#only three more years of required education ?????????

[ursie]

Brennan’s statement on Palestine :

[ ID: Statement from Brennan Lee Mulligan, on Instagram. It consists of three black squares with plain white text. The text reads as follows:

"I'm calling on my government officials to immediately demand a ceasefire and de-escalation in Gaza.

I applaud anyone and everyone calling for peace, with the understanding that real peace only exists if it deeply and honestly accounts for and fully ends violence in all its forms. Real peace addresses and corrects wrong-doing in the past and guards against it in the future. It goes hand in hand with justice and requires truth, restoration, reconciliation, reparation.

Peace cannot co-exist with collective punishment, ethnic cleansing and forced displacement. It cannot co-exist with blockades, embargoes, or with 2.2 million people, half of which are children, trapped with no hope of escape or political recourse. it cannot co-exist with murdered journalists, bombed hospitals, or years of protesters being shot and killed at the border. it cannot co-exist with illegal settlements, segregated roads, and the silent, imperial chill that settles over the gaps in the violence - the unspoken geopolitical consensus that a group of people need to unflinchingly accept permanent subjugation and occupation.

My hear breaks for every Israeli person who lost loved ones during the attacks of October 7th. It breaks for every Ukrainian person who has lost their loved ones. It breaks for every Congolese person who has lost their loved ones. I do not speak on behalf of Palestinians now because some lives are worth more than others. I speak on their behalf because I, and all Americans, have a responsibility to pressure our government because we are responsible for this. Some have said that this situation is complicated. The Unites States government clearly disagrees. It has definitively, categorically, militarily chosen a side, and I do not agree with that decision.

In wiring this, I have been wrestling with what I am sure many people like me wrestle with: There is a powerful narrative surrounding violence in the Middle East that asserts and ever-moving goalpost of self-education and study in order to even be qualified to have an opinion. As someone with a love of research, I have at times in my life fallen into the trap that I am not educated enough clever enough, or aware enough to have a worthwhile perspective, and that three more articles and two more lectures and one more book will do the trick. Unfortunately, democracy doesn't work that way - we, the citizens of any democracy, cannot possibly be experts on every aspect of the policies of our governments, and yet if we do not constantly weigh in an make our voices heard, the entire experiment falls apart. Not only do people constantly doubt themselves and the things they can see with their own two eyes, but old shortcuts for political action can fall apart as well: This specific issue exists along a raw, charged and unique faultline in American Politics. Nobody I grew up with has ever challenged me on my support for abortion rights, LGBT rights, Black Lives Matter, anti-capitalism, anti-fascism, none of it. The people in my country who would despise me for those positions are, for all intents and purposes, strangers to me. But there are people who I've broken bread with and shared honest affection with who will see the words I've written here and incorrectly conclude that I do not wish for the security, dignity and happiness of them and their loved ones, and that breaks my fucking heart. Full-throatedly condemning the actions of the Israeli government while battling rampant anti-semitism at home is an urgent moral necessity, and doing so is made unnecessarily challenging for the average person to navigate by the pointed obfuscations of cynical opportunists, bigots, and demagogues on all sides of the political spectrum who see some advantage in sowing that incredibly dangerous confusion.

So, I'm calling my representatives. I'm having hard conversations with friends and family. I'm here, talking to you. I should have done it sooner. If you're Israeli and hurt by this statement, know that I want freedom, dignity, security and peace for you, and that every ounce of my political awareness believes whole-heartedly that the actions of your government are not only destroying innocent lives, but doing so to the detriment of you and your loved ones' safety. If you're American and feel lost and confused - I understand and empathize. This, the whole country, only works when we get involved. I am constantly haunted by the specter that maybe I missed some crucial piece of information on this, or any, important world event. I'll just have to make my peace with that self-doubt and trust my gut by going with Jewish Voice for Peace, Amnesty International, the Geneva Conventions, the United Nations, etc. And if you're Palestinian and reading this: I unreservedly support your right to life, to freedom, to happiness and human flourishing, to full enfranchisement and equal rights, to opportunity, prosperity and abundance, to the restoration of stolen property and land, and to a Free Palestine." End ID ]

[fatehbaz]

This April [2021], the Iowa Department of Corrections issued a ban on charities, family members, and other outside parties donating books to prisoners. Under the state’s new guidelines, incarcerated people can get books only from a handful of “approved vendors.” Used books are prohibited altogether [...].

In 2018, the Michigan prison system introduced an almost identical set of rules, and Ohio, Pennsylvania, and Washington have all made attempts to block book donations, which were only rolled back after public outcry. Across the United States, the agencies responsible for mass imprisonment are trying to severely limit incarcerated people’s access to the written word [...].

---

The official narrative is that donated books could contain “contraband [...]" -- the language used in Michigan [...]. This is a flimsy justification that begins to fall apart under even the lightest scrutiny. [...] [Contraband] [...] [is] not originating from nonprofit groups like the Appalachian Prison Book Project or Philadelphia’s Books Through Bars. [....] The old cartoon scenario of a hollow book with a saw or a gun inside just isn’t realistic, and its invocation is a sign that something else is going on.

That “something else,” predictably enough, is profit. With free books banned, prisoners are forced to rely on the small list of “approved vendors” chosen for them by the prison administration. These retailers directly benefit when states introduce restrictions. In Iowa, the approved sources include [B&N] and [B-a-M], some of America’s largest retail chains -- and, notably, ones which charge the full MSRP value for each book, quickly draining prisoners’ accounts. An incarcerated person with, say, $20 to spend can now only get one book, as opposed to three or four used ones; in states where prisoners make as little as 25 cents an hour for their labor, many can’t afford even that.

---

With e-books, the situation is even worse, as companies like [GTL] supply supposedly “free” tablets which actually charge their users by the minute to read.

Even public-domain classics, available on Project Gutenberg, are only available at a price under these systems -- and prisons, in turn, receive a 5% commission on every charge. All of this amounts to rampant price-gouging and profiteering on an industrial scale.

---

The rise of these private vendors has also been mirrored by the systematic dismantling of the prison library system. In the last ten years, budgets for literacy and educational resources have seen dramatic cuts, reducing funding to almost nothing [...]. In Illinois, for instance, the Department of Corrections spent just $276 on books across the entire state in 2017, down from an already meager $605 the previous year. (This means, incidentally, that each of the state’s roughly 39,000 prisoners was allotted seven-tenths of a cent.)

Oklahoma, meanwhile, has no dedicated budget for books at all, requiring prison librarians to purchase them out-of-pocket. [...]

---

These practices become all the more abhorrent when you consider the impact books can have behind bars. By now, the social science on their benefits is well-established [...]. [O]ther inmates have reported that reading meant “the difference between just giving up mentally and emotionally and making it through another day, week, or year,” countering the dehumanizing effects of their imprisonment. A book can offer a brief, irreplaceable moment of calm in hellish circumstances. [...]

[There is] a shameful pattern in American society, where many people simply don’t think about the incarcerated on a day-to-day basis, let alone sympathize with their worsening conditions. [...] One of the most common arguments for the American carceral system, and its continued existence, is that of rehabilitation. According to its defenders, a prison is not simply a place of suffering, where unwanted populations are sent to disappear. Nor is it a callous money-making machine, intended to squeeze free labor from them in a regime of functional slavery. Instead, prison rehabilitates -- so the story goes. [...] In these terms, the basic legitimacy of mass imprisonment, and its allegedly positive social role, is taken for granted. [...] But the practice of book banning exposes the lie. Not only do American prisons have little interest in education, healing, and growth, but they will actively prevent them the moment there is a dollar to be made or an ounce of power to be secured.

---

Text by: Alex Skopic. "The American Prison System's War on Reading". Protean (Protean magazine online). 29 November 2021. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me.]

[opencommunion]

"The neo-Zionist view on the past is even more nationalist and romantic than the consensual Zionist view of it. Israel of the Second Temple era was the glorious past which must be reconstructed. ... As a result, neo-Zionists took seriously the idea of rebuilding a Third Temple to replace Haram al-Sharif and preparing cadres of priests to serve there when the time would come – although they differ on how to achieve this goal, whether by exploding the two mosques on the Temple Mount, or waiting for divine intervention to pave the way for their scheme.

... The neo-Zionist interpretation of the idea of Israel constituted the ideological infrastructure for the official educational system. The neo-Zionists produced several educational kits (textbooks, curricula, and so on) which would have the power to impact the next generation of Jews in Israel. These kits could produce only one type of graduate: racist, insular, and extremely ethnocentric. The message that came through clearly ... is to fear the Other inside and around you – the Other being the Arab world around Israel, the Palestinian neighbourhoods, the Palestinian citizens inside Israel, and non-Jewish immigrants.

... Another crucial element was the militarisation of the educational system. In 1998 the Ministry of Education announced a new master plan devoted to linking students more closely with the army. The basic idea was to follow children from kindergarten through high school graduation so as to ensure that they would be well prepared for ‘military environment and values’ and that they would ‘be able to cope with situations of pressure and developing leadership skills on a battlefield’. The level of physical fitness required by the army would be a precondition for matriculation and graduation, and an obligatory, integral part of the future educational system would be participation in army manoeuvres and military indoctrination. This was to be complemented by enriched lessons on Zionism and Eretz Israel studies. In the final three years of high school, the scheme aimed at ‘increasing the motivation and preparedness for the IDF’. During the initial year there would be a focus on ‘the individual’s commitment to his or her homeland’, and in the following two years, on ‘actual participation in military life’. In a way, this had always been done at schools, but always as a marginal part of school life; moreover, its features were formulated by more mainstream Zionists. Now the individual pupil would learn the history of the land according to the neo-Zionist interpretation – an education bound to shape his or her vision of the future."

Ilan Pappé, The Idea of Israel: A History of Power and Knowledge (2014)

[twice-inamillion]

The Company 

New Friend 

A bit of smut and Story Building (Doggy style, sex, blowjob, creampie, penetration, self masturbation, fingering)

Chapter 2 

3810 Words 

(IU introduces her new friend to OC and welcomes her to the company. Little by little her friend discovers the relationship between you and IU. ) 

Over the past few months, IU and Irene have been helping the staff with auditions for the company. The company has hosted multiple international auditions in the United States, Japan, Australia, Thailand, and Canada. 

About six thousand attendees participated in the audition combined, and out of all of them, only two hundred made it to the final rounds. Those lucky enough to get a slot were invited to Seoul, South Korea, to participate at Olympus Entertainment. The attendees were divided into two groups based on ranking. The two groups would be housed in the company’s large dorms, where they would partake in training for three months.

Within those three months, they would go over intense training consisting of dance, singing, stage, individual, and group presentations. At the end of those three months, only half of the group would move on to become trainees at Olympus Entertainment. They would then be sorted out into two groups again, but this time by age, and provided with more resources to increase their chances of debuting in a girl group or as a soloist. Each trainee would be required to complete standard education and be allowed to select courses in advanced languages, singing, dancing, rapping, stage presentation, and much more. Throughout their time at the company, they would be given benchmarks to meet, and at the end of the month, each would be evaluated and ranked. The trainers would support those who receive a low ranking, while those who receive a high rank would be taken into consideration for groups and, hopefully, their debut. 

Obviously, some trainees were handpicked during auditions based on their raw talent and provided extra support by some of the trainers. Currently, five individuals are being considered to be part of Olympus Entertainment's first international girl group. 

——————

There is a knock at your door, “Sir, may I come in?”

“Sure, come right in.”

“Thank you,” as IU walks towards your desk. “I brought in the friend that I told you about. She’s a good singer, and I think she would make an excellent coach to the trainees we have in mind for debuting.”

“That’s great news; you may welcome her inside.”

IU walks towards the hallway and signals her friend to come in. You see IU walking in with Taeyeon from Girl’s Generation. She’s one of the idols you held in high regard during your younger years. 

“Hello, I’m Kim Tae-yeon from Girl’s Generation. Nice to meet you,” she said as she bowed her head. 

“Likewise, nice to meet you. I’m surprised to meet you; I wouldn’t expect some from SM Entertainment in my company.” 

“Ji-eun (IU) and I are really good friends. She told me you were looking for a vocal coach, so I wanted to try it.”

“Let’s get comfortable and take a seat,” inviting the both of them to take a seat. “First, does your company know you are here?”

“Well… yes and no.”

IU interrupts and says, “Her company knows that she is coming here based on my request but doesn’t know the reason why. All they asked her is that she doesn’t transfer companies.”

“Yes, she’s right. I came here because she said that the benefits of the vocal coach position are great, and honestly, I’m in need of some money.”

“Ohh, how so?”

“As you know, SM doesn’t have a good ratio when it comes to monetary distributions, and I was looking into putting out a solo, but they mentioned not having any funds to spare. I talked to IU about it, and she suggested applying for the position, which is why I’m here.”

You smirked a little and looked at IU before looking back at Taeyeon. “We are more than happy to welcome you as a vocal coach of your ability. I think our trainees would benefit a lot from having someone as talented as you.”

Taeyeon seems excited and smiles at IU before looking back at you, “Thank you so much for this opportunity!”

“No, thank you for thinking of us. Since you are a close friend of IU, how about we increase the pay a bit?” as you write down the amount on a sheet of paper. Taeyeon looks at the amount, “Are you sure? Isn’t this much more than what was posted online?”

“Ohh, it's fine. Don’t worry about it. I’m actually a fan of yours, and I would be more than happy to support you in releasing your solo album.”

“Thank you so much; I’ll do my best!” 

“I’m sure you will.”

————

Taeyeon starts her position as vocal coach a few days later and focuses on a handful of trainees who might be selected for your first girl group. IU is directly in charge of her to make it easier for Taeyon. She even sleeps at IU’s apartment from time to time whenever things go a little later at the training center. 

Today is one of those days as Tayeon comes back from giving a late vocal session and is going up the elevator of the large apartment complex that the company owns. She stares out the elevator window and admires how beautiful the campus is, especially at night, and is envious of it. SM is her home company, but she can’t help but compare the numerous resources that are offered here. “If I was younger, I would have loved to train here,” she said as she stared at the numerous trainees walking across campus. “Well… can’t do much about it now.”

The elevator mentions that it has arrived on the floor she selected, and it opens the doors. She walks down the hallway until she reaches the end of the hall and to IU’s apartment. Given access to her apartment, she scans her keycard and opens the door. “Ji-eun, I’m home!” but there is no response. She sees IU’s purse and phone on the kitchen counter and places her own purse on the living room couch. “Hey, are you in the bathroom?” Taeyeon walks down the hallway and peeks her head in the bathroom, but no one is there. She then hears noises coming from IU’s bedroom and walks towards it. 

Taeyeon is surprised by what she sees through the small crack of IU’s bedroom door. She sees her friend getting fucked from the back, doggy style, by a tall, muscular man. 

“Ahh… fuck! You’re reaching the back of my womb! Master, you’re too big; you’re going to mess me up!”

“Ji-eun, don’t tell me you don’t like how it feels. I thought we were close?”

“Of course not, master. It’s just that… my body is too small to fit all of you inside of me.”

“But, that’s why I like it. I love the way your small pussy feels.”

“Ahh… ahhh… then go ahead, master, enjoy yourself!”

You don’t give her a response as you pull most of your length out and lift her up in a reverse stand and carry. Taeyeon watches as the man in front of her impales her friend with a massive cock on the go, causing IU to yelp.

“I didn’t know she was having sex. Who’s the person with her?”

She didn’t have to wait long as she saw the man's face when he stood in front of the mirror. “Omg… she’s having sex with the CEO?”

“Fuck! I’m going to cum!”

“Master, go ahead! You already know this pussy belongs to you, only you!”

“That’s my girl. Here’s your reward for a good job!” You cock throbs inside of her one last time before pumping her with a large wave of cum.

“Oh my God!! I can feel your hot cum drowning my womb!” as IU makes lustful facial expressions. 

Taeyeon’s body can't help but react to what’s in front of it. Her heart is pounding fast, her breathing is heavy, and her lower region is wet. “Why am I getting horny watching my friend getting fuck by her boss? What’s wrong with me?” She then sees IU get tossed onto the bed on her back and watches as a large amount of cum comes oozing out of her. She stands up and runs away, grabbing her purse and making her way out the door. 

————

Taeyeon makes her way to the cafe on campus and stays there for about two hours. She replays the image when you cum inside of IU and wonders about the type of relationship the two of you have. “I can’t believe they were actually having sex, and I walked in on them. What am I going to do? Should I tell her that I saw them by accident? Or what if they saw me? Is it going to be awkward seeing them in person?” Many things go through her mind until she notices the time on her watch. She looked around and noticed that most of the customers were gone, and the employees were starting to clean. “I guess it can’t be helped. Let's hope they’re gone by now.”

Taeyeon exits the cafe and heads back to IU’s apartment. She opened the door and saw IU coming out of the shower in small shorts and an oversized t-shirt, “Hey, welcome back!”

“Thanks.”

“How come you’re late? I thought you got out two hours ago.”

“Yeah, I did, but I decided to go around and get a tour of the place and visit the cafe around here.”

“Aww… you should have told me. I would have given you a tour. It’s a nice place, right?

“Oh yeah… it’s beautiful. Lots of nice buildings and plants.”

“Well, the boss said he wanted everyone to feel safe and welcomed, so he designed the whole place like a college campus. There are a lot of places to relax and cafes throughout the campus. He’s so thoughtful; he’s a really good person.”

“Oh really… how so?”

“I mean… he can be cold sometimes, but if you get to know him, he’s actually sweet and thoughtful. He cares a lot for his employees and is willing to help them out. He even helped me out with my family’s financial situation, which I’m more than grateful for.”

“I’m sorry to hear about your family’s situation.”

“Noit'sts okay. I didn’t want others to find out, but it's okay now. All thanks to him for me and my family. Anyways, have you eaten?”

“No, I haven’t.”

“Okay, how about you go take a shower? I’ll order something for the both of us.”

“Sounds good.”

“Does pizza sound good?”

“Yes! SM doesn’t allow us to eat fattening foods, so I haven’t had it in a while.”

“That sucks, the company here is fine with it. I mean, as long as we don’t overdo it.”

“Really?”

Yeah, it’s great. Anyways, go shower.”

Taeyeon heads into the spare room that she’s using and gets her change of clothes. She walks to the bathroom, begins to undress herself, and tosses her dirty clothes in her laundry hamper. She notices laced underwear hanging from IU’s hamper and opens the lid to place the underwear inside properly. Suddenly, she notices a semi-white liquid on the underwear, brings it up to her nose, and whiffs. It’s a smell she’s never smelled before, and it's alluring. She sticks out her tongue and takes a small lick. The taste is bitter but not bad, and I decided to take another taste. She notices that this time, her body is having a reaction to it, and it's making her hot. 

“I can’t describe the feeling, but I suddenly feel the urge to touch myself.” She lowers her hand to her cunt and traces her folds. “Ohh… why am I already this wet?” 

She hops into the shower, takes IU’s stained panties, and uses them to masturbate. She traces her folds rapidly until she orgasm in the shower. When she’s down, she tosses the used panties back into IU’s hamper and changes them into her clothes. 

“Damn, I forgot to bring extra panties.” 

She opened the door and yelled, “Ji-eun, I forgot to bring some extra panties. Can I borrow some of yours?”

“Yeah, go ahead. They are in my drawer by the mirror.”

With a towel wrapped around her chest, Taeyeon makes her way to IU’s room and to the drawer. She opens the top, and she sees it full of jewelry; opens the second one, and it has bras. Taeyeon then opens the third one, sees it full of panties of multiple clothes, and grabs the tan one. “Hmm… it wouldn’t look good if I wore mismatched underwear, right? Hey, can I borrow a bra, too?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

“Thanks”

She opens the second drawer and tries to find the matching pair but notices some photos at the bottom. She pulls one out, turns it around, and sees it's a photo of IU in a comprising position. “What is this? Why does she have a picture of her posing without a bra?” She grabs another photo, and this time, it's of her on the bed with her legs spread apart and her cunt in full view. Taeyeon grabs the rest of the photos and goes through them, each more revealing than the rest. Her mind is turning, and her heart is racing from what she just found, and she quickly decides to put the photos back.

As she places the photos back, she hits something black, and it turns on a phone. She grabs the phone out of curiosity and sees the words “Master’s phone” on the lock screen. She swipes up, asks for a password, and puts IU’s birthday, but she gets it wrong. She tries two more times before inserting the date of IU’s first pet as a kid, and it unlocks. The first thing she sees is the photo app, and she is shocked at what she discovers. 

Most of them are pictures of IU completely nude, pictures of what seems to be a large cock, of IU and a cock inside of her, and multiple videos of her having sex. 

“What the…” Curious, she clicks on a video and it shows IU hiding on her desk and giving someone a blow job. She quickly slides to the next one. It seems to be around the same time with the same person, but this time, she’s having sex and is riding on someone. She fast-forwards the clip and notices that the room looks like the CEO’s office. She slides to the right, and this time, she sees you holding the photo while having IU’s face planted to the base of his cock. She exits out of the gallery and goes to the most recent event, which shows today’s date. This time it's a video of you fucking IU with her panties to the side, thrusting multiple times until you cum inside of IU and remove her panties. She watches as a large amount of cum oozes out of her friend’s cunt before you go back and insert your cock inside of her once more. 

Taeyeon’s heart is beating hard again, and she decides to send herself a video pictures and videos to her phone. She places everything back to how it was and grabs the bra she needs before closing the drawer and exiting the room. 

“I… thanks for letting me borrow some underwear.”

“No problem. The food is amount here.”

“Okay, I’ll be out soon.”

The two of them enjoy their dinner together and drink some beers before calling it a night. They each go to their rooms after brushing their teeth and close their door.

Taeyeon climbs onto her bed, pulls out her phone, goes to her downloaded folder, and pulls out the numerous videos and pictures. She goes through each photo carefully and is surprised by how small IU’s cunt is. The scene that gets her attention is when you smack your cock on IU’s pelvis right before inserting your cock inside of IU. Taeyeon gasps when she sees your massive cock split into IU’s cunt completely wide open. The sounds that her friend makes take your whole length, and the bulge she sees when it's completely inside. 

Taeyeon plays through the whole video and watches as you thrust deep inside of IU, her friend’s moaning and the sound of flesh pounding onto each other. The more she watches, the more she gets the urge to masturbate and eventually slides her fingers down past her panties. She traces her folds and moves them in sync with the video with her two fingers. She concentrates on your voice as you warn IU that you are able to cum. IU responds by begging you to fill her up with your seed and fuck her once more. As you reach your climax, so does Taeyeon, and she arches her back to the voice of your grunting, “Fuck… I’m going to fill that small womb of yours.” “Ahh… yes! Dump all your cum inside this pussy of mine, please. Make me feel like a woman.” The next thing she hears is IU’s scream of pleasure as your hot cum invades her womb. 

“Ahh… ahh… that felt much different from the other times I’ve masturbated.” Out of breath, she places the phone on the nightstand and goes to close for an early vocal session. 

————— 

Taeyeon wakes up early in the morning and heads to the studio for her morning vocal session. She focuses on a handful of trainees that have a high probability of debuting. After the session was over, she decided to try out the gym that was available for all staff and trainees. Making her way to the gym she notices the CEO running on the treadmill without his shirt off. She walks by and notices that one of the trainees in the area is gossiping about him. 

“Omg, who is he? He’s so hot.” (Girl 1)

“I think he’s one of the staff members.” (Girl 2)

“I heard that he is the CEO of the company.”(Girl 3)

“No, that can’t be. I thought the CEO was a girl.” (Girl 1)

“I don’t think that anyone has seen the CEO yet, just the assistants who came to the auditions and the welcoming ceremony.” (Girl 3)

“Ehh, that doesn’t matter. That guy over there is my type. I wouldn’t mind if he was a coach. I would definitely ask him for some private lessons.”(Girl 3)

“Shh… keep it down. Don’t let them hear you. Don’t you know that they have strict dating policies for trainees. Especially with us, who are provisional trainees.” (Girl 3)

“I’m just saying, he’s hot.” (Girl 1)

“Yeah, he has a really nice body like the guy that plays Thor.” (Girl 2)

“Ladies, I would suggest you three continue your workouts or head somewhere else if you want to gossip.” 

In unison, the three girls turn around, “We’re sorry, Taeyeon sonsengneem. We didn’t mean any harm.”

“I’m just kidding. But you three are right, he does have a nice body.”The girls laugh at Taeyeon’s comment, and they leave the area for their next session.

Taeyeon stares at you from behind, but you avoid reacting to it. You watch as she eyes you from head to toe before heading to one of the cable machines in the back. 

“I hope he didn’t notice that I was checking him out. Ugh… I still can’t get that image out of my head. Damn Ji-eun, why did she introduce me to him.” She sets the weight on the machine and begins her workout. 

After finishing her workout, she got up and got ready to head to the changing room. She only walks a couple of steps before turning back to get her phone when she bumps into you, slightly touching your limp cock.

“Good morning, Taeyeon unnie.” She turns around and sees you behind her. “Good…good morning.” 

“Distracted much?”

“Ohh, I just forgot my phone.”

“Just be careful. You could have bumped into one of the machines and gotten hurt.”

“Ye…yes, I’ll be careful.”

“Are you done with the rest of your day?”

“No, not yet. I have a meeting with IU later on today.”

“Oh, okay, I think she mentioned something out of that. I’m actually going to meet with her in my office for our daily meeting.” 

She sees your smile, and the first thing that comes to mind is her blowing you off in your office. 

“Okay, I’ll be going. Nice seeing you, Taeyeon.”

——————

Later that day, Taeyeon waits inside one of the meeting rooms for IU to arrive. She looks at the clock on her watch and notices that she’s running a bit late. She pulls out her phone and texts, “I’m here in the meeting room.”

Within a couple of seconds, she receives a reply, “Sorry, Unnie, I just got off from a meeting with the boss. I’m going down the elevator right now, see you in a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

Taeyeon pulls out her bag and some documents that Taeyeon wants to look at for the meeting when she hears a knock on the door. 

“Come in.” 

“Hey, sorry I’m late. Was real busy in the meeting.”

“No problem, take a seat.”

IU takes a seat across from Taeyeon and pulls out her laptop from her bag and opens it. She connected it to the projector and pulled out a slide of some trainees she wanted to focus on for the next weekdays. 

Taeyeon tries to pay attention to IU but notices a white stain on IU’s lower lip. “Hey, you got a little something on your lip.” 

Surprised, she says, “Oh, really? Where?”

“On your lower lip.”

“Haha, silly me. I just had a bite to eat earlier.” IU wipes off the stain on her lip with her thumb before licking it off her finger and continuing with her presentation. As IU gave her presentation, one of her pens fell on the floor. She bends over to pick it up and notices a strange white substance running down IU’s thigh and onto the floor. She stares at it briefly before returning and continuing the meeting with IU. 

Inside of her head, she can't help but scoff at IU’s lie about her “important meeting” with the CEO. She knows clearly that her meeting was just a lie to cover up their “sessions” and are fucking in his office. But like a good friend, she can’t judge her friend or her relationship, so as they exit the meeting room, she whispers to IU, “You have something running down your thigh; you might want to get that cleaned up,” with a warm smile. 

[faeriekit]

Ghosts of Those We Once Knew

a phic phight fill for @silverwing013

Warnings for: implied child abuse, accidental death, dead parents

**💚**

“Oh yeah?! And what are you going to do about it?!” Aunt Alicia snapped into the phone. 

There was a sound on the other end of the line, but Danny couldn’t make it out all the way. There was another solution, but it was…risky; it would require going into his aunt’s bedroom— a well known, forbidden domain— to pick up the only other phone hooked up to the landline. 

…There was no other time to find out what Aunt Alicia was putting off. It had to be worth the risk. Danny crept up the worn carpeting of the stairs, hoping that his sneakiness would hold up to Alicia’s discerning eyes and ears. 

Her bedroom was dark. Carpeted. …Pink. 

Whatever. Danny took a deep breath, lifted the phone off the hook, and tried not to breathe too loudly into the mouthpiece.

“You have no right to keep Daniel in your dismal, miserable, isolated hovel,” someone shouted on the other end. Danny had never heard this voice before. He sounded like someone around Dad’s age, maybe? Maybe a little…smoother, despite the blistering anger coming through the line. “You live with no human contact for nine months out of the year. You speak to no one. Do you— is Daniel even enrolled in a school? Did you get any sort of educational provisions for him whatsoever?” 

“What, so he can get cocky and blow himself up in the garage like his parents?” Alicia snapped. Danny had to clap a hand to his mouth to hide his gasp of dismay. 

“You know full well that punishing your sister’s son by restricting his access to an education and basic human companionship is not a solution to your grief for your sister. You are out of your mind.”

Aunt Alicia’s voice got low. Aunt Alicia’s voice got mean. She sounded like how she looked when Danny had fumbled the water pail from the well or stepped two steps too close to the rhubarb patch out back. “Vladmir Masters, you listen here,” Aunt Alicia muttered. “That boy is everything left of my sister in the whole damn world. He is not going anywhere. Do you understand? Not for you to fill his head with her stupid husband’s supernatural hoo-ha, and not for you to snatch up and teach himself how to kill other people the way those two killed each other. Danny stays here. If you ring me up one more time, I’m going to do more than just mail dog crap to the front step of your stupid castle in Wisconsin.”

The phone cut off. It would be an innocuous end to a phone call, except Danny can hear the clatter of plastic cracking on plastic in the downstairs kitchen.

There was a moment of silence.

“Daniel Jackson Fenton, you get your butt in here right now!”

Danny jolted, heart pounding. He—he went downstairs.

Aunt’s Alicia’s lips were pursed, her eyes tight. “What did I tell you about missing all the sticks in the yard? It looks like a wreck!”

Danny felt his breath stick in his throat.

“Well?”

“Yes, Aunt Alicia,” Danny mumbled. He looked down and away. He wasn’t caught out eavesdropping, but…was this any better?

“If those sticks aren’t piled up beside the woodshed for kindling in half an hour, you can kiss your dinner goodbye.”

Danny hadn’t had dinner in three nights. He was very lucky he didn’t need to eat as much as living kids. “…Yes, Aunt Alicia.”

“So?”

…Danny went outside to collect sticks. It took until nightfall to get all the refuse from yesterday’s storm off the ground.

Aunt Alicia ate canned corn and carrots and butchered rabbit with hot sauce for dinner. Danny ate nothing.

Danny went to bed thinking about somewhere else he could go. Mom and Dad were dead—smithereens in the blast that had killed him and brought him back to life simultaneously. Jazz was in the hospital. He had no grandparents. He had no other aunts or uncles other than Aunt Alicia.

…Who was Vladmir Masters?

*

It took two days for Danny to decide to run away.

Or. Well. Fly.

He’d figured that if he wanted to find out who Vladmir Masters was, he’d need an internet connection. His cell had been on the Fenton Fone Plan™ and had been disconnected from the Fenton Family Patented Ghost-free Satellite™ for almost three months now. But, you know…what was a public library for, if not getting information?

The two-day waiting period was mostly just Danny getting his stuff together, making sure he didn’t leave anything behind, finding anything worth stealing…

…There was a picture of Mom with her big hair at graduation, a black robe thrown over her Hazmat suit. Her hair had been so big. Lots of people were beside her, including Dad, and someone with a matching hair stripe. They looked happy.

It didn’t matter that it had been Aunt Alicia’s photo. The picture had gone into his backpack next to Bearbert Einstein and a filched pocket knife.

Mom was Aunt Alicia’s sister, but Madeline Fenton had been his mom.

…Was still his mom.

Would…would always be his mom.

Danny wouldn’t cry. He wasn’t going to cry. Still, the flying and everything was still new to him. It took almost ten minutes to get himself off the ground without floating off willy nilly.

It took another half an hour to remember how to go through walls.

By the time Danny fell (as in actually, literally, leaned up against the wall and then realized he’d not made contact the way he’d expected to) through the house wall, it was almost eight at night. Aunt Alicia was still listening to Prairie Home Companion downstairs on the radio.

Whatever. He was out of there. He was sure he looked crazy—his hair was white, which was almost impossible to hide—but all he had to do was get out of there fast enough that no one connected one teenage runaway with a backpack to Danny Fenton.

It was fine.

It was all going to be fine.

…And if there wasn’t someone who’d help him. Well. Being homeless didn’t sound…so bad…?

…Or maybe he’d just squat in the burnt out ruins of Fentonworks. That sounded fine too.

*

Morning broke. Danny ended up in a tiny town somewhere in Mississippi.

A nice guy at the coffee shop gave him a cup of water and told him where the local library was. A librarian plugged her login details for him on a public computer, and Danny was able to look up one “Vladmir Masters”…

…CEO and owner of DALVco, millionaire, and Green Bay Packers megafan.

Holy crap.

Like… There were hospital wings with his name on them. Charities operating out of his company. Every picture of the man was perfectly taken in perfect lighting with perfect suits and precise smirks and bright-white magazine article paper.

Danny went back up to the librarian. “Do you have any articles on…uh…Vlad Masters?”

The librarian smiled warmly. “Ah, school project?”

“Sure,” Danny lied, milk on his tongue.

Vlad Masters was a self-made millionaire. He lived in a castle in Wisconsin that used to be owned by a dairy empire kingpin. He went to—

Danny read the line again

—He went to the same college as Mom and Dad. The year looked right, too. They might have even graduated in the exact same year. If only Danny could still check Dad’s college ring in the bottom of their junk drawer.

Wisconsin. Vlad Masters lived in Wisconsin.

…Danny was really lucky he was never all that hungry anymore.

Danny got another cup of water at the coffee shop, washed his face in the bathroom, and got ready to fly another night.

He was no sextant, but he could probably figure out how to get to Wisconsin after a couple of hours of flying, and a little time to gauge the sky.

It would be easy.

…Danny’s white-topped, pale face stared back at him from the restroom mirror.

It had to be. It would have to be easy.

*

So, a cheese castle looked a lot like a regular castle.

Danny squinted up at the stonework. Nah, that looked like…a castle. That being said, it looked more specifically like the castle he was looking for—the one that had been featured in Vlad Masters’s house tour in Architecture Daily magazine two years ago.  

Same…roof bits. Same big door. Danny swallowed. Same…tower? Were there better words for these? There were definitely better words for all the tricky stone bits in the castle.

Whatever. Danny was praying that the man was actually home today, as opposed to flying across the country on some kind of business trip. Rich people did business trips, right?

Danny floated up to the front door. There was no doorbell.

…Danny bit his lip. Okay. So there was no doorbell. There was a very large, brass door knocker. It looked kind of like a big monster face, with a ring held in its teeth.

The knocker was just high enough off the ground that Danny had to float to get there. Lifting it was a struggle.

When it knocked, the whole door buzzed with sound.

Danny waited.

…He waited.

And…Danny waited.

No one came.

Danny picked at the skin of his lip. What if he just…went in?

Like. It was a big house. Maybe Vlad Masters just hadn’t heard him at all? Maybe he was just…in the basement or something…?

Danny paced midair. On one hand. He’d come all this way. He had to follow through. He had to see if there was…something. Anything. Anything at all—anything that could possibly connect Masters to his family.

Any connection that wasn’t Aunt Alicia would be worth breaking and entering.

On the other hand. Home invasion was and would remain illegal.

Danny grimaced.

He…stuck his head through the door. 

There was a hallway on the other side. A little end table. A guest book. 

…Okay. Danny slipped through the door. He was breaking and entering now— or at least…entering. 

Inside was dark. Gloomy. Comfortable, sure— lots of soft furnishings, curtains, couches, pillow, lounging things— but very…opaque in atmosphere. 

He was glowing, he noticed. That probably was pretty bad on the “trying not to get caught” scale. 

There was no one upstairs. Danny drifted through room after empty room and up into floor after empty floor. There was a kitchen, and the food therein were largely preserved items. There was nothing in the fridge. 

Danny’s stomach cramped. There was no one here. 

…Maybe he should look downstairs? 

The castle got colder the further down he went. The windows that at least allowed the minimal light that escaped through the tree cover in the castle vanished. The only light left was Danny. 

Danny floated down deeper. 

There were doors made of metal in a long, stone hallway. Each had different numbers on them. Danny followed the rows of doors.

There were wires on the floor. They were organized by color and bound by little ties, until they weren’t, and Danny eventually ran out of tangled webs of red and blue plastic to follow. 

They ended at a closed door. 

Danny hesitated. He poked his head through. 

On the other side was a ghost. 

Danny jerked back. He’d— he clapped his hand over his mouth. That was—! And sure, Danny was something like that now, but he’d never seen—!

He should leave. Danny should leave. 

Danny barely made it three doors down. 

Going somewhere? something asked him. Danny shivered. 

The ghost appeared on his left in ethereal white, black hair pulled behind him in some sort of half-halo. Unlike Danny, who was in something like half-hazmat, half-hoodie, the ghost wore a long, glowing labcoat, appropriate PPE beneath. 

Danny’s breath fogged up in his mouth. He flinched. “Sorr—” he tried. “Sorry, I’m sorry. I’m not supposed to be here.”

The ghost looked at him with bright red eyes. Danny floated a few steps back. Spying, are you?

Danny shook his head. “No!! No, I just— I was looking for— I wasn’t spying! I’m sorry! I didn’t know you li— died here! I’ll leave!” 

The ghost’s head tilted. For a second, Danny thought that he was going to throw a punch. And then—

You’re already here, the ghost pointed out, and opened a door. Beyond it was…something similar to a doctor’s office. An examination table with the paper on it. One of those blood pressure cuffs, attached to a printer for the readout. A sink. Sundry tongue depressors. You may as well consent to be helped. 

“...Helped with what?” Danny asked nervously, fingers flexing. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

The ghost hummed— not in the way voices hummed, but in the way high voltage sang in distant powerlines. You are newly formed, aren’t you? Most can tell a ghost’s nature from its presence alone.

Danny looked away. “Um. You know. You might be the first ghost I’ve ever met.” 

The ghost’s feet almost touched the ground. It stared down at him. It was taller than he was, and when it stared, it made Danny want to run away. 

…Truly, the ghost asked(?), and it took Danny a second to realize it was a question. 

“Maybe I died a little recently…” Danny tried, trailing off into a mumble. Was there a right answer to this? 

…I see. That would make this check-up more urgent, then. Might I encourage you to come this way? 

Danny followed him into the room. 

It felt… It looked and felt exactly like any other doctor’s appointment, excepting that the doctor involved in the process had blue skin and fangs and a hairstyle that defied gravity. The ghost still wore gloves and didn’t poke him or prod him too hard, though, so that was a bonus.

Danny got his pulse taken. (None.) Danny got his lungs checked. (Not breathing.) Danny got his resonance? looked at? Whatever that was? It was a big scanny thing that looked like an X ray and took pictures of his chest. 

The readings were real pretty, whatever they were; the whole film print was taken up with splotches of white and clear blue. It kind of shimmered when Danny tilted his head. 

You’re quite powerful for a newly formed ghost, the ghost offered, overlooking papers Danny couldn’t quite see on his clipboard. It flipped through once. Twice. You’re clearly not attached to your place of death, so that’s not why… Are you aware of any compulsions to follow an Obsession yet…?

A ghostly obsession? Danny knew what that was— it was one of his parents’ theories on why ghosts persisted after death! Was it was true? 

“Um,” Danny said, unsure. He hadn’t…had he? “Not that I know of?”

The ghost paused. It clicked its pen. It marked something down on Danny’s chart. Interesting.

Ominous. 

May I quickly test something? the ghost asked, looking up at Danny. It would only take a moment. If it does not work, there will be no other side effects other than mild discomfort and an activated flight response. 

Danny shifted. The paper crackled underneath him. “...Does it hurt?” 

No.

The ghost added nothing more. 

Danny’s…head jerked up and down. It was fine. It would be fine. 

The ghost’s hand circled his wrist. Its touch burned like fire. 

And then light, like how Danny burned away one form for another—

—Danny was left on the table, no longer weightless, no longer breathless. He was flesh. He was human again.

Vlad Masters stared back at him. 

…Huh. 

Mr. Masters— Vlad?— licked dry lips, staring at Danny, whose wrist he still held. Danny…didn’t know if he could move. Danny didn’t know if he knew how to move. 

“...Daniel?” Mr. Masters’s voice cracked. His eyes moved up and down Danny’s body, from his raggedy hair to his dirt-stained clothes to his beat-up shoes. “Daniel Fenton?”

Danny winced. “It’s just Danny,” he offered hoarsely. His throat bobbed. “You…know me?” 

Mr. Masters moved his grip to Danny’s hand, apparently moved to tears. Without the red in his eyes, he just looked…human enough. “Daniel— Danny, how did you— Are you dead? What happened?” 

Danny felt the weight of everything push down on him again, as if it had ever let up on him since the portal incident. Mom and Dad’s funerals. Jazz in the emergency room. Being resuscitated by the EMTs. Getting shipped out to Aunt Alicia’s house without warning. 

“House blew up.”

That was succinct enough, right?

The man’s face turned devastated. “I heard— I’m so, so sorry. I’m so sorry, Danny.”

…It was more concern than anyone had shown in a long time. His eyes were wet before he knew it. When he wiped his face with his sleeve, the dampness was enough to leave little streaks of mud on his face— and, ugh, he felt filthy. 

“It’s okay,” Danny lied, because it wasn’t. He pressed his sleeve to his eyes. “It’s…you know my parents?”

Mr. Masters took a deep, surprised breath. “Yes. We…weren’t in contact after we graduated from school together, but Jack always… He asked me by email to be your godfather, right before you were born. I said yes, but I have no idea if he ever filed the paperwork.” 

Oh. 

…Oh. 

There were clearly more secrets here. Mr. Masters was a ghost, and so was Danny. He lived in a giant castle that was clearly haunted, which was made obvious by the owner. He was Danny’s godfather, and Danny had never once met him. 

And he wasn’t Aunt Alicia. 

Danny sucked the spit off of his teeth with his tongue. “Can I stay here?” 

Mr. Masters made a wounded, desperate expression. “I would rather you did.” 

“Can you teach me how to be a ghost?”

The man persevered through what were clearly heavy feelings. “...If I must.” 

“Can I have dinner?” was Danny’s final question. “Like. On the regular?” 

There was a second where Mr. Masters’s eyes went red. The castle suddenly felt taut with anticipation. Fury crawled on Danny’s skin. He could feel the pressure digging in search of some way to burrow into his flesh.

And then it was gone. 

“Of course you can. You are a growing boy.”

Danny smiled shyly, barely showing his teeth. When he smiled for real in the mirror, he had fangs. It was better not to. “Cool.”

Mr. Masters nodded. And when Danny looked down at the floor, he changed his grip so that Danny could hold his hand and hop down like normal. 

“It will be alright,” Mr. Masters promised quietly. It seemed to be just as much for him as it was for Danny. “Or…I’ll take care of it. Whatever happens. You’re not alone, Danny.” 

Danny had been alone for almost half a year. It had felt like forever. “Thanks.” He sniffed. 

They walked upstairs from the basement laboratory together, in a way Mom and Dad never would again. 

[fastlikealambo]

Connubium.|| Coriolanus Snow x Black Fem Reader

Chapter Two

table of contents.

Chapter One.

Summary: Stealing from The Capitol is a deadly offense, yet you’ve done it more times than you can count but when you do something you should not have done, Volumnia Gaul decides a fate for you that might just be worse than death.

Notes: This takes place post The Ballad of Songbirds And Snakes and Coryo is in his last year at The University, studying under Dr. Gaul. This will not follow canon, I’m not an expert on all the lore so I apologize if I get things wrong.

Disclaimer: You know Coriolanus is a POS, I know Coriolanus is a POS, please don’t yell at me because this is just a fun little story, something for thee hotties, and  if you feel that strongly against President Snow, please let me know if you’d like me to sign you up for tessarae.

Warnings: blood, violence, poison.

Thanks for the love on chapter one! If you want to see chapter three, comment or reblog, feedback makes me want to continue!

Perhaps before you begin those games, you should understand how you got in the protective arms of one Coriolanus Snow.

You had three rules.

Never be seen.

Never take what you could not carry.

Never intervene.

How did the daughter of teachers from District 6 make it all the way to and from the capitol not once, not twice, but multiple trips over multiple years?

Desperation and sick parents do it every time.

It’s thought that most folks from District 6 hate transportation but the glassy eyes and wet coughs from the people you loved most in the world had you sneaking onto trains, hovercraft, anything that moved when you aged out of tesserae. 

Some thought you’d take over teaching for your ma and pa, you certainly had the education but none of the patience and sugar that is required to work with children.

What was the point of them knowing about a nation that would bleed them before it would feed them?

There were no books on your mother’s shelf that would tell the truth of Panem: 

The best future was no future.

This is tedious, let’s just skip to the  show.

“Hippity, hoppity, you took someone’s property.”

You weren’t exactly sure what a jail cell in The Captiol looked like but a science lab with bright lights and sterile white walls made you question if this was just a scenic detour before getting shot by Peacekeepers.

Peacekeepers forced you to your already bruised knees as Dr. Volumnia Gaul descended a staircase with a pep in her step. You had seen the Head Gamemaker on tv once being interviewed during The Games and you hadn’t forgotten that face since.

   “Not only did you take Capitol property, you destroyed property, you injured multiple citizens, all for an Avox. I’m sure if it still had a tongue it would have definitely said thank you for all your help. I know, why don’t we ask her?” Gaul said, skipping to a shelf and pulled a large circular jar into her arms and placed onto a table spinning it in front of you.

The head of the Avox you had tried to help faced you, eyes open in the fluid.

It all had happened so quickly, you had waited for a couple to leave their home for the evening before scaling the side and entering through an open window one of their guards who kissed with his teeth left open.  You followed your rules, had the fancy fur underwear in hand, and headed out the window when you noticed the couple had a son.

A son that liked to hit a woman who couldn’t speak, let alone fight back.

It all went downhill from there.

   “Are you happy now? Did the little thief save you?” Dr. Gaul asked the head, lifting the jar to her ear for a moment, before proceeding shaking it from side to side as if the head was shaking itself to say “no.”

 You gave no inclination of fear, forcing your mind to pretend Gaul was holding a jar of sugar instead and wet your cracked lips to speak.

“If you’re going to kill me, may I ask that you do it now?” 

 The peacekeeper raised their gun to bring it down upon your head but Gaul merely lifted her hand to stop the guard and cocked her head in front of you.

  “Good skin and clear eyes which tells me you haven’t seen a drop of Morphling in your life, good girl!  Let’s see those teeth! ” Dr. Gaul’s gloved fingers wrench your mouth open, quick enough to avoid your attempt to bite down hard.

  “Not a crooked canine in sight, what a marvel of district 6 dentistry! I’ve been watching you for the last year and a half, you know.  At first I thought you were a rebel spy lurking here and there in a sad attempt at revolution but you have a pattern: you seduce, you steal, you scatter. Never the same capitol house, never the same loot, but always the same goal: self-servitude.  You, little girl, are smart, silver tongued, and most importantly, you are selfish.”

Was the doctor incorrect?

You had stolen enough and traded enough to keep your parents healthy months ago, why did you keep coming back here?

  “What do you want from me?” You asked quietly as Gaul finished her examination of you and hopped into a chair.

“By yourself you managed to steal anything you wanted, charm anyone you wanted, all while going unnoticed in The Capitol for years.  Instead of cutting out that silver tongue of yours, I’m going to use it for the future of Panem.” Dr. Gaul said, damn near giddy.  

Gaul pressed a button that dimmed the lights in the lab and brought a screen down from the ceiling. In a few short seconds, the screen came to life and footage of a blonde man in a crimson suit and coat going about his day, sharp face never once cracking a smile.

   “Let me introduce you to Coriolanus Snow, top student, heir of Strabo Plinth, and the product of exemplary Capitol breeding. He’ll be graduating from The University in a month and in a few short years with proper backing, he will be President of Panem. He’ll be taking a position at President Ravinstill’s office upon graduation but before that he’ll need to take a spouse. That, my pretty thief, is where you come in.” Gaul said.

   “Don’t you have Capitol people for this? What about that ‘fine capitol breeding’? A district girl such as myself would only sully that.”  You said slowly as if talking to an infant.

  “With society families there’s dowries, overinvolved mothers, there isn’t time to mold one in the image Panem requires.  Why pin a veil on a peacock when I can dress up a viper instead? For the good of Panem, you will charm Coriolanus Snow, you will court him, you will spy on him, and in one month, you will marry Coriolanus Snow, little thief.”

You’d rather die.

Wouldn’t you?

    “And if your precious protege can smell District on me?” You snarled and a peacekeeper made you regret that decision immediately.

   “ He’ll never know. You and Mr. Snow share the same look of distinct dissatisfaction in your eyes, dissatisfaction is a bitter root but it can be pulled, can be twisted into something powerful and no Capitol dove can accomplish that. Only those who have tasted blood in their mouths desire it again.”

  “And if I refuse?”

“It’s easier to show you.” Gaul said, clicking another button. The video of Snow vanished and in its place was the grainy footage of a man and a woman hooked up to various tubes and wires.

It took longer than it should have for you to realize those were your parents.

  “You’re not the only one who can slip in and out of people’s homes, little thief.  Just a little something I’m working on in their morning porridge and by this afternoon, their lungs belonged to me.  This is a live feed by the way, so if you’d like to refuse, you are welcome to do so and we can watch your ma and pa stop breathing together. I’ll get my milk and crackers! ”

There was no guarantee she wouldn’t just kill them tomorrow or the next day or the day after that.

A rebel would stand up and refuse Dr. Gaul no matter the cost.

A fool would plead for their life and the lives of their loved ones.

Neither a fool nor rebel, you were something else entirely.

A survivor.

You stood up, shoulders back, head up, and completely ignored the sounds of the machines keeping your parents alive to look straight at Dr. Gaul.

  “When do we start?”

Coriolanus Snow studied people.

He studied his classmates, his professors, he knew the routines and habits of everyone he did and did not come in contact with on a daily basis whether they knew or not.  There was a great tragedy in the fact that he would have made an amazing officer with sight like his. Not a thing got past him, nothing useful anyway.

Except you.

He had never seen a coat so cut to the human body before outside of Tigris’ handiwork, from across the street he studied the exact spot he could put his hands on that coat, on your body. The book obscured your face but it mattered not to Coryo as no one with a coat like that could be anything short of divine.

And as Coriolanus Snow was never wrong, he was given a glimpse at that magnificent visage when you dropped your book in the street, those full lips and smooth brown cheeks, oh what a vision that befell him.

A vision that was soon to be flattened by a car.

If he was honest with himself, had you been someone he knew, someone he had previously studied, perhaps he would have let the car hit you, but this was useful for him, he’d make the Captiol News that night with Flickerman spinning tales of his heroism.

He could not let blood spoil such beauty.

He surprised himself at how quick he was, one moment on the top of the university steps, the next tumbling to the side of the road, his body covering yours as you both came to stop, his hand on the back of your head to keep it from slamming into the curb.

Words died on his lips, the question he had mentally prepared to ask with careful false concern left him the moment he truly looked into your eyes, and Coriolanus did not only want to know if you were injured.

He wanted to know everything.

He carefully removed himself from your person, attempting to keep the displeasure at his previously perfect now filthy wardrobe and scraped hands from his features as he settled beside you.

 “Are you hurt?” He asked, impressed at the hint of actual sincerity that bled into his voice as you sat up gingerly.

“I don’t think so.  Thank you, I wasn’t paying attention, are you hurt?” You asked, a voice like velvet that seemed to surround him and he shivered as he took inventory of his own injuries and shook his head.

 True to their nature, not one person on the street offered to lend a hand and a Peacekeeper was making their way to them. He would hand you off to a peacekeeper and that would be that.

He did not want that.

So he did what he did best, took control of the situation and an opportunity arose when he heard you admit a small moan of pain, eyes wide and fixated on your ankle.

  “May I?”  He asked and you nodded.

 Coriolanus removed your shoe, tender fingers brushing over the swollen skin and he briefly wanted nothing more than to know what his lips would feel like on that silky skin.

He cleared his throat and regained control of himself, sitting straight up.

“ It’s not broken.  I don’t live far from here, my grandmother can take a look at that if you’d like? I promise you’ll be perfectly safe.” 

Grandma’am would rather lick a tribute than tend to an injured stranger but you didn’t need to know that.

“Are you sure? You don’t have to go to the trouble.” You said, attempting to slowly stand, crumpling just enough for Coriolanus to quickly steady you before gently putting your arm around his shoulder and his other under your knees, lifting you into his arms.

“It’s no trouble at all. I’m Coriolanus Snow, it’s a pleasure to be of service.” Coryo said with that winning Snow smile, adjusting you in his arms with care.

After all, roses were to be cradled.

Until that day, Coriolanus Snow noticed everything and everyone, useless and useful. 

Yet while focused on you, he had not noticed that the car that had almost killed you both was nowhere to be found.

That’s chapter 2! If you’d like this story to continue, please comment, reblog, give me feedback! Let me know what you think about this story! Thank you for reading.

[happy74827]

Burning Bridges

[Dexter Morgan x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Upon an incident that was out of your control, Dexter comes to the realization that it wasn't just a coincidence.

WC: 1951

Category: Slight Angst, Hurt/Comfort

I forgot how much I missed this show (him), so I decided to write another. It's been so long since I last wrote for him that I actually see the difference in my writing. It's wack.

『••✎••』

Dexter was many things… a brother, a son, a pro bowler, a serial killer… but what he lacked was being a good friend.

He didn't understand friendship or its value. It was something that he simply couldn't grasp. Sure, he was able to fake it well enough in order to make sure that people liked him and didn't find him too creepy or strange, but there was never any real emotional connection. In his mind, everyone was either someone he needed or someone he didn't need, and he would treat them accordingly. The only exceptions to this rule were his sister, Debra, and you.

The two of you had met back in college, having been assigned to be each other's partners for a group project. It was a poetry class and a course that Dexter hadn't really wanted to take, but a general education requirement and the promise of an easy A convinced him to at least show-up and suffer through it. Well, for a guy who had to fake every single aspect of his personality in order to fit in with society, it turned out that poetry didn’t come quite as easily as he thought it would.

He had always found the art form to be rather silly, with all the emphasis on metaphors and flowery language. There was no purpose or goal other than to be creative and artsy, and it bored him to no end. The first time you had sat down with him to discuss the project, you could tell how much he didn't want to be there, and the look of complete disinterest on his face as he tried to figure out what your poem meant was the most hilarious thing that you had seen in a while. You couldn't help but laugh, the sound of which made him sit up and give you a quizzical look.

"What?" He asked, tilting his head slightly, confused.

"Nothing," you replied, still giggling. "It's just that I can tell that you don't like poetry."

"Why would you think that?"

"Because you haven't said a word; you're just sitting there, staring off into space and twirling your pencil between your fingers," you told him, and he glanced down at the utensil as if he didn't realize that he was doing that.

"Oh. Sorry, I guess," he apologized, his tone making it clear that he was actually a little annoyed at having been called out on his inattentiveness.

"That's okay. I like poetry, so I'll be happy to do most of the work," you offered, smiling sweetly, and his eyebrows raised.

And that you did. In fact, you loved it so much that you majored in English and planned on getting your Masters, while Dexter got his degree in criminology. It was a nice trade-off because while he struggled in poetry, getting down into the debts of his feelings that were nonexistent, you struggled with chemistry, unable to wrap your head around the subject no matter how hard you tried.

So, the two of you had a mutually beneficial agreement. You did all the work for the poetry class, and in exchange, he tutored you in chemistry and made sure that you got a decent grade. Once the class was over and done with, the two of you stayed friends, though you had very little in common. Dexter had no interest in books, and you had no interest in criminology. He was a loner, and you had plenty of friends. You were a romantic, and he was completely unromantic. He didn't even have a girlfriend, and you had been in three different relationships over the course of the two years that you had known him.

Still, the two of you got along well enough. You were one of the only people that Dexter could actually stand for more than five minutes, and he was the same to you. So you went out to the bar sometimes, hung out with his sister, and did your best to keep him company while also doing your best to try to set him up on dates, hoping that one of these days, he'd actually find someone. It eventually did work out when you found him Rita, but as of right now, she had broken up with him, and he was back to being a lonely bachelor which it didn't bother him much until now.

You were in the hospital, your head wrapped and bandaged like a mummy. You were apparently attacked outside the grocery store, and if it wasn’t for the small instructions he had given you for self-defense, you most likely wouldn’t have survived.

At first, Dexter didn’t think of it as anything important in terms of his line of work. He believed it to be a coincidence, a random crime in the night. But it turned into something more the night he decided to visit with some cake.

“How’s the head?” He asked as he came inside, seeing you propped up reading. Of course, you were reading.

You shrugged. “Like I’m wearing a sweater hat, but it doesn't hurt, so there's that." You paused, setting down your book and glancing at him. "I’m still salty about my groceries. Almost two hundred dollars I spent on that stuff. Gone. Wasted. Poof."

Dexter had to chuckle a bit. "Hey, I can't do much about the food, but I brought you something," he said, revealing the white box.

"Is it chocolate? If it is, I love you," you joked.

"No, it's just vanilla. But, here."

He opened the lid and showed you, and you immediately lit up.

"Awww, Dexter! You are the best friend ever," you gushed, giving him a warm smile.

He smiled back. "It's the least I could do."

He was cutting it up for you when he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. You didn’t seem to notice, but out in the hall, a shadow passed by the window. His body went on alert, eyes flickering towards the door. He couldn’t see much, but he could make out an elderly man with gray hair and a beard.

Dexter's face remained unchanged, though his body language betrayed him as he sat the cake knife down. He knew that look. That look in a man's eyes when he was looking at prey. This was a predator.

"Hey, uh, what was that description again? Of the man who attacked you," Dexter asked, his tone a bit distracted.

"You mean Santa Claus on drugs? That pretty much sums it up. Why?" You looked up, confused.

"I don't know. It's probably nothing."

But it was something. The man had apparently come back to finish the job, and Dexter's jaw clenched at the thought. He was already planning his death in his mind. It wouldn’t be pretty. He gave you a piece of cake, swearing that he’d be back soon before going after the man. He stopped at the lobby momentarily, informing Angel to keep an eye on you, which, of course, the cop complied with.

Angel was a good cop. He was loyal, smart, and a damn good shot. But there was one thing that made him a great cop. He cared about his city and the people in it. He would protect the innocent no matter the cost, especially when it came down to those he was closest to. He was the kind of guy who would risk his life without a second thought if it meant saving others.

This is why Dexter liked Angel and why he was the only one that he trusted with this job.

Finding the man was extremely easy on his part. Dexter already knew what the guy’s plan was, so he stuck around outside the parking lot, watching the shadows. After a few minutes, the man appeared, heading towards the entrance once again.

He never got that far.

A hand was clamped over his mouth while the other dragged him away from the double doors and towards the side of the building. Dexter didn’t pull out his knife, though, only resorting to his arms as he applied pressure against his throat. The man fought, trying to break free, but he didn't get the chance. Dexter didn’t kill him, no, not yet, but his arm was still strong, and he had no plans to let go.

“Listen closely. If you so much as look the wrong way, I will rip your heart out and shove it down your throat. Understand? Nod if you do," he threatened, his voice calm and even. The man nodded, terrified, his eyes wide.

"Good," Dexter replied, “Why are you here?"

The man was quiet, but he was breathing heavily, and his eyes were watering.

"Talk. That girl, why are you after her?"

"I’m not—”

"You attacked her, and now you came back to finish the job, did you not? Who sent you?"

The man was sweating; his face was flushed and red. Dexter was pressing too hard, and his victim was starting to lose air. He didn’t care.

"Who?" He repeated.

The man choked, unable to speak.

"Last chance. Who sent you? And don't lie to me."

The man didn’t answer, and Dexter tightened his hold. That finally did it. The man began to squirm violently, trying to break free, but it was too late. His face started to turn purple, and Dexter had to adjust his grip and pull him closer.

“It wasn’t personal! I had to! I didn't have a choice! It was just a job!" He gasped out, struggling for air. “I got paid to do it. I was just doing what I was told! Please, please, don't kill me."

"Who was it?"

"I—I don’t know. It was some lady. I met her at a bar. She didn’t give her name, but he wasn’t American. She gave me ten thousand dollars and told me that the job was to attack this chick in the parking lot and make it look like an attempted robbery. Said it had to be done in a couple of days. Listen, man, I didn't want to do it. But the money—"

"What did she look like?" Dexter cut in.

"Dark hair. Young. I don't know! I don't know, I swear. She wore sunglasses the whole time. Please, don’t kill me. Please."

Suddenly, it hit him like a ton of bricks. The Dark Passenger was roaring, the realization washing over him like cold water.

Lila.

Everything made sense now. The way she had suddenly showed up out of nowhere, the incident outside the bowling alley, her sudden interest in you. It all made sense. She was behind it. She had done it.

Dexter wanted to snap the man's neck. He wanted to rip his throat out. He wanted to take his knife and stab him over and over again, to punish him for what he had done to you, but he refrained. He had the answers he needed, and the cameras around were still running.

He dropped him and watched him collapse, gasping for air. He didn't move, too scared and in shock to do so. Dexter didn’t say a word; his anger was silent, but it was boiling beneath his skin.

He was going to kill her. He was going to hunt her down and end her, and there was no place on Earth where she could hide.

“You ever, and I mean ever, come near her again; I will tear out your spine and make you choke on it. Understand?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."

Dexter didn’t say anything else; he simply walked off, his hands stuffed into his pockets. He had a lot to think about.

[sgiandubh]

Machiavelli took a day off

... when the Telegraph article was written in great haste, by someone blatantly given a last minute task, who had no fucking idea to whom she was talking and what exactly meant the PR vetted or even prompted questions.

Instead of a line-by-line analysis, we'll take things differently, on this page, using the '5 W rule of journalism' (or even non-fiction writing, in general, if you ask me):

Who? SRH, EP of the OL series and one of the two male leads of the TCND series, which will be shortly broadcast by Channel 4, in the UK and IE only (and Movistar in ES). The rest of the world is not concerned.

What? A promotional article, focused on the actor's personality, CV and projects.

When? At a particular moment in time, just after the SAG-AFTRA strike and before shooting OL's eighth and last season.

Where? Crucial to place it in LHR (to imply he is 'just visiting') and God forbid it would be in GLA, which (for some curious reasons) seems to be off-limits.

Why? An actor with solid credentials hopes to keep agents and employers interested, after above OL project is done, which is rather sooner than later. Also addressing (as per the actor's PR agent specific requirements) three particular issues: the Palestine letter, the Bond project and his 'private life'.

Onwards to the three issues at stake, which probably prompted the article. In chronological order, this time. And no, I am not going to address the Scottish independence mention, because this is a sincere, well-known position of his and this page never bitches about people's convictions - also because I educated myself on it and I agree with S.

Palestine:

It was important, for obvious reasons, to push damage control a tad further. Also, strictly from a hypothetical POV, I would be very curious to read your compare and discuss thoughts with regard to this particular post on this page:

A sort of answer came in the Telegraph paper, too. Not only to me (I am less than nobody), but to all the people (of which we were many) who thought he should not get involved in this type of debate:

This is not the first time he uses this specific talking point. Last time known to me was on the day the Queen died, on X (I looked for that post, but can't find it, because I am just a filthy lurker, like that: but it is there).

The really interesting question, therefore, is: does he/somebody monitor what is being said on Tumblr? The answer is, I think, yes, and it shows. Will it stop me talking in here? Nope, as I trust my discerning abilities, for the moment. Other than that, his damage control op does not bring anything new to the table.

Bond:

What can I say, Sir? While there's life, there's apparently hope. But that doesn't translate well, given the context of your interview. That spells desperate and it's not a great picture. Also, let us keep a pious moment of silence in fond memory of a 25 year old who had a dream and the dream went to Daniel Craig (who I detested as Bond, because every girl has her Bond and mine is Pierce Brosnan, amen).

I know people still speculate about it. I have very high reservations and I cannot, for the life of me, seriously consider even thinking about the possibility. He could do it with flying colors, no doubt. Does he stand a chance? I prefer to have zero expectations on it and be floored if it happens. If he naively still yearns/pushes for it, this interview could very well be as abysmal as C's VF tantrum.

'Private life':

Ugh. Slippery when wet. I have already touched the subject in a reactive re-blog of @samheughanswife's post about it and I will not get back to what I said even without reading the article.

Some more extraordinary wording, in here: 'there might even be space for a personal life' - begs the question 'when?' In general? (in general, all men are created equal, too - it's practice that kills the theory) Now? (it is my staunch belief the answer is yes). After OL? (then and now and after Hiroshima, too). Can you program these things? (nope, stars simply aligned) Heh. Enough said. Also, 'might' spells cheap insinuation to me. But that's just me, a blonde voice in the audience.

Now, onwards to the daughter thing. I believe this specifically addresses the cheap, abundant clickbait content on You Tube, hence the vague 'online' reference (not Tumblr, not fans, not blogs - he is not C, he kept it clean). Such as this very recent one (last 'clip' on the topic was five days ago):

The two I chose to share here, which are very conspicuous FAKES, are originating from the same 'source', an account that seems obsessed with S&C and has no problem changing its narrative three times a week, if needed. My opinion? PR induced shite, to prod numbers/interest and see what sticks.

No newborn daughter? I hear no lies.

As for OL leaving 'no time for relationships', ahem. *urv will be thrilled to read that, I bet the farm. As will Flukenzie Floozy, at least her - damn, she was persistent! Also, hello, back to 2014-2016 playbook, aren't we?

No new relationships? Whatever for, when IYKYK? I hear no lies.

'I want a cat' ('because she's great', says my shipper brain on autopilot), 'but I am too scared even for that'. Humph. A very poor lie. But admitting you wanted and got a Ca(i)t scares the bejesus out of you, since 2016. I hear no lies. Yes, I am being tongue in cheek and damn the consequences.

Morality of it?

The easiest solution is never to take personal questions in interviews or panels. Why These Two still do it completely mystifies me.

[thatshirleylee]

brennan's statement on instagram

I'm calling on my government officials to immediately demand a ceasefire and de-escalation in Gaza.

I applaud anyone and everyone calling for peace, with the understanding that real peace only exists if it deeply and honestly accounts for and fully ends violence in all its forms. Real peace addresses and corrects wrong-doing in the past and guards against it in the future. It goes hand in hand with justice and requires truth, restoration, reconciliation, reparation.

Peace cannot co-exist with collective punishment, ethnic cleansing and forced displacement. It cannot co-exist with blockades, embargoes, or with 2.2 million people, half of which are children, trapped with no hope of escape or political recourse. It cannot co-exist with murdered journalists, bombed hospitals, or years of protesters being shot and killed at the border. It cannot co-exist with illegal settlements segregated roads, and the silent, imperial chill that settles over the gaps in the yiolence - the unspoken geopolitical consensus that a group of people need to unflinchingly accept permanent subjugation and occupation.

My heart breaks for every Israeli person who lost loved ones during the attacks of October 7th. It breaks for every Ukrainian person who has lost their loved ones. It breaks for every Congolese person who has lost their loved ones. I do not speak on behalf of Palestinians now because some lives are worth more than others. I speak on their behalf because, as an American, my government is actively championing and financially funding their mass slaughter and forced displacement.I speak on their behalf because l, and all Americans, have a responsibility to pressure our government because we are responsible for this. Some have said that this situation is complicated. The United States government clearly disagrees. It has definitively, categorically, militarily chosen a side, and I do not agree with that decision.

In writing this, I have been wrestling with what I am sure many people like me wrestle with: There is a powerful narrative surrounding violence in the Middle East that asserts an ever-moving goalpost of self-education and study in order to even be qualified to have an opinion. As someone with a love of research, I have at times in my life fallen into the trap that I am not educated enough, clever enough or aware enough to have a worthwhile perspective, and that three more articles and two more lectures and one more book will do the trick. Unfortunately, democracy doesn't work that way - we, the citizens of any democracy, cannot possibly be experts on every aspect of the policies of our governments, and yet if we do not weigh in and make our voices heard, the entire experiment falls apart. Not only do people constantly doubt themselves and the things they can see with their own two eyes, but old shortcuts for political action can fall apart as well: This specific issue exists along a raw, charged and unique faultline in American politics. Nobody I grew up with has ever challenged me on my support for abortion rights, LGBT rights, Black Lives Matter, anti-capitalism, anti-fascism, none of it. The people in my country who would despise me for those positions are, for all intents and purposes, strangers to me. But there are people who l've broken bread with and shared honest affection with who will see the words l've written here and incorrectly conclude that I do not wish for the security, dignity and happiness of them and their loved ones, and that breaks my fucking heart. Full-throatedly condemning the actions of the Israeli government while battling rampant anti-semitism at home is an urgent moral necessity, and doing so is made unnecessarily challenging for the average person to navigate by the pointed obfuscations of cynical opportunists, bigots, and demagogues on all sides of the political spectrum who see some advantage in sowing that incredibly dangerous confusion.

So, I'm calling my representatives. I'm having hard conversations with friends and family. I'm here, talking to you. I should have done it sooner. If you're Israeli and hurt by this statement, know that I want freedom, dignity, security and peace for you, and that every ounce of my political awareness believes whole-heartedly that the actions of your government are not only destroying innocent lives, but doing so to the detriment of you and your loved ones' safety. If you're American and feel lost and confused - I understand and empathize. This, the whole country, only works when we get involved. I am constantly haunted by the specter that maybe I have missed some crucial piece of information on this, or any, important world event: I'Il just have to make my peace with that self-doubt and trust my gut by going with Jewish Voice for Peace, Amnesty International, the Geneva Conventions, the United Nations, etc. And if you're Palestinian and reading this: I unreservedly support your right to life, to freedom, to happiness and human flourishing, to full enfranchisement and equal rights, to opportunity, prosperity and abundance, to the restoration of stolen property and land, and to a Free Palestine.

[peterparkouryo]

a summer in new york¹ | ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

prompt; You and your parents spend the summer in New York. You make new friends (and enemies) during your time there. Also, yeah, you meet a boy.

warnings: fluff

word count: 1.3k

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ taglist

School is just another word for prison, you'd like to think so at least. It sounds bad, and that’s because it is. You hated the “educational” building you were required — no, forced to attend five days a week for ten months, mainly because the students were fake as shit and there was always drama. 

If there was an opportunity for a school to be based solely around a reality tv show, you're sure yours would be the first option and the perfect kind of scrutiny any kind of audience would tune into everyday.

The one and only good thing about school is the every once in a while breaks. Winter break was your favourite but the break that took the cake, had to be summer. Three months free of a draining, time consuming and stressful academy. Not only were you excited for this particular summer but you were a senior, a graduate so that meant no more high school for the rest of your life.

A truly humbling resonation.

"I should cut my hair, like a cute little bob." You hear your friend, Michelle blurt aloud as she scrolls through her phone, most likely on TikTok.

"It wouldn't make sense with your face shape." Your other friend, Cece points out from next to you. Michelle rolls her eyes and places her phone on the booth's table.

Michelle and Cece were your best friends, and only friends. You met Michelle through Cece when the three of you were in grade school and ever since then, you all were inseparable. All sounds very cheesy and silly, but that's quite literally how it is. Cece was more of a mother of the group, and you only gave her that role because when the two of you first met, she stuck up for you when a more privileged girl made fun of the fact you weren't as prosperous as her. Michelle was the more undeveloped of the group, only for one of a million reasons. She was fourteen. A freshmen, while both you and your other friend were well in your senior year.

But it didn't bother you at all, because at the end of the day your friendship was something special, a kind of bond that not many people would ever come close to understanding.

"What are we doing after graduation?" Cece looks at you as you take a bite of your very mature for your age chicken tender.

"College in august." You shrug.

Cece gives you a unamused look, before glancing at Michelle who laughs at your very vague answer.

Cece had the most beautiful dark skin, it was smooth and pristine. With the way she carried herself, anyone could mistaken her as a goddess on earth. She told you once before when she her and her mom took a family vacation to South Africa, that men there fall to their knees for women as beautiful as her, which you found weird because she was fifteen at the time, and you're sure the men who "fell to their knees" just for her, were probably — or more appropriately, way older. 

Michelle on the other hand, was a Bulgarian whose accent faded from time spent in America, her skin was tan and her hair was dark brown, like the kind of dark brown that reminds you of chocolate, with a hint of fading red since the girl loves to dye her hair. 

"I meant like during the summer, moron." 

You look over to Cece, before trailing your eyes to Michelle, your bottom lip retreats in between your teeth nervously.

The girls thankfully, don't catch onto your sudden febrile behaviour, but you knew at the end of the day, you were going to have to break their hearts with the news your parents shared earlier that day.

"I can't." You sigh and run a hand through your hair, looking down at your plate as you feel two pairs of eyes boring almost burning into your skin.

"You can't?"

"Why?"

You tilt your head up, your eyebrows raise, glancing in between your two best friends as they await your answer.

"Because, I'm going to New York for the summer." You look down at your acrylics, tapping the table with your index finger. Michelle snorts as Cece continues staring, silently, but you know that's just her odd way of processing news told to her.

"New York? Girl bye." Michelle laughs at your words, you give her a glare as she continues to find humour in your information.

"I'm serious, my parents got family down there or whatever." You argue.

Cece sighs in what could only be described as a defeat, disappointment and devastation. Michelle shakes her head and glares at you. "I wanna go." She pouts and you smile with a quite laugh, but you remember, she's a underdevelopment teenager.

"You can't, I said family vacation Michelle." You make sure to emphasis the word 'family' as your friend sticks up her middle finger.

"You said you had family down there," She retorts and you pick up a fry and throw it at her. "Same thing!" Michelle laughs as she dodges the fry, picking it up from the table and eating it, which you grimace at, your face morphing in disgust. Her gross behaviour wasn't anything new, but it still unsettled you whenever she did anything such.

Your other friend was oddly quiet, and it was fine, not bothering you most of the time, but when typically, Cece only grew quiet when she's fighting a difficult battle in her own head. A habit you and your younger friend tried to break her from many times, but to no avail.

"You okay Cee?" Your mouth falls into a fall frown, looking over your friend carefully, because the wrong kind of question could set her off.

She nods, but you're unconvinced, so you take the risk to push your concerns.

"You sure? You're scary when you're quiet."

"I just didn't think you would be leaving to a different state, for three months mind you." She shrugs as the waitress comes over to check on you three, and Michelle tells her you're all ready for the bill.

"I know, but we're literally going to the same college this fall, plus I'll FaceTime you both every single day, you'll get sick of it." You reassure her, taking a hold of her hand and giving her cheek a quick kiss.

Cece raises her eyebrow at your affection. The girl is no stranger to the behaviour. You often have a flirty friendship from time to time, so it's not an out of character thing for you to do. She sometimes enjoy it, but only if you're not wearing sticky lipstick or lip gloss. Her pinky raises to your other free hand, and you hold up yours as soon as you get the hint. Both your pinkies wrap around each other with a quiet promise.

"Can you two stop being lesbian and get the hell out the booth so we can go to the bookstore?" Michelle breaks your cute moment between you and your older friend as she puts on her jacket.

You and Cece laugh at her impatience, but you slide out of the booth as well as your friend, throwing on your jacket. You look down at the table once you do, your face in an obvious confusion, turning your gaze to your younger friend.

"Did you pay?"

Michelle nods with a smile.

Cece shares a look with you, but before you two could get a word out, the younger girl holds up her finger in defence.

"I literally just got my first paycheque, you should bow down to me for spoiling you girls." 

You shake your head at the invitation of worship. "Girl shut up, let's go." Cece rolls her eyes and walks past the both of you, exiting the diner as you two trail behind her towards your car, or more so, your parents’ vehicle.

You round towards the driver side, getting into the car, sitting in silence as you wait for your two better halves to settle in.

After a few seconds of two successful car slams, you start your car and pull out the parking lot of the diner, driving to the first red light. The older friend in the passenger seat turns on a shuffled playlist from her phone, the first song being a Beyoncé one you enjoy.

"Aliayah lives in New York, right?" Michelle quizzes from the back seat.

"Mhm." You nod at the mention of your other friend.

The light turns green after an eternity, and you press the gas, continuing your journey to the only bookstore in your godforsaken town.

taglist: @victoriousskylar @imawhoreforu

[hairstevington]

flowers and ink (part 1)

Eddie Munson x Steve Harrington

Summary: Steve and Robin work at a flower shop together. One day, the pair decides to get matching tattoos at the place across the street. You can probably guess who their artist turns out to be. (requested by @thereindeerlady)

part two, part three, part four part five part six part seven part eight final part link to Ao3

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: This is just cute fluff, nothing too serious, modern day AU, Tattoo Artist!Eddie, platonic soulmates Steve and Robin, also I threw Bob Newby into the mix because I love him

A/N: I'm wrapping up the semester and am finally tackling my request list! Thank you for reading! :)

Robin applied to Flowers for All because a really pretty girl worked there and Robin needed a reason to go in and talk to her. 

She was hired, then the pretty girl promptly quit. Also, she was straight and engaged to a man. That was a huge bummer.

Still, the job stuck, and since they were down an employee…

“No,” Steve said when she brought it up.

“Please?” Robin begged. “Come on, you hate your job and it’s been forever since we worked together. It would be just like old times and -”

“Robin, we never used to get anything done when we worked together. We were terrible employees.”

That was true, but it did not deter Robin from her master plan. 

“Okay, well so far the only other applicant is the seventeen year old son of the owner who thinks the shop is actually a marijuana dispensary, and there’s no way I’m gonna work with that little twerp -”

“He didn’t take himself from the running when he found out you just sell literal flowers?” Steve asked, amused.

“I think he’s going to set up his own business in the back, honestly,” Robin sighed. “Please, I promise I’ll do everything and you can just hang out and -”

“Okay,” Steve said. 

“Wait, what?” 

Robin wasn’t anticipating he’d agree to it so quickly.

“I said okay. Sure. Fine. Where’s the application?” Steve took his phone from his pocket to find the Flowers for All website. He clicked on the “apply now” button and scrolled through the questions. 

There were basically no requirements. He just had to put in his name (Steve), education (high school), and any experience he’d had with flowers (none), and then boom, submitted. 

He got an email the next day to come in for an interview. Robin was assigned to be the interviewer.

He got the job. 

-

Eddie started as an apprentice for Ink About It when he was fresh out of high school. It was run by this dorky middle-aged man named Bob, who didn’t have any tattoos and initially seemed mismatched for the profession. Still, Bob was supportive and kind, and he let Eddie grow and thrive in the tattoo shop. He also happened to be amazing at working with clients and was a decent artist. Go figure. 

“Hey, Eds?” Bob asked as he tapped his knuckles on the door. Eddie was on his break, snacking on some chips while watching YouTube on his phone. 

“Yeah?”

“I was thinking of inviting Joyce’s son here sometime so he could see the place. He’s this great artist, and I think he’d love to meet you and see how we work here.”

“How old is he?” Eddie asked, his eyes still fixed to the screen. 

“He’s seventeen. Just about to graduate high school, can you believe it?”

Eddie didn’t really pay attention when Bob talked about his family. He probably should have listened more, but the man was just so dorky. 

“Okay,” Eddie agreed. He didn’t really want some kid in the shop snooping around, but it wasn’t really his decision. 

“Okay, great,” Bob replied with a smile. When he didn’t leave the room, Eddie knew he had more to say. He shut his phone off and turned to face his boss. “You see, uh. Will’s been having some trouble lately. Bullies and all that. He just came out, you know? And he’s a great kid. He’s so great, and some people at school are just - well, they’re bullies.”

Eddie didn’t really know where Bob was going with this. 

“That sucks,” Eddie acknowledged. “I remember when I came out, people said all kinds of shit - I mean, uh, stuff. Sorry.”

“That’s kinda why I’m telling you about it,” Bob said, shifting his weight on his feet nervously. “I think Will could really use someone on his side right now. Someone who really understands, you know?”

Ah. Eddie got it now. 

“Someone who’s gay,” he deduced. Bob knew that Eddie was gay, and he never cared or said anything about it, which was great. While he didn’t really want to be some motivational story about overcoming adversity in a hetero-normative society, he knew that Bob didn’t ask for much, and talking to a struggling kid seemed easy enough. “Okay, yeah. I’ll talk to him, if you want.”

“Great,” Bob said, breaking out into a smile. “You’re gonna love him. He’s a huge fan of that Dungeons and Dragons game, just like you.”

“Shit, really?” Eddie replied. “I mean - shoot. Sorry.”

“I never told you to stop cursing in front of me, Eddie,” Bob chuckled. “I know I may seem naïve and innocent, but I got into all kinds of trouble in my youth. You’re free to be whoever you want to be here, as long as you’re nice.”

He was just so wholesome it hurt. Eddie imagined the trouble Bob was referring to being something along the lines of sneaking a beer into a movie theater. It would probably break his heart to know some of the things Eddie had gotten into before he’d started working at this place. Maybe Wayne already told him, and he had just never said anything. Eddie certainly wasn’t gonna bring it up. 

“Hey Bob,” Eddie said. “Why did you start this job in the first place? Aren’t you this huge tech wizard?” Bob smiled warmly.

“Sure was. Bob the Brain, they used to call me. I still love a good puzzle, but life takes you to all kinds of places you don’t expect to go.”

“Yeah, but that seems like a pretty big career change,” Eddie continued. 

“Well, did you know this building used to be a RadioShack?” Bob asked. Eddie shook his head. “It was, and I used to work there. After it closed down, some artists tried to make it a tattoo parlor, but had no idea where to start. I stepped in as manager and they did the tattooing. I rebranded it, changed the name, and have been running it ever since. The rest of the story you’ve been around for.”

Bob was a great guy and a wonderful manager. He motivated Eddie to get his life together, and things had really leveled out for him just by having a stable job he enjoyed.

After their conversation, Eddie’s break was over, so he went back to work. He continued a design for a client who’d come in wanting a quarter sleeve, and then at 4pm he was scheduled to tattoo a bird on a guy’s shoulder blade. 

Overall, it was a normal day.

-

Robin knew every single plant and flower in the shop. She knew their names, their seasons, how to take care of them, and what they meant. 

She just happened to be really bad at keeping track of watering schedules, and tended to kill anything she touched. 

“Maybe I should work at a pet store,” Robin sighed, discouraged that the gardenias that had just come in had already wilted.

“What? Robin, why would you do that to the poor animals?” Steve replied, horrified. 

“Shut up, Harrington,” she snapped back. “Animals can tell me when they’re hungry.”

She looked sad, and Steve hated when she looked sad. 

“Aww, Robbie,” he said, jumping off the counter to put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I can help. If you tell me what to do, I can do it.”

“Are you sure about that?” she asked. 

“Nope,” he responded confidently. “But they’re already dying, so it’s worth a shot, right?”

Steve actually turned out to be a natural at taking care of plants. He tended to be very good at looking after people, so it shouldn’t have been that surprising, but what was most shocking was how much he enjoyed it. Robin caught him talking to the flowers quite a bit. It was adorable. 

Ink About It was right across the street from Flowers for All. Steve and Robin stared at it every single shift through the front window. Neither of them remember who started the bit where they’d come up with weird matching tattoos they’d get with each other, but it became a staple every time they worked together. 

“Salt and pepper,” Robin greeted him as he walked in one day. 

“You’re pepper?”

“Obviously,” she responded with a smirk. They continued working, but it was a slow day. The ideas got progressively unhinged as the hours went by. 

“What about…” Robin wondered, her chin resting on her hand as she sat at the register. “You get my face and I get yours.” Steve chuckled. 

“Or we both get Harry Styles’ face.”

“Yes!” Robin’s face lit up as she laughed. “What about something flower themed?”

“Like what? A flower and a pot?” Steve proposed.

“Sure, you can be the pot,” she remarked. 

“What? Why am I the pot?”

“Because you smoke pot and I don’t,” she explained. Steve shook his head and scoffed. 

“Weak reason, Buckley, but fine. You’re the flower.” She smirked, pleased with herself, but then Steve added - “The flower is dead, though. For obvious reasons.”

“Steve!” She yelled, laughing. “Harsh, but fair.”

Their shift ended, but instead of going home, they went to the bar next door. They continued the bit until they were tipsy, and ended up arguing over who would be Bert and who would be Ernie. It got kind of heated. 

“Whatever!” Robin huffed, throwing her arms up. “It doesn’t matter, because you know I hate puppets. We’re not getting Bert and Ernie tattoos.”

“You’re acting like we’re actually going to do this,” Steve said as he sipped his beer. 

“I mean, if we find something we like, why not?”

“Why not?” Steve echoed. At first, he was going to give her all the reasons he could think of why they shouldn’t get tattoos together, but then he realized he didn’t have any reasons. “Uh, I guess you’re right. Okay, so no Bert and Ernie. What about Frog and Toad?”

“Are you just going through all the queer-coded best friends in children’s media, Steve?”

“Basically, yeah,” he replied, smirking. “Fuck, I’m Toad aren’t I?”

“I’m glad you said it and not me,” Robin replied. They sat in silence for a moment, coming to the same conclusion. 

“Uhh, so maybe that’s - Like, maybe that’s not such a bad idea,” Steve said. “Am I just buzzed, or -”

“No, I’m right there with you,” Robin responded. Of course she was, she always was. 

Before they knew it, they were stumbling towards Ink About It.

-

Eddie had just wrapped up his final appointment and was quietly working on other designs. Bob had left for the day, and sometimes Eddie stayed late just because it was a quiet place to be. 

It became less of a quiet place to work when two tipsy idiots stumbled in. 

“Hello!” The man greeted Eddie. “We would like tattoos, please!”

“Okay?” Eddie replied, confused. 

“He wants Toad and I want Frog. You know, from Frog and Toad are Friends?” The woman said. “Can you do that?” Eddie eyed them both and did his best to refrain from rolling his eyes.

“I can do whatever, pretty much,” Eddie replied. “Except, uh - I mean, do either of you have tattoos?” The pair shook their heads. “Do you know where you want them?”

“We didn’t get that far,” the man responded, prompting both of them to giggle.

“Right, okay,” Eddie said. “So, since you’ve clearly been drinking and this is your first tattoo, I’m gonna say it’s a no-go. Think about it, and come back tomorrow if you’re still interested.”

This kind of thing happened every so often, so Eddie was used to it. People never came back. They always came to their senses once they sobered up, and Eddie would never see them again. He figured it would be the same for these two. 

It wasn’t. They showed up again the next day. 

-

“We’ve thought about it!” The woman said as she walked into the shop. She dug into her bag and pulled out a picture. “This is what we want. Inside of the ankle.”

“Wow,” Eddie said as he looked at what they’d chosen, impressed. “I really didn’t expect you’d wanna go through with this.”

“Why wouldn’t we?” the man argued. “It’s an amazing idea.”

“Yeah,” the woman agreed. “And work’s been slow, and we’re bored, and this is not even close to the wildest thing we’ve done together.”

Eddie didn’t find spontaneous tattoos to be that wild in the first place. He was covered in them, and most of them were on-the-fly. Once you have a few, it gets easier and easier to add more. 

“Right,” Eddie said, wondering what the other wild things they’d done together were. He wondered if it was some sort of innuendo, like they were the kind of couple that secretly went to BDSM clubs or something like that. “Well, lucky for you, it's slow here today, too. Shall we?"

Eddie had them fill out paperwork while he got the stencil ready. He had adjusted their reference picture a little bit just to add his own flair, and after they approved it they were basically ready to go. It turned out their names were Steve and Robin. 

Eddie thought that Steve was kind of a stupid name, and didn’t match the pretty boy associated with it whatsoever. 

They didn’t even seem that nervous, which was baffling. Eddie figured there must be more to them than he had originally assumed. They were also a lot less annoying when they were sober. 

“So, who’s first?” Eddie asked, gesturing to the chair. 

“I’ll go,” Steve answered, raising his hand. Eddie put the stencil on his ankle and got final approval before they got started. 

“You ready?” Eddie asked, holding the tattoo needle in his hand. He waited for Steve to back out, but he nodded instead. “Okay. It’s gonna sting a little.”

“I have a pretty high pain tolerance,” Steve replied. Eddie tried to hide the smirk on his face. He’d heard that line before, many times. 

Eddie put the needle to the skin, and Steve didn’t so much as blink. Huh. Well, okay then.

Tattooing someone naturally involves a lack of personal space. It never bothered Eddie, because he tended to not think about personal space at any given moment, but some clients were a bit more hesitant than others. Ankle tats were thankfully not as intense as a rib or hip placements, but it did mean Eddie had to have a stranger’s foot close to his face, which wasn’t amazing. 

He wasn’t a foot guy. The man attached to the foot, however…

Eddie couldn’t help it. Steve was gorgeous. He also was charismatic, which was a quality that Eddie always appreciated and was attracted to. Steve chatted with Eddie during the whole 45 minutes he was being tattooed, and even made Eddie laugh a couple times.

Robin started to show her anxiety the moment it was her turn. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Steve reminded her. 

“Uh, of course I do!” she retorted. “This was my idea. You think I’m just going to let you have a loan toad on your ankle?” Steve and Eddie laughed. 

“I don’t mind. It came out pretty badass, thanks to Eddie.” Eddie smirked at the compliment. 

“If you can do it, I can do it. Come on, Eddie, let’s do this.”

She was shaking a little at first, so Steve pulled up a chair and held her hand. He asked her to start naming all the flowers they sold, and she did so rapidly. Eddie hadn’t heard of a lot of the plants she’d listed, and the list was unending. Ten minutes in, she eased into the process, and the rest went by without a hitch. 

Steve and Robin were really cute together. Eddie wasn't sure how long they'd been dating, but he wished them the best.

Steve left a sizable tip - like, an absurdly high tip - and then they were off. 

This time, Eddie was sure that would be the last he’d see of them. 

It wasn’t. 

(part 2)

__________________________

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[stromuprisahat]

Isn’t the status of Grisha much worse after TGT. How are the Righteous Gang claiming to be victors/heroes who made others lives better. From my pov, grisha are much worse off while the otkazatsya are in status quo. Also what was wrong with the grisha coming to LP to live. From the books, it seems that none of them had any connection to their parents/relatives. If so that can also mean that their family did not care enough to reach out to them after they left.

Or did the Darkling ban all communications.

I’m sure the Righteous Gang think that all the cons of their dumb decisions are in fact the Darklings fault. You know because he did this or he did that. They do bot think for a single moment that he was the only one doing anything for them. While the soldat sol (shouldn’t they have been doing some charity work in name of their Saint?) and all other grisha did not lift a single finger to elevate the position of grisha in Ravka through ANY means.

Ironically, the Gang's decision to abolish Grisha draft should serve to further alienate Ravkan commoners and destabilize Nikolai's reign.

"... His serfs will get a taste of money and education and start thinking about building lives and businesses of their own instead of praying for their master’s patronage. ... "

King of Scars- Chapter 11

Nikolai had abolished the practice of separating Grisha from their parents. There was no mandatory draft to pull children from their homes.

Rule of Wolves- Chapter 9

The fact they aren't able to offer protection to any Grisha in Ravka, therefore hardly to children scattered all over the country, AND there's no system of home education, therefore these children might either hurt someone by accident or suffer from wasting sickness, aside...

This should be a gigantic legal issue.

(Although there's plenty of questions regarding servitude in general.)

Pre-KoS Grisha automatically became serfs. Their families were compensated financially.

Let's say Grisha are no longer required to move to Little Palace, otherwise everything stays the same. Are there lists of Grisha serfs to keep track of them? And how do they serve? Why should a family that keeps the amount of pairs of working hands get any money? Does it mean that a family of free- albeit poor- peasants, suddenly include a child serf with obligations of their own? Do these "free-range" serfs get personal assignments? That sounds like a whole lot of extra bureaucracy.

The other option is much more disasterous. If Grisha are no longer serfs, there's no reason to pay their families. They should be recorded the same way other free Ravkans are, and these records don't seem to be particularly meticulous:

Another [Ravkan Grisha] had been hidden in a root cellar when the Grisha Examiners arrived to test her. “My mother told them I’d been killed by the fever that had swept through our village the previous spring,” the Tidemaker said. “The neighbors cut my hair and passed me off as their dead otkazat’sya son until I was old enough to leave.”

Siege and Storm- Chapter 7

A year here, a year there... who'll know if the missing Grisha moved away, died or got kidnapped? But don't worry, the worst is yet to come- otkazat'sya (serfs). Why are Grisha freed as soon as three of theirs start whispering their advices into young King's ear (One of them rumoured to be his mistress to boot!), while common Ravkans keep bending their backs under nobility's jeweled slippers!

This is a starving, war-torn country, through which a wave of pogroms swept only a few years back! The hatred won't disappear only because a dead Saint allegedly appointed three of Grisha to what exactly? Represent? Or rule in the puppet-King's stead?

Sure, Nikolai's (strange, innovatory) reforms lead to more food for the poor... BUT- serfs are still property of their owners, unlike Grisha. West was somehow forced to remain with the East- feeding them, losing money to them. Nobles lost some privilages and whoever's not a complete baffoon will figure out they're losing power. Church should be pissed, because their leader got deposed, religious cult with Crown-appointed head took over and Nikolai cut their incomes too! Anyone even slightly distrustful towards Grisha- and that means all through Ravkan social strata- has every reason to believe they are running the country, which no longer means one black boogeyman, but a Suli whore with the King-killer.

_____

Members of Second Army weren't discouraged from staying in touch with their families, quite contrary. To make it more... well, to make it more KoS-ish, we get some specific data from Zoya:

She’d written every week to her aunt and every week received a long, newsy letter back with drawings of chickens in the corners and tales of the interesting traders who came through Novokribirsk.

King of Scars- Chapter 25

Ivan doesn't mention his family in present time, but I'd like to imagine he used to visit his widowed, almost childless mother until she died of old age.

_____

The only reason all those barely adult Grisha are even theoretically allowed to be teenagers, is that they're safe enough, thanks to Aleksander's work.

He was thirteen, but he’d had a hundred names, a new one for every town, camp, and city ... He would have lived next door to a garbage gully if it meant a roof over his head, hot meals, waking up in the same room every morning without his heart hammering as he tried to remember where he was. ... Grisha living in camps and broken-down mines, hiding out in tunnels. ... No safe place. No haven. There will be, he promised in the darkness, new words written upon his heart. I will make one.

Demon in the Wood

If Grisha are faring better at the beginning of Shadow and Bone, it's his doing:

... though it was smaller than the Grand Palace, the “Little” Palace was still huge. It rose from the trees surrounding it like something carved from an enchanted forest, a cluster of dark wood walls and golden domes. As we drew closer, I saw that every inch of it was covered in intricate carvings of birds and flowers, twisting vines, and magical beasts. ... We passed door after door, until finally we reached a chamber where another uniformed maid stood waiting by an open doorway. Dimly, I registered a large room, heavy golden curtains, a fire burning in a beautifully tiled grate, but all I really cared about was the huge canopied bed. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat?” asked the woman.

Shadow and Bone- Chapter 5

While I can "excuse" some of the "heroes"- victim of otkazat'sya brainwashing institution, unloved privilaged kid with saviour complex, bigoted religious fanatics due to questionable parenting, universal punching bag... LB's new best girl's somehow coming out of it as the worst one.

Just the fact Zoya was saved by the very law she didn't mind abolishing, going from starving asset of her own mother to well-fed, respected soldier, who knows what do sable and silks look like... what a horrible life to lead! Such deterioration! If only the Darkling didn't bother trying, she'd be free to scrape along as she pleases!

Centuries worth of Aleksander's efforts are the reason Zoya gets to whine about her suicidal aunt instead of being maritally raped by some ancient creep, or outright dead after getting pregnant way too young.

[fireheartwraith]

I feel like I should explain ENEM, aka why the brazilians have been grieving since the date of the november 4th event was announced

ENEM stands for Exame Nacional do Ensino Médio (National High School Exam). It happens once a year since 1998, and, although at first it was just to gage how the education was on a national level, it soon became a gateway to university.

The test takes place on two days (that are now two consecutive sundays), from 13:30 to 19:00, and each day the student has to answer 90 questions. The first day is always human sciences and languages (Portuguese language and literature, foreign language (English or Spanish), history, geography, sociology, and philosophy) plus an essay. Nobody knows what the essay is about until the moment of the exam, so there’s always a lot of speculation. The theme is always about a social issue: last year's, for exemple, was "the challenges for the appreciation/respect of the traditional communities and peoples of Brazil", like the quilombolas and natives. The second day tests the students' knowledge on maths and exact sciences (biology, physics, and chemistry).

ENEM is famously a very "read-y" test. Every question requires a lot of reading comprehension, interpretation, and interdisciplinarity. Maybe the internet has done americans wrong, but the SAT's look so easy in comparison. We always make fun of them by saying Harvard it's not actually hard, it's just expensive.

Which brings me to my next point: college! The grade you get on the ENEM can get you into a university using three different programs

SISU: gets you into a public (and free) university (the best university in the country is public btw, University of São Paulo - USP)

PROUNI: gets you a scholarship in a private university (it can get you a 100% scholarship but you need a VERY good grade)

FIES: student loans

And, obviously, the better your grades, the better your chances. You are graded from 0 to 1000 in every subject and also get a general grade. So if you want to study physics, you don’t need to do great in literature, but you should still try to get a decent grade. The more competitive courses, like medicine (there's no such thing was pre-med), can get down to the decimals, especially in prestigious schools.

ENEM isn't the only test you can do to get into a university, though! Some schools have their own test. USP, for exemple, has the FUVEST, so you can get in through either test, but FUVEST is always paid and you can only do it in, like, three cities in São Paulo, while the ENEM happens countrywide, which is why it's so important. The tests are called "vestibular" and the people taking them are "vestibulando".

Therefore, most 3rd year high school students take the test. It's basically a rule to do it if you want to get into a university, but if you are not on your last year of high school, you have to pay to take it (my case). Some people have to go to another city to take the test, it's a whole thing.

This year, the first day of ENEM is happening on Sunday, November 5th. And QSMP's most important event so far is happening on Saturday night, November 4th. May the Lord have mercy on our souls

You can check out the "atrasados do enem" for some giggles though. It's the "event" that happens because some people always arrive after the gates close at 13:00 and then break down crying in the middle of the street. It got so famous people started hiring actors to pose as vestibulandos just to go viral.

Now you know a bit more about brazilian culture!

Here's a link to download last year's exam if you want: first day | second day

[yuurei20]

When Jade corners Kalim with his UM in book 4, Kalim admits he knows who's been mind controlling him, but promised long ago to never tell. Has this been brought up anywhere else yet or is Jamil's history with his own UM still a total mystery?

Oo this is a great catch! Thank you for the question!

We have yet to hear the origins of the majority of the cast's unique magics, and Jamil's is one that has yet to be explained!

He touches on its limitations in Book 6, comparing it to Jade's, but I think that is the most we have heard as of this post.

I believe the only unique-magic manifestations we have learned about, in detail (on EN), are Deuce, Epel, and Azul?

As all three characters were in desperate situations (life-threatening, for Epel), it raises a lot of questions about what exactly was happening to characters like Riddle, Leona and Floyd when they learned how to do what they do.

Whether or not the details in the novel can be considered canon to the game is a point for debate, but in the novels it is insinuated that unique magics can sometimes be something that mages decide for themselves (part of Leona's post-overblot-monologue covers his bitterness at the assumptions of those around him that King's Roar is an ability he fought to obtain when it wasn't, so that might be a common assumption about mages with unique magics, even if it's not true: that their power was a goal they set and achieved).

Riddle says (in the novel) that he learned Off With Your Head from studying, but it is not specified if he decided for himself what his unique magic would be and then made it happen, or if his UM manifested of its own accord during his rigorous education.

While we see Azul craft his own unique magic from scratch (which requires a magical artifact, and that introduces many questions), we don't technically know if he was consciously creating a unique magic or if he just wanted a spell, any spell, that would take people's talents away from them, and it ended up manifesting as his UM.

To return to the initial question: not only have we not heard very much detail about Jamil's magic, there is a lot of room for interpretation when we take everything above into account!

Did Snake Whisper appear on its own to help him to adapt to a situation he was in at the time? Was he studying magic in general and the ability was born of his efforts? Was it something he actively desired and pursued? Did he have it prior to NRC, like Riddle and Azul, did it manifest during his first year, like Deuce and Epel, was he born with it, like Leona and Idia, or was it a yet-unknown fourth pattern?

We do not even really have a timeline, as Jamil could have discovered Snake Whisper, used it on Kalim and made him promise not to reveal it anytime between when his magic first manifested pre-NRC and the middle of Book 2 (when Kalim nearly reveals it).

Delving into the origins of the various unique magics is certainly one direction that Book 7 might go in, and I hope we might learn more one day! :> (worst case scenario, maybe in the fourth novel?)