#dinnertime musings

[zafyrus-owo]

Sun in thr sky, soup in my pocket

Cradling my pizzabread like a baby

Life is good.

[daechwitatamic]

Of Ruin: Chapter 9 || KTH

(banner by @itaeewon)

Of Ruin (Masterpost)

Rating: NSFW - minors dni Genre: vampire!au magic!au royalty!au, s2l, slow burn, eventual smut, angst and fluff

Summary: Taehyung of House Rune, Prince of Infracticus has been cursed. You’re the human world’s leading curse-breaker. It should be simple. But unraveling the curse becomes the least of your problems in the face of a world on the brink of civil war… and the love you start to feel for the prince.

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @sailoryooons for betaing!!! 💕

//

Section Warnings: magical near-death experience, language, confrontation wc: 4.3k

Back in your rooms, you and Namjoon stand, each processing quietly and a bit lost in thought.

“You should try to get a little more sleep,” he finally suggests. “You need to be at your sharpest.”

You nod absently, but your mind is flying through everything you’d uncovered in the ritual.

“I need to write down what I found,” you say, but your eyes are closed and you feel yourself swaying a little. “Before I forget.”

“Sit down,” Namjoon instructs, moving to the table to find paper and a pen in the mess you’d left strewn there. “Tell me what you found and I’ll write it.”

You do as you’re told and then head to your room for a few hours to sleep, making sure to keep the lamp - which has been replaced already since your mishap this morning - lit as you do.

Not that light does anything to keep an Infracti away. But it helps your mind to not create monsters out of shadows.

You emerge hours later, a bit groggy but certainly steadier on your feet. Namjoon isn’t in the main rooms and his door is closed, so you leave him be.

You check the time - it’s late afternoon, the seconds ticking you closer to early evening - and settle onto a cushion near the papers you and Namjoon had been writing on.

You’re almost through writing a more organized document of what you’ve discerned since the beginning - the threads you’re absolutely certain of, the counters you think most likely to be fruitful - when Namjoon emerges from his room, eyes squinting against the light and one hand raking through messy bedhead.

“What time is it?” he mutters, making his way towards one of the couches.

You glance at the clock and realize that dinnertime has come and gone. “Late,” you say. “I forgot to eat. Are you hungry?”

You send for dinner and start to go over what you were working on while Namjoon slept.

“With the ritual done, I’m more confident that we’ve identified every thread,” you muse, eyes scanning the pages spread out before you. “So now it’s really a matter of finding the correct counters.”

“That’s a relief,” Namjoon says.

You run a finger down the page, looking for a note you’d made. “I was thinking about the end of life thing,” you tell him. “Weren’t you saying, back when we got here, that life and death magic can be used to weave other threads? Do you think the person who cast the curse used the end of life thread to… make it cleaner - simpler to cast?”

Namjoon doesn’t answer this right away, but keeps tapping his finger on the table, a sign that he’s thinking hard about this. 

“I don’t know,” he says finally, eyes still on the paper. “Definitely a possibility. So then, would they not have meant that they wanted him to die? Was that choice simply for casting purposes?”

It’s clear that Namjoon is simply thinking out loud, but you answer, “You’re the death magic expert. You tell me.”

He shakes his head. “There are dozens of other ways. It had to be deliberate.”

“Does it matter? In terms of the countercurse?”

He grimaces. “If they intended the end of life, we have to directly counter that. If it was chosen for casting only, we could work around it.”

He slides to the floor to sit opposite you, and you look together at the papers, and for a while you work like this - pointing at certain lines of text, jotting notes, crossing others out, drawing arrows connecting ideas - until the paper looks like a complete disaster. But it makes sense to the two of you, and that’s what matters.

You’re just about to wrap it up for the night when there’s a knock at the main door. Before you can rise, Satuel opens it and tells you, “The Prince would like a word.”

Prince Taehyung steps around her, and she retreats into the corridor, closing the door behind her. He looks drawn, troubled, but you’re struck - as usual - by his otherworldly beauty.

“I wanted to speak to the two of you,” he says quietly. He perches on the arm of the closest couch, long legs stretched out before him. “About what happened today.”

You and Namjoon exchange an uneasy look.

“My father sent a diplomatic team to the Scores,” he reports. “Their directive was to express that there was some sort of magical attack on the royal family, and to gauge the reaction. But it is not a direct accusation.”

You nod slowly, listening.

Prince Taehyung takes a deep breath and continues. “He also sent a team of spies,” he says carefully. “To see what they can uncover. The diplomats… their information may be useful, it may not. But if we are knocking on their front door to make inquiries, it will hopefully distract them from who is climbing through the window. So to speak.”

“Do you really think it was them?” you ask, hushed.

Prince Taehyung twists his mouth. “They do seem to be the most likely,” he admits. “But my personal feelings are more complicated. At any rate, I wanted to make sure you knew what was going on. An accusation was not made… but it would appear that they read it as one anyway. None of the families from the Scores attended our dinner tonight.”

You and Namjoon look at him in silence. You’re not sure you’re understanding - is it such a big deal that a few families didn’t show up for dinner?

“Invited guests haven’t just not shown without at least communicating in… my entire life, so over six hundred years,” Prince Taehyung clarifies.

“Oh,” you utter, feeling your stomach sink a little. “That’s… pretty bad, right?”

Suddenly the prince’s grim demeanor makes sense.

“It’s certainly a sign of trouble brewing,” the prince admits. “I wanted to let you know just… I don’t want you to be more frightened, and I promise you’re safe in these rooms… but you should know what’s going on.”

You take this in silently, glancing sideways at Namjoon. He looks just how you feel - nervous, on edge, but trying to keep a blank face in front of the prince.

“I’m sorry,” Prince Taehyung says emphatically, and you turn back to him. “I know you were already uneasy here. I don’t want to make it worse. But I felt very strongly that you should be kept informed.”

“No, I appreciate it,” you assure him. "We’ll be… even more careful. I guess this means no more trips to visit Potato?”

He smiles at this, a bit wryly. “I’m afraid not. At least for a few days. Let’s see how this shakes out. Maybe they’ll let tonight’s insult speak for itself, and we can all move on.”

“You don’t sound very optimistic about that possibility,” Namjoon remarks.

Prince Taehyung shrugs. “I wasn’t alive for any of the wars for power,” he admits. “But my parents, and those older than them - they remember. Thousands of years of bitter fighting, all for the throne.”

He sighs. “It was foolish of us, I’m sure, to think this peace would last - that one little pebble wouldn’t send the whole pile toppling. But it isn’t your problem. Where do we stand with the curse, after this morning’s ritual?”

You hurry to fill him in - that you’re feeling more confident that everything has been identified, and that your task now is to determine all the proper counters.

“How soon do you think you could make a reasonable attempt?” he asks, seeming to grasp without being told that the countercurses will come through trial and error.

You look down at your papers, as if they might provide an answer to this. It stings a little, that he’s hurrying you along. But you know how ridiculous it is for you to feel that way - of course he wants you to hurry. He wants the curse to end, he wants his life back, he wants to send you home to safety as tensions rise between the Infracti families.

“A day or two?” you guess finally.

Prince Taehyung nods. “Very well. I’ll be quite busy tomorrow, but I’ll make sure to check in.”

He wishes you both goodnight and departs through the main door, leaving you and Namjoon in tense silence.

“We do need to hurry,” he says quietly after a minute or two. “I have a feeling things are only going to get worse, here.”

“We can’t rush the process,” you argue, though at the heart of the issue you know you agree. “Sloppy magic equals death.”

“I’m not suggesting we do it sloppily,” Namjoon clarifies slowly, as if he is speaking a second language to you and needs to mentally translate each word first. And, in a way, that might be exactly what’s happening. “I’m not saying we have to be ready to go tomorrow. But things are becoming less safe, and that’s me saying that - not the team member who currently can’t sleep with the lights off.”

You feel your face heat. He’s right - of course he’s right. Things weren’t safe to begin with.

“I’m just saying that we need to keep trying to make forward progress,” he says seriously. “We can’t just spin our wheels.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, still embarrassed. “So… come on. Let’s figure out what we’ll try first.”

You settle back at the table, grabbing a pen, refusing to look up at Namjoon, who still watches you from where he’s standing. Eventually he joins you, and you work until near midnight, not stopping until you have three potential countercurses to try.

And then, when Namjoon disappears into his rooms, you slink into your own and practice defensive spells until you’re tired enough to curl up and try for sleep.

—

When you wake, late morning, you ask Satuel to inform the prince that you have countercurses you’re willing to try.

She comes back with your breakfast and news.

“The royal family will allow you to conduct an attempt at a countercurse in about an hour,” she tells you. “I’ll escort you when it’s time. They’re a bit wrapped up right now.”

You latch onto this, looking at her sharply. You don’t expect her to divulge anything, and you’re surprised when she glances over her shoulder and then lowers her voice as she sets down your breakfast tray.

“The Scores’ diplomatic team returned early this morning with a message,” she whispers. “Essentially, publicly objecting to any implication that they would, or did, orchestrate any kind of attack against the Runes.”

“Of course they object,” you say, reaching for the pot of coffee before she’s even placed the tray down. “Why would they admit it, even if it was them? They aren’t that stupid.”

“Maybe they are,” she mutters, voice even quieter. You strain to hear her. “They also made a public statement against the King.”

You sit back, coffee pot forgotten, looking at her with wide eyes. “They what?”

She nods, her own black eyes wide like yours. It seems this news has rattled her - something that’s shocking to see.

“What kind of statement?” you ask.

She glances towards the door again, and then smiles sheepishly when she notices you clocking this. “It isn’t a secret,” she explains. “I just don’t want to be misunderstood as gossiping. You are living here, for now. This affects you, too.”

She takes a deep breath and tells you, “The Scores, backed by the Cleaves and two other powerful families, have sent a joint statement accusing the crown of conspiracy, corruption, and the unlawful murder of humans.”

Your blood runs cold, and you press your palms to the tabletop to ground yourself. “Could… Do you think there’s truth to it?”

Satuel presses her lips together. “I am loyal to the crown,” she says, which is not an answer at all.

Or maybe it is.

You’re thinking, suddenly, of those videos your students had been watching back home, how they had been explaining a newsroom theory that there were orchestrated attacks happening.

You’re thinking of Prince Taehyung telling you his family had covered up his murders, wiped memories and erased entire lives from the world’s history.

You’re thinking that such accusations could not possibly be lightly made.

You’re thinking of Namjoon, back in Dr. Kim’s office on campus, saying the words Infracti Civil War.

Your skin crawls.

Satuel seems to understand.

“You’re safe as long as you’re in your rooms,” she promises. “As long as you’re with me, or Dansoo, or the prince - you’re safe.”

You note that she doesn’t list the King or Queen.

An hour later, you and Namjoon follow her through the palace, with Dansoo bringing up the rear. They take you back to the room where you’d tried the first cure, less than a week ago, when Prince Taehyung had been very nearly knocked out.

It feels different this time. You feel the weight of expectation as the King and Queen watch you impassively. You’re sure they’re remembering the last attempt - their son’s legs giving out, your own meager attempts to explain why it hadn’t been a complete failure.

That’s fine - you don’t care if they trust you. You don’t trust them - you barely did to begin with, and that sliver has only gotten smaller and smaller in the time you’ve been here.

The last time you’d tried a countercurse, you’d known that the chances were very slim that it would work - the best you’d been hoping for had been more information.

This time, it could work. It could.

Prince Taehyung faces you, frowning slightly.

“It won’t hurt you this time,” you promise him quietly, and a corner of his mouth quirks, amused at being read correctly.

Do you trust him? The question pops into your head unbidden.

You flatten your hands over the paper in front of you, scanning the list of incantations meant to call forth his magic, his healing, his life and twist them into a weapon. You double-check that each thread is accounted for. You repeat the trickier phrases, letting your tongue get accustomed to them.

You watch the prince shift nervously, still frowning slightly, his hands defensively shoved into his pockets. When he notices you still watching him, he gives a tiny, sheepish smile, something almost shy in it.

Yeah, you think. Maybe it will be your undoing, maybe it will be your downfall. But you do.

You wish you could talk to him before this - alone, without the audience of his parents and Namjoon. You want to ask him about the Scores, you want to reassure him that he’s going to be okay.

“Are you ready, Maiesti?” you ask gently, doing your best to pretend it’s only you and him.

He licks his lips nervously and nods, stepping closer.

You glance at Namjoon, suddenly nervous, and he gives you a reassuring nod. You ignore the King and Queen, wishing they weren’t there at all.

“Okay,” you whisper, holding up a hand. Taehyung presses his palm to yours, cool and solid. “Okay, let’s go.”

You begin the series of spells a bit unsteadily, your voice small and nervous. But it takes less than two minutes for your magic to rise up, filling you with warmth and purpose and confidence. You continue, emboldened.

You feel your magic touch Taehyung’s, a bit hesitantly at first, and then entwining itself easily and happily, as if they fit perfectly together and only needed to settle in.

You continue chanting, eyes scanning the words slowly so you don’t mess up. You can feel it working, can feel the curse resisting - but your choices seem to be correct, and you can feel the curse unraveling, weakening, thread by thread as the countercurse peels them away.

You feel a thrill within you as you recognize success, and you struggle to remain calm, lest you slip on a word and let it all go to waste. Taehyung’s hand twitches against yours, and you wonder if he can feel it too - the curse loosening its grip, bit by bit. You want to watch his face, want to watch him realize it, want to see him the second he’s set free.

You want to smile at him, victorious, proud, so happy to give him what he needs.

You cannot take your eyes off the paper. You cannot miss a syllable.

Something tugs low in your stomach, and the thrill vanishes faster than light. You continue speaking, following the words on the page, but you feel your eyes widen.

The tug comes again.

The curse is fighting back. The unraveling you could feel suddenly feels stuck, snagged. Something isn’t right. Something isn’t right.

You’ve made a mistake, you’ve missed something.

You hear your voice catch and freeze as your limbs go rigid. The curse crawls into your magic, digs its claws in. You cry out in pain, eyes squeezing shut.

You think you hear someone call your name - you can’t tell. You’re trying to unravel your magic from Taehyung’s, to get distance between yourself and the curse, to wiggle free from those claws of ill-intent.

You can’t seem to. You can feel it taking over and you try to force your eyes open, to ask for help, but you can’t see anymore - the room is black, and all you hear now is the roar of static in your ears.

You feel the room shift, a pain in your shoulder. You may have fallen - you can’t see so you can’t be sure. You gasp for breath, but you’re finding it harder. You’re not sure it’s working, you can’t tell if you’re inhaling, you can’t feel the exhale.

Then, the pain stops, the panic stops, the static goes quiet.

You can’t feel anything anymore, good nor bad.

All you can hear is crashing ocean waves, the wild whinnies of amarisca as they gallop into the sea.

—

Taehyung sits at your bedside - the side of his bed, technically - your fragile, mortal hand in his.

Mostly, you seem to be sleeping peacefully, and Taehyung tries to have faith in his own healing abilities, in Namjoon’s promises that he’d severed the magical connection in time. But every now and then your body shudders, as if working hard to expel a poison, and it makes Taehyung’s chest clench every time. He hunches over, smoothing back your hair, listening to your heart thump faster and then quiet again as your body stills.

All he can do is listen to your heart.

–

It was a year ago, when he’d found everything out. He’d been nauseous, damn near dizzy from the knowledge: his own father, orchestrating attacks on the human world. Covering the tracks. Framing other families.

How many innocent lives had he allowed to be lost? Knowingly - purposely?

The better question was why. And Taehyung hated unanswered questions.

He’d found his father in his wing, luckily alone.

King Sunjae had raised his brows, surprised to see his son, unannounced.

“What brings you here?” he’d asked.

Taehyung had felt hollow, heavy. This truth was too terrible to bear. He didn’t want to lay this accusation at his father’s feet. He didn’t want to argue against denials. He didn’t want to demand answers, reasons.

He wanted to be able to turn back time, to never let this happen at all. He wanted to sleep comfortably at night knowing his own negligence wasn’t to blame, that his inattention hadn’t let this come to pass without his knowledge, for who knows how long.

He couldn’t make himself speak, couldn’t force the words off of his tongue. In the time he was silent, the King seemed to piece it together, his expression darkening.

“Don’t make trouble, Taehyung,” he’d warned.

Taehyung had closed his eyes, shook his head. He’d wondered if ghosts were real, if his father could be haunted by the humans he had lowered into prey.

“I want to know the reason,” he’d finally said, his voice effectless.

His father had seemed thrown off that Taehyung had bygone any actual accusation. It wasn’t necessary, Taehyung thought. They both knew what they knew.

The King laughed once, sardonically. “You’ve always been innocent,” he’d scoffed. “That’s why I never involved you in this. Go back to your rooms, Taehyung, go back to playing piano and riding amarisca and whatever else it is you concern yourself with. I’ll handle the matters of state, as I always have.”

Taehyung swallowed against the assaulting words, the weight of their truth. He shook his head. “I need to know the reason.”

The King was silent for a long time. Then, finally, he turned away from his son, pacing closer to the window, which overlooked much of the valley below.

“For us,” he’d answered, and Taehyung had stared at his back, trying desperately to understand. “For the throne.”

“That’s bullshit,” Taehyung had said, nearly gagging over the word, stomach twisting with disgust and regret and horror and devastation. “Our power is not in danger. Our throne is not in danger.”

“You’re naive. It’s not your fault - you’re young. You weren’t alive for the wars - thousands of years of war, Taehyung, the crown bouncing from Cleave, to Score, to Rune, around and around - but I was. They were bloody, they were unending. Humans died for our wars as much as Infracti. The throne is always in danger, my son. It will always be in danger.”

“How can you think that?” Taehyung demanded hotly. “The law is written entirely in our favor - the crown stays in our bloodline. There’s no wiggle room, there’s no loophole. And our bloodline is fine.”

“Is it?” the King retorted. “After me, the crown is yours. Then, what? You’re over six hundred years old, Taehyung, and you’ve never brought forth a serious consideration for your queen.”

“Is that what this is about?” Taehyung had cried, even more aghast than he’d started. “I’ll marry - is that what you want? I’ll marry tomorrow if it means you’ll stop.”

The King had scoffed again, finally turning to face him, his expression radiating disappointment. Well, Taehyung was no stranger to that - not after six hundred years. “You aren’t serious.”

“I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” Taehyung had said, and meant every word. He’d beg if he had to beg, he’d cheat if he had to cheat, he’d marry if he had to marry - anything to stop his father. “It has to stop. This can’t be what we stand for. You can end it, or I will end it - and I don’t care how that happens.”

“Quit talking nonsense,” the King had snapped, eyes narrowed.

“I mean every word,” Taehyung had said, his undead heart galloping in his chest. “Our people were once only animals. Time and time again through history we have wavered, flirting with becoming simply the animal again. You want to secure the Runes’ hold on the throne? I want to secure the Runes’ humanity. If you need me to marry, I’ll marry. You have to stop this. Swear it.”

The King had looked at him for a long time, appraising, evaluating. Finally, very seriously he said, “If you’ll start looking for a wife - seriously looking - then I’ll put a stop to it today. But I have to see you trying.”

Taehyung had spent the next year courting the girls his father picked out. He’d meant his promise, but none of them touched him, none of them spoke to his soul.

Then you had shown up - braver than anyone he’d ever meant, so powerful it was scary, humble, and mouthy, and foolish, and alive - and when his father had suggested he keep you around… he hadn’t hated the idea.

He could see you as queen. He could see you by his side.

He just had to keep you alive long enough to see how you’d feel about the idea.

It was proving to be harder than he’d thought.

—

You come back bit by bit.

You can feel again first. Your shoulder throbs, and your head is splitting. You feel unbearable thirst, like you haven’t had water in days.

You feel someone’s hand clutching yours, feel their grasp tighten when you wiggle your fingers in theirs.

Then, you can hear again - the ocean waves are still breaking, distantly. The murmur of low, familiar voices. You hear someone say your name, deep and sweet, like your own little song.

Then, not much later, your sight returns - blurry, coming into focus as you blink against the sudden brightness.

At first, all you can see is purple sky. You turn your head to see your hand resting on top of the heavy comforter.

It occurs to you that this is not your bed. It is large, comfortable, facing a wall of windows - this is how you could see so much sky.

The hand holding yours retreats, and you follow the movement as you flex your now-empty fingers.

Prince Taehyung peers at you, face drawn. There is no one else in the room with you.

For a moment, just for a second, you feel like you are looking at each other simply person to person - your roles, your duties, your prejudices, your wants and needs, your fears… all the things that you each carry every time you spend time together, they seem to be held at bay. Just for now.

“Is it true?” you ask him. You’re not sure why this is the question you ask. “Is any of it true?”

His eyes - humanlike, as always, although it is a lie - stay on yours as he slowly nods. “Yes,” he whispers. “But don’t worry. I’ve been trying to fix it since before you came. I’m going to make it better.”

You’d said almost the same words to him, about his curse.

He takes your hand again, and you inhale sharply.

He lets out a huff of a quiet laugh. “I really thought we’d lost you,” he murmurs. Then, he brings your hand to his mouth and presses his lips gently to the back of your hand.

For one terrifying, lightning-quick second, you thought he was going to bite you.

This is your last thought before things go dark once again.

<;- Prev | Next ->

thanks so much for reading!!! the next few chapters are among my faves :') looking forward to posting!

[checkmatehq]

DECEMBER 4TH, 2016. THE TIME IS 09.00PM.

Jung Yoojin taps a spoon on her champagne flute and stands. She doesn’t know it yet, but this will be the first and last time that she’ll get a taste of what it feels like to be The Queen. Still, she savors every moment as she smiles plainly at her subjects. Anyone halfway sober can see the devious intent behind her eyes.

“Well,” she says to the assembled party, “now that you’re all drunk enough, I think it’s about time I reveal why I’ve gathered you here for my ritual.”

There’s a buoy about 100 meters from the shore, and the challenge is for her and her fellow initiates to swim there and back. Sounds simple, no? Even the slowest swimmer shouldn’t take more than ten minutes to get there and back — even if they have to do it in their underwear in a lake that’s threatening to freeze over. But Yoojin, ever the brilliant tactician, had planned for this. She’d afforded them a luxurious meal and free-flowing champagne, lulling them into a sense of complacency while she herself had been sipping on grape juice on an empty stomach. Everyone with half a brain knows that drunkenness and a full stomach pairs terribly with swimming — she, for one, hopes it’s enough to slow down the bulk of her competition.

“Hope you guys aren’t too full or too drunk,” she repeats, grinning brightly, “because we need to be at the lake by half past ten — sharp — so if you get there even a minute later, you automatically forfeit the ritual.”

the following is a timeline of events on DECEMBER 4TH, the day of noh hyungseo’s death. these events have taken place at the club alumni-owned 5-star midas resort approximately 1km away from cheongpyeong lake. all initiates and chessmasters are instructed to arrive by 5pm latest. more information regarding jung yoojin’s designed ritual is scheduled to be released at dinnertime.

12.00PM  the first member arrives. 04.30PM  noh hyungseo and his accomplices, KIM SEUNGHAN ( @5threquiem ) and CHOI HAJOON ( @ofkaan ), decide to play a prank while waiting for the next order of business. the trio obtain BYUN INTAE ( @cntrlaltdel )’s key card from the concierge and break into their unattended room. they steal BYUN INTAE’s belongings and discard them in cheongpyeong lake. BYUN INTAE finds out about this when it is too late. 06.00PM  the last member arrives. 07.00PM  dinner and drinks are served at the resort’s private function room. 09.00PM  jung yoojin announces details regarding the rituals (stipulated above). 09.30PM  HONG JEONGWON ( @furchterlich ) and YOON NAEON ( @grazedbullets ) conspire to sabotage noh hyungseo’s performance in the upcoming ritual. the two purchase laxatives from a nearby pharmacy and slip this into his drink. 10.00PM  all club members make their way to the east bank of cheongpyeong lake for the ritual.

EVENT DETAILS  welcome to checkmate’s first event! this event is set on december 4th, 2016, the day of noh hyungseo’s death. it features a ritual designed by Qe1's queen initiate, jung yoojin. you can read more about her in the events page! when participating in this event, please only explore events leading up to the ritual — we advise you not to explore anything past arriving at the east bank of cheongpyeong lake at approximately 10.30pm.

OOC INFO this is a two-part event — this first part is set in 2016. please tag all posts pertaining to this event with #cm:sink. the second part of this event will be set in 2024 and is scheduled to be released on 21 july, 8pm pst. please keep your askbox open with the anonymous function turned on in preparation for the second part of this event! all event starters may be posted up until 4 august, 8pm pst and should be wrapped up by 18 august, 8pm pst. participation is optional, though it is understood that your muses would have been present at this event regardless. admin care tip! to avoid overwhelming yourselves, we suggest capping the number of threads you intend to write for each part! if you would like to participate but prefer not to thread, we suggest releasing a list of headcanons detailing how your muse has navigated this event! a list of 5+ headcanons will count as 1 thread activity and can only be claimed twice in this event: once for the first part in 2016, and another for the second part in 2024.

SIGN UPS  character sign ups are available for members A, B, C, D, and E as detailed in the event schedule. if you would like to claim a role, please comment your choice under this post. each role can only be occupied by one character and will be filled on a first come, first serve basis. reasons behind their actions are entirely up to you to decide.

thank you for your interest and we hope you enjoy part one of our first event! if you have any questions or concerns, we are happy to receive them through the askbox or dms!

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

tags: ghost!gojo x f!reader, post manga, alternative au where the worst but not the worst happens, reader has a slight fear of cats, reader is an art therapist for satoru's nephew, loosley inspired by "would that I" by hozier <3 a/n: this is untitled, but if people like it, I'd love to write another piece. I've had this idea for several weeks now, so I'm glad to have written something out of it. this piece is just self-indulgent and it feels like a prologue to something if that makes sense. part 2

You don't think you've ever known peace like this, the cool fall breeze causing your hair to gently brush over your shoulders while the leaves rustle, from a distance, the wind chimes ring with no rush, no sense of time seemingly passes in the air.

"you should probably head inside Hotaru, it's cold," you sweetly tell the five-year-old in front of you, adjusting his hat so that his ears are covered from the breeze. it was nearly 6, dinnertime, and your tutoring hours with the gojo clan member were now over.

his nanny watches you from the distance as she holds the door, opening it slightly so that the boy knows his time with you is over, but you can't help but to feel thankful she has given you an extra moment with the boy.

"why don't wanna eat with us?" he asks, and the pout on his lips is nearly enough to break your heart.

"I'm sorry, sweetie," you cup his cheek, "but only your family gets to eat dinner. I have my own home to get to too, but I promise when I come back we can have that picnic I promised you, yes?"

"only if you promise to bring your teddy with mine," he sniffles, and you want to smile at his negotiation skills, but the sniffles he makes reminds you once again how sensitive the boy was to the cold.

"alright, fine," you give him a warm smile, ushering him to walk towards the door that stands several feet away. "go, your nanny is waiting for you." and he nods, a small smile planted on his lips before his lips touch your cheek, his rosy, red nose coldly touches your cheek, prompting you to smile.

"bye bye, miss honey," he says, a name he's grown fond of calling you.

"bye bye, sunshine." a name you've warmed to call the child.

the boy then hurries off to his nanny, he excitedly pulls a leaf from the inside of his sweater, and you smile, remembering how you told him it was possible to trace a leaf (just like his hand in the shape of a turkey), and with excitement, the boy disappears into the house, following his nanny.

no more than 3 minutes pass before the woman, whom you guess is in her early 50's, approaches you. her grey hairs begin to reach the tips of her ears, and the wrinkles around her eyes adjust as she smiles, carrying a mug. you wonder if you'll be lucky to have wrinkles like that one day.

"he seemed excited," she muses, sitting next to you, handing you the mug.

"thank you,''

"he says you taught him how to draw a turkey using his hand. I've never seen a boy that excited since-"

"...since?" you politley whisper, catching her pause.

"nevermind," she smiles at you. "he just reminds me of a boy I used to babysit years ago, his uncle."

"oh,"

she nods, "you're welcome to stay here for the night if you'd like. I hear it might rain,"

"it's only a 50% chance, so I think I'll be fine." you chuckle nervously, "but thank you. can I... can I stay here? just for a few more minutes?"

hotaru's nanny looks beyond the garden, a nearby tree that you would always read under with hotaru tucked to your side makes her smile weakly. "of course, she says, take your time. let me know if you'll be staying with us for the night, it's never too late if you do." and in a moment, she gracefully bids you goodbye before heading in, leaving you alone in the garden.

you sigh, taking in a sip of the warm chamomile tea she brought you. the gojo clan was always a mystery to you, but working here for nearly 5 months definitely confirmed that the gojo's were always hiding something. it was just that you weren't a curse user, just a girl with above average matrilineal intuition.

there was always something special about hotaru, you realized instantly after meeting him that he carried a certain 'aura' to him. you tried to justify if with the fact that his family concealed his exposure to the world, but when hotaru would murmur soft words as he colored, or drew a picture of a man with white hair holding his hand (both smiling), you asked him who is that?

's my uncle, the boy told you, he comes visit me when no one's around.

there. that seemed to be the missing piece all along. not the fact that hotaru's mother was too sick to see her son, or the fact that his dad was always out for meetings, it was that the boy was connected to a family member that long passed.

so you let it go, not making a big deal out of it even though your brain itched to know more. does he see him? what does he tell him? is he safe? you wondered to yourself that day, but you would later find out that yes, he does see him and yes, he is safe. the boy does as much to tell you nearly everything he knows, and for that you are grateful to have his trust.

"my uncle says I should play with other kids, instead," he tells you one day, "papa says no, but I tell (uncle) that I have you,"

"oh, and what does he say?"

"nothing," the boy answers simply.

"does he... what does he think of me?"

"he just says to do a good job around you. says coloring is fun,''

you hum, nodding in thought. for the last month, hotaru was slightly more distracted. although he was doing a tremendous job in your art sessions, as his art therapist you couldn't help but wonder if his occasional absent mindedness had anything to do with the presence of his uncle.

but tonight, everything felt different.

"I can feel you're around," you say, loud enough for the trees to hear, but quiet enough to not cause any commotion. "you've been watching us for some time, and I know it." setting your cup of tea down, you focus your gaze on the tree, as if something were there. but that didn't feel quite right. something in the energy was not quite right.

to your left, you suddenly jump from your seat as a white cat passes by your feet, and you nearly shriek, startled. you weren't exactly fond of cats, but you didn't despise them. if you could always avoid them, you would, but being around them slightly made you self-conscious as you were scratched by one when you were younger, forming a mistrust around them.

with a slight huff and nod to yourself, you call it a night, standing up and leaving behind the mug of tea. from a distance, satoru watches as you make your way past the gates of the garden and he half snickers, half watches you in interest before the white cat slowly circles him. "aw, you scared her, didn't you mochi?"

the cat meows lazily, moments before yawning and taking a seat next to satoru who watches you from the same tree he also sat in when you read to hotaru.

[starsreminisce]

Lucien Week

Day Five: Family

Lucien calculated, his mind wandering through an intricate web of possibilities, outcomes, and ideas. Yet, beneath it all, he couldn't shake the nagging feeling that Eris would forever remain one step ahead of him, always armed with a countermove.

Lucien had earned his reputation as the fox, a title partly attributed to his reluctant admiration for his older brother. Eris might not possess the natural charm and charisma, but his cleverness and deceitful tactics were unmatched.

Eris maintained an arm's length between them, which was closer than Lucien's other brothers ever got, but there was something about Eris that drew Lucien in. He recalled his childhood, sobbing through scoldings from their father, while his mother whispered, "Watch your eldest brother," as she covertly wiped away his tears.

Lucien learned to observe and study the way Eris spoke and schemed. He couldn't quite adopt Eris's detached and aloof demeanor, but his naturally sunny disposition made it easier to hide his deception. Eris played a pivotal role, taking the place of his mother in drying his tears and replacing her soothing words with harsh truths.

"You and I are not like the others," Eris would confide in him. "We'll change this court together."

Lucien looked up to his older brother, knowing that Eris was different. Eris, at least, had no desire to eliminate him from the competition for the High Lord seat, understanding that Lucien had no ambitions in that direction. Eris took Lucien's interests at face value.

The betrayal Lucien felt when he asked for Eris's help to leave the Court and start a new life with Jesminda, only to see her die, ran deep. So deep that he loathed Eris more than any of his other brothers. At least the others were straightforward about their feelings toward him; there was no need to second-guess their intentions.

No matter how hard Lucien tried, he could never quite catch up to his cunning brother. This new scheme of Eris's seemed grandiose, leaving Lucien unsure if he could pull it off and wondering how impressed he'd be if Eris succeeded.

Lucien's mechanical eye clicked, signaling that they were being observed despite promises of privacy.

"I still need time to think about it," Lucien finally responded to Eris.

Eris sighed and turned to the side, revealing a long, neatly wrapped package next to him.

"A token of sincerity," Eris said. "I meant what I said."

"Give my regards to mother," Lucien replied, adopting Eris's detached drawl to mask his curiosity.

Eris turned to leave, opening the door to find Vassa, Jurian, Cassian, and Nesta pretending to loiter nearby.

"You're not staying for dinner?" Vassa asked, their pretense almost comical.

"I will not," Eris declared.

Elain's voice echoed from the hallway, "What's so important that you all are crowded there?"

She appeared by the doorframe, looking surprised to see Eris. Her expression turned even more bewildered when she spotted Lucien inside.

"I thought you weren't planning to come back till tomorrow," Elain said, narrowing her eyes at Lucien.

"You have me to blame for that, Lady Elain," Eris said, slipping into his courtier persona. "You look beautiful as always."

Eris turned once more to Lucien's stony expression and mentioned, "Cillian says hello."

Lucien's grip on the package tightened, revealing his displeasure. Nevertheless, he managed to respond with a curt, "Tell him I say hello too."

It wasn't until the front door slammed shut that someone finally inquired, "Who's Cillian?"

Lucien stood up, now aware of the contents of the package. He resented Eris for it, but deep down, he understood Eris's sincerity in the offering.

"Another brother," Lucien simply stated. "Dinnertime, right?"

Lucien remained silent throughout dinner, unable to fully engage in the conversation or the musings of those around him. His focus oscillated between Eris's enigmatic proposal and the poignant reminder of the gift that awaited in the sitting room.

A gentle nudge through the bond brought his attention to Elain, who regarded him with a tilted head. Her usual weariness had given way to genuine concern, but Lucien's thoughts remained too entangled to acknowledge it.

Nesta, breaking the silence, asked, "So, are we going to meet this Cillian as well?"

Lucien's response was laced with anger. "Not if he knows what's good for him."

Cassian, intrigued, commented, "Kitty-cat's got some claws. Why's that?"

Lucien rose from his seat and retrieved the package. As he tore it open, the familiar hilt of his favorite sword was revealed.

Cassian couldn't contain his gasp and requested to examine it. He carefully removed the sword from its scabbard.

The hilt was a true masterpiece, meticulously crafted from a combination of ornate, hand-carved hardwood and intricately cast solid gold, adorned with motifs of leaves and vines studded with emeralds. The crossguard, made of solid gold, bore the shape of phoenix wings, symbolizing rebirth and immortality. At its center, a sizable, multifaceted emerald was embedded to catch the light and dazzle the eye.

The blade was forged from the finest high-carbon steel, polished to a mirror-like finish. Double-edged and razor-sharp, it featured an elegant curve along its length. The blade's intricate pattern, reminiscent of flames, was a testament to ancient craftsmanship, both stunning and exceptionally durable.

Cassian tested its balance with a few swings and marveled, "Perfectly balanced and incredibly light."

Lucien provided some context, saying, "We earn our steel through a series of duels. I won this one against Eris when we were the last two standing that year."

Cassian then passed the sword to Nesta, who couldn't help but admire the intricate patterns etched into the blade.

"I killed Clovis with this blade," Lucien revealed.

Cassian, furrowing his brows, sought clarification. "Killed?"

Lucien continued, "When Jesminda... passed away and my father ordered my death, Clovis, Cillian, and Cadel pursued me to the Spring. Tamlin killed Cadel, and I killed Clovis. Cillian managed to escape."

Cassian questioned, "So how did Cillian end up with it?"

"Because I threw it at him as he was running away. Had he not winnowed back when he did, he would have been dead, or so they say. Eris must have won it back from him, or Cillian supports Eris."

Nesta inquired, "You and your brothers fight like that?"

"We're encouraged to," Lucien sighed. "There's a higher chance of becoming the High Lord when the competition is limited. They know I have no desire to be a High Lord, but that has never stopped them, given that we have no say in the magic."

Cassian pressed further, "Even Eris?"

Lucien admitted, "Eris won so many times that it felt like he was untouchable. So when I won that first year, I became the target."

Warmth and understanding flowed through the bond, and Lucien's gaze briefly met his mate's. He averted his eyes, realizing that if Eris's scheme didn't involve Elain, he might have been more inclined to accept it.

[peridotglimmer]

Dinnertime

Inspired by @cajunandfire's post about Diana and 47 cooking a Sunday dinner together at the Freelancer mansion, I bring you this short, sweet ficlet. (Because my brain refused to let me continue working on like sugar (melting into black tea) until I had put this to digital paper. (Or, well, physical paper first, actually.)

Rated T for one singular suggestive sentence. No warnings apply except to brush your teeth properly after this one because this is sweet.

--

Diana sighed, shutting her laptop down with a satisfied smile. She didn't usually work on Sundays, not because she was a devout Christian, but moreso because Sundays were the one day she and 47 tried to keep completely free of work plans, so they could do whatever they wanted, be it together or apart. However, 47 had only just returned from a showdown this morning, and she had needed to deal with the paperwork ASAP. She was lucky he didn't mind, spending his afternoon catching up on some home maintenance himself. But when she had heard the shower be turned on around ten minutes ago, she knew she wanted to make haste: he was done, and would be waiting for her downstairs.

As Diana descended the stairs, the music playing in the kitchen slowly became audible. 47 had turned on a smooth jazz playlist she recognised as being one of her personal favourites. She found him in the kitchen, pouring a bottle of red into the decanter.

"Hello, my love," she greeted him. He didn't pretend not to have noticed her approach, with his enhanced instincts they both knew he sensed her presence throughout the entire home. If it had been anyone else, it would have been unnerving, but with 47, Diana just felt protected.

"Just in time," he replied, reaching out for her. She walked up to him and learnt into his side, fitting perfectly beneath his outstretched arm which he lowered and wrapped around her waist.

"You smell lovely," Diana commented. She could smell her own shower gel on his skin, a flowery bouquet instead of his personal pine-scented one. 47 blushed.

"I ran out of mine; we'll have to get some more in town tomorrow."

"I suppose that's my fault, due to all the showers I've been forcing you to take with me recently," Diana replied, chuckling softly. She had some very fond memories of their shared showers and baths, and wasn't about to stop inviting him.

"I don't mind." 47 nodded towards the kitchen counter, where he had begun to lay out potatoes, carrots and cauliflower. "Feeling like beef or chicken?"

"Hm, chicken," Diana decided. As 47 walked over to the fridge to retrieve the chicken they had bought last week for this exact purpose, a Sunday roast, Diana took a chef's knife from the knife block and began prepping the vegetables and potatoes. They worked in a comfortable silence together. She didn't have to tell him about the bureaucratic completion of this most recent contract; he trusted her to inform him of anything worth knowing. Likewise, she knew that he would show her what he had accomplished today after dinner -- she knew he had been wanting to finish painting the shed.

47 placed the chicken into the oven, Diana setting aside the sheet pan of potatoes and vegetables until it was time to roast those as well. In the meantime, the sound system began playing a Grover Washington, Jr. song, and Diana nudged 47 with a soft smile.

"Dance with me?" She bit down softly on her bottom lip and looked up at him, knowing he couldn't resist giving into her demands when she requested something like this. Chuckling, as he knew exactly what she was doing, 47 took her into his arms, and together they swayed to the music.

It was funny, Diana mused as they danced, going from such a dark and gloomy world of assassination and shadow clients and absolutely sinister organisations to now standing barefoot in the kitchen of the home they shared, a homemade dinner in the oven, and feeling just so ridiculously happy.

Some days she had trouble believing this was really her life.

Luckily, 47 never minded having to remind her.

[milleroptimism]

Be honest, how many times a day have you had to take a dish that was perfectly made and wait a few minutes only to take the same dish back out and your customer thinks it’s suddenly perfect?

Send me "be honest..." with a question your muse has been dying to ask mine and they'll answer truthfully.

"Depends on the day. On a good day? 6-8 times. On a bad day? 10-13, mostly around dinnertime for both answers. Customers love acting like they know more than you."

[teknah]

 “OBSERVE” 🦂

send  “OBSERVE”for a mini-drabble of how MY MUSE sees and/or thinks about YOUR MUSE while they do something completely ordinary

____

Look at him. Eating his little oatmeal, or whatever breakfast Antares had selected from the cafeteria. It was the most innocuous scene possible, but Nero felt a certain irrational frustration with the cyborg from the past.

In some part, it was probably unfair to think that when Antares was:

1) just eating breakfast 2) being friendly with other crew members for a change and getting along better than before 3) Just finished killing somebody on Nero's own orders, in defense of the ship and INTERPLAN, who now employed the both of them.

But Nero couldn't help it. Something about Antares activated a portion of his brain that was threatening to overheat, while another chunk of grey matter rattled off a list of everything Antares had annoyed him with lately, no matter how meaningless and small it might sound to anyone else.

So he grabbed a couple of processed breakfast bars, and had the matter collator fix up some coffee. He'd bother the galley cooks at lunch or dinnertime, for the morning Nero left them alone. And then he shuffled towards an open table to sit without company, review some things on his teledex. Including a trip down to the next planet, reputed for its market--

No, wait. Antares took his physical money recently to do a job for him.

"Errgggh."

[pb-littleverse]

little!Hyunjin's Part 2 to the previous request, little!Heejin and little!Hyunjin both in different girl groups now and feeling miserable not being able to see each other as much.

Part 1

--

Tensions have been high today in the Loossemble dorms, and Kahei is only a few steps shy from the end of her rope.

She had already had to put Hyeju in timeout today. Her baby wolf once again decided to mock Chaewonnie until she cried tears of frustration.

Now, it’s Chae’s turn in the corner, having left teeth marks in Hyeju’s hand in a disagreement over a game, and then biting her on the ankle to try and stop her from tattling.

She loves her little girls, even when one lives to antagonize, and the other likes to act out as a literal ankle biter. She loves all of them fiercely.

But with Chaewonnie acting up more than usual lately, Hyeju taunting her for it, and Yeojin sleeping like a baby (literally in her baby headspace), Kahei can’t deny that some help at a time like this would be appreciated.

But through everything today, Hyunjin has been suspiciously quiet. She had wanted time to herself earlier, as she often does most free afternoons. But it’s now past dinnertime, and Kahei realizes that she hasn’t seen Hyunjin for hours.

Worry sparks through her when she knocks on her bedroom door, only to get no response. Conflicted relief takes over when Kahei finds her facedown on the living room sectional instead.

She’s wearing her kitty collar, which means she’s little. While Hyunjin is one of the most reliable caregivers, the tradeoff is that Aeongie can be one of their most unpredictable littles–hence the agreement to put a bell collar on her.

What’s concerning, however, is that she hasn’t heard that bell ringing once today, which means Aeongie has either been cooped up in her room, or else moping here on the couch all evening.

Kahei’s heart aches for her little girl, but she can’t repress a sigh. She’s tired, and consoling Aeongie is always a tossup.

Still, Kahei shakes herself into a steady, gentle tone before confronting her sulky darling.

“Aeongie, baby, are you doing okay?” she asks.

Aeongie huffs, blowing a big, grumpy breath out of her mouth.

“Wan’ cereal,” she pouts.

Kahei has to strain to hear her. The corner of her mouth quirks up into a smile, and she has to hold her knuckles to her own mouth to keep from giggling.

There’s no question: it’s terrible seeing Hyunjin upset, but Kahei can’t always help her urge to laugh at inappropriate times. Here with Aeongie’s head crammed between the cushions of the sectional is no exception.

“Cereal, really?” she asks, raising an eyebrow fondly. “For dinner?”

Aeongie’s furious nodding is hard to argue with. Kahei isn’t normally one to indulge demands that are made without a “Please” before them, but since she’s the one who didn’t think to check on Aeongie at dinnertime, she accepts it as a fair enough bargain.

Kahei prepares Aeongie’s favorite mix: Cinnamon Toast Crunch and Lucky Charms, with a generous marshmallow-to-cereal ratio as a treat, and doused in cold milk.

“It looks like my kitty cat could use a pick-me-up,” she muses, setting the bowl down in front of Aeongie and taking the armchair at the end of the coffee table.

“T’ank you,” Aeongie mutters.

“You’re so welcome, baby.” Kahei smiles, pleased by Aeongie’s manners and rocking in her chair to give her time to eat.

Only after a wild descent upon the bowl does Aeongie cough up what’s bothering her.

“Miss Heekkie,” she grumbles, her spoon roughly clattering as she drops it into the cleared bowl.

“You miss Heekkie?” Kahei smiles. This is about what she expected. “That sounds like something a good playdate at the ARTMS dorm can help with, no?”

What surprises Kahei is the stormy conviction on Aeongie’s brow only hardening at the suggestion.

“Don’ wanna,” she hisses, swiftly shambling across the floor and plopping herself down in Kahei’s lap.

If there was a fight between her and Heekkie, Kahei knows nothing about it. She racks her brain, knowing there’s no chance of prying further while Aeongie is like this. She’s at least willing to lean into Kahei’s touch while she strokes her hair. That’s a good sign, anyways.

After giving it some thought, she switches her tactic.

“Do you need to get some energy out, baby? Do you want to play in your box?”

The box came with their dorm’s new refrigerator. Their company had it delivered not long into everyone moving in, after the girls agreed to let ARTMS keep LOONA’s old one. The day that Kahei and Hyeju managed to get it running, no one could locate Aeongie.

After a thorough search of the dorm, they found her napping in the box. She looked even more precious and peaceful than if she had been in her own bed. As such, they kept it around as a sort of playhouse for Aeongie.

But now, something pitiful crosses Aeongie’s face at the mention of the box. She buries her face in Kahei’s lap and frantically mumbles something. Worry flares up in Kahei.

“Speak up for me, honey?” she coaxes.

“I put a hole in it!” Aeongie bawls, suddenly banging her fists against the arm of the chair and threatening to fall out of Kahei’s lap.

And that throws Kahei for a loop. She wants to ask Aeongie what in the world happened to get her this worked up. But first, she allows her little girl the space to cry herself out.

“Oh, kitten,” she hums. “Can Momma touch your head?”

Aeongie nods vigorously, throwing herself in a wild, sprawling adjustment out in Kahei’s lap. Once she’s settled, Kahei presses her fingertips into Aeongie’s scalp and massages in slow circles. Tears slide down her cheeks and onto Kahei’s pants as she lifts herself higher onto her lap.

After a minute of gentle rocking in Kahei’s hold, Aeongie finally spills.

“Don’ wan’ Heekkie to see me when I’m not fun,” she blubbers.

Hearing it just about cracks Kahei’s heart in two, but she remains steady.

“But, baby, don’t you think Heekkie is sad too?”

Aeongie shakes her head with a grunt, smudging more tears into Kahei’s shirt. But after thinking about it a little longer, she relents.

“I don’ know,” she murmurs.

They stay like that, Kahei holding her close, until Aeongie eventually grows restless. She rolls down and onto the floor, tugging insistently for her Momma to follow.

With Kahei’s help, Aeongie trudges along to show her what happened to the box. Kahei finds that she had indeed punched a hole through in a moment’s tantrum, and even flattened it some as well.

Aeongie’s lip quivers as she surveys the damage. Kahei shushes her comfortingly, and they gradually work towards a solution that Aeongie can agree with.

She allows Kahei to cut a bigger hole in the side of the box. When it’s ready, Aeongie sits pensively in the cockpit of her new “spaceship,” assessing the changes to her favorite toy.

Kahei chews her lip as she watches. This is Aeongie, or Hyunjin– always their brave commander. This is Aeongie/Hyunjin, who went through every phase of grief to secure the formation of this group.

This is Aeongie/Hyunjin, who stayed behind with Kahei and saved her from being stranded alone at their old company.

After looking the box over from every angle, Aeongie turns and stares up at Kahei with big, pleading eyes.

On cue, Kahei pushes up against the back of the box, driving her around on the carpet. Aeongie bursts into squeals and Kahei, feeling gratified, finds the nerve to add sound effects.

Aeongie will still need time and space to wallow. Kahei will cherish moments like these in the meantime, taking any opportunity to put a smile on her face.

Their brave commander will pick herself up when she’s ready. Of that, Kahei has no doubt.

[cisnecorazon]

SENSES & OTHER SPECIFIC HEADCANONS.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE SMELL LIKE?

Rosinante is not an unclean man-- even though it means slipping and falling in the shower, many a day. But the one all-consuming smell that clings to the entirety of his person is, no doubt, the smell of his cigarettes. Frankly, he reeks of them.

WHAT DO YOUR MUSE’S HANDS FEEL LIKE?

Rosinante is a large man, and his hands are no exception. He has wide palms, with long fingers, and all of these are covered with a roadmap of scars and burns. Smooth scars, bumpy burns, and prominent knuckles are all features to be found on his huge hands.

They are clumsy hands, of that there is no doubt. But they are strong, and gentle, and sometimes even fearful. Rosinante knows that it is not often that he touches something, and what he dares to hold isn't broken, or snatched away all too quickly.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY EAT IN A DAY?

In contrast to many at Spider Miles, Rosinante does not have particular tastes. In fact, rather than heavy, luxurious foods such as pizza, Rosinante actually prefers simple greens and noodles.

These he will choose from the impressive spreads at dinnertime, which he shares with the rest of the Family. Before that, he will usually only consume tea and coffee for the day, unless he is reminded to eat.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE A GOOD SINGING VOICE?

My portrayal of Rosinante was raised up as a child in his mother's interest in music-- where she impressed that love upon her sons. Rosinante was schooled in classical song and music in his brief time together with his mother and all of her favorite musicians, and was particularly gifted in his playing of flute.

More than that, though-- Rosinante was blessed with a lovely voice that was a pleasure for his teachers to train. I liken his singing voice to that of the indominable Plácido Domingo, who possibly has the most beautiful masculine voice I have ever heard.

Here and here are two examples of how I imagine Rosinante to sound. There are not many people alive now, who would know a single breath of his musical talents.

DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE ANY BAD HABITS OR NERVOUS TICS?  

Oh, yes. Besides the smoking, Rosinante habitually rubs his fingers together when he is feeling particularly nervous or paranoid. Often he will bounce his foot, when seated. He has (more than once,) moved entire tables this way.

WHAT DOES YOUR MUSE USUALLY LOOK LIKE/WEAR?

To be honest, as stylish as Rosinante appears to be, he couldn't care less about names or designers are covering his skinny butt. The clothes that he does have were all bought for him, when he showed up on Doflamingo's doorstep in the dirty ones he had journeyed to his brother's home in.

Similarly, Rosinante's trademark feather coat is not his own trademark. It was a gift... and it's heavier than it looks.

IS YOUR MUSE AFFECTIONATE? HOW MUCH? HOW SO?

Affection does not come easily to Rosinante, and it's not because he doesn't have love in his heart. Truthfully, he somewhat shies away from the touch of most people-- even casual touches on the shoulder, from strangers. And if he can't shy away, Rosinante will grit his teeth and hide his eyes under his hair and hat so that he's not glaring daggers at the offender.

When he's free, though-- such as with Law? Rosinante is always embarrassing him with huge hugs, and picking him up by the scruff as if he were a kitten. Law sees the doting and affectionate side of Rosinante that few have seen in many years.

WHAT POSITION DOES YOUR MUSE SLEEP IN?

There are times that Rosinante falls asleep sitting up, arms crossed over his broad chest and his head tipped sideways... but of course, he's usually asleep in bed. Albeit, after tossing and turning for some time. He's usually sprawled out, lanky limbs somehow hanging off the edged of the bed no matter where he lied down at.

Sometimes, he ends up holding onto a pillow, snoring and drooling into it, propped up on one knee and looking absolutely ridiculous. He's very good at finding seemingly uncomfortable positions to sleep in.

COULD YOU HEAR YOUR MUSE IN THE HALLWAY FROM ANOTHER ROOM?

You are unlikely to hear Rosinante's voice from even up close in many verses, and so the answer here has to be no. If you do hear him, you're likely hearing Rosinante tripping over his own feet, or dropping a coffee mug, or the loud, inconvenienced sigh that follows.

Nabbed from @renoxvated. I now tag you, dear reader!

[mercenarymage]

[ pay ]  your muse paying for mine at a store , bar , restaurant , etc . up to you! hello there o/

It had been chance that the two crossed paths, but their meeting was something to be celebrated. After all, it had been some time since he's seen the the colorful crew that his past employer had brought together to achieve his ambitions. And to meet someone here...sure, there were strange rumors about, but the lively atmosphere that had kicked up since the upcoming ball's announcement made living here exciting and fun.

And well, perhaps more than that...

"Huh...man, it's really late out, isn't it?" Hugh comments, an outstretched hand scratching the back of his head as he surveys the long, winding streets the two had recently stumbled upon each other in. Up until now, he hadn't noticed how quickly dinnertime was approaching, and...wait, didn't a new restaurant recently open? Well, new or not, whatever was cooking down the road was going to have his name on it, regardless of the price.

And not just his, Hugh decides.

Turning towards Elffin, a wide smirk forms on his face. "That settles it. We're definitely getting a bite to eat! And don't you dare pull that wallet of yours out."

Call it a sense of pride, but he can't say no when the opportunity to use his funds arises. Despite all he's done to gain the money he has, sitting with an endless pile of gold didn't sit well for him. Money was meant to be spent, and no amount of excuses was going to stop him from using it here and now.

But, perhaps even more than that, the only times Hugh knows Elffin is through the battles they've been through. He was lucky if the two could consider each other acquaintances - luckier, if Elffin somehow saw him as a friend. But outside of the work he had done for Roy, Hugh knows very little about the people he's travelled with. Elffin especially so.

And so, more than anything else, he decides it foolish to pass an opportunity where they can speak during a time of peace.

[overwook]

x. dossier. / x. wanted plots. x. pinterest. / x. thread tracker.

heyhihello it's your girl baz here with a 2nd muse, this one far less fleshed out but it'll be really fun to figure him out more in this setting! those close to him have always called him wookie, which is a reference lost on him; bro has never seen a star war. anyway, he's your typical stoner / burnout skater boy who is an annoying little sh*t with a heart of gold somewhere deep deep down. there's a little bit more under the cut and as usual, if you wanna plot anything with this goober, pls do leave a like! also you can find me on discord @ umjis_gf if that's easier 💗

BACKSTORY

born & raised on jeju island. the family was financially comfortable due to his mother's realtor career and his father's months out at sea fishing, but the latter's absence was known to take its toll on the family.

wook took full advantage of less supervision and pretty much made the island his stomping grounds. he'd venture around for most of the day, only returning home around dinnertime to fill his empty stomach.

when he received his first skateboard for his 8th birthday, he taught himself to ride in the old empty pool of an abandoned mansion on the island. he'd stay there for hours, falling flat on his face dozens of times before he finally learned to sail across flat ground on the board.

after a few years, he'd gotten pretty good and had learned a plethora of tricks that the pool allowed him to land fairly easily. sure, he'd also built up a few hospital visits, but none of it ever seemed to deter him from what he loved to do.

his teenage years were a little more...stormy as his attitude towards his father became pretty icy. he was never around and when he was, he was always extremely short and uncaring with his family. wookie knew his father was tired from the months at sea, but he also knew the asshole could spare his distraught wife more than a hand wave and dirty dishes on the kitchen table to wash up later.

when taewook turned 16, it came out that his father had actually been cheating on his mother with the woman who did the finances for his fishing boat. at that point, wook was done with his father and wouldn't even speak to the man.

his father moved out, and it was just wookie and his mom from then on. when it came time for him to go to college, the two moved to daegu after he was accepted to kyungpook national university. wook studied civil engineering, but despite the school's best efforts to guide him toward success, it was here that he became truly aimless.

he started smoking weed that he'd buy off other students, staying out all night drinking and partying, missing classes and doing insane skateboard stunts off sacred parts of the school grounds. when he was eventually kicked out of the university, he'd never seen his mom so disappointed. even his father's infidelity hadn't broken her heart the way he had, and it made him spiral even further down the rabbit hole.

wookie's mom did eventually forgive him, and her disappointment was replaced with heavy concern about her son's future. he assured her he was fine, and got a job at wonhyeong skate park to prove to her he was at least moving in the right direction.

he was even able to get his own apartment and a guinea pig to take care of, all acts done to show his mother that he was serious about turning his life around, though it was more so to bide his time than anything else. at least he did end up becoming best friends with doch!

PERSONALITY

this little sh*tdemon okay, so he is an absolute pain in the ass. loves to tease people and whine until he gets his way. will eat any food you leave out so literally don't leave food in the vicinity of him and walk away, he's like a wild dog.

if he disappears, he's 100% somewhere secluded smoking a joint. he smokes way too much and boy do his eyes show it: literally always slightly red and very sleepy. it also makes him pretty lazy, but that also means he'll be too tired to argue and that is a major plus.

has a massive weakness for pretty people. he's very flirty and lighthearted with people he finds attractive but he's also afraid of commitment so he's never been in a real rs?? he's only ever just slept around. a lot.

some have mythologized that wookie actually has a kind heart deep down, especially in the way that he cares about what his mom thinks of him and the adorable way in which he interacts with doch and dotes on him like a proud father.

speaking of fathers, don't ask him about his! or he will literally brood and cry for three days.

being friends with taewook means that you sometimes run the risk of tripping over him asleep on your floor hours after you thought he left, with an open bag of cookies laying next to him.

he can be a good time or a waste of time, it truly depends on the day.

[recitedemise]

“Wax poetic” for Lilah

Send ‘wax poetic’ for Gale to work some poetry; his muse is you: still accepting.

He hears her in everything.

He wakes to the singing of birds, bathing in the chirrup of Faerûn's stirring, and would sooner believe they wake for her. He hears her when trees shudder, when tankards clang sharp with festivities, and when laid in his bedroll as he now is, he gleans, feels her in the thunder of his pulse. She bangs against his bones. She is his coarsing bloodflow. Every howling past his skin, she's quickly become.

You sing behind my eyes. He is steeped in her melody. Gale bears the bright of her laughter and her words in his ears. Lilah, like inquiry, fills his mind.

And I am a man much prone to wonder. Gods. Quite pathetically, in fact. You've hooked me with your first word, claimed me with an appetite I'd never care to sate, he fevers. For you, I can hunger with abandon, turn every page until every star in these midnights darken to voids, and I will want all the more, rapacious like a gorge. To both bone and need, I will starve.

He hears her laughter by the fire as dinnertime comes to a close.

Gale turns on his side, her voice sweet in his skull. There is no ending cover to her winding book.

[inhcritance]

is it too late to send “What if they kissed?”

Send "What if they kissed?" and I'll write a scene where our muses kiss, even if they aren't shipped together. it is it's own thing and doesn't have to lead to an official ship. a "what if scenario"

He starts worrying at nightfall. They've promised him to be back by dinnertime, and he's no stranger to unexpected delays. The stars stand witness to how often Oscorp takes over his life anyway. And even if punctuality were an issue, Nadine can defend themself. Or teleport away, if needed, so he needs not worry.

Until he worries. And he tries to be reasonable, cautious about that. Something could have happened. They might have teleported somewhere else, some other dimension -and the thought pains him, that he's not even said goodbye- or they might have just chosen to leave. Or they might be injured, or captured, or... Harry breathes. It's been a long, exhausting day, and this might just be exhaustion speaking.

He still opens social media, just in case, to keep an eye on the city. Considers asking a friend to keep an ear out, because he does have the privilege to know one of the best investigative journalists in the city. But he doesn't. Not yet.

It's not until his attention is pulled to the spot where there was nothing just a moment before that he breathes, because he's long grown used to the way his senses react to Nadine's ability.

He also smells the blood, immediately, and worry and concern and relief mix sharply in his chest, so much so that a hand moves to cradle their face.

When he realizes his mistake, he expects them to vanish, to disappear once again. Instead they move and a heartbeat later it's their lips on his lips, and he lets his relief and worry drown into the kiss, and only remembers he does have to breathe when his body can wait no further.

"I'm glad you're back." He admits, still breathless. And then it's him who is kissing them, because breath is overrated anyway.

They both can worry about everything else later.

[inkshadow]

MUSE : renata ferrera, journalist OPEN TO : anyone CONTEXT : your muse is hiding something (a secret, scandal, w/e) and renata trusts her nose to snoop a little more into your muse's life. though she's usually pretty good about sneaking around, this time she's caught and your muse isn't too happy about that

❝ i have no idea what you're talking about, ❞ renata lies through gritted teeth, willing herself to calm down since she doesn't know the other's temperament outright. she could maybe put together the pieces based on information she's gathered so far but to overthink now is to throw herself down a rabbit hole she'll have difficulty getting out of. at present, she just needs to make sure to stay safe. ❝ this is all just coincidence, i really should get going. it's almost dinnertime. ❞

[jamietukpahwriting]

In adventure books, there weren’t awkward pauses or embarrassing social scenes. In morality plays and farces, there were rarely serious discussions of racial tension, mob mentality, pogroms, or plague. In scientific books, there were no dinnertime revelations of a terrible manner. Life is a strange mixture of all these genres, [Belle] mused, and it doesn’t have nearly as neat and happy an ending as you often get in books.

—As Old As Time by Liz Braswell