#a man is not dead while his name is still spoken

[cptrackham]

Fic: A man is not dead while his name is still spoken

1,707 words. Set during Rebels, ft. Captain Rex.

A short story, because I refuse to believe that the clones' story - their mistreatment, abuse, betrayal - was allowed to fade into obscurity, until all that was left was three old men hiding out on Seelos. AO3 link here.

Kallus was waiting for them when the Ghost touched down on Yavin IV.

Or rather, waiting for Rex.

“Mothma and Organa are waiting for you, Conference room four,” Kallus muttered to him, as the rest of the squad began off-boarding procedures and checks.

What for?” Hera demanded. Ever the protector “Rex, you need me to come with?”

But Rex waved her off, running a hand over his bald head. “No, it’s alright,” he sighed. “I think I know what it’s about.”

It’s not like it was a secret. The news had even reached the Outer Rim by now. A scandal like this, news travels fast.

But not many people would know what it means to Rex. Organa was perhaps one of the last few to understand.

As the door slid open to the conference room, Mon Mothma and Bail Organa turned to face Rex with a sorrowful expression he’d become far too familiar with over his long years (metaphorically speaking). He hated it. “Senators,” he greeted.

Bail, only there as a full-sized hologram, smiled at him. “Rex, it’s good to see you,” Bail said, in a gentle tone that only served to put Rex more on edge. He didn’t want to have this conversation.

So he cut straight to the point. “I’ve already heard,” he said, perhaps a bit sharper than intended. “They’re playing it on the news in every port. Riyo – Senator Chuchi’s death. What happened?”

“As far as the public is aware, she died of a heart-attack following a particularly stressful debate in the Senate,” Mon Mothma said. “But, there is cause to suspect foul play was involved.”

Rex nodded. “Of course there is. Can we prove it?”

“It’s unlikely,” Bail said. “The press report was issued by Palpatine’s own office, they won’t allow an autopsy to reveal anything, and any dissidents – I’m sorry, Rex. With Riyo’s death, it’s clearer than ever that we are losing our grip in the Senate.”

For most of his life, Rex’s face had been hidden under his bucket, emotions indecipherable. He still hadn’t quite got the hang of schooling his expression. He took a deep breath, and forced his scowl to fade. It wasn’t their fault. Stars knew Bail did all he could. “I see. I… thank you, for thinking of me.”

“Of course,” Bail said, quickly, one translucent hand reaching forward as if the hologram could comfort him. “I know how close you and Riyo were, in the early days.”

“But, Captain, there is something else,” Mon Mothma cut in.

Intrigued against his better judgement, Rex glanced between the two of them. Bail was no longer quite meeting his gaze, and Mon Mothma had clasped her hands behind her back in that way she did before starting an important speech. “Oh?” Rex asked, hesitant.

“Riyo was a vocal component of our campaigning,” Mon Mothma said. “The most vital spokesperson in the senate, in fact. With her gone, we have, as Bail said, lost our hold in the Senate, and any hope we had of passing de-escalation, de-militarisation, and reparation bills has dropped significantly. In fact, we’re taking steps to withdraw key figures to positions of safety.”

“Including myself,” Bail cut in, with a wry smile. “I will be returning to Alderaan on a more permanent basis.”

“And, unfortunately, it means we’re having to abandon some of our current campaigns, even some of our most long-running ones.” Mon Mothma hesitated again. “Including Senator Chuchi’s Clone Rights bill.”

Rex almost laughed. Was this what they were so concerned about? For all Riyo’s efforts, that bill had died a slow and painful death years ago. “I understand, Senator,” he said, hoping Mon Mothma hadn’t yet spent enough time around soldiers to pick up the ‘no shit sir’ undertone.

But Bail raised a hand, as if to ask Rex to wait a moment. “We aren’t happy with this,” he said. “I, personally, cannot allow Riyo’s work to be dismissed so easily, not when she has probably lost her life because of how much she cared. So we were hoping you would help us take this case to an even more ruthless court.”

Rex frowned at him. What other court? All there was, was the Empire. And it wasn’t like the Rebellion had anywhere near enough funds to provide the pensions Riyo had promised.

Bail smiled. “The court of public opinion,” he clarified.

Mon Mothma took over, as if practiced. “We want to share the clone’s story,” she said. “Your story. It is, perhaps, one of the clearest examples of how underhand, how manipulative, how immoral the Empire and Palpatine himself are. It shows how everyone has been played for fools since before the war even started,” she said, passionate, and Rex remembered that Mon Mothma had been a Separatist. “It shows how none of us had a choice, how so many of us died for nothing. You and your brothers most of all. If you – and any of your brothers – would be able to share your story, it could make a huge impact on how the Empire is perceived. It could sway a lot of people.”

Rex took another steadying breath.

She wasn’t wrong.

“My brothers and I,” Rex said, slowly, parsing through his thoughts as he spoke, “Have spent a long time fighting to get out of the eye of the Empire. They gave us their attention once. It wasn’t good.”

Very few people knew the full truth of what the clones has lost, following Order 66. Mon Mothma and Bail at least knew enough to flinch at Rex’s harsh understatement.

“We understand,” Bail said. “I don’t expect you to come to a decision quickly. Take the time you need.”

“But don’t wait too long, Captain,” Mon Mothma said. “The Empire will make everyone forget Riyo Chuchi soon enough.”

Rex stared at her, unsure whether to resent her callousness, or admire the cold practicality. A solider through-and-through, he was leaning towards the latter.

He didn’t say anything else. He couldn’t, thoughts too full of his history, the chance to share it, and Riyo.

Falling back on muscle memory, he saluted, about-turned, and walked from the room.

**

It was Zeb who found him later. “You’re moping,” he said, nudging Rex to shuffle along the crate he was sat on and make room.

Rex sighed. “I’m old. I’ve seen a lot of shit. Sometimes, it requires moping. I’ve earned a good mope every now and then.”

Zeb chuckled. “Yeah, but no one’s allowed to mope alone. Hera’s orders.”

“I’ll be fine Zeb.”

“I know that. Want to take it up with Hera?”

Rex smiled – for a couple of seconds.

Zeb let him sit a silence for a good long while, the lasat instead paying attention to the bowl of food he’d brought with him. Rice dish, a concerning shade of red.

Most of the food was gone before Zeb spoke again. “You want to talk about it?” he asked, through a full mouth.

An easy dismissal sat on tip of Rex’s tongue, but he hesitated. Bail had said he understood, and he might have meant it with all the genuine goodwill in the galaxy, but he didn’t. He couldn’t.

Rex hesitated, before asking, “If you could tell everyone what happened on Lasan – the massacre, the ion disruptor rifles, how you’ve been persecuted and hunted since – would you do it?”

“Yes,” Zeb said, without hesitation, with an air of finality, and through another full mouth.

“Even if you knew it would put a high-priority target on the back of every lasat who survived?”

Zeb’s fork paused halfway to his mouth. He hesitated, then lowered it back to the bowl, swallowing his current mouthful loudly. “Alright,” he said, voice carefully measured, “that’s a bit of a problem, I’ll give you that. Is this a theoretical exercise?”

Rex shrugged. “Not exactly.”

Zeb fell silent again, food abandoned. “I think,” Zeb said, eventually, “that telling the truth is as much about stopping it happening to other planets, other cultures, as much as it’s about getting justice for me an’ mine. I think any lasat who lives is already suffering enough that another target ain’t gonna make that much of a difference. I think any lasat who’s survived this long, can take care of themselves. And I think I’d owe it to all who came before to have their death mean something, not just to me, but to anyone else who’d listen.”

Having said his piece, Zeb took another mouthful of rice and kept eating.

A few more bites in silence later, Zeb swallowed and asked, “Did that help?”

“Yeah,” Rex said. “Yeah, that helped.”

“Good. Now let’s go get you fed, before Hera hunts us down and skins me for wilful neglect of an elder.”

**

Rex went to Mon Mothma’s office early the next morning.

“I can’t promise you anything,” he said, before she could speak, “I can’t even say how many I’ll be able to contact, let alone how many will agree to it. But I’m going to need a bunch of brand-new encrypted channels, and a really long-range transmitter.”

**

**

“I am CT-7567, Captain Rex of the 501st Legion, CO of Torrent Company.”

“CC-36 36, Commander Wolffe of the 104th Wolfpack Battalion.”

“CT-9901, or Sergeant Hunter, CO of Clone Force 99.”

“I am ARC Trooper Echo, formally of the 501st and Clone Force 99.”

“I served as Sergeant Hound in the Coruscant Guard, this is Grizzer.”

“Commander Bly, CC-5052, of the 327th Star Corps, serving under General Aayla Secura.”

“I am CC-2224, Marshal Commander Cody of the 7th Sky Corps, CO of the 212th Attack Battalion, and Second in Command of the Third Systems Army under General Kenobi.”

“You probably think you know all you need to about us. I doubt many of you look at us favourably, these days, if you see any of us at all. You probably think we were loyal soldiers of the Republic, soldiers of the Empire. Some of you might think we were traitors to the Republic cause, who assisted with the Empire’s takeover of the galaxy. Some of you might even think we betrayed the jedi – and I can’t fault you for that.

“But, here’s some things about us you might not know…”  

[ra-artblog]

It's March 12! You know what it means - it's time for honorary lilac for Terry Pratchett. This tradition of mine stands for years and it feels like I've already said everythig I could.

So I won't say much.

Thank you. You are missed.

[curarems]

Nothing like waking up with no knowledge of the date, opening the discworld tag and getting hit with 12TH OF MARCH screaming sobbing lying on the floor.

Gnu Terry Pratchett

[firstofficerrose]

I'm really having feelings about GNU right now. I knew what it meant before, but reading Sir Terry's own writing, hearing his characters explain what it meant to them, nearly brought me to tears. It's meta-catharsis, I suppose. I really love it. It's a ghost in the machine, it's a memory, it's an expression of love and grief.

[thestuffedalligator]

It’s not a Discworld joke unless you read it, don’t parse it as a joke, and then carry on with your life for ten years until someone stops you to say something like “It’s a pavlovian response because the dog ate a pavlova” and you scream Terry’s name with enough indignant rage you hope it rattles the pillars of the multiverse so wherever his soul is he’ll hear it.

[acepalindrome]

Even if Fearne and Orym are both really dead-dead forever, I trust that’s not going to be the end of their story and that Matt will still find a way to carry on their plot threads in a satisfying way even if they aren’t there to see them through. Case in point: Mollymauk. And even aside from Matt creating all this crazy story stuff involving Molly that happened after he died, the characters carried him with them through the whole campaign. Leaving a place better than they found it practically became their cause to fight for. If Fearne and Orym are dead, the party won’t just forget about them. They’ll carry their memory and spirit with them too.

[pinkpuffballdude]

I'm glad he got to see his channel hit 10mil. I'm glad he got to see everyone pull together for that last push. I'm glad he got to realize his childhood dream. I wish he got to enjoy it longer.

[moistvonlipwig]

just watched the snw musical episode and more thoughts incoming but first i have to say how touching the namedrop of the uss nimerfro was. it's almost certainly a reference to the late scott nimerfro, who worked as a writer on once upon a time alongside dana horgan (co-writer of the snw musical ep). for those who don't know, scott was not only a skilled writer but was especially beloved by lgbt+ fans of ouat for his vocal support of them in the face of hostile heterosexual fans and rather mixed messages from the production staff, marketing team, and actors. he is remembered fondly by many, and i think it was so sweet that snw gave him a shout-out like that. :')

[dduane]

”Do you not know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken?” 

[guacamoleroll]

𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖊𝖉 「𝔩𝔲𝔠𝔦𝔣𝔢𝔯」 ೀ⋆｡˚

content. f!reader. discussions of separation/divorce, friends to lovers, (name) is a fallen angel, sexual harassment, insecurities, discussions of mental health, spoilers for hazbin hotel season finale, implied/referenced not-safe for work. not proofread. 3.3k+ words.

author's note. i'm not sure if i'll be making a valentine's day post, but i haven't updated in a while, and i wanted to post something. so here's another hazbin hotel oneshot that's been in my drafts for a while! (sorry to all my bsd readers, i will be posting content soon!) i hope you guys enjoy ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.

OR someone comes in to try and ruin your relationship with lucifer, and he isn't happy about it.

You remembered the sensation of an eternal inferno, the mark of damnation that scorched your fingertips, submerging your divine being within a cluster of flames. Exiled from the heavens—a fate worse than death to most became an accepted element of your newfound reality. You never belonged perched atop clouds, even with the virtue nestled in the recesses of your heart. A part of you feared the unknown as you descended through novas and clouds, but it felt like a pressure had lifted from your being as those imposing gates shrunk behind you.

As the first of a cluster of falling stars, your impact landed you on the steaming ground of a new, hellish landscape, your mind scattered from the force of the fall, limbs trembling with their aching joints. And that was when you saw him, a brand-new man who held out his hand, smile desperate yet reassuring. The Morning Star himself, brought upon the same fate, still shaken from the tragedy of his descent—it had been much more personal for him.

“It’ll be okay, (Name),” his familiar voice reassured, but it was impossible not to hear the waver in his tone as your hands intertwined. “It’ll all be okay.”

And with a single touch, traversing hand-in-hand through this foreign land, you knew that someday, he would be right.

But that happened many millennia ago, a tale for storybooks rather than a memory that should’ve constantly been on a loop in your mind, held onto during the dead of lonely, bitter nights. Despite your long-standing friendship, the both of you held very separate lives—him with his family, you with your industry. You worked in tandem in relation to the public and aristocratic duties but otherwise barely spoke past the occasional smile and wave. And no, you couldn’t help the desolation that had sprouted inside your heart, the muscle aching as you observed his radiant smile from across ballrooms, the king exchanging affectionate glances at his wife while coddling his sweet daughter. But you were happy for him all the same. He deserved to be surrounded by those he loved, deserved to be happy after years of heartbreak, even if you weren’t in the picture.

But you knew that you could depend on each other, even if you hadn’t spoken in months. It was an unspoken connection between you, a rule unbroken. Which was the reason you knew his midnight call one evening had been serious. His voice was flooded with anguish, sputtering out incomprehensible words as his breath caught with every beat. You dropped everything, the paperwork and meeting planning, flying over with speed so fast that the denizens of Hell whispered for days about the shooting star that had flown across the sky that evening. 

In your journey, there was one persistent question that kept bothering you—why wasn’t his wife the one to comfort him? It wasn’t that you minded, not at all, but the entire situation struck you as odd. However, your answer became clear as you cracked open the doors to his bed chambers; the room was frozen and still as if left abandoned. However, the knocked-over furniture and smashed artifacts only made it look like it was robbed, which you highly doubted. And there in the center of the chaos was the Morning Star himself—no, Lucifer. Simply Lucifer. His body crumpled to the ground, painful hiccups leaving his lips. You slipped inside with ease and were about to grab his attention, and then you spotted it, the large lettering of a familiar type of document—a divorce agreement.

You were aware that the relationship between Lucifer and Lilith wasn’t perfect, not by any means. When they had fallen in love, there wasn’t a guideline for navigating relationships and marriage. They had to play it entirely by ear, leading to rushed decisions and a shaky foundation. You had always believed that they were each other’s perfect half, but it was only because their punishment and subsequent banishment had tied them together and forced them to suffer the same fate. At least, that was their belief for a couple of millennia. It didn’t mean that the split that was bound to happen didn’t hurt.

His cries had been hard to hear, throaty and painful, his body trembling as he mourned on the floor. It took a culmination of your mental and physical strength to unravel him, forcing him away from those papers and into an embrace, slowly steadying his breath with yours as he clung to you as if you would leave if he let go. That night set the standard for weeks of a miserable routine, with the former king reduced to sobs and silence. It was unbearable, especially as he pulled away from those who cared for him—his fellow sins, his friends, and especially his daughter. But you continued to hold on, not leaving even with his harsh utterances and occasional outbursts. You wouldn’t let him be alone, couldn’t let him be alone, moving into the broken family’s manor to care for him full-time.

And he would always be thankful for that.

His mental health was climbing uptick for years, fluctuating back and forth until he had stabilized, at least in comparison to his state before. He became fantastic at masking his depression, brushing it underneath the rug as he delved into his own creations, pushing many of his relationships even further away as he stopped leaving home. You were the one to bring him food and clean the estate—his staff had drifted to other careers over the past few years. You were the one assuring that he wasn’t left hunched over a bench in the worst posture possible, toiling away with his latest obsession, no matter the cuteness of the ducks.

In his more conscious moments, you would listen as he ranted about his issues, even though you both were aware they were a product of his self-isolation. But in those instants, whispering quietly as if the heavens still held onto your every word, hiding from its light as if the touch of it would scorch your skin, an intimacy blossomed from the depths of your former friendship. It had remained idle for centuries, underlying the foundation of every interaction and word, leaving fleeting touches and shared laughter in your blissful youths for stern support and brief softness in your demonic adulthoods—neither of you ever noticed that you saw the other through heart-shaped lenses. Two fallen ones, cut from the same cloth, destinies forever intertwined by the choices you made as young seraphim.

But that had been the norm for thousands of years.

And without knowing, you had fallen into a relationship stage humans had archaically dubbed as “courting,” traveling outside the estate for the chance to spend time with one another, exchanging personalized gifts whenever the opportunity arose, swapping words of encouragement and affection. It was only after you had kissed him on the cheek one night that you both realized your feelings, and it only spiraled on from there. There were scars from his past love—undoubtedly, you had nurtured them with care—but even despite those, you worked to establish a healthy, balanced relationship as you navigated this strange stage in your lives.

However, there was someone who had not been quite so fond of this new development. You had attended meetings with the Heaven Embassy for many years as a favor to Lucifer, his absence becoming common after his separation from Lilith, but you could still remember locking eyes with the first man as you entered the room, dropping the chicken drum in his hands as his mouth widen agape.

“Hot damn.”

His flirtatious and oftentimes self-centered advances didn’t fly past your head like you wished they would. It seemed despite having thousands of years under his belt, he was unable to learn any kind of manners, but he had been the original sexist prick. And for his status as a divine man, he fucked around a lot. You didn’t doubt that was due to his own insecurities about both of his wives preferring someone else’s dick over his.

Once you and Lucifer had started dating, you happened to make the mistake of slipping that information to Adam in the hopes that he would back off, but it only seemed to provide him a challenge as his flirtations increased tenfold. From then on, your meetings no longer consisted of the same old information surrounding the exterminations; rather, they were him pointing out the many sexual accolades that he had roped under his belt and the way that apparently made him better than Lucifer—his favorite line was always that “that snake must have a little snake.”

Your disdain was obvious, repeating over and over for him to shut his mouth, but he would only smirk, taking your response as a sign that he had struck a nerve and that it was an opportunity to dig deeper. You decided to take over all the meetings with the embassy, keeping Lucifer away from the lecherous banter of the man, no matter the discomfort that formed in your gut from his unabashed perverseness and the predatory stares at your body.

“Come onnnn, babe,” Adam whined, in the middle of biting the meat off a chicken bone.

You shot him a look. “I’m not your babe, Adam.”

“Babe.” If you were able to reach over and strangle him, you would’ve. That was probably the reason the coward used a hologram instead of coming here himself. “A guy like that couldn’t possibly please you the way I could.”

You massaged your nose bridge, pointedly ignoring the flicker of his eyes from your face to your chest, unable to maintain stable eye contact. “Can we just get on with the meeting?”

“You know I’m right, but I’ll let you off the hook for now.”

You groaned, slamming your head onto the table.

From years onward, his nerve only increased, but he had never shown his bloodlust to you before until the exorcist army descended from the heavens to wreak chaos and death upon the doorstep of Lucifer’s only child, Charlie. You and the ever-so-optimistic princess of Hell developed quite a soft spot for one another, which wasn’t difficult since you had already been considered family in centuries past. The title of your romantic relationship with her father initially came with questions and a couple of awkward moments, but it wouldn’t stop either of you from growing a deeper friendship and understanding, walking through the process together. And it definitely didn’t stop you from defending the girl you had seen for years as a pseudo-daughter, along with her noble ambitions.

“Charlie!” you yelled, knocking Adam away from her as he attempted to strangle her. Charlie sputtered, holding her throat with a pained cough, and you raised a steady hand to her back, helping her rise to her feet. You gave her a once-over, relieved to find that she had no substantial wounds besides a couple of cuts and bruises.

You sighed, cupping her rosy cheeks. “Thank goodness you’re alright. Sorry for being so late. Your father will be here any moment.”

Her formerly desolate expression quickly changed into a beaming smile, eyes glimmering with revitalized determination. “Good! We need all the help we can get.”

However, the moment was cut short by the overexaggerated breaths of a particular man, Adam wobbling to his feet as he cradled his bruised ribs, which you didn’t doubt had been cracked in the impact. It was hard not to smile as he struggled to stand, a wave of retribution twitching through your fingertips.

“You bitch,” he groaned between shallow gasps, though his voice drifted into a humorous lilt. “You know, I’m all for feisty women, but this shit’s a bit extreme, don’tcha think, babe?”

“I am not your babe, Adam.”

You cringed at the moan that left his lips, knowing it was not from the pain of his bruises. “God damn, I love it when you say my name.” He chuckled. “It’d be better if you screamed it.”

“You couldn’t have been that good if both your wives left you for someone else,” you muttered, swallowing your bodily urge to vomit as you rubbed the burgeoning headache coursing through your temples.

His expression drained of any warmth or humor, only leaving behind the rotted, sinful corpse of a man that he pretended not to be. “What the fuck did you say to me, bitch?”

“Hmmm,” you hummed, rolling your eyes. “Did I strike a nerve there?”

His mouth contorted into a snarl. “You know, the only reason that snake keeps your ass around is because he needs a couple of assets,” he barked, curving his hands to gesture toward your curves. “To distract him!”

“Hey! Don’t talk about him—”

He cut you off, his imposing figure towering over you. “You’re only a convenience. A pretty face and a hole to fuck.”

You gasped, but he didn’t let you speak, a smirk curling up on his disgusting face. “You don’t mean anything to him, hun,” he sneered, his voice sickeningly sweet as he grabbed your chin, craning your neck at a muscle-aching angle to stare into your eyes. “You had a chance at heaven, slut. A chance to be with me. And you fuckin’ blew it—!”

He didn’t have a chance to finish his sentence, a bone-crunching punch tunneling into his face, his body cast off the hotel, which rocked under the aftershock, before it started to crumble like a deck of cards. With no time to waste, you and Charlie haphazardly jumped from shrapnel piece to shrapnel piece, able to land on the ground with barely a tumble as it collapsed into your foundation. The moment would’ve been devastating if your focus hadn’t been pinpointed elsewhere, the screams of a dying man drawing everyone to the impact pit.

“You have a lot of fuckin’ nerve,” a low voice scowled, sweltering steam blocking everyone’s vision away from the pair until it evaporated into the air, and that was when you spotted him. His voice was barely recognizable. The duplicated tones and whispers surrounding each word made him unidentifiable. But you knew who it was; those familiar sets of wings and the eyes of his tailcoat were clues enough. You hadn’t seen him take this form in decades, centuries even—he had no use for it, and to go to such an extreme was unlike him. He was shaking more than ever before; his fists balled up Adam’s collar as he pinned him to the ground.

“Intruding on my fuckin’ realm. Hurting my daughter.” And with each offense, another blow was added to the first man’s face, which looked more like roadkill than a former human with each malefaction. “Harassing and insulting my future wife!”

“Don’t you mean your little whore?” Adam managed to utter, that cocky tone still persistent. 

But that was a terrible mistake.

Lucifer did not respond to his comment, not at all. Instead, he paused, finding himself unprepared for the sheer audacity of the man underneath him, a man only clinging to life through recesses of holy power and spite. To the unsuspecting bystander, it would seem the king had calmed himself down, but instead, an inferno blazed between his fingertips, his form threatening to tear with the amount of heavenly light that he balanced on his palms. The ire of his many eyes looked upon Adam, and they saw to it that his judgment day had come early.

“Die.”

“Dad!”

Luck seemed to have Adam’s back as Charlie intervened, one of the few people who could ever draw her father out of such an irate warpath. However, it was only after a moment of contemplation from Lucifer, whose eyes stared at Adam, his face unreadable as his fingers twitched before he cracked a wicked smirk.

“How’s mercy feel, bitch?”

The next moments were a blur, though those eyes had turned towards you instead, not with the anger they had towards Adam, but of sheer contemplation—not that you paid attention to them, watching Adam’s death unfold in an ironically anti-climatic sort of way. You would’ve felt bad if your mind didn’t remedy the guilt in your gut with memories of your several encounters, most of which were not PG-13. The rest of the staff and residents gathered their bearings, joining to work on rebuilding the hotel, but you did not have the strength to. Instead, you took a moment for yourself, thoughts toiling through your head as they often did, not understanding the icky, nauseous feeling pooling at the bottom of your stomach.

You flinched at the brush of a hand that rested on your shoulder, only to find that it had been Lucifer, his brow furrowed in that same contemplative expression. And much like those times alone in the estate decades prior, a patient silence persisted as he sat next to you, gauging each touch as he pulled you closer, allowing your limp body to lean into his.

“You know none of what that asshole said is true, right?”

Is that what you had been so concerned about? You couldn’t tell. Your thoughts surrounding your relationship, especially in the context of his former love, had always been indecipherable, even to yourself. His question brought a small beam of clarity into the shadowed pits of your darkest thoughts, but it wasn’t the time to talk about it. Not now, at least.

“Yeah, I know.” Your voice was more shaken than you wanted it to come out, but he understood the underlying message. He could tell it wasn’t the truth, not entirely, and that the roots of your insecurities weren’t something to be remedied through a singular conversation. But it was a start. He intertwined your fingers, caressing the bare area of your ring finger.

“I wish you would’ve told me,” he spoke, his voice soft. “I would never have let you go to those meetings.”

You stayed staring out into the distance. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.”

However, he believed differently, tilting your chin as he cupped your face, much more loving compared to the hands that had grabbed you prior. And his eyes, ones that had been filled with hatred, now glinted in sharp concern. “But it is a big deal. That’s sexual harassment.”

“You were going through so much,” you replied. “It was just one additional thing I didn’t want you to deal with. Another burden on your back.”

“(Name),” he said, voice stern.

The gruffness of his uncompromising tone drew your eyes to your hands. “Any insult to you is an insult to me. Always has been, always will be. People don’t get to talk to you like that. It doesn’t matter what shit I’m going through. That doesn’t mean you get to be thrown under the bus.” He cracked a smile. “And anyone who even thinks of treating you less than the perfection you are deserves to be roasted alive. You’re not a burden. You’re priceless.”

“You’re really into those cannibalism metaphors recently,” you quipped, a bit of your reprieve and humor returning back. He laughed, his heart falling into ease, though he recognized the nod towards his disdain for a certain radio demon, his expression contorting in disgust.

“I’m not gonna eat him! Think of how gross that thing would taste. Just awful, bleh—!”

You cut him off with a kiss, making his rosy cheeks redden more. “Thanks, Lu.”

You tried to stand. His arm braced underneath your back, a hand brushing across the sensitive skin of your waist as he hovered above, his lips locked onto yours. You sighed into his mouth as his fingers mapped every beauty mark of your face, only for him to split, panting. His eyes shone with recognizable desperation, but the smirk on his lips told you he was prepped to tease, brushing the stray baby hairs out of your face that had been ruffled in the fray.

“If someone ever bothers you like that again, you tell me. Got it?”

You only sighed. “Lucifer, I can handle my—”

He pressed a kiss to your knuckles, mouth upturned in a cheeky grin at the way it cut you off. “It’s not smart to fight without your shield, now, is it?’

You relented, unable to withhold your bashful grin. “Of course.”

A silence persisted.

“Your future wife, hm?”

“…shit.”

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @little-miss-chaoss

© ɢᴜᴀᴄᴍᴏʟᴇʀᴏʟʟ 2024 — ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴏʀ ʀᴇᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ʀᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ. ʜᴏᴡᴇᴠᴇʀ, ʀᴇʙʟᴏɢꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇɴᴄᴏᴜʀᴀɢᴇᴅ

[mercurygguk]

head over skates · jjk ; part i.

··· SUMMARY; jeon jungkook is the captain of the hockey team and one of the biggest fuckboys on campus. you happen to have known him for as long as you can remember but he is not who he used to be and you simply can't stand it.

so what happens when you're suddenly stuck doing a project with him for three weeks?

SERIES MASTERLIST · # TAG · MOOD BOARDS · PLAYLIST

PAIRING; hockey player!jungkook x f. reader

GENRE; fwb au, childhood friends to enemies to lovers au, college au

WORDCOUNT; 1,514

RATING; 18+

WARNINGS; swearing

a/n; HEAD OVER SKATES SERIES IS HERE!!!! it’s a drabble series now so these chapters will be short but that’s better than nothing amirite :)) i hope you like this first part! enjoyyy <3 also, please lmk what you think!

“The project will be done in pairs of two–”

Jihyo copies your smirk from across the room as you lock eyes with her. You were thinking the same thing – you and her will pair up and do this project together. As best friends and classmates since freshman year, you’ve learned that you work the best alongside each other. However, both of your smirks crumble into tiny pieces as Professor Kim finishes her sentence.

“–which have already been decided beforehand.”

You let out a quiet, frustrated groan as you slump in your seat. Jihyo pouts and shoots a glare at Professor Kim without her noticing. You watch with a bored expression as she pulls up a document showing the pairs for the project. You skim the document until your eyes land on your name, written in Times New Roman right next to–

Oh, hell no.

The universe has a sick sense of humor, is the first thought your brain is able to process as you stare at the name written next to yours. It’s the name of the one person you haven’t spoken to since senior year of high school. It’s the name of the one person you still hold a grudge against. It’s the name of your childhood best friend and high school crush – Jeon Jungkook.

When you first met Jungkook, he was just 5 years old and nothing like the man he is today.

Back then he had just moved in across the street and it didn’t take long for you to realize he was the cutest, most shy little boy – you can ask anyone who knew him back then. He was careful with everything from animals to dead objects to other people and yet he was just a pinch of wild and reckless enough to allow himself to do some of the crazy stuff kids do when growing up. He was smaller than the other boys at his age; short and skinny, a round head, framed by his thick strands of black hair. He also had big, star-filled doe eyes that could convince any adult to let him have everything his way. And having his way was something Jungkook got used to as he grew older – sometimes a bit too much perhaps.

As his best friend during all the years going from elementary school through middle school and the first years of high school, you witnessed it first hand – teachers and his friends alike were all willing to go out of their way to make sure Jungkook was satisfied. No one really knows how that came to be – perhaps it had nothing to do with Jungkook at all but everything to do with the fact that his father was the board director at one of the biggest enterprises in the country.

Jungkook has always been very oblivious, hence why he didn’t put much thought into the special treatment he received from everyone as soon as people found out just how rich his parents were. 

While in middle school, he had yet to realize how girls were starting to look at him, how they would giggle whenever he would flash his boyish smile in their direction, how they would almost trip over each other to get his attention and call his name during lunch breaks only to blush and say ‘nevermind’ when he would finally react. Jungkook had yet to realize that he was becoming hotter and less shy. He was oblivious as ever but still cute nonetheless. 

And while all this went down, you watched from the sideline, wondering when he would realize – wondering when your friendship would end. Because it would. You knew that from the moment Jungkook flirtatiously smirked and winked at your friend one day without realizing. Or maybe he did. Either way, you realized it on his behalf – he was slowly becoming a big flirt.

It’s now five years later and you were right. And as much as you like to be right, you’ve never hated it more.

Your friendship did end.

It started fading out almost as soon as Jungkook realized what he was able to achieve with his good looks and flirty nature. Now you and Jungkook attend the same college but in two different worlds most of the time. The chances of you and him ever going back to being friends like you were when you were pre-teens are minimal. And it’s not like you’re trying to befriend him again.

Cocky jocks who think they’re the shit aren’t exactly your first choice when making friends. 

And somehow during your high school junior year, Jungkook became one of them. He picked up on the term ‘working out’ and found out he had muscles and how to grow them. He also found out how to use those exact muscles to make the girls swoon, making them feed his ego way more than what is considered healthy. And as if that wasn't enough, Jungkook began practicing hockey.

And guess what? He was damn good at it.

Ego overfed.

As time went by, you and Jungkook talked less. He was busy with his new friends, playing hockey, and hanging out with girls that were way more interesting than his best friend, also known as you. Eventually you found yourself spending time with other people instead of him, finding it tiring and painful to be the second choice whenever his other friends didn’t have time or when his parents would mention you and he would 'suddenly' remember you existed. 

The sight of different girls from school entering and leaving his house without his parents knowing wasn’t that fun either if you’re being honest.

Although, you never actually told him that – but you didn’t have to because the two of you were gliding apart by each day you spent doing your own thing. It hurt but your silly crush eventually turned into anger which later turned into despisal and borderline hatred towards your former best friend. Because Jeon Jungkook was nothing more than just another jock with an overfed ego and way too many fangirls trailing behind him everywhere he goes.

Your point is deemed proven the moment Jungkook gets up from his seat in the back and makes his way to you – said fangirls all turn their scowling gazes to you the second they realize what is happening. You feel his presence before he opens his mouth to greet you, something about it making your stomach churn as he plops down in the seat next to you.

“Hey, partner,” he grins when you slowly turn to face him. “What are the odds, huh?”

You don’t spare him a glance nor a reply as you get up from your seat, leaving him behind and trying your very best to ignore the way his eyes follow your every move. Your professor seems less than excited to see you standing next to her desk as she looks up at you.

“Mrs. Kim,” you offer her your best polite smile, “is there any chance it’s possible to change partners for this project? It seems-”

Professor Kim glances back to your spot where Jungkook is sitting in the next chair, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back, hints of a smirk on his lips as he watches you and Mrs. Kim. “Miss ____, the pairs have been decided beforehand for a reason. I was hoping to save time and energy by doing this and will not be spending said saved energy on splitting up pairs just because you’re unhappy with yours.”

You feel a frustrated whine push at the back of your throat as the words leave her red-tinted lips. “But-”

“____, I know you prefer to work with Jihyo in every class you share,” she pointedly and calmly says. “But as the professor, it is my job to challenge the students and push them out of their comfort zone. If there aren’t any actual issues with having Mr. Jeon as your partner, I suggest you take on the challenge and get the best out of it.”

The fake smile she shoots at you has you frowning as you turn on your heel, defeat hanging over you in a gray cloud as you make your way back to your seat. Jungkook’s smirk has widened and he seems more than satisfied by the fact that your request got rejected by the professor. You slump in your seat once again, stealing a glance at Jihyo who got paired up with none other than Kim Namjoon – the top student of this class and her crush.

What a lucky bitch.

“Cheer up, ____,” Jungkook’s voice intrudes your thoughts, pulling you back. He’s smiling smugly when you turn to face him for the first time since he sat down. “I promise I’ll behave.”

You huff out an unimpressed scoff and turn your attention to your notes, the grip on your pen so tight your knuckles turn white. You miss the way Jungkook’s smile falters a little as you look away.

This is going to be the longest three weeks of your life – you’re sure of it.

all rights reserved © mercurygguk · tumblr

[ra-artblog]

Today is March 12, sir Terry Pratchett Memorial Day, a day that is important for me to remember. This man, his books, helped me a lot in my childhood and are helping me up to this day. Therefore, every year I draw a lilac - this is a kind of a way to say "thank you" to a person who unfortunately will never hear it. But the world will hear his name once again, and a man is not dead while his name is still spoken.

[briefcasing]

tag dump

[krowbby]

my current discworld audiobook is going postal and. i’m feeling emotional about grandad. he’s twenty six and he’s so much more experienced than the teens around him they call him grandad. i’m turning 23 at the end of this week, and sure, who in their 20s hasn’t made a joke about how ancient they feel. but this less reminds me of that joke and more reminds me of people in their 30s being called queer elders because we don’t HAVE many community members who are our grandparents age. later in the book, mad al says that one man has died for every three towers standing. how many of his peers has grandad lost? how many kids younger than himself has he lost? and he always has something to be doing in the tower when princess is there, so that this 13 year old girl isn’t alone with older boys. and then, during the big race:

And she wondered what Grandad most feared: that dead clacks-men could send messages to the living, or that they couldn’t.

i mean, fucking brutal, right? pterry has this knack for introducing characters with a tiny part in the story— i think across the whole book there’s maybe 3 pages about this clacks tower? — and making them feel so real that i’m over here tearing up about this guy. so of course, it’s fitting that one of the most meaningful quotes and moments for the whole fandom comes from this character:

It was Grandad who spoke next, after a long pause broken only by the squeaking of the new shutter bars. When he did speak, it was as if something was on his mind. ‘We keep that name moving in the Overhead,’ he said, and it seemed to Princess that the wind in the shutter arrays above her blew more forlornly, and the everlasting clicking of the shutters grew more urgent. ‘He’d never have wanted to go home. He was a real linesman. His name is in the code, in the wind in the rigging and the shutters. Haven’t you ever heard the saying “A man’s not dead while his name is still spoken”?’

[javaelemental]

“Do you not know that a man is not dead while his name is still spoken?” ― Terry Pratchett, Going Postal

“Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving.” ― Terry Pratchett, A Hat Full of Sky

“She was already learning that if you ignore the rules people will, half the time, quietly rewrite them so that they don’t apply to you.” ― Terry Pratchett, Equal Rites

“The female mind is certainly a devious one, my lord.” Vetinari looked at his secretary in surprise. “Well, of course it is. It has to deal with the male one.” ― Terry Pratchett, Unseen Academicals

“A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest, Granny Weatherwax had once told her, because she should be sure in her soul that the most terrifying thing in the forest was her.” ― Terry Pratchett, Wintersmith

[manias-wordcount]

Four's a Party (Chrollo Lucilfer, Hisoka Morow, Illumi Zoldyck)

Kinktober 2023 Day Ten: Foursome

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

They’re not the most dynamic trio.

  Oh sure. They’re all very powerful. You wouldn’t want to know that Illumi Zoldyck had your name and place of residency memorized for any other reason besides the fact that you gave it to him. You wouldn’t want to be caught dead with something- anything that Chrollo might want for himself. And to be the object of Hisoka’s attention- even for a moment- is like placing your hand into Death’s all by your own free will. Together, they’re even more deadly. Even more of something to be afraid of. 

  But you also wouldn’t have called them the best of friends. People who would go out of their way to check in on each other. To do something fun together. That wasn’t them. In fact, you always saw them for what was beneath their surfaces. The sizing of each other up. The cockiness and arrogance with each word spoken to each other. The quiet rivalry that existed no what day or time or year or place. And so it doesn’t surprise that when they come together, that tension still sits in whatever room they’re in. Getting thicker and thicker and thicker. Making it hard for people like you to breathe. But what does surprise you is that sometimes, the tension is no longer quiet. The tension can become more than just “jokingly” throwing a pin needle in the direction of someone’s eye with the excuse of “I knew you would dodge it.” And sometimes, the tension can involve you. 

  Or rather, it can involve three pairs of hands running all over you as they urge you to say one name louder than the rest. His name.

  Whoever that may be in the moment. Though rarely a moment goes by when you’re around, and all three of them aren’t vying for your attention. Some moments it’s more subtle. Like touches to your shoulder and hands around your waist. Sometimes it’s more bold. Like requests for kisses and flowers when you least expect them. And sometimes? And sometimes it’s dirty, filthy, and sinful.

  Sometimes it’s spending the night on the floor of a fancy hotel. Sucking off one man while another laps at your cunt like a starving, dying man- hoping that the one person with their cock stuffed inside your ass isn’t the one who’s making you cry out and squirm so sweetly like that.

  “Deeper, sweetheart.” Chrollo hums from above you, a little to your side. Through fluttering lashes and eyes starting to tear up, you can see the almost warm smile he gives you. Just you. And it’s the slightest bit comforting- just like the way he cups your jaw with one hand and holds your hair back with the other as you do your best to swallow as much of his dick as your throat lets you. But he’s hard and he’s thick and he's long and there’s so much happening to you right now that it makes it hard for you to do just about anything right. But Chrollo is kind to you. Chrollo is gentle with you. Sweet on you. So he’ll opt for saying a few encouraging words and shoving it in deeper himself. While you’re in between breaths of course. “...that’s it, there you go.”

  You start choking almost instantly, as Chrollo manages to slide a little deeper inside your warm, wet throat. For a second, you’re struggling to breathe. Forced to do nothing but let him stroke your cheek as you try to regain what you lost. It’s a hard couple of seconds. One that makes the threes fall a little faster, and your heart beat a little quicker than it had been before. But eventually, you balance out. You get your stability. You relearn how to breathe with a cock stuffed in your mouth. You find that all is well. 

  But only then, does Hisoka’s lips decide to reacquaint themselves with your clit again. 

  “Mmm…” You’re forced to moan against Chrollo’s dick at the sensation, but he’s gracious enough to let you pull off of him after a couple of seconds to enjoy what’s being given to you. And so, the leader of the Phantom Troupe’s cock falls from your mouth with a lewd, lewd pop and your voice is free to sing as loudly to the hotel room walls as Hisoka can make you. “...Wait, wait, wait-”

  But he doesn’t wait. The clown you’re oh-so deeply terrified of doesn’t wait for you to catch your breath or regain your bearings. Instead, he just lets his eyes flicker up from between your parted legs to you and a smirk plays at his lips before his head goes back to burying itself in between your thighs. And there you are- stuck watching and whimpering and withering as a long, skillful tongue flicks itself against your clit and circles it was a little too much skill to be natural. Up and down. Side to side. In circles. Creating shapes.

   He does all that despite your cries. He does all that despite your pleas. And you’re nice and good and messy and creamy for him once more, he decides it’s time to go back to licking down the expanse of your slit. Tasting just about everything you have to offer in this moment again and again and again and again. And when that isn’t enough for him? He starts grabbing at your thighs- lifting you up further and further and spreading your legs wider and wider as his nails press into your skin and his tongue slips between your lower lips. Wandering and swimming and exploring your insides. Like they were his all along.

  But the second he moved your body, somebody else rejoined the fight. Someone who isn’t so keen on being ignored or not in control of the situation. Especially when it has to do with a certain murderous, sociopathic, literal clown who’s currently busying himself with poor, spent little cunny right now.

  “Don’t hog.” 

  That’s all you’re able to hear Illumi say before he starts to move you himself. Immediately, you’re gasping out as the man lying beneath you lifts his legs up to prop yours up even further. Hisoka easily is able to follow your body’s movements and doesn’t even stop eating you out for a moment. Chrollo doesn’t fail to take advantage of this opportunity either. With this angle, you’re up a little higher. And with a hand on your cheek once more, he’s turning your head and slipping his cock down your throat. A little easier than before. But it’s not the sudden intrusion of a dick brushing against the back of your throat that gets you to cry out and moan this time. Nor is it the feeling of Hisoka tongue-fucking you in that way you know only he is capable of. 

  No, no, no instead it’s the feeling of Illlumi's own cock. Going a little further up your tiny little puckered hole. Spread you out nice and wide like you never imagined you’d get spread out before. 

  And you absolutely loved it.

  “Don’t get jealous. You don’t move your hips enough to upset with me.” Hisoka remarks back, taking his face away from your pussy just long enough to shoot some harsh words back at the assassin. But all too soon, he’s back to paying attention to your body- blowing against your clit and kissing it softly. Almost as if apologizing for losing focus on you. “Who do you think got her wet for you to enjoy this, hmmm?”

  At Hisoka’s blow, Illumi starts to sit up- forcing his cock a bit deeper inside of you a little too suddenly. Once again, you pull your mouth off of Chrollo’s cock in favor of letting out a loud, loud gasp that falls into a nice and needly little moan real quickly. Your hand comes up and settles over your lower stomach. Almost as if that would ease the intense feelings being delivered onto you in this moment. Very subtly, Illumi is starting to rock his hips beneath you. Pressing just barely further before pulling out a little. You moan again at that feeling as Illumi’s own hands come up to put themselves against your stomach and press down. But before you can let out another pleasure-filled sound, Chrollo is grabbing your face and leading it towards him for the umpteenth time tonight. And you don’t even have to wait to be told to open your mouth and stick out your tongue for him. 

  You just do. 

  And Chrollo makes quick work of your throat. Using and using and using it to his heart’s contents. Just like how Hisoka makes quick work of your pussy- lapping and licking and sucking and slurping it up as your juices spill over and your nectar runs free. Just like how Illumi rolls his hips into yours. Soaking up your gasps and letting out his own groans and grunts about just how tight and perfect you are. And so the three of them work in unison. They move in tandem- taking their own turns distracting you. Producing your moans and your pleasure and the warm, growing feeling in the pit of your stomach that’s starting to get more and more unbearable with time. 

  Some more words are exchanged. Some more threats are said. A few more glares. A few more changes in the aura. And sometimes translates into someone snapping their hips into yours. Sometimes that translates into someone sucking your clit a little too hard. Or making you swallow so much dick that you’re stuck drooling all over yourself as your hands tighten into fists and all you can do is struggle to breathe. All so that way they can stop. Let you rest. Let you breathe. Let you exist. And then put you back into the same place while the three of them change positions.

  Enjoying different parts of you that they didn’t get to explore before.

  Though in the end, you still don’t think they’re the most dynamic trio. They’re powerful people. Powerful on their own. Powerful in their own right. But in a way, they feel far too different. Far from friends. But exactly like people with a shared goal. A shared vision. A shared toy, even. So, it’s true. Sometimes, they mesh together very well. A little too well. Without even trying. Without even wanting it too bad. Sometimes, they mesh together very, very, very well. At least, you know they do sometimes. You know they do. 

    Especially when it comes to you.