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slowd1ving · 8 months ago

Note

hello!! Your fic is so cool and if your request is open, can I request DG x male reader when DG still in his James lee era while reader is the King of Busan

XENIA ゜゜・DG

Xenia, noun: the classical concept of hospitality to strangers. This, unfortunately, includes a wandering dog and his conniving owner—a most irritating, tooth-grinding conundrum the King of Busan has with Charles Choi and his boy-genius. sorry for the wait anon I was away from my laptop for the past week or so! and I couldn't write :'( first meetings and onwards for this particular work haha chicken and egg problem.. haha introspection on business and corruption... haha capitalism pairing: dg (james lee) + male reader warnings: male reader, canon typical violence, arguing (bickering) wc: 3.3k

LOOKISM MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

In the lengthy chronicles of Charles Choi’s grand plan—to mould the precarious South Korean underground into something far more profitable—James Lee finally came across his very own cause-and-effect conundrum.

What came first, the chicken or the egg? Plutarch initially posed this question in The Symposiacs: a symbolic tug of war between creator and creation. James supposed, in his bored sort of way, that this question described the relationship between cities and Kings as well. Chronically, objectively, the cities existed first—tall structures and unique ecosystems that forged shadowy figureheads to rule the violent underbelly. But poetically, it was rather hard to ignore the hands etching—pummeling—a pathway for the power to flourish. Without those in charge, what were the cities? And without the cities, who were the people in charge?

Parsing the matter, it distilled into who influenced whom.

Of course, the dazzling sprawl of Busan refracting from the glass under his feet was no exception. Even he, who satiated his youthful wanderlust with blood on his fists, couldn’t deny his reluctance to sully this city more. But, what did it matter? The second most important city in South Korea (some would froth at the mouth and argue it was the first for its gateway to Eurasian trade, or at least for its world-class ports) was built from perfectly respectable trade; but alack! it was also protected by its snarling underworld. It had already been befouled: polluted by fists no better than his, trodden by legs more filthy than his own. Blood and toil smeared its golden sand, and its money was just as dirty.

Sure, the city was propped up by honourable (hah) commercial deals, but it was shielded by the illicit ones.

A defiled aegis, if you would.

It was clear the current glitzy glamour of Busan night-life was carefully orchestrated by someone: from the specific mouthfeel the night air had, to the businesses that ran late into the witching hours. Those mythical beings and chaebols who fed and extracted money from this place, in endless loops, were culpable for these towering skyscrapers and glittering lights.

Creators.

In turn, the city cradled your grimy little body—chubby hands wrapping around index fingers of the metaphorical hounds—and made you.

Did this metropolis represent you, or did you represent the metropolis?

It was not in a polite setting that James Lee scouted the venerable King of Busan: arguably the second most esteemed figurehead for the Kings of South Korea. In theory. In theory, since Busan’s reputation as a hub for trade and exalted trade (rather than the mere cold, hard cash ill-reputed other cities offered Choi) entwined with your own. Except, in practice, you were a far more reticent King than anyone could imagine. A shadow to fade into obliquity more than any other shadow.

Underbelly, yes. This was the turf you were most at home in; he could forget all about the glamorous, illegal casinos in basements, he could forget about eavesdropping on business moguls and their lackeys, he could forget about waiting in the entertainment districts for the proverbial snake to finally rear his head.

You were the fucking microcosm of this city: draped with expensive fabric and chainmailed with gold, but the blood on your knuckles stank of impurity. In a parking lot nestled on the outskirts of Busan, he witnessed the King in his court: complete with the luxury, the opulence, and the hamartia of brutality that came with capitalism. Yes, Busan had minted you as a shadowy side to a glitzy coin—as your eyes snapped to where he lounged against concrete, he couldn’t help but observe how your imaginary hackles raised.

Thwomp. Casually, you tossed the grunt beaten black-and-blue to the frigid asphalt, with the magnanimity of tossing breadcrumbs to ducks in a pond. Like the lackey was the bread and James fucking Lee himself was the duck. A bloodied cheek squished into his sneaker, but you merely stared at him owl-like. No, cat-like, because it seemed to be the same nonplussed stare a cat would give someone after bringing them a dead rat.

“Nice city.” Since you clearly had no intention of speaking first. Deftly, his fingers unravelled the mystic plastic of a lollipop: popping the cherry-flavoured candy into his mouth to soothe the acerbic irritation he tasted. “You treat all your guests like this, or do kings not follow xenia anymore?”

It was a rather futile attempt to lighten the mood. After all, if he could help it, he’d rather negotiate to pave the way for the second generation before resorting to throwing his fist. No, that was a lie. His flexing fingers wanted nothing more than to curl into a fist to let off some of the steam he’d garnered from searching for you in this uselessly big city, but fate had him making stupid jokes based on The Odyssey he’d read just last week for his Classics competition. If he rummaged in his pocket, he could probably find the gold medal clanking against hard sweets.

Your expression changed minutely—a slight disturbance in your brows. They furrowed, and for a brief moment James Lee thought his joke fell flat. With all the blood soaked into your expensive garb, maybe you just valued fists over Homeric hexameter. Violence over prose. Brawns over brains. You slinked like shadows. Crude. Ominous. He could barely see your face even with the city lights flashing neon in the backdrop, but when your loping gait came to a halt, there was an exasperation that afforded more subtle nuance to your character. A bitterness to tinge what he thought was mindlessness.

“Mr. Lee.” Your voice curled low in your throat, as quick and elusive as mercury, and perhaps just as poisonous. Shadow King of Busan, the man who never introduced himself to you noticed. Silence was golden, and he suddenly understood why Charles Choi so badly wanted sway over the young King in charge of this port city. “I hope you’re aware that beating my subordinates would invalidate any sort of hospitality between us. You’re no god amongst men either, so ritualistic hospitality is a very weak premise to coerce my amiability with. Try again.”

Deity in the flesh. Perhaps James Lee was the closest thing to breaking the limits of humanity, but all men were fallible. That wasn’t what caused his brow to rise though; going in blind may have been risky, but it was worth it to find someone with a silver tongue like this.

You looked about his age—treading on the precarious cusp between First and Second Generation, fists stained as red as his hair—but you spoke as if you were triple your years.

“You wanna transfer to my school? It’d be fun to have you in the Debate Club,” he said on a whim, but it wasn’t really a whim either. His instructions were expressly to negotiate with Busan—the city was far too volatile to create a power vacuum in. For cities like Ansan, struggle was welcomed; but Charles Choi had too little of everything to contend with Busan, of all places. Just like in Seoul, the situation would resolve itself, and it was far too soon for the HNH Group to meddle in a place like this. “You talk like a teacher.”

His tone was as syrupy as his candy, but there was half-provocation, half-probing-curiosity entrenched in his cadence. Go on, it coaxed, throw a punch. Argue back. Unorthodox was his means of securing cooperation, but he’d have to be a little unorthodox to secure the deal old man Choi had painstakingly written out. A contract between Elite and the capricious man before him, between HNH Group and the microcosm of Busan himself; it sounded like every capitalist’s wet dream.

“Good question, kid,” you smiled, but it was less of a smile and more of a sneer as you ghosted closer to him. Kid, like you weren’t one yourself.

Crack. You stepped, heavy, on the hand of the man you’d pummelled—only his unconscious groan of pain re-alerted James to his existence. “The term isn’t over. You should still be in school. Playing around like this makes me far less likely to listen to whatever you’ve followed me for. Try again.”

The thick scent of metal invaded his personal space as you peeled your black gloves off; the rings beneath them were tinted with the blood that had seeped through the material. Just like that, you callously tossed the garment onto the slumbering man under your feet—though he truly wasn’t sure whether it was a final affront to a beaten man or throwing down the gauntlet towards James Lee himself.

It was a reminder, once again, to not be hasty. There was the real possibility of fucking Charles Choi several times over if he didn’t get this right, but the thought of his imminent doom didn’t seem all too unappealing. On the contrary, he found his heart beating faster—pulse hot on his tongue as an intriguing challenge presented itself before him.

“I’m sure your informants have relayed more intel than just my name,” he mirrored the jagged stretch of your lips. The Legend of the First Generation. The Genius. The original, associated with the base moniker of the Ten Geniuses to show just how unparalleled James fucking Lee was. “Take a guess as to how my scholastic life is going, then consider the opportunity that I’m bringing you.”

Ambiguous. His words were dusted with just enough information to seem straight to the point, but vague enough that it was tantalising. A hook to ensnare the snake of Busan himself. And rather than sating the itch in his fists, he found himself looking forward to a parley instead.

You studied him, appearing to consider his words seriously. Syllables phrased like he was the one with the upper hand, when in fact the HNH group was still tentatively unfurling and in the process of negotiations with both yakuza and Triad alike. He awaited your favourable response, hearing the stats roll into your mind as you calculated the preliminary gains and losses to joining hands with Charles Choi.

Bloodied fingers tapped a rhythm into your jacket absentmindedly. He watched, anticipating your invitation.

“Fuck off.”

“Huh?” he spluttered. Maybe he misheard you. Maybe he finally choked on his candy and induced a coma in which he was now dreaming of your response.

“Your boss sent a high-schooler to broker a deal with Busan.” Your fingers now drummed in irritation against your forearm, but he was just as irritated. He took care of every other prefecture and province, only to have this guy who was his age, nonetheless, tell him his presence wasn’t good enough. Like, what? “Tell old Choi to come himself to negotiate if he wants any sort of foothold in my city. If he truly wanted a respectable contract, why would he send you as a messenger?”

“Excuse me?” If he wasn’t restricted from fighting you—the only exception was valid self-defence—he would’ve made the asshole in front of him eat shit. Alas, Choi wasn’t that generous or lenient. “He sent one of the Ten Geniuses, the primero, for this. I’m one of his greatest assets.”

“Are you a damn car or a person?” you snapped, and it suddenly felt as though he was looking upon an ancient wizard as he lectured a troublemaker outside his tower. His eyelid twitched, and he was finding it quite hard to keep a cool head. “Talking about assets… can’t believe Choi’s sent the guy who’s fucked up all the smaller provinces to deal with us.”

The latter sentence was more grumbled to yourself; it appeared he annoyed you just as much as you annoyed him, which he found a delighted satisfaction in.

“Tell Elite to come himself,” you uttered finally, not even letting him get in a word edgeways as you ambled back into the shadows—not even sparing a glance for the pile of bodies left in your wake.

And despite his objective, despite the imminent yelling he’d no doubt face, he couldn’t help but stare at your blood-soaked coat fluttering in the frigid coastal wind.

Out of hatred, obviously.

・゜゜・

Charles Choi was a conniving bastard. You already knew it, but seeing him in the reception hall really drove the image home. He was polite, a little too polite; yet as soon as you slid that manila folder across the mahogany table, his demeanour prickled into something knife-like.

Snake of Busan, you were nicknamed, but this guy was something else entirely. Once he sank his teeth into your determination to keep Busan flourishing, you could practically see his pupils contract into thin slits. Of course you’d dealt with tricky deals. Weaving through negotiation as though it were a riptide was how you clawed your way to the very depth of Busan’s underworld—navigating until you finally found that crown mired in cess.

Or, more accurately, it was Miss Crystal Choi who’d pierced her venom right where it hurt. A Genius of Business, her father had called her—and boy, did it take all your wit to match her expertise in trade.

But did he really have to bring that guy along?

The scion of the Geniuses was also in your office, leaning against the wall far behind Elite and his daughter. And though nobody asked for his input—not even old Choi spared his prodigy a glance—it still irritated you to no end that he’d tagged along. A bright, cheerful grin cast the sun against the city nightlife on the top floor of your building—one directed right at you, considering the only other two people he knew had their backs facing him. Quite the foolish move, but you weren’t one to concern yourself with people who were basically daylight robbing you. If the dog they’d raised bit them, all the better.

Or maybe he was beaming right at your bodyguard-turned-assistant, who stood discreetly in the shadows of the blinds: slatted light gently cresting over his tall build. Well. It certainly was one of the less strange things Mr Lee had done.

Still, for someone who’d been glaring at you just a week ago, the change felt far too eerie to ignore.

“—and onto the temporary personnel exchange section—” A feeble attempt to pry open the walnut that Busan was, which would only end with the unfortunate bastard failing. You’d choose a loyal subordinate, they’d select someone who was doomed to only grunt work—far from the impenetrable fortress of this building. Boredly, you tapped the pen on the contract, before freezing up at Miss Choi’s next words. “—we’d like to recommend James Lee to transfer to this office.”

A pen snapped, and ink spilled onto the page. Dumbfounded, you barely registered her sliding over a fresh sheet, as though she knew full well this would happen.

No, it was no recommendation. Her very mention of his name was a forceful shove of him into your office. No wonder he was grinning like the devil. No wonder he was here in the first place. At that moment, you wanted nothing more than to leave Busan behind.

Your eye twitched.

He kept smiling—an ominous prelude to the brimstone and fire you were sure to experience promptly.

・゜゜・

“Aren’t I a better bodyguard than that useless one you keep around?”

James Lee had been a bit too quiet these past few days; duly loping around behind the lower-ranked subordinates as they made their rounds, never crossing the proverbial line when you’d handed him his duties as interim grunt. Though, whenever you passed him, his eyes followed the shadows of your fluttering hem—two pinpricks of an arid glare sweeping on your back.

But James Lee was a dog, and whatever command Elite gave him, he’d obey. Heel. Roll over. Serve under the King of Busan for a month. A jester, if you would, with a leash around his neck that kept drawing more and more blood from him. What were the limits? Just how far would he go for the man with a crimson shadow?

“No,” you said. He stood, far too proud, on a summit of lackeys that had been sent your way by one of the companies who’d attempted to cheat their way to getting a more favourable deal. It would’ve been a simple ambush—one doomed to fail—fated to end with you tossing blood-soaked gloves right on them before you postponed the meeting you were on your way to.

But not today. It appeared the limit of the dog of Elite was passing up petty competition with the man two paces behind you.

“Unlike you, Song’s actually pleasant to listen to.” Yes, Song wasn’t the most useful of bodyguards point-blank, but it wasn’t like you particularly needed someone to take care of protecting you. He made people lower their guards. And he made a mean cup of tea. “I don’t have any use for you, so you’re still worse.”

“Semantics,” he shrugged. “I made your life much easier, did I not?”

He was smart. Too smart, but you already knew that from the intel that had not yet been erased. Hushed up, because of course Elite would painstakingly conceal his cards.

And unfortunately, you were always drawn to a risky hand. A pleasure far removed from the mundane violence of your everyday life—a heart-pounding thrill of betting all your chips in a hazardous (though not desperate) gamble.

“Maybe.” For it was one day removed from the multitudes of late meetings and burdensome glove changes. Your hands weren’t seeped in oily red, sliding and dripping onto your expensive clothes that were tailored—though still felt so fucking ill-fitting that it made you sick—right to your body.

You considered the man toeing carefully past the dogpile located against a cargo container: donning what could’ve been your life. A beige school uniform, pinkie slightly indented from books and study, pen marks still dotting his fingers. Closer. He ambled lazily to your direction, and as he approached with the dying sun behind him, you could see his smile. Just as languid as the day you first met him, and just as irritating.

Closer. Strawberry candy laced the iron odour, though you could faintly taste lemon in the profile too—testament to the yellow wrapper stuck crudely on one of the men. Closer—he was far too close now, standing chest to chest while he stared directly at you.

If there was one thing that came from this ill-fated encounter, it was probably the permanent furrowed brows that decorated your perplexed face—the bloodhound had been reduced to this fluffy thing demanding your attention.

And it was just as unfortunate that your impression had been chipped away for him too—a King whose expressions were utterly delightful to witness. A straight mouth, grinning ever-so-slightly when a deal went your way. A routine rhythm to your biro tapping your notepad. Eyes that shone with practical constellations as you breathed the briny air of the port in.

A particularity to the way you treated others, steely to the strong, awkward with the weak. So utterly flustered, when it came to tiny kids tugging on your long coat, or the grandmas you lent your arm to on the streets. If he had to compare it, he’d attribute your personality as a non-Newtonian fluid: your very own mix of cornstarch and water. Tough with pressure, all soft without.

Like now.

“Come on,” he whined. Psychologically, he was doing a damn good impression of pitifulness—even if you’d just witnessed him commit a beatdown so one-sided that you could feel the second-hand pain. And little by little, he was watching you falter: breath caught in his throat as he watched your brows default to their furrow once more. “I saved you a good few minutes, didn’t I? Don’t tell me Busan can’t even acknowledge hard work and effort.”

“Fine, whatever,” you crumbled just like that, under the heavy weight of his triumphant eyes. “Good job.”

So cute, he thought, then froze almost immediately the moment the words came to mind.

Fuck.

・゜゜・

#slowd1ving #res ･ﾟ writing #x reader #male reader #x male reader #ask slowd1ving #anon request #requested #lookism #lookism x male reader #lookism manhwa #manhwa x reader #manhwa x male reader #dg x reader #james lee x reader #pre dg james lee

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novlr · 3 days ago

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Writing playlists for scenes, genres, and moods

Whether you’re working on a mystery novel, building a world full of magical creatures, have a time-travelling protagonist, need some meditative peace, want to immerse yourself in the Victorian Gothic world, or are exploring the eerie atmosphere of an abandoned city, we’ve got a playlist that will help spark your creativity and get you writing!

Writing a Mystery To Solve

With a mix of quirky, suspenseful, and atmospheric tracks, this playlist will set the tone for writing a mystery.

It’s the perfect accompaniment to help you brainstorm clues, twisty plot points, and red herrings. For a classic whodunnit or a cosy mystery, this playlist will help you get in the right frame of mind to craft a mystery that will keep your readers guessing until the very end.

Writing Mediaeval Time Travel

This playlist features modern songs recreated with a mediaeval twist, perfect for inspiring your writing about knights, dragons, and feudal societies.

Whether you’re working on a time travel adventure or a fantasy tale set in the Middle Ages, this playlist will provide the perfect musical backdrop to help get those ideas flowing.

Meditation for Writers

Are you looking for a way to clear your mind and tap into your creativity? This playlist is designed to help you relax and focus, making it the perfect companion for a writing meditation session.

Featuring soothing tracks with peaceful melodies, this playlist will help you find your inner calm and get in the zone for writing. Whether you’re looking to improve your concentration, reduce stress, or simply find some inspiration, this playlist is a great resource to have at your fingertips.

Writing Magical Creatures

Get ready to enter a world of fantasy and imagination! This playlist is perfect for writers who love to craft stories about mythical beasts, enchanted forests, and other magical creatures.

Featuring a mix of ethereal, otherworldly tracks with a touch of whimsy, this playlist will help transport you to a place of wonder and inspiration. Whether you’re working on a fairy tale, a fantasy novel, or a short story about unicorns, this playlist will provide the perfect musical backdrop to help you get in the mood to write.

Writing an Abandoned City

Welcome to the eerie world of abandoned cities, where the only sound is the wind rustling through empty streets and the creaking of old buildings. This playlist will help you tap into the atmosphere of these desolate places and inspire your writing.

Whether you’re crafting a post-apocalyptic tale or a ghost story set in an abandoned metropolis, this playlist will provide the perfect musical backdrop to help build your world.

Writing Victorian Gothic

Step into the shadowy world of Victorian gothic. This playlist is perfect for writers who love to craft stories set in the Victorian era, with a mix of classical music that will transport you back in time.

Featuring a selection of ominous, atmospheric tracks with a touch of romance, this playlist will help set the mood for writing about the dark, mysterious world of the shadowy side of the Victorian era. Whether you’re working on a horror story set in a creepy old mansion or a romance novel with a gothic twist, this playlist will provide the perfect musical accompaniment.

Writing a Night in the Forest

Escape into the dark world of the forest. Whether your characters are escaping evil in the darkness, or simply spending a night under the canopy, this playlist is perfect for writers who love to craft stories set in the woods.

Featuring a selection of atmospheric tracks with a touch of mystery, and a few soundscapes, this playlist will help set the mood for writing about the beauty and magic of the forest at night. Whether you’re working on a fairy tale set in an enchanted wood, a nature-themed story, or need to write a horror scene, this playlist is perfect for exploring the serenity and mystery of the forest at night.

#writing inspiration #writing playlists #writeblr #writing community #writers of tumblr #creative writing #writers #writing #creative writers #writerblr #writerscommunity #writblr #writer #writing resources #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #Spotify

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haveyouplayedthisttrpg · 25 days ago

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Have you played Mythic Bastionland ?

By Chris McDowall

Take the Oath and venture into Mythic Bastionland, a tabletop RPG set in the imagined past of Into the Odd and Electric Bastionland , built on the same lightning fast, ultra-streamlined rules system.

You begin as a young knight errant, seeking the glory to lead warbands, earn a place in court, and rule your own domain. Glory is found in hunting the Myths of this world, manifesting them into reality while protecting the Realm from their strange influence.

Each player is one of 72 Knights, with personal equipment, a unique ability, and a passion that fuels their spirit. As your glory grows, you might eventually embark on the legendary City Quest, an impossible challenge to find The City itself, a shining metropolis seen only in dreams.

#ttrpg #tabletop rpg #poll #poll time #2020s #united kingdom #mythic bastionland

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theresattrpgforthat · 1 year ago

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Do you have any games that involve urban fantasy with less focus on fighting than something like Dresden or Shadowrun?

THEME: Urban Fantasy (Minimal Fighting)

Hello there! What I've got here is quite a mix, I wasn't sure how much violence you wanted (or didn't want) so I have a little bit of romance, a little bit of nostalgia, and a little bit of horror!

City of Mist, by Son of Oak Games.

City of Mist is a role-playing game of film-noir investigation and super-powered action. It is set in a modern metropolis rife with crime, conspiracies, and mysteries. The protagonists are Rifts, ordinary people who became the living embodiment of a legend, their Mythos. While your Rifts may seek to strike a balance between the mysterious nature of their Mythos and their mortal aspirations, the powers within them always threaten to tear their lives apart. They have unwittingly become a part of a secret world of clashing stories, and soon other legends will come looking for them with demands.

City of Mist is a combination of PbtA and FATE, giving your characters descriptive tags to use for both their benefit and their detriment as they go about solving mysteries in a supernaturally-saturated city. The primary theme of the game is mystery, and thus more than anything your characters will be primed for investigation. That’s not to say that there isn’t violence - but violence and fighting can be de-emphasized if the group is more interested in the mystery side of things.

Character Creation involves a combination of mundane and supernatural themes, as your character is endeavouring to strike a balance with the parts of themselves that they recognize (student, parent, office worker, ex-partner) and the parts of themselves that are hard to understand (mythical beast, deity, folktale, urban legend). What’s important to define is your daily routine, your personality, and what kind of supernatural powers you have.

This game isn’t explicitly anti-violent, but it absolutely provides you with ways to solve problems that aren’t violent, so I think City of Mist is worth checking out.

Scary Monsters & Nice Sprites, by Pammu.

Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites is a narrative RPG about spending your night in one of the only clubs in your city that’s safe for creatures of the night like yourself. All you want to do is have some fun just like the humans do. Play a supernatural creature of choice, put some sick EDM on the speakers and get your game on!

This game works best for an even number of players, up to 6, and is GM-less. It combines urban monsters with flirting, dark clubs and hookups. Each of your characters will look for a partner by doing things that will appeal to the other players. If they like what you do, they’ll reward you with tokens, which you can spend to improve the atmosphere of the club. Fill another player’s intimacy meter, you’ve won them over, and the two of you decide how the night ends for both of your characters.

If you want a game about flirting and the magic of a nightclub, this is your game.

The Far Roofs, by Jenna Katerin Moran.

The Far Roofs is an original role playing system and bundled campaign using pens or pencils, paper, six-sided dice, ten-sided dice, playing cards, and a bag of letter tiles. It's complete in one volume: with this one book and the equipment above, you'll have everything you need to play.

As the story progresses, your characters will gain access to over 150 unique, narrative-focused powers developed and refined over the course of a decade for the Chuubo's Marvelous Wish-Granting Engine RPG before being simplified and adapted for use herein.

The Far Roofs is still being Kickstarted, but Moran’s work on Chuubo’s Wish-Granting Engine produced a game that emphasizes wonder and emotional experience. The Far Roofs looks to deliver along the same lines, and the examples of play point towards investigation, social interaction, and magic powers. Jenna Moran is also known for her unique and evocative storytelling in her work, so I think it’s definitely worth checking out.

Lighthearted, by Kurt & Kate Potts.

Welcome to the magical 80s dream world of Lighthearted. You are a Prep, Jock, Geek, Rebel, or Outcast, like those kids in The Breakfast Club, except you are just about to start magic community college. Through play, we'll explore how you grow out of your high school cliques all while dealing with magical mishaps, college parties, vampires, and worse—finals!

Lighthearted is a complete tabletop roleplaying game that uses the language of film and television to reimagine the coming of age stories popular in 80s teen movies like Weird Science and Sixteen Candles, but with a modern fantasy spin. It's set in an alternate 1980s with fantasy elements weaved into the most outlandish bits of 80’s pop culture. There are fantasy religions mixed in with mall culture, dark magic cold wars, and magical glamours instead of plastic surgery.

This is a game of magic and coming-of-age, as you play first-year students at a magical community college. You’re off to the big city, and the big world - will you survive your first college party? Your first vampire?

The whole game feels like the neon lights of a vibrant night-life combined with the nostalgia of an 80’s film. Your magic is attached to how you feel, so as your emotions change, so will your effectiveness at certain actions. If you want a game that’s as light as its name, and you are seeking out rosy-tinted nostalgia, this might be your game.

Changeling: the Lost, by Onyx Path.

Once upon a time, they took you from your home. They promised you a place at their side, and meaning in your life, and they surrounded you with beautiful things. But the beautiful things were oh so sharp, and they laughed when you bled.

Day by day, they changed you. But day by day, your will grew stronger. On the last day, you smashed your way through the beautiful things and ran, not noticing as you bled or feeling as you cried.

You fought with courage and cleverness and took yourself home. Now the beauty and the horror are yours, to have and to hold and to live.

Welcome to once upon right fucking now.

So I’m familiar only with the 1st edition of Changeling, but as far as I understand, the setting and core premise of the game is the same in the 2nd edition. Changeling: the Lost is a game of fairy trauma. Your characters are survivors of a fae horrorscape, a place both wondrous and terrifying all at once. This game is solidly in the horror genre, but it contains within it a taste of the magical, and it’s also the reason I got into roleplaying in the first place.

As in many Chronicles of Darkness games, fighting is an option in here, but it’s not a wise option. Getting into fights pulls at your characters’ ability to understand the difference between our world and the world of Fae, it’s very easy to sustain supernatural damage that is hard to heal, and, well, sometimes it’s hard to tell who your real enemies are in the first place.

I’d say that Changeling is more of a political game than anything else. Your characters will have to dance through the highly literal wording of faerie pledges, and untangle difficult relationships between Courts that are both safe havens and potential beds of sedition. This is a violent game, but much of the violence possible in Changeling isn’t physical - it's emotional.

This Night On The Rooftops, by C.M. Ruebsaat.

This is a game about gazing out over the smokestacks after dark, with the wind in your hair and a friend at your side and a thousand lights of progress on the streets below.

This Night on the Rooftops is a collaborative storytelling game for 2-5 players about friendship, growing up, and revolution. You will play members of a gang of children in The City, a fantastic world of industry and dying magic, where witches labour alongside factory-workers to make ends meet.

This game looks slightly less modern, but it takes the fantasy aspect of witchcraft and places it inside an industrial city. The game uses a modified version of the No Dice No Masters rule set, which is excellent for stories that have an ebb and flow to them, managed through the use of token expenditure. This game is also GM-less, giving everyone at the table the same amount of control over what happens next.

Since the characters are a gang of teenage witches looking to make ends meet, this game doesn’t strike me as one that prioritizes fighting or violence. The city looks big enough to grind up the characters if they’re not careful, so they’ll likely have to find solutions to problems that don’t get them (or their dependants) in trouble. If the game is like other No Dice No Masters games that I’m familiar with, the group will also have a big say over which elements of the city are the most intriguing to them.

Partners: The Urban Fantasy File, by Tin Star Games.

Some murders are just elf defence…

Vampires are real, magic is real, elves are real - and murder is still very very real. This expansion takes you and your Partner down the moonlit streets of urban fantasy, where the dead sometimes get back up again but crime is still a mystery needing two heads to solve.

The base game for this, Partners, is a two-player mystery-solving game about a pair of detectives, a straight-shooter and a wildcard. You’ll need the base rules to play, but this supplement brings in dead elves, suspicious vampires, and other common characters in any urban fantasy genre. It can work as a one-shot, or as a series of episodes. If you want a game that's primarily about solving a mystery more than anything else, this is is for you.

Solacebound, by Sascha Moore.

Young monsters played at the boundary between the worlds. They slipped and stranded in a human city. Isolated and unwelcome, they search for each others help and a way back.

Solacebound is a GM-less Game for 3-5 people to play over a few hours. Search a sprawling, oppressive city for your friends, find out who is willing to give you a roof, bash back against authorities, cook together and console each other. Will you find a way back home before all passages close?

You are teenage monsters trying to find their way through an urban environment, in a place that is hostile to them. You survive by hiding out, finding each-other, and do things together to make sure you keep each-other healthy. Cards from a deck act as resources, but also as an oracle to help you describe the fallout of any given action, and the emotions that are attached to it. This is a game about metaphors, about what it is like to live in a place that fears you, so I definitely recommend making sure the entire table knows what this is about before starting a game.

You Might Also Want to Check Out

Subway Runners, by Gem Room Games.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #indie ttrpg #urban fantasy

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dcdreamblog · 2 months ago

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What's your opinion about those movies or series based on real superheroes that clearly take some liberties with the actual events and/or people? For example, the million of WW2 movies that always try to cram an All-Star Squadron member in there (even though there is proof that they weren't present at that specific event/battle) or that one movie a few years back that made up their own backstories and civilian names for the JLA members ("Cal Smith" and "Brandon Keaton" became memes for a while)

I certainly don't envy the task of any film maker trying to make something based around superheroes who actually exist in our real world. And the well known challenges that come with making a historical film almost certainly don't help. That being said, yes of course they bug me slightly.

(A frame from WB's "Justice Society WWII" movie) When you're making a wartime period piece I understand the strong pull of including a member of the Society or the Squadron even as a cameo. They're such a specific texture of the era. This original generation of "mystery men" just weren't thought of or treated the way we treat superheroes now and any actor worth their salt would jump at the chance to play a living legend on the silver screen That being SAID, if your movie is going to be taking place during any of the actual combat fronts of WWII there's a pretty big historical inaccuracy you are choosing to make: Very famously, the Squadron COULDN'T operate directly on Axis territory during the war because of the influence of the Spear of Destiny.

Now there were exceptions of course, the mythical field around Uncle Sam allowed the Freedom Fighters to do some work around the edges of enemy lines especially as the war was coming to a close and the Spear's influence was faltering but none of the Core JSA set foot in Axis Occupied Europe until the Yalta Conference at the earliest and the events of THAT day weren't declassified until years decades the war. As cool as the scene is in your head, Green Lantern was not dog-fighting the Luftwaffe over D-Day it just didn't happen. Stories set on the home front can play with this slice of history far more but if its sent DURING the fighting then you have to be a bit more creative. Nose cone art, pin ups, USO shows, newspaper headlines, newsreels, having them be treated as common cultural reference points in conversation or the like. Sometimes the most immersive use of the Squadron in your WWII movie is using their influence sparingly. That being said when it comes to MODERN movies I think its unethical on its face to try and speculate or color in the personal lives, thoughts and feelings of still living and working superheroes. While it comes from a good place of trying to humanize them for a wider audience, the reality is that you're needling at something we as the public don't have a right to poke at. I respect movies more when they too use our heroes in these tales as we see them, appearing on the scene, fighting the good fight and then taking their leave before being too buried in praise. Which means that movies based around superhero centric can also choose to focus on the perspective of a regular person who was also there. People will grouse about the "normal people" characters in movies like Metropolis: Crisis of Infinity or No Man's Land but at least that gives some props to normal people who are actually willing to share their thoughts and experiences. Plus if your POV character comes off as a drag on the movie then that is the writer's problem.

#dc #dcu #dc comics #dc universe #superhero #comics #tw unreality #unreality #unreality blog #ask game #ask blog #asks open #please interact #worldbuilding #justice society #justice society of america #JSA #all star squadron

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ms-writerandreader · 4 months ago

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PROLOGUE: GOTHAM'S SATYR

Even then, when Nico Di Angelo was actually young, Gotham City wasn’t the best place around, when it was first built in 1635 it wasn’t so bad but by the 1930’s that altered entirely. It was a city surrounded by crimes like, murder, thievery, assaults of many kinds, among other things, and now even in 2010 Gotham seemed to be no different along with the other cities that followed a similar banner. Cities like Metropolis, Star City, and Central City, for some examples, were brighter than Gotham, and while their crime rates were nothing in comparison. The odd phenomena and odd occurrences were nothing to sneeze at, but suddenly, it was like the Son of Hades wanted to sneeze at that after accidentally finding himself in the city of crimes.

The city smelt of pollution, alcohol, and cigarettes, what’s worse? He couldn’t Shadow Travel away due to loss of strength, and the ghosts of the dead that looked upon him before dipping their heads in bow, some would even start to beg him to let their souls free. (He just wanted to go to McDonalds) But then reality separated him from the mythical as he bumped into a child who looked scared beyond their mind, shaking and crying desperate to get past the demi-god And as Nico looked ahead, he came face to face with a Harpie, a monster under the name of Zeus. But if this kid could see it, then..Nico stopped his thoughts and drew his sword, and with a simple thrust to the roaring harpies core, it evaporated into golden dust. As Nico turned toward the kid who had only made it a few steps past him, they were now on their hands and knees hysterically crying and gasping for air.

Slowly, Nico made his way to the child who seemed to be no older than 7 or 8, Nico knelt down awkwardly and stayed next to the child, telling them that they were okay softly. “Tha-nk you. Thank you..that thing cha-sed me outside my home..I have no clue what’s going on. Help me, help me.” As the child pleaded, they latched onto the son of Hades, their arms wrapped tightly around his torso. Nico tensed greatly, but he understood. “Where do you live?” Nico asked as gently as a child of Hades could sound. “Across town..” Sighing slightly, Nico stood slowly, causing the child to let go.

Though he really didn’t want to, Nico offered his hand to the child, which they gratefully took. Nico trailed in the direction where the child first bumped into him, and as he did, the more the criminals came out, that of course made a family of bats roam the city. But he wasn’t expecting to be met by two of these bats, one a short hooded figure wearing red and wielding a katana and the other about his own height also dressed in red gear but wielding a bo staff.

“Who are and why do you have that child?”

A stern voice came from the shorter figure, and before Nico could really answer, another voice came along.

“Alex! Alex! There you are!” A woman came running over and in the same motion the child let go of Nico’s hand into the arms of who he guessed was their mother. “Mama that boy helped me. He got rid of that thing, Mama. He saved me!” The mother held her child tightly, and Nico and the two other figures watched. The mother looked up at Nico, and by the look in her eyes, Nico knew she knew what he was.

But she smiled kindly at him, “Come, I feel as if I owe you something for saving my child.” And with a glance to his left and right, Nico saw the angry scowl of the shorter boy and the relaxed face of the other taller one. Nico walked toward the mother and child swiftly, and they made their way across town swiftly and safely. (Much to Nico’s surprise) It was a small and comfortable home, “Thank you. Thank you so much.” A cry came from the mother as she turned to look at Nico with tear filled eyes.

“I’ve been so selfish keeping my Alex away from that camp, but after tonight, I know they need to go. Thank you, thank you for saving my Alex.” “Mama?” Alex mumbled softly, “Why has no satyr come for them?” Nico questioned the woman softly as he could, which might not have been that soft. “I was told that satyrs would come for them when they became twelve, but the attacks started becoming too frequent. I can’t keep being selfish and putting my child in danger.” The mother explained, and while Nico understood, the explanation led to another question.

“Who?” The woman caught on quickly to what he was referring to, “Iris.” Nice, was the first thing that came to Nico’s mind, and the other was I should probably get this kid to camp. “I don’t think I’d look that well taking your child outside the city after I was already pinned by those..?” “Vigilantes” The woman said, and quickly nodded in agreement, “The Grey Sisters?” The woman suggested, and Nico had to hold back a smile. Nico nodded and let the mother explain to Alex what was going to happen to him this year or a brief of it.

Alex quickly threw open the car door and got out, finally relaxing after feeling the ground below. “Lovely ladies, may the darkness always suit you. Thank you for the ride.” As Nico and Alex made their way to the Big House, Nico gained stares from the other campers, some being awe others being fright. Alex asked questions the whole way there, to which Nico gave answers to the ones he could. “Mr. D, Chiron. There’s someone you need to meet.” “Nico, good to see you, whatcha got?” “Nico my boy, what is it?” Nico nodded in greetings again before getting the attention of the eight year old he saved. “This is a child I saved in Gotham City. Their name is Alex Walker, the child of Iris.” The child stood stiff in the gaze of Mr. D and Chiron, “Hello..” Mr. D said nothing and turned his attention away from the child as Chiron greeted Alex.Mr. D called over the Son of Hades, to which Nico followed. “You know, there’s no Satyrs in Gotham?” Dionysus said factually, while Nico turned to him completely in confusion. “Why?” “The Mist there is thin, due to all the bat shit things that happen there, sending satyrs there means most would know. So I have an offer.” Dionysus said smugly, and Nico gave the God of Wine a questioning look. “Be the satyr for Gotham, save and guide kids to this wretched place.”

“Why? You don’t really care about demi-gods.” Nico fired back in confusion, and Mr. D laughed. Though while he did, it was like he shifted into another person, his hair turned black, and he became slightly paler, and his eyes red before he quickly switched back after his laughing fit. “You know, besides good ol’ Chiron, I think you’re the only one I’ll allow to question me. Yes, I don’t like demi-gods, but this is what Chiron wants I’m just the one telling you.” Nico thought for a moment. What if there were minor or chthonic kids like himself or children of Dionysus? After more contemplation, Alex ran up and hugged Nico, “This place is great! My cabin’s being built!” As Nico looked at Alex, he finally knew his answer, “Yeah? Enjoy Hermes Cabin for a bit.” Alex let go of Nico and ran back out of the Big House. “Yeah, I’ll be the satyr for Gotham.” Nico answered sternly, and Dionysus, once more chuckling, shifted before changing back. It was really starting to concern the Son of Hades, “Good, be careful, brother. Some bat’s are hiding there.”

On Wattpad now ♥︎

#percy jackson #nico di angelo #camp half blood #batfam #batman #dc comics #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #heros of olympus

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writingforstraykids · 11 months ago

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Whispers of the Moon - Birthday Special

Pairing: Minchan (short mention of Felix / very short mention of the other boys)

Word Count: 6325

Summary: In the heart of Seoul, beneath the gleaming skyscrapers and ancient palaces, lies a hidden world of magic and mystery. Chan, a gifted healer, and Minho, a shapeshifter hiding as a sleek black cat, find their destinies intertwined in this enchanting underworld...

Warnings/Tags: magical!au, shapeshifter!minho, healer!chan, angst, fluff, strangers to lovers

A/N: The happiest birthday to my dear unnie @zehina. I actually went all nerdy and wrote loads about the world as well since I know you love it (and included the rest of the boys that way hehe). I hope you like it, love🖤

Seoul, South Korea's bustling capital, is known for its towering skyscrapers, historic palaces, and vibrant street markets. It is a city where ancient traditions and cutting-edge technology coexist in harmony. However, beneath its well-lit streets and modern facades lies a hidden realm—a magical underworld known only to a selected few. This subterranean world, rich with history and mystery, operates parallel to the everyday life of Seoul's residents, governed by its own rules and inhabited by beings from myth and legend.

The gateway to Seoul's magical underworld is not a grand archway or a secret door; it is a modest, unassuming teahouse in the bustling district of Insadong. The teahouse, known as "Moonlit Haven," has been in operation for centuries and has been passed down through generations of the same family. Its wooden exterior and traditional hanok architecture blend seamlessly with the area's historic atmosphere.

To the ungifted human, Moonlit Haven appears to be an ordinary teahouse serving fragrant teas and traditional Korean sweets. However, those who know the secret can access the portal to the underworld by ordering a special tea called "Moon's Whisper." Upon drinking this tea, a shimmering door appears at the back of the teahouse, leading to a stone staircase that descends deep into the earth.

The staircase spirals downward, lit by glowing blue lanterns that float in mid-air. The walls are adorned with intricate carvings depicting scenes with magical creatures: the nine-tailed fox, the dragon king, and the heavenly warriors. As one descends, the air grows cooler and tinged with a faint scent of jasmine and pine.

At the bottom of the staircase, a grand archway looms, its surface covered in glowing runes. This is the true entrance to Seoul's magical underworld, a threshold between the mundane and the extraordinary. Stepping through the archway, one is immediately enveloped in a world unlike any other.

The magical underworld of Seoul, known as Secret City, is a sprawling subterranean metropolis that mirrors the city above but with its own unique twist. The sky here is an eternal twilight, illuminated by floating orbs that mimic the phases of the moon. Streets are paved with luminescent stones, and buildings are constructed from materials that shimmer with an inner light.

Secret City is divided into several districts, each with its own distinct character. There is the Enchanted Market, where vendors sell potions, enchanted artifacts, and rare ingredients. The Celestial District is home to beings of great power, including dragons and celestial foxes. The Whispering Woods, a dense forest of silver trees, is said to be haunted by spirits and home to elusive forest guardians.

The residents of Secret City are as diverse as the city itself. Humans with magical abilities live alongside mythical creatures. Among them are the Gumiho, nine-tailed foxes who can shapeshift and possess immense magical power. There are also Dokkaebi, goblins, mischievous but generally benign beings who love to play tricks on humans. Dragons, both Eastern and Western varieties, make their homes in the Celestial District, guarding ancient secrets and treasures.

The city's governance is overseen by a council of elders, composed of representatives from each major group. The council ensures harmony between the various inhabitants and that the secrets of Secret City are kept from the surface world, which is why any sort of magic is forbidden in the mundane world.

The Enchanted Market is the heart of Secret City, a bustling bazaar where the air is filled with the scent of exotic spices and the sound of lively discussions. Stalls line the streets, their wares illuminated by lanterns that float overhead. Vendors shout out their goods, from enchanted scrolls and rare herbs to mystical artifacts and talismans.

One of the most renowned vendors in the market is Master Hyun, a potions master whose shop, "Elixirs of Eternity," is a treasure trove of magical concoctions. Shelves upon shelves are filled with bottles of all shapes and sizes, each containing liquids that shimmer with otherworldly light. Master Hyun is a man of twinkling eyes and ethereal beauty, always ready with a story about the origins of his potions.

One of his most sought-after potions is the "Dream Weaver," which allows the drinker to enter the dreams of others. Another popular item is the "Phoenix Tear," a potion that can heal any wound or ailment. Master Hyun's potions are known for their potency and reliability, making his shop a favorite among both the magical and non-magical residents of Secret City.

Another notable figure in the Enchanted Market is Ji-Sung, an artifact dealer whose collection is the envy of many. His shop, "Treasures of Time," is filled with rare and powerful artifacts from across the ages. Among his prized possessions are a mirror that shows the true nature of any being, a fan that can summon the wind and a sword that can cut through any material.

Ji-Sung is a mysterious figure, always dressed in elaborate silk robes and adorned with jewelry that seems to pulse with magic. He is known for his keen eye and sharp wit, and it is said that he never forgets a face. His shop is a place of wonder and danger, for while many seek his artifacts for their power, they often come with a price that is not measured in gold.

The Celestial District is home to some of the most powerful beings in Secret City. Dragons, with their majestic forms and ancient wisdom, reside here in grand palaces that float above the ground. These palaces, constructed from crystal and gold, radiate a light that can be seen from anywhere in the city.

Each dragon in the Celestial District guards a specific aspect of magic or nature. There is Aran, the dragon of water, whose palace is surrounded by a moat of liquid silver. There is Seraphine, the dragon of fire, whose abode is perpetually surrounded by a ring of flames. These dragons are both protectors and advisors, and their counsel is sought by the council of elders and other residents of Secret City.

Sharing the Celestial District with the dragons are the Gumiho, or nine-tailed foxes. These beings are both feared and respected for their immense magical power and their ability to shape-shift into beautiful women or men. The Gumiho live in harmony with the dragons, their abilities complementing the dragons' strength and wisdom.

The leader of the Gumiho is Jeongin, a fox spirit with silver fur and piercing dark eyes. Jeongin is known for his grace and intelligence, often acting as a mediator in disputes and a strategist in times of conflict. His palace, the Silver Moon Pavilion, is a place of beauty and tranquility, where the moonlight dances on the surface of a crystal-clear lake.

The Whispering Woods is a dense forest of silver trees, their leaves shimmering like moonlight. The woods are said to be haunted, with whispers echoing through the trees that speak of forgotten secrets and ancient magic. The path through the forest is winding and treacherous, known only to a few who dare to venture into its depths.

The Whispering Woods are guarded by forest spirits, ethereal beings who protect the ancient magic within the trees. These spirits, known as the Guardians, are invisible to most and reveal themselves only to those they deem worthy. They are led by Elder Bin, a spirit of great wisdom and power who has watched over the woods for centuries.

The Guardians are both protectors and guides, aiding those who seek knowledge or refuge in the woods. They are also the keepers of the Sacred Grove, a hidden sanctuary where the most potent magical energies converge. The Sacred Grove is a place of healing and renewal, its waters said to grant visions and its flowers capable of curing any illness.

Among the trees dwell the Spirits of the Lost, souls who have wandered into the woods and never found their way out. These spirits are not dangerous but rather sorrowful, seeking closure or redemption. They often appear as faint, glowing figures, their presence marked by a sudden chill in the air.

The Spirits of the Lost are guided by Lix, a gentle and compassionate spirit who helps them find peace. Lix is a beacon of light in the darkness of the woods, his soothing voice and kind heart offering comfort to those who have lost their way. Under his guidance, many spirits have found the closure they seek and moved on to the afterlife.

Scattered throughout Secret City are hidden temples dedicated to various deities and elemental forces. These temples are places of worship and power where the faithful come to seek blessings and guidance. Each temple is unique, reflecting the nature of the deity or force it honors.

One of the most revered temples in Secret City is the Temple of the Moon, a place of serene beauty and quiet reflection. The temple is built from white marble, its domed roof adorned with silver filigree that glows softly in the moonlight. Inside, a large pool of water reflects the light of the floating orbs above, creating an ethereal ambiance.

The Temple of the Moon is dedicated to the moon goddess, Haneul, who is believed to watch over Secret City from the skies. The temple is tended by a group of priests known as the Moon Brothers, who perform rituals and offer prayers on behalf of the city's residents. The head priest, Brother Seungmin, is a wise and gentle leader, his presence bringing a sense of peace and tranquility to all who visit the temple.

Another secret society is the Shadow Blades, a group of elite warriors and assassins who protect Secret City. They are skilled in martial arts and magic, and their training is rigorous and demanding. The Shadow Blades operate from the Shadowsong Keep, a hidden fortress deep within the Whispering Woods.

Commander Ji-Won is the leader of the Shadow Blades, a formidable warrior known for being both ruthless and just. Under his command, the Shadow Blades carry out missions to protect Secret City from external threats and internal strife. They are the unseen guardians of the city, their presence felt but rarely seen. Minho is one of them, slowly working his way up the ranks but facing struggles with his colleagues. He’s not as powerful with magic as most of them but has the ability to shapeshift into a cat, making him perfect for secret missions. Which pissed a lot of people off.

Throughout its history, Secret City has been protected by heroes who have risen to defend the city against threats, both internal and external. These heroes, known as the Chosen Ones, are individuals of great courage and power, often possessing unique abilities that set them apart from others.

No hero is complete without a healer, and in Secret City, that role is filled by Chan, a gifted healer whose touch can mend even the gravest of wounds. Chan is a member of the Temple of the Moon, his gentle nature and healing magic bringing comfort and hope to those in need. He carries a staff, the Moon's Grace, which enhances his healing abilities and allows him to channel the power of the moon goddess.

Seoul's magical underworld, Secret City, is a place of wonder, danger, and beauty. It is a city where the mundane and the extraordinary coexist, where ancient myths come to life, and where the balance between light and dark is constantly maintained. The residents of Secret City, both human and mythical, live in harmony, their lives intertwined by the magic that permeates their world.

As the gateway between the two realms, Moonlit Haven reminds visitors that there is more to Seoul than meets the eye. For those who dare to seek it, a world of magic and mystery awaits, hidden beneath the bustling streets and modern skyscrapers of South Korea's capital. In Secret City, the impossible becomes possible, and the ordinary becomes extraordinary—a true testament to the enduring power of magic.

Minho had always been different. As a member of the Shadow Blades, the elite warriors and protectors of Secret City, his abilities made him a target of both admiration and envy. Unlike many of his comrades, he lacked powerful magic but possessed a unique talent: the ability to shapeshift into a sleek, agile cat. This ability made him invaluable for espionage, slipping unnoticed through shadows and tight spaces. However, his success and the recognition it brought only fueled the resentment of his peers.

The tension reached its peak after a particularly challenging mission. Minho had been instrumental in retrieving a stolen artifact from a rogue mage, but his success was met with scorn rather than praise. Whispers of jealousy and accusations of favoritism swirled among his colleagues, resulting in an unjust decision by his superior officers. They accused him of withholding information and acting independently, charges that were untrue but impossible for Minho to refute without pushing himself even further away.

"You think you're special because of your abilities," spat one of his fellow warriors. "But you're just a liability. We don't need someone who can't follow orders."

The decision was swift and brutal. Minho was stripped of his rank and cast out from the Shadowsong Keep. The sense of betrayal cut deeper than any blade. He was alone, exiled from the only family he had known, forced to fend for himself in the vast, mystical underworld of Secret City.

With nowhere else to turn, Minho fled through the Whispering Woods, a dense forest known for its haunting beauty and perilous magic. The silver leaves of the trees shimmered in the eternal twilight, casting an eerie glow on the winding paths. Here, the whispers of ancient secrets and lost souls filled the air, a symphony of sorrow and mystery.

Exhausted and wounded from his escape, Minho made a desperate decision. He transformed into his cat form, hoping the change would allow him to navigate the forest more easily and evade any pursuers. The transformation was both a relief and a curse, offering him agility and stealth but stripping him of his human voice and hands.

As a cat, Minho's senses were heightened. He could hear the rustle of leaves, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and the soft murmurs of the forest spirits. His fur provided some protection against the chill, but the pain of his injuries persisted. Despite his resilience, the journey through the Whispering Woods was grueling, each step a struggle against fatigue and despair.

Lix found him curled up beneath a tree and noticing his injuries he knew there was only one way to save him. He scooped him up from the ground and soothingly caressed his head, able to tell there was more to him than just an innocent, hurt cat.

After days of wandering, they finally reached the Temple of the Moon, a place of serene beauty and powerful magic. The temple, constructed from white marble and adorned with silver filigree, stood as a beacon of hope amidst the dark woods. Its domed roof glowed softly, reflecting the light of the floating orbs above. Lix set him down on the ground and gently shoved him forward. “I’m not allowed to enter, but you are, little friend. Go and accept the refuge they have to provide.”

Minho hesitated at the entrance, his feline instincts wary of the unknown. He had heard of the temple's head healer, Chan, a gifted young man whose touch could mend even the gravest of wounds. Desperation outweighed caution, and Minho limped into the courtyard, collapsing near the temple steps.

Moments later, a figure emerged from the temple. Chan, carrying a staff that radiated a gentle light, approached the injured cat. His eyes widened in surprise at the sight of the wounded animal, but his expression quickly softened into one of compassion.

"Poor thing," Chan murmured, kneeling beside Minho. "Let's get you inside."

Chan carefully lifted Minho and carried him into the temple. The interior was as serene as the exterior, with moonlight streaming through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns on the marble floor. Chan placed Minho on a soft cushion and gently examined his injuries.

"You're in bad shape, but we'll get you fixed up," Chan said soothingly. He placed his hands over Minho's wounds, and a warm, healing light emanated from his palms. The pain began to fade, replaced by a soothing sensation that spread through Minho's body.

As the healing progressed, Minho watched Chan with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity. Chan's touch was gentle, his expression focused yet kind. There was something inherently calming about him, a presence that put Minho at ease despite his recent ordeal.

When Chan finished, he sat back and smiled. "There you go, little one. You should feel better soon."

Minho meowed softly in response, his eyes conveying the gratitude he couldn't express in words. Chan chuckled and scratched behind Minho's ears. "You can stay here as long as you need to. I'll take care of you."

Days turned into weeks as Minho recovered under Chan's care. He adapted to his new life at the Temple of the Moon, observing the daily routines and rituals from the shadows. In his cat form, Minho found a strange sense of peace. He was safe from his past and had a chance to start anew.

Chan grew fond of the cat he had rescued, naming him "Moonshadow" for his sleek, dark fur and the way he seemed to blend into the twilight. Minho, in turn, became Chan's silent guardian, following him around the temple and offering companionship.

Whenever Chan was away, Minho would revert to his human form, cleaning the temple and performing small tasks to help ease his guilt for deceiving him. He hoped that his actions would repay some of the kindness Chan had shown him, even if Chan never knew the truth.

Chan, however, began to notice the small changes around the temple. Rooms were tidier, supplies were replenished, and the garden seemed to flourish under an unseen hand. He attributed these miracles to the blessings of the moon goddess, unaware of the true source.

Five months later

In the eternal twilight of Secret City, the Temple of the Moon was a sanctuary of tranquility and magic. Within its serene confines, Chan sat cross-legged on a plush cushion, his gentle eyes scanning the pages of an ancient tome. The moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows cast a colorful, ethereal glow around him, creating an atmosphere of peace and contemplation.

Beside him, Minho, in his cat form, stretched lazily, his sleek black fur shimmering in the soft light. As he yawned and settled into a more comfortable position, his eyes never left Chan. There was a bond between them that went beyond mere companionship—a connection forged through trials and a deep mutual understanding.

Chan noticed Minho’s gaze and smiled warmly. “Hey there, Moonshadow,” he said softly. “Come here.”

Minho’s ears perked up at the sound of Chan’s voice. With a graceful leap, he landed beside Chan and began to nuzzle his head against Chan’s outstretched hand. Chan’s fingers moved instinctively to scratch behind Minho’s ears, a spot that always made the cat purr contentedly.

“There we go,” Chan murmured, his voice soothing and gentle. He could feel the vibrations of Minho’s purrs under his fingertips, a rhythmic reminder of the trust and affection between them.

Minho closed his eyes, leaning into Chan’s touch. The sensation of Chan’s fingers running through his fur was blissful, and his purring grew louder, filling the quiet room with its soothing sound. It was moments like these that made all the hardships and uncertainties of their lives seem distant and unimportant.

Chan chuckled softly. “You’re really enjoying this, aren’t you?”

In response, Minho rubbed his head against Chan’s cheek, a gesture of affection that made Chan’s heart swell with warmth. The simple act of being close to Chan brought Minho a sense of security and happiness he had never thought possible before meeting him.

“You’re such a sweet kitty,” Chan whispered, continuing to scratch Minho’s head and under his chin. Minho’s purrs grew even louder, and he started to knead Chan’s chest with his paws, his claws retracting just enough to avoid scratching the fabric of Chan’s robe.

Chan shifted slightly, leaning back against the cushions and creating a more comfortable space for both of them. Minho took this as an invitation and climbed onto Chan’s chest, circling a few times before curling up in a tight ball. His tail wrapped around his body, and he rested his head on his paws, looking up at Chan with half-closed eyes.

“You look so peaceful,” Chan said, his voice barely above a whisper. He rested one hand gently on Minho’s back, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

Minho’s eyes closed fully, and he let out a contented sigh. The warmth of Chan’s body, combined with the rhythmic motion of his hand on his back, lulled him into a state of deep relaxation. His purring continued, a soft, steady sound that seemed to resonate with the very essence of the temple.

For Chan, having Minho close was a source of immense comfort. The bond they shared went beyond that of a healer and his pet; it was a connection of souls, a partnership forged over time. Chan found solace in Minho’s presence, a sense of completeness that he had never experienced before.

As the minutes passed, the tranquility of the moment deepened. Chan’s thoughts drifted, the worries of the day fading into the background. All that mattered was the gentle weight of Minho on his chest, the soothing sound of his purrs, and the warmth of their shared affection.

Minho, on the verge of sleep, shifted slightly and nuzzled his head against Chan’s chest. He felt safe, cherished, and loved—a stark contrast to the loneliness and betrayal he had once known. In this sacred space, with Chan’s heartbeat as his lullaby, Minho found a peace that transcended the physical realm.

Chan continued to stroke Minho’s fur, his touch light and tender. He could feel the trust dripping from the small creature in his arms, a trust that was both humbling and empowering. Chan knew that, no matter what challenges lay ahead, they would face them together, their bond unbreakable.

“I promise to always take care of you,” Chan whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

Minho’s purring intensified for a moment, as if acknowledging Chan’s words. Then, gradually, it began to fade as sleep overtook him. His body relaxed completely, his breathing slow and steady. Chan watched him with a soft smile, his own heart filled with a profound sense of gratitude and love.

The Temple of the Moon, with its timeless beauty and serene atmosphere, bore witness to the deep connection between Chan and Minho. In this sacred place, under the watchful gaze of the moon goddess, they found a moment of perfect harmony—a testament to the enduring power of love and trust in a world filled with magic and mystery.

As Chan closed his eyes, his hand resting gently on Minho’s sleeping form, he knew that their journey together was far from over. But in this moment, they had everything they needed: each other. And that was enough.

One evening, as Chan prepared for his nightly prayers, he looked at Moonshadow, who was curled up on a cushion nearby. "You know, sometimes I feel like there's more to you than meets the eye," Chan mused aloud. "You're special, aren't you?"

Minho's ears perked up, and he watched Chan with wide, curious eyes. Chan smiled and continued, "I think the goddess sent you to me for a reason. Maybe you're my familiar, a guardian spirit to protect and guide me."

The words struck a chord in Minho's heart. He had always felt a deep connection to Chan, a sense of duty and protectiveness that went beyond mere gratitude. Perhaps there was truth in Chan's words, a destiny that had brought them together.

That night, Chan performed a ritual to bind Moonshadow as his familiar. He drew intricate symbols on the ground, lit candles, and recited ancient incantations. As the ritual reached its climax, a surge of magical energy enveloped Minho, strengthening the bond between them.

Minho felt a profound shift within him, a merging of their spirits that filled him with newfound purpose. He was now bound to Chan, his protector and companion, their fates intertwined by the magic of the moon.

As Chan's familiar, Minho took his duties seriously. He remained vigilant, always on the lookout for potential threats. His heightened senses allowed him to detect dangers before they could reach Chan, and his presence provided comfort and reassurance.

One day, trouble arrived in the form of dark mages seeking to disrupt the balance of magic in Secret City. These mages, practitioners of forbidden magic, targeted the Temple of the Moon, believing its powerful magic could be harnessed for their nefarious purposes.

Chan was in the garden when the attack began. Dark figures emerged from the shadows, casting spells that warped the air and sent tremors through the ground. Chan's staff glowed as he raised a protective barrier, but the dark mages' assault was relentless.

Minho, sensing the danger, leapt into action. He transformed into his human form, his body a blur of motion as he intercepted the attackers. With a combination of agility and ferocity, Minho fought off the dark mages, his cat-like reflexes and strength giving him an edge.

Chan, focused on maintaining the barrier, was unaware of the true identity of his savior. He glanced over in shock as he saw a young man fighting with the grace and power of a guardian beast.

Despite his best efforts to hide his true nature, Minho's ears were visible, a telltale sign of his shapeshifter abilities. As the last of the dark mages fled, Chan lowered the barrier and approached Minho cautiously.

"Who are you?" Chan asked, his voice a mix of awe and confusion. Their eyes met and Chan’s eyes widened recognizing those soft brown orbs he’d come to love so much. His eyes wandered up where Minho’s dark cat ears peaked from his messy brown hair. "Are you... Moonshadow?"

Minho hesitated, then nodded slowly. "Yes, I am. My name is Minho. I'm a shapeshifter, exiled from the Shadowsong Keep. I've been living here in my cat form, afraid you would kick me out if you knew the truth. I know we aren’t very welcomed around here.”

Chan's expression softened, and he reached out to touch Minho's shoulder. "You protected me, Minho. You've been by my side all this time, helping and watching over me. I don't care about your past or your abilities. You are my familiar, and I am grateful for everything you've done."

Tears welled up in Minho's eyes, a mix of relief and gratitude flooding his heart. "Thank you, Chan. I promise to always protect you, no matter what."

Minho’s revelation had lifted a weight off his chest, but it also left him feeling vulnerable. Living as a shapeshifter meant hiding his true self, something he’d grown accustomed to. Yet, in front of Chan, he was completely exposed. For Chan, the revelation was a mix of shock and intrigue. The gentle healer had always felt a special bond with Moonshadow, but knowing that the affectionate cat was also a brave young man named Minho deepened that connection.

Their daily routines continued, but with a newfound understanding. Minho still shifted into his cat form, now more out of comfort than necessity. He still enjoyed curling up on Chan’s chest, feeling his rhythmic breathing and the warmth of his body. Chan, on his part, welcomed Minho’s human presence when he transformed, appreciating the help around the temple and the companionship Minho offered.

The first night after Minho’s revelation, Chan found it hard to sleep. He kept glancing at Minho, now in his human form, tidying up the temple’s main hall. The moonlight filtered through the stained glass windows, casting a soft glow on Minho’s face. He moved gracefully, his actions efficient and almost mesmerizing to watch. Chan felt a strange flutter in his chest, a mix of admiration and affection.

“Minho,” Chan called softly, his voice breaking the comfortable silence.

Minho turned, his eyes reflecting the moonlight. “Yes, Chan?”

Chan hesitated, then smiled. “You don’t have to push yourself so hard. Come sit with me.”

Minho’s expression softened, and he abandoned the broom he was holding, walking over to where Chan sat. He settled down beside him, their shoulders almost touching. There was a quiet intimacy in the moment, a shared silence that spoke volumes.

“I never thought I’d find someone like you,” Chan admitted quietly. “Someone who understands and accepts me for who I am.”

Minho looked at him, his eyes sincere. “I feel the same way. You’ve given me a place to belong, Chan. For that, I’m grateful.”

They sat in silence for a while, the bond between them growing stronger with each passing moment. Chan’s hand moved almost instinctively, reaching out to hold Minho’s. Minho’s fingers intertwined with his, the simple touch sending a warm feeling through both of them.

As days turned into weeks, the relationship between Chan and Minho deepened. They developed a rhythm, a balance of shared tasks and quiet moments of companionship. Minho’s presence brought a sense of stability to Chan’s life, while Chan’s gentle nature provided Minho with a sense of peace he had never known before.

Chan’s duties as a healer often took him to various parts of Secret City. Minho, always in his cat form, accompanied him, providing silent support. He became Chan’s shadow, always alert and ready to protect him if necessary. Their bond as familiar and master was strong, but it was the bond of friendship and growing affection that truly defined their relationship.

One afternoon, while Chan was tending to a patient in the Celestial District, Minho, in his cat form, explored the area. The dragons and celestial foxes were impressive, their majestic forms and ancient wisdom evident in every interaction. Minho’s keen senses picked up the subtle undercurrents of power and respect that flowed through the district.

As Chan finished his work, he called out for Minho. The sleek black cat appeared almost instantly, weaving through the crowd with ease. Chan smiled as he picked Minho up, cradling him gently.

“You always know where to find me,” Chan said, scratching behind Minho’s ears. Minho purred in response, nuzzling against Chan’s cheek.

Their return to the temple was peaceful, the twilight sky casting a serene glow over Secret City. Minho transformed back into his human form once they were inside, stretching his limbs as he did so.

“Another successful day,” Chan remarked, setting down his staff.

Minho nodded. “You’re an amazing healer, Chan. The way you help people… it’s inspiring.”

Chan’s cheeks flushed slightly at the compliment. “Thank you, Minho. But I couldn’t do it without your support.”

Minho’s heart swelled at the words. He was finding it harder to keep his feelings for Chan hidden. The healer’s kindness, dedication, and the way he made Minho feel valued and appreciated—it was all becoming too much to ignore.

Their bond grew stronger with each passing day, but so did Minho’s feelings for Chan. He found himself drawn to the healer in ways he hadn’t expected. Chan’s smile, his laughter, the way he cared for others—it all made Minho’s heart race.

One evening, as they sat together under the soft glow of the moonlight, Chan turned to Minho with a thoughtful expression. “Minho, can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” Minho replied, curious.

“Why do you stay in your cat form most of the time?” Chan asked gently. “I mean, I understand it became your natural state by now, but you can be human whenever you want. Why do you choose to be a cat?”

Minho looked down, his ears twitching slightly. “It’s… complicated. When I’m in my cat form, I feel safe. I can protect you without drawing too much attention. And it’s easier to hide my true feelings.”

“Your true feelings?” Chan echoed, his curiosity piqued.

Minho hesitated, then took a deep breath. “Chan, there’s something I need to tell you. Ever since you took me in, I’ve felt this… connection. It’s more than just being your familiar. I care about you deeply, more than I’ve ever cared about anyone. But I’ve been afraid to show it, afraid that you might not feel the same way.”

Chan’s eyes softened, and he reached out to take Minho’s hand. “Minho, I care about you too. You’ve become an important part of my life, and I can’t imagine it without you. I think… I think I’ve been feeling the same way.”

Minho’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

Chan nodded. “Yes. I’ve been trying to understand these feelings, and now I realize that I’ve fallen for you, Minho. Not just as my familiar, but as someone I want to be with.”

Minho’s eyes filled with tears of relief and happiness. “Chan, I’ve loved you for so long. I just didn’t know how to tell you.”

Chan pulled Minho into a gentle embrace. “You don’t have to hide your feelings anymore. We’ll face this together.”

Minho clung to Chan, the warmth of his embrace filling him with a sense of belonging. They stayed like that for a while, holding each other under the moonlight, their hearts beating in sync.

With their feelings out in the open, Minho and Chan’s relationship took on a new dimension. They were no longer just healer and familiar; they were partners, united by love and a deep sense of understanding. Their bond grew stronger, their affection for each other evident in every touch, every glance, every shared moment.

Chan continued his work as a healer, and Minho remained by his side, providing support and protection. They faced challenges together, their love giving them strength and resilience. Secret City, with its magic and mystery, became a backdrop for their blossoming relationship.

One day, as they walked through the Enchanted Market, Minho in his human form, Chan took his hand. “I have a surprise for you.”

Minho looked at him curiously. “What is it?”

Chan led him to a small shop filled with beautiful artifacts and magical items. The shopkeeper, a kind young man, greeted them with a warm smile.

“Welcome, Chan. I see you’ve brought a special friend today,” he said.

Chan smiled and nodded. “Yes, Minho is very special to me. And I want to give him something to show how much he means to me.”

Jisung’s eyes twinkled. “Ah, I have just the thing.”

He led them to a display case and pulled out a delicate silver pendant shaped like a crescent moon. “This pendant is filled with protective magic. It will keep the wearer safe and strengthen the bond between two hearts.”

Chan took the pendant and turned to Minho. “I want you to have this. It’s a symbol of our bond and my promise to always be there for you.”

Minho’s lip quivered slightly as he took the pendant. “Thank you, Chan. I’ll cherish it always.”

Chan fastened the pendant around Minho’s neck, and they shared a tender kiss, sealing their love with a magical promise.

Their love continued to grow, but so did the challenges they faced. Dark forces still threatened Secret City, and Minho and Chan found themselves in the midst of several battles. Their bond was tested, but their love gave them the strength to overcome every obstacle.

One evening, as they returned to the temple after a particularly difficult mission, Chan collapsed from exhaustion. Minho caught him, his heart pounding with fear. “Channie, are you okay?”

Chan smiled weakly. “I’m just tired, Minho. I’ll be fine.”

Minho carried Chan inside and laid him down on a soft cushion. He tended to Chan’s wounds, his hands trembling with worry. “You’ve pushed yourself too hard, Chan. You need to rest.”

Chan reached up to touch Minho’s face. “I’ll be okay, Minho. I have you by my side.”

Minho’s eyes filled with tears as he leaned down to kiss Chan’s forehead. “I love you, Chan. Please take care of yourself like you do with everyone else.”

“I love you too, Minho,” Chan whispered, closing his eyes. “Thank you for being here with me.”

Minho stayed by Chan’s side, holding his hand and watching over him as he slept. The trials they faced only strengthened their bond, their love a beacon of hope and resilience in the face of darkness.

As time passed, Minho and Chan’s love continued to flourish. They built a life together, their bond unbreakable and their hearts intertwined. Secret City, with its magic and mystery, became their home, a place where their love could grow and thrive.

One evening, as they sat together under the moonlight, Chan turned to Minho with a smile. “Do you remember the day we first met?”

Minho nodded, his eyes filled with affection. “How could I forget? You saved me, Chan. You gave me a place to belong.”

Chan took Minho’s hand, their fingers intertwining. “And you gave me a reason to believe in love. You’ve made my life complete, Minho.”

Minho leaned in to kiss Chan, their lips meeting in a tender, loving embrace. “I promise to always be by your side, Chan. Forever.”

Chan smiled, his heart filled with joy. “Forever.”

As they held each other under the soft glow of the moonlight, Minho and Chan knew that their love was eternal. In the magical underworld of Secret City, their hearts had found a home in each other, a love that would endure through any challenge, a bond that would never be broken.

Together, they faced the world, their love a guiding light in the darkness. And in each other’s arms, they found a love that was truly magical, a love that would last forever.

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my works in any way here or on other platforms. ©️writingforstraykids 2024 -

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theyellowhedgehog · 7 months ago

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How Tim found out about the secret identity.

PART 2

Reverse Robin + Parallel AU PART 1 HERE

Since there is no blaring clue like the quadruple flip, Tim has his work cut out for him. Bruce is paranoid enough, just add a miniature Bruce. Batman and Batboy became like a true mythical urban legend.

Tim was actually 14 when he found out Bruce was Batman. Damian was 16.

After becoming Batboy, Damian joins the Justice League and works with a team of teenage superheroes like his own. So he rarely comes home or he's gone for a long time. Tim still visits the Manor, he talks with Alfred in tea times, and sometimes accompanies Bruce on golfing. He still has a fascination on vintage cars but he got bored watching the cars in the garage, that is when he took notice of the new Batmobile that was recently caught on news.

14 years old Tim, takes out his best camera and sets out into the night to take photos of the Batmobile.

The Batmobile becomes his newest obsession. One day, on his close up shot of the car he noticed something about the tail light bumper, normally you won't notice, but the company that produces it actually trademarked it.

W.E

Tim starts going into detective mode. This tail light is a model that WE never released. They were not released due to the fact that it doesn't fit the regulation of a proper rare light. Therefore, if someone is using those , Tim deducts that they must be from somewhere higher up. He started digging into the BODs of WE with his limited resources. He ruled out 13 out of 24. But it isn't still not good enough. He mopes around the vintage cars as he was about to give up when he saw Bruce Wayne lay down flat under a car, legs poking out.

"Umm, Mister Wayne..?"

Bruce slips out and greets him, "Oh, hi, Tim! Come to check out the cars again? "

"Yeah," Tim looks at Bruce covered in grease and says, "Bruce, you can call in a mechanic, you don't need to do it by yourself."

Bruce laughs from under the car, "Sometimes, it's better to do it with your own hand, son"

Tim shrugs and sits down. It is then he realised the rear bumper of the car is destroyed.

"How did this happened??" Because Tim know Bruce is not that irresponsible.

"Well, Mr. Smarty Pants Damian thought it would be a good idea to take his friends out on a ride after getting his permit. He's lucky he hit a lamppost or he better expects a lawsuit if otherwise."

"Oh, then maybe this need a proper mechanic to repair that."

Bruce rolls out and looks at him, "Look like we got two of the best here."

This make Tim grins and drops his bag as he starts to inspect the damage. His heart goes to the beautiful Ferrari that got damaged. Fortunately, this is but a dent, the tail light are broken so new ones need to be replaced.

"Bruce, you have extra tail lights?"

Bruce comes and checks," Yeah, it's in that box." Tim brushes some scratches and dirt ignoring the huge dent beside it, and when he got to installing the tail light, he paused. He looked down at his hand when he feels uneven ridges on the tail light.

Tim stares straight ahead in silence and quietly got back to work again.

When Bruce comes out to check how he is doing, Tim looks at him and asks," How did you get the WE tail lights that were never released? "

Bruce lets out a hearty laugh, " Well, I just keep some spare ones because they are quite useful even though they might not meet regulations."

"Can I have one?" Tim asks. And Bruce actually gives him one.

That was clue one. He suspects but never confronts Bruce or Damian.

Clue two was matching the dates of the debut of Batboy and Damian's absent and presence in Gotham and in California.

As well as Bruce absent in Gotham when Batman was spotted in Metropolis.

When Tim realised the dates actually matches up, he just didn't end it there.

Clue three was calculating Batman's height without the boots and cowl, analysing the body structure, he mannerism in pronouncing certain words and consonants.

But Tim has already decided.

Tim decides to live an ignorant life in bliss, as he does not want to be separated from his cars so soon.

Tim after feeling the tail light and Bruce came to him.

#tim drake #reverse robins #dc comics #fanfic #i burnt my braincells for tim's deduction #theyellowhedgehog #Bruce shouldn't be too offguard around tim #batman #batfam

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daemonya · 5 months ago

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chatbot sharing: Kai

😘🐙 juggler by day, hooker by night, all tentacles & full of surprises

c.ai 🍓 janitor 🍰 dream tavern 💌 joyland 🧸 dream journey 🌼 yodayo 🦋 rochat 🍄 figgs 🌷 charhub 🌸 sakura 🍡 moemate 🍭 harpy

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pumperpup · 1 year ago

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In the heart of the metropolis, where the streets buzzed with the eclectic energy of its inhabitants, Elliot, a young man of distinctive taste and a penchant for the unconventional, embarked on a quest that would etch an unforgettable chapter in his life's narrative. Known for his love of vintage vinyl and the art of coffee brewing, Elliot was the epitome of urban hipster sophistication. His journey into the unknown commenced with the discovery of the Moonlight Diet, a regimen shrouded in mystique, promising not just weight loss but a transformation of the self.

As the moon waxed and waned, so did Elliot's enthusiasm for his nocturnal feasts. Under the luminescence of the celestial orb, he dined on a cornucopia of exotic fruits and rarefied edibles, each bite an ode to the night. Initially, the changes were subtle: a lightness of being, a newfound vigor. But as the nights unfurled, a more tangible metamorphosis took root.

Elliot's belly, once flat and unassuming, began to burgeon. It swelled like a balloon on the cusp of flight, stretching his flannel shirts to their limits. The transformation was both bewildering and mesmerizing. His midsection took on a life of its own, a spherical monument to the moon's enigmatic power. It jiggled with a peculiar grace, a soft, pillowy expanse that elicited a mixture of awe and consternation in those who beheld it.

The sensation of his expanding girth was peculiar; it was as if he carried the moon's essence within him, a constant, gentle weight that nudged him towards an understanding of the universe's mysteries. Each step he took was a dance with gravity, a negotiation with the newfound corpulence that marked him as a disciple of the night's shadowy diet.

Embarking on a quest for answers, Elliot sought the counsel of a wise nutritionist, whose laughter at his tale echoed the whimsy of his predicament. She explained the folly of his ways, how the disruption of natural rhythms and the allure of moonlit enchantments had led to his remarkable transformation.

Yet, despite the wisdom imparted, Elliot's belly refused to concede to the realms of normalcy. Instead, it continued its celestial expansion, growing to sizes beyond what was typically possible, a phenomenon that defied the laws of physics and biology. Elliot's silhouette became a legend in itself, a living testament to the night sky's boundless influence. His belly, now a marvel of the modern world, shone with a luminescence reminiscent of the very moonlight that had begotten its growth.

Far from seeking to reverse this unparalleled transformation, Elliot embraced his unique condition. He became a symbol of the extraordinary, a beacon for those drawn to the mysteries of the universe. Crowds would gather to witness the man whose belly had transcended human limitations, each viewing a reminder that the world was filled with wonders far beyond our understanding.

In this new chapter of his life, Elliot navigated his existence with a buoyancy both literal and metaphorical. His story, a blend of curiosity, adventure, and the sheer unpredictability of life, echoed through the streets of the city, a tale not of caution but of embracing the unknown with an open heart and an unyielding spirit. Elliot, and his ever-expanding belly, became a legend, a mythic figure dancing in the moonlight, forever a part of the celestial tapestry that had so dramatically reshaped his destiny.

#ai generated #mpreg #mpreg belly #mpreg kink #bellyinflation #body expansion #mpregnancy #ai

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cynic-spirit · 4 months ago

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Little sun i

sergei x reader

Sergei Kravinoff, known simply as Kraven in the shadows of the underworld, is a towering figure at 6'4", with piercing brown eyes that seem to hold a predator's intensity. His jet-black hair, often tied back or left wild, frames a face chiseled with sharp angles, a testament to years of hardship and survival. Every sinew of his well-built, muscular frame tells the story of a man forged in adversity, honed by struggle, and sharpened by conquest.

Orphaned as a boy, Sergei grew up on the fringes of society, learning to survive through sheer cunning and raw determination. His early life was a saga of perpetual movement; he traversed continents as a stowaway, slipping aboard cargo ships and trains, living in the alleyways of major cities across Europe and Asia. By his late adolescence, he had tasted the air of every major metropolis, mastering their streets, their languages, and their secrets.

In the heart of his travels, Sergei encountered an enigmatic shaman in the depths of Siberia who introduced him to a series of herbal potions said to awaken the primal instincts of man. The potions, bitter and potent, transformed Sergei from a clever survivor into something more—something unstoppable. They enhanced his natural abilities, granting him superhuman strength, speed, and agility. He could lift two tons with ease, sprint short distances at a blinding 60 miles per hour, and leap over obstacles with a standing broad jump of 20 feet. His stamina allowed him to exert peak effort for an unparalleled half-hour before fatigue set in. These powers, combined with the potion's ability to halt his aging, left him in the prime physical condition of a 30-year-old man, despite his advanced years.

But Sergei did not merely survive; he thrived. Over decades, he built an empire in the shadows. Rising from the gutters to the pinnacle of power, Sergei became a mafia lord whose name was spoken with reverence and fear. His wealth grew vast, his influence far-reaching, and his reputation as an undefeated titan in both physical and strategic combat became legend. Rivals who underestimated him found themselves crushed under his iron will, while allies basked in his unyielding protection.

Kraven’s presence alone commands respect; his movements are predatory, his voice low and resonant, like a lion surveying his domain. He wears his wealth subtly, preferring functionality over ostentation, though the sharpness of his tailored suits and the glint of his timepiece hint at the fortune he controls. Sergei is a man of action, a predator who views the world as his hunting ground and himself as its apex.

While his power makes him the envy of many, it is Sergei's undefeated streak that truly cements his legend. In a world filled with challengers, none have ever toppled him. His cunning, his strength, and his supernatural gifts ensure that Sergei Kravinoff, Kraven the Lord of Shadows, remains a force that no man or faction dares to cross. Yet beneath the veneer of wealth and power lies the soul of a hunter, ever seeking the next challenge, the next conquest, the next prey to keep his blood pumping and his legend alive.

The dimly lit room reeked of damp cement and desperation. Sergei Kravinoff sat bound to a steel chair, his wrists strapped tightly to the cold metal arms, his ankles shackled to the legs. His powerful frame, usually a source of awe, was now a picture of restrained fury, though his expression remained calm, almost indifferent. A single bulb swung overhead, casting erratic shadows on the cracked walls.

Before him stood Viktor Kalenko, a rival whose ambition far outpaced his wisdom. Viktor’s gang had cornered Sergei in an ambush orchestrated through treachery—betrayal by someone close enough to know his routes but foolish enough to believe Viktor could hold him. The prize? A trove of rare gold and diamond jewels Sergei had collected over years of conquests, treasures that were as mythic as the man himself.

"Where is it, Kraven?" Viktor demanded in thickly accented Russian, leaning in close. His greasy hair clung to his forehead as his beady eyes searched Sergei's face for weakness. Sergei said nothing, tilting his head slightly, as though Viktor were a mildly interesting insect buzzing in his face.

Viktor scowled, turning to one of his men. "I thought you said he could speak Russian?"

"He can," the man replied nervously. "At least... I think he can. He doesn’t seem to understand you."

Viktor slapped Sergei’s face, the sound echoing sharply in the room. Sergei barely flinched, his brown eyes locking onto Viktor’s with a quiet, predatory intensity that made the man step back instinctively. "Then we’ll need a translator," Viktor muttered in frustration, switching to English.

Sergei’s ears caught every word, though his face remained blank. Inside, however, he was already calculating. His knowledge of English was a carefully guarded secret, a skill acquired during his years in London, where he’d once lived as a phantom among the aristocracy. Viktor believed Sergei was just another Russian brute, someone whose intelligence was as coarse as his fists. It was a fatal underestimation.

"We’ll bring someone in," Viktor continued, still speaking English. "Someone who can make him understand we’re not playing games. Sergei Kravinoff doesn’t leave this room until he tells us where the treasure is."

One of Viktor’s lackeys, a wiry man with a nervous twitch, spoke up. "But it’ll take time to find someone who speaks both Russian and English. What do we do in the meantime?"

"Keep him tied up. Let him sit there and think about his options." Viktor sneered, glancing back at Sergei and switching to Russian again. "You’re not getting out of this, Kraven. Your empire ends here."

Sergei tilted his head and squinted slightly, pretending to strain for comprehension. He uttered a single word in Russian, flat and uninterested: "What?"

Viktor cursed under his breath. "Get the translator. Now!"

The men filed out, leaving Sergei alone in the room under the flickering light. For the first time, his lips curved into a faint smile. They thought they had the upper hand, believed him to be at their mercy. What they didn’t realize was that every word spoken in English had already given Sergei the blueprint to dismantle their plans.

As the door creaked open again and footsteps echoed toward him, Sergei settled back into his chair. His body remained motionless, but his mind was already hunting. Let them bring their translator. Let them try to interrogate him. The real game had just begun.

The door creaked open, and Sergei’s sharp senses picked up the subtle shuffle of footsteps. Expecting another of Viktor’s bumbling henchmen, his eyes lifted with mild curiosity—then froze when he saw her. She was a stark contrast to the grim room, a sudden vision of light in the oppressive darkness.

She was young, impossibly so. No older than twenty-three, Sergei guessed, her petite frame wrapped in a modest blouse and skirt that spoke of academia rather than violence. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a loose bun, tendrils escaping to frame a face so delicate it seemed out of place in this harsh setting. Her skin had the soft glow of youth, but her expression betrayed fear—a wariness that made her hesitate at the threshold.

Dr. Sylvie Williams. He had caught the name in Viktor’s muttered English instructions, though he hadn’t expected the translator to be a woman, let alone someone like her. She was no hardened criminal, no pawn of Viktor’s design. She was a professor, plucked from the safe, intellectual world of books and classrooms, thrown into this brutal chaos. It was clear to Sergei she didn’t belong here.

Her hands trembled as she stepped inside, clutching a leather satchel against her chest as though it were armor. She blinked rapidly, trying to take in the room, but her wide, terrified eyes kept landing on him. When their gazes finally locked, Sergei felt an unfamiliar flicker in his chest—a subtle, unbidden reaction he hadn’t felt in years. Her innocence, her sheer vulnerability, made his heart flip in a way that startled him.

There was a softness in her hazel eyes that disarmed him, a light that even the shadows of fear couldn’t fully extinguish. She looked at him with a mixture of pity and unease, and for a moment, Sergei forgot where he was, forgot that he was the one tied to the chair. He could see it in her demeanor—the way she shifted uncomfortably under Viktor’s impatient bark—that she had been coerced, likely threatened, into this situation. She didn’t want to be here. She was terrified, yet she stood her ground, shoulders tense but chin raised, trying to mask her fear with a fragile resolve.

Sergei’s gaze softened imperceptibly as he studied her, noting every detail. The slight quiver of her lips, the way her fingers gripped the strap of her satchel so tightly her knuckles whitened. She radiated innocence, but there was something more—a quiet courage beneath her fear, a stubborn resilience that hadn’t yet been broken by Viktor’s thugs.

The brute side of him, the hunter who thrived on power and control, stirred at the thought of someone like her being dragged into this. It was wrong. She didn’t belong in his world, yet here she was, standing in the lion’s den, her every breath betraying how out of place she was. And still, she met his gaze.

For the first time in years, Sergei felt his mask falter. His body may have been strapped to a chair, but his mind was already calculating how to dismantle his enemies. Not for his treasure, not for revenge—this time, it was for her.

Viktor stepped closer to her, his shadow looming over her much smaller frame like a predator circling prey. His voice, sharp and grating, cut through the silence of the room. “Listen to me carefully,” he said, switching to English for her benefit. His tone was laced with menace, his words slow and deliberate, as if savoring the power he wielded over her.

“You will translate everything I say to him into Russian. Every word.” He pointed a finger toward Sergei, whose expression remained unreadable, though his piercing brown eyes followed every movement. “And you will tell me exactly what he says in return. No games. No hesitation. No mistakes.”

Dr. Sylvie Williams flinched slightly but managed a shaky nod. The satchel in her hands acted as her only shield, but her knuckles were white from clutching it so tightly. Her lips parted to respond, but Viktor’s voice grew colder, cutting off any thought of defiance.

“Because if you don’t…” Viktor leaned closer, his face inches from hers, his breath hot and sour. “You know what will happen. Don’t you?”

Sergei, still strapped to the chair, felt a fire ignite deep within him. His muscles tensed against his restraints, his powerful arms straining slightly against the bindings. Though his face remained composed, a storm brewed behind his eyes. He couldn’t stand the way Viktor towered over her, the way he used his bulk and threats to terrify someone so vulnerable.

“Yes,” she whispered meekly, her voice barely audible. Her eyes darted to Sergei again, as if seeking some reassurance, but quickly flicked away, afraid that prolonged eye contact might anger Viktor.

Sergei’s jaw clenched. His fury was contained but palpable, his predatory instincts clawing to the surface. He knew Viktor was trying to break her spirit, to reduce her to a tool, an obedient pawn in his sadistic game. It was a tactic Sergei himself had used on enemies, but seeing it turned on her made his blood boil.

Sylvie’s shoulders sagged slightly, her defeated posture cutting through the tension like a dagger. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to do this. It was obvious. But Viktor’s threats loomed over her like a guillotine, leaving her no choice.

Sergei swallowed his rage, forcing himself to remain still, calculating. He could feel the pulse of his heartbeat in his wrists, the slow burn of anger building with each passing second. He understood now—this wasn’t just a game to Viktor. It was a power play, a display of dominance meant to break both him and her. But Sergei wouldn’t allow it. Not for her.

Viktor straightened, smirking as though satisfied with her trembling compliance. He gestured to the chair where Sergei sat. “Good. Now, get to work.”

Sylvie’s voice was barely above a whisper, her words trembling as she summoned the courage to speak. “Can I… can I have some water, please?” she asked, her tone polite, almost pleading. Her hazel eyes darted nervously toward Viktor, her shoulders tense as if bracing for his response.

For a fleeting moment, there was silence in the room, the question hanging in the air like a fragile thread. Then Viktor’s face contorted with irritation, and he exploded.

“You’ll have water when you’ve earned it!” he roared, his voice booming and echoing off the cold cement walls. His sudden outburst made her flinch, her entire body recoiling as though the words themselves had struck her. The satchel she held slipped slightly in her grasp, her fingers trembling as she clutched it tighter, trying to ground herself against the rising tide of fear.

“Get it?!” Viktor barked, his sharp tone cutting through the air like a whip. He leaned forward, his towering figure looming over her, savoring her fear. His face twisted into a cruel sneer as she nodded meekly, her head bowing like a child scolded unjustly. “Good,” he spat, stepping back with an air of triumph, as though her compliance was some victory he had earned.

From the corner of the room, Sergei’s chest heaved ever so slightly as he suppressed a surge of anger that threatened to boil over. His muscles tensed against the restraints, the veins in his forearms straining as he gritted his teeth. Viktor’s words and tone ignited something primal in him, a rage so fierce it felt as though it might consume him.

In that instant, Sergei wanted nothing more than to kill Viktor. Not with a gun or a knife—no, that would be too quick, too merciful. He wanted to feel the man’s throat under his hands, to crush the life out of him with the same brutality Viktor wielded against those weaker than him. The predator in Sergei stirred, its instincts screaming for action, for blood.

But he remained still, his face an impassive mask, though his eyes betrayed the storm raging within. He locked his gaze on Sylvie, noting how she folded into herself, her fear so palpable it was almost suffocating. The thought of her being denied something as basic as water, treated with such callous disregard, only fueled the fire within him.

Sylvie nodded again, more timidly this time, and Sergei caught the way her lips pressed tightly together as if she were holding back tears. Her silence wasn’t submission—it was survival. He recognized it, the way she navigated the situation with quiet compliance to avoid provoking further wrath. It was the same tactic he had once used as a child, alone in the streets, facing men far larger and crueler than himself.

Viktor turned his back on her, barking orders to his men, his arrogance shielding him from the danger sitting right before him. Sergei’s mind raced, already plotting, already deciding that Viktor’s arrogance would be his undoing. And when the time came, Sergei would ensure that Viktor paid dearly—for Sylvie, for her fear, and for the disrespect that had kindled a deadly resolve in Sergei’s heart.

Viktor leaned forward, his tone dripping with malice. “Translate and ask him this,” he commanded. His voice was sharp, impatient, laced with the arrogance of someone who thought they held all the cards.

Viktor: “I want to know where the jewels are.”

Sylvie hesitated for a moment, her hands fidgeting nervously before she turned to Sergei, her hazel eyes meeting his briefly before darting away. In Russian, her voice trembled as she repeated the question.

Sylvie (in Russian): “Я хочу знать, где драгоценности.” (I want to know where the jewels are.)

Sergei's eyes softened as they fixed on her. Despite his rage boiling beneath the surface, his tone was gentle when he replied, his voice low and steady.

Sergei (in Russian): “Он тебя ударил?” (Did he hit you?)

Sylvie blinked, startled by the unexpected question. Her lips parted slightly as she processed his words, unsure how to respond. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, caught off guard by the tenderness in his voice.

“What did he say?” Viktor snapped, his English cutting through the moment like a knife.

Sylvie swallowed, glancing nervously at Viktor. “He… he didn’t answer the question,” she replied, her voice shaky.

Viktor growled, his patience wearing thin. He slammed a fist onto the table beside him, making Sylvie jump. “Well, then ask him again! Or I’ll break his knees next.”

Her hands trembled as she turned back to Sergei, this time her words coming out in a rushed whisper.

Sylvie (in Russian): “Где драгоценности? Он сломает тебе колени, если ты не ответишь.” (Where are the jewels? He will break your knees if you don’t answer.)

Sergei, undeterred, leaned forward slightly, his lips curling into a faint, almost reassuring smile. His voice was calm, yet there was a glint of something dangerous in his eyes as he spoke fondly to her.

Sergei (in Russian): “Ещё четыре минуты, и мы посмотрим, кто чьи колени сломает.” (Just four more minutes, and we will see who breaks whose knees.)

Sylvie hesitated, her hands twisting the strap of her satchel as she turned back to Viktor. Her voice was soft, barely audible as she spoke. “He says… in a few minutes, you’ll find out who breaks whose knees.”

Viktor sneered, his anger growing at what he perceived as defiance. Sylvie’s voice cracked slightly as she added, almost pleading, “Please… I don’t want to be here.”

“You don’t have a choice!” Viktor barked, grabbing her roughly by the arms. The force of the movement made her shriek, a small, frightened sound that pierced the room. Sergei’s eyes narrowed instantly, his entire body taut with barely restrained fury.

Not just knees, Sergei thought, his jaw clenching as he watched Viktor’s hand dig into Sylvie’s arm. He’ll lose that arm too.

The predator inside him roared, screaming for release, but Sergei forced himself to stay calm. His opportunity was coming—he could feel it. Viktor thought himself untouchable, a lion in control of his pride. But Sergei knew better. Lions fell, and when they did, it was swift, brutal, and inevitable.

He locked eyes with Sylvie again, his gaze steady and reassuring despite the chaos brewing around them. Four minutes, he reminded himself. Just four more minutes, and Viktor would learn the price of his arrogance.

----

The room erupted into chaos in an instant. A deafening explosion shattered the tense silence, sending dust and debris raining down from the ceiling. The dim light bulb swung violently, casting erratic shadows as the walls seemed to tremble. The door to the interrogation room burst open with a violent crash, and the unmistakable sound of gunfire filled the air, echoing off the cement walls like a symphony of destruction.

Sylvie screamed softly, instinctively dropping to the floor and scrambling under the nearest table. Her breath came in quick, panicked gasps as her hands clutched the table’s legs for support. She pressed herself against the cold floor, trembling as the world around her seemed to explode into madness.

Sergei, still strapped to the chair, remained eerily calm despite the chaos erupting around him. He recognized the sound of his men’s weapons—precise, controlled, and methodical. A small, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. Right on time, he thought.

The door burst open again, this time revealing two of Sergei’s men, clad in tactical gear and armed to the teeth. Their movements were swift and efficient as they dispatched Viktor’s guards with ruthless precision. Gunfire echoed around the room as Viktor’s men scrambled to respond, but it was clear they were outmatched. One by one, they fell, their weapons clattering uselessly to the ground.

Within seconds, the restraints around Sergei’s wrists and ankles were cut, and he rose from the chair like a force of nature unleashed. Standing to his full height, he stretched his powerful frame, his muscles coiling with pent-up energy. His dark eyes zeroed in on Viktor, who was now scrambling backward, his earlier bravado evaporating in the face of Sergei’s unrelenting presence.

Viktor barely managed to pull his gun before Sergei closed the distance between them in a flash. With a single, brutal motion, Sergei disarmed him, the weapon flying from Viktor’s hand and skidding across the floor. Sergei’s fist collided with Viktor’s jaw, the impact sending him sprawling to the ground with a grunt of pain.

“Take him,” Sergei growled in Russian, his voice a low, commanding snarl that carried through the room. His men obeyed immediately, two of them hauling Viktor to his feet and restraining him with practiced efficiency. Viktor struggled weakly, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth, but it was clear the fight had been knocked out of him.

Under the table, Sylvie hugged her knees to her chest, her wide, tear-filled eyes fixed on the scene unfolding before her. She flinched as another explosion rocked the building, her fear rendering her unable to move. Sergei’s gaze swept the room, and when his eyes landed on her trembling form, his expression softened, if only for a moment.

He crouched slightly, his large frame moving with unexpected gentleness as he reached out a hand toward her. “Доктор Уильямс,” he said in Russian, his tone quieter, more reassuring. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”

Sylvie hesitated, her heart pounding, but the steadiness in his voice gave her just enough courage to look up at him. The harshness she had seen in him earlier was gone, replaced by something else—something almost protective.

Sergei straightened, his towering figure looming over Viktor as his men dragged the defeated rival from the room. “Put him with the others,” Sergei ordered coldly. Then, his tone darkened further as he added, “Alive. For now.”

As Viktor was hauled away, Sergei turned back to Sylvie, his expression unreadable. Despite the chaos, his focus now was entirely on her, the frightened young woman who had been caught in the crossfire of his world.

As the last echoes of gunfire faded into silence, Sergei turned his attention fully to Sylvie. Her small frame was still trembling as she sat on the floor, her back pressed against the wall, her hazel eyes wide with lingering fear. He approached her slowly, his towering figure somehow emanating both power and calm.

Crouching to her level, he softened his voice to a tone she hadn’t yet heard from him, one so gentle it seemed almost at odds with the chaos he had just commanded. “Are you okay, my darling?” he asked, his words in perfect English, clear and smooth.

Sylvie’s head snapped up in surprise, her eyes locking with his. For a moment, she forgot her fear, her confusion cutting through the haze. “You…?” she began but couldn’t finish the question.

Sergei offered the faintest of smiles, his brown eyes steady and reassuring. “Yes,” he said, his voice low and calm. “I know English. I was merely playing him.”

The revelation should have angered her, or perhaps relieved her, but Sylvie couldn’t find the words to respond. Her hands shook slightly as they clutched the hem of her skirt, her mind racing to catch up with the whirlwind of events that had just unfolded.

Sergei’s gaze remained on her, unwavering yet patient, as if he understood that words might fail her now. But when she finally spoke, her voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper, her plea carrying the weight of exhaustion and fear.

“Please,” she murmured, her voice trembling, “I just… I just want to go home.”

Her words pierced Sergei in a way he didn’t expect. This young woman—dragged into his world of violence, betrayal, and power plays—didn’t belong here. She was innocent, untainted by the darkness that consumed him and his enemies. And now, all she wanted was to escape, to return to the safety of the life she had before this nightmare began.

Sergei nodded slowly, his expression softening further. “You will,” he said firmly, his voice carrying a quiet promise. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Sergei extended his hand toward her, his movements slow and deliberate, careful not to startle her further. His large, calloused hand seemed impossibly gentle as he offered it to her. “Come,” he said softly, his voice devoid of the commanding tone it held moments ago.

Sylvie hesitated for a brief moment before placing her trembling hand in his. His grip was firm but not overpowering as he helped her to her feet. She swayed slightly, unsteady from the overwhelming events, and he instinctively steadied her with a light touch on her arm.

“Where is your home?” he asked, his tone calm and reassuring, as though he were speaking to someone fragile.

In one quick breath, as if reciting from memory, she rattled off her address and pincode, the words tumbling out in a single string, precise and clipped, like a schoolchild answering a teacher’s question. The innocent simplicity of it caught Sergei off guard, and for the briefest of moments, his hardened exterior cracked.

An almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of his lips. The weight of the situation—the chaos, the violence, the danger—momentarily softened, replaced by something unexpectedly tender. He felt a strange sense of endearment toward her, as though her nervous precision was a glimpse of her untouched, untainted world, so far removed from his own.

“My name is Sergei Kravinoff,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, as if the words carried a deeper meaning than just an introduction. “You can call me Sergei.”

He paused for a moment, his eyes studying her face with quiet intensity. “You’re the only one who can, actually,” he added, almost as an afterthought, his tone shifting slightly, as though confessing something personal. “Everyone else calls me… Sir, Boss, or some other things.”

Sylvie said nothing, her gaze flitting to the floor and then back to him, but she gave a small nod. Sergei noticed the faint movement and felt an unfamiliar warmth stir in his chest. For reasons he couldn’t yet articulate, her quiet acceptance meant more to him than it should have.

“Try it,” Sergei said gently, his tone soft but encouraging.

Sylvie hesitated for a moment, her lips parting as if she wasn’t sure she should. Finally, in a voice barely above a whisper, she said, “Sergei.”

A faint smile spread across his face, one that seemed almost out of place on a man like him. “Perfect,” he murmured, as if her saying his name had somehow made the moment whole. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, he turned and walked to a small table in the corner of the room, where a dusty pitcher and a single glass sat.

Without a word, he poured water into the glass, the sound of the liquid breaking the tense silence. Returning to her, he held it out, his movements slow and deliberate, as though handling something fragile.

“There you go,” he said softly, his brown eyes steady as they met hers. “You wanted water, right? That bastard wouldn’t give it to you.” There was a faint edge of disdain in his voice as he mentioned Viktor, but it disappeared as he focused back on her.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, taking the glass from his hand with trembling fingers. She raised it to her lips and drank it in one go, as though it was the first water she had tasted in days.

Sergei watched her silently for a moment before asking, “More?”

She nodded, her expression still nervous but grateful. Sergei turned back to the pitcher, poured another glass, and handed it to her with the same care. This time, she drank it more slowly, as if the first sip had eased her frayed nerves.

“Thank you,” she said again, her voice steadier now but still soft. Sergei nodded once, his expression unreadable but his presence steady and grounding. For the first time since entering the room, Sylvie looked a little less afraid.

Sergei straightened, his expression returning to its commanding intensity as he called over one of his men. The door opened swiftly, and a tall, burly man stepped in, standing at attention.

“You,” Sergei barked, his tone cold and authoritative, the gentleness he’d shown Sylvie moments ago replaced by the voice of the ruthless leader he was. “Take her to this address.” He rattled off her home location with precision. “And you will take her with utmost care. Do you understand?”

The man nodded immediately, his eyes flicking briefly to Sylvie before returning to Sergei, his posture rigid with respect. “Yes, Sir.”

Satisfied, Sergei turned back to Sylvie, his demeanor softening once more. He reached for her hand, his strong fingers encasing hers gently. Without a word, he lifted her hand to his lips and pressed a tender kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was slow and deliberate, a stark contrast to the chaos she had just endured. Sylvie’s eyes widened in surprise, her breath catching at the unexpected tenderness.

“I have some work,” Sergei said, his voice dropping to a softer tone, “but I shall meet you again, my darling.” His words carried an unshakable certainty, as though it was a promise etched in stone. “You now have something very precious with you.”

Sylvie blinked, confused, her voice hesitant as she replied, “What do I have? I haven’t taken anything…”

Sergei leaned in close, his dark eyes locking with hers. His voice dropped to a near-whisper, meant only for her ears. “Моё сердце,” he murmured in Russian, then translated softly, “My heart.”

Sylvie’s breath hitched as her confusion deepened, the weight of his words sinking in. Sergei straightened, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer before stepping back, the intensity of his presence leaving her both unsettled and inexplicably drawn to him.

#sergei kravinoff #sergei kravinoff x ofc #kraven x ofc

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