#this is so drastically different in a way that. even knowing the vibe would be different. i could never have predicted

[voidpunkpal]

aabria. your mind.

i don't know how long a gap there is between episodes. but how long did she have to create a player has died mechanic?? how long did she have to rewrite this island to make sure it could bring evan back to life????? how did she have fulfilling answers to everyone's questions when they're all so different and broad and needed meaningful answers?????

and How On Earth Did She Already Have Jammers Sock On Hand ??????

[choccy-milky]

I dont know why I had this vision of clora riding a scooter, like a cute light blue one with italy vibes, like a vespa, and sebastian panicking behind her LMAO

I SEE THE VISION AS WELL...idk how shes on a vespa tho since they werent invented yet so lets just assume theres time-turner shenanigans going on LMAO

but also anon this request was so funny to me because the SAME day you sent me it, i also got this one on twitter:

TRULY THE DUALITY OF MAN IS AT PLAY HERE!!! LMAOO debauchery vs wholesomeness...and it made me laugh so much

(and for anyone curious yes i WILL also be honouring the other request......eventually👀)

@jstfndmthngs splitting your ask into 2 again bc its a CHONKER but I LOVED READING IT🥹🥹 "how much they love each other to the abnormal level that i envy" LMAOO THATS FANFICTION FOR YOU, BABY!!😍 also YESS interacting with my readers in the comments was my fav parts of writing a lot of the time, and im SOOO grateful to the ppl who commented bc without them the story would have turned out DRASTICALLY DIFFERENT. like, i know there are some people who write the entirety of their fanfic and then upload it in chunks, but if i had done that/written my story in a vacuum and hadnt incorporated any of my readers ideas/suggestions it would have been SOOOO much worse honestly LMAO. like, not even necessarily putting their requests or ideas in my fic, but even sometimes just reading a comment that would say something like "i cant wait to see how clora/seb reacts to..." would make me think...oh. i was never planning on even showing their reaction to that. but now that they say that, good point, i definitely need to include that LOL. so yeah even just little stuff like that was SUPER important to my writing process and my story and helped me keep in mind what people wanted to see/things i may have missed or glossed over if i'd been writing by myself, but i also just loved getting comments in general bc i loved reading them and they were so motivating🥹 BUT THANK U SO MUCH IM GLAD U LIKED MY STORY/SEB & CLORA SO MUCH, AND TY FOR SHARING ALL YOUR THOUGHTS WITH ME!!🥹💖💖 im lowkey the same way... i cant read any other fics rn bc im still too attached to seb/clora BAHAHA so i still need to give it some time before i delve into other HL fics (i even downloaded a program that will let me replace names so that i can replace the mc's name with clora's LMFAOOOO THATS HOW MENTALLY ILL I AM ABOUT THEM!!😭😭DONT COME FOR ME🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🚓)

omg...i already love unlocking kinks in people but for it to be specifically seb x clora is even more of an honour BAHAHA omg i love that....but i get it too. clora is submissive and breedable af😍LMAOO (im sorry💀that wasnt me just now that was seb blame him)

@acrenna MERRY LATE CHRISTMAS AND ALSO LATE HAPPY NEW YEAR!!! this is so sweet THANK YOU SO MUCH😭😭im happy my story was able to get you out of your reading slump!! (and hopefully will continue to, with my oneshot im slowly but surely working on😩) BUT THANK YOU AGAIN I APPRECIATE YOU SM🥹🥹💖

@misskkfritz you actually arent the first to say this and i also saw a pinterest comment on my art say this........FELLAS DO I NEED TO WATCH GILMORE GIRLS NOW🤔🤔🤔

[03jyh23]

🌷⌇starting new finding our way back part 16; a choi jongho mini-series

ex-boyfriend! idol! jongho x ex-girlfriend! single-mom! reader

│ series masterlist│ next │

│synopsis: five years have passed since jongho last saw you. your lives have taken drastically different paths, with jongho achieving fame and you focusing on raising your daughter, nari, in quiet anonymity. when jongho discovers he has a daughter, he's determined to be a part of her life.

│genre: a slice of life, romance, fluff, some angst

│trigger warnings: sexual content, adult themes, physical Intimacy

│words: 12.6k

│reminder: what you're about to read is purely fiction, so let's keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

we’re getting so close to the end now, and honestly... it’s breaking my heart a little. this chapter means a lot to me—it’s warm and a little messy, full of softness and the kind of joy that comes after you’ve fought hard to get somewhere. as always, thank you for being here, for reading, for loving the story as much as i do. let’s hold on to it just a little longer.

love, mon ♡

p.s and for those of you who haven't seen yet i'm writing a woosan spin-off — discovering us! please check it out!

│taglist: │ @seventeenthingsblr │@DALSUWAHA │

│ @ateez-atiny380 │ @yoonshiiu │ @sndeoki │ @bomi-ja │

│ @vixensss │ @all-fandoms-rise │ @finnydraws │

│ @jonghosbrainrot │ @ateezswonderland │ @stayatinykatsy

│@chickenscoups │ @ana-stasssiaaa │ @starryunho │

│ @originalcupcakenacho │ @ultrapinkvoidbouquet │

│ @sweetinsaniiity│ @jennifermakmur│ @mitchii │

│ @hannah-97 │ @hyuckiesgf │ @treehouse-mouse │

│ @eternoange1│ @ultrapinkvoidbouquet │ @jycas │

│ @velvetskize │ @dumplingsyum │

│ @daisiesandtea123 │ @taegi1016│ @misshella│

│ @e3ellie │ @staytiny94 │ @everglow98 │

│ @thedistractedwriter  │ @satans-arse-crack │ @soreberry │

│ @domfikeluva │ @ccoristu │ @betda │ @xryusarax

│ @lveegsoi │ @ahuiahoe│ @kukkurookkoo │

│ @gyusbabydoll │ @bluewolf2003 │

│ if you wish to be tagged let me know here! ♡

Warmth. That was the first thing you felt.

Not just the physical kind—though the room was bathed in early morning sunlight, and Jongho’s chest radiated the kind of heat that only a human furnace or a very loyal golden retriever could produce—but a deeper kind. A warmth that settled in your bones. That stretched out across your limbs like it belonged there. The kind of warmth you hadn’t felt in years, maybe not since before the heartbreak, before the awkward silences, before Nari.

Your face was tucked into the curve of Jongho’s neck, your breath rising and falling in time with his. One of your legs was tangled with his, bare skin against bare skin, and his arm was wrapped firmly around your waist like even his subconscious was scared you might vanish again. The scent of him lingered faintly—clean soap, worn cotton, and underneath it, just a hint of the cologne he always wore when he wanted to feel like himself. The smell hit you like a memory, soft and familiar, and your chest tightened with something close to longing… except you were here. He was here. And maybe for the first time in a long time, that was enough.

Your fingertips rested lightly against Jongho’s chest, the steady beat beneath them like a lullaby you didn’t realize you'd missed.

A gravelly hum vibrated low in his throat—sleep-rough—and the sound rolled through his chest like thunder muffled by blankets. “Mmm…” he murmured, voice heavy with sleep but unmistakably fond. “Are you awake, or just extremely dedicated to being the world’s coziest weighted blanket?”

You smiled against his skin, not quite ready to give the moment up. “If I said I was just vibing, would you let me stay here forever?”

His soft chuckle was more of a rumble than a laugh, the kind that made your body vibrate pleasantly where it touched his. “That depends entirely. Are you willing to accept the full consequences of morning breath?”

You cracked one eye open, the sunlight painting golden streaks across the ceiling. “Yours or mine?”

“Both,” he replied gravely. “This is a mutual danger zone.”

And then—he had the audacity to lean down and press a kiss to the top of your head. Not a quick peck. Not a joking little smooch. A warm, lingering kiss that made your toes curl under the throw blanket and your heart expand a little too fast for this early in the morning.

You groaned dramatically, hiding your smile against his collarbone. “Bold. Very bold. Can’t believe you’d risk it all like that.”

“What can I say?” he said through a grin. “I’m a man of danger. Breath be damned.”

“Clearly.”

You lay like that for a while—melting into each other, the quietness between you thick and heavy, but comforting in its weight. It wasn’t the awkward, strained silence of strangers or acquaintances but the deep, almost sacred hush that only exists between people who have been through loss together and found something precious again, like fragile glass carefully pieced back into a shimmering whole. The kind of silence where every breath, every subtle movement, every heartbeat speaks louder than any shouted word ever could.

Eventually, your fingers began to move, almost without your conscious thought, as if the connection between your hands and his heart was guided by some invisible thread. They traced small, gentle patterns over the smooth expanse of his chest—the tender planes of muscle and skin that had felt distant before but now were utterly familiar and achingly intimate. Circles. Spirals. Thoughtless sketches.

“Hey,” he said after a moment, his voice soft and low, almost hesitant but grounding. His hand closed over yours, warm and steady, anchoring your wandering touch. “You’re doing the thing.”

You blinked sleepily, eyelids heavy, the haze of waking still softening the edges of the world. “What thing?” you murmured, voice thick with lingering dreams and the faintest thread of confusion.

He shifted slightly, guiding your hand gently toward the spot near his heart where your fingers had been absentmindedly doodling patterns—an unspoken language of comfort and nervous energy. “You’re doing the I’m fine, totally chill, just casually stress-drawing crop circles on your chest' thing,” he said, raising a brow. “You know, if you wanted to send me cryptic emotional signals, you could just say it instead of finger-painting anxiety spirals,” he said with a teasing lilt.

A laugh bubbled out of you—light, embarrassed, and utterly helpless against the raw truth wrapped inside the joke. “It’s not spiraling. It’s emotional fidgeting,” you protested weakly, cheeks warming with the familiar flush of vulnerability.

“Ah, yes. Emotional origami.”

You made a noise of playful protest, swatting at his arm lightly, the tenderness of the gesture softening the moment even more. But he caught your hand again, his fingers weaving confidently through yours, lacing them together as if sealing a silent promise. Then he squeezed gently, a small, grounding pressure that spoke volumes.

“Hey,” Jongho said, voice dropping to a softer, more serious tone. “If this feels big, that’s okay. It is big. You don’t have to fold it into something smaller just to make it easier to carry.”

The warmth stirred again, this time deeper, spreading like a slow-burning ember through your chest, igniting a flutter in your throat and making words feel heavy and tangled. You swallowed, searching for something to say, but the emotions hovered just out of reach, delicate and raw.

He smirked then, the familiar humor returning to his eyes, the kind that could chase away shadows, if only for a moment. “Besides, I’m really good at carrying things. Have you seen my biceps?”

That made you laugh—a bright, unfiltered sound that caught on the edges, damp with unshed tears and relief. “God, I’ve missed them.”

“I’ve missed you,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “Even more than my biceps. Which is saying something.”

You shifted, propping your elbow under your head so you could look at him better—drink in the way the morning light softened the lines of his face, the depth of his eyes that held something tender and enduring. “Did you ever think we’d end up here again? Like this?”

His brow furrowed thoughtfully, a shadow of doubt flickering in those dark eyes. “I didn’t let myself,” he admitted, voice low and honest. “I thought we were better off apart. Thought maybe we were safer that way.”

You nodded slowly, “Me too.”

“But… safe doesn’t mean happy,” he said, voice dropping even lower, almost a whisper meant just for you. “And I wasn’t. I kept thinking about what we lost. About you.”

“I don’t want to be safe anymore,” Jongho added simply, with a kind of quiet bravery. “I want to be here. With you.”

There was a pause then—a moment stretched taut and fragile, hanging between you like spun glass that could either shatter or shimmer with new light.

“It’s scary,” you whispered, voice trembling just a little.

“I know.” His thumb brushed gently across your cheek, slow and feather-light, a touch that grounded you and lifted you all at once. “But maybe that’s how we know it matters.”

You smiled despite yourself—soft and tentative but real. “So no pressure or anything, but this whole emotional redemption arc better come with snacks and frequent cuddling.”

He grinned, that boyish charm lighting up his face. “I’m elite at snacks. Cuddles? Olympic-level.”

“And humble.”

“Oh, the humblest,” he said, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, a warm seal on a fragile promise. “Now shut up and let me emotionally redeem myself in peace.”

The moment stretched out between, Jongho’s eyes twinkled as he leaned in slowly, hand rising to cup your cheek as if about to deliver the world’s softest warning. His thumb traced the curve of your lower lip, feather-light and maybe just a tiny bit hesitant, like he was savoring the quiet thrill of this slow, careful intimacy. You swallowed hard, heart fluttering wildly, the air thick with anticipation as he paused—probably debating how much morning breath to unleash—and then closed the distance, pressing his lips to yours with a tenderness that made your chest tighten in a delicious ache.

You couldn’t resist teasing when you pulled back just a fraction, a playful grin curling your lips. “Careful,” you whispered, voice low and amused. “That kiss came with a warning label: May contain traces of last night’s dinner.”

He laughed softly against your lips, a sound warm and familiar, full of affection and ease. “Ah, but you know, that just makes it more authentic,” Jongho smirked, undeterred, and leaned in again, pressing a slow, lazy kiss to your lips—sweet and lingering.

But as soon as he pulled back, you recoiled dramatically, waving your hand in front of your face like you’d just smelled something awful. “Whoa! That’s... that’s a biohazard zone right there,” you joked, laughter bubbling up as you jabbed a finger at him. “I’m gonna need a gas mask before we try that again.”

Jongho’s eyes widened in mock offense, a playful pout tugging at the corners of his lips. “Oh, really? You won’t even give your boyfriend a chance to redeem his kisses?” His voice was light, teasing, but there was a tiny flicker of hurt beneath the humor—like a child pretending not to care when they really do. He leaned in just a little closer, fingers brushing your arm softly. “What’s a guy gotta do to earn a little more affection around here? You’re making me question if my kisses are as charming as my biceps.”

You smiled, heart melting at the mixture of sweetness and vulnerability layered in his words. “Trust me, they’re just as dangerous,” you teased back, your fingers curling around his hand.

His grin softened, the playful edge giving way to something deeper and more sincere, like the surface of a still lake catching the first light of dawn. He shifted closer, eyes searching yours with a quiet longing that tugged at your chest. “I really missed this,” Jongho murmured, voice low and full of something tender that made your chest ache and your heart twist with longing. “Missed waking up next to you. Having you close.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered, voice soft and sure, the weight of the words settling like a promise in the stillness between you.

Jongho responded without hesitation, pulling you impossibly close—so close your heart threatened to burst from the sheer weight of it. His arms encircled you, his body warm and reassuring against yours. He tucked your head beneath his chin, cradling you like something fragile and precious, like you were the only thing in the world that mattered. “We could do this every morning,” he murmured, his voice a promise and a plea all at once.

You let out a soft breath, a smile curving your lips as you melted into the safety of his embrace. “Dangerous words, Choi Jongho.”

He chuckled then, a deep, warm sound that vibrated through his chest and into your bones, making your skin tingle with a quiet joy. “I’m serious.”

“Me too,” you confessed, your smile widening, your eyes fluttering closed as you surrendered to the perfect warmth that enveloped you. For a moment, everything felt aligned—your breathing, your heartbeats, the gentle rhythm of the morning light spilling across the room like liquid gold.

It was perfect.

Almost suspiciously perfect.

The room seemed to hold its breath with you, every creak and whisper suspended in a fragile stillness. A long, lovely beat of silence stretched out.

And then—

Your eyes snapped open.

“Wait.”

“Mmm?” Jongho’s voice was a sleepy murmur, eyes still half-closed, sunlight casting soft halos around him.

“Wait,” you repeated, sitting up abruptly, your heart pounding hard and fast, the familiar sharp edge of panic slicing through the calm. Your fingers clenched into the soft fabric of the bed beneath you, knuckles white with tension.

He squinted against the bright sunlight pouring through the window, the light catching in his dark eyes like flickers of warning. “What? What’s wrong?”

You searched his face, voice rising just a little, cracking with urgency. “Where is Nari?!”

The name hit the room like a sudden jolt of electricity, sparking a charge that made the air feel thicker, heavier.

Jongho’s entire body stiffened, his eyes widening in dawning horror. The warmth in his chest seemed to freeze, replaced by a sharp spike of fear. Without warning, he shot upright like a coiled spring released—his limbs tense and trembling as if he’d been struck by lightning. “Oh my GOD.”

For a long moment, you both just stared at each other, stunned and frozen—caught in the raw, unfiltered shock of realization that something had slipped through your grasp.

Then chaos exploded.

You sprang from the couch in a whirlwind of tangled blankets, tousled hair sticking to your damp forehead, breath ragged and quick. Jongho stumbled behind you, his feet catching on the crumpled clothes scattered across the floor. In a frantic blur, he yanked the nearest hoodie—yours, embarrassingly three sizes too small—and pulled it over his head.

“She was with Hongjoong and Seonghwa last night, right?”

“Yeah, she was,” Jongho replied, voice thick with guilt and mounting panic. “They were supposed to drop her off after our date—OH GOD, WHAT TIME IS IT?”

Both of you turned simultaneously to the microwave clock on the kitchen counter, its bright red digits glaring back with ruthless insistence: 10:47 AM.

Your heart hammered painfully against your ribs. The cold realization slid down your spine, icy and unwelcome. You grabbed your phone tightly, fingers trembling as the pale blue light from the screen flickered in the room.

Five missed calls.

All from Hongjoong.

All from last night.

The blood in your veins seemed to freeze mid-flow, “Five missed calls.” You didn’t have to say more. The sharp urgency in your voice was enough to propel him into action. Without hesitation, Jongho lunged for his phone, thumbs shaking as he tapped the call icon with desperate urgency.

The dial tone hummed in the quiet room—once. Twice. Three times.

“Pick up,” he whispered, voice barely audible, thick with desperation and hope. “Please pick up.” But the silence stretched, thick and unyielding, like a dark fog smothering the room. Then—click. Still no answer. Jongho cursed softly under his breath, frustration and fear mingling into a tight knot in his throat. “Why isn’t he answering?!”

Your breath hitched, short and ragged, the tightness spreading fast through your chest and squeezing your lungs. “He tried to call us five times. Last night,” you choked out, voice barely steady. “What if she got sick? What if she had a fever and he didn’t know what to do? What if—”

“Baby, hey, hey.” Jongho’s hand found yours, fingers curling around yours with firm, steady pressure. His touch was a lifeline, a steady anchor amid the storm threatening to pull you under. You glanced over at him, taking in the pale cast of his face, the taut line of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together as if to hold back a flood of his own fears. But beneath that tension, there was a quiet strength, a determination not to let panic win. “Let’s just—okay, I’m calling again.” You both leaned in over his phone, heads nearly touching, your fingers laced together. Your breathing was shallow and quick, every inhale sharp and brittle, every exhale trembling with dread.

The phone rang once.

Your vision blurred, a wave of dizziness washing over you like a slow, merciless tide that threatened to pull you under.

It rang again.

Your chest clenched tighter, every pulse a harsh stab of anxiety that echoed inside your ribs like a warning bell.

Ring.

No answer.

You bit your lip, the knot in your throat tightening so sharply it felt like it might snap. “What if he took her to a hospital?” you blurted out, voice cracking under the weight of the fear spilling out unchecked. “What if something happened and we were here, and we didn’t hear the calls because we were—because we—”

“I know.” Jongho’s voice was raw, tight, fraying at the edges like a threadbare rope stretched too thin. “God, I know.”

The line finally switched over to voicemail—the robotic, emotionless voice cutting through the thick silence, breaking your heart all over again. It was cold and unfeeling, a cruel reminder that whatever answers you sought were just out of reach.

You exhaled a shaky breath, shoulders trembling as the weight of your guilt settled heavy on your chest. “I can’t believe we forgot our daughter,” you whispered, voice barely more than a fragile sigh, as if saying it aloud might make the reality too real.

Jongho muttered beside you, a half-joking, half-defeated admission. “I can. You kissed me into amnesia.”

You smacked his arm lightly, the sound sharp in the still room, and a faint, grateful laugh bubbled out, breaking the tension just enough to remind you both you weren’t alone in this.

Hongjoong wasn’t picking up. The silence on the other end of the line felt like a void, swallowing your frantic hopes whole. You exchanged a glance with Jongho, both of you suspended in the same anxious limbo, heartbeats pounding loud enough to drown out rational thought.

“I’m trying Seonghwa,” Jongho said, voice barely steady as he handed the phone to you. Your fingers trembled as you pressed his name.

The line rang once, twice—

Then, suddenly, a voice came through the speaker. “Hello?”

“SEONGHWA.” The name burst out of both your mouths simultaneously, raw and jagged, a blend of anger, relief, and gut-wrenching terror that cracked the tight shell of panic around your chest. There was a beat of silence. The kind that feels endless, the seconds stretching and folding in on themselves.

“Whoa. Okay. Why are you yelling? What’s—oh.”

A pause.

“...You just saw the missed calls, huh?”

“Seonghwa,” you snapped, pacing a few agitated steps toward the kitchen and then back again. “Five. Missed. Calls. Five!”

“I know, I know—” Seonghwa started, but you barreled right over him.

“No, no! You don’t get to I know me right now. We woke up thinking our child was missing. I was five seconds away from calling the police!”

“Calm down, Nari’s fine. She was completely wiped out after running around the playground. As soon as we reached home, she was asleep within minutes.” You felt your jaw tense, the spark of relief doing a sharp U-turn right back into simmering irritation. “Hongjoong called you,” Seonghwa said, voice steady but laced with quiet amusement, “because he wanted to check if it was okay for her to stay the night, we didn’t want to wake her up. You guys weren’t picking up, so… well, since you were busy… or, let’s say, unreachable, we decided to let her stay instead of driving her back.”

Jongho inhaled beside you, about to speak, but you beat him to it—voice sharp, eyes wide, full mom-mode activated.

“You let her sleep over without confirmation! You didn’t think that, no matter what, it’s better to drop her off? Ring the bell? Throw a rock at the window?! Jongho would’ve had a heart attack if—”

“Okay, but—” Seonghwa tried again.

You ignored him.

“And you didn’t even text again this morning?!” You gestured wildly, flailing toward Jongho’s phone as if it could echo your outrage.

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Seonghwa said, clearly trying to smother a laugh. “I hear you. I do. But you’ve gotta admit, this is… kind of impressive? I mean, I respect a good sleep-in. But this wasn’t a sleep-in. This was a full-blown parental black hole.”

Jongho muttered something about moving to another country. You jabbed him in the side.

“And you,” you turned, finger pointed at Jongho now. “You kissed me into total irresponsibility! You and your stupid warm chest and your stupid, cozy arms and—and your lullaby heartbeat thing.”

“That’s a compliment and you know it,” Jongho said, voice muffled through his hands.

You glared. “It was, until it turned us into the worst parents in history! I’m never trusting you with post-cuddle responsibilities again.”

“You shouldn’t trust me with pre-cuddle ones either,” he muttered.

“Oh, for the love of—”

“Anyway,” Seonghwa interrupted loudly, his voice cutting through the chaos like a bell—bright, amused, and utterly unapologetic. He was clearly reveling in the moment, his laughter bubbling up like champagne fizz as he soaked in the scene. “Back to me not being a cock-block. After The Great Yunho Incident, I took a vow.”

You blinked, eyebrows knitting in confused surprise. “You what?”

“A vow,” Seonghwa said solemnly, adopting a tone that was almost reverent, as if this were some sacred pledge carved in stone. “Of non-interference. No more barging into rooms unannounced. No more knocking and entering. And definitely no more opening the wrong door while someone’s mid-strip. Mingi still won’t talk about that night.”

Jongho groaned, the sound thick with both exasperation and embarrassment. “He told me he saw thigh and trauma. In that order.”

“Exactly,” Seonghwa nodded gravely, as if recounting a dark chapter from history. “So now I err on the side of caution. If I don’t hear screaming or explosions, I assume it’s best not to interrupt.”

“Good policy,” you muttered, the sarcasm wrapping around your words, a small rebellion against the absurdity of the conversation.

“And I stuck to it! You’re welcome, by the way. We were this close”—he held up his thumb and forefinger, barely an inch apart, like you could see him—“to driving her back home last night.”

You rubbed your face, disbelief tingling in your fingertips. “Why didn’t you?!”

Seonghwa let out a dramatic sigh, dragging the word out like a slow, theatrical lament. “Because,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief, “I didn’t want to see Jongho’s naked ass!”

“Hey!” Jongho snapped, but there was laughter hidden in his protest. “It’s a good ass!”

“Too much information,” Seonghwa coughed, waving a hand as if to air out the room. “But I respect the vibes. And I respect the sex life. Just… next time, check your phone, yeah? Five missed calls. That’s legendary.”

You snorted, the sound sharp and amused. “Thank you for letting me get the cock yesterday, Seonghwa.” The words had barely left your mouth before your eyes went wide, horror flooding your features. One hand flew up, slapping over your lips in a desperate attempt to unsay what you’d just blurted.

Jongho made a strangled noise, a strangulation of laughter and disbelief, like he’d swallowed a Lego. “Oh my God.”

“What she means is—” he started quickly, voice rising two octaves in a desperate scramble.

“Don’t worry,” Seonghwa said, cutting in with a laugh. “I fully understand. Explicit details are not required. But again—good for you.”

“Please kill me,” Jongho whispered, voice low and mortified.

You groaned, burying your face in Jongho’s shoulder, willing yourself to disappear entirely. “I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

“It was honestly a gift,” Seonghwa said with mock sincerity, “I’ll cherish it forever.”

“Can we go get our child now?” Jongho said desperately, practically dragging you toward the door, the urgency in his voice cutting through the lingering embarrassment. “Before anyone else decides to comment on my—”

“Glutes?” Seonghwa offered helpfully, voice teasing and warm.

“Goodbye, Seonghwa,” Jongho hissed, but the corners of his mouth twitched despite himself.

“Seriously though,” Seonghwa added just as Jongho’s thumb hovered over the screen to end the call, “don’t rush. Nari’s fine. She’s probably convincing Hongjoong to buy every sweet in the store. Take your time. Shower. Hydrate. Brush your teeth. Regain your dignity.”

“And maybe drink a gallon of coffee before facing her,” Seonghwa added with a grin. “She’s got questions. And she’s suspicious where her parents are.”

Then, with a final chuckle, he hung up.

The silence that followed was almost comical.

You both stood there, tangled in the aftermath of chaotic affection and mortifying honesty, the weight of everything finally settling.

A beat passed.

“You said thank you for letting me get the cock.”

You let out a horrified, strangled groan and buried your face in your hands. “Do not repeat it.”

“Oh, I will repeat it,” Jongho said, grinning like a devil, arms crossed. “That was a moment in history. A legacy, if you will.”

“I was in a full-blown parental meltdown!” you shot back, eyes wide, arms thrown up in exasperation. “My filter was compromised! I had an emotional concussion!”

Jongho snorted, amused. “I feel like that could be an actual diagnostic term. Emotional concussion: symptoms include yelling at Seonghwa and sexually explicit gratitude.”

You whacked him lightly with a throw pillow. “Shut up.”

“You shut up. I was the one being objectified. My ass was slandered.”

“Oh please, you’re proud of that ass.”

“Okay, yes, but that doesn’t mean Seonghwa has to talk about it like it’s some haunted relic.”

You flopped onto the couch, groaning into the cushions. “God. My soul left my body during that call.”

Jongho wandered into the kitchen, scratching at his still-tousled hair, then opened the fridge with the hopeful optimism of someone searching for buried treasure. “How are we somehow hungover without drinking?”

“Because we’re sleep-deprived, guilty, and still horny, and that’s a dangerous combo,” you muttered, face still buried in the couch.

“I mean… the last part is accurate.” He grabbed a container of leftover rice like it was a consolation prize. “I had plans, you know. Morning plans. Lazy, soft, possibly second-round plans.”

You sat up slowly, hair a war zone and cheeks flushed with sleep and embarrassment. You shot him a glare. “You were unconscious fifteen minutes ago.”

“I was conserving energy for the aforementioned second round.”

You blinked at him. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m deeply motivated.”

He came back to the couch and flopped down beside you, arms warm and heavy around your waist, pulling you in until your cheek rested against his chest.

“I was really scared,” you murmured, barely above a whisper.

His arms tightened, jaw brushing your forehead as he pressed a gentle kiss into your hair. “I know. I was scared too.”

“I thought we’d lost her. For real. Just… woke up and she wasn’t here, and my brain went immediately to the worst possible place.”

“I know,” he said softly. “And it’s stupid, because we trust them. But when I saw those missed calls…”

You tilted your head, meeting his eyes. “We really need to check our phones more.”

He smiled, eyes crinkling with guilt and affection. “We really need to stop letting your thighs distract me.”

You huffed a laugh. “Stop blaming my thighs for your inability to act like a functioning adult.”

“They’re very persuasive thighs.”

You shoved him playfully, but he caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Hey,” he said, more serious now, “we messed up. But we’re allowed to mess up sometimes. Doesn’t mean we love her less. Doesn’t mean we’re bad at this.”

You nodded slowly. “Just… very human.”

“Exactly. And tired. And over-caffeinated, usually. And in desperate need of a babysitter rotation schedule so we can keep making out without losing our child.”

You laughed—really laughed—leaning your forehead against his.

You shifted closer. “Do you think Hongjoong’s letting her pick snacks?”

“She probably has an entire cart to herself.”

You sighed. “We’re gonna owe them. Big time.”

He nodded. “I’ll buy Seonghwa brownies. And maybe never show my face in front of him again.”

“Not until he forgets the phrase thank you for letting me get the cock.”

Jongho groaned, sinking back into the cushions. “Can we just elope to the woods and start a new life as bears or something?”

“No phones in the woods,” you teased.

His eyes fluttered shut. “Even better.”

Jongho shifted beside you, then brushed a thumb over your cheekbone. “You look like you need to cry, eat, and be kissed stupid. Not necessarily in that order.”

You blinked, then snorted. “Not sure if that’s a diagnosis or a seduction line.”

“Why not both?” he murmured, mouth brushing yours in a kiss gentle but full of unspent fire. “Come on. Let’s shower. You look like someone who wrestled a tornado in her sleep.”

“You’re one to talk,” you muttered, eyeing his sleep-flattened curls and the shirt still on inside out. “You look like a disheveled idol on break.”

He grinned crookedly, then stood, offering you his hand. “And yet, still irresistible.”

You rolled your eyes but took it anyway, letting him pull you up, knees buckling slightly at the sudden movement. Your body ached pleasantly—muscle memory from tangled limbs and too-late laughter.

The bathroom quickly filled with the sound of rushing water, steam curling and swirling until the mirror blurred, softening the edges of everything. You stood at the sink, brushing your teeth, while Jongho adjusted the water temperature. His silhouette loomed through the mist, a shadow shaped by warmth and familiarity.

“You coming in,” he called over his shoulder, “or am I doomed to relive my lonely trainee days, showering alone and humming ballads to myself?”

You spat out toothpaste with a laugh, tugging your shirt over your head. “Fine, but if you start singing, I’m walking out.”

The moment you stepped into the shower, the warmth wrapped around you like a summer rain—gentle, enveloping, chasing away the last clutches of panic. Water spilled in rivulets down your back, soaking into your skin and melting away the morning’s tension.

Jongho turned, eyes tracing you like silk—no heat, just quiet reverence, the familiar hunger of belonging.

He said nothing at first, just reached up and tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear. “Still can’t believe you’re mine,” he murmured.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Then with a crooked grin, he added, “I almost told Seonghwa that. Right after the whole thank you for letting me get the cock moment.”

You shot him a mock glare, water dripping from your hair. “You’re unbelievable. Seriously, who says that stuff out loud?”

He shrugged, flashing that devilish grin again. “Hey, honesty’s my brand. Plus, I like watching you try to pretend you don’t adore my ridiculousness.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound mingling with the steady patter of the shower. “Adore is a strong word. Let’s go with tolerate.”

Jongho stepped closer, the warmth of his body pressing into yours. “Tolerate, huh? I’ll take it.” His fingers trailed teasing circles along your arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. “You know, if you keep pretending you don’t want me, I might have to start singing just to prove a point.”

“Oh no, please don’t,” you whispered dramatically, leaning into his touch. “Anything but that,” you groaned, pressing your face to his shoulder. He chuckled against your temple, arms wrapping around you, his body warm and solid against yours beneath the cascade of water. His hands found your waist, your back, your jaw—touches half-tender, half-starved. You tilted your chin up, and he kissed you.

This kiss was different. It wasn’t frantic like the night before, or giggling between gasps. This was slow. Deep. Tongue curling languidly against yours, teeth gently grazing your bottom lip, like he wanted to memorize you again, just to be sure it was still real. Your hands slid into his hair, soaking wet and curling against your fingers, pulling him impossibly closer. His back met the cool tile as you pressed against him, the sound of the water dulling the world beyond. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, racing in time with yours. Steam rose around you in thick, swirling clouds. Every touch was slick and slow—his fingers at your hips, the smooth slide of your bodies under water, his mouth trailing along your jaw and throat like he couldn’t stop needing you.

You broke the kiss first, your breath ragged and uneven, fingers trembling as they traced the delicate line of his collarbone, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your skin. “We should probably actually shower,” you murmured, your voice thick with longing and hesitation.

Jongho hummed in agreement, but his hands stayed firmly at your waist, thumbs drawing lazy, soothing circles that sent shivers racing down your spine. His eyes, dark and shimmering with something fierce and tender all at once, never left yours. “Probably,” he said softly, his voice low and warm, “but I like this better.”

His lips found yours again, and this time there was no gentle easing in—no soft prelude or tentative caress. There was only fire. Raw, urgent, and all-consuming. The kiss ignited between you like a spark catching dry leaves, fast and fierce, burning away every lingering thread of doubt or fear. It was the kind of kiss that demanded to be remembered, like the years apart had carved a hollow in your chest that only this closeness could fill.

His hands slid down your back, damp and sure, settling on your hips before dragging you closer until your chest met his, slick with water. You gasped into the kiss, your hands bracing against the solid wall of his chest, only to fist in the curve of his shoulders. His mouth opened wider against yours, tongue sweeping in, tasting, claiming. Every brush of his lips was hungry—like he was kissing the panic and chaos out of your body.

“Jongho,” you breathed, barely audible between kisses.

He groaned—a deep, guttural sound that vibrated in his throat—and dipped his head to your neck, teeth grazing just enough to send a jolt of electricity through your veins, making your knees wobble uncontrollably. Your fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him closer, urging him to stay, to never stop. His hands were everywhere now—one trailing the curve of your spine, the other gripping your thigh and lifting it with surprising ease, wrapping it around his waist until you were flush against him. The shower water poured over you both in thick sheets, drowning out the world with its steady roar, but it only made the sound of your breathless moans and the wet brush of lips against skin all the more vivid.

Jongho’s mouth trailed back up your throat, kissing a path of fire along your jaw, then nipping your lower lip with a teasing softness that made your heart skip. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he whispered, voice rough and reverent, as if your comfort was more vital than air itself. But you only pulled him closer, your lips meeting his again in a kiss that was deeper, fiercer, a silent promise that you didn’t want to stop—not ever.

His hands grew bolder, exploring the sides of your body, cupping your breasts with a possessive tenderness as his mouth found that sensitive spot just beneath your ear. You gasped, arching into him, your fingernails scraping lightly down his chest, marking him as yours. The water poured over you both, cooling the heat that radiated from your skin as he spun you around and pressed you hard against the cold tile, his thigh sliding expertly between your legs.

“Need you,” he murmured against your throat. His fingers traced down your stomach, dipping lower, making you shiver despite the steam. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into another kiss that was all heat and hunger, catching his bottom lip between your teeth. His touch grew more insistent, circling and teasing until your hips bucked against his hand. You could feel him hard against your thigh, and you reached down to stroke him, swallowing his groan with another deep kiss.

He pressed you firmly against the cold tile, the contrast making your pulse race, the coolness of the surface grounding the heat blazing between you.

You could feel him—solid, steady, and perfectly aligned with you, positioned exactly where you needed him. Your breath hitched in your throat, a tremor of anticipation pulsing through your core like electricity.

With a low, guttural groan that vibrated through his chest and into yours, he slid into you in one smooth, unwavering motion. You felt utterly full, the delicious stretch sparking a jolt of pleasure that rippled from your belly out to your fingertips. Your head fell back against the cool tile, lips parting in a gasp that caught on the edge of your breath, breathless and raw.

The warm water continued its steady cascade over you both, steam curling and rising, turning the space into a misty sanctuary where nothing else existed but this—his hands, his lips, his body moving with a deliberate, reverent rhythm. Each slow, deep thrust was a wordless declaration, a melding of need and tenderness.

Your nails dug into his broad shoulders, gripping, grounding yourself as his pace subtly quickened, each movement reaching deeper inside you, sending sparks flashing behind your closed eyes. Stars exploded in your vision, every nerve alight with a delicious ache. The steam wrapped around you like a silken veil, blurring the world until it felt like you were floating inside a dream, but his touch was sharp and insistent—his fingers digging into your hips with quiet urgency, his mouth hot against your throat, leaving trails of fire in his wake.

“God, you feel amazing,” he breathed against your heated skin, voice rough with need and reverence. One of his hands slid lower, slipping between your bodies to find that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling with practiced skill, perfectly timed with each stroke. You shuddered under his touch, legs trembling, hips arching involuntarily toward him.

The relentless combination of the hot water, his commanding fingers, and the intoxicating fullness of him inside you was overwhelming—an exquisite tension building low and fierce in your belly. You teetered on the edge, breath shallow and quick, heart pounding in your ears.

“Jongho, I’m—” your voice faltered, a breathless confession of your rising need.

“I know,” he growled, his hips stuttering, movements losing their steady rhythm as desire took over, raw and unfiltered.

The wave of your orgasm crashed through you, hot and all-consuming, rippling from deep inside your core to the tips of your fingers and toes. You clenched around him, the tremors wracking your body in a delicious surrender. He followed swiftly, his own release spilling through him with a ragged groan of your name, his hips shuddering against yours.

For a suspended moment, the world held still. The water continued its gentle fall, masking your heavy breaths and racing heartbeats. His forehead rested tenderly against yours, breath mingling, heart pounding in a wild, beautiful sync. You leaned your forehead against his, both of you flushed, breathless, and completely undone in each other’s arms.

“That was… holy crap,” you murmured, blinking through the shower spray, your voice still breathless and trembling from everything—pleasure, relief, and something soft, precious underneath it all.

Jongho laughed, a deep, rumbling sound vibrating through his chest beneath your palm. “I think I saw God. And I think she winked at me.”

You snorted, the sound echoing lightly in the misty space. “I think I forgot what year it is.”

“Year of good decisions and excellent sex,” he teased, his voice warm and full of satisfaction.

“Shut up.” You leaned in, kissing him slowly this time, your lips brushing and lingering, soft and tender—just breath and affection. He chuckled against you, then, impossibly cheeky, gave your ass a light squeeze.

You yelped, swatting at him. “Excuse me!”

“Just making sure it’s still there.”

“Well don’t. It’s already traumatized enough from slamming into that tile mid-thrust.”

He feigned offense, eyes wide. “You slipped! That was not my fault.”

“You had my leg over your waist, Jongho.”

His grin deepened, far too smug for someone accused of bathroom assault. “And you didn’t seem to mind.”

Without warning, you splashed water on his face. He sputtered, water dripping from his lashes, then retaliated with a sloppy kiss to your cheek and a low murmur in your ear. “You drive me insane, you know that?”

You smiled, pressing your cheek to his collarbone, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your skin. “Good. Wouldn’t want to be the only one unhinged here.”

Your hand reached for the shampoo, but Jongho beat you to it, squeezing a dollop into his palm. “Let me,” he murmured, fingers gentle as they worked the suds into your hair. Your eyes fluttered closed under the tender scalp massage, your body still humming from the sex aftermath. Every touch sent little shivers down your spine, the sensation almost sacred in its softness.

When it was your turn, you had to stretch onto your tiptoes to reach his head. He bent down obligingly, humming quietly as your fingers combed through the damp curls. His hands settled on your waist, steadying you, thumbs drawing lazy, soothing circles on your skin.

“Stop that,” you mumbled, trying to focus on rinsing the shampoo out. “You’re distracting me.”

He smiled, innocence feigned but not convincing. “I’m just holding you up. Wouldn’t want you to slip again.”

“Uh huh. And those circles on my hips are purely for safety reasons?”

“Absolutely. Safety first.”

You narrowed your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. There was something ridiculously comforting about the two of you like this—silly and gentle, far from the chaos outside the bathroom walls.

“God, you have magic hands,” Jongho murmured, melting under your touch like a big, contented cat being petted. “If the whole parenting thing gets exhausting, you should open a spa.”

You flicked his head lightly. “A spa where I only wash your hair?”

“Exactly. Very exclusive. Members-only. Actually, just me.”

You rolled your eyes but felt warmth spread in your chest. This—this ridiculous softness amid the whirlwind—was the kind of normal you never wanted to lose.

After rinsing the last suds, Jongho shook his head, sending droplets flying.

“Jongho!” you gasped, swatting at the splash that hit your face.

He grinned, backing away just enough to avoid your flailing hands. “You looked too peaceful. I had to restore balance to the universe.”

“You’re a menace,” you said, laughing, stepping closer and splashing water at his chest in playful revenge.

“Guilty,” he admitted, pressing his forehead to yours, nose nudging gently. His voice softened, thick with something fierce and tender. “But I’m your menace.”

Your hands found his shoulders, still warm and damp beneath your palms. “You say that like it’s supposed to be reassuring.”

He kissed you again, sweet and slow this time, a promise wrapped in lips and quiet breathing. You could feel him smile into the kiss, the soft curve of it grounding you after everything.

Eventually, the water cooled, the steam thinning and curling away. You both reluctantly reached to turn off the taps. Jongho grabbed a towel, wrapping it around your shoulders like a cozy cloak, then rubbed another over your hair with exaggerated gentleness that made you squeak and swat at him again.

“Stop treating me like a wet kitten!”

“You are a wet kitten,” he said, eyes gleaming, “all squinty and grumpy.”

You threw the towel over his head in mock retaliation.

He peeled it off, laughing, then pulled you into a loose embrace. The two of you swayed slightly in the foggy bathroom—no rush, no distractions—just this quiet bubble where the rest of the world could wait.

After a few heartbeats, Jongho murmured, “That was kind of perfect.”

You looked up at him, tired and flushed and utterly content. “Which part? The shower sex or the bubble war?”

He grinned like a kid. “All of it. Even your shampoo-into-the-eyes moment.”

“That was your fault.”

“Everything’s my fault. I’m a martyr.”

You leaned in, kissing his chin softly. “You’re a dork.”

“And you,” he said, draping a towel around both your shoulders, pulling you toward the door, “are stuck with me. Come on. Let’s go dry off and make sure our child hasn’t convinced Hongjoong to buy an entire bakery.”

You snorted, feeling the warmth of his hand locked with yours. “Too late. She probably owns stock in sugar by now.”

“God help us,” Jongho muttered, but his smile was stupid and glowing, and somehow, that made you feel like everything was going to be okay.

Wrapped in towels, you and Jongho stepped out of the bathroom in a haze of leftover steam and flushed skin, your limbs loose and wobbly with the pleasant ache. The bedroom felt cooler by comparison, air brushing over damp skin as you moved around each other with that strange intimacy that followed sex—tender, knowing, unhurried.

Jongho stood near the edge of your bed, towel slung low around his hips, bare feet shifting slightly on the floor. His eyes flicked toward your overflowing laundry hamper with the forlorn air of someone hoping a pair of pants might rise from the heap and save him from his tragic fate. “Okay,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his damp curls, “so I didn’t exactly plan on being… naked and homeless this morning.”

You glanced up from your dresser, one brow raised. “You make it sound like I left you on the side of the road.”

He gestured at himself with both hands, his expression all wounded dignity and mock despair. “I’ve been emotionally compromised and now I’m pantsless in enemy territory.”

“Enemy territory?” You snorted, tugging open another drawer. “You say it like I’m going to take you prisoner.”

“Maybe I want you to,” he muttered under his breath, not quite quiet enough. Your hand froze on a folded t-shirt, eyes flicking to him as heat immediately bloomed under your skin. Jogho noticed. Of course, he noticed. That wicked smirk curled the corners of his mouth like it had been waiting to make an appearance all morning.

You cleared your throat, tossing him the shirt without looking directly at him. “Just put on yesterday’s clothes. Go commando. Live dangerously.”

He caught the shirt and sighed like a man shouldering a great burden. “The things I do for you,” he said dramatically. “My slacks are going to chafe in places I don’t even want to think about. Or discuss.”

You gave him a saccharine smile as you grabbed a fresh pair of lace panties. “Poor baby. I promise to kiss it better later.”

Jongho stilled.

He didn’t smirk.

He didn’t laugh.

He looked at you. Slowly. From head to toe. Like you were the answer to every question he hadn’t dared to ask.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” he said quietly, his voice dipping just low enough to make your breath catch. You tried—tried so hard—to be the cool one, to toss back something clever, to keep the upper hand. But your body betrayed you, heat curling through your stomach like smoke.

Instead, you met his gaze and said, maybe a little too sincerely, “Who says I can’t keep them?” His pupils flared. He took a single step forward—just one—and you could already feel the air shift between you, warm and charged and stupidly magnetic.

But then, with a groan of theatrical restraint, he turned around, pulling the t-shirt over his head. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” you said, grinning at his back. “It’ll be a fun funeral.”

“I want snacks at my funeral,” he called out, tugging on his pants with a wince.

“There will be cheese balls,” you promised. “And tears.”

He grunted. “From laughter or heartbreak?”

“Both.”

When he turned back to you, finally dressed in slightly rumpled clothes that made him look more like a college student crawling out of a nap than a man who had just rocked your world in the shower, his smile was genuine. Soft. A little awed.

He stepped closer, his voice warm and low as he brushed a damp curl from your forehead, fingers lingering with a softness that made your breath hitch. “Hey… this morning was kind of amazing.”

You cocked a brow, one corner of your mouth twitching upward. “Oh? You liked forgetting our daughter existed?”

He huffed a laugh, but there was no flippancy in his gaze—just that deep, molten affection that always managed to sneak past your guard. “Okay, maybe not that part,” he said, slipping his hands around your waist and pulling you in. The fabric of your shirt stuck slightly to your skin, still a little damp from the shower, and his body was radiating heat where it pressed against yours. “But... being with you like that. Waking up next to you. Laughing with you. Touching you like it was the most natural thing in the world…” He trailed off, resting his forehead against yours. “Yeah. That was perfect.”

Your breath caught—not from surprise, but from how true it felt. How his voice wrapped around the moment like a ribbon. You could smell the faint scent of your shampoo on him now, could feel the heat of his skin through your clothes, and the way his thumbs brushed soft, absent circles at the small of your back.

“I forgot how easy it is with you,” you murmured. “To laugh. To feel... light.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes searching, serious beneath the curve of a smile. “Then let’s not forget anymore.”

You kissed him then, slow, deep, without urgency this time. The kind of kiss that settled under your skin, that hummed quietly with everything unsaid but deeply felt. His fingers threaded gently into your damp hair, and your hands moved over his shoulders, still warm from the shower, still tingling from the afterglow of everything you’d shared. You stayed like that for a while—pressed together, the world narrowed down to the quiet rhythm of your breathing, the echo of heartbeats exchanged through skin and silence. The kiss had ended, but neither of you had moved, like shifting even an inch might break the spell.

The apartment smelled like the remnants of warm water, citrus soap, and something else, something quieter, more intimate. Him.

You tilted your head and rested your temple against his shoulder, nose brushing lightly along his collarbone, breathing him in like he was air and gravity and memory.

Five years.

Five years of aching silences and missed glances. Of what-ifs and too-lates. And now… now you were standing in your apartment, wrapped in his arms like no time had passed at all—and yet everything had.

He was still Jongho. But he was also new. Grown into himself. Steadier. Deeper. And still—somehow—yours.

“I didn’t think we’d ever get back here,” you whispered, your voice small and low, a thread unraveling quietly between you.

Jongho’s hand came up, cradling the back of your neck. His thumb traced along the line of your jaw, like he needed the reassurance of your shape beneath his fingers. “I thought about this every day,” he said. “About waking up next to you. About hearing you laugh again. Touching you. God, even fighting with you.”

You gave a soft, surprised laugh against his chest.

“I missed you so much it felt like I was missing a limb,” he added. His voice broke a little at the end, not dramatic—but honest, raw in a way that made your throat go tight.

You pulled back just enough to see him. His cheeks were pink, but not from the heat. His eyes were impossibly soft, ringed in gold light, lashes damp where he hadn’t dried properly. He was looking at you like you were a sunrise he hadn’t dared hope for.

“You know what I missed the most?” you asked, your voice trembling.

He shook his head slowly.

“This,” you said. Your hands slid up his chest, palms flat over his heart. “The way you always made me feel... known. Like even when everything else was falling apart, you never stopped seeing me.”

Jongho looked like he couldn’t breathe. “I never did,” he whispered. “Even when I hated myself for it.”

You felt the crack in your chest widen, then fill, like something finally fitting into place after being lost for too long.

His hand cupped your cheek then, reverent. “You’re it for me,” he said, voice husky, words like velvet-wrapped confessions. “You always have been.”

You felt it before he said it—something shifting in the air, in the way his arms tightened around your waist like he was anchoring himself. His breath hitched just slightly. You lifted your head to look at him. Jongho’s eyes met yours—wide open, unguarded, more vulnerable than you’d seen him in years. There was a tremble to his jaw, like the words were balancing right there, and if he didn’t say them now, he never would.

“I love you.”

The words weren’t loud, but they landed like thunder.

Your breath caught—not because you didn’t know, but because he said it. Because it sounded like truth and surrender and hope, all wrapped in one moment. Like he was placing his whole heart in your hands and trusting you not to drop it.

“I love you,” he said again, a little louder this time, more certain. “God, I love you. I never stopped. I thought I could move on, that maybe you’d be happier without all the mess I brought—but I’ve been in love with you since I was a teenager, and it hasn’t gone anywhere. Not for a second.”

You stared at him, the world spinning a little off-axis.

He wasn’t smiling—this wasn’t a joke or a tease. His hands trembled faintly at your hips. His brows were drawn just slightly, like saying it had cracked something open inside him.

Your heart swelled in your chest so fast it ached.

He stepped back like he was bracing for you to leave, to laugh, to tell him it was too much, too soon.

But you didn’t move.

Instead, you reached up, cupped his face with both hands, and kissed him—soft, then firmer, pouring everything you couldn’t say into it. His lips parted with a soft, broken noise, like the air had been knocked out of him. He kissed you back like the world depended on it, like this time—this life—you’d both get it right.

When you finally pulled away, his eyes were glassy.

You smiled, tears prickling at the corners of your own. “You beat me to it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“I’ve been sitting on that I love you since the moment you walked in the door last night,” you whispered. “But you beat me to it.” You leaned your forehead against his and said it anyway—because you needed him to hear it from your mouth, as many times as he needed. “I love you, Jongho. I love you, and I never stopped either. I tried to be mad at you. I tried to move on. But every version of my life that didn’t have you in it felt… wrong.”

He laughed—a quiet, choked sound—and kissed you again, this time with both hands framing your jaw, like he couldn’t believe you were real. When you parted, he didn’t move far, just rested his forehead against yours. You stood there for another minute—barefoot, skin still warm from the shower, wrapped in each other and something stronger than memory. Something new.

“I hope you realize,” he said eventually, voice rough, “that this means I get to love you like this every day now.”

You smirked, still breathless. “Every day, huh? Confident.”

“I’m not letting you go again,” he said softly, thumb brushing your cheek. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” you said. “I missed being stuck.” The words lingered in the air like steam, warm and comforting.

Then, almost too quietly to catch, you heard it—like a breath, like a secret that had slipped out before he could stop it:

“…Move in with me.”

You blinked.

At first, you weren’t sure he’d actually spoken. Maybe you’d imagined it, conjured the words from that blissed-out, glowy part of your heart that was still catching up with reality.

But then you saw it—how Jongho suddenly froze, like his own body had only just registered what his mouth had done. His eyes widened a fraction, his lips parted slightly, and color crept up his neck in a slow, crimson flush. He looked mortified. Like someone had flipped the wrong switch in his brain, and now he was standing in the middle of a field with no clothes and a bull charging at him.

“…Shit,” he whispered, rubbing a hand down his face. “Okay. Wow. That came out. That really just… came out.” You stared at him, heart hammering, warmth creeping up your spine. He wasn’t looking at you—he was now very interested in the pattern on your carpet, his jaw tight, fingers twitching like he was bracing for you to run. “I mean—not to, like, pressure you,” he rushed on, voice breathless and way too fast. “I just—I like waking up with you, and not just for the sex, I swear—though that part is incredible, not the point—but I just—fuck, forget it, I shouldn’t have said that.”

You reached forward, taking both his hands in yours.

He looked up, eyes anxious, vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache. He was scared. He had taken the leap, and now he was dangling mid-air, waiting to see if you'd catch him or let him fall.

“Jongho,” you said, gently.

“I know,” he muttered. “Too fast. Too much. We just got here again and I just said I love you and now I’m jumping straight to toothbrushes and sock drawers like some clingy—”

“Yes.”

He froze. “…What?”

You squeezed his hands tighter, eyes shining. “Yes. Let’s be stuck. In the same apartment. Same coffee mugs. Same couch naps. Let’s be that annoying couple that keeps forgetting they don’t need to FaceTime anymore because they live together.”

He just stared at you, blinking. “You’re saying yes.”

You laughed, a little choked. “I’m saying hell yes. I’ve lived five years without you, Jongho. That’s long enough.”

He exhaled so sharply it was almost a laugh—relief flooding his face, breaking across it like dawn. “Oh my God,” he breathed, pulling you into his arms so fast you squeaked. “You’re actually saying yes. We’re moving in.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, at the way his entire face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. His joy was infectious, pure in a way that made your heart squeeze. The future stretched out before you both—not perfect, maybe, but real and bright and shared.

“I can’t believe this,” he murmured, still holding you like he thought you might vanish if he let go. “This—us—this was all I ever wanted.”

“Really?” you teased, brushing your nose against his. “All you ever wanted was your ex-girlfriend, a four-year-old, and half a closet’s worth of mismatched mugs?”

He grinned, teeth flashing. “Damn right. Especially the mugs. I’m gonna get one that says World’s Sexiest Roommate.”

You snorted. “It better have my face on it.”

He hummed, still beaming as he nuzzled your cheek, his arms wrapping more securely around your waist.

“I’ve been thinking,” he murmured, breath still a little shaky, his voice carrying that hopeful, almost giddy edge you hadn’t heard in years. “Not just about moving in together. I mean… about us starting completely new.”

Your brow furrowed, “What do you mean?”

He hesitated for a moment—not out of nervousness, but as if searching for the perfect shape to hold something huge and fragile. Then his eyes locked onto yours, steady and clear, carrying the gravity of everything he meant to say. His voice lowered, thick with meaning, “I want to buy us a place.”

Your eyes widened, blinking against the sudden sharpness of the thought. “Buy us—”

“Yeah,” he said, a little lighter now, like speaking it aloud was giving the idea room to breathe. “A new apartment. Ours. Not your place, not mine—something fresh. With a room for Nari. Big windows that let the sunlight pour in. Enough space so she can run around without knocking over every lamp. And a dishwasher that actually finishes its cycle without that weird wheezing noise.”

The image he painted was so vivid you could almost feel the warm morning light spilling across the floor, hear the laughter of your daughter echoing down the hall, smell the faint scent of fresh paint mixed with coffee brewing in the kitchen. But still, your smile faltered slightly under the weight of the reality beneath it.

“You mean… like an actual new apartment?”

He nodded, running a hand through his damp hair, droplets glistening like tiny crystals in the soft light. “Yeah.”

A long pause hung between you. The quiet hum of the city outside filtered through the window, the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm, and your breath catching as the truth sank in.

Then you laughed—soft, disbelieving. “Okay, romantic dreamer. But unless that place is a broom closet or maybe haunted, I seriously can’t throw down a down payment right now.”

He tilted his head, confusion furrowing his brow. “Why would you pay for it?”

Your face creased into a frown, voice small but honest. “Because… you said us. I thought we’d be splitting it. Jongho, mortgages are no joke. I’m not exactly rolling in spare change. Nari’s daycare just raised their tuition again, and I swear my washing machine is conspiring to eat every sock I own.” You looked at him, expecting maybe understanding, maybe a gentle nod.

Instead, Jongho blinked once, twice, then burst into laughter. Not polite or contained—full-bodied, leaning back, the kind of laughter that shakes your whole chest. You stared at him, incredulous. “Why are you laughing?!”

He waved a hand between breaths, trying to slow down. “You really forgot, didn’t you?”

“Forgot what?”

He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye, still chuckling as the tension broke like a wave. “That I’m an idol now. Like, a really successful one. You know—the tours, the albums, the endorsements, the crazy schedules.”

You blinked, processing, the words swirling in your mind. “Wait, you mean you’re… rich?”

“Baby,” he said with an amused grin, disbelief dripping from his tone like honey, “I’ve had five world tours. Korean and Japanese albums. Endorsement deals with skincare brands, a car commercial in Japan, and last month? I literally got paid to drink sparkling water during a photoshoot. Sparkling water. You have no idea how many digits were on that check.”

You stared at him, mouth slightly open, as the reality hit. You’d been so wrapped up in remembering him as your Jongho that you’d completely forgotten about the superstar beneath. The man who sold out arenas and carried millions of fans with his smile. The man who could casually drop buying us an apartment like he was picking up milk.

“Baby, I am so rich it’s disgusting,” he added, voice softening, the edge of pride wrapped in tenderness. “I paid off my parents’ house in cash. I have an investment portfolio. A manager who yells at me whenever I try to buy dumb stuff online.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Like what kind of dumb stuff?”

His grin turned mischievous. “A fog machine. For dramatic entrances.”

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, bending against him, clutching his shoulders to keep from falling. “A fog machine?!”

“I was gonna use it in the kitchen. Imagine: Oh no, we’re out of oat milk—cue mist and synths.”

“You’re insane.”

“But lovable,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. “And loaded. Let me spoil you. Let me spoil Nari. We deserve to start fresh. Something ours—with sunlit mornings, a hallway where we hang her drawings, your keys, and stupid quotes on sticky notes. I want to hear her little feet running down the hallway, and I want to come home to you waiting there.”

You looked at him—the softness in his eyes, the slight tremble in his voice, like he was unwrapping a long-held secret. Saying it aloud made it all real.

“But I haven’t done anything to earn this—”

“You don’t have to earn a life with me,” he said, brushing a stray curl from your face. “You are the life I want.”

Your throat tightened, tears brimming, emotions flooding your chest in a wave so fierce it threatened to overflow. “Oh my god.”

His grin softened, warm and steady as he framed your face with both hands. “I know you’ve carried everything alone for so long, and you’re incredible. But I want to share this. All of it. You don’t have to carry the weight anymore. Let me.”

You hesitated—old fears whispered beneath your skin, the residue of years spent on your own—but his thumbs on your cheeks grounded you, gently pulling you back to the present.

“You’re serious,” you whispered, almost to yourself.

“I want to build something with you,” he said, voice low and sure. “Not just sleep over and steal your hoodies. A real life. With our daughter. And maybe... someday... a dog?”

Your heart fluttered like a first spring breeze.

“And, yeah,” he added with a playful brow raise, “I am rich rich. But more importantly? I’m yours. So please stop budgeting for the down payment like I won’t spoil the hell out of you both.”

A laugh escaped you—soft, shaky, and real. You pushed him lightly on the chest. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You already agreed to live with me,” he teased. “No take-backs.”

“You’re going to regret this when Nari covers every white wall with crayon art and I start hoarding scented candles.”

“I dream of crayon walls,” he said, pulling you close. “And I’ve already made peace with the candle thing. Just promise me one with vanilla, not, like, witchy forest moss.”

You buried your face in his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek. “Deal.”

His arms wrapped you tightly, as if afraid this moment might slip away. “So... we’re doing this?”

“We’re doing this,” you whispered.

And when you looked up, his eyes said everything: love, joy, wonder—and something deeper, steadier, something that would hold you both long after the newness faded.

This wasn’t just a morning, a kiss, or a memory.

This was a beginning.

One you’d both never stopped wanting.

“So. About that fog machine…”

You laughed through the tears spilling down your cheeks. “You’re not putting a fog machine in our kitchen.”

“No promises,” he whispered, kissing you—soft, sure, and entirely yours.

The kiss lingered, like it didn’t want to end. Like it wasn’t just a kiss at all, but a quiet vow exchanged through breath and skin. When he pulled back, it was only slightly, enough to keep your foreheads resting together, his thumb still brushing the edge of your jaw like you were something precious and half-dreamt.

“You’re insufferable,” you murmured, your voice catching on the breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

“But hot,” he added instantly, grinning like a man who hadn’t just cracked his heart wide open on your bedroom floor.

“Debatable,” you managed to say, but your lips were already curving into a helpless smile. You couldn’t stop smiling around him. It was starting to feel like muscle memory.

Jongho tilted his head, giving you that look—the one that saw straight through you. “You love me,” he said it softly, like an invocation. Like a secret finally safe to speak aloud.

Your heart beat so loudly in your chest, you were sure he could hear it. “Do I?” you teased, your voice thinner now, laced with the trembling weight of everything that moment carried.

“You do,” he murmured, brushing the backs of his knuckles over your cheek. “I see it every time you look at me. Like I’m more than the mess I made. Like maybe... I’m worth loving again.”

That did it. Something crumbled and bloomed at once inside your chest—grief and forgiveness and love curling around each other like old friends. You reached up and held his face in your hands, searching his eyes, finding every version of him you’d ever known in the quiet between your breaths. “I do,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I love you.” The words landed like a soft storm between you, quiet, but impossible to ignore. And for a moment, Jongho just stared at you, completely still, like even the slightest movement might shatter the fragile, perfect truth of it. “I love you,” you said again, firmer this time. “Even when I didn’t want to. Even when it hurt. Even when I hated you a little.”

His eyes shone suddenly, catching the low morning light, and his laugh came broken—part joy, part disbelief. “God,” he breathed, “you have no idea what it means to hear you say that.”

You smiled softly, running your thumbs along the line of his cheekbone. “Then say it back.”

His hands settled at your waist, grounding both of you. “I love you,” he said, like it had been there all along, waiting beneath his ribs for the right moment to be set free. “I think I never stopped. I think I tried to live without it. Without you. And I just… couldn’t.”

You let out a watery laugh, blinking fast. “You’re going to make me cry.”

“Join the club,” he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’ve been trying not to fall apart since I saw you on that fansign.”

Your breath hitched, and he pulled you into his arms again—this time slower, like he was memorizing every inch of how you fit against him. You melted into him, arms curling around his middle, cheek pressed to the space between his collarbone and neck where his heartbeat thudded steadily and strongly.

“How did we get back here?” you asked quietly.

“I think,” he said slowly, “we never really left.”

“You’re still annoying,” you murmured.

“And you still talk in your sleep,” he shot back.

You pulled away just enough to look at him, brow raised. “I do not.”

“Oh, you do,” he said with a smirk. “Last night you mumbled something about strawberries and corporate espionage.”

You laughed despite the tear slipping down your cheek. “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” you teased.

He kissed the tip of your nose. “Blessed, truly.”

And then quieter, more serious: “Thank you. For trusting me again.”

You stared at him, heart so open it almost hurt. “Thank you for coming back.” He kissed you again—slower this time, deeper. And you kissed him back with everything you hadn’t said for five years. It wasn’t perfect, wasn’t polished. But it was real. Raw. And his. Yours.

When you parted, he leaned his forehead against yours again and said, “So... what do we do now?”

You smiled. “We build something new.”

He nodded. “Together?”

“Always.”

And with the morning light bleeding gold through the windows, and the future unfolding quietly at your feet, you knew—this was your beginning.

Not a restart. Not a repair.

Something braver.

Something whole.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

[timetravelinghearthian]

So, last time, we looked at a potential reason why Hearthians are blue. But that just got me thinking about how they’re blue.

Because, see, 90% of the time, when you see a blue animal, its color comes from structural color on the surface layers rather than a blue pigment. We see that this is likely the case with Hearthians, as Gossan’s scar is very clearly not blue, indicating to me that it’s missing that structural layer due to damage. There are many different ways to use structural color to reflect blue light, but the exact details are predicated on the sort of structure you’re dealing with.

It is here, of course, that we have to contend with the long-standing question of whether Hearthians have scales or not (the answer to which usually correlates with how reptilian vs amphibious one reads them.) Full disclosure, I’m mostly in the first camp, despite my jokes about them being “fish aliens.” It’s just awkward to make light of reptilian aliens because of, well… you know.

But let’s not just rely on my headcanon going forward; we should check the source material!

(Hearthian hand jumpscare below the break.)

[Image ID: an image of a Hearthian hand, shown palm side up on the left, palm side down on the right. The image was taken directly from the game model on a neutral background. The underside of the hand is labeled "grippy bits." The top of the hand in general is labeled "smooth texture." The dark spots on the hand are labeled "markings (probably not feature scales.)" The two fingers are different widths and are labeled "upsetting ratio." End ID.]

(Image from Repcon’s Google Drive Artist References folder, modified and labeled by post’s author for diagram purposes. For the curious, I think these are either Esker's or Tektite's hands.)

(No, I can’t get over the fact that the second finger is like 50% thicker than the first. I don’t like it one bit, and hereby choose to ignore it.)

Taking a close look at the textures, it seems that if they have scales, they’re small enough to not be distinct at this resolution. This is certainly possible! Sharks and some lizards like geckos have very small scales that aren’t immediately visible at your usual viewing distance and appear largely smooth. (Of course, this is assuming that the smooth texture isn’t just a consequence of stylization. I mean, when was the last time you saw a human in a video game that had every little crease and bump of their skin rendered?)

A related thought I’ve seen is that the spot markings represent larger scales (termed feature scales.) However, as shown above, these markings can overlap and merge, indicating that they don’t correspond to single scales.

The question, then, is whether it’s human-like skin or small scales.

(I’m discounting amphibian-like skin largely due to the matte texture. Also because it would mean having to contend with mucous, which… nah. Nah, I can’t handle a slimy Hearthian. It would also make clothes a nightmare.)

There’s arguments for both skin and scales:

For the former, it could be said that it’s the simpler explanation, and that the exact sort of speculative biology that this post’s author is currently doing is far beyond the intention of the creators of the original work. To be fair, I don’t think Mobius Digital anticipated anyone asking questions about the texture of their characters’ skin. The argument can be made to assume they’re like humans unless shown otherwise.

For the latter, it’s admittedly mostly vibes-based. Fact of the matter is that mammalian skin is freaking weird in the grand scheme of things. Most vertebrates have scales of some sort, even if their exact morphology varies wildly. Further, the closest analogues we have to the proto-Hearthian are the extinct temnospondyls, which had small scales over most of their body. While the modern Hearthian has obviously evolved drastically over the last couple hundred thousand years, I can’t think of many evolutionary pressures to ditch the protection scales provide.

Ultimately, I feel the deciding factor comes back to color, and as evidenced by the fact that there are way more blue reptiles than there are blue mammals (and I mean actual blue, not that cool-toned gray cats and dogs are getting away with,) blue’s just easier with scales.

So, yeah, author’s personal stance is that they have very small, smooth scales across most of the body, with rougher, sandpaper-like scales on the palms and soles for grip. These outer layer of these scales are structured so that they reflect blue and ultraviolet light. The darker markings we see are places with higher concentrations of melanin beneath the scales as a second line of defense slash holdover from a period of time where such disruptive coloration was useful for them (possibly after becoming more terrestrial, as the Nomai mural shows them as a solid blue (though admittedly that could just be, again, stylization.))

I had other tangents, but those will be saved for a different post.

[oatmealzz]

Firstly so sorry for the graphic image. I found this on the Danganronpa reddit. Also MAJOR DANGANRONPA V3 SPOILERS.

I feel like this very crudely drawn image of Kokichi’s dead crushed up corpse is the last piece I needed to fully accept his death.

Not being able to see the state of the body during the investigation, created a barrier for me to fully understand Kokichi’s exit out of the main story. It just felt like he “left” rather than died.

Additionally, none of the characters saw the dead body and that definitely had an impact on their attitude towards him. His death was brushed off because they also never got to see his dead body. Maki didn’t investigate the body and such. There was no opportunity to be traumatized but ample to refuel their hatred towards him. Remember when Nagito’s body was found? The characters wouldn’t stop talking about the stab wound and the spear. The graphic depictions of Nagito stabbing himself added to the nightmare fuel situation. Like SOMEONE did that to his body vibe. In this trial, that wasn’t discussed in a manner that resembled 2-5. Not being able to see the graphic nature of a body being crushed flat means the characters can avoid it. Again, put yourself in the situation you felt when you initially saw Kokichi’s death. Seeing his crushed body would absolutely impact your experience because it’s like DANG, WHO DID THIS?! Did he really deserve a death like that? And so on.

This is why his absence during the class trial wasn’t discussed to its extent such as with other characters. Imagine seeing the body and then going to the trial where the exisal was talking in his voice. It would be SUPER weird. LIKE I SAW HIS CRUSHED BONES AND ORGANS OUT ON THAT PRESS AND NOW IM HEARING HIS VOICE? I know for some people, not seeing the body meant that maybe both Kaito and Kokichi were alive and that they used another body to substitute a killing. After Monokuma revealed that it wasn’t possible to do so, I don’t remember anyone who acknowledged the body afterwards due to how the trial was going.

I’m no Kokichi Stan but I did warm up to his character pre-chapter 4. I always felt that his death and trial were lackluster and lacked needed impact. Personally, I thought the trial wasn’t very good but seeing a depiction of the body has changed my opinion on the trial.

Kaito also never saw Kokichi afterwards because he never lifted the press after it crushed him. Kaito doesn’t really have to carry the weight of the plan and his actions, because he never gets to see the honest result of them. Therefore, he was able to focus on the plan to foul Monokuma and stick to the script that a dead boy wrote. Personally, my entire view on Kaito would drastically change more if we both saw the state of the body. Like learning that Kaito killed Kokichi in the most violent way possible. This is no stab to the neck or strangulation where a character might crack a joke (throwback to Ryoma, Miu and even Nagito). I remember thinking that their plan failed because the gang ended up figuring out their scheme and there is a viewpoint that Kokichi’s plan failed. If it did, he died for nothing and in the most violently unnecessarily way possible too.

Danganronpa V3 had many victims where the remaining cast had a short mourning period for (Rantaro, Ryoma and Miu). Each student had different circumstances where the cast couldn’t comment too much on their dead peers. Rantaro distanced himself from others, and no one was particular close to Ryoma or Miu.

However, Kokichi was one where almost no one mourned his death.

It’s interesting for sure. I think more people mourned the losses of the culprits more than the victims.

Anyways - I recommend reviewing 3-5 again and seeing this image somewhere during the investigation. I promise, my opinion on 3-5 drastically improved afterwards.

[mari-lair]

How does gon having even less self worth change his personality from canon? We have already seen how, erm,volatile he can get when the ones he loves are hurt, and part of me is scared for our boy about all the different ways he could hurt himself both physically and emotionally, especially now that he's more powerful and knowledgeable about nen then he was in canon.

It's not a super drastic change, at least on the volatile/reckless aspect, cause Gon was highly discouraged from making Nen vows when he learned about them, and he was raised in a world where Breath of Archangel exists (He would never use Breath of Archangel on himself, the cards number and transformation limit are too small, but he knows that if a loved one gets too hurt, he can 'save' them.)

His stubborn "I need to earn my victories in a way that makes me and my giant standards for myself satisfied or I'll feel weak and useless." and "I can die but you can't!" mentality is mostly the same, despite him being even more of a monster. While Gon's attraction towards powerful opponents started earlier in this AU, his pride is lower (he may be in Ging's shadow on both islands, but he was easily the strongest person in Whale Island, no competition. By comparison, he isn't a big fish in Greed Island), and people he looks up to saying he needs to be strong/ looking at him as a powerhouse more than a kid, is not a greed island au exclusive. He is also arguably more competitive than Whale Island Gon, so the approach may vary but overall his fighting vibe is the same "impulsive but smart in battle that use fights to prove or punish himself"

What does change a lot is Gon's way of approaching people: Whale Island Gon was always loved by people, GI Gon was loved by mostly NPCs built to love him, and he lives in a game he enjoys but that people see as a ruthless competition at best and a nightmare at worse, there is a bigger disconnect than he had in whale island, so he is insecure about how enjoyable/valuable his presence is. When he interacts with real people he wants to show that he is useful and tries to be as helpful as he can (with tasks, with game information, even with nen tips) without expecting others to help him back. He wants to gush about the game but he also wants to earn their time in a way. There is a reason a considerable amount of people confused him for a very charming NPC at first.

Another difference is that he is curious about how players feel about him, so he can bluntly ask if someone likes spending time with him or if he is giving too much info too fast, etc. He is more self-conscious and insecure with strangers. He doesn't assume a player will stick around even if he likes them, so he can spend a lot of time alone. Unless he gets a goal that fires him up or starts a conversation on a topic he is passionate about he will unconsciously prioritize the person he accompanies (in small ways, like "Where do you want to eat?" instead of "Where should we eat?" and such). The more he likes someone the more selfish and stubborn he is with them.

[casual-praxis]

A headcanon I've come to adore recently is the one where Red and Vio are very cuddly together. Like, not even in a romantic way, they just both enjoy physical contact.

Red already seems the type to want hugs or just generally maintain physical contact with the people he cares about, but I like the idea that Vio is similar, even if he doesn't look the type to.

I can vibe with the hc that Vio doesn't like to be touched (as someone who can't be touched by others without feeling pain/starting to twitch erratically, I can relate a lot lmao), but there's just something really appealing about the juxtaposition between his personality and these actions, ya know?

Vio was the first to pat Red on the head (within maybe an hour of them all existing), he doesn't attempt to brush off Red's hug after they're all reunited, nor does he seem to when Red makes a seemingly similar attempt outside the Temple of Darkness--not to mention all the casual contact he had with Shadow. And if the inside cover of the Legendary Edition is believed canon, then at some point he let Shadow basically sit in his lap while he held Shadow's waist (totally straight of them btw mhm).

You'd think Vio would at least hint that he doesn't like physical contact somewhere along the way, but he seems pretty alright with it even if he doesn't usually initiate it.

I like to combine this hc with my other hc that the colors all have drastically different body temperatures based on elemental alignment, so Red and Vio just balance each other out and are thusly always pressed together in some way. Red runs very hot and Vio runs very cold. Blue "reluctantly" seeks out Red for warmth after the whole being frozen alive ordeal (he probably has the most normal body temp of the group), but Green is the one who's actually touch averse on account of his temp being wildly influenced by contact with the others (and him not being able to regulate that).

I think Shadow also runs cold, so him and Vio are just cold together. But at least it makes the fire temple more manageable.

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Fais fanfic rambles: Introduction to my 'Selkies by Starlight' ISaT AU

Note: Not to be confused with @looped-140-and-counting / Soren_793's wonderful Selkie AU oneshot series 'The Northern Islanders are Selkies' which was hugely inspiring for this if potentially VERY different in vibe (we got very into talking about cloaks! XD)

Basic premise/summary:

In an alternate version of the precanon adventure, the party lead by Mirabelle to stop the King freezing Vaugarde in time, recruit Siffrin as per usual.

Thing is, Siffrin is a Selkie.

A very skittish selkie without a cloak of their own, who openly wears the cloak of another, and due to Reasons is under the impression that the party know all both of those things and the Implications about them, and for whatever reason have decided to welcome him into their group anyway.

Which er, he's completely wrong about as the party know absolutely nothing.

Mira and Isa like most Vaugardian humans think 'shifters' are just fairytales, Odile knows shapeshifters are real but is only really familiar with how foxes like her father work, and Bonnie is actually able to sense some pretty major things but is a preteen dealing with a lot and hasn't even joined the party yet, so this pretty major misunderstanding is sustained for quite a while...

Cue the AUs' main focus being on the resulting party dynamic shifts as more and more canon divergence due to Sif's 'selkie stuff' (both cute and serious) comes into play, the party slowly realising something is up, and all of it hitting an eruption point right around the time of the 4th Orb/the loss of Siffrin's eye...

Some key world building notes: (Note: very summarised from my docs. I have like 20k+ words on this stuff XD)

The Island - Probably the most drastically different thing from canon here, the Island was not forgotten or erased here. Rather it is hidden away and permanently shrouded in Wish Craft generated fog from 'those without cloaks'. Side note: Sif is still unable to return home and continues to have some very plot critical memory problems but those are due to unrelated issues, which means yay I get to have Sif talk 'home culture' with the others in this =D Also idk why the King is freezing Vaugarde still. I've got a few ideas I'm not sure about and he's not in focus enough for it to even matter really, but random suggestions -especially those with possible selkie motivations- would be very much appreciated.

Selkie powers in my setting - Went into something of a deep dive regarding selkie folklore for this and did you know they have an absolute ton of seer/oracle based stuff going on?

From selkie being summoned by their human lovers shedding seven tears into the ocean, to a selkie man telling a former lover that he and their child will die at the hands by her genuinely good and loving future husband, to a selkie woman forseeing her fisherman husband about to die out in a storm just in time for her to swim over there and rescue him, etc.

So... Yeah. This AU has a lot of plot relevant sensory/seer stuff going on as well as the standard seal shapeshifter stuff (Islander selkie traditionally believe it to be the Universe talking with them, in the same way Wish Craft is talking to the Universe), and going off all the stuff I read decided it'd be most fitting if the general rule for how it all works is: - Selkie always passively have a bit of it going on (aka Sif's canon 'you sense someone nearby' stuff) which like most things can be enhanced with Craft use a bit. - Near perfect understanding of all 'connected' bodies of water (aka they know EXACTLY where the tasty fish are/will be and can probably get a general sense of location for most people on a boat) - Potentially get strong 'visions of the future' and/or instincts on what they need to do to avert an outcome when it comes to loved ones being in danger/distress.

They also maybe get to pull very fast, high power Wish Craft 'curses'/miracles' at idk, the cost of something major like their cloak or lives (mostly based off of the The Legend of Kópakonan where the whole island of Kalsoy was cursed with death by a selkie in retaliation for her husband and children being murdered) but not super attached to this idea past it being in 'seal shifter' stories in-setting.

Other non humans in setting and regional differences in shifters - Pretty much only selkie and selkie issues are in focus here, but just as a general thing, all non humans in setting are shapeshifters and originated from human ancestors who went crazy with the the Body Craft and/or used Wish Craft in some way.

Ka Bue in particular has a ton of them since yokai, with their origins being various sects/clans back in the warring eras going so nuts with trying to weaponize Body Craft (super soldiers, enhanced life spans, infiltration, exploiting attraction to furries, etc), that after some particularly high profile incidents (for an idea plz see: Kiyohime, Tamamo no Mae, Kachi-kachi Yama) and 'Body Craft misuse leading to shut down of the brain/vital organs' being the most common cause of death for 10+ years once peace time was established, eventually Ka Bue's authorities set their foot down and banned Body Craft altogether.

Currently the shifter population in Ka Bue is around 30% of the population, shifters are required to have ID regarding their forms (or potential forms if they're merely 'half'), and it's considered distasteful for a shifter to be in non human form outside of private settings/necessity and even ruder to ask a shifter about their non human forms if they haven't brought the topic up yet first (kinda like seeing/asking about someone's underwear or something XD).

In contrast the Vaugarde, Mwudu and Porteria region is extremely shifter sparce, with most of its original shifter population being the result of various Universe worshipping peoples (mostly small groups, like greek mystery cults) deciding to use a big Wish Craft ritual as some sort of religious rite and becoming shifters as a side effect of their primary Wish (usually stuff like 'we wish for us and our descendants to be one with You and the sea/air' or 'may we Change with the phases of the holy moon' etc) which granted them some pretty neat skills but also tended to come with some 'potentially nasty' drawbacks attached (see: selkie and swan maidens with their cloaks, werewolves Changing in both body and mind etc) Which er, lead to some issues born of lack of knowledge about this stuff, later some very nasty anti shifter sentiment in the region, and then around... IDK 200 to 300 years ago or so ended up exploding into violence and other very nasty things, with most shifters able to do so fleeing the region, and those that couldn't either enduring horrible conditions until they could escape/died or went deep into hiding, with the Island's Country being founded by the two later groups who used Wish Craft to hide their new home, erase awareness of their existence from their enemies (a short term, fully intentionally 'forgetting' blast centered specifically around shifters), and developed a LOT of culture and traditions regarding when, who and what can be told to 'outsiders' about themselves, Wish Craft, etc in order to keep their people safe.

There are shifters living in present in Vaugarde of course (anti shifter sentiment died back a LOT after most people stopped thinking they were real, and most modern day Change Believers are more likely to view these 'totally fictional/allegorical' beings as children/messengers of the Change God rather than 'evil demons who stole power by tearing apart the Change God's cloak for themselves and thus have to be hunted down and made to repent' propaganda take that was everywhere back then) but numbers actually living outside the Island as opposed to merely visiting remain low, since either the shifters know their history and stick firmly to their 'stay secret' traditions or quickly pick up on how oddly unknown shifters are around these parts and decide to err on the side of caution... Also 'trust worthy' humans who do learn about them (usually northern coastal folk, gee wonder why) tend to help cover them up so... Yeah =D

---

And... Yeah!

This is hella long as is, so will stop here and ramble about the actual 'how this all affects our beloved Sif and Co plot and culture wise' stuff that is the actual meat of the AU in another post later, but hope this made for an interesting/idea provoking read, know that I have no issue with anyone using any of this for their own works (just please, don't use the 'Selkies under starlight' same story name unless it's actually a fanfic/fanart of my 'hopefully soon has a chapter/one shot up' fic/Ao3 series of the same name so people don't get confused), and I would love to chatter with you about any thoughts/questions you might have so...

Wishing you a good day =D

(sighes in relief finally getting this post finished after literal months. Pheeeeww~)

[lightweaver-chosen-if]

hi momo.

i randomly found your blog and the IF sounded quite interesting. i only read til the scene in chapter 1, where the headmaster leaves for the first time, but so far i really like the world, story and your writing style. i have some questions:

1.) will the stats (like personality/reputation) at some point be locked in/wont change anymore?

==> how important will the stats be? only flavourtext OR locking you out of choices/story parts?

2.) could you explain/give an example on what the 6 personalities mean exactly? to me grumpy means looking more angrily/have a frown/... but all the choices so far seem more fitting to a character, who is suspicious of everyone.

==> during the conversation with the headmaster one option, which increases the grumpy-stat is "Why? You don't even know me.". this doesnt seem grumpy, more suspicious

3.) now the reason why i stopped reading at this point. at this point in the story you are offered 4 choices. they increase the genuine, emotional, grumpy or aloof stat respectively. in addition to that the first 2 increases the healing-stat, while the last 2 increases the spiraling-stat. unfortunately i wanted to play a grumpy (suspicious), pragmatic/aloof character who slowly heals their mental state. well, now the game is telling me thats not possible. the reason i stopped reading was, because now im not sure if future choices will continue this trend (aka genuine/emotional choices increase healing while grumpy/aloof choices increase spiraling) or not.

this is probably just a me problem, and maybe the IF is simply not for me. i hope noone takes this as an personal attack/insult.

thank you.

Hi! This is totally fine, I appreciate you taking the time to even write this :)

Trying to explain as best as I can... so sorry for the super long post ahead!

1.) will the stats (like personality/reputation) at some point be locked in/wont change anymore?

Kind of, but not completely. My idea is that by Chapter 5, your MC would have an established personality. From there, personality choices will be fewer to make way for dialogue choices that adapt to your personality stat.

Personality choices that clash with your stat will still make others react differently if you pick them. I still want to give players the chance to shift their personality over time if they want to. So if you keep consistently choosing a different tone, people will notice, and MC can change again.

You're not locked in forever. It's the healing/spiraling stat that will drastically change the narrative.

2.) could you explain/give an example on what the 6 personalities mean exactly? to me grumpy means looking more angrily/have a frown/... but all the choices so far seem more fitting to a character, who is suspicious of everyone.

While how MC acts is up to you, they aren't a total blank slate at the start. Especially in the infirmary scene, which is a high-stress moment for them. They were just in a fall, fully expecting to die… and then they wake up in a strange place, surrounded by unfamiliar people, and told they were “blessed by a deity.” It’s a lot. They’re confused, overwhelmed, suspicious. That’s the baseline mental state they’re starting from in that moment, which is why options might lean more into that suspicious vibe.

But you're right. It should've been clearer! I'm going to go over the early scenes in the future. Most likely going to revise many of these choices once I start revisiting the code. Looking back on these after a year, there are definitely parts I could improve on.

As for the personalities... there are actually 5 of them, and they all come from the different combinations of genuine/grumpy & emotional/aloof.

Careful/Reckless isn't actually supposed to be under personality stat, it's meant to be its own thing.

I wrote alt text for each image with some brief descriptions :)

Example Use Cases:

Dialogue choices. I want to eventually move on from choices that build personality stats and have actual conversations with a reactive MC/NPC

MC's internal thoughts

How MC speaks or reacts to other NPCs on their own

The healing/spiraling stats are mostly tied to choices where you're accepting or rejecting an idea or character. They don’t show up in every personality choice. After the infirmary scene (where you're at), those healing/spiraling stats mostly show up in standalone choices.

Now to yap a bit...

Right now, I’m not 100% satisfied with how the personality choices are looking overall.

During my early days I was kind of winging it. Still figuring things out, code and story wise, if I could turn back time, I'd do things a lot more differently (⌒_⌒;)

I was already planning to do a rework of the general stat structure for MC in this update. I won't totally scrap what I have, only improve and make it make more sense to me. I’ve just been focusing on writing first, since code stuff also takes a lot of time.

So yeah, lots of cleanup to do here!

PS: Grumpy was originally called Sarcastic, and it’s going through a bit of an identity crisis. I think Guarded suits better...? Still looking for a word that means suspicious, kinda rude, not totally receptive, but only sometimes (not totally) sarcastic???

[viscasi]

How do you feel about child care and pregnancy?

I’m trying to answer someone’s ask right now that touches on this topic. I know that I personally have complicated feelings about pregnancy and motherhood, but it got me wondering if that’s a universal virago experience, or even more specifically an intramasc woman experience? Or maybe it’s just me?

These are my personal thoughts/experiences…

Babies. Brutal honesty here: I genuinely do not understand what is going on in someone’s head when they swoon over babies. Does anyone actually think they’re cute or do people just say that? I don’t think I have ever once in my life seen a kid younger than like 2 or 3 and thought, genuinely, “aww!” Like, I’m not a horrible person, I see babies as people and don’t like, hate them or have any ill will toward them… they’re just… not cute, and I don’t feel any particular desire or inclination to ever have one. (There’s a funny post that illustrates this feeling super well 😂)

Young Children and Teens. For some reason I feel differently about older kids. I think older kids are adorable and I physically cannot fathom how so many people end up neglecting their older kids because they’re “””not cute anymore”””????????? What?? Anyway, I’m not necessarily planning on having kids but if I ever do I think I want to adopt from foster care for this reason— I think I would just be better suited to parent older kids.

Pregnancy. The thought of me ever being pregnant horrifies me. No hate to pregnant people whatsoever— it’s the experience of pregnancy that sounds awful to me. I think the reasons why pretty much go without saying, but aside from the typical reasons people are afraid of pregnancy: I really personally prefer to keep my figure androgynous or even more masc-leaning— my hips and chest give me enough dysphoria as they are, I don’t even want to think about the possibility of them growing into that much more of an exaggerated shape. Not only that, but the change is usually permanent… the thought of such a drastic irreversible change would fill me with horrible dread. And then, for what? A baby? No thanks, not for me.

Motherhood. I’m not repulsed by the idea of being called “mom” at all, but all the connotations of the word and associations with it are so linked to intrafeminine women that it almost becomes hard to imagine the word describing me. For this reason I could see Mother’s Day being kind of an awkward holiday for me in the future, potentially, if only just for the way it’s marketed around that time of year. I don’t think I’d actually want to be called “dad” instead though, necessarily, but the vibe of “dad” would fit me much better. I’d be, like, your average nerdy barbecue dad Tony but like, a woman, who is called “mom.”

… but how do YOU feel about these things, the same or different? And do you feel like your identity influences these feelings, or that they’re independent from it?

[bearimba]

Finally sat down and drew my hgss redesigns >:)c They're still a bit rough but I think overall I like where they're at!

misc notes vvv

Lyra:

cute but tomboyish style

doesn't really change her appearance at all ever. The pigtails remain her main hairstyle her entire life, and she tends to wear the same clothes until they're falling apart and then some.

doesn't really care about how she looks beyond her own stylistic preferences. once she becomes champion and functionally becomes a celebrity, she tries a little harder since it seems to matter to the people around her.

a big fan of gingham patterns I think :) picnic vibes

wears a lot of long sleeves (she gets cold easily. this doesn't stop her from wearing shorts all the time as well). might put on a dress once every never.

she likes painting her nails sometimes but always picks it off.

Ethan:

skater boy/athleisure aesthetic, later adds a hint of techwear. most of his style hinges on what he thinks is cool or is trending

cuts his own hair based on vibes and vibes only. is surprisingly very good despite this. helped Kris clean up her hair, and is the only person Silver trusts with his.

^^^to clarify on the shaved head thing, his parents were very wishywashy when he first came out as trans at ~13 ("what if you're too young to know!" kind of stuff. queer culture wasn't very mainstream in Johto but they're very supportive now that they're more informed), so he shaved his head to show how serious he was about it.

the kind of person to get 50 million mismatched tattoos, except his grandmother would actually murder him (cultural/generational difference). he gets patches to iron on his jacket instead.

Kris:

drastic switch from vaguely outdoorsy to very alt/butch aesthetic

partially dressed for other people as a kid, never really got the chance to find her own style.

resulted in a full-on identity crisis in her early/mid-twenties, chopped her pigtails off in the bathroom at midnight. she had to call Ethan to help her fix it---he was very supportive and only made fun of her a little :D

continued to experiment, finding herself and her preferences even outside her style. questioned her gender for a bit as well before deciding she was comfortable in her femininity and just happened to enjoy presenting masc.

professionalism is still very important to her, so she cleans up when at the lab or otherwise in a work/formal setting.

Silver:

wore grungy clothes out of spite (both in a transmasc way and because his father was very strict about public appearances), shifts to a more refined/practical taste. leather jackets, cargo jeans, high-collared shirts, etc. but elegant.

how he looks is important to him, but he didn't have the time/money/energy to spend on upkeep while living on the streets

comfort and aesthetic are equally important to him---this makes it difficult to find clothes he actually likes.

hates how he used to look because no one took him seriously (baby-face + stolen oversized clothes + obviously forced deeper voice)

slowly worries less about passing, eventually leans back into his fem side (this time in a genderqueer way). he's the most likely of the johto4 to wear makeup (mostly just eyeliner) or nail polish (always black). he likes maxi skirts especially :)

[bitchslapblastoids]

so we’re doing the sappy year-end affectionate thing, yeah?

I spent most of my phandom years feeling like a barnacle under a ship that d&p were steering and you were all the actual passengers of. During the time I spent lurking, it felt like fandom culture had changed so drastically that re-entering in any active way would be terrifying. But then I finished writing a phanfic that I’d originally started in 2015. And then I posted it and some people liked it. And meanwhile, I had already been feeling complicated feelings about the lack of engagement with fic and writing across all fandoms. And doubly meanwhile, things just kept getting more and more unhinged in the Dan and Phil universe, and I just wanted to yell about it. So I finally caved, made this blog, and stopped being a hypocrite who whined about how fandom wasnt interactive anymore while I wasn’t actually interacting myself.

The difference between lurking and participating in the ecosystem was that I realized I was a bit wrong. Bc people on here don’t just taketaketake; there is a wonderfully supportive fabric of celebration for creative works, of kindness and warmth towards one another. It’s a small community, but so alive!!

All my weird-kid traits that I keep compartmentalized and tightly managed (read: suffocated) as I cosplay daily as a somewhat normie-adult suddenly had somewhere to thrive and be externalized again. I gained access to this universe that i get to be a tiny cocreator of that is full of delight and silliness and warmth and hilarity. It stood in such contrast to my irl world that has been in flux - moving away from somewhere I loved and people I loved, coping with new peaks of mental illness in my family, building a life in a new city that felt (feels) lonely so lonely, falling victim to my own depressive self isolation habits. but here was an outlet, and suddenly my mind was a creative place to be again. It had been a while since that had been true.

and then tit happened and while I have known for a long time that concerts are the single most euphoric experiences in my life, I’ve always gone alone and anonymous and relished in the presence of unspoken community around me, the experience that feels religious and sacred, sharing in some rapturous devotion to an artist and their music and then all parting ways afterwards. But tit was something new. I’d seen Dan and Phil before, all the times. But never as someone actively embedded in the community enough to actually speak to people. When I bought the tickets, I intended on being fully invisible at my shows. Months later when I actually went, one of the most joyful parts of the experience was all of you, talking to people around me, seeing phannies in the flesh, and yelling on here about it all. It was truly euphoric. When I say it was bouying, I mean it. I felt high for days.

The people I’ve befriended on here or whose ideas and work and vibes I just absorb through their presence on my dash have reminded me how to see beyond the restraints of cookie cutter daily life, how to be radical and loving and how to embrace weirdness and love those parts of yourself, but how to openly love them in other people too; how to signpost that you’re an open recipient for someone’s weird, that their weird is safe around you. Dan and Phil have always done that too, haven’t they?

I started to think about all the people whose brightness and brilliance has touched me in some way on here this year, and the list was immediately too long to even hold in my brain. But probably if you’re reading this, you’re one of those people. Thank you for being around and sharing who you are 🩵

Sometimes I still get a little sad about the level of engagement fic gets vs other creative endeavors on here. But being a part of this renassiance and sharing in a mini writing community within this broader phannie ecosystem has been sooooooooo rewarding. I’m deliriously happy to get to know such an incredibly creative and generous and passionate bunch of humans.

happy 2025 phumblr!! i think we better buckle in for another wild fucking ride. 🧡🧡🧡

[acaciapines]

hello !! what are your thoughts on actors and acting in a world with daemons ? how do you think they would work ?

oooh this is super interesting...i've been thinking over this most of the day and i honestly think there wouldnt be a lot of like, huge and drastic changes. i do think people would cast for appearance of the human actor AND the daemon actor, so there would 100% be casting calls that would be like 'canine daemons only' because whatever character youre auditioning for would have a canine daemon.

BUT ALSO i think there'd be like. daemon costumes!! for places where you need a specific form but your actor isnt settled as such--like, maybe youre doing a documentary about a real person who settled as a parrot, and your actor is AWESOME but a rat. so there's a rat with a parrot costume :3 i feel like this would be more common on stage than on screen (think like, if youve ever seen the costumes of lion king on broadway, thats sorta the vibe i could see), since i feel like CGI tech would make it a tad easier to pass off one animal as another.

like i dont think cgi would replace a daemon actor entirely (to me thats like casting a human actor, and then using cgi to turn them into an entirely different person) but you would use cgi like how cgi is used today, like i know some cgi is used for costuming and stuff. so maybe a daemon has a sort of green screen type costume and thats how you get some species-changes, but like, their face and general shape is still their own.

on the same thread of movies/tv/shows etc, i do think on average there'd actually be less characters per show...like a show in our world would have four main characters, but a show in a world with daemons would have two--because the daemons are characters now too! so this might mean acting is even more competitive than it is today, since there's just less roles even if theres the same number of productions.

tho this varies based on how you present daemons in your world lol, in my 'ideal' sort of daemon-world they'd get as much sceentime as their human counterparts so you'd just have to cut down on total characters, but i write worlds where things are Not good for daemons lol.

along those lines i bet theres also daemon forms that are more vs less likely to get cast--i tend to go canine + feline are the most desired and thus like. "uplifted" forms so every hero has a lion etc, so if you wanna act but youre a sea slug you are going to struggle a LOT to be cast, bc productions would be like sorry we just need dogs <3 i think there would be a mammal bias and i wonder if there'd be anti-discrimination laws passed about this? i feel like that would be really contentious in-universe though, like a thing often argued about--people like, there are totally roles for snakes! (theyre only villian parts). or you can get cast with a fish daemon! (you will never get a main part and most of the time cant even get an extra part because its "too much work" to make the space fish-daemon accessible.) basically you can take this a lot of ways too!

if anyone else has ideas feel free to add on! or send me asks about unrelated daemon topics. i love talking about daemons :3

[ghostchems]

on leather wings - papa emeritus iv x f!reader

copia surprises you with a spooky weekend getaway, culminating in some winged bedroom time

a/n: it's finally here! 2.7k words. fucking, fingering, rough sex kind of, copia being adorable, etc. etc. mdni! 18+! hoping to get myself out of writer's block with this one :') ao3 link! and yes... i named this after an ep of btas

You step out of the car, a ghoul quick to take your bag from you, and you are met with a black Victorian home with an impeccably nurtured lawn. It looks warm and inviting, like there’s a hot cup of tea waiting for you inside. You make your way down the short gravel path to the front door, entering the code you had been texted not long ago. The latch clicks and you twist the knob, pushing the door open and stepping into the dark foyer. A chandelier hangs in the center of the room, dimly lighting the intricate black and red wallpaper and the antique mahogany display case that is filled with witchy decor. A small smile flickers across your face as another ghoul enters the room and whisks you away down a hallway.

At the end of it is a grand dining room with a lush fireplace heating the room. You immediately see him, standing behind the chair at the head of the table, dressed in his usual tattered suit and blue cravat. 

“Ah, amore, you made it! I hope the instructions, eh, weren’t too… confusing. I was quite a bit excited when I wrote them.” Papa clasps his hands together in delight. He saunters over to you, his lips pulled into a wide grin. You are quick to meet him, his hands reaching to hold onto your arms and stroke along the backs of your elbows. “How are you? How was the drive, eh?”

“I’m good and it all went smoothly but, Copia, what is all this? Is something going on?” You are excited of course but you can’t help but feel concern. Something about this – the instructions, the ghouls, the dining room table lined with delicious food – has a last night on Earth vibe. The broad smile on his face helps ease the feelings though.

“Nothing to worry about, amore.” Copia can sense your unease, his words light and even. “This is a treat for you and I, something different… something nice, something just for us.” He gives you a knowing look. Copia was never one to complain about his duties even when he was at the brink of exhaustion but it pained him to let it affect your relationship. There’s been less time for you in his schedule and while you understand that his role is extremely important to the Clergy there were times you felt a bit overlooked.

“I was thinking about dinner and then maybe a movie, eh? A classic date.” He is adorable and you can’t get over it. There’s something about Copia in this setting that makes your heart race and your cheeks red. Your eyes flicker around the dining room again, thinking that maybe the two of you would have ended up in a home like this if they lived drastically different lives. 

“That sounds… perfetto.” Copia’s face lights up at your poor sounding Italian. He pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a tight, intimate embrace. His breath tickles your ear and he gives it a soft nip before pulling away and squeezes your arms once again. 

A movie night that won’t get interrupted by Sister Imperator or one of her secretaries? Your face lights up. It’s been so long since the two of you were able to enjoy each other’s company without some kind of interruption.

Dinner truly is perfect. He made you your favorite: seafood fra diavolo and he makes sure to give you extra shrimps since they are your favorite. Copia has your wine glass filled every time it goes below halfway and he is constantly asking how the food is and if you need anything, anything at all. Copia’s gaze hardly leaves you, he spends most of the dinner holding your hand, playing with your fingers, that you end up almost yelling at him to actually eat between small giggles. 

Having him to yourself like this is almost overwhelming. Gradually, after you’ve finished forcing Copia to enjoy his own food, the two of you make your way to the cozy, witchy den and onto the couch. 

“What movie? I’m sure you already have one picked out.” You shift closer to him on the couch, your knees touching now. Copia takes the blanket beside him and opens it, draping it across the two of you before he leans against you, resting his head on your shoulder.

“Ovviamente.” He breathes against the shell of your ear. “Bram Stoker’s Dracula, if you are still in a, eh, spooky mood.” You can feel him smile into your neck and you suck in a sharp breath, snuggling even further against him under the blanket. 

“That’s perfect.” Your voice drops to a whisper. Copia’s arms curl around your waist, pulling you in even closer to him and nestling you against his chest before starting the movie. It feels almost magical that you’re able to sit here with your love in comfortable silence while watching one of your favorite movies. There’s never any silence at the abbey, not until the later hours of the evening when you’re finally able to see Copia after a long day of his duties. The only interruption comes close to the end of the movie when his lips press to your neck, sending a thrill down your spine.

“I have a surprise for you. Una piccola sorpresa.” Copia murmurs against your hair, feeling his breath huff against you. “Meet me upstairs, per favore? Give me like, eh… ten minutes?” You tilt your head up to look at him, taking in the soft smile on his face and you give a small nod. He presses a kiss to your forehead and gets up from the couch, leaving you alone in the den. 

This all feels so special. More special than anything he’s ever done for you in the past. You know why it had to be a secret. You would have told him to get some rest instead of planning an elaborate weekend for the two of you. He deserved to have time to himself, to relax after touring the world with the ghouls. But it was just like him to want to spend that time doing something nice for you. This is the first time the two of you have been able to get away from the abbey since you started seeing each other.

And it’s perfect. Your eyes sweep over the den, the spooky decor and interior making you feel right at home. You’re already buzzed from the Papastrello and you feel cozy under the blankets. The grandfather clock in the room ticks away, your eyes fixated on the time, mindfully counting down until ten minutes had passed. You can’t keep your Papa waiting. 

After the minutes go by, you start to head up the stairs, anticipation in your steps. The door to the bedroom is slightly open and you try to get a peek into the dim room but you don’t see Copia. You push the door open with a small creak and you immediately hear Copia groan from the bathroom, which stops you in your tracks. You’re sure you’re not too early… but you don’t want to disturb him even though it sounds like he could use some help. You push the door open a bit more, slowly and step inside.

“Amore? Is that you?” Copia asks in a hushed whisper, stress hanging in his voice. For a moment you’re too anxious to answer but you manage to squeak out a response.

“It is.”

“Oh, bene bene.” He sighs, his relief evident in his voice. “I am, ugh, having some trouble with the surprise.” 

“How can I help?” You are quick to make your way to the bathroom door, trying to listen in to what’s happening on the other side.

“Fuck. It’ll ruin la sorpresa.” He grumbles to himself “I-I’m sorry you couldn’t see me, eh, completely done.” Before you’re able to tell him not to be sorry at all he emerges from the bathroom and your mind goes completely blank. Even in the lowlight you can see the blush creeping up his freckled shoulders and cheeks. Copia is wearing nothing but a small pair of black briefs, his black gloves with skeleton details and half of his batwing harness, having secured it through one of his arms but not the other. “I, heh, usually have some help getting these on.” 

Your mouth opens but you can’t manage words, making an embarrassing grunt as you nod and move in to help him. The leather straps to the harness are smooth in your hands and you work to make sure the other wing is secure before moving to his chest. A breath catches in your throat as your fingers brush along his chest, nails lightly scratching at his chest hair while you pull the leather straps through their buckles. Your cheeks are already burning and you hear your heart thunder in your ears. A groan leaves his lips, his hot breath grazing your forehead which makes your eyes flicker up to his. 

Copia’s eyes are dark with devilish lust, his lips parted as he sucks in a sharp breath the second your eyes meet his. His securely fastened arm reaches for you, fingertips slipping underneath the hem of your top to tug you in closer to him by the waist. By the time you finish the last buckle, he has you pressed to his chest with your arms trapped between the two of you. He lifts his other hand to grip you by the chin and tilts your head up to look at him. Your noses are almost touching as your eyes drop to look at his lips.

“Do you like it, amore?” Copia murmurs huskily, his lips hovering so close. You want to tell him that this means the world to you but the way he is looking at you makes it hard to speak. Your lips graze his painted ones so lightly, eyes flickering up to meet his hungry gaze before they squeeze shut as you finally kiss him. The air leaves your lungs when his tongue slips into your mouth, the taste of him enough to take your breath away. Your hands curl around the leather straps to hold onto him as he backs you into an antique desk. 

He already has your pants almost off, his hand slipping down the front of your underwear and wasting no time feeling your slick. You moan from his touch, a finger pushing inside of you with ease. Copia shudders and presses his hips to your thigh, his cock throbbing through his tight briefs. He buries his face in your neck as he starts to desperately grind against your thigh while he fingers you, sharp gasps and groans muffled against you. You’re almost light headed by how quickly things have escalated but that doesn’t stop you from slipping your hand between the two of you.

“Do you feel how wet you make me, Papa?” You breathe and he answers with a whine. You push down his briefs, his cock springing free and you take it in your hand, giving it long, languid strokes. Copia shivers, his entire body pausing to take in how good your fingers feel wrapped tightly around him. He lifts his head slowly and your gaze meets his, his pupils blown so wide with lust that they are nearly completely black. You stroke him a few more times before letting go and leaning back on the desk. He huffs at the loss but ends up sucking in a sharp breath as you start to remove your blouse. You take your time, putting on a show for him, making him wait to see you fully. The blouse finally falls from your shoulders and he immediately grabs you, his mouth crushing against yours as his cock presses close to your entrance. 

You moan deeply into his mouth and your hands find the leather straps of his harness again, holding onto them tightly. Copia drives his cock into you with a lewd grunt, one hand gripping your shoulder while the other digs into your hip as he fucks into you. It’s rough and possessive, his thighs slapping into yours with each desperate thrust. The desk beneath the two of you rattles with each violent jerk of his hips and you can’t help but hold onto him for dear life. You feel your climax growing inside of you, your abdomen tightening and your legs starting to tense up. He hooks one of his arms beneath your knee and raises your leg up, allowing him to push even deeper inside of you.

You throw your head back and cry out, the new sensation of his cock massaging your deepest, most sensitive spots making your walls flex around him. Copia is panting heavily between whines and growls, his head lowering even further to mouth and lick at your breasts. He groans into your chest and you feel the vibration throughout your body. You feel like you’re teetering on the edge when his full lips find one of your nipples and he sucks it into his mouth, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. You come undone then and there, shockwaves gripping your body and your walls clenching around his throbbing cock. A growl catches in his throat as he spills inside of you, his hips jerking wildly before slowly coming to a stop. His heavy breathes fill your ear, your hands still firmly holding his harness as he finally lifts his head and takes a step back to give you some space. 

“I, eh, got a little carried away.” Copia sighs and runs a hand over his face, his paints already smeared. “You are just too irresistible, amore.” You can see a light blush on his cheeks just underneath his paints as your fingers start to trace along his full lips. 

“Oh, hush.” You smile before chewing on your lower lip. “Sit on the bed. I want to admire your wings.” You gently start to push him toward the bed and he lets you, allowing you to guide him until he reaches the edge. He sits and you push him further so that his back is against the headboard. You slip into his lap and your hands immediately go back to his harness, fingertips grazing where the leather straps and his chest meet. Copia gives a low purr as he leans his head back against the headboard, his eyes falling shut as he basks in your touch.

You’re finally able to get a good look at him now, your eyes taking in how the harness shapes his strong chest. He always looked good in it on stage but this is so much more intimate. The dark straps of the harness stand stark against his bare skin framing his broad chest and extenuating his bulging pecs. Touring had been good to him building softly toned muscle underneath his soft curves that never failed to drive you wild. Now you had him beneath you you couldn't keep your hands off him, tracing where the straps sat snug against his skin, his fluffy body hair tickling your fingertips. They drift over his 666 tattoo while your other hand moves down one of his arms, touching at the strap at his wrist and the tips of his leather wings. He huffs and starts to run his hand up and down your back, his wing brushing against it as his gloved fingers glide down your spine. 

“I love you.” The words tumble from your lips once your eyes meet. He makes the smallest, sweetest sound of affection, as the corner of his mouth twitches into a smile before nuzzling into your neck. You feel him squirm beneath you, trying to allow you to continue touching him but his fingers twitch until he finally gives up. Copia’s arms curl against you, pulling you against his chest. His wings press into your bareback, wrapping around your naked body in a way that feels so safe. He holds you there, safe in his embrace, and you don’t dare let him go. Copia raises his lips to your ear.

“Ti ameró per sempre. I am with you always, amore.”

[hheartsdramas]

i’m under orders from @dangermousie to watch under the moonlight, so here’s my impression of episodes 1-half of 5:

(i think part of why this one has flown way under the radar is because it’s not available on youku streaming in a lot of international regions, but i found it on yt with imperfect subs)

we open with our fl and lu yan from zang hai her fake sister-in-law seeking fertility help temple and i can already tell they’re there undercover and also that these guys are fleecing desperate women and deserve the cast iron pan that i brought out while watching zang hai

the way i GASPED when i realized what these monsters are doing! pan beating incoming!

psa sex workers deserve protection from and justice for sexual violence too!

so this is definitely not a fun and fluffy grrrrl power drama because we are confronting the very real realities of exploitative sex work. even if it’s kind of in a spunky way, she’s running from having her virginity sold to the highest bidder against her will

i think this is the ml who just sauntered into a brothel with a child servant in tow. and fl is 18. i’m mentally aging everyone up 10 years because it’s my mental and i can

aw he’s so idealist and innocent

i like miaocui. she’s my kind of sassy and has my same reaction to things with more than four legs

yes hi i’m almost done with two episodes and have been having this vague feeling i’ve seen the stern magistrate in something before, kind of getting villain vibes, hmm where do i know him from…wen chao. he was WEN CHAO in the untamed!!! which is such a jaw-dropping level of drastically different from this role it’s no wonder it took me looking him up to realize it even though i’ve watched cql so many times

governor’s son is so earnestly righteous and wrong, poor thing

this poor servant, he’s so stressed out about how naive his boss is

i wouldn’t say i dislike ml so far (he’s just so sheltered and naive) but fl is much more patient than i am, i would risk torture and death to smack him once or twice

i’m unsure of the purpose of showing us this guy flexing so hard they can break wooden staffs on him. but i am not complaining. (also he’s adorable! da-ge, what a sweetie himbo)

so the coroner is weird

it’s fascinating all the varying stories and perspectives about the victim. the women hated this girl and the men thought she was just a sweet unobtrusive innocent

yeah i am worried about this baby

miaocui missing the “pampered” life of the brothel is actually so real. it’s not that on some level she doesn’t know they were trafficked/exploited or that she enjoyed what she was being made to do, but when you’re in that situation you learn to cope and survive and part of that for her seems to be leaning into the luxurious trappings of the life. it’s a different kind of sheltered. i hope she finds her feet out in the world (and maybe has a romance with himbo constable?)

these neighbors are the worst! if it is her undead husband who killed her, i wouldn’t be surprised if part of his rage was stoked by overhearing the gossip about what a slut she they thought she was

i watched enough of the fifth episode to confirm that’s exactly what happened

it’s so funny that i can see the inklings suggestions hints of the love triangle forming but also neither menglin or muzhi have shown themselves to be actually interesting candidates so far—one is too immature for a fl who knows too much of life’s cruelty, the other is a fucking brick wall

besides the streaming limitations i can see why this wouldn’t attract a ton of attention. it’s not at all flashy, and while there are tiny seeds of some romantic interest this is not a “pretty people fall in love” drama. first episode was also a bit clunky but i never judge a drama based on its first episode. i can’t wait to see how things develop between characters!

[tatarstani]

feel free to ignore if this is too personal for public ask, but I am curious about your thoughts on marriage and cultural norms. I remember you saying you liked girls and guys, but only consider dating guys (presumably because you want to get married?) To be clear, I think there's nothing wrong with your life choices, I'd just like to hear about the perspective that leads transfeminist communist to still prefer more "traditional lifestyle". My only guess is that it's because tatar culture and family are very important to you and you prefer to be a part of that & can still be happy? Like I don't think you're traditional at all, you are communist and spend your time around people with similar views and had girlfriend/s before serious potential marriage relationship, but you just don't see a lot of benefit for you personally in "edgier" lifestyle?

first of all i just want say i don’t mind people sending “personal” ask at all, this is two way street i yap about whatever i want on here and you can all send me whatever you want. and i will answer just based on vibes lol. and also i don’t know if i qualify as transfeminist? i have read my fair share of essay ans made qaurter way through whipping girl (everyone think they fluent in english until political theory show up) and via having alot of transfem mutual (i myself have had my own i guess you can say gender related confusion mostly when i was younger teen but mostly these day consider myself cis woman adjacent) i tend to reblog a lot of post about transfeminism but i don’t think i know or understand enough beyond basic to put that label on myself lol. and being communist isn’t exactly a divergence from tradition in russia, the second largest party here is the communist party (:

ALL THAT ASIDE

for me it mix of religion, culture and family with religion being most prevalent.

when i was younger teenager from like 13-17 i say i realy struggle with religion even up into recent month i had a realy difficult time with islam and squaring the existence of god with just… everything going on in the world. it has only actualy been recently that interacting with other muslim communist and hearing there opinion that i have actualy been able to reconcile myself fuly with being muslim. as product of this flip flopping about religion i kind of went through different stages of how much of islamic law i would follow, which is how i ended up dating some girl throughout those year. for those not familiar in islam dating has a lot of restriction on top of it to be done with express intention of marriage at end. i know a lot of queer muslim have interpreted islam in different way and i know even allot of other culture and sect interpret islam other way but this is islam as i was taught to me and as i practice as astrakhan tatar. and of course same sex marriage is not only illegal in russia but also you would be hard pressed find imam who would officiate a nikkah between two woman anywhere in world let alone russia.

the cultural element is more confusing. tatar culture vary greatly by subgroup and region. for example nağaybäk and keräšen aren’t even muslim. crimean and romanian tatar don’t do sabantuy (although they do very very similar thing under different name i have to say) ect. ect. tatarstani tatar culture is decidedly homophobic but in city like kazan you can get away with being gay or trans to some degree. however my family despite living here in kazan city capital of tatarstan republic are astrakhan tatar. my dad for example despite being from astrakhan city is kind of kazanified and when i was outed to him (accidentaly) by my brother he was just like. okay. like he didn’t like it but he didn’t harass me over it or do anything drastic. a quick aside about that my dad doesn’t realy understand the concept of bisexuality so for ages he thought i was lesbian and seem to think i am faking being in love with rashid (my current boyfriend) it is very funny.

my mum however come from very small village in astrakhan desert. her main dialect (langauge? no one can decide) of communication is yurt tatar despite having live in kazan for very long time at this point, and despite being (internal) migrant working woman with four children none of us of her children can ever remember time were she skip any of her five daily prayer. you could not speak russian in her house, you could not date anyone unless she met there parent ahead of time (them being muslim and opposite gender was a given), once yearly we had go back to astrakhan ect. ect. full on stuff my mother has no chill. so culturaly there is also that pressure to conform and be traditional, have pride in youre ethnicity and even more pride in youre country and on top of all be religious. so not the best environment to be like heyyyy i bisexual and also think being transgender is good and cool.

i think i pretty much explain everything in regard to family in my culture explanation but yeah basicaly apart from my father everyone in my family is classical anti lgbt+ communist muslim, even my younger cousin and sibling. the only exception being my brother who is very aligned to me politicaly, but when i came out to him he was ******** * *** (iykyk) and is now dealing with severe ptsd and trying to build up health again so never been able put up much fight for me. my family are very important to me. there isn’t single member of my family i don’t talk to atleast once week despite only my parent and sibling and one aunt being in kazan. my family are also on my back about marriage already especially my maternal family. i realy just not willing lose that connection with my family and my wider community based on being bisexual when i can simply just… not date a woman 😭 i priveldged in this way yes it suck to degree but ultimately i can just date and marry a man 🧍‍♀️

anyway that my yap #myyap