#might use the time to fix up that master post too maybe

[pempempemto]

heg so no lore progression for one or two days but you get doodles instead sorry </33333

[dcxdpdabbles]

I have this idea for a post but I feel like you would do it justice.

Basically, Danny is yeeted through a dimensional portal and reincarnated as the clone son of Tim and Connor(from when Tim cloned Connor during his death). This little shit wakes up after that, when Connor has already been found, as a six year old gremlin with a need for chaos.

Que pranks!

I don’t have much more than that so I will leave this in your capable hands.

-🎃

"Master Bruce, if I have to remind you to fix your tie one more time, Gotham will be without its protecter for many months to come!" Alfred snapped - actually snapped - from where he was attempting to reorganize the entirey of the Emberald Sitting room.

Right now, he moved all the furniture and all the wall directions. He was just adding some tastefully done flower pots to make the place look inviting but also regal.

It had been six hours, and from the looks of it, Alfred had not found the balance he desperately wanted. He started over four times. His patience was all but gone.

Bruce's hands snap to his tie, scrambling to get it set just right. He moves it only slightly to the left - not making much difference - with a nervous smile. Alfred's teeth snap shut with a click, and his eyes blaze with frustrated rage as he rounds the coffee table toward the billionaire.

Bruce looks to be holding back a scream.

Dick winces, sinking into his chair lest the aged Butler turns his ire onto him. He knows why this evening has to be just right. Especially to Alfred, but gosh, he could not handle how terrifying the butler could be.

It's just for one dinner and one evening. Dick tells himself. Once Alfred can finally say he married one of us off, things will return to normal.

"Honestly! If you didn't walk around looking like an unkeept vagabond all the time, maybe there would be a Lady of the House by now!" Alfred sneered at a pale-looking Bruce.

Or maybe Timmy bringing Kon over to announce their engagement means Alfred will try to marry the rest of us off harder. Dick despairs as Bruce endures another tongue-lashing. He wants to go help, but if he moves even an inch from his seat, Alfred might realize Dick is still in the room.

He can't afford to anger the beast any further.

"And you, Master Dick!" Alfred suddenly rounds on Dick, pointing one long finger into his face, with narrowed eyes and the grim reaper at his shoulder. Oh, dear.

Thankfully, that's when the doorbell rings. At once, Alfred's face clears into an excited smile. "They're here! I'll let them in right away; you lads, gather the rest of the family. And remember, we must make a great impression! Tonight is the night we invite Mister Kon into the family!"

The butler doesn't quite skip out of the room, but the bristle walking with a chipper head turning is the close that Dick has ever seen him do.

"I'm so happy for Tim." Bruce mutters,"but I can not handle any more reminders that I haven't had a spouse."

"Tell me about it," Dick sighs, following after his father into the hallway and down to the dining hall. He can distantly hear Alfred opening the door and greeting the two. "A hour ago, he made seven passive agressive reminders that Tamaraneans propse with a dinner and a mock battle. Seven. I mean, how does he even know what Tamaraneans do when courting?"

"It's Alfred." Bruce tells him, taking a seat at the head of the table. Dick sits in the chair to his right as the oldest and First Heir- considering the reply. It makes sense.

Damian, Cass, and Duke walk in, not even a moment later. All are dressed better than any gala Bruce could have dragged them off, too. He is rather impressed that Damian is a red suit that makes even Bruce pale in comparison. Then again, he is the only one besides Alfred who has an eye for such things.

"Has he already proposed, or is he doing it at dinner table and were all supposed to act supirse?" Duke asks while sitting down. "I want to know what kind of face I should have prepared"

"The clone has asked Father for his blessing in his courtship with Timothy. He knew we would have figured out his plans when that blunder. It is no surprise." Damian huffs. Dick knows he's just upset that his big brother is going to get married and move out soon. He's adorable when he's territorial.

"I can confirm that Kon hasn't asked yet." Steph announces, strutting into the room in all her purple gown glory. Behind her, the Row sbilings wander in with matching celtic blue suits, making Dick grin. It's always nice to see people appreciate the best color. "Tim isn't the type of person to not show off his ring whenever he has a chance."

"I've always wanted to see a real-life popersoal!" Jarro gasps, flying into the room with his own little suit on. It's a nice black with green undertones just like Bruce's.

He lands in the miniature chair with a dinner dining set Alfred had special ordered for him.

It sits on top of where a regular dining set usually is, always the second chair on Bruce's left, because he is literally the favorite. Bruce denies it, but they all see the tender smile he throws the floating star.

The Wayne kids know. Jarro is too precious and hilarious, so none of them mind that he's the favorite. In fact, Dick has half the mind that he's the favorite of the majority of the family.

Jason leans over to pat Jarro's head, grinning when the little starfish swears. He adores when the kid randomly curses out of Aldred's hearing range.

"Shh, they're coming!" Cullen says from where he was lingering by the door, hoping to see Tim and Kon. He always looked up to the older boys as someone who had been forced into the closet for his own protection.

Seeing people like him helped ease the fear, and Dick feels his smile wideing when Cullen scrambles back to his seat. He's so excited he's practically in the Speed Force.

Alfred opens the door first, stepping to the side to allow the guest to enter first. Dick feels himself sit up straighter, the moment really setting in, Kon is going to propose to his younger brother.

His little Timmy is growing up-

"Wow, this place is big!" A child says, running into the room. Who the heck is he? "It's amazing, Dad!"

"Slow down. You don't want to fall." Tim laughs, rubbing the stranger's hair with a soft smile.

"It's okay, Dad. I'm strong!" The boy flexes his tiny arms. Tim laughs again as Kon crouches down to the little boy's height.

"Woah! Look at all those musceles. You're going to help me protect your dad, son?"

"Yeah Pa, I'll be the strongest super or robin ever!"

"Tim? Who might this lovely chum be?" Bruce cuts in, voice slightly strained. No one calls him out on it since they are staring wide eye at the tiny little boy who looks like an exact copy of Tim at age five.

Dick knows because he was one of the few in the Wayne's who saw Tim at that age. He's practically a clone to oh no.

Dick thinks he's having a heart attack.

Tim looks up at them before a brillient glowing smile breaks across his face. "Everyone, Kon and I have an announcement to make!"

Kon wraps an arm around his waist, sending adoring looks to man in his arms before they both hold up their left hand.

There are twin silver bands on both of their fingers. "We got married in Las Vegas, and we have a son! I like you all to meet Danny Drake-Kent! I made him when I thought Kon was dead."

"I am Danny, clone of Kon-el and Tim Drake. Fear me if you dare!" His voice squeaks. Squeaks.

Scratch that, Dick knows he's having a heart attack.

You can hear a pin drop in the silence his announcement cause, as Danny puffs up his chest and floats a few inches off the grown.

Oh, great heavens, Dick is an uncle.

"A fellow clone, son!" Jarro cheers from his little table. He slams two of his star points on the table to a beat that he speaks to. "One of us. One of us."

Danny's blue eyes land on the star fish and widen. He raises both arms into the air chanting back. "One of us. One of us. One of us!"

"It's awesome is what it is!" Steph cries, jumping up from her seat. "Hi, Danny! I'm you, Auntie Steph! I'm the cool one."

"Isn't this lovely? Master Tim not only has a husband but a child as well. Unlike some Masters." Aldred doesn't quite glare at Bruce, but he doesn't have to. The Waynes know who he means as Bruce wince.

Danny pauses in his chanting to look her up and down, staring pointily at her plum colored dress before humming. "That's a bold statement for an eggplant."

Steph gapes at him as Tim roars with laughter.

Oh, Dick is going to love this kid. He leaves his seat, trying to get to his nephew as the rest of the family attempts to do the same. Damain makes alarming threats to Kon, letting him know he would easily take him out if he detects a hint of mistreatment to his brother and new nephew.

The Waynes act like they can't hear the threat because they all have their own versions of the shovel talk prepared. They just have to get the clone alone.

It's a nice dinner.

[fatesundress]

⭑ observations. tom riddle x reader

part ii here.

summary. you've been going to hogwarts for four months, and find this whole school-wide obsession with tom riddle a little bit ridiculous, and a little bit contrived. surely not all the rumours are true...

tags. smut (minors dni -_-), fem anatomy, fingering, reader who is soooo in denial, trying to worm into tom's brain like a parasite and failing miserably (me projecting), i think reader is implied to either be short or tom is implied to be tall, ooc tom because i am so far from the belief that he would ever just spontaneously hook up with someone but… it is what it is.

note. this is my first post so support is much appreciated!! god forgive me, i've never written smut in my life, and it's safe to assume any smut i write within hogwarts is a university au — these people are all 18+ tyvm. also, i tried my best to make reader fairly neutral, but it's late, and if i've fumbled over some description bc i'm sleepy i shall fix it in the morning ♡

word count. 5.1k

Your first observation is that nobody has Tom Riddle quite right.

He’s beautiful, yes (obvious, repetitive, shallow), and undeniably intelligent (being paired with him in Potions has proved that in a matter of weeks), untouchable (this one is a bit interesting), and, above all, unusual. The latter you like the most. It makes you feel unabashedly exceptional in all the very unexceptional gossip about him. No one ever uses that word to describe him. A rarity of charisma and charm — austere, refined, and clinically polite. Unusual has a negative curve to it that most people don’t attach to the elegant litheness of Tom Riddle, but your observations cannot be stated without the word.

It’s prompted and peddled by Selwyn’s much-too-enthusiastic vehemence in the wake of your first.

You narrow your eyes at her and say it again, no less certain than the first time. “Tom Riddle has not had sex with half the school.”

It’s a bit of a jump. Some necessary context is removed.

Riddle, once more, rarity of charisma and charm and austere blah blah blah, has been rumoured since you arrived this year from your last school to be some silent conqueror, oh-so nimble with his hands and nimbler even with his other appendages, and you — you’ve only been here four months and it’s laughable how many people believe it.

Backtrack to untouchable (this one everyone agrees is a primary characteristic of Tom Riddle, there’s no debate there) and the reason you find it interesting. Untouchable doesn’t exactly work if everyone in the bloody castle has been touching him this whole time. And it’s not as if he could hide it, not as if people wouldn’t be giddy to tell their friends of their exploits with the beautiful, revered Head Boy. And such exploits would be whispers among the halls in a matter of hours. You’ve considered this, with almost scientific determination, and it’s impossible. Tom studies all day, and when he isn’t studying he’s corralling Slytherin first-years away from forbidden corridors, attending to Dippet’s newest errand, escorting third-years to Hogsmeade, dining with the Slug Club, and — point is, someone would have noticed by now if he was disappearing into broom closets with a new lay every weekend.

But Selwyn shakes her head, because this rumour is such an integral part of Tom’s allure. He is, somehow, both untouchable and a master at touch. Distant until he isn’t, and then he can break you apart with practised, perfect hands. It’s all very mythical.

“Look,” she says, “maybe if I’d only been here four months, I’d think so too, but everyone else knows—”

“Maybe it’s because I’ve only been here four months that I have the objectivity to recognize how ridiculous you all are. He’s not a god, Selwyn, he’s a scholar, and an obsessed one at that — has it ever actually occurred to you he might not have had sex at all?”

This, now, is sacrilege. 

Selwyn gapes at you, and you shake your head in surrender before you burst out laughing at how offended she looks. “Fine, whatever. Consider the matter dropped. I give up.”

You don’t really give up. It’s very fun research.

Your second observation is that unusual is not an apt enough word for Tom, and maybe you don’t possess the vocabulary to think of one that is.

You’re in the Restricted Section. This is unrelated to your Tom research, and perfectly sanctioned, with a key granted by the librarian who you feel sorry to admit you have not remembered the name of, and the library, by all means, is still open. It’s a late Thursday night, but not past curfew. You’re there with a study partner you rather wish you weren’t — Gregory Godefrey, Gryffindor (the alliteration is nauseating), and the only half-decent fellow in your Ancient Runes class, but not especially bright. You feel more like his tutor than his partner. In short, the regular books on the topic you’re writing your end-of-term essay on are slim pickings, and thus — Restricted Section.

“So,” you say, “the scriptures might look the same, but they’re written in vastly different time periods, so the meaning has changed. If you were to charge a spell with one of Ashe’s runes now, there’s almost no doubt you’d get a completely different result.”

“I don’t get it,” Godefrey grumbles sleepily into his sleeve. “How’s anyone meant to use runes if they can just change like that?”

You sigh, shaking your head. “Any magic can change, Godefrey. Half of the stuff we learn is based on intention and skill. Uagadou barely even uses wands — all of this is arbitrary.”

“My head hurts.”

“Then… just… just go to bed. I’ll finish up here and we’ll try again on the weekend.”

He grins with heavy eyes, lugging his bag over his shoulder and leaving you a packet of sherbet lemons you bitterly wish he’d pulled out sooner. “Wicked — you’re the best. See’ya.”

“See you…” you mumble, unwrapping one and popping it in your mouth.

You don’t stay for long, twirling the key to the Restricted Section around your finger as you tuck your books back into their shelves.

“It’s ten past curfew,” says a voice from behind you, all cool, measured authority, and you nearly collapse.

You stare up from where you’re grabbing onto your knees for balance, your heart halfway out of your chest.

Tom Riddle is there, his Head Boy badge somehow still glittering in the dim light of the library, and it’s only by the half-smile quirking at his lips that you can detect his words weren’t some sort of threat.

“Right, thanks.” You gather your breath. “I was just leaving.”

“Pity about Godefrey.”

You blink. Having worked with Tom in Potions since September, you’ve become perfectly adjusted to speaking to him… only about Potions. He indulges in polite small talk, he smiles freely, but your distance from him is the same as it is with everyone else, if only for the fact that, you suppose, you aren’t actively pursuing anything closer.

Oh. That is interesting — would he be so easily intrigued? It’s a bit cliché, but you suppose he is too.

You’re making an awful lot of assumptions from the words ‘pity about Godefrey,’ and then, you don’t actually have a damn clue what Tom could mean by that.

“Sorry?” you ask.

“Godefrey,” he repeats. “I assume you’re being made to tutor him.”

Right. He must have seen him on his way here. That would make sense.

“No, actually. It’s entirely voluntary — he’s my study partner for Ancient Runes.”

His chin lifts in some nearly imperceptible way, smiling still, and you know he’s a polished thing, an unusual thing, but it reads as an especially fake smile then. “Ah.”

… Oooookay?

“Well —” you start, a mechanical smile of your own forming — “curfew, then.”

The charm fixes onto his face like a damn ornament. You want to flick it away with your finger. “Of course. I’ll see you in Potions?”

You nod, leaving the key behind the librarian’s desk as you slink awkwardly away. Into the corridor. Off to bed. Yet another note to scrawl on the enigma of Tom Riddle.

You see him again first thing in the morning. You’re yawning into the archway of Slughorn’s stuffy classroom, eager to dump your bag over your table and empty the many contents necessary for today’s lesson. 

There’s one girl, the oldest of the Lestranges, who glares daggers into the back of your head every class. Tom is, as always, nonplussed, asking you about your morning as you both prepare your phials and ingredients. You can’t help but shake your head at him this once, a bemused smile on your lips as you glance between him and the Lestrange girl.

“Have I offended her somehow, or is it just that I’m paired with you?”

He laughs under his breath. “I daresay that is the offense.”

You can’t help it. You’re mumbling to yourself in amazement at the bizarre, borderline cultish devotion this school has to Tom Riddle. “Unattainable commodity that you are, Riddle…”

“Well," he begins, his smile small but his voice amused, “I hope you don’t think of me as quite that far outside your grasp."

You freeze.

Are you — have you missed something? Has your casual (really, very casual and not at all unwarranted or peculiar) research for the sake of dispelling Selwyn’s obsession skewed your memory of Tom? Has he always said things like this to you? Have you always read into them like this?

One of his eyebrows rises, and it might be his notorious flattery — but if so, he makes it sound like an obvious truth, and you stammer over the jar of foxglove in your hand. Then you look away, unscrew it, do well not to put too much weight on his words.

“Hm. I have no need for you to be within it, Riddle." You say it with all nonchalance you can muster. To spit it at him in some aggressive dismissal would be to treat it like a big thing. 

It isn’t a big thing. He’s talking to you like he talks to everyone else.

But you catch the barest flicker of disappointment on his face, a flash of something that might even be annoyance. Then, though, it’s gone, and he’s back to that same unshakable, confident smirk.

As the lesson proceeds,  he’s once again the sharpest thing in the room.

You watch for him in the library that weekend, a bit distracted while you and Godefrey study. Without your guidance, there isn’t much studying occurring at all. Godefrey is sort of skimming the pages of a textbook, yawning, as always, like he’s never had a good night’s sleep in his life, and you’re suckling sherbert lemons until the roof of your mouth feels raw.

“What was it you said about Calarook’s Method?”

Your eyes snap from the empty doorway to Godefrey’s face. “Huh?”

“Calarook’s Method.”

“Oh.” You sink boredly into your seat, twirling your quill between your fingers. “It revolutionised the usage of runes globally. She incorporated — um — a much simpler means of translating the scriptures for different methods of magic.”

“Ohhhh, I remember now. Did you write that down?”

“Yes, Godefrey, I wrote it down.”

The final hour before curfew dwells agonisingly longer than it should. It feels like three, at least, until you’re packing your things and bidding Godefrey goodnight, tired legs dragging you down the corridors.

And then you straighten. You stand tall. (You’re absolutely normal about the sight before you.)

Tom smiles at you as he turns the corridor to approach.

“On patrol?” you ask in a friendly tone.

You’re… friends, right? Being someone’s Potions partner for four months qualifies as some degree of friendship, does it not? After all, he did say not to think of him as too far outside your grasp. That was a line if you’d ever heard one, but — you could be Tom’s friend the way everyone is his friend: wholly detached until you were needed.

“Leaving detention,” he answers with a timbre to match.

Your eyebrows raise at that.

“Leaving the second-years I watched in detention, I should say.”

You shake your head. “I should have known.”

“And you?”

“Studying again.”

“Ancient Runes?”

“Mhm.”

“...With Godefrey?”

“That is the concept of a recurrent study partner, yes. It’s recurrent.”

He doesn’t look very much like he appreciates your sarcasm.

“So, then,” you mutter, clearing your throat. “Curfew, I suppose.”

“You performed well in Potions today,” he says after you. It feels like the sort of thing someone says when they don’t want someone to walk away.

You bite your cheek between your teeth — such assumptions will get the better of you. Such assumptions will lead you down a path of crude, obsessive analysis (though you suppose you’ve been doing that all this time, haven’t you?) where you think, in some unspooling knitwork, that there are really only a select few reasons he could want such a thing. Your mind draws to the irresponsible conclusion, as he walks toward you again, a new glint in his eyes, that it’s exactly the sort of thing someone says before rumour has it they disappear into the nearest broom closet with the one they approach. This, you’ve decided an observation ago, Tom Riddle does not do.

“Thank you,” you say carefully. “So did you.”

“We make for a good pair, don’t you think?”

Crude, obsessive analysis. “Slughorn certainly does.”

“And I am asking you.”

He stops a respectable, inviting space before you. His weekend attire is a grey jumper and black slacks, his dark hair in its regular, pristine waves, hands laced behind his back. Everything about him is a request to be met, and not to step forward and close the distance himself. Close the distance, pristine waves, inviting space — you’ve lost your damn mind. You sound like Selwyn. The sugar of a whole packet of sherbet lemons has rendered you imbecilic. You’ll be off to bed, then — sleep this absurdity off.

“Of course, Tom,” you say with a polite smile. “It’d be hard to disagree with the grades I get in that class.” You grab onto your bag to have something to do with your hands, to perhaps signify you’ll be making your exit now.

He seems a bit amused to have to contort himself through the specifics of his meaning. “I was referring to our… rapport.”

“Rapport?”

“We work well together. We communicate efficiently.”

We communicate efficiently? Damn if you couldn’t suddenly make sense of the rumour he’d be applying for the DADA post in the future — that one was definitely true.

“Yes, we do.”

He steps closer. “And I remain far outside your grasp.”

You blink, and there’s a stark, sinking feeling as your eyes drift over the unmarred ivory of his skin, his jaw, his throat, his — no, absolutely not his hands — and you let yourself wonder for the first time if the rumours, albeit exaggerated, have even a shred of truth to them. One exploit, perhaps, to satisfy his endless curiosity. Something academic, like — oh, God, like the way you’ve been studying him for weeks. His hands carving a path down someone’s body to etch it in his memory, another skill added to his arsenal, a new way to work his fingers without a wand, a new way to work his mouth without a word.

It’s only a moment that you wonder it. Some flash of pictures in your head. It is, nonetheless, a moment far too long, and one you don’t know that you can return from.

Tom looks at you from under his eyelashes with an expression that suggests he's the only one in on a very funny joke, and the air is… different. Thick like the Potions room but in a way that’s entirely unfamiliar, not cloudy with the steam of cauldrons but hazy with the proximity of him, cologne and quill ink and something you can’t catch because you’re trying too hard to breathe it all in at once.

But he steps forward again, and seems to say in the slow way he moves, that if you’ll let him, he'll place a hand on your shoulder, and if you’ll allow that — well — then he'll move that hand up to gently frame your cheek. And then, and you no longer consider yourself at all versed in the realm of Tom Riddle, but you think you know what’ll come next.

You allow all of it. You know very well in advance you’re going to allow all of it.

And still, like it’s a surprise, you shiver at the feeling of his hand on your cheek, at the gleaming, certain look in his eyes. Your gaze flickers to his lips for just a second (a fleeting, tiny second you pray fruitlessly he doesn't notice) but his lips curl into the barest of smiles. Something so like him, small but unrestrained, like it never had any hope of growing bigger, but then — you’ve seen the way he grins at you sometimes when you say something stupid in class — you know he’s capable.

“You know what I'm going to do, I assume," he says quietly. It's not a question, per se — more of a statement, and he keeps his eyes fixed firmly on yours as he says it. He's so close you can feel the warmth of his breath. And then he leans in so slightly it might be imperceptible if you weren’t staring, holding your damn breath. “Are you going to let me?"

“I..." You're humiliated to find you are actually struggling to speak. His lips are so close to yours you can feel the ghost of them, can imagine what they might feel like on you. Your mouth is very dry. “We’re… friends, right?”

His voice only wavers for a moment, even as his lips inch ever closer to yours. His voice is tauntingly low, and there's an intimate sort of smile there, a chastising, humorous gleam to his eyes. “Friends," he breathes, and then his lips do close that short distance, and you feel the barest trace of his mouth against yours — his lips, soft and supple against your skin. A moment's kiss. Gone as quickly as it came. “Should we be friends?”

You gape at him, breathing far too heavily for such a chaste kiss, and you imagine your eyes are blown wide, and you lick your lips for a reminder of his taste but it isn't enough. You don't think before standing on your toes to find his lips again. Of course, Tom is stood impeccably straight, his chin almost pointedly jutted so that he can look down at you, and you actually — it's horribly embarrassing — you groan, or whine, or make some sound of blatant discontent at the fact that your kiss doesn’t reach him.

To his credit, his laugh is a very small one. Had it been the other way around you would have been far less forgiving. “I suppose the answer is no, then?" he says, with the implication that the next move might be yours.

“Tom," you as good as hiss (really very foolish of you to use the word forgiving to describe Tom Riddle), “you're being... you're being mean." And you refuse to make the first effort again, even though you probably appear to be a train wreck, your chest is heaving, and you... you want him.

“Am I?" he asks, and he tilts his head to the other side, almost as if to get a better look at you. “How so?" You think he's enjoying himself far too much. But he remains where he is: close enough for you to reach him if you would just yank him toward you and be done with it, and far enough away that you can't take that step without giving him the win.

You stare at him for a long moment, and then with teeth gritted so tight you might chip one, turn to walk away. Tom makes some very hollow, annoyed sound at your stubbornness, and thank god you feel him behind you: soft, lulling, not so immovable as you. 

You stop. His fingers brush your hair to the side. His mouth hovers over the skin of your neck. You shudder.

“Tom..." you sigh, half-exasperated, half-sighed, half-surrendered, but he doesn't answer or stop or do so much as acknowledge your mumbling. He only presses forward, until his breath is right by your ear and his lips, soft, gentle, are against the junction of your exposed neck, and you feel his mouth, the gentle pressure of his lips against your skin... so tender, so light that it doesn’t feel at all like something merciful.

It feels singularly, purposefully cruel.

Your third observation (if you can manage the thought) is that Tom is driven by your reactions. Every little mewl, every shudder, every gasp, he wants more of. He wants whatever you're willing to give him, and you suspect it wouldn’t be hard for him to take it all. Every movement of his hands, his mouth, his — oh, oh no — his tongue, abide by whatever you respond to most. He draws in patterns. He stops. Appreciates the speed of your pulse on the curve of your throat for a moment and then tastes it again. It doesn't seem like he particularly cares what he gets out of it. The intrigue for him is having the proximity (he greatly enjoys that you’ve allowed him it) and capacity (that, you think, he’s always had) to make you fall apart.

He's spinning you then, so you're pressed facing the wall, his chest against your back, and the way he whispers against your skin makes you shiver. You dare to think he feels it, his chest heaving against your back, his breath warm and steady by your ear. And as he kisses you you can't help but imagine what might happen if he were just a few inches lower, if he were to sink to his knees, kissing the soft flesh of your chest, and down, and down, and down…

Your eyes flutter closed, and it's clear you like what he's doing by the sound that escapes you — something loud enough for him to stifle your mouth with his palm. Perhaps a little too much. Perhaps you’ll be embarrassed about it later. But right now his tongue is brushing against your skin again, and there’s something very dizzying and hot that starts with his mouth on your neck and works its way down until it's a challenge just to stay standing. You wonder if he can tell just how weak in the knees you are right now, whether that only makes him push forward, and —

And that must be it. He must know, because you think you're trying to say something but you can't form the words, and he has to feel the reverberations with his teeth bracketing little violets on your neck, he must feel the way your legs buckle, how you're held up only by the weight of him behind you.

He must know.

He pushes forward, his fingers bury in your hair, and he pulls your head back slowly — not necessarily to expose you further, but to better see your face. Your eyes lock with his over your shoulder, and there's that hunger there, lips swollen with the print of you... and his voice, when he speaks, is as if he's only barely stopping himself. “Do you want me to stop?"

You shake your head before you think he’s actually finished the question, swallowing the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. No, no — him stopping is the very last thing you want — you feel entirely rational and not at all melodramatic in saying you might just die if he stops. You want more, and he's looking at you like that’s the only thing he’s ever wanted.

He bites down gently on your neck, and you gasp as your knees finally go out from under you (you almost think he planned for this with how quickly he catches you), and you wonder if he'll do something you can't bear; if you'll be reduced to a mewling, drooling mess before he's finished with you.

Your fourth observation — which really is the last one you can muster before it starts to melt into something else — is that you make him human in the only way he can understand: panting into him, fingers in his skin, white-hot and damp at the centre of his obsession. The object of his affection. You make him understand something more singular than ambition. 

Want.

And then his spare hand is dipping past your skirts, and you dig your fingers into his wrist — the combination of the hardness pressed against your back, his hands marking a path to forbidden territory, his finger curling into your mouth as his lips continue their assault on your neck — it's too much. It’s deliriously, disastrously not enough. Your vision is starting to blur.

His fingers stop at the curve where your thighs part and you bite gently down on him to quiet the noise that wants to escape you. He hums against your throat, continuing to kiss and lick and bruise you. You're dazedly aware of the cool air on your thighs as your skirts halo your waist, the heat inside, the shudder as his fingers find your core, and carefully begin to circle you. You feel self-consumed, immolated, devoured and spat out again. You feel like you're still falling, and Tom is the only force that keeps you standing.

He draws in slow, expert patterns — and you think, nonsensically, somewhere very distant where you still have sense, that they can’t be expert, he must have read something or observed some — oh. He’s pushing the thin fabric aside until his fingers are pressed directly against your flesh, and he makes a satisfied noise in the back of his throat as the evidence of how much you need this soaks his fingers, as they begin to sink in without resistance. Oh. Right. You don’t remember exactly what you were saying. 

You gasp at the feeling of having him inside when they finally curl into you. 

His finger is pulled from your mouth with a small pop, and you can’t even really muster the capacity to be embarrassed by the lewd, wet sound of it. He watches you over your shoulder, at his fingers vanished between your legs, at the drool clinging to the digit he’d quieted you with. He’s smiling into your neck now, proud and grateful all the same.

“Mine,” you think he murmurs, but it’s more something you feel than hear, some vague, hazy consonants pressed to your throat. It would be very like him, so you decide that yes, that’s probably what he said. And there’s something funny about it — the idea of being his — about what it means for him to want you so badly that he says it out loud. It feels a little bit like he’s yours, too.

Tom’s breathing is harsh, the fingers inside you moving as if they have a will of their own. Every muscle in your body constricts and squeezes around them; every cell, every neuron, comes roaring to life; and you’re fucked. You’re so completely fucked. His teeth scrape against you again, wholeheartedly pleased. This is what he wanted to see — the utter loss of you — when you are nothing but sensation, barely aware of your limbs as they slump against him. Tom is it; Tom is the only thing you can think of.

Tom is, inexplicably, upsettingly good at this.

“Look at you," he says softly. And his touch changes; it becomes slower, more deliberate and careful.

You’re trembling hopelessly. The way you coil and collapse under his touch is just further encouragement. He doesn't even bother to speak anymore, only pants, his eyes half-lidded, his lips swollen and slick when they attach to your throat again. Your whole body is on fire, and he's the one setting you alight — there is not a single inch of you that is not alive with the feeling of him, and you can barely breathe through the slow, heavy rush of it. 

You think you cry at the divine curve of his fingers carving inside you, slow and soft and then intense — when you grip his arm for more friction, and one of his hands is coming up to wipe a tear away but the feeling flares in your abdomen and you're only half aware of it, really — you think your eyes have rolled back. You think you've gone somewhere else. 

He keeps you just on the precipice, just shy of losing control, just far enough to leave you craving for more.

“To—Tom," you sob, gasps cleaving his name in two — you're on the brink of something incomprehensible, building inside you to something you can't help but think is about to shatter, your eyes clenching shut as you grip him so hard you're certain your fingers will leave marks. “I'm gonna—"

“I know," he breathes against your neck, hands running a familiar path along your body; he's so very, very proud that he's made you like this. He just barely bites into the spot above your collar, curls his fingers, and then you’re falling — something unfurls inside you and can’t be collected, something hot and depthless that your hands can’t clutch at from where they’re clinging so desperately to him — and you think, coming down from it with trembling, debilitating ecstasy, that he looks very much like he’d be proud to make you like this over and over again.

You're flattened, and that triumph in his eyes — the absolute satisfaction of seeing you this way, of knowing that that he's the one that did it to you — that feeling fills your mind and makes you collapse even more, makes you want to melt and flow into liquid at his feet; to give in, do whatever he says, even if all he says is just be like this for him.

He slowly removes his fingers as you come down, and your eyes are blinking for focus when he turns you around, his thumb coming up to brush over your bottom lip and you sigh at the taste of yourself as he pushes it inside your mouth. His other hand brushes away the damp, stray hairs that have fallen across your face, almost reverently, a silent worship as he takes you in, appreciates everything you just gave him.

He smiles gently at your half-blinking, half-vacant expression, his thumb still in your mouth; he watches you for a long moment in silence. His eyes are heavy-lidded and he's got a small quirk at the corner of his mouth as he pulls his thumb away and swipes it once more over your lip.

You're still not quite sure you can find words. Still not sure they'd form right as your tongue darts over the residue of Tom's finger and you flush impossibly hotter at the feeling of your own arousal on your mouth. Tom fixes your hair behind your ears and it doesn't seem like he's ready to stop taking you in in this state — your hair wild,  lips swollen, throat bruised and dress askew — and he leans in so tenderly it startles you, pressing a faint, almost imperceptible kiss to your forehead.

“Tell Godefrey he’ll be needing a new study partner. I think you’ll find yourself committed elsewhere." And with that he turns on his heel, perfectly composed, and disappears into the darkness of the midnight corridor.

Oh God, you think, and you’re too stunned to even react as you watch him vanish. It takes you a moment before you regain your senses, and you can only just manage to sputter out a breathless, miserable sigh into the air before you.

You are so completely, utterly fucked.

[svtdarlingbby]

Seventeen with a gym rat s/o

Svt x gym rat s/o. aka with an s/o who loves the gym as much as these buff babes. also low-key an excuse to post seventeen gym selcas 🫣💪

Seungcheol:

I think Cheol said somewhere that he prefers playing sports vs going to the gym

valid

but since he's with you and wants to spend more time with you he finds himself at the gym

he's pretty impressed by all your knowledge of various workout machines

wanted to impress you though so he suggested lifting weights

he's surprisingly able to lift a lot

but not as effortlessly at you

you found yourself gently correcting his form so he won't get hurt

tbh it was so endearing for Cheol

you babying him was so sweet

after weights you guys decided to have a friendly competition on the stair master

Cheol thought it would be easy, I mean it's just climbing stairs right?

WRONG

he was huffing and puffing meanwhile you were still climbing the infinite stairs effortlessly

it was at that point he considered you a fitness god and told himself that he'd always go to the gym with you

the next day he was soooo sore lol he couldn't get out of bed rip

you couldn't help but laugh

still tho you were nice and rewarded his efforts with some cuddles

Jeonghan:

Jeonghan finds himself going to the gym occasionally but the gym def isn't a huge priority in his life

however since dating you he noticed how much you love going to the gym

so he figured he might as well try it out too

but omg

he's trying sooooo hard to focus on lifting AND THEN THERES YOU

looking hella hot in your gym clothes lifting weights effortlessly

is totally checking you out

and you def notice

"JEONGHAN! NO SLACKING YOU CAN LOOK AT ME ALL YOU WANT LATER BUT FOCUS ON LIFTING!"

ah right-

but he low-key uses this as an excuse to get your attention

"Y/N? is my form right?" he says as he purposely holds the weights weirdly

"Nope, you've gotta hold it like this" you say as you adjust his grasp and form

lol this menace found the perfect way to get you close to him

of course he still actually listens to you and works out

but occasionally he'll try to purposely mess up his form to get you to help if he's extra needy

doesn't care if he's sore the next day

will use this as an excuse to cuddle with you

until you use your muscles to break free of his grasp and haul his ass out of bed

this reminds him that maybe he should continue going to the gym

one day he'll have enough muscles to cuddle you all day

Joshua:

I feel like Joshua goes to the gym more often then he makes it out to be

have you seen this guy's veiny arms??

he's gotta be lifting

he's super happy about having an s/o who also prioritizes the gym

arm day with you is always his fave

just seeing your strong muscles and physique lift the heavy weights just make his heart go crazy

like ughhh mommy/daddy

so he also wants to return the favor by impressing you

puts a lot of effort into lifting, making sure his form is just right

tbh you really do serve as motivation for him

he's been getting buffer since he started dating you

he has the cutest shyest smile when you compliment him

"Wow Josh, you've got arms of steel" you say as you squeeze his bicep

if he could he would melt right there

it means a lot coming from you since you're an expert with all things fitness

def reciprocates too

like you guys would just be chilling and he'd squeeze your arm

"Damn Y/N, you're armed and dangerous"

oh lord he's such a cheeseball

Jun:

y'all did you see limbo? 👀

it's so obvious Jun has worked hard for that body

and it was so convenient that you came into his life at that point

just as he was incorporating the gym more into his routine is when you and him began to date

tbh it was so convenient and Jun really appreciates having you around

Jun doesn't know if his form is correct? don't worry he's got you to fix it

Jun needs someone to spot him when he's bench pressing? you're already there by his side

Jun is experiencing a plateau? you've already got suggestions of different new exercises to try

basically it's because of you and your support he's even more motivated to go to the gym!

also my man Jun also appreciates the view if you know what I'm saying

having you by his side makes him feel even more stronger and powerful

like "yes my s/o is a fitness buff and is helping ME while looking like a snack"

these are just his thoughts tho

in reality he's just snaking his toned arms around your just as toned form, smiling to himself

Hoshi:

ohhh you know he's gonna make you his gym buddy

I meannnnnn have you seen this mans body???

boi loves to workout

will always spot you during arm day

is your biggest cheerleader when you move up in weights!!

"OMG Y/N YOU LIFTED THAT MUCH???!! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!"

will literally hug you all sweaty in the middle of the gym lol its a little embarrassing but sooo endearing

also

the fact that you love to work out? you're prob building quite the muscles

Soonyoung isn't shy when it comes to wanting to feel your toned arms

"Whoaaaa since when did you become so buff?" he says infatuated with your arms lol

of course you feel flustered cuz this man does this even in public!!

but low-key his reactions are your motivation to keep up your progress

also he lovesss to take gym selfies

you think his gym selfies are hot? they get even better with you right next to him flexing your hard work

he feels so luckyy

overall he loves that he gets to work out at the gym with a hottie like you

Wonwoo:

I feel like Wonwoo is a subtle guy when it comes to the gym

like yeah it's so obvious he goes to the gym but the gym isn't a huge facet of his life

when he realizes that its quite the opposite for you, he sees this as an opportunity to make more of an effort to make the gym routine

tbh he's amazed at how locked in you are with a routine at the gym

so for the first few days he kinda just copies you lol

he does the same exercises and kinda lets you be

its comfortable silence really

you guys both have your earbuds in doing your own thing while being near each other

of course he'll steal a few glances at you

but he always says its to match your form lolll sure

in private though he's always teasing you in a good way about your muscles

like he'll just randomly approach you, squeeze your muscular bicep, and say something like "close the gyms" in a really deadpan voice

it's soooo cheesy lmaooo but that line never fails to make you feel flustered hehe

Woozi:

have you seen Jihoon lately?

this mans getting b u f f

and having an s/o who's a gym rat like him?

goals

whenever you're getting ready to go to the gym Jihoon always wants to tag along

"Don't you have to produce a song tonight?"

"Nah I can squeeze in a gym session"

he's mainly going because you're going lol

he's def impressed with how fit you are, knowing all the machines and having effortless form

he's like damn I wanna be like that too

ALWAYS brags about this fact to the boys when he works out with them

"What kinda machine is that?" asked one of the guys

"That's a hip abductor, Y/N is a master of that"

also whenever you two are at the gym together

he feels so much more motivated

will def wanna do exercises that involve the both of you

is always down to hold down your feet during sit ups

cardio day you guys are on treadmills side by side

Jihoon won't admit this but when you guys are taking it easy a walking on the treadmills he treats it as if you guys were on a peaceful stroll together

he also won't admit he turns into a blushing puddle whenever you notice his progress

"Dang Jihoon, you're looking buff today" you say as you squeeze his toned biceps

that's it. brb Jihoon is gonna go to the gym to keep up the progress

DK:

I know this man is gonna be obsessed with the fact that you love the gym

he def will use the gym as an opportunity to spend time with you

while also getting buff himself

Seokmin is a total goofball

I can see him asking you for "motivation" during pushups

aka him asking you to lie under him for a kiss for each successful push up

like just look at him in that pic god damn

I meannnn lets just say you both benefited from that

he's also your biggest cheerleader

like when you're lifting weights omg he got the whole gym staring at you with his cheering

"YEAHHHH YOU GOT THIS Y/N!!! WHO'S THE STRONGEST BABE HERE? YOU!!!"

"ohmygodseokminpls"

after you lift the weights he's still gonna be a goofball about it

"now lift me pls" he says holding out his arms to you

you can only roll your eyes but lift him up nonetheless

he's giggling like an idiot and you can only roll your eyes

low-key motivates you to get stronger and vice versa

he wants to pick you up too hehe

he really does make gym sessions so much more enjoyable aww

Mingyu:

man Mingyu really does work out for that hot bod of his

while he love to play sports he also finds himself working out often too

when you came into his life though he thought having you around would motivate him more to go to the gym

because you were already sporting quite the hot body yourself

while you were typically very focused at the gym, once Mingyu came along that changed

of course you always thought Mingyu was hot, but when he's working out

oh my

you feel your face somehow get even hotter despite being all sweaty from working out when you see Mingyu doing all this

WHY IS HE CAKED UP LMAOOOO

while you're over here flustered over him Mingyu gets kinda cocky lol

like when he's spotting you while you're lifting

"Whoa there Y/N, I know I'm making your heart race but you gotta take it easy" he says as he fixes your form

mannn does he make working out hard

or when you're stretching he'll purposely flaunt stretch his arms while you glare as you're trying to hold your stretch

he'll also flex and try to lift the heaviest weights ever to get your attention

thankfully his antics catch up to him as he's superrr sore the next day

but he'd happily use this as a reason for you to take the lead if you know what I mean ;)

Minghao:

Minghao has become quite the fitness buff within the past few years

I mean look at those guns!!

I remember Minghao once said that it is super hard for him to gain muscle and look at him now ughhh

and seeing you succeed with your fitness goals makes Minghao even more proud

going to the gym is like breathing for you guys

you two always go to the gym together

and since you're with Minghao, every occasion has to be a fashion statement

you two are always wearing the coolest, trendiest, gym clothes that still manage to be uniquely your styles

it makes Minghao's heart flutter every time he seeing you wearing the gym shoes he bought you

especially when you're wearing one of his old gym shirts omg this man can barely even focus on working out LMAO and he's like the biggest gym rat out of all these dudes

gym selfies are a priority

his fav ones being the ones where both of you are goofily flexing your muscles

he's always so impressed by how much you can lift too

is soooooo flustered when you lift him up in the middle of the gym

but he secretly loves it so much awww like on the inside he's giggling and kicking his feet in the air haha

but as unserious as you guys act

once it comes to working out, you guys are fitness gods

you two are so focused when you're in the zone lifting or running on the treadmill

it's impressive really

and Minghao is so thankful that you're here to make the gym more fun

Seungkwan:

Seungkwan has found himself going to the gym more often since you came into his life

you would think it's because he wants to live a healthy lifestyle

no

it's because you two are so damn competitive

ever since you told him how many minutes it took for you to run a mile on the elliptical Boo was impressed but decided to challenge you

"Oh yeah? That's pretty impressive, but I can easily do that in less time"

"Oh really?"

"Bet"

so you guys go to the gym

and for you the elliptical is nothing

you look over and see Seungkwan starting to break a sweat in the first five minutes

"Getting tired Boo?"

"Stay in your lane"

god he was so sassy lol

but beating each other in a friendly competition was how you two rolled

of course you ended up winning while Seungkwan was a huffing puffing mess, all red

"Ok I admit it Y/N, you are a fitness god"

that compliment fueled your ego lol but you weren't mean about it

"Here's the prize for second place" you said before you kissed him

"Maybe losing isn't so bad after all" he laughed and hugged you, not minding either of you being sweaty

"Haha loser, let's play some badminton?" you ask

"Always! Now we'll see whose the loser" he smirks

Vernon:

okay first of all why is he wearing denim on denim TO THE GYM??

ANYWAYS kinda like Jeonghan I don't see Vernon prioritizing the gym all that much

but once he starts dating you, he notices that the gym ends up taking a lot of your time

so he's like "heck why not go with Y/N to the gym?"

is ill prepared as you can see in the pic

"Hansol. WHY are you not in your gym clothes?"

"Hm? Oh. Right. Let me snap a pic of my fit before I change"

*facepalm*

once he's changed he's ready to go!

feels kinda lost tho with all the machines

you're about to start lifting when you see Vernon looking confused as he's trying to distinguish a dumbbell from a kettlebell

you think its kinda cute watching his eyes go back and forth between the different types of weights

but you also don't wanna patronize him or anything

"Hansol, why don't you start with a dumbbell?" you say handing an appropriately weighted dumbbell to him

at this point you kind of become like his personal trainer

at first he was just watching you to see what you did with your dumbbell and tried to do the same

once you began to guide him you could tell he was a lot more secure

and he really did look like he was enjoying the workout!

tbh the gym really strengthens your bond this way

Dino:

our boy Lee Chan is obsessed with the gym

I mean look at that body ughhhh 😮‍💨

so when he starts dating you the gym becomes practically your second homes

he's hella impressed with your strength for sure

"Whoa Y/N, how are you able to lift that much?"

he's also kinda cheeky when it comes to stealing glances at you working out

it's leg day and you're doing squats? 👀

he's super subtle about it tho cause he actually takes the gym seriously *ahem Jeonghan*

he also def tries to show off for you

when he's doing arm curls he'll def put extra effort in flexing his biceps when he sees you watching

will also act like the heaviest weights are nothing for him

pays for his cockiness the next day in the form of soreness

this becomes the perfect opportunity for you to cuddle with his muscular self

maybe the gym can wait a few more minutes hehe

[writingquestionsanswered]

Hello! I am aspiring to be an author however I am not really good at writing. I think it might be because of my lack of detail, I have a hard time describing things in a way others understand but I’m not even sure of that. I want to be an author/writer, it’s always been my dream. I love to write but I’m really bad at like every aspect of it. It makes me feel as if I shouldn’t go into it because it would be a waste of my money(if collage can somehow help me, cause I don’t see how else I can fix my writing, I’ve tried a lot) my time and resources to go into something I’m awful at. I just wanted to know if it’s a good idea to give up on writing and pursue it, despite it not being something I’m good at. I love to write I’m just not good at it, and I seem to be struggling to learn. I hope my question can help others who are in the same boat as me, and I hope this isn’t too deep or annoying! Thanks for answering (if you do) in advance! Have a great day!

Good Writing Takes Time... Don't Give Up

A lot of young and/or newer writers have this same concern. They feel like they've put a ton of time and effort into writing but are not improving, but in reality they've been at it for a few months. Maybe a year or two...

The reality is that writing is a craft, and like any craft, it can take YEARS to hone your skills. When you read fan-fiction, a short story, or a novel that really strikes you as well written, I promise you that is not the first thing that writer/author wrote. In fact, that writer/author almost certainly has YEARS of writing experience under their belts.

And to be clear, I'm not saying it's impossible for a first or second story or novel to be amazing, it's just not that common. Most of us have to produce a large body of not-so-great work before we start producing really good work.

So, keep at it. Get yourself a notebook and practice describing things in it. It could be the room you're sitting in, some people you're observing, something you see while you're waiting for the bus... whatever. Utilize sensory and emotional description: what can you see? What can you hear? What can you smell? What can you taste? What can you touch? What do these observations make you think and feel?

Read a lot of short stories and books. Watch writing advice videos. Read writing craft books. Do writing prompts. Write fan-fiction (if you're so inclined.)

If you have the opportunity to take some writing classes or if you want to pursue writing in college, that's great, too!

Either way, you definitely shouldn't give up if writing is your dream. Like all dreams, it doesn't happen overnight. It's something that will take time, energy, hard work, and lots of practice and patience.

Now, watch this:

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

♦ Questions that violate my ask policies will be deleted! ♦ Please see my master list of top posts before asking ♦ Learn more about WQA here

[xanaxspritz]

hi🥰🥰 i just saw your post about requests being open so here i am, brain filled with suguru worms🧎 i’ve been daydreaming sm about living a slow, romantic cottage-core life with this man. would you consider doing headcanons for that?🥹

an: wrote this in an aiport lol. set after suguru declares war on jujutsu high but doesn't die. escapes in exile with sorcerer!reader. this got a little dark sorry!

cw: a bit of tradwifery (sorry), possessiveness, vomiting, impregnation

you're still getting used to the country life. it's nice and tranquil. there's a few yuzu trees surrounding the cottage you and suguru inhabit and a strawberry field by the lake that's less than a mile away from the house. suguru moved you two to the japanese countryside after narrowly escaping death after the war against jujutsu high to lay low for a while, but his grip on you has only gotten stronger after leaving tokyo.

you made do with what you had. fleeing so quickly meant no time to pack. a part of you missed the temple, the people, the friends you made, and the huge master bedroom you and suguru shared (the cottage bedroom wasn't half the size). but suguru insisted that this tiny cottage would be the best chance from gojo or anyone from jujutsu high to find him, so here you were, bright and early fixing suguru breakfast.

"smells great darling," he says smiling as you pour the hot green tea into his teacup. "will you not have any yourself?"

"no, im not hungry," you shrug.

"hmm."

you sit in comfortable silence for a bit, looking out the window next to the table while he goes back to reading the paper. you knew you should feel lucky to be here, the village was so pretty and picturesque, and the villagers were so welcoming. you knew you should feel even luckier that surguru chose you, yes you, to run away with him. he fucks you harder now, rougher and more impulsively than the carefully calculated man that he was before. he cums inside you now, every single time as if he was trying to get you pregnant. maybe he's taking his frustrations out on you, or maybe he's just showing you how much he really loves you, and it would be a lie to say you didn't like it.

you feel his big hands rub your knee under the table, taking you out of your thoughts.

"you look like you're thinking about something," he raises an eyebrow.

"oh! it's nothing. just thinking about tokyo I guess," you say.

"I believe there's a festival in the village today. would my pretty girl like to get some sweets? we'll walk there together."

your ears perk up. "really?" you ask. maybe they'll have matcha dango you loved getting from the stand nearby the temple. maybe they'll even have candy apples. "I would love to go."

walking hand in hand, you stroll to the village center for the festival. suguru holds your hand tight, squeezing it, giving you a small, sweet, smile.

"I know it hasn't been easy for you," he begins "but you're doing a wonderful job. always so obedient, so caring of me. one day, I would like you make you my wife."

you're heart beats faster after the mention of "wife". this was the first time he's ever said the word. could this really be happening?

"I would be honored to," you grin unable to hide your excitement. for the rest of the day, you're elated and bubbly at the possible idea that one day you'll be suguru's permanently.

xxx xxx xxx xxx

he fucks you fast and hard that night, you take every inch of his dick a the good girl you are, leaving his dick inside of you overnight while you sleep in his embrace. the next morning you feel a wave of nausea, throwing up until you puke clear liquid from the depths of your stomach. it could be forming eating too many deserts, but you pull a pregnancy test form behind the mirror cabinet in the bathroom just to be safe, and wait the five longest minutes of your life to find the stick displaying two bright blue lines. your heart sinks.

"suguru...i think.. i might.." you say coming out of the bathroom finding him at the dining table, tears begin welling in your eyes. "I'm pregnant!" you blurt out, shoving the pregnancy test towards him.

he gingerly grabs the stick, taking a few minutes to process the news and then sinks down to his knees at your feet, peppering thousands of kisses at your navel.

"i've been waiting for this moment," he says rubbing your belly. "i cant want to see youre body grow with my child, youre gonna make such a good mama, i promise."

suguru stands up to wipe your tears away, giving you a big hug. you were finally bound to him forever. with his essence inside you and a baby on the way, you could never leave him even if you tried. he rubs your back, letting you sob on his shoulder. you are his for the rest of time.

[oh-koenig-my-koenig]

Hey peeps. I'm really sorry but I actually have bad news and not a Valentine's Day chapter for today. I got diagnosed with tendonitis and I need to rest my hand and not write too much. I'm currently also working on my Master's thesis and that has priority, for obvious reasons I think, and I'm having a really hard time not being able to write some more König stuff, because really that's all I want to do.

I mean, I have found some speech to text programs that work pretty well (I'm actually using it right now to type this out), but it still takes a lot more time and then I still need to proofread manually, so it will take until the weekend or next week to post some more.

I have some chapters already written out that I finished some time ago that might not fit the plot exactly, but will work as random scenes. So I might fall back on some of those for the time being.

I hope you understand and thanks for your patience! 

I actually wrote a little scene about it when my wrist first started hurting, so I'm just going to post this today (I also read through it again and the big guy is still my comfort character), maybe some of you can also use a little fluff with König today <3

kissing it better <3

(domestic fluff, hinted-at smut, mdni)

Monday at 8, I go to work after drinking my morning coffee with him and I return to his house again in the late afternoon, finding him and Mimi cuddling on the couch, the little ball of fur snuggling into his broad chest. Seeing them like that, squeezes my heart a little bit.

I hop onto his lap, Mimi meowing because now she isn’t the only one occupying this space anymore. We laugh and I can finally give him a kiss. He kisses me back, his arms wrapping around my waist and thighs.

Next to him on the end table, there are three new bottles of black nail polish. “They didn’t have the brand you normally use, so I just bought a few.”, he explains, smiling at me apologetically.

And this small gesture makes me melt a little. I picture him, the ridiculously tall, scary looking metalhead standing in the boutique in front of the shelf with all the tiny bottles of nailpolish – and then picking out three of the same colour because he didn’t know which one I would like.

“Thanks, even though that wasn’t necessary.”, I say, pressing a little ‘thank you’ kiss onto his nose. I reach for one of the bottles but pull back when a pang of pain shoots through my wrist.

His eyes widen, just a bit, his look fixed on the spot where I hold it against my chest, slowly massaging it. “What happened?”, he asks.

I shrug. “I don’t know, my wrist just hurts.” I sigh. “It started today at work and it just doesn’t go away.”

He catches my hand, pulling my wrist from my hold, and inspects the joint, softly moving it. He stretches it down gently, my small palm between his huge, tattooed fingers. “Does that hurt?”, he wants to know. I shake my head and he pulls it into the other direction. I hiss slightly, as the light sting of pain spreads, and he lets go immediately.

“I think, you may have overworked it a little bit.”, he mumbles, softly massaging the muscles and tendons around the wrist. Pushing his thumbs into the sensitive skin, until I sigh and relax a bit.

König pulls my wrist closer, up to his lips, pressing them onto the joint. Placing soft kisses where it hurts. Kissing it better. I can feel his warm breath coasting over my skin as he slowly makes his way to the inside of my wrist, still rubbing the spots that hurt lightly with his big strong fingers. His eyes snap up to mine, holding my gaze that is already on him.

His tongue darts out, licking over the pulse point, like he can’t help himself. The soft wet touch sends a pleasurable shiver down my spine. My mouth drops open just a little bit as he puts his over the sensitive spot and sucks, gently. A little moan escapes my lips, and I can see the heat in his eyes intensifying.

He pulls back, pressing another kiss to my wrist, lingering a little longer than he needs to. Still holding my gaze. “A little better?”, he asks, with a soft smile. His little kisses seem to be the best medicine, even though they are pure placebo.

“Yes, thank you.”, I say as I lean forward and give him a proper kiss on the lips.

“Just let it rest the next few days and it’ll get better, okay?”, he suggests then.

I nod, but I can’t help myself, as I add-on: “So, no handjobs?”, biting back a grin.

He shoots me a look that tells me to stop being such a brat, but the corners of his mouth turn up. “Exactly, that was my point, Fräulein.”, he answers sarcastically, patting my ass.

His demeanor changes again before he asks: “Are you hungry? I cooked some pasta.” He already kinda knows the answer to that (I can always eat, especially carbs) as he’s getting up, just lifting me up in one swift motion, only to set me down on the floor next to him.

“Starving actually, I didn’t really have lunch today.”, I sigh. “More exhausting clients instead.”

“We’ll get you something to eat and then you can tell me all about it. How does that sound, hm?”, he suggests. His arm snakes around my waist while he presses a little kiss on the top of my head.

“That sounds great.”, I tell him, a small smile on my face, as I take his hand – with the wrist that doesn’t hurt – and follow him to the kitchen.

Mimi gets up as well and tipples after us, her tail flicking up in the air, as she meows again like she wants to say ‘I’m hungry too!’.

~ more stuff in the Masterlist~

[seelestars]

hellooo, if u dont mind could i request himeko, kafka and fu xuan reacting to their s/o being a highly talented dancer and seeing them dance to a really hard kpop choreo? thanks and have a wonderful day/night :D

➴ ✫ * ✧ HSR WOMEN SEEING YOU DANCE TO A K-POP SONG ! (kafka, fu xuan, himeko)

a/n : i can smell how this post is gonna flop from miles away but i digress ☠️ anywaay i tried my best, hope u enjoyyy! + slightly ooc fu xuan ?

kafka :

might snap a few pics of you shamelessly while you’re dancing, a smug smirk on her lips as you hear the shuttering sound of her phone. (It’s def gonna be her wallpaper)

no matter how hard you try she won’t delete it😭😭she thinks you look pretty in the pictures she took, so why delete them?

or option B, she stands there watching you, seeing how long it takes for you to notice she’s there… whole jumpscare when you finally notice her (she likes doing it to see your cute startled reactions)

she’ll hum along to the lyrics of the song, maybe even lay her hands on your body as you danced. (it makes u immediately freeze up, a flustered expression on your face as she chuckles next to your ear)

she tells u things like, “with those skills, you could be an idol. im sure you’d be a very good one though, with your looks and all~” with a stupid smile on her lips

if you do decide to teach her one of the dances, she’d catch on very quickly.. she’s quite a quick learner ! except she purposefully messes up sometimes so u can adjust her posture etc (she just wants to feel ur touch on her skin ♡)

fu xuan :

is wowed by your impressive dance moves (but she doesn’t admit it “h-hmph, I’ve seen better.”) , she knew you were a good dancer but she had never rlly seen u dance before

she’s stuck in a trance watching you to the point she doesn’t even realize you’ve finished dancing and how you were currently staring at her. her cheeks flush as soon as she snaps back to reality as she turns her head away, crossing her arms. when you tease her about it, she’d only deny “i-i wasn’t staring at you!” even tho it’s insanely obvious she was

she probs has some toxic trait thinking she can also easily do that dance, getting all cocky w u and going “watch me do the dance better!” and proceeding to have to replay the vid a thousand times (except it’s no use, she’s still so confused <\3) she gets so embarrassed afterwards to the point u have to comfort her and let her know it’s okay ,,

she thought the dance u did was mesmerizing, and rlly wants to master it. so she reluctantly asks you for tips (with the tips of her ears flushed red hehe) in a way that makes u want to tease her about it

secretly tries to sneak up on u more to watch you dance more (you notice this but don’t point it out since yk how embarrassed she’d be)

himeko :

she heard loud music coming from your room, so she decided to check on you only to see u dancing to kpop songs lol

she’d make her presence known by clapping, her eyes slightly widened by how in awe she was of your skills !

might even start singing the songs (even if she’s unfamiliar w the lyrics) n dance along w u,,

or she’d most likely just sit somewhere and wait for u to finish before interrupting and stuff, her gaze fixed on you the entire time… she just thinks you look too good while dancing to take her eyes off of you! an approving look on her face as she stares you down intently, even though ur getting flustered by how much she’s staring </3

when u finish dancing to the songs, she’ll ask you for tutorials so she can dance along with you !! she’s also gonna give you tons of compliments, “you did so well” “you looked beautiful” “that’s so impressive” but as soon as you give her a tutorial she’s gonna be so confused haha ,, must be bcuz of her lack of experience when it comes to dancing..

she’s very supportive of whatever you do, if you decide to start a career w your dancing skills she’d cheer you on !

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

Do you think Chase would go after any future ninjas?

Like, obviously, he wouldn't go after someone like Mac Antfee, but would he go after the ones with more potential? Like Randy, for example, especially since he summoned that giant earth worm that one time while he wasn't wearing the mask makes me think he has some form of magical potential.

Or maybe First managed to struck a deal with him to prevent him from pursuing any future ninjas? That's also an option that came to mind.

But what do you think?

Oh dude I have so many thoughts about it! I think I mentioned something about it in the first post, but I believe that after First, Chase would probably keep an eye on the Norisu Ninja succession line. But, the details would depend on the AUs.

For example, a basically canon AU where First wins a VS event and does not join Chase's Fallen Warriors harem. There could be two variations: in their fight conditions First could state that Chase never bothered anyone from Norrisville/Norisu line if First won (but that's too boring xD) or the 'unbother' conditions could have been only extended to First and not his successors.

So in this case, Chase would retreat back to his Fortress, and after First ascends into Ninjanomicon, over the years he would make surprise visits to Norrisville whenever someone worthy of his attention appears.

Would he actively try to recruit the future ninjas? I mean it would depend, but I think if one particulary powerful caught his eye, he might make an attempt to get them as a Fallen Warrior, (also as a way to grate on First's nerves). However IMO, those attempts wouldn't happen too often, only because the more powerful the Ninja is the more chances are:

they are either of particular strong will (like First) and can resist the Corruption during their tenure as Ninja and successfully give up their mask/memories/power when needed - and in turn resist Chase's offers/manipulations.

OR they are not that strong of will and will fall into Dark side and thus loose the Mask and most of their power. In that case, Chase still can try to get them into Jungle Cats army OR he can take them on as a minion! I mean, imagine a disgraced Ninja with memories but no Mask/Suit power, being suddenly offered another power by an evil warlord with a beef with your ex-boss??

So I actually think Mac Antfee would be an interesting specimen for Chase! I mean, it seems to not happen often, a disgraced Ninja while not overly powerful, but decent enough, that escaped The Ultimate Lesson, since Antfee was like the only one in recent decades. And while of no particular overwhelming skill or honor, Antfee certainly had ambitions and Chase could use that. And more importantly Antfee would decide himself to join evil, which is an big thing for Chase.

Besides, imagine Chase taunting First about how he picked up the dishonored Ninja he discarded and turned him to Dark Side? Like Oof, talk about divorced exs arguing about whose side the kids take, lol.

Randy, on the other hand is certainly no minion material, but firmly potential Fallen Warrior/Jungle Cat candidate. We all know that he is freaking powerful and took to Ninja powers/suit like duck to a water which says a lot about his pre-existing natural abilities. But Randy also falls into category of 'Strong Willed' powerful Ninjas that are not easily swayed by corruption/evil.

But I guess one can argue that he is constantly swayed by selfish needs, thanks to Howard's influence HAH, but he is also always quick to fix those mistakes, so it kind of cancels each other out? Though, one could also say Randy is vulnerable to manipulation, of which Chase is a master of, so like?? If Chase does decide he wants to get Randy as his Fallen Warrior, which is highly likely especially after RC9GN finale, ooooooo it could be an incredible temptation to get the one who could be equal to/if not greater as First.

So yeah, in basically canon AU I think it's highly likely Chase will make visits to Norrisville, to scoop out potential so to speak, with various results.

Now, there is another variation, I call Favorite Warrior AU, which is basically different outcome for VS event, where First lost, but in case of his loss he made a deal that since Chase is getting him - he would leave anyone associated with Norisu Ninja in the future alone. And Chase, as honorable as he is, would certainly accept those conditions, because well, he is getting what he wants after all. BUT he also predicts/creates a loophole to that deal (because he can be sneaky like that! >;3).

And the loophole is - while Chase himself promised not to actively pursue any future Ninjas, he promised nothing about actively avoiding them if they pursue him. And why would they pursue him, you would ask? Well, because of the First himself!

I mean imagine, in the Ninjanomicon there is a record about what happened to First (like, he still shared/recorded his memories in the book and joined Chase after, because he is honor bound to do so, and its all written down) and a warning for future Ninjas to never get into anything associated with Chase Young, the immortal warlock warlord, prince of Darkness and etc. because they would end up in his servitude, like First. It's a cautionary tale, a warning, a record of what happened to their Norrisville founder.

What do you think dumb Ninja teenagers would do??? They would try to figure out more of course! Granted not all of them, but perhaps a great number would try to seek out Chase for very different reasons.

Like, I would imagine the more honorable, goody-two-shoes would attempt to rescue First from this servitude. The success of their attempts would vary, but most of them Chase will send off back with their tails tucked, failed in their noble if dumb pursuit. Some, who are stronger, would be perhaps played with, in an attempt to make them join Chase too. (First would be very frustrated, if a little proud, to see those idiots try to save him, because he made a deal for them to be safe and here they are throwing themselves into the lion's den.)

Then there are those who would seek out Chase with less honorable intentions. Those who fell to corruption and are tempted by Dark Side, but lost the Mask, title and most importantly all that power. They would seek Chase in hopes of pledging their loyalty in return for power they so crave. And well. While Chase is certainly not going to say no to more people/ex-ninjas turning to evil, he would be more picky about accepting those kind of ex-ninjas into his Fallen Warriors army. (First would be most saddened to see those who fell into corruption though. I think he would feel guilty and like if he hadn't lost, they wouldn't have known to try and seek Chase and thus fall further into evil.)

Mac Antfee would belong to a second category (after escaping Ultimate Lesson, he would try to get more power from the one who captured the most powerful Ninja ever, because logic) and Randy will belong to the first category (that baby idiot will read that Ninja Prime was turned into a cat warrior by an evil warlord, and will be like 'Oh shoot I know what we gonna do today Nomicon, Howard! We are gonna save First Ninja!' and probably fucking succeed, lol.)

So yeah, in this AU Chase basically agrees to leave Norrisville alone, because it would become an effort-free warrior making machine for him, lol.

Anyway, sorry for the long post, hope my answer was entertaining at least! ;D

[redpenship]

Happy New Year! I’d love to know if you have any headcanons about Mobian culture and/or holidays, either based on things you’ve seen in the games/comics/movies etc OR just stuff you’ve made up for fun. :) Maybe this isn’t really your forte but I thought I’d ask haha!

Happy new year!

I actually don't have too many headcanons on Mobian culture itself. However, I do have HCs for their society in general which I guess would feed into the culture idea anyways. I'm just going to put all of it here because why not.

(Heads up: this post is 1.8k words long).

Thesis I: There is no Mobian state.

If you've read my fic Buzzsaw Dilemma, then you'll have already been given a basic run down on how I think this works. Since I like rambling about this kind of stuff, I will explain everything again, but this time with evidence from canon to support my theory!

To begin, it's always best to define what a "state" actually is. I prefer the Max Weber view as a state being an "organization with a monopoly on the legitimate use of force". Let's break down what this actually means with an example:

The state establishes a rule that you can't assault other people. One day, you feel that someone has wronged you and decide to punch them in the face. A police officer nearby notices this and responds by punching you in the face and detaining you. After spending the night in jail, you're charged with felony assault and the police officer is not. Why?

As a random citizen, you do not have a right to the legitimate use of force. You cannot punch people to get what you want with impunity. The police, as official arms of the state to use against domestic populations, do have a monopoly on the use of force. They can shoot people, put them in prison, and basically do whatever they want (within reason, technically, but the state doesn't like challenges to its authority and will always resist holding itself and its officers accountable for perceived illegitimate uses of force) because they're the only ones allowed to do so! Your boss at work can't kidnap you and hold you prisoner for a year because you broke a rule. The state can do that to you because it is seen as a legitimate use of force.

Now that we both know what a state is, I can explain why I don't think one exists on the Mobian islands. I am going to cite a lot of stuff from IDW since it's allegedly canon now and the games tend not to focus too much on day-to-day life on the islands anyways.

Point one: the Restoration. Since aid organizations apparently don't like working on the islands, which I suspect might be due to the Eggman Empire's fixed presence there, the Restoration was forced to step up after the war to fix up the islands. Although it's true that some states just don't give a shit about their populations, I don't think it's wrong to say that post-war clean up would typically be a job for an existing state. The lack of any central authority points to the conclusion that one may just not exist.

Here are some panels from IDW issue #42:

Here, Zavok is surprised about the lack of security at Restoration HQ. Master Zik explains that Mobians don't see a need to prepare for violence because they aren't violent to each other. This is an interesting assertion given Tails' backstory, but I guess his two tails were just that disturbing to the people at home!

The main takeaway here is that the islands don't really have security guards or police officers. I like these panels for that reason only. I'm afraid the reasoning provided by Zik still implies that police/guards would be necessary if there was violence among Mobians, so it's not really that revolutionary of a worldbuilding moment and realigns the comic with statist ideology.

So, let's summarize: the islands don't have a central authority. They don't have any means to enforce a monopoly on the use of force. Does this mean that they don't have a state? In the absence of government, does the Restoration pave the roads?

In my general opinion, yes. There are some instances that could be used to disprove this theory, such as the Everhold Prison seen in Bad Guys, which is seemingly guarded exclusively by dog Mobians:

The existence of a prison implies a functional penal system, which in turn implies that somebody on the islands has a legitimate monopoly on force. On the other hand, it's never explicitly stated that Everhold Prison is hosted on the islands, so for now I can still cope and pretend it never happened. Yippee!

Thesis II: The islands don't use money.

I hosted a poll on this subject a few weeks ago, in which I learned that most people think there's money on the islands. Allow me to argue otherwise!

The most common theory for the origin of money is that it came into existence because bartering for stuff fucking sucks and nobody likes doing it. Nothing has a standardized value, so if the guy in your village responsible for making shoes is a pompous asshole who makes ludicrous demands such as asking for FIVE bushels of wheat in exchange for a pair of shoes, even though you've heard the guy in the next town over only asks for three bushels, then you're shit out of luck and have to fork over all your wheat. Maybe the shoemaker is on a gluten-free diet and refuses to trade with you, so as a wheat farmer who only trades in wheat now you can't even barter for a new pair of shoes! Sucks to be you, buddy.

Under a monetary system, a bushel of wheat and a pair of shoes both gain a standardized value. A bushel of wheat is $1, and a pair of shoes is $4. After selling enough wheat that you have $4 in profits, you can walk over to the shoemaker, slap some coins down on the table, and tell him to get to work. Now, you might say, "wait, if you're in a captive market, can't he just charge whatever he wants and you have to deal with it?" The answer to that question is yes, but asking economic theorists to consider greed in their theories is a bit hard since they don't really care about fairness at all and still don't understand what's wrong with kids making carpets in factories since their hands are the perfect size for that sort of thing. All these stupid labour rights activists don't understand comparative advantages and it's sickening!

Here's the problem with an existing Mobian monetary system: it assumes greed! Or, at the very least, assumes that Mobians have normalized the hoarding of commodities for personal gain. I don't believe this is the case at all.

Let's recall Zik's statement to the Zeti: Mobians don't steal from each other because they are kind and compassionate to one another. I would argue that the origins of property/commodity ownership implies large-scale theft, as developing something like an apple orchard requires dispossessing your neighbours of a plot of land and claiming it for yourself. Then you grow a ton of apples on your land--that they once could have used as they pleased before you took over--and tell them that they can't eat any of these apples unless they give you something in exchange. But the apples are right there, bro, they'll complain. You can't eat all of those on your own. You'll tell them to suck it up and eventually they'll bring you items (or money) in exchange for some apples.

This doesn't seem like something we'd see the cute Sonic furries do to each other. Since we're talking about farming, here's a panel from there IDW 2022 annual where all the characters are helping out on some kind of communal farm:

Moving on, let's look at why Sonic hates Eggman so much. Eggman has always served as a representation of industrialization, environmental exploitation and degradation, and individualist greed. If the islands had a monetary system, and the ideals required to develop one in the first place, then a lot of what Eggman is attempting to implement would have already existed! Economic development requires exploitation, both of other people and natural resources. Money is the result of economic development. It just doesn't fit for me.

Thesis III: Equity as a norm.

This is basically the section on culture. Leading up to this section, I've established a rule: Mobians live in a stateless and moneyless society. Here are some cultural norms that might have lead to such a society in modern times.

Ecology as a priority. This is consistent with the environmentalist themes in the series, but also with the way that most Mobians we meet in the series seem to really care about the environment. My personal take is that they simply haven't developed the view that they are above nature, which is something seen in Eggman and other industrialists. In Sonic Prime, we see Thorn Rose react aggressively when she notices that her friends harming plants by taking more than they need from them. This may have been because they violated a strict cultural norm! Although this occurred in an alternate dimension, I like to think about its implications for the main universe, too. Is the cultural pressure to maintain and protect the land they live on enough to suppress industrial development? Maybe!

Conformity as a means of social cohesion. Generally, I think Mobian society demands a lot of personal sacrifice from people. A core tenant of collectivism is that you have to put up with not getting what you want most of the time, and sometimes this even comes at a direct cost to you. Maybe your neighbour stole your favourite toy truck and you can't complain about it or everyone will accuse you of trying to establish private ownership over something stupid. Or, maybe, there hasn't been a lot of rain this year and your communal farms are flopping. Out of desperation one day, you wander into the woods and find some bushes of edible berries that could help you survive better for the next few days. However, since eating while your neighbours starve would violate the ethical values imposed on your by your collectivist society, you must accept only having a few berries instead and sharing the rest with your village. If you're someone like Tails, who stands out because of a physical mutation, then tough luck if your village cares about appearances. Everyone knows your business and you're dependent on them for support. As soon as they decide they don't like you, you're going to suffer severely. Upsides and downsides to everything.

Alternate methods of punishment. A society without a state likely wouldn't have prisons. Building on the concept of conformity, social crimes would be mitigated through social pressure--basically, if you do something wrong, everyone will be mean to you and not like you as much as they did before. Fear of risking the judgment of peers is a very strong deterrent for most crimes, arguably moreso than prison itself.

Everything I've written here is my basic take on Mobian culture and society! In terms of holidays, I'm sure they have stuff relating to harvest times and seasonal changes.

Thanks for the question!! Sorry if this isn't what you wanted at all haha.

[satureja13]

Jeb's Investigations - Part 6

Jeb was just on his way to look if he can find where Jack, Lunatic and Valerian ran off to, when Greg and Uncle Stefan came along with them! Oh no, he will scold him again for doing everything wrong -.-

But he didn't. Greg told him what Valerian witnessed the night Jack ran away from Goldshire...

Valerian told Greg (or Stefan, who knows ö.Ö') that he and Lunatic were just making out a bit behind the stables that night.

Valerian was so happy that Lunatic finally returned his affection!

When Jack came running towards them - with wild eyes and a hysterical expression ö.ö' Lunatic: 'Oh no. Why is he running in our direction? I'm afraid of him!' (TMI: Lunatic and Jack didn't go along very well even from the beginning ö.ö)

And really, Jack approached them! Lunatic: 'What might he want from us? He looks manic!' Valerian kissed Lunatic: 'Fear not. I won't leave your side.'

Jack hastily threw the saddle on Lunatic. He didn't even make sure the belts where strapped down tightly! Valerian: 'Be careful or he might fall off. I'll follow you.' Lunatic: 'Oh no - and Lou hasn't fixed my loose horseshoe yet!'

Jack didn't care. He jumped on Lunatics back and even spured him to run faster and faster!

Jeb: "Oh no! But haven't they seen what made Jack so upset he ran away?" Greg: "No. They'd been so engaged with each other, they forgot the world around them. Ah - I can understand them so well..."

Greg: "Anyway - when they just crossed the bridge, the belts of Lunatic's saddle losened - Lunatic stumbeled and then he lost his already lose horseshoe. Poor Lunatic was so startled, he rose. And Jack fell off..."

Jeb: "And that's how Jack died? Lunatic 'killed' him unintentionally?" That's a bit strange, though. Valerian kicked Jeb off his back and he didn't die... Maybe Jack just fell so bad he broke his neck?

Lunatic just hid his horseshoe under the grass when Valerian said: 'Let's hide him behind the bush, no one ever comes here. They will never find him.'

Jeb: "Except for Lou... why wasn't he able to trace Jack's tracks when he just rode on Lunatic over the bridge into the woods? He'd claimed that Jack must have swam through the river so he lost him?" Greg: "You have no time for this now. You need to find Jack's heart. And I need to go back to my shop! I've already wasted too much time with your nonsense! He fell off the horse - that's all there is." Is it? ö.Ö' Greg left before Jeb could ask him where he found Jack and if it had been his pawprints Jeb found at the crime scene. Maybe it really had been Lou's? ö.ö And he just right out lied to Jeb? But why? At least he now knows why Lunatic and Valerian refused to go near the crime scene again...

And we still can't ask NPC Jack what really happened and why he ran away so headless!

Because he still has his head up in the clouds and no memories after they woke him from the dead by replacing his heart with a magical ruby... He didn't even bother riding on his 'murderer' o.o 'And I'm far, far away With my head up in the clouds And I'm far, far away With my feet down in the crowds Lettin' loose around the world But the call of home is loud Still is loud'

Slade - Far far away

The Therapy Game Master Post with the sessions and places so far is -> here

From the Beginning 🔱 Underwater Love 🔱 Latest

Current Chapter: 'Who killed Jack?' from the beginning ▶️ here

📚 Previous Chapters: 1-6 ~ 7-12 ~ 13-16 ~ 17-22 ~ 23-28

[stevethehairington]

okay making this a New Post bc i don't wanna like. commandeer op's post with this but. i saw the post in this screenshot:

like three days ago, and i have, no joke, spent all three of those days thinking about it, specifically how painfully, achingly, desperately i want to write something inspired by it...

and just. OUGH. it fits so fucking SO FUCKING perfectly for the buckies from masters of the air. like. gale has his sweetheart back home, and john doesn't have anything back home, but he finds his something, his someone in gale, he falls in love with him, and it's this overwhelming, all encompassing kind of love, this tugging, aching kind of thing that fills his chest, sits on top of his lungs, and it makes it kind of hard to breathe sometimes, but john wouldn't trade it for the world, he wouldn't. and he knows it's never going to be reciprocated, because gale's not like him, because gale's got a girl, they're getting married, john's going to be his best man and everything. but that doesn't do anything to tamper those feelings, it doesn't make john yearn any less, and so he has to just live with it. to just get used to that ache behind his ribs and just keep going, keep trucking on. and he does.

and then the unthinkable happens and the war ends, and just like that they're going home. and so gale goes back to wyoming, back to marge, and john goes back to wisconsin, back to, well, nothing, really.

he ends up finding himself this nice plot of land; it's by a lake, with lots of trees, and the nearest neighbors are miles away. it's quiet, and it's secluded, and it's not too terribly far from town. there's a house on the property, a total fixer upper, but john thinks that's maybe exactly what he needs — something to keep him occupied, something to keep his hands busy, something that will require his attention and his energy and might tire him out by day's end, enough that maybe he won't need the bottle to do the trick.

(and if he maybe likes to pretend that he's fixing the place up for a reason, one with blonde hair and blue eyes and the sweetest smile, well, that's nobody's business but his own.)

and the thing is — those thoughts of gale, those feelings for him, they don't disappear. they don't fade away. john had hoped the distance, the not seeing each other every day, the not being in each other's direct orbit might quell some of it. but it doesn't. not even one bit. if anything, they get stronger out here. all that quiet, all that loneliness — it leaves a lot of room for john's mind to run wild.

john has trouble sleeping, too. it's quiet, too quiet, he's used to sharing a room with bunks and bunks of other men, so going from that — snores and whispers and creaking beds and snuffling breaths — to... nothing. it's weird. it's unsettling.

that, and the nightmares. those don't help either.

so john finds himself awake through the night a lot of the time, and, well, if he's up he's going to make the most of it, so he pours himself some whiskey and takes it onto the porch. there's a little swing there, left behind by the previous owners. it hangs from the awning, except the right side isn't so secure anymore, the hook half torn out, so it hangs at a slant. john keeps telling himself he needs to fix it, but it hasn't dropped him yet or ripped the ceiling apart, and he keeps forgetting, so he just doesn't.

it's dark outside, with only the pale shimmer of the moonlight to keep him company. the sound of crickets, too. and john will sip his whiskey and he'll stare up at that moon and he'll — he'll think of gale.

wonder what he's doing. wonder if he's awake too. if he's staring up at that very same moon. he'll wonder if marge is with him, maybe wrapping her arms around him, maybe making him a cup of something warm, maybe holding his hands to stop them from shaking.

john's chest aches something fierce, and the whiskey doesn't help, but he drains the glass anyways. lets it burn down his throat and settle, hot and hurting, in his gut as he thinks about what he'd do if it were him with gale instead. if gale were here with him. if they were together, on this porch, at this house, in this life.

john thinks. john yearns. john gets himself some more whiskey.

(and, of course, it IS a happy ending eventually — gale and marge split, before they get married even, and gale ends up showing up on that doorstep (he knew the address from the scant few letters sent between the two) with his bags, a lopsided smile, and his whole entire heart, all for john.)

[mx-legend-of-faye]

My apologies that it’s been so long since I’ve made a longer post of my own. I had some things to deal with and I was not in the mood to post anything.

As an apology—and okay its maybe not the best “apology” considering its sad—though, here:

Imagine Wild, having already spent a while traveling and bonding with the chain, getting sent back to his own time without his newfound family. And now he’s stuck there, no portals showing up for her to bring her to their family or to bring their family to them.

And this is Wild. Wild with their self esteem issues who sees himself as a failure. Wild who is probably thinking that maybe Hylia didn’t want him helping the other heroes anymore. Maybe Hylia had given him a chance and decided that they didn’t deserve it, so She sent them back alone.

So Wild throws themself into helping the kingdom, doing everything they can for others with little regard for themself, because he doesn’t want to fail anyone ever again.

And then Zelda asks her to come underneath the castle with her.

Wild gets the Master Sword—gets Fi—from where she has been resting. It brings back memories of the stories Sky would tell her about Fi, when neither of them could sleep. Sometimes the two would be joined by Time or Twilight, or any of the others in the chain really.

Wild looked up to all of the chain. They were heroes, heroes who hadn’t failed like he thought he had. And over the time he spent with the chain Wild became close with them all but especially Sky, Time, and Twilight.

So picking up Fi after having been pulled from the chain…

Well, she swore she wouldn’t fail again. Not Hyrule, not Zelda, not the heroes who came before him—their family. No, Wild wouldn’t be failing this again.

But then it went sideways, and he and Zelda found Ganondorf. And under his watch, in his hands, Fi was shattered. Zelda was lost. Gloom spread.

Wild woke up alone. Alone, in the sky, with a decayed version of Fi, and a hand that’s not his own. If Hylia ever let him see Sky—or any of the others—again… he didn’t think he could face them, not with what they let happen. They promised themself that she wouldn’t fail again and now look at what’s happened.

They were determined to fix this, fix their mistakes. So Hylia damned determined. And they took blow after blow, both physical and emotional. Until finally it was over. It was over!

But once again, Wild had made Zelda wait. He failed and Hyrule suffered for it.

No portals appeared soon after Ganon’s defeat and Wild didn’t blame Hylia for not sending him back to the chain.

Wild didn’t know that the chain has been desperately trying to get back to him.

Eventually though a portal did open up, and Wild went through it, and the chain was complete once more.

The others were so relieved to have Wild back. But Wild, no matter how much and how desperately they missed the chain, was not relieved.

She may be fixed now but Fi still broke in his hands. He failed her, and by extension he failed Sky. He never wanted to fail Sky, not more than he already had failed everyone including him.

But he had. It still happened. He had to live with that fact. And he couldn’t face Sky knowing that fact. He kept quiet about what happened to Fi in his second journey.

The chain knew Wild was acting more closed off, like she had been when they first met her, but thought it might just be from having been separated for so long for another journey. They were only sort of right.

One night, not too long after getting Wild back, neither Sky nor Wild could sleep. Twilight was seemingly gone at the moment but Wolfie was there, curled up next to Wild. Time was the one awake for watch at that hour, but he gave the two as much space as he could.

Sky started to share a story about Fi, like he used to before Wild had left the chain, and that was Wild’s breaking point. They broke into silent sobs, and Sky immediately hugged them close, asking what was wrong.

Wild told him. Her voice was full of self loathing and pain as she recounted what happened to Fi, what she failed to save Fi from. How she failed Sky.

The rest of the night was spent with Sky reassuring Wild that “no, you didn’t fail me, you didn’t fail her. It wasn’t your fault Wild. Don’t blame yourself. Ganondorf did that, not you. I’m not mad at you, I promise. You’re family, Wild. And I know you tried, you tried so hard and you did so well. Wild you have nothing to apologize for.” Wolfie stayed right by Wild’s side the entire night. Time brought over a blanket for the three of them—four of them, when Wild grabbed his hand and asked him to stay.

That’s how the rest of the chain found them in the morning. Someone grabbed Wild’s slate to take a picture.

Wild didn’t automatically get all better from that one nighttime conversation, but he was less reserved around the chain. He laughed more freely with them. Of course there was still healing to be done—really the same could be said for any of the chain though—but Wild would have his family by his side once more for every step of the way.

Okay there you go, you got your lengthy enough apology-for-not-posting-in-a-short-while post and I hope you enjoy it. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go replay some totk or rewatch httyd.

[astercontrol]

The Master Control Program-- despite being so cartoonishly evil that any fun aspect comes from laughing at how overblown its lack of likable qualities is--

--well, despite all that, I'm a little shocked to find that out of all the deliciously queer-coded characters in TRON, it's the Master Control Program who's actually been the best exercise in the sort of linguistic flexibility that one needs for an inclusive understanding of gender.

The MCP goes by he/it pronouns. Both. Or at least, the MCP is called by he/it pronouns, sometimes within the same line by the same character. Like when Dumont claims to be "old enough to remember the MCP when it was just a chess program," and then adds, "He started small and he'll end small."

Now, we don't know exactly how this is decided. Maybe "it" refers to the old chess program and "he" refers to what the MCP became since then? (although if that was the case, then Dumont should have swapped out that first "he" for an "it," too). Maybe the MCP has preferences about this and maybe he doesn't; maybe everyone who talks about the MCP chooses a pronoun at random every time! We don't know.

It's beside the point. The point is, when I've watched that movie, I've seen pronouns switch out so often for the MCP that I never actually standardized the pronouns I used for it.

And it's not just pronouns, but nouns too! The proper noun "Master Control Program" has a whole fleet of variants. Sometimes it's "The Master Control Program." Sometimes it's just "Master Control Program" and sometimes just "Master Control," and even the three-letter abbreviation switches back and forth from "MCP" to "the MCP," and one time Dillinger even gets all over-familiar and addresses it as "Master C."

What's its preferred name? Who even knows! But the fact remains that when I was learning what to call it, I was also learning how to refer to someone who WANTS pronouns and even names varied up from time to time.

And, even if I don't often meet people like that, it's still making me noticeably more conscious of which name or pronoun I'm using, whenever I use one... because of this knowledge in the back of my head that I don't always use the same one, and the little question "okay why did I pick this one in this context?"

Which might not even have an answer, but still, my point is that it went through my mind. Which doesn't happen when I've got a fixed, standard pronoun or name for someone.

I don't even know where I'm going with this. Maybe it's just another one in my increasingly huge collection of posts whose core thesis is "TRON movie makes brain think."

But yeah. Gender of the day: this fucker.

[oskidontle]

Heya just discovered your AU recently and I'm really enjoying it I have some questions though 1. how did this start off? Like how did the hunger start manifesting and what were the very first signs? 2. is Mr boss evil? 3. what do the others think of the fact that pim starves himself of flesh? Do they encourage him to eat Orr? 4. Can they still eat normal food? And if so do they have like a strong adversion to it orr? 5. Who did the hunger take the biggest toll on mentally 6. Are you planning on making some sorta comic or some other to tell your story I'm pretty sure there's a story here but mabye I'm wrong idk 7. How'd you come up with the designs for their hunger forms and the AU in general?

OG AU Post for the confused

1. The very first signs are subtle enough no one notices, not even themselves. The only evidence something is off is animals start to steer clear. Maybe they sense something more instinctual, feral, about their aura? Scent maybe? However it is, animals with their superior senses know something is wrong.

They didn't start noticing anything themselves until they started to see things in the mirror for just slight glimpses. Glimpses of something but they could never make out what.

It's only days from there when the cravings start. But many times someone can crave something and not know what it is they crave until they find it. As you can imagine, because of this, each of their first hunts were unexpected. As such, people can get caught in the crossfire. Important people.

It was unlucky that Pim had to learn what he was craving when he did.

2. Mr. Boss is not evil. But he has a job to do, one that he has been tending to for many years. 18 years to be precise. He hopes to complete his job soon enough.

3. Allan and Glep care but they don't try to stop him. Instead they just check up on him often, bring some drinks, normal food. They don't really know how to approach him in a way they perceive as meaningful.

Charlie despite his desperation for a way to fix all of it still encourages Pim to eat. He reasons with him that there is no point in Pim or any of them starving themselves. After all it always ends the same way, a loss of control and an inevitable rampage. Why loose control and possibly hurt someone you don't want to hurt, when at the very least the hunt let's you know the victim ahead of time.

It's not much of a compensation. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn't. Unfortunately it's his own choice at the end of the day.

4. They can eat normal food, in fact they still have to. The Hunger has just added another part to their diet that their body perceives as crucial for survival.

5. That's hard to answer, depends on what you put value on in this toll. In my opinion I'd say it's either Glep or Pim.

6. Maybe, maybe not. If I'm honest I don't know yet. I might make occasional snippets of moments I imagine happening. They wouldn't be in chronological order, just whenever I feel like making them. If I don't make a master post later on then I would leave the chronological order left for any interested to piece together using context clues I leave throughout different posts.

Like I said, this is a big maybe. Ideally I would make a fic but I have never been able to finish a single chapter of a fic in my life. I loose focus too easy.

I have a story to tell but I suppose I haven't decided how I want to tell it

7. If you want me to be truly honest, I didn't think that much. I built lore after designs. I wanted them each to have a sort of gimmick going on while being kinda cohesive simultaneously. I also knew I didn't want to go with a hyper detailed or overly realistic look.

In-universe they probably look terrifying but to you or I, they look just kinda uncanny. A little gross.

After making the initial designs I started to come up with lore and adjusted details accordingly.

As for why I came up with it?

Two words: For fun! :)

[bangtan-madi]

All Of Our Lifetimes — Chapter Nine: The Truth Untold

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 2.6k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories?

Part — 9 / 15

Warnings — discussion of violence/murder

Note — Sorry for the delays on this chapter, and for the format that it's being posted in. Unfortunately, between the hurricane and a broken computer, I won't be able to post in the exact format I usually do with all the pictures and everything. I also won't be able to link anything, update my master list, or put a breaker in this chapter unfortunately. For now, this is how it's going to go up. I do plan on going back and editing in the banners and the headers and all of that as soon as my computer is fixed. Hopefully that will be in the next couple weeks, so if this chapter looks different later this year, that's why lol. Thank you all for being so patient and so kind on the previous chapters, but I am finally back to writing again! Enjoy!!

Previous — Next

"Where are you going?"

"To find that curator."

"[Y/n], hold up—I'm coming with you."

Your stomach does somersaults as Taehyung grabs your hand and pulls you in the direction of the elevator. His stride is just as determined as yours, and you feel immense comfort with his hand in yours. As small a gesture as it is, it feels warm and helps subside the anxiety within you.

Despite the lack of film in the last few months of their lives, for whatever reason, you know exactly how your past lives' story ends. You've seen it your entire life. It ends in a bloodbath.

But you had no idea that they were being threatened for months before their deaths. You didn't realize the ins and outs of reincarnation, as [Y/n] told it. If what she said was true, then Taehyung should have gotten his memories back when he turned twenty-one in this lifetime. If you think back to your dream, you remember she'd said something along those lines.

"Come find me. In the next one: meet me there."

From his spot next to you in the elevator, Taehyung looks down at you with concern. "Are you okay?"

"Are you?" You turn and lock with his gaze. "Those were our past lives, and not only were they murdered shortly after those clips, but I now know that they were being stalked way before then. All of this, everything lines up with my dream. And god, I don't want to be skeptical or logical... I believe all of it."

"I do, too."

"You do?"

Taehyung nods, and his dark curls fall over his forehead, barely brushing over his eyes. "What I'm wondering is why didn't I get my memories back at twenty-one?"

Shaking your head, you sputter, "Maybe it's because we were murdered at the same time? From the way they were talking, that's a first. The cycle was messed up. I don't know how or why." You pause, and the elevator dings up another floor. "Do you remember anything at all? Have any memories come back?"

Taehyung bites his lower lip and turns his gaze away. "Something's there. It's like a word on the tip of your tongue. You're familiar. All of this feels...right? I don't know how to describe it."

"You said you believe it."

"I do. That film wasn't faked. Those people were us. Everything they said feels right in my heart. I just...I don't have proof to back it up."

Your hand tightens around his, fingers lacing together as you state, "Well, I know who can give us some of that."

The elevator doors open, and you pull Taehyung along as you head straight for Ms. Jwa's office. You might not know exactly where it is, but the wing of offices is just down the hall from the service elevator. She can't be far.

The middle-aged woman looks up from her computer as both of you enter without knocking. She seems surprised at the sudden entrance, but her shock dissipates quickly.

"I have to say, that was faster than I thought."

"Who were Kim Taehyung and Kim [Y/n]?" you ask, getting straight to the point.

Ms. Jwa sighs and leans back in her office chair. She gestures for you to close the door, then motions to the chairs across from her. "Have a seat." A beat of silence follows the closing of the door, and you both take your seats. "I assume you watched the film?"

"We did," Taehyung nods. "Have you?"

The curator nods. "I did."

"Then you know about reincarnation. You knew Taehyung and I might come back."

Another affirmative shake of her head. "Which is why I kept everything that belonged to you both, as you requested I do in late 1994. I was surprised, but now I see why." Her gaze shifts back and forth between you and Taehyung. "You really are mirror images of them. It's astonishing."

"You were their friend?" you inquire.

Ms. Jwa's face shifts to a small smile, but behind the expression, there's deep sadness. "I was. If you want, I can start at the beginning." When neither of you speaks up, she continues. "Taehyung and I went to the same art school in Daegu. We're both from the city and wanted to make it big in Seoul. He was kind of like the big brother I never wanted."

She flashes a grin at Taehyung. "No offense. When we moved to Seoul, we got jobs here as junior curators. I was more on the art history side, whereas Taehyung was the true artist. He always said he wanted his works to be displayed here someday." Her eyes drop to her hands, clasped in her lap. "Which is why I felt it was only right to put his memorial here and display his favorite photographs."

She shakes her head, pulling herself out of memory. "Your past selves met and fell in love very quickly. I thought it was strange. Taehyung was a...unique person. Always was, and he didn't often click with people right away. But [Y/n]? I don't believe in soulmates, but those two were the exception."

"Before they died, they were being stalked," Taehyung intervenes. "By who?"

Ms. Jwa shrugs her shoulders. "We don't know. We assume it's the same person that killed them, but there's no way to know for sure. He was practiced. He knew what he was doing. The evidence was inconclusive, and the cameras were blacked out. I have no idea how he got in after-hours, what his motive was, or how he got away."

Your breath catches in your throat at her words. Something in the back of your mind told you that he might've escaped. Your dream shows him injured, bleeding profusely, but stumbling out of sight. You'd hoped that he'd wandered off somewhere and died, and he might have—away from the Museum—but your stomach sinks regardless.

"It wasn't just stalking. Taehyung and [Y/n] received death threats for months before they died. It started with Taehyung, around the time he met [Y/n], and then she started getting them as well. Always anonymous. Even the police were baffled."

"So what you're telling us is that even after all this time, there are no answers?"

Ms. Jwa clearly sees your dismay, but can offer no condolences or closure. "I wish I had more to tell you, but that's the extent of what I know. I kept everything in that vault downstairs hoping that one day one of you would show up again and be able to tell me what happened to you. I figured Taehyung would be the one to get his memories first, based on the video footage, but when he showed up as a pop star with clearly no memory of his past, I thought..." She trails off and takes a pause before continuing. "I thought it best not to push the issue. I wasn't sure if the cycle had broken, or if he was merely trying for a different life this time. Either way, I wanted him to be happy. He looked happy to me, at least from the outside."

Taehyung heaves a deep sigh, shaking his head profusely. "How many times did I come to visit this place, and you said nothing? You must have seen me before yesterday. Why didn't you tell me anything?"

You're right." The curator's eyes drift downward as she says, "Maybe I should have said something. Perhaps that would have sped up the process. I did what I thought was right at the time. Maybe that was to quell my own guilt." She lifts her head and offers an apologetic smile to us both. "Now I can see that that was wrong. For that I apologize. All I can do now is make up for the lost time and offer you answers that I have." She gestures with a flourish of her hand to the doorway. "All of the things downstairs or yours, feel free to take any of it. But as for who killed you, or why, or what happened to them, I'm afraid no one has those answers."

You ride from your seat, take a step forward, and move closer to the curator to lower your voice. "Then tell us why were we here that night. If we knew we were being followed, I know what I would have done and it's not coming back to the one place that I knew we wouldn't be safe."

"You're correct," she says. "That is the only other thing I can tell you. You were about to leave the country that night. Like I told you, Taehyung and I were very close. He didn't have many friends, but Emelia Popescu and I were the only people he considered as such. It was fate that we all worked in the same office. Because of that, he wanted to see us one last time before you left. Both of you came here to say your final goodbyes to Emelia and I."

"And we didn't say anything that made you ask questions?" Taehyung inquires.

Ms. Jwa scoffs lightly. "I asked all the questions in the world. You wouldn't tell me anything more than the matter was urgent and leaving was necessary, and that you would send word for where you were when the coast was clear. To be honest, everything about that night terrified me even before...before the accident."

The name she mentioned moments ago brings back memories of a corpse at the base of a stone figure, crimson expanding along the tiles of the floor. "Emelia was the other girl that was killed, right?" You have no idea what the girl actually looked like; those memories have yet to resurface.

Ms. Jwa nods once. "Yes, I had left to take an urgent call after I had said goodbye. Emelia had offered to walk you both out. That was when you were attacked." She shudders, and Taehyung instinctively reaches out and places a comforting hand on her shoulder. At his touch, she steadies and flashes a watery smile. "Emelia was killed first as a distraction and lure, and then the both of you were..." Her sentence trails off, but you all know how that story ends.

That can't be it. This cannot be all that there is. All the memories, all the dreams, the flood of confusion and emotion that has wrapped you in a vice-grip the last few months -- it's all been leading to the moment of truth. Your heart was racing this morning, the thought of finally knowing what happened in 1995 sending you into an elated but terrified tizzy.

You never thought that the answers would be so close, yet slip between you fingers like the water from the Museum fountain where you and your lover were brutally masacred.

But you've seen the evidence yourself, all of your belongings, and spoken to someone who knew you both well. Every piece of truth she has is in her mind and in her vault below your feet. If the answers aren't there, where could they be?

How can that be all that there is?

You step back, leaning against the nearest bookshelf for support, gripping one of the shelves so tightly you know your knuckles are white. "There has to be something you can tell us about who he was," you murmur. "Something, anything."

Taehyung's gaze meets yours, and you can see for the first time that his desperation mirrors your own. Even if it wasn't obvious to you when you first arrived in South Korea, Kim Taehyung has been searching for his own answers just as fiercly -- if not more so -- than you. Whatever cycle you both have been in for god knows how many centuries has not been broken, but it is damaged. While he should have been the one to remember at twenty-one, there is a part of him that longs for rememrance. Something deep inside has been pushing him towards the truth and constantly reminding him that parts of his life are awry. Even if everything from the outside seems perfect, you can tell from those eyes that he needs this just as much as you.

"Did no one see his face, or a glimpse of anything?" he rephrases. "And how did he let you live when the only other three people in the building were murdered?"

The curator walks over to the bookshelf nearest you, searches the columns for a moment, and retrieves an old file. This one is a bright red color, different than the others on the shelves and easy to locate. She opens it and hands us a composite sketch notebook for that has Seoul Police Department written on the face.

"There was one witness that saw him in a dark alleyway. Not much detail was captured, but she did remember a few distinct details that she told the police. This is the composite sketch that was created based on her details. I'm not sure how much help it will be, but it's yours if you want it."

Taehyung joins your side, arm brushing yours as he God's affirmatively towards the notebook. He doesn't say a word, but his expression tells you everything: "Go ahead. I'm here. This might be the only answer we get."

In a burst of untethered courage, you open the pages to reveal the single composite sketch on the first page. It's merely charcoal on white paper, but the expression of a man you've seen in your nightmares stares back at you with a haunted hatred all over his face. Memories from the past flood back to you, not just from your deathly dream but further than that.

Decades.

Centuries.

You've known this man's face for as long as your soul has been a soul. The last lifetime, the one before that, all the way back to the very first one. The death in your dream from 1995 is only the beginning; this is a face you've seen in your very first life, the one you only started to remember when you came to Seoul.

Your hands begin to tremble, and a lump swells up in your throat. Taehyung steadies your grip, concern covering his features. He says your name, but your ears are ringing and his voice is drowned out by the panic racing through your body. The book drops from your hands, your knees buckle, and your eyes roll back into your head.

Never in any nightmare did you ever think you would the face of your first parent again, let alone with a smoking gun in his grasp and your blood on his hands.

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