#this was the original ending planned though

[wayward-stardust]

been thinking about how none of the adults in the isat party really had any plans for after defeating the king. it wasn't just siffrin! even as early as acts one and two, it's hinted at if you pay close enough attention to the dialogue.

isabeau brings up his dream of becoming a clothing designer exactly once: in loop zero. before fighting the king. when the thought of actually winning is still a hope rather than a reality.

as soon as that happens, his story changes.

he plans on taking up his old job again. the one he quit to support mira. the one he said he wouldn't go back to, in a timeline that's been long since overwritten. which may feel like a contradiction, but a) this isabeau never had that first conversation with sif and b) the atmosphere's completely shifted with everything else that's happened over the past day.

isa's supposed to be the rock of the party (pun intended). the emotional support. and now, he's supposed to be celebrating their victory, and ruining the mood by admitting he's not going back to anything meaningful would be breaking the persona he's worked so hard to craft. (also this dialogue occurs immediately after isa fails to confess to siffrin, which might have affected his mindset)

and even in that first scene, back at the favor tree in loop zero, isabeau's still unsure of himself.

he willingly admits to sif that he, too, doesn't have anything else planned for after. (in act one, where it's so easy to forget by the time sif actually succeeds). why would he? his closest friends are traveling with him. he's not particularly close with his blood family (especially after his change, i imagine, although he never talks about them enough to say for certain.) he abandoned his career that he no longer likes.

mirabelle, on the other hand, is very committed to staying a housemaiden. her original plan (in act one) for after is to start traveling again and go on her own pilgrimage. but, to me, it's never really felt like that's what she wanted to do, but more like what she felt she had to do.

she needs to go on a pilgrimage to change. because she's a housemaiden, which means prioritizing change, and she's already not dating and not getting bonded and not capital-c Changing so she has to make up for that elsewhere, and if even this whole journey to save vaugarde didn't change her she has to try harder, (and what she wants is to keep traveling with her friends but she's not going to admit that,) and... and so she has to!

even so, like isabeau, those initial goals fade away once she's actually defeated the king.

her dreams of continuing to travel and see the world and change things are replaced with just... staying at home. living in dormont. going back to her normal life. maybe, we can hope, part of that's because of the conversations she's had along the way — either her friendquest with siffrin or the whole "not being blessed by the change god" snack room discussion, alongside euphrasie's praise of her. maybe she's grown more comfortable with her relationship with her faith and her home (particularly in a friendquest run).

or maybe she's like isabeau and siffrin, wanting more out of her future but being unwilling to potentially sour the mood by asking for it. i suspect it's both, actually: she gets some character growth from the finale of her journey, but there's no way all her feelings of inadequacy can be erased in a day. she knows better than to actually admit that, though: after all, everyone else seems happy with their plans! they're the odd one out here!

madame odile’s the only one who keeps her story straight between iterations — no matter when siffrin asks her, she's still deciding whether to keep traveling or go home to ka bue.

(act 1 "what will you do after" conversation)

(act 2/3/4 end room conversation)

but, as she brings up at the end of act 5, that's not the whole story. she'd prefer to keep traveling with at least some of the others, but the whole group’s a bunch of blinding cowards she hasn’t found the right time to ask yet. unlike isabeau and mirabelle (particularly the post-King versions of them), odile's not hiding the fact that she's unsure of her plans. after all, she's more confident in herself and her goals: in fact, she's already succeeded at her goal of learning more about vaugarde.

like the two of them, though, there's still the uncertainty. the not being confident in what to do next. the thought of going home feels like an afterthought, almost. isabeau even says it, in act five.

it's what they "should" do next. what they're expected to do. what they all think everyone else wants to do.

but none of them really want to go home.

not siffrin, without a home to go back to. not odile, both ka buan and vaugardian by blood but never finding a true home in either. not mirabelle, growing beyond the home that she never felt comfortable in. not isabeau, leaving behind his home because he didn't like the person he was there.

or maybe they do want to go home — or more precisely, to stay there.

home is where your family is, after all.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 27

To the 🔱 anon I SAW YOUR ASK I'M WORKING ON IT I PROMISEEEE (I like the idea very much, thank you for putting it into my head)

My mother(and family doctor) has decided she wants to make me go see multiple doctors for various reasons- so that's why I've been late, and will be late for a bit. Nothing life-threatening, but it's been a lot of testing and running from here to there and I'll cry if I have to take another blood test🥹 Ch 28 may get another draft before it gets published, it's quite short but we'll see ig 🫠

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 27 >>next(TBC)

“The Jokerized Fries are the only good thing that came from the fu- ugh…” Your eyes met Oliver’s doe orbs. “… clown…” Jason snorted, kicking your shin under the table. “Nice save.” You just kicked his shin right back, which started an under-the-table fight. “Kids, please stop it.” Nolan grumbled as he fed the toddler.

The man was stuck at the kiddie table with you, Jason, and Mark. Nolan would say it’s because he wanted to give Debbie and April a break from Oliver, but really, he was excommunicated as soon as the Sirens showed up. “Take care of your kids, actually take care of them.” Were Ivy’s words before Harley and Selina nudged Debbie and April to the closest table.

“Why was he given so many chances anyway? Why not lock him and throw away the key?” Jason’s muscles tensed at Mark’s question- the clown was still a sensitive subject. Your eyes met Jason’s before you turned to your other brother. “I wish it were that simple. But the prison gets a breakout at least once a month, no matter how much the security raises, it's really out of anybody's hands. Batman was there when The Joker, well, became The Joker. Bats thought he was the original Red Hood, so when the clown was cornered against a railing, it broke and he fell into a vat of chemical solutions.”

Jason continued where you left off. “B has been feeling guilty about it since. He won’t say so, but the way he just let the clown get away with shit when he’d otherwise be more strict had guilt written all over it.” The crime lord huffed. “Batman likes to think he’s logical. That he’s a good detective because he doesn’t let emotions sway him, but he’s only lying to himself. He is all emotions. And most of the time, he doesn’t know when to act on those emotions, so he deludes himself into thinking that it’s the logical part of his brain speaking.”

“It’s why he fucked up with me, and it’s why he puts on the Brucie persona with you.” Jason looked at you. “Everybody likes Brucie. It’s a fact. So, you must like Brucie too, even though you know that’s not him. He’s impulsive about it, thinking that just because he’s sweet now, what he did, or didn’t do, will be forgotten.”

“That’s- surprisingly sound of you, Jay.” You raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, I’m going to therapy.” He smiled, and Mark looked back at you. “Maybe you should try it.” Your head slowly turned to the young man. “I’ll go. If you go for the trauma Nolan gave you.” The named man looked at his son, eyes remorseful and ashamed. Mark looked back at his meal. “These fries are really good-“

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Wayne Enterprise was losing stockholders, he should have put out a statement. Or whatever Lucius said. Bruce wasn’t really listening, he wasn’t really doing much of anything since you actually punched him. Dick would call it depression, and maybe he was, but he was also planning… What he wasn’t sure of. Whatever he came up with ended up being erratic, theoretical, fantasies of finally getting you back, and fixing what he nurtured into destruction.

It was delusion, and some part of him knew. He wasn’t completely crazy… not yet. But that was a part he was deliberately burying. After all, there must be a way- you were still his kid, you wanted his attention. The six to seven years old version of you did, at least. At that time, you had found a camera that the chubby-cheeked version of you had used to film childish recreations of fairy tales, he couldn’t even tell if they were your favorites, or if those were just the ones you had similar enough clothes for. Ileana Simziana, Alice in Wonderland, Little Red Riding Hood.

All because you wanted him to see what your mom did, because he missed those, and he liked going to Dick’s school recitals. They were terrible, stuttering and fumbling with the change of clothes was most of the play- and yet, at the end of it all, you were all smiles and hopeful eyes. And then it stopped, picking up again about two years later, not with videos, but photos.

He tried to rack his brain for any information on this, trying to find a memory of you shyly approaching him to show these. He couldn’t find any. Bruce didn’t know what hurt more, the possibility that you gave up on even trying or that you did try, and he simply didn’t care enough to remember it. Either way, something made you stop from even touching the camera.

The photo right after the last video wasn’t done by you, it was actually of you. Of you specifically on Harvey’s shoulders, both sides of his dual-toned hair braided, and you putting sparkly hair clips in a random pattern as both faces of the man seemed to smile unbothered. Most photos were similar, you and a rogue doing something he should have done with you- The Penguin and you having tea parties, Killer Croc looking dead as he napped with you on top of his chest, Harley doing your nails as her hyenas tried to eat your forgotten sandwich, Selina smushing your face as she pressed a kiss to your cheek, face riddled with her lip marks even Music Meister seemed to have had time for you, the photo being of you two doing some sort of karaoke to some musical.

And yet the first photo of you, looking straight at the camera for once, all he saw was… saddening. You were giving a strained smile, eyes full of confusion about why whoever was behind the camera would want a photo of you. You weren’t used to those who you deemed family wanting photos of you, that was clear the more he carried on. Bruce remembers taking photos of Dick. Of Jason and Tim, of everyone. Alfred was the same. Every time he could, he would take a photo of the kids' achievements. There were no photos of you taken by either one, and you weren’t in any family group photos. Not theirs anyway. The rogues seemed to have taken more than enough of them.

It all angered him, the guilt only fueled the emotion. His fear of pulling you into the vigilante life, of suffocating you, his want to lock you away like a precious stone, was what threw you right into heroism, and not only that, it also tricked his mind into thinking that whatever drops of attention he gave were enough. You didn’t need your anger redirected, you didn’t crave to be the next Robin, you just wanted a dad. And he couldn’t give you that because he fooled himself that you didn’t need a father when you just lost a mother.

But you needed that. You always talked about your mom, you missed her, you wanted him to act like a dad, to be there for you, to console and love you, but all he saw was himself, and when he lost his parents, all he wanted was to be alone. You weren’t him. You weren’t like him. You needed support and affection, and he didn’t see it. “But Nolan Grayson did,” something hissed at the back of his head.

Bruce’s hands clenched as his blank stare was replaced by a deep frown. The rogues saw it. Nolan Grayson saw it. Nolan fucking Grayson. The man who beat the shit out of his son, ran away and had a whole another kid with a bug alien. You deemed him a better father. That hurt more than your punch.

He got up from his office chair, his direction set in his mind like it was the only answer, the family library. He hasn’t been near it in quite a while, his paranoia and guilt were playing tricks on his mind, he was sure of it.

The family portraits in there, since you left, had felt like they’ve been staring at him, following his every move. Books kept falling at his feet, furniture kept moving and hitting him, making him trip- all, he was sure, was his subconscious fumbling the distance in space from things due to stress and a pushed sense that one of his birds was missing.

Bruce folded the round carpet that was in the middle of the room, revealing a demon trap etched into the ground. He stepped into the middle of it, and as he bent down, his lip couldn’t help but twitch. You two were more similar than either of you thought. His nails caught onto a loose plank, and lifting it up moved several others.

His hand grabbed book after book. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he was sure these books will have the answer he’s looking for. The answer he wants.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The Sirens insisted on having some girl time, and when Roy showed up with Lian, it was set in stone. So, they pulled you, Debbie, April, and the unsuspecting girl to your room, insisting on doing some self-care and pampering, which ended up with you braiding Lian’s hair while Selina braids yours. Pamela, April, and your mom were doing an avocado mask, and Harley was happily humming as she painted Lian’s nails. “Isn’t this too many colors?” Harley laughed at the teen's question as she switched to the sixth bottle of nail polish. “There ain’t ever too many colors, honey.”

“Art would argue with that.” You huffed, tying the final French braid. “I don’t know,” Debbie muses, “Mark’s costume is… something.” Selina giggled at that. “The robin costumes are worse.” And she was immediately followed by an agreement from Harley and a snort from you.

Lian looked at the women all giggling at the pantless robin specifically, the girl smiling softly and leaning into your touch as you gently ran a hand across her back. This was nice. She loved when her dad did her hair, and with time, he has gotten better, but she wanted that with her mom. She knows Jade loves her, in her own way- and many would say that’s her only redeemable quality, not willing to give her the grace they give others- but her priorities lie somewhere else.

“Are you really not dating Deathstroke and Luthor?” Lian couldn’t help but ask for confirmation, relaxing completely when you smiled at her. “I’m not dating them, they’re just doing me a favor because Jason and I thought it’ll make the bats go crazy- which it did.”  Your smile grew into a prideful smirk, remembering the stories of Dick completely breaking down. “You say that, but you should see the way those two look at you when you’re not paying attention.” Debbie teased.

“Oh, so, every time?” Ivy couldn’t help but join. “Hey now- I pay attention-“ Selina raises an eyebrow as she quickly cuts in. “You almost walked into a pole because you saw a cat in a handbag.” Your mouth closed, argument dying in your throat as your cheeks flushed with heat. “Dad’s a real nice guy.” At Lian’s offhand comment, you turned your attention back on her, your finger gently pinching at her cheek. “I’m sure he is a great guy who doesn’t need his stellar daughter to wingman for him.”

“I said he’s a nice guy… he’s kind of hopeless when it comes to romance.” The teen’s comment got a laugh out of the older women. “Aren’t they all?” Harley jests. “Our sorceress is kind of hopeless to it too, isn’t she?” April spoke up, teasing smile on her lips. “I have no idea what you’re talking about-“ You sniff. “She’s right, gals, we’re starting to bully her-“ Selina purred. “Oh, by the way, my beloved kit, how is your crush on Wonder Woman going?” Your hand went over your heart as your mouth dropped open. “Just because I have one poster- this is Nolan all over… Lian- back me up here-“

“You’re right, you’re right-“ The teen pats your thigh. “Oh- I always wanted to know more about your relationship with Giganta.” Your other hand went over your heart as Lian just fluttered her eyelashes up at you, the other women starting to snicker. “Traitors… I’m surrounded by traitors.”

A knock at the door made everyone look at it, and when it opened, Two-Face got a mixed reaction of confusion and annoyance. “Switch time, come on, paternal figure and kid time.” He waved his hand for you to follow.

“Switch time? Y’all made a schedule?” You ask while getting up. “Yeah… we’ve learned to be buddies and share and all of that.” Harley rolled her eyes as she finished Lian’s nails. “Don’t worry, we’ll still be here when you get back.” Pamela reassured, redirecting Debbie worried look to the alien plant, asking what it eats.

You took the chance to follow Harvey, hooking your arm with his. He smiled as he led you downstairs to where Nolan and Mark were dressed in their nice suits, and even Oliver had his own little tux on while strapped to your dad’s chest. “Aww, look at my little man all prim and proper. So you're taking us to a nice place?” You cooed as the little guy grabbed at your fingers, nuzzling into your hand.

“Yes. And then we’ll visit Waylon and Bundy since they can’t come.” His eyebrow raised at the green light that engulfed your body and changed the pajamas to a long black dress, one similar to what he’d seen Morticia Addams wear in the many movies you were once obsessed with. “Cobblepot is waiting for us there.”

“We’re going to The Lounge?” Harvey smiled at Mark’s hidden excitement. “No. It’s not a place for babies, maybe we’ll go before you lot have to return.” Mark’s shoulders slumped as he fought a pout. “I’m still mad I can’t come-“ Jason whined, not even trying to hide his pout as Roy snickered. “If you come, the bats will for sure show up. Without you there, we get a fifty-fifty chance they won’t- no I won’t flip a coin for it, have a nice day, we’ll be back late.”

Jason’s frown deepened as he watched Two-Face usher the Graysons to the door. “Please don’t go after them. Do you really want to be blamed if Bruce does show up?” Roy nudged his friend, smiling as Jason groaned out a no.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Your laugh filled the otherwise empty restaurant as John Constantine shimmied himself and a chair between you and Nolan, despite having enough space anywhere else at the table. “Can’t believe I wasn’t invited-“ The blond man was cut by Mark’s snort, immediately followed by Nolan’s voice. “You’re more of a drunk uncle who only shows up when he wants something. Cecil has more of a right to your seat.” John just gave the man a look before turning his head back to you. “So- when you get home, there’s a gift waiting for you- no, not a hell hound, I’m not getting you a hell hound- it’s grimoires and other magic books, you’ll enjoy them.”

“And it was a must for you to interrupt our outing-“ John quickly interrupts Oswald, ignoring your whining about how you deserve a hellhound. “Nah, Bruce is about to show up any moment now- want to see the shit show for myself.” As the man stole Harvey’s whiskey, the doors opened, and in walked the bat himself.

“Can’t I take a break-“ You whined, your hand immediately covering your face as your elbows rested on the table. “Bruce-“ Harvey got up from his chair as both his faces showed the displeasure of seeing the bat brought. “I'm not looking for a fight-“ Bruce raised his hands in a surrendering manner before his eyes drifted back to you. “I do just want to talk.” You took the whiskey glass from John and downed it.

Oliver looked between you and Bruce as you slammed the glass down. His eyes remained on the older man’s tired face. Bruce, sensing eyes on him, turns his attention from your whining form to the toddler sitting in his highchair. As the man gives the kid a small smile, Oliver isn’t having any of it, his little face scrunching up as he points at Bruce. “Ugly.”

It takes a while for everyone to process what Oliver called the bat, but when it registers in everyone’s brain, the reactions are immediate. Bruce’s shoulders slump with defeat as you, John, and Mark completely lose it, laughing like hyenas. “Well-“ Whatever little jab Nolan wanted to give was interrupted when Oliver grabbed at his mustache. “Dada ugly too.”

The laughter only got louder. John went down, clutching his stomach while slamming his fist into the ground- you weren’t far behind, the only thing keeping you upwards was Mark shaking you as he laughed soundlessly, his face turning red. “Are you two done?” Nolan’s grumble was met with nonsensical babble, neither of his kids being able to form comprehensible sentences.

Bruce, deciding it’s a good enough time to get a distracted you to listen, gently taps your back, resulting in your hand in his as he gently pulls you away from the table. The men wanted to stop him, but knowing his history of digging his own hole, they let him take you away for a bit. “The mustache is quite ugly.” The Penguin mutters, and as Harvey hides his laugh with a cough, John lets out a sound similar to a dying cat.

You were stumbling, hitting Bruce’s arm with no real bite while your laughter left you lightheaded. “Oh, sweet Gelos-“ You sniffed, hand wiping away tears as you finally let go of the man to rest against a wall, body still shaking with giggles. And Bruce just smiled, the exhaustion fading away the more you mumbled and the more your shoulders shook with cackles and shaky breaths. He just wishes it didn’t take this long to hear you so happy. That you were laughing at something he said.

“I have so many explanations of why I did what I did.” His voice made you take in a sharp breath, any amusement dying down faster than Constantine can smoke a pack of cigarettes. “But that’s not an apology, and it doesn’t matter what I wanted to accomplish when all I did was hurt you.”  Bruce moved closer, and you pressed your back into the wall. “… I am sorry-“

“I don’t believe you.” Your tone was even, face blank, and shoulders tense. “You weren’t sorry back then, you're only sorry now, because the public and JL members found out and it started affecting you.” Bruce didn’t expect this to be easy, to be forgiven on the spot- this isn’t a Disney movie where the toxic grandmother is forgiven with a hug. “I know… And I understand why you’d believe that. But I won’t give up. Whether or not you like it, you’re still my daughter.”

“I may as well have been an orphan. The only good thing you’ve ever done was give me access to your money.” Despite the jab and you walking away, Bruce took this as a small win- after all, he didn’t get punched or cake smashed. Small steps, he was a patient man.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“-and I definitely wanted to punch him again.” You finished telling Waylon what happened at dinner, your eyes drifting to Bundy, who has been frozen since Oliver decided he wanted the zombie to hold him and cuddle. “You should have,” Two-Face growled. “Have to agree. I don’t like the courage he and his birds are getting.” Nolan grumbled, his arms crossed. “He hasn’t been this sloppy since Jason died.” Waylon’s tail tapped the ground as he spoke, lost in thought.

 John couldn’t agree more, the bug the man tried to plant was the most obvious thing. Too obvious. John frowned as he got up from the old armchair, walking past Mark, who was busy reading a The Walking Dead comic, straight to you. “Sorry, love.” He mumbled as he moved behind you, ignoring the conversation going on, while his hands went for your hair.

His eyes carefully moved down your strands of hair as he muttered spells, down the back of your neck, and stopping where your shoulders started. Two fingers went from the left to the right shoulder, his eyebrows furrowing while his eyes watched the tracking sigil disappear.  Seems like he’ll have to talk to the bat himself.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla @sirenetheblogger @pinkluv29 @br33zy-blizzardz @victoria1676 @of-poetry-and-dreams @djpuppy-kittens @wizzerreblogs @galaxypurplerose @burningkittenprince @swanluver @ohnoivefallen @eyeless-kun @bunniotomia @kawairoach

[writesvani]

say you remember | 02

idol!minyoongi x writer!reader

SUMMARY: You don’t expect much when your eyes meet his across the café-bar—just a fleeting glance, a moment that should mean nothing. But then there’s another look. And another. Before you know it, you’re tangled up in something that isn’t love, isn’t commitment—just an escape wrapped in late-night encounters and whispered goodbyes.

It’s fine. Until it isn’t.

When feelings start creeping in, you both decide to walk away before things get too complicated. It should have ended there. But fate has other plans. When your friend starts dating Jungkook—his best friend, his bandmate—you find yourself face to face with Yoongi once again.

The past lingers between you, heavy and unresolved. The question is—was it ever really over?

strangers-to-fwb-to-strangers-to-lovers

TRIGGER WARNINGS: jealousy, unresolved past relationships, awkward social interactions, emotional tension, flirtation, suppressed feelings, anxiety, unspoken love, betrayal, unrequited feelings, uncomfortable confrontation, smoking, drinking

comment here for to Say You Remember taglist;

SERIES M. LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter (pending...)

wc: 7k // date: 15th of April 2025

CHAPTER TWO — Drowning in the Silence Between Us; happy reading my gummies...

AN: hii guys. im so excited for this chapter, i LOVE it. it's so funny. like, i'm over here cackling like a mad person. it's honestly kinda self projecting but oh well, i'm embracing it. who needs boundaries when you're writing, right?

also, just to clear things up, y/n's book dear me is in no way connected with my jungkook fic dear me (imagine the drama if it was). it's just that i couldn’t think of a name for her book, so i just borrowed the name from one of my own fics. i promise i'm not secretly inserting my own universe into this. but yeah, dear me in this fic is y/n's book and it's all original with her own characters. okay, enjoy the chaos.

also, goal for this chapter is 250 notes. i am not lowering it this time. i fed you well with this one, 7k words after all, so if you want a new meal, y'all will have to work for it. get those notes in!

"Remind me again why we still don't know his name?" Chul asks, flatly, as he sets down three steaming mugs with the precision of a tired barista.

"Because it's still new," Aecha says, wrapping her hands around her cup. "And I want it to stay good before I jinx it by saying too much. You know how it goes—tell people, suddenly the whole thing collapses like a cheap tent."

You narrow your eyes, flicking ash off your cigarette with a pointed look. "People? Are we people to you now? Damn. And here I thought we made it past that stage."

Aecha just shrugs, a mischievous smile playing at the corner of her lips.

"It’s not just that, though," you go on, leaning forward. "It’s like you're actively enjoying this whole mystery-man act. Like you want us to suffer trying to figure out who he is."

"Maybe I do," she says, taking another sip. "You two make great detectives when you're desperate."

Chul groans, flopping onto the couch. "Great. So now we’re just part of your little game."

"You’ve always been part of my little game," she says with a wink.

"You see how little she thinks of us?" you say, shooting Chul a look of betrayal.

Chul nods with theatrical disappointment, letting out a long, dramatic sigh as he leans back in his chair. "Our own goddamn roommate. Best friend, even. And we’re apparently not worthy of a name."

"Ugh, it’s not like that," Aecha groans, setting her mug down with a soft clink. "It’s just… complicated, okay? You’ll understand when you meet him."

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah? If we ever get to meet him. At this rate, you’ll be married with two kids before we even know his star sign."

"It would be nice to know who we’re meeting at least," Chul adds, more gently now. "Y’know, in case he’s a serial killer or a tax evader or something."

Aecha snorts. "He’s not a serial killer. Or a tax evader."

"That’s exactly what someone dating a serial killer would say," you deadpan, taking a slow drag of your cigarette.

"Oh, oh—wait. I have a theory," you say, tapping your fingers against the edge of the small wooden table. It’s sticky. "Ugh. Chul, seriously? Did you skip cleaning duty again?"

"Creative minds don't clean," Chul mumbles, unbothered.

You roll your eyes. "Anyway. Theory time. What if he's, like, a dealer? Or—wait—a vampire baby? Be honest, Aecha. Is your man an immortal bloodsucker with a side hustle in illegal substances? Because if so, I support you, I just need to emotionally prepare."

Aecha snorts into her coffee. "He is not a dealer. Or a vampire. God, what even is a vampire baby?"

"You know… baby-faced. Pale. Broody. Hangs out in corners. Likes antique furniture." You gesture vaguely, like you're describing a wine.

"Still no," Aecha says, but her smile slips just a little. "But I will say... he’s not exactly someone I can just go around telling people I’m dating."

You and Chul exchange glances.

"Jesus, who is he then?" Chul says, leaning forward with his chin on his hand. "C’mon, babe. All this secrecy is exhausting. You’re wearing us down like some kind of psychological warfare expert."

Aecha just shrugs again, lips curving into that maddening, knowing smile. "Good things come to those who wait.”

"Aaand, c’mon, guys," Aecha sighs, blowing on her coffee before taking a small sip. "It’s not like I’m keeping you waiting forever. For fuck’s sake, you’ll be meeting him—and his closest friends—tonight."

Chul’s eyes narrow, a slow, wicked grin forming. Then, in a low, ominous whisper, he leans in toward you. "Imagine they’re a group of human traffickers... and Aecha’s just their charming recruiter."

You snort. "Okay, that’s a little too specific, Chul."

"I’m just saying," he continues, eyes wide with mock horror, "if I end up stuffed in a trunk or smuggled across borders, I want it on record that she brought me to this dinner."

"No, but seriously?" you add, more dramatic than necessary. "I’m telling my mother where I’m going. If I disappear, she will avenge me."

"God, you’re both insane," Aecha mutters, laughing into her cup.

"Insane but prepared," Chul says. "That’s how survivors think.”

The fact that Aecha won’t even tell you her boyfriend’s name is… mildly weird. Actually, scratch that—it’s very weird. She’s never been the secretive type. If anything, she’s the kind of person who gives you the full name, zodiac sign, and three red flags of any guy she’s crushing on—whether it's someone she matched with for five minutes or actually dated for five weeks.

So the silence now? The mystery? It’s not just out of character—it’s loud.

Whoever this guy is, he must matter. Like, really matter. Either that, or something about him makes things complicated. And that? That makes you uneasy.

The idea of Aecha dating an idol has crossed your mind more than once. And honestly, that would be a solid reason to keep things secret. It makes sense. It fits.

But you try not to go there. Because you know. You know how messy it gets when people get tangled up in that world—the kind of dynamic that drains you, strips your privacy, and leaves you more alone than you were to begin with. The pressure, the lies, the heartbreak that's practically guaranteed.

So you don’t think about it. Or at least you try not to. It's easier to joke about vampire boyfriends or underground crime syndicates than to face a possibility that actually makes sense. A possibility that could genuinely hurt her.

Especially with her job—working in the digital marketing team at SM Entertainment—she’s in it. Right there, in the orbit of fame and its gravitational mess. And the odds of her meeting someone who lives in that spotlight? High. Too high.

And that’s what makes it worse.

"Aight, I gotta bounce. My shift starts in 45 minutes and I actually wanna keep this job," Chul groans, tossing back the last sip of lukewarm coffee like it’s tequila.

He gets up, drags himself to the sink, and starts washing his cup with the enthusiasm of a man being held at gunpoint.

"Wow," you say, raising an eyebrow. "Look who finally discovered the kitchen sink."

"I’m only doing this so you don’t go full FBI on me about it later," he mutters.

"That’s called growth, baby."

"Okay, don’t forget dinner!" Aecha calls out as he wrestles with his shoelaces like they personally offended him. "8PM sharp. LaRoy’s. If you're late, I’m telling them you died."

"Relax," he grunts, halfway into his hoodie. "I’ll be there. But just so we’re clear—if this turns out to be some cult initiation dinner, I’m eating first, then running."

"That’s fair," you nod. "Die with a full stomach. Iconic."

"Also, if I get kidnapped, I’m haunting you both. And I’m not gonna be a chill ghost. I’ll whisper embarrassing shit during your Zoom calls."

"Joke’s on you, I already embarrass myself daily," you shrug. "You’d be background noise."

"Love the support, really. Bye, losers."

And with that, he’s gone—probably already mentally composing his resignation letter.

When Chul leaves, it’s just you and Aecha again.

She’s immediately back on her phone, nails tapping out soft clicks against the screen—the kind of ASMR sound that weirdly soothes your brain. She’s smiling. Small, but there. The kind of smile reserved for someone. Mystery Man.

You don’t poke at her this time. Instead, you open your laptop, skimming through the last chapter you wrote, wincing at some of your word choices like they personally betrayed you.

"What are you doing today?" Aecha asks without looking up, but you can tell she’s peeled her eyes away from the screen just enough to look at you.

You sigh. "Writing. Or dying. Depends how dramatic I feel in an hour. I have to finish at least one chapter today or else both my editor and publisher are going to show up at my funeral just to make sure I’m really dead."

"Damn," she laughs, "at least you're being emotionally tortured by something you love."

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter. "I do love it. I just hate the part where I have to prove I'm not a lazy roach every three days. But don’t worry, I’ll be there for dinner. There’s no way I’m missing the grand reveal of Mr. No-Name."

"Good," Aecha says, biting back a grin. "I’ll be with him today. He’s got the day off—those are basically unicorn sightings. I’ll get ready at his place."

You gape. "Wait, so I’m stuck getting ready with Chul? Girl, you know he’s gonna stand in the doorway and trash all my outfit options like he’s a one-man 'Project Runway' judge panel."

"Oh absolutely," Aecha says, nodding. "You should prepare a backup outfit he picks. Just for the chaos."

"He’d probably put me in Crocs and a poncho just to see me suffer."

"And you’d still serve."

You glance up from your laptop. "I would, wouldn’t I?”

"Of course you would," Aecha grins, all smug and mysterious.

And then? Silence. The kind where you’re both in your little bubbles—her giggling at her phone like it’s whispering sweet nothings, and you glaring at your laptop like it just slapped your mom.

You’re trying to write. You really are. But this one scene is being stubborn. No matter how many times you rewrite it, it still reads like garbage written by a sleep-deprived raccoon with WiFi.

Your eye twitches.

Then—RING RING.

"Shit, he’s here?!" Aecha yelps, launching off the couch like she just sat on a ghost. She’s grabbing her purse, her wallet, a random sock, possibly someone’s toothbrush—you’re not even sure anymore.

"Wait, where is here?" you ask, blinking through the chaos.

"Here-here! Like, downstairs-here! Picking-me-up-here!" she hisses, as she smacks on lipstick with the grace of someone who's clearly done this in moving vehicles before.

"Damn, thank god you’re chill about it," you say, watching the storm unfold.

"Shut up," she breathes, checking herself in the mirror like she’s about to accept an Oscar.

She turns to you, one shoe on, purse hanging half open, still looking criminally good. "Okay, I’m leaving. See you tonight, babe!"

"Byeeeeee," you sing, and wait exactly 2.4 seconds after the door shuts before sprinting to the window like you’re in a Netflix thriller.

Full. Detective. Mode.

If she won’t tell you who this guy is, you’re gonna Nancy Drew your way into the answer.

You peek through the blinds—subtle, of course. Very stealth. But all you see is a car.

A very nice car.

A sexy, blacked-out, borderline Batman-looking Mercedes G 63 S.

You whistle under your breath. “Sir, what do you do for a living? And can I do it too?”

The windows are tinted darker than your search history. There’s no way to see inside. Just Aecha getting in, flipping her hair like this is her life now and the rest of you peasants can stay pressed.

The car glides away like it’s floating on money.

You stand there, blinking, brain already spiraling. Rich? Idol? CEO? Cult leader with good branding?

You sigh and flop back down on the couch.

“Good for her,” you mumble. “Eat the rich. Or at least… ride in their cars and moisturize with their money.”

You spend the rest of your day in the most unproductive, soul-crushing spiral imaginable. The kind of spiral where you stare at your laptop for so long, the blinking cursor starts to feel like it’s mocking you. Blink. Blink. You suck. Blink.

You write half a sentence. Delete it. Write a new one. Delete that too. Open Instagram. Hate everyone. Go back to the doc. Stare at the same three words for twenty minutes.

Your brain is soup. Not even good soup. Like watery instant ramen you forgot to flavor.

At one point, you dramatically flop face-down onto the couch and heavily consider committing one of two crimes:

One: Emailing your editor a resignation letter that just says "goodbye forever."

Two: Getting blackout drunk and letting the creative spirits possess you.

Option two is dangerously tempting. Tequila does make you poetic. But… you’re going to a dinner tonight. With Aecha’s mystery man and his friends. The man who drives a car that probably costs more than your organs combined.

You want to be sober. Observant. Ready to judge.

Because listen—if the man owns a Mercedes G 63 S, you know he’s dropping at least a couple hundred on wine tonight. You refuse to let his overpriced bottle taste like grape vinegar just because you had a solo pity party before dinner.

So you wait. Like a sad wife staring out the window for her husband at war. Except the war is Chul’s corporate shift and the husband is your emotional stability.

“Where the hell is he…” you mutter, tapping your pen against your notebook.

You have no idea what you’re wearing tonight. You have no mental energy to figure it out. You need Chul. You need his critiques, his sighs of disappointment, his dramatic gasp when you suggest wearing sneakers.

God help you if he comes home late. Or worse—if he says he’s too tired to help.

You might genuinely cry.

When the door finally creaks open, you let out a sigh of dramatic relief, like a damsel rescued from a burning building.

“I’m baaack!” Chul calls, dragging out the vowels. You hear the familiar thud of shoes being kicked off and keys clattering into the bowl by the door before he saunters into the living room like he owns the place—which, okay, partially, he does.

He takes one look at you, curled up on the couch like a cryptid, laptop half-slid down your lap, face twisted in literary despair.

“You writing?” he asks, already suspicious.

“Trying to,” you mumble, eyes still glued to the cursed blinking cursor.

He squints at you. “That doesn’t sound good.”

“Not at all.”

He flops down beside you with a grunt, grabbing a throw pillow and hugging it like it personally owes him money.

“Is it like… ‘I can’t write because I’m empty inside’ trying? Or ‘I can’t write because I accidentally stalked Aecha’s mystery man via car model and now my brain is fried’ trying?”

You blink at him.

“Both.”

“Knew it. You’re a menace.”

You groan, sinking deeper into the couch. “He drives a G 63 S, Chul. What kind of man does that? What kind of bank account does that?”

Chul gasps. “A dangerous one. Probably moisturizes with La Mer and screams at assistants named Greg.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, processing the sheer luxury of the situation.

“…We have to look hot tonight.” you mutter.

Chul tosses the pillow aside like it’s a grenade. “I’ll get the steamer.”

The next two hours turn into a full-blown getting ready montage, complete with outfit changes, near-death experiences with the eyelash curler, and Chul nearly setting the apartment on fire trying to steam his shirt.

By the time you’re done, you look like a Pinterest board brought to life. Your makeup is peak clean girl aesthetic—dewy skin, fluffy brows, and just the right amount of highlighter to make it look like you're always basking in golden hour. Your hair is curled to soft, effortless perfection (even though it took 45 minutes and one minor burn), and your white, off-shoulder dress hugs your body like it was custom-made for night.

Chul, on the other hand, looks like he walked straight out of a K-drama. He’s wearing these dangerously good khaki dress pants that somehow make his legs look ten feet long, and a white button-up that he very intentionally left two buttons undone. It’s giving “CEO with a tragic past”, and honestly? If he wasn’t so aggressively gay, you'd have jumped him in the hallway by now.

“Do I look hot?” he asks, spinning slowly.

“Unfortunately, yes.”

“Tragic,” he sighs, spritzing himself with cologne like he’s about to go on a date with destiny.

The ride to the restaurant is weirdly silent. You and Chul keep exchanging glances like you’re in a horror movie where the monster is definitely hiding in plain sight. Both of you are too nervous to say anything out loud, like the car itself might snitch to Aecha.

When you finally step inside LaRoy’s, the first thing that hits you is how insanely gorgeous the place is. It’s giving Michelin star meets royalty on vacation. Golden chandeliers, velvet chairs, waiters with actual white gloves. You’re about to comment on it when—

“Wait... where is everyone?” Chul whispers.

And yeah. That’s when it hits you. The place is completely empty. Not a single other customer in sight. Just you, Chul, and an unsettling level of ambiance.

Chul and you exchange the we’re-definitely-about-to-die look.

Then, a pristine-looking hostess materializes out of nowhere like she was programmed to show up at maximum tension.

“Chul and Y/N?”

You both answer in unison, way too synchronized for comfort:

“Yes.”

“Right this way.”

You follow her through the overly quiet restaurant like you’re walking toward your own funeral. You glance at Chul, who is now casually patting down his hair and silently mouthing, ‘We’re so screwed’.

And then—you see her.

Aecha. Sitting at a massive round table like she owns the damn place. She’s already mid-laugh when she spots you two, and her smile somehow manages to get bigger. Like she's been waiting for this exact moment of dramatic entrance.

You don’t know if you should wave or run. Probably both.

And then you see the hand.

That hand—casually draped over Aecha’s shoulder, a silent claim.

You already know where this is going, but it doesn’t stop the twist in your stomach when you finally see who’s sitting next to her.

Jeon Jungkook.

Your breath hitches, and for a moment, you freeze. You don’t even care about the fact that he’s ridiculously good-looking, or how the room feels like it’s just a bit too bright. No. What hits you like a freight train is that if he’s here...

Yoongi is, too.

Fuck.

You don’t even need to look around the table to know. The feeling crawls up your spine like a warning signal, one that you’ve tried to ignore for years, but here it is, loud and unavoidable. The tightness in your chest. The pulse of nausea that makes you want to choke on your own breath.

You can’t look at Jungkook. You can’t.

Because if you do, the truth slaps you right across the face, and it’s one you’ve been running from. Jungkook is just a mess of questions you don’t care to have answered. But Yoongi? Yoongi’s the reason your heart beats too fast, why you’re still tangled in memories you should have let go of.

And then you see him.

Jesus.

The way his eyes land on you is like it’s been years since you last saw each other—and honestly, that's the truth. Two years. Two years passed. The ache that pulls at your ribs, the rawness that floods you, is something you thought had faded into oblivion. You thought you were over it.

But it’s never that easy, is it?

Chul notices immediately, the shift in your expression, the way your posture changes, rigid as though you’ve been frozen by some invisible force. His hand rests on your arm gently, a silent question. But what can you say? What can you explain without laying it all bare in front of people who have no idea about your history with him?

And you know it’s not just the fact that Yoongi is here—it’s that feeling. That damn ache that never really goes away. The past flooding back to suffocate you in this room full of people who have no clue what’s going on in your head.

You can’t breathe.

You’re not ready for this. You weren’t ready to see him again. Not like this. Not with Chul looking at you like he’s wondering if you’re okay.

But Yoongi? Yoongi’s eyes stay locked on yours. No words. No movement. Just that look. The one that says everything, even though it says nothing at all.

It’s like he’s still inside you. Like nothing has changed. You’re right back there, a thousand moments too many.

And it hits you—the final realization that this dinner isn’t just awkward. It’s a damn reminder of all the unfinished business you wish you could bury.

You’ve never felt so out of control.

“Oh my God, hi guys,” Aecha stands up with that familiar sparkle in her eye, wrapping you in a hug that feels tighter than usual. You hug her back, but your hands are clammy, your heart heavy in your chest. The warmth in her smile is real—but you can’t match it right now. Not with everything pressing down on you.

You force a breath as your gaze flickers over the table. You skip him. You skip Yoongi. On purpose.

Your hand finds the hem of your dress, discreetly wiping off the sweat as you steel yourself to be polite. Presentable. Normal.

Jungkook stands to greet you, that signature sweetness etched into every corner of his face. “Hey, I’m Jungkook,” he says, extending his hand. He doesn’t know. You see it immediately. There’s no recognition of your history—only curiosity, maybe a spark of interest, but nothing more.

You shake his hand, offering a small smile. “Nice to meet you.” Chul introduces himself too, and Jungkook lights up, immediately vibing with him, which helps, a little. The rest of the guys are friendly, laid-back. They smile, say their names, nod politely. It should feel normal.

But then.

He stands.

And everything slows.

“Min Yoongi,” he says evenly, his tone smooth and familiar in the worst way. He extends his hand, and for a moment you freeze. You think about ignoring it. About pretending. But that would draw too much attention—especially with Aecha watching so closely.

So you take it.

Your name slips from your mouth like it doesn’t belong to you. Like it’s a line from a script you’ve forgotten how to feel.

His skin is warm. You wish it wasn’t.

It lasts no more than a second. But when you sit down, your whole body feels altered.

Chul’s next, his handshake with Yoongi stiffer, his eyes avoiding yours. You don’t need to ask to know—he’s silently panicking. He knows everything. And you’re both trying to act like nothing happened, like Yoongi and you didn’t ruin each other once and then vanish from each other's worlds.

Namjoon watches. Quietly. Sharp eyes missing nothing.

You wonder if Yoongi gave him the full truth. Or just enough to keep him quiet.

Either way—this dinner is going to suck.

You settle into your chairs, side by side like you're bracing for impact. On your right sits Kim Taehyung, draped in luxury like it's a second skin, sipping water like it's champagne. On Chul’s left, Yoongi is already sprawled in his chair, legs stretched out like he’d rather be anywhere but here.

Honestly? Mood.

You flick your eyes at Chul. He looks like he’s debating whether to throw up or chug the complimentary sparkling water. No in-between.

“Sooo,” Chul finally speaks, voice artificially light. “Give us the story of how you two met. Like okay, you’re dating him,” he points a thumb at Jungkook, “but you work for SM, not HYBE.”

Aecha beams, clearly ready for this part. “It was during a promotional event the guys were at. I was there handling digital strategy for EXO, and Jungkook was invited as a guest and—”

“She was holding an iPad like it was a weapon,” Jungkook cuts in with a laugh, eyes crinkling. “I was just trying to ask where the restrooms were, and she looked at me like I was trying to hack the mainframe.”

“I did,” Aecha says dramatically. “He walked up all shy like, ‘Excuse me—’ and I was like, ‘Do not distract me, I’m in the middle of an algorithmic miracle.’”

“Which turned out to be a TikTok schedule,” Jungkook deadpans.

“Hey. That TikTok trended for three days. I saved Baekhyun’s brand.”

They’re laughing. Everyone at the table joins in. Except you.

And Yoongi.

Taehyung leans a little closer, eyes twinkling. “So what about you two?” he asks innocently, gesturing between you and Chul.

“We’re not together,” you and Chul say in perfect sync, too quickly, like soldiers trained for battle.

“Oh,” Taehyung blinks. “I mean—okay.”

“Yeah,” Chul coughs, “I’m very gay and she’s very… emotionally unavailable.”

“Thanks for that,” you mutter, shooting him a glare.

“What? You are.”

“Okay but you once cried because the guy you liked didn’t like The 1975.”

“Because he had no taste,” Chul hisses back.

Namjoon snorts into his glass. Yoongi remains silent. You can feel him, though—his presence heavier than anything on the menu. He hasn’t looked at you once. Not since the handshake. But you know he’s listening. You know.

Aecha smiles brightly. “Isn’t this nice? Everyone vibing already!”

You glance at her, then at Yoongi’s shoulder half a meter away from yours. You're practically inhaling the same air and pretending he’s a stranger.

Yeah.

Nice.

Totally vibing.

“So,” Aecha starts, swirling her wine like she didn’t just drop a social grenade, “What’s everyone getting? The truffle risotto is apparently divine.”

You reach for the menu like it might shield you from the tension building beside you. Yoongi still hasn’t spoken. Still hasn’t looked at you. It’s like sitting next to a ghost you used to let touch you.

Chul nudges your knee under the table. You don’t look at him, but you know he’s silently asking if you’re okay. You’re not. But you nod anyway.

“I’ll probably get the steak,” Jungkook says. “Haven’t eaten properly all day.”

“Of course you haven’t,” Taehyung mutters. “You only drink iced americanos and chew gum like it’s a food group.”

“I’m a busy man.”

“You’re chronically late.”

“Still busy.”

Yoongi finally speaks. “Get the steak rare,” he mutters without looking up, “They overcook everything past medium.”

His voice. It slashes through the air like a knife dipped in nostalgia and regret. You freeze for half a second. Just half. But Chul notices.

“Ohhh, steak boy speaks,” Taehyung says dramatically.

Yoongi doesn’t respond. Just drinks his water.

“So, Yoongi,” Aecha smiles, “still working on that solo album?”

He nods once. “Yeah.”

“How’s it going?” she asks sweetly.

“Like a root canal. But with synths.”

The table laughs. You don’t. You remember what he sounds like at 3am talking about chord progressions and bridges like they’re living things. You remember that look in his eyes when he finished a song and asked you to listen first. You remember a version of him that smiled at you across a messy bed, not across a dinner table full of other people.

You sip your wine. You need something stronger.

Namjoon clears his throat. “So, Y/N,” he says, forcing a new topic, “Aecha said you’re a writer?”

You blink. “Uh, yeah. I write romance.”

“Like… smut?”

Taehyung leans in, curious. Too curious.

Chul coughs loudly. “Not just smut.”

“I mean… a little smut,” you admit, shrugging, because what else are you gonna do? Lie?

“That’s dope,” Jungkook grins, nodding. “That takes guts.”

Yoongi still doesn’t say anything.

“I read one of her books once,” Chul announces, like he’s proud. “Couldn’t look her in the eye for a week.”

“Because you read the scene,” you mutter.

“Oh, you know I read the scene.”

“Wait,” Taehyung interrupts, eyes wide. “Do you base your characters on real people?”

You open your mouth to answer, but before anything leaves your lips, Yoongi suddenly stands.

“I’m gonna smoke,” he mutters, already walking away before anyone can respond.

Silence follows in his wake. Chul clears his throat.

“I’d say he’s always like that but… he’s not.” Jimin sighs into his wine.

You stab at your salad like it insulted your lineage.

And Aecha, bless her clueless soul, just smiles and says, “Maybe I will get that risotto.”

When Yoongi comes back, the conversation is already flowing. The wine’s been poured (maybe a little too generously), the bread basket is on its second refill, and you’re three laughs deep into a story with Jin and Taehyung.

You didn’t dare follow him outside. Nope. Not a chance. You weren’t about to chase a ghost into the night like it’s some 2014 Tumblr breakup playlist.

So you stayed, committed to the bit, committed to pretending your past isn’t three chairs away and brooding in black. Well he was smoking outside. But you get the point.

And now? You’re vibing.

“Wait, you’re telling me you were the one who wrote Dear Me?” Taehyung says, eyes wide like you just told him you invented bread.

You nod, sipping your wine like it’s a mic drop.

“That would be me.”

“NO.” His jaw is dropped. “No no no. That book ruined my entire week. I didn't leave my room. I didn't eat.”

Jin leans forward dramatically. “I read that one. I didn’t come out of my room for three days after that. Why is it so fucking sad?”

You grin. “It’s called talent. Look it up.”

Jin places a hand over his heart like you stabbed him. “Do you thrive on making your readers cry?”

“I mean…” You shrug. “A little. It’s character development. For you, not the characters.”

“Twisted,” Taehyung mumbles. “You need therapy.”

“And yet here you are, emotionally wrecked and asking for more.”

“You’re dangerous,” Jin points at you. “You’re like one of those hot witches in fantasy novels who curse people with heartbreak and then look hot doing it.”

You raise your glass. “Cheers.”

That’s when you feel it—him.

Yoongi slides back into his chair, and even though you don’t look at him, you know. You know from the slight shift in the table. The way the energy dips by ten degrees. The way Chul subtly straightens up like he might have to go full bodyguard in two seconds.

“So,” Namjoon says, like he’s stepping between a lit fuse and a barrel of gunpowder, “Yoongi, did you smoke the entire pack or just half?”

“Depends,” Yoongi replies flatly. “Did the conversation get better while I was gone?”

“Oh,” Jin grins, “way better. She wrote Dear Me.”

Yoongi stills. You don’t look at him. But you hear it in the pause. The inhale. The weight of a book title that he knows isn’t fiction.

“That book,” Jin continues, oblivious, “is basically emotional waterboarding.”

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his drink. “Sounds familiar.”

Your hand tightens around your glass. So we’re doing this. We’re being subtle.

“It’s fiction,” you say brightly. “Totally made up. Not a single shred of truth in it.”

Yoongi finally glances at you, eyes sharp. “Right. Fiction.”

Taehyung, bless his heart, frowns. “Wait. Is this about that scene with the voicemail? ‘Cause that—”

Chul loudly coughs and drops his fork.

“Anyway,” he says, “Jungkook, how’s your dog?”

Jungkook blinks. “Uhh… he’s good?”

“Great. Cool. Let’s talk more about that.”

The table dissolves into messy conversation again, everyone just a little too loud, a little too animated. You finally risk a glance at Yoongi. He’s looking at you, of course.

And beneath the casual disinterest, his eyes say it loud and clear:

You really thought I wouldn’t recognize myself in your pages?

You take another sip of wine and look away.

You were the one who told me to write what I know.

“Sooo,” Taehyung sings, one eyebrow cocked and eyes glittering as they dart to you. His voice alone is dangerous—smooth and teasing, the kind that could talk you into trouble without breaking a sweat. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

You pause mid-sip, arching a brow. “Umm, I’m pretty sure Chul already mentioned my emotional unavailability.”

Across the table, Chul snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

“Maybe,” Taehyung leans in a little, resting his elbow on the table and his chin in his palm, “we can work on that one.”

You blink. “What, my issues?”

“No,” he grins, wolfish and playful. “Your availability.”

Hoseok doesn’t look up from cutting his steak, but his fork slows. “Taehyung.”

“What?” Taehyung says innocently, eyes still trained on you. “We’re just talking. I’m curious. I like to connect with people.”

“Yeah, well maybe let her breathe before you start undressing her with your eyes,” Jimin mutters, sipping his wine.

“Oh please,” you roll your eyes, “let him. I put effort into this dress.”

“Exactly,” Taehyung points at you. “You wore it for a reason, don’t lie.”

You lean back, smirking. “I wore it for the free wine, actually.”

Yoongi mutters under his breath, “Still desperate for the buzz, huh?”

You don’t even look at him. “Still pretending like you’re too good for anything fun, huh?”

There’s a pause. A weird pause.

And then Jungkook narrows his eyes between the two of you. “Wait. Hold on. You two know each other?”

Namjoon’s knife slips and scrapes against his plate with a loud screech. Chul straight up drops his fork.

You blink slowly, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Define know.”

“I knew it,” Taehyung leans forward, eyes wide with delight.

“No, no, no, it’s not like that,” Chul jumps in, hands raised like he’s waving off a scandal. “They… uh, they were in a workshop together.”

You shoot him a look. A “really?” kind of look.

Namjoon nods way too fast. “Yeah. Yeah! Like two years ago. They had a, uh… poetry workshop?”

“Poetry?” Jin asks, clearly unconvinced. “Yoongi?”

Yoongi just stares blankly at the table like he’s counting down the seconds till he can leave.

“Yep,” Namjoon barrels forward. “Modern poetry. Tuesdays and Thursdays, 8 a.m. Real intense syllabus.”

“Exactly,” Chul laughs awkwardly. “Like, Emily Dickinson, Rupi Kaur… very deep.”

“I dropped out after three weeks,” Yoongi says flatly.

“Oh,” Jungkook says, squinting at him, then at you. “And you stayed in?”

You nod, cheeks warm. “Loved every second of it.”

Taehyung’s trying not to laugh. “Okay, sure. What was your favorite poem?”

You deadpan, “The one about heartbreak and regret.”

Yoongi mutters under his breath, “Original.”

You snap back, “At least I read something.”

Chul loudly clears his throat. “So, um, wine! Should we order another bottle?”

Namjoon nearly slams his glass down. “Yes. Definitely. Someone flag a waiter.”

Taehyung hums, still eyeing you like he’s crafting a sonnet in his head. “Tell you what—if we survive this night, I’m taking you out. No emotional unavailability allowed.”

You raise a brow. “And what if I ghost you after?”

He smirks. “Then I’ll write a sad poem and hope it gets published. Sound familiar?”

Jimin jumps in, glancing at Chul. “So what is going on with you two, huh?”

“We’re roommates,” Chul replies, deadpan.

“Roommates who get ready together for dinner like it’s prom night?” Yoongi mutters, not even looking up from his glass.

“Dude. I already said—I’m into men. I like penises. Hope this helps.”

The entire table erupts.

Taehyung nearly falls out of his chair laughing. Jin bangs the table. Namjoon mutters, “I needed that level of honesty today.”

Jungkook wheezes, “I’m framing that quote.”

Meanwhile, you're crying from laughter and embarrassment, hiding your face in your hands. “God, Chul, you’re so dramatic.”

“I’m not dramatic, I’m just tired of being confused for your boyfriend when I’m actively fantasizing about Park Seojoon,” Chul fires back.

Jimin, without even looking up from his plate, goes, “Honestly, mood.”

Jin wipes a tear from his eye. “Okay, fair. Penises. Got it.”

Taehyung raises his glass toward Chul. “To penises.”

Everyone clinks their glasses—except you, still dying inside.

“So,” Namjoon says, pointing his chopsticks at you like they’re a lie detector, “are you working on something new?”

You freeze mid-sip of your wine. “Uhh… kinda yeah.”

“Okay, so that’s a yes, but it’s going terribly,” Jin interprets, nodding sagely.

You sigh, dramatically collapsing back in your chair. “It’s like… my brain is a hamster wheel. Except the hamster died. And now the wheel is just creaking ominously in the wind.”

Taehyung gasps. “That’s so dark. I love it. Can I be the dead hamster?”

“Please,” you deadpan, “be my guest.”

Namjoon chuckles. “So it’s writer’s block?”

“Big time. Like, I’ve stared at a blank document for so long, I think it’s starting to stare back.”

Chul chimes in, “I found her today whispering ‘just one sentence’ to her laptop like it owed her money.”

“It does owe me money,” you say, poking at your food. “And dignity.”

Aecha grins. “Have you tried turning it off and crying?”

Yoongi mutters, “That’s my approach to life, honestly.”

“Oh my god, same,” you say, raising your glass toward him.

Taehyung, ever the opportunist, leans in with a flirty glint in his eye. “Maybe you just need some fresh inspiration.”

You raise a brow. “Are you volunteering?”

“I mean…” he shrugs, smirking. “I do look good in tragic love stories.”

“Tragic is right,” Yoongi mumbles under his breath.

Namjoon laughs. “Okay, okay—can we please get a live reading if she ever finishes it?”

You scoff. “Only if you promise not to cry.”

“I make no such promises,” Namjoon says, holding up his hands. “According to Tae and Jin, you write pain too well.”

Taehyung leans in again, this time resting his chin on his hand, eyes twinkling. “I’m serious. Write something hopeful. Like a tortured writer meets a charming stranger in a too-fancy restaurant. Sparks fly. Banter ensues. Maybe a little—” he pauses, eyes flickering to your lips, “—tension.”

You chuckle, but you feel the heat creep up your neck. “What are you trying to do, cast yourself as the love interest?”

Jin jumps in, laughing. “Please, the man’s been auditioning since the appetizers.”

“Can you blame me?” Taehyung says dramatically. “She’s hot, she’s funny, and she writes angst that emotionally ruins people. I’m practically in love already.”

Yoongi’s fork clinks a little too hard against his plate.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, sensing the shift. “You okay, hyung?”

Yoongi shrugs, not looking up. “Just didn’t realize we were casting for a romcom tonight.”

“You wanna audition too?” Jin grins. “Could be a love triangle.”

“I don’t do love triangles,” Yoongi mutters, swirling his drink. “Too messy.”

Chul snorts. “Says the guy who practically invented emotional mess but ‘make it music’.”

You glance at him, curious, but Yoongi doesn’t take the bait. Instead, his eyes flicker up and lock with yours for a split second—just long enough for your breath to catch.

Taehyung doesn’t miss it, and he grins wider, leaning closer to you. “Well, if it were a love triangle, I’d fight dirty.”

“Oh my god,” Chul groans. “This is officially a Wattpad fic now.”

“Shut up,” you say, biting your lip to hold back a smile.

Taehyung winks. “I’ll be waiting for my cameo in chapter five.”

Aecha leans forward, swirling her wine lazily. “Yoongi, didn’t you say you’ve been dealing with a block too?”

Yoongi gives a slow nod, jaw ticking slightly. “Yeah. It’s been rough. But, you know… it comes with the territory. It’s part of the process, unfortunately.”

You glance at him, eyebrows raising slightly as he continues.

“I’m not really in a rush, though. The next album isn’t coming out until next year anyway. D-Day’s still pretty fresh. Still got some breathing room.”

Aecha perks up instantly. “Oh my God, D-Day! We were obsessed. The three of us actually had a whole listening party when it dropped. Like, wine, snacks, full breakdowns of lyrics... tears.”

“Mostly Chul’s tears,” you chime in, smirking.

“I stand by them,” Chul says dramatically. “'Amygdala' had me pacing the hallway like a divorced man in a drama.”

Yoongi chuckles, soft and genuine. “Happy to hear D-Day landed.”

“And by ‘landed,’ he means it sucker-punched us in the gut and left us on the floor,” you mutter.

“Good,” Yoongi says, a tiny smirk playing at his lips. “That’s the goal.”

For a second, his eyes flick to yours. And something lingers there—quiet, unspoken, and just slightly bruised.

You don’t look away. Not yet.

“We actually went to the concert too,” Aecha says, casually lifting her wine glass.

Jungkook gasps, clutching his chest like she just betrayed him. “You didn’t tell me about this? You attended my hyung’s concert without me?”

“You didn’t even know me back then, Kook,” Aecha laughs, nudging his shoulder. “It was, like, peak fangirl era.”

Yoongi raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You were there?” he asks, looking at all three of you—but his gaze lands and lingers on you.

Your stomach flips. “Yeah, we were,” you say, carefully meeting his eyes. “It was… incredible.”

His expression softens, just a little. “Huh. Didn’t expect that.”

“We cried,” Chul announces dramatically, raising a hand. “Like, real tears. Especially her.” He jerks his thumb toward you.

You shoot him a look. “Chul, please.”

“I’m just saying,” he shrugs, grinning. “Some of us may or may not have said ‘he’s a genius’ in the middle of the second chorus.”

Yoongi’s lips twitch, that almost-smile threatening to show itself again. “Good to know I had such a poetic impact.”

You smile faintly, and something about the way he looks at you—like he's trying to read a secret you never meant to share—makes your throat tighten just a little.

Yoongi takes a slow sip of his drink, eyes still on you, like he’s trying to decide if he should say something or let the silence speak instead. He goes with the second option—until Taehyung interrupts.

“So, Y/N,” Taehyung leans in, smirking, “did you fall in love with him before or after People Pt.2?”

You snort. “Definitely after. Before that, he was still hiding behind metaphors.”

Yoongi’s mouth quirks. “You think I hide behind metaphors?”

You glance at him, heartbeat hitching just slightly. “You live behind metaphors.”

A beat of silence passes. His eyes don’t leave yours. “And yet you still showed up.”

You want to roll your eyes, but it’s too sincere to dismiss. “Yeah, well… good lyrics deserve to be heard. Doesn’t mean I know the man behind them.”

Yoongi leans back in his chair, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Maybe you did.”

taglist: @park-littlecrane @gyozajoon @knjs95s @jajabro @peacenpigeons @supertopsecretleebit @glossyfanfic @mar-lo-pap @kittyyyminnn @jennierubyjem @ot72025 @yohoosoju @diame93 @ryryvna @taekritimin123 @baechugff @enfppuff @amarawayne @134340-kr @mikrokookiex @futuristicenemychaos @shesscorpio7 @kam9404 @teaaaaaan @blubird592 @rpwprpwprpwprw @ktownshizzle @tea4sykes @jennierubyjem @butterfly-lover @jellihueni @xtracy-xd7 @annyeongbitch7 @rkivved-girl @mygtangerine @busanbby-jk @jennierubyjem @kiki-zb @marissariveraaaa

[coffeegnomee]

gnome save me gnome save me gnome save me gnomesavw me,,,, 4c revealed a bit more abt prism by showing a secret room and its prismS now. new s!!! i immediately thought of u bc u are smart and u love these sort of things :D

- mcytegg 🥹

Ahhhhhh Veni Tegg Mcytegg I've been so busy with life I totally missed 4c updates until just now. ty ty ty for pointing it out.

I agree with the posts I just looked up about what people (and you) were saying about the flowers and colors and letters. I think the general consensus of it being the first letters of the names of people that 4c is doing this trust thing with is accurate. Colors and flower colors symbolizing mc skins. Princezam, Rekrap (sooooorry. It would be so cool if it was Ro. but ro is too purple looking and 4c has a better connection with Rek. and Rek's hoodie has bright blue), Itzsubz, Squiddo, Manepear, Spoke are my vote for the people.

My thoughts besides that:

The room was split in the middle with grass on one side and dead bushes on the other.

That puts Zam, Rek, and Subz on the growing side and Squiddo, Mane, and Spoke on the dead side. Plausibly the people who create vs the people who destroy. (shoutout Jay marshmarrows for that distinction)

Given the timeline of when 4c likely designed this room, subz was not making wardens and destroying spawn. But it was after Mane destroyed spawn even though imo he added Mane to this list from his very early season actions of protecting the chunguses of the server. Clown called him "mr. morality" in the early weeks of the server bc he would only kill people who killed defenseless players.

Which brings me to how spoke was seemingly added only after this room was made, the original signs being prism, not prismS. like you said.

I was a fan of spoke being on the original list bc of the clues squiddo dropped of spoke giving them the bugbombs and spoke alluding to making someone else into the server villains, ie FOCUS. But with the black S being last, that does feel like he was added last.

OR he added Squiddo last so that the room was even on both sides, but potentially wanted to de-emphasize them and emphasize spoke, since you see the Spoke and Zam flowers first and it's quite a nice dramatic look, the white oxyeye daisies and jet black wither roses. And it's so poetic for season 3.

I didn't like squiddo on the original list bc they're already on FOCUS and cube doesn't seem to be on this list at all and I dont like that cause of how 4c so specifically keeps saying he's loyal to FOCUS over everything else. So if one is on this list why are both not on this list ESP since this list was created after the start of the server. But Cube isn't involved as much and Squiddo has some devious sounding possible plans that keep cropping up, that possibly lead to destruction, so it makes sense for them to be on this list over Cube, esp with how this room is designed to be. (also squiddo's ign is TheRealSquiddo. not Squiddo. and the rest are ign first letters, Itzsubz and princezam. so that's also why I think they were added in for this new room rather than being included in the first)

So we have Zam and Rek being the main contenders for people who would save the season (and subz before his wardens) vs the three people who are the main contenders that would end the season.

But it is Fascinating to note how my original thought of the I in prism being i, me, like 4c is now thrown totally out because it's not in the middle anymore now that there's a second S.

Now 4c himself stands in the middle, and the "altruistim" sign stands in the middle, tearing the room in half between grass and dead bushes. "the practice of disinterested and selfless concern for the well-being of others." Not interested in if they deserve it or not. Not worried about himself. Only concerned with the well-being of them, but tearing himself apart in the process, leaving him wondering "who am I", thrown across the grown in colorful refractions.

And to do that he had to add an S. it's interesting to watch this concept develop in real time, while still sticking to the original idea.

Which brings me to the design of the room.

Behind each letter is a massive red pillar that waves in and out, and I jokingly described them as umbilical cords until that descriptor made more sense than it didn't. As red pillars they immediately look evil, but I would be surprised if this arc had any evil ideas behind it. The pillars attach to the ceiling, and the whole room is shaped like a cave.. or womb.

Umbilical cords give nutrients and life to the in-utero baby, all while the baby doesn't have any idea what's happening. One could say, in a weird way, 4c is giving life and aid to these players like a mother gives life and her body to the growing child in her womb.

Or they just look cool. idk.

But connecting all the 6 supposed members together with the same umbilical cord-like structures is an odd visual for how 4c views how these players are connected. Even despite which side of the room they're on.

They're not just connected to him through the giant Prism in middle of the room, made, for instance, out of a light blue stained glass (for him). If anything he IS the prism in the center, the blue object that refracts the light into different colors, revealing the hearts of those he helps.

No. They're connected to each other through the same red pillars. Or he could have easily designed each pillar with the blocks he used for the letters: each block chosen has both slabs and blocks so the detailing would have been possible. Or just not used red.

There's also this theme of redstone ores and using red dye for the "nothing is ever as it seems" sign. idk why but the redstone ores in the walls of the daisy room have always stuck out to me.

And now there's a red sign. In stark contrast to the blue-ink and white-ink signs of the daisy room.

And there's red pillars.

"nothing is ever as it seems"

Is that 4c's actions are never as it seems: that nobody on the server understands his pov.

Or that these clues are all red herrings. (RED. waiiiit)

but if Nothing is as it seems, what's the point of any of this clue giving. And yet if you just look at the letter/flower/color clues Everything seems to be Exactly As It Seems. There are literally no other lifestealers these colors could symbolize. (ok, by technicality, Ro could be the R by a very very weird turn of fate. but the tunnel rats are too close to being exactly what 4c means when he says "if they ask me for anything I'll do it")

Which just leaves me a bit flabbergasted as to what could be the Nothing that seems to be something that it is not.

Which does make me wonder (and now we're really going into conspiracy theory) if 4c wants to do an Explode Everything arc and pit the "good" side of the server against the "evil", show them they're connected and need each other for the livelihood of the sever. Maybe explode everything is too dramatic. more like mash them together and make them see how they're connected.

These are the people 4c said, "A few months ago i thought up a few people who i liked what they were doing and i thought it would be interesting to be loyal to them as well. And they don't know it.”

"liked what they were doing" not, "thought they were doing good."

and another time: “Cause if i support someones wrongs, everything they do, even if i don't agree with it, if i support it, if i do something wrong in the future i can trust that they will support me in the same way.”

And here they are, connected together, the good and the evil.

What kind of pull the strings from behind the curtain arc could this become. A make all sides have equal aide from a disinterested source that selflessly gives everything for another's benefit. All the while accidentally drawing the server into more and more conflict.

But hey, i love a good villain. And I have always thought 4c would make a fascinating world ender.

The only final thing I don't have any crack pot ideas about are why the heck are the signs around "altruism" like that. It's oak, spruce and dark oak. it's so extra. And the top line is different than the bottom.

it's just weird. 4c is so strange. But it seems significant. Some kind of continuation of the light and dark, grass and dead theme going on.

and the glass floor is prismatic rays except, and im being perfectionistic about it, prism refracting is a perfect rainbow, not a hodge-podge of rainbow colors.

but that's okay.

it's kind of interesting that it's like a river 4c walks through, that doesn't enter any of the letter's spaces. and it isn't lit up like prismatic refraction would be. But I think it is just supposed to be the prism effect.

He wades through seeing exactly how people are, what they think. Overhearing all conversations. He is the prism receiving the light from the players and understanding them completely.

Maybe that's simply what "nothing is as it seems" means. It's a continuation of the thoughts 4c has about when you see everything it hurts to choose, when you know everything how do you know what to do.

[dayshift-confessions]

Not an confession but it's an topic i always wanted to ramble about: How Dee's death (Deeath) went down

It's actually a LOT more elaborated than you would think; There's multiple cutscenes and small lore tidbits that add so much more to it. I'll contextualize what was going on first:

June XX, 1973 - Henry killed 2 kids at Fredbear's Family Diner, leading them to possess the Spring Freddy and Spring Bonnie suits (i believe it happened on june 19th, as that would make it less than a week before y'know what); He then convinces William to help him get rid of the evidence (this is BEFORE he was lobotomized, back when he still had a moral compass and acted as a fairly normal person. This detail is gonna be insanely important so keep it in mind). Worth noting that for whatever reason the robots aren't agressive, likely because the fat iguana knew how to keep them controlled by exploiting their fear.

June XX, 1973 (june 20-21th is where i think it makes the most sense) - Henry's original plan was to rig Will's Springbonnie suit and then frame him as the murderer but William Fucking Afton always comes back HOWEVER this was even better for Henry as it made Willy a perfect labrat to Miller's research... That's a topic for another day though.

Afternoon June 23, 1973 - Jack leaves Dee at the Diner for her 6th birthday and goes home, buries his dead dog and then drinks 'till he passes out.

6 pm june 23 - The party's over, the restaurant is closing down, almost everyone went home and now Dee is left alone. Henry sees this as a opportunity to kill a third kid so he uses the Spring Freddy suit to lure her into an employees-only room (not the saferoom; likely the maintenance room as this was before cameras where put everywhere)... except Dee actually tries to fight back. Henry does injury her but he's playing it safe, not taking any chances that she might set off his springlocks,

After a few minutes of unsucessfully trying to kill her, Henry instead leaves her locked and bleeding out in that room and tells William about the situation, asking for his help. Willie hesitates and even tells Henry "Why can't you do it yourself?" to which Henry replies "She keeps struggling". He then forces Dave to do it.

Reminder: he HAD morals, THIS is the moment that they get shattered. He wasn't just hesitating, he was crying his eyeballs out. Hell, i think part of the reason flipside Dee forgave him fairly easily is because she saw the sheer agony he was in because he HAD to do it. this deeply traumatized him, Davetrap freaks out in the evil ending when Jack brings up Dee because THIS is what broke William and turned him into Dave; It was his first kill, what led to him questioning Henry's ethics and ultimately getting lobotomized. Deep down he WANTS to redeem himself but his devotion to his "father figure" - the closest person to him - prevents him from doing so.

When Jack got there, She was still alive. He was THIS close to saving her and yet... he couldn't. (Also the reason Dee must have been at the maintenance/backstage is because Jack died in the saferoom and she wasn't there, at least not initially)

When he was dying in the spring freddy suit, he SAW Henry carry Dee's corpse and put it in the SpringBonnie suit (it's literally her hair style). My headcanon is that Miller was trying to do the whole "two souls haunting one robot" that Fnaf Golden Freddy has, except it didn't work out here so he made the Puppet instead.

TL;DR: Dee's death is basically THE moment the lore revolves around; it's essential to Jack, Dave, Henry, Blackjack and (obviously) Dee's characters, adding so much depth to them just from how they were impacted by it.

Just wanted to lore ramble and i don't think anyone ever went in depth as i just did so... Thanks for coming into TED talk (:

:]

[sukunatoes]

Sanguine

Chapter 6: Inconvenience

True Form Sukuna x Reader

18+ ONLY, MDNI

CW: Tobacco Usage, Very Brief Violence, Broken Bones

It was unbearably bright, as not a single cloud graced the azure sky. The breeze carried a slight chill, although it was still a good bit warmer than it had been days prior. Soft tendrils of smoke gently drifted upwards from your mouth with each drag of your cigarette. Somewhere behind you, you could hear the sound of the brittle winter blades of grass crunching beneath Sukuna’s feet.

The shrine you both just visited was yet another dead end. Not a single clue to help aid you in the search for the divine weapons. It had been just three days since your battle with the cursed spirit. The following morning when you awoke, your cursed energy had been almost fully replenished, and the two of you set out almost immediately. Since departing the temple ruins, you had managed to investigate four more sites along the northern coast. That brought the total of places you’ve now searched to six.

You continued your leisurely pace throughout the meadow until a small boulder appeared in your line of sight. Walking over to it, you sat on top of it and stretched your aching legs straight out.

Whenever you had originally planned this excursion, you envisioned it going a lot differently. Sukuna tagging along put a damper on things. He had often insisted on only visiting one location per day before making camp and settling down for the evening. Only once did you visit two places in the same day, and that followed a brief argument between the two of you. Ideally, you needed to visit three to four locations daily. Otherwise, you’d be spending months on your search.

Besides the fact he was slowing you down majorly, he was also why you had to sleep out in the elements. For whatever reason, the majority of Kenjaku’s spirits stayed south of Tokyo. As the southern parts of the country are being overrun, many citizens have been evacuating north. Cities, towns, and even smaller inconspicuous farming villages were being filled to the brim with refugees. Visiting any sort of inn was off the table as long as he was involved.

“I’m not surprised that you’ve led us to yet another dead end.” Sukuna’s mocking tone echoed throughout the meadow as he approached you, casting a shadow as he grew closer to the rock where you sat. “It’s quite pathetic, actually.”

Sukuna had been speaking to you a lot more since he and Uraume parted ways. However, it was mostly just him complaining or mocking you. You ignored him most of the time, only offering the occasional response if he began to show signs of annoyance.

It was strange. You knew it was due to him being bound by a mutual vow not to harm you, but regardless, as of right now you viewed him as more of a nuisance than anything else. Though he probably thought of you much the same.

“Brat, I’m speaking to you.” He kicked his right foot out, colliding with the boulder. It wasn’t strong enough to move or crack it, just enough to attempt to gain your attention.

You cut your eyes to him. His face was twisted into its usual scowl, and his cursed energy was slowly beginning to spike as he grew annoyed with you. One thing you had learned about him is that he hated being ignored. You assumed it was due to the fact that he chalked it up to a mere weak human daring to disrespect a being such as him. In fact, if it weren’t for your vow, he’d likely punish you for such a thing.

“So far, I’ve searched six places in total and found one clue. Considering how well hidden they are, those aren’t bad numbers,” you quipped.

You crossed your right leg over your left, allowing you to extinguish your cigarette on the sole of your boot. After sliding the butt into one of your pockets, you pulled your backpack forward to unzip it.

“We’re not going to get anywhere at this pace,” he growled.

“On that, we can agree,” you mumbled as you fished out a package of beef jerky.

That was another thing. You had hardly eaten at all since this journey began. With the exception of three salmon and mayo onigiri you purchased from a convenience store during a stop for gas, you’ve been living off of protein bars and jerky. Something as simple as going to a restaurant was impossible with him, so it was nothing but gas station food for the time being. Plus, with you camping, they had to be non-perishable. It was an annoyance.

You popped open the bag and reached in your fingers, but before you could even grab on to a piece, Sukuna stuck out one of his hands and ripped it from your grasp.

“Hey, I was eating that!”

He immediately plopped down on the ground in front of you with a huff. Leaning back on both of his left arms, he slid two fingers from one of his right hands into the bag. Pulling out a piece of the jerky, he shoved it in its entirety into his open mouth.

“I watched you pack another in your bag,” he said between his loud, obnoxious chews. He returned his fingers back into the pouch and pulled out two more pieces. Holding them in front of his face, he maneuvered the chunks of jerky around, examining them. “This food is one of the better ones I’ve had since reincarnating.”

“It’s dried meat, of course you’d like it,” you said with an exasperated sigh as you dug for the second pack. “After we leave here, I’d like to drive back to my apartment in Tokyo. We can stay there for a couple of days while I reevaluate our search. Also, that’ll allow me to clean up and gather more supplies.”

Your apartment building was in one of the wards completely overrun by cursed spirits. The entire neighborhood evacuated and was now considered abandoned. Taking Sukuna there for a few days should pose no risk to civilians.

He offered nothing more than a grunt in acknowledgement of your statement. With no opposition from him, as soon as you both finished eating, you’d head back to your car and be on the way. The thought of a bath and a warm meal was enough to bring a small smile to your face. You popped open the second package of jerky and began dipping your fingers in.

“On your feet,” Sukuna’s sudden command boomed out. Its loudness caused you to flinch. You glanced up to see him now pushing himself to his feet.

Now what?

“We’ll leave when I finish eating.”

“We’re not leaving.” He reached down and snagged the bag from your hands yet again before dropping it on the ground next to him. “On your feet now.”

Seriously?

With a click of the tongue, you reluctantly indulged him and followed suit. Rising to your feet in front of him, you crossed your arms as you stared back, awaiting his explanation.

“You’re going to use your cursed technique on me.” He extended his lower right arm towards you, urging you to make contact.

“And why would I do that?”

Sukuna gave no answer to your query but instead grabbed onto your right hand, forcing you to make contact with him. Your palm collided into his wrist and was absolutely swallowed by its sheer size. You’d probably be unable to fully wrap your hand around it if you tried.

“You need to learn the concept of personal space.” You attempted to pull your hand from his arm, but within an instant he caught it, forcing you to maintain your contact.

“Now.” His tone was far more stern. He was growing annoyed again — you could feel his cursed energy wanting to spike.

Despite your cursed energy being replenished, you frankly had no desire to provoke him. Especially considering it would likely end with you following his order at some point anyways.

You sighed as you tightened your grip on him and began sending cursed energy out from the tips of your fingers. His stare was analytical as he focused on the blue aura seeping out from your hand and into his body.

It suddenly clicked. He was attempting to figure out the mechanics behind your cursed technique.

“Ryomen Sukuna.” His eyes cut up to yours at the sound of his name bouncing from your tongue. “If you release yourself from my grip, your arm will break.”

“You only know one trick, is that it?” A smirk grew on his face to accompany his taunting tone.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. “More like this isn’t worth putting any effort into.”

He ripped his arm back from your grasp, and the second the contact broke, your energy began to go to work. The both of you stared as his arm began twisting and contorting. The noise was disgusting, and it took everything in you to suppress a shudder at the sounds of his bones snapping. Sukuna, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered by the situation. His face never once betrayed any sign of pain.

“I thought as much, but wanted to confirm it. It’s your own cursed energy that you’re manipulating. The reason you have to make physical contact is to transfer it to the person or object. So that contact isn’t negotiable,” he said as he rotated his injured arm, studying every inch of it. Suddenly he cut all four eyes up to you. “However, if that’s the case, you should be able to transfer energy from any point on your body, not just your hands.”

Shit.

The fact that you could use the rest of your body to transfer cursed energy was something you didn’t want him to discover. It was one thing you had to keep up your sleeve to help level the playing field between the two of you.

If you outright refused to respond to his statement, it’d be a dead giveaway. However, if you vehemently denied it, it’d also clue him in.

“In theory, I should be able to,” you began, carefully choosing your words. You kept your voice steady. “However, I’ve never done it. I’ve always just used my hands.”

The lie you offered up seemed reasonable enough to believe.

Instead, a snort immediately escaped him. “You’re the worst fucking liar I’ve ever met.”

Your face immediately dropped. You knew you weren’t a terrible liar, so how could he always tell? Deceit and manipulation were a part of the specialized training you had received all those years ago.

Your upbringing as a sorcerer was far from a normal one. While others trained solely to hone their cursed techniques and fight cursed spirits, you were forced to expand your skill set in unusual ways. Deceiving others was something you excelled at.

“That crater I dragged you out of was a perfect circle. That’s an incredibly rare feat.” A faint white glow began emitting from his injured arm. “It’s unlikely that you did that from hitting the ground in one spot, and the easiest way to allow your cursed energy to infiltrate the ground in that pattern would be through your feet.”

“Astute as always, I see.” You watched as the bones in his arm slowly started moving back into place. “You’re correct. I can use other parts of my body for my technique, but it drains my cursed energy significantly faster, so I can’t fight nearly as long.”

You reached down and grabbed the bag of jerky you had just opened that lay next to Sukuna’s feet before turning around to store it and his empty one in your backpack. “I have a significantly lower cursed energy output than most special grade sorcerers. In fact, it’s likely on par with that of a first or even second grade. It’s both my technique and what I’ve accomplished in my line of work as a sorcerer that rank me so high.”

Turning back around, you notice his arm was now fully healed, like it had never been touched by you at all. As you raised your gaze back to his, you noticed he had never taken his eyes off of you.

“It’s a shame,” Sukuna drawled, leaning down until he was eye level with you. “Such a remarkable technique was wasted on such an insignificant pest like yourself.”

You offered nothing more than a grunt in response as you turned back around. Snagging up your backpack, you began your trek towards the car. Sukuna’s pestering could wait until after you ate an actual meal.

You heard a huff from behind immediately followed by his footsteps trailing you. Reaching into your bag, you pulled out another cigarette. As you went to light it, a shadow was cast over you from behind, completely engulfing your body.

You spun around, and a hand reached out, catching your shoulder and holding you in place. Sukuna was now towering over you, an almost unsettling look gracing his face.

“You’d do well to remember that you and I are not the same. At no point have you or will you hold the upper hand against me, sorcerer. Your secrets will not save you.”

With that, he removed his hand from your shoulder and walked ahead of you, disappearing through thick foliage on the opposite side of the meadow you two were traversing while you stood firmly in place.

What the hell was he even talking about?

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[sourtomatola]

Good news! I think I finally figured out how to draw Kerian! The drawback seems to be I forgot how to draw Lunar XD

More security breach comic's

Also all the Kerian X Lunar Comic's on Ao3

[ganondoodle]

Kinda in regards to the Empress & BodyGuard 2-

Is Zaphira (sorry if I spelled her name wrong) an elf or do humans have pointed ears in your universe? If no elves, how do the pointed ears happen? Are there different length of ears and if so do they mean somethin?

Love your art & use of colours!

Thank you! and thank you for asking! (this sketch took me way too long .. and the colors still look washed out on my desktop screen but im not editing a third time ..)

Zaphira is human, there are no elves, as such, in this world, though humans tend to live longer than IRL and have differently shaped ears-

the shapes are rather diverse (example above) and culturally (so far) they have no significance, they are merely a trait just like different nose shapes or fantasy hair colors

the worldbuilding reason is that these are extremely diluted demonic influences- in the past demons were frequently in the human world, though largely in secret/disguised, and long time exposure to demonic presences can have varying effects, the most immediate and common being a longer life or wounds healing faster than normal; there might have been other long time effects but the only trait that stayed even after their disappearance is the ear shapes

(there was a mass extinction event of demons that wiped out all above a certain age, since demons generally dont die of natural causes their life neither depends nor revolves around reproduction so there were extremely few left and those were too young to keep most of their knowledge and culture alive, as they rarely wrote anything down; Shargon is of the current oldest generation and witnessed it happen, just like most now adult demons, Thor and Eadrya are both a bit older than him and thus the oldest living demons, which doesnt mean much considering the technically endless lifespans of them)

and to explain me including Shargon in a human appearance- hes the only demon that spends as much time in the human world as at home, largely to escape the others since they are not interested in going there and would otherwise attack him any chance they get (the human world is rather uncomfortable for demons to be in and they have better things to do than to chase him that far), while hes generally very weak compared to them, something he is very good at is shape shifting, mainly the speed of which, being able to shift between full demon and the smaller more humanoid form extremely quickly, or even mid forms that are a mix of both - even in motion! while for the others it takes them quite a bit and forces them to stop which is the main reason he keeps escaping them not able to keep up with his rapid shape shifting (though it does take its toll .. also a reason hes so skinny)

he is the first (only?) one that at some point will learn how to shift into a much more human looking one (depicted in the sketch) too, but its rather dangerous since it involves supressing and compressing his demon heart and system... which is what keeps demons alive (its somewhat like holding your breath for way too long) so the only time he would make use of it is in extreme situations, like avoiding detection by maschines that can pick up demonic energy or escaping shackles made of celestial silver (which drains their energy and can scar/hurt them permanently, like silver to vampires(?werewolfs?) in a way)

....the point is that if he shifts into a human form he has very long ears, meaning that is basically the extreme form that doesnt occur in humans and hints at the origins for those ear shapes being demonic exposure in the past

[puppppppppy]

AND I MET THE CHANGE GOD TOO. OKAY. COOL OKAY

[eighthwholove]

When she saw him, she knew he was her destiny!

FOX Promo for Doctor Who, The Movie (1996)

[imtrashraccoon]

My Soul Headcanons

There are two types of souls: Human and Monster. A Human soul is a thousand times more powerful than a Monster soul due to their naturally occuring determination. Monsters tend to be more in touch with magic as their forms are almost entirely composed of it but most Humans are able to learn how to use magic as well.

Monster souls are much different and almost never manifest a distinct trait like Humans do. It is said that Monster souls are made of love, hope, and magic. Generally, they are white and look like an upside down heart but their appearance can change if the Monster has accumulated LV.

While it is most apparent in Monsters, a soul that has accumulated too much LV becomes unstable and tends to "leak" excess magic. There doesn't seem to be a specific pattern for what a soul with high LV looks like since every soul is different. The colour and shape could change, it may appear "corrupted" from the inside, it may have a visible aura, etc. Because the soul is the culmination of one's being, an unstable soul often means an unstable individual, which leads to its own problems and makes it difficult to study.

A Human soul looks like a heart and can come in many different colours depending on their trait(s). There are seven documented Human soul traits and multiple variations of them as well. Generally, a Human will have a Primary, or dominant, trait and at least one Secondary trait. However this isn't the rule and occasionally there are Humans with only one Primary trait. They tend to be extremely powerful and many great leaders are believed to only have one trait. It's possible to have more than one Secondary trait but this is also rare.

The Primary & Secondary traits:

Determination: The drive to stick with a task or goal until a desired outcome is reached. This is an incredibly rare Primary trait to the extent that many believe there is only ever one soul with this trait at a time. Souls with this trait are bright red.

Ambition: The desire to achieve success. This is a common Secondary trait and is usually a purplish red.

Devotion: The compulsion to show deep commitment to something or someone. This is an uncommon Secondary trait and is usually is a pinkish red.

Bravery: The strength to remain bold in the face of resistance. This is a common Primary trait and most people can testify to knowing others who possess it. Souls with this trait are bright orange.

Fortitude: The mental or emotional strength to face adversity. This is a common Secondary trait and is usually a bronze colour.

Assurance: The ability to inspire confidence in others. This is an uncommon Secondary trait and is usually a soft orange.

Justice: The desire to treat everyone fairly and right wrongs. This is an uncommon Primary trait with many possessing it taking on important roles in society. Souls with this trait are a bright yellow.

Equity: The capacity to treat everyone fairly regardless of circumstances. This is a common Secondary trait and is usually a creamy yellow colour.

Sincerity: The ability to be genuine in one's actions and words. This is an uncommon Secondary trait and is usually a greenish yellow colour.

Kindness: The compulsion to help others whether they deserve it or not. This is a common Primary trait and most of the time there will be at least one in the room possessing it. Souls with this trait are bright green.

Empathy: The capacity to understand another person's feelings or emotions. This is an uncommon Secondary trait and is usually a teal colour.

Generosity: The willingness to give or share with others. This is a common Secondary trait and is usually a light green colour.

Patience: The ability to stay calm and think things through before making a decision. This is a common Primary trait although those possessing it may not stand out from the crowd so easily. Souls with this trait are cyan.

Endurance: The capacity to withstand hardship. This is a common Secondary trait and is usually a purplish blue.

Diligence: The wherewithal to carefully complete a task no matter how long it takes. This is an uncommon Secondary trait and is usually a soft blue.

Integrity: The willingness to stand for what one believes is morally right. This is an uncommon Primary trait but those who possess it tend to be well respected for their stances. Souls with this trait are dark blue.

Honesty: The desire to be honest whenever possible in life. This is a common Secondary trait and is usually a navy blue.

Loyalty: The ability to be faithful to commitments or a cause. This is an uncommon Secondary trait and is usually a grayish blue.

Perseverance: The stubbornness to stand strong in the face of adversity. This is a common Primary trait and is sometimes mistaken for Determination in those who possess it. Souls with this trait are bright purple.

Tenacity: The ability to relentlessly achieve one's goals. This is an uncommon Secondary trait and is usually a magenta colour.

Obstinance: The stubborn refusal to change an opinion or behavior. This is a common Secondary trait and is usually a soft purple.

There are also dark traits, although they are rare, and to be born with one is unheard of. They tend to be Primary traits but could be Secondary as well. Humans with dark traits have usually gone through hardships and changed as a result. These traits aren't necessarily evil but those possessing them may struggle to do the same good deeds as they could before. (This was inspired by listening to Vetrom on YouTube and I highly recommend their music, especially their Soul themes.)

Despair: The loss of hope or to be without hope. Souls with this trait are usually dull purple.

Fear: The lack of bravery or a response to danger. Souls with this trait are usually dark orange.

Vengeance: The act of repaying injustice with revenge. Souls with this trait are dark red.

Hate: The inability to show love or show kindness to another. Souls with this trait are usually black.

Apathy: The lack of emotion or motivation to accomplish something. Souls with this trait are usually gray.

Most of the time, Humans get their soul colour from their Primary trait but the Secondary trait can also contribute. Sometimes this looks like both colours combined, sometimes the colours don't mix together, sometimes only a small part of the soul has one colour, and sometimes only one colour is ever visible.

Soul traits can be passed from parent to child similar to how genes are passed along. Primary traits are more likely to get passed to the child over Secondary traits. Souls can also affect the child's appearance. For example, a person with only one Primary trait will likely have a matching eye and soul colour. This isn't limited to eye colour but is the most prevalent as the eyes are windows to the soul.

While rare in most universes, Humans and Monsters do have children together, which can lead to interesting results. Such unions rely heavily on magic and the child is almost always carried in one of the parent's souls until they are strong enough to separate on their own. (See my Monster Courting/Heats headcanon for more info.)

The hybrid child can take after either or both parents and their appearance can vary wildly depending on which is the case. The same is true for their soul. Most of the time, they will have either a Human or Monster soul but in rare cases, they could have one that is a combination of the two. In this instance, the soul could be shaped like a Human or a Monster soul and either have traits or none at all.

[hmmbo]

Your devotion to God shows goodness in you; plentiful indeed.

+ lineart only below +

[atsukunaritai]

「つうか、みっちゃんが一番好きだ。」

「俺が死ぬまで一番。」

— Actually, you're number one for me, Micchan.

— You're number one until the day I die.

永遠の昨日　第３・８話　　　　　　　|　　　　　　　Eternal Yesterday ep. 3&8

[sonicboomseason3]

🪿💥🥞 , Sonic and Tails?

ask game: send me AT LEAST 3 emojis (the more random the better) and AT LEAST 2 characters from sonic boom and i’ll come up with a little drabble in response!

"Sonic!"

Lying on one of the lounge chairs in front of his shack, Sonic looks up from his pancakes at the sound of Tails' voice and promptly spots him running towards him. "'Sup?" he asks as the fox skids to a stop in front of him.

"Behold, the Explodinator 5000!" Tails announces, brandishing his newest creation in his hand. It appears to be some kind of mechanical headband, complete with an antenna protruding from the top. "By putting this on, the wearer can make any desired target explode."

"Huh." Sonic looks back down at his pancakes. "Explode, like BOOM?" He tries to stab his downright stale pancakes with his plastic fork and lets out a frustrated sigh when he only succeeds in bending the tines.

"Explode, like BOOM! Do you have any idea how much this will help us in our battles with Eggman? I can just point this at his robots and reduce them to smithereens!" Tails finally takes his eyes off of the Explodinator 5000 to look at Sonic. "It isn't limited to just his robots either—Sonic, what is that."

"Pancakes," Sonic replies blandly, gesturing towards his plate in much the same way as Tails was doing moments ago with his invention. "Meh Pancakes, actually. Meh Burger's experimenting with the idea of a breakfast menu, and—"

"I'm talking about the giant bird."

"Oh." Sonic glances over at his other lounge chair, which is currently occupied by a giant white goose. "His name's Bruce. Bruce, meet Tails. Tails, meet Bruce."

"Hi," Tails greets stiffly.

Bruce honks.

Sonic begins to explain, "Bruce wandered into my shack this morning and climbed on top of me and woke me up with his goose noises—by the way, not the best way to start the day, don't really recommend it—and I couldn't chase him out, so..." He makes eye contact with Bruce and reaches over to scratch his head like one would do to a dog. "He's my pet now, I guess. Or at least he is until he decides to leave, whenever that'll be."

"And you're sure this isn't gonna just be another Buster incident?"

"Buster was a robot that shot slime. Bruce is a real goose. Trust me, I checked already."

"I don't think I wanna know how you did that, but that's good at least." Tails can't help but wince a little when Bruce honks again. "Just... make sure you know how to take care of him."

"Pretty sure he's wild, so he should know how to take care of himself—Hands off." When Bruce suddenly leans forward and tries to take a bite of Meh Pancakes, Sonic pushes him away a little more roughly than necessary. "They're mine. And believe me when I say you're really better off never having these."

Bruce's responding honk sounds downright enraged at being refused subpar breakfast food, but Tails is ready to dismiss it as simply his imagination... until Bruce suddenly lunges for him. He yelps and instinctively holds his hands out in front of him to protect himself, but instead of attacking him, Bruce snatches the Explodinator 5000 out of his grasp with his beak. Before either hero can digest what is unfolding, the goose tosses the headband into the air, and it lands squarely on his head.

"What the—" Still holding his pancakes, Sonic rolls out of his lounge chair in the nick of time. He barely registers the tiny explosion that goes off right above him, only fully realizing what's happening when he feels the charred bits of the back of his lounge chair rain down on him.

"Sonic, he's trying to explode you with his mind!" Tails says, horrified. "I really think you should give him the—"

Sonic leaps to his feet, still keeping a tight clutch on those accursed pancakes. "Bruce the Goose, you put that dangerous thing down right now!" Honestly, he sounds more like he's trying to get a small dog to spit something out and less like he's defending himself from a wild bird out for his blood. "I said put it down!"

Bruce honks, and Sonic dodges three more explosion attempts within the next five seconds.

"Pets," he grumbles at Tails. "Word of advice: If you ever think about getting a pet yourself, get a gerbil or something."

And then he dashes off. With the pancakes.

Bruce honks the loudest honk he's honked so far and takes to the skies to give chase, leaving Tails by his lonesome.

Tails stands silently for a moment before sighing wearily and pulling his notepad and pencil out. Flipping to the appropriate page, he quickly skims the notes he already has written. "'Explodinator 5000 - Status: Complete. Testing: Successful. Field Results:—'" He jots down the most recent update. "'—Stolen by a goose determined to cause a Sonic BOOM.' Huh. Wonder when I'll learn my lesson to not invent things that'll endanger my friends."

He ponders that thought for a moment before shrugging.

"Oh well, back to the workshop. Been meaning to work on that one invention that throws knives at everything within three feet of it anyway."

[vampiricbisexuality]

i would ask lee out but she scares me😭

[daydreamerdrew]

All-Star Batman and Robin, the Boy Wonder (2005) #3-4