#the way they recall him is that he has to come to them and then give a hand boop

[cupidbedsy]

🪻 for "I neglected you." "No, it's ok, you..." "No, it's not ok. I should have realized how lonely you felt." With pookie Quinn please?

✿ CUPID'S FLORAL SHOP ✿

here's a freshly picked lonely lavender 🪻 !

warnings: quinn neglecting reader, tired quinn, unresolved conflict

word count: 937

florist cupid: thank you so much for requesting lovie, i'm sorry it's taken me a while to write it! i hope you enjoy it, the ending is a bit rushed because i was running out of ideas and words to use 😭

you've known about quinn's tendencies to throw everything he has into hockey. every time you got home from work, he was rewatching old games or jotting down ideas in his notebook for practice the next day. it was one of your favorite things about him, how dedicated he was, but it quickly also became one of your least favorite things.

he did everything he could to make the team better, to make himself better, but at the same time, he was wearing himself thin. every time he'd come home from practice or a game, he'd look a little bit more tired than how he left. each loss cut into him and you couldn't recall the amount of nights he spent laying awake after one, recounting all the things they could've done differently.

eventually, you started seeing less of him, mentally at least. he was still there when you got home from a long day at work, he was still there to pull you into his arms in the middle of the night, but you can't remember the last time the two of you had sat down and had dinner together.

you didn't want to rant to him about the minor mishap that you had or that you lost one your favorite sweaters the other day, not when he he felt like he had the weight of the team on his shoulders, he had bigger things to worry about.

but deep down, you wanted him to focus on something other than the losses, other than the comments. each time you would offer to go out with him or watch a movie, he would shake his head and push you aside, claiming he had some stuff to work on. with each rejection, you grew annoyed and soon it became too much.

you got home and once again, quinn was sitting there scribbling something in that godforsaken notebook. you couldn't help the sigh (huff) that escaped you, alerting quinn to your presence.

he gave you a small smile before turning back to his page, "hi baby."

you raked a hand through your hair, making it more messy than it already was. you shrugged your coat off, hanging it up, kicked your shoes off, and made your way over to the couch, plopping down next to him.

he didn't say anything, just continued to write with the cutest furrow of his eyebrow as he concentrated and you frowned as it softened your annoyance.

"quinn can we talk?"

"mhm." he drew something, you couldn't tell what, but you could assume it was a play he had been curating up since you walked through the door.

"quinn."

"'m listening, y/n/n." but he wasn't, he kept his focus on the page, drawing random lines over it.

you sighed, taking the notebook away from him, "quinn."

finally he looked up, pushing his hair out of his face to look at you, "why'd you take it away? i was working on something."

he reached for it but he simply held it out of his reach, "because i want to talk to you and i can't do that when your head is somewhere else."

"i was listening."

"no you weren't."

you placed the notebook behind you, hands making quick work of moving to the hem of your shirt and fidgeting with it. you mulled over your thoughts in your head, trying to organize them as best as you could.

"what'd you want to talk about?"

"quinn, listen..." you started but were quickly cut off by his bewildered voice.

"you're not breaking up with me are you?"

"what? no, of course not. i just wanted to talk about something."

he let out a sigh of relief, nodding as he sank back into the couch. you took this as a sign to go forward, continuing to play with the hem of your shirt, "you know how much i love that you take everything to hear,t the criticism, the compliments, the suggestions, and how much you do to make the team better but recently."

you trailed off again, a wave of nervousness washing over you, "i feel like we haven't been us."

he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, "what do you mean?"

"when's the last time we had dinner, quinn?"

your question hit him in the face like a cold glass of water. he recounted the past month in his head, trying to rack his brain for the last time you two had gone on a date or spent the night together besides cuddling in bed.

you were right, it had been a while since the two of you had done anything, the realization rushed through him, a feeling of guilt and sadness following it.

"i neglected you."

his soft words made you frown, you didn't mean to make him feel worse than he already was, you just wanted to bring it to his attention, you reached for his hand, tangling your fingers in his, "no, it's okay, you..."

you tried to explain but he shook his head, slipping his hand from yours and standing up, "no, it's not okay. i should've realized how lonely you felt."

you watched as he walked fast to the kitchen, slipping his shoes on. he needed time to think, time to make this right between the two of you. he had messed up, and it weighed him down more than anything on the team could've.

"quinn, honey, where are you going?" you went to follow after him but as soon as you stood up he closed the door to your apartment, leaving you more alone than you had felt in weeks.

back to the shop ! ; navigation !

[juyeoz]

SOFT SPOT — HAN TAESAN

SYNOPSIS — To the eyes around you all, you and Taesan are enemies. You hate anything to do with each other and recoil at the mention of your names. However, behind closed doors, you two are completely different — inseparable. Clearly, Taesan and you will go to an extent to keep your relationship private.

PAIRING — fake-enemy-but-boyfriend!taesan x gn!reader

CONTAINS — kissing, corny love birds Likee i kinda recoiled when writing some lines, and literally just fluff.

WORDCOUNT — 1007 words

NOTE — soph sent that taesan pic and our lives were changed……..and this fic was born duhhh!!!!

“Absolutely not!” You exclaim and spin around in your chair after hearing a few words leave your superior's mouth.

Mr. Lee looks taken aback by your response. Yes, everyone knows about the ongoing battle between both Taesan and you, but your reactions to each other’s names being mentioned never fails to catch them all off guard. 

In the office, you and Taesan never get along. It's been this way since the beginning of your careers. 

Yes, you two have taken a liking to one another since you met, but you couldn’t let anyone else at work know about it, so you played it off as enemies. 

Well, you two at least pretended to want to do nothing with each other to make things less obvious. 

The “enemies” title was given by your coworkers.

Therefore, working with each other is never an option. You “can’t” even stand being in the same room as him, making working in the office a “terrible” experience.

“I won’t work with him.”

“Please, the two of you are the only free ones. We need this proposal by tonight.” Mr. Lee explains with a pleading gaze.

“Then I’ll work on it alone. I don’t need his help.” You say while collecting your scattered papers on the surface of your desk.

“That won’t do.” 

“And why is that?” 

You stack your papers into a pile and turn off your computer in a swift motion as Mr. Lee sighs from behind you.

“It’s too much for one person to handle. With his help, you’ll surely get it done.” He crosses his arms over his chest as you snicker.

Is he looking down on you right now?

“Whatever that means,” you begin and stand up from your seat, with your papers in hand. 

“I’ll work overtime. It can’t be that hard.”

Although it has only been three hours since you uttered those words, you surely are regretting them now.

There you sit, staring at a blank document showcased on your monitor. No matter how long you sit in silence, nothing is coming to your mind. 

Brain fog is after you, and clearly, it doesn't need to try so hard to catch up.

The longer you waited for something, a starting sentence, words — even an overall idea to come to your mind, the more and more workers left. The sun is starting to set, casting an orangey light on your belongings.

In distress, your hands pull at your strands as you let out a groan of frustration. 

You should have listened to what Mr. Lee suggested, but you couldn’t let your relationship become known.

Everyone is used to both you and Taesan rejecting any projects that have to do with one another, so, if you switched up, would they have questioned it?

It sucks, really. You want to spend time with your boyfriend at work, but there are too many eyes on the two of you. To be honest, you can’t even recall why you chose to keep your relationship a secret. It could be because of the awkward tension that would come if you two ever break up and everyone knew about it.

That is a possibility.

The only times you two interact romantically are in the break room when you coincidentally both end up there at the same time. The teasing glances that make your eyes lock with one another and break out into a smile. Or when he secretly leaves anonymous sticky notes on your desk belongings.

Other than that, there is nothing. However, despite that, things will be seen eventually. 

“What’s worrying your pretty mind, love?” A voice approaches you from behind, instantly calming your tense figure due to the familiar warming tone. 

It’s Taesan — your loving boyfriend and so-called workplace enemy.

“A proposal.” You inform as Taesan’s hands slide down from your shoulders and his chin rests on your head.

“Is it the one Mr. Lee suggested we do together?” He asks and you hum in response.

“Why’d you say no? I would be more than glad to help you.” 

“It’ll draw too much attention if I agree, no?” Your head begins to turn to look his way, causing him to rise from his resting position. He looks down at you and smiles while you look up at him.

“That’s too bad.” Taesan begins, then leans down to give you a short and sweet kiss on the lips, which you happily return. 

“If it didn’t, then I could’ve done that many times during work hours instead of after hours.” He teases while your face becomes slightly flushed.

“Why don’t I just help you now? I mean, there’s nobody around…” The boy suggests as your hands lower into your lap.

“Would you actually?” 

“Of course. Here, let’s have a food break first. You seem too overwhelmed by everything to even continue your supposed brainstorming process.” 

You roll your eyes at what he truly meant — your flustered expression — and rise up from your seat for him to lead the way to the break room. 

“A coffee will do?” Taesan questions and you nod. 

“That and your presence, of course.” You reply, giving him another kiss on the cheek once you reach his side.

“Hey.” He stammers out because of the sudden warmth on his cheek. Now, it’s his turn to be left a blushing mess.

“Only I can catch you off guard with a kiss.” He says and you laugh while interlocking your hand with his. 

Out of nowhere, his thumb rubs against the skin of your hand — a reflex he has whenever he intertwines your fingers with his own.

You hum at his words, pondering on his new sudden rule.

“Doesn’t that seem unfair?” Your brow raises as you say your question and look over at the boy interrogatively. Taesan looks back at you, holding eye contact with no signs of breaking it and smiles.

“Not at all.” Taesan replies to your question.

Best believe, after his words, you earned yourself another kiss on the lips for him to prove whatever point he had.

© JUYEOZ

BOYNEXTDOOR PERM TAGLIST — @ancnymcnzjy @miumura @ilovedallywinston @i03jae @borednia @s0shroe @leehanwish @sol3chu @en-dream @ribbeoms @itsactuallylina @macapunoz @hollxe1 @r1kification @mensisim @mydearyeseo @sunghxxnie @taesanfav @wonzzziezzzz @ijustwannareadstuff20 @tanghuyuj @ranjupotato @mimimimiaa @ningizuo @hyunjinslongasslegs

[couch-potato28]

Imagine being a Blue Lock manager! ⚽

VERSION IV.

(a/n: Hey everybody! Really sorry for not updating this week's been VERY hectic, but im back and ready to post new eps again 🙏 thanxx for your support ❤️)

WARNING!-none

wc: 1.1 k words

ALSO: tags-@ttheggrimrreaper ❤️ bear with me, ur episode is coming i swear

——————

FROM THE PROLOGUE:

“Congratulations L/N Y/N! Based on your results, you've earned your place in Blue Lock as the manager of player number…

…11, Isagi Yoichi."

The icon of an unknown person appeared on the screens. Looking closely, you tried to recall if you had ever heard of him during your training, before realising you didn’t interact with the male species for months so you definitely can’t remember the boy.

‘Maybe someone mentioned him a few weeks ago?’

Heading to the assigned room and getting there, Anri immediately gave you a bunch of stuff while telling you about some of Ego’s newly adapted annoying habits. Minutes later, she finished her complaining and let you go you to find your new player.

Imagine being the manager of Isagi Yoichi, the heart of Blue Lock.

——————

Isagi Yoichi, with whom you immediately click moments after you first meet him, the conversations going surprisingly smooth. His attentive and kind nature made you much more talkative than usual, feeling lucky that you somehow managed to get a normal boy. The nightmares that tortured you for the past week, anxious about who you were gonna end up with were also nowhere to be found. Between the breaks of practice matches, Yoichi would always come to the benches, eager to continue your little chat from earlier, seemingly taking genuine interest in you. And when he had to go back to the field, you simply watched him in silence while quickly reading through his data sheet.

——————

•Isagi, who you notice that literally every day, during all the matches tends to think and analyze a lot, which surprised you a bit, didn’t expecting to get someone who actually thinks before he acts.

•In the first few days he would mostly keep his thoughts to himself and although he does share some of them regarding soccer with you, he still remains a mystery.

•Isagi, who has been really curious about you from the start, and because of that you two talked a lot. From telling him how you ended up in Blue Lock, to him being silly and secretly imitating some of his teammates for fun. He also shared his own goals and how he hoped to be a good player, so you wouldn’t have to deal with all his shit in the future.

•He's also the one who's been holding whichever team he’s been part of together since the beginning and has slowly but surely earned a reputation within the facility. That wasn’t the problem, but rather the fact that your player was known for his harsh words and slurs towards his opponents and for being a completely different person on the pitch instead of the usual respectful guy, making you worry a little.

•The cherry on top however is that he somehow always manages to piss off the biggest, most skilled, clearly not in the mood to be insulted type of players.

•Dealing with this is probably the hardest part of being his manager. Apart from that, you have a pretty normal, simple routine, compared to the others, because well…you don't have to do much other than the standard work schedule, since Isagi is just easy to deal with. He doesn’t break the rules, eats what he’s given and always gets up on time.

•This is usually how your days go until the unexpected U20 match announcement comes, which makes the boy much, much more motivated making you basically fight to be able to keep up with him. Your tasks suddenly also multiply, having to give more detailed reports to the boss, monitoring Yoichi’s food portions and supliments way too carefully all while trying to help him achieve the perfect build for the upcoming match, hoping he gets selected.

•Your secret stash of snacks that you keep hidden in your room specially for him is also prohibited to touch, knowing damn well if Ego or Anri notices the few more calories on his data list both of you will be punished.

“So no more sneaky sweets?”-he asked one night, to which you just nodded regretfully.

“Nooooooooo…”

——————

AFTER THE U20 MATCH…

•Isagi changes. A lot. You would say he has improved and currently still is at a frighteningly fast pace. From the very first match he plays with his ‘new’ team to way he thinks and acts is different. This probably earned him one of the best players title as of now.

•He recently also began to follow a stricter training plan, and although the few chocolate bars you secretly try to give him are reeeeaally tempting, he always rejects them, saying that when he feels like he deserves one, he will accept it, resulting in you having to eat all of them alone before they expire.

•Changing places, didn’t necessarily mean new teammates. Yet, the people in Blue Lock he was the closest with all chose different countries, only some of them going on the same path as Isagi.

•Fortunately, he had no problem finding new and old friends to hang out with, so you thought at least you didn’t have to worry about that. Wrong. You should have.

•Because although Isagi may have gotten along with the Japanese players, the Germans were different. First you thought, maybe it was because of his duality while playing, but it seemed like his mere existence was a problem for specifically 2 German people. They were extremely bothered by him, the murderous look in their eye every time, made you try to keep your player away from them as much as possible.

•Isagi changing meant your nightly routine had to be adjusted as well. Instead of an hour, you now sat with him in front of the big monitors for 2, carefully analyzing his movements every second, papers full of notes and comments to discuss later.

•He also gained immense popularity all over the world with his goal against the U20 that day, receiving comments and praises from fans on a daily basis with them saying how humble and good he is. Yet, despite all this, for some reason he’s need to get a compliment or praise only from you, rises drastically.

•“I’m with you all day, you know me best. I’m just simply curious about your opinion!”

•He, with whom you focus quite a bit on learning the basics of the German language, yet somehow the pronunciation, even the rules have no place in the boy’s puzzle anymore. Still, he tries hard because talking to Bastard München fans and mocking Michael Kaiser in his own native language seems so tempting.

•Over time, you guys became much closer to each other, and even though he has thought about asking you out on a date, he still doesn’t do it because he’s afraid that if things don’t go well, you’ll quit and he simply wouldn’t risk it. You’re the best manager and if necessary, he will continue to try and see you as a friend, as long as you’ll be by his side until the end of his journey.

[pasukiyo]

BOUND TO ME

demon!tom riddle x female!reader word count: 3,851 warnings: smut, mirror sex, dub-con, edging, orgasm denial, p in v sex synopsis: there is an entity, a monster, a demon living within her mirror. the mirror, which had found its way into her bedroom above her father's butcher shop peculiarly, is the only place he can be seen, only place he can be felt...

 His whispers slither through her bedroom in the shadows and to her ears, coiling like a python around her throat. 

 She was foolish to think she could ever resist him.

 The evidence of her attempts lie in fragments of broken glass on the floor and when he laughs, she imagines he has the tongue of a serpent, gooseflesh creeping down her arms when he hisses. 

 “Foolish girl,” he whispers in the dark and she shivers because she knows he is here, knows he is close, and knows he is seething. “You thought you could wash your hands of me.”

 She hugs the sheets closer to her chin, squeezes her eyes shut, willing slumber to take her into its arms, thinking maybe it will save her from him. Still, she is cold because he is there and he’s right: she is a fool. She’s foolish for thinking she could will him away in the first place. Foolish for thinking smashing the mirror, his portal into her world was enough to keep him away. 

 “You severely underestimate me, and your stupidity will be your demise. You think there is anywhere in the world you can be where I won’t find you? I am always with you. You are bound to me,” she recalls him once saying into the night, many moons ago. “Besides, let’s face it: this tether between us turns you on. You lie to yourself every time you think you do not want me, and your body proves you wrong every time.”

 Her teeth chatter inside her mouth and she has to sink them into the inside of her cheeks to quell the noise. All is quiet in her bedroom but she knows he must be there, looming, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. He is a basilisk— and she knows how perfectly she will break for him, should he so much as breathe on her. 

 She is vulnerable now, in her nightgown, doing her very best to not weep while she clutches the bedsheets to her chin, praying sleep will take her away. She is entirely too weak, too feeble to be trusted, should he come closer, should she feel his breath rolling like smoke down her flesh, should he touch her. Even now, her body aches to betray her. 

 Remember how well he pleases you, a low, oily voice sounds from somewhere within. A dent forms between her brows and her breath shakes, lips trembling. You long to be touched, even now. Look at you, already dripping from the mere thought of being taken. 

 She squeezes her thighs closer together, trying to rid herself of the ache at her center as if to prove her own body wrong. 

 She does not want this. She does not want him. 

 And yet…

 “And yet, here you lay, wishing for some silly mercy, thinking it will keep me away.”

 She nearly leaps from her skin at the voice, her eyes snapping open as she pushes herself upright. She pants, glancing wide-eyed around her bedroom, searching for him, for any trace there could be. The only thing that moves is her heaving chest and the curtains over her window, blowing wistfully in the wind. 

 She trembles, following the moonlight to where it shines on the floor, on the shattered remains of her mirror. She presses her lips together and inhales, trying to reassure herself that she is safe, that he cannot get to her now, his only gateway being broken. He cannot harm her now. He cannot break her with his touch, for not even a fingernail will scratch her, not even his breath will grace her skin. 

 Her eyes flutter closed and she takes another deep breath and when her eyes open again, there is nothing in her darkened bedroom save for the moonlight. 

 She is safe. She has nothing to fear. She is alone but she is safe. She is safe. She has nothing to fear. 

 It is eerily silent, save now for her soft murmurings of assurances beneath her breath as she settles back down into her mattress, slowly pulling the sheets back to her chest. She tries to tame her uneasy heart, staring into the moonlit wooden ceiling above and when she believes she is ready, she closes her eyes, praying again that sleep will come. 

 Please. Let sleep come. 

 She thinks for a moment she must really, truly be at peace when she hears nothing irregular, nothing to warrant terror. She puckers her lips and blows one more spout of air out before she allows herself to relax further into the bed. Certainly sleep should come a little easier now. 

 Snickering.

 Her eyelids snap back open when she hears his snickering, curling like vines around her ears, its thorns piercing through her skin. Her heart pounds against her chest and she pushes herself upright again, searching her bedroom for him. Still, everything is as it was before, everything down from the dark ceiling to the dresser to the curtains billowing in the wind to the shards of—

 Her lips press themselves together and tremble, her eyes widening and limbs shaking as she peers down to the shards of glass scattered along the floor. She sees him there, broken fragments of his face but he is there and he is laughing at her, mocking her for her sheer stupidity. 

 “You are even more of a fool than I initially took you for,” he snickers and she whimpers, shaking, unable to move. “I told you your stupidity would be your end.”

 She watches in a mixture of horror and anticipation as the fractured pieces of glass on the floor move, little pieces coming together in the wooden frame of the mirror, now sat upright. The last thing she sees is his stare, his wickedly dangerous stare fragmented by cracks in the glass before she closes her eyes, unable to face what will come next. 

 She hears scraping against the floor and then nothing— everything goes still again, as if she’s alone, as if he is not there. 

 She would not fall for her own stupidity again. He is there. She knows it. She’s uncertain whether he’s close or far but he is just there, existing in the same space she is. 

 She presses her lips tighter together, her eyes remaining closed, her heart stuttering in her chest. All she hears now is her own breath and her uneasy heart but still, she does not open her eyes. 

 And then a hiss, just like a python’s, coils around her neck, around her throat, circling all the way back to her ears, “your fate rests with me. You belong to me, you are bound to me. Do not resist your desire— it calls to me while you weep, proclaiming you do not want me.”

 A fingertip against her throat is what makes her eyes snap open. She yelps when his hand locks around her throat, her own instinctively reaching for him. He leans in close behind her and there, at the base of her bed sits the mirror and there is where he is, looming behind her like a shadow, dark face split with a wicked grin.

 “You feel it now already, don’t you?” He hisses into her ear before his lips graze her neck and her lips fall apart, gasping for the air he’s stolen from her lungs. 

 She is at his mercy, quite literally in the palms of his hands, her fate his to break and mend as he pleases. It’s terrifying— and yet, a part of her finds it equally electrifying, teetering on the edge between peril and pleasure. She curses herself, condemns herself for how easily she is swayed, how easily she is broken. 

 Perhaps this is solely the reason why the mirror found her, why it chose her, why he chose her. She is weak. She is ungrounded. She’s a masochist in every sense of the word, despite how desperately she’s tried to deny it. She’s in love with the way he makes her feel, in love with the way he talks to her, touches her, takes her. It’s painful, it’s humiliating, it is blasphemy, is what it is, her desire for her demon. 

 Tom is her shame, he is everything about herself she wished to forget and wished to unbecome. He must have sensed this, all those moons ago when his mirror found its place into her tiny bedroom above her father’s butcher shop. He sensed this ruthlessness, this ferality, this desire she’s kept stowed away that’s been bursting at the seams, eager to be unleashed and he did just that, giving her an outlet to indulge in all her darkest of fantasies. 

 Really, what he is doing should be seen as a mercy, a gift. 

 Nobody could ever please her the way Tom does, after all. 

 “You desire me already, don’t you?” He purrs with a voice as slick as oil, dripping with derision. She watches the mirror, shivering as his hand drops from her throat and she gasps for air as he traces a path from her collarbone to her chest with the tip of his forefinger, skirting the neckline of her nightgown. She feels it and it is there, existing in her mirror yet, he is not quite there in her world. Her wide-eye gaze fixes on the mirror, her only way of knowing who and what it is making her feel this way.

 “Here. You feel it here,” he whispers, that fingertip of his tracing a circle around the peaked nipple over the top of her gown, right over her stuttering heart. It beats for him and he knows it, can feel it beneath his finger. She watches through the mirror as a corner of Tom’s lips curve in a smirk, his hungry stare finding hers through the glass. 

 “And you feel it…” he trails off, the fingernail of that forefinger suddenly no longer human, but a talon, like the sharp claw of a crow and he uses it to tear a line from the center of her neckline, all the way down to her skirt. She yelps, looking down at her bodice as her gown rips at the hand of an invisible force and it is not until she feels his warm palm against the bottom of her belly, dangerously close to where she burns most for him. “…here as well.”

 He presses down on her belly, not much but enough to have her teetering on the edge of utter madness, muscles locked in anticipation. She tosses her head back and Tom snickers again as she whimpers, feeling herself pulse where she wants, no, needs him most. He rubs circles into the flesh below her belly, inching closer to her core agonizingly slow, nearly enough to tip her over the brink of insanity. 

 “How greedy you become, by the mere touch of my hand– the hand of a monster, as you put it, yes?” He sneers, his breath rolling like smoke down along the expanse of her neck. She peers back up at the mirror, watching as he dips his mouth to her collarbone, feeling his breath, his lips as they graze against her skin. It sends shivers slithering down the coil of her spine and now she knows her basilisk has her under his spell now.

 Her chest heaves against his arm as Tom teases her, his fingertip stroking back and forth along the bottom of her belly. He clicks his tongue, almost pitiably when he pulls his hand away and she whimpers, nerves uneasy due to the lack of his touch. 

 “But that’s not all you want, is it?” He whispers coolly into the space between them, his voice rolling over her skin and leaving chills in its wake. She glances back to the mirror, watching his dark gaze as it disappears behind her head, reappearing on the other side of her face. She feels him breathe against her other ear, her lips trembling, her core aching. “You long to be burned from within, to be branded, for me to take what is rightfully mine and mark you so even dear old dad will know of your treachery.”

 Tears that have since merely pooled in the bottom of her sockets begin to shed, drop after drop sliding down her cheeks as she tries to find a balance between her fear and desire. She knows she will not be able to resist him, not tonight, but she still has some sense of honor. She will not be weak. She will face him with courage, however little. 

 Tom sneers at this. He clicks his tongue again, “poor thing. Is that not what you want? To be claimed for everyone to see?” He asks, the tip of his finger drawing circles in the valley between her breasts. She shudders beneath his touch but still, she hardens her gaze, mustering enough courage to meet his dark, melting stare. The corners of his lips curve and he chuckles, “bold little thing. You wish to be fucked.”

 His hand finds her chin and she yelps as his fingertips press down into her cheeks. He forces her gaze to lock on his through the mirror and she watches as his other hand slashes clean through the rest of her nightgown, leaving her completely exposed. The moonlight glistens on her skin as his hand forces her thighs apart, her sex glistening crudely in the starlight. 

 “Look at this,” he snickers, dipping his middle and forefinger between her thighs, brushing against her slit, enough to coat them evenly in her slick. Her toes curl and she gasps, tossing her head back where it bumps into his shoulder. “So ready to be tamed. Bred, potentially.”

 She thinks she will die from anticipation. It started as a simple flame, kindled in the pit of her belly but it has since blossomed into a blazing inferno, strong enough to make her feel like she is melting from the inside out. His graces against her skin were little bits of coal plunging into the depths of her inferno and she erupted in turn, like a volcano breaking from its dormancy. 

 Tom brings his fingers, covered with the evidence of her desire, to her lips, forcing them into her mouth and she moans around them, swirling her tongue greedily, like a starved wolf around them. He breathes and it sounds more like a growl, dropping the hand gripping her chin to slap her aching clit, her body jolting as if struck by a crack of lightning. 

 “Yes,” he purrs. “So desperate to be filled. I wonder though, will this greedy cunt of yours be ready for my cock?”

 She merely stares at him, hoping her look is pleading enough for him. 

 He snickers. 

 She swallows as he pulls his fingers away from her mouth. 

 “I believe you are fully capable of speaking,” he sneers. “So use your words.”

 Her mouth opens and closes, her mind numb, void of anything that does not involve impurity. She blinks helplessly at her own reflection, brows knitting when she finds her gaze again. He clicks his tongue, “pity. I cannot give you what you want if you do not ask for it.”

 Her mouth suddenly feels dry, the words she tries to muster like sandpaper against her throat and tongue. Her cheeks burn in shame as she tries to say something, to produce any sort of sound. 

 “I—“

 “Nicely,” he interrupts, his voice like a crack of thunder in her otherwise still bedroom. “Ask me nicely.”

 She purses her lips, willing herself to breathe, at least, she best she’s able to manage. The tip of Tom’s forefinger circles mindlessly just above her clit and it pulses, aches, screams for mercy.

 She swallows down her shame, every ounce of honor left in her. This will have to be mercy enough. 

 “Please,” she begins, her voice ashamedly high, feeble. “I… I need to feel you.”

 Perhaps he hadn’t expected her to relent so easily. Or perhaps he was merely teasing her. 

 She does not feel him and when she looks into the mirror, she does not see him, uncertain if he is even there at all. A cold creeps along her legs, trailing up her hips to her arms where her weary bones catch a chill, locking her in place. She hears nothing but her own breath, her own heart beating against her chest. Her stare locks on the mirror at the foot of her bed because she knows this is not the end— he is still here, a predator in the dark, circling his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. 

 Silence. 

 She thinks a cold perspiration has begun to bead at her forehead. Her brow furrows, the pressure so intense in her head and when she looks at herself in the mirror, she can see the prominent outline of a vein on her forehead. A gasping hiccup escapes her chest as more tears stream down her face, praying this torment will come to an end soon. 

 When will he strike? 

 She hears something move to her left and she yelps, the hair standing erect on her arms and neck but it is only her curtains, blown just a little harder by a sudden strong gust of wind. She wills herself to breathe again, focusing on slow inhales and exhales as she turns again to face the mirror. 

 Before she can even make sense of what she sees, before a gasp or a cry or a scream can reach her tongue, she is pushed forward until her face is smushed against the mattress. She yelps into the bed, feeling her torn nightgown being ripped from her body before she feels something, someone, a force behind her, pressing against her ass. As soon as she feels he is there behind her, she feels the length of him press into her entrance, filling her up with a single primal thrust. 

 Her knuckles bend around her bedsheets and she cries out into her mattress, too muffled to have possibly been heard by anyone outside of her bedroom. She expects there to be pain at her center where she is split open, just barely managing to fit the entire length of him inside of her but all she feels is bliss— burning white hot bliss. 

 “That’s right,” he coos somewhere behind her ear, another angry thrust making her grip the sheets tighter, her fingers on the bed and his long, warm hands gripping her hips being her only anchor. “Lose yourself in me. Forget who you are and think only of me.”

 It is not difficult when her mind is already dough, each seething, primal thrust of his hips against her ass molding her into different shapes, twisting every single thought inside her brain until they are solely his name. 

 Tom. Tom. Tom. Tom. 

 “Tom!” She yowls, trying to lift her head from the sheets but being forced back down by his hand gripping the tendrils of her hair, using them as reins to hold her down. 

 “You thought you could rid yourself of me,” he hisses, ramming his cock harder inside of her, bruising that delicate spot so deep inside her where no man ever reached before. “What were you going to do had you succeeded? Hm? Found yourself a husband? Let him have you like this? Let him fuck you full of his little bastards?”

 She’s nothing to say and even if she did, she wouldn’t be able to. All she can think is how good she feels, how well it feels to be so completely and utterly lost in this bliss, to be wrapped around her monster, her demon, her shame’s cock. She can hardly even focus on the words he speaks now. 

 Using the grip he has on her hair, he lifts her head and when he tells her to open his eyes, she can just barely make out his face beside hers through the reflection of the mirror. Her vision is blurry and with each piston of his hips, more stars dot her eyes but she still obeys, unwilling to let go of this pleasure she feels now for even a second. She is just as he says she is— she is greedy, she is ravenous, she is an animal. 

 Perhaps, they are much more alike than she’d care to admit. 

 “Did you think you’d find yourself another man who could make you feel as good as you do now?” Tom asks, his voice dripping with oily derision and she hangs on every word he says, breathing in his voice like a vapor. “There is no one else in this world good enough for you. No other man could do the things I do to you and you know it.”

 He drops her head and it falls pitifully back to the mattress. She cannot find it within herself to muster enough strength to lift it back up so she simply clutches the sheets as each thrust becomes angrier, more feral. 

 “How can you be so stupid?” He growls as he ridicules her, taking her so deeply, so hungrily that she cannot even bring herself to feel shame, her humility never once even crossing her mind. Her eyes roll back and her body is practically limp in his hands, a weak, pliant mess held together by a demon’s cock. 

 She feels so close to the edge she quite literally bursts into tears, soaking the bed sheets beneath her face. Her release is blinding white light that seems so close, a mere arm’s length away. Tom’s growl is like a roar as he spills himself inside of her, so deep she thinks she can feel him in her belly— and it might very well be true. 

 It’s just what she needs to come. She loses control of her body, the trigger of her orgasm the last thing she needs to release. Her finger curls around that trigger but just before she can pull it, his cock is gone, leaving nothing but his seed that oozes out of her cunt like rivers of hot magma as evidence for their deed. Tom drags her head up by her hair, forcing her to face him yet again through the mirror. 

 She hates him. A million curses materialize on the tip of her tongue but none come to fruition, not when she meets his gaze, so intense, it pierces through her skin like sharp ice that frosts over her bones. 

 “Did you think you’d get to come?” He clicks his tongue, feigning pity. “Poor thing. Unfortunately, as far as I’m concerned, insolent little brats do not deserve to be rewarded. Perhaps when you learn to behave, you will earn your release.”

 He lets go of her hair and she cries as her face meets the mattress again and her bedroom grows cold again and she knows that this time, he is truly gone. 

 And when she finally gathers enough strength to look at herself in the mirror, there her reflection was— staring back at her, toppled over, fucked out, and alone. 

a/n: its been so long since i last wrote for tom and i had just finished my rewatch of Nosferatu and then this thing was born LMAOOOO i hope you all enjoy it though 🤭

🪞 if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging or even leaving a reply to let me know! your feedback is always appreciated 🫶

TAGLIST:

@your-nanas-house

@sallowsarchives

@michelle-26

@iamthejam

@lyis

[roamingwildflower13]

the solo era, my somewhat incoherent ramblings….

There is constantly so much ridiculous, inane discourse and nonsense about the ‘solo era’, from both tkkrs, haters and solos alike, even sometimes insecure jikookers, both on twitter, and here. I have had enough of it, so here is what I think happened in early 2023, using mostly facts, and some potential logic.

(disclaimer – for this suspend any disbelief you hold about Jikook as a couple, for this purpose, and in real life, they are)

Jimin came back from Paris in late January and went into full Face mode. I think that it was around this time that they either made the decision to not see each other, or barely, likely so Jimin could focus, or as a consequence of his business. If the former, I imagine this would be for around two months, so February and March. 

JK is on a break from work. Come February 1st, JK decides to randomly start doing lives, at home, without ‘company permission’. As an aside - despite people subsequently getting used to his lives, and him doing a few of them, he didn’t really do that many during February. He did one on the 1st, one on the 3rd, and then the 11th. There was then a big gap, and he next came live on 28thFebruary. That’s it. It wasn’t as if it was everyday. (I’m saying this as a way of highlighting that it’s not as if he were bored and going live every single day during this period).

So from the get go, Jimin commented on the lives. Often Jimin would say where he was, what he was doing, and used terms of endearment (my ‘shrimp’…I want to tie your hair back, have fun with Army and Bam, I will be back after work). Hardly what you would do if you were broken up/avoiding someone/distant/fell out etc etc. Equally, every time Jimin commented, JK would light up with his Jimin Hyung smile ™. Again, not something you would do automatically if you were broken up/distant/fell out etc etc. 

This continued in all three lives, the live at the Boxing class especially stood out, due to the obvious familiarity between JK, the coach, and Jimin. JK saying Jimin would come with him again when he has time (highlighted especially because Hobi was also in the comments but this attending boxing lessons applied only to Jimin, thank you K Army for highlighting the nuances of the honorifics or lack there of). 

There was then a big gap between lives, with JK at this point, as we now know, going to visit Tae in Hawaii to sky dive and hang out. There is some debate whether this is also where he went to the USA to do the CK shoot – which was filmed by late March, so the timeframe fits for this. At some point, we found out in April, that JK also visited Jimin whilst he was practicing his dance for SMFP2, he was wearing full CK, which links to the fact the partnership was underway, and I would estimate this was either mid-February or early March before Jimin flew out to USA for Fallon. 

Either way, my point being, Jimin was obviously very busy, JK was on a ‘break’ from work, but did actually do his CK work during this time frame of Feb/March. 

JK went live next on 4th March, and this is where he gets drunk and fell asleep on his live. This was probably the first live that was hard to watch for me, as it did seem like he was struggling. I know people like to avoid this somewhat, but it did seem like that to me, and that is fair enough, heck he is human. He was also struggling with people stalking him at the gym, and at his home, which he addressed in such a beautiful way. Boundaries people.

I want to add here, that Jimin also went live a handful of times during this period, in the lead up to Face, at the company. He would often mention JK in his own lives, though to my knowledge/memory at that point, JK didn’t comment on his much. During one, he fondly spoke about JK and Euphoria and would often recall what JK did in his last live, including farting, falling asleep and singing ‘unholy’.  On Hobi’s birthday, at the company, Jimin joined him for a bit, it was extremely cute to see them, and Jimin dancing to ‘killing me softly’ is just (chefs kiss). I have seen solos/antis and haters wonder why JK didn’t join them if he missed them, turns out he was actually in Hawaii, so that is why. 

By mid-March, Jimin was gearing up for the release of Face. He flew to NYC on 13th March. JK went live three/four times the next day, White Day, each live he dressed differently, and at one point he explained to Jimin, who was in the comments, what he was doing. I don’t think I personally will ever forget the Prince Eric (cough my og gay awakening) vibes he gave with that white shirt, but moving on…. 

During this series of lives, JK became increasingly melancholic, in my opinion. He had his mood lights on, he was playing music, he had a candle, and he was drinking. By the time the lives ended, he told Army to look forward to midnight, because ‘something amazing is coming’, that something being Jimin’s teaser for ‘Set me Free Pt2’. And he was right, it was truly amazing. 

Face was released 24th March 2023, and just wow. It took the world a little while, but eventually we realised that there was a hidden track on the physical album, one which had background vocals that sounded eerily similar to JK’s. Turns out they were. On the beautiful song ‘Letter’, JK providing background vocals towards the end of the song. The  weverse version of the album containing a booklet of handwritten original lyrics from Jimin’s notes (again K Army, thank you for the context of words used). The track listing in the booklet hidden in white so you can barely see it. Jimin never speaking on the fact that JK provided those background vocals (not until we saw the production diary later on in the year). A fan song. Yeah…moving on.

At some point, I cannot remember the date, but in late March OT7 had a dinner together. Yoongi posted a pic on Instagram of 5 of them, stating Jimin and Tae had gone off earlier. A day or so after this, JM posted on wevserse ‘I miss you’, to which JK replied ‘me too’. 

(side note- my memory is fuzzy at the best of times so if any of this is the wrong way wrong I apologise, but this is the jist of it all)

28th March, JM went live on the way back from a music show recording in the car, he said he was on his way back to the company. He thanked fans for coming to see him. Someone in the comments asked him if they had seen JKs pictures – to which he replied, yes, with a phew face. JK appeared in the comments not long after this, he commented a total of 19 ish times on the live. JM engaging from that point only with him, it was like we ‘fans’ ceased to exist. JK said he wanted to ‘come see Jimin’s next show’ to which Jimin replied, this was the last one, he told JK not to worry as he had come see him practice (at this point, we fans hadn’t seen this by way of any SM or BB, that came later…), and Jimin said that ‘time flies’. Anti’s/haters and solos like to use this quote as meaning JK had no clue about JM’s schedule – I think these people lack common sense. The most important part of the conversation was when JK declared himself as Jimin’s fan. The rest is whatever re schedule, heck at one point in a live prior Jimin himself said he didn’t know what time a life was planned for the next day, so there we go.

Later on, in the early hours of the morning after the 28th March conversation, JK went live. In this live he spoke about CK, the pictures just having been released. He then asked himself what he came live for…turns out it was to literally just watch Jimin on Suchwita. Boy got a bit frustrated when he couldn’t find the video on YouTube, when he did find it, he settled back to watch Jimin on the show, and had to apologise later to Army because as he said ‘he tends not to talk when he’s focussed’. Recently K Army have also pointed out the way JK describes Jimins way of thinking here in this live. It’s truly lovely and endearing to hear he speaks so fondly about Jimin.

This ends March, and Face promotions come to an end. In essence, we are talking potentially about two months. Two months where they didn’t see, or didn’t see each other very often. Not to minimise how hard this would be for them, I am sure it was, it seemed to be especially on JKs part, but as Jimin said ‘time flies’. 

By mid-April, after JK had been to California and Coachella, (he was starting to officially to work), Hobi enlisted, and this is where we get to see them on a bangtan bomb, in real time, with the hug that was felt around the world. K Army letting us know that they were most certainly spent the night before drinking together. 

I know in reality after this as fans we still did not see them together much, but it my believe that this is when they began to spend more normalised time together. Why? Call it a gut feeling, and the fact that JK was brighter, his whole demeanour changed once he was back working, and likely that he was seeing Jimin more often again, what with Face promotions being over, and likely planning for the show and his work was starting. To contextualise this, we now know that Jimin was finishing Muse during this period after Face, we know he went to the USA again, attended Yoongi’s concert, recorded ‘Who’, and then went to London in May. The next time we saw them together, is in late June, at Yoongi’s concert in Seoul, with Tae. They looked normal, happy, and touchy. Weeks later, mid-July, JK flies to NYC, and a day later Jimin follows him. We didn’t know why at the time, we now know, and the rest, as they say, is history. But for JK and his lives, they did continue, and he often would just go live when Jimin flew out of the country, he did this in April (specifically after the premiere he attended with Tae), in May (he had also done this in March). It became a running joke within the jikook space, but once is a coincidence, 4/5 times is not. 

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jikook Universo (@jk.jm13_)

All of this to say, I personally think there was only really those two ish months, February- March, that they truly did not see each other much, if at all, but by late March, they were. So really, we are talking about Face preparations and promotions. We do know they saw each other a few times from that we saw as fans, because JK went to see Jimin’s dance practice (though we didn’t see his arrival…side eye), and they met at the OT7 meal in late March, and then Hobi’s enlistment BB.

What I do also think, and it is obviously what they said about the show, that the show was born from this period of time. They hadn’t been anywhere together in a while. By that though, I mean it was planned in advance (anyone who thinks otherwise is daft, because they would have needed coordination of staff and equipment , permits, and plans – the Forbes article said both were involved in the planning. Jimin certainly made clear he made it happen.) I know this whole narrative of it being last minute/sprung upon, was from JK and what he said to Yoongi in Suchwita, but nah, that cannot be what happened in terms of the planning. They may have waited until a right period of time, the logistics planed out, and the timing left to the last minute, but otherwise no. second to this, a mutual informed me an Army on X, who visited the kayak place, was told by the owner that the location was scouted three months prior to the shoot, which would be around April/May time. 

I do also think, and this is a bit controversial, that the show was an idea prior from Jimin, but probably also as a grand gesture of sorts. Hear me out, if I am right, Jimin was busy with Face, and bless him, barely had any time – P Dogg told us how hard he was practicing daily, JK was concerned for his health already in Feb. He often told BB about his eating, and what meal he wanted to eat. He was working so hard. And yes, in periods like this, especially considering this was solo work, but in any line of work where your partner is busy, the other party ‘suffers’ so to speak. (by that I do not mean that JK was unable to survive without Jimin, (or vice Versa) he did just fine, but it was obvious to anyone with eyes, that he was missing him, especially on the late March Jimin focussed live and his ‘miss you’ reply (kinda gives it away), that and his eye crinkles of happiness hugging Jimin at Hobi’s enlistment). But yeah, Jimin was busy, he was promoting, and I think as a gesture Jimin pulled through with the show idea. My timeline also links well with this, given that the Kayak place said the location was scouted three months prior to July, so April/May, just as Jimin finished Face promo. 

I also think, again, controversial maybe, that Jimin did this as a grand gesture of putting JK first. By that, I mean we know that he did spend a lot of time in the solo era with Hobi, Yoongi and others. He mentioned speaking to them often, in lives (Hobi and Yoongi), he went to D-Day a couple of times, he supported Hobi, and they supported him at his shows and shoots. He mentioned to Fallon that he kept most in contact with them both, not Tae, not Joon, not JK, and despite Jin being enlisted, we know Jimin visited him with Hobi. Now I am in no way saying that is a bad thing, or that is not allowed, or that he did not in fact see JK, we simply do not know. But, I do think that part of the reason for the show is that they could be seen together in content. I have held his belief for a wee while now, but I am almost certain that is a part of it. I think this feeling was reinforced seeing the different perceptive of Jimin entering the restaurant in JK’s documentary ‘I am still’ and the smile on JKs face to the camera. His ‘finally’ – to me means not only that he is getting his Jimin for quality time. JK said over and over how happy he was, how these were the best trips of his life, how grateful he was to Jimin for joining him in the USA. This thought is also reinforced with the sheer confidence JK asked to go to Jimin’s or for Jimin to come to his, in his ‘bed live’ in late July, after filming he must have thought, why not. Turns out, for whatever reason, Jimin was not willing to go that far, but he tried bless him. 

I feel that it was a choice, a choice they made for what reason only they know, to essentially go from seeming like they were not seeing each other (if they did or did not), to state that in the show in the car conversation, and to make out like they hadn’t in lives – to literally enlist together late 2023, (to the shock of all the fandom) and then in 2024, to have content show that no, they did see each other. It was such a 180 switch, quite dramatic in fact, that the only thing I can think of is that it was a choice made on purpose. Someone in fact asked this in a post, why did JM release Muse whilst he is in the military? But similarly, why the timing of all of it? I know it was for content whilst they were away, for fans to enjoy, but the timing of all projects is obviously worked out and discussed, this is no different, the choice to film but not state what they were doing at the time (for JK to go live and Jimin being in the same room/hotel ready to film but we got nothing, so much for fan service). It was a choice to deny they saw each other much if at all, to have Jimin tell Joonie in MMM2 (content which came out in Muse promo June 2024) that he and JK drink together often, to have Jimin saying in the behind of Jeju that he spent the night prior to flying out, at JKs and he cooked for him, despite having just landed from NYC (where he ran in the airport). In the Muse puzzle, that his fave food was by JK, as if Army and solos could guess that? 

It was a choice. 

It was also a choice to film the show at all, they didn’t have to, they didn’t need to, and seemingly a lot of the fandom sadly didn’t care that they did (side eye solos, haters and the cult) So although they said they filmed it for fans, they didn’t need to at all. We would never have demanded, never have suspected either. They are already famous, they already are wealthy, talented and have both Army and solo fans (mostly rude ignorant ones unfortunately), so why? We could get to the chicken and egg of it all, about them needing permits to travel abroad around enlistment, but still it’s a choice. It’s a choice to film, a choice to travel and film, etc. Just food for thought.

To conclude because I’ve rambled long enough, no haters/antis/insecure people and solo muppets, they did not not see each other, they did, and they are only the bits we know by the way, same for all the members. We only know what they want us to know. This is not a case of ‘pic or it didn’t happen’, they don’t owe us anything. (Please repeat that like a mantra).

When they speak about not seeing each other when busy, perhaps also just sit back and think about them having to navigate their solo work, being a (potentially) queer couple in SK navigating that, how they chose to present themselves in comparison to the others, their upcoming enlistment (and the fact they were applying to do that together behind the scenes, and they did it). The planning and execution of a show, etc etc. When you wonder about why they did not go live together, maybe watch the minute or so they were together for Jimin’s live watch of ‘production diary’ and take notes. 

I also want to add, because again, there is some inane discourse by solos going around here about support, and JK’s supposed lack of towards Jimin in this era. Firstly, it is not up to us as fans to decide what level of support that either Jimin or Jungkook are happy with, and what they want or require from each other, as friends or otherwise. And secondly, it is simply just not true even from what we did see, that they did not support each other. So, just stop. Grow up, stop hating real people with a very real bond, and go out and get some life experience, for your own benefit if nothing else.

&& use common sense please, oh and be respectful at all times to our 7.

Thank you

💜

[forgetme-eternally-blissfully]

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 4

Cale blinks, eyes bleary. He's being held in Choi Han's arms, tucked close to his chest. Wince. Not only does his head hurt, his body hurts now too.

Being ten is strange. Strange in the way that his body doesn't match his mind anymore. Strange in the way that he feels like a stranger in someone else's home. It reminds him of a memory, older than he is, of when he first walked into the orphanage. Out of place. The kids already there looked at him like he was no different from them, but it was strange to finally be labeled an orphan despite having been without parents for most of his life, now.

The 7 year olds memories tucked away in his mind welcome the 10 year old in. Cale frowns.

A habit from his older years, and younger ones, has him checking his environment before his condition.

"I will go to Duke Fredo." He hears Eruhaben declare to everyone in the room, clearly having a meeting of sorts. Cale is tucked so close to Choi Han that his being awake goes unnoticed. Or, if it is noticed, no one says anything about Cale listening in.

Rosalyn nods. "The White Star is planning something in Cale's absence. We need to find out what that is," somberly, she adds, "Before 'he' decides to do something about it first."

Cale yawns in the middle of her talking, and the buzzing in his ears prevents him from hearing the last part. Duke Fredo... Cale remembers being Naru, for a time. Cookies and the White Star... his head aches. It feels, very accurately, like a long needle is being inserted into his skull and poking around in his brain.

"Cale?" Choi Han squeezes his shoulder. The 10 year old in his arms frowns more at how comfortably he's being held. How long has Choi Han been carrying him? He recalls being carried by Choi Han many times. It makes him recall other things, such as pain and coughing up blood. He assertively stops thinking about it.

The meeting on the other side of the room comes to an end at Cale's emerging consciousness. The eyes on him feel familiar. It reminds him of the pitiful looks he got when he wandered the cold streets in nothing but a school uniform. His memory flickers and it suddenly reminds him again of the team, when they looked at him as the Team Leader.

Though, he can't think of any reason why they're staring at him like that.

Finally, with a twang of pain in his skull, he realizes that they're looking at him with expectation... he doesn't connect the dots that their expressions are that of worry. Was there something he missed? He yawns again, tears coming to his eyes, and he calmly wipes them away before kicking his legs.

"I want down."

Choi Han sets him on the ground, steadying him on his wobbly, sleepy legs. Cale is thinking about the conversation that Eruhanen and Rosalyn just had when hunger pains radiate from his stomach like twisting tendrils.

-Sorry Cale! I took longer to heal your body because of the curse, but it's fixed now!

Clutching his stomach with one hand, he covers his mouth in a desperate attempt to keep the blood in his hand as he coughs wetly. It tastes familiar, beyond the familiarity he had with it at 10, but rather its a lifetime of familiarity that cannot be contained in just the words, 'he tasted blood.' It was a taste he knew better than food or water.

His chest feels better, he notes. His head still hurts, unfortunately, but he shouldn't expect too much.

It also came out of his nose. Gross.

With that underwhelming thought, he keeps the blood carefully cupped in his hand. Uncle hated when he got blood on the-

Uncle is...

Right.

But still... he shouldn't get blood on his Hyung-nim's nice carpet. It's probably... expen... sive.

Noise buzzes around him, someone is touching his shoulder, but he's coughing blood again, again, and again, and it feels awful as his stomach twists and writhes with the hunger and pain that he's felt before, but it makes him ravenous all the same.

Hungry. He could eat anything right now. He remembers the tasteless rock he ate to get Super Rock's Ancient Power. He'd even eat a normal rock.

But still, even in his hunger, he keeps his mouth closed.

He can't bring himself to ask for food.

Not even from Raon. Something in his core, in his gut and his heart and his soul, tells him that he shouldn't ask. How could he take food from Raon? Well, it's Raon's supply of food for Cale anyway, so it's okay. But taking food from a child? But Cale is a child too--

"Human! That's your hungry face! Quickly eat this pie!" Raon cries out and there's suddenly a slightly smashed slice of apple pie in his face. How are there already tears on it...?

He grabs it without thinking hard.

The hunger doesn't care about tears, and soon Cale is stuffing his face with the salty apple pie with a fervor that he, at 10, would normally never have shown to anyone. He eats without chewing with a familiarity that makes him want to cry.

Choi Han's hand shakes on Cale's shoulder.

He should've checked Cale's condition beforehand. He saw that Cale used the ancient powers but still, Cale only got his external wounds treated. Why did he let his happen? He thought that it would be okay this time. Cale was young now and he wasn't showing a response for a long time, so he didn't think. There's no excuse for this.

Cale eats desperately, as if his life depends on it, and Choi Han can't help the way his heart cracks at the sight. And burns with frustration at his own uselessness.

Drip.

The room is quiet.

Drop.

"Human! Do-do you need more apple pie?!" Raon yells, panicking, bringing out more apple pie as Cale's cheeks become wet with silent tears. He reaches for a pie in the air and scarfs it down, uncaring of the sticky fingers covered in sweet apple filling and flaky, crumbling bits of crust.

It tastes like home.

It doesn't taste like Uncles house, or blood, or school hallways or alleys or scraps.

He sobs miserably, wanting to hide. He isn't crying over apple pie, he isn't! From his memories, he definitely shouldn't be crying over this much- it didn't even hurt enough to cry!

Thunder crackles outside the castle. Cale remains hunched over a new slice of apple pie, curling into himself in a very not-Cale like manner.

Another crack of lightning outside.

Eruhaben steps in front of Cale. He brushes Choi Han, frozen in his shock, away from the scene. Raon brings more apple pie out, even as he sees that Cale isn't so much eating the pie as he is holding it.

"Human, I will- I will destroy the world! You can't go into a coma again, I will- I will," Raon's voice cracks. Choi Han gathers himself. He looks at Cale, before calmly standing next to Raon and touching his paw in the air. "Human..."

"Cale," Eruhaben speaks calmly. "Look at me."

Cake shakes his head, fingers trembling. Something's wrong with him, inside of him, and the panic gets to his chest as he starts to take quicker breaths. Cale looks through his memories to fix himself but they blur in a cacophony of sounds and words and frames.

"Cale Henituse, you need to relax. Everything is okay. No one is taking anything from you. Calm down."

They weren't inspirational and comforting words. No, the words could even be considered a little cold, for an adult speaking to what appears to be a 7 year old. But it was necessary for Cale, who was 10 and not 7, and Kim Rok Soo, who was orphaned at a young age and abused and abandoned, and a little boy who went through both child and teenage years without anyone he could call family.

Cale opens his eyes. Were they closed? Eruhaben is in front of him.

Calm down.

Why did Lee Soo Hyuk come to mind when he heard that? A distant, dusty memory falls through his mind, so he picks it up and watches it. The Record plays out.

Something happened like this, once.

It was the only time he came close to crying in front of the Team Leader. Lee Soo Hyuk brought him out of it. The Record, though the reason why he almost cried was somehow forgotten(lost?), always played when he needed to put himself together in a moment of weakness.

Even now. When he is 10 years old in a 7 year olds body. The voice brings back the feeling of calm.

His memories settle.

Right. This is more like him. More like himself.

His face levels out into something neutral.

It feels like an older version of himself, somewhere between 38 and 20, is stroking the top of his head. Cale wonders if hallucinations are part of the curse.

"Good job." Lee Soo Hyuk in the Record and Eruhaben's words overlap for a moment but Cale ignores it.

It takes mental strength to stand straight again, but he manages it with a stiff expression. His hands are a mess, a gross mix of blood and the smushed flesh of what used to be a perfect apple pie.

He's never been more ashamed and embarrassed in his life. Old memories come to mind, reminding him that he's done worse, but the 10 year old in a 7 year olds body feels mortified. If he'd done this in front of his uncle...

"I'm sorry." Cale apologizes. It comes out of his mouth naturally. He has a lot that he could be apologizing for. The floor, which surely has blood and messy apple pie on it now. The pie, which is as ruined as his shirt. The weird hyperventilating thing he did. He recalls his memories. Maybe it wasn't what Lee Soo Hyuk called it, a 'panic attack,' but something different, more sinister.

He convinces himself that it is.

Red flag number 6 it is.

"Cale, you have nothing to be sorry for." Eruhaben states clearly. Cale looks him in the eyes. Strangely, he feels compelled to believe the Ancient Dragon.

.... Red Flag number 7?

Cale backs away on instinct.

Eruhaben sighs.

"Unlucky bas... hah." Standing up from where he had apparently gotten on his knees, Eruhaben waves his hand. The gross feeling on Cale's hands disappears effortlessly, and the stain on his shirt vanishes too. "It'll still be better to wash your hands, at least. Though that doesn't mean you're dirty... it means you were attacked by apple pie." Eruhaben tells him seriously. He lowers himself to his height and makes eye contact. "So it's best to wash it off, just in case some of it is still on you. It could... attack again."

The other people in the room, notably missing Bud and the mage Glenn now, stare at Eruhaben. He pointedly ignores their gazes.

Cale nods.

Eruhaben covers his rising smile.

"Off you go now," he lowers the hand, looking serious again. Struggling, he continues,"... Be careful." Like sending off a soldier, he stands up and looks away from Cale.

Choi Han covers his own face and fights to not laugh.

Somehow, despite the fact that Cale technically has all of his memories, the explanation works for him. He goes into the bathroom, escorted by Ron, who helps wash his hands at the sink. Ron also has him change his clothes, despite their clean appearance.

Ron assures him that it's due to the risk of another apple attack. It could be stuck to the clothes as well. Cale frowns. Ron smiles at the pouting 7 year old.

The 10 year old starts changing his clothes obediently.

Cale's muscles ache and burn. Even his bones hurt.

His head is in so much pain, especially when he focuses, but he draws in his willpower to think very hard about the reason why he might be in this condition.

Cale winces as the needle in his brain digs in deep and drags itself over his frontal lobe, and he visibly shudders, trying not to grimace.

10 year olds are supposed to be bigger than 7 year olds, is the conclusion he comes to.

...

Cale gets chill on the back of his neck.

Surely he isn't going to grow... right? No, no way. If he is, surely he shouldn't be in pain, right? He became 7 years old in a flash and it didn't hurt, so why now?

The pain alleviates for a second. In feels like whatever is causing the pain is given a revelation.

In his undergarments, Cale is enveloped in a white light.

This is...

Definitely red flag number 8.

Definitely, he thinks, suddenly 12 years old in a 12 year olds body. The needle painfully digging into his brain burns and yet feels cold at the same time. It spreads like an infection, and he immediately covers his right eye as it becomes numb with a sharp, icy sensation. Strangely, his hand warms up.

Ron, who innocently retrieved a garment from the crown prince Alberu's younger days, drops it. The assassins hands, which never tremble, shake more than they would if Cale had been an adult. Seeing a newly 12 Cale bleeding from his eye...

Blood seeps through the gap between Cale's hand and his face, which is now suddenly 12 years old.

Cale-- Ron realizes as he calls, as calmly as he can, for the ancient dragon and rushes in a not-so-calm manner to the young masters side-- has yet to realize that his eye is gushing blood. The 12 year old looks at Ron, confused.

Ron's expression is stiff.

"Ron?" Cale asks.

Eruhaben enters the room alongside Raon and Choi Han, but Ron focuses on relaxing his expression, and carefully holding Cale's hand to his eye, keeping it there so he doesn't remove it.

"Young Master... Do you remember the song, Dark Night Moon Light?"

Cale frowns. His head hurts.

"No." He says honestly. Why is everyone in here all of a sudden? Cale was barely dressed in some now too-small shorts. It's cold, he thinks through the pain.

"Then I will remind you, Young Master. It's a children's song that parents or butlers like me sing at a child's bedside. The child will close their eyes and listen to the song. Would you allow this butler to sing it to you?"

All of a sudden?

Cale feels uncomfortable, but his head hurts so much that he can't think about it a lot, so he closes his eyes.

Ron sings, in his calm and low voice, a common children's melody. He himself had once sung it for Beacrox, a long time ago.

It's supposed to help children who find themselves terrified of the dark. As far as Ron knows, Cale was never been so afraid of the dark to have this song sung to him... but, he understands with a bitter heart, even if he had been scared, the song would've been sung by his mother. Not his father, who was too sucked in by his grief after her passing.

He realizes that Cale, being 12 now, must no longer have the memories of his mother singing to him.

Eruhaben has Ron carefully remove Cale's hand, which had been pooling blood inside, spilling onto the floor.

Branded under his eye, looking like a burn in the soft and thin skin, is a number.

'12'

Eruhaben waves away the blood.

"Young Master, open your eyes now. The song is over." Ron doesn't react to the number, and when Cale opens his eyes, hides his relief that his eye is not damaged. Just bleeding. "Do you know how old you are now?" Though, Ron had a strong suspicion that they already knew.

"... 12, I think."

"Cale, you've been fighting off the curse, haven't you?" Eruhaben asks. It feels angry. Cale shrinks in on himself.

"It's fine, isn't it? It's better if I'm older."

He won't cry anymore. He can bathe again, since he can now handle the phantom sensations of blood and scars and dirt. He won't ignorantly use his ancient powers. Off the top of his head, there are more reasons that he should be older than there are reasons to go back to being young.

He is a better slacker when he isn't being whiny and childish.

"... Cale-nim." Choi Han groans.

"You knew that you were fighting off the curse, right?" Eruhaben asks again, but it's calculating.

"... Yes," but how could he not? He could always feel when he grew older, smarter. Not to mention the cracking like pain of his skull being hammered in, worse and worse as he ages. Even now, he can only tell the honest and not altered truth, simply because he is in too much pain.

Choi Han wants to ask. 'Is it because you don't trust us?'

But he holds his tongue.

Eruhaben sighs. He nods at Ron.

"Get dressed." Eruhaben rubs the top of Cales red hair, leaving him frazzled, before leaving the room. Choi Han clutches his sword and restrains his rampant emotions.

"You aren't in trouble human! The great and mighty Raon will help you become a child again!" Raon flies around Cale. Ron, observing Choi Han and Raon, leaves to rob the crown prince of more clothes.

Sigh. Cale shivers.

His head hurts.

[monokuromuheaven]

Vancouver actor Carlos Diehz’s big break comes in Ralph Fiennes film

(...)

“He (Edward Berger) wanted to hear from me what I had in mind for the character,” said Diehz, adding he explained to Berger that he saw Benitez as “a very pious man.”

“If he was a missionary, then an archbishop, then a cardinal, he has what it takes to lead a group. To be at the front,” said Diehz. “I discussed these ideas with Edward, and he liked them.”

Eventually, Diehz made the final callback and was brought to Rome to meet with casting director Nina Gold (The Crown, Slow Horses, Star Wars and Game of Thrones).

“She’s a big deal worldwide,” said Diehz about Gold. “So, no pressure, right?”

(...)

While he was onset, Diehz said he noticed Fiennes was watching him. Finally, Fiennes approached and said: “Now I know why they chose you. You are Benitez,” Diehz recalls the English actor saying to him. “He saw in me the personality of the character.”

Diehz was raised Catholic and understood the basics of the conclave process, but admitted the weight of the subject matter really hit home when he donned the heavy cardinal costume.

“When you look at yourself in the mirror dressed up like that, like someone that grand within the church, it is like an extra boost emotionally to perform,” said Diehz.

“Now I see Benitez the way he is in this situation. Benitez is a missionary who mostly dresses like any other civilian in his daily life, but here he has to dress the part. He has to look like the rank he has been given. So, being able to look at myself like that is kind of a strange situation. But very empowering.”

What was also empowering was the wealth of talent and experience he was surrounded with for his very first feature film role. His castmates were open to discussions and offered him excellent advice.

Fiennes, for instance, spoke to him about the importance of truly being heard.

“He said, ‘OK, every word you say is precious. And you have to deliver it as such. You have to put the time in, the correct enunciations, so the audience understands and is not wondering what you said … Treat every word as precious. So, I did that,” said Diehz. “The next day, when we were shooting the scene, every break we had I was rehearsing my enunciation, and I heard Ralph from another part of the area, he just said, ‘Bravo, you nailed it.'”

Later in shooting, Diehz faced a crisis of confidence as he prepared for a pivotal scene in which Benitez makes a speech in front of the 100-plus cardinals. This time, it was Lithgow who offered guidance.

“He asked me what are the main issues I wanted to talk about? And I said stage fright,” said Diehz. “He said stage fright really never goes away. You just learn how to manage stage fright. One of the things is when you feel it, it is a sign that you care about the scene. And that’s good.

“But what must guide you, drive you, is to know that when you speak there is no reason to hurry your lines. There’s no reason to feel rushed in any way because you control the scene. No one is cutting you off. Nobody is going to rush you. When they call ‘action,’ until you finish your lines, you own the scene. You set the pace and the tone. So that was very empowering, very powerful stuff.”

But despite Lithgow’s words of encouragement, Diehz said his nerves were still front and centre when it was time to shoot the speech.

“Edward Berger approached me and said, ‘You doing OK? I said, ‘Yeah, yeah I’m fine.’ And he said, ‘I can hear your heartbeat on the microphone,’ ” said Diehz. “So I was, ‘OK, big breath, calm down, calm down, calm down.’ And little by little, I did.”

While filming scenes caused his blood pressure to rise, Diehz says the evenings were made up of many wonderfully relaxing dinners of fabulous traditional Italian food alongside his very famous castmates.

And no, Tucci didn’t cook.

“You know what, that is a common question,” said Diehz when asked about his foodie co-star. “Being at a table with Ralph, Stanley, John, Isabella and talking about wine, cheeses, bread, it was wonderful. You could make a documentary of each of those dinners we had together,” said Diehz, who explained it was Rossellini who offered much of the insight into the nuances of Italian food.

(...)

“I remember Stanley asked me, ‘Are you really, after all this, going back to your daily job?’ Well, yeah, that’s what I have,” said Diehz, who continues to work for a Vancouver architectural firm. “But I’m not quitting acting. I’m going for more.”

Source

[ask-codeearasure]

Okay I know I said I'd send a mile-long ask about Histrionic Error sometime after I finished my post analyzing Covert Narcissist Cross, but at the time I forgot this blog is a side blog and I can't send asks from it. I would use my main instead and clarify this is the same guy yapping to you, but I don't feel like it.

A reblog might be more convenient for you anyway, we'll see.

I have much different headcanons for Error. Before I came across your version of the little bastard, my headcanons for him, that being based on the canon Error from askerrorsans, was that he's a Cluster A disaster (Paranoid, Schizoid, Schizotypal) with traits of BPD. But upon closer inspection of Histrionic Personality Disorder based on your version of Error, I've had to rearrange and rethink my approach and prior conclusion.

There have been theories about what exactly Error suffers from, for reference. This is one of the oldest, reblogged by CrayonQueen herself. Very thorough, but I can't say I agree with every symptom and diagnosis listed. I just can't vibe with the idea that yet another mass fucking murderer has Schizophrenia. I've seen other headcanons where Error is a Covert Malignant Narcissist (BPD + ASPD + NPD), and I dislike that for the same reasons. I'm tired of it only being murderers and abusers being headcanoned with some of the most stigmatized mental illnesses.

Here's the thing, and this may or may not apply to your variant of Error and that's fine, I'd just like to rant about this real quick.

The idea that Error in general seeks out attention is a concept that might have been introduced by Underverse, when Error showed up in that one Outertale genocide timeline to ask Nightmare where the fuck Ink went and Nightmare asked him "Are you looking for attention again?". I don't recall an older source, so that's the one I'm defaulting to.

That's a fun idea, that Error seeks out specific people for attention. Unfortunately this wasn't a thing with the original variation of Error, who was more than happy to isolate and compliment himself. He appreciated attention from Tumblr Users, but it was evident his sense of self-esteem was not dependent on them. Heck, one could say he prefers his own company over that of other people's in general, because even following positive or somewhat positive encounters with others, both characters like Blueberry and Tumblr Users alike, it would quickly be followed up by paranoid suspicion that he was going to be taken advantage of and/or manipulated. This is where my primary headcanons for Error come in, mainly that he's got Paranoid and Schizotypal Personality Disorders, which greatly interfere with how he interacts with others and where his delusions and fears of losing agency or control come from. The isolation and lack of much care or interest in others is where the Schizoid traits come in.

There's also the fact he acts very different depending on where he is. The Anti-Void is his safespace. It is the dimension where he harbors the most control over himself and others, and that is why he's the most relaxed, so to speak. Outside the Anti-Void though, he's guarded and on the attack. He is on a mission either to destroy a reality with no mercy in mind or he wants to go to Outertale and not be bothered.

However, your Error is clearly meant to be different, and he intrigues me. I said before that I have a special interest in personality disorders, and just before I saw your posts about some of your boys being Cluster B (we share a braincell in Ink having ASPD, I am so happy about that), I was going to lose my mind from a complete lack of Histrionic acknowledgement. I was just about to add traits of HPD to my version of Error just for the fuck of it, so in a way you have both inspired me further and saved my last quarter of a marble.

Now, I haven't seen everything about your Error, but from what art I have seen, he's a total bitch <3. He's fuckin hilarious, I like him.

Here's the thing. Because I don't know everything about your Error that you have shared on your blog thus far, I am not gonna make accurate observations about how HPD fits with him. What I do know is he seeks attention, especially from what I assume would be Ink and Geno (based on your previous asks and art), who may serve as his "Attention People" (ATP is the shorthand), and if he's anything like Underverse's Error, he'll go absolutely hogwild if he needs their attention and can't fucking find them to save his life.

Note how this list of diagnostic criteria cites sexual and/or provocative behavior as a quite common variation of behavior Histrionics use to attract attention, implying that many Histrionics have been sexually abused in some way. This may or may not apply to your version of Error, I don't know, and I'm not going to assume that's the case. Here's a source that doesn't cite implications of sexual abuse as much in HPD criteria.

There are Histrionics who have not suffered sexual abuse and they seek attention through other means, expressing themselves in whatever way that's loud and extreme enough to get the attention they desire.

Just like with BPD and NPD, which I have talked about around five, six days ago? For a patient to be diagnosed with HPD, they need to experience at least 5 of the diagnostic criteria presented. With your Error, again from what I am aware of, he matches with 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, and 7. That's six of the criterion. Could be more, could be less.

He feels very intensely and expresses it in impressionable and extreme manners, his mood swings are off the fucking shits, he's always admiring his appearance and seeks validation for that, is ridiculously dramatic and theatrical whenever he feels wronged or is recounting events where he felt cheated, and is gullible and easily led on to think or feel something about a subject that he previously had no reason to have a differing opinion for or an opinion at all on.

Would you say this is accurate or semi-accurate to your interpretation so far? I wanna know more. Histrionic Error scratches my brain in a way I need more of.

-- Sarco

LOOKS AT ERROR WITH HPD

I DIDNT KNOW THAT EXISTED BUT MY GOD YES THAT IS HIM,,,

I see him as being autistic too and it being the other reason why he is scared of people touching him apart from being in the antivoid for so long (feel like it’s both and they go hand in hand tbh, I have the same fear and getting overwhelmed with being touched due to being not used to it hence making the fear worse sucks ass)

that and him having the special interest of undernovalla and the seeing the puppets as comfort items

Also yes I see Geno as autistic too, and sans that he’s connected too

IKR?

And oh yeah Error is definitely both histrionic and Autistic, I even think he also has ADHD actually

Also his fear of touch with his autism is just a perfect combo shhdhd

(And hell ya Geno and Sans are autistic)

[amethystarachnid]

If you promise us a happy ending, I'm okay with a angst part 3 hahahahah a breakup would be nice. The boy needs to move into another place, Tony being the most supportive and cute dad ❤️

CHRISTMAS MORNING - part III

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Holiday special

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.9k

ᯓ★ Summary: first love heart break is rough, but nothing a trip to Paris can't resolve

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing

ᯓ★ Part I | Part II

ᯓ★ Prequel

ᯓ★ maybe a prequel to let you know how Tony and y/n ended up with four kids? 🤭, just wanna focus some more on the two of them before the kids

ᯓ★ Tony Taglist: @groovy-lady

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

Summer turns to fall, and Cora and Ryan’s relationship becomes a steady part of family life. By now, Ryan is a regular visitor to the house. Though Tony still maintains his “watchful dad” persona, he’s noticeably relaxed around Ryan, occasionally sharing a sarcastic comment or offering him a soda without much fuss. You’ve even caught Tony grumbling about the boy’s taste in music—not exactly glowing approval, but close enough.

Cora, meanwhile, is glowing in a way you’ve never seen before. She’s still her fiercely independent self, but there’s a new softness about her—she’s less quick to snap, more patient with her siblings, and her happiness is infectious. Except, of course, when it comes to Alex and Howard.

The twins, ever the chaos-makers, have taken their jealousy of Ryan to theatrical levels.

“Cora doesn’t love us anymore,” Alex announces one afternoon as you’re folding laundry in the living room.

“She just loves him,” Howard chimes in dramatically, lying face-down on the carpet like his world has ended.

You glance up from the socks you’re sorting and try not to laugh. “That’s not true, and you know it. Cora loves you very much.”

“Then why doesn’t she play with us anymore?” Alex demands, sitting up with a pout.

“She used to build forts with us,” Howard adds, now rolling onto his back to stare at the ceiling like a tragic hero in a Shakespearean play. “Now she just texts him all the time.”

“Boys,” you say gently, sitting down beside them. “Cora’s growing up. That doesn’t mean she loves you any less. She’s just figuring out who she is and spending time with someone who makes her happy. But you’ll always be her little brothers, okay?”

“Yeah, but we don’t like him,” Alex mutters.

“You barely know him,” you point out.

“We don’t have to know him to not like him,” Howard says stubbornly.

Before you can respond, Estelle toddles into the room, dragging a blanket behind her. She climbs onto your lap without a word and leans against you, her thumb in her mouth.

“See?” you say, wrapping an arm around Estelle. “Even when Cora’s busy, you’ve got each other—and us.”

The twins don’t look entirely convinced, but they nod reluctantly.

Later that evening, while the kids are occupied with a movie, you and Tony find a rare quiet moment together in the kitchen. He’s leaning against the counter, sipping a glass of wine, while you finish tidying up.

“They’re really laying it on thick, huh?” Tony says, smirking as he recalls the twins’ earlier dramatics.

“They’re jealous,” you reply, rinsing the last dish. “They miss her, and they don’t know how to say it without turning it into a production.”

Tony sets his glass down and crosses the room, wrapping his arms around you from behind. “Well, they’d better get used to it. She’s not a kid anymore. And I’m pretty sure Ryan’s sticking around.”

You lean back against him, savoring the warmth of the moment. “You really think so?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I still want to give the kid the third degree every time I see him,” Tony says with a chuckle. “But yeah, he’s not bad. And she’s happy. That’s what matters, right?”

You turn to face him, resting your hands on his chest. “You’re a good dad, you know that?”

“Don’t let that get around,” he says, grinning as he presses a kiss to your forehead. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

Just then, Estelle toddles into the kitchen, clutching a stuffed animal in one hand and rubbing her eyes with the other.

“Mommy,” she says sleepily.

You scoop her up, kissing her chubby cheek. “What are you doing out of bed, little one?”

“Can’t sleep,” she murmurs, resting her head on your shoulder.

Tony reaches out to brush a strand of hair from her face, his expression softening in that way it always does when he looks at her. “Come on, princess,” he says. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

He takes her from your arms and carries her upstairs, humming a soft tune as she curls against his chest. You follow a few steps behind, watching the way he cradles her with the kind of tenderness that still catches you off guard sometimes.

Back downstairs, the twins are sprawled on the couch, fast asleep by the time the credits roll. Cora is in her room, probably texting Ryan, and the house feels peaceful in a way that’s rare but cherished.

Over the next few weeks, the twins continue to grumble about Ryan, but their protests lose some of their bite. They still don’t love the idea of sharing Cora’s attention, but they’re slowly coming to terms with it.

One Saturday, Cora surprises everyone by joining the twins for a game of basketball in the driveway. Ryan is nowhere in sight, and the boys are thrilled to have their big sister back, even if only for an hour. You watch from the porch with Tony, sipping coffee as the three of them laugh and bicker over the rules.

“See?” you say, nudging Tony with your elbow. “They’ll figure it out.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, though his gaze lingers on Cora a little longer. “But I reserve the right to be overprotective forever.”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less,” you reply, leaning against him.

It’s late afternoon when the front door opens, and you hear the unmistakable sound of Cora’s school bag dropping onto the floor. Usually, this is accompanied by her calling out, “Hey, I’m home!” or the sound of her heading to the kitchen for a snack. But today, it’s eerily quiet.

You glance up from the stack of papers you’re sorting at the dining table, your instincts immediately on alert. Tony, who’s tinkering with something small and metallic at the kitchen counter, notices too.

“Cora?” you call, standing.

Then you hear it—soft, muffled sobs coming from the living room. You’re moving before you even think, Tony right behind you.

You find her sitting on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest, her face buried in her arms. Her whole body shakes with the force of her tears, and it feels like someone’s reached into your chest and squeezed your heart.

“Sweetheart?” you say softly, sitting down beside her.

Tony freezes for a moment, his eyes wide with panic as he takes in the sight of his usually strong, confident daughter falling apart. “What happened? Who hurt you? Tell me right now, and I’ll deal with it,” he says, his voice already edging toward anger.

Cora looks up, her face streaked with tears, and shakes her head. “No one hurt me, Dad.”

“Then what’s wrong?” you ask gently, brushing her hair out of her face.

She tries to speak, but her voice cracks, and a fresh wave of tears spills over.

Tony, clearly struggling to stay calm, sits on the edge of the coffee table in front of her. “Cora, you’re scaring me here. Just tell us what’s going on.”

After a moment, she takes a shaky breath and manages to get the words out. “Ryan… Ryan’s moving to London.”

Your heart sinks. “Oh, sweetheart…”

Tony blinks, his initial panic giving way to confusion. “London? Like… England London?”

Cora nods, wiping at her eyes. “His dad got a job there. They’re leaving in a month.”

“And what does that mean for you two?” Tony asks, though he already looks like he knows the answer.

Cora swallows hard, her voice trembling. “He… He said we should break up. He doesn’t want to do long distance.”

Tony’s jaw tightens, his fists clenching on his knees. “That little—”

“Tony,” you say sharply, cutting him off. “This isn’t about you wanting to punch a teenager.”

“Why not?” he mutters under his breath, but he backs down.

Cora lets out a shaky sigh. “It’s not his fault. He doesn’t think it’ll work, and… maybe he’s right. But it hurts so much.”

“Oh, honey,” you say, pulling her into a hug. She collapses against you, her sobs muffled against your shoulder.

Tony’s expression softens as he watches her, and he reaches out to squeeze her hand. “He’s an idiot if he thinks he’s not going to miss you every day. You’re amazing, Cora. Don’t let anyone make you feel otherwise.”

Before she can respond, there’s a small sound from the hallway. You turn to see Estelle standing there, clutching her favorite plushie—a well-loved bunny with one floppy ear. Her wide eyes take in the scene, and she hesitates for a moment before toddling over to the couch.

“Cowa sad?” she asks, her voice tiny and uncertain.

Cora sniffles and sits up a little, trying to wipe her tears away. “I’m okay, Estelle.”

But Estelle isn’t convinced. She climbs onto the couch beside her sister, her little face scrunched up with concern. Without a word, she holds out her bunny.

“Bun-bun make you happy,” she says solemnly.

Cora’s breath catches, and for a moment, she looks like she might start crying again—but this time, for an entirely different reason. She takes the plushie with trembling hands and pulls Estelle into a hug.

“Thank you, Stellie,” she whispers, her voice thick with emotion.

Tony watches the scene unfold, his usual snark and bravado nowhere to be found. He looks at you, and you can see the helplessness in his eyes. He hates seeing any of his kids in pain, and knowing there’s nothing he can do to fix it is clearly killing him.

Later, after you’ve managed to convince Cora to eat a little something and Estelle is back to playing with her toys, you find Tony in the garage. He’s pacing, running his hands through his hair, and muttering to himself.

“Tony,” you say gently, stepping into the room.

He stops and looks at you, his expression a mix of frustration and sadness. “I hate this. I hate that she’s hurting, and I can’t do anything about it.”

“I know,” you say, wrapping your arms around him. “But she doesn’t need you to fix it. She just needs you to be there for her.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” he admits, his voice quiet. “I’m not good at this kind of stuff.”

“You’re better at it than you think,” you tell him, resting your head against his chest. “Just keep showing up. That’s all she needs.”

Over the next few days, Cora starts to open up a little more. She talks about the memories she and Ryan made together, the inside jokes they shared, and the plans they’d dreamed of before the news of his move.

The twins, thankfully, are oblivious to the situation for the time being. They’re too busy with basketball practice and their latest obsession with building the tallest block towers they can manage. You’re grateful for the reprieve—it gives Cora space to grieve without their constant questions and commentary.

One evening, as you’re tucking Estelle into bed, she looks up at you with her big, curious eyes.

“Cowa okay now?” she asks.

You smile softly and brush her hair back. “She’s getting there, sweetie. Thanks to you and Bun-bun.”

Estelle nods, satisfied, and snuggles deeper into her blankets.

By the end of the week, Cora seems a little stronger. She still has moments where the pain hits her all over again, but she’s beginning to smile and laugh more often. Tony even manages to get her to join him for a round of Mario Kart, and the sound of her laughter fills the house like a balm for everyone’s hearts.

“She’s going to be okay,” you tell Tony one night as you’re lying in bed.

“Yeah,” he says, though his voice is still tinged with sadness. “But it’s going to take time.”

And so, as a family, you give her all the time she needs, surrounding her with love, support, and the occasional inappropriate dad joke to remind her that she’s never alone.

The chaos starts one evening during dinner. The twins are unusually quiet, their usual chatter about basketball, school antics, and random “fun facts” replaced by curious glances toward Cora. She’s sitting at the table, picking at her plate of pasta with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. The sparkle she usually carries has dimmed a bit since the breakup, though she’s been doing her best to mask it.

“Hey, Cora,” Alex pipes up, breaking the silence. “Where’s Ryan? He hasn’t come over in forever.”

Howard nods, his mouth full. “Yeah, didn’t he say he’d bring us that big bag of caramel popcorn? He never did.”

You can see the subtle flinch in Cora’s shoulders before she glances at you, silently pleading for help. Tony immediately stiffens, his protective instincts on high alert as he watches the exchange unfold.

“Guys,” you say gently, “Ryan… isn’t coming over anymore.”

The twins pause mid-bite, their synchronized reactions almost comical.

“What? Why?” Alex demands, his tone filled with disbelief.

Howard narrows his eyes. “Did he do something to you, Cora? Because if he did, we’ll—”

“No!” Cora cuts in quickly, setting down her fork. “It’s nothing like that. He’s moving to London, and we broke up.”

The twins blink, processing this new information. Then, as if on cue, they both push their plates away and hop off their chairs.

“Unacceptable,” Alex declares, his hands balling into fists.

“Totally unacceptable,” Howard echoes, his expression darkening. “He can’t just dump you and move to London like that!”

“It’s not his fault,” Cora says, though her voice is tinged with frustration. “He doesn’t want to do long distance, and we both agreed it was for the best.”

“That’s a bad excuse,” Alex snaps, pacing back and forth.

“He’s a coward,” Howard adds. “And cowards don’t deserve you, Cora!”

Before you or Tony can intervene, Estelle, who has been sitting quietly in her high chair, suddenly pipes up in her tiny, serious voice.

“Coward don’t deserve Cowa,” she says, mimicking Howard’s words almost perfectly.

Tony chokes on his water, and you nearly drop your fork.

“Estelle,” you say, trying not to laugh. “Sweetie, you don’t even know what that means.”

“Coward,” Estelle repeats, crossing her arms like her brothers, as if she fully understands the weight of her declaration.

“See? Even Stellie gets it!” Alex says, gesturing dramatically to his baby sister.

“We should punch him,” Howard announces, his face set in a grim expression.

“Punch him,” Estelle echoes, holding up her tiny fist.

At that, Tony finally snaps out of his stunned silence and stands up, waving his hands in front of him. “Okay, okay, let’s pump the brakes here. Nobody’s punching anyone.”

“Why not?” Alex asks, glaring up at his dad.

“And anyway,” Howard adds, “Ryan hurt Cora. Isn’t that worse?”

“Guys,” you say firmly, stepping in before this spirals any further, “violence isn’t the answer. And Ryan didn’t hurt Cora—he made a difficult decision, and sometimes relationships just don’t work out. It’s no one’s fault.”

“But Cora’s sad,” Alex says, his lower lip jutting out in a rare display of vulnerability.

“We don’t like seeing her like this,” Howard agrees.

Cora, who’s been quietly watching the whole exchange, finally speaks up. “I appreciate you guys wanting to defend me, but I don’t need anyone to fight my battles. I’m okay, really.”

“You don’t seem okay,” Alex mumbles.

“She’s just figuring it out,” you say softly, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “And the best thing you can do is support her and be there when she needs you.”

The twins exchange a look, clearly reluctant to let the matter drop.

“We still don’t like him,” Howard mutters as he sits back down.

“Yeah,” Alex adds. “And we’re never eating caramel popcorn again.”

At that, Estelle solemnly pushes her sippy cup away and declares, “No popcorn.”

Tony snorts, shaking his head as he sits back down. “You’re really digging in on this, huh?”

“Someone has to,” Alex says with a dramatic sigh.

The rest of dinner is a little quieter, though the twins occasionally shoot pointed glances at Cora, as if they’re still plotting how to avenge her heartbreak. Estelle, meanwhile, alternates between eating her mashed potatoes and mimicking the twins’ exaggerated arm-crossing stance, clearly enjoying the attention.

Later, as you’re tucking Estelle into bed, she looks up at you with her wide, innocent eyes and asks, “Cowa happy now?”

You brush a strand of hair from her face and kiss her forehead. “She’s getting there, sweetie. Thanks to you and your brothers.”

Estelle smiles, snuggling into her blankets. “Okay. No popcorn.”

You stifle a laugh and tuck her in, leaving her room with a heart full of love for your fiercely protective little family.

Downstairs, you find Tony sitting on the couch, staring at the wall with a contemplative expression.

“You okay?” you ask, sitting beside him.

He lets out a long sigh. “I don’t know how you do it. Keeping them all from forming a vigilante squad and storming London.”

You laugh, leaning your head on his shoulder. “It’s a team effort.”

Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. “She’s going to be okay, right?”

“She will,” you say confidently. “She’s got us. And if that’s not enough, she’s got two little brothers and a baby sister ready to take on the world for her.”

Tony chuckles, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Yeah. That’s enough.”

It starts with little things, subtle and soft gestures to help lift Cora’s spirits. You and Tony both know she’s heartbroken—first loves are never easy to lose, and Ryan’s move to London had hit her harder than she wanted to admit. But you also know the kind of family she has. Stark resilience, wrapped in unconditional love, with just a sprinkle of chaos.

The effort begins the morning after the twins’ dramatic anti-Ryan declarations. Cora walks into the kitchen to find the twins at the breakfast table, uncharacteristically quiet. Estelle is perched in her high chair, clumsily holding a spoon as she tries to feed herself yogurt.

“Good morning,” Cora mumbles, still a little groggy.

“Morning!” Alex chirps, way too chipper for this early.

“Hi,” Howard says, looking suspiciously at his brother.

Cora narrows her eyes. “What are you two up to?”

“Nothing!” Alex says, but his grin gives him away.

Howard looks down at his plate, trying to look innocent but failing miserably. That’s when you step in from behind them, holding a plate of Cora’s favorite pancakes—chocolate chip, with extra whipped cream.

“We just thought you deserved a special breakfast,” you say, setting the plate in front of her.

Cora raises an eyebrow. “Okay, what’s the catch?”

“No catch!” Tony’s voice booms as he strides into the kitchen, dressed in a casual hoodie and jeans. “Just a family-wide campaign to cheer you up. Welcome to Operation Cora Smiles Again.”

Cora groans, though there’s a tiny flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You’re all ridiculous.”

“And you love us for it,” Tony says, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before grabbing his coffee.

Over the next few days, the “operation” goes into full swing. The twins take it upon themselves to invite Cora to all their activities, from basketball practice to board games, though their “invites” are mostly just them dragging her out of her room. Estelle toddles after her sister constantly, climbing into her lap during movie nights and insisting Cora help her with her coloring books.

Tony, of course, takes things to a whole new level.

One afternoon, he barges into the living room where you and Cora are sitting, her head on your shoulder as the two of you watch some feel-good rom-com. He’s holding his phone, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Ladies,” he announces, “pack your bags. We’re going to Paris.”

Cora sits up straight, her mouth falling open. “What?”

“You’ve always said you wanted to see the Louvre, right?” Tony says, grinning. “Well, I figured, what better way to distract you than with some world-class art and culture? Plus, croissants.”

“Are you serious?” Cora asks, still stunned.

“Dead serious,” Tony replies. “Private jet leaves in two days. Hope you’ve been brushing up on your French.”

“Dad, you can’t just—”

“Already booked it,” he interrupts, waving his phone. “Non-refundable. So you’re coming.”

Cora looks at you, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Mom?”

You shrug, smiling. “He’s not kidding. You might as well start picking out your outfits.”

She blinks a few times, then a slow smile spreads across her face. “Okay, fine. Paris sounds… amazing.”

Tony pumps his fist in victory, and you shake your head fondly.

When the day of the trip arrives, the excitement in the house is palpable. The twins are bouncing off the walls, thrilled at the idea of flying on the family’s private jet again. Estelle is too young to fully understand what’s happening but seems to pick up on the energy, clapping her hands and shouting, “Pawis!” every few minutes.

Cora, meanwhile, is quieter but visibly excited. She spends most of the flight flipping through a guidebook Tony had casually tossed her way, her mood lighter than it’s been in weeks.

Once you land in Paris, it’s like a whole new world opens up for her. The city is everything she’d imagined—bustling streets, beautiful architecture, and, of course, the Eiffel Tower. You and Tony make sure the kids experience all the highlights: boat rides along the Seine, macarons at a fancy patisserie, and a picnic at the Champs de Mars.

But the real highlight is the Louvre.

Walking through the museum, Cora is completely captivated. She takes her time studying each exhibit, her eyes wide with wonder as she absorbs the art and history. Tony stays close, his usual sarcasm dialed back as he watches her with pride.

At one point, she stops in front of the Mona Lisa, her expression thoughtful.

“It’s smaller than I thought it’d be,” she says.

Tony smirks. “Yeah, but it’s got personality. Kind of like someone else I know.”

Cora rolls her eyes but laughs, and it’s one of the first genuine laughs you’ve heard from her in a while.

By the time you return to the hotel that evening, everyone is exhausted but happy. The twins collapse onto their beds, and Estelle is already dozing off in your arms. Cora sits on the balcony, looking out at the city lights.

Tony joins her, leaning on the railing. “Feeling better?”

She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah. Thanks, Dad. For all of this.”

He shrugs, though you can see the emotion in his eyes. “Anything for you, kid.”

When you join them, Tony wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you close. Together, the three of you watch the Eiffel Tower sparkle in the distance, a quiet moment of peace in the midst of everything.

The Paris trip continues to unravel in a blend of heartwarming family moments and the kind of chaos only a Stark family vacation could produce. It starts innocently enough as you all wander through the streets of Montmartre, the cobblestone pathways alive with music, street performers, and the scent of fresh pastries. Cora has perked up considerably since the museum visit, her mood lighter, her laughter more frequent.

But then there’s him.

It happens as the family pauses near a small café. You’re distracted, helping Estelle adjust the straps of her sunhat while Tony orders espressos, croissants, and a ridiculously overpriced cup of hot chocolate for the twins. Cora’s off to the side, flipping through postcards at a nearby vendor stand, when you notice a boy about her age approaching her.

He’s tall, with tousled dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and a confidence that screams “Parisian charm.” He says something in French, his voice lilting in a way that immediately draws Cora’s attention. She blushes, brushing her hair behind her ear as she responds—haltingly but gamely—in the French she’s been practicing since she knew about the trip.

Tony notices it too.

“What’s happening here?” he says, his tone shifting to dad mode as he steps closer, coffee cup in hand.

“Oh, relax,” you say, biting back a smile. “He’s just flirting with her.”

Tony narrows his eyes. “Flirting? In broad daylight? In front of me?”

“He probably doesn’t know you’re her dad,” you tease, leaning closer. “She does have my genes, after all.”

Tony smirks but doesn’t lose his focus on the boy. “Well, he’s about to find out.”

Before he can make a move, the twins return, each holding a baguette that’s nearly as big as they are. Alex squints at the scene unfolding by the postcards.

“Hey, who’s that guy talking to Cora?” he asks, his mouth full of bread.

“Probably her new boyfriend,” Howard says, grinning mischievously.

“Not helping,” Tony mutters.

“Let’s just give her some space,” you suggest, tugging gently on his arm. “She’s allowed to talk to boys, you know.”

Tony sighs but relents, though he keeps a close eye on the interaction. Eventually, the boy waves goodbye and walks away, leaving Cora clutching her postcards with a dazed expression. When she rejoins the group, Tony can’t help himself.

“So, who’s your new friend?” he asks, trying (and failing) to sound casual.

Cora glares at him. “Nobody. Just some guy.”

“Did he give you his number?” Alex asks, grinning.

“Did he try to kiss you?” Howard adds.

“Guys, stop,” Cora groans, her cheeks turning bright red.

Tony crosses his arms. “Was his name Pierre? Because he looked like a Pierre.”

You smack his arm lightly, laughing. “Tony, let it go.”

Despite the teasing, the moment passes, and the family moves on to the next adventure. The twins, however, are not so easily distracted.

That evening, as you’re lounging in the hotel room, flipping through a travel guide, the boys march up to you and Tony with matching determined expressions.

“We want to go to Disneyland,” Alex announces.

“Disneyland Paris,” Howard clarifies.

“Please, Mom?” Alex adds, turning his best puppy-dog eyes on you.

Tony snorts. “You’ve got to be kidding me. We came all the way to Paris, and you want to see Mickey Mouse?”

“Oui, Mickey,” Estelle chimes in from her spot on the bed, clapping her hands.

You glance at Tony, who’s already shaking his head. But then Cora chimes in, a small smile playing on her lips.

“It could be fun,” she says. “And the twins have been really sweet to me lately. I think they deserve it.”

Tony groans. “You’re killing me, kid.”

The next day, you find yourself standing in the middle of Disneyland Paris, surrounded by excited children, cotton candy stands, and the sound of cheerful Disney music. The twins are practically vibrating with excitement, dragging Cora from one attraction to the next.

Estelle is equally thrilled, her eyes wide as she points at every princess she sees, babbling excitedly about their dresses.

“Look at her,” Tony says, watching Estelle hug a life-sized Winnie the Pooh with absolute joy. “She’s two, and she already knows how to work the system.”

“She’s your daughter,” you tease, linking your arm with his.

The day is a whirlwind of rides, character meet-and-greets, and an obscene amount of overpriced snacks. Tony tries to talk his way into a VIP area at one point, but you manage to reel him back before he starts name-dropping himself.

Later, as the sun begins to set, the kids are busy chasing bubbles near Sleeping Beauty’s Castle, and you and Tony find a rare moment of peace on a nearby bench.

“Remember the last time we were in Paris?” he says, his voice low and teasing.

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “I do. And I remember how much wine we drank that night.”

Tony smirks. “It was a good night. A productive night.”

“Tony,” you say, laughing softly.

“What?” he says, feigning innocence. “I’m just saying, nine months later, we had Cora. Coincidence? I think not.”

You shake your head, leaning into him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple.

For a moment, it’s just the two of you, the chaos of the day fading into the background. Tony takes your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he says quietly. “Keeping this whole crazy family together, making sure everyone’s happy…”

“You help,” you say, smiling up at him.

He grins. “Yeah, but you’re the glue. The sexy, unstoppable glue.”

You laugh, resting your head on his shoulder. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Mrs. Stark,” he murmurs.

The moment is interrupted by Estelle toddling over, holding a sticky cotton candy in her hands. “Mama! Dada!” she says, grinning. “Candy!”

Tony scoops her up, laughing. “All right, princess. Let’s get you cleaned up before you stick to everything.”

As the fireworks light up the night sky, you watch your family, your heart full. Cora is smiling again, the twins are their usual mischievous selves, and even Estelle is giggling as Tony pretends to “steal” her cotton candy.

It’s not perfect, but it’s yours. And in this moment, it’s everything you could ever want.

Returning to Miami is bittersweet. After the whirlwind adventure in Paris, filled with laughter, healing, and plenty of magical moments, the familiarity of home feels both comforting and a little dull in comparison. The private jet touches down mid-morning, and as you step onto the tarmac, the heat wraps around you like an old friend. Estelle claps her hands excitedly at the sight of palm trees, and the twins immediately begin discussing which of their toys they missed most.

Cora, however, is a little quieter than usual. She’s not sulking—in fact, she seems happy—but there’s something in her demeanor, a kind of soft distraction, that doesn’t go unnoticed. You and Tony exchange a knowing glance as you watch her scrolling on her phone, her thumbs moving quickly over the screen as a faint smile plays on her lips.

By the time you’re back at the house, it’s clear that whatever—or whoever—Cora is texting has her full attention. The twins bolt up the stairs to their room, racing to see who can dump their luggage the fastest. Estelle toddles after them, babbling about her stuffed animals and pausing halfway up to plop down and rest.

Cora lingers in the living room, dropping her bags by the couch and flopping down with a sigh. Her phone is still in her hand, and her fingers immediately start typing again.

Tony raises an eyebrow. “So, who’s the lucky recipient of all those texts?”

Cora doesn’t look up, but she does roll her eyes. “Nobody.”

You smirk, taking a seat next to her. “Nobody’s got you smiling at your phone like that? Come on, spill.”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m just talking to some people I met in France.”

Tony sits on the arm of the couch, folding his arms across his chest. “Oh, some people, huh? Are we talking guys, girls, or… Pierre?”

“Dad, seriously?” Cora groans, but she’s laughing despite herself.

“Wait, is it actually Pierre?” you ask, feigning shock.

“No!” Cora insists, finally setting her phone down and looking between the two of you. “His name is Louis. He was in line behind me at the Louvre, and we started talking while we waited. He’s cool, okay? That’s it.”

“Cool enough to text all day?” Tony teases, his grin widening.

“Cool enough to not break my heart, which is more than I can say for other people,” Cora shoots back, though her tone is light.

Tony’s smile falters for just a moment, and you place a hand on his arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Well,” you say, steering the conversation back to neutral ground, “I think it’s great that you’re making new friends. France clearly left an impression.”

Cora nods, picking up her phone again. “Yeah. Louis and his friends were all really nice. They even invited me to come back someday and visit.”

Tony stiffens. “Visit? Alone? Over my dead body.”

“Tony,” you warn, shooting him a look.

“I’m just saying,” he mutters, leaning back. “Paris is great and all, but it’s a long way from here. And I don’t trust teenage boys. Especially French ones. They’re too charming.”

Cora laughs, shaking her head. “Relax, Dad. It’s not like I’m packing my bags tomorrow. Besides, you liked Paris too, remember? You wouldn’t stop talking about the croissants.”

“She’s got you there,” you say, smiling.

The next few days pass in a blur of unpacking, settling back into routines, and adjusting to the Miami heat. Cora spends a lot of time in her room, but instead of sulking like she had after the breakup, she seems genuinely happy. You often catch her laughing at something on her phone, and her mood has improved so much that even the twins take notice.

At dinner one evening, Alex leans over his plate of spaghetti and asks, “Cora, why are you always on your phone? Are you playing games?”

“No,” she says, twirling her fork. “I’m talking to my friends.”

Howard squints at her. “What friends? You don’t have any friends here.”

“Not here,” Cora says patiently. “In France. Remember the trip we just took? I met some people there.”

“Like Pierre?” Alex asks, grinning.

“His name is Louis,” Estelle pipes up, repeating what she’s heard so many times over the past few days. She giggles as if she understands the joke.

“Okay, dinner table rule,” you say, holding up a hand. “No teasing your sister about her friends. Got it?”

“Yes, Mom,” the twins say in unison, though you can tell they’re not entirely sincere.

After dinner, as you’re cleaning up in the kitchen, Tony wanders in, a dishtowel slung over his shoulder.

“So, what do you think about this Louis kid?” he asks, leaning against the counter.

“I think he’s halfway across the world and just a friend,” you reply, rinsing a plate. “And I think it’s good for Cora to have someone to talk to who isn’t us.”

Tony sighs. “Yeah, I guess. But I’m not thrilled about the idea of her running off to Europe to visit him someday.”

“She’s not running off anywhere,” you say, setting the plate in the drying rack. “And if she ever did, it wouldn’t be without a lot of planning—and probably a chaperone.”

Tony smirks. “So, you’re saying I’d have to go too?”

“Obviously,” you say, smiling. “You’d hate to miss out on more croissants.”

As the days turn into weeks, Cora continues to text Louis and his group of friends, her phone buzzing at all hours with messages and pictures. You catch glimpses of their conversations occasionally—photos of the Eiffel Tower lit up at night, jokes about the Louvre’s long lines, and even a video of someone attempting to skateboard in a cobblestone alley.

The twins remain mildly suspicious of this new development, but their jealousy is quickly forgotten whenever Cora agrees to join them for a game of basketball or a movie night.

One afternoon, as you’re sitting on the patio with Tony, watching Estelle splash around in the kiddie pool, he leans over and says, “You know, I think she’s really okay now.”

You follow his gaze to where Cora is lounging in a hammock, laughing at something on her phone.

“She is,” you agree, resting your head on his shoulder. “And that’s all that matters.”

Tony wraps an arm around you, pulling you closer. “You know, we’re pretty good at this whole parenting thing.”

“Speak for yourself,” you tease. “I’m the glue, remember?”

He laughs, kissing the top of your head. “Fair enough. But I’m the fun one.”

“Sure you are,” you say, smiling as you watch your family, your heart full.

[unstableverse-headcanons]

Parrot suffers from memory issues but it's so subtle no one ever brings it up. There have been several times when he's come face to face with someone who he's met before (90% of the time it's a LifeSteal SMP player) and he acts as if he's. Literally never met them before. And very often when this happens the reactions range from “Okay well that's rude fuck you” (Spoke, ClownPierce, etc) and “??? That's an odd way to word our meeting. Huh.” (Jumper, Derapchu, etc) and then you have the golden middle where you can never tell whether the reaction is going to be just a calling him out on it (has actually only happened once, and it was done by Branzy, who ALSO lowk has memory issues so the two of them just forgor about the interaction altogether), matching his vibes (Mapicc) and matching his vibes but with confusion (Rek).

Whereas Branzy's memory issues are a more-so watcher side-effect, Parrot's are a side effect from interactions with the director. While it is much more likely for an admin/ex-admin to develop memory issues due to the sheer amount of stress that happens, especially on semi-anarchy and anarchy servers, Parrot's is just. Entirely a side effect of the director messing with his code. And no one's even aware of it.(cough cough the memory issues also might be lowk tied to some mind control shenanigans but I think that's a hc for another time)

- psa can I be 🌺 anon? I don't recall ever seeing a 🌺 anon tag but if it's taken in fine with any flower tag lol

MEMORY LOSS!!!!!!

I II

II I_

[randomfoggytiger]

The Truth Is Out There: David Duchovny, Collaborator and Vancouver Captive

1995 David Duchovny was grimly resigned to five unexpected, grueling years in Vancouver. (Thankfully for philes-- and his pocketbook-- he stuck around and contributed heavily to the series, including the idea which connected Mulder's family to the Conspiracy.) He was also very chatty and very complainy; and, even then, tended to gravitate to lower-stakes projects that put little pressure on him (acting is, after all, something he wanted, even then, to remain "fun".)

Previous parts of Brian Lowry's Book 1 here, here, and here. Transcripts below will be fonted in italics.

BITS FROM THE BOOK

Before the [first] season began, Fox officials were clearly more effusive in praising "Brisco County" and its star, Bruce Campbell, than The X-Files. In that regard, when Grushow commented that he’d “eat my desk” if Campbell didn’t become a star, Duchovny’s competitive spirit was piqued, feeling like The X-Files was being dismissed and slighted. Carter remembers Duchovny returning from an event where Grushow made those comments and joking about serving him the condiments for that meal. The attitude, Duchovny says, was that Fox was touting the other show and treating their entry as an afterthought-- as if it were “and oh yeah, there’s this other little show called The X-Files.” 

The net effect, in fact, turned out to benefit the show on virtually every level-- creating, as Duchovny puts it, “a unique mythology for television.” The complex alien abduction/government conspiracy story that was concocted to explain Anderson’s brief hiatus actually solidified the Mulder-Scully bond, striking an extremely responsive chord with the show’s hard-core fans. As Duchovny points out, there were also parallels between Scully’s abduction and that of Mulder’s sister, giving their relationship even more emotional resonance. 

…One of those regularly contributing ideas [to the second season] is Duchovny, who’s become personally close with Carter (the two are occasional squash partners) and has shared story credit with him on certain episodes. 

The producer has no qualms about letting his star in on that process. “He’s got good ideas for the show,” notes Carter. “Why not use them?” As for Duchovny, he says that once it became apparent the show would be around for a while, he had an interest as an actor in making his character as interesting as possible to play. 

As for Duchovny, the actor had little enthusiasm about doing a television series at the time-- his feature career having taken a promising turn with "Kalifornia", which cast him opposite Brad Pitt. The X-Files turned out to be the only pilot script his manager decided to send him that year. “I read it, and I thought it was a really good story and that UFOs would get boring after three or four episodes,” Duchovny recalls. ‘I thought I could go to Vancouver for a month and get paid, and then go on and do my next movie.” 

“I love it!” Bowman proclaims as the scene ends, watching the shot through a monitor and lauding his star as “One-take Duchovny.” 

…Bowman has to deal with five actors (Anderson, Duchovny, and Gunmen Dean Haglund, Bruce Harwood, and Braidwood) in a relatively confined space, so the staging will be critical. After Bowman aligns them one way, Duchovny suggests an alternative in handling the shot, and various configurations are tried. As they begin rehearsing, everyone still seems a bit punchy, and the mood is light. Haglund keeps wanting to call a Nazi scientist “Kempler” instead of “Klemper”, and Duchovny has a hard time not laughing each time Braidwood (who comes up roughly to the actor’s chin) approaches him, with Frohike supposed to act relieved to see Mulder alive after the events that closed the second season. “Did you ever see the 'Star Trek; where Spock thought that Kirk died?” Duchovny tells him with his trademark deadpan delivery. ‘That’s what you want to be doing.” 

IN HIS OWN WORDS

…By virtue of starring in “The X-Files”, Duchovny also seems destine to have a shot at major feature-film stardom, but again, not via the precise route anyone assumed he’d follow. …Duchovny felt he was on his way and as a result had serious doubts about doing a television series. “It’s like a horse race,” he observes, enjoying a relaxed moment, clad in work shirt, boots, and jeans outside his trailer on “The X-Files” set in Vancouver. “You’ve got fifteen guys who are going to be ‘the next big thing,’ and three of those guys are going to finish.

“I was making a living,” he notes. “It seemed like I would get my shot at some point.”

Duchovny was willing to wait for his chance. He’d done some interesting features, and thanks to the vagaries of Hollywood, he knew a hit movie-- any hit movie-- would move him up to the next echelon of actors. “I always had an abiding belief that things would work out for me,” he says. “I didn’t know how. And then my manager, who was agreeing with me in that I didn’t want to do any television, sent me the script for ‘The X-Files’ because she thought it was a really good script. She read all the pilots, and that was the only one she sent me.” 

Duchovny remembers thinking he could do the pilot-- getting paid to spend a month or so in Vancouver-- and then be off to his next feature. In the midst of another 12- or 14-hour day, he can only shrug at the irony, adding with a sly grin, “It didn’t really work out that way.” 

…Prone to introspection as he is, however, Duchovny feels the weight of the expectations riding on him and wears the mantle of stardom uneasily, having found that sudden celebrity is not without its drawbacks on a personal level. 

…”Year one was just about survival-- am I physically going to survive? It’s what I imagine those triathletes feel: When you first start competing you just want to finish, then eventually you start wanting to get a good time. 

“There were many days the first year when I would just go home and think, ‘I can’t do it. I can’t go back to work anymore.’”

Although that situation didn’t ease much in terms of shooting requirements during the second season-- particularly with costar Gillian Anderson’s pregnancy compelling Duchovny to shoulder more responsibility for a time-- the actor found the show’s creative direction alone lightening the burden. “Last year I just think the work was so much better. That was kind of inspiring,” he says. 

Ever a tough critic, Duchovny felt there were some good episodes the first year and enjoyed doing something that was different from most primetime television shows. As for his contribution, he says he was “occasionally kind of happy with my work.” 

By contrast, in the second season, he believes, “we really became the best show on television,” saying he’s grateful that the series survived so its performers, writers and directors had the opportunity to mature together. The third season will be more of the same, he predicts, with trademark sarcasm, “before we slide back into mediocrity.” 

…Stardom does have some advantages, in that Duchovny has been able to add his stamp to the show creatively, providing story ideas and helping contribute to “The X-Files” mythology….

…Part of Duchovny’s goal has been to flesh out the character of Fox Mulder-- which, he points out, was understandably vague when the show began-- in order to make the part more enticing for him as a performer. “It’s definitely been exciting, just something added to my experience, in terms of being able to guide the destiny of the character,” he explains. “Because the character had no destiny. Like any TV show, you’re forced to eventually create a history for the character that it never had.” 

Once “The X-Files” had survived the initial Nielsen weeding-out process and he and Carter realized the show was going to be around for a while, Duchovny offers, “it became important to me as an actor to make that history as interesting as I could.” 

The second-season finale, entitled “Anasazi,” and revelations about Mulder’s family played out in the two opening episodes of the third season, offer such mythic highlights, exploring Mulder’s character and family history, down to his father’s role in alien experimentation. Those episodes also shed light on the abduction of Mulder’s sister, Samantha, which figured prominently in the character’s motivation….

Those episodes, he maintains, couple with earlier story arcs have “created a unique mythology for television in the character, and I’m really proud of that fact-- that I was conscious enough to say to Chris, ‘Look, I have some ideas, I want to be involved with the creation of this myth.’” 

Duchovny contends that Anderson’s pregnancy and brief absence unwittingly contributed to that emotional resonance. Having Mulder search for her echoed the loss he felt in losing his sister, while Scully’s abduction gave her an experience to draw upon-- all of which, in Duchovny’s eyes, provided “raw material to use in the future.” 

According to the actor, the depth of those episodes stands above “a kind of formula that we were drifting into the middle of last year” with stand-alone installments dealing with whatever monsters and/or paranormal phenomena the writers could dream up….

Now the show can go back and forth, delving into its mythology, then pulling back to do more standard and self-contained episodes. “The intensity’s too much, and it can get melodramatic,” Duchovny says regarding the need to break up the mythology segments, adding that the producers have achieved a “nice balance now” between the two. 

Seemingly as much of a perfectionist as Carter, Duchovny acknowledges that he occasionally bristles when he’s presented with a deluge of gobbledygook dialogue-- those sequences where Mulder launches into remarkably detailed explanations about some event or series of events from the past. “At first it was almost impossible-- it’s kind of a muscular thing,” he says. “You try and make it interesting from an acting point of view…. [But] sometimes it’s just like you memorize… and spit it out.” 

…Duchovny can be equally blunt in elaborating on his views regarding fame…. “Celebrity’s no fun,” he says flatly. 

“There’s really nothing nice about it. Celebrity is being known. It’s no fun to be known. I imagine it’s fun to be known for something good that you did, or for something noteworthy, but unfortunately the kind of celebrity television brings is monochromatic.”

…”I understand that it’s part of the territory,” he allows, “but sometimes it’s hard to be amused when you’re just trying to live your life and you don’t feel like people snickering or pointing. In this culture that we live in, everybody wants celebrity, everybody wants to be famous. If I’m going to be famous, I’d rather be famous ‘for’ something.” With a shrug of resignation, he adds, “I don’t think I have a choice at this point.” 

Duchovny’s comfort level with fame remains low. Asked the worst part about life under the microscope, he simply says, “It doesn’t leave you room to make mistakes, to do something stupid. Everything becomes kind of calculated in the worst way. You’ll have an impulse and you’ll go, ‘Can I do that? Is anybody watching me?’ It’s like being Catholic,” he quips. 

Not that Duchovny would trade in his ‘The X-Files’ experience. Far from it. “This is wonderful, and it affords me economic security” while hopefully creating the opportunity, he says, to do interesting feature-film work either after the series completes its run or during the hiatus period….

The travails of fame notwithstanding, things have certainly worked out, if not perfectly…. After all, how many people get to bring their dog to work with them? Duchovny’s pet, Blue, a well-behaved mutt with some border collie in her, is almost constantly at his side and less apt to complain than her master. “She gets excited to go in the car every morning-- much more excited than I do,” Duchovny says. “This is like her pack.” 

…Born August 7, Duchovny was so quiet growing up in Manhattan that his brother Danny, who is four years his senior, used to enjoy telling his friends David was “retarded….”

Duchovny admits to being shy as a youth, seldom dating during high school. His parents divorced when he was 11, and Duchovny has said in interviews those events may have contributed to both his drive to succeed academically and his personality, which at times can be construed as a bit standoffish…. 

In 1987, just short of gaining his Ph.D. at Yale in English (his dissertation topic was “Magic and Technology in Contemporary Poetry and Prose”), Duchovny began to truly pursue acting….

“It was never really a decision I made,” Duchovny says in hindsight. “I was doing both of them at once”-- teaching while working on his Ph.D. and acting-- “and I guess I just realized that I didn’t want to be a professor.” 

According to Duchovny, “Red Shoe Diaries” proved pivotal, allowing him to exhibit a different side of what he could do. In addition, he began to feel more comfortable as an actor, describing “The Rapture” as “a difficult experience” and “Twin Peaks” as an oddity. After appearing in low-budget films that put little pressure on him, “Red Shoe Diaries” also offered him his first leading role. “To see that I could do that was very important,” he suggests. 

In his customary manner, Duchovny would probably be the first to say the schedule associated with producing “The X-Files” is grueling and at times frustrating, but his faith in and commitment to the series’s quality pushes him along, much as he might like to grumble about the tongue-twisting dialogue and exhausting pace. As he puts it, in characteristically understated fashion, “It’s hard work to make a bad show, too.”

TRIVIA

[Duchovny meeting his girlfriend]: He was shopping for a suit (his first in many years), and asked Perrey Reeves, who had come in to shop for lingerie, which suit he should choose-- the gray one or the blue one? She told him to buy both. 

“Ice”: The Arctic-bound entry featuring a gruesome space-worm, which Duchovny has dubbed “the first really rocking episode.” David Duchovny’s own border collie, Blue, is the daughter of the dog featured in this episode. 

“The Jersey Devil”: The X-Files is filmed in Vancouver, so Mulder was not really in Atlantic City casinos. Instead, Duchovny was filmed in front of a blue-screen and stock casino footage was matted in later-- considerably cheaper than a location shoot in New Jersey would have cost. 

“Fire”: The famous “black silk boxer shorts” scene was originally a “Jockey underwear” scene….

“Genderbender”: During filming of the crime scene at the beginning of Act One, Mitch Kosterman (Det. Horton) flubbed his lines and said “chum chippy” instead of “some chippy.” For the rest of the shoot, David Duchovny joshed him about that line.  

“Miracle Man”: In an interview David Duchovny once said that he would consider Mulder Jewish until told otherwise.

“Darkness Falls”: Shooting in the forest near Vancouver, production was delayed frequently and made more difficult by heavy rains. “It was miserable,” Carter recalls, noting that the actors were soaking wet much of the time…. One saving grace was the casting of Jason Beghe…. A childhood friend of David Duchovny’s, Beghe had prodded him to pursue acting…. Having him on hand (at Duchovny’s suggestion) helped lighten the mood around the set, making the shoot something of a reunion and thus less of an ordeal for the cast. 

“One Breath”: The episode also lightly pokes fun at the show’s fans on the Internet, with one of the Lone Gunmen telling Mulder he should join them Friday in “hopping on the Internet to nitpick the scientific inaccuracies of Earth 2.” 

“Firewalker”: Gordon saw Trepkos’s obsession and the toll it exacted upon him in terms of losing someone he loved as a means of exploring the darker side of Mulder’s commitment to his search. “The natural endpoint of this quest for the truth is madness,” he notes, suggesting that Mulder’s decision to let Trepkos go at the end represents the bond in that respect between Mulder and Trepkos-- their shared ‘Heart of Darkness’. 

“Paper Clip”: …[Carter] also points to the mythic elements in Mulder being told that he has in a sense become his father-- one reason Duchovny has likened the narrative course of these three episodes to another trilogy, “Star Wars”, with a touch of “Sophie’s Choice”, perhaps, thrown in for good measure. 

BONUS

An excerpt from Brian Lowry’s second book “Trust No One: The Official Third Season Guide to The X-Files": 

Never one to settle for success, Duchovny-- who continues to play an active role in the series’s creative direction, working in concert with Carter and co-executive producer Howard Gordon on certain episodes-- is pleased with the third season but looks forward to expanding the show’s emotional range even further. Referring to one of the early second-season episodes, he notes, “I think when we did ‘Duane Barry’ the show became a really great show, and we maintained that level for a while, but we haven’t gone beyond it. I’m waiting to go beyond it. We won’t go beyond it technically, but we will go beyond it in terms of character, introducing a personal life of some kind. I think it’s inevitable. You have to do it.”

When it’s pointed out that the show’s most fervent loyalists, as well as Carter himself, have been especially vocal about not wanting to see Mulder and Scully romantically involved with anyone but each other, Duchovny simply shrugs and says the nuances he refers to don’t necessarily have to involved ‘romance’. “Give Mulder a friend. Give him a squash partner,” he suggests. “It’s got to happen. I really don’t care what anybody thinks we should or shouldn’t do.” Anderson remains more sanguine regarding such matters, though she indicates some interest as well in stretching the characters while understanding that such an evolution must occur within the show’s parameters. 

CONCLUSION

It's darkly comedic that Mr. Duchovny signed onto a (wildly successful) show thinking it would fail, only to be effectively held hostage for ten months out of twelve, 12- to 14-hours a day in a place that was completely opposite to the Cali weather he wished to sun bake in.

Also: props to him for contributing to the "domestication" of the show (more on that in future parts.) It's mind boggling just how much he contributed to The X-Files (and how much effort he put into later seasons together, despite his absence-- post here.)

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[gx-gameon]

I keep thinking about Jaden and the shock therapy he went through, like it was really brushed off in the show and now that I'm thinking about it I have so many thoughts about it.

Do you think he ever had any side effects from it? Like we know he's got memory issues and problems with focusing but do you think he ever had physical issues as well? Headaches or migraines, muscle weaknesss or tremors, mild seizure like symptoms or even actual seizures. Man the possibilities are there and how I can't stop thinking about it 😭

I think about this all the time and I definitely want to play with it.

Doing a little research shows that long term side effects are rare but that’s for modern electro shock therapy. Memory loss is the big one and we see Jaden suffer from this in cannon.

Headaches are another side effect. And this is an easy one to blend into cannon. With Jaden sleeping and skipping class so much. It easily could be played that he’s having migraines and can’t keep his head up in a bright and loud classroom.

I’ve always seen him as someone with a learning disability. Just because of how much he struggles with written exams. He’s obviously a dueling prodigy and on the practical side has aced every exam given. Heck he was moved to ra yellow and then obelisk blue in the first handful of episodes because of his duel ability alone. (He chose to stay in slider to be with Syrus. Obviously the feeling was mutual….)

I think a lot of people characterized Jaden as an idiot. While he is behind on his social cues (which comes from not having a lot of friends his own age) he’s not stupid. He’s emotionally intelligent for the most part recognizing what Chazz needs in season 1 and bring his friends back from being brained controlled in season 2.

You could even take the “what’s a fiancé” line as him giving Alexis an out. Being willing to play the idiot to make the situation less awkward for them both. Or you can chalk it up to him not being around a lot of people. Either way works.

What I’m getting at is Jaden isn’t stupid. He’s just not book smart. He can’t study to save his life. And whether that’s some form of dyslexia and adhd kicking in to make him unable to pay attention to lectures or his brain being so fried from electro-shock therapy he struggles to remember things, who’s to say.

I’ve always felt like the electro-shock defiantly played a role in Jaden’s school performance. I don’t think he has short term memory loss like dory, but he struggles to recall information. When he’s dueling it’s all in the moment thinking. It’s practical. He’s physically doing it. He’s actively strategizing. But in a test where he’s trying to get his brain to remember what quick play spell card will counter act a monster summoning, he could not tell you. Not without the cards physically in front of him.

So yes I think the electr-shock therapy affected him in a lot of ways. Ways you can see in cannon. Or at least use the cannon to support the headcannon.

We will see a bit of this in the story. Especially the learning struggles and migraines.

And you’re right we could definitely play with muscle tremors and seizures. I don’t know enough about them at this moment to write them respectfully. So for right now I will probably leave them out.

But you could defiantly make this super angsty by having Jaden have seizures. Like Seto would make sure the school was prepared to deal with any students who might have seizures. Trying his best to protect Jaden when his family isn’t around. But why happens if he has one while in a major duel?

[inseparabiles]

#have i mentioned that theyre also extremely pretty in that scene?

Oh my god and how. Dear heaven. Holy shit.

But yeah no, I'm with you. I've also been pondering the implications of it - particularly Caracalla's statement, because honestly Geta's just mostly being a paranoid dork. Like there's a lot going on in there but it's less... I guess heavy implications than can be drawn from Caracalla. Yes, he was absolutely high off his ass and that'll impact his memory. But is it there in the narrative for that, or to be the first indicator of what's going on with his mental state? Because the way that Geta looks at him after is the same way he looks at him at the party itself - it's that same death stare of fucking hell I can't believe we're related you are the worst disappointment I ever loved, and then he goes on to be completely useless himself, but it's just that, when you combine it with what he says much later; "every day it gets worse."

It has, in fact, gotten worse every day. It's, what, four days? Three? From this scene to their last scene together. There's a lot to unpack in that when it comes to Caracalla specifically.

Meanwhile, yeah. The throwback also to the fact that Geta doesn't know the epics, and what that means for them along with the fact that they also don't know the first thing about... anything else? Were these two raised in a sparkling barrel? They're the imperial heirs of a general and they don't even know how to hold a sword?? I can't make sense of what their upbringing was supposed to be. Literally keep coming back to the phrase raised by wolves and that seems very in your face as far as symbolism goes, along with the choice to make them twins to begin with.

As an off thing, but Caracalla's doing the same tongue thing in this scene as he's doing in the OTHER scene where Geta's giving him the scalding look of disapproval:

I know this because I have both of the pictures printed on my wall and I'm looking at them right now. I'm going to try really hard not to go on a tangent about memory/recollection and how certain things like sensations or scents or sounds can trigger it, and instead leave you with this vague reference that - oh, for fuck's sake. He's probably doing this in both scenes because he's thinking back to the party when Geta asks him, and despite putting himself in that same body/mental space as far as he can he fails to recall it anyway, at which point he just states that he doesn't give a shit and leaves.

It's really ambiguous if that's really just him deciding it doesn't matter or if it's deeper. I hate that it probably is deeper, because this scene is hilarious.

Idk what the feeling is or how to describe it - but I have just like, this feeling in my chest everytime that I watch the scene where Lucius is in the arena for the first time and Geta's like "it's the poet isn't it?" And Caracalla's like "I can't remember, it's all a blur," and then Geta goes on to try and recite poetry only to have forgotten parts of it.

Like I can't currently put my finger on it - or what part of the scene gives me what specific emotion, but I do know that it stirs something in me.

[beansnpeets]

Thinking about human behaviour compared to animal behaviour again.

It's funny to hear people (the older gens) complaining that "kids these days are lazy, they don't wanna work, etc." What do we get for busting our asses? There is no reward. Many will never own homes. Many are unemployed, trying to find work, and nobody will hire them because they don't have a million years experience and a masters degree OR they want people to work for minimum wage??? People are giving up because there is no reward. Why would we do all this for nothing?

Same as a dog that won't recall when you haven't reinforced it with a reward. Your dog isn't going to do what you tell it to if there is no incentive. No, your dog SHOULDN'T listen just because you're boss and it should respect you. That isn't how it works. They don't think that way. And honestly neither do people.

When we went hiking Sprocket wasn't always taking treats gently from me when I recalled her or she checked in and I rewarded and my one friend told me to stop giving her treats. I told him I won't work for free so why should she. And he said "I do things for free all the time because I want to do them," and I didn't say it then, but I wish I had, but if you like doing it, that's the incentive. It's a self-rewarding behaviour. Just like anything else a dog does, like chasing a squirrel or sniffing things or getting into the trash. Heeling instead of going off to sniff stuff or recalling off of something they want to chase is something you have to reinforce. You have to give them something better so they make the choice you want them to make. They won't make it just because they *respect* you. They won't willingly recall off of exciting prey out of RESPECT. You need to give them a tangible reward for that. You cannot possibly expect your dog to listen just because and then punish them for disobeying you.

Yeah, Sprocket bit my fingers a couple times. The one time pretty hard. But she was excited. She knows how to take gently and I reminded her and she tried very hard to be gentle most of the time. I wasn't going to stop rewarding her for checking in with me and recalling while we were off leash hiking in the woods. I want her to know that coming back to me is good and in the event of an emergency I would like her to not blow me off.

[buttercupart]

timeskip Molly concepts - probably when she's around 16-17 ish, maybe even early college? ( I'm not a big fan of the "ooh the bubbly character gets older and is now SUPER SAD" trope so this is more like... Molly is still Molly, she just gets older and faces more hardships/life stressors that come with age, and struggles to maintain the same high level of positivity/resiliency she used to have )

[fragmentedblade]

The "Dan Heng is Dan Feng" dogmatics annoy me a lot. It entirely brushes off one of the most interesting and prevalent questions posed by the game, incarnated by several characters and stories that give the question different hues with different potential answers, and a constant also in HI3, like a thread waving the two games together