#there's a lot of options for the both of them

[antianakin]

No. That's NOT what I'm saying here, AT ALL. Move away from biology and nature being the end all and be all.

First, Leia is Leia. She is not just "Character A with some of Character B sprinkled in." She is her own person with her own motivations and flaws. I am comparing her to Padme because I think the narrative intentionally builds that parallel for us and I find it interesting to look at the ways in which Luke and Leia are deliberately set up to be the successes to their parents' failures. That does not mean that Leia IS "Padme" in any way.

Secondly, Leia would never in any way be fortified by any of Anakin's anything. Anakin is a piece of shit and part of the reason he's a piece of shit IS his self-righteousness. And it's not like Padme didn't have plenty of her own self-righteousness, too. Leia is fortified by BAIL AND BREHA ORGANA, but it's not "self-righteousness" she's fortified by. She's fortified by their passion, their discipline, their wisdom, their kindness, their bravery, their willingness to stand up for what's right without burning down everything around them in the process. She's fortified by their absolute will to remain who they are in a world that wants them to capitulate everything out of fear. Leia learns how to be a good leader because she's raised by two of them.

Thirdly, Leia learns how to be a good leader because she actively CHOOSES to be a good leader when given the options. Leia does not succumb to despair and selfishness the way both of her biological parents do. Leia does not let love cause her to give up something that would allow the rebellion to win the war. She loves Luke, but she lets him go to the Death Star as a self-sacrifice because she knows it's necessary if they're going to win this war and respects the choice he is making in this moment. Padme starts off as someone who chooses to be a good leader, and remains someone who makes that choice SOMETIMES but not all of the time. Padme CANNOT give up Anakin for the sake of the war or anything else. She chooses to exonerate him when he murders children, she chooses to cover his murders up, she chooses to trade Grievous for him despite what that will mean for the war effort and the people who died to capture Grievous in the first place, and she chooses to lie to Obi-Wan to protect Anakin even after she discovers that Anakin committed a genocide and helped destroy the Republic. Padme would never have made the choice Leia makes in ROTJ.

If you think "self-righteousness" is what allowed Leia to let Luke go in that moment, then you might need to go watch it again. It's not self-righteousness that saves Leia from Padme's mistakes. It's compassion, something Anakin barely had any of in his adult life and something Padme struggled with by the end. And by compassion, I mean the way the term is actually utilized in Star Wars, a selfless love towards everyone. It's the opposite of attachment, it's an ability to let go of biases in order to show kindness to everybody, no matter who or what they are.

And then of course there's Luke. Again, it is not anything from Padme that saves him. He's never met Padme and, unlike Leia, he doesn't seem to have any kind of latent memory of her nor do the Larses seem to have ever told him any stories about her (not that they'd have had that many to tell, but we know they told Luke that his dad was a smuggler of some kind, so it's not out of the realm of possibility that they could've come up with a lie about who his mother was, we just never hear about it). If Luke is a better Jedi than Anakin, it's not somehow Padme's influence that saves him.

It's the Larses. This is Owen and Beru's down to earth hardworking values coming in. Unlike the Organas, Owen and Beru aren't really represented as these brilliant paragons of virtue. Owen and Beru make mistakes, even in terms of how they choose to parent Luke. But what this does for Luke is it shows him how to LEARN and GROW from his mistakes, something he uses quite a lot during the original trilogy. Luke learns how to be dependable and resilient. When it matters, Luke can rise up and do what needs to be done. He DOES have some of Anakin's darkness in him, that's a major element of his character and his narrative, but it's not his biological mother's compassion that saves him. It's Owen and Beru Lars's values, and it's the Jedi philosophies he was taught by Obi-Wan and Yoda. THAT'S what keeps him from making the same mistakes Anakin did.

Leia is Bail Organa's righteous passion and willingness to enter a fight tempered by Breha Organa's discipline and wisdom.

Luke is Owen Lars's protective instincts towards those he loves and firmness of opinion tempered by Beru Lars's empathy towards everyone she meets and open-minded acceptance of change.

As interesting as it can be to look at how Luke and Leia parallel their biological parents from a narrative standpoint, the two of them as people will always be so much more a product of the Organas and the Larses than Anakin and Padme.

People are SLEEPING on the most interesting Leia & Padme comparisons because there's so much focus on Leia being "like Anakin" because she gets annoyed sometimes and Padme being this perfect moral beacon of truth and justice despite all of her very canonical lies and cover-ups and obstructing of justice.

If Luke is the Jedi that Anakin should've been, then Leia is the LEADER that Padme should've been.

Padme is a hypocrite, proclaiming that all people deserve basic decency and the right to safety, but at the same time allowing Anakin to get away with a mass murder with no consequences by covering it up.

Leia doesn't even let Han get away with being a little bit of an asshole, there's no way she'd let him get away with mass murder. She holds everyone around her to a higher standard, believing in the best of them but also but refusing to accept excuses for cowardice and selfishness.

Padme talks so much about wanting the war to end, but then allows one of the opposition's biggest generals go free just to get Anakin back because she cares about him, causing the war to continue to go on for even longer.

Leia lets Luke sacrifice himself because she knows it's possibly the only way they might have a victory and beat the Empire, even though she knows what he is to her and loves him. She knows what has to be done and respects the choice Luke is making and would never condemn their efforts just to keep him with her.

Padme's story parallels Anakin's, she devolves as the narrative goes on, until she's barely a shell of the person she used to be. That strength and moral clarity she showed as a Queen is entirely gone, leaving only a scared woman pleading with a murderer to come back to her.

Leia's story parallels Luke's, she gains more and more strength and clarity as the narrative moves forward. The bossy young woman we first met has become a confident rebel leader who knows she doesn't have to harden her heart to be strong.

[holyschnitzel]

Hi holyschnitzel!

A friend showed me the game's demo and I absolutely loved it, I got really obsessed with the character Damon. The game's background is really interesting, so I started following you to keep up with the lore and updates.

However, when I started looking into things, I was surprised that MC basically end up in a three-way relationship with DG and Damon, which isn't apparent in the game.

I don't really like this idea and wanted to ask if this will stay this way or if there will be individual routes where they haven't slept together before (like I see in posts about him taking her virginity) and have just been friends… I saw them as a family and it feels like incest.

I've found out that quite a lot of people think the same.

Thanks a lot for your time

Blastic is having trouble explaining this properly, so I'll take over :)

First of all, thank you for your interest in Broken Colors and for sharing your thoughts. I appreciate your enthusiasm for the game and especially for Damon's character <3 You seem to have some misunderstandings about the relationships in the game, so I'd like to clear that up for you!

Let me clarify that DG and Damon are absolutely not family or related in any way. They are explicitly established as friends (with benefits) who met as adults. There is no familial connection whatsoever between them, so your concern about "incest" doesn't apply to them. Just because you consider them family doesn't make it incestuous, this is not how it works, you naughty little thing you! ;P

Next, regarding Damon's personality and behavior: While Damon does have attachment issues and can be intensely possessive, his relationship with DG is unique and established before the events of the game. Their dynamic is special precisely because DG is the only person Damon trusts enough to consider sharing someone with. This is actually consistent with his character - he's not casually sleeping with multiple people; he has one deeply trusted connection (DG) that allows for this specific arrangement aka poly-relationship.

About the possible routes in the game:

There will be a route where MC ends up with DG.

A route where MC ends up with Damon.

And a poly-route option with both of them.

You're free to choose whichever route appeals to you most. If you prefer a one-on-one relationship with Damon, that route will be available to you. The poly route is simply an additional option for players who might be interested in that dynamic :)

Of course, we understand some players may have different preferences or interpretations, but Blastic wants to stay true to her characters and world she has created. Everything you have read are intentional aspects of the narrative and character development!

Well! I hope this clarifies things. Thanks again for your support and for engaging with the game so thoughtfully, eleipsis! ^o^

[shiorimakibawrites]

So...I Guess We're Sharing (Daredevil)

Word Count: ~3400 Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem! Reader Summary: Due to a mishap, you end up sharing a room with your ex Matt Murdock. And so much more... Warnings: Explicit sexual content, dirty thoughts, dirty talk, making out, non-detailed sexual fantasy (p in v sex, male receiving oral sex), oral sex (female receiving), fingering, multiple orgasms, coming untouched Matt Murdock / Daredevil Masterlist My Masterlist A03 link

Written for Bella's 4k Follower Celebration Writing Challenge with the prompt "So...I guess we're sharing."

So...I Guess We're Sharing

When your friend Ellie announced that she was marrying Theo Nelson in upstate New York, you had been hoping to run into Matt Murdock at the wedding. It wasn't an unreasonable expectation. Theo was the young brother of Foggy Nelson, Matt's best friend. It was only logical that Foggy'd be invited. And generally where you invited Foggy, Matt followed.

Now your plans for this possible reunion with your old flame had been talking, sharing a dance during the reception, flirting a little if you still found each other attractive, maybe a kiss…

Having you both booked for the same room due some kind of computer hiccup wasn't in those plans. Especially when there were no other rooms at this or the other hotels nearby. Mostly because both Ellie and Theo had very large families and lots of friends…

This left you with the choice to (A) share the room with Matt, (B) bunk with one of your friends, or (C) sleep in your car.

Option C was out of the question. For reasons that only made sense to them, Theo and Ellie decided the best time of the year to get married was January. Which meant it was far too cold to be sleeping in the car. Especially when more snow was predicted, bringing the risk of not waking up often enough to keep the tailpipe clear. Even if you didn't die, that didn't sound restful. And you were a massive bitch when you were overtired.

Option B was safer but has its own problems. You couldn't bunk with Ellie. It was less of a problem tonight but tomorrow it will be. Your bestie deserved to spend her wedding night having her mind blown by her new husband, not restricted to cuddling because her friend was third-wheeling. The rooms of your other friends in the party were less than appealing. You loved their kids but said kids had spent all day either flying or at the airport so right now they were a combination of pent-up energy and cranky. Except for the two babies who had bypassed cranky hours ago and were obviously 110% done with everything. And not afraid to say so, at the top of their little lungs.

Which wasn't their fault. You found flying stressful and you knew what was going on. But all the sympathy in the world didn't make their crying less capable of giving you a migraine.

Matt didn't have a car to sleep in, for obvious reasons. And him bunking with Marci and Foggy sounded nearly as awkward as you staying with Ellie and Theo. Apparently the pair had been looking forward to this trip as a mini-honeymoon. Mama and Papa Nelson's room already had extra people in it…

Which left Option A as the best choice for both of you.

"So…I guess we're sharing."

"I guess we are," you agreed, trying to hide your nerves.

You reminded yourself that while Matt was your ex, the relationship had ended amiably enough. It had hurt but there had been no name calling or a massive fight, public fight in the quad. Just two people agreeing that their lives were moving apart and maybe it was better to end things while you still liked each other.

Apparently all these years apart had not dulled Matt's perception of your moods. "We don't have to. I'll be fine with Foggy and Marci—"

"No, no, it's fine," you said, waving off the offer. "I said I was fine with sharing."

Matt's head tilted to one side. A shiver ran down your spine. You had forgotten how it felt to be the focus of Matt's attention. Even before you learned about his senses, it had seemed to you that being blind never stopped Matt from seeing you in ways that no one else ever had. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "If you're sure…"

"I am." You said, firmly. You could do this. It was fine. It would be fine.

The confidence momentarily wavered when you arrived at the room and discovered that there was only one bed. Matt, ever the gentlemen, immediately offered to sleep on the floor.

"No, no," you said, shaking your head. "Your back would never forgive you. It's a big bed. We can share, no problem."

This statement earned you another intense study from Matt. "Are you sure?"

"Positive." You felt your cheeks warm. "It's not like we've never slept in the same bed."

"True," Matt said, a little smile appearing on his lips. "It will be like old times."

"Just like old times," you repeated.

Except with more clothes, the horny part of your mind reminded you with a pout. Which was, if you were being perfectly honest, was more than a little disappointing. Nearly twenty years had transformed Matt from a very pretty boy to a devastatingly handsome man. The Matt you had known had been coltishall awkward, still not quite grown into his shoulders, with soft, round cheeks. The kind of person you imagined telling your father 'Yes, sir, I'll have her home by nine.'

Now? Now Matt looked like the kind person you could picture saying 'Your daughter also calls me daddy.'

The awkwardness had been replaced with cat-like grace and confidence. That cream cable-knit sweater of his could not hide that Matt had been hitting the gym anymore than those criminally well-fitting jeans could disguise that he still had the best ass you had ever laid eyes on. But far more potent was his face. Those round cheeks had been replaced with sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw, both adorned with the beginnings of a beard. A beard that was lightly peppered with gray that matched the touch of the same at his temples.

You couldn't explain why that little detail was getting you all hot and bothered. You just knew that it was making your cunt sit up and beg.

Further increasing your difficulties in keeping your mind out of the gutter was that his mouth still looked the same. It made you wonder if those petal pink lips would still be just as soft when he kissed you…and if he still loved eating pussy. Even dulled by time, the memory of the time he had spent hours with his face buried between your thighs, had your cunt clenching desperately around the empty air.

"Are you doing that on purpose?"

You jumped. When had he moved? He had been by the dresser, searching for something in his bag. Now he was right in front of you, one hand on the wall by your shoulder, the other closer to your hip. Almost but not quite pinning you to the wall. None of him was actually touching you but you could feel his warmth. You had forgotten how much of a living furnace Matt was.

"Doing what?" You asked, sounding more breathless than you expected. But how could you be anything else with him so close, those beautiful hazel eyes displaying the first signs of heat.

Matt arched an eyebrow. "Have you forgotten about my senses, sweetheart?"

"What do your senses have —-" You started before you cut yourself off. His senses… Matt would have heard your heartbeat increase at the sight of him. Would have heard your breath hitch when you realized how close he was, how you couldn't stop yourself from inhaling, wanting more of his good man smell…

And speaking of smell….

"You can smell…." You stopped, feeling your cheeks flush again. You couldn't say it.

Matt had no such qualms. "Your pheromones? How much you are soaking those panties? Yes, sweetheart, I can smell that."

Blood flooded your face. But also moved south as certain parts of your anatomy responded to the knowledge that he had noticed it. A reaction that only increased when you noticed the tenting in his jeans. A growl-like rumble erupted from his chest in response, hands twitching toward you before stopping. He closed his eyes, looking almost pained. "Sorry…I had forgotten how good you smell. It's making it difficult to control myself."

"Then don't."

"What?" His eyes snapped back open.

"Then don't," you repeated. The answer had been impulse but you stood by it. You didn't want to spend this entire weekend pretending that you didn't want him to fuck your brains out.

This time his hand couldn't stop itself from grabbing your hip. Or his body from moving closer, one thick thigh lodging itself between your legs. Your own hands hadn't remained idle, flying up to lay flat against his chest. But not to push him away. You just had to touch him.

You bite your bottom lip. He was even more solid under your hands than he looked. Solid enough to give horny brain thoughts. Thoughts of him pounding you against this wall, your legs wrapped around his waist while his hands gripped your thighs…

His hand on your hip tightened to near bruising. "Sweetheart…"

"Don't want you to control yourself," you panted out. "Want you to fuck me."

His hips involuntarily jerked, his thigh forcing your legs further apart. But what really had your cunt clenching desperately was feeling his growing erection pressed against you. There were too many clothes in the way and the angle wasn't right to do anything about but tease you….but you moaned.

That moan must have been the straw that broke the camel's back because Matt was kissing you. This was not the soft kiss you had imagined days ago, no gentle exploration of your mouths. This kiss was all passion. A fiery battle of lips, teeth, and tongues where neither of you could keep your hands still. Chest, shoulders, back until finally you reached his ass. It was just as good as you remembered, ample handfuls that you could not resist kneading like it was dough.

His hands tried to be just as thorough in their exploration but were stymied by the wall and how tightly his own body was pressed against yours. The frustrated whine was your only warning before you were lifted off the floor. Startled, you yelped and had to abandon his ass in favor of holding onto his shoulders.

Your assessment of how muscle was hiding under that sweater jumped another notch by how easily he carried you from the wall over to the bed. The only hint of strain came after that journey as his hands couldn't seem to decide what they wanted to touch most.

It felt good but you wanted more. Or rather you needed less, less of these clothes in the way of his hands and your hands. With this goal in mind, you started pulling your shirt off. Matt made a soft discontented noise when this impeded his exploration, until he realized what you were doing. Then his hands were eagerly assisting you. The moan Matt let out when his hands touched your bare skin went straight to your cunt.

Matt wasted no time in exploring every exposed inch of torso with his hands, followed closely by his mouth, rediscovering the spots that made you moan and squirm underneath him. It also made your hands even more eager for his bare skin. You pulled on his sweater, demanding, "Off, off, Matt, please…"

He whined against your cleavage but obeyed, leaning back to strip off that sweater. You felt your mouth go dry. You had been expecting muscles but the sight still took your breath away. And as beautiful as they looked, they felt even better under your hands. His torso was like satin…warm satin…you had forgotten how soft his skin was…how that lovely shade of rose would blossom and spread…how delightful those little whines he made when your hands found a sensitive spot…how easily he yielded to your desires…

It had been years (too many years) but you found yourself remembering. Where those spots were, how sensitive his nipples were…even the scars he had acquired over the years (so many scars….) just provided another interesting texture, another way to make him moan for you.

Your hands eventually found their way to his waist, drawing your eyes to the erection straining against the zipper….That must be uncomfortable.

A conclusion supported by the relieved sigh that escaped his lips when you popped the button on his jeans. Sighs that turned into groans when you wasted no time pulling down the zipper and reaching inside his boxers for his cock. Wrapping your hand around him, you found yourself biting back a groan of your own. You hadn't forgotten that he was big. But your fading memory was no substitute for actually having your hand around him — he's so thick…You felt another pulse of want between your legs, torn between having this cock buried deep inside your cunt and wrapping your mouth around it and making him scream…

As if he could read your mind, Matt's hands on your hips tightened…

"Please, sweetheart," he panted out, tugging at the waistband of your leggings. "May I? Please…ah!…I need…my mouth on you. Please!"

Oh his begging was just as sweet as it had been all those years ago…how could you deny him?

"Yes, yes," you said, lifting your hips to help him. Matt was quick to accept that help, peeling off both your leggings and panties in one swift action. You needed no encouragement to spread your legs wide for him.

If you thought the moan he made in response was obscenely loud, it was nothing compared to the one you made at the first lick. A slow, long drag of his tongue across your entrance, soon followed by another and another until you were squirming. Until the heavy weight of his arm laid across your hips to keep you pinned exactly where he wanted you. All you could do was whimper and beg for more.

He eagerly gave it to you. He made his way up to your clit where he applied teasing, kitten licks that sent sparks running up your spine. Then, without any warning, he wrapped his lips around your clit and sucked hard. You cried out, your hips trying in vain to jerk upward but he had no mercy. His arm kept you down and his mouth didn't relent on the pressure. You felt the coil inside you tighten as you drew closer and closer to that edge.

Then he hummed and sent you screaming over that edge.

You drowned in white hot pleasure. Pleasure that only continued to build with Matt lapping hungrily at your entrance, his eager grunts and slurps filling your ears. And just when you thought you could climb no higher, his tongue pressed inside you. You cried out, your hands scrambling to grab onto his hair. Once grabbed, you instinctively tugged on his hair, urging that clever tongue to keep thrusting in and out of you.

A silent order that Matt happily obeyed, moaning with each tug on his hair. The vibration only made you grip him tighter and pull harder…until he suddenly stiffened, letting a moan against your cunt that nearly sent you back over that edge…

The movements of his tongue didn't stop but they began…clumsy. Sometimes long laps, sometimes little licks…sometimes the pressure was featherlight, sometimes it was firm…sometime he swiped across your clit, sometimes his tongue fucked you, sometimes he lathed at your folds…

It was maddening, feeling good enough to bring you up to that edge but not good to send you over it. Even tugging at his hair only added moans that drive you even crazier….you squirmed under his arm. Funny it wasn't pinning you as firmly as before…you could almost just about ride his mouth but not quite…

"Matt," you whined. "Matt…"

Your voice seemed to break through whatever haze had seized his mind because he lifted his head far enough that you could see his face. And despite your recent orgasm, your cunt clenched. He looked positively lewd. Hair amess, lips kiss-swollen and shiny….further wetness smeared on his beard. His eyes were heavy-lidded, glassy…He almost looked drunk…The implications of what he was drunk on had only heightened your frustrated desires…

"Matt," you said. "Please….do I have to beg? Because I'll beg."

He looked confused for a moment before he blinked and the haze cleared a little. He smiled. How did that song go? He looks up, grinning like the devil? If so, that perfectly described that smile. Then you felt a thick finger run through your folds, coating itself in your slick before sliding inside you. "Not this time, sweetheart. All you need to do is ask."

The implication that there would be a next time stoked the growing fire just as much as the finger working its way inside you. You were so wet that it didn't take long for that finger to be buried up to the hilt. Nor did he waste any time fucking you that finger. It felt so good, reaching deeper than his mouth and thick enough to ease that empty feeling but it wasn't enough. "Matt."

"What is it, sweetheart? Do you need another finger?"

"Please!"

"As you wish."

True to his word, a second finger joined its fellow pumping in and out of you. Then those fingers curled and stroked a spot inside you that spent white sparks across your vision. You couldn't have contained your moans if you wanted to. Not that Matt seemed to mind how noisy you were being. Quite the opposite.

"Good girl," Matt rumbled out, his voice gone deeper and huskier. "Keep telling me how good you feel…what you need…"

His breath ghosted over your clit, adding more fuel to the growing fire. Your cunt clenched around his fingers. The resulting moan, the sound and feel of it so close to where you needed him left you whimpering and desperate. Close, you were so close…You tried to arch up into his mouth but his other arm had resumed its task of holding you down. You whined in protest but Matt was unmoved.

"Tell me what you need," Matt whispered. "Another finger? My mouth? What does my sweet girl need to cum?"

"Your mouth," you whimpered. "Please, please."

Before you could get out a third please, he drew your clit into his mouth and began to suck. In a sharp contrast to earlier, the suction was gentle. A tease, if your little nub hadn't already been swollen and sensitive. But it was so almost immediately you were babbling out his name as the fire consumed you — body, mind, and soul.

You barely heard his responding moan but you certainly felt his tongue lapping at the fresh slick flowing around the fingers still buried deep inside you, pressing insistently against that spot that made you burn…

You had no idea how long the pleasure held you under. It might have minutes. It might have been hours. You just knew that, eventually, the pleasure began to ebb. You sank into the mattress, feeling boneless and warm as you watched Matt slowly kiss his way up to your mouth.

This kiss was closer to the gentle, sweet affair that you had imagined but the tang of yourself, the edge of hunger gave it an edge. One that, despite two orgasms, began to kindle renewed heat between your legs. A feeling that only increased when Matt sat up enough to finally take off those jeans. Jeans and boxers that you couldn't help noticing were wet, far too wet to simply be precum. Especially with his cock looking only half-hard…

"Did you?"

"Come just from the taste of you?" Matt said. "Yes."

Your cunt clenched. And, of course, Matt noticed. He chuckled. "That pussy still isn't satisfied?"

"No," you said. "Because that cock still hasn't fucked me into this mattress.”

The cock in question twitched which you took as a sign of interest. Judging by the hunger shining in Matt’s eyes, the rest of him wasn’t opposed to this idea.

“Good point, sweetheart,” Matt said. He leaned down and kissed you again, short but toe-curling. You almost missed the hand sneaking under your back but you didn’t miss the sudden loosening of your bra. Or the eagerness with which he stripped it off of you and cupped your breasts. You breath hitched as his fingers teased one already peaked nipple.

“I can’t leave my sweet girl wanting.”

Taglist: @bellaxgiornata, @pastafossa, @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza, @justvalkyrie, @xoxabs88xox, @flynnethenerd

[tacoguacamole]

ANOTHER TIME | JJK - 3

Summary: All you wanted was time. Time to love your husband. Time to feel him love you back. To see his smile again, not shadowed by grief and resentment. Time to share laughter instead of silence, warmth instead of distance. To feel his arms around you, not the cold of where he used to be. Time to hear “I love you too” before it’s too late. Time should’ve been simple.

But somehow, it always slips through your fingers just when you need it most.

[Pairing: Creative Director!Jungkook x Ceo!Female Reader]

[Theme: Marriage AU. BF2L2S]

[Warnings: Major Angst, Multiple Flashbacks and Time Jumps, Mature Theme, Smut, Mature/Explicit Language, A lot of fluff, Romance, Slowburn]

[Older JK, Older OC, Older Bangtan, Lawyer Seokjin and Namjoon, Doctor Yoongi, Event Planner Hobi, Solo idol Jimin, Secretary Taehyung, Brief cameos of Seventeen Mingyu, GOT7 Mark, Kook's a jerk and mean for the earlier chapters]

[Status: Ongoing]

[Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Chapter Word Count: 7k+]

[Note: A lot of time jumps and flashbacks as said on the warnings. A lot's happening in this part as well since the story needs to progress. Comment below if you want to be tagged for the future parts. Once again, I am so sorry for mean/selfish/jerk Kook. He gets better…I think. Don't fight me 😭 We love the bunny man.]

[MINORS DNI! 18+]

The morning air feels different today — crisper somehow, even though the sky outside the kitchen window glows the same pale blue as every other morning.

You don’t flinch when the doorbell rings. You knew he’d come.

When you open the door, Jeongguk is standing there, awkward in his usual work button up and slacks, a small bouquet of purple tulips in his hands. He looks like he wants to say a thousand things but can’t settle on a single one. His eyes flicker down to the purple tulips, then up to you.

For a second, neither of you moves. Then, with a quiet sigh, he leans forward and presses a brief kiss to your forehead, his arms coming around you in a hesitant, practiced hug — one that used to mean comfort, but now it’s just obligatory. His grip is gentle, almost too careful, like he’s afraid of breaking something that’s already cracked.

Still, you hold on to him a little longer, hanging on to the bit of happiness your heart feels.

Stepping aside, you let him in. The scent of eggs and toast floats lightly from the kitchen, where your mother busies herself with the stove. Her clattering is pointedly loud, each clang sharper than necessary. She doesn’t greet him. Doesn’t even glance his way. Stays silent. Keeps her promise. Lets you have this.

Sitting across from him at the dining table, a plate of toast is left untouched between you. There's a heavy silence, like you're both waiting for someone to call cut on a campaign shoot you’re both working on. He twirls the tulips nervously in his fingers before you gently reach over and take them from him, burying your nose into the petals.

"You remembered," you say softly, a little laugh escaping.

“I’d get sued if I forgot,” he murmurs, lips curling into a faint ghost of a smile—one you haven’t seen in a long time.

Neither of you speak. It's just the clinking of silverware filling the awkward space between you. There’s no pressure to talk, not yet. The list said conversations are optional, and maybe that’s mercy for both of you this morning.

So you just observe him. He doesn’t look at you at first. Just keeps his eyes on the table or the clock or the edge of his coffee mug. But his hand twitches a little, like he's trying to grasp for something. Finally, he asks,

“Am I…” He pauses, clears his throat. “Am I allowed to ask why you’re doing this?”

You knew this question would come at some point. The revised and signed agreements that Seokjin brings to you by morning after you had them delivered to Jeongguk's lawyer, made you figure out just as much. Your own lawyer was shocked with how fast things were progressing.

Setting the fork down carefully, wiping your fingers with a napkin, you reply, “No. No questions throughout the days. You signed, had the chance to counter, but you didn’t.”

Jeongguk swallows hard but says nothing else. Simply goes back to the breakfast he has a hard time digesting.

You breathe in deeply, searching for something easier to talk about. “Wanna tell me about work? What’s been going on lately?”

That pulls a reluctant smile from him. “Mingyu’s the new face of Calvin Klein. I’ve been working on the campaign with him.”

You grin, genuine this time. “Look at you. Still the golden boy.”

He chuckles under his breath, tapping his fingers against his mug. “Just trying to do my job. You know how it is.”

You nod, sipping your coffee. “Work’s just about to get crazy for me, too. Seora’s landed a spot at Paris Fashion Week again.”

His eyes widen, a spark of pride flickering there. “Seriously? That’s…that’s huge.” The excitement he shares almost feel real. “Two years in row. Congratulations.”

“Thank you. Mark’s been working really hard to keep getting us the spot. He’ll head to Paris soon with the team to prep.”

His gaze softens a little at the mention of your business partner. “You’re not going this time?”

You shake your head, casually swirling the coffee in your cup. “Someone’s got to hold down the fort here.” The lie comes out smoothly.

“But… Paris is your favorite,” Jeongguk says, quieter this time. “You used to call me at three a.m. just to show me the Eiffel Tower lights.”

Your heart skips a beat, hearing how he remembers the better times of your lives, the soft smile across your lips you don’t hide. “Things change, Gguk. Priorities, you know?”

He watches you longer than necessary, like he’s trying to see through your carefully placed calm. “And Mark’s okay with you staying back?”

There’s a shift in his expression you don’t quite pin point. Jealousy? Sadness?

You laugh, ignoring the possibilities, shaking your head. “Mark’s job is to travel and secure global opportunities for us. It’s what we pay him to do. He’s always been my business partner. You know that.”

Leaning back in your chair, cheek resting on your knuckles, you study him. There’s a hint of relief on him that you catch.

“Were you hoping I was secretly dating him?” The faintest shade of red on his ears makes you chuckle. “Or…wait, Jeon Jeongguk, are you jealous?” That thought would’ve been a miracle. But for now, it’s just a good joke to share over breakfast.

He chuckles, shaking his head, voice barely above a mumble. “No. Just… curious.”

It breaks some of the remaining tension between you. The rest of the breakfast is filled with easier conversations. Updates about mutual friends, industry rumors, the chaos of wrangling Seventeen’s troublemaker into a shoot.

“Thought photographers were supposed to be calm under pressure,” you tease, tapping your spoon lightly against your cup.

He leans back in his chair, arms crossed, mouth twitching into a reluctant smile. “Try staying calm when your model’s flexing so hard he knocks over the entire backdrop.”

You laugh harder than you should, and for a moment, it feels like you're twenty something again — sitting cross-legged on your old apartment’s rooftop at midnight, talking about dreams and futures you thought were set in stone.

The scent of iris, white musk, and soft leather clings to the air — the signature fragrance of Seora, your second home for so many years.

Your mother walks beside you, silent but steady, her presence a pillar against the invisible weight pressing down on your chest. She’s dressed sharply, as always — an elegant blazer, pearl earrings, her posture straight and proud. But you see the way her hands tighten briefly around the strap of her handbag.

You pretend not to notice.

Employees bow as you pass — some with genuine warmth, others with careful restraint. Still, you return every bow with a polite smile, polished and practiced, a mask you've worn too long to forget.

Mark is already waiting just outside your office – leaning lazily against the wall like he owns the place, as usual.

“There she is. Queen of Seora.” He greets you with wide grin, sweeping into an exaggerated bow. “Her Royal Highness finally graces us with her presence.”

You huff a laugh, and even your mother’s lips twitch with reluctant amusement. She’s long since accepted your dynamic with Mark — chaos and comfort stitched together.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Tuan,” you reply, brushing past him.

He shrugs, falling into step behind you. “Worth a shot.”

Inside, your office is unchanged — glass desk, curated shelves, years of framed achievements, the photo of you and your mother at your first gala.

But something feels off today. The air, maybe. Or the way the room echoes in silence a little too much.

Setting your bag down, you smooth the creases out of your skirt, take a seat after behind your desk. Your mother sits across from you – dignified, composed – her eyes scanning the folders Mark has already placed neatly at the center of the table.

“Preliminary turnover documents.” He explains, voice light, still professional. “Contracts, executive summaries, shareholder agreements. The ones needing your signature are flagged.”

You nod, flipping open the top folder. The pages blur for a moment before your vision clears.

You focus. One step at a time.

Across from you, your mother doesn’t speak. But you feel her eyes — weighted, patient. This was her legacy, once. Then yours. Now returning to her hands again only because it was necessary.

Forgetting the folder, she takes your hand in hers. Gives a hesitant but assuring smile as much as she can. “I’ll take care of it, darling. Don’t worry about a thing.”

You swallow thickly as you try to return a smile.

Mark leans back in his chair, trying to break the heaviness taking over the room. “So,” he says, stretching exaggeratedly, “does this mean I get majority of the shares now that the queen is abdicating?”

You laugh, the sound bubbling up brighter than you expect. “If you’re willing to handle future meetings with Jeongguk. He’s getting a nice chunk once the papers go through, in case you’re forgetting.”

Mark groans, dragging a hand down his face. “So he gets the shares and visitation rights to you?”

“Didn’t realize this was a custody battle.”

Your mother chimes in dryly, eyes still on the new folders spread across your desk. “Funny how he always ends up with the best part of things he barely worked for.”

Mark’s expression tightens, a mix of humor and something sharper. “Always been the lucky one.”

The next hour is all motion. Documents reviewed, initials scrawled, strategies adjusted. You talk vendor relations. You approve final budget notes. When the paperwork is finally stacked neatly in three clean piles — Pending, Signed, Review Again — you lean back in your chair with a sigh.

Your mother rises, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her blazer. “We’ll go over the audit reports tomorrow. For now, let’s go home.”

Her gaze lingers on you for a moment — searching, aching — before she composes herself again.

You stand too, brushing your fingers lightly over the edge of your desk.

Mark doesn’t move. You look at him. The silence stretches too long — too full. “I’ll handle the Paris accounts. Send you photos soon.”

You manage a soft smile, grateful for everything he’s doing without saying it. “Make sure the lighting at our booth doesn’t wash out the models this year.”

“I’m offended you’d even think it.”

You roll your eyes.

But you’re grateful — so grateful — for the way he keeps the edges of this afternoon from cutting too deep.

The evening settled quietly over the house. No peace lingering – more like a tension waiting for the first person to break. The table was already set when Jeongguk arrived. Steam rose from the dishes laid out — galbi, japchae, kimchi jjigae, and a small stack of neatly rolled egg omelettes.

Picking up his chopsticks, he hesitated before speaking. “So…how was work today?”

You chew slowly, buying yourself a little time before answering. “Busy. Meetings here and there. Some finalizing needed for fashion week. A few contract turnovers. You know, the usual things when companies shift hands.” You shrug like it’s nothing, like you didn’t spend the entire afternoon sorting years of hard work.

Jeongguk’s brows furrow slightly. “You’re…handing things over?”

You’re too quick to answer. “No, no—just…just creating a little space to breathe. Was thinking I want some time to myself.” The assuring smile you give Jeongguk was convincing enough for him to move on to lighter things. “Nothing major.”

“Mark still driving you crazy with last-minute changes?”

"Who else do you know works with me, that loves throwing in new ideas when deadlines are hours away?”

Jeongguk’s mouth quirks into a smile, the first genuine one since he sat down. “Mark. Mark Tuan. Yeah, that sounds about right.”

The night falls into a soft stillness, the kind that follows when the laughter fades and the last dishes are cleaned. Soft light spilled from the kitchen, casting a warm glow that barely reached past the doorway, leaving the front hall in shadow.

Jeongguk stands by the doorway, his hand resting on the frame, fingers lightly touching it like he needs something to hold onto. His eyes drift – over the neatly hung photos on the wall, the soft rug that shows signs of time, the wide staircase that curves the way he remembers.

One photo catches his eye—bigger than the others and set a little apart. Two people in white, laughing like nothing could ever go wrong, with the ocean in the background—Gwangalli, if he’s really looking. You wonder if he missed it this morning. Don’t blame him if he did. The nerves must’ve been burying him six feet under.

“Sorry. I’ll have Eomma take it down,” you clear your throat, breaking the quiet.

“It’s fine,” Jeongguk shifts. Glances at you and then away. “So…the hugs and forehead kisses,” You notice the small smile tugging on the corner of his lips, feeling thankful for the shift from the awkwardness. "That really had to be on the list, huh?"

A soft laugh slips from you, unguarded. “It did.”

“Was it a punishment?” It’s a joke, but you don’t miss the uncertainty flicker in his eyes.

“Is that how you feel?”

Your bluntness catches him off guard. Guilt flashes. The breath he lets out like a quiet surrender.

Slowly, he steps forward, arms coming up in a hesitant, careful hug. His chest brushes yours, his forehead resting lightly against your temple – a touch familiar, but no longer easy.

Your eyes slip closed as you let yourself lean in, not because it feels natural, but because for a moment, it’s enough to remember how it once did.

“Goodnight,” Jeongguk murmurs, his voice low and close.

You smile, the kind that’s felt more than seen. “Goodnight, Gguk.”

He lingers just long enough to press the lightest kiss to your temple — so fleeting it’s almost not there, and yet, when the door clicks shut behind him and the quiet stretches in, it’s the one thing that stays.

You sit on the edge of the bed later, hair still damp from a quick shower, your fingers curled around the corner of the old photo album you'd told yourself not to open tonight.

The room is filled with nothing but the soft hum of the air purifier and the faint ticking of the wall clock. You don’t know what you’re hoping to find in these pages. Something soft, maybe. Something easier than the quiet goodbye at the door.

The pages smell like dust and faint vanilla — the kind your mother used to tuck into the drawers when you were younger. You flip until your fingers still on a picture, one that had always made you laugh.

You’re on a picnic mat, legs stretched out, shoes kicked off beside you. Jeongguk’s in the next one — lying flat on his back with his arms thrown wide, squinting at the sun. There’s a juice box pressed to his cheek like it’s the only thing keeping him alive in the heat. He’s smiling wide, without shame or thought. His hair’s longer, lighter — summer had bleached the tips — and his shirt has ketchup on it.

You can almost hear it again.

"You're the worst picnic planner ever," he groans, dragging the back of his hand over his forehead dramatically.

"You said you wanted hot dogs."

"Not molten lava ones!"

You laugh at the memory. Remembered, he’d still eaten two more after that. Said they were terrible with his mouth full and asked for a third.

You remember how he used to love loudly. How he’d pull you into hugs like he never wanted to let go. The way he’d lean in to kiss your forehead in the middle of a crowd without caring who saw. The time he ran to the other side of the beach where the ice-cream kiosk was, just to bring you a mint chocolate cone he badly wanted you to try, holding it above his head like it was sacred.

"It’s ugly and green."

"You love ugly things."

"That’s why I’m dating you?"

"Exactly," he’d said, grinning, rain dripping from his lashes, "you’ve got great taste."

You close the album slowly.

Tonight, his arms were careful. His kiss, light as a breath. Back then, there was no hesitation. No pause before he touched you, no weight between your names.

You lie back on the bed, pressing your palms over your face, hoping to bury the pain that feels like it has made a home in your chest.

You didn’t think the time would come that you’d have to miss a version of Jeongguk who used to laugh into your shoulder and whisper stupid things to make you snort in public. The version who always held you a little longer, like he could make time stop if he tried hard enough.

You always thought that version of him would stay for a lifetime.

Now, the only way you get to see that side of him is through a list—through something he feels he has to do.

But you’ll take what you can. For now, you’ll accept whatever life hands you.

The sun hasn’t climbed high enough to chase away the gray. The streets are still damp from the night, and your breath clouds faintly as you step outside, coat collar turned up against the early chill. There’s something about mornings like this — quiet, half-lit — that makes everything feel softer around the edges.

You hadn’t slept much. Rest felt like a visitor you forgot to greet last night, slipping past you somewhere between the click of the door and the ache that settled deep in your chest. Still, your steps are steady as you make your way through familiar streets, ones your feet could trace even blindfolded.

The shop appears like a memory made solid — tucked between a florist and a tiny dry cleaner, its awning still a little crooked on one side. The glass is fogged near the bottom, and someone’s taped a doodle of a smiling sun on the door.

Inside, it’s warm. Familiar.

The left wall is still lined with notebooks and sketchpads in soft neutral tones, racks of pastel washi tape, pens arranged by gradient. You let your fingers skim the edge of a purple sketchbook on display — the same brand you used to hoard during finals week. The same ones Jeongguk used to scribble dumb little nothings in just to annoy you.

You claim your usual seat by the window, near the radiator that still hums faintly when it kicks on. The light here is gentle, and the table still has the faint outline of a coffee ring etched into the wood. The café counter sits snug beside the stationery section, and for a second, it’s easy to believe no time has passed at all.

You order for two. Wait. Don’t check your phone. Know Jeongguk’s on his way. Not like you’ve given him a choice.

Your gaze drifts — over the shelves, to the corner where a worn beanbag still sits, slouched as always. Something about the moment folds in on itself, slipping back in time.

You were running late. Again. Hair barely brushed, laces undone, your tote bag unorganized and overflowing with books needed for classes today, jammed under your arm.

The bell above the door had barely finished ringing when you stumbled in and spotted him already there, halfway through a chocolate croissant and bent over your sketchbook – the one you’ve been looking for hours this whole morning, the reason why you were late.

“Seriously?” you’d huffed, dropping into the seat across from him. “Flipped our dorm upside down looking for that and it was with you this whole time?”

“Page 14,” Jeongguk ignored your dramatic flair, eyes not even lifting. “Your mannequin’s missing a head.”

“That’s on purpose,” you muttered, grabbing the sketchbook and flipping it shut. “It’s avant-garde.”

He finally looked up, eyebrows raised in mock seriousness. “Ah. The Headless Collection. Bold.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile pulling at your mouth. “You’re annoying.”

“Thank you. I rehearse.”

You’d kicked him lightly under the table. He’d stolen a bite of your sandwich in retaliation. You’d retaliated harder, dropped three sugar cubes into his coffee knowing he only liked it black and snatched the entire croissant off his plate.

“Hey!” he’d gasped, scandalized, mid-chew. “That’s a war crime.”

You shrugged, all innocence as you took a deliberately slow bite, crumbs tumbling down your chin. “Shouldn’t have touched my sandwich.”

His eyes narrowed. “That croissant had layers.”

“So did my patience,” you replied, mouth full.

He leaned forward, elbows on the table, lowering his voice like he was delivering a threat. “You realize this means war.”

You grinned. “Then choose your weapon wisely, Jeon.”

“Fine. Sketchbook turned doodle board it is.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh, but I would.”

And just like that, he was scribbling something on your sketchbook, tongue poking out in concentration while you lunged to grab it back. 

The stationery café had always been your reset button — notebooks open, drinks warm, pencils rolling off the table because Jeongguk couldn’t sit still. He always left little doodles on your margins – stick figures with six-packs, dramatic cape swirls, and when he’d feel to be more annoying, he’d scribble a crown your head.

“This one's you,” he said once, pointing to a tiny sketch of a girl shouting at a sewing machine.

“She looks like she hasn’t slept in three days.”

“Art imitates life.”

You snorted into your latte. “I’m replacing you with someone quieter.”

“Impossible,” he grinned. “You’d miss me by lunchtime.”

He was right.

You always did.

And now, it wasn’t just during your chaotic uni lunch breaks that you missed him

The chair across from you slides back gently.

You don’t look up right away — just fumble with your phone before meeting his eyes.

Jeongguk shrugs off his coat with one hand, ruffles his hair like the wind annoyed him, then sits. Tie loose around his collar, shirt wrinkled just enough to tell you he dressed in a hurry. He glances around, then places a single stem of purple tulips on the table, the soft color a little too bright for the morning. “They still sell those overpriced gel pens?”

You nod, sipping your drink. “They’re too smooth to resist.“

His eyes flick toward the shelves. “I used to steal yours.”

“You used to steal everything.”

He smiles faintly — just the corner of his mouth lifting. “You let me.”

“Was being generous.”

The waitress sets down your orders — one pastry each, two drinks. You watch as Jeongguk breaks a corner off his croissant. Eats it with quiet precision. He never used to do that. Used to make a mess.

You don’t comment on it.

“So,” he says after a moment, brushing crumbs from his fingers, “still designing things with no heads?”

You didn’t think he’d remember. A smile slips across your lips. “Wow. Callback.”

“I’m nostalgic.”

Your eyes meet. There’s something light there, flickering — not quite the warmth from before, but you’re glad to see something at least.

You reach into your bag and pull out a thin sketchpad, sliding it across the table. He lifts the cover slowly, eyes scanning your latest work. “You gave her a head this time.”

You lean back, arms crossed loosely. “Growth.”

He chuckles under his breath, fingers smoothing the paper. “She looks like she’s running.”

“She is.”

Jeongguk doesn’t ask from what. Doesn’t say anything at all. Just taps the edge of the page twice, then closes it.

The silence is comfortable. A little cautious. But not cold.

You tear off a small piece of your pastry, drop it on his plate like old habit. Used to do it when you still had some left from his that you’d stolen. Even if you’d stolen his precious croissant, you never actually finished it, always left most of it for him – knowing breakfast was the only time he’d actually eat properly, your favorite meal of the day – before the two of you start your own classes.

You knew he’d run on caffeine and stubbornness alone until evening. Then he’d video call you during one of his lectures looking like a grumpy, overgrown bunny with a camera strap digging into his neck and a frown set between his brows.

He blinks at it, then at you. “What’s that for?”

“For luck,” you simply reason.

He raises an eyebrow. “You don’t believe in luck.”

“Thought maybe I could this time.”

Jeongguk looks at you as if he’s trying to read you. Like there’s something else he wants to say. Ends up not saying anything. Just eats the piece.

Your drink’s gone lukewarm, still you sip away hoping to drown in the energy it’s supposed to give with the day that’s waiting ahead of you. Jeongguk’s gaze lingers out the window for a moment, watching a cyclist roll by, the soft clatter of gears audible through the glass.

“You still come here often?” he asks, voice casual.

“Every now and then,” you say softly. “Some places just… stick.”

Jeongguk doesn’t press. You’re thankful he doesn’t.

“I used to think the owner hated me,” he says instead. “Always caught me doodling on the napkins.”

“She didn’t hate you,” you reply. “She thought you were wasting perfectly good napkins.”

A small chuckle rumbles in his chest. “I was creating modern art.”

You roll your eyes. “You drew a chicken with sunglasses.”

“Exactly. Groundbreaking stuff. I’m the direct descendant of Van Gogh.”

The laugh that escapes you is softer this time — real, but quieter than it might’ve been years ago. You catch him watching you then. Not intensely. Not curiously. Just… there. Present. It slips away quickly when he looks down, wiping off his side of the table in random circles.

You glance over your shoulder at the display shelf by the counter — a glass case where people leave notes, scraps of things from past visits. It used to be empty. Now it’s cluttered and full of lives layered on top of one another.

Jeongguk follows your gaze. “We never left anything in there.”

“No,” you murmur. “We never needed to.”

He nods slowly, and you wonder if the weight in your words settled somewhere in him too.

You reach into your coat pocket and pull out a pen. Those smooth gel types you always fell for even when you promised yourself you wouldn’t spend another won on stationery. You slide it across the table toward him.

He looks at it, then at you. “For me?”

“Figured you’d want to deface another napkin.”

Jeongguk tears off the corner of one of the paper placemats and scribbles something. You reach over and take the pen back before he can set it down, slipping it into your pocket like it was nothing. He folds the scrap once and tucks it into his jacket.

“You’re not putting it in the case?” You ask, confused why he’d even want to keep something like that – something you’re sure doesn’t matter to him anymore.

“Maybe next time.”

You finish the last sip of your drink as the hour pulls closer to what’s next — work, the rest of the day, the return to whatever this routine is becoming between the two of you.

You stand, slipping your bag over your shoulder, grabbing on to the purple tulip after.

Jeongguk rises too, fingers brushing the edge of the table like he’s grounding himself again – a new habit you started noticing from him.

“Thanks for showing up,” you say lightly, adjusting your scarf.

I had to. He doesn’t say it, but you can see the words hovering in the hesitation behind his eyes — quiet, but impossible to miss.

The sky’s a little brighter when you both step out. The cold still clings to your skin, but the café warmth lingers at your back.

As you turn to go, Jeongguk calls out, “Hey.”

You glance back.

“I liked the new sketch,” he says. “She looked like she knew where she was going.”

“She doesn’t.”

He smiles faintly. “Neither did we.”

You don’t say anything. Just tuck your hands into your pockets, gave one last nod, before walking away.

As you pass the glass, you catch a glimpse of something slightly out of step, tucked into the reflection. You, a little lighter, and the boy beside you who used to draw chickens with sunglasses and mumble dumb jokes just to see you pretend not to laugh.

And for a moment, it’s easy to pretend this is just another morning in the middle of an old life that never cracked at the seams.

The office is a mess. Papers piled up like threats, some teetering close to the edge of his desk. The inbox blinks like a warning light. Jeongguk sits in the middle of it all, elbows pressing into the surface, fingers rubbing at his eyes. The screen blurs. Photoshoots. Edits. Meetings he’s already missed. His coffee’s gone cold. The tremble in his hand says it’s his third cup — or fourth. He’s lost count.

And on top of it all, a notification from Taehyung flashes across his phone.

K. Taehyung: Lunch date with Jiwoo.

Jeongguk swears under his breath, chair scraping against the floor as he stands. He grabs his coat on the way out, not bothering to fix his hair in the hallway mirror. As he shrugs it on, something light slips from his pocket and lands near the leg of the desk—a torn bit of paper, edges smudged faintly with purple petals drawn from a gel pen. He doesn’t notice. Leaves the office without checking if he’s forgotten anything else.

The drive to the café blurs by. Taehyung’s voice crackles through the speaker, rambling about a rookie group, a broken light, a late shoot — but Jeongguk only half-listens, mind drifting far away.

Muted light through tall windows. The smell of ground coffee, old novels, and notebooks. The gentle scrape of a cup across a wooden table. A sketchbook lying open.

His hands tighten slightly on the steering wheel.

The café he pulls up to now is different. Newer, glass and steel, designed for aesthetics more than comfort. Inside, everything gleams. Clean lines. Polished floors. The hum of conversation blends with quiet jazz in the background, curated to feel effortless.

Jiwoo’s already at the table when he enters. She stands when she sees him, her smile brief, eyes scanning his face like she’s trying to gauge the weather. She leans in for a hug, light and cautious.

A waitress appears, takes their orders — sandwiches, two coffees. Then the silence settles between them, brittle and careful.

 “You texted me,” Jiwoo speaks first. “Didn’t say much.”

Jeongguk exhales, straightens the napkin on his lap. “It wasn’t something I could explain over the phone.”

She nods slowly. “I figured.”

He runs a thumb along the rim of his water glass. “She found the divorce papers.”

There’s a pause. Jiwoo’s gaze drops for a moment, something unreadable settling in her expression before she nods again. “I thought that might happen. You waited too long, Gguk.”

“I know.”

“How did she take it?”

Jeongguk stares at the edge of the table. “She didn’t cry. Didn’t yell. Just… agreed. Agreed to sign on her terms.”

Jiwoo raises an eyebrow. “What kind of terms?”

“Meals together. Flowers. Staying close. Old habits. Forehead kisses,” he finishes, voice lower now. “Just… things we used to do.”

The words sounded simple when laid out like that, but they weren’t. They were heavy, drenched in old love and broken memories.

She looks down at her drink, stirring it even though it doesn’t need stirring. “And you agreed?”

Jeongguk nods. “I owe her at least that much.”

The noise in the café comes like a blessing. Somewhere behind them, a coffee grinder whirs to life. A baby laughs. Jeongguk’s eyes flick toward the window, to the glint of sun on glass, anywhere else except on Jiwoo, too scared of what he might find — anger, jealousy, resentment.

But he finds none of it when he finally turns to her. Only sadness. And love. And guilt.

“I hate that we hurt her,” Jiwoo says after a moment, her voice thick with guilt. “I never meant for it to turn out like this. I hope I can tell her that.”

Jeongguk’s gaze drops to her hands, still, folded tightly together. There’s a quiet ache in the way they sit, almost like they’re waiting for something. He doesn’t pause to think—just moves, his hand gently covering hers. It’s not an answer. Not an apology. Simply a comfort he hopes she feels is enough from his touch.

“I know,” he murmurs. “Neither of us did.”

The words hang in the space between them, soft but solid. Like stones dropped into still water, rippling outward. They don’t shatter anything. Not yet. But they make everything shift.

Jiwoo lets out a breath she’s been holding. Her eyes glisten, but she doesn’t cry. “Sometimes I think maybe I deserve to lose everything.”

“You didn’t make me love her less,” Jeongguk says. “That’s on me. And you’re not losing anything. I’m here. I’m still here.”

His words are calm, certain—like if he says it gently enough, it’ll stop the noise in his head.

The hard office couch pressing into your back wakes you up with a sharp breath and neck sore from where you’d curled up with your throw blanket. The room is dim and quiet, the evening air is calm and something warm and tasty drifts through the air.

Your eyes flutter open, confusion tightening in your chest.

Jeongguk.

He’s there, kneeling by the coffee table, unpacking takeout containers with quick, careful movements. The soft crinkle of paper bags and the light tap of chopsticks on plastic fill the still of the room. His hair falls over his forehead, his sleeves pushed up, jaw tight and sharp in the fading light.

“Jeongguk… what—” you rasp, voice rough from sleep, “what are you doing here?”

He stills for half a second, fingers pausing on the lid of a box.

When he looks up, his eyes flick across you quickly — too quickly.  “You’re kidding, right?” His laugh is soft, faintly bitter. “You called me here. Dinner. List.” He lifts a takeout box slightly, then lets it fall back with a soft thud. “Just following orders.”

There’s a heaviness in the way he holds himself, something tense in his shoulders, in the tired set of his mouth. But you can’t name it. Only know it’s been this way for the past few days.

Silence was acceptable, clearly you stated that on the list, but meals lately went on without your slight playful banter. Just when you thought your conversations could last more than five sentences now.

Jeongguk was never the type to waste food – something about a silly belief that the Gods would take away his perfect sculpture if he even dared – but you’ve been cleaning up for him lately, giving away his leftovers to the homeless you’d find after your dinners.

He drags a hand through his hair, exhales sharply. “Shit,” he mutters under his breath, voice rougher now. “Forget it.”

Jeongguk doesn’t look at you. Just pushes a pair of chopsticks toward your side of the table, carelessly, like he doesn’t want to talk. Then you catch it – subtle, but present.

A scent that doesn’t belong here. Sweet, citrus, expensive – far from the lavender one that sticks to your blazers for weeks – one that you’d sense clinging onto his shirts when he came home too late. The same scent hovering in the car when you borrowed his since yours was in the shop one time. The scent that told you something had shifted before the universe decided to slap you with the truth.

You shift your legs beneath the blanket, voice gentle. “You were with her today, weren’t you?”

Jeongguk stops mid-movement. Doesn’t turn. Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t have to.

Still, you smile—small, sad, and real. “It’s okay. I just… noticed.”

He exhales, short and stiff. “You always do.”

“You’re acting like you got caught doing something wrong.” It’s meant to tease, to warm the cold edge creeping in – a light touch to remind him that he doesn’t have to walk on egg shells around you anymore.

He finally turns to face you, expression tired. “Didn’t I?”

“No,” you say, quiet. “Not really.”

Jeongguk stares at you, like he doesn’t know what to do with the kindness you’ve been showing. Eyes flicking away for a second like he’s searching for a reason to deserve it. But there’s nothing—just you, sitting there, still choosing to stay soft when it would’ve been easier not to.  

You pat the spot on the couch beside you. “Sit down. Eat something. Then talk to me.”

“Kind of hard to do when our wedding rings are right here and well –“

A small laugh echoes from you, unsure if it’s meant to ease the tension or just fill the silence.

“Think about you and me, back in Uni, two dumb teenagers whose biggest crisis was whether to stock up on strawberry or banana milk for finals week."

There’s a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a glimmer of the old Jeongguk you remember. “Banana Milk wins, by the way.”

“Nuh-uh. Strawberry milk.” You chuckle, slowly drifting back to your point. “You’ve got to let out whatever you’re holding in there, Gguk. Sulking through the remaining twenty-two days will make you feel like there’s twenty-two years left. I can’t have you hating me for that long."

It’s a soft joke, still, it curls in your chest like smoke.

“I don’t hate you.” he says, like it never even crossed his mind.

Eyes focused on the blanket, you nod, holding onto the words quietly—they’re not much, but they’re more than you thought you’d get.

“If it helps, I’ll turn around and you can talk,” Shifting slight, folding your legs beneath, you face the other way. “You won’t get to see me, won’t get to worry about how I’ll react. Maybe I’ll nod, just to let you know I’m listening, and promise, I will.”

The air is filled with stillness. You think Jeongguk might’ve left you in the office but you hear his soft breaths as he lowers himself beside you, slowly but heavy with the weight he’s been carrying for the past few days.

“I was with her today.” He starts, quickly stops, unsure if he should continue but does anyway, the weight burning in his chest. “We talked earlier this week. About you. About…everything.”

You wait. Because if there’s one thing you still know how to do, it’s wait for him to speak when he doesn’t want to.

“She feels guilty,” he goes on. “Wants you to know that she never meant for it to happen this way. That we hurt you.”

You nod slowly, not because it helps, but because you’re too tired to hold it against her, against them. Most importantly, if it eases something in Jeongguk, then that’s more than enough.

Your heart stumbles but you let him continue, keeping that promise to listen.

“Told her about the list you set up before we…”

“Divorce. You can say it.” There’s a quiet laugh that escapes you.

“Right. That. Uhm…so I told her that and she’s scared.” Jeongguk says, voice cracking in between. “Thinks she’s going to lose me.”

“Will she?” You question a little sharp. Didn’t mean to. Just blurted it out in the spur of the moment.

“No.” he answers too quickly. Your heart silently cracks too quickly. “I mean…fuck, I don’t mean to sound –” You begin to hear sniffs and the slight tremble of his hands that are too close to your back now, as if he’s trying to reach out to you, trying to apologize to you.

“Hey, Gguk, breathe. It’s okay. It’s just me. Eighteen-year-old me, strawberry milk. Focus. I know you’ve got this.” You smile even though he can’t see it. Hoped he hears it in your voice the comfort you want to give him.

And you think it might’ve worked when you catch that soft, boyish laugh, just like the one he had at eighteen.

“It’s why I’ve been seeing her more often these days. Wanted to make her feel that I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s good you’re trying for her,” you manage to say. “But you sound more exhausted than relieved that you’re trying.”

He lets out a breath, ragged. “Because I am exhausted. Feels like I’m not trying enough. Feels like I broke something." He pauses. "No, I know I did. Her. You. Me. And now I feel stuck pretending like I know how to fix it.”

“You don’t have to fix anything, Gguk.” You say softly. “Not for me.”

The quiet in the room makes you hear him clearly swallow the lump in his throat. “What do I do?”

“Focus on you and her, if that’s what you want. Save what you can. Fight for what you can. Don’t carry all of the weight.” You pause, staring ahead, on the shelves behind your desk. “You may be the golden boy, but you’re not God.” The words sit between you for a second. “Can’t save everybody. Simple as that.”

A small silence settles, like peace finding its way.

Behind you, the shift is clear when you hear Jeongguk move closer; leans in just enough to press a soft kiss to the side of your head. His arms wrap around you, gentle, like old times. You’d like to think it is and not because of some stupid terms you listed on paper.

“You always knew how to keep me off the ledge.” His grip around your waist tightens for a second. Your heart tightens too. “Why did you let me talk to you like this?”

You let out an unintended shaky breath. “Because you’re trying.”

“Trying what?”

“To be good.” You don’t move, just sit there with him holding on, blanket in between, your hands curled into the fabric to keep them from shaking.

You wanted this—for him to feel lighter, even just a little. And you meant every word. You really did.

But each word that slipped out left a mark, small and invisible, like paper cuts. You blink, slow, but a tear still slips free, soaking into your lap before you can stop it.

Jeongguk doesn’t see. You don’t let him.

The deal was for him to open up to you. No one said anything about you needing to open up in return.

And some things are better left quiet.

[instantdinosaurtidalwave]

So, we've got two options. Option A: the Chamber is native to Westeros, or Option B: the Targaryens brought something with them from Old Valyria that would become the Chamber.

Option A: The Chamber is native to Westeros. It's been there for as long as anyone can remember. Located near where King's Landing would one day be, the kingdoms used it to test their princes and kings, a tradition probably enforced by the smallfolk who found their lot in life better under kings (and knights) tested by the Chamber. I will arbitrarily say, in this headcanon/what-if scenario, that by the time of the Targaryen Conquest, all the Kingdoms of Westeros use the Chamber except probably the Iron Islands, and even then, maybe occasionally, someone will come and ask to use it . Depends on what the Drowned God's deal is, but that's not the point here.

Now, how we get the Targaryens to trust and use the Chamber is a question I haven't answered yet. Maybe the Chamber gets forgotten/abandoned until the first or second succession crisis, and someone on the Small Council suggests it for choosing the next king, and after that it gets put back into somewhat infrequent use for choosing kings, and more frequently for testing knights. The Chamber continues to fall in and out of use both for kings and knights, some mad Targaryen is sure to try and destroy it and promptly get SmoteTM for the attempt.

When Robert's Rebellion succeeds, Robert chooses to undergo the test of the Chamber the night before his coronation, and after, makes all Kingsguard undergo the test as well, in addition to restoring the tradition of testing knights-to-be in the Chamber, which was probably a secondary goal of the Rebellion, since the Chamber had long been out of use by the time of Aerys the Mad King.

Option B: the Chamber or something that would become the Chamber came with the Targaryens from Old Valyria. An old, old tradition of Valyria that fell out of and into favor due to the death count, Aegon the Conqueror brings it with him, more out of respect of the past and wishing to save as much of Valyrian culture and tradition more than anything. During the early years of his reign, he eventually enters the Chamber for advice on how to rule and lead his reluctant subjects.

I don't quite know what he sees or how he reacts to it. At the very least, I think he learns he can't maintain the Old Valyrian tradition of siblings marrying because the magic to keep out insanity will fail.

Actually, Aegon, Visenya, and Rhaenys all enter the Chamber shortly after the Conquest, though the women may only enter after Aegon does. Aegon annulls his marriages to his sisters and carefully chooses spouses for them, and himself, made easier by the current lack of issue. The two cadet houses carefully maintain genealogical records and marry back into the main branch every so often.

Some Targaryen along the way is still probably going to marry someone they shouldn't, nothing stays perfect forever, but the wheel turns on; good kings and bad kings come and go, the Chamber falls into and out of use, both for kings and knights. I don't want to copy-paste from Option A, so maybe the Chamber's magic fades, since it comes from Old Valyria this time, and thus, while it may be traditional for kings and knights to hold vigil outside the Chamber before becoming kings and knights, it's now a mere formality rather than an actual test.

This means that when the Chamber's magic does return, no one notices, at least, not immediately. Someone eventually will feel drawn to the Chamber and either get a vision via touching the door or will straight up be able to enter the Chamber once more. Thus, when Robert wins his Rebellion, he declares he will attempt the Test of the Chamber.

What happens after that, in both timelines, I leave to others who have either read the books or watched the show.

I’m not going anywhere with this but it’s a thought I had.

[the-kingshound]

Very brief non progress report: I have unfortunately not done anything on TKH, both because I am a bit full with university, but mainly because I keep having neck pain and headaches. Yesterday I also got my test results and it seems as if I am basically one step away from several herniated discs + worn out discs, but it just all explains my by now chronic pain.

Still, when I can I do try to write something - because TKH is a stress relief for me and the characters are comforting. I have been reading IFs too, lately, catching up on a lot of them. But due to my low energy I am very behind in reblogging the update posts, so I think I will do one recap on the IFs that have updated recently so if anyone like me wants to decompress they have all the options.

But also, since this blog has been silent, please you can send me asks or prompts because I want to get in TKH mood again.

[wendeeesaucy]

Prob people have talked about this before but I really like analyzing the little micro expressions and lines from Astarion. Specifically I wanted to talk about the line he has when he tries different lines to flirt with tav/durge.

So I got that scene during the tiefling party after already spending the night with him before. I'm guessing you can get that scene after the party if you're approval wasn't high enough to have been with him already but I'm going with my playthrough.

Personally, I like the flow of it better. Tav/durge has already established a sort of companions (barely friends) with benefits sort of situation with him and having this sort of banter seems to fit well. I think it's also one of those few early moments tav/durge is hinting that they know that he's one for manipulating and embellishing words in their relationship (like in an earlier scene where you could figure out that his smile is too perfect and that you shouldn't believe a word he says).

It's awareness, it's playfulness. Because tav/durge is explaining that they are in on this facade but still stringing themselves along, almost as if they're agreeing with this being an odd relationship of trysts and dalliances in an otherwise perilous adventure that they all have no idea if they'll make it out from.

That's how this flirty, teasing back and forth starts. You can keep up the 'yeah, haha, try harder because I'm not falling for it' options and that only motivates him to throw more ridiculously flowery lines.

Though ironically the one about 'it's as if the gods made you just to ruin me' is pretty accurate because tav/durge essentially ruins him/his plans especially for a spawn Astarion ending. But that's not the one I'm most interested in every time I watch this scene. It's the 'I love you' one.

Now, we are going with the idea that this banter since the beginning was all in good fun. Tav/durge knows what this is leading to, this is just banter to go along with the eventual yes that will surely follow to spend another night with him. While the first few flirting lines starting from 'here's my little treat' were a build up from the next, the last one seems oddly misplaced and a curve ball to me. We go from physical aspects to suddenly jumping to a less tangible and deeper way of expressing interest, love.

It doesn't help that we get this face to go along with it, which already is vastly different to the smirks and smug expressions we got seconds before.

Sure, you could argue that this was his way of throwing tav/durge off so they could stop being smug themselves at finding his flirty words ridiculous because he goes right back to being normal afterwards. But the thing about Astarion is that sometimes a lot of times he's bad at hiding his emotions. He lets words slip without thinking or a micro expression happens for just a split second but it's noticeably there especially on a second or third playthrough.

So to me, when I see this expression, I personally think this is a genuine face and a somewhat genuine answer.

Now you'd think I'm just falling for his manipulations but the reason I can't seem to shake that thought is because in his act 2 scene where he says 'no matter how much I'd like to' when he talks about how difficult it is being with someone and essentially caring about them deeply, we get this same expression.

It's literally the same expression, the same vulnerability except now we have more honesty and context to what it means. Tav/durge by now has learned to read him better and understand when he's being truthful. And not even just his face, his voice going softer in both scenes too!

So when we go back to that flirting lines scene, it really feels out of place and for good reason. I've heard people say it's him testing the waters and I personally think so too! He's gotten tav/durge in this place of teasing 'haha, all in good fun' mood and uses that to his advantage to throw them off by seeing how they'd react to him of all people saying I love you suddenly to them. Would they be disgusted? Tell him, yeah in his dreams? Or would they be shocked, because it sounded too good to be true? That they would like it to be true too?

It might also be his way of just blurting out a thought he's had for some time, especially if you've already spend the night with him before the party and gotten to know him a little better. By then, he's already seen tav/durge help him a few times and successfully done something as the party leader, making him question just who this person is to him. After all, he's had no choice but to acknowledge this person's existence because they are not another target that's bound to disappear like the others he's bedded before.

So when looking further into the scene, he's not only testing tav/durge on their reactions but also himself and how he personally feels about that statement. He probably wants to see how it sounds in reality, not as some random thought to be forgotten. And maybe, just maybe he could see himself believing that to be true.

He might not be in love with tav/durge to the degree that he does in act 2 but I'd argue he was def falling by then if he felt throwing that line into the open was necessary.

And when you end it off with the 'having fun, are you?' line and get him to say 'I am. It's hard not to with you' it really feels like you're getting a tiny bit closer to wedging yourself into his heart.

[cressidagrey]

I am taking deep breathes to cap myself. This chapter was sweet like candy. And I live candy. I love you.

Verstappen off season baby. It's perfect. I want to laugh and make jokes about the boys finally getting what they deserve but I am too happy about the pregnancy news and the lion plush to care.

But Jos and Emilie were so on brand I loved it. (I have to admit, the way you write Jos in this fic has made me want a Jos Verstappen fic now for some reason.)

But everyone coming to defend Belle against Charles? Magnificent. The one yelling over text being Oscar? Poetic justice. It's always the quiet ones.

I am laughing so hard that the brother thought she was on trouble. Like what? She got kidnapped? Hilarious. But also a valid fear if it wasn't their fault she went radio silent.

Lorenzo going to her apartment and then at her job to ask about her and they both tell him she's not there anymore? Beautiful. He deserves to run around like a headless chicken. He deserves to fear the worst. He deserves to suffer.

They all do.

But I am way to giddy about the pregnancy to care. Are we getting close to the big reveal? I can barely contain myself.

Also Lando X Emilie can absolutely be a spinoff. We can call it 'black cat'. If you ever wanted.

A question about possible future fics. You said that the new Charles fic is mostly a standalone with possible future added ones. But are you planning on writing something new and long after white Horse? And if so what drivers are you thinking about? (Surprisingly I consider Jos also an option for some reason now. - the reason being you made him into a fun yet realistic character.) I wasn't at for at an Oscar fan. Not in a way that would have me read fics about him but your writing in Mysterious Mrs piastry and the McLaren dating one made me love him. I think you can take any driver and make them an absolute lovable character.

As always you are the highlight of a difficult day. (Difficult in a good way though.)

I’m so glad you loved the chapter — your joy is infectious, and honestly, “sweet like candy” is the highest compliment.

The image of Oscar absolutely snapping in defense of Belle while Jos and Emilie remain peak themselves is just chef’s kiss to me too — and your reaction to Lorenzo running around like a headless chicken? DELICIOUS.

Also, the fact that you’re even entertaining the idea of a Jos Verstappen fic because of how he’s written here??? That is truly wild 😭

And thank you for the thoughtful question about future projects! I have a lot of ideas!

So, I have:

A half written fic for Max, which would be an one shot and came from me thinking what if the wag of one of the drivers doesn't actually fit the beauty ideals of this sport? it's kinda like The mysterious Mrs Piastri, but the Max version 😂 And he's unhinged about his wife.

I sat through 2 hours of a Dax Shephard podcast because of a George Russell x Toto Wolff's daughter idea I have. I think I deserve a medal for that, because that guy is annoying as anything 😂

More in the Mysterious Mrs Piastri Universe will also be coming.

[generalluxun]

Question: 

How do you feel about Ms. Bustier? It seems like the majority of the fandom has a very negative view on her. I think it started with Zombisu, specifically her reaction to Chloe vandalizing Marinette’s gift. 

There's a lot to unpack about Bustier. and here's a controversial opinion: Bustier was right in Zombisu.

We can't look at ML's outcomes as proof one way or another, because ML's morality broadly veers like a drunk driver in S4+

In context though. Consider what Bustier really did/said, and what happened.

Bustier doesn't know the setup (Marinette mocks Chloé unprompted and Chloé marks up her gift in revenge. Pretty childish behavior on both parts)

She knows Marinette wanted to give her a gift, and that Chloé has for some reason defaced it.

What does Bustier focus on? *The Gift*. She says she loves it as it is. The thing Marinette did for her is raised up as important, and Chloé's efforts to detract from it are negated. If Marinette's motivation is the act of giving then this is exactly the right thing. Bustier can't un-mark the gift, but she can make the marks meaningless.

The other option would be to focus on the marks, punishment, and emphasize Marinette's fear/anger that the gift is 'ruined'. All that does is empower the vandalism.

People who get mad at Bustier in Zombisu are defending Marinette's *pride*. Having her work defaced hurt her pride, clearly. It would almost anyone. Bustier chooses to emphasize her Generosity over her Pride though, and I think that is a good message. Marinette worked hard and made Bustier a gift. Bustier wants to encourage that behavior.

Now- unrelated to Zombisu, S5 slaughters Bustier like so many.

She is shown to be unable to catch two middle schoolers cheating for *multiple years* in her class *in the front row*. This at thecsame time that Chloé is shown to be unable to follow any kind of plan or conspiracy for more than 2 seconds without Lila dragging her along.

She gives up on a student, point blank says she was wrong to try and help them. She goes for emotional manipulation in front of an audience at the very end when her job is on the line.

Then she hares off, builds a political career in 2 weeks, gets elected, and magically remakes all of Paris in 2 months somehow.

The end of S5 is such a dumpster fire for so many reasons.

I like Bustier pre- all that. her positive attitude is precious and vital in a teacher. They are faced with so many problems they are unable to solve be it lack of training, resources, or authority. Trying to do something for each student according to that student's needs is a great approach.

The salters don't realize that the alternatives they suggest often boil down to enforced uniformity under a cult of personality. That doesn't sound desirable to me.

[spinchip]

How was Pixal and Zane's breakup? How did they both feel?

I feel like they have a lot of distance growing between them for a while before they get to the point of break up. And it's both of them pushing each other away. They don't talk to each other as much, rarely go on date nights... they'll even go a day or two without speaking. and Finally they're both like "I believe we need to talk." So they hole up in Zane room and have a discussion that lasts six and a half hours.

Zane, who has not been vunerable at all for the last leg of their relationship manages to open up a bit and basically tells her because of the recent traumas he's been through he's... really not sure how he feels about a lot of things, her included. he cares about her, but he's different after the Never Realm. things have changed for him in a lot of ways, and he has to figure out who he is again and what he wants. He needs space.

Pixal tells him that somewhere along the line he shifted from her boyfriend into someone she feels like she has to take care of. it's not a partnership to her anymore- she's constantly filled with a pressure to protect him. and it's not his fault he keeps getting hurt, and she still cares about him of course, but she cant stop looking at him in that way. she has nightmares where she fails to protect him and she wakes up screaming. She needs space, too.

there are other things. grievances they bring up and openly discuss.

at the end they have a decision to make: break up or stay together? there is no other option. they both don't think it would be well advised to 'take a break' from the relationship because there's no telling when that break would end, and it might end up putting pressure on one of them to join the relationship before they're ready. they could go to couples therapy, but i think at this point resentment has begun to grow- a resentment they both delicately acknowledge may have begun sprouting before the never realm. perhaps this was a long time coming.

they decide to break up. Pixal collects her belongings from his room and promises to send a box of his things from her place at borg tower. He walks her to her car and they hug. She drives away. He locks himself in his room for 2 days straight.

they don't acknowledge each other for the next 8 months outside ninja work/missions. like not even a glance. it's just too painful.

over time, though, they become friends again!

[demifiendcruithne]

#ok the good news is#there are a lot of disabled people in the historical costuming community#and someone has probably thought of solutions for both of these problems#i mean I have lace up boots that zip up. idk if that would work#but I also have button boots and a button hook to help#idk if other of those would work but my point is there are other options besides lace up boots#as for corsets#i know a lot of people reach a point where they can’t manage regular corset laces#and they usually opt for something called fan lacing#there are videos of people trying it on YouTube and such#you could always look into that#but if something front lacing would work better than back lacing#I’d look into historical stats#stays#18th century or renaissance#of course; then you usually have to lace the whole thing every time#but if your strings are long enough#you just keep it very loosely lace and slide it over your head. b#but idk if you’d be able to tighten it.#dammit I shall look into this. my mom is an OT. she’ll know things

#alright buckle up#my occupational therapist mom who specializing in hands recommends lace up boots#lace up boots with a zipper#she says people who have trouble with zippers will use some sort of hook with a bigger#handle that’s easier to grip#the corset stuff is more difficult#she does recommend the fan lacing#she says she has a whole catalogue of stuff to help people be able to dress by themselves#and what quadriplegics often do is they have a hook on the wall#yes I know you’re not quadriplegic#but if you were pulling against something#so you corset fan lacing on the wall hooked and walked away from it#itd probably be way less effort than actually pulling it yourself#i have fatigue issues too and that does seem unnecessarily complicated#but her point is there are things you can get for anything#especially motor skills#a lot of people have bad motor skill#we have a classy knife shaped like an L in our drawer where you crip the vertical part and the blade is the horizontal part#way easier for people with arthritis and not great fine motor skills#now I’m just rambling#you did not ask for this and I apologize but I got interested#but definitely look into fan lacing if you are curious about corsets#i am genuinely much less tired at the end of the day if I go out in a corset#you just have to be careful to actually work out those muscles and not let them dissolve into nothing from lack of use lol

okay i'm putting this in post so i can actually find it again i probably will have to look into some of this then, just i should save it until after i get physio sorted. thank you and no need to apologise

The ehlers danlos syndrome person to historical costumer pipeline is or will be a thing and I shall explain why.

At some point one discovers that some sort of supportive structure around your torso feels incredibly comfortable and gives your tired muscles a rest. What’s the coolest and most non obtrusive torso bracing garment? A corset. Believe me when I say that when your torso has the structural integrity of a wet sack of jello, a tightly laced corset makes you feel like a god.

And because historical corsets tend to be more comfortable and are usually made with regular wear in mind, they are the natural choice.

Then you have the shoes. What shoes is someone with unstable ankles supposed to wear, you ask?Lace up boots, for stability. And due to their middle of the heel heel placement, historical lace up boots tend to be way more comfortable than the modern variety.Even the non healed ones, really. Couple that with the fact that Edwardian and Victorian boots are really really pretty…

And after the boots and the corset, it’s a very slippery slope.

Pretty soon you’ll be wondering how to hide your corset under your clothes for when an outer corset is not the vibe, and you’ll be buying yourself a corset cover. Or making one yourself. They’re a great starter project. But that looks weird with a fitted top so cool flowy blouse it is.

Then you realize wearing this with a skirt makes you feel intensely powerful but you don’t want to keep tripping over it so you add petticoats.

And then you realize your neck isn’t so great at holding up your head so you really need to find a hairstyle where your hair sits on top of your head instead of to the sides or to the back so that it’s balanced and you don’t get a neck ache. A high bun it is. Not too tightly, because your scalp is sensitive, but a high bun still works if you bobby-pin it in place.

And then one day, you look in the mirror and you’re dressed like Anne of Green Gables.

And you’ve never looked cooler.

[project-sekai-facts]

Im sorry i know you said not to ask you to elaborate on that last point, but i cant help myself.

I mean yeah it's not biphobic to dislike bi minori, but it's still hurtful when ppl are super strongly against bi hcs (to the point of acting like lesbian minori is canon, and bi = morally wrong -- not you but fandom in general) over an implied sapphic character because as you said, ppl treat bisexuality as just Straight Plus. I just want to know why you added that last part to support why it's ok to not like bi headcanons. like.... are you saying people only have bi headcanons as an excuse to ship "het" couples?

As I said with Minori specifically, she's a character strongly coded as lesbian, so the fact that some people do not like headcanoning her as bisexual is entirely understandable, because she's like the closest thing to canon lesbian rep next to Kohane so obviously a lot of fans see themselves in her and want representation.

What I mean in regards to the fandom treating bisexuality as straight plus is that a lot of the time the whole "prsk fandom is biphobic" issue is brought up is with regards to m/f shipping. Such as with the Minori discourse afaik it started because of a minori fan account shipping her with men. And I'm absolutely not saying you can't hc a character as bi and ship them m/f, that's totally valid, but it's that commonly people only start bringing up biphobia when people don't like a m/f ship.

Like, it may be your headcanon that the characters in that ship are bi, but m/f couples are not inherently a bi thing. As a bi person it bothers me that a large portion of this fandom still defaults to "some people don't like m/f ships = biphobia" like what are you talking about. I think it's largely due to the english speaking side of the fanbase being made up of a lot of young queers and generally people assuming every character is queer off the bat. But it's very telling when people start calling biphobia over not liking a m/f ship that they're just viewing it as straight plus in a lot of cases.

Like again, I'm not saying you can't hc characters as bi and ship them m/f without shipping them with characters of the same gender as well. For the least discourse-inducing example I have, I like kaimeiluka and hc them all as bi, and I only ship kaito with those two and not any men. Like that's not my issue that's just normal my issue is that when people get upset over a m/f ship be it because they don't like it or because it features a character who is coded as exclusively gay, the people who like the m/f ship immediately jump to "you hate bi people" when that's not true and extremely disconnected from reality. m/f relationships are not inherently bi in the greater scope of reality, and it says a lot when someone immediately assumes m/f relationships as being the ones with bi people. We like both that's the entire point m/m and f/f ships can have bi people too.

Also in fandom terms as I've said before, everything comes down to preference. Some queer people don't like m/f ships that much and that's okay. That's not biphobic and also the characters in their slash and femslash ships could be bi. In the prsk fandom specifically you are not obligated to like any m/f ships, there's not many options in the first place. Sexuality goes hand in hand with shipping so people will ship and headcanon whatever they want regardless of what's implied in canon, because at the end of the day nothing is confirmed. As much as Minori is lesbian coded people are never going to stop shipping her with men, and if one day it gets confirmed they'll probably just start genderbending. (before anyone brings up Mizuki that's a different can of worms since there is confirmation in the text she is 1. amab and 2. identifies as female so going against that is blatantly transphobic)

[de-ghost]

Au but not au idea set in the distant future of nevermore. Heres the pitch...

After many exams and trials we're down to our main 11 students, who are ofc Annabel and Lenore's groups. At this point tensions have partially subsided between the groups (they're no longer out right trying to murder each other but they still hate each other).

This trial is a test of emotional perseverance, where each student (along with their companions and enemies as observers) must face their darkest hour in life. They then are posed with a question, if they succeed in obtaining the new life, would they be willing to risk returning to that time?

They are also granted a second option though...

A chance to live on forever in Nevermore. A chance to become one of the wisps, forever fated to haunt the hallow halls of the school.

After each student's trial they will be presented with a box. Open it and you will be trapped stay in Nevermore forever. It will swallow your spectre but also your memory from those still alive in the land of the living, severing your ties to both the world of the living and the dead.

Each time the choice is presented to a student, the rest of the observing student's can try and reason talk to them but cannot physically stop their decision final, be that for better, or worse...

And that's it, I'm keeping a lot of my plans vague but I'm hoping to make a few comics based around this idea! Feel free to hit me up in the ask box if you're curious about the au, it would honestly make my day! :D

[dayxero]

I can see why this wouldn't fit within the realms of your story, considering the direction you took the characters. Only way I could see something like this working is one of my most hated tropes, being the; "It was all a dream/daydream" and they wake up after the confession. So.... lame a lot of the time.... Either way, as weird as it sounds, option 2 is the best way to go about it. While I get its mostly for laughs, I still find it strange how the fandom has to dumb down Narinder's intellect and power, for the sake of comedy and to be the butt of their Lamb's jokes, and it diminishes the character, for the sake of an empty gag. However if Narinder is fully aware, says and does these things, but Ewen goes on after the fact feeling a mix of catharsis and sadness and pretending nothing happened, while Narinder learns the truth, it could have also been one of those moments that served as a catalyst to allow Narinder to become aware of Ewen's feelings and slowly learn to accept his treatment of them, while also helping to forgive and let go of his desire for power.

But because their relationship was more of a sexual exploration with suppressed emotion until they erupted all at once, rather than a slow, mutual growth of outside and inner awareness, it would be difficult to fit something like this in the main narrative. Either way, it would be a nice moment to serve as a way to help draw them closer, while maintaining their sense of pride and both still hiding their real feelings in their attempt to grow.

Narilamb idea that doesn't really fit my Lamb so im putting it out in the Fandom ether

The lamb does the brainwashing ritual for the first time since narinders indoctrination. They take them off somewhere alone and, while they have complete control over them, ask them to say they forgive them. That it wasn't their fault. That they're proud of them as their vessel. Maybe even that they love them too. All the while holding back tears.

Now there's 2 ways this can end.

1. They look up at narinder and see nothing but the blank, dead eyes of mushroom addled cultist, and be forced to face the fact that, even if he says those things, he'll never mean it.

2. Realize narinder was smart enough to not take any mushrooms while making everyone think he did and he's been 100% sober the whole time they've said all this.

[cryptid-teapot]

my two cents that people will probs never see:

I've been seeing people say 'welcome to the rebellion' from Cassian was patronizing, and just. hard disagree? Mon has been involved the whole time but she balks at the actual on the ground rebellion- the violence necessary to get her to safety, the multiple levels of stealth that are needed for her to just do this speech. She's ignored it before, as when Luthen calls her out before her childhood friend is killed.

She has done a lot of work, but has been able to stay in a bit of her own bubble as to the lived day to day of rebellion on the ground. Not ignorance per se, but a lack of lived engagement with that reality, and not in a small way due to the Wild class differences going on. Cassian has lived the rebellion in a way she hasn't, he has been forced to, and it shows in his willingness and knowledge to do what's needed to get them both out of there. Mon has funded the rebellion massively and helped build it, but she could always have walked away, in a way Cassian and others don't have the option to. I think this is really where the rubber meets the road for her.

[shortypipatrick]

I didn't go find Markvart in my first playthrough, but I did in my second. And I have a lot of ramble-y thoughts.

Markvart makes the same points Istvan did, just, more calmly. He has more time, more patience to get across what he's saying.

War is bad. It's dangerous. innocent people die, and they die often. Istvan said the same thing, didn't he?

but what's striking me most is other things he said.

"I remember all the men I've killed. Don't you?"

No. No, I don't. (my) Henry walks around killing without remorse, bandits, guards, noblemen, Brabant, Istvan. Just not civilians. But Markvart is right; to pretend that's better, just because they don't have titles, or armor, or orders from the opposing army.... it doesn't make it better.

"how many fathers have you killed?"

Those dead people I've left - Henry has left - they're fathers, sons, wives, daughters. They have friends and family, just like Henry did. Just like Istvan did. Just like Markvart does. And they're dead.

There’s something .... beautiful? about a game making you confront the fact that those aren't supposed to be meat, but people. Human beings.

And standing there, having played an angry, hungry for revenge Henry, I see why that's wrong. Henry is wrong. Markvart is wrong. Capon, Devil, Zizka, Kubyenka, Markvart, Erik, Von Bergow, Istvan, they're all wrong. There is no RIGHT, here. Never has been. The only thing that makes a difference to either of them is which side they're on.

And what else gets me

- Give von Aulitz a dignified death

- Kill von Aulitz like a dog

- Let von Aulitz live

It's different than how it is with Istvan. I mean, Markvart is already dying, will be dead by morning, but the option not to kill him after that conversation is poignant. Maybe a small way to redeem yourself for the fathers, sons you've killed? It doesn't amount to much in the end, does it?

I chose to kill him with dignity. Henry - my Henry - has killed countless people, but, in his mind, this is a mercy. The last thing he can do for a man he was going to kill, anyway. He did the same for Istvan. Some tiny semblance of balance to the act of Murder? Some show of respect, a way to say he's better than they are? I don't know. both, maybe.

I think Markvart was waiting for it. I'm sure he's felt the same - I'm sure that, like Henry, like Erik and Istvan, like so many others, he's gotten his revenge. He hunted someone down to the ends of the Earth, and I think he knew he'd face the same, someday. He wasn't as arrogant and self-assured as Istvan, and not as angry as Erik; he knew it was coming, I think, and made peace with it long before that bolt hit his chest. Maybe he was glad Henry stayed to listen, to ask questions, to reflect, at least. But when he stood him up, and he pointed that dagger to his chest, and Markvart told him where to aim - he'd been at peace with that moment for a long time.

Is this Henry's future? A soldier; a killing machine. A man who, like Markvart, will face his own death at the end of a dagger wielded by a young man whose family he'd slaughtered for whatever cause it may have been? Will he have made peace with it? Or will he be angry, and think he's above it all?

I'd like to think he'll have some regret.

Anyway, I don't feel good about killing him. In fact, I feel more remorse than I already did at the actions I've taken this playthough. This game is so beautifully written... I cannot wait to play through again.