. It’s not a kiss, more so a desperate need to feel you against him. Eyes wide, you can’t do anything but watch as that collected exterior slips away, revealing a whirlwind mess of emotions. It’s a rather unexpected show from Jungkook. “It was a joke. We were joking. But I’m—“ his jaw clenches. His voice is so tiny when he speaks again. “I get scared sometimes, __.” 

His emotional outburst renders you speechless, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hands trembling. 

It’s a stark image change from the cool Jungkook that had comforted you at the river, had patted the back of your head when you had been so distraught. His chest heaves for air and you don’t know what to do; it’s always the other way around, him comforting you, that when it comes down to this you find yourself at a loss. It makes you feel like you don’t know enough about yourself or him or your relationship in general to help him, always so lost when things like this happen. 

Jungkook has never been good at expressing negative emotions, always preferring to bottle them up and only show you his very best side. Granted, he’s been getting better at letting go lately, has whispered his doubts to you in the dead of night after a particularly grueling project, an uncomfortable social meeting. But he always waits until you’re half asleep and in the dark to tell you how he feels, hushed worries that you barely remember the next morning. And by then, Jungkook’s moved on from them anyway, flashes you a pretty smile and purposefully guides you away from that conversation. You know he’s started keeping a journal recently, but aside from seeing the blanks pages when he’d first gotten, you don’t have a clue what happened afterwards. It’s probably hidden away somewhere, his feelings locked up in a cupboard or a box, the secrets it holds never to be spoken of aloud. 

He doesn’t like talking about his more personal problems, hoards them until you’re forced to intervene. Find him slumped over at his dining table with bags under his eyes, the skin on his lower lip bitten beyond belief. 

Rarely does he sit down and express himself like this, lays his heart out carefully for you to see. Had he not said so right now, you would have never known Jungkook struggled with such doubts about you and your relationship. 

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

Jungkook always acts like everything is okay, always forces himself to hold it together for the sake of you and, quite frankly, everyone else. He’s there when Taehyung breaks up with his girlfriends, pats him on the back and lets him run through every video game he has on his PS5. He’s there for Namjoon when his thesis becomes too much, proofreads it even though he doesn’t understand a word just for the sake of giving his best friend another perspective. Hell, he had even been there for Doyeon when her new landlord had tried to overcharge her, had carried the bulk of your argument when you ran off to try and fight with the old man. 

(“He’s too nice sometimes,” she had murmured the next morning at her place. After the shouting match the night before, you had crashed with Doyeon on her new bed, your sweet boyfriend taking up her couch. Somehow, you and Jungkook had managed to knock a clean seventy-five bucks off her monthly bill. It wasn’t much, but for an apartment in the city it sure felt like a lot. 

You had hummed, patting the top of his head on the way to the kitchen. “He’s a good boy,” you had said, heart thrumming when he instinctively pushed closer to your hand, nuzzling into you even in his sleep. “He cares about everyone a lot. Worries to death about his friends.”

The state of their relationship was weird; they were always fighting about one thing or another, ‘eternal enemies’ as Doyeon liked to claim. 

But for the first time, she hadn’t denied they were, in fact, friends. Instead, she had quietly stood at the breakfast nook overlooking the living room with a somber look on her face that was completely unlike the Doyeon you knew. She didn’t respond with her usual backhanded compliments, didn’t even call him a gremlin either. 

“He even worries about you, Miss Wicked Witch of the West,” you had teased, reaching over to pull Jungkook’s shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing his cute belly button to the cold apartment. She had sipped at her mug of coffee, eyes foggy and distant. “It just takes him a while.” 

“He’s always cared about you though,” she had murmured then, and you had marked it off as her being half asleep. But Doyeon had given you this look, a look so profoundly wise, as if she was saying, “more than you’ll ever know.”) 

Most importantly, Jungkook is always there for you. He holds you in his arms, strokes your back comfortingly whenever something goes wrong. Listens to your concerns and offers you advice, learns new things for the sole purpose of helping you out. Lets you make stupid decisions and always saves you at the last minute. And you want to repay him for all that, want to look after Jungkook like he does for everyone else. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, when he doesn’t let you in, when he holds his emotions at bay for the sake of protecting yours. When you don’t even know where to start sometimes. 

The beating of your heart is accompanied by a dramatic orchestral ensemble on screen, violins and flutes as the two lovers reconcile some issue with a kiss. Beside you, your own lover is one second away from falling apart. “Hey,” you say quietly, slipping your hand out of his to hesitantly place on his back instead. With your release, Jungkook uses his empty hands to drag over his face, hide himself from you. “I’m not going to leave you, Jungkook,” you try and comfort, “I love you.” 

He shakes his head, dark locks bouncing around. “I know, I know,” he sighs, but it doesn’t sound like he believes you. It sounds like he’s forcing himself into composure again, jaw flexing as he shakes his head. “But— what if—” another aggravated huff, his thighs jumping anxiously. “You’ll get bored.” Not a question, but a statement. 

“Of you?” you ask anyway. He nods. “I won’t.”

He sits up so suddenly you have to move away to avoid bumping into him. “You will,” he urges, finally looking at you, distress painted over every inch of his face. “That guy, that Seokjin, he sounds more interesting than me. He sounds cool and put together, like the world is his oyster and,” he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You talk about him sometimes and... and you call him a god, __,” he stresses, doesn’t leave room for you to object. “And I know you’re joking, but—“ a sharp inhale, and then, quietly, “everyone gets bored of me, __.” 

Your frown deepens. “But I won’t,” you argue, confident in your claim, shifting onto your knees beside him. Your dress is thrown over the armrest of the couch, and the draft in your apartment makes goosebumps rise on your bare flesh. “You’re not boring, Jungkook,” you tell him, voice softening when his features pinch up, nose wrinkling as he wards off the stinging behind his eyes. 

It’s teenage trauma. Jungkook had told you at least that much before, this crippling sense of loneliness and an inferiority complex that hindered him during an influential growth period of his life. It’s why he’s so quiet when he has so much to say, why he brings you along to every party he gets invited to; he’s never felt like he was enough by himself. 

Sometimes, it leaks into his confessions. “I don’t deserve you,” he says frequently, but some days you want to hot glue him to a chair and force him to listen to every reason why he does and always will deserve you or anyone for that matter. “You make me better,” he claims, but he does that all on his own, lights up the world with his smile alone. 

He’s gotten better, that much you’ve learned from Namjoon and Taehyung. And even you’ve noticed it on your own, watched as he animatedly talked with his friends and his coworkers, drew people naturally to him with his warm aura. 

Even still, there’s moments where he relapses. Moments like this. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs beside you, “I know I’m a handful—“

“You’re not,” you interrupt, cupping his soft cheek in your hand, turning him to face you. Jungkook leans into the touch, and your heart breaks in half when a tear escapes over his waterline, pretty eyes brimming with tears. “You’re not a handful, Jungkook,” you tell him, shuffling closer until you can press your forehead against his. The truth is, you don’t know how to comfort him, but this is how he’s always comforted you; it feels nice when he does it for you. “You’re just enough,” you say, voice soft because it feels like your precious boy is about to fall apart in your arms, his shallow breaths rivaling the volume of the television. “You’ve always been enough.” 

He sniffles, and another tear tickles the side of your thumb, catching the light. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, a disbelieving chuckle tacked on at the end. 

“Don’t be,” you shush, pushing away a strand of hair when he leans closer. His frown is still prominent, pink lips red and soft under your thumb when you tap your finger against them. “You can tell me when things worry you, you know,” you inform him, heart swelling when his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch. He’s so handsome, the cute little mole beneath his lip begging to be kissed. “I’ll always listen.”

Jungkook hums, breathing evening out. “I know you will,” he says. “But I like listening to your voice more, and I can’t do that when I’m talking.” 

You snort and Jungkook finally lets a tiny smile slip. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after your meltdown,” you mumble, kissing his cheek softly. 

Jungkook chuckles, real this time, and sniffles right afterwards. “I’ll flirt with you whenever I want.” And, because he’s just so full of surprises tonight, he sniffles once more before he’s unceremoniously tackling you back onto the couch. You squeal, the TV remote digging into your back painfully. It has the volume accidentally skyrocketing, startling the both of you with an ear-shattering orchestral piece at the height of some emotional scene. Jungkook scrambles to free the device and lower the volume before your eardrums burst. “I didn’t even know your TV could go that loud,” he says, and he’s speaking normally but the deafening violins are still reverberating in your head, making him sound quieter than he really is. 

“Come here,” you say instead, and he obeys, crawling into your arms, mouth hovering just over yours. “You feeling better?”

Jungkook nods, dark hair bouncing. “You make me better,” he tries, but after tonight’s realization, you respond to his corny words with a pinch against his doughy cheek instead. 

“Don’t say that,” you frown, toying with one of the earrings decorating his ear. The tip of his nose is flushed red, the exertion from crying catching up to him. His lashes are dark, probably feel so heavy with the residual tears that cling to them. 

Jungkook repositions himself, guides your legs around his waist. “Why not? It’s true.” He glances at your mouth. “You make my life better.”

“Wrong,” you say bluntly, brushing his hair back with your hands. “Your own perception and understanding of your experiences makes your life better. I just happen to be in it.” Jungkook looks the tiniest bit surprised at your suddenly logical argument. “Trust me, I saw it in a documentary the other day.” 

At that he laughs, full and loud, pecking your lips once with a sweet smile on his face. “Now I know you’re lying,” he grins, gently nudging his nose against yours. The drama on the TV is but a quiet hum compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest when he looks at you like that. “Because you don’t even like documentaries.” 

You kiss him softly, holding his hair back for him. He tastes a little bit like the chocolate cake he had at the restaurant and the lemonade he drank (he didn’t indulge in the sweet wine with you because he needed to drive). His lips mold perfectly against yours, and he sighs softly when he finally draws back. “But I like you,” you purr. 

Jungkook’s eyes darken, one heavy exhale fanning across the lower half of your face. You readjust the leg around his waist, pull him closer just the slightest bit. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after my meltdown,” he repeats, lips brushing against yours. You chuckle. “You don’t know what that means to me.” You can roughly guess, but that opportunity is taken away when Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, soft lips molding to yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wastes no time slipping in when you open for him, hot and wet. 

Jungkook’s fingers are just as warm when he trails them up the back of your thigh, pulls you impossibly closer until the buckle on his belt is pressed flush against your mound. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, chest jumping just the slightest from the pressure. It makes Jungkook pull away with an easygoing grin, chocolate eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath a little shaky from the kiss. You nod, tangling your fingers behind his head and pulling him in close again. 

He evades your puckered lips, ducking down to press his own against your throat, right beneath your jaw. “Ugh,” you groan, digging your nails into his back through his satin shirt. “I wanted a kiss.”

Jungkook nips at your skin, this tiny gesture that couldn’t hurt even if he tried. “You always want a kiss,” he retorts softly, the quiet smack of his lips filling your ears as he bestows a series of smooches against your skin. And it’s so devastatingly tender how he handles you, like you’re made of glass and will break at a moment’s notice, like he wants to treasure your body for the rest of his—

Jungkook chomps down, hard, and you hiss. “Sit still,” he orders, soothing over the bite with one broad lick of his tongue. 

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

“And it’ll hurt even more if you keep moving,” he warns you, and before you can ask what that even means, he’s leaving another stinging bite just further down. It’s at the midway point of your neck, right in front, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat when he sucks a painful mark over it. “There,” he says, mostly to himself. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten around him, and you fight down the wave of heat that threatens to consume you when he places one final kiss over the second mark— the hickey. 

Jungkook doesn’t usually leave them. In fact, you can rarely recall a time where he had purposefully gone out of his way to mark you up like this. It was always accidental, always unplanned, because he knew how troublesome it was for you to cover them up for work the next morning. Work, where your coworkers and your bosses and Seokjin could see. 

Brows pinched together, your brain begins to draw a connection, one that Jungkook is soon confirming himself. “Everyone will see that now,” he hums, kissing a trail down your neck. 

Of course. 

You pat the back of his head in amusement, hiding a smile against his soft locks. Before you can say anything more, maybe tease him for being so cute, there’s a hand on your hip that snaps you out of your scheming. Jungkook lifts his head, does that endearing little head shake that pushes his hair out of his eyes, before leaning in for another languid kiss. 

It’s even slower than the first, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with running his hands over your body now. It starts at your shoulder, teasingly snaps the strap of your bra as you push your tongue down his throat. Jungkook whimpers, that pretty sound that makes you desperate to hear more. It’s the same sound that he always makes when he wants to be pampered, wants you to kiss his entire body while he lays there and takes it. 

And you’re all too ready to act on it. 

Duty calls and you’re there to answer, tilting his head for him with your hands against his cheeks. He sighs against you, breath trembling as it tickles across your skin. That soft and tender way that makes you melt because he’s just so precious, so dreamy. 

But you’re too caught up in your plotting to remember the hand he’s got on your hip, the one that teases the waistband of your panties with one lone finger. It’s only when Jungkook pulls away from your inviting mouth, his other hand holding you down by your shoulder, that you’re snapped back into reality. His lips are swollen and red, slick from your tongue, and so tantalizingly kissable. He huffs out a breath, eyes flickering over your face. “Can I touch you,” he husks, and gives into the temptation to press a kiss against your jaw. 

“Yes, please,” you shiver, hypnotized by his hungry stare. 

Jungkook wastes no time, pressing another kiss against the bruising mark over your throat that dissolves into a series of lighter smooches he trails down between your breasts. His hands come up to cup your boobs over your bra, giving them one harsh squeeze that has you releasing a long exhale as he moves between the valley and down your tummy, over your belly button. “Open,” he says at your pubic bone, carefully guiding your legs apart until you’re spread wide for him. 

The dark panties you’re wearing tonight— the super expensive ones you had spent an hour measuring your body for the exact sizing —receive one light kiss over the front. “Always so pretty for me,” Jungkook murmurs, tracing one lone finger down the middle. Your stomach contracts when he nudges it against you, the soft material of your panties just barely pushed between your folds. 

As his hand occupies itself with some relatively light foreplay, Jungkook tasks himself with leaving another tingling mark against your skin. This time, it’s on the inside of your thigh. He starts it off slowly, a few littered kisses against the skin until he deems one spot worthy enough and abruptly sinks his teeth into you. “Not so hard,” you whimper, reaching down to bury your hands in his hair. 

Jungkook lets it go, sloppily licking over the area. “You like it hard,” he husks, meeting your gaze as he licks one, long stripe over the tender skin. “Don’t you?” You nod demurely, pressing your knuckles against your lips to hold back a tiny moan from slipping past your lips. 

With that new mark blooming over your skin, Jungkook transfers his attention to your pussy, hidden beneath the soft material of your panties. One finger hooks under the hem, tucking them aside until he can see you in your entirety. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing one light kiss over your clit that makes you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his scalp. Jungkook throws one final glance your way before letting his tongue slip past his lips, the very tip flicking against your clit. 

Your breathing becomes shallow, anticipation building in the pits of your stomach as he slowly but surely begins playing with you. His tongue is so warm and wet, nudges your throbbing clit, nose pressed against your mound. “Mmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth works wonders. 

“Ah,” you gasp, whiny and high-pitched, when he dips one finger past your wet folds. The entry is seamless, his pointer finger sinking into the velvet walls of your cunt as his tongue swirls against your hardened bud. “Jungkook,” you mewl, knocking your heel against his shoulder. Jungkook huffs, suctions his lips around your clit. The cold metal of the rings he always wears— the duo set from that Chrome Hearts brand he likes so much —presses against the trembling lips of your pussy, makes your back arch when he twists his finger inside of you. 

He’s so precise with his tongue, knows just how long and how hard to lick against your pulsing clit until you’re trembling, thighs quivering. Briefly, he pulls away, flicks his hair to the side in one suave motion that lets you see his dark eyes when he glances back up at you again, covered in a thick sheen of lust that makes them appear almost black as opposed to his usual warm brown. His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, tug them off with one fluid pull. 

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs, the end of his words laced with a slight rasp that makes your hips jump. “All for me,” he says, roughly pushing his finger into you again. The harshness makes your entire body tighten up in surprise, eyes fluttering shut when he slips his middle finger alongside his pointer this time around. 

“Baby, wait,” you whimper, walls fluttering around the two digits. Jungkook leans back in, presses a chaste kiss against your clit that makes your breathing stall as he thrusts his fingers into you. 

He ignores your cries, locks his lips at the juncture where your thigh meets your body, sensitive skin that bruises all too easily when he sucks against it too hard. “Only for me,” he sighs, all pretenses discarded as he begins rapidly and roughly fucking his fingers into you. It’s intense, has your thighs quaking as he speeds them up. 

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you have to bite down on your knuckles to stop the litany of whimpers from slipping past your lips when Jungkook ducks down again. He bypasses your quivering clit, warm tongue licking at the warm, wet folds around his fingers instead. The proximity makes the tip of his round nose brush along the length of your cunt, a sight and sensation that makes you moan, his bangs harshly tugged away from his forehead to give you the perfect view. 

It’s with a particularly hard shove and twist combination of his fingers into your clenching walls that you cum, a gasp caught in your throat as your hips push toward him, chasing the feeling Jungkook bestows upon you. Your breathing is a mess, inhales too short, your exhales inconsistent, as Jungkook slows the speed of his fingers inside of you, lets your cum ooze out around them, coat his fingers and his rings. 

“No,” you cry, watching that look come over his face when he withdraws his hand, the look that usually follows him sucking your cum into his mouth. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do that—” you whine, reaching for his wrist and yanking it towards you. 

Jungkook follows, crawls back up beside you as he chases his own sticky fingers. “It’s mine,” he urges, has this weird look in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. And just as quickly as it crosses his features, he’s lurching forward to catch his own fingers in his mouth. It’s lewd, the way his tongue wraps around them, leaves them sleek under the TV glow, tattoos and rings glistening. He has the audacity to moan, eyes fluttering shut as his devious tongue slips down between his fingers, so long and precise. There’s a tiny noise that tears itself from your throat, one that has him flickering his clouded gaze up to you as his fingers are released from between his own lips. “You like that,” he murmurs, wet fingers trailing down your cheek, capturing your chin to turn your face his way completely. 

His tongue is sinful as it slips past your lips again, the tangy taste of yourself clinging to him. His breathing feels hot, suffocating. But his kisses are so good, make your mind go blank. So blank, that the fingers that rub at your clit surprise you completely. “Kook,” you gasp, breaking away from him in surprise. 

Jungkook doesn’t let you get far, capturing your mouth with his again. The two fingers you had felt on your chin are gone, firmly pressed against your swollen clit, experimentally rubbing against it. Never mind the fact you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, thighs quivering when he drags them against the wet, soft skin. It makes you shudder, breaking away from him a second time for a desperately needed inhale of fresh air. Jungkook follows behind closely, pressing kisses over your jawline, your chin, as his fingers continue moving against your clit.

He has them pressed together, rubbing at the front of your slit where that bundle of nerves is hidden. It makes your stomach contract, hips jerking forward into the touch in an effort to match him, to speed up the process. “You were made for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook huffs against your cheek, nose pressed against your skin because he’s just so close, practically molded into your side as his fingers send rhythmic shocks of ecstasy up your spine.

Your mouth drops open, stuttered gasps filtering through your lips as Jungkook takes advantage of your sensitive body to draw out another orgasm. But there’s a weird sensation that builds in your stomach this time, one that brings with it a sense of panic. “Wait—“ you gasp, fisting the silky material of his shirt beneath one clenched fist. “Jungkook,” you warn, toes curling.

He responds with a harsh nip against your lower lip that makes you whimper. “Go ahead,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over you at an insane speed, one that has your juices sloppily spread over your pussy, makes you buck into him and moan against his mouth. 

The feeling grows, an intense, unfamiliar thing that you rarely recall ever feeling before, gasping for air as Jungkook’s fingers caress your clit, pressing down hard. “Fffuck, fuck,” you sob, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes rolling backwards as you feel your pussy lips contract harder than ever before, thighs quivering as your juices squirt out of you, lower body reduced to jello as Jungkook quickens his movements, wrists jerking back and forth as your pleasure sprays out of you. “Ju— Jungkook,” you wail, forcefully slamming your thighs shut when he doesn’t stop, the pleasure seemingly never-ending under such a torturous touch. “Stop—stop,” you beg, eyes filling with tears that spill over when his trapped hand manages one final rough rub against your clit accompanied by a final gush of wetness. 

Only then does he stop, leaning back on his knees to drink you in with dark eyes that make you quiver. There’s no trace of his usual post-orgasm cockiness, the smile he’ll flash you, the teasing jabs. Nothing, just a frankly terrifying gaze that has you self-consciously pressing your hands over your chest. 

Jungkook doesn’t take kindly to it, roughly snatching one of your wrists up until you’re sitting up, the traces of your own orgasm present in the damp couch cushions beneath you, inner thighs coated in a thin sheen of your own pleasure. Jungkook leans in close, nose bumping against yours. “You came like that for me,” he says quietly, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You nod, eyes wide and teary when he reaches for the front of his shirt, giving it the same treatment he usually gives yours; two hands at the front, yanking it apart until the buttons are torn from their stitches and bouncing across your floor. 

He throws it off to the side, his tan skin highlighted by the cool tones of the television, the dark sleeve of his tattoo especially prominent. The black ink almost looks blue under this light. You’re so distracted by the perfect swirls and doodles on Jungkook’s skin that you don’t realize that same hand is reaching for you until it’s too late, long fingers wrapping around your throat to jerk you forward, head tipping back to look up at him. “Say it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The fingers around your throat squeeze once and then slowly begin tightening. You gasp, meeting his hooded gaze with yours, lips quivering for a response that’s stuck in your throat, trapped by your own surprise and tightening airways. Frantically, you reach for his wrists with both hands, not to pull Jungkook’s hand away, but to ground yourself from the hazy cloud of lust the moment evokes. 

Still, your body isn’t as strong as you thought, and once Jungkook reaches a certain tightness around your throat you find yourself coughing. Instantly, he loosens his grip. But not too much. “I- I’m yours,” you rasp out, gasping for air. 

For now, it satisfies Jungkook enough for him to release you. And while you’re grateful for the rush of fresh air that fills your lungs, the phantom ghost of his grip around your throat sends a new gush of wetness between your thighs. One that grows tenfold when Jungkook reaches for his belt, undoes it easily. It comes off with one fluid motion, carelessly shucked off to the side as his attention moves to the front of his pants instead. 

He doesn’t let you sit around uselessly. “On your knees,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Sit on your knees facing the table.”

You blink slowly, the dry tears on your cheeks leaving stiff trails against your makeup. It takes a moment for your brain to process his request, one long second that has Jungkook pausing in his movements, leveling you with one solemn glare that eventually has you springing into action. You hastily slip off the couch, shuffling toward the coffee table between it and the television. The rug is soft beneath your knees, a luxury you can’t enjoy to the fullest because there’s a ball of excitement and fear stuck in your throat. (Right beneath your bruised skin and recuperating windpipes.) Sitting back on your calves, it feels like every nerve is standing stiff as you await his instructions. 

“Bra off,” Jungkook says from behind you, and you’re startled by the sudden ripping of stitches behind you, almost turning to look at him. He stops you with one hand around the back of your neck, drawing a surprised gasp from you. “Sit still,” he commands, your back stiff straight, eyes focused on the screen. After a beat, Jungkook lets you go, pats the back of your head gingerly. “Good girl.”

A whimper catches in your throat at the praise, and you barely manage to bite down on it in time, hurriedly reaching behind you. Your hands fidget over the clasps on your bra, and you nearly jump out of your skin when one lone finger traces down your spine, undoing your bra for you. You don’t know why, but you say, “thank you.”

The television changes scenes in front of you, the bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness of Jungkook’s eyes. Your hands tremble in front of you, fingers anxiously tangling with each other. A few inches beside you, there’s a dark red box filled with the flowers from—

Suddenly, your vision goes dark, hands instinctively reaching up to your eyes. The pads of your fingers come in contact with a soft material, smooth and silky. Just like— “Is this… ?” you murmur, hands sliding across the makeshift blindfold Jungkook’s made for you, the same texture as his shirt had been. 

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, just a hand against your hip as he, presumably, settles behind you. “Does it matter?” Jungkook says instead, voice all too close to your ear. Your entire body locks up, hands quickly returning to their spot against the coffee table. 

Just as you’d suspected, Jungkook is all too close now, hands crawling over your body. They start at your waist, massage the skin tenderly, lovingly, before gliding up to cup your breasts. You shiver, a quiet exhale escaping you as Jungkook rubs his palms over your boobs, trapping your stiff nipples between his fingers. A sound threatens to escape you, and you trap it behind a bitten lip, fists clenched against the table before you. “You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, like he’s not pinching your nipples enough to make you squirm. “Who else do you think can make you come like this?”

You brain lags. “W- What?” you stutter, thighs pressing together to ward away the arousal. Not like they’re already sticky from before, from when Jungkook had made you squirt. 

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, pressing a kiss against your shoulder that he trails up to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Who else,” he says slowly, “can make you come like this?”

It’s not a trick question— no one could. You tell Jungkook as much. “I— no one,” you answer, rolling your lips in when he kisses the tender spot beneath your ear again. 

His kisses feel loud, but not as loud as his voice when he says, “exactly.” You swallow, gripping at the edge of the coffee table when he releases your boobs, trails one hand between your thighs, the other around your throat to pull you backwards against his chest. It makes your hands flail, landing against the tops of his thick thighs. 

Jungkook holds you close, fingers tightening around your throat teasingly. “No one else can please you like you want,” he exhales, letting his fingers trail over your skin. “Not the guy on tv, not your exes, not the fucking loser at your job,” he hisses, lips against your ear. “No one,” he reiterates, voice softer now as he presses a kiss against you. “No one but me.”

And it’s true. 

You can’t even muster your usual mouthy, bratty attitude when Jungkook serves you cold hard facts like this. Not when you can feel his aching member press against the small of your back, rest perfectly in the slight dip between your ass cheeks. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” he murmurs, voice low. 

You nod, tummy tightening when he uses the hand between your thighs to spread them apart. “Only you,” you agree, voice feathery.

Jungkook hides a grin against your skin, a mean chuckle escaping him when he rests his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, releasing your throat. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hands on your hips again. He uses them to encourage you up onto your knees, hips bumping into the edge of the table as he shuffles you forward. “Bend,” he says quietly, palm flat on the center of your back, pushing you down until your belly button is pressed against the cold wood, boobs swinging forward just the slightest. “Perfect.”

Jungkook shuffles up behind you, soothes a hand over your hip when you flinch at the first press of his cock against your folds. “You’re okay,” he comforts, voice like honey as he lines himself up. Your folds are slippery and wet, loose from your arousal and the two orgasms he’s already given you. 

Despite all that, the first push of his engorged cock past the tight muscles makes you gasp. “Baby, that’s,” you moan, nails scratching against the coffee table to make a sound that you would otherwise find uncomfortable. “I—“

Jungkook pants behind you, cock sinking further and further in. “I’ve got you,” he husks. His voice is like the light at the end of the tunnel, your dark vision forcing you to rely on him entirely as he guides you through the motions. “Made for me,” he repeats, voice airy.

You nod jerkily, arms trembling as his cock plunges deeper inside of you. “Made for you,” you gasp, head falling forward, forehead pressed against the cold surface in front of you. 

He moans, and there’s one deafening moment of silence when he finally reaches the hilt, soft pubic hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your folds. It’s a familiar sensation, having him buried inside of you, but it’s always different when he’s doing it from behind. He always feels fuller, bigger, mushroom tip practically kissing your cervix. 

“Kook,” you whimper, walls unintentionally contracting around him when he lingers a second too long. “Move.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses behind you. “I know, it’s just—“ he pauses, squeezes your hip so hard, you’re certain it’ll bruise. “I wanna… y’know,” he groans, dropping his head against your back, warm breath fanning across your slightly sweaty skin. 

It makes something in your stomach click into place, shifting back just the slightest. The small drag around your lips makes you brave. “Then do it,” you urge, desperate for any sort of friction. 

Jungkook practically growls, bucking into you once. “No,” he says, like he’s battling with himself, faced with a mental hurdle he can only cross alone. “You don’t understand,” he sneers, suddenly snapping back into position behind you, pulling you flush against his pelvis once more. It makes you whimper. 

“I kinda do—“

“You don’t,” Jungkook hisses, forcefully thrusting his hips into you enough to make your hips knock painfully against the edge of the coffee table, a startled moan falling from between your lips. And from there, it’s like you’ve unleashed a beast, because Jungkook shows you no mercy as he begins fucking you, his fat cock slipping in and out of you, his angry head flirting with your entrance. “I wanna fucking breed you,” he sneers, fingers digging into the skin around your waist to hold you still as he bucks his hips forward.

His vulgarity makes your skin heat up, the warmth probably tangible over your sloppily made blindfold, eyes wide despite the fabric that covers them. “That—” you gasp, thighs trembling with each powerful thrust. 

“It’s too much, I fucking know,” he huffs dryly, releasing one hip to press against your shoulders, roughly shoving you forward until your breasts are pressed against the surface, arms bent up beside you to stop yourself from hitting your head. “But— But,” he shudders, suddenly stopping his thrusts to grind his cock against you instead, pussy lips quivering around his girthy member. “I wanna,” he pants, “wanna see you so fucking full of me, because— you’re mine, __,” he seethes, “right?”

You nod blindly, dumbly, brain too flooded with the stimulation he’s bestowing upon you to think properly. “I- I am,” you confirm, gasping for air. “And you’re mine,” you manage to get out, one hand slapping down against the coffee table when he draws his cock out, slams himself back into you quickly. 

“I’m yours,” Jungkook slurs behind you, slowly picking up his pace again. The hand on your back lets go, and it’s with trembling arms that you manage to push yourself back onto your forearms, one hand blindly reaching for the hand he’s got gripping at your hips. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the sounds coming from your connected bodies so lewd and obscene, disgustingly wet when Jungkook slips back inside. He surges forward again, and you try to catch your balance, knees quivering underneath the force of his thrusts. Your hand slides over the tabletop in a feeble effort to hold onto something, anything. You can’t see, and even if you could there’s not much to hold onto on a flat surface. 

Except the box your hand knocks into. Your confusion lasts for only about a second because then Jungkook is ramming his cock into you, over and over, until you’re certain your hips are going to bruise and your knees are going to give out. Jungkook’s moans are soft and feathery, sighs that fan over your shoulder and make your back arch, eyes rolling backwards for the briefest second as if you were possessed. 

“Mine,” he whimpers, desperate and needy, fingernails digging into your skin as he pushes on. “Gonna be mine forever,” he growls. “Gonna— Gonna be so pretty and big,” he moans, “tits so fucking full.” The image he puts in your mind makes you dizzy. 

You nod dumbly, knuckles bumping against the box a second time. “Jungkook,” you choke out, fingers blindly nudging the box aside. But there’s no strength behind it, your entire body feeling weak and useless, all the energy concentrated in the coil in your stomach, the one that grows and tightens with every entrance of Jungkook’s cock into your pulsing walls. “There’s— There’s something,” you gasp, pinky finger tapping against it.

Behind you, Jungkook stills, harsh breaths deafeningly loud. Louder than the television and the corny music that plays, the mindless chatter of the characters you couldn’t name even if you tried. “Why would you...” Jungkook huffs, irritation lacing his words.

You don’t get to question it, because a second later his finger is tucking itself beneath your blindfold, yanking it off carelessly. It makes your head crane backwards, a tiny yelp torn from your lips as the blinding glow of the TV attacks your poor eyes at full force. Jungkook’s long since stopped his rapid thrusts, and it’s only when you glance off to the side that you realize why. 

It’s the stupid box of flowers Seokjin had sent you, the one Jungkook had placed on the coffee table when you first got home. 

Behind you, Jungkook releases one long exhale, both of you looking at the arrangement with various degrees of discomfort. “Did you like them,” he murmurs, cock throbbing inside of you. 

You shake your head, a soft, “no,” falling from your lips. The muscles in your thighs quiver like mad. 

Jungkook says nothing, but you watch as one inked arm stretches out from behind you, the movement of his hips pushing his cock deeper into you. A tiny whimper catches in your throat, watching as Jungkook hooks a finger over the lip of the box. One swift tug has it gliding over the tabletop, coming to a stop right beside your forearm. Jungkook leans back, the silence terrifying. 

“Did you think they were pretty?” he asks, tracing one finger down your spine. Your lower lip trembles as your eyes scan over the bouquet, at the pretty color selection and lovely scent that joined together to overwhelm your senses. 

“No,” you say, but it feels like a lie.

And Jungkook thinks so too, wrapping one hand around your throat and pulling you back forcefully. It’s the same as he did earlier, but with his cock deep inside your pussy, it sends a shock throughout your entire nervous system, a sob tearing itself from within you as he unintentionally pushes himself deeper inside. “Did you,” he says a second time, practically seething, “think Seokjin’s flowers were pretty?”

Your eyes flicker nervously across the screen in front of you, but everything is a blur, Jungkook’s harsh breathing against your ear. “Yes,” you confess, whimpering when his fingers tighten around your throat, press down against your windpipe as he inhales sharply. “But they’re just flow—“ He squeezes your throat so hard, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, mind growing fuzzy. Eventually, he lets go and you dissolve into a fit of coughs, bent over the coffee table again as Jungkook slips his stiff cock out from within you. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, throwing a teary-eyed look over your shoulder.

What you’re not expecting is for Jungkook to grab that same shoulder and roughly push you onto your side away from the coffee table, falling onto the fluffy rug as he shoves you down. “Something pretty for a pretty girl,” he sneers, biting down a frankly maniacal grin.

“What?” you exhale, probably looking at him with the same maniacal look in your eyes. 

(You were made for each other, so crazy and in love.)

Jungkook stretches one toned arm out, and you flinch when he uses that same beautiful arm to send the box of flowers flying over the edge of the coffee table, a hard thwack resounding throughout the room when they land face down on the other side, petals against the floor, water dripping out from inside. 

With those out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time flipping you over, face shoved down against the soft rug as he angles your hips up. “Thinking about someone else when I’m right here,” he growls, ramming his cock back into you with no warning. You sob, clawing at nothing as he bucks forward. “What a mean girl,” Jungkook scolds. 

“I- I wasn’t,” you defend weakly, shivering as he snaps his hips against you, the rug irritating your cheek when the motion sends you forward. Jungkook uses the hands on your hips to pull you back, your skin clapping together loudly. 

“You think Seokjin would— would fuck you like this?” he spits, using you like a toy as he fucks basically for himself, cock sliding in and out of your squelching walls. “You think he’d push you down and—and call you a stupid girl?” 

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut to fight the wave of tears threatening your waterline. Truthfully, it doesn’t make much of a difference, especially not when Jungkook yanks your hips back again, your entrance sensitive from all the friction. “No, no,” you sob. ”He wouldn't.”

Jungkook scoffs, not bothering to slow his pace down. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he spits, and then, strikes your ass. Two hard cracks of his palm, rings and all, against the globes of your ass. You wail, unconsciously jerking away only for Jungkook to drag you back. “Stupid girl,” Jungkook sighs, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel the beads of precum oozing out from the tip of his cock inside you, their warmth making you shudder. 

Your other ass cheek receives the same treatment, two harsh smacks that leave the skin tingling, blood rising to the surface. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeats, palms rubbing over your cheeks for a brief second, only to strike down again. “Aren’t you?” You nod, fat tears dripping out of the corner of your eyes and down onto the fluffy rug beneath you. Your behind stings, pain blossoming over your skin. But it’s the good kind, the one that has drool escaping from the corner of your lips from how overwhelmed it leaves you. 

“I- I’m a stupid girl,” you agree, your words punctuated by a series of tiny sobs and sniffles. Your walls feel sensitive, raw, from his thrusts. You’re ready to come, trembling hands slithering down to reach for your clit. 

“Don’t,” Jungkook warns, snatching your arm up and twisting it behind you. 

You cry, tears and drool against the rug. “I wanna come,” you whimper, trying your other hand only for it to meet a similar demise. “Please,” you sniffle, turning your face the other way as if the angle will somehow be different. 

“You don’t come until I say so,” Jungkook hisses, using his grip on your wrists to tug you onto his cock. You moan, choke on your own saliva from the force, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix for real this time. It renders you stupid, just like Jungkook had called you, chin trembling as your eyes roll backwards. Behind you, Jungkook grunts something deep and raspy. “Fffuck,” he spits, pistoning his hips into your inviting heat. “You were doing so good tonight—“ a particular brutal buck of his hips, a loud moan torn from your lips “—but first those fucking flowers and now this?”

The rhythm of his deep thrusts cut your moans into stuttered little cries, your words broken with every ram of his cock inside of you. Your walls feel worn, every brush sending a tingling shock up your spine. “I- I’m sorry,” you weep, shoulders shaking from your own tears and the rumbling orgasm that’s just about ready to snap. 

Jungkook says nothing, too busy shoving his cock inside of you to grace you with a response. Instead, you’re subjected to his relentless thrusts, sharp gasps from his pretty mouth. “Fuck,” he pants, releasing your wrists after one particular thrusts, your walls clenching around him painfully when he draws his cock out. 

“I can’t,” you sniffle, knees giving out before he can catch you, sadly sinking down onto the plush rug. “Kook, I—”

Jungkook makes a sound, something between a growl and a roar in the back of his throat as he follows behind you, planting two firm hands on the sides of your head to use as leverage to fuck himself in. With your thighs pressed flat together, the squeeze is tighter than ever before, and your eyes roll backwards as he gets to work, walls fluttering from the overstimulation. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he pants, all games thrown aside as he begins pounding his cock past your folds, deep into your contracting walls, until that tight spring in your stomach gives out and you’re clenching up beneath him, entire body going stiff for one long beat. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you weep, thighs quivering as you cream his cock, make his movements so slippery and wet, almost dangerous when he’s going this fast. His name falls from your trembling lips, every nickname and pet name you’ve ever given him mindlessly blubbered through your orgasm. Jungkook pays you no mind, thighs tensing up as he chases his high, short breaths and moans filling the space as he fucks himself into you. Until, finally, a few deep strokes later, he’s coming with a shuddered cry of your name on his tongue, collapsing over you, forehead pressed to your back as he catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” he groans one last time, body going slack very quickly. He slumps down beside you, softening cock slipping out of your tender folds. 

The floor between the coffee table and the couch is dark, the television glow not reaching down here. Even still, the sweat clinging to Jungkook makes him look like a sparkly Twilight vampire, the dip between his pecs collecting the smallest pool of sweat. You can’t stop yourself from running your pointer finger along the skin, over his nipple. His pec jumps deliciously under the attention. “Stop,” Jungkook sighs, catching your wrist in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles in an attempt to distract you. “Or I’ll really get you pregnant next time.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, pinching his doughy cheek. “You won’t,” you tease. Jungkook flicks his hair away from his eyes to level you with a look you’ve never seen before, not a trace of his usual post-sex playfulness to be found. It has you retracting your hand, eyes wide when he doesn’t stand down. Still, you can’t lose. “...No you won’t,” you repeat, quieter, almost unsure. Almost a question. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tugging you into his arms. He’s all sweaty and sticky, just like you. He’s lucky he doesn’t have four separate loads of cum— three from you, one from him —sticking between his thighs. “Keep telling yourself that,” he pants, so smoothly. Too smoothly. It makes you clench your thighs, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Stop it,” he warns a second time.

“You’re just so dreamy,” you whine, sitting back up to play with his hand. “Like, when you made me squirt?” He chuckles softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Not gonna lie, I thought I saw the answer to the universe for a second.” 

He’s worn out today, more than usual, that he doesn’t bother gracing you with a response. But it had been a long day for Jungkook; from planning an entire date, to the Seokjin debacle, to the crazy hot sex he’d gifted you. It was only reasonable. You reward his efforts with a soft peck against his cheek that makes him smile, a light blush painting his cheeks. “You did good today,” you hum, patting chest comfortingly. 

“Felt like I was in a Viki drama,” he confesses after a moment, has that tiny smile on his face that makes the apples of his cheeks especially round, especially cute. “The kind that have twelve plot lines going on.”

You laugh, snuggling beside him. The rug feels dirty, but so do you so the feeling is cancelled out or whatever. “You’d be the Park Seojoon of any Viki drama,” you tell him, and Jungkook laughs.

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

Namjoon calls Jungkook’s phone a little after eleven, talking your ear off about some date he’d gone on while Jungkook is in the shower. You tell him about what happened with Seokjin and like all respectable college mentors, he just about flips. “You can sue him,” Namjoon hisses, furious for you. Not that you aren’t anymore, but in a weird act of impulsiveness, Jungkook had gone outside and ran the stupid box of flowers over with his car as you watched from the open window of your apartment. It was weirdly cathartic. 

He’s in the shower now, humming the lyrics to one of the songs from Secretary Kim, a song called It’s You by Jeong Sewoon (thank you, Shazam), that makes every inch of your body overflow with adoration when he hits that long note. Anyway, you’re perusing the rest of the streaming service for a movie to watch. Jungkook said you couldn’t watch Train to Busan tonight, something about it ruining the mood. So now you’re debating between a historical romcom or a modern romcom. 

Over the line, Namjoon is doing all the raging for you. “Men are trash,” he huffs one last time, before eventually letting it go. (For now.) “Hey, do you know how to cover up hickeys?” he asks suddenly, just as Jungkook reappears in the living room. His skin is glowing, looking like the hottest man alive. The window is still open, a feeble attempt to air out the smell of sex in the room, and the draft makes Jungkook shiver because his hair is still a little wet. 

“Hickeys?” you repeat, stretching a hand out for him as he rounds the couch. Jungkook takes it, places a soft smooch against your knuckles, close to your promise ring. Your heartbeat stutters just as Namjoon hums. 

“Yeah, this girl,” he says, cutting himself off with a laugh. One you recognize all too well because it’s the same one you let out when you talk about Jungkook to other people. Said boy settles close beside you, leans his cheek against your head when you snuggle into his neck. As soon as he’s there, you lose all rights to the remote, watching as Jungkook completely disregards all your searching just to click back onto Secretary Kim. He had missed a whole episode. “We went a little crazy tonight—“ you gag at the image Namjoon places in your head “—and Doyeon bites kinda hard—“

“Doyeon?” you interrupt, all mental processes coming to an abrupt halt as the name bounces around your mind. Jungkook, having mastered the art of listening in on your phone calls by now, freezes beside you. “You know a Doyeon?” 

“Yeah!” Namjoon says excitedly as you sit up. Jungkook meets your gaze, big Bambi eyes giving the performance of a lifetime, and gives your this overly innocent shrug of his shoulders that tells you more about what he does know than what he doesn’t. “Kim Doyeon. She went to your school— actually, she graduated with you and Kook.”

The world comes to a complete stop as you glare at Jungkook, his panicked features cueing you in to the fact he was aware of this, as you’d suspected. “Namjoon,” you say slowly, fist tightening around Jungkook’s phone. “Are you aware you’re fucking my best friend?” 

There’s a long silence on the other end, Namjoon presumably processing the information while Jungkook tries to calm the boiling anger within you. “He didn’t know,” Jungkook whispers, big pretty eyes on you as he tries to save Namjoon from you. 

All his efforts are in vain when Namjoon clears his throat and so eloquently says, “and you’re fucking my best friend?”

epi-epilogue

The Best Buy employee doesn’t ask questions when you and Jungkook go in to get your cracked phone screens repaired. He does, however, give Jungkook an over-exuberant sales pitch on a brand new line of computer monitors that are almost as big as the television at your house. 

You try to save him from the dangerous hands of capitalism, but the Hello Kitty bandaids decorating your neck are itchy, the skin still so tender, so sometimes it’s wiser to let him waste his money than argue otherwise. 

“Good girl,” Jungkook says as he swings your arms back and forth on your walk to the car, impressed by the fact you didn’t argue with him in a Best Buy today. “My perceptions and understanding of you in my life make me happy,” he beams, too smiley as he unlocks the doors. 

“Shut up,” you glare, painfully tearing the stupid bandaids off your neck as soon as you get in, brandishing the blossoming hickeys Jungkook had so graciously given you last night. At the sight, he bites down a smile. “You’re about to perceive and understand these fists.” 

And Jungkook smiles— he always smiles —as he leans over the center console to press his mouth against the darkened skin at the front of your neck, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over your promise ring. “Perceive this love,” he says, so cheesy it makes you gag. 

“Goddd,” you groan, pushing him away before he can see the smile on your face. “Someone get this man a Viki deal.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[madeofbees]

aquarium times (jan ‘19)

I got to pet this friend!

Soap and lotion ? Locomotion ? Open ocean !!

Honk.

Nyoom.

A whole entire whale skeleton suspended from the ceiling.

A mood.

M̴̡̨̻͖͕͉̪̻̺̘̹̜̥͊̉̊̏̔͌̀͝ ̷̡̧̛̘̪͉̮̙̱̬̤̗͈͎͖̥̠̬̣̌̿͌̀͑͗̂͋̓͗͆͋̑͛̕͘͘͜͝A̸̘̾̏̑͋͐̂͘ ̴̧̛̗͇͓̻͉̙̟̣̫̔̓́̋̓̈́̾͋͊͠͠N̶̨̡̜̪͍͉̖̼̞̫̩̯͙̮͇͍̖̮͓̬͆͒̒̿̊̔̈̄̉̿͒͆̽̋̋́̄̉͆̚͜͠ͅ ̸̫̲͍̑̅̈́͊Y̸̮̫̣̩͙̭̼̖̥͔̑̓͜ͅ

Fluffy.

Wiggly.

Tentacle friend.

May I help you with something? ...no, shan’t.

The oldest friend, she’s older than me.

Truth Coming Out Of Her Well To Shame Mankind

~

i can’t believe i forgot to post these at the time my god

[thebibliomancer]

Justice League Indispensable: JLA #222: Beasts II: Death Games

January, 1984

I’ve noticed over two-hundred and twenty plus posts that villains love being tall and dangling heroes from their fingers.

That tactile sensation... It must feel amazing. And a little squirmy.

Not much else to say about the cover. Except that Hawkman’s legs seem to not exist.

Anyway.

Last time on Justice League: the Justice League have been dealing with a lot of weird animal/people hybrids. Has Dr. Moreau finally been adapted into DC? Probably not. But Flash, Elongated Man, and Hawkman all get badly injured in separate locations by these Ani-Men. And Firestorm catches a catgirl named Reena robbing the Empire State Building. She asks him for sanctuary so he takes her to the JL Satellite to spill the beans on the Ani-Men.

This time: Superman is in the hilarious position of interrogating catgirl Reena who has forgotten how chairs work.

Just sitting on the table. Probably getting hair everywhere.

Firestorm tells Superman to chill out with the hardnosed animated Justice League approach (I mean, he doesn’t, but animated Superman also needed to chill out, amirite?) because Reena volunteered to help.

Reena says she has no choice but to trust the League and that she’s lived in DAILY TERROR for the past few months.

She asks if any of them have heard of Repli-Tech?

Dang, shame Batman is off having recently formed the Outsiders because I bet he knows all the companies. All of them.

Ooooorrrr Aquaman does?

Aquaman: “Repli-Tech Industries... They were one of the first of the genetics companies to go public on the stock exchange, weren’t they? I remember they made quite a splash a year ago... But I haven’t heard anything about them since.”

Oh, Aquaman, you punster, you.

So Reena lays down some exposition about how Repli-Tech was a hilariously mismanaged company, where the executives forced a rapid capital expansion beyond its market niche and how a recession just bankrupt the overextended company.

But despite the dismay and panic of the other execs, hilariously mustached CEO Rex Rogan had a daring plan to save the company!

Rex Rogan: “Dr. Lovecraft and his genetic discoveries were the basis for our initial success, developing new forms of medicine -- new fertilizers -- even new fuels! He’s come up with a way out for all of us, involving a new, experimental form of DNA manipulation. It could kill us -- but the alternative is disgrace, financial ruin, and imprisonment.”

Oh, sure. Of course. Why not trust a guy called DR. LOVECRAFT.

But due to faith in Rex Rogan, CEO, or just fear of prison, the whole board all agrees to this wild plan.

And the wild plan?

Dr. Lovecraft uses SCIENCE to put them all in cocoons where they are transformed into furries.

Rex Rogan Maximus Rex: “We are reborn -- we are above the beasts, and above mankind! We will do more than merely survive -- we will conquer -- we will rule!”

Then with company guards also enhanced by Dr. Lovecraft, Rex has them steal a whole bunch of shit which is used to protect Repli-Tech from bankruptcy.

Huh.

Uh. I don’t really get how becoming furries was an essential part of this plan.

If the plan was just to steal a bunch of shit to make up for poor financial management. But live your best lives, Repli-Tech board of directors.

Anyway, having super hunky animal powers is handy when the superheroes inevitably become involved which oops look its happening. It happened last issue and this issue so good thing they had turned themselves into furries.

(Do the Repli-Tech board of directors not have to make any public appearances? They’re a publicly traded company, apparently.)

Also, Maximus Rex buys a warehouse to turn into an arena for some death games where humans fight beast-men for the amusement of the rich and powerful like politicians and corporate executives.

Not really sure how this specifically saves the company but I think that’s more of a personal project for Maximus Rex, lion hunk.

The blood sport did make Reena start thinking that maybe Rex was the asshole.

‘Uh no shit’ chimes in Hawkgirl and Wonder Woman who determine now is a good time to interject that Reena is just as much of a monster for sitting idly by as people were killed in blood sport.

Firestorm, Superman, and Zatanna counter ‘hey lets hear the rest of the story, mkay?’

Reena grew unable to stomach all the death and as luck would have it Rowl, one of the Repli-Tech guards recently transformed into an animal hunk also found the whole situation gross.

He helped Reena escape but wound up captured himself.

He did manage to high kick a scorpion man though. So that’s something.

Anyway, Rowl getting caught is why Reena was breaking into the Repli-Tech office in the Empire State Building. She wanted to find evidence!

Hawkgirl: “I don’t believe it. Not a word. She’s obviously a plant -- she said herself, she was Rogan’s mistress, that she always did everything he told her. Why should we believe she’d turn against him?”

Firestorm: “Look at her, Hawkgirl -- me, I believe her.”

Aquaman: “We can’t ignore what she’s told us, Shayera.”

Even Superman goes yeah lets believe the catgirl. And I’m sorta wondering about all the male Justice League members believing the catgirl while two out of three of the woman leaguers are like uhn uh I don’t trust that darn cat.

But we shortly see that Reena was telling the truth about Rowl, if nothing else.

Guards at the Arena snooze gas Rowl to drag him from his cell into the Arena.

A Guard: “Y’know, I used to be friends with this guy, when he was still human. Rex gives him a chance to be something special, and he goes and blows it helping some damn cat.”

Rowl comes to in the center of the Arena with the crowd roaring for his blood.

He tries to talk to the crowd, win their sympathy by saying he used to be human like them but they’re rich dicks who want to see someone horribly murdered for their amusement.

Trying to talk to them was a non-starter. And Maximus Rex even mocks him for trying.

Maximus Rex: “Human you may have been -- but you were never like them. Smell the air: it’s so thick you can taste it -- the oily sweat of a blood-hungry mob! They want a death, Rowl... They want your death!”

Maximus Rex asks the crowd what Rowl deserves and they chant DEATH and KILL HIM so Maximus Rex jumps down to the Arena floor to see to it personally.

He’s kinda like Roman Emperor Commodus from the historically adjacent movie film Gladiator who liked to gladiate instead of just watching Gladiator gladiate.

And unlike movie Commodus, Maximus Rex is no slouch.

Right off the bat, he blocks Rowl’s ultimate technique, a jump kick.

Poor Rowl is doomed.

And he doesn’t even know it yet. He manages to hit Maximus Rex once and thinks he’s winning.

Rowl: “You’re just as you were in the boardroom -- you’ve no stomach for a real battle! We used to laugh about you, Rogan, down in the ranks! All of us -- we called you a gutless wonder!”

Maximus Rex retorts by disembowling Rowl.

Maximus Rex: “So, Rowl... Which of us has no stomach now?”

Savage af.

Then he knocks Rowl down and RIPS OFF HIS HEAD TO SHOW TO THE CROWD??

Geez! This is a gory story! I mean, we don’t see anything really except for some dark blue blood but geez!

A lion man just ripped off a jump-kicking wolfman’s head in a gladiatorial arena for the ultra rich!

You’re bonkers, superhero comic books!

RIP Rowl, Justice League #222 (1984) - Justice League #222 (1984).

Back at the Justicey part of the plot, 22,300 miles above the Earth, the League receives an emergency message from Dr. Hamid of Cairo Hospital.

Or he says he’s Dr. Hamid of Cairo Hospital.

He looks like Tony Stark, that Ironman guy from Marvel.

Anyway, he got the JL’s top secret broadcast code from a device on Hawkman’s uniform.

Yeah. Hawkman. Remember how he was attacked by a giant scorpion last issue? Well, he’s in the hospital with an acute case of too much scorpion venom in him. And Dr. Toby Stark fears he may not last the night.

Hawkgirl is understandably upset and wants to rush to his side as fast as possible. And since the League has cool teleport booths, that’s... still not that fast because the booths only go to other booths and Cairo Hospital doesn’t have a booth.

She also asks Wonder Woman to go with her.

Superman wonders if Hawkgirl is maybe too emotionally torn up to go see her scorpion’d hawkguy.

Zatanna: “I won’t stop her, Superman. Will you?”

WHILE GIVING AN EXPRESSION THATS LIKE ‘please do not drag me into drama.’

Reena tries to commiserate with Hawkgirl but Shayera is having none of that.

Hawkgirl: “Your people did this. If Katar dies -- you killed him!”

Oof.

Zatanna tries to contextualize Hawkgirl’s outburst by explaining that Hawkman and Hawkgirl are just super close but Reena says she understands because she and Rex were that close.

And that despite everything she still loves him and it makes her feel like shit.

Oof.

Wonder Woman and Hawkgirl arrive at Cairo Hospital and Dr. Hamid tells them that Hawkman isn’t the only one who got scorpion’d.

Dr. Hall and his students were attacked by giant scorpion man to rob some archaeological relics they found. Several of the students are in the hospital after being stung and two have already died.

As for Dr. Hall, why he’s just plum gone missing. (Because he’s Hawkman)

From his hospital bed, Hawkman weakly (because of getting scorpion’d) apologizes for the argument they had before he left for Cairo and Hawkgirl claims she doesn’t even remember the fight. Because nothing makes you put aside hurt feelings like possible death by scorpion.

Dr. Hamid tells Wonder Woman that Hawkman is very likely to die unless they can get some giant scorpion man venom to develop into an anti-toxin.

And while they walk by, a random janitor mopping the floor reports the presence of the Justice League members to his ring.

HMMM.

I think that I suspect that this humble janitor is in fact actually a plant for the Rex Squad.

Yup.

Yuuuup.

That janitor was up to no good.

With two Hawks down with sleep gas, its left to the Rex Squad unit leader to handle Wonder Woman.

ITS A HECKIN RHINO MAN!

Of course, a hero as strong as Wonder Woman isn’t going down to a single rhino punch.

It takes a second whole punch to knock her out.

Womp womp.

Rhino Man: “Gas her and shove her in the ‘copter with the others, Mac. The boss wants ‘em all for a little TV show he’s planning. Way I hear, it’s gonna be a ratings smash!”

Rhino puns.

About an hour later, the Justice League subteam nicknamed Sit On Their Thumbs is still in the satellite wondering why Wonder Woman hasn’t called to tell them how Hawkman is doing.

But gosh darn it, if they don’t hear from her in two more minutes in time for the regular hourly check-in, then they’ll just have to do something maybe!

But they get a signal from Hawkgirl’s code and Aquaman main screen turns on... to reveal a big sneering lion man who is not Hawkgirl at all.

Reena: “oh god... he’s found me.”

Maximus Rex, full incoming ham: “Yes, Reena, I’ve found you. When this is done, you’ll suffer the fate of all who betray me. But first, tell your new friends who they face! I am MAXIMUS REX, LEADER OF THE NEW ORDER!”

Firestorm: “Y’know... Somehow, I’d already guessed that.”

Snrrk.

But Maximus Rex warns them not to mock his lionness and has the camera swung over to reveal that he has Wonder Woman and the Hawks as his hostages.

Hawkman is definitely going to die (from being scorpion’d) but Maximus Rex is Magnanimous Rex and instead of immediately killing them, he’s going to turn them into furries too.

Maximus Rex: “I think the Amazon would make a very proper pig, don’t you?”

Man, this guy must have loved the “This Little Piggy” episode of Justice League Unlimited.

Buuuut he won’t turn them into furries and make them fight in his Arena if the Justice League do him some small favors.

First thing, turn Reena over to him.

Second thing, “I want your full cooperation with my plans.”

When Superman tells him ‘obviously no’ Maximus gets mad.

Oh, Maximus the Mad. That’s a catchy name for him.

Maximus Rex: “In the hours to come, you will regret this decision, Justice Leaguers. My new order is the future. You cannot turn the tide of destiny. It will sweep over you... Draw you under... Drown you in the sea of history! Ours will be a struggle to the death -- your death! HA HA HA HA”

He is.

Frothing a little.

And as the mad lion lad continues just belly laughing on this collect call, Superman shakes his fist determinedly.

Superman: “Enjoy it while you have it, Maximus. We’re bringing you down.”

I mean, sure, half of the League is captured or in the hospital already from tangling with these Ani-Men but the League is probably due for an upswing, right?

Or maybe they’ll all get captured and I’ll get to see what the Justice League’s fursonas are.

My guess for Superman is the noble capybara, friend to all.

Follow @justice-league-indispensible or @essential-avengers​ which is my real liveblog. I’m sorry, this has all been a lie. A jape. A delightful jest. An April Fool. Like and reblog maybe. The more notes this gets the more I go oh no look at what kind of response Justice League gets and I’ve backed the Avengers horse, the April Fool turns out to be me! That’ll show me.

[blackholesandlions]

SPOILER WARNING

So I was reading ToN and I got to the part about not being able to destroy the fasces, and my mind started racing with ideas so I got down my idea of how the book would end before reading the rest of it, just to see how wrong I was. Anyway I ended up liking it a lot so here’s my alternate ending to the Tower of Nero

Warning this makes no sense if you’ve read any point in the book past where I stopped, so keep that in mind.

Nero’s words still rang in my mind. “You haven’t destroyed it yet, because you can’t. Even if you could, you’d release so much power it would burn you to cinders.” After he said that we ran, fast. He didn’t even bother calling the guards on us. He knew Python would get us first.

I was at the back of the group, because I was carrying the fasces, and it weighed me down. This thing had Nero’s soul in it, it was the only way to kill him, but breaking it would destroy everything around it. And even then, there was still no way to defeat Python. I’m not strong enough to take him out. If only there was some way to… oh. It’s so obvious, why didn’t I think of it earlier? Well, I don’t even want to think about it now, but it’s my only option that gets everyone out safely.

I stopped walking, and the rest of them turned to face me. Rachel asked, “Apollo, what are you doing? We need to keep moving.” I steeled my nerves. “I have a plan to take out Nero and Python in one move.”

“Great, let’s hear it,” Lu said. “No. No time. I need all of you to run, run as far as you can. I’m going to take them out, but you need to be out of the blast zone. Don’t come back for me.” I half wished somebody would protest, say no Apollo, we can’t let you sacrifice yourself, but they nodded, and ran.

Except Meg. Meg was holding back tears.

“Let me help, Lester. You can’t do it on your own.”

“I know.”

“Then how-”

“Destroying the fasces will incinerate anything around it. I’m not strong enough to break it, but he is.”

Meg wasn’t even holding the tears back at this point. She was crying. Over me. “Lester, you can’t,” she sobbed. “You’ll die!”

I pull her into a hug. “Hey, that’s the price of being human.”

“Now go.” She nodded, and gave me a weak smile before turning to run.

I rummaged through my bag, looking for anything to secure the heavy fasces. After a bit of searching I find what I’m looking for. Oh, thank the gods for Duct Tape, truly one of mankind’s greatest inventions. I strap the fasces to my back and shuffle onward towards my doom.

When I finally got there, my old enemy Python has wrapped his way around the entire chamber. His eyes are closed, so he doesn’t see me approaching, and for a second I have to admit, I’m tempted to just flee. Give up this lapse in judgement and live the rest of my mortal life hiding in shame.

But Jason didn’t think like that. Or maybe he did, I guess I have no real way of knowing. Maybe he was just as terrified as I am right now, hesitant to sign his own death warrant. But nevertheless, he jumped into the fray and sacrificed himself to save his friends. So had all the heroes I’ve met on my journey. They were so brave, much braver than I will ever be. But I owe this to them.

“Python!” I yelled into the echoey cavern. Names have power, especially for immortals. Calling the name of someone who wants to kill you is a death wish. But it sure got his attention.

The enormous serpent opened its eyes, the size of lakes, and stared right at me. “Little Lester,” he growled in that horrible voice. “You appear to be all by yourself, but that can’t be possible. I’m sure you have a whole cavalry hidden with some sort of magic. You might as well reveal yourselves, it won’t make a difference.”

I was frozen, shaking. I remember Python well, he terrified me back when I was a god, as a human teen his presence was simply too much. “No,” I squeaked out. I held on to any courage I had. “It’s just me.”

Python smiled, but tilted his head in confusion. “Then how on Earth do you intend to fight me?”

I dropped my bow and ukulele. “I’m not here to fight.”

Now he was incredulous, and angry as well. “I am going to consume you, your entire essence. You will be destroyed, and I will control this world’s future, and you mean to say you aren’t going to fight it?”

“I’m doing this so my friends can survive.”

Python reeled his head back. “Are you sure you’re Apollo?” He hissed. “No immortal in their right mind would be so cavalier with their existence.”

At that I had to laugh. “I don’t think I was ever in my right mind until I was cast down here. I was arrogant, selfish, and cruel. I cared only for myself. But worst of all, I treated mortals like they were expendable. Insignificant humans, good for a laugh, or a duet, or to fetch me something.

“But these people, they live lives that are so full of value and meaning. They form connections that I’ve never had, bonds stronger than anything you or I are capable of. And then… they end. And humans come to terms with it, they accept it. Their lives are so short, but more full than mine ever was. And if sacrificing my life means that they can live another day, then I am fully willing to do so.”

Python was quiet for a moment, looking almost contemplative. Then he curled his sharp teeth into a menacing grin. “Well, Apollo, one thing certainly hasn’t changed about you. You’re still a fool.”

He unhinged his terrifying jaws, and I dove in without hesitation. In the moment before we collided, I could see myself reflected in his eyes. My face was determined and resigned, but my eyes were the real. They were glowing bright orange, two burning orbs, bright and harsh like the unforgiving desert sun.

I could see Python, my oldest enemy, finally recognize me. His mouth didn’t move, but his expression morphed into one of pure terror.

And then he clamped his jaw down.

A fang came down right on top of me, the impact puncturing my body and shattering my spine. The pain was searing, I was probably a few seconds away from death, when I heard a hum from near me. My plan had been a success after all, the fasces was shattered as well, and was slowly getting brighter and brighter, and I could hear Python screaming out in pain. In a burst of light, we were both gone.

I don’t quite remember being dead. I didn’t have any thoughts, not even a haiku crossed my mind. The only reason I knew I was still there was the pain. It got duller and fuller over time, and I started to worry if that meant I was fading away, out of existence. But even then, that barely concerned me. I knew Python was gone, I had done my job. If I faded away now, it didn’t matter, my friends were alive and safe.

And then suddenly I was alive. The first thing I saw was my sister. She was sitting next to me, arm around my shoulder like she did when we were little. “I’m glad you’re here.” I had never heard those words from Artemis before. I started to tear up. “Zeus wants to see you.”

It took me a while to remember how, but I appeared in my father’s palace, right in front of him. I saw his glowering expression. Then I heard his stern, familiar tone. “You were not supposed to die. It took all I had to bring you back this much, but even now…

“You’re still a god, but not powerful like you used to be. You’re on the level of the most minor of deities, not an Olympian. I know this must be very upsetting to you.”

The strangest thing was, it wasn’t. I had lost my status, most of my power, I should be furious at how diminished I’ve become, but it didn’t bother me in the slightest. Alarming, to say the least.

For some reason, my mind kept drifting back to Camp-Half Blood. My children, all the others I had saved, and my brother, Dionysus, still stuck there. It was odd how happy he had been, just to have someone else to work with. I hadn’t seen him that excited since he was first sent to that camp. I had laughed at the time, but now I think his punishment was no better than mine.

Zeus cleared his throat. “Well, at least you’ve learned your lesson now.” I looked at my father, the man who had caused all of this in the first place. “I’ve learned many lessons, Father.”

“I’m glad you’ve learned how to respect me now, Apollo.” Suddenly I was overcome with anger. This… god consistently refused to take responsibility for his actions, and never took into account anyone’s feelings but his own. He was callous, and egotistical, and awful.

But, that’s just what I was like before my journey, wasn’t it? I was just as awful as he is. But I’m better than that now. I don’t have to go back to the way I was, I can make changes. We gods always said we were stuck as we were, that we needed mortals to change things, or we would keep repeating our history forever.

But the truth is, we could have changed at any time, we just refused to accept that we were the same as humans. We refused to accept that we could be wrong, in need of changes. We just continued pretending we were perfect, because we are cowards. I was a coward. But not anymore. And I am going to write my own prophecy, change my future.

“No, actually, I think that’s the one class I skipped.” He furrowed his brow. “What. Did. You. Say.”

“You need to release Dionysus from his post at Camp-Half Blood. Now.” Thunder roared throughout mount Olympus. “That insolent child hasn’t served his full punishment yet!”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll be taking over his post effective immediately.”

When I appeared at Camp-Half Blood that day, I kept myself invisible at first. I wanted to see what was going on at camp before I made my presence known. The scenery was always beautiful, but now I looked at it with a sense of nostalgia. Not just as a place to pop in and show off to the young demigods. But as a home.

The first thing I spotted was, in fact, spotted. It was my brother, in his usual ugly leopard print shirt. The second thing I spotted was Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase, at camp. I had last heard they were at Camp Jupiter, but they were here now.

Percy and Dionysus were arguing loudly with each other. I caught a snippet of it. “Look Mr. D, me and Annabeth were on the other side of the country, you can’t just teleport us here on a whim!” Dionysus sighed. “It’s not a whim, Peter Johnson, I brought you two here so you could hear my big announcement! Ah, speaking of!”

He amplified his voice, and began. “Attention campers! Please proceed to the courtyard immediately, I have a very important announcement to make!”

Head counselors shuffled kids out of their cabins until everyone was in the courtyard. I heard some kids muttering things like “ugh, this better not be another end of the world.”

Mr. D cleared his throat. “Now that I have your attention, see you losers!” There were cries of confusion from the crowd. “That’s right, Zeus has lifted my punishment early, which means I don’t have to take care of you brats anymore!” He looked almost giddy. He looked to where I was standing, invisible, because of course gods can see each other, and gave me a nod of gratitude, before disappearing in a flash, leaving behind a cluster of grapes. I had the feeling he wasn’t coming back.

The camp fully erupted into chaos, children freaking out left and right. Even the oldest around were confused, this was new territory even for them. A young child ended the chaos by crying out “who’s gonna be in charge of the camp?” The campers paused for a moment, before turning their heads to all look at Percy Jackson.

The poor boy looked almost ready to cry. He so desperately wanted to be done with everything, to have a normal life, go to college with his girlfriend. He didn’t want to spend his whole life at this camp. But he sighed, and said “if I have to step up, I will.”

In a flash of golden light, I made myself visible. “That’s very noble of you, Percy, but it won’t be necessary.” The whole crowd was stunned. I had to smile. Despite it all, I still loved a good dramatic entrance. I heard a familiar voice from the crowd say “Lester?”

I had never been so happy to see a little girl with a terrible pageboy haircut. I did a little wave and said “hi Meg,” weakly.

“I THOUGHT YOU WERE DEAD WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?” She yelled across the courtyard, but I could see she was smiling.

It occurred to me that I still looked like Lester, and even more surprising, that I hadn’t cared to check. I used to spend hours a day agonizing over what form I took, but it hadn’t crossed my mind this whole time. Even stranger, I didn’t feel like changing to someone more handsome. This Lester form felt somehow fitting to me, like I wouldn’t want to change it at all.

“I kinda did die, but I’m back now, and immortal again. But I’m not Apollo. I’m not anywhere near as powerful as I used to be. I’m not even on the Olympian council anymore.”

“Wait, then there’s an empty spot?” Annabeth asked. “An unbalanced council isn’t good.” I nodded my head. “Yes, that’s why I yielded the post to Hestia. I figured she deserved a turn back in the spotlight.”

Percy grinned. “Wow, man, that’s a lot to give up.”

I sighed. “Yes, it is.” I turned back to Meg, tears welling in my eyes. “It’s good to see you again.” She wiped a tear away from her eye. “Well, are you gonna lead us or not?” I smiled. Never change, Meg, never change.

“Right. I’m running this camp now, and you will see some major changes.” The campers looked nervous, probably remembering Mr. D and all his ideas.

“For starters, I’m creating a parents day here at Camp-Half Blood, twice a summer. I understand that some of you don’t have great relationships with your parents, but there are many who do and wish to see them. For those campers, we will provide safe travel so your parents can be here to see you.”

Some kids looked very excited, especially younger ones who had just been pulled away from their parents. I looked up to the sky for this next point. “And also, attendance from godly parents is mandatory!” The sky rumbled with loud thunder. “Don’t try to fight me on this! You all have infinite time and can be in multiple places at once, there’s no reason you can’t be there for your children for a couple of hours!”

The younger campers definitely all looked ecstatic at that, the prospect of meeting their godly parents. The older campers, though more jaded, still smiled at the idea of their parents being there for them. The kids were all chattering excitedly amongst themselves, until one piped up. “What about quests?”

This was the question I’d been dreading, because I didn’t have a good answer for it. I paused. “Quests and prophecies are an unavoidable part of life as a young hero. However, I am aware of how dangerous and traumatizing they can be. So I am instating a policy. If you have gone on a quest, you do not ever have to go on another. You are allowed to opt out, and the gods have promised they will not hold it against you.”

A half-hearted clap of thunder pulsed through the camp. Percy and Annabeth gave me grateful looks.

“Any more questions?” I asked the camp. My son Will raised his hand. “Yeah, what do we call you? You’re not Apollo anymore, and I’m guessing Mr. A isn’t right either, so who are you exactly?”

That was tricky. I didn’t quite know yet. I was certainly still immortal, yet I felt human, so human. But I think I was starting to get the idea.

“I’m Lester. God of Camp-Half Blood.”

[emf1947]

Flagged Posts

Somehow I stumbled on the link to my flagged posts (there have been 10, all several years old), and I am flabbergasted. One contained the infamous “Truth Coming Out of Her Well to Shame Mankind” with her bared bosom, but the rest included: 

 a post about how to make chocolate croissants using prepared pastry dough - all I can think of is one picture may have looked like dog poop if you weren’t looking at the dozen or so other pictures it was grouped with

a post reblogging Jenna’s announcement she was taking off DWTS for a season, which of course had a picture of her in a DWTS costume that had been posted all over Tumblr in other contexts a billion times

a posts about linguists, again with multiple pictures, mostly of ordinary looking people with clothes on, but with one ultrasound picture labelled something about showing the tongue in action (like when you talk)

a post with a video of the stars of Outlander responding to an interviewers question on a talk show

a post about a ship carrying refugees from Nazi Germany, with a picture of said ship

The rest were along those lines: nothing about explicit sex or advocating violence. 

It was puzzling, to say the least.

[nelllraiser]

chains and grace | adam & nell

TIMING: october 30th, the full moon, just before sunset. LOCATION: the trees near dark score lake. PARTIES: @walker-journal & @nelllraiser​ SUMMARY: adam and nell prepare themselves for their first full moon as werewolves.  CONTENTS: medical blood (sacrificial fingerstick prick)

Fallen leaves rustled under Adam’s feet, forming a carpet of brilliant oranges and yellows while subtler strings of red and browning rot. The waning afternoon sun forged the forest canopy in halcyon golds. The shadows of the sun-silhouetted branches played across Adam’s face as he affixed more chains to the trunk of the stoutest tree he could find. Adam had no idea how strong he’d be on the first transformation, but he wasn’t taking any chances. 

Kaden may’ve not wanted to kill him, but Adam had more than a few former coworkers with aim that’d put an army Ranger sniper to shame and fewer qualms about pulling the trigger. Thus a remote location and strong bonds were preferable here. 

Adam ‘I love fine ass and incendiary rounds’ Walker realized that there might just be a certain ironic justice in him worrying about trigger happy paramilitary. 

“How’s yours going,” Adam asked his dance partner for this lunar stakeout.

 If Nell hadn’t been treating this evening as a sort of funeral for life as she knew it, the autumnal palette of the trees paired with the steadily setting sun and the company of Adam would have made for a wholly enjoyable setting. As it were, the somber feelings she’d been trying to avoid ever since being bitten by the werewolf were quickly encroaching, refusing to be shoved away in these last moments, effectively ruining any hope for a happy or peaceful outing. 

“I’m going for a nice cat’s cradle look,” Nell answered, still managing to refuse the dread in her stomach access to her sense of sarcasm, even if the joke fell flatter than it normally would have. “I thought it’d be a nice last ‘screw you’ to the wolf part of the situation.” The chains alone were enough to cause her anxiety to prickle uncomfortably, not exactly a fan of imprisonment ever since she’d been trapped beneath the Ring. “What about you?” She looked to Adam as she reversed the question, posing it both as an attempt to get a read on his tree to chain ratio, as well as how he might be handling the situation as a whole.

“Kind of just going for restraint over style here,” Adam noted as he strained his way through some of the last preparations, the muscles of his neck and upper arms wiry the fallen Hunter leveraged one foot against the tree he was trying to bind chains around. “Y’know”, Adam posited, leaning back far enough to look at Nell upside-down he continued to heave at the chain into place around a huge super maple while pushing against the bark with a leg. “I’d hoped when we were going to start tying each other up it’d be…”

This particular train of thought was interrupted by a rasping click as the last chain link slid past the main knot into tautness. Adam stumbled backward, taking off guard by the unexpected success and tripping over a root. 

“Guess what I mean is,” Adam amended, changing his tone and just decided to own the mishap by sitting up with his back against the chained tree. “We still don’t have to do this together if you don't want to,” he prevaricated carefully. “When we first change we’ll have no control, and I honestly dunno if like...we might end up hurting each other with the chains? I dunno.” 

The truth of why he thought Nell might not want him here on the night she lost her magic had little to do with safety, but Adam wanted to give her an easier out here if she wanted it. 

In the end Nell would most likely be banking on the power of her magic when it came to the hardness of her chains. Physical knot tying wasn’t a practical skill she’d been taught when the same end could be achieved with a simple spell. Still- she sat back on her heels to take a look at her handiwork, head tilting to the side to gain a new perspective that didn’t actually provide any other insights. Sparing Adam a flicker of amusement both at his words and momentary fumble, she dusted her hands on the sides of her pants restless now that she didn’t have the chains to preoccupy them. “Never say never. Maybe it could be a treat for making it through the first full moon.”

Maybe Nell had misjudged where that sentiment was going, though. Was Adam having second thoughts? “Why wouldn’t I want to? Do you not want to? Do this together, I mean.” Nell generally gravitated towards having what she perceived as moments of weakness by her lonesome, preferring not to have audiences for the times she felt most vulnerable. But in a break from tradition— she’d been grateful to not have to do this alone. There was nothing more she could do for the chains, and she let her own back slide down the trunk of her tree before settling onto the ground. “I thought werewolves don’t usually go after each other.” Or was there a different reason he might want to change their plan, and go his own way.

Adam sat on leaves at the foot of his chained tree, glancing up at the boughs swaying above him in the canopy overhead before looking back to Penelope. He drew a knee up and laid an arm across it, flexing his fingers and ignoring the whisper of imagination that visualized claws tearing their way out of them. 

“I’m down to do this together,” he assured carefully, pushing images of shredding skin and distending ribs out of his brain. “I just...I dunno.” 

“Feel you are losing a lot more than me here,” the fallen Hunter pointed out softly, “thought you might want me not being here when… y’know.” 

“Oh-” was Nell’s unintentional filibuster of a reply, unsure if she wanted to open the floodgates concerning that particular can of worms. For the most part she’d been avoiding it, preoccupying herself with learning as much as she could get her hands on when it came to Bloody Mary, the mysterious sands, and Adam’s own disappearing abilities. The looming loss of her powers left her feeling as if there were a black hole deep within her stomach, and if the witch so much as stood still for a single moment to spare it a thought— it would pull her in, dragging her under like a similar hole had threatened to do when Bea had been killed. “I just...you know when Bea died?” she began, not entirely certain how to express herself. “And sometime afterwards you let me come over- and it was nice. I don’t know-” she backtracked self-consciously. After all, sharing emotions in person was not one of her stronger suits. “I guess maybe I thought it’d be nice again or something- if you were here.” As for what there was to lose... “Do I? I mean I know your abilities are gone right now, but I’m sure whatever strength and senses that come from being a werewolf won’t be the same as what you had, right? And- well- I can’t imagine it’s all that comforting to become something you were trained to kill.” Dark brown eyes that appeared nearly black in the fading light of the setting sun rose to find Adam’s while she finished.

Adam nodded as Nell alluded to when he’d broke down and they were together. While some fraternity mates had given him knowing nod the morning after the truth was….more vulnerable than that. Adam’d played along with lascivious implication because it was easier to let play it off as just another fuck-romp then admit he’d been falling to pieces. “I’m glad you’re here Nell,” he said with steady directness. “No matter what happens.” 

“I’m more ...worried that I am trained to kill and I kinna get lost in it,” Adam admitted. He was past the point of pretending that he wasn’t an adrenaline junkie who got a rush when his family had warned he should only feel dutiful dispassion when dispatching the enemies of mankind. “Part of me can’t get enough and it made me good at what I do for all the wrong reasons,” confessed one who might’ve become a very different man if he hadn’t been born into a Hunter family that stressed moral utilitarianism and military discipline rather than bloodsport. “I tried not to let that control me but uh…”

“Guess what I’m trying to say is that if I’m this fucked up as a human,” Adam tried again, “what is wolf-me going to be like?”

“I’m glad you’re here, too,” Nell answered with her own unwavering certainty, a gentler smile granting itself to Adam. It was softer- calmer than her usual confident grins and smirks, though just as sincere. “Whatever happens I’m glad we can do it together.”

The mention of her magic had reminded Nell of the flower seeds she’d brought along with her, hoping to create one last thing with her gifts before she had to say goodbye to them. Not yet retrieving them from her pocket, she began to draw a circle in the dirt between their two trees, a single finger paving the way of runes and sigils as it trailed along the forest floor. 

Her spellwork paused as she listened, looking up with a slight frown as he shared. “I don’t think you’re fucked up,” she said reflexively, never enjoying those she cared about speaking of themselves in such a way. “I think we’re just...doing the best with what we’ve got, you know?” But she knew it went beyond that. There was no denying that werewolves had a natural bloodthirst about them the closer it was to the full moon, and it made sense that Adam might dread what result that would garner when paired with a desire that was already present. “Well that’s why we’ve got each other, right?” she asked, referring to the unofficial pact they’d made to check on one another when it came to questionable deeds. “To make sure...we’re still the people we want to be. I won’t let it happen-” Her voice was strong, Nell’s sheer determination peeking through. “If getting lost to that isn’t what you want- if it seems like you’re getting close...we can figure out how to pull you back. And I think at the end of the day the fact that you don’t want to become that says more about you than liking the rush of a kill says. Intentions are more powerful than people give them credit for,” she ended, somewhat aware that her words bordered on lines of witch-hippy speak, but also knowing it to be true after a lifetime of powering her magic with just that.

“Thanks Nell,” Adam managed with a thick swallow, wanting to echo her sentiment but feeling guilt for being the impetitus of this whole situation. Seeing Penelope perform this last swan song of a spell just hit it home that he’d fucked up the life of yet another of his friends. 

Ma’al had suggested another way right? Service to Hell for being a Hunter again? 

But ..Nell was losing her powers for the sake of saving his life. If Adam was really considering taking on the mark and swearing himself to the Hells, shouldn’t it be to restore her powers, not his?

“Nell uh.” Adam swallowed, feeling the horrible tension of this last option in his chest as the sky gained streaks of livid violents and yellows in the countdown till sundown. 

“If I could make a deal to save your powers...even if it might mean doing something morally uh, not so great.” That admittedly was probably an understatement given what Ma’al true form actually was, but Adam didn’t want to foist that on Nell’s conscience. “Would you take it?”

He felt real shitty dropping this on Penelope as they were trying to resign themselves to their fate. But if he could offer her a chance to keep this part of herself...wasn’t even becoming Ma’al’s new pet wolf worth it? 

“I’ll do it if you need me too,” Adam assured, suddenly thankful for the tree’s unyielding support against his back. 

Nell’s face had been turned towards the sun as it continued to sink lower, half-convinced she could see every single millimeter disappear behind the horizon as it went. It felt as if it were some great celestial clock counting down the minutes she had left with her magic, and the moments left until she’d lose a piece of herself that was as much as part of her as an arm or leg. Then as Adam called her attention back, she sat back on her heels next to her tiny circle, satisfied with the work she’d done. “A deal?” she echoed first, not entirely certain what he’d meant by it. Her reflexive gut reaction was a quick reply of “Don’t do that.”

The little indent between her eyes furrowed as Nell tried to truly process what it was Adam was offering, and potentially at the expense of himself. “Listen-” she began carefully, hoping she’d somehow manage to find the right words. “When I came to help you- Sure- I didn’t know that it’d result in losing my magic. But well- the thing is-” She paused on the precipice of her words, still not quite used to bearing herself openly though she was getting used to it with Adam. “I’d still do it knowing what I know now.” Though her magic was the biggest price she could think to pay, there was one thing that she knew would demand an even larger toll, and it was losing someone she cared for as much as she did for the hunter before her. “And if it’s morally questionable- and I just got done telling you I’d help keep you from that…I wanna keep that promise to you.” There was a pause before she continued on. “I don’t know what I am without my magic,” she admitted with a hitch in her voice, “but I know it’s not a person that wants to have a hand in something that might hurt you.” This time she leaned forward to place a tentative hand on top of Adam’s. “But thank you.” She wasn’t sure how else to show that the gravity of his offer hadn’t been lost on her.

She glanced back at her circle, finally taking the daffodil seeds from her pocket. “Do you wanna help me?” she asked with a nod towards the magic runes, deciding that if they were going to have this transformation together- why shouldn’t they do this together as well? 

Adam wasn’t going to force anything on another person, but Nell’s decision still made his teeth grit down. Guilt and the trainwreck he’d brought his friends’ lives seemed to line his gut with lead. 

Morgan had told Adam something about what it was like to wield magic and lose it. Adam couldn’t really relate to be able to feel the universe coursing through him, that meld his pure intent with quantum fields, or beckon beings across universes through sheer desire. In truth, Adam was a pretty physical guy who was content with the simpler animal pleasures of life. 

Sure, he knew a lot more about other dimensions and otherworldly beings than people might expect from his test scores, but Adam's soldiering upbringing had viewed the multiverse as a dark and pitiless infinity full of eldritch predators and malevolent alien gods. 

Not exactly something you want to “embrace.” 

He wanted to be there for Nell, to be a pillar for her while she went through this loss like Morgan's girlfriend had been. But Adam worried that he couldn’t relate enough to how Penelope experienced the world to be who she needed him to be. When Nell had said earlier that intentions were powerful, the cold utilitarianism of ‘threats’, ‘tactical priorities’, and ‘strategic objectives’ that Adam was brought up in almost led him to say something dismissive before he stopped himself. 

It was that impulse Adam feared. Ideological baggage doesn’t just disappear. That bullshit stays with you, lodged deep in your brain stem somewhere, jumping out whenever you were scared or uncomfortable. Like when you were about to literally split out of your own skin and become something hunted by your own people. 

As just a random example. 

Adam got up and dusted off the leaves from his jeans and walked over to Nell. He took a knee by the arcane diagram. “So uh...we need to chant ominously in Latin or…?” 

Despite the heaviness of the air surrounding them, Nell cracked the beginnings of a smile while Adam posed his question, reminded of the time they’d worked on the demon amulet in her greenhouse. “I think I can carry the chanting part and make it just ominous enough.” Tearing open the seed packet with her teeth to sprinkle them over the center of the circle, she felt her the ache of her loss rise to meet her as she reached for her magic for the last time that mattered. “Remember when I said emotions can make magic stronger? Like the wolpertingers at my birthday party?” she asked. “They help fuel it and make it more powerful if you focus on them. And then it’s almost like you can just pour them into the spell. Just letting them leave you to create something new that isn’t exactly them.” Nell couldn’t help but feel that no amount of the dread and premature mourning for her abilities she put into the spell would be enough to chip away at them, but at least she could use them to form something that would live past that loss. “It’s like free magical therapy,” she tried to joke, though her hands wavered as she passed them over the seeds. “So if you just focus on what you’re feeling, and let them go into the spell- you’ll be helping too.” 

Nell reached forwards to lightly clasp Adam’s wrists in her hands, trying to guide his palms to the center of the circle where the seeds lay before resting them atop the soil. Pulling a hidden fingerstick out of a bobby pin from her hair that was kept for situations such as these, she looked at it for a moment too long— realizing there’d be no need for it after tonight. How many more things like this would she find after her magic was gone? Like little knives hiding around her life to slip between her ribs when she least expected it. Shaking the thought away she pricked the tip of Adam’s finger, letting the droplets of blood wet the dirt. Then she did the same to herself before covering the hunter’s hands with her own, the Latin falling from her as the blood mixed. She let every emotion she’d been forcing down for the past month painfully bubble up inside her until it felt like she might burst before letting it spill over into the magic. Slowly but surely, green shoots began to sprout through the cracks of their fingers, the stalks reaching towards the setting sun as new life was born, already desperate to survive. Nell could have gone further- taken the plants to completion and let them bloom. Instead she let the magic end after the daffodils had grown a few inches above the ground, wanting them to find their own way in a new world just as Nell and Adam would have to do in the coming days. 

“Well- that’s it, I guess,” Nell said shakily. It was over. “Chain time now?” she asked as casually as she could, tilting her head back towards their respective trees.

Adam looked up at a sky the color of blue slate, crisscrossed by the lines of cirrus clouds that’d had been lit up in a conflagration of deep carmine by the setting sun. The branches of the forest’s canopy stretched across the sky panoramy like arms through up against the crepular glare, the autumnal reds and oranges of their leaves transmuted into titian gold by the last sunlight passing through them. 

But shadows deepened in this last fading flare, lengthening from the trunks of trees, gnarled masses of roots, and undersides of the softly swaying branches. The leafy carpet of the forest floor darkened until the conjured daffodils seemed defiant against the gloom in their lush newborn yellow, basking in the last dappled rays. 

Adam glanced from the blood lingering on his finger to the daffodils that’d blossomed in the span of seconds. It occurred to him that...in a way...these flowers had come from him and Nell, there was a tiny part of him in those stems and blooms. “Woah Nell, like...that's amazing,” he breathed, not sure why this small last act of fertility should get so much more of a reaction then the crazier stuff he’d seen Nell do on the battlefield. 

Maybe this was part of what Morgan had meant about the universe becoming a part of you?

A cold dismissive part of Adam reminded himself that he wasn’t thoughtful or smart and he shouldn’t be doing galaxy-brain bullshit about some fucking flowers. It was the same remorseless inner voice that’d always reminded Adam that orders were orders, he needed to focus on the mission not the distractions. 

The boyish sense of wonder snapped off like a light switch. Even in his last minutes of humanity, the bone-deep conditioning still put blinders on Adam’s selfhood. 

“Yeah we need to get ready,” Adam rose to his feet again. He hesitated a moment, wondering if he should hug Nell, say something that he more felt for her then knew. 

Adam’s lips parted as he searched for words for a moment, but they closed as he swallowed down his own sense of guilt and failures as a man. He’d tried to meet Nell’s eyes, but quickly averted his own gaze and started busying himself with the chains, affixing heavy iron locks to his wrists. 

Nell mirrored his hesitation after they’d stood, knowing she wanted something in that moment— but uncertain how to act on it. But tonight they didn’t have time to find the words or motions, seemingly already a prisoner to the rising moon and setting sun despite the shift having not yet happened. The last grain of sand had fallen through their hourglass, and now they had to face the inevitable. This wasn’t the end— not really. But no matter how many times Nell tried to tell herself such, she couldn’t get the words to stick. Things were changing after tonight whether she liked it or not, doors closing and opening. Some were clear cut and well-defined like the loss of her magic, others were shrouded in darkness, unable to be found in the gloom of uncertainty that was where they went from here. The rooms the doors were closing on were the ends of many a thing she wasn’t wanting to relinquish, and even if she lived to see the sunrise it wouldn’t be what it was before.

At least Nell wouldn’t have to do it alone. This was the only good she could think of that was coming of tonight as she glanced over to Adam once more, still trying to find what it was she wanted to say. Instead she focused on shackling herself, locking the cold metal around her wrists in a way that was little too reminiscent of her prisoner days in the Ring. Ignoring the shiver that went down her spine, she decided this was her last chance to say something and did her best. “This is gonna sound shitty- and I don’t mean it like that but...if I was gonna get bit I’m glad it’s with you.” It wasn’t perfect, but it’d have to do. 

The last ray of light blinked out of existence in those last moments, and Nell waited- not knowing in the least how to prepare for what was coming, going forth into the darkness with the realization that at least she had one, tiny lantern in the form of the guy who’d stumbled into the Ring looking for a demon amulet all those months ago. She didn’t know how they’d gotten here, but even now she wouldn’t change it, somehow grateful in these last moments for it. Nell waited until the pinks and purples of the sky stopped reflecting against the new glass of the lake, waited for what felt like hours but couldn’t have been more than mere seconds. Waited until she heard the first cricket begin its song, and there wasn’t a scrap of light left in the sky. But there was nothing. Her hands were still her hands, her feet still encased in the sneakers she’d worn, and her magic…

Nell reached for it once again, a half-laugh, half-cry of relief breaking from her lips as she realized that one in a million had come to fruition. The full moon had come, and she was still here, human and magic and everything she’d been before. Instantly she tried to crane her head towards Adam’s direction, struggling to get far enough away from the tree to see him clearly in the new darkness. “Adam?” she asked carefully, unsure whether she’d get words or a wolfish snarl in response. She repeated his name more insistently. “Adam? Are you there?”

Adam felt the moon in his blood. The air felt heavy around him, as the tidal pull of the moon was ripping at his body. Energic pressure seemed to press down on Adam. His heartbeat hammered in his temples. 

Nell said something to him. Where was he?

Red tinged thoughts flooded into Adam’s head, a visceral longing that quickened his breath and brought up goosebumps of frisson along his skin. 

He needed to snap Nell’s neck, to hold her close as she went still and cold. 

It’d make him strong again. Whole again. 

The Hunter’s Moon whispered in Adam’s veins like wine seeping deep into his bloodstream. 

But Adam looked down at his hands and saw only human fingers. 

The fuck? Why’d he feel this way...the moon...what was going on?

“Yeah I’m here.”

Nell muttered a spell to unlock the metal around her wrists, a wave of relief once tumbling through her as Adam voiced his confirmation. “You’re okay? You’re human?” she asked again, as if she could hardly believe it. And why should she? Kaden had said their odds were one in a million and here they were— apparently two in one million. “You’re sure?” Another breathless laugh found her as she marveled at their luck. “We fucking did it,” she said before stepping forwards to unlock Adam’s own shackles, even though they’d had no hand in deciding their fates when it came to turning into werewovles or not. Gone was the hesitation she’d felt before they’d locked themselves to the tree, rushing forwards to throw herself into Adam for a hug as elation made quick work of any previous uncertainties.

Adam looked at the places on his wrist that Nell had unlocked the shackles from. There were no signs of struggle. He hadn’t just wolfed and out blacked out. His clothes weren’t shredded and Nell was elated. 

What happened? Had his mutation differentiated into those of a Beast Hunter after that encounter with the wolves, granting him immunity? But if that was the case how had Nell not contracted it? 

Adam took Nell into his arms, just content with the reassuring presence of it as his brain still tried to go through the stages of shock, acceptance, and relief. He tried to banish that ingrained Hunter paranoia and just enjoy being alive and human with Nell. “Yeah, we made it,” Adam affirmed back to her in a murmur as he held Penelope close. 

The moon burned like molten silver in the sky, seeming to briefly ripple into deep crimson in Adam’s vision like a heat mirage. He could feel Nell’s heartbeat against his chest. Even as he craved Nell’s touch to reassure him that this was real, that they were really going to make it, a small savage thought slithered into Adam’s mind. 

What would it be like to feel that heartbeat stop?

Somehow Adam knew...without knowing how...that it’d make him strong, vital, ecstatically alive.

He pushed the thought away, hoping it was just some lingering trace of lycanthropy in his bloodstream reacting to the full moon.

Yeah, must be. 

His embrace tightened around Penelope, content to just hold her close and just ...be..for a little while, enjoying this unexpected act of mercy from the universe.

[eri-kawakami]

Paige (redbird_makes on instagram) invited me to help with an exciting project! The group, Stickers Against Racism will be selling mythical stickers, all profits going to help raise funds for charities benefiting the protestors and BIPOC. It launches June 19th- you can see more info on the website.

I wanted to do something based off the painting of Truth coming out of her well to shame mankind.

I never really know what to say, and I don’t usually, but I hope we can help. Non-black people, let's do our best to be informed allies and keep supporting the Black community! Keep donating, learning, and signing petitions. I'm hoping this movement sees some real change.

[definegodliness]

Age of reenchantment

About a hundred years ago the term disenchantment was first-time coined, a theory predicting the corrosion and end of superstition, mystification, and religion by virtue of scientific enlightenment. However, on the scale of time, knowledge has always come at curves and dips, and travels onward upward in wavelike motions. After all: the more you learn, the less you know. It's like painting on an ever-expanding canvas, and the paint used to initially outline the bigger picture just won't stick on a couple of crucial areas where we, mankind as a whole, would like to see some detail. Then, the more we use the same paint to continue painting, the more gaps will appear on the canvas.

The more gaps scientists let appear on the canvas, the more dire the need becomes for more lenient out-of-the-box thinkers; philosophers and dreamers, who just slather all kinds of materials on the painting to see if something sticks. These are the new-age magicians, alchemists, and oracles. They slather whatever at their leisure. Yet, in that lies their strength. After all, some of the greatest epiphanies have been sparked upon the middle ground between free and empirical thinking. When both worlds collide we see the universe unfiltered. Then, the ever-expanding canvas in our metaphorical museum makes more sense, and we can all dab around with that brand new paint. What a joyous prospect this is.

However, until this happens once more, I do believe it's safe to say our latest age of disenchantment must come to an end. It is time for an age of brand-new reenchantments! Let's see where that takes us.

I'll lead the way.

We're leaving the ever-expanding museum which contains the ever-expanding canvas which depicts the ever-expanding painting behind us, and find ourselves on the Matterhorn. The Matterhorn? Yes, the Matterhorn, the Swiss Alps' most famous mountain. We're here because I'm doing field research regarding the Holy Triangle, or whatchamacallit. You know, that prism shaped thingy encompassing The One. Colloquially and affectionately called the Toblerone. See, I've found a hidden map on one of the Toblerone’s classic yellow packages, and, I kid you not, it clearly depicts the peak of Mount Matterhorn.

Before we continue, I might have to illustrate my relationship with the Toblerone, which I will do by sharing the tanka I wrote, overcome, and first-time swirling in the overwhelming euphoria of its chocolate gooeyness:

Come the day I die It won't matter if I'll go Surrounded by love Or abandoned and alone I will go out with a smile For I've tasted Toblerone

As you can read, it was a devotional experience. And seeing as we now live in an age of brand-new reenchantments, I decided to do my part and lay my life in the hands of the Toblerone. Embarking on a quest for higher truth, which I was convinced I would find there, at the summit of the Matterhorn.

I came well prepared, having tediously studied the sacred text 'Insanus Est Qui Legit', wherein an author whose name has sadly been lost to time, meticulously describes the preconditions needed for a spiritual revelation. Such, so it appeared to me, is a thing of complete sacrifice and surrender to the suspected higher power, in my case the Toblerone.

So, before my ascension of the Matterhorn, I made sure my body was cleansed of all impure fuel-sources. Fasting, and surviving on my brand new chewy chocolatey savior alone for the greater part of two months.

Lastly, I roughly estimated the energy input needed to reach the Matterhorn's peak, and divided it by the sacred number 9, which is the exact amount of Holy Triangles one can find in the yellow prism shaped box. On set intervals, I would eat one piece of the 9, until I would reach the summit. There, on that snowy peak so far above the world; with milk chocolate, honey, and almond nougat running through my veins, I would undoubtedly receive my revelation. Makes sense, doesn't it? Like I said, I came well prepared.

And as I came so well prepared, the journey went smoothly. So smoothly I even decided to shed my earthen clothes and do the last bit of my ascension butt-naked. I was confident. Warmed by an unearthly glow, welling inside me. And my heart filled with a childlike sense of joy when I looked up and saw the Matterhorn's proud peak mere meters away. The final stretch. The final piece. I grabbed the yellow prism shaped box and solemnly shook it above my left hand's open palm.

Nothing.

I shook it again, this time harder, yet, again, nothing. Panic struck. And I pressed the bottom end of the box hard, clearly feeling the last piece of Toblerone inside. But it would not give way. It was stuck entirely. I shouted for help, but none could hear me. I was alone on the top of the world. My energy reserves almost entirely depleted. The unearthly glow I had felt made way for a vicious attack of the cold. A thousand daggers stabbed my skin. My breath halted. My blood froze. And I knew I would soon die, there, naked, at the top of the Matterhorn. I faltered. The shivering stopped. And upon my consciousness plucked the sweet temptation of the deathly sleep. My eyelids felt heavy.

In this, what was my death struggle, I experienced one last peculiar rush of hot blood coursing through my veins. And though experts would say it was a sugar rush, I will claim it was the lightning bolt of divine intervention that struck me. In any case, my faith in the Toblerone then doubled. 

Moaning and groaning I used my stiff and numb fingers to frantically shake its yellow prism shaped box. The last Toblerone. The unearthly glow. My only hope. Then, in my darkest hour, right before I gave in to total despair, the world spiraled into a blur, and echoing through the mountain chain, resonating through my brain, I heard the soothing singing voice of Sir Paul McCartney:

When I find myself in times of trouble Miley Cyrus comes to me Speaking words of wisdom

"Let it be."

Another voice. Not echoing, but soft and crystal clear. I mustered all my strength to raise my upper body, and turned my head toward its angelical sound. Peeping through my eyelashes, I saw the brightest of lights. A flashing and sparkling orb of shimmering white and shining silver hoveringly approached me. And from within the blinding orb stepped a female figure, wearing naught but a cloak of the most vivid royal blue. 

Gracefully, she placed one bare foot in front of the other toward me. Never sinking in the snow. Ever closer. Then, the light dimmed and I could make out her face. Her smile was comforting. And I stretched both my arms out to her in helpless surrender. She approached. The Virgin Miley. 

Was I saved? 

Was she a mere apparition? 

No, I felt so as she straddled me, placing herself on my hip bones, right above my pelvis. So sharing her body's warmth. 

Then, she gently took my freezing hands in hers, and forthwith all the pain, sorrow, and fear left my body. I turned mellow and limp. Letting the box of Toblerone slide out of my once clutching fingers. 

Again, that comforting smile. The Virgin Miley seemed pleased, caressing my forehead. I felt safe. At peace, yet simultaneously overwhelmed by the sensation of an ever growing glowing originating from within my chest. Words fall short and I can only describe my emotional experience at that time as the birthing of the deepest rooted love. It was grand. It was unconditional. And I felt it so deeply I found myself wondering: is this what the ecclesiastics called agape love?

However, though grand it was, the sentiment swiftly fleeted when The Virgin Miley took my yellow prism-shaped box, and placed it beside me in the snow. Then, all I could think of was that last piece of Toblerone, still stuck at the bottom of its prism shaped package. It was at the very moment of my thinking that I heard that soft and soothing voice resound again:

"Let it be."

"No. Miley. I will not let it be.” 

I snapped at her. Clutching the box again and frantically trying to shake it empty.

The Virgin Miley shook her head, looking at me with an expression that exposed both a slight disgruntlement, yet far more devastatingly, her deep disappointment. A pang of shame washed over me, flustering my cheeks, and in a stammering mutter I begged her forgiveness. Once more, she shook her head, but in doing so her face turned kind again. Then, in a slow gesticulation, she placed her index finger on my lips.

"Shhh... it's all right. You do not understand. Yet you are only human. You gaze at the world through a magnifying lens, and all that evades the marginal boundaries of its focus eludes you."

She repositioned herself upon me, grabbing my face with both her hands and bringing hers within whispering distance.

"There is much I could teach you, if you'd let me."

I nodded. In awe. Rendered voiceless. The Virgin Miley grinned self-assuredly, apparently satisfied by my permission, and I felt the warmth of her svelte hand flowing down my throat, and further down, until she placed it on my chest, directly above my heart. And as she as such repositioned herself again, I all of the sudden felt a vehemently pulsating incandescence traveling throughout the whole of my body. My every atom, titillating. Pulsating. Bursting. By her virtue, I felt swaddled in what I can only suppose was the universe's purest energy.

She sighed. Yet even in that slightest escaping of air from her lips, the Matterhorn trembled. Her eyes locked with mine and all else around me started to fade to a whirring blur. Those eyes. For a moment they were all that existed. Blue fire. The highest truths flared from them and I could not look away as her thoughts invaded my brain. Her voice resounded without her moving her lips. So near, yet at the same time so very distant, as if her message had traveled throughout the all-time to finally fulfill the purpose of meeting my ears. Here, on top of the Matterhorn, Miley Cyrus came to me, speaking words of wisdom:

"You wanted to usher in an age of brand new reenchantment, but unlike the philosophers and dreamers you identify with; you, in your vain quest for glory, have failed to remain an out-of-the-box thinker.” 

She paused for a second, making sure I comprehended the error of my ways, then continued: 

“Now, let me show you all there is to know when you drop your lens of truth and just... see."

With that last word, The Virgin Miley used her entire weight to roughly bolt down upon me, clutching my shoulders and tightly pressing her limbs and body against mine, wrapping us both in her velvety royal blue cloak at the same time.

"We are one entity now."

And so, I felt the very building blocks of my corporeality dissipate and my consciousness expand to exist far from the bounds of earthen and fleshly temporality. From the very core of our connected being swelled that very same flashing and sparkling orb of shimmering white and shining silver I had seen upon her initial arrival. Soon, I was wholly consumed by light. Blinded, but only for a short while. And when I regained my vision The Virgin Miley and I shot through space in a pulsingly radiating conjoined astral projection. Going against the known flow of time and space in what seemed to be an infinite rising in expansion. 

I watched the birth of our time, the Big Bang in the omnipresent void. Yet as we rose and rose in ascension and expansion, the dark of nothingness swiftly turned to a nightly sky illumined with spattering fireworks, some so grand they reduced our own Big Bang to the 'piff' of a cheap childproof firecracker. And I know we could have gone on and on, ever further, but in hindsight I recognize the only matter of importance in this joint endeavor was the annulling of my every conception of measurable space. Of time's linear flow. Of perceivable and cognizant colored existence. My mind was blasted completely open. This, once more, pleased The Virgin Miley.

"Let me show you all there is to learn, experience, and behold when you take the universe's back door."

Again, a jolt. Like a sudden thud. As if someone had suddenly slammed on the brakes of a speeding car. It indicated the reversal of our astral travel, we were now heading in the exact opposite direction. Collapsing into ourselves. Shrinking. Infinitely shrinking. Past the size of atoms and subatomic particles, of protons and neutrons and quarks, even smaller. The slightest speck of stardust could burn with the power of a million suns, and all around us life was abundant. Life, that would always be invisible to our human senses and limited tools of perception. The Virgin Miley had dipped me into her pool of infinite wisdom. And I wept tears of joy, of bliss, and intellectual euphoria.

She picked up the pace. One last trick to blow my mind from here into ever-after. The black hole. Where the relatively vast and infinitely small coexisted, simultaneously being much larger and far smaller than the other, both affected, and unaffected by time, which flow had turned chaotic. All that existed, existed always, and at the same time it might as well have never existed. 

All flashed me by in the electrification of infinite knowledge, not sparking within my brain, but washing over the whole of me in ever accelerating undulating waves of electromagnetic heat. It was pure ecstasy. Sheer elation. And as I finally ejaculated inside The Virgin Miley's butt-hole, I let out a violent roar. Losing consciousness immediately after. All was dark, yet in the dreamlike state I found myself in, I heard her giggle. Crystal tinkles. Then, I heard her voice rapidly fade in one last message. Softly echoing.

"Think outside of the box, Mark."

My eyes burst open. I was back on the Matterhorn, lying naked in the snow, the prism shaped box held firmly to my chest. Blast. I had been so preoccupied with the conventional ways of obtaining my prize, solely utilizing the predestined path to its acquisition as designed and described by the manufacturer on the package, that I had turned completely oblivious to the easy solution. 'Think outside of the box, Mark.' I thought. 'See things from the other side.' 

With that I turned the prism shaped box around, and opened its bottom side. The last piece of Toblerone let go of its lodged position, and promptly fell into my opened hand. I looked at it for a moment. That Holy Triangle. All the madness it had brought into being. I chuckled. Then, turning solemn, I placed it in the snow before my feet. Mere meters under the Matterhorn’s peak. One lonely piece. The last of the Toblerone. I no longer had need for it.

Lucky for me the Swiss Mountain Rescue operation then came to save me. Otherwise I wouldn’t have lived to tell this story. 

--- 4-1-2020, M.A. Tempels ©

[realwizardshit]

best classical paintings:

that one of the girl in the pink dress and the swing kicking off one shoe and Scandalously showing off some hot ankle

judith slaying holofcernes but it’s the really violent one painted by a woman

lucifer making that angry crying face

truth coming out of her well to shame mankind

another one of like a handmaiden washing something on a washboard but she’s showing a LOT of leg

[oopsabird]

IFD Author Showcase - oopsabird’s SamiCharlie (Wonder Woman 2017) Works

Hello all! Since today is February 15 was International Fanworks Day, I thought I’d get around to something I’ve been thinking of doing for a while, which is a masterpost of all the Wonder Woman (2017) fics I’ve written for the pairing Charlie/Sameer! Yay!! Shamless self-promotion time!!

Click under the cut for all 15 of my works for this ship in the order I originally posted them! Plenty of reading to fill up your reading week or procrastinate whatever you “should” be doing lol

Unfortunately this probably won’t show up in the tags due to the amount of links it has, so reblogs would be super super appreciated, as are comments and kudos from those of you who click through!

These works represent the small public part of the huge amount of writing growth I have had in the last two years, and a big effort to build a ship tag from the ground up with my friends, and I am so so proud of them!! Every word of a comment or kudos means the absolute world to me, as making these fics has helped me rediscover my creative self again after so many years of being estranged from that part of me - they are an expression of creative joy.

Hope you enjoy!

1. And In The Morning [1838 words]

If that snowy night in Veld had been the calm before the storm, this sunrise was the stunned quiet in the wake of the hurricane. The moment to look around and take stock of what made it through the vicious night - and what didn’t.

Missing scene/coda: Sameer at the airfield, after.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Chief, Diana Prince | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 28 Nov 2017

Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Pre-Slash, sober Charlie

2. je le veux [7697 words]

Diana believes in love the same way children believe in fairytales - with optimism and wholehearted conviction.

or;

Over the course of their mission in Belgium, Diana deduces from watching Sameer and Charlie that they obviously must be a devoted married couple. This conclusion would in fact be news to everyone else on the team — including Sameer and Charlie.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Diana Prince, Sameer, Charlie, Etta Candy, Chief | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Diana Prince/Steve Trevor (mentioned), Charlie & Sameer, Etta Candy & Diana, Wonder Squad Found Family Feels | Date Posted: 27 Dec 2017

Addtional Tags: Mutual Pining, Intimacy, cultural misunderstandings (of a sort), Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Recovery, Grieving, well-intentioned meddling friends, Diana Prince vs 20th-century homophobia, aka Truth Coming Out Of Her Well To Shame Mankind, Fluff, Get-Together Fic, Post-Movie, non-explicit references to homophobia, sober Charlie

3. gambit [7390 words]

gambit: in chess, a sacrifice used to gain an early advantage in space or time at the opening of a game.

or;

Sameer does something arguably reckless, and consequences ensue.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Chief, Etta Candy | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer, Wonder Squad Found Family Feels | Date Posted: 3 Jan 2018

Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, liberal mis-use of historical timelines and the field of medicine, Hurt/Comfort, a dozen tropes stacked together in a trenchcoat, Mission Fic, Minor Injuries, Serious Injuries, Interrogation, Get-Together Fic, Post-Canon, Whump, epilogue compliant, sober Charlie

4. To Burn And Keep Quiet [5660 words]

Sameer and Charlie tell their secrets, yet still keep them secret all the same. Etta gets caught up in the middle of their mess, and prays for patience.

Warnings: Chose not to use | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Etta Candy, Sameer, Charlie, Steve Trevor (Mentioned) | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Etta Candy & Sameer, Etta Candy & Charlie, Charlie & Sameer | Chapters:  2/2 | Date Posted: 19 Jan 2018

Additional Tags: Mutually Unrequited, Mutual Pining, Friendship, Miscommunication, Pre-Canon, Post-Canon, yes it can be both, oblivious idiots in love, Hospitals, Etta gets caught in a minor moral conundrum, Secrets, Pining, Male-Female Friendship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Period-typical attitudes towards homosexuality, (not Etta because she's a good person), Bisexual Character, Pre-Slash, epilogue compliant, sober Charlie, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism

5. so much like stars [6668 words]

Sameer gets Charlie back from the drink - and all that which comes with him, too.

or;

How the rest of the team spent that night in the village.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Chief | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 31 Jan 2018

Additional Tags: Pining, Canon Compliant, Mid-Canon, Missing Scene, Undressing, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, the result of watching the "evening in Veld" scene way too many times, Friendship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, probably some UST too but it's subtle I think, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Diana/Steve Trevor (mentioned), sober Charlie

6. Next To Me [2604 words]

After the war Charlie's drinking stops, but the nightmares don't. Luckily, he has people who’ll take care of him - if he can learn to let them.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Etta Candy, Chief | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 18 Mar 2018

Additional Tags: Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Nightmares, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Friendship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Angst, Mutual Pining(if you squint), Team as Family, Charlie and the fight against toxic masculinity, epilogue compliant, sober Charlie

7. take my heart (clean apart if it helps yours beat) [4147 words]

This thought more than any other makes Sami’s heart twist in his chest; he wishes he could turn back time, lift the troubles from Charlie’s mind and give him the peace he deserves. Steve says this new mission of theirs could end the war, and while Sami isn’t quite naive enough to wholeheartedly believe this, he quietly hopes that it can be true, because he isn’t sure how much longer they can hold on otherwise. A small group of missing scenes from the last night in London before the mission.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Steve Trevor | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer, Sameer & Steve Trevor | Date Posted: 1 May 2018

Additional Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Missing Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pining, Miscommunication, Etta and Diana appear briefly but not enough to tag

8. a degree of difficulty [2603 words]

Without the drink to cloud his judgement, Charlie finds himself prone to worry.

or;

A small cutscene preceding the battle at the airfield; a moment of reassurance.

Warnings: Chose not to use | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Charlie, Sameer, Chief, Steve Trevor | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer, assorted minor/background team feels and friendships | Date Posted: 27 Aug 2018

Additional Tags: Ficlet, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Friendship, sober Charlie

9. i don’t know if you would listen [2509 words]

After the village battle and before the celebration, Charlie seeks out absolution in Veld's broken church.

Warnings: Chose not to use | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Charlie, Sameer | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 5 Oct 2018

Additional Tags: Character Study, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Canon Compliant, Religious Discussion, Pre-Slash, Friendship, Sami being beautiful in the twilight (again), Mid-Canon, time to unpack my massive box of Charlie feels (again), Prayer, sober Charlie

10. dìon [1944 words]

dìon — Scottish Gaelic; verb meaning “to protect”, “to safeguard”, or “to shelter”.

or;

Sami vs the forces of winter.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie, Etta Candy | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer, Etta Candy & Sameer, Etta Candy & Charlie | Date Posted: 8 Jan 2019

Additional Tags: Winter, Pre-Slash, mild whump, Fluff, Mutually Oblivious Pining, Sharing Clothes, epilogue compliant, sober Charlie

11. let me come with you [12,013 words]

the woods are lovely, dark and deep (but i have promises to keep)

or;

When things go awry on a mission in Italy, it's Charlie's turn to risk everything for his family, and pray they'll bring him home. Sequel and mirror to gambit.

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Charlie, Sameer, Etta Candy, Chief | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer, Etta Candy & Charlie, Charlie & Chief, Etta Candy & Sameer, Wonder Squad Found Family Feels | Date Posted: 4 Apr 2019

Additonal Tags: Mission Fic, Established Relationship, Action & Romance, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Interrogation, Team as Family, Canon-Typical Violence, (maybe a bit above that), Whump, tropes tropes and more tropes, sober Charlie, Serious Injuries, Post-Canon, epilogue compliant, liberties taken with medical accuracy, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Peril, Romance, Multilingual Character, i love Charlie and i am terrible to him, Torture

12. a small enough love [1016 words]

 i don’t want to die. i just want    a little goddamn rest    and a small enough love    that i can breathe around it.

Charlie sleeps. Sami keeps watch.

Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 20 Aug 2019

Additional Tags: Napping, Pining, Friendship/Love, Pre-Canon

13. (you say it best) when you say nothing at all [2073 words]

Sameer prides himself on knowing over two dozen languages (and counting) — yet somehow, he has never really needed any of them for him and Charlie to understand one another perfectly. 

Warnings: Chose not to use | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 14 Oct 2019

Additonal Tags: Post-Canon, Getting Together, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Racism, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, mild whump, aka Charlie gets his ass kicked a bit, No Dialogue, sober Charlie, Sameer makes a fuss, Charlie doesn’t actually mind, Angst with a Happy Ending, but like mild angst, Men Crying, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss

14. remedy [4027 words]

Sameer has spent a long time pretending he doesn't hear Charlie's nightmares, both to shelter his friend's pride and hide his own feelings.

Then the war ends, and Charlie gets sober, and damn near everything changes.

Warnings: Chose not to use | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Sameer, Charlie | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 12 Nov 2019

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Post-Canon, Mutual Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Nightmares, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, sober Charlie, Paris (City), Sharing a Bed, Accidental Cuddling, Repressed Idiots, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-War, Tenderness, Mutually oblivious

15. and if the night comes (and the night will come) [2164 words]

well at least the war is over

~

Charlie isn’t the only one who has his share of nightmares.

Sameer just happens to be a lot quieter about it.

Words: 2164 | Rating: G Warnings: N/A | Fandom: Wonder Woman (2017) | Characters: Charlie, Sameer | Relationships: Charlie/Sameer, Charlie & Sameer | Date Posted: 26 Mar 2020

Additional Tags: Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Role Reversal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Singing, Established Relationship, Post-Canon, Post-War, Cuddling & Snuggling, Multilingual Character, sober Charlie, Sameer is painfully selfless, Charlie is Trying His Best god bless him, Lullabies, Tenderness            

If you’ve made it this far and still somehow want more, please go check out the 17 other works for this ship by my dearly beloved friends and muses Elri and Kaye, and my pal Bug. Hell, check it out anyway. Couldn’t have done all this writing without them, I simply couldn’t <3

[araitsume]

The Acts of the Apostles, pp. 9-16: Chapter (1)  God's Purpose for His Church

The church is God's appointed agency for the salvation of men. It was organized for service, and its mission is to carry the gospel to the world. From the beginning it has been God's plan that through His church shall be reflected to the world His fullness and His sufficiency. The members of the church, those whom He has called out of darkness into His marvelous light, are to show forth His glory. The church is the repository of the riches of the grace of Christ; and through the church will eventually be made manifest, even to “the principalities and powers in heavenly places,” the final and full display of the love of God. Ephesians 3:10.

Many and wonderful are the promises recorded in the Scriptures regarding the church. “Mine house shall be called an house of prayer for all people.” Isaiah 56:7. “I will make them and the places round about My hill a blessing; and I will cause the shower to come down in his season; there shall be showers of blessing.” “And I will raise up for them a plant of renown, and they shall be no more consumed with hunger in the land, neither bear the shame of the heathen any more. Thus shall they know that I the Lord their God am with them, and that they, even the house of Israel, are My people, saith the Lord God. And ye My flock, the flock of My pasture, are men, and I am your God, saith the Lord God.” Ezekiel 34:26, 29-31.

“Ye are My witnesses, saith the Lord, and My servant whom I have chosen: that ye may know and believe Me, and understand that I am He: before Me there was no God formed, neither shall there be after Me. I, even I, am the Lord; and beside Me there is no Saviour. I have declared, and have saved, and I have showed, when there was no strange god among you: therefore ye are My witnesses.” “I the Lord have called thee in righteousness, and will hold thine hand, and will keep thee, and give thee for a covenant of the people, for a light of the Gentiles; to open the blind eyes, to bring out the prisoners from the prison, and them that sit in darkness out of the prison house.” Isaiah 43:10-12; 42:6, 7.

“In an acceptable time have I heard thee, and in a day of salvation have I helped thee: and I will preserve thee, and give thee for a covenant of the people, to establish the earth, to cause to inherit the desolate heritages; that thou mayest say to the prisoners, Go forth; to them that are in darkness, Show yourselves. They shall feed in the ways, and their pastures shall be in all high places. They shall not hunger nor thirst; neither shall the heat nor sun smite them: for He that hath mercy on them shall lead them, even by the springs of water shall He guide them. And I will make all My mountains a way, and My highways shall be exalted....

“Sing, O heavens; and be joyful, O earth; and break forth into singing, O mountains: for the Lord hath comforted His people, and will have mercy upon His afflicted. But Zion said, The Lord hath forsaken me, and my Lord hath forgotten me. Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee. Behold, I have graven thee upon the palms of My hands; thy walls are continually before Me.” Isaiah 49:8-16.

The church is God's fortress, His city of refuge, which He holds in a revolted world. Any betrayal of the church is treachery to Him who has bought mankind with the blood of His only-begotten Son. From the beginning, faithful souls have constituted the church on earth. In every age the Lord has had His watchmen, who have borne a faithful testimony to the generation in which they lived. These sentinels gave the message of warning; and when they were called to lay off their armor, others took up the work. God brought these witnesses into covenant relation with Himself, uniting the church on earth with the church in heaven. He has sent forth His angels to minister to His church, and the gates of hell have not been able to prevail against His people.

Through centuries of persecution, conflict, and darkness, God has sustained His church. Not one cloud has fallen upon it that He has not prepared for; not one opposing force has risen to counterwork His work, that He has not foreseen. All has taken place as He predicted. He has not left His church forsaken, but has traced in prophetic declarations what would occur, and that which His Spirit inspired the prophets to foretell has been brought about. All His purposes will be fulfilled. His law is linked with His throne, and no power of evil can destroy it. Truth is inspired and guarded by God; and it will triumph over all opposition.

During ages of spiritual darkness the church of God has been as a city set on a hill. From age to age, through successive generations, the pure doctrines of heaven have been unfolding within its borders. Enfeebled and defective as it may appear, the church is the one object upon which God bestows in a special sense His supreme regard. It is the theater of His grace, in which He delights to reveal His power to transform hearts.

“Whereunto,” asked Christ, “shall we liken the kingdom of God? or with what comparison shall we compare it?” Mark 4:30. He could not employ the kingdoms of the world as a similitude. In society He found nothing with which to compare it. Earthly kingdoms rule by the ascendancy of physical power; but from Christ's kingdom every carnal weapon, every instrument of coercion, is banished. This kingdom is to uplift and ennoble humanity. God's church is the court of holy life, filled with varied gifts and endowed with the Holy Spirit. The members are to find their happiness in the happiness of those whom they help and bless.

Wonderful is the work which the Lord designs to accomplish through His church, that His name may be glorified. A picture of this work is given in Ezekiel's vision of the river of healing: “These waters issue out toward the east country, and go down into the desert, and go into the sea: which being brought forth into the sea, the waters shall be healed. And it shall come to pass, that everything that liveth, which moveth, whithersoever the rivers shall come, shall live:... and by the river upon the bank thereof, on this side and on that side, shall grow all trees for meat, whose leaf shall not fade, neither shall the fruit thereof be consumed: it shall bring forth new fruit according to his months, because their waters they issued out of the sanctuary: and the fruit thereof shall be for meat, and the leaf thereof for medicine.” Ezekiel 47:8-12.

From the beginning God has wrought through His people to bring blessing to the world. To the ancient Egyptian nation God made Joseph a fountain of life. Through the integrity of Joseph the life of that whole people was preserved. Through Daniel God saved the life of all the wise men of Babylon. And these deliverances are as object lessons; they illustrate the spiritual blessings offered to the world through connection with the God whom Joseph and Daniel worshiped. Everyone in whose heart Christ abides, everyone who will show forth His love to the world, is a worker together with God for the blessing of humanity. As he receives from the Saviour grace to impart to others, from his whole being flows forth the tide of spiritual life.

God chose Israel to reveal His character to men. He desired them to be as wells of salvation in the world. To them were committed the oracles of heaven, the revelation of God's will. In the early days of Israel the nations of the world, through corrupt practices, had lost the knowledge of God. They had once known Him; but because “they glorified Him not as God, neither were thankful; but became vain in their imaginations, ... their foolish heart was darkened.” Romans 1:21. Yet in His mercy God did not blot them out of existence. He purposed to give them an opportunity of again becoming acquainted with Him through His chosen people. Through the teachings of the sacrificial service, Christ was to be uplifted before all nations, and all who would look to Him should live. Christ was the foundation of the Jewish economy. The whole system of types and symbols was a compacted prophecy of the gospel, a presentation in which were bound up the promises of redemption.

But the people of Israel lost sight of their high privileges as God's representatives. They forgot God and failed to fulfill their holy mission. The blessings they received brought no blessing to the world. All their advantages they appropriated for their own glorification. They shut themselves away from the world in order to escape temptation. The restrictions that God had placed upon their association with idolaters as a means of preventing them from conforming to the practices of the heathen, they used to build up a wall of separation between themselves and all other nations. They robbed God of the service He required of them, and they robbed their fellow men of religious guidance and a holy example.

Priests and rulers became fixed in a rut of ceremonialism. They were satisfied with a legal religion, and it was impossible for them to give to others the living truths of heaven. They thought their own righteousness all-sufficient, and did not desire that a new element should be brought into their religion. The good will of God to men they did not accept as something apart from themselves, but connected it with their own merit because of their good works. The faith that works by love and purifies the soul could find no place for union with the religion of the Pharisees, made up of ceremonies and the injunctions of men.

Of Israel God declared: “I had planted thee a noble vine, wholly a right seed: how then art thou turned into the degenerate plant of a strange vine unto Me?” Jeremiah 2:21. “Israel is an empty vine, he bringeth forth fruit unto himself.” Hosea 10:1. “And now, O inhabitants of Jerusalem, and men of Judah, judge, I pray you, betwixt Me and My vineyard. What could have been done more to My vineyard, that I have not done in it? wherefore, when I looked that it should bring forth grapes, brought it forth wild grapes?

“And now go to; I will tell you what I will do to My vineyard: I will take away the hedge thereof, and it shall be eaten up; and break down the wall thereof, and it shall be trodden down: and I will lay it waste: it shall not be pruned, nor digged; but there shall come up briers and thorns: I will also command the clouds that they rain no rain upon it. For the vineyard of the Lord of hosts is the house of Israel, and the men of Judah His pleasant plant: and He looked for judgment, but behold oppression; for righteousness, but behold a cry.” Isaiah 5:3-7. “The diseased have ye not strengthened, neither have ye healed that which was sick, neither have ye bound up that which was broken, neither have ye brought again that which was driven away, neither have ye sought that which was lost; but with force and with cruelty have ye ruled them.” Ezekiel 34:4.

The Jewish leaders thought themselves too wise to need instruction, too righteous to need salvation, too highly honored to need the honor that comes from Christ. The Saviour turned from them to entrust to others the privileges they had abused and the work they had slighted. God's glory must be revealed, His word established. Christ's kingdom must be set up in the world. The salvation of God must be made known in the cities of the wilderness; and the disciples were called to do the work that the Jewish leaders had failed to do.

[severalspoons]

Liveblog: Rewatching Trigun, Episode 17, Part 1

Episode 17 frustrates me immensely. All the most important facts are stated clearly. But a lot of the meaning and implications are at best found in brief hints. And while there’s a lot of symbolism, discussed in an interesting way here, it’s not enough to explain why Knives decided it was right to kill everyone except themselves and perhaps Rem. I would even argue, that’s never explained.

Get ready for a long post, because I’m going to overthink everything.

-- “I think that planet is going to be our new home!”

-- Rem is excited to create their new home, the Captain has a scientific bent, and Steve is a drunk, sexually harrassing pig. There is also a lady whose name I didn’t catch who seems to exist to be harrassed by Steve in the anime. Edit: There is also a lady named Mary who doesn’t seem to have any purpose until later.

-- Who does make the decision where they’ll land? Especially if almost everyone on the fleet except a small skeleton crew is in cold sleep.

-- Why are the twins in a separate room from the crew?

-- Knives is quietly watching the screen. Vash is wearing a party hat and a fake mustache and generally messing around. Wonder how well he understands what’s going on?

-- “Are there flowers on this planet?” Rem, you’re literally all seeing this planet for the first time and all the readings are about large-scale things like atmosphere and habitability. How would anyone know?

-- Also, is it just me or is Rem’s voice just high pitched enough to be really annoying? (Sorry). Also...is she drunk?

-- Rem, suppose there are no red flowers. Would that be a dealbreaker for you? 

-- “Why don’t they wake up?” Wait. Does Vash seriously not know what cold sleep is and that these people are in cold sleep???

-- “It’s so quiet. There’s only 7 people.” I get it, it’s a big ship to be occupied by so few people, but let’s just say I’m not surprised how much time he spends in crowded bars years later.

-- Vash doesn’t know what’s written on the outside of the ship? I’d think if there were no windows from which he could view the writing, there’d be information in the ship’s computers. Does he just sit around waiting to be told about the world? 

-- “If there’s a God...He must be laughing right now. Our pitiful struggle for immortality must seem like an impossible quest to Him.. “the desperate human will to survive, to carry on our species.” Even Rem, the dreamer, calls the whole thing “pitiful” and “impossible.” No wonder Knives comes to see it that way.

Rem is agnostic?

-- “We’re the caretakers...it’s our job to let them sleep in peace.” “is there anything we can do to help you?” Aww. <3 

Um, she did say “our” job, Vash. That includes you. Or is this how he communicates he doesn’t see himself as part of the crew, but would still like to help? Honestly, if it was typical how they kept him and Knives in a separate room even when celebrating the discovery of a potential new home, I can see why.

-- “Oh, THAT’s where you are.” Knives sounds like he got bored with the area and moved on a long time ago. His voice sounds harsher than Vash’s from the beginning.

-- The conversation between Knives and Rem in the rec room is weird. Like Knives is judging Rem, or Rem at least feels that way. “You really like that song.” Kids would normally ask a question, like “why do you sing that song so much?” or “what is that song?” 

“It pops into my head whenever I feel happy. Do you think it’s strange?” Who asks their 8 year old adopted kid if they think your everyday habits are strange? 

“No, it’s a nice song,” which is a judgment even though it’s a positive one.

After hearing Knives’ voice sound like that it’s weird to see his cute wide eyes. The crew member behind him looks uncomfortable.

-- “It’s weird. Nothing moved since we’ve been here, but everything seems different for some reason.” “That’s because it’s alive!” That’s actually a profound point about the difference between something made, like a computer, and something that grows, like a person. You always know what a program is going to do because you wrote it that way, and your furniture is always going to stay in the same place unless someone moves it. But a flower or an insect or a person is constantly changing, and you can’t always predict how.

-- “Hmm?” That doesn’t make intuitive sense to Knives, I guess. Vash is smiling behind Rem. IDK if that’s because it makes sense to him, or because he just enjoys listening to what Rem says.

-- “It has its own rhythm. You can actually feel the living heartbeat of the plants.” I think Knives is thinking of a different kind of plant than you are, Rem.

-- “So this is the world you and the crew keep talking about.”

-- “We’re not just going to see it, we’re going to create it.” Vash and Knives seem to agree on that. They just will end up with very different ideas of what that Eden looks like. :(

-- “There will be nothing but peaceful days,” “with no war,” “and no stealing,” “an Eden where people can live in freedom and harmony, right?” (That’s got to be Vash at the end, asking for confirmation or approval). 

Aww, those sweet little babies and their impossible dream, finishing each other’s sentences! I am crying all the tears right now.

Although, even Vash isn’t as naive as you’d think from how he talks. They know what war and stealing are. They know that freedom and harmony aren’t guaranteed. They’ve probably studied at least some of Earth’s history.

-- Here we are at the moment of no return! In the briefing room, Rem, the Captain, and the twins are sitting around a table looking at a hologram of Earth. Vash and Knives are told that Project SEEDS started because “the state of our home, Earth, was so desperate that...mankind could no longer survive there.” 

-- “Judging from the data, mankind is responsible for damaging the planet,” Knives says. “Right, Captain?” He’s being objective, he’s looking at the data, he’s asking the Captain rather than Rem for help. But I bet he’s hoping it isn’t true.

-- Why SEEDS? Rem: “the need to survive.” Seems morally neutral enough. 

The Captain: “the behavior of clinging to life until the verge of death is intrinsic to all organisms. Survival instincts take over, dismissing shame in order to live.” The Captain seems to be ashamed not only of humans destroying the Earth, but of their trying to survive. Knives seems to get that message loud and clear.

What Vash seemed to pick up is the idea that people should be ashamed of what they do to survive, and maybe that it’s right to hang onto that as much as you can while still living. Maybe that’s what the scars are for?

-- “But is it right to live if it means such sacrifices?” That’s...a cold way of putting it, Knives. 

-- “We make the smallest sacrifice we can think of at the time.” 

One could say Knives picked up this idea, but I don’t think so. He’s going to make some pretty big “sacrifices,” and I don’t think he tries to keep them small for very long.

-- Two different (and actually compatible) answers to Knives’ question: 

“Unlike other organisms on this planet, we possess logic, the knowledge to minimize the sacrifice.”

“Also, as human beings, we have the ability to right our wrongs. Hopefully we can learn from our mistakes and start over again in a new home.” Hopefully. Even Rem knows there’s no guarantee.

-- After the meeting, the Captain realizes (surprisingly, before Rem does), that it didn’t go well. He believes he doesn’t know how to be an educator and he’s not cut out to be a father. He downplays his knowledge of computers and reasoning, and says what really matters is what Rem does: teach them about emotions, being kind to others, and the value of the future.

Rem, in turn, says she has no idea how to raise kids either, and what she does is no big deal, she just plays with them. 

“I guess we just have a different way of looking at things,” the Captain says. And they continue respecting each other’s perspective and working together peacefully.

It’s too bad Vash and Knives weren’t present to see them model getting along with different strengths and beliefs (although they must have seen other examples). This is what the twins should have become.

***

Oh look, it’s the dichotomy between Thinking + STEM (modeled by the Captain, emulated by Knives) and Feeling + Social Intelligence (modeled by Rem, followed by Vash). This is one of my least favorite tropes. When I was a kid, I overthought like Knives while wearing my heart on my sleeve like Vash, and if this blog is any indication, not much has changed.

Humans were never going to be sufficient intellectual role models for the plant kids, so I understand why Rem and the Captain focused on their social and emotional development. But they, especially Knives, needed someone to listen to their thoughts and worries and take them seriously. Vash needed someone to model the process of looking for answers, instead of just waiting for someone to tell him what he wanted to hear. Knives needed someone to help him deal with the more disturbing implications of what he learned. The Captain sold himself short here. He could have done a good job with this. 

Rem’s style was to talk about feelings and memories, and to talk as little as possible about unpleasant truths, like the reason for the SEEDS mission. She waited to talk to Vash about it until he asked, and even then her answers were incomplete and...oversimplified, to say the least. That worked for her and Vash. Knives, however, seemed to want to understand things for himself. He didn’t just need what he would’ve seen as empty words of reassurance. He needed someone to engage with what he knew. 

I think Rem missed his attempts to talk about what was bothering him, because they were couched in factual rather than feeling terms. He talked about the thoughts that made him feel the way he did, not directly about the feelings themselves. For example, when he asked about humans destroying the Earth, he was horrified and seriously wondering what good humans were. The Captain addressed these implications, and realized the conversation did not go well. Rem just shared her beliefs. 

Neither of them helped him feel secure or loved. Neither of them helped him deal with his feelings about not being human, his horror that humans had destroyed Earth, and his fears that they might do the same with their new home. I don’t know if either of them knew much of what was on his mind. I think Knives spent a lot of time stewing alone. He already had the angry voice of a future villain, and neither empathetic Rem nor his own twin seemed to notice. For that matter, no one seemed to know that Steve was bullying him, or at least no one was doing anything about it. Does that seem strange to anyone else?

Knives chose to become a genocidal maniac. This is the context in which he made his choices.

Instead of a single person getting split into Thinking and Feeling sides, the siblings were split into a Feeling Twin and a Thinking Twin, to the detriment of both. As they chose different beliefs, role models, and ways of life, they continued farther and farther along these polarized tracks their elders set for them.

Yet, IMO, Rem and the Captain were both right. Rem was right about good and evil, how to hope, and what to live for. The captain was right about how to make decisions in an imperfect world, and the need to accept unpleasant truths.

One thing I appreciate about the anime ending is Vash and Knives have an opportunity come to some sort of compromise, or at least a working balance. I actually like that it’s left to us to imagine how. 

***

Hypothesis: In the Myers-Briggs system, Vash = ENFP and Knives = INTJ. What do you think?

#I could easily be wrong with Knives 

#intj is the one n type I don’t know much about